On the day of the first visit we fell in love with the place.  But there was also another couple lined up for it, so we found ourselves under a lot of pressure to make our minds up quickly.  A few days later we went on to sign the contract, and we were so excited about it that we didn’t flinch half as much as we should have when we signed the contract.  Pretty standard piece of lease agreement, really (as in most places in London, it binds us to stay for a minimum of six months, after which we are free to go at a month’s notice).  The bit that was unusual was an addendum to the contract which reads like we are actually required to leave after six months, full stop – making it look very much like a fixed-term lease.  Of course the date (count 6 months after April: slap-bang when I am due to pop this baby out) isn’t at all convenient for us to move, so we raised the issue with the landlord (actually a property management company — second big alarm bell) who assured us that the document was no notice of that sort, that they wanted long-term tenants, and that all their tenants had to sign it as standard procedures.  So, we signed.  And we learned.

Pretty soon we found that the trust we had placed in said landlord was an error of judgement (or perhaps a refusal on our part to listen to the signals).  The furnishing and repair works that were due to be done by our move-in date were not done (none of them), and it took Stephen several days off from work to be on the builder’s back to correct the situation.  I’ll pass on the detail of this experience, but obviously it got to a point where we started to feel very nervous indeed about the landlord’s word regarding the notice.  So, we called in a lawyer for help.  The lawyer read the contract addendum as a notice to leave the property in October, no doubt about it.  So we arranged for them to write to the landlord, with the purpose of clarifying the matter:  was the notice indeed “a standard company procedure to be ignored”, or do we have to move out in October?  We are now waiting for the response to this question from the landlord — for this alignment between their spoken word and the paperwork.

Either way, it’s not the end of the world.  We do love the house (even with some of its glitches, which I’ll be quick to remember if we do decide to leave it!), and it would pain us to leave it right after we managed to settle in, especially given the inconvenience of a house move towards the heaviest part of my pregnancy.  On the other hand, we can get the movers in (the ones we use are just great), look for something else in the summer, appreciate that we’ve had a good 6 months here, and move on with our lives.  The question is not that.

The question is:  do we wait for our landlord’s answer?  do we assume that what they said is correct and that the notice will not be enforced, and take a chance on staying here?  or do we take control of this situation and set out to move whatever happens, saying proactively goobye to any chance of staying in this place?  Options 1 and 2 may leave us waiting for the whole summer, with an equal chance (now knowing this landlord) of either staying in this house undisturbed for years or being kicked out pretty much the day after our kid is born.  Not great.  Option 3 requires that we resign oursleves to not staying in this place we love, spend some time (again) in the summer looking for a place, move (again), and settle into a new place at the same time as we settle into our new life as parents.

Right now, I would tend to think that we will be better off taking full control of this situation, say goodbye to the house we love, and make an enlightened choice for a new place (oh yes, it will be enlightened by a tough lesson for sure) some time before the baby comes.  But what would you do, friends?  I’ve come across two couples recently who moved house in the last month of the woman’s pregnancy, and they seem to have survived just fine.  I’m really wondering if this isn’t a solution for us, too.  Coup de foudre versus reason.  Loving somewhere uncertain, versus control.  Dull, but better?

On the way, I managed to get a few bits and pieces of supplies for my current project – a dogtooth skirt which is coming along quite well and could, if I wasn’t blogging right now, be completed tonight.  I recently also completed a party dress which in the end wasn’t what I wanted – not so much because I messed it up (I did no such thing this time), but because the type of dress isn’t quite the right thing for my figure.  It will still work rather well for relaxed xmas parties between friends, but won’t be the party dress I needed for the multiple office parties I am due to attend this year.

And from office parties to a rant about a pet peeve…  This time of year has come again for the most gut-wrenchingly annoying thing of all:  the bloody Secret Santa.  I swear, every time I am part of a new organisation (which has been frequent these past few years with me contracting a bit), I have a little bit of hope that it isn’t part of the culture.  And every single time, when someone with wild enthusiasm for all things office-party sends round an email to check that “£5-10 is acceptable”, my heart sinks.  Don’t get me wrong:  it’s nothing to do with the money itself.  Thankfully I have now reached this point in my career when 10 quid won’t make a difference to the end of the month.  No.  It’s the fact that not only do you have to buy a gift for somebody, but on top of this you can’t even choose who you buy it for.  And for all the luck that I had this year in landing a job with a team who is essentially made of bright and rather fun people, that is, I’m afraid, not the point.

