Dogs Tea Party

Whilst I enjoyed my afternoon tea at the Oval last weekend, I think I would have preferred to go to this event at Claridges.

A Dogs Tea Party no less. A winning combination of two of my favourite things.

Misjudged

• It was probably misjudged to wear a jumper and jeans today as its quite sunny and warm
• It was probably misjudged to have gone back for seconds of the bread pudding yesterday
• It was definitely misjudged to go out for a Chinese meal which is my least favourite food
• It was definitely misjudged to stay out until after 11 after yesterday's event
• It was definitely misjudged to try to go home on the overground train home so late
• It was probably misjudged to buy a huge fruit salad and a packet of crisps for lunch

Event Horizon

My job involves organising events. It isn't glamorous, it certainly isn't fun and no matter what the event, they are certain things that are guaranteed to happen no matter how well it is planned:

1. Booking will start off slowly and everyone will be pessimistic My manager will talk about cancelling the event or never doing another one
2. There will be lots of last minute bookings, creating havoc
3. People feel the need to make excuses about why they are booking so late - 'I've been on holiday' (what for 2 months?), 'I lost the booking form' (what all 3 we sent out?), 'My PA ate the booking form' (its only a matter of time before this one is used)
4. Several people won't be able to remember whether or not they have booked - they never have - this is just a variation on the excuse for late booking (see above)
5. Someone will turn up who hasn't booked
6. Someone important won't turn up
7. Someone's name will be spelt wrong on their badge
8. There will be an interesting range of dietary requirements
9. Someone with a life-threatening food allergy will have forgotten to mention it
10. People are obsessed with tea - no tea, not enough tea breaks, too much tea, no herbal tea, no fruit tea, no biscuits with the tea
11. No matter how feel the event goes, somebody will complain about something which will put a downer on the whole event
12. Manager will vow never to do another event again

Tomorrow is our second largest event of the year and a large stress cloud is looming over my head.

Art Nemesis Part 3

I just spotted this in the entrance way at work. It must be new because surely I would have noticed it before.

The picture isn't very clear but that is perhaps because there isn't really much to capture. It kind of looks like an empty frame to me. Perhaps someone has stolen the picture? Unsurprisingly it is untitled - perhaps because it is just an empty frame?

It was donated by Charles Saatchi. Charles, you shouldn't have! No really, you shouldn't have.

Damned if you do, Damned if you don't

I was rather disturbed by the story in the Metro this week about Melanie Griffith's knees. Not sure much by the picture of her wrinkly knees - I hate the bit above my own knees and I've seen pictures of that bit of Kate Moss too, accompanied by an equally bitchy item about how her hard-living was taking its toil there. What disturbed me more was that such an article was being written and published at all. On one hand, it criticised Ms Griffiths for having spent a huge amount of money on cosmetic surgery in a bid of look young and in the next sentence was mocking her knees for daring to show signs of aging. You really just can't win. And whilst, I have a minimal amount of sympathy for the rich & famous, it is really is no wonder that so many women have body-image issues when articles like this are published in what is supposed to be a newspaper.

On a similar note, I have recently been suckered into buying a jar of the much-hyped Boots Perfect and Protect serum. I didn't queue at dawn for it - I bought it online with relative ease. It promises to reveal 'younger looking skin within 4 weeks'. I've been using it for two now and can feel a slight tautening of the skin. I am slightly concerned though by the thought of any return to my own younger skin - whilst my skin now isn't great, I don't want to go back to the spot-plagued skin I had at 19 - someone else's younger skin is what I'm hoping for. Really I'm not normally one for such vanity and no doubt I'll lose interest in applying it before I see any results.

The Most English of Afternoons

The OH has become a member of Surrey County Cricket Club which means he gets free entry to selected games and entry into the members pavilion. So yesterday afternoon we went down to the Oval to watch a bit of country cricket and (more importantly) have afternoon tea. Can you think of a more English way to spend an afternoon?

I was actually quite excited about our trip as I'd never seen a proper game of cricket before (OH & his friends playing does not count) but the OH warned me not to get too excited as the game was already pretty certain to end in a draw. Cricket is a bizarre passtime in that respect, in that often the result is secondary to the spirit of the game.

We arrived during the lunch break so had time for a quick look around the facilities before settling down with our drinks to watch the game (Surrey v Warwickshire, if you're interested). The match umpires walked past us on their way to the pitch and one of them (a little bald Welshman) gestured to the OH and said 'I've always wanted to do what you are doing, watch the cricket with a beautiful young lady and a beer, but I never get the chance'. I was rather embarrassed by this and could only draw the conclusion that cricket umpires like football referees must suffer from poor vision as I'm not sure I count as young anymore (although by county cricket watching standards, I suppose I was) and nobody has ever accused me of being beautiful before!

Anyway, we watched a few overs and saw Mark Ramprakash make a century, but then, as must be almost a daily hazard, rain stopped play and we were forced to return inside. Although it wasn't quite 3 o'clock yet, we decided to bring forward our afternoon tea, selecting a table by the window with a view of the field should play resume.

Seated at the table behind us were three men, one of whom had a very distinctive voice and was talking quite excitedly about problems he'd had with his Visa card in the USA. 'Is that Alan Wicker?' I asked the OH, not particularly seriously, but it turned out it was! A man who was famous for travelling around the globe and then went on to advertise a credit card was sat behind us, talking insistently about troubles with creditcards whilst on holiday! He eventually left behind the topic of credit cards and proceeded to go on a 'namedrop-athon' which took in Gaby Logan, Elton John and Michael Grade. Whilst we were happy to tuck into our tea, sandwiches, scones and cakes, we struggled to have our own conversation as Alan's monologue seemed much more interesting.


When we could eat and drink no more (the OH having exceeded his usual weekly tea dose in one sitting), we had one last look around the ground, but the rain was still coming down, so we decided to leave. As it happens, play did resume later but as expected it was still a draw so we didn't really miss much.

Fool Britannia

So Tony has finally stepped down and the nation’s thoughts turn to his successor (well, the few of us who actually bother to vote for anything other than television shows).

Already I’ve heard lots of radio discussions on Gordon Brown. I’m not sure about Brown – I don’t know enough about economics to know whether he has been a good Chancellor, but this, it would seem, is a minor matter. Some people are concerned about him being Scottish, some about his backing Tony on the war, but these are all fringe issues. The main problem people have with him appears to be that he is serious.

Personally, I think seriousness is a good quality for a Prime Minister to have. Its a pretty serious job. We are not picking someone to stay in the Big Brother house or to go through to the next round of Pop Idol. This is someone to run the country.

And the fact that he sometimes uses long words that most people don’t understand, again I don’t think this is a bad thing. I want to feel that the Prime Minister is more intelligent than me. Its not a job I could do so I do want someone more intelligent than me in the job.

What’s the alternative, Cameron in his ‘down with the kids’ fake Converse?

A return to politics where the policies are what matter would be a good thing.

(NB. This does not mean I support Labour)

The Suburbian Railway - Some Observations

I’ve been taking the train into work for about a month now. It is very different from my previous journey into work by tube.

• The train arrives a few minutes late most days, especially if I’ve panicked and hurried there
• The train is shorter than the platform but there is no telling where it will stop as it changes daily
• Everyone moves along the platform once the train arrives even if they were already level with a door
• The ‘No Smoking’ rule doesn’t seem to apply on the platform yet it applies on the outdoor tube station platforms, which are essentially the same
• The polyester suit is the outfit of choice on the suburban rail line
• You see the same people every day. Some of the ‘characters’ on my journey include the girl with the severe platinum blonde hair of looking like my ex-best friend, the scruffy man with the greying ponytail, the man in shorts, the art student with her portfolio. I wonder if anyone has noticed me and realised that I’m new?

Film Festival: Shane Meadows

Sometimes these Bank Holiday weekends just sneak up on me and I haven't made any plans. This weekend was like that. I didn't really do very much of note, but over the course of the weekend, we managed to watch three films directed by Shane Meadows, our own mini-Shane Meadows Film Festival.

