"No, Ore-gano. Oregano." Emma mouthed into her iphone as she pulled into the FastTech carpark.
"What is that?" Came the reply.
Emma closed her eyes in exasperation, remembering that she was actually driving a car she snapped them open before she rammed the shiny new volvo that was coming towards her. Putting her other hand up to say sorry whilst still speaking to Becca on the phone caused the driver to look alarmed before before rounding the corner and driving away from her quickly. Driving never had been one of her strong points; she was distracted far too easily.
"It's a herb Becca, you'll find it in one of the aisles of the supermarket that doesn't have wine down it."
"Oh, no wonder I don't know what it is then."
Emma heard her flatmate giggle down the phone, and wondered for a brief moment whether it was possible that Becca had actually poured wine on her cornflakes that morning.
"Okay, have you got that?" Emma asked, slotting her beat up Renault Clio in between Steve's Mazda and Amelda's gleaming Alfa Romeo. Clearly her work colleagues were far more eager to get into FastTech this morning, Emma was more eager about getting out.
"Yep. Beef mince, lean, tomatoes, firm, Oregano, green..."
As Becca began repeating back the shopping list of ingredients for Spaghetti Bolognese Emma looked up at the FastTech offices and felt that familiar feeling crash over her like a wave, another dull day, in a dull building, doing a dull job that she resented but kept her in wine. It wasn't that FastTech weren't a good company to work for but whilst at university Emma had higher hopes. However, graduating in the middle of the worst recession for decades hadn't been what she was expecting and with rent money hanging over her head and the only thing to eat in the flat being a can of mouldy baked beans her career in Events Management had never quite materialised and she'd taken the job at FastTech before she'd ended up eating her own arm.
And now here she was, two years later at the age of twenty four and doing a job where she was abused by customers on a headset for eight hours everyday and her boss was somewhere between completely psycho and oddly friendly.
"...I think that's everything, right? Emma?" Becca was waiting for a reply on the end of the line.
"Shit, sorry. Yes, that's right. Do you think you can get all of that?"
"No problem. Thanks so much for doing this Em, I do really appreciate it."
"It's fine, I'm looking forward to it, see you later."
Emma put the phone down and experienced a little frisson of excitement. Cooking was the only thing that excited her anymore, (okay, so she didn't currently have a boyfriend) and living with a culinary distaster as a flatmate meant that every night,when she walked out of the FastTech office at 5pm she would get to spend the next two hours surrounded by the fragrance of fresh herbs, feel the £100 carving knife that she had treated herself to one Christmas slice through onions and glide through chicken breast and smile at the satisfaction she got from seeing Becca's eyes light up when she put down two plates of steaming, perfectly arranged and deliciously scented food in front of them. There was something so warm and fuzzy about cooking for people, everyone was happier when they had a tummy full of nice food and Emma loved being the one to make them feel like it.
First though, she had to get through today. Jolting her out of her happy place there was a knock on her car window, Glenda was waving franticly at her from underneath a bright pink umbrella dotted with giant purple flowers. Emma buzzed the window down.
"Morning Emma, love. Are you coming in? It's frightful out here."
Glenda was a short woman, in her early 50's, she had a kind face and had worked for FastTech for twenty five years, if you asked her she would explain that after her first child was born she had taken the job part time to bring in a little extra money and had simply become so comfortable there that she'd never left. The idea that she might never leave made Emma want to throw up on herself.
"Morning Glenda. On my way. Is there room under that umbrella of yours?" Emma couldn't help but be nice to Glenda, she meant well and unlike some of the other cretins in the office she did genuinely care about everyone.
"Of course dear, come on." Glenda smiled down at her.
They huddled together underneath the umbrella and shuffled across the car park, Emma could feel the cold February sleet seeping into the back of her tights and once inside the building it was no warmer. Janet, the boss, insisted on only having the office heating on for an hour in the morning and an hour in the afternoon in order to watch "over spending", in the meantime they all wore fifteen jumpers and tried to hide the fact that they'd swapped their heels for Ugg boots underneath their desks.
