Tag Archives: Twinkle

The End Of An Era… And A Dead Fish

Posted on July 18, 2012 | 2 Comments

I can’t believe I haven’t actually bothered to mention this yet, but Twinkle is moving out of Castle Cortez… in about two hours time!

After a whirlwind few weeks of general madness and confusion, the day is finally here, and as we sat on the couch last night, mocking wanna-be Jesuses (Jesues? Jesi?) and pondering just how we were going to get her suitcase closed, the reality finally set in.

And then her fucking fish died.

How’s that for symbolism? Two and a half years ago, Twinks and I moved in together, and bought a fish bowl. Then we bought some fish, and named them after characters from Cats… you know, because we’re ironically stagey, which is better than admitting that we’re actually stagey. That just won’t do.

Mister Mistoffelees and Mungojerrie lived a charmed life. They had the very best of fish flakes, got cleaned every other weekend (thank you Twinkle) and had a pump that cost more than my weekly shop, and after eighteen perfectly healthy months, Mister Mistoffelees pops his clogs the day before Twinkle’s due to set off for Lala-land.

Coincidence? I think not.

And so we come to the end of an era. No longer will my possessions me tidied away while I’m still using them, no longer will I be able to get away with shirking fish cleaning responsibilities, and no longer will my fridge be filled with protein shakes. It’s a bit bloody sad, is what it is.

But wait, what’s that over yonder? Is that a light at the end of the tunnel? You bet your bottom dollar is is! And how many Musical Theatre references can I actually squeeze into this blog post?

I can hereby officially announce (seeing as the whole world knows it anyway), that Ms Blondie McFabulous of Blondie McFabulous Does Life fame is moving into Castle Cortez NEXT MONTH. Oh good lord the fun times that we shall have – and the wine. Lots and lots of wine. The movie marathons, the Hallowe’en/Bonfire/Christmas/New Years/Thursday parties that shall play out in months to come, the complicated scrunchie system that will be concocted for communication when one of us is getting some… it is going to be epic.

So stay tuned my lovelies, for a great time of change is upon us, and it is going to be messy.

Now all we have to figure out is what to name the new fish…

RitziCx

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Wanted : Iron Knickers

Posted on February 22, 2012 | 2 Comments

Almost Famous is playing a gig at a super cool haunt right round the corner from my house. On Friday.

He asked me to go and the only excuse I could come up with was ‘I’m supposed to be at the theatre so I’m not sure I’ll be able to…’ Feeble excuse, Ritzi. These cool bands are not even on until 11ish. As if any play is that long (there’s nothing directed by Trevor Nunn kicking about at the moment).

Should have said opera.

The Office Sluts Brigade (god I love them) say ‘GO GO GO!’ They said this after they saw his mugshot and I can’t blame them. He is HOT.

Twinkle says; ‘You better not shag him so loud I can hear it from my bedroom.’ Thanks Twinks, ever the pillar of moral support.

Blondie says; ‘Do not go alone, and do not shag him.’

The thing is, despite being a MAHOOSIVE hypocrite, Blondie has a point. I’ve never quite twigged before, but perhaps the real reason AF and I have so much chemistry in every other area except for face to face (well, clothed face to face anyway) is because every time we see each other, we get drunk, lose our inhibitions and bonk each other’s brains out.

Then we wave bye bye for six months or so, relationship reduced to texts that range from painfully horny to shamefully needy, depending on which one of us is drunk.

Not exactly healthy, is it?

Which brings me to the Iron Knickers. Blondie went on a ‘first date’ recently, which was actually a booty call, and dropped her kecks that very same evening. Flora, the silly but lovable bint, just did the same thing with the leading man from Twinkle’s show. Now, Blondie’s bloke is still interested, but apparently only in repeating said booty call with no strings attached, and Flora’s has dropped off the face of the earth.

For this line, we must credit Irish….

‘Where are your Iron Knickers girls?’

Of course men think we’re sluts who’re likely to shag anything and everything when we get naked on the first date… If we’re honest, they’re sort of right. And I am one of the worst for this – if I can go a bit Freud for a moment, I’d say it’s most likely because subconsciously I know that if I do it, they’ll lose interest, and then I don’t have to deal with the whole potential relationship thing. My subconscious is SUCH a cat lady.

So, with Irish’s stern words and Blondie’s ‘pot-kettle-black’ advice in my head, I’m going to try this new-fangled ‘not sleeping with Almost Famous’ thing. And see where we end up.

