Headlines and lifelines

The headline life update - life sucks.

The detailed life update - life sucks big, hard rocks instead of a big, hard cock.

I have just seen off the small songbird that decided, for the first time in years, to nest in my nether regions. Looking on the bright side (as I'm stupidly inclined to do) this may mean that - at the very least - I can expect Bill Oddie to turn up with a set of binoculars and twitch between my legs at any moment. Having watched his bizarre performance on NMTB recently, I'm quite reasonably afeared of this outcome, frustration aside. Personally I think frustration is inevitable when the yeast count is the only thing rising in the knicker area. However, being too skint and doctor-phobic for the one tablet solution I was reduced to the tried and tested 'poke yourself intermittently with a tampax dipped in live yoghurt' palaver. Hey, at least I'm organic, if not orgasmic. I can only hope that the former Goodie is too busy with some other Great Tits to come and check mine out.

As a bonus, I've discovered that even my ever-hungry children won't nick a half used pot of live, unflavoured yoghurt from the fridge so I've given myself a hygiene point for having the foresight to leave the string dangling and make sure I had sole access to the dairy fairy, even though it did play havoc with the cardboard applicator.

I am currently what my nana would have called run down. My body is chucking all sorts of ailments at me to let me know that my mind is overloaded. Thanks for the heads-up, body but I ALREADY FUCKING KNEW THAT! You really didn't have to add physical annoyances and upsets to the list of mental and emotional shit that I'm carrying in order to announce their importance, honestly. Come to think of it, I'd really appreciate if you didn't feel the need to help out again. Ever.

I finally got brave enough to ring the stop-smoking helpline and got an answering machine. I was very pissed at this so lit a ciggie and, after the beep, blew a raspberry then put the phone down without leaving my number. Ha! That'll teach 'em for not being there with a real person when I wanted one. Gits. Course I don't think I withheld my number so it's entirely possible that when I call back they'll have an idiot alarm sound so they can blow a raspberry back at me and tell me to buy my own patches.

I know that sounds over the top but it's typical of what happens when I dare have a little paddy. Monday evening I pinched a bar of chocolate from A (he had a whole packed lunch made for him with Hula Hoops and everything!). Instead of gracefully allowing me to enjoy it and not die of hunger he chased me across the room in front of the laughing students and parents, had a good dig round my bra where I'd stuffed it and then, when he realised I'd hidden it too well, picked me up and turned me upside down to shake it out! I'm sure that's not what they mean by 'pick up a penguin'.

Thursday I cried off teaching with A, not due to the penguin incident but because it was the night that the abuse charges were going to be made official and I wasn't having a very good day. The CPS decided on 15 charges and it has to go to Crown Court because of the seriousness. I thought we'd find out this week which way he's pleading but no, it'll be bloody Spring when I finally discover whether I have to go to a trial or not. Ick.

Still skint too, though I've decided that going on the game isn't a good idea. Not least because the advert in my local rag asking for 'escorts' specifically mentioned that mid thirties ladies need not apply as they already had too many of that age. In great big print across the bottom of the ad (did they think we wouldn't be able to see it with our aged eyes or were they just making sure we knew we weren't welcome? My money's on both). So, that was me told. The market is saturated and has no room for any more sexy, confident, intelligent companions over the age of 24. My only hope is to leave it another thirty years and go for the fetish crowd. I could be old enough for Wayne Rooney by then...

In the meantime I'm economising and ebaying and thinking about the other ad I saw for home based chatline operators. If it's the kind of chatline I think it is then I'm damn sure I wouldn't want my kids hearing me at work so I'm not holding out too much hope.

Tomorrow night I have a creative writing workshop so who knows, maybe I'll be discovered and come home with a huge cheque as an advance on my fabulous novel!