Has anyone noticed it’s raining…?

Posted on 01/05/2012 by bighair63

A top city!

Posted on 28/04/2012 by bighair63

So we are into our fourth week in the new pad in Sheffield! The move has tested our relationship, our stamina, our strength and our packing abilities to their limits. I tend to agree when they say the stress of moving is number two on the list of Top Ten Most Stressful Experiences, the first being bereavement!

After the fourth day of trundling along the motorway in the cabin of our white van, littered with empty coffee cups, half eaten sandwiches and yorkie wrappers, emotions were running high. Our muscles complained from countless trips up and down three flights of stairs to our flat, balancing box upon box of 13 years of accumulated clutter.

As the last bag was dragged through the door, we congratulated ourselves on a job well done – it is quite a feat trying to cram the contents of a three bedroom, three story house into a one and a half bedroom flat. Consolidating one’s personal possessions into ‘can’ or ‘can’t-live-without’ piles, is time consuming and tedious especially when one is predisposed to putting everything in the ‘can’t live without’ pile.

I knew things weren’t going to be plain sailing when two weeks before the move we tackled our first and smallest cupboard, the ‘Sports Cupboard’. This tiny space under the stairs had somehow metamorphosed into a tardis of equipment, half of which I’d never seen or worn before. Buried far far beneath the leggings, the hoodies, the skorts and shorts, the rugby tops, the tennis tees, the fencing gear, the softball pants, the padded cycling trousers, the bag of mismatched socks, the ice skating shirts and boots, the trainers and badminton rackets, was a bag of L’s school exercise books and a mountain of teddy bears (origins unkown). It was like an archaeological dig. Much haggling ensued as we set about our mission:

‘You can’t keep that, it’s dated!’
‘But it’s my cheese cloth shirt from 25 years ago’ she says, stating the obvious.
‘It wouldn’t even make a good dishcloth! And unless you’re planning on founding a commune in the woods, it’s got to go…give me one good reason why we should keep it?’
She fumbles for a reason…
‘You’d forgotten you even owned the rag until we just unearthed it…’ I say, remembering the time I purposely buried it in the cupboard, not wanting to throw it away for fear of reprimand but determined to prevent L from ever wearing it again. Out of sight, out of mind.
‘But it’s one of my faaavourites!’ she whines.
‘So here’s the ultimatum, you can keep that rag if you get rid of the green, oh-so-butchy army pants with the 20,000 pockets!’ Yet another item of clothing I purposely banished to bottom of the cupboard.

And so it went on…for two whole hours (that was just the Sports Cupboard!). I hasten to add that both the cheese cloth shirt and the oh-so-butchy army pants made it into the ‘can live without’ pile. PHEW!

After systematically tackling each cupboard of the house, bartering, arguing and sulking along the way, until we felt thoroughly cleansed. L is now convinced that we could lead a minimalist life but I’m dubious. When you have a collection of over 100 piggy banks and have trouble parting with your favourite socks which are so holey they’re practically leg warmers, there’s no hope!

So Sheffield, the city of steel! The first stainless steel was invented here in 1913by a man called Harry Brearley. We’ve been here less than a month and already I love it! The first thing you notice is that Sheffield is very, very hilly. It has done wonders for my thighs and my cardio vascular fitness.

One of Sheffield’s best attributes is its location. The city is within spitting distance of the peak district – Hathersage, Longshaw Estate, Froggat Edge, Bakewell and many more scenic villages are all within 30 minutes of our front door. We are enthusiastically exploring the moorland walks after work and have now created a new cupboard, ‘The walking cupboard’, where our previously underused walking equipment has pride of place. Four weeks in, and we still feel as though we are on an extended holiday.

Most mornings before work, I busy myself exploring the local area, testing coffee shops and breathing in the fresh, peak district air. I’m nurturing ruddy cheeks and have been quite surprised that Yorkshire men do indeed live up to the stereotype. I have seen more whippets in the last four weeks than I ever saw during my 12 years in Nottingham! If you aren’t sure what a whippet looks like – it is a small, unnaturally skinny version of a greyhound. They can often be seen wearing a coat to protect their skeletal form from the elements and their sad eyes seem only to communicate one thing, ‘Feed Me!’ (excuse the drawing, I’m testing my new graphics pad).

Whenever one moves to a new city, they inevitably have to start from scratch on the friendship front. Ideally, one should throw themselves into a new team sport, group pass time or creative activity that paves the way for extended conversation, drinks and ultimately friendship! Although pigeon racing – a true Yorkshire activity – might be a good place to start, I’m not sure the participants would necessarily be my future best friends (I’m not talking about the pigeons). So, with no life drawing classes or softball teams to note, what else is there except….AFRICAN DRUMMING! Oh YEAH!

On a whim L and I signed up to a taster session and found ourselves amongst an odd group of people. L’s cheese cloth shirt may not have been a faux pas with this motley crew. There was one particularly scary 6ft lady of considerable girth who, in a trance like state, beat the Dundun drums for the full 1.5 hour session, neither missing a beat nor cracking a smile. Her menancing stare was unfortunate, as was her lack of neckline and 5 o’clock shadow. But, don’t judge a book by its cover I say.

