Fortunately though, not for too long, and a scant hour behind schedule I can happily report that I made it! The overnight snow in That London may have held things up a little, but interested parties can be assured that I am now safely ensconced in my lovely Jersey hotel and very much looking forward to helping folk keep the cold out.

It was a grey and sludgy start en route to Victoria Station, and the Gatwick Express progressed to a hideously expensive but very nice breakfast omelette whilst waiting for something helpful to materialise in place of the interminable ‘Please Wait’ legend next to my flight number on the boards. But eventually, slightly later than planned, there was the blessed relief of getting to my destination to find not only no snow but lovely sunshine and a mild, completely inoffensive sea breeze, or so I found when I went for a stroll to enjoy the fresh air and check out the film times at Cineworld (having previously learned the hard way why browsing Flixter on a UK BlackBerry in the Channel Islands is ill advised).

The week is looking lively indeed, and I was glad of the early night and some R&R yesterday evening having had a timely reminder of why I don’t take late, short notice appointments on Thursday night from an otherwise unremarkable gentleman who sounded OK on the phone, but smelt so strongly of alcohol upon arrival I was too afraid to flick a light switch until the fan had been on for an hour after his (slightly off kilter) departure at around 11.30pm. Fortunately, virtually everybody else managed to behave and in addition to my first (voucher-driven) Yo Sushi visit in a while, a new discovery was made in Dim T on Wednesday lunchtime with Kinky La Rue, where we got huge bowls of hot soup, half a dozen steamed dumplings and solid main courses  (a superior Katsu curry for my compadre and a sharp-sauced and panko-breadcrumbed lemon chicken with steamed rice for me that was a world away from the battered takeaway version with warm lemon curd on it, which I have adored for as long as I can remember, but sophisticated it ain’t) for a shade over twenty quid apiece with drinks – result. It is barely a month now before the New York trip, and planning is are well underway, even if not much got done on Wednesday bar gossiping, London hotel comparisons and poring over every item on the comprehensive menu (and I still regret not getting a takeaway for later). More catching up next weekend hopefully, with the possibility of cake and even more home made jerk chicken. Yay!

As the keen eyed will have spotted (and the rest will have gleaned from the previous sentence) I shall be heading back to London for one night only on Friday, partly to catch up with some folks I missed this week and mainly because travel on a Friday afternoon is a royal pain in the arse which should only be attempted by the most serenely forgiving and placid members of the human race even in good weather. Needless to say, this description does not include me, and as such I will be about my usual stomping ground (although in different digs) from Friday lunchtime until Saturday noonish. The bad news is that Friday afternoon is almost booked up already and Friday evening is spoken for, but as ever, anybody who wants to register an interest is welcome to do so and – fingers crossed – hopefully the Guernsey flight won’t suffer from the weather shenanigans, should they last into the week.

Speaking of Guernsey, anybody wanting to book (for Thursday in particular) would be well advised to get in now – I’m only in town for the one full day and a bit of Wednesday, and most of that is liable to be spent recovering from the flight if the weather turns. For now though, everything (literally) is fine! And to those wondering what had happened to the oft-promised new pictures, I haven’t forgotten. Watch this space…

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…

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.

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…

The singularly stressful task of sitting poised, kestrel-like, over the ‘Refresh’ button at midnight in order to pre-book the most sought after of the Tesco Christmas delivery slots has also been completed with aplomb, despite the now-ubiquitous site crash shortly afterwards when everybody tries desperately to check out at the same time and secure their place in the schedules (a mediocre showing here, not managing to get through the near-catatonic payment processor until 1.18am but I had wandered off during the early onslaught to browse the BOGOF section, and even the eventual success over an hour later was after twenty or thirty fruitless attempts; sort it out, Tesco). Incidentally, anybody who was hoping to get so much as a satsuma delivered on the 23rd or 24th and hasn’t booked a delivery already, forget it. I just checked.

