Posts Tagged ‘drinking’
Ja, so I changed the name of my blog, again. Gotta say where I’m at, don’t I? Devoid of inspiration for a tag line though, so if anyone has any witty/silly/punchy suggestions (or, preferably, one suggestion that combines all three elements), bing them this way.
You might have been wondering why you haven’t heard from me lately. No, it’s not because I hate you. It’s because I’ve been moerse busy. Here’s what’s been happening in my world this year.
I went to work. It rained. I went to work. It rained. I went to work. It rained. I went to the cricket. It rained. I drank a lot. It rained. I went to work. It rained. I went to work. It rained. I went to work. It rained. I lost my phone. It rained. I went to work. It rained. I went to work. It rained. I went to work. It rained. I ate sushi at Bice. It rained. I went to work. It rained. I went to work. It rained. I went to work. It rained. I bought a new phone. It rained. I went to work. It rained. I went to work. It rained. I went to work. It rained. Pim snuck ahead of me in watching The Wire. It poured. I went to work. It rained. I went to work. It rained. I went to work. It rained. I had my hair cut. I went to work*. Luckily it didn’t rain that day.
*Actually, I have been to work loads more times than I said, but I didn’t want to bore you with repetition.
TC: Do you want your g&t Cullen strength, Mallinson strength, or Henderson strength?
TM: Mallinson strength, please. You´re drinking Cullen strength, I take it?
TC: Actually, I´m drinking Cullen plus.
KE (takes a sniff of TC´s drink): Is there any tonic at all in there?
TM: Let me have a sip…
KE: Okay, I´m not even going to taste it.
TM (sips drink): Actually, I rather like it.
TC: That´s because I´ve trained you well!
I am beginning to understand why I have never felt the need to exercise before. It´s just such a boring thing to do. And I abhor boring.
Exercising is not at all like going out and having a few drinks with you mates, and then someone says something funny, and then someone else makes a fool of themselves (hopefully not you, but it easily could be), and then you can have fun trying to piece it all together over a bloody mary or two the next morning.
Exercise is more like you go to the yoga studio, by yourself (even if you have a friend there, it´s not like they can exercise for you, more´s the pity), and then you sweat a lot and stretch your body into weird shapes and feel really tired, and then you get a fabulous endorphin rush, but there´s not really much point because then you come home, write a blog post, and have to go to bed, directly, so that you aren´t a zombie the next day.
And you can´t even have a cigarette to protest against the futility of it all!
Temptation of the day: NH going straight from work to the local to have a pint and watch the football. To his credit, he didn´t invite me. To my credit, I didn´t invite myself.
Yoga phrase of the day: “Lock your knees.”
Theft of the day: Towel from the yoga studio, inadvertantly. But I´ll have to take responsibility for not returning it, which is my cunning plan of inaction.
No smoking, no drinking. It´s easier not to indulge in the former when I´m not doing the latter either. And staying at home is a pretty good way to keep off the juice, especially in Dubai (although my friend Heidi did bring me a stash from duty free recently). So far I have resisted temptation, but prolly that´s only because there hasn´t been an unreasonable amount of it in my path.
So day two going well. Certainly having an easier time of it than Tom Thumb upstairs, who – oops! – I´ll let him tell you all about it in his own words when article appears…
But my easy ride is about to come to an abrupt end, tomorrow. Yip, it´s my first bikram yoga lesson. Now, if I were still in Liechtenstein, it might be fun to take up bikram yoga purely to experience the heat. However, I´m not sure of the wisdom of practicing this kind of yoga in Dubai, of all places. Perhaps it´ll prepare me for the nine circles of summer?
Shopping of the day: Yoga clothes.
Health food of the day: Spinneys chickpea salad.
Ponder of the day: Very lovely to receive all your support, but am slightly horrified that my readers seem so very keen to comment on my exercising endeavour, yet are comparatively silent on other topics. Are all my friends gym bunnies?!
I managed to get barely an hour´s sleep, only to be woken by Kate´s panicked voice: “Trinks, you´ve pressed snooze twice already. Your bus leaves in half an hour. You need to get up!”
I staggered out of bed. I really needed a shower. I also needed to finish packing. Admittedly, I had half-packed the day before, which, at the time, I thought was a supremely cunning plan. Alas, it turned out to be only 50 per cent of a cunning plan.
I stumbled round the room, randomly chucking items in my suitcase. One of these items was my new laptop. Somehow it didn´t occur to me that a) there are computers in the UK, and b) their plugs are different. As well as the laptop and attendant paraphenalia, I blithely packed my camera charger, my phone charger, and my iPod charger. Overall, I must have lugged at least 5kg of incompatible technological equipment across the sea for no good reason.
And this was before I even began on the clothes. I was at a loss without Moral Squeeze to restrain me, and packing, as you may have guessed, has never been my forte.
“Should I take the long black dress or the little black dress?” I asked Kate indecisively. She patiently advised the latter, while I stumbled around some more. “Where is my eyeliner? I simply cannot go to London without my eyeliner,” I declared. (Nevermind the fact I rarely use eyeliner, since I am unable to apply it without looking like some kind of racoon, despite having previously worked at a fashion and beauty magazine).
“Trinks, I think you are still drunk. And in the throws of an extended Bridget Jones moment!” said Kate, barely surpressing her laughter. “I don´t want to be Bridget!” I wailed, conveniently forgetting that some years ago I had attended a fancy-dress party (theme: the fictional character you most resemble) as none other than Ms Jones. Call it part of my mispent youth.
Back to the dilemma of the moment. “I don´t want to be Bridget!” I wailed. “I am a strong independent women. Without issues. And with sexy underwear. Not at all like Bridget!” I sounded pathetic, and strangely unconvincing, even to myself. But, despite histrionics, we were in fact (almost) ready to hit the road. I grabbed a bottle of chardonnay and my Silk Cuts and we made a dash the bus stop.
My day didn´t get better. Without Kate around to jolly me out of my hangover, I was stuck in travelling hell. In brief, my itinerary looked like this:
1. Bus from Vaduz to Sargans
2. Train from Sargans to Basel
3. Bus from Basel to EuroAirport*
4. Flight from EuroAirport to London Luton**
5. Bus from Luton to Victoria***
6. Train from Victoria to New Malden
7. Walk from New Malden station to Elm Road
8. Collapse into bed****
* The EuroAirport is cool. One airport, three countries. Believe it, because it´s true! I also ate some very expensive food there, which made me feel slightly more human (although still primarily alien).
** Note to self, and other travellers. It is a much more pleasant experience getting felt up by svelte Swiss security staff than their British counterparts.
*** There is a reason that flights to Luton are cheap. Because it isn´t even in the middle of nowhere. It´s like, far out on the edge of nowhere, when “somewhere” is on the opposing edge.
**** That would have been nice. But I had plans for the evening. Plans that had been booked and prepaid on the Interweb.