i'm on the train

wall of cheese and filming
Originally uploaded by etcher67

London: It has come to my notice that of those of you who are not a) wearing sensible shoes and backpacks b) speaking french c) travelling in pre-pubescent dayglo herds are on your mobile phone and complaining about your job. Very loudly. At great length. In a monotone voice.

Whilst I sympathise with your employment plight I should just like to point out that the fifteenth round of 'I'm not going to let them treat me like this' is no more effective than the first, and that going on and on (and ON) about it probably isn't going to make you feel any better. I have job problems of my own, London. I do not need to hear yours too. One of these days I might just give in to the temptation to snatch your brand new iPhone and throw it at you. Sorry about that, it's the hormones.

Might I suggest that in future you talk about nice happy things such as your holiday in Malaga, or how much you drank last night? Go ahead and book some cinema tickets, it might cheer you up. I hear Mamma Mia is uplifting.

One other thing: I'm afraid that though I find the intimate details your visits to the hospital or your relationship breakdown fascinating, I'm really not sure that the public is the best place to discuss these things. We can hear, London. All oif it.

you can count on me

'So....in 459 there are 9 units. That's the same as nine ones. How much is nine ones altogether?'

Long and considered silence.

'.....ten?'

Long intake of patient (ha: who am I kidding?) breath.

'No, Not ten. Look again...nine ones....'

Personalised learning. That's what we need. Please be aware that engaging me in conversation about this may result in screaming and the renting of hair. Yours, probably.

My staff meeting was cancelled tonight. I was on the playground playing 'it' with seven year olds in a rainless moment this afternoon. It almost killed me, but I still managed to leap into the air with happiness when I heard.

I come home and spend some quality time with my bed. A day's relentless cheerfulness has worn me out but half an hour heading down towards sleep helps. At the point where I would fall asleep were it late I wake up, then spend a groggy 30 minutes resurfacing.

I force myself to draw, because I have this strange idea that I might go back to the print studio and begin to work again, at last, and I want to. I really, really want to. I have had long, sensible, optimistic conversations with several people about how I will have to 'bibble about' (Jones) and 'produce shit' (P) for a while until I am back in the habit of being an artist. It all makes perfect sense. I completely agree. I might have even introduced the idea. The only problem is, the work is utterly horrible and it makes me want to cry and throw things. It's not unreasonable to expect that I should be brilliant all of the time, is it? Don't answer that.

Talk Talk suck.

We interrupt normal services for a short rant about broadband suppliers. Or supplier, to be more precise.

If you are considering changing your broadband supplier to Talk Talk on account of their excellent fee structure, free calls and fast connection times -

Don't.

The connection is flakey (mine drops constantly, another friend has no connection for days on end) and their customer services work from a script, assuming you can get through to them. I've just spent 50 minutes trying to get through to someone (anyone!) in the technical department and in the end gave up and wrote this in an attempt to get the festering bile off my chest. Last time I managed to get through I was promised after a call back which I am still awaiting over a week later. Should you decide to attempt email communication you will eventually find a small form which you can fill in, but last time I tried it I didn't get a reply for over a week. When I did it was a form letter.

Once again: Talk Talk. Don't touch them with a bargepole.