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Karma has well and truly bitten me on the ass this week. J has been suffering with a bad cold for the last few days and I have, alas, been relentlessly unsympathetic. While he has been shambling around the flat, red-eyed and moaning about his sinuses, I have dismissed it all as ‘man cold’ and claimed that a woman would be way more stoical about the whole thing.
So I really should have known that of course I would catch his damn cold, and that it actually is a bad one, and now I am shuffling around the flat bemoaning the fact that we have run out of DayQuil (because J used it all up curse him) and I am getting, quite deservedly, no sympathy whatsoever.
Summer colds are the worst, because all you want to do is curl up under a blanket with some hot blackcurrant juice, but it’s too damn warm and muggy for it. Oh, and let’s not forget that my boyfriend (SPREADER OF DISEASE, more like) is now my boss, and that he has decreed, since I am so damn stoical and superior of gender, that no way am I allowed a day off sick in my first week of work.
Ugh. I’m sorry sweetie! Please take pity on me and let me use your stock of hankies (which, let us not forget, I ironed). I will endeavour not to belittle your illnesses in future, if you will endeavour not to use up all the good cold medicine. Deal?
So, I have a new job now! Mostly it hurts my brain quite a lot. But I think it’s going to be OK. Turns out that the telecoms industry is actually kind of complex – who knew?
I am delighted with my new commute though. Where before I was travelling into central London every day, along with eleventy billion other grumpy and occasionally-smelly people, now I’m going in the opposite direction. My commute takes me out into the suburbs, on a bus! It’s a delight after my previous 45 minutes-each-way on the tube in complete darkness. Now I have a view outside my window, and there are fields and shit! And, more thrilling still, I can always get a seat. Happy days.
In a fit of enthusiasm for the bucolic splendour outside my bus window, I am considering buying a bike. I will get fit! And save the environment! Where’s the downside? I mean, I guess I’m over-looking the fact that I have a long and proud history of sitting on my arse and resolutely not working up a sweat. But, how hard can it be?
Is this a whole new Lizzie? Or will I cycle to work twice, realise I loathe it, and leave the bike to moulder in the shed for all eternity? Anybody who knows me even slightly would put their money on the latter, but you never know. Although, I am vaguely remembering that I look ridiculously stupid in a cycle helmet. Hmmmm….
It is my last day at my (soon to be) old job. Hurrah! But also, woe, because I am going to miss some of the people I work with. Also I missed the annual staff day out by a week, it’s next Friday, which is lamentably bad timing on my part. But anyway, as of Monday I will be gainfully employed by my very own fiance. So, watch this space to see whether that turns out to be a gigantic mistake or not.
And, in totally other news, to celebrate the release today (in SOME parts of the world, which are not THIS part of the world – grumble grumble) of the new X-Files movie, I have written a recap over on Pop Vultures of the Pilot episode. Ah, back where it all started, with the bad fashion and the optimism, before the serial abductions and ridiculously-nonsensical mythology. Good times.
That’s all I’ve got really. It’s been a funny old week, tying stuff up at work and starting to plan things for my new job. This weekend J is away in Cambridge, on some horrific golfing trip with his parents, which I successfully pleaded to be left out of. So I am indulging myself with some serious hardcore flat cleaning and a trip to the movies with Teabelly to see The Dark Knight. Have lovely weekends, all!
Our team won the pub quiz league last night! We are hardcore brains. And our prize? A CASE of Taittinger Champagne thankyou very much. Who knew pub quizzes could be so profitable? I mean, if you consider champagne a profit. Which I do.
In other nerdly pursuits, J and I are currently addicted to jigsawing. (Is that a verb?) We have a 1,000-piece jigsaw of Tower Bridge, (which GLOWS IN THE DARK) and it is completely engrossing. Last night I had to perform an intervention and forcibly remove jigsaw pieces from J’s hand and then order him to go to bed. We are so cool. I firmly maintain that all those people who spend their weekends clubbing and whatnot are just not self-confident enough to admit that they would rather be home doing a jigsaw.
And, just to complete the trifecta of nerdiness, I am pleased to admit that I will be going to see the new X Files movie on the day it opens, which is alas, ages away on August 1st. (HATE) But I will not be going to see it with all the other London Philes because they are going to the afternoon showing, and since it will be the first week of my new job I just don’t think I can take a day off to go see a movie. Even this movie.
I thought I was going to have to go on my own but bless Teabelly for stepping up and agreeing to go with me, even though she doesn’t particularly give a shit about The X Files. I started filling her in on the story so far the other day and she was all ‘Mulder was ABDUCTED? Scully had a BABY? And it was ADOPTED? And Mulder was given the DEATH PENALTY?’ and I was all ‘Dude, I know.’
