There is something extremeley satisfying about watching your boyfriend play on a big scary stage to about 6000 people 
Garry played the Godiva festival today. It’s a yearly big festival held in Coventry, and it’s something like the biggest free festival in Europe. He was playing the main stage, and supporting Newton Faulkner.
Who I saw backstage just a little while later…
I would be useless if I was famous. I get far too star struck
I was in town today, having lunch and doing some shopping with Nicole, when I witnessed a rather unpleasant scene.
A couple were screaming at each other. She was extremeley overweight, her hair pulled back into a far-too-tight ponytail, and he had an American accent and his hair was shorn off apart from one strip on the top of his head.
As far as I could gather, their bank card had gone missing. Rather than go back and try to find the card, or call up the bank and cancel it, the couple had decided to scream at each other in the shopping centre in the town centre.
“You’re such a fucking idiot, you’ve lost our fucking bank card” the woman was screaming, pacing up and down.
“I’ve not lost nothing, I gave it to you”
“You gave me fuck all! You gave me fucking nothing!”
“I did, I gave it to you!”
“Then where the fuck is it?” the woman yelled, thrusting a wallet at him. “Where the fuck is our fucking bank card you fucking arsehole?”
“I don’t fucking know, don’t fucking scream at me, I’ve done fucking nothing”
“You have done something, you fucking idiot, you’ve lost the fucking bank card! Why did I marry such a fucking loser?”
“I’ve not done nothing!”
“Oh for fuck’s sake, just fuck off” she screamed finally, before storming off.
Why on earth do couples let themselves get like that?
People often say to me that a messy bedroom is the sign of a messy mind. My bedroom is currently halfway through being tidies, and it has been an absoloute tip for the past three weeks or so.
Do I have a messy mind? What does that even mean? If it means that I’m too busy to sort all my clothes out into piles before going to bed then yes, I do have a messy mind. But does being naturally messy make me a bad person? I can’t see how…
If a messy mind means being disorganised then yes, I have a very messy mind. I’m incredibly disorganised, and there is a list of “Grown Up Stuff I Really Need To Do” in my notebook upstairs that hasn’t had a single thing crossed off in it yet. This is a really negative trait, I admit, but it’s something that I’m working on. Well. Something that I really need to get round to working on.
I have a commitment problem.
I know, I know. It’s a big shock. People who know me know of my tales and desires for everlasting love and happiness, of staying with the same for years, of looking back in old age at the things done together at the very beginning and sighing fondly, but alas, it’s true. I have a commitment problem. And it’s biting me in the ass right now.
Not with relationships, though. Just with jobs.
When I start jobs I absoloutely adore them. When I started at the Garden Centre I thought it was wonderful that one of my cloesest friends worked with me, that there was that sweet boy that fancied me, that my job was easy and undemanding. Within months I hated the girl, the boy was making life hell, and I wanted to brain every person who stepped through the doors. A similar thing happened in the pub – I stopped finding the old guys endearing and instead found them racist, chauvanistic twats, and had to resist the urge to spit in their drinks.
A similar thing is happening where I work. It’s mainly due to the customers – the idiotic, lying, cheating, smelly, ugly bastards who I have to serve on a daily basis whilst they abuse me, waft their repugnant odours at me, and expect to get the world for nothing. I’m getting to the point where I’m dreading going into work every day, and it’s not nice 
Life has an annoying tendancy of getting in the way of all the other stuff you want to do.
Hello, by the way
I’m very sorry for having been so quiet for so long. It’s been almost a month since I wrote here, probably the longest I have ever been without updating my Blog since I started the first one back in 2007. I missed my Blog’s birthday – this little corner of the Internet is now over a year old. Happy Birthday, Blog.
Someone once said that only unhappy people keep a diary. Is that true? I don’t think so, but it does seem the most logical explanation for my silence this past month. I am ridiculously happy. Life isn’t perfect, it’s riddled with complications and sadness and general badness, but I’m still stupidly happy. It doesn’t seem so much of a struggle getting out of bed anymore. I don’t have to pretend to be happy.
I am noticing the suffering of my writing though. My photography is kind of waxing and waning, my music is getting much better, but my writing is suffering. Partially because I am so busy to write about what I’m doing on the Blog, but partially because I have writer’s block for fiction. I want to write something desperately, but I have no idea what to write about.
But I am going to try and write on this more. I miss it. I miss talking about all the random things that pop into my head, I miss typing out long posts and feeling my head lighten as I do so. I’m making a kind of mid-year resolution to start writing again. It’s nice to be back.
Note to future interrogators.
