BARCELONA: TIME OUT!

This blog has become rather shit recently. I'm hardly posting at all, at the moment. There are a number of reasons for this. They are:

1. I spend 99.9% of my life at this time working! This means I do not have a social life anymore!

2. I have nothing to write about other than work! That's not to say there isn't anything to write about at work. It's just I'm not allowed to say anything about work! We have memos going round all the time not to say anything, even to your parents! My parents don't even watch the programme, they couldn't care less on the storyline unless it was Coronation street or Downton Abbey! It feels a little bit like a dictatorship or a bad episode of Big Brother (well that would be every episode then!) where some one is watching over you all the time. We live in fears of our lives! OK I'm being a bit dramatic now, but you get the picture don't you? Their quite strict!

3. I'm tired 99.9% of the time! And when I say tired I mean tired. It's that
That kind of tired where when you wake up in the morning it's painful! That kind of tired where your not in touch of reality anymore, just some zombie like state. That kind of tired where everything gets on your nerves, including people; even people that you really like. All they have to do is breath and there getting on your nerves!

4. I'm totally run down. This actually makes no sense! I'm living the healthiest life style I've had in years. I'm not really drinking, I'm eating good; not partying much and wait for it! Yes! I've joined a gym! I know me of all people has joined a gym! I'm a bit addicted actually. I go 3-4 times a week! All this said I have felt awful recently. My glands have been up; I have bags under my eyes and a mouth full of ulcers! Maybe I should go back to partying?

Luckily we were given a 2 week break from it all. I went back to London for my first week, after a long absence from the city. I found it tiring and stressful. I have no base anymore in the city and I found myself moving round from sofa to sofa at different friends houses. I didn't like not having a home in London anymore. I just wanted to get away.
Mariel my old housemate from Spain has been saying for years I could go and stay with her in Barcelona, but I had never taken her up on the offer, until now. So I booked myself onto one of those Easy jet flights and found myself in the much needed heat and sunshine of Barcelona.
Mariel lived 30 minutes outside of Barcelona by train next to the sea. She met me at the station and after a catch up drink at the local beach bar where we couldn't stay too long as she had parked her car illegally (this is why she got a lot of parking fines when she lived in London!) we got to her apartment, and to my delight I was to have a room of my own, and no more sofas!

Mariel had arranged for Anna who had also worked with us in Almeria earlier in the year, to come round for dinner that night. Anna is basically hot, (to be fair so is Mariel) and she tottered in, in the smallest pair of hot pants, tanned and beautiful, as ever. There is more to Anna than her looks, as she is warm, caring and cooks some mean food.
It being Spain, meant we were on Latin time and so we didn't start eating until after 10pm. 10 minutes later I can't eat anymore.
"Fuckin hell Tia! You have not eaten a lot" says Mariel.
* N.B Tia is a word used a lot in this post. In Spanish it's means aunty but is now used as slang, in the way we say love or I say love a lot. Tia is usually preceded a lot by "Fuckin hell" or "Bloody Hell" in a thick Spanish accent too, in this post!
Anyway where was I? Oh right Latin eating times. Well as I explained my English body was not use to it, as well as the heat and plus I was wearing a really cute 1950's skirt which felt like it had a 4 inch waist, thus food intake was restricted!
We spent the rest of the night talking and playing music, to the early hours of the morning. I knew then I had made the right decision coming to Barcelona.

I did the whole tourist sightseeing thing the next day, but to be fair I wasn't in the mood for much and my body was far too tired to be a tourist. After that I spent most of my days at the beach or by the pool, reading or listening to music. In the evenings, Mariel would return from work and we would sit and eat on the balcony or the chiringuito (which means Spanish beach bar) as we called it. We would have during these times the most indepth conversations for hours on end. During the conversations I realised that me and Mariel were more similar than I ever thought we were.
"Tia! We are the same tribe me and you."
Mariel is now seeing a Spainsh musician who is famous in Spain. He is handsome, fun, crazy and exciting, but through our conversations I always felt a tinge of sadness, that deep down inside this man would never quite give her what she needed. I saw myself in her, in pursuit of the highs and excitement, but always deep down inside knowing that there would never be a happy ending, as much as I try and convince myself there will be. I'm not stupid but I lie to myself all the time. I looked at Mariel. She is not stupid either, but I saw her lying to herself, just like I do.