Perhaps here shines the remnants of my French resistance to the mixing of the work-related and the private.  But really, really, few things put me in such a state of dismay than the destruction of the whole joy of offering gifts, which to me is all about showing to somebody you care for, that you care for them, just like that, because you just do.  Having to buy a gift for a person picked out of a hat is about as horrid as having to schedule something into your Saturday.  It’s plain wrong.  And I don’t care if I’m a scrooge.

Now I have to say, Leeds did look like you could have a decent amount of fun there, perhaps because it has this ‘small city feel’, because people seem significantly friendlier there than here (what? a bloke trying to speak to me in the lift? is that allowed?), and it was cheerfully decorated for Xmas with the same kind of willy-nilly colours you would expect in South-Western French villages around that time of year: stars and popping champagne bottles, somewhat more childish but also more relaxed than the poncier London attempt at classy (yet commercially sponsored) street decking.

The down side of Leeds (or of our arrangements for the trip, perhaps) is that people there seem inclined (or at least, OK) to eat the worse possible food on the planet. When people say that British food is bad, I’m always tempted to correct them because in London you can, for an indecent amount of money, treat yourself to really quite good sandwiches and work lunches. Not so much in Leeds, where Porkinson sausages and watery potato mash are the dish of choice. I was also sadly depressed by my hotel room, which was devoid of any decoration, as well as of shampoo in the bathroom. There was something grim about having to pick a tray to put breakfast dishes on, using a self-serving coffee machine (where is my waiter asking me if I would prefer tea or coffee?), and having your breakfast on a wobbly table. I am lucky indeed that my colleagues are not a miserable lot and can have a laugh.

I am now home, armed with a melon salad, a gigantic tub of my favourite biscuit assortment, and a perfectly decent murder mystery show on telly in 15 minutes. On top of this, I have received a brand new bunch of cool patterns to make outfits from. And my pyjamas and slippers are infinitely scruffy and comfortable. And my man is coming back in two days.

And there is also the fabric – all in all, I thought the gigantic flowers would work wonders for a tropical look (it reminded me of an old French Connection summer dress I once had), but I think I picked a fabric that’s actually too thick for the job, meaning that the beautiful flowy effect I wanted just isn’t quite there.  In short, this just isn’t a sexy summer dress.  Yaarrh.

Now I’m wondering – should I leave this one to the side for a while and come back to it later with a view to rescuing it or, more realistically, will it be parked with a couple of other half-hearted projects on a shelf, while I excitedly start on the next one? I do have this great little evening number to work on, in grey satin…

I learn from this frustrating episode that I need a new sewing machine (I have my eye on one — little electronic beauty; boy they have evolved since 1971…), that pattern fitting needs more time than I cared to give it so far, and that it’s best to steer away from fabrics that could just as well be used for curtains…!

Now for the best news of the last couple of weeks:  there are now two incredibly exciting trips in the calendar for this year — one to Kuala Lumpur, and one to St Lucia.  All of a sudden this year is looking completely different.  And to think that we are already half way through it!

On the matter of travel, I did go to Cardiff last week, but as with most business trips the opportunities to visit were nonexistent.  Here are, therefore, the only two pictures I took…

the station

the local brewery

Et voila.  C’est tout.  And it sounds like Stephen’s experience of Sofia is rather similar…

A few links, to close this post off:

• French?  Poker player?  Here’s a job for you.
• A fabulous review of Lara fabian’s latest cover-versions album (excuse me, I think I just threw up in my mouth, there, a little bit…) by Juju.  Hilarious.
• One view on the exponential spread of information and social media – does it really give us ADD?
• Once again, let the Bloggess make your day.  You know you want to.  She certainly made mine.

Tada.

Lately I have ended each day with a mixture of fatigue and energy of the “still on a spin” type.  So, I end up both wanting to go to bed to sleep until the next month, and wanting to do plenty of things instead, such as reading personal email (something that I am managing to do just about once a week now), looking at friends’ Facebook news and tweets, cooking, watching missed TV series, working on sewing projects, thinking up personal development objectives, brainstorming work-related questions, calling Mum & Dad back, planning holidays, travel, cocktail nights, cultural stuff, dates and dinners with loved ones, reading the Economist (for the past two weeks, I’ve hardly been able to read past the Bagehot column), flicking through Mr Topp’s blog and all of my Google Reader and Del.icio.us stuff, etc., etc.

In the end, this poor little blog has been much neglected, left out of date and lonely in the absence of fresh news…

All in all, I am enjoying this period of manic activity and intense intellectual involvement, absorbing information and understanding its practical use, decoding sensitivities and relationships, thinking tactically and strategically, learning a new language (because, yes, joining a new company is not so different from entering a new country).

