Love Thy Neighbour?

At 3am this morning it has to be said that this wasn’t quite what I was thinking. In fact what I was in fact doing was restraining a naked Mr B as he made for the fire exit with one of my steel toe capped boots in his hand. The reason for this slightly bizarre image I have given you? The neighbours from hell of course! I think I might have mentioned the neighbours we have here before. I don’t mind people who are insatiably nosey, in fact we all have that trait in is somewhere, come on everyone likes a gossip. However blame throwing, accusatory and alcoholic isn’t that easy to live next door to. The blame throwing accusations of our flat smelling, where they in fact dropped their entire dairy shopping etc in their over laden bags in the hallway, still irks me, can you tell?

The last week we have been woken to the huffing and puffing of imminent heart attacks from the rather larger proportioned couple and loud discussions of ‘oh I need a wee now’ or ‘oh someone has been having a barbeque in the building, oh, oh the smell of burnt meat’ somewhere between midnight and 1am… when they have come back from a night at the pub. We’ve remained irritated but silent; I have a feeling that may now have all changed. As being woken at 3am to singing, shouting, wailing and crying you tend to loose all sympathy. In Mr B’s case you decide to jump out of bed grab the nearest heavy weapon (in this case a boot – I don’t even want to know what he was going to do with it) and charge for the area where our fire exit meets their front door on a landing. Yes the area they dropped all their food and blamed us for, it would have been an ironic place for a fight, well ironic in an Alanis was maybe.

Retelling the whole sorry saga back to one of my friends this morning she said ‘it’s London though Simon isn’t it? What did you expect your neighbours to be like the couple on the old Nescafe adverts?’ I decided not to comment at the time and simply said ‘well I think it’s selfish and rude’. I do strangely have the deep down desire that I should befriend all my neighbours and have a lovely time, have dinner parties, develop life long friendships - you know the stuff of soap opera. Well maybe without the constant bed hopping, occasional murder and finding out you sister/wife/Alsatian/Dad is in fact your Mum. One of those almost happened to me as it turns out if things had gone a certain way when I was born, but that’s another story.

Growing up in the 1980’s in the little town of Matlock Bath in Derbyshire (or Little Switzerland as it is sometimes called), everyone was friends with every one of their neighbours. Doors were left unlocked and you could pop round for some sugar if you ran out like in the old Nescafe ad’s. In some cases like with the Nescafe ad’s little love stories developed, especially if you sent my aunties (who are only 12 – 14 years older than me) round and one of the many neighbour’s sons answered their plight. Oh the Savidge girls were minxes. In fact I must blog at some point about Matlock Bath and my childhood there as it was the most happy time and is such a strange but brilliant place. I have a picture below and you can see out house if you go to the middle from the top of the postcard and drop down till you get the very dark tree our house was the one on the left.

Sorry in going down memory lane I digressed. There was also of course the show Neighbours which taught you everybody needs good neighbours, that love was just around the corner, you could be there for one another, bad people don’t win out, girls can be mechanics too and that sleeping with twins was possible. Oh erm scrap the last one (I loved the Alessi twins, not as much as I loved Paul Daniels though) and of course in finding Kylie it changed my life in a whole other way.

In my mind ‘The Matlock Spirit’ was what being a neighbour was all about and still now in Matlock my Gran has neighbours who do the same; they all look out for each other, do Tai Chi together of a Thursday, have book groups, swap recipes and get very drunk playing bridge. I suppose it’s a bit like the Golden Girls, another show which in my early twenties furthered my ideals of what housemates/neighbours should be like. Mind you I think my Gran secretly dreams of a life like The Archers and all the goings on in Ambridge. I was subliminally subjected to these goings on from the age of zero (the theme tune was the first music I danced to) to around sixteen as my mother and Gran both devour it. Maybe another reason for my ideals of neighbours and how they shoudl behave. For me though the two biggest ideals of neighbours came from TV and books in my late teens.

The first of which was This Life. Oh how I adored that show. I was fourteen so had to go to bed then wait for mum to be asleep and then creep down and watch it or somehow sneakily leave the video recorder recording BBC2 all night so I could watch it. There were flaws in this, the tape would run out or Mum would notice it recording think of the electric wasted and stop it, shes always been enviromentally minded. She never seemed to notice it was the same accidental recording the same time every week, well she probably did but just overlooked it. Mums know everything after all. At the time I was obsessed with the show and Anna in particular. I think she was a first major icon for me and I dreamt of auditioning for the role of Anna’s brother and getting it. It didn’t matter there wasn’t such a role, or London was miles away from Marlborough (where we'd moved and the neighbours were evil) or that I couldn’t do a Scottish accent. Oh or the fact that I can’t act; as the rejection letter from my Hollyoaks audition which is framed in my toilet will tell you all. One day deep down I knew I was going to live that life, well This Life life!

When I finally did house share in London it didn’t quite end up like that. There were some illicit nocturnal drunken activities with fellow housemates and even once the landlord who ‘lived in’, there were lots of parties but nowhere in This Life was their an obsessive self proclaimed ‘fag hag’ who turned up on all your nights out, fell in love with you and tried to ruin any female friendships you had or any relationships with boyfriends you had. They should have though it would have been a cracking storyline. For me though it was a very real few years of hell in East London. My house-sharing days are now behind me and I can think of them as mayhem of the past and slightly fondly.

When I got my own place though it would of course be just like one of my biggest late teen obsessions… Armistead Maupin’s Tales of the City. Through these novels, in my mind at least, the perfect neighbours were created. Ok so some of the inhabitants were a little bit ropey but what a landlady! I have never ever had a land lord or landlady who has ever come close to the Madrigal and it has wounded me in some way I am sure. Plus who knew you could end up meeting a stunning rich gynaecologist after going roller-skating? I almost met a fit first aider through roller-skating though sadly not because he caught me as I fell, more because I sprained something and had to be helped out of the scene which I had caused. It was my ideal vision though of what my adult life would be like when I lived in the big city. A mixture of lovely gay guys, fabulous women, some fit straight men who didn’t beat up gay men and a fabulous crazy lady with dark secrets (I have now noted I don’t live in this environment but it does sum up my friends quite well) what more could you ask for?

Waking up at 3am this morning I of course I realised that though that scenario is heavenly it simply isn’t going to happen. Well not at this address anyway, but maybe at the next one. There is a block that Mr B and I are permanently watching locally to see if a flat comes up on which is beautiful and art deco filled and I secretly think has the great makings of the next Barbary Lane!

Tooting Top Ten

I saw Clayton Littlewood’s ace blog on his Top Ten Things About Soho and told him I would think of my Top Ten Things About Tooting, I also thought after the rather heavy (but very important) previous blog this might be some light relief. When people ask where I live and you even mention south of the river there can be a look of disgust. If you say Tooting there is a look of puzzlement.


Now Tooting isn’t really famous for much other than curry which I will be mentioning more about later. Its main fames are as Clayton mentioned ‘The Bill is occasionally filmed around Tooting and the Thai bride from Little Britain, Ting Tong Macadangdang, is from Tooting’ but really The Bill is centred more around Collier’s Wood. There is of course Sandi Thom and her basement concerts, but let’s just gloss over that, though I did see her do the Popjustice interview outside the station and have passed her in toiletries in Sainsbury’s. WE are also famous for having the worst post sorting office in the whole of the UK. So what do I love about Tooting?

1. The Markets
Here in Tooting we don’t have one market, we don’t have two markets we have around ten. Some are the full on markets where you can come away with some slippers that will fall apart, all sorts of snacks from around the world, a budgie and a tattoo or two. (A tattoo or two in Tooting frankly should be the area’s tagline.) Others are like mini marts where you can get endless spices, and endless varieties of fruits and veg you have never heard of cant pronounce and you might cook wrong and do some damage but that’s part of the fun. I have to say since we moved to where we are now I have never eaten so much fresh fruit and veg, it’s marvellous. Oh and I must mention Tilda Talcum Powder. Only Tooting seems to stock it, it comes in the most amazing turquoise art deco bottle actually made of tin. It makes me smile when am soaking in the bath.

2. Curry Houses
I could eat curry morning noon and night. Mr B doesn’t like spicy food but that’s frankly just tough. What’s brilliant about Tooting is that at the moment there is an estimated 22 curry houses and I am quite happily taking on the challenge of eating in every single one. Oh every single one has won at least one award; some have won twenty apparently, the competition is hilarious and also makes the prices cheap! I love the curry houses here as they aren’t pretentious and false like some you get they are a bit like a café in terms of cheap tables and chairs only with amazing fresh curry at whatever heat you like.

3. Café-cino
You couldn’t make it up could you? This is incredibly well hidden (and am not saying where as want it to stay that way or everyone will be eating there) but is my favourite café in the whole of London. The staff are really friendly and you can have the full English with fried bread, scolding strong tea, gorgeous mushrooms, the whole works for £4! It reminds me of cafes up north which is odd as the theme is meant to be Italian.

4. Cheapest Council Tax in the UK.
That doesn’t really need expanding on does it?

5. The Library
Now some people would say that Tooting Library is the worst in the Wandsworth borough. You can never get the book you want especially if it was published after 1989, there aren’t actually many books in it and if one is in stock it won’t be where it should be. I go there not for the books but for the memories. With its outdated furniture, peeling wallpaper and old book smell its like the Library of my childhood in the 80’s... in fact really they should make it a museum of the 80’s they wouldnt have to do anything.

6. It’s the capital of the world for Lidl.
Well not officially but we do have three, yes that’s right three. Why we need three I just don’t know, but we do, and if like me you love having your cupboards filled with tins of god knows what then its perfect, priceless and life wouldn’t be the same without it.

7. Hardy’s On A Sunny Sunday
Also known as ‘the f-ing massive yellow pub’. You can often find me here in the summer, bathing in the sunlight next to the main road and the car fumes. It’s not that bad honest. I am not there on Sundays for the Sunday roasts as generally the vegetables are still frozen in the middle. What I am there for is the platter which is stonking huge with ribs, prawns, garlic mushrooms, onion rings, chicken wings, mozzarella sticks, it goes on and on! It is the stuff of legend and all for £12 to share between two, which could actually feed four. It’s also full of nurses if that’s you thing.

