So, it’s coming to the end of 2011 and I thought that as blogging + I are on the outs at the moment (I’m just not feeling it, you know?) that I’d do one last post for the year and square everything away.

Egypt
I went. And it was delightful. There was windsurfing, and kitesurfing and paddleboarding and snorkeling. I got a tan, and spent an awful lot of time being warm. I ate an awful lot of Egyptian Food, and drank well too much Egyptian Vodka. I spent a lot of time with my cousin Morfee, and he’s brilliant to hang with. I (surprisingly) miss him now that he’s not around so much. We hung out with the Neilson crew, I spent a lot of time sunning myself in front of a bar that sat on a lagoon. I fed a ridiculous amount of stray kittens, and napped and I rode a camel.

We also did a day trip out to Cairo, where we so the pyramids, learned to say “la shukran” to all the people trying to sell me stuff. We even (though not advised by any embassy that I could find) went to Tahrir Square. It was the one place we went to where we were the only tourists. We saw a tiny part of a revolution, and it was pretty amazing. Tense, but amazing.

Whitewater Rafting
I did it. On London’s Olympic Course months and months ago now, with The Third + Fourth Quarters, with J, and with a Bunny. We got wet. We capsized. We paddled our little hearts out. There was a lot of water in the face, a lot of trying to sync our paddling with the person in front and not get caught up with the paddle of the person behind us. It was a lot of mad grinning and bumping into other rafts and I generally had an absolutely brilliant time. Apparently the park opens back up again in January, so if you are London based and get the opportunity, you should go!

Culture++; and other fun things I did
I have seen a bunch of shows in the last little while. Les Miserables, which I enjoyed quite a lot. The Phantom of the Opera, which I enjoyed less. The Phantom was quite creepy and very insecure. Sibling
graduated from university, I’m super proud of her! I’m also well annoyed that I couldn’t be there, and the other side of the world seems too far away. There was a usability conference, Liz + Rob came and stayed (and we visited Byron Burger, honestly, best mac+cheese I’d had in a long time!), there has been a bunch of design work (windsurfing brand redesigns, bio oil conversion site, b+b’s, a possible forrrst for photos) so yes, been busy.

The Dating Files of 2011
I had loads of posts for this. Loads of little moments I wanted to remember, and things I wanted to better understand. But I managed to discard the draft in which I’d stored all these moments. Fail. In the interest of keeping it short + sweet there were two Jimmy’s that I haven’t mentioned yet. One I spent a good six months trying not to fall for before his visa ran out (and was mostly successful) and the other, well, let’s just say that sleeping with that super cute Windsurfing Instructor in Egypt was probably not the cleverest idea I’ve ever had.

Anyway, as it’s the end of 2011 I’m retiring this series. Also, I’m avoiding boys and gettin into anything anyway, so it would be a pretty boring series going into 2012.

The List
I have done a bunch of things (#112 – See 10 invaders pieces in person, #118 Ride a camel) and crossed off parts of a few other ones. I’m glad that I still have The List, and that I’m still crossing things off. I feel like these deserve their own posts, and so will have them.

The Blog
While I’ll still blog about The List, I’m not really feeling blogging in general. So while I’ll still be around, and still comment and read all your blogs, I probably won’t update here is much. Maybe when inspiration strikes, but not much more. Call it a new phase?

Hope your holidays are brilliant, Merry Christmas!

elly x

I was shocked at his unexpected attack. He called me weak, he called me spineless. He told me I was only one of the many many sluts who have done what I done. I must be especially transparent, because he took every insecurity I had and then he hit me over the head with them. He wrote himself in as a victim, that I was more drama than he wanted to deal with, that he didn’t want to have to listen to this shit. I protested, but, as he continued, I broke down and agreed. Because to my ears? He was right, I was useless, and weak, and a million other things I didn’t want to be. And in a moment of perfectly timed self-pity, instead of fighting back, I fell to pieces.

It was at about that moment that he stood up, decided that his work was done, and swaggered off down the road.

I stood where I was and I cried. I sobbed my little heart out, half hidden in some strangers garden. I called home a handful of times, to no answer. I felt alone, and I felt pathetic. I felt like I was all the dramatic things that I did not want to be. Like I had betrayed myself. I was humiliated.