My days are very much re-shaped by the new morning hours (earlier!), the absence of running (to be resolved), the train journeys and ways to make them useful, and the decisions that I make in the evening to make the best use of the little time I have for, er, the other parts of my life.  I am still to figure out how to get back into running and workouts.

On recent life news, I should like to mention that I recently:

• discovered what a hurdy-gurdy is, and heard one been played
• discovered the difference between Scottish and Swedish bagpipes
• learnt how to smoke a pipe
• customised a company t-shirt
• had a whole afternoon of shopping on Oxford St only to come back home with nothing
• seen AC/DC on stage
• discovered a new bar in Camden that happened to have an AC/DC vintage photos exhibition on.
• created a lamb & mint burger that won much praise at a BBQ
• registered my interest with Shelter to run the 2010 London Marathon for them, but failed to enter the Marathon’s general ballot on time (besides, my butt still hurts from that annoying tailbone injury sustained in my last 10k race )
• paid £12 of late fees on an old credit card that I’m not using anymore and to which a once-a-year payment had been charged unnoticed
• discovered a good Japanese restaurant near Holborn and went to see an odd and beautifully performed play/dance show.
• enjoyed a good evening of music at the RFC that included a really neat piece of Grieg’s music and a great-as-always performance by Sarah Chang, who as usual sported the most incongruously exhuberant outfit (this time, a gigantic neon pink cocktail dress).
• ate four slices of the hottest-ever pizza — Papa John’s Hot Pepper Passion.  Four slices.

A life full of stuff indeed.

And to wrap it all up, a few links worth seeing.  Because they are fun.  Courtesy of, once again, Mr Topp, who does not commute to Staines and therefore keeps his blog updated:

• Horatio from CSI Bad, on swine flu.
• A pretty psychedelic view of the flu (in general – not just swine’s)
• Beautiful pictures of space launches.
• A certain version of the Kama Sutra – spéciale dédicace pour Cyril et Arnaud.

Nighty-night.

And, on a totally unrelated note, I wanted to share with you this job ad…  If you would like to climb the ladder in substance misuse, then why not step up and become an Assistant Director, Substance Misuse?

This has been a really rather good weekend, essentially spent enjoying the first (windy) picnic of the year, cutting patterns for seing project number two (I’m on a roll, people!) and watching the runners of the London Marathon at the 13 mile and 22 mile mark, which happened to be situated one block away from home.  And with that, my mind started shifting from “I will never run a full marathon, it’s too much bloody hassle”, to “hmm, this looks really fun and perhaps, well maybe, I could possibly try to get in to the 2010 one…”.  Keep an eye on this one, folks, as I may well be changing my mind.

That being said, this morning’s jog, even if it was less laborious than last Friday, was still not the best of them all.  It seems I am getting back into the grove of things very, very slowly indeed, and I have to admit that Stephen may be right:  a Fartlek session may well be the way forward to get rid of the countless stitches and cramps I get as soon as I attempt to lengthen my strides and pick up the pace. My appetite, on the other hand, has nooo trouble adjusting to the fact that I am exercising again though, judging by the amount of ribs and fries I scoffed last night at Bodeans…  Ah, I love weekends!!!

And now for a couple of good/odd things I’d like to share with you:  first, a really awesome blog that I will not doubt be reading again and again.  It’s Ask the Bloggess, a masterpiece by Jenny, a delightfully cynical agony aunt who is “even less qualified than Dr Phil”.  And once again I should like to thank Mr Topp for the find.  Mr Topp also provides us this week with interesting insights on Canadian camping and pub signs (the latter being one of our favourite debating subjects).

And now,  on to this first day of work.  Bring it on!

First of:  I’ve got a job! On Monday I start in the interactive team at British Gas, as Programme Office Manager — woo-hoo!  My first couple of days will be from home, and then I’ll have to start the daily commute to the Staines massive, aaaai.  So, this is back to permanent employment for me, and very soon I’m going to have to deal with administrative the shebang of wrapping up the limited company.  After four intense months of job searching, I can say I am incredibly pleased to have secured a role in a new team, and I look forward to tackling  the job.

Now for personal projects:  sewing project number one, now officially called “the summer skirt”, is done!  Below, a picture of my masterpiece.  Next, I am considering a pair of cool print cotton pyjamas, seeing as I am now haunting floor 4 of John Lewis, a paradise of buttons and trims…  Oh dear.

the skirt!

Not much of a performance on my daily run today, with my time beaten by 1 minute on the Millenium-Bridge-and-back loop, but a series of stitches and the feeling of being as heavy as a truck.  Ugh.  Some training needed there!  But with my sweet man with me and the sun shining, it was still the right way to kick start what ended up being a mighty good day!