Day 45-46: London

Highlights:

• Blackwood reunion
• Charge's comedic timing
• Children In Need with Hayley and Alex

THURSDAY

The new Blackberry Facebook app automatically imports people's birthdays into your calendar and so even though I definitely had remembered Thursday's birthday kids, it was an easy reminder that it was my old boss's birthday and on texting him I got an invite to drinks that evening. Socialising sorted, I got out of bed to discover I had horrendous dodgeball muscle ache. It really is one of the best work outs you can have; with all the bending down to collect the balls, the leaping and dodging, and then the throwing you can guarantee you'll hurt at least somewhere you didn't know it was possible to hurt. I shuffled around the house painfully and then after my first beans on toast in a long time (another British cuisine that is under-appreciated on the continent), applied for some jobs and listened to Blitzstein's weird U.S. Air force symphony (remember Blitzstein who was murdered by those Portuguese sailors?) and then some more of the new Bloc Party album. I really love it, so give Kettling a listen at least if you're up for some weird, metally Bloc Party.

I went to give blood at 2.55, but was told there were running 45minutes late as someone was sick and they also only had three beds. I literally live 2minutes away from the venue, so asked if I could check-in but go wait at home. Not allowed apparently. After my aggressive attempt to get you all to stick needles in your arms, the right thing for me to do would have been to wait around and give that day, but I didn't do the right thing and figured I could book into another appointment next week. It'll serve me right if there's a 2hour queue there.

I was going to head to the V&A (the last time I went was about 12years ago, and the William Morris stuff was so boring I've not been back since) but after receiving a fitness message from Abbie and knowing Lewis was at the gym, I decided to go for a run. There's a nice park called Burgess Park between Bermondsey and Peckham which has recently been done-up. It has a lake, a BBQ area, a kids park and some 'green gym' equipment. Not sure if you've seen this, but they're basically just gym machines that are cemented around parks but obviously don't require electricity to run. They have some in Southwark park as well, though they're grouped together. In Burgess Park there's one machine every 30metres. For an isolated workout.

Later I walked my old commute along the Thames, through Shad Thames and across London Bridge into the City. I've accidentally worked in the City for years, and whilst I don't really miss it, there's something cool about the little cobbled lanes and back alleys around Bank. I stopped off at my office to say hi to the building reception guy Joe, and fortunately bumped into my old colleague Chris who walked me to the pub where Banksy was having his drinks - The Cock and Woolpack on Finch Lane. Not a pub I'd necessarily go back to (the worst part of working in the city was mid/post work male drinkers. Awful). So it was Banksy's 32nd birthday (though a 10-Years-Younger style survey he did on his clients that day placed him a fair bit above that). I worked with him my entire time at Blackwood, but only started calling him Banksy like everyone else this year. I used to prefer to wind him up by calling him Andrew. Keep him in his place. It was a good little work reunion. I got all the latest gossip, baby announcements and envy at my freedom. I got a little drunk with my friend Louella and then went home to bed.

Abbie arrived home with her friend Jonny around 11pm, so I got up, put on some clothes and had another drink whilst catching up on Jonny's latest activities. I think I have an affinity with him due to our mutual lack of commitment to higher education. Stuff like that is binding.

FRIDAY
I got up on Friday morning and talked to Jonny for a bit before he went to the Entrepreneurs Conference 2012 at the Excel Centre. He's going in to business by himself as an eco-surveyor (not sure if that is his actual job title but it seems quite apt given that he goes round to properties and tells them how they can save money by implementing certain energy saving changes) after his former boss (at their two-man company) became somewhat impossible to work with. He'd signed up for the conference a while back and knew it was going to be a little bullshit (I think you can make strong comparisons with David Brent's motivational speaking career and those of the speakers there), but he had a mate working at the event who told him Bill Clinton was speaking on the Friday so it was worth going for that at least, and he planned to spend the rest of the day slating the shit speakers on twitter.

Being one of the only people I know to have plans to go top the Excel Centre, I recommended Jonny arrive in style by taking the Olympic/TFL Ski lift from the O2. The best possible use of an Oyster card:

After he left, I did my standard few hours of job searching before committing a full hour to entering on line competition. There are HEAPS of them. I completed loads of surveys targeted at housewives, was asked questions on every possible subject and only called it a day when I became worried that I wasn't putting enough money aside for my funeral (apparently we should all be concerned over the rising costs). A few years ago I did really well out of competitions (two Reading festival tickets, a Field Day ticket, few other miscellaneous gigs and a box of CDs. As I haven't won the lottery since I'm pretty sure I'm due at least an Argos voucher from this latest drive.

