I am not sure if they are trying to punish me, but my bosses have put me at a desk by the reception area (apparently they have run out of space) and I have to listen to the same 3 tunes of lift music playing again and again and again.
Now I know how prisoners of war feel... I think I'd prefer to listen to a dripping tap. Or a baby crying. This pseudo-zen yoga music is just ridiculous...
26 June 2009
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...
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...
19 June 2009
I got my cake. And I might be able to eat it, too!
To round off this lovely day of Hong Kongness, at around 5pm I got an offer to go on a press trip of five days on the Orient Express through Thailand, Singapore, Malaysia and Indonesia.
Best. Freebie. Ever!
Now I just need to convince my boss that it's a good idea for me to be out of the office for five days after coming back from a month in France for the wedding...
Best. Freebie. Ever!
Now I just need to convince my boss that it's a good idea for me to be out of the office for five days after coming back from a month in France for the wedding...
In love again
After a good night's sleep and a typical HK day today, I am back in love with the city again.
It's not just that it's a place where anything could happen. It's that it's a place where anything CAN (and will) happen. Practically nothing is impossible, and that's what makes it great for every single one of my multiple personalities...
You can have a high power teleconference with Korea, China, Taiwan and Japan before breakfast (like I did this morning), then you can hop in a taxi under the pouring rain (it's monsoon season at the moment) and race to an incredibly luxurious hotel for a facial (for which a friend gave me a voucher - pampering is so much more relaxing when it's free) and then stroll back in the sun (the rain has relieved the sky for a while) to the Star ferry so that you can cross the beautiful harbour that sits right on your doorstep.
On the weekend you can join your friends for a junk trip to a secluded beach, or hike up a steep hill in search of a breathtaking vista over HK's nature trails. That's right, nature.
And then you can also dial a number and get McDonalds delivered right to your doorstep. Yep, 24/7 in Hong Kong, you can now save those 100 calories it previously took to walk to the junk food dispenser and sit on your sofa instead! I'll probably never use this service, but it sure is nice to know that it exists if I should ever want to.
You can't actually get your new name pronounced the way it should be, but that's a small price to pay for any idea that comes through your mind becoming reality...
It's not just that it's a place where anything could happen. It's that it's a place where anything CAN (and will) happen. Practically nothing is impossible, and that's what makes it great for every single one of my multiple personalities...
You can have a high power teleconference with Korea, China, Taiwan and Japan before breakfast (like I did this morning), then you can hop in a taxi under the pouring rain (it's monsoon season at the moment) and race to an incredibly luxurious hotel for a facial (for which a friend gave me a voucher - pampering is so much more relaxing when it's free) and then stroll back in the sun (the rain has relieved the sky for a while) to the Star ferry so that you can cross the beautiful harbour that sits right on your doorstep.
On the weekend you can join your friends for a junk trip to a secluded beach, or hike up a steep hill in search of a breathtaking vista over HK's nature trails. That's right, nature.
And then you can also dial a number and get McDonalds delivered right to your doorstep. Yep, 24/7 in Hong Kong, you can now save those 100 calories it previously took to walk to the junk food dispenser and sit on your sofa instead! I'll probably never use this service, but it sure is nice to know that it exists if I should ever want to.
You can't actually get your new name pronounced the way it should be, but that's a small price to pay for any idea that comes through your mind becoming reality...
18 June 2009
This week in Hong Kong
I know I'm jet lagged, but here are the only two thoughts I have had this week (outside of work-related brain drains):
- It is impossible to have clean hair in Hong Kong - I can wash it every day, but as soon as I step outside, the humidity immediately makes it heavy and greasy.
- There is no cleavage in Hong Kong - girls can have skirts so short they look like they could be belts, but as soon as I wear a top that shows off my assets (I have hams for legs, but the ladies are alright), I get either dirty drooling looks or disgusted disdain and reproach.
Can't wait to stop being so tired so I can start thinking normal thoughts...
- It is impossible to have clean hair in Hong Kong - I can wash it every day, but as soon as I step outside, the humidity immediately makes it heavy and greasy.
- There is no cleavage in Hong Kong - girls can have skirts so short they look like they could be belts, but as soon as I wear a top that shows off my assets (I have hams for legs, but the ladies are alright), I get either dirty drooling looks or disgusted disdain and reproach.
