Socially phobic

I'm going home at the weekend. Well, my second home.

I'm quite proud of myself, I've managed just two trips this year, and that for me is quite the record. Actually, scrap that, I went to Istanbul didn't I? Maybe not so good then, I've been Turkey-bound three times again. Can't keep away from the place, I tell you.

Now if you believe the general consensus at the moment, the reason I can't keep away is nothing to do with me quite liking the place and going to see my friends, no it's clearly because I'm addicted to the male population of the country. I say this with my voice, and words, dripping with sarcasm. But hey, let's not get into that - it's a can of worms I really can't be arsed to open again.

This is partly the reason why I haven't been blogging lately, because I figured that once I started down that road, I'd rant and rave for weeks on end and nobody wants to read that.

So other than fretting about my suitcase weight, causing me to buy a new one - one of those ultra-light ones, just so I can fit an extra pair of shoes in, I've been mostly avoiding dates I quite fancied going on.

Yes, I am date-phobic.

I don't quite understand my problem; I can talk, I can jabber away for hours on end quite happily, so why do I clam up and find it utterly terrifying when faced with a male I don't know that well, and am forced to make small talk for an indefinable length of time?

It's because you can only talk about the weather for so long. I'm English, this is what we do, we bitch about the weather. This is all well and good, but how do you spin out precipitation and broken clouds for a couple of hours? I find it hard enough filling five minutes.

So I'll 'fess up. I've been asked out a few times lately, I don't know why this has happened, maybe it's because I gave up looking, but anyway, I've bailed on two dates, with two different dudes, and I'm considering bailing on another because the thought just brings me out in a cold sweat. I'd actually rather sit in my PJs, watching Eastenders, than go through the gut-wrenching terror of small talk. I don't like going to the hairdressers for this exact reason.

I think I need help.

My friend suggested alcohol, but from past experience this does not help matters, in fact it hinders it considerably, as me falling over and getting high pitched doesn't really help paint a positive picture.

This is why I'm eternally single, and will remain so if this little problem continues.

I'd be quite happy to fast forward the first few weeks and head straight to the more comfortable time where everyone knows where they stand and text/conversation analysis has gone out of the window. See, I'm not cut out for this, I'm far too paranoid to be questioning things at the best of times, without hearts and emotions getting in the way. I'm not the best at going with the flow either.

I might join a convent, what do you reckon?

Or failing that, emigrate to Turkey - you don't have any of this getting to know each other business out there, if you believe everything you hear.

Anyway, I'm hoping that my jaunt over the length of Europe re-ignites my love for blogging, because if I'm honest, I've been finding it rather difficult. I've had a crisis of confidence as far as my writing's concerned, to the point where I've asked several different people to read what I've done on my book so far, to give me a honest opinion on whether to carry on, or scrap it. I love writing, I just wonder whether anyone likes reading it, because as much as it's fun to do, it's always nice that someone enjoys the fruits of your labour.

Oh woe is me.

So the next time I write something, I will be sipping, sorry, gulping an Efes, scoffing a chicken kebab, looking out to sea from (hopefully) my sea-view hotel room and chilling the hell out. I wonder what drama will unfold this time, let's face it, it always does, and it's a full moon during the first few days .....

I can guarantee however that whatever goes down will remain in Marmaris.

Watch this space!

Two weeks in a suitcase ...

I've decided it was a man who deemed it necessary to give holidaymakers a limit on luggage. It has to be, no sane woman would ever think it sensible to plan day and night outfits for 16 whole days. What about variation and choice? It's a woman's perogative to change her mind after all! Unfortunately 20kg and a smaller suitcase does not leave Nicky much room for changing her mind.

So it's in the midst of this packing hell you find me, surrounded by maxi dresses, playsuits and the occasional pair of leggings ... oh and a ridiculously tiny pair of black denim shorts - what the hell was I thinking?! Even Barbie wouldn't rock those bad boys.

I don't do packing at all well, mainly because my OCD kicks in and I convince myself I've forgotten something hugely important, like my make up or, heaven forbid, my GHDs. Two weeks in humidity without a pair of straighteners would be a disaster close to the great debacle of 2008, when I was forced to go cold turkey (literally) for two weeks from Wispa bars, thanks to me forgetting to buy a job lot at the airport. It wasn't pretty, trust me.

This whole palava isn't helped by my coach company, who shall remain nameless, deciding that my normal sized suitcase (in my opinion anyway), is too big to take on board, so I've had to borrow a smaller one. Now I can imagine you rolling your eyes, thinking I've gone and got a suitcase that's half a metre too wide or something - no, it's 2cm too long. Yes, you heard me right, 2cm.

Again, I'm convinced this is all down to a man.

Other than packing hell, I'm looking forward to my two weeks (and a bit) in the sun. I've actually forgotten what that bright light in the sky looks like, seeing as summer doesn't seem to have bothered coming to England this year. I fear my first day on the beach is going to be painful for all involved, when I blind everyone with my milk bottle skin in a bikini. Cover your eyes people, for your own safety.

