Michael and Raef, yer fired!

I had to do this post as a two-in-one, having been a lax blogger of late. Also, I missed the Raef-firing episode and there are various reasons I haven't blogged of late:

• Work (I've been working on several magazines; sometimes I have no idea where to head to when I wake up in the morning... and when you are staring at a screen all day, and into the night at times, believe me, you don't want to blog...)
• Holiday to Paris (lovely break – and it was hot and sunny the whole time)
• Stress and tiredness have taken over (due to work). I have felt better; it's been bad – bad – at times.

So, anyway, The Apprentice. Well, Michael, who is so young, according to Al, went. I'm not surprised, but I have to say that I wasn't too bothered whether it was him or Helene that went. I reckon they had to fire Mikey due to Helene's comment about age (i.e. the Beeb couldn't risk a furore over Sralan being ageist).

Helene defended herself well. She seems OK, at times, but has also been a horrible bully, and is so miserable looking that I can't take to her at all. She needs to liven up a bit, methinks. She's looking permanently bovine.

Michael was an entertaining little thing, wasn't he? Irritating but quite watchable in a sort of experimental fashion. As for Raef, well I watched the boardroom bits on BBC iPlayer, which was handy, and after seeing the commercials, think he had to go. Shame really. He was just too subtle and measured for his own good.

As for tomorrow, I reckon that Helene or Lucinda might go. But I really hope it's Lee. He was awful to Lucinda and frankly, needs to calm down. I think Claire and Alex stand out as my final two. For now.

View from my chair...

• My work schedule, which is on my desktop, is shorter than normal today, as my boss (me) has kindly given me some time off to compensate for my hard work of late. She even got me a free ticket to an exhibition and emailed a friend who I haven't seen for months so we can catch up at lunchtime.

• The sun is pouring through the kitchen/study window. Beautiful. I shall be taking my camera (which itself is within view at the moment). The trees are glinting as the sunshine caresses the leaf buds and evergreen foliage.

• My attractive knee support is on my desk. I left it there after peeling it off after my last kung fu class. I have damaged a ligament and it is unexpectedly painful when I move in certain ways.
• M, the rabbit, is cleaning herself in her soft bed next to me. There is a small clump of fur on the floor from when she fought me while I was giving her antibiotics this morning. I felt terribly guilty for upsetting her but she hates medicine and always struggles. Poor creature.

• My mobile phone, which is relatively new, is sitting there all shiny. I hope the client who has been giving me lots of stress calls today and confirms that they've taken on board what I said and found some resources to help me cope with the mammoth project that I've signed up to work on (I tried to get out of it but it just didn't happen, damn).

• I've just received emails from two friends with whom I plan to visit Paris in early summer. We've finally decided a date, so I shall get booking! Very excited about this. On my desk, there's a black and white postcard of Paris that S brought back for me on his recent trip.

Remedy for a stressful day

First course:
See The Golden Compass...
Oxford and its spires
Magic
Good witches
Escapism
Imagination (that of the writer, Mr Pullman)...

Followed by:
Home, sweet home
Hot risotto
Cold ale
S calling me from Paris
M, rabbit, sitting nearby
Me, dozy and warm

Paris plus S

S is in Paris. It is quiet without him. The familiar turn of the key in the lock, his footsteps coming up the stairs to my study, and our happy hello, before he ruffles the rabbit M's head is a routine when I am working at home. I keep thinking S is in the living room and then I remember that he isn't here. A friend popped in earlier and I commented how strange, that I had once lived alone for seven years or so, and how I then relished my aloneness and, yes, I liked it very much, thanks. But things, they change. Life's funny.

He went earlier this evening, though I did not see him leave from shiny new St Pancras, as he went straight from work. I was invited to go with him (to see family who are staying in Paris for a while) but at first, money problems made this impossible for me (S offered to pay but I said no, and I can be very stubborn), and then work piled in and there are the practicalities of not being able to lift much at the moment thanks to my cracked/bruised ribs.

