I'm in Africa!

And one thing I don't miss is tube strikes!

I'm in Tanzania to be precise. I flew into Nairobi with Emirates and was met my James' Kenyan friend at the airport. He was under strict instructions (from James) to book me a coach to cross the border into Tanzania, check me into my hotel, take me out to dinner, show me a bit of Niarobi and take me back to my hotel. I hadn't realised how worried James was about me travelling until the Kenyan friend told me he had received email after email from James telling him how to look after him. One of the emails even stipulated that I was only to be taken around in taxis driven by women - there are no female taxi drivers in Nairobi! I had such a brilliant night though, I went to a bar with live music and tried Kenyan beer, all cool stuff. The drive over the border to Tanzania was not so cool, there were near misses with cows and trucks, a dalliance with the police (our driver was speeding) and roads so dreadful I couldn't even begin to describe them. When I finally arrived in Tanzania, my hotel was so gross I checked out after 20 minutes and moved to the hostel linked to the voluntary project im working on. The hostel is amazing! I have an outdoor room and spend my afternoons in the gardens, lying on a hammock trying to teach myself swahili. The hostel also has a treehouse and the most beautiful grounds. I know it's not really how ordinary Tanzanians live but it is amazing.

I went to the school today and taught 3 classes English, Maths and Spelling. The kids are so sweet and adorable and keep calling me 'teacher' which makes me giggle. The only downside to the school is that its an hour walk each way everyday in African heat. I know most of the kids have to do the same walk but blimey, it's tough. I just know that by the end of week I'll be resigned to take a taxi everyday (there's no public transport that goes there).

21 Days To Go!

I'm going to Africa all by myself in 21 days! Aaaaaaaaaah! Scary times ahead me thinks. Because I am a last minute wonder, I haven't prepared much. I got panicky about visas last night (because I had sort of forgotten about them) but turns out most can be obtained at the border so pheewww! I've almost got all of my injections, which have so far cost about £300. "£300?!!" I hear you screech. Yes, the cost has taken me a while to get over, I'm almost tempted to find the yellow fever demon and say to him/her "I laugh in the face of the danger, ha ha ha ha" (two points for those of you who remembered that line from Lion King). Anyway, I'm feeling a little poorly from the set of injections I had this morning so I'm all tucked up in bed with frutella.

Those of you on the Book of Face will know that I have recently decided to have swimming lessons. I told James about this and he almost fell over laughing. He couldn't understand how someone my age (22) wouldn't know how to swim. I tried to explain that when I'm in the deep end I panic and sink. I've tried kicking my legs and stuff but it just doesn't work for me, I go down like a dead weight. I've got a lesson tonight so hopefully I can channel my inner water baby and learn in the next 3 weeks.

Carbs are evil

I love The Mentalist. Uber cheesy, I know, but I'm such a sucker for Five US drama. Time Traveller wrote a post about how sometimes people say things that we never forget. In the last episode of The Mentalist, a really overweight, unattractive truck driver says "It's not my fault, I can't help the way I look" to which the Detective responds "Yes you can, with a low-carb diet you would lose all of that excess weight". Usually, it would be the former statement that would resonate, but after successfully giving up alcohol and junk food for lent my levels of general motivation are generally higher and it's the latter statement that's doing cartwheels in my head. Despite shifting 5 pounds over lent, my tummy is still podgy and I know this is a result of water retention caused by eating too many carbs: toast for breakfast, baked potato for lunch and pasta or rice based meal for dinner everyday. So, I decided yesterday to cut down on (not cut out) my carbs and already I'm in withdrawal - I can't tell you what I would do for a danish pastry, even though I last had one of those babies a couple of years ago. I have tried low-carb before so I know the fatigue etc will pass in a couple of days but I am still a bit miserable. Even so, I re-discovered the perfect carb-free snack today: piri piri biltong. Biltong is a staple for all south/southern africans so I can't believe I had forgotten all about it when it's just so yum!

A successful surprise party ...

... James was surprised, there was lots of alcohol and, even at the grand old age of 27, everyone got dreadfully drunk and started throwing my cupcakes at each other*. James got really hyper, disappeared for a while and was found passed out on the bedroom floor. I somehow managed to take out his contact lenses without blinding him and tuck him into bed amidst the occasional 'f*ck off', 'leave me alone' and 'I love you'. All the guests were still living it up in the living room, so I started to do a little bit of discreet tidying up to indicate that the party was over. Cabs were called, final shots were consumed and I joined James in bed. All was well until James decided to throw up in bed around 4am. With the patience of a saint, I did the laundry, cleaned up the near comatose James, administered to the cuts he sustained from falling onto a table with glasses. Not wanting to take any more risks, I made him a bed on the bathroom floor in case he decided to be sick again, only collecting him an hour later with strict instructions to use the bucket next time. Having switched on the lights and realised that he had somehow managed to touch the walls, carpet and door handles with sickie hands, I once again got the bucket of soapy water out and cleaned up, but this time with significantly less patience than that of a saint. I woke up to lots of 'I love yous', 'I'm sorrys' and 'thank yous', and got ready for work. I came back to a lovely takeout laid out in the living room accompanied by further 'I love yous', 'I'm sorrys' and 'thank yous'. And that was my weekend.

*Perhaps the clearest sign that the cupcakes I slaved over for hours weren't actually that nice.