We started on Saturday night with 'A Room for Romeo Brass' (2000). Paddy Considine plays a lunatic who befriends a couple of younger boys. Not exactly life-changing but interesting enough and better than the vast majority of British films.

Next up on Sunday was 'Dead Man's Shoes' (2004) which we had previously seen - at its UK premiere no less. It was still excellent on second viewing although knowing the story took away some of its impact. Again Paddy Considine was excellent, again playing a psychopath although in this case, a justified one. The plot again involves older men befriending a young boy.

Yesterday, we went out to the cinema to see his latest offering 'This is England' (2006). No Paddy Considine this time but many of the same actors from his previous films, and the plot - a young boy is befriended by some older males, this time a group of skinheads. It was ok - I don't think the word 'enjoyable' is appropriate - it held my attention, but I found it the weaker of the three films. The plot was rather predictable and the 1980's setting was hammered home a bit too hard.

I wonder how much appeal any of his films have outside of this country. Would people struggle with the Nottinghamshire accents? Are the themes too parochial? All of the films are certainly far removed from the made-for-the-overseas-market versions of Britain in glossy gangster films or genteel upper class comedies.

Does it matter if our film industry has gone down the drain? Its not as if we ever led the world at it or that we invented it (unlike, say football!).

My Babies

Tomato Plants, courtesy of the American at work.

I have been given explicit instructions for their care and nurture - but I have also been given four of them in the hope that at least one of them will survive. Good thing this theory hasn't extended to actual offspring.

I would love to have some success at this gardening lark - I'm picturing a modern take on 'The Good Life' (although I prefer the other couple - Margo for her clothes and I had a bit of a thing for Paul Eddington, bizarrely).

I hope I don't kill them.

What's in a Name

I’ve just discovered this website Corolla Cream – a feast of vintage-y stuff for the home and to wear.

Its makes great browsing but the thing I like best about it is that each item for sale has a person’s name –Vera, Madge and Philippa are teapots, Debs, George and Janet are cushion covers, Mildred and Cheryl are glovers.

As you may be able to tell, this has amused me no end.

Pictured here are George and Mildred, looking slightly different from the 70s sitcom of the same name.

There is even something with the same name as me (not Sanddancer – my actual name) – rather typically, it is a hideous pair of old curtains.

Dress Dilemma Update

I completely ignored the rules I'd laid out for myself previously and ordered this dress online from Topshop.






It broke the no common high street shop rule, something I might wear again rule and something that goes with shoes I already own rule. It also ignored M's helpful suggestion of something plain that could be dressed up with accessories.

In real-life it was foul. Shapeless, unflattering and cheap looking - and on reflection now even looking at the picture, it looks rather nightgown-esque. It has been returned and the search continues.

The New Local

We went to our new local again last night, the F.

The F is a lovely traditional pub with wood beams on the ceiling, friendly staff, a beer garden and as we discovered, a quiz night on Thursdays. To reach the F. we walk down a path alongside the canal, then down a street consisting of lovely stone-clad cottages. The F has been one unexpected bonus of the new area - in the old place we never had a local so we glad to have found one here.

But here is the problem.

It isn't strictly speaking our local - there are actually three pubs closer to our home. The nearest, The W, is a dump, the sort that shows endless horse-racing - but this is in the 'wrong direction' from our home, so we don't ever need to pass it or acknowledge its existence. Walking to the F. though you have to pass the V, a nice enough place, recently done up so fancies itself as a bit of a gastropub and recommended to us by the Estate Agent which is a bit of a negative point. Then even closer to the F, is the D, which we went in once while we were househunting - there was only one other customer in who was having a rather involved conversation with the landlord about drains that they tried to involve us in.

So are we allowed to call the F our local? The walk there is very pleasant, but truth be told it is in a nicer area than the one we live in, so are we fooling ourselves? My mum certainly seemed impressed when I mentioned walks by the canal which gives a false impression as really we are still living in an urban ghetto with poor rubbish collection service (although a green recycling box has re-appeared).

Music was my first love...

After the not very good Flaming Lips gig last year, I really did think I might never see another live band again. We considered going to Glastonbury again this year (quite a few of our friends are going) but then we realised we didn’t really fancy it that much – in my case I was mainly worried I’d be missing out on something. In the ‘are we too old for this festival lark’ conversation I talked about which bands we would actually want to see live – it wasn’t a very long list and many of the bands on it didn’t seem that likely to actually play anyway.

But then a few weeks ago I saw an ad in the Observer (how civilising and middle class we are now!) for the Connect Music Festival. The line-up was pretty close to my list of who we would go to a festival to see – Primal Scream (obviously), Jesus & Mary Chain (reformed with Bobby back on drums!), LCD Soundsystem, Hot Chip and this bit I was stunned by, Big Star! All in the grounds of a castle by the a loch which looks stunning.



But there was still the issue of it being a festival which involves camping, tents and all sorts of other unnatural things ("if we were meant to camp, God wouldn’t have given us hotels", has always been my motto). I contacted every hotel, B&B and caravan park within the area but they were all booked already. So we were faced with the choice of camping or not going. So we are camping but deluxe camping, where the tent is already prepared for you complete with airbeds and new sleeping bags, so all we have to do is turn up. To soften the blow, we are staying a hotel in town the night before and then one night in Glasgow on the way back. Since we’ve bought the tickets, Polyphonic Spree and Modest Mouse (also from our list) have been added to the bill. I'm almost not dreading the camping now.


Then this week the line-up is announced for Jarvis Cocker's Meltdown - and he had Roky Erickson of the 13th Floor Elevators playing, supported by Clinic. Two more from the list! How good this will be remains to be seen as Roky has had a rather difficult past but I'm looking forward to it.

I'm not sure how much this counts as being back into music as most of these are reformed groups rather than new bands but I'm genuinely excited by it all.

I'm also quite keen on seeing Macbeth at the Open Air Theatre this summer, but I think I might have used up all of the OH's good will towards obscure cultural outings for a while.

The Great Recycling Swindle

I’m sick of hearing about how, as a nation, we aren’t recycling enough. I know it is important and I want to do my bit but they don’t make it easy.

In our last place, because it was in a block (or multiple dwelling building as the council called it) we weren’t on the recycling collection route. This being London quite a lot of people don’t live in houses though so a fair proportion of the population isn’t able to recycle. Of course, we could have taken our recycling to a recycling point but the nearest one was about a ten minute drive away – two problems here 1) we don’t have a car, 2) even if we did, surely driving there is just as unfriendly to the environment?

So when we moved, I thought ‘great we’ll be able to recycle easily now’. I was wrong. Firstly, they will only take what fits in the supplied green box – if it is overflowing at all, they won’t take it, the recycling men being sticklers for the rules. My weekend newspaper habit alone is enough to fill the box.

But then the recycling took a turn for the worse. Our box went missing! We’ve been box-less for two weeks now. I’ve requested a new box from the council but so far, no joy. I’ve tried putting out my paper mountain in a bag labelled ‘recycling’ in the hope that they will take it away, but no, if its not stored in a magical green box, it apparently can’t be recycled.

I can only hope that a new green box arrives before we drown in newspapers and tinned tomato cans.

Foot in mouth

As I was getting off the tube last night, a man approached me. An aging surfer type.

Man: I just had to say I love your feet.
Me: ?
Man: I don’t mean to embarrass you but I love your shoes, your feet and your shoes. They are lovely. But I don’t want to embarrass you.
Me: Thank you.

I didn’t want to be embarrassed. I really didn’t but my checks were burning up by the end of this exchange. I didn’t know what to say. What is the correct response in these situations? I thought about telling him where the shoes were from and how little they cost (Peacocks £12), but I don’t think he wanted to buy a pair.

Instead I said thank you and then pretended I was in a bigger hurry to catch my train than I really was.

Art Nemesis Part 2

I ranted recently about my hatred of a piece of art at work. My loathing for that has been matched by that for a picture in my own home.



How could this have happened in my own home? Well, the previous owner kindly left the piece below hanging in the bathroom.







It is a rather dubious spurt of water in three stages or 'Ikea Generic Bathroom Picture #1' to give it its full title.

