Day 141 – A dress disaster
Let me begin by reassuring you that despite appearances to the contrary this dress is not a shirt. Though I chose it thinking it would work quite well for a night on the town as well as a day dozing in the garden it turned out to be rather unsuitable for both.
I decided to take today off so I could squeeze in some extra time in Manchester and finally get the chance to catch up with my friend who has been on a show stopping musical theatre tour all over the UK. After having a lovely lie in I sat outside in the garden to have my coffee and it was so nice that I didn’t really move much during the rest of the day. My friend came to join me outside and I got so lost in catching up that I foolishly forgot about the wonder that is sun cream. By the time the boy had returned I was a ridiculous shade of pink which did not at all suit today’s dress and is extremely painful.
As we are going out to a gig tonight I tried to calm it down and undo the damage by applying layers of after-sun. After the tenth layer I started to wonder why it was having no cooling affect in spite of the cucumber coloured bottle. At this point I had a look at the label and realised that what I had in-fact been applying was body glitter which had no healing affects but did make me look like an orange disco ball.
There was no time to take it off so I slipped on some other sparkly stuff in the hope of creating an overall impression of a woman hell bent on matching every accessory, arm make up included. The gig was set to take place at a mansion in South Manchester so I treated my feet to fancy shoes and wincing from the pain of my arms clambered in the taxi with the rest of the band.
I must admit that when I hear the word mansion my first thought is Mr Darcy’s estate at Pemberley. For this reason when we arrived at a rather beautiful but derelict mansion which had soil where I was hoping for grounds I was a little disappointed. It was still however a location for a gig and once I got over the soil which was staining the bottoms of my feet it actually turned out to be okay. There were bands playing sets in their pyjamas, toddlers singing magic penny to a hundred people and if one dared to explore the mansion there was an artists rabbit run inside. There were books on every subject you would ever want to study from the 60s and beyond, a grand piano, an artists easel and rooms where musicians could record, for free.
It was quirky but it was my day off and with my limbs burning, my shoes ruined and my tummy rumbling we went in search of a more structurally sound place to hang out.
- The dress is originally from H&M, the belt from Topshop, the shoes from Kurt Geiger and the jewellery from Pilgrim. This was one of those dresses donated by the lovely Lara. Though it made for difficult descents from the taxi it is a cute little number and on someone shorter may be rather less revealing.
Day 140 – Holey hoisery
- Today’s dress is from George at Asda. My friend, Monica Kenny bought it for me along with the red dress last week. It is a little on the short side so I try to tame it with black tights. Unfortunately I end up looking like more of a hussy than ever. The tights or so I am told have two massive holes in them. I briefly consider filling them in with a black marker pen but it seems a little extreme and I can only find a purple marker. In the end I go for bare legs and trainers as I am travelling up to Manchester to see the boy. When he sees me he tells me I look cute but I fear I resemble an N Dubz fan, which I am not.
Day 139 – My first front page
So far I have had two front pages. One with a shared by-line whilst working for the Manchester Evening News and one whilst working at the Mail. My first front page at the Mail was a bit of a dud as I didn’t feel as though I deserved the by-line. Though I had done the research, got the quotes and done the running around, when it came to writing the story I stalled. I had no confidence and felt as though I had forgotten every lesson my tutor ever taught us, all in all I bottled it.
For this reason, when the bosses decided the splash for the week was going to be the piece I was working on I wondered immediately whether I would be able to hide under the desk without either of them noticing me. 
Unfortunately today’s dress has minimal scope for manoeuvrability so instead I had to settle for going to get a glass of water.
I am trying to adjust my behaviour to stop myself from self destructing every time I am presented with a challenge so I took the sensible option and discussed the best way to write the story with my seasoned colleague. What was really amazing was that in the end, other than the original urge to hide I did not freak out any further. I wrote the story, submitted it and actually felt fairly pleased with what I had written.
Tomorrow morning when I walk into work there will be shops selling our paper which will have my name and my story on the front. I remember watching an episode of The Wire when a reporter got up before sunrise and drove down to the printing press to see her first ever front page. Whatever hours you have to do, or how tense things get on deadline day it all becomes worth it when you pick up the paper on Thursday morning and see your work published for all to see; so long as they live within the Harborough district. Doing what you love is an absolute privilege and even if it does make me want to hide under a desk from time to time i wouldn’t do anything else.