8. The Tooting Tesco Beautiful Baby Bear
The stuff of porn legend, well he would be if he was in it. Seriously unbelievable eye candy! I had to pass him once in the cramped (well it is a Tesco local) tinned foods section and haven’t been quite the same since. Mr B hates the Tooting Tesco Beautiful Baby Bear.

9. Primarni, Pound Shops and Charity Shops
Now I am sure several people will be saying ‘oh pound shops and Primark how cheap and vile’ my response is ‘blah, blah, blah’. I have been asked on many an occasion where I got that t-shirt etc and have even been asked by some to shop there for them! You can’t go wrong with some Primark same applies to pound shops. Though I hear it on good authority that Balham has converted its old Woolies into one of amazement, you can even get a firemans outfit for a pound. Why havent they done that with Tootings empty wollies or M&S? I have pound shops to thank for my Audrey Hepburn collage in the boudoir. As for charity shops sadly one of them has just closed down, however three others are still going one of which is like a book buyers Mecca and I have had people come to visit just for this particular book store where you can get 6 books for £2. Yes really. The staff in there are brilliant if you need characters for a book, the main lady tells everyone who wants to hear her business and the staff’s private business. I always have my headphones in but with nothing playing, her barrage of gossip is priceless.

10. The Lido (in summer)
Want to sunbath, see endless men (mainly of the knackered nurse, hot chav or DILF variety) in their summer swimwear finest, then really there is no other place to be, Oasis Shaftesbury Avenue has nothing on this. Oh and if your there to swim it’s the biggest Lido in Europe, yes really.

A Plague Of Politeness

I don’t think London needs another great fire and I think bubonic plague and ‘the black death’ could be a little bit excessive after all I wouldn’t wish death on anyone but I would wish manners. Manners seem to be something really lacking in people at the moment and it’s wrong. I was shocked when I read this yesterday, the lovely Stella saved some poor girl from being spat at sworn at and wished aids upon. The people around this scene either walked on or milled past!

Until last night (you wait for what’s coming) the only time I had witnessed the joys of the British (well London) people doing sweet nothing was when a guy collapsed cracking his head open in front of Tooting Broadway tube. The florist lady and I were left to deal with the scenario with no one offering any help or simply gawping. The worst offender for me was a girl who simply reeled off the events down her mobile phone to a mate while she looked on, a mobile that could have been used to call an ambulance.

Back to last night when I went and saw the slightly un-thrilling Thriller Live! Hattie and I were unlucky enough to be sat on the same row as a rather large group of drunken ladettes who had seats in the middle and arrived late. Later still was one of the delightful groups’ sisters and pal who decided the free seats in front of us would make good resting spots for their almost paralytic mutton dressed as lamb saggy arses. (Sorry if am being rude ha!) At which point not only did they start ‘yee-hee-ing’ etc they stood up and danced, swayed, screamed.

A girl next to them kindly said ‘I know your having a good time but could you tone it down a bit?’ To which the most mutton dressed as lamb lady turned, sneered and screamed ‘shut the f**k up you black bitch, I paid good money to see this show, don’t think your any better than me, I am a f**king huge Jackson fan, so shut the f**k up’. To my horror this was met by quite a lot of laughter, I hope some was nervous. No one did anything though.

I couldn’t help but say ‘I don’t think anyone behind you paid to see you though did they?’ The manager was called for which I think saved my bacon from monster mutton, though as the lady who had been insulted ‘didn’t want to make a fuss’ they were asked simply to sing and dance at the back. Now when I worked in theatre management a complaint lead to action and in this instance the girl and her group would have been told to leave, their booking name would have been taken and ticket sellers would have been contacted and that booker would have been barred from theatres for a year. Clearly the Lyric don’t feel that’s the way to respond. What shocked me most though was that all parties washed over the racist comment. (My Gran would be proud – I have sent a strongly worded email.)

However, it’s not just casual homophobia, as Stella saw, or casual racism like last night that’s overlooked its manners as a whole. London commuters are famous for being rude. Why is that a claim to fame and not just deemed unacceptable? I then realised I am partly to blame as I can think of a few incidents when I have simply let other peoples rudeness pass me by. For example being asked as a favour to write something for someone and something they do on more than one occasion, spend hours on it and then that person not even having the decency to say they don’t need it anymore. Did I say anything… no! Then there was the neighbour who collected all the post the other day told me none of the ten parcels were mine ‘they are all for us, all of them for us’ before slamming their door. Two minutes later with a loud thud and bang my parcels are thrown/dropped in front of my door. They were fortunately books not glass. Did I say anything… no! When someone barged into me and trod on my foot on the tube. Did I say anything… no!

That has all changed after last night as come on manners cost nothing. I am a great believer in karma but if I am not doing anything then I can’t really complain, well I can I just have. I have done something about last night though and a new leaf has been turned over. It showed when today my landlord phoned to say that the neighbours have complained that the area between their front door and my fire escape smells and it seems to be emanating from my flat. The landlord said he found this odd as every time he has been round it’s been spotless. So rather than be rude and say how these neighbours were always having loud sex, stomping up and down the steps. I sweetly said ‘I think that might be from when they dropped all their shopping outside their front door including milk and eggs and haven’t cleaned it up since.’ That’s not rude that’s just truth. What’s rude is lying and blaming others. I have popped a note through their door offering some of our carpet shampoo to clean up the stains, that’s neighbourly of me isn’t it?

So that’s my rant over, and I shall leave you with my wish… if I could be all magical and mystical, I would send not a plague of politeness simply on ‘both your houses’ or my neighbours house, lets go for the whole bloody city and surrounding areas, in fact maybe the whole country could do with a bout of it?

The Great Gay Reads

I have been slightly absent from the inter-dolly for the last few weeks and haven’t blogged at all despite my promise to blog much, much more. Well I haven’t blogged on here anyway. The reason for my absence is that firstly my Book Blog Savidge Reads is doing really well and had a huge overhaul over Xmas and is now seeing some of the UK’s top book bloggers adding supportive comments or sending emails as to how much they like it. This has been brilliant and though I am not normally one for self promotion (though you are getting two doses of it from me today) if you should wish to check it out then its http://savidgereads.blogspot.com/

The other reason for the absence is that as I have been hinting I have started a new project. I am searching for The Great Gay Reads. Now I don’t simply mean making a list of the best Gay Books Ever or doing a big vote, though there is voting involved. I am actually going to read through them all. This isn’t as some people may think, anything to do with Bent, though they are interested and helping, this is something I thought would be interesting in looking at what gay books are out there, what the history of gay literature is, what qualifies as a gay book and what good ones are there out there?

As a young-ish gay man I still have no idea the mass of gay works there are – though believe me I am beginning to. You can always find out what’s new and upcoming in the media because of course people are promoting it. I know there was The Big Gay Read but that was three years ago and has gone silent, it was great for some of my research though. What about the history of the gay novel and great gay novels of the past? I haven’t seen anything and believe me I have been looking. There seems to be lack of information about Gay History in this country and I want to find out more about my passion, books. (You all thought I was going to say willies and bums then didn’t you?) The great thing is I seem to have the publishers on side too!

So far the project has been undergoing a ‘test’ phase the layout has changed lots the contents keeps changing but I think it’s done now. I don’t like the header yet but it’s a work in progress and with being on a mammoth deadline I am quite pleased. What’s amazed me is the amount of emails I have already had, how have people found me? I have had some lovely emails, some fantastic suggestions, some of the ‘what gives you the right?’ emails and a little bit of homophobia, you can see some of this on the site. I am just pleased am getting traffic. The biggest shock for me has been the amount of gay books that are out there, I have wondered a few times if I may have bitten off more than I can chew! I have also been invited to and talked at a gay mans book group it’s been bizarre, but am loving it, just need to remember the day job now.

So… enough about me, me, me. I want to hear from you, you, you. Have you got a favourite gay novel, did one change your life, which ones supported you through coming out? I want to hear it all. Through the world of blogs, facebook, myspace and the likes I know there are lots of authors out there, would any of you be up for interviews, chats, suggestions? Everything is welcome email me (if you have it at my personal address) if not at greatgayreads@googlemail.com I would love to hear from you all.

Oh and the blog of course http://thegreatgayreads.blogspot.com/

Talking With Ravens

I had the weirdest dream last night. Not only was I out at a stately home with girl who I kind of stopped being friends with a few years back and having some very deep and meaningful conversations and how we shouldn’t have stopped being mates, but also it suddenly dawned on me as we were walking through the grounds that I could talk to ravens. As you do in dreams. They weren’t crows or overly large blackbirds post Christmas munching I know that much, they were definitely ravens. I used to be a bit of a bird spotter, is it time I also come clean and tell you all I used to collect stamps? Moving swiftly back on to ravens.

It got me wondering why we dream what we dream and how relevant it is to our lives. Some people believe it’s your underlying consciousness that is putting certain images or clever metaphors in your head… I am not so sure on that! I always thought of dreams as having some relevance to what you have seen in the day or heard around you. Mind you, I haven’t seen any ravens since me and the Mr went for a Christmas Day stroll to Wandsworth Common before swiftly heading back as it was rubbish and bloody cold. So why would I dream of them, I mean we have pigeons galore on our bedroom sill but the ‘coo’ rather than ‘caw’ and there is also the incessant budgie the neighbours own I want too shoot but that just forever tweets and chirps. So it couldn’t be sounds I was taking in during the night. Unless that is an ‘unkindness’ of Ravens swarmed Tooting’s rooftops last night, and yes a group of Ravens is indeed called an ‘unkindness’.

This worried me then as to what it could symbolise. Firstly there were lots of them, so this could be some evil ‘unkindness’ coming into my life, oh great. I also link them in my own head with death I think because you see them lots in graveyards, not that I spend a stupendous amount of time in graveyards if you get my drift. So I then decided to look up what dreaming of ravens means. I found the following.

