Ttfn

Right then people, just a quick post to say that as of today, I'm away on my holidays until 19th November, so you'll have a well deserved break from my ramlings and bullshit.

That said- I have found a guest blogger replacement in the form of my friend Samantha, who many of you will know. She is equally as well qualified as me to ramble, procrastinate and talk utter bollocks (I know she'll agree). Infact, being several years my senior, with two teenage boys, she is no doubt better qualified.

I will bid you farewell. When I get back it seems there's a very very good chance I could be unemployed as the future of my agency is looking very bleak at the moment. Infact I've not been paid for the last month of work I've done and as I type I'm sitting in the office working for free. Despite increasing my overdraft by £2k my finances look dire and I could well be about to depart on a 2 week holiday for which I won't get any holiday cover. Fantastic! That'll learn me working for a cute small company.

At least this will give me lots of humourous stuff to write about, and I'll be beginning my campaign in Thailand on Steve to see if he'll agree to me becoming a kept woman. It could be the ideal time to start up that dog sanctuary I've always dreamed about.....

I'll catch up with you all soon,

Over and out for now xxx

An Apology...

I have let the side down... I'm sorry. I was entrusted by Ali to Blog here whilst instead I've been enjoying the unseasonably sunny and warm Easter Holiday weather and neglecting my duties. Sorry all!

Here though is a short clip which combines two of my favourite things whilst I was growing up. A funny one for the boys maybe...

Off and away

I'm about to be signing off and once more placing my lovely blog in the hands of a guest blogger...I'm not going to give any clues away, but I'm sure you'll have no issues guessing who that might be.

The castle that we're staying in is called Lickyhead castle....but I can't find it anywhere on the web, so I'm slightly concerned that it doesn't exist. If that's the case, I'll be back blogging before you know it!

Over and out x

On running

‘I hate this’, I tell myself, when my run gets hard and the park seems hilly. ‘This is a waste of time’, I reason, as I run past a patch of delicate white snowdrops, and alongside a fence upon which two squirrels are shadow-boxing. But I keep going. It isn’t masochism that motivates me, although of course there’s some sense in which all exercise is taken for that reason: to put the body through its paces, to test the machine to its limit, to see what she can do. I don’t run to lose weight, and I’m already happy with my body nine days out of ten. I run because I want to be stronger, less tired, fitter. I run to forget my worries, and to feel better. And in the moments when it isn’t awful, it’s absolutely brilliant.

I have a predilection to run when no-one else is around. But so far I haven’t managed to get out of the house before 7am, by which time Hove’s older residents have already donned their quilted anoraks and summoned their little white dogs from slumber to walk in the park too. So far I haven’t made friends with any of my fellow joggers; I act furtive, avoiding eye contact, and concentrate on just trying to continue running.

It occurred to me the other day that when I leave the house to go running, it’s one of the only times in my life when I go out into the world without caring what I look like. Wearing my bog-standard running outfit of old t-shirt, sweatshirt, and jogging trousers which I paid £3 for, I don’t care, and I love it. Returning home with a blotchy red face, messy hair and a runny nose which I have taken to wiping on my sleeve (no pockets for tissues!), it reminds me of doing sport at school, and actually enjoying it. I dimly remember a time when self-consciousness hadn’t yet arrived, when I wanted to run around and ride my bike all day, when I was proud to get onto the netball team and wasn’t yet ashamed of how I looked in the pleated skirt. I think it’s sad that exercise has been hijacked to the cause of vanity and the search for the ‘perfect’ body, when what it can actually give you back is the confidence to be active purely for the fun of it.

Sometimes I overdo it, and sometimes I get it about right. If I get home and take less than ten minutes to recover, I think I probably did as much as I could handle. On the occasions when I stumble through the front door and lie on the floor for so long that the cat comes to take a disinterested sniff at the new object that appears to have arrived in the living room, I wish I’d taken it a bit easier. All of which makes me sound like the Liz McColgan of Seven Dials, which I’m certainly not. I couldn’t be further from it. I am just an ordinary girl with a simple dream: to be able to run for ten minutes without stopping.

