A wife is for life, and not just for christmas- or other periods of time where extra body heat would be considered as useful.

http://www.afterdarknetwork.co.uk/component/content/article/34-featired-articles/663-a-wifey-is-for-life-not-just-christmas

Check me out, all cool and on another website and stuff. Yeaahh.

Uuhhhmmmmm yeeaaaahhhhhhhh....

1- We live in a world, so saturated by negative media as well as real life villains, that I have totally convinced myself that the lollipop man who works outside my nieces school is a paedophile.

2- My friend Rhian has a terrible problem with punctuality's which is causing me to consider anti-depressants.

3- Love is not a second hand emotion, it's not an emotion full stop. It just doesn't exist. Lust, oh yes, wonderful, momentary, all consuming lust, is what we misunderstand as love. Relationships thrive on the need for companionship, the fear of being alone, and generally fitting in with social stereotypes. Everyday, I am faced with evidence which totally agrees with my theory, so SAY NUFFIN'.

4- In my last therapy session, my therapist and I run out of things to say, and filled in the awkward silence by responding to each other with 'hhmmmss', one after the other, for nearly a whole minute, until we both fell about laughing- this must mean I'm normal again.

5- People are weird, and hard to please.

6- My niece and nephew are fucking amazing.

7- I would like to marry Stephen Fry.

8- Earl Grey tea is the best.

9- Mulberry's new Ava collection is second best.

10- I-CAN'T-WAIT-FOR-FRIDGE-TO-RE-OPEN

(an afterthought...)

11- If I have to walk past his block again, I will actually scream.

12- Fridge was LIVE, definitely worth being toasted in with champagne, also worth missing a weekend in Paris (yeeaahh, you read right.)

13- I hate twitter. (Follow me www.twitter.com/cleopatracastro)

SOUL DESTRUCTION

Upon the instruction of my father I have made an appointment at The Job Centre, it warrants capitals, like Prison or Hell. Papa wants me to claim Job Seekers Allowance, which works out at under £50 a week. I have just graduated from University with a mediocre degree, the call of lunches, dinners, and parties, seemed greater than that of lectures. The current economic climate teamed with said mediocre degree means that, if I want A CAREER, rather than a job, then months of unpaid work and shameless grovelling must ensue before I get ANYWHERE.

The Job Centre is grey. Much like the attitudes of the workers. The carpets are grey, the tables are grey, the seats are grey, the sofa's are grey, grey, grey, grey. It is a very grey affair. The only other visible colour are little flashes of blue, as though mirroring the moods of the 'job seekers'.

I am greeted at the door by a little man that looks so much like a mole in glasses I have to physically hold my breath and think about famine and the latest Shia law to stop myself from laughing. Mole man shows me to a desk, behind it sits the fattest man I've ever seen, who looks like a walrus in a very tight shirt. I reason that I'm actually at the zoo and get on with it.

Walrus man drones on, talking fast, and accepting my silence as acknowledgment- years of listening to Twista didn't prepare me for this man-marine-mammal and his maniacal speaking speed. He takes some photocopies of my passport, letters from the student loans company and a couple of bank statements, he then gives me a booklet and asks me to read and sign (every page), which I do while he attempts to make a few jokes, which I mostly ignore, until I look up at him and realise that it really isn't often that an animal tells me knock knock jokes, so I should appreciate it while it lasts.

The little mole man scuttles forward and asks me to go and sit in another section and wait for part two- he then frowns at his colleague as though he often tries to move to benefit claiming ladies with his wide repertoire of shit jokes.

So I find a seat, nobody to my left and nobody to my right- for about a second. A man slopes over who is clearly not seeking a job and is in actual fact seeking shelter, he attempts to suck up the warmth coming from my body and then sits, stares, and promptly falls asleep. The seat to my left is then taken by a man, who sits tapping his feet, tapping his fingers, and potentially tapping his veins ready for his next fix.

There is something so sad about this place, whether it be just this job centre, or all of them I couldn't say. Hopelessness hangs in the air, like Christmas decorations, still adorning your front room in May. By this point I am stressed as hell, I have a physio appointment at 1.30pm, at a hospital which is 4o minutes away from my current location. Its 12.20pm, and I am about to turn into one of the job centre mass who shout about waiting lines, and wastes of time, whilst highlighting the fact that they have very busy lives, and can't hang around here all day- obviously when they get seated to sign on one reverts back to 'yes, yes, free all day everyday, of course I tell potential employers this.'

