I'm writing this sitting on the edge of my bed, wedged between a huge suitcase and a shoe box overflowing with tatty bits of paper. I'm moving again. Only up the road, to live with Jen, Lauren and her boyfriend Ben. I'm taking Claire's room, because she's moving in with her boyfriend.
We are the two worse people at packing. Claire texted me yesterday to say she was about to start packing and was not looking forward to it. An hour later she messaged me again to say that she'd decided to burn down her room and everything in it.
Moving day isn't until Saturday, but I feel I should do something... So far I have put some clothes in a bag for the charity shop. I already know what I want to take out - my purple Esmerelda skirt, which is too small for me. But I now have a white Esmerelda top to go with it! I must keep the skirt now and flounce around in the mirror wearing it with my new white, flouncy-shouldered top. I would only ever wear it in the privacy of my own home - obviously I would never (again) practice such vulgar cultural appropriation in public.
I got the top for my birthday from you-know-who*.
Yes, my birthday was this month - the 7th day of the 7th month, of course.
Ah, gone are the days when I would blog for days and days about My Birthday and My Birthday Monster. Although maybe for old times sake...
This year I went to Manchester and the Lake District for my birthday, the Lakes are so beautiful. My cousin and her boyfriend are living in the same village as Beatrix Potter's house and they pay the same rent for the entire three bedroom cottage as I pay for my room in London.
Also, they told me there is an old man in the village who remembers Beatrix Potter and he tells everyone she was a Bad Dick.
It was drizzly and grey the whole time we were there - just how I like the Lakes. We walked up to Orrest Head. The walk to the top, which takes you through heavily-scented woods (I think it's fairy country, but it's fine if you step quietly), only takes 20 minutes from the main road, but when you get to the top the view makes you feel like you're on top of a mountain:
I woke up in the Lakes on my birthday, then we went to Manchester and it poured with rain, the type of rain where every window looks like a waterfall and there's nobody on the streets. That night I had a meal in West Didsbury with my mum and family friends, my mum's boyfriend and my boyfriend, Kayt and her boyfriend, Amy and her boyfriend...
It's funny how now everywhere I go you can't move for boyfriends.
Then that weekend, back in London, Lauren asked if I wanted to go for a drink. We went to the pub on Saturday afternoon, but it was such a sunny day that I suggested going to Victoria Park after having just one drink. We got some beers on the way to the park and drank them by the river (it's more of a stream I guess, but you can boat on it),
After about an hour, the sun had gone in, so we went to find a sunnier patch and as we walked across the grass, people started singing Happy Birthday and for a second I thought it must be for someone's birthday and I wished it was mine and then I realised it was for MY BIRTHDAY.
My Gentleman Friend had organised a surprise birthday party for me. I've always wanted a surprise birthday. My little Birthday Monster literally exploded with self-importance and I've not seen him since. Perhaps he thought 'my work here is done' and went to live in Birthday Monster Land where every day is a disco and every word is a birthday wish.
And they all wear fabulous fringed cloaks.
The reason I wanted to blog is that I had my work summer party on Friday... and I woke up the next day and was reminded of the morning me, Claire and Jen woke up after our friend Chesh's wedding and Claire said 'I'm in a bed of shame', because Chesh had told her off the night before for performing a spectacular chair dance that upset the groom's religious parents.
I felt a bit like that, only instead of chair dancing, it was something worse. It took me all day to realise why my neck was hurting so much. Then I absent-mindedly starting singing a Tina Turner song and I laughed and told you-know-who that I was dancing to Tina Turner a lot the night before, and in fact singing quite a lot and actually wasn't I trying to dance and sing a lot like Tina Turner and then I threw my head back to demonstrate and it was SO PAINFUL.
That's when I knew I had done myself an injury from shaking my head about and growling along to Tina Turner. The thing is I remember doing it again and again, walking up and down the dance floor doing it and entertaining myself.
I must move on from the flashbacks of me stood with my knees apart, with my hair all over my face, going WHENYA-DA...DA-DA-DA...NANANANA-YOU-WAAANT because I don't actually know any of the words to Simply the Best.
I won't let the past hurt me.
Oh god it's hurting me quite a lot - as in I am wincing a little bit in actual pain.
I'm excited to move out! I'm sad to leave my current housemate and the nice big house we share, and I love living five minutes away from Brick Lane, and being able to have everyone back to mine at 4am for Tina Turner impressions and cloak-wearing...
But I'm moving in with Jen and Lauren - and Ben! - and their house is nice too.
Also it's a lot cheaper. I worked out that at the moment my rent and bills take up 61% of my monthly income - the old rule is that 30% of your wages should go on housing and even though rent has gone up a lot since they made that up, wages should have gone up too in relation surely?
When I move, rent and bills will take around 40% of my wages, so that's an improvement. Also it's next door to a Lidl, so I will be able to eat for £5 a week and spend all my money on kimonos and prosecco! I mean pay my credit card bill off.
In less positive news, I have now developed a strange kind of tick. At least four times a day, a husky choking sound comes out of my throat and if you listen closely, it sounds like the words: 'I'm your prrrrivate dancer, dancing for mon-eh...'
*My boyfriend, not Lord Voldemort.