Tuesday, 28 December 2010
Thursday, 16 December 2010
Friday, 3 December 2010
Once again the blogging is lagging but the last few months, suffice to say, have been tough. I am still the one, solitary mug-of-a-keyholder at my store which continues to frustrate and annoy both me and my new Assistant Manager, who is stuck over in her store for various reasons until some magical date I fear has about as much chance of materialising as the dream I had about Serge Pizzorno last night. I came back refreshed from a week off at home to find that absolutely nothing had changed at work and that I was still expected to slave night and day grabbing whatever days off I could. Not only that, but they are now considering opening my tiny shop on Boxing Day, which means no Christmas time at home for me. Which makes me impossibly sad and a bit crazy.
Ever since year nought Christmas has always been about me and my tiny family, hobbiting around together, having a laugh at the TV, opening presents, getting dressed up in our finest for no particular reason and eating far too much. There will usually be a film on in the background that I will spend the evening explaining to Nanny Musing, my cat will rummage through the wrapping paper and emerge looking wide-eyed and cute and we’ll probably try our hand at a game of Who Wants To Be A Millionaire. Pretty standard really…and bloody perfect. And now, looking more and more unlikely thanks to the greedy, grubby Gods of fashion retail, who have managed to convert this once Christmas Sprite (who can still sometimes be found searching for Narnia in her wardrobe) to Miss Scroogess 2010.
So today, you find me somewhat absent in mind and body and somewhat devoid of Christmas Spirit, which is unknown territory for me. Usually I’m all tinsel and angels and full of Christmas cheer, fellow musers, I can assure you. But the thought that I may not be able to be at home with Mummy Musing and the rest of my family fills me with dread, to the point that I may be forced to cancel all my December plans in the lead up to the festivities and wallow in Scrooge-inspired self pity. With no tinsel. And no tree.
So in true Musing fashion, I have tried my absolute best to pull together events of the last few months to make my ‘Reasons To Be Cheerful’ in the vain hope of providing some entertainment and to remind myself that perhaps things really aren’t so bad after all.
Well the first thing I have done recently is shed the dog-hair and am now sporting a new Karen-O/Coco Chanel inspired bob. Much better, less straggle, more chic, better cheekbones. Winner!
Speaking of all things hairy, I have come to the conclusion that there is but one must-have accessory for this cold winter season. Push aside those hiking heels and shearling jackets, the camel coats and the knee length socks. The one thing I want to be snuggling up to by a cosy fireside is a beautiful boy…complete with extensive ginger beard.
Reason To Be Cheerful Numero Uno…Let’s review…and rewind back to the unspoken desires for Simon Pegg in Hot Fuzz, the unfathomable crush on Guy Garvey (rugged rugged rugged). Not to mention the distant memories of my first serious boyfriend, Joe, who was an elfin Ginger vision…though consequently a sad wannabe rock star with a hefty weed addiction and a toasty Nine Inch Nails hoody. In the end it seems there really was ‘no love in Rock and Roll’, yes a line he actually once used in one of our sixteen-year-old ridiculous ‘deep’ conversations.
So it seems 2010 has re-established my love of all things ginger (Gingerbread included), and I am beginning to see a pattern emerging in these men who appear so sadly infrequently in my life. Early January brought the lovely Bob to my attention. The man who took my tattoo-virginity and, therefore, became a whole lot sexier under the bobble hat and massive ginger beard whilst penetrating my skin with his magic needle. Throw into the mix his lovely soothing tones to calm my general fear of pain and the cute picture he had of his child on the wall; and he’s transformed from something you’d find fishing at the bottom of your garden into bonafide dream boat and all round hottie. Does anyone else suffer from this?
