Diary of a smalltown boy, getting out

Wednesday, November 3

Bye then

Cornwall was a never to be. Kate actually meant to say, "I've come to Cornwall." Not "You should come to Cornwall." A thoughtless mistake on her part, and an over eager overreaction on mine.

Looking back at the substance of this blog, I don't think the wallowing in grief that constitutes the majority of its content is healthy for me. If I'm blogging about missing her, it isn't going to help me move on. Sadly, even being the main subject of a little web diary is too large a part for Kate to play in my life. I don't know if we will or won't be friends in the future. But I'm sure that forgetting about her will be easier without the blog.

So its over. The last post. Not as I planned it, but not much ever is...

Saturday, October 30

Cornwall baby!!!!

K has sent me a txt saying:

come to cornwall 4 the weekend

Cool! How unexpected and ace! Bit of a surprise tho... gotta pack, early train down...


Friday, October 29

Weekends are the hardest time

Because during the week work fills my time, and at the weekend my urge to call K builds out of having not much else to do. I was going to go round to LL's to watch Transformers tonight, but he's out with his mum and dad so I'm at home, and my phone fingers are itchy.

But I'm not gonna call her.

Lots of fireworks tonight. I got a nice bottle of wine to share with LL, but now its sitting in my newly tidied room waiting for the right occasion to be opened. Kinda like my heart, waiting around for the right moment to blossom.

Superstitious Bootylicious? Try this.

Thursday, October 28

Tits, fur and feathers

I almost flirted with someone today. Its not that I've been a hermit since I broke up with K, more that I've not had the chance. It was in the smokeroom.

We're slagging a boss.

CHIP: "Are you scared of him Shona?"
SHONA: "Scared? Puh!"
SKINNY FESTER: "You'll just breeze in there, tits fur and feathers..."


SHONA: "What's wrong with my tits?"
CHIP: "I can't see anything wrong with them."

And that was it. Like I said, almost flirting.

Txt from Teencrush. She's on a date with another journalist tonight, but her txt said she misses me. Odd how she's still hotwired into my heart, after all this time. After the (imagined?) kiss on my neck at her party, and the txt, there might be a long awaited kiss or similar at some point in the future. Probably not, that's how things are with Teencrush and I.

Its been a week since I had a conversation with K. Last Thursday was an odd chat too. There was too much "We shouldn't be doing this," from her, and it wasn't exactly satisfying. Indeed, neither was the chat we'd had prior to that, after Teencrush's party. Again, mostly the talk was about how we shouldn't talk. I don't think I like that kind of chat. This is a good landmark though, one week without talking. Well, there was the radio thing on Sunday, but I don't really count it as it lasted less than a minute. The longest time we've ever not spoken for was right after we broke up and she went to Portugal. That was two weeks. So I'm sort of halfway there.

I was proud not to email her last night. I read through the last few mails she'd sent before we broke up. She was planning it then, and reading it made me sad. I felt like dropping her a little line, but I didn't. I'm stronger than I thought, I guess.

Wednesday, October 27

Another two hour news burst, another good day.

I got asked up for a one on one smoke break by Debs, who - though intimidating and agressive - is the hottest woman in the office. She lives with her long term boyf, there's no action there. But its good for my confidence to be asked... maybe talking to girls isn't that hard?

Again, no inkling of calling K. Three days with no txts, mails or calls is a recent record. Or rather, the start of a recent record. Until the breach the record will stand. If there is a breach.

What's warmer than being outside tonight? Ice-cold.

Tuesday, October 26

RIP John Peel

John Peel died today. What a pity.

I've just heard John's voice-over on a random documentary on cable tv, and it reminded me of his amazing volume of work outside of radio. I'll miss his newspaper columns too. Otherwise dull TV shows or unimaginative commercials were always brightened by his unmistakable voice. But the music WAS John Peel. A rare man who'd seen it all musically, from Bill Halley to Dizzee Rascal and everything between, yet never used his awesome depth of knowledge to be condescending or superior towards the young. If there's a heaven, he's probably up there, fudging the changeover between two records and charming his way out of it. Thanks for the music John. Enjoy the rest.

I ate out with my mum, Turkish. Great meal. And otherwise, another good day...

...but tonight let's remember John.

Monday, October 25

God damn right...

I've had a good day today. Generally its been good, and in terms of K its been good too.

Work offered some challenges today. I'm covering for Life Service, and its not too tough for me to handle, but its about a million times more demanding than the normal day to day drag at Barcodia. By the way, Barcodia is actually not the name of the company I work for, but I'll announce that after I quit. Job satisfaction is related to mental effort exerted, I'm sure. Today I had to think more than normal, and I'm actually happier than normal.

