Green shoots

Ahhh, spring. In so many ways the best of seasons. Barely a day goes by without my enthusing about the buds on the magnolia tree outside my house or the smell of cut grass, or the crocuses on the Heath, or the fact that when I leave work it's still just about light - or, indeed, any one of a number of such cliched spring things. Everyone seems so much happier. Even Mad Mary seems to have mellowed. Yesterday I submitted copy to her and, though she still made me stand there while she read it and scribbled on it, she managed not to say anything unnecessarily nasty, contenting herself with peering suspiciously at me, indulging in a rant about Richard (uber-boss, whom she clearly fancies) and telling me to get rid of the dirty coffee cups that had accumulated on her desk.

It's at times like these that I wish I'd spent my spare time at university doing unpaid internships instead of writing essays, but hey ho, she hasn't asked me to empty her bin using my mouth yet, so I suppose I oughtn't complain. Still, clearing away Mad Mary's coffee cups is a particularly disgusting task, I feel. It's not so much that it's demeaning, which I dare say I'd get over easily enough, but more that it's...icky. Mary, you ought to know, has a particularly offensive way of drinking coffee that seems to involve mouthing every bit of the rim of the cup liberally. I know this, because she wears very bright pink lipstick in quantities that make one wonder if her lips would still exist if she removed it, and EVERY time she uses a mug, every single millimeter of the rim is coated in the stuff. Also, she NEVER finishes a cup of coffee, she always leaves an inch or so of it at the bottom of the mug, into which she insists on dropping dirty tissues. Lord only knows what's wrong with the woman, but if a day goes by on which poor old Mary does not blow her nose, the whole office ought to be given a celebratory holiday. Picking those cups up, though, and seeing the snotty Kleenex floating in cold latte, and getting smears of her fuschia mouth-paint on my fingers, is an experience that leads to repeated resignation fantasies. One day...one day...

Anyway, I'm being distracted from the joys of spring by the 'vileness' (a favourite word of Mary's, incidentally) of my working environment. (Breathe, Alice! Think of the Regents Park daffodils!) And this is very wrong because, thus far, spring has been all it ought to be, so far as I'm concerned. My house-plants are flourishing, which always makes me happy, and I have been asked out twice in the last week, in spite of the mighty blemishes I wrote about in my last blog.

Speaking of which, part of the regenerationy springfulness of it all is my new skin-care program (YES! New Year's Resolutions ahoy!). On Sunday, I went for tea and a film (very, very brilliant, everyone should watch it - link below) with my lovely friend Cora. Cora took one look at my ravaged features and prescribed foundation. 'But Cooooorrraaaaaaa', I bleated, 'I've NEVER used foundation, I don't know hooooow, and then you have to take it all off and I'd probably forget'. She stared at me in disgust. 'Firstly, Alice', she began, patiently, 'it comes off when you cleanse - ' 'But Coooooorraaaaaa, I don't CLEANSE'. Her disgust deepened, visibly. 'Well you should!' she shrieked, 'do you WANT to have huge pores?' (A sensitive spot - I fear my pores, slightly). 'Nooo...but maybe just using water -' I gibbered, desperately. Anyway, the upshot of it is that she hauled me out to a pharmacy on Monday evening and made me buy some of the stuff she uses on her face - Yin Yang, link also below - because apparently it's chemical free and the science is good. (Cora knows these things, bless her.) So, I have commenced cleanse-tone-moisturise (which makes me feel all clean and new and leaves me smelling of oranges and flowers, mmmmm) and so far so good.

Which is just as well, because quite apart from The-French-Man-On-The-Bridge (asked me out on Tuesday; hmm, it's an unwieldy soubriquet, if he sticks around we may need another) and Escalator Man (who asked me out tonight and isn't especially good-looking but who DID lip-synch serenade me whilst carrying his adorable boxer-dog, admittedly the most attractive thing about him) there is also Mystery Barrister, with whom my friend Becky is arranging a blind date. (Becky is one of those girls with a high-turnover stable of high-quality studs and she has been offering to cast one of them my way ever since Wanker Banker hit the scrap heap.) Anyway, I have a good feeling about Mystery Barrister. His texts are excellent and I like his name. Oh yes, spring is in the air, and I mean to use it well!

http://www.ageofstupid.net/the_film

(not sure if it's showing again, but if it does you MUST see it)

and

www.http://www.yinyangskincare.co.uk/

(Ooo, I just looked at this; apparently the cleanser's won prizes and everything, how exciting!)

Hardly a spotless start...

I had a lot of New Year's resolutions. You know the kind of thing, a revolting mixture of the virtuous and optimistic that, looked back on at Lent, seems equally pitiable and humorous. I was going (of course) to give up refined sugar; I was going to do more creative writing; I was going to finally put a cleanse-tone-moisturise skin-care plan into action (my GOD, I'm 27, I have WRINKLES, what if it's too late already?); I was going to drink less and be more tolerant of my boyfriend's flaws, and find a job that involved more money and less envelope-stuffing, and learn Russian and stop procrastinating and exchange TV for Radio Four... Basically, my cunning plan was to metamorphose in one glorious year into a glossy-haired, fresh-faced model of competent, modern womanhood.

Well...at least I'm writing something. Three months late, but that's procrastination for you. As for the others...well, I made up the stuff about Russian and Radio 4 (c'mon, who'm I trying to kid?). I'm still stuffing envelopes with finger-bleeding regularity, whilst Mad Mary (bad bad boss) looks on with mad-eyed malice. And I'm typing this whilst gnawing on Green & Black's Creamy Milk Chocolate and planning a night of cocktail fun. (Not going well, is it?)

Also, I broke up with Wanker Banker Boyfriend on New Year's Day, in the midst of an argument (comical in hindsight) about the wallet I'd bought him for Christmas. He lost it at some time between 1 and 4 a.m. on January 1st, which some might think careless. Initially sympathetic, I grew angry when he made it clear that he was less concerned about my thoughtful gift than his Platinum Amex (the manliest thing about him, so maybe he had a point). I raised this (obviously very diplomatically), causing him to scream, in hoarse drunkenness, that: 'most girls would give their left arms to be going out with me' and 'you'll never earn enough to be my equal'. Err.... Right. Good to know. Apologies followed swiftly, but I was with One Republic on this point and felt it was significantly too late.

Boy, do I regret spending the money on his wallet, especially because now I feel too impoverished to splash out on my planned cleanse-tone-moisturise system. And, oh boy, do I need it. Not only do I have wrinkles but now, as a result of coming off the pill and the stress of plunging into the single world again, I also have spots. Not little ones with satisfying expustulation opportunities as compensation for their uglifying evil, but large, painful swollen ones that - I SWEAR - glow in the dark and leave purply-brown scars that require concealer-skill for months afterwards. Not handy when one hopes to re-enter the dating scene looking fresh-faced and youthful.

So, to summarise my condition at the end of the first quarter of 2009. Single, spotty, wrinkled and skint. And in the midst of a recession! Joy! Let's hope that a) I am somehow turning my woe into art, and b) I am actually some kind of human phoenix and, having crashed and burned so magnificently, I will now arise from my own pimply ashes, speaking Russian, publishing novels and throwing envelopes in Mad Mary's face whilst wearing a Vera Wang wedding dress and GLOWING with dermal health. Fingers crossed. I'll let you know, anyway.