And she said...

Birmingham bound

2009-05-22T16:40:00.002+01:00

The bank holiday has landed! I'm about to leave the office, hop and a train and head straight up to Birmingham to see my dearest girls. Spring Bank Holiday weekend is a time long tradition of attending Gay Pride, drinking too much and dancing until our feet can no longer hold us up.

I will also be seeing my closest friend E tonight, fresh back from her four months in Kenya. This has been the longest time, since we met during the first week at university, that we have been apart. I am bringing the DVD's (classic period dramas to feed our addiction to good old fashioned romance), and she is supplying the feast.

This trip will be strange, as it will be my first journey home since I found out I had a new job in London. I had always promised myself, and my friends, that my time in London would be short and that my next job would bring me home. I can't help but feel I've gone back on my word in a small way, but the right reasons I hope.

Have a lovely weekend everyone, what ever you get up to!

High-speed fitness

2009-05-21T12:58:00.010+01:00

In our never ending quest to find fun ways to stay fit the girls and I decided to try roller-blading in the park this weekend.

Blading is not as easy as it looks although we were slightly cocky in our ability at first. While picking up our hire skates from a shop over the road from the Hyde Park we piffed at the offer of a £15 hours beginners lesson - I mean how hard can it be? I used to go to rollerworld in derby every week, and I was, like, really good - I could go backwards and EVERYTHING! Wrist guards? No thanks - they are for geeks.

However, our arrival at the park told a different story. We strapped ourselves into our roller-blades and found it not to be quite as easy as I remembered. Que lots of squealing, wobbling around and curses that we had not got the wrist guards. After a few minutes though we managed to find our feet, secured our balance and set off along the path. It was a quite a crisp Sunday afternoon but there were still plenty of people out and about, including cyclists, joggers with prams and religious fanatics all of whom we managed to wobble past without mishap.

Soon enough we were whizzing along the open path and starting to quite enjoy ourselves even to the point of confidence, especially me and S who started picking up quite a bit of speed... which was all well and good until we saw the path ahead drop down a hill. And then realised we'd missed out the small factor of practicing how to stop before setting off.

I knew this could be bad. We were getting faster and the slope downwards was getting steeper. The path led down towards a road that ran through the park leading onto the busy main roads that circle Hype Park, and was separated by bollards and a curb. If there was a hazard perception test for roller-bladers this would involve a LOT of clicking right now.

I started squeeling and manged to skate onto a grass verge, which didn't actually stop me but send me whizzing back the other way only to crash straight into a lampost - which luckily stopped me. Meanwhile S went screaming and whizzing past me, straight down the hill and round a bend at the bottom towards the main road. Luckily she fell over before she got there. Meanwhile along came F in a flurry of frantic arm waving screaming her head off unable to stop. She too went arse over tits.

EVERYONE was staring at us and laughing. Frank Spencer move over. I was hanging onto the lampost for dear life, laughing harder than I have laughed in a long time just happy to be alive and unbroken. F and S were laughing too, trying to pick themselves up off the floor which, dear reader, is not the easiest of things to do with wheels strapped to your feet.

Luckily one of the regular skaters witnessed the commotion, came and rescued me from clinging on to the lampost at the top of the hill and gave us a lesson into how to stop, and then hung out with us for a while to make sure we were ok. I also managed to fall into the sandpit that runs next the path for the horses to ride on as I tried to turn round to talk to someone behind me.

More practice is definitely needed, but once we had mastered the basics we had an amazing afternoon skating up and down the (hill free) road. Blading is fantastic exercise for the thighs and bottom, and I could really feel it the next day. I had no idea that an afternoon of physical activity could be so much fun, or that such a lovely community existed there. Apparently each weekend a regular crowd gathers in the park to blade, skate and hang out - on sunny days there is even music courtesy of a DJ powered with a car battery. And these are not your stereotypical crusty (sorry) skater types, but a real mix of people from all walks of life who just like to skate.

We have planned our next outing, and S is even considering buying her own blades to save on the hire charge. I wonder if this will become a new hobby for me, or just another of my fads? Either way, it was the best Sunday afternoon I've had in London in a long time.

A long time distant

2009-05-12T14:33:00.002+01:00

I realised the other day that I have an addictive personality but a short attention span. I dive into new things with glee and enthusiasm believing I have discovered a new way of life. Take writing my blog - on starting I truly believed I would be writing if not every day then every other day. And for a short while that was true. I was obsessed - checking to see if anyone had commented, checking how many people had looked at my page and sitting on the tube planning what I was going to post about.

And it's not just blogging; budgeting, saving, making soup to take to work, exercising, dieting, being more friendly to people when I'm out, eBaying.... they are all things I have taken up only to forget about within weeks.

Anyone would think I was an Aries!

So quick life update (if anyone is interested):

Got a new job! Doing communications for a very large organisation - very excited. Who said anything about a recession.
Moving to Angel - Fulham has had it's day.
Frenchman - Nothing really happening aside from him ringing me when he gets drunk and trying to talk to me, I totally lost interest in him a long time ago - but like him as a friend.

So life is about to change in a big way really. Since I moved to London nearly two years ago now I have worked in the same job and lived west - which has been great but a change is as good as a rest.

I keep getting that nervous feeling that things could get stressful. Moving house is never simple, and this will be no exception. We are spliting the house basically - Me and the two girls moving to Angel and the boys staying put in Fulham. Which is sad, but we can't put our lives on hold if everyone isn't on the same page. Which leads to the question, live as a three or find two new boys to omve in with us?

I think the consensus is to find two new male housemates to live in a five bedroomed house, but I am apprehenisve and quite fancy living in a girlie flat now. Boys are great and all that, but they are secretive and never do any cleaning. And finding two new housemates at the same time as finding a house will jsut add to the stress, combined with the fact I am starting a new job. all this change does not a happy me make.

Well for better or worse, Angel here we come.

The Jade Goody effect, hypochondria and a spot more retail therapy.

2009-04-01T13:39:00.006+01:00

The week so far has been kind of stressful. I am a complete hypochondriac, but the kind that has such a phobia of receiving bad news (that I am always certain I am going to receive) that I am too scared to go to the dentist or doctors. As a result I worry worry myself half to death over any little niggle, but never dare go to get anything checked out. The phobia is so bad that I go faint in surgeries, and I find it impossible to give blood samples as the panic attack that always comes makes my vain contract and disappear from the surface of my skin.

But this week I decided it was time to confront my fears and booked my first dentist appointment in four years, and my first smear test at the doctors.

The trip to the dentist was HORRIBLE. I was very distressed to discover I have GUM DISEASE which he told me, very kindly, can cause stroke, heart disease and infertility. He took an x ray of my jaw (he must think all my teeth are about to fall out) and I have to go back and have an £110 session with a dental hygienist. All because I was too scared to go to the dentist for years. AND he says I grind my teeth and I have the teeth of a 50 year old. He says this is often due to stress. Well that is one more stress I had not thought about stressing about before… gum disease! Ta Dr what-ever-your name was. Also, I was so freaked out just from being there that I thought he had a special moving chair to relax people... and asked him to ‘turn it off’ because it was making me feel dizzy, but that was actually just me being on the verge of fainting.

The doctors this morning wasn't much better. As soon as I walked into the office I warned the nurse that I have an irrational fear of anything medical and that I may get distressed, but I don't think she was quite prepared for how stressed I was about to get. I'm bad at the best of times, but because I'm now 26 and have not yet been for a smear test (because of my stupid phobia), the fear and worry has built up to an unbearable level. Couple that with the 'Jade Goody' effect, and there you have a recipe for Tabby panic. As much as I tried to remain calm (because it's kind of embarrassing falling to pieces in front of a complete stranger over something so standard that every woman must do) I still ended up having a mini panic attack. while the procedure was being done, and then I was nearly sick after.