Can't wait to stop being so tired so I can start thinking normal thoughts...
16 June 2009
The Krustys' wedding - Epilogue
After wedding bliss, reality felt obliged to call us back to its concrete bosom, of course, and we were soon on a train to Paris to catch our plane. What a surprise we were in for when we arrived – dashing around the airport, we couldn't see any sign of our flight on the screens. We were soon informed that our flight had been cancelled, and that in fact when we had bought our tickets, the airline already knew that the flight was cancelled and that the agent we spoke to on the airline's desk that day was surprised that we hadn't been informed at the time. Nice!
And so our trip ended with one more night in Paris, in one of the airport's hotels, paid for by the airline company. Free dinner, free breakfast and a downy nest of a bed – there are worse ways to deal with a flight's cancellation... And the next day, thanks to Krusty's legendary negotiation skills – a seat in business class!
Krusty is always saying that he doesn't see the point of paying the extra money to travel business class. But now that I have spent 12 hours sitting in one of those perfect seats, I am making it my life's mission to never travel economy again. Not that I want to ever pay for it though...
But it's almost worth it: noise cancelling headphones, an actual duvet to snuggle up under, a fluffy pillow, a closed off fully horizontal bed... A goody bag full of agnes b and dermalogica products, champagne... The whole thing is perfect.
Krusty was on the level above me (I thought that level was just an urban myth, with the stairs you pass on your way to economy just a technique to make you feel unworthy), so I started the trip a little scared of something going wrong and not being able to reunite with my new husband before the plane went down... Rio hasn't helped my fear of flying...
But as the hostess, calling me by name, asked me if I wanted another glass of champagne while I applied another layer of lip moisturiser, I soon forgot everything else in favour of deciding whether I wanted braised lamb shank with potato gratin or monkfish with saffron sauce. Bliss. And I suppose we were doubly lucky to get upgraded on a flight from France, where the kitchens are probably better than anywhere else...
The hostess came back after we took off – would I prefer a glass of Vieux Chateau Landon Cru Bourgeois or an Anjoux Vire Clesse? The real cutlery, the porcelain, the salt and pepper shakers, the linen tablecloth... Oh! The comte, camembert and Saint Maure cheese plate... Ah! Not just a random cup of tea; a choice of peppermint, camomile, earl grey... in a ceramic mug!
What a perfect way to end a perfect trip.
And now I am back to a humid flat with an empty fridge (save that bottle of sake we left behind) and a neighbourhood of jackhammers. But I couldn't be happier.
And so our trip ended with one more night in Paris, in one of the airport's hotels, paid for by the airline company. Free dinner, free breakfast and a downy nest of a bed – there are worse ways to deal with a flight's cancellation... And the next day, thanks to Krusty's legendary negotiation skills – a seat in business class!
Krusty is always saying that he doesn't see the point of paying the extra money to travel business class. But now that I have spent 12 hours sitting in one of those perfect seats, I am making it my life's mission to never travel economy again. Not that I want to ever pay for it though...
But it's almost worth it: noise cancelling headphones, an actual duvet to snuggle up under, a fluffy pillow, a closed off fully horizontal bed... A goody bag full of agnes b and dermalogica products, champagne... The whole thing is perfect.
Krusty was on the level above me (I thought that level was just an urban myth, with the stairs you pass on your way to economy just a technique to make you feel unworthy), so I started the trip a little scared of something going wrong and not being able to reunite with my new husband before the plane went down... Rio hasn't helped my fear of flying...
But as the hostess, calling me by name, asked me if I wanted another glass of champagne while I applied another layer of lip moisturiser, I soon forgot everything else in favour of deciding whether I wanted braised lamb shank with potato gratin or monkfish with saffron sauce. Bliss. And I suppose we were doubly lucky to get upgraded on a flight from France, where the kitchens are probably better than anywhere else...
The hostess came back after we took off – would I prefer a glass of Vieux Chateau Landon Cru Bourgeois or an Anjoux Vire Clesse? The real cutlery, the porcelain, the salt and pepper shakers, the linen tablecloth... Oh! The comte, camembert and Saint Maure cheese plate... Ah! Not just a random cup of tea; a choice of peppermint, camomile, earl grey... in a ceramic mug!
