I feel battered.
I was kicked, I was hit.
I was stamped on, I was pinched.
I had my hair pulled, I had my side poked.
I had someone on top of me, I had someone beneath me.
I have bruises on my legs, I have finger prints on my arms.
My neck aches, my side throbs.
There was swearing, there was drinking.
There was singing, there was crying.
People were lost, people were found.
We did win though, 27 - 5.

She's making a list and she's checking it twice…

People I would dump N for if they glanced my way:

• Mark Cueto
• Rupert Penry-Jones - oh c'mon, he's pretty - and he got his arse out on TV
• Ben Fogle - In fact I did see him once. He didn't glance my way. He was on his phone and stalked past my drooling mass as if I were his Labrador and he was his way to an important fox hunting meet.

I don't think it's wrong to have a "list" and I don't think that, just because I've been with someone for two years, it means that I can't find other people attractive - especially if they're completely unobtainable. I think the main thing is, I don't and wouldn't do anything about it and I never would.

And besides, what's the likelyhood of any of the above men rocking into my life?

Today nuttycow is feeling: grumpy

Morning all.

I was going to write a long and detailed post about my weekend, how good it was, the amusing anecdotes which were scattered throughout it, the famous people I met and loved, the lives I saved and the money I spent. However, I don't have time for that so you're going to have to content yourself with a list. In true me style.

Things I did over the weekend.

A list:

• Escaped from London
• Locked myself out of my parent's house
• Saw my neighbour in their underwear
• Had a cat sleep on my head
• Went to one of the chavviest towns in the UK to go shopping
• Went to a Hallowe'en party
• Walked out of a Hallowe'en party
• Sat in an old country pub and disgusted locals with talk of dildos
• Had a sleazy old man who looked like him off Spit the Dog wink at me (well, that's who he looked like according to N who is old enough to remember)
• Drank too much red wine
• Washed too many clothes
• Contemplated the whether Officer Crabtree in 'Allo 'allo was good looking or whether it was suffering from a hangover.
• Crawled back to London and back into bed

What did you do?

My neck aches. My brain hurts. My eyes strain against the artificial lighting.

For someone in Marketing, I’ve been doing an awful lot of number work today.

Numbers are not my strong point. Ask me what 9 x 7 is and I will fumble around for the calculator. Ask me whether it should be its or it’s, affect or effect, on the other hand, and I’m a veritable style guide.

And then we get to Countdown. Back in the halcyon days of Richard Whitely when I was a student dossing my way through an English Literature degree, weekday afternoons were usually spent with a mug of too-sweet tea, a packet of ten Marlboro Lights.

Slumped on the sofa, no doubt with a mild headache and a guilty thought that I should probably be working, 3:30 would come along and my mental exercise for the day would start.

Clever Countdown type: "I’ll have a vowel Carol… and another… and a consonant…"

Carol: "A E B F O E S T G R"

Nuttycow: "Er... best… fest… oh dammit, pass me the ashtray"

The clever people on the television sit through their 30 secs, picking their nails, cleaning their glasses.

Clever Countdown type: "Yes, I've got a 9 letter word Richard"

Nuttycow: "Dammit"

Then the numbers bit…

Clever Countdown type: "I’ll have one small one and you choose the rest Carol"

And here’s the odd bit. No matter what numbers they came up with, no matter how unlikely the result, I always managed to solve the numbers quiz.

The alarm wakes me, shattering a particularly good dream about Rupert Penry-Jones.

I roll over, hoping to find a warm body beside me but just end up whacking my arm on the radiator and nearly taking my eye out on a big button attached to the pillow case.

Not an auspicious start to the day.