Eventually, my brain kicked in and I called my friend Bunny, who was only half a city rather than a 12 hour timezone away, and he talked me down. I listened to what he said, and I got my shit together. Once I was able to breathe, once I’d dried my tears, I realised a few things. That all of his opinions? They were not about things that were any of his business. That he didn’t know me, nor my reasons for doing what I’d done. He wasn’t even involved in any shape, way or form.

At the time, I decided that this probably wasn’t about me at all. That maybe? Maybe I was just a convenient punching bag. An easy target for him to get out whatever he needed to. I decided that this was the case, that I wasn’t any of things he said, and then I got all high and mighty. Took it as lesson in trusting people less and opening my eyes more. I hoped that he felt better, getting it all out on me, rather than someone else who might take his words to heart. I hoped that I had helped take the edge of whatever is going on in his life, and in doing so that he would be better equipped to deal with it.

I made valiant ‘next time’ statements, that next time I wouldn’t take it without a fight. That there will be no more left hooks from an unexpected quarter. That I would not willingly be a convenient punching bag. I would not let some bastard make me cry so that he can feel better. I would not let someone paint themselves a victim with my insecurities again.

I was rocking denial like a big giant shield, getting all high and mighty, and making sweeping assumptions left right and centre.

But really? Really I’m an idiot who didn’t listen.

What I should have seen was that he was right. More than right, actually. He wasn’t tactful about it, not in the slightest, but what he was saying, at heart, was something I needed to hear. It’s just that I wasn’t listening to all the things he was saying. What he was doing was being a friend, he’d seen I was in a situation I didn’t want to be in, and that I hadn’t realised I was in it. He was saying that I’d let myself ignore the values I held, and that I was better than this. That I needed to step up, that I was worth more. That I had a choice, and I shouldn’t be doing this to myself.

It wasn’t his intention to be malicious, or make me cry. When I did he skedaddled. He took no joy from this, I don’t think. But I wanted to package it all up nice and proper and paint him as the bad guy. He isn’t the bad guy, there aren’t many people who will step in and tell you that you’re doing it wrong. There aren’t many people who will take the time, when it’s none of their business, and say you’re a friend, and you’re better than this. Okay, fair enough, I personally wouldn’t do it with insults, but I think his intentions were good.

It took a while, a week or two maybe, but eventually I caught up. Eventually I realised that he was right, and that I should do something about it. So I did, and while the world is not peachy, I’m satisfied that I can be held accountable to the things in which I believe.

Maybe a dressing down is just what I needed to take the step up. Life lessons, aye? I’ll take ‘em as they come, in whatever messed up form they may be in.

I was in Split two days. Two gloriously wonderful days. Split is gorgeous. We camped on a peninsula, with these big great mountains on one side, and a super cute little harbour on the other. I was happiest here, I think. The weather was gorgeous, it was often too hot for clothes and I spent as much time as I could in the water, the gorgeous turquoise coloured water. It was clear, and warm, and amazing. Or sunbathing on the jetty. I enjoy nothing more than being gloriously warm, lying in the sun with not much to do.

I remember going for a swim as soon as camp was set up. Diving in off the jetty, marvelling in what it was like to swim in the sea again. It’s been a while, almost ridiculously long. The water wasn’t quite cold, but wasn’t far off. I remember swimming with Jimmy, and being wary to move away everytime he disappeared under the water, least my feet or legs get pinched.

I remember delving into the book I’d borrowed, well aware that I’d have to give it back soon. I got caught up in it’s plot. There was a lot of action and a battle was coming. I was sad when I finished it, anxious to pick up the next one. I was also delighted that I was able to sit in the sun and read. I used to sit in the garden back home, and I’d forgotten how very wonderful it was to pass the time that way.

I remember playing Circle of Death, and I got my first Fourth King. I don’t remember what we were drinking. Liquors, I think. I want to say it was some kind of berry schnappes. Needless to say it put me on my behind rather quickly.

I remember sneaking off into the dark with Jimmy. We argued, and laughed, and talked. We got told off for being too loud. We watched fish jump out of the estuary. We went on a bit of a mission, and I climbed over a fence in jandals and skirt. I somehow managed to mangle my ankle. I don’t quite know how, whether it was the climbing over the fence, or the climbing over the rocks to get to the fence, but I hurt it. I also had one of those ‘aha’ moments. Except that it came like a slap in the face, and I was upset and angsted. Still, it was an aha moment, even if it was painful one.

