On the up side

Novel ideas

2005-11-30T16:26:00.000Z

In the nick of time, I have managed to pull myself together and write a post for November. Managing a minimum of one a month really shouldn't be that tricky and yet somehow it seems that the time just flies past. This month however I can claim a good excuse: I wrote a novel. I signed up for National Novel Writing Month and took up the challenge of producing 50,000 words in the 30 days of November. Yesterday night I reached the finishline and I am very proud of myself indeed. Out of nowhere I have managed to scare up around 36 hours of solid writing time that I never knew I had in the average year let alone a month. It just goes to show what priorities and deadlines can do.

After that huge creative splurge I am a bit worded-out though. Perhaps it's time to start writing here again more regularly when I recover.

Sporting parents

2005-10-24T18:07:00.000Z

This weekend my parents had the dubious priviledge of watching me play football for the first time. I've been playing for years now at uni and then in London but as they live north of Newcastle they have never happened to be visiting on a day when I had a game. After yesterday they may be trying to time it so they never have to come again...

First up: it is the furthest away trip of the season, taking an hour and 45 mins for them to taxi me to the game. Then we concede five goals in approximately the first three minutes of play, and it is starting to look like the type of game which gets on the local news for being a record defeat. Fortunately we pulled overselves together and at full time the score is a mere 7-0, not even into double figures, which was a major achievement in the circumstances.

I think however they did actually enjoy it in the end. My Dad, resplendant in his wellingtons (it really wasn't that muddy - this remains a mystery to me), kept up a running commentary through most of the game much to the amusement of our goal keeper. My Mum had popped back to car to fetch an umbrella and therefore missed the first five goals so was probably under the impression it was going better than everyone else thought. I also managed to make it through the game uninjured, thus saving my Mum from running onto the pitch to rescue me from the evil opposition (which could have been embarrasing, not least as most of the oppo were half my age).

Games like this both remind me of the "good old days" of first playing in London (by the heavy defeat) and how much the team has improved (the second half always used to get worse, so it would have been about 40-0 if we'd ever had a start as bad as that!)

More, more, more

2005-10-06T13:55:00.000Z

More holidays (good thing obviously), ever more DIY (will be a good thing eventually) and more football with the start of the new season (jury still out on whether this is a good thing) - together these activites have conspired to mean that a whole month has passed without entry. September will be forever missing from my archives list, a monument to my inability to sit down for five minutes at a time and plug the computer in at home. Unless of course I fiddle an entry somehow with the aid of the date and time function... Although that's probably a bit technologically advanced, and in any case only cheating myself as any other readers will have quite rightly wandered off by now.

I have been to my third wedding this year, cunningly combined with a short holiday, as my cousin lives in Valencia and was marrying a local girl. His round-the-world trip post university started with working in Spain to save some cash and learn the language, and became both longer and shorter than planned, in that he still hasn't come back after eight years but neither did he get much further than Spain... His Spanish is very impressive though and I can see the appeal of living in a city with a beach and a buzz of development but a laid back feel at the same time.

The service wasn't too long really, given it was a Catholic one, and the inexplicable Spanish was broken up by some very impressive singing from the choir, including a number in English at the end which had apparantly taken them months to practice. Afterwards very loud firecrackers were set off, approximately three paddy fields worth of rice was hurled at the happy couple, and we all hopped on a coach to the reception. An afternoon event of lunch and then dancing, it flew past (luckily speeches do not appear to be a Spanish tradition as that could have been tricky) until it was 8 o'clock and time for the coach back to our hotels. This may seem like an early end to the festivities but the Spanish brandy had been out at the end of the meal and most people were more than a little fatigued by the time the bus got back into town.

A few more days of relaxing in Valencia followed, before the Gaffer and I arrived back in London to be reconfronted with the "in progress" kitchen. A week of hard core decorating followed as the papering and painting all needed to be done before the imminent arrival of the new vinyl flooring (it's not as glam as tiles but a lot easier to remove if we ever need to replace the obsolete central heating pipes...). I can proudly announce that we're on schedule though and once the floor is down only a few finishing touches are required before it's finished. Given the amount of trauma we've had over it I think I'll be buying a red rope to hang across the doorway, so visitors can just peer in stately-home style.

Behind already

2005-08-16T13:11:00.000Z

The disadvantage of a blog whose readers are mainly people who know me is that they start nagging in person if I haven’t posted for a while and they’re bored at work. I guess I can’t complain as the only reason I started my own blog was because Ms Jones wasn’t posting often enough to keep me amused…

So then, it would appear to be over 2 weeks since I came back from holiday already. The holiday itself is now a distant and dream-like memory, possibly aided by the fact that I spent an awful lot of it asleep, or drinking red wine. By the end of the fortnight I felt the most relaxed and creative that I have done for years. If only I’d stayed in France instead of coming back to work and the extra stress of trying to get a new kitchen fitted.

I’m sure there are people out there who thrive on the organisational challenges posed by new boilers, scaffolding, electricians, plasterers and ovens which are out of stock. I am clearly not one of them however and am making mental notes a) never to get a new kitchen ever again and b) never to take a job that involves organising things. Statto keeps telling me that the kitchen will be like giving birth ie I’ll be so pleased when it’s done I’ll forget about the pain to get there. I am yet to be convinced this is the case for kitchens, or indeed births.

I did manage to get a break from kitchen stress this weekend however, once the boiler had had its final checks on Saturday morning, by hopping on the train to Brighton to join the rest of my football team on tour. Wearing our matching tour T-shirts and a somewhat bizarre selection of “national costume” accessorises we went out to sabotage ourselves well and truly before the playing part of the weekend on Sunday. Most of the team had gone down on the Friday night and already been out once, so I have to admire their stamina as one night out does for me these days. Top marks go to the team member I think I shall christen Lunatic for the purposes of this blog, who had to be propped up between two other people to get into the club but still attempted to deny being drunk the next day. At least I wasn’t tied to her for the evening this year, a distinct up side!

Girl's stuff

2005-07-15T17:52:00.000Z

A bit of a public service broadcast moment: in the last two days I have endured two of the more intrusive treatments on offer to modern women. A bikini line wax in the name of pre-holiday grooming, and a smear test in the name of potentially life-saving screening. I can honestly say the second was no more painful and only marginally less invasive of personal space than the first, and yet I wonder how many women will think nothing of a regular wax but put off regular (only every three years for goodness sakes!) smears? It may never top anyone's list of fun things to do but five minutes mild discomfort is a pretty small price to pay. Go get it over with! More info here:

http://www.cancerscreening.nhs.uk/cervical/

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Following the mention of pre-holiday grooming, the more observant reader will have realised I am indeed off on holiday. The Gaffer and I are off to France, for a week with Ms Jones and then a week in a gite with my parents. A bona fide excuse for not getting round to posting! But for once, instead of rushing round like a headless chicken, my excuse will be extending lounging without contact with the modern world... Wine, cheese, croissants - what more does a holiday need?!