If one dreamt about a raven means a symbol for a corrupt liar man.
If dreamt someone gave him a raven means he will be busy with such a man for a useless job.
If dreamt killed a raven means will overcome such a man.
If dreamt ravens gathered in a place means thieves and corrupt people will gather there.
If dreamt took or hunted a raven means will earn some money in a wrong way. Some interpreters say many ravens are a symbol for an army.
If dreamt skinned a raven means will have immoral sex with a stranger.
If dreamt killed a raven means a disaster.
If dreamt cured an injured raven means will give advice to a thief.
If dreamt found a raven and hide it means he will follow his temptations.
If dreamt a raven robbed something from him means a thief will rob something.

So none of these applied to me as no one seemed to talk to ravens until I found “if dreamt a raven spoke to him means he will be aware of news.” Well thanks for that vague reading; I think anyone who watches telly or reads a paper knows the news so really it left me none the wiser. I have to say my personal favourite raven related dream theory was this one. “If dreamt a raven was in his pants means his son will have sex with his servant.” I mean firstly why does it mean that, and secondly who dreams about ravens in their pants? Also what if you don't have a servant? In my dream I think might have hidden one behind my back (oh my goodness that means temptations – well I do eat a rather a large amount of chocolate and cheese biscuits, not together you understand) but put one down my under crackers, oh no I don’t think so.

So all in all I am left puzzled, as you possibly are reading a blog about talking ravens. Do any of you know why I might have dreamt this?

A Goodbye Letter

Dear 2008,

It’s been three days since you disappeared from my life, I know you won’t come back and I feel there are something’s that have been left unsaid. Looking back at the twelve months we shared together I think we did pretty well, we certainly did better than I expected. Your old friend 2007 had been a fairly rubbish year what with another cancer scare, a ropey year in a career I wasn’t enjoying along side a writing career that I wasn’t sure about, plus of course after loosing Bong I had written off the next full year. You really had a lot going against you. As with anyone new I meet I start with no trust and faith whatsoever and take if from there. Yet now I feel sadness that you’re gone lots happened to us together, both good and bad, that was very memorable and you helped me make big decisions and changes.

The high light of the year has to be getting married swiftly followed by the miracle twins who have now made themselves very well known in the Savidge Family. Yes Iris and Maisie were indeed two amazing gifts in the form or gorgeous cousins that were bestowed upon me during our time together. I met many new faces with you that I now cherish. Through Polari we met some wonderful new faces Paul, David, Stella, Clayton and of course one of my dearest and closest friends Dom. Of course there are many others through various ways who I have met and delight in, you know who you are, from new faces through myspace and blogs to people I had long lost touch with until the joy of facebook brought us back together. Back to the wedding though, you saw me on my happiest day with all those (who could make it) I love being with me on an extremely special day. Boy did it make me feel like I had grown up though. I wasn’t expecting that. You’ve seen my career improve and finally found me in a role that I am good at and totally love, oh and thank you for the ‘book job’ my house is becoming the library of my dreams.

The biggest loss was that of Hoyden who is missed everyday, though the goldfish are delightful and a lot less maintenance they lack the character or the black and white furry feline friend who got so sick. Of course their have been lows and no I don’t mean giving up the fags that was quite easy. The credit crisis came in your time though you had already taught me the value of money and shown me the error in my ways early on so in some ways I was prepared. You taught me many things actually gave me confidence through the meeting and greeting of work.

I stuck with the resolutions (all two of them) that I made to you when we started out. I said ‘yes’ to almost everything within reason whereas before I had been far more inclined to say no. This meant facing my fears some big ones that now seem small like flying, wow we have travelled together America, Switzerland, Paris and Barcelona where sadly you deserted me. Small ones that now seem big such as telling certain people they were out of order when no one else would and some of these people being very close to me. They have all worked out for the better and what a learning curve. You have watched my confidence grow though I hope not to arrogant levels, I still am not the best in new company but I will work on it. You taught me to not accept the unacceptable one example which probably sounds banal is that having a leak in your roof for 12 months and no fridge for three means that you should move house. In a funny way as well as saying yes more you also told me when saying no is just as important.

My other resolution of living life to the full I think I have done as much as I could. I have no regrets at all from our time together and that isn’t something that you can say that often after twelve months. So thank you. I am sure there are many things I have missed out and sorry if that’s the case, there have been a lot of things we’ve witnessed and its hard to keep track. One thing that I will carry over to your replacement is a new resolution to stop procrastinating, something I should have tried harder at with you. Like Matt Smith with David Tennant (sorry had to get this in some how) 2009 has got a tough act to follow, how will it be done I guess we will see.

So thank you 2008 you were great. I’ll miss you a lot but treasure your memory fondly.

Simon x

P.S
Sorry it’s taken me a few days to write this I guess it has taken me a long time for it to sink in that you are really gone. That and possibly some of the procrastination I mentioned before.

The Boys Are Back In Town

The Conclusion of the Honeymoon Diaries

So I am back, back from the sunny delights of Spain to the rain and gloom of London. As we were landing I had the briefest thought that the pilot had been wrong saying that London was two degrees and covered in mist, he was right. Mind you Stanstead is not quite London and it did clear up on the Express Train (how is an hour and several stops express?) but it’s not the hot sun of Barcelona.

When we left Barcelona there was no sun in sight as it was the delicious hour of 5am, that’s 4am British time and thanks to the lovely Joan who we had befriended from Boyberry (a DVD rental and internet shop with cabins is all I will say) we had a tour of the gay area of Barcelona and all the bars and hotels who completely spoiled us with booze meaning that we ended up going to bed at 1am very drunk and still feeling slightly merry at 5am.

I slept on the coach to Reus and when I awoke at the airport it hit me I was leaving. Our last day had been very leisurely, mainly as on New Years Day everything was shut. We went up Montjuic and I braved a cable car and then strolled down the mountain to the marina for a final wander around the town via the Picasso Museum. Picasso is my ultimate favourite artist, I just love his work and after the disaster of the closed museum in Paris, I had been patiently waiting to see the Barcelona museum. We hadn’t gone up until now as Mr B doesn’t enjoy art galleries and there were a lot of other things on offer. We got there… it was closed. I think the heavens might be telling me something. I didn’t have a tantrum though, just sighed in the resolve that it wasn’t meant to be, plus gives me another reason to go back to one of my favourite cities.

So now the honeymoon is over what happens next? They never tell you that in fairy tales, in fact they never go past the wedding and ‘all living happily ever after’. I mean we have a curry and then Celebrity Big Brother and an early night lined up, I am not sure if that was what happened with Snow White, Elizabeth Bennett (oh come on it’s almost a fairy tale) or Cinderella. Though I was obsessed with fairy tales (don’t think the irony has been missed) as a 26 (almost 27) year old cynic I know happy endings don’t always happen. Watch this space I guess. Actually what was nice when coming through customs was that the guard, who are normally formidable and look at you as if you have no right to come to the UK even if it’s your homeland let alone if its not, said that we looked ‘incredibly happy together, it must have been a lovely honeymoon’ and it was and a wonderful way to start a new year.

Now it's back to the real world, work, bills and I have also been dared and accepted to do one of the biggest projects in ages, nothing grand, but something big and quite special. I'll probably blog about that over the weekend once its finishing touches are done, plus I really need to work on my New Years Resolutions. Until then here are some pictures and then I will stop boring you with all things Barcelona I promise.

The gorgeous hotel room

The husband on the beach

Me on top of Gaudi's Casa Mila

New Years Eve 2008 drunk on very cheap lager in the marina, just as it should be

Mr B having Champagne Breakfast to celebrate the New Year eight hours into it

A pair of complete honeymoon tourists (but very happy ones)

I'll stop there as could go on forever.

Feliz Año Nuevo

Part Three of the Honeymoon Diaries

Watching the reflections of fireworks on the ocean, the streets smelling of Sangria and the noise of many revellers and men selling "cheap beer peoples cheap beer". The countdown was over and everyone was yelling and dancing and kissing and hugging. The silver fish in the ocean couldnt give a damn and carried on their frantic and eye catching display of hunting for food, streaks of silver everywhere. That was how 2009 started and hopefully its a sign of things to come. I have never had a New Years away from England before so this is quite something.

One odd thing we are hoping was part fo the festivities, bar letting fireworks off in the middle of the street regardless of where they were aimed or who at, was a weird sight we noted on La Ramblas. A huge crowd had circled round some men throwing all the used bottles in his direction though not at him. He then shouted at everyone asking them to hit him and throw more and harder. I found this very odd and slightly archaic, but then we were in the gothic area of town. If anyone knows what this ritual is please let me know!!

I wont re-live the highs, lows and changes of 2008 yet, I am far too busy enjoying being completely lazy and chilled and forgetting all my cares and though am shamed to admit it being a complete tourist. Yes I ended up on those tourist buses I hate with the earphones in snuggled up to Mr B with the excuse that all I had on was my bloody cardigan. Mr B looked mortified and said ´but baby its D&G!" I didnt realise that meant they could automatically be worn in the artic. The weather has been fabulous, serious sunshine, I have the well known "Beetroot Savidge" face going on.

It seemed weird when we suddenly got dolled up, both remembering to wear red underwear as is the spanish tradion at New Year, and were ready for a night on the town that what we ere getting dolled up for was the end of 2008 its run by so quick.

I did notice yesterday that there has been a shift in me somewhere during the past 12 months and yesterday I seemed to throw caution to the wind in hitting my fears right where it hurts. I went up a total of 8 lifts (and back down again )not including the hotel ones, I went on two funicular railways (I find the ´fun´part in their name highly ironic) that were very bloody steep and very bloody rickety. I went to the top fo a huge church all 12 stories on a mountain 500,000 feat above sea level with nothing higher than the neighbouring snow capped mountains. I also went on 4 rollercoasters on said mountain. I think in 2009 forget "Beetroot Savidge " you´d better get ready to be calling me "No Fear Savidge!"

Right am off to recooperate with Anna Karenina on the roof by and possibly in the pool! Hope you and yours had a fabulous one? Wishing you all every happiness in 2009!!

