Where have I been?

I've been a little AWOL recently and for that I'm sorry. I've been caught up in the stress of househunting (it always starts off fun then gets progressively less enjoyable) but have finally found a place and we're moving at the weekend! It's been a total whirlwind and I have a bazillion tabs open with bed frames, sofas and other very important things that the house doesn't have and I need to buy. Coupled with many a Pinterest session, I think it's going to be an expensive month.

I've also spent two days on a course for work that had me standing up and presenting no less than four times (two were videoed which is highly embarrassing and entertaining in equal measure), took our new American team member to Burger & Lobster and spent half an hour trying to get us all looking normal for an updated team photo. Harder than it seems, I tell you.

Yesterday was spent in a fetching yellow poncho at Notting Hill Carnival. Despite having lived in London for seven years, I'd never been - so of course I went on the wettest day of the year. But it was great! We danced in the parade, dodged a lot of twerking and made friends with lions. Summer may well and truly be over but what a way to see it out.

Under the weather

In more ways than one. I think we've all heard about (and felt) the January blues. That slump post-Christmas where belts are a little tight, wallets are a little empty and the only thing looming is the certainty of a bleak rest of the winter. The lack of Vitamin D from our long-lost solar friend and the short, short days where you get up in the dark and get home in the dark is a combination hardly anyone can claim to enjoy.

So I like to think that this time of year's a great time to explore what London has to offer gastronomically. Dark nights make the perfect accompaniment for being tucked away in some small bolt hole - when it's sunny and warm, all you want to be doing is sitting somewhere grassy with a very cold drink in your hand. But now, it's acceptable (and encouraged) to have a glass or two of red, some hearty food (despite the January resolution) and some great company. I'm working on it.

So whilst I've been skipping around town a little, mindful of being terribly grown up and starting to pay off my overdraft with my payrise, it's not all been plain sailing. For the last couple of weeks, we've been working straight 10+ hour days flat out and when you've been struck down with a cold, feeling on top of the world is not quite at the top of the list. And this week's disruption from the tube strikes resulting in 2.5 hour journeys each way to and from work in the rain, I'm totally exhausted.

But it's just a lull. A blip. A speck in time, right? There's always bigger fish to fry and something awesome around the corner so I'm jumping straight back on the horse and shaking off the last of it. Promise I'll be back on form in no time.

Chez nous

I've been a bit low-key the past week. The combination of the dreaded days before payday (although I do have more money in my account than I expected) and the exhausting first week back after the Christmas break (coupled with working late every night) has meant that adventures haven't been on the cards as much.

Instead, I've been cosying up with Netflix and scented candles with the cutest burner, and rustling up some semi-healthy dinners with the contents of my freezer. On Saturday, we bundled up and headed down to Borough Market and came home armed with fresh baguettes, creamy Bleu de Gex, the best mushroom pate, comte and the most incredible salted caramel fudge I've ever had. As well as fresh veg from the market stalls, of course. And a chicken burger. Just because. We then feasted for the rest of the day in the living room, cracking open the red wine in front of films and finishing the night with an impromptu dance party in the kitchen. Just like old times.

Four years of thenotsosecretdiary

It's my 'blogiversary' this week. Four years ago, I started up thenotsosecretdiary - over on tumblr - as a way of keeping family, friends and anyone who stumbled across it up to date on my life. Mainly because I was moving to Paris for a year.

I recorded the trials and tribulations of living in a foreign country (it's not all about pains au chocolat and the Eiffel Tower, you know - but then again, it kinda is as I used to get a fresh, warm one from the boulangerie every morning and my friend lived in the closest possible apartment to la Tour) and then kept it up when I came back. In the past four years, thenotsosecretdiary has seen me go and come back from Paris, turn 21 (22, 23, and 24), spend a month in Indonesia and Vietnam, go to Bestival for the second time, start and finish my final year of university (complete with dissertation hell), be on the main stage at Parklife, have lunch at the House of Lords, get a boyfriend, plan a year abroad, go to Thailand for my sister's wedding, start work, explore some great places, find my current job, go to Venice for my birthday, no longer have said boyfriend, go swimming in the snow, move my blog to its new home (here!), and start dating and eating/drinking in an inordinate amount of places...

Next week I'm off to the south of France for a much-needed break with my mum. Despite working as a writer, I love having this little space to use for as much (or little) creative output as I need. thenotososecretdiary, happy 4th birthday - here's to many more!

Take the good with the bad, the rough with the smooth

I've been a little off the radar over the last couple of weeks. It's a result of my melodramatic Friday night last week (think a little too much wine and emotion) so I've taken a step back and tried to throw myself into things a little more. Rather than being explicit about the ins-and-outs, Lily's post and vlog puts how I've been feeling recently into words.

