A New Zealand wedding - part one

Well, I survived the long flights to get here, stopping for a couple of hours each in Singapore and Sydney. Sleeping tablets and Stugeron helped. A lot. Flights all went smoothly. Food was good. Film choice was disappointing (although I did watch a beautiful French film called The Intouchables that I'd highly recommend). Can't remember the company I had on two of the flights, which I guess is a good sign in some ways but on one flight I spoke a lot of Italian to a young Belgian girl who is more in love with Italy than me. Headphones became compulsory...

Coming into land at Wellington was actually quite emotional. I could have cried but didn't. I was in such a different place when I came here last. And I'm so proud to be in the place I am now. It was so nice seeing this beautiful country again from the air. And being in summer again. I was happy. After eventually clearing customs and immigration, I went straight to the ATM to get some dollars. Card didn't work. Tried another. Neither did that. Worked out that I had just under $20 to my name so headed out of the terminal to see if that would get me to remotely where I needed to be. Fortunately the shuttle man took pity on me and although I didn't have the full fare he let me hop on anyway. Love the Kiwis! He dropped me at my hotel (West Plaza on Wakefield Street for future reference - I have found that my blog has become a good way to keep track of travel tips) and I checked in, taking a much-needed shower. Resisting the urge to sleep, I made a call to my bank to get my card released. Despite my prolific travelling, I made the classic schoolgirl error of not telling my bank I'd be away in advance. The guy on the phone said, yes madam, unusual activity was noticed on your account. Your card has been used in three countries in 24-hours. Yes dude. Tell me about it! I then had a stroll along the waterfront, reminiscing about the last time I was here and soaking up the deliciously warm sunshine.

I took myself off to Floriditas on Cuba Street for dinner. It's a restaurant Laura took me to last time I was here and I remembered it being good. It didn't disappoint. I managed a main and a glass of red before I started to feel very sleepy and called it a night. I had a really good night's sleep all things considered although I woke up feeling very confused. I accepted the fact I was in a hotel room and knew that some friends were arriving that day but couldn't think where in the world I could be. It took me a while to piece it together - I'd just spent a day on three planes and I was back in NZ for lovely friend Laura's wedding. And my lovely friend Janelle was arriving from Melbourne later that day. I lay in bed feeling very happy indeed.

I passed the time in Wellington until Janelle and her friend Steph arrived to pick me up and we drove about 50 minutes north to Raumati, where Laura and Steve live. They had already left for Laura's parents' farm, where the wedding was going to be held so we had the place to ourselves. We treated ourselves to a coffee. Then a sharing platter and some wine. Then I had a swim. In the sea!!!! It was so amazing. Not necessarily the hottest nor deepest sea I've ever swam in but heaven to be swimming in any sea in February. Then we shared fish and chips and a bottle of wine on the seashore, watching the sun set over the south island in the distance. It was great!

On Friday we drove into the Manawatu to a small town called Feilding and had a small hen's lunch with Laura and her friends and female relatives. It was so good to see Laura again, and to meet her beautiful daughter Rose. One thing I've noticed about social media and the ultra-connected world we now live in, is that when you meet up with overseas friends you don't need to spend much time on the catching up bit as you're already caught up. You can literally pick up where you left off. It definitely didn't feel like three years had passed since I'd seen the girls. I guess that's the thing about good friends too. Time and distance don't matter quite so much.

Gotta go now. Will do the wedding write up soon!

The birds

The other day I had a stroll along the promenade at Nice just as the sun was setting. It was spectacular; I think sometimes winter sunsets are more impressive than summer sunsets. The evening skies recently have been a blaze of colour - the sun a fierce red fireball drifting either into the sea or behind a mountain. Once the sun had disappeared I continued my stroll but soon became completely and utterly transfixed by the sight of the Nice starlings flocking before going in to roost.

Of course I've seen this before - it happened daily in Perpignan - but it never fails to amaze me. Sat on a cold metal seat on the promenade I was completely mesmorised, unaware of my surroundings, lost in the incredible movements and patterns these birds were making. It was like watching an art installation, a live performance that was finely choreographed and breathtaking. Sometimes a breakaway group would form, and I was treated to not one but two displays. They would then regroup seamlessly, without collision and were as one again. Sometimes the sky was awash with swirling, hypnotic black. Sometimes the birds disappeared momentarily from sight as they turned on the wing, coming back into sight at speed, forming heart, cone, and kidney shapes in the evening sky.

I actually felt slightly exhausted at the end of it. Like the feeling you get when you come out of a particular intense theatre production. I resisted the urge to applaud, but inside I was giving these birds a standing ovation. Their perfomance made my day.

Hole yet whole

I brought my iPod into the studio recently so we've been listening to T's music on a daily basis for the past few weeks. Today I'm sat listening to JJ Cale and it's making me miss T. How I wish I could see him again. Sometimes, even three years on, I still can't believe he's gone. The injustice of it all hits me hard today. He was a good person; kind, loving, wise, thoughtful. He introduced me to new things. He challenged me. He loved me and he shared his life with me. I was lucky, I know that. He makes me whole – even now.

Although I think of T every single day, and assume (and hope) I always will, there's not normally pain associated with those thoughts. Now, on the occasions when I do feel pain, it's of the dull aching variety. Like a painkiller wearing off; that niggling feeling of discord in the periphery of your being. But the happiness in my life right now helps negates this pain. Doesn't mean I don't miss him though. 

Foggy?

Last weekend someone told me about a place they'd been to in New Zealand from where it's said souls leave the earth. It's meant to be beautiful but, he said, when he was there it was really foggy so he couldn't see much. One of my friends said maybe it wasn't fog, but the sheer number of souls leaving earth that day. I like that.

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.