Parrot Procreation and Press Prize Pull Offs

Part Two Of The Honeymoon Diaries

"Look baby... they are doing rude things... look baby... look sixty nine... look baby he´s going for it!" Mr B it appeared was rather enthralled in the parrots of Barcelona´s parks. These were not the ones in the Zoo we were heading for, I know I know you go to a new city and head for the Zoo as it was it wasnt free so I wasnt going in! Now I have seen parrots in Hampstead, Kew but nothing as loud or frankly as racy as this. Mr B was thinking of home as we strolled through the palm trees gazing a provocative parrots and eating mango gelato´s. Parrots in Brazil are apparently much more common, much bigger and make much more noise... show offs.

The stroll was much needed as we spent the first 4 hours of our sunny Tuesday indoors. First port of call was the tourism office, no not the tourist information, goes straight to the head honcho´s does Mr Savidge. The wait for almost an hour in reception was worth it after a delightful coffee and natter myself and my beloved left the building with press packs and most importantly press passes. Big perk of the job... well there has to be some. This means we now have free entry to all attractions and forms of transport yippee!

Sadly being press doesnt mean you can queue jump (selfish) and so we queued for almost 40mins just to get into the Sagrada Familia, we decided not to bother queueing the two hours to get a lift to the top, naturally with my loathing of heights I was gutted! It has changed since I last came 13 years ago, but not masses, I will definately come back to see it done in 2020, a little bit of a hopeful date of completion me thinks. Its a complete masterpiece though.

Post parrot porn we went not to the Cathedral, the Picasso Museum, one of the mountains. No we went to the Aquarium and despite my snobish ´why´when Mr B pleaded I am glad we did. You dont get to pet penguins in London! It was awesome. Alexs second choice wasnt. I dont think I would have enjoyed ´Dinosaurs Alive in 3D´even if it had been in English. A chocolate donut covered in mint choc chip shut me up!

We came out to seriously hardcore glorious sunshine, and so we hit the beach. I will tell you all my issue with sand another time but I braved it and we frollicked, well strolled, along the shore and for the first time it felt totally like I think a honeymoon should. Hand in hand in the sand, that will be my fondest memory of 2008, or possibly when Mr B got stuck as a rogue wave sucked him in. I laughed and laughed it was just bliss and there was me thinking I would kill him with so much time just us two. I currently dont want to come back! After braving sand I was on such a high I thought I should brave heights and go up the twelve floors to get the cable car from one side of the sea to the other, incredibly high, incredibly wobbly, sadly it had closed, again I was gutted hahaha!

Note: I would talk about dinner but it was so bad (I actually demanded to see the manager which is so not me) I think I should leave you on a high rather than a moan. After dinner we swam on the roof, in a pool obviously, looking at the stars and the moon and freezing our bits off...maybe thats my favourite memory of 2008????

Oh and as am a day behind in blogs, and on a themed note, have a very very Happy Nude Year!

The Barcelona Burger ID Scandal

Part One of the Honeymoon Diaries

Could the honeymoon period of the honeymoon already be over? Yesterday morning I had the strangest feeling it could, then I finally took my extra strong valium and everything was fine. Yes the belated honeymoon is here and thanks to Ryanair it almost ended in tears before it had even begun. Their website wouldn’t let us book an additional bag for some reason, and as Mr B is from a non EU country we couldn’t check in online meaning we have now been charged an addition forty quid each way. (i cant do pound signs on this Spanish keyboard and if my spelling is bad, well slightly worse than normal its because the spell check thinks everything am writing is wrong.) So after that we hoped it would all be plane sailing (geddit?) sadly we were delayed, delayed, flight changed, flight cancelled, terminal changed and then suddenly in the air… just as my drugs wore off. The flight though bar the vile yellow and blue theme and horrific endless selling and jingles was great. I have to say I thanked the lord I had 4 weeks of The Archers to catch up on downloaded on my iPod, I think I have finally found the answer to my flying phobia... Big doses of Ambridge Farm.

So finally yesterday afternoon we arrived in Barcelona, well when I say Barcelona I actually mean Reus. Reus is not Barcelona, don’t believe a word anyone at Easyjet or Ryanair say Reus IS SIMPLY NOT IN BARCELONA. We know this from the almost two hours it took to get from Reus to Barcelona at the small cost of thirty euro´s. We musn´t complain though, we are here safe and sound. We finally got to the hotel at 7pm meaning we had missed a day. It is an amazing hotel (will do a photo blog when back) the breakfast this morning was amazing, the room has different themed lightings and everything works via switches next to the bed, very Austin Powers.

Like pure tourists we were no sooner rid of our luggage than asking the receptionist the way to a McDonalds. We were starving and after endless journeys we´d had no more than a blinking cheese and ham toastie all day. Now we know that when you are away from home things arent quite the same and I normally like that. The chicken burger thing they are doing here, for example, beats anything in a maccy d´s back home. When you come to pay you dont expect the words "do you have any ID?" Fortunately we did.

This kept happening and for a while Mr B and myself were thinking ´wow, we must look so young´a lovely lady put us right in the local supermarket where we had gone for hotel must haves water, juice, crisps and chocolates... oh and a new favourite ´Don Simon Sangria´. She told us "we have to ask as your cards are foreign and their is so much theft in Barcelona streets we never know if its yours or not!" Well that filled us with christmas cheer and hope. We laughed about it, and the day in general on the way back to the hotel. We realised we were shattered, well it had been an eventful 24 hours. We were in bed asleep by 9pm UK time.

Now well slept, full of cheeses and meats, I am caffined up and raring to go and have more adventures. I think today is the big massive cathedrale and the seaside!

Oh note: A certain person said that bloggiong about being away is the biggest invite for burglars at your flat, so any thieving b**stards around... we have flat sitters in! I thank you!

Chrimbo Catch Up

In the time it takes to run a bath, in what seems to have been the only free hour for weeks and weeks, I thought I would catch up with you all and firstly wish you a belated Merry Christmas (insert picture of Mr B and myself looking like silly elves – oh I have). We both have some form of mild food poisoning at the moment so in the flesh don’t look so chipper… and no it was not my Christmas cooking.
I did have a small myspace holiday as it was all just getting too much but I am back. I hope you are all well and had a delicious Christmas? Christmas Day was a very quiet affair this year. Just me and Mr B at home for our first Christmas as husband and husband, and actually it was perfect apart from a small glitch when I opened my presents and already had them all. Moving swiftly on, I really enjoyed things being so simple. I know Christmas is a family time and though I love my mother and step dad when it comes to being cooped up in their log cabin (though idyllic) in the middle of nowhere in Shropshire with two teenagers and two under elevens, certain cracks begin to show in our relationship and things can get a bit tense. This year saw me at possibly my calmest. I even managed to pull off my first ever proper Christmas dinner. The husband said that my maple syrup glazed roast carrots and parsnips were heavenly and my brussel sprouts, chestnuts and pancetta (or bacon – thanks Nigella) were a taste sensation, which from him being a bit of a food buff was quite the compliment. The highest compliment of all was that he said it was better than my mum’s, naturally I told her this and she has now decided to up the ‘evil mother in law routine’ for 2009.

Speaking of my mother she came for the weekend before Christmas and we had the loveliest time. There was the London Eye, well Mr B took the children on the London Eye whilst my mother and I sat in a café and caught up. This was the first time we had been alone together, no kids or partners or anyone, for THREE years, and it was really nice sipping and gossiping. We then, thanks to the ex, got tickets for Panto after a delicious Italian in Wimbledon, if the amount of wine I drank in said evening hadn’t riddled my brain I would recommend the venue but I have forgotten the name. Cinderella was good, Gareth Gates could sing but not act and Stacey from Gavin & Stacey (I don’t know her real name) could act but not sing, somehow it worked. That could of course be down to the amount of alcohol we drank my mother is certainly using that for the excuse as why she slept through a lot of it. The ugly stepsisters stole the show.

In other news bulletins from the busy goings on in December; I have been working on the new issue of Bent and need Bears, yes big gay bears please, please contact me if you’re interested. Am currently thrilled as February will be my 4th cover feature in a year (by this I mean the cover picture feature, I have actually had at least two of my features on the cover every month), which in my first proper year I think isn’t half bad and I don’t normally blow my own trumpet but am feeling quite proud.

I found my own porn double. Now I am seriously not making this up. For the Bear issue Triga sent me some gifts and in one I was confronted with almost myself on screen. To say it was odd was an understatement, to then have your husband ask ‘oh my god have you done a porn film’ and give you funny looks for the rest of the day is bizarre. He did also do this with Mark from Westlife only then he wanted to know if secretly I was in a boyband. I think the lesson is my husband is crazy.

I took the lovely Dom Agius to see Boy George who was awful. The venue was dire and so were his singing and song choices. I was really disappointed as had been really looking forward to it. We left before the interval and went for a beer or two and a gossip in the Kings Arms instead, much better.

I did some temping, as a) research b) was bored c) wanted extra Christmas cash which after tax was royally pointless, during my extended Christmas break from the magazine. I realised I don’t really like anyone other than me being my boss but did invent some fun games to play such as;
- Spot the gay staff
- How to look really busy when you’re not doing anything and no one is giving you anything to do or any eye contact as your not really worth it
- Getting lost, well it takes up time
- Staring off a member of staff who spills tea everywhere until they understand via the power of mind reading/facial expression
that ‘no I am not going to clean that up, you made the mess, you f**king clean it yourself’ all whilst somehow smiling sweetly
I think maybe I should stop in case I ever decide to do this malarkey again and someone from one of the companies spots me and reads this! It was interesting though and I did come away with four chapters under my belt and three wonderful characters. Plus it paid for all Mr B’s presents whilst leaving me able to get myself a Blackberry so it was worth it in its own way.

I went off the Christmas tangent there sorry. Well the bath is run and I need a long relaxing soak, so again a belated Happy Christmas and I again promise to be better at blogging I think everyone is just too manic at the mo. Hope you all ate drank and were merry and got all the presents you wished for!

