You say Puccini, I say Pucci.

A catch up on my most recent adventures....

Last week

On Thursday evening, I cooked supper for my friend Liz, I hadn't seen her since my birthday and she hadn't seen my new flat yet. She turned up precisely on time clutching not one but two housewarming gifts, a very good bottle of red wine and some gorgeous pale pink tulips.  Honestly, the girl is angelic.

I made steaks and salad for dinner, with rhubarb pie and whipped cream for dessert. I'm very good at steaks. Yes, I know they only take about 15 mins to actually cook (much less if you love them as rare as Liz does) but my marinade is a thing of beauty.

Here's my recipe: A little red wine, olive oil, sea salt, black pepper corns and a secret ingredient I shan't ever share but is actually the tiniest pinch of chili. . Simple but delicious. Then, fry in a pre-heated pan WITH NO OIL and serve with lashings of peppercorn sauce. My salad was pimped out with cherry and sun dried tomatoes, chili calamari and a vinaigrette dressing.

Somehow, when my housemate Andrew got home, the three of us managed to get through two bottles of wine. I suppose I used some of it to cook, and Andrew is a large lad, but isn't it funny how sometimes, your 'quiet nights at home' end up being not so quiet?

Liz and I chatted a bit about everything, including how intimidated we were by all the gorgeous girls who live near me. "Mia" she said "they're all so groomed. They wear Louboutins with casual clothes! I felt like rebelling on my way here, I felt like downing a bottle of Lambrini and just vomiting in the street".

HAHAHA. Obviously neither of us would do that, but I knew just what she meant. As you all know, I'm a fan of dressing up when it's called for and being a bum when it's not. So popping to Tesco's for milk shouln't be a fashion parade! But lately, I've been oppressed. I've found myself, shamefully, making sure that even if I'm all scruffed up, I carry a bag with a label on it so that my fellow residents don't think I'm the cleaner.

But abeg. I'm not doing that anymore. They can suck on my ripped tracky bottoms and like it. 

Friday was spent being poked and prodded at the doctor's in the morning, and then I went to Westfields to spend the day with my family friend, K,  and his girlfriend. I've known K forever. Our dads are like best friends and we went to the same school in Nigeria. He's like my sibling but because he doesn't live in London, we don't get to see each other as much as we would like. He's also wonderfully protective and incredibly sweet. It's nice being with him because I feel safe and comfortable in that way you do when you're with guys you've known forever and trust completely. He never lets me pay for anything, and gets visibly cross when I even make a move for my wallet- whether it's to go halfsies on lunch or to pay for a dress that caught my eye.

His girlfriend is also the sweetest thing in the world and perfect for him. He's the kind of guy that spends a lot on girls...and she's the kind of girl that doesn't give a crap about that and loves him FOR HIM. They were at Westfields to buy her birthday present and she kept saying no to all the expensive things he wanted to buy for her. He said to me, exasperated, "I don't know what her problem is! Every nice thing I've ever gotten for her has been because I forced it on her. That bag she's carrying is the result of a big quarrel!" The bag in question was a gorgeous Burberry tote.

They're too cute.

I left them at 6 and met up with my friend E for drinks. He was running late from work so I killed time in a Starbucks. I've had an iPad for a while but I've never used it. Technology scares me, especially Apple technology. All that swishing and swooping...it's too shiny! I'm scared that SkyNet will go live and the first humans to be crushed by the robot overlords will be the owners of Apple products.

But my bestie had threatened to seize mine if I didn't start using it so I was trying, tentatively, to accustom myself to the blasted thing. By the time E turned up, I'd come about 10 percent closer to not putting it in an airtight container and hiding it at the back of my freezer.

