For continuity's sake

Because I'm anal, and I'll probably blog more in 2013, and I don't want to miss 2012 off the side bar, I'm writing this. 

And this is my solemn oath to actually write something next year. 

ummm...ooops

Apologies for this blip and lack of availability. I have been manic with work since beginning of May through to mid-August (not really the best excuse but...). Also, there has been some intense personal admin that I've needed to take care of. Getting a new Canadian passport in Britain was very stressful as a) I wasn't sure of their time frame and needed it before my dad arrived second week of August, b) my dad as a dentist has always been my guarantor, and renewing your passport abroad, I needed someone professional in London, c) my friend Ed is a practicing barrister and I made the realisation that someone my age is professional enough to convince the Canadian consulate that I am who I claim to be, d) I'm so co-dependent, this is the first time that I've had to handle these official forms myself and lastly e) it was really quite straight forward and my passport came 9 days later thus rendering me feeling stupid for getting stressed over nothing.

New issue though- do I get a new indefinite leave stamp which can take up to 6 months and costs more money? And in five years time when my Canadian passport expires, I'll have to do it again? Or do I apply for British citizenship which again, can take up six months, costs more money but I'll be set for life? This is really interrupting my traveling plans as I can only go out of the country once with two passports (allegedly). I really dislike the feeling of being trapped and not being able to plan where we would like to go next. I'm desperate for another beach holiday, preferably Italy, preferably an island there. We are also considering Croatia and friends came back from Slovenia and said it was amazing too. It's frustrating to have Europe on your doorstep, the means to get there, but having to remain stationary. I'm still undecided what to do, and annoyingly when my dad came to visit last week, we didn't go to Paris as planned.

Even pausing to think about it now is frustrating. We were keen to go back to Bruges this winter, possibly convincing Chris' parents to take us there for xmas but we can't plan that far ahead. Still perplexed by the options, grimacing that there isn't a quick fix option.

1h35mins

I was grossly surprised when on our flight to Berlin, it was announced that it would only take an hour 35 to get to Berlin. Now understandably as a Canadian, evem flights from Toronto to Montreal take 55 minutes and Germany is the largest country in Europe. Head scratching but a brilliant surprise as I thought it would be the length of let's say Toronto to Orlando (2hours+). Why had I not taken advantage earlier? Mainly due to the ease and simplicity of the eurostar and seemingly only venturing as far into central Europe as France and Belgium. Two places where I can speak the language (and at least when in Flemish regions of Brussels- everyone speaks English...). I had a German crash course with my sister over the phone and a girl I work with who taught me the correct pronunciation of toilet. Thankfully in Berlin you can get away with speaking English virtually everyone, except in the deepest recesses of east Berlin where a girl in a cafe who was our age had no clue what we were saying. But then Chris had such German bravado (plus he looks pretty German as well) that people would start to respond to him in German and he would have to shrug his shoulders and then say English. City is amazing and I'm already desperate to go back. Prague was gorgeous, and the language really made you feel out of your depth but again we could get away with English virtually everywhere. Not as much to do in the evenings as Berlin as it's either tacky stag dos in the new town area or techo/house nights which would be tortuous. We stayed in the posher area of town, right on the riverfront to evenings were spent wandering around dimly lit streets, mouths set to awe. Czechs are really friendly as well, and get apologising that their English wasn't good- we would then reply how sorry we were we didn't speak their language. That humbling attitude certainly doesn't exist in Paris and it was a fresh way of getting through a city without feeling too displaced. Also, the train we took from Berlin to Prague was incredible- once we got to Dresden which is one of the furthest points south east you can get before you hit Czech Republic, you go through the German country side but see the influence of east Central Europe. You bend around the river and there are incredible villages based on grassy hills.

infinite admonishment

So just read that crap written below back, pile of shit. I'm also curious if these exercise references are really something to do with the fact that a) I can't button up nearly 2/3 of my trouser collection, hence skirts everyday and b) the fact that I just ate home-baked apple pie with whip cream on top.