Unless, of course, I have more than 3 glasses of wine, then I cannot be held responsible. Blame the grape.

RitziCx

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Can Men And Women Be ‘Just Friends’?

Posted on February 13, 2012 | 5 Comments

Through much research and development, I am inclined to say…

No. Freakin. Way.

This is a question that was first brought to my attention by the sheet comic genius of Bill Lawrence, via a heck load of Courteney Cox related hilarity in THIS particular episode of Cougar Town.

Wait – hang on, what? You haven’t seen Cougar Town? You don’t get it? You’re put off by the title? Stop reading right now, I care not for the time of day, and get yourself a vase of wine and a DVD box set, because you need to get yourself an education before we delve any deeper into the question of male/female relationships.

Don’t worry. I can wait.

Aaaaaaanywho, if you have seen said episode, it explores the frankly ridiculous lie we all tell ourselves, that men and women can be friends without wanting to bonk each other even a little bit.

This week, Twinkle got a hair cut. She looks hot, trust me, and as a result a guy came crawling out of the woodwork, texting after years of absence, just wanting to be friends and catch up, texting and texting and texting… until it came out that he was having marital issues and thought it might be rather beneficial to his relationship if he were to come down to London and let Twinkle (quote) ‘wrap her legs around him while he got down and deep in her -’ well, you get the picture.

And I’m just as bad – the Ex an I can pretend to be friends as much as he wants, but it’s not going to change the fact that there will always be a little part of me that longs for him to wake up and smell the coffee (preferably in my kitchen), and there will always be a twatty part of him that will plant a cheek kiss a little to close to the corner of my mouth for comfort.

Or what about Close Shave? He’s married, with children, and the main reason we’d ‘never go there’ is because we almost ‘went there’ once and as a result have refrained from getting that smashed around each other ever again, on account of the whole… married… with children… thing. Doesn’t mean the sexual chemistry is gone though, it’s just squished down. Waaaaay down.

The closest I reckon I’ve ever gotten, is Ferris, because I’m not sexually attracted to him in the slightest – but I’m pretty sure the lack of feeling isn’t mutual. Or if it is, it didn’t used to be. Confused teenage hormones aside, I just don’t believe it.

What do we reckon? I should probably add that the aforementioned fictional characters who were ‘just friends’ back then are getting married in the new series.

Figures.

RitziCx

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The Lingering Bastard

Posted on February 9, 2012 | 6 Comments

Why oh why does this git keep on coming back?

Remember the story of my flatmate Twinkle and her douchey Army Ex? Well, despite varying suggestions of revenge (posting his number online in a fake gumtree ad was my favourite) I somehow managed to abstain. I took the high road, decided to be the bigger person, you know how I roll.

Well, that was clearly an error. Next time, remind me to listen to you lot when it comes to getting one’s own back, because this guy really has it coming.

Twinkle, usually a complete sucker for the ‘I’m still in love with you, I made a mistake’ bullshit, was actually remarkably strong when this train wreck of a relationship finally ended for real. And as we’ve established, the train wreck was the best thing that could have happened really, as it’s led to a healthy amount of rebound sex, an awful lot of new shoes and most importantly, plenty of career changing opportunities. Twinkle, an actress/dancer/singer, has actually been employed as an actress/dancer/singer for the past few months, for the first time in bloody ages. Finally free of the complete dick of an ex holding her back, she’s been able to throw herself back into her world, and has had standing ovations coming out of her ears.

But despite all that, the Army Ex has still not disappeared completely. He’s been lingering on the periphery, popping up at inopportune moments, making a nuisance of himself. First, he called late at night, the night before a huge audition, rambling about how he was off to war and she’d probably never see him again and it was all her fault for making the situation so difficult. Right. And true to form, she fucked up her audition the next morning, thank you very much Army Ex.

Then, after a few weeks of silence, which is all it took for Twinkle to actually get herself a job, launch into rehearsals and come properly out of her shell again, just in time for press night when the casting world and his wife were all there, watching intently, subconsciously casting the next big West End show, and of course he decided to call again. On press night. When really, woman’s got more important things to think about.

‘I made a mistake… I love you so much… I’m going off the rails because of you… I shagged around and got a girl pregnant…’

I kid you not, this is what the bastard decided to tell Twinkle, on the opening night of the first show she’s had in ages.

