Gone in 60 Seconds

So, Friday was great. I wore the red shoes. We didn't go to Newz because I couldn't walk in them, so hobbled in the general direction of Italian food and Spanish booze instead. Was made to run across the road in said stilettos = hilarity for all passers by. Had my coat pinched and later returned in the tapas bar. Ate yummy food, met nice Czech lady, got squiffy. All in all, a good night. And I got ready in six minutes - surely a record? (I was terrified of getting locked in at work by security!)

Spent the rest of the weekend starting preparations for the next French trip, which starts on Thursday. I can't frickin' wait. Haven't actually begun to pack yet though. Hmmm...

Ooh, also, gave in to retail therapy urges in phenomenal style and spent about £150 at Topshop and Miss Selfridge online. So now, after my holiday, I will come back to pretty things as well as old Troutface. Hurrah! New clothes take the pain away. The Haul includes:

- A smart black 'bib front' tee

- Pair of smart black hipster trousers

- One ribbed oversize beanie hat in navy

- White poplin puff sleeve shirt

- A cream scoop neck tee with a funky blackbird pattern

- Headscarf with a geometric design

- A tomato coloured 'trapeze' dress with pocket detailing

- Long white skinny vest

- One rhinestone buckled Alice band!

Pretty good work for a Bank Holiday weekend huh? I heart armchair shopping! After my shopping blitz, Boyf and I hunkered down in our gorgeous bed, indulged in a rather nice Cabernet Sauvignon and watched King Kong on DVD. Bliss!

2 sleeps and I'm outta here.

Newz from Nowhere

So, the plan for tonight is to head over to the Newz Bar for a quick drink while deciding where to eat. We will probably pop into the tapas bar at some point for some sangria, but apart from that we've made no real plans and are just gonna see where the night takes us. I was looking forward to starting it all off with a drink in Newz, because I've heard good things from friends and it's not too far from where I work so I could make Friday cocktails a more regular thing, a bit like Champagne Thursdays.

Then I visited their website. Try not to hurl while you read this:

"Are you a "CAT" - Cool - Amazing & Trendy?
If you are, you belong @ Newz Bar
(AKA)
"The Bar For The Beautiful People"

Dressed to impress, the ladies are kitted out in the latest fashions and could be mistaken for one of the models from a Catwalk Show. The men are just as good, donning well cut suits with shirts and ties to match or the latest trendy gear that has just arrived in men's Boutiques.
So, if you want a fabulous night out in a bar that is dressed as well as you are, Newz Bar is the place for you. The bar staff and door attendands are even dressed to impress so that you feel you are in the right place."

Cool? Amazing? Trendy? Brain of your own? Well, this room is cold enough to give me goosebumps, I'm pretty amazed that I didn't kill anyone (yet) this week and I'm wearing a shirt I bought over a year ago right now, so make of that what you will. If I was a cat, I'd probably be a wizened old alley cat rather than a pampered moggy in a diamond studded collar and matching Lexus. I'm just hoping that, like with most hype, this is all a load of trash. I really don't want to spend time in a place where I feel like I'm a huge disappointment to the doormen.

Ugh. I hope it's not as pretentious as it sounds.

Choose Life

I have never been so relieved to reach Friday in my life. I just cannot wait for 5 o'clock so I can yabba-dabba-do the hell out of this place. I have had the week from hell with my boss - the woman hates my guts. She really singles me out for some reason, and speaks to me in a way that she wouldn't dare talk to the older people here or any of the blokes. This week she even went so far as to trick me into doing something which she could later grill me over! I tell you, I am desperate for another job. Which is a shame, because as much as I moan about this place it's a pretty good job, and my main problem with it is old Troutface.

I really came so close to just throwing in the towel and quitting this week. I got really angry at myself for taking her shit and not being where I want to be in my life instead of having to play stupid mind games with the petty cow. And breathe.

