Hi all, just checking in to wish the whole world (or at least those on Greenwich Mean Time) a very Happy New Year. I have stuck to my guns and celebrated in low key style with my family and my Hazelnut Baileys (I’ve had four, not the one I was going to allow myself, oops).
I promised I’d spill the beans as well on Mr. M’s Christmas Day surprise didn’t I? Well, he turned up unannounced in his rather impressive Peugeot RCZ (appreciated with lots of coos, and oohs, and ahhs from my father and grandfather), and he was holding a box. Now this box had holes in it, which meant there was something inside that was breathing. It was only another Maine Coon kitten! He’d found my stories of Tigger so endearing that he felt the need to buy him a girlfriend. I absolutely fell in love with little Coco instantly. She was the friendliest, sweetest, most well behaved little thing (nothing like Tigger was at her age – he needed constant water bottle training and is still partial to the odd bout of naughtiness).
Anyway, it’s divided my parents. My dad isn’t all that bothered – he likes Mr. M because he has a nice car and a good job in a Manchester digital media agency. The kitten to him, is frankly irrelevant. My mum, on the other hand, feels it intrusive that he’s found it appropriate to buy me a pet for Christmas when I still live at home. She’s basically afraid that when I eventually move out she’s going to get lumped with two giant cats. The jury’s out on whether little Coco can actually stay with us full time, but I really hope mum comes around, otherwise Mr. M has in fact just bought himself a furry new flatmate!
A promise is a promise – I did say I’d be providing the lowdown on my pre Christmas date with Mr. M and his brand new Peugeot RCZ didn’t I? Fret not, I shall deliver.
Suffice to say, I was feeling rather ropey. The office Christmas party I’d been to the evening before was made bearable only by consuming plenty of free alcohol. To be fair, they’d gone to some effort, as I’ve mentioned before, but the outdated Christmas Karaoke entertainment was just plain depressing.
Mr. M was kind enough not to mention my obvious hangover for about thirty minutes. He then needed to mention it in order to break the obvious awkwardness in conversation – him chatting away and me mostly nodding (occasionally I wretched a little if he went a bit too fast, but he didn’t see my face, thank the lord). He was good about the fact I worse for wear, and offered to take me for a pizza to mop up the damage. Four Diet Cokes, two pizzas and a Pizza Express salad later and I was chatting away as if nothing had happened the night before.
I genuinely felt the date went well, and I do feel really at ease with him now. The problem is (yes, there is always a problem), I feel inferior to him. He’s older, he has a great career in a digital media agency, he’s handsome, and he owns his own apartment in The Northern Quarter. I live with my parents and have a Maine Coon kitten named Tigger. I just don’t understand what he sees in me. The crazy thing is, he’s texted me loads since our last date, and even suggested meeting up again! Surely he’s fending off a frenzy of tanned, toned honeys in all the Manchester hotspots. I honestly feel like I’m on candid camera sometimes when we’re together – to meet up again, or not?
Operation Do Not Drink Too Much At The Works Christmas Party predictably, did not go to plan. I arrived at work on Saturday (yes, despite the party being on a Saturday, they still felt it necessary to hold it in the actual offices) with good intentions, I swear. The place was however, littered with free booze – there was wine, bubbly, beers and spirits all laid out literally for the taking. The bosses had seriously gone to town on the alcohol front, which is a good thing, as if you’d arrived expecting any food you’d have been disappointed to find little more than a cold sausage roll and cheese on a stick.
My colleague Ann Marie turned out to be my Secret Santa, and to be fair, she actually did a really great job of buying a gift that suited me. Where the pile of Secret Santa presents lay, there was simply a card addressed to me, which was a little alarming – I’d resigned myself to the fact that mine had simply forgotten and offered a pitiful card on its own instead. When I came to open it, however, she’d paid for an online bingo membership for me. It was fantastic too, because despite the ten pound gift limit, the online bingo site had credited the account with thirty pounds worth of free play due to a promotion. What a fabulous idea for a present! Anyway, spirits were high and I was feeling particularly giddy with my bonus Secret Santa gift, so Ann Marie and I swiftly began to drink the bar dry after that.