Why do we do it to ourselves? Mariel summed it for me.
"The problem Tia is this! We go for Peter pan men!
"Peter Pan men?"
"Yes! Peter Pan men Tia! Men that are children, who don't want any responsibility, or commitment. Men that will never grow up!"
"Why?"
"Because we think and act like a child ourselves. We want to play, but we are not children, we are women in our 30's. We need to think as our adults."
Oh Jesus! I'm a child! I'd never thought of it like that, but the more I did the more it made sense, my behaviour, my decisions. I'm a child, a bloody child, and it's taken another child to tell me that! I went to bed that night, with a different out look on life, through getting to know Mariel better, and knew who I was more.

Through travelling and having foreign boyfriends I have got use to being around people that speak another language from me. I have often been excluded from conversations because of my lack of knowledge of other languages. Most of the time it doesn't bother me, I'm quite laid back and that's just the way it is, but because I have actually started to learn Spanish and love the Latin people and their way of life it bothers me that until I learn the language I will always be an outsider. I felt this especially in Barcelona. My whole time was spent with locals, Spanish speakers, and Mariel's friends, who were always lovely to me and spoke English when they could, but in general I could never truly be part of a conversation. It's frustrating when your such an expressive person like me, and not being able to express yourself. I never felt they really got to see the real me. I turn into this shy little blushing girl when I can't communicate and this is not the real me. I'm made of much more than that. All that said I had a great time, hanging out with Mariel and Anna; from retro dancing to drawing homemade tattoo's on ourselves.

Mariel had to go to her cousins wedding on the Saturday so as you would do with a child, she put me in the hands of Anna to be responsible of me for a night. Anna decided we should go clubbing. Too be fair, even though I class myself as a party girl I don't really do night clubs anymore, but I would never turn down the offer of going to one.

Anna met me at the metro and tossed me a helmet.
"We go to my house."
It was then I saw her scooter and helmet. Jesus! I thought, I'm going to get on a scooter with a tiny girl, who is wearing an even more tiny dress; how is this going to work? Luckily, Anna seemed to be an expert at moving around Barcelona at high speed, with passengers, in a Lycra mini dress on a scooter. After the usual girly thing of food, drinks, music and getting ready at Anna's, we left for the night club at the usual Latin time of 1.30am. We got free entry due to Annas friend, Nico, who we met up with. Anna looked hot to trot in tight jeans and a crop top, where as I felt like the tall gangly friend in the back ground, who no one took really much notice of. Luckily one of Anna's many suitors that night was the barman, which meant we got tons of free shots and in no time, I'm drunk and don't really care that I'm the giraffe of the group. After that the night becomes a little blurry, but as the sun came up and Anna was still chatting to the barman, I had got chatting to a group of Spanish guys who wanted me to go to an after party with them. Anna said no, and the next thing Mariel is being put on the phone to me telling me, I can't go either. Mariel is thinking in her adult and now I'm the child again, but the child that is listening this time. I go home with Anna, but not before she snogs the face of the bar man off, through the car window, while I pretend to make sick noises and put my finger down my throat. The child in me is definately out! We crawl into bed at 8.30am. So Latin!

At 2.00pm I'm woken by Anna.
"Come on Carly! We go thee beach! We meet Mariel. It's your last day. Get out of bed."
I feel like shit, but follow orders, slowly! After another crazy ride on a scooter with Anna, we arrive at the beach to find Mariel layout in all her topless glory full of tales from the wedding. I'm too hungover to follow any Spanish, so let them babble on, not caring what there saying, until there is a gasp and Anna starts ducking down. The barman from the nightclub is straight in front of us. I wonder why she doesn't call him over, but then I realise we are all topless and in bikinis, so it's probably not the best idea. I do tell Anna though, that's she's done well, as he has a body to die for. Anna is pleased with herself, but she isn't too fussed as the barman is plan B. Yes plan B people and I don't mean that stupid singer guy. It's seems that the barman is not the only guy in Annas life. she has another. Mariel informs me she has a plan B too. They tell me, ever girl needs a plan B to fall back on to and that I need a Plan B too. I tell them that a bloody plan A would be nice, before I start thinking of plan B. God! I think I need to take the Spanish girls approach to men.

