So Boyfriend was on at me this weekend again about wearing make-up while we were getting ice cream at the beach. He's of the opinion – which in principle at least I share – that less is more when it comes to the old slap. The difference in our views is about what constitutes less, and what constitutes nothing – or, as I like to call it, 'Are you kidding? I can't leave the house like that!'

Don't get me wrong, I'm not a cake face and I don't do raccoon eyes to run down to the shops. I swear, I pretty much wear the bare minimum every day: a tiny bit of concealer and some mascara is about as much time as I have. Nights out are different of course, but even Boyfriend concedes I be allowed to vamp it up to paint the town red. But during the day, he wishes I'd just ditch the whole lot.

His argument, of course, is faultless: He thinks I'm beautiful without it. I don't need it.

Tempting.

But why then, at gym one morning, did the Bunny, who probably hadn't seen me without mascara since our second year of high school (the morning after a night out when I'm wearing it on my cheeks doesn't count), say, 'You look kind of weird. What's wrong with your eyes?'

Why then, when I forego this minimal makeup for work, do people immediately ask if I didn't get much sleep?

Why then, when for the first time in ages I wore eye shadow and eyeliner and lipgloss to the office today, did the lovely Miss Meeson comment on how 'pretty' I looked.

Because I look lovely every other day?

I think not.

Some frivolous candy-floss type happy thoughts

The sun – thank you weather gods – is shining today in Cape Town.

This afternoon during lunch I will be test-driving what will probably by tomorrow be My Car.

It's the first of July, which means we are at the beginning of the end of the year. Not that 2010 has been bad so far – not by a long shot – but this means we are moving closer to summer, Christmas holidays, my birthday – all good things.

July is also the month in which my paycheck will reflect my yearly increase. Thank you to the gods of cash flow.

I got some very good news over the weekend. Looks like the Boyfriend's move back to Cape Town could be accelerated to December instead of next March. No need for descriptions of the accompanying premature excitement.

I skipped gym this morning and got to sleep in (although never in my life did I imagine that I'd one day consider waking up at 7 am a lie-in).

Am currently drinking tea and eating provita, which okay isn't quite chocolate, but does fall under the biscuit category.

I seriously believe...

...that all weekends should be four days, like the one I just had. Added bonus: Boyfriend home for just about all of it.

And now for some numbers...

Two: the number of days leave I took to make my four-day supercalifragilistic weekend.

One: the number of beers I drank at the Hyundai Fanpark during the Portugal-Brazil game on Friday afternoon. This is an accomplishment for me, the ultimate non-beer drinker. I really don't mean to be prissy, it just won't go down (which is interesting considering the Black Label guzzling that constituted a large portion of my, shall we say, younger youth).

Five: the number of Americans seated beside us at dinner at Minato on Friday night, who subsequently paid our bill and welcomed us into their rented apartment to watch Chile versus Spain and drink their booze. Say what you will about loud yanks, all we experienced was some good ole-fashioned American hospitality. In my drunken state I offered to guide them up Lion's Head this weekend in exchange for board and lodging should I ever visit California.

Two: the number of scoops of Sinnful ice cream consumed while walking along Muizenberg Beach in Sunday's unseasonable sunshine. Delicious (the triple chocolate and butter pecan, and the weather).


Innumerable: the number of hours of series and movie watching completed over the weekend. Can still blame the chilly weather, but I also suspect this is becoming a bad habit.

Two: the number of cars I am torn between buying. Either way, will finally be the proud owner of a little citi golf by the weekend. Is very, very exciting.

Four: the number of slices of toast I had for dinner last night.

Forty: the number of minutes of cardio I put in this morning before work to offset the weekend's indulgences. Back to early morning sweating it out and munching on rice cakes and cottage cheese for this blogger. I have a goal weight and a goal date and nothing – nothing – is going to stop me this time. (Did that sound a little manic? I think it did. Sorry)

There's this little old lady who's always at my Wednesday morning Pilates classes. Fair enough. Helen is worth getting up at the crack of dawn for, perhaps even if you're retired. But this morning I also spotted her creaking it out on the cardio machines with the rest of us (comparitively) spring chickens.

Call me lazy, but when I hit 70 and there's no way anyone will ever see me scantily clad in public again (and I have the option of wearing jogging suits as casual wear and am perfectly entitled to eat cupcakes for breakfast and expand as much as I please in what remains of my life), well ... I rather don't think I'd get up at five every morning to be at gym.