Emma waved goodbye to Glenda, who's cubicle was further down the open plan office and made her way to her own desk. Covered with stray pieces of paper, sales targets and the precious Customer Care Bible she checked out her damp hair in the black computer screen, even with Glenda's umbrella her dark blonde hair had flattened itself against her scalp in protest at the drizzle outside and the fact that it hadn't been cut in months. She really should get round to that. Becca had been frowning at her every time she walked into a room for weeks. A beautician herself, Becca always looked immaculate and frowned upon women who didn't care about their appearance with the same overwhelming attention to detail that she did.
Switching on her computer Emma began her morning routine of sifting through the papers left in her in-tray from Friday, when she had beat a hasty retreat from the office, the fact that it was the weekend and the opportunity to spend it blending flavours in their pokey kitchen and burying her nose in cookery books had become too much to resist and she had practically sprinted out of the office at 5pm. The now awake computer screen flashed up and announced 'Good Morning' to her before changing to the FastTech logo on her desktop, it had been of Patrick Dempsey with his shirt off but Janet had told her it was "inappropriate" for the office before staring at for a little bit too long.
FastTech were a computer software company, who specialised in "helping people" who werent IT literate, Emma, IT illilterate herself couldn't for the life of her understand why she had gotten the job. Had she thought about it more carefully, Geoffrey, the manager at the time, now sailing around the Med on his yacht 'Beyonce', was a bit of a ladies man and had been desperate to have some young blood in the office, when Emma had walked into the interview wearing her smart black suit she'd only ever worn once to a funeral, he had taken in her softly curled blonde hair, her moss green eyes and the air of eagerness surrounding her and had hired her on the spot. Grateful that she'd to both pay rent AND eat that month Emma had been too overjoyed to even realise that she'd be taking calls from confused and angry people all day who would need her to explain how to open up an internet window. She had been at FastTech for two years now and even though she had a cubicle (at the beginning she'd had to share a desk with fat Brian who liked to bring Egg and Cress sandwiches to work...everyday!) she couldn't see herself hanging around long enough to graduate to actual office status.
Hovering the mouse over the internet window she breifly considered whether to open up Facebook but a quick glance at the clock told her it was only 9:28am, she could wait until at least 10am before stalking all of the people she went to university with and weeping at how their lives has turned out in comparision to hers.
"Right, Morning all. Can I have some attention please?"
Janet's overly loud voice could be heard from the canteen on the third floor nevermind the entire office. Sliding down in her swivel chair Emma tried to hide from view, Janet probably wouldn't be able to see her anyway, at just a little over 5ft Janet suffered from small person complex and was always convinced people were talking down to her (excuse the pun), in turn she treated everyone with as little respect as she could making sure that everyone knew that she was the boss, even if what she was saying wasn't right. Having stood up for Glenda once after over-hearing Janet berate her for walking through the office too slowly Emma was now officially on her 'Naughty List' so it was best to keep her head down.
"As you all know, with the financial situation the way it is FastTech has been struggling over the last couple of months," A tension filled hush fell over the office floor as everyone tried not to think about the word 'redundancy' "I don't want you all to panic, as far as I'm aware there are to be no redundancies in this sector," A little of the tension ebbed away and Emma was surrounded by sighs of relief, "however, if it comes to it that and redundancies do have to be made I will obviously have to follow through with it, therefore I will be keeping a close eye on your work over the coming weeks. Thank you."
Janet turned on her heel, six inch, not that it helped, and slammed the door of her tiny office with finesse. Within seconds Glenda was over at her desk.
"Oh Emma, do you think we'll be alright? I'd never cope if I was made redundant, Trevor and I are thinking about buying a timeshare in Spain." Glenda fiddled nervously with the giant beaded necklace around her neck.
"I'm sure it will be fine Glenda, don't worry. And hey, if it does happen you'll have more time to spend in that lovely timeshare." Emma smiled up at her kindly as a new email notification popped up in the corner of her computer screen. Her stomach sprouted butterflies.
"I suppose it would be nice to spend more time with the Grandchildren." Glenda smiled, not very convincingly and shuffled off back to her desk before psycho Janet saw.