It's so frustrating because my rational mind knows I am being silly, but I can't control the panic that washes over me when ever I go to the doctors. The main thing is I did it! It's done. Now I just need to wait 6 weeks for the results, which I'm nervous about as I should have gone a year ago. But the main thing is it's done.

After all this drama I'm feeling kind of fragile, and what better way to calm myself down than a spot of retail therapy. Yes I know I probably need a different kind of therapy, but this is cheaper and prettier.

So I've treated myself to a few bits and bobs from TOPSHOP online, all from the comfort of my desk at work:

Grey linen blazer - £40. I have been flirting with this jacket for about two weeks now, never quite justifying it to myself. But after this week I think I deserve it!

And then I just couldn't resist this rose print vest top - £20. It will go perfectly with the grey linen blazer and some skinny jeans. I love the muted tones, will go well with a lot of the neutrals I plan to wear this summer.

I feel much more relaxed now.

Oh, and do you remember the tribal style gladiator sandals I ordered last week? They arrived yesterday, and they look amazing! I'm feeling really exited for summer now. :o)

Finally, a night out on the tiles

2009-03-31T13:17:00.011+01:00

I have just had the best weekend with the girls. My best friends, the girls I went to Ibiza with, came down from Birmingham for the weekend and we went to Fabric to see minimal techno genius Ricardo Villalobos play. It was the first night we had all been out together since Ibiza, and happily the night was a much bigger success than the disaster that was Sophie's birthday, back in November.

Fabric is an amazing club if you are into your electronic music. The main room has a crystal clear sound system, with speakers underneath the dance floor that send the beats vibrating through your whole body as you dance. I was back in Ibiza for the night, it was amazing to just let my hair down and forget about everything for those few hours. And even though Fabric is a pretty underground club, it is still a good excuse to get dressed up. I wore a super short leopard print tunic over some leggings, leaving the high heels safely in my wardrobe for the night to enable maximum dancing ability. My best friend Lacey is a make-up artist for MAC, so we all had fabulous MAC eyes going on. I even had the Ibiza bouffant recreated which is H's specialty and I can never seem to do myself.

Highlight of the night was hearing Villalobos play the opening beats of this tune at about 6am, us all screaming with excitement and getting my phone out to record a bit, so we would be able to remember the next day, and track down its name. This took us about two hours of ringing everyone we thought might know the answer on Sunday, and singing 'doob doob doob doooob' down the phone to them in our inebriated state. It was like an itch that was impossible to scratch. Thankfully we eventually found out the tune is Saturate, by the Chemical Brothers. And I think this has become the new anthem for our friendship.

And on a final note, turns out the Frenchman is into his music just like me, as he and his friends also had tickets for that very same night. Thank heavens he is not into rock. Oh, and forgot to mention... the other night with him went very well indeed thank you!

Retail therapy

2009-03-24T23:19:00.003Z

I treated myself to these today. £40 from TOPSHOP. I love them one minute, but then feel slightly undecided. I think I will have to wait for them to arrive, to see them on my feet. I lived in my brown leather gladiators last summer, and they are still intact, but I fancy something that's abit more of a statement now.

I think my main reasons for indescision over them is that fact they are mainly black, and being a redhead when I'm not fake tanned I'm very pale skinned indeed. Black shoes on pale feet is not flattering. I ususally stick to golds and browns for my sandals which are much more flattering for my skintone.

Of course, during the summer I am pretty much fake tanned constantly, but still the thought of black leather against my white feet is not attractive. I REALLY LOVE THE SHOES THOUGH.

Another French dating attempt

2009-03-24T23:02:00.003Z

So me and the Frenchman have loosely arranged to go for a drink tomorrow. I should be getting myself organised, planning an outfit and tidying up, but I'm feeling rather un-fussed as I don't feel like it is ever going to happen.

He is always so last minute with arranging plans, I will hear nothing for days and then receive a text inviting me somewhere that same evening - which I can never make as I have a busy life and need some warning to go on a date! Or we loosly plan to do something and it doesn't happen due to other plans getting in the way, such as on the tray roasted cat night.

The last time he text me, inviting me somewhere last minute, my housemate forced me to go even though I was hungover and unprepared. Big mistake. I ended up in a compromising position, wanting to be in an even more compromising position but being unable to facilitate this due to unshaven legs. Exactly why I need more than an hour's notice to meet up.

Also we have the problem of the language barrier. He never understands what I'm saying on texts, and I never understand what he is saying to me face to face. Well I do, but I am concentrating so much and trying to say things simply that I never seem to relax into conversation. But then there is normally loads of people around us, so maybe that would be easier if we were on a date.

God knows.

Well, I guess it wouldn't hurt to get the fake tan on the go. Just in case...

The burn

2009-03-17T23:50:00.006Z

After a four mile walk on Sunday followed by Davina's new DVD and some of Ministry of Sound's Dance Workout I could barely walk or sit today of yesterday. So why did I then think it a good idea to go to Boxercise after work?

Lord only knows. The pain is bad, so bad.

What I do know is that my winter of hibernation has not only left me with an expanded waist line, but with the physical fitness levels of a 50 year old. I huffed and puffed my way through Eugine's grueling regime this evening. At one point I thought the skin on my face might melt off. My legs were shaking and my lunges were pathetic to say the least.

But you know what they say: no pain, no gain.

And even though I currently have too much insulation on my stomach to feel my abs, the pain tells me that deep below the wobble they are firming up.

One problem - coming home and eating two left over slices of pizza from last night while I waited for my salmon to grill may have undone tonight's hard work. 7am pilates anyone?

Jade Goody

2009-03-17T13:41:00.007Z

Jade Goody is dying. And as this poor girl struggles through her last few days, the entire world seems to be looking on. Except for me.

I have made a point of not reading any of the interviews, I have not bought OK or Hello! magazines and I have not watched her wedding on Living TV. I can't bear to. I don't WANT to read about the horrific and tragic illness she is being consumed by. I want the world to stop watching, I want Jade to have some final moments of dignity.

Most of Jade's adult life, and her entire career has been in front of the cameras. First on Big Brother, and then in the voyeuristic fame that followed. Jade was the loud mouthed and slightly stupid girl who drunkenly stripped off and wailed about her 'kebabs' in front of 5 million viewers. Jade was the girl who didn't have a clue about Geography, or much else for that matter.

After the BB house Jade's star shone bright in a way that no other Big Brother contestant has ever experienced, and as her career grew so the world looked on. But even as her profile rose the world still laughed at her, we all felt superior to her: "That Jade, well she's nice but a bit dim really isn't she..."

In fly-on-the-wall documentaries we watched her open a beauty salon, launch perfumes and hire a personal assistant. In the tabloids we followed the birth of her two children, saw her split from Jeff Brazier and embark on her turbulent relationship with toy-boy Jack Tweedy. We watched all this while still looking down on her, still feeling superior to her. We laughed and tutted as she collapsed during her London Marathon attempt after doing little more to train than eat take-away curries - We'd NEVER be so stupid would we!

And so her car-crash existence carried on. The was her infamous appearance on Celebrity Big Brother that saw the people of India take to the streets and burn effigies of her. There was her awful, awful mother who no one should ever have put on TV. There were violent the antics of her now husband Jack, who seemed to consider himself above the law, that landed him straight in jail.

