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Right now, there is a window to my right, and through it I can see the Albert Bridge. The sun is starting to set, and the lights on the bridge have come on.

I've got two hours and twenty-one minutes left of work (and counting). In that time I'll switch between Shake and Safari.

I'm also going through the Yuletide Merlin entries on my iPhone.

Work!crush is gorgeous as ever. I'm going to French Girl's on Friday for dinner, to see her new place. She's trying to get me to move in, but I'm not sure yet. Had raspberry Martinis in the Oxo Tower Bar on Saturday night. A round of three drinks cost £30. I love London by the river, best of all.

When I leave work I'll catch the bus to the station, and then sit on the floor of the train home (there are never any seats), fighting my OCD all the way. I'm winning so far today.
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This is the story of how being head over heels for someone at work can lead directly to being hungover, in Camden, typing on a French keyboard.

Woke up in Camden this morning with my liquid eyeliner halfway down my face. Went out with French Girl last night, started out in Soho, in Trash Palace and the Candy Bar, then on to World's End in Camden (which of these things is not the same?)

This is all because after work on Friday my colleagues invited me to the pub (shock! horror!) and I sat there as they all discussed the amazing and wonderful things they were doing this weekend with their husbands, wives and lovers. I realised what a total saddo loner I am, and panicked for a while.

So I was proactive: I phoned French Girl.

"I am watching Battlestar Galactica!" she exclaimed down the phone: "I am so in love with Starbuck! She is so butch!" (don't forget to imagine the French accent. It makes it all that little bit more interesting.)

"Let's go out drinking!" I pleaded.

"I will take you to gay bars in Soho," she said: pleased, I think, that I was finally coming out from under my duvet. Her text message the next day read: We re gonna have some fun :)x

And it was fun, though it all went a little crazy around the time we got to Camden. We walked into this old-man-style pub and it was like one of those anarchic scenes in a St. Trinian's movie - hundreds of people just... rioting, basically. I immediately felt about 100 years old and grouchy. French Girl got straight up on one of the rickety tables and started dancing. I hoped the table wouldn't collapse.

Luckily, because I'd slept all day at home, I didn't fall asleep on the bar. We left at about two and made it back to her place, which continued the tradition of the evening: there being NO toilet roll in the whole of Camden.

French Girl has woken up now. She started talking about BSG immediately:

"Shit name, Starbuck, though. It makes me think of the coffee and I prefer Caffe Nero."

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Sitting in French Girl's flat in Camden (bizarrely, where Dylan Thomas used to live!), having dinner cooked for me. Listening to the best of Jelly Roll Morton - crackly jazz - drinking wine, sitting in the window seat with the cool breeze drifting in, wireless access.

I'm not sure life actually gets better than this.
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French girl gets mixed up all the time.

"I am boring," she says.

"Bored," I say firmly. "You are bored, not boring."

"Okay, darling," she usually replies indulgently.

Tonight I am bored, bored, boring.

I find French girl fascinating. Part of the reason for this is because she is just so... French.

When we walk along the street together, she rests her wrist on my shoulder. Her arm isn't around me, it's simply draped on the shoulder closest to her as she lopes beside me. This strikes me as very French.

She makes me call her "mon petit chou" because she says it is sexy, the way we silly British people pronounce it.

"Would you like to hear a joke?" she recently asked me.

"Okay," I replied.

"What is the difference between a young woman and Paris?" she asked.

"I don't know. What is the difference?"

She shrugged and flicked the ash from her cigarette. "Paris will always be Paris."

She wanted to cook me Croque Monsieur for dinner, but I told her she'd have to do better than cheese on toast.

Things she finds in impossible to pronounce include: 'Desperate Housewives' and the difference between 'hungry' and 'angry'.

If left to her own devices, she will have a lunch that consists solely of fish-sticks and egg mayonnaise.

She once featured in a music video, in which she undresses and ties up someone she assures me is a famous French porn star. Her parents don't know about this.

Her home, near Lyon, has a pool, but for some reason she'd rather be living in a squat in Kentish Town.
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Afternoon, all.

I had a freaky morning, in which I think I was stalked by a strange guy on the bus. He spoke to me at a bus stop, followed me onto the bus, got off where I got off, followed me to a different bus stop, ran for the bus after I started running and followed me to work, although he didn't get off the bus when I did again (luckily I ran into French Girl on the bus, so that may have scared him off). Pretty horrible, I was a bit shaky afterwards.

However, I had a lovely weekend, the highlight of which was triumphantly creating a Chocolate Cheesecake, never having made one before. I used a Nigella recipe, and added Nutella to it - strengthening my theory that all recipes can be improved with the liberal use of Nutella. Yes, including *insert savoury food item here*.

Actually, maybe the highlight of the weekend was sitting in front of the open balcony window with [livejournal.com profile] divine_miss_j, dipping digestives in the remaining Nutella and enjoying a cool breeze in the afternoon sunlight.

Also, [livejournal.com profile] divine_miss_j, your pesto was great. And! Ollie left us money to buy ourselves "a bottle of wine or something". What a gracious house-guest, eh?!

Last week [livejournal.com profile] divine_miss_j and I went out with a bunch of friends - none of whom are fandom-based at all - and we were sitting in a bar on Brick Lane when someone Set Us Off. I know that the only other people able to appreciate that are you online folks:

French Girl: So, Tara, what is your ideal job after this?
Me: Oh, I don't know... Well, if we're talking absolute ideal jobs, I guess my perfect next role would be as CKR's fluffer.
French Girl: Who is--
Jane: What, on his next movie?
Me: Yeah! Wait, no! On "Wilby Wonderful" the outtakes!
Jane: "Wilby Wonderful, X-rated"!
Me: "Wilby Wonderful, behind-the-scenes!"
Jane: No! On Daniel MacIvor's soon-to-be-released sequel "Duck and Dan Finally Get Some Action".
Me: Duck and Dan Do Dallas!
Jane: Duck and Dan Do Each Other!

It was at that point that we realised that our friends were looking at us with completely blank expressions.

I also went to see D.E.B.S. last week as part of the London Lesbian and Gay Film Festival. It was funny and sexy, I would most definitely recommend it to anyone with access to relatively obscure Lesbian cinema resources.

You know, I think I'm reading too many fandoms. It's just occurred to me that you could do an interesting HP AU in which Draco Malfoy is Joe Dick and Harry Potter is Billy Tallent. Or should it be the other way around? Man, I really think I need some kind of fandom detox.

My new website is now up and running. You can find me at www.notapainter.co.uk, as well as This Is Where We'll End It in its entirety (I am going to friends-lock the posts now). Maps is also up there, so I'm going to email round soon to all the writers who offered their inimitable services.

Brief sexist anecdote of the day:
Mel Gibson on why women are underused in storytelling in Hollywood:
"I just think that storytelling has always been kind of a male medium, from the start. Women just think differently to us. And that's a good thing. There are things about the way women think and the way they look at things that we cannot possibly understand. But I think the male of the species is more adept at the telling of a story. That's why, you go to any bar – it's not women telling jokes, it's guys. Women are notoriously bad joke tellers – most of them. Some of them have the capacity for it. But generally I think men are better at that. There's a successful producer I know, I will not mention names, but his take on this matter is very brief. He says, 'Women on film? Either naked or dead. Both is better.'"

Isn't he gracious about us dumb, differently-abled women?

And, finally, some This Is Where We'll End It icons, as I had a moment.

Read more... )

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