Missing – Presumed Dead
24 Feb 2012 7 Comments
First of all I want to apologise for being so rubbish at writing posts this week! I have successfully managed a grand total of 0 – go me!
In my defence, I have been half heartedly packing to move house and trying to juggle a hell of a lot of work. My packing has consisted of sitting my sister on my bed and offloading 30% of my stuff onto her, putting 20% into a bag for the charity shop and packing the rest carefully (read.. throwing) into a suitcase. My cosmetics and toiletries take up a small suitcase (if you know me you really won’t be surprised by this, I am addicted to lotions and potions that smell good / make me smell good) and everything else is being sacrifices. I simply cannot be bothered.
I can hear you guys all shouting about neglect, but I have been making guest appearances elsewhere, so if you need a distraction please hop over and read my brain dump about turning into my mother on Sam’s blog, and my insight into why the British drink so much tea at a new favourite of mine, Smitten by Britain.
I have mostly been listening to Emeli Sande and the Mamas and the Papas, and counting down the days till I hop on the plane to California. Prepare for me to embrace my inner beach chick and give you the sort of posts that you have come to expect from these trips for a few weeks; shots of beaches and food and all the fab things that I am up to.
I promise this weekend I will post.. and watch this space for a fantastic post from the only person that has ever sent me fan mail (and therefore my favourite person) Bas, on why he is baffled by girls visiting the loo in packs.
Have a lovely weekend 
The Demon Barber of Fleet Street
18 Feb 2012 11 Comments
Everyone loves a good story, don’t they? And with the rich history that comes with good old England, there are a good few murder stories that come with the city I have moved to. My favourite is Sweeney Todd, the barber of Fleet Street. He used to kill people, and then the pie shop next door used to make them into pies and sell them to the unsuspecting Londoners. Makes you think that next time you have lunch, you might take the veggie option, doesn’t it?
His shop was 186 Fleet Street, and here he is believed to have robbed and murdered over one hundred and fifty of his customers, putting him in poll position as the most prolific serial killer in the history of the capital city.
The story of Sweeney Todd is that when customers were sitting on the barber’s chair in the shop that he owned after learning to cut hair in prison, it would revolve and they would be dropped through a trap door. Another would fill its place, leaving the demon barber of Fleet Street to go down a flight of stairs to the unconscious victim and slit their throat. Sinister.
What makes the story even more sinister is that there was a lady who is said to have run a shop around the corner called Mrs Lovett, and her shop was a pie shop. Between the two of them they discovered a disused tunnel under the barbers that ran beneath the crypt of St Dunstan’s church and ended up in her shop which was an easy path that linked the two, and made them able to have a horrible partnership. Between the two of them they killed and cooked up over one hundred and fifty victims, until he was hung in front of a crowd of thousands at Newgate Prison. Mrs Lovett was found by prison wardens poisoned to death in the same prison.
The story was recently made into a film directed by Tim Burton and starring Johnny Depp and Helena Bonham Carter (who else?!) bringing the story back into the public eye. Makes you think twice about getting your hair cut!
Whats the most interesting story about the place where you live?
The Universal Language
15 Feb 2012 14 Comments
in Thoughts Tags: blog, dailies, love, personal, this and that, thoughts
Unless you had your head buried in the sand you will know that yesterday was Valentine’s Day (or as the boys in my office call it, Singles Awareness Day). You couldn’t move for flowers and cards in the shops, and there were some really sweet gestures seen across the capital. Dinners, dates, even text messages to just make that person that they were thinking of feel special. It kinda gives you the fuzzies, doesn’t it?
Some days make me think that the world has truly gone mad and yesterday did feature highly as of them when an infographic was circulated round the office from a guy who had designed it to propose to his girlfriend. It talked about the idea of meeting a soulmate and that statistics of finding someone and settling down, and the qualities he loved about her.
