Where the hell am I?!?!?!

OK, so I'm pretty much at ease with me. I know who I am (I think), I know what I want (although I'm still not sure how realistic it is), I know what's going on in a round about way - but ... and here's the thing that I now find scary, I have absolutely no idea where I'm going. It's like I've been let loose in rural Europe on a push bike, without a map...

So I know what I want... In an ideal world, I want to be a writer, an author, a best selling author - I want to make people laugh, cry, think, I want to inspire people, just by the power of my writing. And I know that I'm not a terribly bad writer - have you read 50 Shades of Grey? (saucer of milk for the catty bitch please)... But I also know that I've written a book that's been rejected by a large handful of agents. I knew I had to take it on the chin, as I mentioned in a previous blog, but now I think that what I'm afraid of is failure. Maybe that's what I've been afraid of all along. And I am very conscious of not having the time to do things (I blog hurriedly sometimes in the fifteen minute window when my children are watching Spongebob before school - strike whilst the iron is hot and all that).

When you read one of those articles that asks something along the lines of 'If you could have any career without the chance of failure, what would it be?' OK, OK, so it's not from an article, it's from a self help book (bite me), anyway my answer would be - Author. Failing that, I'd be a physics teacher - if only I'd had Professor Brian Cox to teach me physics, and ironically I don't find him physically attractive, just mentally stimulating - but that's another story ... or blog. I still want a degree in particle physics, but one thing at a time eh?

I seem to be on a conveyor belt, in the manner of some weird sci-fi film, where I keep appearing on said belt in different situations, with my finger to my lip, looking around curiously and saying, "Nope, next please," then I come out in a different place with a different situation and the same happens again. In short, I always seem to be searching for more. And it's not like I have the financial backing to go and 'find myself' in India, or Thailand or anywhere else amazing and spiritual and expensive to get to, not that I even think that would work, I expect I'd be enlightened for a new months and then back to square one. I seem to be constantly on the look out for the right place to be, the right thing to do, and I feel like I never get there or do it. And I have kids, financially and time draining in their own sweet way. BTW, I love my babies, they are enlightening and wondrous and funny and awe inspiring, but one day, they will grow up and have their own lives...

The thing that keeps me from feeling content and settled is the fact that I feel that I am still hurtling along on a wind of uncertainty with no real idea where I am headed. I mean, let's say I stay in this position (not sitting on the couch blogging - but generally speaking) for the next 16 years, at which time my children will be 20 and 21 and I will be 47 (OH MY GOD!), what will I do when they are flying the nest? If they are moving in with partners, going travelling, or going to Uni etc etc... What will I do then? I'm not content with the thought that I will trundle along in the same sort of job, simply sitting around whimpering about having nothing to do my new found freedom - letting it pass me by in a ridiculously Sally Webster way... I'd like to think that I'll have plans, I'll have a life. Let's - again - look at an ideal situation; I'll be writing and earning enough money to be comfortable, I'll be able to travel to new places, inspirational place to inspire more writing, I'll update my children on how their mother is kicking ass in life, as opposed to sitting around, festering and waiting for them to bring me bags of washing home to prove to me that they still need me. I will inspire them and they will look at me and think, 'Wow, that's my mum!' Even if I'm not travelling the world or relaxing in a bath of fifty pound notes, I hope that I will still be awesome enough for them to think that, as I do of my own mum.

I don't want there to be a time when I feel like I'm done - not until I know it's time for me to go (getting too deep here? Apologies...) but I want to live life to the full, embrace my feelings, follow my dreams; LIVE!

I remember wanting my mum to buy me a T-shirt when I was younger, it Red Dwarf memorabilia (hello 90s children!) and had a picture of Craig Charles on the front with some sort of alien blasting gun in his hands. She wouldn't buy me it, probably because the phrase was:

Let's get out there and twat it!

But I think these could be wise words...

Dating.

I've been watching my Sex & The City boxset (just gotten to the end of Season 2 - again) and I can't help but think that maybe, when it comes to men, I peaked too soon (and that maybe I was born on the wrong continent). I never really dated as such, I had a few ill advised flings but apart from that, I had boyfriends pretty much solidly.

