Sushi, Chanel, Salt Chilli Squid

I have some grown-up friends. I mean, they’re 23 but they act more adult than I do.  

I have recently got into the terrible breakfast habit of black coffee and a rice crispie square before 9am. Every weekday day.  

It’s arguably better than my attempt at a hangover cure using sushi.  

And it doesn’t get as many judgemental, judgemental looks from the people in the office as my giant box of cocopops.  

I should probably be chewing, for hoursonend, through a bowl of museli. Or discussing with my co-workers which topping I chose for my porridge (they do that).

I think it’s grown up when I make a purchase at Prada or when I order a “Tanqueray and tonic. Single!” or that I can say, “I am a developer at an investment bank,” at family barbeques to relatives whose kids are studying medicine at Oxbridge.  

But then my friends send me e-mails with choice excerpts such as,  

“I did my credit check last month - was 753. Nothing was flagged. I did it this morning and the county court judgement, that I paid off in november, has flagged up as not being paid.”  

Or they make a passing comment like, “oh, RBS shares are back up to 49p.”  

Or they meet me outside the pub with a Lanvin bag that is far more understated and elegant than my Goyard tote.  

How do you check your credit rating? Is now a good time to invest in shares? How did I not know that bag existed until 20 seconds ago? Why has my supply of easy men dwindled so severely within the last 2 weeks?  

So many, many questions.  

So today I am going to check my on-line bank account for the first time in 2 days. I’m going to peruse the value of shares at the close of trading today. I am going to go home and “read” the issue of March Vogue that is still in the envelope it was dropped off at my house in over 2 weeks ago.  

Also, tonight I’m going drinking. But I’m also running away to Amorino to find ice cream with my goodpalNiesh. She says it’s “speculoos” and they have “cookie spread ice cream”. I don’t know this place. I like the word “speculoos” though and, while i don’t like cookies, the flavour sounds encouraging enough to assume that there might be other delicious americana dessert-inspired varieties on offer?  

Like oreo cheesecake. That’s grown-up, right?

Yesterday my friend text me that she’d been taken away for the weekend by her long(ish)-term partner. Knowing that I received this message while sitting at my work desk eating heart-shaped marshmallows that my mother had bought for me on Valentine’s Day because I am soverysingle, might go some way to explaining why I nearly stopped reading right then and there.

But it was persevere with the text and the love candy or go back to testing my XML code; and so I read on.

I should have carried on testing. Testing anything! My Code, TheEvilOne’s code, the telephone connection; a.n.y.t.h.i.n.g.

My friend said there was gossip. Gossip that was too good to divulge over a text and that I should wait until I met her for Thai in Soho on Tuesday evening to hear the news. But then she went right ahead and told anyway.

He proposed. She said yes. They’re engaged.

I swallowed my marshmallow, stood up and went and spent £30 on hair products to make myself feel better.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m totally happy for her (I AM). And, I mean, unless the (canary) rock is large enough to have me dragging my hand along the floor I’m not really allthatinterested (Niesh <3), but it’s sooo typical that in the most single time of my recent life (7 years…ahem) everyone is getting married, or engaged, or knocked up.

This is all sounding a lot like “bitter”, isn’t it?

Okay, I’ll tell you something I’m happy and not bitter about. Tonight I’m going for yakitori dinner where I intend to eat the equivalent of my bodyweight in shitake mushrooms, beef and sake.

Now watch as instant karma forces it to rain and causes the £30 worth of BB hair products in my azngirlhair be rendered totally redundant.

Universe 1 - 0 Emma