Just a brief update as I’m posting this via my iPhone from the UK and it will probably cost the equivalent of the GDP of Belgium…

Before I left Sydney I had not one, but two further dates with Twinkly Eyed Guy.

Date #2: we watched Pulp Fiction at the outdoor Moonlight Cinema. It even rained a little – unusual for Sydney – and so we huddled under the picnic blanket which, in true Aussie Fully-Prepared-For-The-Outdoors style, was waterproof. Kind of romantic actually, or would have been had I not been a little too aloof and reserved in an attempt to take things more slowly…

Anyway, after that I felt bad, so Date #3 I invited him over to my neighbourhood for dinner a couple of nights before I left and he was happy to pop over… on his motorbike… after spending the day doing his volunteer surf life-saving shift.

I know, right?

How did it go? It went well. No sex, and no staying over, which I was clear about and he accepted with good grace. But, you know, some good tampering.

So, we’ll see how we pick it up when I get back.

And as for Tall Pilot Guy; I got fed up waiting for him to call so I texted him and invited him to the cinema – he’d actually already left Sydney to spend the holidays with his family and was under the impression that I had, too, but seemed keen to get together when we both get back.

So we’ll see on that front, also…

In the meantime, I’m back ‘home’ in Blighty, enjoying spending time with my sisters and looking forward to seeing my brother and friends in the next week or so. It is cold, grey and dismally drizzly here which has reinforced why living in sunny Sydney is SO much better for my physical and mental well-being.

I hope you’ve had a good Christmas, and that you welcome in the New Year in whatever style best suits you. I’ll be with several old friends and my god-daughter in a draughty but impressive country house in Deepest Gloucestershire. Think ‘Miss Marple’ and you’ll doubtless be able to picture not only the house and grounds but the guests, too.

I shall try and post photos… Tally ho!

Tall Pilot Guy still hasn’t called me. Its now Wednesday morning, and we swapped numbers last Saturday.

What is he waiting for?

Bugger.

The first date on Thursday night with Twinkly-Eyed Guy went well. Very well. [Can you hear the 'but', yet?]

We had dinner together by the Opera House, overlooking Circular Quay, and chatted easily. Then we saw ‘The Informant!’ – excellent film with an outstanding performance from Matt Damon – and then we got ice-cream and strolled around a while. After which we sat on a bench and watched the enormous cruise liner leave harbour… and then he leaned in and kissed me, gently but pretty confidently.

So, we smooched on the bench for quite some time like a pair of sixteen-year-olds (i.e. awkwardly positioned, not terribly comfortable but persistent as well as surprised that it was actually happening and slightly concerned about how far was too far for a first date) until we called it a night at about quarter to one and I caught a cab home.

It was good, but not earth-shattering. He did everything right, he really did. He has the confidence to know what he wants and make a first move, but he is by no means arrogant or conceited. He’s intelligent, well-travelled, independent, considerate, kind and good-looking.

[Are you sure you can't hear the 'but' yet?]

All of which is good… but…

Remember, the weekend I met Twinkly-Eyed Guy, I also met Tall Pilot Guy?

And you know what a Thing I have for tall men, right? I can’t help it. Even though I know its about me, and my insecurities, not about them. I’m tall, and I simply don’t feel powerfully Amazonian with a shorter guy, I feel like a galumphing great freight truck.

[Hence, sitting on the bench kissing Twinkly-Eyed Guy was okay but standing up kissing him felt odd. Maybe just unfamiliar odd, I know, I know...]

Anyway, the evening I met Tall Pilot Guy I had to leave early to go canyoning the next morning at Oh My God O’clock. So we didn’t swap phone numbers or email addresses – although we did discover that we live on the same street and mentioned which blocks we lived in, just not the actual apartment numbers. And then he apparently asked after me the next day, which floored me.

With impeccable timing, the mutual friend who introduced us went away on holiday so I figured I had no way of contacting him, short of bumping into him on the street in the next couple of weeks before all memory of me faded or sticking a note to the door of his building… and the latter idea was abandoned after a morning’s consideration since it seemed to smack of desperate stalker-ness.

And guess what, we bumped into each other on Saturday morning.

“Hi!”, he said, “I’ve been hoping I’d bump into you again. I keep walking past your building and wondering if I should leave a note on the door, but I thought that might be creepy so I didn’t. How was canyoning?”

