The end of Wild Book Week and the start of painting frenzy! With chocolate cake!

Well. I've kind of finished my wild book. I will be finishing it on the train on the way home tomorrow, which is where I started it a week ago. Feels a bit like the last minute makings of a school project late in! Its got pictures, glitter, buttons, ribbons and doodles. I expected that. What it unexpectedly has, is a smell of its own, too. Of glue and newsprint and paint. Quite an art-shop smell, if you will. I will contnue to add small things to it, but, like the nanowrimo draft novel, the bones of it are there. Its been interesting all week drawing and sticking and painting even when I don't feel like it, even when tired. I have even done two canvases for my art exhibition!

Last nights party, despite its various "moments" has left me surprisingly cheerful due to the fact that I went to bed at 10ish, not 4ish. I went to bed to look after Mr E, who was feeling somewhat invaded by dozens of people in the house and all of them needing the toilet at the same time and talking about it loudly. Who can blame him, I felt a little disturbed by the massive invasion myself. But parties end, and the exodus has now occured and we are all back to normal. Luckily, there is some Lime Meringue Pie left. Mr E's baking skills when it comes to pie are second to none. YUM.

I also made my now notorious chocolate cake recipe, of which there is none left I can proudly say. It is so indulgent that it was once christened "filth cake" by Mr Sir D a long while ago. For all those who ask, here is the recipe:

“Dark Chocolate Mousse Cake with gold dust*.”

(From “Unwrapped” the Green and Blacks choc cookbook. With edits!)

Use a 20cm or 23cm, that is, 8 or 9 inch cake tin with removable base.

300g dark cooking chocolate. That’s two massive 150g bars of Green n Blacks cooking chocolate or 3 bars of Green n Blacks usual chocolate, Lindt 70 percent also works, as will any quality dark chocolate. Any sweeter than these ones though, and you will need to adjust sugar quantity.
275g caster sugar
165g butter. (I use Stork)
5 large eggs

preheat the oven to 180C 350F Gas mk 4. Grease tin very well.

Melt chocolate, sugar and butter in a heatproof bowl over a saucepan of simmering water then remove from heat.

Whisk the eggs together and stir into the chocolate mixture. The mixture will thicken and go all glossy in a couple of minutes and it will be pouring consistency.

Pour into the cake tin and bake for 35 to 40 minutes.

Remove the sides of the tin after it’s a bit cooler (entertaining) and leave the cake on its base to cool, then wait impatiently to eat it while picking the cooked bits off the edge.

It won’t rise much by the way….. but who cares ;)

*Yeah, you can dust it with gold dust. I just tend to eat it.

Wild Book Week

I tag you all to take up my challenge: Wild Book Week. Its like Nanowrimo, where you write a book in a month, but more solid and more visual. Its like Nanowrimo crossed with SARK crossed with Graham Rawle sprinkled with Dave McKean and edited by Steven Moffat, if you like that type of description.

Here it is: buy a blank paged book (or lined pages, hey whats the diff) and fill it up over a week. Any size, any shape. Fill it with anything. Fill it with your life, in colour, in doodles, in fuzzy pictures, in writing, in coffee cup stains. In my case; glitter, buttons ribbons and nail varnish. Set yourself a deadline. Tear stuff out and paste it in. Ramble. Write honest rubbish. Fill it with goth poetry and lolly sticks. Sew, stick, staple and tape. Make it crunchy, make it hard to shut. My deadline is next Monday because I started mine today. My book is A4 and it came from Paperchase. Each page is a different colour. Its yummy. Yours can be large or small, fat or thin, from WHsmith or from Horrid's. Just get one. To coin an over-used phrase, just do it.

Why? This came about because I'm plain useless at keeping a sketchbook: only real artists do that: I tend to collect magazine cuttings and newspaper cartoons and odd photos taken with my mobile phone. I read SARK and oneredpaperclip and all kinds of "inspirational" fluff then lie in bed watching crap telly all weekend. I like crap telly, don't get me wrong. But it is turning my brain to mush, like the corners of toast that started off as frozen bread. Unexpectedly soggy. I'd be honoured to see the results if you join me. Each book will be a peculiar snapshot of life and all the books together will make an odd library of life.