So, S is in Paris, the wonderful city of light and romance. We went there two months into knowing each other. I went there last year to visit my friend, Inz, and to have a break from my sleepless London bed. S was unable to come with me due to work madness. The air was fresh and cold. The oxygen and the delicious cityness of the place seeped into my being, waking me in a good way, giving me energy. S is there now. I am there, too, if only in my mind. It's not quite enough but it will have to do for now.

International relations, puffy eyes and deflation

I'm meeting my friend Inz today, so we can have a rare catch up before she goes back to France. She comes over now and then to get her hair done as she has never found a hairdresser in Paris who can do her locks justice – good for me as we get to meet. It may sound indulgent to those who can walk into a salon and have an inch snipped off, or whatever, but as Inz and I know, a good hairdresser who can do more than just cut in a straight line is hard to find. Plus, it's a great reason for her to come back to London.

Tomorrow, I'm meeting a friend I've known since primary school – she is visiting from her new home in the Ukraine, so we are meeting for brunch. Due to the sleep programme (which I abused today by having an extra hour in bed), I am usually up early, so brunch will be a good use of the morning hours (especially as we have an extra hour in bed what with British Summer Time ending – annoyingly – tomorrow).

My eyes are rather puffy. They have been like this for a few days now. It could be due to the cold/crying/infection. Either way, I shall go to the chemist and buy some medicinal eye cream. I may buy something for my bruised arms and legs, too. Kung fu was tough this week. One of the classes felt like it was designed to punish us for not attending religiously (and I mean religiously). Our instructor, N, is passionate about kung fu and gets frustrated at times, accusing us of apathy. Personally, I think it's those who are sat at home who need to be told that they are apathetic, not those of us who make the effort to go along. And I do make an effort.

I feel deflated by kung fu at the moment. I'm much stronger, as toned as I could wish to be, and can hit hard and fast, but due to a lack of any positive comments, my enthusiasm has waned. Yes, I passed my grading, but was told "that can't be right, I'll have to check that", when I revealed my results in class (even though N must have known already...). I know our performance reflects on N, but I can only do my best. Which will never be remotely good enough, it seems.

Also, one of my classmates with whom I was sparring is frustrated at having to spar with me. He wanted one of the other men to be there instead. They have more experience fighting, and are lads, so probably feel easier kicking and hitting each other. Hmm. Also, I have rarely – if ever – been praised for anything in class, whereas others seem to elicit more praise.

I don't feel as though I am dire at kung fu – in fact, I know I am improving, albeit pretty slowly – but only hearing feedback when I've done something wrong (which may be a psychological device) is wiring a synapse with negativity and it doesn't motivate me where it might work with others. It makes me wonder whether there's any point me trying. I am so tired and pouring my energy into something that makes me feel low and useless may not be helpful...

When I was ill, N commented that there "was always something wrong" with me when my friend passed on a message that I was ill, which I found incredibly hurtful. I have chronic insomnia, am on serious drugs for a serious reason, and have taken up a demanding sport. Most people would curl up on the sofa and watch TV, eat comfort food and use shopping as exercise. I do sleep well after exercising but am in the sort of mood where I am liable to snap if told off for no good reason or have sarcasm levelled at me, especially if it's to do with my health. I am resilient but I am also human, and now is not a good time for me. So, I may give it a miss for a bit.

Lovely lilas

The smell of one hundred barbecues (including the one we had here) no longer fills the air. For I have closed the windows and lit a Diptyque 'lilas' candle that I bought while I was on my short but wonderful trip to Paris earlier this year.

I had to close the window – and not because of the barbecue smell, either. I like the smell of barbecues. Thing is, some of our neighbours have a questionable taste in music. Really, for people with a lovely home and who are indeed very pleasant, they do own some ghastly stuff.

Anyway, if they want to stoke up an evening in that fashion, that's up to them but they had their music on one of those iPod speaker things in their manicured garden. I'm sure lots of our fellow barbecuers could hear the strains of MOR tunes interfering with the chitter chatter and chinkle of tipsy laughter.

It was, however, one of those situations where we Couldn't Say Anything as it Had Gone on For Ages and we'd exchanged niceties. I can hear them now; they are as drunk as lords. I shall have to go to bed soon (sleep programme... yadda yadda). It's been very warm today but I will have to sleep with the window closed to shut them out. Pah.