Birthdays and Anniversaries

I have been meaning to write a few blogs this week but it all seems to have gone by ridiculously quickly and what with birthdays, Girls Aloud events, a fabulous strop at said event (not by me, but I don’t tell tales), being frozen for 90% of the week, catching the ‘bug’ and some antics involving theft of a traffic cone its been quite a week and its only Friday morning. I am sadly still feeling like death warmed up but am back in the blogosphere.

Last Sunday was Mr B’s birthday; it also happens that the same day as our anniversary. Yes Mr B was lucky enough to have me pretty much in a big drunken bow as his 27th birthday present when we came face to face on a dancefloor and I frowned at him… I was trying to get to the bar. The dancefloor in question is one that is soon to be knocked down just like our wedding ‘masked ball’ venue will be... is that telling us something? Anyway people always say ‘oh its so romantic that you met on his birthday’ (unless you happen to be my Gran who reminded me that my mother met her first husband on his birthday and he died before they were married seven months, she’s special my Gran). You either get the ‘romantic view’ or you get people who make vomit signs, which is what I would do if it wasn’t me involved in all honesty.

It does have a certain romance about it, well when you tell people that is, and true enough some people could use the word fate or destiny or simply ‘a sweet coincidence’. In reality not so much, especially after being together a while, the novelty wears of and instead you are left with a very strange unbalancing equilibrium of present buying and over compensating. For example the rules are a bit off, I mean you shouldn’t really have to be buying someone else presents on your birthday should you? There is of course a massive row waiting to be had over who will pay the bill over lunch and/or dinner, with one of you wanting to buy as an anniversary or birthday treat, the other trying to pay as an anniversary treat, it gets very confusing and it gets very vexing.

There is also the problem that one of you might not like birthdays at it brings back some sad memories and makes you think about where your life is going. On my birthday getting older isn’t really on my mind as I have hit the spirits by 11am in an aim to get the damn day over as quickly as possible as intoxicated as possible. This year was a hard one as it was the first without Bong. Mr B still misses his mother so much and when no one else in your family even bothers to call I think it made him feel particularly uncelebratory. Now this leads to one of you wanting to spend the day in bed curtains closed and shutting out the world. The other one of you is off running out to buy a birthday breakfast and some final presents and being all excited about the day ahead filling it with plans and expectations. It leads to rows, irritation and in the case of this year sulks in the bath, refusals to go out at all in the evening and a chicken being thrown. I won’t say who did what but I did one of the above.

I wondered whether it was the fact that the day was an anti-climax. You know, when you have things to celebrate I feel that I should be on cloud nine all day – not realistic but that’s the way that my mind works. I mean on my wedding day I was so insistent everyone else was having a good time it took me a while to relax and have one myself. By 7pm we weren’t speaking, he was lurking downstairs whilst I prowled upstairs. It wasn’t the fun we intended. Now I don’t know how it happened, I think I got the giggles over a stray piece of chicken that fell from the ceiling and landing on Mr B but before we knew it we were laughing hysterically all the way to the curry house. We didn’t fight over the bill, we simply relaxed and remembered the most important thing, not the presents or the ‘forced best day’ just being together and ourselves, it just so happened one of us had gotten a small bit older and maybe should have known better, sorry I had to get that in there.

Surgery

Some people I know think that I am crazy to be having surgery next year. Particularly after a cancerous few years, these involved five operations in all, none of which were nice. However I am always up for something new, and am always up for something free (though I don't mind paying - like I am to have a new set of teeth in Brazil next Feb) and when you get offered the chance for some free cosmetic surgery well why say no plus as a project that's not for Bent and for something bigger and more visual (that's all am saying) it would be good for my career - not that you need surgery to be a roving reporter etc.

I had been told I could have anything done I wanted up to a certain budget. The ones that they had sent me the facts on were 'Intelligent Lipo', 'Non Evasive Face Lift', 'Botox', 'Chemical Peel' and 'Macrolane To The Penis' the latter didn't even seem bearable no matter what macrolane was. I never got to find out actually.

So off I went to see a specialist thinking 'oh this could be fun, you don't get the chance of this everyday'. I didn't expect it to open up the question 'how happy am I with my own body' which is a veritable can of worms. Well liposuction is of course and instant tick box, especially as this is a new form of liposuction that means less custardy lumps and bruising, yay, yay and thrice yay. That was not a hard choice to make. Botox, well why not lets give it a whirl. When I went to see the surgeon who is doing a non evasive facelift (no knives, no staples and only lasts six months) I didn't realise my faults would be pointed out so calmly and slightly bluntly. I am all for bluntness, if you are my friend... otherwise back off.

Bags under my eyes I could deal with, I am after all in quite a stressful job and at the moment doing two issues of the magazine in less time that we do one I have been loosing sleep. I don't give a monkey's about laughter lines as they show I have a sense of humour and laugh a lot. 'You know you could do with a nose job' he said 'looks like it could be smoothed out'. I wanted to tell him this is from when one of my delightful ex-boyfriends and I ended up in a fight and my nose was broken by him and broken back by a very handsome nurse and that actually I learnt a valuable lesson that day about men and this was a scar to remember it. I looked in the mirror, god do I have an ugly nose, self doubt started creeping in!

A few rooms later sat in my pants I felt like Samantha from Sex and the City when she gets covered in crosses going to see what she should have done to her face. Well this was my whole body, I looked like a noughts and crosses jumbo annual. This was thanks to Liposuction Man who I personally felt had gone a bit far. 'You could have laser surgery on those stretch marks' no, I haven't had a baby but yes after being on some certain drugs and lots of bed rest I am not the slender spring chicken I once was but life goes on and at least I am not dead. My patience was lessening.

'Oh and that scar on your back, we could get rid of that. The scar on my back is from a growth being taken from my spine, they filled it with a foot of gauze I will have you know... very impressive! I call this my war wound, yes its ugly some scar tissue is but it reminds me of something, well in theory it does, I cant actually see it most of the time. It reminds me of what was a very scary and worrying time in my life and how the horrid little vain nbitchy queen I was grew up and changed for the better - well I hope so anyways.

One thing that did lift my spirits, stroke my ego and make me chuckle (reluctantly at the time) was when he said 'so… will you be wanting the macrolane to the penis…' we both looked down to the offending article and he said 'oh no I see we might not need that' now as flattered as I was (I gave him the biggest smirk I could muster) I did want to say to him 'that nothing compared to when they thought I had something cancerous down there and the swelling caused the x-ray man to snigger'. I also wanted to add 'I have had one operation down there and seriously you couldn't pay me to do anything to that, unless death was the only other option'. I just got dressed and left in a flurry or grumpyness, so much so I never asked what the heck macrolane was.

Having taken some time to think on it I am still having a little lipo and Botox though just for research purposes you understand; I will still look exactly the same only slightly expressionless for a few weeks, but for now at least I am leaving it at that. What made me make this decision? Well...

After a bath and a soaking sulk plus some serious scrubbing to remove the surgeons felt tip marks from all over me I stood in front of the mirror and I thought 'do you know what, I might not be the buffest or thinnest of men, I might have scars and marks but my body tells a history of me and I think I like it just the way it is.' I have nothing against those people who choose to have full on surgery in fact I am going to be meeting a fair few, I am just not letting myself be put under pressure by any one or any surgeon to go that bit further.

The Case of the Missing Parcels

I feel like I might have to become one of my all time hero’s and literary icons Sherlock Holmes for deep in the Tooting massive something odd and quite worrying seems to be happening. Letters are arriving at my home but now a whopping ten parcels have apparently ‘gone missing’. Should they have all been sent on the same day then I might think ‘oh a post box was set fire to by ruffians at a specific address’ or ‘oh dear maybe a postman or post van spontaneously combust’ but no as its on various different dates of these being sent it appears this isn’t the case.

In fact as Royal Mail have told me ‘if it hasn’t been 15 days then it’s not lost, some post can take 15 days’. Does this not scream of being slightly wrong? I thought we paid for first class stamps in order that they turned up the next day… not within the next 15? Maybe this is a secret only people working at Royal Mail know, like a secret handshake or non-specific nod? I think if this is the case it should be made slightly more public.

I normally don’t worry about post however one parcel is over one hundred pounds worth of books. I know, I know the sender should have sent them recorded delivery minimal, especially as they are now saying they won’t send replacements, I won’t mention names but Bloomsbury books you know who you are, whoops did I just out them? One email did make me laugh ‘seeing as we sent them to the address stated it seems pointless to send them again as they won’t turn up’ I can oddly see the logic I am still incredibly unimpressed. However its not just them its several other publishers and also some PR firms, I am wondering if the post man is going around with fabulous hardback or twenty resting on his trolley around Tooting whilst humming to Same Difference, Britney or Kanye West (aren’t I eclectic) blasting through his headphones?

There is a darker side to this that I am unsure as to whether to even open the can of worms to. All the parcels had ‘Bent Magazine’ written on, now I don’t play the homophobic card often its just seems odd that post merely addressed to me seems to arrive as long as it’s no thicker than a bill. It’s all very peculiar. They haven’t gone to head office in a random London = Leeds confusion, I have checked. Of course they could be sat in the sorting office with no ‘sorry we missed you card’ having been slipped through my slot, or maybe it went to another same numbered house on this road that is actually a separate road (complex but true) or maybe the shop has it next door? I just can’t imagine ten parcels getting lost on separate days can you?

With that I shall get my cape, pipe and deerstalker and go and investigate.

Special Needs Pets

I don’t now if anyone else watched this last night on the delightful channel 4 but it was one of the oddest TV shows I have seen for ages. ‘Special Needs Pets’ looking to the households who look after, well, pets with special needs. Now I am a bit of a cat lover and quite happily confess that I will possibly end up in a bungalow smelling of cat wee surrounded by forty cats (heaven help me when I do a feature at Battersea Dogs Home next week) in my jungle like back garden and home.

