I sat on the bumpy bus going to see my niece Ann Margaret today.
Everything was fine, baby Abi was funny. She told me she killed her pet mouse because ‘She standed on it’ then she told me her hamster died because it ‘had a cold and embarrassment’ I knew that no rodent could die of shame, so we concluded that ‘embarrassment’ was actually the word for ‘Exhaustion’ in Abi’s wee head. Funny!

Late afternoon came and I jumped on the bus home.

As usual there was a crazy man behind me on the bus. I could hear him practically breathe on my neck as he leaned close, then I heard him whisper ‘Fuck you’.
At first I thought he was on a mobile phone. Then I realised he was actually whispering to me.
I looked across the bus aisle and there was a drunken man in big metal crutches looking at the neck whisperer behind me. The bus was full of fucking nutters.

I leaned round and faced the breather behind me and said “Did you just say ‘fuck you’ into my ear a minute ago?”
The dark haired shifty eyes man looked down and said “No”
The one thing nutters hate is confrontation and I LOVE doing that.

I turned back round and immediately he leaned over and whispered again “Fuck you”

This time I snapped round in my seat and said “Yes you did, you just said it again”

The man in crutches across the aisle said “I saw him saying it and he was near your neck”

The whispery man just dipped his head down. The man in crutches stood up and shouted “I will stick this crutch up your arse if you don’t stop annoying that woman you weird fucker”

At this the bus bumped, crutches man almost fell and the bus driver shouted “What the fucks going on back there?”

The driver wasn’t worried about trouble, I think he felt left out, so I stood up and shouted “Ok the man behind me keeps whispering ‘fuck you’ into my neck, he denied it when I asked him and then this man with crutches saw him do it and he said he will stick his crutch up that whispery mans arse” I sat back down having been confident that my news bulletin reached the drivers satisfaction.

Then the whispery man leaned towards me and the crutches man leaned over and whacked him on the leg with a thin metal crutch and screamed “Don’t fucking whisper sweary words to that woman ya cunt”

“What’s happening now?” shouted the driver.

I stood up and shouted “Well the whispery man did try to do it again and the man in crutches hit him with his metal crutch and everyone back here is watching it” I sat back down.
Other passengers on the bus tried hard to look way and pretend they weren’t part of this ensemble. I love it when people get too embarrassed to deal with a public situation….makes me giggle.
Crutches man growled at the whispery man and they all sat and stared at each other as I kept relaying the scene to the driver.
Then I got off at the Underground station.
I don’t know what happened next as crutches man and whispery man both got off and went separate ways at the same bus stop as me.

The tube ride went without incident…that was sad!

I have had a really sore tummy and slept last night with a hot water bottle. I woke up this morning and stood on the cold wobbly-ness of the water bottle that had fallen on the floor and screamed.

I was half asleep and it felt like standing on a dead toddler’s cold belly beside my bed, and trust me with my nightmares that could be possible.

I am into day 3 of no smoking and it feels good-ish.

I have stopped before for almost a year! Ashley has stopped also but we both are actually ill, she has a throat and ear infection and I am suffering the worst period pains and womb cramps since an Australian midwife stuck two big metal spoons up my vag and pulled out a child.

So I am hoping we both feel better soon.

I met an old pal yesterday and she had stopped smoking two years but she was so fat as she had gained three stones in weight…holy Fuck…I hope I don’t swap fags for pies?

You wake up and know you can do it
Your body twitches but you stay strong
Everything everyone says makes you grind your teeth
You gnash your back teeth till they hurt
Every cup of tea reminds you that something is missing
You are missing a fag

You sit down in the bar and you know you can do it
Your fingers itch and feel empty
Your drink tastes funny without a gulp of smoke
Everyone talks shite as you focus on your hands
People smile and congratulate you for avoiding cancer
You are missing a fag

I woke up today and smiled
I didn’t have to run to the cupboard to check my supply
I don’t have to spend £70 this week on inflammables
I missed the smell and my breath felt good
My husband can’t stop kissing my clean mouth
I am missing a fag!
And it’s great!

Sorry for being so damn crap at the blog lately. Just to keep you updated, I am in London. I flew here yesterday to do the radio thing.
The radio thing happened this morning; it was BBC Radio 4 Fi Glover Saturday Morning live!
The show is awesome but it did start at 9am, which meant I had to get up at 7am and get ready for the cab.
Now I am staying in Point West flats, they are situated behind the main houses in Cromwell road, now the problem there is…Point West claims to be ON Cromwell Road but its not really…the people who made this building decided that’s where it will be placed and the address will be Cromwell Road …and taxi cabs can never find it. Despite being a huge building, it’s hidden by the huge houses ON the Cromwell road. You can see the problem here cant you?
So I had to call the BBC driver and locate him, negotiate my way to HIM as he would have needed to seen through brick like Superman to find me.

I do love the flat, it is beautiful…I mean stunningly beautiful but even inside this huge block we have problems.
For a start if you are on the 4th floor, you have to take the main lift to floor 3 then walk right round the floor and take a single lift up to floor 4!
That’s not too confusing is it? Except all the halls look identical, all the doors are uniform and there are six banks of elevators and three sets of single lifts!
It’s like Narnia once you are in here. You can get lost for days.

Last night a young journalist came to the flat to interview me and got lost inside the place until I had to go find him, the poor guy was running round hopping on lift after lift and going up and down floors like a hyperactive child. I had to give him tea to calm him down before the interview.

My best mate Monica and I went out last night to Groucho, we ate some chips, had a few drinks and went upstairs and played some snooker…well I say snooker…I am too small to play it and the table was huge so we just potted balls for a while.

That was until two guys arrived and we knew we couldn’t be that crap in front of people…so we gave up. Being shit at snooker is only something you can do without an audience.

Back to this morning…O I located the taxi at 8am and made it to broadcasting house in time. The radio show went great and Fi Glover is a wonderfully funny host. I really loved the show.
Just thought I would let you know…my videos on various websites including YouTube have received some funny death threats…apparently you are not allowed to take the piss out of Jade Goody or George Bush!

I don’t care…I love that attention…I mean its not like some Brazilian or crazy American is going to actually come over to the UK to find me…especially if I hide in the flats at Point West…they will take days to track me down and probably get lost in the process!

I have realised that time is a currency and I have to spend mine wisely.

I seem to spend half my time asleep, in a world of mismatched people and frightening faces that remind of a time that made my soul feel dark.
Why do these dreams haunt me so much?

I am spending too much time alone, refusing to go out. When I do venture out for supplies it’s not a pretty sight.

I am not wearing a bra under my winter anorak, and I am no longer caring that I am wearing trackie bottoms that I wear to bed as I shuffle along to the shops. No make-up on, hair in a tangled ponytail.

I must look like those women who I remember looking at as I walking to the shops years ago, letting themselves go….no longer caring about their skin or hair.
I would mock them to myself and think “Surely a bit of make up or a decent hair brush would make all the difference, I will never let myself go”
I think I have.

I can’t be arsed doing anything right now, except getting onstage.

I am like a junkie waiting on my next hit…a crack whore waiting on her next rock.

I will get dressed nice for a gig, then let myself go tatty till the next time…

It’s all downhill from here….I fear.

Time is a currency and I am running on empty.