18 Doughty Street

Am sat here watching 18 Doughty Street TV and reflecting how interesting it is finally seeing someone 'in the flesh' when you feel rather as if you already know them. I am of course refering to Rachel North, a blogger who I frequently refer and link to in my own blog. Her blog was one of the first that I read and which I have followed (to the extent that I wonder if she is ok of she doesn't post something new after a few days) and which inspired me to set up my own blog. But I have said this already, elsewhere, in other posts, and do not need to gush again here.

I read and tried not to cry when I read of Rachel's experiences, of being attacked, beaten, raped and left for dead. Of 'recovering', facing her attacker in court and providing evidence to see him jailed, to find love and happiness, only to be blown up by the thoughtless and cruel selfishness of another teenager leading an empty and unfulfilled life last July. I have also read of her holidays, her home, her dancing and, on occasion, what she eats. I also know her political opinion on a number of issues; in short, I feel I 'know' her. But I don't. Not really. And although I'd seen her profile picture, until this evening I didn't even know what she looked like. She looks slightly older and fuller than I expected (although they do say that the camera adds pounds), less clothes conscious (although I shouldn't be surprised given this post) but infinitely more human than ever before. And that's really saying something, given how the level of human detail that seeps out of blogs.

But what really got me thinking was this: I feel that I 'know' Rachel better because I know what she looks (and sounds) like, rather than simply what she thinks about things. It is as if my mental picture of her is complete. So, if I couldn't see (or hear) someone, would I really 'know' them? Or is it because I, also Rachel, realise the concept of 'knowing' people through a combination of visual, audio and intellectual stimulation? So does this mean that blind and deaf people relate to people in other ways - perhaps smell and touch are much more important - or do they simply not 'know' people in the same way that a person with all senses. Or, is it personal to me that I need to know what someone looks and sounds like before I feel I 'know' them... I rather think not - it is much easier to create an illusion if something is kept back. Take Kate Moss for example. We all know what she looks like; a very few people know what she sounds like (although the Virgin and Agent Provocateur adverts have dispelled this somewhat) and even fewer people know what she actually thinks about (most) things. And, I would imagine, therefore, very few people would claim to 'know' her. Do we need to experience ‘everything’ before we can ‘know’?

Vinoteca

Spent last night at Vinoteca drinking wine and sampling their bar food. The wine was lovely and, so I am led to believe, well priced. I was also pleasantly surprised at how nice the food was. I had read some pretty shocking reviews earlier in the day, so ordered a cheese souffle with some trepidation. And it was actually very nice.

This evening went to the pub at the end of our road with C to have a couple of drinks after work. Managed to time my arrival home nicely - just as I walked through the door, M took a beautiful joint of roast beef from the oven. It was excellent and I look forward to eating the leftovers for lunch tomorrow.

Have spent rather too much time this week on a website called Facebook. It is fascinating looking up old friends and boyfriends and seeing what everyone is up to. This months Vogue, however, exclaims that if I am a social butterfly who still uses Facebook to communicate, I am not only last season but also very american. Well, it may be last season and american, but where else can you join a group where everyone in that group has the same surname as you do, American and English people and you can debate the origins of your family. Which is apparently related to pirates...

Fireworks

The theme of the weekend has been fireworks. Metaphorical ones between two friends on Friday evening and actual ones both Saturday and Sunday. Battersea Park's organised display was spectacular; set to music and well executed, it was exciting and beautiful to watch. We took a thermos of mulled wine, a hip flask of whisky and a packet of sparklers - all the ingredients for a perfect bonfire night. We then headed to the Kings Road for a few drinks before returning to Camden and Marathon bar for beer, chips and a spot of late night jazz. It's what living in London is about.

Sunday and after a lie in we headed to Hampstead Heath for a walk. Watched the sun set from Parliament Hill before wandering back to the Well House for a cup of tea. As we walked back along Well Walk we managed to pass a garden just as some fireworks exploded over the top of the wall into the road. I thought I was going to have a heart attack... We decided to walk back to Primrose Hill - it was a beautiful walk on a wonderfully crisp and clear evening. Fireworks were going off around us all the way back to the house (it sounded rather like a warzone, although rather prettier). M cooked a wonderful supper and I made cornflake cakes whilst we watched Planet Earth (and I cried over the dying polar bear) before I chatted to my sister on-line. Oh the beauty of technology! And now, tea and to bed. Work and WI await.

Bonfire Night

It's been such a busy week. I realised this morning that I had not posted anything for most of the week. I also realised when Vogue arrived this morning that I had not bought any other magazines since the last issue of Vogue was delivered. This is perhaps the first month since I started purchasing magazines that I did not buy one. And the weirdest thing? I haven't really missed them. I can get celebrity gossip and fashion (free) from the internet and I am so much better informed. Where I would once have read InStyle in my lunch break, I am now reading political blogs, newspaper websites (both UK and US) as well as other publications.

Spent Thursday night rehearsing Beethoven's 9th Symphony for performance on 2 Dec. I then rushed to a cafe in Camden called the Green Note to watch a friend play an acoustic set. I was really pleased that we managed to get there in time. The last time I had seen Tim play was at the Purple Turtle in Camden, which was a bigger but grottier venue. Somehow he seemed more suited to an intimate acoustic setting. Check out his website here or his myspace page.

Friday night and B & C came over for supper. M had brought home some wine samples which we proceeded to taste. He also cooked a beautiful supper based on a Heston Blumenthal recipe, which was delicious, followed by apple crumble which I made from a combination of Berkshire and Shropshire apples, grown in our respective parents' gardens.

And now I am waiting for M to get out of the bath so I can have one myself before we head out for a spot of shopping on the Kings Road, followed by a drink and then Battersea Park Fireworks with L & B. Must go now as M has emerged from the bathroom, branding me a "lazy monkey" as I am still in bed at 3 in the afternoon...

The History Boys

Set in a Grammar School in Sheffield in the early 1980’s, The History Boys follows a group of boys preparing for their Oxbridge entrance examinations. The film, adapted by Alan Bennett from his own play for the National Theatre, directed by the National Theatre's director, Nicholas Hynter, and featuring the original cast of actors, begins with A level results and ends with the outcome of the admissions exams, the action centred in the school during the admissions term.

The boys are taught by their History tutor, Mrs Lintott (Frances de la Tour), their English tutor Hector (Richard Griffiths) and Irwin (Stephen Campbell Moore), the new inspiration which the headmaster (Clive Merrison) has employed to achieve results. Despite none of the staff having attended Oxbridge (Durham, Sheffield, Bristol and Hull respectively) each member of the staff provides education and inspiration to the boys in equal parts. The action centres mainly in and around the school grounds; the narrative is intelligent, witty and amusing but with an edge of realism. “The journey of the History Boys becomes as much about how education works as it is about where education leads”.

Bennett emphasises the different teaching styles of Hector and Irwin, something that does not go unnoticed by the boys – “we don't know who we are, sir. Yours or Mr Irwin's”; Hector, allocated the task of teaching the boys ‘general studies’ although he says that “nothing about education is general” and “If heaven forefend, I was ever entrusted with the timetable, I would call these lessons A Waste of Time” teaches “sheer calculated silliness” - quotations, music, language and encourages the re-enactments of various old films – the ‘gobbets’ which will eventually make their essays stand out from the accurate but dull fact stating.

Irwin, a fan of facts but also the unexpected,”whose deconstructive approach to knowledge suggests a scholarly version of political spin”, teaches the boys to look at issues from the alternative angle. And then there is Mrs Lintott, the fan of facts, which must not just be learnt, but learnt inside out, who asks, “Can you, for a moment, imagine how dispiriting it is to teach five centuries of masculine ineptitude? History is a commentary on the various and continuing incapabilities of men. What is history? History is women following behind with the bucket.”

And so, as the film progresses through the term, the boys realize that they are learning more than they will need for the examinations. They are learning about life; how to present things as something that they are not, how to love and how that there may be occasions when actions, although unwarranted, are harmless. The acting is excellent, the narrative beautifully constructed. Some of the lines made me roar with laughter, others were almost moving. I have not had the opportunity to watch the stage version; I am led to believe that having watched this, I need not. One reviewer wrote “Admittedly, it's a rare pleasure to see any film where intelligence matters, let alone one that's actually an extended advert for the pleasures of thinking. Still, this isn't a film, but at best, a superior example of set-text cinema.” But I would have to disagree; The History Boys is not just ‘set-text cinema’; it is intelligent, funny and a pleasure to watch.

The History Boys (15) - On general release

It's the weekend

It's been a long week. Was very pleased to have a lie-in this morning. Went out with work colleagues last night for L's leaving do. He started at the same time that I did, so it will be strange not to see him in the office on Monday. No doubt he will be having much more fun though - he is a musician and is leaving to concentrate on his band. He and another colleague of mine are collaborating and have their first gig next Thursday in Camden. Anyway, we went to a pub near our work and it was a real old re-union of staff past and present. You know you must have been popular when the managers attend the leaving party! M managed to join us after he finished work and we left when the pub closed. Texted Alexandra to see if her essay deadline had arrived without trauma. She reponded in the affirmative, adding that she was just about to go out for the evening. As M and I were heading home for bed, it once again made me feel old...

