A few days ago I was going through a bit of a rough patch with my boyfriend. Usually I spend every penny I have on going to Cardiff to spend time with him on his days off from work, but due to a succession of disappointments, loss of tempers and a subsequent bitter silence in which I cried and vomited (yes, it is possible to cry and vomit at the same time, isn’t life magical) in grief, I ended up having a lot of spare cash to cheer myself up with, seeing as I was, for all intents and purposes, single. I didn’t have a train ticket to buy, and no need to hoard my cash for date nights. I was free and alone and broken and rich for about 48 hours.
I had to go into town with my family during this time, and while I was there I wandered into Boots, claiming to be looking for a new foundation (but deep down looking for a new face, a new life, a new heart), something pale enough to match my now helplessly anaemic skin. I found Infallible by L’Oreal in Porcelain, which I double checked in the sunlight and found it to match my skin very nicely. On top of that I bought a new concealer, Lasting Perfection by Collection, the one I’ve been hearing Tanya Burr rave about so much. I got a powder by Collection too, in Ivory, which was only £1.99 so I couldn’t really justify NOT buying it. I also picked up a matte pink lipstick by Kate Moss for Rimmel; I’ve never tried any of the Kate Moss stuff before now and to be honest I’m not greatly impressed. The pigment isn’t as dense as I was expecting, and even though it’s quite matte, it’s also really creamy, and I prefer my lipstick to stay put. I guess I’ve been spoiled by Mac formulas. Lastly, I got an angled foundation brush from E.l.f, my new favourite place to pick up make-up brushes. Oh, and magazines, of course. My mother, bless her soul, gave me the two Lavera creams; one for face and one for body.
After that hellish 48 hours or so, I was out blogging in one of the only places in town that provides free WiFi, and I got a call from my father saying that a bouquet of flowers had arrived for me and what should he do with them. I told him to leave them on the sofa and I would deal with them when I got home. I waited for him to hang up. ‘They’re nice flowers’, he said, ‘very nice’. ‘I’m sure they are’, I replied. When I got home I found a large concoction of roses and lilies sort of propped up on some cushions, my father having obviously been worried they would fall everywhere and be spoiled. While I was transferring them to a vase, a little note dropped out, which simply read ‘I’m Sorry’. For some reason I couldn’t help but imagine him saying that to the florist when the guy asked him if there was to be a message, and I smiled at the thought, just because it seems so odd that a stranger should know that he is sorry, but not know why. We are meeting up on Wednesday, to talk. At least I won’t have to worry about my make-up.