Sunday, November 1, 2009

Big decisions

Today I very nearly became a statistic. The one about marriages that last less than a year.

MC and I do not get on when we've been drinking. The last few times we've been out have culminated in nasty arguments in which we've said increasingly vile things to each other.

Last night was no exception and this morning I was ready to walk away. We love each other but I'm just not sure that we bring out the best in each other and we certainly don't treat one another with very much respect once the insults start flying.

He's persuaded me to give the relationship another chance - and we're both going to cut out the booze completely, which is a vital ingredient here I think.

Wish us luck.

Wednesday, October 7, 2009


A friend is threatening to leave Facebook. He says that at best it's 'inane' and at it's worst it's full of people gloating about how much better their lives are than everybody else's.

If you want to stay in touch, he declares, you can email me. Only it doesn't particularly sound like he wants to stay in touch with us.

Personally I don't see FB as a means of gloating to one's friends. When I see that someone I know has had a baby, or a nice holiday, or a new pet kangaroo or too many glasses of wine the night before, I don't automatically think 'you bastards. Why don't I have that?'.

Maybe I'm the exception to some unwritten social rule (it wouldn't be the first time) because I don't compete with my friends. But honestly, I don't want to. I love them (well, most of them) - but I don't want to BE them. And I'm quite sure they have no interest in being me either, with my internal seething mass of neuroses.

Although I did enjoy posting from my little corner of paradise in Bali when I knew full well that everyone else was at work. But that's just banter, right ;)

Tuesday, October 6, 2009

Gadget girl

Our house is a gamers paradise. Unfortunately for me, I've never been into games.

Until now.

Thanks to a new job, I now have Mondays off. Which is nice. Yesterday's Monday, however, was the greyest, grimmest, coldest and generally most miserable day of the autumn so far.

So I picked up MC's Guitar Hero. Granted, I had to call him to ask him how to get started... But once I'd managed that - oh boy. For almost 3 hours I was Alice Cooper, Jimi Hendrix, Eric Clapton.

I kicked Guitar Hero ass. OK so I didn't quite manage every note, and yeah, during one tune my virtual audience started throwing virtual things at virtual me as I couldn't quite get the rhythm.

But I loved it. I don't think my neighbours shared my joy (why weren't they at work by the way?). I had to stop when a van pulled up outside and started drilling the pavement directly outside. Of all the houses in all the streets... They could have just banged on the wall.

Wednesday, July 29, 2009

The big name change

I am quite literally in the process of splitting myself in half.

Zuzula will continue to be the journalist, the professional career woman yada yada, while Mrs MC will be the wife, the friend, perhaps one day the mother.

The difficulty is deciding which bits of my online life are my own, and which belong to work. Facebook I consider to be private, so there I have become Mrs MC. Twitter is a tricky because, while I don't strictly use it for work, people do follow me on it as a result of work.

And then there's the plethora of personal email accounts... Should gmail be for work and hotmail for friends, or vice versa?

I'm not looking forward to changing my bank account either. I've already had to cancel my ATM card once this week because of fraud, i don't think they will be very pleased when I tell them I need yet another new card in my new name.

It's all very confusing.

In other news a friend and I have started podcasting! It's such fun, we really love it. It's very early days and we're after as much feedback as we can get so drop me an email if you fancy lending me your ears.....

Sunday, July 26, 2009

Introducing Mrs MC

So much has happened since my last post. Most importantly of all, I am now a married woman! Those of you who have followed my exploits over the years will no doubt be as surprised as I am that I finally have a ring on my finger.

We had the perfect wedding weekend down in Dorset complete with friends, family and the world's largest hog roast ('people will never eat all that food!' said the lady who provided it. 'you haven't met my guests,' I replied. Sure enough, it was all gone in less than 2 hours. Including the 2 extra legs).

As for the dress - ah, the dress. It was truly amazing to float around in such an exquisite garment all day, even if my bridesmaids had to accompany me to the loos to help hold it all up (they may disagree).

