Signs

So what with post weekend blues, things going tits up with the sister and the ex getting a bird..or date....or whatever, things have been pants.

Had a good night last night with lots of old friends which has improved the mood considerably.
Then at 7am this morning, my incredibly loud buzzer buzzed three times. Shouting 'WTF' and the like, I wrapped myself in a towel and opening the door to find a very good friend who now lives in the U.K. standing on my doorstep. Squinting due to lack of contact lenses and slightly hungover, I continued down the WTF path.
A total surprise and his brief stay couldn't have come at a better time.

Then a small package arrived in the post from one of my fave male mates. It was thoughtful, amusing, topical and well-timed, plus it put a huge smile on my face.

Things happen for a reason and whilst I don't believe in guardian angels as such, I definitely see it as some sort of sign.

Bitch

I dreamt I met the new girlfriend of the ex factor. It's amazing how one date has transformed into a girlfriend in my subconscious mind. It is a definite reflection of how I feel about the date.

It is worth noting she was attractive although not outstandingly so and young.
She also said that her hair was prettier than mine when comparing us in the dream - the bitch.

Woke up feeling grumpy about it this morning. Rubbish.

Rehab

I found out last night my sister is going into rehab tomorrow for a month. Alcohol issues amongst other things...

I was chatting to her whilst getting stuck into a large glass of wine - alone.

The irony wasn't lost on me.

Puffy

Why is it, that when you have a good old cry-a-thon, the next day you look like you are missing a chromosome or something.
As if it's not bad enough that I'm feeling blue, occasionally sobbing, wallowing and feeling generally fucking sorry for myself - I seem to be allergic to my own tears.
This morning, my eyes were red rimmed and so puffy that I didn't even look like myself. This meant I couldn't really get away with trying to pass myself off as jolly and happy when my stupid fucking chromosome lacking eyes told a different story.

This self pity I might add is only temporary and a direct result of a bloody brilliant weekend away. Returning to work yesterday on my least favourite day of the week by far, along with falling out with a friend who I also work with in a school playground type way, has rendered me leaky of eye, achy of head and tired of mind.
I should also add that my ex told me he was going out on a date last night which didn't help matters along. Although I would want to know if it was significant, I told him to keep the random dates to himself.
I don't know why I care but I do. We split up 18 months ago now after 4 long years....
Is it just because I am not getting any? I think so.

The hills are alive...

I am off to Switzerland. I envisage wine drinking and cheese and chocolate eating as that is what the Swiss do.

They also climb mountains wearing lederhosen singing the hills are alive. Or is that the Austrians?
Anyway, I am loving the Wikipedia description:

The word Lederhosen is frequently misspelled and mispronounced in the English language as "leiderhosen" (literal German meaning: regrettably-breeches) or "liederhosen" (literal German meaning: songs-breeches) and should rhyme with "fader chosen".

Fader chosen...I ask you. It is almost a comedy entry...

I am off to see some friends. She is asking me to bring walking boots and a fleece. There is little need for either of these items in the south of France and I am more a flip flop and shorts type anyway.
I have a huge fear of fleeces - whilst I appreciate they have their uses, I think they should generally be reserved for geeks and retired geography teachers....but that's just my opinion.
Have you ever heard anyone say, 'Look at her trendy fleece!'.

I rest my case.

Instead I have some dodgy sports trainers and a zippy-uppy-tracksuit-toppy thingy of the non shell suit variety. I don't think I needed to clarify that last bit.

We are doing some walking. Allegedly.

There is a small amount of wee on my office chair.

Bo selecta

My favourite pub with my favourite barman and current crush has re-opened after a month of being shut.

This is a good thing. On reopening night on Monday, I realised that it would be easy to slip back into July's antics of passing by every night for a spritzer and some mild stalking.

This must stop. The object of my affections not only has a girlfriend but he is also a friend.
Time to call it quits.

I told him so with the fairly obvious and only slightly cryptic text.

Full support for the re-opening. Def gonna try not to slip into my July-every-nite habits, fuelling my alcohol habit and futile crushes!

The following day, my phone starting buzzing with a short string of the most delightful text banter....

Him: 2 quote Craig David are u walking away from the 7 days action or would you prefer a rendez-vous where u could fill me in on what your flava is?

Me: Could say it's nothing personal but that's not all the way true. No hidden agenda just no need to rewind to unbelievable July behaviour...

Him: Priceless..! my rise and fall was that I met my french bird on a Monday took her for a drink on Tuesday, we were making love on Wednesday and Thursday and Friday and Saturday but chilled on Sunday which I guess makes me slicker than your average

(Yep.....not so sure about this one. I know it's only a game but even so....TMI!)

Me: That ego is really something! U can't be messing around so don't let her go. More woman trouble and less time to party. I'm just chillin'.....

Now I should add here that neither of us are Craig David fans. In fact, I hadn't even realised he had written that many songs, most of which are contained in the above texts....if you hadn't realised already.

This kind of silly behaviour is exactly what I love. The crush is not looking to fade anytime soon so I only have my self-imposed ban on the pub to guide me through.

Living arrangements

My living arrangements are quite complicated. Well perhaps not that complicated...they are as follows:
I own a flat which I don't live in. It is rented out.
I live in my mum's flat which I don't own but rent off her. She doesn't live in it. She lives in her own house in England.
Right, now that's sorted.
The thing with her owning my current residence is that she visits from time to time which is lovely. However, she also brings her friends. Rarely, I might add, but she does.

