Just the one sleep to go before I fly to Amsterdam for Faye's hen do. In 24 hours time eight ladies shall be boarding the easyjet plane heading to the popular Dutch city for one wild night.
Yesterday was my last day at work so as of next Tuesday when I return back home I will be freaking out at my unemployed self. But for now this Bank Holiday weekend is all about having fun for me and for my best friend before she becomes a Mrs in 30-ish days. Wigs, ticket, passport are all ready.
I have no idea what will happen during the day and a half we will be there but I can guarantee one thing, it will make a hilarious read.
Until then....
Saturday 28 August 2010
Wednesday 25 August 2010
Stop raining (or worse) on my parade!
Whatever horrific crime I committed in a previous life, payback has chosen this year to punish me ten-fold by doing some serious shitting on my parade. Payback on its own is indeed a bitch but this time it has teamed up with Sod and his Law to really push me into panic mode.
My contract with the bank ends on Friday – yes in two days time. Fair enough I’m a temp so I have the recruitment agency to find me something else. However, I need the something else by next week. For the first time in a very long time I have a plan. A plan that involves budgeting and saving for Las Vegas. If I am out of work at any time, the plan fails. That can’t happen because I need to pay off a little piece of plastic that I have depended on for some time in order to book flights and hotels. Currently time is against me:
2 days to find another job
5 days to Amsterdam
37 days to Vegas
On one hand this is a long overdue wake up call. I can’t be a temp forever and I am worth a hundred times more than what I am earning right now. Admittedly this year I have used the weddings to hide away from the fact that I have long woken up from the dream where I lived happily ever after as a journalist, writing the kind of stories that changes the world for the greater good, employed by a company that sits on excellent morals. Now is the time to take charge of my own destiny, to prove my worth. That being said, it’s been over a year and I’m not exactly batting those job offers away! The weddings however have been the only certain thing in my life this year.
But here’s where Sod’s Law has only gone and decided to wind me up. Why now? Why before the ultimate, crucial wedding this year in Las Vegas? There is absolutely no way I am backing out of my best friend’s wedding. A promise is a promise, money spent is money that cannot be returned.
So now I am desperate. I need to get rich quick. Any ideas? I’m thinking car boot sale, sell an organ (apparently we can live healthily on just one kidney) or, sell my hair (I know of some people who will pay hundreds for my naturally black, shiny, thick locks). Alternatively I could re-open my overdraft. Now of all the ideas this is the one I do NOT want to do because I have been so good this year. In fact paying off my overdraft, closing the damn account has been such a relief and I don’t even miss it. It’s like Walkers Thai Sweet Chilli sensations flavour. If I don’t see I won’t crave. Put them in front of me and you’ll be lucky that I’ll offer you a piece. Thus if I won’t have access to ‘free’ money, I won’t dip into it.
World I am calling out to you. I am not one to beg, my pride has always been too big to show anyone my weaknesses, but now while it is taking a nap I am willing to admit desperation.Someone, somewhere hire me! Make me believe in happily ever after again. Or at least throw me some rope and pull me out of the deep shit I'm currently submerged in.
My contract with the bank ends on Friday – yes in two days time. Fair enough I’m a temp so I have the recruitment agency to find me something else. However, I need the something else by next week. For the first time in a very long time I have a plan. A plan that involves budgeting and saving for Las Vegas. If I am out of work at any time, the plan fails. That can’t happen because I need to pay off a little piece of plastic that I have depended on for some time in order to book flights and hotels. Currently time is against me:
2 days to find another job
5 days to Amsterdam
37 days to Vegas
On one hand this is a long overdue wake up call. I can’t be a temp forever and I am worth a hundred times more than what I am earning right now. Admittedly this year I have used the weddings to hide away from the fact that I have long woken up from the dream where I lived happily ever after as a journalist, writing the kind of stories that changes the world for the greater good, employed by a company that sits on excellent morals. Now is the time to take charge of my own destiny, to prove my worth. That being said, it’s been over a year and I’m not exactly batting those job offers away! The weddings however have been the only certain thing in my life this year.
But here’s where Sod’s Law has only gone and decided to wind me up. Why now? Why before the ultimate, crucial wedding this year in Las Vegas? There is absolutely no way I am backing out of my best friend’s wedding. A promise is a promise, money spent is money that cannot be returned.
So now I am desperate. I need to get rich quick. Any ideas? I’m thinking car boot sale, sell an organ (apparently we can live healthily on just one kidney) or, sell my hair (I know of some people who will pay hundreds for my naturally black, shiny, thick locks). Alternatively I could re-open my overdraft. Now of all the ideas this is the one I do NOT want to do because I have been so good this year. In fact paying off my overdraft, closing the damn account has been such a relief and I don’t even miss it. It’s like Walkers Thai Sweet Chilli sensations flavour. If I don’t see I won’t crave. Put them in front of me and you’ll be lucky that I’ll offer you a piece. Thus if I won’t have access to ‘free’ money, I won’t dip into it.
World I am calling out to you. I am not one to beg, my pride has always been too big to show anyone my weaknesses, but now while it is taking a nap I am willing to admit desperation.Someone, somewhere hire me! Make me believe in happily ever after again. Or at least throw me some rope and pull me out of the deep shit I'm currently submerged in.
Sunday 22 August 2010
(40 days and counting to wedding no 5) Red tutu and fishnet tights DONE
So I've finally bought the red tutu and fishnet tights for Faye's hen do in Amsterdam next week.
Having looked at myself in the mirror sporting such questionable attire for me, I have only one thing to say: only for you Mrs Dabek-to-be! Who am I kidding? I can't pull this look off. In fact when the pictures surface, I'm sure everyone and their Grandmother will agree that the likes of Ditta Von Teese has nothing to worry about for I shall not be claiming their title in this lifetime!
So why put myself through this? Quite simply, real love is all about putting the other person first and making them completely happy no matter what - even if it means going through the streets of Amsterdam looking utterly ridiculous! By this measure, Mrs D I hope you feel the love. For laughter and for silence, for diginified to drunken debauchery, in sober and in projectile vomiting, till when the fun ends do we part.
The fishnets was easy to find (Primark, £1 - you can't go wrong). The search for the tutu however... the majority I saw were just too short. Now I'm all for stepping out of my comfort zone and doing something crazy for one night only despite what others think but I draw the line at anything that does not cover my rump.
Thankfully two hours later, an American Retro costume store came to my rescue. They had one red KNEE LENGTH tutu left. OK so £16 is extortionate for something that I most definitely will never wear again but knowing that I will not be spending the night being extremely self-conscious, it's a worthwhile investment.
