I'm in love with the word rattlebag at the moment and I'm finding many opportunities to use it. So I'm going to stuff lots of odds and ends, willy nilly, into a paragraph or two with no rhyme, reason or logic. You have been warned.
Yesterday I got an e-mail from Bar People stating that - as a cool, sexy, hip, urban, bright young London-based blogger* - I was just the kind of girl they wanted to join their social networking site. It was my Billericay moment! A company's terribly misconceived marketing plan revolved around me! Instantly, my world was invaded by the copyrighted exclamation marks. I was a bit flattered and perplexed, since the UB is not a brightly shining star in the virtual firmament. At first I thought the concept - people with similar interests share similar spaces and, a leap of faith here, they should probably network a bit - was interesting. But then I thought about it some more and it's redundant isn't it? I mean consider this - I live in Southwark, I like to blog, I'm going to meet other bloggers, I click on to the organiser's site and there's a description of 'my' corner of London. I have yet to discover if I have anything in common with Mr Wibble...but the important thing is that the connection between us, space we share, isn't Southwark or even the Anchor pub - it's here, here and here; the hyperlink signposts and virtual homes that we visit are the geographical connections between us.
I'm going through another high-maintenance phase. It's odd and unsettling, suddenly shaping my eyebrows seems worthwhile enough to spend time on and wearing heels might just be worth the blisters. I hope it passes quickly; I sort of feel ashamed of myself for even noticing the passing whims of fashion and yet tomorrow I'm going to go to a designer sample sale and then for an Aveda makeover and the worst bit is I'm excited.
*Actually, they left out the "cool, sexy, hip, urban, bright young" bit of the description, the idiots.