I'm glad Jamie never went to jail

Well last week was fucked up. It felt it like it anyway.
I physically felt it.
Thankfuly, this week I no longer think I'm dramatically loosing sight in my right eye, have some random brain tumour which is causing these blinding headaches or loosing all interest in eating. The last factor is much to the amusement of my boss and other colleague Andy. Pregnant jokes aplenty and my bosses first comment was strangely 'Baby Burners'.
Which was quite nice. I'm not sure in what was ment by it but I like the fact he see's the real me.

And he still employs me.

Which is of course a good thing.

I'm terribly excited for the Supacompression and Brit Camp Summit next weekend. For all the obvious reasons.
I'm so excited to see every single one of you. The old and the new.

Oh, I met up with father last weekend. Why is whenever I think of dad I immediately hang my head and snigger. The man. I fucking love him. Acceptance and forgiveness is an admirable quality I feel. On my behalf. Missed him as I had not seen him since Christmas.

The meeting:

Me - Wandering up the road looking for dad.
Dad - Shouting loudly from 15 paces away, running a stressed hand through the locks of his perfectly mastered mullet 'Here Claire, where you been? Been on the phone to the fucking solicitors, not got my money yet.'
Me - 'We are going for a coffee'

So we wander down the walk. Drink coffee and as always do alot of honest talking.

Antics of my father inculde:
Setting up a new life in Estonia with a lady friend who he has known for 12 years. Remember I have a 10 year old sister and Im 24.
Sore backs.
A family who never speak or have very little to do with one another.
My dads mother is a very strange lady indeed.
He is going to Tokyo and Egypt.
I think they may be the only two places in the world he has never been.

So we talked alot about travel. Hearing his stories. Where I hope to find mine.
Tales of Rejkjavik and side street pubs in Amsterdam.

He is asking slightly concerning questions about Burning Man. The man wants to go.
That just screws with your mind slightly.

He asked the whole queue on the shop if anyone still used 'pound notes' as he put it as I handed over my plastic. Also from the other side of the shop 'Here Claire, get these (presenting some tea cake style cakes) 16 for a pound'.

Other things that are bouncing about up there are a friends horrible divorce, a friends new baby girl, a sly little sister, the serious need to do grocery shopping but refusing as I need everything and that means I need to move even more in a few weeks. Dad asked for bank details. Started my (shit) gifting idea. Fucking international gifting efforts puts restrictions on matters. Feeding bumble bees. Being fascinated by TV.

Right, flat mate away for a few weeks so I'm going to take advantage of loud music and partake in the need to do things.