Moving On Up

I took yesterday off work to try and get over a particularly stubborn cold. It hasn't really helped me much, except that I managed to watch a few episodes of Sex And The City which I otherwise wouldn't have had time for (I'm starting from Season 1 and going all the way through again... I miss The Girls and their 'fuck men' attitudes, both figuratively and literally). So I'm at work today, but I'm tired and feeling lethargic and rather useless.

Good news on the new place front though - we have found our absolute dream place and are THIS CLOSE to sealing the deal! It's in Collierswood, which is South London, and just a 5 minute drive (or 20 minute walk) from Wimbledon Central. It's very similar to our current place - very spacious with huge open plan lounge and kitchen, a balcony 3 times the size of what we have at the moment and best of all, Shoes and I get the fabulous master bedroom with the en suite. Eyes and Scarf have the master bed in our place now, and they've had two years of space and privacy with their en suited monster of a room. Shoes and I, by comparison, have had to cram our belongings into the much smaller second room, and put up with the masses using our bathroom every time they come and stay over. Also, our bedroom is closest to the lounge, and some of our friends could win gold in the Snoring Olympics. Being a light sleeper, I often have to sleep with ear plugs in when our mates stay over, because I can actually hear them through the wall. The new place is completely the opposite, and Shoes and I have felt for a while now that it is high time our patience with the short end of the stick is rewarded. We are all terribly excited about the move. We plan on moving in on 12 April, so exactly a month away. We gave our landlord notice this morning. Of course, we're not quite home free yet... we still have to pass a credit check. While I can't think of any reason why we should fail, England has rather stringent checks, and apparently you can fail even if you have no record of bad credit. It works on a points system, and includes aspects like how long you've lived at your previous address and been at your current job. I think I might have trouble on the job front, as I've only been in my new job for 2 and a half months, and prior to that I was temping, so I was all over the place. Hmmm, anyway, we'll see. At least our landlord loves us, so he can always put in a good word.

The only downside of this whole move is that we are pretty much going to be solidly broke for the next 2 months, starting today. Moving house is going to cost us £3000... I still feel my stomach wrench when I write that! It's not as bad as it looks... more than half of that is deposit on the new place, and of course first month's rent before we move in. Plus there are standard admin costs as well. It's split between 4 of us, so it's not impossible, but I'm sure you can see that there'll be no spare change lying around for a while, even for the odd night out.

Anyway, we're starting the belt tightening as of this moment, to make sure we have every penny of cash available to funnel into the move. So I foresee plenty of weekends spent at home in front of the tv and drinking cheap wine while we recover. Maybe we can make our own wine... I should look into that. If you know of any good indoor games to play, let me know!

Climb Every Mountain

On Saturday I met The Divine Miss M for the first time. A few months ago, we discovered each other's blogs through Phillygirl, and also through her we realised we went to the same school (albeit a few years apart, with me being the fossilised one) and moved in the same circles. In fact, we are linked by one guy in particular, with whom we both had a romantic liaison, one more serious than the other (this time I will leave the details unmentioned - suffice it to say that it was not a good time for either of us!). We obviously also both live in London.

When I was searching for a new job and detailing every agonising tribulation on this here blog, Miss M kindly offered to put my cv out into the world of TV. Although nothing came of that, we of course exchanged e-mail addresses in the process, and started communicating regularly outside of the blogging community. That progressed to phone calls, and finally the hatching of many a plan to meet up for drinks / parties / climbing / some other thing that always ended up falling through. We were always too busy / hungover / sick / just not bothered to get off our asses to actually get it together (yes, this does sound an awful lot like dating - welcome to the 21st Century way of forming relationships!). The nice thing about this was that we both saw things the same way - if we were too damn lazy to hook up, then screw it, we'd leave it for another time when we felt like it. When I realised this, that was the moment I knew I could be good mates with this chick.

Despite our plans never coming into fruition, Miss M and I considered ourselves friends. We'd found we had a lot in common, and our shared love of media and derision for certain aspects of living in London formed a solid enough foundation.

Miss M is an avid climber. That makes her sound like an ape of sorts, but no - she climbs climbing walls in a gym. I just re-read that sentence and realised it didn't make her sound any less ape-like....Anyway. She climbs at a wonderful old castle in North London which has been converted into a climbing centre. She's been doing it for 6 or 7 months now, and has often invited me to come along. Due to various reasons (see above), I hadn't taken her up on the offer and finally, this past Saturday, I had run out of excuses. So on Saturday morning I put on my trackie bottoms and made the hour and 20 minute trek across London to meet her for my first climb.

