I feel like a fat badger

Yep, I do. It's probably because I've just come home from lunch at The Fat Badger pub at Notting Hill. In fact, it's 639pm and I'm still full. The tank was fully filled and the trackies are now on.

I've just had a fabulous weekend. I can't actually believe I just used the word fabulous. I feel the need to justify it now. Wait, no, I can't be bothered. Now, I just want to flag the fact that I'm conscious of the boring factor of this post but work with me. I want to share. I want us all to sit round a campfire and toast marshmellows while I tell you about my weekend. Cue kumbayah now.

It started with shopping on Friday night. The type of shopping where you just want to buy everything in store. Do I need that choir boy looking shirt that makes me look like I have no neck? Course not, but I feel intoxicated by the possibilities of looking pure. Do I look good in it? Hell no. It makes me look like Bert Newton. Ok, not a good example as I didn't buy it, but that was the type of frenzied mood I was in. Shopping was then concluded with Indian Tapas. I take my hat off to the Spanish for letting me try more than one dish at dinner, and to the Indians for the fusing it at a restaurant at Soho. Further frenzied behavior took place at home after. But it demonstrates weakness on my behalf so I won't go into it. Let's just say it involved cheesecake and chocolate.

Saturday morning was spent at the gym with the instructor kind of inappropriately touching the middle of my chest, but he was then punished with the spike of my hairy legs while he gave me a stretch at the end. Hot. I then met some friends at Borough Markets. I need not say more. Borough always delivers. Saturday night brought my evening of culture. Kevin Spacey was there, as was Jeff Goldblum. The play was ok. I was a bit distracted in the first bit because I could have sworn that Bill Murray was sitting in the audience. I spent a good 10 minutes trying to remember his name and then the next 20 minutes looking back and forth between Bill and Kevin. It was then confirmed that it wasn't Bill Murray so I could then direct my full concentration to Kevin's profuse sweating on stage.

And now we're back to Sunday. I'm sitting in my awesome bedroom, looking out to a beautiful sunset over the chimney tops of my neighbours houses. I can hear my housemates laughing in the kitchen and the smell of garlic cooking. Cat Power is singing a song about bobby and I'm going to Sardinia on Friday. I'm stupidly excited about a eyeshadow palette I found on ebay. 96 different shades of colour will soon be gracing my lids. I can actually create an Asian cooking sauce from scratch and I have a freezer full of dumplings. I feel so happy I may burst.

A friend asked me the other day, if I were to die tomorrow, would I be more pissed off that I hadn't achieved the things I had set out to do, or the fact that I loved life so much. If you had asked me a year ago, it would probably have been the first answer. Sure there are still things that I haven't done and would really like to do before I cark it, but my answer to him was the fact that I loved life so much. There was nothing wrong with my life before living over here. In fact, I would have continued trotting along being quite content. But somewhere along the way my capacity and ability to find happiness was increased. At times, it completely floods me. God, I sound like a born again.