Run by a man with extraordinary caffeine-induced energy, who has a tendancy to jump up and down whilst yipping to the beat, it turns out that African Drumming is decidedly good fun. It appeals to ones inner tribal warrior. The leader’s enthusiasm is infectious, even the quietest and shyest people in the group were soon beating their Djembe drum and jigging along chanting the phrase ‘I like cheese’ in time with the beat – don’t ask!

As yet we haven’t identified any new friend material but we have the whole 10 week course to get to know people. A slight flaw in our plan might be that drumming is not conducive to conversation.

There’s still much to explore and many walks to discover and I’m looking forward to the rest of the year. For now, Sheffield is living up to its reputation as a diverse city with a rich heritage and soul.

Baltic!

Posted on 03/02/2012 by bighair63

Yes, it is really, really cold. -4C to be precise! Ok, so everything is relative, I mean the conditions aren’t on a par with North Pole (yet) but the latest Big Freeze is quite enough to give me an insight, and frankly, unless I had my own supply of seal furs, walrus blubber and an Eskimo, I’m quite happy to continue whinging about -4C.

Last night I had the misfortune to travel for two hours on a train with no heating! Everyone on board was wrapped up, grown men were shivering and tourists were pulling spare jumpers from their suitcases for extra warmth. It feels like a real winter – we just need some snow.

British Summer

Posted on 19/07/2007 by bighair63

I’ve just been looking back at the post from April. What seems like eons ago, the sun was glorious, bright and bursting with warmth. The BBQ season came early, the birds were singing and everyone was preparing themselves for a major heatwave.

Well – HOW WRONG WE WERE! I can’t, in fact, remember what the sun looks like – It’s the middle of summer yet all over the country billions of pounds worth of damage has been caused by torrential rain and flooding. We now have a rubber dinghy and two life savers strapped to the side of the house in case we have to abandon ship and ride the waves.

The tomatoes L planted with enthusiasm in spring have become waterlogged and are rotting in their pots, the bathroom is constantly draped in damp clothes that can’t be hung out to dry and the new outdoor run for the rabbits is sadly rusting after minimal use.

We have managed to catch a few bright spells here and there but I can quite honestly say that I’ve managed to wear my shorts a maximum 5 times this year – four of which were in April. Alas, my legs are as pasty as the day I was born.

Last week we braved the weather to go camping in the Peak District – are we mad you ask? Well… Yes! But, because it had been booked for over 3 months, we felt we couldn’t let our friend down on her 40th birthday!

Donned in waterproofs jackets, trousers, wellies and with umbrellas for back up, 16 of us drove through torrential rain to pitch our tents on a mini outdoor swimming pool.

Camping has got to be one of the weirdest activities we folk choose partake in. I mean, why would anyone want to spend several sleepless nights on a hard, lumpy ground, being eaten by all number of blood sucking creatures and unable to make a cup of coffee without having to sit for 20minutes with a kettle over a flame no bigger than a large candle?

Inevitably the tent is pitched a peculiar angle because in the rush to get out of the rain, you paid little attention to the instructions. You then spend 40 minutes adjusting, readjusting, tightening guy ropes, altering tent pegs and swearing under your breath because the once dry interior is now developing a large, muddy welcome mat and you are far wetter than you would have been if you’d taken your time in the first place.

To make matters worse, the toilet is always a five minute walk from camp. So, if you’re like me and you’ve been woken at 4am by the birds singing, the cows bellowing and the sound of torrential rain on your tent, you then have a ten minute dilemma about whether you should ‘hold on’ until the morning or trudge half a mile up the road in your pyjamas and wielding an umbrella.

Personally, I refuse pee behind the tent unless it’s in the dead of night under cover of darkness. But during the summer, it’s already light by 4am so this isn’t an option. And besides, if you did decide to mark your territory at the end of a guy rope there’s always the fear that someone will hear you – god forbid!!

I rant on about it like I hate camping but actually there is something quite good fun about waking up and taking the first peek out of your tent to see what the weather is like even tho you can hear the rain. Then you totter stiffly to your friend’s slightly bigger tent to help prepare breakfast for 16 people over a teeny-tiny gas powered stove. There’s a sense of camaraderie and ‘community’, not just with you and your friends, but the whole campsite when you’re all suffering from blood-shot eyes, bad backs (if you have a poor quality bed roll) trench foot and the sense that you haven’t slept a wink in weeks. Its FUN!!

I have to mention that we did benefit from some great sunshine (for a WHOLE day) which meant we could charcoal slabs of meat and vegetables on a huge BBQ and sit around our make-shift campfire for several hours singing songs and telling jokes. It was certainly worth the effort – we hardly complained at all when we packed away our sodden tent under another rain-cloud! Nor did we bear any hard feelings towards our friend (the birthday girl) who spent the weekend in a B&B!

One long post… backdated to April!

Posted on 21/06/2007 by bighair63

Some time in April
The sun has been shining happily for the last week! It’s put the whole nation in a good mood and in true British fashion, no matter what the temperature, if the sun is out, everyone gathers to worship it.

It’s an excuse for men to display chests that are so white they’re almost blue, for bikers to take their take their dolly birds out for a spin, for the well off to drive their sports cars with the tops down, for the houseproud to give the garden a make over and fire up the barbecue and for herds and herds of people to flock to the pubs to fight for space in the beer gardens. Even the BBC breakfast news is doing 10 minute slots on mastering the BBQ menu.

