I have a dilemma. It's kind of wedding related.

You see, I'm fine with having a long engagement. I'm not a particularly girly girl, I have never had dreams of pretty pink floral arrangements or floofy white wedding dresses. What I am though, is a planner. I need things organised. I like being in control.

(If you think that sounds bad, you should see my desk. Everything is in drawers, labelled, or in special compartments. I function so much better when things are sorted.)

With that said, here's where I'm befuddled. How much planning can one do for a wedding while living abroad? I know Janet pulled off a stunningly beautiful destination wedding in Mexico, and that I'm sure there are loads more of you that are much more experienced with all things wedding than I am.

I can look, yes. Thank goodness for websites - I can spend hours searching and exploring and trying to figure out options. But I'm hesitant to actually book anything without visiting first, without being there and exploring and seeing if it 'feels' right. It's the same with the church and the reception, and most other things too.

That being said though, and if I did leave it until I went home before I sorted anything out.. well, that leaves the slightly obsessive compulsive planner in me breaking into a cold sweat. Nothing is set in stone yet, but I'm hoping for a May 2011 date - and if we're not heading home for another year, that really only leaves 5-6 months to sort everything out. Is that too short? And what am I supposed to be beforehand?

AAAAH.

I'm not sure what I want. And I know it's early days, but I really want to start cracking along and following some kind of schedule. Or at least making my own list of things to do, so I can feel like I'm doing something, rather than just sitting here staring at my ring all day long.

Anyway, what do you all think? Planning-related thoughts and advice welcomed!

I didn't mean for things to get so quiet around here, but I suppose that's a good thing. I've had a really busy couple of weeks, things have been going well over here.

I've been showing my engagement ring to anyone who dares walk over to my work desk. As in, HI, HOW ARE YOU?! -shoves ring in face- LOOK!! Everyone has been great at the ooh-ing and aah-ing that I've come to expect. It's so much fun!

I got a new job at my work, technically a small promotion, so I've been throwing myself into that. I'm still working in education/recruitment, but now I get to focus on international teachers who are making the transition to the UK. It's fantastic, because I get to co-ordinate international things from here in London, and it's something that I went through myself just two years ago on the other side. I also get to work crazy hours and have a laptop/mobile that I can use to work from home on the odd occasion.

One of my friends from home, Julie, came to stay with us for a few days - she's now off trekking around Europe on a Contiki tour - but it was nice being able to show her around a few local haunts. She managed to take in Stonehenge, Bath, Salsbury, and some central London landmarks, in 2 days: not bad!

I was filmed for television. The Brit version of 'How to Look Good Naked' to be exact - and no, I most definitely was not naked, thank the heavens. We were walking down High Street Kensington doing some shopping, when a whole stack of cameras started walking towards us. My reaction was to swerve and walk around them, but Julie got caught up in them and ended up calling me back. They ended up asking me if I wanted some fashion advice (errrr...) and started to picked my outfit apart.

I should cut in here to give you some background on this: I had woken up at 6am to meet Julie at Paddington after her flight arrived - so I had the world’s fastest shower, threw some clothes on in the dark and was out the door. I was wearing a knee length denim skirt, plain black long sleeved shirt and knee high black flat boots. They told me they liked my boots (as the camera panned down to my legs) and that I needed to put on a belt and a blazer and WORK MY CURVES.

Yes, Gok Wan told me I had fantastic curves and to show them off. Riiiight.

It wasn't until the cameras walked away and we kept on shopping that I realised that I HADN'T BRUSHED MY HAIR THAT MORNING AND IT LOOKED HORRIFYING. One day I am going to be watching Channel 4 at night and the show will come on, and then I will see myself. And then I will die of shame. And my tombstone will read: "She may have curves, but she really should have brushed her hair."

I sucked up the pain since my first try at Spin class, and have now made it my Monday morning 7am pain session. And guess what? I'm getting much better! Last week was an endurance class with a lot of build-up climbs and flats, and I managed to do the whole thing. I think I'm fast becoming obsessed.. but once a week is more than enough for me right now, thankyouverymuch.

Have I mentioned that I've got an awesome fiance? Because I have.