- Today’s dress is on loan from my Fairy God Mother. Along with my mystery donor she is perhaps the woman who has contributed the most to the continuation of the blog. As well as loaning me some incredible dresses from when she was a girl she has bought me dresses from charity shops and even lent me jackets to make my racier outfits better suited for work. As well as this she has encouraged friends and family to read the blog and whenever possible comment and rate each post. This dress was one she wore to a wedding. It is from Minuet which is stocked by Debenhams and House of Fraser.
Day 122 – Sanctuary in the second city
Every year Salford puts on a two day festival called Sounds of the Other City. It has a little more grit than most two day inner city dos and plenty of good ales, fancy foreign beers and tasty fresh food more commonly found at a farmers market than a festival. The weekend has not started well but I’m trying to be a more positive person and so I pick out the prettiest dress, comb out my hair and with my glad rags on try to raise my spirits for what has traditionally been a slamming party.
Though it wasn’t meant to be the way the boy and I end up alone and having the kind of time alone together that we rarely have these days. It is one of those days when you find yourself falling in love just a little more than ever before, I hope you’ve had them. You remember why it is that you work through the tears and the tantrums because in truth this is the one in your life with who everything just feels right.
We go skipping through the shops like children, searching for a cardigan to keep me warm because I was too worried about looking good for my boy in the band. The weather is freezing and the boy does his best as usual to usher me into his hooded top but its blue and for boys and the dress is too pretty to be covered by it. We end up settling on a long grey cardigan from Wallis which will now be my new cover it up for work. The problem with the project is that I have lots of very pretty dresses which are borderline suitable for the workplace, some a little short, some a little low, this will make even the shortest shimmery shift suitable for the most conservative court appearance.
After sipping down strawberry beers and munching on chicken tacos and tasty chilli which even my soft-core taste buds can handle we slink back on the walls to watch a wailing guitar guy leads us in a chorus of She’ll be coming round the mountains when she comes. We glimpse an old friend who I haven’t seen for some time, she is looking well and loved up and there is something about seeing somebody so content that cheers me through just as much as my cherry beer; strawberry got sickly quickly.
We head over to the gig where the boy plays an acoustic set. The crowd seem to like it and I wish I could be playing the part of the reviewer once more. The venue has a great feel to it and the two girls who put it on are either extremely excitable or just pissed. Either way their enthusiasm is infectious and the crowd laps it up.
We end up hanging out with the other Onions and our friend Ben, who is just lovely. The last time we were here our gang was a lot bigger and I miss the rest of the crew, especially the girls; Anna, Clara, Ellen and Niki. They are all great company and I wish we had all found work in the same city. Sometimes I find myself a little jealous of London which has landed all these great ladies and I lament not making it down there to see them as I should.
We watch a surf band from Wales. They are playing at one of the city churches where they are selling beer and alcopops. It is surreal and though I fear my mother might not like it I lie beside the boy on a blown up sofa beside the altar. I figure its okay because this is the Church of England and I figure they do things different from us Catholics, we kneel.
Later on we head back to The New Oxford, where the boy had his gig. There’s a band Frazer King, friends of the boys who are playing and based on the last time I saw them they are well worth a watch. Though I do not tell the boy, there is something a little sexy about their lead singer who growls the lyrics. When we get there we find the band outside, setting up on the steps of Salford Magistrates Court, having decided they are too big for the venue. I am amused by their arrogance but their choice of setting is inspirational and the set is sublime. I shiver throughout and see traces of blue on my lips but I don’t want to miss a moment and dance and sway with the boy just to keep warm. They put on a show and its one of those gigs you just know you’ll never forget. I wish the crew were all here but its great and I’m happy and in love and I don’t care if it lasts, its here and we’re happy.
- The dress is from Topshop, a tea dress. I usually hate showing my back, its broad and has a mole which I would love to move but its an eight and when it fits I get a bit carried away and forget all my usual insecurities if only for one day. It is on loan from Kat Ingham, who is in Manchester but who I unfortunately missed out on seeing tonight as she was at the sound of the other city, or Maps.
