The count down started weeks ago, hours have gone into the preparation, lists were made and ticked off and the world looks sparkly with lights and tinsle. It's finally here - Christmas! the time of peace on earth and good will to all (wo)men. The special time of year when cards are sent, presents are exchanged and the general feeling of good will is in the air. Hopefully.
For any one who is brave (or stupid, depending on which way you look at it!) enough to hit the high street and attempt some good old fashioned christmas shopping best have more packed into their Mulberry then their credit cards and good will to all men. A steely resolve to tick off that list, spare change for plenty of Starbucks to keep yourself fuelled and the patience of a saint should also be neatly packed in there, along with a MAC lip gloss, some flats and an emergency bar of chocolate (it may seem excessive but trust me on this one!) The smarter and more organised among us are probably reading this now, giggling at the naivety and absurdity of us high street hitters! Cries of 'Do it all on the Internet!' can be heard coming from every organised woman in the world. Who wouldn't want to do all your christmas shopping, warm and comfy in your pj's, large vino in hand and Jamie Oliver providing cooking inspiration from the TV, it all sounds too good to be true! And for some of us it is. Internet shopping has to allow the factor of time. Time to sit there deliberating how to add the things you want. Time to get through the bizarre check out credit card security thingy (for which I can never remember the password!). Time to reset the security password. Time for your shopping to arrive. Time for it to be sent back and exchanged if needs be. And time is the one something that we don't always have. Those same people who have clicked and emailed there way through their Christmas shopping are mostly likely to be one who efficiently wrote hundreds of cards back in October, had them stamped by November and posted by the first of December. For those of us in the not so organised camp, the first of December is for buying advent calendars and considering that we may need to buy some cards. And for the shamefully unorganised of us (myself included!) with no list, no cards, no wrapping paper and no time management skills it's a Tesco run for essentials on Christmas eve. Even worse was my surprise (?!) when the shelves were have empty and I couldn't get most of what I wanted. My resolve strengthened that next year would be different!
By closing time on christmas eve what's not been bought wont be and our attention turns to the food. As I arrived at the motherships it was clear she had bought in enough food to feed a small country, maybe for several weeks. All diet resolves crumbled at that point and my will power admitted defeat. I will be returning north at least half a stone heavier, thanks mum! Operation size zero will just have to commence in January. Along with operation detox and operation January sales.
As the end of the big day approaches, presents have been exchanged, dinner has overwhelmed us, dad is snoring and the little sis and I are settling down to watch our five favourite men (yeah my brother in law may just be the best!!) on dvd, the end of the year begins to peak it's cheeky face around the corner. But for now, just for tonight peace and calm quietly seep over our full tummy's and happy memories, whilst we silently reflect on how lucky we are to be at home with the people we love. Not every one is that lucky xxxx
Merry Christmas ladies!!
Sunday 25 December 2011
Thursday 22 December 2011
Further Christmas Chaos.......
After weeks of dieting, days of dress shopping and hours of getting ready the night of the christmas party finally arrives! With the taxi booked, outfits sorted and make up inched on, the anticipation of a good night starts to rise. With all plans for the night firmly in place, the first bottle of vino drunk and MTV providing music and thinspiration the time to leave approached. As I trotted of in Topshops finest, balancing on Office killer heels and my hair finally having a good day, the anticipation and excitement of the night ahead started to bubble.
One swift taxi ride, two friends picked up and a handful of change later and we arrive to start the planned evening of fun. After the faux fizz is drunk and initial shrieks of excitement have passed the enforced 4 course eating begins. The food, as with all Christmas parties was bad, really bad! But who cares when the wine is flowing and you can make your own fun. It's always amusing to watch your ever professional colleagues get more and more drunk! A few spins around the dance floor and all inhibitions are long gone. From hitting the floor to Whoops upside Your Head to tagging along in the Conga, there is a dance for all of us. As yet another bottle of wine was consumed and the room begins to spin, it's an ideal time to admire the unique, only happens once a year highlights. Despite the lack of talent at such events it never fails to amaze me as to who ends up with who. Some where between the vodka haze and the cheap food e number high, random couples start to pair off. Not pleasant viewing for those of us observing at the time and, I'm sure, not so pleasant memories for the said individuals who have to wake up and remember what/who they did the night before!! As the music gets worse and the crowds begin to thin I did what any self respecting girl would do, booked a cab to carry the party on in town!!
Piling back into the taxi and heading straight for town, the talk turned to men, dancing and more vino! Despite the cold weather and no coats we finally made it to the club to find the afore mentioned desired things.
As four twenty something (plus a few years!) ladies about to hit the clubs
it is essential to look our best but
two additional bottles of wine later, it's probably not a good idea to start examining your make up in the harsh strip lighting of the toilets in a club! As I stared horrified at my translucent skin, frizzy hair and drunkenly smudged make up I realised with a sinking heart that compared to me Courtney Love looked the epitome of style and elegance. Great! At times like this the only thing a girl can do is slap on more lip gloss, down a few shots and hit the dance floor!!
As I sat, snuggled in my warm bed the next morning, sipping tea and munching toast, hoping my head would stop banging any time soon as there was Christmas shopping to be done! I reflected on the giggles we had had and the memories that we had made. Was the worry and stress of what to wear and all the planning worth it? Did the dieting and dress shopping seem worth the effort? For most of us it will have been, after all it's the journey not the destination that matters.
One swift taxi ride, two friends picked up and a handful of change later and we arrive to start the planned evening of fun. After the faux fizz is drunk and initial shrieks of excitement have passed the enforced 4 course eating begins. The food, as with all Christmas parties was bad, really bad! But who cares when the wine is flowing and you can make your own fun. It's always amusing to watch your ever professional colleagues get more and more drunk! A few spins around the dance floor and all inhibitions are long gone. From hitting the floor to Whoops upside Your Head to tagging along in the Conga, there is a dance for all of us. As yet another bottle of wine was consumed and the room begins to spin, it's an ideal time to admire the unique, only happens once a year highlights. Despite the lack of talent at such events it never fails to amaze me as to who ends up with who. Some where between the vodka haze and the cheap food e number high, random couples start to pair off. Not pleasant viewing for those of us observing at the time and, I'm sure, not so pleasant memories for the said individuals who have to wake up and remember what/who they did the night before!! As the music gets worse and the crowds begin to thin I did what any self respecting girl would do, booked a cab to carry the party on in town!!
Piling back into the taxi and heading straight for town, the talk turned to men, dancing and more vino! Despite the cold weather and no coats we finally made it to the club to find the afore mentioned desired things.
As four twenty something (plus a few years!) ladies about to hit the clubs
it is essential to look our best but
two additional bottles of wine later, it's probably not a good idea to start examining your make up in the harsh strip lighting of the toilets in a club! As I stared horrified at my translucent skin, frizzy hair and drunkenly smudged make up I realised with a sinking heart that compared to me Courtney Love looked the epitome of style and elegance. Great! At times like this the only thing a girl can do is slap on more lip gloss, down a few shots and hit the dance floor!!
As I sat, snuggled in my warm bed the next morning, sipping tea and munching toast, hoping my head would stop banging any time soon as there was Christmas shopping to be done! I reflected on the giggles we had had and the memories that we had made. Was the worry and stress of what to wear and all the planning worth it? Did the dieting and dress shopping seem worth the effort? For most of us it will have been, after all it's the journey not the destination that matters.
Sunday 11 December 2011
An Age Restriction on Happiness............
This week saw me turn 29yrs and 4 months old. That leaves exactly 8 months til the big 3-0. Not that I am stressed or worried about it or anything. Much. Ok, well a little bit. As we travel through our lives we are often too busy to stop, look and reflect on our goals and dreams. So when a big birthday comes along it makes us stop, look around and take stock of what we have. It can also be a time where we look at what we haven’t achieved.
During our teens the world is our oyster and the options laid out ahead of us are endless. The idea we can have it all is freely exploited and there is an expectation that we will take it. Careers, marriage, children, university and travel are just a few of the options that we can choose from. Or why not attempt all of them, but in what order? Which do you focus on? How do you find time to fit them in? As a career advisor, with the best intentions I’m sure, tries to encourage our 16 year old self’s to pick a job for the rest of our lives it become a lots of pressure. The person we are at 16 is totally different to the person we are at 30 or 40 or 50. The best advice, which has stayed with me, was to just do what you enjoy doing. This is great but often there is so much! For each option we choose, to some extend we sacrifice another. If we opt for university and a high flying career, do we put relationships, marriage and children on a back burner? Or if we choose marriage and children are we putting our career on hold? Can we juggle child care with studying and career progression? The choices are endless, overwhelming and often, to an extent, out of our control. But what happens when we reach a milestone age and we haven’t achieved some of the things we wanted to do? As women there is a certain time pressure to having children, but the reality and responsibility of finding the right man means it doesn’t always happen when you want it to. And if you are lucky enough to find Mr Right, to have his babies and live happily ever after, how do you carry on in a job you love and have worked so hard for when you will want to spend all your time with your gorgeous little one? Can we really have our cake and eat it? At what point do we accept what we have, celebrate our successes on the way and just keep working towards our future dreams? And at what point do we cut ourselves some slack, accept that some things that we wanted aren’t going to happen (maybe because they are not meant to be) and reset the Sat Nav of live? There were lots of things that I wanted once upon a time; to be a size zero and six foot tall; to travel the world in a caravanette with my best friend; to hear that Brad had got back with Jen (Team Jen all the way!); be an air hostess and to have hair that was thick and glossy, like in a L’oreal advert. None of these things have come to pass, but I have survived. In fact I have made it my mission to thrive, safe in the knowledge that I will never be the girl with the perfect hair, I will not grow past the five ft 4 inches I have been for over 10 years and I am a bit to claustrophobic to be travelling anywhere in a caravanette! So as we approach mile stone ages, we can aim for three goals. One – To be able to look back at the past, proud of what has already achieved. Two – To accept that the achievements of our past have bought us to the present and that the present is the spring board to our future. Three – The future is ours to plan and make what we want of it. Age may dictate some things to us such as when we can have children or what job we do but no matter how old we are we are never too old to dream and set new goals.