She arrived about half an hour ago with two of her friends and as the place is two bedrooms, this means a full house. They tend to enjoy rosé sippage and nibbles late into the night which keeps me up when I need to be asleep for work.
Normally I stay over the road at a friends house but he too has friends visiting at the moment which renders me homeless. Either that or I have to share a bed with my mum and become increasing irritable with their keraaazy late night drinking antics. (I am trying to remember who is the parent here).

So for the next week, I will be couch-surfing, which is fun.

This provides me with a couple of advantages.

1. I get to catch up with friends who I do not normally dedicate enough time to.

b. I get to spend limited time with the mum and her friends. A little harsh perhaps but mum on her own is fine, a week with her friends is not. I have the excuse to leave early as after all, I cannot treat my other friends' couches like hotels.

The other great thing about having a two bedroom place is that my friends can come and stay and the size of the place makes it very sociable. That said, my mum has developed this annoying habit of ironing and making up her bed when she leaves.
This means that when she returns, I have to iron her bastard-very-hard-to-iron enormous sheets and duvet cover. Utter Crap.

Itchy feet

The feet, they are itching. Muchly.

I have been planning my temporary escape for a couple of years now. This takes place most frequently on a Monday, post holidays or after a bad day.

It is however, going to happen. Not this winter but next.

Not sure how, what or where but I am loving the ideas I am stumbling across.

Genius.

Nothing to see here

I have been staying in. A lot.
August here is pants. Too many tourists, no parking, shit service in restaurants and pubs...if you can even get a table to start with. No locals around as they are all on holiday/out at sea, sticky hot weather and general rubbishness. In other words, August is shite.

It seems though, that the less I go out, the less I have to write about. I suppose that makes sense.

In top of this, there have been some ex issues I have been dealing with. Some call it closure although I'm not sure what that is supposed to mean. More about that at a later date......

The more that is going on in my mind of a personal nature, the less inclined I am to write.
The same goes for when there is little in my social life of note.

September is nearly here. Issues are being dealt with and normal levels of activity will be restored shortly.

Sense of humour failure

Call it what you like - black clouds, holiday blues, navel-gazing, fed up....Lordy...even PMT dammit.

Either way, I have been in a fucking dark mood since last Monday. I imagine it's part over-doing it last Saturday night, part ex-boyfriend issues.

Yesterday, normal service was resumed.

Today, it seems that was only a temporary show of normality. It has clouded over again.
Most of all, I am feeling VERY anti-social which is most unlike me.

What is going on?

Badger is....

Is it normal that I want to write texts in Facebook speak, even to the mum?

Badger is glad that mum had a safe trip home and she was pleased to see her.

No. No. No.

Practically invisible

So elusive in fact, that I haven't written anything for ages....

I have been on holiday though and with the mum being the only source of computer for a couple of days, I was loathe to log in. She's incredibly nosey and is far too intrigues about blogging since I explained what one was. Oh yes, and the fact that I have one....oops. Schoolgirl error.

Much to write but am on day 2 of what seems to be a 2 day hangover. Not good. I am so elderly.

I also have come back to a mountain of work and had the work dread feeling of doom this morning.

On the flip side, Wednesday is a bank holiday which I am overjoyed about.

Elusive

I am apparently.

Main Entry: elu·sive Pronunciation: E-'lü-siv, -'lü-zivFunction: adjective: tending to elude: as a : tending to evade grasp or pursuit b : hard to comprehend or define c : hard to isolate or identify

I think I like the sound of that.

However some of the synonyms were not so flattering. Slippery to name one.

Flat pack chat

And so my Saturday just gone was pretty similar to the one that went before, although slightly less evil I might admit.

I trekked down the motorway (AGAIN) with the mother of all hangovers (AGAIN) and dragged my feet into the hell that is that bastard Ikea (AGAIN) on a Saturday.
Due to my vegetative remedial state the Saturday before, I had bought the wrong bed slats. Arse.

I did manage to find some junk food to follow the fucker of a mission however, which mildly eased my situation. Then promptly and predictably made me feel sick. Standard.

The weekend camping was very good indeed although there was a mistral blowing at night which increased in severity last night. The smug mother and smug sister were all wrapped up in the gently rocking caravan with a fan on to circulate the stifling air temperature.

Myself and my friend on the other hand, were battling it out in the awning whilst lines snapped, tent pegs flew out, poles buckled and the brown dust stuck to our sweaty foreheads.
A pretty terrible nights sleep by all accounts.

I had not expected such discomfort and extreme elements of a July weekend in the south of France. I shall be retiring early this evening. In a bed. In a flat. With a fan.

Thanx

And then the boss just came over and congratulated me for the prickly pear handling and the smarting eases.

I just hope he doesn't know about the wobbly voice incident....

Smarting

Tears have pricked the eyes twice in the last twelve hours. I have felt hurt, shocked and angry on both occasions.
The world can be so evil at times, or perhaps I have a touch of PMT.

When the ex texted the words 'You'll never change' last night, he did not mean this is a good way. Although he may well be right, which isn't necessarily a bad thing, to hear it from him was infuriating.
My eyes started to sting as I teetered on the edge of eye leakage. Of course it hurt, but it was also the humiliation that he could still have that effect.

When an irate client called this morning for a good old rant, I was expecting the torrent of abuse and untruths from this prickly pear. I was calm but firm yet his inability to let me have a word in edge ways was incredibly frustrating.
My opinion was not to be heard and when it was, he was up for a fight on every word.

