New flatmate - and it's Scouse Doris

The house is all a-flutter this morning as the oft-beblogged Scouse Doris moves her belongings 9 houses down the street to join me in my apartment, which heralds the end of the stagiaire-flatmate era. I started taking flatmates in 1997 because I caught myself sharing my dinner with the cat and realised that I was turning into one of those self-sufficient bra-hitching cigar-smoking spinsters that have men achieving personal bests in the Great Escape Steeplechase and I couldn't be doing with that. Over the years having flatmates has hopefully brought me adaptability and negotiating skills that could come in useful if ever Cupid's arrow actually stuck for more than five minutes. He needs to use something with a point to it (wow, that works on so many levels) and at the moment all he's actually using is suckers.

It's been fun having a new bright young thing in the house every five months or so, I've learned a little Italian and Spanish and German and Swedish and I've made a whole bunch of friends. But now it's me who's thinking of travelling, mid-term at least, and I want to leave the apartment in the hands of someone stable and permanent. How much nicer for that person to be Scouse Doris, fellow sci-fi fan, gastronome, and seeker after knowledge. Our differing libraries alone will keep us in after-dinner conversation for years. The only danger will be that it might turn into one long party. We have decided to impose an alcohol ban when we're home together without guests. I have a strong suspicion there'll be a lot of people dragged in to dinner.

Speaking of dinners and guests, the Mrs. T's blog competition is still open. By all accounts, Tippler has found her blog, but as he has not as yet vouchsafed its URL unto me, he can still be beaten to it. Until I get the address, the dinner remains unclaimed.

Win a dinner!

OK. Mrs. T says she's started a blog, and she wants us all to go and hunt for it.
I've googled her, and it seems she is either running a pierogi and desserts delivery service, a triathlon in Chicago, was the first woman Prime Minister of the United Kingdom, takes photos on Cape Cod, or runs a blog reviewing handbags, none of which sounds remotely like the Mrs. T I know.

I can only assume Mrs T. is writing under a different name than that which she comments with. In which case, how are we ever supposed to find her?

I hereby announce I will cook a dinner for the first of you to give me Mrs. T's blog's URL. Mrs. T and her husband are not allowed to enter this competition.

Alea iacta est

I sent my application for Delegation today. The final shortlist featured

Managua, Nicaragua (twice)
Bogota, Colombia
Delhi, India
Jakarta, Indonesia
Suva, Fiji

I clicked the 'send' button and within about 10 minutes got a case of the shakes. I have to say I also felt completely euphoric. It was the wierdest combination of fear and thrill...

Now there'll be a couple of interviews or so over the next three months, and then in September we'll all be told where we're going. I'll keep you posted... as to where I'll be posted...