cute or kitsch?

A young vicar at church explained that having Cliff Richard on his IPod wasn’t necessarily cool but ironic. I’m going to pirate that statement in order to justify the fact that I’m wearing leg-warmers today. If my mother could see me now. No Ma, I can’t wear them two days in a row so that you can see them tomorrow. Once is only just avoiding a major fashion faux pax; twice and it’s trend suicide.
I can’t really decide if I’m that into them or not. Despite the fact that I look as if I was plucked straight from a performance of “Fame” and dropped at my desk, I still think it’s kitsch 80’s gone right. I mean, my legs really are very warm and the fact that they match my jumper is pleasing enough to the eye.
My only concern is that no one has commented. This may seem self involved but, if you knew my office, someone always comments. It’s a given. So, if no one has acknowledged the leg-warmers it can only mean one of two things:
a) I look like a freak and the general consensus is “What on earth was she thinking when she got dressed this morning?”
OR
b) The trend is so much my style that I don’t stand out like a sore thumb at all and no one has even noticed.
Either way, I’m comfy and for once my hair actually looks like I intended for it to be big rather than just the result of a war between myself and my locks first thing in the morning. I’m really a child of the 80’s at heart.

totally wicked performance

I'm too excitable to write any crit that would do tonight's theatre experience any justice. Some may call "Wicked" a musical but I will call it a "magical". Dazzling lights, a score to match, costumes that fill each inch of the stage with colour and Adam Garcia in tights...what more do you want in a 2.5hr performance? Question is, how much can a theatre loving, actor wannabe, girl handle before she quits her job and pursues the carreer of her dreams. Okay, I know I'm getting a bit ahead of myself here, but sitting still in my seat tonight was torturous. Had I known the words to the songs I would have sung along (Julie and Gisela are surely grateful that I didn't).
Most shows make me want to get back onto the stage where I spent many years believing that I would make a career out of my passion. But as reality of adult life and my aversion to compromise my morals outweighed my motivation to pursue my dream I opted out of the arts and into a 9-5 routine. Tonight, I want to kick myself for not just getting on with it and finding a way to make a living out of, lets face it, being a bit of a drama queen.
Basically I loved, loved, LOVED it. I want to sing and dance and act and be up on that stage. Elphaba, the "Wicked Witch of the West", wasn't the only one who was green tonight. There was someone a little green in the audience too.

jail-like office hours

I feel like a prisoner in my own workplace - shut off from the rest of the world. As my friends post friendly 'hellos' to each other on Facebook or the really cool one's update their MySpace pages, I'm left to stare at Outlook. It is now my only means of communication with the outside world during the work day.
Someone is watching. Someone has been tracking my every webpage view and ensuring that every site I frequent is blocked by the following week. Dorks! Have they nothing better to do with their time? Here's one - maybe someone could fix my PC that blew last week and has left me as office nomad.
It's bad enough to be at a desk for 7 hrs a day doing something that, at times, can cause me to actually lose braincells - so unused is my intellect that, come 5pm, I have forgotten how to string a sentence together thanks to a sever lack of brain activity.
I'd better get some sleep or my already bad work attitude may be significanlty worse when I have to walk into the office that makes me want to do one of those outrageous activities mentioned on an 'I dare you' email. I fear they have now run out of websites to block anyway, so things can only look up, right? This way, maybe I'll spend an entire day doing actual work. Huh, novel idea that...

unscrabbled

After a lazy morning of breakfast along the Thames and a skim of the weekend papers, Fox and I headed to the old faithful, Jolly Gardener, to continue our battle for ultimate Scrabble victory. Our attempts to outwit each other only exaggerates our individual competitive streaks. By the fifth word in, it was clear that I was left in the dust of Fox's tracks, well on my way to Sunday afternoon word-game defeat - a harsh blow to my journalistic ambitions.

