Strange sense of panic, mad desire to clean, dust and polish, custard creams on standby... can only mean one thing. The parents are coming to visit. At 7am (urgh) tomorrow morning they shall be making their way from the North to the South courtesy of Richard Branson and his tilting trains to see me for the second time since I moved here 18 months ago. I'm not offended by their reluctance to visit, in fact, its much easier if I go to see them. The hassle of asking them to do anything that involves veering from the usual routine is enough to cause even me, the generally most laid back person you can meet, to be pushed the the brink of sanity. Not only that but my Dad is affectionately and accurately known as "Calamity Tony".... if there is an accident to be had, he will find it. Typical British worry-warts, they love nothing more than to stress over the smallthings- trust me, if the ironing isn't done by 9am then it's practicallyWW3. To imagine them, think of the pairing of Hyacinth Bucket and FrankSpencer. Enough said.
So it's now less than 24 hours until they arrive and my palms are sweatywith the thought of the housework I have to do tonight to avoiddisapproving looks and have them dust the crumbs off the sofa before theysit down. Don't get me wrong, I am not completely devoid of thehouse-proud gene but with a full time job, trying to start a writingcareer, a wedding to plan and two new kittens- it just gets put to the backof the to do list. I don't mind if shoes are not put away, the tomatoketchup stays on the table for a couple of days or if the ironing waitspatiently for two weeks to be done. This "laissez faire" attitude howeverdoes not go down well with Ma and Pa- in fact, they are so concerned at myapparent lack of hygiene (must stress, this is completely over the top),that they actually bring their own glasses to drink from. In fact, I justhad a phone to call to ask me if I have any apples in the house and when Isaid yes, the response was "Well, we'll bring our own anyway....".Hilarious.I have activities planned for them which include a trip to Windsor (justabout high brow enough for Hyacinth) and a walk up to Primrose Hill (hopingthat Frank doesn't tumble), plus, cuddle time for the real reason they arevisiting- the kittens. Wish me luck!
Friday 13 August 2010
Sunday 8 August 2010
Count the memories, not the pennies
As a habitual worrier over financial matters, to spend £17 on one single cocktail is something I would usually have cold sweats over. But last night, to my amazement, I brazenly handed over my trusty debit card and signed off £34.00 worth of drinks as if it was my last night on earth. See, my lovely fiance had decided to treat me to a meal at the delicious Wolseley restaurant in Picadilly, London and despite my usual protests at such extravagance, last night felt different and I think I know why.
I have been listening to a record recently called "Enjoy Yourself, It's Later Than You Think" by Guy Lombardo and somehow, the words have really struck a chord deep inside me. Pretty much as depressing as the title may suggest, the song is about living life to the full and being aware it's no good regretting it when you're six feet under. I certainly don't want to be stood at the pearly gates and be thinking if I could go back and give myself one piece of advice in life it would be the exact title of the song. So, we cracked open the bottle of bubbly that had been sitting in the cupboard for months, waiting for something "champagne-worthy" to happen and toasted to...er, nothing. We got suited and booted, w
ent for cocktails at The Ritz and pretended to the world this was completely normal. Sliding in to our seats amongst the rich and famous (Steven Spielberg was eating at the next table!), we ordered wine, delicious food and giggled with the posh ladies surrounding us. I didn't just enjoy it because it was expensive (if anything, that would usually make me detest it), I enjoyed it because I actually just did. I didn't worry about the consequences, after all, what does being a few pounds overdrawn really matter? I know I'm not irresponsible or careless with money and am still happy getting clothes from Tesco so why shouldn't I create some memories that will last far longer than my wages? We came home happy and full... and for me, I really am going to try and remember that life is for living and when I look back, I want to know I gave it a damn good shot.
ent for cocktails at The Ritz and pretended to the world this was completely normal. Sliding in to our seats amongst the rich and famous (Steven Spielberg was eating at the next table!), we ordered wine, delicious food and giggled with the posh ladies surrounding us. I didn't just enjoy it because it was expensive (if anything, that would usually make me detest it), I enjoyed it because I actually just did. I didn't worry about the consequences, after all, what does being a few pounds overdrawn really matter? I know I'm not irresponsible or careless with money and am still happy getting clothes from Tesco so why shouldn't I create some memories that will last far longer than my wages? We came home happy and full... and for me, I really am going to try and remember that life is for living and when I look back, I want to know I gave it a damn good shot.Listen for yourself...
Monday 2 August 2010
To believe or not to believe?
