The Betty

2007-04-13T11:07:00.000Z

I am off on holiday tomorrow.

No more work for me for a good few weeks. I shall shortly be jobless and homeless.

It's all fine.

Will update when I can, but the access may be scarce.

2007-04-04T09:14:00.000Z

Last night I went to the theatre dahlings, and saw Billie Piper in Treats.

I enjoyed it, although I had expected something funny, and it was a lot more serious than a simple comedy, with a bit of a twist.

I do like Billie though. I am not ashamed to say I used to listen to her music when I was a lot younger, and the temptation to yell "Because we want to!" was strong.

I also like her because she divorced Chris Evans and did not feel compelled to take any of his money. That is rare these days, and something I did myself, although my ex was not quite so rich. (She says, in the understatement of the year.)

I can't wait to see her play Belle de Jour.

In other news, I am departing these lands in a few weeks, firstly for a holiday, then secondly to live in another country for a year. Quite exciting and the job and accommodation have seemed to sort themselves out for now.

The love story with N continues, and I am so incredibly happy, that I fear the details would bore you senseless. I am not so much a walking cliche, as a skipping, singing, smiling cliche.

I am very lucky.

2007-03-27T09:21:00.000Z

I read this in the Metro this morning. To sum it up, a girl has a party, gets drunk and decides it would be a good idea to climb out of a window, climb on to a garage roof (attached to but not part of her flat), and dance. She stepped backwards through a skylight and hurt herself quite badly. She recovered.

Most people would probably be thankful to have survived, and perhaps in future remember that windows are not made for exiting a building, and that dancing on a roof when drunk is perhaps not a bright idea. If they wanted you up there, they would have put a door there. Most people would chalk it up to a drunken mistake and be more careful next time.

Not this girl. She is suing her landlords.

She is suing her landlords for damages. They did not warn her that it would be dangerous to get fucked up on booze, climb out of a window and on to a garage roof and dance like a lush.

The garage was not even part of the property she was renting. She was effectively trespassing.

Disgraceful.

2007-03-16T09:26:00.000Z

What a great idea. Check this out, buy a copy and contribute to red nose day.

And no, I am not in it. I am too afraid of rejection and don't think I have written anything particularly funny enough.

Have a nice weekend everyone.

2007-03-14T15:19:00.000Z

Stories like this get me all fired up.

Why? Because they remind me of my biggest fear in life.

Not spiders, not death, not heights.

My biggest fear is that I will settle down and have children with someone, I will age and lose my figure and my youth, and then my partner will run away with a younger, more carefree option.

We will all age of course. We will all get wrinkles (I have some already). No doubt if I have kids my figure will never quite be the same. I think I can deal with that. But what if the person I choose to procreate with can't.

It happened in my family, perhaps that is why it's my biggest fear. I have seen the devastation, I had a front row ticket. Fuck it, I was in the performance.

So how do you guard against it? Is it a certain type of man who is always searching for the better option? I know in the cases I know of personally, the man is usually fairly comfortable financially (before the divorce darling), and reasonably selfish. He often has an attitude that life hasn't handed him what he deserves, he's not quite as sorted as he expected to be. He doesn't appreciate the things in life that perhaps I might value (health, family, love), but is more interested in the materialistic. Nothing is ever good enough. He might wear flashy clothes, he might drive a sports car.

But he doesn't wear a sign.

2007-03-12T12:20:00.000Z

Oops.

I haven't posted in a while.

I've been busy, working and living, and trying to make the most of being in this city before I have to leave.

How on earth do you leave a country when the person you have fallen head over red-stiletto-heels in love with is there? How do you move to a new country you have never even visited, where you know noone, have no job, and no place to live? How do you say goodbye to all the friends you have made? How do you make new ones?

Fucked if I know.

But I have to do it, because my visa ends here, and I have no way of getting an extension. I can only hope that N and I survive long distance, and somehow, someway, something works out. Time will tell, I suppose.

I am over at Angry's place today. Metaphorically speaking of course. Some of you may not know that I was the first commenter ever on his blog, so I suppose it's only fair that I am the first guest blogger when he is away. I feel a teensy bit like I am cheating, as I haven't been much of a blogger lately.

Come and visit.

2007-02-22T09:59:00.000Z

For many women, their weight and eating habits are a source of discontent, or struggle.

Not all, but many.

You only have to open a magazine to see the current trend for Size Zero, and the backlash. People are actually dying to maintain this level of scrawny. It's not feminine, nor is it healthy for the majority of women.

I did write a post recently about my recent exercise binge, and my horror at putting on a slight bit of weight. I actually have no idea how much I weigh, and I don't intend to find out. I'm still a size 8, and I don't like to get scales obsessive, or dedicate too much time to thinking about my body. (I would rather think about someone elses body, frankly.) I am still exercising a bit, and I am happy enough.

It wasn't always this way though.

A few years ago, I was in an unhappy relationship, and I started to comfort eat. I weighed the heaviest I had ever weighed, and I hated it. I felt enormous, and my partner at the time was not the best for aiding my self esteem. In order to get back to my normal size, at my partners suggestion I started going to the gym a lot. Four times a week, I pushed hard at the gym, three of those times with a personal trainer. My partner was a gym fanatic, and ate strict meals with a delicate balance of protein, carbs and fat. He expected me to do the same. I was miserable.

"What are you eating for lunch then?" he would ask.
"I don't know. A sandwich, some crisps."
"Cut out the crisps then." He would say. "I have tuna and salad, and some cottage cheese with rice crackers."
"I don't want to cut out everything that I like." I would reply.

