So, my job at the call centre has taught me that, unsurprisingly, I don't like working in a call centre. The constant buzzing of tiny Kellys (as most travel agents seemed to be called) is driving me crazy. Listen up people, I cannot get you a ten night break to Prague in a five star hotel leaving tomorrow for ten pounds each. I've heard the beach in Aberystwyth is nice this time of year.

Today was more grumpworthy than most as I had one of those hangovers that really isn't bad enough to really justify being grumpy. I should get the Night and Day stamp tattooed on the back of my hand I think. I'd only just managed to wash it off from New Years Eve. Andy got asked at the door yesterday, when we went to see Ian play, if he was the one dancing on the bar on Saturday night. Which indeed it was. I have photographic evidence of his Coyote Ugly stylee exploits, but shall refrain from posting them in case of future favours required.

My unfinished knitting projects are reaching a silly number. I'm currently working on a scarf for my mum for her birthday (which was over a month ago), the jumper I finished knitting in July but haven't got round to making up yet, a FuzziFelt cushion cover, a Sirdar Bigga bag, and oh, lots of stuff that never even got round to working out what they were supposed to be, and so ended up languishing in a call centre, the bottom of my stash box.

Kittenwar.com was featured in the Metro today. This is annoying as, I'm sad to say, it was my homepage, and it's gone all slow.

'Be My Baby: How I Survived Mascara, Miniskirts and Madness', Ronnie Spector's autobiography arrived in the post today so I'm off to read more about Dusty Springfield, and her valet going out to buy her crockery for the express purpose of throwing it against the wall.