I spent my last night in Barcelona at Mariel's grandmothers apartment as it was nearer the airport. It was a big sprawling apartment full of catholicism and works of art that looked like they should of been in the Prado. Me Mariel stayed up and ate pizza and had a final late night conversation. I realised I was going to miss my chats with her, as I felt like even though we are from a different country and different cultures, we understand each other entirely. We are the same tribe! As I said goodbye to her that night, I had tears in my eyes. I didn't want to leave. Coming to Barcelona was exactly what I had needed. I felt rested and happy once again, but I had also learnt a lot too, especially about myself.
Mariel said;
"Fuckin hell Tia! You want to live abroad, you come back to Barcelona and live here."
Maybe I will, I thought and that thought hasn't faded from my mind since!

A WEEKEND OF SOLITUDE

I've been feeling rather unsettled in Wales. To counteract this I have been using all my spare time up with travelling up and down the country with weddings; hen do's; parties; a trip to the family; and visiting friends in London. This has left me living out of a bag again and sleeping on people's sofa's. I felt like a traveling gypsy; a nomad; with no real home.

The other week everything caught up with me. I hit a wall. I was mentally and psychically worn out. It had to stop. I guess I'd got myself in such a stress about leaving the Wick and London. I had it in my head, that if I didn't keep going back everyone would forget about me and I'd turn into some distant memory. I realised I've never given Wales or myself a chance. I decided it was about time I spent some time in the mansion and in Wales. As for my friends, if they are my true friends, it doesn't matter where I am, they will always be there.

So this weekend I hid myself away from the world in the mansion. People asked if I was going to be alright on my own in that big house. The truth was I was kind of looking forward to some time on my own. It also happened that during this time the sun came out and it finally felt like summer. My itchy feet that have been plauging my thoughts the last couple of weeks disappeared. All of a sudden Wales didn't seem bad at all, in fact it was bloody beautiful. I then realised I had totally unappreciated my surroundings. I was in this amazing old house in the middle of the countryside, with great views, a tree house, log fire, living in with a lord and I had cows in the front field! Really what more could a person ask for?

This weekend I read, wrote, sun bathe and went jogging (I know I went jogging! I actually quite liked it)! I spoke to no one or saw no one apart from the cows, who I would sit with watching the sunset with a glass of wine, talking to them (there amazing listeners)! I have started to give the cows names, such as Hamburger, Daisy and el Toro as I like naming things.
So I sat there on a Friday evening slipping a glass of wine, watching the sun go down surrounded by cows, as I chatted away to them, and for the first time I felt content and very happy to be in Wales. Let's hope it's the start of a beautiful thing?

THE DYSFUNCTIONAL FAMILY

So I'm still here living in Wales! In fact I've still got another 202 days of living here! Not like I'm counting down the days or anything (202! OMG! What kind of living Hell is this)! As I said not counting down the days? Look, I'm really trying to like Wales, really I am. It's just proving very hard. The reasons for this are:

1. It rains all the time! And when I say rains, I mean it. I have never seen anything like it. It doesn't stop from the moment you get up, till the moment you go to bed. My feet are constantly wet and my hair turns into some 80's perm, to which people start saying I look like Stevie Nicks (being compared to some drugged up Fleetwood Mac singer, does not make me happy)! You might think I'm being a little unfair on Wales as it seems Britain and a lot of Europe have been suffering under the same cloud with the heaviest rainfall since records began, but I'm sorry people, I have been stuck in Wales whilst this has all been happening so I'm afraid this is what the place is now associated with, for me: RAIN!

