I had a friend over for dinner last night. We've known eachother since school and once upon a time, we were thick as thieves until I left the Roman Catholic girls' adventure playground that passed for an educational establishment, to pursue a more earnest and foolproof route into university.
After my fifth year at this secondary school, I managed to get accepted into the closest thing I'd ever get (or want) to a private education - this time a Roman Catholic Boys' spanking club. Only 50 girls made it into its sixth form every year. It must have been a real imposition for the boys. Hurtling groin-first towards peak time of their rampant trouser jiggling years, they were suddenly and hellishly faced with the morphing and untouchable bodies of pubescent lady-girls. Plain cruel if you ask me - what were the school boards thinking?
Mind you, we girls were no better off surrounded as we were by a bunch of sexually crimped baboons at a time when we would rather have our new lumps and bumps go unnoticed. And man oh man could they be BRUTAL especially once the anaesthetic of familiarity took hold. We were outnumbered and out-hormoned. Some of us got it worse than others, it was the law of the jungle and very possibly the best preparation for life on offer. That said, I still know quite a few of those animals today (lovely boys all shackled to strong women in twinsets and pearls...Ha Ha) and got myself a great education along the way not that I've set the world alight with it...so far.
Which brings me to the revelations of last night's conversation. For all our achievements and despite needing both hands to count how many people I know with First Class degrees, very few of us can really be said to have truly excelled in life . I know it's hard to qualify what makes excellence - so we used the media measuring stick...in other words how TV and newspapers depict success.
We came to the following conclusions (possibly):
1.) The effort of achieving so much so early in life effectively drained them of the last bit of drive they had; drive that was supposed to last a lifetime.
2.) Our parents are to blame. OF COURSE! They worked too hard, gave us too much and in an attempt to instill in us a hard working ethic - they exhausted us before we even got started. Yes, it's their fault.
Astonished by our collective findings and after a sloppy mental audit of what friends were and were not doing, I thought about The Lish and the pushy parent syndrome...and decided two further things:
1.) Lishy will never be scaremongered into 'getting an education' for the sake of it though she will be encouraged to do something she loves
2.) I'm leaving everything I have to charity all £17.53p of it
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Thursday, September 23, 2010
2-bed or not 2-bed
Bright and spacious 2-bedroom with terrific views of surrounding countryside. In need of some renovation.
Though I shouldn't be, I am truly amazed at what some people think can pass for a bedroom in London, in particular a second bedroom. I went to view a so-called 2-bedroom apartment today in the heart of Maida Vale - which is genuinely a lovely area of London- only to find myself standing in an overpriced (okay that's all London real estate) studio that had been not so cunningly converted into a monstrosity; an architectural and interior design abomination.
The so called master bedroom was master of all things miniscule. Only if you stood absolutely still could you be in there at all. Moving was an extra not included in the purchase price. It appeared you would have to leave the room in order to open the wardrobe (which I assume you did with a hook from the hallway). To actually dress you'd have to move the whole operation to the front room.
The second bedroom - and by this, it is generally understood that it will (as if it were a legal requirement) be somewhat smaller than the 'master' - was indeed smaller (unbelievable but true). That there could actually be a smaller bedroom than the one we had all just stood on eachother's shoulders to view, was hard to believe but there it almost was... smaller.
It felt like peering into a room in a dollhouse except this one was not one you could find for £12.99 in Toys R Us. No. I would have laughed out loud but there wasn't enough room.
I was therefore very intrigued to see the roof terrace since they had been so absurdly liberal with the description of the flat in the first place, the viewing had now taken a fairground attraction tinge. Well, let's see. If putting chairs on a precariously balanced thickish piece of overhanging tarpaulin suspended by threadbare rope-type thingys (in flagrant breach of all the safety and building laws of the land) so close to the neighbours BBQ it was a wonder they hadn't singed off years ago - then yes - this was indeed a kooky little roof terrace worthy of a feature in ‘House and Garden’. Sorry, did I say House and Garden? I meant Viz.
I pulled The Lish in fearful that the whole structure would collapse from the strain of all 15 kilos of her. I literally covered my eyes when The Silverback gingerly stepped onto it relieved only that his fall would be somewhat broken by the neighbour's BBQ.
Well, now I was intrigued. They hadn't actually mentioned a kitchen in the instruction. It was immediately apparent why. See, technically there was no kitchen. Sticking a hob and fridge in the corner of the front room does not a kitchen make. I wouldn't mind but the appliances looked like something that had been salvaged from a skip during The Blitz. No but I needed to really take this all in because they wanted ....please brace yourselves: £475,000 for it. The lease was shorter than my inside leg measurement and the ground rent, well, let's just say that if I could save that much a year, we’d be buying the place with cash.