An over-due reunion

2005-07-15T17:45:00.000Z

Last weekend was the "approximately 10 years" reunion dinner back at my university. Students who had started at college in 91 to 94 were invited hence it was 11 years since I first arrived, and longer for others. For the most part everyone looked remarkably unchanged and instantly recognisable, even if I struggled for a few names. I had been a bit nervous and excited during the week beforehand and had managed to partly assuage these feelings by buying a new outfit for the occasion. Satisfied on the night that I looked presentable, I thoroughly enjoyed the drinks reception and dinner, unaware of the assult on my sense of well-being which was to come in the bar...

Reunions always have the potential to cause angst. The inevitable comparison of your own situation in life with those who left college around the same time for example (always forgetting that we never get the full story from others!), or the unpredictability of seeing people who were once important to you after a long lapse of time. In my case however I was circulating and chatting away in all tranquility, probably aided by the substantial quantity of wine dispensed during dinner, until I was unexpectedly broadsided by a smiling equiry:

"So, when are you due?"

Now I am prepared to concede that I might have worn an existing dress if it hadn't been a touch on the tight side currently; equally I am prepared to concede that choosing an empire-line style dress might have said "Jane Austen-esque" to me and "maternity" to others. I am not, however, prepared to believe I look pregnant!

Reflections

2005-07-08T15:25:00.000Z

Feeling very sorry today for those caught up in yesterday’s blasts and their families and friends, many of whom are yet to hear for certain what has happened to their loved ones. The area round my office in Cannon Street seems quieter than usual today, and my train was half empty this morning, as people have decided to stay at home and give the transport system time to get back up and running.

I cannot say I feel surprised by the attack – horrified yes, but not surprised. One of the wearing aspects of living in London has always been living with the expectation of an attack, even before Sept 11 and the other bombings since then. I only came to London in 1997 but I remember coming down for interviews in 1996 and being very aware that an IRA bomb had exploded on a bus that February. Then, after I had moved here, there were the nail bomb attacks in 1999 and a series of “Real IRA” strikes in 2000 and 2001. There will always be people intent on violence and mayhem, only the so-called cause or twisted justification involved varies. In the face of the present threat, as so many times before, we will just have to be vigilant and continue with our lives.

Gods above

2005-06-25T09:19:00.000Z

I am not generally a religious person, however a long aquaintance with public transport in the UK has made me a firm believer in the God of Transport. Often Gods turn up in different guises across different cultures and based on the following tale anthropologists could probably find some similarities between my God of Transport and, for example, Loki the Norse trickster. Or pretty much any of the Greek gods on a particularly bloody-minded day. This then, is the story of "My Journey Home on Wednesday", subtitled "When the God of Transport is having a laugh".

I was suddenly in a great hurry to get home from work as a friend had called to say that they were waiting for me (luckily in the flat rather than on the doorstep), so I was glad to make it to Cannon Street station with two minutes to spare before my train. Except, there were no trains in evidence: all the information screens had died and lots of people were milling around aimlessly. The announcer declared my train would turn up in 10 minutes, making it still the quickest route home. As it was 30 degrees and I was carrying my own bodyweight in footie kit, handbag and assorted shopping I wasn't too keen to move. I waited. After a few more minutes the announcer decided that in fact the train was still behind the failed points which were holding everything up, so I decided to try an alternative, and walked to Bank to get on the DLR.

As I walked into Bank station, the announcer declared there were no DLR trains from Bank. Before I had even finished thinking "East London line to New Cross then", he cheerily added that there were also delays on the East London line. I dragged my assorted bags back up the stairs and towards the bus stop. Turning the corner, with a certain inevitability I saw the bus I wanted pulling away from the bus stop.

I got on the next bus anyway and got off to change buses at London Bridge. Thinking I might as well see what the trains were doing from there first I wandered in and discovered all the information screens were also down, but I managed to find a member of staff who told me I could get to Lewisham (a stop close to mine which has more frequent trains) from Platform 4 in five minutes time. As I arrived on Platform 4 I noticed there was already a train on the platform and realised it was in fact the one I had been trying to get from Cannon Street in the first place. I ran (bags and all) towards it and almost got there when the doors shut and it drew away.

I stood around for five minutes feeling extremely hot when, against the odds, the promised Lewisham train did actually turn up. I got on but in a few minutes I realised the God of Transport was really just rubbing things in, as we passed under the footbridge at my station and the people who had been on the train I had now failed to get twice in one evening were walking over my head. By this point I was starting to wonder if some kind of sacrifice might be required to placate the God and, if so, which of my fellow passengers might be suitable.

I reached Lewisham and went to get the bus up the hill. There were thousands of people at the bus stop which generally means any bus which arrives is already very full as there hasn't been one for a while. Resigned but still slightly defiant, I decided to walk. After 100 metres I glanced round to see 3 empty double decker buses arrive simultaneously and pick up all the people before whooshing past me up the hill.

I continued to walk. Defiance of the God had given way to a vague worry that my shoes might self-destruct or one of my legs might fall off, however I did finally reach the flat and collapsed into a hot, sticky heap on the sofa... Heaven help anyone who lives outside Zone 2!

Where does the time go?

2005-06-18T10:30:00.000Z

If writing this blog has served one purpose it is to remind me that more effort is still required to slow down and make more time in my life. It's not that I'm not doing fun stuff - since the last post I've been to Barcelona, had the Gaffer's family staying for a weekend, been to friends' houses for 3 dinners and a housewarming and been to a gig - it's just sometimes I forget to leave space for pottering around, writing and thinking about what I want out of my life. It's been nearly 8 years now since I moved to London after graduating and sometimes I think I haven't stopped for breath. And all that rushing around has got me to a pretty good position all in all, but when I start to think about what I want longer term - children (we are talking eventually here!), nice house maybe back up north somewhere (can't see me bringing up aforementioned kids in London), seeing more of my family - and I don't see a clear path from here to there. Maybe I should stop fretting and start actually doing some things towards getting myself there... Most of the population of the UK manages to make a living outside London - how tricky can it be?

Now I've made myself fidgetty - writing about the Sagrada Familia will have to wait... Maybe later in the weekend (promises, promises).

Fresh air

2005-05-26T16:26:00.000Z

So, this "making changes" business seems to be quite time-consuming. I present a post I wrote a week and a half ago and just haven't got round to actually posting, until now:

This weekend I have been walking. And eating. On balance, probably many more calories were consumed by eating than burned by walking, as even though we walked quite a long way we did also eat a remarkable amount.

Statto and I went to the Yorkshire Dales for the weekend, or rather Statto very kindly drove me all the way there and back whilst I navigated in an attempt to be useful: "Follow the signs that say ‘The North’…" I cried confidently, and it worked pretty well. Although of course there was the risk of over-shooting and ending up in Scotland.

The walking/eating summary is as follows:

Friday: Drive lots (or navigate lots in my case). Walk 5 miles. Eat steak and ale pie in the pub. Crash out sound asleep by 8.30 - must be the fresh non-London air.

Saturday: Get up and eat large B&B breakfast of bacon, sausage and eggs. Walk 10.5 miles up and down a big hill, with a very short stop to admire the view from the top, as there seemed to be a good chance of getting blown off the hill by the gale force wind. Eat pasties, buns and sandwiches for strength while walking (and for extra ballast against the wind). Go to posh pub restaurant and eat huge three course dinner. Petit Fours and coffee feel like the equivalent of a "wafer thin mint" but we manage not to explode. Just about stay awake until the heady heights of 10pm.