The closest desk to my current seat has a man sitting behind it, who GENUINELY looks like a leopard but if I touch anymore on the animal thing I think you might stop reading this, so I'll leave it there. He is talking to a woman, who is presentable, well spoken and definitely ten years older than him. He is speaking to her in an angry and condescending tone, apparently she hasn't signed up to the NVQ course he had most recently advised her about. His tone is harsh, way harsh actually, and I assume he realised this because he suddenly switched it to intensive flirtation. I was shocked at the change, the woman on the other hand took it in her stride. I felt embarrassed being sat so close to them, but I then realised her giggles would have been heard from a bus stop in Peckham, so I needn't worry.

I look around and everyone looks sad, and I wonder why, at it's most basic level JSA is free money. On a deeper level though, it is admitting that you are unemployed, you can't get a job, you are in a 'desperate' situation, you are one of these benefit claiming state thieves who The Sun writes about so regularly, with the disdain I can imagine the Queen Mother would show at the idea of being taken to Bagel King for dinner. If I was a conspiracy theorist, (which I'm not, not really anyway, way-too-lazy) I'd say that, in order to keep one in their rightful place, jobless, living on benefits and never amounting to much more than that then job centre is the perfect place to send them. It's set out as something you almost should be ashamed of, the staff don't celebrate the skills of the job seekers, don't go over cv's, don't give you goals, or hope or anything other than £50 a week actually. To continue to claim you have to go back every two weeks and prove that you have done three things in the last fortnight to aid getting a job. THREE FUCKING THINGS. If you only do six things a month to aid you getting work, you definitely don't want a job.

Aside from my inner musings, there is a man at the desk to my right. He is wearing a suit, and carrying a briefcase. He is probably about thirty, and he talks excitedly, hopefully, desperately- the suit stands as a visual confirmation that he WANTS THIS. The man behind the desk, who looks like Ronnie's baby father on Eastenders, and doesn't look like an animal (hooray!!...Zoo keeper perhaps?) is suggesting he claim JSA, while he's looking for work- I don't want it, he says, I just want help to find another job. I nearly die on the spot. I love him. Lol.

I have to leave, its all taking too long, and the physio charges if you don't turn up- I tell mole man I'll be back tomorrow morning at 9am.

So its, tomorrow, well today, but tomorrow, if you're reading about yesterday- its 9am- I'm at the door, trying to navigate my way in to the office, but am being stopped at the door by the 'meet and greet' guy, who I originally mistook as jovial, turns out, after fifteen minute's observation, he's just a bit crazy (In this fifteen minutes he's asked to look at my blackberry and iPod three times, each time being carted away by someone with an apologetic look on their face).

I'm sitting, waiting, I've been here an hour, seems they are doing some staff training this morning so the wait will be longer than yesterday's- I don't mind though, I came prepared- today, I came dressed in grey.

I can't sleep. I think I have a very mild addiction to sleeping pills because when I don't take them I toss and turn endlessly. Tonight is one of those nights, although my mind is more restless than my body. 

I'm not sure whether it's the endless hours spent in therapy, discussing every single relationship I have ever had in embarrassing detail or The Sex & The City marathon I'm going through at the moment, induced by my latest fashion faux pas, a leg cast, set in place to heal my broken ankle (stiletto's, champagne and Stephanie- lets so not go there.) but for some reason I am obsessed by the idea of relationships. 

I'm 23, I'm single- apparently I'm a mess. 

This raises a few questions in my mind- like the age old 'why is a single woman a mess, but a single man having the time of his life?'. 

Why am I, an intelligent, articulate and beautiful young lady, validated by my relationship status?

Why does an unwillingness to settle for just any man put us women into a bad light? 

I try to be independent, and I try even harder to be happy with this independence- but I'm made to question how genuine my happiness is every day. My mother, my friends, both girls and boys put it on me at any given opportunity, and then there are old friends, who we only see sporadically, but who's opening question is always the same- 'How's your love life darling?'.

