The doorbell goes just after seven this morning and K runs to get it. Her twin sister has made it safely back from Hong Kong after an 18-hour delay, across London from Heathrow and to our door - all while we were happily sleeping. Even better, she has come armed with bacon for breakfast, so after we've all got up and caught up, we sit down for some pre-work bacon sarnies. K heads off for the half-day of work she's scheduled for before her Christmas party and the start of her Christmas break, while I head to the office as normal.
Later on, I come home to find K getting ready to leave, and I quickly dump my assorted work-related items before heading to the Hope and Anchor to meet Alex before the party. Just as K is leaving there's a power cut that seems to wipe out half our street, street lamps and all. This means that K has to head off into town and I to Crouch End, leaving our guest sitting in the dark with no entertainment at all. We both feel bad but we both have places to be - luckily I soon get a text to say that it's back on before long.
I meet Alex in the pub with Mushki - the puppy she's currently looking after for her housemate. I'm no dog fan, but Mushki is pretty well behaved and it's fun to watch the assorted Hope and Anchor locals coming over to say hello. I suppose as a dog owner you'd have to get used to interacting with people; they seem to take the animal you're dragging along on a string as an open invitation to chat.
We sit and natter for a while before I have to skid my way back home to collect K's sister and head into Covent Garden for the party. It's at a place called Circus - which doesn't prove too difficult to find, what with the large queue and woman on stilts at the door. We eventually get in to find the place busy already, locating K somewhere near the free bar. After a bit of shuffling around we nab some space around a table, where we feast on nibbles of various qualities and endless free beers. It's not long before I start to get a bit claustrophobic, though, and at about 11 I decide to leave while the tubes are still running - leaving K and her sister to party on and get a company-paid cab home.
Friday, 31 December 2010
Thursday, 30 December 2010
Tuesday 21st December
There's a weird kind of end-of-term atmosphere at work. Some people have left already for the Christmas break, others have returned unexpectedly from Heathrow having had their Christmas holidays cancelled by the weather - others, like me, are here until Christmas Eve and have tons of work left to do. There is a lot of chocolate about the place, and our Quality Street-wrapper ceiling decoration is still hanging "proudly" above the marketing department. One nice moment comes when our sales director announces that he'll be taking us out for dinner at Mosaica - the surprisingly posh restaurant hidden deep inside the converted Chocolate Factory across the road from the office.
In order that there are still some people in the office when we're eating, we have to head over at 12pm (a little early for my liking) and I order a bottle of Peroni to sip ahead of my gammon and eggs. This is, needless to say, already much more satisfying than the car crash of a Christmas party we had last Friday. We chat merrily for an hour and a half or so before heading back over to the office - pausing only for a brief snowball skirmish with the work party heading to replace us at Mosaica.
I spend the rest of the afternoon in something of a daze - full of food and with an oddly discombobulating single midday beer inside me my eyes feel heavy and entirely unwilling to focus on the acres of spreadsheets and emails on my screen. I do, however, find a way to survive the rest of the working day and head home.
Somehow I find room for dinner (much later) and K and I sit around catching up on some TV shows we've recorded. Just before bed we get the happy news that K's sister has managed to squeeze onto a flight from Hong Kong that leaves tonight (UK time) meaning that she should be here tomorrow morning, snow or not - an unexpectedly positive result.
In order that there are still some people in the office when we're eating, we have to head over at 12pm (a little early for my liking) and I order a bottle of Peroni to sip ahead of my gammon and eggs. This is, needless to say, already much more satisfying than the car crash of a Christmas party we had last Friday. We chat merrily for an hour and a half or so before heading back over to the office - pausing only for a brief snowball skirmish with the work party heading to replace us at Mosaica.
I spend the rest of the afternoon in something of a daze - full of food and with an oddly discombobulating single midday beer inside me my eyes feel heavy and entirely unwilling to focus on the acres of spreadsheets and emails on my screen. I do, however, find a way to survive the rest of the working day and head home.
Somehow I find room for dinner (much later) and K and I sit around catching up on some TV shows we've recorded. Just before bed we get the happy news that K's sister has managed to squeeze onto a flight from Hong Kong that leaves tonight (UK time) meaning that she should be here tomorrow morning, snow or not - an unexpectedly positive result.
Monday 20th December
The 'Big Freeze' is virtually all that's in the news today. Heathrow Airport is clogged up and with only one runway functioning they're even telling people not to bother turning up for their flights at Terminals 1 and 3. Eurostar have people queuing out of the door of St. Pancras Station and all the way up almost to the British Library - which is bizarre to see considering how quiet it was when we got in from Kent yesterday morning. It is improbably cold outside, and while it's a dicey affair skating across the pavements and walking up the middle of the road to get to work, a big part of me is glad that I don't have any more travelling to do until Friday (when hopefully things will be more or less back to normal).
