Babies

Luke and I have been talking for a while about having kids. Ever since we got married, the question has been brought up, nou just by us but by friends, by family. I don't really know what I think. Part of me is desperate to have a child. I see their fat cheeks, their long eyelashes, their soft hugs, and that's all I want. Not to mention the fact that if I had one, I wouldn't have to work for ages. And I'd get loads of attention. The right kind of attention. But another part of me can't deal with having kids

Bleurgh

Went out with a friend last night; yes, I would have preferred to sit on the sofa, but I am trying to do things differently. That's the point.

It was actually a lot of fun. I thought we wouldn't have much to talk about, but we chatted all night. I think the wine helped. I now feel horrendous.

The only thing worse than my job is my job with a hangover - literally the only thing stopping me killing everyone in here today is the amount of energy I would need to expend to do so.

Off to my parents house in the deepest darkest middle of nowhere for Easter weekend. Expect gin and tonics, arguments, and smoking out of the bathroom window a la Bridget Jones.

Back on Tuesday folks....

Nothin' Sweet About Bee....

Sorry...that title's been scratching at my head for ages, had to come out eventually. Which is particularly annoying since the song that inspired it is one of the most inane, annoying songs of the year. But it's done now.

Luke is always telling me how sweet I am. I suspect this is largely because I am so small. I also have a tendency to become quite childish when not getting my own way - fortunately for me this makes him laugh, and not strangle me with my own hair.

However, there is a difference between being superficially sweet - pink Tshirts, blonde hair, pouty lips - and being properly sweet. Sweet on the inside. That is definitely not me.

There follows a list of things that are definitely not "Sweet about Bee". Try not to judge me.

1. I am the most selfish person you will ever meet. I rarely do anything for altruistic reasons; I never give money to charity, I rarely put money into the envelope for leaving presents at work, I don't bother spending time with people unless absolutely necessary. I prefer my own company - I don't judge myself.
   
   
2. I never phone anyone. I never call my mum, or my dad; I absolutely never call friends for a chat. More often than not, if someone is calling me 'just for a chat' and for no specific purpose, I will reject the call.
   
   
3. I am a kleptomaniac. I steal things because I can. Usually, things I don't even want, or need - a mascara from a bathroom at a party, a cheap Topshop bracelet from a friend's bedroom. Nothing high value - that's not the point - it's more a sense of entitlement. Why should they have what I don't. Never mind that I could easily go out and buy it for myself.
   
   
4. I have cheated on every partner I have ever been with. Except Luke. I plan to keep it that way, but it's not a very good record.
   
   
5. I am incredibly lazy. I read about all these women that want to further their career, do something to improve the world - or at least their world - and all I want to do is sleep, go on holidays, drink cocktails. I couldn't give a monkeys about my job - or any other job.
   

I could go on, but I think the picture is becoming clear. Ok, so I'm an obnoxious, horrible, lazy slob. And your point is...?

(Oh, and in a happy footnote, it seems you can ignore my last post because the lovely Mimi appears to be writing again...thank god for indecisiveness.)

Mimi

One of the reasons I started blogging was that I've read some amazing blogs over the years. I know that mine is relatively crap compared to most of them, but they still inspired me to write my thoughts down, to chronicle what is happening in the world of me.

So I was very sad to note at the weekend that one of the blogs I devoured the most hungrily, the wonderful Mimi in New York, appears to be no more.

I actually met Ruth, Mimi's creator, about a hundred years ago when staying with friends in a little corner of Wales. She terrified me. Skinny, quick, beautiful and vicious. I was completely in awe - and don't think I said more than about five words to her in the whole two weeks I was there.

When I began reading Mimi, I had no idea that this was the same girl. Mimi was an amazing character - she had done so much and seen so much in her life. It was only when the blog's popularity grew, and Ruth unmasked herself in a series of interviews and photos, that I realised she was the same girl. I nearly fell off my chair. Since then I have read even more avidly, checking every day for an update into this exciting life that I could only dream of, but that had happened to someone so unlikely.

And now, Ruth appears to have stopped. It's such a shame, although I understand why she's done it. I hope that one day soon she finds a reason to start again.

I'll just have to content myself with her book for the time being...

Alone

I am having a crisis.