By the way FYI, I will be wearing shorts underneath because as brave as I am, I know my limits.
Bring on Amsterdam!
Having looked at myself in the mirror sporting such questionable attire for me, I have only one thing to say: only for you Mrs Dabek-to-be! Who am I kidding? I can't pull this look off. In fact when the pictures surface, I'm sure everyone and their Grandmother will agree that the likes of Ditta Von Teese has nothing to worry about for I shall not be claiming their title in this lifetime!
So why put myself through this? Quite simply, real love is all about putting the other person first and making them completely happy no matter what - even if it means going through the streets of Amsterdam looking utterly ridiculous! By this measure, Mrs D I hope you feel the love. For laughter and for silence, for diginified to drunken debauchery, in sober and in projectile vomiting, till when the fun ends do we part.
The fishnets was easy to find (Primark, £1 - you can't go wrong). The search for the tutu however... the majority I saw were just too short. Now I'm all for stepping out of my comfort zone and doing something crazy for one night only despite what others think but I draw the line at anything that does not cover my rump.
Thankfully two hours later, an American Retro costume store came to my rescue. They had one red KNEE LENGTH tutu left. OK so £16 is extortionate for something that I most definitely will never wear again but knowing that I will not be spending the night being extremely self-conscious, it's a worthwhile investment.
By the way FYI, I will be wearing shorts underneath because as brave as I am, I know my limits.
Bring on Amsterdam!
Friday 20 August 2010
If we imagine the perfect wedding/ marriage based on the example set by our parents...
My mum is 60 today. Happy birthday Mama Ng. Earlier this week, mum, dad and I celebrated her Chinese birthday (which is all based on the lunar calendar).
At the dinner table I witnessed something truly rare. Dad picked a piece of meat and placed it into her rice bowl with: “Here you go. Happy birthday.” While such a basic gesture is common amongst other families, it is like I say, truly rare in mine.
I got to thinking how despite being married for 31 or 32 years, my parents wave the flag for the couples who with time fall out of love for each other.
As far as I can remember I have never witnessed any form of romance between them. You know those couples who share secret smiles across the room or the really elderly ones who hold hands in the park? That’s not my parents. At all.
Come to think of it I don’t think they’ve ever tried to hide the fact that they don’t think highly of each other. Even when I was a kid, on the odd days where I would play wedding with the net curtain as a veil, somewhere in the background my parents would be having yet another argument (well more my mum yelling at my dad who musters up all his strength to just ignore her) that would turn into just silence by Saturday – when they would simply not speak to each other. Those moments of silence were pure gold when I was growing up. They still are today.
Now at 24 and much older I sit at the dinner table watching my 60 and 72 year old parents not speaking to each other. If my mum says something to my dad, depending on how interesting the topic is, he will either pretend he can’t hear because he hasn’t got his hearing aids on or reply with a one syllable word. This is the main reason why I always avoid having dinner away from home because if they don’t talk to each other, they’ll make conversation with me.
On the rare day when I don’t leave the house at all, I am very aware of how mum can watch TV all day; Dad in the kitchen reading the newspaper. Unless they really have to, they can go through a whole day without sharing a word. Strangely I’m OK with that. In fact I rather they sit in silence doing their own thing rather than attempt at small talk that will result in yet another argument relating to some insignificant acquaintance.
Thinking about it even more my parents like chalk and cheese, oil and water, just do not mix. While Dad likes to be at home, mum likes to be out socialising. While Dad likes to be in Stockport where he has been for the past 30 years, mum dreams of moving to pastures new as she feels like she’s in a rut. While Mum plans to live in Hong Kong for a couple of years, Dad cannot imagine anything worse. You may be thinking, ‘so why did they get married if they’re that different.’ They’ve never told me the real reason but I’m willing to bet that they were pressured into it from both sets of grandparents. After all dad was 40, mum 28 – in the eyes of society, especially the Chinese one, that’s just too old to be still single and frivolous.
It doesn’t take a counsellor to work out why I am the way that I am. My strength, my weakness derives from learning a long time ago that unless I can experience true happiness alone, I will never be happy with anyone. I validate me. Not a marriage certificate, not vows, not a ring. Me. I’m sure it’s neither normal nor healthy to enjoy being alone as much as I do. But it’s who I am.
That being said, here is where I contradict myself: I believe in love and soul mates – for everyone else. I see it on the way to work or through a message from one of the brides to be. I just don’t hold out nor waste time expecting it to come to me anytime soon. As much as I am thrilled for those who have or will be married this year, I draw a thick, permanent line at imagining myself in the white dress, throwing the bouquet… yeah you get the drift. I love romantic comedies but I’m not a leading lady who gets the guy at the end.
In fact I would make an awful wife. Picture this: honey I really need some time to myself so see you in four days. I’ll definitely get a divorce on my paper anniversary.
But then again, never say never. Maybe Cupid will match me with my male equivalent. We’ll combine our own messed up ways together to become the ultimate hopeless, tragic, cynical yet wonderful, optimistic, imperfect Mr and Mrs there is. Like I said, I’m a contradiction.
At the dinner table I witnessed something truly rare. Dad picked a piece of meat and placed it into her rice bowl with: “Here you go. Happy birthday.” While such a basic gesture is common amongst other families, it is like I say, truly rare in mine.
I got to thinking how despite being married for 31 or 32 years, my parents wave the flag for the couples who with time fall out of love for each other.
As far as I can remember I have never witnessed any form of romance between them. You know those couples who share secret smiles across the room or the really elderly ones who hold hands in the park? That’s not my parents. At all.
Come to think of it I don’t think they’ve ever tried to hide the fact that they don’t think highly of each other. Even when I was a kid, on the odd days where I would play wedding with the net curtain as a veil, somewhere in the background my parents would be having yet another argument (well more my mum yelling at my dad who musters up all his strength to just ignore her) that would turn into just silence by Saturday – when they would simply not speak to each other. Those moments of silence were pure gold when I was growing up. They still are today.
Now at 24 and much older I sit at the dinner table watching my 60 and 72 year old parents not speaking to each other. If my mum says something to my dad, depending on how interesting the topic is, he will either pretend he can’t hear because he hasn’t got his hearing aids on or reply with a one syllable word. This is the main reason why I always avoid having dinner away from home because if they don’t talk to each other, they’ll make conversation with me.
On the rare day when I don’t leave the house at all, I am very aware of how mum can watch TV all day; Dad in the kitchen reading the newspaper. Unless they really have to, they can go through a whole day without sharing a word. Strangely I’m OK with that. In fact I rather they sit in silence doing their own thing rather than attempt at small talk that will result in yet another argument relating to some insignificant acquaintance.
