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