House of OCD....trip to Ikea.

As I predicted, Friday night, otherwise known as ‘return from Epsom’ became a travesty of the highest order.

Throughout the day I was lucky enough to receive little gems of updates about the gambling progress and various wins along the way.

I even received a moderately coherent phone call at around 7.30pm when I was told that Steve was at Epsom train station and should be home by 8.30pm, handy given that I was due to meet him at 8pm at his and was there twiddling my thumbs.

An hour or so later I was getting bored (ish- although Big Brother was keeping me entertained!) so gave him a call, only to find he’d become dramatically more pissed (darn those booze trolleys on the trains) and was not at Clapham Junction as expected, but at Waterloo. Back in 45 mins he slurred. I grumpily accepted. Another hour passes….’Where are you? I thought you were getting on the tube an hour ago’…..and where is he? The West End, in some fancy restaurant bar having champers. Brilliant. Home in 45mins. You get the picture. An hour later. ‘Where are you’….in a cab. Another lie! In total a series of 5 drunken, heinously bad lies and a total of almost 4 hours late to meet me. And when he did, my god, I’ve rarely seen him drunker.

Result- Ali gets a lovely sparkling new black ipod docking station with amazing speakers and treated to several nice dinners out over the weekend. Bought from guilt. To be fair though my Friday night was RUINED (it matters not that I would have sat there anyway watching big brother and ugly betty….the fact remains, I was stood up!).

Tonight- the house of obsessive compulsives, plus Sam, who qualifies very nicely as she’s as OCD about cleaning as me are going on an outing to Ikea. Lindsey will be in heaven as they provide little tape measures so she can inspect the display stands are up to scratch. I will be in heaven as I can buy new sparkly things to make the place more girly and less boyish and minging and Sam will be in heaven as she is on her own as G has buggered off to New York, so needs lots of love and TLC. Hotdogs for dinner then.

Sod the DIY, it's date night....

So, tonight I’m ditching the paintbrushes, bidding a fond farewell to the varnish, taking a step away from the steamer and spending an evening with my lovely boyfriend. Yes it’s Thursday so that means DATE night. A night spent exchanging sweet nothings, cuddling up on sofas, watching films, eating out somewhere fancy and generally enjoying each other’s company. I really ought to be cracking on with the DIY but a girl has her limits and my brown varnish hands and paint splattered hands and legs have pretty much finished me off.

Given the *limited success of previous date nights, I’m kind of hoping that this one goes smoothly, and I think adding the whole ‘I miss you because I don’t live with you anymore’ element might be a sweetener. We shall see I suppose.

Tomorrow is Epsom ladies day. I’m not going of course as I’m neither a horse lover or a lady, but Steve is. He’s taking a posse of tarted up brokers and will spend the day getting hammered on champagne, talking about insurance (YAWN) and generally being smooth (ish). I’ve come to the conclusion that he used up his charm and smoothness in the line of duty at work which is why most times when he sees me he can barely crack a smile! Or maybe it’s me…..probably the latter. I’m sure this means that by Monday I’ll have a whole host of amusing tales from my weekend.

I think tomorrow night I’m going to campaign that Lindsey and I should go and explore Hampstead and Primrose hill and see which minor celebs we can spot. We’ve already spotted a few in our local…well Lindsey has.

Over and out for now, Ali xx

We're in...

So we’re in. The big move went very smoothly in terms of getting things from a-b, helped out by two lovely chaps who loaded my stuff onto the van and then unloaded it the other end and put it all into my bedroom. Hurrah. On the downside, the house which was supposed to be ‘industrially cleaned’ (and my GOD it needed it) didn’t appear to have been cleaned at all. Hence me covered in dirt-hives all weekend and feeling nauseous about the prospect of having a wee in the toilet….I’ll have to hover…seriously.

So 3 days of pretty much solid unpacking, painting, DIY, bath and oven scrubbing, and tutting, Steve and I have something which resembles a bedroom which a girl might chose to sleep in. With the exception of the filthy, mangy carpet, I’m just about ready to take the plunge and sleep there for a night….although the call of the boyfriend with his king size bed, feather duvets and new pad is very alluring…No Ali. You must move in properly. Tonight I am being lured home with the promise of a spot of furniture polishing and some cupboard wiping. Rock on! We’ll be all settled in no time at all.