It's taken me a while to come back to this blog, because I was just living, just getting through the day and out of the door. It's taken me over a month to get to the point where I can admit that it's all going wrong. But it is.

I haven't a clue what started it. One day, I was getting up, going to work, coming home, hanging out with people, laughing. The next, I couldn't drag myself out of bed. I started getting into work later and later, wearing less and less make-up until I gave up altogether, wearing clothes I had worn the day before because, lying on the floor next to my bed, they were the closest to hand.

In the office, I have been doing nothing. All day every day. We are quiet at the moment anyway because of the recession, but I still have things sitting on my desk. Little things - tasks that would take half an hour at the most. But I can't bring myself to do them, and instead I lie awake at night worrying about the fact that they're so overdue and wondering when I will get caught.

Luke has been working long hours, and I have been getting home, throwing some food in the oven, and sitting down with a bottle of wine in front of the tv. Washing up sits undone until we completely run out of mugs. Bills are unpaid. The whole house needs a good clean, especially since my parents in law are coming to stay this weekend.

I really want to snap myself out of this. I do. I wake up in the morning full of good intentions, but then the weight of the day bears down on me and they all fall by the wayside. My car tax needs renewing. I'm not entirely sure the car is still insured. These are things that MUST be sorted out - but the thought just makes me want to go back to bed.

The worst thing of all though, the loneliest feeling, is that nobody knows about my crisis except me. No one - not even my husband - has any idea how I'm feeling. Although I'm late for work every day and don't do a thing, no one has noticed. Although I'm always half-cut when he gets home, and dinner is usually burnt, Luke hasn't noticed. And I certainly haven't had the energy to socialise recently - so none of my friends have noticed.

Things are still good between Luke and I - he puts my irrational behaviour down to me being tired, and since I just want to spend most of my time lying in bed with his arms around me, this works quite well. I still love him more than anything. And I know he feels the same way about me. But even so.

I really feel alone.

Deja Vu

Typical bloody day. Work. Rain. Cruella deciding to 'work from home' which means I have to work twice as hard to cover her stuff as well as my own, while she sits on the sofa eating toast. I wouldn't mind so much if it wasn't for the fact she's on twice my salary and does this about once a week, thus working 4 day weeks for full-time pay.

If I think about it too much I will scream.

Need to do something calming.

My Bloody Valentine

So, I have been conspicuously absent the last couple of days. Not just from the blog, but really just 'checked out'. Luke and I attended an 'Anti Valentines Ball' on Saturday. Very romantic. Or, more accurately, very drunken. Somehow by the time we got home on Sunday morning I had lost a shoe, seven out of ten acrylic nails, and was wearing my sexy red corset the wrong way round.

Sunday was thus spent prone on the sofa. Literally, all day.

Monday, back in the office, I managed to do very little (as usual), attract no attention (as usual) and escape early (not that usual, but still a fairly regular occurrence). Lu and I were meeting friends for dinner at 8:00, but since I was home by 4:30, I had quite a lot of time to wait. I was so tired, and not in the mood for going out, so I thought I'd have a tiny glass of wine to perk myself up a bit.

By the time I met everyone in the pub, I was feeling very perky. I'd managed to finish the whole bottle of wine while watching Project Runway. A lovely meal, two gin and tonics and the best part of another bottle of wine later, I was still in an excellent mood as Luke and I made our way home. A less excellent mood this morning though, it must be admitted.

Occasionally it occurs to me that if I can drink a whole bottle of wine without my husband noticing any symptoms, there is either something wrong with me, or something wrong with our marriage, but the thought is swiftly dismissed.

Also, this week I have been mostly discovering Twitter...very diverting.

Favouritism

I am extraordinarily grumpy today. It’s freezing bloody cold, I am tired, slightly hungover and I wish I was at home watching America’s Next Top Model, rather than sitting at my desk.

The situation is not improved by Cruella having decided to ‘work from home’ today – a move which B2 has sanctioned, but which would be completely out of the question for anyone else. Fair? I think not. B2 knows it as well – when I asked him this morning where she was, he whispered that she was working from home so quietly that I needed a qualification in lip reading to hear him.

I responded by mentioning her unscheduled absence loudly – twice – in B1’s vicinity. I wonder if he picked up on it.

