New Year's Revolution

What a difference a year makes.  This time last year I was updating my blog, glass of champagne in hand, in the secure knowledge that I was coming home to the UK after two frankly shit years in Canada.  Oh, am I repeating myself?   I'm sorry, but the strapline to this blog does say: because a girl likes to purge. 

And here I am a year later (champagne in hand - some things never change), almost in disbelief at the progress made and unmade.  I will leave the 'un-made' elements to a less auspicious day.  Today is New Year's Eve and today we get to feel all nostalgic about the past and inspired about the future when we will get to re-do things we've basically cocked up.  I have a whole list of things I'd like to press the reset button on.  I'm neither joking, nor being petulant.  Instead I'm picking things off the list as they come. 

Take the 'career'; for reasons so incredibly complex - I fear would send you reaching for the whisky -  let's just say I've accepted that I am not ever going to be a kept woman (actually I'm not cut out for this subservient role) or a completely fulfilled stay-at-home mum (despite my many interests), so it's best I get back to achieving (relatively speaking) and earning again.  This I have done by going back to work and it couldn't be more different than the turd of an opportunity I squeezed out in Toronto.  I have high hopes and even more compelling reasons to make a real success of this time round the block.  Wish me luck.

I'm keeping an open mind about everything else.  Let's just pretend I give a damn and leave it at that.

I've started chanting too.  It's not a conscious decision...it's just something that has inexplicably drawn me in.  It makes me feel hopeful and happy.  It's hard to explain but I find it relaxes and focuses the mind in a way nothing else has ever done.  This is a new journey for me.  I'm looking forward to it and while I'm way too cynical (and vain) to get all shaven headed about it, I must admit, there really is something very magical about it.  It also fills the emotional gap that would otherwise be plugged by wine and codeine.

In the words of Joey Ramone: I want to be sedated.

In other spiritual news, I may, just may... have become completely obsessed with Jesus after reading THE most intriging account of his life by Sylvia Browne.  Like I said, I've been sucked into a vibration of a very lofty kind and it has had a very comforting effect.  No, I have not become a bible-basher, in fact I say with utter conviction that the bible (all versions of it) is nothing more than an elaborate work of man-made propaganda.  Less said the better here before I get all the sandal wearing freaks demanding the termination of this most cathartic of outlets.

So, here's to a year of self-lovin'  (and I'm not talking about diamond covered dildo type love) I mean the other kind - the one that makes you want to be kind to yourself and others.  And it's with this woozy thought I leave you tonight.  I urge you all to follow your dreams however small and humble.

This is my hope for 2011.

It's all in the detail

Christmas Eve folks.  The house is temporarily quiet.  The in-laws were on the only flight to leave Canada heading for London, Heathrow on Monday night - after a day of one cancelled flight after another.  It's a Christmas miracle they made it here without so much as delay.  I'm humbled by that kind of luck. The house has been a hub of activity ever since except for right now.  A combination of wine, jet-lag and the realisation that work's out for for holidays has finally sunk in.  There isn't a soft furnishing in the house that doesn't have someone lounging on it.  It's lovely.

Later we will all engage in the global subterfuge that is Santa Claus and ferociously wrap presents once the Lish is sound asleep - and I mean sound - because this girl suspects something big is afoot.  She is not your average four year old and I know, as a mother, I would say this of my child, but seriously - she is like the girl out of poltergeist; exceptionally sensitive and she has a nose for BS like a sniffer dog.  So we have to be especially careful.

The other night she noticed the wrapping paper in a cupboard. 

 - Mummy?
- Yes, doll.
- Is that paper for Santa to use?
- What do you mean?
-What I mean is why do you need wrapping paper?
- Oh, honey that's just for birthday presents
- Well, it looks like Christmas paper to me.

So now we have to put out milk and cookies for Santa, carrots for Rudolf AND leave the paper out for Santa to use.  How silly of me to forget.

She's 4.

Well, Merry Christmas my dear friends.  Hope Santa is good to you and don't forget to leave the wrapping paper out for him.

Like the Corners of my Mind

I was out with a bunch of colleagues and clients from work on Tuesday - a very nice bunch actually.  We went to Zilli Fish in Soho.  It's been there a while, Aldo Zilli's first (I believe) eponymously named restaurant and in case you haven't guessed it does great fish and seafood dishes.  I had the pork belly - of course I would.  I like fish a lot but for some reason, I went for the pork.  I wasn't disappointed.  One of the people in our party ordered a plate of broccoli.  That's it.  Nothing else.  I've got nothing on her. 

No one said anything, it was the elephant in the room.  It's not like we'd gone to Pret A Manger and you decided you just fancied a pretzel.  It's like going to Le Caprice and asking for a bowl of boiled potatoes or in fact going to Zilli Fish and ordering the pork...or broccoli.  Hey, we fought two wars so that people could order a plate of broccoli if that is what they want.

