Day 127: The Arctic Office Expedition, Bacon Rolls, Barbarella & The Case of the Homeless Mini

Nov 21
4 min read

Ohhhh buckle up, my darlings, because Thursday – DAY 127 served weather trauma, fashion excellence, public transport emotional damage, and Mounjaro-fuelled digestive foreshadowing.

A buffet of chaos.

A tasting menu of survival.

A chef’s kiss of JABatha-level melodrama.

Waking Up: The Ruby Radio Show™

Alarm goes off.

Ruby immediately switches into her BREAKFAST BROADCAST MODE, like she’s about to read the 6am headlines on BBC News.

Except the headlines are:

“Mummy, I want snack.”

“Mummy, I want iPad.”

“Mummy, why does your face look like that?”

I’m telling you - Season 1 of Ruby’s Podcast is in full production.

And if she manages to monetise it… I’m retiring.

Let my toddler support me financially.

She owes me for the pregnancy swelling alone.

Well.. actually when I took her to the vet on Wednesday - I did ask about her chatting and the fact that she is getting more and more vocal. Podcasts, imaginary friends, full on conversations etc.

Guess what? Apparently this happens in aging cats and especially British Shorthairs! Mrs Vet literally said that at times it may look or sound like she is going senile.

WHAAAAAT????? I better prepare.

Weigh-In Day: ANOTHER 2.2lbs GONE!

The scales were kind.

Actually - the scales were flirtatious.

They whispered: “Down another 2.2lbs, queen.”

Total: 30.9lbs / 14kg gone.

Basically the weight of a medium-sized golden retriever, or a large toddler who refuses to be carried but suddenly becomes paralysed when tired.

Mounjaro: “We fight fat.”

Me: “We fight for our LIVES.”

Outfit of the Day: FASHION WEEK, BUT MAKE IT FREEZING

To celebrate the shredding of another couple of pounds, I squeezed (politely) into:

A brand new green crocodile-pattern leather skirt

Navy blue snuggly turtleneck

Green Mango coat

Matching gloves

Knee-high boots that say ‘I pay council tax’

Honestly?

I looked so good I forgave the scales for all past offences.

The Cold: A Violent Personal Attack

It was ABSOLUTELY BLOODY FREEZING.

-5°C.

Arctic.

My own personal “Frozen” remake.

I was Elsa but without the cheekbones.

De-icing the car?

Didn’t factor that into my morning.

So I missed not one… but TWO trains.

The Train: Shorts Guy (WHY???)

Of course, when I finally boarded, I sat opposite The Man In Shorts.

SHORTS.

At –5 degrees.

What was the motive?

Looking for a partner?

Showing off calves?

A lost dare?

A cry for help?

I couldn’t look.

Even glancing at him made me feel colder.

Like the train wasn’t already a mobile fridge.

Jubilee Line?

Also Antarctica.

Doors open or broken? Couldn’t tell.

I just accepted frostbite as my destiny.

Bacon Roll #3,912

Got off the tube and sprinted to caffeine.

Ordered:

Hot coffee with collagen (health queen)

Triple bacon roll, because no personality trait screams “sorted adult” like pork at 7am.

Honestly it revived me more than CPR could.

The Office: The Ice Age Continues

Office temperature: Penguin-friendly.

I kept my gloves on.

Very close to putting the coat back on.

People were working, typing, emailing like it wasn’t ZERO DEGREES.

But the vibes?

Excellent.

My team?

10/10 characters.

Gossip levels?

Premium.

People kept calling out my skinny waist and fashion drama mama outfit.

I blushed.

I giggled.

I twirled.

I pretended to be modest.

Operation iPhone Rescue

Midday: popped to get a new iPhone for my other half.

Why?

Because he dropped his DOWN A DRAIN.

I repeat:

DOWN. A. DRAIN.

Well… that’s Christmas sorted!

Lunch: Emotional Support Soup

Same Pret spicy chicken lemongrass soup.

My internal radiator.

My winter Saviour.

If Pret ever discontinues it, I will chain myself to their front door.

Cinnamon Social seduction

One colleague taking a 3-month career break to travel Australia.

Lucky sod.

He brought Ole & Steen Cinnamon Social.

My kryptonite.

My Roman Empire.

I resisted.

I resisted again.

Then I caved.

One delicate, angelic, fairylike sliver.

Christmas in one bite.

Heaven.

Naughty.

But worth it.

Evening Plans: Girls’ Night at Barbarella

After work - off to Barbarella in Canary Wharf!

Started with prosecco, naturally.

Then got moved to the table.

The restaurant? Stunning.

Decor? Gorgeous.

Staff?…less so.

Half of them were either asleep, confused, or recently thawed from the freezer.

Not being rude but - if I spend money, I expect to understand what the waiter says without subtitles.

Ordered starters and a pizza to share.

I picked at bits.

Too rich.

My tummy said:

“Stick to soups, babe.”

But the GIRLS.

The LAUGHS.

The STORYTIME about our early London years.

Pure therapy.

Getting Home: RIP Train Plan

Originally the plan:

Train → get Mini → drive home.

But after bubbles?

Absolutely not.

I am many things, but a drink-and-drive risk is NOT one.

So Uber it was.

Meanwhile Mini slept alone in the car park, abandoned like an unwanted puppy in a Christmas advert.

I’ll pick her up in the morning and apologise with a car wash.

Missed Out on Limoncello

Got home around midnight.

The girls texted:

“Still here! Another bottle of prosecco! Free limoncello!”

I. MISSED. THE. LIMONCELLO.

I may never emotionally recover.

But honestly… one more sip and I’d have been retching like a witch stirring her cauldron at 3am.