The weather was awful, torrential rain and cruel winds that made umbrellas almost useless. I'd made the silly error of leaving home in opaque tights and ballet flats so my feet were soaked within seconds of leaving Starbucks for the nearby pub. E apologised profusely for being late and got me a gin and tonic to warm me up. He also cajoled me into coming with him to this dinner party in Shadwell he was co-hosting. I had planned on a low key evening near my flat, maybe a few drinks with my housemate or a movie but E sold the dinner party pretty well. It was being thrown in what he said was 'a sick pad' by the American boyfriend of one of our good friends from uni, A. A had moved to San Francisco to work for one of the huge software companies and her boyfriend, C, was in London for the week for work.

He'd been put up in a penthouse flat in Shadwell and had contacted E, who is everyone's social director, to put together a dinner party for that night. "Oh, come along Mia. It'll be loads of fun....", E pleaded. So, I did.

The flat was stunning. I mean, quite literally, the best flat I have ever been in. A penthouse flat with two huge terraces filled with chic outdoor furniture (a bit wasted due to the rain) and stunning views of the City. But what really clinched it was the interior. The guy that owned it was a DJ/Interior designer and it showed. One entire wall was full of CDs, hundreds and hundreds, probably thousands, all alphabetically arranged. The sound system was insane and there wasn't a TV, ther e was a cool projector system  playing old black and white films. When we arrived, Casablanca was on.Another wall was full of vintage magazines and all of the furniture was in 1960's art deco style. Think the kind of flat that the love child of Austin Powers, Lenny Kravitz and Audrey Hepburn would live in. I didn't want to leave it.

The food was fab too- C had wondered around Borough Market that day and laid out a feast of organic sausages, pork belly, fresh vegetables and huge soft baked pretzels the size of clocks.

Icing on the cake, there was even a hot guy.

What I should properly say is: Out of the 8 people that were there, there was only one single guy  who, luckily, I found to be terribly attractive. We had a very good chat and despite the fact that I cannot flirt to save my life, I think there were vibes. He's an actor, tall with what one of the boys described as a 'thespian's face'. He's in a play on the West End soon and, as I left, made sure I wrote the name of it and the relevant details down. "Come and see it and we'll go for a drink afterwards" he said......

I left the party early because I wanted to be sure of getting the last tube home. On my way to the station with other like minded guests, I got a text from S saying she was out in Tufnell Park and I ought to come! I tried to call back to get more detailed information but she didn't answer and so I made my way home. 30 mins later, I got off the tube at my station and was walking home when she called. "Are you coming?" she yelled, from what was clearly a noisy party. "No, S" I replied, laughing. "I've just gotten home!"

It was midnight when I left myself into the flat.  As I scrubbed off my makeup and brushed out my hair, I wondered whether I was doing it again- socialising 'the wrong way'. Maybe I should've gone to meet S in Tufnell Park? Maybe I should have stayed longer at the dinner party? But soon enough, I was warm and snug in bed and no amount of guilty thoughts was going to make me leave it again.

*****UPDATE: So, I tweeted this a couple of days ago but not all of you follow me, so I'll put it here. On Monday I sent my friend E a text thanking him for inviting me to the party and saying other polite things. E had told me not to leave the dinner party early, and instead come out with him and Hot Actor Dude but as stated, I fancied an early night. Turns out, according to E, this was a bad plan. E's reply to my text read: "It's fine honeybun, was lovely to have you. But [Hot Actor Guy] ended up bonking J, so you should have stayed and fought for his phallus"


Fought for his phallus? Oh, God, even just writing this update is making me laugh all over again. I know crazy people! Anyway, regardless of the fact that I lost the phallus fight, I'm still going to see his play. I like plays and this one has rave reviews. *****

Turned out, my early night was a good call as on Saturday, I was exhausted. My body just wasn't used to all this going out, after being sequestered in the country for so long.  I stayed in bed all day, napping and reading a Georgette Heyer novel. Around 6, I started craving internet and Sky (which we don't have in the flat yet) so I showered, threw on jeans, a t-shirt with a black and white tiger on it, a man's blazer and went home. Two hours and a Japanese meal later, I was in the country, where I curled up on the couch with tea, chocolate and the Sky TV remote.


