All posts in the Gin category

The once in a decade day

Published March 6, 2014 by iftheshoefits

I’ve been absent without leave from the blogosphere, which means that I’ve been busy.  And when I say busy, I mean sleep-deprived busy.  As has Mr ShoeThatAlwaysFits.

Which is why we were stunned, dazed and confused when our schedules combined within a 2.5 mile radius in London on Monday.  We were in the same place at the same time.  In the 10 years we’ve lived south of the border, this is unheard of.








I quickly booked a hotel for us in Kensington for Sunday night – this meant that we could get up slowly on Sunday and head through to the big smoke for the day.  We could shop, we could enjoy a glass of wine or two, and then we could shop.  Between us we bought three pairs of shoes, two for me one for him.  This is a normal and healthy ratio for a female:male shoe-off.  Although, I haven’t seen my new shoes since then.  Hmm, I may be the victim of a hostage situation – he may actually be holding me to the ‘one pair in, one pair out rule’.  I don’t remember that discussion over late night gin in a tin.

We did all that and more and headed off our separate ways on Monday morning.  My conference was less than a 30 minute tube ride away, Mr ShoeThatAlwaysFits was a 15 minute drive away so I left for work later than I do every day I’m in the office – a brilliant start to a Monday I find.  He finished filming 30 minutes earlier than I did and came to collect me so that we could drive home together.  My own windswept and interesting chauffeur – all I had to do was keep a steady supply of coffee and chewing gum flowing on the journey home.

I’m still in a state of shock, and no matter what this week has since thrown at me, I remain well and truly inside my happy bubble.

Thus, our once in a decade day will be remembered as happily as eating warm apple strudel in the restaurant at the top of Grossglockner.

An earwig, a birthday and one too many bottles of wine

Published September 25, 2013 by iftheshoefits

Well yesterday was quite the day.  It all started off innocuously enough, I was awake before the alarm (always a good thing), my work outfit was already laid out from the night before – all I had to do was to make myself look presentable and head off to work as normal.  I was conducting my morning routine when I leaned down to scratch the top of my foot, as it had developed a bit of an itch, and to my horror I saw an earwig (aka a forkytail in my homeland) trapped under my tights.

I’m ashamed to admit that I screamed louder than was strictly necessary and proceeded to rip my tights off faster than the speed of sound, and then repeatedly jumped up and down on the sorry looking pile to ensure there were no forky-tailed survivors. Not very zen buddhist or even humane – but you try and hold back before coffee o’ clock when the adrenaline has kicked in.

I was still a bit shaky and itchy on my arrival at work and hurredly agreed to go out for lunch with a colleague.  There’s few things in life that lunch with a friend can’t sort out.  We were enjoying a lovely Italian lunch and over-zealously agreed to a second bottle of wine.  This is the point of no return – before you know it we’ve stopped off on the way back to the office to buy birthday cake and bubbly.  The next two hours were spent on concentrated bouts of sobriety before the office birthday bash.  There was singing, there was cake, there were cheese twists, there was champagne.  The bubbly ran out, the peanuts were depleted, it was 6.15pm and we all agreed that we should go to the lovely bar nearby for ‘just the one’ before we made our merry way home – it was only Tuesday after all.  My lunch had started with red wine, I was topped up with champagne and I decided to end the evening on gin and slim.  Not the worst move, but not the wisest either.

I was one of the lucky ones, I left before the heated debates about evolutionary politics and the crassness of Jane Austen and well before the bar bill ran into 3 figures.  It was a more subdued office this morning, with some flaggers heading out for early lunches.  I was a bit dry this morning, but I didn’t feel horrific, just a bit sleepy – in no small part to Mr ShoeThatAlwaysFits having a sneezing fit at 3am.

But that’s a whole other story.

It’s such a Tuesday

Published September 3, 2013 by iftheshoefits

Well, today arrived far too soon for my liking.  Yesterday was a veritable hubbub of activity – work, shopping, ironing, dishes & midnight chats with Mr ShoeThatAlwaysFits on his return from an 18 hour day.

This morning arrived far quicker than I anticipated – I wasn’t really prepared to haul my carcass out of bed and make myself look presentable for the day ahead.  I didn’t even have a particularly full diary.  But my day turned into such a Tuesday.  There were good meetings and bad meetings, emails were down briefly in the morning and the landlines went down in the afternoon meaning that we had to divert all incoming calls to mobiles.  Nothing too disastrous but nonetheless irritating – although there were amusing interludes when individual ringtones (normally everyone sets their phones to a gentle vibrate) were resonating around the office, mine is set to Paradise City by Guns n Roses.  You can take the girl out of the 1990s but you can’t stop her from channelling her inner rock chick (knee slides optional).

So here I am in the terrible dilemma, settle down with a good solid gin and slim, or hit the gym.  Actually, I know the answer to that one,  it’s time to unleash some pent up frustrations and, following Axl’s example, it’s time to put on the lycra.  Bring it on Slash, give me some riffs.  Take me down to the Paradise City…

The Final Countdown

Published July 19, 2013 by iftheshoefits

My significant other, herewith Mr ShoeThatAlwaysFits, has been away adventuring for nearly 2 weeks and he’s due home tomorrow – hooray.  I can’t wait to see him, but I do have a lot to do before he gets back.  He likes tidiness, order and serenity – I’m on the chaotic side of the organised spectrum.

In short, stuff needs doing.

The cupboards are bare, the ironing pile is taller than I am, and socks to do not pair themselves.  But it’s fine, I have a plan – and if the plan fails, I have gin.

  1. Tidy away jewellery (currently abandoned on kitchen worktop)
  2. File paperwork
  3. Start ironing tonight
  4. Drink gin (as a reward)
  5. Wash up
  6. Pair socks
  7. Sleep
  8. Another bout of ironing
  9. Go to supermarket
  10. Finish ironing

On his arrival, I can then squeal with excitement and give him a huge hug whilst simultaneously emitting an air of nonchalance.

This is a good plan in theory.  I hope I complete the tasks in order, I have been known to head straight to gin o’ clock.  Then all I have is a sheepish smile and some devilish dimples.

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