We're off on our honeymoon proper in about 6 weeks but managed to squeeze in a 'minimoon' in Dorset from which I have just returned. It was glorious. The booze flowed and I ate my own weight in, well, whatever i fancied. I am actually quite looking forward to a week of healthy living - i must have pure champagne running through my veins and am probably about 90% pork by now.

I'm still getting used to referring to MC as my husband. Everytime I say it I expect people to laugh incredulously and say 'your what?!' - it's such a novelty.

I am keeping my maiden name for work purposes (which is another blog post in itself) but am Mrs MC in all other walks of life. Really must work on my signature though. My two year old niece could come up with something neater than I have managed thus far.

So yes - so far so good on the marriage front. Just need to figure out how we're going to pay for it all...

Sunday, June 21, 2009

Fathers' day

It sucks when you don't have a dad.

That is all.

Thursday, June 18, 2009

Agent z reporting for duty

Just back from a rather marvellous hen do. It involved 4 days, 2 countries and a veritable vat of vino.

Bridesmaids A and J did me proud. The party had a secret agent theme which saw me completing assignments along the way. It all began at st pancras with sushi and pink champagne on the eurostar to Paris.

God, I love Paris. It feels so easy to get around, and the food, the wine is so wonderful. We even had salads that arrived in bowls made out of bread. How cool is that? I cannot wait to go back.

Back in London we met more friends at the eurostar champagne bar where we quaffed yet more bubbles before heading to riotous karaoke. I have a new found respect for popstrels like katy perry and mika. It's not as easy as it sounds, belting out those tunes.

I think I'm still recovering. I'm due to have blood tests tomorrow - there's probably more wine than platelets inside me at the moment.

Sunday, May 31, 2009

Peace & love

My name is zuzula and I am an aggressive driver. I admit it. Put me behind a steering wheel and out comes my inner Italian cab driver. I swoop in and out of lanes, swear and beep at slow motorists and I have been know to cut the change from amber to red a bit fine at quiet traffic lights when I'm in a hurry.

I'm not saying it's right. But for me, my car is something that will get me from A to B in the most efficient way possible and I don't like things that get in the way of that. I think this is what comes of learning to drive in London. We're all the same.

Nobody will let you out unless you push your way in, in this congested race track we call the capital - and before long you realize that's just the way the cookie crumbles and get on with it.

Something has happened to me this weekend though. I've had a blissful couple of days lazing around on a south coast beach with my beloved and the journey home was quite possibly the calmest I have ever had. I didn't complain once about the nose-to-tail traffic on the London-bound motorway. I practically stopped the car in order to let someone join the M3 from a sliproad.

A lost couple at the garage asked me for directions towards the city and I let them follow me for miles, until they knew were they were. I even pulled over to wait for them when they were a bit slow crossing a roundabout.

I wasn't in the mood for my favourite game of undercutting those who insist on blocking the middle lanes without getting anywhere near the speed limit. when a child leaning out of a passing car window gave me a grin, I smiled back. I actually found myself waving at her.

What the fuck is happening to me? Must rediscover my inner hardbitch before scary as hell job interview on Thursday. I can't even believe I've got this far but they'll chew me up and spit me out if they spot a chink in the armour. Gulp.

Tuesday, May 26, 2009

Sales talk

I know times are hard. Even elton john is down to his last £175m, poor chap. If he loses much more he might have to get his hands dirty with some sort of publicity stunt. He could always send His Partner David Furnish out to the stables I suppose (speaking of which, I discovered today that peter Andre's album is due out next month. Hmmm).

Alternatively, he could pimp himself out to some completely inappropriate ad campaign. After all, most of his generation is at it. We've got iggy pop flogging car insurance - I'm sure he's a nice enough guy but there is the tiny matter of his years of drug abuse, self harm and general batshit craziness. All very rock n roll but would you ever get in a car with him? Hell no.

Then there's johnny rotten, the legendary sex pistol... currently starring in tv commercials for butter here in the uk. Very anarchic, johnny, well done. Again, nothing against him personally but the closest to food I can imagine him being anywhere near is the roached end of a camberwell carrot (one for the withnail fans).