I had a suit that I wore to work. The skirt was a few inches above the knee but by no means a mini.

"Oh, you really shouldn't wear that. It's not flattering. Throw it out." He said.
"Throw it out? It was expensive."
"You just don't have the legs for it babe. It's horrible."
"Oh." I never wore it again.

"You aren't fat. You just need to tone up your legs a bit." He said repeatedly. "Just here, and here...and here."

I went for a few years without wearing short skirts, shorts, anything that would reveal my untoned legs to the world. Now, when I look at my legs, I see the flaws first. Interestingly enough, my bra size increased to a 32D which was fantastic, but that didn't seem to be celebrated much.

When I moved to the UK, I started to wear short shorts. With heels sometimes. I went to a festival once in small black shorts, and the girls asked where they were from. "I would love some, but I don't have your legs." One of the girls said. I was amazed.

The worst thing is, at my heaviest point I weighed 60 kilograms. That's 135 pounds. I am 5'6. I was by no means overweight, and I was reading Weightwatchers books, taking diet pills, eating strict meals and exercising determinedly.

Fuck that.

Ironically, once I left the relationship my weight dropped off.

2007-02-20T14:42:00.000Z

Drugs are bad, kids.

Seriously. Just check this out. Horrific.

Just say no.

2007-02-19T15:02:00.000Z

I am Wonder Woman.

At least, that's what I decided on Saturday night. Very tired, I put on my Wonder Woman knicker set, stood at the foot of the bed and raised my arms up above my head.

"What are you doing?" said N, barely able to keep his tired eyes open.

"I am Wonder Woman!" I announced proudly. "I'm gonna fly!"

"Wonder Woman can't fly." N shook his head.

"Yes she can," I insisted, my voice betraying a hint of uncertainty. "She's got that lasso thing."

"That's not for flying. That's for lassoing things." N frowned at me.

Unperturbed I launched myself into the air, and landed none too softly on the bed. I stretched out, and smiled as I heard N's voice.

"Nutter." he said.

2007-02-16T14:31:00.000Z

I was feeling a little low this morning. A combination of hormones, tiring of sleeping on a floor, dreading the impending move, a headache and financial difficulties from a past relationship.

I was near tears, and it seemed nothing could snap me out of it.

Then on MSN a message from N:

Michael Jackson's Thriller is on the radio here.

I replied: Are you dancing?

On went the webcam. All dancing, all singing. This is Thriller, thriller night.

I laughed out loud at my desk, and was grateful that the office was empty.

He's got the X factor that boy.

2007-02-15T12:39:00.000Z

Can you think of anything more incredible than this?

Ok, I can. A week in the Maldives in an over water bungalow would have to be my idea of incredible. But, if your budget doesn't quite stretch that far, and after Christmas mine certainly does not, then some time in a special private room at a spa with nothing to do but smear mud on your loved ones body sounds like a treat I would like to have.

I do love buying treats.

Expect a review soon.

2007-02-14T11:25:00.000Z

Happy Valentines Day.

On the day of love, here are a few things that I love (in no particular order):

Sunshine
Grey's Anatomy
Sex
Laughing
Play-fighting (and winning)
Lingerie
High heels
Massages
Kissing
42 Below Feijoa Vodka
My friends
Staying in bed with someone to cuddle on a rainy day
All meat pizza with extra cheese
Manicures
Saturdays
Presents

Speaking of which....my present should arrive any time now. Not that I am impatient.

Tick tock. Tick tock.

2007-02-12T14:00:00.000Z

Saturday morning I was up at a reasonable hour, and went out for breakfast here. I say breakfast, I mean brunch. I do this every weekend, somehow I just can't get by without a cooked breakfast.

It was nice. Clean, substantial and tasty. With good coffee.

I am not really a fussy eater. I don't like tomatoes, excessive onion, brussel sprouts or strong fish. But I can eat it, if necessary. I do however have certain rules about food. It has recently occurred to me that these rules are perhaps not shared by everyone.

For example, I do not do the bacon-maple syrup thing. Bacon is MEAT. Syrup is sweet. Ick. I won't order pancakes without bacon in case bacon has recently been cooked in the pan.

I don't mix my food on the fork. If I have chicken, salad and potatoes, I will eat them all. Separately. Not forkfuls with a bit of each. That is just revolting. I like my food on the plate to not touch if possible to ensure the various food groups don't mingle. What?!!?

At brunch on Saturday morning I ordered my big breakfast.

"Just one thing, could I please have my toast on the side?" I asked.
The waiter looked confused. "On the side?"
"Yeah, you know. I don't want anything else on it. Nothing touching it."
"Do you want a separate plate?" he asked.
"No. Well if it helps. I don't need one as such."
"I think I will give you a separate plate. Just so that I can make sure nothing touches the toast." With a cheery, understanding smile he left.

I looked at my friend in horror.

"He thinks you have OCD." she teased.

I don't. I just have rules. Doesn't everyone?

2007-02-08T16:05:00.000Z

Upon the end of a long day of sightseeing in Paris, I refused to walk anymore in heels, and removed my boots on the steps of La Grande Arche. I can't imagine a parisian following in my footsteps as I painfully walked the distance back to our hotel. In socks.

Imagine my despair to remove my socks yesterday (different socks, people) to find that my toe is rather bruised and the nail darkened. Although I felt fine yesterday, since noticing the bruising I have become aware of just how painful it is. I can feel it hurting, right now.

