I ain't no Bridget Jones...

schmoozing, beds and bedsheets...

Well, I was about to go to sleep but I realised I'm not quite tired enough yet so I thought I'd just check my email again and see if there was anyone else sad enough to have sent me a message at midnight on a Friday night. There wasn't. I seem to have the most fun on week nights these days, as that's when all the freebies are... that's when I can go out and feel good because I shouldn't be doing it. We all love to do things we shouldn't, right! Going out on school nights is fun because it's bad. Like last night for example - went to a hotel viewing and had lovely canapes and champagne, before heading to the pub and getting quite jolly on more wine.  You don't even wanna know what happened after that but let's just say that I felt less than holy this morning.

Anyway,... along with said freebies, there is a committment to schmooze.  It's usually something I quite enjoy, and I'm good at it. I usually find that schmoozing is essentially flirting, whether it be with a person, or an idea you want that person to come around to. A lot of it is silent manipulation, a little bit of a power struggle. If you can win someone over who looks like a bit of a hard nut, it's always a proud moment.  It's good fun watching people succumb to more often than not, what is essentially faux-charm. Yes, it's deceitful but for me it's rather akin to having the acting career I always secretly wanted.  There's an art to it, and with every schmoozee it's slightly different, but the basic principles are the same. 

THE ART OF SCHMOOZE: You smile a lot, appear interested, nod and raise your eyebrows at regular intervals. ALWAYS compliment the person on something - if it's a guy you compliment their product or business, if it's a woman, it's their hair, shoes or clothes.  Ask a lot of questions. Never just about the business. It's ok to get personal, people love talking about themselves.  If it's a guy and he's talking strictly business, nod and then butt in with something slightly irrelevant - "where's that accent from?" "how long have you been in this business?" "what were you doing before this job, then?" Nine times out of ten the person before you will drop their shoulders, sip their drink, look at the floor and then answer you, visibly pleased that you're a real person and not just a bullshitting freeloader. Then, it's back to business again, having got a little deeper, a little more information, and hopefully, a little more trust.

It's not like this all the time though. As quite a social creature I personally enjoy talking to people, meeting new and interesting individuals from all walks of life. It's just that sometimes, it's tough. Which brings me back to last night.

After a few drinks we had a yawn-inspiring tour around the rooms of this hotel. It was pretty hard to be interested when the place was pretty much your average "bed, carpet, drawers, ensuite" affair, but I swear, these people were acting like it was the Ritz. I took my pal G with me and there was one moment, after a sucker-upper in our group complimented the bed sheets, where I literally started shaking with pent-up laughter. I had to pretend to admire the view out of the window just so I could look away - which incidentily was a terribly tantalising look over a carpark. I felt so ashamed of myself.  Seriously, it was like being back at school - you know when you've done something stupid in class and you're dying to burst out laughing but you know you'll be bollocked if you do. So you bottle it all up till it comes out of your nose in little snorts that you have to pretend are coughs and remnants of a nasty cold. Horrific, really. But the stupidity of it all just struck me.

In New Zealand I went to the Sofitel in Queenstown, and wanted to move right on into the Penthouse suite, it was AMAZING!  Huge plasma screens, about 29 sofas, 2 bedrooms with beds big enough for 6 people (or enough room for 2 and a whole lot of fun!) and a friggin bar in the corner.  Not a minibar.  A BAR. There was also a jacuzzi spa on the roof, looking out over the sea and mountains. I know I shouldn't have been so rude last night but sometimes you have to take a step back and realise the ridiculousness of the whole schmoozing thing. I know it's business but seriously, everyone knows a bed sheet is not "soooo cool, really, a lovely shade of green". A bedsheet is a bedsheet. And actually, the only reason it appeared to be a lovely shade of green was because the rest of the room was so dull, so white, so 1999, that quite frankly any colour brighter than beige would have seemed beautiful. In that room, that green bedsheet shone out like an emerald gem, a beacon in the spectrum of splendour. But really, put it outside on a clothing line and let a pigeon shit on it,... it's not really gonna ruin anyone's day.

God... it's funny isn't it, the things we do in the name of business. It's all so meaningless and silly. Well,... some of it. My line of work anyway. Sure it's a lot of fun but sometimes I really do wonder what it's all about.

Right, I think I might go to sleep now...

sex over the phone...

I don't know exactly how I managed to miss this, but I swear to God it has to be one of the best things I have ever seen, IN MY WHOLE LIFE! Lucy showed me this video tonight and I was in stitches. If it wasn't the Village People in all their gay glory I don't think I would have believed it wasn't a spoof. Did people really take this seriously in the 80's? I mean,... well you know, not seriously seriously, but obviously it wasn't meant to induce quite so many moments of shoving your fist into your mouth and wincing, not quite sure if you're gonna puke or laugh hysterically for another 20 minutes...

horsing around...

a sleeveless society...

