All right, I'll admit my reaction in the previous post was probably just a little over-the-top. Just a little. Heh. It's just the way I am. I'm not great when it comes to talking about feelings and stuff like that, even if the response I got wasn't the negative response I was partly expecting.

While the issue with CG has been driving me slightly bonkers for a while, I don't think I would have broached the topic if it weren't for a fairly obvious signal that there was definitely some interest on his part. And I'm really glad I went down my usual path of doing this verbally, as opposed to my friend who kept on going "snog him, snog him!" the whole night long. A snippet of our conversation follows:

Me: Assuming I go down your road - and I am not going to - what happens if he's not interested?
Friend: He's got no choice! You'll be kissing him.
Me: No choice?
Friend: What guy in his right mind wouldn't respond to a gorgeous girl kissing him?
Me: Er... that's not quite the point, is it?

In any case, no, I didn't take her advice and just attack him. But, in any case, he is interested in me, but, as I figured, he really wants to focus on work right now. Fair enough. He doesn't mind having a little fun, whatever that means (no offence to him, just that I'm well aware that my interpretations and the actual meaning may be quite some distance apart), but can't promise anything more. Again, fair enough. I completely understand and respect that.

Doesn't mean I'm not a little disappointed, but, hey, c'est la vie, n'est pas?

There is a silver lining to this slightly strange situation though. At least I know my radar's not completely wonky. I haven't been entirely certain of my judgement in a while because of everything that happened with MD, and, at least now, I've got some validation that I'm not completely off!

Yay, birthday celebrations! Woo!

Except that I am also so embarrassed that Ijustwanttocurlupanddie. Let's just say a certain someone does return my feelings but is at a stage in life - which I completely recognise and acknowledge - whereby other things take precedence.

So, of course this completely explains why, upon my return home, I turned on the radio to Kiss 100 FM, boogied around the round and poured myself a strong vodka tonic and am praying I will obliterate the memory of my making an a** of myself.

Augh. F**k!

My concert going has certainly increased exponentially since I moved to London two years ago. Thankfully, the quality of the performers hasn’t dropped. There have been so many concerts that I’ve thoroughly enjoyed myself at and have been convinced that that one would have been the concert of the year for me, only for it to be topped a couple of weeks later. Not that each concert gets better and better, just that they’re all so good that it’s hard to pick just one. And they’re all good in different ways too.

Last night’s concert by Snow Patrol (the fourth show in their Reworked tour showcasing their previous work as The Reindeer Section in addition to their body of work as Snow Patrol) was one such concert. I know what everyone says about the band: they’re Coldplay-light, they’re bland, they’re safe. Whatever. They’re incredibly radio-friendly and accessible by a wide range of people, yes. They do a lot of songs about love, yes. But what’s wrong in that?

And as performers, Snow Patrol certainly do give their all. Gary Lightbody was full of energy and just like a kid on Christmas day yesterday night. The Royal Albert Hall does seem to have that effect on the bands I’ve seen perform there. Much like Glen Hansard from The Swell Season, Gary was awed at performing in this most hallowed of concert venues, and it showed. In a way, he looked very much like Ian Curtis dancing, with slightly jerky arm movements, unable to restrain his joy, yet not daring to move too much in case he'd wake up from this wonderful dream. It was great just seeing how happy he was, particularly in the wake of the review of the first concert of this tour which seemed to feature an audience much more placid than tonight's.

The one thing I will say about Snow Patrol: they are one of the few bands whose songs never fail to make me just want to close my eyes and sink into the music. Their songs are soothing, relaxing and, in so many ways, very relatable. And when I’m seeing them performed live, it always gets me right there, and I have to struggle a little not to cry either out of sadness or sheer joy. And a performer that’s capable of drawing such emotion out of his/her audience is to be admired, regardless of how you might feel about ‘safe’ music.

I enjoyed the entire concert, except perhaps the very first single they released as Snow Patrol. Fortunately - for me at least - they've gone from strength to strength ever since. You Could Be Happy, once again, got to me. Seeing as it is the song which triggered my relapse back in the summer (particularly when Gary sings "for the tiniest moment, it's all not true"), that's perfectly understandable. However, several months on, I've come to the revelation that this song is, as Gary says to us on this night, is ultimately about happiness, and not regret.

