Lucy Robinson is not so bad you know

I was talking to my friend earlier today. She is one of the most disgusting people I’ve ever met. Think you’re talented? Forget it. You’re not. Not next to her anyway. Think you’re creative? Pah! Good-looking? Bad news, my friend! She’s better than you! She is creative, she’s funny, she’s clever and she’s absolutely beautiful too. She is a photographer, designer, blogger, branding consultant, pianist and piano teacher and best of all she’s created this absolutely marvellous children’s brand called Florentine and Pig which is just the most wonderful jumble of cookery, hilarity and creativity in the world. If I was a kid I’d have been breaking my Mum’s balls for a daily dose of Florentine and Pig. Bugger Mr Frosty.

And the worst thing about her? SHE IS BLOODY LOVELY. Arghhhh! I really hate her.

After talking to her I decided to set up my facebook fan page but abandoned it in a sulk soon after. “I have nothing interesting to say about myself!” I yelled at The Man. The Man is flat out with work at the moment and barely has time to urinate. “Hmmm?” he said, barely looking up from his laptop.

“RAHHHHH,” I raged. “Why aren’t I amazing and brilliant and creative? Why do I just sit around eating cheese and farting when I could be out there doing impressive things?”

But The Man’s phone was ringing and his email was pinging and so I stomped off to sulk and self-flagellate in solitude. I ran a bath and muttered at myself about being useless.

And then something odd happened. I sort of floated out of my body and looked at myself in the bath, all shrivelled from over-soaking, cursing and mumbling away. And I thought: bloody well leave yourself alone, you stinking great tyrant. You’re doing just fine!

Surprised, I paused my self-cursing. Really?

I gave the matter some consideration. I decided to re-visit my last 48 hours.

So, on Tuesday night I went back to orchestra. My lovely long-term readers may remember me joining an orchestra a couple of years ago – remember Nigel and the jammie dodgers ? Since my last concert with them in March 2010, I’ve had a full mid-life crisis and travelled latin America and found a boyfriend and had loads of minging parasites and stuff. It’s been a long, long gap during which I presumed my already-reduced fiddle skills would disintegrate into nothing – but guess what? I could still play! I was terrible but I WASN’T THE WORST IN THE ROOM! Once again, I had that same sense of absolute elation at spending an evening doing something I loved. I had a lovely chat with Nigel over the jammie dodgers; this time though we spoke in Spanish. Because I can speak Spanish now.

Day one: ok. I am not so disastrous.

Then the next day I made finishing touches on my second novel and sent it off to Penguin for their thoughts. I wrote that bastard – all 111,977 words of it – while going through some of the toughest challenges I’ve ever faced. Some of these challenges you know about from my blogs, some you don’t because even I have limits about what I share publically. But trust me, it was a feckin weird time to be writing a novel. Not to mention the fact that I was travelling which meant the only constant in my life was a minging, flea-infested rucksack. After sending off the book I went to the theatre and saw a cracking play (which I understood) and then came home and made nice conversation with The Man’s friend who was staying over. Finally I helped a friend who was in distress and went to bed.

Day two: Ok, ok. Point taken.

I’m not amazing. I’m quite normal really. But as I looked at my furious wrinkly face in the bath today I decided it’s time to stop being cross with myself for not being someone else. Because I’m not too bad as I am.

Oh, PS, come and be my friend on facebook. Thanks  X

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