What next? Pete doherty as the face of pampers? Amy winehouse peddling slimfast? Who's coming up with all these ideas anyway? The recession really does have a lot to answer for.

Sunday, May 24, 2009

Life is a full time job

This morning I wrote a list of all the personal admin I need to get done. Most of it is utterly tedious and yet there's a staggering amount of it.

The list includes joyous treasures such as getting a new parking permit (which I really must do this week or my car will be toast) and sorting out a savings account (not that I have much in the way of savings. But there's got to be something better than the 0.2% interest offered by my current bank. Weirdly it's nowhere near the rate they're charging for my overdraft).

Then there's registering with a local doctor - 14 years after leaving the parental home I've decided that I no longer need my GP to be over an hour's drive away.

Especially since my last encounter during which they left me in the wrong waiting room for 90 minutes then shouted at me for missing my appointment and said I couldn't have another.

After a very heated exchange I finally got to see one of the doctors, a disapproving chap who told me that my blood pressure was high. I asked him whether his staff had that effect on all his patients. It didn't go down very well.

I also need to watch a film that I rented months ago (I could probably have made it myself by now with the money I've spent on it)... And then cancel my subscription to said DVD rental firm. I'm clearly not making the most of it.

The list goes on. And it doesn't include wedding related tasks, which seem to require a separate volume of their own.

How am I supposed to fit in a 40hr working week?

Tuesday, April 28, 2009


The newest member of our team reported for duty on Monday with the world's largest spot right between the eyes. It was so impressively enormous (we are talking the size of a 50p piece), I actually wondered at first whether it was a cut or a bruise and spent most of the morning trying desperately not to talk to it while I drew my own conclusions.

Hopefully, because of its location, I still looked like I was making eye contact.

We all studiously ignored it. All of us except one. This particular lady seems to have absolutely no editor between her internal monologue and her vocal chords.

'Oh, look at that giant zit on your face!' she chirped innocently as she walked in, three days later. You could have heard a pin drop. Everybody suddenly found some very serious work to do and all heads were bowed in front of computers. She didn't bat an eyelid.

Actually though it was the best thing she could possibly have done, because now it's all out in the open and we've been laughing about it ever since.

It was certainly a better outcome than her last attempt at this sort of thing. 'You do have a big belly!' she smiled as she walked past one of our slightly larger reporters. That didn't go down so well.

I guess a spot disappears rather more quickly than a substantive gut.

Sunday, April 26, 2009

Rhythm is a Dancer

Usually I approach any kind of rhythmic performance (yes, probably even that one) with the grace and poise of an average adult rhino.

After a few drinks I enjoy a boogie as much as the next girl but I would never go so far as to describe myself as a 'dancer'.

I purposefully avoid any kind of dance/routine-based exercise class on the grounds that I generally can't do half the moves, and if even I can do them, I'll forget which order I'm supposed to do them in.

So why was it that today, in my new class Body Combat, I suddenly morphed into a go-go dancer from the 1970s? I ponced my way around, hips wriggling, boobs bouncing and jazz hands a-plenty while while my fellow classmates snarled, kick-boxed and punched their way along to a series of aggressive house music tracks.

The instructor actually gnashed her teeth and made growling noises as I inadvertently sashayed through a succession of swing punches during a particularly nasty tune that was supposed to symbolise the metaphorical moment of the class's 'fight'.

'Left foot in the ring!' she shouted, resulting in me doing a pirouette for the first time in adult life.

The only possible explanation for all this is that I was temporarily possessed by Darcy Bushell. It was like the Moulin Rouge had suddenly rocked up in a Rambo film and neither one of us knew what to make of the other.

I think I'll stick to the treadmill from now on. Needless to say I'm not very graceful on that.

Sunday, April 19, 2009

Bad bride

What is the bridal equivalent of a slummy mummy? Because if there's no existing definition, I fear it should be 'a zuzula'.