Would you?

Don't you hate...

...ill-fitting shoes?

Just saw two bottle blondes stalking across the street – you know, that sort of leaning-forward gait that says, 'I am so uncomfortable right now and am about to sit down on the pavement if a chair doesn't present itself soon'. You could have given them a black cloak and a scythe and they'd have had the grim reaper look down (from the back at least).

Then, coming back into my building, another example of bad footwear purchasing tottered her way past me in platforms that made her ankle do that weird bending-to-the-side thing that makes all lookers-on wonder when they're going to hear a snapping sound.

I'm still listening out for it.

On a lighter note, I saw a pair of boots in a store just now and caught myself thinking, 'Oooh those are pretty, I should try them on' before realising I bought them a couple months ago already.

Retarded, but in a happy way.

So as I was munching my cottage cheese on low GI toast lunch (hey? hey? look at that healthy eating right there...) I realised I've been a lax blogger.

Of course, the fact that there's sunshine outside and South Africa is about to play possibly our final match in the World Cup, yet we're sitting in the office waiting on a final few job bags before we can run away home to watch, well ... brain is currently only functioning in terms of 'Tea ... nap ... tea ... nap ... Oh look an email ... Spoon.'

However, a few thoughts did cross the empty cranial abyss. These were:
1. What happened to the weekend in numbers? I know I did something interesting this weekend...
2. Why won't an Ikea store open in South Africa? Preferably in Cape Town. Preferably right down the road from me. Perusing the online store is my porn. Laugh all you want, some of us were born to worship storage solutions.
3. Oh the joy! The delight! The happiness! Am taking leave from lunchtime on Thursday til Tuesday to spend the weekend with Boyfriend and then mope in the comfort of my own home when he leaves on Monday morning. I am now full of cheer and goodwill to men tralalalaaaa.

The Weekend in Numbers

Number of hours spent at the office on Friday: 3 and a 1/2. And let's be honest, only about 30 minutes of that was actually spent working.

Number of live games watched: one. France vs Uruguay at the Cape Town Stadium. I'm going to sound stupid if I say, wow it was just like on TV only better.

Okay there, I sounded stupid.

But really, it was amazing.

Would have been nice if there was a goal though. And maybe a hotdog.

Number of nights spent in five-star luxury at the Lanzerac Hotel and Spa in Stellenbosch: one. Parents' 40th wedding anniversary celebration. A massage, a chocolate and wine tasting, a three-course dinner, beautiful room with an en-suite the size of my bedroom at home ... they had to pry me from the bath when it was time to check out.

Number of minutes it took me to get used to the whole five-star luxury thing: about five. On returning home yesterday afternoon I was taken aback that there was suddenly nobody to park my car or carry my bags to my room or fetch me an umbrella when it started raining and I needed to walk somewhere...

Yes, spoilt, I know.

Number of spaces ahead of everyone else in Thirty Seconds at games night at Bunny's place last night: plenty. The Bunny and I are the machine Thirty Seconds team. Just you try beat 18 years of shared experiences.

Number of minutes of cardio this morning before work: 30. Getting the hang of this early morning gym thing finally. Which is good, considering I had two muffins with breakfast at the hotel yesterday.

Yes, that's with. Not for. With.

May the gees be with you

So it's half an hour to go until the opening ceremony, and the city is alive.

We downed tools at eleven (did we ever really honestly pick them up?) for a little World Cup office party, catered with doritos and dip (for the Mexicans, gettit?) and boerie rolls braaied last night by our publishing director himself.

I won a vuvuzela in our little lucky draw. Who knew winning something for once (even something plastic that honks) could be so exciting?

Also drew Uruguay as eventual winners in our office pot, which is ironic considering I'll be supporting France at the Cape Town stadium tonight.

The beauty editor painted my fingernails yellow for Bafana Bafana. I officially have gees.

Went to see SATC 2 last night so I suppose it's time for me to add my two cents about it to the blogosphere.

I did not love this movie.

I didn't hate it either. In fact, it's probably best to say I went into it with middling expectations and they were all met.

This is unfortunate. Perhaps I should have said this first, but I am not a hater. I was (am?) a huge fan of the series. Both my brother and my boyfriend at the time bought me the complete box set for my birthday one year. I've watched it twice. I draw eerie parallels between the Boyfriend and I, and Carrie and Big. I have a Carrie necklace (only mine says 'Jade').

