Wednesday, 29 December 2010

My favourite year...almost

Oh life.
You are funny.
You are weird.
Sometimes you are amazing.
Often you are unexpected and unpredictable.
Most days you are beautiful.
Other days you are destructive and devastating.
One day you are my best friend.
And the very next day you are my enemy.
I think I understand you, then you go out of your way to prove me wrong.
How complicated and contradicting you can be.
You have blessed me with the best days of my life.
You have made me feel I can accomplish anything.
I have felt fortunate and lucky and truly privileged.
Then you have the almighty power to crush me.
You have broken me.
Nearly destroyed me.
I have despaired of you and your tragic actions.
How could you have done that to me and those who I love?
What a love and hate relationship we have.
I'm sorry, it's hard to forget sometimes.
In my heart I want to forgive.
I honestly do.
This year you have been kind and generous and thoughtful.
You have answered my prayers.
Finally I have met him.
The one I have always wanted to meet.
I am overjoyed.
I am appreciative.
Grateful.
Blissful.
Happy.
Estactic.
And then, just when I wasn't looking...
You snatched.
You stole.
You took.
You interrupted.
How could you?
Oh life you are bitter sweet.
You introduced me to him.
The one I have always wanted to meet.
For that I want to thank you.
He rocks my world.
But I met him and then you took her.
My nan.
My dear, sweet, kind little nan.
It would have been my favourite year.
Now it has almost been.

Wednesday, 22 December 2010

The big move

Despite my meticulous planning, ever expanding lists, significant deadlines, important time frames and organised manner, things have not, dear readers, gone to plan.
The big move has not been the move I envisioned. One could say, sometimes you can’t plan life. Sometimes life interrupts plans. Or on this occasion, I am pointing my blame finger at the snow.
The snow has rudely interrupted and disrupted. Pretty white stuff which falls from the sky has put me behind schedule. I’m afraid it has to take full responsibility for its selfish actions. It may look nice, apart from when it turns brown, slushy and mushy, it may have the ability to make small children run around throwing it and building things with it, but the UK roads and train timetables can not cope with it.
It has been recorded as the coldest UK December in 100 years, with the heaviest snow fall to match. I did not count on this happening when I arranged the date to collect our new six keys. (One for the front door to the large Edwardian period house, two for the front door to our first floor flat, one extra set for individual purposes.) I did not expect this to happen when I was compiling my lists and planning how many journeys the car would enable us to stack our belongings.
The car had to be abandoned on a friends drive way (it’s still there) due to the unbelievably heavy snow fall in a short space of time, and my wheels slipping and sliding as a result. My bedroom furniture and flat screen television should have moved in by now, but they are still at my old flat. I am alternating between two dresses and one top and one pair of trousers. It’s not ideal.
The first night we spent in our new home should have been organised, settled, domesticated and romantic.
It should have been all these wonderful adjectives rolled into one evening!
In my mind I imagined our new brown leather sofas and zebra print cushions, next to the solid oak dining table, with the red cherry candle lighting the new red place mats, and a delicious and fancy meal cooked by yours truly, accompanied by the forty two inch flat screen television mounted on the wall, showing our favourite comedy programme, adding to our laughter and calm mood. Not forgetting the bottle of champagne we would be sipping, the delicate happy bubbles absorbing the atmosphere.
Damn my mind and its perfections.
Reality was not nearly so.
The first night we spent in our new home began with yours truly dropping the champagne bottle in the street, cutting my lip on the bouncing glass in the process, startled by the sight of my own blood and annoyed at my familiar clumsy trait. Lovely boyfriend was not as concerned as I with regards to the smashed and spilt alcohol. He was suffering from the hangover from hell, the consequence of his office Christmas party the night before, and he was feeling rather vacant and shockingly awful.
We had no saucepans or cooking equipment, or solid oak table to place the new red place mats on, so we ordered an Indian takeaway.
The Indian takeaway which we waited, and waited for, then realised the door bell did not work after the restaurant finally telephoned us with a cold chicken korma and mushroom rice. This was eaten, on our laps, in front of the, very small, portable television which was refusing to show us BBC1.
Tired, and boyfriends hangover wickedly punishing him for drinking cider in a dodgem car, we retired to our air bed.
The air bed which took us half an hour to pump, convincing ourselves it wasn't working and that our new neighbours would hate us for making strange noises the wrong side of midnight. We didn't sleep very well when we finally collapsed onto the air bed, after discovering we should have read the instructions because we were not correctly pumping. It was surprisingly comfortable, although very difficult to remove ourselves from. It was the smoke alarm which kept us awake.
The smoke alarm in the hallway which menacingly beeped every five minutes to announce the battery needed replacing. We couldn't dismantle it as the hallway ceiling is far too high and we were far too small, with nothing to stand on to reach the offending object. So we had to suffer in silence. Or should I say, we had to lay on the air bed, taking it in turns to shout, "That stupid smoke alarm!"
However, dear readers, despite all of this - despite the drama, the complications, the terrible weather conditions, the noisy smoke alarm and the fat lip - on our first night in our new home, I can honestly say, I have never felt happier in my whole entire life.

Friday, 3 December 2010

He finally knows I exist...and he doesn't want me to loose my shoes.

He finally knows I exist.
Sort of.
Kind of.
Maybe?
I'd like to think so anyway.
I like to think, for a few, precious moments in his life, he knew my name.
He knew I was a huge fan.
He knew my birthday was just around the corner.
And he...asked me not to loose my shoes.
For all of this, I have to thank my fabulous friend Jamie. Credit where credit is due. If it wasn't for the paper towels around our heads one night, and the dramatic screeching and sliding, to the lyrics of Different Corner, I may have received my little birthday message on a yellow post it note.
I may not have received my birthday message at all!
Heaven forbid.
How different my life could have been.
I will always be eternally grateful to Jamie, paper towels, a Different Corner record cover and a message from Him.
He who now knows I exist.
He whose dulcet tones I have listened to a thousand times.
He who I have bored everyone rigid with a million times.
Yes, Him!
Have you guessed who it is yet?
It's George Michael!
My friend works with someone whose dad is his minder.
He told his colleague how nutty I am about George.
He wrote a message on a yellow post it note and it was passed on to George.
I now have a one hundred percent, genuine, signed birthday message.
From George Michael!
It's written in a blue marker pen, on a Different Corner record cover (without a paper towel in sight).
He finally knows I exist.
Sort of.
Kind of.
Maybe?
I'd definitely like to think so.