Movin

I couldn't abandon blogging entirely, but it definitely had to change form to accommodate my changed form. You can now find me a A Life Unordinary. Enjoy and spread the word.

And then there were 4

Once upon a time in a land far far away (well far far away from the OC anyway) a girl who had moved to The City for work found love. In the most unexpected place at a most unexpected time (I would have preferred it had been 5 cocktails earlier if I am honest) with a most unusual boy. Never before had Girl Friday met someone so kind and so quiet and so shy and SO into Cricket. The next day upon his request, she accompanied him to Lords to see her first ever test match (pre season of course). She drank pint after pint and sat in the sun all day and thought to herself, this is not bad at all. 7 hours later she realised it still wasn't over and from there on out vowed to bring reading material to any cricket match in the future. And so she carried on with Cricket Boy for a few more months until one day he announced that he wasn't grown up enough to be with Girl Friday. Sad that she had possibly misjudged this boy after all, she picked herself up and carried on with her adventures of work, travel and getting into trouble (the latter of which she was very very good at).
One day, Girl Friday received a phone call that indicated to her CB had a change of heart (or rather he wised up and realised GF was the best thing that ever happened to him). She met him for dinner at her favourite pub in The City and after much gravelling on his part, she decided to give him another shot.
Ne'er could a happier GF be found in all the land. For the next year and a bit she and CB were deliriously smitten and decided to shack up and live in sin. Although GF was very very happy, she was also very very busy and stopped writing stories as much (debatable whether this was a good thing or a bad thing). Then one day, CB and GF got some most exciting news, they found out they were going to have a little Cricket Boy or a little Girl Friday! They couldn't have been more pleased. GF was however, insistent on keeping this a secret for as long as possible and therefore continued on as if nothing was amiss. Stories took a back seat as she travelled the globe, baked herself into a frenzy and made up the most ridiculous excuses to explain why she wasn't the party girl she used to be (I am growing up was my very favourite. YEAH! That will be the day). After more then 12 weeks had passed, they went in to see a sneak preview of the little one and got a very big surprise. Not only were they having one little holy terror, they were having two! It was double trouble all around for CB and GF, but instead of fretting, they laughed, kissed a lot (much to the dismay of the very conservative sonographer) and started planning their future (WITHOUT an estate car).

So you see boys and girls, some stories do have a happy ending. I imagine this one will have a tired and fairly skint ending, but one with much more love and joy then anyone though imaginable. So with that tale of success in a world full of failure, I am going to part ways with you. This particular story of mine has come to an end and it is time for a new story to begin. Once that new story starts, you will be the first to know. I promise.





And everyone lived happily ever after. THE END.

Meat the Neighbours

Before we moved to Chiswick, I had heard rumblings of a very very hot butcher from some of my single friends in the area. I wrote it off as a couple of girls who needed to get some and were clearly projecting 70's porn fantasies on to a poor bloke whose meat they wanted to handle. Fast forward to two weekends ago when CB and I decided to pop in to the local butcher in prep for a nice Sunday roast. To what did my wandering eyes did appear. Behind the rack of lamb and spicy pork sausages was a very very hot butcher and he was helping us. I looked around and realised I was the only one who dared bring a male counterpart in with her and also the only one who happened to actually be wearing her ring. We (or should I say I) bought 2x as much as needed and had a fine chat with said bloke. When we left the butcher I commented on the truth of the rumours. CB decided that he was either gay or secretly a trannie. You see no man could be that cute and that nice and be interested in women (according to my better half). Whatever, I don't really care. He's still hot. CB often teases me and calls me a vegetarian. I am not, I totally eat meat, but it's true that I prefer vegetables more times then not and I don't cook with meat more then 3x a month probably. Well, I didn't use to. I have since been into the butcher every other day and our freezer is full of meat that CB will have to eat when I am travelling for work.

I was walking down the street this morning and was greeted by a very enthusiastic, 'Morning! from the hot butcher. I knew it was going to be a very good day.