M had to work this weekend, so I got up at 8.30am to run him a bath and make him some coffee. Headed back to bed as soon as he left and slept for a few more hours. Ate lunch whilst reading some more of Debrett's Guide to Etiquette and Modern Manners (much to M's amusement - "Rachel, are you reading that like a novel?" ) and am about to start cleaning the flat and doing some research.

Songs of Praise (filming)

Have just returned from the camera recording of Songs of Praise. It is an exhausting business, recording things. Each take has to be done as if it is the only one, but there are hundreds of takes - different lighting combinations, different camera angles, re-taking when a wierd shadow is present or one of the crew can be seen. And so on. Anyway, I will post more about it when I am not needing to fall into bed quite so much, but it is being screened on 19 November if anyone is interested.

Songs of Praise

Have spent tonight recording the audio track for the BBC Songs of Praise in which I am singing with the London Lawyers' Chorus. Another interesting experience - the church of St Bartholomew the Great is one of the oldest churches in London (it was built in 112o something) and absolutely beautiful. Apart from an enormous number of quite discreet microphones it was rather like being at a normal rehearsal - apart from the silence before and after each take and the fact that the conductor and the organist were both wearing DJ style headphones. All directions were coming out of a speaker - the voice of the sound producer, sat in his sound van and doing the recording from outside the church. We managed one of the hymns in one take and the others in two or three, so we were able to leave early. It was exhausting work though, but somehow very fulfilling. Must remember to tell my Grandparents about it so they can watch it.

The camera recording is on Thursday, so still have to try and work out a camera friendly outfit. Was planning to do some washing tonight but think I will go to bed instead. Burnt my omlette whilst chatting to my mother on the telephone so I think I will curl up in bed with a slice of apple cake and a cup of tea and wait for M to return from work.

Things to do before I die

Have enjoyed another domesticated evening. Met my good friend, H, after work. She is a teacher near Cambridge; luckily for her, it's half term. Unluckily for the rest of us who have to put up with children everywhere for a week. We had coffee in Starbucks near my work and then got the tube back to my house, where I cooked Cottage Pie with green beans and peas. As H needed to get a train back home, she left about 9pm. I spent the duration of Wife Swap producing apple sauce from the apples which M and I brought back from our respective parents' houses last week. Tonight, Shropshire apples; tomorrow, Berkshire apples.

Only tomorrow I will be at the audio recording for the Songs of Praise in which I am singing. So perhaps Wednesday. Anyway. I digress. The point of this post was to make a list (as suggested by Rachel) of some things I wish to achieve in life. So this is the start of my list:

1. Get a Training Contract and qualify as a solicitor;
2. Make enough money to pay off my Law School loans;
3. Buy a house;
4. Marry M;
5. Have a family with M;
6.Travel around the world;
7. Sail across the atlantic;
8. Publish a book;
9. Earn some money as a model;
10. Write a newspaper column;
11. Surf in a bikini;
12. Visit New York;
13. Work a ski-season.

That's enough for now. I need to go and take my cake out of the oven and have a cup of tea before going to bed. I think I'm getting old!

The History Boys (Part 2)

And I think that Marmaladya.com gets better every week. It is glossy and fast paced, but filled with interesting and useful advice on a variety of subjects in a way which other weekly on-line magazines are not. Both Glamour and Handbag.com seem to try to fit in this category, but neither satisfies so well, to me at least, the lunchtime fix for well written interesting articles and suggestions focusing on local places and people. Sadly both Glamour and Handbag.com seem to have gone down the 'celebs and gossip' route, which I find has less and less interest or relevance to my life. And while I might still have a quick, cursory, glance at the gossip headlines (old habits die hard) it is certainly not something I spend my whole lunchtime reading.

Sunday

Spent Saturday morning baking cakes and making soup with M in preparation for S's visit. She arrived about 11.30 am and after a relaxing lunch we headed to the Tate Modern. After spending some time admiring the slides in the Turbine Hall we headed up to the bar on the 7th floor. I know I've said this before, but it really is one of my favourite views of London (the other being the view from Primrose Hill). Once we tired of tea and the sun had left St Paul's, we wandered back along the river as far as the London Eye. Back on the tube to Paddington, where I saw S onto a train to Berkshire and then headed to B's house in Maida Vale.

Spent the evening putting a further dent into the tequila which C won at T's fashion show before heading to sleep in B's recently vacated second bedroom at 5am. This is the room which M used to occupy when he and B shared a house and it was rather strange sleeping there again. Had a gloriously slobby Sunday watching DVDs and eating pizza. Wasn't able to attend church or play my flute because period pains so bad - didn't leave B's until 9.30pm - home to our flat, to bath and to bed - where I am writing this and waiting for M to finish his bath. And now to sleep.

Topshop/Vogue

Can't believe that it's Friday night already. It's been a long and busy week. Attended the Songs of Praise rehearsal, which was led by the choir master and organist of St Paul's Cathedral, Malcolm Archer. He was brilliant and the rehearsal went well. I believe that he used to teach at Wells, which is where my cousin was at school, so will have to check with her. It went so well that we finished early and so was home before 10pm.

Thursday night and the Topshop/Vogue Autumn/Winter Fashion show. It was a ticketed event on the lower ground floor of the Oxford Circus branch (although if you weren't worried about the goody bag, 20% discount or free Perrier Jouet then you could have stood behind the barriers and watched anyway). It was an interesting experience - for a promotional event it was acyually well organised, worth making the effort for and worth the goody bag. They also (almost) made you feel important. Anyway, it was nice to see a fashion show featuring the current season - that you could see what worked, current trends and how to interpret them - and then be able to go into to the shop, inspired and find the pieces on the shelves that were on the catwalk. Key pieces were black opaque tights, high waisted shorts and trousers, ankle boots, platform shoes in vibrant colours, blue, mustard, black, red,white, tartan and layering. Accessories were featured in the form of patent shoes, slouchy leather bags, vintage looking head scarves, beanie hats (in beret and cloche styles), long woollen scarves, skinny patent belts worn around the waist and arm/wrist warmers. Managed to pick up a couple of cheap pieces which I can wear both to work and at home and then left to make it to choir practice.

And finally, Friday arrived. It felt a long time coming this week. Have spent the evening at home with M, watching television and eating sausages and mashed potato with peas followed by chocolate rice pudding, courtesy of Nigella via Sainsbury's magazine. Even though I made it myself, it was delicious and I highly recommend it. And now, writing this, I feel that my eyes are closing and that the sound of the television is becoming increasingly loud and annoying. My bed is calling and I really need to sleep. Night night.

Songs of Praise

Only time for a quick post as am off to the singers rehearsal for Songs of Praise. Am intrigued as to what goes on in the making of a BBC production, so have agreed to sing in the choir. Next week I have to attend a sound recording and a camera recording; this is only the rehearsal.

My profile has also been uploaded to the Marmaladya.com website - there ends my remaining sliver of anonymity and the whole world (or those that read Marmaladya or this blog at any rate) will know who I am and where I live. It's a pretty amusing profile as well - I was interviewed early on Saturday morning in a cafe in Primrose Hill at the end of the summer, which is why I talk about flip-flops and some of the information is out of date. But still, nice to be in print!

History Matters

Am having some trouble uploading my diary to their website. Has anyone any idea what I might be doing wrong? I've checked word and character count and both are under the stated maximum. Help!

Update: Who knows why, but this afternoon after work it suddenly starting working again and I was able to upload my diary after all.

History Matters - 17 October 2006

This post will be slightly more formulaic than usual - it is my offering for the history matters website and therefore is an account of what I did today...

The alarm rang at 7.30am and as usual, I pressed snooze and fell back to sleep for another hour or so before dragging myself out of bed to run a bath. The bath takes at least five minutes to reach a level high enough to wash in, so sneaked back into bed for a cuddle from M. He didn't have to work but I did. Bathed and washed hair, put towels into tumble drier, made tea, dressed and blew dry hair. Made M a cup of coffee and applied make up. Left the flat at about 9.30am and walked (and then ran) to the bus stop. Unusually, the bus was empty so was able to sit down and recover from the run in high heels. Arrived at work, switched on computer and purchased latte with caramel from the staff canteen. The morning passed very quickly as was extremely busy organising the hearing which is taking place in the Manchester office, for which I am responsible. Liaised with Legal Team and Investigation Officers and prepared documentation. Met M for lunch at the pub just round the corner from the office at 1pm, but in an effort to save money he brought with him ham and tomato sandwiches which we ate outside on the benches and drank beer (M) and tea (me). He also brought some of the cake I made last night, which I took back to the office to have with a cup of tea mid afternoon. Spent the afternoon catching up with e mails and post as well as answering queries and saving transcripts of recent hearings to the case management system. Left the office at 6.10pm and rushed to the tube station, picking up a free copy of thelondonpaper, which I read whilst waiting for the tube. Circle line was running with delays but eventually managed to reach destination of Notting Hill Gate to meet E. We had arranged to go to the cinema; unfortunately so had lots of other (more organised) people and the showing was already full. (It transpired that on Tuesdays, all showings are half price, so booking was essential). Rather than go straight home, we decided to drown our sorrows with a couple of cocktails and some chips in Trailer Happiness on Portobello Road, a bar which looks like it should be in California/Hawaii/Cuba but actually smells slightly of caravanning holidays and surfing trips. It sounds a little unpleasant but really isn’t – the cocktails are amazing and the bar staff are wonderful. Most of them are antipodeans, laidback, and if they don’t have the drink you want on the menu, they’ll usually make it for you anyway. Left the bar at about 9.15pm before walking back to the tube station, where I topped up my Oyster Card at the Quick Ticket machine. Tube home, minor delays, arrived at Chalk Farm at about 10.10pm. Walked back to the flat and found that M had been food shopping. Made another cup of tea, checked e mails and updated my blog whilst waiting for M to return from football. And so to bed about midnight, and the end of another day.