Strangely enough, meeting Miss M was not a big event. We both put this down to the fact that we have been in contact enough to feel now that we've known each other forever. I know some her greatest regrets, she knows some of mine; although hers are infinitely worse than mine (note to Miss M: you'll never live it down). It was like I was meeting up with someone I'd hung out with endlessly in the past. We'd also made friends on Facebook, so it wasn't like we were going into this blind to the other one's physical appearance.

Good, so one hurdle overcome. Now the question remained - could I actually climb?

The answer is yes. To my surprise, I actually found it much easier than I anticipated. We started with some stretching, and then warmed up on these mini walls where you're just supposed to go round and round using the grips and not let your feet touch the ground. Then we progressed to slightly higher walls, where the courses are labelled and colour coded. We started at 1, and worked our way up, trying to complete each course in three attempts or less. An attempt is counted when you start a particular course and either finish by putting both hands on the last grip, or you fall off, thereby giving yourself two more attempts. Three attempts without getting both hands on the finishing grip and you fail.

I managed to complete courses 1 to 9, excluding number 8, on my first attempt. I was quite chuffed, and my head only swelled as Miss M told everyone within earshot how well I was doing. I am lucky in the fact that I did gymnastics for 7 years, which helps enormously with balance and flexibility. As a climber, it certainly helps to be strong, but contrary to popular belief it's not purely about strength. Listen to me, talking like I'm a seasoned pro already. ;-p After that, we moved on to top rope climbing, which is the exciting stuff where you're harnessed up and someone else belays for you so you don't break your neck if you fall off the wall. That was my favourite part. I quite enjoy the sensation of being suspended 15 feet in the air, and as I'm not afraid of heights, I didn't have the initial reservation that more cautious people may have.

I had an absolute whale of a time (why do people say that, what's fun about whales?) and can't wait to go back for my next session. I paid a heavy price on Sunday and Monday though, with my forearm, thigh and shoulder muscles aching enough to wake me up everytime I rolled over in bed. When I got home on Saturday night, my fingers went a little spastic, and refused to respond to basic commands. Cutting vegetables for supper and rolling socks into balls became mammoth tasks, but it was only temporary semi-paralysis, and on Sunday morning they were back to normal.

Overall, I highly recommend climbing as a hobby, and I hope I'll be able to incorporate it regularly into my routine. Oh yes, and Miss M was pretty cool too!

Armageddon It

It's like Armageddon pulled into London today and said: You know what, you bloody poms (and all you unfortunate foreigners who are stupid enough to live in pom country); I am Armageddon and YOU are the chosen few who shall first experience the might of my destruction. Mwahahahaha! Beware, you who sleep in your cosy little beds, as I will call up the wind and rattle your windowpanes until you can sleep no more. Watch your step as you descend the stairs onto the rain-slicked sidewalk, as I will pelt you with monstrous rainboulders that will blind your fragile white eyeballs and render your flailing feet unstable. Unfurl your umbrella at your peril, as I will command gusts that will wrench your brolly inside out and tear the material from it's spokes, all the better to poke out your fragile white eyeballs with (I really like hammering your eyeballs, they're so defenseless). Put on your make-up if you must, but know that within seconds I will have the elements claw it from your eyes and smear it across your cheeks.

It really was the pits outside this morning. The bin in front of our station was filled to overflowing with umbrellas in various states of disrepair, and on the train (delayed, obviously) men and women were attempting to undo the vicious damage inflicted by the weather so as not to look like they'd been pulled through a bush backwards. Of course, as I look out the window right now, the sun is streaming innocently across the tops of nearby buildings and the end-of-the-world sky has given way to a tepid grey blanket.

One thing I certainly will not miss when we move is the 15 minute walk to and from our closest station everyday. We live in a modern complex by the Thames, but as it is a private development, there is no public transport. Come rain, shine, snow or hurricane winds, the four of us make our way on foot to catch our train each day, and suffer the consequences of whatever England's weather chooses to throw at us, which over time is pretty much a bit of every imaginable thing.

Today Shoes, Eyes and I are all going to look at a potential place to live after work. Ironically, it is another private development on the Thames, but this time in South West London instead of South East - this is kind of like moving from Woodstock to Kirstenhof. Hopefully this one will be what we're looking for, as we're really keen to move in somewhere by mid-April if possible.

I Will Survive... but will you?

Sometimes the commenting on blogs gets so intense that I spend all my time following the conversations rather than writing my own post. This is one of those days. Also, it's Friday and I don't feel like being serious. I think I'll take Sweets lead and post a Friday funny. This one is for the girls. Enjoy the weekend!