Fiftieth post

Let's see where we are. I'm somewhat surprised that I have written 50 posts since I began this blog. The topics are wide-ranging, I think, but have a theme related to sleep and wellbeing throughout.

At the start of this year, I was allowed to drink wine, but it's not wise (or allowed) while I'm on my sleeping tablets. So, now I don't drink any alcohol, and the thing is, I don't miss it. Yes, there have been days, especially recently, when a glass of something cold and bubbly would have been nice but it's just not on.

The good thing is that my sleep problem is being looked at by a top specialist (although high quality sleep has evaded me and the tablets a bit recently due to work matters; see recent posts for further details)...

So, to work: I worked extremely hard, to the point of exhaustion, especially earlier this year. And I was 'thanked' by being having future work taken away from me by a woman who, from what I hear, just doesn't like me. That's something I've had hanging over me for a couple of weeks now. Such a shame – a real shame – that it happened when it did. I feel robbed of more than a week of calmness.

To regain some calmness and control, I have started kung fu classes. S and I try to go along as often as we can. I love the classes. I am not yet much good (again, partly due to being so bloody exhausted due to this same tedious work situation) but I am determined to improve and be good enough to spar.

I looked as though I was struggling so badly one day last week that my teacher, N, asked whether I was OK. I wasn't. But you can't really explain what's going on and why you are so close to tears in the middle of a kung fu lesson, can you? I hurried back to the car afterwards and bawled. S hadn't attended that session, so I was alone.

The shock of how low I felt was intense when I got home. I seem to have regressed back to bad sleeping and so much worry. I'm investigating methods of avoiding this feeling recurring; I have to. Now, I try to confront situations – there's nothing I cannot bear more than festering, ongoing, trundling problems that are on my to-do list.

I have spent far too much precious lifetime waiting to Sort Things Out and been an awful procrastinator but I am no longer happy to be that way. Bad atmospheres and being treated with such malice (because that is what it feels like) are a waste of my time and I resent it.

Anyway, I had a short but sweet holiday – a wonderful trip to Paris during which I shook off my malaise and saw a good friend who lives out there. Then I had a few days pottering in London, just relaxing, until the work situation... Yeah, yeah, you get the picture. But, yes, Paris was superb and I was beginning to feel almost normal, filled with energy and positivity. Until, yes...

My rabbits get on famously now and take care of one another – a sight to melt anyone's heart. The garden is beginning to look greener and more floral. My dear parents are back from very lengthy travels and S has been a supportive wonder, as ever.

I have seen friends again – been nice to have the energy to see certain folk a bit more. R stayed over last night for the first time since S and I moved here. It was lovely. Though tired after a day working on a national newspaper, I cooked us all a meal (admittedly a fairly simple one) and we caught up over many hours last night. I stuck to the Badoit, which is very palatable. S and R had a fair bit of wine.

Today, I took R to Richmond, where we shopped for a short time and spent hours on the Green and then by the river, talking and watching the world go by. It was so hot that people were jumping off Richmond Bridge into the Thames. It was a beautiful day. Hundreds of people were out, on the banks, benches and sitting at outdoor tables in bars, like R and me. There was an air of relaxation and holidayishness about the place.

I just want to sort out this work situation now. I've had enough of it: it is boring me and depleting me.

Anybody out there...

Hrmph: this is the noise I keep making (sort of).

Bloody effing Marian Keyes and her great writing has depressed me. Chick-lit was never meant to be like this. Just flipping well finished her book 'Anybody out there', which was bought in haste from Tesco while I did the grocery shopping the week before my holidays began, and thought the pastel colours and little butterflies on the cover – plus the gold 'bestseller' thingy – could surely only indicate a good holiday read replete with laughs and more laughs.

I started the book in Paris but then, mercifully, was busy being in Paris, which is definitely a blessing. I continued reading it on the Eurostar home but didn't reach the most gruelling bits, and have dipped in and out of it when I've had the chance, over the past week.

