Tell it to a Horse

Perusing the television listings, I saw a programme about Ulrika Jonsson and her sex addiction. I certainly won't be watching it but read that one of the therapies they suggest to her is 'Equine Assisted Psychotherapy' which The Times explains as 'telling problems to a horse'.

Is this for real? Does it work? I heard of dogs being prescribed for people with depression which makes sense, but talking to a horse? Is it because its non-judgmental? Why a horse - why not a cow?

I don't understand, but really I don't want to watch the programme and I'm scared of what search results search any enquiry might produce.

I love John Simm (and couldn't think of a cleverer title)

In between house-stuff, to relax on an evening (or as near to relaxing as I ever get before I inevitably fall asleep), we have been watching the first series of Life on Mars. Somewhat behind the rest of the country I know. I'm not sure why we didn't watch it when it was on the television as we usually watch anything with John Simm in and it is a detective programme which is usually enough justification for me.

The programme itself I must say is rather silly. The introduction is particuarly had to watch without laughing 'I'm Sam Tyler, I've had an accident and woke up in 1973. Am I in a coma? etc' - it hardly has the tension of Jack Bauer's 'This is the longest day of my life' intro. But it is easy watching which is essential at the moment when I really don't want to have to concentrate too hard on anything.

But really I'm watching it for John Simm. I've always liked him (the actor for my generation in Boston Kickout, Human Traffic, 24 Hour Party People, State of Play), but I didn't realise quite how attractive I find him until watching Life on Mars. He isn't particuarly good looking , rather ordinary but I find him ridiculously sexy. It might be the clothes - whilst the others are wearing garish worst of the 70s stuff, his clothes are very cool. Its taken alot of self control not to make small yelping noise of adoration as we watch.

So I've got a bit of a crush on an actor - I feel a bit old for such things but that is pretty much what fuels Hollywood. But this morning, I may have gone too far - I've booked tickets to see him in a play! I can justify this - I work in the theatre industry, I really should go to the theatre more often, its on our way home, the OH likes him as an actor too, I haven't just booked a ticket for myself. But shamefully, I've done this before. When Gael Garcia Bernal was in Blood Wedding a few years ago - the OH actually insisted on coming with me to that one, as he was worried I might leap on stage and accost the young Mexican boy (I used the same justifications then with addition of being interested in the works of Lorca/anything to do with the Spanish Civil War).

On top this, I'm worried I'm becoming the sort of person who is killing proper theatre by only going to see things with Hollywood stars or 'people off the telly' in. But at least I'm going to see plays, rather than just the big musicals, which is the bigger problem in London at the moment where the blockbuster musicals are making it very difficult for plays. 'Underneath the Lintel' has had its run cut which we were hoping to see (mainly because it had someone from the West Wing in!)

Papering over the cracks

Things don't seem quite so bad now.

Friday was difficult when John Lewis were unable to get our sofabed into the flat properly. We do have a very narrow corridor but they refused to take it out of the packaging which was what was making it bulkier. The delivery men were like comedy villians - a tall thin one and a short fat one, but I wasn't laughing. It now has to be redelivered next week, dismantled and will be put together 'on-site'.

I am slightly concerned that we won't be able to have our choice of sofa for the lounge but the person we bought it off had a large sofa so it must be possible to get something in and out of there somehow. So we've paid for an access check to make sure before we order anything. But it may mean we'll be sat on deckchairs for a while.

Yesterday was better. The OH's parents came over. They didn't recoil in horror at the place but instead offered some practical advice on what to do with the walls. They then took us to Homebase and bought us a load of decorating materials and equipment, which I'm hugely grateful for. And we now have a plan of action. We are going to concentrate on doing the lounge and the bedroom before we move in and will leave the rest until after we are in. So I will have to live with a lilac corridor for now (I have an aversion to the colour lilac - too many mother-of-the-brides wear it and it suits hardly anyone). We've made a start now - cleaning the woodwork and sizing the walls (a new term to me!), and next weekend, they will return and the four of us will commence the decorating in earnest.

There are some things I'm very happy with. The kitchen and bathroom (although small) are modern, well-designed and don't need anything doing to them at all. The water pressure on the shower is fantastic. The lounge and bedroom have lovely high ceilings. What I assumed were dead plants in the garden, I've been assured by OH's mother are still very much alive and will blossom again (I have so much to learn!).

We haven't opened the champagne yet - we'll keep it on ice until we are moved in properly, but I was able to sleep last night and my enthusiasm for the 'project' has returned.

What have we done?

I feel drained and deflated. Not how I hoped I would feel.