It is also the moment I realise that I am well and truly over MD. Not that I'd been moping over him before that, but that I can honestly stand up and say that he's in my past, and that I loved him, without any hesitation before pronouncing the 'd' in that.

But tonight isn't about loneliness or past loves or regrets. It's all about the music I enjoy. And following that revelation, I just throw myself into the music, joining in with the clapping and hollering and am just generally to be found grinning from ear to ear the whole night. Yes, I am disappointed that they don't play You Are My Joy or Signal Fire, but, hey, I love a lot of their other songs too, and I'm having such a great time that I don't really care. In fact, if it weren't for work, I'd probably have come back to see them once again at the Royal Albert Hall!

As a completely random comment, may I just say that well done to Dr. Brooke Magnanti for having written an incredibly entertaining blog (that's Belle de Jour for those of you who've been living under a rock over the past week) and managing to keep her identity secret for all those years?

And how cool is it that a UK blogger managed to work out who she was six years ago, didn't tell a soul, and even set up a system so that he could be alerted once other people figured out who Belle was? There are good people out there after all!

I'm starting to think of Wild & Wood - possibly my favourite coffeehouse in London - as my Central Perk, a place where you can just go to and relax, or meet up with friends, and quite a few other people there know who you are. In short, the coffee shop equivalent of Cheers.

Case in point: I'd decided to go there because it's one of the best places I know of when it comes to just getting a great cup of coffee and catching up on reading. My arrival was greeted with both pleasure and surprise by owners Kit and Bozena. They were happy to see me as I hadn't been there in a month, but, at the same time, they were surprised as I'd just missed one of their regulars by about 15 minutes, namely, CG. Ah well, such is life, but I wasn't too sad. All I'd wanted was a cappuccino and a nice slice of cake (the lemon and poppy seed cake from Clarke's was wonderful, and I don't even like lemon, and the cappuccino was excellent, as usual) and to begin on The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo by Stieg Larsson (oh how I love my local library). Instead, I ended up having a nice chat with Kit and Bozena about how I'd been, how they'd been and all that kind of thing for about an hour and a half, when, lo and behold, who should appear but CG himself?

And it was nice to see him. It really was great to just catch up for a half hour or so, but, during that time, I was thinking, ah crap, how on earth does the mere appearance of this guy just make my heart beat that much quicker? I do fancy him, yes. I think I would mind telling him that, irrespective of the fact that I'm not a complete novice when it comes to dating. But I am trying my very hardest to write him off, because, rationally speaking, there are so many factors which just wouldn't work. And, unlike the naive fool that I was a year ago, I'm not exactly of the view that love conquers all anymore. In any case, it's not even remotely close to love, it's just a crush, albeit one that's hard to shake off.

So even though I met someone else later that day who ended up coming along with me as my guest to a friend's party that same night even though we'd only just met, and a someone else who isn't bad looking and has a great sense of humour and is older than I am (therefore, one would assume the issues inherent with dating someone younger ought not to be as prevalent), at the end of the night, on my night bus journey home alone, I found myself still thinking of CG.

Damn.

The ultimate in guilty pleasures...

Chilling out at Nordic Bakery, feasting on the best cinnamon roll ever baked (£2.00), and an incredibly welcome and delicious cup of rich, smooth hot chocolate (£2.20), on a weekday, catching up on reading (yes, that is the Gossip Girl novel you see), having taken the day off to explore an opportunity which may take me back into the industry I used to work in.

Sinful on all possible counts... while remaining fully clothed.

On this most windy and rainy of days, I have chickened out of checking out Kaffeine (alliteration rocks, does it not?) and have, instead, stayed home to play the really cool Sherlock Holmes viral Facebook game. You can play as either Sherlock Holmes with a friend as Dr. Watson (or the other way around), or be like me and choose to play both (it's not because I have no friends. Honest!). All you need is a Facebook account.