I, like many people, never liked Jade very much. I thought she was a bully in her original appearance of BB, let alone her behavior on Celeb BB. Her stupidity annoyed me. Her voice had the same effect on me as nails scratching slowly down a black board. But there comes a point when enough is enough. Nobody would wish cancer on their worst enemy, and when I heard Jade's cancer had been diagnosed as terminal I felt sick to my stomach. This girl is only in her twenties. She is one year older than me. She will leave behind two small boys who will grow up without their mum. It is heartbreaking. And I don't want to read about it at all.

We come into the world in private, and we leave the world in private. Death, and the process of dying, is not something that should be splashed across the media in this way. I feel nauseous to think that magazine editors have been hashing out multi-million pound deals to cover this poor girl's tragic last minute marriage and christening. There comes a point when we should no longer be watching. I feel like the world is now circling like vultures, waxing lyrical about how sad it all is while still whispering to themselves that this would never happen to them and feeling the ultimate superiority - the superiority of knowing they are going to carry on living after she is gone.

I hope Jade is as comfortable as she can be, and I hope she finds comfort in being at home surrounded by her family and loved ones. I hope for a miracle, but don't think a miracle will come. For Jade I am so sorry. And because I am so sorry I will never, ever pick up a magazine that is printing paparazi shots of a tragic, frail and dying young cancer victim. I hope the world will look back with shame, but I fear it will not.

Time to come out of hibernation

2009-02-27T13:06:00.002Z

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?

2009-02-27T12:24:00.008Z

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

2009-02-27T12:20:00.003Z

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

2009-02-15T21:55:00.003Z

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

2009-02-03T12:12:00.003Z

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.

When I grow up I want to be...

2009-01-17T21:17:00.003Z

I LOVE this advert. I dare you to watch it and not feel like you are back in childhood and dreaming of being a glamorous air hostess. Check out the shoes... the hair and all set to an amazing 80's soundtrack.

I guess we all know it is not all glamour, but I think there is still some magic in the skies.

My Aunty, my mother's litle sister, was an air hostess, and when I was a little girl I wanted to be just like her. She met my uncle, a pilot, on an international stopover and it was quite the whirlwind romance. One minute she was being bridesmaid at my parent's traditional white wedding in the summer of 1972, then a few weeks later, without telling anyone, she's eloped to Guernsy to marry her pilot before moving to Canada to begin a new life.

I don't think my mother ever really undestood her actions and felt quite hurt that she was not included in the wedding or even privvy to her plans, but I think maybe my Aunty was worried her family would talk her out of the marriage and moving to a different continent with someone she had known for barely anytime at all.

And she most likely hadn't realy thought it through at all - My Aunty was always the wildchild and impulsive sister, compared to my quiet and conservative mum, which is why we get on so well and can sit up drinking vodka and talking untill the small hours when she visits...

She clearly made the right choice though as nearly 40 years later they are still happily married and just settling down to enjoy their retirement in Ontario.

How utterly romantic!

Poorly but productive

2009-01-17T19:31:00.010Z

I'm still not well enough to go out, and thoroughly miserable, bored and grumpy as a result.

However I have used my day productively and had a massive eBay blitz from my sick bed. I sell clothes generally. Mainly my used stuff that I've got bored of, but also some unused bits.

My friend DD is a print designer for the big high street names, and a few times a month they are given access to the sample cupboard where every piece costs £1. The sample cupboard is packed full of clothes and shoes from the designers have bought from other retailers to inspire their work. Some are absolute tat, but some are real finds.

He always gets me a huge bag of stuff each time he goes in which I look forward to receiving each month. Once he got me and amazing pair of tan leather brogue style lace up shoe boots, that I absolutely adore. Another time he found me a gorgeous black bubble hemmed mini dress.

Of course, not all the stuff he finds me will fit or be to my taste, so up it goes straight on eBay, along with my old clothes and anything else I'm selling at the time.

Once you get going with eBay and the money starts coming into your account it's pretty addictive. In the last month so far I have made £250 and that is not including all the pieces I have listed today.

It's a good feeling to have managed to get something productive done today, but it doesn't make up for the fact that I'm still sitting here in the flat, still in my house clothes and that I can't go out tonight. We're on the guestlist for the fabulous Punk in Soho tonight and I'm currently helping my housemate SH get ready. She is trying to tempt me out giving me alcohol to drink and playing tempting tunes, but I'm not budging. I'm still not feeling well and if I go out and get drunk like this I'll still be feeling poorly next weekend.

A lonesome night in for this little one tonight again then.

Today's most missed memory

2009-01-17T18:39:00.008Z

Sitting here now in my cold flat, Ibiza last summer seems a million years ago.

This was our view every night, either sitting in Mambo's drinking cocktails, or when we couldn't quite bare to spend 13Euro's on a drink sitting on the rocks with 2Euro cartons of Sangria.

The sunsets are magical in Ibiza, not just because of their amazing beauty, but because as the sun goes down the lazy days end and party time begins. I get a little ball of excitement in my stomach just looking at the picture.

How I miss it. Two amazing care free weeks, with my best friends in the world. Happy days.

I Swallowed a Cactus

2009-01-16T11:24:00.006Z

I am feeling quite sorry for myself this morning. I have had a sore throat all week, but it got so bad yesterday, along with a fever, that I didn't go in to work, and I am still in bed now. My tongue has swollen up, and now my ear is starting to ache. All on the right hand side of my head/mouth/throat. Wah I hate sore throats.

And it's even worse because I don't have anyone to look after me, or go to the shop and get me orange juice and ice lollies. I would kill for some Ben & Jerry's cookie dough right now. And a biiiig glass of tropicana (with bits obviously).

It has also made me realise I really need to end what is left of my holiday romance with D. I spoke to him yesterday morning and told him how i felt really ill and was in bed, off work etc. Then when we spoke later on in the evening he didn't ask me how I was feeling at all, and after about ten minutes even asked me how work had been - he had totally forgotten or had just not been listening in the first place. It just made me wonder why I bother. If you have been seeing someone for nearly five months it would be nice if they actually made some effort with you.

I've been in a bit of a grump with the situation since Christmas really, he didn't get me a present or make any effort to meet up before I left for two weeks. Then, when we met up a week after I got back we had a stupid argument about the Israel/Palestine situation, and he really wound me up because it felt more like he was just trying to argue for the sake of arguing about something rather than because he felt strongly about it/had any real understanding of it.

I think basically he is just too young for me - and I have felt this all along but there was never really any issues, but over time I have started to notice I have different priorities. He just acts like a twenty-year-old, which is no bad thing by any means, but just not what I need. He is a good person, and it was nice to keep a bit if Ibiza alive for a while, but I think it has well and truly fizzled.

God my throat is hurting. I think sore throat is my least favorite illness and it means I get dehydrated quickly because it hurts to swallow, even water.

Has anyone got any pearls of wisdom for me to cheer me up a little? And if someone could pop round with a fruit pastel ice lolly that would be great.

Bit of a moan about the student loan

2009-01-15T12:17:00.013Z

I graduated from university and entered the word of work a year and a half ago, beginning the repayment of my student loan pretty much straight away. Each month a percentage of my salary is deducted for the repayment before it even hits my bank account, and I never really give it much thought.

I realised this morning it had been some time since I had seen a statement from Student Loan Company, and also that I actually had no idea what my total debt was. After a quick rummage in my very organised filing system (bottom drawer along with birth certificate, photo albums and some unidentified computer cables), I managed to find a statement. Dated June 2006. With the address listed as my second student house. Oops.