He apologised for looking rough as he’d had his work Christmas party the night before – believe me, he did not look rough. Or at least, he may have done, but I liked it.

Well, we’ve swapped numbers now, so I really hope he gets in touch and asks me out to something which is obviously a date before Thursday, as opposed to a) not getting in touch at all or b) not getting in touch before Thursday or c) asking me to something which could easily just be a friendly thing and which I would thus be paranoid about misinterpreting.

And why before Thursday? Because that’s when I’m due to go on the second date with Twinkly-Eyed Guy and I don’t want to lead him on when, to be honest, I think at this point I’m more attracted to Tall Pilot Guy.

Everyone should have such problems, yes?

How many dates do you go on before its supposed to be exclusive, anyway?

Twinkly-Eyed Guy and I have exchanged a few emails in the week and a half since we met at the hospital bedside of our mutual friend with the new baby.

I was beginning to think he was just being friendly and was not remotely interested in anything else, despite the mutual friend saying “Don’t tell him I said anything, but I think he likes you”…and then this morning he asked me out.

By email, admittedly, but still.

So. You know. Good, no?

1. It occurred to me recently that I spend so much time focusing on the fact that I dislike the shape and proportions of my body that I forget to be thankful for the fact that, despite all the things I loathe about it, it is strong and healthy. Which is, afterall, its most important function* – no matter what our perniciously pervasive media tell us.

I mean, really, I don’t remember the last time I was ill. Even with a cold.

So far, I have been extremely lucky and have not had a major health-scare. One case of a moderate allergic reaction to an antibiotic and some issues with my skin which are now well under control. Other than that, all the bits may not be quite as good as new, but they nonetheless seem to be in decent working order.

And not only is my body healthy, but it is also strong enough to allow me to do things like canyoning, scuba diving, kayaking and running without any problem. Okay, so its sometimes tough at the time and my muscles ache a little the next day, but its discomfort rather than pain. And with no lasting damage as far as I can tell, other than natural wear and tear.

I take reasonably good care of it, mind you. I eat a pretty balanced diet and I don’t smoke or drink alcohol, apart from a very occasional glass of shandy. Plus I’m sure the yoga helps, even if its not practiced as regularly as it probably should be.

When I consider all the people I know who have serious health issues such as cancer or chronic back pain or who are on constant medication for diabetes or asthma etc, I realise how grateful I should be.

So, anyway, thanks Body. Good job. Well done and please keep it up!

2. On Saturday night I went to the Bondi Short Film Festival with some girlfriends. While there we met another group of people, among whom was a single chap.  We’ll call him Tall Pilot Guy. He was good looking and obviously (I thought) significantly younger than me, so I mentally consigned him to the ‘Probably Never See Him Again’ file and was friendly but made no real effort to engage his attention.

We chatted a little and it turns out he lives on the same street as me.  The others went on for a drink after the films, but it was late and I had to be up at 5.30am to go canyoning the next morning, so I jumped in a cab and went home (I believe I mentioned that I’m a Nana?).

Well, colour me surprised as hell, but apparently he asked after me the next day. And wants my number.

3. Then, on Sunday, after canyoning and while I was still un-showered and wearing the grimy shorts and top I’d gone up the mountains in, and with my hair pulled back in a ponytail, I visited my friend in hospital. The one with the new baby. And there was a friend of her husband there when we arrived. A handsome friend with smiley eyes. Holding said baby and looking very comfortable. Let’s call him Twinkly-Eyed Guy.

Again, I thought, “okay, he’s bound to be married or attached or gay or dead or all of the above, so let’s not get interested here. Just be polite.”

We had a nice chat about motorbikes (he has one, I like them immensely and miss riding pillion on one), and about great TV shows (he’s a fan of The Wire which I’ve recently been enjoying on DVD).

Then I toddled off home, after taking some pictures of the proud parents and baby.

I emailed the pics to the Mum on Monday… and then got an email from Twinkly-Eyed Guy (to whom she had forwarded them). After I replied, he sent another and now he has friended me on Facebook.

Of course, neither of these guys is probably remotely interested in me romantically – they never are – but still. Its nice.

* Which reminds me, I once told a school Games teacher that I wasn’t interested in making my body fitter because “as long as it transports my brain around from place to place, that’s all I ask”. How times change!

1. On Friday evening I was supposed to be going out to meet friends for drinks after getting my hair cut. Haircut reasonably successful and completed early, I went home and lay down for a short nap… and woke up 9 hours later, still wearing my clothes.