Watching
Last night Teabelly and I went to see Mamma Mia. I have loved the stage show for years – seen it three times – so I had high expectations for the movie. But it was, sadly, only OK. Definitely not the giddy-making feel-good phenomenon that the stage show is. Also, Pierce Brosnan was woefully, woefully miscast, with hilarious results. The man CANNOT sing, and we burst out laughing every time he launched into another heart-felt ballad. Also, his accent couldn’t make up its mind whether to be British or American, and it had settled on somewhere between the two, with the result that he sounded slightly Dutch. Still, it was an entertaining enough way to spend an hour or so, and I adored Christine Baranski in it especially. But unlike the stage show, I won’t be going back for repeat viewings.
Reading
I’ve been sort of lacking in reading enthusiasm recently, and just vaguely picking at things – a nibble at a Georgette Heyer mystery; a small bite of John’s Economist when I’m eating my dinner; and dips into poetry anthologies in a futile attempt to find the perfect wedding reading. But I’m not really in the frame of mind to just sit down and read a novel from beginning to end right now. I’ll get back into my reading stride soon enough, I’m sure. But the last novel I read and enjoyed, and then read again for good measure, was Sarah Addison Allen’s Garden Spells, which is just a lovely story about magic and good food and love and sisterhood. I thought it could have been better written in parts, but the writing was never bad enough to detract from the story. I recommend.
Loving
Bare Escentuals bareVitamins Skin Rev-er Upper (ridiculous name, wonderful product) has done what years of acne products and more than one qualified dermatologist could not, and almost completely cleared up my skin. I ADORE this stuff. I just put a tiny dab of it on my face every morning before moisturiser and my skin is the best its been in more than a decade. I have no idea what its secret is. I don’t care as long as they never ever stop making it.
Hating
I am insanely excited about the new X-Files movie which is released this month. Oh, except it isn’t if you’re British. We get the movie a week later than the United States, which means I’m basically going to have to quit the internet for a week unless I want to know every minor detail of the plot before I see it. It’s not as bad as when the first movie came out ten years ago, when there was a delay of several months between the US and UK release dates. Everybody on the internet was going on about some stupid bee, damn the bee, OMG I hate that bee, and so on, and I was over here on this side of the pond thinking WTF DOES A BEE HAVE TO DO WITH ANYTHING?
As I mentioned a few weeks ago, we are utterly perplexed by the ability of one of our cats to keep getting fatter and fatter, while the other one is perfectly normal-sized. They’ve both been on prescription diet food for over a year, and while Molly has been doing fine on it, Milly just keeps getting heavier. And we watch them carefully – Milly isn’t snaffling Molly’s food, if anything it’s the other way around. In short: It is a mystery.
Last night we weighed them and it turns out that not only is Milly getting heavier, Molly is getting lighter. The poor little thing weighs almost two kilos less than her sister now. Two kilos! And she is beginning to feel positively bony. So, we’ve started a new regime. As of this morning, Milly is still on the diet food, but Molly is back on normal cat food.
This is easy enough to enforce because Molly, being lighter, can jump up onto the kitchen worktop and Milly, being lardier, cannot. So I plonked Molly on the worktop this morning with a bowl of sardine cat food, while down below Milly was presented with a bowl of the usual low-fat gravel. You can imagine the reaction:
Molly: OMG FOR REALS? I GET SARDINES? I would tell you at great length how you are the greatest human ever except I am too busy INHALING FISH.
Milly: WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIL
Molly: Om Nom Nom
Milly: Mummy! Molly has sardines! I don’t have sardines! You have forgotten about me!
Me: Milly your bowl is here. Look! Sweet delicious vet-prescribed gravel!
Milly: This is not the fishy goodness that I can smell! YOU DON’T LOVE ME ANYMORE!
Molly: Slurp Om Nom
Me: It is because I love you that I am feeding you gravel Milly. This is what’s called tough love.
Milly: I WOULD PREFER SARDINE LOVE.
Molly: *licks paw* That was delicious Mummy. You can let that fat bag lick the bowl out if you want. I’m feeling generous.
It’s been a weekend of retail therapy around these parts, as yesterday J and I went to John Lewis to register for our wedding list. It is enormous fun to wander round a department store with a bar code scanner, scanning lots of lovely things for other people to buy for you. Although typically J and I managed to disagree about practically every single item, because we have a long and colourful history of never ever liking the same things ever.
However, after years of practice, we’ve got disagreeing with each other down to a fine art, and we can normally reach consensus fairly rapidly and with no bloodshed or threats of pre-marital divorce. Although we almost came to blows over wine glass designs, because it turns out J is an old woman in disguise and yearns for floral-cut crystal goblets. We eventually compromised on some crystal with a more modern design, but I had to call J a lot of names before he saw sense.
