Working nine to five for service and devotion

You know I think I might have worked out the secret to happiness. I feel comfortable sharing the secret because not only am I such a warm loving person but it would be nice to see if my own brand of therapy works for everyone.... ok, are you ready loyal readers?

Buy stuff you like.

Yep, it really is that simple. In this capatalist, money grabbing corrupt society we live in the best bet is to buy all three girls aloud albums, two cardigans and some new eyeshadow and watch as you wow your assorted minions with a bouncier, cuddlier, new-improved you! Try it and see. Depending on the feedback I get perhaps it would be worth doing a clinical trial on this for my dissertation? We shall see.

Who wants to join me on my crusade to destroy the freakish man-children in the Vauxhall advert? They are wrong. SICK AND WRONG. And they know too much.

Music was banned long ago, there won't be any 'rocking' here

You know you're going to have a good Saturday night when one of three things happen:

- drunk men accost you within two minutes of entering a pub and then talk, nay slobber into your ear, about how 'all women are dirty lying whores'

- a man in a ironic tracksuit top (although how ironic something made out of polyester can be is debatable. It's not exactly on par with a Jane Austen novel for classic irony) takes a surreptitious-but-not-quite-surruptitious-enough picture of your cleavage within five minutes of arriving at a club

- a posse of men come and stand near you and then proceed to start a, frankly homoerotic display of behaviour that culminates in a dance off where two of them strip down to their pants.

Of course, being me and living my life (which I think I have established a loooong time ago is a SHAMBLES) all these things happened. Now, drunk men are always going to come and talk shite when they spot a group of lovely ladies. I can cope with this. Not all of them are then going to proceed with a diatribe about how all women are 'whores' but, to give him his due, as a chat-up line you have to give it 10 out of 10 for originality.

Now onto the picture taker. As someone with a 'handsome pair' if I wear a low-cut top I understand the unspoken contract I enter in to with regards to men leering at the 'goods'. If he'd have politely asked to take a picture I, admittedly, would have told him where to go but still, it would have been nice to be asked. There's nothing quite like feeling violated by a stranger to get you in a good mood is there?

As for the homoerotic displays of machismo, in a interesting twist for an indie disco (where every single person there of a Caucasian persuasion is so pale it can look like the beginning scenes of a zombie flick) both of the stripping boys looked fake-tanned up to the nines. Which makes one wonder if it really was as spontaneous as it appeared.

It was still a good night though. Mostly due to my bad-girl-in-a-Bobby-Darin-flick inspired outfit (well, that probably only pleased me and tracksuit man) and intentionally (*ahem*) bad dancing saving the day once more (it's amazing what literal interpretations of lyrics in dance form can do to liven up a night out). Oh, and they played 9 to 5 by Dolly Parton. The joy I felt at hearing the opening bars of that song is the sort of moment that money can't buy.

The following day I had NOT ONE BUT TWO roast dinners made for me. Having not actually had a proper meal in about two weeks (I keep forgetting to eat, time has a way of escaping me these days) it was pretty damn sweet. First mom for lunch then Farr for tea (although Nic, you wouldn't be happy - it was Quorn roast. Yumyums says I). As rainy Sunday's go it don't get much better than that.

Elsewhere in Sazz Land, I'm starting to think I might be sick and wrong in the head. I laughed all the way through Final Destination 3. Apparently I was the only person in the cinema that thought it was a comedy :-/

The burn to end all burns.

I've had a terrible day. Not only has Edith Bowman, my mortal enemy, been stalking me but today I was likened to Jar Jar Binks. This is possibly the most hurtful thing anyone has ever said to me.

ur not even haydon, your jar jar binks, your so poor they cut you from the films

Danny C [3.8.1.18.12.15.20.20.5] I killed my dinner with karate says:

they cut YOU from possibly some of the poorest films in the whole series!

Danny C [3.8.1.18.12.15.20.20.5] I killed my dinner with karate says:

thats how bad you are

Learning more and more about less and less and less

I've been feeling quite uninspired by all things life-lead at the moment. It appears the January blues have given way to the February blues but today I've found myself getting irrationally angry at pointless things which is a good sign that I'm getting back to full Sazz-Power. I have also been making 'to-do' lists which is another mark in the good column (the only reason I'm typing and badly spelling this now is so I can tick it off the list. Ahhh lists you make my life ordered and simple. Sweet sweet order and simplicity).

Well, in honour of this I am going to list all the things that I have been getting irrationally angry about:

1) CHANTELLE HAS A NEW SHOW! That dumb bint from Big Brother who is famous for not being famous and is one of the stoopiest people ever to show their ugly-peroxided-badly-done-hair-extentions on tv has managed to snag her boyfriend-stealing ass yet ANOTHER television show to show us all just how unfailingly hideous she actually is. Gah. Girls like that should NOT end up with boys who have rockabilly tattoos. Its sick and wrong. To perpetuate her so called 'celebrity' is enough to make me hulk up here and now.