I suck

I don't really have a good excuse for my lack of posting lately. Sure I could blame it on being busy (what's new) or traveling (see previous) or the sunny weather (ok, that might be a valid one if I didn't have a BlackBerry) but in reality, I just don't feel like anything of much interest has been happening lately. Living in sin is pure domestic bliss, but no one wants to hear that. I have literally turned into a combination of Martha Stewart (sans the prison record), Nigella Lawson (with not quite as much woman to love) and Rachel Stewart (maybe not quite as good as decorating fairy cakes) over night. It makes me want to vomit in my lovely creme brulee with fresh vanilla beans and organic sugar. So until my usual sarcasm and normal F*Off attitude resumes I'll stay quiet in the corner and let the more bitter of the bloggers manage the traffic.

Queer Eye for the Straight Guy

Apologies all around for the lack of updates. I had 2 days in the new place after the move and then had to fly to the Middle East for 8 days for work.

I tell you what, the whole leaving a boy to sort out the flat thing...that was new. I am a control freak, in case anyone thought otherwise, and being in PR means I am good at organising. So, while I am often stuck as the organiser of things (nights out, group gifts, holidays, parties etc) I actually don't mind it. As I am a control freak, this way I know it's done and it's done my way. Simple. So leaving CB at the helm of about 1000 boxes was less then comfortable for me. Before I left we agreed that he wouldn't touch any box with my initials on it (clothes, bathroom stuff, general crap that has no home which I need to find a home for, you know THAT stuff) and we also agreed where he would hang certain pictures etc. We unpacked the kitchen entirely in the one day I had, so that was not a concern. On my nightly call with CB each day that I was gone, I got a running commentary as to what he had done that day. The conversation would go something like this:

GF: Hey there hot stuff, how are you?


CB: Yeah, I am good baby. I miss you, come home.


GF: I'll be home next week, you'll live. So how was your day?


CB: It was good. I hung the pictures in the hall, the pictures in the entry way, the pictures in the kitchen and also unpacked all the books and framed photographs and neatly arranged them. I was worried about unpacking your books, but I arranged them all (the travel books) by geographic region. South Africa and Asia are together cos there weren't any others to keep them company. Also I have finished all the unpacking, and done all the recycling....





And on and on the conversation went. EVERY NIGHT. Bless. He's so sweet and such a good man, he really really wanted to make sure everything was done when I got home. I actually one evening got a play by play of his weekly grocery shopping trip. From the way he had spoken, I genuinely expected to walk into a perfectly arrange flat that was spotless. Coming straight from the airport last night, I got home about an hour before he did. The pictures were hung and the recycling was gone. As for the rest of the laundry list of activities, I couldn't really see it. Each room was nearly done. Which meant each room had a distinct element of chaos and multitude of partially empty boxes. I hate clutter and I hate overcrowded spaces more then I can say. Aware that I didn't want to burst his "I did good" bubble, I very quickly picked up the lounge and dining room, cleared up the kitchen re-arranged a couple of wonky pieces of decor, hoovered and started dinner (we are talking like 30 minutes flat inlcluding multiple box moves). When he came home he said, "wow it looks great in here, I didn't realise just how much work I did while you were away."





PS: I LOVE our new neighbourhood. While the photo is probably circa 1940, you get the idea

And then there was one

One more week until I move and I am surrounded by boxes. I am super organised but I must admit, I have done much less for this move then I would have normally done at this point. Usually I am so busy that everything is done really far in advance, but this time I haven't been as busy. So here I sit with one week left and about 20 hours worth of packing to do. Oh well. The popcorn and wine has been worth it.