I remember waking up at 4 in the morning, the geometric pattern of the tent hurting my poor, still drunk eyes, and my brain working overtime on that ‘aha’ moment. I stole the sleeping bag and headed to the jetty. It was cold, and calm. Super quiet. At about 6 people started moving. A rowing team paddled back and forth past me, people went for early morning swims, and cars started down the motorway. A while past then, the sun came up over the mountains. And it was a glorious glorious sight. The rocks all turning pink and orange, the heat as the light hit me, how the whole sky brightened.

I remember that after a while I came to terms with that wretched ‘aha’ moment. I stretched, and lay out in the sun, having claimed the jetty. After a while Jimmy appeared, and we sat, and snoozed. There was book reading, and comfortable silence. He disappeared, and returned later with a hot chocolate and coffee. We went swimming. I swam in my underwear, because changing would have meant leaving the jetty and I didn’t want to. It was glorious, the swimming. Being in the water. I remember thinking that there wasn’t enough time here, that I wanted to spend more time in the sun, being warm and doing nothing. I soaked up as much of it as I could, hoarding it, revelling in it. I remember watching Jimmy jump from the conveniently supplied diving boards, laughing at his form. I remember watching the sprats swim in the warm waters nearest the rocks, and crabs scuttling from side to side.

I remember that when it got colder, when the wind picked up (cheers, convection) and we moved to the bar for pizza + drinks. Sitting in the sun, still wet from the swimming. After we wandered into Split.

Split is gorgeous, parts of the old palace (of the Roman Empire Dicletian) is still there, with it’s super worn (and slippery) cobblestones, gorgeous archways and awkwardly tiny little back alleys. The St. Duje Cathedral is still there too, with it’s old pillars and pretty bell tower. Mostly I remember eating gelato, because it was awfully warm that night.

We wandered down markets, and brought a silly amount of postcards. We wandered through the allyways hand in hand, getting lost in the old part of the city, coming across high st stores in impossibly small places. I remember sitting on the waterfront, with a foot in the water, a Jimmy at my back, talking of I don’t even remember what. We watched big giant boats all lit up with little lights leave the harbour. I remember walking by groups of elders, wanting to listen as they sang old Croatian songs. Past the jetty with all their little boats and nets and bouys awaiting the next day. Sitting at a high table with a drink, writing a bunch of postcards. It was a pretty lovely night. I was sad when it ended, and we went back to the campsite.

I left the next morning, bright + early. I was not happy about leaving, I really didn’t want to go. I felt that I hadn’t had enough time soaking up the sun, enough time swimming, or appreciating being so very close to the ocean. Needless to say I enjoyed Split most, I think. And I’ve got a soft spot for it. I’m going to go back, I think. Spend more time swimming, and sunbathing.

Still, I felt lucky to have been given a week to see a new part of the world. To see places and people and cultures I hadn’t seen before.

I will go back, though. One day, anyway.

I flew into Slovenia mid afternoon. I was still under the (misguided) assumption that my ride wouldn’t show + I’d have to hitch down to Split to get my flight back to London. So when I walked out of the arrivals gate to find no one there, I wasn’t especially surprised. I sat down in the (gloriously warm) sun and had a wine to figure out what to do. Apparently waiting was a brilliant idea, because not five minutes later a big red van pulled up out front, ready for me to climb into.

It was awkward, at first. I wasn’t sure where I stood with the Jimmy who came to pick me up. But Jimmy was polite, and he was tanned (I was well jealous) and was full of stories about the adventures he’d been on since I last saw him. We picked up a few supplies, and I spent my first afternoon outside of London baking the sun. I think its important to mention the gorgeous, amazing phenomenon that is being warm in the sun. London doesn’t have that. London is predominantly grey + dreary. You wear layers at every opportunity. So, that I could be in shorts + a singlet AND warm? No jumper required? Colour me gobsmacked.