To vent my frustration, the Boyf and I are off out straight from work tonight and plan on having a scrumptious meal to make up for such a crummy week. I'm massively proud of myself as I resisted going on a major retail therapy session and blowing all my money to cheer myself up - instead I am looking forward to my next French trip. But I did spend hours last night hunting through my wardrobe to find something to wear tonight. The red shoes are finally about to enjoy their premiere - I'm teaming them with jeans and black chiffon number that makes the Boyf look at me in that way. I just hope I manage to change quickly enough at five so that the security guard doesn't lock me in the building!

What's Up Doc?

Monday again. If I wasn't flitting off to France in two weeks time, I would be a very gloomy person indeed! The weekend was very chilled for me, watched the Big Brother finale - I love how Davina is pregnant for every other one - had a movie marathon, and took in enough stray animals to make Noah look like an amateur.

That last one needs explaining huh?

My sister took her kids and the bane of her life (Grinch) on holiday this week and left Anjelica's menagerie with me for safe keeping. After resisting the tantrums, hopeful requests, and letters to Father Christmas for eight years, my sister finally relented and allowed a pet to enter the super-clean zone that is her house. My sister has a problem with the mere suggestion of dirt. By the age of two, her children had been trained to fix the fringe of the living room rug whenever an errant footstep dared to mess it up. Actually, she did once allow them to keep a tiny little yellow bird in a cage. It was regularly bathed in soapy water.

However, for her eighth birthday, Anjelica received some living, breathing, fur-moulting, pooping, pee-all-over-your-new-sweater gifts. Gift 1) a floppy eared rabbit christened Thumper Jane. Gift 2) an inquisitive hamster going by the name of Princess. Gift 3) A butterfly farm, which currently houses approximately six cocoons. These are all currently residing at my address, along with 2 goldfish who claim to be Scooby and Scrappy. I am literally obliged to "put 'em up."

She'd have been better off buying a puppy. Am I right? At least you can walk a puppy. Goldfish are not happy about being dragged around the park to do their business. And speaking of puppies, I finally managed to get mine to fetch a ball. Unfortunately, the hamster was in it at the time.

Puppy is supremely unimpressed with the invasion of his space. He hasn't yet tired of barking, growling, scratching at the cages of, pretending to make friends with and then slyly nipping, our guests from the animal kingdom. See, in our house, Puppy is the King. He's the Godfather. He's got a paw in every pie, a dame in every port, he even has one of those little white caps that keep his dog food fresh. Not to mention a very cushy arrangement that keeps his happy pills and dog biscuits coming in nice and regular. And now he has these young bucks on his turf - well, you can imagine how he must feel, days away from his tenth birthday, to have to contend with such obnoxious intruders.

It's like a frickin' Quentin Tarantino movie in here right now!

Do You Really Want to Hurt Me?

So, last night our "family hairstylist" as she should rightly be known was at my house until ten o'clock coiffing and teasing the locks of my sister, aunties, and myself. Yes - Aunt Boy George went for the chop. And, as predicted, she hates it. She has vowed that she will not be going to the wedding (she will) and that she hates us all for making her do it (she does.) Her fancy gown is meant to be arriving today, so let's hope that it does and that it looks good on her for Chrissake!

The wedding is proving a massive headache for me and the Boyf, as we are trying to arrange it around a trip to France. We have option one: run away to France for two weeks and forget about the hassle of work, family dramas, deadlines, etc. and pay Yank £100 for the pleasure of not going. Or option two: go and hide in France for one week, curse ourselves for having to come back for Yank's wedding, drive the length of the country upon return, carpool everyone up to Scotland, blow an absolute fortune, possibly engage in some sort of dramatic confrontation/cry in my room because of Judas, then go back to work early.

Hmmmm, what would Jesus do?

Can you tell which one I'm leaning towards? It's actually not as easy as I'm making it sound. Despite my reservations about all family gatherings involving... well, my family, I would quite like to go and see Yank and Li get married, and it'd be cool to go to Gretna. But I would much rather go skipping merrily to our little French retreat and have the Boyf all to myself for a while. If I was particularly close to Yank and Li - the way I once was - then I wouldn't even be thinking about not going. If MJ got married for example, there's no way in the world I would miss it and I would probably cry a Loch at the ceremony.