I don't like to swear too much, but really, how fucking sad should a chick-lit book make the reader feel? Marian, you got me. If I start reprising the plot here, well, that would be silly. You may wish to read it if you fancy a cathartic cry (because, it will, if you have a heart, make you weep and will scare you with its darkness), and also, this Keyes woman does make most of the characters leap off the page into your lap. There were a few too many characters (get me, criticising a best-selling author, ha ha...) but I thought the bits about the protagonist's younger sister went on too long and I skimmed them.

So, I've finished the book and now want to read something that will reverse my sombre mood. Please.

At least I have a kung fu class later and can count on some endorphins from that. If anybody does read this blog – anybody out there?! – please comment and suggest some good reading material that will allow me to enjoy the rest of my week off. Thanks.

Hrmph...

Paris: part two

If the second day of my Paris break was sunny and a joy to behold, the third (last) day was sunnier and the joy even deeper.

The downside was that I hadn't slept well again, really not sure why, so I switched my alarm off as soon as it sounded at 8.30am, hoping I could rest a little more. Thankfully, I had forgotten to hang the 'please do not disturb' sign over the outer door handle before going to bed, and was woken by a chambermaid knocking to see if I was there as she wanted to clean the room. It was about 9.45am. I stumbled to the door, she took one look at my sleep-swollen eyes and backed away, apologies falling from her smiling, embarrassed lips. If she had not arrived, I may have slept until past breakfast, and that would have been a waste of time, money and lovely food.

Having made the effort to stand up, I progressed to the window and was greeted by a beautiful day. So, I showered and made my way down to breakfast where I filled my stomach with some of the most delicious bacon and scrambled egg I've eaten in ages. Plus fruit, bread, cheese, pastries and lots of black tea...

I was sad to leave my garret room (albeit an executive suite...) with its stunning views and lovely interior, and sad, too, to check out. The hotel staff had been superb. I hope to return. The time I had this far spent in Paris had somehow cleared my head, given me energy and – yeah, OK – given me back my joie de vivre, which had been hiding, suffocating and fading away underneath a pile of work and exhaustion. Oh, and another thing was that people were talking back to me in French! I had studied the subject when exams woz exams – GCE O-level, not GCSE sub-level... I managed to get an 'A' and to this day regret not studying French at A-level and beyond. The language is, to my ears anyway, magical. It was rewarding to converse in French (where it all came back from, I don't know). I understood more than I could speak but I did sit my O-levels more than 20 years ago, so that was OK. It was strangely empowering.

So, today was shopping day and my first target was to buy candles at Diptyque. I sneezed after inhaling one particular version and couldn't stop, which was slightly annoying for me and the sales assistant. Eventually, I chose two that didn't cause an allergic reaction. The dapper assistant asked if the candles were for me or were a gift so I said 'a gift', knowing that they were a gift (ahem) for me... This meant they were presented wrapped in delicate pink and purple paper, tied with ribbon, and he also threw in some fragrance samples with a wide smile.

Next, I walked towards Notre Dame en route to St Paul and Le Marais again. My ultimate target was Place des Vosges, which had been too packed the previous day when I was out with Inz and V, what with it being the weekend. The sky, as the picture below shows, was clear and blue. I was even wearing sun protection cream. Yes, it really was that hot.

Approaching Notre Dame © Mellifluous Dark, all rights reserved

Notre Dame is beautiful. Well, what else can you say? It draws visitors like a magnet by dint of what it is and where it is, surrounded by the Seine, and visible from several of the bridges that cross the river. The only thing that spoils it is the crowds of people outside its front, so it was a pleasant surprise to discover this area, to the side, where it was quieter and weirdly hushed.

Notre Dame © Mellifluous Dark, all rights reserved

It was one of those mornings that made your eyes open wider and your lungs expand. People walked around smiling, or perhaps it could have been the case that I had a smile plastered on my face and they were simply smiling back.

Seats around Notre Dame © Mellifluous Dark, all rights reserved

Could this street (below) be anywhere but in Paris? It was on the way to Place des Vosges, its surface still wet from the rain that must have fallen (mercifully) the previous night.

Narrow street, Paris © Mellifluous Dark, all rights reserved

On my way, I spotted this traffic light. It made me do a double-take, especially as my long sight is no longer what it used to be. But, yes, there it was, a heart-stopping sight. The lights then went green so I stood there fiddling with my camera until the cars stopped again. People watched me watching the traffic light, possibly thinking I was slightly eccentric. Good.

