Sunday, November 23, 2008

camden sundays

The wedding was wonderful. Flaky friend actually did put in an appearance, and was utterly charming and humble in a way that made me feel terrible for ever having questioned his friendship. He's a PR guru, that one. I reckon he could talk the world out of recession if somebody would let him.

Minor crisis of the evening was MC having his cash card swallowed by the local ATM. He was partied out before me, so without thinking I dispatched him home in a taxi with the rest of my cash and my card - only to realise at 5am when the rest of us finally called it a night that I had no way of a)contributing to our rather enormous bar bill and b) obtaining a cab fare. I am eternally grateful to my best friend for coming to the rescue on both counts - otherwise I would still be sitting in a strange south london bar wondering forlornly how to pay for the lashings of pear cider (why?) We had merrily guzzled.

Today I had arranged to meet the fabulous Peabody for a general mooch around Camden. In the depths of a rather horrific hangover the sensible option seemed to be to drive over there.


I soon descended into a whole new layer of hell as my satnav sent me in the same circle around primrose hill 4 times before proudly announcing that I had reached my destination when I blatantly hadn't.

I was by this point half an hour late, and Peabody, having randomly arrived half an hour early from considerably further away, was esconced in a chalk farm pub all alone. I was texting her to explain my predicament when the police pulled me over to tell me off for using the phone. It was the final straw. The hangover, the lostness and my brush with the law overwhelmed me and I grovelled tearfully.

They let me off and even gave me directions to the pub so all was okay in the end. After a couple of hours of aimless pottering around the market buying random tat, we popped to Amy Winehouse's local, the Hawley Arms, for refreshment. It wasn't too bad in there - lots of police outside (I instinctively put my phone out of sight, even though there are clearly no rules about walking and texting) - inside was fairly small and cheerful, full of expensively scruffy-looking media types drinking red wine and guinness.

Didn't spot the Wino, although just as we were leaving some pissed up woman screeched 'you stupid c**t' across the bar so maybe she was on her way.

Saturday, November 22, 2008

fickle friends

How do you tell an old friend that they are behaving like an arse? One of my friends is driving me mad. I've known him since I was 18. We've been through a fair bit together and he's always been a bit flakey but now it's starting to feel like an insult.

I haven't actually seen him at all this year. He gets in touch fairly often and says he'd like to meet up. But as soon as I suggest a date, he'll ignore it completely, only to text again 3 weeks later to say we really must get together... And so it goes on. I don't get it - if he doesn't want to meet me, why does he keep asking? It's never me who makes the first move, as it were.

Anyway he is part of a group of 4 friends (including me) who are all very close. This year he missed all of our birthday drinks by saying he would be there then mysteriously having to work late. On saturday night. In a shop. He's also blown out my engagement drinks and our friend's stag do, despite only being up the road at the time.

Today is said friend's wedding day and just this morning flakey friend texted (he never, ever makes or takes phone calls) the happy couple to say he'll be late - which probably means he won't turn up at all.

I'm not a stickler for etiquette but surely this is bang out of order. It's definitely not the behaviour of a good friend, is it?

Wednesday, November 12, 2008

Fancy schmancy

Last weekend I went to an 18th birthday party. I cannot tell you how old it made me feel. It was officially fancy dress (although of course, we left that to the yoot) - and there really is nothing more entertaining than the site of nubile 18 year old girls dressed as bumblebees and Britney Spears (pre-breakdown) attempting to inconspicuously sneak out for cigarettes. When you're wearing big wings and/or carrying a giant plastic python it's kinda hard to sneak anywhere.

Still, overall the results were impressive. The boys were in heaven (MC was very constrained until he saw Catwoman in skintight PVC. To be fair even I could barely control myself).

Interestingly quite a few of the, um, larger contingent went as cats too - they must have been gutted. 'It's so they can wear black,' observed a very wise Astarael. And as for the size 14 Amy Winehouse - that was pure genius. Especially a few hours later once all the eyeliner had made a bid for freedom.

Oh - and dilemma of the day: what's worse, finding out that your boyfriend is in prison or thinking that you've been dumped because you haven't heard from them? This does not relate to MC who is a wonderfully law abiding citizen, of course. But it is, in all seriousness, a dilemma for someone I know. Sometimes I think I must lead a very sheltered life.

Friday, November 7, 2008


I think I went a bit nutty last week. Various on-going irritations and other hormonal imbalances moulded themselves into one huge scary giant wine-fuelled Angry Zuzula at the weekend. Like a human hurricane I lashed out at the world and was surprised by how much it took before the world hit back. It’s not fair to test those limits. I don’t know why I do it. Well – maybe I do. Sometimes it feels like the only option. But it’s no excuse.

Anyway, I haven’t had a drink since. I think it might be wise to let the dust settle for a bit. But oh my – not drinking! What a revelation. I feel so much more alert, more active, more energetic. I’m eating less, my skin is better… it’s amazing. As I said to my lovely blogger friend Confuddled today, I am concerned that this new healthy lifestyle might just stick. How utterly ridiculous.

In other news – tomorrow morning I am having breakfast with Peas on Toast! I have no idea why she’s here, but she is… so it is my duty as a Brit to treat her to a good old fashioned English fry up in the best greasy spoon cafe in London. Mmmm. Bacon…