Alone again, naturally

I have been single for three and a bit years. Big whoop. It even feels strange to say it. I hate the maudlin 'im single' moments, which have come and gone (obviously, given that its been THREE FRICKING YEARS PEOPLE, water, bridges, so many bridges). I love being alone. I love being independent. I do. Otherwise i probably wouldn't be. But everyone around me, all my close girlfriends have boyfriends, and loneliness is inevitably creeping in. They always have had boyfriends if I'm honest, but for some reason this year it seems crueller than before. It's not like I haven't HAD boyfriends: I had plenty before uni, some nice, one very special indeed, some average, but I had boyfriends. It happened. The za za zoo was there. I zinged. I sparked. I never seem to any more, and any situations where I vaguely feel like I might have done get wildly blown out of proportion in my head til they drive me even more crazy, and then get deflated rapidly when I realise that actually, it was all in my head. Its intensely infuriating. Especially this yea,r when I've returned, thinner, more secure, more stable, and inevitably I suppose I had envisaged some brilliant Hollywood style romance.

My girls are full of gorgeously kind platitudes - 'there's no one at Oxford for you, are you kidding? You are so much better than any of them, babe, come on'. And the boys are wonderful too, to their credit. But without wishing to sound like a total weener, I would just like someone, somewhere to show an interest. at LEAST a vague bloody interest. Its frustrating to feel this way, frustrating more than anything because I am better than this. I am more than just a relationship with someone else; I've never defined myself through someone else, I've never felt the need to, and yet sometimes, on a cold evening on a lonely cycle ride back to my room, alone, whilst everyone else goes home to their boyfriends, I just can't help it. Grrr. How can this NOT be enough? I have a roof over my head and money enough to eat, wonderful friends, a course that I love, a better relationship with my body than I've had in years, and yet I sit here moping about the fact that I don't have a BOY to share it with? The strangest thing I suppose is that it still matters - one would have thought that after three years of this, of this cycle of disappointment and slight estrangement from everyone would have faded, but no. I'll get there, of course I will, because I just will, but when? When will this be ok rather than just a 'temporary' state of mind? It isn't exactly temporary at the moment. Its very much the normal state of things, the way things have been throughout my university career. Just typing that has made me feel better. So it isn;t temporary; it's just a fact. It will rapidly cease to matter. I have exams in the not-so-distant future, I have countless essays and endless translations, I have excellent friends who don't mind me crashing their dates (YES K). I am popular. I am fun. I am successful. I should probably stop moaning and go to bed. And so I shall, alone, again, naturally.

Xxxxx

An end, of sorts

I know I have said couuuntless times that this year would be the year of no more topshop, h and m and zara, and more jigsaw, toast and whistles (when they have sales on, obvooo), but didn't for one second think it would be this easy to stick to. On Friday, R and I hit Topshop in celebration of the fact that she had finished and we had a lovely garden/cocktail/friends/sunshiney event sort of thing to go to, but she had nothing to wear. I wasn't looking for anything, but was definitely expecting various things to just magically turn up as they always seem to. And yet nothing, and I mean NOTHING did. Everything felt cheap, looked like it belonged on a 16 year-old, and just was deeply, deeply 'un-me'. The one high point of the shop was that for the first time in 3 years I could actually fit into a pair of trousers there, which was rather fun and involved alot of shrieking and strange 'wahooo wahoo we are REUNITED, you have lost 2 stone, you can fit into topshop size 14 not that you EVEN CARE' dancing in the changing room. R couldn't really believe it. 'But you ALWAYS find something in topshop' she said, looking puzzled and slightly lost. And I always used to. Something which didn't quite fit, something which didn't quite work, but which zipped up, which was all i really cared about for most of last year. Because none of the clothes I loved, which were patiently waiting at home stuffed in my bottom drawer, would zip up. So I bought unflattering tea dresses from topshop and made alot of noise about buying lots of them, hoping that people would fail to notice me and notice the clothes and the false 'fabulousness oh i love to BUY things I am like the CARRIE OF OXFORD, so happy with all my THINGS oh yes oh yes but PLEASE DON'T NOTICE WHAT IS GOING ON UNDERNEATH THIS BECAUSE IT IS A VERY DIFFERENT STORY' instead. It feels so wonderful to be wearing my old clothes again, the ones I really love and bought because I loved them, rather than because they fitted.