The man that I am currently cohabiting with is, for want of a better word, my baby Daddy (which seems mean in a way because he can be great in certain situations, but a complete tit in others...) and he and I have had a tempestuous relationship in which we act for the most part, like our pasts have a hold over us. He is Serious Boyfriend #3 - and I am 31... I have had a couple of boyfriends who lasted a matter of months, henceforth know as CBFs (Casual Boyfriends) and a few what can only be described as Oops Moments with men that I am or was friends with. But I have never been Out There Dating, and I know, I know that Yorkshire is hardly New York but had I lived nearer inner city Leeds or similar, maybe my dating/relationship history may have been different. I expect the number of SBs would be similar to what is actually is, the CBFs and OMs may have been more plentiful, but is that something that I'd want? I've never been good with flings, it's not really my kind of scene - I'm kind of defensive with men as it is. But I do wonder where I would have been had my dating life been different.

That's not to say that I would have wanted it to be, because had it not gone the way it did, I wouldn't have my two (mostly) wonderful children. But I can't help but gaze wistfully into the middle distance on occasion and imagine myself as a Carrie/Samantha/Charlotte/Miranda morph, having a fabulous, cosy yet chic apartment all to myself, dating men who take me out for cocktails and having my own Mr Big to ponder over and having my circle of girlfriends tighter than it is nowadays, where we seem to drift slightly based on whereabouts our lives are currently at.

I am well aware that I am a very lucky person, I may not have large amounts of wealth (yet) or a perfect relationship (do they even exist?) or an amazing job (yet), but I have good health, I have healthy children, a job, a nice house, some great friends, a dog in a million and I have talent - and I have the capacity to expand myself, when my children are grown, I'll still be at an age where I can do pretty much anything I want, change my career, finally go to Manhattan on my pilgrimage that has so far been 17 years in the planning... So yes, I'm not moaning, compared to many, I have a good life, a great life, but sometimes I can't help wondering;

Did I peak too soon? Or is my peak yet to come?

Are we using The Law of Attraction against ourselves?

It's hard not to open the paper or read the news without freaking out. It sometimes feels impossible to believe that you, your children and anyone you care about will ever be able to live to a ripe old age and have fun and live life without being murdered or getting a terrible disease or losing the plot or having something equally terrifying happen.

Everywhere you look in the papers and on the news, people are sick or missing or suffering - I often find it hard to not let it drag me into misery. In fact, I've stopped slagging off trashy celebrity magazines because I feel like I'd rather read about Katie Price's latest business venture than a family being gunned down whilst on holiday. It may not be rocket science, but at least it's not something that's going to weigh on my heart and make me lose sleep.

The thing that I keep thinking about though, is The Law of Attraction - fundamentally how 'like attracts like'. If we're constantly reading about misery and pain and suffering, aren't things like this going to be more rife? It's like, people worry about things a lot, therefore they think about them a lot, shouldn't that mean that sooner or later, these thoughts will manifest into reality?

I wonder what would happen if we conducted an experiment, everyone across the globe - and the rules were:
1 - No bad news in the papers
2 - No bad news on the television
3 - Promote happiness, show inspiring and happy stories
4 - Encourage kindness and humility

It would be so interesting to see if there was a change in the world - I'd like to think that there would be. If I truly believe this though, should I not include this kind of behaviour in my own life? Good deeds (karma), not watching anything on TV except my Cougar Town, Sex & The City and The Inbetweeners boxsets, only reading things like Glamour and heat. Actually, this seems like a good idea, and something that I might actually try... I will absolutely blog about it - see if I get any good results. I think I will, because as Gandhi said;

“If we could change ourselves, the tendencies in the world would also change. As a man changes his own nature, so does the attitude of the world change towards him. … We need not wait to see what others do.”

Follow my lead!!

I heart "things" & why sometimes you have to be selfish

I love getting presents!

Don't get me wrong, I love giving presents too; to my kids, my family, my friends (cash flow willing), but I absolutely adore being given presents! I think a lot of society makes it "wrong" to enjoy the finer things in life - and that's a term I use in relative terms, what's luxury for one may not be for another - but we sometimes scoff at people who are more well off than ourselves, like they should be ashamed of their success. I know a lot of people think that people like the Kardashians should be kicked in the street because they haven't done anything "worthy" of their celebrity status, but I think a lot of that is jealousy and quite frankly, I enjoy watching the stuff such as Keeping Up With... I find it entertaining and a fun way to pass the time - and I like to think that one day I'll be able to go to Aruba on a whim.

