January 2019
New Year’s resolutions
1. Consider exercise an act with actual benefits – both mental and physical – not merely grim punishment for pizzas consumed. Have a proper go at yoga.
2. Also re-download Couch to 5K running app andactually do the programme.
3. Apply for promotion at work at first chance. Move to bigger account and try to get pay rise. Avoid, if possible, further projects concerning dog biscuits, disinfectant, high-quality printer ink cartridges, ‘miracle’ grass seed, organic vegetables, etc.
4. DO NOT agree to further dates with Laurence. Remember: it’s no use having a boyfriend who is good on paper if you do not actually fancy him.
5. Try to remember Mum means well, even during phone calls where she implies I am doomed to a lonely life of penury because I am thirty with no partner, hardly any savings and no mortgage.
6. HOWEVER,do not(!!!) speak to Mum when suffering PMT. Set phone alerts for likely spells based on period tracker intel.
7. Try to address ‘hardly any savings’ situation. (If promoted, set aside extra earnings for future house deposit instead of spaffing it all on ASOS.)
8. Try to eat my five-a-day. (Remember horrid rule that potatoes do not count.)
9. Start using proper night cream with retinol.
1
Rachel sat on the cold, hard bus shelter bench awaiting the number 19 from Islington to Finsbury Park. Despite the best efforts of the manspreader next to her, both of her arsecheeks were still fully on the seat she’d claimed before the stop got busy. There was no way she wanted to stand outside; it was only just past six o’clock but already pitch-dark, and the air was a whirl of freezing drizzle. She watched her breath misting and mingling with it, enjoying her small victory.
Four minutes for the bus, according to the electronic display at the top of the shelter. Wincing involuntarily, she wondered if Jessica Williams would be on it this evening.
Rachel pulled her soft navy hat further towards her chilly ears, though her mass of dark-red waves prevented it from making effective contact. It was the second week in January and, as a worthy-looking man in Lycra leggings and fluorescent trainers jogged by, she reflected that her ‘New Year, New Me’ plans were off to a very slow start.
Unless you counted several panicked sprints towards trains and buses, she had done no exercise whatsoever. She had swerved several phone calls from her mother, eaten a lot of beige food and had yet to buy the retinol cream she was supposed to be applying each night.
Nevertheless, Rachel reasoned, she still had eleven and a half months in which to keep the promises she’d made to herself. It was important not to be too self-flagellating in January, what with it being a month of general gloom and destitution.
She felt a buzzing from somewhere deep inside the large bucket-shaped handbag that was sitting on her lap. Her fingernails dug into her palms.
Please don’t let this be Laurence calling to ask if I fancy an after-work drink. His office was only around the corner from hers, and he kept insisting that they should talk again about their break-up.
Rachel fished for her phone, dodging multiple lipsticks, crumpled receipts and the tangled wire of her headphones. There was no way she was shelling out for AirPods until it finally frayed right through.
Greg calling, the display said, when she finally extracted her phone.
What the hell could he want? She’d only left work ten minutes ago. Surely he had nothing to say that couldn’t wait until the morning?
He really hadnofiltering system, Rachel thought: in Greg World, everything was urgent.
She took a breath and tapped the green button, then said, ‘Hi.’
‘Ray! I got you! EXCELLENT,’ Greg gushed, his familiar Australian burr unnecessarily loud, like always.
Rachel couldn’t imagine how many times she had politely asked Greg not to refer to her as Ray. It had never made any difference, and now – four years into their professional relationship – she had finally stopped bothering.
‘I’m just looking at this copy about the groceries,’ he said. ‘It’s a little bit … blah. You know. Not very sexy.’
‘Not very …sexy?’
Rachel was incredulous, but realised she shouldn’t be surprised by this assessment. As a copywriter at a digital marketing agency, she’d become used to defending her choice of words – often in the face of criticism from people who didn’t know the difference betweenyourandyou’re.
‘No,’ Greg ploughed on. ‘This copy does not make me go, YEAH, I have just GOT TO HAVE some cauliflower tonight, I can’t live without it, I NEED IT IN MY LIFE.’
