Getting ready

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.

I beg to differ

Well ... it had to happen sooner or later and I'm surprised (and glad) it's taken as long as eight months. Work, over the last three weeks, has been turgid, frustrating, exasperating - and I feel like I've been fighting with everyone.

Issue 3 (henceforth to be known as 'the difficult third issue') was running smoothly. Then something that was supposed to happen on the 1st September (when the magazine was originally supposed to be out) was postponed until 5th October, which meant I couldn't mention it in the mag and had to find a new feature for two of the editions and another news story for the other two editions - this was the day before it was due to go to print. I managed it and breathed a sigh of relief.

Then, when all the copies of the magazine had been printed, dried and almost stitched, I received a phone call. "Lisa, what would be the cost/time implications of binning the magazine? We need to add a new double-page feature." I knew at that moment all bets were off and we'd be lucky to get a magazine out before the middle of October.

I was right. Twice this week, the head of the company, has read the article and given the constructive feedback that it is "pish". Meanwhile, I'm fielding calls from around the world from people demanding to know when the magazine will be out and why it is delayed. The first question, I can't answer and the second one I'm not allowed to answer.

The delayed magazine has implications for a massive world-wide project being done by another department, so they call me about 30 times a day asking for an update. I kept telling them I didn't have one, but when I did they'd be the first to know. But, when the second 'pish' comment came through yesterday I was told I wasn't allowed to tell them we still hadn't found a resolution. Brilliant.

Then, the cherry on the top of my cake, completely out of left-field one of my colleagues asked me if 'Dave' was 'the one'. I laughed and told her I didn't subscribe to the concept of 'the one'. She said: "Do you want him to father your children?" I said: "God no, I don't want anyone to do that." And she said: "Oh you will."

I was completely shocked. I knew she wasn't meaning to be horrible or anything so I didn't stab her with my fork. Instead, I just laughed and said: "Well maybe I will, and maybe I won't, but I'm not going to go around making decisions based on how I might or might not feel in future. Maybe I won't be looking after grandchildren, maybe I'll be scuba diving somewhere exotic, maybe I'll be dictating best-selling novels - maybe I'll be dictating them to my grandchildren. Who knows?"

Could you imagine how crap your life would be if you made all your decisions based on how you think you might feel when you're retired? I'd be miserable because I'd be pumping all my money into a pension, which would mean I'd look like shit, never go on holiday, never go out for dinner or drinks, and never get my red sports-car. I might even have married someone I didn't fancy just because they were sensible and dependable and put all their money in a pension too. I might have had children. I might spend my days fretting about the fact that I might get to retiring and wonder what my life's all been about - because it certainly wasn't about me.

Lisa, your writing is pish and your life is pitiful. Ha, ha, ha - I beg to differ.