Saturday 31st March. Pasties & Petrol.

My North Star in life has always been the desire to be utterly individual.

So it’s with some sadness that I feel compelled to get down on paper quite how disappointed (and in my vernacular, ‘disappointed’ is way worse than homicidal fury) this last couple of weeks have made me.

Let’s start with petrol and Greggs, The Bakers.

If you’re someone who woke up on Thursday and totally lost your fucking mind because your petrol tank was hovering on the three-quarter full mark, you have my sympathy. Not, obviously, because there was, at any point, during the cone-tastic, freak-fest, any discernible danger to you, your life and your limb, but because you’re a moron and you’ll believe anything you hear on TV.

Ditto hot pasties.

I, like the next man I’m sure, like nothing better than a ‘Travelling-Cappucino’ and a piping hot Cornish Pasty on a cold Saturday morning when I’m in town, doing my chores (hate chores) but people; calm the fuck down.

They’ve gone up 20p.

The Tory party are currently dismantling the NHS, the Post Office and Network Rail but add a few pence to a sausage roll and everyone, from Leeds to London, is suddenly a political critic.

Moving on and I’ve had my own share of ‘disappointment’ this week.

Three short weeks after I pitched the idea of a weekly column of ‘The Secret Diary of a Single Mum’ to the Daily Mirror, they decided to run with the idea.

The disappointment part is when you factor in that they went with a staff writer to pen it, and that they called it ‘Diary of a Single Mum’.

I’m not going to start on the similarities in style between my writing and this ‘other’ version but I’m sure you can imagine how gutting it is to see something you’ve been working on and developing for three years ‘launched’ in a tabloid newspaper as a fresh new idea.

I have also, this week, been forced to allow someone who has been an incredibly huge part of my life for six long years exit centre stage left.

A man who has, in his time variously fulfilled the roles of friend, confidante and lover.

Ultimately his fear of claiming his own greatness saw him scuttle fearfully back to a land where there’s always petrol and pasties and away from someone who actually got quite excited by the concept of a bit of a war-time type struggle with destiny and the diminishing availability of diesel.

I think maybe I was a bit ‘out there’ for him.

He’s a ‘Banker’ after all.

Nope, all round it’s been a trying week.

But after all is said and done, my desire to follow the North Star of ‘me-ness’ demands that I swallow these incredibly bitter pills and trudge on toward a better tomorrow.

I’m sure it’ll all turn out ok.

N.B – One good thing this week. I discovered a hitherto untapped total and utter love of Katy Perry.

That cheered me up, “is this a hickey or a bruise.”

Oh Katy…………

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7 thoughts on “Saturday 31st March. Pasties & Petrol.

  1. Good on ya, girl. Stick with your North Star of ‘me-ness’. The fact that he left makes him sound like a bit of a banker in any case.

    I’ll never buy the Daily Mirror again. Mind you, that won’t be difficult; the last time I bought it was 1951.

  2. Did you actually pitch the idea to them? I saw that column yesterday, though I didn’t read it. Perhaps it was my innate sense of dirty dealings. However, before I post this comment, I’m going to go downstairs, find said column and read it…

    …right, done.

    Yours is better.

  3. Ahhhhh! Chin up!
    Do something that makes you giggle, get outdoors, be extra nice to yourself and look back through the week for some of the GOOD bits – I’ll bet you a skinny latte that they ARE there…..!! xxxx

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