From the smokeroom:

CHIP: "Hey Braces, you coming for a smoke?"
BRACES: "No, thank you."
ELANORE: "We've both given up. You too?"
B: "Oh fuck it, allright then."

C: "I don't drink coke or eat chocolate anymore."
EL: "Everbody's quitting. It just depends what they're giving up."
B: "I don't know why. Everybody should have a vice."
C: "Do you think modesty could be considered a vice?"
EL: "You're not modest."
B: "I don't think so, Chip."
C: "What have I got to be modest about?"
EL: "Aye, exactly."
C: "Sometimes I think I'm too ambitious. Like I have unachievable aims. Is dreaming too much a vice?"
EL: "God, you sound like [My Boss]. He's a wanker too."
C: "Or like the start of some boring novel."
B: "Yes Chip. A paperback."

Skinny Fester, a bald gay guy I work with, was eager to hear about the job application I'd made on Friday. Its for a news broadcaster, at a regional desk. Somebody else's interest in the minutae of your life is villifying, as if it is worthy of discussion. I like Fester. I almost suggested that he should attend his Halloween bash as Uncle Fester, but then decided he doesn't have the gut for it. Then again, if the Doc from Back to the Future can pull off the role then maybe it isn't outside Skinny's range. I told him of my news heavy plans in advance preperation for the interview that I might not get. And he asked to be kept informed. What a nice guy.

TV has filled my head tonight. I watched local news on one channel, and then switched to another for a second dose of the same. Then I moved to Channel 4 for their fantastic national and international bulletin afterwards. So far that's two hours of news, not counting website watching. Then a documentary with Jon Snow about the contributions made to politicians in America came on, and I watched that too. Fascinating stuff, Kerry and Bush as bad each other, so the programme suggested. Then a history show about the build up to 1066, the end of the Anglo-Saxon era. Also very interesting.

I know that to describe a show as interesting or fascinating without saying why is frustrating. But the key thing is that I've really enjoyed the TV, and what the shows were isn't really that important.

And its been a good day in terms of K too. I think that last night's very brief conversation about the radio really helped. Recently its been very much a case of K talking reluctantly, with the over-arching sense that she thinks its bad to talk too much. Last night she called after the no show, and it was me who brought the chat to a friendly, but swift, end. I said "I'll speak to you during the week, or the week after." and then we said our goodbyes. The fact that I said to stop talking is sort of satisfying, as its easier to uphold a promise if it feels like its your own idea.

Tonight the idea of getting in touch with her hasn't crossed my mind. Even now, as I describe it, it doesn't seem like an option. Now that's a good sign, isn't it?

Braces is gonna hook me up with some more pot soon too. Got some free Cherry flavoured cigar rolling papers from work today, which must be made for joints. They must be!

The start of a good week! I can tell.

Sunday, October 24


I've interacted with the radio tonight.

I txtd Dave Pearce, who got someone to call me back to ask more about my story. They said he'd phone me at the end of the show, but then he just read my tale out, instead of getting me on the air. Oh well....

Then I sat in the chatroom for the Sunday Surgery and contributed real well to loads of people's worries about this and that. Then, with five minutes to go, someone mentioned something that was a little smiliar to me and K.

Hannah Abbott wasn't 100% about her man. Like K. And I said that I understood K's position when she said it had to end. One happy person isn't enough in a relationship. And I was that one happy person. And I said how we're struggling to be friends.

I txtd K to let her know I would be on the radio. She called back after the no show and said "No you weren't!" I explained, then said I'd speak to her next week or whenever. I tried to be as casual as I could about it. Hopefully I'll be able to keep up the not phoning thing. And then I said goodbye.

Somedays its not as hard. On others its impossible. Some days are better than others.

Parades, washing lines

What's worse? Rain on your parade or rain on your washing line? I came downstairs with my laundry this morning. My father said he would do it for me. Not out of a wish to hide my dirty undies, but rather to make a point about being 24 and capable of self-sufficience, I insisted on doing it myself.

He calls from the lounge as I fill the washer.

"Make sure nothing's going to run."
"Yeah - I know my own clothes, since I've washed them myself for a long time."
"You don't want your work shirts to go grey."
"No, you're right, I don't."