The flat looked awful empty and its going to take a lot more decorating than we originally thought. After all of the hassle, it was an anticlimax - its not my dream home, its just a small two bedroom flat, all we could afford in west London. I've been awake all night worrying that we've made a huge mistake.

I don't think we'll be having a housewarming party or inviting anyone to stay because although it was the best place we looked at by a mile, it really isn't anything to be proud of and it will give certain people further cause for looking down their noses at us or worse the patronising as the 'poor relation' of the friends who've got rich partners & no idea of what it is like to have to work for anything.

And on top of this, the thought that this was my Dad's legacy. All of his life for so little.

Just one more day

In about 24 hours time we will get the keys to our new place, but it isn't making me feel happy. Part of the deposit money, was money I inherited when my Dad died, so no matter how pleased I am about buying our own place, part of me is sad because of what that money represents.
I would swap it and live the rest of my life in an awful rented flat if I could have just one more day with him.

Mrs SandDancer Goes to Work

My mother has got a new job. I'm so pleased for her. She hadn't been working for the past year or so - at first she was officially my gran's carer but since she went to live in the home, she hasn't really been doing anything (well, apart from the endless decorating she seems to do) and she was getting bored.

The new job is chef in a respite home (where disabled people go temporarily to give their families a rest). She didn't think she had any chance of getting the job but they rang her back the day she had the interview to offer her the job. The conversation we had at this point was bizarre - the lack of self-belief things she said, were things I've said myself e.g. 'I thought it had gone badly, but I suppose they must have liked me to offer me the job, but I can't see why'. It was like talking to myself and I realised how frustrating it must be!

It was her first day yesterday. They hadn't agreed exact hours yet but told her to come in for 8am. I called her at 7pm to see how the day went and there was no answer. I called back at 8pm and she had just got home. A 12 hour day on her first day. She was exhausted. Apparently she was dropped in at the deep end as the other chef is off sick all week. But she thinks it will be ok once she's settled in and she was so happy when she got the job that she would be 'working somewhere that is doing some good'.

I'm very proud of her and perhaps not as alarmed as I once would have been by how similar we are.

A deserving winner

The smiling Tibetan Terrier won Crufts Best in Show.

I was so pleased, I thought I might cry.

Talking in my sleep

Apparently the other night, I was laughing in my sleep and saying 'He's was hit in the face with a number eleven' and laughing more.

The OH asked me yesterday what this was about. I've no recollection of saying it or what the dream might have been about, but it made me laugh again much to his annoyance.

The book I've just finished reading had a chapter on twins with autism who liked prime numbers so I wonder if it was connected to that. Although the prime numbers they like were ones with about 10 digits - the number 11 hardly reflects the same sort of genius for numbers.

Fantasy Dinner Party

I've been mulling this one over since Miss Forthright posted about it a few days ago. I still can't decide who I would invite,so I asked the OH who he would invite - 5 people, living or dead. His response was thus:

Susanna Hoffs- lead singer from The Bangles. He said this without hesitation. He's always had a thing for her and apparently as a teenager did consider saving himself for her.

Steve Nash - his favourite Basketball player.

There was a bit of deliberation before he decided on the rest of the guests.

Guy Fawkes - OH 'He tried to blow up Parliament'.
Me 'He might not have done. He was possibly just fitted up for it' (we did a lot about this in History at school for some reason).
OH: (slightly annoyed at me questioning his choice) 'Well, he's got a day named after him. Not many other people can say that. He's coming.'
Me: 'Better not have any candles though just in case.'


It gets tricky now.

OH: 'The other two guests really should be women, so we can sit boy, girl, boy, girl. I like it when they do that.
(This was news to me - we've never been to a dinner party together, and can't imagine he'd been to one previously).
Big pause while he tries to think of some other women.

His next choice..

Jack Nicholson - 'He'd be good value. Yeah, Big Jack'

He considers inviting Bob Dylan but decides he's too unreliable,, probably wouldn't turn up but would ring with a lie about why he couldn't intend and leave him feeling crap (he's getting quite into the whole idea, taking it very seriously, but the boy-girl idea has now obviously been abandoned)

Then quite quickly, he picks his final guest.

Ian Botham - the cricketer.



But he is still going.

OH 'I would Larry David to come, but only if he really really wanted to come. I wouldn't want to force him otherwise it might get awkward.

I briefly mention who I might invite and he's off again

OH 'I'd definitely invite Mark Steele. (political comedian)
Me: 'You've got your 5 guests already. You can't invite anymore'
OH: (looking a bit hurt) 'But I'm a popular guy. If these people want to come, its not my fault.

