August 17th, 1991

August 17th, 1991

At home, England

It’s not often we get two nights in New York so I made the most of it by doing some sightseeing (Empire State with Deidre, who’d never been) window shopping at Saks and Bloomingdales, eating and lots of walking, but the best part was seeing Christopher.

He met me at the Lex (crew hotel) the first night, then we headed out into the crowd. For some reason, we always seem to land in some dodgy bar, which, considering his breeding I find amusing. We talked nonstop about life and love, the usual. He and Laurie are getting married next year and he said he wishes they could “just head down to the islands somewhere and make it official.” Christopher isn’t one for crowds, another aspect of him I find interesting, considering where he lives!

“What’s happening with you?” he said, peering over a hearty pint of Guinness.

“Where to begin?” I laughed.

“David?”

“Done and dusted.”

“Ben?”

“Ongoing. Not in a good way.”

“Uh-oh,” he uttered, licking froth from his top lip. “You still got it bad for him, huh?”

“I’m trying hard to shake him off.”

He raised an eyebrow. “By sleeping with him?”

“I know, I know,” I said, throwing my hands up. “What can I say? I get lonely!”

“Understood. And William?”

“You might need another pint for that.”

“That crazy, huh?”

“It’s not so much him, it’s just, I…I don’t see myself living where he’s stationed.”

“Massachusetts?”

I nodded. “You know I went, right? Did you get my postcard?”
“I did, yeah. Mass is awesome, I think you’d be good there-”

“I’d be better here.”

He shook his head. “The city isn’t great for raising kids.”

“Who said anything about kids?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Anyway, it feels like a barrier. A huge one.”

“When are you seeing him again?”

“Probably not for a while. I’m going to Spain with my mum, then I’m a bridesmaid at my friend Sarah’s wedding.”

He lowered his voice. “Ugly dress?”

“The worst.”

We cracked up laughing.

“How many bridesmaids is Laurie having?”

Christopher took a long draw of his pint before placing it on the table. “Ten.”

“Seriously?”

“Yup, which means I gotta come up with ten guys to kinda even it all out.”

“Phew, that’s a lot.”

“Sure is. I only got a few close buddies and you’re one of ‘em. How do you look in a suit?” “Probably better than I do in a frumpy frock.”

He laughed. “More wine? Or..” He tilted his head and grinned. “You ready for some tequila?”

“Ahhhh,” I smirked. “You know me so well.”

 

August 14th, 1991

August 14th, 1991

Halfway across the Atlantic

Heading to the big apple with a plane full of obnoxious passengers! The New York flights are hit or miss and this one is without doubt, the latter. Due, in part I imagine to the two-hour delay on the ground, which really makes the day feel so much longer.

Regardless, I’m sticking to my plan and meeting Christopher tonight for a long overdue catch up. Perhaps, now that he’s engaged, he’ll have some words of wisdom about my love life.

Fingers crossed!

August 10th, 1991

August 10th, 1991

At home, England

I can’t seem to get out of my own way at the moment. I keep thinking, “tomorrow, I’ll do that tomorrow,” then I get up and within a few hours, my energy is zapped. Pamsy said it’s only natural for us to occasionally feel knackered after so much flying and different time zones but I have a sneaking suspicion my lackluster mood is more related to my love life, or lack thereof!

Two nights ago, I spent a couple of hours on the phone with William, who talks as if we’re about to get married! I keep telling him I don’t want to live in America but he either isn’t taking me seriously or thinks I’ll change my mind. I suppose in one way it’s good he acts so “normal,” but in another, I envision a life where I end up living somewhere I dislike, with someone who doesn’t relate to me.

Pamsy said I have, “a slight tendency to over analyze everything,” but that as long as I’m not with Ben, she’s happy! Speaking of…he spent the night here last week, all so fantastic, until he left, after which I spent the rest of the day wandering around in a daze, so much so that when I went over to see mum and dad, mum pounced on me the second dad took Tini out.

“Something’s bothering you,” she stated. “Wit is it?”

“I think I’m just tired,” I said, not daring to look at her. As much as I try, I can never hide anything from my mum.

“Maybe you need a wee holiday.”

I laughed. “The last thing I want to do during my time off is get on a plane.”

“We could go up to Scotland on the train.”

“And see Nana,” I was about to say, quickly catching myself as a wave of sadness swept through me.

“I miss her as well,” mum uttered, reading my mind.

“I know you do, I’m sorry mum. And yes, maybe we could go up to Scotland for a few days, that’d be nice.”

“We could go to Edinburgh,” she said, all smiles. “Something different.”

“Oooh, I like the sound of that. Let’s go the first week of September.”

“Is that no a wee bit close to Sarah’s wedding?”

“With any luck, I’ll be taken prisoner in Edinburgh castle,” I laughed. “That way I won’t have to wear that awful bridesmaid dress!”

“Och,” mum tutted, stifling a giggle. “Yer an awful lassie!”

 

August 3rd, 1991

August 3rd, 1991

At home, England

Spent the morning with Sarah, at “the final fitting,” for the bridesmaid dresses she chose for Suzette and I.

“How it feels?” the seamstress said, jerkily zipping me into the dress.

“Fine,” I lied, continuing to suck in my stomach, whilst attempting to hold my breath, which I have to say is not an easy combination!

“Leetle tight,” she said, her heavy Russian accent doing nothing to mask her disdain.

“Uh-huh,” I uttered, afraid the zip would give if I dared say anything more.

“Heeps,” she stated, smacking my right hip, before undoing the zipper in one fell swoop.

“Yes,” I said, quickly stepping out of the dress. “I have hips.”

“Tut tut tut,” she clucked, staring me down. “Too much heeps.”

“Too much tongue,” I hissed, under my breath.

Sarah smiled in my direction. “What was that you said?”

“I was just saying how much I love my dress.”

“Aw, do you really love it?” Sarah cooed.

“Truly,” I smiled.

About as much as I can love something that clings to me and looks like regurgitated pastel crayons!