I fell in love yesterday. It's black, high collared and velvet and has gorgeous ornate buttons. The jacket is joyous, even though the weather means I won't be able to wear it very often for another month. The result of going to Oxford Street resolved not to spend any money.

The following conversation was overheard at the bar in the King William IV in Hampstead:

"I went onto the heath with him yesterday."
"Oh?"
"It was excrutiating. All he wanted to do was cruise."
"Slut."
"Welsh slut. How's your mother?"
"She's getting another budgerigar. The other one died, you know. Lived for five years, though, which isn't bad for a budgerigar."
"Didn't she have another one before that?"
"Yes, but it was ill a lot. Used to sit on my shoulder. Mother and I used to watch 'Allo 'allo - you remember how it was on on a Friday? We'd always have Fry's Turkish while we were watching. The budgerigar died during that."
"Maybe it was the Turkish delight that killed it."
"Mm..."

Back to Tacitus.

Yon Cassius has a lean and hungry look

I've just been watching the horrendously inaccurate monstrosity that purports to be historical (stop for breath) that is Empire on Hallmark. I've only seen the first two episodes, though, so maybe they'll find a copy of Plutarch or Cassius Dio for the third part. I hate films/tv things about the Roman republic, because they never bother to get in an historical advisor to whom they actually listen. If all historical advisors were as feisty as Robin Lane Fox on Alexander, Hollywood would be the better for it.

I'm avoiding Dave. There's an email waiting in my inbox which I'm sure notes this fact, which I'm also avoiding. Trying to track down Jamie tomorrow to see what he thinks about said mess of doom. Given that tomorrow's a bank holiday (that's a national holiday for no apparent reason), he's still in the back of beyond rather than in the Metrop, so it might have to wait till tomorrow evening. I fancy a day wandering around something cultural, but I don't know what. I did Frida at the Tate the other week, which was very good.

Mother's on again about finding "nice young men" and says I should "join something". Sigh. The Scottish army have gone, leaving the flat relatively empty, finally. I've been experimenting with coconut, recently. I've found it goes very well with satay - here's some I prepared earlier.

Trite though it sounds, yay for having a readership! Thanks for the comments, guys.

And introducing...

If any of you watch the Catherine Tate Show on BBC2, you'll know about the couple who kill themselves laughing over mundane stories. Dinner with Dave felt a bit like that last night. I did try to find his story about how a power cut caused by an overfilled kettle meant he didn't get a cup of tea until eleven amusing, I really did. Essentially, I'm bored. The fatal blow to any potential relationship came when he said he doesn't read much. Soundeth the knell of doom.

Texted this to Jamie (GBF and fellow bibliophile), who asked a) why I hadn't slept with him (Dave, not Jamie - let's not get into that), and b) why was I dating him if I didn't want to sleep with him. It's all so very simple in Jamie's mind: if it likes you, shag it. That's a bit harsh, actually - he really has quite housewifely ambitions. Jamie concluded that I have man issues and am basically an emotional fuckwit. Not sure I entirely disagree. He did agree that not reading was a profound sin, however.

I hadn't told the Coven about Dave, quite wisely as it turns out. The Coven consists of four members. It used to be five, until F moved to the US to marry a millionaire and have babies. Having met at school, we've never really left the area for more than a term, and we all work relatively near to where we lived as kids, so the Coven's remained the same since we left full time education. The other three members are D, H and S.

D is going back to university this year, having spent the year temping. She's the only one with a proper boyfriend and has absolutely no idea what she wants to do with her life, other than it involving writing in some way. The master's she's planning on doing isn't exactly vocational. D dresses a bit like a cross between a Parisian school girl and Cher in Clueless. I've known D since we were 10 at Guides - present buying has become very difficult.

H is a wannabe nympho. However, being Muslim, she's in line for an arranged marriage when her mother finally finds her a man she actually likes and who can pay for her designer handbag habit. H is in the doghouse with me at the moment for blurting the existence of Dave out to the other two and D's boyfriend in Cafe Rouge. She has a thing for goalkeepers and Irishmen.

S is waiting (in Jane Austen mode) for her older sister to get married so that she can tell her parents she's found a lovely boy. Said lovely boy is eminently suitable; he's religious, reliable and Tamil. Perfectly acceptable... in theory. S is obsessed with marriage and small children. Her arm has to be clamped to her side to prevent her from waving at tinies in the park. S is the only one of us qualified to drive.

