skips and roof tiles

I'm busy as fuck (Aargh! December!) to write a full blog post, but had to share my delight in a recent swing of neighbourly events.

1) 1 x email from Shitty Neighbour noting that three roof tiles have fallen off the house, and as we are all freeholders, the roof maintenance needs to be "urgently" attended to by all of us together, and can we please all come up with a solution to repair said rooftiles?

2) we are having our basement dug out - we've decided to try and do as much as we can with the inside space we have. This means there will be a skip the size of Norway positioned outside our building. Filled with an ever-growing pile of rubble.

Both of these things fill me with immense pleasure. Suddenly, they need us. How the tables have turned.

For 1), we needn't cooperate with rooftile notice. And have henceforth decided not to reply at all to their "email notices" - they made us sit for 3 weeks until veto'ing our plans, so we will sit on their request for money for rooftiles.

Please dear God may the roof not blow off in the interim.

Then the skip fills me with endless joy and delight, for its obvious purpose of serving as a rubble vestibule. In clear view of her lounge window.

One last thing until I head back to my desk, and exploding inbox and HAG chair: I was involved in a very glam, lovely photo shoot and interview today. For a women's glossy magazine, here in London. The premise of the story is about my career, blog and being a female.

I do feel like a woman right now, just by size of my bumps, curves and hormone levels. So it is indeed apt.

But it also feels really good to be randomly recognised in a vast city, and even more so in the foreign country in which I live. The last time I did glam shoots like this was when I was doing publicity for my book - years ago. And in South Africa, where people know me and know my vibe.
Here, it's a whole new thing.

Anyway, that was nice. And I got a lovely manicure to boot. Not to mention hair done, face, wearing a Balenciaga dress, and having a giant fan directed towards my face to make me look like I was on a galloping horse, hair-wise.

Fuck my back hurts.