It Started With A List

First to any newcomers to my weekly musings a big hello from your favourite London Diva. Since the last time we talked, I am happy to say that usual service in my trainwreck of a lovelife has been resumed.

Mr Invisible would now like to see me this Friday night - which a) annoyingly inconvenient - it seems even less the favourable love prospects fail to fall in line with my plans - must be something in the water! and b) this new date just isn't possible as I am off to yet another Christmas party, the first of which I have just returned from, hoarse and ever so slightly merry, which for a Christmas humbug like myself is very rare indeed.

There is something disarmingly endearing about watching your usually serious colleagues, concentrated on the lyrics of some dodgy song, nervously clutching their karaoke mike and praying they can remember the beat of the entire song.

I did what I always do, which is sing at the end of the evening (Nothing Compares To You, Sinead O'Connor), when everyone is as drunk as a skunk and a less than mighty voice able to hold a tune, is miraculously transformed into something halfway decent. My cunning plan came off with a hitch, so well in fact that 3 people dubbed me a ringer!

I crossed it off my list. Which list I hear you ask? The list of course. In the first week of December every year I make my list of things I want to happen to me in the next year.

Last year's list was a short one - pass my degree. Check. Be more organized - half check. Be solvent - well I didn't know we would hit the worst depression since 1929 did I ?- so let's call that half a check and to be continued.

Finally, I asked for real deal -'the one' or as close to him as possible, I don't want to disqualify any potential candidates. Must remember to carry that over to next year's list!