Wellies

I want these...a lot. I've been looking at wellies on and off for ages - and these seem to fit the bill. Not too wacky, overall a classy colour, but with a bit of personality. Perfect for my future country living....

Gorgeous Scotland

Arran - from the ferry

Above the Saddle

Our stag - we rounded a corner at the top of a mountain and there he was. Awesome.

Looking towards Goatfell

Never let anyone tell you that you have to go abroad for fabulous, dramatic scenery - or a bloody tough hike. Scotland has it all.

Wheel of death

A couple of news stories today have given me pause for thought. 

First off, the announcement that McDonalds and a host of other food chains are going to put calorie counts on all their menus. I've suffered from seriously disordered eating and am only just beating it after a number of years. In all that time, I was obsessed with calories and this measure would have made my life even more painful and difficult. I spent so much time denying myself nice food - I would often find myself in tears in Sainsburys desperately wanting the tasty ready meal or chunky soup but feeling forced to have the bland low fat option because I couldn’t ignore the calorie information - "the wheel of death" as it's known in our house. Going out to a restaurant was the only time I could pick something to eat without stressing about the calories. Of course, I knew that the pizza was more caloriific than the salmon, but that was fine. What I didn’t want to know was the precise value of every single dish. I'd have found it so hard not to always pick the lowest one - or if I'd picked a higher one, I'd have suffered greatly because of it, feeling enormous guilt about my choices. People with eating disorders already find stress in every single food decision so this just seems like another way of making things worse for them. Eating - especially eating out at a restaurant - should be a pleasure. It's a bit of an indulgence and it doesn’t need to be quantified.


However, I accept that as someone with eating issues, I'm in the minority. Another minority is the batch of people who we're told don’t know that a Big Mac has lots of calories in it. I guess there must be some of those people, but I'm not sure whether they should be the driving force for legislation either. One example that's been used to justify the move is the fact that apparently people underestimate the amount of calories in a latte and a muffin by about 300. My response to that is, so what? 300 calories is very little. Obesity is generally not caused by the odd underestimate a couple of times a week - most people who like their latte and muffin don’t care about the calorie count and if they're overweight, that's certainly not the only reason why. Anyone who wants to can find out the calorie count of their muffin by using the good old internet and then make their eating choice accordingly. They don’t need it thrust in their face at the checkout.

On balance then, if you don’t legislate for me, or for the Big Mac denier, what difference will this make to the majority? Probably not much, although I suspect it will take a small amount of the pleasure out of eating out for quite a few people and make no difference to the vast majority of others who order a Big Mac in the full knowledge that it's a little bit bad for them, but what the hell, they want to do it anyway. I think there's a real misunderstanding that people who are fat would be thin if only they had a bit information. We're drowning in information and yet we're getting fatter. 

I guess I don’t really have a definitive answer, maybe it's soemthing I'll come back to, but all I know is this move makes me uneasy and it seems, somehow, pointless. Perhaps it would just be better, if you have to do anything at all, to do what some restaurants do and have a "light choices" or "healthier choices" section so people have the option if they want it.

Secondly, free schools. For anyone reading this outside the UK, these are the brainchild of the coalition government - although they are common elsewhere in the world. They are state-funded but completely independent, set up by parents, charities, private bodies, teachers and so on, and able to operate their own timetables, curricula, etc. I heard a TV news correspondent say in rather judgemental tones that the government was being forced to deny that they wouldn’t just benefit "pushy parents". 

Merits of free schools aside, surely that begs the question, what is wrong with being a pushy parent? We're not talking about the kind of parents who force their children into Hollywood auditions aged five - what the media and the critics mean are basically parents who want the best for their kids and are prepared to move hell and high water to get it. What's wrong with that? Surely that should be the definition of a good parent. Adults do know better than kids - aged 10, I kicked up months of almighty fuss because I didn’t want to go to a good private school. I wanted to go to the crap comprehensive instead (btw I don’t think comprehensives are in any way crap by definition - they're not - but this one was demonstrably rubbish) because my friends were going there. If my parents hadnt been "pushy", I'd have gone to the comp - and I can say for absolute certainty that my life would have panned out very differently. Even if I'd got to where I am now, I wouldn’t have enjoyed the journey as much - and that's just a fact. 

