samwinges1

You're not wearing those are you?

2007-06-28T16:29:00.000-07:00

Every girl has a pair of shoes that she loves. Mine are a pair of gold ballet flats, they’re comfy, stylish and go with most outfits. However, my boyfriend HATES them. Every time I wear them he looks at me like I have two heads and growls “you’re not wearing those again are you?”

What is it with men and fashion? They just don’t get it. Most men think that you only need three pairs of shoes: one pair for work; one pair for the weekend and one pair of trainers (which usually smell and are at least ten years old) and why do you need a bag when you can stuff everything your own into your pockets?

My boyfriend likes ‘sophisticated’ clothes which roughly translated means he would like me to dress as Ms Moneypenny seven days a week. Hardly practical.

A few seasons ago I bought a cape. It was probably not my best buy but I liked it at the time. It was fashionable. My boyfriend called it my Batman coat and sang the theme tune every time I wore it. In the end I relented and sold it on ebay. Somewhere, a girl like me is listening to the Batman theme tune right now….

I bought a pair of sunglasses a few weeks ago. They were expensive but my friends who I was shopping with at the time persuaded me to buy them. I tried them on when I got home and boyfriend looked at me with sheer horror and said I looked like Deirdre Barlow. They were Marc Jacobs for goodness sake! Again I relented and returned them (sorry girls). Just before I bought them I asked a guy in the shop if he liked them. He too looked at me with horror and said no. I should have listened to him.

Let’s face it girls, men and fashion are never a good mix. Unless of course you are a gay man (sorry dreadful stereotype but true most of the time!)

Stupid shoppers

2007-04-30T14:37:00.000-07:00

Tuesday May 1 is set to be a monumental day. Crowds are already forming in central London. Is Tony Blair stepping down I hear you cry. Perhaps Nelson Mandela will be addressing crowds in Trafalgar Square. No something far more important is about to happen.

Are you ready? Can you stand the tension? Wait for it…..here goes….

Kate Moss is launching her clothing line in Top Shop. Yep, that’s right a clothing range. Shoppers will be allowed to enter the hallowed turf that is Top Shop Oxford Street to purchase 5 items of Kate’s range (and it’s a bloody awful range at that – hot pants, waistcoats. Very original).

I think the world is going mad. I mean, why would you queue to buy a couple of T shirts ‘designed’ by a model with no artistic integrity. I don’t think posing for a couple of photos which appear in Vogue gives you a green light to become a fashion designer. There are people studying at art schools all over the country that would kill for an opportunity like this. Oh yeah, I forgot, Kate Moss sells. Quite why I don’t know. Apparently every woman wants a piece of Kate (not me, she’s been near scuzzy Pete Doherty). We all want to look like her and dress like her. Don’t you?

A few weeks ago people queued outside Sainsbury’s all night to buy a £5 bag. Yes, all night. And then they promptly put them on ebay for 100 quid. I have one word to describe people who willingly pay £100 for a £5 bag. Fools. Actually can I have two words? Tossers. And it turns out that the bag isn’t organic and might not have been made in an ethical factory. Hmmm. Perhaps the twats (ooh, that’s three words, sorry) might have given the money to an ethical charity instead.

And don’t even get me started on Primark (I mean, why would anyone queue for hours to buy a dress for £5). And remember the scenes when Ikea opened in North London a few years ago?

Fools the lot of em.

Welcome to the ghetto

2007-04-26T12:32:00.000-07:00

March 2007: I’m a Londoner. I was born there and raised there. Hell I even went to University there. London has so much to offer, it has amazing restaurants, beautiful parks and some of the best museums and galleries in the world. I’m a big fan of London. It’s a truly cool city.

April 2007: I wrote the above description last month when I was feeling a bit homesick. Sadly I’ve changed my mind and now I can’t wait to escape the city I grew up in. Last week I went home for a visit. And I was struck by the fact that the whole city has become a ghetto. Kids are being shot, stabbed or beaten up every day, the streets are filthy, people are just as filthy (have you been on a bus recently?) and most teenagers are obnoxious, ignorant little gobshites. Yeah I know what you’re thinking, she’s exaggerating. I really wish I was.

Scenario one: I’m sitting on a bus – top deck as there is no room downstairs. A group of teenager girls get on mobile phone on loud speaker so that everyone could hear the offensive hip hop they were listening to. They proceed to scream and shout for the next half an hour. Their language is appalling and their grammar and enunciation even worse. They made me feel ashamed. They had no regard for anyone on the bus and didn’t seem to care that they were offending people with their gutter tongues. So thanks very much Mr Livingstone for allowing them to travel for free on the buses. It makes my journey – and lots of other peoples journeys so much more lively.

Scenario two: I’m walking through Soho minding my own business. It’s about 9.30 on a Friday night. Its warm and I could almost be on the continent somewhere as I watch people drink coffee outside Bar Italia, soaking up the warm weather. Suddenly two guys walk past. One of them leers at a woman drinking her cappuccino and spits in her male companions face. They walk away laughing at their own bravado.

Scenario three; I’m sitting on the Piccadilly line watching the millions (well, it does seem like that) of stops to Heathrow Airport. A girl sitting opposite me takes a tangerine out of her bag. She peels it and as she does some of the peel falls to the floor. She looks at it but doesn’t bother to pick it up. She then dumps the remaining peel on the shelf behind her and gets off at Hounslow East.

You see what I mean? Londoners aren’t the friendly cheeky chappy types you see on Eastenders. They’re rude, ignorant and obnoxious. They drop litter, spit, get drunk and beat up innocent bystanders, push you through the tube barrier so they don’t have to pay, throw litter and never offer their seat on the tube or bus to someone who really needs it.

Will I be moving back to London when I return home in the summer? You must be bloody joking. I’m going to find a nice house in the suburbs and moan about the state of my home city to anyone who’ll listen.

Someone once said “If you are tired of London, you’re tired of life” (I can’t for the life of me remember who and even Google doesn’t appear to know). Well, I’m not tired of life but I’m certainly tired of London life. You can keep it.

Getting older

2007-04-11T06:50:00.000-07:00

Last December I turned 35. I never really worry about getting old but turning 35 really hit me. I mean, that’s half of 70. I’m closer to 40 now than I am to 30. God, it’s all too depressing. Thankfully I don’t look my age but I do look more closely for lines and wrinkles and yesterday I spotted a couple of varicose veins (thanks mum!). According to a lot of teenagers I am officially old. And boy, do I feel it sometimes.

10 ways to spot you are getting old:

1. You look at the Kate Moss collection for Top Shop and think I remember wearing waistcoats in the 1980s. And as for those hot pants – I couldn’t get one thigh in them.

2. Who the hell are Razorlight?

3. You’d rather be gardening than drinking beer in an overcrowded, noisy beer garden in Camden.

4. Gardeners World is infinitely more interesting than the X Factor.

5. A glass of Chianti tastes so much nicer than an overpriced luminous cocktail.

6. You can now play scrabble for hours and even construct a couple of seven letter words.

7. You always read newspaper reports about new anti wrinkle creams.

8. You can’t climb over a railing without pulling a muscle in your thigh.

9. You couldn’t care less that hotel bars are now hip hangouts.

10. Doughnuts go straight to your thighs.

But you know what, I’d rather be 35 than 15. All those dreadful hormones….

The Queens English

2007-03-21T16:14:00.000-07:00

Yesterday Stephen Fry said that anyone with a cut glass British accent can be a successful actor in the US just because of the way they speak.

I tend to agree with him. I have been told that my accent is “cute”, “awesome” “like the Queen’s” and “funny” on many occasions.

I would like to clarify that I do not have an upper class accent. I come from London not Surrey or Berkshire.

Yesterday I went to the dry cleaners to have some trousers shortened. It took me about five minutes to explain that I wanted them shortened to 27 and a half inches. The man in the cleaners looked at me. He scratched his head a few times, looked very perplexed and said 27 and a her? I said no, half, he said what and so I said it again (five more times actually). In the end I wrote it down and he looked at it and said ah, a half.

We live in Battery Park. Or Ballery if you are American. The fact that there are two T’s (count em) in Battery seems to make no difference. And try telling the barrista in Starbucks that you want a tall cappuccino. I have lost count of the number of times I’ve been given TWO cappuccinos. I now ask for a regular which suits me as I hate having to use Starbucks speak anyway.

Once on a visit to Cape Cod I sat next to a man who asked me where I was from. I said London and he asked me where that was (yes he really did). I said England and he said “Oh that’s part if Ire-Land isn’t it?” I said actually it was close to Indonesia and he nodded his head.

Someone once asked me if I knew so and so from Kent. I said no, Kent was a big place and actually I’m from London. She looked at me like I was crazy and then said but I thought England was smaller than Texas. I replied that yes it was but there were still millions of people living in it.

Apparently Denise Van Outen has to take elocution lessons to help her get rid of her Essex accent. Americans don’t like it by all accounts. So if you have an accent like Hugh Grant in Four Weddings you’re OK, but if you sound like Pauline Fowler (sorry Denise) then you’ve got a problem.

As they would say in Brooklyn fugedaboutit.

That means forget about it apparently.

Name that tune

2007-03-21T10:45:00.000-07:00

I love music. It gets me up in the mornings, it makes me run faster in the gym. Sometimes it makes me cry but most of the time it just makes me feel good.

Except when I hear crap lyrics. Sometimes I hear a song and I just think “what the hell was that?” It makes me cringe.

Take “Mancunian Way” by Take That. Now I really like Take That (yes, I’m sad) and I like their new album a lot. Except for aforementioned song. It’s just not very good. At one point Gary/Howard/Mark/other one sings “We used to think we were the bomb, then they dropped a real one”. Hmmm, not exactly poetic is it?