Of course, we’re not buying the place. We did have fun though. And to celebrate we went to THE most delicious South East Asian restaurant located next door to Maida Vale tube, called Street Hawker.
Finger lickin' good and truly (unlike the flat we had just viewed) money well spent.
Monday, September 20, 2010
A New Vibration
I started penning this entry last week, in longhand (old school style) which I don't usually do, prefering the stream of conciousness method which I then preen and fluff as I go. Works for me. I'm sure glad I didn't waste your precious breaktime by uploading too soon as I wouldn't have yet received a proposition for a threesome on Saturday to which, I'm happy to report, I resisted - it wasn't hard. I won't be hitching a ride in anyone's motorbike sidecar ever. 100 % sure about that but it is interesting what you will entertain listening to when you've gone one Mojito too far. Sober, I may have burst out laughing.
Nor would I have been able to report on an interview that I was initially unsure of, turning into the most fun I've had in a suit. I surprised myself by giving a very grown-up, confidence-filled presentation last week and wasn't that fazed when I was asked what I thought was the most important quote in the English language. Yes, that was one of the set interview questions. How do you like them apples? I like 'em fine. Maybe (just maaaaaaybe) I was just the right side of hung over (I had gone to bid a dear new friend Godspeed - she's off to live in the Home Counties - the night before and sparkling wine was the guest of honour) or maybe I was experiencing that elusive but wonderful feeling of release you get when you KNOW THE ANSWER. It helps that I collect quotes. I had many to choose from...nerd that I am.
It also helps if you accept that everything is open to interpretation. To me the question is almost unanswerable because every day is a different vibration. What is important today may not matter tomorrow. So I gave him a quote that resonated with me at that moment. It's by Kenneth Tynan (20th century's infamously harsh but genius theatre critic; He described his job once as follows: "I mummify transcience". Deep ennit? for such a short sentence. I love it.
I'm also awash with personal, social and professional responsibilities this week from pre-school booster appointments, to second interviews to gigs with new friends leading to ever decreasing doses of crap TV (a blessing). Frankly, I'm exhausted but I do feel there has been an irrevokable shift in this phase of my life - for the good.
After all the recent upheaval of moving countries and oh so much more, I'm feeling ready for my close-up . Professionally and personally.
Nor would I have been able to report on an interview that I was initially unsure of, turning into the most fun I've had in a suit. I surprised myself by giving a very grown-up, confidence-filled presentation last week and wasn't that fazed when I was asked what I thought was the most important quote in the English language. Yes, that was one of the set interview questions. How do you like them apples? I like 'em fine. Maybe (just maaaaaaybe) I was just the right side of hung over (I had gone to bid a dear new friend Godspeed - she's off to live in the Home Counties - the night before and sparkling wine was the guest of honour) or maybe I was experiencing that elusive but wonderful feeling of release you get when you KNOW THE ANSWER. It helps that I collect quotes. I had many to choose from...nerd that I am.
It also helps if you accept that everything is open to interpretation. To me the question is almost unanswerable because every day is a different vibration. What is important today may not matter tomorrow. So I gave him a quote that resonated with me at that moment. It's by Kenneth Tynan (20th century's infamously harsh but genius theatre critic; He described his job once as follows: "I mummify transcience". Deep ennit? for such a short sentence. I love it.
I'm also awash with personal, social and professional responsibilities this week from pre-school booster appointments, to second interviews to gigs with new friends leading to ever decreasing doses of crap TV (a blessing). Frankly, I'm exhausted but I do feel there has been an irrevokable shift in this phase of my life - for the good.
After all the recent upheaval of moving countries and oh so much more, I'm feeling ready for my close-up . Professionally and personally.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Table for More
I’ve been going through an insomniac phase, not the sort where you lie awake all night or manage only short fitful periods of rest, no this, in typical fashion is self-induced. I get into bed with my i-Pod and listen to Janice Long on Radio 2 until the wee hours. Of course on the nights were I go even later into the ’whoa! It’s time to get up’ hours, The Lish is particularly sparky making it impossible to steal more than a few extra minutes of sleep. I’ve been doing this all week and it was beginning to catch up with me manifesting with things like shoes in the fridge and plates in the bathroom (unless I have a poltergeist at home).
