So like any good citizen, I totally forgot to watch the Chancellors' debate on Channel 4 last night, and only managed to catch up on the highlights via Newsnight. Paxman was as annoying as ever, making everyone look absolutely shit without allowing anyone an opportunity to redeem themselves or clarifying anything for the viewer; at one point his battering ram approach actually made me feel a degree of sympathy for Ed Miliband, in itself a staggering achievement.
One thing that always strikes me in discussions about government is the gulf between the soundbites and the actual complexity of each department. I am still gobsmacked on an hourly basis by quite how much waffling goes on in the big company where I work - so many people having eternal meetings to make fairly straightforward decisions, everyone inputting, designing charts, trying to cut costs in order to justify paying themselves more money - it's the same everywhere, I know, but there was quite a funny moment last night where the Tory guy was criticising Alistair Darling's plans, and the Labour guy said 'Well, you say you're going to make X amount of cuts, where's the money going to come from?' and the Tory guy said he couldn't say because as an opposition party, they don't have access to the information they need to be precise about things. So they say they will make cuts, but they can't say where from. And Labour are saying they can make cuts too, and we're all wondering why they weren't making them already, and Miliband's saying 'We are already making cuts, but these are on top of those cuts - we are already making huge cuts in my department' and I did just think of the office where I work, and if they were suddenly required to make huge cuts (which they were last year after the crash) and how people just had to pack up and go - and that if the government starts sacking loads of civil servants, they will be accused of boosting unemployment etc. It's a reet mess innit.
I started the weekend at an excellent party on Friday night, where, after several hours chewing the fat, it became clear that three of my friends were slightly the worse for wear. One of them took herself off home at a sensible hour. Another stood around smiling benignly as I made her drink water and then she took a taxi home. A third was put into a cab by a helpful accomplice, who assured the driver she wouldn't be sick. Throughout all this, I was extraordinarily capable and smug, delighted that I had managed to consume lots of wine and feel pleasingly footloose and fancy free without becoming emotional, tired or aggressive. But the moment tipsy gal number three had left, I treated myself to a reward glass of white and immediately tipped myself over the edge, lurching attractively across the dancefloor, having to let the window of the cab down to stay this side of violently ill and then standing on my parents' top floor, sticking my head out of the Velux to provide continued cool air. Fortunately, I managed to avoid doing anything other than sway gently, and after a motorway McDonald's milkshake and fries the following morning (on top of hot cross buns for breakfast) was feeling much better until I saw a photo that someone took of me that made me look as though I'd been injecting heroin into my face for the last four years, while smearing a uniquely staining excrement beneath my eyes. Despite the emetic physical appearance, my mood wasn't much dented by the hangover, and I giggled to tears with the girls at Lucy's as though we were back at school. A wonderful three days, culminating back at home with the successful erection of my new chest of drawers. We won't tell anyone about the fact I put the top on the wrong way round and then had to lever off all the nails I'd hammered in to the back and redo it all again. It looks beautiful now and that's all that matters. Could not be more excited or more crippled. Turns out DIY requires specific muscle groups, but I was just kneeling on the floor for most of it so I don't understand how my mid-back and outer-hamstrings specifically are quite so painful. Nothing Rodney Yee can't sort out.
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