Sunday: Get up and eat slightly smaller breakfast due to still being very full from the day before. Accidentally walk 1.5 miles looking for a historical village church which turns out to be in the next village. Find a Farmer’s Market and buy lots of pies/scones/jam/meringues for later consumption. Walk 5 miles. Eat aforementioned pies. And ice cream. Drive lots. Get home and eat yummy Sunday lunch produced by the Gaffer.

Hill walking is often praised as a good form of exercise, useful for losing weight and getting fit. I think we may have been doing something wrong…

All change

2005-05-11T18:55:00.000Z

I seem to be surrounded by people changing their lives at the moment. Firstly of course there is the Gaffer who has left IT behind to try and make a living coaching football. He's a fantastic coach and I know he'll make it in the end even if it feels to him like it's going a bit slowly to start with. He has such energy and enthusiasm when he comes back from a successful coaching session that I know he's made the right choice.

The Gaffer's friend Our Kid also went to the USA with the Gaffer to coach football but now he's back he is working on setting up his own coffee shop, which I know will be brilliant as he is so organised and excited about it.

One of my one-time flat mates is trying to get into drama school for September having decided she really wants to be an actor, so I'm keeping my fingers crossed that her recalls turn into offers of places. Another made the change from management consultancy to being a French teacher a year ago and loves it.

Ms Jones is starting to work as a freelance writer and even though she is currently ultra-busy with two part time jobs, I know she'll get to where she wants to be in the end.

So I'm surrounded by these amazing people and have complete faith in all of them attaining their goals - and finally I start to wonder why I don't have that much faith in myself? I don't want to get to the office for 8 in the morning and sit moving money around all day forever. In fact not really for another 10 minutes in all honesty! So I'm taking some action - there are going to be some changes round here...

Papering over the cracks

2005-05-03T15:57:00.000Z

There are many attractive features to older properties, such as time-mellowed bricks, wooden sash windows and a feeling of character and history. Occasionally however the “character” element of not having a straight wall in the place becomes downright annoying – notably this weekend when the Gaffer and I spent a day and a half swearing at the walls, the lining paper, the bumpy bits on the walls and particularly the many, many corners in our hallway. Yes, we chose to participate in the great British tradition of spending the bank holiday decorating, the only saving grace being that at least we had all the equipment in the house already and therefore didn’t need to go to B&Q first.

For anyone thinking of spending the next bank holiday in this way, I will share the top wallpapering tips we have learnt:

- Lining paper is good because you can cheat if necessary and put bits on sideways. Note: never, ever, even attempt to put up wallpaper with a pattern on it – this kind of cheating (and thus the entire project) would be impossible.
- There is no point trying to go round internal corners with more than a one inch overlap. It just does not work and it would have been quicker not to try.
- It is best to accept at the outset that there will be swearing, cursing and sense of humour failures and just agree to make up afterwards. This will also save time and possibly relationships.
- Almost anything can be fixed with overlap adhesive. If that fails try decorators’ caulk.

Now, of course, we just have to paint it all…

Call me Jilly…

2005-04-29T15:02:00.000Z

A couple more evenings of corporate entertainment in the last few weeks have got me feeling rather smug on a couple of levels. I was invited to two wine tasting evenings, which from the corporate host's point of view are good value for a number of reasons: you can entertain a number of clients in one go, everyone has something to talk about, and you get to ply your clients with alcohol in the hope that they’ll start to think you’re marvellous if they drink enough… From my point of view, there were people I knew going to both events and I would get to try some expensive wines I would never dream of buying myself (not least because in my limited experience a £60 bottle of wine does not in fact taste 12 times better than a £5 bottle…).

Event one was a small affair with three teams of five doing a blind tasting of eight wines. Our team rapidly realised we had no one who considered themselves an expert and therefore opted for plan B: listen very carefully to the introductory talk and then use a process of logic and deduction to fill in the (mostly multiple choice) answer sheet. It worked! With 50% more points than the other two teams, both of whom contained previously self-important people who were now muttering about how they must be getting colds and couldn’t taste properly this evening, we triumphantly won a bottle of champagne each for our efforts.

Event two was a much larger crowd, with 14 wines to taste laid out on three tables: white wines, lighter reds and heavier reds. There was also a little competition involving some tasting and some wine related questions. I resolved to apply the logical deduction process that had worked so well the week before and, again, it worked like a dream. Another bottle of champagne in my mitts, I decided it was time to quit while I was ahead and left before getting on to table three.

I like to think that knowing when to leave is a sign of learning from past mistakes: whilst still in my first job after university I once had to get off the tube, on the way home from a somewhat more rowdy wine tasting, in order to throw up elegantly onto the track. If this was not bad enough for one episode, my hangover finally abated some days later and so I picked up my gym bag, only to discover the remains of a samosa and half a scone… Bemused, I eventually concluded that they had formed part of my journey home that night but the food had clearly been too late to save me. Eating, before drinking, being another useful point to remember.

Smug factor one: winning champagne. Smug factor two: managing not to drunkenly embarrass myself doing it.

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Note: it strikes me that my work is mentioned in this blog almost exclusively in relation to being entertained – I would like to point out I do actually do work, it’s just no one wants to read about excel spreadsheets do they? Not to mention that I once spent 30 minutes trying to explain to Ms Jones what exactly I do, what structured finance is etc and she admitted some days later that she was still none the wiser…

Wedding bliss

2005-04-20T17:09:00.000Z

After torrential rain on the way up to Derby on Friday night, it was a relief when Saturday turned out to be dry, even if it was still not very warm. One of my colleagues had assured me during the week that a wet wedding means a great marriage but I still had the feeling that's just what people have made up as a consolation... The bride looked beautiful, the four completely different bridesmaids dresses were somehow more co-ordinated than had ever seemed likely and the whole day went without a hitch (except that my shoes kept cutting off the blood supply to my toes - but really this should be considered a very minor bridesmaidly sacrifice).

I even managed to make it through the day with only one welling-up moment, which is probably a record for me at weddings: the bride and groom had chosen Jonny Nash's I can see clearly now as the accompaniment to walking back down the aisle after the ceremony and looking at them, as the first few lines of the song played, very nearly had me in floods. They were both clearly so happy and so besotted with each other that the feeling of hope for the future was quite overwhelming.

I do love weddings - generally everyone is in a good mood, has got dressed up and is enjoying themselves. I think the next one I get to attend will be my cousin's in September. He is getting married in Spain (his fiance is Spanish and they live there, so it's quite understandable) so the Gaffer and I have a five night trip to Valencia booked in. My only concern is the likelihood of the church service lasting for hours and hours in Spanish... Still, the party afterwards should be fun!

Going Native

2005-04-11T16:38:00.000Z

The Gaffer is not easily impressed by celebrity, despite being very good at spotting them, but regards TV survival expert Ray Mears as a bit of a hero, and so (two and a half years ago) I booked us onto a day’s course to meet him. On Saturday the big day finally arrived, after an extremely long period of anticipation, and the Gaffer and I spent a very educational day learning how our ancestors might have lived, if they happened to be hunter-gatherer types in Sussex.

