It wouldn’t be a stretch to say that I’ve had an odder couple of weeks than usual since my last post. January has barely thrown up a sniff of a television job and I’ve been working in a jewellery shop to keep the wolf from the door.

When I say I’ve been working here, what I mean is that I have been sitting in a basement with a madman, hugging a radiator. They need another person in the shop for insurance purposes. I am that insurance. This hasn’t stopped my boss telling me how many people he has killed with his bare hands. He’s ‘broken all of the ten commandments’ apparently. I hope he won’t be expecting me to lend muscle in a raid. 

I’m afraid that the 'weirdos’ section of the title of this blog doesn’t really do justice to my current employer. I couldn’t find a word for bigot that begins with a W. Thus far he has been racist to almost every ethnicity on this earth, denounced anyone looking for work as a scrounger and has offered to repeat the holocaust in exchange for £100,000. Over the course of the week he has also developed a sty and looks more and more like General Woundwort from Watership Down every day.


Last week I resolved to live for the weekend and planned to spend my saturday night in a basement in Hackney to drown my sorrows. I took a trip to Beyond Retro to cheer myself up and bought a top that was probably nicked from an extra in Coyote Ugly who got lost in Cyber Dog. It is amazing and I maintain that I am not too old to wear it. Here is a picture of me doing my best bar dance at 4 in the morning. I could probably do with some winter sun. 


Spanners were thrown in the works when my ex texted me to announce that he may or may not make an appearance in the basement. Considering that last time I bumped into an ex I told him that I had just 'been at the gynaecologist to get some tests’ I thought it best that I get so drunk I was unable to form sentences. I drank a bottle of wine in 3 minutes. My fate was sealed. 

Three tequilas later and a stolen beer that was later revealed to have not just contained beer, my eyes were looking in different directions and my face was more miserable than one of Katy Perry’s sharks.


My housemate is an amazing girl DJ and was playing back to back with some guy. Sometimes boy DJs feel threatened because she’s better than them. I was one angry feminist and this chump was hogging the decks. 

I started giving him a look reserved by Regina George for people who don’t wear pink on Wednesdays. It had not gone unnoticed. My housemate was mortified. Typically, I had decided to wage my stare off with the guy who owned the party and he was not impressed. Apparently he was Alexa Chung’s brother. I definitely did not care.

Thankfully my mates decided to bail before I was forcibly removed. It looks like dry January may have affected my tolerance. If you see a woman in a gutter in Greenwich wearing an ill advised lace up top it is me. Please send me back to Clapton.