And what about this little gem from Lemar? “Cruising down the A406”. Very glamourous. It has a certain ring to it don’t you think?

And how many times have we heard these beauties?

“It’s Friday and I just got paid”

Phone conversation:
Man in deep, gruff voice: “Hey baby, what you doin?”
Girl in high pitched squeaky voice: “Hey honey, nutin’ I’m just waiting for you. I’m not wearing any underwear”
Man: “I’m comin’ over right now sweetness”

“Throw your hands in the air and wave em like you just don’t care”.

“Make some noise”

“Say ho-oh”

The list goes on and on and on.

My Room 101

2007-03-20T14:38:00.000-07:00

As you have probably guessed there are a lot of things in this world that really get me annoyed. Ignorance, rudeness, racism, the list goes on and on and on. People annoy me too and here are my top ten annoying people (celebrities). Please note that this is just a selection of people who annoy me, there are lots, lots more.

1. Madonna - because she’s far too old to be wearing a leotard and even worse she’s married to a Mockney fool who makes awful films.

2. Bono – because he thinks he’s God and he encourages people to give their money to charity while squirreling away his own and evading taxes (allegedly). Doesn’t charity begin at home Mr Hewson?

3. Diana Ross – because she has big hair and an ego the size of Manhattan.

4. Jodie Marsh – for some bizarre reason she thinks she looks fabulous wearing a belt that just about covers her nipples. Jodie honey – LOOK IN THE MIRROR.

5. Chris Martin and Gwyneth Paltrow – annoying Yoga couple who waffle on about macrobiotic diets. Coldplay were great when they started out, now they are just trying to be U2. Chris Martin used to just sing and play the piano. Now he does somersaults on stage. It must be stopped.

6. Paris Hilton. A prime example of someone who did not benefit from having an expensive schooling. Just goes to show that money can’t buy you intelligence. Or class come to think of it.

6. Robbie Williams. I’m fed up with his tortured soul routine. It’s boring.

7. Britney Spears. Note to self: if you do not want the paparazzi to hound you, it’s a good idea to wear knickers when you go out and not shave your head in public.

8. Pete Doherty. A complete waste of space. Pretends to be a tortured soul (see Robbie Williams) but is just a junkie who happens to have a famous girlfriend. And he couldn't write a good song to save his life.

9. Kate Moss. Answer me this Kate, when you are out partying with Junkie Pete, who’s looking after your daughter? Perhaps you should be spending more time with her and less time in the ladies.

10. Peaches Geldof. Dreadful dreadful child.

Going green

2007-03-15T10:25:00.000-07:00

Ok, yesterday it was a balmy 67 degrees. People were sitting outside eating their lunch and you had to wear sunglasses. Tomorrow it’s going to snow. Yes that’s right, snow.

This freak weather is really scary. I watched Al Gore’s ‘An Inconvenient Truth’ a few weeks ago and it really got me worried.

Americans are not really very eco-friendly. OK, that’s probably a generalisation but in my experience being green in NY means celebrating the national day of drunkenness (St Patrick’s Day). They drive everywhere, get on a plane at the drop of a hat and all the lights in Time Square must use up enough energy to light a whole town for a year.

I was watching the news yesterday and there was a piece about light bulbs. If every American switched to using eco friendly light bulbs the amount of energy saved is phenomenal (they also save you money too). It’s a no brainer right? Wrong, it seems that some Americans don’t want to switch because the bulbs “look funny” (yes that is a direct quote from a woman being interviewed). I screamed at the TV when she said that causing my boyfriend to ask me if I was OK.

Our apartment has the worse lighting system ever. We have three lamps (without eco friendly bulbs) and no main light. This means that you have to have all three lamps and the light in the hallway on in order to get enough to light to read (and it’s still too dark). My eyesight has gotten worse since I moved here because I have to sit right underneath a lamp to see the words on the page. Same goes for the bedroom – three lamps and no overhead light. Hello, wouldn’t it have been simpler to install a main overhead light?

And then there’s the supermarket. They have these plastic bags which say “new stronger style, no need to double bag”. So, what do the cashiers do? Yep, they double bag. I get so exasperated having to say every time “no it’s OK, I don’t need TWO bags”.

And how about the fact that here in our apartment block we can’t recycle glass? Or the fact that everything has twice as much packaging as it really needs?

I’m not saying that Americans are the only people to not embrace being green but when I hear them complaining about the weather I really want to scream.

Being green isn’t really optional anymore and I think that a lot of people still don’t understand that it doesn’t mean you are a long haired hippy, it just means you want to preserve our planet for future generations.

There, rant over

I hate winter

2007-03-08T11:09:00.001-08:00

OK, I’m going to have a moan. Today it’s -12 degrees. It’s freezing. When I went out earlier I thought my lungs were going to freeze over. The wind cuts right through you. It’s horrible. I hate it.

In case you hadn’t worked it out I don’t like winter very much. I often think about doing a bear and hibernating until Spring. Then someone told me that bears don’t hibernate for the whole of winter – they have to emerge to scoff more food. Hmmm, I quite like the idea of sleeping for four months. Why can’t they just stock pile?

I hate the fact that you have to wear so many layers you end up looking like a Sumo wrestler. And the fact that it takes about 15 minutes to take all your layers off. Inevitably you end up losing one glove or your nice new woolly hat.

I have almost passed out on the tube because it’s so damn hot and I have nowhere to put my coat. I think London Underground should install coat racks during the winter time.

Yesterday it snowed. Snow looks pretty for about an hour. Then people start walking over it and cars turn the pristine white stuff to a grey, horrible mess. And don’t get me started on salt. Not only does it ruin your shoes by leaving horrible white stains but it also gets into doggies paws and makes them sore.

Yes I hate winter. Central heating makes your skin dry out, hats make your hair go flat and you look like a yeti.

And don’t get me started on summer. Having to show off your wobbly bits, having to use fake tan so you don’t scare the locals who might think you were a ghost….

Peers

2007-03-08T10:57:00.001-08:00

It’s been a while since I last wrote a blog. And it’s not because I ran out of things to say. No no no. That would never happen. I have a million things to write about, it’s just that I haven’t had the time.

I’ve just been reading about the Lord Levy saga in the UK. Yep, he’s been up to no good again (allegedly of course). Don’t you just love New Labour and all it stands for? If you give them money (or perhaps know someone on the nomination panel) they’ll make you a peer. I love it. Its democracy at is finest.

Forget about actually contributing something to society, no, with New Labour it’s all about who you know. Hob nob with the right people and you’ll go far. Apparently the nominations process is soon to be a thing of the past and a fairer voting system is to be put into place. Of course the Tories are up in arms about this because it means hereditary titles will be scrapped. So Tobias Poncenby Smyth can’t automatically get a seat just because he’s posh and happens to have a big house in Gloucestershire. Oh dear.

Don’t get me wrong I do think there is a place for peers, I just think they should be elected via a fair voting system. I bet there are quite a few Baronesses and Lords who wouldn’t be there right now if this system was in place.

People should sit in the Lords on merit, not because they know someone on the nomination panel or because they can name drop a few MPs. They should be there because they contribute something of value to society. Working for a pseudo charity or having a double barrelled name isn’t enough I’m afraid.

Apparently Tony Blair thinks that having a few non-political careerists in the Lords is a good thing and I agree with him. It’s a very good thing. There are a number of peers who are there because they have been recognised as being influential, forward thinking, innovative etc. However, there are also many peers who are there because it was always their intention to become a peer. Having a title gives one a bit of power and also looks great on a wedding invitation. No matter that you haven’t actually contributed anything of value to society or even to the world of business.

Welcome to British politics folks.

Strikes

2007-01-22T10:11:00.001-08:00

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'

2007-01-19T13:25:00.000-08:00

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?

2007-01-17T08:02:00.000-08:00

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

2007-01-16T13:53:00.000-08:00

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

2007-01-16T07:55:00.000-08:00

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

2007-01-12T13:38:00.000-08:00

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...

2007-01-10T07:29:00.000-08:00

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

2007-01-08T10:18:00.000-08:00

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

2007-01-08T10:17:00.000-08:00

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

2007-01-03T13:10:00.000-08:00

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….

My New Years Resolutions

2006-12-21T10:19:00.000-08:00

Every year I make a few resolutions. By January 5 I have broken most of them. Here are my resolutions for 2007.

1. I will stop buying Caramel Machiatto’s on more than one day of the week. I will not tell myself on Monday’s that I am allowed to have one because its Monday, and on Tuesday’s that I can have one because I have a boring meeting to attend and I need to keep awake, and on Wednesdays because I was really good in the gym and ran 5k……

2. I will not open a bottle of wine when I am home alone and drink all of it because if I don’t then it will go off.

3. I will not buy an item of clothing because it looks really good on Kate Moss and therefore will look just as good on me. Kate Moss is skinny and 5ft 7. I am not skinny (see Caramel Machiattos) and 5ft 2.

4. I will stop watching back to back episodes of Grey’s Anatomy and get dreamy over Dr McDreamy. I am 35, not 15.

5. I will definitely stop telling myself that I will learn Spanish/French/Russian/whatever in the forthcoming year. I say this every year and it never happens.

6. I will stop buying shoes with 4 inch heels or higher. I am not Posh Spice and don’t have the luxury of travelling round in a Limo.

7. I will learn how to cook a simple meal that is not a stir fry.

8. I will not watch any reality TV. Instead I will buy myself some classic books I really should read and pretend to be intelligent. I will not cheat and find out what happened in aforementioned shows on websites or in tabloid newspapers.

9. I will stop fooling myself into thinking that one day I will run the London Marathon. I am 35 and my knees are not what they used to be. Plus I don’t fancy the nipple rash much.

