My birthday was on a Monday this year, so we celebrated it two days early by going out on Saturday night. Always conscious of time and the burning need to do 'stuff', I've given a lot of thought to what I want to do before I'm 30. I wanted to map this out so I'd have something to reference for the next 12 months. So, on Thursday morning I went to Woolworth's and bought myself some felt tip pens.
I started drawing. There are 10 things on the map for the year ahead:
1) Run a half-marathon (well, I managed the 10K after only 8 weeks so why not keep going?)
2) Finish the book (if only to stop being harassed by people asking 'when'?)
3) Go to a full-on music festival (no camping though)
4) Buy a red sports car (oh. yes.)
5) Go to Africa (even just Morocco. I'd happily wait longer for the five-star safari)
6) Learn to take proper photographs (Love taking snaps, but they'd be better if I were better)
7) Learn to ski properly (thrill seeker seeks part in Bond movie)
8) Learn to horse ride (someone at work went on a riding holiday through the desert to Petra. I said that would be ace and maybe I'd do it next year. She asked: "do you ride?" I said: "Not horses, no." She said: "That might be a problem." I said: "Well, I can learn.")
9) Master sign language (This is a random one. I don't know any deaf people and no one seems to 'interpret for the deaf' on Scotland Today anymore (I'd love that gig), but I figure it might be handy for venting frustration with people but in a such a way that I can keep my job; or if I'm kidnapped and need to send secret messages as to my whereabouts ... you know, if they film me ... OK, it's just random.)
10) Have visited 30 countries (Currently on 25 so would love to tick off another 5 this year).
I also drew out a 'life so far' map of all the significant things I'd done. It made me feel great because there's absolutely loads on it. And, aside from passing my driving test, living abroad for a year, graduating from uni and getting married, I've done it all in the last three years alone. It reaffirmed to me what I can achieve when I stay open to opportunities, jump at everything and put my mind to it. Good work!
On Saturday morning, I ordered some hi-viz running togs in preparation for starting up again next week. I can't wait. Then I took myself of to the hairdressers to get my highlights done (and to ask for big 60s hair for my night out). I always feel great after Emma sorts out my hair, so on my way there I decided that when I was finished I'd take myself up to Harvey Nick's to get my nails done. Well, it was my birthday.
I arrived at the Champagne Nail Bar with my ab-fab new hair and asked if they had any space for a file and polish. Amazingly they did. "What colour would you like?" the manicurist asked. "Oooh ... em... something red." "What kind of red, we have about 8 shades?" I had a look at the colours on offer at the bar. The best red was the Victoriana, but I also took a fancy to the Black Taxi (black nails are very on trend). I couldn't choose between them so the manicurist made some other suggestions. I ended up selecting an amazing dark grey colour.
Manicurist: "Any special occasion?"
Me: "Well, it's my birthday on Monday so we're going out tonight."
Manicurist: "Wow. It's my birthday on Monday too. We're like birthday twins."
Me: "uh-huh."
Manicurist: "I'm going to be 18."
Me: "Ah, that's nice. I'm not. I'm really not."
They gave me a glass of champagne while my nails were drying and I enjoyed it. Then I walked home and started getting ready. After over a week, I was finally allowed to wear eye make-up again - so I went to town with it.
Sinead, Jo and Kerry arrived and I made us all Dirty Mojitos. Kerry asked: "What's 'dirty' about them?" I said: "They've got Chlamydia." But they were dirty cause I'd made the sugar syrup with brown sugar. They checked out my life maps and said I should get them framed(I can't draw for toffee, but apparently my efforts have such "vibrancy" and "humour" as to make them endearing.) We met Mog at the restaurant and she'd handily ordered some sangria. We scoffed the delicious tapas and quaffed a few bottles of Campo Viejo Crianza. It was joyous.
I'm 29 and , surprise, surprise, it feels right.
Showing posts with label alcoholism. Show all posts
Showing posts with label alcoholism. Show all posts
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Wednesday, October 08, 2008
Red and dangerous
The date was good. He phoned me two hours before we were due to meet for dinner. "I bet you're getting ready." "No I'm not. I'm quite chilled about these things. Probably won't start getting ready for another hour yet." "Uh huh."
