'Calgon...Take Me Awaaaaay'

Things that are bothering me today:

1. The ridiculous house prices in London

2. My current bank account balance

3. The prospect of no holiday in sight

Right now I want to be on a beach somewhere, lying lazily in the baking sun, dozing off to the sound of waves splashing gently on shore, contemplating what i'm going to have for lunch and what i'm going to do for the remainder of the day.

What I do not feel like doing is being stuck for nine hours on a cramped charter flight with a bunch of loud-mouthed chavs wrecking havoc with mini-vodka's and yelping like demented dogs in heat. Sadly, to get to my paradise it often involves surviving the latter.

Nothing makes my heart sink faster than getting to the airport and joining the queue from hell. You know the one. Whole families sitting on the ground, tossing cheesy 'Quaver's' around to each other and already arguing about who gets the window seat. Having your heart sink upon boarding the plane to hear a huge belch from the seat behind, and turning to find a grinning, morbidly obese (no putting the seat back then) woman who is two sheets to the wind thanks to the three beers necked in the restaurant moments before.

I am so scared to go back to our divine retreat in Goa. By all accounts it has become rife with riff-raff. It has become like Benidorm. It is full of track-suited hooligans, pronouncing Indian names incorrectly and badgering away for cheap silver as if they're in East St. market.

You may think I sound like a snob, but it's gut-wrenching to think that your own personal paradise, which holds some of the best memories of your life, may be no more. Once the masses have discovered it - forget it.

Still, on this depressingly rainy Sunday morning I think even I would withstand a flight from hell and a completely commercialised setting for the benefits of some proper sun. I wouldn't even care if the cows which wander the beaches in Goa had 'Burger King' signs etched on their sides.

Today, almost anywhere feels more appealing than 'a summer day which is so clearly not a summer day' in inner-city London. URGHHH.

Thoughts, thoughts, and more thoughts...

Is anyone else out there just plodding through days...in a daze...weeks, months, years whipping by...not a terribly lot to show for it...getting lost in your life? No? Well, that's just me then.

Now I realise that I could simply have my 'negative' head on (I prefer to call it being 'realistic' but whatever) and really my life is utterly fabulous and if only I could nudge the seratonin level up a notch than I'd be happiest lass in the free world. On the other hand, there is also the possibility that I am the only sane one in a world full of deluded fools...happy deluded fools but fools nonetheless. All those happy souls sinking pints in pubs, cuddling up on sofa's with blockbuster dvd's and flexing toned abs on dancefloors everywhere are perhaps the guru's of this age. Eat, drink and be merry, right? Nevermind the 'big' questions of:

What is my purpose in life?

Will I always feel like such a loser?

Will I ever get my break? Any break?

How come some people can make living life look so easy?

Why am I not happy?

How can I make my life count for something?

Does true love really exist?

To what extent am I brainwashed into thinking that I'm a failure when in reality I'm not?

This last question is the most puzzling at present. By all accounts, given that I don't have a flashy career, bucketloads of cash, a charming country home, a calendar packed full of exciting events, fabulous and adoring friends, and a future glistening with potential...surely I should just end it all now and save myself the hassle.

By 'end it all' I don't mean literally - I just mean give up hoping for anything special to happen to me and succomb to that bastard 'mediocrity'. Hand in any and all dreams not pertaining to realistic goals like paying the mortgage and eating five portions of fruit and veg a day, and embrace the stinking mass of humankind just trying to trudge along in life.

Time to hang up the sequin dress and pull out the baggy old tracksuit? Time to embrace being a 'punter' and join the (un)orderly queue of all those who gave up on their dreams?

Ah, if only it were that easy. If only I wasn't petrified of turning into a wretched, despondant drug-adled nasty alcoholic in later years...

Where's that bloody prozac then? Or maybe I just need a good sleep and sunny day. It could be as simple as that. (Mind you, winning the lottery, buying myself an island and turning into a mad recluse for the rest of my life also feels pretty damn appealing at present...donations this way please.)