Day 96 – Free fall
After spending a weekend on what may well have been a mini high I have now entered free fall. Last night the boy and I had a horrible fight over the “future”. Admittedly I was probably being a little irrational. I wanted him to show me in some way that this is going to work; that we will be able to get through the next 18 months without falling to pieces and that this will all have been worth it in the end. It just feels strange a month ago we were considering the possibility of moving in together and playing house and now I am looking in the local paper for flats to move into by myself.
Though I am quite excited about the prospect of living alone for the last time I am sad to see our little dream end before it had really started. I know we can make this work but when I’m feeling low and pessimistic its hard to persuade myself of the positives. I do feel for him, I know it can not be easy going out with a girl whose head is so often in the clouds; the dark and the thundery as well as the light and the fluffy. He has always been the realistic one of the two of us. Though I might run away in my mind with schemes and plans about trips away to Cuba and a home in the Lakes where he can teach and I can write, he will be there holding my hand, ready to pull me back down to earth when the schemes become too wild.
Yesterday we argued because he is frustrated at how little I have been looking after myself. He hates to see me go into decline and understandably gets angry when he thinks it might be because I have been staying up too late, forgetting to take my tablets or just taking on too much.
Although he has upset me this weekend by choosing to spend the Easter holiday at home rather than coming down to be with me, considering how much of a mess I was last weekend I can hardly blame him.
So often with mental illness it becomes all about the person who is sick. It is we who are given the tablets, the counselling and the coping strategies, all to often it is our partners, family and friends who fall by the way with little advice or explanation on how they should cope with the giant grey elephant in the corner who can not seem to stop crying their eyes out or talking at a hundred miles a minute. There are groups and websites which can help friends and partners but it is hard to know where to turn. There was one stage when I was living in Manchester when the boy was having to spend so much of his time making sure I was okay. I wasn’t seeing a Doctor, I was no longer on any anti-depressants and I had started having panic attacks. When I am a wreck it is all to easy for me to forget how much he has done and continues to do for me. I never want him to be my carer but there has been times when I know I couldn’t have coped without him. We work the best when we are both happy and I hate it on days like today when I sink so low that I refuse to believe anything he says. I tell him he should not be with me, that he should find a normal girl who is not so high maintenance but because he is sweet he tells me I am not and that he would not have me any other way even if I was.
I do love him dearly but I am so afraid of what the next eighteen months will bring. I am terrified that one day I will shoot us in the foot by saying something I do not mean and he will walk away for good and find himself a girl with fewer issues. One day he tells me he will write a blog which he hopes will help the partners of other people with problems, but at the minute I think he might be a bit too mad to write.
- Today’s dress comes from Lara. It is beautiful and I put it on because I knew the boy liked it when he first saw it in the bag of donated dresses. I wanted him to get on the train with a happier memory of me than the tired, tearful, weary eyed woman he went to bed with last night.
Day 90 – A sad day for shoes
Today has been a sad day for footwear. Back when I was a a 23-year-old with the world at my feet and a job as an events manager which paid a tidy little sum my main outgoing other than restaurant bills and bar tabs was shoes, I was obsessed with them. For the first time in my life since I was 18 I was totally debt free. Out of my monthly salary after all bills were paid I still had an indecent amount left over to spend on myself. Though I smoked and had a fondness for Marks & Spencer sushi and sausage and onion cobs every Friday when I was too hangover to use the phone, I had no children, no mortgage and no monthly car insurance or pension payments. I was young, free, practically single and absolutely loving the independence of it all.
The boy was living a hand to mouth existence as he was still studying for his music degree but I was free to fund our outings and as one of the girlfriend of Manchester’s hardest working band I got to play the part nearly every weekend; we would all hangout backstage drinking down the riders, dragging on rolled up cigarettes and generally just hanging out feeling ever so slightly like the cool kids.
At the time I guess I knew the life we were living would not last forever. I was having a hell of a good time but work was taking its toll on my health and I’d dropped down to my smallest size since I’d had a minor eating disorder back when I was 18. I remember looking at my bank statement and feeling sad at how little I had to show for all the brilliant nights out and evenings just spent drinking red wine round a rickety table listening to music and playing cards in between musing upon our dreams for the future.