I’ve also been taking advantage of the weather, spending time walking, gardening and having picnics with friends – who would have thought it for April?! At the moment no-one is complaining, the air is fresh and crisp, the blossom is on the trees and everyone is joyous – even I could be persuaded that climate change is a good thing (oooh controversial)!!

It’s the first proper sunny spell of the year, but have no fear, come mid –summer, in the sweltering heat of the office, our British penchant for whinging will take full effect. I guarantee there will be news stories about changing the laws for comfortable working temperatures and we’ll probably experience yet another set of hosepipe bans. My water butt is already half empty and there is still no sign of rain (for the moment).

Plenty of things have happened over the last few weeks. L had her first set if interviews for the next stage of her medical career. We were glad that she actually got an interview considering there were only 30 jobs for 273 applicants!! If you’ve been listening to the news you’ll know that the online new system for job applications in the NHS has caused mayhem. L and thousands of other young doctors have had their lives turned upside down and will not find out where their next job is until six weeks before it starts. This gives little time for house buying/selling, moving and settling! And to top it all off the online system accidentally made public every doctors personal details online – a serious breach of the Data Protection Act.

So far L has had two interviews on in Liverpool and the other in Newcastle. We are still waiting to hear if she’ll get another one in Sheffield but since the online saga, the system has been shut down so no doctors can check their details.

Liverpool put us off almost immediately. It was probably partly to do with the fact that we arrived around midnight after a 4.5 hour drive from London. After a good dose of poor-direction-induced-arguments and copious wrong turns, we arrived at a Travel Lodge in the dodgiest part of the city. Still fuming from the journey we were less than happy when we saw the state of the room. Very grungy and basic, the only benefit it offered was being within walking distance of the interviews.

The next day we woke up fully prepared for the greasy misery of a Little Chef breakfast but found that the only food place around was McDonald’s, 15 minutes down the road! With no other choice, we resigned to have a McBreakfast Bagel. At no point did the “meal” represent breakfast or bagel. It might as well have been a McMoldy Flip Flop garnished with Cardboard. We should have known this was a sign of things to come.

L arrived at the interview 5 minutes before the allocated time, smartly dressed in a new suit and a snazzy shirt that said “hey! I’m a professional but I also want you to think I’m a bit quirky”.

Thinking she’d be about an hour, I decided to make myself busy by, giving the car a wash and a hoover at the local garage. 40 minutes later, just as I was putting away the useless vaccum that didn’t suck so much as gently inhale dust motes, I had a text from L to say she still hadn’t gone in. Hmmm how to make myself busy? Perhaps I’ll go exploring…

2 and half hours later after I’d driven around some of the grungiest streets of Liverpool, read a newspaper, wondered around Albert Docks, briefly visited an exhibition and dozed for 20 minutes Lindsay called to say she was only just about to go in!!! I could feel my blood boiling and my anger was reflected in L’s voice. What kind of system was this?? And what was the point of Lindsay booking an interview slot when they couldn’t even stick to the schedule?
To top it off, they didn’t have the courtesy to give L a full interview, nor did they look at her portfolio so the whole thing was a complete waste of time. Boy were we glad to see the back of Liverpool.

By contrast, Newcastle was much better. We spent time with one of my friends and had a relaxing day walking in the Cheviot hills, rock balancing and enjoying the countryside and the nearby beaches. The interview itself was on time and, according to L, very thorough. We had a good feeling about it and I started fostering images of life in the North… well it will be some time yet before we know where we’ll be posted.

2nd May
Oh my god… today I discovered that one of the large supermarkets in the UK sells packets of dried apricots. This is not odd, I hear you say, but get this, they are individually wrapped!!!! Has this world gone completely packaging nuts???

Last weekend, my friend came to stay. She had been making digs about me refusing plastic bags everywhere I went. She couldn’t understand why I preferred my tomatoes and carrots rolling around in the basket instead of suffocated by a flimsy plastic bag that can’t even be reused as a bathroom bin bag! I wasn’t sure she’d really got my point but one lunch time I think she was finally swayed.

Our Dining place of choice was a well- known takeaway (or eat in) sandwich restaurant called Subway. Now, when I asked the lady not to give me a plastic bag because I was eating it in the restaurant, she said “you HAVE to have one! It the LAW”!! I was really mad… The sandwich was already mummified by metres of wax paper and the plastic bag was used for less than 30 seconds while I walked a yard from the counter to the table. Everyday they give away hundreds of these bags and they just end up in the bin or hanging from a tree or littering lay-bys!! Why don’t they use paper ones??? …Probably because it’s the LAW!

Anyway, that afternoon, I wrote them a stern email expressing my disgust! I haven’t had a response. Not surprisingly! But as my own little protest, I shan’t be going there again!

May 3rd
I have been earning some extra cash by opening and counting votes for the local elections. It sounds rather tedious but actually I had a good time. Apart from having a good old chit chat with some of my old workmates (from the local Council), I was intrigued by the process and was particularly impressed with the ergonomic letter opener. Ooops it somehow managed to find its way into my bag and all the way back to my house!

On the actual day of the elections we were lined up at long, classroom desks laid out boardroom style in a shabby, dark sports hall. We spent seven solid hours verifying votes from around the borough counting and re counting while the councillors peered over our shoulders and being awkward. “STOP, go back three….hmmm…. ok… carry on” as if we were incapable of counting accurately. They’d challenge tiny little pencil marks on the voting sheets and had arguments over whether a single line was classed as a vote! Adjudicators were hurrying to and fro tempering frayed emotions.

