They lay there tangled up in each other - a sated, unintelligible ball of arms and legs. Heaving a big sigh he moved his face close to hers, their noses almost touching, and looked into her eyes. His look was too close for comfort, tangible almost, that she thought she could actually feel the weight of his stare as his eyes burrowed into hers. What was he searching for? It was as if he was looking for a way into the deepest recesses of her soul and she couldn't bear it. Her eyes started to flicker causing the salt water to spring to the surface, she knew that she wouldn't be able to avert this silent interrogation for much longer. After a tiny eternity he broke the intense silence.

"You know, I've only just realised," he mumbled as he continued to search for a sliver of heaven in those dark pools, "your eyes, they have this incredible, tiny ring of ice blue round them."

He stroked her arm gently with only the slightest feather-weight touch, "I think you're the first person person to notice," she replied with a langorous smile. And all at once, she felt comfortable again.

Tanga briefs on a man, do not a sexy beast make.

Back in September the DB and I went out for dinner and cheeky drinks, his treat (which I suspect he put on expenses) and it was a brilliant night. In fact, to begin with it felt more like a date than a casual night out with the MD of my biggest printer and I have to admit I was a touch nervous. But I needn't have worried because as is the way with our social outings we ended up getting horrendously drunk.

It was my favourite night out with the DB, because that night I realised that as much as I had had a debilitating crush on him before, that I didn't anymore. And with that realisation came utter calm. I was able to relax and enjoy myself. We talked about all sorts. Marriage (him: not interested, me: waiting to be asked), kids (him: not interested, me: my biggest amibition), work, mates, being single, how to get dates etc. We hung out, you know, as mates.

That night I was able to accept that as much as I had fancied him and thought that we would make a great couple, that in reality there's so much about him that makes him less than ideal. The fact that he doesn't own a stereo (except in his car), doesn't read (except newspapers) doesn't like shopping or museums, doesn't like going to the cinema etc etc, meant that we were not a good match. And I've always wanted to go out with someone who's different to me, who has different interests, someone who could teach me new stuff and vice versa but who maybe shared something in common with me. But there's different and there's poles apart.

Okay so the DB is easy on the eye, he's kind and generous and he thinks I'm funny. He makes me laugh and we have a teensy bit of chemistry at least, but he works all the time, he knows he is good looking, he is uber confident, and he's always silently checking out the talent. But I want more. I want better than that. Someone who'll realise that as far as they're concerned I'm the mutt's nuts.

And that was the night I got closure.

Today I found out that since that night he met somone and got engaged with a matter of about 4 months. Friends asked if I was upset, and you know what? I'm not. I'm really happy for him. Honestly, genuinely happy for him.

But...it did get me thinking that someone really ought to put a universal law of fairness into play. Well that's what Red and I think anyway....A law where single people find boyfriends/girlfirends in order of who's been single longest. One where people who actually wanna find someone and settle down and have kids, actually get to do that, one where everyone has someone to love. Unachievable utopia perhaps, but mmmm, wouldn't that just be grand?

I've been thinking a lot about this lately, and Vanessa's provocative post on it only fuelled the intenal debate that's been raging in my mind since.

If I chose to tell you something about me, or ten things about me, does that mean you know me? Does that instantly make you a friend and likewise does my not telling you lessen your worth any? Does my telling you some of my innermost feelings make me dependent on you in any way? Does it stop me from being me? And if I stop telling you things does that mean you'll think that I've stopped needing you in my life?

Is selecting information really classed as lying? Can you be accused of not telling the truth if you choose what to tell people? And what in hell's name is truth anyway?

Some people are highly secretive and keep their cards close to their chests, always making sure that no one sneaks a peak at their hand. I know why people find it hard to show real chunks of themselves. Because if you give people information about you then you give them potential ammunition. They have the power to take these chunks and use them as shards, as they slice into you with their betrayal. But if you're unfortunate enough to experience that, then you pick yourself up. Dust your knees down and get back in the race. The experience should only make you a better, perhaps tougher person right?. Shouldn't you use that to your advantage, instead of retracting completely and sabotaging the good relationships that you already have, or are set to have? I mean really, what purpose do strong-willed independence and a shedload of secrets serve? Except to turn you into an insularly lonely person.

