Raise High The Roof Beam, Carpenters

Friday night, I'm not out of work till 7pm, the moon in the black sky is not quite full. I'm avoiding the pub, I'm lying low. I haven't been out all month; I'm broke. The non-drinking is going well. I'm going to do 4 weeks, so the last night of non-drinking is tonight. I think I said I was going to give up chocolate which I haven't quite done, but who cares? that's a girl's new year's resolution anyway. I'm off to the doctor's tomorrow and although I have avoided googling my symptoms I've still worried myself into a stupour. It's bound to be fatal. As I walk up Finchley road I try and concentrate on other things, like, what on earth does the phrase, 'Raise high the roof beam, carpenters' mean?

I need to ask someone literary. I miss my chance. As I get off the tube at King's Cross I see Jeanette Winterson is sitting in the same carriage as me.

Saturday morning and I'm off to see the Doctor to talk about these headaches I've been getting for two weeks. Give up drinking for four weeks, and spend two of those with a headache. At Highbury Barn a pensioner drives out into the road nearly hitting an oncoming car. Two minutes down the road and a man is screaming at his dog. What have I woken up to? The Doctor is going to be rude, sneering, unsympathetic as he tells me my headaches are fatal...

The doctor is very nice and welcoming. He takes my blood pressure and shines a light into my eyes, asks a few questions, then tells me there's nothing to worry about. Outside the surgery the day is looking different. The sky is clear blue, the people are smiling, shop assistants are helpful. I walk through Highbury Fields, my headache forgotten. I love Saturday mornings. I still don't know what 'Raise high the roof beam, carpenters' alludes to though.

I'm off to the pub later to meet James and Shaun, the first drink of 2010. I'll raise a toast to J D Salinger.

Put the book back on the shelf

So, it's time to have a clear out and rid myself of unused books and CDs. It's funny, you can look at a book you've not looked at in ten years, open it and think, actually that's brilliant, I'll keep it and re-read. Then it goes back on the shelf where it sits ignored until the next clear out. Tracy didn't seem to have the same problem, handing me a massive bag of books to take to the shop.

At the local bookshop I'm quick to distance myself from my girlfriend's books.

"I'm not sure what's in there. My girlfriend gave me a load of books to give to you. Mine are on the top. I hope you like them."

"Thank you, I'm sure I will. I see you've got the Seagull in there."

"Oh yes that's one of mine."

I'm pleased. My books have earned their place in her shop (why I feel the need for justifying giving valuable books for free is anyone's guess). She likes the Seagull. Hang on a minute, the Seagull? that's a Chekhov play. I've never owned a copy of that play. The book she was looking at was Jonathan Livingston Seagull.

I'm reading a book about Samuel Pepys, a blogger from the 17th century. Apparently his father used to take the family out for outings to rural Islington, for cakes and ale in the King's Head. Rural Islington? We go in search of rural Islington, first passing the bookshop to see if any of our books have made the window. No such luck. We take a left and I'm surprised to see how near we are to Clissold Park, which I guess is more Hackney than Islington. Clissold Park has everything, including deer and goats and rabbits. It's everything you'd want from rural Hackney.

Tonight I walk past the bookshop on my way home from work and there's a book of Tracy's standing proud in the front window.

At home with the Eskimos

It's Tuesday and I'm staring at the sleeve of a man's jumper with two holes near the wrist. I shouldn't have this knowledge. Not because this man is married to a seamstress or something, or that there's anything particularly wrong with having holes. It's just when I got to the tube at 7.30 am I had presumed I'd get a seat, or at the very least some space. But no, it's 7.30 am and I'm in very close proximity to a man's sleeve.

At work we're promised snow. Apparently it will snow all evening and we won't be able to get to work in the morning. I've done two days work this year, that's enough for now. I try to get food from the corner shop but they rarely have what I'm looking for. The guys have two TVs to look at, one for security, the other showing films.

Family members text to say there's a foot of snow outside their front door so no work in the morning. I'm waiting for the same, but at the same time hoping the postman can make his way to my door to put my lovefilm DVDs through the letter box.

Wednesday and I'm woken by the sound of traffic. That can't be right, there's meant to be snow up to the bedroom window. I look out the blinds and there's snow, but not enough. The buses and the tubes are running. Slowly. At work I look out the window and big flakes fall, but they're not settling. I guess if I'd had the day off all the work on my desk would still be here for me to do anyway.

Back home and the DVDs have arrived extra early. This snow sure seems to be helping the postal service with its duties.

We are the music makers and we are the dreamers of the dreams

And now for those of you watching in black and white, this one is in technicolor. It's 2010 and on New Years day I spend time watching TV, making full use of its size, colour and sound by watching old black and white footage from the sixties. I'm really broke and intend to spend as much time as possible away from spending any money. I'm planning on going for long walks around the capital and staying in. That's my New Year's resolutions. Also, staying away from booze and chocolate for January. Chocolate because a few months ago I lost weight and my jeans were hanging off me, but now I'm finding it hard to do those buttons up. Again.

It's Sunday night and it's getting to that time where the reality of work has come knocking. The last day of term. I've started to think about preparing my costume for work. I need to prepare my food for tomorrow. You have two weeks of holiday stretching out before you, all the possibilities and all the people you plan to see, and then before you know it it's over. Everything is always over too soon. It's 2010 already. I console myself with the fact the whole country is in the same boat, nobody's looking forward to tomorrow.

I need to get away from reality and into the fantasy world of a good movie. That's the way to spend a Sunday night. And then to make the fantasy a reality. We are the music makers and we are the dreamers of the dreams, as Gene Wilder's Willy Wonka says.