As I put the phone down, my voice wobbled and I had to disappear to the toilets for some deep breaths, a quick snivel and a harsh word with myself.

The feeling of having been stung on the inside and the out seemingly lasts for hours.
I am sure it will subside by home time.

Sogging

I woke up at 5.30am this morning to the sound of water. I silently congratulated myself on the 5 1/2 hours of solid sleep I had had and then snuggled down (not strictly true as the temperature is so hot at the moment that one only needs a sheet and I'm sure snuggling is strictly reserved for winter and duvets...) to try and get some more.
After several minutes I realised that was a very long wee my guest seemed to be having, and eventually got up to see if she was setting some kind of world record I should be aware of.

Except the running water wasn't coming from her but the ceiling.

I knocked on my neighbours door above to no avail but heard the sound of running water.
I eventually roused my next door neighbour with the spare keys and we entered the soggy apartment, which was swimming under a good inch of water. Over 70 square metres, that is a significant amount of wet.

When he started to bail the water into a bucket with a dustpan I, as any good neighbour would, trudged downstairs to get similar equipment.

An hour later, the worst of it was up and we opened up the apartment to let the rest dry out. The owners have a 1000 mile drive to cut their holiday short today.

I, on the other hand, will need to replace all my shoes which were underneath the leak. It is never a chore to replace one's shoes.....I'm not so sure they'll feel the same about their Persian rugs.

Weak end

What a shocker. Friday night was reasonably drunken. Three crying girls at various points of the evening, one ranting Irish girl, a sobbing Welsh one and a lurking Mum to be entertained to boot.
The night ended well with the current fave chap joining me in the pub. We chatted lots, laughed a bit, I took the piss out of him a great deal and then we walked home together around 4.30am.

Dearest Mother woke me at 8am the following morning, talking at the top of her voice into her mobile phone....as only mothers can. She was on the phone to my sister, who happened to be in northern France, and it was like she was talking loud enough so that my sister might hear.
Being virtually talentless at sleeping I knew that was it. I was up. I was fuming.

I could barely look at her let alone talk to her and stormed out the flat with my head pounding and my mum knowing better than to ask questions.

I had the day from hell ahead.

After driving 2 hours down the coast and battling with a Saturday Ikea with a hangover, I can honestly say the will to live was weak. Child killing was high on my mental checklist.
Another half an hours drive and I found mum calmly sipping a cold lemonade at the campsite. Although my foul mood had subsided, I can honestly say that I would rather have poked myself repeatedly in the eye than spend the next two hours setting up mum's caravan awning in 30 degree heat.

Much much later, normal balance was restored following my weekend standard fare of salad, chips and a lot of wine.

Told off...

So my mum is here for a month. It is day 2. I love her muchly and on Saturday, she is going down the coast for 3 weeks. I shall be joining her at weekends but it means the week will be mum-free.

We are very similar you see. Too similar in fact.

I was having a few drinks last night with the green-eyed-cheeky-chappy-ski-instructor-with-dimples. I texted mum at 8pm to say dinner would be late and then phoned at 9 to say I wouldn't be long.

She was cross. She said 'You could have let me know' in an upset mum voice. But 'I did', I replied in whiny child tones.

So that was me, age 30, reprimanded for being late for dinner. Not good.

I blame her mostly for saying on my 30th birthday that I should do whatever I want in life. She obviously didn't mean it.
And although she is not yet whinging about her lack of grandchildren (I need a boyfriend first), she has to understand that in order for this to ever happen, I must be late for dinner due to sitting drinking with green-eyed-cheeky-chappy-ski-instructors-with-dimples. And the like.

Grrrrr

I am tired, bored and grumpy. Boo.

Bored of going out, too bored to stay in, bored at work.

Tired despite two good nights sleep after 10 of very little. If you can't catch up on lost sleep, then why am I still tired?

Grumpy just because. Probably Tuesday blues...probably tiredness...probably boredom.

Whinge, whinge, whinge.

Grrr.

Chavtastic

The aforementioned cousin's husband (does that make him a cousin-in-law? I am thinking probably not) is a top drawer chav. Lovable, funny but nevertheless a chav.

He drives a very shiny, very red sports BMW and has lots of gadgets that fall off the back of some very careless lorries, a lot.
There is some sparkly diamond earring and gold chain wearing amongst other things but he is a legend in a shiny tracksuit. His son (second cousin?) is 17. He is of the Burberry cap, tracksuit tucked into white socks and trainers variety. He can't make eye contact with anyone but fair play to even turning up to a BBQ where the minimum age is 30 and the maximum is 76.

His Dad bought him a big exhaust for his boy racer car for his 17th as an incentive to pass his test. This is the very exhaust that set off a car alarm just from driving past it further up our street. I think some tea came out of a few neighbours' noses.

Whilst I don't have any other chav mates or relatives, these chav's are all mine AND I am related to them...which I love because it somehow makes chavness OK.

We are family

The weekend was spent in Birmingham, where I am from. Every year we have a big family BBQ and last year this coincided with Father's Day and the scattering of my Dad's ashes.

I went and had a chat with him and the tree that he now is. Lovely but bizarre all the same.
I wasn't sure if I was supposed to feel anything or not. The only thing that came flooding to me was great memories which made me smile and my eyes slightly leak simultaneously.

The BBQ was a great success and we got smashed as is the norm. Drunk uncles, cousins and a sister.

My cousin's husband is always enquiring after our love lives, or lack of. Now with my sister having a chap for the first time in an age, it was me in the firing line. How come I haven't got a man yet?

