Tiara-tastic

This morning I had to go clothes shopping for Greg to kit him out for the honeymoon. As he's unable to have the Yellow Fever vaccine, he has to take extra precautions (only sensible). We've got insect-repellent spray (with huge percentages of DEET), bands for his ankles and wrists (90% DEET!) rather like the type I wore one ski trip when we got the ferry across to France. You know the thing - look like a thick, Scholl, friendship bracelet? Anyway, I've also been told he needs to wear long kight-coloured sleeves and trousers on safari, and to avoid blue. Apparently the mossies like dark colours and the tsetse flies go for blue. To be frank, I'm following all of these precautions too, after my discussion with the lovely nurse at the Royal Free Travel Clinic, and wasn't previously aware that you should avoid blue clothing. Anyway, I had to go pick up some long-sleeved PJs and a few long-sleeved shirts. Not in blue.

I also had to hop to Wandsworth where my wedding dress is being made. I found a tiara there on my last visit, and fell in love with it. I had been planning on using Greg's sister's old headdress (well, "old" in that she wore it for her wedding, ten years ago) but it made me look awful so after much soul-searching(!) I decided to go shopping for a new one. The ones online that I found weren't that great, and my mother said I was being rash to just order one - they mostly had no returns policy, understandably, and when the photograph isn't that clear and it might not suit me even if it only costs £20, it's still a waste - so I decided to look at some. Anyway, I wasn't expecting to find one so soon and had plans to scope out some shops. Harrods (their wedding department is massive), Caroline Castigliano (she had tiaras when I tried on dresses there), and Chiltern Street W1 (jammed with wedding shops and an Oboe shop which also interests me) would have been my hunting grounds. But at my last fitting I asked about tiaras. I'd seen their collection before and hadn't rated anything in it, but this time, there was this lovely....

*Realising she's shooting herself in the foot by describing her outfit before the day*

Anyway, I picked it up today, and put it on (for the hell of it) on my clean but not "up" hair - and felt like some sort of seven-year-old feels when she's imagining how she'll look when she gets hitched. Suffice it to say - I'm getting into this whole wedding excitement in a big way.

Just need to work out how to, and whether to, lose any more weight before my final fitting next week... Whatever size I am then, I'm sticking to it, despite being prone to losing weight when stressing. So I just won't stress. Ahem. Stopping smoking - doing rather well at reducing, not so great at stopping.

New year, new leaf

No I didn't move the pile of stuff, I've just rested my feet on it.

I have realised that this has turned into any old "dear [online] diary" thing and I'm not entirely happy with the change. This was originally supposed to be a blog detailing my conversion, and I was expecting it to document the interesting things about being a Jew, rather than slipping into the habit of banging on ad nauseam about weddings and work.

The truth is, I'm a bit at sea. I've been away every weekend since the beginning of August, and consequently I've not been to synagogue. I've been slipping on the kosher meat thing too. I'm really not happy about it at all. Anyway, this is the season for the Jewish festivals. We've got loads coming up - Rosh HaShana, Yom Kippur, Shemone Esri, Simchat Torah, Succot - and I vividly remember last autumn being a very rich one in terms of learning experiences.

So, new year (Rosh HaShana) comes in on Friday evening (you know the way Jewish days start at sundown). The major festivals are celebrated on two days outside Israel (because they were dependent on the moon's cycle and messengers runnning to the Diaspora with the news, so two days covers a margin of error). So I'll be off to shul on Saturday and on Sunday. And then next week I'll return to my Torah studies, and we'll see where it all goes.

I'm prone to depression at this time of the year (something about being solar powered) and need to work a bit harder than usual to maintain my happy-go-lucky demeanour. Ahem.

...and two come along at once

I have almost organised everything that requires organising (or at least, everything I intend to stick my oar into) for our wedding. It’s two weeks since I left my last job – and promise that I will, at some point, stop posting on Thursdays and mentioning that fact – and I was beginning to feel like I was about to run out of wedding stuff to do. Not that there’s ever too much to do (like Lucille who mentioned getting her wedding planner to source white highchairs!), but I’ve tried to draw a line. Anyway, I was thinking earlier this week that if I didn’t get a nibble for a permanent job by the end of this week, I’d spend next week focussing on finding some temporary contract/ locum work to tide me over October.

Then, this morning, when I was trying to work out when I’d have time to go to the hospital for another bloody blood test, the ‘phone rings. And when I was speaking to the lovely man from Michael Page, the ‘phone rang again. Once I’d responded to my answerphone message, I had two interviews lined up. One for tomorrow (eeek), one for a week Tuesday. And that’s on top of the “meeting” I already had tomorrow with another recruiter who is dangling the carrot of my perfect job in front of me (and won’t tell me about it until I’ve met him…).