Again, its the blandness of it that offends me. And the relentless 'blue & white'-ness. Its so impersonal - I can't imagine it meaning anything to anyone. Silly, tacky or ugly even I could handle if it had some personal history.

Our bathroom is tiny. It really does not need anything on the wall. So where is the problem? Just take it down. End of story.

Except, there is a dirty great big nail in the middle of the white tiles. Not only does it look awful, but I'm afraid that if I leave it exposed one of us might have a freakish accident and end up impaled on the nail (we are both very accident-prone).

But tonight I'm determined to find something else to replace it. I've purchased an assortment of frames and something is going to found to hang up there in its place.

Bonus

We have had a refund of £570 from the electricity company. The electricity meter was stored in a cupboard outside of the property that we didn't have a key for so we were paying based on an estimate for four years! We also got £16 back from the gas comapany and BT.

Yesterday we received a cheque for the return of our deposit - less £100. There is a dispute over whether we had the carpets professionally cleaned - we did, but the carpets were about 20 years old so there is only so much a shampoo can do. I fail to see how something described as 'worn' four years ago can be expected to be in better condition now, but that is why I'm not a letting agent.

But all in all, a nice little bonus sum.

Less excitingly, we will probably be spending a fair amount of this on blinds and curtains for our apparently freakishly large windows. They really aren't that big (we aren't living in a glass house), but there seems to be some sort of conspiracy with curtain manufacturers to drive us to despair and custom-made window hangings.

“Mother did the shopping, I was in charge of ideology”

Last night we went to see ‘Elling’ the play starring the lovely John Simm. Even as a Norwegian mental patient with a dodgy haircut, I still found him attractive. I wasn’t alone as the front row seemed to consist of the American branch of the John Simm fan club who all seemed to think his career began and ended with Life on Mars.

The play was very good (that career as theatre critic has stalled somewhat!) and Johnny Simm (as the OH always refers to him) was excellent. It was very funny – the title above was the best line but it was probably more in the delivery.

The characters in it were rather like Pinkie and the Brain, those cartoon lab rats. I doubt that was intentional as I don't think its that well-known here, let alone in Norway.

Anyway, I highly recommend it and for once I was seeing something at the start of its run so there is still time to see it.

Dress Dilemma

When we moved and I looked at my clothes, I was shocked my how many I own and was convinced that I possibly didn't need to buy anything ever again as I had something appropriate for pretty much every occassion. However, I was wrong.

In July, we are going to weddings on two consecutive Saturdays, both for ex-colleagues of the OH so there will be quite an overlap of guests. Hence, the dress dilemma.

Last year, I bought this dress for my friend Jo's wedding. I loved it, it is hugely flattering (I don't think I've ever thought that before about anything on me) and I got loads of compliments. But it was bought from Warehouse just weeks before the event - i.e. a very popular high street shop - so I was in a bit of a panic that there would be someone else there in the same dress. Fortunately there wasn't, but I'm still very wary of it happening.

One of the weddings in in the Midlands which I thought was going to make it an expensive event and I was going to have to put my pride aside and make do with either the one dress or dig out something older. (I have a lovely apple green chiffon-y dress that has seen me through a few other ceremonies but it does have a few tiny stains, the result of running around a garden with children and a drink in hand - they are probably only noticeable to me and my drycleaning man who hates a stain and has tried his best on it twice).

However, before our invitation arrived the bride to be emailed to ask if we would like to stay in the wedding venue as they have a number of rooms available as part of their package and it is free to us! Of course, we accepted. The other thing is that the couple in question have said they don't want any proper gifts (he sold his company for quite a few million so money isn't an issue) but just wanted a gift from each guest's hometown. So the costs associated with attending this wedding have suddenly plummeted so I could definitely buy a new dress.

But, I am still scared of the doppleganger danger if I buy anything from the high street and I don't exactly have a designer budget. I'm also wary of buying something that I'll only wear this once - after this pair, the next wedding we'll probably go to is in the north in the autumn so it will be a much colder affair. But then I do feel I should make an effort for someone's big day.

So I'm on the look out for something that I might wear again, doesn't cost too much but isn't from a shop that is in every town, and if at all possible goes with shoes I already own.

Let the hunt begin.

Over-paid, over-pampered morons

Today, I hear on the radio that a Liverpool player, who hasn't played much this season and wants to leave, has described his time at the club as being a slave.

Correct me if I'm wrong, but I thought slaves were taken from their home against their will, sold into miserable lives where they worked long hours, for no money at all and treated no better than animals.

Unless Liverpool have radically changed their players' pay structure, I'm sure he isn't working for free and that he isn't being kept chained up when he's not playing. In fact, I'm sure he has quite an enviable life compared with many people in the world.

I used to like football a lot more than I do now and I think the reason I've gone off it is largely down attitudes like this from players who are so out of touch with real life that it is often offensive.

Happy St George's Day

Every year, there is an outcry of 'why isn't today a public holiday?' or 'why don't we celebrate our national saint's day like other countries do?'.



Whilst another day off wouldn't go amiss, the last two hours have convinced me why we don't celebrate it more. The pub next door to my office has had a brass band playing traditional English songs for what seems like an eternity.

The first tune, I thought 'how sweet' but twenty or so numbers later, they all sound the same and I want to bang my head against a wall. In fact, I'm not even sure whether the band are still playing outside or if they are just playing in my head. If this is the best celebration of our culture we can muster up, then I don't think we should bother.

(and who are these people drinking all day in the pub? They aren't tourists or students so how come they aren't at work?).

Living Normally

Truth be told, we are still feeling a little unsettled in our new place – it doesn’t feel quite like home yet. I think this is largely due to the lack of a sofa in the lounge (it is ordered but delivery date still unknown) which means we haven’t really been using the lounge. We are mainly sitting in the spare room, which is quite nice as it overlooks the garden, but it feels a bit strange. The original plan was to move the sofabed into the lounge was scuppered by our narrow hallway which restricts the free movement of the sofabed without dismantling it. We’ve also been going out a lot more than usual which I’m not complaining about as the OH used to be very difficult to move from the comfort of the home, but I have been worrying about not feeling more ‘at home’.

Last night we were out for my friend Colin W’s birthday drinks in Richmond, which was a good evening, spent mainly with people I used to work with at various times and who I feel very comfortable around. Anyway, we were talking to my friend Ruth about this unsettled feeling and she was telling us about her parents buying their first home and being too poor to buy furniture so they sat on crates for a while. She said the fact alone that it was ours should make it feel special and that we should have a house-warming pronto before the arrival of any more furniture. The thing with Ruth is that she talks ten to the dozen, but by cramming in lots of words, she manages to cover a lot of topics and with the law of averages means she does sometimes speaks a lot of sense.

Then coincidentally today on a browse around Urban Outfitters I came across this book ‘Living Normally’ which is described as an anti-style bible:

‘a refreshing reminder that a home should be a place to escape to; to feel happy in; and to live in. This affectionately photographed look at our everyday homes is a celebration of nice people, the modern family and our need to surround ourselves with memories and the curious ephemera of daily existence’.

I just had a quick look through it but it seemed lovely, a real refreshing change from pictures of minimalist over-stylised living. I think I'll go back and buy it soon as a reminder of what is actually important should I lose sight of it again.

Party Politics

I don’t have an answer to the Irish problem. I don’t particularly have any strong views on the situation one way or another except my rather hippy thoughts of ‘why can’t everyone just get along?’

However, today at work, I’ve had to contact the Sinn Fein!

I know they are a legitimate political party etc etc but the association with the IRA is still there in my mind and it felt rather risqué looking at their website.

I do worry from time to time that I might be on some sort of ‘list’ based on my internet usage, book buying habits (i.e. I’ve bought a couple of books by Mark Steele, the Motorcycle Diaries and various Spanish books off Amazon, which I’m sure now has me marked down as a wannabe revolutionary in South America!). Browsing the website of a controversial political party can’t be helping with this profile if someone out there is tracking my moves.