This isn't self-criticism. No no. This is blame. I blame the feeder of the house, an unveiled brilliant cook who made oozing potatoes dauphinoise tonight that I was scooping the last dregs of cheese and red onion out with a fork and not an ounce of shame. He purposely makes bigger portions not just to plump me up so I can catch up with him and his belly, but also for the satisfaction of my persistent compliments of his cooking. Cooking, like writing, is simply an exercise in one's own vanity and boy is he basking in self-glory. Renaissance man in the kitchen.

Apparently you burn more calories reading than watching television. Positive thinking when reading 900+. Is the suggestion now, instead of smaller eating portions, larger reading targets?

infinite behest

Right so I've committed the cardinal sin of 2011. As one may remember from 3-4 posts ago, which was actually 2010, I vowed to a) read more b) write more. Moderately failing at point b). Point a) is far trickier as I'm currently reading David Foster Wallace's Infinite Jest which I promise is not an easy read. Umm let me explain if you haven't read it or know nothing about it. I have two simultaneous book marks in it, one for the first 900 pages of the book; one for the 200+ pages of footnotes. When reading, I set myself targets (I'm a painfully slow reader, plus I have to wear reading glasses so my eyes get tired, pretty much the obligatory excuse one uses when working out (weak ankles, poor upper body strength etc...) but applied to reading). So the other day's target was 20 pages in 40 minutes. Reading along, hit a footnote which was an epic 13 pages. Hardly a dent made into the novel portion which again one could compare to the effort made when working, then realising the next day the effects weren't instantaneous.

Anyway, it's big and heavy and I've been carting it back and forth to work as the weather has been so nice and I could read outside. But instead, I sit inside, feeling guilty, reading the celeb section of the Daily Mail online.

little me

It's that time of year again, where I stop performing life and only focus on work. The two this year seem to have blended together however as I am currently struggling with a cold however have a national press campaign launching on Wednesday. I haven't read much in the past three weeks+ which is disadvantageous as I'm currently attempting to read Infinite Jest by David Foster Wallace which does require a) routine reading and b) my utmost attention.

I do however feel as though I'm now just a broken record, and hate that I'm fearing I have a become a moaner. Rather a moaner than a whiner though. That being said, it's now freezing again in London and my sicky body is hating that I'm currently cross legged, in fleece pjs, trying to warm up my clammy feet. Ever the picture of grace and dignity, I scratch my head in confusion...

In fact I wish I was one of those people, who crawled into bed and decided to never get out. You know the ones, who work from bed, eat, live from bed. I could absolutely be one of those, need a mobile phone and computer close. No doubt I would fall asleep on the job but the allure currently is making me salivate.

I think the most important thing right now though is Spring. There's more to this cryptic story but thought processes aren't synapsing and I need to find some slippers.

fix

Last night, whilst watching television, i couldn't for the life of me remember the Amer-Cana equivalent of candy floss- to the point where I believe that's what we called it. The deep, dark recesses of my mind finally pulled the file that it's cotton candy. And I assume I couldn't remember because being a dentist daughter, I was strictly forbidden to eat (except on special occasions such as a fun fair, or the last day of school when they brought in the machine and another side note: isn't calling it candy floss exceptionally offensive to those in the teeth trade?). Chris sadly has never tried it ever. This from the boy whose own mum still makes his appointments to visit the dentist (another side note: he's turning 27 in 3 weeks...)

11

So rollicking good start to 2011. New Year's resolutions were to a) do the dishes every night before going to bed and b) trim up. Kitchen shimmers every night before bedtime, which is now 11pm- well it's get into bed for then but read for an hour. Which brings me to point c); not so much a resolution as a promise to myself which has thus far proved well; read more you silly girl. Success with a cult classic to ease myself into the habit (yet again). Funny to be making you take up the habit instead of kicking one.

Point b) trim up. Wine belly has deflated from one week of not eating any meet or drinking any booze.* When I was cleaning my room reflecting on 2010, I think because I was in a new job and on the constant defense of impress!, I didn't commit much time to extra-curricular activities such as reading and writing. But now that I'm settled (it has been over a year now, must end the neurotic backlash of full-time employment) I hope to do more things that I like, for myself. And not just because I should, but because I want to.

But really, who actually wants to do the dishes?

