This week has been truly lovely. The previous weekend was heavenly, my favourite cocktail of good friends, good wine and good conversation made for a memorable time. Meeting friends I hadnt seen in over a year provoked me into reflection of the past year and how we had all changed. Huddled in the same cosy corner of the same cocktail bar (Freud, of course) it felt as though time had stood still. The same foolish banter flowed, interjected with profound deliberation on the merits of living in various European countries. My best friend currently living in Estonia is now an avid fan of anything East European-I don't blame her, what's not to love about a place where vodka's so cheap you can bath in it every night? The thing is, as I looked around at my friends' animated faces and soaked up their easy laughter, I felt a metaphorical glow of delirious content surround us. Here we were a year on and despite the major life changes each of us had undergone (some moving country, some moving career) it was like nothing had ever changed. I feel certain it will be like this for life.

I spent the rest of the week in Amsterdam with my best friend who lives in Estonia. I'll call her Esti. We hired bikes and tortutred the city with our shameful knowledge of the highway code getting into various close shaves with Dutch drivers and pedestrians. Hiring bikes is an excellent way to see the city, you dont have to worry about catching the last tram at night or wait ages for the next bus and I have now successfully mastered the art of riding a bike in the small hours of the morning, slightly drunk, a little stoned and wearing heels-something every girl should learn. Dutch pancakes are sublime and the Heineken beer famous in Amsterdam was more than welcome after an afternoon of cycling alongside canals and visiting sex museums. We both overspent at the markets, with copious stalls crammed with vintage clothing and bric-a-brac, I am slighlty ashamed to say we spent more time at the markets than we did at the museums/galleries. Although, not that ashamed-I adore my vintage, floral heart shaped box to go on my bedside table and the black and gold clutch I acquired for 10 euros.

On the last night as we sat on a restaurant terrace savouring every last morsel of our pancackes, we got chatting to a group of guys from Sweden who bought us a bottle of white wine on the condition we join them to drink it. I love just randomly meeting people like that, I think its fascinating to learn about thier different culture and lives. We promised to meet them later in a club but with no intetnion of doing so. Instead we resolved to leave Amsterdam in a way that would do Amsterdam justice. We dangled our legs over the canal, smoked a joint and giggled our way through the Red Light District before swerving our way through the idyllic streets on our bicycles.

Boyfriend just called. I cant sleep for thinking about the phone call so have resolved to write this as a way of hopefully getting some sleep. It is an unfortunate truth what I wrote in my previous blog, one measly phone call has the ability to make me feel entirely miserable. Its pathetic. We were discussing him coming to London in July. He doesnt know the dates he's free and its been annoying me over the last few weeks as I am becoming increasingly reluctant to keep the whole of July free to ensure when he eventually decides to stroll over from Switzerland, I will be there with open arms and a schedule as free as a bird. I am certain he saw straight through my deplorable facade of "I'm not sure what I'm doing, I might be washing my hair/cutting my toenails/reading Vogue etc", yet decided to humour my feeble attempt at playing hard to get with persistant affirmation of his desire to see me. That just added to my annoyance. He and I both know we'd do anything to see each other if we're in the same country as its such a rarity. I hate his ability to see through me. How dare he brazenly presume I'll keep July free to see him. Even though I have.

My friend called yesterday saying she's lost her job. How can this happen? She's a beautiful, talented dancer who was hugely admired at school by everyone. Little more than 9 months into her first job and now this. I would love to say I'm shocked but frankly I'm not. The steely composure in her voice as she relayed the pitiful excuses as to why she's being disposed of shocked me more. I know she's relieved as she hates living in Birmingham but she's such a sensitive character and, I hate to say this, pretty insecure, that I braced myself for floods of tears and suicidal declarations from her. Yes i know, shit happens bla bla bla but it got me thinking about how you just never know what's around the corner. This time last year she had achieved her dream and now she's back to square one.

On a brighter note, I am immensely excited about tomorrow. I am meeting friends who I love dearly and havent seen in ages. Literally ages. I have no idea where we're staying for the night, possibly the streets of soho. Whatever happens I have to stumble back to guildford for sunday morning as i need to be in work. As soon as work is finished I'm going straight back to London to spend another evening god knows where. Monday sees another delightful day in London pottering around doing absolutely nothing with friends. I have to pack for amsterdam somewhere inbetween all this.