On what to wear

When I was at primary school, I had to wear a grey bowler hat with a gold and sky-blue ribbon as part of my uniform. Then when I was about ten, I moved to a school where everyone had to wear a straw boater with green ribbon on fine days, and a beret emblazoned with the school crest when it was wet. On days which started fine, but ended wet, the smell of wet boaters would permeate the classrooms as the straw turned a sickly yellow colour, and the glue began to loosen. This form of headwear was prone to every kind of abuse. Without fail, we would all spend idle moments picking the edges of our boaters and creating small heaps of sawdust under our desks, not to mention hurling them around like frisbees, punching the crowns out of very knackered and soon-to-be replaced boaters, or twanging the elastic under each other’s chins for laughs. The headmistress had very strict beliefs about the correct position of the boater on the head, and once declared in assembly that the hats must never be worn on the back of the head for fear of looking ‘as if you were in a musical’. As well-off, fussy schools went, it wasn’t the most caring of places. It was the kind of school where, if you forgot your PE kit, you had to wear the water-stained white T-shirt that had been kicking around behind the radiator in the changing rooms, and a pair of big gym knickers that someone had left behind years ago, still bearing the name ‘Camilla Bateman’ on the italicised name tape.

I can see some sense in school uniform, especially when it levels the financial playing field for all kids, and removes distraction. But the extensive, prissy uniforms I used to wear were deliberately showy, not to mention divisive. The kind of uniform I had to wear meant that the girls who lived at the bottom of my road refused to play with me, and other local kids stuck their noses in the air and ignored me when I walked past. To this day, I cannot wear a hat without feeling silly and slightly humiliated. Sometimes I buy a hat, thinking that it suits me, or that I want it, or that this hat will be ok. But it is always a mistake. I cannot wear them. Hats have been ruined for me forever.

As all mothers know, the biggest battles they have with their children concern what is eaten and what is worn, and that’s because the power to define yourself physically is no small matter. So whenever I hear one of those ‘and finally’ news stories about a toddler who insists on wearing a Spiderman costume day and night, or will only wear the colour red, I cheer inwardly. Whatever makes you feel good, and more importantly, whatever doesn’t make you feel stupid, is what you should wear.

On Eastbourne

Whilst Ali is in the Maldives, it is my solemn task to bring things back down to earth with tales from our tattered British isles, and more particularly, with my thoughts on Eastbourne’s relative merits. Why Eastbourne you might ask? Because it’s the only place I ever get to visit through work. And living in Brighton has given me an affinity with all other seaside resorts, however gaudy, run-down or plain unfashionable.

First thing to say is that Eastbourne is lovely. It’s full of handsome buildings; it’s spacious; it boasts its own *micro-climate*, and it has some good shops and some decent bars and restaurants. Contrary to what you might think, there are some young people there, and it also has a large student population. But certain aspects of its reputation are all too true. Wandering through the town centre to the seafront after a meeting last Monday, I was struck not just by how old everyone was, but by how many coffee shops of the formica-table variety there were. Also, there has evidently been some kind of revolution in walking supports for the older Eastbourne citizen. Zimmer frames with integral seats seemed to be all the rage - I saw at least ten of them. One day, some Flash Harry pensioner must have sashayed forth down the boulevards of Eastbourne’s central shopping precinct with his shiny new Zimmer Sitter, and all grey heads must have slowly turned. They all went home and phoned their now middle-aged sons and daughters, and in their best martyred voices, told them how their legs weren’t what they’d used to be, and that they’d stopped eating or putting the heating on because it wasn’t worth it, but they had seen these new seat thingies that might just give them back the will to live. So now all the pensioners have them. They sit on them neatly outside shops and at bus stops, watching the world go by and waiting for their pals. Those bastions of senior citizen life, benches, are now dominated by Emo kids, whilst the elderly can now have a nice sit down wherever they happen to last be standing up.

It’s heartening to think that when I am old, and long only to sit in tea rooms, rustling packets of demerara sugar for my milky tea and eating big Chelsea buns with glace cherries on top, I will still be interested in new technology, even if it’s only in aid of finding new ways to take the weight off my feet. I think it’s a collective throwback to childhood, and to the moment when the great game of musical chairs is finally played. When the music suddenly stops and the scramble to sit down is underway, the old folk will be home and dry.

Jumble Sailing

What an unexpected pleasure going to a Car Boot Sale can be! It may require getting up at 6am on a Sunday (thats running late by the way) but if you want to go as a stall holder, the rewards can be great. Not only do you get a fun day with your friends (helped by Sunday's lovely weather) but you also get to shift a load of stuff you no longer need and make some pocket money in process!

Every Sunday there is a Car Boot sale on the new-ish car park at the side of Brighton Station. Like all such events it is dependent on the weather for both people turning up to sell things and people wondering through willing to buy. Last Sunday however was unseasonally warm and therefore in Car Boot terms was a great success.