Other than Sylvanian Families I had never really felt the desire to collect anything. My sisters had their key-rings, their badges and even at one stage their dice and my brother had the monopoly on every phase and craze out there including Thomas The Tank Engines, Thunderbirds, Power Rangers and even at one stage care bears which was extraordinarily cute. It was when I realised I was spending much of my money on momentary pleasure products that I decided to start a collection and as I had no particular interest at the time in tea cups I decided I would collect shoes. As my regular readers know I am a slave to Kurt Geiger. The shoes they make are so well balanced you can stamp around in a pair of stilettos for sixteen hours straight without feeling an ache. They are creative, original and considering how well they last lusciously priced.
This then brings us to today’s dilemma. There is a man in Market Harborough, his name is Andy but I have always known him as the saviour of shoes. Many times I have brought him a forlorn pair at the end of their life and he has carefully restored them to beauty. One time he managed to restore my red or dead spike heeled stiletto ankle boots to spanking brand new in spite of me having ground the five inch heel to a mere three inches after a weekend in Liverpool visiting a friend where we danced till we dropped to sleep in his dorm just before dawn. Today Andy very kindly explained to me there was sadly nothing he could do for two of my favourite pairs.
One of them was the first pair of pricey shoes I had ever purchased. Brought in my lunch break from Berties at Kendall they were soft white leather with five inch thick wooden heels. Generally I believe white shoes should be saved till ones wedding day and even then they should be hidden and if possible cream but these were divine. Unfortunately as I tend to run in heels as well as walk whilst racing to get the bus back to see the boy after an after work drink my heel snapped on Deansgate. It was humiliating and I actually sat down and cried. I hadn’t even had any hooch but I was just so sad for my poor innocent shoe. Andy said it could be saved in an expensive operation but the job would have to be sourced out and the operators may well break the wood in the process.
The other pair are of the Kurt Geiger variety. I bought them foolishly after getting made redundant from Webb PR a month before Christmas. I was a little heart broken about losing the job and in a fine example of someone who had temporarily given leave to their senses and indeed their financial situation I sneaked away on a Christmas shopping trip with the boy, and bought three pairs of shoes in the sale. Admittedly they should have cost £400 and came to just £120 but still I had just been made redundant and with no job on the horizon it was a foolish mistake. I guess I have never regretted it because today, 15 months after the fact, I still have the shoes and they are still stunning. Unfortunately one of them, a pair of mustard yellow t-bar three inch heels was mortally injured back in May. I was chasing a story at the time and as I tore down the road the pin snapped and I had to traipse around on tippy toes the rest of the day. Andy says there is no hope for them and though I know I should consign them to the bin they are just too lovely, perhaps at some time in the future there will be better technology for such injured shoes? I live in hope.
- Today’s dress is from the wonderful Rebecca Allison. She sent this in a lovely package from the states and as well as a pair of earrings there was a beautifully written letter. I realise the dress comes up a little short on me but I hope you will not take too much of a hump at me modifying it for the workplace by pairing it with the skin tight Lycra number from Zara sent by the lovely Clara, believe me it is to protect your eyes from a legging lovely sight. Again if you do get the chance take a little look at her website. It is a fabulous way to start ones day and has given me goosebumps in the past with the sheer poetry of her posts. http://solsticetosolsticetosolstice.tumblr.com/
Day 88 – The sweetest surprise
At half five this afternoon I was feeling a little sorry for myself. I am already missing the boy and wanted nothing more from this evening than to curl up upon his chest and have a nice cuddle whilst having a chat about our day. Alas, we are once again in a long distance relationship and it will be the end of the week before I get my wish. Feeling a little fed up I had just about resigned myself to another evening attempting to counter the curse of writers block when I got a phone call from downstairs telling me a Ms Kenny was there to see me.
I had completely forgotten that I was meant to be meeting my friend for a cup of tea after work and feeling rather relieved that the choice of whether or not to work late had been removed from my hands I hurried downstairs to greet my friend. When I got to the door I was delighted to see she was joined by another of my great girlfriends and being the emotional wreck that I am at the minute I nearly burst into tears when I saw them both. I had mentioned to them that I was having a tough time and being the lovely ladies that they are they had turned up with flowers and friendship aplenty.
