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.

Error.

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.

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?

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.

self-destruct

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…

ladies who...

Last night I rather spontaneously went to a gathering of chicks I've never met, who work in technology. A big step for me - I hate going to social things by myself. Once I get started, I'm fine, but the thought of walking into a room full of people I don't know and then starting a random conversation with them scares the life out of me. My usual style is to take a wingman/woman and spend the entire time with them, which I realise defeats the object of networking but is infinitely less scary.

Anyway I decided to give it a go and promised myself a swift exit if my courage deserted me. It's the initial bit - the 'hi, I'm Zuzula, who are you then?' bit that brings me out in a cold sweat. Especially when everyone else is already happily chatting and you're interrupting a conversation. I have hung around hopelessly on the sidelines before now, unable to enter the fray.

Pathetic, I know - which is exactly why I ended up in a Soho bar last night, clutching a glass of white wine while women around me chattered on about their latest technology start-up ventures. I was on the verge of giving up on the whole thing after just ten minutes (I really am that crap) when I was rather fortuitously rescued by one of the token three men in the room. I have long believed that I get on better with boys than girls - perhaps an unconscious rebellion against my single sex education - and this to me proved my point.

The Chap and I chatted away happily but, as is always the case, word was spreading about where I work, and before long I was mobbed by a couple of publicity hungry scavengers and torn away from my comfort zone once more. The Chap left shortly afterwards but not before pressing his personal business card into my hand, having already given me the company one. It was all very flattering - even if I am inevitably going to have to send him in your direction, Ms Confuddled ;)

After he left though, I met some other truly lovely people - some who are definitely going to be contacts and others who I hope may also become friends. I am determined to force myself to do these things more often - ultimately, it's good for the soul. Although hopefully next time I won't find myself chatting to a cheerful techie (her opening gambit was that she doesn't know how to make conversation, must remember that one) only to realise that a former fling is standing right behind her, taking photos. What the hell?

That was a shock to the system and a stretched my already exhausted bravado too far. I did what any sensible lady would have done at that point - I hid.

soggy

Some tyrant - I forget who, it could even have been a former boss for all I know - once said that people are best motivated by being cold and hungry. Well since our heating packed up and MC ate the last biscuit I can say with authority that I am both - but still not in the least bit inspired to leave the sofa.

Winter has officially landed in London. It's dark, cold and even wetter than usual. By the time I got home from work this evening I looked like I'd been swimming. My chic little mini umbrella was about as much use as a thumbnail of loo roll against the elements.

My jeans and jacket are drip-drying in the bath. This means, naturally, that I am approximately 24 hours away from my first cold of the season. Splendid. I must learn to fly south for the winter like every other sensible animal.

Oh - one piece of good news to emerge from the swamp today... The TV people loved my little feature so much, they've asked me to do another. I have to admit, I'm chuffed to bits. This time apparently, I am to 'green screen'. What on earth am I going to wear?

Lingerie logic

I’ve just received an email from John Lewis department store cannily offering a pre-Christmas ‘gentleman’s lingerie academy’ in order to help hapless males find the perfect seasonal present for their beloveds. The store is basically offering beer and giftwrap to lure in the menfolk – which is pretty much what we ladies do all year round to reel in the boys ourselves.

Their press release, somewhat impressively considering the subject matter and the intended audience, is about 10,000 words long. I’ll spare you all that though - the two bits of most useful advice, IMHO, are these, and I present them as a service to all readers of this blog hoping to please the ladies (it might even get you an extra shag this Christmas, who knows?)

1. Buying lingerie for your partner can be a minefield of unintended suggestions, and sizing is the most important thing to get right – a thong three sizes too big could suggest that your lady’s bottom does look big in this. So, if you haven’t remembered to check the size she wears, bear in mind that it is probably better to buy a size too small than risk offending your partner. Silk nightwear such as negligees and kimono style wraps are an excellent get-out clause that will never disappoint.
(hear, hear)

2. While checking her size, it is also worth noting what sort of lingerie your partner likes to wear – is she a sporty type, glamour puss, everyday Miss Practical or perhaps she has an entire lingerie wardrobe! Our Lingerie Advisers can guide and help you to decipher the different styles of lingerie from full cup, padded, balconette to plunge, underwired to multiway.
(as the recipient of a few teeny weeny bits of flimsy see-thru fluffy things in my time, I support this too. That said, there is a time and a place for everything, and a bumper pack of black cotton briefs simply ain’t gonna cut it at Christmas)

It’s that simple. MC, are you reading this…? ;)