Keep Calm and Carry On

After a fair amount of anxiety last week about my inability to embrace change, I spent the weekend kicking and screaming like an insolent and rebellious toddler. Come Monday, I decided to accept my inner crazy and move along, nothing to see here folks. Subsequent to said decision I have been spending each evening indulging in all my SSB (Super Single Behaviour) which includes, but is not limited to:

-Eating nothing but popcorn for dinner complimented with a large glass of red wine

-Watching really crap telly (Mistresses, The Hills, Gossip Girl) when I have a million other things I should be doing

-Staying in my PJ's all day when I work from home

-Taking an obscenely long bath before bed with only a candle lit, because we all look better by candle light

-Gossiping on the phone, while doing my nails and stalking people on FaceBook

-Going to bed silly early or ridiculously late

-Sleeping on the sofa, just because I love it*

Like an addict, I know I can give these things up anytime I want to. I am not hurting anyone, I have it under control. No one needs to know about this, it can be our secret.

*Truth be told, this does usually follow several drinks at an undisclosed West End wine bar with a certain Irish Blonde. Genuinely, I do love to sleep on my sofa every now and again though.

Difficult

I have this strange habit of staying friends with my ex's. CB can't understand it, although he's not too bothered by it. There are likely a million boring emotional reasons behind it. I'm sure a psychologist somewhere would have a field day unravelling it. Fact is, they hold a piece of my life in a capsule. The years I spent with each of them make up who I am today. With the exception of one who I am not really friends with, but am friendly toward when I run into him, they all treated me well and are good people. We just didn't make a good couple.

So during a particularly tough period in my life about five years ago, I was having a conversation with one of them. Let's call him LA Boy. I was dating, actually living with, Nature Boy at the time. We were really struggling and NB had explained to me that he loved me very much, despite the fact that I was very hard to love. So the following week in an IM convo with LA Boy (this is also the benefit of having ex's as friends, you can vet things with them that no one else knows about you) I posed the million dollar question, LA-Am I difficult to love? Was it a struggle for you to be in love with me? Oh the naivete of youth, I can't believe I even asked him that. LA Boy was shallow, is shallow. He lives in LA, it sorta comes with the territory. So naturally he replied, well, I don't know. Yeah, I guess. You aren't easy, that's for sure. You're definitely a challenge. I internalised this, marinated with it for awhile and then promptly left NB. I took a job in London and left my comfortable life behind in search of someone who didn't struggle to love me. Me. I realised at that very moment in time that if I had to ask the question, I needed to love myself a whole lot more before I could expect the same of another.

Fast Forward nearly 5 years, a lot of tears, a million smiles and more frequent flier miles then a Condor later and here we are. I did what I set out to do and I didn't let myself fall in love with another person until I felt safe in the knowledge that I could easily love myself. Now here I am ready to leap into what I see as a permanent step toward the end of my single life and well, I am freaking out a little. I have no reservations about the who this time. CB is amazing. He's everything I want; all things I didn't know I needed and then some. Quite simply I am afraid of failure. When I take those personality tests that Communications teams so often inflict, the one thing that appears constantly is that I will succeed in the face of opposition because my nature is to be anything but a failure. The tests also say I am Type A, overly sarcastic, hyper critical and rash; but who's counting? The thing is, I can't bear the thought of disappointing CB, but more then that, I can't bear the thought of disappointing myself. The Aries in me is screaming, DON'T SCREW THIS UP, so loud that I can hardly hear my poor little heart whispering, CB is a keeper GirlFriday, you can't screw it up.



Why can't I just be simple?

My life is boring

I guess not in the traditional sense of the word boring; I mean I am rarely in the same country for more then 7 days and I live in Central London. By GirlFriday standards however, things are really not exciting at the moment. Outside of work my time revolves around moving in 3 weeks, packing for the next trip, unpacking from the previous trip (which I have a horrible habit of either doing immediately or leaving for as long as possible) and throwing away or using up bath, shower, face and body products. Like I have said before, rock and roll people, rock and roll. Its given me some time to reflect though and I have to say, I am not as sad about leaving my posh little neighbourhood as I expected to be. More then anything, after close to 5 years living alone, it's more of a shock to the system to think of relinquishing my own space. It feels a bit irrational given the amount of time that CB and I already spend together (5 nights a week usually). But as a fellow blogger pointed out, I am a woman and am therefore mental. Hopefully not as mental as the woman in the photo though, apparently she sat on a toilet for 2 years.

