reading remorseful

I've had an atypical year of reading- mainly because I've hardly done any of it. I'm ashamed to admit that I've only read 4 books this year, one of which took me nearly 6 months to go through. I'm one of those type people who can't just put a book down and start something new; I either have to completely abandon which takes quite a bit of will and strength or slowly plod my way through to the end. Take for instance Ghostwritten which is a fantastic book, but take me ages and ages to finish that by the time I got to the end, it had completely lost its point on me.

It's now taken me ages and ages (real time, approaching 2 months) just to finish Brave New World- which in all honesty still isn't done yet, I have only 40 pages left to read. I found whilst reading that, I had zero attention span. Half the reason it's taking me so long to finish is that I'd be reading, get to the bottom and have no idea what had just happened, or really what I was thinking about to distract myself.

2011 is going to be tackled with a new, opportunistic attitude. We have to buy a third bookcase because we have so many books (helps when husband works in publishing, and I keep every issue of Vogue. These things all contribute to the bookcase pile-up). I was chatting to Chris about being in a reading rut which he claims is quite common. It's helped me decide the kinds of books I really like, and apparently I really do enjoy female writers, modern, strong characters and plot focused, intricate story lines, inter-woven and transcendental. If I could, I would ditch fiction all together and just read anecdotal essays by David Sedaris, Chelsea Handler (even though she's not that brilliant of a writer, but her life is pretty funny), Sloane Crosley (again not that brilliant a writer, but I enjoy her life as well). That and any form of transgressive literature, modern, so insanely boring! Ok, 2011 needs to be about expanding horizons and like my wardrobe, not buying the same striped sweater over and over again.

bears in Belgium

Chris and I finally went on our honeymoon last week to Brussels and Bruges in Belgium. Great holiday- Brussels is a bit counter-intuitive for tourists. We couldn't purchase metro tickets with our credits, and the machines only accept coins, not cash so we were perpetually breaking €50 notes. Brussels itself to me was like a post-communist Paris, it was very wide with lots of marble and 60s tiling. I was trying to explain this to a friend last night as Belgium was never a communist country but it's merely based on aesthetic. Bruges is one of my favourite places in the world now. Everything is within walking distance and there isn't a corner turned that isn't exquisite. Food was beyond words and the beer! Our honeymoon was virtually an exercise in beer tasting. But I think this is paving the way for a different kind of holiday for us- we've only done city breaks but now we keep discussing staying in a gite at a French winery. Definitely something a bit more rustic with food and wine.

There were quite a few exceptional stories that happened but the one that lingers is our last night in Brussels, we went to a Japanese-French fusion restaurant. All very lovely, with tables quite close together. We're on the end, an empty table next, and a British/American couple after that. This other middle-aged couple come in, bloke is British, not sure where the woman was from but her sounded American. The woman is complaining that she wants to sit further back but there aren't any tables available so they seat them in between us and the other couple. Chris and I ordered the 3 course surprise menu so first course arrives. We're trying to eat but this hideous woman next to us starts complaining that she's cold and that she doesn't know what the food is. The man is trying to subdue her by saying, we can go somewhere else, but she's then placating him but insisting they can stay. Chris and I try to talk to each other to discuss the food we're eating but can't keep our ears off the car crash that's happening next to us. Next the server comes over the woman demands to the man to have the server explain to her the menu in French (she says this to him in English)- so the man then speaks french to the server and he then explains it to her in french (sorry if that's confusing- it was to us as well- at this point my mouth was hanging open and I was willing them to just leave because Chris and I at that point were just talking to each other as if we were strangers). She then makes snide comments and looks at both us and the other couple and says I'm not eating, I know the types of people who come to these places and pay these prices. The man insists on paying but she just sits there arms crossed and refuses to choose anything from the menu. I think out of sheer embarrassment, the obvious tension between us, them and the other couple, they finally get up and leave. I say thank God to Chris, that I hadn't been listening to a word he was saying for the past 20 minutes and the couple overhear this and we have a big laugh. My heart was literally pounding though, I was having an anxiety attack just being near that couple's presence. It makes my stomach churn just thinking about it.

the moment of impact

I'm just being a lazy twat. As of late, I've been having massive, long rants in my head which now involve me saying 'fuck' under neath my breath someone does something that clearly upsets my middleclass self. Latest irks all surround public transport. I could for the most part keep it stored away in my mind, packaged nicely and safe from escaping but now, even this morning when a truck was blocking the side walk and I had to step into the street, whilst stupid workers smoked fags and drunk coffee, I snickered shit at them, curled my lip and reluctantly stepped on to the street, half hoping a car would hit me and I could enter martyrdom. Oh just a police was around to issue a ticket. Seriously Hackney Road is extreme on a school day morning, especially around the bend near where it meets Shoreditch High St. I'm happy to still have the function of my fingers.