I went to an assembly at my children's school last Easter, and the kids in the top year (of primary school) had written a poem of sorts, which was child-like, cute, pretty good, except for when they got to a rather creepy cult-ish part, "Forgive us for being selfish". This, from a bunch of nine year olds, struck me as rather sad. The poem went on with a few more unsavoury thoughts, which I found quite awful and which pretty much said (in not so many words) "Forgive us for being children". Kids love Christmas, well, the ones that are fortunate enough to experience it in the way in which it should be experienced i.e., full of love, laughter, some decent food and a few gifts (or for some children, a lorryload). It seems as if it's being drilled into children from an early age not to be "selfish", not to want things and not to love getting gifts at Christmas! Christmas is about giving, I agree, but it is definitely about getting too. Or else, we would all be so caught up in being bothered about how much we loved giving our presents to others, that we'd never enjoy the ones we were getting! I realise this is getting a little confusing now, but my point is that getting presents is a hugely enjoyable experience, providing you are opening a much longed for item and not some crappy novelty gift - I genuinely hate novelty gifts, a complete waste of money if you ask me.

It's not a bad thing to be selfish sometimes, you have to take time for yourself, you have to say "no" sometimes - you have to ensure that you are happy. And if you're not, you have to take the time to change things, to think about what will make you happy. Happiness isn't a destination, it's a journey and it has it's ups and downs, I don't think anyone could say that they were happy all the times - I think you might become a bit odd if you were floating on cloud 9 twenty four hours a day. Ultimately, being selfish isn't always a terrible trait, and it's about time we stopped trying to make people think it is.

To revert to my earlier thoughts; I love things! I love good clothes, handbags, shoes, sunglasses, even things such as suitcases, posters, magazine holders even! That's not to say I can afford all this stuff, in fact I often pay over the odds buying things from the catalogue, just so I can pay for things over 20 weeks! Watching Sex & The City makes me drool, Manolos, Gucci, SJPs vintage (faux) fur coat - I love it all, I want it all! I used to feel guilty for loving "things" so much, I know that there is little, if any spiritual enlightenment to be gained from buying a pair of Ray Bans, or from owning a Radley handbag or from a pair of Kurt Geiger heels, but oh my goodness, I do so enjoy buying a new item, one on which I will dote for a good while. It's not a long-lived buzz, granted, although I still get a kick out of my beautiful kick ass Carvela platform ankle boots and from my oversized Marc Jacobs sunnies. I don't (currently) have a lot of cash, but I like nice things, and I shouldn't have to apologise for that, in fact I don't even know who I think it is that's waiting for an apology from me... In fact, it's probably myself and my Catholic guilt (no, I'm not a Catholic, but I think I could be, I can do the guilt thing like a pro).

So take some time for yourself and whilst you're at it, buy yourself a present. If you think about it, you'll probably realise that you're worth it.

"Oh woe is me" ~ Why self pity is bad for your soul & hope is imperative

I think I can safely say that we are all victim to that sneaky little wimp called Self Pity. He (yes, it's a 'he') creeps into your mind without warning and thereafter you behave like Deidre Barlow on a cold and rainy Monday morning in January.

What I can't stand is the point when self-pity becomes a person's default mode, because it becomes whiny and pathetic and your respect for them goes the same way as their respect for themselves. Cries of, "Everything is so hard!" and "Why does it always go wrong for me?" reverberate through the land and people slink away slyly from the scene in the manner of Mrs Overall on Acorn Antiques.

Self pity is an ever decreasing circle and once you get into the whirlwind, it's hard to get out. The Law of Attraction states that 'like attracts like', a statement I wholeheartedly agree with. I think evidence of this exists when you wake up and do something like stub your toe or drop your bowl of cereals, 'Oh for God's sake,' you think, 'why me?' That kind of 'why me?' can sometimes be attributed to the fact that you haven't slept too well or are stressed, and can be pardoned in certain cases. Anyway, your mood takes a further dip as you rub your red toe or try and mop up the cereals and milk with kitchen towels (and you know it takes almost a whole roll, even with those ones advertised by a cartoon elephant). The next thing you know, you miss the bus, or your car won't start and dark clouds surround your mood like something from Lord of the Rings. Then you notice that things start going wrong left right and centre; you break the photocopier, you fart in front of a customer, you lose your mobile phone or you accidentally cc your boss in on a joke with the C word in it; the list is endless and it keeps going until you go to bed.