He comes in, and watches over me like a team supervisor in a nazi call centre. He's waiting for a mistake, anything he pounce on to prove that it should have been him washing the pants. He throws in his expert advice:

"Turn it to five."
"Five? Rinse? You mean three, a 40 wash."
"Wait a second.... yeah, three."

He goes. I start it off. He comes back in.

"Have you put in any washing powder?"
"Yes dad."

I'm not ungrateful for his desire to help out. I think he's as aware as I am of the enormous void between us, about the complete lack of intersection between us in any way except genes. Any interaction could close that gap. But not if it makes me want to widen it. I don't feel like I'm considered with the respect an adult deserves. I'd been doing my own washing for six years before my finances forced me to move home. I have a proven history of compentency with laundry, dammit. I can't wait to move out.

Mum wants to meet for an Indian meal some night next week. Tuesday. I was very upset when we last spoke. The K situation and the difficulty of trying to find work in TV had gotten to me, and I ended up trying to explain how worn down and worn out I was. When she called last night, she offered me a night out of the house and away from dad. I'm very grateful.

After dad left for the pub, I went out and ran. The running is really becoming enjoyable. Part of me wants to become lithe and muscular before I next see K, to show her what she's missing. But the real driver is that I want to feel healthy and attractive to build up my confidence. Its vanished lately. To be rejected by her really hurt my self-concept. She says its about her, rather than about me, but isn't that the oldest line in the book? Her choice to break up is a rejection, whatever mantra of independence she describes as the real reason. And I'm currently not sure that anybody else would want me.

I really should go out and get myself a sorbet fuck. Something to cleanse the pallette once and for all before I move onto the next course of lovers. K and I might not actually keep up the fuckbuddying that we'd sort of agreed to. Well, if things we'd said about having a great future ahead of us can be dismissed by the breaking up, I guess all bets are off. I know, I know, she had her reasons, she did the right thing. But I'm allowed to be bitter. That's my privelege.

When dad came back from the pub, it started raining and drenched my clean laundry.

Why does it always rain on me?

I can't get no sleep...

These sleepless nights have got to end soon.

I arranged for the biggest newsagent in Smalltown to order in the TV weekly trade publication. I walked down to collect it with my dad. Jesus, that guy is difficult to strike up a conversation with. Everything I mentioned was met with a conversational dead end. Why do I bother?

I ended up calling K last night about Sam. She didn't answer, but I got a friendly txt this morning. She's out in the old town tonight with the girls. Fairy flies for Thailand soon, and the girls are all getting together. I expect that more single frolicking from K is on their schedule.

Today I tidied up a lot of my old shit, sorting through papers and old boxes of junk. I found a letter K had sent me. It was for our four-month anniversary, back in June 2003. She was writing from the garden at her house. It was the first 18th of a month that we hadn't spent together. Her letter says not to worry, as we'd have years of anniversaries to celebrate. It made me cry a lot.

She went round for dinner with the car salesman and his girlfriend on Wednesday night. She might have already had that threesome. She wouldn't tell me if she had, so what can I do but make stupid guesses?

My tears embarass me.

Friday, October 22

Drunk but...

...but posting anyway. Whether its detrimental to the quality of the blog as a whole or not, here goes...

Met Sphere, Macho and Sphere's bro tonight for a few beers. Its been four years since Sam died, almost to the day. He died in a car crash, aged 18. I was older, at uni. But it shaped my whole approach on life and nothing else since - not even K - has ever had such an impact on me.

Sphere was the prettiest girl in her year, at the time when I was king of the school and Sam was my top lieutennant. He was a fucking awesome guy. I was a prefect, and I was supposed to grass about bad boys and girls at school. but Sam was the guy I always let off. Because I absolutely adored him. He was a great great friend. And he died.

Sam, Sphere and I had gone on a school trip together, a walking holiday. We'd had so much downtime together it was as if we were brothers and sisters. She was only 16. I was 20. But the depth of our connection was indescribable. And then Sam died.

I heard at uni. Cubix called me, and I wept and wept and wept. I went home for the funeral, and I cried all the way there and all through it and all the way home. He was such a friendly, funny, generous guy... his death was wrong, unfair, stupid. He shouldn't have vanished.

Easily for me, I dissappeared into uni life, new folks...

....i have to stop. I'm crying now. Why him? Why?

Its too hard! Who the hell is K? What does she matter? K, you broke my heart. But the pain of losing Sam was worse. Bigger. And I survived.

Sphere, Macho, Nigel and Cubix and I should visit the grave soon. We'll catch up. It will work.

I'm starting to feel negative about K. Like she should fuck off because she broke my heart and I should erase her from my future. but she's my past. Ouch.