Oh and speaking of...the past two weeks I've managed to sit beside boogie flicker twice. First time: top deck, it's exciting when you get a seat, even though my bus ride isn't especially long. But there I was, didn't even need to ask the bloke to move his bag. But dear God he was digging for buried green treasure the entire bus ride. And once retrieved, he was clearly looking to bury someone on my coat because they were being flicked right on me. I refer to it as the 'boogie click', where you hear the moment of impact and pray it will slide right off. This particular topic is written with strain (I promise I just gagged reliving the experience). Is it beyond social decency to ask someone to kindly stop picking their nose? I had to get off the bus two stops before because I literally felt faint. The second time round, I did quite a few huffs, the classic clasping the bridge of your nose is despair, biting my lip as to not say a word. Again, I descended the bus early. They seem to find me.

see you

I don't mean to be awol but first two weeks of the month spent in Canada (with slow connection speed, living in the country). Second two weeks spent catching up with work, life, sleeping schedule.

I'm sure I have so many profound things to say about the home/home divide but right now my sister is visiting and we just watched three episodes of Jersey Shore and I'm pretty sure my brain is now fried. No deep thoughts- just laughter traded as collateral.

When I'm in Canada with Chris, it feels even more exaggerated as my Canadian home, and I feel more so displaced. Now that Emma is here, I feel as though being tour guide around London makes it feel even more so mine. I think my issue stands that I walk to work through an 'unLondon' part of London (if that can exist- I think it's just the white terraced housing that I build in my mind that seems to only exist in the west yet we live in the east). I remember reading that about Paris- how the city can look so Parisian and how that made no sense at all but made perfect sense.

One grotesque thing not mentioned was I took the bus home the other day and instead of standing with the plebs on the bottom, I ventured upstairs. And my payment for doing so was having to sit beside boogie picker--> flicker. Oh yes. I thought I was going to faint. I hit my pain threshold and stood downstairs three stops before but guy was getting a bit too close to my brand new coat. It still sends shudders up my spine.

I went to paris with my friend pippa

I went to Paris with my friend Pippa which was fun as it was my second time in Paris in two and half months- plus Paris is far quieter than London with about a third of the people. Unfortunately Paris was far quieter with that third of people being chopped into a further third because everyone is on 'vaccances'. So my friend Pippa used to live in Paris for nearly a year whilst at university so knew fun places, which were unfortunately closed due to said vaccances.

And even more unfortunate is getting your period on a Sunday morning to find no shops open, then getting lost amongst the diagonal streets of Paris and realising you left your iphone at the hotel. Oh look- it's nearly 12noon and you have to check out then. And you still haven't showered, or found a box of tampons yet. Oh and you're desperately lost because this is the man who approached me 10 minutes ago recoginising that you were a tourist and panicked, who insisted that his mother had just died and wanted some kind words said to him (rest assured, definitely not the case- but you did play along and say you were sad for his loss- in French no less). Ok, so let's jump on the Metro and go one stop (if you haven't been to Paris- Metro stops are quite literally a two minute walk away from each other, really close). Hmmm, Pippa has all of your tickets- let's buy a single. Oh fantastic, the person in front of you has no idea what they're doing- and your London impatience comes out of your mouth with a huge hurrumph. Oh, they recoginise you're annoyed and on the brink of tears, and you're desperately uncomfortable because you have your period, and you're hot and maybe just a bit hungover. Alright so you have your ticket. So you get down to the Metro, but it's Sunday, and the trains are 7 minutes apart. And the next one isn't for another 6 minutes. And it's 11.52am and you have to check out 8 minutes. But you still have to take a shower and cool off. And you can see your Metro stop down the station and think- should I just run down the tracks? But you don't. You wait, and think you're such a poser with your 'independent traveler' attitude, wishing you stinking husband was with you so he could have run out for the 'T run' and that you and lady time could be double up alone together. So on the Metro, run out at your stop. Quit speaking French for two minutes (thanks to your education, even 8 years in intensive French doesn't teach you how to say "I have my period, I'm very uncomfortable, I just got lost, and I have to take a shower. Please may I stay in the room for an extra half an hour?" Basically you say that, but leave out the first bit (you're coy after all). And thankfully French men take pity on young girls. So you're fine, granted extra time. And Paris was a lovely time.

gate

Staff meeting at 11am on Monday of this week. Business as usual...

