where in the world

I never thought that having the world as your oyster could actually become a bit of a headache. Fox and I have planned to take a short break in April but finding a destination has been surprisingly difficult. We want sun but we don’t want to have to fly half a day to find it; we want a decent hotel but without the crowds; we would quite like a nice white, sandy beach; we don’t want to spend half a year’s salary; we would like to experience a different culture; it would be advantageous to go somewhere with a bit of sightseeing potential. Is this an impossible list? Are we asking too much?
I think I know the root of the problem. You see, Fox made a novice mistake when planning our (somewhat extravagant) honeymoon in the Maldives. You simply can not treat a lady to 5 star luxury, in one of the most serene settings on earth and then expect her to have the same expectations as she did prior to marriage. I used to be okay with the odd night in a hostel. It was never quite my thing but I tolerated it. Now, however, the thought of bedbugs and clogged drains in communal showers makes my stomach churn. It's like biting into a luscious 70 percent cocoa Godiva truffle; Cadbury’s Kitkat quickly loses its appeal.
For Fox, the attraction to ‘roughing it’ lies in the chance of an unexpected adventure but as we browse through pictures of resorts with palatial foyers, jetty’s enticingly lit by night, bubbling jacuzzi’s and poolside restaurants offering succulent tropical fruits, I get the feeling that he too finds it difficult to get excited by the thought of Brodie’s Hostel. Our goal for this year is to see as much of the world as we can within the restrictions of annual leave and limited long weekends. This means that extravagant luxury is simply not sensible and to be honest, I’m sure the novelty would soon wear off.
So, I am now going back to look for a holiday wearing my ‘Kitkat’ goggles in the hope that the world will become accessible once again. Because Godiva is delicious but surely it wouldn’t be quite as tempting if that was all I ate.

wax attack

Any honest woman will tell you that it requires a certain amount of effort to remain suitably maintained and often this entails tolerating some procedure that inflicts a degree of pain. Quite frankly, I have been de-fluffing for so many years that it no longer worries me when I know that a visit to the beautician or an appointment with my epilator is becoming evidently necessary.
Last week, on noticing that my eyebrows were starting to take over my face, I popped in at my regular salon for a bit of the aforementioned ‘maintenance’. Many will know that an eyebrow wax is not complicated and this simple procedure is usually over in approximately ten minutes. On arrival I was assigned to my cubical and met by a different beautician than usual which, at the time, didn’t worry me. It should have.
Half an hour later, after the most meticulous eyebrow pruning session I have ever endured, I was left with the most perfectly shaped, trimmed and plucked brows…and what can only be described as a carpet burn on my right eyelid. This attack on my eye involved medicated/tinted moisturiser, a cotton wool pad and highly sensitive skin. The brutality of the burn only surfaced two days later when I was left with a scab which annoyingly detracted from my newly shaped brows rendering the whole experience totally pointless.
Mom asked if I would sue (she was merely being supportive, not serious) but the beautician had been so lovely that I didn’t even have the heart to return to the salon and claim my money back. These things happen and it’s just part-and-parcel of being female.
While grumbling to Fox that the necessity of female hairlessness has been imposed by society and after such an incident I feel the need to rise up against the norm, he helpfully advised, “No, no, you should definitely listen to society” and then chuckled to himself. Such loyalty. Wait until he next encounters me armed with my epilator in one hand and a wax strip in the other. I suspect ‘society’ and I will be the ones laughing then.

the most comfortable shoes in the world

There has been a lot of talk amongst my peer group, of late, regarding age and (dare I even say) growing old. It seems that late twenties has become the new forties and we’re all desperately trying to stop the clock. Fox remarked, after watching Marley and Me, that if we were to get a dog now, by the time it dies we will likely have hit forty. Emotional tyre screech moment. Talk about an unwelcome reality check.
Considering that I still get ID’d when I try and purchase a bottle of wine from the supermarket, age is not something that I find myself losing sleep over. I do, however, have rare moments where I consider my time and then question whether I’ve done enough to feel like I have used my years to achieve anything of significance. Because this is really what the fear of age boils down to, is it not? I don’t worry about growing old. I worry that I will grow old, look back on my life and wonder if there was more I could have done.