The rest of the cast forcibly removed her blackberry from her hand, slapped her round the face and shoved her out on stage, and once again, the Army Ex dipped under the radar until…

The last night of her show. Actual months later, when she’s just about stopping thinking about him every day, when she’s elated and proud of her success, and sad to be leaving her friends but ecstatic that she’s been signed by a new agent and has major auditions coming out of her ears for the next few weeks;

AE: ‘I’ve got a week off, I’m going to come and see you. I miss you.’

T: ‘Um, no. You’re not.’

AE: ‘I’m in the car, I’m going to come and see your show. I feel bad that I haven’t seen it.’

T: ‘It’s sold out. And I don’t want you to come here.’

AE: ‘I love you so much, we’re meant to be together. I can see now I was holding you back – I’m sorry…’ (etc etc etc, and a heck of a load of crap she could have done with hearing a few years ago)

T: ‘It’s too late. I’m sorry, but it’s done. You need to delete my number and stop calling me. Goodbye.’

YES! The woman is a rockstar.

Let’s hope this really is the end. Because I swear to god if he actually does show up on our doorstep on a whim, I will punch him in the face. I’m casually ignoring the fact that he could kill me with his little finger.

They do this. They linger in the background, waiting for a moment when they can kick you when you’re down. I don’t think they do it on purpose, really, but just like my Ex, popping up from time to time with a ‘hey, haven’t seen you in ages, let’s do dinner?’ the Army Ex is just never properly out of Twinkle’s life. What we should do, is be honest, and tell them we don’t want to see them. We don’t want to talk to them. We don’t secretly like them thinking of us and calling.

But we don’t tell them that. Because that’s not entirely true, is it?

RitziCx

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How About This For A Fuckwit Then?

Posted on November 15, 2011 | 13 Comments

Have I ever really told you the whole story of Twinkle and her Army Ex?

It’s a whole very dramatic and occasionally boring tale, so I will just fill you in on the good bits.

They were together for a couple of years. In that time, he fucked off round the world for some general killin’ of bad guys and whatnot (that’s what they do, right?) and she scraped her way through life as a struggling actress.

Poor Twinkle, while actually rather good (particularly at the singing and dancing thing) had a rough couple of years, with very few auditions and a lot of rejections.

The Army Ex, when not fighting whatever war needed fighting at the time, happens to not be stationed in London. Instead, he lives in the middle of nowhere, pretty darn far away from London. He used to come and visit, and stay for days on end when he had time off (spending most of his time playing computer games… killin’ bad guys) and when Twinkle could get away from work she would go and visit him too. In the end though, it seemed Army Twat had had enough.

Here’s a little sample of some of the classic lines he came out with:

  • ‘You’ve been out of drama school for years and you’ve not got anywhere. When are you going to quit?’
  • ‘You gave it a try and it hasn’t worked. Don’t you think you’ve proven your point?’
  • ‘I’m not giving you an ultimatum, I’m just saying that I want us to get married, and to do that you can’t stay in London because I don’t live here.’

So they broke up. Just before Christmas. And just like that… Twinkle got a Panto job.

Lo and behold, a few months later Army Dick was back.

And soon enough, Twinkle was back in a world of arguments, put downs, mood swings (from him) and ultimatums.

Six months ago, they broke up again. AT LAST! And it seemed like it was for good this time.

Six weeks ago, he showed up on our doorstep in the middle of the night, telling her he was in love with her, and he wanted her to marry him… and give up her career, leave London and become his own personal baby factory. Obviously.

Despite the fact that I was snoring away in the next room in a red wine coma, Twinkle somehow found the balls to tell him to bugger off, that they were over and done and dusted and she had had enough of his head fucks. Back in the world of independent single women (hurrah!) Twinkle has gotten laid twice in the past fortnight (one good experience, one disappointing, but that’s not the point) and she’s got a JOB!

Everything is fabulous. The Army Ex is OUTTA HER LIFE and we’re all so happy (even if it means her weird obsessive OCD energies are now entirely focussed on cleaning anything and everything, whether Blondie and I are sitting on it or not) and then this evening, the evil Army Ex has been emailing.

He’s got a new girlfriend. He felt the need to tell Twinkle this. She did not stoop to his level, then he got pissed and started accusing her of making no effort in their relationship (that ended six months ago), and declaring that he was completely right to move on and he hopes that she’s happy alone because that’s the way she’s going to be for the rest of her life.

Wow.

What an absolute dickwad.