Mr. M picked me up on Sunday morning as promised in his brand new Peugeot RCZ. I however, was not hangover free, and had to endure a full on, sober, chatty date whilst all I really wanted to do was curl up in front of the TV with Tigger on my lap and a have few lazy games of online slots at my leisure. I’ll fill you in properly on the date details next time – for now, I’m off to finally catch up on some much needed lost sleep from the weekend…
Any avid readers might remember I’d starting seeing – scrap that – I’d been out a couple of times with this gorgeous guy (I nicknamed him Mr. M in fear of him ever stumbling across this) who works in a Manchester digital media agency? Well, after a few weeks of being off my radar (and me consequently thinking I’d been ‘dumped,’ or at least, not even being picked in the first place enough to actually be dumped), he’s back in touch.
Apparently, Mr. M’s place of work experiences an intense rush coming up to the Christmas break – something he’s largely responsible for overseeing (he asked me to check with Amy if I didn’t believe him – the friend of mine he works with). He seemed all apologetic that he hadn’t been in touch properly since our chilled ‘getting to know you’ non alcoholic night at Frankie and Benny’s, but that he’d love to meet up before Christmas. Well, this was a surprise, let me tell you – I’d kind of forgotten about him (and secretly licked my wounds). He mentioned he’d just picked up his Christmas present to himself this week – a brand new Peuegot RCZ (Google it, it’s amazing!) and would love to pick me up and take me for a spin.
I could hardly say no, could I? The bad news is he can only make this Sunday – it’s my work Christmas party on Saturday, so that means I either face Mr. M hungover and looking less than glamorous, or sacrifice a bit of free booze. I think the latter may be my best bet this weekend. Anyway, hopefully next week I should have plenty of news and shenanigans to report back on, so watch this space!
I am hacked off beyond belief. Chloe and I spent the entire day shopping in Manchester. We decided to hit The Trafford Centre early, only to find ourselves unable to even park! Christmas shoppers are seriously out in force this weekend. We then headed over to Manchester city centre (our intended destination anyway!) and got ourselves straight over to Afflecks Palace for our Cosplay Anime Christmas outfits.
It took us a good while, but a few hours later both of us had kitted ourselves out with a head to toe outfit, plus loads of cute accessories. We managed to pick up some rather unique make up too, so we’re able to channel the Japanese make up style (the base is really pale, so we bought some near on white foundation to get it spot on).
Anyway, I settled in this evening on the sofa, feet sore and glad to be home – mug of tea in hand, The X Factor Final on television and just about to start indulging in a game of Atlantis Gold, when I heard strange shredding noises. I crept into my hallway to find (a now rather hefty) Tigger tearing through my Afflecks Palace bags! He’s put claw marks in my outfit, the little horror. Suffice to say Tigger got a right telling off – I even brought out the old water bottle training technique I used on him when he was teeny. I’m now either going to have to get seriously needle happy and sew up his pesky shred marks, or shell out for a whole new outfit – something I really, really can’t afford. Not a happy Noobian Princess…
My Monday morning blues were eased somewhat with a bolt out of the blue email from an old school friend. Natalie was what you might call my partner in crime up until the age of about sixteen, at which point she continued her education at Liverpool College and I left school to find work (initially, I’m sorry to say, at Birkenhead Greggs).
Natalie is now enjoying life as a student living in London, but she’s looking to move back to Liverpool when she finishes her degree next year. Funnily enough, she mentioned she’d love to get into some form of digital media agency (my dream career!), and asked if I’d like to get together over Christmas whilst she’s back visiting her family.
In a nutshell, I’d be over the moon to see her! We used to get along so well, and I reckon her and Chloe will get on like a house on fire too. Speaking of whom, Chloe has started calling me again now her and her new(ish) boyfriend, Trendy Trent, have hit their first rocky patch. Same old story – she’s coming on too strong, he wants to chill things out. I have, as dutiful best friend, advised Chloe in the past that any talk of moving in together, marriage, babies and shared responsibility pets is strictly off limits until the twelve month mark – thirteen to be safe. She won’t listen though, and Trendy Trent is now cooling off on her like a dodgy boiler in December. Poor Chloe – she’ll never learn. We’re due to visit our friend Amy in Manchester too in a few weeks (through whom Chloe met Trendy Trent), for another big night out in the Northern Quarter. No doubt Trent will be there, and the awkwardness will ensue…sigh…