Resolve

I've a few more weeks to go before the move, but am somehow oddly motivated to start making changes for long term effect in the present. For instance, working out. It wouldn't be a lie if I said I ran a marathon, closer to the truth, however, to say it was more then four years ago. Since which time my fitness levels have gone from decent to embarassing. I could blame it on a million things, but the reality is where there is a will there is a way. Clearly I have been lacking will for the better part of the last year, so I am open to give way a chance. That and CB has stepped up his game. He completely accepts me for who I am, how I am. He likes my soft bits (in his words) and prefers women with a little meat on their bones. I am, I realised this morning, verging on needing some bones with the meat these days though.

I am also working through socres of product in the bathroom which I don't know why I even still have. Well, that's not true, I do know. I am a product whore, I have an addiction. I have been known to wander the aisles of 24 hour Boots, Wallgreens, and Rite Aid's in my time. I am not really sure what it is, but all those products make me happy and buying them makes me even happier. So that leaves me with a linen cupboard which bears only one shelf of (very cramped) linen and the rest products which I either got bored of or never tried. It's embarassing to have 12 different 1/2 used shower gels and 4 different types of shine spray for your hair. It's not embarassing as I live alone, but it will be mortifying when CB sees the MASSIVE box labeled Bath during the move and opens it only to realise it's FULL of products. So I am using them, all and sundry in an effort to be left with nothing half full. Oh, I also like to take the travel size bottles from hotels. Not the skanky ones, but the nice ones. It's documented that I travel a lot, so you do the maths. That my friends is a lot of lube and bubbles.

She's come undone

After traveling for work, a typical story from me usually starts: So it was me and 8 men... I have been in PR for nearly 10 years now (WOW, even I can't believe that since I am like, what 24?) and have always worked in tech PR of some sort, except when I was with a major athletic brand (rhymes with pikey if you are North American, Bike if you are English) and even then I did athletic technology devices. I have PR'd everything from Software to Micro Processors, Shoes to Vaccines; the common thread being innovation and technology. Unfortunately, it does still tends to be a very male dominated field. When I was a consultant, many of my agency cohorts were women, but now that I am in house, it's typically me and a bunch of sales guys, technical guys or engineers. I don't mind at all and if I am honest I actually tend to find men easier to relate to, it's probably one of the areas I struggle with most in my friendships with women.

So, last night I am at dinner with 5 men in Bucharest. 3 I work with and 2 work for a partner to our company. One of them notices that I am no longer wearing "the" ring I was wearing earlier. He assumes it's an engagement ring (it looks like one, although it's my birthstone and not a diamond, and I absolutely love it) and as I had mentioned my boyfriend earlier in conversation, asks how he feels about me taking it off. My response, it didn't match my bracelet. Ladies (and these days possibly the men, all things being equal) you know when someone is enquiring out of curiosity and you know when they are enquiring out of, oh how do I say it? Lust? The deal is, I always wear a ring on my left hand when I travel for work. I always have, even before CB. Some of the countries I visit can not comprehend and unmarried woman, so it's just easier and in others it wards of unwanted attention. So for the table of men, half of whom are likely still intrigued by a woman at a business dinner who is not a PA or an EA or something else with assistant in the title, it was most interesting. In their eyes I had the "luck" of finding someone who wanted to marry me, but myself was indifferent. Actually, they quite proudly concluded that I was a GD who required a ring for every outfit.

Who says a girl can't have fun on a business trip? As my girl crush once said, lying is the most fun a girl can have...without taking her clothes off.

The Beat Goes On

I went to what can only be described as the tackiest, pikey "wedding celebration" ever this weekend. A uni mate of CBs got hitched on a tropical island over Christmas. In an obvious effort to milk it for all it was worth, he and his betrothed had a second wedding in the country over the weekend. I don't know if I can do justice in my descriptions to the levels of cheesiness that occurred at this event, but I will give it a shot.