I say fine, and it is, but when I explain that fine for me means 'single and fabulous', they look at me with so much pity and belittling understanding that I could take off one of my fabulous shoes and hit them with it. (Shoes that I bought myself by the way...) 

I am cautious, and so I should be- how many of my friends in relationship bliss actually ever feel that blissful? Why hasn't he called? Why doesn't he like this dress? Why haven't we had sex in two months? Why, why, why?

Personally I couldn't care less why, and that is because the only person I need worry about is me. 

I don't claim it to be a bed of roses, God knows that life with a broken ankle would be less excruciatingly boring if I had a significant other- but if the only time I want a boyfriend is when I've broken a bone then I think I'm pretty much out of it. 

Ciao! x

He opens the champagne, pours it into two glasses, previously chilled. 

I sit nervous, tapping my foot, surveying a relationship I thought had been killed.

Wondering what subject we will dance around next, parties or fashion?

He takes me to his room, shows me his new shoes, seemingly his only real passion.

New accessories on his dresser and a heated marble floor in his en-suite, 

I sit on his bed, noticing the new 300 count Egyptian cotton sheets.

I have butterfly's in my stomach, and wish I could sip my drink more slowly, 

I'm wearing the best dress I own, I bought a new clutch bag especially.

Yet I still feel under dressed, wishing I'd had my hair blow dried, 

Wishing I hadn't had my nails painted this colour, and wishing I could hide.

We walk back to the kitchen, more alcohol, liquid lunches are the thing you know?

It matters little that he saw me pop my medication fifteen minutes ago.

Lunch is light, of course, a salad and another glass of champagne. 

I wonder what I'm selling and why I'm on this campaign. 

It's time to leave, he calls me a cab, 

Hands me a wad of cash which I place in my new handbag.

A kiss on the cheek, and a tear forms, 

My mask is slipping, its time to be gone. 

'Bye Dad, thanks for having me'.

'My pleasure darling, I'll stay in touch'- we'll see. 

THE FOUR TYPES OF MEN- that I know anywayyyyyy.

Co-dizzle in chief recently posted a 'note' on facebook about the 'Four Types of Women'- I feel compelled to in turn describe the varying types of men- (why??!!!- because the moment took me...) 

I won't suggest that these are the only types of men in existence- BUT I'm sure if you had so squeeze yourself into one of them, you'd manage.

And so to business...

Mr 'Watcha Know About SWAGGER SWAGGER'- 

Those who know me KNOW who I might be referring to; 

He is arrogant, rude, rarely genuine, cheats, lies, is never on time, lives by the rule that 'one rule for 'us', is altogether another for him', and so on and so forth. Unfortunately for all of his victims he is handsome, imploringly sexy, and more charming than any prince in any fairytale and is able to use these talents to entrap even the most savy of females. We will all meet one at some point, everyone will warn us to stay away, to be smart etc... and it is up to us to decide whether the exciting ride is worth the emotional and LONG come down that follows the end of this 'relationship'. 

Mr 'Sensitive Manipulator'- 

This man has the potential to be more dangerous than Mr. Swagger Swagger because no one suspects him of his manipulation, he is sweet, kind, liked by all, quiet and funny and doesn't launch his attack until you have finally convinced yourself that maybe 'the nice guy' has finally come along. He always gestured towards what you could have, always insinuated love, pretended you two were on the same page BUT when its crunch time- he still has a girl, he's not ready to commit, it's too complicated- THE LIST OF EXCUSES IS L.O.N.G. 

This man is insecure, and wants to be liked by everyone- without necessarily giving much back. He'll live a life of regrets, because, REALLY, he is not a bad guy- he just doesn't really know another way to live. 

Mr 'Genuinely, Actually, Really NICE'- 

Ladies, ladies, WHAT IS WRONG WITH US??- we have all encountered him and we have all (well, mostly..) let him go- I say let him, more like we've run in the opposite direction. 

He is honest and open and when he meets the right girl he is on it and right there whenever she calls. 

He doesn't play games and is not scared of the word commitment- which is odd because in return us girls tend to become infatuated with anything that ISN'T serious. 

He is the man that that we'll regret, miss and long for- but by the time we get there he'll be LONG GONE. (Catch him while you can.........) 