2) Valentines Day! I'm not even sure what my beef here is (apart from the fact that I'm so single it hurts) but I DO know when I went to get my mama and papa mikey an anniversery card all the ugly people crowding round the (way too) VASTLY EXTENDED Valentines section made me want to shoot things. Particularly the young gentlemen (nearly all of them were guys aged 17-18) who were picking up cards with pictures of kittens and puppies and NOT LAUGHING BUT TAKING THEM TO THE CASH DESK AND HANDING OVER MONEY FOR IT! WITHOUT ANY HINT OF IRONY! I'm not sure why or how but it made me really really mad. I guess anything done without irony that deserves a dollop of irony makes me mad. Added to the fact that I'm bitter and evil and will end up alone with only my snow globe and ceramic cats (I'm allergic to the real thing) collection to keep me company may well hold the key for the basis of a lot of my anger.

3) Paying money for a cup of coffee and then positioning it in the cup holder in my car and then it spilling EVERYWHERE when I took a corner a little innsy weensy too fast! I'm not sure who I have to blame here except myself and/or corners in roads but what is the point of a cup holder if IT DOES NOT HOLD YOUR CUP?! On the up side... my car now smells all lovely and coffee-ey as opposed to smelling like feet.

4) SIMON AND MIQUITA HAVE LEFT POPWORLD! I might as well kill myself now.

Thats all for now... I may add to this throughout the day tomorrow. Depends how many stupid people try and talk to me.

Oh. My. Word.

If there's one thing I can appreciate in life it is a slightly chubby man with a moustache and a slinky-hipped goth fairy who's hair is practically a hat. Thus imagine my delight as I got to sit not less than 20 feet away from two such creatures last night while they entertained me and a couple hundred others with their wacky japes.

If nothing else it has re-energised my intentions of marrying Howard Moon although I still haven't decided if it is a good thing or a bad thing that I dance almost exactly like Bob Fossil. I'm verging on good for the time being.

It's always best to face these kind of things with a sense of poise and rationality

You know how often I impress myself with my supreme awesomness? Yeah, like 10 maybe sometimes 12 times a day. Yesterday I caught even myself off guard with how amazing I can be when I realised I had started hoovering my flat on Saturday afternoon and didn't finish until Wednesday night. That's FOUR WHOLE DAYS. We are not even talking about a huge amount of ground to cover - probably about 5 square metres IN TOTAL. If indeed that! The hoover was also left plugged in for the entire time. This may not sound like a big deal to you rock n roll superstars out there (which I imagine all my readers to be) but I'm a control freak. I'm the sort of person that likes having my stationary items lined up at 90 degrees (or 45 if I'm feeling sassy). I hope this isn't the sort of slippery slope that lead Pete Doherty into crack and heroin addiction. One day your leaving a hoover in the middle of your floor and tripping over the cable without ever considering, you know, moving the thing. Next day you're hanging out in some Dalston drug den with a needle hanging out of your arm and pupils the size of saucers. I'll keep you updated on this but it's possible that I'm just over-reacting about the possible implications at the moment.

So I've found the perfect motivational tool to having a good a good gym workout - pure unadulterated anger. Trouble is I don't get mad that often but so it was I found myself on Monday evening. Now my problem is how do I acheive that again? The issue on Monday was boy-shaped and now we're worked that out. The things that make me annoyed are more often than not fleeting and stupid. For instance boys that dress as if they've copied e-x-a-c-t-l-y what the mannequins in River Island windows were wearing or The Chuckle Brothers having their own tv show whilst I am still languishing in obscurity. However, I guess if I don't want to have a heart attack by the time I'm 40 then maybe it's best I don't 'hulk up' too often.

My obsession with soup has returned. I literally can't get enough of it. I was reminded the other day about the first time I went to the cinema with my friend Chloe and bought some soup. She seems to think this is hilarious, even to this day. However, I still don't get what the big deal is. I hadn't had my tea and I'd made some delicious tomato and red onion soup that I knew would provide a satisfying and hearty meal. IS THAT SO WRONG? I wouldn't be so offended but she took Quorn Turkey slices to the film. Now THAT is wacky. Judge me if you're a regular popcorn or hot dog fanatic. Fine. Yes you're 'normal' - well done. But if you're taking in Quorn Turkey slices then judge not lest ye be judged lil missy.

Yay! It's Friday! The IT Crowd starts tonight! A sitcom written by Chris Morris and Graham Lineham. Starring a skinny geeky weird man with BIG HAIR and a chubby grumpy hairy man with an IRISH ACCENT. Co-starring (for at least one episode a piece) Noel Fielding and Adam Buxton. Even if it's not as funny as I hoped I'm going to be hooked. This I know already. It's like everything I love about the world all in one place. Channel 4 with this televisual delight you are really spoiling us.

Finally, I am now a certified 'Jimi-fan'. I hope you all realise what an honour this is and the struggles it's taken me to finally achieve such greatness. I'd like to thank my parents who have always supported me and a big shout out to my brother for having constantly mocked me since he gained the power of speech. I don't know why but I'm sure that's helped.