Strikes

So British Airways cabin crew staff have voted to strike and ruin mine (and thousands of other peoples trips). How nice and considerate of them. Not only are they threatening to walk out next week but they are also threatening to strike over the half term holidays. To me, that is very callous. People work very hard for their holidays and I think it’s disgusting when unions pick specific days when they know they can cause major disruption.

Don’t get me wrong, I do believe in unions and I do think that workers need a collective voice but it seems to me that a few unions hold all the power – and don’t they know it.

Take the RMT, they threaten to walk out all the time. The last time that had a strike it was because a tube driver went through a red signal, thus endangering all the passengers on board. That driver was recently reinstated. It seems that running a red signal is fine if you are a tube driver. Oh, and yes, there was the time when a driver was seen playing squash when he was meant to be on long term sick leave. Guess what? He was reinstated too.

I once saw one of the leaders of the RMT on the tube and I was sorely tempted to go and have a right old rant at him but what would that have achieved. People like him know how much power they hold and they abuse the system. Yes of course workers have the right to decent pay and terms and conditions but sometimes I think union representatives need to live in the real world. There is no job for life anymore and if you want a decent pension you’ll have to take out your own. I did and so did millions like me. It’s called working in the 21st century.

I once threatened to go on strike. I was 16 and working in Woolworths on Saturdays. I got the hump when they told me that I couldn’t wear black tights to work anymore. The supervisor (who had a moustache and very bad BO – a she) told me that I had to wear flesh coloured tights. I told her I would start wearing flesh coloured when they actually started making them (these were the days of American tan tights). She told me to take off my tights and put some new ones on and I refused. In the end she backed down (ha ha!) and I was allowed to continue to wear black tights.

Perhaps if I had been in the RMT union all the staff would have walked out and awarded pay rises as well as a unlimited supply of black tights….

'Artistes'

Last Saturday a group of ‘artistes’ rode the New York Subway wearing their underpants (they wore ‘normal’ clothes on their top half). Notice I use the word artistes in the loosest sense of the word. I could think of many ways to describe these people but there may be children reading this so I won’t.

These, ahem artistes, said that they were out to shock people. Ooh yes, I was really shocked because I’ve never seen a person wearing underpants before. Yes very shocking indeed. How radical of them. One woman wearing a pair of pink frilly knickers complained that a tourist took a photograph of her wearing said knickers. She said she felt violated. Well love, how about putting some trousers on? Perhaps people wouldn’t stare at you.

They called this event ‘improv comedy’. I’m sorry but I thought the word improvisation meant to make something up as one went along. Somehow I don’t think 20 people woke up last Saturday and thought hey I’m going to ride the subway in my pants today.

Can you imagine them sitting in the pub planning this event? I would have loved to have been a fly on the wall.

Man One: Hey I’ve got a great idea. Why don’t we walk around Manhattan with flower pots on our heads? We could, like, expose the plight of flowers in pots.

Woman One: Yeah that’s a good idea dude but I have a better one. Why don’t we wear our swim suits and go ice skating. We could let the world know that it’s OK to wear swim suits and skate.

Man Two: Hey, I have it. Let’s ride the subway wearing our pants. That would be so radical.

All: Cool. What a great idea. Let’s do it.

A few weeks before this SHOCKING event I was reading about an artist who took photographs of women walking round the financial district of New York topless. Again, how radical. He (yes the photographer was a he – perhaps I should tell him about Page 3) said that he wanted to challenge the concept of wearing of clothes. I don’t know about you but clothes keep me warm in the winter and prevent my wobbly bits from getting sunburnt in the summer. Apparently he was arrested shortly after he started taking photographs. Wish I’d been there to see that. I bet that shocked him.

There’s a craze in London (at least there was before I left – these artistes are fickle folk) which involves people standing in train stations and dancing wildly to whatever happens to be on their ipod. Again, this apparently, is art. To me they are just a bunch of fools who haven’t got anything better to do than make a show of themselves.

The same people (probably) also tour London for group hug sessions.
London is a lonely place they say. Well, yes it is, and it’s even more lonely when you realise you’re surrounded by people like this.