One of my friends is getting married a week after me. Within two days of becoming engaged she'd arranged absolutely everything. Venues? check. Dress? check. Bridesmaids dresses? check. Napkin holders? Sorted. Seriously. I have never seen anything like it. She is the archetypal bridezilla and she's making me feel like a very bad bride.

With 3 months to go I have no intention of purchasing a single bridal magazine, let alone attending a wedding exhibition (surely life is too short?). Needless to say my friend has subscribed to at least four publications and been, to my knowledge, to at least 2 wedding fairs in search of inspiration.

Back in February she told me off because, with five months to go, I had yet to book a photographer. Did I not realise how quickly they get snapped up? (no pun intended) She is also now organizing her own hen do after the plan cooked up by her official chief bridesmaid was deemed inferior.

She asked me what present I was planning to buy my groom as a wedding present. I said I thought a £10,000 wedding was present enough. Apparently that's not in the spirit of things.

Next question: Which part of the wedding am I most looking forward to? Becoming MC's wife, I replied. Call me old fashioned...

Tuesday, April 7, 2009

Of all the offices, in all the world...

We have a new arrival in our office. He's the latest in a long line of work experiences - who I have to say are on the whole putting me to shame with their go-getting attitudes and seemingly endless specialist knowledge. What happened to the ones that made the tea and were grateful for it? Bah.

Anyway we all received an email ahead of his debut on the team. I half-read it and filed it dutifully under a new email folder I have created called 'admin'. It's where I put all those boring but worthy emails that might come in useful one day (they include, for example, a note about music copyright and a reminder to do the latest health and safety assessment watsit). I figured one day I might need to know who the new chap was.

He arrived and looked strangely familiar. Given that the average age of our work experiences seems to be early 20s, I figured he must be a friend of my sister's but no, it niggled at me all morning. I definitely knew him, directly, from somewhere. But where?

I turned to my delightful admin folder and dug out the introductory email. And then it hit me. He had the same name, and the same appearance, as a boy I had a flirtation with at university. It was one of those flirtations that slowly mounted to a crescendo, only to fizzle out abruptly shortly afterwards. In short he's not someone I expected to see again.

Can I work from beneath my desk for the next two weeks, do you think?

Friday, March 20, 2009

Stuff and things

Thank you to the lovely Peas on Toast for kicking my ass back into blogging again!

I've been away for far too long. How are you all?

For me, March 2009 will forever be remembered as a month of extreme stress. When someone asks you how you are, and you spontaneously burst into tears, things can't be good - and that's exactly what happened to me yesterday.

So I am taking steps to chill the fuck out. I'm going away for a girlie weekend by the sea with my best friend tonight, and I’m desperately trying to re-introduce the antiquated concept of lunchbreaks into my working week. I figure if I can at least step off the treadmill once in a while it won’t matter how long I’m actually on it in total.

MC and I have been through a bit of a rough patch, for which we are now making amends. We'd got into a really negative cycle of just bringing each other down - talking about all the shite that was happening in our respective lives because we needed to unburden - and then forgetting to share any of the joy.

One night we were out together with friends and we suddenly realised we were seeing a fun, sociable side of each other that we hadn’t bothered to display at home, because while it seemed right to entertain our friends, the notion of entertaining each other seemed to have slipped off our radars.

So last night we went bowling and banned all mention of work. Our bowling skills were atrocious but the whole thing was hilarious and fun, which was of course the entire point.

Work is taking yet another turn for the strange. The powers that be seem determined to mould me into a full-on TV person. In TV terms it’s the nicest thing you can possibly do for a colleague (after all, everyone wants to work in TV, right?) so I’m trying to bury the niggling doubt that I’m not sure whether it’s what I actually want to do. I’m getting very good at burying my head in the sand. Sometimes, it works.

Tuesday, March 3, 2009

Stormy weather

Ever have one of those days where you just want to walk out and leave the world behind you? Not in an emo angsty kind of way - don't worry. Unless my staff canteen lunchtime special (a small bowl of rather unappetisingly over-salted lukewarm butterbean soup) has other ideas I'm not planning to shuffle off the old mortal coil anytime soon.

