How to walk in high heels?

Can you hear that sound?

The sobbing, sniffling one? It's really faint, but every so often you'll hear a full on sob.

Yeah, that's my Visa cowering in a corner from over-use.

"Please don't use me again" it wails, in a really poncey voice, nothing like the voice when I first had it and it was all shiny and new; "use me, I'm all yours" it pronounced then, all clear of balance and begging to be christened.

It's been christened alright, a few too many times, in fact you could even say that card's been christened so many times it's turned into a bit of a Visa-whore. It's not choosy where or who it gets down to business with either.

Floozy.

I'm on a mission you see, it's a rather expensive mission, but it's a mission of self-transformation, and these things are never cheap. Be it hair, nails, clothes, shoes, handbags, whatever, I'm bored, I want change. Thing is, the universe doesn't seem to see it that way and every time I go out with my floozy of a credit card in hand, I never find anything I want, so end up buying something else. So at the end of the month I have a bill that skints me to clear the balance and I STILL have the same hair and no new clothes. Grrrr.

Take today for instance, today was a slight success in that I found new shoes. They're beautiful, they're pink, they'll change my world. However, whilst looking for these (bargainous) beautiful foot-adorners, it has struck me that I am never going to be able to wear fashionable heels ever again. Have you seen the size of the heels nowadays?! Okay, I sound like my mother, but oh my days, I'd end up in A&E after half an hour of shuffling. Did I ever actually manage to walk in them before? Or this is a new development since the advent of gladiator sandals? I blame flats and gladiators, they've ruined me for life, never again will I put on a pair of sparkly sky-scraper heels and strut confidently a-la Carrie Bradshaw; no, instead I look more like Patsy or Eddie from Ab-Fab after too much wine.

Is this because I'm 30 now? Do you suddenly stop being able to walk in heels when you turn 30?

Nobody told me this before, I'm sure I'd have remembered. So shuffling it is, unladylike I know, but we suffer for fashion, and besides, I only have to get from A to B and find a chair, then I can sit perched, with beautiful shoes. It's not like I have to actually walk in them really, we're not hiking Everest.

The clothes issue is a problem however, mainly because some daft sod has deemed it fit to start stocking autumn clothes in August. Some of us would like to continue with a sad excuse for summer until at least the official end, and don't want to be forced into hats and gloves before it's really time. The problem I have is that shopping for new holiday clothes has become pretty much impossible, and therefore I'm having to reinvent my existing clobber. This does not sit well with me at all.

Where's Gok Wan when you need him? Off cooking bloody Chinese food, that's where!

Abandoned by my fashion guru, what is the world coming to?

Down with the violins ... hello tissues

Cue the violins.

I am miserable. I am borderline depressed. I am full of cold. I need to go back home.

There, that's got it all out in the open.

Now let's get onto something more hopeful ... oh, wait, there is nothing.

I made the mortal mistake of looking through old photographs last weekend; anyone who is friends with me on Facebook will see that it triggered a week long sulk and depressed everyone within a five mile radius. I then decided that I hadn't tormented myself enough, so I dug out my old holiday blog from last October, and that really sunk me into the depths of despair.

Why, oh why, do I do this to myself?!

And I've been listening to Adele.

I might even have made a couple of ill-advised phone calls in an easternly direction ... which got me absolutely nowhere as per usual.

Someone slap me now.

I'm feeling the need for copious amounts of vodka, but I fear that'll just send me into a Bridget Jones-style 'All By Myself' singalong, but without the dodgy PJs. I don't even like vodka that much.

So whilst trying, and failing, to distract myself from my unfixed heart, I've decided I want to explore the country that I've decided my future lies in.

I love Marmaris, I really enjoyed Istanbul, but I want to see more. I want to see the real Turkey, I want to experience the real culture when the tourism element's taken out. I want to see a willage, sorry, village, and experience that. Forgive me and my western girl sensibilities, and yes I'm very grateful for all I've got, but I think there's something beautiful and stripped-back about the way of life in a south-eastern village, and I want to really see it for myself.

Problem with all this is, how the bloody hell am I going to manage it?!

I don't know anyone in a south-eastern willage, well I do, but he doesn't want me, so it's going to be a difficult one to sort out. I've found some places that do home-stay tours, but I don't really want to do a guided tour thing, I want to wing it. Might take some thought. The other places though, they're much easier to visit, so maybe I'll start with those and hope I make it back in one piece before I get too ahead of myself.