Over the weekend I watched quite a few soppy films (The Family Stone, Just Like Heaven, Elizabethtown - chick flick marathon ahoy!) and all I kept seeing was this message about family family family, how important it is and how beautiful and yeuch, all that sort of thing. I would love to feel like that about my family. I like the idea of belonging to a big family, but I do belong to a big family and I'm only close to about four people in it. I know it was prompted by Hollywood saccharine overkill, but it was maybe the first time I'd thought about having my own family and nurturing something to be different from what I've grown up in. Although this is quite hilarious to me: the first time I even consider the possibility of any kind of joy coming from having children, the vision I see is not of a young family but a mature one, with grown up offspring and zero responsibility :P

The Family Stone is totally worth a look by the way, if only for the cringiest meet the parents moment in the world (not to mention SJP, Rachel McAdams, Luke Wilson, I could go on!)

For Whom the Bell Tolls

Congratulations go out to my friend Mrs. De Winter, who will be an actual missus by this time next year! I am chuffed to bits that she has found a lovely bloke to settle down and start a little family with. She sent me some really cute photos of her, her man and her gorgeous pup the other day and is doing so well. I love it when friends get in touch with such good news (she lives in Cumbria.)

I should also extend my congrats to Jojo who got engaged to her fella a couple of weeks before I went away.

It seems like wedding fever at the mo' with quite a few people I know either tying the knot themselves or getting hauled off to weddings right left and centre. Mrs. W also wrote in an email earlier this week:

"This time next year I'll be Mrs. W*****! Am I old enough to be "Mrs W*****"? What's Boyf's surname-I forgot? Are there any wedding bells for you? Maybe this will serve as a hint for him."

Well, I would just like to say that I will never be a Mrs. Anything as long as I can help it. I have always said I will keep my maiden name and that any children I have will also have my name. Now this isn't in accordance with some feminist ideal I have set for myself, as my surname has a patriarchal lineage of it's own in any case - being my dad's name, his father's name, his father before that, etc. I once had this discussion with my mum, who suggested I take her surname instead, but then that's her father's name, so there is really no escaping the male dominance of family names. But I don't see why if I should get married I would have to change my name while Boyf would just keep the name he's had from birth. Also, I am very proud to belong to my family and of being my grandfather's granddaughter, so would like to keep the name as a testament to him.

Funnily enough this topic came up the other day while I was having lunch with Studmuffin, and he was appalled that I intended to give my kids my surname. We eventually decided that since we had such opposing opinions on the subject that we should simply agree to disagree and cancel all our plans to have children together. I told him the same thing I always tell the Boyf: any kids he gives birth to can gladly have his last name.

As for this 'hint' business, I think I am way too young to get married, so any hints the Boyf might be getting from me would only convince him not to bother!

Sweet & Sour

Studmuffin continues to amuse and delight me as a unique specimen of the human race. Yesterday, he turned up for work wearing a pair of black trousers, a black shirt, and a black tie embellished with a silver dragon. Or in other words, he was rocking a whole world of fug. "Where are my chocolates?" I immediately demanded, "You look like the milk tray man crossed with a waiter in a Chinese restaurant." He really did. But Studmuffin was not best part pleased with my sartorial diagnosis. Especially after he conducted a survey around the office and learned that I was right. And even more so when, this morning, in response to a completely different outfit, Crunchie asked "What is THAT on your tie? It better not be a cartoon character."

Awwww.

But wait, there's more.

Studmuffin opened his library record to show me all the books he's taken out for his new librarianship course - which he is over the moon about. These included titles like Cataloguing Without Fear and How to Stay Awake During Shelf Revision. (I made that last one up, but if anybody has any tips, send them in my direction.) However, I noticed a suspiciously unacademic, non-scholarly titled Let's Dance! on the list, and innocently enquired what it was. Here I was treated to a public, enthusiastic, and may I remind you public, demonstration of the Foxtrot followed by an introduction to Waltz!