Read here…
Aaaaah, said a few. But most people thought it was cheesy, and the world of social media going a bit mad. Whatever would have happened if she had said no? The idea of asking someone such a big question must be nerve wracking at the best of times, let alone having an audience of the whole world with the heads swiveled to watch you and see how this one pans out. I personally think that although a bit mental, it was a really sweet gesture and the sort of thing that must have been very personal to her. And by the way, she said yes.
They say romance is dead and chivalry is long gone, and down in London underground you see a microcosm of society that often makes you feel like this is the truth. People are horribly rude to each other and men shove you out-of-the-way to get on the packed train while women roll their enormous suitcases over your feet without care, but then you see the good side of humanity. Yesterday I practically had a five-minute cuddle with a perfect stranger who jumped on the tube right at the last-minute and was pressed up against me for the duration of the journey. It made me think of how people on the tube never make eye contact let alone smile, and how uncomfortable people would be if someone in a bear suit got on and started dishing out free hugs. It kept me amused for the whole journey, while my face was pressed into someone’s unwashed hair.
Last night there was a really old man sitting in a seat on the train, and you couldn’t see his face because he had such a big bunch of roses placed on his lap. Whoever was getting those would have a smile on their face, and it made me think that actually, despite the fact that it is designed to boost business (in Japan there is a tradition where women give men chocolates on Valentine’s Day. This was started by one of the big confectionary companies there, and caught on) it is a nice reminder to tell those you love that you love them. Even if you do it every other day of the year, sometimes we forget to say what we really think.
My sister and I always get each other a Valentine’s card. I can’t remember how long ago this started, but we have done it year in year out to make the other one feel good. Last year when she was living in San Diego I made sure I sent her one, and this year we exchanged them as normal. I always write it with my right hand so she ‘doesnt know’ who it’s from. It makes the whole thing more fun.
Some facts about Valentine’s Day, and love:
The Italian city of Verona, where Romeo and Juliet was set, gets over 1000 love letters to Juliet a year. it just goes to show that we still believe in love, however jaded some people might have become.
- see the full infographic at visual.ly
Nothing is known about the saint who gives the day its name other than he was buried north of Rome on this date.
The oldest surviving love poem to date was written in clay around 3500 BC.
Happy Wednesday
Fake It To Make It
13 Feb 2012 19 Comments
in Girls Tags: blog, dailies, funny, humor, just sayin, thoughts
I know what you are all thinking. “That girl is such a natural beauty”. You weren’t? What gives? All us girls know that to leave the house looking like this would be social suicide. But why? Coco the Clown isn’t bang on trend for spring summer 2012? Jeeeeeeez.
We are all guilty of a little fakery. Whether you wear that uber bra that makes you look four cup sizes bigger, meticulously stick on fake lashes before you go out for the night or stain your bed sheets orange trying to get that perfect sunkissed look, it’s all the same.
But the interesting point is the difference between what us girls think is too much and what the men folk around us deem to be unacceptable. My first boyfriend once informed me that he hated it when I wore makeup, yet hadn’t even noticed my existence at college until I lost the glasses in favour of contacts, and put a bit of makeup on. Funny that.
I love a fake eyelash or two and I fake tan in the winter months to stop people mistaking me for Casper the Friendly Ghost. A tan really makes you feel your best, and as I don’t live in a country where we see the sun on more than a monthly basis, fake tan is the only way (believe me, I am working on my living situation…) The idea of possible skin cancer on a sunbed counts that one out for me, so slathering myself in creosote coloured lotion is the only way, and I go through fits and starts as to whether I wish to be a bronzed goddess or pale and interesting.
I wear makeup as not to scare small children, and sometimes I dye my hair, but as April will tell you, not often enough. (When will you notice those roots??!!!) So where do we draw the line? A friend of mine rushed out and purchased the new La Senza boob enhancing bra, but after a few weeks she cast it aside in favour of her trusty old bras. When questioned on this point she admitted to feeling bad, as when she met guys she felt that she was false advertising the size of her boobs. Which made me laugh. Men I have dated have marveled at the difference when one of my old housemates wore her fake hair and didn’t, citing it to be false advertising to new boys on the block, and my Dad often looks at me with incredulous wonder when I am at the fake tan stage where I look like I have been down a mine, and simply asks “Why?”.