You know what? I would like to get paid to sit on my sofa in my pyjamas and check my blackberry from time to time (if I had a blackberry, which I don’t, not being important enough). That woman defies belief. I am beyond words. I am mute.

Bitch.

Conclusions

I suppose the question is, why am I telling you about Cal, the OTGA? Maybe because I think it’ll help you to get me. Losing Cal had the most profound effect on me. I went from being one of the guys, someone he could have a laugh with, to – frankly – a complete psycho.

I’m not proud of it. I used to get drunk every evening and call him, repeatedly, leaving unintelligible messages on his machine. I texted him constantly. I hacked into his email and read it, constantly, torturing myself with the thought he might be with someone else. Gradually, he ensured that our shifts at the shop no longer coincided. He stopped coming on work nights out…who can blame the boy, when I was more than likely to get drunk and then follow him through the streets, screaming that we were meant to be together.

I did that.

It took me ages to get over him. Long after I left the shop, found myself a different job, I was still hacking into his hotmail – in fact, him changing his password was the only thing that stopped me. It was torture, but an exquisite kind of pain. He split up with his girlfriend not long after I left; he moved jobs too, and now he manages a café in a different town. Before my email monitoring stopped, I saw that he’d had flings with at least three of his staff. I think he’s seeing one of them now. I hope he’s happy. I am, and that’s the best revenge.

Cal, Interrupted

That momentous evening with Cal seemed like it would never end. Actually, it didn’t. We walked Rob home and put him to bed, grinning at each other the whole time. When we ended up back in the living room, alone, with revolting cups of instant coffee cooling in front of us, we didn't speak. We sat and stared. Slowly, as the sun began to seep through the window, we reached towards each other. From the first touch, we were possessed - clothes ripped off in a flash, electricity passing through our bodies in waves as we grabbed for each other again and again.

We couldn't have known it, but from here - this inauspicious beginning on a tatty sofa, with the noise of our friend retching in the background, wet coffee stains covering the lino, the smell of beer and fags in the air - everything changed. By the time we finally got to sleep, I felt that we had been together for ever, and I know Cal felt the same. When Rob stuck his head sheepishly into the living room, he was rendered completely speechless by the fact that we were lying on his sofa, limbs entwined, covered only by his grubby throw. But Cal and I were beaming from ear to ear.

Eventually, of course, Cal had to get up and go back to his girlfriend. Although I was walking on air, I truly believed that was that – a great night, never to be spoken of again. Another one to add to Bee's Catalogue of One Night Stands TM. Until I arrived for my shift in the coffee shop on Monday, saw him, and realised that I had completely lost the power of speech. He didn’t seem to be doing much better – we grinned at each other like idiots all morning, then shot out of the shop on our break, legged it round the nearest corner, and snogged the faces off each other like two sex-starved teenagers.

This became the pattern for the next few months. Cal was cheating on his girlfriend, and I was no saint – I had started seeing someone a few weeks before, although it hadn’t seemed significant then, and definitely didn't now. As bad as it sounds, I think that kept him on to fill the moments when Cal went back to her, to stop me sitting and worrying that this would be it, that our luck had run out. Every break we had, we broke free from the confines of the shop and walked until we were out of sight, before sitting down and exploring each other. Cal made me feel like no one had before him – I actually physically burned to be with him, something I’d never believed in but now couldn’t avoid. We took as many opportunities to be together as we could; stolen, glorious nights when his girlfriend was away, or at drunken house parties; once, when the shop was closed, in the store cupboard where we kept the syrup bottles, glass clinking as the shelves wobbled, the cloying smell of vanilla essence rising in the heat.

It wasn't just sex. We talked a lot about what we were doing, about the future, about the inevitability of coming clean to everyone and admitting we were an item. We both knew that had to happen. The day he came in, tears in his eyes, and told me that being with his girlfriend the night before had felt like he was cheating on me, I held him, heart hammering. We were meant for each other – I knew it, he knew it, and soon, once the housekeeping was taken care of, everyone would know it.

The day my heart broke started the same as any other. I was on the morning shift, Cal was not, and on the way to work I sent him a cheeky text, telling him I couldn’t wait to see him later on. Humming, I practically skipped down the hot pavement to the shop, grabbing my phone from my pocket as it beeped its bleak response.

