Hurrah! Titles!

It has been a busy week so far, with not much hope of it easing up any time soon. *Sigh*

Have seen two more flats so far but nothing that has taken my breath away sufficiently to warrant mentioning in any depth.

Kate's last day tomorrow and I am pretty distraught, but am attempting to hide it under a veil of scornful disregard. One of these days, something is going to snap - I can just tell.

Machinations with getting my UK work permit should begin soon and it looks like the time-frame for getting it all sorted out might be April/May, meaning I might have to put off the US trip I was planning to do at that time. On the plus side, Campbell has come through with an interesting proposition for spending his 30th birthday in St Petersburg that should serve as a cheerful substitute. I shall ignore the following statements from the WikiTravel site on the city:

• St Petersburg is known for violent conflicts and is notorious for violence and break-ins
• After the war with Chechnya, local hatred is growing toward people with darker complexions and neo-Nazism is a concern
• Russian drivers do not respect pedestrians too much... Do not even think about running over the road when there is a red light because some drivers will just drive faster and not stop, even if they hit you
• Steer clear of stray dogs, as some are aggressive

And my personal favourite:

• In some places in St Petersburg, you should not brush your teeth with the tap water, nor open your mouth during showers

Right, where do I sign up for this trip?

It's been a full weekend and I'm still tired.

Friday night saw a very sparkly gold Dianne celebrating her birthday in style. I went along with Random Mark in tow - and felt like a right old lady beside all the energy and enthusiasm a 22 year old nipper has - and had rather a good night out, although I did manage to lose my jacket along the way. Still, the jacket was nigh on 10 years old and wasn't even warm anymore. I think I miss it more for sentimental reasons than warmth-related ones. Actually, by the end of the night when I had taken my shoes off and was wandering around barefoot, I might also have been a little cold.

Saturday morning saw me wandering along Northcote Road in a bit of a daze, looking for a suitable present for Baby Yousuf. Having bought him t-shirts with dinosaurs on them (because all little boys should wear dinosaur clothing. It's the rule.), I wandered into Buona Sera planning to grab some lunch and spend some quality time readin JPod. The looks of pity on the faces of the hostess, wait-staff and people at the next table, presumably because I was on my own and thus clearly a social leper,were nearly unbearable. I made up for it by eating a meal of epic proportions and then promptly feeling incredibly sick. Hobbled home and spent the rest of the afternoon in a restful anaconda-like state of digestive hibernation.

Watched An Inconvenient Truth that evening and very good it was too. Although, that said, I think it's (rightly) aimed more at American audiences than international ones. Awareness and activism around climate change is very strong in Europe, so the film didn't necessarily educate me on issues, but rather on the extent of them. As I said, very good indeed, in spite of some cheesy Al Gore montage moments.

Sunday passed in a blur of kiddie birthday party and catching up with Geoff King for drinks and dinner. Without any specific purpose in mind, I led the poor unsuspecting gentleman to the heart of Soho where as a heterosexual pair we were in the minority. Still, it's all character-building.

Spent three hours in a Digital Influencer training session today which I found quite interesting - perhaps proof of my supreme dorkiness. Or maybe truly the communication tool of the immediate future.

32 days.

Tuesday was Pancake Day here in the UK. Something about a tradition of making pancakes to use up things like eggs, flour and sugar which were the sort of thing that good Christians gave up for Lent. I'm not sure I know anyone anymore who gives up anything for Lent but everyone loves a good pancake, right?

I was astounded to learn that British pancakes are not the same as American ones (and honestly people, I think we're dragging this difference thing just a little too far. I mean, mustard is one thing, but pancakes? Really?). Turns out British pancakes are kind of thin and bubbly, more like crepes (and don't let's even get started on trying to compare British food with French), and served with lemon and sugar while American pancakes are more soft and squishy and served with butter and maple syrup. I nearly had the chance to try the British kind as we were meant to be having them here at the office that afternoon, but some nonsense about the hot-plate not working deterred me. Oddly enough, Dianne had Scotch pancakes at home that night which were really just like miniature versions of American ones, which she had with butter and jam. So perhaps what I was calling British pancakes are actually just English pancakes? But then, that's apparently how they have them in Wales as well. I am thoroughly confused. Besides, I've always preferred waffles anyway.

Have now given my landlady notice, so the countdown to being homeless is officially on. 37 days.

Apologies again to anyone who was sitting there, holding their breath and waiting for an update on my weekend activities.

After my post on Friday I had a stroke of inspiration that made me order a DVD for Dianne that I think she'd like. Go figure that we watched TV together that night and she mentioned at least two things that then sounded like better presents. Hmph.