After a very welcome return to form visiting-wise over the past week with several delightful and eager gentleman callers filling in the diary gaps between shopping, gym and housework, this coming week is looking similarly busy with returnees from the four corners (of Yorkshire at least) and should be fun aplenty for everybody! I will be spending next Sunday on the final packing and preparation for a busy week in London from Monday 12th – I have plans with both lovely ladies and charming gentleman spread throughout my trip, some already of my acquaintance and others not, but there are ample appointments left and a relatively unrushed and festive time will hopefully be had by all. I have never made any secret of my unabashed fondness for the capital, and whilst Monday 12th is currently fully booked with others (notably the Friday) not far behind, I have no intention of conveyor-belting anybody and will be out and about whenever time allows for overpriced Glühwein, strolls along the river and to take in the sparkly bits (apart from anything else, they’ve got to clean the room sometime).

Other treats lined up for my longest London visit yet (not that I’m complaining certainly, although looking at the six night hotel bill for a South Bank 5 star in mid-December has not yet failed to prompt a reaction) include my being fortunate enough to score a prime ticket to see my very favourite Christmas film It’s a Wonderful Life on the Saturday evening at the BFI Southbank – yay! From what I can see, the screening is now all but sold out so am doubly chuffed and as a way to round off the Christmas visit I can think of far worse (in fact I’ve had far worse – the sudden return of Arctic Winter II on my departure day last year being particularly memorable) although having bawled my way through it like a child with a dropped ice cream more times than I care to remember already, I will be certain to add tissues to my list of cinema-things along with a few must-haves rediscovered at the recent horrorfests (Caramac, anyone?)

I am also beginning to get queries about my trip to Ireland in the New Year, but would ask that horses are held for now – there will be plenty of opportunity to make arrangements nearer the time, and since I haven’t even organised my ads properly yet it’s all a little premature for now! Instead, spend the time praying for decent weather, uneventful travelling and a decent hotel room to await me when I get there and I’ll see you in a month. For the remainder of this week in peaceful Scarborough hustle and bustle is a world away, and bar any complete disasters a gently festive time will be in store; the heating is on and the welcome will be warm too! If nothing else I’ve got to burn the pies off somehow, and the gym classes break up next week.

More from the soon-to-be grotto directly – I have a loftful of decorations to dig out next, plus a newly arrived (and thus slightly behind) advent calendar to deal with…

As some are already aware, my dedicated Adultwork phone was annoyingly mislaid following a trip away and despite being definitely in the house somewhere has proved elusive now for a good couple of months – since it was never switched on, ringing the number to try and locate the thing was eminently pointless and I had no option other than to post my usual number instead. However, since within literally five minutes of ticking the appropriate box and clicking on ‘save’ I had had possibly the most repellent phone call of the year from some smirking, patronising bottom feeder who confirmed he had got the number from guess-where, I gave up, removed it again and embarked upon a sustained and targeted search worthy of CSI for the missing handset. And I found it!

Even allowing for the time of year (and the weeks leading up to Christmas are the spiritual home of Messrs Book-and-cancel-an-hour-before, Book-and-don’t-bother-confirming-on-the-day-but-don’t-actually-cancel and not forgetting the old favourite Book-but-later-decide-the-time-no-longer-suits-and-then-get-in-a-huff-when-the-time-that-does-isn’t-available as per the standard at this time of year; as I suspect many other ladies will agree, it’s rarely even worth even answering the phone from now until the first week of December), the brief period of AW-reachability was more than I could cope with and the hour or so prior to my returning Adultwork Phone to it’s usual desirably dormant state brought several more gems, including one insistence that the number had come ‘from the paper’ (er, no) that what I really should do now is a ‘ten minute OWO to completion’ number for £30 ‘oh, I know you say you don’t do it haha, but you don’t mean it really and I know you girls want the money’ (guess again, fucknuts), and best of all, an obviously sociable but distinctly cagey gentleman who thought I wouldn’t notice the address he supposedly wanted to book an overnight outcall for belonged to Bar2B…In a wholly successful effort to get out of Dodge and set Christmas underway, and heartily sustained by two of the new Black Forest Hot Chocolates from Costa, I instead sallied forth into the town centre and began Phase One of the Christmas shopping (consisting of playing with jiggly gadgets in the Discovery Store before selecting a couple of Useless Things That Make A Noise for smaller relatives to entertain their respective households with, some bargain-rummaging in Wilkos for gift wrap and decorations and a trolley dash through an extremely festive-looking TK Maxx for oddbods). The specially rented tree-in-a-pot is arriving on Monday, the food shopping list has been tentatively but enthusiastically started and best of all, my Christmas hours are organised, posted and can be seen by clicking on the link at the top – yay! Yes, I know it’s last years photo, but it is rather festive, and I promise to replace it if I (or you!) have any better ideas…

