On cleanliness and champagne

I found my knickers! Such rejoycing and such a lot of laundry powder. Yes, that's right - they'd been stuffed in a side pocket in the large pack I took home for Christmas. Not the loveliest discovery but BUT I've got my knickers back.

This is probably of more interest to most people - I'm in London quaffing champagne. Because that's how I roll, mofos. Also. I have been to a GIG. That's how cool I am. Gigs - like the young and hip go to. Where we had to stand up even! I have also seen people from way back in my past but now they are here in my future and somewhere along the line they picked up kids and wives/partners or are discussing their weddings and all I can say is, 'Oh golly, more champagne you say, don't mind if I do'.

Being back in London is a little odd - like coming home but not really. I know where things are and how things work but still feel a little stupid and slow in trying to work things out. At least this time it's not going to take me 30 very angry minutes to find the sugar in the supermarket.

The London office is nice - large. Way large. I have been warned to only enter and exit the same way each day else be found weeks later in IT muttering, 'She said turn left by the stairwell, why can't I find the toilets?'

Best thing I have overheard so far - Germans asking what a gimp is. Those big jokers. Of course they know what a gimp is. They're German.

Knowing me knowing glue

The quiche dish is broken once again and I have superglue on four fingers and under my nails. But, and I think we'll all agree this is progress, there's no glue on the wooden worktop! No angry brother and landlord asking why it didn't occur to me to put paper down first.

And it's Anzac Day so there are drunks shouting joyfully in the street.

And there is cheese.

And cauliflower is cheaper than usual. Why is it always so pricey? It's caulifuckingflower. It's not cultivated by teenage virgin gardeners to ensure a purer taste and sharper crunch. And if it is, then they really need to advertise that better.

Things I note in passing

In today's online paper, a heading with 'Sydney's hottest pick-up spot', and then underneath, 'Sydneysiders reveal their favourite places to find love'.

Pick-up love! Oh, I always find it here.

That's not love, sweetheart.

Wanking with gusto

In my continuing efforts to be a total wanker, I nipped home for the weekend for luncheon with Hazel. And some other stuff, like dad's birthday and a side trip to Whangamata for a bloody mary but that's less interesting than being fed by one's editor, no?

Hazel, who knows such stuff, took me to Prego, where you can't book! Total wanker land. You just have to turn up bang on 12 and storm the castle. Which we did, after being witnesses to an old man hitting the accelerator in his car for no good reason and then crashing into a pole and narrowly missing a woman walking by. Auckland - something for everyone.

Knickers, knickers, knickers

Instead of moving we decided it would be much more fun to just swap rooms! Like wife swapping but without the reality tv show.

However, in the aftermath I have been startled and not a little horrifed to discover skullduggery! The knicker pixies have been hard at work and I am missing two, TWO pairs. I have, of course, rummaged through Nic and Kajal's panty drawers to see if they had hidden my precious, precious rompers in there but to no avail.

Am now concerned that Harriet and Arron took them as mementos when they moved out. Must get Nic and Kajal to check they have all their undergarments and are not lacking special items.

Seriously, they were good knickers. Comfy, pretty and I like to think I cut quite the fine figure in them when prancing round the apartment when no one else is home.

It is most distressing.

Captain Sniffles and the Peel.

So, if you get asked on a date I would thoroughly recommend not getting incredibly sunburnt the weekend before ... on your face.

And now the hayfever has kicked in, right as the peeling really picks up a notch.

Sad face.

Chair dancing

Mucho excitemento last night. Icehouse opened for Hall and Oates. Ratty, Alex and I bought tickets months ago, such is our enthusiasm for those who sing our childhood anthems.

We weren't the youngest there, but we were certainly close to it. Ratty and I indulged in some quite serious chair dancing while Alex sat staunchly enjoying the music.

And then it took us a while to get home.

A few days before this I attended Mary's baby shower. I have never before attended such an event and I shall have to admit to some trepidation due to horror stories I have heard of games revolving around poo. Poo and chocolate.

Fortunately, Mary is a lady and so is her sister-in-law. We played nice games and they made what might be described as a fuckload of food. I wallowed. Waddled home.

And ending my week of social was Karen and our day of culture. Picasso and some photo exhibition. Slightly dulling our attempt to be classy and educated were our hangovers and snorts of laughter as we tried to find the man in the Cubist 'Man with mandolin' picture. I found a cityscape that I'm guessing was masquerading as a man with a mandolin. Aside from that, Picasso ain't half bad, man.