J also revealed a never-before-mentioned yen to own a bread maker. So, yeah, we’ve put one of those on the list. I give it a week before he gets bored and goes back to buying sliced loaves at the corner shop. But it’ll be fun while it lasts. I managed to resist the temptation to list an ice-cream maker, because let’s face it, I’m never going to be as good at making ice cream as Ben or Jerry, even if I’m well-equipped.
So, yeah. We’re all registered. Let the gift buying begin! We kicked it off ourselves today, actually, by taking ourselves shopping on the Kings Road for sunglasses and a new handbag for me. Well, the sales are on! And there’s an economic downturn! Might as well take advantage. But man, being a consumer is hard work! I’m drained now. And I still have all the ironing to do.
I spent this morning doing some of the only-during-office-hours errands required to make a marriage legal. I am still quite taken aback by how much damn palaver is involved in all this, especially if, like us, you live in a different borough to the one you’re getting married in.
So, first thing this morning I walked down to Fulham Register Office.
It has a very nice tiled floor.
For the first of many times today, I saw this sign, which is everywhere you go when jumping through these legal marriage hoops.
I was in Fulham to pick up the marriage license, because we live in the Borough of Hammersmith and Fulham. So, clutching this precious document, I hopped on the tube to go over to Westminster Register Office (because we’re getting married in the Borough of Westminster) to drop it off. But first, a pause to note the remarkable cheek of the railways, trying to put a positive spin on all their weekend delays.
OK, so, I got the tube to Baker Street, pausing to say a quick hello to Sherlock Holmes.
I walked down Marylebone Road to Westminster Register Office, which is a LOT fancier than its Hammersmith and Fulham counterpart. It has lions! Also, a wedding party was being photographed on the steps and I had to sort of sneak around the back of them to get in.
Heh. You can tell they see a lot of weddings.
I got a bit lost inside, it’s a really big old rambly building, but I eventually found where I was supposed to be.
And once inside, I handed over the license from Hammersmith and Fulham, paid them £375 (£375!) and got given yet another bit of paper, with all the different ceremony wordings we have to chose from. So, that’s what J and I will be doing tonight – deciding whether we want ‘to love, respect and cherish’, or just ‘remain true’.
So, we’re all legal now. And I am knackered, and delighted to be home.
I don’t remember my first cup of tea. I must have been very young, because as far back as I can remember tea has been my beverage of choice.
There is only one way to make it right. Put the teabag in the mug, pour boiling water in (must be boiling, not just hot), squeeze the teabag against the side of the mug a few times, until the liquid turns an impenetrable brown, add just a splash of milk, stir, remove the tea bag, drink.
I’ve never had sugar in my tea. I remember trying to get away with it once and Mum telling me that if I was going to drink tea, I had to drink it properly or not at all. Real tea drinkers do it sugar free, apparently. And even though I know that’s not true really, and Mum only said that because she spent my childhood on an endless and ultimately futile campaign to reduce my sugar intake, I still look down a little bit on people who can’t drink tea without sugar. They can’t take it bitter and unadulterated; they’re not doing it right.
Tea has always been there, a companion through the changes. I remember, at school, the thrill of graduating to sixth form, where we had our own common room with (imagine!) a kettle. There was no fridge though, so my friend S and I, dedicated tea drinkers both, brought in tubs of powdered milk so we could have our grown-up cups of tea in breaks between classes. We felt so sophisticated, out of school uniform for the first time, and drinking a hot beverage we had made ourselves, in our own mugs, carefully selected to reflect our personalities. Mine had Wallace and Gromit on it.
During my study abroad year in America, I had a tiny little electric kettle, brought over in my luggage specifically for taste-of-home tea making. My friends in the dorm made their hot drinks in the microwave. The microwave! I was scandalised and scornful, preferring always to wait the fifteen minutes my kettle took to boil water, labouring against the lower voltage in American electricity, which it hadn’t been designed to cope with.
But even despite coming equipped, I never got a decent cup of tea that whole year. The tea bags I brought with me went stale, and no satisfactory American replacement could be found, despite endless searching. On the plane on my way back to Britain, after a year without tea, I burst into tears when a surprised Virgin Atlantic air steward poured me a cup.
Recently, and incredibly enough for the first time, I think I’ve actually become addicted to tea. I sit at my desk in the morning, head aching and concentration wavering, waiting for my tea to cool down enough for it to be drinkable. And as I start to sip I can actually feel the ache retreating, and my ability to think coherent thoughts clicks into place. All these years a tea drinker, but I’ve never actually needed it before now. It’s a little unsettling.
Working out your notice is really dull. And I have three whole weeks of it left! Wah!
So for the next three weeks, this is pretty much how I’ll be spending my time:
(Idea stolen shamelessly from Teabelly)
