Last night in London (revisited)

For you, my sweetnesses...

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!

London is knee deep in the fluffy, white stuff. Cars are buried beneath inches of ice and snow and everywhere you look a person is slip-sliding their way as they attempt to get from A to B. It's fantastical!

I haven't seen snow like this since NYC. And while Londoners normally keep their heads down to avoid any form of communication or contact with other commuters, today it seems we're all smiles - on my way back from pilates I even saw a stranger offer a balancing hand to another who'd lost her footing!

Schools and offices have called a 'Snow Day' as the heaviest snow fall for London in 18 years has been recorded. Fifteen centimetres fell overnight with more snow due on Tuesday. Now housebound, Boyfriend and I are rugging up and enjoying the magic outside from the warmth of our living room (see above). Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!

Our little home...

Leaving London: part one

Only four more weeks until Boyfriend and I catch our last tube out of London, destination: Sydney (via Turkey, Syria, Jordan, Egypt and the UAE!).

I’m excited – which might have something to do with the fact I’m still nannying: slowly losing my vocabulary as I gain ever more inches round my belly. Boyfriend, on the other hand is less enthusiastic. He loves his job, likes his mates – mostly cricket buddies he’s commiserated (read: drunk) with this past rained-out season – and doubts he’ll feel the same buzz once we’re back on sun-drenched soil. In the current economic climate I can see his point. Sadly, it’s his lack of a visa or relevant passport that’s shipping us ‘home’.

As we’re travelling for a month before we land in Oz I’ve had to downsize my wardrobe significantly. Two large garbage bags of clothes and shoes went to Oxfam, along with a box of unused/unopened make-up (leftovers from my gains at Bazaar beauty sales) and a box of books. I think I ditched the same amount two years ago when we left New York… living in transit certainly promotes wardrobe-cleansing.

But thanks, in part, to my recent eBay endeavours I have a bunch of clothes with which I dare not part. All those fit into four medium boxes and a small suitcase, or 23 cubic feet (if you include the two medium boxes Boyfriend requires). And while I diligently sorted and packed my belongings early last week, Boyfriend unfortunately is doing his share as I type (grr!), so allowing for 8 – 12 weeks of shipping this means my beloved wardrobe will still be in transit when we arrive.

Since we have a wedding in Auckland the first week we’re back such a timeframe is simply unacceptable. So I bit the bullet and re-jigged my boxes, removing my most coveted items – including some Balenciaga, Chloe, Marni and my new Derek Lam Brigatta platforms (if shoes could be babies…) – and bundled them into two post-bags, ready to be sent Royal Mail. With a retail value of more than £3,000 I’m more than a little bit hesitant. But it’s a catch-22: if I’m honest and insure them for their RRP then not only will I get lumped with huge customs charges but I risk the packages being stolen enroute… and if I lie and state ‘no commercial value’ then I risk them legitimately being lost in shipping, leaving no avenue for compensation. What should a (poor) girl do?

After an encouraging, be it brief, conversation with my mother I’ve decided on the latter course of action. I’ll send them recorded delivery, marked with no value… may the designers forgive me and their fabrics absolve me, and may Etherus (the God of Excess) smile upon my little white bundles and keep them safe.

Tickle me pick and call me Employed

That's right my friends, come Monday morning I will be the new Team Assistant to the design consultancy sector of a corporate PR firm, 'Company X'.*

And the best bit is, I actually want to work there...

The company is dynamic, the role challenging and the job spec sought an "enthusiastic, presentable and literate person" - quite frankly, this position screamed ME!

Located just down the road from the Tower of London (gorgeous location and my childhood obsession with the Tudors and Anne Boleyn's losing her head will be re-energised daily), the offices are super chic and they subsidise my gym membership. With hour-and-a-half lunch breaks there'll be ample time to pop over to the nearby Fitness First for a quick cross-trainer session or spin class. At £25K per annum, I can't wait to start.

* With my future employers and co-workers in mind, I have decided to keep the company's name under wraps.