Anyway, I couldn’t find the information I was looking for on their website so I had to email them! Again with some trepidation. I’ve also emailed their big rivals the DUP as well as the Welsh National Party , Plaid Cymru too today, but so far the Sinn Fein are the only ones who’ve replied to me. They were very helpful so whatever else they may represent, I can’t fault their efficiency!

No Big Surprise

These little beauties from Topshop are in the sale.

However, what does surprise me as that they've only been reduced to £30 (from the original £50).

Even if they were giving them away, I could not be persuaded.

My day today...

has consisted of:

• lots of curtains that are not long or wide enough
• lots of people who can't fill in forms properly
• the Data Protection Act
• a big plate of salad
• a little bit of sunshine

Last Supper

We’ve been watching a lot of Prison Break recently – in fact its pretty much the only thing I’ve watched since we moved. We are watching the first series on DVD rather obsessively, then the latest episode of the second series on the television every Monday. When this programme first came out, I scoffed its ludicrous storyline and didn’t watch it, but at the start of the second series, the OH had to write about it at work so he thought it would be a good idea to watch it rather than just relying on Wikipedia. And we’ve been hooked.

Don’t get me wrong, it is nonsense. Surely there must have been another way of breaking his brother out of prison other than having a cryptic encoded version of the prison’s layout tattooed over his (rather fine) body and then getting himself put in the same prison for armed robbery. But it is very watchable.

The other night his brother was facing the chair and was asked what he wanted for his final meal. He picked blueberry pancakes. I was rather disappointed it was just one course, as I’d always assumed you got a big slap up feast of three courses.

This is a favourite ice breaker/lull in the conversation topic of one of our friends – what would you pick for your final meal? I still don’t have a definitive answer after months of on & off thought:

Starter – French Onion Soup with the cheese covered bread crouton thing (if I’m allowed to be very specific, I would like it from Steph & Nic’s restaurant next to Madison Square Garden in New York!).

Main course – I really don’t know. I do love a curry but thinking practically, it wouldn’t go with my other two courses and it is quite filling. Perhaps something Mexican, something with a bit of chilli. This needs more thought.

Dessert – Summer Fruit Pudding with vanilla ice cream. No contest. Its not very healthy but at this stage, I don’t suppose calories matter.

What would you have? Most people surveyed by our friend would apparently have sausage & mash and apple pie.

La vida loca

Not how I would normally spend my time, but on Sunday evening we went to watch , El Superclásico, which you probably don’t know (I didn’t until yesterday) is the local derby game between two Buenos Aires football teams, Boca Juniors and River Plate.

Obviously, the OH will watch anything sport related but the reason I went along was because we were meeting up with Red Malc and his girlfriend Lara, who is from Argentina. It was a great night out – good company and one of those times that makes you glad you live in London. (I can’t imagine there being a very big Argentinean community in my hometown, where you are treated with suspicion if you come from the next town along).

The screening was in Zoo, a bar/club thing off Leicester Square, which isn’t the sort of place I’d normally frequent (they are the place offering the new style karaoke in front of live band). The atmosphere was brilliant – mainly people from Buenos Aires, with a few other South Americans and a few British people as well. There was lots of good natured singing of football songs which Lara kindly translated for me as my Spanish isn’t up to much.

At half-time there was a disco of Argentinean pop classics – a dubious selection the highlight of which was a reggae version of ‘Strawberry Fields Forever’. The DJ was apparently a member of Argentina’s mafia, known as the ‘El Gordo’ who as well as DJ-ing runs a market selling Argentinean produce, not usually available in the UK – bizarrely one of the best selling products is Hellman’s mayonnaise which people are convinced doesn’t taste the same here so there is a large market for importing it from Argentina!

Before last night, I had no allegiance to either side but since Lara is a Boca supporter, it seemed polite to cheer on her side who also seemed to have the most support in the room. Our friend Marc for some unknown reason decided he would support River Plate. Later, I asked Lara what dictated who you supported back in Buenos Aires – in her case it was because that was who her family had always supported, but generally Boca are the team of the poor, in Lara’s words ‘from south of the river, where it smells!’ whilst River Plate are the team of the rich. So I think I would have picked Boca too anyway.

The game got off to a very exciting start (although rather later than expected) with a goal in the first few minutes from Boca, but it ended 1-1. Whilst I won’t be hunting down every screening from their league, I will keep an eye on the progress of my new found team.

My new toy

I bought this last night at Ikea (in blue).

I'm very pleased with it. Sometimes little things make me disproportionately happy.

I have one hanging basket in the garden to water with it. I've remembered to water it every day so far but was using various cups and glasses until I bought this - I'm sure it will be even more of a pleasure now.

There are also several large pots in the garden which may or may not containing living plants - it remains to be seen - I give them an occassional water just in case. I'm not a natural gardener - I love flowers but am impatient and want instant results. I'm also a bit forgetful, which doesn't help. But I'm quite determined to make the most of our little outdoor space, so I may yet overcome these obstacles.

Any recommendations for things to grow that give quick results but don't die if you forget about them for a day or so would be much appreciated.

A Bridge Too Far

I'm scared of bridges.

Not all bridges - I'm fine on footbridges over water. The type of bridges I'm scared of are bridges where there are lanes of traffic running next to the pedestrian path or even worse, foot bridges over busy roads. Perhaps its traffic that I'm scared of, although I'm not that keen on bridges over railway lines either but I can just about manage those without vomiting.

In Prague, we went the wrong way back to our hotel one night and ended up walking along the side of a dual carriageway, right next to the traffic which also involved a bridge over yet more traffic. I was terrified. I didn't fair much better walking across Brooklyn Bridge. There is a lot of camera shake on my photographs - it doesn't look artistic, just a reminder of my horror.

Last night I went to Ikea. The quickest way to get there from the tube station involves firstly a bridge over a railway line (with traffic running alongside) and then crossing a bridge over umpteen lanes of rush hour traffic. I had to cross the railyway bridge - there wasn't much alternative. My palms were soaked by the time I got over it. I had every intention of facing my fear of the bridge over traffic but I was too shaken by the first bridge that I backed out. This added about another 15 minutes onto my journey time and I was very disappointed with myself.

A pedestrian bridge over a busy road just outside of my home town once collapsed - I don't think anyone was hurt but it has stayed with me so may be at the root of my fear. There were some lovely window boxes in Ikea that I didn't buy last night so I'll probably be going back there soon and perhaps next time I will manage to cross that bridge.

Don't Look Back

I keep receiving emails and letters from my old University reminding me about a 1990s reunion event which involves a campus tour and culminates in a disco. A thought crossed my mind about going, getting in touch with the one person from Uni that I’m still vaguely in contact with to see if she wants to go along. Of course, she won’t – she has a young daughter now – her days of university discos are long behind her and possibly something she is even in denial about now she’s a mother since hers were wilder than most.

Today’s email mentioned that there was an attendees list online so you could see which of your old friends were going. Curiosity got the better of me and I looked. Of course, there wasn’t a single name of the list I recognised. The sort of people I was friends with at university weren’t really the sort of people to go in for organised alumni events, just as they aren’t the sort of people to be on Friends Reunited, although I do still keep an eye on it to see if anyone interesting will pop up.

I know all this nostalgia isn’t healthy but I would like to know what became of people, how their lives worked out. I did bump into someone I knew from uni at the NFT about 18 months ago, which was a bit of a shock. Someone I had been pretty good friends with for a time and very briefly a little more than friends with. I didn’t recognise him and even when he said his name, it still took me a while to place him. It was actually a bit awkward, I blushed a lot and didn’t really know what to say, then our respective partners came back and we went our separate ways into the cinema.

If that was encounter was anything to go on, a big reunion event probably isn’t for me and no doubt would be full of people boasting about how wonderful their lives/families/careers are.

We're In!

So we've moved.

The actual move itself went briliantly, thanks to the lovely pair of removal men. I must admit, I had my doubts as to whether they were up to the job at first as they weren't exactly hulking specimens - one of them (Jari) wasn't much bigger than me, but thankfully he turned out to be a lot stronger. They were so friendly and helpful too.

