Utter drivel

There should be a word for a cascade of papers spewing out of a cupboard. Work on that, won't you.

My flat smells of candle wax and cooling carrot cake. My fridge and cupboards now look mostly bare but also dishevelled. Items left in my fridge include two garlic cloves, half a pint of milk, some butter, two onions, a jar of pickled ginger, an old lemon (we're talking halfway to rock hard. A pock-marked, zesty sculpture. I am thinking of submiting it for next year's Turner prize), half a bottle of Baileys and an unopened bottle of champagne. I don't know about you, but I sense potential here.

I can't believe I have two weeks to go. Who moves to Gorgie on a day when Hearts is playing Celtic? What was I thinking? I am also having doubts that the van is going to be big enough for the bookcases. I think we may just have to tie the doors mostly closed and hope we don't pass any police enroute.

The last few evenings have been spent watching Bernard Black of the Black Books series, so now the voice in my head is that of a drunken, surley Irishman. Get out! Why won't you all get out! What? Why is the teapot moving again? When will it stop moving? How dare you use the word party as a verb in my presence?

The good thing about starting to pack is that I have actually found my Christmas/Yule/Holiday type cards that I am planning to send this year (if anyone would like to place dibs on one of the cards that features the picture of fat nuns skiing, speak now). And I found Mikara's CD that I made her but forgot to bring with me to Canada. Moe, I also purchased you two bags of snowy balls. But then I ate them. And they were just okay. I'll buy you some more and put them immediately into the envelope and seal it. I promise.

Hey, does anyone want some carrot cake? I've got icing and everything. Homemade carrot cake is great. Someone should make a deodorant that smells like carrot cake. Work on that, won't you? Yes, you will, because I said so! (not forgetting Irish lilt). And you'll mow the roof and scare away the crows and you'll cut my hair so that I look like Jodie Foster!

I've got quite a bit of booze left. So the plan is this: this coming Saturday I'm throwing a party and you're all invited. But since it is unlikely that anyone will be able to come, I'm going to get blazing drunk and hurl abuse at the walls while dancing to my surprisingly varied mix of silly latin music. Then I'm going to sit down and write a masterpiece and forget to save it before turning my computer off. A short, slobber-filled burst of crying will precede my passing out on the couch. Good times! I think I might make a pudding out of the Baileys, just to kick things off. Something wobbly that resembles a giant caramel breast. Tempting...

Right. It's late. Time for bed. Before I go I'm going to try and attach a photo of a cabbage to the bottom of the page. Wish me luck. Come on, cabbage!