10. I will be a good person, drink less, eat more greens, become more interested in world affairs, visit the theatre more often (musicals do not count), not lose my temper with the fools that surround me on the tube and smile at at least 10 strangers a day.

Happy 2007!

Happy New Year and all that baloney

2006-12-21T06:32:00.000-08:00

I really hate New Years Eve. Call me a miserable so and so if you like but I just hate the whole ‘Auld Lang Syne’ crap. I mean, does anyone actually know what the words mean? Go and google it, I dare you. And then learn all the words.

New Years Eve is a bit like Valentines Day. Everything costs twice the price and restaurants introduce Prix Fixe menus which is French for “Lets serve them crap and make em pay through the nose” Cabs are non-existent and if you can find one it costs double and if you live in the Northern Hemisphere its bloody freezing.

Do I sound like a 95 year old yet? Good.

I hate the fact that drunken strangers kiss you and wish you a Happy New Year. You can bet your bottom dollar that you could be standing next to that person on the Tube on January 2 and they wouldn’t even look you in the eye. They’d probably even shove you out of the way for that last seat.

For the last few years I’ve stayed in, eaten chocolate and then retired to bed about 11.30 with ear plugs. Oooh I love being a rebel!

The last time I went out “properly” for New Years was Millennium Eve. We went to a party somewhere in Essex and had to leave pretty sharpish at about, oooh, ten passed midnight after a massive fight broke out. My cousin who was driving sprained her ankle and it took us forever to drive back through the centre of London because everyone was out getting drunk in Trafalgar Square. Oh yeah, and that was the year the world’s technology was supposed to crash and burn. Apparently someone forgot to set the computer to 00. As if. I mean, you spend your life creating amazing new technology and then forget that in 2000 the last two digits would be 00. Oh please.

The Tube is free on New Years Eve. Great. Have you ever tried to use it? You have to wait for about an hour to get into the tube station due to overcrowding and then another 30 mins to get on a train that isn’t full to the rafters with drunks.

And what are we going to be this New Years Eve? Cruising round New York Harbour on a boat with lots of foreigners of course. We refrain from using the word tourist because we know how the subway works and don’t need a map to get around (most of the time).

Hey, we might not ever be in New York for New Year again so I thought we’d make an exception. When in Rome right?

Spot the Drunk

2006-12-20T14:14:00.000-08:00

I like to talk about drunk people and binge drinking – I did it every day for four years in my last job so it’s a topic close to my heart.

In my last blog I talked about the fact that there are no drunk people in New York. This time I thought it would be fun to talk about the different types of drunk you see on a night out. Recognise anyone you know?

Weeping Wendy

Wendy really can’t handle her drink. After a couple of G&T’s the water begins to flow. She cries about the fact that she hates her job, that she’s still single, that her ex boyfriend who dumped her five years ago is now happily married, that she needs to lose weight, that she never has any money (too many G&T’s). Everything. At the end of the night Wendy’s the one in the toilets wailing while her friends pass her tissues. If you want to know why there’s never any loo roll, ask Wendy.

Peter the Peacock

The more Peter drinks, the more he thinks he’s the best looking, most intelligent man in the room. He preens and pushes out his chest just like a Peacock. He thinks he has all the best chat up lines and works the room like he’s George Clooney. Trouble is Peter is 40, balding and lives with his mum. Poor Peter.

Suzy the Slapper

Suzy’s the kind of girl who dances on tables, snogs strangers and shows everyone her knickers. She likes to drink cocktails with innuendo-laced names like Slow Comfortable Screw and Screaming Orgasm. She’s really classy and after a few tacky cocktails she really is anyone’s.

Andrew the Aggressor

By day Andrew is a normal bloke with a normal job. He might have a decent girlfriend and a mortgage.

By night, and after a few drinks, Andrew is a violent thug who likes to cause trouble and pick fights.

Vomiting Vicky

Poor Vicky. She never learns. She has a few glasses of wine and whoosh, she vomits. Usually in a very public place which really annoys and embarrasses her friends. Vicky needs to remember drinking on an empty stomach is never a good idea.

Sleazy Stevie

He’s the one propping up the bar and eyeing up all the ladies. Stevie sometimes pretends to be Mario, the Italian Stallion but he’s really from Pinner. If you’re standing by a bar and you feel a hand on your bum, that’ll be Stevie. He often sports a black eye.

Where are all the drunks?

2006-12-19T09:29:00.001-08:00

OK, so it’s the week before Christmas. A time for last minute shopping, preparing for the relatives to come and stay and most importantly a time to go out with your friends/workmates/clients and get absolutely slaughtered.

Or at least that’s what you would do if you were a binge drinking Brit.

Last Saturday we were coming home on the subway after going to see a basketball game. It was about 10.15 and the carriage was very busy when it suddenly occurred to me. Everyone in the carriage was sober. We were in full blown “party season” and no-one was pissed.

There were no loud drunks falling all over the place singing “Merry Christmas Everyone” or giggling girls telling their mates how they really really loved them.

In fact, you can walk around Manhattan at midnight any weekend of the year and you can probably count the number of drunks on the street on the fingers of one hand.

Now think about Leicester Square at midnight on a Saturday and what do you see? Yep, girls falling over and showing their knickers, blokes pushing out their chests and showing off in front of their mates. Men and women fighting. People being sick, urinating, singing, swearing. My, aren’t we a pretty sight?

A few people have asked me why I think our relationship with alcohol is so, well, strange, and I don’t really know the answer. Brits are a lot more reserved than Americans. It takes a lot more for us to talk to strangers, dance or even just loosen up. New Yorkers tend to smile more, are more polite and much less reserved and maybe that’s one of the reasons.

Maybe we are so reserved that we just can’t enjoy ourselves without getting drunk. Scary but perhaps true. Lots of my friends (me included) won’t dance unless they have had a few drinks – I think it’s called Dutch Courage – see even the word courage implies that alcohol has some qualities that help us become braver.

I don’t think we’ll ever really understand why we love to binge drink and make fools of ourselves. It’s just something inherently British (and Irish and Scottish….). In the meantime I’m going to enjoy my nights my drunk and fight free nights out in a City just as diverse and crazy as London.

Dear diary

2006-12-12T10:18:00.000-08:00

I’ve decided to quit ranting for a while and use my blog as more of a diary. That way I don’t have to email people with updates (like you really want to read them!).

The weather has gotten very cold now and everyone is wrapped up against the elements. The wind here is awful and it really hits you when you go outside. There’s no room for fashion in this City in the winter – its wear as many layers as possible and forget about looking good. New York is nowhere near as stylish London and there’s a dearth of good cheap shops like Top Shop, New Look and of course, Primark.

Last week I became an Aunt for the first time. My brother and his girlfriend had a baby boy. He’s been a bit poorly with an infection and jaundice but hopefully he will be out of hospital soon. Sadly he looks just like my brother did as a baby, resplendent with red hair and a screwed up face ;) I also turned 35 which was very depressing. I’ll have to start ticking the 35-39 box on surveys etc. Oh well. Rahul keeps calling me an old woman.

About four weeks ago I managed to pull a muscle in my back which was not pleasant. Because I am an idiot and desperate to get rid of the muffin top I carried on working out until I realised that I was in quite a lot of pain. Two visits to the Doctor, four injections and 13 pills a day for seven days later I am feeling much better. It cost $500 but at least we are insured. I miss the NHS. I have no idea what you would do if you were poor and had no insurance in this country. It’s a shocking system. The Doctor prescribed Valium because it’s a muscle relaxant so I spent last week completely zonked. I have no idea how people get addicted to that stuff its bloody horrible!

We’ve had a few visitors over the last couple of weeks and have eaten out a lot. I really need to go on a health kick. I’m hoping that I’ll be able to go back to the gym in the New Year. We’re going skiing next week and I’m hoping that I’ll be able to do that – Rahul is not hopeful.

New York is really in the swing of Christmas now and the shopping areas are dreadful. I can’t for all the Europeans to go home – they are doing my head in! Lord knows how they all get through customs, some of them have so much stuff they can’t carry it!

I’ve just started working for Wango and its really interesting work. It certainly beats sitting at home. There’s also a possibility that I might start working in a Thrift shop which benefits the homeless. I’ve also bought a swanky new digital SLR camera. I have no idea how to use it but I’m reading through the manual and will be a pro in no time (!). I’ll start putting my images on Snapfish so you can all have a look.

On Thursday we’re going to see the Christmas Spectacular at Radio City Music Hall which is going to be sooooo tacky and on Saturday we’re going to see the Knicks (basketball) play which should be good.

Have a very Merry Christmas and a great 2007!

If you can't stand the heat....

2006-11-28T12:31:00.000-08:00

...don't ever ask me to cook you a meal.

Is it just me or does anyone else find cooking really stressful? Personally I would rather have a filling at the dentists than cook a meal from scratch. The thought fills me with dread. How do I know when the meat is cooked? What happens if one thing is cooked before everything else? How do I baste? What’s a tablespoon? (just kidding)

A few days ago I attempted to cook a Spicy Sausage Risotto. It was a complete and utter disaster. The recipe said to cook the sausages first and then leave them to one side until the risotto was done. I think they must have been joking because when I put them back in the pan with the cooked risotto they were as hard as nails. They looked and felt like pieces of Blackpool Rock. The risotto was tasteless and bland and to top it all the apartment looked and smelt like November 5. And what did I do when it all went wrong? I cried. That’s what I did, I cried like a big baby. Why can’t I follow a recipe? What’s wrong with me? I can read, I can measure, so why can’t I cook a decent meal?