Of course I was getting ready. I had an active charcoal face mask on as we were speaking.
"Are you nervous?" I decided to be honest. "A little bit." "Why?" "Well, I'm worried my mouth won't work." "Lisa, from what I've seen so far, that's not even a remote possibility." The cheek of him. I liked it. I decided to be more honest. "Hey, I was also thinking how funny it would be if I turned up for dinner dressed as a man from the 1920s. You know, with a tux, slicked back hair and a monocle." "hahaha. Now that would be hilarious." Oooh. I like him even more.
We had tapas and some fab red wine. My mouth worked fine. I hadn't noticed before, but he has lovely teeth. I like nice teeth. After dinner, we went to Bramble and laid down on this cushioned bed. He introduced me to a special kind of gin. I noticed he had nice shoes. We stayed out until 2am. He walked me home. I said: "I would invite you in, but I'm not a whore". He laughed and said: "We should definitely do this again."
The 10K was good. I'd been struggling to sleep on account of it all week and then Saturday morning arrived. I packed my bag and drove over to Fife. Joleen picked me up and we headed to Inverness. We checked into the hotel and headed into town for some dinner - preferably a pasta overload.
Inverness, however, was full to bursting with runners - and they all wanted a pasta overload. Jo and I walked round the town 3 times trying to find an Italian place that had space. We asked a man for directions and he was very keen to take us there himself - but that was probably because Jo tripped when she went over to speak to him and almost head-butted him in the 'nads. We tried everywhere else, before giving up and joining the queue at Bella Italia.
I didn't sleep at all that night. I was ridiculously nervous about the race, which is nuts. I wasn't running for anybody but myself. I wasn't even being sponsored. I didn't have to do it. At 6am my alarm went off.
Jo and the others were all doing the 5K and set off for the start about 2 hours before I was due to leave. At 0930, I arrived at the Royal Academy and we all had to follow these pipers about a kilometre to the start point. It was totally surreal. I kept thinking 'people are weird and they do weird things'. The race started in the middle of a new build housing scheme, which must have been joyous for those living there. It took about two minutes to reach the starting line after the gun had gone. As I crossed the line, I started my watch and my Ipod. I was off.
The first part of the race was through the woods and it was very narrow. I had to weave in and out, running through ditches to get passed the other, slower, runners. By 4K, we were on the road. At 5K I checked my watch - 28 minutes. Pretty good. I suddenly felt comfortable. I knew I was going to make it. I just wanted to try and do it in under an hour. But I know nothing about pace. And soon after, I noticed that I was no longer passing anyone. They were all passing me. Well, apart from the ones who were stopping - right in front of me, arrgghh!
About 7KMTRS in, I was running alongside two girls in wedding dresses. They clearly weren't taking this seriously so I didn't want to be beaten by them. Then I remembered that I was dressed as a reject from FAME (red training bib emblazoned with my surname, and a red headband) and that people probably thought I was joking around too.
At 9KMTRS I got both excited and relieved. I checked my watch - 54 mins. I might just make it.
But, I swear, that last kilometre went on forever. I didn't think it was ever going to end. My thighs and my ass were really sore. And it was uphill. I got into the stadium and onto the track. I could see the finish line. Thank fuck. Then, hilariously (but somewhat annoyingly given that I struggled so much in that last kilometre) I sprinted like a mad woman and overtook pretty much everyone who was on the track. I didn't know I could get my legs that high. I crossed the line - 1:03. Not my target, but not too bad given that 8 weeks previously I barely made it from the car park to the swan pond.
Jo had snapped some pics of me on the track. Some of the funniest things I have ever seen. I look like a cross between Carl Lewis (all spread-fingered and mecahnical) and Rambo (red and dangerous). Oh yeah, and not in any way attractive.
So, next time, I will do it in under an hour.
Of course I was getting ready. I had an active charcoal face mask on as we were speaking.