I promise to add a picture soon: I've done two pages already ;)

The £99 shop

Yesterday I went to a gig with the Red Stripe Band. The gig was jolly. There was an art exhibition upstairs in the Troubadour cafe in Earls Court, where bottled beer is £3.75 and a plate of houmous and pitta is £7. The art exhibition was in its opening night and it was a pay bar- thats how expensive Earl's Court is. I'm ashamed to say that I looked at the artwork that ten artists had spent a lifetime learning about and creating, and for the first time I genuinely thought "I can do this better". I actually doubt that I could make better art, of course, but a prettier exhibition, certainly. More colours. More glitter! Less grey. I have always wanted to hold an exhibition but lacked time, and paintings, and inspiration, and...well, paint. Enough excuses. I'm going to take the oneredpaperclip route and just DO IT.
The exhibition will be made up of jewel-like one off paintings, bright, swirly, patterned decorative pieces covered in diamante. Jewellery for walls, if you will. All the pieces will be £99, thus the title. And a little recession joke! They will take me an appreciable amount of time to make, cost me in paint and sparklies and I don't want them to be over priced. Nor do I want them to be mistaken for art.
Off to paint now :)

Banking hell Part 1

At least there is chocolate. Thats what I say in weeks like these. Right now I'm sat in a darker and darker room looking at rain and trying to understand linux on my eeepc with a view to installing Gnome PPP to activate my new 3 modem so I can surf it up on the train and use the cute eee everywhere. Bargain. (The learning curve is a bit on the steep side though. I'm not as much of a tech as I look!) It was hard to come by though-

so there I was, last Wednesday, surprisingly awake for 6.30am. Little did I know what was in store. Initially all I planned was to call the bank and then to pop into my local post office to collect the exciting new dingle dangle that will enable me and my eee-pc surf anywhere for very small money each month. Special offer is through quidco on moneysavingexpert, if you are interested. So I called the bank. Hold on they said, call demand is high. So hold I did. Hi, I said, I was calling to sort out a loan repyment date, which needs changing. I've been tryng to sort this out for the best part of this year and every time I call you say "oh yes we'll do that can't think why we didn't before" and then nothing happens, resulting in charges of £70+ being aplied to the account every single month.

This is not my account, so I have to keep handing the phone to the account owner for ID. This is Nat Pest by the way, readers, NEVER EVER bank with them. They will sooner tear out your soul than make any basic change to your account.

Oh dear, she says, and I got put on hold for some minutes until she comes back to me to state that their "systems are down". I thought privately that in many ways, their systems are ALWAYS down, what with never being able to sort even the simplest thing out and I asked that she put my concerns in "the notes". Notes are a mystical thing which theoretically mean other call centre operators can read what I've been on about when their systems are "up". In practice, this does not work. Not even a little bit.

She said Well, I'll put that you called and you are not happy. I said ok and please put what its about and that I have a complaint going through and its with the ombudsman and I've asked for all 6 years of statements to claim back charges and nothing has happened. She said Well I'll put that you called and you are not happy. I said,, very slowly, NO.... PUT EVERYTHING DOWN..... I AM THE CUSTOMER! Disgruntled, she said she would though I'm not really sure she grasped basic communication protocols such as typing so I arranged another call and hung up, resigned,once more, to having to sort it out another day.

Bowed but not defeated, I toddled to the Post Office for the exciting parcel. I hand over "sorry you were out" card covered in hieroglyphs and my passport. A letter covered in labels appears. ARE YOU EASTMOND shouts the man from behind glass. Well, no I say- and where is my parcel? Dongle surely, was never so thin as this letter. YOU ARE NOT EASTMOND. DO YOU HAVE ID OF EASTMOND. more shouting. No, I say, look, obviously the post man filled out one card for two items. YOU NEED EASTMOND ID is the simple but effective response. I said I'm going to ask you a very simple question. I happen to know that this parcel I'm awaiting is mine and addressed to me because 3mobile sent me the tracking number. Is the tracking number in my hand, on this card, the same as the one on the letter WHAT. WHAT NUMBER This number here. The one on the sorry we couldn't be arsed to knock on the door card. Careful checking of the number. NO. NO THEY ARE NOT THE SAME. YOU WILL NEED TO COME BACK WITH ID OF EASTMOND. Yes, I say. But where is my parcel. RING NUMBER ON CARD. Oh, I will. So I called the number on the card. Hold on, it said. We have high call demand at the moment.
>AAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRGHH!!!

living life in the fast lane

I never thought I'd become so.. domesticated. My idea of excitement at work is giving a presentation on the minutiae of how to log on, register, and fill in a form on a government website (excited by the fact that anyone would want to listen to me and still quite charmed by powerpoint, sad but true), and my idea of an exciting evening is 3 hours of Dave (the channel) comedy repeats, preferably Buzzcocks, a half bottle of cheap red and a Pizza Hut pizza without cheese.
I think I might be happy.