I thought I would turn to N, to get some sympathy. This was a bad idea:

Betty says: My toe might need to be amputated
Betty says: I think you stood on it
N says: No I didn't
Betty says: Yes when you were drunk
N says: No I didn't
Betty says: Before you got stuck in the gate with your bag* hehehe
N says: No I didn't
Betty says: That was FUNNY
N says: No it wasn't
Betty says: I told Jen, she nearly wet herself
N says: No she didn't
Betty says: especially at my acting it out
N says: No you didn't
Betty says: I DID
N says: No you didn't
Betty says: I am quite a good actress
N says: No you're not
Betty says: have your accent down
N says: No you don't
Betty says: oh stop it
N says: No

A man of few words can still be a complete smart ass at times.

*If you have never seen a fully grown drunk man go through the metro gates at Paris and have the two clear doors close behind him, trapping his bag (which is on his back) on the other side of the gate, then you have never lived. I thoroughly recommend it.

2007-02-07T10:14:00.000Z

It has taken a few days to recover from the weekend. Paris was lovely, expensive, sunny, busy and fun. Did I say expensive? I meant, how-much??-fuck-me-is-this-a-fucking-joke! Two vodka and lemonades, single = 26 euros. Two cokes and two small cafe au laits = 19 euro. If we had stayed any longer I would have bankrupted myself. I laughed when N paid the bill, but when it was time for my round I didn't find it nearly as amusing.

Regardless, I had an amazing time. A blur of Eiffel Tower, Louvre, Notre Dame, crepes, cheese, onion soup, sex, sauna, wine, trains, cuddles, laughter, drunkenness, sleep.

I am sad it is over.

2007-02-02T10:58:00.000Z

Je vais à Paris aujourd'hui!

Due to my grasp of French being less than beginner, I had to translate that on babelfish. Hopefully it says "I am going to Paris today!" You just never know with these things. I tried to say "I want to fuck on the Eurostar" too, but when I translated it back, it said "I want to kiss on the Eurostar" which, although I am sure would also be nice, didn't quite have the edge I was looking for.

Never mind.

Hurry the fuck on, day.

2007-01-31T11:19:00.000Z

Had a little break as I was feeling very grumpy.

I don't want to be one of those blogs that complains all the time. It's ok if it's funny or clever, but just plain old negativity is not good for anyone! Especially not me. Now sit quietly while I complain some more.

I am still exercising. It's partly a miracle, and partly because I went shopping on the weekend and realised that I have put on weight. It's what happens when I am in a relationship. I have spent far too many weekend days lying on the couch cuddling. When I am single I spend those days power-shopping around London, and forgetting to eat. I know what I prefer doing, but one has to think about one's butt and thighs! So I am running, and stepping, and dry brushing, and fake tanning, and massaging. I used to have not a single ounce of extra fat, and I must admit to being slightly smug about it. When the girls at work would talk about cellulite and fat I would say "really??? hmmm..." and tuck into a pizza and banoffee pie while they glared at me over their salads. Last weekend sure wiped the smirk off my face.

I know that we are meant to be embracing our curves and real men love curves and all the rest. But screw it, I don't want to be a size zero, I just want to be at a point where I feel comfortable in myself. I don't think there is anything wrong with wanting to be physically fit, toned and confident. I'm never going to be the girl with massive tits, so I might as well be the girl with the great arse.

So, several nights a week I get on the stepper. In hotpants.

That's right. Hotpants.

Betty: I did my stepping in hotpants by the mirror so I could watch my legs and see if there was any changes!
N: Right. I don't think you are going to see changes that quickly babe. It will be gradual.
Betty: Noooo.
N: It's not going to be any different by the time we go away this weekend.
Betty: Yes it is. Has to be.

There is nothing like an impossible goal to keep one motivated.

2007-01-24T12:19:00.000Z

I read somewhere that this is the most miserable week of the year.

This is my second January in London, and I would have to agree. In my home country, January is never a depressing time. It is summer, and full of days at the beach, sunshine, swimming, parties, barbeques and fun.

I have never understood the gloom of January. I do now. This week (and for most of last) I have felt slightly anxious about the future. My time in London will be up soon, and as much as I try not to focus on it, it's undeniable.

It's difficult to leave a place when you are not ready. I have to leave my dear friends, my boyfriend, my familiarity. I have already left my job, my home, my sense of security. I should probably be excited, but I can't help being depressed about it this week. A little bit of change is a good thing, but I feel like my whole life is up in the air.

I adore travelling and I never thought I would feel so at home, so settled. But I have, in London. It has welcomed me more than I could have hoped for, and I feel like I belong here.

I am seriously considering moving somewhere soon where I can settle down and create a life for myself that I won't have to walk away from.

2007-01-19T10:18:00.000Z

Last night I went here for dinner. It was nice enough and we got a tour of the kitchen which was fun. Unfortunately we had consumed a few glasses of champagne by this time, and when the head chef asked my friend what she had eaten she struggled to remember.

I probably wouldn't go back, but only because there are so many other lovely restaurants to discover in London. However, I enjoyed it and the service was fantastic, which is more than I can say for Le Caprice. I would never return there due to appalling service from not one, but two members of staff. So there, they miss out.

This morning in the kitchen at work, I had a conversation with a man from my work who I do not like. He has creepy eyes you see, and a strange sleazy arrogant vibe about him. He was on the phone to his daughter, laughing and joking and then he hung up.

