Hey there! So those keen followers out there will have noticed two things: one, I failed to correspond with you all last week and, two, I am blogging much earlier than usual. Well, last weekend involved a very late night with my choir chums (trust me, you can get that stereotypical image about classical singers well and truly out of your head!) and a date where I had promised the fella in question an abundantly fun night out... What never fails to amaze me is that, in between all the debauchery, I managed to make my mate Vicky's Christmas present - modelled here by the lady herself. She was chuffed to bits with it, which gives me hope as there are a few more handmade gifts in the pipeline. In fact, it would make sense if I cracked on with some crafting right now... but that would be far too sensible, wouldn't it? Surely a better use of my time is going out and buying a Christmas tree to decorate, right? So, yeah. Sod all that stuff I should br doing. Christmas is nearly here and, as the first one in my new flat, I intend to celebrate in style. Besides, I can finish off those prsents on the train home on Christmas Eve...
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Evening! So here I am, watching the Strictly results show on iplayer and blogging... on my phone. Yup, tonight I am having an IT meltdown, what with "netty" having a proper hissy fit and my work laptop chucking me off the net left, right and centre. So it looks like it is time to fork out for a new computer, which I guess I should be pretty pissed off - and stressed - about. But you know what? I don't really mind because, at the end of the day, there are more important things to worry about. The last two weekends have been so lovely. Last week Mama and Papa Berry were here, and today I waved goodbye (whilst running down the platform as their train pulled off!) to my bestie and her man. It was another great weekend, drinking, shopping and tapping into our inner child at Hyde Park's Winter Wonderland, drinking, riding the cable car over to Greenwich, eating and, er drinking some more. We had a blast - and once more I was sad to see people I love disappear back up north. Whilst money can be tight, what is important to me right now is seeing the people I love - and making sure I catch up with them all in the run-up to Christmas. So tonight, not only have I been cursing my tech, but I've been texting my mates to make sure I see them all before the year is out - and, if that can't happen, I've been getting dates in the diary for 2015.
Guys, see you soon... Well hellooooo... Yep, it's Sunday evening and I'm here as usual, blogging away. It's been a busy week, what with my frantic attempts to finish decorating the hall (STILL not quite done) and a visit from Mama and Papa Berry. It was lovely to see them both and show off my new abode to my ma, who had yet to visit, and to my pa, who has only seen it in the light of a decorator. On Saturday I was treated to a West Show, this time The Lion King. Whilst I was impressed by the singing, dancing and puppetry, I admit I wasn't blown away. As my ma pointed out, the story was a little one-dimensional, but I think it was something else that really bugged me. I couldn't help but wonder how an African would see the Westernized, Disney-fied interpretation of their country. What would they make of the sanitized version of the vibrant outfits I saw when I visited Kenya, or the semi-clad actors and supporting dancers who seem to play to that tired, old stereotype that black people are, like women, little more than sex objects? I wonder if my discomfort came from a conversation I had earlier that week about the way we describe people from different ethnic groups. Whilst I understand that to the older generation the label "coloured" was once much more acceptable than the term "black", I had to point out that it basically puts anyone who isn't "white" into the same ethnic group - essentially lumping together anyone who isn't Caucasian as the other. Whilst I accept that not all people mean to be derogatory when they use the word, when you look under the surface, it screams of notions of white supremacy. Not pretty. But then, who am I to judge? In my day job, I spend a lot of time telling people how they should behave and what they should do to improve their lives - people who are often from a different class, ethnic background and generation to me. Whilst my colleagues and I work hard to make a positive difference, I wonder if we always listen to the people we are supposed to be helping - and whether we truly welcome and take on board their views. So when I attend my evening meeting tomorrow, I'm going to make a conscious effort to really listen to what people are saying - and do my best to ensure that their views are taken into consideration in the follow-up work that we do. I like to think that I already do this. but if I'm brutally honest, I wonder if I'm just kidding myself, and I ask anyone who reads this to let me know if they think that I am - and perhaps to take stock of their own practice and views when dealing with people who are different from themselves. Dharlings! Lovvies! How wonderful to see you again! Aren't I fabulous?! Mwah, MWAH!! ...it doesn't work, does it? Okay, maybe if I was a published author with a deal at the White Cube, I could get away with being up my own arse. But, even if I was on the Bestseller's List and able to sell my unmade bed for millions (Ah! Just had a great idea for that pile of washing up...), I'd like to think that I wouldn't become one of those pretentious eejits. Yep, you guessed it, something is on my mind. On Thursday, I went to the Open Studio event at Wimbledon Art Studios. My mate Laura shares a studio there, and I could think of no better way to spend my evening other than quaffing wine, gossiping with my mate and enjoying some art. I admit, I thoroughly enjoyed my chinwag with Laura and her studio buddy Bea and made the most of the free bar (yes, I have no shame), but, whilst some of the art was pretty impressive, I couldn't help but feel a little disappointed, confused even. Why? Well, because whilst some of the artists were incredibly welcoming and chatty (and a handful forgivably shy), others almost seemed to resent giving members of the public access to their work. Several times I wandered into a studio to be greeted by a group talking loudly as they sipped their sauvignon. Fine, I guess. I can even forgive those who didn't say hello. But those who refused to acknowledge my presence or, worse still, gave me a contemptuous look before returning their valuable attention to their cronies - sorry, but I have no time for them. Especially those who huddle by their door so you can't even get bloody in... I just can't understand artists who take themselves so seriously. It spreads into the other arts, too. Many a time I have seen a band play live who I loved, only to be left cold by their refusal to interact with the crowd - yet been delighted by others who openly show their respect and gratitude to their audience. Yesterday I went to the theatre to see The Play that Goes Wrong and, whilst it isn't my usual cup of tea, it was refreshing to see thesps having a bit of fun and basically taking the mick out of themselves. So guys, do me a favour; never take yourself too seriously, no matter how successful you are. And, if I ever win the Booker or even the Turner Prize, please tell me if I become a pompous dick. Because it really isn't very becoming... Yep, you guessed it - it's my birthday and I've been to Berlin! And, as I'm busy recovering and relaxing with a glass of red, I'm going to keep this short and sweet.