Good girlfriends are worth their weight in gold and these two are of a kind which one would never trade in. As well as bringing me pretty flowers to make my desk more effeminate they also gave me a card with a sweet little message inside about how proud they were of me for following my dream. We spent a couple of hours gassing away about the latest gossip and generally just putting the world to rights. Even though I was feeling glum they managed to make me giggle and by the time we left for home I had forgotten all about my troubles.
Though being apart from the boy is going to be tough being based in the borough does mean there will be more wonderful moments like this. When I was travelling back and forth between Manchester and the Midlands I was always missing out on girly get togethers and it’s so nice to now have our little gang back together again. 
One of the greatest things about our friendship at the moment for me is that I am actually honest with them about how I am doing. In the past I would always hide away when I was down as I was too embarrassed to tell them if I was having a dark day, week or even month. They are brilliant friends because they do not back away when I am low, they keep in touch and try their best to find a way to drag me out of my melancholy mood. I am a lucky girl indeed to have friends as good as these.
- Today’s dress is on loan from my sister. It is from Florence and Fred/ Tesco and I am a little bit in love with it as it makes me feel like a forties femme fatale. The photos taken by my mother were base attempts to show off the flowers from my friends, my mother’s herb garden and the earrings sent to me by a wonderful woman from the states who writes a daily blog about the rising sun. Sometimes there is just a description of the colours but every post is pure poetry and for those wanting a break from my verbosity will love her more succinct style. http://solsticetosolsticetosolstice.tumblr.com/
Day 74 – Generosity consists not the sum given, but the manner in which it is bestowed.
I have become anxious today; the number of dresses I have left to wear has reached an all time low. For the first time I am forced to consider the possibility the project may not be able to run the whole year through. Although I have received many dresses from a number of generous people, both friends and relative strangers alike I have done a count up today and it is not looking good. Even if I wear my ball-gowns, bridesmaid dresses and a couple of jumper dresses which are so short I would be giving the liberal legging lovelies a run for their money in wearing them, I am still left with less than ten dresses. 
This means that unless I find some more and soon, the project will cease to exist in ten days.
If I am being honest I am devastated about it. I am not yet ready to stop wearing dresses and I am reluctant to give up this one creative outlet in my life which I have absolutely loved doing. Admittedly I am starting a new job in just over a week so I had already made a decision to make the posts shorter, but to stop them all together? It makes me depressed just thinking about wearing the same old skirts, tailored trousers and dull old denim and I feel like crying at the though of it all coming to such a sad end. (I do realise I am being a tad dramatic)
Rather than focusing on the sadness however, I have decided to quit my moaning and instead use this post to thank you all just in case this is indeed the beginning of the end. It has been a pleasure to post, particularly on the days when I log on near midnight and notice a sudden surge in viewings has rocked my numbers up high and away off of the chart. . Many of you have kindly recommended me to friends through facebook and twitter which has been a great help and is much appreciated; 
there is after all little point in my rants and raves if there is nobody on the other end of cyberspace reading it and wondering if I might be having a bit of a “mad day”. I also want to thank everyone who has commented, even the charming young fellow who asked me if I was an alcoholic, all of these responses helped me to carry on with what have at times been difficult posts. When I first took the leap and decided to talk more openly on the blog about my troubles with depression and the difficulties I have had with coming to terms with my diagnosis as bipolar II I had expected my numbers to plummet but they did not and the post where I reveal them is actually the most popular.
Those of you who have loaned and given me dresses for the project please understand I have no words to express how grateful I am but thank you, a trillion times thank you. When I returned home yesterday it was to find a dress had been sent to me by one of my old house-mates, CDLAD. 
She is a super stylish chick with an amazing name which I will not share for fear of exposing her too much but she has always been a great gift giver and once sent me a beautiful bunch of flowers to cheer me up when I was having head poorly troubles. The dress is gorgeous a black slinky little lycra number which I will wear tomorrow once I’ve done a few sit ups. Last week when I met my sister for lunch she presented with five pretty dresses to borrow. Although she is my sister so I would have stolen them from her eventually, the sentiment was kind and it did prevent a lot of hassle and the usual, “Mum, she took my dress”. Yes we are nearly as old as the pebbles on the beaches but we still occasionally like to use our mother as a mediator. It just makes good sense and besides it’s fun to wind her up.
