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Tuesday, January 30, 2007

Noisy bird

"I love you." Three little words that every girl loves to hear. Unless, of course, it's three o'clock in the morning, and the words are coming from your neighbour's parrot down the corridor. Once the phrase is repeated for the fourteenth time, those special words kind of lose their appeal.

"I love you," squawked the parrot.

I rolled over and tried to ignore it.

"I love you," continued the bird. Clearly the owner was also getting slightly frustrated too.

"Shut up, Chloe," shouted the bloke who owned the parrot. Chloe seemed an unlikely name for a parrot, but at three in the morning, faced with an over-emotional parrot, it didn't seem like a suitable time to question.

"I love you," insisted Chloe.

The owner had had enough. At 3.07 this morning, the following line from the parrot's owner made me laugh out loud:

"Shut up or I'll pull your tail."

Genius.

Monday, January 29, 2007

Techno-lost

Oooh, but the Internet confuses me sometimes. I am what marketing teams call an "early adopter" of technology. I had an MP3 player before you'd even dreamed of them, a mobile phone with a digital camera years and years and years ago... I was on the Internet in 1995. Bascially, I pay loads to get a slightly-crap service, which is then adopted by the masses and made cheaper and easier to use.

In 1995 I was an Internet whiz. Possibly because I was one of the only people in the world actually using the Internet for personal use at that time. No, I don't mean porn. Well, not just porn anyway. I set up my own small Internet company, and before uni I spent some time working on websites for a Coalville firm.

But between 2003-2005, I went without broadband at home. This is a long story and is mostly owing to the world's worst Internet Service Provider, Tiscali. But in that time, several things happened, which I just don't understand.

Thing number one is Livejournal. Many people have told me that it is great. Indeed, they have special whizzy icons that I can admire. I have absolutely no idea how it works. And believe me, I've tried. In fact, I even have a Livejournal page at: www.laurasplog.livejournal.com I wouldn't bother though. There's nothing on it.

Thing number two is Myspace. Until yesterday, I had one Myspace friend. Erica. Who is also a real friend, and I interact with her mostly by phone. Today I had my second Myspace friend request, from iMac Hunt, who posts here sometimes. This was of course very exciting. Thing is, there's nothing on my Myspace page either. If you don't believe me, you can check. http://www.myspace.com/lauranunn. You wouldn't believe how difficult it was for me to find that URL. "Friend" has become a verb. "Will you friend me?" Huh?

Eeh, the Internet's not warrit used ta be. All these youngsters with their nasty music on their pages. And have you seen their grammar? Shocking!

I'm off forreh cup o' tea and nice birra cake.

Sunday, January 28, 2007

Asylum shoppers

It has been a good week. There has been dinner with friends, there has been a rather good gig at the Comedy Cafe (even if I do say so myself), there has been a long walk in the park with a friend, and today there has been some tidying of bookshelves. Admittedly today has let the side down a little bit in terms of a rock 'n roll existence. I just try and tell you the truth.

I did get to see several genuinely mad people though on my way to Sainsbury's in Whitechapel. Sainsbury's at Whitechapel is a kind of Mecca for the mad. All mad must try and make at least one pilgrimage (preferably on a Sunday) during their lifetime to Sainsbury's on Cambridge Heath Road. Today my favourite mad people were the old man at the Sainsbury's traffic lights, and the Chinese DVD lady.

The man at the traffic lights was stood on the island in the middle of the road. As drivers stopped at the traffic lights, he approached their cars, making signs like he wanted to take a photograph. Except he didn't have a camera. Perhaps he wanted drivers to take his photograph. This seemed unlikely as he wasn't really dressed for the occasion. He had long fingernails that curled round. I became suddenly aware that I didn't know how to lock my driver's door in my new car. I shook my head politely when he approached me. This seemed to work. He went to stand back on the island, warming his hands and waiting patiently for the next driver.

The Chinese lady wanted to sell me new DVDs of films that were still at the cinema. There is a strict quota of one Chinese person for every public place in London, each selling dodgy DVDs. I have yet to work out the link between the nationality of the purveyors and the pirate film industry. When I say the "pirate film industry", I don't mean Pirates of the Caribbean, Hook and so on. You probably understood that. That would be a fairly niche market.