For me, there's always been a need to let it all out. To tell people what I think, to endeavour to be honest with myself and with others. Okay, so like everyone, from time to time I take a blow and my survival instincts kick in causing my wounded self to shrivel and retreat a little. It's self preservation. I'll hide myself away a bit and select what I want to share and what I want to keep tucked away. No biggy...I'll recover and start again, healed and ready for the journey. But on the whole, all of this, this stuff, just cannot be contained by this vessel that is my body. There is a need for it to escape, for it to fall upon ears, deaf or no...to float into the ether, to share.

See, I always thought that if someone took the time out of their day to ask me something, that I should take the time out of mine to reply. Not monosyllabic, effortless responses. Real, thought out, honest answers. Pieces of me. And it doesn't stop there...I have this innate desire to find out what other people think too. Some people would call it nosey, I don't know what I call it...human perhaps?

Is there something wrong with that?

I am driven to distraction right now. It’s way too difficult to concentrate, and even trying to get my motor neurones into any semblance of action is an exercise in futility. ‘Uh hellloooo, PPQ’s brain, any chance you could, say, I dunno, start working?’ Nothing. No reaction, not even a glimmer, a twitch or any sign of vital functions, and trying to kick-start my brain only results in that dull, whinnying, clicking noise. You know, the desperate turning over of the doomed engine in a banged up car on its very last legs?

Whenever I try to concentrate I find myself gazing off into the middle distance, body all breathey and eyes all dewy. I snap myself back to cold reality only to find myself wandering off again when I think or hear of something that I’m sure you’d find funny/enraging/incredible, when I imagine your reaction, your words, the look on your face.

So these are my days just now; me wading through these hazy, cloud-shaped thoughts of you, just trying to make it from one day to the next without anyone noticing my inability to do the simplest task. Without anyone seeing my utter incompetence, my inept efforts at just being.

I make it through the day, I'm not sure how, and at night I curl up into my marshmallow duvet. Cocooned in its downy snug, I can feel the weight of your body on the mattress next to me, the warmth emanating from your skin making mine all prickly with the tiniest, most minute explosions. I imagine you curling around my body, wrapping your arms around me, us lying all spoons, your warm breath on the nape of my neck as you exhale a happy sigh.

In some alternate life I really live all of that. But this is verging on the ridiculous - I need a reality check, some cold hard truth. Sheesh, anyone would think that I was losing my grip...for chrissake, someone tell me if it’s even possible to have a crush on someone you barely know anyway?

Thanks everyone for humouring me and playing the game. Normal services resume tomorrow, but in the meantime...here are my answers;

y
Ok. Tell us..Three things you used to be certain of but aren't anymore.
My three are clichéd and I think these are more a symptom of my current state of cynicism rather that any hard lessons that I have learned… but I used to be certain that there’s someone for everyone, that good things come to those who wait, and that bad people get their comeuppance…but I’m not so sure anymore.

Bonobo Love
Why do birds suddenly appear, everytime, you are near?
Errrm, I think it’s because they long to be close to me.

On average, how many times do you use the word "flange" in one week?
0-10 - Mildly Moderate
10-20 - That's fine
20- 30- Hang on..
30-40- Excessive
40+ - Stop right there potty mouth
I don’t tend to use it at all…so I guess I’m mildly moderate.

..Blimey, these are early posts..Are you up at this time usually?
Bon Bon dear, I’m an insomniac, and having suffered a particularly bad patch just before Crimbo, I have now realised that the best way for me to get a decent night’s kip (even if it’s only 4/5 hours) is to knacker myself out totally. So, yes I am usually up at that time. I read, write, blog and potter until about 2am most mornings and then I finally clamber into my marshmallow duvet and have a kip. Lovely.