I've been meaning to bring this issue up for a while now, but actually, it only REALLY started to bother me yesterday. The thing is, I need a new summer jacket. The only ones I have are in courdoroy lime green (um,.. what was I thinking???), courdoroy light brown, which is now too small (shock horror!!) and a denim number I got in TopShop about three years ago - which is now thoroughly unacceptable because the other day I saw a girl on 'Two Pints of Lager and a Packet of Crisps' wearing the exact same one. And she was a made-up character, who had quite obviously been dressed in mock scorn of the chavviest slice of society. I took it off immediately and disregarded it, although I have to say I will miss it. It's not the denim's fault I can't wear it. I blame the BBC.

Anyway, so I need a new jacket, and upon trawling the shops in the Victoria vicinity I realised that pretty much every single one, in every single store, has no bloody sleeves! Well, not no sleeves entirely,... just half sleeves. Is it just me though? Am I the only one who'd prefer my outerwear with proper sleeves these days? I don't care if it's the fashion, it's a stupid friggin fashion. We don't live in bloody California, where the sun shines all day long and any form of jacket is for show purposes only. We live in England. And it's fucking cold. Sleeves were designed for a reason, to keep our arms warm. You take off half the sleeves and you might as well take them all off - or not wear a jacket at all. Hmph.

Who's stupid idea was it anyway? Especially when it comes to summer... there will be a flock of girls walking round with farmer's tans, where only half of their arms have caught the sun. Won't be so cool then, will it? It'll be embarrassing. Bring back sleeves I say! BRING BACK SLEEVES!!!

I'm a junkie...

Well, an Urban Junkie actually. YAY! It's a wicked email newsletter that goes out daily to subscribers  and it covers hip and hot happenings all over the place. Well,... mostly London. But I read it a lot and I have just been signed up as a writer, which is fabulous news as I can put my blagging skills to even more use now. Joys. I'm very excited as I've been looking for more freelance work. In fact, while I'm here, if anyone has any more writing they would like me to do for them, email me.

This is a good Monday!

thank heavens for good cheeses...

There was a terrible smell in the kitchen for the whole of last week, and it got worse every time we opened the fridge. It really was gross, and when I finally opened the tupperware box of cheese to find my lovely wheel of camembert was out of date, I was quite distraught. I mean,... cheese doesn't normally get to stay that long in my fridge. I usually buy myself a lump of varying colour and heritage, carry it into the living room some four hours later, where it's pretty much a short-term, low budget, fancy-free, no frills affair with a few Jacobs crackers and my stomach.

But on this occasion I forgot about it and it went off. I had to throw the whole thing away. Lucy couldn't believe it. We NEVER throw cheese away, EVER. As I placed it lovingly into a carrier bag we held our noses over its decaying carcass and swore that next time, we'd get there sooner. Next time, we'd be more careful. Next time, we wouldn't let this happen.

Anyway, we got over it and tucked into some Danish blue, which thankfully was still going (extra) strong. Thank heavens for good cheeses. That one saved my weekend, which was an average one no thanks to my cold, which is still making my nose run like a three year old child's. I'm resisting the urge to sniff loudly and swallow like John Robnet used to do right next to me at school, when I was 5. I've never forgotten that.  Yeah, I think it's on its way out now though, no thanks to Saturday night when I resisted the urge to party, stayed in with my cheese and some even more cheesy telly, only to have Lu come back with some whiskey and her German lover. Several 'european hot toddys to help my cold' later I felt quite pissed. I don't think whiskey goes too well with Lemsip.

I did mange to get quite a lot of movie watching in this weekend - Factory Girl, Premontion and Sleeping Dogs to be precise. I think Premonition would have been at the higher end of mediocre if it wasn't for Sandra Bullock being her usual whinging self. She has this thing where she just whinges through every single movie and it's getting on my tits. Sleeping Dogs was good though - it's not every day that a film about bestiality causes quite so many laughs. Er... not that I'd know.

Oh,.. and today is pay day at last, so the poverty is over. YAY! Monday goodness rating on this sunny lunch time hour - 7/10.

red is the new brown...

I have to say, it's interesting working in the same building as the Labour Party. They're such a good bunch of people up there on the second floor, doing their bit for the country, making it a lovely place to live in. Especially Gordon, who's done so much for London transport lately that my District Line commute is the heavenly equivalent of gliding on a cloud, assisted by Care Bears - and not at all like cramming myself tit-style into an overpriced Wonderbra.