It's been a good weekend.

Saturday, January 27, 2007

Mobile library

"Come on!" insisted the pushy mother on the bus on Friday morning. Her prep-school son looked up appealingly. "Read on!" she continued.

"So... Lily and her dog were confused..," the little boy read slowly.

"Not confused! Not confused!" said the mother, excitedly. "Confronted! Confronted!"

"So... Lily and her dog were confronted by... by..."

"Come on!" the mother insisted, "Come on! Read on!"

Now, at this point I began to wonder what exactly was going on here. At first I thought it was an average pushy mum, trying to get a bit of reading practice in with her son. But it dawned on me that this wasn't actually the case at all. This particular pushy mum just wanted to know the end of the story. She was absolutely enthralled by the plot (which had so far consisted of going to the shops to buy sausages). The mother just wanted to know what on earth was going to happen to Lily and her dog. She could barely wait to find out, and her impatience was expressed to her son, who was doing his five year-old best to assuage her fears.

Sadly I got off the bus before the final denouement, but I suspect it involved a happy ending.

Thursday, January 25, 2007

It never rains...

So, my shower cubicle is broken. This happened on Monday. I don't want to talk about it. My nice insurance company (see, nice companies DO exist), Halifax, were very polite and helpful. Apparently all I need is a quotation and they'll pay out. Great.

Except I need no plumbing work doing - just a new shower cubicle. This means I can't find a plumber who'll take the job. Also, no bathroom fitters in London will give me a quotation for free.

Apparently I could go to B&Q and find a cubicle I like and ask them to fit it, but of course, they won't give me a written quotation.

In short, I'm stuck with a shower cubicle that won't close and a very wet floor.

It sucks to be me.

Wednesday, January 24, 2007

Snow joke

I am absolutely enjoying the Google Analytics which I set up for this site. Seriously, the search terms people enter always makes me smile.

My favourite, I think, is the person who every day enters "Laura Nunn Jeremy" into Google - and finds my Plog that way. (Hello person!) He (or she) could just enter "Laura Nunn" or, as they visit every day, they could even bookmark the site. But no. "Laura Nunn Jeremy" is their preferred way of finding the site. Smashing.

Top marks also go to "Erica's Wanking Club Coalville", as previously mentioned. Also "There's a burning smell in my Astra", closely followed by "Burning smell in Yaris". You heard it here first, folks.

Yesterday's was great though: "Dial a shag Luton". And indeed, if you put that phrase through Google, my site is the top hit. Despite the fact that I'm not sure I've ever mentioned Luton. Let alone my extra-special dial-a-shag service.

On a separate note - snow! Ugh. Nasty, cold, wet stuff. Don't worry though, when I'm in charge, it'll be abolished. Along with all of the companies mentioned in yesterday's entry, and anyone who thinks that clowning is a valid art form, worthy of council funding.

Tuesday, January 23, 2007

Customer dis-service

I had dinner with some friends this evening. We started talking about poor experiences of customer service. So far the list of companies we actively hate include:

Tiscali (worst customer service I've ever experienced. Ever.)
SeaFrance
London Underground
Chiltern Railways
Thames Water
BT
Carphone Warehouse
Orange
Pretty much any mobile phone company
London Electricity
British Gas
Royal Mail
Moben Kitchens
Argos
Nationwide
Some American stockbroker who called Ted and wouldn't shut up

I think this proves a) how boringly grown up we all are and b) illustrates how difficult our lives would be if we actively boycotted everyone who gave us crap customer service. I would find myself unable to travel anywhere, or phone anyone to help. I would have no water, electricity or gas. I wouldn't be able to send a letter to anyone, or even abscond to France. Yes, life would be hard.

Monday, January 22, 2007

Bicentenery

Welcome to my 200th Plog! Crikey, what a load of rubbish I've written. Still, can't say I'm not prolific.

