My friendships are the foundation of my life. Having come from an enormous family ~ well, my immediate family is small (and I cherish them so!) but coming from a large extended family where I have over a hundred first cousins, for me, blood is not always thicker than water.
I moved out of home and away from my family over a decade ago (I just felt a new wrinkle burrow itself into my forehead) and though I’m ever so slightly obsessively-compulsively-fiercely independent, my friends are my life source; they’ve been with me through the lowest of lows and highest of highs. We’ve laughed and cried ~ thankfully more laughs than cries ~ and while it’s been difficult with us all scattered across the globe, I’ve got most of my girlfriends with me in London right now, a rarity I know, and believe me when I say I appreciate it more than you can imagine.
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So. I’m still in Hong Kong as we speak and I hear all flights too and from the UK has been cancelled for today (Monday 19 April). We’re due to fly out tomorrow night but secretly (ok, not so secretly) I wouldn’t mind if our flight was cancelled also 
I’ve been berry berry quiet on the blog front, not the least because I have been eating to my little heart’s content, but also because there’s no free WiFi at our hotel. All together now – What The F**k.
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I’ve never been good at naming things. Even as a child, all of my stuffed toys were very unimaginatively named. There was Suzie, Casey, Mampi (ok this one sounds original, but she came with that name, so I take no credit), Teddy, Cuddly… you get the picture. In fact, so tedious were the names I was giving my posse that my best buddy from primary school (who’s coming to visit me in London next year ~ yay!) once asked, “hey, why do all their names end with ‘eee’?”
Good question.
I don’t know, my brain can’t seem to grasp anything else.
So one day, she bought me a bear – he was a really cool scruffy kinda guy. And she named him Fergus. Wow, that threw my naming convention a real doozy.
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The word “Interflora” is one that arouses in me a number of different emotions. Flowers, romance, love, envy, disappoinment, failure… just to name a few.
I’ve always worked in an office environment and don’t be pretending you don’t know what I’m talking about. When the receptionist calls to say someone’s received a bouquet of flowers from anonymous (because the receptionist never knows who it’s from) and the lucky girl walks off in an air of feigned aloofness, suddenly turning her slow stroll into a dash as soon as she’s out of sight.
When she comes back, a bundle of floral delights in tow, we all oooh and ahhh and gush over the bouquet of roses! lillies! everything! and thoughtfully chirp along with each other about oh, your man, he’s so romantic. You’re sooo lucky! when all we’re really thinking is, fuck. Why doesn’t my man ever send me flowers to the office?
Oh, right I know. Because I seem to have a knack for finding men who, well no it’s not that they don’t buy me flowers, but they are ever so misguided as to think that having flowers delivered to the office is unromantic. That it would be oh so much more romantic to be given flowers in person. After work. At a romantic dinner.
How wrong they all were.
Guys. Read it here and read it now.
It ain’t about romance. It’s a fricking competition so please. Help us win, send us flowers to the office.
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My posts have all been a little word-heavy lately, and I for one appreciate that out of the nobody who reads this blog, nobody really has time to read all of my dribble (unless you’re really bored in which case, sorry for this lite’n'easy post, with 99% less calories).
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what’s talkin?