Monday 5 December 2011
The Pillsbury Dough Girl................
Picture the scene. Its 6pm, you have just got from work, it is cold, you are tired, work was manic, the kids/ the boy are ‘starving!’ and all you want to eat is something fattening, creamy and served with a vat of wine! Reality snaps you back to the empty fridge, the goose pimples on your arms and the cellulite on (my) chubby short thighs. Taking a deep breath, swiftly chopping some vegetables and think skinny thoughts, you continue the battle of the bulge, determined to win! This time it’s the annual run up to Christmas battle of the bulge and operation little black dress. With Christmas party invites pouring in, food offerings over flowing and vino being served by the gallon (hope that’s not just in my house!) its more tempting to put on your comfies, wrap up in a snuggie and let the mince pie onslaught begin than to start fighting the flab. But fight we do and with what energy! A quick poll around my office of 18 beautiful, intelligent and successful women showed we were all following some kind of diet, albeit some following a little less rigidly than others but never the less still following. From the Dukan diet to Slimming World and from the Cuppa Soup diet to the Heart diet, between us we know every point, calorie and carb count like the back of our hands. The 5 men in the office clearly have little hope and sanity working with us mad lot! As I gazed into yet another homemade fat free soup, wishing desperately that it was a vat of fat free apple pie and custard I began to wonder if there wasn’t another way to do this. Operation banish the belly needed to start with more than just a diet, the cold trickle of realisation hit, the only way was exercise.....
Being the kinda gal who is allergic to exercise, refuses to wear a look that inspires the statement ‘sponsored by Adidas’ and has no desire to be running on the spot for hours at a time whilst ‘Gym Barbie’ work out next to me, I choose carefully which sports I commit to. Firstly I am not great at team sports, having dyspraxia makes my hand to ball coordination rather rubbish, I hate to wear a uniform (why is it always a colour that is most unflattering to my skin tone?!) and should the lure of my duvet win one wet and windy day, the guilt of letting people down haunts me. Secondly I am no gym bunny. Being trapped in a room, with walls covered in mirrors, which makes it virtually impossible to not observe every wobbly bit as it wobbles and breathing in air smattered with other peoples sweat, is not my idea of a good time. All whilst paying an extortionate fee for the pleasure of this as well as being perved on by some steroid infused lump of muscle and being made to feel incompetent because your ‘running’, with mascara streaking and sports bra slipping down your shoulder, whilst Gym Barbie sprints ahead, implants and eye liner firmly intact. As I gazed down at my podgy little belly I needed motivation, something drastic. To motivate me off my ever increasing back side and shock me into action. Yep, I did what we all avoid doing at any cost ladies, I braved the full length mirror!! Obliviously this was done in the safety of my own bathroom, with the heating blasting out and the door firmly locked. Taking a very deep breath and daring a peek through my fingers, I examined the damage all the vino, cake and general sitting around has done to my body. As I peered critically at the expanse of pale, blotchy skin in the mirror, it was clear the only way to get the party body I wanted was through some intense toning and a LOT of St Tropez finest. A quick shop on line ensured the magic in a bottle was hot footing its way too me, next stop toning. After down loading an App to my iphone, laying the yoga mat on the floor and putting MTV on (for thinspiration and music) I started with a basic sit up. As a ripping pain shot through my chest it was quite apparent this wasn’t supposed to happen. Barely able to breathe or stand up I was in worse shape than I thought or I had done some serious damage. A quick check in with the Doctor confirmed it was the latter, I was the owner of a torn inter costal muscle. Her advice – to rest it.
As I sat on the sofa latter that night, resting my torn muscle, snuggled with a hot water bottle, sipping hot chocolate, I couldn’t help but wonder if this wasn’t a sign. Maybe I’m not designed to do such rigorous exercise, maybe a lesson could be learnt from this. Should we just be happy in our own bodies? Why are going to such lengths for perfection? For ourselves, for other people? When do we stop and just accept ourselves rolls of flab and all? As I carry on my journey of self acceptance I know I will be greatly helped along the way by some fake tan and very big knickers!!
Sunday 27 November 2011
All the fun of The (Vintage) Fair...........
Vintage for me is an era of glamour, romance and a reminder of a bye gone days. Of a time when a party dress would be worn season after season and one pair of shoes went with all. These quintessential English images of the past are smattered with visions of sequins, which were the height of glamour and when tea was served in a cup and saucer. With vintage you can’t help but wonder what stories each item could tell. Where has it been? What has it seen? Or how the person wearing it felt. Vintage for me has character, style and a uniqueness that cannot be met by any other style. It exudes a richness and pizzazz that can’t be recreated or repeated and this, at least to me, is something special. To be able to access a part of the past, reinvent it, make it your own and take inspiration from it is something rare in our world of, what can be, mass produced cookie cutter fashion. Vintage couture is a labour of love, from hunting down the perfect item, customising it, lovingly repairing it and finally the sweet reward of being able to actually wear it, safe in the knowledge there will be no awkward moment when someone arrives in the same outfit as you!
This weekend saw my heart sore and credit card flinch as The Vintage Fair was in town! For anyone who has never ventured to one (shame on you!), it is an experience not to be missed. Stalls heaving with bright fabrics waiting to be rummaged through, jewellery glistening in the light, war time songs being played softly in the back ground and the gentle hum of the ever enticing and diet defying tea room. The gentle bustle of people, murmur of chatter and occasional peals of laughter in excitement can be heard from the venues steps outside. Making my escape from the biting cold November air, my heart skipped a beat as I climbed the grand stair case in to vintage heaven.
But for many, vintage isn’t a style they would consider. The perception of something being old and used puts us off, yet we are happy to buy other recycled products on a daily basis. At a time when we, as a nation, are faced with many ecologic crisis, we waste more food as a country than the third world receives, our landfills are over flowing and our seas are polluted with what have thrown away, we have to ask ourselves, where does this stop? Most of us quite happily separate our rubbish, remember each week what colour bin goes out and reuse newspapers but why do we draw the line at clothes and furniture? What stops us picking up even the occasional piece of vintage? Be it furniture, clothing or jewellery that one item won’t have been made in sweat shop, it has already paid its carbon foot print, maybe several times over and its effectively being recycled by you buying it. At time when it is so easy to be part of the crowd, wearing the mass produced, sweat shop low viscosity rayon and stocking up on flat packs finest we have to question where our ethics lie. If we can accept responsibility for the impact our rubbish and house hold waste has had on the world and make attempts to rectify that by house hold recycling, is it not time take that next step forward and look critically where and how we buy our clothes and furniture.
So next you are shopping, be it for this seasons must have, a one off key piece to update your wardrobe with or just a little pick me up, spare a thought for vintage and how just one piece could add style to you outfit and escape the landfill. A unique scarf, a sparkling pendent or unusual clutch can add a touch of glamour to any outfit, uniting the past with the present and helping to preserve the future. Maybe in the right vintage piece, and a small adjustment to our attitude about vintage we could tackle some of the world’s ecological issues with some style.
All the fun of The (Vinatage) Fair..........
Vintage for me is an era of glamour, romance and a reminder of a bye gone days. Of a time when a party dress would be worn season after season and one pair of shoes went with all. These quintessential English images of the past are smattered with visions of sequins, which were the height of glamour and when tea was served in a cup and saucer. With vintage you can’t help but wonder what stories each item could tell. Where has it been? What has it seen? Or how the person wearing it felt. Vintage for me has character, style and a uniqueness that cannot be met by any other style. It exudes a richness and pizzazz that can’t be recreated or repeated and this, at least to me, is something special. To be able to access a part of the past, reinvent it, make it your own and take inspiration from it is something rare in our world of, what can be, mass produced cookie cutter fashion. Vintage couture is a labour of love, from hunting down the perfect item, customising it, lovingly repairing it and finally the sweet reward of being able to actually wear it, safe in the knowledge there will be no awkward moment when someone arrives in the same outfit as you!
This weekend saw my heart sore and credit card flinch as The Vintage Fair was in town! For anyone who has never ventured to one (shame on you!), it is an experience not to be missed. Stalls heaving with bright fabrics waiting to be rummaged through, jewellery glistening in the light, war time songs being played softly in the back ground and the gentle hum of the ever enticing and diet defying tea room. The gentle bustle of people, murmur of chatter and occasional peals of laughter in excitement can be heard from the venues steps outside. Making my escape from the biting cold November air, my heart skipped a beat as I climbed the grand stair case in to vintage heaven.