I don’t remember much of that first night, to be honest. I know I got well plastered on some ridiculous 40% Slovenian vodka. I know that I drank at least 1/2 of it myself, and I know that the bathroom of that poor little campsite bar is not going to be the same. How I made it into the tent, I don’t know. I do know that I felt horrid the next morning. That the pattern of the tent really did my head in. But the rest of the day? Phenomenally better.

We explored the river near the campsite. There was sun, and it was gorgeous. Little tiny fish (and slightly bigger fish) swam in the warm shallows. The river was pretty wide, and there was swift current moving through the middle of it. We went swimming, which was ridiculous, because the water was as good as frozen. Still, there’s something brilliant about standing mid-river with a human heater. Everything is quiet and amazing. I couldn’t believe I was there, really. Gorgeous open water, warm enough to be standing in bikini in a river. My mind was completely blown after the dreary greyness that was London.

I spent some time building little rock towers on the shore, and then we moved away and threw rocks at them, trying to bring them down. Jimmy tried to teach me to skip rocks, and was mildly successful (I got two skips). We built little rafts, and watched them drown. We walked down a track used by horses and men walking their dogs, and down an even smaller track where people had funny little garden allotments.

That night we hit up Ljubljana. Ljubljana is gorgeous, it’s filled with all this amazing art. Both sculptural masterpieces, and graffiti type pieces too. There’s the Triple Bridge (basically three bridges all connected together) which Jimmy took quite an interest in. We walked across all three. Mostly I enjoyed wandering about. There’s a canal which runs down the middle, and large willow trees hanging over the side. There were gorgeous little markets, and buskers and restaurants and cafes that sprawled out over the sidewalks.

There were bridges with locks of love and so many cute little sculptures everywhere. It was a really gorgeous town, and was filled with brilliant textures and buildings that had a ridiculous amount of character. Often the window sills would hold flower baskets with red and yellow flowers pouring over the sides. There were random pillars, and gorgeous paved walkways.

We climbed up to the Castle, which is this old medieval giant which sits on a hill above the town. It’s large, and fairly gorgeous. The ride up and way into the main square is not at all medieval, but this gorgeous carefully designed mix of industrial piping + tension ropes and old wood + gardens. There were these gorgeous grape vines heavy with fruit, and an abundance of fig, pear and apple trees. The view from the wall was gorgeous, and there were at least three weddings happening in the main square.

We had dinner later at one of the many little cafe’s spilling out onto the backstreets. Chicken Stew + Goulash. It got cold enough to wear a cardigan, but nothing more than that. I was impressed, and adored the heat. A few quiet drinks. Mostly we wandered throughout the town. Down little alleyways, past buskers on bridges and old, impressive buildings. Ljubljana was definitely one of the prettier places I’ve been.

On the way out the next morning, we packed up camp (slow, we took our sweet time. It’s what you do on holiday) and we hit up the Škocjan Caves. It’s one of the largest underground canyons in the world, apparently. There’s a river that flows through, the Reka River. It was pretty phenomenal, it was maybe a two hour walk through the caves. You start at a ridge + go down, low enough to see the river + then you start the hike back up again. It was filled with some amazing stalagmites (the ones that start from the floor) + stalactites (the ones that start from the ceiling). There were giant underground caverns, there were terraces, and there were bats.

Then there was a bit of a walk back to the carpark, through this super lush cavern where the ceiling had fallen in. Nature had taken it back, and it was pretty lush. It was a pretty pleasant way to to spend an afternoon, actually.

Soon after we were back in the van, headed towards Croatia. Another post to come!

This is another post about the random encounters I’ve had while I’m single and loving London. I want to remember what now is like, and what the boys tasted like, and the mischief we got up to. I want to remember that carefree can be fun, and that single life is not as horrible or as miserable as I thought it might be a year + a half ago.

So here we are, another one for the Dating Files of 2011.

—–

I was in great spirits. It was day three of a four day weekend, the skies were unexpectedly blue and the wind was up. He was my kitesurfing instructor, my second private lesson. He was blonde and had a tan, and he showed up with his wetsuit pulled down to his hips (showing his very nice set of six). He had a birtish accent that made me swoon, and a wide grin. The kind of grin that makes you instinctively smile back, regardless of how you were feeling at that very moment. He was young, a student studying GeoPhysics, a kite surfing instructor for the summer.