Mr 'Playboi Attributes'

Hmmm, now this one is a straight up player- he is very open about his motives and doesn't fuck around- which is refreshing. 

He'll take your number and when he calls his lyrics are more on the wave lenght of 'my bedroom or yours?'. If you are that type of girl then this could be a very 'loving' relationship. 

His honesty is appreciated and only a stupid girl will get involved with him hoping to change him- He just ain't ready to settle down ladies, take the hint- he might never be....

I think that is fairly accurate account, unfortunately an altogether negative one, which is why I'm joining a convent, thanks. 

ALTHOUGH- hopefully, for the sake of man kind, they will ALL grow out of IT, and when they do might just become perfect husband material. Be patient girls. 

<3

All she wanna talk about is partying and fashion.....

SO! 

Back from the dead and ready to start next week with a fresh outlook. 

Watch This Space Kids.

Its going to be a shocker. 

<3

Missed Me?

Well, it's been about a month since my last entry, and whilst I have been furiously busy for various reasons, the truth is I've had writers block. 

In my month of silence I've learnt a lot, about family, about friends, and about myself. I have taken a step back, taken off my rose tinted glasses, and looked at everyone around me with exhaustive scrutiny. If I observed them with an obscene intensity, it is nothing on the way I looked at myself. 

What I've learnt about everyone, can be filtered down into one phrase, and I MUST NOT forget it (and am therefore publishing it for sake of reference), it was told to me by a very special friend. 

"I chose to rely on me, then only I can let me down." 

In a society where those who live lives of corruption, selfishness and self-obsession get the furthest, it leaves the few trying their best to be the best for others in a jealous yet self righteous limbo. I've been in this limbo, you have been in this limbo- where did you go? Did you give in to the call of the morally questionable, but fabulously successful dark-side? Or are you still clinging on to your innocent beliefs that the good will prevail, that hard work pays off, and that good things come to those who wait?

I've been in limbo- everyday I lean closer to one, and last night I fell out of limbo and dropped into the world of corruption- all that glitters here, is for you to take- come and join me. 

Live by rules like "Loyalty is Everything", just remember that those who stand by that saying with the most intensity are only really loyal to themselves. 

Make sure you speak ill of those who have done nothing but supported your every venture, who needs friends when you are on your way up- (God may be a helpful additive as you pray nightly that you don't peak and fall, alone.) 

Love your family, but don't like them- they will alone stand above you, telling you that what you are doing is wrong, pushing their beliefs onto you. They are living wrong too, but as the saying goes- "Do As I Say, Not As I Do".

Claim to love ferociously, but in fact manipulate silently- this is a key point- only fools love, and its those fools we can use as a stairwell to where we want to be. 

Oh, and lie. Lie not to protect yourself, but to protect the few you do love- if you let them see you for who you really are you will lose the small amount that is genuinely dear to you. 

Some of my friends will read this and send me messages of congratulations, calls of- "welcome to the real world"- and all the while, as they celebrate my fall from grace, I will remember, wistfully what it was to be innocent, and good. 

Lets take a walk...

So......I have recently discovered that I am not as attractive as I once either believed I was, or actually was... The extensive night life has clearly taken its toll, and I've decided to spend a fortnight being wholesome and good (and boring).

At ten past eight on Friday morning, my super fit mum burst into my bedroom and declared that we were going on a seven mile hike- with sticks. Who am I to argue, I thought...?

I dressed, with my mum's guidance- I am rarely seen in anything but a dress, so needless to say my hiking clothes are of a limited selection. I ended up in a pair of white and gold Adidas trainers, that were a last minute purchase at the airport on the way to a yoga retreat in Greece. A pair of red and black Scarface jogging's- which were given to me during my time at Touch Magazine, as a novelty rather than a fashion statement. A burnt orange hoodie, one of my usually fashion-wise father's few fashion indiscretions (just because he's gay doesn't mean he will always be on point now people!). My mothers brown puffa jacket and two stunningly shiny and gold walking sticks- DEAD. (Lol).

Anyway, we jumped in the car, zipped off to Richmond Park and went on a two hour and seven miles, hike around the park.

Honestly, it's one of the maddest things I have done in a long while- it really is a different world. Everyone says hello to each other, the cyclists, the runners, the walkers, the deer....