This show worried me, really worried me. Not in the fact that quite clearly these people loved their pets for indeed every single owner seemed greatly concerned for their pets but in some cases this bordered on keeping their pet for their own emotions and not for the fairness of the pet. Some stories were lovely for example Katie the Jack Russell whose brain wasn’t sending the right messages to her legs and was toppling over quite often. She was bought a wonderful dog like wheelchair for her back legs and was soon charging around the garden like a new born pup rather than a elderly dog and using a stair lift to get anywhere her wheels wouldn’t let her. I also loved the lady who might become a small icon of mine who was a veterinary nurse and who saved cats with special needs, she had twelve but wasn’t ‘a crazy cat lady, so don’t you say it’. I would say for ten of the cats it was fine, for two of them I had a moment of sadness one dragged its back legs and one just couldn’t walk properly and kept falling over. However she worked for a vet and so I thought she must have a good insight.

Two cases completely disturbed me. No not the masturbating parrot or the parrot who was balding from grief of the loss of one of his owners – did you know parrots are the pet most prone to mental problems? You learn something new every day.

The cases that disturbed me were one of a rabbit who was paralysed from the waist down and wore a nappy couldn’t walk and could only be kept in a fairly small cage, wrong, completely and utterly wrong. The woman made the valid point that you wouldn’t put a disabled person down, you could argue back some people choose to euthanasia in certain circumstances. The one out of all of them that to me seemed the cruellest was some idiot posh accountant whose cat had a horrific accident. The cat was left unable to go to the toilet by itself bar occasionally wetting itself. So the owner would pummel and push its stomach three times a day until it did its business. Now I have owned a lot of cats but even if you haven’t, it doesn’t take a genius to work out that if the cat is screaming and screaming while you have to empty its stomach its not really having a good quality of life… don’t even get me started on its nappy wearing. The owner said the cat had ‘dignity’ funny it didn’t want to cuddle him ever.

I know how hard it is to make the decision to put a pet down, I had to make the decision earlier in the year with Hoyden as she was clearly unhappy even though the vet said she could last a few more months, said vet did also make me feel like the worst cat owner in history for the second time, I’ll come back to the first shortly. It was horrible to choose whether your pet lives or dies but you need to be completely unselfish and think what’s best for the animal. I chose what was right for Hoyden even though it killed me inside.

There was one other couple I felt sorry for and that was the couple with the overweight cat Boris, I think it was called Boris? Their vet, like mine (this was when he first made me feel like the worst owner on earth with Thisbe Hoyden’s sister) told them that they were over feeding their incredibly fat cat and that they were killing it. I got really angry at this as Thisbe was huge, she made floorboards creak in fact I will add a picture so you all know how fat she was, and every diet I put her on she stayed fat. I played with her till the cows came home and to no avail. As you can now see…
People and pets, what can you do?

Under The Depths of London Bridge

I remember on Saturday night thinking quite clearly as I stepped down into the dark ‘the things I do for bloody charity’ that was in the 20 minutes calm before Polly, Mr B and Michelle were all screaming their heads off, I wasn’t screaming of course – far too butch and brave for that. You’re right I am completely lying I was screaming and a few seconds before the doors to the tomb closed you might have possibly heard me mutter ‘why did we f-ing go first, I might s**t myself’ it was by then of course too late.

I was of course back in the London Tombs I obviously can’t keep away, even after almost wetting myself with fear walking round the London Bridge Experience upstairs in the daytime with a torch and then screaming my head off down in the tombs where things come to get you. I don’t know whether going back down knowing what was coming made things worse or not? To see Polly and Michelle scream that much was a pure delight even if it did include Michelle walking backwards on my toes every ten minutes but not letting me let go of her, it was like a strange for of torture for us all. Last time was just the two of us which was bad but in a group its worse, in one room we were all screaming… at nothing but ourselves. Corporations should definitely take newly bound teams down there; I was hugging men I had never met before in fear, well that was my excuse.

The tombs were discovered when they were building what was going to be a Dickensian Restaurant Attraction. They were digging out one of the many vaults under London Bridge to build a wine cellar when they found skulls and bones, after tests were conducted they found that they were two different types, some were plague victims and they had come across a plague pit, others further down were skulls only with a hole in the roof… traitors for traitors gate. No sooner had these been discovered than odd things started happening and eventually a group of big burly builders quit in fear. (For the sceptical I have seen the invoices for jobs half done and the letters.) So the owners decided to make it into a scream attraction, I advise everyone to go its brilliant.

St Johns Ambulance had setup the whole spooky sleepover to raise money in a new and fresh way and it really worked. The first part of the evening was as have said going on the two levelled attraction before a delightful buffet. We then had time with a proper paranormal investigation team where Mr B and Polly looked completely unimpressed but Michelle and I got dowsing and also became an interrogation squad of sorts to the poor medium. Well I have always wanted to ask a medium so many questions so I didn’t hold back. I couldn’t work out if he thought I was being serious when I asked ‘can you switch it off, I mean they would talk to you all the time otherwise and you might be on the toilet or something?’ It was a genuine question, I remember before Bong died and he knew it was coming, he said ‘I will come and hover around you know’ I said ‘remember there is a time and a place’.

We then got a second walk around with Ghost Stories; the actor was really good the choice of stories wasn’t. I mean The Picture of Dorian Gray is a great story but is it a ghost story… not so much. There were some great stories just none that actually scared me, but in one of the rooms something did scare me. I got what I can only describe as a ‘bwuuurrrrgggggghhhhh’ really loudly in my ear and almost… well you can guess. No one was behind me, Mr B thought he had heard it sat on the floor next to me, I felt awful as I kicked him thinking it was him. We had a break and then did a séance in the depths of the tombs, they didn’t want to play, but then three members of the circle fell asleep and it was only bloody 3am!

We got back upstairs and realised that by sleepover they meant sleep, in my head it was ghost hunting until dawn. Everyone started scuttling off to sleep in safe warm rooms! Fortunately James the Manager I met before was on shift and after asking him a very important question (who had been kicked off the X Factor) as he had the internet. He then asked if we wanted a private tour just the four of us and him. It was great we went into private areas, walked the tombs in the dark was definitely my favourite hour and a half of the evening. Pretty soon though we were flagging so got out or sleeping bags curled up as a four in one of the dark spooky rooms and tried to sleep. I found the companionship of two suits of armour slightly off putting… but we coped and before we knew it, it was 8am, we’d managed it and we were hardcore.

Now if you want to sponsor us as its all done you still can (hint, hint) just visit http://www.justgiving.com/theghoulies you have till January, but the sooner the better lol.

The Blindest of Dates

I have never really considered what it would be like to be blind; I have considered what it would be like to be deaf as one of ex-boyfriends Pete was deaf. My mum dated someone very briefly who was blind, well I think she dated him I might be wrong they might have been ‘good friends’, and I remember dancing with him like a crazy thing at a Wedding disco, he also told me of his parachute jumps. I suppose with meeting such a positive role model I didn’t think being blind could be that difficult, I suppose I thought it would be dark obviously however now the idea of not being able to read a book or use the internet or see my little siblings smiling faces.

Two things have made me think about blindness recently one was the fact that my mother at the ripe young age of 42 has found out that she is getting early cataracts (which could be hereditary) and could in her old age go blind. There have been a lot of tears partly because my mum still believes she is nineteen, she had a girls only disco in the pub she is converting for her last birthday and is throwing a concert for my step dad for his 50th in their field. Rock on ha! The other tears I think were frustration and also the idea that reading would one day not happen. My Gran reminds us that you will never read all the books you want to in your life. I can imagine my favourite writer releasing a book and me popping my clocks a week before, bugger. I digress… my mothers current state has made me think about how I would feel in that situation.

The other thing that made me think was when I went out for dinner at ‘Dans Le Noir’ last Wednesday for a function. The premise behind ‘Dans Le Noir’ is eating in the very pitchest of pitch black. The staff who serve you are all blind and the idea is you not only have no idea what you are eating but that you also experience what it is like to be blind. It was one of the most eye opening experiences of my life, quite literally, and also taught me a lot about myself.

Now I admit when I am in a group of people I am someone who watches rather than jumps headlong into a conversation. I am not nervous about meeting new people, it wouldn’t be advisable in my job and actually oddly at work I come out of my own more to build a rapport with an interviewee. With my friends I am quite loud blunt and up for a laugh. However in the pitch black, I swear you can see nothing, I found myself not only checking my own personal space but also going even more insular. Ten minutes before at the bar with a few cocktails in me I had been nattering to everyone. Now sat at the table I was saying nothing and actually sat elbow on the table (no one could see my bad manners) chin resting on my wrist and hand in front of my mouth. I felt completely vulnerable.

Now when you are blinded your other senses magnify, the first few minutes after having followed the waitress loosing all sense of where I was and then having to work out how to sit on my chair and not fall off it I was astounded by how loud everything was. It was completely off putting. I just couldn’t think straight, I couldn’t hear who was next to me from someone on the other side of the restaurant because everyone talks louder to speak over everyone else. It almost makes your headache. I then spent a good ten minutes working out where everything was making sure I could feel where my glasses and cutlery where, I noticed I redid this every three minutes. It teaches you a lot about yourself and gives you a very rare insight that I will take away with me.

There was of course the food. Now while I enjoyed the idea of not knowing what I was eating the reality wasn’t so sweet, well apart from the desert. I did make the valid point that blind people do know what food they like and would choose something they wanted. However being up for anything I gave it a go. The starter started well… oh a lovely salad and then I bit into what I can only describe as warm crispy fat and not in a pleasant cracking kind of way, in a deep fried lard kind of way. I admit I might have heaved a little. The main course was better lamb, vegetables and some lovely chicken like mushrooms, kidney I can cope with liver I cannot, weirdly I could tell what all the flavours were, well so I thought. In fact bar a small incident of thinking a lime was a tomato it was fine. The pudding of Mango Sorbet and Chocolate Mousse was a doddle.

It wasn’t until the next day when I found the starter was foie gras and that the ‘chicken flavoured mushrooms’ were in fact snails that I suddenly felt slightly violated. It was certainly an experience though and bar a moment of panicking that ‘what if I go back in the light and I have gone blind’ I have never been so relieved to see the harsh glare of a light bulb. At least it prepared me for 12 hours locked in a tomb under London last Saturday night though... more on that soon.

Deidre Savidge... What A Coincidence!