Luckily it turns out to be the wrong time of year to eat ant pupae... We hugged trees (well, I hugged a crab-apple tree, the Gaffer declined), we threw a spear with a special spear-throwing bit of wood, looked at deer tracks and had a go at making fire. Ray had his fire going in minutes by rubbing a couple of bits of wood together; we got to try the “easy” method involving silver birch bark and two bits of metal to make sparks. Let’s just say that between that and the spear throwing the Gaffer and I would likely have been rather chilly vegetarians had we lived thousands of years ago.

It’s all in the timing…

2005-04-03T17:13:00.000Z

Once again, a big gap between posts. Once again I have been running round in ever decreasing circles until coming down with some kind of lurgy (probably as a result of being completely knackered) and having to spend Thursday and Friday languishing in the house in my pyjamas. Yesterday I still felt like languishing but somehow found the energy to do more useful stuff given it was my own time I was languishing in. This morning I even felt so far recovered as to try and play football. Bad move. Luckily it was a friendly so coming off feeling distinctly unwell after 30 minutes of being massively ineffectual was not a disaster.

Anyway, a couple of moments in the last week or so stand out as worthy of note. Firstly, an incident which left me feeling massively guilty. What could be so dreadful? Well, I went shopping with my mum (a pleasant experience in and of itself), and in the course of shopping bought her some expensive face cream. As we left the shop the beeping detector things went off but several people were coming and going at the time and we thought nothing of it. Until we went into the next shop and set their barriers off as well… At this point I realised that the assistant must have forgotten to swipe the tag on the face cream box. The obvious thing would be to return to the counter with my purchase – but of course now there were two sets of barriers between me and it. I went for Plan B: look like I am trying out a sofa in the furnishing department while surreptitiously peeling the magnetic label off the box and depositing it down the side of the sofa. Walking out of the shop again I could not have felt more guilty and furtive had I actually just stolen something! I fear I am some way from becoming a hardened criminal…

This was the first little incident to mar the bank holiday weekend when my parents were staying. The big things went like clockwork: dinner reservations, theatre tickets, even London Transport was behaving itself, I was just having some problems with the small stuff. Apart from the shop-lifting incident, and my accidently throwing part of my power sander out of the window onto my neighbour’s roof (where it remains), there was one other teeny cock-up.

It was the Boat Race on Sunday and my parents decided that, as they are unlikely to happen to be in London at the right time again, they would like to go and watch. This would have been a lot easier if I was still living in Putney but nevertheless, all was going well. My parents drove us over, the traffic was quiet and we got parked easily. We walked down and popped into a café for lunch before sauntering down to the start an hour in advance of the race to secure a vantage point of the start.

Rounding the corner it became obvious that there were a lot of people already in place. In fact the big screen appeared to be showing two boats lining up ready to go and the crowd was pretty excited. It dawned that this was the race itself, about to start. We managed a position where we could see the huge screen, although not actually the boats themselves, and duly cheered as the race began. It took about another 10 minutes, as Oxford drew steadily ahead on the big screen, to work out that the clocks had gone forward. My parents were kind enough to say that it was more memorable for having practically missed it and that at least we didn’t have to stand in the cold for a hour, however the fact remains that both crews, not to mention thousands of other spectators, had manged to keep up with the vagaries of British Summer Time and it had somehow passed me by completely. Still, on the up side at least losing the hour between 2 and 3 in the afternoon meant I didn’t lose an hour’s sleep like everyone else.

Maid duties

2005-03-23T20:30:00.000Z

Last weekend was a good friend’s hen night. The Bride is having four bridesmaids – three based in London and one from Derbyshire where she now lives. So between the three of us in London we were to organise the hen do for the Bride’s London friends and cousins. It is not a process I care to dwell on, as somehow it did not seem to bring out the best in us. A combination of events involving sarcasm, misunderstandings and downright hysteria mean that when it comes to filling in “times you have successfully worked in a team” on application forms it’s not going to make a great example. Still, on the up side we were all just about speaking to each other again by the time the Bride arrived on Friday night.

A quiet night in on Friday prepared us for the first major hurdle of the weekend: finding bridesmaids dresses. They didn’t all need to match exactly but they were all to be red. One maid had cunningly had her dress made by friends the week before, so there were three to go. Trying on every red dress in Debenhams sorted out maids two (tall and slim) and three (as short as me but a size 8), but was starting to turn slightly farsical as far as I was concerned. A route march round Oxford Street looking for signs of red followed, until we ended up in Dickins & Jones and discovered where all the red dresses had gone. As it was getting a little late by now I managed to get in and out of what felt like about 20 dresses in 15 minutes, and with time running out finally found one. Phew. I am back to feeling like the sexy, curvy bridesmaid rather than the short, fat one. Thank you to the God of clothes shopping.

Dashing back to the flat, we just about got ready before the rest of the guests arrived. We organising maids had eventually decided that if a formula’s not broken then we shouldn’t try to fix it: some warm-up champagne and a bit of quizzing the Bride about her love life got everyone nicely set up to go out for dinner and on to a club. A pair of flashing, phallically shaped deely-boppers proved to be the unexpected hit of the evening, with everyone wearing them at one time or another (if anyone’s struggling here, think two sparkly pink, light-up willies on springs attached to a headband – and a lot of alcohol).

A chilled out morning of recovery followed the next day, with all of us going to the gym to soak in the spa pool until we went prune-like. The sheer relief that we hadn’t lost anyone on the night out, all the transport had worked and everyone seemed to have a good time was certainly enough to make me relax. I can’t begin to imagine how stressful organising a wedding must be – this was only the hen night!

The bridesmaids duties on the day seem fairly light by comparison. Reading through the four page timetable produced by the Bride we seem just to be helping out the ushers with a bit of crowd control. Apart from that, not falling over or dropping the flowers on the way down the aisle seems to be about it. How tricky can it be?

Little Miss Tidy

2005-03-18T08:11:00.000Z

Oh dear, I have failed again to commune with the computer of an evening... And my main excuse is, unfortunately, that I am turning into my mother. Since owning my own flat I have increasingly become gripped with the urge to tidy and clean before people come round. This is despite the fact that the hall is still sans wallpaper, the carpet is still manky, waiting to be replaced once we've replaced the very elderly kitchen, and the bathroom also needs an upgrade (shower curtain suspended from ceiling by some string attached to a large hook. Ingenious but not all that stylish.)

This weekend my flat is acting as the starting point/hostel for a hen weekend. The tidying operation has now been going on since Sunday...

I was inspired in part by spending Sunday afternoon at Ms Jones's flat (see her blog in the blogroll list - it's very good. In fact she started me off.) We put a coat of emulsion on the living room, and then I found my vocation in life: being the evil presenter on a "life laundry" type programme. Jonesy mentioned in passing that she needed to sort out the big pile of possessions taking up most of the bedroom so she can move back into the flat. About a dozen bin bags later, the problem was solved. We even did the cupboard under the stairs as well as the poor girl got swept along with my boundless enthusiasm (it's much easier when it's other people's stuff). Admittedly Jonesy now has vitually no possessions except for DIY equipment but imagine how beautiful and uncluttered her flat will look...

The monster in the loft...