I advised her to fill him in on exactly how UN-alone she’s been the past few weeks, but since she’s so much more of a grownup than me, she decided not to stoop.

Then I remembered I still have his number in my phone. I won’t lie and say I’m not tempted…

What would youuuuuuu do?

RitziCx

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Bye Bye Chez Cortez (Part 1)

Posted on October 21, 2011 | Leave a comment

Saying Goodbye Sucks.

I’ve been an absolute blogging failure of late. I do apologise. In my defense, my entire homelife has been slowly falling to teeny tiny pieces.

I miss my flat.

I miss my flat and I haven’t even left it yet.

My entire life is currently piled up in my living room, 400+ books boxed up, DVDs wedged into suitcases, summer clothing squished into bags with winter sweaters, all those pictures I’ve never hung lent up against the wall, hoping that this time they might actually get a nail in them for a while.

Two months ago I came home from a particularly long day only to find a ‘FOR AUCTION’ sign outside my building. Outside the amazing flat that has been Chez Cortez for the past two years. Nice of the landlord to mention that…

I lived in merry denial for a while but then the stoopid auction actually happened, and mere moments later we got our notice – our landlord had decided to refurbish pre-completion of the sale. Which essentially meant we were out on our ass… in September. The busiest time of the year in my world. WOOOOOOP DI FECKING DOOOO!

So I sucked it up. I trawled the internet pre and post work, hunted for flats, for flatshares (much as I heart Twinkle, the girl is flakey and has a particularly uncertain future ahead of her) and eventually had a line of semi-alright future homes set up for viewing.

Place No. 1: Disaster. Twinkle and I showed up at the ass crack of dawn to meet the estate agent, only to be met with an embarrassed smirk and an ‘oh… are you two not a couple?’ Ahem. Do we LOOK like a couple? ‘This is a one and a half bedroom place. The landlord is looking for a couple.’

Right…

Place No.2: My some miracle, I dragged myself away from work at 5pm (which is UNHEARD OF) and was on the train to meet Twinkle, just hopping off the train at Balham Station when…

‘Estate Agent just called – the place is gone. They just had a viewing and they signed straight away.’

Great. I’ll just go home and drink wine then.

Place No. 3: Another failed viewing and I was on my way home. Twinkle had gone to work and I took a chance, wandering past an estate agents. I popped in on the off chance, and by some remarkable miracle – they had a place exactly in my budget, round the corner, and so I went along to look.

It was perfect (or so it seemed) big rooms, just refurbed – bathroom and entrance hall soon to be refurbed guaranteed before I moved in of course. I took a shed load of pictures and sent them to Twinkle, who checked them out and (despite reservations about the size) agreed that the flat was awesome and we must absolutely snap it up. So I did.

Of course, on Monday when she saw it, Twinkle decided that actually she wasn’t sure all her shit would fit in a room basically twice the size of the box I’ve put up with for the past 2 years. I have to admit… it made me go a little bit like this.

Anyway, I then broke the news to her that I’d been looking – for flatshares AND 2 beds, and that I’d figured this was the best we were going to get. She was rather put out, understandably. In fact, she too looked rather like this ^^^

But Blonde. Obvs.

Aaaaanyway, eventually, Twinkle sucked it up (after I pointed out to her that she was NOT going to find a decent 2 bed for under £1000 a month – her share is £450, seriously! – and if she fancied trying she was totally welcome to. Alone) and decided that she was fine with it. So we signed.

And tomorrow we move. We pack up and leave Chez Cortez and all the happy memories. We go down the road to a place which, this evening, I discovered has not been cleaned as per the agreement with the estate agent, and neither has any of the maintenance been done that is written into the contract (regrouted bathroom anyone? Oh, right. Okay. I’ll live with the mould then shall I?)

Of course I kicked off. Don’tcha be thinking I’m just sitting here drinking the dreggs of an entire bottle of wine from a coffee mug (glasses are all packed) and moping about it. I kicked ASS. I had harsh words. I got the manager of my estate agents’ phone number and have HOUNDED him ever since. Supposedly they are getting a cleaning team in first thing in the morning.

I cannot WAIT to see what happens if they don’t. Twinkle is gonna eat some estate agents for breakfast.

Until tomorrow….

RitziCx

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Did You Grow Up In A Naked House?

Posted on September 21, 2011 | 10 Comments

A decent homecooked meal was much overdue, and so last weekend I demanded the presence of my favourite girlies, Irish, Blondie and Twinkle (who lives here so it wasn’t hard to convince her) over for a good old fashioned Sunday dinner.