No - I just mean… living another life. I'm turning into someone far too grown up for my own liking and sometimes I miss the freedom of just being myself (hmm this is starting to sound like an advert for tampons, or laxatives, or something equally cliched).

So many people rely on me to hold things together and I can't always live up to everyone's expectations. Sometimes there's a real sense of 'oh, it's okay, zuzula will sort it' - whether that's having an extra £20 at the end of the month, or remembering birthdays and anniversaries, or being nice to people that others can't be bothered with.

It's a burden and sometimes I want to shout out: 'it's not easy for me either!'

I'm not Mary bloody Poppins.

But that would be unfair because I'm putting a lot of this pressure on myself, I suppose. It's not like anyone is specifically asking me to do any of this stuff. I just feel it's assumed that I will.

I wonder what will happen when I finally snap. I suppose I'll turn into my mother - a truly terrifying prospect, bless her.

The cold grey skies aren't doing anything to lift my mood.

Saturday, February 28, 2009


This weekend is to be almost entirely given over to wedmin - the boring bits of organizing a wedding that have to be achieved regardless. Today begins with a meeting with the flower arranger (which I think has potential to be fun, at least for me).

This is followed by some indepth chats about marquees, tables and various varieties of hog roast (again could be good if samples are involved. Although I expect it's just going to be pictures). We are meeting our caterer, a farmer, and the marquee man, a scout leader, in a pub. It all has shades of Withnail and I about it.

Have managed to wangle some interesting filming at work. One piece is about pawnbroking (the cause of much hilarity and hence the title of this blogpost). The other, and I still can't believe my luck, is about handbags. Result!

Sunday, February 22, 2009

Brit bashing

Yesterday I bought a dress that cost more than my entire wardrobe. I finally chose my wedding dress. They really are incredible contraptions. I was corsetted to within an inch of my life and even my boobs had their own little bits of scaffolding to give them 'lift' (dress fitter speak for 'honey, you're starting to sag'). But the result was simply astonishing.

I could have done with all of the above on Wednesday when I had a bit of a showbiz treat - a night at the Brit awards with a rather fabulous friend. I was bemoaning the fact that my entire team was going on a work trip that I couldn't attend because I can't do my job without Internet access. I was feeling very left out and depressed and bitched to Fab Friend about it over several large glasses of pinot noir. 'why don't you come to the Brits with me instead then?' he offered gallantly... And suddenly the work trip was a lot less bothersome.

What a party. FF and I gossiped through the awards themselves, obviously, but the performances were spectacular. I guess there's nothing like performing in front of your peers and paymasters to encourage you to pull out all the stops.

We laughed heartily at all the z list hangers on lurking near our table (former atomic kittens, the obligatory forgotten soap actresses et al) but by far my favourite was Lee Ryan, once of Blue fame (eh?) mincing around in a wet-look suit jacket and Cuban heels that I swear were bigger than my own killer stilletos. Quality. I spent far too long trying to get a discreet picture of them but I'm ashamed to report that I failed miserably. So much for all that multimedia training that work inflicts on me on an almost daily basis (or so it seems).

The aftershow was fairground themed, complete with dodgems, wrestling ring, fortune tellers and a rather pointless maze which we rather pointlessly wandered around at 3am before deciding that it really was time to make a move. I persuaded Fab Friend to crash at mine, only for the cab driver to get completely lost and admit it was only his second week in the job. Somehow, through my champagne haze, I managed to get him back on course but the fare by this time was huge so he asked me to pay whatever it usually costs.

Thus for the first and only time in my life I got a black London taxi in the wee hours of Thursday morning for the princely sum of £10. How I got away with that I'll never know.

Monday, February 9, 2009

Arabian Nights (and days)

Dubai is a city rich with smells - from the good, like the spice souks with row upon row of vanilla, frankencense (how DO you spell that?), saffron to the downright vile - like the taxis by the end of the day. Find myself sitting in the backseat discreetly wafting perfume around like some High Priestess of Prada simply in order to breathe.