However, an afternoon in the pub, playing boardgames with your own special person, watching the rain fall outside, is so stereotypically London...and so great. I opted out of Strawberry beer, deciding that alcohol is my foe at the best of times, nevermind at midday. The atmosphere and the smell of roast were rather comforting and as I experience at the oddest times, I was overcome by that content, "I'm home" feeling. Today it didn't matter if I won or lost but just wait until next time Mr Fox. WA-HA-ha...

london to bangkok

The parting of friends continues and thus far we’ve bid farewell to two in a week; we just need someone to leave tomorrow and we’ll have ourselves a departure hat-trick.
As six of us sat, cozily, in Christina’s bedroom last night, while she distributed her excess belongings among us, my heart felt sore. Not only has she been a wonderful friend, a ray of sunshine in our group and a joy to be around, but she has had a significant presence in my life over the last 18 months.
Tears began to stream down my face as she summed this city up to perfection, saying, “Soon it will be as if I was never here. It won’t be long until another friend will come into your life to take my space. Tomorrow, someone moves into my bedroom. London is the city that heals itself quickly.”
Her words were like a piercing dagger of reality. London - the transient city that stops to lament no one. It is only the people whom you impact that will treasure your former presence here.
We prayed and us girls wept. Only Fox managed to hold it together – our pillar of strength.
Today I’m sitting at my desk in London, in my beautiful, newly acquired Thai skirt. Today Christina flies back home, to Bangkok, dressed in her London high St fashions. And I’m left contemplating how, when all is said and done, it’s not just our clothes that are the evidence of our cultural differences, but the distance that our friendship must now endure. London may heal quickly but, as I gaze down at Christina’s lovely skirt, I imagine it will take a bit longer for my heart to do the same.

many good things

Today’s post is a little more spiritual than usual. I’m not excusing it, quite the opposite actually. It’s an appreciation of where my strength lies.
I read about blessings this morning and how important it is to give praise for them rather than focus on the things that aren’t quite in place. I must admit that, most of the time, although I’m grateful for all that my life is, I tend to find things to grumble about; worry about; cry about. When it comes to acknowledging the good, I tend to overlook them. I really need to work on that.
This life I have is a good thing. I’m writing it down so that I really get it into my spirit.
I want to be like the one healed leper out of the ten, who came back to Jesus to give praise for his healing. I want to be part of a crowd like the one that celebrated when the blind man’s sight was restored.
I believe that there is great growth, on every level, in accepting the good for our lives.
Today I’m grateful for the hand of God over my life. How he guides my path, wipes my tears and confirms my value in Him. It is true – his faithful love endures forever. Psalm 136

friday to monday in a flash

Now that I’ve offloaded the weight of today’s London attitude I feel unburdened enough to report on my weekend. Friday night was spent, largely, on my couch where Fox and I enjoyed some dinner (thank you Marks and Sparks), a DVD and Scrabble. Yay! to reclaiming my dignity and squaring the on-going Scrabble score at 1-1.
Saturday morning we invaded Carluccios, Putney Wharf, where I was totally blessed by friends who graced me with their presence at a birthday brunch (I realise it was almost a week late but I’ll refrain from griping about my self-inflicted schedule any further). I had a rare warm-and-fuzzy moment as I looked around at my various friends, chatting amongst themselves and pondered how each of them brings so much to my life; some who I’ve known for 18 years and others who have only been in my world for a few months. They’re all equally fantastic.
I won’t divulge much from my afternoon shopping trip with Fox. We’ve agreed to disagree about the enjoyment level of shopping. I love it. Enough said.
Saturday night was intended to consist of a chick-flick and an early night but, instead, we found ourselves down at the Jolly Gardener enjoying good company. I caught myself smacking my lips after each sip of scrumptious strawberry beer and after a pint I realised why the gardener was found to be jolly.
Sunday was a lazy day, contemplating the need for time-out. Church was great and eventually they had to kick us out where we meandered over to the café to serve smoothies and cakes. On reflection it really does seem like a balanced weekend so, why does Monday still come around too quickly? Hopefully Friday will too.