Total jokes, the jokest part being ME, of course.

For part two of my fabulous fortnight tune tune in on Wednesday, when I explore the world of marches, exhibitions, revolt and anarchy- and join the crazy socialists in an exhibition against the G20 summit. I'm excited, reports say that police are on 'red alert' and that 'violence will be met with violence'- I'll be ok though, I'll be with this cool bloke, Chris Knight, revolutionary, anthropologist and grandad to my niece and nephew.

Eat The Bankers, Ya Dun Know...

Get bored much? Ever...?

Well- If you do, then this ones for you!

I fell across a fabulous solution today- although it might only work for the ladies... 

Part 1- Make sure you have terrible time keeping- this is a KEY point. If you are usually on time then don't set an alarm in the morning, or maybe have a long bath, with Lavender and candles,  instead of a quick shower, or even get lost in my blog... 

Part 2- Make an appointment in a busy part of South London- integral as South London is full of hungry men and feisty women. A shopping centre on a Saturday would be preferable. 

Part 3- Throw on a dress you have only worn once, years ago, at night. If you must look yourself over, make sure its in a very badly lit room. 

Part 4- Run out the door, down the road, jump onto the tube- all three of them in my case, and don't allow the realisation to hit home that your dress is totally see through until you're at London Bridge. 

Honestly, shopping in Canada Water has never been so much fun...

So, I'm in Brockley, storming down the road to playgroup with my nephew, who insist on shouting 'HI BOB' (as in, the builder) to every builder we walk past, he has also taken up a new past time which he exhibits at the top of his voice in between the regular builder sightings. Single Ladies, Beyonce's girl power anthem, is his latest favourite song. When it comes on the radio his little feet get tapping, his arms get shaking and ten little spirit finger come out- he now knows the words too. 

So not only do I look like a mother who has trained my two year old son to chirps builders for me, but I also look like a bitter, man hating, young mum who has taught my son the words to a Beyonce single, by either listening to it on repeat or making him learn the words for my own twisted satisfaction.

Either way, I'm embarrassed. 

Play group was joke as usual, Emanuel is quite clearly the waviest child there, and bosses over everyone- even the older kids. 

Today it was all about being a Rock Star. 

A Thousand Revelations, A Drink Up, A Party, 

A Bowling Alley And Two Little Shots Of Vodka In My Slush-Puppy Please....

HAPPY BIRTHDAY DUANE

What a weekend, Duane- Co-D, best friend and complete Lifey, turned 24 on Thursday.

To mark this wondrous occasion we had a drink up on Thursday, a party on Friday, and a wholesome game of bowling on Saturday. 

Thursday took place at Duane's house, after strongly suggesting that no one would bring a bottle, everyone brought at least two and we had enough alcohol to open an offie. Rhian and I arrived, to find the house full, the whole of New Wave was there with their respective others, aside from Naf who spent most of Duane's birthday laid up in hospital. Duane was yet to arrive (to his own party, in his own house)- and was apparently on the very important mission of getting pizza. 

The drink up was absolute joke, Duane got totally smashed on WKD and Smirnoff Ice (looool- and a couple of stiff ones- no homo- before hand apparently). I made a poor attempt at initiating a drinking game, and was basically booed out the building. Rhian proved herself to be the most attractive, but most awful cocktail waitress. Marshall complained about being totally, completely and utterly licked, and then happily polished off another bottle of champs. Bodz, aka- Peter Parka, current hottest photographer, turned up with a view to catch everyone slipping, and clearly succeeded. It wound down at about 3.30 am, only to recommence the next night in Dagenham, at Flex. 

House Arrest, a night famed to be fabulous, took place at Flex and we turned out in our droves to celebrate Duane's birthday. If I'm honest, which I always am- I didn't really enjoy myself. 

The music was just a little too intense, Duane seemed stressed, I didn't feel very beautiful (if we're real with ourselves, that does put you on a downer...) and some guy kept OVER troubling me- backing up every 'I fancy you' with an aggressive 'you think you're too nice you fucking little bitch'. Considering he spent the whole evening at the entrance of Duane's cornered off area every time I wanted a drink or a dance I would have to walk past him. 