2. The Welsh are the worst drivers in the world! No honestly they are! Yes, readers, I have braved rush hour in Mumbai, took my chances on numerous Tuk Tuks across Thailand, rode a chicken bus in Latin America and nearly got crushed by the motor bikes of Ho Chi Min city, but none of this comes near to the sheer bad driving of the Welsh. So what makes them so bad, you ask? They might be lovely friendly, laid back people, but as soon as you get them into a car, their alter ego, the Car Demon comes out, which makes them aggressive, psychopaths who drive right up your ass or try and push you off the road. The Car demon is not just restricted to unruly teenagers, but to all ages and types including the mother with her children and sweet old Grandad types! So if you decide to drive in Wales, be it on your own heads people. You have been warned.

3. The style or lack of it in this case! OK I don't expect everyone to look the same in life, but really I just don't get it when people feel the need to look like the love child of a human that has mated with an orange! Honestly I have never seen so much fake tan (actually Liverpool maybe)? And it's not just the women, the men are just as orange and a lot of them seem to wax their chests, which they show off in low cut V neck T-shirts; and pluck their eyebrows. Look! I'm all up for men looking after themselves , but I like a man to be a man and not take longer in the bathroom than me! It also seems to be the rage to show as much flesh as possible. This starts from a young age as most 12 year olds seem to be walking round in hot pants so short it puts my slag hot pants to shame. I think the influence comes from the adults though as when there is the slightest bit of sun, the Welsh seem to think its the Costa Del Sol and strip off to vests, shorts and flip flops, even though it's still bloody freezing and I'm walking around in a coat and boots. I guess it is hot for Wales though, so I'll give them that one.

I guess what I'm trying to say is I don't really like it here, if you hadn't got that already. There is one saving grace though. My costume team or as I like to call them "My dysfunctional family!"
I've always been drawn to mad people, and since I left my childhood home, I have found myself little surrogate families all over the place. After leaving my family in the Wick, my costume team had become my new family now.
At the head of the family is Howard, who we also affectionately call "Daddy H". I have worked for H on and off for 7 years during which he has never shouted, or lost it with me once, even though there are times I know I deserve a good shouting at. He says me and Kat are like daughters to him. He listens to our problems, puts up with mood swings and has to deal with the odd cry now and again. He likes our outrageous behaviour and loves to ask "What have you little feigns been up to now?" to which we supply him with stories of a wild weekend. H likes to listen to classic FM, never crosses the road without the green man, and it is the worst person with modern technology I have seen (I've tried to make him get an i phone but he says he doesn't believe in them as they stop people talking properly)! H is an imposing guy, being tall, always dressed in black and with hair like Aslam's mane, but he is actually one of the nicest people you will ever meet.

Kat is, if I think about it, probably the closest person in my life right now. We work together, live together, in fact, particularly do everything together. It's a bloody good job we get on so well. Kat looks as if she is straight out of some 1950's high school with her style ( I love the way she dresses), she likes to read retro Mills and Boom books; loves all things vintage; has one of the best sense of humours ever ( she has me in stitches all the time); her perfect man is James Spader during his 80's hey day and she loves really bad knit wear (which she seems to make look really good)! We are quite similar in ways, as we are both as silly as each other and have the same naughty, wild streak. Kat has become like my baby sister and I'm extremely protective over her as she is quite fragile in some ways, though she is protective with me if I think about it. She has become my rock in Wales and I couldn't do this job without her.

We have two new additions to the family, Gemma and Lauren. Gemma is a local to Cardiff and probably the quietest of the group. Thats not to say she is without her quirks. Gem nibbles cereal from the bowl without milk, loves chocolate (she has her own constant supply hidden in draw); worries a lot; likes a certain kind of poly pocket; and loves T K Maxx. She also never says anything bad about anyone. In fact I wish I could be more like that!
Lauren is our trainee. I met Lauren briefly on a film last year as she was doing work experience. I thought she was sweet and hard working. It also turns out she is great fun too. Lauren is probably the most chilled person ever, nothing seems to trouble her. I'd love to be in her head. Lauren has also gained the name "Sugar Tits" due to the fact that everyone in the department has a mug with their initial on it. As Lauren was a late comer the only mug I could find had "Sugar Tits" written on it, and I jokingly tell her all the time that it's OK to call her that, as she is the trainee. In fact I think she has got off pretty easy as I was called "Young Twat" for over a year when I was the trainee.

