Feeling hot hot hot

My mate Luke is amazing. He's like my own personal Gok. On Saturday night I walked into a posh party with my head held high, brimming with confidence and happy for once with how I looked. I didn't feel behind the fashion times, but equally I felt like me; not like I was pretending to be someone I wasn't. I wasn't wearing my usual skinny black jeans and heels. I was, in fact, wearing a whole new outfit that was bought on a budget. I think I looked good. And that's certainly what people told me. But it was all thanks to Luke. 

I treated myself to a buttock-skimming playsuit, bought under Luke's guidance. It could have been a bit too much were it not for the fact that it had a high neckline and long sleeves so, although it was leggy, there was no flesh exposed up top! The French plait in the front of my hair that Luke had planned was rejected in favour of hair down, so instead he patiently straightened my hair and styled the front for me. I then did my make-up. Emerging from the bathroom, Luke said he thought I'd gone in to do my eye make-up. I told him I had done it but he wasn't happy and requested access to my make up bag. I was a doubting Thomas; it's one thing letting a boy loose on your outfit and hair, but what's a boy to know about make up? But he did me proud. The result, after much bickering, was smoky eyes and perfect cupid's bow lips. I had to eat my words. He's good that boy. Damn good. If anyone would like a make-over, hair tips, fashion advice, I'd thoroughly recommend Luke. In fact, I think he's wasted in his day job. Wasted. 

The party was great fun, with an unexpected but very welcome free bar and lots of familiar faces but not enough time spent with the birthday boy – that's always the way. But getting ready was more fun. Luke got both me and his flatmate dressed and ready to go. Then he, bless him, made about four outfit changes himself before he was finally happy with how he looked. All this, accompanied by gin, pizza, tequila and Taylor Swift. It was like nothing I've ever experienced before, and I loved it. 

Staying over with the boys last night, after a 3am salt-beef bagel pit-stop on Brick Lane, just prolonged the fun. Luke had gone to the trouble of lighting a scented candle in his room to make it smell nice and it was the tidiest I've ever seen it. It makes you feel good when you know people have done something just for you. It felt like we fell asleep laughing and woke up laughing. The following morning we were served tea in bed, and watched last night's X-Factor before Luke headed to the cinema and I joined three lovely boys for a delicious homemade brunch of cream cheese and Parma ham bagels with poached eggs. I felt thoroughly spoilt and so at home in Raul and Luke's lovely home. 

Once again, I feel so lucky to have such good friends in my life. I can't imagine what it would be like without people like this to look out for me and help make me feel better about things. I do sometimes wish I could do something to prove how grateful I am to my friends and family – words just seem so inadequate, but equally you can't put a monetary value on gratitude. I hope they know that I'll be forever indebted to them and hope that I can somehow return the love.  

Dream a little dream

It doesn't happen often. In fact I can count one one hand how many times it's happened in the past three years, but last night I dreamt of T. I woke up this morning feeling like I'd seen him. Which made me feel happy. I can vividly remember gazing lovingly at him while he was on the phone to his sister, helping her with a problem she was having with her broadband. We weren't living together – I was just visiting – and we were happy. I remember thinking that I wished he'd hurry up on the phone because we had so much to catch up on, it felt like we hadn't seen each other for oh, maybe three years. I wish my dream would come true. 

Home is where you keep your slipper socks

Somehow I've almost completed three and a half weeks of my seven-week contract here in London. I'm not quite sure where that time has gone but gone it has. Being back has had its pros and cons. 

The word that summed up my first week wasn't 'work' or 'tired' as I expected it to be, but 'cold'. I was cold on my commute, shivering on the platform at 7.30 every morning. I was cold at my desk – partly due to my pregnant colleague having the window open to help with her hot flushes. I was cold in bed, waking up in the middle of the night to put socks and a hoodie on. Fortunately last week was a bit better weather-wise and I saw the sunshine again, which helped, but I definitely need to wear more clothes now. My Geordie blood clearly isn't as thick as it once was. My generous host gave me lifts to and from the station every day to help make the long commute that bit more bearable, which it definitely did. And I was well fed and watered and generally made to feel welcome, despite my summer and winter wardrobes – that were spilling out of various cases and bags after a rushed visit to my flat – taking up every inch of floor space in the spare room.

Last weekend, having stored the random bin bag full of sheets and towels that I managed to get out of my loft by mistake, as well as the contents of my summer wardrobe, in the spare room cupboard of amazing friends, I continued on my merry way to stay with more lovely friends in Peckham. We climbed to the top of Hilly Fields – where T and I used to spend our summer days when we lived in St Johns: it was strange being back there – and watched the Blackheath fireworks. They were stunning, if a tad silent at the distance we were watching them from. Then we went to a posh chippy and had eat-in fish and chips and some BYO wine. My friends have one of my ideal homes and a new dog, so I was happy.

Week two can be summed up by the word 'love'. I loved everything about it! Living in central London was amazing, although I didn't really take full advantage of living so centrally because I was just so eager to get home to my lovely flatmate every evening. It's the first time I've really felt that since T died and it felt great. It definitely makes it easier to leave work on time when you've got someone waiting for you at home. I was feeling a bit down about life in general when I arrived at Russell Square, but after a few short hours in the company of my temporary flatmate I was right as rain again. Cups of tea and slices of cake were waiting on the table for me when I got home from work every evening. We spent evenings on the sofa, laughing until our stomachs hurt and I'd cried off all my mascara. We made pizzas, ate burgers and watched films snuggled up under our throws – taking it in turns to fall asleep and miss the ending. We had play fights and took the dog for urban walks. I was Gok-ed. And we had one very very messy but amazing night out that ended in a rickshaw ride and a visit to 24-hour Tesco to stock up on scotch eggs and cocktail sausages. 

Today I'm on the move again. I'm spending a couple of nights with good friends before moving into more permanent accommodation (one month!) on Thursday. One benefit of this nomadic lifestyle is that I get to spend proper QT with my friends; it's so much better than a quick Pizza Express in town on a school night. And everyone is so kind! I'm so incredibly touched by that. My hosts have all been wonderful – generous, welcoming, tolerant and fun to be around. That has made a massive difference to the scale of my Italy come-down. And people keep checking in to find out if I'm sorted for a bed. People with small children. People with full-time jobs and partners. People further afield. It really is incredible. I'm a lucky girl.