I was shocked more than ever to discover the large number of British National Party candidates. They lurked in the corner, talking amongst themselves, looking shifty and bigoted! Actually, most of them looked fairly normal i.e. there was only one skin- head and no one was brandishing the swastika… regardless, their mere presence made my blood curdle …………. they could have been puppy loving, granny caring environmentalists and I still couldn’t have brought myself to talk to them. I can’t believe there are still people in this world who harbour such hideous ideals and I’m sad to say that they actually managed to win an election in one of the local wards. I think it’s disgusting.

Anyway – on the bright side it was a little bit of extra cash…emphasis on little! I think they paid me incorrectly and they charged me tax which I’ll have to claim back because of my student status! Sheesh

14th May
L and I have just spent a fantastic weekend in Dorset in a fabulous old farmhouse on the outskirts of a quaint little village crammed with thatched cottages and surrounding areas that have names like the River Piddle, Puddletown and Durdledoor! The reason? To celebrate my soon-to-be-sister-in-law’s hen do!

Normally the idea of a hen do would put shivers down my spine…. tottering around some city all wearing pink leotards, sparkly tiaras and waving wands while the hen is forced to wear L plates and down as many shots as she can before throwing up and falling unconscious in the middle of the street. At which point she would be rushed to hospital to have her stomach pumped and all the other hens would be sitting in the waiting room for hours, developing hangovers, holding broken wands and looking slightly gothic because of the black streaks of mascara running down their faces. You might think I have a wild imagination but I’m sure it happens! Thankfully this weekend was nothing like that.

Organised by the bride-to-be’s (B2B) closest friends, the weekend was packed with fabulous food, entertainment, dancing, singing (mainly into salt and pepper shakers), a trip to the beach, very competitive games of twister and last but not least, a NAKED butler!

Unbeknownst to the other hens, the naked butler had been organised instead of a stripper… which we were, under no circumstances, allowed to book unless we wanted the B2B to sever all ties with us. Actually, I think the idea of a greased up stripper, thrusting his private parts around the place was a rather un-attractive prospect to most of the girls in our company.

But, I hear you say, the butler was naked! Well yes, he was…except for a strategically placed apron, some cuffs and a bow tie. When he first walked in to introduce himself and offer us canapés, the room fell deathly silent. The temperature rose several degrees with copious amounts of blushing.

Soon the nervous, school girl tittering subsided and was replaced by conversations about the well defined, yet pimply backside of the butler and orders to wash the dishes, mix cocktails to our tastes and pose for photographs. He politely declined to play a game of twister for obvious reasons, but was happy to regale us with stories of more riotous parties he’d attended. I think we were pretty sedate compared to his usual clientele – at no point did anyone try to grab his bum, or untie his apron, no matter how tempted they may have been.

So there are only a couple of weeks left before the big day. L and I have been practicing wearing our high heels. High heels are a new experience for us. We have been clomping around the house in a stiff, ungainly fashion not unlike an extra from Priscilla Queen of the Desert …. in fact a transvestite might do it better!

My mother is probably suffering from raised blood pressure as she worries unnecessarily about which of the three wedding outfits she’s bought will be best. My dad has been dragged on several marathon shopping sprees through every boutique, every department store and every dressmakers Geneva has to offer for a “back up” wedding outfit in case the other three aren’t suitable!

The wedding 26th May
I think I will gloss over this event except to say that it was a truly emotional time. It’s eye opening being part of a wedding and seeing it from the family’s point of view rather than as a guest.

All the ferreting, worrying and organising that goes hand in hand with ‘the best day of the couple’s life’ is exhausting. If you’ve never been part of the behind-the-scenes-action, I don’t think you can quite understand the build up of emotions which suddenly gush to the surface on the day.

My brother was overcome with emotion during his vows taking a good couple of tear-jerking minutes to re-compose himself. He cried so much that the registrar was compelled to ask whether he actually wanted to go through with the marriage.

Once we had all recovered from the ceremony, we were again moved to tears by the first dance. And so it goes on, tears, laughter, more tears, alcohol, more tears and the next day its all over. The bubble pops, the happy couple drive off into the sunset (the driving rain), hop on a plane to Italy and leave the rest of the family feeling slightly and somewhat bereft.

Now we must spend our time reminiscing and mulling over copious photos, dissecting people’s behaviour and choice of dress. Discussing who said what to whom, who argued, who left early, who outstayed their welcome and so on and so on. Next….we wait for news of a grandchild/neice or nephew at which point we can turn our conversations to appropriate children’s names, whether morning sickness is an issue, home births are preferable and the latest Lamaze class.

June 19th 2007
With university off for the summer and L cashing in on her last few days of annual leave, we are holidaying in the sunny county of Cornwall (three days of continuous rainfall so far). L has developed one of her holiday illnesses. Typically after several months of staving off all number of infectious diseases in hospital, the moment she has time to relax, she is consumed with bacteria and her white blood cells give up the ghost.

We are now surrounded by crusty, used tissues, empty packets of paracetemol, cough mixtures and homemade flu remedies. We’ve barely set foot outside the house and are slowly developing cabin fever (literally). I have read one and a half books in the last three days and am contemplating a trip to ASDA just for something to do. Oh the joys of the British Summer.

