This week was survived by swallowing handfuls of exasperation.
Coming home to my flatmate doing star-jumps in the living room. "i've done 50.... now i got to sprint" and so she does up and down the hall way. Then last night she decided to do variations on ballroom dancing meets modern interpretive dance, martha graham would be enthralled, one glove clapping.

One client screamed at the top of her lungs "OHHHHHH...YOU'RE GOING SOOO DEEEP...OOHHHH IT'S SO DEEP"

"no madam, the needles are all the same length"

"ooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH....oooooooh. i've never felt so much pain"

"so i guess you'll calling us for a booking then?"

"oh, book me in for next week please".

And we had the fully-grown baby (late 50s). He's booked himself in 3 time a week with the human kipper.

He rocks up dressed like tweedle dumb, childs baseball cap on and a rectangular weatherproof carry case built for 2 cans of beer, pink, light blue and frayed zipper, trundling down the hall with a sheepish smile and nylon red hair arched over his scalp due to seasonal humidity and proceeds to the toilet i've just bleached and launches his last meal to the sides of the porcelain.

And i say why bother with punctation marks.

His wife comes in an hour later, she has a new haircut, so she can look like victoria beckham. She looks more like a used soccor ball then anything.

Then there was the unsatisfied mother of a 15yo boy who proceeded to tell me her son was "getting into sex" with much graphic detail it would make a priest want to go to confession and her husband......
" bloody hell what have i married? he couldn't even make salmon spawn".

Next week i have the woman with no hair wanting 3hrs of epilation, miss souvlaki for 4 hrs- i'm doing her bikini atoll, i think that's an appropriate description and miss raisons. She is having her aereola done and her nipples shrivell up like raisons, the ones you find at the bottom of the danish christmas cookie tins, the forgotton ones.

God bless.

I am listening to Air- Kyoto from the Lost in translation movie which i'm petrified of watching again for it would send me into a time which my world was free and bohemian. I fell in love with every new vista.
A phrase amongst digital chatter, we became whatever our desires decided on the day, in the moment, unashamed hurtling down the stairs of some Japanese bar in python boots slurping down freshly fondled ramen in a noodle house who knew no alphabet and the empty tokyo streets buzzing with the ghosts of neon.

I've come home to my mother asking about my relationship

"what relationship?"

"you can atleast pretend to have one"

Is this the answer?

I need a new monitor, this ones playing up.

I spent most of my holidays doing this.

I met up with the wonderful Deb and had coffee at Latteria , visited some tiny art galleries and got caught in the rain huddled inside the war memorial. One could amplify those moments as romantic in notion if only Deb wasn't female and that i wasn't wearing white in the rain.
But i do love Deb in that Peter-of-ways and yes we did talk about you in endearing terms dear Pete.

Work has been horrid, absolutley horrid, we lost 2 more staff and now have 4 times the work load amongst two of us and my boss has disappeared to south america to hand out wheelchair cushions, i'm not entirely sure the poor have wheelchairs over there.

And next week doesn't look much better, i'm going to hit macdonalds hard .