Night of the Living Weirdos

Sorry it's been so long between drinks, although last night, unfortunately that was not the case. It's Notting Hill Carnival time in North West London and it seems that the weirdos have truly descended upon us. The fact that red double decker buses go past our house now (diverted due to streets full of revellers) just adds to the surreal flavour. The long weekend has given me a bit of time to stop and breathe, but sadly there is not much to report. SHORT BRIDGET JONES STATUS UPDATE: I find out this week if I am shortlisted to move into the murky world of entertainment news - Colin Firth here I come! I am extremely single, and it added to my despair last night when I was frozen out (which is rather annoying since I was the one supposed to be doing the freezing. I had to resort to accidentally not understanding any flirty comments he made, so now he probably thinks I'm stupid AND unattractive).

I feel like writing to Queen of Dumped, who I met last week (weirdly, she has the same birthday as me...and even more weirdly, we both share the most inappropriate birthday of all: Valentines Day. Yes, laugh now while I can't see you). I have just read the Queen's book, and while it's all very well to say 'Go to New York by yourself! Live your life! Be happy and don't worry about being alone!' I've actually done all those things and now I'm just bored and not quite sure where home is any more. Queen of Unrequited doesn't have any better ideas though, so I'm reckoning you could do worse.

On the good side I'm definitely going to get to pitch my program idea to the head of BBC One - I will go in armed with nothing but a large stuffed yellow bear and a hare-brain idea. Unfortunately they tell me it's pretty much impossible to have my desired star, obviously David Tennant, but I've got a few highly amusing replacements in mind.

Other than that, as you can see, things haven't moved much for weeks. At least I'm living with Ben and Erin, although their complete coupleness means that they are unlikely to be out with me until four in the morning like Mia was, or dancing on stage with gay cowboys like me and Irina.

And on a slightly sadder note, I'm worried like hell about my poor sister, who has to have a biopsy done soon. At least she is in Australia though, where despite what she thinks the health care is decent and the cervical cancer vaccination available. I'm in a country where the vaccination is not, largely because some church groups thought it would 'encourage promiscuity'. I know that the yobs on the tube who yell 'England! England' and stab each other (and everyone else) to prove their patriotism wouldn't consider that a serious flaw, but I feel like England has the veneer of modernity but underneath it's really always 1582.

Anyway, this is a rather rambling update due mostly to far too much vodka consumed last night in an attempt to have some fun, in which I am certain I killed a few brain cells, evidenced by the fact I am considering going to see a Stephen King movie tonight (albeit with John Cusack in it, but still).

Bathing by candlelight

...and not by romantic choice, may I add. Due to either supernatural forces or the dodgy electrical work of our Polish builders, the lights in our house have one by one been permanently extinguished. Since we of course have no candle holders, I've had to fill the bathroom with glasses of dusty old dinner candles and waste my precious Danish vanilla candle purely to enable me to achieve a basic standard of hygiene.

In some ways, it's quite aesthetically pleasing: in dim candlelight you can't see how bad your racoon eyes are, your tan looks great, and cellulite is a thing of the past. On the other hand, shaving your legs becomes an extreme sport. How on earth did girls beautify themselves before Thomas Edison? Luckily for me and my beauty routine, it's only two more sleeps before I find myself in the relative luxury of Ben & Erin's.

Unfortunately, that is a bit of a two-edged sword in that I'm losing Mia, who's moving back to Australia. Mia could always be relied on as a single friend to take to parties where I was afraid I might accidentally snog JonJon's flatmate, come celebrity spotting on a Sunday morning at the vegetable market or partake in completely gratuitous jewellery shopping in Notting Hill.

Meanwhile, in a meeting that may cause some kind of disruption in the space-time continuum, tomorrow the Queen of Unrequited Love (that's me) meets the Queen of Dumped, author of Ex and the City, who I am interviewing uncomfortably early in the morning. Of course, Queen's Park being the media vortex it is, she actually lives quite close to me and we are going to meet for a chat over breakfast. I have a feeling we'll get on rather well...

Gonna use my sidestep

Well, this week my journalism career path was a bit more cemented by me accidentally getting a proper news story on a proper news channel. It's a momentous occasion. Yes I know, it's a gratuitous David Tennant story, but hell, it was the most popular entertainment story on BBC News yesterday according to well-placed sources. Actually, I had just told those same well-placed sources that I still wonder how on earth I ended up doing this - don't tell anyone but I'm not actually a journalist. I think I haven't decided what I want to be when I grow up. Not doing too badly at journalism considering I really don't want to be a journalist. Current jobs on the cards include:

- journalist (by default really),
- rich housewife (slight drawback being lack of rich husband)
- famous television producer (totally unqualified)
- web person (odds on 3-1, may also be convoluted route to famous television producer)
- go back to Greenpeace (not ruling that out)
- extra (I reckon I'd look good in BBC Three's upcoming Pramface Mansion)
- unemployed actor (guess I need to be an actor first)
- Mexican food waitress (Pros: Nick Cave as customer, unlimited margaritas. Cons: pay won't cover rent)

You can probably see why I'm not making much headway.

Last night I also met the head of BBC News at a London journalism club (um.... non-journalism club maybe) I'm planning to join. I introduced myself. 'I know who you are,' he said. I stared at him in horror. 'How?' I blurted out, thinking oh my God, what have I done now. 'I've seen you around,' he said mysteriously. It's weird things like these that give me the idea that something is about to happen, that I'm at some kind of crossroads - either very good, like aforementioned Plan A which will bring me fame, fortune and some kind of material assets which I currently have absolutely zero of despite approaching 30, or very bad, like being unceremoniously fired for an unwitting transgression of an obscure British law.

I'm watching Lost in Translation right now, a movie that means a lot to me. It's making me horribly nostalgic. Apart from the memories of Tokyo, which I'd buried underneath a pile of self-flagellation, I feel exactly like Scarlett Johansson right now except for the bad marriage bit. Not that I have any marriage - and on that topic even JonJon's flatmate hasn't even asked me out for a drink. I have been diligently trying to obey the 'He's Just Not That Into You' rules which forbid me to just pick up the phone, but I will most likely throw that book out the window as usual. Damned if you do, damned if you don't.

So really, I'm just trying to bide my time before I can move back to Ben and Erin's, as I metaphorically stare out that window at the Park Hyatt, wondering what is going to happen next.

p.s. Queen's Park Celebrity Update: Daniel 'James Bond' Craig residency confirmed, Alex Lloyd Fat Bastard spotted with a cup of coffee (not beer!) heading into what we assume is a recording studio on Lonsdale Street.