Set out in this fashion it seems a little dull, but that appears to be the point. I wonder what people will (a) be doing in 100 years time and (b) make of this exercise and all the (very boring) entries...

History Matters

The History Matters blog compilation starts today. Don't forget to note down what you do today so that you can write up to 600 words and post it on the History Matters website.

And to all those people who have told me that their lives would make incredibly boring blogs - you only have to write one entry and the idea is to compile an overview of what the nation was doing on 17 October 2006. And if that was getting up, feeding the cat, getting a latte, driving to work, doing some work, having a ham sandwich, doing some more work, drinking a cup of tea, sending a few letters, driving home, cooking spaghetti bolognese and eating it in front of Supernanny (or whatever), having another cup of tea and then a bath and bed, then so be it. This compilation is about the mundane, the ordinary, the everyday. It won't seem so boring to historians in 100 years time.

Update: BBC Article

Rachel and the two A's

I managed it... This is me with Annie and Alexandra in Berkshire yesterday afternoon.

Might post a few more when I'm not at work!

Sunday Afternoon

Have spent the weekend in the country recovering from the latter part of Friday 13th. Bought some pasta and sauce in the work canteen and it ended up being poured all over my wrists and down my legs (it looked like I'd vomited), so spent some time being bandaged by the first aider. To recover from the trauma I went out for a few drinks after work with T and C. Finally made it home at 12.30am on the last tube and spent my first night alone at our flat.

Early Saturday morning I headed to Berkshire to the family home, where I was supposed to spend the weekend with my parents and sisters. As one had vanished to Reading, I headed to A & A's flat to see how A was coping after her operation. J also popped over so we spent a lovely few hours catching up and gossiping. Then back to J's for a glass of wine before home to supper and Time Team in front of a log fire. Just before bed, Dad remembered the present he had brought me from China; I am now the proud owner of a gorgeous scarf, fan and little evening bag.

Church this morning with Mum. Helped man the leprosy mission stall and bought a few Christmas presents. Family lunch and then spent the afternoon helping Dad plant tubs and tubs of bulbs, pick apples and tidy up. He then took several thousand photos, as this is the first time in almost 12 months that all his girls have been together in one place. If I can work out how to get them off his camera, I might try and upload one.

Centenary Post

Have just met one of my oldest friends, E, for coffee. Oldest in that we have known each other for twenty years, rather than her being 65 or similar. Anyway, she mentioned a project which is running on 17 October 2006 called History Matters (Pass it on). The idea is that as many people as possible will submit a blog entry, which will be stored on a central server in the British Library. The general public will then be able to search and read through the entries, and there will be a record of what the general public were doing in October 2006. It will form a historical record different to any other; the subject will not necessarily be earth shattering, royalty or celebrity based (although I think that if those things didn't form part of the record it would not be a true reflection of our culture in 2006) but will feature the mundane, the everyday and the monotony of life in the UK in 2006. This way, in hundreds of years time, people or historians will be able to see what a true cross section of the nation were doing in 2006 - something which we struggle to find out about our predecessors. Get involved yourself here.

And the idea that we are not permanent, that we are just a line in the history of the world reminded me of the lines with which The History Boys ends: "Pass the parcel. That's sometimes all you can do. Take it, feel it and pass it on. Not for me, not for you, but for someone, somewhere, one day. Pass it on, boys. That's the game I wanted you to learn. Pass it on." (Hector)

18 DoughtyStreet

And I've immediately discovered one of the benefits of broadband - I can watch and listen to 18 DoughtyStreet television whilst doing other things on my (well, M's) computer. It doesn't cost a penny to watch, because this is free broadband. It feels almost like being part of television history, watching such a new and innovative show the week that it goes live. And it should have been the night it went live, but I couldn't the silly thing to work. It can join my list - I'm exactly the same age as Channel 4.

It's playing through the Windows Media Player and the pictures not half bad. Occasionally some of the guests appear to be speaking faster than their mouths are moving, but that well may be them rather than this computer. This is the link if you can't be bothered to scroll down to the last time I mentioned and linked to 18 DoughtyStreet.

And, as they're currently discussing the Times and articles written about tax, I am immediately on familiar territory, as I have read the paper and have it in front of me, so am able to refer to the articles in question immediately. Most blogs and conversation that centre around politics usually only discuss the Guardian and Independent. Good papers, but not like my favourite.

I think it's love

Broadband. We're finally connected; on the same page, in the same place. Committed to each other. In a wonderful relationship. I think it's love (especially as I can simply dial 150 and a lovely lady called Angie resolves all problems for the price of a telephone call).

It also means that I can blog from home. No more rushed lunchtimes, trying to compose well-thought out and reasoned arguments (ha!) or musings about the happiness of shoes. I can post in peace from home, just like all the other bloggers, although I don't expect I'll be getting up early to write before work like some people...

And just think of the possibilities: job applications, on-line shopping, e mail reading and writing, Glamour magazine flicking and travel-idea dreaming, all from my bed not my desk!

The History Boys (Part 1)

Attended a preview of The History Boys last night. Am in the process of writing a review of the film as well as my thoughts about it. Have spent some time researching and reading discussion forums, but have not had the time during my lunch break to fully formulate these ideas in writing, so will have to finish this later and post it this evening.

To be continued...

PDO and PGIs

It's been a busy week. Spent last night having supper with people from my church. Met several new people including a teacher who has spent the last year working at the International School in Paris but who now teaches at a private school in Sloane Square. As teaching is a career which M is considering, and several of my other friends are also teachers, it was interesting to hear of two widely different experiences.

Finished the evening off with a glass of wine near M's shop with two of his colleagues. One reminded me of a friend from university: not just his slightly unusual appearance but also his extreme enthusiasm for every subject and his ability to argue, passionately, about any subject (including ones of which he has absolutely no idea). It was odd; on the one hand I felt that I already knew him, so similar their characteristics were, but on the other, I felt he was an imposter whom I needed to keep at arm's length. We fell into lively debate: all three work in the wine trade and we discussed the pros and cons of legislation preventing fortified wine produced outside Portugal being called Port and so on. Further debate raged as to the method of legal protection given to such products; both patenting and trademarks were considered as options, but in actual fact, the protection is offered by EU law (Council Regulation (EEC) No 2081/92 of 14 July 1992 on the protection of geographical indications and designations of origin for agricultural products and foodstuffs) where a list is compiled and held by the European Commission . Fascinating stuff.

Limbo

A few days ago, I read that the Pope is currently considering a proposal to abolish the state of “limbus infantium”. His conclusion is due to be published on Friday. A quick poll of my friends (including one who is an RE teacher) elicited nothing more than blank looks, so I was pleased to find discussion of the issue in the blogosphere, although it is not as widespread as I thought it might have been. Perhaps it has been overshadowed by events in North Korea and other religious discussions concerning veils. Or perhaps the concept is not one which people spend time worrying about.

Wife Swap

Spent a relaxing evening at home with M, much of which was spent trying (and failing) to set up my new broadband. Anyway, I happened to watch an episode of Channel 4's series 'Wife Swap'. The programme followed the usual format; two families with opposing ideals trying to impose their way on each other’s lives. I won't go into much background detail, as quite frankly it's too dull, but one particular part of the programme rather took me aback.

Family A's wife was Debbie Doody, a 'full time mum' with 2 boys and a husband married to his computer. Being a ‘full time mum’ transpired that Debbie stayed at home, cooked meals and acted like a skivvy (as no-one else did anything in the house) whilst her idea of spending time with her children was little more than being under the same roof whilst they occupied themselves. She went to live with Family B, where Angie Townsend, billed as a 'part-time mum' (which I found rather unfair, as whatever else one does for employment, it is a full time role) and 'full-time owner of a hair salon' managed a full time job and the household of three girls and a husband. Angie orchestrated household tasks, on which the whole family worked together. Her children may have moaned a little that she was rather busy, but they were also unstinting in their praise and admiration for her as a mother, wife and role model.

After living by the house rules for the first week, the 'wives' are able to impose their own rules for the second. Debbie, who had never had a full-time job in her life and manages on "whatever is left of his wages when all the bills are paid" announced on rule-change day that what the Townsend girls needed was a "proper mum". A what? And then went out and purchased several PSPs, a karaoke machine and a deep-fat fryer. She also banned all housework, cooking, cleaning and general household helpfulness, announcing that she would do all the cooking and cleaning from then on whilst the girls enjoyed themselves. She even went so far as to ban them from the kitchen and threw a tantrum when she realised that one of the girls had made their own bed.

Astounding. Debbie, whose husband couldn’t even afford to repair his car, appeared to think that this was a how ‘proper’ mother behaved; yet she was unable to hold a rational conversation or debate, favouring tantrums, abuse, crying and storming out of the room. Her sons had inherited this trait and during Angie’s first week refused not only conversation but to even leave their beds on several occasions. And for her to even suggest that banning household participation and providing food fried in a deep fat fryer to be consumed watching DVDs was what ‘proper mums’ should do, is quite frankly insulting. And I’m not even a mother.