The same could not be said of the man who came to clean the carpet in the old place (a term of the lease was that we had to have the carpets professionally cleaned before we left). He cancelled coming on Thursday and came on Friday instead and then had the nerve to moan that the carpet was dirty. Well, of course, it wasn't spotlessly clean, otherwise we wouldn't have hired a cleaner! Actually, it wasn't even that dirty - we had vacuumed the day before - but it isn't the newest carpet. It felt like a waste of money getting it cleaned but at least we did things properly so I'm optimistic we should get our deposit back.

The weekend was spent unpacking and arranging our things. It still feels a bit odd - we don't have a proper sofa yet so aren't really using the lounge much (we are sitting on the sofabed in the spare room which is quite nice as it overlooks the garden). It feels like we are on a strange sort of holiday but with our own furniture. This feeling was probably exaggerated by the glorious weather and the lack of internet access (although the phone works fine, there is a fault with the BT exchange so we can't get our broadband yet).

Being without the Internet is strange - until its gone, you don't realise how much you've come to depend on it. In a way I quite liked having a break from it, except when I turned up at the shopping centre on Sunday to discover everything was closed because I had no way of checking before I went out. I wasn't alone though - there were hundreds of zombie-like people wandering around the centre, not quite knowing what to do since the shops were shut and I thought about how much we are driven by unthinking consumerism. Not a pretty sight.

Packing

Packing to go on holiday might be fun but there is no joy in packing to move.

Nearly all of our worldly good are now packed in boxes, bags and any other recepticles we could lay our hands on. There are just a few niggly little bits left that we need to use in the next 20 hours.

Just like the last time, we started well - months ago we sorted out books and videos. I thought we'd left ourselves plenty of time and that this time my packing would be super-effecient and organised, so that unpacking would be easy. But we ran out of time. All of our time and energy over the last three weekends has been spent on decorating the new place so packing has become a last-minute, cram things wherever they'll fit and hope for the best affair.

The old flat now looks like a warehouse. Its not pretty. I'm convinced the removal company either won't turn up or won't be able to fit it all in their van.

Tonight, amongst the boxes, we are having our final meal there - a takeaway from a restaurant that delivers its wood-fired oven pizzas to this postcode but not our new area.

The Power of Freecycle

I mentioned Freecycle once before but today for the first time, I offered some things on it. And I've been blown away by the response.

As part of the Big Move, we are having a Fairly Big Clear-Out. The OH surprised me by suggesting we freecycled his acoustic guitar! I should point out, he can't play guitar, his ex bought it for him what most have been about 12 years ago and it has a string missing. It has been gathering dust in the corner of the lounge. He probably could have sold it but I think I may have sold him on the Freecycling idea. Within minutes, I'd had umpteen offers for it in my Inbox, which made me wonder if we might be unknowingly sitting on a valuable antique!

We've also found new homes (subject to collection) for our old microwave (OH's gran owned it before us), old scanner & printer and the coat stand (the hallway is too narrow in the new place for this).

I've really been amazed by it and highly recommend it if you have any old junk you want to get rid of. I'm now wondering if there is anything else I can get rid of...

Decorating Boot Camp

That is what our weekend has consisted of. Non-stop decorating under the sometimes harsh directions of the OH's father.

The lounge is finished now and the bedroom will be at the end of today (OH and his father are finishing it off this afternoon).

My arms ache from vigourous roller-ing. There is still an awful lot of packing to do before Thursday. Then we have to start the industrial levels of cleaning on this flat in an attempt to get back our deposit. This next week is not going to be much fun.

Excess Baggage

Is this a trend I'm missing because I keep seeing women on the tube doing what looks rather pointless and impractical - carrying a small paper bag (usually from a designer or cool brand) in addition to their main bag. I don't mean a full sized carrier bag, just a dinky little thing with a rope handle, a small gift bag size really. The woman I saw doing it this morning was carrying a book and her make-up in it (which she was applying en route - another thing I just don't get), but it wasn't really big enough for the book which was sticking out the top.

What is the point?

If there isn't room in your main bag, why not a) get a bigger bag b) take a second proper bag for the overflow. These little bags can hold so little it hardly seems worth the effort, aren't that easy to carry & aren't water-proof. Is it to show-off that you've bought something very small in an expensive shop?

A Chic Retreat

I knew it would happen. Having previously vowed to forego a holiday this year, I have found myself thinking about a little break. With the moving and decorating stress, I feel that I will soon need (and indeed, deserve) a little holiday and yesterday I found myself browsing holiday websites. In particular, this one - Chic Retreats. Why did I have to look at this site. Everywhere on it looks beautiful. Some of them are wildly expensive but others are affordable for a mini-break if (and this is a very big if) we get our deposit back from our rented flat (there is no real reason why we shouldn't get it back but its always a struggle with landlords & letting agents).

So thoughts of boutique hotels have temporarily pushed aside thoughts of curtains, cushions and rugs.

Common Sense Prevails

I was pleased to see that the judge ruled against that silly cow who was suing her landlords because she fell through a skylight she was dancing on whilst drunk. Her complaint was that her tenancy contract didn't warn against doing this. But the skylight was on a garage that didn't below to the property she was renting so as the judge pointed out, she was trespassing anyway.

Its very rare for me to take the side of a landlord as I've known a few who were underhand and probably negligent, but this case was nonsense. I'm surprised it even got so far.

Anyway alls well that ends well. The snooty little madam has had her picture in all of the papers, so is now a laughing stock as she was roundly ridiculed in the papers.

A twisty mystery tale

Last night we forced ourselves to go to the theatre. We were both tired, stresed and overworked but I thought it would be a good idea to get out and do something rather than just collapsing in front of the television.

We went to see Underneath the Lintel, which sadly has had its run cut by a couple of weeks so it was our only chance to see as well. I'm glad we made the effort. Richard Schiff (Toby from the West Wing!) was excellent. It was a one-man show - the OH was astounded that anyone could stand on stage for 80 minutes talking on their own and remember all their lines!

The play is about a lonely Dutch librarian who gets caught up in a mystery involving an overdue library book and in his quest to hunt down the borrower, he lives his quiet life and travels the world.

The premise of the monologue is that he has hired some community hall type venue to give a talk on his adventure, so he looks out and speaks to the audience. Rather aptly, as he peers out into the auditorium at the beginning he says something like 'Is this all there is? I put up lots of posters but they were covered by other posters. Its very expensive here so I'm only doing this tonight'. He could have been talking about the productions own struggle competing against the big musicals. There was an unruly mob outside of the Lion King and baying crowds waiting for Evita, while this play struggled.

Still at least it meant I got the tickets cheap.

Art Nemesis

We have a new painting in our entrance way (at work, not home!) and I hate it. I despise it. I loath it. Every time I walk past it, it offends me and I glower at it.

Its on loan from the Arts Council (cheers!) because the art that was there before went on tour. I can't remember the one that was there before - I think it was another abstract thing but somehow that one didn't offend me so much.






I'm not normally against abstract art - in fact I often prefer modern stuff to the Old Masters. But there is just something about this that annoys me. I think it might be its sheer blandness. It doesn't shock me, it doesn't make me think about anything, it really is just a series of squiggles. If they were aesthetically pleasing squiggles I wouldn't mind but they aren't.

I tried to look it up on the internet to see if I could find out any information about the artist Jack Smith (know thee enemy etc) but could only find references to an experimental film-maker of that name. Not sure if its the same guy, but if it is, he should have stuff with the moving image.

Cover Versions

Having mentioned below the cover of a Smiths song, I thought I would list my favourite cover versions.

The Man Who Sold the Earth - Nirvana
Lost in Music - The Fall
Come Together - Ike & Tina Turner
Winterlong - The Pixies
Brass in Pocket - Suede
Hallelujah - Jeff Buckley
Jump into the Fire - LCD Soundsystem
Sympathy - Janes Addiction
Hounds of Love - The Futureheads
Ms Jackson - The Vines
All Along the Watch Tower - Jimi Hendrix
Girl, You'll Be a Woman Soon - Urge Overkill
Dolphins - Beth Orton and Terry Callier

and then the multiple entries from Johnny Cash (the king of cover versions):

Personal Jesus
One
Solitary Man
Hurt

and our course, Primal Scream's covers of Kick Out the Jams, Born to Lose and Slip Inside This House.