*minus the one g&t last night whilst watching the newest episode of Jersey Shore; alcohol is a must whilst watching.

reading remorseful

I've had an atypical year of reading- mainly because I've hardly done any of it. I'm ashamed to admit that I've only read 4 books this year, one of which took me nearly 6 months to go through. I'm one of those type people who can't just put a book down and start something new; I either have to completely abandon which takes quite a bit of will and strength or slowly plod my way through to the end. Take for instance Ghostwritten which is a fantastic book, but take me ages and ages to finish that by the time I got to the end, it had completely lost its point on me.

It's now taken me ages and ages (real time, approaching 2 months) just to finish Brave New World- which in all honesty still isn't done yet, I have only 40 pages left to read. I found whilst reading that, I had zero attention span. Half the reason it's taking me so long to finish is that I'd be reading, get to the bottom and have no idea what had just happened, or really what I was thinking about to distract myself.

2011 is going to be tackled with a new, opportunistic attitude. We have to buy a third bookcase because we have so many books (helps when husband works in publishing, and I keep every issue of Vogue. These things all contribute to the bookcase pile-up). I was chatting to Chris about being in a reading rut which he claims is quite common. It's helped me decide the kinds of books I really like, and apparently I really do enjoy female writers, modern, strong characters and plot focused, intricate story lines, inter-woven and transcendental. If I could, I would ditch fiction all together and just read anecdotal essays by David Sedaris, Chelsea Handler (even though she's not that brilliant of a writer, but her life is pretty funny), Sloane Crosley (again not that brilliant a writer, but I enjoy her life as well). That and any form of transgressive literature, modern, so insanely boring! Ok, 2011 needs to be about expanding horizons and like my wardrobe, not buying the same striped sweater over and over again.

bears in Belgium

Chris and I finally went on our honeymoon last week to Brussels and Bruges in Belgium. Great holiday- Brussels is a bit counter-intuitive for tourists. We couldn't purchase metro tickets with our credits, and the machines only accept coins, not cash so we were perpetually breaking €50 notes. Brussels itself to me was like a post-communist Paris, it was very wide with lots of marble and 60s tiling. I was trying to explain this to a friend last night as Belgium was never a communist country but it's merely based on aesthetic. Bruges is one of my favourite places in the world now. Everything is within walking distance and there isn't a corner turned that isn't exquisite. Food was beyond words and the beer! Our honeymoon was virtually an exercise in beer tasting. But I think this is paving the way for a different kind of holiday for us- we've only done city breaks but now we keep discussing staying in a gite at a French winery. Definitely something a bit more rustic with food and wine.

There were quite a few exceptional stories that happened but the one that lingers is our last night in Brussels, we went to a Japanese-French fusion restaurant. All very lovely, with tables quite close together. We're on the end, an empty table next, and a British/American couple after that. This other middle-aged couple come in, bloke is British, not sure where the woman was from but her sounded American. The woman is complaining that she wants to sit further back but there aren't any tables available so they seat them in between us and the other couple. Chris and I ordered the 3 course surprise menu so first course arrives. We're trying to eat but this hideous woman next to us starts complaining that she's cold and that she doesn't know what the food is. The man is trying to subdue her by saying, we can go somewhere else, but she's then placating him but insisting they can stay. Chris and I try to talk to each other to discuss the food we're eating but can't keep our ears off the car crash that's happening next to us. Next the server comes over the woman demands to the man to have the server explain to her the menu in French (she says this to him in English)- so the man then speaks french to the server and he then explains it to her in french (sorry if that's confusing- it was to us as well- at this point my mouth was hanging open and I was willing them to just leave because Chris and I at that point were just talking to each other as if we were strangers). She then makes snide comments and looks at both us and the other couple and says I'm not eating, I know the types of people who come to these places and pay these prices. The man insists on paying but she just sits there arms crossed and refuses to choose anything from the menu. I think out of sheer embarrassment, the obvious tension between us, them and the other couple, they finally get up and leave. I say thank God to Chris, that I hadn't been listening to a word he was saying for the past 20 minutes and the couple overhear this and we have a big laugh. My heart was literally pounding though, I was having an anxiety attack just being near that couple's presence. It makes my stomach churn just thinking about it.