Then our Chief Exec, who is a) a Dame b) I see as a mentor c) have the utmost respect for d) feel so badly for her when she needs to address things like this:

The topic was introduced as something that needs to be discussed because it had been addressed internally by someone to HR, and now our HR officer had started a new job elsewhere so needed to be taken up by our C.E. So sheets of paper were circulated to everyone with two columns: a) acceptable b) not acceptable. First comments made by member of staff: what are skorts?

Apparently someone had said something to HR about someone wearing clothes they felt were inappropriate (umm, did I choose the absolute wrong day to wear shorts, I spent the rest of the day hiking them down. In my defense, they're dressy, and I wore them all day with a blazer). But I don't think it was these shorts which were the tip-off, but my leather shorts (they are loose fitting, again dressy). Oh dear god. Nothing is worse then deeming Draconian law over workers in a casual attired place- and horror of horrors, jeans are deemed unacceptable. So I'm thinking a) my leather shorts have clearly offended someone b) I need to quit my job if I can't wear jeans. Anecdotes were shared on the last time, pre-2002 when our C.E. had to address a man wearing tight short shorts and she's never discussed dress code since. Thankfully jeans made it back to the acceptable list, but I'm never wearing shorts again.

I returned home from work that day (chaffing on my legs from the constant tug down the thighs), and folded up the leather shorts and put them into the third drawer of my dresser. As I closed the drawer, I heard a small wimper and a gasp for last breaths.

thrown

So as you may be aware, but maybe not, there's been this guy who shot his ex-girlfriend through a window, didn't kill her, but killed her current partner, then shot a police man, then wage war on police, he's been on the run in the north east of England, a considerably distance away. Anyway, it's terrifying, and people do truly go insane when it's hot and sunny in this country. The point is that I haven't been able to sleep very well over the past few evenings because of it, and because I'm the biggest baby.

When I was younger, it was a cardinal sin to wake my parents up, for whatever reason, fear, wet the bed, couldn't sleep because I watched the Exorcist and I was afraid the bed would convulse etc. I've very scared shitless in bed, at 12, and just had to grin and bear it until it was light outside again. I remember once hearing these weird horns and resolving myself to believe that it was ghosts in the attics. Realised the next morning it was my sister playing on this toy saxophone. But that's neither here nor there. Just an episodic replay of my irrational fear of the night.

But like most, because it's hot, I tend to have feverish dreams. So the other night, just having dropped off asleep, in my dream, I was sleeping towards the wall, and saw a man all dressed in white blending in with the paint colour. I then threw myself onto Chris, incoherently saying, Chris there's a man... So he started stroking my back so it was ok, and that's when I woke up to the feeling my heart pounding against his back. Still scares the shit out of me thinking back to that. And you can never fall back asleep after your heart races like that, and because you're afraid to fall back asleep and have a scary dream. So I asked Chris to stay awake until I fell asleep, which was of course yes. So I rolled back over, and he rubbed my back to calm me down. Not even five minutes later, I had to wake him up because he was snoring so loudly.

I emailed him the next day saying that I was really tired because I hadn't slept well. He said, oh no bad dream, don't worry, I can stay awake again until you fall asleep tonight.

one of those types

It's been an emotionally tumultuous week, part self-inflicted, part-Daily Mail readers being shitty. This is actually severely hypocritical because I utilise/depend on/enjoy dialogue of the internet, but what I theorised over a year ago, the internet allows any shitty, banal, unimportant thought that pops into your head, to post it online, anonymously without any recourse. And it can never go away.

There's an expression here that says: today's newspapers are tomorrow fish and chip wrappers. Or something along those lines. But unfortunately stories that are in the paper, are also posted online. And because they're posted online, they subject to ignorant people's scrutiny of something they just don't understand.