my loving and loathing of london

I love London. It’s a bitter sweet love that has me swaying from one extremity of myself to the next. The things I truly love often become the same things that I loathe and as a result I hang, temperamentally, in a place that has me wondering how many year of London life I have left in me. How long can I accept a life sans equilibrium?
I love that there is always something to do here – the fact that you never have an excuse to be bored – but I hate that I constantly feel pressure to partake in everything. It’s this voice inside that tells me that I am going to be letting someone down if I don’t engage in every social event for which an invite comes my way. But I’m so tired!
teeter, teeter, teeter…
I love that we enjoy the worlds ‘best’ public transport system; I hate that it eats into approximately 2 hours of your average Londoner’s day. I can’t really gripe about this as I am of a rare breed that is able to walk to work but, at times, when I do have to go somewhere, I have to accommodate half the evening just to travel. Considering I can’t drive I am most grateful to the District Line but, had there been no TfL to speak of, I may have been forced to learn to drive. Now I’m 24 with an expired learner’s.
sway, sway, sway…
I love that you meet so many truly wonderful people here – most that you would never otherwise have met– but I hate that, so often, these friends are in your life for what seems a fleeting moment and then these life-changing people are gone and there is a momentary gap that they used to fill. But as harsh as it sounds, someone else comes along and soon everything feels okay again but you start to question if this apparent nonchalance makes you fickle, even heartless.
wobble, wobble, wobble…
I love that I live in the centre of the world - travelling to the furthest corners of the Earth suddenly becomes a reality – but I hate that once I’ve paid London prices for everything, cleared bills, fed myself and gone out a few times, I’m left with enough to see a handful of places and simply dream that one day I’ll be in a position where I can just pack my bags and see the world. How is it that adult life ensnares you like a well hidden jungle trap and before you realise you’re stuck right in the middle of it?
totter, totter, totter...
Don’t mind me. Sometimes I just love to hate this place.

it’s getting hot in here

I tend to steer clear of topics about which I know little, in order to appear learned and hide the truth about how little I actually know about the world. All this talk of global warming, however, has pushed me to consider if I can afford to remain ignorant towards rising concern over this phenomenon. After reading this article this morning, I was shocked into realizing that, no matter what we do now, a polar cap meltdown is almost inevitable.
What have we done to the Earth?
It’s too late even to take precautions because we should have been doing that a long time ago.
I think that most of us are born with an in-built misconception that our individual lives have little global impact. Now we see that our ‘live in the now’ mindset may be the cause of large-sale destruction. Anyway, I don’t have too much to say on the matter. Only, if we manage to bypass the consequences, what sort of a world are we leaving to our children?
However, despite this seemingly hopeless state of affairs, do keep recycling so that Marks and Spencer can make you a nice jumper out of your plastic bottles.

day of luuurve

At the risk of losing some readers (and friends) I won’t mention the V-day word, I’ll simply imply it. Still feeling a bit under the weather, post-Starbucks with Fox, I dragged myself to work - not through strength but, rather, stress. By 3pm I could no longer focus on anything for longer than 4 seconds and I was starting to feel drowsy. So, I stumbled over to Fox’s where I fell asleep on his bed while he worked, conscientiously, at his PC. Determined, once again, not to cancel plans, I insisted that he carry-out his surprise, which had already been postponed once. My perceptive boyfriend treated me to coffee and cake at Brompton Quarter Café which I have been eyeing for months. Their delectable cakes sit, enticingly, in the front window and every time I walk past I resolve to try them one day. It was a perfect treat and so as not to cause further decline to my health, we trudged back to my flat where we enjoyed ‘stir-fry a la Fox’ and Hoodwinked (that yodeling goat totally cracks me up). In my window sits a single red rose as a reminder that love deserves far more celebration than one day a year.

it’s my birthday but you can call me barry

I woke up on the morning of the 12th Feb with no voice to speak of…or with. Straining through early morning calls from well-wishers I sounded, worryingly, like Barry White and most were cut short with an “I’ll call you back when you have a voice”. A quick call to work and the day was mine to laze about the house. My devoted Fox arrived at my front door with a pot plant, Scrabble (yes!) and his laptop, to keep me company. I probably got off the couch about 3 times the whole day – just how a birthday should be. Determined not to cancel my pre-planned birthday dinner, I wrapped up tight and braved the cold London air (and rain – darn this city!) long enough to zip down to Manee Thai, my favourite little cheapie-cheapo spot in Putney. The interior really isn’t anything to write home about but the staff are always so friendly and the food is delightfully scrumptious. Good food, good friends (thanks goes out to Rory for extending his stay in London and joining in the celebrations) and a feisty little chili that I will never forget. Eish, talk about dynamite disguising itself! Flip, I actually thought my head was going to explode from the fire that was killing the inside of my mouth, one taste bud at a time. On recommendation by my flat-mate, I ordered the bean-vermicelli only to discover that the tiny green balls adorning my plate were, in fact, the nastiest chilies I had ever encountered. That aside, my night was wonderful and from a birthday that approached with low expectation on my part, I felt truly blessed. Despite Fox beating me at the Scrabble that he bought for me (surely that’s bad etiquette), the day ended on a good note and I went to bed, not feeling a year older, but a year happier.