So what with all the running around London I’ll be doing tomorrow, I have to cancel getting my nails done. We’re off to Mr W’s parents on Saturday for Rosh HaShana – and I know I’ve mentioned this before, but Mr W’s mother is very polished indeed. When on my hen bash last weekend I got my fingernails done and was looking forward to looking all elegant as well. Anyway, lovely as these nails were, they started to chip and as they’re relatively dark and in a colour I don’t have, I had to remove all the polish.

Four hours later, with curious red stains around my earlobes, I’m finally nude of nail – and have reached the decision that I definitely prefer painted talons. However I take comfort from the fact my nude nails will give interviewer the “ooh, look, serious professional” vibe rather than the “hellraiser” vibe, so it’s a good move [Note to self: borrow Becky's ball-breaker black framed glasses for the next interview]. There are unfortunately a couple of disadvantages. I was looking forward to seeing Mr W’s mother with some part of me looking finished and polished. Although she's single-handedly revamped my wardrobe, there's nothing in it that could be worn to a synagogue apart from the clothes I have from last winter which are tooo big now. The other downside is that we’ve got a party to go to on Saturday evening and I would have so loved to have had decent nails (have, however, got a gorgeous dress to wear to that, thanks to Mr W's mum).

If, after all the removing of nail varnish from nails, ears, shoes, I don't get this job tomorrow, I 'll know for sure that someone out there (up there?) hates me.

Now if you'll excuse me I have to go move one of the huge piles of crap which just slid to the floor, making it nigh on impossible to reach my keyboard. I'm not about to do anything *with* the pile, apart from pushing it sideways. I've got far more important things to do. Mr W's watching the Sopranos and the gory bits must have ended by now...

Location, location, location

I left my last job a week ago today. I've spoken to a couple of recruitment consultants in the past week and now it seems that I'm having a problem finding a suitable role - but purely on the geographical limitations I myself have set. It seems I'm being unreasonable in wanting a job in central London. I've been told a firm in Jersey (that was originally looking for someone to work in their London office) likes me (babelfish **don't think I'm inappropriate based on the paucity of facts at their fingertips**) and would I relocate to Jersey? It turns out that quite a few companies in my “area” are based near their clients, which mean M4 or M11 corridors, or occasionally Canary Wharf.

So it's change my job spec or get used to driving.

I don't know how fast the guy expects me to drive (and those that know, know it's slow), but I'm not interviewing for a job knowing that if I get it I'll be needing to leave home at 7am just to get there for 9am. When I worked in town (about three years in total) I'd frequently be in by 8, and rarely after 8.30, even when office hours started at 9.30. There's just something horrifically soul destroying about waking at 7 and knowing that no matter how fast you move, or how many traffic tickets you collect, you'll never be at your desk for 9.

I went with the amendment to the job spec.

Yellow Fever vaccine

Well, Mr Wonderful can't have it. Something to do with the fact a live viral vaccine (what this 'ere YF jab is) is not recommended for someone whose immune system is supressed. So I have to get in touch with the High Commissions (Mauritius, Kenya) and Embassy (SA) of locations we'll be going to and force them to let Mr Wonderful in without the (required) vaccine.

Here's hoping that the medica exemption certificate ("Hello SA/ Mauritius/ Kenya - my patient can't have the YF jab or he'll probably contract the disease and die as a result of the innoculation - so let him in without it whydoncha - Thanks awfully - Mr Medic") is sufficient to let him gain access to these three countries we're off to on our honeymoon. I'm going to be doing whatever it takes to ensure he's allowed in without the vaccine.

This raises a slight issue - what if, in fact, he's actually not SAFE to go to these places? I will ask this evening whether we should actually be going - I mean, I know the exemption route exists, but is there not a severe risk of YF and hence the requirement for the jab? The things that transmit YF aren't going to ask for a copy of his YF exemption before deciding not to give it to him?

So tomorrow I'll be trawling through the internet (making sure that I know my facts and figures about YF before I start on this crusade), then making contact with the various embassies and following it all up with scheduling meetings next week which I fully intend to leave clutching pieces of paper that confirm relevant embassy in London authorises immigration to LET US THE HELL IN. If I'm feeling verbose I might tell you all about my findings.

Not smoking - going well, bit of a slip last night with Laura. Gym attendance - you must be joking. I intend to go tomorrow but then again I intended to go each day this week but had a nap instead. Such is life. Once I've got wedding stuff out of the way I'll be working on my CV with a view to getting a proper job and stopping haring all over town every day. I could do with the rest!