But for many, vintage isn’t a style they would consider. The perception of something being old and used puts us off, yet we are happy to buy other recycled products on a daily basis. At a time when we, as a nation, are faced with many ecologic crisis, we waste more food as a country than the third world receives, our landfills are over flowing and our seas are polluted with what have thrown away, we have to ask ourselves, where does this stop? Most of us quite happily separate our rubbish, remember each week what colour bin goes out and reuse newspapers but why do we draw the line at clothes and furniture? What stops us picking up even the occasional piece of vintage? Be it furniture, clothing or jewellery that one item won’t have been made in sweat shop, it has already paid its carbon foot print, maybe several times over and its effectively being recycled by you buying it. At time when it is so easy to be part of the crowd, wearing the mass produced, sweat shop low viscosity rayon and stocking up on flat packs finest we have to question where our ethics lie. If we can accept responsibility for the impact our rubbish and house hold waste has had on the world and make attempts to rectify that by house hold recycling, is it not time take that next step forward and look critically where and how we buy our clothes and furniture.
So next you are shopping, be it for this seasons must have, a one off key piece to update your wardrobe with or just a little pick me up, spare a thought for vintage and how just one piece could add style to you outfit and escape the landfill. A unique scarf, a sparkling pendent or unusual clutch can add a touch of glamour to any outfit, uniting the past with the present and helping to preserve the future. Maybe in the right vintage piece, and a small adjustment to our attitude about vintage we could tackle some of the world’s ecological issues with some style.
Sunday 13 November 2011
Is it a girls world?: Is it time to (wo)man up....?
Is it a girls world?: Is it time to (wo)man up....?: Slowly but surely its happening, creeping into our lunch time catch ups with friends, taunting us in the supermarket by flaunting us their o...
Is it time to (wo)man up....?
Slowly but surely its happening, creeping into our lunch time catch ups with friends, taunting us in the supermarket by flaunting us their offers and the TV has been prodding and poking at this for months. Yep the run up to Christmas mania is firmly upon us. Shops have already started shouting to us that we need there fabulous offers, small children in our lives have been making lists since August and our bank cards are starting to attempt hibernation. As the ‘I want’ list from family and friends gets longer, our stress levels climb ever higher and time seems to be sprinting away at Olympic standard, is it time to (wo)man up and face the facts that Christmas is already coming?
Like many of us I try and stay in denial for as long as possible. I avoid the Coca Cola adverts on TV, the million Facebook updates that announce it is on there are enough to drive me to the edge (or at least to the vino) and the SKY adverts, scattered on the TV, radio and internet, that promise me a rubbish Christmas if I do not see ‘my favourite’ programmes in high definition, sorry HD. How do they even know I have a favourite programme?! Anything that features Jonny Depp is good enough for me. I do not need to see his facial pores up close and personal thank you very much. Even DFS jump on the Christmas band wagon, I mean who thinks ‘Christmas’.... Oh! I need a new sofa! Nope, never an association I have made either. Who cares if you can deliver me a sofa in time for the big day, I have presents to buy, food to make and travel plans to arrange. And why would I buy a brand new sofa (even if I had the money) for little ones to wipe Christmas chocolate hands prints all over it or drunken relatives to spill France’s best red all over it? Now, Mr DFS, is not the time for a spot of sofa shopping.
If you manage to avoid the onslaught of Christmas advertising until at least the 1st December, the one thing you can’t avoid at this time of year is the Christmas party invites. From September onwards in the invites start to roll in and so the social jigsaw begins. The game of ‘how many parties can I fit into 3 week’, as we all know, is not really that fun to play. It’s a game of snakes and ladders, of what you can physically do verses not wanting to offend anyone. Then there is the dreaded invite to your other half’s work party. The stuffy formal occasion, where you don’t know anyone and will expected to be looking picture perfect in Vivienne Westwood’s finest and towering Louboutin’s , whilst politely laughing at jokes you’re not involved in. It takes a certain amount of elegance and style to master the art of side stepping your partners drunken, leery colleagues whilst heading to the bathroom/bar. So once you have worked out the party line up conundrum, that of which is only equivalent to The Times crossword you may think a well deserved cup of Darjeeling, served with a selection of Primrose Bakery’s best, should be coming your way. But no! It is party dress season and so the battle of the bulge begins (again).
And what a battle against the bulge it becomes! With irresistible mince pies on the shelves before our summer ice cream has melted, Starbucks luring us in the with the red cups and M&S selling those yummy nibbly type things we never need, but want and then accidently end up eating the whole packet before November is out, there is no wonder squeezing ourselves into the little black dress becomes a mission!
The thing is despite the whinging and moaning, like most of us, I do love Christmas, very much. It’s just the build up that starts in August and seems to drag on until the dregs of the January sales are swept back into the stockrooms for next year that I dread. So as operation find the perfect party dress commences, the list making is in full flow and I have RSVP’d for England, I urgently require some thinspiration to enable me to get into the perfect dress (thank you AllSaints!) in time for Santa’s big night out. Luckily for me, the Boy has decided there is a ban on mince pies until we are ‘at least in December’ and for once this is something we are happily in agreement about!
Wednesday 9 November 2011
Is #romance dead?.........
Some times in life, through what ever reasons, it is necessary to put certain things in to a box. Some times is shoes, some times it's a way of creating closure and some times it's the safest, securest place for our most precious memories. The beauty of these boxes is that they keep things that are precious to us safe. They keep our Manohlas safe from boyfriends, pets and little sticky hands, they hold things together to help us heal from pain and they neatly keep our past memories in order until we want to reach up to that shelf and take a sneaky peak at our past in pictures and notes. But as we hurtle through the twenty first century, an era of massive technological evolution has the love letter become as extinct as the Do-do?
In years to come will we all have memory boxes filled with old Nokia brick style phones containing text messages from boyfriends past instead of hand written love letters or notes? Will we have memory sticks filled with emails from previous lovers instead of old cinema tickets and face book wall posts instead of flowers dried between pages of a book?
In an age where the height of commitment is defined by your relationship status on face book and we can tweet the object of desire from any where in the world, we have to ask, is romance dead? Has modern technology stomped its way down the information super high way killing romance and all its sweet notions as it went? Do men send real flowers any more or just virtual ones on a Twitter hash tag? How many of us have opened love letters, on real paper, scribbled writing showing the tumbling of emotions the sender is feeling versus how many of us have skipped a heart beat when we saw a face book notification telling us our beloved has written on ‘our wall’, in cold type text, emotionless and so public. Or even worse, they attach an emoticon, surely no one is that happy or super smiley to be pouring their heart out on face book?! A love letter is a private thing, only ever destined to be between two people, a wall post on face book, however, declares your love to the object of your desire and all of your 400 friends including your mum and your boss. Nice. There is something warming and comforting about feeling the paper in your hand, knowing the person you love and miss has also touched the same piece of paper. It’s hardly the same when your sharing the information super high with a million other people who you have never met. Is romance gone or are we expecting too much in the fast moving pace of the 21st century?
In years to come will we all have memory boxes filled with old Nokia brick style phones containing text messages from boyfriends past instead of hand written love letters or notes? Will we have memory sticks filled with emails from previous lovers instead of old cinema tickets and face book wall posts instead of flowers dried between pages of a book?
In an age where the height of commitment is defined by your relationship status on face book and we can tweet the object of desire from any where in the world, we have to ask, is romance dead? Has modern technology stomped its way down the information super high way killing romance and all its sweet notions as it went? Do men send real flowers any more or just virtual ones on a Twitter hash tag? How many of us have opened love letters, on real paper, scribbled writing showing the tumbling of emotions the sender is feeling versus how many of us have skipped a heart beat when we saw a face book notification telling us our beloved has written on ‘our wall’, in cold type text, emotionless and so public. Or even worse, they attach an emoticon, surely no one is that happy or super smiley to be pouring their heart out on face book?! A love letter is a private thing, only ever destined to be between two people, a wall post on face book, however, declares your love to the object of your desire and all of your 400 friends including your mum and your boss. Nice. There is something warming and comforting about feeling the paper in your hand, knowing the person you love and miss has also touched the same piece of paper. It’s hardly the same when your sharing the information super high with a million other people who you have never met. Is romance gone or are we expecting too much in the fast moving pace of the 21st century?
Maybe there will be no White knight on a shiny stead, no big white dress or happy ever after with roses around the door, at least not in the traditional sense. Maybe we need to catch up with the technological era and realise we live in a world where those ideals have changed. Did we get sick of waiting for Price Charming to jump upon his noble stead and put the letter in the post? Was it quicker and easier to jump in our own car and simply tweet him? Could it be our true happy ending isn’t with prince charming and his romantic advances, but with ourselves? And maybe an iPhone complete with Twitter and Face book apps to keep in touch. How many of us have chatted to friends about what birthday presents our other halves have bought us only to admit to each other we now have four new tyres we didn’t want, an in car phone charger we didn’t need and an oh so thoughtful year’s subscription to the AA. I think we would all agree to bring back the flowers and chocolates, but then would we just moan they would make us fat?!
So whatever is in our boxes, be it letters or old phones we should try to take all our boxes and stack them sky ward. Piling them high towards our future dreams, remembering that it was because of these memories and past experiences we have boxes to stand on to build the future we want.*
*White knights and fairy tales are totally optional...............
