Waiting for men to arrive ...

Seeing Antony reminded me of Rufus and just how damn good he is. Man - that boy is a fireball.

This is him last week. With French & Saunders. Dressed as Santa.

I love taking a trip into Wainwright World.

Btw. This won't always be about Rufus.

I will also talk about Friends.

And ...

No. Just Friends.

But not Just GOOD Friends because I only vaguely remember that and would I be wrong in thinking that it didn't share the youth or glamour?

I'm home today, waiting for my sofa to be delivered. As all of us workers know, getting stuff, big stuff, delivered is a major pain in the arse. Or getting things fixed or read. I've used three of my precious holiday days to sit around the flat, nose pressed to the glass waiting for someone to turn up. Most of the time they don't, or they do but they don't have the right tools. Or they're so fucking stupid that it really is quite incredible their thumbs are oposable enough to hold those stupid electronic handset things:

"Your name?"

"It's on the form."

"I need it for this. Your name?"

"It's on the ..."

"Your name?"

"Lucy."

"M ... O ..."

"No, no. L. It starts with an L."

Blank look.

"It's LLLLucy. LOOOSEY."

"It says on the form Lucky."

"No, it doesn't but I'm impressed you know that word. Well done."

Blank look.

"I've got the wrong tool."

But today, the NTL man turned up when I was still lolling bed, enjoying the early Will & Grace double bill. Half an hour later and one wee (why was I worrying that the bath towel was on the floor when he was in there? Why was I worried about what the NTL man would think about my househusbandry? "Gasp! The towel's on the floor! I shall miswire this slovenly woman.") he was done. An hour later, just after my shower, the water meter man turned up, figured out which pipe was mine and fitted the water meter.

By midday all the loose ends in my new home had been tied.

I now have my phone line - seriously, the last guy didn't show and the one before that connected the line so I couldn't use it but he and his friends could, running up over £300 worth of calls to mobiles and Jamaica. Cue me on the phone to NTL: Do you think I'd be sitting here in this cold snap, freezing my arse off if I had friends with a house in Jamaica? To be fair - I love NTL's customer services. They're bloody ace. The service itself it's laughably poor, but I've actually made £70 quid out of them which is actually not bad. It's more than I made in Kings Cross that snowblown night and I didn't have to wear a miniskirt. I love them there at NTL. They're like the best, friendliest people in the world. And they're always so sorry. God BLESS them one and all.

Now I'm waiting for my sofa to arrive from Habitat. It may fit into my room, it may not. But the amount I've paid for it, if it doesn't, I'm moving out and living on it. Fingers crossed this winter's mild.