It got me thinking back to last year though. Last week (yes, I've remembered the date) was a year to the day I met he-who-shall-remain-nameless. My god how things change. Funny what a year can bring. I'm not kidding myself that it's not going to be weird this year, a lot of people that were so linked in with my summer last year aren't there now, and from what I've heard, the resort has changed a fair bit. I've decided this is a positive though, because let's face it, the faces from last year haven't really served me well, unless you're into self-torture, which I'm not - so out with the old can only be a good thing. And now I've had time to think about it and the dust has settled, I'm glad the dodgy-eyebrowed-one is in a resort a few hundred miles away from where I'll be - or at least he'd better bloody well be.

A good few years visiting Marmaris has hardened me up - I might have lost my senses completely last year thanks to a few heavily-accented, charming words and a wiggle of an over-plucked eyebrow, but my last visit opened my eyes to the dark side of this beautiful town. The idea of falling for it all again makes me want to scratch my own eyes out, so no worries on that score.

What I have done instead, is buy a shed-load of Dairy Milk (very large bars!) to take with me, and the only action I'm intending on getting is with Mr Cadbury, and I can guarantee it will be a hell of a lot more pleasurable too.

I'm going to be quiet for about 3 weeks now, whilst I soak up some rays and turn into a giant freckle with a red nose, but I shall report with my findings on my return, unless my suitcase is too red/bulky/heavy/unstylish for the bus driver and I don't even make it to the airport, that is.

I tell you, it's all down to a man.

Ciao for now! xx

Like a phoenix from the flames

... or something less dramatic.

Dear readers, I am feeling good. Cue James Brown-style dancing.

If you managed to bring yourself to read my last post, you'll remember that I was wallowing in a very deep pool of extremely hideous self-pity, over something that should have been over with a loooong time ago. Well, I promised I'd rant and rave then get over it, and I've done just that, in fact I've gone one better and can officially say that I'm pretty much alright.

It's done with, I'll keep my memories thanks very much (because they still make me smile), and I'll bid it goodbye.

So onward and upwards.

I'm actually smiling again, how good is this?!

So other than super-gluing my stubborn heart back together in a very over-due fashion, what else have I been doing?

I've been propositioned by a trans-sexual.

I hope you weren't drinking coffee reading that, I wouldn't like to be responsible for third degree burns or broken laptops due to water-logging.

Yeah, you read it right - propositioned by a trans-sexual.

The person in question asked me if I fancied trying something with extras - literally. You'll be pleased to know I politely declined the offer. Which means I basically ignored it.

This is why I think it's probably wise that I give up on this other half business, because I clearly don't attract the right ones. I've got nothing against trans-sexuals in the slightest, if you like that kind of thing, but not for me - nor are overly-suggestive artists, erotic massueurs, stalkers or downright weirdos.

It's a losing battle, I tell you.

One thing I have decided though, is that I want Will.I.Am to be my best friend. He's hilarous. I want him and Gok Wan as my bessies - can you imagine the fun we'd have?! And I'd be seriously well dressed of course, and uber confident thanks to Gok's magic words. I've decided that this plan will complete me as a person.

A girl can dream.

Other than deciding which celebs are going to be in my posse, I've generally been panicking about the size of my suitcase, whilst at the same time deciding that the size of my belly is just as it will be, and sod anyone that has a problem with it. See - this is serious progress going on right here. I've come to the conclusion that I am what I am, and that's basically the end of it. The suitcase however, that is slightly worrying.

This has all come about because the wonderful Havas bag handling people at Dalaman wouldn't know the word 'gentle' if it bit them on the backside, and because of this my pretty pink suitcase that up to now has gone around the world with me, is looking a tad bit tired and battered - not to mention sporting a pretty hideous hole on the side. So that's gone to the big luggage park in the sky and I've had to have a new one. Now you should know that I'm not thrilled with it in the first place because it's red, not pink, so we started off on the wrong foot anyway, but it's a litle smaller than my other. This wouldn't be a problem had I not had trouble zipping the other one up, but I did, so this is posing somewhat of a challenge. Packing for this jolly is going to take some serious creative thought.

Looking on the bright side, summer is meant to be putting in an appearance tomorrow - it's sort of peeking through the curtain as I type this. About bloody time too, I've never known having to wear a coat, scarf and boots in May before. Of course, now I've jinxed it and it will probably rain for the rest of the year. Sorry folks.

God, this blog's random today - it's because I'm feeling a bit light y'see, it's all this getting over the boy thing, it's a really nice feeling - y'know feeling normal and not mental. If I could ever be classed as normal that is .....

Meet my friend Ben .....

It has begun.

A little sooner than I thought, but it's certainly here. With avengence.

The burning desire to jump on a plane has crash landed into my life and caused Travel Republic's web traffic to shoot through the roof.

I so want to go. Now.

Why?

I haven't got the foggiest. The weather's still a bit crap, nobody's really there yet and not everything's open.

So why, oh why am I having to literally restrain myself from packing a suitcase?

