I can report to those back home and elsewhere that London is currently bright, sunny and crisply wintry during the day at least, moving quickly to bitterly, marrow-gnawingly glacial as soon as darkness falls – my regular Day One hunting-gathering trip to Costcutter for the in-room provisions not already brought from home (milk, iced buns, bananas and so forth) was necessarily delayed until shortly after eight pm and the moment of leaving five star heaven, even dressed like Sir Edmund Hillary, for the brief expedition into the outside world was almost enough to send me and the door revolving through 360° and returning immediately to the warm and cosy embrace of my mini-suite for an alternative dinner of chicken Supernoodles and chocolate biscuits.

The days have been gloriously sunny, and whilst I have been so ridiculously busy today the opportunity to set foot outside the hotel room failed to present itself until 4.45pm and a last chance dash to the bank before closing time, an unexpected cancellation yesterday morning afforded me a couple of hours’ free time to grab a rare opportunity for some fresh air and a leisurely stroll around the nearby St James’s Park. This relatively teeny but very beautiful patch of countryside surrounded by the grandiose palaces of Westminster is now a dead cert to become Favourite Lunch Venue no matter what the time of the year and I am happy to say I have not enjoyed a mini-excursion so much in ages – the local wildlife (including not-so-local pelicans) were out en masse enjoying the weather amongst the early-spring snowdrops and with the lake rippling peacefully in the background, to the extent I almost lost track altogether and was without doubt a touch, er, thrown together for my half past one appointment whose level of attention to detail was such that he couldn’t even remember my name, as it turned out; hardly worth worrying much about. Bless ‘em (I think I got away with it, even if I did have my shoes on a bit wrong).

I will shamefully admit to having only ever dashed past the park’s leafy periphery on my way to the train (head down and full steam ahead to avoid the tourists) but will be sure to change my ways, especially when the cafés are fully open again. Pictures (needless to say, not for the sentient being-phobic Adultwork, where the sight of a squirrel would be enough to exact if not a ban, certainly removal and a bollocking) below, and especially for all my fellow Northerners who think that London is comprised entirely of grey and soulless office blocks, expensive shops and a handful of museums. And there is lots more green space just like it!Tomorrow (OK, later today) is my last full day here for a couple of months and planning dates and times around Easter is turning out to be something of a logistical nightmare (although good practice for the summer months and Olympics-mania), but there’s always my flying visit next week on the way home from Guernsey as a bonus, and my next dates will be announced soon-as for those who have missed out this time. Considering it’s February (a notoriously slow and pedestrian month work wise) it’s been astonishingly busy, and my apologies to those who left it too late to get an appointment. As ever, email is the way to go – I don’t magically get any more likely to pick up for the person who rings the highest number of times in under a minute, especially since my auto-responder will have already told you when I am next free to answer.

Proper round up next week! Fingers crossed the weather will behave and all being well I will be arriving in Jersey in a couple of days – anyone still keen on booking would be well advised to make themselves known soon. Meanwhile, it’s been a very long day, my official Yo Sushi 30% off birthday voucher has been dutifully used and I’m going to sleep before the sirens outside really get going.

More soon…

Or more accurately from Wednesday mid-afternoon, with the earlier part of the day being taken up by a not-too-early start, more Kindle reading on the train and a long overdue investigation of a new(ish) Dim Sum place with Kinky La Rue when I finally arrive back in That London – it’s been ages! One hot topic will be our upcoming New York trip; shopping, eating, nights on the town and sightseeing (for me at least, the Cindy Sherman exhibition at the Museum of Modern Art being top of my list) plans are afoot – I will be organising a special information page here as last year, and the MO will be altogether very much as before. Having not been anywhere on a plane with anybody else in tow since 2007, I am very much looking forward to having a travel buddy, (and particularly one who doesn’t think that the desire to eat cheesecake every day is a sign of poor judgement and lack of imagination) – only five-and-a-bit weeks to go!

