"It's such a perfect day...

I'm glad I spent it with youuuu..."

Well what a nice day I had today. After enjoying a day's holiday on Friday I relaxed into Saturday with a roadtrip down to the seaside, both to visit my heavily pregnant friend and to take my other half's mother to see an old friend she hasn't seen in years. The weather was lovely, I sang songs into mother-in-law-to-be's good ear (she's almost completely deaf) and my boy, otherwise known as 'lead foot', drove at a reasonable speed for the entire journey. We stopped off at my friend's house for a coffee and a sniff around her recent renovations, then she joined us for the trip to the next town for lunch and window-shopping.

We first took my fiance's mum to her old pal's apartment nearby, and wouldn't you know it the old girl's got a lovely one-bedroomed place right on the water with a balcony and harbour view to boot. Upon seeing eachother again, the two ladies shared a meaningful hug that only two friends who have so much history but haven't seen eachother in ages can give one another. It broke my heart. But soon enough the naughty twosome were lost in a fug of cigarette smoke, memories and whiskey, leaving the 'young ones' to go and do their own thing for a few hours. So we mooched around the shops, I touched up some silky, jewel coloured dresses in Monsoon, cuddled the beautiful volume winter coats in River Island and ran my drool-covered mits over the wall-to-wall cushions at Au Naturale. Sigh.

Whilst strolling around Debenhams we could hear a fashion show going on in the far corner, so following the music and the sound of the pa we walked towards the assembled throng, wondering why everyone was staring at us. We soon realised that the path we were walking on was actually, um, the runway, and that there was an exasperated model, dressed head to toe in Topshop, trying to squeeze through the racks past us! It was so hilarious, my friend and I were in hysterics wondering if the suburban fash pack would take our cue and start dressing in head to toe black stretch maternity gear (her outfit for the day), or New Look jeans with a paint stain on the right thigh (me). And I kid you not, by the time we assembled in the 'correct' area for the show I noticed there was a girl in the front row wearing sunglasses, a la Anna Wintour. Oh, it was just surreal.

We shortly after repaired to the restaurant upstairs, for panninis, diet-coke and cake (my friend is heavily pregnant and needs her nutrients- who the hell am I to be left out?). I bitched about work, she talked excitedly about her baby names shortlist, I bitched about work again, she talked excitedly about bringing the little one to my house overnight once he/she's born so that she can partake in her first post-bub beer. I shut the hell up and was suddenly overcome with the significance of what was happening to her, and got misty eyed at the notion that I had no idea when I would be in her shoes. She told me she was a bit scared and I told her she'd be fine, that her motherly instinct would kick in immediately, just the way my dad told me my sister's had as soon as my nephew was born.

We also talked about our hilarious mate the Gay Priest. Gay Priest has almost finished his training, and has invited us to his open day at priest 'college' next month, so he can show off and let us see him in his priest-to-be habitat. Did you know they even have a bar at priest college? I'm going along to witness that, if anything. Apparently he has an absolute ball there- who would have thought? One evening he and the other trainee priests got bored, so they all decided to sing their hymns in the style of The Proclaimers... And on a recent trip to Rome our Gay Priest was late for an audience with the Pope because he and another priest got sh*tfaced in the afternoon and were caught at the Trevi Fountain drunkenly 'blessing' passers by with the water. I have gotten sh*tfaced with him myself and can truly say he's one of the most interesting people I've met since living here.

Anyway, after a few hours of hardcore chit chat and fondling of precious retail things, I bid my friend adieu and made my way back to ye olde's fancy apartment on the water. I stood on the small balcony and watched my boy lovingly act as interpreter for his (almost) 79-year-old deaf mother as she struggled to hear some quip or another that her friend was making about the old days. It was quite touching, and I really did fall for him all over again, seeing him with his mum like that. On the hostess's insistence we stayed for a dinner of fresh fish and chips, then finally said our goodbyes and made our return journey, the return of 'Lead Foot' seeing us back to our place of origin in 55 minutes flat. Yay.

So now here I sit, chilling out, I've had a glass (or 5) of wine, and I can safely say I have had a really nice day. Okay, it wasn't the most exciting, the most fabulous or the most dramatic. But it involved food, drinks, friends, sunshine, a bit of family and a bit of laughter.

Aren't I easily pleased?

Fashionanna

I like to play a game where I have an imaginary £10,000 to spend on clothes and accessories at Harvey Nichols or Selfridges in a single afternoon. I do actually have excellent taste but am without the budget (not to mention the figure) to make this dream a reality. Okay, so I could go all 'Sienna' and put things together myself but I just don't have the time, as creative as I like to think I am.

