Siani's Guide to the Perfect Getaway...

Still no news from Hot FB Guy, but I don't care because F and I are going on holiday to Morocco tomorrow. We both have this vision of us floating around the souk wearing 'Sex and the City 2' inspired outfits, swimming in a turquoise pool and sipping cocktails at a trendy club. I suspect the reality will be very different. My holidays with F are always brilliant but consist of at least one totally unexpected episode, for example, the food poisoning incident in Cuba, the crazy night with two Italian men we met in a club in Abruzzo, and large mosquito bites that turn bad.

That's the thing about holidays – the expectation is almost as good as the real thing. Just pick up any glossy women's magazine and the front cover at this time of year will consist of tips on How To Get Ready For Your Summer Holiday. Some of the suggestions inside are more expensive than the holiday itself, ridiculous and downright dangerous (some of the more extreme diets to get you 'bikini ready' for example).

Going on holiday has become a ritual in itself, involving many hours of angst (bikini shopping) pain (bikini waxing) and expense (all of it). This year, I have resisted the urge to spend hundreds of pounds on holiday gear -I have a perfectly good summer wardrobe already! Who am I kidding? I already know I'm going to spend about half of last month's salary on cute sparkly things in 'Accessorize' at the airport but never mind....

Holiday mania grips us, making us descend into a sort of frenzy, forcing us to go out and buy a myriad of mini toiletries, every glossy magazine in the newsagent and three new lip glosses (to go with the new outfits we've just bought). And then there's the anxiety caused by the fact that one will have to show one's pasty white British body off in the company of people who are tanned,slim and chic. People who don't buy Primark.

One year, desperation at the thought of wearing a bikini on holiday drove me to embark on the Slimfast Plan. I lasted two hours before I caved in – I was just too hungry and the shake that I was supposed to have eaten for lunch just hadn't cut the mustard. I went from being determined to lose two stone in a week to gulping down a sausage baguette in literally three seconds. Diets don't work for me. Especially when I know that I've got two days to get rid of that pot belly I've been cultivating all year.

I'm sure that the anxiety I'm feeling is caused wholly by the aforementioned glossies that I read. The articles on how to look nice on holiday are usually bordering on the ridiculous. For example, every summer there is a huge article about what make up to wear on the beach. Coral lipstick and gold eye shadow usually feature heavily. Now this is just downright ridiculous – who wears heavy make up in 35 degree heat? No one I know, that's for sure. There's always a double page spread of a very thin model, oiled up, wearing on of those cut away swim suits and lots of gold jewellery. To me that spells problems. Who wants a sun tan that looks like they fell asleep under a pair of Granny's net curtains? Not me.

Instead of this fantasy, I wish someone would publish a no-nonsense guide to real life holidays. Something entitled 'How to lose half a stone by next week on the biscuit diet 'or 'How to look glamorous on your staycation in Torquay when its fucking freezing and your legs have turned purple.' If I was to publish a ten point holiday guide for every girl in the UK which gave honest advice it would go like this; not that I think I'm an authority or anything...

1) Invest in beachwear that fits you properly. 32Es, a string bikini you've borrowed from your sister and water jets in the pool is a disaster waiting to happen. Believe me.

2) Wear sun cream – religiously. Apart from the threat of skin cancer which is nasty enough, sun burn screams 'I'm British and I got too excited and momentarily lost my brain this afternoon when I tried to fry myself by the pool using only olive oil as an spf.' Really sad. Foundation doesn't cover sun burn by the way. It just makes you look like a badly made-up drag queen.

3)Avoid fabrics like viscose, polyester and the like. Scratchy, common and give you baaad sweat marks. You might also end up looking like you fallen into the reject basket at Primark. Not a good look. However, come to think of it, these fabrics are probably easier to wipe the sick off when you've had one too many cocktails.

4) When packing consider if you're really really going to wear everything in your case. That ball gown may not be right for Ayia Napa.

5)If something looks or smells dodgy, trust your instincts and don't eat it. Having a non solid poo situation can ruin a romantic moment when you meet that hot local guy. I had a situation last year in Turkey that involved being in a dinghy with the hot man from the hotel jewellery shop and really bad diarrhoea. He was looking into my eyes, I was wondering if I could manage to not poo on his leg. Not fun.

6) And speaking of local men, have fun. But don't be stupid. You know what I mean. Bear in mind that they may do this kind of thing with British tourists all the time. (I've done it btw, many times!) Going off on a tangent a little bit here, it scares and shocks me that many of my friends admit to having unprotected sex with men they've met on holiday. You might as well put your hand up and make a request for chlamydia, a warty fanny or worse.