A sudden spate of keen-ness (aided by a gurgling heater that woke me up at an ungodly hour) saw me in the gym on Saturday morning - a rash decision for which my nether portions have yet to forgive me. Did a bit of flat-visiting in the afternoon and saw quite a nice place on Northcote Road that I could quite easily see myself living in. I have since been informed that, in actual fact, I will not be living there. Hey ho.

Watched Hot Fuzz, which made me giggle but not laugh out loud. Good film though, understated humour and a good amount of referencing back to things I found funny in Shaun of the Dead as well. I shall watch Simon Pegg's future endeavours with considerable interest.

Went to see another flat on Sunday afternoon and, have to say, had my faith in humanity shaken a little. It turned out to be a house with SIX people living in it (bad start), with stains on the carpet (ick), broken sofas (really disturbed by this point), a bathtub that was missing tiles and had exposed pipes along the bottom (horrified) and a kitchen that looked like nobody had ever wiped it down after a fry-up (nearly the last straw). The people that lived in there were all roughly my age, possibly even a little older in one case, so I couldn't even write it off as student behaviour. Then they had the colossal nerve to tell me that lots of interested parties had viewed it, so they couldn't be sure if I would get the room. It took all my willpower not to tell them that not only did I not want the room but that no amount of showers would ever make me feel clean again after this vile experience. When I heard that one of the bills for the month was apparently for a cleaner, I knew the last straw had come and gone; the camel's back was in pieces. I fled.

Sunday night saw another bit of drama, as Dianne attempted a bit of DIY, trying to bleed our radiators. The gurgling noises were simply unbearable and the house was getting progressively colder all week. It seemed to work at first but then the whole thing went kaput and we had no heating or hot water. After a minor amount of drama from Ms Ramsay, we called the landlady who in turn called 'the little man' who came along and sorted it out in just under 15 minutes. The upshot of all this being that now that winter is coming to an end and we're both scheduled to move out soon, we have a wonderfully warm and toasty house =P

Yesterday disappeared in a haze of busy-ness and this week looks like another packed few days. What it is to be so popular!

More of a challenge than usual, getting out of bed this morning, in spite of it being lighter at 7.00am than it has in months and my heater gurgling like a leaky tap right by my ear. Still it's Friday, so that's some small consolation.

Met up with Pete Kenny last night which, apart from one particularly revolting anecdote involving a centipede, was an excellent evening's worth of story-swapping and Chinese food.

Looking forward to a weekend spent sitting on my sofa, staring into space. Might have to intersperse a bit of birthday present buying for Dianne's 31st next week. Astoundingly, I have realised that in spite of having lived in close quarters for six months and spening several evenings having a chat with her, I really don't know what she likes or would want.

Hrm.

So the longest night of the year has finally passed and I can put off being single and bitter about a Hallmark holiday for another year. Special thanks to Geoff and Toosy, whose cards, gifts and flowers are actually the only Valentine's Day presents I've ever received, making this an extraordinary year.

Spent last night eating pizza and watching Snakes on a Plane with Dianne. Personal highlights:

• "Great. Snakes on crack."
• Scenes being shot in evil green snake vision
• The bad guy who has arranged to fill the plane with snakes saying there was no other way to stop the witness testifying against him
• End credits song by Cobra Starship featuring lines such as 'I can see the venom in your eyes'

Another long week this week - still no flat and more upsets at work. If I were so inclined, I'd be wasting away from the stress - sadly I think it's having the opposite effect and I'm expanding rapidly enough to soon have my own gravitational force.

Still, meeting up with the unsuspecting Mr Kenny tonight, which promises to be amusing and uplifting.

Will end on this note:

The flat-hunt is back on, although not yet in full swing as most of the people with rooms to rent are looking for someone to move in pretty much right away and I'm not set to go anywhere until the end of March. It's all a bit stressful and boring so let's focus on my personal favourites from Avenue Q instead:

• More drinks! More fun! Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay!
• Everyone's a little bit racist...
• What do you do with a degree in English?
• The internet is for PORN!

Excellent show indeed. However, I do feel sorry for the parents who mistakenly thought that there being puppets meant it was an appropriate show to bring a 10-year-old daughter to. They must have spent the entire show with their hands clamped tightly over her eyes and ears so she could be shielded from the racism, homophobia and puppet-sex references.

There wasn't much left of the weekend after all the meals we managed to fit into the space of 24 hours, but I can't think of many better ways to fill the time than with friends and food.

Valentine's Day tomorrow - have a rather full schedule of Dell annual review meeting and poking my eyes out with knitting needles.

Hurrah for free speech!