Drivel

This has been bothering me since yesterday. I really should learn to just ignore him but yesterday the Colleague came out with this gem:

‘I read a survey that said fat women do better in the workplace because they feel can just get on with their work as they aren’t objectified by male colleagues like they are when they are thin’

He also added some drivel about men assuming thin women are bimbos, the exact wording of which I can’t remember.

This came about because I said I really liked this woman we deal with and he agreed and said he found her very warm and approachable because she was fat! I’ve never met her, just spoken to her on the phone and emailed her, so have no idea what she looks like. I didn’t respond to that part (what do you say to that?) but then he went on to talk about this ‘survey’.

I commented that surely the people surveyed would have had to have experienced being different weights and he said this is what the survey was. I find the whole thing rather improbable and offensive. It assumes that all men find the same size women attractive, that men think thin women are stupid, that women are distracted from their work by the attention of male colleagues, that all men behave inappropriately towards women at work etc etc.

Now as I've pretty much been the same size all my adult life, I wouldn't have been included in this survey and I'm pretty much average size so couldn't say whether its been hindering or helping my career. He is incredibly ‘anti-thin’ so has probably made the whole thing up. I don’t just mean Size 0 thin, but he looks down on anyone who is ever cautious about what they eat (i.e. me because I sometimes have salad for lunch and don't really like chocolate or Chinese food).

I know I should be able to ignore this rubbish and I am getting better at not reacting to his face so much, but needed to rant here to get it out of my system.

Last night's television

Last night was spent in a television studio in Wembley (oh the glamour - the 'regeneration of Wembley brings to mind the rather course expression 'polishing a turd'). We were in the audience for a new panel show 'Would I Lie To You' (coming soon to BBC1). I appear to be on a mailing list for such things, although I've no recollection of ever signing up for it.

Anyway, I was enticed into it by the promise of David Mitchell as a team captain (him from Mitchell & Webb and Peep Show). I don't find him attractive (geeky posh men are not my thing) but I do find his constant look of bewilderment rather endearing and funny. And the other consideration - it was free - vital in these penny-pinching times.

I was rather pleased with the rest of the guests - David Mitchell had a dream team of Frankie Boyle (consistently the funniest person on Mock the Week) and Duncan Bannatyne of Dragon's Den fame who I do find rather attractive (dour arrogant Scottish men are my thing!). The other side was less inspiring involving as it did Sonia from EastEnders.

We were herded into the studio and seated by a pair of flustered shouting fishwives (one called Beryl as her partner yelled every 30 seconds) who really made the process of getting people into seats look alot more complicated than it was.

The show itself was pretty funny but for what will presumably be edited to a 30 minute show, it took two hours to just do the quiz part. It started with a warm-up man, which is a concept that I don't really think works with British audiences that well - if anything being told to laugh & rehearsing clapping, makes us retreat further into our stereotypical reserve.

Then afterwards, there were the dreaded 'pick-ups' - basically re-doing bits of the show, sometimes over and over again - although to the untrained eye, there didn't seem to be much difference to each take, except the audience weren't really laughing on fourth hearing of the joke. Lots of the audience tried to leave at this point, burly bouncers tried to re-seat them but with less authority than Beryl & friend, so by the end there weren't many of us left. It was a shame it had to drag on so long as it did put a dampner on an otherwise good evening.

I definitely laughted alot although this morning I've little recollection of what at.

Whose job is it...

to name paint colours? And do they enjoy it?

I suppose it must be the marketing department, but I can't quite decide whether this is a great or awful job.

Naming the first hundred or so colours would have been fun, but after that it must have become quite a chore to avoid repeating names they've already used or being used by competitors.

This is probably why the sophisticated grey colour I'm considering for our bedroom goes by the awful name 'Quaker Drab'. All the good names for grey have already been used up - 'Night Jewels', 'Quartz Flint', 'Mineral Haze', or my favourite, 'Elephant's Breathe' - a name so great Farrow & Ball have registered it.






Why did Dulux decide to rename 'Cookie Dough' (much favoured by my family as I think my mum and both sisters have rooms in their houses painted this colour) as Cappuccino Candy 3 ? Has it improved sales? I want to know the answers.


This has just reminded me of the Ex who once woke me up in the middle of the night to ask why a banana wasn't called a 'yellow' when orange's were orange and called orange and lemon's lemon. He clearly had no future in the paint naming business.