This week

This week was pretty intense work-wise. Long hours, lots of challenges and of course that itchy-wool feeling you get when your work routine isn't set in stone yet. After my time off, it felt weird to have to be productive again! But, I adore this job and I'm good at it. I like the people I work with, I LOVE the building I work in, and so spending most of this summer with my nose to the grindstone isn't going to be that bad, I don't think.

I didn't go out a lot after work this week- instead most days ended with me trudging home bone tired, carrying even more work with me. It's nice having a housemate though, because we can cook supper and eat it together, which is immeasurably comforting after a long day.

I've learnt loads I didn't know about Andrew through our dinners and he is truly a nice guy. I am not happy that he has an addiction to the most decadent and delicious chocolate tarts from Waitrose though- having that sort of temptation in my fridge is not helping my plan to leave size 10 behind and return to the pearly gates of size 8.

Anyway. The only overtly social thing I did this week was go to the opera last night with my friend Dan. Hang on, before I tell you guys about that, I should perhaps let you all know how I totally and utterly shamed myself in front of my office crush.

You know I've said before that I'm shit at flirting? Yes, well, if you didn't believe me, read on for proof.

Yesterday morning, I did some swotting up on Tosca, the Puccini opera Dan I were going to see at the Royal Opera House. I'd only been to the opera once before, with my ex boyfriend, his brother and his brother's partner. We'd gone to see Mozart's the Marriage of Figaro and seeing as my ex's boyfriend was a real patron of the arts, we had great seats and champagne and canapes during the interval.

Anyway, seeing as that was my sole trip into opera-land, I thought I'd see what information Wikipedia could tell me about Tosca. Full of my hastily acquired knowledge, I went off to grab a couple of sandwiches from Pret for me and my supervisor when I ran into my Office Crush. He was going the same way and so we walked together, with me silently thanking the spirits above that I'd taken the time to smooth on some shiny lipbalm before I left my desk.

As we stood at the back of typically long lunchtime queue, we chatted a bit, about this and that. At this point, I got it into my head that perhaps I ought to try some of this flirting business I've heard was so useful. So I mentally scanned through the various lectures I'd recieved from my best friend and other exasperated acquaintances and recalled that: It's useful, when flirting, to not only chat about something interesting, but also about something that makes YOU seem interesting. So, my brain thought: Hey, why don't you tell him about the opera? Read on, dear readers and witness my shame...

Me: So, I'm off to the opera tonight.
Him (eyes lighting up with interest): Really? I love the opera...what are you going to see?
Me: Tosca. I'm very much looking forward to it. I hear the arias are superb...
Him: Oh yes. In fact, when I saw it a couple of years ago....(at this point, Office Crush starts to say all sorts of clever and insightful things about opera in general and Tosca in particular. I panic, thinking: Oh my God, when he stops talking, I will have to say something clever about opera too or risk my soul)...don't you agree?
Me (snapping back into the conversation): Absolutely! I adore Pucci.
Him: ..........
Me: Are you alright? You've gone quiet...
Him: Surely you mean Puccini?
Me: *dies slowly*

Dear readers: Pucci = fashion designer. Puccini= composer . Me=  an idiot.

Ugh, What made it worse was that we then had to make awkward chat in the queue for another 10 mins before we got our sandwiches and then all the way back to our neighbouring offices. Awful, awful, awful. I mean, of course,  I flubbed it off as a slip of the tongue...but you know that horrible feeling when the other person just knows that, no it wasn't a slip of the tongue and yes, you are indeed an idiot? I still have that feeling.

Needless to say, when 6.30 rolled around, I was more than happy to leap up from my desk and walk over the Royal Opera House in Covent Garden.

I met up with Dan, who was already in the queue to pick up our tickets and went straight in for a bit of a cuddle. " Are you looking forward to it?" he asked. "God yes" I said. "Puccini. Love him".

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That's all for now, booskis. More on the fun I had at the opera and my upcoming weekend (which I'm desperately looking forward to) later.

xxxxxx


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Shit My Sister Says: Forty five minutes into watching Frosty The Snowman - "Oh my God, the snowman is talking!"






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