It's luxury hotel living all the way simply because there isn't anywhere else you can get a glass of wine - even at an eyewatering 20GBP each for standard blanc de blanc. (Oh, needless to say the Airport Lady was wrong about Dubai's cheap Duty Free! Bah) Definitely a proverbial playground for the rich - I am dreading my credit card bill this month and I don't even have a thing to show for it.

The sound of construction work fills the air and roads change daily as more and more building sites spring up seemingly overnight. My friend no longer has a front door because the road in front of her apartment disappeared in a pile of orange traffic cones and 'men at work' signage. The apartments though are stunning. All beautifully laid out with swimming pools and gyms as standard - while the UK seemingly freezes and then floods I am curled up on a sunlounger by a heated pool (not that it needs it) smothered in Factor 25.

I've prepared a few blog posts about my experiences here but as I'm not even sure whether I'll be able to publish this, the others will have to wait until I'm back in the UK. Anything deemed 'inappropriate' online is banned. And that just about sums me up most of the time so I think this will have to do for now... sorry folks.

Wednesday, February 4, 2009


Aren't airports weird? I'm sitting here in shiny new Heathrow terminal 5 at 7pm feeling like it's about 4am. The half lights, the drone of the aircon... I haven't felt this disorientated and timeless since I stalked the hotel casinos of las vegas, all of which sounds far more glamorous than it actually was.

I'm sure I should be doing something important like buying toothpaste or throwing myself at the nearest prada handbag store but instead I'm tucked away in a little corner typing furiously on my iPhone. It is perhaps no coincidence that I watched The Terminal the other night.

Anyway I'm resisting the duty free because, according to the check-in lady, t5 is one of the most expensive in the world in that department. I'll spare you her story about the global airport costs of 200 b&h (no need to thank me) but suffice it to say where I'm headed things cost one third of what they do here. Be still, my quaking credit card.

The other thing worth mentioning is that I'm flying solo. Dear MC has some very time consuming work commitments in London (and a stinking cold to boot, poor love) so all in all it's the perfect moment for a spot of sunny, girlie r&r with my oldest friend. In aforementioned lavish apartment. Something tells me I won't be seeing am awful lot of the city of Dubai itself...

Tuesday, February 3, 2009

hello, siberia

yes, I'm yet another Brit blogger going on about the weather. But it is extraordinary to emerge from a very lazy Sunday afternoon in a cosy pub only to find one's urban gritty abode transformed into Narnia. Admittedly after my third snowball attack in as many minutes I was considerably less enamoured with the whole scene but all in all it's been quite beautiful, if treacherous, in London town of late.

Anyway weather permitting I'm off to Dubai tomorrow to visit an old friend. Apparently her boyfriend is away, leaving us to housesit his sumptuous penthouse apartment. It's a hard life. Not sure what blog access is like in UAE but i'll do my best to log in. Are you on twitter yet?I am utterly addicted!

Sunday, January 18, 2009

Pool rage

This morning I had breakfast with a blogger! The Divine Ms M is, I'm pleased to report, every bit as divine as her name suggests and we have agreed that our next meeting will involve wine rather than sausages and eggs.

Unfortunately I was a lot less divine - I woke up feeling fairly crap and sadly as our breakfast continued so did the nasty feeling that something had gone distinctly awry inside my body.

A stressful yet boozy week is inevitably to blame and the result was a sordid little moment on the way home when I had to pull over in the middle of a very posh part of west London and dispel said breakfast. I have never done that before and I don't intend to repeat the experience. All most unpleasant and embarrassing, and a complete waste of a meal in one of my favourite weekend breakfast haunts.

By 6pm I was feeling just about human again so decided to take myself down to the gym for a jacuzzi/sauna pampering session (which I don't think I'll be mentioning to my trainer. She has told me in no uncertain terms that *nothing* I am currently doing is conducive to weight loss, sigh).