It's actually a question I get asked all the time and I never know what to answer. 'Um...because I'm incapable??'

He is also the same guy who commented last year that I looked like a bit of a crisp eater....charmed. This year it was backed up with 'See you at the carvery tomorrow, I know you'll be there where there is food involved'.

Family. Always a pleasure, never a chore.

Horoscope

My Facebook horoscope said this:

Gemini: Things have been very exciting lately, and you want to make sure you remember them. Take pictures, or write things down, so the memories last forever.

Not that I believe horoscopes of course….

Have they been exciting? Perhaps. Worthy of writing down? Not sure.

I thought I should write about them regardless and then I can look back and see if they were remotely significant to life as a whole. I severely doubt it.

Over the last few days, things have been disrupted. The following has happened.

I have realised the worth of two friends. Due to the incessant negative behaviour of one, I have finally decided to try and call our friendship a day. I’m not yet sure how this is going to work in a town the size of a smartie and I don’t want to be hurtful.
The sage advice of another has brought our friendship to new heights. She, I am liking muchly.

After friendly advice, open chats and wine, I was able to point out my proximity to repeating a pattern set last year in terms of men. This is interesting as the two men involved push the same mental buttons – they are in fact quite similar animals.

Partying hard is fun from time to time but the effects on my work are terrible. Yesterday I saw what other people see and it wasn’t pretty. Common sense of course, yet slightly disturbing in action.

I can still rock the male friendship thing following last nights antics in Jlp. They tell me all sorts, and in some ways I learn a lot, in other ways what I learn leaves me with diminished hope.
However, getting past the friendship thing is a struggle. I am still working on it.
I don't know if this is from giving off the wrong signals, entering the comfort zone too quickly or whether I'm just unfanciable...

As you can see, not very exciting or eventful but thought provoking for me nevertheless.

Christ He was fit

I am fully aware that dreams are of little interest to others....but I need to document this for myself.

I fell back to sleep this morning into one of those heavy vivid dream filled sleeps. Yesterday, I was vaguely arranging a ski holiday - looking into chalets.
This morning, I dreamt we were there, perched on a mountain, having a ball.

Then Jesus walked in.

I am not religious in the slightest but He had the long curly brown locks and it was just Him. He took his clothes off and went swimming in the chalet pool.

He was fit as fuck. I woke up with a smile on my face. Is that wrong?

Runover

Feel shocking.

They turned up at 11.30.

Of course they did.

Growling

Bastard fucking Ikea want to deliver some furniture between 7am and 12 on Saturday morning. How evil can you get. If they were a person, I would kindly kill them...or perhaps not so kindly.

The thing is this. I don't actually live where they are delivering the furniture, so I can either get up at 6.30am and wait there or take a blow-up mattress to the place they are delivering it and sleep there the night before. A bit desperate perhaps, but at least it will solve the problem of getting home on Friday night - the delivery spot is round the corner from the pubs.

7am...I ask you.

Made my day

Sent: 04 July 2007 14:59
Subject: RE: Another one bites the dust

you really are a killer queen from the seven seas of rye of Antibes you know what sometimes I just want to jump headlong thru this crazy thing called love .......

Sent: Wed, 4 Jul 2007 09:25:40 +0200
Subject: Another one bites the dust

In a style stolen from another…..

Hopefully you don’t feel under pressure. Summer fever and like everyone in the summer I’m going slightly mad.
However, the show must go on and I want to break free from all the usual Antibes idiots. Let’s face it; I want it all, but that would take some kind of magic.
I’m on a roll so don’t stop me now and never forget that we are the champions.

Loving ya work.

Queen

He told me he had a song to play for me.

I couldn't think of any songs about pissed texting or bunny boilers.

I had nothing to worry about.

Loving his work.

Another eligible bachelor bites the dust

And I told him so by text when smudged on Sunday.

He said he was 'weirded out' as he didn't know who the text was from - not really the effect I had hoped for, although what I was trying to achieve I have no idea.
Only the copious amounts of cold cider on an empty stomach can tell me that.

I can be a text pest this is true, but not usually quite that random.

Oh the shame.

Annoyingly handsome

I saw the ex last night. I see him all the time.

We get on. We have to. Town is small.
It took as a while though but things are pretty chilled between us now. We have mostly different friends, different drinking venues and different interests. Which is nice.

It took us a long time to get to where we are now and we are friends in the loosest of terms but it is always nice to catch up.

Yesterday we were on the same terrace, sipping iced cider on a Sunday afternoon and people watching on the first official day of summer. He was looking suntanned, relaxed and very handsome.

After everything that went down between us, the anger and bitterness between us made him ugly to me and I'm sure I was to him. Relationships falling apart can do this to people it seems.
So yesterday was the first time that enough time had passed, enough ghosts laid to rest that I could see him for what he was during the beginning of our four year relationship.

But bloody hell it's annoying to find one's ex that attractive again.

I've just seen him again (I said town was small) and that still stands. Dammit.

Twat

This man here has not spoken to me since my last post about him. Not that I care particularly, I would expect nothing less. I will just make sure I keep my guard up next time and not get seduced by his out of work relaxed (FUCKING FAKE) persona.

He came into the pub the other night with a random guy. He kissed my colleague with whom he shares an office, and then kissed me adding, 'I haven't seen you in weeks'.

Now excuse me if I'm wrong but I walk past his desk once or twice a day. EVERY day. There is a glass partition and I am about 2 feet from his desk. He even said hello last week.