Up until Tuesday, Zilli Fish was always that place an ex-boyfriend took a girl to when we were 'On a break' as 'Ross' would say...or was just two timing me, as 'Rachel' would agree (we were afterall still living together - you decide).  For this reason, I've never actually been able to walk past the place without a bristle of rancor running through me.  Going there almost 10 years after the fact felt weird but strangely manageable though, as you can see I couldn' t bring myself to order the fish. Odd how memories stay with you like that.

I recall the moment exactly when I confronted said naughty ex-boyfriend after finding a receipt for the meal. 

My exact words:

- So you can't even be bothered to come for a £2 drink with me but you can spend £90 on fish for some bint!! 

I have to say, I and indeed we (said naugthy ex) have since laughed about this line but I guess still waters run deep - especially the estuaries in my mind. 

I wonder what broccoli woman has against the fish in this place?

Red Carpet Capers

Another Sunday, another movie premiere.  No seriously, I've been writing reviews for Phase 9 again and this time I've been roped into reviewing childrens' films.  Last week it was Narnia.  They usually screen at 10:30, yes in the morning and the tickets usually stipulate you arrive at 9:30.  Now, if it wasn't for The Lish, there is no way on God's green earth you'd find me in Leicester Square on a Sunday at that time.  Ever.  But, let me tell ya - both times have turned out to be awesome experiences, though, a little word of warning, Walt Disney Productions are a little stingy with premiere audiences.  I guess not even Walt is immune to the effects of the credit crunch.

I went to see The Chronicles of Narnia last weekend.  It was my first film premiere since returning to London so I didn't really know what to expect but I wasn't expecting much over and above, a free film.  I was in for a real treat - or The Lish was - I should say.  The whole cinema has been made out to look like an enchanted winter forest.  There were face painters, photographers, caricature artists, food, food and more food!  I felt stupid with my £2.40 externally bought coffee when the exact same brand was being given out for free inside.  The Lish was catatonic; it was like a winter version of Willy Wonka's factory - candy everywhere.  The film wasn't bad either.

And today we went to see Tangled - a cheeky remake of Rapunzel - by the Disney Studios.  The film was amazing.  Honestly, I would recommend it even to people without kids.  It's a return to form for Disney without a doubt - though the freebies were a bit light on the ground.  This time coffee wasn't free.  Of course, this time I turned up without one.   Marvellous ennit.

Determined to scope out what there was up for grabs I muscled my way through a small throng to see what was on offer only to find a display of reptiles...FREAK knows why?  I mean, I know there is a little chameleon character in the film called Pascal - actually, a very clever little fella - my favourite character in the whole film but lizards and gheckos and ....I'm going to have to say this quickly and get the hell outta this page...snakes.

EUUGHHH!  Christ on a cracker - what were they thinking?  Well, I didn't hang about in the lobby after that. 

I had visions of a real-life 'Snakes in a Cinema' situation as I yanked The Lish towards the auditorium.

- But mummy, I want to get a butterfly on my face
- Butterflies are for stupid people...let's go babes - here's popcorn.  Careful!  mummy had to pay for that...

Beware of false Idols... and toy figurines

So 'The Fit Cobbler' has a name. Billy.  And dirty fingernails.  This is what happens when you get too close to your idols - an irreparable rip in the fantasy-reality continuum occurs and then the jig is up.  Still, better to find out now and not when his hang-nails accidentally catch on your best nylons.  And the name Billy conjures up snott- nosed simpletons with bandy knees, not matinee screen idols (no offence to any Billies out there who do not fit this sweeping generalisation).  No, it simply will not do.  I think a fantasy man needs a Man's name with no time for second syllables, something like Brad, Jake or Pat.  Ok, maybe not Pat, but you know what I mean?

Ah, what do I know?

On more festive notes, I have purchased a Christmas tree.  I'm told it's a no drop, premium spruce.  Of course I didn't fall for the marketing, I fully expect to be having arguments with The Silverback over who's turn it is to pick up the f-ing pine needles within days.  But for now, it emits a hypnotic, fresh, almost cleansing aroma of toilet cleaner that draws you to the front room with the pull of a basketful of freshly baked chocolate muffins (only with fewer calories).

It's lovely I must admit.

The Lish decorated it with baubles and her miniature dolls...so most of the action stops at about two feet from the top of the tree...but that's not the point.  The point is that this was a family activity.  The Silverback gave direction from his armchair, "It's wonkyyyy!" - that sort of thing, while mamanissimo lay flat on her back drinking coffee at 180 degree angles (not recommended what with gravity being what it is) and The Lish did a splendid job of bending the branches.

After rooting through all of her favourite toy figurines and carefully balancing them on the tree - she sat back to contemplate her work.  Chin in hand she said with real emotion: " I'm just a little bit sad I won't be able to play with my toys until after Christmas," her voice cracking at the very end.

"Do you want to take your toy figures back?" I ask, semi-serious.  Incredulous, actually.

"Yes, please mummy."

And we're back at square one. 

Here is a look at the tree before all the toy figures had to come off and YES, I know.   It's still wonky.