Things that are not good: Sweeping out a recently-emptied cupboard (at 10 at night), only to discover that at some time you spilt a fair bit of chilli powder in there. *koff* *splutter*.

I'm exhausted and I haven't even started moving yet. That, my friends, is for the morrow. The internets go away tomorrow too, and one never quite knows when they'll be back, does one? *tears out hair, rends garments*

I will see you all again one day, and bore you with pictures of the new house. xx

Yes, hello, I am back from the wilds of Sussex. It was lots of fun but now I am tired and very burnt. The campsite was quite strange, in a good way -- it had a sort of strange festival atmosphere without the bands. I think it might be the fact that campfires are encouraged -- the farmer drives around selling logs -- that brings out the party spirit in people. We saw lasers and fire-jugglers and hippies a-drumming and scouts and guitarists and those paper lanterns that float up into the sky and trailers all lit up like Christmas and, er, a caravan with a giant crucifix outside. That was odd. The site only had four rules: No fireworks; No music after 11pm; No dogs off leads; and No quad bikes or other recreational motorised vehicles. The only one we didn't see broken was the quad bikes, but there were motorbikes and the riders seemed to be having fun, so I'd say that counts.

Outside the campsite we did Bodiam Castle (endless steps, oh my legs, carp mouthing at us in the moat, National Trust doing the hard sell), Camber Sands (lots of brightly-coloured plastic, sand everywhere, bought a hat, too late, weird on-off weather), and some of us stopped off at Dungeness to see Derek Jarman's garden (see icon) and walk along the shingle looking for stones with holes in. The garden is really quite busy, considering it's absolutely in the middle of nowhere. I'd been there before, and once again I noticed the way everyone walked all around the cottage looking in the windows, then went up to the front door and read the tiny notice saying 'This is a private residence, please don't stare in at the windows'. There's also a bit warning you not to make pop videos or commercial films without permission ('This means YOU!) I think Dungeness is one of the weirdest places in Britain. Miles of bleak shingle stretch out, devoid of boundaries and dotted with small shacks, fishing boats, odd abandoned bits of iron and wood with sweet peas growing wild around them. Every so often a tiny steam train chugs by on the Romney, Hythe and Dymchurch Light Railway, and out of it all rise the two lighthouses and the nuclear power station. Surreal.

Now it is Monday and (wonder of wonders) I am not at work. I will not be at work on Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday or Friday either. galactic_jack just came round for a cup of tea and a chat and it was very lovely and civilised, none of this ridiculous 'being at work' business. Things should always be like this.

Right. Now for lunch. Apologies if all that made little sense -- I may have sat in the sun too long.

Today's best headlines:

"Beaver not fugitive from estate -- claim"

"Fish set to be trained to catch themselves"

"Cat with shaved legs missing for a week"

As you were.

Now I'm being plagued with wasps, wtf? It's DARK. It's MARCH. (Btw, have I told you about my HUGE GREAT BIG FUCK-OFF WASP PHOBIA?)

*feels pathetic*

ETA: wasp dead, current whereabouts of spider unknown.

I'd be so shit in the jungle.

ETA2: I do feel quite bad for the wasp.

My mum came round for a cup of tea and decided she wanted to play with my iPod. This led to her squinting at it and saying things like: "Nancy Boy Sex Mix? Er... Bruno Mindhorn. Is that Tom Baker? No, no, Colin Baker. That's Tom Baker. No, it's Colin again." It was odd.

Went into town again, got trapped in TK Maxx, but managed to escape. It was very windy and there were odd things. Like... a large and shapeless person of indeterminate gender coming out of the joke shop, Games and Giggles, and... well, giggling, very softly, as he or she passed me. An elderly lady standing and watching the dancing puppets in the window of Harpers Bazarre (they are helpfully labelled 'Giraffe', 'Ostrich', 'Gorilla') and just watching and watching, for ages... In the park, round the the back of the mansion, two tall, bewigged footmen in full 18th Century costume, just standing about.

Anyway. Don't quite know what happened to the rest of today, but it appears to be over.

Just defrosted and cleaned the fridge. Seemed like a good time to do it.

While I was doing that, the wind was getting up, and obviously decided it was about time it started blowing in such a way as to sound exactly like someone tapping on my kitchen window, the one that used to be a door leading to the fire escape. What worries me most about this is that I was about a hundred times less terrified than I was during the wasp incident the other day. In the course of the wasp incident, I a) screamed, b) waved a saucepan around uselessly, c) dropped the saucepan, d) ran away. When I genuinely thought someone had climbed up the fire escape at midnight on a Friday night and was trying to gain entry to my flat, I was just really fucking annoyed. Wasps trying to gain entry -- now that's scary.

I think I shall retire to my boudoir now.

Don't try to leave feedback on eBay after drinking a glass of wine, especially when you're a teensy bit of a lightweight.

Hopefully, the seller will just assume 'great em!' is a new eBay phrase they're not quite cool enough to understand yet. Get with the lingo, yo.

Note to self: when writing notes to self, make sure self will understand them. For instance, who knows wtf this means:

milk - shop lady

milk - future - death

bath

fades like dreams

war

forever - different answer

Yeah...