I am not sure if it is his way of telling me I am irrelevant or unnoticeable even, either way he would have to be seriously fucking blind, stupid, have some sort of greeting Tourette's and short-term memory loss to claim he hasn't seen me in weeks.

Wanker.

That will be all.

Happy days....

My birthday celebrations went well.

After the mixed emotions of the actual day and the combined high of Fete de la Musique, getting the keys to my new flat and the summer solstice on the 21st, I was on the way to being wrecked before the weekend celebrations even started.

In the end, 21 of us headed up to the gorges for some camping fun. Perfect weather, perfect food and company, the ubiquitous rosé and a very chilled vibe all round provided the most idyllic weekend I could have hoped for. In short, it couldn't have been better.

I had snippets of that feeling that I haven't had for a while and certainly don't get as often as I used to, that feeling of happiness, contentment and that this is what life is all about.

Despite struggling with some cultural aspects and frustrations that I get from living in a country other than my own, I felt on several occasions that this is why I choose to live here. It felt worthwhile.

After a horrible year last year where pretty much every aspect of my life went completely tits up at one point or another, I feel I have come a long way since then, run marathons in fact.

I feel positive and settled for the first time in a long time. I feel that I have achieved a lot in the last year, more than I hoped to by now.
I have some new goals now and one project on hold but things are looking good.

I'm not sure if 30 is supposed to be a pivotal point in your life or not but I know it was for a lot of my friends and some big changes were made.
Despite a wobble during a couple of weeks in the run up to the big 3-0, I don't think I could have handled it better.

It is the same as 29 really, it just rolls off the tongue a little easier, a nice round number to boot.
For me it is the summit of the hill that was my twenties. It rounds them off.

There will be equally trying times to come but I can only hope that wisdom and experience will facilitate them for me.....at least somewhat.

I hope that I have learnt from my mistakes and that I will make different ones - not that I hope to make any of course...

As they say about wine and art; many things getter better, more desirable and valuable with age. I will be very much applying this to myself.

Thirty

I am thirty today.

It was briefly tinged with sadness before, when opening a card from my mum. Something about enjoying life as it is precious. True words.

Dad would have been 68 today.

Crashing on, I am looking forward to a few tipples later on this evening and then a suitably debauched weekend camping in the gorge...bring it on.

Crash and burn

So after spending a significant amount of time together and after three hours on my sofa this evening, the Hot Aussie coyly told me about his 21 year old chick.

Then he showed me photos.

She is very beautiful and he is very proud.

Can't believe this development has only just come to light.

No sun day

I tried to write about this last night but gave up in the end. It could have been to do with the fact that the keys on my laptop had shrunk, or my fingers had grown, however I think it was just the fact that I was too pissed to type.

Yesterday was rainy. Not much to do here when it rains. I mean nothing....except pubbage...

I managed to stay off the devil's drink, which was an achievement in itself, and just got slightly fuzzy. Not by mistake of course, which is usually the case, but very much on purpose.

I had the most unusual night with a couple of friends. For one of which I use the term 'friends' very loosely.

Without sounding like a complete cat, it's hard to try and describe the issues I have with this girl, plus sometimes they seem infinite which would take a while to document.

At times she is sweet, we get on, have a laugh. I have evenings where her company is great.
Then there are nights like last night where I am gritting my teeth and wincing with her every word leading me to boil with bad thoughts.

This town is small, it's not like I can banish her from my social occasions as we have mutual friends, but sometimes I wish I could. The way that I felt last night was tinged by white wine, yet I have a feeling it would have been easier to write about then than it is now.

I can't express how I feel the way I want to and I can't put my finger on what it is exactly that I want to express.

At this point that is as good as it gets which is quite frankly, well......rubbish.

Under the weather

Booooooo.

It's Friday night and after a quiet week by my standards, I should under normal circumstances, feel ready to rock.

I am not.

The Hot Aussie texted and wants to hook up for a few scoops after work, along with the sister and another guy. Under normal circumstances, this would be excellent news.

My illness, although mild, is constantly evolving and I feel Rubbish. The dizziness and scratchy throat had evolved into an itchy cough, slight feverishness and nausea. My internal thermostat is broken and I feel very moany.

I am unlikely to do myself any favours by going out as my seemingly vacuous brain will have nothing to say for itself.

However, I am going to pop a couple of pills and hope for the best. You never know, I might be able to spritzer my way through it.....and as a former colleague of mine once said,

"If I'm well enough to work, I'm well enough to go to the pub."

Age changes

1 week till I turn 30. 1 week.

After my two week wobble concerning this occasion, I am glad to report that I am indeed very fine about this now. Very fine. I am muchly embracing my elderly-ness and looking forward to some hedonism and the odd present, if you will.

As I was lying in bed last night, trying to sleep, I was going through all my birthdays from age 16, seeing if I could remember them. It seems I cannot.

16 was rubbish - a BBQ held by my father as he shared the exact same birthday as myself. I was allowed some friends but it all ended very badly.

At 17, my parents towed the caravan up to Derbyshire and let us run riot for a weekend. We got into trouble for making too much noise - standard - took LSD and gatecrashed a 2CV rally.

18 was a meal out with friends....unremarkable apart from the coming of age factor.

19 was spent in Surfer's paradise in Oz. I got my nose pierced and ended the evening rowing with my best friend. I called her Miss. Perfect and she 'insulted' me by retorting with Miss. Pierced Nose. Imaginative.

