Much Ado About Nothing

Well, not to me it is...but then I'm probably the only person who reads this!

Starting the evening off a bit tipsy on my favourite Chilean White wine, has provoked some thoughts (as usual). Have had a busy weekend of travelling, firstly to Whitton, then to Hampton, then to Clapham, then to Croydon. Phew! what a lot of expensive petrol. Not forgetting work in between.

My journey started in Whitton, as I became a Godmother. Wow, feel quite special knowing I am in charge (so long as I barge the other two out the way) if anything happened to my lovely Helena, problem is I will have to steal Livi (my should-have-been goddaughter) too. But hopefully things will never come to that and I can go on giving Jack Paul Anthony Weedon as many kisses and cuddles as possible, at least until he's 13 and is too cool for that! Hampton brought about the much wanted/awaited incredible snacks that Helena's Mum provided. My gosh I stuffed myself this weekend. Sunday then lead onto Sarah's Birthday Lunner (Lunch/Dinner). 3pm she said to get there....3pm. So, I hoick myself onto a disgustingly skanky train up to Clapham, wander around like a loitering tourist taking photos of 'cool London people' only to find myself 10 minutes early at the table laid for 20 people. With one person sat there, looking desperately around her. Woohoo! I'm not late, nor am I the last, better still I am the 2nd therefore get prime position in the middle of the table - nothing worse than being the last to arrive as well as the most ignored at the end. After two glasses of Pinot Sarah the Birthday finally arrives, along with the rest of the crew. I made my muffled apologies for not bringing a present, and she laughed it off as though my presents were crap anyway, and we FINALLY ate the lunch/dinner/tea/midnight snack/whatever at 5.30pm... having no time to go back to hers for cake, I slumped off on the train home, pissed as a fart with only a bacon sandwich from 11 o clock, and half a spaghetti carbonara inside me.

So, Monday comes round and its the same, ever depressing morning where no offers come in, yet still plenty of buyers tease you with 'oh yeah I really liked it, but I'm seeing a few others then I may come back for a 2nd look'. Like hell you will. Why don't you just be honest and tell me the goddamn garden was too small, or the neighbour looked like someone off Shameless, or the pylon in the garden was concerning you since seeing the owner. Hmmm, this then resulted in a typical 'Sophie you have no money and need to sell at least 15 houses this month to get back on track, so why don't you cheer yourself and go to Ikea and blow whatever you can on your credit card' kind of moment. This in mind, I dragged my poor long suffering boyfriend down to Ikea and back, only realising too soon that my Mini One was not going to fit a desk and/or bookcase in it, so we came back with a door mat and a perspex box. Not forgetting of course the all important wine rack, which will no doubt sit on the side for a year until I bother to get the screws to fix it up with.

Here endth the first lesson, listening to Magic Carpet Ride finishing the dregs of a pricey wine that once again, you promised yourself you wouldn't buy, seeing as you had no money.

Song of the weekend:

Heartbroken, T2

Nicest thing I ate:

Wine, oh sorry, chocolate pudding from M&S tonight.

Daftest thing I did:

Spent 500 quid on my credit card on furniture.

Best song I'm listening to tonight