Horrible weekend, but I don't want to talk about that here. Instead, I shall tell you how Nice Kate came to London today. We had sushi in Itsu. Nice Kate was quite excited by the prospect of telling all of her friends that we ate in the radiation restaurant that's dead famous (literally). I did point out to her that this was a completely different branch, but apparently that's irrelevant in her rewrite. Nice Kate tells lots of lies (sorry, truth embellishments), which she sees as doing a service to her friends - making the story more interesting.

Anyway, it was lovely to see her, and we munched raw fish, feeling healthy and self-righteous. I spoiled this about twenty minutes later with a Twirl bar, but I'm sure that's a necessary part of any balanced diet.

Friday, January 19, 2007

Speechless

Hi guys

There probably won't be a post for a few days, as we have a serious family situation chez Nunn, and we all need a bit of headspace.

Thanks for bearing with me.

L x

Wednesday, January 17, 2007

Travelling like a pro

This time last year I was in Hong Kong, having a fantastic time in a city that is a mad mixture of neon, noise and noodles. I am currently deciding on my hols this year. It's a toss-up between South Africa or Tanzania (I loved Kenya), back to New York, or trying out Tokyo. Recommendations gratefully received.

Top "unusual" experience in Hong Kong:

- the hour I spent (and the £15 I spent) with a Chinese prostitute by mistake. Don't ask. Still, if anyone's planning a trip to Tsim Tsa Tsui, I can highly recommend Amy. When she says "full body massage" she certainly means it.

Tuesday, January 16, 2007

Heli-copper

There has been a police helicopter circling above my flat for the last fifteen minutes. It's getting really annoying. Well, partly annoying, and partly worrying... what have they found in my neighbourhood that requires a helicopter?

I live in a very urban area - it's hardly like they're searching fields for stuff, and they're far too high up to be able to see registration plates on cars. Nor is it the air ambulance (and if it was, whoever needed them would be utterly fucked by now).

My theory is this: one of the members of the force at Bethnal Green police station got a new patrol car. His colleague was a bit jealous, so ordered himself a slightly better patrol car. This escalated until Sergeant Holdsworth came in one day with a top-end Ferrari*, complete with jam sandwich branding.

Then, the policeman with the smallest willy thought, "Sod this," and bought a helicopter. On expenses. Thing is, parking's at a premium in Bethnal Green, so he can't actually land it anywhere at the moment. He's circling and hoping to find a parking space.

Thing is, they tow you if you park on the street in Bethnal Green without a permit. I recommend applying to the council. They will helpfully allocate him a space that already belongs to someone else, then issue the wrong permits. He will then have to go and pick his helicopter up from the HeliPound, paying £300 in release fees. This fee will then be claimed in expenses and will be covered by the council.

I think I need more sleep. If only that bastard's helicopter would sod off.

* Is there a bottom-end Ferrari? I have no idea.

PS Isn't today's title genius? Oh, come on...

Monday, January 15, 2007

Like it or lump it

Laura's definition of a quiet weekend: when you lock the door before bed on Friday evening, and don't unlock it again until you leave for work on Monday morning.

OK, it wasn't quite that bad. In fact, I had a gig last night, at Downstairs at the King's Head, which is one of my all-time favourite venues. A fifteen-minute paid set, so a bit scarier than a five or ten-minute open spot. Good fun though. It wasn't too bad - the venue wasn't as full as I'd have liked, so people were kind of spread out. Also, I was on first, which is not an enviable position - people haven't drunk nearly enough alcohol to find me funny*.

I was road-testing a new bit of material as well. Well, I was road-testing two new lines actually, but one of them's a keeper, so I won't spoil it here. The other one I've tried out twice now and I just can't get it to work. Bascially I do a routine about going to the doctors, fancying the doctor, and accidentally breaking into song. So I start with a bit of material that I know works OK. Then I try some newer stuff which is kind of working, but needs tweaking... then I launch into a bit of singing (never good):

"My humps, my humps, my humps, my humps. My lovely lady lumps," sing I. "'Or, to give them their medical name - tumours,' as my doctor said."

This was something that had my brother and I in hysterics a few months back, but I think it's perhaps a little bit too dark for the Crouch End crowd at 8.30 p.m. on a Sunday. I'll be dropping it now. I just can't make it work.

