A New Year, A New Life

At the beginning of 2010 I came across my diary from last year. I had a quick flick through and was hit with the realisation of exactly how much my life has changed since January ’09. My diary is littered with words like ‘Golden Globes’, ‘Baftas’, ‘Brits’ and ‘The Oscars’ – all of which my working life revolved around. I was nipping around town to film screenings and premieres, theatre press nights and ballet openings, dinner with friends and gigs in Camden. Australia Day and Chinese New Year, massage appointments and cinema with the girls are all inked in. I was going to Ashtanga yoga and bodypump classes, training at the gym and planning my meals; sweet potato risotto, beef bourguignon, Thai curry – all cooked from scratch – and all washed down with copious amounts of red wine.
W/c January 12^th 2009 includes the following: Monday - yoga, Tuesday - pub quiz, Wednesday - Seven Pounds Premiere, Thursday - Vicky Christina Barcelona screening, Friday - Mark’s birthday dinner and Marika’s birthday party in town, Saturday - Powerplate, Bodycon class, Sas & Dan to dinner.
The following week sees me popping out to Joaquin Cortes at the Roundhouse, a friend’s show at the The Gate in Notting Hill, Ballet C de la B at Sadler’s Wells, lunch at Isabel’s, Roots Manuva at Koko, Valkyrie premiere & Tom Cruise interview and Eric’s birthday in East London.
In the ‘Notes’ section I have told myself I need to do the following: book a day at Champneys, organise press tickets, file taxes, check my travel insurance and get my guitar re-strung.

Fast forward a year and my January is empty. The pages are a wasteland of days and dates and woefully empty pages. My poor, poor moleskin must have been sobbing into its perfectly intact spine at such a pitiful sight. In January 2010 I am lucky if I’m able to get dressed before midday, and out of the house before 2pm. I eat microwave meals (Innocent Veg Pots in fairness – still desperately trying to get my 5-a-day) and drinking Becks Blue is a real treat. Putting on make up is a seriously big deal, and washing my hair is a rare occurrence. I congratulate myself on getting to Starbucks, abandon shopping baskets in Tescos to flee home as quickly as possible, and am desperate for sleep.
But when I look into the bright blue eyes of little Lady Norks-a-Lot, and she gives me a great big gummybear smile, I could cry with happiness. OK, so the tears might be fuelled by a bit of hormonal bamboozlement and a whole heap of sleep deprivation, but the point is, I’m probably the happiest I have ever been in my whole life, and the most content.