Out!

I am at last out of that terrible house "share". I had set up a handbag to drop off the handle of the door on the inside should anyone enter my room when I wasn't there, and came back one day to find it had dropped. He had been in my room. Having been having severe difficulty getting my head round the fact I was going to have to move, all difficulty suddenly dropped away and within 2 hours I had organised storage and van and 2 extra friends to help, plus Sammy and Pavel the van man himself, whom I know through Jonny Vantastic and would HIGHLY recommend. After an incredibly smooth move (thanks boys) that lasted from 7am until 9.45, I found myself in the local cafe treating everyone to breakfast, and surprisingly calm. I spent the rest of the day gleefully nesting round at Sam's, determined to make a good impression on his parents by doing washing, cleaning, tidying, and generally making myself useful. I am in a safe place. I have a one year savings plan. House prices are going down. It could even turn out good. And now I'm off to camp in a soggy field with my other friends.

"I left my crutch in John Lewis" is probably not a promising hit.

Evidently I'm walking better if I can just swan out without it. I can't concentrate today- at all. I've just gone to housing hell in my mind, endless waiting for letters and pressure and ever time the text beep goes on my phone I think its the flatmate trying to manipulate me in some new way. Its a bit like being stalked. And leaving my room full of all my lovely things I've collected over the years and my beautiful clothes and my bears and scarves and beads and books for any old stranger to walk into feels a bit like leaving my knickers off and doing a handstand in Oxford Street. My computer is there too, and my lovely china in the kitchen cupboard. I don't even want him to BREATHE NEAR my belongings let alone leave them in that place. I've promised all my friends family and colleagues not to go there on my own in case he turns violent, which also leaves me trapped: unable to pop in for post and for odd beads I want etc.
I can't see a happy ending to this at the moment, not at all.

Sofa hell and solicitor heaven.

I've been at my new place for 8 weeks now. Paid deposit in cash, paid first months rent by cheque.
The young lady with whom I had thought I was going to live has been forced to leave by the man whom I thought was moving out- and as soon as she left all hell broke loose. I provided a large squishy sofa and he demanded that I move it out immediately becasue he didn't like the pattern despite sanctioning its arrival and when I revealed I've nowhere else to put it (other than freecycle it, which I don't want to do) he flew into a temper and insisted that one of us leave.

I'm extremely grateful for such lovely friends. A handwritten note was produced 4 days ago, asking me to quit the property 7 days after the sofa argument and a similar argument in which he stated and remained completely convinced that the window which I had left open an inch with keys (not door keys) dangling from the handle was the sole cause of a person arriving late at might to enquire after a woman who used to live in the house. He thought the person was a burglar but somehow neglected to call the police.

Its revealed that the other housemate he forced to leave was his wife. Its revealed by her that he behaved in an ungentlemanly way towards her in the past. I can't put more in my blog because its public. Solicitors letters have been provided by kind solicitor friend from a very good property law firm and a queue of people who want to help me is forming rapidly.
The upshot of all this is that I'm being illegally evicted and will lose my home, however. But I hope the gentleman involved will learn that he cannot be a selfish bully, or act unlawfully, without consequences. on top of all this, the bank have messed up my rent payment which makes me look like some kind of freeloading lowlife which I'm not. Stress all round!

I need to remember to breathe. next time I blog, like this lovely lady, I'll be giving something good away to one of my readers... I know you're out there....

casting the cast off

Its OFF!! an unfamiliar looking skinny, flaky, hairy pale leg has emerged from its purple prison into the light. An extremely scary circular saw type item on the end of a hose was used to get it off. And I didn't bring the other shoe to the hospital so I went home with one foot bare. The feeling of air over my right leg has never been so- fresh. The flaking skin really is a sight to behold, and I think I can say without disgusting too many people that I'm REALLY looking forward to peeling it all off before the longest bath ever when I get home from work!

