tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-260639422012-02-03T03:21:03.758ZWelcome! This blog follows the lives of women in their late 20's and early 30's, living and working in London. Join us on our journey! Email us at sistersinthecity@googlemail.comAnonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14498277978728607607noreply@blogger.comBlogger751100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26063942.post-2241465430657713462009-04-05T21:24:00.003+01:002009-04-05T21:30:24.769+01:00

My son was born on February 1oth 2009, weighing 6lb 10oz. Mum, dad and baby are well and happy!

Anonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14498277978728607607noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26063942.post-7984466459775477372008-05-14T20:46:00.001+01:002008-05-14T20:50:44.000+01:00

This morning I woke up and burst into tears. The reason being, that no sooner had the snooze alarm gone off, my boyfriend was brusquely calling “morning” in my ear - waking me up abruptly and depriving me of my last ten minutes sleep. This wouldn’t usually make me cry of course, but at the moment I’m a tightly wound coil. The last few days could be likened to tobogganing down a black run. Never

Anonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14498277978728607607noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26063942.post-6256693999472146962008-04-14T20:07:00.005+01:002008-04-14T20:15:12.926+01:00

So many people in this life are average. And yet I still manage to naively thrust greatness upon people before they've shown me that they are worthy of such belief. I am let down time and time and time again.

Anonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14498277978728607607noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26063942.post-19595544300379461762008-03-30T21:32:00.003+01:002008-03-30T21:37:20.331+01:00

August 2007Sometimes I wonder whether KP ever thinks of me. I mean he must do sometimes? Just like I did a moment ago, when I saw “Staying Alive – real poems for real times” on the table. He bought it for me. I think I’d read about it in the Sunday Times and he sent off for it and proudly presented it to me. He knew he’d “done good”, even though he didn’t understand the impulse to read such

Anonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14498277978728607607noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26063942.post-54320128178121872152008-01-19T19:03:00.000Z2008-01-19T19:25:13.812Z

I'm finding it hard to write at the moment. I'm overprotective of my new, three month relationship. It's special, I want it just for me and I don't want to share us.But I wrote this back in July about My First Love and thought I would share this instead. There is a part two... which I will share in a few days.July 2007The fact is I do love him; I always have done and probably always will. I

Anonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14498277978728607607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26063942.post-70839216603357964462008-01-04T00:18:00.000Z2008-11-07T01:58:12.762Z

"In 1290 the wife of Edward Ι - Eleanor of Castile died in Nottingham. It had been a marriage of love and not the usual arranged marriage of political convenience. Her body was brought to London for burial and everywhere the cortège stopped Edward built crosses. The last stopping place was in London at Charing (an Anglo-Saxon word for 'turning') where the road turned to Westminster and Charing

Anonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14498277978728607607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26063942.post-61529323458963518642007-12-01T09:27:00.000Z2008-11-07T01:58:12.950Z

I was standing in a penthouse hotel room overlooking Trafalgar Square on the evening that I grew up.Over the years I have made some relatively stupid dating decisions. It’s easy to do. Swept up in the romance and thrill of it all it is often difficult to stand back from the situation and think about what it is you are doing, to ask the right questions of yourself. Do I really want to get into a

LZMnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26063942.post-90398750064264675872007-11-23T18:05:00.001Z2007-11-23T18:05:31.035Z

Wow. Time flies when you are having fun!

Anonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14498277978728607607noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26063942.post-84128311742153199702007-09-26T23:29:00.000+01:002008-11-07T01:58:13.168Z

I watch her like a hawk.Not to attack her.But to save her.She sits in the office window, mobile pressed to her ear, offering more than she needs to to someone who doesn’t deserve it. Yes there is a work opportunity for him, just like she told him many moons ago there could be. But she knows the time has been and gone when he might have deserved that opportunity. There’s no need to seek his

Anonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14498277978728607607noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26063942.post-31551996431617275022007-09-25T22:49:00.000+01:002008-11-07T01:58:13.329Z

I lean against the sink spooning Ambrosia rice pudding out of the carton. My gaze wonders absentmindedly outside whereupon it spies Pyramus and Thisbe whispering ten o’ clock sweet nothings to eachother over the garden wall. I smile. This amusing scenario started a few weeks back. My friend (who I shall simply call Sister as this best explains our relationship) had been staying with me and

Anonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14498277978728607607noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26063942.post-44795660256611073992007-08-30T02:11:00.000+01:002008-11-07T01:58:13.529Z

Sometimes, usually in the dead of night, a cold clammy fear comes over me. A shock wave, jolting me out of my near slumber, sending my eyelids shooting into their sockets and my heart into a clenched fist punching against my breastbone. A time warp. Two years of healing gone in a millisecond and I'm back there. Sometimes, these have felt like the longest years of my life and other times I imagine

Anonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14498277978728607607noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26063942.post-78393938627679426192007-08-28T11:03:00.000+01:002007-08-28T16:18:04.647+01:00

Staring out of the window as the plane leaves Copenhagen, I am surprised to see a lone house, strong and sturdy on a remote island, surrounded by nothing more than miles of swampy marsh. Carved around it in a crescent moon shape, appears a man made moat, ensuring perhaps that should any would-be-visitor actually manage to reach this house far from harbour or road, the moat would prove one

Anonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14498277978728607607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26063942.post-23957113017891466142007-08-22T16:31:00.001+01:002007-08-22T16:35:17.518+01:00

Hello people. Have been frantically scribbling in notebooks, on bits of paper and on old filofax calendars whenever the mood has taken me, but have had no time to transfer thoughts blog... so in the meantime, I came across this on a new support website for people in their 20s and 30s. This article rang a few bells for me and judging by our predominant topic of the search for true love it will for

Anonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14498277978728607607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26063942.post-52315518799307085582007-08-07T00:01:00.000+01:002008-11-07T01:58:13.625Z

As I turn the handle quietly and pop my head round to mouth goodbye, a finger shoots to his lips to warn me against speaking. There was a time when this gesture would have bothered me, the presumption that I'm a) not sensitive enough to know when speech maybe inappropriate and b) his shameless prioritisation of the woman at the end of the phone line. But it doesn't rile me. I wave goodbye, shut

Anonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14498277978728607607noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26063942.post-12121590710225614402007-07-31T09:19:00.001+01:002007-07-31T09:19:58.082+01:00

I felt it was time to write again as poor Sister Louise seems to be keeping the site up single-handedly! Sadly, as I cast my mind around for something to write I found myself totally devoid of subjects. For the first time, for a long time, I am properly single. Normally when I have been single I have had someone to keep my interest up, so to speak, but this time I can genuinely not think of

LZMnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26063942.post-21460758738372494382007-07-25T20:42:00.000+01:002008-11-07T01:58:13.804Z

After nine days in Devon/Cornwall/Worcs/Lakes = Heaven, I am truly cheesed off this week. London is one of those places that you become conditioned to. This week my conditioning has become unconditioned and I have no patience. Usually I reply to my boss in a polite manner despite his curtness, this week I'm responding in his tone of voice, despite his obvious superiority. As I left the office ON

Anonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14498277978728607607noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26063942.post-31570711110830007132007-07-24T01:26:00.000+01:002007-07-24T14:10:06.142+01:00

"Listen" I say, pausing mid-conversation. "My flatmate is playing really beautiful music". I stumble off my bed and into the lounge next door, raising the receiver into the air to catch the notes. I bring him back to my ear, "It's Chopin he says, we used to listen to it when we went to sleep, don't you remember?" And in a dark, distant cavern in my head a switch is flicked. A light has lit up a

Anonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14498277978728607607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26063942.post-32207144429874194382007-07-20T16:12:00.000+01:002008-11-07T01:58:13.957Z

We spent a ridiculously good three days in Devon with everything on our side. No traffic going down, pouring rain at the most appropriate times and beautiful sunshine just as we arrived at Bude beach on Tuesday and Fingle Bridge on Wednesday. Three of my oldest friends and three children (how times change) had a blast. We ate, drank, sunbathed and journeyed home with sunburnt shoulders and sand

Anonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14498277978728607607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26063942.post-25107040210229183752007-07-12T00:37:00.000+01:002008-11-07T01:58:14.109Z

How many people can say that they are truly happy on their own? And truly is the operative word here, because “I’m truly happy on my own” is different to “Just f*ck off, I’m not a sad singleton, I don’t need anyone, I’m happy on my own” said in an ever so slightly defensive manner. For those of you in long term relationships, “happy on my own” can not be qualified with “well I was single for a

Anonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14498277978728607607noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26063942.post-71194488114921308332007-07-06T10:05:00.000+01:002008-11-07T01:58:14.231Z

