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 eating out. Show all posts
Showing posts with label eating out. 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.
Friday, September 29, 2006
Jen & Gary update
I had dinner with Leanne last night at Muang Thai on Hanover Street. After my holiday stories and Leanne's great news around her job (and, of course, a totally cool update on all the new things baby Ella can do since I saw her last), Leanne confessed that she'd recently checked Jen & Gary's blog.
You may remember Jen & Gary as the couple I slated in one of my previous entries. At the time, Leanne and I had a good old bitch about Jen and how pathetic she was. That was before Leanne read their blog in its entirety and informed me that they were struggling to conceive and Jen really wanted fertility treatment but Gary said she had to get a job first.
We went from feeling sorry for Gary having to put up with her, to agreeing that he probably got some sick pleasure from encouraging this in her. Poor Jen!
Anyway, last night I found out (from Leanne) that they are going for the fertility treatment. "How lovely!" I said. "I hope he never leaves her."
"So do I," Leanne agreed, "but I suspect he probably will." I nodded in quiet agreement.
"But," said Leanne, "by that time she may have her baby and the dogs she loves, and be perfectly content without Gary"
"I think that might be the Nirvana an increasing number of women are searching for," I said having read an article on this a while ago. "Kinda like 'I love you, thank you, goodbye'."
Getting back to the subject of lovely togetherness, congratulations to Careth & Mark who got engaged a few weeks ago. Luckily, Mark got a very good review in my blog. I will encourage them to start up a 'Careth & Mark' blog where they can update their readers, much in the same way as Jen & Gary do, on home improvements, weeding the garden, lime-squeezing and other lovey-dovey stuff. Oooh, oooh, oooh, maybe they'd be up for a transatlantic 'wife-swap' for a TV special. Yes, I think it just might work.
You may remember Jen & Gary as the couple I slated in one of my previous entries. At the time, Leanne and I had a good old bitch about Jen and how pathetic she was. That was before Leanne read their blog in its entirety and informed me that they were struggling to conceive and Jen really wanted fertility treatment but Gary said she had to get a job first.
We went from feeling sorry for Gary having to put up with her, to agreeing that he probably got some sick pleasure from encouraging this in her. Poor Jen!
Anyway, last night I found out (from Leanne) that they are going for the fertility treatment. "How lovely!" I said. "I hope he never leaves her."
"So do I," Leanne agreed, "but I suspect he probably will." I nodded in quiet agreement.
"But," said Leanne, "by that time she may have her baby and the dogs she loves, and be perfectly content without Gary"
"I think that might be the Nirvana an increasing number of women are searching for," I said having read an article on this a while ago. "Kinda like 'I love you, thank you, goodbye'."
Getting back to the subject of lovely togetherness, congratulations to Careth & Mark who got engaged a few weeks ago. Luckily, Mark got a very good review in my blog. I will encourage them to start up a 'Careth & Mark' blog where they can update their readers, much in the same way as Jen & Gary do, on home improvements, weeding the garden, lime-squeezing and other lovey-dovey stuff. Oooh, oooh, oooh, maybe they'd be up for a transatlantic 'wife-swap' for a TV special. Yes, I think it just might work.
Sunday, August 20, 2006
Not so Keane on Jesus
Okay, so no Keane. They have decided to cancel their concert in Princes Street Gardens on account of exhaustion. Big bunch of girls. I prefer Snow Patrol anyway - so there!
This week has been busy but not necessarily with anything particularly exciting. For that reason I should probably stop this entry right here. But I won't because, well, it's never stopped me in the past and I'm here now - writing stuff.
Work has been good. Very busy, which keeps my mind off fun things and my eyes off the clock. I've designed a suite of posters to promote the marketing department internally. I wanted to get across the idea that the department now had the staff and the time to do some proper marketing. That we are 'open for business again', so to speak.
The first poster I came up with said 'Back again' with a nice smiley picture of Jesus. I loved it and think Jesus is an underused marketing tool in the financial services sector. However, I opted for self-censorship and relegated 'Jesu' to my drawer. He has now been replaced by Dirty Den in one poster and Bobby from Dallas in another. Quality.
I was asked to come up with some creative ideas for a short movie file promoting pensions. I'm actually quite excited about this, which is now depressing me. How bad must it be when I'm excited by pensions? I think I'll go slash my wrists with my Coldplay CD. (Repeat to self: my job pays the bills!)
Leanne and I had dinner at David Bann on Tuesday night. It was so good we didn't bother going to see a Festival show as planned. Instead, we ordered the Amaretto Marscarpone cheesecake and took our time over it. It was an excellent night made more so by the realisation that food, wine and chat with a good friend is preferable to a professional comedian.
On Thursday evening, I endured my first hockey training session. Two hours, three minor injuries and a static wheeze later I hobbled home. Truly knackered, I immediately drew a hot bubble bath and indulged my desperate muscles. Hopefully, the addition of fitness training on Tuesdays will mean the sessions get easier. I live in hope.
I treated myself to an afternoon showing of 'Easy Living' at the Filmhouse during my lunch hour on Friday. I expected it to be quite empty, but Cinema 1 was rammed. It was top-quality screwball and I loved every minute of it. When the boy and the girl get together at the end, his long disapproving father gives him a job. He tells the girl she has a job too - "cooking my breakfast." What a proposal! I returned to work in a delightful mood for the rest of the day.
The office summer BBQ on Friday night was really quite pish. It was pouring with rain, there was a poor turnout, I was about the only one dancing and I left my umbrella in the club at the end of the night.
Saturday was much better. Another great film at the Filmhouse (The Laughing Policeman) and dinner with Sinead afterwards. I was ravenous and longing for a steak, so we eventually ended up at the Smokestack in Leith. My medium-rare fillet steak and chips went down an absolute treat. We chatted deeply for hours until we realised that Sinead might miss the last train. A taxi to Waverely meant she was just in time for her rowdy journey home.
Today I depressed myself by reading all about the Horn of Africa. (How much for that Russian AK-47? Why sir, that'll set you back three cows. And the US M-16? Oh, that'll be five cows. Well I'll take that then since there's no vegetaion to feed my cows and an M-16 will do a better job of shifting the 6,000 desperate souls who are sleeping on my football field-sized plot of land. Maybe it'll convince them to head for the port and try to secure passage to the Yemen in a death-trap steel container on a rickety ship that's likely to sink with the loss of all life before the appearance of the Yemeni officials forces the smugglers to toss their human cargo into the carnivore-infested waters or maybe they'll join me in a war with the Ethiopians across the desert. That Bin Laden guy sure speaks a lot of sense.) It's a mire of such complete desolate hopelessness that I don't think there's even the hint of a solution. Governments aren't talking about it - not so much because they don't care (which they don't), but more so because their shocking impotence would be laid bare for all to see. The Middle East is child's play compared to this.
But that's too depressing a note on which to end this entry. Sinead said to me last night: "When something doesn't go to plan, people have a tendency to set themselves in a pessimistic frame of mind. They think things can only ever be worse, but a lot of the time things turn out better than they could have imagined." From the long list of personal success stories I've been acquiring, I know that's true. She was talking in the context of a personal issue rather than a global one, but it would be pretty damn skippy if the world got a break too.
This week has been busy but not necessarily with anything particularly exciting. For that reason I should probably stop this entry right here. But I won't because, well, it's never stopped me in the past and I'm here now - writing stuff.
Work has been good. Very busy, which keeps my mind off fun things and my eyes off the clock. I've designed a suite of posters to promote the marketing department internally. I wanted to get across the idea that the department now had the staff and the time to do some proper marketing. That we are 'open for business again', so to speak.
The first poster I came up with said 'Back again' with a nice smiley picture of Jesus. I loved it and think Jesus is an underused marketing tool in the financial services sector. However, I opted for self-censorship and relegated 'Jesu' to my drawer. He has now been replaced by Dirty Den in one poster and Bobby from Dallas in another. Quality.
I was asked to come up with some creative ideas for a short movie file promoting pensions. I'm actually quite excited about this, which is now depressing me. How bad must it be when I'm excited by pensions? I think I'll go slash my wrists with my Coldplay CD. (Repeat to self: my job pays the bills!)