I’m not suggesting that she didn’t love her sons, or that she didn’t believe that she had their best interests at heart, but extolling the virtues of a ‘proper’ mum in such a fashion suggested to me that she was not acting in a way any mother should. She paraded herself as the model mother, yet rather than listen to Angie’s praise for her children (who after a fashion had been open to activities other than electrical and had albeit grudgingly, actually learnt from the tutor Angie provided) Debbie screeched and wailed, shouting that she hoped her kids had given Angie some “real sh*t” and threatening to take Angie ‘outside’. And her reaction to learning that her seven year old son was unable to carry on a conversation? “He doesn’t know you from Adam…”. He might not, but that doesn’t prevent him from being taught to be polite and respectful. Debbie, on return to her home rubbished all Angie’s rules and suggestions, ripping down the sheets amid shouting and cursing. It is perfectly understandable to disagree with another person’s suggestions to one’s family – but what did it show her children? That tantrum throwing is an acceptable outcome, that there is no point being polite, pursuing learning, taking advice or being open to different opinions? It made me rather sad. Angie on the other hand, returned to her family willing to try and re-arrange her working hours and spend more time with her children on an individual basis. Two very different reactions to the experience and it left me feeling that there is an awful lot more to being a ‘proper mum’ than most people think.

Footnote – I realise that if you watched this programme, you might well be thinking ‘but what about the roles of the husbands’ or indeed, ‘what about the children’? I think that Debbie’s husband had been backed into a corner where he felt that his role as breadwinner but nothing further was, and was therefore expected, to remain. Once it had been suggested to him that perhaps he should take a more leading role within the house, he was willing to give it a go and he ended up changing more about the Doody household than his wife. An interesting development as far as the programme was concerned, but not the point that I was really trying to make about women and their (perceived) roles as mothers. Angie’s husband too was an interesting character; one felt that their family might be less successful if he had a viewpoint or was less willing to be dominated entirely, but that again is a separate issue. The programme also made a point of portraying Angie’s eldest daughter Kelly as rather rebellious, and yes, she did not go out of her way in the second week to make Debbie’s life any easier. But she made some interesting points: Debbie was unable to debate rationally with her, resorting to tantrum throwing and backing down in an angry and blameful fashion. And if you’d been told that you didn’t have a proper mother, banned from helping look after the house and family and been made to eat food from a deep fat fryer, wouldn’t you perhaps come over as a bit unfriendly as well?

Weekend Report

Spent 11 and a half hours at work on Saturday. A hateful hangover after an evenings drinking with no supper but managed to get to the office for 8.15am. Thankfully, B & C were driving past at 7pm and called to see if I was ready to leave (which I was) so I had a lift home. After a quick change, it was off to Maida Vale for supper with B & C and B & L. A lovely evening with wine, pizza and interesting discussions. Which ended when M woke me up at 4am (I was sleeping in B's bed) to take me home. Our new budget meant bus rather than taxi, so I finally fell into my own bed at 5am. Having bought the Sunday papers on the way.

Anyway, I digress. My point was that M brought to our collective attention a post he had read on Harry's Place concerning the arrest of two white men in Lancashire on suspicion of terrorist activities, namely storing chemicals and other bomb making equipment. One of the two men arrested was "an ex-member of the BNP" who was supposed to have stood for election last May. The interesting thing perhaps was that this story hadn't, at the time that M found the post, been picked up by the mainstream media. Intriguing. Anyway, I was going to have a look at this when I had my usual look at Rachel's blog. And she had already picked up the story and written an interesting article on the subject. How is wish that I was in the position she has managed: to be able to make a career from writing...

Carole Caplin

I hadn't expected to see Carole Caplin in the news so soon after meeting her at last month's WI. The Sunday Times ran an article yesterday speculating that Caplin is to become one of Blair's staff when he quits as Prime Minister. The article indicates that while Blair and Caplin are still in close contact (participating in long phone conversations with Blair accepting fashion and health advice), Caplin and Cherie are no longer on speaking terms. It also suggests that Caplin is no longer in contact with Cherie after she banned Caplin from Downing Street and formally dispensing with her role as a personal trainer last year.

Although I found meeting Caplin interesting and intriguing, the subject was not my interest in the article. My interest was the way that it was reported. Granted, I do not know the Blair's perspective; I have only heard Caplin's, but it differs widely to the reported version, even in this article. And it made me think. That I should be rather more aware when reading the media; instead of simply taking things at face value, I should be giving a lot more thought to the subtext and the angle and reasons the article (or publication) is written from.

18DoughtyStreet

I first heard about this in September when Rachel posted that she had been asked to be an e-reporter. Set up by Stefan Shakespeare and political bloggers including Iain Dale, 18 Doughty Street is set to be the first political Internet TV channel. It will be supported by a collection of blogs centered at the 18 Doughty Street website.

I am clearly very ill informed. I tried (and failed) to write what I know of this project, its aims and my own response. I have read several articles on the subject, in the Sunday Times last week and again on 8 October 2006 as well as on the BBC's website, but am still finding it hard to articulate anything remotely interesting or intellectual on the subject. Perhaps I shall give it another try one evening when I can spend longer than my lunch break researching and writing. Roll on the day when our broadband is installed...

Sainsbury's Magazine & the WI

At last. Publication in a national magazine... Well, standing and posing for Sainsbury's at least.

My local Sainsbury's oddly doesn't seem to sell the magazine (the staff were rather bemused when I asked if they had a copy) but thankfully, Lucy posted a preview on the WI website for us all to admire.

Turn off your office computer

I was appalled to realise that I am (was) one of the 1.7 million people in the UK who fail to turn off their computer before leaving work each night. Again, an article from the Independent brought to my attention by M.

I consider myself to be a reasonably ethical minded and conscientious person. We turn off lights (with energy saving bulbs), we don't keep the TV on standby, even though this means a chilly dash to the other side of the room before putting out the bedside lamp after watching a late night film. Our fridge is A grade efficient, we recycle, buy local and avoid excess packaging. But if my computer at work has been on continuously for the best part of a year, have my other efforts simply been in vain?

Froogle

mongchacha has pointed me in the direction of this article. I haven't had time to read it properly as am snowed-under with work and am not really having a lunch-break. It looks an interesting concept though and as soon as I get some time, I will post further thoughts on Froogling and it's potential relation to my shopping habit. (For further thoughts by Mongchacha see here)

Champagne and Rose Petals

It was a night of free champagne. Started the evening with a Grazia/Reiss evening in the Kensington Church Street branch. Met L and left an hour later having drunk champagne and holding a goodie bag containing Aveda products and some Reiss earrings.

Was very nice to see L; she has been somewhat occupied with her marking of late. I don't envy her the holidays any longer - she left to get into bed with 32 essays describing (to varying degrees of success) ways in which Christians describe God. I left to meet M and his father for supper.

After waiting at least half an hour for a bus (something was very wrong with London traffic) I arrived at the Hilton in Green Park to attend a collaboration between the Hilton Hotel chain and the Malaysian tourist board: a Malaysian themed buffet. Beautifully presented with rose petals on every table and including my second free champagne of the evening, the food was interesting and unusual. I particularly enjoyed the spicy chicken soup, which was more along the lines of a broth, to which one added whatever one wanted. I added finely chopped spring onion, cubes of chicken, peanuts and dried meat. The main course included fish, beef, mutton and seafood - the buffet style presentation allowed one to try everything. I wasn't so keen on the pudding however; everything was flavoured with coconut. I tried cold green pancakes containing what tasted like maple syrup and rice and a cold steamed coconut dumpling. I had an enjoyable evening, but left feeling pleased that I enjoy British food so much.

Cleaning up my act

As I am on a new very strict budget, I decided it was time other areas of my life were tidied up a little too. No money = no drinking in expensive bars, so my alcohol intake is vastly reduced. I have also pretty much given up smoking. In the last 5 weeks, I have smoked a few cigarettes on a handful occasions. In the past week: none.

I have also decided to try and reduce my caffeine addiction. On an average day, I drink perhaps 10 cups of tea or coffee. And some water, but largely tea and coffee. Given that I am also having trouble waking up in the morning, I have decided to conduct a little experiment. No more than three cups of tea (or coffee) per day; instead, fruit tea and more water. I am also trying to eat less processed food (such as crisps), although I don't eat an enormous amount anymore as it is. It's all about the baking and making of food in our house now. Homemade pizza for lunch, 'fake fruit cake' for elevenses, teatime and snacking. I am also trying to force myself to get out of bed in the morning at a sensible hour, regardless of how much a lie-in I desire. I'm giving it a week or so to see if I feel any better and then I'll re-assess.

And money. Have been offered some overtime at work and have managed to sell one of the books I listed on Amazon, so it is trickling in, albeit rather slowly. Which is pleasing, but what I really need is a sideline project. I wonder if there is anywhere I can sell articles? How does one go about these things?

Carole Caplin and the WI

October meeting of the Fulham WI and a room full of women are greeting each other and catching up on a months worth of gossip. It is always a rewarding and interesting experience, the monthly WI meeting; the speakers are informative and it is always great to meet new people, especially such interesting and diverse women that comprise Fulham WI. But I digress. Last night, one of the two speakers was Carole Caplin.



