Got a reply from the Press Complaints Commission, and they addressed it to Iiona J… Esq, and then wrote 'Dear Mr J…' which got me hopping mad, I can tell you… How dare they assume my gender? If I'm in doubt as to whether someone is male or female I use their whole name. I thought that was standard practice. And I refuse to write (Ms) like that, in parentheses, after my name.

Guess who I saw last night? Yes, that’s right. Charles Kennedy, unloading his car in front of his house. He happens to live on a main road, by a bus stop, so had two dozen curious people staring at him.

So bored. So sleepy. Such a nice day and I am stuck at work with nothing – literally nothing – to do.

The inaugural Crafternoon was a big success. Thank you to everyone who attended, bought our cakes, and told us they were having fun.

AL and I spent much of Saturday baking. After a trip to Waitrose (where I wept bitter tears, as my local Tesco is a pound shop in comparison), we went back to her flat and got cracking. Five hours and half a dozen Bellinis later, we were surrounded by cookies, muffins, pink-iced cupcakes and a sticky grapefruit and poppy seed cake. Oh, and a giant plate of brownies. I’m happy to report that all the cakes sold, as did the pineapple upside-down cake, and Naz’s chocolate cake. It was really nice to look out over a sea of chatting knitters scoffing cake and know that our hard work has paid off.

Incidentally, I am so envious of AL’s lifestyle. She lives in a gorgeous 1930s block in south west London, with blossoming trees outside her window and a pink writing desk in her bedroom, and she teaches college and has just had her first book published. And she drives a dove-grey fake 1960s Japanese car. Whereas I live in a slightly less gorgeous 1960s block, have a view of terrifying estates from most windows, and ride the bus. Sigh.

Foxy and Crafty

Crafternoon makes its debut this Sunday at the Pleasure Unit on Bethnal Green Road. 2-6, and it's free, but bring money for cake! Here's a tentative cake list... now I'm not promising all of these babies (especially as me and A.L. are having a drinkin 'n' bakin day tomorrow, with an emphasis on the cocktails), but some or all of these goods may be on sale:

ginger and choc-chip cookies
brownies
blueberry muffins
carrot cake
pineapple upside down cake (Please Rachel, please!)

Fine DJs to include Sonik, Pam Savage (AKA pineapple upside down cake baker), DJ Slipstitch and the DJ With No Name (AKA Kyle)

Now that it's not OK to hate Black and Asian Londoners, I guess the Evening Standard needs another target... Step forward the Eastern Europeans. Their right-wing reporting made me so mad I wrote a letter... (But complaining is one of my favorite things to do.)

Press Complaints Commission
1 Salisbury Square
London
EC4Y 8JB

21 April 2005


Dear sir or madam,

Breach of 12i and 12ii of the Code of Practice

I am writing to complain about a front-page article in the April 20 edition of the Evening Standard. The paper published a story with the headline Au Pair shook Baby to Death. The subheading is 10-month-old dies while in care of Polish teenager. This is discriminatory and racist: the relevant detail is that a child died in the care of an au pair, not that the au pair was Polish. I believe this is designed to incite racial hatred and animosity. As part of London's long established and growing Polish community, I found this headline highly offensive. Would the paper be allowed to print a subhead stating '10-month-old dies while in care of Asian teenager'? No, and with reason.

This case seems ironic given that the Evening Standard was so recently embroiled in a dispute with the Mayor of London over his alleged anti-Semitic remarks to an Evening Standard journalist. I await a reply.

Went to a meeting after work yesterday, and on my way home I bought a bottle of wine. I was a bit overwhelmed by the choice in Thresher’s, so when the woman behind the counter asked if I needed any help I said I did. Told her I wanted a light, fruity red wine (Mad Dog 20/20?) for under a fiver. As I’m sure her corporate training dictates, she suggested one for £5.99: ‘A very refreshing Beaujolais, good lightly chilled, and it’s even got a screw-cap.’ (this last part said rather pointedly). I narrowed my eyes at her. Was she implying I was going to drink it on the way home? How dare she etc. etc. I only live a five-minute walk away and can wait that long.

Saturday night the Actionettes danced at the Albany. Me and Miss Nymphette were the first to arrive (and she was there for over half an hour before I showed up) so we got stuck in to a bottle of Prosecco. Yum. I think I was drunker than I realised at the time… the show went well and I didn’t spot too many bemused faces in the crowd. Afterwards we all bopped around a bit, and I dipped my pony tail into someone’s pint. Thankfully he didn’t notice.

http://bitchphd.blogspot.com/ Been reading this today. Scroll down to ‘do you trust women?’ I spent a good hour or more reading all 141 of the comments… a fascinating discussion, and one as relevant to British women as to American women.

I just received a letter about my company pension. I am due for retirement in 2038 (which I’m sure will come around in the blink of an eye), and, should I die in service (paper-cut to a major artery? OD’ing on printer fumes? Buried beneath an avalanche of hardbacks?), I get £95,000. Not that I’ll be around to use it. Steve could pay off our mortgage, and still have plenty left over for a hot young mail-order bride. Or to give me a kick-ass funeral. Margaritas and quesadillas all round.

OK discussing my own funeral is depressing me. Enough! Plans for this weekend: viewing flats tomorrow, then having someone round to see my place. Going to old friend’s wedding in Blackheath. I was going to wear a strapless satin dress and sheer lace jackety-thing (I don’t want to say bolero, cos that sounds so eighties… but it is cropped…), but as the forecast says 10 degrees C, this needs to be revised.

It’s tasty, expensive, and the portions are small – but God I love Kastner & Ovens… I had a thick slice of chewy treacle tart on Monday, and a wedge of sticky ginger cake today: I’m trying to limit myself to two slices a week for the sake of my bank balance and my wardrobe. Plus, you know what they say – a cake a day keeps the boys away.

Last night I went to see Emerald’s work in a group show at Cide on Lower Marsh… Poor Miss Kitschenette was feeling under the weather but managed to work the crowd a little bit and keep upright. Her felt bird pictures were a highlight of the show, and I want to save up to get 3, 4, or 5 of them hanging in a row. After my mini bottle of Chardonnay (purchased in M&S, as I knew the private view would have warm beer), I hopped on a 159 for a free lift home. I will mourn the loss of the Routemaster for many reasons, not just the joy of jumping on and jumping off before the conductor has asked to see your ticket.