Leanne and I had dinner at David Bann on Tuesday night. It was so good we didn't bother going to see a Festival show as planned. Instead, we ordered the Amaretto Marscarpone cheesecake and took our time over it. It was an excellent night made more so by the realisation that food, wine and chat with a good friend is preferable to a professional comedian.
On Thursday evening, I endured my first hockey training session. Two hours, three minor injuries and a static wheeze later I hobbled home. Truly knackered, I immediately drew a hot bubble bath and indulged my desperate muscles. Hopefully, the addition of fitness training on Tuesdays will mean the sessions get easier. I live in hope.
I treated myself to an afternoon showing of 'Easy Living' at the Filmhouse during my lunch hour on Friday. I expected it to be quite empty, but Cinema 1 was rammed. It was top-quality screwball and I loved every minute of it. When the boy and the girl get together at the end, his long disapproving father gives him a job. He tells the girl she has a job too - "cooking my breakfast." What a proposal! I returned to work in a delightful mood for the rest of the day.
The office summer BBQ on Friday night was really quite pish. It was pouring with rain, there was a poor turnout, I was about the only one dancing and I left my umbrella in the club at the end of the night.
Saturday was much better. Another great film at the Filmhouse (The Laughing Policeman) and dinner with Sinead afterwards. I was ravenous and longing for a steak, so we eventually ended up at the Smokestack in Leith. My medium-rare fillet steak and chips went down an absolute treat. We chatted deeply for hours until we realised that Sinead might miss the last train. A taxi to Waverely meant she was just in time for her rowdy journey home.
Today I depressed myself by reading all about the Horn of Africa. (How much for that Russian AK-47? Why sir, that'll set you back three cows. And the US M-16? Oh, that'll be five cows. Well I'll take that then since there's no vegetaion to feed my cows and an M-16 will do a better job of shifting the 6,000 desperate souls who are sleeping on my football field-sized plot of land. Maybe it'll convince them to head for the port and try to secure passage to the Yemen in a death-trap steel container on a rickety ship that's likely to sink with the loss of all life before the appearance of the Yemeni officials forces the smugglers to toss their human cargo into the carnivore-infested waters or maybe they'll join me in a war with the Ethiopians across the desert. That Bin Laden guy sure speaks a lot of sense.) It's a mire of such complete desolate hopelessness that I don't think there's even the hint of a solution. Governments aren't talking about it - not so much because they don't care (which they don't), but more so because their shocking impotence would be laid bare for all to see. The Middle East is child's play compared to this.
But that's too depressing a note on which to end this entry. Sinead said to me last night: "When something doesn't go to plan, people have a tendency to set themselves in a pessimistic frame of mind. They think things can only ever be worse, but a lot of the time things turn out better than they could have imagined." From the long list of personal success stories I've been acquiring, I know that's true. She was talking in the context of a personal issue rather than a global one, but it would be pretty damn skippy if the world got a break too.
Monday, August 14, 2006
Sofa so good
Festival excellence. Jen made the trip up from Liverpool and we both made the most of the weekend.
My shin pads, gum shield, hockey stick and pink hockey glitter ball all arrived in time for Thursday's game, and I noticed a marked difference in my willingness to get 'stuck in'. My blue gum shield makes me look particularly attractive and, according to its instructions, I can 'breathe, talk and spit!". Oh how people will flock to me.
After the game, I had a rather embarrassing encounter with a friend of a friend. As we said our goodbyes, I saw he intended to kiss me on the lips. Uncomfortable with this, I lowered my head to silently plead with the ground to open up and swallow me. Unfortunately, Mr Trying-His-Luck had decided to part his lips, which meant I ended up with my nose in his mouth. Hello, awkward!
Kelly, Tim, Kate, Steven and I headed out for drinks at Baroque after work on Friday. I'd only intended to stay for one but ended up just walking straight from the pub to the station to meet Jen. We dropped Jen's stuff off at the flat then headed out to Shapla for an Indian takeaway. We started the weekend as we meant to go on by ordering the 'special' lentils as a side dish.
It was so good to catch-up and even better over some great food and wine. We chatted non-stop about all manner of things until about 2:45am. Jen slept on the new sofa and informed me that it is most comfortable.
On Saturday, we bought almond croissants from the Manna House and fought our way along Princes Street. As we were heading out to Careth's new house for her house-warming party, we stopped in at M&S to buy a gift. We opted for a gorgeous fuschia orchid, which Jen christened Olivier, and a bottle of pink cava. After eating our sandwiches and croissants, and indulging in the sun in the gardens, we stopped at the bus stop to catch the no. 22. I had the honour of carrying Olivier through the thronging masses and noted that he was attracting a fair bit of attention. "Absolutely beautiful" exclaimed one woman, to which Jen remarked: "Olivier! You cad!"
We then decided to carry out a little psychological experiment to see how many smiles we could induce by casually placing Olivier in front of people's faces. It was remarkable. I noted he drew almost as many smiles from men as he did women, though it was only old ladies who actually commented on his beauty. Jen would identify prime candidates for a comment and I would try to keep Olivier in their faces for as long as possible. We thoroughly amused ourselves in this way for about 20 minutes. At which point we realised that there were no buses on Princes Street. We walked to Lothian Road, by way of a massive (and unintentional) diversion, where we waited another 20 minutes before the no 22 picked us up and took us to Careth's new place.
We presented Careth with her gifts (voici Olivier!) and had the privilege of meeting her boyfriend, Mark, for the first time. He is a lovely guy and both Jen and I confided that we were pleased Careth had someone as wonderful as she deserves. Happiness!
A delicious meal at The Apartment, followed by a stroll across the Meadows brought us to Bristo Square. We went to see a comedienne called Carrie Quinlan who was very likeable and quite funny, but who Jen and I agreed, could have got a lot more out of the material. The highlight of our weekend came at 22:40pm when we went to see Simon Amstell. He opened up with the line: "Matel brought out wheelchair Barbie a few years ago", and it was a great show. As we walked home, Jen and I both admitted we kinda fancied him which adds yet another gay guy to my list.
On Sunday, we took a leisurely stroll along by the Water of Leith and stopped in at the King's Wark for some breakfast. Jen made her train by the skin of her teeth and I looked forward to another Monday morning spent at work - yeah right!
Next week: The film festival, Snow Patrol & Keane.
My shin pads, gum shield, hockey stick and pink hockey glitter ball all arrived in time for Thursday's game, and I noticed a marked difference in my willingness to get 'stuck in'. My blue gum shield makes me look particularly attractive and, according to its instructions, I can 'breathe, talk and spit!". Oh how people will flock to me.
After the game, I had a rather embarrassing encounter with a friend of a friend. As we said our goodbyes, I saw he intended to kiss me on the lips. Uncomfortable with this, I lowered my head to silently plead with the ground to open up and swallow me. Unfortunately, Mr Trying-His-Luck had decided to part his lips, which meant I ended up with my nose in his mouth. Hello, awkward!
Kelly, Tim, Kate, Steven and I headed out for drinks at Baroque after work on Friday. I'd only intended to stay for one but ended up just walking straight from the pub to the station to meet Jen. We dropped Jen's stuff off at the flat then headed out to Shapla for an Indian takeaway. We started the weekend as we meant to go on by ordering the 'special' lentils as a side dish.
It was so good to catch-up and even better over some great food and wine. We chatted non-stop about all manner of things until about 2:45am. Jen slept on the new sofa and informed me that it is most comfortable.
On Saturday, we bought almond croissants from the Manna House and fought our way along Princes Street. As we were heading out to Careth's new house for her house-warming party, we stopped in at M&S to buy a gift. We opted for a gorgeous fuschia orchid, which Jen christened Olivier, and a bottle of pink cava. After eating our sandwiches and croissants, and indulging in the sun in the gardens, we stopped at the bus stop to catch the no. 22. I had the honour of carrying Olivier through the thronging masses and noted that he was attracting a fair bit of attention. "Absolutely beautiful" exclaimed one woman, to which Jen remarked: "Olivier! You cad!"