Thinking about it even more my parents like chalk and cheese, oil and water, just do not mix. While Dad likes to be at home, mum likes to be out socialising. While Dad likes to be in Stockport where he has been for the past 30 years, mum dreams of moving to pastures new as she feels like she’s in a rut. While Mum plans to live in Hong Kong for a couple of years, Dad cannot imagine anything worse. You may be thinking, ‘so why did they get married if they’re that different.’ They’ve never told me the real reason but I’m willing to bet that they were pressured into it from both sets of grandparents. After all dad was 40, mum 28 – in the eyes of society, especially the Chinese one, that’s just too old to be still single and frivolous.
It doesn’t take a counsellor to work out why I am the way that I am. My strength, my weakness derives from learning a long time ago that unless I can experience true happiness alone, I will never be happy with anyone. I validate me. Not a marriage certificate, not vows, not a ring. Me. I’m sure it’s neither normal nor healthy to enjoy being alone as much as I do. But it’s who I am.
That being said, here is where I contradict myself: I believe in love and soul mates – for everyone else. I see it on the way to work or through a message from one of the brides to be. I just don’t hold out nor waste time expecting it to come to me anytime soon. As much as I am thrilled for those who have or will be married this year, I draw a thick, permanent line at imagining myself in the white dress, throwing the bouquet… yeah you get the drift. I love romantic comedies but I’m not a leading lady who gets the guy at the end.
In fact I would make an awful wife. Picture this: honey I really need some time to myself so see you in four days. I’ll definitely get a divorce on my paper anniversary.
But then again, never say never. Maybe Cupid will match me with my male equivalent. We’ll combine our own messed up ways together to become the ultimate hopeless, tragic, cynical yet wonderful, optimistic, imperfect Mr and Mrs there is. Like I said, I’m a contradiction.
Thursday 19 August 2010
Magic Fortune will I ever find my one true dream job?
I’ve always wondered what it would be like to see a psychic. Now more so than ever as I am completely lost. Particularly concerning my career – or lack of.
I normally take horoscopes with a pinch of salt. But at Chris and Yen’s wedding when presented with a fortune card (not a cookie which suffice to say was very disappointing) I got rather excited at what prediction it had for me.
Please tell me the answers are on its way, with my dream job in tow. Please!
No. Instead my fortune went something like this:
“Venus has aligned with the stars in your path. Talk to three strangers tonight to make the most of opportunities.”
Romance? You have got to be kidding me. Here I am hoping for some professional enlightenment and all I get is a crappy, generic fortune that encouraged me to talk to strangers.
Oh well, why not? I was at a wedding after all. And who takes fortune cards seriously?
Funnily enough I did get chatting to one man. Believe me don’t get too excited.
He, whose name does not escape me because I never got hold of it in the first place, was some 30-ish Chinese man. Straight away he told me how he used to be a research scientist but moved into accountancy because he wanted job and financial security.
He then asked me what I did. I said I’m a senior journalist. (It sounds more attractive than out-of-work qualified journalist who was made redundant last year, after seeing eight newspapers close down.) He actually gave me the look. The look of I’m Sorry. Normally I’m used to people going wow! Cool job or I’m so jealous. No, Accountant Man’s look was one of major sympathy. Maybe it’s because he has insider knowledge and experience in crunching up the numbers and delivering the verdict back to impressionable CEOs that closing non-profit making publications is the only way to keep the major players happy in the game.
So Accountant Man then launches into a LONG one-way conversation (me – nodding my head at the appropriate moments) about why his new found career is the thing to do. Apparently it requires only common sense, a willingness to take lots of exams and, basic maths knowledge. I was almost sold until I pictured myself sat behind a desk in a small office calculating someone’s taxes until the day I die. Exactly.
What was funny about my interaction with Accountant Man is Mrs Accountant Man turning up with a look of her own. One that read Back Off. She actually wrapper her arm firmly around Mr’s waist while smiling daggers at me. Now had I gone for that third glass of champagne (see previous entry as to why I did not) I would have given my famous ‘seriously?’ look followed by the laugh-snort-cough sound. Girlfriend, I'm not after your man. No tingly feelings or turn of the head to the side for me.
In actual fact what Accountant Man did do was get me thinking long and hard about career choices.
Many a bride and grooms have told me how they knew they found their One. But when it comes to careers and that all important dream job, what are the signs? Butterflies, sweaty palms, racing heartbeat and the works?
While I can’t humour being an accountant, I can picture myself in medicine. Dr Ng.
Having done some research I have calculated that after going back to get A Levels in Chemistry and Biology, then completing either a four, five or six year degree I will graduate when I’m at least 31 – that’s assuming I do it now. After another five years training to become a GP and/or seven to nine to become a hospital consultant, where I will earn an average £120,000, I will be somewhere on the right side of 40. The con in this scenario is going back to full time education, more exams and being the old one amongst the fresh-faced, innocent interns. The pros are the money (did I mention £120,000?), the chance to perform miracles and forevermore induce the look of envy and admiration from strangers who ask what I do for a living.
Right now in my Lost phase where I have yet to find my way back into journalism or something writing-related, I am seriously considering going back to university to study another degree. It doesn’t have to be strictly medicine. Maybe Law? I have nothing to lose, especially now.
I’m just going to throw this out there:
I hereby declare that IF I’ve got the money for the tuition fees and living costs and, that by the time I am 30 and still going nowhere fast professionally, then I will go for it. Enrol into medical school or work towards becoming a barrister/ solicitor! At the very least it will make my parents lives. It will actually be on a par with me bringing home a nice Chinese boy and. Fact.
Thinking about it, on some far-fetched level, the fortune card was sort of right. Talk to a stranger and make the most of it.
Maybe my chance of happily ever after is in the hands of a whole new career change.
I normally take horoscopes with a pinch of salt. But at Chris and Yen’s wedding when presented with a fortune card (not a cookie which suffice to say was very disappointing) I got rather excited at what prediction it had for me.
Please tell me the answers are on its way, with my dream job in tow. Please!
No. Instead my fortune went something like this:
“Venus has aligned with the stars in your path. Talk to three strangers tonight to make the most of opportunities.”
Romance? You have got to be kidding me. Here I am hoping for some professional enlightenment and all I get is a crappy, generic fortune that encouraged me to talk to strangers.
Oh well, why not? I was at a wedding after all. And who takes fortune cards seriously?