A small wobble

I'm now feeling a little bit uneasy about our move. I'm very worried I won't like the flat when I see it again. Although we saw it twice and had a good look around, it was 5 months ago now and I'm struggling to remember what it looks like. I know I really liked it at the time, but I have that nagging doubt.

We still have too many belongings. My savings account is looking rather pitful.

I'm moving out of my comfort zone of the five block area that I've lived in the whole time I've been in London (except the 6 weeks in hell/Neasdon - see below). I won't know the newsagents and shop owners, and I'll have to swim in a different pool.

I think this panic has started to set in because for the last few weeks, I've been madly busy sorting out legal stuff, then I started on the practical things (removals, utility companies etc) but I've not had so much to do for the last couple of days which has given me room to worry. I've learnt from this whole process that I need to be kept occupied and have little details to worry about - it stops me from worrying about the big things, the uncontrollable things, the abstract.

Hopefully, once we are in, I can happily 'worry' about paint colours, washing machine deliveries and broadband connections and that will push away the big question mark.

Its good to talk (as they also say in the ads)

I'm working my way through a list of utility companies, banks and other organisations to notify them of our move. Last night, I rang British Telecom and heard the following message.

'We are currently experiencing a high volume of calls. You may wish to call back between 11 and 4 or after 8pm when we receive less calls"

And what time does this call centre close? 8pm.

I decided to remain on hold and wait. It seemed a safer bet than ringing back when they were closed.

Proud to be Different (as they say in the ads)

Nationwide Building Society, a branch somewhere in west London.

They didn't have any of those quick deposit slots so I had to queue for the cashier to pay my cheque in. This wasn't a problem but it was time enough for me to observe a strange man.

This man was wandering around the building, brandishing a paintbrush in a menacing way. A small artist's paintbrush (not a decorator's paintbrush), which I know it is quite hard to brandish menacingly, but he achieved it somehow. He was wandering in and out of the cubicles where people were talking to advisors, about personal and possibly delicate financial matters, but nobody stopped him. So perhaps he worked there? Yet, he didn't really have an air of authority about him - just a glazed expression and a small paintbrush.

This sort of thing doesn't happen at the NatWest.

Home Number 12

We have just exchanged. Apparently the seller's seller rang at 5.20 yesterday to say he still wanted to go ahead - the myssterious 'cash buyer' obviously disappeared.

Coincidentally, I read in the Metro this morning, that young people (I'm still counting myself in this) will have an average of 16 homes in there lifetime which is an increase on an average of 5 for the previous generation.

The new place will be my 12th home. I was quite shocked by how many I've had as I don't feel as if I've moved much and I lived in the same place for the first 18 years. So as an excuse for another list, these are the places I've lived

1. Family home - a large old house by the sea, that my father also grew up in. The family catering business was in the ground floor of the building so I grew up with a bizarre extended family of chefs, waitresses and van drivers. It was not a normal childhood. My mother always hated the house for its lack of privacy, but I know that if my sisters or I ever won the lottery, we would buy the house back from the present owners, The Walton (not a joke) who are professional foster parents.

2. Fifers Lane Halls of Residences in Norwich. The Dam Busters was rumoured to have been filmed theere, our block was subsiding at a rate of 1 inch per year and had a ratio of 1 shower to every 36 students. We were the last year of students to live there before it was condemned. But it had its own bar and the community spirit was great.

3. Rented house in Norwich's 'Golden Triangle', a phrase I struggle to think of without smiling. Sharing with two girls I loved, and two I couldn't stand.

4. On Campus for third year. Living with seven other people but a much better shower ratio - 8 to 2.

5. Out of the family home and into living above a pub that my mother had decided to run in a moment of menopausal madness (according to her). It was a huge pub so the living area was massive too and I ended up with a room bigger than my old one. We had a roof terrace and my mum bought Miss Ellie, our lovely dog. But I was the world's worst barmaid and the pub locals were scum, so I 'ran away' to London.

6. Awful bedsit in West London that I took in a hurry so I could take my first job in London. It was vile, but somehow I ended up staying there six months and without a television!

7. Studio - better than the previous one but not by much, about five minutes walk from the other one. I stayed there 18 months despite its proxity to a the train track and my view of a brick wall.

8. Flat share from hell with the boyfriend of a university friend in Neasdon, opposite Ikea. My friend split up with him, he went weird (left the stove on all weekend, slept in lounge sleeping bag covered in vomit while I was away) and then didn't pay the rent. The landlord threatened to come down from Leeds and slit my throat even though I had paid my share. I moved out quickly.