20 was my first year at Uni. As with most of my first year, I can't remember anything.

21 was spent in Blackpool in a B and B. I had lots of silly tasks to complete including the essential snog-a-minger and skinny dipping in the sea. Nice. I also celebrated this one in the South of France.

22....no idea but probably the South of France again.

23 was watching England play football against someone for the world cup.

24 was at a joint held party in Golfe Juan. Very messy.

25 was spent in Capri on a boat, working. I think it ended in an argument between the chief stewardess and the bosun.

26 was one of my very favouritist. Lots of presents, lots of friends, lots or revelry and drunken debauchery. The Tequila bar and Xtreme cafe featured.

27 was the one where I was supposed to be at a friends wedding. I had my polka dot dress and everything. Unfortunately the boss came down and I had to work. Boo. Oh yes, and my now ex-boyfriend lied about what he was doing and didn't come and see me when he could have. A bad one.

28 was spent at Cafe Brun in Biot. A random selection of friends and ended messily.

29 was last year. Not my favourite at all. It was the first birthday spent without Dad, who passed away on Valentine's Day last year. As we shared the birthday, it was weird not being able to call him up in the morning and sing 'Happy birthday' to each other down the phone. I also had just come out of a long term relationship and it was lonely waking up by myself. There was definitely some tears as I opened cards, then some drunkenness at the Lincoln pub.

And that brings me to 30. I am full of hope for this one. It will involve some camping, some drinking and some silly behaviour I hope.

Bring it on.

Spinny head

Today I have a spinny head. I am not confused or hectic, it's more like some kind of illness.

Since yesterday, I have been headachy and sore throaty and also some sort of spinny heady.

I can't work out whether the feeling is pleasant or horrible. It's almost like I am not quite here and slightly dizzy, slightly euphoric. Only slightly euphoric mind.

I want my normal brain back as this one is filled with mashed potato in a blender.

Choice

Finally succeeded in a night out with the two fave boys of the moment. It involved some careful planning of a slightly stalkerish knowing-what-time-he-finishes-work nature, and a lot of coercion of the sister to come out of her hungover vegetative state to have some hairs of the proverbial mutt.

Anyway, a top night had by all involved.....apart from perhaps the sister, who after so much resistance, enjoyed her 'hairs' so much, she fell off her bike on the way home.

The hot Aussie pretty much spent the entire weekend at my flat albeit on the sofa. Very chilled, no dramas. I weaved as many shirt-off opportunities as possible into the weekend plans, i.e. the pool, the gorge etc.

He finally cycled off at 10.30pm on the Sunday night, all relaxed and in topless photos very much stored on my camera.

No gossip to tell and no idea of his intentions, but I am intrigued all the same, if only to touch the chest! However, it is the quick witted Ralph that is still the favourite.

All this said, having not fancied anyone for ages (crushes aside), there are now two. TWO. Like bloody buses or sommat they say....

Two choices yet probably zero chances....still working on it....

Home time!

Yay! I completed my course, passed my exam and actually learnt something. On top of which, it is Officially Friday in about one hour and my little sister has come out to play for 10 whole days. She will be waiting for me in the pub shortly where we will drink wine, laugh a lot and perhaps fall over sometime later.

Amongst all the Interesting Things I have learnt, I have also learnt the following:-

- I have the attention span of a slightly retarded fish
- My bladder is seemingly tiny
- The guy upstairs in marketing in strangely attractive in a French creative sort of way
- I am worryingly addicted to Facebook. More so than initially thought which renders me
some sort of teenager.....I missed it
- I do not know how to spell excercise
- I have been in denial about nibbling my nails for most of my life, it is time to be open
- My beautiful treasured charm bracelet is rattle-y and annoying in a classroom situation

All in all, a productive and educational week.

And now...

....my head is about to roll off....

Back to school

I haven't been to school since 1995. I did attend lectures after that for several years but these only lasted a short time and attendance was at times, minimal. I think I did 12 hours a week.

This week I am back to school. I am attending a course with the top boss man and concentrating for 7 hours a day is proving tricky.

What's more, I have an exam to complete at the end.

Shit the bed.

Ralph did me. In the toilets.

Most pubs in this part of the world have only one toilet, two at a push. When the pub gets busy, this usually involves a queue of mainly women waiting their turn.

On this occasion, there was a queue of largely and almost exclusively Australian men.

The object of last weeks crush (who works behind the bar), asked me for a favour. Could I please wait in line with the most enormous industrial size toilet roll ever, and replace the empty one.
He hands me the key with a smile and skips* off back to the bar. This is not a bar were you can queue inside the toilet confines I might add, but in the main busy Friday night bar, in full view of well....everyone.

Comments such as 'When a girl's gotta go, a girl's gotta go', 'That's a really attractive look babe' and 'No need to ask for which number you need to go for' fly around while I try and hold onto the increasingly heavy giant toilet roll. I growl inwardly.

I enter the toilet, carry out the favour amongst other (#1) things and leave. The lads are all still laughing and one tops it all with 'Stand back lads, I'd give this one a few minutes if I were you'.
Bloody wanker Ralph.

I hand back the key with a raised eyebrow, he laughs and apologises in a not nearly sincere enough manner. I think it makes me like him more - the bastard.

Anyway, it makes for a great anecdote later in the evening when I am sitting talking to one of his friends.

A very hot Aussie lad.



*I could never fancy a man who skips so this is purely for effect.

Forever

So the name of the man I'm stalking (and I am joking about the stalking part...sort of) is Ralph.

