I now live three minutes from the train station. This is a good thing. This means I can spend longer in bed. I am now useless (again) at getting up in the morning. Maybe this is because I now know it only takes three minutes to reach the train station, as opposed to walking seven minutes and waiting for a bus which is a ten/ fifteen minute journey to the station, which is how long it took at my old flat. And that would be if the buses were running to schedule, more often than not they were not.
By the way, these three minutes can be accomplished walking at top speed, wearing flat boots/shoes. In high heels and by a half asleep Nikki, it takes slightly longer. But three to five minutes aint bad!
The pretty pink rose plant on my window sill, which a drunk man at the train station bought me. I was minding my own business and inspecting the flowers at the flower shop one evening, which is attached to the train station, when I spied the pretty pink rose plant. “How much is that?” I asked. “£2.50,” the flower lady replied. I was then very disappointed to learn I did not have any money in my purse. The drunk man, who was buying his wife lilies and at the same time moaning about her, must have seen my disappointed face as he said to the flower lady (in a drunken slurred kind of manner), “Stick those roses on my bill for the young lady over there!” Thank you drunk man at the train station. I've never been bought a plant by a stranger, even if he was under the influence of, and he probably can't remember a darn thing about it. The roses look fine on my window sill.
My new journey to work from the train station has now halved due to my new location. I have therefore gained two extra hours a day, which is ten hours a week, which is the grand total of forty hours a month. This is a very good thing. Half of this time is spent sleeping, and half of this time is spent participating in constructive things, such as moving my body up and down on my cross trainer, or cooking culinary delights in the kitchen.
Twenty extra hours of sleep is marvelous. I am no longer permanently tired. I was tired for two years. I just didn't realise how lethargic/shattered (it ranged from day to day) I was until rewarded with twenty extra hours of sleep per month. Hmmm, funny how I am now worse at getting out of bed, compared to when I existed on such little sleep.
The canteen at work is still free. There was a huge debate about this. We liked our free canteen, we liked the fact we did not have to bring a packed lunch into the office, or remove ourselves from the building to buy unsatisfactory and expensive sandwiches in the town. Oh how we complained on the staff forum. You have taken away many of our benefits, please don't take away our free food! We need the canteen to socialise in, to familiarise ourselves with colleagues, to eat healthy and varied food, so we can work to the best of our abilities and become recognised professionals for a worthy company! Besides, I've seen the budgets and expenditure and I know (luckily) as an Institution they can afford to feed us jacket potatoes and tuna salads. Of course I realise free food is a rarity these days, so I wanted to add it to my grateful list.
The two holidays I have booked for this year. The first one is with lovely boyfriend and we'll be venturing to Portugal. I've never been to Portugal and I am calorie counting (again, I'm now the fattest I've ever been in my life, it must be love), so I will not moan about the size of my thighs when I am lazing on the beach. I refuse to spoil our holiday because I discovered my love for fat chips from the kebab house near our new flat. (But they are heavenly, especially when dipped in burger sauce. Arrg, must stop fantasising about them...!)
The second holiday is with lovely boyfriend's family. We are renting a cottage in Cornwall, one of the prettiest places in England. And the insurance company will hopefully hurry themselves with my camera claim because I am expecting to take breath taking pictures and post them on my blog. This blog is crying out for pictures again. It's far too text heavy these days and full of my woffling drivel.
And for the record, if boyfriend's family were flowers - maybe flowers at the flower shop attached to the train station, where the drunk man bought me a rose plant, and which is now only three minutes from my new house, which takes me less time to travel to the office for my free food - they would be a sunflowers, pink tiger lillies, and tulips.
These are my favourite chosen flowers and are always the ones which grab my attention and I admire grandly.
In other words, I think his family are great, and I could not have chosen nicer people to spend my time with and have fun with, than if I had personally and carefully handpicked them myself.