He was good at what he did; gave clear instructions, corrected in a manner which was helpful and made sense. He laughed at my frustration and determination and cheered when things clicked, and cheered even louder when I got up on the board and managed to kitesurf down the beach that first time.

It was a great lesson, a brilliant afternoon of being in the water, of pushing yourself to figure out something new, trying a new sport with a cute boy. I know instructors are meant to make small talk, befriend the client. But instructors don’t go out of their way to tell you they are single, or after learning where you’re from, when they’ll next be in London, or suggest places that are great to meet for a drink. There was a silly amount of flirting and unnecessary touching. All sorts of innuendo.

There was body dragging together back to the shore to pick up the board, he stretched out my leg when I got cramp, and weighted me down by holding onto my hips + harness while I was still figuring out how to handle the power of the kite. I was sad when the lesson finally ended (it went on longer than it should have; “We should end on a high”, he’d say. “One more run”, I’d agree), but I did feel a bit guilty: my lesson was digging into his kitesurfing time. The light was fading, and the wind was variable.

There were a few open ended suggestions on the walk back to the club. Ones that were silenced by the implication that I was seeing someone back in London. I am, but not someone that would prevent me from seeing someone else. I used it as an easy out clause because I’m pretty sure that cute kitesurfing instructors aren’t the kind of boys that would mean dating differently. I felt guilty about fibbing like that, though. Easy out clause or not, I probably won’t use it as an excuse again.

Still, he was cute, and he definitely made my afternoon brilliant. That’s got to be worth a mention, right?

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This is another post about the random encounters I’ve had while I’m single and loving London. I want to remember what now is like, and what the boys tasted like, and the mischief we got up to. I want to remember that carefree can be fun, and that single life is not as horrible or as miserable as I thought it might be a year + a half ago.

So here we are, another one for the Dating Files of 2011.

—–

I didn’t call him. I knew I wouldn’t, and I even told you folks that I wouldn’t. I thought, (rather foolishly, I might add) that I’d never see him again. That I’d never have to worry about not calling him because he’d disappear into the London Crowds like a wisp of smoke.

I am an idiot. If I meet a boy whose current drinking place of choice is the pub stoop that sits between my office and my tube station then the chances of running into him are, what? Well, internet, let me tell you: the odds are high. In fact, the odds are extremely likely. EXTREMELY. I have run into this boy not once or twice, but THREE TIMES. The first time I managed to get my phone out and shield my face with it as I walked by, the second time I crossed the road, and the third time?

The third time he stopped me + called me on my absolutely positively ridiculous behaviour.

It was awkward.

He didn’t rip into me like I expected. He was nice + charming + even a little bit flirty. But what he said in that cute Brazilian accent of his? The gist of what he was getting at put me to shame.

He said that I shouldn’t have given taken his number if I hadn’t intended to call him. He said that there was no need to have crossed the street or hide behind my phone (yes, he saw me both times) and I could just have stopped and said hey before moving on. He said one night of fun could just have been that, but that I avoided him and that made him feel a little bit shit. Was I embarrassed of what I’d done?

He made me feel small. He made me feel like I hadn’t given him the respect that he deserved. He made me feel like a bit of a dick, actually.

I apologised, I apologised profusely. I brought him + his friend a round, and then I said what I should have said the night that I first met him: That that one night was fun, and he was lovely, but I wasn’t looking for anything more than that, and I was sorry if I’d led him to believe otherwise.

And with flaming red cheeks, I wished them a good night and took my leave.

I should know better, shouldn’t I. I feel like I should know better. Know this, though: Being called out on my ridiculous behaviour means that I’ll never do it again.

This is another post about the random encounters I’ve had while I’m single and loving London. I want to remember what now is like, and what the boys tasted like, and the mischief we got up to. I want to remember that carefree can be fun, and that single life is not as horrible or as miserable as I thought it might be a year + a half ago.

So here we are, another one for the Dating Files of 2011.