Last week other R and I cleared out my entire wardrobe. There are currently 3 bin bags filled with things waiting to be taken to the charity shop. I still have plenty of clothes - we played the 'what would you wear to...' game and every scenario was catered for, which is both impressive and sliightly embarassing. Everything in my wardrobe make me feel lovely, light, happy and confident, and anything that made me feel even slightly squirmy was immediately chucked. My mother is over the moon, Daddy was completely puzzled by the whole process - he kept popping his head round the door at various stages and just sighing, whilst R (who at times I fear he loves more than me) told him firmly that 'the piles are all part of the process!!It won't look like this when I've finished with her!!', but I digress - and I feel like it was the perfect ending to my weight loss journey (ACCCCKKKKKKK criiiiinge, BUT THERE IS NO OTHER WAY TO PUT IT..). Obviously, the journey isn't over - I am not going back to the daily chocolate bars, the drinking, the cheesy chips or the daily croissants, but I feel I have got to a place where I feel safe, happy and ready for..er...action. As it were..

Xxxx

Home sweet...

Well. Being home is odd. I missed Paris as soon as the Eurostar pulled out, in direct contrast to my last few days there when I couldn't really wait to leave. I must have had a hideous face on during my cab ride across London, because my cabbie simply stated exactly what I was feeling 'Its not Paris, is it love?'. Non. It most certainly is not. Hampshire in full summer bloom is admittedly lovely, my parents are on brilliant form, the girls are slowly trickling home (for our last summer ever all together, for the majority of them have now graduated and have jobs..its beyond strange), and all is, ostensibly, well with my world. But I feel like I've taken a step backwards. I haven't, of course, because this year 'changed me', 'made me better' etc etc blah blah ad infinitum, but still, going from living alone in one of the most bustling districts of a captial city to living 20 minutes from the nearest sleepy exceedingly middle-class small town is quite a jump. Still, London is but an hour away, and there are plenty of fun things coming up in the next few weeks to keep me busy - various 21sts, a mini-break to Rome, another fun-filled trip up to Oxford... I suppose the one conclusion I have come to after a week back here is this -


So that is at least one thing sorted for my future... Xxxx

Back to the vintage

This post is for the love of of Parisian life, darling S, who has saved my year abroad from slipping into 'potentially one of the most miserable years of my life' and turned it upside down into 'the most awesome year of my life', mainly due to the fact that she understands me completely, knows me far too well, has brilliant taste in television, hobbies, art, music, clothes, and the best sense of humour ever. She can also cook the best roasted vegetables i have ever tasted. In short, she is completely wonderful and I would now be completely lost without her. So without further ado, here is a list of some vintage shops I have visited as a lady of leisure that she hasn't been able to make it to. None of them are as cheap as the classic ones in the Marais - fripe star, coiffure etc.. But I think they are better, in terms of their selection, layout etc etc etc.

Metro Etienne Marcel -

Kiliwatch
Episode (both on Rue Tinquetonne ) - both vair trendy sort of urban outfitters style places - i got my perfect white and green fifties sundress from episode, adn the staff where wonderfully friendly.
Allison et Sacha (Rue Etienne Marcel) - it looks like one of those cheapy shitty shops full of japanesey tat but oh truuust me it isnt - rack upon rack of perfect liberty print blouses, plenty of dresses and skirts too.

Metro St Paul -
Noir Kennedy (Rue Roi de Sicile) - The same kind of idea as Kiliwatch - handpicked trend-driven quality vintage pieces, in a very kooky environment (old red telephone boxes as changing rooms, coffins in the window...). Surprisingly friendly staff.

Metro Bastille - Come on Eiline (Rue des Taillandiers). A bit of a walk, but very much worth it. The top floor is filled with reasonably priced designer treasures - mint-condition YSL smoking jackets for 150 euros for example, and then you descend the stairs... to vinatge HEAVEN. A huge cellar filled with black tie dresses, decent quality coats, blazers, skirts... One of those rare places that lives up to its reputation.

Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh I don't want to leave.

Xxx

Treat day

I love department stores. I find them magical. I am, obvs, not talking about Debenhams, House of Fraser or your bog-standard chain department store... I am talking about the greats. Selfridges, Harvey Nicks, Printemps, Le Bon Marche... They hold this magical sense of possibility I never feel in any other shop. I suppose its the enormous range - from Topshop to Balmain to delicious Foie Gras in the food hall. I think they are wonderfully democratic. Where else can you freely browse Marc Jacobs and Vivienne Westwood without feeling like a total knob. I know, I know, I should never ever be intimidated by the thought of going into a horribly expensive shop, and no shop assistant ever has the right to make one feel small, and I totally agree, but but but I can't shake the feeing of being a complete and utter fraud if I ever step into a shop like Chanel, or Hermes, or Lanvin. Whereas in a department store, I feel free to wander, browsing everything from the stunning homewares to the Nicholas Kirkwood shoes to Marc Jacobs to Marc by Marc Jacobs to the lovely coffeetable books at my leisure. So inspiring and a real treat.

So this is why, tomorrow, on my second to last day alone in Paris, before darling H and her beau arrive on Thursday to ease the painful cross-channel transition, I am heading to Bon Marche determined to find that special Parisian purchase that has, as yet, evaded me. The plan is to buy one or two reasonably expensive, lasting, high-quality items that I completely adore and will always remind me of this city. I don't yet know whether they will take the form of trousers, or a dress, or a jumper, or a bag... Oh the possibilities! Of course, I may not find these elusive things, or, more likely, I shall find them and then find myself unable to imagine spending such a huge amount of money (we are talking roughly 300 pounds to give you a ball park), but I am thriled by the prospect of merrily wandering around the stunning art nouveau interiors and having a good old rifle. I'll let you know how I get on...

XxxX

ohh faaack

This is probably the ultimate in self-indulgence and an attempt to jerk myself into reality about the amount of stuff i ACTUALLY have. Here follows a list of everything I need to get home -

hot water bottle
cath kidston suitcase filled with hair ribbons, bangles etc
white mini trunk with camera leads, laptop chargers,adaptors
8 dvds
2 wallets
42 books
4 pairs of boots (4 have already gone home)
2 pairs of high heels
2 pairs of sandals
1 pair of slippers
1 pair of brogues
1 pair of trainers
1 pair of ballet pumps (I have thrown 5 out..)
2 rag rugs
2 Jo Malone candles
1 pair of trainers
1 laptop + charger
food scales
scales
hairdrier
over 50 toiletrie-related items
travel scrabble
3 towels
1 set bed linen
Feather pillow with a geese-print cushion cover
6 photo frames
6 bras
3 sweatshirt/hoody type things
1 pair pj bottoms
1 dressing gown
25 pairs of knickers
9 bras
2 pairs shorts
1 string bunting
approx 40 tops
15 dresses
10 skirts
2 pairs leggings
4 playsuits

...I cant bring myself to count cardigans, jumpers, silk scarves or scarves. I am exhausted and have retreated to the safety of my sofa, iplayer and the Junior Apprentice.

PANIC!

Xxxxx

On my own again..

ah me, my little apartment feels very empty after 5 days of fun with R and K and S, who sort of semi-moved in as well in a sort of fabulous foursomey way. We had lovely weather for the whole of her visit, which has now, appropriately for my mood, clouded over into humid mullish grey. I have a thousand things to do before I leave in 10 days, and H and her man are coming out for the last three of those, truncating my cherished 'alone-in-paris' time somewhat (in the best possible way, obvo..), but today I am far too exhausted (and sweaty) to do anything but tidy and contemplate the mammoth packing task which lies ahead. I think I am somewhere in the hinterland between acceptance and complete denial of how many things I actually have here, so expect an inventory-style post later, which is an attmept by me to impress a sense of urgency/seriousness about how much stuff I somehow have to actually manage to get home in the next 7 days. EEK.

More interesting posts to come, I promise!!

XxX