I've moved back from Singapore, still unemployed and pregnant!

So my Big Plan to review every pub in South East Asia and come home sitting on enough material for a sort of Lonely Planet for people whose first and only question on arrival in a new destination is "where's the best pub?" didn't quite come to pass. Mainly because I decided to write a chick lit book instead (think third generation Jilly Cooper - less sex and horses than the original but more characters and storylines than Bridget Jones) but also because, in my defence, there aren't any pubs in South East Asia.

I also got a part time job in the shipping industry which brought me into contact with pirates. Or at least, I attended a lecture on The History of Piracy in the Malay Archipelago. And actually, that was just out of personal interest, nothing to do with the job at all really beyond displaying a certain enthusiasm for select aspects of the shipping industry.

Anyway, Mozz and I are back in London now, not in our house which is happily rented out, but in a flat overlooking the river in Greenwich which is equally conducive to writing chick lit and gazing at sea gulls out of the window. Right now however I thought I'd pay this blog a visit as there are two men in the flat fixing loo seats, touching up paintwork and doing lots of other crappy little jobs that you don't have to do yourself when you rent.

Greenwich of course is home to many fine pubs. Sadly I won't be re-discovering them in their full, ale drenched glory as it seems the moment we conceived, the government rushed out new advice telling expectant mothers that, on reflection, it's probably safest not to drink any alcohol at all, rather than aiming for two units a week, getting a bit tipsy on the 2nd glass and rationalising that the rest of the bottle can't hurt (moi?) So until some time in November I'm off the ale and apparently as soon as the kid pops out parental anxiety kicks in and you never trust yourself to 'let go' completely again. So on that basis it'll be, let's see, 2028 before I can review another pub without a rather ungracious edge of frustrated abstinence. 

But what the hell, since any devout pub and ale fans surely deserted this blog a long, long time ago, I'll just waffle on about whatever takes my fancy, thus falling - on my face - into the category of bored housewives who blog about the daily drudgery of their lives, looking for salvation through an outlet and audience. I've developed what I thought was an irrational hatred of female journalists-turned-lifestyle-columnists who witter in the Sunday supplements about their amusing children, emotionally detached Colin Firtheque husbands and chaotic, yet lovely, homes - until I realised it wasn't irrational hatred but perfectly rational jealousy mixed with disbelief that I was experiencing. They get paid for this shite?

Anyway, just remembered I still need to work out domain mapping to get millymossop.com back up and running properly again, which was the whole point of logging on in the first place. Or maybe I'll leave that for when Mozz gets home and I'll try and finish my chapter...