the moment of impact

I'm just being a lazy twat. As of late, I've been having massive, long rants in my head which now involve me saying 'fuck' under neath my breath someone does something that clearly upsets my middleclass self. Latest irks all surround public transport. I could for the most part keep it stored away in my mind, packaged nicely and safe from escaping but now, even this morning when a truck was blocking the side walk and I had to step into the street, whilst stupid workers smoked fags and drunk coffee, I snickered shit at them, curled my lip and reluctantly stepped on to the street, half hoping a car would hit me and I could enter martyrdom. Oh just a police was around to issue a ticket. Seriously Hackney Road is extreme on a school day morning, especially around the bend near where it meets Shoreditch High St. I'm happy to still have the function of my fingers.

Oh and speaking of...the past two weeks I've managed to sit beside boogie flicker twice. First time: top deck, it's exciting when you get a seat, even though my bus ride isn't especially long. But there I was, didn't even need to ask the bloke to move his bag. But dear God he was digging for buried green treasure the entire bus ride. And once retrieved, he was clearly looking to bury someone on my coat because they were being flicked right on me. I refer to it as the 'boogie click', where you hear the moment of impact and pray it will slide right off. This particular topic is written with strain (I promise I just gagged reliving the experience). Is it beyond social decency to ask someone to kindly stop picking their nose? I had to get off the bus two stops before because I literally felt faint. The second time round, I did quite a few huffs, the classic clasping the bridge of your nose is despair, biting my lip as to not say a word. Again, I descended the bus early. They seem to find me.

see you

I don't mean to be awol but first two weeks of the month spent in Canada (with slow connection speed, living in the country). Second two weeks spent catching up with work, life, sleeping schedule.

I'm sure I have so many profound things to say about the home/home divide but right now my sister is visiting and we just watched three episodes of Jersey Shore and I'm pretty sure my brain is now fried. No deep thoughts- just laughter traded as collateral.

When I'm in Canada with Chris, it feels even more exaggerated as my Canadian home, and I feel more so displaced. Now that Emma is here, I feel as though being tour guide around London makes it feel even more so mine. I think my issue stands that I walk to work through an 'unLondon' part of London (if that can exist- I think it's just the white terraced housing that I build in my mind that seems to only exist in the west yet we live in the east). I remember reading that about Paris- how the city can look so Parisian and how that made no sense at all but made perfect sense.

One grotesque thing not mentioned was I took the bus home the other day and instead of standing with the plebs on the bottom, I ventured upstairs. And my payment for doing so was having to sit beside boogie picker--> flicker. Oh yes. I thought I was going to faint. I hit my pain threshold and stood downstairs three stops before but guy was getting a bit too close to my brand new coat. It still sends shudders up my spine.

I went to paris with my friend pippa

I went to Paris with my friend Pippa which was fun as it was my second time in Paris in two and half months- plus Paris is far quieter than London with about a third of the people. Unfortunately Paris was far quieter with that third of people being chopped into a further third because everyone is on 'vaccances'. So my friend Pippa used to live in Paris for nearly a year whilst at university so knew fun places, which were unfortunately closed due to said vaccances.

And even more unfortunate is getting your period on a Sunday morning to find no shops open, then getting lost amongst the diagonal streets of Paris and realising you left your iphone at the hotel. Oh look- it's nearly 12noon and you have to check out then. And you still haven't showered, or found a box of tampons yet. Oh and you're desperately lost because this is the man who approached me 10 minutes ago recoginising that you were a tourist and panicked, who insisted that his mother had just died and wanted some kind words said to him (rest assured, definitely not the case- but you did play along and say you were sad for his loss- in French no less). Ok, so let's jump on the Metro and go one stop (if you haven't been to Paris- Metro stops are quite literally a two minute walk away from each other, really close). Hmmm, Pippa has all of your tickets- let's buy a single. Oh fantastic, the person in front of you has no idea what they're doing- and your London impatience comes out of your mouth with a huge hurrumph. Oh, they recoginise you're annoyed and on the brink of tears, and you're desperately uncomfortable because you have your period, and you're hot and maybe just a bit hungover. Alright so you have your ticket. So you get down to the Metro, but it's Sunday, and the trains are 7 minutes apart. And the next one isn't for another 6 minutes. And it's 11.52am and you have to check out 8 minutes. But you still have to take a shower and cool off. And you can see your Metro stop down the station and think- should I just run down the tracks? But you don't. You wait, and think you're such a poser with your 'independent traveler' attitude, wishing you stinking husband was with you so he could have run out for the 'T run' and that you and lady time could be double up alone together. So on the Metro, run out at your stop. Quit speaking French for two minutes (thanks to your education, even 8 years in intensive French doesn't teach you how to say "I have my period, I'm very uncomfortable, I just got lost, and I have to take a shower. Please may I stay in the room for an extra half an hour?" Basically you say that, but leave out the first bit (you're coy after all). And thankfully French men take pity on young girls. So you're fine, granted extra time. And Paris was a lovely time.