"Teenagers today," he announced. "I have just bought my daughter a new car, and in three months she has run up £3000 worth of parking fines."
"£3000?" I ask, disbelieving.
"Yes, haha, three thousand." he said, shaking his head.
"I can't believe you are so calm about it." I stated, frowning.
"Well, I have to pay it. She just throws the tickets away like I do!" he smiled.
"I would be livid. You are like 'kids! what can you do?'" I look at him.
"It's £3000. That's nothing compared to what the new car is worth." he announced, full of self importance. "She is seventeen, she won't learn. She can't earn any money at that age to pay it."
"Make her get a loan and pay for it." I said, flatly.
"Oh no. I couldn't do that." He walked off, shaking his head and smiling at the thought.

Wanker.

2007-01-18T11:53:00.000Z

Nothing cheers me up quite like seeing a nutter on the tube.

Last night, the District Line. He was wearing a beige jacket zipped up, and chinos. Lovely.

I got on with my ipod blasting and had to stand next to him near the doors. He was reading the paper over someone's shoulder.

"Look at that hat. Big blue thing. What do you think of that?!" he announced to noone in particular.

Noone responded.

He looked at me. I pretended not to notice. He kept looking.

"What do you think of that hat?" he said to me, leaning in. I looked at him, then looked away.

"Noone is talking to me!" he complained. I turned my ipod off and left the earphones in my ears, sensing that this could get interesting.

A blonde middle aged lady looked at him. Big mistake.

"What do you think of his hat? Do you think it would suit me, an older man?" he leered.

She mumbled something.

"He wore that all day you know! In Planet Hollywood! People were laughing at him! What do you think of that?" he announced loudly.

The train pulled into his stop.

"I'll have to love you and leave you now." he said with regret. The blonde woman focussed on the tube door, not looking at him.

He stepped on to the platform.

"See ya later love. Hope your husband gives you one tonight!" he said, as I laughed into my scarf.

And with that, he was gone.

2007-01-17T15:03:00.000Z

N: Liverpool are playing Chelsea on Saturday at 12:45. I will be watching it.
Betty: Ok.
N: So bring your shirt..

N gave me one of his Liverpool shirts to keep. I think he has regretted it ever since. I sometimes wear it to bed.

Betty: You have plenty more you can lend me.
N: Grrrrrr.
Betty: Maybe I will dress up in Liverpool coloured lingerie. And stockings.
N: Hmmm...interesting.
Betty: And then get moody when you ignore me and focus on the game.
N: Yes. Correct. It is a big game.

Sigh.

2007-01-17T11:49:00.000Z

I met a friend of mine, L, for dinner the other night.

L is a cute eastern european. We have attended a few swinging parties together, and have kissed a number of times, but nothing more. She is funny and genuine and I like spending time with her and listening to her accent.

She was wrapped up in a coat with a furry hood, much like an eskimo, and I discovered she had quite the cold. I was feeling a little PMS. Not the greatest time to sit and chat, really.

We talked for two hours about everything that was stressful or negative in our lives.

L: Her job (bad pay), her relationship (not progressing), her looks, ageing, London (having to stay), her health, her hair (too thin).
Me: My visa (non-existent), London (having to leave), my looks, ageing, my hair (too short).

We discussed all the cosmetic procedures we would get if we were rich (or stupid):

L: Nose job, laser skin resurfacing, botox, teeth whitening, brow lift
Me: Nose job, botox, teeth whitening, brow lift, magic boob-job-which-doesn't-give-you-fake-boobs

We said goodbye at the end of the night with a sigh.

The funny thing is, I think L is gorgeous just as she is.

And I am mostly ok with the way I look.

Sometimes you just want to complain though. Even when you know it is shallow and stupid.

I am sure my usual cocky self will reappear soon.

2007-01-16T12:55:00.000Z

A post over on the Boy's blog has inspired my post today. He wrote about divorce and believing that it needs to be made more difficult to divorce.

I am getting divorced soon.

Where I come from, you have to be separated for two years before you can apply for a divorce. I like this rule. I can't see any reason to rush it, I don't think it is appropriate to remarry straight away, and it gives you time to learn from your former marriage.

However, I am grateful that I have the opportunity to divorce without much trouble.

There will be no claims of adultery, abuse, fraud or the rest. My divorce is blameless, but if I had to assign blame it would lie with me. The simple fact is, I was not in love with my husband. There was love within the relationship, but from my perspective there was no lust. There is only so much you can work on, there is only so much marriage counselling you can have, there are only so many books you can read. If you don't feel it, there is no way to force it.

I have a lot of respect for my ex-husband, and I consider him a dear friend. I probably could have stayed with him, had a few kids and lived quite comfortably. But I would have yearned for something/someone else. I would have longed for another life, in another place. I would have resented his love, and felt suffocated. It would not have been fair on myself, and it certainly would not have been fair on him.

So I left, to give him a chance to find someone who adores him, and to give me a chance to find someone that I adore.

So, do I think divorce is too easy?

Perhaps. But it has given me back my happiness and sense of self, and I would not change that for the world.

2007-01-11T09:52:00.000Z

Tag, you are it. I have been tagged by Katy for a meme.

Oh how this brings back the old days of catch and kiss in the school playground. Except I refused to play it, because I was scared of boys. Yes, you read it right. If they did catch me and back me into a corner I would glare ferociously and through gritted teeth say "If you even touch me I will kick you in the nuts, and tell the teacher!!"

I was no fun at all really.

These days I will play along happily. Katy, your nuts are safe.

Five things most people don't know about me:

1. I went into cardiac arrest once when I was ten. I had suffered severe head trauma in a bicycle/car accident and on the way to hospital in the ambulance I began to arrest. I believe they had to shout "clear" and use the electric things on my chest, and put tubes down my throat as I was breathing blood instead of air. I don't recall it, but I imagine my parents were pretty scared.