I would also probably also add Candy Flip's version of Strawberry Fields Forever, which I realise is pretty dreadful but it reminds me of my formative years...

Watches to Go

If you are ever in central London with a broken watch, I urge to go to 'Watches to Go', the little watch repair booth in Piccadilly Circus tube station. The man who runs it is a real gem - a character and a genius with watch repairs.

I dropped my watch on the hard floor at the new place which broke the strap off, so I took it along to him at lunchtime. It cost £1 to have it fixed, but I only had a £10 note, so he let me off with it, saying with a wink 'Drop it by the next time you are passing'. But this wasn't an isolated incident. The last time I was having a battery replaced, the man in front of me was telling him he was unemployed and he told him to come back & pay him when he'd found a new job! My friend who put me onto him in the first place was let off the price of a new watch strap because her request for a non-leather one because she was vegetarian made him laugh so much!

I wonder that watch repairers might be a dying breed as everything in society becomes increasingly more disposible. It would be a shame as its a skill and he is great.

(I know also a good cobbler in the North East of Enland, if you ever lose your heel in South Tyneside)

New Home Update

As predicted, we spent the whole weekend decorating and it will be more of the same next weekend. I'm exhausted but it has been quite satisfying to do the work ourselves (with a huge amount of help & direction from the OH's parents) and we starting to see real progress now.

The lounge is ready to be painted but already looks so much better now the walls are smooth and clean. And I genuinely like this room again - the high celing, the cornicing and the original fireplace (picture taken before the clean-up began - it looks better now).

I investigated the contents of the shed further yesterday. I had been a bit annoyed that the previous owner had left a lot of junk in there, but there were a couple of useful things. Here's what I found:

• 2 Directors chairs (dismantled so it took a while to realise what these were)
• 4 rolls of masking tape
• mop & bucket
• fold out dressing table mirror (the type with three parts)
• decking paint
• pair of crutches
• lawn mower

The last two items, I'm less than thrilled about - the garden is decked so a lawn mower ain't much use and I'm hoping we won't ever need the crutches.

I also met one of the neighbours - the OH's mother instigating conversation with her when we were in the garden. Silvia (probably mid 60s) who lives at 188 with her daughter - she bought her place for £1,040 40 years ago. She likes gardening but the woman next her (Scottish with a daughter) doesn't look after hers very well. She also told us where the nearest tip is, which local doctors were best and when the garden waste is collected. I suspect Silvia may be a bit of a gossip but she was friendly-enough and after 40 years, she must be a wealth of local knowledge.

Blog is 1 tomorrow

I'm writing this post now because I doubt I'll get near the computer tomorrow - our gruelling schedule of decorating will commence at 8am tomorrow morning.

So as of tomorrow, I'll have been writing this blog for a whole year. It hasn't really turned out as I expected - firstly I've stuck with it and secondly, it has become a lot more personal than I originally anticipated - I intended to write more review type things but in the end I've ranted alot about work & buying a flat and moaned about lots of other things. And as a result I talk outloud to myself a bit less these days.

It just isn't cricket (Pt 2)

The news that Pakistan Coach Bob Woolmer was murdered!

Suddenly cricket has become rather exciting - more the stuff around it (murder, drunken goings-on etc) rather than the game iteself which remains a slow-burning acquired taste.

I have to remind myself though that is real life rather than an episode of Morse. But I don't think I'm alone - when his death was first announced David Gower said to a reporter 'It's wrong to speculate, but..' before forcing the reporter to do just that. He seemed to be enjoying it all far too much but I suppose it was a welcome respite from talking about England's lacklustre performances.

I've been trying to get the OH to give me a list of possible suspects as my own knowledge of Pakistan cricket is rather limited. I only know the big one who doesn't like running (probably not stealthy enough for murder and he looks like he's quite nice!), the one who used to be the only Christian in the team until he converted to Islam and his run rate increased enormously, possibly the strangest religious propoganda ever (too busy praying?) and the one whose name sounds like actor (Aktar?) who is like a bad actor when he appeals and reminds me of Dev from Coronation Street (he isn't the squad this time so in the clear). My other suspect was Imran Khan but apparently he isn't involved in cricket anymore and has moved into politics.

I know its wrong to find it exciting but I do love a mystery.

Stop Me If You Think You've Heard This One Before...

especially if you've heard the original version by The Smiths.

I'm off work today (hence lots of posts) and have just heard the Mark Ronson cover version of the above titled Smith's song on the radio. I don't mind an interesting cover version now and then, but this was dreadful. What a travesty!

Call me a pale-faced miserablist, but some things are best left alone.

Tell it to a Horse

Perusing the television listings, I saw a programme about Ulrika Jonsson and her sex addiction. I certainly won't be watching it but read that one of the therapies they suggest to her is 'Equine Assisted Psychotherapy' which The Times explains as 'telling problems to a horse'.

Is this for real? Does it work? I heard of dogs being prescribed for people with depression which makes sense, but talking to a horse? Is it because its non-judgmental? Why a horse - why not a cow?

I don't understand, but really I don't want to watch the programme and I'm scared of what search results search any enquiry might produce.

I love John Simm (and couldn't think of a cleverer title)

In between house-stuff, to relax on an evening (or as near to relaxing as I ever get before I inevitably fall asleep), we have been watching the first series of Life on Mars. Somewhat behind the rest of the country I know. I'm not sure why we didn't watch it when it was on the television as we usually watch anything with John Simm in and it is a detective programme which is usually enough justification for me.

The programme itself I must say is rather silly. The introduction is particuarly had to watch without laughing 'I'm Sam Tyler, I've had an accident and woke up in 1973. Am I in a coma? etc' - it hardly has the tension of Jack Bauer's 'This is the longest day of my life' intro. But it is easy watching which is essential at the moment when I really don't want to have to concentrate too hard on anything.

But really I'm watching it for John Simm. I've always liked him (the actor for my generation in Boston Kickout, Human Traffic, 24 Hour Party People, State of Play), but I didn't realise quite how attractive I find him until watching Life on Mars. He isn't particuarly good looking , rather ordinary but I find him ridiculously sexy. It might be the clothes - whilst the others are wearing garish worst of the 70s stuff, his clothes are very cool. Its taken alot of self control not to make small yelping noise of adoration as we watch.

So I've got a bit of a crush on an actor - I feel a bit old for such things but that is pretty much what fuels Hollywood. But this morning, I may have gone too far - I've booked tickets to see him in a play! I can justify this - I work in the theatre industry, I really should go to the theatre more often, its on our way home, the OH likes him as an actor too, I haven't just booked a ticket for myself. But shamefully, I've done this before. When Gael Garcia Bernal was in Blood Wedding a few years ago - the OH actually insisted on coming with me to that one, as he was worried I might leap on stage and accost the young Mexican boy (I used the same justifications then with addition of being interested in the works of Lorca/anything to do with the Spanish Civil War).

On top this, I'm worried I'm becoming the sort of person who is killing proper theatre by only going to see things with Hollywood stars or 'people off the telly' in. But at least I'm going to see plays, rather than just the big musicals, which is the bigger problem in London at the moment where the blockbuster musicals are making it very difficult for plays. 'Underneath the Lintel' has had its run cut which we were hoping to see (mainly because it had someone from the West Wing in!)

Papering over the cracks

Things don't seem quite so bad now.

Friday was difficult when John Lewis were unable to get our sofabed into the flat properly. We do have a very narrow corridor but they refused to take it out of the packaging which was what was making it bulkier. The delivery men were like comedy villians - a tall thin one and a short fat one, but I wasn't laughing. It now has to be redelivered next week, dismantled and will be put together 'on-site'.

I am slightly concerned that we won't be able to have our choice of sofa for the lounge but the person we bought it off had a large sofa so it must be possible to get something in and out of there somehow. So we've paid for an access check to make sure before we order anything. But it may mean we'll be sat on deckchairs for a while.