2005-03-09T14:22:00.000Z

I have a confession to make: despite being 29 years old and a flat-owner, I'm quite scared of the loft above my flat. My flat is the top floor of a detached, converted house so I have the advantage of a hatch into the loft space. My dad put some boards down for me in the summer (losing about a stone in the process as it was baking hot up there with the sun beating on the roof) and I store suitcases and packing boxes on the platform he created. It is however a really big space and freaks me out by being dark and creepy.

In my ongoing attempts to decorate the hallway I started to sand the woodwork around the loft hatch recently, propping the hatch slightly open so I could sand properly. The cold draft coming out of the loft started to unnerve me (I know, it's winter and it just shows the loft insulation works), along with the fact I couldn't really see into the dark beyond the hatch. The final straw came in the shape of a scrabbling noise. I did what any sensible girl would do: closed the hatch, moved the ladder so nothing could get down it, and got on with sanding the skirting while vowing to go nowhere near the loft again without someone else in the flat...

There is definitely a reason why Mrs Rochester was kept in an attic.

It is possible however that I should really just get a grip and learn from another recent incident involving a surplus of imagination: the Gaffer and I were both a bit apprehensive at what appeared to be two enormous moths in the light fitting in the bathroom. Were they dead? Would they fly away when we tried to take the cover off? A tense moment ensued. I eased the cover off the light, carefully trying not to disturb the contents... Only to discover two big flakes of paint which had fallen off the ceiling.

Catching up

2005-03-05T11:55:00.000Z

Naughtily long gap since the last post but it has been a very busy week! Also remarkably civilised and cultured in retrospect – taking this week in isolation makes me look like a cross between a champion of the arts and a social butterfly.

So then, my birthday finally picked up last Saturday (if you’re stuck with a birthday on a Monday I think it’s perfectly permissable to drag it out for a week). I went to the theatre in the afternoon to see David Suchet in Man and Boy – a play about a businessman turning up one night at his estranged son’s flat because his business empire is in the point of collapse. It was funny at times, increasingly dark towards the end, and I enjoyed it.

That evening a few friends came round and we had a wine tasting. I should perhaps explain that I’m not an expert by any means but rather was given a book at Christmas which tells you which wines to taste and what they’re meant to taste like! Being the organiser had the advantage of being able to make everyone else taste “blind” while I got to expound (well, read bits out of the book at least). People were a little hesitant with their opinions at first but by the sixth wine everyone was becoming much more opinionated. Attempts to “suck air through the wine” to release the flavours were not entirely successful though. One friend managed to snort red wine out through her nose and all over the carpet. I’m not sure that’s the right technique…

Next up I had a pleasant evening on Wednesday drinking cocktails with a couple of my female friends. As we were meeting to sort out some details for an upcoming Hen Night we only got to the bar after we’d been to Ann Summers – I realise this somewhat undermines the civilised aspects of the week but it was certainly educational even if some of the merchandise was downright alarming!

Thursday night was another “good bits of my job” night as I was taken out to the opera. The Royal Opera House is an incredible building and the performance of the Magic Flute was spellbinding but I was absolutely scandalised when I realised our tickets were £150 each… One can only assume most of the rest of the people in the stalls were there on client entertaining as well.

So it’s been busy but fun this week – a vast improvement from my tantrums of the week before. Hope everyone else has been having fun too.

Bigger picture

2005-02-24T21:49:00.000Z

After keeping up my football related sulk to positively tantrum-esque proportions for the best part of three days I finally reached a point yesterday where I felt a whole lot better. For once I had fully expressed what I thought on the subject to the people who actually make decisions about our team, rather than bottling it up, and in the process remembered that playing football, even after six years with the same team, is actually optional not an obligation. Funny how just realising that you can stop if you want frees up how you feel about something. So it’s up for review over the summer: if I rediscover what I enjoyed about playing then I’ll carry on and, if not, then I’ll stop and find something else to do with all that free time.

I have been feeling a little unsettled in other parts of my life as well recently – perhaps it is because I’ve only got a year left til 30 now, which seems to be looming as something of a milestone. I feel like I should be making a difference in the world in some way but I can’t yet envisage what that really means to me. Politics doesn’t really appeal as too often it boils down to childish arguments and watered down compromises. Charity work seems too often to be filling gaps that shouldn’t be there, without the real power to fix things, and anyway I am materialistic enough to want to carry on at least earning enough to pay the mortgage. I feel a twinge of jealousy that one of my friends is looking at setting up his own business but have no idea what sort of business I would want to have myself.

I’m not even sure if this is something that I will end up pursuing or just a passing phase. The feeling has been fueled this evening by attending a reception on the "Hidden Brain Drain Task Force" - a business initiative to make changes enabling women employees to realise their ambitions and use their talents. Being in a room full of senior business women generally makes me feel both that 'I could do that' and that it's a long way away. Virginia Woolf wrote a very good essay on the importance of having your own space in order to be able to work. Since I have my flat now perhaps if I deal with re-wallpapering the hallway first everything else will become clear in due course!

Unused substitute

2005-02-21T12:46:00.000Z

Bit of a lapse in the positive outlook thing but today is my birthday – and so frankly I’ll sulk if I want to. Not only is it a Monday, not only am I at work, but once again I got to play the vital role of “complete spare part” for my football team yesterday. There’s nothing like team sports to make you feel like a waste of space when you don’t get included and, as an added bonus, it was therefore really not worth postponing my birthday party for a week.

To explain to anyone not familiar with the rules: while you can have up to 16 players (11 to start and 5 substitutes), only 3 of the substitutes can be used. Normally therefore we only have 14 in a team but as yesterday was our biggest ever game as a club we went with 16 – which would have been OK if it hadn’t been blindingly obvious which two were going to be the 15th and 16th players. I really should have put money on it and then I would at least be financially better off instead of just being right.

Annoyingly this season was meant to be a vast improvement on last season due to our team having a reserve side for the first time. I was looking forward to playing regularly, getting some team spirit going with the other reserves and having a laugh without too much pressure. Instead I have spent about half my time playing for the first team but with the unspoken proviso that, regardless of how well or not I play, this is only when not enough of the real first team players makes themselves available. Thus I feel part of neither team and on three occasions so far this season (including yesterday) have given up my Sunday to be a glorified spectator.

I know I should be grateful to be playing - poor Ms Jones has been out for ages with a poorly back - but playing like this is just not fun. Thankfully it's nearly the end of the season.

It’s annoying me even more that I evidently still care enough about it all to get annoyed…

The way to my heart...

2005-02-16T18:09:00.000Z

I had a very enjoyable weekend with my parents, doing a bit of shopping and quite a lot of eating. Then when I arrived back home on Monday evening the Gaffer had cooked a great dinner for Valentine’s Day, which comprised:

- roast red pepper stuffed with smoked salmon couscous
- monkfish wrapped in sun dried tomatoes and parma ham, served with mash
- lemon, pistachio and mint cheesecakes
- brie and biscuits

It was all fantastic! Which I must say has made me look very kindly on Valentine’s Day as a concept this year. I have sometimes been a bit ambivalent about it – just a money making exercise for the card companies etc etc – but as a great excuse to make a bit of extra effort then currently it seems like a fab idea.