Sam, Laura and Jackie a little chilly after a sucessful days Car Booting

Our stall (pictured above) which was in a prime location (thanks oddly enough to our late arrival) soon gathered interest. In fact the vultures began to descend as our stuff was being unpacked and before it could be set up. Unaccustomed as we were to Car Boot etiquette we were at one point quite overwhelmed by the early haggling. We soon hit our stride however, except me who was so desperate to rid myself of collections of old coats and jeans that I often haggled down the price. Anyone who has seen Monty Python's 'Life of Brian' will know what I mean;


Harry: No, no. Do it properly.
Brian: What?
Harry: Haggle properly. This isn't worth nineteen.
Brian: You just said it was worth twenty.
Harry: Burt!!
Brian: I'll give you ten.
Harry: That's more like it. (outraged) Ten!? Are you trying to insult me? Me? With a poor dying grandmother...Ten!?!


Well, we got the hang of haggling and managed to clear most of the junk we had arrived with and in the process made between us £350! At the end of the day and with the cold setting in we packed up and took our winnings to the pub for a much needed sunday roast. Clearly not everyone had fun as this fellow Brighton Blogger points out but I think Car Boot sales given the right day and the right people are a joy. It's also a bit of a bug, we all want to go again and are digging around for things to sell.

Given the event and perhaps the deep blue sky on Sunday I had the song 'Jumble Sailing' by Brighton's very own Clearlake constantly running through my mind. I think the words are very fitting, here are some of them...

"we'll go jumble sailing out when the weather is fine
we'll go jumble sailing, you never know what we'll find
we'll be just like two millionaires going out on a spree
we'll know that it won't break the bank 'cause it's only 10p

we'll go jumble sailing out when the weather is fine
we'll go jumble sailing, you never know what we'll find
who knows all the odd little things that will sail into view?
I may find an odd little thing that reminds me of you

I see so many people turn their noses up at all the treasure we find
it's sad they don't know what they're missing
but well, we'll just have to leave them behind

we'll go jumble sailing out when the weather is fine
we'll go jumble sailing, you never know what we'll find
maybe find a small souvenir or a thing we can use
maybe a hat or a scarf or some second-hand shoes
maybe, either way this is one lucky dip we can't lose

when we go jumble sailing off into the blue"

Mission Accomplished!

Blogging by Dan

How to overcome ‘Maldives Jealousy’…

As all regular readers of this Blog will no doubt know by now, its founder and Editor-in-Chief Ali is currently sunning herself on an all expenses paid trip to the Maldives. I’m not one who easy allows envy to overpower me but I’m sure that I am not alone in feeling more than a little twinge of jealousy when thinking about the copious amounts of luxury that Ali is at this moment surrounded by.

I therefore thought it would be good for all of those left behind if I were to do a bit of research on the Maldives and come up with a few facts that might make us feel better about ourselves.

The Maldives, it turns out is perhaps not the Garden of Eden the holiday brochures would have us believe. In fact I would suggest that Ali, merely by going there is complicit in the following;

Supporting a Non-Democratic regime. According to the ‘CIA World Fact book’ the current President has been in power since 1978 and is now on his sixth term in office. Only riots in 2004 in the Capital Male have forced him to review his tenure and instigate any kinds of reform.

The eventual submergence of the entire country! With the highest point in the Maldives standing at a mere 2.4 Metres above sea level on the island of Wilingili and with global sea levels expected to rise by nearly 2 metres over the coming 100 years it seems the Maldives days are numbered. What an irony therefore that Tourism, the country’s main source of foreign currency is one of the biggest contributing factors to the rise in sea levels!?

According to this online Carbon calculator Ali's carbon emission from flying Heathrow to Male, Maldives is... 2.2 Tonnes!

Destruction of delicate Marine habitats. There is growing concern amongst International Marine conservation groups of the effects increased tourism in The Maldives is having on the marine habitat. Conservation of the Coral surrounding many of the islands is one of the more serious challenges, along with the rising sea levels facing the country.

Ok, so I could only really come up with three bad points about the Maldives and two of those apply to many countries around the world.

I am clearly just jealous. I wonder to what extent the recent growing criticism of those who fly regularly is borne out of a hidden jealousy from those who are unable to do so?

Whatever, I bet Ali is having an amazing time in an amazing place. A bit to little to do for my liking (that’s not the jealously this time) but whatever floats your boat.

Blogging by Dan