3 am Eternal

Oh the KLF

sleep deprivation has removed my ability to puncutate precisely

up all night applying for a job

writing a resume for Teencrush's MTV-ish sister

chatting with Bob Hope online

talking to K

ceasefire huh? yes and no

explanation tomo

Wednesday, October 20

Where do I get Prozac from?

I think they're gonna offer me a full time job at Barcodia. Mr Life Service, who has been there for 20+ years and works in my department, is going on holiday next week. So Tuesday they pulled me in and trained me up to cover his daily routine. And then I get asked to go to a meeting. Now, as an undervalued and overworked temp, attending a meeting is a rare privellege. Sure, I sit in the corner of the weekly team meetings, keeping quiet unless some ludicrous excuse for poor sales needs conjuring up. Then I throw over something random, and some people sometimes laugh. Not always. But to go to a bona fide meeting, in a little room and all... well, I was over the moon.

Life Service asks me to wait behind afterwards, and then tells me there's a role that's being created, specifically working directly with barcodes, within my team, and something that is easily within my capacity. He says its a short contract, nine months. That its better paid than my temping slavery allowance. That there hasn't been much internal interest. That it involves a good amount of the stuff that I was trained on earlier in the day.

And then he said I should think about it, and get back to him after his holiday.

Today I've just come back from London, having attended a Media Careers Fair in the revitalised East End. I don't feel like I learnt very much about getting into telly or film. The seminar / presentation was really general, and it didn't offer anything other than common sense advice. By the time the seminar wrapped up, the hall was heaving with kids and wannados, and it was a real scrum around all of the stands. Especially the big broadcasters. I elbowed my way to the front of the BBC stand, only to find out that there wasn't actually anybody from Programme Making there today, and was I interested in media sales?

Last night I couldn't sleep. Drakey stayed over with his girlfriend, and I stayed at his house in the East End. I haven't slept alone in a double bed since last year. K has one at her parents' home. It felt huge, empty. I lay on my back and felt tears trickle into my ears, lonesome and missing her loads. It ached.

She mailed me after Sunday night's official eternal ceasefire was announced, and said some nice things. I want to make sure she has no reason to feel bad about deciding she doesn't want to hear a pip from me until... well, until she says so, basically. And I put on my bravest email face and replied. I meant what I said in the mail, but I didn't mention how bad saying it all made me feel. I hardly slept Sunday either.

After the unproductive careers fair, and the prospect of working at Barcodia and staying in Smalltown for longer, and the agonizing isolation that the city threw at me, and thinking about missing K, I cried on the train home. My eyes are dribbling now. I sometimes feel like I'll never get any happier.

Dad's birthday tomorrow. I picked up Vonnegut's ace Bagumbo Snuff Box for him from Borders on Oxford St. Its short stories, which he likes because he doesn't stay sober enough for long enough to get into a novel. I read it at K's Holberry Palace because her housemate had it, I remembered as I picked it up. They had this on the wall there too. Happy days. I couldn't find any other short story books except that one.

I came home to him, barking dogs and a beery smell. "Don't bother getting me anything for my birthday, just give me 20 quid so I can go out to the pub."


Tuesday, October 19

Oh my lord

I think I've just been offered a full time forever job at Barcodia.

Monday, October 18

Self improvement is masturbation

I've been doing tummy crunches at my desk to quell the sense of never acheiving anything from work. Hold for ten, then relax.

I realised walking home that it was the first day in an age I'd not been subjected to heavy rain. In fact, there was a gorgeous peach pink sunset. I got in and changed, then ran. I found the shortcut into the fields behind the house, and ran through the puddles and long grass towards the glowing clouds. The day vanished from my mind, and I felt clear in the sheer physicality of my energy and movement.

Only two cigarettes today. One with Eleanore at work. She felt guilty about making me stuff envelopes all day, so offered me one outside. The second at home, after dinner, rolled from the butts of the leftovers. Will I be able to never buy another packet? Not if Shona and Debs have their way.

As one of the few office slaves who actually leaves Barcodia for lunch, Shona and Debs have both given me cigarette fetching duties. So I did buy a pack today, but it wasn't for me. I've not even found myself craving, which surprised me.

I called Goatee from work, and took down his email. I've not seen him since forever. We used to hang out after the pub and get high once a week, for about six months. That was a while ago, but my affection for him is yet to fade. He's still in the old town. But he knows Manchester, so I want to tap him for useful info.