As can be seen (partly from aforementioned December page) normal service is resumed this week and next (bar Tree Arriving Day on Monday 5th), and whilst I’m not aiming to wear myself out before the approaching London Marathon (sorry) I will be around for entertaining most weekdays as specified on the site – woohoo! So to the lovely, polite and genuine would-be visitors who actually get as far as a postcode (and even further) don’t be shy! The only day so far this week which is completely booked up is Saturday, so all enquiries welcome for the rest. Picture montage fans will also have noticed that I have pretty much organised the next phase of awaydays in the New Year, but since I will have enough to deal with for the remainder of this one, expect the dates to be posted towards the end of next month rather than before (although anybody reading from Cork, Dublin, Belfast, Jersey, Guernsey, Douglas, Inverness, Dundee or Edinburgh is welcome to ask. Or maybe not).

The festive season starts here! More soon – promise…

I was also fortunate enough to begin my night out with dinner in the (enviably tall and blonde) company of the lovely Amanda fae Inverness, who was visiting York (requests for a London visit have been passed on) and a couple of very enjoyable hours of dinner-and-gossip later I (short, dark, annoyed-looking) made my hasty way back to the railway station for an amble through the wilds of North Yorkshire in pitch darkness en route to Burley Park and the nearby Hyde Park Picture House, where I have not been in years (and bar a bit of a tart-up it hasn’t changed a bit, thankfully).

A visit to the 24 hour Sainsbury’s Local opposite for extra supplies to add to the brought-from-home pack up of chocolate digestives and Ribena, plus half hour or so of queuing later and I was comfortably (for the time being at least) ensconced, boots off and biscuits in hand, by quarter to midnight or so amongst a packed house of fellow horror fans, and am proud to report that bar some unavoidable minor napping around the 5am mark (which infuriatingly meant I missed a bit of Blind Alley, a brand new Spanish flick that we were privileged to be only the second audience in the world to see in it’s finished form) I made it through the entire event without flagging and eventually staggered back in the house shortly after half past twelve on Sunday lunchtime. There followed a very enjoyable pyjama-clad afternoon of sleeping on the settee in front of the X Factor repeat, lots of tea and a huge Chinese takeaway before bedtime; solemn apologies to everyone who’s only just had their emails answered today but as many will know, answering work correspondence when you’re not entirely compos mentis is rarely a good idea, let alone when you’ve spent a good portion of the preceding twelve hours watching innocent bystanders being splat-tastically rent asunder in imaginative ways by the Risen Undead. And that was just on the walk to the cinema (badumtish). Sorry.

A look at the night’s opening short film is below for anybody who wants to join in a bit, and also because it nearly made a popcorn come out of my nose (it isn’t graphic but there is sound, and the sound is important*). The follow up event Day of the Dead 5 (promising even more zombies including Cuban ones – woohoo) is next Saturday, and I am keenly awaiting it already – needless to say my last day of Scarborough availability prior to my Isle of Man/Jersey visits next week will be Friday. And anyone who’s also going, feel free to drop me a text once you’re in and if I get it I may even share my digestives.

More later in the week. To Jersey folks in particular, availability is going fast – London is also filling up quick. Christmas hours will be posted up directly, but in the meantime (as ever), just mail! And maybe while you’re online, find a local independent cinema to go and watch a film in one night (the film doesn’t have to come with a body count, although if it does so much the better and you might get a decent cup of tea). Back soon…

*For anyone disappointed at the distinct lack of zombies, scattered vital organs and semi-naked screaming laydeez, my other favourite short of the evening ‘Brutal Relax’ can be found here. Hahahahaha.

I can happily report my busiest week ever a scant two months after doing exactly the same thing following my last Cambridge/London combination, and despite the usual small handful of cancellations during the preceding week, most appointments were filled and I have been kept very much occupied! The next visit is already organised hotel-wise (and I will once again be digging my heels in for a room with a view – the one below entertained me day in and day out to the extent that I was inspired to sleep with the curtains open each night) and as ever, my London digs excelled themselves on comfort in terms of climate control – the temperature on my arrival on Tuesday lunchtime was still edging towards the 30° mark and I spent the first hour of my visit unpacking with the aircon on full blast until I realised that I was rendering the in-room refrigerator superfluous, and since my first caller was due shortly it might be not be a bad idea to keep things at least somewhere above the levels demanded by the EU directives pertaining to the storage of raw shellfish.