"Are you nervous?" I decided to be honest. "A little bit." "Why?" "Well, I'm worried my mouth won't work." "Lisa, from what I've seen so far, that's not even a remote possibility." The cheek of him. I liked it. I decided to be more honest. "Hey, I was also thinking how funny it would be if I turned up for dinner dressed as a man from the 1920s. You know, with a tux, slicked back hair and a monocle." "hahaha. Now that would be hilarious." Oooh. I like him even more.
We had tapas and some fab red wine. My mouth worked fine. I hadn't noticed before, but he has lovely teeth. I like nice teeth. After dinner, we went to Bramble and laid down on this cushioned bed. He introduced me to a special kind of gin. I noticed he had nice shoes. We stayed out until 2am. He walked me home. I said: "I would invite you in, but I'm not a whore". He laughed and said: "We should definitely do this again."
The 10K was good. I'd been struggling to sleep on account of it all week and then Saturday morning arrived. I packed my bag and drove over to Fife. Joleen picked me up and we headed to Inverness. We checked into the hotel and headed into town for some dinner - preferably a pasta overload.
Inverness, however, was full to bursting with runners - and they all wanted a pasta overload. Jo and I walked round the town 3 times trying to find an Italian place that had space. We asked a man for directions and he was very keen to take us there himself - but that was probably because Jo tripped when she went over to speak to him and almost head-butted him in the 'nads. We tried everywhere else, before giving up and joining the queue at Bella Italia.
I didn't sleep at all that night. I was ridiculously nervous about the race, which is nuts. I wasn't running for anybody but myself. I wasn't even being sponsored. I didn't have to do it. At 6am my alarm went off.
Jo and the others were all doing the 5K and set off for the start about 2 hours before I was due to leave. At 0930, I arrived at the Royal Academy and we all had to follow these pipers about a kilometre to the start point. It was totally surreal. I kept thinking 'people are weird and they do weird things'. The race started in the middle of a new build housing scheme, which must have been joyous for those living there. It took about two minutes to reach the starting line after the gun had gone. As I crossed the line, I started my watch and my Ipod. I was off.
The first part of the race was through the woods and it was very narrow. I had to weave in and out, running through ditches to get passed the other, slower, runners. By 4K, we were on the road. At 5K I checked my watch - 28 minutes. Pretty good. I suddenly felt comfortable. I knew I was going to make it. I just wanted to try and do it in under an hour. But I know nothing about pace. And soon after, I noticed that I was no longer passing anyone. They were all passing me. Well, apart from the ones who were stopping - right in front of me, arrgghh!
About 7KMTRS in, I was running alongside two girls in wedding dresses. They clearly weren't taking this seriously so I didn't want to be beaten by them. Then I remembered that I was dressed as a reject from FAME (red training bib emblazoned with my surname, and a red headband) and that people probably thought I was joking around too.
At 9KMTRS I got both excited and relieved. I checked my watch - 54 mins. I might just make it.
But, I swear, that last kilometre went on forever. I didn't think it was ever going to end. My thighs and my ass were really sore. And it was uphill. I got into the stadium and onto the track. I could see the finish line. Thank fuck. Then, hilariously (but somewhat annoyingly given that I struggled so much in that last kilometre) I sprinted like a mad woman and overtook pretty much everyone who was on the track. I didn't know I could get my legs that high. I crossed the line - 1:03. Not my target, but not too bad given that 8 weeks previously I barely made it from the car park to the swan pond.
Jo had snapped some pics of me on the track. Some of the funniest things I have ever seen. I look like a cross between Carl Lewis (all spread-fingered and mecahnical) and Rambo (red and dangerous). Oh yeah, and not in any way attractive.
So, next time, I will do it in under an hour.
Monday, September 29, 2008
Staying warm this winter
It's very cold in the flat tonight but I'm refusing to put on the fire or the radiators because it's still only September. Also, if I get into the habit of putting that fire on now, it'll be on all the time and, given the impending financial apocalypse, I really don't need my gas meter to start ringing up numbers with the speed and ferocity of an ambitious tele-sales executive.