Sunday 6 November 2011
Is #romance dead.........?
Some times in life, through what ever reasons, it is nessercery to put certain things in a box. Some times is shoes, some times it's a way of creating closure and some times it's the safest, securest place for our most precious memories. The beauty of these boxes is that they keep things that are precious to us safe. They keep our Manohlas safe from boyfriends, pets and little sticky hands, they hold things together to help us heal from pain and they neatly keep our past memories in order until we want to reach up to that shelf and take a sneaky peak at our past in pictures and notes. But as we hurtle through the twenty first century, an era of massive technological evolution has the love letter become as extinct as the Do-do?
In years to come will we all have memory boxes filled with old Nokia brick style phones containing text messages from boyfriends past instead of hand written love letters or notes?Will we have memory sticks filled with emails from previous lovers instead of old cinema tickets and face book wall posts instead of flowers dried between pages of a book?
In an age where the height of commitment is defined by your relationship status on facebook and we can tweet the object of desire from any where in the world, we have to ask, is romance dead? Has modern technology stomped it's way down the information super high way killing romance and all it's sweet notions as it went? Do men send real flowers any more or just virtual ones on a Twitter hashtag? How many of us have opened love letters versus how many of us have skipped a heart beat when we saw a facebook
Maybe there will be no White knight on a shiny stead, no big white dress or happily ever after with roses around the door, at least not in the traditional sense. Maybe we need to catch up with the technological era and realise we live in a world
Maybe we should take all our boxes and stack then sky ward, towards our future dreams, remembering that it was because of these memories and past experiences we have boxes to stand on to build the future we want.*
In years to come will we all have memory boxes filled with old Nokia brick style phones containing text messages from boyfriends past instead of hand written love letters or notes?Will we have memory sticks filled with emails from previous lovers instead of old cinema tickets and face book wall posts instead of flowers dried between pages of a book?
In an age where the height of commitment is defined by your relationship status on facebook and we can tweet the object of desire from any where in the world, we have to ask, is romance dead? Has modern technology stomped it's way down the information super high way killing romance and all it's sweet notions as it went? Do men send real flowers any more or just virtual ones on a Twitter hashtag? How many of us have opened love letters versus how many of us have skipped a heart beat when we saw a facebook
notification telling us our beloved has written on ‘our wall’, in cold type text, emotionless and so public. Or even worse, they attach an emoticon, surely no one is that happy or super smiley to be pouring their heart out on face book?! A love letter is a private thing, only ever destined to be between two people, a wall post on face book, however, declares your love to the object of your desire and all of your 400 friends including your mum and your boss. Nice. There is something warming and comforting about feeling the paper in your hand, knowing the person you love and miss has also touched the same piece of paper. It’s hardly the same when your sharing the information super high with a million other people who you have never met. Is romance gone or are we expecting too much in the fast moving pace of the 21st century?
Maybe there will be no White knight on a shiny stead, no big white dress or happily ever after with roses around the door, at least not in the traditional sense. Maybe we need to catch up with the technological era and realise we live in a world
Maybe we should take all our boxes and stack then sky ward, towards our future dreams, remembering that it was because of these memories and past experiences we have boxes to stand on to build the future we want.*
*White knights and fairy tales are totally optional...............
Tuesday 1 November 2011
Is it a girls world?: Bobbi Brown Lipstick in Hollywood Red........
Is it a girls world?: Bobbi Brown Lipstick in Hollywood Red........: As we journey through life, bearing killer heels, juggling careers and relationships, we are advised to dance like no one is watching, love ...
Bobbi Brown Lipstick in Hollywood Red........
As we journey through life, bearing killer heels, juggling careers and relationships, we are advised to dance like no one is watching, love like you have never been hurt, sing like there is nobody listening and live like its heaven on earth (Thanks William W. Purkey, Purkey by name, perky by nature it seems!). All of this sounds totally wonderful and like most of us, it’s a life I aspire to lead. To wake up and attack each day with positivity, happiness, light, laughter and glamour. To dance in 5 inch killer heels to our favourite songs, throwing our best Beyonce moves without fearing we may be disowned by our nearest and dearest. To sing loudly outside the safe confines of our car and have no fear of smashing mirrors (move over Adele!) and it would be wonderful to be blind to the horrors of the world we live in and live like we are in heaven ,if you even believe in such a place. Mine would be a fat free, calorie free Ben and Jerry’s kinda heaven, maybe with Jamie Oliver, Dermott O’Leary and Simon Hirst, but I digress! But as for loving like you have never been hurt?! Maybe that is the hardest piece of advice to live by. Can we honestly put our emotional baggage down, forget we ever had it and be free? Ask any girl who has been lied to, made to feel insignificant and betrayed by the person she once loved and see what she says. Is it because our hands are full of emotional baggage that we struggle to dance and sing freely? How often are we holding on to these overstuffed bags of memories of what was? Are we clutching these bags so tightly, like a comfort blanket of warm, fuzzy but distant memories, rather than looking inside those bags and seeing things what those memories actually are now. Maybe we don’t because it’s too painful, maybe it’s because we don’t want to face what we know we must and maybe it’s just too hard to sometimes say good bye when all we want to have back what we have lost. When you have poured all your hopes, dreams and trust into that one person who you believed was worth it and they let you down, all that hurt and rejection is neatly piled up in to an already over flowing emotional bag. And as we get a new hair cut, shrink a dress size in the post diet break up, find a new hobby, plan a girly holiday and totter off into a happier sunset, complete in AllSaints finest, how many of us are actually aware we are carrying all that extra baggage? Maybe we just silently drag it along, blissfully unconscious that it quietly holds us back from fully loving ourselves or anyone else.
But what stops us from going to bin, tipping up Mulberry’s Alexa and just moving on? What are we so frightening of loosing when we have often already lost so much? At a point in our lives when we feel all we have is the memories we mourn are these bags full of emotions helping or hindering us? If there was an excessive emotional baggage fee would we be happy to pay? Or would it make us sit up, take notice, action a swift bag clearance and move on to pastures new free, light and happy? What if we waste too much time in the past, peering into over flowing bags instead of putting it down, letting the millions of little pieces fall on the floor before we start to pick them up and build them, and our future dreams, sky ward....?
So maybe it’s time to be brave, to inch on the lipstick, slip on the killer heels and face what’s inside our emotional handbags. Some times its time to clear out the emotional junk mail loitering in the bottom of our emotional handbags, to bin the scrappy receipts of memories and throw away the broken old lipstick of dreams. Maybe it’s time to make room in our bags, life’s and hearts for a new start, a new lipstick and new dreams. As I begin the work on my new dreams, I’m starting by refilling my emotional bag with a new lipstick, thank you Bobbi Brown in Hollywood Red............
Sunday 23 October 2011
Addictions to sugar and shoes ....
We all have a secret vice, a little habit that we know isn't good for us but that we can't resist. The kind of little thing that we can ignore for so long but sooner or later, despite our best efforts, it catches us out. Normally it's when we hit a low, we are tearful and need reassurance from an old favourite source. For some of us it's chocolate at the end of a bad day, copious amounts of vino on a Friday after a bad week, a cheeky pick me up outfit on the forbidden credit card or maybe its an encounter with some one we know is toxic for us. The brilliant thing about these little addictions and flirtations is that for such a short while they make us feel on top of the world. Like we are amazing, the world is wonderful and we feel empowered that we can do any thing we want. The sky is the limit and we want to touch the stars whilst we are there. Our endorphins are racing around our bodies like a child on e numbers and we are totally swept up in the whole situation. What can be wrong with that, you can ask? We all work long hours, give endlessly to friends and family, why shouldn't we do that special something for ourselves? But how special and exciting is this treat just a few short hours after it has happened? How often are we left feeling guilty and empty after the deed is done? Often after the initial pleasure comes the hours, days or weeks of pain, hurt, tears and regret. The destructive circle of self hatred is in full flow, causing us more regret and negative emotions. How often do we see our own behaviour as destructive? In a world where we are told we can do any thing, are we kidding ourselves that we are so super human that we can really handle the aftermath of our own temptations? By giving in to these toxic situations are we just short changing ourselves? Are we taking second best in a situation where we are worried that getting a first is too much to ask?
Chatting with the girls this week over salad trays, beans on toast and fat free soup it became clear we are all running and hiding from certain temptations. Lunch with friends is the perfect place to make our confessions of credit cards spending, whole entire pizza munching and being unable to resist communication with the toxic ex. It's a safe place to talk about what we are tempted to do and yet despite kind thoughtful advise being handed out with the celery sticks we choose to give ourselves less than we deserve. Is an addiction to sugar and shoes causing us instant happiness and setting us up with little future gain?
Some times we just have to take a deep breath and ignore these temptations, be them friend requests from frienimies, texts from toxic men, the mcdonalds drive through after a bad day or the lunch time credit card splurge because if we look deep enough into ourselves we will see that we are worth so much more than the cheap fix's these vices give us. As for me, well the chocolate is in the freezer, my facebook page has had a frienimy clear out and my credit cards are in tiny pieces. After all, why waste time, money and calories a big mac when it's worth waiting for steak?