• We had an incling upon checking into the hotel that we may have romanticised the "country wedding" situation. Or at least I had.


• Once in our room it became obvious to me that I am A. Spoiled and B. Germaphobic. CB commented that I was making use of the hotel amenities from go. In reality, after doing my spray tan, there was no amount of money that could have convinced me to walk around barefoot in that room. Not sure if the slippers were much better, but I gave it a go.


• While I spray tanned and pranced around starkers CB sorted the lack of working telly in the room (there was rugby on dontcha know) and managed to end up with the shower knob in his hand long after his bathing was complete.


• We made our way to the suite where the activities were meant to be happening and upon entering received our "complimentary entry drink." Going back to my point about being spoiled, it was once again confirmed. I don't like cheap champagne, I'm sorry Cava. I am not saying I don't like Cava or Presecco, sometimes it's lovely, but this was not. One sip and the glass was immediately left on a table.


• A table with a pink paper cloth laid over it with metallic hearts in the form of confetti sprinkled about and a fake cake. Yes, a fake cake. It was plastic.


• I met the bride and groom who were booted and suited in actual wedding attire. Her dress looked like something out of a bad 80's film and he was sporting a white suit with a hot pink bow tie.


• We found one of our friends and entered the room where we found a square for "disco" in front of a DJ booth which had dark coloured felt draped over the front with Christmas tree lights strung across it. A disco ball above (hence our twigging that it was the dance floor) and a plastic banner on the wall hanging by a piece of cello tape, which said: Happy Wedding Celebration!!!


• The average age of the attendees made it look far more like a funeral then a wedding and we quickly decided mass quantities of alcohol from the "cash bar" were going to be necessary.


• On our way to the bar we spied a wall with a video projection of the actual wedding from Christmas in the Caribbean. Now, I am no genius, but I am pretty sure none of the pasty white guests (except me of course as I had California spray tan at my side) who trudged through about 20 centimetres of snow in 2 degree temperatures to pay £5 for a pint of John Smith's at a hotel charging around £100 a night for horrid accoms were all too happy to be reminded that the happy couple actually spent all their money on the initial wedding which was sunny, warm and had waves crashing in the background. I could be wrong though.


• DJ comes on to announce that the buffet is open but that there aren't enough seats, so could people kindly stand at the bar and eat. CB went to get me a plate as I saved our bar table for 4 in the hopes that 8 of us could crowd round


• He came back with one plate and explained that he didn't think I would really fancy anything at the buffet. I looked around and people had sausage rolls, egg rolls, wraps with cheese and pickle and fruit on toothpicks. CB guessed right, so I ordered another drink.


• We all placed bets on the first dance song. Given the tacky factor we were hopeful that there would be some Westlife, or Boy Zone maybe even a little Take That. We were all wrong. Stevie Wonder crooned from the DJ box while the white and pink couple danced to "I just called to say I love you"

The rest of the evening was a bit more fun, but I reckon that was down to the copious amounts of booze we intook. We got into the cheese factor and danced to music I haven't heard since grade 8 socials. CB was approached by several older relatives of the groom who remembered him from Uni. I thought they were trying to set him up with nieces, granddaughters etc. Turns out they were eyeing him. I guess I am not the only cradle robber in the village.

Are you having a laugh?

I am mean, I know. I can't help it. Once again, an entry contributed by my mate who is Matchtastic. I am sure she is not laughing when she opens requests from men such as the one below, but I am. Not at her, with her of course. Honesty is great, as is a realistic view of one's situation, but seriously?
You might as well hang a sign over your neck that says Will Date for Pity and stand on Oxford Street on a Saturday night.