Closing the book in tiny ways

Well this past weekend has been eventful in lots of tiny ways. Keith Leech has published a new book about Hastings Jack in the Green which means that I will now be able to give my Mother a very full explanation indeed of what I get up to every May which may or may not satisfy her thirst for exact fact.
I opened the book and saw a ten year old photograph of someone, who in utter coincidence at the moment of that photo, was wearing a ring of mine. I finally realised then, that I have closed the cover/door/cut of a long saga thats been going on in my life for ages. I felt a bit like Martha when she gets over the Doctor finally, if you know what I mean. This particular person would breeze in and out of my consciousness (but not in a Tardis) every so often ever since I met them in a disastrous thunderclap of doomed weekend romance some ten years ago. And I am over it. That was then and this is now.
The other tiny thing that has happened is that I've just arrived home to find the sofa has shrunk and everything has been moved about as one of my housemates moved out over the weekend. I've been at Sam's so have not been party to the choosing of the new sofa which is less like a sofa and more like a largish chair. Its leather and its square, and its too small to lie down on, three things which a sofa should NEVER be. It is, in fact, tiny. I'm plotting a freecycle-related miracle: unexpectedly a large soft and battered sofa will shortly appear next to it, unless I'm very much mistaken.
I can now take tiny steps with my cast on. And it only hurts a tiny bit, too!

Jack in the Green, Jack in the Green, his name is Jack and he is green.

Tonight I have mostly been decorating things to take with me to Jack in the Green, a festival-like tradition in Hastings which happens every year on this coming Bank Holiday. Much morris is danced, a lot of green body paint gets used up and all involved generally have a raucous time of it to welcome in the spring. This year I have not only decorated a 0.6L plastic tankard (for pineapple and sodas, honest) but also my leg and a dozen plastic tiaras for my morris team. They don't want to wear them, but I don't care. I wanted to get them, so YAH BOO SUCKS. Someone will like them. They are all different colours now. Its the 25th (silver) anniversary and I never ever miss an opportunity to dress up, however small :)
For anyone wondering who will be wearing the pink overdone tiara, its me, and the one with the FIMO green man on it is for Marti- the real Queen of the May, as seen here in the gay bogies on acid website. (Bogies are Jack's* cohorts), every inch of them is green. No kidding.
I shall mainly be taking photographs and trying not to be miserable.

*Jack is a dancing tower of leaves who gets slain at the top of the hill to release the spirit of summer.

Graphs

Well this site has had me laughing my tits off for the last half hour after being sent a clipping from the Guardian by Alison.
www.graphjam.com
Go there!
Look!

The best learning process ever

I mean, its been a real eye opener, to quote a cliche. Being of limited movement, that is. For instance here:
http://ouchmyleg.wordpress.com/
This young lady says it better then me in lots of ways.
I do miss things like heels and being able to pop to the kitchen, and above all I've realised today that I'm quite frightened of never being quite right again. I'm frightened I've ruined my little foot that turned out to be so fragile forever. And the other one- its all a bit swollen up and looks a touch overworked. Will I always walk with a limp? And is that my fault? Is the whole thing? how accidental are accidents?

Pop camtastic

Hey pop dudes!!! look at THIS!!!!
Its a POP CAM
4 tiny coloured lenses take pictures and they come out in all different colours!! And all at slightly different times! no batteries, just pure weird motion-capture.
Woweeee!!
It takes ordinary film and it puts a smile on the face of all developing places. Now I'm hell bent on collecting sweetie wrappers to create a coloured flash for my SLR :)
And all for £8 delivered!!!!

Chiselling time

Chiselling time at the edges, time itself that is, actually chipping away at it to make events and things fit in, rather than time to begin chiselling. Is what I have been doing.
I think I can confidently say that when I began to harm myself, I never thought I'd be in an educational DVD on the subject, imparting my insights and my odd thoughts, and I also never thought that DVD would be filmed on primrose hill, or that I would get there on crutches.
But there you are- these things happen over an inevitable unfolding of time, a bit like the slow deconstruction of a complex origami model, unfolding part by unexpectedly complex part.

In the increasingly chilly wind, sat on the grass among daisies, I explained how tattoos outline my body and define me and in that way they are more important to me than any "fashion statement". They state my name in pictures, who I am, written on me in indelible ink, they don't make me an individual, but they confirm that I am here, I am solid, the fact that I can permanently mark my physical self confirms that. Self harm is different. Its violent. It gets out what is inside and the marks left state nothing but distress. Its not pretty, its not just a weird habit, its a coping mechanism thats a bit on the extreme side. Tattoos are for decoration. End of.

Not giving up giving up.

