The week has gone too fast. Work has been crazy. This is partly because my Barbie-esque assistant has gone to Vegas for a hen do with her Essex mates, The Plastics. She's sent me gloating texts about her flourescent pink nails she's had put on in readiness and the fact that it's hot ("tan me up, baby"). She has never knowingly been anything other than varying shades of orange, bless her. Sometimes she seems to glow in a scary way reminiscent of radioactivity. She's adorable but almost a pastiche of herself. Vegas will not know what hit it.
We did a gruelling 2 hour, mostly off road cycle ride on Saturday in an icy headwind. Even P confessed that in the first 20 mins he wondered if we were mad. So I was hoping for a good loss from SoD on Wednesday - but alas, it was adamant that I'd put on 1/2lb since last week - and 1lb since the unofficial WI on Friday. I am hoping that it was a bum reading - nothing to do with my lardy arse but I'd been out to dinner the night before and although I chose Boeuf Bourgignon and rejected the mash and wine, I wonder if there was a bit of flour in the sauce which caused a glycogen backlash. That's what I'm hoping.
I was out to see Top Hat. Much as I enjoy these musicals they do make me slightly resentful that no-one ever does seem to burst into song and tap dance, resplendent in evening wear. I also realised that I absolutely need to trade my tatty t-shirts in for glamorous satin floaty negligees with matching wrap. All I have to do is find a designer of 1930s style nighwear. In fact, the costumes were so beautiful that I kind of missed a bit of plot towards the end, due to the dazzling evening dresses in the end scenes. In particular a bronze pleated dress and a chartreuse dress that I coveted so much that, had I thought a dress made for a dancer might fit me, I would have sprinted up to the stage and ripped from their leggy frames. My plan is to win the lottery and persuade the costume designer to branch out into cladding the dumpy.
The latest in Operation Bride was my inaugral facial tonight. Assistant Barbie was horrified that I would contemplate binge on public transport without make up; hell, my fellow tube sufferers may have felt some of this horror but my pursuit of a glowy complexion was selfishly relentless. I'm not currently glowy. I have some mild reaction around the sides of my face where I sometimes have irritation (physically - my irritation is much more extensive if you look at it less literally) but that's more raw than glow. Postponed glowiness perhaps? Anyway, I have one booked for next month and the month after - all Wahanda deals and all with different places. I am becoming high maintenance.
I also had a row with P over a wedding film. We both really didn't want one. Then we watched some cine films from his childhood and decided that we did want one. I've carried on with that whilst he has come to the conclusion that they are intrusive and expensive. Both true. And yet, some aspect of personality is brought vividly to life in moving image that is not there in a photo - no matter how beautiful. And I'd like to see the bits that I might otherwise miss. Films seem to vary a great deal - some are pretty, well, naff, whilst others are beautiful. There is an ongoing debate chez P&P on this. I need to convince P - first step is showing him an example of a lovely film. He sees them as chavvy - and of course, some are. Even some of the beautiful films are - it's the subject matter. Ours wouldn't be. What do you think? Worth it or just another expense?