a wedding in reading

I’m such a typical girl that even I cringe, on the odd occasion, at my stereotypical habits. Yes, I cry at weddings. I can’t help myself. There’s something so beautiful about two people willing to stand up in front of a crowd of people and declare how much they care about each other; even more tear-jerking when the groom cries more than the bride. Kurt and Vicci’s wedding ceremony was held in a country church, heated only by bar heaters hung from the ceiling. It was so cold that you could see the couple’s breathe as they made their vows. My major regret was having chosen to wear my shoes with a hole in the sole (rhyming unavoidable). Wet stockings and freezing temperatures are perfect conditions for lurking diseases (hence this week’s throat infection). But despite the cold, there was enough warmth coming from the altar to forget your surroundings long enough to appreciate all that was taking place (girly cliché – gross!).
The reception was held at Manor House hotel, steeped in Victorian décor and a grand spread to suit. Later in the evening, after all had danced the night away, Tim ‘The Music Man’ (no relation to Pedro and), poached from Zulus, serenaded the glowing couple to their room with Highway to Hell (inappropriate maybe, but I suspect it was his way of saying “bite me” to the request from the best man to “keep it clean”). The South African posse stayed up until the early hours, eating sandwiches and drinking tea and making the most of the hospitality of hotel staff and each others company, of course. There’s something uniquely uplifting about the companionship of genuinely great people. I think the memory of that night will forever ring a bell for us (I don’t usually favour inside jokes but I couldn’t let that one pass). Good times peeps, good times…
Kurt and Vix, thanks for getting married and a big congrats!

i’m yours

I’m feeling a bit guilty for partaking in so many exciting activities of late and having failed to provide sufficient report backs on any of them. So, considering it’s a chilled Friday here in the office and I spent the last 2 days madly catching up on all that I missed while I was off sick, I am now left with nothing on my desk that needs my undivided attention. So, dear blogee, for however long it takes me to post these entries, my attention is yours…

too much detail?

I know I haven’t written in a while and apologies to those of you who log on daily to get your roxblurb fix (no hate mail please). Things are hectic at the moment - so much going on and too little time to fit it all in.
This past Friday saw me ‘hitting the town’ for the first time in ages. Needless to say, it took a significant part of Saturday morning to feel ready to face the rest of the weekend. Saturday afternoon gave opportunity for a ‘girly’ catch-up with Jo and Bron and the evening was set aside as a date-night with Fox. We ended up at some dodgy curry house in central London after a drawn-out search for a place to dine but, décor aside, the food wasn’t half bad. A discarded mint wrapper in my bag tells me it was called Raj Tandoori Restaurant. Well there you go. Determined not to subject myself to another heart-wrenching film, I dragged Fox to see Dreamgirls. Despite his typical male anti-musical retorts of “Do they have to sing everything?” I found it to be an enjoyable, sing-along watch. A customary end-of-the-evening shake at Ed’s and our night out in London town was complete.
Sunday, I decided it was time to pay a visit to Hillsong after moving across to HTB 6 months ago. It was nice to walk in and still recognize faces. From there to HTB where we did a stint in the café and that was the weekend.
Tuesday night, a bunch of us stood in the freezing cold outside Shepherds Bush Empire waiting to enjoy the Switchfoot concert. Those guys are, in my mind, the perfect band - clean, punk-rock with a message. Being two-brick-and-a-ticky-high, I missed most of the show until Fox hoisted me into a piggy-back and there it was: a stage full of spunky rockers that I had missed for majority of the show. Having a 6ft4 boyfriend has its advantages (many more than just that though, Fox!).
Yesterday was Fox’s birthday and a big group of us dined at one of our fave little Thai spots, Sugar Hut. As usual, we succeeded in disturbing the peace of a, normally, chilled-out restaurant. It’s comforting to know that, as a group, we’re consistent.
That’s a (not so brief) summary of my shenanigans over the last week. Chances are that you weren’t too interested in a detailed itinerary of my activities and that a simple ‘hello’ would have done (thumbs-up for detail, hey Julz?!) but my blog wasn’t titled, as is, unconsciously.