Still, I'm sure it's utterly fascinating for you to see into the developing set of a not-at-all-known-mostly-cause-she's-not-that-good comic.

* It could be argued that Sainsbury's doesn't sell enough alcohol to make that the case. But that would be mean, and quite a weak joke. Now go away and think about what you've done.

Friday, January 12, 2007

Creme of the crop


I am a summer person. I loathe and detest winter. But one thing alone gets me through these nasty, cold months. For everyone in the UK knows that the period between Christmas and May-time is officially Cadbury's Creme Egg season.

Actually, normally, I don't have that much of a sweet tooth. I don't really like cake, I hate buttercream and icing, and anything that's overly sweet. But there's something about Cadbury's Creme Eggs that just makes me turn into a six year-old child. Luckily, I am a grown-up, and my wage is just about sufficient to keep me in as many Creme Eggs as is recommended by the government's RDA targets.

Today I bought a box of eight of the little chocolate orbs of wonderfulness; today saw my first Creme Egg of the year. I shall keep them in my desk drawer, allowing myself one at 3.30 p.m. on particularly busy days. I shall keep replenishing the stock, sharing with no-one. For everyone knows that it is a cardinal sin to part with a Creme Egg.

My all-time favourite month of the year though is May. Partly because the weather is perfect and the cherry blossom at its candy-floss fullest, but mostly it's because Creme Eggs are reduced and you can get five of them for a pound. Then I stock up on what some would consider to be an obscene number of eggs, and make them last me well into July. Then the dearth of chocolate begins. There is no good summer chocolate.

This is a market that someone should conquer. Preferably with something egg-shaped and filled with sugary fondant.

Thursday, January 11, 2007

If you can't stand the heat...

I would like a new kitchen. A nice, shiny new kitchen with a sparkly new oven. I would like someone to install it for me and redecorate it for me. I would like the whole thing done with minimum inconvenience at a not-ridiculous cost. Ideally I'd actually like someone to choose the sodding kitchen for me, as I find it very difficult to hold opinions on wood-effect MDF.

Last night the man from Moben came to my flat. He had obviously already decided I couldn't afford his kitchen. He asked several utterly inappropriate questions, such as whether or not I had a man who needed to help me choose, and by the way, what do I do for a living: did I work in the City? He refused to leave any useful sketches with me. He told me, "Every girl should know where her stopcock is." I swear if I hadn't moved out of the way, he'd have patted me on the head and called me Treasure.

My favourite moment was when this salesman - yes - salesman, forgot my name.

Brilliant.

Oh, and by the way - imagine a very small kitchen. Now shrink it a bit. That's my kitchen. And he wanted £9000 for it. Not including tiles. Or decorating. And of course I was being ridiculous to think they could replace the doors on my boiler cupboard so they matched the rest of the kitchen. His genuis suggestion? "You could paint them."

Tuesday, January 09, 2007

Credit where credit's due

Deep joy. I have fraud on my credit card, yet again. I think this is the third time. Once it happened about a year ago when my bag was stolen in Covent Garden, but twice it's happened without me ever losing sight of my card. This person has spent five thousand US dollars on a deposit for a car. And also £28 on cinema tickets in Swansea.

I feel this sense of emptiness and total desperation. Not because of the fraud - the bank of course will cover it fully as I'm not at fault. The reason I'm so pissed off is whoever has my credit card number is having a lot more fun with it than I ever do. For me a couple of trips to Ikea and the occasional splurge at Waterstones is about as good as it gets.

Bastards.

Monday, January 08, 2007

Happy slapping

"I really hate Jeremy Clarkson," said Mrs Nunn. "He really annoys me. I want to slap his silly face. He's so arrogant."

Mrs Nunn has a range of people whose "silly faces" she'd like to slap. These include Anneka Rice and "that girl off Desperate Housewives that plays Teri Hatcher's daughter. Ooh she's got a face I'd like to slap". Anyway, back to Jeremy Clarkson's arrogance:

"That's part of his persona," Mr Nunn argued.

"Well, he winds me right up," Mrs Nunn countered. "I can't even bear to watch University Challenge."