Now last week's comment of "i've maxed on being nice..." quite literally now. I work for a national charity in the press department and not that I've ever seen myself as the type to work in the third sector, but that doesn't mean that I don't think I'm a good person and have compassion for people, because I do always feel interested in anyone's story, specifically those who are marginalised. So this campaign we've been working on has now launched, and part of working for a health charity is placing case studies throughout the media to highlight their condition and their experience of living with it. So our case study was placed in the Sun, Daily Mail, Daily Mirror and the Metro. Fine, red tops, great. Story is a bit contentious that's alright. So our case study has gained some weight since her condition because she's on steroids, and she's on oxygen 24/7, and she's in a wheelchair and the only thing she can do for herself is prepare food. Everything else someone needs to help her. She's 50, and speaks frankly about how she is dying from passive smoke. Also, she's the loveliest woman, with nothing but an incredible heart and huge spirit.

So the story appears in the papers, and immediately readers start making comments about 'oh maybe she's dying because she's fat...' and it's appalling. By 12noon, there are around 90 comments, 50% of which are so ignorant, and disgusting, the other 50% are defensive towards her. She called me later that day really upset, and I got all choked up as well speaking with her. I just couldn't imagine making a comment about something I know absolutely nothing about, but jumping to cutting judgments because I can, anonymously.

Within our team, we were discussing the best course of action. I still do believe that calling someone fat, and saying they're in a wheelchair because they're fat is an abilist remark and by the terms and conditions of these papers, such comments should be deleted. But each paper is so reluctant to take down any comments that aren't either racist or homophobic (their policy) because of censorship and the issues surrounding brazen action deleting on the internet. But regardless, it never goes away. Posted online, yesterday's papers aren't fish and chips wrappers, they're a constant reminder, a tick that you keep scratching, an emotional cut on your arm.

That night, Chris dragged me to a gig that I didn't really want to go to in the first place, but it was marred by this. And by inability to protect someone. And I thought that wouldn't happen in the charity sector. But she's in much better spirits now, because she's incredible and can move on. But I'm still sitting here in disbelief and disappointment. Both in myself and in manking (or the small fraction who read the Daily Mail).

good example

In the midst of my working hell, I managed to do the ungodly task of clearing out my closet and drawers. I'm now subjected to watching football (i.e. unmanageable hell, mainly because England are rubbish) and thought I would think further about purge. This is also because it isn't so much about clothing but about the personal and professional anxieties that I need to delete from my database.

This blog is in real time, because we had the in-laws down this weekend, and I'm not coming round to stopping smiling. In all seriousness, my cheeks hurt from smiling all weekend. I did utter the words "I've maxed out on being nice" at work. I'm not a malicious person, and have always considered myself as a "nice" person, but I simply cannot be any longer. I noticed the first time at the grocery store when, I was paying up at the till, the check-out person asked how I was today, and I of course cordially replied, I'm well thank you, but did not pose the question back. And I have consciously not posed it back all weekend. When it's genuinely not a lack of disingenuine interest, I do care if the aren't well. I worked customer service and it's a wonder pleasantry when if people can at least feign interest in you. And I was ridiculed when I was younger (probably still now by my brother and sister) for being quote unquote too polite at restaurants.

Ok back to real time. E.T. is on and I can barely think of that film without crying. Still being capable of emotion is at least a positive. So this is me deleting stress, and inadvertently taking it out on other people, who don't even realise it.

Here's football, bin bags, and my Sunday afternoon.

bad example

I have been completely consumed with work and therefore have nothing remotely interesting to say. Well one thing. Only that I would like a holiday.

Next week everything comes to a head and then should hopefully calm down. And then there's another peak of work. And then hopefully by third week of July, I will have other thoughts again.

this is brilliant

Paris: the highlights from 30th April-5th May

new(s)

You preach about iphones- then they come into their own. It's such a boring story for me now but here we go:

Last Thursday, I did a spot of shopping in Islington before deciding to come home. Was on the bus which amazingly takes me to my front door, but on the bus, the road was blocked off because apparently there had been a fire. In my mind, I always think, "haha wouldn't it be funny if it was our flat?" but not residing to actually believe that to be the case. So the bus does this major loop and I have to walk for about five minutes to get there. And as I'm walking, our entire flat black is pitch black. Then as I walk up to the electro-magnetic door, it just swings open. So thankfully my neighbour comes in right behind me so I can ask what happened. Apparently our power substation caught on fire and subsequently exploded. Because it's my luck, Chris was at a work conference that evening so I was left to my own devices included entering scary dark flat, downloading a flashlight app, which by the way did not work. I eventually controlled my fear and anxiety with two glasses of wine whilst having my dad look for hotels for us to sleep in. In the end, we went to friends in Islington which was lovely however you never sleep well when you're terrified that you may not be able to go home for a week.