I suppose I should explain what the hell I'm banging on about, just for the benefit of those that don't really understand, or aren't aware, of my colourful travelling history.

I'm holiday addicted.

It's a very expensive habit, and one that I don't really see myself kicking any time soon. Now, I get stick for this, not because I like going on holiday, but because despite protestations to the contrary, I always generally end up going back to the same place.

I'm addicted to holidays in Marmaris, Turkey.

If I had my way it would be one very long, extended holiday. But alas, I am skint, so holidays will have to do for the time being.

I think I know what's caused this to start so early on - it's because I had a plan. Yes, it was a rather ill-timed and niave plan, but it seemed like a good one at the time. Had things worked out with the boy, and by that I mean, had he not been practicaly mute for most of the winter, causing me to seriously question my own sanity, then I planned to go out there for the week, which would have been next week. Instead, the reality of the matter is, I'm not going out next week, in fact I'm not going out for a little while yet, and things certainly have not worked out with the boy, because I actually don't even know if he's working there this year at all.

Part of me hopes not.

One day I will be over this, I promise.

Is it wrong to be very excited about a holiday, yet at the same time, really quite worried about the state I may come home in? I don't want it again, I can't do all that again, it doesn't work, I've tried, so I'm going to try my damned hardest not to. However, me, vodka and the sight of a certain person really don't go together well, if you throw Efes into the mix, then my god, you're really asking for trouble. So that's why a little bit of me is hoping I don't have to deal with it. Will I succeed? Only time will tell I guess, but this time I know how it ends, so really, what is the point? Just show me the Efes, baklava and a chicken kebab or three, and I'm a happy girl - I don't need a broken heart, thanks very much.

I wouldn't mind, but he still owes me 16 TL.

Git.

Another reason why I'm quite keen to escape is the weather. I can't swim very well, so this torrential monsoon-like situation isn't filling me with much joy. It certainly didn't fill me with much joy when my ceiling started leaking yesterday either - trying to sleep with a 'drip drip drip' backing track isn't easy, let me tell you. Will it ever stop?! I have beautiful summer clothes that need wearing before they go out of fashion!

This is quite a depressing post isn't it? I do apologise, it's the rain - again blame it on the weatherman. I think I've got a derivative of SAD. Show me the sunshine and I'm smiling.

Speaking of which, I think I may go and indulge in something else that never fails to make me smile ......

Ben & Jerry's.

If you were thinking other things, shame on you and your filthy mind!

I have discovered Ben & Jerry's Karamel Sutra and OMG - who needs a man when you've got a tub of that bad boy? It hits places that no dude ever could. So of course I've bought three tubs. It would be rude not to.

In fact, I think I can hear it calling my name ......

Diet? What diet?

Bleurgh!

Lurgy. Sniffling, snot-ridden, coughing, spluttering lurgy. One day before I go away for the weekend.

Oh joy.

My throat feels like someone's dragging a cheese grater down it, but I refuse to let it stop me dragging my sorry arse across Europe.

This weekend I will be frequenting Istanbul. Initially this wasn't the plan, initially we were meant to be taking a rather cold and rainy break down south, but like most things, plans change and instead we are taking a rather cold and rainy city break instead. Chicken kebabs and Efes here I come. Yes, I know, culture and all that, and yes we will be doing that, but we will also be doing chicken kebabs and Efes, and hell, have I missed chicken kebabs and Efes. You might have noticed, I happen to quite like chicken kebab and Efes.

What I'm not looking forward to is the hideously long journey ahead of us, considering we have to fly from Luton, which means the joys of National Express through the night. I'm not good when I'm sleep deprived and stuck in a confined space; I'm grumpy and irritable. What I do have is copious amounts of sugar, in the form of Mini Eggs, so I will no doubt be bouncing off the walls and driving everyone around me mad. Poor people.

Mind you, given the choice of sleep deprived Nicky or hyper Nicky, I'd urge you to pick hyper Nicky every time.

I've had a total packing nightmare these last two days just to top it all off. I had to buy a new suitcase, a smallish one that meant I could fit many, many clothes into a small, small space. Turns out this doesn't work. Turns out I do not travel light. In my defence, surely three nights equals three night outfits and four day outfits?! Apparently not, not if you're Mr Easy Jet and refuse to let women flying to Istanbul take more clothes. I think Stellios, or whatever his name is, just doesn't want me to fashionable.

So I've had to learn the art of micro-packing and mixing and matching. I'm not good at it, it's not a skill I possess. However, I have managed it, I'm just not happy with it. And just to put the cherry on the not-so-nice cake, the new case I bought was meant to be leopard print, it looks more like army print. Bloody misleading internet pictures. And then, then! Then my boots sprung a leak in the rain and decided to leave me with wet feet, so not only did I have to do a dash to Argos for a new case, but I also had to raid town for some new boots. I'm not happy with them either, they're ankle boots, I wanted knee high ones again. Turns out beggars can't be choosers. Grrrr ...

But anyway, my mantra is .... yeah you guessed it, chicken kebab and Efes, chicken kebab and Efes .....