How soon is now
Very soon Bon Bon, Very.

No ,seriously, which position....did you start in your job?
PA to the Marketing Director – oooh, get me!

Where's Summer B?
*Proceeds to stop naming song titles this instant*
That’s hard Bon Bon, see, I tried to tell ya, tried to tell ya took a little bit too long and now your phone is disconnected and your shit's out on the lawn

Flittermoose
A bit predictable but still....
Most embarrassing moment ever?
Hmmm, I can’t really think of anything horribly embarrassing Flittermoose, but I am a klutz and am always falling over spectactularly. I did a particularly spectacular one in Jerusalem (a bar off Oxford St) while walking to get my round in. I ended up are over tits at a gorgeous bloke's feet.

Boy
Who would you say you are in Love with right now?
Sadly Boy, no one.

How much wood would a woodchuck chuck, if a woodchuck could chuck wood?
None. Because I would chuck the pesky wood chuck into the wood.

Why?
Because I said so

Petite Anglaise
What is the most precious thing you own, and why?
My baby blanket. It is a khasto (a traditional nepali shawl) that my Ma used (the same dear one) for my two older brothers and me, and I still have it. Knackered, ripped and totally loved. And precious because it’s comforting and a reminder of all three of our childhoods.

Legomen
A Desert Island or a Buzzing metropolis?
This is a toughy Legs. I love the seaside, always want to live near it, but I’m not much good at being on my own so….desert island would be a little lonesome. Could I have a buzzing seaside metropolis?

The Mighty Crumb
swallow?
....or....another type of migratory bird?
Blue throated warbler ;-) Is that what you meant?

Neil
Favourite day ever?
Cripes, this is a toughie too Neil…but with careful consideration one day sticks out in my mind right nowbecause of the simplicity and the unexpectedness of it all…a few years ago, my housemates and I decided to combine my birthday and a BBQ house party. My boyfriend at the time was unable to make it, he was meant to be abroad. It was a beautifully sunny day and we were getting the place ready and he phoned me on my mobile to wish me a Happy Birthday. We were nattering away on the phone when I turned around to see him walking towards me with a bottle of champagne in his hand and a massive grin on his face. The sappy bastard had managed to keep the whole thing a secret for weeks!

Brom man
Your 3 fave thongs?
the ones you thing the most.
I really hope you mean songs Brom man, cos I don’t do thongs! I like big pants.
But I have such a crazy eclectic taste in music and I can never pin my favourites down as I have so many. But I’ve tried...for this answer...aAnd here they are (but I reserve the right to change them at any time!)
Tear in your hand – Tori Amos
Safe from harm – Massive Attack
Never did I ever stop loving you – Alice Clark

NML
How many pairs of shoes and boots do you own?
Oooh goody! A shoe related question!
Okay, here we go…..at last count;
Ankle Boots – 2 pairs
Knee high boots – 3 pairs
Shoes - 17 pairs
Trainers - 2 pairs
One day I hope to have a room full !

Unlucky
Why do birds always disappear, every time I am near?
Errm, cos you smell?!
Please forgive me, I jest... ;-)

Bubs
Why do birds?
Errrm, because everyone should experience girl on girl?

Why doesn't Nigel Harman love me?
Hmmm? Why?
Because he loves me of course. Sorry sister. You win some, you lose some.

LongLostLonelyOne
Horizontal circumference of your head in inches AND centimetres please.
22 and a ½ inches or 57.2cm
What can I say? I have a big melon – my brothers used to call me football when I was a kid.

JonnyB
What's it all about then?
What?
You mean they didn’t teach you about this in Sex Ed?
Well, okay, I’ll explain about the man’s pee pee and the woman’s butterfly but it may take some time so I’ll have to mail you.

