31.03.05..1:28 pm

I'm eating a block of cheese. Just raw cheese, literally: i've a knife and a wedge of cheese. Or rather I HAD a wedge of cheese that vanished shortly after I typed that sentence because I'm starving. There's nothing else here except biscuits seeing as I've no bread and someone ate my pear. Bastard.

M had his phone stolen a couple of weekends back. This is both because the world is evil and because M is stupid. He had it in his coat pocket when he got on the jostling, busy bus. It was gone when he got off the jostling, busy bus. Now whoever did this is mean and deserves to have rats eat out their eyeballs because we had some GREAT pictures of the two of us on there and some really sweet video clips of his niece, Jasmine who�s only 14 months which he will NEVER SEE AGAIN. However, the Evil Conniving Thief of Blissful Happy Camera Phoned Memories wasn�t exactly discouraged from their Evil Conniving Theft because it was taken from his coat pocket. His open coat pocket. His loose, open coat pocket that I, Elle Klutzistatdora from the Land of No Coordination, manage to pickpocket with grace and ease his phone on a regular basis to maintain my photo journal of our life together and don�t I feel like that�s been a waste of time? Perhaps I ought to follow suit and try lifting other peoples phone, except I would take a picture of them in unwitting states of drool and put it back.

Regardless, after much hassle with his insurance company and the similarly Evil and Conniving Orange �Customer Service� desk, M got his replacement phone on Saturday, and man is it shit. It�s got little to no reception, be you in open fields or in the middle of Ludgate Circus; it cuts out in the middle of texting; the answer service is negligible. All in all, pretty bloody craptacular, and irritating for me because this now means I can�t call him to chatter in the mornings while he�s on his way to work. That�s the best part of my day when I working! And I�m being denied!

If I ever run into those motherfucking Evil Thieves, they�d better hope I�ve stopped carrying around these rabid sewer rats, because they are trained and ready to snack on the eyeballs of the living.

Speaking of rats, though not of the sewer-dwelling variety: M and I are looking into getting a couple. It�s an entirely impractical idea as they would die of smoke inhalation in the South London home, and neglect in the North London home. I would, obviously, prefer a kitty, but rats are gorgeous little creatures when they�re tame and petlike, and incredibly intelligent. The only thing that makes me a little nervous is the memory of Emily, our �pet� rat in grade three who lived in room 204 and got to be taken home by a student every weekend. She was loving and sweet and would nibble on dried pieces of corn straight out of your hand and was somehow patient enough to never bite the curious grasping hands of the excited eight-year olds who tugged and pulled and whined that they weren�t getting their turn. I think the grade three room was her home for eighteen months before she got an enormous tumour behind her ear that ended up killing her. It ended up being so traumatic for the kids in 204 that Mrs. McKinley had to give her to one of the other teachers to take home. Three weeks later we got a new rat and the same thing happened. Is captivity just a breeding ground for brain tumours for rats? Or was it just my elementary school? I was far better trained back then than I am now and I�m pretty sure that if we got a rat who tumoured, I�d be hard pressed not to go trying to remove it myself. Or at least not poke it every time I passed the cage. It�s not cruelty, it�s the curiosity I was never allowed to satisfy when I was a kid.

I�ve got to plead with my uni this afternoon to convince the Hackney Council to let me not pay council tax. And I have to watch the Birds, and take out Powers of Horror, some Lacan, and a little Patricia Waugh. And then I have to write some essays. Productivity. Productivity productivity productivity. I wish that were my mantra, but �solid grey fish� is winning out.

Productivity. It starts in seven minutes when I�m leaving this joint for a whole month. Man that feels good! And I�m taking discarded document wallets with me!!!! [cue evil laughter]

****meep, productive fish productive fish, productive fish