Cupcakes

I have an obsession with cupcakes*. Having ruined James' surprise birthday party by telling him all about it I have decided that everything will be okay if I bake the perfect cupcakes. I have spent the last few nights pouring over Delia's, the BBC's and Good Living's cupcake recipes. In the name of research, I even watched Nigella's Express Bites on BBC 2. If ever there was a woman who harboured a secret p*rn star past and occasionally reverted to her old ways whilst filming a cookery programme, that woman's name is Nigella Lawson. Every time I watch her take a bite of one of her sugary creations and whisper in her dulcet tones "yes, that's hit the spot" I get such strong visual images of a bunch of w*nking foodies squirting all over their TV screens. Back to cupcakes. Armed with my brand new John Lewis piping set, food colouring and more cream cheese frosting that you could shake a stick at, I have decided to bake the following:






If this doesn't make him love me again, nothing will. I say that but you and me both know that I will be writing a post on Sunday morning complaining about how James stuffed them in his mouth without a second glance at my carefully piped, pastel coloured, crystal topped creations.


*Fairy cake to you and me but apparently the term 'fairy cake' is no longer in common usage and has been replaced by the American 'cupcake'. 'Pah' I hear you say.

Feet

I am so excited by all this sun. For the first time this year I went out with - wait for it - BARE LEGS! Ha! I decided to put on open toe wedge heels with about fifteen minutes left to catch my morning training. I then of course realised that my feet hadn't seen the light of day for about 6 months and weren't really fit for public display. In that fifteen minutes I managed to exfoliate my feet, moisturise and paint my toe nails AND run and catch the train, all without a smudged toe or sprained ankle in sight! I have a friend who actually recoils at the sight of toes (painted toenails or not) and can't bare to be touched by feet. The worst thing you could do on a date with him is try and play footsie under the table. My ex was also quite particular about feet - if my feet weren't buffed and toenails painted when I knew he was coming over he would take it as a personal insult and sulk for hour. James, on the other hand, wouldn't be able to identify my feet in a line-up, but then again maybe that's just healthy.

Feeling Better

It's another warm day! To celebrate I've ditched my stuffy work clothes for a bright blue dress with a little cardigan. It's so lovely outside it's almost impossible to be sad. Last night before bed I sent James a text telling him I was still upset and a bit in shock about what happened at the weekend. I then had a good cry into my pillow. I'm a strong believer in crying, better out than in. I don't know about you but when I haven't cried in a while (last time was maybe autumn of last year) there comes a point where nothing else will do and I woke up feeling better for it. James replied to my text this morning saying not to worry as arguing is just one of those things that couples do and he loves me more than ever. I still can't quite shake the feelings I talked about in my last post but hopefully they will just go away and we will get back to normal.

I have generally been feeling down in the dumps for a while now. It is all related to the stress of my contract as a paralegal being terminated a month earlier than expected because of down sizing and worrying about not having enough money to go travelling. Last week I managed to get a weekend job as a sales assistant in an opticians store, which will become full-time once my current contract finishes. I do feel like a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders but because I spent so long worrying it's taking ages to actually accept that everything is going to be ok now. I just have to keep telling myself that I have a job, I'm going travelling in 7 weeks and when I get back I have a career waiting for me, so I should count my lucky stars.

P.S. I started reading Graham Norton's So Me on the way to work. It really is laugh out loud stuff!

Songs that make you cry

I clearly spoke too soon when I wrote my last post. James and I had our first major bust up at the weekend. It was alcohol-fueled (on his part) and there was a lot of yelling on the walk home at half past midnight. The yelling continued when we got in, woke his flatmate up and, at its height, had James grabbing bedding to sleep on the sofa and me telling him all about the surprise birthday party I had planned for him for this Saturday. We did calm down and said sorry and fell asleep but I just haven't felt the same since. I'm shaky. I'm still a bit tearful and I'm clingy. I can't believe I ruined his surprise party in the heat of the moment and I've been up until after midnight ever since looking up extra special cake recipes, party food, party music, the lot to try and make it as special for him as I possibly can. On the way home today (after spending 2 hours after work looking for a good icing piping set) I started listening to Kings of Leon, Only By Night. I've never been a major fan and have only ever really listened to a couple of songs. Sat on the train home, I listened to Cold Desert properly for the first time and it was only then I realised how lost I felt.

A real post

I've been thinking about why I don't really blog anymore. Why I don't feel like I have anything interesting to say. I think it's because despite being skint, soon-to-be unemployed and incredibly stressed about work and travel plans, I am actually happy. It's quite possible that I have become a victim of Eastenders syndrome - so used to high drama, infidelity and a disastrous love life that anything 'normal' seems boring and waste of good ink (or webspace).

For the moment I am content to live vicariously through my friends. My best friend, Nancy, shared a kiss with her boss after a work function. They talked about it afterwards and decided that a relationship at work would adversely affect the dynamics in their close-knit team. Fair enough. Believing that things were now all back to 'normal' between them she went on a lunch date with a banker she met at the work function. Since her boss found out about the lunch date he has completely ignored her and when he has spoken to her, he has been strictly professional (which is rather unusual given that the previous week they had been hiding each others shoes at work). Which led to us both wondering over drinks what the hell was up with him. We concluded that he doesn't want her but also doesn't want anyone else to have her. In other words, he is a typical conflicted man. Even with me out of the dating game it appears as though men never change.