Alright, enough already. So my high score is now zero. But I went up to eleven! Every time I have a drink I remember that fall---- and I don't want another one. Another drink that is. Or another fall come to that. After the first sweet, cold beer after an 11 day break, the rest (few and farbetween) have been- well, ordinary. I don't drink on weeknights. And I can't get drunk on crutches, anyway. V dangerous. And it disturbs my sleep. I wake up each hour if I have wine, and at 2am if I have beer (like there is a difference. yeah right)
I became a sunny person without it, and I'm not going to give that up. Lets raise a toast (a piece of toast) to being happier without whine (sic)

Humanity

I am seeing humanity in all its facets whilst I'm in plaster, albeit purple plaster. Pictured here balanced attractively on the front of my borrowed mobility trolley (quad bike, actually) in the supermarket. From the taxi driver who cannot be bothered to pull any further towards the cash machine, to the one who hops out to open and shut the door, and even the one who hauls me in and out by the armpits. This morning on the tube I was kindly given a seat by a man with lots of luggage, then, a woman on a mobile phone tripped over my toes, twisting the leg in the cast and causing me to scream and yell "Jesus" involuntarily. It was surprisingly painful. She sat down next to me, mumbled sorry, continued her conversation and a couple of stops later as I popped some more painkillers out of the packet and continued to nurse my leg, she simply moved seats and sat further down the carriage to continue her conversation. I was amazed.
What a cow! Did her parents never teach her it is wrong to kick an injured person and walk away? I thought it was basic.

beating my High Score on Beerswiller II

My high score on Diamond Twister, a game on my mobile, is over 50,000. Every time I do well on the "endless" mode, I want to do better. I have thus far kept off the drink for a week: Sunday to Sunday, since the accident, now 9 days ago. Last night I went to the pub. And I did not drink beer. I did not want to drink beer. No one tried to make me drink beer. I beat my high score. My score is now 9. Days. And I got the best answer on the crossword (Ozymandias). And I still want more! Bring it on. I can do this. On crutches.

sort of xray

here is link to an xray approximating mine. Its where the bone is broken- but not in quite the same way- mine is cracked diagonally straightish rather than zig zag
http://www.conquestchronicles.com/special/Lower_Extremity_Fractures
SO there you go. Until I get camera operational.

everyday posting

I've nothing else to do!!!! I've exhausted the delights of chatting to the plaster technicians in the hospital, (purple leg now) and the other patients, and allowing myself chips and ice cream (not both together) after 2 and a half hours in hospital (should have taken a pic of my xray on the screen using phone- but phone does not connect to computer and blah blah blah) and watching Torchwood and QI, which was in fact QB, and now I'm looking up serving trolleys for work online. I miss work. I like it. I like the people and I even like answering the phone sometimes. And clearing away sandwiches. And all the boring boring things I do but do well. Its so amazing to have a job. I just love it. I may have been in danger of forgetting that. Well I guess I can consider myself reminded.
Yeah, and it would seem I can take pictures with the eee.

no pictures, only words

The kindness of brownie knitter will shortly be keeping my toes warm- she has promised to knit me an Emergency Sock from pure wool (for warmth even when wet), in pink, with extra cashmere round the toes specially for my poorly ankle in its (hopefully) pink or purple fibreglass cast. Pictures will come when I have charged the battery for my camera. I'm moving house day after tomorrow. I think I wont be much help. I really feel for the "man with a van". He will get to know exactly how hard being that man in that van can be. I will need carrying more than the boxes... which I have not boxed up yet....Not to mention the long suffering Paul and even longer suffering Sammy.....I have become a burden to society. I'm looking up jokes even now to lighten the mood with. Perhaps I can hire a wheelchair for the day and whiz about in that. I cant help but think of all the people who are in wheelchairs forever when I consider getting one for the weekend, it seems jolly ridiculous and I feel extra lucky to have my mobility and health. And its my mobility and health I intend to keep, once I have it back.

big white wake-up call

Its not sprained. Its broken. I'm in plaster for the first time in my life. Feeling even more stupid then before and somewhat determined never ever to lose track of how much I'm drinking ever again. How about not drinking at all, is what I'm thinking, and taking it one day at a time seems to be the plan. It only drains my wallet, makes me fat and act stupidly, and now- broken bones? its a no brainer.
Possible plans for those who buy me drinks even when I don't want one include pouring it over their heads. I got this idea from someone who gave up smoking by loading several water pistols and instructing his housemates to shoot him with them, thus soaking the fag and him, if he ever lit up. It was successful! His housemates were wily and used to creep around catching him even when he was far from the house. Perhaps I should hand out some water pistols.
But anyway, how the hell did I manage to walk around on it for 2 days? Cracked fibula, I hear you say, is not weight bearing. Too right its not. Owtch.

