Home via Pimlico

As I strolled home from dinner on a warm May evening, I was overcome with sadness. Two days had passed since I found out that the flat I was due to move into in just shy of a month's time had fallen through. I had just managed to visualize myself there, and all of a sudden I now had to start from the beginning.
I cut my budget and decided to move out of my neighbourhood.
Lovely lovely Pimlico. My part of town for the last 4 years. I found myself strolling even slower; savouring each step through the grid.

These streets reminded me of the West Village in New York. I had gone there 3 summers before with a person who was now a stranger to me. We had strolled up through Perry Street on a hot summers day, seeking shade beneath the trees that lined the edges of the pavements.
And we'd had dinner outside on 259,West 4th Street, sheltered from the sudden heavy rainfall. It was still warm, but the rain brought on a slight panic to the city, and all of a sudden everyone seemed to be running for their lives. I felt calm, safe, happy, sitting next to the man I loved as we watched a lady with a short-haired daschund trying to get her stubborn dog to walk faster through the rain.

I remember calling my mother two days into my week long trip and telling her that at some point in my life I would live here. It had exceeded all of my expectations and in a strange way it instantly felt like home.
I had since stopped missing the man sitting next to me in that restaurant, but I yearn to walk those streets again.
Pimlico had been my replacement. My little apple, and it scares me thinking that I might pine for it when I'm gone. For my flat. My home. My big marble fireplace with candles scattered all around and floor to ceiling windows. My florist around the corner, who I go to to pick up bunches of Anemones, Ranunculus and Peonies on a Sunday. Of course that all sounds silly since I can return any time I like, but this era is ending whether I like it or not, and I don't know if I'm ready.

Last night I sat on my balcony in a sleeveless shirt with a mug of peppermint tea in my hands and I decided that an outdoor space really is essential. I breathed in the musky polluted London air, and wondered why I was the only one in my street to be enjoying it.
As I looked around, I could see glaring tv screens and drawn curtains. Everyone seemed to be shutting themselves in, away from the warm evening and views of the streets. I was baffled.

As I sleepily retreated to bed, I lay and looked around the room. All it was was bricks and a lick of paint. A door here, a window there. A few paintings on the walls. A pigeon grey jug of light pink peonies on the side. Two books on my bedside table next to two gold rings and Geranium and Orange Neals Yard hand cream.
All replaceable things. Suddenly I wasn't so worried, and as I drifted off I realised that my home would always be wherever I was.

Cupid in Disguise

It was last spring and I was dating a guy (read about him HERE) who lived with a very attractive flatmate. I used to jokingly say that I found his flatmate more attractive, except I wasn't joking. Throughout our short 3month 'relationship', we discussed setting up the flatmate with my pretty friend, but unfortunately we went our separate ways before that could ever materialize.

Around a year later, the girl in question and I decided to spend a sunny Saturday drinking Coronas in Hackney, and whilst discussing the men who had previously been a part of our love lives, the flatmate came up in conversation.
After a bit of persuasion from me, she said that she'd be interested in possibly going on a date, and I decided to send a rather random email to a virtual stranger asking him to date my friend.

Surprisingly, he said yes! A blind date is set for Friday evening, and if this should become the start of something very special, I think I may have to change my career...

Goodbye Old Friend

In less than 2 months I will have to leave the place I've called home for the last two years.

It is a place that became my sanctuary after a sad break up with a man I had spent 6 years of my life with. 3 months after I had moved in to my beautiful Georgian townhouse flat, I got a teeny tiny little black and white kitten who would emit high pitched miaows and crawl on to my stomach to have a little sleep.

The kitten is now a cat who no longer crawls onto my stomach for a sleep, and I am no longer the person I was 2 years ago.

When I look at how my life has changed in that relatively short space of time, I wonder who I will be in another 2 years time...
New and old friends have come into my life, and new and old friends have left it. My oldest and best friend of 20 years is no longer a part of my life, nor I hers. 2 years ago, we had conversations about having children at the same time so they too could grow up together being best friends. These days, I don't miss her any longer, but I do wish her well.
I met someone over a year ago, who I didn't realise at the time would become a very good friend of mine today. She is an incredibly strong, funny and kind-hearted soul who will become a mother very soon.

As I lay in my big bed typing these words, I realise that this flat has become somewhat of a friend. It has always been here for me, and never judged. It has provided me with warmth and comfort and has been somewhere I have made many treasured memories.
I am sure that my next home will become that in time, but until then...

Goodbye Old Friend... I hope you find someone who will love you just as much.