Hi my name is XXX, I have been through a lot in my short life time which has made me stronger, more patient, dedicated and a hard worker. I AM NOT perfect but I try my best to be a great man. I am currently divorced which broke my heart, I had 2 beautiful children that I will never see again because they were not biologically mine but I loved them the same and I will miss them very much. I love children and would love to have 2 of my own someday, but not yet, they are very expensive which I found out from my marriage. So regarding that I want to make it through College first so I can actually be able to support and provide for a great family. Family is very important to me and I am very close to my mum, she is sick and not doing too good so I do like to check up on her from time to time. I also love animals, I had a Corgi but he died about a year ago. My parents had 2 white shepherds, a cocker spaniel, and another Corgi. I also had a Tobby the cat but he got stuck in a tree and that's the last time I saw him.

The Ex Files

In preparation for the prospect of the end of my single life I as I knew it (also known as living in sin) I deliberated back in November over The Ex Files. Turned out we had to delay the move until March of this year, but never the less, the seed was planted. In the end I decided that one box wouldn't kill anyone but that I would go through the ex files this year before we moved and make a decision. I started weeding through some of it tonight and found more then just the cards and notes I had remembered stashing. I found ticket stubs and theatre programmes, long letters and foreign postcards, but the biggest surprise were all the photos. I made some observations:

• In our youth, I don't think we realise our beauty. In contrast with age I think we overlook the beauty that comes with wisdom in an endless search for the boobs/legs/arse we had at 24
• In the throws of falling head over heals one never thinks, when will this end
• Love means different things to different people
• I will always trust my instincts or at least try
• I will never again forget who I am regardless of who someone else wants me to be
• Love means learning how to say I'm sorry
• Beauty is truly skin deep
• A leopard never changes their spots
• Laugh and the world laughs with you, one drink too many and the world laughs at you
• People can come and go in life but you always take bits of them with you

Most importantly I genuinely feel that all of the heartbreak and drama, the does he doesn't he, the will he won't he, the tears, the anger...it's all behind me. In the best way possible, I feel like my single life as I knew is ending soon. For the first time ever I am excited rather then afraid of that. I think the Ex Files might be ready for disposal.

Train Rage

Driving cultures have coined the term road rage, there should be urban slang for public transport rage. Look no further. Your resident expert with misdirected anger is on the case. I have what I call an "outburst" probably once every 3 months. It's transport rage in general, but it tends to unleash itself on the trains and tubes. Maybe it's because buses often necessitate being stuck with your fellow passengers for longer or maybe it's the series of events that lead up to my time on the train. This morning, for instance, after a string of mishaps in getting out of the house (coffee flying everywhere in the kitchen, stubbing my toe on the corner of the bathtub, mascara running out...you know the likes) I finally made my way to the tube. I am addicted to the new Snow Patrol and was bopping along to The Planets Between Us when some nanny with a massive pram and 2 toddlers in tow nearly mowed me down. Relegated to walking in the street, I then stepped in a massive puddle. Lovely. Once back on the sidewalk, I nearly slide on dog poo. Why people do not pick up after their dogs is beyond me. If you aren't responsible enough to save your neighbours from the threat of blindness you shouldn't be allowed to own a dog. I was then hooted and hollered at as I walked by the street works. It's like 3 degrees in London right now. I am wearing about 4 layers including woolly tights (which are now splattered with mud), scarf, coat....WHAT IS ATTRACTIVE ABOUT THAT? Huh? WHAT?! So, now I am in a right foul mood as I carry on through the barriers to wait for the tube. Super crowded this morning for some reason, so after grabbing a pole I was shoved and pushed from every angle. Made it to Paddington only to find that I had to hike up the 5 flights of stairs as the escalator was packed and I was already running late. Layers coming off now, I was sweating like a whore in church as I ascend onto the platform and saw that all 5 self service ticket machines were occupied by dumb, dumber and dumbest. Eventually got my tickets with 3 minutes to spare and dashed for the train. One of the massive disadvantages to being a tiny girl is that I get shoved, kicked and generally knocked about completely unintentionally. I think there are a lot of rude people, fair enough, but half of the time that I get smashed into, I am convinced it's actually an accident. Luckily I have the chutzpah of a 6ft tall line backer. So after nearly being knocked into the gap, I get on the train and breath a sigh of relief. I go to the quiet carriage where there are loads of seats. No sooner then I had sat down and begun to cool off, some very very large man stands in front of me asking to get into the seat next to me. I look around and there are empty seats everywhere. WHY my seat? I am in the back, not well located, clearly schvitzing and not socially acceptable to sit next to. He sees me looking around the train at all the other empty seats. He takes that as a sign that I am not going to get out to let him in, even though I am already standing up to try and inch out. He then starts to try and squeeze past me. ERM, Excuse me, Sir? Where is the fire? I am getting out if you will give me 2 seconds. Oblivious he carries on. ERM, SIR EXCUSE ME. He looks at me like I am the one who is being unreasonable. I get out he gets in, but the beast has already been unleashed. He gets in and is spilling into my seat leaving me about an inch of non contact space. Sod it, I thought, and got up to leave. You don't have to be rude, he shouts. ME? ME? I AM RUDE? Bugger off you prick.