—–

While we’d always managed to find time to see each other, we had conflicting schedules. Well, I say we, but to be fair it was mostly my bad: I’d been so busy the last few months that trying to lock down a date for anything was tricky, so I laughed when I got a txt that said ‘Saturday 18th: is that available? If so put a big fat red cross through it because I’m claiming it’. The Saturday in question was easily more than a month away and as requested I marked it in my calendar. But he wouldn’t tell me what we were doing. He gave me clues which I ran with. He said that we may or may not need helmets. In my mind this meant that we were going caving, and I happily agreed right up until the week before the 18th when he told me that I’d come up with the idea of caving all by myself and he just hadn’t disillusioned me.

I had no clue what we were doing. Not even one iota. It was a mystery date! I eventually managed to wrangle other clues out of him, small ones. We may or may not need high vis. We may or may not need to take a train to get there. And he may or may not be lying about any and all the clues he’d given previously.

I struggled with not knowing. It irked, I really HATE not knowing about things I’m meant to be involved in. His vague descriptions and verbal side stepping was nothing but infuriating. In the end I stopped asking questions and bothering him for clues: I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of my seeing frustration. By no means did I stop pondering, though. Caving fit, still. So did a tour of some construction something? Something to do with bikes? Directing planes at heathrow? It could be anything. I thought it was sweet that he had planned a day just for us. I hadn’t ever dated a boy who went through such ridiculous lengths to make a day worthwhile before.

The not knowing certainly didn’t mesh well with my preference for appropriate preparation. What was I meant to wear exactly? Am I going to need to wear sensible shoes? How long would it take me to get there? Was it conveniently located or was I going to have to plan some kind of public transport fiasco? Did I have to time to go birthday present shopping before hand? Did I have time on the way to back to change for a birthday party? Would it be inappropriate to wear said birthday outfit, and should I take it with me instead? It was frustrating not knowing.

However, the day before his plans were squashed by a scaffolding mix up, which meant a redesign of his plans (did this still mean that we were going to need helmets?) and I got a txt early that morning telling me to be outside the London Eye at 2.15. (So no transport fiasco, time for birthday present shopping, and hopefully time to change after).

So off I went, still not sure what exactly what I was letting myself in for. When I got to the London Eye I got a series of other txts, things like ‘Head East towards the purple tent’. Sure enough, after following all his instructions there he was at the end of it with that mischievous grin of his. He led me into the giant purple tent, and we took seats. It was a family affair (something he hadn’t counted on, he said), but I still had no idea what we were watching. A show of some sort? It was a bit too small to be a circus, and had a whole bunch of climbing horses and other such gym equipment. I was really confused.

We ended up watching Free Run, which was basically a show with the Underbelly Festival that showed an awful lot of quite cut guys without shirts (very ohlala) from 3Run show off their Free Running skills. Free running is basically fancy acrobatics that use urban structures to do really clever shit with their muscles. Looks like this:

It was a ridiculous amount of fun, actually. Especially because the boys didn’t stick to the stage. They were running up and down the aisles, scaling the walls, climbing the structures over the top of us. It was pretty amazing. Even more amazing is that these guys have 15 Guinness World Records for doing this kind of thing. Seriously, it was pretty amazing! And it didn’t hurt that the show’s backing soundtrack Chase + Status’s No More Idols, my currently most adored album.

Afterwards we enjoyed a pitcher of pimms and tried to avoid being rained on. We shouldn’t have bothered, really, because we ended up wandering the city hand in hand + getting caught in a downpour. It did mean that we ducked into a delightful little cocktail bar and had some tasty concoction (also, yeah! Happy Hours in London are the best). There was a visit to the amazing Gelato place for Peanut Butter + Pistachio Gelato, and then we had just enough time to make it back to the flat to change + set up for The Third Quarters birthday celebrations.

It was quite an epic night out, actually. A silly amount of drinking, and eating and laughing. It was a brilliant night.

Afterwards, when everyone had left and it was just us two, again. I asked him to tell me what the original plan was. After some prodding, he said that the original plan was a Motorbike Course (which I was stoked with, because it was on The List! #24 – Learn to ride a motorbike), but sadly you need to have a UK Drivers licence, which I don’t have. The next plan was Paddle Boarding (which sounds like a ridiculous amount of fun) but as he had to work that morning, it didn’t work out. Especially not because we had to be back in time for the Third Quarters birthday fun.

It was quite an epic day, and a super delightful Mystery Date. I’ll have to plan something equally vague + mysterious at some point, I think. Anyone got any good ideas?