Last week, I was once again hit with the reality of becoming “grown up” when I went shopping. For someone who has affectionately been known as the family shopaholic from the time she knew what money was, I have done very little spending over the last few months. This in itself is noteworthy but it was more my approach to the whole outing that sent shockwaves through my being. For everything I looked at, before buying, I considered whether it was a sensible purchase. Since when do I worry if my purchases are sensible? Hello! As long as a pair of shoes looks good, it doesn’t matter that your feet look nothing short of mangled at the end of the day; it matters that for the time that you could endure the pain, your feet looked hot!
Now this is the real shocker. Rather than walking into Topshop or Aldo and finding myself a pair of fashionista-approved heels, I walked away with two pairs of practical pumps from…Clarks?! I mean, no discredit to Clarks but they are not renowned for offering the most beautiful shoes ever made. As I walked away, Clarks bag hanging subdued at my side, it suddenly dawned on me that I am becoming the level-headed, rational people in my life who, for years, have known that life is hard enough without forcing yourself to walk the journey in shoes that give you blisters. They aren’t called killer heels for nothing.

Now I might be resisting growing up but if these new shoes are anything to go by then it really can’t be all that bad. Because they are the most comfortable shoes I have ever owned.

the worlds most expensive tie backs, chocolate-orange brownies and other joys of domesticity

Oh, how I've missed blogging! The last time I posted anything I had a different name, I still ticked 'single' on all official documentation and my flatmate was female. My, how things have changed.
I'm rather sad that the mayhem of the last 6 months means that an entire chapter of my life has gone un-blogged so to get you up to speed, the following is a brief summary of all that has transpired...

Engaged in Venice. Planned a wedding. Wished that we'd eloped. Family descended. Spent a week tying bows, moving home and hyperventilating from stress. Walked down the aisle to Gustav Holst's, Jupiter. Was worried that people would connect it to the theme song of the Rugby World Cup and throw a ball at me. Had the best day ever. Honeymooned in the Maldives and then in a cottage in the Cotswolds. Bliss. Moved into our new flat. Unpacked boxes and decorated. Flat became a home. Flew to South Africa for a post-wedding catch up. Came back and needed a holiday. Have spent the last four months learning to live with a guy and doing 'wifely' things.

...and that's it in a nutshell really. Of course, it has been an amusing learning curve.

After our trip to South Africa Fox spent a couple of weeks fixing up our little flat so I felt I needed to contribute accordingly. Looking around our home, I decided that what we needed was lime green tie backs, for our lounge curtains, to match our funky green sofa. It turns out that tie backs aren't quite as simple to make as they look. After tracking down buckram(What is this you ask? Exactly!), finding the right green thread to match the fabric, acquiring a roll of graph paper, lining etc etc and finding time to sit down and actually make the things, two months later and with approximately 10 till receipts from various outlets, the tie backs were complete. A more experienced wife would have had the sense to just go out and buy some. I, however, filled with naive domestic enthusiasm, was desperate to use my new sewing machine and show off my flair for needlework. I must say, they are beautiful and for the rest of our lives and in each home, I will make sure that they have pride of place somewhere in our abode. I mean, green is basically neutral, right?

Last weekend, eager to continue my baking streak (oh the delicious creations - and flops - that have come out of our kitchenette of late), I put my hand to making brownies. Following what claimed to be a flop-proof recipe I set about beating, fluffing, mixing and producing the most delectable mixture you have ever seen. As the chocolate flowed like velvet from the bowl to the baking tin I envisioned the masterpiece that was to be. After 30 minutes at 180°c I pulled from the oven a tray of scrumptious, irresistible looking brownies. Much to Fox's delight, he got to do the initial taste test. He 'oo-ed' and 'aah-ed' appropriately and then confirmed that he could definitely taste the hint of orange flavouring. Orange?! But I had made plain chocolate brownies so why on earth could he taste orange? It turns out that I had unintentionally bought orange flavoured chocolate, rather than plain. Fox had noticed but didn't comment as he suspected I had all intentions of making jaffa brownies! Despite this rather 'un-Betty Crocker' like moment, I think I might be onto something. Perhaps I'll try mint or even coffee next time.

So, despite my hair smelling like cookies a lot lately and our washing basket that is akin to Mary Poppins' handbag, this new season is fun and exciting and I look forward to the faux pas' that keep things interesting. Life is good. And living with a guy isn't so bad either.