Emma hovered the mouse over her inbox, enjoying the anticipation of not knowing what the email was going to say but knowing full well who it was from. Michael. She clicked and it sprung open.
From: michaelhouldcroft@fasttech.co.uk
To: emmamidland@fasttech.co.uk
Subject: Important Business...
I know what colour your knickers are ;)
Tuesday 30 August 2011
Friday 29 July 2011
"You're not 15 anymore."
Sarah is...Excited!
[Anna commented on your status: About what?]
[Sarah replied to comment: New sofa arriving today :)]
[Anna left a comment: And you're excited about that?]
[Sarah replied to comment: Yes...I've been waiting all day!]
[Anna left a comment: Remember when we used to get excited about pink wine Sarah?...compare those excitements...]
[Sarah replied to comment: ...alright, point taken. Piss off!]
Turning up the Spice Girls to drown out the sound of my Mum shouting up the stairs for me to turn it down my 15 year old self sat cross-legged on my bedroom floor in front of the mirror and blew the excess eye shadow from the brush, (silver glitter shadow, free on the front cover of Mizz! magazine and totally in style!), gently sweeping it across my lid, before doing the same to the other eye, a thick layer of mascara (from the market on Saturday - £3.50 - bargain!) and no liner, because I hadn't quite worked out how to use it yet, and I was done. Standing up I smoothed down my silver PVC skirt, it stopped just before the knee so it wasn't really short enough but there was nothing I could do about that, I admired the matching top, equally shiny and halterneck, it always felt risky not wearing a bra but none of the other girls did.
"You look nice." Mum said as I came wobbling down the stairs in black wedged sandals. (I looked like a pale Turkey wrapped in Baco foil.)
"Thanks, can I have a lift?" I beamed back, though the shoes were maiming my feet.
Sure enough my Mum dutifully dropped me off at Becca's house and we proceeded to get "drunk" on the cooking sherry in her parent's alcohol cupboard whilst they were out before walking the short way down the road to Gary Rudd's birthday party - held at the local football club the night went by in a blur of glitter hairspray and the Macarena until finally, the part all girls dreaded, unless you were Kimberley Whats-her-face with her perfect hair swishing round her shoulders and tiny pink skirt that all the boys spent the night trying to see up, those first first chords of Robbie Williams' 'Angels' would blare out and everyone would pretend that they didn't really want to slow dance with a boy anyway. Boys smelled. Whilst eyeing the girls who were slow-dancing with their boyfriends evilly over the top of your glass of Cherryade.
Falling into bed that night at 11.30pm (I'd be so tired tomorrow, it's so late!), not bothering to take off my make-Up because my 15 year old self didn't see it as a big deal, I turned on the tiny torch I kept under my pillow and opened my fluffy pink diary (unfortunately this is true - I found it the other day!), pulling out the matching pen I proceeded to doodle love hearts round Jamie Figg's name and add our names up using the 'Love Calculator' before finally falling asleep, safe in the knowledge that at 89% me and Jamie were totally meant to be.
[Anna is...24 in 3 months. Fuck.]
[Gemma is...ENGAGED :)]
[Anna commented on Gemma's status: ..........?]
"Are you finished in the bathroom yet?" The Boy shouts. (Must point out that The Boy is definitely NOT Jamie Figg.)
"Almost"
"What are you doing in there?"
Kneading the last of the Clarins Night Perfect skin cream into my Bulldog frowned forehead, I brush my teeth, floss (God, I'm getting old!) and rinse and spit. I'm fairly sure that I've been in the bathroom for ten million years and I now know with certainty that I look worse than when I went in, it's like a disappointing episode of 'Stars in their Eyes'. Snuggling down into bed the skin cream wafts up my nose and I wonder how something that smells like tanning oil from the 90's can be doing anything for my skin overnight.
"Gemma got engaged." I say, sounding not at all judgemental.
"Hmmmm." Is the reply I recieve.
"Doesn't that scare you?"
"Not really. All of your friends are getting married or engaged or having babies. Emily just had a baby two weeks ago.
