New Year, New Badger?

I feel my first post of 2010 should herald the fact that as of 5 days ago, the Ignorant Kiwi was no more. He has taken his PS3, his morning sexbangs and his piles of unwashed dishes, and f**ked off to make someone else's life a waking nightmare. Woo, and indeed, Yay.

And I can tell our friendship is going to last, I really can. I walked passed him at London Bridge station yesterday morning and we completely ignored each other.

So. New Year, New Badger. Or rather, New Year, Slightly Modified Badger. I've decided to stop beating myself up over failed resolutions this year (mainly due to the fact that because I needed to leave the Flat of Mould for a month and find temporary accommodation, I have broken, trampled on and let the rodent poo over what was meant to be last years Lifechanging Resolve). I'm going to enjoy 2010, and to totally bastardize a quote from John Hurt, I'm not going to have Guilty Pleasures, I'm going to enjoy my sins.

Spring Cleaning

Can you have a Spring Clean in December? Probably not, but I'll give it a go. I have to move out of the House of Mold and Mildew for a month while some nice builder types make my home fit for human habitation once more, and need to move my stuff out as well. This means that I need to clear out 6 years of accumulated guff - old bills, all those books I read once and never want to go near again. All the clothes that I never wear (cos let's face it, Penelope Keith in The Good Life probably isn't the best style icon in the world to emulate) - it's all going binwards or to the Charity Shop. Good Karma for the Badger.

And so in the same vein, I think it's time to clear some of the metaphorical shit out of my life as well. Yummy Mummy has often commented that I have no qualms with cutting people out of my life and it's true - I'm far more likely to hang on to an old copy of Cosmo than I am to someone who's pissed me off royally. I don't cut people out without good reason - you've got to be a real dick to make me go to that extreme, but this morning I realised that there's a lot of crap to get out of my own mental little stable.

A Certain Person (naming no names but he's from Leeds and used to live in Amsterdam) found himself being summarily chopped out of every single contact list I have this morning. I've been 'mates' with this guy for about 3/4 years and it's always been a transient kind of friendship - go out every couple of months, shoot the breeze, have a laugh, no contact in between. I guess he's been a Friend with Benefits. He's a bit weird, not someone I'd take home to meet the parents, I've always thought he's maybe a little bit Asperger's: absolutely no internal filter and a tendency to engage mouth before brain, but we usually have a giggle. Although as I sat there last night listening to him listing my character flaws one by one for no apparent reason, I suddenly wondered what the hell I was doing there. I'm well aware of my faults, I don't need them spelled out to me. And certainly not by a hyperactive northern pillock with a receding hairline and dodgy taste in T-shirts.

So, like my Jackie Collins back catalogue and collection of gas bills circa 2005, he's in the bin. And I feel better for it already.

Best TV Show EVER?

Tab Twin #2 said yesterday, as we all sat enjoying bacon sandwiches in front of Murder, She Wrote, that he once saw an episode of MSW that was a crossover with Magnum, PI.

I don't think a cooler episode of anything, ever, on TV exists, ANYWHERE.

It's not you, it's me

I discovered this morning that somebody has 'unfollowed' me on Twitter. Not just me, I hasten to add, he was having a mass cull, but still, I'm sitting here being neurotic about it and feeling vaguely insulted. It's like I've been dumped.

It's no surprise that I'm single really. Maintaining your online persona is as much of a faff as dating, only with the added bonus of not having to shave your legs. Having to mask the real you to the online community, turning the volume down on your inner bitch, having to remember who can see your profiles and then not whine about those people. Of course, you could just make the decision to be a nice person but where's the fun in that? I actively enjoy hating 99% of the world's population. It's what endears me to, well, probably not the guy that blocked my tweets this morning.

His reason for culling so many of his followees (christ, when you write it down it sounds like a cult, doesn't it?) was that he had too many voices saying too many things, a common problem I think with so many forums for the world to spew its verbal diarrhoea... if it's that distracting though, turn your computer off. I have been tempted to sack off Facebook and Twitter, but I'm just paranoid that if I'm not on Facebook, I'll never get invited to anything ever again. Plus I'm so vain that I like to keep tabs of any photos of me that appear on there, untagging the really hideous ones.

I guess in the end I wasn't interesting enough for him. Stephen Fry threatened to quit Twitter last month because someone said he was boring. If The World's Cleverest Man is deemed boring, what chance is there for the rest of us mere mortals? I use Twitter to organise pub trips and to tell the chaps round the other side of the office that there are biscuits on my desk, not to broadcast my latest profound/sarcastic/hilarious aphorism. Oh well, plenty more fish in the sea I guess.

Rise of the Kneehigh Terrorists

"Grumpy", "A bit ranty", "No good without caffeine".