Anyway, last night at around 7pm I realised I was expected at dinner with friends. I was butt-arsed tired. I racked my brains to come up with a semi-realistic reason for not going but given I’d influenced the choice of restaurant and the fact that there is no excuse for self-inflicted handicaps – I dragged myself along managing somehow to be the first one to arrive.
In kamikaze fashion, I brazenly ordered a glass of Sangiovese red. Let there be dark. But then I realised that in all my life I have never been so engaged. The old me would not be sitting there with a glass of wine but at home with a glass of guilt and another bridge burnt. That perked me up a little. I substituted the wine for water…Jesus would not be happy. And then the girls arrived.
These are very new friends for me. They are mothers of The Lish’s friends at pre-school whom I met during the briefest of daily drop offs/pick ups which just goes to show how wonderful London people are. In 2 and a half years of drop offs/pick ups at daycare in Oakville, Ontario I didn’t make one single mum-chum. No judgement, just an observation. Anyway – this isn’t about that.
So a barrister, a child psychologist, a film producer and a slattern settled into what became one of the best nights in recent memory. I want to tell you the sort of things we talked about…but I fear you might blush. I can tell you that lesbianism was discussed and men of course were dissected with the reverence you would a frog in a biology class. It made a refreshing change from scrapbooking in The Tundra I can tell you.
The food was rather good too: I had the black taglionini with scallops in red pepper sauce. Yumsters.
But best of all (in a way but not really), last night, I slept like a dead woman.
Anyway, last night at around 7pm I realised I was expected at dinner with friends. I was butt-arsed tired. I racked my brains to come up with a semi-realistic reason for not going but given I’d influenced the choice of restaurant and the fact that there is no excuse for self-inflicted handicaps – I dragged myself along managing somehow to be the first one to arrive.
In kamikaze fashion, I brazenly ordered a glass of Sangiovese red. Let there be dark. But then I realised that in all my life I have never been so engaged. The old me would not be sitting there with a glass of wine but at home with a glass of guilt and another bridge burnt. That perked me up a little. I substituted the wine for water…Jesus would not be happy. And then the girls arrived.
These are very new friends for me. They are mothers of The Lish’s friends at pre-school whom I met during the briefest of daily drop offs/pick ups which just goes to show how wonderful London people are. In 2 and a half years of drop offs/pick ups at daycare in Oakville, Ontario I didn’t make one single mum-chum. No judgement, just an observation. Anyway – this isn’t about that.
So a barrister, a child psychologist, a film producer and a slattern settled into what became one of the best nights in recent memory. I want to tell you the sort of things we talked about…but I fear you might blush. I can tell you that lesbianism was discussed and men of course were dissected with the reverence you would a frog in a biology class. It made a refreshing change from scrapbooking in The Tundra I can tell you.
The food was rather good too: I had the black taglionini with scallops in red pepper sauce. Yumsters.
But best of all (in a way but not really), last night, I slept like a dead woman.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
The Power of Now
Yep, that ‘Now’, the one Mr Tolle extols. I haven’t read his books but I do channel the sentiment when I say, I know the power of ‘Now’. See, I haven’t been the best company lately, wrapped up as I have been in big and small picture scenarios hasn’t made for the healthiest mindset. Add to that the world we currently live in and here, dearest friends is the recipe for inner turmoil and the bleakest emotional landscape.
But I’ve long been an alumni of the ‘pick up and dust off’ school of thought and while it sometimes takes me a little while to stand up again, depending on the force of the shove, (lately it has felt like the world’s weight on my shoulders) spoonful by spoonful, I've excavated an escape route worthy of The Shawshank Redemption. I’ve since covered the hole with a picture of Jake Gyllenhaal.
I have for a while been walking in the shadow of the moon but today (finally) I reconnected with the nurturer within and truly engaged with myself and those around me who matter. I was immediately filled with hope. In so doing, and almost by magic I appear to have willed a glut of reciprocal experiences. To begin with and most importantly I had a great morning with The Lish which must make a welcome change from the usual Wicked Witch act.
The long period of silence and introspection (painful as these tend to be) has brought with it the gift of revelation, which I’m sure The Silverback is most grateful for. And finally the phone rang off the hook with work related requests which I can tell you is an incredible development after the Australian Outback-like drought in this area.
Of course now it's time to step up to the plate. One interview requires a presentation. I'll give 'em presentation. In fact, I've had to turn some opportunities down; don't get me wrong, I'm not exactly in the position to do so but that doesn't mean I can't be discerning about what I decide to do next because whatever it is, it's got to keep me happy for a long time.