I WILL SURVIVE

At first I was afraid, I was petrified,
When you said you had 10 inches, well I almost died,
But I'd spent oh so many years just waiting for a man that long,
That I grew strong,
And I knew that I could take you on....

But there you are,
Another lie,
I was ready for a big mac and you've bought me a French fry,
I should have known that it was bullshït, just a sad pathetic dream,
Should have known there was no anaconda lurking in those jeans....

Go on now go,
Walk out the door,
Don't you promise me 10 inches then turn up with only 4,
Weren't you a prat to think I wouldn't catch you out,
Don't you know we're only joking when we say size doesn't count,

(Chorus)
I will survive, I will survive,
Cos as long as I have batteries,
My sex life is gonna thrive,
I will always have good sex given a handful of latex,
I will survive, I will survive....hey hey!

It took all my self control not to laugh out loud,
When I saw your little weiner standing tall and proud,
But to hell with all your egos and to hell with all your needs,
Now I'm saving all my lovin' for a cordless multispeed,

Go on now go,
Just make a dash,
Last time I saw a prick that small was watching Gladstone run nude hash,
I should have asked for confirmation, should have asked for referees,
Then I wouldn't have you waving that wee winky thing at me,

Go on now go,
Just hit the track,
Don't you bring me home no tiddlers,
Cos I'll always throw them back,
The only thing that I could do with a prick as small as yours,
Is to stick it with a tooth pick, dip it in tomato sauce.

(Chorus)

Go on now go,
Get out of my sight,
I'm going back to my appliance,
'Cos I know its length is right,
And if I ever again see your tiny tockley at my door,
You'll be counting up your inches as you pick them off the floor.

Go on now, GO!

(Note: As much as I wish I'd written these lyrics myself, sadly that is not true. Credit goes to Anonymous, as found in an e-mail forward.)

What A Girl Wants

Scarf has just introduced me to a new online shopping website that has the most magnificent clothes for next to nothing. I am sitting here desperately trying to convince my Bad Self that she can't buy anything, because then my Good Self would have to admit to Shoes that I ignored his declared shopping embargo and it would all end in tears. But my Bad Self keeps telling me how awesome I'd look in that leather effect chocolate Ophira jacket, and it's not like £15 is going to make any difference to our financial troubles. It's just so hard not to agree with her!

I mean really, what's £15 in relation to the bigger picture? When movie stars get paid $20 million, when third world debt could wipe out the earth were it an asteroid.... how insignificant is £15 in comparison? It seems stupid to obsess over such a little bit of money. I should just buy it and be done with the rationalising.

I've opened my wallet and taken out my card. I'm hoping it will speak to me through a sign of some sort. Maybe if I flip it and it falls face up, I can buy the jacket. 1, 2, 3, flip! Face down. Ok, best of three. No, wait. That's not a sign, that's my evil Bad Self taking control. I need this to be a natural step, like dark after sunset. I need to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that this is out of my control, and I could no more help it than an ostrich can help burying his head in the sand.

Can I e-mail people with the link and tell them I want it for my birthday? Even if I'm actually not going to see them on my birthday... or at all in the next few months, perhaps years?

I think I'll buy it and hide it. Then I'll debut it when I've convinced Shoes to let me have it. It could take a few months, but I'll always get that delicious thrill of excitement when I think about it, knowing that it's in my cupboard and will be ready whenever he is.

I can see my father shaking his head at me in my mind's eye. I can also see disappointment reflected in Shoes' eyes. Dammit, why do I have to care what they think? Why don't they understand? What's wrong with men, why do they want to stifle my attempts at living a fulfilling life? Shopping IS leading a fulfilling life!

Fine. You win guys. But don't think I like you right now. In fact, I wish I'd never thought of you. Beware, Bad Self hasn't give up yet. She may stil prevail. Harrrumph.

If I Was A Lumberjack Then I'd Be Ok

This conversation took place today between myself and a PA from Company X, regarding a scheduled meeting that I was asked to confirm. I also had to ensure that the room the delegates were meeting in had internet access. The meeting was to be held at Company X.

Lopz: Hi Becky, it's Lopz here from (insert company name). We spoke the other day. We have a meeting in the diary for this afternoon for Dagwood and Steven.
Becky: Er.... one moment please..... yes (muffled scrabbling sounds), yes. I've got it. Is that the meeting with Richard and Paul?
Lopz: No, it's the meeting with Dagwood and Steven.
Becky: Oh. Er..... when is it for?
Lopz: This afternoon. It's in the diary for 3:30pm. You do have it in there, don't you?
Becky: Oh yes, yes. It's there.
Lopz: Good. I need to make sure that the meeting room you've booked has internet access.
Becky: Um, ok... let me see. (long pause, during which heavy breathing and more scuffling can be heard) Erm, I'm not sure... do you know who booked the meeting room?
Lopz: No Becky, I don't. Since the meeting was arranged to be held at yor offices, it is your responsibility to book the room. So I wouldn't know who booked this room if it wasn't you, as I don't work there, and you do.
Becky: Oh.... right. Well... can I call you back?
Lopz: Yeah, that's probably best.