gate

Staff meeting at 11am on Monday of this week. Business as usual...

Then our Chief Exec, who is a) a Dame b) I see as a mentor c) have the utmost respect for d) feel so badly for her when she needs to address things like this:

The topic was introduced as something that needs to be discussed because it had been addressed internally by someone to HR, and now our HR officer had started a new job elsewhere so needed to be taken up by our C.E. So sheets of paper were circulated to everyone with two columns: a) acceptable b) not acceptable. First comments made by member of staff: what are skorts?

Apparently someone had said something to HR about someone wearing clothes they felt were inappropriate (umm, did I choose the absolute wrong day to wear shorts, I spent the rest of the day hiking them down. In my defense, they're dressy, and I wore them all day with a blazer). But I don't think it was these shorts which were the tip-off, but my leather shorts (they are loose fitting, again dressy). Oh dear god. Nothing is worse then deeming Draconian law over workers in a casual attired place- and horror of horrors, jeans are deemed unacceptable. So I'm thinking a) my leather shorts have clearly offended someone b) I need to quit my job if I can't wear jeans. Anecdotes were shared on the last time, pre-2002 when our C.E. had to address a man wearing tight short shorts and she's never discussed dress code since. Thankfully jeans made it back to the acceptable list, but I'm never wearing shorts again.

I returned home from work that day (chaffing on my legs from the constant tug down the thighs), and folded up the leather shorts and put them into the third drawer of my dresser. As I closed the drawer, I heard a small wimper and a gasp for last breaths.

thrown

So as you may be aware, but maybe not, there's been this guy who shot his ex-girlfriend through a window, didn't kill her, but killed her current partner, then shot a police man, then wage war on police, he's been on the run in the north east of England, a considerably distance away. Anyway, it's terrifying, and people do truly go insane when it's hot and sunny in this country. The point is that I haven't been able to sleep very well over the past few evenings because of it, and because I'm the biggest baby.

When I was younger, it was a cardinal sin to wake my parents up, for whatever reason, fear, wet the bed, couldn't sleep because I watched the Exorcist and I was afraid the bed would convulse etc. I've very scared shitless in bed, at 12, and just had to grin and bear it until it was light outside again. I remember once hearing these weird horns and resolving myself to believe that it was ghosts in the attics. Realised the next morning it was my sister playing on this toy saxophone. But that's neither here nor there. Just an episodic replay of my irrational fear of the night.

But like most, because it's hot, I tend to have feverish dreams. So the other night, just having dropped off asleep, in my dream, I was sleeping towards the wall, and saw a man all dressed in white blending in with the paint colour. I then threw myself onto Chris, incoherently saying, Chris there's a man... So he started stroking my back so it was ok, and that's when I woke up to the feeling my heart pounding against his back. Still scares the shit out of me thinking back to that. And you can never fall back asleep after your heart races like that, and because you're afraid to fall back asleep and have a scary dream. So I asked Chris to stay awake until I fell asleep, which was of course yes. So I rolled back over, and he rubbed my back to calm me down. Not even five minutes later, I had to wake him up because he was snoring so loudly.

I emailed him the next day saying that I was really tired because I hadn't slept well. He said, oh no bad dream, don't worry, I can stay awake again until you fall asleep tonight.

one of those types

It's been an emotionally tumultuous week, part self-inflicted, part-Daily Mail readers being shitty. This is actually severely hypocritical because I utilise/depend on/enjoy dialogue of the internet, but what I theorised over a year ago, the internet allows any shitty, banal, unimportant thought that pops into your head, to post it online, anonymously without any recourse. And it can never go away.