I watched an episode of the F Word with Gordon Ramsey a few months ago. It featured a woman just like me – a complete disaster in the kitchen. She lived on microwave meals (I don’t – I can cook a few things like chicken stir fry and, er, prawn stir fry) and desperately wanted to cook a roast dinner for her husband. Ramsey went round to her house, shouted and swore at her for a few hours and before you know it, she’d cooked a roast. He even went back a few months later to make sure she was still cooking. She was.

The thought of cooking a roast makes me feel very scared. How long do you cook the meat for? How do make roast potatoes? What happens if the vegetables are done before the meat? It’s all so bloody complicated. Some people say they don’t need to measure out ingredients. It’s just a pinch of this, a pinch of that. I have to measure EVERYTHING. I mean, what happens if I put too much pepper in?

I use every utensil I own and end up covered in flour and eggs. It’s horrible. It hate it. We did have home economics classes at school and I guess that’s when I realised I really couldn’t cook. Once we made a stuffed pepper thing and I dropped mine as I pulled it out of the oven. It was probably a blessing as it probably tasted awful.

Some of my friends say that cooking helps them relax. Relax? I relax in a sauna or on the sofa with a good book and a bar of Dairy Milk. Cooking is by far the most stressful thing in my life.

So, until I have taken some cookery lessons I wouldn’t ask me to cook you a meal. I could rustle up some beans on toast or even a chicken stir fry but that’s about it. Sorry.

Only in America

2006-11-27T12:51:00.000-08:00

I have seen some strange people since arriving here. Its not that you don’t get strange people in London, of course you do. It’s just that here people tend to ignore them more.

Here are the strangest people I have come across so far:

1. The guy who stands across from Wall Street with a sign which says “College graduate looking for work, drug free”. He sometimes stands there all day and he’s obviously cold because he jumps up and down all the time. Why doesn’t he go home and work on his CV? Harsh but true.

2. I was watching a programme about tattooing the other day. One of the people featured on the show was a middle aged woman with hardly any teeth (always a bad sign) who had framed a grilled cheese sandwich that she said had an imprint of the Virgin Mary. She wanted an image of the sandwich tattooed onto her breast. I will say no more other than the fact that she sold the sandwich (in a frame) on ebay for $25,000. There’s one born every minute.

3. A few weekends ago we went to Washington DC. It’s a strange city with pockets of wealth and power and poverty and crime. There are lots of homeless people in the City and one evening as we were walking to a restaurant we came across a homeless woman poo-ing, yes poo-ing in the street. Her backside facing us. It was very sad to see someone with absolutely no dignity left and I am not mocking her for a single second. All the same it was a bit surreal and not very nice.

4. The guy on the subway train today reading aloud from a book. I have no idea what he was reading as I turned my ipod up even louder but he obviously thought we would all like to listen.

5. The lady who marches up and down a small section of the esplanade near our apartment. She wears a big scarf round her head so that you can only see her eyes and shakes her hands as if she’s starring in a cabaret show.

6. The woman who goes to my gym and works out wearing a Trench Coat (yes really). Perhaps she’s cold. She's my favourite nutter.

7. The guy who was standing in the middle of a very busy road on Saturday night pretending to be a bird. I think he needs to stay off the Crack for a while.

Nanny State

2006-11-21T14:14:00.000-08:00

So Ofcom has announced that it’s banning junk food advertising from breaks in programmes aimed at under 16s. This comes as the Government announces that it is introducing ‘Super Nannies’ to teach parenting skills to parents with anti social children.

The term Nanny State springs to mind. There were junk food adverts on TV when I was growing up and I’m not (and never have been) obese. That’s because my parents wouldn’t let me eat junk food all the time. Hello, parents of obese children, ever heard that one before? When I was a kid we went to McDonalds for special treats (about once every six months). It wasn’t my staple diet and I knew it would make me fat if I ate it all the time.

I see toddlers in prams drinking fizzy drinks, kids on their way to school eating bars of chocolate and families surviving on junk food all the time. And you know what? It disgusts me. There is enough information out there to know that eating and drinking junk all the time is bad for you and it’s up to parents to instill that in their children. Banning junk food ads isn’t going to stop people eating it and it’s ridiculous to think it will. All that it does is shift the blame from parents.

It’s all very well blaming the marketers or the advertisers for making junk food appealing to children but how about using a little discipline? Yes, there’s a thought. How about telling little Johnny no he can’t have sweets?

You don’t have to read a broadsheet or watch Channel 4 News to work out what’s good and what’s bad for you. You can read The Sun and get the same information. Everyone knows that fruit and vegetables = good and chocolate and burgers = bad. Its not rocket science.

At the risk of sounding controversial and right wing parents who let their children eat junk and then sit back and watch as they get bigger and bigger are abusing them. How can you sit back and watch your child get out of breath just climbing the stairs?

It’s the same with alcohol or credit card debt. You know that a whole bottle of wine isn’t very good for you and you also know that if you spend £1000 on your credit card you will have to pay it back. It’s not magic money. And I’m not talking about the people who get into debt just so that they can eat; I’m talking about the people who get into debt because they shop in Harvey Nichols all the time.

So Mr Blair, how about getting your team of ‘Super Nannies’ to teach people how to be responsible for their own actions?

And can I have the first and last letter of your password?

2006-11-20T14:28:00.000-08:00

I really hate passwords. When I was a child the only password I knew was the one in Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves – Open Sesame. Oh how things have changed.

Now I need a bloody password for everything. Of course you can’t have just one generic password. Oh no, that would be far too easy. Some passwords have to have a mixture of Upper and Lower case, some have to have numbers and some can only contain letters. It’s a nightmare. We are living in password hell.

I have a password for my bank account, one each for my credit cards, two for my email accounts, one for my Amazon account, not to mention the one I had for my work computer, the one for the DVD shop and the one for my Ocado account. I am going password crazy.

Passwords are fine if you use them all the time but if you don’t and you have the memory of a ninety five year old (I have) then it can be a bit of a problem. Recently I had to call one of my credit card companies. Now, I don’t call them very often and naturally I had forgotten my password (which I use about once a year). So, the call centre operator asks me for my password and I can’t remember it. The fact that I had my card number, my address, my date of birth, the place where I was born and details of the last transaction I made didn’t seem to matter to the credit card company. No. I had to give them my password. After going through every password I could think of (so now the whole office and the person on the telephone knew all my top secret passwords. Great). In the end I had to admit that I had forgotten it and all my security settings had to be reset. And all I wanted to do was check my balance.

When you enter a password on a website it always reminds you not to tell reveal it to anyone. I bloody wish. It takes all my strength to remember it in the first place.

And my favourite password of all? I b l o o d y h a t e p a s s w o r d s

Pretentious shops

2006-11-15T14:33:00.000-08:00

London and New York are very similar in lots of ways. Right down to areas sometimes. Take SoHo, for example. Like its namesake in the UK, SoHo is full of pretentious people who wear sunglasses when it’s raining and poseurs who hang around in cafes all day. Don’t they have jobs to go to?

SoHo is home to lots of pretentious clothes shops as well. You know, the kind which look more like art galleries. All white walls and minimalism. I hate these shops. I think they should be turned into branches of Starbucks.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for promoting independent stores and I think some chain stores should be banned from opening branches in certain areas (I mean how many coffee shops do you need on Upper Street?) but I hate all things pretentious. And that includes clothes shops which employ vacuous twits who think that they are there just to look good. I also really hate shops which have in-house DJ’s. I mean, come on, imagine telling people what you did for a living. Er, I’m a DJ. In a clothes shop. It’s as bad as saying you’re a bouncer in McDonalds.

There’s a shop in SoHo, it’s huge but the rails in the shop only have two or three items on them. I have looked in the window of this shop many times and the sales assistants just look bored. They stand around trying to look really cool but anyone who walks passed can see that they are bored out of their tiny minds. Why would you want to work in a place like this?

Personally I’d rather work in Sainsbury’s. OK, the uniform isn’t as nice but at least you wouldn’t be bored. If you worked in the Camden branch you could watch all the shoplifters. That would be quite entertaining.

I remember a shop in London (now closed, I wonder why?) where you had to ring a doorbell to get in. Often it would turn away people because they didn’t look right. That just makes me want to scream. What is with these people? They really need to climb out of their backsides.

One day I’m going to go into one of these poncey shops and try to annoy the sales assistants as much as I possibly can. I’ll do this buy asking them when their sale starts (they hate this and they will think I am poor white trash) and then asking them for an item in a size 16. Imagine the look of terror.

Journalists

2006-11-15T12:41:00.000-08:00

I was watching a programme on TV the other day where the presenter was interviewing a woman who had survived breast cancer. I almost fell off my chair when the presenter asked the woman if she worried that the cancer would return. What an utterly ridiculous thing to ask.

Sometimes I really hate the media. They say the most ludicrous things. You know the kind of thing. Someone loses a loved one or is involved in a horrible accident and the reporter says “How do you feel?” I wish someone would smack the reporter and then say “So how do you feel?” Geez I would pay someone to do that.

My other bug bear is when newspaper reporters use completely irrelevant information in their stories. I mean, does it really matter if a mass murderer lives in a £500,000 house? Or that a rapist lives on a council estate. I’m sorry but I just don’t understand how that is relevant to the story. Does it mean that mass murderers don’t usually live in expensive houses? Or that rapists live in tents?

Reporters often think it’s really important to print the age of their subject. Again, how is this relevant? Does it matter if someone is 25 or 55? I have worked in and with the media for over 10 years and things haven’t changed a single bit.

There is one newspaper in the UK which shall remain nameless. It’s not the kind of newspaper I would read through choice but sometimes I have to buy it for work purposes. I remember a feature which appeared in this newspaper a few years ago. It was so full of clichés and stereotypes that I wrote a letter of complaint. Obviously they didn’t print it but it felt good to get something off my chest.