I have been reading fashion magazines since the year dot, so I certainly know my Hermes from my H&M. Has it inspired me to pursue fashionista status? Not exactly. Has it given me size zero tendencies? Hell no. So I don't know if I'm a fashion follower so much as a 'fashion appreciator.'

Oh god, is that just an excuse for being broke and fat?

But I don't flick through magazines wearing my smock and gladiator sandals thinking "okay, so volume is out, but body-con is in, but maybe my sandals can carry me through autumn, what with the new warrior look and everything." You know, I flick through the magazines and I study the fashion pages (as I always have done) thinking "oh, that's devine..." Then I go to my wardrobe and put together an only slightly updated version of a look I have probably had for the past 10 years. I mean, for god's sake, am I really destined to become one of those women whose 'look' is stuck in a timewarp (ie. when they looked their best- in my case Summer 2001)?

I look forward to 2047 when I'll be wheeling my granny jeep to the grocers wearing wedges, liquid eyeliner, a big, f*ck off necklace and, I don't know, maybe a sheer polka-dot shirt for good measure.

Please don't. No, really...

I am tempted to say I work as a counsellor. Well I don't, but the business of finding work for people can see me wearing many different 'hats', including that of Counsellor, Mum, Best Friend, Jester, Judge and sometimes even Slave (if slaves wore hats). Don't get me wrong, being in a position where I am able to help people is the main reason I do what I do. And if I get the odd box of chocolates into the bargain, all the better. Now and again, though, someone comes along who just ends up taking up more airtime than they really should. Oh, there's always one.

Let's face it, looking for a job basically means putting yourself out there to be accepted or rejected (for whatever reason). Having been closely involved in facilitating this process has taught me just how vulnerable, arrogant, brilliant, conniving or downright stupid people can be in their merry search for work. Nothing makes me happier than telling someone they have just been offerred the job of their dreams, especially if I helped them from the start. Equally, nothing makes me feel worse than having to tell someone they didn't get the job they had their heart set on because they were too nervous/negative/had an inappropriate piercing at interview. But nothing makes me hopping-madder than someone who is pushy, aggressive and won't take no for an answer. I shall call him Mr. Creepy.

Mr. Creepy came in to see me a few months ago, with an out-of-date passport and no working visa on him. His CV was so-so but I thought he would be okay so long as he could show his eligibility to work in the country. Conscientiously he brought his documents in the next day and all was well. Due to circumstances beyond my control there was nothing I was working on to suit him, therefore I wasn't in touch for a while. He called me a couple of times and I told him this. I was then walking through the bus station after work one day and he appeared, as if from nowhere, apparently wanting to chat about his career (or lack of). I apologised for not being able to help him and he looked utterly crestfallen, but kept standing there as if there was something I should be able to do then and there. Not knowing what else to say, I politely said goodbye.

The next night I walked through the bus station and was sure I could see him in my peripheral vision, sitting in a seat outside. Maybe watching me, maybe not. Last week I was walking into the bus station again (does he ever get a bus or what?), I was wearing my sunnies and could just see him, walking the opposite way. He called out to me again but I kept walking this time, slightly annoyed.

Was I wrong not to stop? Is he wrong for wanting to stop me each time he spots me in a crowd, rather than just recognising me and thinking to call me the next day- at the office- for a professional chat? Is it a cultural thing and I'm just being really rude (he's Ghanian by the way)? At any rate I started walking into the bus station via a different door each night.

He called the office at about 5pm today and my colleague answered. She told me it was him and I told her exactly who he was. Susequently I didn't speak to him, which was probably the wrong thing to do. It just irritated me. I did my usual walk to the bus, all the while thinking that if he was calling me 20 minutes before, then surely he would be at home or something. Anyway I was getting my bus about 40 minutes later than usual- he couldn't possibly just be there at any given time?

I had a cigarette, put it out, walked through the sliding doors and... who should be walking out through the other side but Mr. Creepy? I'm not even kidding. I grabbed my mobile and pretended to be on it. He called my name anyway, I kept walking, I got to my bus stop and waited for him to have the sheer front to come and tap me on the shoulder. He didn't. All of a sudden I wanted to run after him and tell him to leave me the fuck alone. I know the guy only wants a break but he is starting to give me the creeps.

PS- Since then I have put him forward for 2 jobs (he is actually a part-qualified accountant) so fingers crossed for him. He has stepped up the calls to the office but there have since been no public haranguings. That I can deal with. Stay tuned.