I have never been a great believer in fate, although many people think my meeting my now husband was fate. I had been drinking at the Christmas Party at a previous employer’s from lunchtime and at midnight my assistant decided we must go to GAY. I wasn’t up for it to be honest. However, there my eyes met (over a sticky dirty drunken dance floor) Mr B’s and something fizzled. Mr B himself had been dragged out for his birthday by his friends when he had wanted a quiet night in. I guess both of us being dragged to a place we didn’t want to go and meeting is a kind of fate. Fate however is meant to be quite romantic and not contain the sentences of ‘sorry, who are you?’ or ‘seriously you don’t have to call me or swap numbers’ the next morning, but Mr B persisted but I have gone off on a slight tangent.

I am a believer in coincidence and I dont mean the 'what a coincidence' of Muriels father and Deidre Chambers. For example the fact that when Polly (my best friend of 23 years) and myself became best friends at school we found out my Mum and her Dad were at the same school together in Matlock, more of Matlock later. If I hadn’t been a believer in coincidence before this week has proven it.

On Saturday I went to see Blowing Whistles (which was ok not great, I do now have a large crush on Paul Keating though) and whilst Mr B took time to have a fag in the interval, I was reading my book when I heard ‘Simon!’ I looked around and there was the delightful Mr Burston and his husband Paulo. Now myself and Paul have bumped into each other at Spamalot and Joan Rivers on press nights, yet this wasn’t a press night it was just a random Saturday show. In all the theatres in all of the West End they had to walk into mine… what a small world but a beautiful one as I love Paul and Paulo and we had a lovely chat on the way to Leicester Square.

We waved them off as they descended into the Northern Line, whilst it was my call that Mr B and I have a Burger King, I am mid-ordering my Bacon Double Cheese meal when I hear a shriek of ‘Simon!’ and its my friend Holly Rose (she’s also a popstar, her version of Minnie Ripperton’s ‘Inside My Love’ is amazing and out next year) who lives in Hertfordshire and I haven’t seen for ages, well since the wedding. I think our ‘mutual love in’ and shrieking camped up Burger King no end.

However what has pushed coincidence into new heights was Tuesday. I had an interview booked with the lovely Christopher Green aka Tina C/Ida Barr. At work I am known for doing my research on the day or the night before as I like it fresh in my mind. So when looking on Wikipedia I see he is from Matlock, my home town, though I am technically Matlock Bath - believe me up there the valley dividing the two makes all the difference. So I phone my aunties and ask them if they went to school with anyone called Christopher Green? Now before you say ‘how rude, he is only in his 30’s’ can I add my mother is the eldest and she is 42, so it’s not that rude it actually makes sense. By chance when I spoke to Alice (she’s just had twins) she had and not only that, they were best friends at school.

So armed with this knowledge I met Christopher and told him and after saying ‘do you know how old you have made your interviewee feel’ and me explaining my mother was the teenage gymslip pregnancy the whole of Matlock talked about, we got on like a house on fire and best of all I have got them both back in touch, see it really is a small world. But is that fate or coincidence? You decide.

Oh and my biggest ever case of coincidence? It has to be when I bumped into my ‘big sister’ at a Post Box on Charlotte Street carrying a Chihuahua puppy and looking gayer than gay after having not seen her for about 4 years, that’s another story though.

Can Boys Write Mills & Boon?

I meant to put this blog up a week ago, but with the whole Presidential Election and the fact I have had some new responsibilities at work and have two magazines to get done not the normal one, I got held up.

Last Sunday saw one of my favourite nights of TV in ages as BBC3 had a Mills and Boon themed night. You might be sat thinking where has this come from but it has always been a well hidden secret that isn’t that well hidden that I have a secret fondness for Mills and Boon. Yes I know, but I am sorry I have.

There were two brilliant shows, which if you missed… well you missed out, the second was a fabulous drama celebrating 100 years of Mills and Boon with a brilliant cast including my favourite actress Olivia Colman. Get watching it on iPlayer now. The previous first show saw the delightful and fabulous Stella Duffy take on the challenge of writing a Mills and Boon. She looked into the whole Mills and Boon phenomenon, and got to enter its hallowed halls, me jealous, never! She also met some fans and writers, it was fabulous. She also spoke to a man who had tried to write Mark Billingham, who now writes best selling crime. Helen Fielding started off trying to write Mills and Boon, did you know that? I didn’t think men could write Mills and Boon, a fact that stopped me trying to write ‘The Emancipation of Love’, now I know (I asked Stella) that men can. Well that’s opened up a whole new world to me and given me hope. I have dug out my old piece and I shall put below but first let me tell you how my love of all things Mills and Boon happened…

I can actually remember the first time I bought a Mills and Boon, I was about twelve or thirteen - my mother will be mortified I am posting this as she is an English teacher - I was allowed to buy any book in an odd antique market in Newcastle, I think I was having a major mardy and so Mum didn’t really give a monkeys what I bought. This wasn’t the same when aged eleven I bought a porn version of the Greek Myths accidentally, the irony being that my mother also teaches classics. So I chose a delightful red covered 70’s Mills and Boon the new covers have nothing on golden old era. I don’t think they had the ranges and spin offs that they had then they just varied the range with different colours, I have never seen a yellow one yet though. Other children got into Agatha Christie, Robin Jarvis etc, I got into Mills and Boon.

I have wondered if buying this book set the ‘he’s gay’ alarms going off in my mothers head at all. I wouldn’t have been obsession with the Spice Girls or dressing up in Polly’s Princess dresses aged five, or singing the whole Erotica album at the top of my lungs aged ten would it? Sorry I digress.

I don’t remember the full ins and outs of it or what the name of it was but I could guarantee I would recognise it if I saw it in Oxfam etc now. It featured a heroine with her perfect blonde bob pearl earrings and a black lace dress resisting the powerful domineering man, some could say it changed my life in one look I had learnt if you lean away from a man he will lean in. This has never worked but at the time I thought it must be an alluring pose… or something. I do remember a very racy scene where he tore her lace bodice with the force of his thumbs on her nipples. Until this point the most I had seen At aged thirteen that was quite something. I hadn’t really discovered sex quite yet then, I had discovered Madonna but I didn’t really know what she was banging on about.

After that it became a little secret obsession of buying secret copies (it felt a bit illicit at the time, I was living in Marlborough for god’s sake not much happened there) and divulging them, this stopped when I was about 15 and my pocket money was banned frequently as I was a toe-rag. I forgot all about this until at Milkround I met the lovely Michelle, we bonded at a work do where no one was speaking to either of us as we were knew, we then bonded on Mills and Boon… and Colin Firth. We even thought of writing one and eventually I started one, more of that later. Michelle and I became slightly obsessed and most lunch times would head of to Oxfam to see what new ones were in for the all too good price of 49p. How can you go wrong?

We also came up with the rule behind a Mills & Boon which were:
- The man must be rapacious, arrogant and possibly loaded they can also have an evil streak making the heroine question him, herself or the world in general.
- He must be gorgeous; in fact everyone in a Mills and Boon should be frankly.
- Mentioning a mans thighs in some sensual way must happen at least once every chapter.
- Women can be independent, not too independent though, unless they are the ruthless love rival.
- The ending needs to be happy tied up, not in a bondage sense, that’s Black Lace a wholly different title, if its not happy or inconclusive then its not a Mills and Boon.
- There can be a villainous man or a scheming vixen, no gay sidekicks but that should be rectified.
- Sex scenes are now welcome however these edge on Silhouette or simply porn, we like to leave the bedroom door firmly closed.
- Titles with alliteration like ‘Sensually Savidge’ and titles ending in ‘tion’ are bought more often.

So under these rules I started ‘The Emancipation for Love’ back in 2007, I have now dug it out again and here it is, it has been compared to early Jilly Cooper by Dom Agius, which I think is a compliment ha. While you read that I am off to read a copy of the superb ‘Queen of the Castle’. Enjoy!

Geraldine Day looked at the headline aghast; she was tearful and somehow also verging on rage in one complex emotion that she wasn’t sure that she liked. ‘McPinto Takes over Publishers Botherworthe Books’ she had heard rumours in the office, yet these had been flatly denied to all members of staff. That was the corporate world for you. I mean one minute they will tell you that you are getting a promotion and yet somehow its two steps down the career ladder from where you thought they were going to hoist you, she shouldn’t be bitter, it was unattractive, she just couldn’t help herself.
It was here however, the facts right in front of her very eyes, the words broke her heart in two; yes Geraldine Day was almost having a nervous breakdown in her late twenties over a headline. Oh, and the future of her job too. The small lovely independent company, she had worked for since she graduated in Fine Arts & Literature from Oxford with a first, had sold out and that meant she might have to. Worst of all was to whom they had sold themselves, had they no soul? McPinto Corporation a filthy capitalist institution that played with money as recklessly as it did peoples lives. She wouldn’t stand for it; the Germaine Greer in her soul suddenly reared its ugly head and didn’t stop for the remaining twenty minutes she was sat underground.
As soon as she got into work she ran up the four flights of stairs in her killer heels, thank goodness for her gym classes and athletic figure. She was heading straight for her bosses’ desk and she would tell Timothy Trothemheim exactly what she though of the whole debacle. I mean who the hell did he think he was lying to everyone saying nothing was going on and then letting her see (and her co-workers) some cast off part of the Financial Times telling her that her career might be over?
She barged through the door feeling high on her anger to find two people in mid conversation, neither were her boss, these were two people she had never laid eyes on before. The woman stood directly in front of her was dressed in the latest pinstripe Dior suit, sunglasses by Chanel were perched on her tightly pony tailed auburn head. She eyed Geraldine icily up and down as if assessing that the Primark dress and jeans combination was from hell and definitely should not be seen in the office. The words ‘and you are’ gently seeped out of her red lipstick coated mouth it was like poison webbing its way through the air.
‘I actually had the same question for you frankly’ Geraldine blurted out her words stumbling all around the room while she thought what to say next ‘where is Timothy I demand to speak to him now’.
The woman eyed her like a python eyes a mouse before it strikes ‘oh, you must be Geraldine, Geraldine Night or something like that’. Geraldine squared herself up to her new opponent; she wouldn’t be intimidated by anyone let alone this woman. What was she corporate Barbie or whatever children cut the hair off these days? ‘It’s Day actually’ she snapped ‘Geraldine Day, where is Timothy? I need to talk with him urgently’. Her voice faltered, the woman’s gaze however did not.
‘Timothy no longer works here… I would have thought you would have known that, but maybe your research skills need to be looked at in your next appraisal’ Geraldine could here the sneer in the heart of the woman’s tone ‘he has been made redundant with immediate effect… I am his replacement, your new boss so it would seem. My name is Stephanie Stark and I will be bringing this place up to scratch’ she looked Geraldine straight in the eye as she said ‘it seems this place is lacking in… well almost everything. Now if you don’t mind I am in a very important meeting, I think we will be having words later.’
With that she turned her back. Geraldine was unable to move, she felt like she had been winded, tears started to well in her eyes where had that empowered feminist speech disappeared? Stephanie turned to face her once more.
‘Anything else Miss Day? Maybe you could actually turn your computer on and get on with something rather than looking like a fish gasping for water as it flounders on a shore.’
Geraldine turned to leave speechless. As she did so she made direct eye contact with the other figure in the room. An electric bolt ran straight through her. He was tall dark and handsome. He was smirking at what he had just witnessed with a dashing audaciousness. His suit was cut to perfection and she couldn’t help but blush as her eyes were drawn straight to the cut of the top of his trousers and what seemed like a rather predominant mound. The fact that this man was devastatingly attractive which only made her blush more as her surveyed her a little longer than would seem fit.
‘Goodbye Geraldine’ he muttered.
‘Is she still here?’ Stephanie snapped, and Geraldine closed the door behind her thankfully covering her rosy cheeks as the hot flush swept over he body, her blood pulsating through her veins.

