Well, I know one thing; this post will probably be less entertaining than the others. However, I promise I'll try my best not to make you want to put Titanic on the DVD player, don a pair of fleecy pyjamas and cry yourself softly to sleep after watching Jack sod off, even though he told Rose he wouldn't. And that promise is directed at other people besides my brother.
I've effectively come out of the other side of what's been three nightmare months. That explosion you can hear is probably the sound of me dropping that tres uncheerful bombshell indeed. Or maybe you've left your jacket potato in the microwave for too long like I did during my university years, which resulted in me setting my kitchen on fire. Potatoes, apparently, are nicely done in about four minutes. And well 'nuked' after twenty five. For the last time, I got distracted.
You know what they say, you can't have the sunshine without the rain. And Christ in a lifeboat, there's been rain. Us British love the weather, so I'm going to use a suitable weather analogy to explain the last three months. *Sips on a cup of Earl Grey from a quintessentially English tea cup with extended pinkie to add to British-ness*
When I reference not having the sunshine without the rain, the rain represents the ridiculous amount of tears which have rained down my many full faces of make-up -make-up which I've been assured by countless brands that if you pay £35 for a mascara, it's definitely not moving. Well, let me tell you, make-up brands TELL LIES.
So this rain -it's not the kind of drizzle which gives my hair an annoying, delicate wirey aura after being caught in it. Not the kind of hot monsoon storms I experienced in Thailand, where I discovered wearing white linen trousers in a monsoon-prone country is a silly idea -I might as well have just paraded round in my knickers (and sometimes I did... *stares into space as she remembers times spent in Thailand as an irresponsible sixteen year old*...). I'm talking the relentless rain which you see on apocalyptic films, the kind which has clearly been 'convincingly' green-screened and which 'realistically' fills up a room thirty seconds after it starts, causing the main characters to struggle to break free, using an axe after losing the key, so that they can escape togeth- wait a minute, I'm referencing Titanic again aren't I...?
Yes, moving to a new city where you don't know many people has been harder than the time I tried to learn to play the Flute in a day, but balancing that ...with a long-distance relationship... well, there's no analogy or metaphor to cover it. It's just fucking hard 'n' shit.
Thankfully, the lucky boy in question is ridiculously patient, understanding ...and has a shed full of tools to distract him from his mental-girlfriend-of-late. Unfortunately, how it works though is that the more amazing he is, the more he came out with breath-takingly logical and reassuring advice, the more he represented perfection in terms of what a girl looks for in a boyfriend, thus creating 'moooovie love' -as Janice from Friends describes it, the more I wanted him to be here with me.
Also, there's the best friend. I'm talking the kind of best friends you get in chick-lit novels, who always says the right things, then makes the teary friend laugh, then takes her out to get drunk on cocktails until she's crying with joy because she's suddenly in a drunken state of euphoria where she 'loves everything' ...but has to close one eye to text and trips over her own feet.
So, with that combination, my boyfriend ...and my girlfriend dragged me through the twelve weeks of mud that has been my struggle, as I've settled further into my new life.
And my third assistant? Some of the amazing things I've done which have made living here worthwhile. Some of my favourite memories include watching the Royal Wedding with the boyfriend in Hyde Park then getting drunk on cider like the classy girl I am, the free football festival boyf and myself found when we had no money and went into London to sunbathe, my parents and brother and sister-in-law visiting me in London and getting the opportunity to show off my new home and take them to little spots I've found since being here, moving into my new place; beautifully central and ...all round beautiful, really, it allows me to spend entire days in the flat, content, with the balcony door open and the sun beating in whilst I do work and... last but not least, my biggest achievement to date.
Finally securing my own radio show in London.
It's why I've moved here. I would say I've been presenting for four years, but that only really accounts for the work I've done for radio stations. It doesn't really include the radio shows 'the best friend' and I used to make, age seven, from our bedrooms which we called 'North Lincs Radio' and which boasted a stunning, sung-out-of-tune jingle. It also doesn't include the horrifically embarrassing family film I 'presented', age twelve, which boyf recently had the pleasure of watching. I say he had the pleasure, because as I physically squirmed and wretched with embarrassment, he laughed so hard, he couldn't breathe and went slightly purple in the face. Excellent. Thankfully, he didn't end the relationship having seen it.
I've been working at Radio One at weekends for about two months, answering phones and finding guests and generally getting involved in any way I can. I work on Reggie's request show on Saturdays as well as The Surgery with Aled on a Sunday and I'm getting to the point now where I know what I'm doing, I'm working hard at it and, where the presenters take the mickey out of me, like Reggie did yesterday for my apparently 'rubbish' jamaican accent, which I protested. Ok, it may have sounded more ...Scottish than Jamaican, but they're two very similar sounding tongues.
But I've been hammering at trying to get my own show in London, something I can put work into, edit myself and can produce myself. An example of what I can do and what I love doing. Shoreditch Radio finally gave me a ten minute pilot audition, within which to 'prove myself' -that ten minutes of which included three songs. You do the Maths. It was a challenge, proving my presenting skills in what equated to about two minutes, but I succeeded and soon enough I'll be recording my first of hopefully many shows for them.
And so, as I sip on my wine on this fine Sunday evening whilst watching rubbish TV in the flat, having worked for about the last eight hours (ok, about six) on planning and researching 'the show', I can smile and take stock and think 'yeahh, it'll be reet'. And on top of that, I have a perfect boyfriend who's pretty damn perfect for me, I have the kind of best friends whom people are lucky to have for a few years before they move on and grow apart (we've been this close since we were five) and lastly, I'm happy living in London -ecstatic, in fact.
Unlike my one with boyf, it's definitely a relationship which has taken a while to perfect, but I can finally smile and say 'I Love London Town'.