Yesterday was better. The OH's parents came over. They didn't recoil in horror at the place but instead offered some practical advice on what to do with the walls. They then took us to Homebase and bought us a load of decorating materials and equipment, which I'm hugely grateful for. And we now have a plan of action. We are going to concentrate on doing the lounge and the bedroom before we move in and will leave the rest until after we are in. So I will have to live with a lilac corridor for now (I have an aversion to the colour lilac - too many mother-of-the-brides wear it and it suits hardly anyone). We've made a start now - cleaning the woodwork and sizing the walls (a new term to me!), and next weekend, they will return and the four of us will commence the decorating in earnest.

There are some things I'm very happy with. The kitchen and bathroom (although small) are modern, well-designed and don't need anything doing to them at all. The water pressure on the shower is fantastic. The lounge and bedroom have lovely high ceilings. What I assumed were dead plants in the garden, I've been assured by OH's mother are still very much alive and will blossom again (I have so much to learn!).

We haven't opened the champagne yet - we'll keep it on ice until we are moved in properly, but I was able to sleep last night and my enthusiasm for the 'project' has returned.

What have we done?

I feel drained and deflated. Not how I hoped I would feel.

The flat looked awful empty and its going to take a lot more decorating than we originally thought. After all of the hassle, it was an anticlimax - its not my dream home, its just a small two bedroom flat, all we could afford in west London. I've been awake all night worrying that we've made a huge mistake.

I don't think we'll be having a housewarming party or inviting anyone to stay because although it was the best place we looked at by a mile, it really isn't anything to be proud of and it will give certain people further cause for looking down their noses at us or worse the patronising as the 'poor relation' of the friends who've got rich partners & no idea of what it is like to have to work for anything.

And on top of this, the thought that this was my Dad's legacy. All of his life for so little.

Just one more day

In about 24 hours time we will get the keys to our new place, but it isn't making me feel happy. Part of the deposit money, was money I inherited when my Dad died, so no matter how pleased I am about buying our own place, part of me is sad because of what that money represents.
I would swap it and live the rest of my life in an awful rented flat if I could have just one more day with him.

Mrs SandDancer Goes to Work

My mother has got a new job. I'm so pleased for her. She hadn't been working for the past year or so - at first she was officially my gran's carer but since she went to live in the home, she hasn't really been doing anything (well, apart from the endless decorating she seems to do) and she was getting bored.

The new job is chef in a respite home (where disabled people go temporarily to give their families a rest). She didn't think she had any chance of getting the job but they rang her back the day she had the interview to offer her the job. The conversation we had at this point was bizarre - the lack of self-belief things she said, were things I've said myself e.g. 'I thought it had gone badly, but I suppose they must have liked me to offer me the job, but I can't see why'. It was like talking to myself and I realised how frustrating it must be!

It was her first day yesterday. They hadn't agreed exact hours yet but told her to come in for 8am. I called her at 7pm to see how the day went and there was no answer. I called back at 8pm and she had just got home. A 12 hour day on her first day. She was exhausted. Apparently she was dropped in at the deep end as the other chef is off sick all week. But she thinks it will be ok once she's settled in and she was so happy when she got the job that she would be 'working somewhere that is doing some good'.

I'm very proud of her and perhaps not as alarmed as I once would have been by how similar we are.

A deserving winner

The smiling Tibetan Terrier won Crufts Best in Show.

I was so pleased, I thought I might cry.

Talking in my sleep

Apparently the other night, I was laughing in my sleep and saying 'He's was hit in the face with a number eleven' and laughing more.

The OH asked me yesterday what this was about. I've no recollection of saying it or what the dream might have been about, but it made me laugh again much to his annoyance.

The book I've just finished reading had a chapter on twins with autism who liked prime numbers so I wonder if it was connected to that. Although the prime numbers they like were ones with about 10 digits - the number 11 hardly reflects the same sort of genius for numbers.

Fantasy Dinner Party

I've been mulling this one over since Miss Forthright posted about it a few days ago. I still can't decide who I would invite,so I asked the OH who he would invite - 5 people, living or dead. His response was thus:

Susanna Hoffs- lead singer from The Bangles. He said this without hesitation. He's always had a thing for her and apparently as a teenager did consider saving himself for her.

Steve Nash - his favourite Basketball player.

There was a bit of deliberation before he decided on the rest of the guests.

Guy Fawkes - OH 'He tried to blow up Parliament'.
Me 'He might not have done. He was possibly just fitted up for it' (we did a lot about this in History at school for some reason).
OH: (slightly annoyed at me questioning his choice) 'Well, he's got a day named after him. Not many other people can say that. He's coming.'
Me: 'Better not have any candles though just in case.'


It gets tricky now.

OH: 'The other two guests really should be women, so we can sit boy, girl, boy, girl. I like it when they do that.
(This was news to me - we've never been to a dinner party together, and can't imagine he'd been to one previously).
Big pause while he tries to think of some other women.

His next choice..

Jack Nicholson - 'He'd be good value. Yeah, Big Jack'

He considers inviting Bob Dylan but decides he's too unreliable,, probably wouldn't turn up but would ring with a lie about why he couldn't intend and leave him feeling crap (he's getting quite into the whole idea, taking it very seriously, but the boy-girl idea has now obviously been abandoned)

Then quite quickly, he picks his final guest.

Ian Botham - the cricketer.



But he is still going.

OH 'I would Larry David to come, but only if he really really wanted to come. I wouldn't want to force him otherwise it might get awkward.

I briefly mention who I might invite and he's off again

OH 'I'd definitely invite Mark Steele. (political comedian)
Me: 'You've got your 5 guests already. You can't invite anymore'
OH: (looking a bit hurt) 'But I'm a popular guy. If these people want to come, its not my fault.

Drivel

This has been bothering me since yesterday. I really should learn to just ignore him but yesterday the Colleague came out with this gem:

‘I read a survey that said fat women do better in the workplace because they feel can just get on with their work as they aren’t objectified by male colleagues like they are when they are thin’

He also added some drivel about men assuming thin women are bimbos, the exact wording of which I can’t remember.

This came about because I said I really liked this woman we deal with and he agreed and said he found her very warm and approachable because she was fat! I’ve never met her, just spoken to her on the phone and emailed her, so have no idea what she looks like. I didn’t respond to that part (what do you say to that?) but then he went on to talk about this ‘survey’.

I commented that surely the people surveyed would have had to have experienced being different weights and he said this is what the survey was. I find the whole thing rather improbable and offensive. It assumes that all men find the same size women attractive, that men think thin women are stupid, that women are distracted from their work by the attention of male colleagues, that all men behave inappropriately towards women at work etc etc.

Now as I've pretty much been the same size all my adult life, I wouldn't have been included in this survey and I'm pretty much average size so couldn't say whether its been hindering or helping my career. He is incredibly ‘anti-thin’ so has probably made the whole thing up. I don’t just mean Size 0 thin, but he looks down on anyone who is ever cautious about what they eat (i.e. me because I sometimes have salad for lunch and don't really like chocolate or Chinese food).

I know I should be able to ignore this rubbish and I am getting better at not reacting to his face so much, but needed to rant here to get it out of my system.

Last night's television

Last night was spent in a television studio in Wembley (oh the glamour - the 'regeneration of Wembley brings to mind the rather course expression 'polishing a turd'). We were in the audience for a new panel show 'Would I Lie To You' (coming soon to BBC1). I appear to be on a mailing list for such things, although I've no recollection of ever signing up for it.

Anyway, I was enticed into it by the promise of David Mitchell as a team captain (him from Mitchell & Webb and Peep Show). I don't find him attractive (geeky posh men are not my thing) but I do find his constant look of bewilderment rather endearing and funny. And the other consideration - it was free - vital in these penny-pinching times.

I was rather pleased with the rest of the guests - David Mitchell had a dream team of Frankie Boyle (consistently the funniest person on Mock the Week) and Duncan Bannatyne of Dragon's Den fame who I do find rather attractive (dour arrogant Scottish men are my thing!). The other side was less inspiring involving as it did Sonia from EastEnders.

We were herded into the studio and seated by a pair of flustered shouting fishwives (one called Beryl as her partner yelled every 30 seconds) who really made the process of getting people into seats look alot more complicated than it was.

