Sofa. His Living Room. On the verge of splitting up. 2010.
Him: “Ha! Like Rafiki and Simba?”
Me: “Who?”
Him: “From The Lion King. Rafiki, he lifts Simba, remember?”
Me: “Never seen it”
Jeez, I’ve never seen him more outraged since the Marks & Spencer chocolate milk debacle (to cut a long, calorie laden story short, if you buy a big bottle, it’s cheaper. Fascinating.) Anyway, apparently my childhood was incomplete. My underprivileged, Disney deprived existence explained my glass half empty attitude. Bit harsh, but I had no time to get indignant as sing-a-long Circle of Life burst into life. Disaster averted. Or at least it was until he mentioned Top Gun. And Gladiator. And then Toy Story. And Ghostbusters, Pulp Fiction, Reservoir Dogs, Forrest Gump, Star Wars, Back to the Future, Indiana Jones, Rocky, The Bodyguard, The Wizard of Oz, The Matrix, The Sound of Music, The Sixth Sense, Elf… Never seen it, never seen it, NEVER SEEN IT. Alas, movie references are lost on me, character impressions float straight on by and I disappoint people daily. I always thought I was quite widely viewed, I have seen a lot of films. They were just made more for TV, say, a Saturday afternoon on Channel 5.
I don’t know how these said classics have passed me by but as part of my 30 things to do before 30, I need to make movie amends. But where do I start? There are a LOT of films out there and trying to compile ‘The List’ is a challenge. Where do I start? I’ve researched and I’ve read reviews but what I need, what I really need, are recommendations. So I’m sending out a plea, you know your favourite film? That movie masterpiece? The picture that changed your world? Yeahhhhh, I won’t have seen it. So if you can drop me a comment below and tell me what my cinematic education is missing, or gimme a shout over here, you’d not have my viewing pleasure in the palm of your hands, you’d also be contributing to my education. Yowsers, that’s some responsibility y’all but if I finally understand why Baby is in the corner* it’ll all be worth it.
*I kid, I kid, I’ve seen that classic, what do you think I am?
January is getting on my wick. It arrived to a soundtrack of coughing, it’s been set to a backdrop of dirty brown snow and it’s still not got to any sort of plot line. Just around the corner lies a new job, a different department, plans, holidays, trips, adventures! But at the moment I’m in limbo, just…waiting. 2013 is looking rosy but this wretched month just won’t quit.
Last week I proclaimed New Year’s promise as false advertising. The clock strikes midnight & the happy, shiny, sugar coated life you ordered doesn’t just land in your lap (rude). So instead, I reminisced, cuddling up to 2012 as I wasn’t quite ready to let it go. Alas, I’m now stuck in New Year purgatory, happily waving a fond farewell to last year and patiently waiting for the new one to strut its stuff. I am ready for changes to be rung, horns to be grabbed and pay day to arrive. I need something to look forward to. We all need something to look forward to, so rather than spending the month seething that it’s still not over, I’m making plans.
At the beginning of next month I will pop out of my existing web chrysalis and unveil my spangly new ‘Internet Marketing Consultant’ wings. Exciting stuff. I shall start the year (January Shmanuary) with a swagger in my step and a CONSULTANT after my name. I’m practically a doctor.
Not only will my shiny new role in a glossy new department undoubtedly make February a goodun, something more spectacular is afoot. I’m only going to go and see The Lion King! I am a big fan of musicals, BIG fan. Sing me a show tune, dress me in a dreamcoat and I am on board. And after years of hakuna matata yearning, the tickets are booked and I just can’t wait to be king. Queen. Whatever.
Whilst in LDN, I shall be visiting The O2. And when I say visiting, I mean climbing over. Yuhuh, I will be clad in arse widening blue overalls and trot across the top of the dome. Knee wobbling nerves will be worth breath taking 360 views of the city (I hope).
‘CHRIST I’M HIGH UP’ jelly legs might attack once again when I’m whizzing around The London Eye. Now, I’ve done The Eye before and there’s no whizzing involved, more’s the pity. If there were, I would be back on the ground after a whistle stop city glance rather than a sluggish meander in the sky. Last time I Eyed, horizontal rain was battering the capsule giving it a gentle wobble in the ‘breeze’. Fingers, legs and eyes crossed that joyous little extra will not be a repeat offender.
It is highly likely that one day soon I will be Mrs Buble. Yes, I am happily ensconced in domestic blissdom with man of dreams and the Buble is hitched to a beautiful Argentinean model. Nonetheless, a medium once told me that I will marry a man much older than me, of a different nationality, from non-European country. Careful consideration and rational thought led me to conclude that he was undoubtedly talking about Michael Buble. (I resolutely refuse to acknowledge the fact that he could actually have been referring to my beloved who on more than one occasion has been mistaken for a middle aged man from the Orient). ANYWAY, the fact that I am going to the O2 once again to see the Buble in action backs up my theory quite nicely.
New year, New York. I have always, always, ALWAYS wanted to go to New York and this year my big, apple shaped dreams will be answered. I absolutely cannot wait.