Boyfriend says he'll call tonight. Ah, the joys of long distance love. Every phone call is like a date, it can make you feel utterly shit if it goes slightly bad and if it goes well, the feeling of joy overrides everything bad thats happened that day. Perhaps thats just my vulnerable reasoning. Its hardly a relationship though. Someone to snuggle up to at night? No. Someone to cook you dinner after a long day? No. Regular sex? Absolutely not goddamit. I really admire those people who make it work though cos it is as hard as they say. When we're together it's amazing (so it bloody should be if we havent seen each other in months) but on the phone, its just....remote..distant. If I've had a bad day and feel like just shouting at someone I cant just vent my frustrations on him (does that make me sound really bad?) as every emotion is heightened in a long distance relationship and it could potentially lead to a huge argument. He's usually very good at calling me but I know if he didnt , I wouldnt mind and that annoys me. I want to mind. When we're together I fall in love with him all over again but inbetween seeing each other I feel like we're just treading water, desperately trying to keep our heads above the tide until we next meet. I really care about him, i just cant understand why im with him...I know i dont want to be with him forever so why am I bothering with all this long distance stuff? Its as though my head is telling me to not bother but my heart is dragging my protesting head all the way to Zurich whenever I have time. I always hated all that head/heart analogy bullshit but here I am harping on about it. What do I listen to? Last time I saw him was in April. It was a heavenly weekend spent at his house in Cambridge. We hired a boat on the river and spent afternoons lazing around in the sun while evenings were spent sipping whisky tucked up in front of the fire until the small hours of the morning. Just talking, laughing, talking. And then he went away again. I am left with rapidly fading memories of that April weekend and desolate phone calls, both of us trying to keep the pieces of our relationship jigsaw firmly glued together. Somehow I fear whether the fragments of our relationship are becoming too obscure to mend.

Well. Here I am. In the land of blog with not a clue what to do so I shall just write and see what happens. I must admit, I am slightly apprehensive at the prospect of airing my innermost feelings on a website and I find myself questioning who will actually want to read these things about me and my life? I figure if I write a bit about me, perhaps that will be a good start...I moved away from home at 11 to go to ballet school, i had no intention of being a ballerina (no, I was never one of those cute girls who used to long to prance around in a tutu all day), I just went on a chidlish whim lured by the absence of strict academic study and the ongoing sleepover with friends. I grew to love it, situated in the middle of Richmond Park, it wasnt a bad place to experience adolescence. At 16 I was living in a flat in central london with my best friends. It was blissful. School however, wasnt. Th fact that I didnt have a burning desire to be a ballet dancer was heightened by the fact that I was regularly being humiliated or ignored in class for being "untoned" and escorted to the nutritionist for a weigh in week in, week out. It got worse and in the final year of school, my best friend and I decided to take a mini gap year and go "auditioning" around Europe. The thought of being surrounded by these weird people who think eating toilet roll is acceptable and find doing the same ritualistic dance class day in, day out is remotely stimulating was too much to bear but I thought it was merely the school environment. I thought if I got offered a job with a ballet company I would be overjoyed. I wasn't. I turned a job down and went to university. Possibly my only regret in life (because I've always made it a priority not to regret anything) but this, I do. I hate University. So, I now find myself removed from everything I loved, London, my boyfriend, my friends who are scattered all over the world (thank god for skype and easyjet), my pokey flat, it was tiny but I loved it more than anything as it was crammed with memories of wonderful dinner parties, lazy Sundays in bed with my boyfriend, all night chats and BBQs on the roof. I don't miss ballet one bit, I miss the lifestyle. I am now living in Guildford with my parents, ironic how people go to university to move away from home but I am enjoying moving back after 8 years away. In fact, that's exactly the problem. I feel as though I'm on a completely different wavelength to the people at University. I have some lovely friends there but I just fail to get vaguely excited about the vulgar student union club or get a thrill from stealing trolleys from tesco and genuinely cant understand why anyone would relish in downing pint after pint, night after night on nothing but a belly full of Pot Noodle. I am far from tee total but find it all a bit excessive and refuse to join in from the sheer principle that I would never do anything just to fit in so make my feelings quite clear. Shit, I've just realised how much I've rambled on, so much for my apprehension at sharing my thoughts! Ok, well I'm not quite sure how to end my first blog but I hope its not all mindless rambling to read.