Not so much fun if you are single I must admit. Even I was getting a little annoyed getting across London during the evening rush on Monday because every third person was struggling under a huge bunch of flowers, thereby making the train even fuller than normal. If it wouldn’t make even more money for the card people I would suggest everyone broadens the idea out a bit in future to include friends and family and celebrate everyone who loves them.

Homeward bound

2005-02-11T11:59:00.000Z

I'm off "up north" in a few minutes, to spend the weekend being looked after by my parents. Hurrah! Someone cooking for me, running round after me and spoiling me...

Actually I get looked after all the time by the Gaffer, so my parents can actually rest in the knowledge that I'm genuinely just going to see them and not for the fringe benefits!

Splitting hairs

2005-02-09T15:55:00.000Z

As I was struggling to see out from under my fringe, I finally made it to hairdresser at lunchtime today. It’s fairly expensive to my way of thinking (£46 – let me guess: any girl readers think this is average and any boy readers are horrified) and I’m not left gasping in amazement at the wonder of the cut at the end, but it is very handy for the office so I end up back there every couple of months. I do usually see the same stylist, and today I wondered, as usual, why I entrust my hair to someone whose own hair is a constantly changing rainbow (largely green today) and whose dress sense is also rather more individual than I would wish on myself. While she is always in black (which seems to be the policy of the salon) today’s ensemble featured cropped trousers with fishnets and legwarmers.

Happily I have once again come away fairly unscathed, however I have been thinking that perhaps some kind of dying is going to be necessary soon, as the number of white hairs that keep appearing is overtaking the number I can realistically pull out (bald being an even less attractive option). I think perhaps it is time to move salons: requesting advice on hair dye from someone with green hair might finally take the risk involved to unacceptable levels.

Happy news!

2005-02-03T20:32:00.000Z

Hurrah! Not five minutes after I wrote the last post about sad news, one of my friends from uni called with some great news: she is 3 months pregnant! It is particularly good news as she has had a tough couple of years, struggling with an illness which caused her to be seriously ill in hospital for a while. She and her husband had decided to wait until the first scan was OK before telling anyone, and she had that yesterday. I did have to laugh though when she proudly informed me that the baby is “really quite big – five and a half centimetres”. Now we will all have to keep our fingers crossed that everything goes well for the rest of her pregnancy.

Having a happy post to record has reminded me that I wanted to review how my New Year resolutions were going, now we’re a month in:

- blogging cheerfully is going pretty well I think. It’s actually proving to be a generally good idea as it more or less forces me to stop thinking about anything that is annoying me and cast my mind around for something more positive to write about.
- “doing less” is going somewhat less well. I have yet to locate the Amelie video (likely location: in a box in the spare room), let alone watch it, and I was intending to do this review on 1st Feb and now it’s the 3rd already. This evening I am having a night in but only because I’ve managed to make myself so tired I am now feeling ill with a sore throat, so cancelling both sets of drinks I was meant to be at was more or less enforced. Slowing down a bit before getting to this stage might have been a better plan!

I guess one out of two isn’t so bad… Also I reckon the important thing is to keep trying and I do have a night in with the Gaffer actually planned (in the diary, in ink) for tomorrow so that’s a good (re)start.

Sad news

2005-02-03T13:22:00.000Z

I was rather sad the other day, as I learnt that Ivan Noble had died. He was a journalist for the BBC’s online news service and since finding out he had a brain tumour two years ago he wrote a kind of journal on the site recording his experience. I would catch one of the entries occasionally and was always struck by how very brave he was, always hopeful, then dignified when hope had gone at the end. His journal is going to be published shortly to raise money for charity and I intend to buy a copy but I’m not sure I’ll actually be brave enough to read it knowing the outcome.

Good Hope, Bad Hope

2005-01-31T17:27:00.000Z

All things come to those who wait. The truth of this was confirmed for me a couple of years ago when, after a mere 18 months of forgetting to take a mug to work, one arrived in the post and solved the problem.

On this occasion, my patience has been rewarded again: the sender of the mystery text has finally revealed themselves via email. Apparently, instead of reading +191 and thinking “Newcastle!” I should have read +1 917 and thought “New York!” as it turns out to be my friend Jingle Bells, who proposed to his girlfriend in Central Park, in the snow. Still, they are very similar places so it was an easy mistake to make. My knowledge of international dialling codes is clearly a bit deficient, but on balance I’m not sure I’ll be spending this weekend with the phone book trying to memorise them all.

While I count patience as a virtue, I am afraid to say that I may be developing some vices. Some time ago I had an appraisal at work where the main action point was to be more cynical. Yesterday I think this finally started to spill over into the rest of my life, as I suddenly developed a new evil side at football: we were hanging on to a slim 2-1 lead when their attacker got past me in the penalty box, heading for goal… Into my head popped the bad thought: “well, she’s going to score anyway so if I give away a penalty it doesn’t really matter”, and without further reflection I stood on her heel, causing her to end up face down on the floor. To make matters worse, I got away with it completely as the referee didn’t see and even the girl in question didn’t realise why she’d just fallen over! And so now I’m not just cynical but feeling more than a little bit smug as well… It’s a slippery slope…

Slaving away...

2005-01-29T10:58:00.000Z

I once read somewhere that most people exagerate things about their jobs and play up the good bits in order to make it sound more interesting to other people. True to form I could not resist the temptation to text my friend Statto on Thursday night to gloat about the hotel I was staying in for work. In my defence I would say it was easily the best hotel I have ever been to: Cliveden was a famous country house and is now a famous hotel. My bedroom also had a sitting room - and an extra toilet, presumably so any riff raff I chose to entertain in the sitting room wouldn't have to use the en suite... If you ever get a chance to stay then grab it, particularly if someone else is paying, as then it feels even more like you might be part of one of the house parties which used to be held there. Statto however has done her fair share of work travel and was not fooled. She waited til the next day to reply: “Poor you! But now you’re in Blackburn, bwhah hah hah…”

She had indeed cut to the down side – my night in luxurious surroundings was effectively “paid for” by spending most of Thursday and Friday staying awake through a series of presentations on the UK mortgage market. Cliveden has famous gardens and beautiful views over the Thames but I wouldn’t know because I didn’t actually get to see it in daylight! The taxi arrived at seven yesterday morning to take us all to Heathrow and the return flight didn’t land back at Heathrow again til eight last night. Dinner was delicious on Thursday night but socialising with 15 complete strangers does make it harder work. On the up side however several of them were actually women which always helps – this may be 2005 but I’m still used to being the only woman in meetings and I have a little game where I count the other women at conferences. The counting doesn’t often take long, it’s spotting them that’s more tricky.

I suspect this is not a post which is guaranteed to garner much sympathy, and indeed I’m not really after any as I do enjoy getting to do the fun bits of my job, even if I only get to do them because people want to sell me things. It has reminded me however of “the most romantic evening I never had”:

I was driven out of Barcelona, to a castle on a hill. It was lit up with torches and candles and we strolled around on the terrace drinking champagne before going in to dinner. After we had eaten, Jamie Cullum took his seat at the piano, about 10 foot away from me, and entertained us. And I looked round and thought: if only the Gaffer was here instead of about 300 structured finance professionals…

High tech confusion

2005-01-25T22:27:00.000Z

Tonight has been a busy evening, as Ms Jones has been round specially to add clever techy stuff to my blog before outing me as a geek via her own site. There have been multiple browser windows, pages of gobbledegook code and all manner of clever new gadgets: I now have a people counting thingy, links to the 3 other blogs I read (there would be more but I do have to do some work at work, so I have been very strict with myself) and a brand new email account I will doubtless forget to check.