"Yeah, but we're only 23, some of my friends are still 22." I gawp in the darkness.
"It's called growing up babe, it's what people do. Go to sleep."
After those sound words of wisdom I lie awake for another hour, counting off the amount of people I went to school with who now have babies or are planning a wedding and it hits me like that cooking sherry used to, raw and rough...I'm not 15 and wearing silver eye shadow anymore.
"You've been to two weddings this year already and you're only just realising you're not 15 anymore? Really Anna? Really?" Emily eyes me over the table at lunch.
"It's just crept up on me!" I protest, sipping my latte sheepishly and staring at the baby gently suckling at the bottle Emily's clutching.
"Well, we're all older now Hun, we aren't 15 and ripping the song lyrics out of Smash Hits! anymore." Emily lifts up baby George to burp him. Christ, I sometimes need The Boy to do that to me!
My buzzing phone alerts me to a new email, a new responsibility. It's only work but still, it's something we never would have worried about at 15 and 16, Mum and Dad bought the food, Mum and Dad paid for the water, electricity and whatever meant that I had extra channels on the t.v. in my bedroom. I got money on my birthdays and my Grandparents would give me £5 a week pocket money. Life was good at 16. Now, I was spending my Friday afternoons in John Lewis looking for a set of silver steak knives to buy a Bride and Groom that I went to school with that they would never bloody use.
As if in protest of my 23 year old self I drove home from lunch with Emily and George with the Spice Girls on full blast in the car, who cares about the dodgy looks from that bloke at the traffic lights. Once home I proceeded to find my B*Witched albums out and dance around the house with a hairbrush...alright, I couldn't find my hairbrush so it was a can of deodorant...until all worries, stress, babies, engagement gifts and wedding outfits were banished from my tiny 15 year old self 's brain...thank God there was no cooking sherry around really.
When Adele and Keevy abruptly stopped singing half way through the chorus of 'Rollercoaster' I knew I'd been rumbled...sure enough The Boy was watching me from the doorway of the kitchen. In situations such as this there really is only one thing to be done...turning the stereo back on I finished my routine and flung myself into his unsuspecting arms.
"Are you being 15 again?" He said, admiring the bunches in my hair.
"Maybe." I looked innocent, (honestly, I looked ridiculous.)
"Then I'm afraid we can't do what I had planned for tonight," The Boy pulls out a bottle of Champagne from behind his back, " because Miss, you're underage...for both things."
Suddenly, my 15 year old self didn't seem so fun anymore, maybe being an adult has it's perks after all!! But whilst you still have that B*Witched CD stashed under your bed you can always go back to that girl you used to be...the fun parts anyway!
xxx
[Anna commented on your status: About what?]
[Sarah replied to comment: New sofa arriving today :)]
[Anna left a comment: And you're excited about that?]
[Sarah replied to comment: Yes...I've been waiting all day!]
[Anna left a comment: Remember when we used to get excited about pink wine Sarah?...compare those excitements...]
[Sarah replied to comment: ...alright, point taken. Piss off!]
Turning up the Spice Girls to drown out the sound of my Mum shouting up the stairs for me to turn it down my 15 year old self sat cross-legged on my bedroom floor in front of the mirror and blew the excess eye shadow from the brush, (silver glitter shadow, free on the front cover of Mizz! magazine and totally in style!), gently sweeping it across my lid, before doing the same to the other eye, a thick layer of mascara (from the market on Saturday - £3.50 - bargain!) and no liner, because I hadn't quite worked out how to use it yet, and I was done. Standing up I smoothed down my silver PVC skirt, it stopped just before the knee so it wasn't really short enough but there was nothing I could do about that, I admired the matching top, equally shiny and halterneck, it always felt risky not wearing a bra but none of the other girls did.
"You look nice." Mum said as I came wobbling down the stairs in black wedged sandals. (I looked like a pale Turkey wrapped in Baco foil.)
"Thanks, can I have a lift?" I beamed back, though the shoes were maiming my feet.