Bedshaped
You're in a club/disco/pub/whatever...what song will get you dancing, no matter how many times you hear it?
Lady Marmalade by Labelle

What were you doing on the evening of 18th June, 1997?
I was getting drunk. Because I was celebrating the double whammy of having finished my last uni exams and having got my british residency.

Jezebel
I've nearly finished reading my book. What should I read next?
Ooh, let’s see…it depends on what mood you’re in…sooooo…
If you fancy a bit of crappy chick fiction, try Fen by Freya North
If you wanna re-store your faith in love The Girl’s Guide to Hunting and Fishing – Melissa Banks
A bit of magic realism – Like Water for Chocolate – Laura Esquivel
A more high brow but cracking good read – Eleanor Rigby – Douglas Coupland (or anything by him for that matter)
A bloody, mindless, serial-killing romp – The Surgeon - Tess Gerritsen

Elspeth
What was your greatest moment of last year.... and the worst?
My greatest moment last year was finding out that my Ma had the all clear, a couple of months after the worst moment of last year when we thought she may have cancer

*With a gazillion, humongous apologies to Neil for tea-leafing one of his old posts*

I could tell you a million things.

I could tell you my opinions or my feelings, I could tell you a story, I could tell you half truths or even something real. But anything I told you on this blog would be what I wanted to tell you.

So... go on... ask me questions and I'll tell you no lies.

I can't guarantee that any of my answers will be of any interest or importance, but there's a smidge of a chance that it could be entertaining.

There are some people who you’ll meet in your life and just naturally get on with. The instant you meet, an invisible rapport holds you together like glue and you find yourself talking and laughing past the night and into the morning. And every time you meet after that it is the same. No apprehension, just that zing. Once you’ve met these people, you find yourself unable to imagine your life without them in it and besides you don’t want to think about it because a life without them is just too unbearable a thought to entertain. Call them what you will these ‘clickers’, these cosmic twins, these soul mates, but just try and live without them. Try behaving like a normal, pragmatic adult because it’s nigh on impossible and instead you end up acting like an impetuous teenager with absolute no resolve and no control. An addict coming down, searching for his next hit, you constantly strive to fan the flame that rages whenever the two of you are together, for fear of it extinguishing itself. And you go to extreme lengths to keep in touch, making super human efforts because if you don’t you might lose them.

Compare these clickers to the slow burners in your life; the dependable, affectionate friends with whom you are on an even keel. The ones who make just as much effort as you do and who will drop everything to meet you when you need a hand or just fancy an impromptu drink. These slow burners bring with them a sense of calm, the feeling that you’re all right and in control. That you can rely on them for laughs or hugs or help. Yet for some reason, you don’t try as hard with these friends because you’re investing all your emotional cash on the clickers, and so you take them for granted.

And so “I think of how the person who needs the other person the least in a relationship is the stronger member” and I wonder how it is that I’ve managed to accumulate such a big collection of clickers. And how on earth my ever-dependable slow burners have put up with me all this time. Am I really such a weak-willed person, or is this just human nature?

Recently I have been spending a lot of time on t’interweb at work so I promised myself that I would try harder to stop blogging on company time. After all as a manager with two direct reports, I have responsibilities now and it’s no longer acceptable for me to blog all day while my team work their nuts off.

So, I decided that I should imposes some sort of blogban and decided that I was only allowed to spend half an hour a day blogging from work, and that I should leave the main bulk of my internet activities to ‘hometime’. I thought it would be easy, 5 minutes in the morning, 15 at lunchtime and 5 mins mid afternoon with 5 minutes to spare for blogbrowsing throughout the day.

But in order to get my fix I have been spending hours and hours plugged into the web when I am at home instead, so much so that I think it is having some adverse effects on me, and also on those around me.

These days I find it difficult to go a day without some sort of internet activity. I think that I have turned into a geek and an addict. In fact, maybe it’s the onset of addiction when I start wondering if I would be far more blog-efficient if I could just hook the USB from the broadband modem into my arm intravenously.