What about online statements I hear you say. Ah yes, online statements! Good idea. Ok, please enter ART ID. What the deuce is an ART ID? Oh that could be it. Yes. Password. Ok most likely this. Now, just for the Secret Answer Question... In what city did you meet your partner? Partner? I don't have a partner! I have a university history of various flings and short relationships, but at no point would I have called anyone my 'partner'. Surely I can't have chosen this question? Maybe I was drunk. I proberbly chose it when drunk back in 2006 and that is why I can't remember it.

Time to call a human I think.

So, after a helpful conversation with a lovely Scotsman I am now armed with my ART ID number (completely different to what I thought it was), email resetting my online password and the total balance of my debt. I owe a grand total of £13,133. Which is not actually as bad as I thought it would be, especially for a Classics degree from one of the top 5 departments in the country. I had it in my head that the debt was over £18,000, so it is quite a relief really.

Another nugget of information I found out from my telephone conversation was that even though repayments are deducted straight from my wage on a monthly basis, my employer does not pass that money on to the SLC until the end of the tax year. Meaning my employer is earning interest my money! This had made me somewhat annoyed. And apparently it is not possible to opt out of the wage deductions if there is still an outstanding balance on the loan.

If they only require one lump payment to be made a year then I surely I should be able to put that money aside in a savings account and earn interest on it - not my employer.

The joys of shared accomodation

2009-01-15T00:20:00.004Z

I love my housemates, all five of them. I do not, however, love hearing my dear friend J snoring loudly straight through the wall. He must have been drinking, he only snores when he is drunk.

The fact that I can tell how much alcohol he has been drinking by listening to his breathing without even being in the same room just goes to show the walls in the Warehouse are too thin.

Thin walls also lead to the following embarrassing exchanges:

J: So did you and D enjoy watching Silent Hill last night?

Me: Yes thank you J, it was very scary indeed.

J: So you had a good night then? Oh wait, I already know the answer to that one. You certainly sounded like you enjoyed discussing the film afterwards. All night loooong. Ooooh yeh.

Me: Shut the fuck up. [WHILE BLUSHING PROFUSELY]

Delightful. But at least thin walls mean you can hear someone else starting to get out of bed and dive out yourself, beating them in the race to the one bathroom we share. Every cloud...

Panic stations at the ready...

2009-01-14T11:28:00.005Z

My father celebrates his 65th Birthday in this year. And after a long and successful career in the transport industry it is now time for him to step down and take his retirement.

He started his career on the London busses back in the 1960’s, and often tells me about the day England won the World Cup in 1966, how he had smuggled a radio onto the big red bus he was driving, so he and his cheering passengers could keep tabs on the game. There must have been such a buzz on that bus, I would have loved to have seen the excitement when a goal was scored, and when the final whistle blew!

He worked his way up the industry quickly, becoming a young area manager in his twenties, and then progressing onto senior management moving around the country for his career before settling into the position he holds today, over twenty years ago.

He has achieved so much in his working life, yet he is the most modest person I know and told my mother he didn’t want any fuss over his retirement, so we agreed.

Well, that’s what he thinks! Obviously a life event can’t pass by like this without some form of celebration so we have set about deviously organising a surprise bash fro him. I have just booked the venue, his favourite hotel, and now we have a matter of months to find, contact and invite key colleagues and friends from the breadth of his career, gather photographs, and organise the event; which will involve a sit down meal for 100 people. It is basically going to be like planning a wedding reception but without the dress.

The biggest challenge will come from keeping it all a secret. Mum won’t be able to make many calls as Dad would notice on the bills so I will be taking care of most things from down here, and god forbid anyone should accidentally ring the house and leave their RSVP on the answerphone.

And then there will be the search for the appropriate outfit. It obviously needs to be quite formal, without looking like I’m preened up for a wedding. I just want to look smart and stylish without looking over the top and as though I have tried too hard. Mum is kindly slipping me a few of the queen's notes to help me out, which should ease the pressure of my search, but I need to find my inspiration first.

I can feel the pressure on already to get everything organised in the next few months, but any stress gathered along the way will be so worth it to see the surprise and smile on his face when he walks into that room to be greeted by so many old friends. I can’t wait.

Peaches Geldof: words cannot express...

2009-01-13T22:52:00.013Z

I think I can honestly say there is no one in showbusiness I dislike more than Peaches Geldof. Every time I read about her antics in the paper my oppinion of her sinks lower, and lower.

She's popped up again today. Speculation that her 5 month marriage to Chester French rocker Max Drummey was over because she 'no longer fancied him'. Wow. Breaking news, totally unexpected as well. I'm reeling from the shock, can you tell?

She just just reeks of a spoilt, immature little 'princess'.

First of all she poisoned my ears with her wooden performance presenting Big Brother's Big Mouth in place of Russell Brand. My ears started to bleed before I had a chance to switch off. I have never heard such an annoying voice in all my life. Public school screechy smug lisp is a good way to try and describe it. Urgh.

Then she poisoned my eyes when photos of her started appearing in the London Lite and London Paper EVERY DAY for months, a various intoxicated states. The one of her bottom dangling in full view as she tried to climb over a park gate in front of a crowd of paps was the classic. Attention seeking? Surely not.

Then she made my brain bleed after I read her 'column' for American magazine, Nylon, on her life in New York. It reads more like a piece of GCSE coursework than published journalism and is so self obsessed and pointless I wondered if it was a joke when I first had the misfortune of reading it. I can't actually work out what she is trying to tell us, except that she is a spoilt brat, but some gems include:

"My days here are spent working on interviews for NYLON TV, writing articles, and listening to Cory regale me with tales of her life in L.A., which are always ludicrous and funny, her high-pitched hyena laugh filling the office as Marvin strums his guitar and dreams up ideas for the next issue."

Wow Peaches, your life sounds so cool. And then...

"My best friend here is a boy named Bunny. We spend our days traipsing around Manhattan—him in skin-tight plaid trousers, huge geek glasses, and a mass of red hair sticking out haphazardly from beneath an Amish-style hat."

Well how sweet! But what about laughing Cory and the guitar strumming Marvin?

She seems to write totally believing her own hype, expecting us all to be jealous of her 'trendy' life in New York. But in reality she just sounds like a little girl who has a lot of growing up to do. And did I mention her writing makes my brain bleed?

A A Gill, if it is him - it certainly sounds like him, sums her effort up strikingly:

"Perhaps go away for a while. Stop searching for limelight. Stop living in dreams and see now, now. Get some life experience, keep your head down until you do and save us from this insipid, vacuous social commentary that justifies the dislike of you."

Quite.

Surely everyone knows if you want some decent commentary on life in New York all you need is LibertyLondonGirl? Peaches, take note!

Hard times and January blues

2009-01-12T22:53:00.004Z

It has been a particularly slow Monday today. I'm not entirely certain where my head is at, but I think it got left behind somewhere this morning when I ran out of the door nearly late, as usual. Work passed by in a sort of daze. I sat through two meetings more interested in picking bobbles off the gorgeous angora cardigan my mother got me for Christmas, than contributing in any useful way, and pretty much dozed my way through a lunch date with E, my works partner in crime.

I think the January Blues have officially set in. The festive season bled me dry financially and physically. And although the damage done to my liver is now slowly repairing itself, I unfortunately have two weeks to go until the damage to my bank account has any chance of healing.

An empty bank account means an empty diary, and while I'd normally be busying myself with post work drinks, shopping and dinner dates with friends, all I have to look forward to in January is the weary trudge home to whatever measly dinner I can pull together from my emergency rations.