So, back to all things engagement - let's just say that now I have the actual ring on my finger, literally this time, I've started thinking ahead a little more. For the last nearly three months, I've been content brushing people off when they ask about when and where and the details... but I'm actually starting to get incredibly excited at the prospect of planning. Real, actual planning. It's very exciting.

I'm still stuck in the limbo stage of not knowing when we're even moving home, let alone setting a date, but I can start researching - that'll tide me over for a little while. Be prepared for a whole lot of wedding related rambles, and most likely a few fits of frustration along the way - but it wouldn't be a wedding without a few of those!

My engagement ring is finally back!

(You can start wailing with excitement now, I know I have been!)

It's been a long road, with a couple of hiccups along the way, too.

Last week, we received a call from Tiffany & Co saying that the ring was finished its resizing work in New York and was on its way to London to be hallmarked. The message ended with the lady thanking us for our patience, and reassuring us that the ring would be back with us soon.

That message made the wait even more bittersweet - because I knew the ring was nearly finished, but I still had to wait for it to be completed. I snapped about a week later, and ended up harrassing Jason to make a phone call and see what stage it was at. He was told by a customer service rep, that the ring was still in New York and not expected back until late November.

Looking back, I think it's safe to say that this is when I had my first Bridezilla moment. Hey, nine weeks of waiting does not a happy fiance make.

I flipped out a bit, and sent a panicked email to Tiffany & Co - asking them exactly where the ring was and why we'd received two conflicting stories. We got a call the next day apologising for the confusion, and restating the first message: it's in London, but not ready yet. Back to the waiting game.

I got home on Wednesday afternoon earlier than usual, just after Jason got in. He was standing in front of our wardrobe looking like a deer in the headlights, and blurted out 'What are you doing home so early?' He looked so guilty that I asked what he was doing, and he sighed and told me I'd spoiled his surprise - and then pulled out the ring!

So, that's the end of my story. It's strange.. now that I have it on my finger, I feel more 'officially' engaged!  The ring is even more beautiful than I remembered, and seems to match my hands perfectly. And oh! The sparkle. I went to work yesterday and kept stopping mid-typing sentence to just stare at it as it caught the sun.

The boy did such a great job. Enough of my ramblings.. here's the bling!

This is my favourite time of year.

I love the crispness in the air. I love the scarves and tights and knitwear. I love the crunch of the leaves. I love the clearness of the sky. I love the colours. I love looking at forecasts and feeling the weather gradually cooling down.

This is my second Autumn in London, and I'm very much looking forward to it.

Yep, you read that right.

Following on from yesterday's random moping, what I neglected to mention was that I'd already made my mind up to visit the gym first thing in the morning on Monday. I'd also secretly decided to try the 7am V-Cycle Spin class. I usually avoid the spinning studio at the gym like the plague because holy crap, the people in there are all so fit and healthy and beautiful, and I get tired bike riding for five minutes, let alone forty-five minutes, so how on earth could that combination possibly work!?

<deep breath>

Anyways, I pried myself upright at 6:30am and tottered along to the gym, and bit the bullet and signed my name to the timetable. I sat in the change rooms for five minutes freaking! out! and then went and found myself a nice, dark corner in the studio, where I sat free cycling for another five minutes, still freaking! out!

Fit people wandered in and found their positions, and I was already sweating away in my little corner. The instructor asked if there were any newbies in the room, so I waved my arms around and she came and adjusted my seat and bike for me, but then basically left me to my own devices for the class.

So, here's my verdict - which will quite possibly change in the future, but stands true for the time being. It's also coming from an overweight and uncoordinated non-cyclist, if that makes a difference.

Spinning HURTS.

(I know, who would've thought, right?)

I'm hurting in the most random of places. Places I didn't even know existed are hurting, and in very, very awkward spots. It hurts me to bend, sit, walk, turn my head, and brush my teeth. My thighs, oh my god, I can't even explain. But I suppose that means I was doing something right in the class, because hoo boy, am I feeling the aftermath.