I met some very lovely girls though, which is always nice, because lovely girls are hard to come by. Not to be too cryptic but, I hope we see more of one lovely girl in particular. 

Fabulous WAG Charlotte was there, unfortunately MY beautiful Colette wasn't- but like I always tell her we have forever (You love that innit Chase, Lol). 

Helen, Jennie, Steph, Steph, Rhian and I came to spend the night with Duane, and that is exactly what we did. 

Roll on part 3- which was at the bowling alley in Kinston, there really is nothing like good clean fun, and Saturday was definitely that. Rhian and I cleverly deduced that if we put vodka in our slush puppies we could make a lovely cocktail- and then run around the bowling alley taking stupid pictures and playing all the games, without actually playing any. Duane's bowling game was a bit shit- and he looked very displease by this notion, me and Rhian tried to explain that there were worst things, but he didn't have any of it. 

I hope Duane had a lovely weekend, I know I did.

A WEEK IN PICTURES.

The Morning Commute.

I got on the train this morning at about 8.10 am, everyone poured onto the tube from every possible entrance, shamelessly pushing each other out of the way. I rarely get the tube, especially not at this time- people are CRAZY, but today I had no choice, so I decided to use my journey (through hell) as material for my blog....

So- I look around at the early commuters all desperately trying to cling onto some personal space and notice some familiar faces. Not necessarily familiar to me, but I'm sure if anyone else has been on public transport you've seen these people too.

Women are definitely the more interesting specie, and much more fun to watch. 

My gaze lands on a twenty something brunette- clearly still a firm believer that hitting the sack before 1am is the epitome of UNCOOL, regardless of how early her start is. 

She sits there yawning, clutching a latte, all tired eyes and thick mascara, already praying for the day to come to a close, so that she can do it all over again. 

To the left of her is the 'I just turned 30, and after a hundred failed relationships I am still a single woman'- she is scribbling something in her wacky patterned note book, and with a flourish has just removed the sixth pen I've seen in 20 minutes. Each one has been pink and fluffy, they all sprinkle glitter, and potentially magic, and are all supposed to highlight how cute and feminine she is. She keeps looking out the corner of her eye to the pale, exhausted form which is the 20 something woman to her right, her mind battling with itself about her unthoughtful seating arrangements- I can almost hear them, "honestly Janie! Of all the seats on all the tubes, you would bloody sit next to a fucking teenager?!!- You'll never find a man if you continue flaunting your old age in public!"

Standing above her is the careless teen, 17 years old, a body like a Maserati, which she has of course decided to drape in 'vintage' rags and rusting silver jewellery. Her music is loud, and her clothes are purposely falling apart, luckily the gift of youth allows her to pull it off. 

On one of the single seats sits a woman in an immaculate mac, typing furiously on her Blackberry. All the women in the office hate her because she is beautiful and fabulous and carries either a Mulberry or a Chanel handbag. She is lonely though, none of the woman like her, and all the men want to sleep with her- as for settling down, she'd like to but for some reason something about her power pencil skirt, stiletto heels and high paid job makes the weird lady from floor 6 who thinks bathing is an unnecessary luxury a more attractive bride. 

There is the shy one, the loud one, the one who wears vests all year round, the mother of three who hasn't applied a lick of mascara since the birth of her first child (who is now 22), and a couple of librarians thrown into the mix, all beautiful and wonderful in their own way....

The men are a lot easier to group- aside from the occasional sprinkling of flair, Ed Hardy who disappears down the escalators, VA-G who slips through the doors, Forreduci who's hidden behind The Metro- they are usual grouped by suit colour. There is the one in the black suit, the one in the dark grey suit, the one in the navy blue suit, the one in the dark grey suit with black pinstripe- they've all already faded into one for me, God I'm glad I'm a woman- even if I turn out to be the 30 year old with the pens. 

Which one are you? 

Bed time, is surely the same as PARTY time?

Sunday night, at about 9.30pm I decided I'd had enough of the day, which had incorporated my niece and nephew, and trip to the Tate, two games of Black Jack and Mexican Salsa chicken, and went to bed. 