The article was written by a dreadful middle-class journalist who had spent one week living on a council estate somewhere in London. In the article she described how awful it was living on said estate. She talked about the junkies shooting up on the stairwells and the kids hanging around the streets mugging people. I don’t doubt that much of the stuff she wrote about was real. But it was the way the article was written which annoyed me the most. It was just so patronising. There was lots of “Oh look how these poor people live. I am so glad I can go back to my four storey house in Notting Hill next week.” To me, this journalist (who I hope was fired for writing such trash) was just a voyeur who wanted something to talk about at her next dinner party.

I’m not a big fan of any newspaper to be honest. They are either too trashy, too middle class or just too bloody worthy. That’s a bit of a problem when you work in Public Relations.

Oh well.

Tourists

2006-11-14T08:35:00.000-08:00

Now I guess you could say that I was a tourist. I’m in a country I’m unfamiliar with, I’m not working and I spend a lot of time walking around the City. However, I think I’m superior to many of the tourists I see every day.

I’ll give you an example. A few days ago we were walking back to the apartment and we came across a very large group of tourists who were blocking the road (grrrr). As we passed them (pushed passed them if you want the truth) we discovered that they were taking pictures of a bride who was just about to enter a church. Did these people know the bride? (Who turned up in a Hummer the size of a Limousine – no wonder this country is one of the world’s biggest polluters). No they did not. They were just stupid tourists who thought it would be really cool to have a photograph of someone they didn’t know. The idiots.

Here are some other reasons why I do not class myself as a tourist.

I don’t walk around in a plastic poncho with I ♥ New York on it. If it’s raining then I will use an umbrella like a normal person.

I’m a secret map user. I don’t stand in the middle of the street with a map the size of a fitted sheet. I have a carefully folded map which shows me the area I’m in and nothing else. If I need to look at it I do so discreetly.

I don’t ask a cab driver to take me to the World Trade Centre/Macy’s/the Empire State Building. If you want the driver to take the long way round, thus costing you money then this is a sure-fire way of doing that.

I do not stand in the middle of the street and take photos of oncoming traffic. Yes, that is a yellow cab; there are about 30,000 of them in this city.

I would never ever ask a policeman if I could have my photo taken with him. That’s just embarrassing.

I do not walk around the City wearing a bloody great rucksack on my back.

I would never buy a Starbucks mug or visit a TGI Fridays.

I don’t walk around with a camera around my neck. I’m from a big City and know that this just says mug me, I’m stupid.

Stupid machines

2006-11-10T12:10:00.000-08:00

Machines don’t like me. It’s true. In fact they hate me.

Whenever I go near a photocopier they stop working. It’s like they know me and can sense that I don’t like them. A bit like a cat except when a cat knows you don’t like it, it rubs itself up against your legs just to piss you off. Whenever I tried to photocopy something in the office the machine would take one look at me and then chew up the paper. Call me paranoid but it happens a lot.

Take this morning, I swiped my Metro Pass and it refused to let me through. I had to swipe it a further three times before it decided that it had annoyed me enough. This happens every time I use the damn thing. It doesn’t happen to anyone else around me. And believe me I pay close attention.

My Oyster card would do the same. No actually, what my Oyster card did was far worse. I would place my card on the reader and the barrier would open. Just as I was walking through, the barrier would close, trapping me. I would have to struggle free and then nurse my bruised arm. I should sue. Once it trapped me and my grocery shopping. My loaf of bread got a bit squashed. I try to get through as fast as I can but it doesn’t seem to matter. It always gets me.

Take my Laptop, most of the time it works just fine and then every so often just when I am in the middle of doing something really important, like writing a new post for my blog, it decides to crash. How nice of it. I treat it well, give it a clean every now and then, make sure its virus free and let it have a bit of a sleep at night and that’s how it treats me.

Don’t you just hate that bloody annoying paper-clip thing that pops up every now and then? It thinks it can help you but all it does is raise it’s ‘eyebrow’ at you and then just says sorry I don’t know the answer to that one. How about when it pops up and says “I think you are writing a letter”. No, I know I’m writing a letter and if I want your bloody advice I’ll ask for it. Now bugger off and leave me alone. You can get other characters that can help you if you don’t like the paperclip. There’s a dog and even an Einstein character. Who are they kidding?

I think one day machines will take over the world like they do in “I Robot” and when they do I’m running for the hills. That’s if they don’t trap me in a stupid Tube barrier first and keep me prisoner for the rest of my life.

What happened to Thank You?

2006-11-09T14:09:00.000-08:00

Call me old-fashioned but I’m the kind of girl who quite likes it when someone opens a car door for me, helps me with my coat or holds a door open for me. It’s nice.

I don’t get offended if a man asks me if I would like his seat on the tube (as long as he doesn’t ask me when I am due) and I certainly wouldn’t say no if a kind gentleman offered to carry my suitcase up a flight of stairs.

A lot of Londoners have really shocking manners. You see it everywhere. In shops, on public transport, on the streets. Ignorance is everywhere and it really riles me. As my mum says “manners cost nothing”.

Once I was on a bus on my way to work and I had a nosebleed. I didn’t have a tissue in my bag and so I asked the man sitting next to me if he had one. He looked me up and down and said “no, I don’t”, then went back to his FT. I was so shocked that I didn’t know what to say (and that is not normal for me). I had one last rummage in my bag and you know what I used to stop the bleeding? A sanitary towel – how dignified. I hope the man who declined to help me had a really shit day and I also hope that one day he has a terrible nosebleed and stains his lovely Thomas Pink shirt. How’s that for Karma?

I really hate it when people don’t say thank you when you hold open a door for them – and I usually shout out “Thank you, you’re welcome”. I’m like that. A bit gobby.

Living in New York has made me realise just how rude Londoners are. I can count on the fingers of one hand how many times someone has said thanks when I’ve held a door for them. Here, everyone says thanks. It’s polite and means that you have noticed that the door didn’t stay open on its own.

Once I was on the Tube (yes, manners are virtually non-existent on the Tube) and there was a spare seat. As no-one seemed to be moving towards the seat I thought I’d sit down. There was an ugly looking man standing in front of the seat and so I said very politely “Excuse me, do you mind if I sit down?” Without even looking up from his book he said “Yes I do actually.” I was stunned. He didn’t want the seat but didn’t want anyone else to have it either! I really hoped that a small child projectile vomited over him on his way to work the next day.

You see, that’s how I deal with ignorant people. I wish bad things on them. Not really bad things, just little things that would inconvenience them. My favourite is to wish that they lose their purse/wallet. See, not really bad, but very inconvenient.

My top ten examples of bad manners:

1. Not saying thank you when I hold open a door.
2. Throwing litter.
3. Eating smelly food on public transport.
4. Pretending not to see that old/disabled person as you feign sleep on the Tube.
5. Men scratching their private parts in public. Dogs do it, humans don’t.
6. Women who file their nails, comb their hair or apply make-up on public transport. It’s so undignified. Just get up 30 mins earlier OK?
7. Queue jumpers. Just get in line like everyone else.
8. Shop assistants who think it’s a real chore to serve you. If you don’t like your job get another one. Preferably one where you don’t have to deal with the general public.
9. Talking very loudly on a mobile on the bus.
10. Drivers who run red lights. That’s called breaking the law dick-heads.

I think people should have to attend a manners class. We should employ manners police who can arrest someone for being rude. Wouldn’t that be fun? I’d volunteer for the job, I’d never be bored.

But is it Art?

2006-11-08T12:26:00.000-08:00

I’ve just read about a couple who paid £4,500 for Jake Chapman (a famous and controversial British ‘artist’) to paint a portrait of them as a wedding gift to themselves. http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/magazine/6122142.stm As you can see the result was a little less flattering than they had hoped.

Apparently art critics have said that it will be worth a lot of money in a few years. That may be so, but if I commissioned someone to paint a picture of myself and my fiancé I’d expect the portrait to look a little bit like me. After all, it will hang above the fireplace in the dining room. If I had to look at this everyday I think I might develop a complex.

Does anyone else out there find the whole conceptual modern art thing a load of pretentious shite? Is it me or does anyone else walk around the Tate Modern, or any other museum dedicated to ‘modern art’ and snort with derision?

Some people say that they don’t get modern art because they think they could paint a similar picture/stick an animal in a big Perspex tank. But you know what? I wouldn’t want to create a piece of modern art. I’d be embarrassed to say that I erected a tent, crawled inside and wrote all the names of the men I’d slept with in felt tip on the lining.

I’m an educated person but I will never ever understand how you can call a dead animal or some toy soldiers covered in red paint, art. Oh yes, you can give it a poncey name and create some spiel about how it represents the failings of society but at the end of the day its shite.

I know that taste is a very personal thing but surely anyone with a brain can see that modern art is crap. Its pretentious, trite and above all a bloody waste of money.

I blame the fat, rich art collectors. If they didn’t invest in piles of turd (sometimes quite literally) then there wouldn’t be a market for it. Supply and demand and all that. Their mansions must be filled to the brim with useless bits of metal and dead animals. I feel sorry for the cleaners, how would they know what was rubbish and what wasn’t?

I love those stories you sometimes read in the media. You know the ones about cleaners/security guards mistaking a sculpture for rubbish and throwing it out with the rest of the trash. I sometimes wonder whether they really knew what they were throwing away. Hah!

Give me a Degas or a Hockney any day. Now that's real Art.

Modern Tube etiquette

2006-11-07T12:34:00.000-08:00

1. As the tube pulls into the platform and you see a vacant seat, barge onto the carriage without waiting for passengers to get off first. Throw yourself into the seat and smile smugly. Yes you have been sitting on your arse all day behind a desk but who cares?