2. I once worked with the elderly in a care facility. I was only young, and I used to help a care worker on the morning shift. One night an elderly woman died, and I was woken from sleep to help prepare her for the undertaker. We had to change her nightdress as she had lost her bodily functions when she died. This I was prepared for, but I was not prepared for the dark fluid that poured from her mouth when we moved her. Her body cooled as we worked. It was a profound experience and later that day I was inconsolable. It was my first, but not my last experience with a dead body.

3. I faint. The causes can range from a tiny cut on my finger, to hearing about someone elses injuries, to standing up too long, to having a sore stomach, to pretty much anything. I once fainted while having my hair cut in a demonstration at an academy. The world renowned stylist cut me, and I felt blood. Three seconds later I was on the floor. Another time a friend who had fallen off a Vespa told me about her accident. I had to leave and fainted five minutes later in the street. I would not be a very good nurse/heroin addict/policewoman.

Gosh, I sound all sickly and weak now. Time for some lighter things, really.

4. I hate going to the bar. It's not that I am stingy. I just don't like carrying the drinks. I am a clumsy person and I am always scared of spilling them all down my front or not having enough hands to carry them all. Consequently I try not to go, or I give people money to go for me. It's not fair. I must remember that I do not have less hands than everyone else.

5. I used to think my father was in the Beatles. He used to play his guitar and sing Beatles songs (badly) when I was a toddler and consequently in my first year at school at age 5 I heard someone play their Beatles tape. I proudly told the class, "Hey! That's my dad!"

Oh time to tag people....

I hereby tag:

Blue Soup
The Boy
Z
Giggleworthy

2007-01-10T11:34:00.000Z

Last night I went to see Love Song.

I loved it.

It was funny, quirky and intriguing.

I sat in the middle on the second row, only a metre or two away from Neve Campbell. It was difficult when watching her not to reminisce fondly about that girl on girl scene from Wild Things.

Hot.

Tickets are only a tenner and it's not too girly for the men to watch. Go and see it.

2007-01-09T12:00:00.000Z

Sometimes it feels so good, to be so bad.

I was reminded recently about some of the naughty things I have done in my former job. Not dirty, necessarily (this is not meant to be a novel, after all), but things that I have done at the risk of getting into trouble.

There is nothing sinister, nothing shocking. I don't pretend to be a rebel. At school I was the girl who wasn't allowed to wear black because my mother thought it was "tarty." Consequently I wore a lot of navy, and as an adult my wardrobe is 90% black. I was also not allowed to go "under the bridge" in town because that was where the bad kids went. I went once and felt so nervous I couldn't stay long. I didn't smoke. I am a good girl really.

But I have a naughty streak and sometimes I like to indulge it.

Example 1:

Al was a reasonably senior colleague. We worked on a team that had individual projects. His project seemed to take forever to complete. When he had finally finished it he pushed his hand-written papers into the middle of the boardroom table.

"I am done, I just need someone to type it up for me now." He said as he eyed the four female members on the team. We eyed him back, silently. He tried again, "If someone can type my project up, I'm finished."

I looked at him. "You type it up, it's your project."

One of the junior female members of staff silently took the papers.

Wanker.

A month or so later I organised a photo shoot for the entire staff. My role was to create a company profile with photos and contact details for clients. Prior to adding Al's photo it occurred to me that perhaps Al could benefit from a little photoshop enhancement.

Somewhere in the world is a company profile with Al's face on it. With a slightly larger nose, and slightly smaller eyes. Undetectable to the average person, just subtle enough to think That's not a flattering photo.

Example 2:

Without going into detail too much, as this one still scares me.

I had keys to my bosses apartment.

A senior colleague (married) and I travelled to this apartment in another colleagues car.

We fucked.

We went back to work.

Noone ever knew. I hope.

Example 3:

Occasionally we would get tickets to national sport events. I quite fancied some of the players. My boss asked me to offer the tickets out to the staff and give them away.

I would send an email: Free tickets available to whoever emails me first.

I would get approximately 10 responses.

My follow up email: Thanks for your responses, these tickets have gone. The winners have been notified.

Who won? Me, of course. And all of my friends.

I would just like to add that I am much more responsible, nicer and less devious these days.

Mostly.

2007-01-09T10:54:00.000Z

Yesterday I was detoxing. Eating lots of fresh fruit and vegetables, drinking bucket loads of evian and avoiding coffee/chocolate/crisps/coke and other such daily dietary indulgences.

Last night I fell asleep at 8:45pm with the monster of headaches. It continued throughout the night and was still hammering the inside of my skull when I woke up ten hours later.

I didn't even get to watch Celebrity Big Brother. (Or Bruvva, as Jade would say.)

So today I am detoxing lite.

One chocolate chip cookie from EAT was harmed during the making of this post.

2007-01-05T10:37:00.000Z

The first week of the year.

Over.

Last night I was in Selfridges and found a pair of Gucci stilettos, purple sequinned, in my size. They fit like a glove (hmmm, or a sock?) and were on sale from £350 down to £80. £80!!

I walked away, because I didn't need them. They weren't necessary for my survival, unlike black knee high boots, or new trainers. This is my new years resolution to not spend money on rubbish. Not that these delightful disco dancing shoes were rubbish, but they were rather frivolous.

I have a problem with spending money too easily. I am a consumer junkie. Before I move to Ireland I will be giving away a huge amount of clothes to charity. God only knows what to do with the cosmetics I have amassed. It is wasteful and I am really trying to be better. Honest.

