A confession. Stupidity. Glee.

I need to preface this entry. A lot.
1. I am not a big computer person (really! I promise!)
2. I am not pregnant or getting divorced.

I have an iPhone (did you know? I don’t like mentioning it. Because people obsessed with their iPhones terrify me). I also have a Macbook. And an iPod.
Despite these things, I am not a “Mac” person. I do not think Steve Jobs is god (Blasphemy!?! But then who am I to know). I just think that it can’t hurt to have a computer that is speedy as well as beautiful. Oh so pretty.
When the iPhone was announced I thought what’s the point? I have an iPod. And a phone with a camera. Why oh why would I ever need them combined? And then I went into the Apple store on Regent Street.
It might have been all the space and the white and the shiny, but I picked up an iPhone, played with it for ooo all of five minutes, turned to Craig and said It must Be Mine. MUST and he shook his head in that wise, pc-loving, Nokia-phone-using, ever-so-patient way that he has (argh) and told me that of course I could get one. If I saved up for it. Damn him and his sensible ways.
So I saved. And saved. I got bored with saving and then I saved some more.
Finally I bought one. And it was beautiful and it was mine. And I loved it (obsessed? with my phone. Not the iPhone in general). Craig even played with it for a while and now secretly (or not so secretly) kind-of-almost-sort-of wants one of his own. Victory.

I told you that story, to tell you this story.

Two nights ago I was in my bedroom collecting clothes to wash. I grabbed my phone on my way out of my room and thoughtlessly (actually. I lie. I thought about putting it in my pocket but …) chucked it on top of my pile of clothes. Do you see where this is going?
In the little black case I lovingly bought for it, I chucked it on top of my black and dark grey clothes that I was about to put into the washing machine. Do you see now? Oh, the agony of hindsight.

Fast forward two hours. My laundry had beeped to completion and I thought to check my messages before I put my clothes in the dryer. But where was my phone? (Agony!) I swear, I almost passed out when I looked at the ominously quiet laundry, opened the lid of the washing machine and, stomach dropping, saw my poor baby phone, the darling phone I had named Dracula (yes. really.) sitting alone at the bottom of the washing machine, isolated from the skulking clump of wet laundry. Agony.

My mind shut off and I raced upstairs, stared in the mirror and cursed myself. How could I tell Craig that I had been so monumentally stupid? I would never hear the end of it.
And with that, I raced back downstairs, secretly collected me phone from the laundry and tried to act nonchalant as I collected a tea towel, a bowl of dry rice, & my mother’s hairdryer. No one noticed. I don’t think that says much for my usual behaviour.

My phone wouldn’t turn on. Agony. After a couple of hours in a bowl of dry rice, on top of a heater, covered with a tea towel, & dried with the hair dryer it was not only turning on but receiving text messages!
There was an almost beautiful mottling on the screen but it was fading and after a further hour with the hairdryer, and being left in the rice overnight, even that was gone!
I did dream that I would wake up to find it was over-dried & disintegrating, falling apart in my hands. HATE you subconscious.

Now my darling Dracula phone looks just as it ever did. Perhaps even better! it fought the washing machine (killer of expensive sweaters, eater of socks) and won.
It is older, & wiser but bears no actual scars.

Perhaps the touch screen is marginally less sensitive in areas and I don’t know yet if the battery life has been diminished but if that’s all my punishment for such stupidity? I’ll take it.

I won’t hear anything said against the iPhone ever ever again. It is made of envy & pieces of rainbow.

Baby, what you going to do?

Do you know what I hate? Not being in London. I really hate it.
That’s not to say that I hate being in New Zealand. Because I don’t.
A lot of my favourite people are here.
I’m just not living in a city that gives me butterflies.

Craig and I finally finally made a decision for our future.
Instead of going to Dublin or Canada or Vienna (all of which were seriously considered at one point or another (maybe not so much Vienna. I don’t speak any German (but it does look beautiful!))) we are going to spend some months (8? 9? who knows at this point? Not me!) in New Zealand before applying for brand sparkling new visas which will (fingers crossed!) allow us to spend longer than a year or two back in London.
If we had chosen one of the other countries on our list we would have ended up in the exactly same situation we’re in now, only twelve months down the line!
I don’t think I could do this again!
And I’m so so willing to spend a few months slightly irritated for a longer stretch of our lovely itinerant lifestyle.

I actually feel really positive about this decision (I know! me! positive! crrrrraazy).
So. August in New Zealand, September in London (love!), and from October? Nouvelle ZĂ©lande again.
Sigh.

.

On a completely different note!
I’ve been working as a temporary super-receptionist at a company in Wellington this week. And three out of the four days that I’ve been working there?
I have (accidentally!!) color co-ordinated with the other receptionist.
Yet again my life proves itself completely ridiculous!

The first day? it was cute. The second day? it was funny as other people in the office started to notice. The third day? RIDICULOUS.

Don’t panic! we discussed it today and chose completely different colours to wear tomorrow. Let’s see if it works!

Dearest, Oh Darling, The Internet

Hi! How’ve you been? It’s been forever and a week. Or something.
Ages. Really Ages. And ever ever so much has happened!

Like right now? I’m in New Zealand.
Unless you follow my twitterings religiously (ha!) you might not have noticed as it was all a tremendous secret.
I left London on a Tuesday, arrived in Wellington on a Thursday (Hi? Wednesday? Where were you? GONE! NOWHERE! DEATH! I only saw you for an hour in Hong Kong)) and proceeded to actually Hide Out as my secret squirrel sister couldn’t quite convince my Dad that there was an actual honest to G reason that we should celebrate Mum’s birthday a day early.
And despite the ludicrous incident where my family walked within inches of the parked car I was sitting in (I had to duck!) the surprise worked amazingly. I have never seen my mother’s face look so terrifyingly mask like. She was speechless and best of all she didn’t bleed on me (there is precedent).

Despite all the gaiety I have mainly been disappeared because my photo didn’t even place in the Shortlist competition (you might have guessed that). Thankfully I actually liked 3 out of the 4 winning entries. By the end of it all I was completely sick of that photo and I couldn’t go near Oh freaking Darling dot net dot nz. Ack.

And because, oh most of all because our grip on our London Idyll is ever so tenuous and I can’t talk too much about it without screeching and blood pouring from my ears.
There’s nothing that can be done. The Home Office mist have its’ way with us and we … (really regretting this metaphor) have to bend over and take it.

Craig and I have been attempting to make Life Decisions (Hi! we’re hugely indecisive. HATE) but thankfully we have plans and contingencies and while they don’t include being in Rome for my 25th Birthday, I’m pretty happy with them.
I’ve decided that I simply won’t turn 25 until I can be in Rome.

This is all compounded (Yes. MORE DRAMA. How am I holding it together? Ha. You make me laugh.) by the fact that CRAIG IS STILL IN LONDON!
We have been apart for 17 days and there are 22 (ack) more before we are reunited.
And on top of THAT, next Monday, the 14th July 2008 marks EIGHT YEARS of Craig & I being Craig & I.

Keep calm & carry on. Keep calm & carry on. Keep calm & carry on. Keep calm & carry on. Keep calm & carry on. Keep calm & carry on. Keep calm & carry on. Keep calm & carry on.