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baldyza: I uploaded a @YouTube video http://t.co/MZCSgxdP Box jump getting owned.

baldyza: I uploaded a @YouTube video http://t.co/mknJBg6y 137kg Front Squat PB

baldyza: I uploaded a @YouTube video http://t.co/Kxl4YUXc 118cm box jump

I fucking jinxed myself.

I have 'flu. My skin is still in tact, but my face feels like it's falling off.

Burning candle at both ends, big nights, and Blatic temperatures. Plus grief and stress.
Standing in bus shelters when it's -8 outside, flitting between hospital and the office to see my aunt and hold her hand.

The excitement of knowing that this time next week I'll be in South Africa. Then immediately jaded by the concept that I'll need to say goodbye to my aunt. Forever.

Few weeks have been so bittersweet.

And flu-riddled. Again.

baldyza: Google Begins Country-Specific Blog Censorship <cough>EVIL</cough> -> http://t.co/c9rRIcbD

baldyza: Phuza face.

It's amazing what a sprightly train driver can do for a journey.

There I was, last train home after visiting my aunt in hospital, followed by more drinking in Belgravia with my European colleagues, (posh gin and tonics. With grapefruit slices in them, in case you're wondering).

Not completely shitfaced this time, more Sensible Drunk. (Which is kind of right on target for the sweet spot. Drunk but not stupid. This is what you should aim for at 31.)For the first time this week, I actually got it right.

Anyway two things happened, worthy of description.

The first was mortifying. The second was just funny.

The Europeans are over for a conference this week, and so mass binge drinking ensued. As I've become known as the bitch who sings Usher's Love In This Club and this unfortunate infamy is now turning into tradition, I eventually took up the offer of the mic (again, was Sensible Drunk, so I [uncharacteristically] needed a lot of coercion).

So, office karaoke. Not a good springboard for one's career, sure. Except if you're singing in a whole group, everyone's festive - from the MD down to the trainee assistant - everyone's voices blend together and it's all a bit of comaraderie and fun.

Then there's what happened to me. I was singing away in the group, alongside She Who Loves Tweed, giving it some real horns. You know, really accentuating the magical words, I wanna make love in dis club..in dis club,, while putting on my best RnB gangsta voice for prize lines like, I wanna bag you like some groceries...on the floor, on the couch...on the table...I'm watcha you want, whatcha need....

I was singing into this yellow microphone, Tweedy next to me was singing into a red one.

After the song was finished, high fived and started strolling to the bar.

When, "Dude. Do you realise that your voice was coming through the rest of the building."

Peas: No, what are you talking about?

Group of people: "Dude. That microphone you were signing on? Is tuned so that your voice gets relayed to speakers beyond this room. So down there, reception area, the meeting rooms..."

Peas: I don't think I quite understand. My voice, singing by itself? Across the entire building? [squeaking]...while singing about shagging in a club?

Group: Yup. Your lines making love song, interrupted an important conversation all the exces were having down there.

Peas:...And no-one else's were heard?! Could they hear the music or just my voice?!

Group: Just your voice.

So yeah. That was fucking mortifying.

Had a drown my embarrassment somewhat, and then headed home on the last train, where I think the train driver was drunk.

Luckily, rails force the wheels to literally stay on track, but it was his awesome approach to the announcements that I loved. And he was very posh.

"Lllllllllladies and gentlemen. Welcome aboard my train! Hurry up and get inside, stop jamming up the platform. Get inside and come with me to....East Croydon! Via....Norbury!"

He kept going throughout the duration of my journey:

"Llllladies and gentlemen! We are approaching...Battersea Park! Home to the dogs and cats home and ....Battersea Park! If you get off, mind the platform. Or don't Because I don't care!"

"Lllllladies and gentlemen! Let's get going and get to East Croydon! Stop scooting, or is that skating? On the platform! It's unsightly and dangerous! But mostly unsightly!"


When I got out, I went to his window and gave him a thumbs up. He looked like he was 18. So clearly practicing for his career in the West End.

Now to deal with Bridget Jones Karaoke Fuck Upgate.

baldyza: Brass monkeys

baldyza: I uploaded a @YouTube video http://t.co/hXkPhb6g 135kg Front Squat PB Woking

"Mommy" being Aunty Peas..

Dude.

I haven't really been drunk drunk - drunk like I was 25 - since New Year's eve. And even then, I wasn't seeing double and I do vaguely remember how we got home.

Friday changed that. There comes a point, where your workload and propensity for tolerance start to form their own Pythagoras.

I'd draw the graph, but I can't be fucked.
It's a triangle, based on axes x and y, and they invariably meet.

Getting to grips with how sick my aunt is at the moment, and how quickly she's suddenly turned, coupled with the thoughts around what happens next, and visits to the hospital every other day, is all very devastating to me and the rest of the family.

If there's one window of opportunity to block out these thoughts - even for a few hours - as well as thoughts around how I'll get all my work done before going to South Africa - I'll take it.

So I went out with the team on Friday. Devoured a bottle of white white with She Who Loves Tweed, and then continued to consume a string of gin and tonics at a place called "The Sapphire Lounge," which had a bar counter stickier than the tip of Russell Brand's dick.

It was superb. To be so thoroughly shitfaced, that I don't remember which train (or was it even a train?) took me home, or how I got from the station to the front door.

I don't really get drunk these days. Caveat, I don't really get drunk-drunk these days. 'These days' being the last 6 months or so. Unless the situation really calls for it, most of the time I aim for the sweet spot.

The sweet spot is that point between three glasses of champagne and four. You're teetering, but you know the next glass will make you want a cigarette, and you know that the fourth glass is the fine line between a hangover and just Monday morning.

It's part of being 31. Being strategic about who you get drunk with, and how you get drunk.

Anyway, so on Friday I got drunk. It was absolutely fucking glorious. I couldn't feel my fingers I absolutely loved fucking everyone.

I made a new best gay friend. (This happens from time to time. I'm very 'gay fickle.')

The Brit luckily - and strategically - managed to merge his evening nicely so that we collided on hangover.

And spent the whole of Saturday - from start to fucking finish - lying in bed, necking paracetamol (and each other). The entire day was dedicated to Chez Duvet. Rendered useless, thanks to white wine hangover. (I'm a fuckstick for choosing such a stupid alcohol.)

Sunday was dedicated to my aunt. This is all very hard.

baldyza: I uploaded a @YouTube video http://t.co/LuufnVLo 65kg Snatch nasty fail Dorset Open

baldyza: I uploaded a @YouTube video http://t.co/JWLvaQ5k 65kg Snatch 2nd attempt Dorset Open

baldyza: I uploaded a @YouTube video http://t.co/UOu1gXvz 65kg Snatch Dorset Open

baldyza: I uploaded a @YouTube video http://t.co/HnOelzfP 85kg C&J Fail Dorset Open

baldyza: I uploaded a @YouTube video http://t.co/BlV9ObwH 95kg C&J Fail Dorset Open, comp PB

baldyza: I uploaded a @YouTube video http://t.co/BqcsouoR 102kg C&J Fail Dorset Open

baldyza: 85,95,102f. 160kg total. Comp pb on c&j and the total.

baldyza: 65f, 65f, 65.

baldyza: slow train was maybe a bad tactical decision.

baldyza: trains from waterloo stuffed, anyone want to go for a drink?