Speaking of financial doom, I went out for cocktails on Friday night at The Scotsman and on Saturday night at Harvey Nick's. Lots of people were doing the same; you wouldn't think there was a credit crunch. It reminded me vaguely of those paintings depicting the Gilded Age of American excess just before the Great Depression kicked in. Uh-oh.
I have a date this week with someone I actually feel quite excited about. (I'm not looking for a relationship but since I'm not putting the fire on, I could really do with something to keep me warm.) I know, who'd have thought it? The last time I felt like this about someone I was 14, so it's a lot of fun. Even if it comes to nothing, it's good to know that I can still get excited. I was beginning to wonder. (p.s. 'Dave' and I have gone back to being 'just friends'. He accepted it with good grace and humour and said: "Yeah, you're much cooler when you're not going out with you." 'Dave', on the other hand, was exactly as cool as when he wasn't going out with me. I feel he has a lot to learn about women and I need to be more honest with myself.)
A colleague from work was telling me about a guy she's just started dating. He sounds hot and she's pretty excited. All excellent news. However, she was telling me about a dinner he'd cooked the night before. He made lobster. She was suspicious that he hadn't made it himself as cooking is 'neither a great interest nor skill' for him. "What does it matter whether he caught the lobster with his teeth or whether he scooped it out of a can, it's the thought that counts." "Oh I know, and it was really good. I just wish he'd be upfront if he didn't make it himself."
"Did you have a good night though?"
"Yeah, it was great. A really nice evening."
"Excellent."
"Except..."
"What?"
"Well, it was getting quite late so Steve offered to give me a lift home. And I said: 'Well, maybe I'll just stay'. He looked a bit startled and said: 'Erm... the thing is ... my mum's here'. I said: 'What? You're kidding!' I mean, I hadn't seen hide nor hair of his mum all night. 'Where is she?' 'Erm ... she's through in one of the bedrooms. She's visiting this weekend, but she didn't want to get in the way.' 'Right, well I'm not staying if your mum's here.' 'Yeah, I'll give you a lift.' So he gave me a lift home. I still don't think he cooked that lobster himself though. I wish he'd just say."
"Oh my God. Who cares about the fucking lobster? You're dating Norman Bates."
In other news:
1)I've got my race number and champion chip through for Sunday's big race. Very excited and nervous.
2)I received a text from Careth to say she and Mark are "expecting a 'bundle of joy' in March '09". Jen said she felt the '09 part was unnecessary unless Careth has turned into an elephant since we saw her last. I clearly missed the point as I thought their insurance policy was paying out.
3)Leanne is due to deliver baby number two any day now.
4)Sinead is loved-up and she and Saul are acting like Jonathan and Jennifer Hart. I don't just mean they're being all romantic and cosy, they're actually undertaking investigative assignments in and around Kirkcaldy.
5)My ex is getting married, again, (the fool) and wants to chat through some 'unresolved stuff' from our spectacularly short-lived attempt. I'm not doing it."
I'll let you know how I get on in the big race.
Speaking of financial doom, I went out for cocktails on Friday night at The Scotsman and on Saturday night at Harvey Nick's. Lots of people were doing the same; you wouldn't think there was a credit crunch. It reminded me vaguely of those paintings depicting the Gilded Age of American excess just before the Great Depression kicked in. Uh-oh.
I have a date this week with someone I actually feel quite excited about. (I'm not looking for a relationship but since I'm not putting the fire on, I could really do with something to keep me warm.) I know, who'd have thought it? The last time I felt like this about someone I was 14, so it's a lot of fun. Even if it comes to nothing, it's good to know that I can still get excited. I was beginning to wonder. (p.s. 'Dave' and I have gone back to being 'just friends'. He accepted it with good grace and humour and said: "Yeah, you're much cooler when you're not going out with you." 'Dave', on the other hand, was exactly as cool as when he wasn't going out with me. I feel he has a lot to learn about women and I need to be more honest with myself.)