Last week, after a mammoth 5 hour stint of blogwhoring, Bubs turned to me, waved, started prodding her finger into her own arm and said in a forlorn voice

“Hullo, it’s me. I’m a real person. Look you can poke me.”

The following day whilst blogging again my other housemate Red asked me what I was doing.

“Blogging,” I replied sheepishly.

“But you’ve been on that laptop for hours” Red replied, looking a little concerned even.

“Well, I’m looking for new blogs to read. And maybe even some inspiration.” I pouted.

“Inspiration?. Well why don’t you leave the house from time to time?” She suggested helpfully, "get a life?"

We laughed and chortled, but then I got to thinking....as much as I pay my virtual friends a lot of time and attention, perhaps, maybe, I have been neglecting my real time friends?

On Sunday, after a fun-packed weekend I made a pact with myself to make more time for my mates when I realised that my two housemates had gone to extreme lengths to keep themselves amused. That they were maybe even missing any form of human interaction from me. I had heard a kerfuffle and when I turned from my chair and laptop, I was greeted with the absurd sight of Bubs and Red, still dressed in PJs, frozen in a shoulder-head smackdown.

Two mini forces to be reckoned with, vice-locked in a monster effort to entertain themselves.

Ladies and gentlemen, this was real-time, housemate wrestling that I was witnessing. I kid you not. And let me tell you, it was not a pretty sight and I am still scarred from the whole experience.

Further proof perhaps that I really do need to get out of the house more. And maybe even take the housemates out with me.

But first...I think I may just check some blogs out very quickly...

Sleeping or waking up in front of someone has always been a pretty intimate thing for me. I’ve never been able to figure out why exactly but I guess it has something to do with trust or even because of my unpredictable relationship with Mistress Sleep.

When I met you my insomnia had been unforgiving. I was running on empty and my mind was a complete mess and I wonder if perhaps that’s why I messed everything up with us.

I hadn’t slept a full night for weeks. I couldn’t remember what sleep satisfaction felt like. But when you suggested we sleep together, no strings attached, I wasn’t scared, or apprehensive. I was concerned that perhaps Mistress Sleep would play her coquettish games and elude me all night, that my tossing and turning would keep you awake also, but I didn’t worry about trusting you and I didn’t hesitate in accepting your offer. I knew instantly that you wouldn’t try anything untoward, that you would remain true to your word.

I remember that night so vividly. Talking until the small hours of the morning, nestled in your cloud fluffy duvet, me in your black t-shirt shirt. I remember the frisson I felt when you stroked my arm and played with my hair. And mostly, I remember finding sleep with you and waking up in the morning with a feeling of warm contentment as if the sun had crept into the room and left its mark of serenity all over my body. That glorious feeling borne from a restful night.

After that night the insomnia returned when I was in my bed alone, but whenever you were with me it dissipated. I began to worry that I was subconsciously associating you and sleep together.

When you left me I thought that the insomnia would rage on, that I was its eternal prisoner. But lately I’ve found that I can sleep again. And I’m hoping that this time, its because I’m finally subconsciously associating sleep with me. That its within me to find that rest. I'm hanging on to that.

Every now and then you have a weekend like the one I've just had. The kind of weekend that you look forward to for ages and then when it's finished you keep thinking of silly things that happened and you laugh to yourself whilst wishing it hadn't finished.

The weekend was all about mates. Spending qwalidee time with my old mates and laughing til I almost cried, and then making new friends who made me laugh until my sides felt as though they would split. A weekend of banter and laughter and twisted senses of humour and random hugging.

This sort of weekend helps me to start the week on a positive note and reminds me that things really aren't all that bad. Not bad at all.

There's no such thing as a free ride

*with apologies to HOLT for blatant phrase theft*

Ask any girl and the likelihood is that she’s not happy with some aspect about her breasts. Too big, too small, too droopy, too pert, big nipples, small nipples, inverted nipples, blah blah blah.

One day, post pubescence I looked at my Ma and wailed,
“How come you've got big boobs Ma, how come mine are small? When will my boobs grow.”
Ma just dismissed the conversation, told me not to worry about it, and that they would grow in their own time.