The amount of wonderment inspired by Ms Jones's techy-ness has however now been surpassed by a new level of modern-communication-device confusion. I have just received a text stating "I've just got engaged!? Speak to you soon." Which is lovely, clearly, except I have no idea who it's from... The number appears to be a landline (minor amazement that this is possible) from my home town. I have immediately phoned my friend-from-school who tends to be most clued up on the gossip and he has no idea. I've double checked it's not my brother's number. Now I am stumped. It seems a little rude to reply "Congratulations! And you are...?" I am feeling a nostalgia for days I never experienced when such things were announced properly in the newspapers with full details of the families etc...

It is perhaps not surprising that I should be struggling a bit with the high tech side of modern life, as recent evidence suggests I am not really getting to grips with the basics. On Saturday for example, there was decisive evidence that my left hand does not know what my right hand is doing. Left hand was unaware when right hand decided to do a ninja-esque manoevore with the razor it was holding and therefore failed to get out of the way before right hand had removed a sizeable chunk of skin with surgical precision. Having to ask the Gaffer apply a plaster so I could get out of the shower without bleeding everywhere was not really in line with the capable image I generally try to project to the world. Ho hum.

French twist

2005-01-18T17:00:00.000Z

Monday night is brain-exercising night as I go to French language classes. Last night we were discussing the language itself and how it is changing and evolving. As well as words being borrowed from other languages such as Arabic, apparently there is a concept called “le verlan” which means slang words formed by reversing the sounds in the original word. All of which is profoundly annoying when one is struggling to impress the existing words into one’s leaky memory. I suppose the answer would be to take Latin instead – a nice, dead language with no one messing about with it. It also has the advantage of aiding any further study of most European languages by giving an understanding of the roots and arguably it must be difficult to discover your accent is wrong without any native speakers. Maybe next term…

Resolution #2

2005-01-14T17:22:00.000Z

Along with the “blogging cheerfully” resolution, I also decided to make another: I am going to be less busy. I read a quote the other day, which I think was by Ghandi, which was “There’s more to life than going faster” and I think he had a point. Instead of rushing round like a headless chicken I am going to do fewer things but do them better.

I am hoping to get time to watch Amelie for example – a video I purchased last Easter and was starting to wonder if I would ever have time to watch. Who knows, I may even unroll my yoga mat and do a few contortions (although Ms Jones had a very cautionary post on yoga the other day so perhaps not).

“Doing less” will also give me some time to devote to decorating my flat. After a big effort just after moving in last summer (when my lovely parents came and helped for a week – and in fact did most of the work while I was at the office so my job was mainly going for drinks with them in the evenings) it is fair to say things slowed somewhat. Since the Gaffer arrived back from the US he has started to look for work coaching football over here, but has also picked up some of the slack on the decorating front and been a complete star at organising workmen and pitching in himself too. In a Shaker-style exchange of labour he helped Ms Jones wallpaper part of her living room yesterday and today the two of them have been stripping wallpaper off my hallway. The clearly lacking element here being any effort from me – time to do what I seem to do best in regard to DIY projects and get the drinks in I think…

Being oblivious

2005-01-10T17:52:00.000Z

A couple of years ago the Gaffer took me to a nice Italian restaurant for my birthday. We had a very nice evening and as we were eating dessert a group of four people came in and were seated nearby. For the rest of the meal I was quite distracted as I was almost convinced that one of the women in the group was someone I used to chat to occasionally at lectures at university. In fact I was close to going over and saying hello but as she made no sign of recognising me I refrained.

Walking down the street afterwards, I explained this theory to the Gaffer and was greeted with considerable amusement as a result. “So it wasn’t Julia Sawalha then?” he laughed, “And that was Alan Davies too.”

I had to admit I had no idea who Alan Davies was but did feel slightly silly for mistaking Julia for my old acquaintance. She may have been quite surprised had I actually gone over crying “Polly! Is that you?”

This ability of the Gaffer to recognise people has made me suspect him of being a closet Hello magazine reader. On various occasions he has pointed out to me DJ’s, actors and, of course, footballers past and present from all manner of clubs. It's a skill I rather admire. If it was merely a failure to watch TV that accounted for my own blankness then I’d be quite happy, however I could probably manage to walk past close members of family in the street without noticing them and heartily dislike having to meet up with people I’ve only met once or twice in busy places, in case I don’t recognise them and wander around looking foolish. Hopefully I’ll only bump into people in future when the Gaffer is there to keep me from embarrassing myself…

Invisible workmen

2005-01-07T21:04:00.000Z

I am feeling grumpy today, in the face of the seemingly simple task of getting people to turn up to my flat when they say they will. On Wednesday night the salesperson for a kitchen firm was supposed to be coming round to measure up and quote for a new kitchen – as 6.00 become 6.30 and then 7.15, two phone calls to their call centre produced no explanation of what happened to him. Nor have they bothered to call back since with an explanation or apology. There is a large upside to this however as it’s good to realise now that they are a firm whose ability to turn up with an entire kitchen is clearly questionable, rather than after handing over large sums of cash first and then waiting expectantly.

This morning was the turn of the plasterer to fail to turn up. To give him credit, he has managed to turn up on time once to quote for the work, he was very apologetic to the Gaffer this morning and has vowed to come tomorrow instead. If he actually does, and fills in the hole by my fireplace properly, then I’m prepared to forgive him for making me get out of bed and dressed for 8.30 on a Saturday morning.

At least the flat is habitable and fairly comfortable despite the remaining decorating which needs doing, and of course I’m very lucky to have the Gaffer around to help out. We’re going out for a curry tonight and I’m really looking forward to it – a bona fide upside!

Happy New Year

2005-01-06T17:39:00.000Z

The New Year has strengthened a half formed resolution in relation to this blog: that it should be in the main about positive events. I am in all respects very fortunate compared not only to those living in disaster zones or in areas of poverty or oppression but also compared to many people in the UK. Without wishing to tempt fate, I would note that my family are both delightful and sane, my boyfriend is fantastic and my friends are great. I’m healthy, own my own flat and have a good job. What’s to whinge about?

In that spirit I thought I’d note the final five minutes of my swim yesterday lunchtime. I was working myself up into quite a grump when I arrived at the gym to discover the updated class timetable had added an aqua-aerobics session: this meant I would have to swim in the lane pool which I dislike for being cold and having to doggy paddle to pass people coming the other way in your lane. I also swim to relax and the loud and tuneless music being employed for the aerobics was not the ideal background. After persevering for 20 minutes though I did see the funny side to getting so annoyed about such a little thing.

At last, the class finished and for the final five minutes of my available time I got the whole of the non-lane pool to myself: warm water and turquoise tiles, along with the ability to stretch out without bumping into anyone. There is no music when there’s not a class on and the lights are not too bright so it’s really relaxing to swim in. I love that pool when it’s empty – it’s like being on holiday somewhere.