That’s it. My Nana-dom is official.

2. Tim and I went canyoning again yesterday morning, and this time I took my diving camera so there is even photographic evidence of how intrepid/bedraggled/ill-equipped we both were…

Thus I am not a Nana, after all.

Above: Tim, just leaving the carpark at the start of the 2 hour hike to the entry point…

A potential entry point – you abseil off the tree down into the hole on the right…

Yours truly, in full swing. Note, if you will, the left-handed abseiling… tricky, cos I’m right-handed, but unavoidable because the anchor point at the beginning of the abseil, about 25 feet above the gap you can see at the top of the photo, is rather awkwardly positioned.

I love to be in the water.

Breathtaking views. And no people ‘cept us.

Enormous trees formed log jams at various points along the river. Thrown about like toothpicks by the mountain storms.

Looking like the wreck of the Hesperus, but enjoying myself thoroughly.

Magical grottoes where the sunlight penetrated the canyon. And given even more of an ‘other-worldly’ quality by the water drops on the camera lens.

“Come on in, the water’s lovely!”

Tiny Tim. The canyon walls sometimes looked as though they were leaning in to have a closer look at us.

This one is especially for healingmagichands, who I know adores rocks in all their natural splendour.

This is how rumours of yetis start…

Rather a lot of fun scrambling over rocks and logs.

Something in the water makes it very yellow, although mostly extremely clear.

Nearing the end of the canyon section.

Tim basks to warm up, lizard-like, before we start the 2 hour hike back uphill to the car.

3. When we arrived back in Sydney we picked up Tim’s heavily pregnant partner and a bag full of nappies and headed over to the local hospital where one of our mutual friends has just had her baby. Mother and child are well – he’s 4 weeks premature and a wee bit jaundiced but doesn’t need an incubator and is feeding and sleeping fine. She’s wiped out – she lost 2 1/2 litres of blood and was anaemic to begin with – but relieved and delighted to have a healthy son after all those weeks of worry.*

Anyway, as soon as I picked him up all my dormant nannying** instincts kicked back in. Broody? Hell, yes.

Well, at least until I remember how much more difficult doing things like canyoning, kayaking and diving are when you have small children to look after.

* This is the friend with whom I had to dash to hospital 8 weeks ago, after she began bleeding at work, and who has been pretty much hospitalised and on bed-rest since then.

** I worked as a Nanny on and off for about 10 years, through University and my first years in London, and then again about 4 years ago when I quit my stressful charity-sector job. I would probably still be a Nanny if it paid decently. Which it doesn’t.

1. I went night diving yesterday evening and Oh. My. God. It was marvellous. Wonderful. Splendid. Fantastic. Generally Jolly Good.

Its amazing how much breathing through a hose in the pitch black focuses the mind.

And it is beautiful down there at night. Really, quite indescribably lovely.

Peaceful – with only the sounds of your own bubbles and with every movement made in graceful slow motion, trailing phosphorescence.

So, what did I see in the sweeping beam of my underwater torch? Crested horn sharks, wobbegong (or carpet) sharks, yellowtail barracuda, red morwong, octopus, cuttlefish, cardinalfish, bullseyes and even some anemones with their bright red tentacles out.

I didn’t have my camera, but here are some other photos* of the creatures mentioned above, since they are, I expect, none of them immediately recognisable to non-Sydney divers.

So, above is the crested horn shark…

this chap is the spotted wobbegong or carpet shark… for obvious reasons…

Barracuda are recognisable anywhere with that underslung jawline…

Octopus, however, are masters of disguise and are almost as unexpected as the Spanish Inquisition…

Cuttlefish are my favourites. Any creature which can change the colour of its own body and flash lights along its sides, not to mention having an expression like that, earns my respect…

And those guys are the red morwong, who look to me as though a child painted them, which makes me smile. No mean feat when you have a regulator clamped between your jaws, believe me.

So, night-diving: if there is a better way to spend Thursday evenings, I don’t know what it is.

2. This afternoon I have been ’storyboarding’ (i.e. drawing up concepts for) a new children’s book about Leonardo da Vinci. If there is a better way to spend a Friday afternoon, I don’t know what it is.

3. Tomorrow I will be baby sitting for 4-month old Hugo in Balmain, which is one of Sydney’s more relaxed and artsy quarters, accessible by ferry from my house. If there is a better way to spend a Saturday, I don’t know what it is.