Now don't worry, I'm pretty good at battening down the hatches when times are about to get tough. It's in fact quite the running joke amongst my flatmates, who call me the 'little stockpiler'. At the first sign of any financial challenge on the horizon my immediate response is to do a massive, but cheap, online food shop from Tesco. And this month was no different. My cupboards are filled with can upon can of chopped tomatoes, baked beans, kidney beans, butter beans, some other kinds of beans, some tuna and a few more kinds of beans. I've got potatoes, onions, garlic, pasta, cous-cous and rice. I've got a large amount of chicken thighs bagged up in the freezer, along with salmon and fish cakes. I've got vegetables to last me nearly to the end, and then a £5 stash for the final few days. And of course I have tea bags and coffee.

So you see, I won't starve, I will be living on casseroles and still getting my coffee in the morning. Lunch at work will be hassle free and brought from home every day. My oyster card is paid up until March so I can get to and from work. Everything important is taken care or, all bills are paid and up-to-date so it's fine, really it's fine. But, without the distractions of a hectic social life it is easy to start feeling a little blue, and it's not like I have a boyfriend to keep me company on the sofa. I just thank goodness the last purchase I treated myself to was the Sex and the City box set, heavily discounted in the Zavvi closing down sale.

And that is where I shall sign off now, tucked up in bed with my cosiest winter warmers, full up from bean casserole and off to immerse myself in the joys of Carrie and the girls in season three.

Life could be worse... but roll on February!

Blog re-brand?

2009-01-11T12:26:00.002Z

I spent most of yesterday spring cleaning my bedroom, and today I'm thinking of spring cleaning my blog... with a re-brand. I am still very new to blogging, and didn't know what to expect or really how to go about things when I started this a couple of months ago. However I'm now feeling that my blog is kind of bland and the title is kind of boring. So I might just rename it, self titled after a nickname...

Have any of you guys changed your blog name since starting? And the look of your blog? Is it the done thing to do i wonder?!

Hoxton Square birthday celebrations

2009-01-09T18:21:00.006Z

Yesterday was my housemate's birthday, and we journeyed over from west-London to Hoxton for the celebrations. I love Hoxton Square, nestled in the east London borough of Shoreditch, its bars and eateries are magnets for the creative crowd. Young fashion types, film makers and artists can all be found here, their edgy style making it the perfect place for people watching. For the fashion of Hoxtonites think cool and ironic, vintage inspired with a touch of nu-rave thrown in for good measure - boys in skinny jeans and girls in prom dresses.

Seven of us dined in the cheap but delicious Yelo Thai where I had, what I think could have been the best chicken and cashew nuts of my life. Granted I was hungry… ravenous in fact, but it was seriously good. We sat canteen style on long benches (think wagamama’s without the crowds), sharing our table with a Jarvis cocker-esq trendy boy; complete with floppy hair, square glasses and a retro velvet shirt, accompanied by his polka-dot prom dress wearing girlfriend. Did I mention Hoxton Square was good for people watching?

Food devoured we hot footed it next door to the Hoxton Square Bar & Kitchen for cocktails. Feeling I should branch out from my usual choice of a cosmopolitan I decided to try the classic gin martini. It is safe to say I have not been converted. A gin martini I have discovered is basically cold, straight gin with an olive on the side. An olive with a stone in it for that matter, raising the dilemma of what to do with this stone once the olive has been consumed. Fight your way back through the crowds to the bar to get a napkin? Swallow it? Throw it at someone? Hmmm.

Martini woes aside, a fun night was had by all. Somehow we managed to make it onto the last tube home and there the vino was cracked open, maybe not such a good idea on a school night…

I wish my bed was in my office today.

This time next year, Rodney, we'll be millionaires!

2009-01-06T00:16:00.002Z

You may remember my excitement last month at purchasing Girls Aloud tickets for April. Well, after discovering tickets selling for nearly £100 EACH on eBay (due to the O2 concerts being sold out), I have listed my tickets up there. I know many people see this as immoral, I just see it as supply and demand. And boy is the credit crunch crunching me right now. I just wish I had bought six tickets now. Kerching!

First day back on the commute.

2009-01-06T00:13:00.006Z

I can tell I've been out of London for sometime. This morning on the way to work I smiled at someone on the train and later asked a lost looking lady in Waterloo station if she needed some help with directions. This won't last long....

Reflections of 2008 and onwards into 2009

2009-01-04T13:44:00.003Z

Yes I'm abit behind with my the seasonal blog posts, but I barely stepped near a computer for the blissful two weeks I spent back in the 'shire.

2008 for me has whizzed by in abit of a blur really. This time last year I was just moving into my new flat in London and in the same job I'm in now - so really there has been very little change. Oh and I'm still single. But I've had my fair share of dates, including a drop dead gorgeous cricket playing surrey lad, a stock broker and a personal trainer. Oh and not forgetting the toy boy from Ibiza who still lingers but for how long I don't know. I had an amazing holiday to Ibiza that now seems like a distant dream. And finally I got myself into more debt this year living in London than I have ever been in in my life. Although it is all manageable and is not stressing me out really. Marks out of ten for the year? I'd give it an eight for fun times, but a low six for life satisfaction.

So what about New Year's Resolutions? Basically to sort my life out. It is glaringly obvious to all who know me that London is not really the city for me, I've had fun but i've never been blissfully happy. London to me feels like a relationship that you are not all that happy in, but can't quite bring yourself to be bothered to leave. So it's time to get my arse into gear and leave! All my closest friends still live in Birmingham and I really miss them. As well as missing my family and the ever increasing debt as London is totally unaffordable on my salary.

This time next year I resolve to be living in a nice little two bedroomed semi in Birmingham, with a small garden and two cats. Boyfreind would be nice. Car desired. Job satisfaction essential. I've started researching suitable companies in my field to approach already, so watch this space. Hopefully soon this will become a blog of relocation.

Best piece of advice given to me over the festive period: "2009 is your year, and you alone are responsible for your happiness - so if changes need to be made, MAKE THEM, or 2010 will come round and you will still be sat at this table moaning that things are 'OK' but not 'Great'." Hear hear! :o)

It's not all mince pies and mulled wine...

2009-01-04T02:51:00.003Z

I found out today my ex-boyfriend spent Christmas day on his own. His Mum died not long after we split last year. We have not spoken for months but have had a little contact over the past weeks, and spoke on the phone today. I felt so guilty when I he told me, if we had spoken before xmas I would invited him to my house in a flash for the day, no matter what had gone on between us when we broke up - I always care for anyone who has been in my life.

I think christmas can be such a sad time for many people... we are built up to the consumer orientated ideal of blissful happiness, helped along by adding to those credit card debts buying tat for people they will never use. But many people will spend they day alone feeling ten times worse because they can't conform to this ideal we are all made to aspire to.

So here's hoping you all had a contented Christmas, and wishing you a happy, healthy and prosperous new year. x

I have tickets to see Girls Aloud in April!!!

2008-12-19T01:05:00.003Z

Whoop! Yes I seriously love these girls. And I'm also secretly hoping that the magic of being in the same (large) room as Cheryl Cole for a couple of hours my give me the same (large) hair as her. God I love her hair.

The joys of London transport

2008-12-17T16:20:00.003Z

People on London trains can really piss me off. There a few types of offenders...

Firstly, people who sit on the outside seat and then tut when you say "excuse me please" to sit down on the free seat by the window. When there are about a thousand people all battling for an inch of space I think it is rather rude to assume it is acceptable to take up two seats all to oneself.

Secondly, people who don't move down. Again, when there are a thousand people all trying to squeeze into one carriage I think it is extremely rude for someone to stand half down the aisle and tut when you try and squeeze past them to make more room for the folk stuck on the platform.

