Another two productive days, writing my own articles for the website and getting started on features for the magazine including skin care products, answering Men myths (whether shoe size relates to penis size, if hair products cause baldness, if briefs reduce sperm count etc) and emailing a billion companies for high-res images to use for the magazine. All in all, it's still amazing and going great.
This morning started off rather disastrous though - I'm glad it doesn't continue in that vein! As a lady pushes past me on an over-crowded train, I suddenly hear a crunch and realise she's managed to puncture my pot of M&S bean salad, spilling juice all over the carrier bag. After debating whether to just give up and bin it (it started to look like I'd just vomited into a plastic bag and was waving it around freely), I stop at a food counter at Vauxhall to grab a spare bag to decant it into, and spend the rest of the journey carrying it upright like a highly explosive bomb.
After work I finish the day off with a quick trip round Oxford Street in torrential rain before meeting up with a friend for a trip to Wagamama's. We have a good catch up over miso soup before walking along Southbank in the rain.
To top the day off in the same spirit that it started, I return home later to find water absolutely gushing from a light fitting in the hallway ceiling, whilst Jen is at a Set List show. After some running around like a psycho wombat attempting to dodge the waterfall (no lies), I realise there's only one person to call: my dad. Half an hour later, and I've managed to locate the stop tap and turn off the water, strategically place a wok, a glass bowl and a frying pan on the already-sodden stairs and throw down towels over the lake of water rapidly making it's way to the kitchen. Look at me, a strong independent woman, finding the stop tap. Not stressed at all.
By 11pm, Jen's dashed home and we've got a Polish plumber round, who has bad news and good news after looking at the water tanks in the loft. Ever the optimist, we start with the good news, which is that he can make it temporarily safe. This leads to the bad news that the tanks are for-no-better-words 'fucked' and need replacing. We spend the rest of the evening laughing about it, whilst water keeps steadily dripping through the light fitting in Jen's bedroom. At least she hadn't gone ahead yet for a new stair-runner to be fitted in, or that too would have been screwed!
More articles of mine online: A Matter of Time and A Toast to Breakfast.
the crazy happenings in my life