Having such a busy week meant that the odd bits of time off didn’t allow for going far – my one attempt at a brief afternoon jaunt worked out less well than planned when I walked the fifteen minutes or so to the Tate Modern for the Gerhard Richter exhibition on Wednesday afternoon – only to find that the show I knew vaguely was starting ‘this week’ actually opening on Thursday – bugger. Since I had a couple of bits to get from Honour and an hour and a half to spare by now, I decided to console myself with a leisurely potter back along Lower Marsh, including jerk chicken with rice and peas from one of the lunch carts and a poke round the vintage shops. My adopted neighbourhood (as usual) did not let me down, nor the evening before when a very agreeable Thai dinner for two was procured a little further up at Sino Thai for under £60 including tip (and three beers each) or even the Saturday lunchtime when more of a greasy spoon breakfast (complete with fried slice) was required at the Coral Bay Café. And all five minutes’ walk away!

Despite the misapprehensions of some to the contrary, I am no fan of the overpriced, the tourist chain or even the exceptionally posh (apart from for special treats, which is surely as it should be), and even my undoubtedly plush London accommodation is chosen far more for it’s exceptional location, comfort and overall value than it’s snob points (which it does not have anyway, being hilariously vulgar and far more fun than that). The preference shared by many ladies for Kensington, Bayswater, Mayfair and the like is a complete mystery to me, and it is surely no coincidence that the two most diabolical London work-hotels I have ever stayed in are both placed squarely (next door to each other, in fact) just around the corner from High Street tube station – one of these at least is so ubiquitous that at least half of those reading will know exactly where I mean with no more to go on than that, and also that any lady checking in by herself may as well be wearing a badge. Give me kebabs at lunchtime, proper tea in mugs and 24 hour local convenience stores any day.I rounded off my visit with an evening off and my aforementioned trip to the theatre with the lovely Kinky La Rue for Driving Miss Daisy – having intended to sit down with the film in the preceding weeks and not had the chance I was looking forward to reacquainting myself, and the combined efforts of James Earl Jones, Vanessa Redgrave and Boyd Gaines certainly did not disappoint. A wonderful time was had by all, and I even managed not to bawl all the way through it but only at the end – yay! We began by catching up over the Dinner Of Kings at the flagship Leicester Square KFC, and only just made the curtain after a slight mixup with the start times (oops) but thankfully the gods were on our side (less so the punctual theatregoers who had to stand up to let us to our smack-bang-in-the-middle seats; sorry, but I had to smell your plastic-glass-warm cheap lager all evening so it’s not as if you didn’t get your own back). We have vowed to do it again, so any suggestions for current productions What We Might Like gratefully received!

In other news, I also had occasion to nip onto Oxford Street (returning the shoes panic-bought in Cambridge as mentioned last week); imagine my joy at happening across a shop stocking the oxblood Doc Marten boots that I have coveted since I was about ten years old and was never allowed to have – they were expensive then and nothing has changed, but fortunately resources have improved at my end. I fell upon the shiny size fours with almost-disbelief and put them on immediately before deciding that at least waiting until I got back to the hotel might be sensible, and spent the next two evenings happily pottering around my mini suite in a nightie-and-boot combo that whilst unlikely to grace the pages of Vogue anytime soon, started the breaking-in process admirably well and since the final day was the last I had to walk anywhere before hometime I wore them all afternoon, until finally arriving back in Scarborough a little tired of foot but miraculously blister free.

And in Scarborough I am – the week is filling up and my next available appointments will be on Thursday. As most should know by now (apart from the gentleman I have just spoken to on the telephone) same day bookings are not available unless you ring so early that the chances of me answering are around one in ten, so proper notice is essential; my available hours are on the site too so there is ample information for those keen to catch me before my next jaunt, in barely two weeks time! I am starting to take enquiries for Edinburgh and shortly Belfast, if I can ever figure out how to place an advertisement on Escort Ireland…

Back soon!