Sure enough my Mum dutifully dropped me off at Becca's house and we proceeded to get "drunk" on the cooking sherry in her parent's alcohol cupboard whilst they were out before walking the short way down the road to Gary Rudd's birthday party - held at the local football club the night went by in a blur of glitter hairspray and the Macarena until finally, the part all girls dreaded, unless you were Kimberley Whats-her-face with her perfect hair swishing round her shoulders and tiny pink skirt that all the boys spent the night trying to see up, those first first chords of Robbie Williams' 'Angels' would blare out and everyone would pretend that they didn't really want to slow dance with a boy anyway. Boys smelled. Whilst eyeing the girls who were slow-dancing with their boyfriends evilly over the top of your glass of Cherryade.
Falling into bed that night at 11.30pm (I'd be so tired tomorrow, it's so late!), not bothering to take off my make-Up because my 15 year old self didn't see it as a big deal, I turned on the tiny torch I kept under my pillow and opened my fluffy pink diary (unfortunately this is true - I found it the other day!), pulling out the matching pen I proceeded to doodle love hearts round Jamie Figg's name and add our names up using the 'Love Calculator' before finally falling asleep, safe in the knowledge that at 89% me and Jamie were totally meant to be.
[Anna is...24 in 3 months. Fuck.]
[Gemma is...ENGAGED :)]
[Anna commented on Gemma's status: ..........?]
"Are you finished in the bathroom yet?" The Boy shouts. (Must point out that The Boy is definitely NOT Jamie Figg.)
"Almost"
"What are you doing in there?"
Kneading the last of the Clarins Night Perfect skin cream into my Bulldog frowned forehead, I brush my teeth, floss (God, I'm getting old!) and rinse and spit. I'm fairly sure that I've been in the bathroom for ten million years and I now know with certainty that I look worse than when I went in, it's like a disappointing episode of 'Stars in their Eyes'. Snuggling down into bed the skin cream wafts up my nose and I wonder how something that smells like tanning oil from the 90's can be doing anything for my skin overnight.
"Gemma got engaged." I say, sounding not at all judgemental.
"Hmmmm." Is the reply I recieve.
"Doesn't that scare you?"
"Not really. All of your friends are getting married or engaged or having babies. Emily just had a baby two weeks ago.
"Yeah, but we're only 23, some of my friends are still 22." I gawp in the darkness.
"It's called growing up babe, it's what people do. Go to sleep."
After those sound words of wisdom I lie awake for another hour, counting off the amount of people I went to school with who now have babies or are planning a wedding and it hits me like that cooking sherry used to, raw and rough...I'm not 15 and wearing silver eye shadow anymore.
"You've been to two weddings this year already and you're only just realising you're not 15 anymore? Really Anna? Really?" Emily eyes me over the table at lunch.
"It's just crept up on me!" I protest, sipping my latte sheepishly and staring at the baby gently suckling at the bottle Emily's clutching.
"Well, we're all older now Hun, we aren't 15 and ripping the song lyrics out of Smash Hits! anymore." Emily lifts up baby George to burp him. Christ, I sometimes need The Boy to do that to me!
My buzzing phone alerts me to a new email, a new responsibility. It's only work but still, it's something we never would have worried about at 15 and 16, Mum and Dad bought the food, Mum and Dad paid for the water, electricity and whatever meant that I had extra channels on the t.v. in my bedroom. I got money on my birthdays and my Grandparents would give me £5 a week pocket money. Life was good at 16. Now, I was spending my Friday afternoons in John Lewis looking for a set of silver steak knives to buy a Bride and Groom that I went to school with that they would never bloody use.
As if in protest of my 23 year old self I drove home from lunch with Emily and George with the Spice Girls on full blast in the car, who cares about the dodgy looks from that bloke at the traffic lights. Once home I proceeded to find my B*Witched albums out and dance around the house with a hairbrush...alright, I couldn't find my hairbrush so it was a can of deodorant...until all worries, stress, babies, engagement gifts and wedding outfits were banished from my tiny 15 year old self 's brain...thank God there was no cooking sherry around really.