Chatting with the girls this week over salad trays, beans on toast and fat free soup it became clear we are all running and hiding from certain temptations. Lunch with friends is the perfect place to make our confessions of credit cards spending, whole entire pizza munching and being unable to resist communication with the toxic ex. It's a safe place to talk about what we are tempted to do and yet despite kind thoughtful advise being handed out with the celery sticks we choose to give ourselves less than we deserve. Is an addiction to sugar and shoes causing us instant happiness and setting us up with little future gain?
Some times we just have to take a deep breath and ignore these temptations, be them friend requests from frienimies, texts from toxic men, the mcdonalds drive through after a bad day or the lunch time credit card splurge because if we look deep enough into ourselves we will see that we are worth so much more than the cheap fix's these vices give us. As for me, well the chocolate is in the freezer, my facebook page has had a frienimy clear out and my credit cards are in tiny pieces. After all, why waste time, money and calories a big mac when it's worth waiting for steak?
Sunday 16 October 2011
Is it a girls world?: Reason, Season, Lifetime........
Is it a girls world?: Reason, Season, Lifetime........: They say in crisis you will find out who your true friends are and this week during my (mini) crisis of moving house I truly did learn who m...
Reason, Season, Lifetime........
They say in crisis you will find out who your true friends are and this week during my (mini) crisis of moving house I truly did learn who my friends are. From the practical help to the emotional support my girls never failed me. As I sat exhausted and emotional on the ever growing pile of shoe boxes I started thinking about my friendships.
Through our teenage years friendships are formed on the school social scale. A blurry maze of unspoken rules that dictate who can speak to who, who we can berate and who we can date. School is a time in our lives when friendships are judged by the sports labels worn and the type of bag you carried. It is a time when it is acceptable to write all over things in tippex to prove our love and when the height of true friendship was in the swapping of some tiny stringy bracelet that cost a month’s pocket money. Looking back at our 13 year old selves it’s too easy to look at those friendships that were made on buses and in playgrounds and remember them as simple times. We forget the heart break of being ignored by the cooler kids, the teenage anguish of feeling no one understands us and the constant race of not being the last girl to kiss a boy or start her period. These early friendships often become the window to our past, these are the friends who remember our first kiss, our first drunken encounter and shared our pride at owning a shell suit. They not only remember and share these memories, but they are also their memories too. It is within this rich tapestry of our early friendship that we start to develop our sense of self and shape our future friendships.
As we move forward in our late teens and early twenties our friendships, like us, start to grow, change and mature. As we start to spread our wings, follow our dreams and create our own path to find out who we are, our friendships naturally follow suit. College and University often pave the way for new and more sophisticated friendships with people we may have never had opportunity to mix with before. This is a time when friendship is based on the kindness of holding our hair back when the right answered to any question seemed to lie in the bottom of a bottle of vodka, clothes are swapped and recycled and shoulders were for crying on.
As women we invest so much in to our friendships. Hours are spent talking, crying, sharing and supporting each other. We live our lives together through our early years with make up’s, break up’s, revision week and a shared goal of getting out on Friday night and head into our thirties facing issues such as marriage, divorce, IVF and loss together. It’s our girl friends that pick us up when are down, make us strong when we feel we can’t go on and give us the giggles when we need it the most.
The mother ship once gave me a piece of advice that has always stayed with me, three little words. Reason, season, lifetime. And as I reflect on my friendships I see she may have had a point. We have friendships for reasons that often we don’t ourselves understand and yet they are crucial in our lives. We have friendships that through work, travels or life are for a short season and then, if you are very lucky, just once, you find the one who will last a life time.
This October is Breast Cancer Awareness month. Sadly Breast Cancer is an issue that has or will touch all of our lives in some way at some point. So this blog is dedicated to all the amazing, inspirational women in our lives. To those who give so much to others without complaining, who carry on working when they are tired and in pain. The wonderful mums and nana’s who give us their wisdom, support and guidance. The women that text just to say hi when they know you feel low, the friends who live so far away yet a moment together feels life the years apart have been mere seconds to the amazing friend who will help carry your shoe boxes in a house move, strong independent and brave the support given is unwavering. I can honestly say I am honoured to know all the women in my life. I am in awe that such inspiring beautiful people exist and excel at who they are.
So this October please spread the love for your girls and support Breast Cancer Awareness Month. For every person that reposts this link Sunflower Event Hair and Make Up will donate £1 to ASDA’s Tickled Pink Campaign and for every ‘like’ we get we will donate 50p. Get reposting and liking ladies!!
Sunday 2 October 2011
Is it a girls world?: Organised Chaos........
Is it a girls world?: Organised Chaos........: Being a girl of few organisational skills and subsequent high stress levels, an impending house move is not something I look forward too. I'...
Organised Chaos........
Being a girl of few organisational skills and subsequent high stress levels, an impending house move is not something I look forward too. I'm the kind of girl who gets in the car to find my petrol light has come on, the tax disc expired yesterday and I'm already 20minutes late for work as my hair has a life of its own. This was just a predictable Monday morning in the story of my unorganized life. The thing is, being unorganized has been a habit for so long it’s now a big part of my life. From school reports and work appraisals to my mum repeating the same, weary mantra of ‘can you please be a more organized *sigh*’, many people have tried to show me the error of my chaotic ways, yet I never seem to learn. With the mother ships voice ringing in my head, I cursed my own incompetence. At the risk of sounding trite, why does all this happen on a Monday?! As the fun and happiness of the weekend fills your head and heart, Monday stomps its miserable, cold size 9's all over it! As I ran in the house, switching the lap top on, frantically searching for the tax disc reminder I had put in the age old favourite 'safe place' that I can never remember and tripping over my pack up I had left on the stairs (so I wouldn't forget it). Great start to the day. One hour later, a quick petrol stop at the most rural garage and a tax disk had left me nearly £100 lighter and 100% stressed. As I slipped into work late (again) I made a vow to myself I would get organised and book a hair appointment. Especially for the looming house move.....
With the ink barely dry on the new house contract and the promise to myself to be more organised fresh in my mind, I set about collecting empty boxes for a move in 4 weeks time. Feeling pleased with this first step I followed this up with an attempt at writing a list. I even went to effort of doing it on one of those purpose built list making note pads, a subtle gift from the mother ship. Now I’m not normally a list writing kinda gal, maybe in that lies the problem so pushing forward with the new organized me I persevered with this list writing business. One hour later, shamefully I still had no list. I did however have a lovely doodle of some flowers, a cube, an eye and my signature as Mrs Pitt. Not particularly useful. Deciding I was much more of a practical person, it was time to tackle my shoe collection. Somewhat ashamed of the giant size of it when I moved in with the boy, I currently have shoes stashed away in secret locations all over the house and my car. Several hours later a game of hide and seek was complete and Kurt Geiger’s finest were now piled high (all in boxes of course!) neatly in the living room and blocking the Chesterfield sofa and subsequently the TV. Realising that this beautifully organized pile would have to be moved in case Arsenal were playing, I could think of no other option than to put all the shoes back where I had found them. Feeling deflated that my attempt at organization had once again not gone well, I decided to hit up my old and faithful pal, the internet. Moves to new cities require new things like Doctors, Dentists and parking permits. There are also other new essentials to be found in a new city such as hair dressers, beauty therapists and stockist of Benefit, Chanel and Dior. Trying again with the list idea I was a little more successful this time. It’s amazing how much more motivated I am when it comes to more appealing things. Several hours later I sat back feeling proud. I had not only written a list, I had a tick to. New city, new start, new hairdresser, one tick is better than none!
As the move gets closers, I find myself surrounded by piles of shoes, clothes, make up and books. Memories of my life slowly but surely get packaged away into a variety of boxes and bags, ready to start again somewhere new. There are still boxes empty in the back of my car, shoes hidden all over and I’m not totally convinced I have found a new organised me. But what I do know is that somewhere in amongst this organised chaos is a new apartment, the start of a new chapter and a fabulous new hair cut.
Sunday 18 September 2011
The most wonderful week of the year....?
Whether you are a dedicated fashion follower, a fashion hater or a fashionista in the making it won’t have skipped your attention that this week is London Fashion Week. This is the one week in the year when the entire world and its aunt looks to our small island in the hope of style inspiration, fashion forward thinking and a strong dictation of what to wear in the coming seasons. Stylists, editors, models, journalists and insiders in the know flock from near and far to see what we have to show for a year’s work, state of the art fashion schools and designers that consistently make the tabloids. In to our capital city we squeeze in run ways, makeup artists, models, entourages and egos along with top designers, wannabe’s and, if your part of the McQueen House, sets. As the Claridges Hotel guest list reads like a who’s who of the international fashion world, The Ivy stock up on edamame beans and Victoria Beckham carefully selects 2 month old Harper Seven’s outfits for the week, that cost more than our annual take home salary, the rest of us wait with baited breath to see who’s a fashion hit and who’s a fashion miss this season. For some of us it’s a case of logging on to LFW TV (it is also streamed in to the Living Room, just in case you are worried about missing it!) and for some of us it is a time to hide and avoid the tears and tantrums of fashion diva’s that the delightful British press love to detail every report of. And yet we have some of the biggest fashion houses in the world hear in the UK, we have the quintessential Burberry complete with beauty natural Emma Watson, eccentric Vivienne Westwood, featuring the stunning Charlotte Free and of course the drama and tragedy of the House of McQueen. So as the fashion eyes of the world peer at us through their Chanel glasses and scrutinise our style under their unnerving glare we wait with baited breath for their response. But this all this glamour, excitement and high expectations seem to me to be an awful lot to ask of a country who coined the styling, culture and phrase, of the ‘chav’, a country that celebrates the rise of the Primarni generation and who’s role model is Kate ‘nothing tastes as good as skinny feels’ Moss. I’m sure our chic sisters across The Channel en Francais are not tripping over their Chanel pumps to hit Primarni, our stylish state side cousins will not be jumping up and down in the latest DKNY with excitement at the prospect of seeing a real life chav and no Milan mistresses will be swapping Bellini for any type of bean. I am not sure Tyra Banks would say should she ask Kate Moss for a Coke (of the fizzy variety) and received a class A drug!