To be honest it’s not something that has plagued me throughout my adult life, and it certainly wasn’t so terrible that I would consider cosmetic surgery. In fact by the age of 21 I had come to terms with the size of my boobs, but every now and then I would look down at my 34A kittens and heave a sigh...they surely would be a lot better as 34C fun bags.

When I was about 24 an older cousin of mine told me how she had experienced a mysterious growth spurt when she was 26. As did most of her friends. Almost over night she had become the proud owner of a fuel injected cleavage. I went home that day secretly hoping that I too would go through the same mysterious growth spurt.

And whaddya know? Aged 26, it only bloody happened.
Just like that.
Abracadabra.
Shazam!

After that I never really minded when my more ample bosomed friends took the piss out of my ‘hamster hammocks’ drying on the radiators next to their over-the-shoulder-boulder-holders. Water off a duck’s back. For I had boobs that weren’t pre-pubescent and I could get a cleavage if I tried hard enough (!).

And then a funny thing happened the other month. They grew again.

My female friends noticed (besides, we girls talk about everything). But more surprisingly, my male friends noticed.

Bloody Norah.

Last week when I turned up at a bar to meet my Unlucky friend, I was surprised at his greeting

“They’ve grown again," he said to me.

"Huh?" I replied, hastily trying to chug down some cheeky red.

He gestured towards my rack with a nodding motion.

“Them. They’ve grown again.”

Well Bloody Nora.
Isn't that just something?

Lusty, glowing bodies dressed to impress are crammed together in this heaving, generic bar in Angel. A warm and happy haze hangs over the Saturday night crowd with its constant chatter and the clink of glasses.

Sammy and I manage to squeeze past the bodies that litter the stairs, wine glasses in hand. We start to talk in that animated fashion that tells of an old friendship. The familiarity, the ease. I notice that Sammy is talking and listening but that she is looking past my shoulder. She starts to move and drags me with her – her eagle eyes have espied two seats on one of the battered leather sofas.

“Do you mind if we sit here?” she asks, eyes a-twinkle.

“Not at all,” replies the pleasant looking American as his friend smiles and nods his agreement.

We get on with our chit-chat. The Americans are trying to catch our attention but we ignore them – it’s been a few months and we girls have a lot to discuss. After about half an hour they interrupt us;

“Mind if we join you?”

Sammy and I look at each other and reluctantly but graciously accept. They seem like nice guys and we don’t want to be rude.

My guy, JW the Third tells me of his unconventional upbringing. Mother left father for another woman. JW3 rebelled, got into a whole heap of trouble at school. Years later mother and partner are still together and he has made peace with them and loves them both. Now he is a successful entrepreneur. He is rich. He loves his family however unconventional, he is rich and his business requires that he divide his time between the Big Apple and the Big Smoke. Oh, did he mention that he was rich? Oh and then there's sex. He loves it (well who doesn't?), oh and he is very rich.

I’m not really much good at this. But a recently single serial monogamist like me needs the practice. I try to join in, tell him things about myself but between his ‘crazy family’ and his disposable income, I don’t get to say much. He doesn’t actually seem to want to know.

We shake them off almost two hours later.

“We’re having a late dinner with some friends who’ve been to the theatre,” we lie, our fingers crossed furtively behind our backs.

They leave. JW3 has an early flight to catch anyway.

Just when we think the coast is clear I feel a tap on my back.

“Hi,” he smiles, “I couldn’t help but notice that we had a bit of a connection back there. And I was walking back to my apartment thinking that I couldn’t just let that get away. Could I take your cell number?” I am seriously taken aback. What fucking connection? I don’t know what to do. I scan the crowd, desperately seeking Sammy for backup but it’s no use, she’s at the bar.

“Uh, sure,” I smile outwardly, inwardly berating myself.

