Went out to get a winter coat, came back with a polo-neck, long-sleeved, empire line, peacock feather-printed mini dress. It is practical! I can wear it to work, out for swanky do’s, to visit family… plus is looks very 60s so it’ll never go out of style (for me anyway).

Question: if the only cords I own are straight leg/boot cut, and in order to look cool I try to cuff the hems in that 80s fold-and-roll style, will I look like a turkey wearing knickerbockers?
Answer: sadly yes.

More crazy dreams last night. After reading a review of Stephen Malkmus’s solo gig, I dreamed he came to the Actionettes dorm room (sorority house?) where he left his bag before going to the recording studio on the corner (in real life a Tesco Metro). We all pawed through his bag (full of sticks of gum and girly Hello Kitty items, and scraps of paper), and when he returned I seduced him. But when he was getting nekkid I was a bit turned off by his extreme pallor and 26” chest. Plus there was a small dead mouse in the room, which kind of put a damper on things.

Still no news on our new home. It’s taken nearly a whole year to sell my place and buy another one. I never want to move again. Maybe once more, and then I’m staying put.

This needs no words. Except: marrow bodies, garlic (?) ears, and asparagus legs. This lil beaut won a prize at the Lambeth County Fair, and I for one am not surprised.

Picture post today, as I've finally figured out how to email photos from my phone to my computer! But sadly have not figured out how to make it look good on a page...

(Bottom) 30th birthday champagne tea at Liberty...

(Top) and the nervous man picking up the tab... wisely he stuck to a pot of tea.

Last night I dreamed that the police were after me, but I didn’t know why. I was in hiding and told Steve I was going to go turn myself in, but then the search had died down and I figured maybe they’d forgotten. Also, as none of my friends or family members had shopped me, I figured the price on my head wasn’t that high.

A few days ago I work up and Steve was reaching over me to turn off the alarm clock. His hair was tufty and he looked like an owl. We’d been looking at a bird book the previous night, and then the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was a looming boyfriend/barn owl.

Been reminiscing about my dire first full-time job in publishing, at Plexus (I can’t be bothered to hide their name. Look, here’s their website, too! http://www.plexusbooks.com/ They were doing Tupac books back when I worked there!). One of my clearest memories of that time – other than sobbing in the toilet and wondering how badly my future career would be damaged if I quit my first job after two months – was of my boss dictating emails to me, which I would write on a note pad, and type later. We only had email on one computer, you see (well it was 2001), and I only had access to it for about an hour a day. I remember asking her ‘Do you want me to pp it?’ Meaning, do you want me to sign your name and write pp next to it, indicating that although you didn’t sign it, you gave me permission to? She, harassed and impatient as always, barked back ‘No, I don’t want you to pp it. There will be no pee-peeing.’

I just thought of it now, cos I was on my way to the loo when my boss intercepted me for a holiday form. My pee-peeing was delayed by a few minutes.