ow

I have sprained my ankle. It hurts a lot. Chocolate, ice, painkillers, none of them work really so I'm in a sulk on the sofa playing on the eee. I'm severely unimpressed that I fell over drunk and also particularly embarrassed to admit that it happened while jumping out of the kebab shop. No dancing for me for a while. Something has got to stop here and I don't mean the kebabs. The Quakers had it right. Hot chocolate is much safer.

Easter weekend fun

After an argument about what is or isn't Art, and Damien Hirst and Marcel Duchamp compared and contrasted with Bach and Mendolhson (ok I can't spell it, so sue me) over a greasy breakfast; touring Kew in the freezing sleet/snow on the jolly little bus which was surprisingly fun, enduring arguments about Mac vs PC, homeopathy vs western medicine, where to have tea, how to warm up, and whether Henry Moore's sculpture is "crap" or not, because each actual bronze was not made by the artist himself, (merely designed and modelled by hand in miniature) ...I came to the conclusion that I must be spending the day with my family. After purchasing bargain plush Venus fly-trap toys (£1 each- with detachable plush fly) we are all watching an animated peanut instruct us on how to wobble strange white controllers in the air. Yes, the family are playing Big Brain Academy on the Wii.

I haven't laughed this much in ages!!

Just another day in the office

I was late due to needing more sleep obviously because going to bed early and not drinking any beer and doing relaxing exercises before bed and setting the alarm does not work. Was only going to be 20 minutes late until saw bus queue which was trailing up the stairs back into Waterloo station. Went to get cash to get cab. After enormous cash queue as only one machine operational and machines next to some kind of sewage outlet, found enormous taxi queue. Went back to bus queue. Saw different bus about to go and jumped on that. First piece of luck for the day- it was a Holborn bus. Battled through crowds to work and now I’m here to face some kind of seminar which is an hour earlier than usual and of course the booklets for it are not printed or bound. Phone is ringing every ten minutes (though oddly not in the last ten) and the receptionist and my line manager are off sick and on holiday respectively. Lunch has not yet been ordered for the hordes who are imminently arriving and there goes the phone again.......Just another day in the office.

massive Backblog

Right. It would appear that I have not written in this blog for an absolute yonk. I have been thinking of way to make it a bit more readable- post only in haiku, perhaps? Only in rhyme?
Neverless- Allow me to sum up the past few months, not in rhyme as yet, and probably not in reason either.
Christmas happened, the weather continued to be awful, January involved lots of work and beer and little sleep and no internet access at all except to check email at double quick speed at work, I extremely unexpectedly met the man I want to spend the rest of my life with, which confused the HELL out of me and still does, on Feb 29th I came over all romantic and asked him to marry me. What happened with the rings is another story for another day but lets just say it involved ebay.
So there you are, thats about it apart from the fact that due to the constant data struggle (no computer online etc etc) I bought an linux based ubercool sub notebook called an Asus eee pc in the hope of better comms in general and what is prompting me to post today is......
long story....

I cut up all my credit cards, yeah, to get in Control of my money. And to pay back Mr Sir D's utter kindness, and the tax, and all of that griff.
I have realised that although debt is a part of life, uncontrolled and spiralling debt is like a creeping disease. Ok, so you say, so what did you do then?
Well, I've become a huge fan of moneysavingexpert.com and I have changed my bank account to the best new one, easily managed online with no offshore call centres. I have begun to save. I have put everything I spend into a spreadsheet on my darling new computer. I have further resolved to stay in touch with my friends more, etc, having freed up a part of my mind which I now realise was set aside purely for worrying.
Brilliant! I hear you say. But no....no, why oh why would anything AT ALL be simple in the world of computers. The bank's website is not compatible with my beloved FireFox, pre installed on the supercool gadget I'm at present typing on. Aha! I thought to go get IE tab. But no, it is not available for linux. I rest my case ladies and gents, lifes just too complicated for me to be dealing with. I'm going to re-install myself in bed under a simple duvet-fleece interface with a large warmth protocol on the highest setting. No password required- simply get straight in.