Thanks to the pro-Scientology person who left me a reasonably valid comment on my last post. I gracefully concede that I'm sure much of the stuff the media make up about Scientology is untrue - as are most things you read in the tabloids. However, the secrecy that surrounds the faith and the lack of forthcoming information don't exactly help sell it to me as a viable explanation for the nature of the universe.

In any case, as someone who belongs to a polytheistic religion which itself requires several leaps of faith, I don't think I'm ready to try and embrace anything else at this time, no matter how good the biscuits.

Still, good to know that someone's reading this blog, even if it isn't necessarily the people I know. I will have a fan following yet... watch out Mil Millington!

The Church of Scientology is around the corner from my office and on the rare occasions when I go to the gym on Queen Victoria Street (or indeed, go to the gym at all) I walk past it. I'm always amazed that there are people in there. I mean, haven't we all read and heard enough about these particular brand of crazy to know well enough to stay away? Who are these randoms who, when perfectly good alternatives such as atheism exist, are showing interest in a 'religion' that hails Tom Cruise as its messiah?

Perhaps it's the fact that they offer free refreshments to all that come in and listen. I'm not sure there are biscuits anywhere in the world that are good enough to justify Scientology...

Admittedly, it's not masses of people in there every time, only about 3 or 4 but that's still more than the acceptable headcount. And frankly this Church really should have the decency to be located in a leaky cellar in Brixton or similar. Instead they have a large, well-lit, airy space with widescreen TVs and comfortable looking sofas, on a respectable street in the City.

Surely this is all wrong?

A stint of staying late at work last night meant I ended up skipping Ceroc but a cosy session of sitting on my sofa, eating homemade yellow curry and noodles and watching Ugly Betty soon cured me of any disappointment.

Overnight London received the most snow fall it has had in 10 years. Apparently. It looks to me like an average winter day in Indiana but that hasn't stopped it wreaking havoc on the public transport's ability to navigate the seemingly simple task of getting people from one place to another. Still, the back garden was picture postcard perfect, which for some reason makes it all okay.

(Why do I always call it the back garden? We don't have a front garden.)

Today has been an odd sort of day - managed to get a couple of things done and felt less stressed than I have all week, but now I feel guilty for not feeling rushed off my feet. Perhaps the number of inane phonecalls I have had to field is the balancing factor.

Right, off to the gym and then to the house that probably won't be mine for much longer.

*sigh*

Now that the guilt of leaving my public post-less for a whole week has overtaken me (and I've had one mildly threatening reminder), it's time to catch up on the news from the last seven days.

After a six month hiatus (and nostalgia prompted by a phone call from JP), I went to a Ceroc class last week and was somewhat relieved to find that I was not as rusty as I expected. The intermediate routine was pleasantly familiar with a syncopated first move, some walkabouts and a double dip.( And no, I don't know the English translation for any of those. Suffice it to say they are quite cool looking.) The instructor wasn't as good as I was hoping for and the geriatric in a cardigan that smelled like old man did put a damper on some of my enthusiasm but not enough to make me want to stop going. Class again tonight, will see how it goes.

A mild bit of standing up by Will Rankin (ex-journalist buddy from the brave old Dubai days who I randomly ran into in Carnaby Street over the Christmas break) on Friday started off the weekend and a gossipy girlie night out with KY and Catherine filled in the gap. A nice bit of doing nothing rounded out Sunday in preparation for what appears to be the coldest week I've experienced in the UK so far.

Speaking of the weather, it's been estimated that it'll snow 10 inches (or some such apparently sensational amount) tonight and people are airily talking about posssibly not being able to come into work tomorrow. In theory, I'm tossing my hat in the air at the prospect of having a shortened week, but then I catch sight of my lengthening to-do list and realise that I am actually already snowed under. (Bad pun fully intended)

This week has been characterised by some of the random meetings I have had scheduled into the social calendar. The Peters, in her infinite wisdom, has hooked me up with a friend of hers who I have unfortunately had to reschedule to next week. I say unfortunately because he appears to be good value and I am loath to have to put off meeting up with him until next week. Still, such is the sadness of life and all that.

In even stranger fashion, last night I had a brief catch-up with a guy who got into conversation with my brother in a bar in Dubai last week and ended up hanging out with him all evening, frequenting such charming and stylish establishments as Scarletts and Cyclone. How I came to be meeting up with him in Covent Garden is a long and only slightly interesting story, so I'll skip it for now.

Jamila, Marc and Austin all visiting from Cardiff this weekend so the homestead promises to be cosy if nothing else. Avenue Q tickets sorted for Saturday night - hurrah for a bit of culture, even if it is the foul-mouthed furry puppet type.