My parents urged me to try every sport going, to pick up an instrument, apply to Cambridge, do all those things - but they also respected my decisions to drop certain things or take choices they didn’t agree with. Pushy is a good thing, pushy shows you care and gives your kids a fighting chance. To use pushy like a swearword just sums up so much of what's wrong with the UK - we seem to love mediocrity, or at the very least, we fear ambition, brilliance and success. In America, striving is a national pasttime - here, it's like train spotting or pornography, something you have to do under the cover of darkness. Hooray for pushy, I say, we wouldn’t be in half the mess we are if there was more of it about.

Sorry that's such a long post, but I felt like there was a lot to say! What do you reckon?



PS: I really am going to post some Scotland pics soon - work has just been very busy!

Blush tones and hushed tones

This picture is actually a couple of weeks old, which I know is probably cheating in blog world, but hey, who's checking. I've worn this fab colour a couple of times since though, so hopefully that helps. Also, in very bad blogger form, I don't even know what the colour is or who makes it because it came free with a magazine and I don't have the bottle with me. All those things aside, isn't it cool? I don't have the world's best nails - or whole hands for that matter - but I love wearing funky colours. I painted this on a three-hour train journey, which is perhaps the only time I'll actually sit still long enough for it to dry properly. From what I see elsewhere - namely Emily at Cupcakes and Cashmere who frankly, I'd trust with my fashion life - muted pastels, blush tones, greys, soft pinks and the like are key this season.

On a completely unrelated note, I just thought this post by Kate at eat the damn cake was so, so spot on that I had to mention it. If you believed the conversations my friends and I have 99% of the time, you'd think we had the most perfect lives imaginable. Of course, we don't. But we just don't talk about the imperfect bits much. I firmly believe there'd be a hell of a lot less mental illness - or at the very least, a lot less stigma around it - if we were all just a bit more open about our problems. But no-one wants to be the one who's struggling, the one who's husband/job/ovaries/parents are annoying/boring/dysfunctional/sick. That can't be right - surely problems are secrets pathologised. The phrases "I just want to be alone" and "I don't want to talk about it" should be banned.

Back to school

Emma Bridgewater - the connoisseur's stationery choice

It's that time of year - time for a new pencil case. The summer holidays are over and term is starting... or it least it would be if I wasn't staring my third decade in the face, rather than my second. Nevertheless, it doesn't matter how long it is since school days, I can't help viewing my year on those terms - literally.
I love autumn anyway, but that feeling of a fresh start you get at this time always gives me a real boost.
The other thing it does is make me want to book a ski holiday. Staring ahead at an indefinite period without any trips or fun planned will do that to a girl. So I'm on the case (non-pencil variety) as we speak.

On other matters, we had an amazing time in Scotland this past weekend. I'm definitely going to get round to posting some pics from there shortly.

Mini-break

Just a quickie today. I'm running the show on my own at work and heading off to Scotland tonight with friends so not much time to write. There's no profound reason for this pic except that I loved the colours so much - so took a second to snap it. The weather was appalling here this morning, but I'm hoping the emergence of the sun is a good omen for the next few days. I mean, it never rains in western Scotland right?

We're planning to do lots of walking, a bit of kayaking and sailing, and plenty of drinking. I know it should be whiskey, given where we're going, but I hate the stuff, so mine'll be a red wine.

Gym bunny

My go-to top for a beasting!

One of the things I'm going to end up posting about a lot is fitness. Exercise is a passion of mine, I love it, it keeps me sane and lets me eat cake. I was a hugely active teenager, doing every sport going. At university, I did less but still some, although not enough to combat the Freshman 15 - the library I worked in during my first year actually had a cake shop inside it... After uni though, my physical activity ground to a halt. I had to give every ounce of time and energy to my job, plus I moved from office to office every few months so could never take out a gym membership. Also, as someone who'd only ever done team sports and dancing, I actually thought I wouldn't like the gym. But, eventually, when my life was a bit more settled and the thought of being totally unfit forever more got too much too bear, I signed up for a gym. It was frighteningly expensive - I earned so little at the time - but it was worth every penny 50 times over. It's no underestimate to say it transformed my life. It cheers me up when I'm down, keeps me sane when I feel I'm going mad, and gives me a purpose on aimless days.

For five years now I've been going three or four times a week, sometimes to classes, sometimes just me, the weights and the machines - I absolutely love a good beasting, the harder the better! I was prompted to write about it today - although I'm sure it wouldn't have been long otherwise - by this great post from Sally at Already Pretty. It's already one of my favourite blogs but she's so spot on. I agree totally about never feeling body conscious at the gym, strange as that might seem - in fact, I never feel better about my body than when I've got a good sweat on! And describing it as feeling badass is exactly right - it reminds me why I wouldn't want to be a skinny waif. And the more things in life that can remind women of that the better. Strength and power are not words often used in a positive way about us, but gosh, they should be.