Thirdly, (and this is more of an "I laugh at you because you are fucking stupid" kind of annoyance) people who run down the platform to get on the train that isn't due to leave for nearly another ten minutes. And even more annoyingly the lemming effect of others noticing someone running, and starting to run too. Chill out people! These types of offenders are usually those who do the commute wearing scruffy trainers with their office attire, and possibly carry backpacks. Another of my pet hates. Urgh!

Two weeks to go!

2008-12-09T22:33:00.003Z

I cannot believe how quickly Christmas has crept up on us. It feels like only yesterday I was sitting watching the sunsets in Ibiza drinking sangria, feeling like I could never ever possibly feel cold again. And here we are in December!

But the cold got me thinking, thank goodness we have Christmas in the middle of winter. As the nights draw in we actually have something bright and festive to look forward to. It would be so strange to move to Australia and to just have Christmas in the middle of summer, and the summer holidays. I'm sure all you residents of the southern hemisphere will be objecting to this, but I just can't imagine Christmas being any other time than winter.

If anyone from down-under is reading this I would love to hear what your Christmas is really like. Does Santa dress up in a big warm coat even though it is hot? Do your Christmas cards have robins and snowmen on, or do you have special Auzzie beach themed ones? And do you still sing the Christmas carols that talk about the bleak mid-winter?

In fact, I would love to hear what everyone's Christmas' are like.

Mine is a traditional family affair. I will be leaving London a week on Friday for two whole weeks back in Derbyshire and I'm so excited to be getting home.

Christmas Eve is always a family meal of Salmon, and then down to the village pub for me and off to Church for my parents. I love catching up with the people I grew up with, and Xmas eve is the one time of year EVERYONE is back in the village local. I usually have one too many tipples and make a festive twit of myself, but this year I will be driving so none of that!

Christmas day we have champagne in the morning, open the gifts and then get on with doing the dinner. We always have Turkey with the trimmings, including my mum's amazing brussel sprouts with pancetta ham and horse chestnuts. Yum. Then in the afternoon we watch the Queen's speech, the parents will have a snooze and then we sit up till late drinking Baileys in front of the fire and playing Scrabble.

Boxing day is my traditional day to go out on the town with all my friends and get smashed, anything to fill the void left behind from the build-up to Christmas day!!

Out of all three days of the festive period though, Christmas Eve is my favorite. You can almost feel magic in the air, everyone is excited and expectant and I love thinking about all the children in bed too excited to sleep listening out for sleigh bells. I can't wait to have a Christmas with children of my own one day.

So, tell me about your days!

Crimes of Fashion: Ferne Britton

2008-12-09T12:56:00.006Z

There is something very wrong about this outfit. Now don't get me wrong - I think it's fantastic Ferne Britton has managed to loose so much weight and she obviously feels great. However, she seems to be feeling so great that she has forgotten her age.

Could someone please tell our Ferne that at 51 it's not OK for her to be borrowing her daughter's Kate Moss @ Topshop ruffled mini-dress. She frankly looks ridiculous. And I hope it is her daughter's dress. If Ferne has actually gone out and bought this it somehow seems ten times worse. She is not just showing a bit of knee, she is showing practically her whole thigh. There comes an age where a woman should gracefully accept it's not quite right to show off her entire leg, and most likely her bottom too.

The huge scarf, long coat and snow-boots finish off the disaster, drowning her in layers. This whole look adds ten years on to Ferne, making her look tired and frumpy.

Please Ferne, now you have this amazing new figure - do it justice! Leave the ra-ra ruffles and mini dresses to those young enough to wear them, and invest in some beautiful tailored pieces. I'm sure you can more than afford your own wardrobe, so leave your daughter's alone!

Hangovers...

2008-12-07T16:08:00.002Z

Stink. I didn't mean to get so tipsey last night, it just happened. Sometimes I feel like I would just like the queit life and to party less, but you just get swept along by life. I don't want to stop having fun, but I do wish I knew when to stop wine and start drinking water.

Christmas is coming, and that means a whole lot more socialising. And hangovers. Although now I've passed my driving test, when I go home i'll be driving a lot and obviously not drinking. Which will be alot better for my health.

I'm of for Sunday roast in Soho now. I'll have an orange juice with that please.

Tales from the land of Brum

2008-12-02T00:20:00.005Z

So I've just had one of those weekends when you wake up Monday morning and realise you are going to have to survive for the next three weeks on a diet of baked beans and soup. My online bank statement kindly informed me this morning that I had pretty much pissed all my money up the wall and I now have little over £100 to last me until payday. Luckily payday comes early thanks to Christmas, but that means I am so going to feel the pinch in January!

I started my weekend with a visit to the Covent Garden Comedy Club in central London. And it did exactly what it says on the tin, I laughed so much I nearly cried. The comedians were so funny, but probably the funniest moment of the night was a woman on the front row who started shouting at the headline artist for his joke about the blind. Apparently she had a blind son. Now the thing is I could maybe empathise if he had been offensive to the blind, but his joke was mearly saying the blind get a bum deal with a dog, and things should move with the times supplying sticks with sat-nav and inbuilt MP3 players... Not really that offensive. Well, this lady stood up and started shouting at the comedian telling him to move on... of course he told her to pipe down. If you are prone to be offended by certain themes then maybe a comedy club should not be high on your night's out agenda, let along taking a seat on the front row!

The next morning I woke with a heavy head after a long night of drinking and dining, and caught the train back up to my university city of Birmingham for one of my best friend's birthday. Birmingham is amazing at this time of the year. The German Christmas Markets are in town, which means festive shopping and large quantities of mulled wine and frankfurter sausages. So the day was spent catching up with old friends and warming ourselves in the freezing temperatures with large quantities of warm alcohol.

When our toes reached the brink of frostbite it was time to head back and get ready for the night ahead. And surely a birthday night out back home with the girls could be nothing more than perfect?? Oh dear. Well me and my two friends spent so long drunkenly getting ready at the hotel we didn't make it out until 11pm, by which time the birthday girl was already in tears due to an argument with her friends from home home. Not a good start. We had a few drinks and pep talk with our lady and things looked on the up so we all headed onto Gatecrasher Birmingham, where we were supposed to be on VIP guestlist with free entry. Only the birthday girl's friend had not quite come up with the goods and there was a disgusting door bitch who was rude to the point of insulting and made the poor girl take her coat off to check what she was wearing.

So we all pay ten pounds a head to get in, minus the VIP wristbands we had been promised and entered the worst club we have ever been to. Gatecrasher is a revamped nightclub in a venue that used to the The Works - a cheesy club right on the corner of Broad Street. It used to be chav central and awful music ahoy. Well lets just say a lick of paint and a few fancy chandeliers does not a good club make.

It was simply awful, and so falsely pretentious now since the make over. I love house music, and glamor, but this club was something else. There was no atmosphere, just a thousand back-combed wannabe's and men looking for some easy skirt. The music the cheesy end of house, and the dance floor was packed out but lacking any atmosphere whatsoever. My idea of pure hell. Combine that with a half hour bar queue and crying birthday girl and a good night you do not have.

Soph ended up leaving after an hour, leaving me, E and LM with no option to drink ourselves into oblivion. An utter disaster of a night, but a lesson well learned. Never, ever to return to the Gatecrasher in Birmingham. A leopard never changes it's spots and the Works on Broad Street will always be the Works even if you patch it up with designer wallpaper. I wish we had gone to Bushwackers, our usual Brummie haunt - small, fabulous atmosphere and amazing dirty electro and speed garage all night. Bad club aside though, it was still so good seeing my girls who i miss so much down here, and plenty of laughs were had.