**SHE KNOWS. I CAN’T DO THIS. IT'S OVER.**

The One that Got Away

The One that Got Away. I think it deserves the capital letters, don't you? Everyone has one. Luke and I have never spoken about it, but I'm sure he has one. I'm sure B1, B2 and Cruella all have them. I'm sure even Brad and Ange have them. But just because this is such a common phenomenon, does not make it any easier to bear.

My OTGA was a complete surprise. Cal and I worked together in my first job out of uni, a small coffee shop where the hours were long, the steam was hot and most of the staff were completely incompetent. I was 'having a break' before launching into accountancy and needed to earn some money and Cal had a grand plan to end up managing the shop, or one very like it. He was my team leader - I thought he was a great guy, not least because he was one of the few of my colleagues I could have an actual conversation with. He had a brilliantly quick, dry sense of humour, and he and I spent a lot of time laughing together about the customers, our colleagues and anything else we could find to be cynical (or bitchy) about.

I knew that Cal had a girlfriend, but this didn't matter one bit to me - I had already ascertained when I first started at the shop that I didn't fancy him, and our budding friendship had done nothing to make me change my mind about that. He just made being in the shop that bit more fun, that bit easier, and I found I didn't mind the long shifts and the over time nearly as much as long as I was on shift with him.

The crowd at the coffee shop was young, and very sociable, and we quite often piled out to the pub after we'd closed for the day. Cal and I would often stick together on these occasions, drinking pints and making each other laugh with progressively more stupid jokes. Sometimes the drinking went on longer, and we all ended up in a club, a big raucous group of us drinking and dancing until chucking out time.

It was one of those occasions. We had been drinking tequila - I forget why. It was almost closing time, and one of the younger girls was running around the club in tears looking for her lost shoes. I was hunting for her, trying to get her out before she caused any more trouble. As I pushed my way through the dark haze towards the bar, I tripped over someone's discarded pint glass and tumbled head first into Cal.

He caught me easily, righting me on my feet. As I stood there, trying to get my breath back, I looked up at him to ask if he'd seen Tia, but for some reason, I couldn't speak. Without saying a word himself, Cal leant down, and kissed me full on the lips.

I have never, ever had such a kiss. Perhaps because it was so unexpected, perhaps because of the Tequila but even now, god knows how many years later, thinking of that kiss still makes me tingle. I stood, reeling, as the bouncers shouted behind me for everyone to get out. We stared at each other for hours, neither of us really able to believe what had happened, until seconds later Tia jumped up behind him and insisted loudly that we all go back to hers for more drinks.

Usually, at this point, I would have made my excuses and left. But suddenly, I had no idea what was going on any more. Mutely, I left the club behind Tia and Cal. All our friends were outside, and none seemed to have any clue what had happened. As we started towards Tia's house, in a messy, noisy approximation of a crocodile, I was so wrapped up in my own feelings that I hardly noticed when Rob, another team leader, peeled away from the group and started being sick. It was only when Cal came up behind me, put his hand on my shoulder, and said 'I think we'd better take him home' that I even registered Rob's presence.

'Good idea', I replied, and we split from the rest of the group.

Dilemma

I promised myself I would at least keep the blog going. Even if no one’s reading it, I wanted to keep it going for myself. But the thing is, once you start, it seems like such a commitment…suddenly I’m so overwhelmed with all the things I want to say, that I end up saying none of them at all.

The whole intention of starting the blog was to talk about my day-to-day life. The quotidienne. But I’ve quickly realised that I can’t really talk about my life now, without letting you know about my life in the past; and I can’t move on and let go, change my life, while I’m still dwelling on that. Classic.

So, what should I do? Give up? The whole point is I’m not doing that any more. So please, prepare yourselves for an onslaught of mixed up, confused entries; some are now, some are then, some, I admit, are just crap.

Sorry.

Sick

Sorry for the lack of posting - I have not fallen off the face of the earth. Not literally anyway. After last week's slight disaster, I pretty much drank wine every night - not a lot, not in the same quantities as before, but still. This lessened my will to blog.

Unfortunately, it turns out karma's a bitch. Since Friday I have been a shivering, puking, wreck; I don't think it's the alcohol, I think it's a bug, but I can't help feeling that I've brought this on myself somehow. I will be back shortly, but in the meantime all I can cope with is lying in bed, with occasional breaks (for variety) lying on the bathroom floor.