Anyway, anyone with any ideas, feel free to throw them my way ...

I'm still on countdown, as I always seem to be, and I'm starting to feel progressively more guilty for feeling this way. I have a good job, I have friends, I have a wonderful family, yet for some reason my heart screams for me to be somewhere else completely. It's got to be wrong, surely.

So yeah, as well as feeling heartbroken, lost, lonely and like I'm not where I should be, I now feel guilty.

Happy, happy days.

And here's me thinking my 30s were going to be fun ...

Flirty Thirties!

Not sure who Micky is, but happy birthday to them!

I am 30.

How the bloody hell did that happen?

I main thing is, I survived. And let's face it, that's always a positive. The other positive is that I feel alright, in fact I don't feel any different. Age is just a number, right? I thought that was something old people said to avoid talking about their age - oh wait, I am old.

Okay, I'm not old, but not being in my 20s anymore has caused me a bit of grief over the last year or so, I have to admit. Now the painful day has gone, I'm not so bothered, because as long as I don't think about it, nothing's any different. Ignorance is bliss and all that.

It probably sounds weird, being so bothered about entering another decade, and I wouldn't mind had things gone to plan but, well, they haven't really. Whatever the plan was.

See, I was meant to be sorted by the time I was 30.

I'm not sure what I mean by sorted, and it was probably a totally unrealistic plan, but something along the lines of not single probably. Instead I'm permanently so, but I've decided that if it means being single and still looking for someone amazing, and not having been stuck with one of the undesirables I've tried in the past, well I'm probably in the winning position.

I was also meant to have figured it all out, y'know what I actually want to do with my life. Instead, I still haven't got a clue. Well I do, I've figured out the location of what I want, I just have to work towards getting there. As for what I'll do when I actually get there, that's still up for discussion. But I have ideas, so y'know progress.

Seriously though, I'm fine with it, it really is just a number, because I'm still the same and if anything, I still feel about 18. Which is a good excuse when I do really stupid things, because I can just blame it on my mental age. Or alcohol. Whichever is more appropriate at the time.

I'm taking a positive outlook on this, because to be honest that's how I've felt over the last few days. This is my decade. This is the decade where I pay off my debts, for definite because of the end date, where I can make the move I want, and where if it all goes spectacularly wrong, i.e. I bottle it, the only person I can blame is myself. There's something scarily exciting in that. So I'm looking forward to my future, I just have to wait a couple of years to be able to live it completely. That's the frustrating thing, but that's what happens when you stupidly sign a piece of paper from a bank, who stupidly offer to lend you stupid amounts of money, because you stupidly used your credit card for stupid reasons.

I was stupid.

No more.

Let this be a lesson people - loans are evil.

So anyway, to celebrate my day of birth a few years ago, I've pretty much had a week of festivities and spent quality time with my friends and family, which ended in a day at Alton Towers - which explains why today I feel my age, and as though I've done ten rounds with Mike Tyson - I'm bruised to hell and ache like ... well, hell. It was fun though, turns out I like screaming my head off, and I do indeed scream like a girl. It's very therapeutic, I should scream more often. Chance would be a fine thing, mind you.

Today has been spent looking for flights to take me back to where I should be. Turns out that's easier said than done. The cost of flying these days is not fun, and the flight times aren't either, but it's a small price to pay I guess. The next time I write a blog, I should be booked up - exciting! I can't wait to get myself back, I feel like I've been gone too long already and it's only been a fortnight. The countdown has begun ...

I'm now going to bid you goodbye, as I'm very much hooked on the third installment of the Fifty Shades of Grey trilogy. I'm sure you've all heard of it, and Mr Grey is calling my name as we speak. That's my aim for my 30s, I'm going to find Mr Grey - oh what a chore!

When did it all get so complicated?!

Hello stranger. It's been a while. How've you been?

I've had writer's block, that's my excuse. It's hideous. Especially when you're trying to write a book. I've had to force myself to try, and sitting in front of a laptop with a flashing cursur and nothing flowing is just ... eurgh. I'm surprised I've got any hair left, and don't get me started on the state of my lip with all the chewing. Thank god for Carmex is all I can say. Because of this I've been eating my body weight in chocolate and it seems my body in turn has decided it wasn't heavy enough to start with, so it figured it ought to make a bit more room. Joy. Yeah, the diet starts tomorrow.