If you want to torture information out of me, just sit me in a room whilst my mother “plays” Bohemian Rhapsody on her claranet. I say “plays”….more like causes her instrument so much pain that it wails in the desperate hope that if it makes a sound then she will stop performing such hideous crimes against music against it.
I’ll sing like a canary for you. Honest.
So. It was the “Shoot London” event on Saturday, and I was travelling from my tiny town near Coventry/Birmingham to meet up with lots of lovely Flickr peoples. I’d checked out train times and organised how I would get there using the underground. It would all go swimmingly.
No, actually. It all messed up rather wonderfully.
I got to London. I got the tube from Euston to Green Park. But the second tube I needed, from Green Park to Southwark, was not on. Because the whole damn line was closed.
I asked a guard, who directed me to Pimlico. Said there would be someone I could ask when I got there. There was no-one, but I knew that the Tate Modern, where I needed to be, was along the Thames somewhere, so I started walking.
Seemingly, I started walking the wrong way. I ended up by Battersea power station, trying not to cry whilst talking to Garry and my mum on the phone. My feet were aching, the skin on the balls of my feet was worn off, I was hot, dishevelled, I started sweating so my water rash came up, and I wanted more than anything to come home.
Eventually, after a bus and a few frenzied phone calls and a LOT of nice texts from the wonderful Patchworkbunny, I got to the Tate. We did the photos, and went back to sit and wait for the slideshow.
During the slideshow, I got a text from Garry. He said he’d figured out how I could get home, and asked me to call him as soon as I left. So as soon as I left, I called him.
“Hey” he said. “How did it go?”
“It went really well, so good to hear your voice, the slideshow was really funny, there were some brilliant pictures, saw our photos on the big screen, it was fantastic…”
“Hello, Miss Jones”
I felt a hand on my shoulder, turned round and there he was.
Between the next hour of confused shock, I managed to get the story straight. When I’d been upset, he’d rushed to the train station and gotten a train down to London to grab me and make sure that I got to the Tate okay. When I told him that I’d gotten there okay, he’d already gotten on the train, so decided to come surprised me. He waited in London for four hours, hanging round the Tate, to make sure that I got back okay.
We got a taxi back to Euston, ate dinner (and the Maltesers he’d bought), and caught the train back to our hometown. His dad picked us up from the station. When we got back to his there was ice-cream and a hug and a movie and a warm bed and sleep and general comfort from the shitty morning I’d had.
I he’s amazing. Can you see why?
The only problem in my relationship with Garry, and it’s not actually in my relationship with him, it’s nothing to do with him really, is that I have to drive past The Very Nasty Ex’s House everytime I go to his.
There is no way around this. They live on the same estate, and there is no way I can go that doesn’t involve me driving past TVNE’s house to get to Garry.
Every time I go past it, I have to look. Garry has mentioned this, but thank God he understands. It’s changed a bit since I was last there – I think it’s been extended, and the cars are different. I don’t think TVNE is there yet, he’s at Uni, but I know damn well that he will be one day soon, and then I’ll have to see him.
I really don’t know how I’ll react when I do.
Possibly a better time for this would have been tonight, because I’m getting home early, but never mind…
Basically, hello. I’m sorry for being so quiet recently. I miss writing here. I don’t, however, miss having the time to write here. Back in the days of The Other Blog and even the start of this Blog, I was able to plan posts in my head, and sit around and do nothing all evening but go on here and read and write and…it’s just not working out that way.
I’m so, so busy. This week especially. Working 5 days, and I’ve been out straight from work every night this week so far too.
I just want to let you know that I am really, really happy right now And I’ll be back soon.
It’s late, past midnight, but we’re still out. Sitting in my car, my head on his shoulder, his arms round me, absent mindedly stroking my back and shoulders.
I look up at him and smile. He looks back, his eyes searching my face. It’s not until you get close up that you realise how dark his eyes actually are, more black than brown, and infinitely deep.
“What?” I ask, tilting my head to one side.
“Nothing” he says back, so quietly he almost whispers.
“No, what?” I ask again, my smile widening as I bask in the look in his eyes.
“There’s just…something about you, Miss Jones” he replies. I blush and smile back at him, happy that this worked out like this, that the crush I had for over a year actually had a crush on me right back, and finally able to believe that this is actually happening…he opens his mouth again, and says three little words….
“You big geek”
My laugh is muffled against his mouth.
 | Amy on Argument |
 | Brennig Jones on Argument |
 | Sally on Argument |
 | Krazy Kitty on Argument |
| Amy on Hard |
|