Lying in bed, I had taken all my make-up off, brushed my teeth and had a little Teedra Moses on to send me to the land of nod. I was just about to log off facebook, when I noticed my friend Rhian was online, I confessed, rather stupidly that I wanted to go to Fridge Bar (knowing she would be ON IT, also knowing I really shouldn't be going), anyway she gave me the hard sell and picked me up a little over an hour later. 

Fridge was fun as ever, but if you bare in mind that it finishes at 4, and I had to be up by 7 am (at the ABSOLUTE latest), no amount of fun is worth falling asleep in my Radio Lecture... 

Obviously I had a fabulous time, was asleep by 5am, up by 6.30am and at my lecture by 9am- JUST CALL ME SUPER WOMAN!

I didn't make it to therapy though, or to dinner- an hour and a half of sleep is not enough to go and convince your professionally trained therapist that you lead an exciting 007, double life, or to go and gossip over Holla bread and Earl Grey tea with your Godmother... 

Maybe next time, eh? 

Fun with my Therapist!

So, you may be aware that I go to see a therapist once a week- for a variety of reasons, none of which actually need attending to. 

My therapist has a long, slow voice, and his mode of practise seems to be a mixture of repeating what I say to him, and drawing my feelings on his white board- (which are usually represented in an artistic scribble...) 

ANYWAY! I've tried to get out of it- but it seems people are so convinced that my perpetual happiness (nod to co-d :D ) is a facade that if I leave, it will only convince them further that the only place for me is an insane asylum (do Gucci do straight jackets?).

So, last night, after a few too many drinks in Watford (of all places!!?) I came to a most fabulous conclusion- I must make therapy as fun as possible. 

How?! *insert wicked cackle here* 

Ever played dress up when you were a kid? Or used your extensive imagination to suddenly become a fireman, a princess or something equally exciting? 

Well, tonight Matthew, I think I'm going to become a sexual deviant, a vixen, a drug dealing, fur wearing, cigar smoking minx. I CAN'T WAIT. 

I will walk into his office on Monday afternoon, looking glamorous and supremely unconcerned and tell him about my fabulous weekend hanging out with the mafia in a speakeasy, drinking moonshine. 

I'll keep you posted! ;) 

ex oh ex oh

Its been ANOTHER week.

The last week has been SO busy that I haven't had the opportunity to do my favourite thing in the whole world, which is, to write, about ME, obviously. 

So it's the end of a VERY long Wednesday. I got in this morning at about 5am from a surprisingly successful night out at Funky Buddha, for a young man named George's 30th. I was awoken about two hours later, on my brothers sofa, still completely intoxicated, to take Vera Lily to school. 

The joy of children is so intense that they are the only people in the world that can make you do THE MOST STUPID things- this morning was no exception, if anything the fact that I was still a little tipsy added to my foolishness. 

So I make Vera-Lily (who is my 4 year old niece, by the way) a pack-lunch, some breakfast, I get her washed and dressed, suited and booted and all wrapped up and ready to face the world. We walk out the house, I have her lunch box and book bag in one hand, and her tiny little hand in the other. 

We skip across the road and begin to discuss her birthday, which is this month, we're having a 'Mr Maker' party- a day of d.i.y. activities, paintings and drawings etc... obviously excited by this prospect we both decide that 8.30 am, in the middle of Brockley, is the perfect time to start singing. LOUD. 'The Sun Has Got His Hat On' was definitely my favourite from our little rendition. Then to the races, every lamp post, bus stop and tree was a finish line, and I had absolutely no choice but to join in, shouting and waving my arms around in delight as builders and mothers alike looked on in horror. Vera-Lily kindly let me win one race, shouting after me 'you can do it Holly, see how fast you can go!'.

We then got to the park, which we have to walk through to get the V.L's school, its up a steep hill and then down an even steeper one. On the way up Vera-Lily fearlessly picked up worms off the tarmac in order to return them to their muddy homes. We reached the top of the hill, and decided (wrongly, I suspect) that we could see the sea, parts of Paris and my house- none of the above seemed likely, but if you were there you would've been convinced of it too. 

We then ran, top speed, down the other side of the hill, giggling madly and screaming as loudly as possible on the way down- surly teenagers and irritable old age pensioners moving out of our way in shock. Vera-Lily beat me, of course. 