It was completely by coincidence that I ended up there on the 25th anniversary of the Berlin Wall coming down, as well as Rememberance Sunday, and it was all the more poignant because of this - the Holocaust Memorial even more haunting and the East Side Gallery all the more inspiring. The original position of the wall was mapped out with a line of white balloons, and projectors showed a film detailing the historical moment at key locations across the city. I admit that,as a little girl celebrating my 10th birthday, I didn't really understood what all the fuss was about when it happened, but now,as an adult, it renders me speechless to think that so many people were essentially prisoners of the Communist regime - and many died trying to escape. Along with my 35th birthday, the weekend turned out to be one of reflection - personally and politically. But it was also one full of inspiration and exploration - all the more enjoyed with a German beer and good company to hand. I might not be a Berliner yet, but I think I'll be back. Auf Wiedersehn! Evening all, Yes, it's another late-night blog after a pretty hectic weekend. In case you didn't already guess, I've been to see Evita and today went to a seminar about - wait for it - dating. Yes, really. In my defense, my main reason for going was for research (still working on my podcast/article/youtube piece on the subject) but admit that there was some personal benefit. Okay, so a lot of it was about men, but the basis of the talk was how to get what you want from life, whether that be a new career or a new relationship. Eva Peron was a woman who did what she had to do to get where she wanted to be, morally or otherwise. According to the musical, she essentially used men to get to the top and her working-class background to gain the adoration of a nation - with the added benefit of the riches that came with being the first lady of Argentina. Having read a few books on finding Mr Right (research people, honest!), I have to say that some tactics suggested seem a little bit manipulative. I mean, asking a guy if you can use his phone just to start a conversation? Persuading him to help you pick a birthday present for an imaginary brother? Sorry, but no - if I'm going to find Mr Right, I'm going to do it my way. And that means cutting the crap. So, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to text that young man I met last week and remind him how fabulous I am. What I won't be telling him is that I've been singing Andrew Lloyd Webber songs all weekend... Well hello there... I hope you're all feeling refreshed after that extra hour in bed? I can't really say that I am, but that's got more to do with the three-day-decorating-marathon I just completed with my dad than a sleep shortage. Yep, that's right - I have another room under my belt. Here's a photo of it one coat in - and keep an eye on Twitter for the finished article once I've got it straight again... When I haven't been preoccupied with my pad this week I've been working on an application for an internship. Okay, so I might look a bit old for work experience, but this one is designed for us slightly more "experienced" folk who want to try something new. I showed my first draft to my mate Vicky. After politely nodding at my gushing prose on how much I loved the company and why I was suited to it, she suggested that I should instead tell them my story. "Eh?" Even as a writer, the concept baffled me. "It's at a magazine, so they'll want someone who has been on a journey that they can share with their readers." I nodded as I made notes. Now, not only did I need to convince them that I wouldn't be a complete waste of space, I wanted to make myself sound worthy of such an opportunity. So I went for it. And, whilst I don't know whether spending the last 13 years trying to make other people's lives better will impress them or not, I hope that admitting that it is only in my 30's that I feel able to pursue the dreams I've had since I was a teenager will resonate with someone on the shortlisting panel. And, if it doesn't, I won't give up. If I do, I know I'll live to regret it - not because I might miss my chance, but because I don't want to live my life thinking "what if?" Besides, as the little plaque my mum once bought me says; "Reach for the moon. If you don't make it, you'll still be among the stars." Okay, so as a statement it might be factually incorrect, but as a proverb it is one that I'm living by. I recommend you give it a go too. Ay-up! Yes! It's me! On a Saturday afternoon rather than a Sunday evening! I'd like to say that my slightly-earlier-than-usual blog has some significance and, to be fair, it does. It signifies... procrastination. You see, I have two hours before I head out to my mate's 30th birthday do but, quite honestly, everything on my to-do list is filling me with something other than enthusiasm. I've made a start on my decorating task for the weekend, but I've run out of paint. Of course, I could spend an hour prepping the rest of the woodwork in the hall but, quite honestly, I don't really