When I was little my parents made repeated attempts to get me to learn French, play the piano and put clothes in a cupboard rather than stewing them across the floor. Naturally I now do none of these things, not because they would be intolerable cruelties, but just because even the yawningly unrebellious need to hold on to something. (I remember a discussion at uni when we all realised what boringly pliant children we’d been, and that this probably wasn’t a coincidence.) Anyway, the point is that while these attempts at indoctrination clearly failed – parlez-vous anglais? – when it came to going on long walks I think I got a bit of Stockholm syndrome instead. I’m quite sure I didn’t used to approve of being dragged across Hampstead Heath, but this long ago transformed into a middle aged urge to stroll, which explains Grace and I actually spent her last Saturday in London going on a ramble. An actual ramble. In the actual countryside.
Well, Surrey.
Genuine countryside. We haven’t photoshopped this.
In the end I plumped for Box Hill, found an awesomely detailed walk (which fulfilled my main criterion of having a pub in the middle of it) and set off to get lost, get back on track again, say nervous hellos to people passing in the other direction, locate the approximate clearing for Hagrid’s hut, upload photos of maize because neither of us knew what it was and still get the train back in time for Doctor Who. Determinedly uncool fun with unnecessary technological flourishes… I think I’ve just written my life’s mission statement 
Look at this – I’ve rambled on (aha) for so long that I’ve run out of time to mention the two book launches – “sorry, I know we’ve just had a nice conversation and everything but you’re Alastair bloody Campbell so I definitely need to be embarrassing and get a photo with you now” – or the myriad of fun drinks, dinners and Daily Mail bashings recently. I just thought I’d prove that I do occasionally leave the city.
Read it and weep, anyone-with-uncommon-letters-in-their-name
This definitely deserves a post: Abbi and Paul’s wedding on Saturday! I was looking through my photos to put this together and realised that my very first photo of Paul only dates from April last year – somehow it seems like a lot longer, but only because they’re such a great couple who are so definitely right for each other. So congrats guys 
And thanks for giving us all an excuse to get dressed up and dance embarrassingly for many hours! (Photos will find their way onto Facebook eventually – but if you want the whole lot now, just holla and I shall e-mail.)
Wedding: livestreamed. Because we’re all so freaking modern.
When you think about, that’s about 10% of class 7P right there
The Abbi and Paul Royal Wedding Party
Our unnecessary detour down Greenwich tunnel
Lots of dancing!
Awww
“Awww”
Now one of my favourite ever photos
One of the most memorable nuggets of British social history I ever gleaned from my degree was a discussion in some journal article or other (now that’s referencing!) of friendships, and specifically how the working class experience of friendship differed profoundly from its middle class equivalent. Note that this was social history and is almost certainly no longer applicable for a host of obvious reasons, but I still find it helpful when thinking about the modern evolution of ‘friendship’ into the twenty-first century Facebook ‘you’ve been tagged…’ version. It was this: the working classes were much more likely to have one main ‘set’ of lifelong friends who were each connected in a multitude of ways. This happens if you all grow up in the same area, go to the same school before progressing to work locally together and have low rates of migration in and out of the area. The middle classes, on the other hand, would accumulate lots of little ‘pots’ of friends over their lives from growing up, going to school, university and then working with all sorts of different people in different places. Your friends, on the whole, don’t know each other – from your perspective, the entirety of your social relationships orbits you.
Each has its own advantages and disadvantages, naturally. The middle class version is great for networking, variety and – depending on how you feel about this – living out different personas. It’s also less vulnerable to great social changes that affect a whole community: whole industries suddenly closing, for example. But it might also be more vulnerable on an individual level, prompting feelings of alienation (‘…do I have any real friends?’) and demanding quite a lot of time and energy to keep it all going. It’s not that it lacks ‘community’ as such, since it’s a hotchpotch network of bespoke communities, it’s just that no one community is geared to look out for those people who suddenly drop out of all friendships.
Anyway, none of this is particularly helpful for anyone interested in making a choice between the two since we’ve all surely moved inexorably towards the ‘middle class’ way of friendships. Don’t get me wrong – I like it this way – it’s just rather complex and intricate. And also, it makes it harder to blog. I’ve had many fun times over the past couple of weeks, and caught up with lots of good friends, so it’s hard to know where to start. Robert’s back from America. Saoirse hosted a really fun dinner party and made some delicious gnocchi too. Harriet and I seem to have settled into a twice-yearly routine of going for a drink in The Island. And… well, instead of just listing things, I’ll spam you with recent photos instead 
One of my favourite photos of the summer (thanks, Joshua!)
Paintballing at Paul’s Stag
Alex and Grace (not 100% in focus, but still smiling)
Waking up at Oliver and Abi’s last weekend
Money saving tip: live on the pavement
Money saving tip #2: this one’s obvious
Lovely lunch (and impromptu yoga?) with Eleanor
Ben and I started at Groupon together. We both approve of pie.
• The moment you really feel like you’re a fully-fledged member of the team comes not through performance appraisal, sharing food or being given a nickname, but instead when being asked for help in a classic alcohol-plus-vomit misadventure at a leaving do. (Happy to help!)
• When someone says “hey Dom, you look like someone who might be good at Excel…” it isn’t necessarily code for “hey Dom, you look like a loser”. They might just want help with Excel.
• Everyone should have an office frenemy: someone equally willing to participate in a long-running conceit that you detest each other when, actually, maybe deep down you don’t think they’re quite so awful after all. (He is pretty awful though.)
• My voice still says ‘conservative’ to some even though I am very street and totally down with the kids, m’lord. Sadly this fails to bring the social opprobrium it probably deserves.
• The geography of Ireland, both physically and politically, is not entirely well-understood by everyone.
• Those with sufficient catering training (or just decent enough motor skills) to carry a large number of mugs of tea at once have my unwavering respect.
• And on a similar subject, tea, coffee and milk are all free and will magically restock themselves during the day. If for some reason this doesn’t happen it is more than acceptable to go on little sorties to other floors to fetch some. Just try not to get caught.
• Some people still stumble across this blog after becoming Facebook friends and naturally expect some content. So this is for you!
Matt and Laura’s incredible duck collection
All bosses do this, right?
When in doubt, sticky note it
Jane and Tarquin visiting London
Linda Moffitt on Colombia: “Such a sweet memory of the four of you meeting up in Colombia!” Dec 2, 07:42