Last night K said it might be a month before we speak again. I've decided not to make the call that ends the ceasefire unless it stretches through to December. The things I said about deleting emails or texts seem silly today. But the time without K is the whole future. I want to better myself. I want to get a grip on myself and...

...like the man said, masturbation.

Sunday, October 17

No contact

Just got off the phone with K. She says she doesn't want any contact at all for a month or so. No mails, no texts, nothing.

I'm so angry that I can hardly think. Part of me wants to never ever ever contact her again.

If she calls, I shouldn't answer. If she txts I shouldn't reply. If she emails I should delete the mail. Maybe I should delete txts and emails instead of reading them.

It seems petty. It might be how things end up.

The freaking weekend

London has absolutley drained me, and I plan to luxuriate in a foamy bath for aeons after posting. Too little sleep and too much travelling on foot has sucked away my energy. But I've had a good weekend.

The swanky London bar where we had Teencrush's party was decked out like a log cabin. Drakey and I were asked to go up as early as possible, as the stylishly attired barkeeps were trying to un-reserve the area Teencrush had reserved. I did, he didn't. I was overjoyed to see her, and that the area was pretty much empty. I can have her all to myself, I thought. She has an amazing way of flirting at a precisely perfect level. Its enough to make me feel interested in her, without ever making me feel like she might be interested in me. We both know the ground, neither of us expect anything more.

Later in the evening, once we'd all drunk some more, she and I found ourselves alone with each other at the bar. "Enjoying yourself?" I explained that I was quite nervous about talking to the girls there. Mock outrage on her face. Then a sad smile crept across it, as if she knew what I was going to say. I explained that I'm learning to be single again. That I keep comparing girls I meet to K. That I still find myself thinking I'll get back together with her, even though I know I won't. The sadness in her smile spread from her face to mine. She looked at me, eyes damp. "I still think I'll get back together with Ben. I won't, I know, but I can't get used to it. I feel Ben-shaped." Tatooed, I said. Imprinted. We hugged for a long time, enjoying the closenss of the embrace. The simple pleasure of the chance to give a hug as much as to recieve one flowed right to my toe-tips.

Part of me wanted to kiss a girl this weekend. Not because it would hurt K back, but because it'd help me to consider us as being over. Roz is Teencrush's friend from their journalism course. Her curly hair bounced as she nodded and laughed. She's also recently single, and we exchanged tales of our joint failiure to adjust to it properly. She broke up with her man about the same time as I broke up with K. I thought Roz might have been the one. It wasn't to be.

Teencrush was very drunk, and left early. She took Roz with her, sadly. As Teencrush hugged me at the end of the night, I thought I felt her kiss my neck softly. Perhaps I imagined it, but I enjoyed it too much to investigate whether it was or wasn't real.

Saturday, October 16


I've heard from three old flames in the space of a couple of days.

Teencrush, who I will probably always love. It feels like its printed on my skin, and has been since I was fourteen. I am going to London for her birthday tonight.

Sonic, who I went out with until 2001, for about a year. She wanted to be friends, but couldn't cope with the new girlfriend, K. I texted, as she lives in London. She replied, then a day later said she's heard about the break up with said new girlfriend. K.

And K. Always K. I think K and Teencrush's patterns are overlapping in my mind. They feel more like tatoos than prints on me.

If you stick metal into a flame, it gets hot, and it gets altered. Purer. Stronger.

Not that I plan to stick anything into my old flames. But then again..


Sent a four word txt to Sonic. "Hey Sonic. Busy Sunday?"

She called. I didn't mention breaking up with K.

She txtd back. Somehow she's found out about the breakup.

Its partly in thinking about K, but also because I'm in period of stasis. Its only natural for me to look back at my life, at the good and the bad. I've made a deliberate decision to make contact with old people I knew. L, Teencrush, Drakey, Lard, Lanky. It has been set out as a goal for the rest of my life. Stay in touch with people.

I wouldn't have txtd Sonic but for breaking up with K.

In periods like this, I must think of the future.

Anything but think of right now.

Wednesday, October 13

I love online radio

And SMS messenging.

Txt from Teencrush,

Check out radio2 if yr free... [T]x

A Britpop documentary with Steve Lamacq and Jo Whiley. Lovely. I'm listening to Britpop now. Good old online radio. Earlier I wrote a CV for the Bristol Job. Oh my god...

Sorry, just heard something.

I reply as I listen.

Oasis? A gig? No! Britpop. Oh [Teencrush] I love it - "I owe you a coke." That was a phrase in the MFL days. Remember.