I was floating around in the jacuzzi on my own, thinking rude thoughts (does anyone else find all those bubbles mildly arousing?) when I heard raised voices coming from the direction of the pool. My hearing isn't great and without my lenses I am comically if hopelessly shortsighted but even I could understand the problem: a rather large and very aggressive lady who was taking up most of the fast lane and absolutely refusing to swim clockwise in it like everybody else.

Cue much shouting and arm waving (well, it wasn't exactly easy to swim around her either) as Large Lady insisted that she was in the right and they were all wrong. Eventually they got so cross that they all stomped over into the middle lane and then moved the lane rope so instead of the fast lane it became a Large Lady Lane and they had a bigger lane for all their speedy strokes.

I was inwardly applauding their ingenuity and wishing one could do this in other walks of life, like when one is driving behind somebody very slow who will not go any higher than 2nd gear. How lovely to just be able to create their own little slow lane and zoom off at one's own pace.

Large Lady didn't seem to be too pleased with the solution though and got out. At that point a hapless member of staff came along, just to take a sample of the water. Terrible timing. She chewed his ear off for about 10 minutes and then everybody else piled in to tell their side: apparently she is well-known in these parts for being a swimming offender(interesting accolade).

Then she got back into the pool - in the middle lane - I suppose to make a point (honestly has the woman no shame?). The exasperated fast laners moved back over and took their lane rope with them.

Unfortunately then I realised that I'd been in the jacuzzi for so long that my skin had turned to mush so I got out and hit the sauna to dry out. I saw her waddling in the direction of the showers shortly afterwards so I suppose she admitted defeat in the end. I shall look out for her in future. She's the most entertaining thing in this gym by miles.

Monday, January 12, 2009

Life laundry

Last week I finally succombed to gadget envy and got myself an iPhone. I'm sending all sorts of strange texts as my clunky fingers are evidently too huge to touchtype the delicate keyboard, and I haven't even got round to sync it with iTunes yet, for reasons too tedious to go into. But I love it.

iPhoning up involved ending a long term relationship with Vodafone. They didn't take it very well. I received six letters begging me to stay, and even more phonecalls offering ever more incentives to stay. I am half expecting them to turn up drunk on the doorstep at 3am declaring undying love sometime soon.

Anyway new phone company = new SIM and therefore the task of inputting all my contacts from scratch for the first time this millennium. My contacts list got a very harsh edit. Out went ex-boyfriends (including the chap now doing 10 years for drug dealing, somehow I doubt he's still got his mobile on him), people I haven't spoken to since university (I graduated in 1998) and people who I just don't recognize (like 12 of the 14 'Robs' listed). Finally, I decided not to transfer dad's phone numbers. That was a tear jerker. But it's time to move on.

Speaking of which... I spent a surprisingly enjoyable Saturday afternoon trying on wedding dresses. Typically I now have three favourites and I seem to have managed to fall in love with gorgeous bridalwear from north London's most expensive designers. Marvellous!

Sunday, January 4, 2009

Happy new year

How quickly have the last two weeks flown by? One minute I was eating endless turkey and trimmings and now I'm sat at a computer at the gym, desperately putting off the beginning of the inevitable health kick that NEEDS to start happening right now... I haven't dared to get on the scales yet but my new jeans are already a bit on the tight side. Hence the fancy new colours etc - that alone has happily squandered 20 mins that should have been spent on the treadmill.

NYE was spent in fancy dress with MC and my best mate - we went to an old smugglers pub hidden away on the clifftops of Dorset and drank endless pints of scrumpy. I can't remember the last time I was cider-drunk but I felt so relaxed and in love with the world. The last time I felt like that was back in my clubbing days, only this time it wasn't followed by 3 days of insomnia and a stiff jaw. Cider could well be the way forward (but not during health kick obv. Sob).

Wedding plans coming together surprisingly smoothly - and next weekend the hunt for a dress begins. I am terrified. I have no idea what I'm after and I hate trying things on in front of people at the best of times. Please send me positive vibes as I'll have who-knows-how-many shop assistants, two bridesmaids and two mothers (yes, Mrs MC is coming too) casting critical eyes over me. Any more and I may have to start charging admission. I think I may have to drink my way through it.