Immaculately groomed and well made up, with long dark hair worn loose over a brown fitted jersey cardigan and a pair of brown jogging bottoms (which were more flattering than they sound) with pockets that she spent much time pushing her hands in and out of, she paced and gestured to the room. On her feet, a pair of those MBT trainers which help posture and burn calories when you walk. She looked as you might expect; a well-groomed, good looking, fitness and lifestyle advisor. A little too perfect perhaps: she appeared to have had a nose job and perhaps botox and must have been wearing an excellent bra...

And so she began, explaining the ethos of her company, Lifesmart, describing the background to her extensive career and why she was so passionate about what she does. She starts work at 7am and clearly works very hard. She mentioned her mother's experiences in setting up some of the first public dance studios when she was a teen and how this had fueled her interest in fitness and health. Very open, very friendly. But also very evasive. She deflected questions seamlessly and answered others not asked. But she was strangely compelling, charismatic and charming. She stressed the importance of a holistic attitude towards health: there is no one answer or cure, that all aspects and angles need consideration. The orthodox way should not be discounted out of hand; it is a useful diagnostic tool. But so too is questioning oneself honestly and openly and starting with the basics. Enough water, enough sleep, the right diet for you, correct breathing and the right exercises. This is the Lifesmart promise.

And it does sound compelling. The idea of someone guiding all aspects of your life and looking so good whilst doing so is certainly appealing. But something didn't sit quite right with me last night. I felt almost that I needed to remain cynical so as not to be taken in; that if I admitted that she was making some valid points I would be seduced by her claims and would end up parting with vast sums of cash to be told some things I probably could work our for myself.

And finally, she was asked about the 'Downing Street Debacle' (her words). She explained some of the background and told a few 'antidotes' (again, her words. I think she meant anecdotes). Obviously this being her life, she knew more about it than I did. But she told her point of view in such a fashion it seemed she expected we would have known every aspect of it already. People were mentioned by first name only, dates were vague and issues glossed over. She mentioned, several times, that a £1 million book deal had been turned down many time, as too appearances on celebrity reality television. And then moved on, as swiftly as she turned to the subject, outlining her plans to take her 'blueprint' of Lifesmart to other walks of life. Starting with school children. To which it was suggested she should combine forces with Jamie Oliver(!).

I left not really knowing any more than I did to start with. Is she what she seems, a charismatic, compelling, well presented woman with a genuine desire to improve people's lives, who found herself in a situation which became too big for her - or is she a social climber with a desire for fame, making the most of her friendships and the situation (after all, she now writes a column for the newspaper which exposed her)? So I did some research on the Internet. Is she a lifestyle guru on whom successful and independent women find themselves reliant, or, is she just someone you can't help but find yourself liking?

Or, as my friend C puts it: "(meeting Carole and seeing her charisma) makes it much less easy to dismiss her out of hand... I don't think Cherie Blair is an idiot by any means and she seems to have been drawn to her quite strongly...".

Lunchtime Musings (Part 2)

I was pleased to read this morning that Rachel has decided to leave behind her career in advertising and become a writer. She has been alluding to this for a week or so, but yesterday confirmed that she has taken voluntary redundancy and is becoming a full time writer. Although at times she may not have believed it, I do firmly believe that someone is looking after her. Her life may not have always followed the path that she thought it might take, but the opportunity to pursue her dreams to become a writer (and to have a payment package to make this possible) may not have appeared without the pain and anguish that went before.

I have found Rachel's writing an inspiration; it was reading her blog which made me actually start mine, rather than just talking about it as an abstract idea. The way that she handled all the situations which life threw at her helped me realise that my issues were very small in comparison. I may not always agree with her, and sometimes I find that her writing is too politically charged for my liking, but I always read what she writes. And I feel I know her, just a little bit. And this is a privilege.

I have always wanted to be a writer, but my path has headed too deep into the field of law to return, at the moment. I have invested too much, mentally, physically and financially to turn back at this stage, but I have been reminded that writing can be a sideline project. So I have started writing this blog to get back into the practice of writing and I have really enjoyed it. I have written an article, which has been published in an online magazine. I won't say further until it is definitely uploaded, but it is a start. And hopefully other opportunities will follow. And Rachel has helped me believe that my life path will sort itself out, it just might not be the way that I expected it to.

Weekend Review

Another Monday morning, and this time it's October. 2006 is gathering speed at an alarming rate. In three months time, it will be 2007 and I will be 25. I will have left behind the 18-24 age box which I have occupied comfortably for the past six years and I will be officially 'grown up'.

And speaking of being 'grown up', for the first weekend in a while I was not hung over at any point, I did not smoke and I did not eat fast or convenience food of any kind. Unless you count a latte from Fresh & Wild which I took into the cinema on Saturday morning. It's quite a pleasant time to visit the cinema actually, especially the one in Camden. I guess 12.15pm is too early for most people - there were about 6 others there. For an advance preview of the Devil Wears Prada. I had expected to queue!!

The film I thought was excellent - in a shallow, glossy entertaining way. It is different to the book; some changes are done well, others seem to have little point. I will write about these a little later – I wouldn’t want to spoil anything for anyone who has yet to watch it…The clothes, shoes and bags are good, but I was slightly disappointed. Given that the costumes were created by Patricia Field, costume director of Sex and the City, I was expecting great things. Mostly, it seemed like product placement. But still, an enjoyable way to spend Saturday morning. (Although M may well disagree).

Returned home for a late lunch, courtesy of ingredients purchased at Melrose & Morgan. A wonderful shop and the food is great, but we have had to rename them Melrose & Mortgage, as we spent £8 on essentially bread, bacon and eggs. Still, cheaper than going out for lunch and it did taste delicious. And provided fortification for an afternoon cleaning, reading and doing washing. B & C arrived early evening and we made cocktails and M cooked a wonderful supper.

Sunday afternoon and it was too wet to go for a walk. So we went to Waitrose in Marylebone High Street instead and collated the ingredients for a roast dinner. Cooked expertly by B at his flat in Maida Vale before M and I caught the bus; to Primrose Hill, to home, to bed.

Photographs

Have decided it is time to try and make my blog look a little more interesting. And where better to start than a photograph... I imagine it will be trial and error to get it to be my profile image, but we'll see.

UPDATE: I managed it! Not so anonymous now...

The eternal dilemma...

...to go home, to a comfy chair, cup of tea and the last volume of Sex and the City Series 6, or to go to the wine bar?

Made it into bed at about 3.45am and was awake again at 7am. Although I am not especially hung over, I most certainly am tired. Silver was a bit something of nothing; the reviews were quite accurate. It would like to think that it will be the next big thing in the London club scene (and that is an almost direct quote...) but it tries too hard. A photographer taking your picture on the way in, overpriced drinks and a clientele of posers and people who would like to think they are important (but aren't). But please, don't get me wrong; I had a really good night. But I think that was mainly due to the presence of Alexandra. We would be able to have fun anywhere.

And yes, I did wear something other than my usual jeans. I wore my American Apparel T-shirt dress. With leggings. Yes, you did read that correctly. They weren't mine and I won't be repeating the look, but it was nice to wear something different. And, it meant that I could wear my pink suede shoes without looking a total slut.

Footnote: I have discovered that someone has used one of my posts on a different website. They've credited to me, and put a link to this blog, but I've no idea why they chose that piece, or for a shopping site... The mind boggles.

Am I too old for this?

Am just finishing at work before meeting my sister and two of her friends. We are going out to a 'trendy' night club tonight. I'm very much looking forward to seeing her, but I'm feeling a bit old and tired. My Thursday evenings, where once I would have been going out, getting drunk and rolling into work tired and hung-over the next morning having had 4 hours sleep, are now spent rehearsing with my choir. Not tonight. I have to go home, find an outfit (I still remember yesterday's promise) and then GO OUT. When all I really want to do is go home and go to bed.

I'm sure it will be fun though. Everything seems a bit of a chore at the end of a busy day. I feel like I have achieved quite a lot, although my budget is getting tighter and tighter. I just don't know where money goes. Once I have paid rent and law school loans, council tax and my phone bill, I have about £100 per month to live on. Which is clearly impossible. £100 a week is about average. Something needs to be done. I need a sideline project (which does not involve taking my clothes off). Ideas please?

The Devil Wears Prada

At long last, the film of The Devil Wears Prada will be opening in London this week. I have booked tickets for Saturday afternoon for M and I. I can't wait, and I bet he can't either...

Am pretty busy though right up until the showing: tonight I am having supper with M and his father in Mayfair. I also have to clean the flat in preparation for Alexandra and two of her friends who are coming to stay on Thursday. Alexandra is coming so that we can all attend a party at a new (and rather badly reviewed) nightclub called Silver. It is in Hanover Square, so at least it will be easy to escape from and get home! I am going out on Friday evening as well, so there are a lot of outfits to be considered.

TDWP inspires me when I feel that my boss is being unfair; well, at least she isn't Miranda. And working in an office full of men, there's no-one watching my appearance or dress size or the number of calories that I consume on a daily basis. Thankfully, 'Emily' doesn't exist in my team, as I think she'd find the biscuits and cakes that I consume on a weekly basis a cause for downright worry. What it does mean though, is that I have to make an effort with appearance and aesthetics for myself. The boys might not notice - or then again they might - but I know when I've worn the same trousers three times in a week and flat shoes for the second day running.