All in good time though, and both London and the Channel Islands are looking busy-busy; hopefully some cheer can be dispersed amidst the February gloom and unarguably turn towards the chilly over the last twenty four hours or so! The much vaunted new pictures are having to wait until tomorrow such was the lack of daylight today, and coupled with the impracticality of prancing around the apartment semi-naked bar a few scraps of lacy stuff and half a ton of make up, an executive decision was made to set up everything and then leave it be, have a hot bath and get immediately back into the warm nightie/cardigan combo which serves as casual daywear (‘loungewear’ to those who frequent Marks and Spencer) when reclining at home. No point dirtying clothes, after all…

Photo shoot temporarily postponed, I have instead been organising my long-suffering suitcase into Clothing (Work), Clothing (Civvy), Kit (including condoms – 50 reg, 20 XL, 5 each Whopper/Nipper), Food/Drink (cup a soup, decent tea, Marmite) and Gadget piles – it never fails to surprise how little some callers realise about the organisation required to both live and work out of one medium suitcase for the best part of a fortnight, and having explained to the aural equivalent of a blank look a couple of times today that I do not carry my entire wardrobe around on my back like a snail (and therefore it’s better to request things whilst I and it are both still in the same building) I gave up, shrugged and continued with the usual tried and tested formula. Apart from anything else, neither South London nor Jersey or even Guernsey have been decreed third world nations since my last visit, and an on-site restock is perfectly possible (as I had one bright morning in Belfast the other week with the lovely Ebony Renee when the wet wipes and mouthwash got a bit depleted) and the mini bottle of Surf all-in-one for travel washing pretty much covers the rest.

Needless to say I will not be offering appointments in Scarborough now until Monday 13th February – advance bookings are as welcome as ever and the days of same day appointments when at home are virtually over, not that they are commonplace now. Meanwhile, to London, Jersey and Guernsey, I’m on my way and will see you soon!

More, well, when time allows. Oh, and there’s some new pics in the Gallery to be getting on with – rest (hopefully) in the next few days…

I’ve taken some of them tonight and seeing as there’s still no sign of the specially-ordered lingerie I’ve been waiting for since November, it’ll be full steam ahead over the weekend – light levels, camera battery and imagination allowing…Proper update soon, but here’s a sneak preview in the form of the very first (OK, test) picture of me at thirty nine – yay!

I am posting before bed but after midnight (so it is technically Birthday) but the official day will not begin for a few hours yet, whereupon I will be heading to the gym early for an extra-long swim, sauna and perusal of Sunday papers before returning home for a mighty breakfast and a nap, as befits my now advanced age (or at least it is if you listen to some). The final year of my thirties is underway!

In the usual blog tradition, my research this year has led me to the discovery that thirty nine is the international dialling code for Italy, the atomic number of yttrium and also Japanese Internet chat slang for ‘thank you’ when written with numbers (3=san 9=kyu). Further information and interesting facts appear to be lacking, but the year (or the upcoming couple of months, certainly) is looking like being an entertaining one and whilst I don’t yet have a panic-written list of Things Other People Think You Should Have Done Before 40 (and be assured that swimming with dolphins is undoubtedly the most overrated experience since overpriced sandwiches with names ending in a vowel were unleashed), there will hopefully be at least a few landmarks along the way!

First and foremost, the final touches have been put to the schedule for the next couple of months – punters of London, Jersey, Guernsey, Belfast, Manhattan and now the Isle of Man and Dublin, take note. I have R&R planned in the form of exciting trips away (Champneys, four day horror film festival) and rest breaks at home (settee, quilt, fishes, DVDs) and this week has brought plenty of opportunities for relaxation over afternoon tea and some fancy-knickers lemon meringue (inexplicably presented on a bit of slate) and the following day a very good quatro stagioni birthday pizza (which I did not have to pay for, so even better) as well as managing to get my hands on tickets to see Dara O’Briain in May (and decent seats too), and a new cashmere cardigan from the 70% off final reductions (I know, but I haven’t got one in this colour).