On a separate note, I was very happy to find that my freakish OCD with regards to any cleaning was matched and possibly exceeded by Lindsey’s symmetry issues. I caught her with a measuring tape measuring either side of a picture to check that it was equidistant on both sides to the nearest wall….i.e dead centre. This is brilliant as it means I can pick as much dust off the carpet as my little heart desires. She also spent 30 minutes arranging a lamp until it was at EXACTLY the right angle to the TV. It’s the “House of Obsessive Compulsives”, all I need is to encourage Steve to spend more time there…there are plenty of locks and windows to check to keep him entertained for hours. What fun we’re going to have.

The weekend, horray!

The great moving in fever is starting to hit us all, and I’m actually getting excited about re-acquainting myself with my extended wardrobe and having a chance to throw away half of my possessions, which as you know, is one of my favourite things to do. Cull cull cull cull! Any women within a mile radius of Buckingham Place on Saturday, it might be worth texting and popping over to see if there’s anything you like….if I’m feeling really generous, I might give some of Anita’s stuff away as well.

For the past 3 weeks, I’ve been wearing the same 3 pairs of jeans 10 tops, and 3 pairs of shoes (not at the same time), which I know for most men constitutes an entire wardrobe, but for me, has been like eating with my hands tied behind my back….bloody hard work. I’ve resisted the urge to buy an entirely new wardrobe, because I know I’ve got it all and some, sitting in Brighton. It has to be said though, last week I went for dinner with Steve and his mum who looked infinitely more glamourous than me in my worn a million times stuff and it did smart a little.

I don’t think my new ‘little prince’ haircut really helps me in ‘desirable’ stakes either, but I actually think it’s quite funny. Last night, we dug out Sam’s ‘worst haircut EVER’ photo, which was an interesting bowl cut, with a fringe and ‘bangs’ that have to be seen to be believed and it occurred to me, ‘that’s my haircut now!!!’. No one really disagreed, there was just some kind words of encouragement….’it’ll grow back’, that kind of thing.

Anyway, I’m so looking forward to the weekend. My last official one in Brighton. It seems scary but I’m just bang up for heading out on Friday and getting hammered (sorry Dave and Jonathan who might have to pick up the pieces- but will have a damn good laugh in the process). Bring it on! I come in peace, I bring you LOVE.

Content...how boring!

As my friend Sam once pointed out, when life is rosy and easy, then it doesn’t make for particularly interesting blogging does it? So I’m suffering from an acute case of blogging block until something amazing and blog-worthy happens.

Until then, I’m keeping a low profile! The only very dull news is that I’m moving this weekend, oh yes I am! It’s back to the basement flat armed with black bin liners and boxes and lots of will power and energy. I’m feeling quite weird about the whole affair. Having been fairly remote from Brighton for the past few months, I feel I have almost ‘got over’ the not being there- although I do miss the people quite sorely.

What’s concerning me is that I’ve now lived (on the whole) fairly happily with Steve, woken up next to him every morning and ate with him and well, he’s kept me company for the past few months and I think I’m really going to miss him. Of course, if things map out, our short term plans are to buy somewhere together, and we’re going to start looking at the beginning of 2008, which isn’t that long. In the meanwhile I have a year of fun and ‘freedom’ with my friends….but I’m wondering, am I mentally ready to settle already? Could I happily skip the friends phase? Well, yes, I suppose I could. But I think that it is going to be a good experience for me, and for us. And I’m hoping that the best part of a year apart will mean that when we do buy, we’re really excited and looking forward to doing it together, and refreshed from a year not being in each other’s pockets. I guess only time can tell….and in the interim, I’m just looking forward to having my entire wardrobe to chose from in the morning rather than the meagre selection of overwashed t-shirts and ill-thought-through sandals which have not accounted for this rainy miserable spell….grrrrr.

My family.