The boy perspective is often amusing to us girls who are so used to the rituals of layering on lotions and potions, colours and scents to make us feel our best. First boyfriend could smell fake tan a mile off and often accused me of smelling like ‘a digestive’. I have laughed with friends about the ritual of dying the bed sheets orange, or disasters where you wake up and realise you fell asleep without washing your hands and now have palms the colour of terracotta. I love fake lashes, makeup and hair dye but I draw the line at actually clipping someone else’s discarded hair into my own, while other girls see nothing wrong with tinting their eyebrows, bleaching their bum holes and rocking a head of hair that once belonged to someone else.
I think for me the real answer is that it is simply too much bother. I don’t mind myself too much without all the additions, so I can’t be arsed to get up three hours early just to make myself look like someone else.
But I want your opinion! Girls, what are you prepared to do to look good, and what is a waste of time? And men, what are your thoughts on the multi million pound industry that is fakery?
What do you think? What counts as enhancement, and what counts as false advertising?
Electric Shocks on Aching Bones
12 Feb 2012 7 Comments
in Nights Out Tags: blog, dailies, music, personal
At the start of the Weekend of Sister, I finished work and met her outside Covent Garden tube station. Well, eventually, after a conversation of “I went past the Apple store? I went past David and Goliath?” “Do you see Whitt…. I SEE YOU! STOP WALKING!”
We went for a steak (I love a steak) and then went to take our seats ready for the Snow Patrol gig at the 02. Having been given tickets, I was fearing that they were standing. I like going to see live music, but I am only content with standing if I love the band and can dance along singing to the tracks with merry abandon. Seeing as I could only think of one song that they had done (If I lay hyyyyyyere, if I just lay hyyyyyyere), I was a bit worried that I might suffer from a case of boredom and want to go home, but have to stay as my sister loves them.
That wasn’t the case.
And I can barely look at you/But every single time I do/I know we’ll make it anywhere/Away from here
When we got there, we were ushered to a suite. A suite? Right. Fanceh. We grabbed a drink and took our seats, ready for the show. The warm up act were called Everything Everything; the sort of band that apparently people had heard of, but seeing as I listen to Magic, I hadn’t. Little sister and I concluded that they were the sort of band that you could listen along to while chatting, but not the sort whose CD we would buy.
When Snow Patrol came on, I was pleasantly surprised. The lead singer has a fantastically haunting voice, and as they started their set I suddenly remembered. Snow Patrol were the soundtrack to my summer the year I left school. Every song that I recognised took me back to a place; a garden in the sun or a room in the house that I used to live in, and I smiled. Every memory was something that shaped the person I am today, and I loved it.
Strain this chaos turn it into light /I’ve got to see you one last night /Before the lions take their share /Leave us in pieces, scattered everywhere
Little Sister was in her element too. She looked at me when I didn’t recognise the songs, incredulous that I had never heard the melodies before. It turns out her friend supported them a few years back, and I think she has been in love ever since, something that I was totally unaware of.
So my verdict? They aren’t a band that I would have chosen to go and see, but once I was there I realised how many songs of theirs I had on my iPod, and how many songs I knew the words to. The lead singer has a haunting voice that leaves you mesmerised, and when he dedicated a song to his four-year old niece who was in the crowd, I welled up. It was a fantastic night, and I would definitely go again.
Thanks to the people at Superbreaks who provided us with the tickets. They offer London guides and hotels in London, and sponsored this post. But all opinions are, as always, my own!