7) Only go on holiday with someone that you get on with really well. At some point during the holiday you're both probably going to be tired, hungover and grouchy. Tempers will become frayed and you'll both need to deal with it. I once spent a weekend with some casual acquaintances on the Isle of Wight who were, I realised after a day in their company, addicted to playing on their I-Phones. Annoying. To be honest though, it was the Isle of Wight in February. It wasn't like there was that much else to do. After three days there I would have been happy to play on an an I-Phone all day and I'm a technophobe...

8) Take a nap at around 4 pm every day. You will need to be fresh for all that crazy partying that you're going to do. Don't forget to have as much fun as possible - on holiday it is permissible to do things you wouldn't at home. Can you see yourself dancing on the table, holding an extra large Martini and lemonade back in All Bar One? Thought not.

9) Be a classy traveller – learn about the culture and a few phrases and if it's a Muslim country cover up a bit when you go out. Be polite and courteous to everyone you meet. Also, ending up in jail because you fancied some al fresco frolics on the beach with a man from Birmingham is a stupid situation that can easily be avoided.

10) Lastly, try to go somewhere where there are no other British people. Or at least not the kind who wear hankies on the heads and expect a full fried breakfast every morning. I've found that being able to speak Welsh comes in very handy in situations when you want to differentiate yourself from other Brits on holiday. It's also a good deterrent against being harassed by the kind of person who starts a sentence with 'Hey pretty ladies...' So if you know any obscure languages, use them!

Anyway, after imparting those (questionable) words of wisdom, I need to go. F and I are going for a Brazilian and then bikini shopping. I suspect I'm going to need to have some drinks to get over the trauma of seeing myself nearly naked in a full length shop mirror, cellulite and all. Wish me luck ladies.....

Drawing the Line

Sorry I've been away for so long. Packing up one's life into a series of cardboard boxes is very time consuming. So is cancelling direct debits and saying good bye to all those people who have been part of your life for the last few years. Not to say emotionally draining, tedious and unbelievably exhausting.

On Friday, the last day of school, I attempted to draw a neat line under the past three years. I cleaned out the drama studio and said my goodbyes. After having lunch with workmates at the local pub, I walked back to school to get my car, only to be found sobbing hysterically by Roger the caretaker in the car park. I was crying because I had just had an emotional goodbye with my friends, but also because I knew that I'd never see Hot FB Guy again. I had just made the decision to leave the pub without saying goodbye to him, feeling that there was no good way to do it. I was afraid that if I wasn't careful, I would shatter the cool calm exterior that I've been so carefully cultivating for the past few months, start to blub hysterically and tell him the truth, which is that actually, I'm in love with him and have been since last October.

Turns out that it isn't that easy to draw a line. Turns out that cutting someone that important out of your life just doesn't work. I should have realised that when I deleted him from FB, only to spend a huge amount of time obsessing over him. A couple of hours later, whilst I was trying to work out how to get the entire contents of my house into my car boot, he texted saying that he hoped I was going out that night so he could say goodbye to me.

Of course I was.

Well, to cut a long story short, I didn't stay at J's as planned that night. We left the club together and sat in the taxi back to his, me in a fever of anticipation and almost not believing that finally, finally, something was going to happen. Back at his, we did stuff and said stuff that should have been done and said months ago. Not wanting to over share, I'll just say that I returned back to J's at ten the next morning with a huge smile on my face and last night's make up on. All I can say is we fitted. Perfectly. Waking up in the morning and realising that I was naked in bed with Hot FB Guy was a pretty awesome experience. Even better when he put his arms around me and held me really tightly like he didn't want to let me go.

Now I know what you cynical people are thinking. That because I'm leaving, he saw me as a sure thing. I'm not deluding myself and I'm sure that's part of it. But in a way, because I'm leaving, I've safe guarded myself against getting really hurt. It can't go anywhere for purely geographical reasons. And we're obviously not going to have a long distance relationship. To be honest, it was a brilliant way to end things. It would have been an even better way to start something, but hey, shit happens. I'm leaving in less than a month and I had one of the best nights of my life on Friday. I'm pretty sure that I'll remember it for … ever.