I was catching up with the first episode of the new series of The Hour when I heard the charming vocals of baby Charge coming from the living room. Abbie called me in with a "you've got to see this, Nicole!" I popped in to see Charge lying on his front on the sofa with his face smushed to the side. Almost immediately (after seeing me?), he threw up a little bit of milk baby sick on the cushion and settled in with satisfaction. We mopped it up but be careful where you sit next time you're over as we didn't dis-infect at all. More of a wipe really. Just before Ellen left, she confirmed her position as the coolest mum in the world by asking us if we wanted to see something she'd discovered recently, then proceeded to show us how Charge's whole fist could fit in her mouth, leaving his little baby arm looking like a sort of human lollipop stick. Bloody hilarious. She couldn't understand why the other baby mums at the mother/baby screening of Skyfall that morning (it is a 12A) weren't impressed. Squares.

After Charge left (and Ellen with him) I went for a run with Tony. I'm a little out of practice, and his slow run was faster than I'd have been inclined to go at even during my peak 5-times-a-week gyming period (back when my gym was in the stylish old Highbury stadium wing). I've always been a bit of an independent runner. I figure there's no need for anyone else to see me beetroot or judge how often I stop. After being jokingly shoved into a lamppost by Tony (he didn't realise I would actually run slap bang into it), and then him dancing to Carly Rae Jepson as we ran, I think I'm going to continue being an independent runner.

I went to meet Hayley at her flat in Bow in the evening to take her the bottle of wine I'd booze-cruised back from Paris. It was a Medoc. A nice musty number. Good legs. We toasted Hayley's new job and watched some Children in Need. Just a few notes about CIN this year:

• So, first thing's first; what was with the sexy, cartoon Pudsey bear? They kept showing a clip of him dancing sexily to some sort of smooth music, with a really creepy zoom and focus on his crotch area. His little animated hips gyrating to the the beat. Yuck
• Girls Aloud; not sure I approve of their new Stylist. I think drugged, anorexic, fake-tanned, gaunt drag queen is a bit 2007. I don't like to comment too heavily on female image (did anyone hear Clare Balding's amazing statement on HIGNFY about women in media, and newspaper focus on 'sexy' teens turning legal? Completely on the mark) but I really wish they'd grow older a bit more gracefully. They're still only late 20s but their attempts at beauty somehow have the reverse effect of making them look like 50 year old mutton dressed as sunbed lamb. The only one I can look at for longer than five seconds is Kimberley, who has retained a slim but not skeletal figure and some nice warmth to her face, keeping her looking her actual age, if not younger, and making her the only candidate for a half decent role model to young women (though after Darcy Bussell outrageously told her she needed to do a few more sit ups on Strictly this week, I imagine she'll struggle with weight issues before long).
• Good to see Dave Benson-Phillips back in business. After spotting his LinkedIn profile a few years back (http://www.linkedin.com/pub/dave-benson-phillips/21/450/67), I presumed he was struggling. Clearly not if that Horsham charity stint is anything to go by
• The Eastenders/Alan Sugar skit that could have been completely appalling if not for the one slightly redeeming line where he calls Billy Mitchell a 'Cockney SatNav'

I had meant to go to a housecooling party at Dom's (sorry Dom! I had the hat ready and everything) but Alex and Hayley kept me there with extra wine, telling rude jokes regarding the CIB equivalent of working with animals (too inappropriate for this audience I think) and showing me videos of Nick Helm performing (check out "He Makes You Look Fat" here). Even our near friendship-breaking disagreements on the qualities of Matt Baker (hero, if you've ever seen the Blue Peter episode "There's a Nomad In My House") couldn't drag me away. Hayley and I got the friendship back on track when the conversation somehow turned to deaf actors and when I mentioned the pretty, blonde deaf lady from West Wing, Hayley guessed it was the same actress who appeared in the L Word as there couldn't be two people in that category. Yep. It was the same actress.

I left after doing a few lunges behind the couch (my hammies* were killing me) and as Hayley cried with laughter as Alex declared himself victorious for winning a six year relationship with her only by staring at her for weeks across the dancefloor of a student indie club like some sort of creep. No need for roses or sweet talk with Hayley.

* I'm so, so sorry for using the word 'hammies' even as a joke. Sometimes even I want to stop being friends with me