Pam has asked us not to film the ceremony

It was interesting to reveal to people that I was going on a Hen Weekend. Their reactions usually went along the lines of:

'Are you sure you don't mean stag weekend?'

This of course was met with a:

'No, if I had meant stag weekend, I would have used the word stag, which is quite a different word, what with it starting, ending and containing completely different letters than the word hen and denoting a completely different animal and gender of animal.'

This was usually followed by something along the lines of:

'Boys don't traditionally go on Hen Weekends'

Which I was sharply able to counter with:

'Well, girls don't traditionally marry other girls either though, so in this case we can simply dispense with the tradition and just enjoy ourselves.'

Other person left saying 'ah', red-faced; pointless conversation terminated.

The weekend was marvellous by the way. Clay Pigeons got shot and the clutch on a Land Rover got severely singed as we almost buried the thing in mud, whilst driving blindfold in a field. Haven't had so much fun (or sparkling, grape-derived beverages) in a long time. I knew some, had met others briefly before and yet more others were total strangers, but everyone got on famously (probably owing to having some boys around!) and by the end of the weekend we had decided that we had become the Hen Clique and would not really bother speaking to anyone else come the wedding itself. In fact, we might call eachother Heather and have done with it.

Outfit buying this weekend. Got to find something in black, white or a mix of both to go along with the imposed theme. Oh and I must get a gift off the internet. Rather looking forward to the whole thing! Although I might avoid talking about it lest someone is to utter the question, 'so who do you know at this wedding, the bride or the groom?'

Thermal bodybelt

Today I have not been doing enough work. Granted, I am light on my 'to do' list, but really, I given my rantings about promotion in the last post, why am I not being proactive and energetic?

However, by the miracles of the internet I have learnt a lot about Lebanon (It would seem that Adrian Monk, or at least the actor who plays him is one of Lebanon's more notable sons - notable by Mr Kenneth lowcultural standards at least) and discovered that Selina Scott (where the hell did she disappear to? thought I) now has a company designing mohair socks. Groovy.

Gym tonight with Igor, my corpulent and hirsute personal trainer. Is he Russian you ask? Well he sometimes has to skip stretching and run off, say I.
Ta-ta-boom. I thang yaw!

Travelling overland to Morrocco - But why?

I’m in a very odd mood, the sort that my old therapist would have something to say about. I just feel like I’ve had a moment of clarity and I’ve realised exactly where I am and I just keep looking at the people around me at work and thinking, I am not the same as you (in many ways I am better) and yet I can’t get into the swing of this business like you can and be really successful.

I feel like it’s breakpoint. I either get successful in this and get promoted and on a wage worthy of someone my age in this business with 7 years experience or I get the hell out and do something where my creativity and writing/verbal ability is more recognised and valued.

I wonder if I'll do anything about it this time. Watch this space.

Grey eggs? Is that an Arab custom?

I miss my Saturday lie-ins. Yes, they are lie-ins, not lay-ins as others I know would have it; for I know the law as far as correct language and terminology is concerned and will enforce it with my last breath (Marshmellow pronouncers beware!). For the second weekend running I find myself setting an alarm that even King Earliest I of the Earlybird people would raise an eyebrow at the thought of considering.

Last Saturday it was work that had me out of my fetid pit at an indecent hour of a weekend - eliciting the consumer response to a self-assembly mattress from the consumers of Southwest London; don't ask! - but this Saturday I am at least more fortunate that my early start was for social purposes, in order that two timely trains could convey me to where I now find myself lounging, in the newly acquired domestic environs of a friend in the provinces.

A three course meal is being prepared in an adjacent room, for this evening and there just so happened to be a laptop handy, so I thought I'd put my foot on the throttle and motor out into the information superhighway. I've so far made my way down the list of tip-top taps you will note on the left, just checkin' in as t'were and now I thought I'd post a mini-missive here as well. How do you like that? ....What! Well sod you then!

Sorry, tired and crotchety, must be these early starts! Yawn...

Well he's that tall, I hadn't room to hoover!

I've been busy lately, socially speaking and it's been rather good. I have a steadily increasing stack of tickets to events I have recently attended, on my mantle piece and one could almost detect a sense of satisfaction and peace of mind in my demeanour upon reflection of this, if one were nuzzling one's mood detection antenae round my person. Now anyone who knows me would probably be impressed by that. (Not to mention relieved: 'tendancy to moan' would probably be on my school report if my friends were my teachers and the world had gone a bit back to school surreal dream flavoured)

Last night I had the pleasure of getting plastered in Fortnum & Mason. That place has been going for almost 300 years, you know? You didn't? Oh well, don't say you don't learn anything from Mr Kenneth. Yes, 1707 it was when Mr Fortnum and Mr Mason batted round the idea of opening up a little shop on Piccadilly in London. They've put a big new shiny staircase in since last year, which would please the old gents no end, I'm sure.

Anyway, you're probably wondering how it was that I got drunk at the aforementioned emporium of Mr F and Mr M - well if you're not, then why are you still reading? Go on, surf away, see if I care! There are some midgets wrestling on a clip from Jerry Springer on YouTube so I believe - Well for those of you still sitting on your hands in anticipation, it so happens that the management of London's most Royal Warranted department store open it up for an evening, a couple of times a year to promote their goodies.

Customers can buy tickets to the event for £20 and upon admission, they are welcomed and coats taken, to afford a comfortable stroll around the environs. Functionaries continually ply them with sparkling wine and canapés and other shop dollies of the highest calibre serve up samples of the finest edible bits and doings. The smoked salmon, the cheeses, the sausages, the aged balsamic vinegar, the marmalades, the chocolate, the shortbread, the yule log, the spiced tea, the nougat, oh, the delights! And the fantastic thing is, the ticket entitles the bearer to £20 of goodies, so one gets one's money back in the finest comestibles! (The idea being you'll spend more than your £20 and make return visits, so that they make their money back)

Anyway, with a beer both before and after this escapade, I woke up at 4 this morning with the TV on and a card of paracetamol tablets under the duvet with me. I can think of more appealing bedfellows to wake up next to, but a good night was had by all, I think, so I can't complain. Oops! There I go again with that positive outlook. My friends will be having fainting fits!

The blue Samsonite please!

Right, well; new blog format, new approach. Mr Kenneth is no longer speaking in the third person as of now thank you very much. It was quite exhausting to keep a check on when relating first person experiences and what's more it was probably only evidence of my deep-seated reluctance to get close to strangers and extend my personality to them.

I will also make an effort to write off the cuff rather than treat each blog entry as some kind of linguistic epic of perfection. (Not that they ever were for a second, judging by today's re-reading)

I've been in 2 plays since writing my last post. That is to say one play followed by another play, so in terms of self-projection the journey has begun. It's ludicrous on the one hand to be a noisy, opinionated performer kind of a person and on the other be writing in the third person and be too timid to ask a cab driver to turn the heating down. (I know! I was sweating like a navvy's crotch and he was wearing a quilted jerkin!) I really am full of contradiction and the more I can make the two halves join and reach some kind of equilibrium the better.

I've also been on a naturist holiday for goodness sake, so it's not like I'm some shrinking violet. Perhaps shrinkingly violent is the apt oxymoron here.

The top and bottom is less analysis of one's self, one's work, one's personal life, one's habits etc and more getting the hell on with whatever takes my fancy, thank you very much.

More soon you might be led to expect. We shall see.