But this movie didn't do it for me. And not in the way the series or the first movie didn't do it for stuffy, intellectual, I only watch thinking cinema types (because if you can't see through the shoes and the dirty sex to what the show was fundamentally about then you're really not quite so smart as you like to think you are).

But SATC 2 had none of the series's charm, none of its edge.

Miley Cyrus makes an appearance for godssake.

Having said that, I did laugh out loud in parts and okay, yes, I probably would watch it again. But you won't catch my buying the DVD.

To the Gods of Weight Loss

I understand that the kilo and a half I've gained since the beginning of the year has nothing to do with any vindictiveness on your part and everything to do with my having been participating somewhat too enthusiastically in the food and drink olympics of late.

However, there are a few other complaints I wish to lodge.

Firstly, when I decide (as I did on Monday) that it is time to take myself in hand, eat healthily and start exercising regularly again, if you could rather not send yet another half kilo my way (as I discovered you had done when weighing myself this morning, and after three days of restricting and gym), that would be great.

Also, if you could not position a bambi-legged mother and daughter team right in front of me at a mostly invigorating, quite challenging and somewhat disheartening body conditioning class before work this morning, that would be very much appreciated.

Thirdly, when – when, WHEN? – did I acquire cankles? Please remove at your earliest convenience.

I lay these requests at your mighty, bony feet.

Sincerely,
Jade

Went to Pilates this morning.

No I didn't.

I went to Bend it Ma Bru.

Virgin Active has jumped on the soccer bandwagon with the rest of the country, and has added a twist to some of its classes to help members kick it up a gear during the month of the World Cup.

There's the not-as-exciting-as-it-sounds Streaker Training (toning and tightening so you look great should you decide in a flight of fancy to shed your clothes and dash across a pitch naked at any given time), Supa-Socca Circuit (some sort of forty-minute, non-stop, super-circuiting madness) and this morning's Bend It Ma Bru ('Learn to enjoy compromising positions').

Well, I'm broken. I was all ready to spend 6-7 am on my back squeezing my pelvic floor muscles (or as Aussie Amber from Monday morning's class calls it, my 'pee-hole'), but instead Helen, our instructor, whipped out a combination of Pilates, yoga and Tai Chi (yoga-la-chi? chi-pila-gah? I forget).

If I sound negative it's only because of the effort it took to raise my hands to the keyboard and type this. The class was challenging to say the least (at one point I collapsed out of my plank and whispered feebly to my mat, 'Please, no more, no more...') and my body's filing formal complaints, but if endorphin levels are anything to go, then it was definitely worth it.

Hands-down favourite has to be the Tai Chi prone flying bird. I'm just going to leave that one to your imagination.

That's my third gym session this week by the way, and it's only Wednesday. Boo-yah!




(No, I can't believe I just said that either.)

Back on track

So Boyfriend has left, and it's all very sad and all, but I've decided to distract myself by using this week to give my health a swift kick up the pants.

Seriously, after eating out every night for more than a week – not to mention the drinking that went with all that eating – my body has started lodging complaints. My eyes are playing all kinds of funhouse mirror type tricks on me when it comes to scrutinising my thighs, and my mood of late has been a little low.

So, the plan now is to get back to the gym routine I've been so lax about lately and basically to push the healthy eating to just this side of extreme (for at least this week).

Work is finally quiet on all fronts, so it really is time to sort out the rest of my life.

Like losing weight.

And sorting out my tax.

And finding a car.

And trying not to finish the entire season three of Californication in one night.

Some definitions according to Google

Communication (n) the activity of communicating; the act of conveying information.

Convey (v) make known; pass on, of information; 'He conveyed the message to me'.

Information (n) a message received and understood.

Twiddle twiddle

Phew so after the madness of the past few weeks, I am now twiddling my thumbs at work.

Ain't that just the way...

On the bright side, this means my boss and I are working in shifts tomorrow, so I get to come in at the lovely late hour of 1 pm and leave again at five.

Other good things include waking up next to Boyfriend this morning (even if that meant getting up, getting dressed and getting on the road by 6 am to make it back to town before traffic) and the fact that it's unseasonably warm outside today. And as Boyfriend and I are playing unofficial after-hours tour guides to the group of non-Capetonian guys who are on course with him this week, I am looking forward to what the rest of this afternoon/evening has in store.