Studmuffin is so called because of his blatantly obvious ogling habits and constant witterings about the beauty of curvy women. (That's right, women. The boy is straight!) So it was rather funny when, upon returning to the Staff Room after lunch, he picked up his mobile phone to check his messages and mused aloud: "Does anyone love me? ...Ooh, I forgot to ring my mum!"

Nothing but love, 'muffin. Nothing but love.

Peace in the Valleys

Shocked as I am to report it, Big Brother's Welsh beauty Imogen actually managed to really entertain me yesterday. Between her cringeworthy "hot topics" radio jingle, which signalled a generous round of embarrassed body language among the other housemates, and her request for wine in the diary room, I think she enjoyed her most scintillating air time since the show began a hundred and thirty weeks ago.

"One bottle of wine," she scoffed, as if to say what's the problem? "Two pound fifty in Co-op."

Big Brother has really started to bore me since I missed a big chunk in the middle. And this new returning housemates thing seems to be in a bit of a shambles. What is it all for? It was quite interesting watching the ex-housemates talk about all the footage they've watched since leaving, as you never usually get to find out what they think about each other once they've left. And although I can see why uber bitch Grace was voted back in, I can't help wanting to slap her smug face for being so cocky about it.

It's not anywhere near as good a catchphrase as "I like blinking I do," but I wonder if Imogen's solitary moment of accidental humour will make it into Dawn French's fabulous Catherine Zeta Jones sketch?

Couture Club

So. A multitude of happenings and tidings both good and bad flood into my brain as I sit with my fingers hovering thoughtfully over the keys. What to discuss first? Well, after such a challenging and horizon-broadening experience as renovating an 18th century French house and living in a tight knit community in the Northern Loire for almost a month, I must confess that one of the most prominent ponderings on my mind at the moment is: what to wear to my Uncle Yank's wedding next month. He's getting hitched to his long time love, Li, at Gretna Green. He is, I am afraid to say, a bit of a snob and quite openly judgemental. Therefore I have to ensure that whatever I wear/say/do does not reflect badly on the family. For this reason, I shall be surpressing any urges to sing karaoke, grope the Boyf in public, and sever Judas' head using those little tiny pins you stick flowers onto your lapel with.

So critical is Yank's judgement that my Aunt Boy George - so called because she once won a Boy George lookalike competition (and still bears a strong resemblance in the right hat) - is opting for a makeover. She is buying a very posh, light coloured frock (I have only ever seen her in dark colours, usually black, and never a skirt or dress.) She is going for a spray tan (her confinement indoors during daylight hours has lead to the popular belief she is at least partially vampiric.) And she is having. A haircut.

I realise this all sounds pretty standard to you, but if you consider that the last time my Aunt Boy George had a haircut was ten years ago for my sisters wedding, after which she hastily styled it back into her old 'do, then you may understand - as well as you can do without seeing the offence to follicles everywhere her hair actually is - at least a fraction of my surprise and delight.

While this may sound very superficial of me, I have to take a moment to record how well Aunt BG has been doing in turning her life around. She was never an alcoholic, but after my uncle died over a year ago from liver failure, she gave up drinking completely. She lost loads of weight, and looks and acts like a different person. She looks much healthier and seems happier. She has withstood peer pressure from her friends and family to start drinking again, and has shown true grit and determination to better herself. She wants to start travelling further afield and get more out of her life. Aunt BG, I applaud you!

So, I was thinking white trousers in the style of Heidi Range?

Le Freak, C'est Chic

Super quick post: sorry for the disappearing act - again - but I have been living in France for the past month without internet access (or Big Brother!) But I am back now to bore you with renovation stories. There will also be photographs. You have been warned.

I don't suppose anybody missed me at all??? Well, I still missed you!