I must also mention that we are here with L parents so I’m on my best be-polite-and-charming-in-front-of-the-parents behaviour, which is also taking its toll. I have been told I’m a narcissist for pouring my thoughts and stories onto the web for everyone to view. Well, never mind at least someone is reading it and coming back for more.

Over the last two weeks we also dived straight into the challenging process of deciding where our next house is going to be. Things are on the move – the ball is rolling – after 7 years in one our little house and a good deal of itching for change. Why, well L has been offered and accepted a job for the next 6 years (thank god – we had started to discuss joint shifts at Sainsbury’s). I’m busy making arrangements for the house to be valued and choosing suitable upgrades in between worrying about dissertation subjects and what I’m going to do when I finish university. For the most part it is very exciting but it takes far too much time for my liking. Why can’t we just decide where we want to be, sell the house, get a mortgage, move the contents and settle in to a new place in the next month?

The worst of this has got to be the de-cluttering/de-personalisation of our house so that potential buyers aren’t put off by our… um…junk. Yes it can only be described as junk… mountains of knick knacks, useless kitchen utensils and tupperware, old books, boxes, cd’s, videos (who watches videos anymore?), half burnt candles, disused bags, shoes, moth-eaten clothes, broken electrical equipment, wadges of my old sketches, notes from university the first time round…my god… HOW HAVE WE ACCUMULATED SOOO MUCH!

Anyway, change is needed and I certainly have my work cut out for me over the summer. I need to find some paid work in Sainsbury’s or Marks & Spencers when what I’d really like to do is live a life of leisure and pray I win the lottery. Dribs and drabs of design work are floating in but I’m sure its not enough to keep the bills at bay – woe is me! I’m going to have to get back the real world.

Pedal power

Posted on 03/03/2007 by bighair63

I’m recovering… this is good because on Monday I wasn’t sure I’d make it to the end of the week. Why? Well, L and I have started our latest fat burning, self-flagellating exercise regime.

Last night I tried to explain the idea to a friend who was horrified to hear that I, a carefree, sofa-hugging student would voluntarily get up at 6:30 am three times a week to cycle to work with L – a 12mile round trip! We started two weeks ago and since then I have ridden 3 different bicycles in a desperate attempt to make the journey that little bit easier.

Preparation for the regime required a week of psyching ourselves up and digging our bikes out of the shed. After dusting down the cobwebs, pumping up the tyres and reviving the rust-encrusted chains with a hefty dose of WD40, we were set to go.

The first day proved interesting. Whilst I chose to ride a relatively new, full suspension mountain bike, L chose to ride a rusty old bike of mine that had been shoved from hallway, to cupboard, to shed (and seldom ridden) since my first days at University in 1996. We donned oversized florescent green jackets and attached every bicycle light we could find in the house until we shone and flickered like gaudy Christmas trees. Off we went!

After a bit of crunching and grinding with the gear changes, my bike seemed to move fairly smoothly so I set off at a keen pace, eager to get the blood pumping! Five minutes down the road I turned to talk to L only to see a little flashing speck in the distance! “GET A MOVE ON” I shouted, “I have to make getting up at 6:30am worth the effort”.

Stony faced and gasping for breath L finally caught up and grunted something about gears and the seat being too low. “Huh” I thought to myself “she’s probably just unfit and being grumpy about it” so I begrudgingly slowed down to pedal alongside her.

20minutes into the trip and L was really really grumpy (that’s not like her I hear you say) and I was chirpily trying to coax her along, offering to swap bikes as the grinding gears hers still hadn’t eased. “NO!” she stubbornly replied and plodded on at an excruciatingly slow pace.

It took around 45 minutes to get to the hospital by which time the look on L’s face had turned to thunder. She obviously blamed me for the tortuous ride and the fact that she only had 15minutes to have a shower and get to the ward! Keeping calm, I offered some positive encouragement and persuaded her to swap bikes before I set off on the journey home.

WELL MY GOD!!!!! It turned out that the bike was the biggest heap of scrap metal ever to be ridden and I suddenly felt guilty for thinking it was just that L was unfit! (we both are and this bike did nothing to help) Yes, the seat was too low but the pedal on one side was askew making pedalling extremely difficult. To make matters worse the gears were jammed on high, helping to simulate a mountain stretch of the Tour de France. By the time I got home my legs barely functioned and I had to crawl, red-faced, up the stairs to the bathroom. L’s thunderous mood from earlier was remarkably contagious.

The second attempt: Both suffering from bruised private parts but with a positive outlook we set off. I was on the smooth ride with full suspension and changeable gears whilst L chose a Japanese ‘KIT’ bike put together by her father and rescued from the tip several days earlier! Well you can imagine… 10 minutes in and the complaints started to flow. I could see her brow break into deep furrows and the mood swing from mild enthusiasm into stubborn, why-the-hell-are-we-doing-this mode. A heated discussion ensued – “don’t be such a bloody martyr and swap the damn bike with me!” She did.

Again, cold hearted, unsympathetic me, had presumed L was being ‘difficult’ but this bike seemed to have a mind of its own. The gears changed of their own accord and the seat managed to wobble loose flipping into a very uncomfortable, vertical position. With 5 minutes to go before reaching the hospital and after several failed attempts to hold the seat in its correct position, I conceded and turned back.