Funnily enough I did get chatting to one man. Believe me don’t get too excited.
He, whose name does not escape me because I never got hold of it in the first place, was some 30-ish Chinese man. Straight away he told me how he used to be a research scientist but moved into accountancy because he wanted job and financial security.
He then asked me what I did. I said I’m a senior journalist. (It sounds more attractive than out-of-work qualified journalist who was made redundant last year, after seeing eight newspapers close down.) He actually gave me the look. The look of I’m Sorry. Normally I’m used to people going wow! Cool job or I’m so jealous. No, Accountant Man’s look was one of major sympathy. Maybe it’s because he has insider knowledge and experience in crunching up the numbers and delivering the verdict back to impressionable CEOs that closing non-profit making publications is the only way to keep the major players happy in the game.
So Accountant Man then launches into a LONG one-way conversation (me – nodding my head at the appropriate moments) about why his new found career is the thing to do. Apparently it requires only common sense, a willingness to take lots of exams and, basic maths knowledge. I was almost sold until I pictured myself sat behind a desk in a small office calculating someone’s taxes until the day I die. Exactly.
What was funny about my interaction with Accountant Man is Mrs Accountant Man turning up with a look of her own. One that read Back Off. She actually wrapper her arm firmly around Mr’s waist while smiling daggers at me. Now had I gone for that third glass of champagne (see previous entry as to why I did not) I would have given my famous ‘seriously?’ look followed by the laugh-snort-cough sound. Girlfriend, I'm not after your man. No tingly feelings or turn of the head to the side for me.
In actual fact what Accountant Man did do was get me thinking long and hard about career choices.
Many a bride and grooms have told me how they knew they found their One. But when it comes to careers and that all important dream job, what are the signs? Butterflies, sweaty palms, racing heartbeat and the works?
While I can’t humour being an accountant, I can picture myself in medicine. Dr Ng.
Having done some research I have calculated that after going back to get A Levels in Chemistry and Biology, then completing either a four, five or six year degree I will graduate when I’m at least 31 – that’s assuming I do it now. After another five years training to become a GP and/or seven to nine to become a hospital consultant, where I will earn an average £120,000, I will be somewhere on the right side of 40. The con in this scenario is going back to full time education, more exams and being the old one amongst the fresh-faced, innocent interns. The pros are the money (did I mention £120,000?), the chance to perform miracles and forevermore induce the look of envy and admiration from strangers who ask what I do for a living.
Right now in my Lost phase where I have yet to find my way back into journalism or something writing-related, I am seriously considering going back to university to study another degree. It doesn’t have to be strictly medicine. Maybe Law? I have nothing to lose, especially now.
I’m just going to throw this out there:
I hereby declare that IF I’ve got the money for the tuition fees and living costs and, that by the time I am 30 and still going nowhere fast professionally, then I will go for it. Enrol into medical school or work towards becoming a barrister/ solicitor! At the very least it will make my parents lives. It will actually be on a par with me bringing home a nice Chinese boy and. Fact.
Thinking about it, on some far-fetched level, the fortune card was sort of right. Talk to a stranger and make the most of it.
Maybe my chance of happily ever after is in the hands of a whole new career change.
Tuesday 17 August 2010
BANG goes the firecrackers! Wedding no4: Chris and Yen, Mr and Mrs Silver
All weddings involve a bang – in some way shape or form. Non more so than Chinese weddings where the bang comes from firecrackers. Literally.
It never grows old to watch one part of Chinatown come to a standstill as a string of crackers are set off.
One of my colleagues who once suddenly overheard the pandemonium actually thought in that moment that the IRA was attacking the city again.
When it is a mixed raced wedding, Chinese-English for example, I do wonder what must be going through the minds of the non-Oriental guests who are more used to small, intimate receptions with close family and friends. Three course meal. Speeches. Dancing.
Not Chinese weddings. No siree. For wedding number 4, bring on the fireworks, 120 guests and an 11 course banquet.
Chris and Yen, Mr and Mrs Silver, married at Manchester Town Hall last weekend.
After two days of miserable weather, the sun was out all day.
My mum being the superstitious, religious person she is, said it must have been Buddha and the Gods way of rewarding the bride’s family. Since beating cancer many years ago Auntie Leung, mother of the bride, has dedicated her work and life to Buddhism.
Moments like that, I could not challenge my mum’s reasoning with scientific rationale.
Yen is my dad’s best friend’s daughter. I only met her properly a few months ago and in other circumstances I would not have attended her wedding. After all she’s not a good friend. I don’t even know her birthday.
But I went for my dad because Uncle Leung and him have been friends for more than 30 years. I like to think that one day I’ll be in my 70s and still be best friends with the uni girls and the Derby lot.
Anyways back to the wedding. Yen looked stunning in her made-to-fit strapless wedding gown and traditional Chinese wedding cheung sam (long dress). Both were bought from Hong Kong. Personally you can’t beat Chinese hand stitching and materials.
After the ceremony came a champagne reception. Now bearing in mind I was very hungry even before the ceremony began. So there was a big risk in getting drunk too quickly as a result of an empty stomach.
I limited myself to two glasses. Even by then I could feel myself getting light-headed.
You may be thinking but it’s a wedding. Everyone gets drunk. Not the type of wedding where half of the guests are Chinese and the bride’s parents are close to your parents. If I made a fool of myself (circa 2006, second year of university, house party no 1!) my Dad would have given me The Stare.
After the champers came the moment where the bride threw her bouquet.
The registrar requested loudly for all the single ladies. Who will be the next lucky lass whose fellas will put a ring on it?
Cue my mother and the mother of the bride pushing ME to join the Single Crew. Cue me feeling both embarrassed and nauseous. Yes at one point I could almost taste the bile. Maybe it was the champagne or maybe it was simply realising my biggest fear.
Mother of the bride actually screamed out: “You’re single! You should be down there!” Thanks Auntie Leung.
Suffice to say I did not join the dozen excited ladies. Honestly I’m thankful that I got out of it. I may be a hopeless romantic but I just don’t possess that female gene of desperation/ unfailing faith (delete as applicable) that by catching the bride’s bouquet, it shall be me, the Lucky One whose big day will come next. There’s an episode of Sex and the City where the bouquet lands at Carrie’s feet. Her reaction? “Who wants to go the bar?” and turns round and walks off in her fabulous Manolos. That’s me.
So after that came the banquet. Dishes included wild boar, lobster, crab, fish, abalone, rice, noodles, shark fin soup… basically proper Chinese food that makes yours truly a happy, fed lady!