The weekend in numbers

Number of pieces of sushi consumed on Friday night: about 20? Got spoiled with bubbly and sushi and chocolate spring rolls by Boyfriend, to celebrate my getting published.

Hours of series/movies watched: innumerable. We have become addicts. This may call for an intervention.

Percentage of TV screen visible from our table at Peddlar's while trying to watch rugby: about 15%. The only thing more boring than being made to watch a rugby match, is only being able to see the occasional foot whiz by while everybody else in the place cheers (or, as was the case on Saturday, groans). Was made up for with a lovely post-rugby double dinner date at Borusso's and then getting to laugh at people dancing on tables at Oblivion later.

Number of awesome roast chicken dinners cooked by Boyfriend for the family on Sunday night: 1. The boy can cook and therefore I might never let him go (so long as the chocolate pancakes I've been promised materialise sometime).

Number of extra hours sleep this morning: 1. It's nice to get to work at a reasonable time, feels like sleeping in. Big sigh of relief all round that Mad May is just about over.

Reasons to be happy today

1. It's Friday.
2. Boyfriend arrived home last night and is staying until neeeeext Sunday night.
3. We didn't die driving home from the airport in the storm (a highly likely possibility given my night driving skills and the fact I've lost my glasses).
4. After today we will have only one magazine left to get to print (that'll be nine down in three weeks).
5. My first published work is on magazine shelves all over the country.
   
6. I foresee a cup of tea in my near future.
7. I am wearing four layers to keep off the Cape Town chill and yet somehow have managed not to resemble a snowman (this is a feat indeed).
8. I will in all likelihood leave work early today.
9. The weird dreams I was having last night in which I fought with my best friend, was dating someone who wasn't Boyfriend and ran out of my Pill turned out to be just dreams.
10. It's only fifteen days to go until I get to sit in the freezing cold with thousands of other people and watch the French football team doing their thing against Uruguay. It's all very exciting. I am considering face paint.
    

The weekend in numbers

Number of haircuts: one. DON'T worry everyone, it's still long, just ... neater. There was a little Herzlia teenager getting her Brazilian blowdry rinsed while I was there. I've never seen such perfect, straight hair before. Starting to consider taking the plunge...

Number of weird things saw in the the traffic on the way to have my hair cut: one. A girl in the passenger seat of the car behind me was combing her eyebrows with a toothbrush. Laughed myself silly, and then it struck me that somebody watching me in the traffic might think that I was the weirdo for having a laughing fit while alone in my car.

Number of hours spent at the office on a beautiful Cape Town Saturday: four. Oh well. Girl's got to do, I guess...

Speaking of work, I finally finished up all my freelance commitments. And you can read my first published work here on page 57:



Number of cars looked at: zero. Was supposed to go and test drive what will possibly be My New Car yesterday, but the owner had to reschedule. On the bright side, this means I get to drag the all-knowing Boyfriend (who's here from Thursday) along to take a gander, kick its tyres, look at its engine and ask all the intimidating questions (whereas I would just look at the cute upholstery and nice shiny paintwork and ask when I could have the keys).

Up and at 'em kids

This week is going to be one of those manic work weeks where posting goes out the window, dinner is ordered-in sushi at the office and sleep is more important than, like, breathing.

Is it weird that I'm actually looking forward to it?

Maybe it's the sugar rush from the decadence of Princess Lara's Mad Hatter's tea party on Saturday. I don't think I've ever seen so much sugar come together and do a happy dance in the form of brightly decorated cupcakes and no less than three different other cakes. A diabetic might have died just standing outside her front door.

Was all loveliness...

Okay it's cold now.

Like, really cold.

I don't remember Cape Town in May ever being this freezing and wet and generally miserable.

It's the kind of cold that you can leave milk out of the fridge without the slightest worry it may go off.

Getting out of the shower after Pilates this morning was an exercise in masochism.

I want to curl up in a ball, stuff myself into Jemima (yes, I named our new tumble dryer), turn the dial to 'hot cycle' and just go round and round in a maelstrom of warm air and clean socks.

Is that weird?

The cold does strange things to my brain...

Monday mornings in Cape Town winter weather make me wish I was my dog. He's probably still curled up in his bed, snug and dreaming about giant legs of lamb or the Yorkie down the street – whatever it is dogs dream about.