I might as well have removed the seat all together and ridden on the pole because by this time the seat was so loose I slipped off the back with every adjustment. I rode most of the way back standing up before trying the seat sideways. It worked after a fashion but I now know why bicycle seats are designed the way they are…. trust me, forward is certainly the most ergonomic position.

NB: I know these things can be fixed in a jiffy with the right tools and an understanding of simple bike maintenance. However we were not equipped and our understanding of bike maintenance matches our ability to carry out surgery on a rhinoceros.

We cycled today (our 5^th time) even though we’re still recovering from Wednesday’s wet and windy journey. The monsoonal weather helped L discover her waterproofs were not any kind of ‘proof’ at all. But even though she arrived home looking like a drowned rat, her mood was remarkably upbeat. She is now borrowing her father’s bike which has no problems apart from the rather large panniers that catch on her heels when she pedals.

The weather today was bright and crisp filling us with the joys of spring… well, we were as joyful as one can be when hot, sweaty and out of breath on a 12 mile cycle. But I’m interested to know at what point one becomes a true cyclist? Is it when you start to snarl at pedestrians that walk in the cycle lane instead of the allocated pedestrian path? Or is it when one discovers a hidden cycle rage that is difficult to control when cars pull out in front of you or park across a cycle path? Perhaps it’s when one has mastered the art of cycling up to a pedestrian crossing, balancing precariously on the bike whilst simultaneously pressing the button, then crossing the road without putting a foot down?

Whatever the case, we are getting on with it and even if some of our friends can run faster than we can cycle, I hope as our fitness improves we can shave at least 10 or 15 minutes off the journey time.

Postscript: I have since spoken to a couple of cycling fanatics to discover what a ‘real’ cyclist is all about. And I’m sad to say that we have a long way to go. Apparently you are not a cyclist until:

1) you wear lycra
2) you go for a 60mile cycle for fun!
3) you spend as much on a new bicycle as you would on a new car
4) you have more than one bicycle for different occasions

I think my friends are at the extreme end of the cycling scale, tutting and shaking their heads when I told them I was riding a mountain bike, with suspension on a road!! “Well THAT will get you nowhere”. I defended my bike saying at least it worked and although it may not be light enough to pick up with one finger, it’s good enough for me!

Geeks and Consumerism

Posted on 16/01/2007 by bighair63

I’ve been back at University for a week now and we’re already in the thick of a new project. On our first day back we were asked to agree or disagree with a manifesto stating our skills should be used for the greater good i.e. to promote social justice, sustainable development, environmental awareness etc. An interesting project which has lead me to read a couple of books on the conflict designers have with earning a wage and being ethical.

It’s difficult to decide whether you accept a briefcase full of cash to design an advert for Nescafe or turn your back on it because you don’t agree with their ethics. Not that I’ve ever had to make that sort of decision – most of my freelance work has been for small organisations doing good work. But if I did have to make a choice, it would certainly be tough.

In an ideal world I definitely agree with the manifesto but sometimes we need to compromise. As far as I can, I will certainly look to work for organisations with a sustainable outlook and an environmentally conscious foundation… perhaps WWF or Greenpeace?

In a world where we are bombarded with adverts everywhere we go, it is hard to avoid being swept along by consumerism. For instance, since starting university I’ve tried only to buy the bare essentials; food, books, art materials, and petrol (when I don’t get the bus). But last week while I was trying to replace some holey jeans in M&S (note I was not buying a trendy label), I suddenly found myself amongst hoards of women pushing and shoving in an “Everything for £1 SALE”.

I didn’t really need anything but my pulse started to race and I broke out in a sweat thinking “I could buy 10 items of clothes for £10!!!!” I was right in there squeezing past the elbows, and trolleys laden with clothes, getting progressively hotter in the mission to find something a) in my size and b) suitable to wear in public. It was only 9.15am but in the 15 minutes I was there, the crowd grew and grew. The sound of hundreds of hangers scraping against rails must have called out to any woman passing the store – music to their ears. I can’t help being reminded of the Pied Piper and the rats!

There is something truly amazing about women in a sale – red faced and disappearing behind the mountain of clothes over one arm”oooh Tracy I’ve got a whole season’s worth of clothes and I’ve only spent £11″ , “Hey Chloe – I’ve wanted these for ages and LOOK they’re just a POUND!!!” My question is, what sort of initial mark-up must M&S have had to still make a profit selling things for £1?

In all honesty there really wasn’t anything worth buying there. Even in my coffin I wouldn’t be seen wearing some of the garish outfits on offer. I did snag a couple of pairs of trousers, which I’m not sure I’ll ever wear but hey, it only cost me £2!!!! Consumerism at its worst and I won’t dare to discuss the sweatshops… the miles travelled and the fuel consumed… the pollution, the packaging…. just so we can say we’ve got a BARGAIN!

So there you go, now I have to come up with a design that comments on this ! Not an easy one.

I had another age/trend dilemma last Thursday. It was P***ing down with rain so I took out my anorak (quite nice – Berghaus), picked up an umbrella and set off for Uni. You older, wiser folk might say to yourself “she’s a sensible girl”. But not long ago, I asked one of my student friends why he’d rather get soaked than wear a waterproof? His response was “Are you MAD? be seen in Public with an anorak?”. At the time I didn’t respond but made a mental note: Waterproof obviously = Geek.