KR my best friend has now leant me three dresses, two of which she kindly said I could keep as well as today’s dress which was extremely sweet of her because it is one of her favourites and looks gorgeous on her. AC leant me the two beautiful brown dresses over the Valentines weekend and has opened her closet to me though sadly she can not open the stage wardrobe to me, just think of all the amazing vintage finds, ah well cest la vie.
My other good friend Monica Kenny and her sister leant me an entire shopping bag full of dresses which were all gorgeous and even when I had to come clean and tell MK that her dress had ran in the wash she took it in fairly good humour and didn’t gouge my eyes out as she would have been entirely justified in doing. I have also recieved dresses from my family in Ireland and my fairy God mother which have been some of the nicest I have worn yet. Also last week there were the stunning dresses leant to me by BS who has also promised very kindly with her husband to buy me an extra special dress for my birthday.
I hate to be defeated and failure is not something I like to ever become familiar with but though I might be feeling deflated and depressed, I am so thankful to all of you who have donated or who are in the process of doing so. I know my sister’s friend who is also a very kind supporter of the project, HP (not the sauce), has sent some dresses back with my sister to keep me hanging on. Two lovely ladies in America are sending me some in the post and a couple of people who read the article in the Harborough Mail have come forward with offers to send dresses. 
I wonder if part of the problem is so far I have been unsuccessful in getting shops and clothing companies involved in the project, either through loans or donations. This is my fault really as although I had hoped the Harborough Mail might generate some local business support, nearly two weeks since I wrote the article I have still heard no word. Perhaps I will just have to swallow my pride and go directly to their door to ask for help. I am umming and aahhing about whether or not it is better to write them a letter first and then go in or just walk in without a warning guns a blazin’? If anybody has any thoughts on the best way to approach store managers do please let me know, the future of The Mind Project depends on it. 
- Today’s dress is on loan from KR. It looks a hell of a lot better on her but it is lovely to wear as the cotton feels all soft on one’s skin and it reminds me of being on holiday somewhere hot where man-made materials are not an option unless you lack sweat glands. It reminds me of a skirt I brought in Venice which has loads of different lengths to it which is one of my favourite pieces of clothing and which I missed so much I actually tried it on the other day to see if it would work as a dress. It did not.
Day 72 – The birthday boy
Me and the boy are both born on the 13 day of the month but this is where our similarities in birthday celebrations stop. I start planning my birthday parties three months in advance; five months if it is perceived to be some kind of special birthday. I am not sure why I am such a freak about birthdays I just know it has always been incredibly important to celebrate life and can’t think of a better day to do so than on the anniversary of the day my friends, my family or myself were brought screaming into existence. The giant once had some rare insight into my obsession and decided it was the result of Catherine dying; according to him our family all have a deeper appreciation of life and a burning desire to celebrate it because we experienced such a huge loss of life so know how important it is to live each moment to the full. I like this theory but I fear it may be a result of me being a bit mad or that my mother was right when she said it is because I’m a bit of a diva and therefore love having a whole day devoted to me.
Unlike me the boy has no real desire to make a big deal of his birthday. He finds the idea of making people come out to celebrate far too egotistical and really prefers it if I do the invitations. In the past I have cooked him his favourite meal, taken him out to our special occasion default restaurant Chaophraya or just gone out for a few beers round Withington. This year, maybe because he was showing so little enthusiasm I decided just to leave him to his own devices. Even though I cooked him a fancy fry up and made him tea and coffee on demand and did all of the washing up I managed to go nearly the whole day without harassing him about how he had to make plans on what to do for the day. It wasn’t until six when I realised that if I didn’t take a stand he was going to spend his whole birthday working on mastering the latest Onions album. I have heard the same track a hundred times, maybe a thousand and although I now hate it with a passion as this was what he wanted to do on this, the day of his birth, I chewed my lip and prayed for patience as he submerged himself in song.
