Date Friday 6 January Time 6.30pm
My thoughts and reflections:
I am taking this opportunity to reflect on how amazing The Guide is and to be grateful. That Guide Post yesterday found its way to me at the perfect time.
I woke up sprightly and alert and before my alarm this morning, the tube arrived as I did, and I got to work twenty minutes early!
I took a second outside the building to arm myself against Lydia’s toxic energy, and entered reciting my affirmations: ‘I surround myself with positive energy. I am living my best life. My heart is pure.’ And it worked, because she wasn’t even there yet.
It was still Clyde, who does like me, and he gave me a wink and called me ‘ma’am’.
(He’s very flirty as well as very fit. We had a little snog at the summer do, but turns out he is also very young, so we left it there.)
I’d nipped into the Tesco Metro by the tube station and bought some basil (they didn’t have sage or eucalyptus) and some matches ready to clear the negative air near Yaz, but the Universe threw me another line – Yaz was off work.
So I drank my matcha tea, said a casual hi to a couple of people who arrived after me and flicked through the post. And yes, I will admit that maybe a tiny grain of doubt did momentarily enter my mind when I tore open the large cream envelope and saw the stiff, heavy gold-rimmed christening invitation.
Mr and Mrs Tristan Cavendish request the pleasure of your company at Little Minchcombe church, and afterwards at the Lamb, on Saturday, 24 June, to celebrate the joyful arrival of Edgar Austen William Augustus Cavendish.
A handwritten note from Mrs Tristan Cavendish herself tumbled out along with the rigid, grandiose invitation.
Darling, your mother mentioned you were between digs so I thought I’d send this to your work – if you’re still there, LOL.
Such a shame not to catch up at the wedding but I could see you were finding it hard, poor thing.
Have you heard the wonderful news? Minty’s expecting!
Do RSVP this time – what are you like! – and we completely understand if it’s too much for you. Lots and lots of love, Penelope x
She’s ghastly. How can one envelope contain so many knives?
Astrid’s always said Penelope is insufferable and she’s right.
Now Penelope really is a twat, unlike Astrid, and I feel I should state, for the record, that I didn’t really mean what I wrote about Astrid last night.
(In fact I got her a bottle of wine when I was at the Tesco Metro earlier, just as a little apology; it was only ￡5 in the bargain bin because it didn’t have a label.) Whereas Penelope – she invokes long-lasting feelings of dislike.
And Minty! Well, that explains the 24 th December wedding.
And why she didn’t touch the blue cheese.
I propped the invitation up on Yaz’s desk so it wouldn’t gloat quite so directly in my face, but I was feeling sort of hot and uncomfortable so I knew it had affected the air.
I took action by saying a couple of affirmations, and got the basil out of the bag and was fumbling around with the matches, when Cara caught me, mid–‘I breathe in peace; I breathe out peace’.
And here’s my next lucky-girl moment because instead of Cara being her usual disagreeable self, she just put her hand on my arm and said that she personally found the affirmation ‘I am a beacon of love and joy’ really helpful.
She recommended not lighting a match because it would set off the automatic fire sprinklers, plus basil wouldn’t work as it’s too damp.
Then she told me she believed in me and so did the Goddess and that my day would be filled with abundance and harmony.
Who would have thought it?!
Even better, when I bumped into her again later, in the loos, and quickly put my make-up away because it was nearly time for the 11.
45 catch-up and we both knew it, she scanned my face and said, ‘I don’t really need to see you today.
’ She told me to go to Selfridges and get my make-up done and remind myself that self-love starts with self-care.
I didn’t need telling twice.
And now, here’s the second best bit. After an amazing hour spent eating sushi and having my make-up done by the Chanel girl at Selfridges, I was so buoyant that waiting to get swiped in by Lydia didn’t faze me at all.
I just watched her eat her massive baguette, and slowly repeated affirmations in my head.
I surround myself with positive energy. I surround myself with positive energy.
And I did. Because then… Then, Guy Carmichael appeared behind me. Can’t get much more positive than that!
‘What’s the hold-up?’ he asked.
Even his voice was magnetic: I could feel the underwires in my bra vibrate in response.
I said, ‘My card’s playing up today.’
Lydia put down her baguette and swallowed her mouthful.
‘Damned pain these new cards,’ he said. ‘Come through on mine. Lydia can sort it out on her computer later.’
And he stood back and ushered me through – it’s probably the closest I’ve come to him and his scent was intoxicating, sort of musk and cedar and a hint of citrus and power, and like he’d be commanding and unrelenting in bed.
‘Thanks,’ I said to Guy, pleased to notice that a fair bit of filling had dropped out of Lydia’s baguette when she set it down. Serves her right.
‘Pleasure’s mine,’ he said, then he looked at me again. ‘Nice lipstick.’
‘It’s Chanel.’
He nodded. ‘Have a good afternoon, Alison.’
I didn’t care that he called me Alison, or that Lydia gave me a triumphant glare because I could sense that the Universe was working hard for me. And I was right. I’ve saved the best bit for last…
That afternoon, whilst I was sitting at my desk drumming my fingers and putting off replying to emails, Guy Carmichael walked by and… paused. I nearly stopped breathing. He was staring at something on Yaz’s desk. Then he picked up my invitation and started reading it. I panicked.
‘Er, sorry,’ I said. ‘I’m between addresses so it got sent here to work. I’ll take it home tonight.’
Guy Carmichael looked back at me.
‘This is yours?’ he said, his attention turned fully towards me.
‘Yes,’ I babbled on, trying not to salivate at his proximity. ‘There’s always someone back home getting married or producing babies.’
‘You’re from Little Minchcombe, are you?’
‘For my sins!’ I joked. ‘Not inbred though.’
Oh god. Why did I say that?
‘Interesting,’ he said, perching on my desk. ‘I’ve just been reading about it.’
Fuck. Guy Carmichael was sitting on my desk.
‘Small place, is it?’ he asked. ‘Everyone know everybody else?’
‘Pretty much. Most of us all went to the same schools.’
‘Hang on, is St Hilda’s there?’
‘Yes. So most of us went there. Apart from a couple who went to Eton.’ And of course Matthew who went to the comprehensive (apart from sixth form). I’m guessing Guy Carmichael doesn’t deal in comprehensive schools.
‘Well, well, well. Aren’t you turning out to be an interesting one.’ He paused for a moment. ‘Why is it addressed to Alice, Alison?’
‘Um, because I’m called Alice?’
‘For goodness sake, Alison, you should have said.’
‘Alice.’
Guy Carmichael squinted at me for a second. ‘I prefer Alice,’ he said.
‘So do I.’
‘Hmm.’ Guy Carmichael leant forward, his attention fully on me.
I watched his gaze drop to my lips.
‘What shade is that lipstick you’re wearing, Alice?’
‘Rouge Allure,’ I said, my voice emerging a little croaky.
‘It’s working.’
Just then, Cool Jason from Design wandered by and Guy sat back slightly. He handed me my invitation and stood up. ‘I’ll see you on Monday, Alice,’ he said.
Yes you will, Guy Carmichael.
My intention is:
To sacrifice going out tonight and instead use the money to go and buy some Chanel Rouge Allure.
To get Guy Carmichael to think about my lips and me in a non-work-colleague way.