So that's the Coven. H got very excited about Dave when I first told her (had to tell someone), but then she's desperate to go to someone's wedding. Doesn't matter whose it is. We spent a couple of hours drinking coffee and scaring D's boy. They also think I'm too fussy. So the world is unanimous.

Conclusion: no man is worthy. Must advance the space programme to investigate compatible life on other planets.

Cookie Doughitis

I think I have ice cream poisoning. Again.

Feeling much better about Dave tonight. Went into crazy phone call avoiding mode earlier, only to realise that it wasn't him trying to phone at all, rather my very jolly friend in Plymouth. Ended up on msn anyway, which was good, because his gloriously wry sense of humour comes across much better via that medium. Both a benefit and a curse of instant messaging.

We're going out on Friday. I'm hoping my mouth will have stopped hurting by then.

And so -

So. I spent most of this evening thinking the whole thing with Dave wasn't going anywhere. Not even the slightest attempt to hold my hand during the film (which wasn't as bad as I thought it was going to be). He's much taller than I remembered from last week.

Sorry. This isn't turning out to be particularly articulate. Anyway, so had a drink afterwards. Turns out he's good at killing spiders, which could come in handy. At about half ten we went back down to the tube station, because he'd parked his car at a friend's house, apparently. Now, last time we did the whole cheek kiss thing before parting. Wasn't sure what his plan was this time - could hear my brain going "cheekcheekcheek...oh, no - he's going in... definite lips here...". And thus spit was exchanged. Quite pleasantly.

I do like him. He has a nice laugh and is quite good looking. He's never going to satisfy my need for drawn out saga and drama, but that's not necessarily a bad thing. Half my brain - the suspected commitment-phobic half - is getting quite nervous at this lurch into relationshipland. The other half insists this is what I wanted - what anyone sensible would want. The SCP half continues to get edgy at the prospect of phone calls and the like. The other half says stop being so bloody stupid and deal with it. It's a good thing.

Greetings to Helen: something to read with your tea.

Lazing on a Sunday afternoon

I was woken up this morning by two texts, a phone call, screaming children outside and my flatmates making a hell of a lot of noise, as per usual. Obviously there were half hour intervals between these. Reasons not to live with other people:

1. They're inevitably pedantically neat or not tidy enough in comparison to your own habits.
2. They leave random things in the living room (such as snare drums).
3. They take up vast amounts of space in the fridge, freezer and shoe rack.
4. You have to put up with their hordes of relations staying just in case you ever want anyone to stay.
5. They talk through your programmes.

However, their presence does make the rent cheaper. I've about an hour and a half before needing to think about going out. Watching the film version of A Midsummer Night's Dream. It's not thrilling me at the moment, but then I was never keen on the comedies anyway. Can't complain about Rupert Everett in minimal clothing, though.

And in the beginning, there was the word...

And the word was banana. Actually, that's made me think of how annoyed I am with George Bush and the general ridiculous principle of teaching 'intelligent design'. Note how the creationists have to rename their brand to make it sound slightly less rednecked. How long is it till the next American election? Let me say from the outset that I thoroughly disapprove of all religious influence on education. Although, admittedly, it's difficult not to influence children in some way or another. I personally try to convince them to write poetry and skip around happily with small animals.

Rather upset about Mo Mowlam, still. It seems to be a tradition for Labour politicians to die tragically early, recently. Perhaps it's a plan to make the party more endearing. Sorry, this wasn't meant to be a cynical paragraph.

Which reminds me that there's a point to this blog. Well, more like there isn't, actually. Actually, there's definitely a point in my mouth at the moment. I have a feeling my right bottom wisdom tooth is coming through again. I had the top two out a couple of years ago, when putting anything into my mouth besides soup became problematic. They told me the bottom two couldn't come out in case something went wrong and my tongue lost feeling. Which wouldn't be much help with said soup. No idea how babies cope with this.

Reasonably excited am moment. Going out with a decidedly lovely boy tomorrow for the second time. Said boy (whom we shall rename Dave) actually texts randomly, dresses inoffensively and has excellent taste in comedy. This sudden rush of reality is a little daunting. Ophelia hasn't been associated with a love life in some time. Hence what appears to be an attempt to recreate my teenage years that never were by going to the cinema. Will try to avoid snogging in the back row, however, as the arm generally gets in the way and causes discomfort.

Will let you know how it goes.