Now your truck driver doesn't usually get classed as part of your team; sometimes you don't even know who they are, but it's different on this job. We have Andy! Andy is probably the nicest, partly insane, funniest people ever. He speaks in a board Somerset accent, has a lot of tattoo's and is ex army (he likes to say he's the best trained killer who can sew)! Andy likes to play stealth with us on the truck. This is where he sneaks up behind us in an army fashion without us realising. He gets great amusement out of it and we get scared senseless! Andy is also my favourite truck driver ever, as he gets us gifts such as chocolate (usually stolen from the caterers!); Somerset cider (which I wasn't sure about at first as it came in a bottle that looked like it contained bleach and had "Contains Sulphites" written on the side, but it actually turned out to be very good) and writes strange post-it notes, like "Andy woz ere", which he hides around the truck (usually under the photocopier lid)! I like having him around as I'm on my own on the truck most of the day and he tries to constantly amuse me, especially when he can tell when I'm fed up by telling me inappropriate stories about Shanghai massage parlours or the best strip bar ever in Canada from his army days. I also give him some counselling when he has fallen out with Martine, his wife and childhood sweet heart, again. One minute she's a bitch and he's going to divorce her, then the next she is the love of his life and soul mate. It's kind of like looking after a small child, but one with tattoo's, who smokes and drinks cider!

We also have Fraser on this job, but he is based in London, so most of our relationship is conducted down the phone. He pops in every now and again, like a long distant relative; tells us stories of the Mecca that is London; says he doesn't feel part of this; I tell him to shut up; and then he merrily goes back on his way to the chosen land, at which point I usually want to go back in that car with him.

I have also an important announcement to make. There has been an addition to the mansion. We have a new house mate! Yes readers I am proud to announce I am living with a lord! No word of a lie, a real lord; he's called sir and everything like that! Sir Gareth, owner of the mansion has turned up as he has got a job in Wales and will now be staying with us 3 days a week (it's about time I lived with a lord, being a lady)! Sir Gareth is a proper blue blood, posh, British eccentric and delightfully entertaining. He tells us the craziest of stories, which have so far included a dead labrador in a suitcase (This story is worth a post on its own); his gap year in America which was apparently " A bloody waste of time. Didn't learn a bloody thing!" and about gate crashing a Gwyneth Paltrow play! In return for this we have made Sir Gareth, fajita's and introduced him to Tesco's rotisserie chicken ( How many people can say they have introduced a lord to rotisserie chicken, hey)? One to tell the gran kids.

So it's seems I have myself a new dysfunctional family, surrounded by crazy people again, the way I like it. Oh! what of me? You ask. Well I'm the perfectly sane one out us all. Aren't I?

THE RUBY PRINCESS BRIDE

I'm going to tell you a story. Don't worry it's a nice story. It's about a girl named Becky Brown, or as we like to call her the Ruby Princess. Becky always believed in true love, but on this journey of the heart she took the same knocks and blows like everyone, but unlike some of us who have become  cynical  with these set backs (I include myself in this category) the Ruby Princess always believed she would find her Mr Darcey; her Mr right. 

The way her Mr right came into her life, is a tale of of chance and seizing the opportunity. The Ruby Princess was living the life of a single girl in London (Or as I like to call it running the gauntlet), when she moved into a new flat a the Holloway road with our friend Mike. There was a room that needed to be filled, and so the interview process for a new room mate ensued. A couple of days later she came round to Oslo house and joined me and Debs for a girly get together on the roof terrace as the sun was shining. She seemed troubled. 

"I have a problem?" she said

"What?" we exclaimed

"We met this great guy, who interviewed for the flat and he's seems really lovely. There is one problem! I really fancy him!"