Here is a small selection of my frivolous yet favourite buys from the past year:

Because what girl doesn't need a scarlet AP knicker set! Sadly, blindfolded fit girl not included.

Or, for that matter, a slutty pair of shoes to match. I wore these out recently and was complimented on them by a few females. When asked if they were comfortable on a night out I struggled with a suitable response. Somehow "No idea, I've only ever worn them shagging," didn't seem appropriate.

I bought two new sex toys last year. The Rock Chick and the Pebble. Both currently are out of power and I haven't bothered to replace them. A bit disappointing, because I had read some excellent reviews. Still, it just serves as a reminder that there is nothing better than good old fashioned cock. Lovely.

I am afraid I cannot write any more as I just overheard the Hamster girl talking to two partners in the hallway. The topic of conversation was excess baggage but all I heard was:

"I came twice and they nailed me on the second time."

I am shocked and impressed.

2007-01-04T11:05:00.000Z

C was 21, blonde, with the softest skin I have ever touched. She was also bisexual and had agreed to be our playmate for the night.

I met her at the train station in town and we caught another train to N's (the bf). We chatted on the way and I felt nervous and unsure of myself. She was just so pretty and young. N and I had only been seeing each other two weeks. I was unsure how it was going to feel.

Once at N's we sat on the couch and sipped (gulped) some champagne. It's always slightly unnerving, those first few minutes of an intended threesome, before the action kicks off. (It's also slightly unnerving that I can write a sentence like that so nonchalantly.) N, sitting between us, turned to me and kissed me on the lips. We broke apart and smiled. He looked at C and kissed her gently. C and I kissed in front of N, and the ice was broken. N and I helped C remove her top, and her chocolate coloured lace bra. She had the most amazing real breasts I have ever seen, soft perfect skin and pink rounded nipples. Soon we were all naked, and decided to move upstairs to the bedroom.

The next hour was a blur of mouths, tongues, fingers. N fucked us both, but somehow we were never separate, it was always the three of us together. At C's suggestion I lay on top of her and we ground against each other until we both came, in a moment I would replay in my head many times later. Then C and I knelt on the bed caressing each other while N wanked over our faces. He came into our mouths in turn, and C thanked him, much to his amusement.

N left the room and C and I held each other and kissed.

"God, you have an amazing body," I said.
"Well, I think I am in love with your nipples!" she exclaimed. "I just want to keep touching you."
"Ok, do then." I smiled.

N joined us again with two football shirts that he thought we might be more comfortable in downstairs while we rested and finished our champagne.

END OF PART ONE

2007-01-03T09:22:00.000Z

This morning on the train I was listening to an old mix on my ipod (don't take the piss please) and the Mariah Carey song "Honey" came on.

I have heard it a million times, but only now have I grasped the concept. I am losing my touch, clearly. Allow me to share with you the chorus:

And it's just like honey
When your love comes over me
Oh baby I've got a dependency
Always strung out for another taste of your honey
It's like honey when it washes over me
You know sugar never ever was so sweet
And I'm dying for ya, crying for ya, I adore ya
One hit of your love addicted me
Now I'm strung out on you darling
Don't you see
Every night and dayI can hardly wait
For another taste of honey

Could it be, that she is a jizz addict? When your "love comes over me?" Is "love" what they are calling a spunk facial these days?

I like come on my face as much as the next girl (possibly more, truth be told) but I can't say I have ever met a man whose load tasted like honey.

I wonder what her man eats.

2007-01-02T10:34:00.000Z

I am almost, almost glad to be back at work.

The latter part of last week seemed to be a never-ending parade of disasters. Namely;

A planned day out at the zoo took two hours to get to, after which it rained constantly and the animals hid in their shelters out of the cold. The monkey/gorilla exhibit was closed and no amount of "Here kitty kitty" would coax the lions out to play.
To cheer myself up, a bit of shopping in Oxford St on a Saturday afternoon was decidedly underwhelming as I stepped outside and had made my way to a side street when the heavens opened. Saturated indeed. As I met the bf back in Niketown he took one look at my dripping self and commented, "Nice hair." Amused, I was not.
To cheer myself up again, I decided it was an excellent idea to go out and get pissed on the-night-before-new-years-eve. But it was fun. The bf and I watched three girls and two boys next to us trying to get it together. The boys were slow and not adept at closing a deal. "If it were me, and I were single, I would have had her up the arse in the toilets by now," said drunk Bf. I nodded seriously. "If it were me, I would have sucked him off, and his brother and his father by now.." Bf recoiled in horror and covered his ears while I laughed myself silly.
New Years eve was a drunken night out. Upon leaving a local bar, the bf was stopped by two girls. As he caught up with me and we walked home I asked what the hold up was. One of the girls had said to him "I know you have a girlfriend, but I think you would be a great match for my friend." I stopped dead in the street, turned around and started to run back to the bar. Sadly, my sprint pace is affected in red patent stilettos, and the bf managed to physically restrain me. Several times. I was livid. I am a lightweight of a girl, but I felt I was unstoppable and would have done real damage. (If I hadn't been stopped, obviously.)
Upon arriving home, we discovered that the flatmate had locked the door from the inside and I was unable to get into my house. I was cold, tired, very drunk and the trauma of the evening was too much to handle. I sat on the step and dissolved into sobs. The bf gave me a cuddle and gave me a plastic daisy ring that he had in his pocket from a christmas cracker. This cheered me up and stopped my tears for at least 20 seconds. In the taxi over to a friends house (and couch) I cried like my heart was broken. Or like an over-emotional girl who has consumed far too much champagne, and vodka red bull.