For now, hungry fishes and bed are beckoning. Less immediately London (hopefully sans Daleks) is filling up fast – Friday 3rd especially. Partly due to this (but mostly due to the fact that travelling in England in the late afternoon on a Friday is a pain in the arse at best, and excruciating the rest of the time) I have added another day – please note that I will be staying in Waterloo once again on Friday 10th February and should be around from mid-afternoon until lunchtime on the Saturday, and in a spanking new place too! Anybody who can’t make it the first week, please do get in touch for details (spanking is not obligatory of course, but welcome all the same).

More soon! And any interesting suggestions to help me compile the Things To Do [...] list will be graciously received (on the surface, at least).

I get asked about ‘touring’ (my inverted commas, because I still think it’s an odd use of a word more suited to stand-up comedians) a lot – in person, on my Formspring page, on SAAFE. Punters visiting me at home after a quick look on Google can’t understand how it works (How do people know you’re going to be there? Isn’t there enough work in Scarborough? How do you know where to go?) other ladies can think it’s a path paved with gold and a solution to all their financial woes (it can be lucrative, but it’s not a fix-all) and civvy folk are either envious at the idea of getting to circumnavigate the globe (or at least the country), stay in fancy hotels and eat takeaways every day (bwahahahaha) whilst being paid for it, or horrified at the admittedly sordid-sounding idea of a holing up in a hotel room servicing an endless queue of punters morning, noon and night. The buffet breakfast if it’s included (and the hotel is large and busy enough to feel comfortable partaking – not often) can be a bit of a high point, too.

The long and short of it is, working away in ordinary short stay accommodation is the easiest way I know to safely fit as much work in as I know how and more than I would ever dare try at home, whilst seeing a bit of the land (and even other lands) and stopping myself getting bored – meeting people who are different to me and most people I know is fun, and usually they are keen to meet me too! The possibilities are practically limitless, and whilst done properly it’s extremely hard work (in common with anything else with large potential returns), the return is pretty instant and a trip can form part of a mini break somewhere else, as well as a real head-down-and-graft cash boost for anybody who needs one. I can go wherever I like, work as much or as little as I wish and it means that the pressure at home is off, meaning that the fortunate folk who catch me when I am back in Scarborough find me far more relaxed as (and don’t take this the wrong way!) I don’t really need to see them – I can see the gentlemen I want to and turn the rest away.

As far as glamour goes (and I can obviously only speak for myself), the bulk of my days tour-wise are spent dashing in and out of the shower whilst praying that the towels I’ve stashed will last the course (and also that the CCTV didn’t spot me filching them from the trolley) whilst trying to catch up on messages and missed calls from during the last booking and getting ready for the next, and hoping that I’ll get something to eat other than biscuits within the next couple of hours. Everything has to be planned to the minutest detail, from deciding on the Landmark (a point within view where arriving punters are to be directed) and when I’m going to duck out for an hour so housekeeping can do the room (so at least in theory the uncomfortably conspicuous Do Not Disturb sign doesn’t have to be on all day) to where the nearest bank/food shop/emergency branch of Superdrug is and even then there are always the wild cards, such as those rooms which are the very model of contemporary comfort and prossie-friendliness in every way until you discover all too late that the air conditioning doesn’t work, the shower requires a City and Guilds to operate or the mobile signal is slightly worse than one would expect to receive in an underground car park in Krasnovodsk.

Travelling is boring and expensive to many but if you are somebody who doesn’t get enough peace and quiet, a three hour train (or even better, coach) journey to sit and peacefully read with headphones on is bliss, especially if there’s anything along the way to make it worth looking out of the window. Flights are horrible generally, and Manchester Airport in particular is one of the most appalling places on earth. Staying in nice hotels is lovely, although the idea that there is no housework is a bit optimistic when you’re flipping quilts and sheets, swapping pillowcases for clean (more filching) and washing out knickers and stockings for the nth time that day. Not to mention trying to sort out the bathroom disasters that some exuberant visitors create – on one occasion this involved my spending over an hour cleaning up Johnson’s Baby Powder after it was flung over every surface, following a lengthy shower which must have been angled somehow straight at the sink and mirror in order to catch and soak all the dry towels and toilet rolls on the ricochet. Thank God it was the end of an otherwise fairly pedestrian day (and I know I could have left it for the housekeeper, but would you?) but if it had been for the 5th, 6th, or even 10th time…