Heart traffic light, Parisian street © Mellifluous Dark, all rights reserved

And then, I reached Place des Vosges, with its archways and tiny shops and galleries, many of which were extremely expensive and exclusive. I bought a couple of things (yes, they are presents, yes, they are for me, and they were within my budget)... and had a very long and pleasant chat in French with a middle-aged man who explained the history of a company to me (in French), with me able to make observations (in French!) back to him. For that moment, at least, I felt like a bloody genius, especially when Monsieur fell for my haggling in his mother tongue. I was triumphant.

Place des Vosges, Paris © Mellifluous Dark, all rights reserved

I had, by this point, walked for a few hours but didn't want to waste time sitting down for too long. I had Shopping to do and needed to get to Rue de Rennes to buy some presents – not for me this time, but some more things for S, who deserves plenty of extra treats for helping me through my sleeping disorder. I got on to the Metro at St Paul and got off at St Germain-des-Prés, wandered up Rue de Rennes, as per Inz's instructions, found some lovely stuff for S, which involved spending some time in a specialist chocolate shop among other places, and exhausted, went back to the hotel.

Having eaten no lunch, I stopped off for a takeaway croque monsieur and a mille-feuille from a café near my hotel and encountered the only rude Parisienne of my entire trip (apart from two snooty ones in a shop in Le Marais but that's slightly acceptable; they did at least say hello, while conveying "you cannot afford this"; little did they know, the silly idiots, I am a woman with a budget, I have not had four weeks' holiday per annum for five years and this was payback time. I felt like Julia Roberts in the shopping scene in Pretty Woman, but without being a whore, of course).

Anyway, the sour-faced café woman, who looked at me as though I was an alien, handled the pastry with her fingers and was rude (in French, which, yes, I understood). "Take it! Take it then, go on!" she demanded, holding out her sloppy, heated, cheesy offering. Bitch. I glared at her as I left and muttered something Anglo-Saxon in her direction. While waiting for my taxi in the hotel lobby, I ate some of the croque monsieur but chucked the pastry in the bin. At least the sealed bottle of Badoit was uncontaminated by her ugly bitterness.

So, that was nearly that. The taxi arrived, I thanked the front of house staff at the hotel for a wonderful stay and before I knew it, I was hauling my bags around the Eurostar terminal trying to find somewhere to sit. I gave up on duty free – I couldn't leave my baggage, not in this day and age and all that, and my fingers were already strained and purple from the effort of carrying the things I'd bought.

When I found my seat on the train, which took longer than it should have as I was initially in the wrong carriage as the Eurostar staff hadn't bothered to number them on the outside as they normally do, I took out some paper and sketched out a storyline and characters for a new novel. The woman next to me, who was French, and had terrible halitosis, kept glancing over at my frantic writing and smiling at me. I just wanted her to keep glancing at her book and not breathe in my direction, but it was nice to be seated next to a friendly, if smelly, face.

From Waterloo, it's easy for me to get on to my London train and get home. Dear S was there on my home station platform, beaming, if looking a little peaky and thin. He had been ill while I was away. Poor S, he doesn't look after himself very well when I'm away. He eats poorly and loses his ability to sleep like a log. It was lovely to get home. I began to tell S some of my tales but as he had been – and was still – unwell, I encouraged him to sleep, which he did soundly after making protestations, while I pottered around in a state of rejuvenation, tiredness and happiness. I slept like a dream that night, too.

Paris: part one

Am writing this quite slowly because this is a French computer keyboard and also there is a woman waiting – hovering – as she wants to use one of the two keyboards in the plush lounge of this gorgeous hotel.

Good, she has gone. I mean, it is not good manners to hover. By the way, cannot find the apostrophe key hence this will all sound a bit formal.

I have had a wonderful day today. I should start at the beginning of the trip but hey, I can always fill in more detail later. (Keep mixing up the a and q keys as they are in odd places as fqr qs qn English hyphen speqking journqlist/writer goes!)