I am also sort of getting back into the whole shopping thing. Not that I ever got out of it, to be perfectly frank, but there really haven't been too many pieces that've rocked my world to the point that I'd kill to have one. There's been the Issa dress, as well as the Preen Power Bandage dress (both in electric blue, my absolutely favourite colour, and both for the past few months, and in the case of Issa, over a year now). On a much shorter time scale (i.e. over the past week), there've been the 1940s velvet dress which made me look like the classiest girl this side of the Atlantic, this really cute Tara Starlet dress (I love the red buttons and buckle and the tie-sleeves!), and this Bettie Page sailor reproduction dress which looks adorable on Leighton Meester, but I'm not sure if it'll look that good on me given that I've a pear-shaped figure, and not an hourglass one. I haven't watched Gossip Girl in a while, and that's probably a good thing, given how much I'd love to have Blair's wardrobe... but preferably without the craziness that accompanies it.

So that's how my cold, wet Saturday has been going so far. What else should one do if one doesn't have a fireplace and a warm, snug rug to curl up on and fall asleep?

Oh dear. I've obtained tickets to Just a Minute for the same day I was thinking about having my birthday dinner. It's also because one of my best friends is flying off the next day for a week, so, although I'll see her when she's back, it'd be nice to have her around with the rest of my friends when we're doing something. So... which should I choose? Just a Minute... or dinner?

I became my day with my maiden Power Plate session (perfect for someone who does a fair amount of cardio but comparatively little weights and toning exercises). The lovely trainer assured me I'd ache like hell tomorrow, but seeing as that would only happen tomorrow, I ought not to worry about the fact that I had a four hour swing dance workshop coming up later in the day. The Power Plate session was as intense as every article on it leads you to believe. I thought my teeth would fall out at one point, and let's just say that sitting on it makes one feel very strange (no, not in a good way).

Then it was off to Borough Market to confirm that Monmouth Coffee's stall at the market itself is no longer there, though the store still exists. Much to my joy - though I got in line for a Monmouth cappuccino anyway (note to self: must remember they only use whole milk) - I found a little stall next to Cafe Brood which sells Union coffee (also used by Taylor St Baristas, LJ Coffee House and Artisan Coffee Company, all of whose coffee I'd recommend). I'll have to check it out the next time I'm there. Borough Market, it must be noted, is not the best place to go when you're vegetarian, which I was today, in order to make up for my going to Byron for a proper burger yesterday.

After that, four hours of swing dancing as taught by Kieran Yee of Swing Patrol. All in all, all four workshops ("Ooze more groove", "Fast dancing", "Solo charleston moves" and "Dips and tricks") were great, though parts of it reinforced what I didn't like about getting back into social dancing. For instance, Swing Patrol's swing-outs are different from the swing-outs I was taught to do. At least, I think they are. Could be I'm just constantly repeating the same mistake over and over again. I don't know. It's just hard when I keep thinking, surely I was better than this last time around? And if I wasn't, then why bother?

And after all of that, I somehow mustered the strength to go catch the fireworks in a part of London I hadn't been before, and decided to brave it anyway. And I'm glad I did. I really love fireworks, and while watching them tonight, I just thought to myself, this is the best year ever. Yes, I've been through a fair amount of grief, and, yes, I'm still just as insecure and full of doubt as I've ever been. I don't mention this simply because I'd like to remind people that 2009 began on a really bad note for me, but just that I look back at that and marvel at how I've managed to recover.

As I said, I've survived. I've found happiness in just being by myself and pushing myself as best as I can to get out there and experience as much as I can (Hip Hop Karaoke and fireworks being two cases in point). I've grown... and I'm still finding moments of intense joy in my life rather unexpectedly.

And given the vast room for improvement that exists in my life, that just means the forthcoming years will be ever better!

Here is the account of my utterly wonderful Thursday night.

I checked out Hip Hop Karaoke at The Social on Thursday night. Once again, because I have no cool friends who like to do cool things, I ended up going there by myself. As I went straight from work, this meant that I ended up looking just a tad out of place in my pink-striped work shirt and work trousers. I arrived at 8.45 pm, thinking that the music should have started by then, so that I wouldn't have to sit around looking like a goon while waiting for the karaoke to begin.

I was wrong. Or partly right, depending on how you look at it. The music had started - the DJ was spinning some great old school hip hop tunes - but there was no one on stage, contrary to the poster which advertised the commencement of signing up from 7 pm and karaoke from 8 pm to 10 pm.

I asked one of the bar stuff. She said people usually just went up and sang, but as this wasn't something she was into, she wasn't sure whether the karaoke had begun yet, or if no one wanted to sing.