A colleague from work was telling me about a guy she's just started dating. He sounds hot and she's pretty excited. All excellent news. However, she was telling me about a dinner he'd cooked the night before. He made lobster. She was suspicious that he hadn't made it himself as cooking is 'neither a great interest nor skill' for him. "What does it matter whether he caught the lobster with his teeth or whether he scooped it out of a can, it's the thought that counts." "Oh I know, and it was really good. I just wish he'd be upfront if he didn't make it himself."
"Did you have a good night though?"
"Yeah, it was great. A really nice evening."
"Excellent."
"Except..."
"What?"
"Well, it was getting quite late so Steve offered to give me a lift home. And I said: 'Well, maybe I'll just stay'. He looked a bit startled and said: 'Erm... the thing is ... my mum's here'. I said: 'What? You're kidding!' I mean, I hadn't seen hide nor hair of his mum all night. 'Where is she?' 'Erm ... she's through in one of the bedrooms. She's visiting this weekend, but she didn't want to get in the way.' 'Right, well I'm not staying if your mum's here.' 'Yeah, I'll give you a lift.' So he gave me a lift home. I still don't think he cooked that lobster himself though. I wish he'd just say."
"Oh my God. Who cares about the fucking lobster? You're dating Norman Bates."
In other news:
1)I've got my race number and champion chip through for Sunday's big race. Very excited and nervous.
2)I received a text from Careth to say she and Mark are "expecting a 'bundle of joy' in March '09". Jen said she felt the '09 part was unnecessary unless Careth has turned into an elephant since we saw her last. I clearly missed the point as I thought their insurance policy was paying out.
3)Leanne is due to deliver baby number two any day now.
4)Sinead is loved-up and she and Saul are acting like Jonathan and Jennifer Hart. I don't just mean they're being all romantic and cosy, they're actually undertaking investigative assignments in and around Kirkcaldy.
5)My ex is getting married, again, (the fool) and wants to chat through some 'unresolved stuff' from our spectacularly short-lived attempt. I'm not doing it."
I'll let you know how I get on in the big race.
Monday, April 03, 2006
The vodka monster returneth
Why am I such a weirdo when I'm drunk? Why, why, why, why, why?
Ok, so what I didn't say, when I was blogging for the love of tea on Saturday, was that I was quietly dying and (less quietly) wretching my sorry little soul out. Whilst it is indeed true that the arrival of the teapot was my favourite part of Friday night, I neglected to mention that I later welcomed the arrival of Queen Mother (God rest her soul) quantities of gin and even more vodka.
What I learned today, when I finally turned up at work, was that I am no ordinary drunk. Oh no baby! Not for me the crying nor the fighting nor even the sexual deviance of normal inebriated beings. Oh no, when I get pished I ... wait for it ... interview people; random strangers - about all manner of things.
How bizarre is that?
Apparently, I spent large parts of Friday evening dancing my way over to complete strangers whereupon, I'm told, I whipped out a pad and pen and began asking them - like some kind of demented Joseph Rowntree - about their jobs, their relationships, their health, and their feelings on the sorry state of Italy.
On Sunday evening, I had been puzzled to discover that my notebook was full of complete and utter pish I couldn't explain, so at least my colleagues' playful jests helped clear that one up. The notebook also contains around 20 email addresses next to which I've written: "Email with voucher for free meal." "Oh, that's right", said one of my colleagues, "you told everyone you interviewed that they'd get a free meal courtesy of Le Monde."
I am, of course, disturbed by this behaviour because it is truly class A, nutjob stuff, but I find it even more worrying that a significant number of people actually entertained what must have been the incoherent ramblings of a total steamer.
Never again, I promise, promise, promise.
Ok, so what I didn't say, when I was blogging for the love of tea on Saturday, was that I was quietly dying and (less quietly) wretching my sorry little soul out. Whilst it is indeed true that the arrival of the teapot was my favourite part of Friday night, I neglected to mention that I later welcomed the arrival of Queen Mother (God rest her soul) quantities of gin and even more vodka.
What I learned today, when I finally turned up at work, was that I am no ordinary drunk. Oh no baby! Not for me the crying nor the fighting nor even the sexual deviance of normal inebriated beings. Oh no, when I get pished I ... wait for it ... interview people; random strangers - about all manner of things.