So, I try and put together different outfits, within the 'work wear' parameters. We don't have to wear suits, but we are definitely not casual either, which makes it all the more difficult. Especially on a budget. I was therefore pleased to read a piece called Life Laundress on Marmaladya.com which dealt with this issue: an expanding wardrobe but never anything to wear. The aim of the piece is obviously to draw attention to the service provided, but is is an interesting point. How many of us have wardrobes filled with beautiful clothes that we never wear?

There are the clothes that need handwashing, so are sat at the bottom of the laundry basket; there are some which need mending, some which have been pushed to the back of the drawer or to the floor. And there must be many more that we have simply forgotten about, or need to try wearing in a different or more up-to-date way. So this will be my challenge for the next month:

NO NEW CLOTHES. NO REPEATED OUTFITS.

I am going to follow Honor Marks' advice and sort out my wardrobe, the handwashing, the dry cleaning, the 'cleansing' and tidying. And who knows what I'll find, but I'm sure I'll feel the benefits.

Unending Domestic Upheaval (Part 2)

Yesterday’s problems have ceased: The hole in the ceiling has been patched. A very nice builder came yesterday morning to fill it in. Now, I've not much experience with builders as my father tends to do all the work on our house himself, but I expected him to be loud, brash and take over the house. Instead, he was extremely polite, asked me if I minded him playing his radio and he tidied up afterwards as well. And he locked the flat, as requested. It's still cosmetically ugly as it is brown not white, but I think it is the best we can hope for.

And the new fridge was delivered this morning, with no real hassles either. They unpacked it, wheeled it into place and took away the rubbish. It was all over very quickly; we just have to wait until this evening to turn it on and put our food inside.

No, the real problem is this: M has allergies - to dust, to feathers, to damp places. His sinuses have been bothering him for weeks and he has been plagued with a rash on hands and feet. But we live in a flat full of dust, brick and plaster from the ceiling in addition to the usual fluff (which I just can't seem to get rid of); he works in a fine wine shop with a damp and dusty cellar and my favourite thing in the whole world is my goose feather duvet and pillows. Clearly, we are incompatible. I don't mind spending the weekend clearing the flat of all dust and cleaning it from tip to toe, but buying new bedding? I fear we'd be better off with separate beds...

Home Time

Am too tired to write about the excellent Breed 77 gig at the moment, so it will join the list of things that I will blog about when I summons some energy.

Promised topics which I have yet to deliver:

• Elaborate on the Jewish wedding I attended
• Set out my thoughts on the importance of the WI in the 21st century
• Discuss manners and why I still find text messaging to be an inappropriate medium for informing one that one's services are no longer needed
• Expand my view on the need to shop (and why Liz Jones is so bloody annoying)
• Breed 77 Review
  

Writing which is on my laptop and not yet on this blog (a situation I must rectify):

• Size zero models
• Vogue - advertisers dream or well-written articles?

Instead, I will use my time for a brief link round up whilst waiting for M to come and collect me from work. That's right. Link. I looked at all of the blogs that I usually read after work and this was the only thing that caught my eye: City Slicker voicing her thoughts on the 'man-bag' and how this is a useful indicator that David Cameron is NOT set to become the next PM. An interesting theory...

Lunchtime Musings

Just a quick post now - will post in full after work. I know it's 3pm, but I was trying to finish a project before lunch. And I managed it by 2.15pm. So this is still, just about, lunch.

Left a builder in the house this morning, mending the hole in the ceiling. That's one less thing to worry about. As long as they deliver the fridge with no hassles tomorrow, our unending domestic upheaval may be getting sorted.

Good news for my new friend Susie Lawstudent - she's finally gained a Training Contract. I'm pleased for her as I know the struggle, but it's making me a bit depressed. Especially as I was called to a meeting to discuss why I've been late a bit recently. I guess when enthusiasm for the job is waning, it gets harder to get worked up about it. I must try harder; I must not get sacked. And I must get back into doing Training Contract applications.

And I'll stop moaning now. This evening, I'll post about the amazing Breed 77. Now that's worth looking forward to!

The weekend

Another enjoyable weekend and the return to work on Monday morning, safe in the knowledge that its only 3 months (or 91 days) until Christmas. A dank, wet and gloomy day, although not cold. It looks autumnal, it sounds autumnal, so therefore it should be autumnal. Yes? No. It's 22 degrees, wet, dark and gloomy. Is this Britain? Or just the effects of global warming? It's warmer than most of August...

Went charity shop shopping with Mummy on Saturday, just like we used to. This is the way forward I think, now I'm on my new budget (or rather the £5 left each month after paying my law school loan payment and my rent). And for £13.99 I am the proud owner of a wool skirt and two merino wool jumpers. All barely worn and perfect for work. Now all I need to do is find the dress that I'm after.

Returned to London late Saturday afternoon. Was due at B's 26th birthday dinner at 8pm. The train suffered from a 30-minute delay and my precarious financial state meant tube not taxi. A frantic wash and hunt for an 'outfit'. Being ill meant very little clean washing, and such a packed calendar lately (!) meant my usual such outfits have already been viewed far too many times in the last few weeks. Still, I found an old silk top which I quickly ironed and managed to layer with another one. Such was my success I was asked where I got it! Was lovely to be out and about again after lying in bed for three days, and I managed to get there for 8.40pm. The meal was beautifully cooked by B and expertly served by L. As I walked there and M&I walked home, we spent no money. The downside, it took ages and we didn't roll into bed until 3am.

Sunday afternoon and Marylebone High Street. Lunch at The Prince Regent and then a cup of tea and the rest of the Ryder Cup at the Marylebone Tup. Followed by a spot of browsing in Cath Kidson and a few other shops. Such was my restraint I even managed to buy my shampoo and other toiletries from Boots rather than SpaceNK. Then up to Kenwood House for our now weekly walk. We had a cup of tea in the walled gardens and then ambled round Hampstead Heath. Until we realised that the car park closed at dusk, and the grounds at 7.15pm. And it was 7.10pm. M & B raced for the car park and just rescued the car before it was impounded. C and I followed at a more sedate pace. It was so warm I was wearing a mini-skirt, but this is September and we had forgotten how getting dark is now like turning out a light switch. Still, we made it out of the woods in one piece and even had time to stop and watch the rabbits.

Back to Primrose Hill and supper. Roasted vegetables and rice followed by bread & butter pudding made with the remains of last week’s loaf. M working at the weekend means more organisation food wise is needed...

'Twas on a Monday Morning...

... the Gas Man came to call', goes the Flanders & Swann song, The Gas Man Commeth, that we used to listen to on holiday, when it was too wet to picnic on the beach and too windy to sail. A song of unending domestic upheaval; I think I could probably write an updated version detailing the saga of living in our flat. Men are supposed to be coming to patch up the hole (in the ceiling). That's right. Patch up the hole. Not replace the ceiling, as the builders suggested. Still, that’s landlords for you. I have no further details, except that it's supposed to be this week. It only happened three weeks ago, so I suppose no desperate rush.

Some other men are supposed to be delivering our new fridge freezer on Wednesday. Sometime between 8am and 8pm. Which means a day off. But no, they call the night before and give you a 4-hour time slot. How convenient, not knowing until the evening before. So, a half-day then? But no, they will call you at the start of said four-hour time slot and tell you which hour. So Madam, you can just leave work for that hour. Assuming that it's convenient that you can leave work at no notice for 'an hour', which will probably be more like two or three, and that you work and live in the same street. Most people don't work and live in the same postcode in London. Sainsbury's obviously believe in putting the delivery people first, not the customer.

So, bets to be placed on whether either happens as planned this week; I wonder what the odds are for both on the Wednesday? But I'm sure it won't be as easy as that. As I said, unending domestic upheaval.

Postcard from 'home'

Haven't posted for a few days as have been confined to my bed with a tummy thing. Finally dragged myself out of the house and back to Berkshire. To the dentist. And a bonus evening to see grandparents, uncle, mother and sister. Father is in China and the other sister is currently at a beach party. Only the happy party got rather delayed by a flash flood somewhere near Leatherhead on the way home from a funeral. So, Annie and I did what any self respecting, somewhat abandoned siblings would at such a time. We headed for the retail park. No, I can't believe it either. We tried on hideous things in New Look, including some beautiful patent leather platform shoes; in a magazine, looked ok - on my feet, like a stripper. And then to Tesco. Where I actually found a black v-neck which I will be able to wear to work. For £10. I don't usually like to support supermarkets, but given my current financial crisis and need for work clothes, I was in no position to refuse.

Have spent the past few days watching Sex and the City, series 4, 5 and most of 6. I'd forgotten my old friends Carrie, Charlotte et al. It was like a reunion. And speaking of old friends I actually know, took calls from both H and S whilst residing au lit. Was lovely to hear from both of them and I am looking forward to meeting up. Also spent some time writing something about size zero models and the contents of Vogue. Two separate articles, you understand, although I suppose I could equally combine them. Sadly, both are on my laptop in Primrose Hill and I am here in Berkshire. So I will have to finish them another time.

