Neglecting a blog is much like the cowardly approach to a break-up. I've certainly had the same lagging feeling of guilt. Yet the longer you go hors de contact, the easier remaining absent seems, right up until the final all-encompassing bust-up:
Why fuck haven't you been in touch all this time?
Well, to start with, I've hardly been in London for the last month!*
Oh really? And where exactly have you been?
But I really have been enjoying my weekends and work trips away of late, interspersing the weekdays in PR-adise with weekends in beyond-the-M25 paradise.
First up, I took a long weekend in Seville, something that I have categorically decided will become an annual early November jaunt. It's really quite phenomenal how when the weather's just begun to get grim in London you can finish work at 4pm in a trench coat and be sat in a plaza in Seville by 10pm, in a t-shirt, with glass of good quality rioja. It was a divine 30 degrees for the whole weekend and whilst I'd like to say it was a cultural trip it was anything but.
Catching up with my best amigo and brother in booze, culture was predominently soaked up via the bars and andalucian women. That said, when you get up at 1pm, head straight to a bar, take a coffee as a formality and then hit a beer and a plate of squid and garlic for breakfast, perhaps I aclimatised to the culture more than I thought. On top of this I more than I surprised myself with my pan-European linguistic abilities, was warmly embraced by a hen party in a Spaniards only bar (who taught me traditional andalucian dance whilst offering us their daughters) and developed an addiction for the fine Sevillian beer Cruzcampo. Beware of this God foresaken, all consuming, turbo-hangover inducing, yet delicious poison.
After such a shattering Spanish sejourn I scraped my way through a short week in the office and come Friday, there was only one place to spend the weekend; the parents' AKA The Priory Premier. It's 6 years since I moved out for university yet it's only recently that I've begun to appreciate the serenity of the place. Whilst never failing to offer the most relaxing of weekend breaks, such is their joy at my occasional return that mother has even taken to leaving my room set up hotel style (fluffy towels laid out etc.) whilst father delights in providing me a truly gastronomic 48 hours. All this rehab-like detox but with the added bonus of inordinate amounts of booze. There's nothing quite like a weekend of simple pleasures.
There are other reasons why I've been ignoring you. I also spent a weekend at the country pile of some good friends in Sussex, again providing a bizarre paradox of countryside detox come raucous drinking session. And there's been one other significant event my life.
Two weeks ago I rather terrifyingly turned 24. I'm still not quite sure how I feel about this. On the one hand it's utter despair: passing my formative years in Blair's booming Britain, until the age of 15 it didn't so much as cross my mind that at 24 I'd have anything less than a 6 figure salary and E-Type. Nor did I think I'd be single at 24, yet here I am with a lengthy bed post of nigh-on-supermodel notches and well versed in International Relations, yet sleeping alone in a lavish double bed.
On the other hand it's a vague degree of content: I have to comfort myself with the knowledge that earn more than most of my recession graduate peers, have a fairly chic apartment and manage to get myself away for a few holidays a year.
Despite my joy/depression/indifference at the landmark of entering my 25th year (my mood on this subject really does change daily) I of course marked the occasion in my own typical manner. No surprises to anyone that knows me. Big meal at a fine French restaurant for those in the closest circle. Then I threw the greatest party I've ever thrown at home. That certainly threw up more than a few surprises. Alpine_Goddess unexpectedly turned up (complete with OTT uncalled for gift) leaving every chap's jaw on the floor and every girl harrassing me as to why on earth I'd split up with her. Then there was the office temp, who also unexpectedly turned up, hit the booze hard, and proceeded to be all over me all night. I got a lapdance from Office_Temp's friend. My flatmate spent 30 minutes chatting a girl up before swiftly undoing all his hard work with a deft flick of the wrist and a drink all down her dress (how I laughed.)
All in all, a good, wholesome, liver-bashing, septum-rotting occasion for all.
So there you are. It's been a while but as a great man once said, "I've bounced back!" Of course, in the midst of all this Bjorn's been on fine inept song, Trophy_Wife is temporarily out of the picture and Fuchsia_Cohen's treated us to many a mini-skirt Friday. But more that tomorrow afternoon, when I'll be tossing off the hours before the weekend.
*an excuse I actually tried to use with Alpine_Goddess