He walks off, grin on face. I admonish myself for not having thought of giving a false number. But I would have felt bad. So bad. Never mind, I think to myself. There’s no way he’ll call.

But he calls.

The very next morning at 7am.

Flustered with early morning crankiness I am relatively curt. I fob him off with an e-mail address thinking that it will be so much easier to deal with than a telephone conversation.

Not two hours later I log on to my PC to find my inbox flashing, heart, foot, everything in my mouth, too scared to read, too scared because I never should have given him a green light like this, never should have let him think that whatever he felt was reciprocated, scared because sometimes you just know that there’s no ‘connection’.

Hi PPQ
Just a quick hello to follow up my early morning wake-up-call.
You sound different in the morning. What were you wearing when I called? :)
You keep wandering into my thoughts...either I'm bored, or you left quite an impression on me last Saturday. I'm not bored. Anyway, now you have my email address; please use it it...

Cheers,
JW3

Of course I sound different. I was asleep, you woke me up...and what was I wearing…what was I wearing?

Bugger this. I tap out a reply pretty darn quickly, polite and apologetic but firm. And there it is…my first Dear John.

*Click*

Message sent.

What a bitch.

This from my urban dictionary word of the day today.

Oh Dear!

As a general rule of thumb I don’t take sickies. Okay, okay so I admit it, at the tail end of last year I may have taken one to have rampant, wanton sex with my then fuckbuddy but I’d never done that sort of thing before and he really was uber persuasive. And, honestly? I’ve only pulled about 4 sickies in my seven year working life. Brownie’s honour.

See, most people who know me know that I’m not good with guilt. I’m not entirely sure how to manage it and so I let it fester away and bother me like an irksome boil.

Take today for example, I’m not feeling too clever, am full of cold with a screaming headache and high velocity sneezes that would ensure this virus survives into Burkina Faso. Yet even with this phlegm-filled palsy I have managed to worry non-stop about my two direct reports, MSN messenged one of them to check they’re all right and have even done some work.

So if it’s this bad when I’m genuinely ill and the guilt weighs on my mind this much, then you can see why pulling a sickie is really a big No-No. What would be the point? It’s not like I could enjoy the time I had illicitly taken anyway because I would be wracked with guilt.

And that’s why I love the idea of those companies who are ‘all about their people’ with little, genius ideas like ‘duvet days’. Duvet days, for those not in the know, are company-advocated days given to each employee. These days (usually 2/3 a year) are given on top of annual leave, the philosophy being that you can just phone up and use a duvet day on a day when you just can’t be bothered to go into work. In theory this increases honesty, completely reduces the number of sickies that employees pull while keeping the employee happy, and ta daa, everyone’s a winner.

Okay so I know that companies who are ‘all about their people’ are a myth.

But wouldn’t it be nice if they were real?

Never assume, because it makes an ass out of u and me

ahthankyooo.

When it comes to relationships my mate Boy has always aimed high with the 'perfect one' as his end goal and wold never consider anything less. No second best for Boy, no Sir. Uh uh. Always pragmatic and ready to cut his losses by getting out of unsuitable relationships and move on with life, I envied his healthy attitude on the pursuit of love. Often time I found myself wishing I could be more like him.

Recently his tune has changed and I'm a little worried that maybe my attitude is rubbing off a little on him and while Boy was guest blogging for me, I was 6,000 miles away in Kathmandu thinking along the lines of what he had written.

Consider for just a small moment that the concept of Mr/Miss Right just does not exist. Let's just say, hypothetically speaking that I, Miss PPQ, do not have it written in my destiny to settle down with 'the one' or even 'one of the ones' *touches wood super/surreptitiously*. Does this mean that my world will end? That I will not have lived a full life? That in some way I've failed as a human being?

After a week of constant badgering from relatives and family friends I had had a gutful. I mean sweet Jeeeesus, my idea of good old chit chat does not and never will consist of;
'Why are you still single?'
'What's wrong with you?'
'When are you going to get married?'
'Why don't you come back here and we'll find a husband for you?'