Happy Birthday to Me

A few weeks ago it was my birthday. I turned something on either side of my mid twenties, and decided that I wanted to have a big celebration, and so it was all planned.
An early dinner with good friends who lived out of London, drinks at mine for 20+ guests before jumping into cabs that would take us to a nightclub where we could shake our tail feathers for the rest of the night.

Arriving at the restaurant at 6.30pm, I felt somewhat overdressed in my cleavage exposed, fitted red dress and a face full of 'evening' make up. A few glasses of wine later, I had opened my first (and best) presents of the night, and as we left the restaurant and headed back to mine, I was pleasantly tipsy.

At my flat, guests started steadily arriving, and while trying to be 'the hostess with the mostess' I was finding it hard to relax. I was trying to divide my time between everyone, and therefore felt as though I hadn't spent much time with anyone.
As the clock struck 11pm, the first taxi arrived, and as I bundled groups of people out, I realised that the friends I'd had dinner with had opted to take the long journey back to Oxford despite my protests. At least our mutual good looking friend, A, was staying...

Arriving at the club, I remember feeling really happy and as the barman handed me a free shot, the night began to get pretty hazy.
I got talking to a cute guy (although the conversation is pretty patchy in my mind, it started off well), and when we established that he worked in finance, I asked him whether he thought it was boring (fun fact: I happen to think that working in finance is incredibly boring). When he told me he found it interesting, I decided it was time to leave, and was intent on finding A. Mr Finance told me he'd be there waiting for me, but I knew I wouldn't go back. As I turned around, my friends were nowhere to be seen, and so I wobbled towards the dance floor to find them.

After two drunken circles around the club, my efforts were in vain, and as I stumbled into the toilets, luckily my friend came out of the cubicle. I asked her where A was. She said that she thought he'd been getting on rather famously with her friend, and I decided to find them and see for myself.
They didn't look too close to me, so I decided to step in (it was my birthday after all). Within the next half an hour, my two friends left, and I decided I'd had enough, and wanted to go home.

The intention was never really for anything to happen with A, but back at home, one thing led to another...twice. In the morning, we got up and went to go get some coffee in an attempt to stop the world from spinning. Over a strong cappuccino, we decided that nothing more would happen, and it got me thinking... A was very handsome, very smart, had a great job and would no doubt make a very good boyfriend (in the bedroom department at least), but he lacked in charisma, wasn't charming and wasn't funny.

I realised then, that actually none of it matters.... All I really want is for a guy to make me laugh, and if he looks like Johnny Depp...Well then that's a bonus.

The Mid April Mistake

It is now mid April, and something has changed. I feel a magic in the air, and I know it's definitely there because 3 men said hello in the street and I looked like shit. The day after I received 2 offers of drinks, and the weekend before? Well...

I had just returned from Dubai where the beach seemed to be mainly littered with 'Arab Jersey Shore-alikes'. I would lie on the soft sand and people watch (my favourite activity) as they strolled up and down- their bulging biceps causing their arms to hang four inches away from their torso, sigh and then lower my head back to dropped dent in my towel.

A week of this, and I was back in London and dying to go out. The last few months had been difficult and as dry as The Sahara.

Upon my return, I called a good friend, and a plan was set in place. Sunday Night. Shoreditch.
We had planned dinner initially, and so I had kept myself waiting. In the end, it was a liquid dinner, and we all know that alcohol causes you to do some audacious things.
A few bar hops later, I found myself talking to a charming man. He wasn't my usual type, but was intelligent, nice and a gentleman. My friend had by this point sloped off with 'denim jacket guy'. Needless to say, that didn't end up quite as well, and she called to tell me about it while we were in the taxi on our way back to mine.

Stepping through the front door, it quickly became apparent that this guy was a freak and in a good way. I would have never been able to tell from his tweed jacket....

He took over, and my clothes we gone. I finally felt alive again.

He picked me up and carried me to the living room, and in a blur I could feel the thick, hard wood (no pun intended!) of the coffee table underneath me. After a whirlwind tour of my living room and kitchen, we were back in my bedroom, and both slowly drifted off to sleep.
The next morning, after a long conversation we both established that we knew the same person. In fact, they were very good friends. This person was the last man I had dated (you can read about him here), and he was the first guy who I had really felt something for in a while.
When Shoreditch Guy proclaimed that he'd seen him the previous weekend, and "does he have a girlfriend?....Uh yes, yes I think he does", I died a little bit inside, and immediately wanted him gone.

As he was on his way out, he left me with the promise that he'd take me to a little pub in Chelsea (In fact, the same pub I had gone to with his friend for our first date, although he didn't know it). I smiled, knowing it would never happen.