I have always been somewhat of a sceptic when it comes to the unknown. Don't get me wrong, I am terrified of the thought of paranormal activity, would run a mile if someone asked me to do a Ouiji board and have always been just a little uneasy watching Ghostbusters. But I have never been convinced that it's not a just a state of mind- we see and believe what we want to and nothing else. So when a good friend of mine told me about a pyschic who was so accurate it was hard not to keep the goosebumps at bay, I decided I would part with my hard earned cash, book a session and kill the cynic in me once and for all.
It started today with me arriving at the psychics house to be greeted by a petite blond woman with a tan to rival David Dickinson. Cascades of charm bracelets graced her frail arms and aside from the too-tight-leggings, she looked relatively harmless. She advised me I had to drink a cup of Greek coffee so she could read my coffee cup afterwards. Watching her boil the dark brown liquid in a golden minature saucepan I couldn't help but stare intently in case a little sedative went in so I wouldn't quite remember... (and also wonder if I had just stumbled in to a 2010 version of Hansel and Gretel).
Soon enough I was drinking the liquid which quite frankly, tasted like I imagine the bottom of the kittens litter tray does. Starting with the Tarot cards, I watched as she flipped them over, telling me how I was loved, how changes were on the way and how I was feeling a little stressed. I have an extremely expressive face and you certainly didn't need to be a pyschic to see I was less then impressed. Who isn't stressed? Who doesn't want to hear that changes are on the way? After all, if everything was perfect with my life why would be hankering after clues to my future? After ten minutes I was starting to think I had proved myself right and could smugly go back to work declaring fraud. When she asked me if I could see the tortoise in the remains of the coffee I'd drunk I almost choked. Then rather randomly she started asking who was the person with the initial "J". She then correctly announced my sisters name, advised me of how close we are in age and constantly kept referring to my deceased Grandma. She expressed concerns my Grandma always had about me, how she died and even described something of hers that I have. Next came my dad's name and the fact that I was a writer! (Apparently I have a Chinese Philopsher watching over me and he wants me to write a novel as it will be a success. I will obviously include this in my covering letter to future publishers... what more security could they need??!). On followed referalls to my finances (or lack of) and the notion that in a matter of time she could only refer to as "3", everything would settle down. Just under 3 months to the big day!
Trust me, this lady only ever had my first name and I refused to answer her with anything other than a "Hmmm" or an "OK".
I can't say I'm completely converted, after all, I would do anything to believe I have a Guardian Angel watching over me in the shape of a beloved grandparent. But I definitely left there with a tingle up my spine and certainly a stronger belief that we are most definitely NOT alone....
It started today with me arriving at the psychics house to be greeted by a petite blond woman with a tan to rival David Dickinson. Cascades of charm bracelets graced her frail arms and aside from the too-tight-leggings, she looked relatively harmless. She advised me I had to drink a cup of Greek coffee so she could read my coffee cup afterwards. Watching her boil the dark brown liquid in a golden minature saucepan I couldn't help but stare intently in case a little sedative went in so I wouldn't quite remember... (and also wonder if I had just stumbled in to a 2010 version of Hansel and Gretel).
Soon enough I was drinking the liquid which quite frankly, tasted like I imagine the bottom of the kittens litter tray does. Starting with the Tarot cards, I watched as she flipped them over, telling me how I was loved, how changes were on the way and how I was feeling a little stressed. I have an extremely expressive face and you certainly didn't need to be a pyschic to see I was less then impressed. Who isn't stressed? Who doesn't want to hear that changes are on the way? After all, if everything was perfect with my life why would be hankering after clues to my future? After ten minutes I was starting to think I had proved myself right and could smugly go back to work declaring fraud. When she asked me if I could see the tortoise in the remains of the coffee I'd drunk I almost choked. Then rather randomly she started asking who was the person with the initial "J". She then correctly announced my sisters name, advised me of how close we are in age and constantly kept referring to my deceased Grandma. She expressed concerns my Grandma always had about me, how she died and even described something of hers that I have. Next came my dad's name and the fact that I was a writer! (Apparently I have a Chinese Philopsher watching over me and he wants me to write a novel as it will be a success. I will obviously include this in my covering letter to future publishers... what more security could they need??!). On followed referalls to my finances (or lack of) and the notion that in a matter of time she could only refer to as "3", everything would settle down. Just under 3 months to the big day!
Trust me, this lady only ever had my first name and I refused to answer her with anything other than a "Hmmm" or an "OK".
I can't say I'm completely converted, after all, I would do anything to believe I have a Guardian Angel watching over me in the shape of a beloved grandparent. But I definitely left there with a tingle up my spine and certainly a stronger belief that we are most definitely NOT alone....
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