On the up-side, I've lost nearly a stone in the last three days.

Today is a New Day

So, I was home early from work last night.

As I drove home, I thought to myself how I would have behaved in this situation a month ago. I would without doubt have gone to the supermarket, bought at least one bottle of wine - likely more - and gone home and finished them before Luke finished work.

I was so proud of myself, that this was all behind me, that I almost didn't notice when I parked the car at Sainsbury's. Never mind, I thought, since I was there, I'd nip in and get something for dinner. I wandered round the shop, and somehow, despite my absolute intentions and firm belief in myself, I found myself at the checkout with a bottle of wine in my hand.

By that point it seemed inevitable. And it didn't really even seem so bad - who gives up booze for a whole month anyway?

By the time Luke came home I was snoring quietly to myself on the sofa. The empty bottle was in the bin outside, and a cup of tea was cooling on the table in front of me. He felt sorry for me, being so tired, and made me dinner, despite the fact he'd been at work all day and I'd done virtually nothing. It was only at that point that the guilt started.

All paid jobs absorb and degrade the mind

I work in a small accountant’s office. There’s not really much to say other than that; it’s exactly as you would imagine a small accountant’s office to be. We are nominally part of a massive firm, with offices all over the world, but in our little outpost you’d never know it.

The office is tiny; nine of us crowded together in one room. Any time anyone makes a phone call, everyone stops what they’re doing and listens, whilst conducting ever more elaborate pretences of not listening. Any time anyone gets a cold, it’s a week of total disgust for everyone else (well, me anyway) at having to deal with someone else’s germs at close quarters, before, inevitably, everyone succumbs. Euch.

Inside the office itself, it's a morgue. No happy banter, no chat at all really. Communication with any like-minded person is only achieved through surreptitious emails. This would be understandable, if everyone was working really hard, but in actual fact, as far as I can tell from my prime position in the corner of the room, nobody is doing anything.

The absolute worst thing about working here though – worse than the pale grey walls, the mountains of files on every conceivable space, worse than the lack of soap in the ladies’ loo (that’s three weeks now) and worse even than the lack of decent coffee, is the other people.
As a quick flavour, let me introduce you to the key players.

Boss Number One (B1). Pompous, self-righteous, extremely ‘busy and important’. Comes from deepest darkest Manchester but speaks with a ridiculous faux-RP accent, because he thinks it will impress people. A nice guy when you get him away from the office, but laughable in a work scenario. Panics a lot.

Boss Number Two (B2). Promoted to the same level as B1 last year, pretends that career advancement, power etc mean nothing to him. Never does any work, but farms it all out to minions (i.e. me) and then inevitably takes all the credit. Spends all day every day reading about Liverpool FC online. Gets extremely angry if he actually has to do anything work related.

Office Manager (OM). Impossible to analyse. As nice as pie to you most of the time, then cold and cutting when you least expect it. Thinks she knows more about accountancy than the accountants. Has successfully convinced herself (and B1 and B2) that the office would fall apart if she wasn’t here. She’s been on holiday. It didn’t.

Office Lothario. Same level of qualification as me, although you wouldn’t think it to listen to him. Very full of own importance; talks loudly and often about relocating to the City, where he would be fully appreciated. Wish he would. Tries it on with every office temp that comes into his orbit, and regularly has four dates in a weekend (according to him). Suspect he actually spends his weekends eating pizza and washing his socks. Not even decent eye candy, so no use at all really.

Evil Co-Worker. Cruella only started recently, but has made a huge impression. Not in a good way. Came from a large, well-known accountancy firm and thus believes herself greatly superior to all of us. Strongly suspect she left under a cloud. Frequently asks me technical questions, despite being several years more qualified than me. Pretty unpopular with everyone, although B2 thinks the sun shines out of her. The rest of us are waiting for that to change. Or for her to bugger off back to her old job.

So, you see what I have to deal with. There are more people, but that gives you a general idea. They’re not all awful – one girl, Lisa, is actually normal, and generally responsible for keeping me sane on a daily basis. She’s also brilliant at her job. Unfortunately, she’s only on a temporary contract and will be leaving in two months, as there’s not enough work to go round, now that Cruella’s been hired. Nonsensical, illogical and very, very angry-making…that’s just the way B1 and B2 roll.