There's an expression here that says: today's newspapers are tomorrow fish and chip wrappers. Or something along those lines. But unfortunately stories that are in the paper, are also posted online. And because they're posted online, they subject to ignorant people's scrutiny of something they just don't understand.

Now last week's comment of "i've maxed on being nice..." quite literally now. I work for a national charity in the press department and not that I've ever seen myself as the type to work in the third sector, but that doesn't mean that I don't think I'm a good person and have compassion for people, because I do always feel interested in anyone's story, specifically those who are marginalised. So this campaign we've been working on has now launched, and part of working for a health charity is placing case studies throughout the media to highlight their condition and their experience of living with it. So our case study was placed in the Sun, Daily Mail, Daily Mirror and the Metro. Fine, red tops, great. Story is a bit contentious that's alright. So our case study has gained some weight since her condition because she's on steroids, and she's on oxygen 24/7, and she's in a wheelchair and the only thing she can do for herself is prepare food. Everything else someone needs to help her. She's 50, and speaks frankly about how she is dying from passive smoke. Also, she's the loveliest woman, with nothing but an incredible heart and huge spirit.

So the story appears in the papers, and immediately readers start making comments about 'oh maybe she's dying because she's fat...' and it's appalling. By 12noon, there are around 90 comments, 50% of which are so ignorant, and disgusting, the other 50% are defensive towards her. She called me later that day really upset, and I got all choked up as well speaking with her. I just couldn't imagine making a comment about something I know absolutely nothing about, but jumping to cutting judgments because I can, anonymously.

Within our team, we were discussing the best course of action. I still do believe that calling someone fat, and saying they're in a wheelchair because they're fat is an abilist remark and by the terms and conditions of these papers, such comments should be deleted. But each paper is so reluctant to take down any comments that aren't either racist or homophobic (their policy) because of censorship and the issues surrounding brazen action deleting on the internet. But regardless, it never goes away. Posted online, yesterday's papers aren't fish and chips wrappers, they're a constant reminder, a tick that you keep scratching, an emotional cut on your arm.

That night, Chris dragged me to a gig that I didn't really want to go to in the first place, but it was marred by this. And by inability to protect someone. And I thought that wouldn't happen in the charity sector. But she's in much better spirits now, because she's incredible and can move on. But I'm still sitting here in disbelief and disappointment. Both in myself and in manking (or the small fraction who read the Daily Mail).

good example

In the midst of my working hell, I managed to do the ungodly task of clearing out my closet and drawers. I'm now subjected to watching football (i.e. unmanageable hell, mainly because England are rubbish) and thought I would think further about purge. This is also because it isn't so much about clothing but about the personal and professional anxieties that I need to delete from my database.

This blog is in real time, because we had the in-laws down this weekend, and I'm not coming round to stopping smiling. In all seriousness, my cheeks hurt from smiling all weekend. I did utter the words "I've maxed out on being nice" at work. I'm not a malicious person, and have always considered myself as a "nice" person, but I simply cannot be any longer. I noticed the first time at the grocery store when, I was paying up at the till, the check-out person asked how I was today, and I of course cordially replied, I'm well thank you, but did not pose the question back. And I have consciously not posed it back all weekend. When it's genuinely not a lack of disingenuine interest, I do care if the aren't well. I worked customer service and it's a wonder pleasantry when if people can at least feign interest in you. And I was ridiculed when I was younger (probably still now by my brother and sister) for being quote unquote too polite at restaurants.

Ok back to real time. E.T. is on and I can barely think of that film without crying. Still being capable of emotion is at least a positive. So this is me deleting stress, and inadvertently taking it out on other people, who don't even realise it.

Here's football, bin bags, and my Sunday afternoon.

bad example

I have been completely consumed with work and therefore have nothing remotely interesting to say. Well one thing. Only that I would like a holiday.

Next week everything comes to a head and then should hopefully calm down. And then there's another peak of work. And then hopefully by third week of July, I will have other thoughts again.

this is brilliant

Paris: the highlights from 30th April-5th May