One surreal moment was the waiters bringing out the first course to the loud and fast noise of pop-classical music (think Vanessa Mae meets Bond, the group not 007).
I call it noise because some genius thought it would be appropriate to turn the volume up to the max. It was painful to hear. Bless my poor dad with his hearing aids.
The groom’s parents, John and Jane Silver, are unbelievably warm and wonderful people to be around. Jane especially is a retired university lecturer both well spoken and enviably smart. She’s also a South African native so we had a good reminiscing moment over Johannesburg and Cape Town. She is my kind of company!
So that’s wedding no 4 all done and dusted. Only one more to go. The big one. Las Vegas is officially ON!
It never grows old to watch one part of Chinatown come to a standstill as a string of crackers are set off.
One of my colleagues who once suddenly overheard the pandemonium actually thought in that moment that the IRA was attacking the city again.
When it is a mixed raced wedding, Chinese-English for example, I do wonder what must be going through the minds of the non-Oriental guests who are more used to small, intimate receptions with close family and friends. Three course meal. Speeches. Dancing.
Not Chinese weddings. No siree. For wedding number 4, bring on the fireworks, 120 guests and an 11 course banquet.
Chris and Yen, Mr and Mrs Silver, married at Manchester Town Hall last weekend.
After two days of miserable weather, the sun was out all day.
My mum being the superstitious, religious person she is, said it must have been Buddha and the Gods way of rewarding the bride’s family. Since beating cancer many years ago Auntie Leung, mother of the bride, has dedicated her work and life to Buddhism.
Moments like that, I could not challenge my mum’s reasoning with scientific rationale.
Yen is my dad’s best friend’s daughter. I only met her properly a few months ago and in other circumstances I would not have attended her wedding. After all she’s not a good friend. I don’t even know her birthday.
But I went for my dad because Uncle Leung and him have been friends for more than 30 years. I like to think that one day I’ll be in my 70s and still be best friends with the uni girls and the Derby lot.
Anyways back to the wedding. Yen looked stunning in her made-to-fit strapless wedding gown and traditional Chinese wedding cheung sam (long dress). Both were bought from Hong Kong. Personally you can’t beat Chinese hand stitching and materials.
After the ceremony came a champagne reception. Now bearing in mind I was very hungry even before the ceremony began. So there was a big risk in getting drunk too quickly as a result of an empty stomach.
I limited myself to two glasses. Even by then I could feel myself getting light-headed.
You may be thinking but it’s a wedding. Everyone gets drunk. Not the type of wedding where half of the guests are Chinese and the bride’s parents are close to your parents. If I made a fool of myself (circa 2006, second year of university, house party no 1!) my Dad would have given me The Stare.
After the champers came the moment where the bride threw her bouquet.
The registrar requested loudly for all the single ladies. Who will be the next lucky lass whose fellas will put a ring on it?
Cue my mother and the mother of the bride pushing ME to join the Single Crew. Cue me feeling both embarrassed and nauseous. Yes at one point I could almost taste the bile. Maybe it was the champagne or maybe it was simply realising my biggest fear.
Mother of the bride actually screamed out: “You’re single! You should be down there!” Thanks Auntie Leung.
Suffice to say I did not join the dozen excited ladies. Honestly I’m thankful that I got out of it. I may be a hopeless romantic but I just don’t possess that female gene of desperation/ unfailing faith (delete as applicable) that by catching the bride’s bouquet, it shall be me, the Lucky One whose big day will come next. There’s an episode of Sex and the City where the bouquet lands at Carrie’s feet. Her reaction? “Who wants to go the bar?” and turns round and walks off in her fabulous Manolos. That’s me.
So after that came the banquet. Dishes included wild boar, lobster, crab, fish, abalone, rice, noodles, shark fin soup… basically proper Chinese food that makes yours truly a happy, fed lady!
One surreal moment was the waiters bringing out the first course to the loud and fast noise of pop-classical music (think Vanessa Mae meets Bond, the group not 007).
I call it noise because some genius thought it would be appropriate to turn the volume up to the max. It was painful to hear. Bless my poor dad with his hearing aids.
The groom’s parents, John and Jane Silver, are unbelievably warm and wonderful people to be around. Jane especially is a retired university lecturer both well spoken and enviably smart. She’s also a South African native so we had a good reminiscing moment over Johannesburg and Cape Town. She is my kind of company!
So that’s wedding no 4 all done and dusted. Only one more to go. The big one. Las Vegas is officially ON!
Saturday 14 August 2010
On my way to wedding no4
I'm off to wedding no4 this afternoon. Location: Manchester which is indeed a breath of fresh air considering I do not need to fork out more cash on public transport and hotels.
The Chinese part of Chris and Yen's wedding will be about one thing: eating and money. The significance of Chinese weddings is not about the gifts or how many happy tears are shed during the ceremony. In some cases it's not even about the bride and groom themselves. No, Chinese weddings are all about the red pocket envelopes filled with cash given to the bridal family from the guests - and the 12 course banquet. Now it is critical as to how much is given after all no one wants to be known as the tight, stingy git who only gave £20.
An average wedding banquet can host around 300 guests. My Dad always say that after you've seated your nearest and dearest, those you will actually turn to in moments of crisis, the remain 280-odd are acquaintances. If you see them on the street you will politely say hi but in all honesty do you remember their birthday or add them to your Christmas card list?
The money inside the red pocket envelope, be it 10s, 20s or even 50s, is used to pay the banquet bill. We're talking anything between £5-10,000. The excess will either be given to the bride and groom as a wedding present or to the bride's parents. I forget who pocketed the remaining 'schrapnel' at Wendie and Ben's do.
Going back to wedding no4, although I have only met Chris and Yen once, I'm only attending for my parents - particularly my Dad. Him and Uncle Leung go back some 35 years - they have one of the tightest friendships I know of. This wedding will probably be the most low-key affair where I do not have to mingle as such as I can just hide behind all the food. I say this now but Sod's Law will have it that something will happen to me!
Once again I will be wearing an old dress. My purple Primark (as it's a wedding and all, let's call it Primarni) A line frock will be a true saviour as it hide the unattractive bloaty stomach come 7pm. Of course I shall be eating everything, it'd be rude not to. Bring on the lobster and roast boar (or something pig-related).
The Chinese part of Chris and Yen's wedding will be about one thing: eating and money. The significance of Chinese weddings is not about the gifts or how many happy tears are shed during the ceremony. In some cases it's not even about the bride and groom themselves. No, Chinese weddings are all about the red pocket envelopes filled with cash given to the bridal family from the guests - and the 12 course banquet. Now it is critical as to how much is given after all no one wants to be known as the tight, stingy git who only gave £20.