My tummy is currently lodging a complaint about the massive amounts of food I asked it to digest yesterday. It's making its feelings known by contorting itself into knots, crossing its arms and glaring at me. Or at least that's what it feels like.

Watched Up in the Air last night. Interesting, quiet kind of movie. Anna Kendrick bursting into tears was classic, as was her list of attritbutes she's looking for in her future husband. ('I always imagined he’d have a single syllable name like Matt or John … Dave.'). Also quite liked Vera Farmiga succinctly describing what my brother and I like to call the female condition: 'We all fall for the prick. Pricks are spontaneous, they’re unpredictable and they’re fun. And then we’re surprised when they turn out to be pricks.'

Watched the end credits seriously thinking, is my backpack too full?

Forgot to mention I spent a very nice Saturday evening having dinner at the Sidewalk Cafe with That Ulanda Girl. If there's one reason (out of the many reasons) I love her it's because she and I are probably the only people who will drink a pot of tea anytime, anywhere, after any meal. I can always count on my tea girl.

Happy Monday all...

I have a food baby

Wow, high tea at the Mount Nelson does not disappoint.

Decided to pull out all the stops for my mother this year, as she's a bit picky at the best of times (she buys her own flowers on Mother's Day because my brother and I can never seem to buy the 'right' ones).

So off the family trouped in this grey Cape Town weather to eat ourselves silly at one of the most indulgent meals in Cape Town.

Even better? Jimmy Choo decided to throw in a display of their pre-fall line for our ogling pleasure. And free gifts for the moms (and me – not sure why. maybe was the pathetic lustful looks I was throwing the shoes).

Ate myself into cucumber sandwich, salmon choux pastry and teeny, tiny, heavenly cake oblivion.

And just look at the little shoes and miniature buckles some poor pastry chef probably spent the last few days slaving over (bet they're cursing the 'Choos ):






And no, those aren't all my plates...

Things I did today

1. Woke up completely confused. Like, literally. I did know what my phone was, why it was making a noise or what 6.55 meant.
   
2. Arrived at work in a London cab. Car is at the panelbeaters. This is getting expensive...
3. Buried myself in pretty layouts all morning for the wedding magzine.
4. Lusted after R450 decorative birdcages from Cecile & Boyd's. Very Breakfast at Tiffany's.
5. Interviewed the MD of a golf estate. Went well luckily. I barely had to say twenty words. I hate interviews usually. Especially because playing the dictaphone back to write them up makes me cringe – hate the sound of my own voice.
   
6. Stole tea biscuits from the bar upstairs (on our executive floor).
7. Debated stealing the Johhny Blue instead.
8. Was convinced into doing a free dive with sharks one day. Apparently it's zen.
9. Wrote a quick, lazy post to alleviate residual blog guilt from not having posted at all this week.
   

Friday rambling

Skipped Pilates this morning. Was just too, too blue in my room for waking up and stretching and exercising in the dark. And by blue I mean the mood (although the fact that my curtains are blue means any light shining in turns blue too, and it's entirely possible that that contributes to my blue moods. Maybe? I don't know).

Anyway, was one of those mornings when you want to just keep hiding from the world under the duvet and you wish you were the kind of person who (ever) called in sick to work.

Things are looking up slightly though. The sun is out, for a start. Also, I'm wearing two very brightly coloured tops today as a nod to possibly the last few days of summer.

(Cheerful – fake it till you make it.)

And it's the weekend. After a three-day week. So really, all is (or should be) good in the hood.

Here's to the next 48 hours then.

Blue things

The sky today (and I woke up thinking it was raining ... weird)

The milky pen I use to make edits on black layouts

The dresses in the Alice in Wonderland shoot in the wedding magazine we're putting together

The 'save now' button at the bottom of this page

My massive, fuzzy, winter dressing gown

One of the pairs of shoes I bought this month

The colour of our planet from far, far away (according to Regina Spektor)

My mood today

Oh cheeses!

Well the weekend with Boyfriend was lovely to say the least, especially given that I pretty much took Monday off as well (hello four-day weekend).

Lots of drinking and eating and sleeping (everything a weekend should be I guess) topped off by the wonderment of the Cheese Festival in Franschhoek yesterday. Kilos of cheese and bottle after bottle of wine are really up there on my Things That Make a Great Day list.