Thankfully nothing in our flat was ruined, but our buildings rubbish bins simply melted away. We now have this massive power generator, which on Tuesday, thanks to the machiavels in Hackney, the power wires were cut, thus rendering us powerless. According to Chris, the copper inside the wires is worth a lot of money hence the trimming. Awesome evening with police and fire brigade. And lack of sleep because I need the sound of a blowing fan (this isn't even a joke, I'm that neurotic that I can't sleep in stark silence).

During this Easter long weekend- I'm looking for a calming plateau.

part two

I forgot; this really tickled me this week. I can't seem to make it fit the frame on my computer, but it may work on yours...

old luddite

Things are much better now. I've spoken with my mother so much over the past few weeks which is a bit strange for our sort of relationship. We're close but we're not verbal. She emails me frequently but we usually only speak on the phone once a month. My dad calls every saturday or sunday on the dot at 1pm. But the last time I spoke with my mum, we discussed the glasses thing and she just laughed. Which then really upset. And then she kept banging on about her kitchen table and going to Home Sense and starting to cry looking at kitsch Easter items my grandmother would have loved. Evidently both of our feelings are based around materials. And then she didn't want to be the weird emotional lady in Home Sense so had to leave immediately. My family has this really strange aversion to crying. I've only ever seen my mother cry for real (watching movies doesn't cry because she cries in ALL movies- or just falls asleep before she starts...). I have never seen my father cry ever. I was never comfortable crying as a child past the age of 6 (before that, it was virtually nonstop, apparently I liked the attention, and my older sister was mean). Even now, I would never cry in front of my friends, and still don't really like crying in front of Chris (again, movies don't count because now I cry in virtually ALL movies).

I'm sucking the fun, I think it's time to move on. Back to telephones and luddism (and in the spirit of moving on...) I got an iPhone on thursday. Two things: I've never been on a phone contract before and had no problems getting credit. Yes adulthood. Second, I'm going to try to be a better with my phone. If you call our landline, I always answer, however before, mobile phone was always buried somewhere in my bag and battery had died. But I also don't believe that I have to be reachable at every moment in the day. Plus, I may be busy playing games!

part two

Last post ending was merely a pause. According to my father (first phone call at 1.15pm GMT time), the visitation went well and he was leaving for the airport in 4 hours and would try to catch me then. Second answer phone message at 5.00pm GMT- we're now leaving for the airport, I'll email you. Thanks dad, love your trivial phone messages. But yes, everything is fine re: grandmother. I've been fine except yesterday I was looking at a pair of Alexander Wang sunglasses when a workmate said, oh those look like Dame Edna which always reminded me of my grandmothers as she had this super thick rimmed glasses purchased in the early 70s with rhinestones all around. Apparently it caused a lot of embarrassment for my mother as a teenager but I always thought they were badass.

And this is something that I keep thinking about, I don't know when it started, maybe a year ago...? But I keep thinking about when you die, and your body starts decomposing and it's really frightening me, especially over the past 3 months or so. I'm not afraid to die at all, but I'm so afraid of my body evaporating into nothing. I couldn't care less what would happen to my soul, or not happen, actually that's a lie because I believe in reincarnation but I'm a bit more liberal about it because I don't think my soul will become something else, but I do think I was a cat in a past life because I do love to pet. But I digress, do you follow? Soul needs to be left out of it, it's a mute point. But the physical aspect of bodies rotting. Yes my grandmother is being cremated which is equally as morbid, but I couldn't stop thinking about her glasses and what would happen to them. And if my mother would have to come across them cleaning out her house over the next six months.

Resolution for next week: stop obsessing about death and being so materialistic.

comb

Infinite amount of brushes with mortality and adulthood. I find myself googling 'how to get a good credit score' and 'joint savings account'. I remember when I first moved to London I couldn't imagine the burden of having a mortgage and how it seemed like a far off dream not conceivably possible, nor is it really now in central London but it's something we're striving towards in the next 2-3 years which means we're all grown up, even though Chris did manage to pull off a homicidal hangover on Sunday where he couldn't stop being ill.

Point two. My grandmother died on Saturday night (afternoon Canada time). I guess I'm more in shock than anything else which makes no sense at all because she had been very ill for the past three months but she was a medical marvel having smoked for over 60 years and was cancer-free her entire life. She wasn't a typical granny either which is I think a bit awkward to explain because she was so stubborn and opinionated on absolutely not factual merit, which I know is a testament to the elderly however she was Danish and when explanations would transition in and out of Danish, it made her ramblings about my hair being in my eyes meaning that I'll be blind when I'm 40 (same for those wearing contact lenses) for example simply endearing. It was a long standing joke in my family that she would outlive us all, similar to that of let's say a Keith Richards.

