Guinness in Dublin, originally uploaded by Shauna.

Spent a bookwhorin’ day in sunny Dublin yesterday… how bloody cool is Dublin? And Helen the Publicist bought me a Guinness, my very first. Tasted like Vegemite and chocolate. It was lovely, but I only managed to drink an inch of it. I just cannae get beer down, no matter what kind it is.

I really really really want to go back. Ireland has been right next door for nearly five years and I’ve totally ignored it! And what of WALES!?

In other news, my job is making me mental. The Slowest Computer In The World isn’t helping. It took 85 seconds for it to paste a 5k .gif from one folder into another. I ask it to do something, it just lights another fag and smirkss, “I’ll do it when I’m good and ready.” I’ve developed a habit of grabbing the monitor and shaking it violently while screaming C’MONNNNN Lleyton Hewitt style.

Happy Haggis Day, comrades! And Happy Australia Day for tomorrow!

FAVOURITE GIG:  Rush in Glasgow. I reluctantly tagged along with the prog-loving Doctor G and ended up a convert. Almost. I’d never seen so many mullets assembled under one roof: bleached mullets, permed mullets, bald mullets, lady mullets. It was my first ever gig that included lasers, flames and fifteen minute drum solos. It was bloody fantastic, especially YYZ, aka The Theme from Guitar Hero II.

My favourite moment was seeing Gareth gazing up at the stage with a dopey smile, bathed in the green laser light - clearly he’d been transported back to his bedroom, aged 15 with the headphones on. I’ve never seen him look so happy!

FAVOURITE RECORDS:  White Chalk, PJ Harvey and In Rainbows, Radiohead. Predictable, I know!

FAVOURITE FILLUMS:  I didn’t see much at the cinema but 2007 was the Year of the Clint. Gareth was horrified that I’d never seen any Clint Eastwood westerns so set out to give me an education. We started with A Fistful of Dollars then moved through classics like Pale Rider, Two Mules For Sister Sarah, Unforgiven and The Good The Bad and the Ugly. I had just assumed it would be boring shoot-em-up stuff but they were witty, subtle and stylish. And Clint Eastwood in his prime? SEXAY!

My favourite was The Outlaw Josey Wales because it’s basically Clint Spits On Many Things - he gobs tobacco on dead folk, a dog, a beetle, a scorpion - cinematic gold!

FAVOURITE BLOKE ON THE TELLY:  Bruce Parry of Tribe. I’m a sucker for any thoughtful, articulate bloke with a mellow voice and a wild passion for their chosen subject. Kevin McCloud of Grand Designs is the runner-up, but Bruce gets bonus points for all that shirtless running-around-in-jungles.

FAVOURITE ACCENT:  By a mile… KIWI! I’d never pondered its devastating hotness until I became addicted to the Flight of the Conchords’ HBO series. Their songs were great as always, but I doubt the non-song bits would have been half as funny if not for those accents (and Murray, of course). The dialogue seemed crafted purely to showcase the words that sound the most hilarious in Kiwi. The scene below from the Racism episode was my favourite, for the brilliant pisstaking of Australians and the way Jemaine says “person”.

Sign in the paper shop window: FOR SALE - ANTIQUE COMPUTER DESK.

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Fun With Amazon Rankings
DR G:  Oh my god. You're NUMBER ONE!
SHAUNA:  What?!
DR G:  Number one in.... Books most likely to be pulped by April!
SHAUNA:  Books most likely to prop up wonky bookshelves!
DR G:  Books most likely to be used as emergency loo paper!

Etc etc etc.

I've weaned myself off the lunchtime pilgrimage to the wee local WH Smith, as it's just too soul-destroying seeing the same four copies there day after day and fighting the urge to scream to all the shoppers, "SOMEBODY. PLEASE!"

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Call it OCD or call it being an idiot, but for the past few years I've been enslaved to a Heading Off To Work ritual of 1) kissing Dr G three times then 2) grabbing a tissue from the box on the shelf in the hallway and putting it in my right pocket.

Once you start these things it is hard to stop. I wasn't even conscious of the routine until one day I turned back halfway down the road because I'd forgotten The Tissue, convinced that without it I'd be mown down by a garbage truck or Gareth would leave his lunchtime beans on the stove and perish in flames. It's not even that dramatic, really. It's just that - my days have been okay while ever I've had three kisses and a tissue... so why mess with the formula?

We've been painting the (evil, bastard, neverending) hallway lately, so The Shelf has been moved to the living room. Today I was running late and huffed in the manner of a martyred corporate slave, I just don't have TIME to take another three steps to the living room! So I left without the tissue.

The old heart was clattering as I slinked down the street, wondering which speeding car would leap off the road and into my arms. I regarded every tree suspiciously, waiting for the falling branch. But then I arrived safely at work and I felt quite exhilarated and devil-may-care. I might try it again tomorrow.

It’s the love that dare not speak its name: woman and teapot. Behold the Brown Betty, a Christmas gift from the in-laws. Made in England, sensible and sturdy; its a vessel that would steer one through great Wars and Depressions. Or just perch regally on the crappy IKEA coffee table of some modern-day nitwit.

(Does anyone know where to find a good tea cozy these days?!)

So my book officially came out yesterday. I went stalking through Edinburgh’s bookshops, just to make sure it really existed. And it did! That is, if you could spot it amongst the ten trillion Paul McKenna books. I Can Make You Thin is his current blockbuster. How can I compete with such a bold celebrity promise? Maybe I should have called my book I Can’t Make You Thin, But You Can Giggle At The Incompetent Adventures Of A Nobody.

It was an exciting day. I hid behind a stack of books at Waterstones for twenty minutes, staking out the New Year’s Resolutions display and summoning all my ESP powers. Pick it up! Somebody, pick it up pleeease! Nooo! Not the bloody McKenna!

So my ESP stinks, but I was happy just to be there. I went home, made some pasta and bawled while chopping the onions. I think I was a wee bit overwhelmed and emotional that all this writing and editing and insanity actually led to a finished product. The road is loooong… with many a wiiiiinding turn. If anyone is still out there reading this steaming pile of neglect — thank you. It was a rather lonely and miserable day 7.5 years ago when I started WNP; it seemed like a new-fangled way for the inept to connect. I ended up finding so many good people and rediscovering how much fun it was to hammer away at a keyboard.

To celebrate publication day in hardcore style, the teapot made its debut and I made a batch of pikelets, those stumpy Australian pancake-y treats. Turns out they’re the same thing as Scotch Pancakes, but I prefer to call them pikelets because it’s one of the greatest words to say in an Aussie accent… POIKE-LETS!

Happy new year, groovy groovers!