We then decided to carry out a little psychological experiment to see how many smiles we could induce by casually placing Olivier in front of people's faces. It was remarkable. I noted he drew almost as many smiles from men as he did women, though it was only old ladies who actually commented on his beauty. Jen would identify prime candidates for a comment and I would try to keep Olivier in their faces for as long as possible. We thoroughly amused ourselves in this way for about 20 minutes. At which point we realised that there were no buses on Princes Street. We walked to Lothian Road, by way of a massive (and unintentional) diversion, where we waited another 20 minutes before the no 22 picked us up and took us to Careth's new place.
We presented Careth with her gifts (voici Olivier!) and had the privilege of meeting her boyfriend, Mark, for the first time. He is a lovely guy and both Jen and I confided that we were pleased Careth had someone as wonderful as she deserves. Happiness!
A delicious meal at The Apartment, followed by a stroll across the Meadows brought us to Bristo Square. We went to see a comedienne called Carrie Quinlan who was very likeable and quite funny, but who Jen and I agreed, could have got a lot more out of the material. The highlight of our weekend came at 22:40pm when we went to see Simon Amstell. He opened up with the line: "Matel brought out wheelchair Barbie a few years ago", and it was a great show. As we walked home, Jen and I both admitted we kinda fancied him which adds yet another gay guy to my list.
On Sunday, we took a leisurely stroll along by the Water of Leith and stopped in at the King's Wark for some breakfast. Jen made her train by the skin of her teeth and I looked forward to another Monday morning spent at work - yeah right!
Next week: The film festival, Snow Patrol & Keane.
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
Teeth, hips and sips of tea
So it is true that the only thing harder to find these days than decent help is an NHS dentist.
My old dentist decided to go private so I found myself tasked with finding a replacement. I called NHS Direct and was given the number of a service which would list all the dentists in my area accepting NHS patients. There are, as it turns out, only three dentists in the 'Edinburgh area' who are willing to take on NHS patients; one in Morningside, one in Craigmillar and one in Portobello. As I don't consider Portobello to be in the 'Edinburgh area' and a visit to a Craigmillar dentist would probably result in my teeth being knocked out on the way, I opted for the dentist in Morningside. I made an appointment and took a bus out there in my lunch-hour. My dentist told me he'd been living in Marbella for the last eight years and had made a fortune, and that's why he was now offering NHS care; doing his bit for society and all that. It didn't stop him from trying to encourage me to opt for a few private treatments though!
At the risk of sounding a bit like 'Jen' of 'Jen & Gary' infamy, another task I found difficult and stressful was shopping with a baby and an 8-year old. It's not that I've ever looked on parenting as a walk in the park, it's just that seeing your university flat-mate doing it really puts things into perspective.
Leanne had told me some time ago that she could do with some new clothes, especially as she is returning to work following maternity leave. She admitted that six months of parenting had left her slightly overwhelmed by the prospect of clothes-shopping and I, in true Trinny&Susannah style, volunteered my fashionista services.
We finally got round to Leanne's shopping trip last Saturday. It was supposed to be just us, but then Craig was paintballing for his nephew's 21st birthday and couldn't look after Ella. Then Skye, Craig's 8-year old daughter, wanted to come with us too.
I met Leanne and the kids at the Gallery cafe. We started our shopping experience in Next. Right away, it was difficult navigating the shop floor with the buggy. Getting the buggy into the changing rooms was even more problematic. Skye was really well behaved, but - like any child - still needs to be listened to and interacted with. Ella is a superstar, but got a bit upset when she woke up. As a result, Leanne tried on items of clothing as quickly as she could, I held Ella and soothed her while offering feedback on Leanne's outfits, and we both tried our best to chat to Skye.
One shop down and Ella needed to be fed, watered and changed. We went to Debenhams cafe. Leanne and Ella took the elevator. Skye wanted to use the escalator, so I went with her. An hour later and we hit another shop. To save the effort of taking the buggy round, I did a quick reconnaissance of Per Una but found nothing doing.
Skye had been an angel, so Leanne agreed to take her to Jenners toy department. Once inside, I realised the time and hassle it would be for us to take Ella downstairs, so I offered to wait in the perfumery department with the buggy. Leanne was visibly relieved.
As I was walking around the store, I struggled to weave in and out of the displays and became convinced that I was going to knock everything over if I didn't get out NOW! I struggled to open the shop doors, struggled to get the buggy through, and, finally, struggled down the two front steps and into the sunshine.
Lastly, we ventured onto Dorothy Perkins, Principles and Top Shop - which is the least buggy-friendly shop in the world. (Strange considering it is the M&S of teenage mums.) The elevators were so old that I had to fight to get the buggy into the lift. By this point we were all tired, thirsty and hungry. I, in my non-mother state, suggested we go to Vin Caffe. This was a bad idea. There was no plain food that Skye liked. The tables were cramped and the toilets were all the way upstairs - sans baby-changing facilities - making it difficult for Leanne to change Ella.
By this time, Leanne had to be getting back to start Ella's bedtime routine. We said goodbye and Leanne almost wept with gratitude. After only a few hours as an extra pair of hands, I could see why. I now completely understand why some women give birth and then never ever want to leave the house again.
Saturday night, I headed out to Hendrick's to meet Mog and Kwan-Nga. Mog had invited us out to a football awards dinner that one of her colleagues was involved in. We went upstairs in the Golfe Tavern, to a room that smelt ominously of sweaty men, farts and chicken wings. In an effort to create some sort of air circulation, we danced solidly for the next three hours. Afterwards I began to fear my style of dancing might make me a prime candidate for a hip replacement in the not too distant future.
As we walked home, my hips, thighs and knees were all still singing. I think my problem is that I dance from the hips down, with all my movement concentrated in the thigh department (which, I know, sounds like some pretty weird dancing).
On Sunday morning I woke up, still aching and barely able to move, and thought "this is what Harrison Ford must feel like these days". I then realised I hadn't put my incontinence pants on and had to pull the emergency chord for help.
Andrew came to visit and we enjoyed a leisurely stroll along the Water of Leith, followed by a Peroni and a lemon sorbet in Pizza Express. I was thoroughly exhausted by the time Andrew left. Determined not to be thwarted in my bid for jogging-suit & DVD combo heaven this Sunday, I applied the jogging-suit, turned off both phones and flicked the buzzer to privacy.
I settled back on the sofa with a cup of tea. The window was open. I could hear the birds quietly chirping and nothing else. The sun was just starting to go down and the air was still. I took a sip of tea, let my head fall back against the sofa and almost had an orgasm from the sheer bliss of it all. I tried to imprint that moment into my memory.
I succeeded; in the short term at least, because I recaptured it at work on Monday morning and spent the rest of the day in afterglow.
My old dentist decided to go private so I found myself tasked with finding a replacement. I called NHS Direct and was given the number of a service which would list all the dentists in my area accepting NHS patients. There are, as it turns out, only three dentists in the 'Edinburgh area' who are willing to take on NHS patients; one in Morningside, one in Craigmillar and one in Portobello. As I don't consider Portobello to be in the 'Edinburgh area' and a visit to a Craigmillar dentist would probably result in my teeth being knocked out on the way, I opted for the dentist in Morningside. I made an appointment and took a bus out there in my lunch-hour. My dentist told me he'd been living in Marbella for the last eight years and had made a fortune, and that's why he was now offering NHS care; doing his bit for society and all that. It didn't stop him from trying to encourage me to opt for a few private treatments though!
At the risk of sounding a bit like 'Jen' of 'Jen & Gary' infamy, another task I found difficult and stressful was shopping with a baby and an 8-year old. It's not that I've ever looked on parenting as a walk in the park, it's just that seeing your university flat-mate doing it really puts things into perspective.
Leanne had told me some time ago that she could do with some new clothes, especially as she is returning to work following maternity leave. She admitted that six months of parenting had left her slightly overwhelmed by the prospect of clothes-shopping and I, in true Trinny&Susannah style, volunteered my fashionista services.
We finally got round to Leanne's shopping trip last Saturday. It was supposed to be just us, but then Craig was paintballing for his nephew's 21st birthday and couldn't look after Ella. Then Skye, Craig's 8-year old daughter, wanted to come with us too.
