...and the winner is:  "Female Exiting Prostitution Worker".  I don't even know where to begin, folks.  I do know I wouldn't want that job title on my business card.  In other job-hunt related news, my father-in-law saw fit today to lecture me about my job-hunting skills.  Have I thought about looking at working for government departments?  No, that major career-path escaped me, despite the fact

Two days after I landed back in Blighty, I was guilted into going to Eastbourne* to visit The Provincials, who were holidaying there, having timed their visit to exactly coincide with our arrival back in the UK. Those of you who have travelled non-stop for seven weeks, and know the pain of a 10-hour flight, will understand that this news was not greeted with quite the joyous raptures I believe

Mrs. G wondered what my living space looks like. I think the answer is that it's about half-way to where I'd like it to be. The half that I could bring with me from the UK gives me a sense of home. But the half that I couldn't - the more permanent decor aspects - are not to my taste. So it cannot be said that our home is an accurate reflection of our souls. If we had our way, we'd have more

After making a promise to myself that I would post more in the New Year, I fell into a black hole. I clawed my way out of the self-initiated abyss only to end up barely days later lurching into one not of my making. Let's just say this has been one of those weeks I don't love my job. They may as well place a sign on the door of my building which states "Beware ye, all who enter. Here be egos.

It's that time again: another postcard from the in-laws has arrived, and it makes for a blisteringly suspenseful read. The postcard is addressed to "Mr. & Mrs. [his first initial].[my first initial] [his surname]". Evidently they are still struggling to come to grips with the notion that Cowboy and I are two separate people with two completely different names. We've reached a new low with the

I have shaken off most of the jetlag and attended one session of yogic spine re-alignment, and a moment of free time squeals into view on two wheels. I'm grabbing it, lest it veer out of my reach imminently. So buckle up, because it's a long one! These astonishing conclusions hot off the press: first, no matter how many times trans-global trips are made, one never becomes accustomed to the

I am here. I'm quite busy and I need to construct a long-ish post and I haven't found time to do it yet. Oh, how I wish the office wasn't open plan, and that I had chosen the desk which meant that my screen wasn't visible to passers-by. Etc. But! A postcard arrived today. A postcard which harks back to my very first post on this blog. It is from the Provincials, and though it is by no

Every so often I check my blogular inbox (and by every so often, I mean whenever I remember that it exists - which at the moment ranges from once a week, to every three days). The other day I was pleased to find that a (concerned?) reader had emailed a link to a rather amusing news report which I feel compelled to share, weeks late, with you dear readers.Ban on feeding cows dope

Here at the Urban HillFort, Christmas just doesn't feel like Christmas this year. How could it, when the weather today is 20c and clear? Christmas weather is all about drizzle, drear, crisp mornings, coats, scarves and the practice of bundling on four layers for the walk to the station, only to have to disrobe inconveniently once underground in the warm fug of the tube's microclimate. I miss

You know that Margaret Atwood quote? "...everyone else my age is an adult, whereas I am merely in disguise." That's exactly how I feel. Today is my 29th birthday. So far I have had a lovely day: Cowboy woke me up before he went to work, to give me a cup of tea and my presents. I got some fabulous things. Activist sent me a copy of "I Am A Bird Now", by Antony & The Johnsons, which I love;

The Urban Hill Fort is still waiting for wordly goods to arrive. The ship is due in port today, but the moving company tell me that it will take until Friday (at the earliest - it's 'pencilled' into their diary) for the worldly goods to actually arrive at my house.First, they have to be inspected by both The Ministry of Agriculture and Fisheries (MAF), and Customs. MAF are checking to see

I dislike my Mother-In-Law. For some time I have tried to analyse my feelings towards her, and to stop them veering towards hatred. I'm not given to true hatred of other people. But there's definitely a whole raft of negative feelings that hoves into view whenever I think about her, and I've decided that this is dislike, and it's getting worse. I've tried to think about why I dislike her, so I

I don't know why, but visiting The Province exhausts me. It could be the effort of appearing virtuous and remembering not to swear in front of The Provincials (Cowboy's parents). Whatever. We got back last night and this morning I am so exhausted that I put my underwear on upside down (jamming my waist into the leg-hole) and didn't even notice until I needed the toilet two hours later and

At 8.30am this morning the phone rang. When the phone rings at 8.30am I assume it is some kind of dire emergency. Everyone knows you don't call folks that early unless it's vital to someone's welfare. Everyone, that is, except Cowboy's family. Several weeks after Cowboy's older brother had his first child, the phone rang at 8.20am on a Sunday morning. Cowboy leapt out of bed to answer it

Today I am experiencing uncontrollable stress mounting into fury. What I need are some tranquillisers. What I have is a bunch of obligations to fulfil and socialising to organise, and a group of friends, acquaintances and relatives-in-law who apparently have no idea how to handle someone who is leaving the country for two years and will obviously have nine hundred things to do and people to see

This is my niece, at two days old. Look at the size of those feet! I predict she'll be tall.Not that I know anything about babies or children or anything, but I think she is pleasing to the eye. Essentially, though, she's a baby. She doesn't do anything; she just is. I imagine that when you're the parent of a baby, the fluttering of an eyelash is enough to send you running for the Nikon, but to

A little while ago it was my nephew's first birthday. Cowboy and I attended his party. Nearly six weeks later, I have recovered sufficiently to write about it.We arrived at Cowboy's older brother's (M) house to a chorus of children screeching 'EEEEEEEEEEEE!'. I immediately requested urgent assistance from Cowboy's younger brother, who directed me towards the location of the alcoholic beverages.

I should start by saying that it appears that the Elephants upstairs have moved out. There was the sound of the ceiling crashing to the floor yesterday (all day) and a moving van outside the flat. Plus, we eventually heard from the landlady (after contacting her directly ourselves through her father, whose phone number we found amidst some papers) and she is going to put carpet down and fix

Well, no great surprise here, but I seem to have screwed this up already. Apparently my blog, my creation, my joy, is not found on this server. Or whatever.Generally speaking, me and technology don't get along too well. I have a computer, I use Word and the Interweb, and occasionally I can find things I've lost in the depths of my hard drive. I even have an ipod and it does appear to work,