So on the bus I started to consider whether I should actually wear the waterproof once I was reached the University premises. One more look at the torrential downpour and I decided to suss out the scene on arrival. 20 minutes later, on campus: Lo! Hundreds of students walking in the rain and not a waterproof in sight! The were all soaked to the bone with hoodies pulled over their heads in a vain attempt to keep their hair dry.

For a millisecond I considered taking my coat off then I thought – WHAT AM I DOING!? Its ludicrous to wander around in the rain with no form of protection for the sake of the trend! God is looking down on you, shaking his rain maker and laughing!

DAMN you fashion victims! Embrace your inner GEEK!

To top it off I wore my rucksack with BOTH straps on my shoulders because you know what? It’s much more comfortable when you have a bag full of books and they were designed to be worn that way. So all you students with back problems and lop-sided shoulders… it’s because you let TREND conquer PRACTICALITY!

Anyway, enough said… could someone please tell me whether I’m using the apostrophe in the right place when I write “it’s” or “its”?

One more day

Posted on 30/12/2006 by bighair63

Berries in Frost

One of several fantastic wire sculptures over looking
Lac Leman (Geneva)

Christmas has passed and I only have one day left in the bosom of my family. We’ve been slothfully but pleasurably inactive over the last couple of weeks. A typical day would be little more than moving from the warmth of our beds to the breakfast table, to the sofa in front of the fire with a good book, back to the table for a hearty lunch, to the sofa for games, tea and nibbles, to the dinner table for leftovers and finally cradling our paunches, to the sofa again to veg in front of a movie (regardless of quality) before retiring to bed. Phew it makes me feel lethargic just writing it.

Ok, we did sprinkle the weeks with a couple of small walks to prevent our joints from seizing up completely… oh and a bout of last minute shopping to spend some vouchers before they expired. But generally, if it wasn’t our table we were munching at or our sofa we were sprawled across, it was someone else’s.

Bro doing an impression of
Mr Napkin head (relevant to anyone who’s
watched Holiday)

Of course, January 2007 will start with a concerted effort to get back into the gym regime that was abandoned somewhere around the time I started university. L and I are aiming to make some changes to our physique in preparation for my Brother’s wedding in May. We have 5 whole months to transform so how hard can it be?? Yes, you’ve heard it all before, but surely THIS time.

I should mention that I’m also a bridesmaid at ‘The’ wedding so unless I want to be remembered as ‘the wobbly one bringing up the rear’, I have to do something!!! All the fondues, mince pies, roast dinners, cold chicken sandwiches, curries, cheeses, chocolates, bottles of wine, biscuits, crepes and ice cream have merrily clung to my waist line in the last 10 days. So hear my war cry “BE GONE OH POISONOUS PLEASURES – no longer shall you seduce my gorged mid rift!”

I was actually supposed to be jetting home yesterday but couldn’t face the return to the UK. The comfortable isolation of this village helps to rest the mind and clease the soul. Plus, L is ‘on nights’ and most of my friends are celebrating New Year with family or on hot, sunny islands. I think I made the decision to change my plans with one hour to spare and was quite relieved that it only cost 6 pounds for the privilege.

I’m glad I stayed. We saw the sun for the first time in a week today! Boy was that a welcome relief! My parents house is not far from Lake Geneva, at the base of the Jura mountains so it’s often shrouded in thick fog during the winter. The last few days have been dull and grey with cold hard frosts but there’s still no sign of snow. This is usually the weekend that most French people set off for their first ski of the season but unless they’re heading for the highest peaks, they’ll be terribly disappointed.

A good view of the mist in the valley

Hard Frost

Dad and I did make it to the piste at the invitation of my cousin and his family on holiday in Le Gets. However, the snow was so poor, only one icey, gritty slope was open. I quickly passed up the offer to snowboard for fear my coccyx would not survive.

Anyway, I’ve had a thoroughly enjoyable Christmas and feel a little guilty that L has been working her little socks off at the hospital. Not only is she ‘on nights’ for the New Year but she had her nose to the Grindstone over Christmas too – these doctors EH!

Christmas Cheer

Posted on 22/12/2006 by bighair63

I’m here in France avec mes parents with only three days to go until Xmas! It has been interesting trying to shop for pressies with a student budget. No matter what your parents say, you can’t turn up empty handed and sit around a bare tree base on Christmas morning.Even if your present is little more than a few hand made cookies or some poorly sewn cushions, the gesture still has to be made. I didn’t do either but I did make an effort.

Unlike some people, I actually enjoy Christmas shopping.I love to take my time sauntering around the shops, eager to see what useless inventions they’re selling as the next MUST HAVE! The first things that spring to mind are tongs for rescuing toast from the toaster without electrocuting yourself. Sorry L, I know they were just a stocking filler but I had to mention them! I’ve survived the last 29 years spearing lost toast with a fork so why would I need tongs now? AH HAA, I get it! Once I hit thirty I’ll start to get frail and uncoordinated so they’ll definitely come in handy!Thanks for thinking of me.

Anyway, this year, shopping was frustrating – my jolly spree was downgraded to trudging around the shops, picking up the gifts I’d like to buy, checking the price tags then replacing them on the shelf! Alas the self heating slippers were not meant for dad this year.