Before I went down to the gym, my office had taken part in the three minutes silence for the tsunami victims. Another reminder to appreciate what I have and to enjoy my five minute holidays when I can.

Heading North

2004-12-23T11:27:00.000Z

Christmas is very much upon us now as tonight the Gaffer and I are setting off on The Big Drive up to Newcastle to stay with my parents. It seemed like a cunning plan to go tonight after rush hour dies down a bit, but I suspect the level of cunning actually achieved will in fact depend how many other people are trying to carry it out at the same time. Too many cooks spoil the cunning plan…

In many ways Christmas has felt more like an extra level of complication this year than a time of celebration: more admin and social engagements to be squeezed into the few available minutes not already accounted for (or devoted to trying to catch up on sleeping). Today however I feel like I did towards the end of the Great North Run, ie knackered but with growing certainty that I’m going to get there and it will be fun at the end. Obviously I haven’t actually packed any clothes yet but at least the presents are all accounted for, wrapped and waiting in a box to be put in the car. Once I settle into the navigator’s seat tonight (the Gaffer is a dreadful passenger so he does most of the driving) it will be like the final whistle has gone and we get to stop even if we haven’t finished everything. Perhaps I’ll even buy a CD of jolly Christmas music to play on the way up… Or perhaps not!

Light at the end of the tunnel

2004-12-22T19:06:00.000Z

I’m not a morning person at the best of times (nor really a late night person either – more of a potential hibernator really) and for the last couple of weeks I have been crawling out of bed most unwillingly in the mornings. It cannot be right to have to get up while it’s still dark as far as I’m concerned and this week the process has been made more painful by having to shower in a draught, due to the Gaffer breaking the light pull in the bathroom at the weekend which means leaving the door open to get light from the hallway.

In fact I largely blame the Gaffer for my increased state of knackeredness which has reached near-psychotic proportions. Since he arrived back a few weeks ago and moved in with me, after 5 months working in the US, I can no longer arrive back in the flat and concentrate solely on getting to sleep in the shortest possible space of time. My lie-ins at the weekend are destroyed by his unnatural ability to wake up and be bored, while getting up in the week is made even harder by leaving him sleeping peacefully in bed. On the up side, despite huge complaints about his snoring from every friend who has ever had to share a room with him, either he doesn’t do it when I’m there or I’m actually in a coma by the time I do get to sleep and don’t notice.

Note to self: remember never to have children before making enough money to employ some kind of “night nanny”.

The other bonus today is that it’s the 22 December and so the shortest day was yesterday – from today onwards we’re officially getting lighter again. I was looking on the web to see exactly how much lighter we are getting this week and was disappointed to learn that it is largely a psychological benefit. The BBC weather site assures me that while sunset is already getting later, sunrise doesn’t start to get earlier until a week or so into January because “not only is the Earth's axis inclined to the plane of its orbit around the Sun, but the orbit of the Earth is not circular, but an ellipse”. So by Sunday we’ll have gained 3 minutes in the evening and lost a minute in the morning. Still, 2 minutes is a start, and let it never be said this blogging business is not educational.

Right, I’m going to the gym for a sleep…

Sugar Plum

2004-12-21T10:00:00.000Z

I have a goddaughter who I’ll call Sugar Plum for these purposes and who is, of course, the prettiest and cleverest four year old in history. Unfortunately Sugar Plum’s parents split up a couple of years ago, involving a sequence of events which I will not dwell on here as it’s still painful and in any case no one will actually believe I didn’t invent the story as an exercise in writing melodrama. As a result Sugar Plum now lives in the USA with her mother. At the moment however, she is here visiting her Daddy for Christmas and so I have been enjoying the rare pleasure of spending time with her.

On Saturday afternoon we played Monopoly until Sugar Plum got bored, and we spent a long time colouring in a picture of Cinderella at the ball in a quite alarming range of colours (there are not many Prince Charmings out there with blue faces). Last night we played with her dolls house and she tried on the outfit I bought her for Christmas. I shall see her tonight as well, and then maybe once more after Christmas before her Daddy flies back with her on New Year’s Eve to drop her off in America.

Sugar Plum nearly broke my heart this summer, when she last visited the UK, by coming up to me halfway through an evening, giving me a big hug and saying “I miss you”. Despite the pain and upset of the last couple of years though I am very glad I know Sugar Plum. In summer 2003 we went to the park on a sunny day, to a children’s play area with water trickling over a mound of rocks and sand. The two of us jumping up and down in the puddles in the sunshine, laughing with the sheer joy of the moment is one of my favourite memories and I feel very lucky to have it.

Partying in the past

2004-12-20T09:16:00.000Z

The venue for the office party turned out to be the very nice Skinners’ Hall, which was all wood panelling and big fireplaces. A little research on Google this morning reveals that the Hall dates from 1670 and the Skinners’ Company has owned the site since the 13th Century. The Skinners’ Company was formerly the City Guild in charge of “the use, production and sale of furs used for trimming garments for people of exalted rank” and now has nothing to do with fur but runs the Hall and a slightly bizarre selection of charities. This includes one for grants for vocational training for young people “founded by the will of Lawrence Atwell in 1588”. It’s pretty impressive to still be doing good works over 400 years after you die I reckon.

I’m quite fascinated by the way corners of an older world survive like this, and I think it’s very much tied to the survival of the buildings. It’s a lot easier to feel connected to the past if you’re standing somewhere you know people have been using for hundreds of years. The best bit though was the ceremonial entrance to the building is actually at 8½ Dowgate Hill – Harry Potter eat your heart out.

The bad news is: I failed to win the raffle. We suspect a fix, as our comparatively tiny department normally wins about half the prizes and this year we didn’t manage anything at all. Very suspicious.

On the up side, I executed the office party survival plan with great success, departing at around 9.30 for Ms Jones’s birthday drinks where arriving rather hammered meant I was right in tune with everyone else.

Making my own entertainment

2004-12-17T21:32:00.000Z

My friend Ms Jones introduced me to the concept of blogging in the summer and I've been reading her blog avidly ever since. The stresses of turning freelance recently have impacted on the frequency of her posts however, and in lieu of my daily fix I am reduced to trying to entertain myself by writing my own.

So what's in the diary for today? Tonight is the office Christmas party. I intend to follow the same plan of attack which has worked very well for the last couple of years - turn up for the champagne, dinner and prize draw and then depart for another event before the champagne really hits. Making one's own entertainment is one thing but being the entertainment is probably to be avoided - particularly in an department like mine which doesn't socialise often and comprises of mainly senior people.

Last year the other event was a friend's "leaving the country" drinks, which was a very jolly evening from which my boyfriend collected me. As he was sober he claims it felt like a long journey home listening to my illuminating account of the evening:

"I won a prize... My knees have gone wibbly... I won a prize... My knees have gone wibbly..."

This evening the delightful Ms Jones is having birthday drinks and so I shall be making my way there, once again having an excellent excuse for leaving before (hopefully) doing anything embarrassing in front of my colleagues. I am however hoping to make it three wins in three years in the prize draw first...