I can't remember a worse time...

The first time ever was something of an anticlimax. Of course, it is for most people...the first shy fumblings in the dark can never match up to the illicit thrill we got from the real life confessions and frankly unmanageable tips in more! magazine. But my first time really was an anticlimax, because I had deprived myself of the one thing that makes all girls' first times worthwhile. I couldn't speak to my friends about it.

This was not because my friends were devout catholics, or those slightly creepy 'True Love Waits' teenagers. It wasn't because I was ashamed, or embarrassed, or I thought I'd done it wrong. It was simply because I had been telling them for over a year that I'd already done it. A family friend, I told them, helpfully living far enough away that they would never meet, but close enough that my family could conceivably go and visit his parents all the time.

What a lover he was, this 'family friend' who actually lived nowhere but in my imagination. For months I wowed my friends with stories, always tailored to my audience...the bed covered in rose petals for the romantics, the stolen bottles of champagne for the party girls, and, worst of all, the stories that make me cringe to this day - for the more curious of my friends, the intimate sexual details, all of course gleaned from the only source I had. Yes, more! magazine again.Whoever heard of a fourteen year old boy with a ten inch penis? But they lapped up my stories, and for the first time in my school career I stopped feeling like the awkward geek in the corner, and started to blossom as a cool, experienced leader.

So when it finally happened, in a cold, dark bedroom at a particularly boring party, with a slightly chubby boy from the year below me in school, I immediately thought 'Thank God that's over with'. Swiftly followed by 'Who on earth can I talk to about this?'. I can't even remember the event itself, perhaps because these things are only cemented in your mind with the retelling and the reliving. I remember sitting on his bed, having just been introduced to him by a mutual friend. He seemed as desperate to get it over with as I was. And in a sharp, slightly uncomfortable instant, it was. I remember gathering up my things and going back to the party, carrying on as if nothing of any importance had happened. That was it. My monumental step from childhood into adulthood. Less than five minutes in a grubby teenage boy's bedroom.

I had never felt cooler. Or wanted to cry more.

Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards.

Sometimes I do wonder how I got to where I am. At school I was clever. I was one of those people who hid behind books; I had two close friends, but everyone else pretty much left me alone. Which was how I liked it.

Then I got into fifth year and everything changed - suddenly, in true Hollywood style, my brace came off, my boobs grew and my legs got longer. These Hollywood films all have their roots somewhere near fact, you know. My friends and I started getting invited to parties, and I discovered boys. Actually, that's not quite true - I had had plenty of nights crying into my pillow over unrequited crushes prior to that. Better to say that that's when boys discovered me. And boy, did I let them discover me.

By the time I went to university, three years later, I had all but lost touch with my girl friends. I had a succession of boyfriends, one after the other, sometimes overlapping - a pattern that continued right up until I met Luke. I'd love to say that I was a serial monogamist, a la Hugh Grant in Four Weddings and a Funeral, but...er...well, that wouldn't exactly be true. If you get my drift.

I did a lot of things I wasn't proud of, but hey, I was at university! You're supposed to do stupid things then, right? It's all part of the learning curve. And I was having a brilliant time. Parties every night, dressing up, drinking, dancing...I was living the high life and loving every minute of it. Until one afternoon in my third year, when I was making a just-out-of-bed-but-must-go-to-lecture cup of coffee and accidentally smashed the mug.

I started crying, and found I couldn't stop for three days.

My then boyfriend, Adam, was very supportive - or so he thought - arranging for me to see my doctor, taking me to counselling sessions. The problem is, that didn't help because there was nothing wrong with me. I knew that, but they couldn't see it. So I didn't take the pills the doctor prescribed, and I started bunking the counselling. I got fed up of the 'pressure' I felt that I was under from Adam, and leapt headfirst into bed with a guy from my course, Lee. Somehow I managed to see both of them for a while, but eventually Adam had enough, and I moved out of his flat and in with the new guy. I honestly felt like I had turned a corner.