5 minutes later.....

Becky: Hi Lopz, it's Becky.
Lopz: Yes Becky. Have you found out who booked the room? (this last said a touch sarcastically)
Becky: Well, the thing is, there's been a mistake.
Lopz: Oh?
Becky: Yes, You see, Steven actually can't make the meeting.
Lopz: He can't make it. But yesterday afternoon he was available. What happened in the last 12 hours?
Becky: Well, you see, it's... erm.... it's complicated. There was a miscommunication. Can we reschedule?

Translation: I am too stupid to know that when a meeting is held in my offices, I have to book a room and not rely on an external PA WHO DOESN'T WORK HERE to do it for me. So now I am trying to cover up my stupidity with a lie which messes you and your team around. I am an incompetent cow.

The Ides Of March

March is a difficult month for us. It seems like in South Africa, June is the month where everyone is the most bored, cold and probably broke and so, having nothing else to do, they spend their time shagging themselves senseless. I say this because half the people I know seem to be born in March.

Take a look at my family alone: my dad, my sister, 2 of my cousins, Mark's younger sister and I are all March babies. Then extend that to my current circle of friends in London and we have Eyes, OJ and Mello as well, making a grand total of 9 birthdays that I have to celebrate in one month. Luckily, being overseas excludes one from receiving birthday presents (sorry family, I do love you but my budget doesn't), so it's only 3 presents to buy and four parties to attend. Unless I buy myself a present as well, which I sometimes do when Shoes is in a pickle about what to get me. He should have learnt by now though - whatever I get will cost 4 times the amount he would have spent. Still, every year we have the same scenario:

Shoes: Lopz, what do you want for your birthday?
Lopz: I don't know, surprise me.
Shoes (looking stressed): But I don't know what to get you!
Lopz: I'm so easy to buy for! Jewellery - preferably white gold, clothes, fluffy teddies, shoes, handbags, clothes, shoes, books.....did I mention shoes?
Shoes: But those are all girly things! How am I supposed to know your taste?
Lopz (muttering under her breath): I don't know, maybe because we've been together for 7 and a half years? (aloud) But babe, you're so good at picking out shoes! You're amazing! In fact, you should become a professional shoe consultant. (NB: I'm actually not kidding here. By some weird genetic mix-up, Shoes has an uncanny knack for picking out very sexy, cutting edge woman's shoes which unbelievably do not look like they belong to a stripper. He definitely got given a female strand of DNA)
Shoes: I don't want to be a shoe consultant! I'm a man. Don't make me do it. I'm going to go and build something now. (heads off to pathetic looking tool box and tinkers with screwdrivers)

So in a huff, I give up trying to make him surprise me and go shopping instead. Which, nine times out of ten, I actually prefer. But it's nice to be surprised occasionally. This year we have settled on Def Leppard tickets. It's not a surprise, but DL are one of my favourite bands in the world, and after missing them in Cape Town I never thought I'd get the chance to see them again. Shoes isn't even going with me (not his scene at all) but one of my oldest friends Griff, who actually introduced me to the band and is responsible for my resulting passion, has agreed to do the honours. To be honest, most of my friends are like, Def Who? No, I'm not getting old at all.

We're usually pretty conservative about our birthday celebrations. Even though our group of friends is always up for a piss-up, drinking in swanky London clubs dents your bank account quite seriously. We therefore have one big joint celebration, usually towards the end of the month, that everyone is expected to attend. Then throughout March are smaller, more informal gatherings of the troupes to celebrate an individual's birthday. Now as a partygoer, if you want to get out of buying someone a present or getting shit-faced at yet another birthday party, the trick is to "make plans" in advance for every weekend and then "cancel" last minute if you decide you actually feel like seeing that person / can get away with buying them a drink instead of a gift. For the birthdayees, we have to make our bash the coolest, cheapest and most original in order to get our mates to come. It's like a party-off.

So far OJ is winning this year's competition. He had the (much admired) cheek to merge his party with some of his work pals who are also March-born, and then invite us along for the ride. So now, if we bail, we show him up in front of his workmates, who are all inviting their friends. Sneaky sneaky. How can I top this one?