Anyway the moral of the story is that I thought I would go home for a week but there is only going to be a visitation and then a memorial in September for her birthday when I'm home for a holiday. My mother is ok which is the most important thing. And really that's that.

There's more but I think I'll leave it at this. And that.

day off

I wouldn't pigeonhole myself to suggest that I am a control freak however having one solitary day off makes me panic just a bit. I'm mainly terrified that I haven't done something and it's going to come to light and I always have to bee three steps ahead.

But in much happier news, it was Chris' birthday yesterday and because he completely failed on mine, I had to have this amazing day for him (basically mind games to make him feel guilty for being such a shit, but not really because I honestly don't care, that much). So he was loaded with gifts, and I bought him this amazing card and his work mates and our friends came along for drinks last evening, and we booked today, have dinner reservations at a new incredible restaurant in Shoreditch but as I tiny jab to his day of splendor, I'm dragging him to Ikea to buy wicker baskets and other stuff. He's currently fast asleep, or could be awake but refusing to get out of bed because he knows the trip is imminent.

But please, I rarely pull the bitchy wife card but feel that I've earned it this time round. Now buck up and wake up please. I need tea and breakfast.

baby

Let's face it, I'm broody. It's time for me to have a baby (yes, but not really...). This week's obsession is bearing child and eventually rearing it. I'm so awful that I am stare and awe at parents morning and evening on the bus ride home, listening out for names, parenting methodology, colour of teeny tiny wellies on their feet, envious of their buggies and blankeys. I really hope these parents don't think I want to seal their children. Most of vilely misbehaved, jumping up and down on the seats and I sit on tender hooks half-expecting them to chip their baby teeth. Either the parent gets angry then ties them back down in their pram or just let's them carry on with ruckus. I try to resolve the situation in my mind, if it was my child. I know this is me passing severe judgment on a scenario I know absolutely nothing about, but this isn't logical, it's astutely hormonal. And I'm not even the worst girl I know.

What's brought this on the most is I haven't had a drink since New Year's which is both a crowning achievement and sad admission. But it's bringing a whole new clarity, such as I really love my husband. Barf. He's equally funny sober as he is when I've had a half a bottle of wine. Am I painting a portrait of being an eventual good parent? Please may I remind you that I'm 25 and was a child bride? No, Chris is a good egg and always has been. And I have never not loved him. Why do I feel like this is a loaded post? I'm not implying anything by this, it all curtails into my broodiness.

We were on a train to Birmingham this weekend to celebrate his grandfather's 90th birthday and this dreadful older couple sat in front of us and it was so clear they hated each other. I think it mainly had to do with wife's squawky voice. When we got off the train, we promised to never ever be like that. I don't squawk to the best of my knowledge but Chris promised to call me out on that shit. Why would you want to beat your husband into such severe submission?

I guess I'm both broody and terrified.

happy back to work

I love when you start something new and fresh and it seems amazing and really exciting! This could be my childish excitement, I remember summer between grade 7 & 8 and feeling desperate to get back to school because I wanted to graduate then go to high school. I think that's a bit how I feel now. Career being put on hold for over a year and now everything is back on track. And I make no qualms about this: I am going to be amazing. I feel as though I'm entitled to say that because my confidence has been knocked back 5-fold this past year. Plus it's one facet of my life that I can't be positive about, always have to be self-deprecating and sarcastic. But yes, in my naive excitement and joy to be back at work in my new role, I have been given great project that I'm actually looking forward to working on over the next few months.

Granted we have mapped out our holidays for the year, all built around the World Cup which England will presumably lose and I'll have to deal with Mr Grumps for weeks but I'm hoping to come back to Canada either May or September. Haven't been home since September 2008. It doesn't feel as though it's been that long considering it's currently -2 outside today in London however I haven't seen my dad since September and my mum since October 2008 for our wedding. Jew guilt washes over me constantly but my mother is my number one fan so I know she's fine with me being here and living out the life that I set out. My dad on the other hand is becoming more and more difficult with each conversation. I spoke with him on Christmas day and got off the telephone so perturbed. I think his transition into golden years is going to be grossly controversial.

In others new, my bank statement just came through the door and I'm not terrified to look at it.