I feel immensely privileged to have been asked to write a blog following my recent experience, so I hope I can do you proud, although the pressure of the occasion has caused me some angst!As you might have read on Sister Zarias’ recent blog comments I have been somewhat stuck in a dilemma over a man that can only be described as genuinely decent and lovely. So you must ask why have I chosen the

Sister Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17631208950684873581noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26063942.post-70496787045386576612007-07-02T11:23:00.000+01:002008-11-07T01:58:14.335Z

Am highly entertained by life’s little coincidences. My colleague just handed me a card (she is not familiar with the blog). It’s a promotional leaflet from a film company. She was taken with this fact inside…It says on the front “Happy Blue Moon” and inside it says “A Blue Moon occurs when there are 2 full moons within one calendar month. Only 41 months per century has a double full moon – June

Anonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14498277978728607607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26063942.post-26802269998823273042007-06-29T08:23:00.001+01:002008-11-07T01:58:14.538Z

I sit on the tube eating cockles individually from a cockle jar full of vinegary water. This has to be the most impractical choice of a tube snack and I'm bemused as to why I chose it. Cockles remind me of my stepfather and I don’t think my purchase is a pure coincidence. I don’t want to be eating them either. It feels like I’m offering a tribute to him and right now, I don’t much feel like

Anonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14498277978728607607noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26063942.post-56022602272259788082007-06-12T14:25:00.000+01:002008-11-07T01:58:14.614Z

Now how does that old song go? Funny how the girls you fall in love with never fancy you, funny how the ones you don’t do? Which also works vice versa - with boys.Sorry for it all coming down to boys again but the only thing of note that has happened to me recently is a re-enforcement of Sister Bridget’s treat ‘em mean adage.For once I am really rather happy being single but that doesn’t mean to

LZMnoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26063942.post-51418046084640554802007-06-12T06:31:00.000+01:002008-11-07T01:58:14.784Z

I had a visit last night from an old friend. He padded up to me, a robust lump of fat, fur and whiskers, squawking in unrefined manner. If he had been human, he would have existed much in the vein of the Dad, Jim in The Royle Family, sitting dribbling in an armchair, wanting only for the bare necessities in life - food, love and sleep... in that order. I'm delighted to see him. It has been a

Anonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14498277978728607607noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26063942.post-17598658545369482632007-06-08T14:24:00.000+01:002007-06-08T14:28:58.928+01:00

Inspired by some discussions which have emerged from previous blogs, I have lately been thinking about Self Help books and how helpful they really are. Working for a large publishing house, I am surrounded by books of this nature, such as ‘Why Mr Right Can’t Find You’ ‘How to Mend a Broken Heart’ and ‘Simply Irresistible’ each one full of advice on how to catch your perfect partner and hold on

Sister Bridgethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10760406421064357887noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26063942.post-40332627033033858102007-05-22T23:35:00.000+01:002007-05-22T23:57:26.279+01:00

I have just crawled home from work to find an exciting looking hand written, cream, envelope. Inside I found a sky blue and vanilla invite to "Sister Louise plus one" for a family wedding on 18th August. I find the "plus one" extremely polite... after all I'm sure most of my close friends secretly rejoice in my single status when it comes to a wedding... it's one head less to pay for... but I

Anonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14498277978728607607noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26063942.post-89266699335777084002007-05-21T23:40:00.000+01:002007-05-21T23:50:33.695+01:00

We're all officially being rubbish aren't we. I don't know what my excuse is, an addiction to facebook... not enough angst in my life with my new 'look on the bright side' approach... knowing that too many people who know me know about the blog... I don't know. I've plenty of stories, dates with an under cover crack house busting copper (no not literally undercover, far too well behaved for that

Anonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14498277978728607607noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26063942.post-68409300346554997232007-04-25T10:13:00.000+01:002008-11-07T01:58:15.149Z

I was having a discussion with a girlfriend over the weekend that had a similar theme to a part of Sister Louise’s last blog entry.I was telling her how I sometimes feel tired and overwhelmed when I think that I have been dating for ten or more years and still haven’t found the right person. But as I was talking to her I realised that in one way I wouldn’t swap those years for anything.You see I

LZMnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26063942.post-44908649969467916512007-04-23T23:53:00.000+01:002007-06-29T08:23:00.106+01:00

So KP found the blog. Not entirely surprising I guess, as there’s been various chit chat about Sisters In The City on Facebook. I got a message at 4pm today… “Are you Sister Louise?” Heart in mouth, I denied it… and then asked him not to read any more, (to which he agreed). It seemed to be a cruel twist of fate that he should find it just as I’m starting to write something positive and just as we

Anonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14498277978728607607noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26063942.post-30511692158727817482007-04-21T13:54:00.001+01:002008-11-07T01:58:15.352Z

How could we forget our one year birthday?! It was the 14th April! So Happy Birthday to us! What a year it has been! Here's to the next year, living in the big smoke!

Anonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14498277978728607607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26063942.post-65640792987872068782007-04-17T09:40:00.000+01:002007-04-17T13:33:50.849+01:00

London is a fantastic place to be in the sun. As sister Louise was out enjoying the sun at the boat race I was also making the most of our first taste of summer.I first moved to London last summer and instantly fell in love with the place. Being a country girl I was not sure how I would cope with the big smoke when I first made the move. But that summer, working in Soho, I was taken with the

LZMnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26063942.post-34831709692290080202007-04-14T00:30:00.000+01:002007-04-14T00:45:53.390+01:00

I have deleted Chatterbox's number from my phone. I have also deleted all of his texts and his number from my call logs (as in the past I've just deleted the deserter's number and then even in dunken stupor managed to re-find it from call log and go on to commit drunken text crimes, see http://sistersinthecity.blogspot.com/search?q=dont+drink+and+text). This is a first for me. I usually keep all

Anonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14498277978728607607noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26063942.post-56362490566169030472007-04-13T17:38:00.000+01:002007-04-14T00:28:31.615+01:00

I'm afraid this is a very irreverent post. But it seems perfect for a Friday afternoon. Sister Bridget has had me giggling at my desk. She emailed me earlier, very seriously, to say that she has a very bad cough but as if that isn't bad enough she also has an aching boob from coughing so much. So can everyone please extend get well wishes to Bridget, Her Cough and Her Aching Boob. I still can't

Anonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14498277978728607607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26063942.post-8473813393615480202007-04-10T17:43:00.000+01:002007-04-10T17:48:55.656+01:00

Hi all. We now have a group on Facebook for women in their 20s and 30s living in London (sorry Huw, would you like to be an honourary woman?) You won't be able to find it by browsing as we have made it a private group, this is just to keep unwanted comments at bay... However if you would like to join us, we would like to have you! Please email us at sistersinthecity@googlemail.com and we will

Anonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14498277978728607607noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26063942.post-22876336174548632532007-04-07T23:33:00.000+01:002008-11-07T01:58:15.534Z

My housemate and I went to the Oxford and Cambridge boat race today. We walked from Parsons Green to Putney to Hammersmith, pulling on jumpers and taking them off again as the sun slid from blue sky to grey cloud and back into blue sky. There was a strange mixture of tourists, unashamed teenage rahs and arty people, all relaxing in a boozy, balmy afternoon by the river. I met a new friend,

Anonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14498277978728607607noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26063942.post-25669871743557246182007-03-23T16:11:00.000Z2007-03-23T16:33:16.049Z

Hello to Belgium! Canada! France! Lativa and anywhere else that visits us regularly... just a quick post. 10 things that uniquely identify a London girl...10. She owns an oyster but it doesn't contain a pearl9. If she has a car, she has to pay to park outside her house, if she has a car then...8. She's been towed/ticketed or clamped in last 6 months7. She does everything during the week...works

Anonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14498277978728607607noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26063942.post-41197231379366146012007-03-14T16:20:00.000Z2007-03-14T16:23:46.698Z

I’m not entirely sure how common it is for girls to name their boyfriends ‘you know whats’ or whether this is just one of those clichés we feel we ought to join in with, such as having a song, encouraged by cheesy chick flicks and teenage romantic novels, but ever since reading Judy Blume’s Forever, and giggling with my friends on the way to school over the girl naming her boyfriend’s one ‘Ralph’

Sister Bridgethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10760406421064357887noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26063942.post-63138334720070046162007-03-12T13:47:00.000Z2007-03-12T13:55:08.649Z

Hello all! We have entered "Ice Ice Baby" (http://sistersinthecity.blogspot.com/2007/02/ice-ice-baby.html) into this... http://troubled-diva.com/labels/rednoseday.htmlWhat a fabulous idea of Mike's to make a book of funny blogging posts to raise money for Comic Relief! Will let you know when it's on sale....

Anonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14498277978728607607noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26063942.post-59054910649353091442007-03-08T08:55:00.000Z2007-03-08T08:57:34.735Z

I have recently realised that I am totally out of men! Rather than feeling sad, or scared I suddenly feel really optimistic and hopeful about my future. Its not like I’ve never been single but I can’t remember the last time when there was no one that I even fancied. I have ended things with ‘Mr Bad Manners’ because apart from the bad manners I didn’t really fancy him and I had an inkling that I

LZMnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26063942.post-87347677791911259772007-03-03T22:16:00.000Z2007-03-03T23:39:53.793Z

I can't breathe. The panic poisoning my lungs is causing me to take short, insufficent, tokes of oxygen. My head is troubled and restless, my dreams full of nightmares, a contorted parody of the events of the last few days. My head is trying to justify a reason for my punishment. The world feels cold and strange. I don't want to sleep alone and lonely in my bed. It's difficult to be positive

Anonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14498277978728607607noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26063942.post-57880182409506774012007-02-28T16:25:00.000Z2008-11-07T01:58:15.783Z

I know this isn’t something I should readily admit to, but my main goal in life since I was about 16 has been to find a husband. I went to university, as much to meet my ideal man, as to gain an English degree. And although I have mainly lived my life doing things that I enjoy, in everything I’ve done, there has always been a secret hope that Mr Right will be doing it too!With my naïve

Anonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14498277978728607607noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26063942.post-59894617899326301762007-02-20T13:41:00.000Z2008-11-07T01:58:15.943Z

I'm poorly. In bed. Woe is me.

Anonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14498277978728607607noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26063942.post-39639501814819667222007-02-16T18:47:00.000Z2008-11-07T01:58:16.116Z

Recently, I’ve found myself contemplating telling Chatterbox that I love him, and not in the drunken, silly way of that Sunday*. This isn’t because I actually love him because I don’t, not yet. It’s rather that I’m thinking that if I say it, the sentence will be momentarily suspended in mid air - a cloud trail formed by Cupid’s Red Arrow. I can then quickly take a look at it from a distance and

Anonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14498277978728607607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26063942.post-28315908408507009862007-02-14T15:23:00.000Z2008-11-07T01:58:16.279Z

After many years of being single on Valentines Day; trying out various ways to deal with what I came to know as ‘the worst day of the year’ including boycotting the whole thing, speed dating or other fun nights out with my single friends, I finally have a boyfriend to share it with! This year, my lovely man is cooking me dinner, spoiling me with gifts and lavishing me with attention which of

LZMnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26063942.post-34828370710791319232007-02-14T13:49:00.000Z2008-11-07T01:58:16.454Z

Valentines day is classed along with Christmas and New Year in my book and I say BAH HUMBUG to the lot of them!Well that is until some lovely boy sends me flowers and or a card. This year I have nothing (although the post hadn’t been when I left home) so I will be in a fairly quiet mood all day long until I get home later tonight with a spark of hope in my heart that there might be something

LZMnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26063942.post-4520480298862135572007-02-14T12:44:00.000Z2008-11-07T01:58:16.580Z

My Chatterbox couldn’t get a reservation at any of the restaurants to which he wanted to take me, so in the event, V-Day came a day early and we went to Hunan on the Pimlico Rd last night...http://www.londontown.com/LondonInformation/Restaurant/Hunan/8dc3/It’s the sort of place where you try and wedge a napkin under the table leg to stop it wobbling and three waiters come to your rescue to do it

Anonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14498277978728607607noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26063942.post-51830595798008085552007-02-08T17:08:00.000Z2008-11-07T01:58:16.708Z

As a girl (surely I am still a girl – nearing 28 doesn’t make me a woman does it?!) struggling in the dating wilderness, I find that lack of manners are the worst thing to deal with. When I say manners I am not referring to the way a man holds his knife and fork or whether he holds doors open for me, in fact the door thing always makes me slightly awkward. No, I am referring more to time keeping

LZMnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26063942.post-70507778934423386622007-02-07T11:30:00.000Z2008-11-07T01:58:16.861Z

My colleague has an injury, a damaged coccyx from tumbling down the stairs after one too many vinos. This morning, I found a rather dramatic way of putting her and the rest of the office out of their general misery. I shall recount in present time for effect.At 9am, I receive a parcel from one of my clients. After tearing through the outer brown cardboard, I am presented with a large white box,

Anonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14498277978728607607noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26063942.post-81283585704458445712007-02-01T12:27:00.000Z2008-11-07T01:58:17.112Z

There are things in life that we don’t talk about much, not to our best friends, our sisters, brothers, boyfriend, no one. We might touch on them occasionally when our tongues are loosened by alcohol and our façade is momentarily fractured, but generally we avoid discussion of them. I’m talking about secrets, oddities, weaknesses, fears... they form the rich tapestry of life, they make it

Anonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14498277978728607607noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26063942.post-18826530608069560692007-01-25T09:54:00.000Z2007-01-25T15:50:30.753Z

Last Saturday night, I was out on the town with a few girlfriends and was faced with a typical teenage girl scenario which, seems to have continued well into our 20s and 30s – 'A' (let’s call her Jane) fancies 'B' (lets call him John) but doesn’t get a look in because 'C' (Jen) spends all night flirting with him and stealing his attention for herself. Except it’s more complicated than it was when

Sister Bridgethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10760406421064357887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26063942.post-16095161795768409402007-01-19T21:25:00.000Z2007-01-20T10:54:40.540Z

There's someone I know my age who as a blue eyed, blonde haired, beautiful baby, a great job and, I had heard, a fantastic marriage. I admit to being slightly envious of her. Last night she told me that more than anything, she wants to spend the rest of her life with someone in a faithful, wonderful partnership, with beautiful children. She's just not sure that she picked the right person to do

Anonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14498277978728607607noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26063942.post-30391576848951474122007-01-16T00:12:00.000Z2008-11-07T01:58:17.442Z

I take my men to the best places. Back in October, Blue Moon and I ventured forth to the Fulham car pound. Tonight, my Chatterbox and I went in search of the Park Lane car pound. It was quite a mission. Standing outside the Grovesnor hotel, I had to ring the car pound hotline to enquire where exactly on Park Lane I might find my old faithful. The instructions were vague but I was warned not to

Anonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14498277978728607607noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26063942.post-32534929036876459752007-01-11T13:57:00.000Z2008-11-07T01:58:17.655Z

We've had a few complaints recently about the lack of update on 'Sisters'. In December the silly season just took over and in London the silly season really is quite ridiculous. With office parties, friends’ parties and more parties with my charity panto buddies, the days just flew by in a haze of drunken nights and hellish hangovers. But I expect that the real reason for our lack of attention is

Anonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14498277978728607607noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26063942.post-1164215960549206242006-11-22T17:18:00.000Z2006-11-22T17:19:20.563Z

Almost since I was old enough to read, I have been an avid fan of romantic literary classics. I’ve spent years dreaming of the great hero and passionate love affair I’m hoping to one day experience. People often tell you that the love of your life is just around the corner (if that’s true this is either one of the world’s largest corners, or with my appalling sense of direction I’ve typically

Sister Bridgethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10760406421064357887noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26063942.post-1163848363912755092006-11-18T11:08:00.000Z2006-11-20T13:05:34.936Z

Descending wearily down the steps from the tube last night, sober despite the midnight hour - because I’d come from work, I become aware of a woman asking another woman if she’s OK. “I’m fine,” comes the strangulated reply and then…more angrily “apart from the fact my husband’s f*cking another woman”. The others look shocked, nod and walk away. Remembering many a time on a platform in tears (

Anonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14498277978728607607noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26063942.post-1163757107195828962006-11-17T09:49:00.000Z2006-11-17T10:55:50.320Z

I know that getting ridiculously drunk is neither big nor clever and by no means do I intend this blog to become a forum in which to try and outdo each other with even more outrageous drunken stories; However I was given a bit of a wake-up call after a particularly drunken office party last weekend and think it’s a lesson worth sharing.Every year at the beginning of November one of our clients

Sister Bridgethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10760406421064357887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26063942.post-1162386023414807842006-11-01T12:59:00.000Z2006-11-02T11:02:35.396Z

Mr Right Now (http://sistersinthecity.blogspot.com/2006/09/right-for-now-or-right-forever.html) and I have been discussing our ‘relationship’ and have reached an understanding that it's not really going anywhere. This is mainly down to the fact that I don’t see us together in the future, nor do I seem to know what I actually do want. Everything’s very amicable, we’re great friends; we both know