It has to be said, family visits for me aren’t like what I imagine other people’s family visits to be. Mine are sedate and tense and often a little bit forced. As much as I love to see and spend time with my family, when I leave, I always feel a slight sense of relief and the funny thing is, I suspect they do also. Does anyone else have this? My friend Anita always has a blast with her parents when they go away…well, always might be a tad of an exaggeration, but they often sit up drinking together, exchanging stories and having a chuckle (as long as pre-marital sex isn’t mentioned, or politics).

With my lot, I suppose most of this boils down to the fact that my parents and my family in general simply aren’t that chilled out. In fact, my mum looks like a rabbit caught in the headlamps most of the time, with little flushed cheeks and a terrified glint in her eye. This means that when we talk I often avoid looking her in the eye not because I’m feeling guilty, but because with mum, I can see behind the little tight forced smiles and pursed lips and clammy hands and see someone struggling terribly with mental illness. And if I look her in the eye, well, I might just burst into tears.

So, the net result of time with my parents is a mixture of sadness…it’s quite tough to get your head around parents who yo-yo between togetherness and separation every few months, and worry, that things just aren’t as they should be. On the upside, mum and dad are at the moment, travelling to the Isles of Scilly together for mum’s 60th bday treat, and so I suppose that’s a massive positive. I just hope things can continue on an even keel for a while.

The family visit pretty much dominated the entire weekend, but Steve and I had a nice evening together last night…me watching Thelma and Louise in bed and him in an entirely separate room watching the football highlights. I think I have finally grasped the concept of cohabitation…space. This is going to be a steep learning curve for us as for the next month, I have officially moved in- yes my season ticket has expired, I’m skint and I hate going on the trains. I’m allergic to them now. This means I have an Ali drawer in the cupboard, plus about 6 inches of space inside the wardrobe and room in the shoe rack for a couple of pairs of shoes (into which I have fitted 7 pairs). It also means I have to be a good and dutiful girlfriend as I’m staying rent free, which opens me up for all kinds of violations and unfair demands….I’ll keep you posted.

I was highly amused to see over on Jonathan’s blog, news of the evening we all spent at the snapper. He claims to have some photos of me and Anita (well, claims isn’t really true, he has got them I’ve seen them) looking like ‘Harridans’ which to be fair is probably a little too kind. We look like hags. Go on J, publish them, lets have a damn good laugh at my expense…if you can’t do that, then what’s the point! I know I’m gorgeous, sometimes, not in the morning, or in photos, or during/after exercise, or in my summer clothes, or most of the time.

The uber pad....almost

It seems the long, and at times, horrendously depressing wait to find somewhere to live might soon be over. Yes, Lindsey sent an email at 12.47pm (not that I was clock watching) to let me and Nat (and Sam) know that the place has real potential.

It’s not a show house, gleaming and gorgeous and perfect, but it is a big, spacious, light and airy Victorian conversion, set over 3 floors, has a roof terrace, has views from said roof terrace of Hampstead Heath, is ten minutes walk from both Hampstead Heath and Camden Lock, a 20 minute bike ride into work for both Lindsey and I, 8 minutes walk from the nearest Northern line stop and if Foxtons had it on their books, it would cost in the region of £500-600 a week (although the landlord would only see £1.97 of that). The beauty of it is, as we’re going to be privately renting it directly from the landlord, we can afford it. Infact, we can afford it and still have pocket money for frequent shopping, partying and eating out. Thank the lord, hallelujah, etc etc.

Of course there’s the minor point that neither Nat nor I have seen it yet, but we’ll both be doing that on Friday and from then on, it should be a done deal. The place is free from mid-late May, so I’ll be doing some of my finest sweet talking and grovelling to the poor people in my life who ensure my presence, or the presence of my possessions.

Soon after we move in we’ll be planning our first house party, and we’ll expect a lovely big Brighton contingent to show up and make the most of the roof terrace and the ignoramus (spell check put that in and it made me laugh….I was trying to say gi-normous) lounge, from which Gavin can pump out tunes whilst we all mingle appreciatively. I’m moving to London. I hope I like it.