2 days later I received an invite to said pub. Needless to say- I declined.

Can Men and Women Just be Friends?

I had always had a very definite opinion on whether two members of the opposite sex can really just be friends without one or the other developing some sort of romantic feeling. In short, I never thought this was possible, until I recently started hanging out more with an old colleague.
I forgot how much fun it was to have that much banter without the usual side of bitching, obsessing about weight, dissecting celebrities, and analyzing relationships. Men are generally far more chilled out, and it has been rubbing off on me.

A few nights ago, we went to a pub in a part of London that I had never been to before. Balham. That's where he lives, and obviously I would go there for no other reason. We settled down with our drinks on a comfy faux Chesterfield, and began talking about relationships and dating. It became very apparent very quickly that (most) men are really very simple and do not read the subtle signals that women send out.
For example, he has recently started dating a pretty Indian girl who was clearly very scarred by a previous relationship in which her ex cheated on her. Understandably she has said that she wants to take it slow, so much so that she has labelled their dates as 'non-dates'.
He started to think that she wasn't interested in him at all, and when a pretty girl struck up a conversation in a bar a few nights later, there was no hesitation on his part to indulge in a bit of a flirt.
The pretty Indian 'non-girlfriend' clearly became enraged with jealousy and started spouting over obscenities to the poor girl. In the end he had to apologise for her embarrassing behaviour, and rather surprisingly this did not put him off her!

They are now practically on the verge of 'making it official' and he regularly comes to me for tips and advice on how to make her happy, and what he should do in the event that he needs to make it up to her.

What continues to baffle me, is that after all this time men and women still struggle to understand each other. It seems as though men clearly fail to spot the signals and obvious signs, but then women analyse things far too much. The answers are generally in front of our eyes, yet we seem to love complicating things and inventing reasons that simply aren't there.
Ladies, if you're wondering why he hasn't called you, he's probably not interested- no matter how amazing your date was. And guys, if she says she doesn't care, doesn't mind or that she's fine, she probably does care, seriously does mind, and most definitely is not fine.

After all, it's obvious isn't it?

West London Goes East

I decided to venture out to Hackney on a chilly Friday night to see my best friend and have a few drinks in a cute little pub overlooking London Fields. I arrived at her and her boyfriend's flat and we all set off on the short walk there.

Once there, a few of his friends joined us and after a short conversation I felt a possible teeny tiny glimmer of a spark with one of them. We were getting on well and he suddenly decided to buy a shot of tequila for us all. I suppose it was a good thing that I had the shot in my hand when his girlfriend walked in. She was lovely though, and it was clear that they were very much in love, so I started my usual scan of the room for hot guys.

We moved to an area downstairs where there was a birthday party taking place and joined the group. I began to notice that the room mainly consisted of couples and started planning my getaway. That was until I was thrust into a conversation with my friend and a French girl. Now; I am a very open person, and quite often find myself sharing personal details and life stories with strangers. However, if I am 10, she was a 100 on the scale of forward/ inappropriate conversation. Having just learnt her name, I also learnt that she had a nonexistent libido. She was in a relationship with her boyfriend of 7 years who she clearly loved and respected very much, but had no desire to sleep with him. My friend and I tried to offer advice by comparing previous relationships, but once she told us that no man had given her the big O, we started scraping the barrel. 

From there, the conversation moved into a slightly sinister area, whereby she told us that she had developed an obsession for one of her boyfriend's friends. She was so overcome by her desire for him, that in order to get over it, she told everyone about it, so that she could KEEL IT, KEEL IT! (This was repeated many times). Guess what kids, the man in question was there too. I had briefly attempted a conversation with him earlier on in the night which soon fizzled out due to the copious amount of mdma he'd taken (this became apparent when he declared in front of a small group just how fucked he was and that he adored Mandy. I assure you, his girlfriend had a different name).

Shortly after, we all left and I found myself analyzing the night and my life on the taxi ride home. I remembered stating in my first post of 2012 that I would be going on a man detox for the duration of January (you can read about that here). 
Well, now that the man detox has officially seeped into February, March and (so god help me if it lasts for the whole of..) April, I have actually started to focus on other things in my life, which I don't think I have ever done before. Of course there are times that I want to stroll down a sun kissed street hand in hand with someone, get dolled up for a nice dinner or have the kind of banter that only occurs between two people who have been dating for a few months, but life is generally pretty good otherwise.
I suppose I have a lot to be grateful for, and after all, good things come to those who wait.