The only thing is, that he's ruined my plan to sever all ties with him. Before Friday, my feelings were manageable. I was going to leave without saying good bye and walk away without a backward glance (almost). But when you've spent the night with someone, they've seen you naked from pretty much every angle and stared into your eyes and stroked your hair and kissed you everywhere, well, that's a different story. And it was like that, by the way.

As he drove me back to J's, we talked about endings. When I commented on it being the end of an era, he told me not to put labels on things. He also asked me when I was actually going going. I know that I can't hope that I will see him again. Our goodbye (casual and brief) made me think that he didn't feel that it was properly over. But I can't let myself hope. I have to be tough, even though never seeing him again makes me want to cry and bash my head against the wall. I'm going to be really philosophical about this – I'm leaving and I'm sure that they will plenty of hot men in Bucharest. Men who aren't afraid to face their feelings and men who don't have an addiction to Facebook.

So, here's the line

It really is the end of an era.

Persona Non Grata

I have a friend who is perfect. Really, really, perfect. She has a beautiful baby and a gorgeous husband. Her house is artfully arranged in shabby chic style and she is deliriously happy. We used to work together, and when the baby was born, I sent her a couple of cute babygros and a card. Recently, I have spent a few afternoons round at hers, drinking cups of tea and gossiping. I thought we were close. Maybe not kindred spirits but certainly good friends.

Yesterday, this friend sent me a text reminding me about next Sunday, which was interesting because as far as I knew, next Sun I'm probably doing my usual mundane Sunday routine of Tescos and cleaning the bathroom. I asked J who told me that it is the baby's naming ceremony on Sunday and hadn't I already been invited? She had had her invite weeks ago. It was probably just a mistake, she said, and she texted my perfect friend to ask. The answer came back – a definite no. The text was a group one which she had sent me by accident. Apparently they wanted to keep the event 'small'. Maybe I'm such a large person that the ceremony would be jeopardized by my presence? Actually I'm not that bothered about not being invited, but more that my friend would send me that text and then just point blank say that I absolutely, definitely wasn't invited. It's so different to the way I operate – if I did that I would have to back track and say that of course the social pariah who I had mistakenly invited as well was meant to be coming! And I had just forgotten to send them an invite! Silly Me!

This has shown me that this person isn't perfect after all. In fact, it has shown me that she's socially unaware and doesn't care about the feelings of others. It's quite refreshing to realise this. And to be honest, a baby naming ceremony isn't really my idea of a fun thing to do on a Sunday. Spending the day lying on the sofa reading the BBC Good Food Magazine with a nice cup of tea is in fact preferable. Or colour coding my underwear drawer. Or de-scaling the kettle.

However part of me is, I admit, a little bit put-out. The feeling I have is similar to the one you get when you realise that someone you quite like has de-friended you on Facebook. Or like the one I used to get when no one wanted to play Famous Five with me in primary school (I was always George, obviously.) Logically though, I know I should act my age and not take it personally. I keep saying to myself that it doesn't matter and it's not a reflection on me. It's just because they didn't have space to invite hundreds of people.

But hang on a minute, perhaps they actively don't want me to be there? Me in particular? I can just imagine the line being crossed through my name on the list - if it was ever on there in the first place. What a nasty thought. Maybe the presence of a single 31 year old girl with shrivelled ovaries and a raucous laugh would ruin the happy (but serene) vibe of the occasion. And perhaps my friend is afraid that I might crack onto all the single men there. Maybe she thinks I'd be like the drunk great aunt at the wedding who has one too many gin and tonics and falls into the flower bed at the reception? Maybe I'm actually a really horrible, socially inept person? No, that can't be it...All my friend say I'm a Good Laugh! Maybe that's the problem? Maybe I'm too much fun? Maybe I have to face the fact I'm just not the kind of person who makes a good guest at a baby naming ceremony. Oh dear.

This situation and the fact that I don't even want to go to the ceremony has made me face a couple of things: 1. That this friend isn't that good a friend at all and 2. How different our lives have become. It has also made me consider the kind of person I am and how I operate socially. Sadly, I know that I'm not going to be in contact with this person any more. She has essentially made it impossible for us to be friends or even acquaintances because the next time she sees me she's going to have to mention it. I have a feeling she will try to avoid that kind of situation.

In re-evaluating myself and how I would have behaved had it been the other way around, I have also considered whether I'm feeling bitter because I'm jealous of my perfect friend with the perfect baby, the gorgeous house and her perfect existence. I can honestly say that I'm not. Her life is mapped out forever whereas I feel as if I'm about to start a new adventure, one of my own making. And what could be more perfect than that?