Time to come out of hibernation

Spring is here I think. The inches of snow we had just a few weeks ago seem like a distant memory. This morning the sun was warm and the air felt like spring. This can mean only one thing - time to start thinking about summer wardrobe. And more importantly, time to get the body sorted for the summer wardrobe.

I don't know about anyone else, but as soon as the nights draw in and the mercury drops my natural reaction is to eat, and eat, and eat some more. The body needs fuel, and insulation. I ate so much this autumn I actually started to get worried I may be eating for two.

It happens every year. And then every spring I take one look at my pasty, wobbly figure and want to cry. Being a redhead, my skin is pale all the time, but after a winter tucked away behind tights and wool it really is an exceptionally sorry state.

First thing's first - a pedicure. This I did on Monday and my feet are now buffed and polished to perfection all ready to stick straight in my gladiators at the first hint of real heat. And as soon as the sun comes out, so does the fake tan.

That is the easy part - the hard part is sorting out the flab situation. So as of next week I am officially on a healthy eating plus exercise diet. This involves lots of vegetables and grilled salmon, along with religious attendance at my boxercise and pilates classes - neither of which i have bothered with since it got cold - and jogging.

Urgh I feel tired just thinking about it. But my thighs are wobbling, my arms are wobbling and my belly is overhanging. I will not even mention my bum. All it takes it four weeks of good behavior to give everything a little lift and feel ready to bare - And i have missed my morning chats with Davina (and the power of three DVD). Just got to keep thinking about my short shorts to keep me motivated. Short shorts, short shorts....

Tray roasted cat?

I got home last night and was having a glass of wine with C, moaning about Beecham’s-gate and expecting never to hear from the Frenchman again. Next thing you know he’s text asking if I’m around. I was around, but after a long, hard day at work with day old hair and make up that has fallen off this suggestion of spontaneity panics me. But C made me reply to say that I was and he asked me if I fancied having a drink, either right away or later after he has eaten with his friends. So I accepted and suggested meeting later as I needed to ‘finish my dinner’. (i.e run in the shower, wash my hair and put all my make up back on).

So an hour later I’m in my room singing along to music, make-up half on, hair wet, undressed, still got ages to go before I need to be ready. Phone rings. Shit! It’s him! He’s early! Shit. Turn music off. Curse out loud some more before calling him back and putting a breezy voice on. He’s stood outside the bloody door, which is right next to my bedroom. (This is the downfall of getting involved with the next door neighbor.) He wants to borrow a plate to cook a cat in? Pardon? Can’t understand you... I’ll come to the door... (oh shit he’s heard me singing and cursing).

So I quickly shove my mascara on and find some clothes to throw on – no blusher, wet hair – this is not how a first date is supposed to go. Open the door, he’s stood there all tall, dark French and gorgeous. I’m embarrassed.

Frenchman: Hello, *kiss kiss*, I am sorry to knock early, but do you have a dish I can borrow to cook a cat in?

Me: You are cooking a cat?

Fm: No, No! A CAT.

Me: A Cat?!

Fm: No, a Tat, you know *gestures in the air making some kind of shape* a TAT.

Me: A Tat? OH Taters? Potatoes? A tray to roast potatoes?

By this point we stood in the kitchen area and I’m in a panic due to wet hair and half finished make-up, and crouching down pulling all the pots and pans out of that cupboard under the sink making the worst racket in the world ever.

Me: Here’s a roasting tin, is that what you mean?

Fm: (laughing at me) No, No a TART. Like a pie?

Me: OH a Taart. Oh well I don’t have a tart dish sorry. (standing in a pile of every kitchen pot and pan we have).

I was so embarrassed but it was funny also. Anyway then he was laughing, and apologised for creating such a mess and said he would go and get a dish from the pub instead. And then said he’s give me a call when they had finished eating.

It turns out that by the time they had finished eating it was getting so late that we decided to do the drink on another day. Which is funny, because that kind of makes our first date me with wet hair and my head buried in the kitchen cupboard looking for a tray for him to roast a cat in. I'm not sure if that is a good thing, or a bad thing, but one thing is for certain - we will always have something to laugh about if we ever do make it to the pub for a drink.

Beechams-gate

When receiving a slightly suggestive text from your fit neighbor, asking what your medicine is, after hearing you are suffering from a cold, I would strongly advise to respond with something equally suggestive and flirtatious.

Or, like me dosed up on drugs and syrups for my cold, you could respond in a slightly not-on-the-ball confused manner with simply: Beechams flu-plus, why?

If only the ground could swallow me up.

French Kissing

I have been making the most of my singledom in recent weeks. I have reactivated my membership on a Mysinglefriend.com, and have been in full flirt mode on nights out with the girls.

On Thursday I went for a date with a guy from MSF. It wasn't the best. He was dissapointingly short, as so many often are when meeting this way, and after a few drinks he started playing air guitar with a pool cue when there wasn't even any music playing. And yes he wanted to play pool on a first date. And he also spent about 20 minutes networking with some guy in the members club we were at. Not the best impression to make on me really!

Infact the best part of the night was once I got home. I had forgotton my keys and was waiting in the porch for my housemate to get home and my gorgeous neighbour found me and invited me into his to wait, with a glass of wine. He is french and his accent mesmerising, so a glass of red wine and two cigerettes later I was smitten. He hillariously tried to teach me how to say 'Roux' and laughed at me for my complete inability to make the sound properly. We also discovered we share the same birthday!

Well, I saw him last night in the pub over the road from our building and may have had a cheeky valentines kiss with him. Or two. And I woke up swooning this morning! But I'm not sure if is a good idea what with him living a couple of doors down the corridor. My housemate says there is nothing wrong with it, but her boyfriend warned me not to 'sh*t on my own doorstep'. Lovely phrase there, but a sensible meaning. I'm not sure if I fancy sharing a front door with someone I'm thinking of kissing a bit - it could all get abit awkard when we stopped kissing each other.

Wah but he's so gorgeous! And French!

Hmmmmmmm.

Oh well, I've got another date tomorrow night which should distract me at least for one night. Let's just hope this guy doesn't have penchant for pool cue air guitar.

Lazy and bad in the extreme

Yes I know it has been about two weeks since I wrote anything on my blog now. I'm disappointed in myself as I was doing so well!

In my defense I got paid, and then was out doing lots of stuff. It's the catch 22 situation of when you are skint you have nothing much to tell people about, but when you are out doing lots of exciting things you have no time to tell anyone.