I met Leanne and the kids at the Gallery cafe. We started our shopping experience in Next. Right away, it was difficult navigating the shop floor with the buggy. Getting the buggy into the changing rooms was even more problematic. Skye was really well behaved, but - like any child - still needs to be listened to and interacted with. Ella is a superstar, but got a bit upset when she woke up. As a result, Leanne tried on items of clothing as quickly as she could, I held Ella and soothed her while offering feedback on Leanne's outfits, and we both tried our best to chat to Skye.
One shop down and Ella needed to be fed, watered and changed. We went to Debenhams cafe. Leanne and Ella took the elevator. Skye wanted to use the escalator, so I went with her. An hour later and we hit another shop. To save the effort of taking the buggy round, I did a quick reconnaissance of Per Una but found nothing doing.
Skye had been an angel, so Leanne agreed to take her to Jenners toy department. Once inside, I realised the time and hassle it would be for us to take Ella downstairs, so I offered to wait in the perfumery department with the buggy. Leanne was visibly relieved.
As I was walking around the store, I struggled to weave in and out of the displays and became convinced that I was going to knock everything over if I didn't get out NOW! I struggled to open the shop doors, struggled to get the buggy through, and, finally, struggled down the two front steps and into the sunshine.
Lastly, we ventured onto Dorothy Perkins, Principles and Top Shop - which is the least buggy-friendly shop in the world. (Strange considering it is the M&S of teenage mums.) The elevators were so old that I had to fight to get the buggy into the lift. By this point we were all tired, thirsty and hungry. I, in my non-mother state, suggested we go to Vin Caffe. This was a bad idea. There was no plain food that Skye liked. The tables were cramped and the toilets were all the way upstairs - sans baby-changing facilities - making it difficult for Leanne to change Ella.
By this time, Leanne had to be getting back to start Ella's bedtime routine. We said goodbye and Leanne almost wept with gratitude. After only a few hours as an extra pair of hands, I could see why. I now completely understand why some women give birth and then never ever want to leave the house again.
Saturday night, I headed out to Hendrick's to meet Mog and Kwan-Nga. Mog had invited us out to a football awards dinner that one of her colleagues was involved in. We went upstairs in the Golfe Tavern, to a room that smelt ominously of sweaty men, farts and chicken wings. In an effort to create some sort of air circulation, we danced solidly for the next three hours. Afterwards I began to fear my style of dancing might make me a prime candidate for a hip replacement in the not too distant future.
As we walked home, my hips, thighs and knees were all still singing. I think my problem is that I dance from the hips down, with all my movement concentrated in the thigh department (which, I know, sounds like some pretty weird dancing).
On Sunday morning I woke up, still aching and barely able to move, and thought "this is what Harrison Ford must feel like these days". I then realised I hadn't put my incontinence pants on and had to pull the emergency chord for help.
Andrew came to visit and we enjoyed a leisurely stroll along the Water of Leith, followed by a Peroni and a lemon sorbet in Pizza Express. I was thoroughly exhausted by the time Andrew left. Determined not to be thwarted in my bid for jogging-suit & DVD combo heaven this Sunday, I applied the jogging-suit, turned off both phones and flicked the buzzer to privacy.
I settled back on the sofa with a cup of tea. The window was open. I could hear the birds quietly chirping and nothing else. The sun was just starting to go down and the air was still. I took a sip of tea, let my head fall back against the sofa and almost had an orgasm from the sheer bliss of it all. I tried to imprint that moment into my memory.
I succeeded; in the short term at least, because I recaptured it at work on Monday morning and spent the rest of the day in afterglow.
Sunday, May 07, 2006
The art of ...pleasing oneself
This is perhaps the hardest art of all to conquer - especially if you'd like to remain on speaking terms with people. It's taken me many years, but I now consider myself a master.
It feels wonderful to skillfully avoid ever again being caught in the 'I so don't want to be here but can't ever say' trap that has dogged me most of my life.
On Friday night I was doing some work for my "uncle".
OK, so actually he is really my uncle. I just added inverted commas to make it sound more exciting. Hey, I said it was the "hardest art", not the most exciting one.
Anyway, I was looking over and editing his biography for his CV. You might think this doesn't sound much like someone who is pleasing herself, but the fact that I told him I could either invoice him for £60 (family discount rate) or he and my aunt could take me out to dinner is a big step forward for me.
By Saturday I'd really gotten into the swing of things. I took myself off the gym at 10am, enjoyed (no, seriously) a vigorous workout (pulse rate of 80%. Burn that chunk baby) and was getting changed when Mog called me. I fumbled about in my bag and finally answered my phone.
Me: "Hey. Hi. ... Hello?"
Mog: "Hello?"
Me: "Yeah. ... Hello?"
Mog: "Oh, hi, sorry did I wake you?"
Me: "Did you what me? Wake me? No! I'm at the gym. I've just finished my work out!
Mog: "Oh!"
Me: "Oh yes!"
After a somewhat stilted and mildly offensive start, Mog explained the arrangements for her birthday night out. For a change, she wanted to keep things informal and low-key (must be her age kicking in). She'd decided to go to the 7 o'clock showing ofThe Squid and the Whale at the Cameo, which pleased me greatly as it was a film I've been eagerly anticipating, followed by food at Coconut Grove (I've never had a bad night in there yet). So, with Saturday evening taken care of, I took myself first to Waterstones for a good old browse and then to Celeste for a luxury manicure.
Celeste is aptly named. Every single appointment is a heavenly experience. As the nice lady was massaging my hands in such a way that I was on the cusp of doubting my sexuality, I was reading their brochure to see what else was on offer. And they do Decleor. Oh yes. Decleor facials, Decleor massages and, best of all, Decleor tanning. Bring on the summer.
Looking over the waxing options on offer, I got a fit of the giggles. (Technically, it's not a good thing when someone is painting your nails and your shoulders start going like a road-digger.) There were those old tried and tested chestnuts, as follows:
REGULAR BIKINI WAX (£14)
The area around and under the pant line is waxed. A basic wax if you wear regular knickers.
BRAZILIAN BIKINI WAX (£26)
By far the most popular. A landing strip is left neat. A must for all who wear thongs.
BOLLYWOOD (£30)
In between Brazilian and Hollywood. Not all off but nearly.
HOLLYWOOD BIKINI WAX (£36)
The whole area is waxed. We guarantee it will be the best and most thorough wax you've ever had. Our most popular and requested treatment ever.
Plus one ridiculous addition:
TIFFANY BIKINI WAX (from £40)
This is a whole Hollywood wax with diamontes artistically placed for that special date!
Yes, that special date when you want to scare him half to death. Can you imagine?
Him: "Jesus Karaoke Star Christ! There's spiky things all over your ...you know ... thing."
Her: "That's right darling."
Him: "They spell out something. Yeah, it looks like your ... you know ... thing is trying to tell me something. I'll need to get closer to make out the words."
Her:"Go right ahead darling."
Him: "I... told you ... not ... to put your ... wet towel on ... the bed. You bastard."
Her: "That's right darling. And remember, these babies cut through glass. Any wrong moves and you could be in big trouble."
Yet again, Diamonds prove they really are a girl's best friend.
After my indulgent experience, I went to the Cameo to buy tickets for the film we were going to see that evening. I did so and noticed that a French film called Hidden (Cache) was about to start. I decided just to go ahead and buy a ticket as my day was open to go exactly as I desired.
The film was very French in that it had lots of scenes that added nothing to the plot. French films are funny like that. If an American film showed someone getting undressed for bed, closing the curtains and lying down you'd probably expect them to be murdered, or at least to die peacefully in their sleep or something. Not so with the French film. It also ended abruptly with almost no resolution, which I enjoy because I get to spend the rest of the day pondering over what happened, why it happened and what the future looked like for the characters involved. It was very, very good. Afterwards, I took myself off to a little deli called 'Made in France' where I did my pondering over a goat's cheese and saucisson baguette. It was sheer bliss.
Annoyingly I arrived at the Cameo that evening at 10 past seven. I had all the tickets and everyone was waiting. I'd had a nightmare with taxis and ended up having to drive. I got grid-locked at the bottom of Lothian Road and then had to park almost on Strathern Road because there were no spaces nearer to the cinema. I hate, hate, hate being late for films so I was really pissed off with myself. I had to hot-foot it across the links, going back for my shoe twice. Anyway, we took our seats in time for the last trailer, which was pretty good timing considering it was actually so woefully bad.