While the snow at Heathrow doesn't affect me directly, there is one problem: K's twin sister is on her way back to the UK for a surprise homecoming visit. This is a special early Christmas present for K that I've known about for a few weeks (though she has no idea) and today it's in severe danger of turning into a complete disaster. She is currently in Hong Kong - and tonight the flight she's booked onto has been cancelled.
After dinner K and I sit and watch Scrooged (a great Bill Murray Christmas film we picked up at HMV for a fiver yesterday) and afterwards I break the news to her that not only was she supposed to be getting a surprise homecoming visit from her sister, but that the visit was in danger of not happening at all now. She is understandably concerned and it's a shame that the potentially brilliant surprise is ruined - but after a few emails have been exchanged there is still hope that her sister won't spend Christmas trapped in Hong Kong airport.
While the snow at Heathrow doesn't affect me directly, there is one problem: K's twin sister is on her way back to the UK for a surprise homecoming visit. This is a special early Christmas present for K that I've known about for a few weeks (though she has no idea) and today it's in severe danger of turning into a complete disaster. She is currently in Hong Kong - and tonight the flight she's booked onto has been cancelled.
After dinner K and I sit and watch Scrooged (a great Bill Murray Christmas film we picked up at HMV for a fiver yesterday) and afterwards I break the news to her that not only was she supposed to be getting a surprise homecoming visit from her sister, but that the visit was in danger of not happening at all now. She is understandably concerned and it's a shame that the potentially brilliant surprise is ruined - but after a few emails have been exchanged there is still hope that her sister won't spend Christmas trapped in Hong Kong airport.
Sunday, 26 December 2010
Sunday 19th December
We get up early and prepare to jump in Mum's car. They need to try and drive up to Scotland today (where even more snow is forecast) so every minute counts. We are informed by Network Rail that the high-speed line is back up and running, with a train departing at 9.25. After Alistair has dug the car out (which is, fortunately, four-wheel drive) we drive as quickly and safely as possible to Canterbury West station, where we see a train pull in as we arrive. Concerned that we might miss it, K and I leap out of the car and run through the small station to squeeze on. It's not too busy and we manage to find a seat - but mostly I'm just relieved to be on our way back. While the weekend has been far from a disaster, it's nice to be heading back for a shower and a change of clothes at least.
The train is incredibly quick and in less than an hour we're back in St. Pancras - with North London virtually unrecognisable compared to when we left less than 24 hours before. The thick blanket of snow has been obliterated into slush in true London style, at least on the roads, but it's pretty amazing to see what fell in just a couple of Saturday afternoon hours. The remainder of our journey isn't too difficult - though the Piccadilly line is severely delayed thanks to staff being unable to get into work. Though this means us running for the 29 through Finsbury Park, we're stunned to find ourselves safely home less than two hours after we left Aylesham - and all before midday.
The weather makes me want to stay in for the rest of the day, but we need to do food shopping at least so we head up to Sainsbury's in Wood Green and do a little circuit of Shopping City. After finally getting a shower and lolling around for the rest of the afternoon, we decide to brave the elements and wander up to Crouch End for a drink before dinner. Mike joins us after a while, and predictably one drink turns into several. Our delicious curry we had planned gets postponed to tomorrow - and we stoop to a greasy takeaway on the way home. Well, we reason, it has been something of a traumatic weekend.
The train is incredibly quick and in less than an hour we're back in St. Pancras - with North London virtually unrecognisable compared to when we left less than 24 hours before. The thick blanket of snow has been obliterated into slush in true London style, at least on the roads, but it's pretty amazing to see what fell in just a couple of Saturday afternoon hours. The remainder of our journey isn't too difficult - though the Piccadilly line is severely delayed thanks to staff being unable to get into work. Though this means us running for the 29 through Finsbury Park, we're stunned to find ourselves safely home less than two hours after we left Aylesham - and all before midday.
The weather makes me want to stay in for the rest of the day, but we need to do food shopping at least so we head up to Sainsbury's in Wood Green and do a little circuit of Shopping City. After finally getting a shower and lolling around for the rest of the afternoon, we decide to brave the elements and wander up to Crouch End for a drink before dinner. Mike joins us after a while, and predictably one drink turns into several. Our delicious curry we had planned gets postponed to tomorrow - and we stoop to a greasy takeaway on the way home. Well, we reason, it has been something of a traumatic weekend.
Saturday 18th December
This morning K and I are off to see some of my Stepdad's family in Kent, as well as to conduct the long-delayed present exhange with my mum and Stepdad. This involves getting the high-speed train from St. Pancras and changing at Faversham - and while we're skating across the ice towards the tube station with the forecast of heavy snow in the back of our minds, we briefly wonder whether this is a particularly good idea.