*Obviously, those photos were all taken during the day, but you get the idea…

The weekend before last I went to Nelson Bay with friends – 2 of the women in the photo above used to work with me, 2 of them still do and 2 of them are pregnant.

That is beginning to sound rather like one of those dreadful questions from a GCSE Maths exam. “Which of the women has the most oranges? Explain the formula below.”

We walked along the beach, had a delicious brunch, chatted and watched ‘Footloose’.

Last weekend I joined about eleventy-squillion other people – including my mate Running Accountant and his heavily pregnant partner – for a walk along the sea front between Bondi Beach and Coogee, as part of the annual ‘Sculpture by the Sea’ exhibition. This year, there was even a sculpture in the sea, much to my delight. Oh, how we pointed and chortled.

The two weekends were both enlivened by the presence of pregnancy. Sydney is currently in the misleadingly soft maternal grip of an unprecedented baby-boom, apparently.

I, however, am still single and the closest I’ll be coming to having a baby anytime soon is being able to borrow one (I mean, er, babysit), which I’m doing for 3 month-old Hugo this coming weekend while his parents are sailing.

Lately I have seen a lot of CVs* from people looking for work with our company. We make illustrated reference books for the international trade publishing market, as I’ve no doubt mentioned before, and, since the bottom has dropped out of said market worldwide, there are plenty of people seeking employment in the sector as editors or designers.

If you’re one of them, let me give you a few tips.

1. In answer to the question “Why do you want this job/want to work in publishing?”, do NOT reply “Because I love books!” This is the answer most guaranteed to make any reputable Publisher roll their eyes heavenward and strike you off the list of possible candidates with ruthless speed and efficiency. Why?

Well, its like telling a professional nanny that you love children, or enthusing to a vintner about how you love booze. Everyone knows that there are pleasant children and little monsters, just as there are excellent wines and shocking plonk. Similarly, there are good books and there is a load of complete trash which should be pulped by any right-minded person because its quality is so appallingly poor.

Discriminating taste – in any field – is a virtue. Exhibit it.

2. The publishing industry is dominated by women. So, when you arrive for an interview, do NOT wear a short skirt, a low-cut blouse and make-up applied with a trowel**. Sex may sell books… but not to female Publishers. Being more attractive than your colleagues is not going to endear you to anyone.

Nor should you rush headlong to the other extreme and ‘go corporate’. A severely tailored skirt-suit and heels will simply make it obvious that we can’t afford you. Publishing pays badly (which, in my opinion, is why it is dominated by women. The same goes for the charity sector and nursing). You need to look reasonably smart, but as though your real worth is in your head, not down your blouse.

Fashion magazine publishing is the exception to this rule. There, you need to be wearing an outfit 10 years too young and 2 sizes too small for you. And if you can’t so much walk as totter in it, even better.

3. When preparing your CV or resumé, you will score extra points by formatting it in InDesign or another publishing program. Quark is now a little old-fashioned, but you’ll probably still get away with it. Just as long as its obvious you didn’t just type it out into Microsoft Word using Times New Roman or – horror of horrors – Comic Sans MS.

You don’t need to over-design it: style is a matter of individual taste, after all, and unless you are comprehensively familiar with the preferred design style of the firm to whom you are applying, don’t risk it.

Lastly – and this ought to go without saying but, sadly, doesn’t – triple, nay, quadruple check your CV for typos, spelling mishaps and grammatical errors. Yes, even if you’re applying for a design rather than editorial role – being a ‘creative’ is no excuse for poor syntax or a lousy vocabulary in this industry.

Good luck.

* Curriculum Vitae or resumé. What? Latin or French, take your pick.

** Especially if you’re male.

I have just been shouted at by a senior* colleague.

Really, actually yelled at. In front of his two staff – at least one of whom is fairly regularly yelled at, I’m told.

I walked away and came back to my desk.

It made him look childish and unreasonable, and I hope I retained my dignity by refusing to stoop to shouting back… tempting though it was.

I’m more angry than upset, but should I:

a) apologise for walking out but explain that I won’t stay to be yelled at in the workplace

b) forget it

or

c) tell the boss – who is away on leave this week?

* senior in the sense that he is older than me and has been here longer, but he is in Sales and I’m in Creative, so I don’t report to him in any way. And I’m pretty senior myself.