The Squid and the Whale was excellent and I highly recommend it. Jeff Daniels' pompous assertions on literature, people and more are worth the ticket price alone. I now want to describe everything as "the fillet (pronounced 'fill-ay') of the neighbourhood" or "the fillet of Dickens' work".
The Coconut Grove was also fantastic with plenty of atmosphere and even better food. It was a most fitting start to Mog's 28th year.
It feels wonderful to skillfully avoid ever again being caught in the 'I so don't want to be here but can't ever say' trap that has dogged me most of my life.
On Friday night I was doing some work for my "uncle".
OK, so actually he is really my uncle. I just added inverted commas to make it sound more exciting. Hey, I said it was the "hardest art", not the most exciting one.
Anyway, I was looking over and editing his biography for his CV. You might think this doesn't sound much like someone who is pleasing herself, but the fact that I told him I could either invoice him for £60 (family discount rate) or he and my aunt could take me out to dinner is a big step forward for me.
By Saturday I'd really gotten into the swing of things. I took myself off the gym at 10am, enjoyed (no, seriously) a vigorous workout (pulse rate of 80%. Burn that chunk baby) and was getting changed when Mog called me. I fumbled about in my bag and finally answered my phone.
Me: "Hey. Hi. ... Hello?"
Mog: "Hello?"
Me: "Yeah. ... Hello?"
Mog: "Oh, hi, sorry did I wake you?"
Me: "Did you what me? Wake me? No! I'm at the gym. I've just finished my work out!
Mog: "Oh!"
Me: "Oh yes!"
After a somewhat stilted and mildly offensive start, Mog explained the arrangements for her birthday night out. For a change, she wanted to keep things informal and low-key (must be her age kicking in). She'd decided to go to the 7 o'clock showing ofThe Squid and the Whale at the Cameo, which pleased me greatly as it was a film I've been eagerly anticipating, followed by food at Coconut Grove (I've never had a bad night in there yet). So, with Saturday evening taken care of, I took myself first to Waterstones for a good old browse and then to Celeste for a luxury manicure.
Celeste is aptly named. Every single appointment is a heavenly experience. As the nice lady was massaging my hands in such a way that I was on the cusp of doubting my sexuality, I was reading their brochure to see what else was on offer. And they do Decleor. Oh yes. Decleor facials, Decleor massages and, best of all, Decleor tanning. Bring on the summer.
Looking over the waxing options on offer, I got a fit of the giggles. (Technically, it's not a good thing when someone is painting your nails and your shoulders start going like a road-digger.) There were those old tried and tested chestnuts, as follows:
REGULAR BIKINI WAX (£14)
The area around and under the pant line is waxed. A basic wax if you wear regular knickers.
BRAZILIAN BIKINI WAX (£26)
By far the most popular. A landing strip is left neat. A must for all who wear thongs.
BOLLYWOOD (£30)
In between Brazilian and Hollywood. Not all off but nearly.
HOLLYWOOD BIKINI WAX (£36)
The whole area is waxed. We guarantee it will be the best and most thorough wax you've ever had. Our most popular and requested treatment ever.
Plus one ridiculous addition:
TIFFANY BIKINI WAX (from £40)
This is a whole Hollywood wax with diamontes artistically placed for that special date!
Yes, that special date when you want to scare him half to death. Can you imagine?
Him: "Jesus Karaoke Star Christ! There's spiky things all over your ...you know ... thing."
Her: "That's right darling."
Him: "They spell out something. Yeah, it looks like your ... you know ... thing is trying to tell me something. I'll need to get closer to make out the words."
Her:"Go right ahead darling."
Him: "I... told you ... not ... to put your ... wet towel on ... the bed. You bastard."
Her: "That's right darling. And remember, these babies cut through glass. Any wrong moves and you could be in big trouble."
Yet again, Diamonds prove they really are a girl's best friend.
After my indulgent experience, I went to the Cameo to buy tickets for the film we were going to see that evening. I did so and noticed that a French film called Hidden (Cache) was about to start. I decided just to go ahead and buy a ticket as my day was open to go exactly as I desired.
The film was very French in that it had lots of scenes that added nothing to the plot. French films are funny like that. If an American film showed someone getting undressed for bed, closing the curtains and lying down you'd probably expect them to be murdered, or at least to die peacefully in their sleep or something. Not so with the French film. It also ended abruptly with almost no resolution, which I enjoy because I get to spend the rest of the day pondering over what happened, why it happened and what the future looked like for the characters involved. It was very, very good. Afterwards, I took myself off to a little deli called 'Made in France' where I did my pondering over a goat's cheese and saucisson baguette. It was sheer bliss.
Annoyingly I arrived at the Cameo that evening at 10 past seven. I had all the tickets and everyone was waiting. I'd had a nightmare with taxis and ended up having to drive. I got grid-locked at the bottom of Lothian Road and then had to park almost on Strathern Road because there were no spaces nearer to the cinema. I hate, hate, hate being late for films so I was really pissed off with myself. I had to hot-foot it across the links, going back for my shoe twice. Anyway, we took our seats in time for the last trailer, which was pretty good timing considering it was actually so woefully bad.
The Squid and the Whale was excellent and I highly recommend it. Jeff Daniels' pompous assertions on literature, people and more are worth the ticket price alone. I now want to describe everything as "the fillet (pronounced 'fill-ay') of the neighbourhood" or "the fillet of Dickens' work".
The Coconut Grove was also fantastic with plenty of atmosphere and even better food. It was a most fitting start to Mog's 28th year.
Monday, May 01, 2006
'Two shags'
is what John Prescott has been re-christened following the revelation of his two-year affair. This was one of two things that made me laugh out loud this week. The other was a Chinese takeaway menu that landed on the carpet beneath my letterbox on Saturday morning. Alongside the always amusing photographs of extravagantly yet unappetisingly displayed food (when was the last time your chow mein arrived in half a pineapple? And would you ever want it to?) were the words 'Alcoholic Takeaway' - brilliant. "I'll have one jakey in stained clothes and two neds 'oot their heids' on buckie please."
Following on from Jeff & Dev's Sunday lunch, Keith & Ashley hosted us last Sabbath day. Dinner was delicious and dessert was the most amazing banoffee pie I've ever tasted. My enthusiatic critique caught Keith's attention and he spent the duration of dessert apologising for his inappropriate comment. It really was good pie though.
Another heavenly pudding was sampled on Thursday night at
Black Bo's with Leanne. It was chocolate and chilli brownie with vanilla and hazelnut ice cream. Oh, it was class. Catching up with Leanne is always good. Whereas I give advice by way of endless analogy, Leanne can put things immediately in perspective with one sentence; and it's never a patronising one either. I don't know why, but I'm always surprised when my friends say something that makes clear just how well they really know me. It was like this with Leanne on Thursday when she said: "I don't think you'll get any answers from it. In fact, I think it'll do you more harm than good. But I know you're still going to do it anyway." Bang on the money.
I had a half day at work on Friday and took myself off to the gym at 1pm. I feel compelled to go every day since the instructor assessed my body fat situation and looked like she was amazed I'd managed to squeeze out the door of my flat. Needless to say, I could hardly move for the first four hours on Saturday morning (this was made worse by another visit to the gym). Mog and I had lunch in the sunshine followed by a big ice cream and a little walk.
At 7pm we caught the train through to Glasgow to celebrate Katie's birthday. It was a most ambient affair with generous helpings of curry and an excellent crowd. Around Midnight, we headed, quite literally, round the corner to a club. We walked straight in - sans entrance fee - and proceeded to have a cracking time. A night in da club wouldn't be the same for Katie and I without at least one dance-off. This time the tune was 'Don't cha' by the Pussycat Dolls and my demure wrist-flick sent someone's bottle of beer raining across the dance floor. Bonus points.
We headed home around 3am and Mog and I headed straight to bed. I was truly knackered and my muscles were truly aching by this point. The rest of the party stayed up chatting until 6 or so which meant Mog and I were annoyingly bushy-tailed the next morning. A truly scrumptious brunch of French Toast, bacon and Maple syrup was scoffed before Mog and I caught the train home.