An average wedding banquet can host around 300 guests. My Dad always say that after you've seated your nearest and dearest, those you will actually turn to in moments of crisis, the remain 280-odd are acquaintances. If you see them on the street you will politely say hi but in all honesty do you remember their birthday or add them to your Christmas card list?
The money inside the red pocket envelope, be it 10s, 20s or even 50s, is used to pay the banquet bill. We're talking anything between £5-10,000. The excess will either be given to the bride and groom as a wedding present or to the bride's parents. I forget who pocketed the remaining 'schrapnel' at Wendie and Ben's do.
Going back to wedding no4, although I have only met Chris and Yen once, I'm only attending for my parents - particularly my Dad. Him and Uncle Leung go back some 35 years - they have one of the tightest friendships I know of. This wedding will probably be the most low-key affair where I do not have to mingle as such as I can just hide behind all the food. I say this now but Sod's Law will have it that something will happen to me!
Once again I will be wearing an old dress. My purple Primark (as it's a wedding and all, let's call it Primarni) A line frock will be a true saviour as it hide the unattractive bloaty stomach come 7pm. Of course I shall be eating everything, it'd be rude not to. Bring on the lobster and roast boar (or something pig-related).
Thursday 12 August 2010
My name is Debbie and I am a RomCom addict
Wedding season has truly brought out the romantic in me. As much as I hate to admit it I am now even more of a sucker for a mushy, sickly, predictable romantic comedy.
Case in point 1: I watched a film called Lucky 7 last night on You Tube. Last week when I was at my sister’s I begged her to video plus the film on some Sky Movies Romance channel. I made her promise to save it for when I am next visiting. Last night I was on You Tube looking at Patrick Dempsey videos (leave it!) and hey presto, another likeminded die-hard fan uploaded the whole film and he stars in it! What could I to do?
The film centres on a girl who lives her life based on a timeline her then alive mother created – become a lawyer, fall in love many times before finally finding The One in number seven. By then she would just know that he is It from the fireworks and her hand fitting his perfectly. Admittedly the film is awful, so predictable and bad script. Admittedly, I enjoyed the happy ending. Will I go as far as buy it on DVD? No. Honestly.
Case in point 2: A film I do own is Enchanted. Yes it’s a Disney film and yes it too stars Mr Dempsey. This one is both cartoon and real life. A princess to be who on her way to marrying the prince is pushed down a well by the evil stepmother and enters into the real world – New York. There she meets cynical divorce lawyer (Mr Dempsey) and while she waiting for her prince to come rescue her, turns lawyer’s life upside down with her innocence and hopeless faith in true love and true kiss etc. We all know how this ends. I am not ashamed to admit that since buying the DVD on Monday, I have seen it three times and that my favourite part is the dance scene between lawyer and princess.
As I write this, one thing is very clear: I’m turning into a hopeless romantic.
I can blame wedding fever all I want but deep down I know that I am an eternal sucker for any film that sees two people realising they love each other by the end. I have Two Weeks Notice on both video and DVD.
Yes I still love serious films like Shawshank Redemption, Invictus and Hotel Rwanda but of late I am more drawn to the mushy, sickly, predictable films.
Time to watch Love Actually again methinks.
Case in point 1: I watched a film called Lucky 7 last night on You Tube. Last week when I was at my sister’s I begged her to video plus the film on some Sky Movies Romance channel. I made her promise to save it for when I am next visiting. Last night I was on You Tube looking at Patrick Dempsey videos (leave it!) and hey presto, another likeminded die-hard fan uploaded the whole film and he stars in it! What could I to do?
The film centres on a girl who lives her life based on a timeline her then alive mother created – become a lawyer, fall in love many times before finally finding The One in number seven. By then she would just know that he is It from the fireworks and her hand fitting his perfectly. Admittedly the film is awful, so predictable and bad script. Admittedly, I enjoyed the happy ending. Will I go as far as buy it on DVD? No. Honestly.
Case in point 2: A film I do own is Enchanted. Yes it’s a Disney film and yes it too stars Mr Dempsey. This one is both cartoon and real life. A princess to be who on her way to marrying the prince is pushed down a well by the evil stepmother and enters into the real world – New York. There she meets cynical divorce lawyer (Mr Dempsey) and while she waiting for her prince to come rescue her, turns lawyer’s life upside down with her innocence and hopeless faith in true love and true kiss etc. We all know how this ends. I am not ashamed to admit that since buying the DVD on Monday, I have seen it three times and that my favourite part is the dance scene between lawyer and princess.
As I write this, one thing is very clear: I’m turning into a hopeless romantic.
I can blame wedding fever all I want but deep down I know that I am an eternal sucker for any film that sees two people realising they love each other by the end. I have Two Weeks Notice on both video and DVD.
Yes I still love serious films like Shawshank Redemption, Invictus and Hotel Rwanda but of late I am more drawn to the mushy, sickly, predictable films.
Time to watch Love Actually again methinks.
Wednesday 11 August 2010
5 Weddings, 1 neglected Crompton Gang
At some point in September I will FINALLY be heading back to Derby to see the Crompton Gang who I have seriously neglected this year. I've honestly lost count on the number of times I turned down nights out, birthdays, house party and BBQs.
Since leaving Derby just over a year ago I have been back to see the Gang, Amy particularly, less than five times. March 6 was the last time to be exact. That's almost six months ago. The shame and the horror! I definitely deserve to give myself a hard time because I was the one who vowed to go back once a month to catch up with everyone.
I made the promise but I was unable to foresake the all other that is real life and its schedules. Committing myself this year to five weddings and everything in between meant prioritising my time and budgeting. I still feel awful in having had to turn down a girls holiday with Amy and Shelley as well as accept an invite to Crompton House Party no 4, getting people excited of my arrival, and then having to change the RSVP to 'Not Attending' because I got the month mixed up!
Don't get me wrong. I do not for one second regret saying yes to 5 weddings in 1 year. It's just in an ideal world I'd be in two places at once with all the money in the world to do everything and see everyone I want. But this is real life so I have to make the time and effort.
Ideally I'd spend September sleeping, eating junk food and watching awful romcoms. I'd never leave the house or brush my hair. OK maybe I'd scrub up for one guaranteed crazy reunion weekend in Derby... bring it on! Six months of gossip awaits me.
Since leaving Derby just over a year ago I have been back to see the Gang, Amy particularly, less than five times. March 6 was the last time to be exact. That's almost six months ago. The shame and the horror! I definitely deserve to give myself a hard time because I was the one who vowed to go back once a month to catch up with everyone.