With eleven months stretching out in front of us, I’m pretty darn excited about the possibilities that lie ahead. I’ve happily plotted some events on the calendar and it’s amazing what a boost a musical and a holiday can give you. I’m positive that this year will be a good one and already it has the potential to gazump the last one. Spontaneity is amazing but we all need a highlight on the horizon to keep us going in deepest, darkest, depressing January. What plans do you have to make 2013 amazing? Where are you going? What are you doing? Which Canadian crooners will you be capturing? Whatever, wherever, whoever you’re doing, let this year be the best yet.
So far 2013 has been less peachy, more phlegmy (bear with me). Whilst only a couple of weeks in, I’ve spent the past 15 days swigging cough medicine from the gooey bottle my pathetic flu weary hand is stuck to. I, as much as anyone, was full of New Year promise and readily anticipated the wave of fairy godmother’s wand on the strike of 12, instantly making 2013 better. I looked down expecting my dance sore feet to be cradled in diamond slippers. No such luck. I had a sneaky grope of my Christmas pud clad thighs and nope, they were still gently swathed in a festive season’s worth of over indulging. I checked my phone, bracing myself for the avalanche of life changing opportunities the world was handing to me on a 24 carat gold plate. Nada. Not a sausage. Alas, I coughed, wretched and a little bit of champagne came out. But it got me to thinking; I was concentrating so hard on 2013 and all its supposed New Year possibilities, that I was leaving 2012 in my wake without as much as a cursory glance. So instead, I stopped, took a swig of Covonia and remembered. As my spectacular Christmas Cough 2012 was still clinging on, I realised a crossover was taking place. I couldn’t leave everything from last year behind in favour of a brand new shiny one and when I thought about it, I didn’t want to. 2012 was immense and there’s nothing like some memories to cheer a cough weary body. So rather than solely focusing forward at what I hoped this year will bring, I took a moment to look back.
I flew
Yes, I’ve flown before but ne’er before have I done so without sweating, clenching and acquiring charming doses of aviation induced Tourette’s. “WHAT’S THAT NOISE? WHAT THE !@# DOES THAT NOISE MEAN? THAT BASTARD NOISE! ARE YOU DEAF YOU KNOBBER? OH MY CHRIST I AM SWEATING, JOHN* I’M SWEATING”. This time last year I got on a plane, I relaxed, unclenched and enjoyed the flight. Or as much as you can enjoy being tens of thousands of feet in the air in a big metal box from which there is no escape.
*John would be his dad. I am confident a sweary ‘sweater’ was just the kind of girl he’d hoped for for his son.
I flew. Part 2.
The nest that is. I finally hauled my molly coddled ass from the sanctuary of my childhood home where bedroom walls were pink, company was female and number of clothes not judged. Suddenly, none of the former was true as I moved in with a boy…into his stunning apartment where walls are exposed brick, company is the best and I’m working on the clothes. Fair trade.
11 hours.
See the sun come up at a party? Yeah I did! Party at 7pm, home at 6am. And for a girl who is a big fan of sleep and all associated paraphernalia, this is new. For someone who celebrates a good night out with the, ‘hair up, bra off, contacts out, tea, toast, hot water bottle, bed’ routine, this is big. And not only did I partake; I initiated. Cocktails to celebrate the sun coming up? Let’s.
Lost a job, got a job, got a better one.
Around this time last year I was on holiday when I got a text informing me that the company I worked for had royally gone tits up. I, along with 35 others had been given the quick heave ho in order to try and save a sinking ship. Happy holiday! Luckily our Venice hotel only had Italian speaking television channels so I was saved from the media telling me I needn’t even entertain the idea of ever being employed again. That was a treat waiting for me when I got home. Cutting a long, tedious and tear fuelled story short, I posted my CV online; I got an interview and was lucky enough to get a job. About a month ago I got a promotion. Well done 2012.
Best. Holiday. Ever.
I have always wanted to go to Morocco and last year, we grabbed the camel by the hump and did it. It was incredible, undoubtedly my favourite holiday in the history of me and I could bang on about it all day. Which I did, and you can read about it here.
Hitched.
Last year was the year of the wedding. I put on my prettiest frocks, entwined flowers, butterflies and bows in my hair and danced to Mr Brightside. Four times over. We saw all of our best friends and bestest family get married. Pretty huge.
There were more than a few momentous occasions in 2012. There were the big things: being made redundant, getting a new job, leaving home and living with him. And the really big things: cooking my first ever roast chicken, becoming the proud owner of Vivienne Westwood pirate boots and spending two days in the foetal position after the worst tequila-fuelled hangover of my life. I quadrupled the number of weddings I’d ever been to; I made amazing friends and I lost others. I sang (and most impressively, rapped) along to Plan B at Sherwood Forest in the pissing down rain. I took him to Bestival where our relationship changed forever because weeing in a cup does that to a couple. Yeah there were the shitty moments, but who wants to remember those? I’m focusing on the best of the last twelve before I fling myself head first into the new one. Why would I ever want to forget creating a pubic stencil for my (all intents and purposes) brother in law.