Now, I’m a veggie as you know so whatever you’re imagining, replace it with fake Lincolnshire sausages and you got it. Yorkshire puddings from scratch though – credit where credit is due.

Anyhoo, chocolate brownie, cornish icecream and several bottles of wine later, we’re all still gathered around the dinner table, laughing at Twinkle’s unfortunate recent holiday experience with her parents – who would send her out for a run in the morning in the 40 degree Egyption sun so they could sneak in a quickie. Hilarious.

This somehow got onto the subject of naked houses. Did you grow up in a naked house? I certainly did not. In fact, just recently I was home visiting my folks and hanging out in their room one morning, drinking tea and chuckling merrily at Dick and Dom (you know you do it) and my father made me leave the room when he eventually got up because he’d slept in his t-shirt and boxers and therefore didn’t have any trousers on.

I also used to give him a heart attack if I had to leg it downstairs in the morning in my bra to grab my shirt from the dryer before school.

TWINKLE, however, will stand chatting away to her dad in her pants and think nothing of it. And sunbathed topless in Egypt (which I’m pretty sure is illegal or frowned upon or something) and so did her mum. Of course, it may have something to do with her meagre 32B’s being slightly less imposing than my ample bosom but still.

Blondie once visited a family friend with her parents, and as she was getting ready one morning she spied him (a man of at least 45) wandering past her room COMPLETELY STARKERS and when he saw that she’d seen him he stopped and WAVED.

Who ARE these people who wander around naked all the time? Surely we’re British – excessive flesh is not something we like to see on a day to day basis.

Sex education in my childhood was a horror story about my mum’s first period and a poorly illustrated book (it showed a couple doing it missionary style on a beach – on a beach??) and the first time I saw a penis that wasn’t a spray painted on the side of the tennis courts was when one was in my face.

I cannot tell you how much I hoped they all looked like that.

This is a subject that now intrigues me: naked house vs clothed house – what say you readers?

Fully clothed RitziCx

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Wait… You’re Not Twinkle!

Posted on August 20, 2011 | 1 Comment

It’s been a lovely lazy morning in Casa Cortez. Gallons of coffee have been consumed, and – post shower – I’d been reclining on the comfy sofa (as opposed to the sofabed sofa – ouch) leafing through what could possibly be a 3 week old copy of Heat magazine, when I hear my front door buzzer go.

Ah, that’ll be Twinkle back from the shops, ready to make me the world’s most healthy yet satisfying omelette, I muse to myself, hastily discarding the trash mag and ready to pretend I’d totally been perusing the Times or something. I like to let Twinkle think she’s the only person who reads crap mags – it means I never have to buy them.

So, in a fabulous plummy fluffy towel and turban ensemble, I dashed through the house to open the door, poised to make a Gizmo-esque remark about the bright light my poor sleepy eyes were accosted by, when I realised… it was not Twinkle.

There, standing in my doorway, were two suited and rather dashing black men, previously intent on selling me some Jesus. Upon my appearance – they clearly weren’t so sure…

‘Good bloody lord,’ I exclaimed, before I could help myself, then, unsuccessfully hiding behind the door, I continued rather sheepishly. ‘Um… can I help you?’

A slightly wordless jumbled mumbling followed, until eventually one of them managed to say ‘well, clearly you’re busy…’

MORTIFIED.

‘Yes, I’m busy – thanks anyway!’

Door slam. Girlish scream. Immediate phonecall to Twinkle.

‘Oh em fucking gee, you will not believe what just happened…’ I told her the story, and, understandably, she cracked up.

‘Hang on – were they two black men in suits?’ She asked when I was done.

‘Yes, why?’

‘I’ve just passed two guys in suits on our street, cracking up.’

Oh joy.

Happy Saturday!

RitziCx

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Seriously Twinkle? Seriously???

Posted on October 3, 2010 | Leave a comment

Twinkle is back with her ex. The ex who dumped her and told her she’d never make it as an actress. The ex who I’ve spent the last four weeks berating and describing scenarios that usually end in castration.

I’ve come to the conclusion that Twinkle might be a bit of a muppet, actually.

It may just be me, but if a bloke told me he thought I was wasting my time with my chosen career, that I was never going to ‘make it’ and then proceeded to dump me and shag someone else… I think I’d be chopping his bollocks off with a rusty knife and making him eat them on toast.