The V-Cycle was tough, even though I hardly touched my resistance the whole class and focused mainly on breathing and getting the positions right. The first half of the class I felt completely out of rhythm; my speed was lower than everyone else's, my feet felt a bit numb in the pedals, and it was all out of whack. I really did doubt that I could do the whole class at the beginning. (Note to self: just because you choose the darkest corner of the room, does NOT necessarily help - in fact, I found myself trapped in by more experienced cyclists and my path to the exit was blocked! Ack!)

During the first session of climbing and cycling intervals, I could hardly lift myself off the seat, and struggled quite a bit. I found I tended to get up and climb as much as I could, and then sink back down and just cycle my way through the rest of the class until the next set of repetitions. It was hard work, despite everyone around me making it look effortless.

The speed sessions were much more enjoyable - I quite like being able to put my head down and burst into action for a few intervals. I found that much more bearable than the climbs.

Unfortunately it was during these sessions half way through the class that my nether regions started to feel the burn, and not in a good way. What starts as an irritation, turns into a dull ache, turns into a sweet Jesus, I can't sit down ever again. It got to the point where I was actually looking forward to the climbing, because at least it means I wasn't sitting down. That's when you know things are steadily going downhill.

I finished the class completely drenched in sweat, but quite pleased I had gotten through it. We cooled down at a slow cycling pace, followed by stretches, and I headed up to shower afterwards - which is when I got hit with the nausea. That wasn't pretty. I'll leave it at that. But interestingly enough, I felt fine straight after? I'm not sure if it was the intensity of the workout, the fact that it was an early morning workout on an empty stomach, or a mixture of things, but it wasn't the greatest.

The spinning certainly left me wide awake for the rest of the morning, and it wasn't until about 4pm that I started noticing the after effects. It's now 10pm, and I can hardly walk. My work colleagues assure me that it gets better, that my body (and butt!) will become accustomed to it, but the thought of doing another spin session in the next week is slightly horrifying. I think I'll wait and see how I feel, before I try it again.

I'm not sure if it's for me, but I certainly have a lot of time for people who do it constantly. It's one hell of a workout, that's for sure.

I'm in a bit of a mood today.

I have been visiting the gym three times a week for the past two months, in a pretty good routine - Aqua classes or doing my own circuits. Today I didn't feel motivated, so I skipped my class. This is the first Sunday I've stayed home in weeks, and I feel more than a little slack because of it. At the same time though, I needed a day like today to quite literally, lounge around and feel a bit sorry for myself.

I need a new gym routine.

On Tuesday last week, I woke up at 6:45 and went to the gym before work - and while I felt great afterwards, it was a real struggle to get up at that time. (Random fact of the day: I am NOT a morning person.) I wanted to go more than once in the morning that week, but unfortunately the call of a warm bed and half an hour of extra shut-eye won out, so I didn't.

Most of my gym visits are after work. I work until 6:30pm though, and by the time I've commuted home it is usually around 7:30pm. Some nights after working, I have to battle myself to go to the gym. Do I go? Do I put it off and go tomorrow? Will it be busy? How tired am I? Ugh. It's quite frustrating, this internal battle. If only I had a little more time during the week, so that visiting the gym on my way home stopped becoming a chore.

It sucks.

(I know, this post is full of whinging. Whinge, whinge. Blah.)

I'm going to try mornings again this week, and see how I fare. I also really want to try my hand at one of those spin cycle classes, even if I am completely petrified of being too unfit to handle it.

And dudes, speaking of whinging - today marks seven weeks since my engagement ring was sent away, doing whatever it is Tiffany & Co do to their diamonds when they're being resized. Seven weeks! I think I've been more than a little patient, but I'm getting antsy. And cranky. Think some speedy ring-thoughts, please.

I have a love/hate relationship with getting my hair cut.

On the one hand, I love (love) having my hair shampooed, massaged and brushed. Some people pay for a full body massage; I'd pay someone to brush my hair for an hour. Really. I also love how soft my hair feels once it has been professionally cut and blow dried. Why doesn't it feel that way when I do it myself?

On the other hand, I've had some horrific hair cuts too. I don't have difficult hair to cut, really. It's straight. It's long. It's pretty boring. Yet I've had some shocking cuts, terrible layers, and scarring experiences that have left me dreading having to visit again. I may have also cried. They were tears of pure horror.