How bizarre is that?
Apparently, I spent large parts of Friday evening dancing my way over to complete strangers whereupon, I'm told, I whipped out a pad and pen and began asking them - like some kind of demented Joseph Rowntree - about their jobs, their relationships, their health, and their feelings on the sorry state of Italy.
On Sunday evening, I had been puzzled to discover that my notebook was full of complete and utter pish I couldn't explain, so at least my colleagues' playful jests helped clear that one up. The notebook also contains around 20 email addresses next to which I've written: "Email with voucher for free meal." "Oh, that's right", said one of my colleagues, "you told everyone you interviewed that they'd get a free meal courtesy of Le Monde."
I am, of course, disturbed by this behaviour because it is truly class A, nutjob stuff, but I find it even more worrying that a significant number of people actually entertained what must have been the incoherent ramblings of a total steamer.
Never again, I promise, promise, promise.
Friday, March 03, 2006
New job, new jargon
It is official. I am a number. 698 to be precise.
Week one of the new job is now firmly tucked under my belt, along with the quality offerings of the cafeteria (in a somewhat less firm, tummy-jiggling way). On Tuesday afternoon I almost swan-dived from the third floor window from the sheer boredom of the induction, but by Wednesday I was getting down to some work and got back to chewing my pen rather than my proximal phalanx.
I must say, coming from a company employing 5 people to one that employs almost everyone in Edinburgh is something of a culture shock. I feel like I'm back at school - although this is most likely exacerbated by the fact that the cafeteria has big long tables and I've been washing down my lunch with a carton of milk. I actually felt 'shy' (curb your laughter please, it does happen to me occasionally) for the first couple of days.
I have to wear a security pass (with a photo that makes my hair look positively yellow and my complexion like that of a long-term heroin addict. The photo does, however, boast a particularly nice smile that detracts from the other stuff. Thank goodness for small mercies). I have to clock in and out at lunchtimes and use my security pass to pay for lunch. The first thing I did on day one was to check the intranet to find out what and where I get discount. It turns out I am now entitled to 20% off at my hairdresser - bonus.
All my colleagues are very, very nice and pretty darn funny. As of yet, no one has revealed themselves to be a nutter. They do all talk in acronyms though and I'm finding that a bit baffling. I imagine it's not too dissimilar to being in government during the FDR administration. Apart from that, I can't believe how much easier this job is than my last one and the fact that I'm being paid so much more for doing it - big fat bonus.
Last Saturday night was good fun (for the most part). Sam cooked dinner at his flat for me, Ali G, Ali Al-J, Helen, Antonio and Anabel. He made a top-notch cassoulet, and poached pears for dessert. The banter was very interesting and I felt somewhat overwhelmed by the intellectual content. I responded (as I always do in such situations) by drinking copious amounts of red wine. When the red wine ran out, I moved onto whisky - putting a serious dent in Sam's collection of malts. Never a good move. Flashbacks on Sunday lead me to believe I got so pished I attempted to "hold court" (cringe, cringe) and moved from topic to topic with the speed of a gazelle and the clarity of John Prescott. At 4:30 am I was challenging Ali G to a "whisky-downing" contest. Thankfully, Sam stopped me and put me to bed.
I woke up some four hours later in a thoroughly deep state of remorse (oh yeah, and sick as a dog). The post-binge self-loathing and guilt kicked in. Sam received a text about me being "an unholy mess of a girl(???)", while Mog got one that simply said: "I am dead. Charity donations to AA in lieu of flowers". By 6pm that evening, things were definitely better. Sam and I went to the Cameo to see Capote. It was excellent - definitely one of the best films I've seen in the last few years.
On Monday night, after my first day of work, I met up with Mog, Moranna, Laura and Jo for some eats and drinks at Sygn. Deb couldn't make it as her one good lung was playing up, which was a real pity cause I haven't seen her for ages. On Tuesday, I had my first stint of babysitting for Ella. Leanne and Craig took themselves out for a meal and a couple of drinks. Ella didn't make a peep all night (she is truly the best baby ever!) and I told Leanne this when she called at 11pm to ask for a wee bit longer. "She is still alive though, right?" she asked. I hadn't checked on her until this point and did so when I got off the phone. The bedroom was really dark and I couldn't see her cot so it took me quite a while to locate her. When I did she was making little baby breathing sounds (so sweet) so I went back to watching TV.