Blonde?

Yesterday afternoon I interviewed a very inspiring young woman, a barrister, who spent a year in Afghanistan working on building up the capacity of the justice system. Today I've been listening back to the recording of the interview to transcribe it and, to put it mildly, it's cringeworthy. Not because of the usual, "Oh God I hate my voice" thing - although there certainly was a bit of that. But because I sound like such an airhead - or rather, I'm making myself sound like an airhead. I'm being ditzy. I'm dumbing down.
Now, I'm certainly daft at times and this woman is on paper much smarter than me, but I'm not thick and there's no reason not to feel like her equal. But I hear myself saying, "Sorry, I'm a bit ignorant..." at the start of a question about the functioning of the Afghan legal system! That's not ignorance, there's no reason why I should know anything about the Afghan legal sysatem - who does?! But I still feel the need to have a go at myself for it. I hear myself mumbling, failing to talk in proper sentences, and taking the mickey out of myself, my profession and my experience.
I reckon like there's a real lesson to be learned from this. I'm proud of my job, my education, my brain (!), but I really don’t sound like it on this tape. This needs fixing...

Weekend in pictures

Ever struggled to pick which beer you fancy? Well, check out this solution to that dilemma. Instead of a pint or a half, you can have thirds - of three different brews. It comes with its own handy carrying device - but attempts to pick the whole thing up and drink them one by one resulted in spillage.

Mmm cakes... These are in Patisserie Valerie in Spitalfields. I actually managed to go to a patisserie for lunch with friends and only eat savoury food, but nevertheless, a girl can still drool.

The roof at Liverpool Street Station - for no other reason than that I liked it.

Sunset over west London - gorgeous. The whole "red sky at night, sailors' delight" thing didn't really work though - it's absolutely filthy today.

Moneypenny

Blouses are my latest fashion obsession. I have to confess to buying all three of the ones above (so naughty!) recently - the latter two (Oasis and Marks & Spencer) are already staples, the first one (TopShop) is yet to be debuted. I've been trying them with cropped trousers and long skirts. Looking forward to wearing them in the winter with shorter skirts and black tights too. It's funny - until recently, the word "blouse" would have had such middle-aged connotations in my mind - now I love them and it's amazing how edgy they can look.

This one below is my next realistic target....Topshop, 36 quid, do-able...

 

This is my I-wish-but-it's-just-too-expensive target - Reiss, 95 quid, eek! So if anyone knows me - and loves me enough... Size 10 please.

Catching up

Yesterday I met up with a long lost friend - a girl I haven't seen for 10 years. I was pretty nervous about it, I must admit, but it was so, so worth it. We were so close in sixth form and got each other through some tough times. I don’t really remember why we stopped speaking. I've got a feeling there was some minor slight - or perceived slight - on one side or the other, and when you combine that with time, distance and totally different lives, we just drifted apart. Actually, it's not fair to say we drifted, there wasn’t a period of decline. We just stopped speaking.
That all seems so silly now. One of the things about getting older is that everything that seemed such a massive deal in the past is now completely trivial. We got on like a house on fire, talked non-stop for hours, swapping stories about our lives and those of the people we used to share a school uniform with. I believe that saying, "You can't go home again", but that's not what catching up with old friends feels like to me. You're not trying to recreate, just rejuvenate. Beginning again on old foundations.

I'm planning to post a bit more about my weekend, including a pic or two. But for now, suffice to say my blast from the past was a very welcome one.

No cynicism allowed

It's A-level results day - cue flashbacks for everyone over 18. We all remember when it was us enduring that heart-stopping envelope moment. It never ceases to amaze me that people are prepared to open said envelope live on the television. 

As "a grown-up", it's easy to be cynical. Never mind the annually rehearsed "have exams got easier" debate, as a journalist there are other reasons to complain from a professional point of view. It feels like bad practice to write the same thing, use the same pictures, shoot the same footage every single year - there must be innovative ways we could cover this story, breathe new life into the format. Also, judging by the media coverage you'd imagine that only gorgeous blonde girls do well in their A-levels - and that twins and triplets are far more common than birth statistics would suggest. I vividly remember being in the newsroom of my old paper on A-level results day and hearing the picture editor - male of course - shout out very loudly: "Oh yes, we've got triplets and they're fit!"

