This Girl Can't Drive.

I took my first driving test recently and failed miserably. 19 minors and 3 major faults. Whoops, it's probably a surprise I didn't kill anyone. I was so nervous my leg kept shaking and I couldn't hold the clutch down. Not to mention, I cut in front of someone on a roundabout. I think I need more practice. I don't feel so bad though as almost everyone I know didn't pass their test on the first try. I say almost everyone because my sister passed the first time. According to her driving instructor though she's a natural, apparently careering down residential streets at 40 miles an hour means you're a natural driver.

I celebrated my failure by catching a cold. I'm pretty sure I caught it when I went clubbing on Saturday. I think being cramped in a darkened room with a bunch of sweaty people is sure as hell a breeding ground for germs. I feel awful. I'm going back to bed.

Hey Mr Michaelson, what did they pay you for?

Mr Michaelson was my geography teacher, however since I've been addicted to this little game for the past six hours, I've discovered that he wasn't a very good one. I am LOUSY at geography. I know heaps about steel plants and contours, since that's all I ever remember learning about in geography class. But it doesn't help me locate The Smithsonian on a world map.

Cheap Pizza

I was out and about today. Went to an impromptu screening of my uncles new production. I think the director and the editor wanted to get some fresh opinions on the project and I'm sure they thought that by being cooped up in the editing suite for weeks they'd probably lost all perspective, so a couple of people (including me yay!) had a look at a rough cut. I must say that its shaping up really well. I was quite proud of it and apparently our readings of the keys scenes were pretty much on the money, so evidently their perspective wasn't all that skewed. They are showing it to the head of drama at Channel 4 tomorrow so fingers crossed it goes down well. It was nice to get out of the house and do something productive.

On the way back I went into this little italian cafe, because I needed to use the loo. Like most places, you had to buy something to pee there. My sister was pretty hungry so I thought we'd just grab a slice of pizza each, it was only £3. Imagine my surprise when for £3 you do not get just a slice, but a whole freaking pizza. I was shocked shocked! I was in central London, aren't most places in central London supposed to rip you off? Not to mention it was the nicest thing I'd ever tasted, see you later Pizza Express. I wish I had taken a flyer from the place now because I can't remember its name. I did only duck in to use the bog. I have its location memorised though, so next time I'm in the area I have a really cheap place to eat.

Pies, Cookies, Cakes galore

I've been baking. Love it, I don't really eat what I bake, but I very much enjoy the process. The whole experience is very therapeutic, I'm such a good mood now and the house smells fantastic. However I am covered head to toe in flour and the kitchen looks like the cupboards exploded. I don't understand how it got so messy. There's flour on the ceiling, how does one get flour on the ceiling? I seem to have found a way. That's the one downfall: the clean up.

The Lady of Leisure

There is a wonderful feeling you get just after you quit a soul killing job. When this feeling of absolute freedom passes over you and your first thought is 'Great, now I can get on with my real life, start my real career.'

That lasts about a day.

Then the worry sets in. I don't have a job, how will I keep myself in fashionable clothes and ridiculous shoes. Not forgetting food and all that other stuff. You go on interview after interview, and things begin to look bleak. This is where I am at today. The first few weeks after quitting my job, I was all pro active. Getting up early, posting CV's, keeping myself in high spirits. Today I got up at one pm, didn't have a shower and watched Friends all day while I ate cereal right out of the box.

I am in a funk, a rut. One that I need to climb out of pronto. They do say that recognising your problem is the first step in solving it. So here I am recognising. Step one is down. Step two... I don't know what step two is. Everything I've ever learned I got off TV. At this point in the show there would be a wonderful montage of our main character being all competent and strutting around in great outfits, talking to people and bumping into a high powered business executive who recognises her extreme potential in one glance and whisks her off to the high life. Where the hell is my montage and upbeat poppy soundtrack? What the hell is this 'real life' people keep harping on about?

Bloody TV, giving me unrealistic expectations.

The Prince, me and about twenty thousand other people.

Around mid June my sister comes squealing up to me waving a newspaper clipping in the air. 'Prince is playing in Greenwich. You want to come?' Now personally I've never been a huge Prince fan nor do I dislike him. I think he's an excellent song writer and musician, a bit of a whack job and really really short. But having no plans whatsoever and the remnants of my social life clinging to the heels of my far too expensive Jimmy Choos, I agreed to go.

A few months pass by (the concert was in September) and my sister and I make our way to the O2 arena, a place I haven't set foot in since it was the Millenium Dome and it freaked me out with that really weird body exhibit where in order to leave it you had to be reborn down a giant fluffy tube. So anyway, thinking we were late we rush in only to find that 8pm was not when the concert was due to start, just when the doors were due to open thus dooming us to an hour and a half wait and paying almost a tenner for a minuscule pizza that could rival my school dinners in its crappy cardboardiness. We people watched for while, which included a hilarious moment where we watched from the gallery and made up our own dialogue, as some woman in a neon pocahontas outfit had an argument with security. We figure it was because of their militant 'No camera's' policy one that they were almost Gestapo-like in enforcing. Eventually we filed our way into the huge (freezing cold) arena and took our (hard plastic) seats. The stage was awesome, really awesome. I managed to take some sneaky pictures despite the security staff prowling the aisles and hoisting anyone so much as lifting a rectangular object out of the arena.

Finally after listening to the 'Memoirs of a Geisha' soundtrack for about 25 minutes the concert started. Flashing lights and glittery dancers heralded Prince's arrival to the stage and there he was, colourful in all his diminutive glory and looking really good for his age. The stage lit up and the music surrounded the crowd. The acoustics in the arena were so good that it was almost like every unoccupied bit of space was filled with music. The live band were brilliant, the twins (Prince's dancers, of which I wish I was one) were amazing, split kicking and spinning their hair for all they were worth.

I was up and dancing with everybody else. There were a couple of guys a few rows in front of us really going for it with ass wiggling and the finger pointing. Even the stiffest of audience members mangaged a two step. There was no way you couldn't, the atmosphere and the music was so entrancing. One of the highlights for me was the ballad section wherein all the lights went down, Prince hit the keyboard and everyone swayed in unison waving lighters, glowsticks and singing along to a very soulful rendition of 'Little Red Corvette.'

Even though I am still not a huge Prince fan and still think he is a very nutty, very short, very very good musician. He puts on a damn fine show.

The Graduate

YAY ME!!!!!