So I arrive back in London Sunday dehydrated and hungover to hell to see D, whose birthday it was. I was to cook him his favorite meal of rare steak, only i fucked that up good and proper thanks to my hangover. Oh well, he was kind enough to pretend he didn't mind being presented with a cremated well done piece of meat. What a nice boy he is, and the cuddles more than made up of my empty bank balance and shriveled liver.

Note to self: next time leave the bank card at home!

2008-11-27T12:41:00.000Z

I am off work sick, I am literally sick. About three times this morning to be precise. I think Pizza Express may have poisoned me. Bastards.

I hate being sick. It's not so bad when you are sick from drinking too much, because you are generally too drunk to be fully aware of what's happening and you generally pass out afterwards. But when you are poorly sick you just regress to the vulnerability of your childhood days. I want my mum, and i want to lie on the sofa in my sleeping bag, be allowed to watch TV all day and be nursed with soup and ice lollys. Actually scratch that, I don't think i could hold food down right now. But having my mum would be nice, rather than my empty flat with not even a flatmate around give me sympathy.

Oh well, I'm a big girl now and will have to survive. I have managed to drag myself to the shop for emergency supplies of ginger beer and wholemeal bread before the weakness sets in. Ginger Beer? I hear you say, but this is a gem of Tabby family wisdom, passed down from generation to generation. Well from my Dad. but anyway, ginger beer is the most perfect tonic for sickness. Ginger settles your stomach and ginger in ginger beer form is the ideal way to take it. This, along with dry wholemeal toast, will save you from death via sickness I guarantee.
At any other time I would find it hard to walk into a shop and buy ginger beer and keep a straight face. Ginger beer is the strange forgotten drink that sits in the bottom of the fridge. It lives in the pages of Enid Blyton and your grandad probably used to drink it. But when ever I have sickness there I am, with a face of grim determination, stocking up on the stuff.

Oh and all my lovely new clothes from ASOS will be be arriving today, arriving to my work address. I am sulking.

So, sympathy is neeeded today people, and feel free to share your pearls of wisdom and rescue remedies with me.

Shopping Time

2008-11-26T14:42:00.008Z

Just treated myself to a few bits and bobs from ASOS. I love and hate this website in equal measures. I think that timers should be in place so limiting the amount of time clothes addicts, like myself, can immerse themselves there. I like to tell myself it's not really my fault that I'm clicking on all these garments, and I can't be blamed for spending money I don't have on more clothes. It's just not my fault....

Anyway, excuses aside, here's a little selection of my new must-have goodies!

A gorgeous navy blue wool mix coat. I love the subtle military style of the double breast and buttons. There was a riding coat I loved just a little more... but it was red, and I have red hair and was not too sure it would really suit me.

A check tulip skirt. Perfect for work.

And then of course I needed a little something to wear with the skirt... a necessary purchase and ticks off the lace trend.

Then I accidentally bought these...

Ooops and this... amongst others.

See why this website should come with a warning label? Maybe the mouse should too. Oh well, nothing like a bit of retail therapy to beat the winter blues. Let's just keep fingers crossed now that everything fits. Spending my lunchtime queuing at the post office would kind of eliminate the benefits of shopping online.

Now, what am I going to get rid of from my wardrobe to make room for all this?

Midnight Potterer

2008-11-25T00:22:00.002Z

I don't know if it is good blog etiquette to post three posts on the same day, but I am anyway. My last rambling of the evening is just a general moan about being a midnight potterer. I can never, ever got to sleep before at least midnight. There is always one last thing to do, one song to listen to and one last something to look up on the internet. I'm supposed to be rising at 6.30am tomorrow to do a hardcore Tai-Bo workout with my housemate, as I have a rapidly growing food baby that I need to be rid of, but now I will be tired and not get out of bed. And still fat. Life is very hard today. Squawk.

Gordon Ramsey playing away from home

2008-11-24T23:59:00.010Z

Who would have thought it? Gordon Ramsay having sordid hotel romps with this not-very attractive blonde and a bottle of poppers. And not just once either, apparently the affair has been going for seven years with the woman who's previous affairs include Jeffrey Archer. The woman who classes herself as a 'professional mistress' and even wrote a handbook for other women conducting affairs on the subject. Classy. Turns out she approached Max Clifford to be her PR, and he thankfully turned her down.

Nice pants, love.

One Rebecca Loos in the world is plenty for me. Call me old fashioned but I don't see there is anything to shout from the treetops about having it away with someone else's husband. I hope this tart disappears back under what ever rock she crawled from.

The problem with boys...

2008-11-24T23:45:00.006Z

At one stage or another they manage to sneak right into your head! I've been seeing D for about ten weeks now and all has been nice and chilled, no stresses really. But then comes the moment when you realise you are starting to get just a weeny bit closer to them than you had planned. Suddenly you feel slightly vulnerable and open to pains of the heart, and I hate this part.

I don't see me and him being together for a long time for various reasons, infact when we met on holiday in ibiza I thought it would just be one night, then just a holiday romanace, then just one meeting back in London and it's just gone on from there. Long phone calls and facebook messaging in the day. I don't really know where the ten weeks have gone but suddenly here we are, and I think I like him. Only I'm scared to like him because to be honest I can just see heartbreak in the future if 'liking' starts to happen.

Saying goodbye to an old friend

2008-11-18T21:35:00.002Z

I wasn't in work yesterday, instead I was back up Derby for the funeral of my friend. My friend was only 29 when he died two weekends ago. I'm still so sad today and I just can't get it out of my head. The church was packed out, people were standing at the back. He was well loved and so many people were devastated to say goodbye. His coffin was carried out at the end of the service to N-Trance Set You Free, it was so emotional and I hope he has been set free from the troubles of life.

It makes you realise just how lucky you are, and how amazing your friends are. So many people who loved him all came together to remember him and comfort each other, I just wish he could have been there too. I will never forget seeing so many grown men cry, it just broke my heart. Broke my heart for him and everything he will never get to do, broke my heart for his family and broke my heart for all of his friends who have lost a little piece of themselves with him. He was a good lad with a kind heart and he didn't deserve to be taken so young.

We forget how precious life is. I only saw him three weeks ago when I last went home, and no one could ever have known it would have been the last time.

Life is not for wasting, but i think we all do waste our lives away from time to time, in situations we are not happy in, in jobs we dislike and in relationships that are no good for us. I am determined from now on to spend less time worrying about things that don't matter, and more time making sure I'm loving every minute of life and grabbing every opportunity and taking every chance by the hands.

RIP my friend xxxx

I passed!!!

2008-11-16T14:09:00.003Z

Finally, after four attempts I am now the holder of a full valid UK driving license. Happy is not the word. I much less nervous this time, the rescue remedy seemed to do the trick. Also the examiner had a lovely soothing voice and was nice and friendly, unlike some of the horrors I've had before.

I got four minors, three of which were for driving a little too slowly. Infact when the test finished the examiner said his only complaint was that I drove like a granny sometimes. I think i was just being so cautious I didn't want anything to catch me out. Granny driving ha, that made me giggle.

The other minor was on my reverse round a corner. As I was doing the manouver a car approached me from behind, and then a huge lorry turned into the road. I paniced a little and swung out too wide, but managed to correct it. I even managed to do my parrelel park perfectly.

I;m just so happy, I could have kissed the examiner when he told me. All the blood sweat and tears, and thousands of pounds, has finally paid off.

Toot toot!

Driving test nerves

2008-11-12T20:55:00.003Z

They say third time lucky right? Well try fourth. Yes, that's right folks I'm about to take driving test number four on Saturday morning. To say I'm nervous would be an understatement. I don't know how anyone can say something gets easier with experience, as all my driving test experiences so far have resulted in failure. Hardly confidence building?

