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Monday, December 13, 2004

Hmmmm, Quite The Lack Of Posts Lately

I'm not too sure why. I suspect the explanation is pure laziness.

Last week, I became really quite panicked about the whole Christmas thing, and my utter lack of preparation for it. Hence a visit to Bluewater in an attempt to calm my nerves and empty my purse. I suceeded with the latter. The former is always an uphill struggle.

I'm feeling a little more organised now, though. The joys of the Internet really do make shopping far less painful. As so often, I'm left wondering what on earth we did before we had the 'net.

Christmas of course means hideous company Christmas parties and what with the recent changes in my employment, I was invited to two such events. Last Friday, I attended my new company's Christmas bash. What with my hating eating in restaurants with other people, I wasn't really looking forward to the event. But I tried hard to put into practice the teachings of the Maudsley and, whaddaya know, I ate and had a damn fine time. I have to make clear that such an experience is almost unprecedented for me.

Unfortunately, things started to go a bit wrong after the event. Started to feel really very sick as I started my journey back to Tulse Hill. Just about managed to walk back to the tube station (frequently retching along the way), managed not to puke on the tube, but upon reaching London Bridge station did puke. I felt kinda disappointed in myself - making it through the main event, and then choking (almost literally) in the aftermath - but then I realised that it's the sort of event my mental health dudes will adore discussing. And, y'know, I aim to please.

Today is the Christmas do of my former company. In the Maudsley face the fear philosophy, I had been planning to attend. I never did while at the company, you understand. They're normally awful and involve serious amounts of alcohol (I should perhaps make clear at this point that I'm tee-total). Also, it's being held this year at some joint in Mayfair where it costs nineteen quid for a mixed salad. Not really a great place for someone who doesn't enjoy formal eating.

Anyway, I figured I'd go along to practice eating in public. But then I realised I didn't actually have any real desire to attend. I mean, Friday's thing I did want to go to, and do want to be in a situation where I can attend and enjoy events that I want to attend and enjoy. But this one I don't. So, in a compromise, I figured I'd attend about an hour beforehand for the drinks, and then disappear when the meal started.

This theory was based on making contact with one of the two colleagues with which I'm friends. Sadly, they have both disappeared off the face of the earth. Hence the temptation not to show my face at all is becoming somewhat overwhelming.

On Tuesday, The Buddy and I are due to see The Incredibles. I'm hoping it's as good as the reviews imply. I always get concerned that films won't be able to live up to the hype - I have to say that I didn't enjoy Finding Nemo as much as I'd expected to, but hopefully The Incredibles will be a different kettle of fish (such wit, such wit). I've told The Buddy to force me to eat a restaurant meal. So that shouldn't be fun.

I spent yesterday watching Alias and The OC on DVD. Each time I do that DVD combination, I think to myself that I should always watch The OC first, and Alias second, cos everything else pales in comparison to my favourite spy saga. And each time I don't.

I'm nearing the end of Alias Season 3 now, and becoming concerned about likely withdrawal symptoms. This will be the first time I am up to date. Season 4 hasn't even premiered in the States yet. Oh dear.

Anyway, yesterday's episodes confirmed that my dear Jack Bristow is indeed the biological father of the lovely Sydney Bristow. It was, I'll be honest, a relief. I think we'd all feared from as far back as Season 1 that it could have been so bad he's good Arvin Sloane. But no, it's Jack.

Of course, we all know that Jack would have been Sydney's Daddy whether or not he biologically was. But it's a relief anyway, isn't it?

(I know no-one has any idea what I'm talking about, but just humour me, OK?)


  • At 12:07 PM, Blogger Fizzwhizz said…

    Oh you poor lamb. Chundering is horrendously unpleasant at the best of times isn't it, and outside the privacy of one's own bathroom is even worse.


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