Shikasuki - Primrose Hill

"A candy box of vintage delights blended with mouth-watering contemporary art. Two floors of treasures... Pick 'n' Mix your own selection!" is Shikasuki's tagline. Owned and managed by Rachel Sheridan Ducker and her parents, this little white and Perspex shop is crammed full of vintage clothes and accessories. And if you can't quite afford any of the Ossie Clark dresses, there are greetings cards, original artwork (some by the owner herself) and a huge number of sparkly accessories for even the smallest of budgets. I ended up with some cards to send to friends featuring some of the bags for sale in the shop and a gorgeous sparkly red beaded cocktail ring with roses. It cheered up my day no end this morning when I had to go to work.

And I'm wearing it now, typing this, during my lunch hour. I've got stomach, PMT and am feeling a bit rubbish. But with my hotwaterbottle and my sparkly ring, I'm managing to cope.

"The city of London is so pretty, Mommy"

Sunday afternoon and a walk on Hampstead Heath. M & J were ensconced in a pub in Primrose Hill, watching Chelsea beat Liverpool and then were joined by another J to watch Arsenal beat Manchester United. Sadly, M & J support Liverpool and J Manchester United. So T and I retreated to Hampstead and walked on the Heath in the afternoon sunshine. We watched people swimming in the bathing ponds and admired the view over London from Parliament Hill. Which is where a very tiny boy on a scooter, accompanied by his American father and French mother and elder sister, made the remark which provided me with this title. And he was right. It was an inspiring view.

Another inspiring view is the one from the 7th floor bar of the Tate Modern, where M & I met S for drinks on Saturday afternoon. As we sat there drinking our tea and catching up with each others lives (S has been away since we graduated from Law School last year) and our respective jobs and new houses, I suddenly realised that I was sat looking out at the view, but not really seeing it. It is an amazing panoramic skyline view over London, my beloved London. And it left me feeling satisfied but a little guilty that I had been taking such a view for granted. And itching for a sketch book. Next time M is working on a Saturday, that is what I am going to do.

We then went to Angel to meet another M, a friend from university. We went to a noodle bar for supper and then to the pavement tables of a bar called Cuba Libre. And we were joined by D, another friend from university who has been living in Rome, B&C and a few other friends. We ended up going to the Old Queen's Head; a bar which feels a bit more like a house. It is full of random sofas and the upstairs dance floor makes you feel like you are dancing in someone's sitting room. And the Scratch Perverts were playing - which was great - and all for £3!

Food (for thought)

Settling down well into a better weekend pattern. Once again, food dominated; although a reverse of the traditional meal scenario. Once upon a time, housewives all over the country cooked a roast joint of some description on Sunday. This then became the basis for the weekly evening meals - e.g. cold on Monday, minced into Shepherd's Pie on Tuesday etc. And so on until Friday. M & I however, cooked our roast on Friday evening. Beef, with roasted potatoes, tomatoes, carrots, onions and some braised cabbage. We then ate cold beef in sandwiches for Saturday and Sunday lunch and finished the weekend with homemade soup, quiche and apple pie.

Attended the Farmers' Market training on Saturday. We had been asked to show up for 8am; we did and found that we were expected to work all morning and afternoon. Although it was an interesting experience, both M and I independently realised that it was not for us. Our real interest is the food; buying fresh, local, seasonal produce on a weekly basis - not running the event for other people. It was a lot of work, for very little pay; not something to look forward to after a week doing my 'day job'. I'm glad that I explored the opportunity however, as so often one doesn't and then always wonders what it may have offered. Am still going to write an article about the market for MarmaLADYa though. Tonight though, when I can think in peace.

And speaking of MarmaLADYa.com; I found this rather interesting article. Written by Elspeth Waters (Deputy Editor of Fresh Produce Journal) it explores some of the issues surrounding fresh fruit & vegetables and the dilemma we face balancing our own health (buy organic) and buying local and in-season (a mixture of both traditional & organic) with supporting the poorer countries (fairtrade) and reducing airmiles. Do we stop buying bananas thereby reducing airmiles, or should we continue to buy them, fairtrade, therefore supporting farmers and tradelinks? I'm not sure that she poses a better answer than the standard response, some of each and what one can afford, but it's worth a look (and some consideration). As is the rest of MarmaLADYa.com.

File under Miscellaneous

thelondonpaper published a comment on the Cuckoo Club yesterday. Amongst other things, it noted that this was the venue of Paris Hilton's 'flower' bombing incident at the hands of PETA. What a joke!

Friday seems to come round quicker and quicker at the moment. The days are speeding away. Soon it will be winter. Alexandra starts university this weekend; I am not worried for her (as any problem she faces she will face in the knowledge that she encountered worse on her travels) but for my mother. My wonderful mother who has to take and leave Alexandra on her own because my father is at a conference in China. Just as soon as one returns, another leaves and my worries start all over again.

Attending training tomorrow morning - M and I are considering applying to manage the Primrose Hill Farmers' Market. Not sure how I will manage to get up at 7am every Saturday morning throughout the winter but the job does sound interesting. Well, we'll see how it goes tomorrow...

Will post some more thoughts in answer to my previously posted ponderings when I get a few minutes.

Label launch - Chelsea

Attended the label launch on Wednesday evening. And what a bizarre evening it was. It was the event I was asked to model at before being told that 'there aren't enough outfits... we're having trouble getting enough for the catwalk'. I mean, it's not like they were launching a clothing label or anything.

So, we turned up and the lighting crew were still setting up; the free tequila bar ran out early on as there wasn't anything to watch so everyone drank instead. Smoking was only allowed on the staircase (small, narrow and metal) as the launch was in the studio. Fair point but it meant that most people were squashed on the landing.

Then, finally, the models presented the clothes - which was all very nice but a bit dull. There was nothing that was truly original, yet nothing one could really wear on a day-to-day basis either. There were a few interesting blouses, but a lot of the things were too see through for practical use, but would look odd with anything under them. An interesting experience though.

Then down one set of stairs to a nightclub to watch a band. Who managed to be an odd mix; musically a bit bland but with vaguely charismatic members. Drinks were hugely overpriced but it was Chelsea. Then a raffle where C won a magnum of tequila. I've never seen so much tequila in one container and despite our best efforts, we managed about an inch or two. Between 10. That's how much there was. Goodie bags were handed out – containing an odd assortment of things (including England winning the Rugby World Cup in 2003 on DVD). And then it was 10pm and everyone had left. Except T and her charming boss.

A bus to Sloane Square and then from nowhere - the heavens opened and it was as if we were standing under a fire hose being used on a film set. Soaked through in seconds and one ruined pair of four inch pink suede round toed shoes. Sheltered drunkenly in a bank doorway and a mad dash into the tube station. Bakerloo and Northern Line suffering (again) so disembarked at Camden for some supper. And then home, to bed, to sleep.

The art of tea

The New York Times published an article today about teabags. Or more specifically, a new type of teabag for tea connoisseurs. These new bags are made of nylon and allow fresh long leaved tea to infuse inside, giving the drinker a beautiful cup of fresh tea without the need to use loose leaf tea and a tea pot.

What a waste of resources. I was under the impression that we needed to save the environment rather than trying to find innovative new ways of creating more waste in answer to a problem that we didn't know existed. And to add insult to injury, the article continues:

Somewhat surprisingly, English tea companies appear to be the slowest to catch on to the trend of fine tea in tea bags. The English often drink tea with milk and sugar, so they like it dark and strong, just the way cheap tea bags make it. “The English consumer is less adventurous than the American.”

Or, those English people who drink 'fine tea' already use a teapot and therefore have no need for a new type of teabag. And as for us being less adventurous...

Tuesday - the day of... badly written blogs

Just a quick post today as am very busy at work and anxious to go home. Keep writing a list of things to write about but have yet to find time to sit down and expand on my initial thoughts. So far, I still need to elaborate on the Jewish wedding that I attended, set out my thoughts on the importance of the WI in the 21st century, discuss manners and why I still find text messaging to be an inappropriate medium for informing one that one's services are no longer needed and expand my view on the need to shop (and why Liz Jones is so bloody annoying). All that and send some job applications, find an outfit to wear to the label launch tomorrow evening and turn the remains of the roast chicken I cooked last night into a tasty supper. It looks set to be a long evening...

No time to add these to my list on the side bar, but today I discovered the blog I considered writing until I decided it would be too boring (and depressing) to write everyday. Yes, the ups and downs of an aspiring lawyer in search of an elusive training contract. But no need, it's been done for me. That and her American counterpart . I assume they are not related, although I can't be certain. They both have used pictures of a certain Miss Woods as their profile image.

It's not the mundane aspect of personal blogging I find aggravating. It's the writing. When the bitching of the Fugly writers becomes a better read than some blogs I've read recently, there must be a problem. Even some of my favourite bloggers have started to rant in a rather unbecoming fashion. Let's hope its only temporary.

Farmers' Market

It's been another weekend of domesticity. M spent Friday evening making soup. We had French Onion for supper and then the vegetable for lunch on Saturday. Saturday morning was spent at the inaugural Primrose Hill Farmers' Market. There was a huge range of beautiful produce for sale including bread, sausages, fruit & vegetables, cakes, eggs, milk, cheese (some wonderful goats as well as cheddar) and herbs and plants. We bought some oak smoked garlic which smells amazing, as well as some onion bread. Next week I shall go before I do any shopping. Combined with our Abel & Cole vegetable box, we should hardly need to visit the supermarket at all. Thankfully. If only it wasn't so expensive.