Needless to say, I hadn't. Lee and I didn't live together for long, although we carried on seeing each other for 3 years. I needed my space, or so I told myself, and moved into a tiny little apartment, a studio really. This gave me freedom I had never had before, and I think that's when I started really drinking seriously - before, it had always been with friends. Now, I actively chose to drink alone. More frighteningly, once I was drunk, I would go out into town - always alone, pretending I was with friends if anyone asked. More than once I ended up going home with strangers. Then the next morning, I would wake up, feel guilty, have a shower and then run to the security of Lee's flat for a couple of days to get over the fear.

It's no surprise that during this period I lost touch with all my friends, other than Lee and his mates, and one close girlfriend, Lara, who was just so stubborn and persistent I couldn't get rid of her. I didn't care though - that just gave me more time to sit on my own in my studio apartment and watch television, which was all I could really be bothered to do most of the time. If you know any guy who would put up with that kind of behaviour, then I'm telling you now - he deserves a medal. Lee was amazing, so much so that I didn't realise there was an problem until I walked in on him in bed with his flatmate.

Now, thinking back, I'm amazed that the sight didn't send me spiralling completely. But bizarrely, I think it woke me up a little. Also, I was completely broke by that point, and without him to rely on for loans, I was effectively forced to stop drinking. I sat in the apartment for three weeks and actually managed to do some studying for the first time in ages; I became even more of a hermit, but at least I was being constructive. Eventually though Lara decided she had had enough of my cloistered lifestyle, and dragged me out to a bar, where we reckoned we had enough cash for one drink each before going home.

Funny how life works, because that's the night I met Luke. And everything changed.

Always bring your own sunshine

Some things that make me happy:

• The first cup of tea in the morning
• The last afternoon of work before a holiday
• The first night in clean sheets
• White wine in the sunshine
• Red wine by the fire
• 24 Season 7, starting soon...

Enough organization, enough lists and we think we can control the uncontrollable

So here goes, the new Bee for 2009. As a rule I hate New Year's Resolutions - and almost never stick to them - but what the hey, here are mine...

1. No alcohol for the whole of January. For me, it's a biggie. I was drinking an obscene amount last year - at five foot three, you can't really justify a whole bottle of wine every evening before your husband even gets home from work. And there's only so many times he will accept overcooked pasta for dinner, or accept that the reason you're slurring your words is that you're tired.

2. Stay in touch with old friends. I'm rubbish at it. Sometimes, I think that maybe I'm just a monster - I don't need other people like most people seem to, and I'm perfectly happy on my own. Other times, I just wish there was someone I could have a chat with. The odd thing is that even in the midst of that loneliness, I would still refuse to pick up the phone when friends rang. Or when my mum rang. Or when anyone rang, really, I just couldn't be bothered. Hardly anyone rings any more, but I am sure I can change. And one of the ways I'm going to do that is...

3. Be open to new things. Probably the cheesiest cliché on my list. But as well as ignoring old friends, I have been hiding from new ones. I used to be part of a huge gang - now I rarely go out. When colleagues suggest beers I make excuses, preferring to go home and drink wine in front of the television. When we're invited out for dinners, or away for weekends, I feign sickness to avoid going. I never used to be shy, and I want to do something about it before I become a total hermit, my husband leaves me and I end up in a smelly flat with six cats and a bottle of whisky for company. It can't be hard. I just have to start saying yes.

And finally...

4. Stop living in a pig sty. About six months ago, Luke (my husband) and I moved house. We moved from a tiny shoe box to an enormous palace that we can't really afford, but Lu was determined that it would improve our quality of life and make us happier. Unfortunately, until this weekend, it has only made me feel guilty. Boxes still waiting to be unpacked, washing up lying in the sink for weeks on end, newspapers, cds and clothes creating a new landscape everywhere you looked. It was so bad I couldn't face doing anything about it. But this weekend...I have turned a corner. The kitchen gleams. Almost all the clothes are washed, and the floors are hoovered. I am a veritable domestic goddess. I hope it lasts...

The world belongs to the energetic

A new year, a new start.

For what seems like the whole of the last year I have been hiding under a cloud. Constantly exhausted, grumpy, mean. A year spent alienating people, even my best friends. A year drinking alone in front of the television. A year slipping from showering every day, to honestly believing that one shower during the working week was acceptable. And then only if my hair was noticeably greasy.

This has to stop. And it seems only fitting that today, at the beginning of the most depressing month of the year, when the January blues hit and everyone goes back to work, the change starts.