After making him a cup of tea I tried to gently hint that it might be nice to leave the house. He was not exactly enthusiastic and had no suggestion of where he might want to eat. In the end I gave him a choice of two places and insisted I would pay as soon I would be a working girl and I insisted that we go out to celebrate. He was incredibly reluctant and because he did not allow me to book we had to wait till half-nine for a table at Aladdin. It is a wonderful extremely vibrant Lebanese restaurant stowed away in South Manchester. The food there was awesome but because it is so popular the tables are packed together so close that you can’t hep yourself from eavesdropping and as it was late and everyone was hammered we got to hear some hilarious and frankly scandalous conversations from the table beside us of NHS professionals.
It was a happy distraction because in spite of the meal being delicious and us having our favourite bottle of wine at the table I struggled to cheer the boy up. I felt like such a rubbish girlfriend because I probably should have taken a more active role in making his day special. It didn’t help that only one of his friends was able to come out to meet us afterwards due to everyone having gone on a bender the night before but I felt annoyed at myself because I should have just got in touch with them all weeks before to arrange a poker night or a dinner party.
In some ways the blog is a little to blame, I love doing it but it takes a lot of my time and my energy which I give to it willingly because I get so much back but it doesn’t stop me feeling guilty for not spending more time together, just the two of us. I am horribly aware that even though he was delighted with the filofax I brought him with its special teacher sections to help him stay organised in his new teaching job, yesterday I also gave him the awful news which has dropped a bit of a bomb on our loosely laid plans for the future. I feel bad about accepting the job without asking him first as even though it is everything I want in taking it I am moving away from him and everything we have been hoping for. Our dreams of getting a mortgage or more importantly a kitten called mittens to keep fishy company now seem a little unrealistic whilst we have to live apart during the week. We have coped with being long distance in the past and I like to think we are strong enough to still do so now, but I can’t help feeling like a mean moo cow for choosing my dream over ours.
- This beautifully patterned monochrome dress is on loan from my sister. The boy chose it for me to wear today as it is after all his birthday. It is from Mark One which I have just discovered is now in administration so this dress is probably worth a fortune in nostalgia! It is also perfect for an hourglass figure as you can pull it tight at the waist and it isn’t too low cut at the top. I felt it was a bit too casual but gentleman’s choice and with a little jewellery and perhaps a little too much make up I managed to jazz it up.
Day 71 – Dreams really do come true
Although today was meant to be another post in the women’s series something magical happened today which warrants pushing back part three in the series to another day. Considering how the day started, the way it ended seems on reflection darn near unbelievable. Though I am anxious to blurt out the good news like a prophet on a podium I must be patient and remember that every good story has a beginning and so at the start of the day we shall begin.
I usually find Fridays to be a bit of a struggle. It is presumably because unlike the majority of the world’s population it does not signal an end to my working week, it is just another day in my ongoing unemployment. Admittedly there are some advantages to being unemployed such as having big bubble baths every morning, waking up whenever one wants and being free to blog to my heart’s content. In spite of this however the one major thing that is lacking when one is unemployed is the constant company. When I worked in an office I used to love the midday chatter, the small talk about what one did at the weekend and what one was planning to do for the next. 
I had people to talk with about the scandals in the tabloids and even found fellow lovers of X Factor and other wonderfully trashy TV shows. As a freelancer with an emphasis on the free, I miss out not just on the infamous pay-day delight but also the loveliness of work-mates with whom one has a common purpose.
Although I woke up this morning to find myself feeling the same old Friday blues I decided to force myself out of bed, swallow down the sadness and take a trip to town. It is the boy’s birthday tomorrow and I wouldn’t forgive myself if I failed to get him a present just because I was fed up. 
Having decided that what I needed was a bit of a background buzz to aid me in my work I headed over to Fuel Cafe where the internet is free, the eggs are free range and the coffee they serve is the best in Southern Manchester. The bar staff are all very lovely and they have no problem with people spending the day there thinking away so long as they purchase a pot of tea to aid their musings.