Spent Saturday afternoon baking scones, quiches and bread pudding, which M, B and C helped eat. Had invited Alexandra and Annie to come for Sunday lunch. Both bailed on me though. Understandable I suppose as one is jet lagged and the other spends her time looking after a screaming two year old and cleaning someone else’s loo for £5 an hour. So, we went to Richmond Park instead. The weather was absolutely beautiful and the place was enormous; it rather reminded me of California, especially the colours and still air and herds of deer lying about in the shade of the trees. It was just what we needed after the stress of last week. We ate cold quiche and scones in a clearing in the trees and went for a walk. B drove us back to his flat, where he cooked us sausages and mashed potato for supper. M and I returned on the bus happy and relaxed. We didn’t spend much money, didn’t drink too much and for once it was great for the whole weekend to revolve around food!

Kate for Agent Provocateur

Having read much hype regarding Kate's debut film performance, I jumped at the chance to watch it for myself courtesy of my parents' broadband connection (my own dial up deemed too slow and the work broadband too risky). After registering with Agent Provocateur the first part of the series, Shadows, flickered into sight. There was Kate, lying in a tousled state in a rumpled bed, wearing bra, knickers, suspender belt and stockings, all black-eyed and blonde kitten hair, whispering, in a very soft south London voice, the details of a dream from which she had just emerged. The shots were soft, black and white night vision; the retinas of her eyes clearly and disturbingly visible. The combination of her movements, gaze and voice were unnerving. It was as if the page had suddenly sprung to a sleepy, sexy life. And the underwear looked amazing. Mostly clever makeup and the use of a night vision camera, I suspect, rather than the actual bra, but if her breasts look that good wearing it, I want one. Rather clever advertising; first, everyone is familiar with Kate's naked self and she looks even better in the underwear; secondly, Kate's entire persona is comprised of her image- until the Virgin advert I had never even heard her speak - which in this film is brought into a unique three-dimensional reality.

Blog Problems

Am having some difficulties. My sidebar and profile no longer appears as a right hand column; it has disappeared to the bottom of the page. I find this annoying. If anyone knows how to rectify this, please let me know.

UPDATE - I have managed to work out what was wrong. By deleting my thoughts on Kate and re-posting them (above) the dotted line causing all the trouble has gone. Yay!

And I will post something more interesting soon. I promise. It's just been one hell of a week. Ceiling, Alexandra's return, M ill etc. Ceiling is still shedding small pieces of plaster and wood into the kitchen. Especially when the people upstairs use their washing machine. But what can we do - ask them not to? M has been hassling the landlords today, but with little success so far. Oh, the joys of rented accommodation. If we owned it, it may be expensive, but at least it would have been sorted by now.

At least my new telephone has arrived. I will be able to send text messages

Small thoughts

It's been a hard day. The hole in the ceiling is still there, the kitchen floor still covered in plaster dust. M has been ill and I have been away. Returned to London on a credit card ticket as have essentially run out of money. M is hot & cold, achy and disjointed. The doctors can only offer an appointment in a week’s time. I am worried and frustrated because I can't do anything.

The list of things to do piles up; people will not return my calls or e-mails and the frustration grows. No fridge, no broadband. The new mobile telephone I ordered hasn't been delivered. I call. "There's been a problem with dispatch". Yes, I realised that. "It will be with you soon". Why didn't you call to let me know? "Oh, dispatch is not linked to our call-centre". "It'll be with you today or tomorrow". You said that last week. And so it goes on.

Maybe it'll be better tomorrow.

Return of the Weary Traveller

Alexandra has returned. Annie and I picked her up from Heathrow this morning. Home safely; a little taller, browner, blonder and older. How I have missed her. Wasn't prepared for how sad I would feel once I was back in London. I feel like the youngest now, not the eldest. She has seen places I'll never see, experienced things I never will and met people that I'll never know. She's fallen in love. She has witnessed amazing sights and coped with horrific ones. She has spent money in currencies that I have never heard of and done things I'd never dream of. And finally, she has returned home; still the same but imperceptibly different.

thelondonpaper v London Lite

Monday saw the launch of a new London free afternoon paper - thelondonpaper, hot on the heels of the launch two weeks ago of London Lite. Yesterday I read both papers. I did the same thing today. I found it interesting that each tried at the same time to be different yet fill the same market gap. Both are free, handed out in the street (as neither has won a tender to exclusively handout papers (Metro style) at the tube stations) and feature purple in the banner lines. thelondonpaper is slightly smaller, more akin to the Guardian but with a larger reference to the sport pages; London Lite is reminiscent of its sister paper, the Metro. Lite makes much of the fact that it was free and first, with 'free' imprinted on the top left hand corner and marching across the top middle; the cover features a light weight picture (Eva Longoria in a bikini) in addition to a large headline, a small portion of text and some taster lines of inside articles. It's overall look screams 'tabloid'.

Of course, both carry much of the same type of news albeit packaged slightly differently. That is to be expected as both papers feature local and some national news. Both headlines refer to the same topic but inside the articles are portrayed rather differently. Lite in many ways is what it says; there is a good deal of snippets of celebrity behaviour, parties, premiers and the like. There also appears to be some tabloid style scaremongering and generalisation: an article concerning a disposable hospital gown designed for Muslim women (it allows them to completely cover up) is published underneath a large headline Muslims feared on the Tube since 7/7 . Intended for the article next to the hospital gowns, but reinforcing some kind of opinion on both Muslim fear and lack of faith in the NHS - as the article concludes that no doubt these gowns will be unaffordable due to the crippling debts with which the NHS is struggling. thelondonpaper relegates the gown issue to page 15, granting it 2 sentences. No mention of cost and certainly no large photo. Not that thelondonpaper is without criticism - much of the 'lighter' issues have already been written, better, elsewhere. I was particularly unimpressed by the double page feature on pole dancing exercise classes, not least because the woman taking the lesson was large with bad shoes. In general the writing is rather sloppy and brief does not have to mean insubstantial.

It seems rather a shame that such potential has not been fulfilled. Given that both papers claim to relate to London, leaving aside the listings and celebrity gossip, much of the news is not really about London. The vast majority of the sport is related to a national scale - surely room for a page or two on the thriving sports scene across London. These papers are clearly aimed at the working Londoner; someone who likes their news bite-sized, up-to-date, celebrity ridden and free. In a society when people can download worldwide, quality, up-to-the-minute news to their work PC whenever they want to read it, any paper that wishes to compete is going to have to produce something better than I have read over the last two days.

Things that go bump in the night...

It's only 2pm, but I've been awake for 10 hours. On my usual time scale, it should be time to leave work, not have lunch. The day started with an almighty bang at about 4.15am, when a sizeable part of our kitchen ceiling decided enough time had been spent trying to hang onto some rather damp ceiling boards and descended into the kitchen accompanied by a large amount of rubble. The cornice (which was apparently the catalyst: being too heavy for the surrounding wet-then-dry plaster) was found sat proudly on the front of the washing machine in a bed of two tea towels and a huge amount of dust. Everything else in the immediate vicinity (i.e. up to the bathroom and the bedroom) is covered in a neat film of plaster dust, including the 'clean' washing up, the 'clean' washing-awaiting-ironing and all my shoes, handbags, books and other assorted paraphernalia which sits on and under the kitchen sideboard. I am not impressed. A suitable answer phone message was left for the landlords (at 4.30am) and a builder eventually turned up. Thankfully he assures me the rest of the ceiling is safe, but the whole thing will need to be replaced. Which will take about a week and will require us to leave. And I can still taste plaster dust.

Primrose Hill Farmers' Market

At last! We are to have our own Farmers' Market. The first one is on the 9 September 2006 at the junior school on Princess Avenue. It starts at 9am and only sells products from farms situated within 100 miles of the M25. I can't wait...

Simon Armitage

In memory of the 5th anniversary of the Twin Towers Attack, Simon Armitage has written a poem, to be read on Radio 4. It is too long to publish in full here, but this is the link to the pdf. And here is the link to the article published on the Times website.

I found the poem rather moving and a little jarring, not least because Armitage never settles into one particular rhythm; moving instead between rhyme and free form prose to create a sense of familiarity coloured by panic and finality, repeating imagery and themes as emphatic reminders that each person who died in the atrocity died leading an innocent, normal human life.

It's been a long time coming...

... but on Wednesday Alexandra will be home. It must be autumn. Although, you wouldn't really know it, as it's been warmer the past few days than it has in weeks. I am so excited. Annie & I are going to meet her from Heathrow (if we can work out which terminal her flight lands at).

Spent the weekend in fully-fledged domesticity; cleaning and baking on Saturday and attending a friend's wedding on Sunday. It seems the wrong way round, but then it was a Jewish wedding. In central London. It felt all wrong wearing a dress, heels and a hat on Oxford Street. Will post more about the wedding when I have a bit more time, as it deserves a bit more detail.

Baked scones, two quiches and apple crumble on Saturday. The apples were from Mum & Dad's garden and the filling in the quiches came from our vegetable box, so all very healthy. L brought her handbag over for supper and finally received her birthday present (which was bought in time for said birthday, but somehow I never had it about my person whenever we've seen each other). All in all, a good day.

Off to WI tonight, should be an interesting evening. Sewing and nucleur waste disposal. What a combination!