9. The 'United Nations' houseshare as it was nicknamed. At various points, a Canadian, an Italian, a German, and two Irish rented a house of a dodgy Greek bloke - rent to be left in the cutlery drawer every two weeks. We had to stage a 'sit-in' to get our deposit back.

10. Loft conversion with OH. The landlords, a pair of liberal Canadians lived downstairs - he was a student (and frequently spirit drinker judging by his breathe & speech in the later period), she was a writer of historical romances. There was a lot of wood panelling and it was always too warm. The floorboards were dodgy and fell through one night. 'Did you drop something on it' said the man. 'Like what? A Truck?' said the OH. They had a 'builder' who did all of their repairs - he actually wore Cowboy boots which was an accurate reflection on his building expertise

11. The current flat - located on the street between the previous one and the UN house. Its ok - I've never loved and made the brave decision of letting the OH view it alone while I was away. The people upstairs make strange noises at random times. I'll probably still cry when we move out though.

11th Hour Crisis

We were supposed to exchange contracts today. It hasn't happened.

The seller's seller had given them a deadline of 11.30 today to exchange. Apparently they have had a cash offer and were threatening to go with that if this sale didn't speed up, although our Estate Agent said people often lie about these things to get things moving faster.

So our solicitor did what she was supposed to do this morning. The seller's solicitor did what they were supposed to do. But the seller's seller's solicitor was stuck in traffic so they missed the 11.30 deadline.

The seller's seller is not answering the phone so nobody knows what he wants to do. Even though it was his side's fault.

Our Estate Agent assured me that our sale will still go ahead with our seller renting & putting her things in storage if necessary. But whether this affects the completion date remains to be seen. So our exchange is now probably going to happen tomorrow, but I'm not counting my chickens, holding my breath or any other metaphor until it happens.

Pete and the Penguin

The OH has to keep abreast of what is happening in popular culture & the news as part of his job, which means he often has to read the tabloids. Honestly, we aren't normally Sun readers.

This morning, he read out to me a story from The Sun about Peta Docherty feeding a joint to a penguin at a zoo. This is one of the most ridiculous articles ever (although the report that Billie Piper had smiled in the free papers last week was pretty bad). The story was pretty standard tabloid/Docherty fodder. It was a terrible juvenile thing to do and I wondered why he wasn't arrested on the spot by the branch of the police force that seems to specialise in arresting him?(He also seems to have his own chamber of judges to counteract this who pretty much let him off with whatever he is arrested for).

The Sun had kindly mocked up a picture of a penguin smoking which I'm sure most of its readers needed to help them understand the story.

Apparently it is very dangerous for the poor penguin. The article claimed that this behaviour would 'anger fans of the recent animated film, Happy Feet'. No, surely it would upset anyone who likes animals/doesn't like moronic musicians.

I'm all for people in bands behaving in a 'rock 'n' roll' way but really, he just plain stupid. I don't think Mick and Keith would have done something like this.

What a morning

I set off 40 minutes early to allow myself plenty of time to go to the bank to transfer the deposit before work. I thought it was plenty of time, but yet again London Transport intervened. The Central Line packed up en route - annoyingly with our train stood just outside of a station for twenty minutes and the station that the problem became apparent at is one in the middle of nowhere so no use for changing. Eventually, we moved one more stop down the line and everyone was advised to get off and make other arrangements. I managed to get onto a bus to Piccadilly Circus - there were still hoardes left on the pavement.

Once on the bus, it was a rather pleasant journey. The sun was out and I enjoyed looking out of the window as it went through Notting Hill and Bayswater, then down Oxford Street. Plenty of things to look at - beautiful houses, parks and then the shops. If I hadn't been in a rush it would have been a lovely start to the day and much preferable to being stuck underground.

I managed to get to the bank eventually where I was asked a series of riddle like questions in order to prove it was my bank account which to be honest I struggled with, having no idea what my overdraft limit is as I've never asked for one, nor my credit card limit which I'm sure is something outlandish that I have no intention of using. Eventually she seemed satisfied that I was me and the deposit has been sent. The OH meanwhile was entrusted to arrange the buildings insurance which he has done without any hassles, so we have now completed 29% of the Moving list.

For All You List Lovers

I've just discovered this website

http://www.listsofbests.com

It allows you to make lists - lists of your favourite things and lists of things to do, goals to achieve etc. For lists of 'goals', you 'tick' them off online when you've done them and it updates to say what percentage of your list you've completed. Very rewarding!

I'm 11% of the way through my 'Moving' list that I started yesterday.

I'm not giving up on the Excel spreadsheets and Word document lists just yet though.