Happy birthday to you
Happy birthday to you
Happy birthday dear Anx
Happy birthday to you

There, will that do as a birthday pressie?

The times they are a changin'

But I can't say too much about it though yet, so I won't.

Hope you don't mind too much :)

I've had a headache now for three days.

I'm also re-writing my CV.

Does this tell you how the promotion is going?

I know it's tapping in horribly to the current zeitgeist but please can I just make it completely public how much I hate Valentine's day. And no, not for the normal reasons of it's too commercial and we should love each other no matter what day it is bollocks.

No, I hate Valentine's day because, if I don't get anything, I get grumpy.

Like now.

Grr.

me: I have no odd quirks whatsoever
her: yes, dear, you go on believing that. We'll just point and laugh
me: you're metaphorically patting me on the head, aren't you?
her: maybe...

I might have been lying. I am sure that somewhere underneath this very complex (yet stunningly beautiful) being that there are elements of weirdness. I just can't think of any.

I mean, come on, I had a happy childhood, my parents are still together, I don't have an axe murderer for a boyfriend (although this is yet to be proved. Another day with me might turn him, you never know).

I am moderately intelligent (despite the bad spelling) I got a solid drinking degree. I am of average height, average (ish) weight, brown hair, brown eyes. The only distinguishing feature is a scar on my arm where I had an injection.

When people met me, what do they think? Do they remember me or am I instantly forgettable? I think it's probably the latter. This is a very odd position to find myself in.

I have friends who, no matter what the subject, they can have something amusing and witty to say or write about it. Me? I struggle to pull a sentence together. (and yet I'm the one who insists on blogging. Oh the irony)

Do you ever wonder what your life would be like if someone else lived it for you?

Gosh, this has turned into a hate-fest that I never expected it to...

I'm surprised you're not all grouped round me in a circle, poking me with a muddy stick and chanting "liar, liar, pants on fire".

Despite the lovely day off I had last week, I didn't manage to get near a computer and a) update myself with goings on in blogland or b) update you (all three of you) on what's been going on chez cow.

What was I doing, I hear you cry (crying's right, not sure if you're crying for more information or in distress).

I would like to tell you the reason is that I was lying in bed all day, being pampered by a naked contingent from the England rugby team. I would be lying.

I would like to tell you that I was over in Italy, stuffing myself on good wine and food in the blazing sunshine with the boy by my side. I would be lying.

I would like to tell you that I didn't spend my day off on my hands and knees cleaning the carpet in my room, dusting and generally making things look very tidy. I would also like to tell you that it stayed dust free all day and didn't suddenly look worse five seconds after I had cleaned it. But I can't.

So yes, the guilty secret is out. What did I do on my day off? Clean.

Am I turning into my mother?

I've managed to wangle me a day off tomorrow. Cue boredom and lots of irrelevant and banal posting.

Now I'm a manager, I'm far too busy and important to blog.