fancy it. It's physically tiring, gets dust everywhere and is really quite boring. The other options are to ring npower and try to sort out a dispute about my electricity supplier (read: major headache) or to make a start on re-writing the first few chapters of my latest writing project - a project I'm very excited about, but I feel exhausted even thinking about the task in hand. Uff! So here I am, blogging away. And I'm running out of things to say. Which means I probably need to stop typing and go do something else. Suddenly scrubbing the toilet and tackling the washing up seem very appealing... Well hello my pretties... I trust your weekend has treated you well? I have to admit I've been feeling a bit under the weather (bloody tonsils) but I've refused to let my sniffles and general lack of energy get the better of me. Oh, no. Instead, I've been doing what us frugal Northerners do best - indulging in a bit of a bargain hunt - and boy has it given me a boost! This week I've been... FREECYCLING! Or rather, spending my Wednesday evening putting together a desk I picked up gratis from the website with my mate - in exchange for food and wine, of course. And, believe you me, sans instructions, it proved more challenging than the Crystal Maze. You see - free entertainment with your free furniture. What's not to like? UPCYCLING! Oh yes... and I finally finished my funky book case! WOOO HOOO! CAR BOOTING! I've flexed my bargain-hunting muscles a tad further today and picked up a couple of bar stools from a car boot in Wimbledon for the princely sum of £1.50. For the pair. Yes, REALLY. The sad thing is, if the market had been closer to home, I could have got myself four dining table chairs for a tenner, but the taxi home would have negated any cash saved on such a price. But that doesn't mean I can't keep my eyes peeled for boot sales in Walthy... So yes, I am feeling rather pleased with myself. But don't get me wrong - such frugality comes at a price. I dread to think how many hours went into that bookcase, and getting my desk together took a lot of perseverance - and tea. As for the bar stools? Well, they need a lick of paint and a bit of upholstering, but after all the funny looks I got as I transported them across London via train, tube and bus, that is the least of my worries. But I can't wait to see my latest bargain once it's been tarted up - and the faces of my guests when I tell them the stool they are perched on cost all of 75p... Evening! Well you can all give yourselves a pat on the back - you got through Monday! Hurrah! I admit I had a relatively easy one, in that I was off work and at my parents after spending the weekend lunching and window-shopping with my mum and walking (for 12 miles!) with my dad - not unusual activities when with Mama and Papa Berry. Today, however, I spent my last day back home visiting their solicitor to get my will sorted out and mooching over to the local NHS walk-in centre with ANOTHER dose of tonsillitis. Which means that tomorrow I will be making an appointment to see my GP so I can bully him into whipping them out... Anyway, I digress. This week has been very family-orientated for me. On Wednesday I put up my sister at Shelly Berry Headquarters. The plan was to have a glass of wine and try to assemble a flat-pack desk sans the instructions. The reality was two bottles of red, a big bag of crisps and a good old gossip. It was a rare treat - usually when I see her it is for a quick pizza when she is in town for a meeting, or with the rest of the clan in tow. So it was with regret (and a sore head) that I said goodbye to her the next morning - only to run into her that evening in the pub! I was with my colleagues, as was she before heading back up north on the train. It was with great pride that I introduced her to my work mates - even when one of them, after hearing about her esteemed career, asked what had gone wrong with me... Even if my parents wonder the same question, they would never say it out loud - in fact, they spoil me rotten. I've given up trying to pay for meals or trips out when I'm home they are so insistent in treating their little girl - I do well to get the opportunity to buy my dad a pint in the pub or a coffee for my mum when we take a break from our wanders around town. Not only that, but my dad has agreed to help me with another round of decorating and they're taking me to see the Lion King when they come down in November - and, trust me, the tickets weren't exactly cheap. And, what with pressies from her "business trips" abroad and bottles of Pinot Noir, my big sis seems to be following in their footsteps. Anyway, I guess my point is, you can pick your friends but you can't choose your family - but I reckon I got a good deal. So, mum, dad and Jo - here's looking at you :-) |
THE JUICEHere you will find my latest news, including what I have been up to and what I have been writing (and making). Hopefully you'll like what I have to say - and perhaps I will motivate you to get creative too... Archives
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