With regard to repetition, see again the point about showers – why there are people who fuss about having the ‘first appointment’ of the morning (when I can categorically state that by around 3pm I will have probably had five or six showers and be pretty much as clean and muck-free as it is physically possible for a human being to be outside an oxygen tent in an intensive care unit) is destined to remain a complete mystery as long as I live, especially bearing in mind that the first booking of the day is the one where I’m at my most grumbly, disorganised and generally rubbish, like most people when they have just got up and arrived at work. Bizarre indeed. Then again, early appointments (far earlier than I would attempt at home, when even having one eye open at nine am would be unlikely unless the place was on fire) are a lot of fun, and sending John Q Punter off to work with a spring in his step prior to smugly ringing housekeeping and requesting they get cracking with the room (while you wander along in your finest slobgear to Costa for tea and muffins and get all your banking done on the way) is a very fine way to start the day indeed.

This is of course assuming you’re busy. The not-busy work trip is no different to any other depressing, frustrating and expensive business endeavour, and surely every lady who has ever given it a go will have at least one woeful tale to tell! Mine have ranged from arriving at my ‘four star’ accommodation to find an oversized shed on an industrial estate with no digital TV or proper furniture, but enough dust to bring on an asthma attack (Coventry), the aforementioned Nice But No Mobile Signal (Liverpool) and the slightly-less-than-a-morning I lasted in Glasgow before switching my phone off and going out for the day instead. But these are stories for another day.

As some will remember, my birthday is fast approaching! Sunday will (as per) be off limits but all being well (and we are staying lucky with the weather, aren’t we?) it will be business as usual until the end of the month when I will be packing for my next Big Trip, starting with the first London visit of 2012 and ending with a long overdue return to Guernsey, by way of Jersey and another new venue! I do hope everything works.

Fortunately my journey was unaffected, but having spoken to others I certainly appear to have been lucky, although I arrived in Ireland’s second city distinctly green thanks to the less than desirable flight-in-small-plane-in-a-hurricane phenomenon, and the discovery that my entire working wardrobe was thoroughly dampened with Tesco Fiery Ginger Beer after I had chucked the can I hadn’t drank in my case before boarding the flight rather than bin it on arrival at Manchester Airport – I know, muppet – was less than helpful (and see pic). I will be keeping a close eye on things prior to my afternoon flight back from my current stomping ground of Belfast tomorrow, although all appears to be calm. No need to be thinking of that just yet, mind…

Cork, admittedly, passed by in something of a blur and any intention I had of going exploring was soon put paid to, mostly by the singularly enthusiastic and charming (if occasionally unintelligible) locals, and also by the completely knackered broadband in my hotel, this necessitating virtually every spare moment to be spent in a nearby McDonalds availing myself of their hotspot. The coffee’s actually not bad (and shamefully, nor were the Big Macs). I do recommend a visit purely because the place is rather lovely and the punters likewise, and even despite the hiccups I will certainly be going back.

After three nights of not much fresh air, virtually no sleep, a LOT of silly phone calls and a last minute hunt for Barry’s tea and Tanora fizzy pop (a tangerine lemonade which is possibly the Cork equivalent of Irn Bru) to take home before the train went (the Tanora didn’t last that long), I arrived in Dublin on Friday evening to the blessed relief of luxury digs complete with giant room, cloud-like bed (and Bed: Singular it was, rather than two beds of minutely differing heights clipped together and covered with a fitted sheet) complete with proper down accoutrements and marble bathroom with a proper bath which was as far as I got before coma set in, although not before a quick welcome dalliance with a charming young man who (amongst other things) reassured me that nobody else could understand people from West Cork either. And after a long weekend of shenanigans in the capital (including a delightful early doors send off on Monday morning following which I will not be short of Kindle-reading matter for a very long time!) I crossed the border around lunchtime and alighted in Belfast shortly before 2pm to yet another very well appointed temporary residence. But more of that shortly.