When Adele and Keevy abruptly stopped singing half way through the chorus of 'Rollercoaster' I knew I'd been rumbled...sure enough The Boy was watching me from the doorway of the kitchen. In situations such as this there really is only one thing to be done...turning the stereo back on I finished my routine and flung myself into his unsuspecting arms.
"Are you being 15 again?" He said, admiring the bunches in my hair.
"Maybe." I looked innocent, (honestly, I looked ridiculous.)
"Then I'm afraid we can't do what I had planned for tonight," The Boy pulls out a bottle of Champagne from behind his back, " because Miss, you're underage...for both things."
Suddenly, my 15 year old self didn't seem so fun anymore, maybe being an adult has it's perks after all!! But whilst you still have that B*Witched CD stashed under your bed you can always go back to that girl you used to be...the fun parts anyway!
xxx
Monday 14 February 2011
Valentine's Day - Friend or Foe?
Valentine's Day. The one notorious day of the year that everyone either loves to love or loves to hate. In my experience it can be spent one of three ways;
1) Completely ignored.
2) Loved up and romantic.
or
3) In bed, watching re-runs of Sex and the City with the only three men a girl really needs, Ben, Jerry and Mr.Big.
It just so happens that this year I will be indulging in option two and, without it being too sickly, enjoying my first Valentine's Day with the bf. However, they haven't all been like that, a particularly adventurous traffic light night speed dating incident springs to mind.
A suggestion made after copious amounts of Bombay Sapphire and too many viewings of 'The Notebook' (I wonder how many of you girlies will be Notebook-ing your men this evening!) Jen returned back to our flat with a look of genuine triumph on her face.
"I've signed us up!"
"For what? The Army? Carrie Bradshaw wannabes club?"
"Traffic Light Night" Jen flopped down on the sofa and helped herself to the open bag of Doritoes next to me.
Having just managed not to snort wine out of my nose in protest, Hannah got there before me.
"WHY??!!"
I'm fairly sure the shriek could be heard from the top of our eight storey building.
"It will be fun! And no-one wants to stay in on Valentine's Day."
"Erm, I do!" I protested. I could see option three getting further and further away from me. Sob.
It was no use protesting, Jen was adamant it wouldn't be bad, with the promise on the table that she would cook every night for a week and buy the wine we spent a considerable few hours the next evening trying to pick out outfits that didn't scream any of the below;
A) Just sex please!
B) I really don't want to be here.
C) Please please marry me and save me from a life of living with cats and eating Marmite out of the jar!
In the end jeans, a nice top and a nicely styled black blazer did the trick...apparently for all three of us. God love identical high street fashion stores. And so, with apprehension in our eyes yet the grateful knowledge that the evening was being held in a pub off we went.
The pub was nice, the wine was chilled and after being there for ten minutes I had only spotted two guys that looked as if they still lived with their Mother's and one with potential murder in his eyes. Glass of wine in hand, it was time to head to our tables.
For anyone who doesn't know about or has never been to a traffic light night, it's speed dating but each girl gets a traffic light on her table, after each guy she presses; Red = Not interested, Amber = Maybe, Green = Get your coat! Then at the end there is a chance to chat to your maybe's or go get lucky with your Green's!
Well, my evening consisted of 'No Underwear Guy', 'Comic Book Guy', 'Snorter Guy' and 'Rotten Egg Breath Guy'. Needless to say my Red light button was starting to smoke. But then, whilst making slitting your throat actions at Hannah across the room, Harry sat down. (No girls, unfortunately not Prince Harry, I don't think he does speed dating in South London!)
Harry was 26, still lived with his parents, worked in a Lab and had, along with his cropped too short brown hair and nervous smile, a degree in Microbiology. But he was the nicest guy I had spoken to all night. All he wanted was to move out of his parent's house and find a nice girl that he could spoil.
Unfortunately I wasn't that girl but fairly safe in the knowledge that he was probably a virgin I pointed him in Jen's direction and waved him off.
In a slight wine haze, with our feet aching from last season's Kurt Geiger heels and Harry's number in Jen's iphone (no need to mention the virgin part to her just yet.) we intrepid singletons headed for home and a doctor's appointment with McDreamy and McSteamy.