I Saw The Signs…
09 Feb 2012 25 Comments
in Thoughts Tags: blog, dailies, love, personal, this and that, thoughts
Something really weird happened to me yesterday. I woke up, and it was like a fog had lifted. Suddenly I could see how rich my life was again, how lucky I was and how much I had to look forward to. And it hasn’t gone away. The snow might have hampered my travels a little, making it harder for me to get to and from work and making my nose a little colder as I waited at the platform, but generally, life is OK.
As I was standing on the escalator on my way up to the over ground at Waterloo, the strangest thing happened. A man, in the fast lane (the side of the escalator that the non lazy people use) came hammering up and hit my bag as he went to pass. He turned, looked a bit confused and said “HI Laura!” I obviously looked a little confused, and he muttered “got the wrong person” and carried on going. I didn’t have a clue who he was or have the time to tell him before he dashed off that actually he probably didn’t have the wrong person, as it was unlikely he would have got my name right in any case. This is really odd for me as I have a remarkable memory for faces. I might not be so good at the names, but if I see you once I won’t forget in a hurry. I didn’t even have that awkward thing where you know that you know a face but you can’t place it; I swear I have never seen him before in my life. But he knew me. Not in a way where it was like he had seen me before, but he actually greeted me by name, and I find this pretty disconcerting!
Then, when I got to the train station at home I decided to get a taxi. It was like 28 Days Later; there were no cars, people or noise at the station. There had been a car crash somewhere, and as the station is that little bit out-of-town, nothing was getting in or out. It was bitterly cold and I waited for a taxi for half an hour with a load of grumpy men. When it got to my turn I turned, smiled and asked if anyone was going my way, as the wait was pretty long. One guy was, and we shared a cab back to pretty much the same place. The strange thing was, I recognised him and we got chatting. He gave me his card and I might end up doing some freelance work for him. When we emailed, I said it was strange that I thought I knew him, and he said I probably didn’t know him, but he knew me, but wouldn’t tell me where from.
I am starting to think I am the star of my very own Truman Show and I don’t like it!
I have peppered this post with some quotes that I find pretty inspirational, things that people have sent me or said to me through my life that have helped me when I needed it.
When you are struggling, when life feels like its too hard and when you can’t see the wood for the trees, use them. A frank conversation last night resulted in me saying that I finally thought that all the things that were broken last year were fixing, and the wise voice returned “no, there was nothing broken. You are just focussing your attentions on the good things now” which is a good point. As Ace of Base once said “I saw the signs, and they opened up my eyes, I saw the signs”.
Ace of Base WILL be my playlist for the rest of the week!
I am now on Pinterest too, which is pretty cool. I love how you can visualise everything so easily, and get inspiration from people all across the world. Fi who I sit next to at work has ordered all the ingredients to make soap, and we are going to have a bash at our own little crafty world. Exciting!
Run Forrest, Run!
07 Feb 2012 11 Comments
As part of my new year, new experience policy, I am taking a bit of a cop out for February. I have signed up to do the Race for Life, which is a little bit of a weak ‘new experience’ as I have done it before, but I have decided to do it this year with a twist! And also, it really falls as an activity in July, but money and time are a bit thin on the ground this month. I promise I won’t count it twice though!
The last time I did it I was in hospital just before, so managed to only run 2.5k of the total 5k run. This year, I want to run the whole thing, which for me will be a bit of an achievement, as my normal running is for the train if I am running really late in the morning, and that’s all. I cancelled my gym membership this month after having six months of watching the money go out of my account and not actually visiting, leaving me forlorn at the thought that I could be spending that money on something far more exciting.
But it is the time of the year when I am put to shame by all the sporty people out there, and this weekend I had everyone telling me about the runs that they were doing. I feel guilty when i hear of weekends out in the snow training while the extent of my weekend exercise is walking to the car to make sure that i make it out for lunch on time.
One friend took part in The Grim a race in the snow around some horrible army camp, and another signed up for the London to Brighton, asking me (somewhat jokingly) if I wanted to join in. Absolutely not! But I thought I should do my bit for charity again this year because in addition to the people I have lost to cancer that I ran for previously, my family have experienced fresh loss this year to such a horrible disease.