So imagine my horror and shock when, upon arriving at work this morning, in the very same building as those delightful do-gooders, I found the entire entrance smeered with red paint. It looked like a bloody massacre. In fact, at first I thought someone had been violently stabbed against the front doors, but it stank like a Saturday trip to Do-It-All from my childhood, (with Daddy - yay! Good times), so I knew that it was probably paint. Oh, and then of course I thought that maybe it was againt us - that maybe we'd really offended someone by advertising a totally shit holiday - like, maybe someone got to Egypt and got stuck in a tomb over night, before realising that it was acually their hotel, and it was just the most disgusting, damp and miserable place on the planet. ALL OUR FAULT.

But, judging by the crimson scrawl on the pavement, the red was for Brown. Bless him. Poor guy,.. I mean, he only wants to be the bloody prime minister. And why shoudn't he really? It's a bloody good job. And he's good at it. He's just as committed to New Labour's right wing agenda as Blair, and he's a mighty fine champion of imperialist war. Oh,.. plus, he just gave £3 billion of public money into funding said war and even promised he'll give more if it's needed. What a generous chap! Why, he's almost a modern day Robin Hood. I hope they clear that paint up before he gets offended.

fires, blades and arcades...

La la la,.. having an "I'm bored" moment whilst waiting for an Excel spreadsheet to load. Grrrr,... hate excel at the best of times but when it's purposefully slow just to spite me I need to walk away. And so I turn to you, luvverly blog!

Oooh, I've not yet written about my weekend, which was actually a rather awesome one, jam packed with many little gems. The highlight was of course, seeing the brilliant Arcade Fire in Brixton with Man in the Mirror. Or was the highlight when we adopted a stray cat and fed it chicken kebab as it sprawled on the kitchen table at 3am? Or.... was it when we sang a musical number in drunken harmony in a bar, after playing foosball and clearing the dance-floor with 80's girl band moves to rival Bananarama in their heyday? Hmmm... so many wonderful times.

Sunday was pretty cool too. Finished off some freelance assignments - (finally making more effort to write more for money!) and then Lucy and I went over to S&N's for dinner. They're our gorgeous neighbours. Well, they used to be, until they moved out of the corner flat and into a real house. A proper house, with STAIRS and everyfink! Well jealous innit.  They cooked us up sausages and mash after the Morgan was full of mothers. I was looking forward to some gastropub action, but S&M at S&N's was a mighty, and meaty fine substitute. Then we feasted on homemade merangue and chocolate and watched Billie Piper in Mansfield Park. What a perfect weekend - part manic twenty-something singleton, part wannabe homemaker with a long way to go.

Ooooh last night was really cool too, actually. Sara and I went to a preview screening of Will Ferell's new movie - Blades of Glory. It's hilarious. Obviously, not as good as Anchorman, because... well, I don't think anything he does ever will be, but very, very funny. Napolean Dynamite was excellent in it too - John Heder. His mouth cracks me up. See it when it comes out, I think at the end of the month. The best thing about last night though was being able to drink glasses of wine and munch from plates of canapes while we watched it. SWEET! Free food and free movies has to be the best way to cheer you up after another Monday!

Right... oh I think Excel has woken up, praise the Lord...

nipples feeling nippy?

Look what Ray just sent me, hahaha! Well, he didn't literally send me one. He just sent me the link so I can order one myself. How great! Thanks Ray!

flower power or lack thereof...

MOTHER NATURE'S GONE SKITZOOOOOOOOOOO!!! I feel sorry for all the little daffodils I saw nodding their heads in the park yesterday, under a cloudless blue sky. Bless them for thinking it was spring,... bless them for thinking, yippeeeeeee, global warming means we can all come out to play really early and have many more glorious days being joyous flowers!! 

Er,... no, daffodils. It means you've been a part of a cruel, cruel trick. The world's a-changing and it ain't for the better. In two hours time, and for most of tomorrow, it's gonna snow on your pretty little heads and you'll crumble, fade and die in a harsh, wintery blizzard unbeknownst to your floral sleves, because you're usually underground, where you should be. Sorry.

We'll then have to spend all spring and summer fighting through natures extremities wondering where the flowers are. If this carries on, there won't be any trees either. Everything will bloom in a February heatwave, perish in a mid-march mini ice-age, and then come April we'll be wading through broken, browning foliage, rendering us even more at risk from the evil sun-beams. IS THERE NO ESCAPE?

Honestly, the weather's weird. I've been freezing my tits off all day under a sodding air-con unit, in a jumper and scarf. Last week I wore a t-shirt. Last weekend I sat outside the Vibe Bar on Brick Lane with no jacket on. Three weeks ago I sat by the sea in a strappy top, and got slightly burnt. OK so I was on the other side of the world but STILL,... it's too much to handle. If I'm going mental because of it, I dread to think what the flowers feel like :-(