Anyway, when I arrived hier, it was COLD. Yes COLD. Like the kind of cold where you see your breath in the air, feel your fingers lose sensation and wonder why the hell you did not bring your long red woollen coat. Three degrees I think. Inz met me 20 mins or so after I arrived off the Eurostar at Gare du Nord and guided me and my heavy case to my hotel, which, it turns out is better than I could have hoped for and has really satisfied the many needs of this clean freak who values spotlessness, cleanliness and comfort in a hotel to an extreme degree. Oh, and I was upgraded to an executive suite. Mon Dieu! The view from my room is great. You get the Eiffel Tower in all its glory (and indeed it is glorious when all lit up at night; plus it gets all sparkly like a fireworks night sparkler sporadically, not sure why, but it is stunning). If you click on the one below, you'll get an idea of what I mean.

View from hotel, night, Paris © Mellifluous Dark, all rights reserved

So anyway, after a brief visit to the flat that belongs to Inz for the time being (she's moving home soon), we had a meal at Comptoir, where Moroccan and French food is successfully fused. It was wonderful to see and catch up with Inz. However, after an early start to the day, poor sleep the night before plus the travelling process, I was deeply tired, and needed to get back to my hotel to relax, as I could barely speak (or eat) by the time we had our dessert. I was so fatigued that I wasn't convinced I could return to the hotel seule without getting lost or mugged, but it was OK bar my nervousness. The joy of standing under a hot shower and washing away that travel dirt feeling (in a sparkly-clean marble bathroom) was immense. I then phoned S for a long chat filled with details of life in Paris and London, and sank into the comfortable pillows.

As I closed the shutter and curtains before getting into bed, I wished for no repeat of rain (not unexpectedly) today. More rain and the same degree of coldness would have rendered my trip somewhat dreary, which is not what you expect from Paris.

In any case, despite my medication and underlying exhaustion, I did not sleep very well and also lost two hours due to the BST and EST time changes, can you believe, and some inconsiderate twunt decided to do plenty of door slamming at 5.30am (EST). I was extremely grateful that I had packed my earplugs and, from about 3am, slept fairly well (bar the door slamming) until 10.08am after waking from a dream in which I had slept in until a day-wasting 3.23pm. I was so happy at the sunny/ non rainy view and the decent hour at which I had woken that I (literally) jumped up and down with joy as I watched the glinting rooftops and Eiffel Tower through the window:

View from hotel, morning © Mellifluous Dark, all rights reserved

After a lovely brunch (plenty of choice for breakfast, hot and cold, which you could get until a very civilised noon!), I took the Metro to Abbesses and walked around Montmartre for a couple of hours. Beautiful. I felt as though I had walked to the top of the world (all those stairs!) and felt as though I was indeed on top of le monde as I sat in the sunshine and soaked up and breathed in Paris. OK, so there were plenty of tourists but I'd been here many times before (this was my seventh – or eighth? – visit) and this experience was not about trying to get the entire Sacre Coeur into a camera frame, but rather centred on watching what went on around the massive white church.

View from Montmartre, Paris © Mellifluous Dark, all rights reserved

I now think I have sufficient perspective on the city that allows me to say I have favourite parts of Paris. So, I looked for the unusual angles and corners of what is one of my preferred areas of Paris (Montmartre) before having a strange three-cheese panini thing (too stodgy) and hot choc (mediocre) lunch, then mooching some more (the area around Notre Dame and the Seine):

Park, outside Notre Dame, Paris © Mellifluous Dark, all rights reserved

Above is the park just by Notre Dame. It was early in the day and had an air of serenity. Below, a greyish view of Notre Dame as the sun faded later that afternoon. Annoyingly, I have many superior photos but they were taken as portraits and only upload sideways despite me re-saving them after rotating them on screen. Hmph.

Notre Dame and the River Seine, Paris © Mellifluous Dark, all rights reserved

Later today, I met Inz and her French friend, V, in Le Marais (another of my most-loved bits of the city) during the late afternoon. We walked, talked and had a thoroughly enjoyable couple of hours. I bought a few bits pour moi (naughty, naughty; tomorrow is meant to be shopping day...), and some extremely posh balsamic vinegar for S, who will hopefully liken it to honey. "Eet ees like caramellll..." said the sales assistant. The shop from which the posh balsamic bottles are from is exquisite in terms of its olive-y selection and price. I had no idea so many things could be made from olives. Inz and V ended up buying bottles, too, so lovely was the taste.

