I am unable to concentrate at all today. Unable, unable….reduced to a lovesick swooning idiot savante. Gazing dreamily at my wedding finger, which is newly adorned with platinum and bling.

On Friday night my husband to be and I drank a litre of Jameson’s between us and went on a rampage around the beautiful & extremely posh art deco surrounds of the Great Eastern Hotel after fending off coke fiends on the dance floor of a music industry bash.

We did commando rolls and cartwheels in the empty corridors, revolted rich people in the lift, lobbed apples at reception from the penthouse floor, left our unique mark in each corridor we scampered through and got lost in the kitchens & loading bay whilst fleeing imaginary secret police.

Undoubtedly; a match made in Valhalla.

This week I have staged a one-person rebellion against all the wanky LondonCentric bike-bell-pinging helmet & lycra wearing cycle fascists who ride to work along Regents Canal.

I have perfected the art of cycling one handed through the snow whilst talking on my mobile and flicking a be-mittened V sign at anyone who dare complain that I am taking up too much of the canal towpath or riding too slowly.

I have also done the hoovering, created two extremely complex excel spreadsheets complete with comment boxes and applied lots of hand cream.

In addition to these stimulating & invigorating activities I just spent £30 at Yo Sushi with Richie for lunch.

This is shit. I think I need to get out a bit more. Yawn.

Strange and wonderful things continue to occur in my life….

An email from Dougledutch telling me that he microwaved his pants this morning on his boat and burnt a hole in them – ruining the taste of his breakfast toast.

Turtle & I finding an album consisting of the theme tunes from Arnold Schwarzenegger’s films in a charity shop and playing it all weekend. Fucking ace, particularly the Terminator Suite.

Sharing giggles on the tube with an old, rather large muslim gent who was suffering with an unfortunately loud case of flatulence.

An increasing propensity for members of the rat household to share bath time with each other – even the couples of the house. Pervy & odd or wholesome & unabashed? You decide.

A romantic dinner a deux being interrupted by a Welsh Mexican called Pepe, a boy with a hairy back and an ornate cock shaped vessel full of ‘special juice.’ Sambuccas were later given to us as unnecessary compensation.

Spending Valentine’s night rummaging through bins on Brick Lane searching for coat hangers with Helsy and then sniggering at morose couples on the tube that were staring out the window clutching droopy roses.

Perhaps the most wonderful thing of all: my brother and I both deciding to tie the knot this summer with our respective true loves. Life really is astonishing sometimes.

Slutmonkey + Feathergeek = True romance & excellent marriage plans.

Who would have thought it?

Right motherfuckers. I’m now back online after a strange museum dwelling existence in the world of high-end objects and sore feet.

My show has closed and I am very tired but pleased.

COLLECT was an incredible success within it’s own definitions –

· 11,000 visitors over 5 days

· £1 million pounds profit from art sales and still rising with commissions

· Featurage on Channel 4 news

· Press coverage in almost every national publication and some internationals

· 5th coolest thing to do in London as voted by Time Out hacks.

· Punters punching our staff to get in once the show had closed.

Phewph. When I took this job I had not actually realised the immensity of the project.

I am now looking forward to a relaxing weekend in the arms of my one true love in the land of my fathers.

I also have some serious decision making to do & correspondence to re-ignite. Best of all I can start focusing on the Burn which now seems wonderfully near.