The general feeling of melancholy was exacerbated by the hoards of people pushing and shoving through the stores to get to the novelty gifts like the electric nose hair plucker or the game of chocolate Table Top Twister!I hardly had a moment to commiserate with an interesting gift I couldn’t afford before I was swept helplessly along in the rush.

Where do these crowds come from? Every inch of Nottingham over the last few weeks has been crammed with shoppers. Even getting a cup of coffee is impossible without fighting off a flock of hot, harassed looking ladies with fists full of bags.

I’m sure this frantic last minute shopping frenzy is purely a British phenomenon.I assume this because I’ve just spent the last three hours in a mall (in Switzerland) that was positively dead by comparison.There are only two more shopping days left!In the UK the frenzy would be reaching a crescendo by now.Unlike their British counterparts, the Swiss and the French seemed relaxed and cheery as they float between shops. So, either everything in Switzerland is far too expensive (quite possible) or everyone is terribly organized and finished their shopping two months ago.

Whatever the case my shopping is complete whilst mum is still writing lists and worrying about last minute gifts.My brother arrives tonight – thankfully he didn’t fly as I hear Heathrow is cancelling flights left, right and centre because of the fog… ha hah it sounds like that 1980’s movie…. THE FOG! With the tag line ‘What you can’t see won’t hurt you… it’ll kill you!’

So the year is almost over and 2006 was the last full year as a twenty something! I’m acutely aware that I only have three months left before I need to start applying the Revitalift eye cream, thinking about botox and generally make arrangements for the downward spiral into decrepitude.

Alright! Alright! Calm down boys and girls – I know most of my friends have already made the transition and yes, I know it’s not that bad! So why does society make us believe that the big three ‘o’ should sound more like the BIG THREE OOOOOHHHH!!? By now, according to the rules of society, I should have a career, a house, a marriage and possibly children on the way. Well I can certainly tick off one of those things, namely the house!

The marriage?Hmm…after seven and half years my relationship certainly feels like a marriage. And as for the career, well you already know that the last one went out with the 2006 trash and now I’m scouring the shelves for a brand spanking new one! The course, I might add, is going well.I had a rather hectic last few days when four projects and an essay had to be handed in but surprisingly, this time round, meeting deadlines and writing essays has been sans hair loss, palpitations and general paralysis.

Hang on, where was I… ah yes Children. Well that would be great but for the moment, without a career, and therefore the income and because the next two years are dedicated to student life, they’ll have to wait. Anyway, I don’t need to worry about kids until I’m approaching my 35^th birthday (the point at which your reproductive organs start to falter – delicately pointed out by L) and I’m not prepared to contemplate that yet.

Anyway I think I have ranted enough. I’m not actually this bad in real life… or am I? Well, I hope it won’t be so long until the next instalment but just in case, Merry Christmas everyone and have a Happy NEW YEAR!

hangin’ out wiv da kids!!

Posted on 08/11/2006 by bighair63

Last night was the graphic desgin party in town. It took me a good chunk of the day to decide whether I was going to go. I was bombarded with horribly adult dilemmas such as, can I really have a night out on a weekday; I need at least 8 hours sleep so I can function properly in the morning; I should be saving my money and gosh ‘Town’ seems horribly far away (15mins by bus)’.

L convinced me that it was a good way to get to know my peers so I set about putting my glad rags on. It didn’t take long to reach the ‘OH MY GOD’ I have nothing to wear’ crisis mode. How can we have three cupboards full of clothes and NOTHING to wear??!

A full hour of stomping around the house huffing and puffing because nothing in the cupboards says ‘hey, I’m a designer, I’m cool and I fit in with the crowd even though I’m 11 years older than most of you and officially the granny of the class’! … Can clothes actually say all that?… I’m sure they can but unfortunately the most my clothes can muster is a feeble ‘help! I’m a fashion disaster’. Even the temporary blue hair dye, which a week ago had been my half hearted attempt to look slightly less ordinary was starting to fade into a lovely snot green. It was the proverbial icing on my very own burnt cake!

Several pairs of trousers and 20 tops later I resigned myself to jeans and a nondescript top – woo hoo!

It was L who drove me to the venue wearing pyjamas ‘because they’re comfortable, I can’t be bothered to change and I’m not getting out of the car’. We argued most of the way because I ruined her evening by making her drive into town, get diverted as far away from said bar as possible (via the one way system) and hit every red light on the way. I despair! Every Day we are a little closer to becoming the couple from One Foot in the Grave with L taking on the roll of Victor Meldrew.

Then I spent the first 30mins in the trendy bar on my own, trying to look like I wasn’t alone, friendless and unfashionably early… (I’m learning). Needless to say, it eventually turned into a fun evening… I now have a sore throat from shouting over the loud musica nd my ears are still ringing. Tell me, how can one have a good, hearty conversation and get to know people with such LOUD music???!

It is 10:48am, I have a horrendous hangover – the first in a long, long time and I’ve only had 6hrs sleep … But it was worth it and now I know a handful of the design student clones. I say clones, because many of the boys have the same quirky, spiked hairdos with a scarf tied jauntily around their necks and the retro golfing jumper… yes, I did say golfing jumper. Don’t you know they are IN?

I will now commit to memory via this blog, that I have met Nick, Phil, Graham, Tim, Steve, Paul, Lee, Will and a girl called Amy! Not bad recall for someone with a pounding head, ringing ears, a swimming stomach and bleary eyes! The joys of student life.