Chapter 37 - It’s in the Stars
Great Morning TV! – New Year’s Day
Prologue ‘Three…two…one…Happy New Year!’
The champagne corks popped, streamers fell, the music blared, lovers embraced, their hearts overflowing with joy as they welcomed in another year…
But unfortunately all that happened on the TV.
In my living room, three twenty-something friends sat shrouded in dejection, watching the celebrations on the box, each clutching a sparkler in one hand and a drink in the other.
‘We are officially the saddest people on the planet,’ I muttered.
‘No, we are not!’ argued Stuart.
Over on the other couch, Trish burst into a faux-tragic rendition of ‘My Heart Must Go On’.
‘Okay, now we are,’ said Stu. ‘Right, Trish, one verse and a chorus and that’s it. My ears will start to bleed any minute.’
His voice got louder with every word as he endeavoured to be heard over the noise of poppers and whistles coming from next door. Even my neighbour Mrs Naismith was having a much wilder time than us, which, given that she was in her seventies, was taking the night to a whole new level of depression.
A wave of something suddenly consumed me. In hindsight it was probably several large glasses of Rosé Cava, but at that moment it absolutely felt like it was something real–something important. ‘I’m making a resolution,’ I announced.
‘Here we go…’ grinned Stuart, consulting his watch. ‘Two minutes, three seconds–that’s a record.’
I ignored him and spoke up so that I could be heard over the noise of Trish going down with the Titanic.
‘My dear saddo friends, this is it–this is the year I stop being unfulfilled, skint and single. I’m going to find the perfect job, the perfect man, the perfect life. Oh, and sex–I’m going to have bloody great sex!’
I stood up with a flourish and dramatically raised my glass to propose a toast…
‘Wow!’ spluttered Stu and Trish in perfect synchronisation.
I was gratified by the enthusiastic reactions from my audience.
‘I know,’ I continued, in the solemn, dignified manner of a politician announcing that he was running for prime minister, ‘it’s a huge challenge, but I’m determined.’
‘Leni, get out of the way of the telly! We weren’t wowing you, you daft cow–you’ve made that same speech every year since 1998. We were wowing at the poor bloke playing the bagpipes. A gust of wind just flicked up his kilt and he flashed the entire watching world.’
Trish had now ceased channelling Celine Dion and dissolved into a puddle of giggles. ‘And I don’t rate his chances of getting a date tonight.’
Stu automatically leapt to the defence of his fellow man. ‘Look, it’s cold out there–give the guy a break.’
I thumped back down on the couch just as Stu and Trish’s laughter escalated due to the antics of the demented presenter, who was now making the whole situation even more hilarious by trying to hold down the front of the undeniably cute piper’s kilt with a large microphone.
Fabulous–the announcement of my life-changing mission had been gazumped by an event that would feature on those TV’s Naughtiest Blunders until the end of time. Although…I suppose they did have a point. Yes, I had made similar resolutions before, but this time I absolutely, definitely meant it. I did. This was going to be the year that I changed my destiny, and the only way to do that would be to take chances, be bold, be fearless, and relentlessly look for opportunities everywhere. Starting right now.
I wondered if there was any chance of getting that piper’s number?
Four weeks later…
‘Leni, do you truly believe that the stars control your fate?’ asked the woman in front of me. The same woman that had positioned her desk according to the laws of feng shui, studied my feet, cleansed my chakras, and taken a snapshot of my aura. And that was just at our first meeting.
This was the second and final interview and she’d upped the stakes by comparing our Chinese horoscopes, reading my retinas, analysing my star sign (Libra), and asking me to join in a meditation session to connect with our higher selves. To be honest, my higher self just wanted to know if I had the job and whether or not it came with private healthcare, because if I sat with my legs in the crossed position for much longer I’d have a groin strain that would require urgent medical attention.
In the meantime, I nodded in what I hoped was a Zenlike fashion at Zara Delta, spiritual guru, author, television celebrity and founder of the web’s most popular astrology site: www.itsinthestars.net.
Other than the cosmos, Uranus, Neptune and whatever other paranormal forces that may or may not have been involved, I had Trish to thank for getting me in front of Ms Delta. After four years in catering college, Trish had abandoned her idea of becoming a chef in her final year, when a particularly challenging work placement made her realise that putting her own rather volatile personality in close proximity to notoriously temperamental creatures in a confined space stacked with lethal weapons could one day lead to the need for a defence lawyer. Instead, she’d taken the admin route and worked her way up to Food & Beverage Manager of a very swanky London hotel, before buckling to her love of all things shallow and showbiz by accepting a job as Hospitality & Catering Manager at Great Morning TV!, a role that involved meeting, greeting and catering to every whim, request and rumbling stomach of the show’s stars and guests. Want all the blue M&Ms out of the bowl? Trish would get it done (although she might offer several suggestions as to where the offending sweets could be stored, all of which would require surgery to remove). If a Hollywood A-lister required her macrobiotic bran to be served by Buddhist monks on skateboards, Trish was the one who nipped down to the temple to deliver a crash course in street sports. A soap star showed up drunk, in the night-before’s party clothes, having somehow lost her knickers along the way? Trish’s trusty supply of coffee, aspirins and granny pants came to the rescue. It was rumoured that she even supplied a notorious movie-star bad boy with the medication to cure his crabs after a traumatising incident involving a pre-show shower, suspect residue on a towel and several minutes of stomach-churning screams (all his). She had so far refused to confirm or