What a perfect way to end a perfect trip.
And now I am back to a humid flat with an empty fridge (save that bottle of sake we left behind) and a neighbourhood of jackhammers. But I couldn't be happier.
Pre-, during and post-wedding bliss
I don't believe that anyone can really be prepared for their wedding preparations. You read the stories, you hear the brides warning you about how difficult and stressful it all is, and – well, if you're me, at least – you say: "Pah! What drama queens! Mine's going to be easy".
Of course, it isn't.
But I'm not going to start whining (as I know now that there's no point!) – the weeks leading up the wedding were tough, yes, but they were also really fun. Painting backdrops with dad, having arguments with the electrician with mum, rowing with Krusty over the Excel spreadsheet angle of the wedding... It was all crazy, but oh so much fun.
Unfortunately I don't have any photographic evidence of this fun, because on the day of the wedding we lost the camera that held all of the photos of the preparations, as well as some of the videos that were taken during the wedding. Like the video of the ceremony, for that matter.
And I need to see a video! I can't remember any of it! I can remember looking up to the sky and smiling because the rain that was predicted and had poured down all morning had finally cleared up when the first guests arrived. I remember seeing Krusty's face when he first saw me in my dress, and saying over and over how beautiful I looked. I remember walking across the courtyard of the Fort la Pree arm in arm with my father, nervously repeating "I don't know what I'm going to say" because I hadn't written my vows yet. And I remember getting up to the wedding arch and looking back to see a room full of family and friends and love. It was amazing.
My brother and his girlfriend had covered the room in poppies (the 'theme' of the wedding) and under the arch stood two of our best friends. They were our priest and priestess, our mayor and mayoress, our witch and sorcerer. And I am so glad we went for the non-traditional option. I can't remember much of what was said (I need that video!) but I can remember feeling awash with sincere sentiment, and knowing that what was said was true and heartfelt rather than pre-tested and formulaic. I also remember shaking with joy when Krusty pronounced his vows (I still can't believe that he wrote them himself...) and placed the wedding ring on my finger. And I know I enjoyed every second of it.
We left the ceremony to a shower of petals (every photo I have seen of this moment has me scrunching up my eyes as if I am being attacked by rabbit pellets, or something similarly hard and disgusting...) and an hour of hugs. I didn't see anything of the cocktail food, champagne with hibiscus flowers or jazz band, although again photos reassure me that they were all there.
I remember grabbing my father to dance to one of my favourite tunes, Lullaby of Birdland, and being told that it was against 'the rules' to dance at a wedding cocktail – but again I am glad we defied convention. It wasn't planned, it perhaps wasn't good etiquette, but I loved every bit of it, and especially the fact that as spontaneity struck, so did the sun appear from behind a cloud. Perfect.
Dinner couldn't have been better, but then I might be biaised. Our designer friends had sewn – by hand! – an incredible backdrop to go behind the top table, with a rat and a monkey – of course! – on a giant coat of arms. The poppies, the fairy lights, the coat of arms – it was magical, well for me at least. I will put some photos up as soon as I have them.
After dinner (and after some quality Eurovision speeches from my father and Krusty's father, an incredibly witty speech from Krusty's best man and one from Krusty himself, which could not have been any more moving), the weather was on our side once again, the rain giving up just long enough for us to go outside and light some paper lanterns. We all watched in awe as they drifted off through the sky, and despite the chill in the air I felt warm and full of love for the millionth time that day.
The night went on, we danced until 6am (oh, and as I write a memory comes back to me – my father, dressed as Elvis, rocking the night away!), we watched the moon set and the sun rise, and went home in the London taxi we had rented for the day.
But thankfully, it didn't end there! I can imagine what an awful anticlimax I would have felt if the Saturday was the end of the wedding... But we had organised a brunch the next day, complete with oysters, more champagne and a petanque competition. And thanks to the fact we got to see everyone again, the weekend really felt complete. That plus the little get-together we had organised on the Friday night... Even if I can't remember everything (yet), I have enough memories to last me a lifetime.
But the best memory of all will be looking into Krusty's eyes and not just thinking, but knowing that this will be the man I will spend the rest of my life with. I can't remember a time without him, and I know there will never be a moment in the future when he is not there. When I looked at him that day at the altar, that evening at dinner, that night under the lanterns, I saw nothing but unconditional love, and not just his, but mine reflected too. There is nothing more beautiful in the world than that.