Just when I really needed it

my printer (well, it's Gregory's really) has decided to blow the technological equivalent of a raspberry at me. It's sitting there, green light flashing and resolutely refusing to print. I've had an issue with this machine before - and discovered (and had such discovery confirmed by Gregory) that the stupid thing ony recognises the presence of my tiny laptop when his PC is turned on.

So, today I sit down to print off revised menus and revised quote from florist number one. To find that apparently I either need to re-install my printer, print a test page, or check my printer settings. None of which options I've taken up. I haven't done anything with the stupid printer settings and checking what machine I'm printing to is extremely unlikely to result in a eureka-type epiphany - it's not as if I've got legions of printers installed on my laptop that could have confused [Gregory's stupid] printer.

I send back holding emails - thanks for your document, I'm unable to print at present but will let you have comments when I do - and settled down to catching up on my other emails. I've got a hen do coming up and was expecting some communication from my two gorgeous organisers - but nothing. Not a worry - at least vlad.t.impaleer's emails about his low, low price prescription drugs are coming through so it's not as though I've got a techy glitch in my email facility too.

Oh, how wrong. Got a call from our invitations person - apparently the server (Gregory's again) is bouncing back emails. Oh, the joy. And another call, from Laura just to confirm that it definitely is bouncing back emails.

I know it's not exactly Gregory's fault that both printer and server hate me, but he'd better get home soon before the printer gets chucked out of the window, 80s-rock-band-style. I'd swiftly follow it with the server but I'm not sure what one of those is and suspect that lobbing it out of a window is not possible, and I'm going to require Gregory to fix my problems so I'm probably better off avoiding winding him up at this stage. Plus there us a chance that he might get a bit miffed to find all of his tech gear sitting three floors down - on someone's car - and refuse to wade into the naughty corner (where printer and server are both sitting - virtually, natch) and kick some techy butt for me, which I dearly need him to do as soon as he gets home this evening.

Still, the not smoking is going well, not had one since Sunday. I'm very pleased indeed to be a non-smoker now so it's not as if I'm reaching for the fags when things go wrong with Gregory's technology.

The Isle of Man

I have just got back from a lovely relaxed weekend in the Isle of Man, visiting a friend with whom I trained. Four of use went out, and I haven't chatted so much, for so long, about such diverse topics for goodness knows how long. Babies (Leo is pregnant again) and weddings (it's my hen thing this weekend coming up) were mercifully touched on only lightly before the conversation swung around to Billie Piper, Mandarin Chinese, penalty clauses, escrow accounts (Elle's about to complete a massive transaction), careers and emigration (Julie's off in about a month).

The weather was wonderful the entire weekend. On Saturday when Leo had arrived we went on the steam railway. I kept expecting Julian, Dick, George, Anne and Timmy to scamper up to our carriage and tell tales of smugglers hiding in caves and coves nearby. Failing that, to see Peter, Susan, Titty and Roger boarding the train with heavy hearts after a summer at Coniston Water. I know that geographically it was all wrong, these people are all fictional, and even if they weren't they'd all be dead, but the railway was gloriously old fashioned. There was no way to move carriages once you were on board, the windows were held open with leather sashes. Fantastic. When taking corners with the wind in the right direction the steam billowed around the windows and there was a faint smell of something I couldn't place but seemed completely in keeping with the whole mid-wars period (well, from my over-romanticised view of things, it did). I took some photographs of the little streams we crossed, some of the stone bridges, and a few actually of the train. I've convinced myself I can set up a flickr account so will do so without further ado (well, at some point tomorrow) and load up all my recent photographs.

I love anything that is reminiscent of between the wars - and from this point the steam railway was untoppable. Enid Blyton, Arthur Ransome, C.S. Lewis, P.G. Woodhouse, Agatha Christie - all these authors who paint a picture of life in these times evoke a thrill. I know they deal with the upper classes only and that indeed at least two of my list that I know of were anti-Semites, but somehow I thoroughly enjoy reading about this lost age that might only have existed for a very few people in the first place.

I got about eight hours' sleep both nights, and Julie and I went for a long walk on Saturday so I'm full of fresh air. We all talked about some matters that have been on our minds recently and, as is the case with these things, it's only when you start talking about these things that you realise how much they had been dominating your thoughts. So I feel fully cleansed - I didn't drink a lot (of alcohol), I ate well, and I even got some exercise in the glorious weather that we had over there. No better time to give up smoking! The Allen Carr book is going to do it for me - and I'll update this with how it all progresses.

All's right with the world. I've got a lot to do this week, but Ive also got a lot of time and when I get everything done, I'll have a sense of achievement. I'm hoping my recent breakthrough on the procrastination front will not have been a flash in the pan and that my to do list shortens rather than lengthening with time.

Now I'm off to bed - before 11pm!