"That's not Jeremy Clarkson, that's Jeremy Paxman. He does Newsnight. Jeremy Clarkson is the one who does cars."

"Are they not the same person then?" asked Mrs Nunn.

"No. That's why they have different names. And different faces." Fair point, Mr Nunn.

But watch out, Messieurs Clarkson and Paxman - my mum doesn't like you.

Saturday, January 06, 2007

Tales from the unexpected

I'm loving the tracking ability of Google Analytics. Yesterday these were the top keywords for my Plog:

1. Laura Nunn (unsurprising)
2. Madam Tamar
3. Bikini wax
4. "She took it up the arse" (amusing)
5. Shagging in room next door

Perhaps this says more about me than it does about my readers...

I am quite tempted to make up a story from the keywords, in which the well-known psychic Madam Tamar goes for a bikini wax, but accidentally ends up taking it up the arse, whilst people in the room next door are listening to what's going on.

But that would be immature.

Friday, January 05, 2007

Beating around the bush

I'm just going to come out and say it. Earlier today I remembered I needed to make a bikini line appointment for tomorrow. Now, I was at work, which made this a bit trickier, but I had my personal mobile phone with me and I'm able to talk quietly. The situation wasn't ideal, but it was workable. Of course, I forgot that everyone else in the world is utterly incompetent.

"Hello, Incompetent Beauticians," answered a bright-sounding thick girl.

"Hello," I said very quietly. "I'd like to make an appointment tomorrow for a bikini line wax."

"Tomorrow is that?"

"Yes," said I. This was easy.

"Sorry, what's that for tomorrow?"

I whispered, whilst pretending not to, "A bikini line wax."

"For tomorrow... How's 11.30?" she asked.

"Great," I said. Piece of piss.

"Sorry, was that for your eyebrows, did you say?" asked the incompetent beautician.

"No, my bikini line," I - let's be honest - shouted.

At least I was spared all those, "What are you doing this weekend?" questions from my colleagues. I think they have a pretty clear idea.

Thursday, January 04, 2007

Rebecca

Last night I finished reading Rebecca for our book club in a couple of weeks' time. I was pleased the novel had been selected, as it's pretty much at the top of my, "I can't believe I've got an English degree and haven't read..." list.

I expected it to be Jane Eyre-ish, or Pride and Prejudice-ian, or possibly Wuthering Heights-esque. Basic story of boy meets girl, and after lots of confusion and misunderstandings, they end up getting married (or dying). It wasn't. It was fab. I don't want to give it away for anyone, but I loved how it started where most novels finish - at the marriage, and also how the protagonist isn't Rebecca at all... In fact, we never find out her name. If you've not read it, I highly recommend it. You can buy it delivered to your door for the bargain price of £5.99 from http://www.play.com/Books/Books/4-/402093/Rebecca/Product.html. Do it now.

I have had dreams three nights in a row about being back at school and turning up to the wrong English class. In one memorable instance, I accidentally flushed my essay down the toilet. Symbolic? "Last night I dreamed I went to English class again..." Hmm, let's leave it to Du Maurier.

Wednesday, January 03, 2007

2007 adventures

Well, I partied hard on New Year's Eve. Oh yes, those of you who know me well will be unsurprised to learn that by 11 p.m. I was utterly hammered, by midnight I was the life and soul of the party, and by 5 a.m. I was dancing on tables. I woke up two days later in the South of France, dressed in native Estonian clothes, and had to hitch-hike all the way back*.

It was back to work today... I think the thing I shall miss most about the break is the Mrs Nunn-isms. Some of my favourites over the last week or so:

- "You can't sell the car on Ebay. Don't be ridiculous. How would you post it?"
- "Of course I know what MP3s are. I'm not an idiot. They're very small discs. Like mini CDs."

Ah well, the parties are over, and it's back to Proper Work from now on.

* This might be a lie. I might be trying to cover up the fact that a) I'm pretty much teetotal and b) I was fast asleep by 10.30 p.m. Shut up, I was tired. The fireworks woke me briefly at midnight, so it still counts. Shut up.