2. If you are a man spread your legs as wide as possible and force the person into a space about ten inches wide. Women in particular really like having their space invaded. It makes us realise that men have enormous penises and just have to give their thighs some breathing space.

3. Never ever speak or smile to anyone on the tube. Yes you might share the same carriage with the girl wearing the brown coat everyday but this does not give you the right to make eye contact, or heaven forbid, smile. If you do smile or make eye contact, you are clearly a nutter.

4. If you are listening to music make sure that everyone in the carriage can hear it too. If you think the guy sitting right down the other end can’t hear it, turn it up! Personal stereos are made for sharing.

5. Never ever move down the aisles. Always block the doors and never actually step off the carriage to let someone off. This might mean you lose your place, you know the one that has a sign saying reserved for me next to it?

6. If you see someone standing close to you who clearly needs a seat pretend you can’t see them. If you have a book pretend to be totally engrossed in it. Closing your eyes and feigning sleep also works quite well.

7. If you are standing in the centre of the carriage, always lean against the handrail – you know the one that people like to hold onto in case they tube stops suddenly – if you use your whole body to lean against it short people have nothing to hold on to. They like that, it means they can practice the art of balance.

8. If you are a tube driver and you have to stop in the middle of a tunnel, never tell passengers what is happening. We like to make stories up in our heads. It's much more fun and passes the time.

9. If you are travelling on the tube at the weekend and have a newspaper, make sure you discard all the sections you don’t want to read. Either leave them on the seat next to you or better still dump them on the floor.

10. Hungry tube travellers must always make sure that the food they eat on the tube is as smelly as possible. Kebabs, burgers, chips etc. It also helps if the food is really greasy as you can then wipe your hands all over the seats.

N is for New York

2006-11-03T14:05:00.000-08:00

A is for acronyms: NoHo (North of Houston), SoHo (South of Houston), NoLita (North of Little Italy). Aarrrgh, be a little more creative can’t you?

B is for bloody as in bloody hell. I miss that phrase, along with many other English-isms. When New Yorkers get mad they say "get outta here". Not quite the same now is it?

C is for commercials. The adverts in this country are truly diabolical. You can advertise just about anything from asthma inhalers and sleeping pills to KY Jelly (pre-watershed) and make wild claims about products. Even politicians advertise (often with their children which I find in very bad taste). I hate to say it but our ad agencies put the US guys to shame (sometimes).

D is for dogs. New Yorkers LOVE their dogs. They dress them up and carry them around in stupid bags. You can even put your pooch into day care if you work and don’t have access to a dog walker. There are pet shops everywhere and a dog show just about every week.

E is for eating out. You can find just about any kind of cuisine you want here, from Argentinean to Vietnamese and it is much easier to eat healthily as well. There’s a Deli on every corner and most are open 24 hours a day. I will lose that muffin top!

F is for fashion. Forget it, it doesn’t really exist here. If you have lots of money and can afford to go to Bloomingdales and Barneys then yes, I guess fashion is great. If you are looking for fast fashion that us Brits do so well then you might as well go home. There is no Top Shop equivalent here. Jeans are much cheaper here and so is Cashmere but don’t think you’re going to find that Marc Jacobs-esque jumper for $50. Also fur is huge here and I find that really disturbing. It’s everywhere and sometimes it’s hard to know what’s real and what isn’t. I steer clear of anything furry just in case it was once a Bunny.

G is for the gym. New Yorkers are incredibly fit. They run, skate, cycle everywhere and it’s putting me to shame. I feel incredibly unfit next to these people (see my previous blog about the gym).

H is for highway. There’s one right outside our apartment and it takes a while to get used to the noise. But you do eventually, I guess it helps coming from a big, loud city in the first place.

I is for Iraq (pronounced I-Rack). It’s on the news everyday. In fact, it’s the only world news that’s ever covered. World News means news from outside the state here.

J is for Jelly. That’s jam to you and me. Jelly is called jello, crisps are called chips, spring onions are called scallions and rocket is called arugula. Got that? No, me neither.

K is for kitchens. Most kitchens in New York City are tiny. Space is at a premium and why do you want a big kitchen if you can eat out cheaply and healthily any day of the week?

L is for ‘Lost’, the best thing on TV at the moment. Guys, if you’re British and love the show, season 3 is great! Sorry I am a ‘Lost’ geek and I apologise!

M is for movies. We went to see ‘The Departed’ a few weeks ago. It was good but very violent with lots of swearing and a few sex scenes. Imagine my surprise when a woman sat down in front of us with two young boys. They were probably about 10 and 12. In the US kids can watch pretty much anything as long as they’re with an adult. Would you want your kids to watch a film where people get their hands broken with bricks? No, neither would I.

N is for New Yorkers. Contrary to popular belief they are generally a polite bunch. They never shove you out of the way for a seat on the subway, often hold doors open for you and sales assistants actually don’t mind helping you (as opposed to chatting to their colleague and ignoring you). They really do put Londoners to shame.

O is open 24 hours. This really is the City that never sleeps.

P is for prices. Pretty much everything is cheaper here, from transport and food to manicures and jeans. It is a shopaholics paradise.

Q is for queue. It’s a line here, not a queue. They are quite good at it though.

R is for rest-room. It’s not a toilet and in fact, that’s a dirty word here. It’s actually considered rude to ask for the toilet. Think I might ask where the Khazi is next time…

S is for sirens. You can’t hear yourself think for sirens. They go off every five minutes and they make the worse noise ever.

T is for TV. It’s crap. ‘Wheel of Fortune’ and ‘Jeopardy’ are on EVERY NIGHT and there are million and one dreadful soaps where the sets shake. I thought that ‘The Bold and the Beautiful’ stopped airing in the 1980s. The best things on TV here are ‘Lost’ and ‘Greys Anatomy’ and we have them at home.

U is for….umbrella. Sorry, can’t think of a U.

V is for variety. You want a decaf skinny extra hot Latte with a shot of no sugar vanilla syrup? You got it.

W is for weather. The weather here is weird, we’ve had freezing cold days, torrential rain, howling winds and oh, yesterday it was 70 degrees.

X is for….oh, c’mon now, I’m not that good.

Y is for yellow cabs. You can always get a cab, there are millions of them and they are very cheap. Just don’t expect the driver to a. know where he’s going, b. speak much English and c. be cheerful.

Z is for zonked. That’s me and I’m outta here.

Women really are from Venus

2006-10-31T14:55:00.000-08:00

We all know that women and from Venus and men are from outer space. Men can’t understand why women need so many pairs of shoes, why they get a bit emotional once a month and they really don’t get the fact that we can’t map read.

Men, a word of advice: when a woman says she is fine it means she’s not. When she asks if she looks fat in her new dress she wants you to say no, not well, now that you say it and if you are in a restaurant and she asks you whether you would like dessert she would really like you to say yes. This is because she wants to order that sticky toffee pudding but feels she will look like a pig if you don’t have one too.

If you ask a woman to map read and she looks a bit worried please bear in mind that this is because she can’t read maps (yes, I know lots of women can, I’m not being sexist, just speaking from experience). I cannot tell my left from right so when you ask me which way you should turn and I say “that way” I expect you to look at me and not the road. Yes I know this is dangerous but it takes me a while to work out which way left is and which way right is. Also, please don’t ever ask me to direct you at a roundabout with lots of exit points. I find this very very scary. I also don’t like it when you ask me which exit you need to take from the M1. As a man I expect you to know these kinds of things. My job is to sing along to the radio and feed you as you are driving 90mph.

To me a car is just a car. I don’t care if it goes 0-100mph in 2 seconds or that it’s got an amazing engine that purrs like a cat. Actually when I said a car is just a car that’s not true. I’d quite like it to have a big boot for all my shopping and I’m also quite partial to air conditioning. That way you don’t have to wind down all the windows so that my hair gets messy.

Also, I am not really very interested in that amazing goal that some footballer I have never heard of just scored. I might perk up if he is good looking but I will quickly lose interest. Watching Match of the Day on a Saturday night is my idea of hell. So is watching Top Gear or anything on the Men and Motors channel. I will never appreciate the assets of Jade on Page Three of The Sun and the Daily Star is not, and never will be, my newspaper of choice.

When I say the word need I mean it in the loosest sense. My needs are different to yours and yes I do need 40 pairs of shoes and 20 bags. Each pair of shoes has been carefully selected to match an outfit and each bag has its use.

When I say that Carrie from Sex and the City is my heroine please don’t say “what that bird off the telly with weird dress sense?” Carrie is unique and you will never understand why she is a fashion icon.

If I cry when watching a soppy film on TV don’t laugh at me. The chances are I have PMT and anything will make me cry.

Yes I do know all the words to “I will survive” and yes I probably had a crush on a member of a boy band when I was a teenager.

I’m sorry if you don’t appreciate the full value of a bar of Dairy Milk. Chocolate to me is what a pint of lager with your mates is to you.

I must go now, I need to have a good old fashioned gossip with my friends.

Useless words

2006-10-30T13:29:00.000-08:00

My favourite word is plop. It’s an onomatopoeia dontcha know (and just you try spelling it without using spell check).

I might have told you this before but I will tell you again just in case you have forgotton. I work in the communications industry (well, when I’m not taking a career break that is) so words are my livelihood. I like words and I like my job most of the time but there are occasions when I wish I'd trained to be a chef or something. I usually think this after I have dealt with a sales person or an ad agency creative. There are a lot of fools in my industry, especially in the world of marketing. Marketing people like to make up words or give them new meaning. It makes them feel like they are doing a gre-at job. Here are a few examples:

Virtuous circle – oh please. This is usually accompanied by a hand movement which involves making a big circle with your arms. As if you didn’t know what a circle was.