I will be back in Scarborough on Friday, and whilst I don’t expect to be available much before Monday (bar for those sensible folk who have already got their appointments all arranged in good time over the weekend), the phone will be on and any enquiries are welcome; my February London visit is fast approaching and the Friday is already almost fully spoken for. More tales of the Emerald Isle next time, but suffice to say it’s been a good one and I will be back!

Time for bed, said Zebedee. I shouldn’t say it, but I’m ab-so-lute-ly bloody knackered…More soon. Promise.

This is in fact (since we’re here) the first New Year’s Eve I have still been up (as opposed to watching box sets in bed with the very end of the turkey sandwiches) beyond about eleven pm in what must be five years, and it is longer still since I last left the house to brave the carnage of the public celebration. Given that I rarely hit the hay before 3am (and four is not unusual), the occasional early night is always a pleasant change, and when better than the one where we’re supposed to do as we’re told and stay up late? Plus I’m assured of being able to listen to music I like throughout, an even more tempting prospect when the opening piano strains of Fairytale of New York make their presence felt for the 623,417th time in the last five weeks and the resulting urge to maim indiscriminately is at risk of becoming too strong to ignore. The only technical hitch so far has been my forgetting to order the seafood (as pictured above) that was the original New Year’s Eve dinner plan so my bottle of celebratory Taittinger is currently being accompanied by toast and marmalade, but I do believe I can live with it. And it is very good marmalade.

It’s been a grand year, 2011. I have travelled far and wide, made many new friends, seen the inside of countless trains, planes and automobiles (well taxis, anyway) and had lots of fun, most of it related here – the upcoming months will include more of the same and with my longed-for return to New York in March (of which more soon) to cap off the early part of 2012, it’s all looking good. And since 2012 marks the very last year of my thirties too, so a few (or a lot of) exciting adventures to mark the solemn occasion will surely be on the cards!

To all the lovely ladies and gents, loyal blog readers and friends who have seen me through the last twelve months and will hopefully be hanging on for the next twelve – very best wishes and a Happy New Year! And for those who are equally sick of the festive tunes and fancy some respite, one of my all time favourites is below. Enjoy.

Back in the week. I’ve got a suitcase to pack…

As detailed over t’page, the phone is off and I will be persona non grata from now until Tuesday appointment-wise, but emails will be checked daily and (as much as is practical) answered promptly. I will be popping online to keep an eye on SAAFE, given my new administrator role (yay!) but a well earned break is still the order of the day, so please keep any enquiries concise and specific (ie. not ‘RU free babe?’, which unarguably qualifies for the former, but not the latter), and be assured that anything pertaining to bookings beyond the first week or two of the New Year will wait.

In the meantime, as promised, the Christmas Trees Of Scarborough are above, peace and tranquility have descended on the apartment and for now, to all my friends – punters, lovely ladies and casual readers alike, a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

Back next week…

I have luxuriated snugly in my beautiful hotel room complete with the Best View Ever (until next time, at least), strolled around soaking up the bright winter sunshine and enjoyed fabulous food every day, from mojitos and dim sum with the very gorgeous Jemma Fox to fish soup and mashed-potato-heaven fish pie at Borough Market with my favourite lady Kinky La Rue, who not only suggested the lunch venue, but actually provided ongoing sustenance by presenting me with proper homemade jerk chicken with rice and peas to take back (which when nursing a slightly giddy Talisker headache the following day was possibly the gastronomic equivalent of discovering Christ). Said headache was earned over some of the finest pub food ever (and undoubtedly some of the most charming company) on a rainy night out in Bermondsey with further entertainment provided by a warring couple panelling the crap out of each other in the street outside a neighbouring drinking hole. She was definitely winning when the rozzers turned up.