So how do we do it? How can we be known as one of the fashion capitals of the world when are known for some of the biggest fashion faux pas? Maybe is the bright lights, maybe it’s the beautiful sets with stunning models and clothes that we could only create in our wildest dreams, mixed with the champagne on, no doubt, empty tummies but something makes the likes of Anna Wintour and André Leon Talley gives our little island the big thumbs up. Or maybe the true skill of the British fashion industry is the ability to create the illusion of a silk pure out of a pigs ear........
As I find myself guilty of being a self confessed London Fashion Week addict I found myself reflecting on fashion and its meaning. To me and many others fashion is about art, expression and beauty. A voyeuristic view of what isn’t but of what we would love it to be, maybe it is a touch of escapism that we all need. Fashion and art very rarely have survival value but yet give so much value to our survival. The fashion industry is without doubt fast being one of the UK’s biggest industries and in the current financial climate may be one of our only hopes to a financially stable future. With Samantha Cameron recently stepping forward as an active supporter of both London Fashion Week and the British Fashion Council maybe this is the future, al world where finance and fashion meet as one. Samantha herself was quoted as saying –
“London Fashion Week is extremely important to the fashion industry in the UK and I look forward to being fully involved from next season. We have so much young talent that needs to be supported and nurtured to ensure we are building brands and businesses for the future”
For me one of the most fabulous things about fashion is its ability to continually reinvent itself, to surprise us and delight us. Fashion uses the past to inspire its future, maybe that’s something we could all learn from.
Sunday 11 September 2011
Can We Kiss & Make Up?
With all great relationships there comes a time when it all becomes too much, it drags us down and we need to take some time out for ourselves. Sometimes its work, sometimes it's our relationships and sometimes it's ourselves. But as that last final thing pushes you over the edge and you need a few days of time out. With all significant relationships there can be too much going on or maybe there’s not enough, whatever the problems sometimes space and time are the only answer. This is also often true about where we live and there occasionally comes a time when the city gets too much and an escape is needed. Last week the city and I needed a break, frustrated and drained with the constant noise, hustle and false promises I knew I needed some time out. So when an invite came my way to go camping I jumped at the opportunity. As I boxed up my Louboutins and folded away my 7 for All Mankinds, the urgency to get out of the city and into the country began to grow. Piling the scrap heap on wheels (aka my car) up with my Hunters willies and Barbour, the boy, my hair piled high on my head like a mad woman and concealing my lack of eye make up with some over sized Chanel sunglasses I put my foot on the pedal and hit the road resembling Toad of Toad Hall slightly.
As the city and all its bright lights faded in the review mirror, the open road ahead lay invitingly free and easy. The country air flooded in quickly through the car windows, the radio was loud and Haribo kept me fuelled as we hurtled deeper into the country side. Why is it that as you start to relax the Sat Nav decides it cannot find your destination? Cursing the piece of equipment that was supposed to be helping, I swiftly turned to my iPhone. No signal. Deep breathes were required as the boy and his tummy started to grumble and rumble. Crossing my fingers that a row wasn’t brewing, it seemed the only option was to go old school. A map was found from the depths of the glove box and once the lip gloss, tissues, old parking tickets and sweets had been peeled off it seemed reasonably reliable. Thirty five minutes later however we were still in the same lay by with no campsite in sight. Eventually a teeny bar of signal appeared on my phone, grabbing the chance a quick call was made for directions only to be told we had been parked next door the entire time!! Arriving late and desperate to get the tent up we were unpacked in minutes and finally was able to look round. That’s when I realised I was a million miles behind the camping jet set. As I perched on a blanket next to our tiny 2 man tent, I couldn’t help but be a little over awed at some of the fabulous tents we were surrounding by. Just as I was beginning to be a little consumed by tent envy, my beloved friend Mrs O called me over to her state of the art tent, to ask if I could help put the lights up in her tent. That was it, I was in full blown tent envy. We didn’t even have a torch. Fitting the lights to her tent ceiling Mrs O continued to leave me speechless with her fitted carpets and chic kitchen area.
As the wine flowed later that evening and the gorgeous homemade chilli was all eaten, it felt amazing to be in the great outdoors. Even the millions of flies and fifteen minute hike to the toilet all added to the charm out the great outdoors. The city and all its little annoyances were a million miles away. It was only the next morning as I woke up cold and achy that I began to miss my bed, in my house, in the city I had fallen out with. As I packed my bags ready to take the hike to the shower block, I began to wonder if we could kiss and make up.
Later that day as the car heaved its way out of the country and back towards the bright lights of home I reflected on the past 24 hours. Some times its good to step back and look at what we have, sometimes we need that space or break away to help us to see what we have and appreciate it. We live in a world that spins so fast it’s easy to lose focus on how we feel and what is important to us. So as much as I enjoyed a quick flirtation with the country, I know my true love is the bright lighted city.
Monday 5 September 2011
New Season, New Start....?
When we are younger the word new is always exciting. New shoes, new friends, new places to go and new boys to chase. New is positive and bright, filling us with hope that this new experience will bring even newer things. Discovering new labels, new stores and new designers, the world seems our oyster. It’s only as we sail past our twenties and into our thirties that we realise that the word new isn’t always as shiny and fabulous as we once thought. New car parts are never the words we want to hear, a new (bigger) dress size is not what we want to see and the words ‘he has a new girlfriend’ certainly don’t make us ladies feel like shiny and happy people. So what changes? Do we get more pessimistic as we get older? Do we have different expectations that are not met, that leave us disappointed? Is newness just an urban illusion that we are fed by the media? How many new starts do we get or make for ourselves? At times in our lives it feels every Monday is a new diet, new exercise regime and new weight loss attempt. Every pay day becomes a new promise to not spend all your wages by the first weekend of the month and we promise ourselves every new dress we buy will be the last. Yet in the bright lights of all the newness are we dazzled into a false security that this exciting and often beautiful newness will bring us even more excitement? Does it make us believe that our dreams are all the more reachable? Make up’s and break up’s provide us with yet another opportunity to create new starts and change our paths, often sending us in different and exciting new directions. New skin care products that promise to banish the wrinkles, make us look younger and correct all the blemishes we ever had, new just holds so many promises. It is easy to start to feel jaded at the promises that new holds, do we even believe them anymore? Do we reach a point where we admit there is no new, just belief , dreams and hopes?
This week, as we head towards a new season, the leaves start falling and the vaguely sunny days of summer pass into the warm orangey browns of autumn, it feels like a perfect time to find a happy newness again. Starting with beautiful (new!) tan boots. As I pulled on my new ‘I have great boot boots’ and took the first step towards the new season in them, I couldn’t help but feel lifted by the fabulous new newness of it all. Endorphins at the all time high only new shoes can give you, I took a bold step towards the future. Making a positive promise to myself that all my new beginnings would begin with a new positive attitude. So as the cross roads that we have previously crossed grow in to a dot in the distance and become part of the rich tapestry that is our past learning curves, maybe it’s time to put the negative attitude away into storage. No one has really has room in their Mulberry for excess emotional baggage, it weighs us down, holds us back and can often ruin our new starts. As I walk through the fallen leaves of the last season in my new boots, I can’t help but reflect on the issue of newness. Is it an image or is it real? For me it’s all a matter of creating the perfect match, like the way my new boots match the Mulberry, new should be teamed with positivity and accessorised with hope. So as the leaves crunch under my boots and my Mulberry swings over my shoulder, my excess baggage is firmly in storage and I’m focused, new season, new start.
Sunday 28 August 2011
Is it a girls world?: Packing my heels and my heart.........
Is it a girls world?: Packing my heels and my heart.........: In our lives we have many significant relationships that help to define us and shape who we are. There are the relationships we have with ou...
Packing my heels and my heart.........
In our lives we have many significant relationships that help to define us and shape who we are. There are the relationships we have with our family and friends, the relationship we have with ourselves and for some of us the relationship we have with shopping! But there is another critical relationship that we have, that we often underestimate the importance of, the relationship we have with our homes. Our home is somewhere we escape to at the end of a difficult day, it holds our bed we cry in, the kitchen where friends meet to dry those tears and holds both our physical and emotional memories.
