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.