I think we talked for an hour or more about Bec's situation. She had decided, not to let him move in, for it would be dangerous to let a guy you fancied become your room mate (all sorts of complications). She was going to ring him to tell him he had not been successful. The only problem was, did she tell him the reason why? I remember clearly her pucking up the courage to make this decision. Eventually she went off down the end of the roof terrace to make that fateful phone call. She told him the truth with the words "I'm dangerous attracted to you." The rest is history, and now a couple of years later i find myself at their wedding.I took a picture of her making that phone call, that changed her life. I would put on this blog but it's stored in my hard drive and as I'm computer illiterate, I can't get to it. Maybe one day I'll send it to them. I remember looking at it though some time later and thinking, what if she never told him the real reason why he couldn't move in; what if she just said "It's a no"; maybe he would never said he fancied her as well; maybe they would have gone their separate ways in life; or maybe, just maybe it was their fate.

I look at them now together and you can see they truly love each other. They are each others soul mates. They are most importantly best friends, because  relationships are not just based on lust, there has to be something more than that. You have to like the person, to want to be with them always. I see nick and Becky growing old together and always being happy.

I look on them with envy. I have not found my soulmate yet, maybe I never will, maybe I let him slip through my fingers, or maybe I have and just don't know it yet.

My dad gave me the best piece of advice recently, when I had taken another knock and a blow:

" A relationship, whether it is one of friendship or love is based on respect. If the other person does not give back, what the other person puts in, it will always be unbalanced and will never work. It means that person doesn't respect you enough, and so does not deserve to be in your life. A relationship is all based on respect."

As much as it hurt hearing this, his words rang true, and it was more meaningful coming from my father, as he will be the first to admit, he has broken these rules in the past.

Maybe I need some fate to bring Mr Right to me too?  

Congratulations Mr & Mrs McKindoe.

Here is some of the music from the Cornish band at the wedding.  Amazing I danced all night!

RETURN TO THE WICK

I had a week off from work recently, so I decided to go straight back to London, as I was missing it. The difference with this return visit to the capital was that I was staying in Highgate with my friend Kat. The flat was beautiful, the location great and the power shower was to die for. All that said I felt unsettled, tense and I didn't sleep well at all in my stay there. It was during this time I realised I never stayed anywhere else in London in the last 5 years other than Hackney Wick. No wonder everything feels weird, I thought to myself. It was like some strange cold turkey and I was suffering from withdrawal symptoms! I kept myself busy so I didn't have to think about it, filling my days with appointments with friends that I had not seen in so long. Luckily I received an invitation which gave me an excuse to go back to Hackney Wick and thus giving me my Wick fix. My friend Jon who is an artist, found out I was back and asked me to come and see him in his studio as I'd never seen it. Jon doesn't leave the Wick much and at the moment he doesn't seem to leave the studio that much either as he has a show coming up, thus has holed himself up in there, so I felt quite honoured that he came and met me at the station and walked me to the studio. As we walked along the canal, I saw it was a buzz with people taking pictures, a film crew and builders. In the back ground the nearly finished Olympic stadium loomed over us. Jon started on one of his rants in his thick northern accent (even though he is actually from the midlands, but sounds more northern than me)?:
"Honestly Carly, you got out of the Wick just in time! It's turned into some tourist attraction! Everyone is just taking f**king pictures all the time. There are cameras everywhere because of the Olympics. I hate f**king cameras! I hate having my f**king picture taken! I need to get out of the Wick, I'm thinking of going to Wales for a bit like you. I'm looking into places!"
He says all this, while throwing his hands around with a cigarette in them. I would of taken a picture a picture of this for you readers but as he hates his "f**king" picture being taken, this was not possible. He also doesn't like people much either. He is quite eccentric actually, if I think about it, but that's OK I like mad people.
I then sat on a sofa in Jon's studio for the next hour or more, while he fluttered around the place constantly moving (he can't keep still for more than two seconds!) and painting canvases, only stopping briefly to have cigarettes which he used the floor as an ash tray . He informed me of news in the Wick, which wasn't much he said as he hadn't seen many people as he was now in his hermit mode locked away in the studio. He complained about his neighbour in the studio, who was always moaning about any noise he made and he admitted to a new crush of a fellow artist in the studio downstairs, who doesn't like people very much either (a match made in heaven I say)! I told him of my new life in Wales, that I missed the Wick and how I was finding things very strange at the moment. I could of quite happily of stayed and been entertained by Jon for the rest of the day, but then I heard the sound of thunder in the distance and saw it as an Omen to leave. As I walked back to the station, I looked around and thought how much the Wick had changed over the years since I'd known it. Most people blame the Olympics for the changes and see the event as a bad thing. I don't see it as all bad. Change is never bad? Well that's what I keep telling myself right now. Anyway once the eyes of the world have finished looking at this place for 2 weeks, maybe the Wick will be forgotten again and it can go back to being its little enclave of misfits? As I got to the station I saw there had been a change since my last visit. The Huge wall painting that had been created by Coca Cola to advertise them and endorse the Olympics had been given a make over. The outraged local artists who had, had their work painted over by the brand, had taken their revenge. Now in its place, just stands the letters H W (Hackney Wick)! I guess it's our little communities rebellion to the games. Though I agree with what Jon said:
"It would of been a lot more witty and funnier if they had just f**king painted the word Pepsi over it instead!"
I slept a little easier that night after my Wick fix.