Good times.
Following on from Jeff & Dev's Sunday lunch, Keith & Ashley hosted us last Sabbath day. Dinner was delicious and dessert was the most amazing banoffee pie I've ever tasted. My enthusiatic critique caught Keith's attention and he spent the duration of dessert apologising for his inappropriate comment. It really was good pie though.
Another heavenly pudding was sampled on Thursday night at
Black Bo's with Leanne. It was chocolate and chilli brownie with vanilla and hazelnut ice cream. Oh, it was class. Catching up with Leanne is always good. Whereas I give advice by way of endless analogy, Leanne can put things immediately in perspective with one sentence; and it's never a patronising one either. I don't know why, but I'm always surprised when my friends say something that makes clear just how well they really know me. It was like this with Leanne on Thursday when she said: "I don't think you'll get any answers from it. In fact, I think it'll do you more harm than good. But I know you're still going to do it anyway." Bang on the money.
I had a half day at work on Friday and took myself off to the gym at 1pm. I feel compelled to go every day since the instructor assessed my body fat situation and looked like she was amazed I'd managed to squeeze out the door of my flat. Needless to say, I could hardly move for the first four hours on Saturday morning (this was made worse by another visit to the gym). Mog and I had lunch in the sunshine followed by a big ice cream and a little walk.
At 7pm we caught the train through to Glasgow to celebrate Katie's birthday. It was a most ambient affair with generous helpings of curry and an excellent crowd. Around Midnight, we headed, quite literally, round the corner to a club. We walked straight in - sans entrance fee - and proceeded to have a cracking time. A night in da club wouldn't be the same for Katie and I without at least one dance-off. This time the tune was 'Don't cha' by the Pussycat Dolls and my demure wrist-flick sent someone's bottle of beer raining across the dance floor. Bonus points.
We headed home around 3am and Mog and I headed straight to bed. I was truly knackered and my muscles were truly aching by this point. The rest of the party stayed up chatting until 6 or so which meant Mog and I were annoyingly bushy-tailed the next morning. A truly scrumptious brunch of French Toast, bacon and Maple syrup was scoffed before Mog and I caught the train home.
Good times.
Monday, February 20, 2006
Who's afraid of ...
some time off - finally!
I certainly packed it in last week. Much the same as I do at the self-service olive bar in Sainsbury's, I added more and more and stubbornly forced down the lid. A few people looked on astounded as I, somewhat more harassed than usual, got it all together - eventually.
Work was busy. I am truly a magnet for loose ends. In every job, I accumulate masses of them, and always in addition to a messy desk - a really messy desk. At 5pm on my last day my colleagues expressed concern (does it still qualify as concern if they are laughing heartily?) when they noticed I hadn't even started to clear my desk. Employing my trademark tidying move (large bin bag in one hand; full-span, catch-all sweeping manoeuvre with the other arm), I was done by 7pm.
Crazily, I'd arranged to meet Duncan and Moranna for a bite to eat before heading to an 8'clock appointment I'd made months ago. As I locked up the office for the last time at 7pm, I realised I had one hour in which to get from Leith to the west end - eat something - and then get to Marchmont. It was certainly ambitious (pronounced stew-pid).
I was in Pizza Express by 7.15 and managed to fit in a diet coke and some bruschetta before it was time to leave. I was sitting in traffic trying to head up Lothian Road when a man driving a van in the opposite direction rolled down his window and tried to tell me something. I spent about 30 seconds pressing the button to lower my window without any success, only to discover that I was repeatedly locking and unlocking the doors. I figured he was trying to tell me the hold-up was serious so I jumped into action. After a concerning number of illegal driving manoeuvres and repetitive strain injury in the middle finger of my right hand, I arrived at my appointment slightly late and excessively agitated.
I was far more organised the next day as I flew down to London to spend the weekend with Andrew. I was starving by the time I arrived at Paddington and decided to get a breakfast bagel. I sat down and began to eat it when I realised the man sitting opposite was watching me intently. He started rocking back and forward in his seat before leaving. I relaxed - a little - and then spotted him coming back. He sat down opposite me again, outstretched his arms and held the front cover of the magazine out towards me whilst continuing to stare intently. It was not the most comfortable eating experience I've ever had.
Andrew and I met outside his workplace (the National Gallery in Trafalgar Square) and he told me I was just in time to see the 'crazy pigeon-feeding woman'. As if by magic, she appeared armed with two large bags of grain. She scooped some up in her hand and about 3,000 pigeons descended on her - it was horribly fascinating. She walked round in a circle letting the grains fall through her fingers and the pigeons continued to land on top of the trail. It would have made an excellent Art-Attack. The wind generated by the pigeons' wings caused her skirt to flap. It took Andrew .000025 seconds to point out that she was wearing red knickers. I hadn't noticed at first, so spent a few moments with my head tilted trying to get a better view. I can now confirm she was wearing red knickers. We also had a bit of a discussion about whether or not she was really a man, or at least had been at some point. It was hard to get a good look at her face through the fog of pigeons but I noted she was wearing alarmingly bright red lipstick (surely the true travesty of the transvestite/transexual). Andrew suggested that she was maybe just trying to accessorize with the knickers. We remain undecided.
That night I slept in a tented room with a cat on my head. It was not the most comfortable sleeping experience I'd ever had (but it was still better than the time that guy died on top of me). Andrew and I sailed down to Greenwich swigging on our Red Bulls like a right pair of chavs (or pikeys as they say 'dan sath'). We headed to the Apollo Theatre that night with Lulu (the older woman Andrew lives with - she has a jewellery empire). We saw Kathleen Turner in Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf. It's undoubtedly the finest piece of theatre I've ever seen. Bill Irwin played George to Turner's Martha and stole the show. Go see it! We got the tube home debating how depressing the ending really is (for me - not really, for Andrew and Lulu - somewhat more).
On Sunday Andrew took me to Tate Britain to see the Gothic Nightmares exhibition. It was really busy which made it quite difficult to get round things properly. I liked a few of the paintings but found the display quite repetitive. Andrew decided to embarrass me while I was looking at the erotic section by loudly exclaiming that he knew he'd find me checking out the dirty stuff. To be honest, it was my favourite bit. I also liked Chris Ofili's Upper Room which consists of thirteen large paintings of the same monkey in a different colour. The pictures stand on elephant dung supports. I thought it was funky and cool and pretty fantastic as far as modern art goes. Andrew thinks I'm a philistine. We did agree on how much we both hated Constable though. Andrew pointed out that Constable influenced the impressionists and I said that I could see that they had copied his blurry style but they were better cause at least their landscapes and people were bright and colourful and less depressing. I'm so glad none of the Tate's hard-core faithful overheard me. I may have been thrown out for embarrassing them with such a high-level and intellectual analysis.
I caught the late flight home on Sunday night, looking forward to a whole week off. Sheer bliss.
I certainly packed it in last week. Much the same as I do at the self-service olive bar in Sainsbury's, I added more and more and stubbornly forced down the lid. A few people looked on astounded as I, somewhat more harassed than usual, got it all together - eventually.
Work was busy. I am truly a magnet for loose ends. In every job, I accumulate masses of them, and always in addition to a messy desk - a really messy desk. At 5pm on my last day my colleagues expressed concern (does it still qualify as concern if they are laughing heartily?) when they noticed I hadn't even started to clear my desk. Employing my trademark tidying move (large bin bag in one hand; full-span, catch-all sweeping manoeuvre with the other arm), I was done by 7pm.
Crazily, I'd arranged to meet Duncan and Moranna for a bite to eat before heading to an 8'clock appointment I'd made months ago. As I locked up the office for the last time at 7pm, I realised I had one hour in which to get from Leith to the west end - eat something - and then get to Marchmont. It was certainly ambitious (pronounced stew-pid).
I was in Pizza Express by 7.15 and managed to fit in a diet coke and some bruschetta before it was time to leave. I was sitting in traffic trying to head up Lothian Road when a man driving a van in the opposite direction rolled down his window and tried to tell me something. I spent about 30 seconds pressing the button to lower my window without any success, only to discover that I was repeatedly locking and unlocking the doors. I figured he was trying to tell me the hold-up was serious so I jumped into action. After a concerning number of illegal driving manoeuvres and repetitive strain injury in the middle finger of my right hand, I arrived at my appointment slightly late and excessively agitated.