Sexy – as in this product/advert/brand is ‘really sexy’. No, it’s a tube of toothpaste. Justin Timberlake is sexy and so is George Clooney. Toothpaste is not, and never will be sexy.

Added value – one of my all-time favourites. Marketers love this phrase. They use it all the time, especially when they are trying to sell something to a client. If a marketer uses this in conversation run for the hills.

Advertorial – it’s an advert but it contains editorial. I know, let’s create a poncey new word for it. Who are you? David Brent?

Synergy – Hmm. Even the thesaurus in Word doesn’t know what this means.

Ramp up – Now this one sounds like it belongs in the 1990s, along with ‘Greed is Good’ and ‘Yuppies’.

Blue sky thinking – this is what they say when they are trying to be creative. How sad.

Thinking outside of the box – actually what I’d like to do with you people is put you in a box. And lock it. If I am in a good mood I might make some holes in it just so that you can breathe. How’s that for added value?

Why men are like shoes

2006-10-27T11:35:00.000-07:00

A while ago I started writing a book with a friend of mine. It was called ‘Dating Disasters and how to live happily ever after (sort of)’. One of the chapters was entitled ‘Men are like shoes’ and I thought it was rather good. So I am sharing it with all you lucky people.

My theory is this: shoes and men are very similar (in a random kind of way). Like shoes, there are many different varieties of men. Some are comfortable like a nice pair of trainers and others are totally useless, rather like a pair of six inch stilettos which hurt like hell. Some men are like a pair of wellies: wet and not very nice to look at. Are you beginning to see where I’m coming from? Good.

Kitten heels (definition for male readers: kitten heels are thin and not very high, they have a sort of hourglass shape)

Every woman should own a pair of kitten heels. They look good, are reliable and most of the time they’re quite comfortable. Sometimes they get stuck in grating and dodgy paving stones but you just get them re-heeled. A good man is like a pair of kitten heels. Reliable, stylish and comfortable.

Kitten heel man: stylish and good looking, a bit like your best gay friend.

Stilettos (high skinny heels and are not very comfortable)

Stilettos are sleek, stylish (unless they are white) and have killer heels. And therein lies the rub. They may look good but they will never treat you right and will probably give you blisters. Stilettos are addictive and can look very sexy. However, they are not practical and if you twist your ankle in them it will hurt.

In short, stilettos will make you cry.

Stiletto man: good looking, but shallow and will definitely break your heart.

Slippers (shoes that you wear indoors, usually very warm and not very sexy. Note: women do not wear those stupid high heeled marabou trimmed slippers you can buy in naughty underwear shops, they are uncomfortable and could cause serious injury especially if you do the vacuuming in them)

Every woman owns a pair of comfy slippers. They are a bit like a nice, reliable bloke. You come home, kick your heels off and put them on. Slippers will never let you down and will keep you snug and toasty.

Slipper man: dependable, comfortable and reliable. In short, your dad.

Trainers (men: you will definitely have at least one pair of these, they are your weekend shoes, the other pair you own are for work)

Trainers kick ass. They can look cool, are comfortable and you can wear them all day without them hurting. They’re dependable, don’t look dorky and you can run a mile in them. Every woman should own at least one pair.

Trainer man: fit, good looking and comfortable: your boyfriend of five years.

Boots (no, not the thigh high PVC variety)

Boots can look very sexy, keep you warm and dry when it rains. Practical and stylish, boots go with just about anything. They also come in different, ahem, lengths.

Boot man: sexy and stylish a bit like that guy in the office you’ve had your eye on.

Public transport

2006-10-18T14:01:00.000-07:00

Now this is one of my favourite topics. Public transport seems to bring out the worst in people and many of them turn into one of the following breeds.

How many have you spotted?

ipod ignoramus
The ipod ignoramus is a little bit deaf so handle with care. This breed likes to listen to its ipod very very loudly. So loudly in fact that you are unable to hear your own ipod even though you are sitting at the other end of the carriage. This breed has adopted a rhythmic nodding of the head as well as an irritating knee twitch. Sometimes it hums or sings, note also that it is tone deaf. It has little regard for anyone sitting next to it and if you ask it to turn their music down it is highly likely to turn it up even louder. Related to this breed is the music muppet who likes to listen to music (usually music with lots of profanities or a really awful techno beat) via its mobile phone. This breed obviously cannot afford headphones. Do not ask it to turn it down. It is likely to stab you.

Favourite tube stations: the ipod ignoramus is not fussy.

The creature with tunnel vision
Often seen reading the Financial Times, this breed seems to have developed 'tunnel vision'. Strangely this breed is unable to see the pregnant woman standing two feet away from it. Neither is it able to see the elderly gentleman clinging on to the handrail for dear life or the person with a white stick trying to find a safe place to stand. So engrossed is it in its pink paper that it does not realise that its legs are actually taking up two seats (this particular breed is usually male) and that its newspaper is now touching the person sitting next to it. As you are trying to get passed the suit I suggest grinding your heel (this works best with a stiletto heel) into its foot. You will hear its primeval roar in the next carriage.

Favourite tube stations: Moorgate, Bank, Liverpool Street and Aldgate.

The door/pole hogger
Ah yes, this particular breed seems to be the bane of most commuter’s lives. The door/pole hogger seems to have developed a relationship with inanimate objects. It is quite insecure and always has to have something to cling on to. It seems totally incapable of stepping out of the carriage to let others passed or moving down the carriage. As you try and get passed this breed I suggest that you give him a swift poke in the ribs.

Favourite tube stations: the door/pole hogger doesn't care but quite likes rush hour

The tourist
The poor tourist. You have to feel a little bit sorry for this breed. It doesn't realise that it is not acceptable to smile, maintain eye contact or talk to anyone on the tube. It also doesn’t realize that there is a strict etiquette – push or be pushed. You can usually spot this breed a mile off, it stands on the wrong side of the escalator, peers frequently into a guide book and thinks that Leicester Square is pronounced Lye-ces-ter.

Favourite tube stations: Leicester Square, Piccadilly Circus, Westminster and Oxford Circus.

The person with really bad BO
You do not want to be standing next to this particular breed. Especially in the summer. This breed has the capability to knock you off your feet – literally. The invention of deodorant seems to have passed this breed by.

As you walk past this breed, I suggest you pop a roll-on into its pocket. It will thank you for it. Maybe.

Favourite tube stations: this breed is not really fussy but the more crowded the better.

Kebab Kid
Kebab Kid smells. A Lot. Mostly of takeaways and alcohol. The Kebab Kid thinks that it is perfectly acceptable to pollute the environment with the smell of greasy meat. Kebab Kid also likes to vomit. Particularly after consuming 10 pints of Stella and a kebab and chips. If you see Kebab Kid, move away.

Favourite tube stations: Leicester Square and Camden Town, particularly after 11pm.

The person with large rucksack
This breed is a bit stupid. It doesn’t realise that wearing a large rucksack on its back really really irritates people. It has no sense of space and distance (rather like a cat with no whiskers) and thinks that no-one will mind if it bumps them a few times.

Duck if you think this breed is about to turn around. If you don’t it may be painful.

Maybe its because I'm a Londoner

2006-10-18T12:54:00.000-07:00

I have lived in London my whole life. I even went to University in the big smoke. Sometimes I get a wee bit homesick and there are some things I really miss about my dirty, smelly and expensive home town:

1. John Lewis. The closest thing here is probably Macy's and you need a whole day to get round the bloody thing. All I want is a needle and thread. I don't want to have to travel up eight escalators to get it.

2. Cab drivers that actually know where they're going and don't drive like madmen. Also cab drivers who smile and don't try to pull out before you've even got the door shut.

3. Being able to go into a sandwich shop and not be faced with a million questions: which bread would you like, which dressing....Enough already. It's great having a choice but sometimes you just want a cheese sandwich. That's it.

4. Decent TV. Yes, I may have 30+ channels to choose from but most of them are rubbish. I miss the BBC and specifically that gorgeous guy in Spooks.

5. Being able to watch the news without thinking that the world begins and ends with the US. Their definition of world news is news that actually comes from outer state (that's state, not space, although I feel like an alien sometimes, particulary when I order a blueberry smoothie. For some reason that word baffles them everytime).

6. Being able to listen to a radio station that plays more than one kind of music. Here, everything is compartmentalised - rap, soul, rock, indie. They seem to assume that if you listen to rap then you don't listen to rock.

7. Decent shoes. Ohmygod, I need an Office or a Faith. The shoes here are awful. The only decent ones cost squillions of dollars (Choo's, Manolo's etc.)

8. Being able to cross the road safely (here, cars can turn into a street on a red light - its very annoying).

9. Dogs that are treated like dogs. Its the fashion here to carry round them round in poncey little bags. Dogs like to walk, not be carried around like some stuffed animal. Put him down.

10. Chocolate. They just don't make it right here. I am having withdrawl symptoms for a Dairy Milk.

Things I don't (and won't) miss about London.

1. The prices - the subway is $2 per ride and you can travel anywhere you want. There's none of that zone rubbish.

2. Dog poo. Where I live you have to watch your step because its everywhere - if you don't clean it up here you are fined. I like that.

3. Chuggers - I hate those annoying people who try and stop you in the street by blocking your way. You can't walk down Regent Street without encountering at least 10.

4. The Tube. Its dirty, smelly and very expensive. Its also full of twats who would fight you to the death for that last seat. Have it, you look like you need to sit down - all that extra weight and all that.

5. Londoners. Let's face it, Londoners are rude and obnoxious (see tube). They don't hold doors open, push their way on the tube before people have got off. Contrary to popular belief New Yorkers are very polite. They hold doors open and don't fight for seats on the subway. Its just more...civilised.

I have run out of complaints which I guess means I really am a Londoner at heart.