So, I’m running again. And I would love for you to sponsor me” if you feel at all inclined. In return I will try to ensure that someone films me in my training so I can post for you all to see, but be warned, it’s going to be more Phoebe from Friends that Ussain Bolt.
I’ll keep you posted!
The One About The Blueprints
06 Feb 2012 9 Comments
Wikipedia describes a blueprint to be a paper based reproduction of a technical drawing, but I think that all of us have a blueprint, a pattern that makes us who we are, derived from the years that we have lived and the experiences we have shared. Every morning, when I make my trip to the station I listen to my father’s choice of radio, and there is a feature every morning where they talk to children about things that they have coming up. They are then asked to rate how well they thought they did. The common answer is often one million, but rarely less than ten. These children, and all children, haven’t had the stamp on their blueprint yet that they might be able to do things better, or that there is room for improvement. What a fantastic notion.
As you get older, and go through your teens you get more little cuts and pencil lines on your blueprint, and you learn things from trial and error. Good things happen to you, bad things happen to you. You get to participate in new experiences and you lose things that are valuable to you. You are pliable, like playdoh, but this time of your life is seminal, and the dough sets into something that forms your blueprint.
Sometimes you take a long hard look at yourself and realise that you need a really good eraser, or some tippex to alter the marks that have been put there and become the person that you want to be, rather than the person you are. You want to forget your tried and tested reactions and learn to think before you speak. Because it’s the injured teenager inside you that steps up and retorts when the grown up runs behind, trying to clear up the mess that she is leaving. The only way I can describe the wild child is like the bludgers form Harry Potter; big and ugly balls that have to be strapped into a chest to keep them safe. When let out, they seek out trouble and try to cause damage to people. To be put back in the box, one person needs to pin them down and the other strap them in. What a palava! Pushing self destruct is never a good idea as it’s far harder to clear up the mass of debris that you leave in your wake.
Blueprints have two contributing factors: genes and environment. Genetically you will inherit traits that are hard to change; they are part of your make up, the staples, glue and stitches that hold together who you are. Environmental factors are also just as hard to change, but you need to try to be the person that you want to, otherwise you will always follow the same path and be unhappy.
But how do you make the changes to those documents? It’s not easy, like a child with an eraser; it’s more a process of seeking someone with a bigger erase button than you have. Often they are kept under lock and key by another part of your personality, a part that is reticent and fears change. The first step is realising that the whole world isn’t against you, and there are people out there who are there for one reason and one reason only; to help you make the changes. They are the holders of the other end of the pencil, and if you accept their help they will rub out those lines that you started to draw. Not only does every person have a blueprint, every relationship has one too, and they should be a large expanse of blue when they start out. But sometimes the paper we use to shape this blueprint is creased or has something drawn on it already; I’m all for recycling but that means that it will be doomed from the beginning.
The trick is to take a clean sheet of paper and start tentatively drawing little sketches that will meet in the middle. When you have two people drawing on the same page, you are a team. Neither is against the other, and two is far stronger than one. If you try to struggle or assert a dominant trait then you will encounter adversity, and the paper will rip. Your blueprint will be no more. The trick, it seems, is to identify that the paper is starting to weaken, and if you really want it to stay whole, change your behaviours. After all, tiny little slips of paper blow away in the wind. Big pieces tend to have more staying power.
Thoughts from a Thinker
05 Feb 2012 3 Comments
Because thoughts are whizzing round my head today faster than bullets on a battlefield, I thought I might take the time to write them down. As you do.
- Take the time to be kind to people. The man in the petrol station looked at me today and asked me “Has anyone ever told you you look like Katy Perry?” I think he may have been blind because I don’t at all, but despite my sad mood and unbrushed hair, he made me feel better for those five minutes.
- Sadness can cause weight loss. Uh yeah… California here I come!