***

Several hours later in her local Sainsbury’s Geraldine reflected over the meat section at what a pig of a day it had been. Nothing had gone right from the moment she had left Stephanie’s office. All day she had been on tenterhooks waiting to be hauled into her office and fired, it never happened, in some ways she wished it had.
It was a game of power; Geraldine could see that, Stephanie had her exactly where she wanted… in limbo. Even her normal lunchtime gossip had been no fun. She would meet Charlie in the lift on the way down at 1pm sharp they would sit in the nearest park or coffee shop and put the world, and more importantly their careers, to rights. Charlie worked in HR and was undoubtedly her best friend in the company and her gossiping partner. They had bonded in a Fire Warden course the year before they both discussed just how unsuitable they were as responsible adults in a crisis. Charlie adding that ‘It would be most likely to be me setting the fire alarm off having a crafty cigarette in the toilets, or just being offsite in the smoking area and not being able to get in and save everyone, I shouldn’t be here.’
The only gossip that anyone wanted to discuss during the torrential down pour in the glass walled canteen over there creamy prawn salad was the take over and worst of all Stephanie.
‘Charlie I may have to leave’ Geraldine stated a prawn almost falling from her luscious lips. Charlie looked at her straight in the eye through the brown curly hair that Geraldine secretly envied. Who wanted long sleek shimmering blonde hair like hers? Charlie’s was so much more unusual and special, really eye catching if Geraldine was honest.
‘Geraldine honey, if you leave now you are only cutting your nose off to spite your face. You’ll receive no wages as we’re paid in advance and the merger could be really good for us all. I know, I know you hate McPinto Corporation and you would rather die than work for them but look for jobs over the next month, bide your time, you may even find yourself liking the new changes and systems.’
That was all very well for Charlie and her natural perm to say, Geraldine said nothing, just bit into that Chocolate Cheesecake and the fake canned cream a little harder than needed. That would be all she needed having to go to Stephanie and request for some time off to visit the dentist.
After lunch it only got worse. The glass walls meant Geraldine could see Stephanie watching her every move. This resulted in her tripping over her chair and sending files flying through the air, spilling coffee down someone else’s dress, sending emails to the wrong publisher eight times and dropping her paperweight on her toe and chipping that No.7 nail varnish she’d taken hours of coating on the previous Sunday to get it just perfect. Well she didn’t have any dates so there wasn’t much else to do, maybe read a book about how awful men were but that hadn’t become much fun over the last twelve months of celibacy.
Feeling like a meaty meal would only add to her problems Geraldine bought a large ready made Caesar Salad she certainly wasn’t going to cook. As she pushed her trolley through the vegetable section her eyes were drawn to the cucumbers and her memory to that dashing man in Stephanie’s office. Who was he? What was he doing working for McPinto Corporation? What was his relationship with Stephanie Stark? Why was she at the checkout with no alcohol in her trolley?
She arrived home to find two messages on her answering machine. One was from her sister Penelope who worked for high flying recruiters in New York. ‘Geraldine... where the hell are you? I have been trying you all day but the new receptionist says you no longer seem to be on the list of staff at Pinto Publishing? I have some urgent things for you, firstly Mum is back in hospital the prosthetic leg has been causing her problems, you really should be looking after her better, I am miles away what can I do. Plus with a marriage and children to keep control over I am flat out here. Secondly, are there any vacancies going? We could do with a recruiting deal on a merger like yours; it’s really most selfish of you not to have told me. Maybe you could ask that Charlie friend you spend an unhealthy amount of time with? Bye.”
Since her mother’s accident and father’s death Penelope and Geraldine had not had the best of relationships. Penelope had taken the first chance she got and flown to another country to work her way into the pants of her boss and now husband. She had left Geraldine to pick up the pieces of the crash that had left her father dead and her mother a grieving wheelchair bound widow. Now that she had children and a rich and successful husband, not only did Penelope like to tell her sister how busy she was and how she simple couldn’t help look after her mother, she also liked to tell her sister regularly how amazing having children was and how perfect her marriage had been and remained. Geraldine begrudged her mother nothing, but she hadn’t had the time to grieve her father, and her sister earning triple what she did and only work part time had built up resentment in her so strongly she no longer answered the phone to her. There relationship was now built upon angry voicemails and accusing emails.
The second message was from Charlie. The one person in her life who meant a lot to her and also the woman that Penelope felt her sister was having a lesbian affair with ‘well she does have a boys name and you haven’t had a man in over a year’. Charlie had phoned with news that she obviously hoped would cheer Geraldine up. ‘Hi Geri, its Charlie, oh you would know that. I am just phoning as I have heard that in honour of the merger McPinto Corporation are throwing a ball to help us interact and mingle with new and old faces. Better get your glad rags out sweetheart. Bye for now… phone me if you wanna talk clothes.’
That was all she needed. A party. What did she have to celebrate? She would have to mingle with the enemy, and no doubt Stephanie Stark would be there to watch her balls everything up. She’d have to go to the effort of making herself look impressive, buy a new outfit and not one from Primark; this would have to be special. She’d have to be on her best behaviour with the people that she wanted to see the least. Then a thought occurred to her, if everyone was going to be invited then maybe that mysterious gentlemen would be there. A smile crossed her lips as she put the TV on; ironically she turned on a very relevant film ‘Sleeping with the Enemy’.

***

The ball had been announced the next day and was to be held a fortnight later. To say the time flew by for Geraldine would have been an understatement. All she had heard day in and day out was who was bringing who, what person would be wearing what and who might pull who from whichever department. She was thoroughly unimpressed.
It had had a slightly positive outcome, dealing with Stephanie day in day out had built up so much aggression in Geraldine that she had taken up extra classes in Kick Boxing at the gym. As she surveyed herself in the mirror before work that day she had noticed her toned arms, still feminine, and her ample bosom looked fuller and perter. She had to smile at herself, tonight she would shine, let them try and grind her down, and she would show them all.
The positive attitude she’d had in front of the mirror was soon shattered. It seemed Stephanie had been biding her time. ‘Geri darling, could you come into my office please’ she cooed. Geraldine knew this was all an act, letting everyone see her being so nice was just an act before the sting in the tail followed.
‘Geraldine’ Stephanie snidely looked at her once the door was closed ‘tonight as you know is a big night for everyone at McPinto Corporation, and you and I are no exceptions. I hope you will be tastefully attired as I am going to want you to introduce me to everyone. I don’t have a PA as such and so would like you to do me the… well the… honour, I suppose of being my assistant for the night. I know we didn’t hit it off to start with, however I have been watching you and I think, well yes think, you have signs of promise. I may even need a PA one day, who knows.’ Geraldine was speechless all the way out the door and to her desk.
The sting in the tail had been there of course. Geraldine having the job of a PA would possibly mean more money in the short term, but would be a huge demotion in terms of her role now. How could the Deputy Fiction Manager go to being the Fiction Managers PA.? Geraldine felt numb, if Stephanie wanted her to play games with her she could. This however was pushing her to the edge. ‘She is trying to get rid of me’ Geraldine thought to herself. ‘I am not going anywhere.’ She would play PA for a night, she wouldn’t bite the hand that fed her, more like pass it on to a deadlier animal, something that would really devour the whole arm that fed it, if only she knew what or who that animal was.

***

A few of the girls had gone back to Charlie’s to get ready for the nights events. Geraldine however had to go home via the hospital to see her mother. Her mother had gotten progressively worse over the last few weeks. The doctors said she just didn’t want to get better, she wasn’t dying she just wasn’t living.
Her mother had also noticed the physical change in her daughter but there was also sadness in her that she had not seen before. She had pressed the issue but Geraldine had stayed firmly tight lipped about anything to do with work. Her mother had said she felt no ill will towards McPinto Corporations for the accident, but Geraldine would not listen. She was just like her father, stubborn as an Ox.
Geraldine arrived home, shoved a Korma for one in the Microwave and wallowed in some good old self pity. A bottle of Buck’s Fizz later and the food still in the microwave and she felt a great deal better. She applied her make up with care but a slight drunken finesse, she suddenly realised she was late threw on her dress ordered a taxi and made her way to the ball. Tonight she would be Cinderella and she would have her prince without all that losing of shoes nonsense, she certainly wasn’t losing these shoes in a hurry they were Dior.