Maybe I’m just a philistine. Or maybe I just appreciate REAL art. I wonder what Cezanne would have made of it?

What if?

Some say that life is just a series of what ifs so…..

What if I were born a boy? Would my sense of direction be any better?

What if I had been born in a hot country? Would I have a lovely year round suntan or would I still be as pasty as I am?

What if I had tall parents? Could I have saved a fortune in trouser alterations?

What if I had learnt to drive when I was 17 and full of confidence? Would I be able to parallel park and do a three point turn without breaking out in a cold sweat?

What if I someone had told me that the media is a world full of pretentious fools? Would I have willingly entered that world if I had known?

What if I had been born with big feet? Would it have been more difficult for me to find shoes to fit? Would I have saved money by not being able to buy as many?

What if I didn’t work so close to Top Shop? Would I be much richer than I am now?

What if my wardrobe was much smaller than it is? Would I have bought fewer clothes?

What it I had never worked for a responsible drinking organisation? Would I drink more – or less – than I do now?

What if I had never written this blog? Would you have cared?

Supermums

I have just read an article in a British newspaper about a woman who has just given birth to her eighth child. The newspaper has dubbed her ‘supermum’ because she holds down a high flying career in an investment bank. Her husband is a stay at home dad and looks after the brood.

I have a problem with the phrase supermum. This woman has a six figure salary, a nanny (or two) and a husband who probably doesn’t need to work. Hardly a supermum.

A supermum is a woman who has to bring up her children on her own and holds down two jobs just to pay the rent. A supermum is a woman who works to support her children through school, and perhaps one day, university (although she’s not sure how she will do that).

I’m not saying that the woman with eight children has it easy. I’m sure she doesn’t. Working 12 hours a day and having a family at home who needs her can’t be plain sailing but I think we need to think carefully before we use phrases like supermum. She has a nanny, never has to worry about money and has a husband who doesn’t really need to work.

I have lots of admiration for women who have great careers and a family but I have just as much admiration for the woman with two children, no husband and two jobs. Perhaps we need to see more women like her featured in newspapers.

St Valentine's Day

If there’s one day of the year I hate the most (apart from the first day back at work after a holiday – imagine how I am going to feel when I have to go back after almost 12 months of not working) its St Valentines Day.

All that pink and red heart shaped crap is enough to make me want to projectile vomit.

I am proud to say that I have never received a Valentine’s card in my life (I don’t count the one my mum sent me when I was 12). I feel sorry for those women who get sent roses on February 14 and then have to carry them home on the Tube. Ooh I can hear you all now – she’s only jealous you’re thinking. Oh please. Jealous of the fact that my boyfriend/admirer/stalker is willing to pay over the odds for a bunch of red (blurrgh) roses? I don’t think so. I’d rather he gave me the money and I spent it on a new pair of shoes.

Once when I was about eight I sent my mum a card. I pretended that I was going outside to play with my friends and I surreptitiously posted in through the letter box. She never guessed it was from me….and that’s my point. Valentines Day is for children. It’s about going to school and seeing how many cards your friends received. As I mentioned before I have never received one. But don’t feel sorry for me. I was a miserable, cynical child (no change there then) and I couldn’t care less.

I walked past a card shop yesterday and the whole shop front was plastered with hearts and teddy bears. It looked like a big pink toy shop. And what about all the dreadful heart shaped cakes and chocolates you can buy?

My worst nightmare would be to go to a restaurant on Feb 14 and sit there with a bunch of other couples gazing into each other’s eyes. It would be as bad as going on one of those dreadful ‘couples only’ holidays. Sheer torture.

If you are thinking about buying a card or booking a restaurant think again. Instead of wasting your money give it to a good cause. If you can only show your loved one how you feel on the most commercial day of lurve of the year then you have some serious emotional issues that you need to deal with. Sorry. As I said I was a miserable, cynical child and I really haven’t changed.

Pass me a Big Mac

Yesterday I was in a well-known shop (just browsing, honestly) when I spotted a woman looking at some trousers. I don’t normally look at women in shops but I couldn’t help but stare at this particular woman because she was so damn thin. She was about 35 but had the body of an 11 year old girl. It was horrible. When she asked a sales assistant if she could help her find the trousers she wanted in a size 00 I wanted to run over and shove a chocolate bar in her mouth. A 00, it’s just horrible. Why would anyone choose to be that thin? The only way you could get to that size would be to eat nothing but lettuce leaves and sticks of celery.

