So, with something to write about, I have once again returned.
I must warn you now, this is going to be a somewhat soppy post. (I won't be at all offended if you press the 'back' button at this point. I totally appreciate that not everyone wants to read about how blissfully happy someone is. Tales of awful dates, jaw dropping moments of bastardism and over analysing every detail of a text conversation can be much more entertaining.)
Two months ago I dedicated a blog post to the fact that I had finally found a boyfriend. It was the cyber equivalent of standing on the rooftops and telling anyone who would listen. For the girl who thought that she would always be the girl who went from one date to the next, would never find Mr Right and always be with Mr Right Now, it was something to shout about!
Like everyone who is single, I had friends who often said, stop looking, it will happen when you least expect it. And, although I hate to prove them right (as I often thought, surely you have to look for the things you want, they aren't just going to appear in front of you), they were. I went out one night and there he was, literally right in front of me.
So many times in the past I had stressed over 'The Conversation', wondering what all the dates meant or where they were going, but this time round it was easy.
Within the first few weeks I had met his parents, (The last time I met a boy's parents was when I was 15!) Needless to say I was full of nerves, hoped his mum liked me and thought me good enough to be with her son, and not get too drunk thus making a complete prat of myself. Thankfully all went well (I think, I hope) and I assume I passed the Parent Test. (Again, I think, I hope!)
Not too long after becoming an item we decided to go away for a few days. The first test of our relationship. Could we last three days in a row without annoying each other? Would I discover some awful habit that he had that hadn't yet manifested itself? Would he have enough of me after the first 24 hours? Not to mention ensuring I was shaved within a milli inch of my skin and had the 'right attire' packed.
With one get away under our belt, we decided to take it Continental and a few weeks ago we flew to Barcelona for a few days. (NB my first ever holiday with a boy!)
With little Spanish between us (and what I really mean is, I know none and he just a little more) we soon found ourselves....lost!
However, with a pint of beer costing the same as a bottle of water in M&S, we soon found ourselves sheltering from the torrential rain in a little cafe, drinking enough to not care that we had no idea where in the city we were, or in which direction our hotel was. Thank the holiday gods for taxis!
The next few days were spent being tourists (and hungover), taking photos of the architecture, along with setting the self timer to try to capture those all important couplely holiday shots. (Cue change of Facebook profile picture.)
From the moments where we lay in bed, laughing between kisses, to the dinner dates and drunken nights out, the adventures in different hotels and surprise notes left for each other, I can't help but think...damn, he's lucky! And of course, I didn't do too badly either.