...the only time I seem to find where I can sit at ease in front of my lap-top at home, is the day before an exam. And so here I am again. You will remember that I passed the "biggie" two weeks ago, but no rest for the wicked, and I have another smaller exam on derivatives (woohoo!) tomorrow afternoon.
The other reason I am lucky to find myself in a tracksuit and at home on a Tuesday morning, is that I have come down with some sort of tummy bug. It's aaaaall about working that silver lining!
So, after spending Sunday and Monday in Scotland sitting in on one tedious meeting after another with a man not-so-lovingly referred to as, "the rottweiler", I arrived home just late enough to miss the Black Eyed Peas concert and with jowls aching from forcing them to smile at the vicious canine analyst I was forced to entertain. The next two weeks at work were a whirlwind, as I experienced my first earnings season. This basically involves me getting up even earlier, at 4.30, and working like a machine until the end of the day, coming home, passing out and starting all over again. Brief respites were found in the form of some romantic interest that I seem to have stirred up. Bearing in mind I wouldn't touch these boys with a barge-pole as we work together/they are very 'banker' and have egos larger than Texas, it still makes the office just that little bit more interesting.
1. Mr. Coffee. Brendan Fraser look-a-like according to Poochie. So named because a)he invites me for coffee every day, even though this only comprises of walking across the floor to Starbucks and back together and b)once when I e-mailed him saying I was tired, he turned up at my desk, popped a coffee (half a shot of espresso and the rest steamed milk; just how i like it) on it, gave me a wink and walked off. "How romantic" you may think, "how sweet", you may declare BUT let me tell you ladies and gents that Mr. Coffee happens to be in a four-year relationship. Suddenly his flirting doesn't seem appealing does it? No, no, this one is an out-and-out cad!
2. Mr. Big. ..after his legendary namesake in S&TC. I would say that this is merely in looks alone, otherwise that would be a huge call. Mr. Big is Dutch, well-spoken, dashing, blah blah blah, but what's the goss? What are the dirty deets? What is Mr. Big hiding? A wife? A girlfriend? Or maybe an alter-ego? Turns out that the latter has proved correct. At a work drinks party on Saturday night, my ears pricked up at the mention of Mr. Big. Apparently he is more Eurotrash Antoine than Chris Noth. He is to be found, of an evening, targeting women of any description in the banker watering hole of South Ken that is, Eclipse. Basically, he's a nymphomaniac. Blech.
Thank Goodness then, for the arrival of a real man to rescue me from the abyss of the office ants. B came to visit me last weekend and as I've said before, I'm mad about the boy. Even though he made me get up early on Sunday so he could...now let me get the jargon right..."lay down a guitar riff and jam on the track". The process took about 2 hours, 1.45 of which I was asleep in. Dammit, if I can't have the mic, what's the point in staying awake?? The end result sounded good - check it out if you get the chance. BTW - the band members are all hotties. Let's Groupie!
So...this coming weekend, I am off to Normandy with B and his pals. Je promis to take some piccies for you all. Gros bissous x