I know this debate has been raging in the media for ages, but I had never seen someone that thin who wasn’t ‘ill’. My mum was very ill in 2005 and she was extremely thin but that’s because she had a major operation and was in hospital for two weeks. She hated being thin.

Back to the woman in the shop. She was obviously really proud of the fact that she was so thin because she practically shouted out her dress size to the rest of the store. What’s even more scary is the fact that this particular store’s sizes run really small. I’m a size L in there and often that’s too small. I feel like an elephant sometimes. But hey, at least I’m healthy.

New Yorkers take fitness and healthy eating very seriously. There’s a gym on every corner and countless ads for weight loss programmes on TV. And there’s nothing wrong with that. It’s normal to want to be healthy. But sometimes it’s taken to the extreme. Woman in shop being a case in point. Compared to Londoners who are generally unfit, binge drinkers (OK, a gross stereotype but you know what I mean!) New Yorkers are fit, healthy and slim. You see people jogging everywhere – sometimes with their dogs, sometimes pushing prams. You don’t see that as often in London.

I agree that there are far too many images of thin women in magazines, on TV and in films and I also agree that this needs to stop. But I also think that women themselves need to take some responsibility and start remembering that being too thin can be just as detrimental as being to fat. It’s just as bad for your health.

Why would you want your periods to stop, your hair to fall out and your bones to become brittle? Its common knowledge that this is what happens when you stop eating.

I know people who have suffered from anorexia and I know that it’s a horrible disease but I would question whether some of these 00 women are actually anorexic. This might be controversial but I think vanity plays a big part. Some of these women know full well what they are doing and that’s not the same as being anorexic.

Being a size 20 is unhealthy and so is being a size 00. Perhaps they should rename it a -2 or age 11. Maybe that would make these women take notice.

You put your left hand in...

I have a bit of a problem telling my left from right. So bad is this problem that when I took my driving test (about 15 years ago), I had to mark my hands with L and R signs. Thankfully the examiner didn’t notice.

I frequently send people in completely the wrong direction when they ask me where Harrods/Selfridges/Big Ben is. I mean well when I tell them the way to go but about 45 mins later I suddenly realise that I did, in fact, send them to Portobello Road/Greenwich. Oh dear.

I think this problem is deeper rooted and has to do with the fact that I have no coordination. None. Not an iota. If you want to have a laugh ask me to dance or join you in an aerobics class. It’s hilarious. I lose total control of my limbs. Hey, I can’t even use chopsticks. My boyfriend tried to teach me a few days ago. He shook his head in bewilderment as my fingers ceased to be of any use. It was like they were made of jelly. One went one way and the other, well, put it this way, it was a bit embarrassing.

I used to go to Pilates because it’s meant to help improve coordination. After about 15 classes I gave up. It didn’t improve my coordination at all. Most of the time I felt like a fool watching everyone else in the class perform the moves with ease.

I’ve never been able to do that pat your head and rub your tummy at the same time thing and I’m just about the clumsiest person in the world. If there’s a door in front of me, guaranteed I’ll walk into it and if there’s pile of dog poo on the pavement….yep, I’ll tread in it!

I know that by revealing all my traits in a blog leaves me wide open to talk of me being totally useless at just about everyything but hey, I don’t care. Have you written a blog recently? Well, have you?!

School reunions

A friend of mine went to a school reunion a while ago and it got me thinking about all the people I went to school with and what they might be doing now.

I think every school has its stereotypes. There’s always a Bully and a few morons behind him or her, a Heart Throb and a Swot. Ever wondered what happened to them? Here’s what I think happened to them.

The School Bully

We all know that bullies are really just cowards who are a bit thick and insecure. I know you’re meant to forgive and forget but I imagine there are a lot of people out there who will never be able to forgive the bully for making their life a misery. Here’s hoping that the bully is having a really shit life. Sorry. Hopefully working in a chip shop and smelling of battered Cod.