- Chocolate oranges soothe all pain. I had all the ingredients for a grand chocolate orange cheesecake ready for the great Valentine’s surprise, so what shall I do? Eat the evidence.
- As John Mayer, life guru would say :
You know, it’s nothing new
Bad news never had good timing
Then, circle of your friends
Will defend the silver lining
And its true! They come in their droves, offering words of comfort, reminding you who you are and what you have been through, and advising you to put anything that came into contact with him in the wash.
- Snow causes people to act mad. A few years ago, ex-boyfriend and I got snowed into our village. He went to the local shop and there was a lady madly sweeping batteries into her basket. He stopped her and asked if she had any devices that took D batteries. She looked surprised, and put them all back, obviously panic shopping. The same thing happened yesterday when we went shopping. It’s only a light sprinkling of snow! But if it affects my train tomorrow ill be really cross!
- Do what makes you feel better. After phoning the absent one last night in a fit of serious self-pity and fear for moving to a big city and selling my car and moving from my bed for anything this weekend his response was “I like your crazy. You’ll be fine, milky bar”. Said like a true lawyer.
- When you are sad, find something sadder. Emma’s go to is The Notebook, but as another part of the Valentine’s surprise I had bought a book about a soldier who had broken into Auschwitz. Not romantic, I hear you cry, but something I thought he would like. I’m reading it. Its putting some perspective on my weekend.
I need to think of a fantastic excursion for my February New Years resolution,. and i’ll try to get a picture of the cheesecake for you all if I don’t just eat all the ingredients before making it. After all, it will pretty much make itself in my stomach, right?
The Onesie War Continues…
05 Feb 2012 6 Comments
A few months back I embarked on a rant about my utter repulsion of the onesie (say it like you mean it!) and how stupid I thought they looked.
My mother bought me one for Christmas.
Aha! I thought. Great joke! I’ll wear it round the house on Christmas day and then never wear it again. My sister actually got two for Christmas, as she really wanted them, and my Mum had gone to the trouble of getting me one without feet, as she knows I can’t stand to be hot in bed. I paraded it round the house, declared it too hot to wear when sleeping, and after doing a catwalk parade to Emma whilst wearing it, I put it in the drawer.
Last week, I was really cold and couldn’t find my usual PJs. I foraged around in the drawer for something to wear, and came across a familiar red fleecy thing, complete with white snowflakes. My onesie!
I put it on and slept like a baby for the whole night. I woke with a shock as my alarm went off and declared to the office that it was the best sleep I had ever had, whilst not dosed up on Night Nurse( I am determined to kick my habit in 2012. Drug free for 22 days! Hehee). My opinion on the onesie had changed, and the love affair began. I began to think if it was socially acceptable to take it round to the boys house and concluded that it was possibly a bit early on for that, and if I was to ensure he didn’t die of over laughter then I should just keep it at home.
That day at work all I could think of was the fact that I now was a sleeper like the rest of the world, and dreamt of rushing home, having a bath and putting my onesie on. Onesie and me, against the world, anti insomniacs forever. I should have known it wasnt to last.
I woke up in the early hours of the next morning dying. This is the only way I can describe it; I felt like someone had microwaved me and I was just about to pop. The damn onesie! I immediately took it off and opened a window, but had to sleep on top of my duvet for the rest of the night, such was my overheating!
I wrote this post a week or so ago, and had declared my onesie and me were through. But after going separate ways with the boy, and then some pretty confusing revelations today, me ad my onesie are now firmly the best of friends again. I haven’t been able to do anything today; reading a book makes my mind wander and TV isn’t distracting enough to soothe my hurt and curb the feelings of mistrust, so me and my onesie have just lay in bed, wrapped in duvets, thinking of happier times. Namely being in Spitalfields market all those months ago and feeling seriously content.
Contentment will return; I’m not needy or jealous and I am confident enough in myself to know that I am pretty special, but for now my onesie envelopes me like a great big hug and all is fine, as long as I remember to take it off before I go to bed.
