The Hours
I could tell how drunk I was on Saturday when I woke up and realised I had set all the clocks in the flat at wildly differing times. At least the thought had been there. There was also a packet of white maltesers on the kitchen counter and I don't even like them. But more of that later.
Lots of odd things happening at the moment. I have been chatting via Facebook to a bloke I went to school with, who, if my memory serves me right, was never anything to me but a right little shit. He was from a very rich farming family and once had a big Skins-esque party at his parents farm. At first I was banned from going because he reckoned, in that classic teenage way, that I was 'frigid' ie not pushing a pram by sixth form. However he bowed to peer pressure and I vividly remember sitting in a barn in my three quarter length stone-washes watching my peers vomit in relay in the corner. Great times.
But now he seems eager to make ammends and at one point demanded that I phone him - I didn't though. He has two kids and a failed marriage behind him but sounds like he has turned into something of a property magnate. I can't pretend I didn't chuckle when I saw a picture of him now - still the same little runt but now with drastically receding hair. I think I have aged rather better.
There was a 'private and confidential' letter waiting for me on my high spec keyboard this morning - my heart immediately sank as I assumed, in my usual optomistic way, that it was something bad and telly-off. But it was a payrise - not a huge one but a rise nevertheless. And god knows I could do with it.
Quite a busy weekend. Went round to Dolly's on Friday and got tipsy on Lidl prosecco and honey rum. Much fun. Then on Saturday night I gatecrashed a birthday party at the Col at the behest of K and G. They brought along their friend D, who works in a swanky hairdressers in Mayfair and spends the time in between flying to exotic locations to work on Procter and Gamble adverts. He was great fun and a generous guest - between us all we despacthed the usual slightly obscene amount of trampagne with gusto. The guests were all united by the terible news that the C might be shutting in december due to lease problems. There was a blitz spirit brewing around the bar but Michael was being very reticent and just kept muttering about letters being sent out this week. So we shall see.
As the booze flowed I bent D's ear with my customary moan about my thin rubbish hair. 'Right' he declared, with some fervour, 'Let's get you in front of a mirror.'
So we strode off to the toilet antechamber (a little different from the marble basins he is used to) and took out my pony tail whilst all around people stopped talking and sat in on the consultation. It was very funny and we both played up to it in front of a captive audience. Sadly his only advice was to cut it just under shoulder length which I fear might be a bit mumsy to be honest. The party ended about eleven and someone suggested we go to Blacks across the road.
So we waltzed through the door despite none of us being members but noone said a word. We ended up commanding our own room replete with roaring fire, and drank more bubbly, all the time fully expecting to be chucked out. But we weren't, despite the place having a reputation for being the strictest members bar of all. Something of a coup.
Clangover from hell the next morning which mercifully cleared quite quickly and it was off to the Earl's for Sunday roast with S, and lots of chitter chatter about wedding plans. S nd I are pushing for karaoke but M remains unconvinced.
In other news the elusive Tunisian banker has been in touch again - we have actually arranged to go ut on on Wednesday - yes a real DATE - which is rather an exciting prospect. It must be a good 7 months since we actually met, and shared that marvellous Marly-red flavoured snog on an EC2 pavement. Will this REALLY be the week of our re-match? We haven't actually settled on a venue yet - the whole process feels slightly torturous - but I am keeping all my digits intertwined..
Lots of odd things happening at the moment. I have been chatting via Facebook to a bloke I went to school with, who, if my memory serves me right, was never anything to me but a right little shit. He was from a very rich farming family and once had a big Skins-esque party at his parents farm. At first I was banned from going because he reckoned, in that classic teenage way, that I was 'frigid' ie not pushing a pram by sixth form. However he bowed to peer pressure and I vividly remember sitting in a barn in my three quarter length stone-washes watching my peers vomit in relay in the corner. Great times.
But now he seems eager to make ammends and at one point demanded that I phone him - I didn't though. He has two kids and a failed marriage behind him but sounds like he has turned into something of a property magnate. I can't pretend I didn't chuckle when I saw a picture of him now - still the same little runt but now with drastically receding hair. I think I have aged rather better.
There was a 'private and confidential' letter waiting for me on my high spec keyboard this morning - my heart immediately sank as I assumed, in my usual optomistic way, that it was something bad and telly-off. But it was a payrise - not a huge one but a rise nevertheless. And god knows I could do with it.
Quite a busy weekend. Went round to Dolly's on Friday and got tipsy on Lidl prosecco and honey rum. Much fun. Then on Saturday night I gatecrashed a birthday party at the Col at the behest of K and G. They brought along their friend D, who works in a swanky hairdressers in Mayfair and spends the time in between flying to exotic locations to work on Procter and Gamble adverts. He was great fun and a generous guest - between us all we despacthed the usual slightly obscene amount of trampagne with gusto. The guests were all united by the terible news that the C might be shutting in december due to lease problems. There was a blitz spirit brewing around the bar but Michael was being very reticent and just kept muttering about letters being sent out this week. So we shall see.
As the booze flowed I bent D's ear with my customary moan about my thin rubbish hair. 'Right' he declared, with some fervour, 'Let's get you in front of a mirror.'
So we strode off to the toilet antechamber (a little different from the marble basins he is used to) and took out my pony tail whilst all around people stopped talking and sat in on the consultation. It was very funny and we both played up to it in front of a captive audience. Sadly his only advice was to cut it just under shoulder length which I fear might be a bit mumsy to be honest. The party ended about eleven and someone suggested we go to Blacks across the road.
So we waltzed through the door despite none of us being members but noone said a word. We ended up commanding our own room replete with roaring fire, and drank more bubbly, all the time fully expecting to be chucked out. But we weren't, despite the place having a reputation for being the strictest members bar of all. Something of a coup.
Clangover from hell the next morning which mercifully cleared quite quickly and it was off to the Earl's for Sunday roast with S, and lots of chitter chatter about wedding plans. S nd I are pushing for karaoke but M remains unconvinced.
In other news the elusive Tunisian banker has been in touch again - we have actually arranged to go ut on on Wednesday - yes a real DATE - which is rather an exciting prospect. It must be a good 7 months since we actually met, and shared that marvellous Marly-red flavoured snog on an EC2 pavement. Will this REALLY be the week of our re-match? We haven't actually settled on a venue yet - the whole process feels slightly torturous - but I am keeping all my digits intertwined..