The Heart Throb

Oh this is an easy one. I guarantee that the school Heart Throb lost his looks when he was about 18. I bet you he’s balding and has a beer belly. He’ll often look at his school photos and wonder where it all went wrong.

Little Miss Popular

She’ll be married (unhappily) to the Heart Throb. Little Miss Popular will be trying desperately to cling on to her looks. Not adverse to a bit of surgery she’s the living embodiment of mutton dressed (badly) as lamb.

The Loner

The dark horse. Beneath the shy exterior lay a party animal desperate to get out. Probably a lap dancer or a stripper now. Or an actor dahling.

The one everyone picked on

Now a Wrestling champion. Or a heavy weight boxer.

The swot

Still a swot I’m afraid. This person will definitely have a high flying career, probably working 100 hours a week in the City and a member of the companies debating society.

The rebel

At school The Rebel was the one who always bunked off, dyed their hair and was probably the first in their class to lose their virginity. Now? Married with three children and attending Church every Sunday.

The truth behind words

Low Fat – Won’t help you lose weight and will help to rot your teeth.

I’m fine – I’m not bloody fine (woman). I’m fine (man).

I’ll call you – If you are the last person on earth and I need to hide in your nuclear bunker.

I’ve got the flu - I have a slight cold (man). I feel awful, my body aches and I have a fever (woman).

That’s really interesting – That is the most mind numbingly boring thing I have ever heard.

I have a single friend you’d really like – I have a friend who bugs me relentlessly to set them up. He/She is desperate for a shag.

Buy one, get one free – You don’t need this product and don’t even use it but if we make it feel like you are getting a bargain we know you’ll buy it. Sucker.

Sale – Bargains galore (woman). A load of crap which didn’t sell last season (man).

It was a bargain – I don’t really need it but it was cheap and I could see another woman eyeing it (woman). I bought this widescreen TV and I got a DVD player for free (man).

Guaranteed results – We guarantee that you will be ripped off (read the small print idiot).

Would you mind turning that down? – Your crap music is driving me mad and if you don’t turn it off I will smash your CD player.

Things I'm not very good at

There are a few things in life that I’m not very good at. Cooking (see previous blog), swimming (I think I am going to drown if my feet can’t touch the bottom of the pool), driving (I’m just a really bad driver) and skiing – something I discovered last week.

Skiing is one of those things that everyone is meant to enjoy. You can wear cool ski gear (a la Posh Spice), engage in lots of après ski and generally have a good time riding the ski lifts.

Hmm. Where shall I start? Well, first of all I’m not very good with heights so getting on ski lifts was a bit of a problem. I did manage to use the T Bar lift which pulls you up to the top of the nursery slope (note: nursery slope – I am such a wimp). I did only fall off once (although I did almost crash into a mound of snow at the end of the T Bar on another occasion, I think I gave the instructor a bit of a fright).

I don’t have very good co-ordination either so the whole ski, turn, stop thing wasn’t really happening for me. When you stop you’re meant to turn your heels out to slow you down. I did manage to do this sometimes but occasionally my head told me to turn my feet out but my feet told me something else. This resulted in a few falls and a bruised backside. Luckily the fat on my backside prevented more damage.

Let’s face it. Strapping a pair of three feet long strips of metal/wood/whatever the hell they are made out of to your feet is not natural (yes I know the Inuit’s used them as their mode of transport). Neither is trying to use them on flat ground or up a hill. You have to walk sideways and unless you have the thigh muscles of Colin Jackson it’s gonna hurt.

It really dents your confidence when you see ten year olds whizzing past you. I kept saying that it’s because kids have no fear but it was really due to the fact that I was rubbish.

I’m sure I have painted a rather colourful picture of me and skiing but actually I quite enjoyed it. A few more lessons and I’ll be whizzing down a black run.

Oh and before I forget on our last day we read in the local newspaper that one of the gondolas (a lift that takes you right to the top of the mountain) got stuck a few months previously. Apparently skiers were left dangling for hours. Do you think it would hurt if you jumped out of a gondola? Snow can be quite cushiony.

And as for the wind rash you get because it’s so damn cold….