Have you ever tried the other approach, albeit sometimes a difficult U-turn to make; when you stub your toe or spill your cereals, you instead smile and think 'Oh well, these things happen,' and sing a bright song or think about a film that makes you laugh. I always used to be annoyed by those people that walk down the street smiling, but now I realise they were probably going to have a nicer day than me, who had a face like the back of a busted sea boot because I missed my bus. Picking yourself up when things go wrong is something that I think you almost have to learn, because it can be so difficult to do. Try to imagine the bigger picture when things start going wrong, as the late, great, astrophysicist Carl Sagan said, 'We live on a mote of dust, suspended in a sunbeam'. A sobering thought indeed, and one that makes you realise you are not the centre of the Universe.

When I feel crap I'll talk to a friend, listen to music, watch some TV that makes me laugh or sit and have a think about how I can try and turn the situation around. This means that I don't lose hope, I very rarely lose hope because I believe that to lose sight of hope can be a scary thing but something that people are faced with sometimes. Often, I'll go online and look for quotes that motivate me and pull me out of my self pity, and this is one of my favourites:

Everything will be ok in the end, and if it's not ok, it's not the end.

Have a good day.

Self acceptance, being "cool" & the kids of today

Up until very recently, I was always comparing myself to others; the build of my body, my face, the colour of my eyes, the clothes I wore, the way I spoke, the things I liked. I was convinced that everybody else was much more acceptable a person than I.

When I wanted my hair cut, I would take a picture of, say, Carey Mulligan's hair and try and pretend that I thought it was a totally viable request for the poor stylish to do this miracle. Carey Mulligan's hair = Straight, fairy-like and blonde. My hair = brunette, curly and argumentative. I would buy clothes that I wasn't too sure suited me, because I had seen someone wearing them in a magazine that thought they looked awesome. I was totally unaware of how to treat myself; I always seemed to be criticising something or making something appear that wouldn't (straight smooth locks) or making something shrink to disproportionate sizes that wouldn't (my ass ain't ever going to fit in size 8 jeans!).

In the 90's when I was growing up, all my friends were into "rave" music and would frequent organised raves such as Helter-Skelter and Vibealite. I listened along to the music, sharing the earphones of somebody's walkman whilst we sat outside in subzero temperatures sharing cigarettes and probably scaring old ladies. I nodded along to said music and sang the words with my girlfriends. But in truth, I hated the music, I really did - but because everyone else liked it, I did too. I went along to a rave once, and it was one of the most boring nights of my life, I feigned stomach upset and sat (mostly alone) in the designated seating area, watching people stumbling around chewing their own ears with their eyes in the back of their heads. I sat there in a stupid, short psychedelic dress and watched my friends dancing away. I wanted to listen to hip hop and rap and R&B, I bought Doggystyle when I was about 14 or 15 and I still think it's one of the best rap albums ever made. I'd sit in my room, listening to Salt n' Pepa or Warren G and I'd think, "This is me, this is the music I like." It's so unfortunate that I felt I had to pretend to like music I hated, to fit in; the people that actually mattered in our little group that we hung out in, like me for me, not for the music I like. And the people that mattered are still my friends now and we are diverse and have our own tastes, and now we are aware that it is in fact that trait that makes us "cool".

I want to instill in my children the knowledge that being "cool" is being who you are, despite what you might think you "should" be. Children are children, they should behave as such, when I was 12, I was mostly trying to record my favourite songs from the radio without including on the tape the DJ saying, "And that was Snap! with Exterminate". Nowadays, too many twelve year olds wear make up in public, smoke and curse at elderly people, they know far too much about sex and they watch things that they shouldn't. I know one twelve year old who's mother allows him to drink a couple of cans of lager on a Saturday night - this to me is unacceptable parenting.

Saying that though, I'm all for the Mediterranean way in which children are raised, especially Italians, who "teach" their children to drink; watered down wine with meals from a young age. But meal time in Italy and similar, is a family affair; it is not eaten from TV trays whilst watching re-runs of The Simpsons, it is a time to sit around a table, eat delicious foods and talk, actually talk to each other and know what the others are thinking. I think the only time we do this in England is at Christmas! That's not to say everyone is the same, we eat dinner at the table everyday, but when I was younger we ate with our plates on our knees, I'm not saying either way is "wrong", each to their own, but I know what I prefer. I also know I'd prefer Italy's climate but that's another story.