During our late teens and twenties a home is a just a house as in 'house party', somewhere to meet up with friends and strangers alike as long as the vino is flowing. Student digs with damp walls and mould seem to be a rite of passage into adulthood that we must all adhere to. Walls hold posters of icons and films, the fridge is void of any solid food, except a block of cheese sporting a designer (faux) fur coat and even the ice cube trays are filled with vodka. No one cares that the curtains are filthy or that there are no curtains at all (I once lived in a house where newspaper was used to cover the windows!). Hoovers hide under the stairs broken, mattresses are thrown on the floor in an attempt to make make shift beds and the only bin that is ever used is the glass/tin can recycling one! Even in the few years after uni, houses just weren’t that important as long as it was near the town centre and there was enough space for your ever growing shoe collection. Who cared that the crockery didn’t match, the tea towels were filthy and the bathroom was never clean?
During our late teens and twenties a home is a just a house as in 'house party', somewhere to meet up with friends and strangers alike as long as the vino is flowing. Student digs with damp walls and mould seem to be a rite of passage into adulthood that we must all adhere to. Walls hold posters of icons and films, the fridge is void of any solid food, except a block of cheese sporting a designer (faux) fur coat and even the ice cube trays are filled with vodka. No one cares that the curtains are filthy or that there are no curtains at all (I once lived in a house where newspaper was used to cover the windows!). Hoovers hide under the stairs broken, mattresses are thrown on the floor in an attempt to make make shift beds and the only bin that is ever used is the glass/tin can recycling one! Even in the few years after uni, houses just weren’t that important as long as it was near the town centre and there was enough space for your ever growing shoe collection. Who cared that the crockery didn’t match, the tea towels were filthy and the bathroom was never clean?
But somewhere in our mid twenties, around the time relationships become serious, employers start promoting us and week day nights are not so much of a party, our homes become important. Suddenly it matters the bathroom is squeaky clean, the curtains are up and match the decor of the room and that our mugs are clean (and without chips). After a long day at work nothing feels better any more than coming home to a clean kitchen (complete with a full fridge), settling on to a warm comfy sofa and sleeping in a proper bed. Weekends that were spent choosing the latest Jimmy Choo’s with a hangover are now spent browsing at Le Creuset and coordinating bedroom furniture, whilst sipping Starbucks. Scatter cushions become a matter of interest, feature walls are the discussions of lunch breaks and even the suggestion of a garden is muttered between friends.
But how does this all happen? How do we go from living in houses to having a home? Is it a sign of getting old and losing our young, fun loving selves? Or was it that maybe these home loving traits were always there as a secret yearning inside of us that we had managed to suppress? Or is turning into home makers something inevitable we will all succumb to at some point in our lives?
For me choosing which home to live in and how to decorate it is like finding the perfect pair of shoes. It has to be a perfect fit at the perfect price. A home should be like your favourite pair of jeans or your oldest, dearest friend – relaxing, comfortable, reassuring and makes you feel content. As I began to pack my bags this week in preparation for my impending move I reflected on the places I had lived, what they had meant to me and the memories made there. From student hovels, tiny one bed flats, house shares and beautiful four bed converted chapels I have certainly had many home affairs. Like all affairs though some have left me wanting more, some have made me cry and some have left me with happy memories that will last a life time. So, this time, as I pack up my heels and my heart for yet another house move I can’t help but start to feel a flicker of excitement mixed in with my sadness, after all every new apartment needs a new pair of shoes!
Sunday 21 August 2011
Is it a girls world?: Birkini Gate........
Is it a girls world?: Birkini Gate........: As we run around in our everyday lives with work, friends, family, child care and career commitments all pressing on us, we are constantly s...
Birkini Gate........
As we run around in our everyday lives with work, friends, family, child care and career commitments all pressing on us, we are constantly striving to be everything to everyone without much thought for ourselves. How many of us fall into bed at night closely hugging our Blackberry or iPhone, sending last minute emails for work, booking future plans on line or updating our diaries? How many lunch times a week do we actually sit and eat a meal? How many of us are using that one hour gap to squeeze in a gym session, complete extra work, see our child’s teacher or simply fit in the food shop? What happened to lunches at Yo Sushi whilst reading Vogue, looking for outfit inspiration for the weekend? Lunch times sat with friends laughing or a quiet, reflective stroll in the sunshine seem a million years ago. Some time ago, in a time when life was simple, lunches were for eating what you wanted without calorie counting, when appearing wrinkles weren’t happening quiet so quickly, 4.30pm on a Friday meant vino o’clock and the only time we referenced a muffin top was in the context of a bakery. With so much going on and the pressure of having to do it all it’s no wonder our lives, dreams and desires are in lost baggage whilst we arrive empty handed at the corner of Haggard Ave and Tired Lane. So sometimes ladies it takes something big to happen to reset the Sat Nav of life and point you back in the direction of yourself. These often take the form of someone else’s celebrations and puts us in to one of lives happy ‘yes’ situations. So like any of us over worked, under paid ladies when the opportunity to spend a day at a spa arose I could think of no better way to spend the day, visions of hot saunas, deep massages, giggles with the girls and yummy lunches swiftly filled my head. Before I knew it I was fully booked and paid up to not one but two spa days! Clearly all the fabulous people are hitting spa’s for their birthdays and hen weekends. As a loyal friend I am only happy to support friends wishes! And so the countdown began...
One Month Pre Booking
I tried on my bikini and was instantly horrified by my porridgy thighs, rolls of lard on my stomach and wobbly bingo wings. The diet started immediately when I realised that holding my stomach in all day wasn’t a realistic option, I also started shopping for a more flattering bikini a simple task really unless you are a size ten bottom and a 32DD top, in which case there is no hope unless you fancy a frumpy M&S tankini that even your own mother won’t wear.
Two Weeks Pre Booking
The diet had already hit a few little glitches in the form of the office bacon butty run, a birthday dinner at ASK and an entire box of Thorntons chocolates due to the wild throws of Madame PMT. Tried on a Baywatch esq swimsuit, convinced it made my already huge stomach expand and gave me a saggy cleavage. Tried on my bikini again, still as horrified with the results, clearly another tack was required. Motivation came in the form of an email on Facebook when it became abundantly clear I was going to be the biggest girl there by quite a long way. As delighted as I am to be going to a spa, it is totally my luck to be going with tall, slim super model types. I quickly dragged my fat bum back on the diet bandwagon and through in some more exercise for good measure.
One Night Pre Booking
Frantically doing sit ups in an attempt to get my stomach from muffin top, where it clearly was to something that was a little more pancake (flat) like was becoming exhausting. I tried on the bikini for the final time and shamefully admitted defeat. Taking inspiration from Nigella I began to consider that the all in one birkini may be my only option at this point. Short of DIY lipo (I’m no good with needles, or blood and have quite an unsteady hand) I was going to have to accept my fat fate. In a feeble attempt to distract from the flab, cellulite and general lack of tone, I neatly painted all twenty nails, styled my hair in a tousled, steam friendly way and practised breathing in. Hopefully a pink lip stain will cover any blue lips from lack of oxygen.
Finally the big day arrived and I met all the other girls that had been invited. Within minutes I found myself in the changing room and the moment I had been dreading was finally here. As I took one last deep breath, I stepped out into the most beautiful spa.
As we sat in the steam room, relaxing (I had strategically placed a towel over my stomach/hip/thigh area, allowing myself a few more breaths!) I reflected on my feelings over the past few weeks and the extra stress I had put upon myself. I couldn’t help but giggle at myself, this was supposed to be a relaxing day, with me time and I had managed to turn it into another stress. Whilst I can’t honestly say I felt body confident, I could pick a thousand faults (couldn’t we all?) I can honestly say I had a wonderful time. The main fab thing about spa’s is that with all the treatments and chambers it’s hard to keep focused on all your self loathing. I didn’t leave the spa thinner or more toned but I did leave feeling so much more relaxed, having made new friends and with beautiful glowing skin.
xX
Sunday 14 August 2011
Is it a girls world?: Lover or Hater.....?
Is it a girls world?: Lover or Hater.....?: "So ladies, this week saw the arrival, for me, of the one day in the year that divides us ladies firmly into two camps, the lovers and the ha..."
Lover or Hater.....?
So ladies, this week saw the arrival, for me, of the one day in the year that divides us ladies firmly into two camps, the lovers and the haters. The day you either dread or adore. Some of us go to any lengths to avoid it, whilst others make it a month long event. Yep ladies, it was my birthday.