Sister Bridgethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10760406421064357887noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26063942.post-1161962132546537172006-10-27T16:13:00.000+01:002006-11-02T11:00:28.790Z

I have spent the past few weeks in nervous anticipation of my first business trip abroad. Having bored all my friends to tears, practising my speeches on them and constantly seeking reassurance – the feeling of dread had escalated to a point where I would do anything to get out of going.Fortunately, in hindsight, none of my wishes to break my leg or gain some terrible temporary disease to prevent

Sister Bridgethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10760406421064357887noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26063942.post-1161865922212630922006-10-26T13:26:00.000+01:002006-10-26T13:37:18.763+01:00

I got my car broken into this morning. And I’m feeling rather smug about it. Because even though my VW, green, golf is a little elderly now and obviously doesn’t have the sophisticated security measures of it’s SW6 neighbours – Jeeps, Mercedes, the odd Beamer…. I HAVE AN IMMOBILSER you w*nkers!!! Take that!!! Think you can joy ride off around Fulham – think again! They’d obviously had a good try

Anonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14498277978728607607noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26063942.post-1161620794258175122006-10-23T17:16:00.000+01:002006-10-23T19:33:02.920+01:00

What do you write in the leaving card of the office player who once lured you into his games and taught you the hard way how he gained his reputation?I am sitting at my desk pondering over this question a year after our brief affair. No longer am I emotionally scarred by his behaviour, but there is still a dent in my pride from having let myself be fooled by such a rogue.Since I heard of his

Sister Bridgethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10760406421064357887noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26063942.post-1161561150600256052006-10-23T00:37:00.000+01:002006-10-23T01:01:54.260+01:00

Maybe, just maybe - it’s me. Why for example did I say no to the sober and successful accountant, who actually against stereotype, also happened to be laugh-out- loud funny, a fantastic kisser and who stated very early on that he rarely dabbled in the purely casual as what he really wanted was permancy – a lifetime love or love for a lifetime. As I try wherever possible to tell the truth if it’s

Anonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14498277978728607607noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26063942.post-1160740293532825862006-10-13T12:22:00.000+01:002006-10-13T13:10:54.896+01:00

Why broken hearts hurt... A new study suggests the psychological hurt of a break-up is just as real as a physical injury. Two areas of the brain that respond to physical pain also become activated when a person is dealing with social pain, such as being dumped. The researchers believe that the pain of being rejected may have evolved as a motivating force that led humans to seek out social

Anonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14498277978728607607noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26063942.post-1160525268473359532006-10-11T00:58:00.000+01:002006-10-12T09:45:42.223+01:00

So tonight dissolved into a stream of salty, sad, tears. I didn't really want to go out anyway. I had been persuaded to come out for dinner by the man that I had dated after my celibate seven month 'getting over KP phase' - let's call him Mr Comfort. We dated from last September to this February, sporadically. I spent the first two months fighting the relationship out of deluded loyalty to KP and

Anonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14498277978728607607noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26063942.post-1159885861690357872006-10-03T15:23:00.000+01:002006-10-03T16:37:54.146+01:00

So I saw him for three evenings out of four before I escaped to Paris. I know, maybe a case of too much too soon but it seemed right. And then, well…he just didn’t call…or text...or email. So many communication choices at his disposal in our exciting technological age, but he couldn’t work out how to use any of them. Thus the 25 yr old, blue eyed stud, turned out to be a bit of a dud!

Anonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14498277978728607607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26063942.post-1158839862020541452006-09-21T12:49:00.000+01:002006-09-24T14:18:27.276+01:00

I sit at a chequered table on a corner of the Rue Saint Dominique, sipping un café and gazing dreamily at the Eiffel Tower rising above the roof tops of the Parisien street buildings. The sun is trying to escape grey clouds so that it can shine on me. ***I arrived in Paris late last night, exiting the metro at Saint Michel to a view of Notre Dame

Anonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14498277978728607607noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26063942.post-1157995076854106882006-09-11T18:17:00.000+01:002006-09-12T09:24:40.283+01:00

Anyone who’s been single for a substantial amount of time will understand the feeling of emptiness which occasionally occurs during the odd spells of men drought. Don’t get me wrong – by no means do I think the single life is empty – far from it, I am a firm believer in singles living far more exciting, fulfilled lives than many couples. However, when you haven’t had a date for a while, or even

