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Diary Archive  Diary will be updated with a 'weekly roundup' every Sunday evening (GMT), as well as any adhoc updates as and when I'm bored.
Other blogs:
MJ sites:
Celeb sites:
Animal sites:
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 To read this blog page, start from the bottom and work your way up.
Wed, 19th November
Write like a BML!
It's one of those things you never even knew was missing in your life, until a kind and astute soul came along and offered it to you in all its splendour. Then, only then, do you start to wonder how you ever coped without it.
Yes folks, you too can write just like me. All you have to do is install this font by pasting it into C, Windows, Fonts and you're hooked up. Oh, imagine the possibilities! Click to download font - 'LJ.ttf' *
PS. You're welcome.
* = you may have to use it in size, like, 24 for it to be worthwhile. Oh well.
Tue, 18th November
Christmas List
I'm at work, and felt like doing an entry. But I couldn't think of anything to write, so I decided to share with you my Christmas list for this year, as sent
out to family members and interested parties this morning. Not that I expect anyone to find it interesting, it's just a way of passing some time.
So, I've thought long and hard, and concluded that this year, I would like...
Sun, 16th November
Weekly roundup
Sun, 9th November
Who's the fairest of them all.
I can't put this off any longer. Last Wednesday, around 2:30 a.m, our beautiful dog Bracken died. He was taken to the emergency vet in the middle of the night, and went his last ever sleep with my mum holding his head in her hands.
Our beloved boy had been deteriorating more and more over the last year. He was nearly 14 and, along with worsening arthritis, was becoming increasingly senile. On Tuesday night, he appeared to go downhill in a matter of hours. When I went to bed, he was anxious and finding it difficult to walk, and then at around 1:45 on Wednesday morning my mum woke my brother and I and brought us downstairs to say our goodbyes. What happened next will haunt me as long as I live, and I don't think I'll ever feel ready or able to share it.
My mum and dad left with him in the back of the car at around 2, and while my brother went back to bed I sat in the TV room, clinging to Merlin and sobbing into his fur. My mum had made up a make-shift bed on the sofa so she could sleep in there with Bracken, and I crawled under her covers with Suki, and prayed for even the slimmest chance that they'd bring my Nose back home.
They returned around 3, and the three of us stood in the kitchen and cried. We talked for hours and racked ourselves with guilt and wished he could have taken us with him. Before we knew it, it was 5 a.m. and Barack Obama had been announced as the first black president of the US. We watched his victory speech and saw the majority of America cheering in the streets. We watched fireworks going off and millions of Americans crying tears of pure elation. We watched with puffy eyes, and we cried the night away.
That night, fireworks went off up and down Britain in celebration of Guy Fawkes night. I hated everything and everyone that day. I hated the celebrating Americans and the celebrating British. I hated all vets and everyone who'd never had a dog. I even hated myself for all the times I just didn't take him in my arms and cuddle him like he only ever wanted me to do.
It's been nearly five days now, and I still cry. My mum is a mess, and Merlin is completely lost. The house is as hollow as we are, and all around us are reminders of our gorgeous big polar bear. My mum brought me back a lock of his beautiful white fur from the vet's, and I can't even bring myself to look at it. His ashes were delivered in a pale wooden casket on Saturday morning, and I haven't managed yet to walk past them without bursting into tears. I still can't really comprehend that he's gone. I keep walking into the kitchen and expect to see him heaving himself out of bed and lumbering towards me in that unforgettable way he had. At night, I lie awake, waiting in the silence for that unmistakable bark that, towards the end, became almost constant. He can't be gone, he just can't be. This was Bracken. He was always there, always. I don't think any of us realised until now what a massive part of our lives he truly was. We got him when I was 12 - in my first year of high school. He's been there through it all and I can't, I refuse to, believe he's not going to be there for any more. All I want is to sink my face into his mane of Aslan-like fur and wrap my arms around his enormous neck. I want to kiss him on the nose and tell him I'll always adore him. My first dog. My big baby who used to follow me around just so he could give me paws. The big overgrown sheep who even, at the very end, wagged his tail the second I said his name.
