As promised...

 

A 1950s natural sapphire and two brilliant cut diamonds in a platinum setting on a white gold band.

I think I may just be the luckiest girl in the world.

A Rather Gorgeous Evening

Yesterday was rather eventful.

The extraordinary weather conditions affected me only minorly. The Boy had invited me up to St Albans for the evening to house-hunt for our relocation out of the city. Trains and tubes ensured that I arrived hot, bothered and not a little un-gorgeous.

He greeted me at the station gates with a bunch of flowers: totally unlike him, the last bouquet I received was for my birthday two weeks after we started seeing each other.

We viewed the three houses and in an instant decided upon a gorgeous period cottage with what can only be descirbed as remarkable flooring.

Without further ado, we signed on the dotted line.

He had booked dinner at a restaurant on Market Street, chosen for its name: the elusive Marrakech that we have never quite managed to holiday to. This delightful and delicious restaurant compensated for the time being. The Boy was rather more talkative than usual and kept asking about the weather outside, as he was sat with his back to the window and feared more flash floods.

He suggested a little walk after dinner and we strolled to St Albans Abbey, sitting on a bench looking up at the ancient facade.

'New jobs, new house... shall we do something else new tonight?'

He took out a little box and opened it.

'So, do you like it?'

It was stunning.

I sat, stunned, and nodded.

'Will you be my wife?'

It's delicious, exciting, scary and incredible.

When he brings his camera back from work, I will, of course, show you everything.

Anya Bananya

This morning, a queue formed outside the Museum. Zaha Hadid has been getting some excellent press, but this was not the cause.

The new Anya bag (limited edition, this time from Asia and therefore in Green or Grey) was released and a queue of over 50 giggling girls patiently waited until 10am when the shop opened. They purchased their bags (strictly one in, one out) and then went to the back of the queue. This was where the problems started. People had brought hats, changes of clothes, pulled their hair up, with noisy protestations that they had not just purchased one and deserved to get another. There was ‘Why are you selling one to this girl who’s just going to sell it on ebay, when I’m actually going to use it?’ Then go get a fibre-mesh carrier from Top Shop and use that.

The crazy crazy loons seem to have given no heed to reports following last time’s scrums that these bags are not organic cotton, are made by below-decent wage workers in the Far East and are shipped crazy distances upping the air-miles and carbon footprint of these righteously non-eco bags.  

Eco – schmeco. Can do better. x

Feeling gloomy

Photo courtesy of here.

It's funny what can change in a week. On Tuesday I arrived at my new place of work (Day 2) and looked on a sky just like this over the Thames giggling to myself at how happy I was. I determinedly ignored the brooding clouds which were in no way close to a reflection of my bursting chest and satisfied state of mind. I have a job. My Boy has a job. I like my job. My Boy likes me. All is right with the world.

Two days later and a series of abortive evenings out with argumentative, tired or otherwise not ideal dinner-mates (myself included) and I've swung a full 180. Full days' work where lunch breaks are frowned upon, the concentration required for constantly absorbing a varied and new environment and busy evenings that left me drained and full of recrimination have left me gnawing.

This morning I sat on a bench overlooking the Thames and my spirit was heavy. A weekend of library study, more concentration and a Sunday of work at a vintage shop that I help at does not bode a restful break from the week ahead of the Boy on nights. I can feel myself complaining. I don't like that word or that action. I love to think myself optomistic, but the Boy sees me as the opposite purely because my expectations are so very high that I am always, but always, disappointed at the inability of any mortal to live up to them.

So the buzz of the new job has worn off in less than a week and the prospect of a future here, while exciting in concept actually weighs heavy with me. Have you ever felt so relieved by a situation that the fall out of it leaves you so exhausted that you can't appreciate it any more?

Someone hug me.

A few days in a movable home

We dined like kings (one pescatorian, one carnivorous)

We fled the rain, which miraculously disappeared the minute the car was packed...

Anglesey was pretty...

...but the drive through Snowdonia was dark and forbidding.

We got home safe, though, and promptly replace the chain to hang the victorian mirror junk shop find...

Happy holidays....

Good news in brief...

After months of waiting and acres of negative press coverage, I am delighted to claim an end (at least in this household) of the disaster that is MTAS.

In three weeks' time, the Boy will begin his new job training to become a Paediatrician. It's not quite the GP route he had planned upon, but he has always enjoyed paeds and we think he might be able to step sideways into general practice in a few years' time.

Best of all, the job will be commutable, which was for a long time, an absolute uncertainty.

Ah... the sweet relaxation of stability and future employ.

I think I'll go have a long bath...