I was far more organised the next day as I flew down to London to spend the weekend with Andrew. I was starving by the time I arrived at Paddington and decided to get a breakfast bagel. I sat down and began to eat it when I realised the man sitting opposite was watching me intently. He started rocking back and forward in his seat before leaving. I relaxed - a little - and then spotted him coming back. He sat down opposite me again, outstretched his arms and held the front cover of the magazine out towards me whilst continuing to stare intently. It was not the most comfortable eating experience I've ever had.
Andrew and I met outside his workplace (the National Gallery in Trafalgar Square) and he told me I was just in time to see the 'crazy pigeon-feeding woman'. As if by magic, she appeared armed with two large bags of grain. She scooped some up in her hand and about 3,000 pigeons descended on her - it was horribly fascinating. She walked round in a circle letting the grains fall through her fingers and the pigeons continued to land on top of the trail. It would have made an excellent Art-Attack. The wind generated by the pigeons' wings caused her skirt to flap. It took Andrew .000025 seconds to point out that she was wearing red knickers. I hadn't noticed at first, so spent a few moments with my head tilted trying to get a better view. I can now confirm she was wearing red knickers. We also had a bit of a discussion about whether or not she was really a man, or at least had been at some point. It was hard to get a good look at her face through the fog of pigeons but I noted she was wearing alarmingly bright red lipstick (surely the true travesty of the transvestite/transexual). Andrew suggested that she was maybe just trying to accessorize with the knickers. We remain undecided.
That night I slept in a tented room with a cat on my head. It was not the most comfortable sleeping experience I'd ever had (but it was still better than the time that guy died on top of me). Andrew and I sailed down to Greenwich swigging on our Red Bulls like a right pair of chavs (or pikeys as they say 'dan sath'). We headed to the Apollo Theatre that night with Lulu (the older woman Andrew lives with - she has a jewellery empire). We saw Kathleen Turner in Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf. It's undoubtedly the finest piece of theatre I've ever seen. Bill Irwin played George to Turner's Martha and stole the show. Go see it! We got the tube home debating how depressing the ending really is (for me - not really, for Andrew and Lulu - somewhat more).
On Sunday Andrew took me to Tate Britain to see the Gothic Nightmares exhibition. It was really busy which made it quite difficult to get round things properly. I liked a few of the paintings but found the display quite repetitive. Andrew decided to embarrass me while I was looking at the erotic section by loudly exclaiming that he knew he'd find me checking out the dirty stuff. To be honest, it was my favourite bit. I also liked Chris Ofili's Upper Room which consists of thirteen large paintings of the same monkey in a different colour. The pictures stand on elephant dung supports. I thought it was funky and cool and pretty fantastic as far as modern art goes. Andrew thinks I'm a philistine. We did agree on how much we both hated Constable though. Andrew pointed out that Constable influenced the impressionists and I said that I could see that they had copied his blurry style but they were better cause at least their landscapes and people were bright and colourful and less depressing. I'm so glad none of the Tate's hard-core faithful overheard me. I may have been thrown out for embarrassing them with such a high-level and intellectual analysis.
I caught the late flight home on Sunday night, looking forward to a whole week off. Sheer bliss.
Monday, February 13, 2006
And so I face the final curtain
Today was the last Monday morning I will ever spend in my current place of work. Deep joy people, deep joy. My boss is on holiday this week so I'd anticipated a rather laissez-faire approach to the duties of the day. Alas, I was foiled by two clients requesting greased-lightning quick turnarounds, and 10 call-centre shackeled Indians who wanted to talk about my phone bill. I was sooooo not in the mood to discuss anything telephonic (although the Indians may well have made more English-sounding words and, therefore, more sense than my current phone provider). You see, I had to get serious with those bastards at Telewest last week after they unexpectedly disconnected my phone and internet service. I used the words "ridiculous", "ludicrous", "unbelievable", "unacceptable" and, finally, "OK, I'll pay you". Bastards!
Last Friday afternoon descended into a right Royal farce when I found I couldn't get the songs from Oliver! out of my head. I ended up rewriting most of the lyrics to (loosely) fit a musical based around the people in my office. My crowning glory saw 'Food, Glorious Food' become 'Food, Perilous Food' in a nod to my psycho colleague who doesn't eat anything. On Friday evening I painted my nails a beautiful colour known as 'Hi Lily Hi Lo'. Discussing this any further would be about as interesting as watching paint dry, so I'll spare you.
Saturday morning's reading revealed that I was onto something with the whole 'why have babies thing'. According to the Economist, research suggests that, after decades of low fertility, a quarter of young German men and a fifth of young women say they have no intention of having children and think that this is fine. When Eurobarometer repeated its poll about ideal family size in 2001, support for the two-child model had fallen everywhere. Parts of Europe, then, may be entering a new demographic trap. People restrict family size from choice. But social, economic and cultural factors then cause this natural fertility decline to overshoot. This changes expectations, to which people respond by having even fewer children." I feel distinctly less 'freak-like' (if a little more German) now.
I picked Sinead up from the station on Saturday night and drove to Tapas Ole for some delicious nosh. We got stuck in about the vino tinto and elected to leave the car at the bottom of the hill and (pub) crawl our way back up. Sinead told me about the new project she's about to start working on. Allegedly, travelling people (pronounced theev-in-gyp-pose) are complaining that local authorities do not provide enough services for them. Sinead said her initial investigations have revealed that travelling people do not pay any council tax, so she's not going to get her knickers in a twist over their complaints. They also refuse to deal with anyone wearing a suit or anyone who is a woman. Women wearing suits are a definite no-no. As little is known about the travelling culture, Sinead may well have to infiltrate a band of travellers to get the real story. How terribly covert and exciting.
The evening was full of trademark no-nonsense advice, hilarious stories from the Kingdom and further afield, business banter and fiery political chat. After drinks in Smithy's, Mezz and the Outhouse, we bumped into Alex and his mate Simon and headed for some drinks in The Street. Alex was in the mood for some dancing (and, quite possibly, a fine young filly for the evening) at Ego or Mood. Apparently, Mood had one of those 'traffic-light' nights going on and the consensus was that I, sporting a brilliant green top, should steer well clear, unless I wanted barrel-loads of unsavoury attention. So pretty much a typical night at a club then ladies.
On Sunday morning I woke up with a disturbing need for drawing pins and bluetack. I decided the best thing to do would be to drive out to WH Smith at Fort Kinnaird (sometimes I disturb myself and think it best to remove myself from acceptable society). Once there, I decided to treat myself to the Hollywood-edition of Vanity Fair; to read whilst enjoying a hot chocolate and a muffin at Costa. I was flicking through the Appointments section of the Scotland on Sunday when I noticed a former employer was advertising in the hope of securing "two stars for five-star organisation". The article ended with the words: "not so much stars then, as supernovae." Honestly, you could smell the cheese a mile-off. I laughed until I cried (in the way that people who crave drawing pins and bluetack are wont to do).
Having worked for this organisation for two years, the idea of two burnouts existing within a black hole seemed so very fitting.
Last Friday afternoon descended into a right Royal farce when I found I couldn't get the songs from Oliver! out of my head. I ended up rewriting most of the lyrics to (loosely) fit a musical based around the people in my office. My crowning glory saw 'Food, Glorious Food' become 'Food, Perilous Food' in a nod to my psycho colleague who doesn't eat anything. On Friday evening I painted my nails a beautiful colour known as 'Hi Lily Hi Lo'. Discussing this any further would be about as interesting as watching paint dry, so I'll spare you.
Saturday morning's reading revealed that I was onto something with the whole 'why have babies thing'. According to the Economist, research suggests that, after decades of low fertility, a quarter of young German men and a fifth of young women say they have no intention of having children and think that this is fine. When Eurobarometer repeated its poll about ideal family size in 2001, support for the two-child model had fallen everywhere. Parts of Europe, then, may be entering a new demographic trap. People restrict family size from choice. But social, economic and cultural factors then cause this natural fertility decline to overshoot. This changes expectations, to which people respond by having even fewer children." I feel distinctly less 'freak-like' (if a little more German) now.