That means choosing well now, not just in terms of work but life in general. In man terms I'm fighting the urge to lease a Porche, get a piercing and bleach my hair.
But I’ve long been an alumni of the ‘pick up and dust off’ school of thought and while it sometimes takes me a little while to stand up again, depending on the force of the shove, (lately it has felt like the world’s weight on my shoulders) spoonful by spoonful, I've excavated an escape route worthy of The Shawshank Redemption. I’ve since covered the hole with a picture of Jake Gyllenhaal.
I have for a while been walking in the shadow of the moon but today (finally) I reconnected with the nurturer within and truly engaged with myself and those around me who matter. I was immediately filled with hope. In so doing, and almost by magic I appear to have willed a glut of reciprocal experiences. To begin with and most importantly I had a great morning with The Lish which must make a welcome change from the usual Wicked Witch act.
The long period of silence and introspection (painful as these tend to be) has brought with it the gift of revelation, which I’m sure The Silverback is most grateful for. And finally the phone rang off the hook with work related requests which I can tell you is an incredible development after the Australian Outback-like drought in this area.
Of course now it's time to step up to the plate. One interview requires a presentation. I'll give 'em presentation. In fact, I've had to turn some opportunities down; don't get me wrong, I'm not exactly in the position to do so but that doesn't mean I can't be discerning about what I decide to do next because whatever it is, it's got to keep me happy for a long time.
That means choosing well now, not just in terms of work but life in general. In man terms I'm fighting the urge to lease a Porche, get a piercing and bleach my hair.
Friday, September 3, 2010
A friend in need is a friend indeed
Christ, what a bummer of a mood. I think I might be experiencing the beginning of a midlife crisis. Yes, it has a lot to do with the fact that tomorrow...I'm 39. The end of my 30s. Look, I'm not upset with getting old (though I'm not exactly thrilled about aging) because with age comes wisdom and ultimately peace of mind. With age comes the elixir of life experience which filters through to deliver a truth serum: the hindsight that enables you to see things as they are, to stick two fingers up to the small insignificant stuff and the courage to face and then walk way from the big stuff.
I'm at a crossroads in this sense. I'm not sure which road to take but I have the feeling it will be one of the most important decisions of my life not least because of course it's not just about me any more. I'm being cryptic I know but that's the trouble with mid-life crises. Their very nature is rooted in a snakepit of twisted questions and slippery confusion.
I'm not alone, for some reason much like the phenomenon that occurs when a bunch of women share the same office space where eventually their periods synchronise, I seems to have lots of friends who are going through the similar personal insecurities. I have a friend in Spain for example who is fighting the demon drink; a friend in Germany who doesn't know what to do with himself once his kids start school (and he is really bricking it); a friend who just lost her husband to a brain tumour, another one fighting breast cancer. And yet, here is the greatest thing about all of it - the most enduring of all human traits: All of us still have hope.
So while I do actually feel a little bit like crumpling, I'm instead taking a linear and commonsense approach to the basic stuff: Job, mortgage and a 5 year plan. How very Virgo of me.
The body and heart will need a little more magic and for these things I have yoga and friends. To wit: I've invited a group of my finest allies to dinner tomorrow. I will revel in their friendship and anecdote because if it's true that life begins at 40, I still have one long and arduous year ahead of me.
Here's to friends.
I'm at a crossroads in this sense. I'm not sure which road to take but I have the feeling it will be one of the most important decisions of my life not least because of course it's not just about me any more. I'm being cryptic I know but that's the trouble with mid-life crises. Their very nature is rooted in a snakepit of twisted questions and slippery confusion.
I'm not alone, for some reason much like the phenomenon that occurs when a bunch of women share the same office space where eventually their periods synchronise, I seems to have lots of friends who are going through the similar personal insecurities. I have a friend in Spain for example who is fighting the demon drink; a friend in Germany who doesn't know what to do with himself once his kids start school (and he is really bricking it); a friend who just lost her husband to a brain tumour, another one fighting breast cancer. And yet, here is the greatest thing about all of it - the most enduring of all human traits: All of us still have hope.
So while I do actually feel a little bit like crumpling, I'm instead taking a linear and commonsense approach to the basic stuff: Job, mortgage and a 5 year plan. How very Virgo of me.
The body and heart will need a little more magic and for these things I have yoga and friends. To wit: I've invited a group of my finest allies to dinner tomorrow. I will revel in their friendship and anecdote because if it's true that life begins at 40, I still have one long and arduous year ahead of me.
Here's to friends.
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