That's my outburst done for the first quarter of the year.

The air I breath

Everything is relative, I know that now beyond a shadow of a doubt. One person's nightmare is another person's dream, while someone else's worst fear is my joy. In my quest to enjoy life more and to slow down this year, I made a resolve to shorten the length of my business trips. I spent January testing this out. My conclusion is that it leaves me a bit worse for wear as I struggle to fit too much into too little of a space. I have hardly come up for air this month, I have been so busy at work. I am seeing two girlfriends tonight for a cheap and cheerful dinner and if I am honest it's the first social interaction I have had since NYE (save a quick sushi session with another mate a couple of weeks back). My perspective on luxury and necessity has become incredibly skewed as I spend more nights in hotels during the month then I spend at home. When I am back in London, some mornings I shake my head in disbelief that the newspaper hasn't been hung on my front door and that when I get home from work my flat is in the messy state it was when I left. HELLLO! I would like a new towel please and can someone at least dust for me? Fact. In London dust accumulates no matter how much or how little you are actually in your flat.

And so it was that fell into bed last night after the longest week I can remember and a dreadful flight back from the Middle East. CB was dancing and singing and generally being far too chipper in my opinion, so I attempted to end the hyper spurt by asking for "inside voices." He quickly reminded me that he hadn't done his teeth and gone to bed at 8:30 since he was a child. Fair enough I thought and realised that in my little world, it felt like it was as late as could be. That's the trouble with perceptions though, they are all relative.

Start as you mean to carry on

When I read a book, especially a great book, it takes me nearly as much time to read the last few chapters as it did the rest of the story. If I'm really enjoying a read, I don't want it to end. I don't want the words to stop seeping into my conscience. Similarly when a year has been good, I hold on to the last few days with an irrational fear that ushering in a new year presents the risk of losing the goodness of the past year. I've learned, however, that it's possible for each year to get better and that all the positive experiences and disappointments from the previous years make the successes that much sweeter.

There are loads of conventional things that I don't believe in, New Years resolutions are one of them. I think commitments made in the wake of Decembers general over indulgences are bound to fail. My view is that goals should be set and checked continually through the year. I think the idea that setting New Year's resolutions absolves one of general responsibility for the remainder of the year is rubbish.

Last year was smashing by all accounts for me, but it went so quickly I feel like I blinked in January and I opened my eyes in December. Each year seems to go by quicker, but I guess when we were kids the adults always warned us that would happen. If I can achieve one thing this year both personally and professionally, it will be to learn to slow down and enjoy the here and now before tomorrow is gone. With the happiness that 2008 brought me I practiced this intentionally and willfully for the last couple weeks of the year. I ate, drank, slept and enjoyed the company of friends and loved ones. Great at the time with two weeks off work, but Monday was a bit of a shock to the system. That said, I am stopping to smell the roses more often. Well, admire the ice as it may be, it's really too cold to smell anything right now.

*Sorry for the lack of pretty pictures, something is wrong with Blogger tonight