Operation Golddigger

So, my adoring public (read: 2 people) has been clamoring for a new post, and since so much has changed in my life over the past couple of months I feel it's only fair to give the people (read: those 2 aforementioned people) what they want.

You may recall from my last post that I was unemployed, living in the ghetto, and on the verge of full-blown alcoholism. Well I am happy to report that I have got two out of those three things sorted! That's right, I have moved house and am now in gainful employment. Hurray! I'm working (on a temporary but indefinite contract) as a research secretary in the Forensic Psychiatry Unit of Queen Mary University of London/St. Bart's Hospital. It sounds fancy but really, I am just the Unit Bitch. It's fine though, because achieving employment meant I could finally (re)-fulfill one of those all-important Milestones to Adulthood (no, I haven't got a dog-- there will probably be skywriting and a press release when that happens); but I am once more LIVING ALONE. And loving it. A stupid amount. Going back to living alone has done for me what Ecstasy does to drunken ravers: made me want to hug everyone I see, and then drink lots of water. Haha! Kidding about the water part. But anyway, after sacrificing my personal space (and a great deal of my sanity) in order to afford London for the first year and a half that I lived here, moving back into a place of my own has been a dream come true. I found the perfect little studio/one-bedroom in one of my favourite neighbourhoods, and am currently in the process of making it into The Cutest Flat Anyone Has Ever Seen.

I am also in the process of doing all the boring, tedious things associated with moving house, like waiting around all day for a furniture delivery (it never arrived), and registering with my local GP. The latter I did this morning, and in the process discovered a whole new area of London that I am obsessed with. As I walked up the street perpindicular to my flat, I could feel the atmosphere around me getting incrementally more posh with each step, until I started seeing houses that weren't attached to each other, which in my London mind is pretty much equivalent to the height of luxury. Then, I started seeing chandeliers through the windows of front rooms and I heard a small voice in my head whisper "You belong here." As if that weren't enough, halfway up the road I ran into a woman walking her beagle-- BEAGLE-- and I had my Revelation of the Day: I was going to be a golddigger. It really seems to be the way forward in these uncertain economic times, and besides, I like older men. Unfortunately, about a block later I discovered a fly in the ointment: I may be too picky to be a golddigger. There was a gentleman walking on the other side of the street and I thought, "Aha! My first prey!" ...Until I came up alongside him and realised that his look just didn't really do it for me-- his hat was just a bit too red and didn't really go with his three-piece suit. So for now, I guess I'll just ensconce myself in my little one-bedroomed Moroccan-themed nuclear bunker (did I mention I live in a basement flat?) on the edge of Poshville and wait for someone wearing a three-piece suit sans red hat to come along.