Getting your hair cut in the capital is not cheap. It's a bit of a splurge actually. I usually put off going.. but decided to do it this morning, while walking past a random salon in North London during my lunch break.

I should add that I have this irrational need to please my hairdresser, no matter where I'm going. It sounds a bit mental, but I always tend to get the same comments when I visit. 'Wow, your hair is so endy/fine/fly-away', 'Do you colour your hair? It's quite dry', and 'I think we'll need to take a good few inches off it to make it even'.

All of these comments drive me crazy. I can't help it! I have long, endy hair that splits in about three seconds. STOP REMINDING ME. I KNOW.

Today was good, though. She commented on how healthy my hair was, made me quite relaxed and once she found out I was engaged, was giving me hints and tips on how to style my hair for the wedding. (For the record, I'm still clueless.)

And the best part? It seems the remnants of my layers-from-hell are finally, years later, grown out - leaving the back of my hair all the same length. It's bliss, bliss I tell you!

You can tell Oscar is pretty darned impressed with my hair. Or just dazzled by my blinding purple pyjamas. I can't decide which.

This coming Monday marks Jason and my anniversary; we've been together since September 21st, 2002. I'm just going to pause for effect and let you do the math.

Right. Back to the whole anniversary thing.

Since weekday mornings are always busy, with both of us shuffling around in a whirlwind to be out the door and off to work, I decided to give him his goodie bag of presents early. We're not hugely traditional anniversary types, but since I had the best gift of all six weeks ago, I wanted to surprise the boy with a little something of his own.

It went a little something like this:

A: Can I please give you the present yet? Please, please, please. OPEN IT!
J: [Opens the bag of presents]
A: DON'T LOOK AT THE GIFTS YET! LOOK AT THE CARD FIRST! THE CARD!

Edit to add: Can you tell that I'm really fun to open presents with at Christmas time?

J: [Backtracks and fishes around for the card.]
A: [Sits back smugly, waiting for him to finish reading her mushy message.]
J: We haven't been together for eight years, have we?
A: Honestly! I think I know how long we've been dating, Jason.
J: Err, no? I really don't think that it's been eight years.
A: OF COURSE IT HAS!
A: [Starts counting backwards.]
A: Oh. Shit.
J: [Laughing smugly.]

... Oops?

Ahem, so anyway, seven years later, here we are! Heading into our eighth year (HA! EIGHT! SUCK IT, JASON!) and with so much to look forward to.

It's always better when we're together.

Today ...

I snagged a seat on all four tubes I caught.

I asked for a pay increase, based on what I thought I was worth.

I had several lengthy conversations with the cat, mostly regarding food.

I rowed 5km at the gym.

I stood up to someone bossy at work and ended up receiving an apology.

I kissed Jason in the rain, while getting completely drenched.

How was your Tuesday?

I've walked around for the last week in a complete daze. Maybe it's because this time last year I was returning from six weeks of travelling, so I went back to work refreshed and ready to hit the ground running. This year I've worked the entire summer, and things aren't looking to be slowing down anytime soon. We're down a few staff members, so I'm feeling the burn. Hopefully the hard work will pay off, but it's hard to say in these times. If all goes well, I may have some good news soon.

I really shouldn't complain about feeling exhausted, though.

Jason is working in IT as a contracter over here, and August marked two years in London for him. Contracting work certainly has its downsides - the uncertainty of the markets and the lack of job security, and of course, not receiving holiday or sick pay. He's been quite lucky with his contracts so far, and is okay at this stage - but he's had to work damn hard for that luxury. The last three weekends have seen him working from home as well, never able to switch off fully. And the whole time he's been in the UK, apart from public holidays, he's not had a single holiday or sick day. The man is a trouper, and I'm so proud of him.

I'm hoping that things settle down in the next few weeks, because the constant burnt out feeling is getting draining. I'm counting my blessings to have a job, one that is actually quite enjoyable most of the time. And while my salary here isn't anything to write home about (and is actually less than what I would earn teaching back home) we are still able to live comfortably, with splurges here and there too.

I guess that's why I'm home on this gorgeous Saturday night. Taking a few moments to relax with the boys, to unwind and take a breather from the working week, and to be grateful for all of the things that I do have.