PASSOVER ENDS AT SUNDOWN

...which is a really exciting thing, since I am *dying* for something puffy and full of yeasty goodness. Matthew, who is *not* the lovely human being I have led you all to believe, has been making a big show of eating toast with MARMITE on it, because it's not enough, evidently, to just eat bread containing yeast. One must also spread a yeast product on *top* of the bread for *extra* yeast.

He had better pray that he never develops food allergies or has surgery that affects his diet, at least not while I'm around.

At this point in my oh-so-exciting life, I am treating job hunting as my job. I get up in the morning, get ready, and take the train into the city, where I sit at an Internet cafe and apply for jobs online for several hours a day. The train rides to and from the city are long enough that I get some reading in, which is nice.

The people I've done contract work for are turning into nightmare people, and I'm starting to worry that I might not end up getting paid after all. I'm considering not handing off the files until the invoices are paid, which would be reasonable. They want the website to go up this Saturday, and the original plan was that they were going to pay me on April 1, but that's been delayed until April 15. Riiiight. Now I have to tread the fine line between offending them so much that they make *sure* not to pay me, and being silly and handing off the only leveraging tool I have.

Life is so complicated.

On the bright side, I have actually applied for a webmistress job at a gay porn site. I don't know why this cheers me, but it does.

I've watched Eastenders twice now. I also think I have made the active decision *not* to get into the habit of watching television, so I suppose that's probably it for me.

Anyway, last night there was a cat fight in the neighbor's back yard. I don't think Peter heard it, which is probably just as well. I haven't actually seen any cats in the back yard in some time, so I can't give you an update there, but then I'm never home, so I don't know whether they're there or not. I assume that Peter could probably tell me.

Speaking of whom, Peter has two friends visiting this weekend. They arrived late last night, and I haven't actually seen them yet. I have this bizarre feeling that I'm turning into The Phantom Housemate. I haven't quite figured out what to call myself yet--housemate? Boarder? Renter? I don't know. But whatever it is, I'm a Phantom one. I don't come out of my room until he's gone in the morning, and then I return after he's already in bed, (or, less frequently, am in bed by the time he gets home) so we go days without seeing one another.

Thank goodness we have our magnets, or heaven only knows what we'd do.

One of the more disturbing things in my life at the moment is the fact that I *cannot* seem to quit using "I" incorrectly. I have no problem saying "he and I" or "him and me", but when I use a proper noun, it always comes out as " and I" regardless of whether it's being used as the subject or object of the sentence. This is driving me crazy. I'm a grammar snob, for heaven's sake! Any second now I'm going to have to start spouting off about common usage, and try to convince people that my way is actually equally correct.

All right, maybe not, but it's still bugging me.

They should make some kind of electric collar that gives you a small shock every time you misuse I/me.

I am not obsessive.

There's some kind of funeral procession thing for the Queen Mother on Monday, so I think I'm going to have to watch it. It just seems like something I should do. I'm still getting used to the fact that "Queen" has a completely different meaning over here.

All right, back to job hunting. Please send me loads of cash so I can stop this. Thank you. That is all.

FRIGHTENING BABY-TALKING MEN

I awoke this morning to sounds of Peter speaking some kind of strange baby talk downstairs. All right, I have lived through the door locks. I have thought nothing of the towel thing, or of his reluctance to have me use the telephone. But this scared me.

Oh, we now have a system of magnets worked out to let him know when I am in the house, because I tend to keep to myself in my room. Believe it or not, I'm actually painfully shy. I'm serious. As anyone in my family can tell you, my sister's friends thought that I didn't know how to talk when I was a little girl. And I still panic at the thought of having to call someone on the telephone.

Anyway, it's not that Peter wants to be intrusive or anything, it's just a matter of security alarms. If I'm in the house and just sleeping, then if he leaves, he'll set only the downstairs alarm. But if I'm actually gone, well, he needs to set an alarm for the whole house. (Speaking of which, there are all of these signs here that say things like "This door is alarmed!" which I find hilarious and nobody else seems to notice. Of course, there are also all of these signs that say "TO LET" and I asked Matthew how it was that people could possibly refrain from running around the country with paintbrushes and painting a letter "I" on all of the signs. He explained that a) he was sure it had been done, and b) it wasn't actually funny. Then, we met up with his friends, and one of them, Sean, in the middle of the day, said, "Oh, look! They have a TOILET! Oh, wait, that's just TO LET," and I was euphoric. After all, there's no way Matthew could possibly hope to convince me that he didn't find his *best friend* hilarious.) We have settled on a system of refrigerator magnets which indicate my presence or non-presence as the case may be.

So I came downstairs this morning, and there was a note for me. He has posted the instructions for the washing machine on the wall, which is actually quite helpful, but I think that he's probably done it because he feels strongly that I am doing it *wrong*. In my own defense, it really is a weird and confusing washing machine, but I also think that I'm capable of determining things like what temperature I want the water to be.

Anyway, on the way in to the city this morning, I passed the Horniman Museum. That's the only exciting thing that's happened so far.

All right, back to the job hunt. Wish me well.

INEFFECTUAL LION POO

I awoke this morning needing to use the bathroom. I know, this is too much information, and I generally wouldn't share it with you, but you see, there was an entire radio team from Radio 4 downstairs interviewing my landlord/housemate about whether or not the Lion Poo worked to scare off the kitties, and I was in my room, undressed, and thinking that if I went into the bathroom and flushed the toilet, all of Greater London would know about it, and what can I say, I was self-conscious.