But all of this griping aside, I'm totally, definitely, 100% in agreement with this article by Fleet Street Fox - an anonymous and very funny London reporter. She writes about how tough it is for girls and women all over the world - and in the UK for that matter - and therefore, why we should suspend our cyncism on today of all days. She says: "Don't get het up about pictures of young girls who are happy, who by and large and with a following wind will be able to have long and fulfilled lives in which they can do (almost) whatever they want. Just be angry there aren't more of them."

Mug shot

How pretty are these! I've bought them from Oliver Bonas (a shop I love) for one of my best friend's birthdays but I'm sorely tempted to get some for myself. The friend in question is tricky to buy for - not least because I love her dearly and want to get something special, but also, the girl's got expensive taste, disposal income and an even bigger shopping habit than mine. Anything she wants she buys herself, so finding something I can get is a challenge to say the least!

We don't have any glamorous mugs or cups - instead we've built up an ad hoc collection which score well in terms of sentimental value and/or cheesy puns, but aren't going to win us any style awards. My husband's favourite is the Spitfire one I bought him - he wishes he'd been born at the right time to be a flying ace. Mine is my Christmas mug - I'm a Christmas obsessive, and wish I'd been born in Lapland.

The last (cheese) straw?

I recently had a revelation over some cheese straws - unlikely I know, but bear with me. I was getting together with girlfriends for a celebratory lunch and everyone had agreed to bring something. No-one had said it out loud, but the unspoken rule also appeared to be that we were to make these things from scratch. On the day, I really couldn’t be bothered, but felt obligated, and normally I would have just done it anyway, feeling a bit grumpy and put upon throughout. However, that day I just decided not to - pure and simple. I brought cheese straws from Sainsburys and I didn’t apologise for the fact I hadn't made them muself. After all, we were there for each other first and foremost - not the food.

It probably sounds tragic but it really was a revelation - instead of baking unwillingly, I used the time to do stuff I actually wanted to do - go the gym and read in the garden. And no-one suffered as a result. They all ate my Sainsburys baked goods, just as they ate all the lovingly crafted homemade stuff. Don't get wrong I really like baking and if I'd been in the mood to do it I would have done it, but I wasn’t so I didn’t. This decision was so un-me, it actually felt transformatory - to decide to just say no, Zammo-style... well, it was a little bit amazing!

I hope that doesn’t sound like I was really rude, but even it does, I just increasingly feel there isn't time to waste doing pointless things. If you substitute "time" in that sentence for "life" - because really that's what time is - then it makes the point even more strongly. There just isn't enough life to waste on unnecessary obligations.

Decor drooling

As it says in my little profile, we currently live in London but have our eyes on a move to somewhere a bit greener in the not too distant future. It's got to the point where we really need a one-in one-out policy for our flat because space is so tight - except that would stop me shopping so perhaps it's just something BM (as the hubbie shall henceforth be known) should do…
Anyway, while we wait to be able to move I'm having to make do with drooling over decorating porn - these being prime examples. The sofa is from made.com and the bench from Heals - the Guardian included them both out in a great gallery.
I absolutely love mid-century-style furniture and BM and I want to have at least one Mad Men/The Hour-style room in the future house - with a bit of Kenneth Branagh's living room in Wallander thrown in for good measure. The crime-fighting Swede might be perpetually miserable but I definitely wouldn’t be with furniture like that. Come to think of it, perhaps it’s all the murder - rather than the interior décor - that's getting him down…but anyway.
Oh and we REALLY want an Eames chair - or more accurately an Eames-style chair, seeing as the real deal costs a fortune.
Anyone else spot anything that might go in my future pad? Have any of you got a similar theme in your's? Or know where there might be an Eames chair going for a song? That last one might be a bit optimistic...!

Here goes....

So...a blog. I know I'm a late arrival at this particular party, but I've been loitering around on the edges, nursing my drink and nosying into other people's conversations for ages - so to speak - and I think it's time to take the plunge. They say getting things off your chest is a good thing - I wholeheartedly agree. I'm sure my husband does too although he'll no doubt be relieved that I'll have this as an outlet - especially when it's my new enthusiasm for maxi skirts or nude nail varnish that I'm desperate to share...!
So...a blog. I'm a journalist by day (and night...ah shifts!) so I'm expecting to share/rant about news, current affairs, that sort of thing. But I'm also a fan of clothes, handbags, food, tea, books, American TV series, squirrels, Christmas, Nigella and frankly, a lot of other silly, embarassing things (yes, more embarassing than squirrels...) so there'll be plenty of that sort of stuff too.
So...a blog. Here goes...!