We got to school, late, the trips activities had set us back fifteen minutes, but it was the most fun I'd had in FOREVER, and have decided that taking yourself seriously is crap and rubbish and boring. 

I wish Vera-Lily didn't have school, and then me and her could just hang out and save worms everyday. 

Its been A WEEK.

Actually, it's been more than a week, and for that I am desperately sorry. My page looks so empty.....

The last 10 days have been busy as hell, apparently its a bustling metropolis down there, and I haven't had time to even think about what I might write, let alone actually write about it.

It's a Tuesday, which is a late start day for me, so I thought that lying in bed and filling you in on 'the latest' would be a fabulous idea, if I can remember it all...

I'll start with yesterday, Monday, the aftermath of another night in Fridge, funky house all night, and the potent mix of Alize, Sambucca and Vodka meant I spent the majority of the day strolling around in a drunken haze. 

Jennie and I slept a little under 2 hrs, got up and ran to uni, which was basically unbearable, big shades and large cups of coffee aside. 

Once our uni morning had come to a close, we came back to mine, slept for an hour, jumped out of bed and Jennie drove me to therapy- my third session, and still desperately boring. 

I go and see a therapist at the Priory once a week, for a variety of reasons, none of which will ever be published, I can't help but feel pessimistic over it all.

So I sit there, with this man, he must be about 50, and he has a low, soft voice, he also elongates every word he says. 

Now therapy is not cheap, and I expect to be made a better human being in a matter of sessions, and I can't help but wonder how that is ever going to happen if all he does is repeat everything I say back to me but in a lower, softer voice, and taking double the time to say it...?!! 

Ah well, we shall soon see- he may just become a useful source for Valium...? 

I then went over to my incredibly wonderfully great God-parents house for dinner, which was warm and yummy and fabulous. 

Sunday, a failed trip to the zoo, and my first screening of the Goonies was followed by Fridge bar in Brixton, which is where I left my beloved blackberry this time last week- it is dearly missed.

Fridge was jokes, a little tuggy-er than usual, bare man with grizzly beards drinking Alize from the bottle and doing the migraine skank whilst simultaneously screwing every man, woman and child (there were a few, trussss) in sight. 

I was molested by a group of lesbians, which made a nice change from the usual... Then on went to Bagel King to  continue the party, which according to Duane is the same as Fridge anyway....

My weekend was fairly quiet aside from this outing, I watched Goodfella's on Saturday- which I should NOT have done, it only reminds me of what I can't have. 

Thursday, of course, was celebrated (we always celebrate Thursday, duh..!?) at Hunkz and Honeyz- the reasons why I actually attend this shambolic event are becoming fewer and fewer by the week. Its now a nice mix of boredom, Duane, Stephanie, Bodz and uhm, well that's it. 

Thursday is genuinely as far back as I can currently remember.... I think I'll throw a few pictures up for fun, and possibly to jog my memory....

ex oh ex oh

You know you love meeeee! 

I'm easy like Sunday Morning.........

Morning party people, 

Jennie 'we a ga party hard', Betty 'I'm always bloody late to EVERYTHING, but I have the personality to pull it off' and Holly 'sceptical as hell that this rave will be any better than the others she has attended recently' went to a rave called Timeless last night. 

It was held at Mustard Bar, which is one of my favourite party venues, they always hold mature raves, the decor is classy but neutral, and there is enough going on with its two and a half floors to keep one satisfied throughout the evening. 

Last night when I left I would have bet all of my shoes on the fact that it was the BEST rave in the WHOLE WIDE WORLD. Looking back I'm not so sure. The music was clearly catered to it's 24 and over age group, upstairs was a mix of old skool Mary J and Boyz to Men, with the occasional bashment tune thrown in for affect. 

Downstairs was a blend of funky house, but none of the tunes any ones ever heard, the oldest of old skool garage and as we were leaving they even threw on some Jungle for good measure. 

We got down to it though, and it was a breath of fresh air to be the youngest in the rave by a couple of years, rather than the oldest by 8....

All in all, I would suggest it was a success, which means that, yes, I will be making an appearance at Fridge Bar tonight, See you there??

xoxo 

Pictures soon coooooommmeee.

JUSTIN CREDIBLE IS COOL

x