Anyway, they’re back together. He’s in our flat. I’m being overly nice to compensate for the fact that I’ve been calling him a dick for the past month.

Isn’t the world funny?

RitziCx

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I’m Back – In Theory

Posted on September 5, 2010 | Leave a comment

Well folks… I’m back.

It’s been quite an absence hasn’t it? I got a little email on my blackberry a couple of days ago saying ‘BCUK misses you! You haven’t logged on for a month’ and I thought, ‘by George this bot is right!’ So I have finally found time, late on a lazy Sunday evening to say hello to the world once again.

Where have I been? Oh gosh, here there and everywhere. I’ve had press nights and pitches, Hollywood agents on my case and Producers breathing down my neck every second of every day. I’ve strutted around Chicago on the hottest day of the year and got supremely pissed while being ferried around Lake Michigan. I’ve not bedded anyone since the double whammy weekend, but have systematically become more and more hung up on Almost Famous as the weeks have gone on until I drunkenly received a text from him last weekend saying he’d been dating someone and it had just ‘got serious’. I resolved to be the girl that men want to shag but not date just one last time. I moved HOUSE and bought more shoes. I’ve been trying to work out if a hot off-Broadway Producer is gay.

I’ve also seen every show in the known Universe, and frankly it has been exhausting.

Phew.

So anyway, back to the present. I am now happily ensconced in my little corner of South West heaven with a library of quality literature, a cute yet slightly unruly garden flat and most importantly… The Tudors in box set form.

So back to the task at hand. Almost Famous and I hadn’t seen each other since the Brighton weekend; he’s been touring all over Europe and I’ve been doing my fair share of gallivanting too. Every time we did speak he was pretty non-committal and I began to notice the all too familiar conversational tactics of a man who has got what he wanted and is now ready to move on. Until last weekend when I received the fated text.

For fucks sake.

Of course, in futile retaliation I decided to go out and get well and truly bladdered, dressed in full on eighties garb with a hair-do the size of Texas, and pulled an Air Force pilot who is quite clearly as illiterate as he is hard bodied. Later that night and slightly hazy, I receive a series of texts that remind me what it’s like to date a dyslexic teenage boy:

Ur so hot babe lol x x

Wish I woz ther wit u

U want me cum London sumtime soon so I cud cum see. you Your kiss was well nice c X x

Im guna make you cum so hard. U can feel how hard I am wilst me sliding. my hands in u an pulling your legs round me.as.i slowly push my hard cok depp in your tight wet pussy x x

Yikes. Graphic. And oh so sexy, obviously. I do love me a man who knows how to work predictive text. The most hilarious thing was that I did very little to encourage this chap (aside from snogging his face off after indulging in £1.50 sambuca shots of course) but he clearly thinks he’s due for a good time when he’s next in London…

Um… no.

I do however rather enjoy how the last text makes me both chuckle uncontrollably at the word ‘cok’ and also makes me think of shagging Johnny Depp. Weird.

And so, life after Almost Famous goes on. Maybe not with this pleasant fellow, but life in general continues to unfold. I’m now living with Twinkle, who’s arsehole of an army boyfriend just gave her the ‘your career or me’ ultimatum 2 days before fucking off to Afganistan. What a catch he is. Twinkle’s confused of course, but my response so far has been along the lines of ‘if he’s asking you to give up what you love, he can’t love you as much as he says he does’. We shall see how this goes. Literally half an hour ago there were tears and hot cocoa so the saga is still continuing.

Maxie G is running away to France on Tuesday. I know, right? Some people get all the fun. She is also leaving behind a husband and a country full of English speaking people though so I’m thinking this latest adventure might turn out to be a tad trickier than my romantic imagination is picturing it right now. Blondie (now less than a 15 minute walk away) came over for wheat free snacks and several pots of coffee this evening, which resulted in me, Blondie and Twinkle all squished up on the sofa passing tissues around while watching Moulin Rouge. THAT’S clearly the best thing for a group of emotionally vulnerable twenty somethings to be doing on a Sunday evening.

All in all, my own mind is a bit crowded right now. Work is unbelievably draining and I think I’ve shagged all the eligable bachelors the West End has to offer (surely not). I’d rather appreciate some magical genie popping out of my teapot the next time I’m washing up and imparting some pearls of wisdom about what to expect because you know what? There are only four months left of 2010: the year of promiscuity, and I’ll be damned if I know what comes next.

Signing off with a hesitant smile…

RitziCx

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