Just canNOT stop crying at the moment. Tears of joy, tears of utter despair, tears of love, tears of tears, tears for fears blah blah.

What’s all that about then?

I just cried at my desk because my Mum emailed me (about God) and I cried earlier because Pepper and I are excited about Supacom and exchanged a couple of emails.

Yesterday I cried during my lunch break because everything was black (darkness all around) and I had the dooooom feeling, last night I sobbed when listening to Bowie’s “Absolute Beginners”(on repeat) and then cried later on because I have a lovely fiancé.

PMT is taking the piss this month. I am revising all my feminist ideas that women should break through the glass ceiling to executive level.

Well, at least I know that I definitely shouldn’t. I’m not to be trusted while I still have ovaries. Last month I cried in the office because I thought our print contractor was doing such a good job and was so (I quote verbatim) “sweet and gentle.”

Fucking hell.

Last night, Helsy threw a huge whitey at around 9.45pm as a result of wine, Japanese food and spliffs. As she leant over the toilet bowl retching, she mumbled repeatedly that she was a bad best man. I reassured her that she was the finest best man that Turtle could wish for.

I almost retracted those reassurances when she proceeded to clean her teeth...in the toilet bowl itself. Hideous. There is something intrinsically wrong in this behaviour.

However, she cheered me up this morning when we played Victorian naked peep show through her bedroom window as she got ready for work...

So all is usual in the house of rats.

Bzzzzzzzz. Hummmmmm. Charrrum.

The silence of the office, only accentuated by the background hum of eight computers is doing absolutely fuck all to relieve my hangover, brought on by a weekend’s solid drinking and tightrope walking.

I slunk into the office, incredibly late, with my speciality guilty face on only to find that it was unnecessary as there is no-one here.

Where the frig is everyone? Has the world of craft gone mad? Is everyone on a craft workshop in Salisbury? Are they all chuckling away as they fashion jewellery out of rubies, copper wire and found objects? Is it a craft based conspiracy against me for secretly caring about fine art? Are they all in Starbucks discussing the sexual appetites of ceramicists in comparison to woodturners? Or have I just missed a meeting?

I should have stayed at home today and eaten Valium with the curtains drawn like I planned originally.

Chuh.

Last night, whilst riding home from work I saw the following on the canal:

One Heron, wading.

One very large dead fish

12 yoof having a canoeing lesson and shouting.

One Cormorant, diving.

Some cockneys fishing.

Five Ducklings (getting quite big now)

Some cockneys jogging. (One of whom was about 75 years old)

A swan

A Rottweiler

Some Canada geese.

A Corgi

Lots of Coots

Most exciting of all – six Moorhen chicks with little red faces. Never seen those before.

I am becoming a birdwatcher. I realised this when I cornered Colin, our IT Manager, in the staff kitchen and started waxing lyrical about the ducklings. I have started looking forward to seeing the little duck family in the morning when I wake up.

It’s lucky I’m going out to get hammered and dance tonight or I would be worried about myself.

This Easter was very picturesque, relaxing and British.

Turtle and I went back to my Mum’s where the lambs were frolicking, the streams were babbling, the fields were green, the birds were chirruping in the Forest and the cats were basking in the morning sunlight.

Lovely.

Then my brother comes over:

“Alright Mum, want some crack? I feel fucking rough from last night I do. If I have a baby girl, I’m gonna stick a chastity belt on it. I ripped off the pikeys so next time I see them I best be carrying my iron bar. I’m gonna do a fat line before the wedding ceremony and fucking float up the aisle. Etc etc”

After about 2 and a half hours of this I escaped to the village pub where mullets and tapered trousers still reign supreme. I love my brother so much but he’s a lamb in shouty boisterous wolf clothing. Currently very shouty indeed.

Turtle and I ended up judging a ridiculously surreal Easter bonnet competition on Sunday at the old people’s home where the mother creature works. Most of the old people were asleep, in a coma or incoherent but I think those that were lucid got something out of it.

As a fee for my Crafts Council “expert” representation, I procured a few of the finer Bonnets as gifts for Supacompression.

Excellent. Lazy gifting.

After consuming three pints of stella, four plates of eat all you can Chinese and two banana fritters last night I have decided that monosodium glutamate is the root cause of all evil in the world.

It was good at the time though and somewhere in the MSG induced fug, Richie Roo agreed to give me away in Vegas.

I waddled home happy as a lamb and found the rats to be stoned as rats and giggly as hell.

We all piled into Helen’s bed and strange discussions followed, sparked off by my comment: “If your arse was a footballer’s face, which one would it be?”

I love stoned people.

Last night Helsy went into her room and sat naked in the dark eating wholewheat muffins with cheese and marmite. Carla Parr and I watched this touching scene through her bedroom window whilst smoking.

Aside from this shameless and slightly strange voyeurism we have been rather busy:

Flights booked, wars re-kindled, marriage date set and a fine selection of Easter Bonnet gifts procured. All in 24 hours.

I am so fucking excited that I might wee in a minute.

Only the church to book now.

We’re getting married, AND we’re going on a road trip, AND we’re going Home.

I am taking my rats Home.

Hels and Turtle have both had Burning Man dreams this week....The excitement is building and it’s only April.

Now, I really must stop procrastinating and tidy up those boxes.

Jessica Josef, you are no longer 14. Ecoutez et repetez.

Vague memories of trying to fight a large goth, “dancing” (headbanging – eek) to Rage against the Machine and force-feeding everyone vitamin pills at 3am whilst my fiancé lay on the wet road and I demanded that Helsy look after him in her capacity as best man.

Some type of disgusting and dangerous bailey’s cocktail and champagne to follow.

Julie blew out a candle and got burning wax all over her face.

I like Bassett hounds.

Sunday was a write off and I never got to go punting in Oxford.

It was so lovely to all be together again though. I liked it very much.

I am too tired to write any more so please see Boo’s Diary for more details.

Went to Bedrock on Friday by accident.

That filthy dingy hole below Oxford Street’s dingy filthy pavements.

Turtle & I sat in the bar all night, shed tears of pure whisky and said things like – “Yeah but I really like fucking lovesh you (hic), it’sh a well amazing miracle that we met ooh the white shtripes are on (hic) let’s go dance and fall over and pinch people’s upper arms.”

Leo pulled a Croatian illegal immigrant with a remote control watch whilst Carlsy publicly berated the guy she’d picked up for being The Duchess of Cornwall’s cousin.

Just an average night then really.

Other important news of the weekend is that we have the blessing of Turtle mum and Turtle dad for our wedding in September. Phewph.

Also the beast of number 37 died a slow death in the garden on Friday and was duly buried complete with wooden cross in Mile End cemetery on Saturday.

Went to see the Mighty Boosh live on Saturday night. It’s the funniest thing I have ever seen and I have a stonking great crush on Noel Fielding, Julian Barrett, and perhaps most worryingly, Old Gregg with his mangina. Thank God for British comedy.

Rabble Rabble, ramble ramble....random rabble.

Bored.

Had that recurring nightmare last night where I get to the desert and I realise I've forgotten all my stuff. The Burner's answer to the classic anxiety dream.

Rabble, rabble....