Multi-tasking
If you can’t multi-task, you’re screwed!
On Monday I’m moving house. Yeas, again. 
Yesterday I went to clear out all the junk from the cupboards that the previous tenants had kindly left me. Tomorrow I’ll go to clean. And on Saturday I’ll paint. 
Thankfully with daddy’s help. As none of you dear friends of mine jumped at my request. 
I’ll need to take a trip to Tesco’s to buy the paint and other things first. All without a car or anyone to help me carry stuff. 
At the same time I’m keeping up with my running, working what now amounts to 3 jobs somewhat manically and somehow finding time to sleep. 
At this very moment, I’m conducting a gmail conversation and a Skype conversation whilst blogging. 
Can I wait for my beach holiday that I haven’t had the time to book or plan or dedicate any time to yet?! What do you think?! 
Shopping on Saturday afternoon. With the huge mistake of entering Selfridges at sale time. 
Contemplated spending 100 quid that I don’t have on designer sunglasses. Decided on a 15 quid that I also don’t have but can justify more instead and look pretty much the same anyway pair. 
Then the three of us hit London for cocktails and some seriously cheesy music. 
Maria and I did our ‘lesbian’ dancing (or so most leery men in the bar seemed to think) pretty much all night. Was fantastic. 
Especially as we also got the attention of some hot hotties. Although one specific hot hottie was a mere baby at 22 and could only speak French. Good for one thing only surely. And I’m not that kind of girl. 
The Mastercard is calling me. ‘Fcuking off on holiday when you have responsibilities at home but couldn’t care less because you just need days in the sea and nights in tavernas?’ Priceless. 
We made eye contact. Several times. He smiled. I smiled. Then it was my stop and I got off the train. 
Well, I could have asked him ‘Is this the train to Furze Platt?’ (yes, I am currently working in a place named Furze Platt) but I somehow didn’t think that would really impress him all that much. Unless he was the kind of guy to be turned on by girls who aimlessly wander onto trains and don’t actually know where they’re going. 
So I’ve told myself that next time, next time, I’ll have a witty opening ready. 
Any suggestions?!
She just turned 25. She received many presents to decorate her own home, has a 
Indeed, I’d have some harsh words to say to anyone who dared not to give her that. 
But it makes me wonder, when my 28th birthday comes around later this year, will I be pampered such? The fiance and house of my own is about as likely as the Tiffany ring, but will I at least have someone to cook my dinner for me, or will it be another meal for one?! 
I want someone to stick a candle in a lemon meringue pie for me. Surely that’s not so much to ask…?! 
But then I snuggled up in bed with Geoffrey the Gorilla for 2 hours of serious Eastenders and I feel almost like I’ve just emerged from a spa. 
And, no, I haven’t been on the booze. Just coffee. 
And chocolate. That’s really all it takes…
I blame my poorliness on too much time spent on the skanky tubes during the last week. But as all that tube travelling has been in order to spend time with friends, and a wonderful few days with 
The problem is that now I feel lonelier than ever, being poorly but not having anyone to hug me better. 
Because, as usual, I let myself get used to 
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Pubs, coffee shops, restaurants and Selfridges have all been frequented by me and friends this weekend and it’s been really rather pleasant. 
So now we just have to persuade Yanni & Co to move down here. Eh Yanni?!
Amazing what a difference friends can make to a grey old place isn’t it?! 
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Said programs also drove me to run like mad on my ‘jog’ this evening in order to be home in time to shower, cook, make tomorrow’s lunch and be sat with cup of tea in hand as the theme tune hit. 
I didn’t quite make it and ended up having to chop my fruit in the living room whilst Dot preached the bible, but I consider my assertions an achievement. 
This from a man who once sent me emails like this:
I just wonder what might happen if 
We managed to find possibly the geekiest bar in Covent Garden. But it had cheap cocktails. 
And then wound up in a bar that wasn’t technically a gay bar but was full of gay people nonetheless. Which had cheap cocktails. And a pole. Amazing what people will turn into with a shot of something alcoholic and a metal rod! 
We also had some of Maria’s male Greek friends for company, who succeeded in showing their typical male Greek charm in abundance. Some gems included (you’ll have to imagine the Greek accent): “Why did you tell me she was anything? She is nothing”. This from one guy to the other. The ’she’ being me. 
‘My friend is not bad. He has a bit of a belly, like Maria , but he has muscly arms.’ And, the best, “It’s okay. Don’t be insulted. Because by the end of the night they were telling me, ‘eh, she’s isn’t so bad; she has a very subtle beauty’.” Yeas. Hidden in other words. Only emerging when they’d been drinking cheap cocktails. 
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