I've gone off on a bit of a rant here but that's the idea I guess. The point is, I accept myself now, I accept my body and I can now celebrate it, I accept that I am not a very conventional person in many aspects, I accept that I enjoy making people laugh, I accept that I am somewhat of a behavioural chameleon; I adapt my behaviour according to the company I am in. I accept that I am hot headed and have a short temper and that I probably shout a little more than I'd like to. I accept me, because I'm stuck with me, and I'm happy with that (for the most part!). You can always better yourself, but that doesn't mean you can alter the structure of who you really are.

The moral of the story is to be you, because you are the only person you will ever be. As one of my heros, the late, great Ralph Waldo Emerson said: "To be yourself in a world that is constantly trying to make you something else, is the greatest accomplishment."

Think before you speak (or blog)

I am a passionate person, when I feel strongly about something I will normally wax lyrical about it until I bore myself.

This is sometimes a bad thing, and I say this because if I fall out with a person, I will go to another person and spew out my concerns and anger and how mad I am about the situation. Generally though, I will sleep on the situation and wake up with a different view; feeling more in control, or just less angry, and I will sometimes regret what I said in the heat of the moment.

I hate arguing with people because I get so cross in that moment that I sometimes say things that are extremely nasty, and I don't necessarily mean them; the sole purpose of my saying it is to hurt and get one up on the other person. I don't like it when it's done to me but hey, that's arguments. It's a nasty but common trait and I'm not alone in doing it - I know this for a fact.

During arguments or similar situations, reactions occur. Reactions are an inbuilt part of being a human being, you protect yourself instinctively when faced with something physical, emotional or mental. Hands up to catch a ball thrown to (or at) you, hands out when you fall etc etc. But reactions are sometimes stupid and can end up with you feeling like a complete tit.

Once, I was asked to do some overtime at work by the manager of the department. I saw her doing the rounds, asking people directly so they felt more pressured to agree. I felt quite incensed that I was effectively being asked to give up half of my weekend to come to work, and that they were bringing out the big guns to make staff feel like they couldn't say no. When she arrived at my desk, she asked the dreaded question,
"Any chance of you doing any over time this weekend?"
I mentally puffed out my chest and said, "Sorry, I can't this weekend." I hate confrontation and I was quite literally shaking inside as I told her no, this made me even madder, why was I so bothered by her and this bloody situation? As soon as her back was turned I angrily mouthed "F**k off!"
It was at that moment that I spotted, through the gaps in the computers, my team leader - and friend of the manager - raise her eyebrows at my silent yet meaningful curse.
"I saw that," she mouthed.

I felt even sicker then. But she never told the boss, or if she did, it was never mentioned...

The moral of the story is think before you speak. Or blog. Or mouth obscenities at your boss. Because you never know who might be about.

Breast feeding - not for everyone/what age to stop?

*PLEASE DO NOT THROW EGGS, BRICKS OR ANYTHING ELSE AT THIS BLOG - IT IS JUST AN OPINION!*

I feel compelled to write about something that's made me feel quite queasy... The cover of a magazine which shows a woman stood smiling whilst her four year old son stands on a stool next to her - with her breast in his mouth.

I'm sorry, I know all about "Breast is best", but there is something not quite right seeing a child over the age of about two, being breastfed. The woman on the magazine was apparently breastfed until they age of six by her own mother, something that - in my humble opinion (having a 4 and 5 year old) - could quite easily lead to bullying. A child may mention their "feeding" method whilst at school, and five and six year old children are becoming capable of making fun and finding things odd. A child of that age doesn't need their mother's milk anymore! So do they do it for fear of losing the close bond with their child? Because if the bond is only there because of the "feeding" then surely something is not wholly right anyway?

My own mother attempted to breast feed me as a baby, but I didn't take to it and she used to get so upset and unnecessarily stressed that she gave up trying; I see nothing at all wrong with this. I am a happy, healthy, intelligent woman, I am no worse off for not having breast milk as a baby. I work out, I have a healthy diet (mostly), I don't smoke (four years clean) or do drugs and I drink alcohol in moderation (again, mostly). I didn't breast feed my own children, in all honesty the thought of it made me squeamish, although I did use a pump for a few days for my prematurely born son who was in special care after birth, and I have two perfectly healthy, happy, bright children. I find that many people are "bullied" into breast feeding by the constant reminders that breast is best. I spoke to a midwife on an examination after having my son, she was brusque to say the least and when she mentioned my son "getting home and being on the breast", I didn't dare to inform her that I had no intention of breast feeding. A woman I know who had a baby at more or less the same time as me, told me (through yawns) that she sat up in bed for hours at a time whilst her daughter fed, fell asleep, fed, fell asleep and so on. Whereas both of my children were more or less sleeping through by about eight weeks as I had gotten them into a feeding routine as soon as possible (my son was in a routine on his return from hospital at ten days old).