I’ll skim over the Tattooed One, whose ginger face is always unbearably lovely to nuzzle (much out of view of Dream Boy), the dalliance with Twat Rep, eye-flirting with the Ginger Prince and we are brought right up to the present day where my new crush, Mr Dan Aerbach of The Black Keys wowed me recently at one of their astounding gigs at Brixton. Sexy, bluesy rock, with a hint of Jimi Hendrix and Des Barres-inspired tales of 70’s excess, I’m all over The Black Keys at the moment, so much so that their album needs surgical aid in removal from my player. I’m also all over Dan’s hugely impressive beard, one bushy little number I felt could have taken my eye out right at the back of the stalls where I was stood at Brixton. And take my eye out he most certainly could with all that bristly gorgeousness… ‘his Next Girl, will be nothing like his Ex-Girl’…with any luck she’ll be a British rock and roll vision of Snow White with a penchant for white mochas and an extensive footwear collection. Ah one can dream…
So I guess Reason To Be Cheerful Number 2 should be the wild night out with Miss Lloyd (my ‘one too many’ friend) which culminated in us stripping to our undies and swimming in an indoor swimming pool, within the confines of the Aquarium club in Shoreditch. Miss Lloyd claims this was all my idea, I think I may have had enough G and Ts not to remember. Either way, I strongly recommend experiencing this if you haven’t already, not least because a nice warm Jacuzzi really sobers you up and drowns out the banter you just can’t be arsed to listen to. There is also the fact that you get to experience what it must be like to be one of those domestic, Nemo-style, tropical fishes with everyone staring at you through the tiny windows on either side of the pool (As if we’re mad or something?). I was waiting for them to drop fish flakes through the windows, the fish flakes never came and the walk home was bitterly cold. There was a boy, his name was Andy. He gave me a neon bracelet as a reminder of him, I think I threw it away. Note to self though; be careful not to get water in face or hair during midnight impromptu swim sessions. You may have chosen to go swimming on a night out yes, but that does not give one licence to spend the rest of the evening resembling Frightening Crawling Girl from ‘Ring’.
Reason To Be Cheerful Number 3 – I should mention the hilarious notion of a certain young waiter at a certain chain of Expressive Pizzas; that it generally is A-OK to hit on customers in front of their Mums! There I was, relaxing on a week off from London chaos, revelling in Due South repeats and Mum’s cooking and severe bouts of Cat-Cuddling. Out we went for dinner one evening with Goldie and Mummy Goldie, tucking into some lovely calamari and catching up on everything, it was lovely. I had noticed the waiter hovering around and barely recognised him as the chubby faced boy who I was once in a show with about ten years ago. He remembered me though (but sadly not Mummy Musing, who slaved in the costume department for about 6 years – some people), and conversation was struck up in a friendly manner, only to go downhill as he asked about my plans for the week and hinted at taking me out for a coffee. I was put on the spot, trying to find polite answers that weren’t, ‘but my Mum is sat right opposite me’. Nice guy bless him, and I got a free dessert but ultimately was not so keen. And the number casually slipped into my hands along with the ‘give me a text sometime’ shouted as I left the restaurant only prompted more ‘but my Mum is RIGHT HERE’. Guys…chatting a girl up in front of her Mum is not cool. Ever. One for the Grandchildren though!
Reason to be Cheerful Number 4 – I heart Proud, Proud hearts me. That’s why their New Year’s Eve extravaganza looks to be the best in town with DJs, Live Bands and Burlesque galore. This looks to be a monumental eve on the horizon… or just a mental one.
Reason To Be Cheerful Number 5 has got to be an amalgamation of Lovemenot and Kitty; two fabulous friends who have really picked my spirits up of late. Twas wonderful to see Kitty after a hideous 3 month separation, much falafel was eaten and we randomly browsed a lot of second hand book shops but it was lovely and I would like to thank her for the short amount of time that she brought me back down to earth (let’s face it, it’s never going to be a permanent state is it).
And a big thank you to Miss Lovemenot, who always sees the positive in the most negative of situations. She who takes control of my life when I am so not in the mood/mental state of mind to do so. She who does not write people/situations off as quickly as I do (mostly because she has a brain a bit like a man) and always tries to turn things around with either words of wisdom or harsh words such as, ‘please just try and focus on something else, for my sake if not yours’. Plus I have finally witnessed L going a big gooey-eyed and entering the ‘phone-staring’ phase of dating over a boy called Sam she recently met out. So I feel I have one up on her at the moment! What would I do without her? Answers on a post card please, a pretty one. For the record, the elusive Sam has dropped off the face of the earth (and landed on the Twat Pile I strongly suspect). Nevermind Lovemenot, there’s better out there…and he’ll be back in London soon enough!!
But in all seriousness, thank you L for it all. I’m so glad we have each other when the rest of the world (or just work and silly boys really) goes wrong.
So next time you hear from me, I sincerely hope I have pulled myself out of this pre-Christmas slump and will be, once again, back to the spritely bringer of good tidings and exquisite mince pies I know I can be. Until then, I am preparing to make like a hedgehog and hibernate against both the freezing weather and the continued stream of bad things happening. I am also planning to consume my weight in tea and satsumas Maybe, just maybe, I’ll write an extremely unrealistic list to Father Christmas and hope for the best….Until next time, don’t slip, don’t eat the yellow snow and please boycott any kind of Boxing Day shopping plans.