Hello, pleased to meet you. My name is Mrs Krusty...
Of course, it isn't.
But I'm not going to start whining (as I know now that there's no point!) – the weeks leading up the wedding were tough, yes, but they were also really fun. Painting backdrops with dad, having arguments with the electrician with mum, rowing with Krusty over the Excel spreadsheet angle of the wedding... It was all crazy, but oh so much fun.
Unfortunately I don't have any photographic evidence of this fun, because on the day of the wedding we lost the camera that held all of the photos of the preparations, as well as some of the videos that were taken during the wedding. Like the video of the ceremony, for that matter.
And I need to see a video! I can't remember any of it! I can remember looking up to the sky and smiling because the rain that was predicted and had poured down all morning had finally cleared up when the first guests arrived. I remember seeing Krusty's face when he first saw me in my dress, and saying over and over how beautiful I looked. I remember walking across the courtyard of the Fort la Pree arm in arm with my father, nervously repeating "I don't know what I'm going to say" because I hadn't written my vows yet. And I remember getting up to the wedding arch and looking back to see a room full of family and friends and love. It was amazing.
My brother and his girlfriend had covered the room in poppies (the 'theme' of the wedding) and under the arch stood two of our best friends. They were our priest and priestess, our mayor and mayoress, our witch and sorcerer. And I am so glad we went for the non-traditional option. I can't remember much of what was said (I need that video!) but I can remember feeling awash with sincere sentiment, and knowing that what was said was true and heartfelt rather than pre-tested and formulaic. I also remember shaking with joy when Krusty pronounced his vows (I still can't believe that he wrote them himself...) and placed the wedding ring on my finger. And I know I enjoyed every second of it.
We left the ceremony to a shower of petals (every photo I have seen of this moment has me scrunching up my eyes as if I am being attacked by rabbit pellets, or something similarly hard and disgusting...) and an hour of hugs. I didn't see anything of the cocktail food, champagne with hibiscus flowers or jazz band, although again photos reassure me that they were all there.
I remember grabbing my father to dance to one of my favourite tunes, Lullaby of Birdland, and being told that it was against 'the rules' to dance at a wedding cocktail – but again I am glad we defied convention. It wasn't planned, it perhaps wasn't good etiquette, but I loved every bit of it, and especially the fact that as spontaneity struck, so did the sun appear from behind a cloud. Perfect.
Dinner couldn't have been better, but then I might be biaised. Our designer friends had sewn – by hand! – an incredible backdrop to go behind the top table, with a rat and a monkey – of course! – on a giant coat of arms. The poppies, the fairy lights, the coat of arms – it was magical, well for me at least. I will put some photos up as soon as I have them.
After dinner (and after some quality Eurovision speeches from my father and Krusty's father, an incredibly witty speech from Krusty's best man and one from Krusty himself, which could not have been any more moving), the weather was on our side once again, the rain giving up just long enough for us to go outside and light some paper lanterns. We all watched in awe as they drifted off through the sky, and despite the chill in the air I felt warm and full of love for the millionth time that day.
The night went on, we danced until 6am (oh, and as I write a memory comes back to me – my father, dressed as Elvis, rocking the night away!), we watched the moon set and the sun rise, and went home in the London taxi we had rented for the day.
But thankfully, it didn't end there! I can imagine what an awful anticlimax I would have felt if the Saturday was the end of the wedding... But we had organised a brunch the next day, complete with oysters, more champagne and a petanque competition. And thanks to the fact we got to see everyone again, the weekend really felt complete. That plus the little get-together we had organised on the Friday night... Even if I can't remember everything (yet), I have enough memories to last me a lifetime.
But the best memory of all will be looking into Krusty's eyes and not just thinking, but knowing that this will be the man I will spend the rest of my life with. I can't remember a time without him, and I know there will never be a moment in the future when he is not there. When I looked at him that day at the altar, that evening at dinner, that night under the lanterns, I saw nothing but unconditional love, and not just his, but mine reflected too. There is nothing more beautiful in the world than that.
Hello, pleased to meet you. My name is Mrs Krusty...
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