Valentine's traffic light night wasn't a complete waste of time, we didn't make Jen cook every night anyway and meeting Harry had made me realise not all men at speed dating are terrifying. Just 90%.
So, whether your waiting for 24 Red Velvet cupcakes to bake in the oven or you're avoiding all restaurants, card shops and florists like the plague today, just remember, tomorrow's a new day and you don't need one day a year to tell someone, anyone, that you love them.
Happy Valentine's Day!! xxx
1) Completely ignored.
2) Loved up and romantic.
or
3) In bed, watching re-runs of Sex and the City with the only three men a girl really needs, Ben, Jerry and Mr.Big.
It just so happens that this year I will be indulging in option two and, without it being too sickly, enjoying my first Valentine's Day with the bf. However, they haven't all been like that, a particularly adventurous traffic light night speed dating incident springs to mind.
A suggestion made after copious amounts of Bombay Sapphire and too many viewings of 'The Notebook' (I wonder how many of you girlies will be Notebook-ing your men this evening!) Jen returned back to our flat with a look of genuine triumph on her face.
"I've signed us up!"
"For what? The Army? Carrie Bradshaw wannabes club?"
"Traffic Light Night" Jen flopped down on the sofa and helped herself to the open bag of Doritoes next to me.
Having just managed not to snort wine out of my nose in protest, Hannah got there before me.
"WHY??!!"
I'm fairly sure the shriek could be heard from the top of our eight storey building.
"It will be fun! And no-one wants to stay in on Valentine's Day."
"Erm, I do!" I protested. I could see option three getting further and further away from me. Sob.
It was no use protesting, Jen was adamant it wouldn't be bad, with the promise on the table that she would cook every night for a week and buy the wine we spent a considerable few hours the next evening trying to pick out outfits that didn't scream any of the below;
A) Just sex please!
B) I really don't want to be here.
C) Please please marry me and save me from a life of living with cats and eating Marmite out of the jar!
In the end jeans, a nice top and a nicely styled black blazer did the trick...apparently for all three of us. God love identical high street fashion stores. And so, with apprehension in our eyes yet the grateful knowledge that the evening was being held in a pub off we went.
The pub was nice, the wine was chilled and after being there for ten minutes I had only spotted two guys that looked as if they still lived with their Mother's and one with potential murder in his eyes. Glass of wine in hand, it was time to head to our tables.
For anyone who doesn't know about or has never been to a traffic light night, it's speed dating but each girl gets a traffic light on her table, after each guy she presses; Red = Not interested, Amber = Maybe, Green = Get your coat! Then at the end there is a chance to chat to your maybe's or go get lucky with your Green's!
Well, my evening consisted of 'No Underwear Guy', 'Comic Book Guy', 'Snorter Guy' and 'Rotten Egg Breath Guy'. Needless to say my Red light button was starting to smoke. But then, whilst making slitting your throat actions at Hannah across the room, Harry sat down. (No girls, unfortunately not Prince Harry, I don't think he does speed dating in South London!)
Harry was 26, still lived with his parents, worked in a Lab and had, along with his cropped too short brown hair and nervous smile, a degree in Microbiology. But he was the nicest guy I had spoken to all night. All he wanted was to move out of his parent's house and find a nice girl that he could spoil.
Unfortunately I wasn't that girl but fairly safe in the knowledge that he was probably a virgin I pointed him in Jen's direction and waved him off.
In a slight wine haze, with our feet aching from last season's Kurt Geiger heels and Harry's number in Jen's iphone (no need to mention the virgin part to her just yet.) we intrepid singletons headed for home and a doctor's appointment with McDreamy and McSteamy.
Valentine's traffic light night wasn't a complete waste of time, we didn't make Jen cook every night anyway and meeting Harry had made me realise not all men at speed dating are terrifying. Just 90%.
So, whether your waiting for 24 Red Velvet cupcakes to bake in the oven or you're avoiding all restaurants, card shops and florists like the plague today, just remember, tomorrow's a new day and you don't need one day a year to tell someone, anyone, that you love them.
Happy Valentine's Day!! xxx
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