Tag Archives: holiday

Nine good things about being single in your thirties

17 May

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So, I’m on my way home from Florida. Which is sad news. But I’m sipping a Bloody Mary in the business class lounge. Which is good news.

In the past nine months, since finding myself single, I’ve tried very hard to find some positives in being all alone in my thirties. It hasn’t been easy. But since it’s nine months since the pizza of doom and all, I’ve made a little list of nine good things about being single when everyone around you is married and producing children.

Here we go:

1. Flying business class. Why not treat yourself? You have nobody else to pay for. Let me tell you, skipping all those lines for check in and security, swanning through to the lounge and pouring yourself a drink… it’s nice. Really nice.

2. Flowers. Buying yourself flowers means that you always get the ones you want. In May, that means peonies. In fact, buying yourself flowers means that you always get flowers. I don’t care what kind of flowers. I like having them.

3. Tinder. This is new to me, but hilarious and thrilling all at once. I’ve been playing while in Florida. I can’t meet any of the guys, but it’s still fun. And what an ego boost.

4. Garlic. Eat as much as you like. Nobody cares.

5. Sex And The City takes on a new level of relevance. I’m going to watch the whole thing again when I get home. Now I actually understand.

6. If you want to eat nothing but olives for dinner, you totally can. Same is true of Maltesers. There’s nobody to tell you to eat like an adult, or watch your sugar intake.

7. You join some pretty great company of other hot to women who have been single in their thirties. “Who on earth?” I hear you ask. Well, Cameron Diaz, Jennifer Anniston, Sandra Bullock.

8. Let’s be frank. While in the summer months you do need to shave your legs, there are other body parts that you can pretty much disregard from the grooming routine for a while. Some of the trickiest of body parts, in fact. Some of the most painful to take care of.

9. You can plan your next holiday as soon as you’re done with the one you’re on. Or even before. I’m so ready to come back to Florida in a few months, and there’s nobody to get in the way of my plans or that sunshine.

Now, you all know as well as I do that all I want is someone to love. Someone to love me. And yes, of course, a cuddle can be worth a lot more than a Sex And The City marathon, while eating garlic olives for dinner, on a business class flight, to go on holiday, not having touched my bikini line for weeks, safe in the knowledge that I am just like Cameron fricking Diaz (although I can’t confirm her bikini line routine), and there are beautiful peonies sitting on my window ledge at home. But I gotta find some reasons to smile. It’s not a bad start.

Grief loves sunshine

7 May

Buddies.

Apologies for not writing for a few days. I’ve been terribly busy lying on the beach, walking on the beach, reading on the beach, drinking Sam Adams and frozen cocktails, eating lobster, and generally having such a nice time.

This is so different from my trip in November. I’m so much happier. So much calmer. So much more connected to the world. When I look back, geeez, in November we’d only been broken up three months. I don’t know how I was still breathing, to be perfectly honest.

Well, Saturday (as I was flying across The Atlantic) was nine months since the pizza of doom. Nine. Fricking. Months. How the hell did that happen?

He’s further from me than he’s ever been. And, yes, that makes me sad. But it also makes me breathe a sigh of relief and get excited about the future.

I’ve been reading a book about a woman grieving her husband’s death. I won’t tell you the name of the book because I’d already have ruined the story for you. But I am so surprised by how similar her feelings and symptoms are to mine. The physical side, too. The pain which comes from nowhere. The crying that starts when you least expect it. And the kidding herself that he’ll come back.

In those first two months after the pizza of doom I used to seriously think he would be there when I got home at night. That he’d realise it was a mistake and let himself in and surprise me when I got back from another day crying at work. And every day I cried for hours when I was so disappointed that it didn’t happen.

Grief is a funny thing. And nine months isn’t that long in the grand scheme of things. But I’m getting there.

And sunshine definitely helps.

Floridaaaaaaaaa

3 May

Back at Gatwick airport, buddies.

There’s a lot to be said for travelling alone. I’m so efficient! I’m the ideal travel companion for, well, myself. I really pride myself on finding the shortest security line, having my documents ready before asked, grabbing a coffee and locating the best seat in the airport. Not everyone is into that.

I am feeling super stressed. I keep waking at 4 am these days. I guess it’s a work/ex and the keys/pre travel anxiety cocktail. My skin has completely broken out, which just doesn’t happen to me. I’m a grease monster!

But I can’t think of a better remedy than two weeks on the beach in Florida.

See you in twelve hours, beach.

Gatwick airport

27 Mar

I’m sitting in a bar at Gatwick airport drinking an Aperol Spritz, waiting for a flight to Glasgow.

In just over five weeks time I will be back here, headed for Florida.

This is great news.

As is my Aperol.

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First day back in the office

25 Nov

It is hard being back in London. I feel like I’ve gone back in time and everything is reminding me of him with renewed ferociousness. My bus journey, my walk to the office, everything just sucks. I hate it all. Why can’t I go back to last year and be the happiest cat alive that I had met him? Why can’t he pop up on MSN and tell me I’m beautiful?

Because he dumped me. That’s why.

Oh, yeah, and he was never in love with me anyway.

I walked straight into the most confusing briefing ever at work. I have loads to do, over 200 emails to sort through, half my team appears to be off sick/on holiday/out of the office.

I just don’t like my life any more. I feel overwhelmed with sadness. And I don’t know how to change it.

Hell. Yes. My year is looking up.

23 Nov

Guess who just got upgraded to first class for an eight-hour flight to London?

This girl did.

I am sitting in the first-class lounge, unable to decide which snacks to eat and drinks to drink. Kind of a mystery as to why they upgraded the girl in shorts, t-shirt and flip flops, but I’m not complaining.

Bring on the champagne.

What will it take to get over my ex?

18 Nov

I’m kind of mad at myself. I am ruining my own holiday. I am thinking about him constantly. And I don’t know how to turn it off.

I’m here with my parents who clearly think, after nearly four months, I must be OK. They are very much of the ‘suck it up and get on with your life’ school of thought. I’ve tried to bring it up a few times, commenting on how shot my immune system is because I haven’t slept since July, telling them I am really not that interested in Christmas because I’m just a spare part hanging around my sister’s family, and even (last night) saying that 2013 has been the worst year of my life. On all accounts, no comment.

It’s not that they don’t care. They were actually great when it all happened. I just don’t think they have any experience or comprehension of this kind of thing. My sister is perfectly married with kids. I’m the emotional nut job with nobody.

But I don’t like the fact I can feel myself reverting back to being a surly teenager (I was a horrible teenager), when I’m 31.

I just don’t know how to snap out of it. I don’t know what will ever make me feel OK.

I have a good job.

I have a lovely flat filled with lovely things.

I have gorgeous, wonderful friends.

I have a nice family who are just the right amount of crazy.

I have my health. Usually I am superhero healthy, it’s just recently that I’m constantly ill.

I have great hair.

But, honestly, a lot of the time I feel like there’s no point to my life. And I feel bad saying that because I know how many people are so much worse off than me. Also I sound so embarrassingly dramatic (I told you I’m reverting to my teenage self, next thing you know I’ll be dressing like a Spice Girl).

I just wonder what it’s going to take to feel good again.

Unlike my teenage self, I’m going to canvass opinion. So, blogger buddies, any ideas?