As most loyal readers know, it is nigh on unheard of for me to return from the capital with anything even remotely unfavourable to say but a six night trip was a challenge even for me, and were it not for a last minute let down on Saturday afternoon (which allowed me to spend most of the day enjoying the fresh air with another favourite member of the regular London Posse, who turned up with more rubber ducks to join the bathtime party and has now bought me post-noon breakfast twice in a row at the local greasy spoon, sharing my appreciation of a proper fried slice and collecting Christmas tree pictures – see special collage below*) I would certainly have returned home in a far more shambolic state than was eventually the case. I still owe one loyal visitor an apology for being practically asleep in my chair over my (very nice) seafood spaghetti on Monday night, but hopefully being my date to come and watch Frankie Boyle call everybody registering so much as a blip in the recent history of popular culture (or just anyone in the immediate vicinity) a cunt for ninety minutes or so next November will make up for it. Hahahahaha.

Needless to say, my last-night excursion to see It’s A Wonderful Life at the BFI Southbank was another highlight, and the chance to see one of my favourite films on the big screen doesn’t come up nearly often enough – I can only assume most reading have seen it, but if not, go immediately to Play.com; run, don’t walk. The only major loss due to lack of time in the end was finding a carol service, but they have them in Scarborough too, after all – it has been a truly memorable week and was all rounded off with the solemn and noble challenge presented by the all-you-can-eat buffet restaurant on Sunday lunchtime with regular partner-in-plate Catherine Stephens for a catch-up. Phew.

Having been home now for two days, preparations for the festivities are going on in earnest and my availability is going to be extremely limited for the remainder of the week when taking into account the current status of the refrigerator and food cupboards (bwahahahaha) and the increasingly appealing choice of films to be watched on television during the day (the two week period specified by the double-issue Radio Times being the only time of the year where it is permissible to switch the set on before 6pm without shame). That is not to say that visitors won’t be welcome, but notice please – expecting me to be able to drop everything and be ready to entertain in an hour’s time is unrealistic no matter what the time of year, but this week and next you’ve got more chance of getting a meeting with Santa himself. And he’s busy too.

Present wrapping, rowan-twig arranging (don’t ask) and Family Guy beckons for tonight. More later in the week – promise.

*Christmas Trees Of Scarborough (needless to say) is hot on the heels, proving beyond doubt that nobody with even remotely obsessive compulsive tendencies should be allowed to embark on any repetitive task involving the collecting of similarly themed things. Hmm.

Fortunately this is exactly the weather which suits me nicely, being someone who feels faint with heat exhaustion at seventy five degrees and from whom cashmere cardigans and woolly hat have to be forcibly wrenched for the remaining fifty one weeks of the year. For those who begin planning their winter outfits in early September the first signs of the searing, needlestick frostiness on a bright sunny day, the breath-sapping biting winds (particularly bracing for those of us who live a few hundred yards from the North Sea) and the deep, glassy chill that sets in as soon as the sun goes down are all pleasing signs of what is soon to come (namely the wearing of many cosy layers, huge boots and improbably expensive fake fur as well as the anticipation of baked, casseroled and roasted things for dinner every day for the foreseeable future).

Since my arrival yesterday I have left my ever-fabulous digs only twice; once for dinner at the Italian up the road and once for breakfast this morning whilst housekeeping (hopefully) get busy. For once, the usual handful of last minute cancellations hasn’t happened and I am likely to be kept extremely busy this week what with all the entertaining plus extra curricular activities, all aimed at getting seriously Christmassey (sadly the carol service I was hoping to get to at Southwark Cathedral is on Sunday after my departure – an alternative is currently being scouted). Also on my list (time allowing – needless to say currently it isn’t but the First Rule Of Punting (Always Have A Plan B) applies equally to touring, as well as travelling by public transport, ordering in a restaurant or going on the pull) will be a trip into town to look at all the Christmas shop windows, proper lunch, Kindle-talk and cake shopping with the fabulous Kinky La Rue and a stroll across the bridge to see the tree at Trafalgar Square, which if nothing else ought to lend a sense of perspective where Mini Tree is concerned.

So back to it for now! A couple of appointments left tomorrow, one on Friday evening and bar a scant gap early doors on Sunday, that’s all folks. Update at the weekend…