I picked Sinead up from the station on Saturday night and drove to Tapas Ole for some delicious nosh. We got stuck in about the vino tinto and elected to leave the car at the bottom of the hill and (pub) crawl our way back up. Sinead told me about the new project she's about to start working on. Allegedly, travelling people (pronounced theev-in-gyp-pose) are complaining that local authorities do not provide enough services for them. Sinead said her initial investigations have revealed that travelling people do not pay any council tax, so she's not going to get her knickers in a twist over their complaints. They also refuse to deal with anyone wearing a suit or anyone who is a woman. Women wearing suits are a definite no-no. As little is known about the travelling culture, Sinead may well have to infiltrate a band of travellers to get the real story. How terribly covert and exciting.
The evening was full of trademark no-nonsense advice, hilarious stories from the Kingdom and further afield, business banter and fiery political chat. After drinks in Smithy's, Mezz and the Outhouse, we bumped into Alex and his mate Simon and headed for some drinks in The Street. Alex was in the mood for some dancing (and, quite possibly, a fine young filly for the evening) at Ego or Mood. Apparently, Mood had one of those 'traffic-light' nights going on and the consensus was that I, sporting a brilliant green top, should steer well clear, unless I wanted barrel-loads of unsavoury attention. So pretty much a typical night at a club then ladies.
On Sunday morning I woke up with a disturbing need for drawing pins and bluetack. I decided the best thing to do would be to drive out to WH Smith at Fort Kinnaird (sometimes I disturb myself and think it best to remove myself from acceptable society). Once there, I decided to treat myself to the Hollywood-edition of Vanity Fair; to read whilst enjoying a hot chocolate and a muffin at Costa. I was flicking through the Appointments section of the Scotland on Sunday when I noticed a former employer was advertising in the hope of securing "two stars for five-star organisation". The article ended with the words: "not so much stars then, as supernovae." Honestly, you could smell the cheese a mile-off. I laughed until I cried (in the way that people who crave drawing pins and bluetack are wont to do).
Having worked for this organisation for two years, the idea of two burnouts existing within a black hole seemed so very fitting.
Friday, February 10, 2006
Tapas, tadpoles and tea
Decleor joy! - my 'official' invitation for an aromatherapy facial arrived in the post at the start of this week. I say 'official' because last week I went to the Decleor counter in John Lewis to complain about my AWOL new year's invitation. The kind Decleor lady apologised profusely and wrote me out an impromptu invitation. I now have luxury facials booked for February and March (ooooh, the extravagance!). The fact that the cost of the facial is redeemable against two or more products also means I will have to buy things on both occasions (well, it'd be foolish not to now, wouldn't it?).
I called Sinead on Monday night; she was making soup (very homely). She told me she would come through on Saturday and we could catch up and make a night of it (I have a feeling that carbs and black coffee will be required on Sunday). She'd been to see Brokeback Mountain and gave me her no-nonsense review of the film. It went exactly like this: "Saw Brokeback Mountain but wasn't convinced of the love story and there were too many sheep and hillside shots for me. Gyllenhall was a babe though."
Dinner at Tapas Ole with Leanne on Tuesday was great fun. It's the first time it's been just us since Ella (her beautiful baby) was born in November. I think Ella is the best baby I've ever met, but I do feel under pressure to mind my language whenever she's around (I'd hate for it to emerge in Ella's future therapy sessions that her ASBO stemmed from my four-letter rants during her infancy. Not that that's necessarily going to happen. Like I said, she's an excellent baby). It was good to be able to put my question (why do people have children anyway?) to Leanne in her new-found state of motherhood. Normally when I ask people that, they look at me like I'm some sort of freak. I'm not saying I don't want to have kids (I'm assuming the desire will hit me at some point - it just never has so far) or that I think it's wrong or anything - I'm just interested in people's conscious decisions to procreate (the unconscious decision to procreate is far more common and, for that reason, completely uninteresting to me). I totally get the desire to make love (thank the Lord!), I'm just a bit more shaky around the desire to make babies. I understand that people want to have kids, what I want to know is why they want them. Leanne got where I was coming from and feels kind of the same when it comes to having another. She said that people just assume that she'll want to have more, but she really can't see why she would want another one. Anyway - good chat!
Some prospective clients for my 'leisure-time' freelance venture flew up from London and took me out to dinner on Wednesday night. We went to the Living Room and I thoroughly enjoyed the food - though the house champagne left a lot to be desired. We talked business and they didn't hit on me - step up from last week (see 'Networking?'). I was firing on all cylinders and actually astounded myself. I had a bit of an out-of-body moment when I looked at myself, listened to what I was saying and wanted to laugh at how grown-up and knowledgeable I sounded. Anyway, I offered my services as a consultant for a few days and they were most receptive. Ka-ching!
I popped round to see Sam on Thursday night. It was freezing outside and the cup of tea he made me was delightful. I told him about my week; my ups and downs, triumphs and irritations. He told me about his week; his visa/passport issues, proteins, genes and bio-informatics. I am chuffed with myself because I have set-up a website and have been teaching myself how to build it (in the most basic of ways naturally). I was even more chuffed because Sam seemed chuffed at my being chuffed with myself because I wrote a little bit of HTML. Then he offered to give me a copy of Dreamweaver (an HTML cheat). Cool. I left Sam's place feeling ten times better than I had when I went in.
Bring on the weekend!
I called Sinead on Monday night; she was making soup (very homely). She told me she would come through on Saturday and we could catch up and make a night of it (I have a feeling that carbs and black coffee will be required on Sunday). She'd been to see Brokeback Mountain and gave me her no-nonsense review of the film. It went exactly like this: "Saw Brokeback Mountain but wasn't convinced of the love story and there were too many sheep and hillside shots for me. Gyllenhall was a babe though."
Dinner at Tapas Ole with Leanne on Tuesday was great fun. It's the first time it's been just us since Ella (her beautiful baby) was born in November. I think Ella is the best baby I've ever met, but I do feel under pressure to mind my language whenever she's around (I'd hate for it to emerge in Ella's future therapy sessions that her ASBO stemmed from my four-letter rants during her infancy. Not that that's necessarily going to happen. Like I said, she's an excellent baby). It was good to be able to put my question (why do people have children anyway?) to Leanne in her new-found state of motherhood. Normally when I ask people that, they look at me like I'm some sort of freak. I'm not saying I don't want to have kids (I'm assuming the desire will hit me at some point - it just never has so far) or that I think it's wrong or anything - I'm just interested in people's conscious decisions to procreate (the unconscious decision to procreate is far more common and, for that reason, completely uninteresting to me). I totally get the desire to make love (thank the Lord!), I'm just a bit more shaky around the desire to make babies. I understand that people want to have kids, what I want to know is why they want them. Leanne got where I was coming from and feels kind of the same when it comes to having another. She said that people just assume that she'll want to have more, but she really can't see why she would want another one. Anyway - good chat!
Some prospective clients for my 'leisure-time' freelance venture flew up from London and took me out to dinner on Wednesday night. We went to the Living Room and I thoroughly enjoyed the food - though the house champagne left a lot to be desired. We talked business and they didn't hit on me - step up from last week (see 'Networking?'). I was firing on all cylinders and actually astounded myself. I had a bit of an out-of-body moment when I looked at myself, listened to what I was saying and wanted to laugh at how grown-up and knowledgeable I sounded. Anyway, I offered my services as a consultant for a few days and they were most receptive. Ka-ching!
I popped round to see Sam on Thursday night. It was freezing outside and the cup of tea he made me was delightful. I told him about my week; my ups and downs, triumphs and irritations. He told me about his week; his visa/passport issues, proteins, genes and bio-informatics. I am chuffed with myself because I have set-up a website and have been teaching myself how to build it (in the most basic of ways naturally). I was even more chuffed because Sam seemed chuffed at my being chuffed with myself because I wrote a little bit of HTML. Then he offered to give me a copy of Dreamweaver (an HTML cheat). Cool. I left Sam's place feeling ten times better than I had when I went in.
Bring on the weekend!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)