Such a satisfying name for a start, and although this isn't why I'm stalking him, it is part of the appeal. Only a very small part obviously, otherwise that would be weird.

I've never met a Ralph before, although there are quite a few famous ones I could name, but won't.

However the one thing the name reminds me of most is the book 'Forever' by Judy Blume. I think most girls of my age (and probably some lads too!), will remember this coming-of-age-teenage-porn book. It must only have had two dog-eared pages of filth in the entire thing, of which most of us remembered the page number off by heart. Or was that just me?

Back to the point. Katherine, the main character in the book named her first boyfriend's penis Ralph. The references we giggled over and passed the book round over, mostly involved Ralph growing bigger and feeling Ralph inside her.

And all this forgotten until now.

I might even have to re-read the book.

Stalker

And then I went and Googled him, with a surprisingly informative outcome.

Leering

Out for a few drinks last night with my oirish friend, making the most of the fact her fee-on-saaay is away.

She is a very bad influence and I have incredibly little willpower. Thankfully I declined her night cap offer of a bottle of champagne. It not only gives me a terrible hangover, but I had clearly drunk quite enough already.

I did some barman crush leering. It started with some friendly chat and then playing it cool, followed by some unnecessarily long eye contact behaviour as the night wore on.

What started with a sparkly smile, ended in a window-licking sunshine bus inane grin.

I think I'm in.

A new crush

A new week, a new crush. It perhaps doesn't happen on a weekly basis, but it does happen quite often.
I suspect it is just a phase I am going through.

The thing with a crush is that it can come on quite unexpectedly and often quite rapidly. For me it means my days are filled with silly fantasies and random thoughts. Crushes are fun and usually disappear as quickly as they came.

My latest one was spotted some weeks ago and admired at a distance, over a bar. Over the weekend, I met him properly for the first time and we chatted, quite a bit.

In my mind I was witty and informative. Unfortunately in reality, I have a feeling I was bellowy and show-offy. Due to drunkenness of course.

Oh dear.

A temporary thaw

There is this bloke.

He is obnoxious, arrogant and inconsistent in his friendliness.
He is the kind of man I would go out of my way to avoid, he would have no place in my social circle.
However, sometimes you are forced to deal with this sort, usually through work or a mutual friend. The one in question is both.

He rarely says hi, has been known to completely blank me on occasion and is generally quite rude and miserable. On the odd occasion we have socialised, he has been a condescending know-it-all with the ability to make me feel small. Perhaps he just intimidates me, I don't know, but I hate the fact that he can.
All in all, I am not a fan.

Then he turns up at a social event last weekend. Unexpectedly. After an initial out pour showing off about his weekend, he settles....and chats.

By the end of the day, I am starting to warm to him. Only starting, I might add - there is still plenty to dislike. Amongst all his rubbish characteristics are glimpses of self-deprecation and humour. He is in fact quite funny.

Not only am I starting to like him, I might even have a crush.

Fast forward to Monday at work. Back to being ignored. Standard.

However, the crush remains. Only slightly. How very dare he make me like him...

Pink evil

Yesterday I had the usual Monday rosé effect. Woke up at 3.30am, twitchy and anxious and couldn't get back to bastard sleep.
When will I learn that the pink stuff is the drink of Beelzebub? Lordy.
Yesterday involved some beach action and some inflatable fun behind a boat. Also rosé.
Then sundowners in full sandy beach attire and then some more rosé. Did I mention we had some rosé?

I love Sundays, and this kind of behaviour always seems a good idea at the time, but it truly is a terrible way to start a working week.

I should come good by Wednesday.

The off button

Why don't I have this and if I do, why don't I push it? Or does it just not work?

My usual Friday feeling never kicked in on Friday. Partly because the office was quiet and it had been a long day, and partly because I had Thursday off, so the need to go wild was not as great.

I went to the pub anyway. I was neither in the mood for socialising, nor in the mood for drinking. Unusual I know.

I sat there till 11.00pm, not really wanting to be there but pushing on through. Just for the sake of it. Why?

If I had listening to my instincts, I would have had a much more pleasurable night at home in front of the box. But no, I persisted with the evening, not really enjoying anything about it.

I didn't get drunk, I didn't hemorrhage too much cash but I didn't have any fun either.

Why didn't I push to the off button, say no? I still haven't learnt this skill dammit. I wonder how many more non-nights I will have before I do?

Premature smugness

Over the last couple of years, I have watched many a friend turn thirty, or twenty-ten, whichever they prefer.
(A made-up statistic of) 80% of them seemed to experience some kind of birthday related trauma/stress/depression.

Many of those who were in a long-term relationship pondered the make-or-break decision, and broke.
Those that were single were fed up of being so and had imagined themselves married or the like, at such an age.

As well as relationship issues, there were the 'I haven't achieved enough' issues, the 'I hate my job' issues, the 'stuck in a rut' and the 'haven't seen enough of the world' issues, to name but a few.
The general feeling was that time was moving fast, running out if you like, and that 30 marked the milestone to worry and then do something about it.

As for me, at the age of nine and twenty, I dismissed these concerns and was convinced I would be part of the (made-up statistic of) 20% who didn't care. It's only a birthday after all....isn't it?

Hell no. I am one month before the aforementioned date and I have spent the last week worrying. Worrying about all the things that I mentioned above. A lot.

This launch into the next decade is suddenly terrifying and more importantly, I am poised ready to plunge into it alone.