My main problem is nerves. I can drive perfectly well when it is just my instructor and I in the car, but as soon I as get in the car on T-day all the symptoms of nerves get the better of me. Trembling legs, clammy hands, blank mind and deafness. Yes I get it bad. Oh god, I'm getting it now just thinking about Saturday. Oh god.

So, on the day nerves always overcome me and I make a stupid mistake. I've never had more than four minors on a test, it's always one stupid major that gets me. Last test I was so nervous I didn't even notice I had made the mistake he failed me on, I was convinced I had passed until he told me.

I have failed on a variety of nervous majors: lane mistake on a roundabout, causing an obstruction (when I stalled in the wrong gear), something to do with a meeting situation and a major on a manoeuvre. I am starting to feel like I should change my name to Maureen and move to Wales.

Luckily I have a secret weapon for this test. Hmm, maybe it is more of a last resort than secret weapon. My housemate Miss Miller says it helped her to pass her test, and The Boy says his mum used to give it to him when he got upset and cried (this, readers, caused me to laugh so much I nearly weed). It's RESCUE REMEDY to the, er, rescue.

Apparently four drops of this elixir will restore my inner calm and help me feel at ease in stressful situations. I decided to give it a test-run before my driving lesson tonight but accidental squeezed way to much onto my tongue. Not wanting to fall asleep at the wheel I panicked and rinsed my mouth out, so I'm not to sure if I have felt the true effects. Maybe a little bit more than normal? Or maybe a little bit less. However. I did find everything quite funny today, and didn't even care when my instructor was 25 minutes late for the lesson. Managed to do all my maneuvers just fine as well.

Would be interested to hear how many attempts it took you to pass? Keep your fingers crossed for me. If I fail this test my theory will most likely run out before I can get another slot, then it will be back to square one again and I don't think I can take that.

Oh god......

Crimes of Fashion: Amy Winehouse

2008-11-12T00:35:00.012Z

I'm sorry, but who stole all the mirrors in Amy Winehouse's place. This has got to be the worst outfit I've seen in a long time.

Please love, cover yourself up.

I can't quite work out the string vest and nude bra combination. Maybe she is hoping passersby will do a double take and wonder where the hell her niples are?

Sadly as well as dealing with the effects of shock from this intentional wardrobe malfunction, it looks like we also need to say RIP to the beehive. Maybe the flurry of wino Halloween costumes banged the nail in that coffin.

While it is great to see Amy looking a little healthier again, let us hope the next step will be some pride in her appearance.

Danni vs Cheryl

2008-11-10T13:13:00.012Z

Can somebody please tell me what the point of Danni Minogue is on the X-Factor. What exactly is she famous for? With a pop career of no real note proudly under her belt she surely just rides on her sister’s success. I’d like to meet someone who can actually name a Danni Minogue hit, because I’m struggling. Whose bright idea was it to make her a judge on a talent show? Surely a judge needs some talent or at very least some kind of successful experience in the music industry? I mean, I’m not expecting Simon Cowell to jump up and sing us a song, but at least I am confident in his ability to spot and manage a popstar.

Last year Danni’s presence on the show could almost be justified as the ‘younger than Sharon good looking one’, but even that argument stands on shaky ground today. Her frozen face and fixed stare somehow reminds me of a praying mantis ready to bite the head off her mate. Quite frankly, she scares me. Compared to Cheryl Cole she is cold, and old. Every heart warming tear Cheryl cries pushes Danni further and further off the radar. Cheryl is real, she has her faults and her personal life has not been the easiest, but that is what the great British public warms to.

I’m not quite sure how Cheryl overnight became a ‘national treasure’, but it has happened. Her rage against the toilet attendant and questionable fashion choices of the past are forgotten. I now find myself amongst the throes of women who now envy her hair, and her wardrobe. Forget pop idol, Cheryl Cole is my hair idol.

And didn’t she look gorgeous on Saturday night’s show. Pretty-in-pink in a Matthew Williamson coral strapless number from the spring 2009 runway collection. Clashing neon-bright pink shoes complete the look. Lucky girl. Stood next her Danni is almost invisible. All hail Queen Cheryl and long may she reign.

Extreme relaxation

2008-11-09T17:22:00.007Z

Can there be anything more delicious than a lazy sunday with no commitments? I said goodbye to D at about midday as he headed off for sunday lunch with the family, and since then I have done nothing. Sod all. Absolutley nada. I have not even got dressed properly, and why should I? I have watched T4, read the papers and wasted a little more time on facebook. It has been the perfect day. The last few months have been so busy: most weekends spent out of London, and those spent here have mainly been disgustingly hungover. So here is to sober sunday's and extreme relaxation.

Top websites for sunday relaxtion:

Sunday Times: Absolutley essential. Although I would much rather have the paper in my hands that would mean going to the shop. Which in turn would mean getting dressed. Which in turn would mean leaving the flat. This is against the ethos of sober sunday's extreme relaxation programme.

News of the World: More essential sunday reading, required to fill in the gaps left by the Times - trash gossip. Love it.

Facebook: How many delightful hours can be wasted here stalking old school aqaintences and ex-lovers.

Jamie Oliver recipies: Who needs to buy cookery books these days when eveything you need in online. I'm more of a Gordon Ramsay fanto be honest, but I love the selection of recipies on Jamie's site. And a sober sunday is the perfect time to spend the afternoon cooking.

The Superficial: Celebrity commentary. In my oppinion superior to Perez Hilton. Hilarious and catty.

Stylefinder: I love this. My best shopping companion and source of inspiration.

youTube: My final essential website. When you have run our of news to read, clothes to buy and celebrities to laugh at there is youTube. Any song from your childhood you can think of can be found here. Episodes of America's Next Top Model for those unlucky souls, like me, who still only have terrestrial television. And of course funny videos of other people's misfortune just like this - lord only knows what she was doing!

London in October

2008-11-08T11:40:00.006Z

I have woken up this morning to the sound of heavy rain on the roof, and it is enough to make me want to just dive straight back under the duvet and ignore the day. Sounds dramatic I know, but Autumn rain really depresses me.

Everyone rushes everywhere in the rain, and pays their fellow pedestrian even less attention than is normal for London. People just seem push and shove past each other, with no care for the danger their brollies pose to the other pavement users.

And aside from the health and safety risk of London rain, there is just the fact it hinders most plans! Going for a night out? Will need to take brolly to protect carefully styled hair; but where is one to put the dripping wet umbrellavwhich is far larger than one's disco purse? Shopping in the rain? Forget it; no hands free to hold the shopping bags.

Then there is the risk of spray from passing cars and lorrys in the roads, and the fact that while an umbrella protects the top of your head it does little to keep the rain off your legs. Soaked jeans anyone? And a downpour results in over crowded buses, crammed full of damp miserable commuters who normally walk the few streets from the tube.

So you see, I may sound like a moaning girl on this, but I really feel my dislike of London rain is justified. However, I am not going to let it ruin my day completely. Rain makes perfect weather for checking out a museum or gallery, which is exactly what I plan to do today.

Beginings

2008-11-08T02:15:00.000Z

Everything starts somewhere. This blog, like many others I'm quite sure, is destined to begin in the small hours when really sleep would be a more sensible option. It is about time I got around to starting this, I've been thinking about it for months now but never quite done it.

So why blog? Two main reasons: 1) I like to write, it goes hand in hand with thinking. And I think a lot. 2) I want something to look back on from my time here in London, a personal journal sitting anonymously in the public domain really.

I expect it will turn out to be a mixture of comment on life, love, the news and fashion with a generous measure of self indulgence thrown in for good measure. We shall see...

Tabby xx