We arrive at St. Pancras where there are no timetables to speak of - just signs that "all trains are subject to delays and cancellations". Hmm. We head up to the platform from which the high-speed train departs and get on the first one we can see, which happens to be heading to Faversham and also happens to be running on time. So far so good - but the snow starts coming down on London just as the train pulls out of the station, and gets progressively heavier as we head south.
We reach Faversham in under an hour to find that the train we had supposed to be catching has been cancelled - and that all trains are now leaving from a single platform. This means a 20 minute wait, but now we're worrying even more about getting home later this afternoon. We may have to cut short our visit to a simple exchange of presents - but I figure that as long as we're going again by four then we should be OK.
The train pulls into the little village of Aylesham at around two, where Mum, Alistair and Alice are waiting to meet us. We say hello and skate up towards Alistair's mum's house - at which point the snow really, really starts coming down. We sit in the living room and gaze out at the whiteout - at which point all hopes of getting back to London today vanish steadily. The family have fun poking fun at me for worrying and feeling a bit trapped and agitated; and while there couldn't be a nicer place to be stuck (there's plenty of food and drink in the house and it's nice to catch up with Alice especially, whom I haven't seen for a over a year) I can't deny that the hot bungalow and the snowy little village leave me feeling a bit claustrophobic.
The Network Rail phone line confirms that the trains are all cancelled until tomorrow morning, and one glance at the news suggests that the whole of the south of England has ground to a halt. No flights out of Heathrow, all Premier League games cancelled and lots of weekends ruined. Too bad - but when the snow stops K, Alice and I head out into the unbelievably deep snow to the shop for provisions while Alistair sorts out a tasty dinner of duck and pork belly. The rest of the family watch Strictly Come Dancing while I - in order to to avoid it - offer to do all the washing up (which at least spares me 35 minutes of Bruce Forsyth's chin and Gavin Henson's pectorals).
After a cosy evening of telly, K and I grab some sheets and I make myself fairly comfy on the floor - hoping for a way home in the morning.
We arrive at St. Pancras where there are no timetables to speak of - just signs that "all trains are subject to delays and cancellations". Hmm. We head up to the platform from which the high-speed train departs and get on the first one we can see, which happens to be heading to Faversham and also happens to be running on time. So far so good - but the snow starts coming down on London just as the train pulls out of the station, and gets progressively heavier as we head south.
We reach Faversham in under an hour to find that the train we had supposed to be catching has been cancelled - and that all trains are now leaving from a single platform. This means a 20 minute wait, but now we're worrying even more about getting home later this afternoon. We may have to cut short our visit to a simple exchange of presents - but I figure that as long as we're going again by four then we should be OK.
The train pulls into the little village of Aylesham at around two, where Mum, Alistair and Alice are waiting to meet us. We say hello and skate up towards Alistair's mum's house - at which point the snow really, really starts coming down. We sit in the living room and gaze out at the whiteout - at which point all hopes of getting back to London today vanish steadily. The family have fun poking fun at me for worrying and feeling a bit trapped and agitated; and while there couldn't be a nicer place to be stuck (there's plenty of food and drink in the house and it's nice to catch up with Alice especially, whom I haven't seen for a over a year) I can't deny that the hot bungalow and the snowy little village leave me feeling a bit claustrophobic.
The Network Rail phone line confirms that the trains are all cancelled until tomorrow morning, and one glance at the news suggests that the whole of the south of England has ground to a halt. No flights out of Heathrow, all Premier League games cancelled and lots of weekends ruined. Too bad - but when the snow stops K, Alice and I head out into the unbelievably deep snow to the shop for provisions while Alistair sorts out a tasty dinner of duck and pork belly. The rest of the family watch Strictly Come Dancing while I - in order to to avoid it - offer to do all the washing up (which at least spares me 35 minutes of Bruce Forsyth's chin and Gavin Henson's pectorals).
After a cosy evening of telly, K and I grab some sheets and I make myself fairly comfy on the floor - hoping for a way home in the morning.
Friday 17th December
Tonight is our work Christmas do, which is being held conveniently close to my house/the office this year. In order, therefore, to avoid being stuck in the office for two hours after work finishes, Georgie, Susie and I head back to our flat for some pre-party drinks. There's been a couple of bottles of wine sat behind my desk for quite a while (courtesy of an unknown benefactor - but we're hardly going to share them out at work are we?) so I sneak them into my backpack before we leave, meaning that we have plenty to be going on with back home.
After some customary work-bitching and a galvanising shot of whisky, we head out into the light snow and up towards the restaurant where the work meal is to be held. On walking up to the door I'm immediately accosted by a burly security guard, who patiently explains the dress code to me (of which we'd had no prior knowledge). I inform him that I'm here for a pre-booked party and that I have no intention of going home to change out of my usual trainers/jeans ensemble just to get into his dodgy venue. He concedes - but points out that "when I've had my dinner" the dress code will be brought back into force. Not the nicest welcome I've ever had.