Now birthdays are a funny thing with us women, if you are in the haters camp, it’s yet another numbers game where the general trick is to defy father time himself in the race to stay young and beautiful. And what strong contenders we are. We have a developed emotional, physical and surgical ways to beat the ever ticking clock, yet ultimately we know we will never win. Time is always one step ahead, mocking us as we trip over our Manolo’s to try and win. How many of us lovingly slap on inches of lotion and potions twice a day just because Clinique or Creme de la Mer promises to make us look 10 years younger? Of course to get the desired effect we must buy into the cleanser, toner, moisturiser, eye crème, night serum, face mask and lip balm. Yes Jo Malone I’m talking about you and your consultant who kindly informed me that lip balm was a crucial part of my skin care routine to prevent me getting ‘any more’ wrinkles around my lips. Thanks for that! The irony is that as your visa shrinks deeper into your Cath Kidston bag at the cost of this time reversing skin care, it’s your face that pays the real price in wrinkles from the stress of being skint. What’s that you can hear? Oh yeah, that would be time giggling as it runs away again whilst plastering your face with yet another wrinkle and kicks your joints with another ache. If that doesn’t float your boat another option is surgery, the modern miracle of the nip and tuck program and a sure fire way to at least make it look life really has a rewind button. But how many people actually look any better for all that money, pain and effort. We only have to look at the likes of Heidi Montag who in one day had more than 20 separate procedures including a brow lift, nose job revision, boob job revision, botox, lipo on stomach and thighs, cheek and lip injections, ear pinning, chin reduction, neck lipo and butt augmentation to see the perils of such drastic action. But what really intrigues us all is the botox injection. Advertised as the lunch time cure for anti aging many of us thought all our prayers had been answered. Until we saw the results. I have to be honest, the first person that I met who had had botox didn’t initially tell me what she had had done and I must admit I wondered if she were socially inept or just rude. The lack of emotion on this persons face was eerily worrying and after one too many botox fixes her look was just pure shock! But for some women they just can’t let go of the past. Janice Dickenson has famously always been open about using plastic surgery to "hang onto what she's got." Which leads me on to the next issue, the mutton dressed as lamb brigade. We all know one who refuses to admit she is the other side of forty, insists on wearing her teenage daughter’s clothes and turning up at festivals, trying to relive her youth whilst wondering if her new tongue piercing has gone septic. The type that turns up at the opening of a club, not because she is genuinely interest in the music but because it IT list will be there, and despite being at least twenty years older than everyone else still cannot hold her alcohol, being sick on vodka shots on the way home.
But what about the other camp, the lovers of all birthday excitement? The ladies who embrace each year with open arms, acknowledging that another laughter line is another memory made with people they love and every day that passes is another opportunity to live life to the full. These are the fun people who plan weekends away with the girls for milestone birthdays, who regardless of age can take up a new challenges both professionally and personally, who aren’t afraid to say yes to life.
As I joined friends and family on my birthday this year for celebrations I reflected on what really matters as we grow older. So this year, when I blew out the birthday candles, instead of wishing for a size zero waist, the two wrinkles around my left eye to disappear or Jimmy Choo to choose me as his muse (a girl can dream!) I hoped for laughter lines of memories, my joints to ache from all the things I have said yes to and it would be nice if the ASDA check out girl to ID me!
xX
Sunday 7 August 2011
Is it a girls world?: The Crossroads.......
Is it a girls world?: The Crossroads.......: "If we are lucky ladies, we can travel through our lives, happy with our lot, feeling we are reaching all our dreams. But often when we least..."
The Crossroads.......
If we are lucky ladies, we can travel through our lives, happy with our lot, feeling we are reaching all our dreams. But often when we least expect it we are suddenly bought to a screeching holt at an unexpected cross road. Maybe it's a redundancy from a dream job, maybe it’s the man of your dreams ending your relationship, a bereavement or a friendship being broken, but whatever the event it causes our lives to grind to a stop. As we sit dazed, reeling from the heart ache and upset we have been hit by, we find ourselves perched on the side lines of our own lives, and it can be hard to imagine how all your dreams went so very wrong. Sometimes we give too much, sometimes too much is taken from us and sometimes with all the best will in the world we just didn't see it coming.
This week, my life having unexpectedly slammed on at a new cross roads, I found myself in unfamiliar territory. As I gazed around looking for any signs of life I realised that I had inadvertently taken life's runaway train that had landed me and my Louboutins at the corner of Heartbroken Avenue and Lost Lane. As I gazed around trying to get my bearings I swiftly realised I was a long way from happiness and home. Like any girl worth her weight in vino, I started by dusting down my Whistles skirt, dabbing on the Touche Eclat, running the GHD's through my hair and adding a chic coat of Chanels long lasting lipstick in 'boy' (oh the irony!). Any girl in this position knows this is often the only way forward through a heartbreak. And forward we must go.....
This week, my life having unexpectedly slammed on at a new cross roads, I found myself in unfamiliar territory. As I gazed around looking for any signs of life I realised that I had inadvertently taken life's runaway train that had landed me and my Louboutins at the corner of Heartbroken Avenue and Lost Lane. As I gazed around trying to get my bearings I swiftly realised I was a long way from happiness and home. Like any girl worth her weight in vino, I started by dusting down my Whistles skirt, dabbing on the Touche Eclat, running the GHD's through my hair and adding a chic coat of Chanels long lasting lipstick in 'boy' (oh the irony!). Any girl in this position knows this is often the only way forward through a heartbreak. And forward we must go.....
Top Tips For Your Cross Road Arrival and Survival.
· You are going to cry. A lot. Some times in public places. Always carry a clean kleenex and lay off the eye liner, panda eyes are just plain scary and your fab friends will not thank you for MAC's finest staining their new GAP basic white tee.
· Tell people and talk. It genuinely helps and stops people spouting the most irritating line 'smile love, it might not happen' and it saves you from having to grit your teeth whilst mumbling through your tears that it already has.
· Make like a diva and work those giant shades. Hey, if it works for Anna Wintour it can work for you. No one needs to see your giant bags under your eyes from all the crying and sleepless nights so keep 'em covered!
· Despite what Bridget Jones says vodka and Chaka Khan are not a dignified answer.
· The most important thing is to be kind to you. In time this pain will heal and in time you will laugh again. Sleep when you can, eat well and do things you enjoy.
· Ivana Trump may have been onto something here. Gorgeous hair is the best revenge. No other revenge is ever needed, the karma bus will always come. Hopefully you will have a good seat for that particular show!
· It’s hard to forget something that has given you so much remember, give those memories time to find a place in your heart but don’t live your life through them.
· As Beyonce wisely sang – ‘after all the darkness and sadness still comes happiness, if I surround myself with positive things I gain prosperity.’
Monday 1 August 2011
Is it a girls world?: Under Wear?
Is it a girls world?: Under Wear?: "Ladies – this week I have been thinking about two things, honesty and shopping. Now these are 2 things I value highly, both for myself and f..."
Under Wear?
Ladies – this week I have been thinking about two things, honesty and shopping. Now these are 2 things I value highly, both for myself and from others. I really believe that they should go hand in hand together, merrily skipping down the high street of life, laughing and joking like Thelma and Louise. Yet I find it a strange concept that in our own realities they rarely get on. Honesty and shopping are, to me, the Brad and Jen of the cosmopolitan universe in that they seem such a perfect couple but for some reason it just doesn’t work. So in the name of being honest about shopping I have to let you into a little secret. You may want to sit down for this one ladies. I hate bra shopping. There. I have said it, talk about the confessions of a shopaholic! I could happily shop all day for shoes (feet never have ‘fat’ days), make up (those clever cosmetic girls make us truly believe that we just cannot have the lipstick without the lip liner for a mere £24 extra, please don’t say it’s only me who buys into that?!) and bags (a Mulberry is a true investment that will go with everything. Amen.) But bra’s, they just stress me out, so when I looked down the other day, I realised with some horror that the time was upon me once more. I needed to go bra shopping. So with a heavy heart, I decided to bite the bullet, get measured, buy a bra and cross my fingers that I survive. It was at this point I realised all my normal bra’s were in the wash so I headed off to town in AllSaints jeans and an Abercrombie vest covering up this seasons latest Agent Provocateur. Not the greatest look and for those of you who have worn Miss P will fully understand the seat belt trauma that ensued!
The thing is, if we start at the beginning and look at it objectively the whole process is a lot less than female friendly. Debenhams have recently commissioned a survey that loudly announces to the world that a massive 80% of all us women are wearing the wrong size bra and are we women really that surprised? First there is the tedious and somewhat humiliating process of being measured. For most of us being trapped in a fitting room is some kind of bizarre torture, then add into the mix having to stand there in your bra whilst a women you have never met before whips out a tape measure to find out your vitals and this is all while she shouts your bra size (in her opinion) to her colleague who, by the loudness of the holler, could possibly be on a different floor, or maybe a different shop. By now, you, the measuring women, half of the store and your next door neighbour know your bra size. Being measured appealing yet to any one? So then comes the array of bra’s in your size for you to try on and this leads me to the next issue. Do you want a semi cup, demi cup, booster cup, padding, adjustable padding? The list and choice is endless, overwhelming and often impossible. Finally peace arrives when the lady and her tape measure wander off to harass some other poor women and your left with a pile of lingerie to try on most of which doesn’t fit/ looks like something your Nan would wear/ not practical for every day wear. After what feels like hours a winner is selected to be purchased and, if you anything like me, you purchase it in every colour available to avoid the inevitable trip back to buy subsequent bra’s. A quick wizz by the tills to pay and you have succeeded! A well fitting bra is all yours for just a few soul destroying hours, a kick in the old self esteem and a large wodge of cash (when did bra’s get so expensive?).
As I grabbed some sushi for lunch in the sun I reflected on this cringe worthy experience. It feels so out dated that in the 21st century we have not found a better, slightly more reliable way of being measured and yet really, apart from the poor customer service, I have the whole experience much easier than some. I haven’t had to have a mastectomy (as 1 in every 10 women who have a breast cancer diagnosis do), I don’t have tubular breasts (as 1 in every 700 women do) and I do not have breast asymmetry. But I have people who I am close to in my life who do. So this blog is for all you gorgeous and very brave ladies who fight your breast battle every day of your lives. Let’s hope for your brighter boob day and a better way of being measure.
xX
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