This, I thought to myself, was not good. I wasn't going to be drinking alcohol as I'd decided to give my liver an alcohol holiday (meaning no alcohol for ten days since my last drink on Monday evening) and I certainly needed something to tide me over while I decided how long to stay or go. So I opted for a half-pint of diet coke, which, I can tell you, is not an adequate substitute for liquid courage.

I waited around for about half an hour more, thinking that I'd probably head up by 9.30 pm if nothing happened.

Then, at 9.15 pm, this guy strode onto the stage. The usual host, Mark, was unavailable, as he was working in Tokyo, so MC Booty Champagne was taking over for the night. He ran through the rules (1. Everyone goes f***ing mental because The Social is a friendly place. 2. No boo-ing allowed)  and introduced the very first singer, a big English lad by the name of Ronan, who wanted to give us all a dose of UK Hip Hop, and dove straight into Roots Manuva - Witness.

Interesting choice. Certainly not something I'd choose to sing, because it's so intense and heavy, and, man, after the Jay-Z concert on Wednesday night, I'd realised just how many words there are in each and every tune. Ronan did a great job, referring to the lyrics sheet as and when he needed to, but he certainly got into the spirit of things and got things going.

Then, next was a Hip Hop Karaoke regular, Amber MC. He certainly looked the part of a regular, and he'd opted to do Pharoahe Monch – Simon Says, which is certainly one hell of a spirited tune, with its regular occurrences of "Get the f*** up!" The audience was definitely into the song; the crowd right in front of the stage was dancing and singing along, while the guys at the back (where I was) were indulging in some more exuberant dancing. Amber MC sounded the part of a regular MC too, right when he went "West London! Get the f*** up! East London! Get the f*** up! North London! Get the f*** up! South London! GET THE F*** UP!"

And that pretty much set the tone of the night. There were some Hip Hop Karaoke virgins, as Booty Champagne described them, but they all sounded pretty decent. Some of them didn't even have to look at the words at all. And when they did forget the words or couldn't figure out how to get in (as one guy did because his brother signed him up without his knowledge), the ever-helpful audience would sing all the words for you, so it didn't really matter as long as you weren't embarrassed to get up there, and had someone around for moral support.

Still, at 10.15 pm, when they took their first break, I wasn't sure what I wanted to do. Sure, I was having a good time just watching, but I'd been feeling rather self-conscious for the last hour that I was obviously by myself at such a social event. I'd been trying to psych myself into realising that it takes courage to get out there and do things, and that I really need to give myself more credit for the things that I do, rather than ragging on myself for the things I end up not doing, but wasn't able to do so.

So I left, resolving to come by one day with a friend.

I don't know what compelled to leave when I did. Certainly I felt a little lame, leaving after just the first set. But, once I got out onto Oxford Circus, I was to find myself amply rewarded.

When I turned onto the main road, I heard sounds of drumming and cheering. Intrigued, I walked towards the source - coincidentally, right next to the tube exit - and found not only a busker drumming skillfully on his set of buckets, but a dance-off in progress. Several men - more like boys - were taking turns showing off their moves, and what made it cooler were the different styles on display: popping, locking, breaking and jazz. Naturally, there was a certain characteristic to the jazz dancers that one just knew they had to be gay (whether it was in the way they kicked their legs or how they paired a bright purple t-shirt with cyan trousers) , but, man, they could move.

This went on for about ten minutes before the busker ended his set. I dug around my very full bag for my wallet for several minutes, and, again, this delay served me well. The dancers and their friends persuaded the busker to start playing once again. By this time, I'd managed to overhear some snippets of conversation among the dancers and managed to figure out that there was an entire class of these guys here, all from the renowned Urdang Academy.

The drumming recommenced... And so did the dancing. This time, the girls joined in, showing off their stuff. I'm not sure how I'd classify their dancing - it's the kind where you half-squat, butt sticking out, thighs parallel to the ground, and you shake your butt for what it's worth, coupled with some impressive kicks, spins and leaps - but it looked just as skilled as the men's, even if not as in-your-face. They even did what can only be called the diva strut (where you walk with one hand on your waist and the other hand snaps and you circle your shoulder back very quickly) incredibly well. If I were to learn it in class, I'd look incredibly silly doing it, but these girls did it with style and attitude. And again, the poppers and lockers did their thing.