The restaurant itself seems to have a sort of nightclub upstairs - the sort of tacky, gaudily decorated place that lower-league footballers are usually caught in; along with a separate VIP area and even more burly security guards. The bar upstairs is cocktails only, so when I want a pint to drink while we wait for our tables to become free (the place having screwed up the booking) I have to order it downstairs and have a member of staff carry it up. Already, I can't be bothered with this place.
We finally get our table - but the food takes another hour or so and when it arrives it is singularly underwhelming. By this point, though, almost everyone in our 40-strong party is getting drunk and irritable and completely not in the mood. The guy who organised the party is shouting at the manager and one of the directors spends the rest of the evening negotiating the bill. In short it's an unedifying display and a complete car crash of a Christmas party.
I last until midnight, and trudge the short distance home in the snow and the ice, briefly swearing not to bother with one of these next year.
After some customary work-bitching and a galvanising shot of whisky, we head out into the light snow and up towards the restaurant where the work meal is to be held. On walking up to the door I'm immediately accosted by a burly security guard, who patiently explains the dress code to me (of which we'd had no prior knowledge). I inform him that I'm here for a pre-booked party and that I have no intention of going home to change out of my usual trainers/jeans ensemble just to get into his dodgy venue. He concedes - but points out that "when I've had my dinner" the dress code will be brought back into force. Not the nicest welcome I've ever had.
The restaurant itself seems to have a sort of nightclub upstairs - the sort of tacky, gaudily decorated place that lower-league footballers are usually caught in; along with a separate VIP area and even more burly security guards. The bar upstairs is cocktails only, so when I want a pint to drink while we wait for our tables to become free (the place having screwed up the booking) I have to order it downstairs and have a member of staff carry it up. Already, I can't be bothered with this place.
We finally get our table - but the food takes another hour or so and when it arrives it is singularly underwhelming. By this point, though, almost everyone in our 40-strong party is getting drunk and irritable and completely not in the mood. The guy who organised the party is shouting at the manager and one of the directors spends the rest of the evening negotiating the bill. In short it's an unedifying display and a complete car crash of a Christmas party.
I last until midnight, and trudge the short distance home in the snow and the ice, briefly swearing not to bother with one of these next year.
Tuesday, 21 December 2010
Thursday 16th December
K isn't feeling very well this morning, so I leave her in bed and reluctantly craft some disappointing sandwiches to take to work with me (they never taste as good when I know how little of my own effort went into their construction). I also have one last go at resetting the new Virgin box - sure that it might just work eventually. Well, it might. It's also slightly annoying in that I have to leave poor ill K in the house with no TV to watch, but then there are plenty of DVDs around.
Things take a turn for the better, though, when I call K later - as she's apparently brightened up enough to get on the blower to Virgin and, in her inimitable ball-busting style, managed to force them up off their arses long enough to send the correct bunch of signals "down the box" and that we now have a fully-working V+ HD box. This is great news, and I resolve never to turn it off again.
I get home later and K is snuggled up under a duvet on the sofa. Not keen to get too close to her germs (though, if I'm honest, I probably already have them) I snuggle up with her and we have fun learning how to program TV shows and films to record. When I'm done radiating joy over the idea that I've series-linked Match of the Day and what remains of Peep Show (I would never in a million years have been allowed to do so on my parents' Sky+ box back when I lived at home), we stick last night's penultimate Apprentice on. This is the always-entertaining interviews episode, which recalls every horrible interview anyone's ever had while allowing the viewer the delightful opportunity to watch previously-swaggering business-cocks squirm under intense pressure. It's a good one - and it sets up an intriguing final between Chris and Stella for Sunday night (which, yes, we have now set to record).
Things take a turn for the better, though, when I call K later - as she's apparently brightened up enough to get on the blower to Virgin and, in her inimitable ball-busting style, managed to force them up off their arses long enough to send the correct bunch of signals "down the box" and that we now have a fully-working V+ HD box. This is great news, and I resolve never to turn it off again.
I get home later and K is snuggled up under a duvet on the sofa. Not keen to get too close to her germs (though, if I'm honest, I probably already have them) I snuggle up with her and we have fun learning how to program TV shows and films to record. When I'm done radiating joy over the idea that I've series-linked Match of the Day and what remains of Peep Show (I would never in a million years have been allowed to do so on my parents' Sky+ box back when I lived at home), we stick last night's penultimate Apprentice on. This is the always-entertaining interviews episode, which recalls every horrible interview anyone's ever had while allowing the viewer the delightful opportunity to watch previously-swaggering business-cocks squirm under intense pressure. It's a good one - and it sets up an intriguing final between Chris and Stella for Sunday night (which, yes, we have now set to record).
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