I made the promise but I was unable to foresake the all other that is real life and its schedules. Committing myself this year to five weddings and everything in between meant prioritising my time and budgeting. I still feel awful in having had to turn down a girls holiday with Amy and Shelley as well as accept an invite to Crompton House Party no 4, getting people excited of my arrival, and then having to change the RSVP to 'Not Attending' because I got the month mixed up!
Don't get me wrong. I do not for one second regret saying yes to 5 weddings in 1 year. It's just in an ideal world I'd be in two places at once with all the money in the world to do everything and see everyone I want. But this is real life so I have to make the time and effort.
Ideally I'd spend September sleeping, eating junk food and watching awful romcoms. I'd never leave the house or brush my hair. OK maybe I'd scrub up for one guaranteed crazy reunion weekend in Derby... bring it on! Six months of gossip awaits me.
How To Write the Perfect Maid of Honour speech…
...is a guide that I could do with. In Waterstones today there’s a whole display of book dedicated to weddings.
Books on how to plan the perfect wedding, stag do, hen night, a guide to the best presents and tips on writing the ultimate groom/best man/ father of the bride speech. But hold press. Where’s the rulebook for all the MOHs out there who have been asked to say something funny/emotional/embarrassing/ all of the above at their best friend’s Big Day?
Yes I am a writer. Yes I should already be sprouting out the romantic prose. Yes I should have started writing it weeks ago.
But I am suffering from a case of Writer’s Block.
I’ve even been on youtube to get some inspiration. But lets be honest can you see me rapping, to the tune of the Fresh Prince of Bel Air, this is a story all about how my best friend Faye Keane ended up becoming Mrs Dabek in glamorous Las Vegas? No neither can I.
I want to write a speech that will make people laugh and cry while throwing in some jokes that only Faye and I are privy to.
It’s a lot easier than it sounds.
When I am free to write whatever I want I can give Tolstoy a run for his money, making War and Peace look like a concise instruction pamphlet.
But that will be unfair on the guests as the last thing they want to do is listen to some woman who after a couple of Gin and Tonics ramble on about how wonderful love is and how great The Dabeks are.
Nor do I want to look up and see the Father of the Groom snoring away at the head table.
Time to get my head down, get out the notebook and jot my ideas down. Then rewrite. Rewrite some more. Edit. Edit some more. Then somehow through some miracle put it together in some form of coherent English.
Fifty-five days left until the wedding, which means 49 actual days left to write my speech.
Oh Lord have sweet mercy.
Books on how to plan the perfect wedding, stag do, hen night, a guide to the best presents and tips on writing the ultimate groom/best man/ father of the bride speech. But hold press. Where’s the rulebook for all the MOHs out there who have been asked to say something funny/emotional/embarrassing/ all of the above at their best friend’s Big Day?
Yes I am a writer. Yes I should already be sprouting out the romantic prose. Yes I should have started writing it weeks ago.
But I am suffering from a case of Writer’s Block.
I’ve even been on youtube to get some inspiration. But lets be honest can you see me rapping, to the tune of the Fresh Prince of Bel Air, this is a story all about how my best friend Faye Keane ended up becoming Mrs Dabek in glamorous Las Vegas? No neither can I.
I want to write a speech that will make people laugh and cry while throwing in some jokes that only Faye and I are privy to.
It’s a lot easier than it sounds.
When I am free to write whatever I want I can give Tolstoy a run for his money, making War and Peace look like a concise instruction pamphlet.
But that will be unfair on the guests as the last thing they want to do is listen to some woman who after a couple of Gin and Tonics ramble on about how wonderful love is and how great The Dabeks are.
Nor do I want to look up and see the Father of the Groom snoring away at the head table.
Time to get my head down, get out the notebook and jot my ideas down. Then rewrite. Rewrite some more. Edit. Edit some more. Then somehow through some miracle put it together in some form of coherent English.
Fifty-five days left until the wedding, which means 49 actual days left to write my speech.
Oh Lord have sweet mercy.
Tuesday 10 August 2010
Ask him for his Name and Number!
I met a guy at wedding no3. But then again does it count if I never got the guy’s name or any form of contact details – this includes email so I can track him down on Facebook or his Twitter ID so I can ‘follow’ him?
Allow me to explain. Nat and Matt hired a mobile ice cream parlour at their reception. FYI ice cream and sparkling wine makes for happy guests at a wedding. Serving the ice cream was this young guy with preppy hair, blue eyes all suited up in a tie, shirt and waistcoat.
(Clearly I have the makings of a stalker!) Andy obviously saw the attraction because when we were all sat inside away from the rain, he went to speak to Ice Cream Man. As he walked out, he whispered to me: “He is hot.” Now you know those moments where as soon as someone points the obvious out to you, everything becomes clear? That was one such moment.
Within 5 minutes (note time) Andy came back with a tray of ice cream. He told me Ice Cream Man will be studying Politics at Leicester this year, he’s just come back from travelling and he’s learning Mandarin. The downside? He’s straight and he’s got too many freckles.
In a rather unusual moment of bravery, I decided to go and talk to Ice Cream Man as well as getting more dessert for Andy. One small selfless deed for a friend followed by one giant leap in the whole getting to know someone game society calls Flirting for Debbie.
Almost immediately I got to chatting to Ice Cream Man while eating a mint chocolate chip cone and holding a tub of Honeycombe Swirl for Andy. FYI there is no attractive way of eating an ice cream cone. When Ice Cream Man went to kneel down to get something I quickly wiped my mouth only to find an unattractive green and brown smudge on the back of my hand.
But still we talked… and talked. I learnt that:
· Yes he will be attending Leicester University to study Politics in September (“Leicester? I worked in Loughborough! Great place.” Lie no1: Apart from the train station, I’ve never actually been to Leicester itself.)
· He really wants to spend a year in China to learn Mandarin because in the future it will become a dominant language (“I speak Cantonese which is slightly more difficult than Mandarin but I can understand the words just the same.”)
· He has just come back from travelling around South East Asia (which explains preppy hair) and smoked lots of cheap cigarettes. He went into full detail about the cultural differences in Thailand, Singapore and India. The bulk of our conversation was how much we loved travelling, the culture shock of coming home and the urge to go back out there. Cue lots of laughing and joking.
(I notice at this point Andy’s ice cream is melting.)
Then came the part of the conversation where I should have just asked him for his name and number. What did I have to lose? Exactly.