All cheesed and wined out now I'd say (but only so I don't sound bad – the fact of the matter is I could cheese and wine every day of the week).

Shiver shiver

Well winter's snuck up on me it seems. Is suddenly dark and icy cold in the mornings. You miss waking up at five ay-em for gym for a couple weeks and the next thing you know your alarm is going off and it looks like the middle of the night outside and your shortie pyjamas are just not really weather appropriate anymore.

Yes, this is my not-so-sneaky way of announcing to the world that I made it out of bed in the early hours both yesterday and today to go to gym (was actually swimming laps at five thirty this morning – now that's dedication).

Course, my stupid body seems to be failing on me. Am walking with a limp because my right, outer thigh muscle feels like it's exploding slowly and trickling hot mercury under my skin. Is this bad? Hope it goes away. The pain is annoying. The limp of course is trés sexy.

Boyfriend arrives tonight, and is staying till Wednesday. Is all very exciting apart from the fact I have to work tonight. No use complaining though. Is my own silly fault for being a procrastinator. Missing out on a night with Boyfriend though is the only thing that can bring down the high of finally working freelance for a commercial glossy. You say I've sold my soul, I say hello name in print and money in bank account.

Is it lunchtime yet?

The weekend in numbers

Yes! It's amazing! An actual Weekend in Numbers on a Monday for a change. Could it be that the blogger in me is back?

Number of pairs of shoes bought: four. Yes, that's another two after those two pairs that snuck up on me on Friday afternoon. I have a problem. So shoe me.

Number of episodes of House watched: 4

Number of episodes of Big Bang Theory watched: 4. I am becoming an agoraphobic, hermit-like TV addict. The TV is because I finally finished The Poisonwood Bible and haven't got myself another book to read. The cloistering is just my current state of social affairs.

Number of gym visits: 1. Swam and saunaed. I need to get back on the wagon this week, so decided to kick it off a little earlier by exercising yesterday. Three weeks of no gym and lovely dinners and even lovelier bottles of red wine mean not only does my body feel like crap, I could swear my thighs are noticeably bigger.
Course, I followed up the gym visit with a pizza at Bacini's. My appetite knows no bounds, but my willpower certainly does.

Just accidentally went shoe shopping

Damn, damn those (entirely legitimate) unforeseen expenditures.

In my defence, this is how I shop. If I actually go looking for a particular item I just about never find it.

I lie. Not just about. Never. Period.

Things have to come to me. Even socks.

So that's four pairs of shoes this month. Does anyone else find this? That for a period of time you'll have one item – just one – that is somehow attracted to you?

I had a month of handbags once. They were everywhere, they all spoke to me on a deeply spiritual level ('Buy me I will match your new shoes') and I ended up buying no less than three oversized totes in the space of two weeks. Not that handbags are anything but delightful, but it's not like you can actually wear the damn things. And god forbid I should find jeans or a pair of shoes (the things I was actually searching for).

Seems it's a shoe month this time. And really, worse things could happen...

(Unless I never find anything else and end up as the old woman who lived in her shoes?)

I've been a bad blogger lately I know. Neglectful to say the least.

My excuses aren't even that great – work was busy, then Boyfriend was here for two weeks (yes, thank you, blissful) and now well ... I don't want to bore anybody but you know those weeks when nothing kind of happens?

Work is sort of busy.
Social life is sort of quiet.
Most exciting part of last night was having udon noodles for supper and getting stuck into all my seasons of House (yes I'm behind the rest of the world in my series-watching).

Bit sick too, but not even exciting take-the-day-off-work sick. Just sniffling and a bit coughy and my jaw is somewhat comically locked.

Like I said, don't want to bore you...

What a difference a day makes

I'm not sure who was referring to what whenever whoever it was originally said that, but when it comes to tacking a day's leave onto the end of four-day weekend then I concur most emphatically.

Sure it sounds just plain greedy to make mine a five-day Easter, but a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do when a Boyfriend drives down to Cape Town for two weeks.

There was food, there were friends, there was wine, there was sex, there was an entire season of Pushing Daisies – but the best part of all is that I got to wake up on this Wednesday-come-Monday morning and he's still here. It's like a preview of this time next year.

Tralalala am in happy land. I could even be cordial to a certain WM this morning.

(Well, if he came bearing muffins and profuse apologies for his very existence.)

Ps Sushi at Tank was incredible. Service at Tank was too, but in the opposite sense.