Bridget Jones

It has just struck me how extraordinarily like Bridget Jones' my life is at the moment. Here I am, musing about how old everyone around me seems to be getting (myself included) despite no-one actually 'growing up'. I am caught in the trap of strongly disliking my body and seemingly being incapable of doing anything about it, despite my best efforts to catalogue my (many) actions. I'm incapable of finding a job involving mutual pleasure (as in, I want to work somewhere and they want to employ me) and so on and so forth, blah blah blah.

God I complain a lot. Moany moany moany. Is this a weakness on my part or is it perfectly acceptable? I reckon its ingrained in our British psyche to disapprove of people that make a fuss. Continental folks seem to love it. But over here, we all shake our heads sadly at those who are incapable of maintaining that 'stiff upper lip', and consider it a personal failure if we aren't able to do the same ourselves. Unfortunately, we are also a culture that is obsessed with 'the self', so it feels natural and permissible to talk about things that bother us, that have happened to us and that we react and respond to - though if we are truly to be British in the Victorian sense of the word, we can only talk about the weather, the cricket and the empire. Shit, man.

So maybe it ought to be ok to be self-indulgent and moany, at least for some of the time.

I realise this post is something of a bolt from the blue - not that many posts ago I was telling you about my summer holidays and finishing mods - but I won't apologise. I've been too busy having a life to tell you all about it. (Ouch - I'm in a cruel mood today!)

Until the next time, loyal readership (ha!)