He didn't deserve anything that happened to him, and that's something we'll all have to live with for the rest of our lives. Every tear I've cried is for him, and every time I'm convinced my heart is breaking I'll know it's nothing compared to what he went through.
I wanted to put up a few pictures of him over the years we were blessed with him, and I don't think anyone could believe how many tears I've cried over these. I even found a video taken the night before he died, where he lay sleeping in the TV room and I decided to film him to show how gorgeous he looked. In it I say something about him going to sleep in his own doggy way - not realising that a day later, that would be exactly he would do.
I love you, Bracken. Rest in peace darling.
PS. I appreciate my friends reading this will be worried about me and I understand they're going to want to ask me if I'm OK. I'm not. I'm not OK and I doubt I ever will be again. If possible, I'd really appreciate if you just didn't ask me about this. When I'm ready, if I ever am, I'll talk about it. This entry is actually my first time telling anyone - I figured it was best to get it done in one go. Tomorrow is Monday, and it's a new week. I'm going to use that to start afresh, and while I'm not OK in the slightest, I'll act like I am. I'll force myself to get back to whatever the hell resembles normal and you won't hear anything more about this. So, I'd appreciate if you could help me out on this by not asking me anything about it. Thanks very much for reading, and for caring.
Wed, 5th November
I'll always remember the fifth of November
I promise.
Mon, 3rd November
Irony?
There are a lot of things in this life that are ironic. Most recently, the ironies I've discovered centre around work, and it is these ironies which I shall share with you now. Since I am at work, and should in fact be working, I shall instead write up a diary entry about such work, and in doing so prolong the carrying out of any actual work.
Firstly, I find it very ironic that I work here at all. When I was 17 and I quit university, my first job was at 10 Newton Terrace. I worked as an Office Junior for an accounting firm, where the highlight of my day was doing the tea round. It was my first experience of full time working life and I hated it. Now, nearly eight years later, I've found myself back at Newton Terrace, this time at number 12. I work literally next door to the office where I had my first job, only this time I'm an Office Manager. It's strange to watch my old colleagues spill out on the street and realise they don't recognise me from that deflated 17 year old. To be honest, neither do I.
Secondly, I find it ironic how I'm currently handling our UK recruitment, and having to reject both applicants and agencies on a daily basis. It takes me back to this summer, when I was unemployed for two months and literally spent every day calling around agency after agency, begging them for something, anything to get me out the house. Now, on a daily basis, I take calls from those very same agencies – some of whom even remember me from the summer. I pretend to listen, as they once did, while they attempt to gain my sympathy with stories of redundancies brought on by the credit crunch, and how if they could just meet me for five minutes they're sure they could find something to offer my company. I reject them with glee, and smile as I realise the credit crunch apparently has its benefits after all. I'm also sending out a depressing number of rejection letters to hopeful candidates – one of the worst parts of my job. I know all too well what a rejection letter can to do someone, and guilt hangs over me with every word I type and every envelope I seal.
I'm not actually sure if this is irony, or karma. I hope it's the latter.
Sun, 2nd November
Weekly roundup
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The next morning I went into work but started to feel dizzy soon afterwards. I showed it to our office first aider, who insisted on taking me to hospital. We spent most of Thursday morning in the hospital while I got seen by four different doctors and a nurse who yelled at me. The whole thing took hours and the end result was that the consultant wanted to send me for X rays. When I asked him how long it would take, he said he couldn't tell me, but would send someone in to stitch it up. When I asked how long that would take, he said he couldn't tell me, so I gave up and left. I was given a leaflet about head injuries and told to take the next few days off work and avoid all computers and bright lights. Unfortunately I'm still in my three-month probationary period at work, meaning I don't yet receive sick pay, so I went back to work and sat at my desk for the rest of the day with a bag of frozen sweetcorn pressed to my head. Everyone kept bringing my cups of tea and offering to do my work for me, which made me wish I injured myself every week.
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© BML 2002 - present
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