My friends were all right and justified. Turning twenty-ten is positively horrifying.

Blues...

Following the stress and frustration of luggage-gate, followed by one night sleep-free thanks to an all night burglar alarm, I started to feel decidedly run down and fed-up.

Of course, two very boozy four day weekends didn't help. I don't think. I could be wrong.

Now after a record two days off the piss, I am not feeling much better. However I am going to push on through and visit the pub after work.
Despite feeling queasy, headachy and grumpy - it is a must. For it is a bank holiday tomorrow and as we all know, it is essential to drink the night before and even on, a bank holiday.

So in about an hour, I will be making a beeline for the boozer and forcing a couple of swift drinks down. Just a couple mind for fear of getting drunkety drunk. No-one would want that.....

I will let you know how I get on....

Mounting costs

After three days of missing bag, keys and ghd's, coupled with mounting parking costs and a distinct lack of transport, it was time to get proactive about the cause.

The VW garage got a visit with a request for a new car key. The initial quote of €500 to change the locks was soon replaced by €60 for a new key. Great, but it would take 10 days.

10 more days of parking charges. Oh well, I was beginning to accept the expensive outcome. Bloody baggage handlers.
They would call me when the key was ready. Smashing.

Almost as a parting comment they informed me, ''Oh, but the key won't actually start the car...''.

Fucking marvelous.

''It will open the door though...".

Joy. Not exactly what I had in mind.

I was then told that the key is programmed with an anti-theft device, so I would need to get the new key reprogrammed for a small fortune. It can't be done on site either, so I would need a tow truck to go and fetch the car, tow it 20 kilometres and reprogramme the key. All for a cost equivalent to the debt of a small African country. Crikey!

I did the only thing appropriate at the time and in a girly can't-help-it kind of way. I was very embarrassed but the eyes would not stop leaking. The shame of the girly-ness.

I trudged back to the office, trying to accept that my bank holiday weekend was going to turn out to be incredibly expensive. It's only money, I thought. Not even a brief sighting of the fit physio man who had been treating me could cheer me up as I sniffed and waved weakly.

On arrival at the office, wallowing, I got a call to say the bag had just turned up.

Things turned out OK in the end, but I am still traumatised by the whole experience.

Outstandingly dim...not to mention vain....

....I am.

I am slightly cross and annoyed. Mostly cross. With myself.

Gatwick/Easyjet/new baggage handling company have lost my luggage. Boo.

Whilst I could blame them (and of course I very much do), or I could blame the Greenpeace tree-huggers for putting some environmental curse thingy on me (not likely), I mostly and very much blame myself.

I rarely put anything in the hold you see. Particularly not for a long weekend.

The reason I did this time involves a hair product. One unavailable where I live and one over 100ml (the hand luggage liquid limit). It only cost me 2 pounds but I covet it, plus it was brand new.

Mrs Orange Easyjet woman threatened to take it off me. On account of not being in a rush I checked it in, so I could relish in the use of my luxury 2 pound item at the other end.

Now everything is lost and I am cross.

My car keys are also in there - an incredibly stupid move on my part. This would be OK if I had access to the spare set.
Unbelievably stupidly - they are in there too....

In my defense, I drove straight from having my car serviced on Friday to the airport. They had replaced my spare set of keys which hadn't been working. I thought it was safer to keep the spare set with me rather than leave them in the car all weekend. I was smug regarding my sensibleness at the time.

So my car is stuck in the expensive airport garage 20kms away and I am waiting. Expensively. Not to mention crossly.

I can't tell you how upset I am with myself.....and also the fact that my beloved ghd's without-which-I-cannot-live are also in my bag, but don't get me started on that.

So here I sit expensively waiting, with unruly wavy hair, no car or 2 pound evil trouble causing hair product, cross.

Did I mention I was cross?

Never.

Two incidences last night about five minutes apart.

I have always been told that I look younger than my age. It is not something I am particularly bothered about, nor would I mind if I actually looked my age.

However.....a friend last night couldn't remember whether I was older or younger than him.

He is 8 years older. 8 years. I mean...I ask you.

Discussion followed.

On revealing my actual age a short while later, another friend exclaimed 'Never!'.

'Never what? Never that old or never that young?', I replied.

'Just.......never!' he said.

Which can only mean one thing...

Cheeky fuckers.

Bad footprint behaviour...

4am at a funky party - the likes of which I don't get to attend nearly often enough.

Several vats of wine had been drunk, along with 27 shots...or thereabouts.
Lots of dancing, chatting and most of all drinking had been taking place for many hours up until that point.

To say that I was sweaty, boss-eyed and lumbering around like a fool if you will, would be a understatement.

Was happily chatting away to a previously-not-met-before reveller about the excellent-ness of the party and why I had flown to be on the south coast that weekend. I might have mentioned that I was also flying back again the following weekend for a similar event.

Might, I said.

Was rabbiting on inanely, praising low-cost airlines and their ability to stave off homesickness on my part, and generally (I thought) boring the poor blighter to death. That is until my new found friend piped up...

'Can I stop you there? Perhaps I should mention I work for Greenpeace'.

Now, I have nothing against such types, of which there are an abundance of in that part of the world, and I do in fact, worry about such issues.

However, there is a time and a place for such a rigid disapproving comment (well that is how I think I remember it), and 4am is perhaps not it.

I wibbled off shortly afterwards, concerned.

Not for the environment I might add, but for the amount of water and sleep I might have to have, in order to feel semi-human the following day.

A lot more than I had accounted for it turned out.