The show itself was pretty funny but for what will presumably be edited to a 30 minute show, it took two hours to just do the quiz part. It started with a warm-up man, which is a concept that I don't really think works with British audiences that well - if anything being told to laugh & rehearsing clapping, makes us retreat further into our stereotypical reserve.

Then afterwards, there were the dreaded 'pick-ups' - basically re-doing bits of the show, sometimes over and over again - although to the untrained eye, there didn't seem to be much difference to each take, except the audience weren't really laughing on fourth hearing of the joke. Lots of the audience tried to leave at this point, burly bouncers tried to re-seat them but with less authority than Beryl & friend, so by the end there weren't many of us left. It was a shame it had to drag on so long as it did put a dampner on an otherwise good evening.

I definitely laughted alot although this morning I've little recollection of what at.

Whose job is it...

to name paint colours? And do they enjoy it?

I suppose it must be the marketing department, but I can't quite decide whether this is a great or awful job.

Naming the first hundred or so colours would have been fun, but after that it must have become quite a chore to avoid repeating names they've already used or being used by competitors.

This is probably why the sophisticated grey colour I'm considering for our bedroom goes by the awful name 'Quaker Drab'. All the good names for grey have already been used up - 'Night Jewels', 'Quartz Flint', 'Mineral Haze', or my favourite, 'Elephant's Breathe' - a name so great Farrow & Ball have registered it.






Why did Dulux decide to rename 'Cookie Dough' (much favoured by my family as I think my mum and both sisters have rooms in their houses painted this colour) as Cappuccino Candy 3 ? Has it improved sales? I want to know the answers.


This has just reminded me of the Ex who once woke me up in the middle of the night to ask why a banana wasn't called a 'yellow' when orange's were orange and called orange and lemon's lemon. He clearly had no future in the paint naming business.

A small wobble

I'm now feeling a little bit uneasy about our move. I'm very worried I won't like the flat when I see it again. Although we saw it twice and had a good look around, it was 5 months ago now and I'm struggling to remember what it looks like. I know I really liked it at the time, but I have that nagging doubt.

We still have too many belongings. My savings account is looking rather pitful.

I'm moving out of my comfort zone of the five block area that I've lived in the whole time I've been in London (except the 6 weeks in hell/Neasdon - see below). I won't know the newsagents and shop owners, and I'll have to swim in a different pool.

I think this panic has started to set in because for the last few weeks, I've been madly busy sorting out legal stuff, then I started on the practical things (removals, utility companies etc) but I've not had so much to do for the last couple of days which has given me room to worry. I've learnt from this whole process that I need to be kept occupied and have little details to worry about - it stops me from worrying about the big things, the uncontrollable things, the abstract.

Hopefully, once we are in, I can happily 'worry' about paint colours, washing machine deliveries and broadband connections and that will push away the big question mark.

Its good to talk (as they also say in the ads)

I'm working my way through a list of utility companies, banks and other organisations to notify them of our move. Last night, I rang British Telecom and heard the following message.

'We are currently experiencing a high volume of calls. You may wish to call back between 11 and 4 or after 8pm when we receive less calls"

And what time does this call centre close? 8pm.

I decided to remain on hold and wait. It seemed a safer bet than ringing back when they were closed.

Proud to be Different (as they say in the ads)

Nationwide Building Society, a branch somewhere in west London.

They didn't have any of those quick deposit slots so I had to queue for the cashier to pay my cheque in. This wasn't a problem but it was time enough for me to observe a strange man.

This man was wandering around the building, brandishing a paintbrush in a menacing way. A small artist's paintbrush (not a decorator's paintbrush), which I know it is quite hard to brandish menacingly, but he achieved it somehow. He was wandering in and out of the cubicles where people were talking to advisors, about personal and possibly delicate financial matters, but nobody stopped him. So perhaps he worked there? Yet, he didn't really have an air of authority about him - just a glazed expression and a small paintbrush.

This sort of thing doesn't happen at the NatWest.

Home Number 12

We have just exchanged. Apparently the seller's seller rang at 5.20 yesterday to say he still wanted to go ahead - the myssterious 'cash buyer' obviously disappeared.

Coincidentally, I read in the Metro this morning, that young people (I'm still counting myself in this) will have an average of 16 homes in there lifetime which is an increase on an average of 5 for the previous generation.

The new place will be my 12th home. I was quite shocked by how many I've had as I don't feel as if I've moved much and I lived in the same place for the first 18 years. So as an excuse for another list, these are the places I've lived

1. Family home - a large old house by the sea, that my father also grew up in. The family catering business was in the ground floor of the building so I grew up with a bizarre extended family of chefs, waitresses and van drivers. It was not a normal childhood. My mother always hated the house for its lack of privacy, but I know that if my sisters or I ever won the lottery, we would buy the house back from the present owners, The Walton (not a joke) who are professional foster parents.

2. Fifers Lane Halls of Residences in Norwich. The Dam Busters was rumoured to have been filmed theere, our block was subsiding at a rate of 1 inch per year and had a ratio of 1 shower to every 36 students. We were the last year of students to live there before it was condemned. But it had its own bar and the community spirit was great.

3. Rented house in Norwich's 'Golden Triangle', a phrase I struggle to think of without smiling. Sharing with two girls I loved, and two I couldn't stand.

4. On Campus for third year. Living with seven other people but a much better shower ratio - 8 to 2.

5. Out of the family home and into living above a pub that my mother had decided to run in a moment of menopausal madness (according to her). It was a huge pub so the living area was massive too and I ended up with a room bigger than my old one. We had a roof terrace and my mum bought Miss Ellie, our lovely dog. But I was the world's worst barmaid and the pub locals were scum, so I 'ran away' to London.

6. Awful bedsit in West London that I took in a hurry so I could take my first job in London. It was vile, but somehow I ended up staying there six months and without a television!

7. Studio - better than the previous one but not by much, about five minutes walk from the other one. I stayed there 18 months despite its proxity to a the train track and my view of a brick wall.

8. Flat share from hell with the boyfriend of a university friend in Neasdon, opposite Ikea. My friend split up with him, he went weird (left the stove on all weekend, slept in lounge sleeping bag covered in vomit while I was away) and then didn't pay the rent. The landlord threatened to come down from Leeds and slit my throat even though I had paid my share. I moved out quickly.

9. The 'United Nations' houseshare as it was nicknamed. At various points, a Canadian, an Italian, a German, and two Irish rented a house of a dodgy Greek bloke - rent to be left in the cutlery drawer every two weeks. We had to stage a 'sit-in' to get our deposit back.

10. Loft conversion with OH. The landlords, a pair of liberal Canadians lived downstairs - he was a student (and frequently spirit drinker judging by his breathe & speech in the later period), she was a writer of historical romances. There was a lot of wood panelling and it was always too warm. The floorboards were dodgy and fell through one night. 'Did you drop something on it' said the man. 'Like what? A Truck?' said the OH. They had a 'builder' who did all of their repairs - he actually wore Cowboy boots which was an accurate reflection on his building expertise

11. The current flat - located on the street between the previous one and the UN house. Its ok - I've never loved and made the brave decision of letting the OH view it alone while I was away. The people upstairs make strange noises at random times. I'll probably still cry when we move out though.

11th Hour Crisis

We were supposed to exchange contracts today. It hasn't happened.

The seller's seller had given them a deadline of 11.30 today to exchange. Apparently they have had a cash offer and were threatening to go with that if this sale didn't speed up, although our Estate Agent said people often lie about these things to get things moving faster.

So our solicitor did what she was supposed to do this morning. The seller's solicitor did what they were supposed to do. But the seller's seller's solicitor was stuck in traffic so they missed the 11.30 deadline.

The seller's seller is not answering the phone so nobody knows what he wants to do. Even though it was his side's fault.

Our Estate Agent assured me that our sale will still go ahead with our seller renting & putting her things in storage if necessary. But whether this affects the completion date remains to be seen. So our exchange is now probably going to happen tomorrow, but I'm not counting my chickens, holding my breath or any other metaphor until it happens.