I told myself I was going to steer clear of these ‘retrospective’ posts, brushing 2014 under the rug and all that, but I’m modifying that intention somewhat in favour of only brushing the crap stuff under the rug. The good stuff is well and truly welcome to the party.

Cutting to the chase, yesterday was the anniversary of The Day The Shit Hit The Fan and to be perfectly honest it crept up on me before I knew it. Not that I’d forgotten, of course, I’m the obsessive type and always will be, prone to daily tiny doses of melancholy usually before I’ve had my coffee or after I’ve had my wine. But I digress, creep up on me it did, and it was only when I was twirling round a Bloomsbury townhouse dance floor with a bottle of prosecco in one hand and an inflatable penis balloon in the other that I was struck by a sudden flashback to that exact moment a year ago, sat in my office late on a Friday, smashed on cheap red wine and fighting the temptation to build bridges with a guy on Valentine’s Day, because, and I quote, ‘that would be weird’.

In the same situation at any point last year, this would likely have ended in tears (putting it lightly) but this is 2015, the year of awesome, as the crowd of fabulous friends scattered about the dance floor, equally smashed, atoned. And so, I danced on in my rubbery Westwoods until my soles could bear it no longer and promptly hopped in a cab home to pass out on the couch with cheese and crackers and late night 2005 Mock the Week, utterly content.

I’ve had a stinking cold all week, which is not ideal as it’s led to my clocking up the hours bundled up on the sofa feeling sorry for myself. PRIME MELANCHOLY POTENTIAL. But I’ve been distracted and happily so because… I only went and bought a bloody house!

Well okay, it’s a flat, but that doesn’t sound as indulgent.

And yes, it’s in like Zone 5 or something but hey, I like a good commute. Plenty of Kindle time.

But it’s big and bright and needs very little doing to it and I’ve been obsessively pinning the crap out of my neglected Pinterest boards ever since and will be doing for the next three months or so until I can move in.

I had the best New Year’s Eve this year (did I write about that? I can’t remember. We went to Cornwall, dressed as pirate wenches and drank bubbles on the beach at midnight with fireworks overhead) and yesterday I got a text from the Continent;

‘Just stumbled across our video from NYE on the beach, prosecco in hand with fireworks everywhere and just need to say that I hope you’re continuing to have a happy new year you magnificent bastard!’

I can’t explain the magnificent bastard thing, suffice to say, you had to be there.

But you know, I AM still having a happy new year. Work is great, friends are great (even if they feck off to Europe for months on end – you know who you are), my current flat is great, my new flat is great, my mortgage broker is great, my hair looks great, my arse looks great (thank you squat challenge app) basically, everything is flipping great. I know it sounds like I’m tempting fate a bit here, but I don’t think I am. Shit will happen anyway, it always does, but I’d rather enjoy the highs of life while they’re here and deal with the lows as they come.

It’s not all been prosecco and puppies, some Soho scumbag nicked my favourite handbag at the end of January (payday weekend – urgh) and everything in it, which was frankly a fucking nightmare. I cried (was v v drunk), cancelled my cards, my wonderful friends put me in a cab and got me home and got me into my flat (spare keys people, always leave spare keys with someone sensible) and while it was a pain in the arse for a few days, I got over it. Someone even handed my keys in to a shop in Soho, who called my LIBRARY to get my number so they could return them to me. Human decency right there.

Well, that’s your lot. I’ve a date with the DFS website. Apparently they’ve got a sale on.

Til next time 😉