INTRODUCING MR & MRS MILLS

I don't remember the exact moment that Claire Collins came into my life. She filtered in like so many people do, but unlike so many that have filtered out again, she has remained and has now become part of my close circle of friends. What I do remember though, that from the start Claire was confident, intelligent, funny and was probably one of the most creative people I have ever met. She was the year below me at uni, but started hanging out with our year quite a bit (we were the best year ever!) and that , was that. She has been with us ever since.

I've lived with Claire three and a half times during her years in London (the half is when I was saving to go traveling and was homeless, so just stayed in people's beds who weren't around or spooned Claire)! For a couple of years we shared good times; fun times; and wild times together. I think we only ever fell out once. She moved out of the house we shared together in Ealing to move to pastures new. I didn't want her to leave and took it as rejection and me being me on this type of thing, I didn't deal with the situation very well, and detached myself. Luckily she forgave me and I followed in her path and moved in with her again 2 years later to the Warehouse.

It was one day, during her time in the warehouse that Claire made a surprise announcement to me.
"I'm going to move back to Birmingham and move in with Chris!"
"BIRMINGHAM!" I said in shock.
I knew Claire was from Birmingham, but really, " Birmingham!"
Claire had not long got back together with her on and off sweet heart, Chris, and this all seemed like one big U-turn, from her great life in London.
If I'm truthful at first I thought she was making a huge mistake, but as time went on, I realised I was wrong and that Claire's great life in London hadn't been so great. Why? Because it wasn't what she wanted anymore.

I think it was about a year later, I received a phone call from her.
"Guest what? I'm pregnant Bonita!"
It took a moment to sink in for me. Claire was pregnant!; Claire who did wild things; Claire who would say dirty things; Claire the career girl. I couldn't quite take it in, it seemed strange. Then again it didn't. Claire had always had a motherly side to her. In fact, even though she was younger than me, I always felt like Claire had looked after me in some way, shape or form (though to be fair I have that effect on a lot of people, I think)?
Six months later Stanley was born. I'll come straight out with it, I don't really like babies! They look wrinkly, cry a lot, smell and don't really get interesting until the age of three upwards (well that's just my opinion) but I love Stanley. He's calm and happy but maybe that has a lot to do with his parents, who radiate that towards him.

And so the other week I found myself at another mile stone in their lives: Their wedding and a amazing event it was. It was a great excuse to catch up with out friends; sleep in a Tipee (actually I was meant to, but you know I get cold easily, their was no hot shower, and I kept passing out by the fire in the cottage where everyone else was staying!); drink too much and dress like the lady that I am? Claire is the queen of vintage (God do I know it? When we lived together her room use to over flow with charity shop finds), so it was a stylish affair. The brides maids dresses were from vintage shops, flowers brilliantly done by my mum and sister (their florists) and the entertainment provided my a huge arrayof characters that fill Claire and Chris's life. A great wedding and may your happy journey through life together continue, Mr & Mrs Mills and Stanley.