So I thought it might be nice to write a little more about life in London in my late twenties…
I am at a very strange stage – in the last couple of weeks I have met a friend’s six week year old baby (a lot of nappies and breast feeding, I really had no idea), dressed up as a Spice Girl and danced to 90s music (chokers are so in right now), bought copious amounts of moth repellent (this feels like a very grown up thing to do, and I have a huge fear of the moths munching my clothes – Peter Jones is the place to get it), watched the entire series of Stranger Things on Netflix in one evening (love Winona), been a bridesmaid at a beautiful wedding (weddings are a big thing this year), endlessly deleted and reinstalled apps on my phone as I have no space (if anyone can help me with this, please help – choosing between uber and instagram is causing me a great amount of distress on a daily basis) and bought the Harry Potter script book (not read yet). But one thing I won’t be doing is going to see the new Bridget Jones film.
The thing is Bridget Jones, at my age, owns her own flat in London, and has a career in media, an actual career. And all she does is moan that she is fat and husbandless, to her fairly questionable friends. For most 28 year olds I know living in London, it’s necessary to have a job to pay the rent. Having a job you actually like is a bonus and buying a flat is a far off dream.
In the meantime whilst many of us are still in limbo and not quite grownup yet, it’s important to enjoy life, something that Bridget Jones never seems to quite manage. I really don’t understand why she isn’t drowning her (non-existent) sorrows in expensive cocktails in Soho, rather than sobbing simultaneously into a gin bottle and Ben & Jerry’s pot in her pyjamas. If we can’t buy houses, or have the job we really want, we do at least know how to have fun.
So last weekend we threw a 90s themed party that made people behave like 16 year olds again. We drank Smirnoff ice, listened to B*Witched, and danced A LOT. There were Spice Girls galore, Cher from Clueless turned up, and one man came in a multi-coloured leotard and a bumbag – no idea, but points for outrageousness. Even Bumble enjoyed the party, and there were definitely some sneaky snogs on the sofa. It was a highly successful party, maybe our best yet.
And love life intrigues are always exciting (Bridge is always such a Debbie Downer – she has Colin Firth and Hugh Grant fighting over her), and teasing flatmates about blossoming ones perhaps a little too fun. I currently feel a little like I am living a very British version of Friends – we drink Earl Grey instead of coffee (mostly), live in South London not Brooklyn, and have a rabbit instead of a duck, but really it’s not too far off. And I would rather be in the cast of Friends than Bridget Jones any day, they really do have so much more fun.
So I won’t be going to see what Bridget is moaning about this time, but I will update you next week with more late twenties fun 😉