Poor, poor abandoned blog

I'm the worst blog mother in the world. I've left my word child here, all alone and abandoned and uncared for, for, what, weeks? Months now?

Oh for shame, Jade.

But here I am. After two days' leave in the middle of a work week, I feel like I've finally come up for air.

Which means I may be able to find a few minutes every now and again to take out the jumble that's in my head and splash it (none-too-artistically, I'm sure) across this blog space.

If you're wondering where I've been, it's the usual – magazine deadlines coming out of my ears, early mornings and late nights at the office, and zombie-ism over weekends during which the last thing I want to do is look at a screen or use words.

Yeah. I'm lame. You can say it.

Let's talk about something fun instead, like the fact that it's the weekend (baby!) and that, for a change, I'm not working at some point over the next two days.

Let's also talk about my flat. It's been nearly two months since I moved into my little slice of real estate heaven. Who cares if it's bankrupting me, or if I've been subsisting on cheese on toast for a while (that's another story though). I love it. Having never had more than a bedroom to call my own (yes, I know that's a lot more than most), having my space all to myself is like hearing The Beatles for the first time – you suddenly realise this was what you were looking for all along.

I can bake a cake at midnight if I want to. I can run between my bedroom and the bathroom and back in my undies, and nobody is there to see me. I can have nothing but Brie and a bottle of bubbly in the fridge and not hurt anyone (actually, if you add a bag of Granny Smiths, that's exactly what's in my fridge at the moment).

But anyway, I'm rambling. Probably the result of not having anything of real import to say.  Except, hi, I'm back, don't call blog services on me, or anything.

Stay frosty kids. Lord knows it's cold enough...