But Peter loved the radio attention, and he mentioned the fact that the cats were unimpressed by the lion poo and had actually watched him spreading it. He described their interest as "frightening." Call me crazy, but I find that kind of reaction frightening.

So anyway, my entire kitchen now smells like some kind of animal urine. I think this is the result of having the cat-ridding chemicals around. I only noticed it this morning. So I'm trying to figure out why it is that cats in the back yard constitute a 'problem', whereas a kitchen smelling of urine is, evidently, a 'solution.'

It's a freakish country. That's the only explanation, and it's not a proper explanation at all.

So why didn't anyone tell me that moving to a new country turns one into a complete freak? I find myself panicking at random times for no apparent reason. I'm hoping this will go away after I have a real job. You know, with a real company that doesn't have the words 'enterprise solutions' in their marketing documents. Or even better, a company that doesn't have marketing documents. This contract work is for the birds.

Birds which aren't in our back yard because the cats have scared them off, if my landlord/housemate is to be believed.

By the way, there are NO JEWS IN LONDON. I know this because it is Passover, and I have had to go to lengths you wouldn't believe to obtain matzo. They do have something here called 'salt beef' that's supposed to be some kind of Jewish thing, so I'm trying to figure out if that's the same as pastrami or corned beef or what.

Speaking of food, Matthew just got back with some, and I'm going to go see what it is. I'll have to update this further later.

Oh, if any of you have lost my email address, it's margaretatwood@hotmail.com.

THE QUEEN MUM IS DEAD--A NATION MOURNS

Well, except for those of my friends who are wondering why exactly a 101-year-old woman dying is news. I think it's sad. She seemed like a really kind person.

The restaurant was lovely, by the way. All through dinner our conversation was quasi-interrupted by the loudest American woman I've heard possibly ever, regaling the restaurant with tales of her homeland. So friendly! I cannot fathom why people in other countries hate us.

Matthew is also being lovely, in case anyone is wondering. I am trying very hard not to be one of those annoying people who spends all of her time waxing poetic about people, but he really is quite lovely. I'm finally over the culture shock thing that was making me act like an insane person, so hopefully he'll eventually feel the same way about me. Like maybe in 8 to 10 years.

On Sunday we met up with a few of his friends and went to the Warhol exhibit at the Tate Modern. I was pretty nervous because I'd never actually met any of his friends before, and I wasn't really sure what to expect. It turned out that they are really wonderful people, and exactly the kinds of people I would probably make friends with or at least want to. Sean arrived in this really fantastic furry blue coat. I need to know where he got it.

Anyway, yesterday I was supposed to meet up with a friend, but ended up not doing it and doing a bunch of contract work instead. This was good and bad. On the good side, I made some money. But I ended up blowing off a friend. I also had wanted to spend some time in my own space, because I've realized that I really really need to spend time alone, because otherwise I end up feeling like...either like my life is a subset of Matthew's, or like I'm on vacation instead of living or something. The culture shock goes away when I spend time in my own space. I also can't quite handle using Matthew's computer and invading his space and that sort of thing--I am not used to having to accept help from someone else, and even if it's just space, I'm relying on Matthew's resources, and I hate it. He's very good about it and doesn't ever *make* me feel uncomfortable. It's just me that hates it.

I haven't figured out this contract work thing yet. I've almost never been in the position of not having a steady, normal sort of job. I usually get a new job before I quit the one I'm in. So this is sort of weird. Yesterday was a holiday in the UK, and I had plans. But I received a message in the morning, sent the night before, basically saying that they *needed* to have the work done by 6:00 pm Monday, my time. If it was a 'real' job, I would have either known I would be at work or not. And although I realize that it's unreasonable for them to ask me to do something on that short of notice, I'm very aware that this is my only source of income, and there's not going to be much of it for a while anyway. But I need to figure out how to balance things, because I feel really badly about missing lunch with my friend.

Anyway, that's the mundane details of my life.

The Radio 4 people were supposed to come by this morning, I thought, to do an update on the cat situation. But I didn't hear them come in, although I was awake from about 7 am on. I can give you the update, of course. The cats have taken to sitting on the fence and watching Peter scatter lion dung around the back yard. They find it interesting. I can't tell if it's affected their behavior at all or not, but I can tell that they find it fascinating.

There is a *huge* burly squirrel who has been running around the back yard all morning today. He's enormous and grey. In spite of his size, he is quite limber, and has been engaging in some of the strangest behavior I have ever seen. He stands on the ground, then suddenly leaps into the air, does an airborne somersault, lands, and starts all over again. Sometimes he somersaults, and sometimes he twirls around horizontally. Keeps landing in the same place. I keep trying to figure out if this has anything to do with the lion dung. I don't know.

Oh, speaking of which, I listened to the first radio program, which Peter had recorded. It's a scream. When he says, "Well, the problem with the cats is that they keep the birds away," a bird chirps in the background. I am not making this up. Every time he refers to it, the bird chirps as if on cue. I wonder if someone back in the studio has added the bird-chirping sound effects, because it is honestly far too good to be a coincidence.

The problem now is that I'm finally settling in and really beginning to enjoy myself. Eventually I will get a job, and I will have to work 8 hours a day, and it will be very sad because I will have gotten used to this. It is *really* nice. I don't think I've ever had this kind of freedom before, and it's wonderful.

Anyway, this is disjointed, but I'm not going to edit it anyway. I have a lot to accomplish today, and I have to get it done before this afternoon when I'm going to get a CD signed by the Pet Shop Boys. You know, I have a very busy schedule.