Cartons of milk, feelings of shyness and evenings spent babysitting - I do indeed feel like a 14 year old again. Next thing you know I'll be sporting an alice band.
Week one of the new job is now firmly tucked under my belt, along with the quality offerings of the cafeteria (in a somewhat less firm, tummy-jiggling way). On Tuesday afternoon I almost swan-dived from the third floor window from the sheer boredom of the induction, but by Wednesday I was getting down to some work and got back to chewing my pen rather than my proximal phalanx.
I must say, coming from a company employing 5 people to one that employs almost everyone in Edinburgh is something of a culture shock. I feel like I'm back at school - although this is most likely exacerbated by the fact that the cafeteria has big long tables and I've been washing down my lunch with a carton of milk. I actually felt 'shy' (curb your laughter please, it does happen to me occasionally) for the first couple of days.
I have to wear a security pass (with a photo that makes my hair look positively yellow and my complexion like that of a long-term heroin addict. The photo does, however, boast a particularly nice smile that detracts from the other stuff. Thank goodness for small mercies). I have to clock in and out at lunchtimes and use my security pass to pay for lunch. The first thing I did on day one was to check the intranet to find out what and where I get discount. It turns out I am now entitled to 20% off at my hairdresser - bonus.
All my colleagues are very, very nice and pretty darn funny. As of yet, no one has revealed themselves to be a nutter. They do all talk in acronyms though and I'm finding that a bit baffling. I imagine it's not too dissimilar to being in government during the FDR administration. Apart from that, I can't believe how much easier this job is than my last one and the fact that I'm being paid so much more for doing it - big fat bonus.
Last Saturday night was good fun (for the most part). Sam cooked dinner at his flat for me, Ali G, Ali Al-J, Helen, Antonio and Anabel. He made a top-notch cassoulet, and poached pears for dessert. The banter was very interesting and I felt somewhat overwhelmed by the intellectual content. I responded (as I always do in such situations) by drinking copious amounts of red wine. When the red wine ran out, I moved onto whisky - putting a serious dent in Sam's collection of malts. Never a good move. Flashbacks on Sunday lead me to believe I got so pished I attempted to "hold court" (cringe, cringe) and moved from topic to topic with the speed of a gazelle and the clarity of John Prescott. At 4:30 am I was challenging Ali G to a "whisky-downing" contest. Thankfully, Sam stopped me and put me to bed.
I woke up some four hours later in a thoroughly deep state of remorse (oh yeah, and sick as a dog). The post-binge self-loathing and guilt kicked in. Sam received a text about me being "an unholy mess of a girl(???)", while Mog got one that simply said: "I am dead. Charity donations to AA in lieu of flowers". By 6pm that evening, things were definitely better. Sam and I went to the Cameo to see Capote. It was excellent - definitely one of the best films I've seen in the last few years.
On Monday night, after my first day of work, I met up with Mog, Moranna, Laura and Jo for some eats and drinks at Sygn. Deb couldn't make it as her one good lung was playing up, which was a real pity cause I haven't seen her for ages. On Tuesday, I had my first stint of babysitting for Ella. Leanne and Craig took themselves out for a meal and a couple of drinks. Ella didn't make a peep all night (she is truly the best baby ever!) and I told Leanne this when she called at 11pm to ask for a wee bit longer. "She is still alive though, right?" she asked. I hadn't checked on her until this point and did so when I got off the phone. The bedroom was really dark and I couldn't see her cot so it took me quite a while to locate her. When I did she was making little baby breathing sounds (so sweet) so I went back to watching TV.
Cartons of milk, feelings of shyness and evenings spent babysitting - I do indeed feel like a 14 year old again. Next thing you know I'll be sporting an alice band.
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