Today I feel tired, and a little bit low. To make it all better, I plan to make some resolutions, and monitor my progress.

After I've had another coffee, that is.

Happy New Year all.

2006-12-22T09:43:00.000Z

Todays mood is: HAPPY

Simply because,

It's the last day at work for a week or so, and I finish up at midday.
Assuming the fog lifts at Heathrow, I will be in Rome for Christmas. (And it will lift. Because, because, it has to.)
My hair has almost grown back after a disastrous short haircut over a year ago. I feel almost normal again. Almost.
This time last year I was "seeing" a not-very-nice man, who made me miserable. This year I am seeing a very-nice man who makes me feel all warm and giggly and breathless. (And not just when we are fucking, perverts.)
I have offered to cook a pre-Christmas dinner for the man above, and am filled with the idea of a delicious roast meal, not unlike what Nigella would create. My friend P last night started to give me advice on cooking. "Make sure you bash the potatoes around a bit, to make them crispy, and use very hot oil," she said. "I was going to get those ready roast ones from M&S." I grinned at her and she laughed. Domestic goddess, I am not.
It's Christmas, and who could be miserable on Christmas? That's what January is for!

So, I hope you all have a wonderful Christmas filled with Christmas cheer, lots of filthy shagging, delicious ready-to-cook food and many glasses raised.

Buon Natale!

2006-12-21T11:36:00.001Z

Todays mood is: ANNOYED

To clarify, things that have made me tetchy today include (but are in no fucking way limited to):

Coke Zero - Tastes like real coke they all said. Like fuck. It tastes like coke with an aspirin dissolved in it.
Money, or lack thereof.
Cars that break down.
Sunny holidays that don't work out - see Money.
Work that I have to do when I would rather be dicking around, or in the pub like everyone else on the planet.
A boy who shall remain nameless.
A girl who shall remain nameless.
The hamster girl for being plain fucking annoying. No more hamster photos but instead a diatribe on the last few times she got her hair cut, and then chastising me for the money I spend when I get mine cut here. "I would never pay that," she said, and looking at her mousy blonde long frizzy ponytail I could only sigh in response.
The french.

2006-12-20T09:36:00.000Z

I keep getting Christmas cards.

It's astonishing really. I have been in this new job for only a week or two. I am temporary staff. This should mean typically that I don't really exist here. As a temporary worker, you are usually never spoken to or acknowledged.

Every day this week there has been a card on my desk. At latest count I have 4 Christmas cards (yes, one day I got two!), one bottle of Chablis, and a cranberry shimmering lip gloss. I have also been shown a photo of a hamster. I feel very included.

I live on the other side of the world from any family. I have about five people whom are in my extended family group whom I simply love, and will no doubt speak to on Christmas day. I don't tend to speak to my immediate family. I may make an exception this year and call my siblings, but my relationship with my father is not one of regular communication.

But no presents.

On the upside, any Christmas shopping I do is for me, and me alone. Except for my best friend J, who last year I bought a rampant rabbit. Much to her embarrassment.

However, if I was to have a Christmas list, these are the things I would like:

A UK passport with my name on it
Cash
Sexy knickers
Shoes
Toys
A cute girl for the BF and I to have a nice festive threesome with (apply within)
Cash
Stockings
A new warm winter coat
A day in a spa
A sunshine holiday
Cash
Hat, scarf and gloves (fucking freezing today)
A home cooked meal (it has been years)
Lots of sex, morning, noon and night

Some of these things are surely within reach. As for the rest, one can only dream.

2006-12-19T09:31:00.000Z

Christmas has been somewhat bittersweet for me for a few years now.

I loved it as a child, but these days I can't help but spend a bit of time thinking about loved ones who are no longer around.

I lost my mother to a car accident when I was in my very early twenties. A teenage driver fell asleep at the wheel and hit her head on. I was unfortunate enough to see the wreckage on the evening news while I was eating my dinner. I had no idea there had been an accident, but I was aware that she hadn't turned up for work that day. On seeing the accident on television I recognised the car and phoned the hospital. They confirmed that she was there, but could not tell me anything more than she was currently in surgery. This was actually not true, but they are unable to tell you when someone has died over the phone. The truth was she had been in the hospital alone since mid-morning, and had died in the afternoon. As I readied myself to drive two hours to the hospital, the phone rang. It was my estranged father to tell me she had gone. The police had visited him, some nine hours after the accident, and four hours after her death.

The shock and pain I felt was unlike anything I have ever felt in my life. Looking back, I was not numb, but broken. Then two days later, you get busy again. There was a funeral to organise, which I was responsible for. There's a house to sell. There's a will, there's a court case. Within two weeks I was back at work, and I got on with my life. But I felt empty. I felt nothing would ever be right in my life again. Every happy moment, I thought, would be tainted by the loss. Every birthday, every christmas.

I am really thankful that I can say, things are right in my life again. I can enjoy really happy occasions, without dwelling on the loss. I no longer cry on my birthday every year. I do sometimes still cry on hers.

But every now and then, I stop and think about what she could have been, what she could have achieved, and how she could have influenced my life if she were around today.

Christmas is one of those times.

2006-12-15T11:07:00.000Z

One of the girls at work just stopped by my desk to show me a picture of her hamster on her mobile phone.

What the fuck????

"Isn't it cute? It's my little baby," she said proudly.

I looked up at her with a pained expression on my face.

"Isn't it cute?" she repeated, smiling.

"No. I don't like it." I said, smiling.