Finally, we sat in a café – well, outside a café – and drank thick, dark hot chocolates as we discussed the French presidential elections, British politics and the quality of hot chocolate before saying goodbye with two-cheeked kisses.

To be continued...

Friends – episode two

Today, I spoke at length to a woman I've known since we were 13 (she is two days younger than me). We hadn't spoken for 17 years but thanks to my faffing about on t'internet, especially Google, I came across her brother, who passed my details on to D. She called me mid-morning and we chatted for more than an hour, reminiscing and pledging to meet soon.

It was good to hear news of people I'd completely lost touch with, and it was fabulous to speak to D. She sounds the same. We were good friends for a while and share quite a few teenage memories. Apparently every time she sees Morten Harket on the television, she remembers my obsession with the man and the rest of his group, of course.

We lost touch after choosing different A-levels and then, well, the years passed at an alarming rate that has added up to nearly two decades. She knew from another mutual ex-classmate that I'm married, but I didn't know that she was a wife let alone a mum of a six-year-old girl. It is refreshing to hear that we share similar views on things. She's definitely not just her daughter's mother or her husband's wife.

Coincidentally, another schoolfriend who I got to know around the same time at high school, K, is meeting me for dinner soon. We three know one another but the two of them weren't especially close, as far as I can recall, and possibly won't have been in touch since school.

Cor, get me, all that makes me sound like some kind of (hateful) Miss Popular but it was more a case of me having more in common with K and D separately than they had with one another, and I have known K for far longer than I've known D. During the time our paths coincided, I was the 'Carrie' glue to their Miranda and Charlotte, if you see what I mean, to use a rather silly, shallow Sex and the City analogy.

I only got back in touch with K after she tracked me down via the internet, which was lovely of her. K and myself were very close friends and stayed in contact until we were around 23, when we drifted apart due to her moving away to study. She lived around the corner from me, and as teenagers we had a fabulous time plotting things to do with shy boys, as well as talking about everything ranging from divinity to 'doosies' (an odd word used by our mad form teacher). In some ways, K hasn't changed at all, which is a good thing. She's got a heart of gold.

Anyway, I'm happy to have them both in my diary again. I last saw K two years ago and am ashamed to say that I still have a present bought for her birthday in... 2005. I've bought an early gift for her birthday this year. Ah. Just remembered... I spent eight hours in Piccadilly one Saturday morning in 1985 waiting outside the BAFTA place (if indeed it is BAFTA?) with poor K to catch a glimpse of Morten, Pal and Mags. K and I had only eaten Mars bars for breakfast and were very cold and tired. K had wanted to eat breakfast at home before we rushed to the Tube but I didn't let her, saying we had already left too late, hence the Mars bars. (I still feel bad about this.)

Pal came up to me and signed my notebook. I never wrote with the pen after that, treasuring it carefully. I don't think I washed the fingerless glove I wore, either (he shook my hand!!). Ah, those were the days! I was playing up to the TV cameras something rotten, as well, not caring who saw me acting like a crazed Beatles fan (well, not quite, but I was only 15)...

Now, apropos of Paris... the pictures of the hotel I'm staying in are slick and modern, a bit like the Metropolitan in London. I shall take my camera, of course. I'm very excited despite having a 'foggy' day as far as the tiredness goes. H, the friend who had wanted to come to Paris with me is in fact going there (ish) the following week as her husband has booked a surprise EuroDisney trip for them and their son, which will be good fun for them before their second baby arrives. And my ex-Londoner-now-Parisienne amie, Inz, who is moving into a flat of her own soon, will be around when I'm in Paris, which means I'll get to enjoy lots of her company after all, which is excellent.

As for sleep, well... I didn't sleep well but I have to try to do so tonight as tomorrow's pre-holiday workload threatens to be humongous. And that, is the first time I've ever written the word 'humongous'.