Another ten minute jam session and it was time for me to go home. And just as I thought the night couldn't get any better, I saw a fox. I couldn't tell if it was a mister and it looked very little and young, but it certainly was fantastic!

Whoever said sake doesn't give you a hangover was lying, big-time. I'm still wondering how on earth I managed to come out of my 15 cup drinkathon a few years ago without any ill effects. Thank goodness for Dioralyte, even if the taste of it does make me want to throw up in of itself, and bacon sandwiches.

Pixar's tenth film, Up, is a glorious movie. It's moving, bright, colourful and manages to achieve the tough balance between appealing to both adults and kids. It's also the first movie this year which has managed to convince me to fork out and pay the exorbitant central London movie prices. Just as an aside, the Barbican cinema's the most affordable (£7.50 for a film, £9.50 if in 3D, after the online booking discount).

The animation is, of course, fantastic, but, given that this is Pixar we're talking about, this was never going to be in doubt. What's surprising is how touching this film is. 

It's not the most marketable film Pixar's ever made; 78-year-old Carl Fredriksen's dour visage isn't the most friendly or heartening of images... but, behind all of this lies a beautiful story of his marriage to Ellie which is told at the start of the film in an incredibly moving five-minute montage which, knowing as we do about her death just as Carl decides to take the final step in getting both of them towards their long-held dream of travelling to Paradise Falls in South America, is absolutely heartbreaking. I was crying like a baby when she died, which is not a good look when you're in a theatre full of kids. Fortunately, my eyes were hidden behind 3D glasses, although I did hear quite a few adults sniffling away as well.

The montage is quite possibly the most best storytelling device you'll come across. It's dialogue-free, the colour tones shift to indicate the period in which Carl and Ellie are living in, and there are a number of adult themes tackled in it which aren't glossed over, but aren't dwelled on overlong either. You get that great sense of true love, love that endures through tragedy, and, in a very poetic fashion, the abandonment of dreams as life encroaches, something that happens far too often in the real world.

The rest of the film is, amazingly enough, just as good. It's funny, it's crazy, it's a huge adventure, and, amazingly enough, there are moments throughout the film when you feel just as moved as you were in the beginning. It's a great story of how Carl sets out to fulfill their dream by flying their house via thousands of helium balloons to Paradise Falls. Unfortunately for him, he gets stuck with Wilderness Explorer Russell who's trying to earn the last badge he needs to advance to Senior Wilderness Explorer for assisting the elderly. Russell's the kind of kid every grumpy old person hates; he's eager, loud and just will never shut up ("Do you want to play a game? It's called See Who Can Go the Longest Without Saying Anything." "Cool! my mum loves that game!")

Amazingly enough, Carl and Russell manage to steer the house to Paradise Falls. Unfortunately, it lands a mile or two from Ellie's dream spot: right next to the top of the waterfalls. So, naturally enough, the two of them decide to walk the house while the balloons are still filled with helium to their intended destination. Along the way, they encounter a never-before-seen bird whom Russell calls Kevin for no reason whatsoever, and a talking dog called Dug (by way of a translator his owner built him). Dug is utterly hilarious with a constant chattering stream of consciousness occasionally interrupted by shouts of "SQUIRREL!" and subsequent staring off into the distance.

The villain of this film is Charles Muntz, a veteran explorer who was Carl and Ellie's childhood hero, and was, in fact the reason they met and got together in the first place. Charles is determined to capture Kevin and will not let anything or anyone stand in his way. Suffice it to say that this being a family show, Charles doesn't manage to achieve this and we go on to have a happy ending that doesn't feel pat or cloying in the least.

Up is dedicated to the "real life Carl and Ellie Fredricksens who inspired us to create our own Adventure Books".  The message behind the film must be how we shouldn't ever let life get us down, and to always pursue our dreams. More importantly, sometimes you need to realise when to let go of an old dream as there's a new one there waiting for you to discover what it is, and which will bring you just as much as joy as your long-cherished one. 

For me, Up is on par with Wall-E. I strongly suspect had I been watching Up under the same circumstances I watched Wall-E (i.e. with someone who would soon become my boyfriend), Up would probably have won out. After Up, I walked out of the theatre feeling incredibly happy to be alive, even though I was all by myself. There're not many films out there that have that effect on people, so I strongly recommend you get yourself to the nearest big screen and catch it while you can.