"What? Why?" She seemed genuinely distraught.

"It's like a rat. Ugh." I shuddered, visibly.

"It's not, it has a cute little face, chubby cheeks, big soft body," she defended the little bastard passionately.

"It's like a fat rat then."

"What is wrong with rats? I love rodents!" She said, with a big smile.

"I hate rodents. I wish they would all die." I smiled back, full of Friday cheer.

"Oh...."

Off she went, to show someone else a picture of her hamster on her mobile phone.

The lucky fucker.

2006-12-12T11:05:00.000Z

I met an old work mate A on the main street of the city, somewhere far away. The sun was shining. It had been over a year since I saw him last. He looked exactly the same.

He was pretending to browse in a shop window when I spotted him.

"Hey you," he said. "You look good!"

I smiled and gave him a hug. We walked up the busy street and into a lane, in search of somewhere to sit down for lunch. We sat down on a table outside, in the sunshine. After a year, the conversation flowed exactly the same as it always had. The waiter arrived, he ordered a burger and a Stella, I ordered mussels and a framboise beer.

A is incredibly funny to talk to. He can come across quiet and shy, but if you listen, he has a dark sense of humour and a quick wit. I once met his wife at a party, and I was thrilled to note that she seemed to delight in his warped sense of humour. It is rare to meet a couple who still find each other hilarious after many years.

We lunched and exchanged news, and bitched about former colleagues. We ordered more drinks, and relaxed in the sunshine. We finished our new drinks and the waiter cleared our table. We chatted for a few more minutes.

"Well," he said, looking at his watch. "I'd better get back to the office."

I nodded and we looked around expectantly for the waiter with the bill.

We waited.

And waited.

"Let's go stand by the door," A suggested.

We stood.

And waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And started to walk off down the lane. Very, very slowly.

We turned on to the city street. Very, very slowly.

We said our goodbyes and went our separate ways. Less slowly.

That night I proudly announced to my friend that I had done "a runner." She was horrified. "Don't you feel bad?" she asked, pleadingly. I tried to look remorseful and failed.

Three days later while waiting to board my flight, I pondered the likeliness of Interpol swooping in and escorting me to prison.

"Nothing to declare." I said innocently, as I made my escape.

It would probably be dangerous for me to go back.

2006-12-11T11:41:00.000Z

BF and I stayed in on Saturday night. I was all pitiful with a cold, he with a hangover.

After Superman Returns (rubbish), he flicked through the channels and settled on Alien vs Predator.

I frowned.

He looked up. "Don't you want to watch this?"

"I've seen it." I lied, badly.

He looked at me suspiciously. "No, you haven't. Why don't you? Is it too scary?"

"Yes." I semi-lied. Of course it isn't too scary! Is it?

He smiled. "That's not really the reason, is it..."

"Of course not." said Brave Betty.

The Predator man stood in the middle of the dark cave. Waiting. The scary music played. I put my face into the duvet.

"What are you doing??"

"I don't want to look."

"You big baby. Come down here then." BF opened his arms and I crawled into them, my head on his chest, the duvet close to my face so that I could hide when the suspense got too much. Which it did. Frequently. But it doesn't matter when you are wrapped up warm, with strong arms around you.

And that is why I love watching scary movies with the BF. For the record, other shows I am scared of include Rick Stein, The Simpsons, Top Gear, anything related to football and Girls of the Playboy mansion.

2006-12-08T21:40:00.000Z

I have a terrible cold. I should be out on a corporate funded jolly right now, but I am at home in pink and chocolate pyjamas with the heating on full. Not terribly glam, but they are at least from Victorias Secret. A girl has to have standards.

So....what's been happening?

Since I last blogged, lots of things have happened. I will reveal these in detail at a later date. Much like an advent calendar, one taste of sweetness at a time. Or perhaps more like a Halloween tradition, it has always been a bit of trick or treat with me. Here is something to look forward to:

A threesome, in which Betty rediscovers her yearning for the softer sex
A trip around the world, in which Betty touches down in 3 exotic locations and is called a "bitch" in the street
A new location, in which Betty learns to camp out
A swinging party, in which Betty's boyfriend nearly drowns in the jacuzzi and is saved by a brave lady grabbing his cock and holding him afloat (this must be true, he told me)
A new job, in which Betty meets the Antichrist of a receptionist
An episode of small crime, in which Betty breaks the law and shocks her friends - rock n roll!
An end of an era, in which Betty faces her past and...

A new beginning. Ah. We like that.

Oh, and lots and lots of sex. With a hot fella. We like that too.

2006-12-08T11:38:00.000Z

The evil landlady has softened, slightly.

My friend explained to her that I have no family, have recently recovered from a marriage breakup, and that I have nowhere else to go. These things are true-ish. I am not above using my occasionally unfortunate situation to play on sympathies. Not when it involves keeping a roof over my head.

I won't be spending my Christmas at a shelter, this year.

Temping life is not inspiring me today. I evaded a lot of typing, and the other person in the office who is now doing it is sending me death vibes. I am a terrible temp. Fuck it.

What is this blog going to be about, anyway?

Should I get all sexed up and write about how I can't wait to get naked with my boy this weekend. I could spend a paragraph talking about his body. He spends a fair amount of time in the gym, and it shows. Firm hard thighs, a defined torso, and an incredible arse. Lovely.

Should I get all angry and write about the fucking cunting rules that apply to my not being able to obtain a visa in this country? Maybe not. Acceptance is the way to inner peace.

Should I get all political and write about er....political stuff?

Hmmm....