"Maybe its because I'm a Londoner, la la la..."

Fashion

2006-10-18T09:56:00.000-07:00

I have a theory. It may not be an orginal one but hey ho. My theory is this: fashion designers are in cahoots with gym chains. Why do I think this? Hello, have you seen what's in fashion this season? The average woman in the UK is a size 14. Yes, a size 14. So what delights do designers (and high street designers are just as much to blame here) have for us? Leggings, jumper dresses, bodies and ankle boots. That's what.

Here's my problem with all of these items. I'll take each one in turn.

Leggings: Lots of larger ladies wear leggings because they think they're flattering. What kind of mirror were they looking in? Leggings will never ever flatter you if you are larger than a size 10 and under 5ft 8". They just make you look even larger. I have been known to wear leggings myself. But only, I hasten to add, under a knee length dress. I did this because my legs are extremely pale and I couldn't be arsed to apply fake tan. Lycra is not a miracle fabric designed to hold in your tummy and large backside. Just the opposite in fact; its actually made to make you look like two tonne Tessie. Just don't go there. Please.

Jumper dresses: I tried aforesaid item on once in a shop in London. It was tragic. It clung to all my lumps and bumps and made my backside look as though two very large pillows had been stuffed down my knickers. The back of the dress was at least two inches shorter than the front (my backside caused it to ride up) and I looked at least 6 months pregnant. I did think about buying it just so that I could get a seat on the tube but then I remembered that Londoners are miserable sods who never give up their seats. Ever (ooh I feel another blog coming on....)

Bodies: My personal favourite. Which foolish designer thought us ladies might like to invest our hard earned cash in a top with knickers attached? Hmmm, great idea. Not. In the 1980s/90s when I was a young and foolish follower of fashion I actually bought a body and wore it on nights out. Have you ever tried to fasten poppers in a grotty nightclub toilet whilst drunk? I have and believe me it ain't a pretty sight.

Ankle Boots: Fine under a pair of trousers. Dreadful with a skirt or dress. Ankle boots cut your legs in half and unless you are built like a supermodel you are going to look stupid. Repeat after me. I will not wear ankle boots with a skirt. I don't really see the point in ankle boots to be honest. They look stupid unless worn under trousers. My advice, buy a nice pair of knee length boots. They'll go with anything. Actually, that's not true. They will not look good tucked into skinny jeans. Kate Moss can do this and look fab, the average woman on the street will look a fool.

And while we are on the subject of pointless items of fashion, I have to talk about a couple of my other favourites: the sleeveless polo neck and the shoes which have a label on stating: not suitable for outdoor wear.

First, the sleeveless polo neck. An absolutely useless item of clothing. What's the point in wearing something that will keep your neck warm and not your arms? Go and buy a polo neck with sleeves.

Shoes only suitable for indoor wear: I think they're called slippers.

Apparently mustard is one of the colours this season. Hello? Mustard? Who the hell looks good in mustard?

Oh, I love fashion!

Celebrities

2006-10-17T09:50:00.000-07:00

noun:
1 {C} someone who is famous, especially in the entertainment business
2 {U} the state of being famous

Aah yes, the nations favourite; celebrity culture. Walk into any newsagent and you will be bombarded with a plethora of magazines devoted to the new religion that is celebrity. You can dress like Paris, diet like Nicole (I wouldn't advise it) or shop like Posh. Ask most young girls what they want to do when they grow up and they'll tell you "we want to be famous". When I was 14 I wanted to be a journalist and perhaps be on the news. None of my friends wanted to be "famous". Some of them wanted to be actresses or singers but then these are vocations. Just being famous isn't a vocation.

These days anyone can be famous (and often they are). You can appear on a reality TV show, shag another celebrity, have a famous father or just take your kit off for the lads once or twice. That's all it takes. And what gets me is other people actually look up to these so-called celebs. They buy their "autobiographies", watch their dreadful cable TV shows and spend their money trying hard to look like them.

I have no problem with real bona-fide celebrities - people that have talent and skill. But I do have a very big problem with all those D list celebrities out there who appear half naked in the gossip pages of a magazine you pay less that £1 for. These people are actually quite sad. I was watching an episode of the last Big Brother a few months ago (I was very bored and the contestants fascinate me in a weird way) and one of the inmates said that it was always his ambition to appear on Big Brother. How sad is that? My ambition is to write a best-selling novel that people read because its actually quite good. To actually say that your ambition is to appear on a dreadful TV programme full of sad little wannabes is tragic to say the least.

But sadly there are lots of people out there like this. People who want their 15 minutes of fame (because that's all they're gonna get) and their face (or breasts a lot of the time) in a trashy magazine that you pick up in the hairdressers because you can't be bothered to talk about holidays with the person cutting your hair.

I used to work for a national charity and sometimes these D list celebrities would actually ask to be paid to help promote the work of an organisation that does not make a profit. Nice.

Just because your partner/father is rich or famous doesn't mean that you are a celebrity. You might have a fancy wardrobe but being a clothes horse is not a vocation (OK, it is if you are a model, but you know what I mean).

Did you know that Jordan's (who is actually a very shrewd business woman and knows exactly what celebrity culture means) autobiography is one of the best selling hard-back books ever? Enough said.

The gym

2006-10-12T08:40:00.000-07:00

I have just been to the gym. Now that I am a woman of leisure I feel that it is my duty to look good 24-7 (my friends will all be snorting with derision right now). I also need to burn off all the Caramel Machiatto's I have been drinking. I have a few issues with the gym. Actually I have a lot of issues with the gym.

Apparently, exercise lets off lovely happy endorphins in your head and you feel alive and great. This has not happened to me. Ever. Instead I feel hot, sweaty and out of breath. My face goes as red as a tomato and I feel like steam is coming out of my ears. As I push myself to the limit on the treadmill (currently I can run for about 5 minutes before turning into a red sweaty mess) all I feel is failure. I feel like no matter how hard I run or how fast I row, I will never, ever get rid of the lovely roll of fat which hangs over the top of my jeans. One of my friends calls this her muffin top and I think this is an apt title. Number one it does actually look like the top of a muffin and number two it was more than likely created by eating one too many of the sugary delights. I work out three times a week and in the eight or so years that I have been going to the gym my muffin top has not budged. Perhaps its my genes.

And why is it I always manage to place myself next to some lithe young thing who could give Paula Radcliffe a run for her money (literally). Whilst I pant and perspire she runs like a gazelle in her Stella MaCartney for Adidas lycra. AND she doesn't have a muffin top. Its just not fair.

The gym that I attend has lovely views of the Hudson River. Squirrels and birds frolic outside the window and people walk their dogs along the esplanade. Well, that's what I can see if I peer over the bloody great big TV screen that is perched on the end of my teadmill. Yes, why look out the window and admire the view when you can stare at crap American TV? Every singe machine has a TV attached to it (except the rower and no-one uses that except me).

I sometimes go for a run outside but I'm not very good. First of all I run way too fast and am out of breath within minutes and second of all I am very very clumsy and have been known to trip. In fact, I have sustained lots of injuries whilst trying to keep fit. Once I missed the seat on the rower - I can't begin to tell you how much that hurt....

My ambition is to run a Marathon. My friends say I'd be better off eating one (for those of you over the age of 30 a Marathon was the original - and best - name for a Snickers bar. But seriously I would love to run 26.2 miles. The only thing that puts me off is the training (yes, in order to complete the aforementioned distance you need to put in a few hours beforehand). The very thought of running through the rain and snow sends me to the nearest Doughnut shop. Also, I don't fancy having to apply vasaline and plasters to my nipples. Sorry. So for now, I think I'll watch it on TV, ponder over whether I should apply and then decide nah, I'd rather sit in and watch Lost.

And whilst I'm on the subject of Lost the new season (we call it a series, they call it a season - tomatoes and tomatoes and all that...) has started. Its very good and all you Brits out there should be very jealous of the fact that I get to see it first. Ner ner nernerner.

My first ever blog

2006-10-11T13:46:00.000-07:00

Welcome to my first ever blog. Some say that blogging is quite theraputic and whilst I don't think I need therapy I'm quite happy to use it to vent all my frustrations about life in general. You see, I'm a complainer. I complain about EVERYTHING. Customer service, people who don't hold doors open for others, people with no manners, public transport (one of my favourites actually), technology, D List 'celebrities'. You see? Everything. And that's why this blog is called 'And another thing'. I could complain all day (much to the amusement (or is annoyance?)) to my boyfriend, family and friends. And who am I? Well, until last week I worked in Corporate Social Responsibility for an industry plagued by criticism. I was the Communications Manager and it was my job to promote the work of my organisation. Now, I live in New York City with my boyfriend who has been seconded out here. And its not all Sex and The City you know. For a start I'm not allowed to work which means I don't have an income. This is quite difficult when you are quite partial to a bit of shopping. We live about five minutes from Century 21, the best discount clothing store in the world. The UK might have TK Maxx but nothing beats Century 21. I have been here three days and have been in there twice already. Its like an addiction. I leave the apartment, walk to the end of the road and there it is, its red and white sign beaming at me like a glass of wine at the end of a hard day. Yes, I guess I am a bit of a shopaholic and I don't make any secret of it. I don't hide my purchases under the bed, I embrace them. I take them out of their bags, pull off the labels and hang them carefully in my wardrobe. There's none of that I am so ashamed that I have to hide all my purchases under the bed and try to forget about them. Oh no. Yes, I may have 20 pairs of high heels I have never worn (I can't afford cabs and high heels on the tube/subway don't really work) but at least the tags have been pulled off. But of course I won't be shopping (a lot) in New York. Instead I shall be amusing you all (well, those of you that manage to find my blog) with my moans and groans. So, there it is my first blog. Stay tuned folks.