Sister Bridgethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10760406421064357887noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26063942.post-1157993185074077672006-09-11T17:41:00.000+01:002006-09-11T18:18:30.693+01:00

I'll be brief as I know Sister Bridget has a desperate dilemma to post and needs the full attention and advice of all you bloggers. Please do proffer your words of wisdom in the comments...we've heard that there are a few of you with us now!Suffice to say that the 25yr old, blue eyed, stud rang me. It was apparently a terrible catalogue of unforeseen happenings that led to me being STOOD UP! We

Anonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14498277978728607607noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26063942.post-1157732191292550612006-09-08T17:11:00.000+01:002006-09-08T17:39:45.256+01:00

Why do I never learn? Why do I not understand that texting after copious amounts of alcohol does not a classy woman make. Last night, in momentary drunken madness, I wrote a damning summation on the male race and then sent it to members of that race – at random. The helpful replies have thus far included; ‘Have you considered lesbianism?’ (predictable) and ‘Oh dear, what’s happened now?’ The

Anonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14498277978728607607noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26063942.post-1157635337009014352006-09-07T14:19:00.000+01:002006-09-07T15:01:06.116+01:00

As ever the single girl, I believe one of the best ways to feel truly independent and free of the occasional no-boyfriend blues which hit us all from time to time, is to go for an invigorating run around one of London’s parks. Not only does this leave me feeling fit, healthy and energised, but it also helps toward obtaining a nice trim body - a definite help in finding a man, should I once again

Sister Bridgethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10760406421064357887noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26063942.post-1157554115934455002006-09-06T15:16:00.000+01:002006-09-06T16:14:39.113+01:00

I meet this birthday, the year before the great milestone of 30, with slight trepidation. I am entering the last year of my twenties - am I leaving behind the best days of my life? What will my thirties hold for me? Are smoky clubs with sticky carpets a thing of the past - to be replaced with hot cups of coco and early nights?Slide back 10 years and I was starting University and although I didn’t

Sister Godivanoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26063942.post-1157205367080623582006-09-02T14:31:00.000+01:002006-09-02T16:59:54.933+01:00

"I didn't realise until I remembered him, that I had forgotten him," says Anna Blundy, in this week's Grazia, about the father she lost at nineteen. Grief is a strange emotion. So many of us go through our every day existences, grieving for someone who has died, or, as is pertinent to a close friend of mine - someone who hasn't yet been born. I grieve for someone alive but absent. Last night,

Anonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14498277978728607607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26063942.post-1157033068881624832006-08-31T14:58:00.000+01:002006-08-31T15:04:28.900+01:00

So! I've got me a date with a 25 year old, blue eyed, stud. Apparently we can have a "cheap date before pay day or a better one after." The 'skintness' is quite endearing after all the lawyers I've dated in the last sixteen months. It's nice to be back on common ground.

Anonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14498277978728607607noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26063942.post-1156600909853626142006-08-26T14:31:00.000+01:002006-08-26T15:01:49.883+01:00

It's that same feeling again, the oh so rare feeling that only visits once in a blue moon. I look at him fiddling with the keys to close his door, heavy bag slung over his shoulder, so relaxed in his own skin and I want to envelope him, wrap myself tightly around him and never let go. He's beautiful. And we sit on the tube and I'm annoyed by the phone in his hand and the bags that he's carrying

Anonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14498277978728607607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26063942.post-1155394240019775092006-08-12T15:20:00.000+01:002006-08-15T12:34:24.683+01:00

It's Saturday. Last night I was out - looking, searching, hoping for more. Today having not found it, I am nursing my hung over indifference to the world with Sky's repetitive re-plays of Big Brother. And having firstly confessed to watching Big Brother - I also have to admit that I find something totally charming in the Nicky & Pete story. Perhaps it's the way that Pete awkwardly admitted in the

Anonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14498277978728607607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26063942.post-1144965990232610582006-04-14T07:04:00.000+01:002006-08-12T15:53:36.750+01:00

My flatmate has just crashed through the door, blind drunk and giggling profusely. This is quite a typical Thursday evening activity in the lives of three single, 20 sth yr old, London girls. Wednesday night is different. On 'Sacred Wednesday' as we like to call it, we refuse all dates and tuck up on the sofa to watch "The Apprentice" and "Desperate Housewives". Of course nothing has ever been

Anonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14498277978728607607noreply@blogger.com0