She kicks back with... Sadly don't remember, no... ahh, Jo and Pulp. Brilliant. [T]x

MFL was My Fair Lady, a play Teencrush and I had first-year roles in, just as I started to fancy her. What struck me into blasphemy before was that this documentary had just said that Kurt Cobain's death was a huge turning point. That happened while we were in America touring with the play. Does anybody remember the world before terrorism? It was a big thing for us, the passing of Kurt. We were the age Avril Lavigne's fans are. And as Britpop kicked off, I fell in love with Teencrush for about four years.

Happy days. I reply.

We overheard a Quince Orchard Kid say it and tried to be cool copying. Lasted two weeks. We were thirteen-ish. I bet you remember Elastica... x

I meant to say:

This was the time I fell in love with you.

Its related to Junior Senior and looking up the charts when I started going out with K. Music kicks off memories. Darn you Tequilla Red, you've got me looking through my former crushes and girlfriends through the eyes of my CD collection.

Teencrush will always be special in my heart. I loved her first, and I loved her hard. On two tortured occasions I was too timid to kiss her. But - at some point - I fancied her, and she liked me. These days my heart still sort of flutters when I meet up with her. But there's more of a brothering desire in me now. I never had sex with her, and probably wouldn't know what to do if the chance came up. But never having sex with Teencrush seems normal. I'm so used to the idea that I wouldn't even think of it when I saw her these days. And that's when the fluttery heart part is. She's had boyfriends, we communicate infrequently. But its always great to talk, and always good to see her. She's gonna be a [small] part of my life for a long time. She's a friend I plan on keeping.

Maybe it'll be like that with K one day. I hope so.

I shouldn't text her.

The Britpop show isn't online yet. Visit and listen online tomorrow.


I'm not gonna txt.

I love instant messenger

Just chatted with NS for ages on AIM. He's in a slightly similar position to me, in that his bank account has forced him to move home for a bit. He's been working for a football company, though what that means exactly, I don't know.

He sent me an awful remix of Free, by Flasher's Band. Grey, the leader of the band, is a talented performer, and a reasonable songsmith. But he's way out of touch with the youth. Thirty-five is a long way from twenty-five. And it really shows on the remix. 'Funky House' is what he'd describe it as. To me it sounds like Ian Van Dahl or DJ Sammy. Total chav-pop. Hideous. I just feel sorry for Flasher.

Not so rough today. There's a new girl at work who looks like Hypergirl. Double take done with, the poor angel was introduced to everybody in the office today. What a ball ache! Remembering all those names. I overheard at least three people say, "You won't remember my name, but..." - she must have got it all afternoon. What a stupid ritual. She's on the list for tomorow nights curry, so she'll fit in more easily once she's seen a few people drunk. Poor girl has chosen Barcodia... hope she gets what she wants out of it.

I did okay today. Not too sad. I wiped my eyes once, having re-read the K mail about five times. The way she described the potential affair still upset me. She says the possible affair has "the added pretence of being 'allowed' because if anything happens because we might try to get his girlfriend to agree to a threesome." The most painful word she wrote was "...we..." The first time your ex describes herself and another guy as "we" - its a landmark in the vista of my heartbreak. But then again, she'll find somebody else eventually and I should get used to the idea.

Before I found out Braces had a boyfriend, I was flirting with her. But I didn't ever really fancy her. Its all in the archives, you can see for yourself. I never told K about it, and I'm wondering if that makes me as bad as her? Not that she's a criminal for kissing somebody else. Anyway, I think I did right not mentioning Braces in the long run. Partly because nothing happened. Partly because I don't think anything would have ever happened. Partly because I didn't really fancy her. But mostly because I wouldn't tell K that something might happen that would hurt her. I'd wait until it had happened, then I'd tell her. But there's nothing to tell. Jury's still out on this one.

Tedious temping job of the day: I was handed a big pile of documents in plastic wallets. "Take those out of the wallets then put them over there." Hello! I've got two degrees! I'm one short of a disco combo! Is this all you can offer me? Mental engagement? Zero. Even checking sixty pages of barcodes was more involved. They pay me, so its up to them to get their money's worth. I don't think they are.

Now applying for a TV admin job. Its actually not in Manchester, but in Bristol, near K. The job is maternity leave cover, so I could administrate in the short term, and have some TV work on my CV. Maternity leave is 26 or 40 weeks, so I wouldn't be tied to the job forever. I know Manchester has been the big noise round these parts lately. But its a good opportunity.

I really need to start converting these opportunities into results.

(did I just say that? too long in an office!)