I've lost that loving feeling....

This is how I felt when I woke up, I hope I don't feel like this when I go to bed.

Last night chatting to a new friend on Facebook (a friend of a friend! I'm daft not desperate!) I was asked what time I'd start my walk today, he'd send good psychic karma. I said I wasn't sure, in the morning, then signing off asked myself where I should go? Ten miles I wanted give a go.

With thoughts of emailing the Party Leaders, I thought I'd head to Parliament. Once there I could see how I feel and resolve whether to do it or not.

I woke up, it was raining, I didn't want to walk anywhere. I wondered why I'd even signed up to this. I lost all excitement basically. Perhaps this is how other people training feel. I dunno, I've never trained with anyone. I've never trained for anything like this.

I got walking though! Stopped by the coffee shop for a shot. Walked down to the outdoor shop where I got my pedometer and bought another pair of super socks incase it rains Friday. The man sponsored me as he'd said he would!

Down Gower Street I saw a girl wearing red trousers. "I want some of those!" I thought. I asked her where she got them. Zara. Whether they were expensive. "£30 or £40". I walked on down to Whitehall wondering whether I should get some, RED trousers for my walk! Dispel negative energy on my walk! Followed by thoughts that I didn't have the backside for skinny red jeans, skinny red jeans would show every dimple. I am 200 not 20 I reminded myself.

Big Ben! The green opposite the perfect place to stop and have a think. No protesters there today. I walked round to St Margaret's Church, then crossed the road and there on a plinth was Nelson Mandela! Why sit on the grass when I could sit in the shadow of this great man! Ok, it was cloudy, there were no shadows, but you know what I mean!

I thought the Cabinet War Rooms aren't far, my friend Phil works there, I should go and see him! If he's not there, no matter, I was desperate for a pee! 7.43 miles, I'd excelled my original plan!

There's the Treasury! I interrupted four suits having a conversation outside it, asked them if they'd sponsor me, remarking it was quite funny to be standing outside this building asking them. They didn't work at the Treasury they said. Two had no money, but the guy from the Guardian emptied his wallet and the boy from the beeb emptied his pockets. I was buzzing!

Fletch calls just as I'm about to go into the Cabinet War Rooms - Churchill!! Do I fancy going to the cinema at some point? Yes, I said, at the weekend I was free. He suggested a matinee next week and I said I'd let him know. In I went, down to reception. Phil wasn't in so I left him a voicemail and went to the loo.

I decided to walk back up Regent's Street. My son needed some new trousers. One pair of school ones are wrecked and the other has a hole in the knee I've not patched up yet. On top of all that, the boy has grown. Unbelievable isn't it?! A seven year old growing! I only noticed when I saw his other trousers just skimmed his ankles. It's amazing how it happens really; one minute they're drinking from your tits, the next that's how tall they are.

Red trousers! I should check, really..... I pop into Zara. They have none. That's decided then! Hennes didn't have any either but I did get the lad some trews (which he loves, thank goodness!)

I stopped in a caf because I was really really hungry. They didn't sponsor me so I don't mind saying their eggs on toast weren't nice, yolk too hard. I hit a downer after that and that's also when the email to leaders popped into my head. Not whether I should write it, but what to write. I looked on my pedometer and saw the mileage hadn't changed between Oxford Street and Primrose hill so shook it!

Home, go to write my email, see email from council so although my own started lightly 'while you are sleeping in a comfy bed..." "the homeless situation is getting worse. That's where I step (forgive the pun)" and I'm giggling to myself. Then I sink right into the wretched problem of the borough.

I cheered myself up afterwards with the thought that I only bcc'd one journalist, one who writes on housing (amongst other things). Perhaps he's on holiday!

Then Billie sent a text asking to call her. I'd give the conversation a separate post, but it's just too frightening so I may aswell drag on this one.

"Don't fight with them," she told me. "The law is in their hands. They don't care. Don't say you won't move where they tell you or they'll leave you on the street. They'll leave you with nothing, they'll stop everything. I know, they did it to one of my friends."

Oh, a horrible conversation where everything I said in my defence she said it didn't matter. She told me to play games: "The way they play games with you, play games with them, make something up." I can't, I fucking can't. Make what up?

She said she'd meet me next week. She said she'd help. How she will help I do not know. Being there will be nice though.

I can't undo what I've done today; I did it. I've got to let it go now. I've got to get School of Doris about it because it wasn't wrong. "Right Selfishness" is what coffee man said I was doing this morning. When you are doing something positive but you have to put yourself first, that is 'right selfishness'. My email didn't say house me, it said sponsor me. Both would be good. The former would be better. I've taken a massive risk on the former. I must have gone to kiss my sleeping son a dozen times tonight.

"Desperate times calls for desperate measures," said notsupermum.

I have to brace myself really; for the whole borough to see that I am desperate. Desperate is not how I would ideally like to be percieved funnily enough. I'd rather be a Rags to Riches story than a Riches to Rags one. Well actually, I'd rather not be a story at all. You can't do something like that though then hide under a rock.

The Righteous Brothers won't croon their chorus in my ear tonight.
No, Stigmum says it has to be Doris.