I'm not damning breastfeeding, far from it; I think the women that persevere and want to do it and enjoy doing it are admirable and it must be a wonderful thing for them. But for the women who feel guilt and shame and that they are bad mothers because they either don't want to or can't breastfeed, don't beat yourselves up; not breastfeeding is just that - it isn't something you should feel forced into, nor is it something that is for everyone. You can have a healthy child either way, or unfortunately, an unhealthy child either way.

There is more to parenting, much more, all of which usually involves questioning yourself, and feeling guilty that you're doing something wrong. Don't add to it!

Sticking to an idea...

Ever since I can remember I have wanted to be an author. I remember writing stories at school, that were complete nonsense, but thinking how much I loved getting lost in the process of character building, plots and fantasy worlds where I was the ruler of all and no one could tell me I was wrong.

Fast forward to me now, age 31, with probably about twenty, two-page long beginnings of stories. Some are longer, I have a couple of 15,000+ word docs going, but I never seem to be able to get any further. I wrote a book once, a couple of years ago, I sent it to a bunch of agents, but received no interest. I was prepared for this, it happens to the best, right? (Apparently, some agents even turned down Harry Potter, bet they're out of a job now...) But I wasn't prepared for the mental block it seems to have planted in the area of my brain entitled "Plots". Every time I start to write, I get a certain way in and then I think "What a load of crap, there's no point in me carrying on with this". Yet I'm loathe to delete any of them, and so I drift from document to document, curling my lip at some, writing another sentence in another. I'm half tempted to delete the lot, but that's the kind of thing that ends in me going "WHY did I DO that?!" so I don't.

HOW do I stop doing this? And HOW do I STOP WRITING IN CAPITALS?? But seriously, I just can't think of an idea and stick to it. I've seen the same tip a million times over, "Write something every day, even if it's only a sentence", does this mean write something in the same piece of work? If not, no problem, I can open 15 documents and write things like "I have nothing to write".

I should probably plan, I know this, and I have planned, believe me - I have a whole file dedicated to character profiles, plots, sub-plots, settings etc etc etc, but when it comes down to actually getting going, I stall - like an old Metro on a January morning... I have no idea why this has started happening, but I have to get round it. This is part of the reason why I've started a blog.

Right, I'm off to open another document and write sweet F A.

The icing on the cake (of turd)

PMS - a lot to answer for... Wanting to strangle your friend, crying at insurance adverts - you get the picture.

We had a bit of a party on Saturday, and I regret to inform you that it got a little out of hand, there was a bit of arguing between me and another person (who will remain nameless) and it was all a bit ridiculous. Anyway, I got a letter through my door from my landlord today; one of my kindly neighbours has complained to them about said disagreement. Dobber! Grasser! Keep in mind, that this is the first time something of this nature has happened in the four years we've lived on this street. So I get this letter which informs me they've received a complaint about bad language and loud music (the latter of which is a lie as my piddly little speaker for my iPod doesn't go very loud).

I get guilty easily - it's a pointless emotion, but one that frequents my mind, hanging around berating me like a bully. I felt like a right twerp, ringing up to apologise and explain why it happened (I could picture myself in front of a headmaster getting reprimanded for running in the corridors). My point is, my PMT is at an all time high today and I've been getting steadily more grumpy/sad all day, so the letter was the icing on the cake of turd that is this week so far - so why couldn't this neighbour come to my house, or drop a note through my door, saying they were upset with the behaviour that went on? Then I could have sent a note back with a witty anecdote on it, made them laugh and all would have been well with the world of our street. I felt like crying to the landlord, pleading my case and begging for forgiveness (and for them to tell me who grassed me up... snitch).

Instead, what is now happening (I hope) is that they're sat at home chewing their nails wondering if I'll find out if it was them (and I chuffing will I tell you!) and I'm sat at home feeling like a scolded teenager who's been told off by the coppers for drinking cider in the park.

Curtain twitching douchelords...

ANYWAY, the silver lining is that I've had an IDEA! Watch this space...