The weekend, before and after my outburst but not including it, was good. Fridays in media-land are always relatively quiet. Whilst we often set ourselves those Friday afternoon deadlines, a lot of our clients and other agencies have already started the weekend. When you work across all sorts of stakeholders, it's pretty likely that most of them will have some prior engagement on a Friday meaning that response times are slower. It's useful, though, as it means us busybodies can catch up, tweak things here and there...and even (gasp) take the sacred hour for lunch. Which is what my boss and I did. We started with tasty salt and pepper squid, then followed with rich and moreish roasted butternut squash and sage butter ravioli. After work, I caught up with my housemate and another friend to take advantage of happy hour cocktails-and-champagne. From there I flitted to a friend in East London, before heading home...and making the melodramatic mess of myself.

Sunday, whilst we took advantage of the fleetingly sunny weather and spent the afternoon at our local, Pub On The Park, commandeering several tables, several Bloody Marys and watching the world go by, my cousin's boyfriend happened to win The Grand National. At the age of 23, riding his first National having only recently returned to racing, and with odds of 66-1 (that, super frustratingly, I was too scared to bet on) Ryan beat all the favourites to be first over the finish line. (The next day, he fell at Hexham and was rushed to hospital but he's recovering and back at home - talk about the rough with the smooth.)

The week itself's been relatively quiet, including a lack of motivation to work out, finally watching The Help and recuperating after (my) explosiveness. But, as always, no rest for the wicked at work - I've been to Brighton and Yorkshire this week (trains are obviously becoming my second home, delays and all) - and I'm going to Cardiff next week. I'm also going to a pitch with some of my colleagues on Monday, meaning that I have to dress corporate (a rarity, working in a design office). This morning I hobbled through Soho with a handbag, weekend bag, suit bag (above)...and an umbrella. I'm heading home to house- and cat-sit which means a weekend in Sussex, and fingers crossed for perfect weather.

And as a treat to myself, I may have accidentally just bought the much-coveted polka dot smock dress...  Cute, right?

Bloody and Blue

I've spent the weekend and the last couple of days lost in the world of the Hobbits and the Shire, brushing up on my French and the past historic tense. Having barely used the language since graduating almost two years ago, I'm pleasantly surprised at how quickly I got back into reading it.

It's not all been literature, though. Saturday night saw us dancing round our living room until the early hours. Sunday saw me fragile, but soothed by soul and all-day Bloody Marys at The Nelson's Head before settling down with the ever-so-slightly trashy but location-covetable Into The Blue. Yesterday was a busy day of work, work-outs and then my new favourite creation: warm roasted vegetable salad with sundried tomato croutons and grilled halloumi. And today I felt dramatic so I pulled on some big chunky-heeled boots, my housemate's cape and a slick of bright pink lipstick (sadly discontinued, but very much like Illamasqua's Immodest). Perfect.

Motte and bailey

Sometimes the week goes so slowly you feel as if you've barely moved, and sometimes it flies by so fast you can hardly catch your breath. This week has been one of the latter: I don't think I've ever felt such relief and jubilation of it being a Friday than I did when I woke up this morning.

Like most weeks, I've had dozens of internal meetings, catch-ups on projects, catch-ups with friends, client calls, proposals to write, presentations to develop, amends to feedback, visuals to work on, copy to write... Unlike most weeks, I've had my 'work birthday', started the 30 Day Shred, had a 5am start and caught (what felt like) millions of trains. 

Being an Account Manager, I (obviously) spend time away from the office with clients. Meetings seem to come in bizarre patterns and sometimes there'll be weeks where the only time I leave the office is to grab a sandwich. Other weeks I'll almost forget what my desk even looks like; the variety of my job is great. This week, I've visited clients in Bristol, in a building teetering right near the Severn Bridge...and clients in Yorkshire, in a semi-castle. (They were yesterday.)

I was up at 5am, having not slept, with aching muscles from a combination of the icy cold and actual exercise (thanks, Jillian Michaels), for a 6.30am train to Leeds. The sunrise was beautiful and as we whizzed through (surprisingly flat) landscapes, the mist rose from the fields and everything looked really crisp. Three hours, another train, and another half an hour later, we were standing in a brilliantly sunny Yorkshire village, surrounded by the dales. That cliched 'countryside air' was incredible even if it was tinged with cow manure. We were up North for an all-day client workshop where we gather requirements to help us work our magic. It went well, requirements were gathered, magic shall be worked - and we managed to get an earlier (less pleasant) journey home.

Whilst I was standing in this tiny little village, sun blazing, birds singing (and all those other great cliches that you forget once you're in London but are instantly reminded of as soon as you go home - in my case to Sussex) I had an almost uncontrollable urge to 'do a Maria'. I wanted to fling myself onto the hills and spin around, arms outstretched, and just breathe. I didn't. Because that would have been embarrassing. But there was something about being in Yorkshire that was so nostalgic. I was born and raised (for a while) outside of Manchester, high high up in the Peak District (incidentally in the house where George Osborne currently lives), and something just felt...so familiar. It was nice.

As much as I love London, I think I've been taking home home for granted. I'm really looking forward to next weekend and being able to sit back and take stock of everything around me. In London, I'm always on-the-go, throwing frustrated looks at people who stop in appropriate places (read: everywhere), and rushing from place to place. Home (now Sussex) never changes. Although, I won't be able to redeem the 'complimentary massage' from Jo Malone in a sleepy little village - London, after all, does have its advantages...