Introduction

Why don't we all just go around the room and say a few words about ourselves? Would you like to start Georgia?

I hate these moments more than anything, attempting to convey your entire personality, life so far and ambitions for the future to a room full of strangers in a very short space of time. I always end up saying something like "Hi, my name's Georgia, and I like er... music, but I hate er... Robert Mugabe". Something that conveys nothing about me other than the fact that I am fairly inept in social situations.

Luckily, I have all day to compose this post and chances are no one will read it anyway, so hopefully I can get it right.

Hi there, my name's Georgia and I'm twenty two years old. I used to live in a trendy (i.e. scruffy, dangerous and overpriced) corner of London, while studying Religion at a trendy (i.e. scruffy, dangerous and overpriced) University of London School, and working for a mid-range cosmetics and skincare brand on a posh high street in the Borough of Kensington and Chelsea. After a graduating, and a slight midlife-crisis on the part of my twenty two year old boyfriend, all this was jacked in while he gallivanted off to Australia to find himself. I decided to jet off to revisit India, for six months of volunteer work, language learning and research into the impact of faith-based NGOs on rural South Indian women.
Epic Fail.

I lasted less than 30 days. Queue panic attacks, incoherent sobbing and histrionic phone calls to parents/boyfriend. It got to the point where fourteen year old HIV positive orphans were comforting me. If that's not pathetic, I don't know what is.

So I buggered off back home, rejoined my jobless depressive failed artist father on our boat in rural Essex. Oh how nice! A boat! Yes, it's lovely, and has no central heating or running hot water, and all our electricity comes off one plug. We steal pallets from industrial estates to keep warm. It snowed a lot, the pipes froze, the deck was an ice-rink, times were hard.

Fuck this, I thought, and bought a ticket to Perth to rejoin my boyfriend, who by this point, after two months alone with his Grandfather in a bungalow at the back of a petrol station in rural Western Australia, had remembered that I was the light of his life and centre of his universe.
Queue panic attacks, incoherent sobbing and histrionic emails to parents/friends. (There is nothing in Western Australia, nothing. I think my brain was so starved of any form of stimulation it started to hyper analyse every little decision and occurrence to compensate).

The boyfriend decided to take me away to the East Coast, and lo! I was cured! Art galleries! Museums! Bars! All the delights a girl could ask for were on offer. Queue happiness, laughter, ice-cream, with only occasional outbursts of panic attacks and incoherent sobbing, and absolutely no histrionic emails.

Alas! Money ran out, and I have returned to the sunny climbs of Essex. It's bloody snowing again! This time I am living with Mother, in very nice but incredibly small dolls house Victorian terrace. She is nursing a broken heart after her twenty seven year old lover accepted a post in South Africa. It might be worth pointing out I haven't lived with Mother since I was sixteen. This may get interesting.

So here I am, jobless, homeless (or at least home-of-ones-ownless), boyfriendless (he has returned to life next to the petrol station), and relatively friendless (school and college friends understandably have fled to fairer waters over the years).

My plan, is to use this time to attempt to perfect myself.
This, I am sure you will agree, is a pretty doomed to fail plan.

It involves physical, mental and financial perfection, and includes such goals as looking like Katherine Hegel and learning Spanish, and making my friend a patchwork quilt as a wedding present (why I don't know, I've become slightly fixated on quilting for some reason, it strikes me as comforting).

Now I'm still jet lagged, having only arrived from Melbourne at midday Saturday, so I'll finish this blog without a comprehensive list of my goals. I'll work on them tonight.

The goal of this blog is to share my triumphs and failures with the world by way of keeping my sanity, and also to have somewhere to vent spleen, as it will invariably be failures.

If anyone reads this, it'll be a nearly-Shrove Tuesday - miracle, but if you do, if you're out there, feel free to comment. Constructive criticism is welcomes, it helps us grow as individuals. But be careful not to use your real names, or I'll track you down and cut your knees off if you say anything mean.

Adios