What in hell's name is wrong with;
'I haven't seen you in ages/It's so good to see you again'*
'You look great/you've put on weight/you've lost weight'*
'Lovely wether we're having'
'So what are you upto these days?'

Still, as per usual I ignored them, shook it off, becuase I can be quite hardy when I want to be, I can switch on my pachyderm button at a moment's notice if I really concentrate hard.

But sometimes it's hard to be pragmatic about my single status because while the very westernised me likes to believe that when my friends tell me it'll be okay, that I won't end up a cat lady, that one of my ''ones' will find me when I least expect it, the asian me is starting to panic. Like the little angel and devil sitting on my right and left shoulders respectively, I'm not sure which of them I should listen to. Or even which of them is on what side...is western PPQ centre forward for good/striker for evil, or is asian PPQ?

You see, back in Nepal I am pretty much regarded as being on the shelf and am in serious danger of becoming an old spinster. And you can tell me that I'm being stupid, that it'll happen when I'm least expecting it, that I'm still young, blah blah, yadee yadah yadah ad bloody arseing nauseam, but these days, I'm starting to listen to the asian me a lot more. And it's scaring me.

What's even scarier is my mother saying to me;
'Look PPQ sweetheart, I know you love being independent, having a career, but you're 28 now and still not married. Maybe it's time you came back here? You'll find someone easily here.'

I could have taken this sort of comment from anyone else. Well-to-do relatives, nosey family friends, my Pa even. But this blow was violent. It sent a 1000 volt shock of electricty straight to the core of my heart and turned it to ice instantly, whilst simultaneously sending salt water straight to my eyes. My Ma, usual advocate of my decisions to live my life how I choose, believer in her children doing what makes them happy, finding their own loves and not having them arranged. Yes, my beloved Ma delivered these words to me like a ruthless assasin.

That fleeting instance in my life has driven me to distraction and I haven't been able to stop thinking about it since.

(*delete as appropriate)

I could listen to you and your words for hours. And hours and hours. And I wouldn't ever feel as though I'd 'wasted my time'. Instead I would feel that I'd been doing something worthwhile. Something positive. I like that sometimes you ramble and talk out of your arse. And that sometimes you share your rawest most potent and hurtful words. That you vent your spleen and expose your innards and tell stories of yourself and others like a true raconteuse. I love that when I listen to you I feel like a ten year old again, all misty-wide-eyed with awe and admiration for you, listening intently as you weave another intricate plot together with apparent ease. That I forget myself in these brief idylls and I don't give a damn what people think of me (as they screw their faces up and tut at me muttering 'sad-sycophant-girl' under their breath). I'm not entirely sure how you manage to wrap me round each of your words as you unfurl another tale, leaving me teetering on the brink of satiation one minute, and with an alarming hunger for more the next. I'm not sure at all. But I like it. I like it a lot.

Sometimes you get a glimpse of how someone else sees you, and you don't like what you see. The alcohol-fuelled, flash in the pan vitriol is hurled at you, the accusatory glare cuts you in two and the accidental name calling hurts like fuck. Because don't you lose your inhibitions when you're drunk? Say what you really think?
In that instance you realise that maybe you're not doing as well as you'd hoped. And then you exhaust yourself wondering how you got to be the you that you saw then. And when you're done with the over analysis and the self-flagellation, you realise that maybe it's not you. Maybe you need to give yourself a break. Maybe some people just don't get you as much as you thought they did. Maybe you put too much onus on others.
So I've decided, there are gonna be some changes around here.
It's 2005. It's a new year, I have a new blog-look, I have a new outlook and I am going to be the new and improved PPQ.
I'm not going to change totally of course...leopards and spots come to mind, but I am going to do a little tweaking.
I'm going to be a lot less harder on myself, try and get on with myself.
I'm going to try and do things for myself a little bit more.
And I'm going to try and dream a little more too.
I used to be good at dreaming.

Happy New Year y'all.