In an attempt to cheer myself up I straightened my hair (it bounced back) put on some nice make up and even ex-foliated and moisturised myself like a lady of leisure before pulling myself into this delightfully peacock patterned, silky material H&M dress. It is gorgeous and feels like I am wearing a nightgown but with better cleavage coverage.
I started to cheer up as soon as I left the house, it was a really beautiful mild day and I am finally able to leave the house without hat scarf gloves and portable heater. Fuel was jam-packed with interesting types and after a coffee and pot of tea I was feeling much perkier. I’ve kind of come to the conclusion that I’m not going to be getting the job I applied for last week, and me and the boy had a chat last night about the future and what our options are and I decided I would just have to put the dream on the back-burner for a while until we had saved up enough to put down a deposit. 
I’ve been hammering the applications this week for any administrative position which pays a decent wage around Greater Manchester. I was a little surprised then when I had a call from a Harborough area code which when I looked up was a direct line at the paper I’d applied to. My phone cut out of battery before I had a chance to answer it but I assumed it was about the quotes I’d sent it and figured I would ring them once I got home that afternoon.
A little while later after typing up my review notes I had a quick check on my emails and found a note from the editor asking me to call him. A little flutter started up in my stomach which I quickly tried to suppress reminding myself that it was probably something about the story or my request for a week of work experience. 
There was a little bit of hope that was yet to die however and I begged the lady behind the bar to use her phone to give him a bell. After polite enquiries as to each others health I heard the following fabulous words; “I’m calling about the job and I am delighted to say we have decided to offer you the position.” I nearly dropped the phone in shock and it was probably a good job I was so surprised as it prevented me shrieking with delight like a five-year-old. It turns out that I have been offered a place as a trainee reporter at The Harborough Mail, the local paper in the town where I grew up. This means the world to me and I am so excited. It is everything I have been hoping for and more and it still feels like its a dream. I must admit that in spite of my conversation with the boy the night before I instantly accepted the job because it is the kind of opportunity one cannot refuse.
Although I believe some of you may have seen news of this on my twitter and face-book updates I want to firstly assure you that I will be continuing with the blog. It means a lot to me and it is something I really enjoy doing and so I will keep it going even if it means the posts are a little shorter, which I am sure will be a relief for most of you! I am sorry that the past week has been a bit of a trial, what with doing the women’s week postings and having quite a few reviews to finish I’ve been feeling a little stretched. I am finally feeling back on top now though and I want to thank you all for bearing with me and not complaining in spite of the tardiness of this weeks posts.
I know it sounds crazily corny but the news I received today made me realise how important it is for us to hold on to our dreams. In the past month myself, the boy, his sister and our superstar musical theatre friend Anna have all got given their dream jobs. Though I can barely believe there is this much luck in the world to go round it is clear that with the support of friends and family and a ridiculous level of optimism it is possible to persevere and find a career which you truly love. Twelve months ago I started on an NCTJ course at News associates in Manchester. I withdrew all of my savings and even took a loan from my parents to pay to train in a career I had known I wanted to do from the time of my first meeting with the careers lady at school. The course was intense and it was perhaps one of the hardest things I have ever done but today I realise it has all been worth it and am so thankful to my wonderful tutor Ian Gilbert who pushed us all to try harder and gave us the confidence and encouragement we needed to crack our way through each of the terribly difficult exams. I am also thankful to the great friends I had on the course, you know who you are but for clarity sake; KK, AK, SY, TKR, RC and CB. You made everything easier and your support and belief in me as a writer meant I kept trying even when it seemed impossible. To the rest of my course mates you made every day full of fun particularly the legendary AB who somehow managed to always ask the one question nobody else would dare and the lovely MW who made a brilliant cup of tea and had the sweetest smile. 
Sorry to be a sop guys but seriously keep dreaming, keep trying and really wonderful things will happen. Don’t allow yourself to get to the end and ask what if, do it now and every day will feel like a mini miracle.
- Today’s dress has been donated by Belinda Smears. It is from H&M is a size 10 and feels gorgeous. It has lovely long sleeves which you can pull over your hands if your chilly or feeling a bit vulnerable. The random reeds, blue flowers and feathers were because the boy decided the door was not interesting enough on its own and I was in a giddy enough mood to agree. I think I may have scratched my face on a bamboo stick.
