Return of the netball junkie

Another cold cold night, zero out, and what I'm wearing would, quite frankly, shock my mother. (Only because IT'S COLD.) Which brings me to want to examine the awesomeness that is social netball:

1. Work grief. What healthier way is there to vent your rage at an incompetent colleague than by exacting physical punishment on yourself and everyone else in an enclosed space

2. Tactile addiction. The dimpled, slightly tacky surface of a ball in all its size 4 rubberized glory

3. Court plays. The glorious satisfaction of all those clever 1-2s that see the ball hurtling down the court

4. Court markings. The familiar lines that divide this sometimes manic, overbearing world into 5 neat, controllable segments.

5. The swoosh of the ball as it catches 'nothin' but net'

3. Winning.

Reconnecting: world, here I come!

After concluding rather stressful negotiations for an upgrade with the moneypinching entity that is O2, I finally received my new bb and it hasn't left my hand since. I'm like a new parent, jumping at every single buzz and blinking light, managing the boyfriend's gentle stirrings of resentment. Now that I have a connection on the go, I finally understand twitter and that texting and walking is still ill-advised. Reconnecting with all the friends and family scattered across the globe has totally been worth early warning signs of carpal tunnel.

I've downloaded every conceivable chat platform known to man AND run out of people to harass online, so here's one of the last to-dos on my list: resurrect the blog.