Work and play

I should probably take the time to write about this week now, before the next crazy week rolls on...

Last weekend was lovely – I cooked a meal for four of our friends, which we ate at our new dinner table (which I am in love with). But that's not why the meal was good – I made gaspacho, for the first time, and I was a little worried since one of our guests was Spanish, and famous for his own version of the recipe.

But as all of us sipped our soups, he gulped his down, and without even asking, went straight to the fridge to help himself to more. Mission successful! We also got a beautiful wedding present from our guests, and a giant bouquet of flowers... I was feeling generally amazing about life in general.

Until we realised that the bouquet's vase had become a breeding ground for a whole family of mutant mosquitoes.

Sunday was therefore spent carrying out Operation Speedtox (the name of the product we bought to hunt and kill our pray – which turned out to be useless. It seems "long lasting" might just mean "slow acting"). Krusty, who for some reason was the target of most of the bites, transformed into a crazed mosquito killer, waiting in the shadows for hours on end, spray at the ready. His extermination campaign was highly strategic, and at one point he had managed to trap the enemy in the bathroom, quickly stuffing his dressing gown under the door to avoid escape.

We relaxed at last and sat watching TV, Krusty proud of his victory, not even thinking about how we would ever get into the bathroom again. But slowly, ever so slowly, the bathroom door opened again. This wasn't just any mosquito: it could open doors!

The covert operation continued as Monday came about, so I at least got to escape the flat and go back to work, out of danger. I dressed up in my new power dress, all spanxed up to live out the fantasy career that a month off had created in my mind.

From how high I fell.

This week has been the toughest ever. I came back to find that nothing had been done, and the magazine that was supposed to have been published two weeks before my return was only 70% done. I came back expecting bells and whistles, instead I got intense brain damage and 15 hour workdays next to people eating dried chili cuttlefish. I have one late mag to finish, another to begin, and yet another new title to launch.

Add to that the fact that when I got home I had to listen to Krusty worrying about the fact that one of the bites had made him lose sensitivity in his toe, and you get a pretty stressful week. Each day brought a new theory: "I need to find what neurotoxin has caused this... I might have botulism... What about malaria?" culminating in: "I have leprecy!" My diagnostic: hypochondria.

But it's going to get better, and this summer is shaping up to be amazing: this weekend we have a junk for my best bud's 30th birthday (as long as the typhoons stay at bay); in two weeks I am off on an amazing press trip on the Orient Express (they said yes!); and then at the end of August we are going to Krusty's brother's wedding in Tuscany, which promises to be INCREDIBLE!

Thank goodness for things to look forward to...