Just a few of the ways I have been described in the past. Another way:

"Yeah, I can't see her having children".

This bothers me less than you might imagine, given that I'm one of the least maternal people EVER. Me, Furious P and TabTwin#1 discuss our lack of maternal instincts on a regular basis. Usually over a glass or 3 of wine. In a restaurant. Without having to rush home for the babysitter. Ha.

Furious P is well-known for her intolerance towards Yummy Mummies who feed their children houmous ('HOOOMUSS!!'), and don't get her started on the Babyccino. TabTwin#1 says she's too clumsy and doesn't want to give up smoking yet. And me? Too selfish and far too intolerant of noisy things that poo innapropriately and keep irregular hours (which is probably why I don't like the Ignorant Kiwi if I'm honest).

I'd be a terrible mother. I'd forget to feed it or something, or leave it on the bus. When I was Squidgy Niece-sitting last week I let her watch Monsters Inc twice in a row cos it meant that she would sit down and eat her toast. That I'd put chocolate spread on. Pixar and Nutella? Bad Auntie Badger.

That's not to say I don't adore my friends' children. They're lovely, on the whole. But I REALLY have a problem with the kids that live near me, and their too-lenient parents. Little kneehigh terrorists weaving about the pavement on their scooters, with mummy squawking into her mobile at the au-pair about giving Buttercup and Orlando organic weetabix. SW15 is rapidly becoming the new Nappy Valley, rather than the Antipodean playground I moved into 6 years ago.

To all the Yummy Mummies and Daddies out there, over-populate the planet if you must, but please, keep your progeny away from me, preferably on a leash. And you probably shouldn't ask me to babysit either. Especially if you don't want me putting a cork up its arse so I won't have to change its nappy.

Not. Playing. Any. More.

I've had it with this shit. I've just spent my lunch hour researching more effective ways to combat mildew in my bathroom and comparing prices of different cleaning solutions online. Last night I had a conversation with the Ignorant Kiwi about taxes and dividends. Yesterday afternoon I threw out at least 50% of the stuff in my room. The day before that I was at a christening wearing an outfit smarter than I usually wear to work, and only got the giggles in church once. I bought lunch with me today because it was cheaper and healthier than anything I could get here. I even offered to look after Squidgey Niece for my sister, and I wasn't being ironic. In short, I've been behaving like some kind of grown up.


So, if anyone wants me tonight I'll be under the duvet watching Labyrinth on VHS with the rodent, eating a Sherbet Dibdab and washing it down with fizzy pop.

An Unkindness of Ravens

OK, the title of this post is a shameless plugging of my mate's band. I won't put a link cos I want you to read this not listen to that but when you've finished go and have a look. I'm not overly keen on them to be honest but what do I know? I was walking through Waterloo this morning and suddenly realised I was listening to Westlife.

Tenuously enough though, I was also thinking about unkindness this morning. More specifically, I was thinking about the dastardly duo that clean our office. Let's call them Beardy and Weirdy. Whilst it goes without saying that they probably have a fairly thankless job, they really don't do themselves any favours...I mean seriously, if your job is to clean, how difficult is it to maintain your own levels of personal hygiene??

Beardy likes to share his conspiracy theories with you. Even when you've got headphones on and are staring intently at your computer screen pretending that you've never seen a more interesting spreadsheet in your life. His theories are mad and delusional, and I don't think I've ever seen him happier than when Michael Jackson died. Ultimately though, he's harmless. Crazy, but harmless. It's Weirdy that you've got to watch out for.

She's like a silent assassin. Sneaking up behind you to empty your bin and wrestle the coffee mug you're still using from your hands, if you aren't talking on the phone then in her eyes you're fair game for a conversation. She'll look to your computer screen for inspiration first. Bank balance open? "Oh, you're skint yeah?". The Ryanair website - "Oh, you're going on holiday again yeah?", a banner ad for Durex - "Oh, you're gonna have sex yeah?". You get my drift.

But more fool you if you make eye contact with her and she can't comment on your web browsing proclivities. Cos that bitch can be VICIOUS. Me and Mrs Kiwi have been told on countless occasions that we look old and haggard, prompting her to bring us green teabags which will help our wrinkly eyes and presumably make us look less offensive to the world. People we share the office with get told they look like shit on an even more regular basis, but can't retaliate. Because this is the genius of Weirdy. She doesn't say these things to be cruel and unkind, she says them because she genuinely thinks she is doing you a favour by letting you know that you have eyebags, or visible eczema, or a second head, cos you can then do something about it. Brutal honesty with the emphasis on brutal.

I put people like her in the same bracket as Sunday Christians, vegans who think it's ok to eat cake and icecream, and my old bosses at Runbynumpties International: if I could be arsed I'd probably want to throw bricks at you. But, unlike L'oreal, you're just not worth it.