I've also had my first rejection since I decided to start this writing thing seriously. It got to me for a bit actually, I don't like criticism - who does? I take it too personally, I'm a sensitive little flower - apparently it's something to do with the cancerian in me. But then I read something about writing and rejection going hand in hand, and I figured that hey, that must make me a writer, and isn't that what I wanted all along? So I am a rejected writer, officially. Raise your glasses. 

So what's been going on whilst my brain has lost it's ability to make me write? Erm, not a lot really.

Actually, that's a lie, I've had progress. Good, positive progress, and it's about bloody time too.

I think all those years reading Cosmo may finally have paid off, because yes, finally I am a strong, independent woman! Or something like that anyway.

I think it's something to do with age, which isn't a good realisation to have when you're five months off being 30. But anyway, remember the boy? My gorgeous, exotic but totally clueless when it comes to women, boy? Remember how he managed to almost snap me in two emotionally? Well, y'know what, it's true what they say about time being a healer. I think I'm okay. Sort of. Well, I'm getting there anyway. It still hurts, I still care, but it's fine. The true test will come in summer when I will have to be restrained by my friends and anyone else I come into contact with, and also avoid wine because if you know me at all, you'll know that wine makes me do bad, bad things. The last time I drank wine, I ended up belly dancing in front of a room full of strangers, wearing someone else's bra. Not one of my finest moments.

Being hurt and a tad bit heartbroken has made me realise what I do and don't deserve, and the way I should be treated. I guess I should thank him really, sort of anyway, because he's taught me my value. It's also taught me that next time, and let's face it, I'll get hurt again at some stage in my future, I will do it a little more quietly and not moan and groan, cry and snot on anyone that cares to listen. I got sick of hearing me, so I guess everyone else did. I apologise. Blame him, I do, for most things actually. I find it quite therapeutic.

Carrying on with the positive theme - I have a new obsession. Paying off debts. Yeah, I know, yawn. It's hideous but oh so fulfilling. This is because with every little thing I pay off, I take one step closer to where I want to be. And if that's not progress, then I don't know what is. I've got a few more steps to go, but I'm closer than I was a year ago. Aren't you proud?!

Despite all this debt paying, I've managed to have a little break in it and I've booked my first summer holiday of the year. How many are there going to be? Lord knows. There was only meant to be one last year, and look what happened there. But anyway, I have to wait a few months - boo. I figure I'll have earnt it by then though, what with all this being sensible lark - I intend to be anything but sensible when I jet off to the sun. Bring on the Efes. Let's not bring on a stamped all over heart though, eh?

But y'know what - tears, wailing, upset aside, I don't regret a second, it made me smile at the time. I'd do it all again ..... oh good lord, that doesn't bode well. You know what I mean though, right?

So anyway, mind away from a few thousand miles east (which it's not very often away from if I'm honest), I've come to the conclusion that when you hit 25 and move upwards (eeek), having a social life gets suddenly very complicated. This is something I've learnt lately.

I'm sure a few of you can appreciate what I'm saying here, that suddenly you reach a stage where most of your friends, if not all, are married, coupled up, sprogged up, about to be sprogged up, trying to be sprogged up, or somewhere other than where you are. I am at the stage where my friends are all of the above. This makes meeting up incredibly complicated. "Fancy a catch up" suddenly becomes a minefield of clashing commitments, childcare arrangements and checking with the fella. Before you know it, you're planning a drink four weeks in advance. What happened to spontaneity? A few years ago, "fancy a catch up" would usually end with meeting up about four hours later and working our way through the cocktail menu at Yates, whilst discussing the pros and cons of Rimmel's new nail varnish collection and what to do about that cute guy at the bar.

I miss spontaneity and I miss my girly nights out.

Damn you upcoming 30th, you're making me think about what has gone and passed, and making it incredibly hard to look at what is to come without thinking "oh my god, I should be (insert here) married/attached/travelling/living somewhere exotic/doing something exciting by now", and "oh my god, it's only 10 years til I'm 40!"

Oh good lord, someone pass me the wine ......