Lost Looking For Energy

Ohgodohgod, so much to cover, so little desire to write about any of it, but so little desire to go to the gym, such dirty hair that should be washed, in the shower, after the gym, but which clearly could continue hiding under my attractive metallic blue hairband for the rest of the day and evening, but then I'm going to a swanky restaurant for dinner and it would be nice to feel glossy of barnet and facially pretty. Gah.

So it was the Oscars last night and the Stupid Hurt Locker won over Much More Stupid Avatar, so that was good, even though it wasn't NEARLY the best film, nor the best directed film. I can't work out whether I should be pleased a woman won or outraged that it's even an issue. I think I'm the latter. More importantly, no one wore an exciting dress at all, and SANDRA BULLOCK won an Oscar for some cheesy, vom-inducing role as some soccer mom or something FFS. Anyway. I slept through the whole thing and, in retrospect, I think that was the right choice.

Before that, I watched five hours of American Idol over the course of the weekend, which was brrrrrrrrilliant. This stage is gripping, when the final 24 get whittled down to 12, all 24 performing in a small studio every week. Their performances are really, really inconsistent and the judges' feedback is a lot more constructive in these early stages. It is genuinely fascinating. For me.

What else, what else? I saw Olivia and adorable Isla on Friday, and my parents, and there was An Incident at home at 1am on Saturday morning which I'm not allowed to discuss but which still makes me laugh so much that I get tears in my eyes. Later on Saturday we went, en famille, to B&Q in Wandsworth. I know. Could I be any more cutting edge? I bought storage boxes. Then we went to a couple of furniture shops and I bought a black ceramic swan. Then I went back to my flat and put all my stuff into my new storage boxes and rearranged my kitchen cupboards. On a Saturday night. I am old. On Sunday I went to Beckton Park to meet Kate who was FIFTY SIX MINUTES LATE and I sat in the freezing cold sun and read Prospect and then we walked nine miles, through Woolwich, under the Thames foot-tunnel (v. exciting), through Charlton and Eltham and then jumped on (read: waited for ages and then trudged aboard) a rail replacement bus back to New Cross, then London Bridge, then home for Ricicles. Yum. Still no sign of the snake but I can hear him hissing sometimes. It's definitely male.