We got talking about Brighton Pride. Now before you wonder no he is not gay. He is from Brighton and every year his friends and him organise some gathering on the beach that goes on into the early morning. I told him that I aim to go to Pride after the wedding to meet up with my Gay (Andre).
Ice cream Man: Oh I finish my shift at 7 so I’m heading straight there.
Pause.
Good luck finding someone in Brighton tonight.
Pause.
Me: Where’s the best places to go?
Ice Cream Man: Start at Preston Park and work your way down.
Me: Pause.
Silence
Andy’s ice cream by this point has turned into a sickly, melted mess.
Instinct tells me that we were both thinking the same thing but expecting the other to take charge.
If that is true then clearly that backfired.
All in all, Ice Cream Man and Wedding Guest were just two strangers who engaged in the perfect random conversation.
We covered all grounds: job/ studies, where we live, travel stories, likes and dislikes. I even learnt that rather than develop an aversion to ice cream he actually eats more than he should.
Our conversation ended when Andy came out wondering what was taking me so long. 45 minutes I spent talking to Ice Cream Man.
Looking back maybe I did waste a golden opportunity.
But there is no doubt that I have something to be proud of. Speaking to random strangers has never been a problem for me. However in the rare moments where I actually talk to a random that I really like the look of, I do have a tendency (or so I’ve been told) of coming across too standoffish/ intelligent/ guarded that ultimately kills the moment.
This time I am proud to say, I made no references to Apartheid, the Middle East crisis or Obama. (OK I did mention Robben Island but only in answer to my best moments in Cape Town.)
I know for a fact I will never see Ice Cream Man again. Actually is a good thing when compared to the alternative of later discovering that interesting man turns out to be not so when removed from the uniform and dessert.
At least I made an effort with stranger. Keep this up then hopefully the next guy I speak to I may get a first name!
Allow me to explain. Nat and Matt hired a mobile ice cream parlour at their reception. FYI ice cream and sparkling wine makes for happy guests at a wedding. Serving the ice cream was this young guy with preppy hair, blue eyes all suited up in a tie, shirt and waistcoat.
(Clearly I have the makings of a stalker!) Andy obviously saw the attraction because when we were all sat inside away from the rain, he went to speak to Ice Cream Man. As he walked out, he whispered to me: “He is hot.” Now you know those moments where as soon as someone points the obvious out to you, everything becomes clear? That was one such moment.
Within 5 minutes (note time) Andy came back with a tray of ice cream. He told me Ice Cream Man will be studying Politics at Leicester this year, he’s just come back from travelling and he’s learning Mandarin. The downside? He’s straight and he’s got too many freckles.
In a rather unusual moment of bravery, I decided to go and talk to Ice Cream Man as well as getting more dessert for Andy. One small selfless deed for a friend followed by one giant leap in the whole getting to know someone game society calls Flirting for Debbie.
Almost immediately I got to chatting to Ice Cream Man while eating a mint chocolate chip cone and holding a tub of Honeycombe Swirl for Andy. FYI there is no attractive way of eating an ice cream cone. When Ice Cream Man went to kneel down to get something I quickly wiped my mouth only to find an unattractive green and brown smudge on the back of my hand.
But still we talked… and talked. I learnt that:
· Yes he will be attending Leicester University to study Politics in September (“Leicester? I worked in Loughborough! Great place.” Lie no1: Apart from the train station, I’ve never actually been to Leicester itself.)
· He really wants to spend a year in China to learn Mandarin because in the future it will become a dominant language (“I speak Cantonese which is slightly more difficult than Mandarin but I can understand the words just the same.”)
· He has just come back from travelling around South East Asia (which explains preppy hair) and smoked lots of cheap cigarettes. He went into full detail about the cultural differences in Thailand, Singapore and India. The bulk of our conversation was how much we loved travelling, the culture shock of coming home and the urge to go back out there. Cue lots of laughing and joking.
(I notice at this point Andy’s ice cream is melting.)
Then came the part of the conversation where I should have just asked him for his name and number. What did I have to lose? Exactly.
We got talking about Brighton Pride. Now before you wonder no he is not gay. He is from Brighton and every year his friends and him organise some gathering on the beach that goes on into the early morning. I told him that I aim to go to Pride after the wedding to meet up with my Gay (Andre).
Ice cream Man: Oh I finish my shift at 7 so I’m heading straight there.
Pause.
Good luck finding someone in Brighton tonight.
Pause.
Me: Where’s the best places to go?
Ice Cream Man: Start at Preston Park and work your way down.
Me: Pause.
Silence
Andy’s ice cream by this point has turned into a sickly, melted mess.
Instinct tells me that we were both thinking the same thing but expecting the other to take charge.
If that is true then clearly that backfired.
All in all, Ice Cream Man and Wedding Guest were just two strangers who engaged in the perfect random conversation.
We covered all grounds: job/ studies, where we live, travel stories, likes and dislikes. I even learnt that rather than develop an aversion to ice cream he actually eats more than he should.
Our conversation ended when Andy came out wondering what was taking me so long. 45 minutes I spent talking to Ice Cream Man.
Looking back maybe I did waste a golden opportunity.
But there is no doubt that I have something to be proud of. Speaking to random strangers has never been a problem for me. However in the rare moments where I actually talk to a random that I really like the look of, I do have a tendency (or so I’ve been told) of coming across too standoffish/ intelligent/ guarded that ultimately kills the moment.
This time I am proud to say, I made no references to Apartheid, the Middle East crisis or Obama. (OK I did mention Robben Island but only in answer to my best moments in Cape Town.)
I know for a fact I will never see Ice Cream Man again. Actually is a good thing when compared to the alternative of later discovering that interesting man turns out to be not so when removed from the uniform and dessert.
At least I made an effort with stranger. Keep this up then hopefully the next guy I speak to I may get a first name!
To Love's sense of humour: Wedding no3 - Natalie and Matthew Heyward
I am a big believer in Fate. That all things happen for a reason. I believe that I am destined for many things in life – both testing and wonderful.
At Natalie and Matt’s wedding I learnt that Fate also has an incredibly, wicked, funny sense of humour. One day we think we’ve got it all figured out: the outlined plans we aim to achieve by a certain age and for the majority of us, the vision of the dream person we hope end up with. For Natalie, Love and Fate worked together to reshuffle the cards and deal her an entirely different hand.
A hand that would have her destined to meet and get engaged to The One within 10 weeks, marrying him eight months later. In her wedding speech (the first bride I know to have given one – that’s our Nat!) she toasted to Love and its sense of humour.
The Heyward’s wedding took place at the Maybridge Community Church in Durrington-on-Sea. Though it was wedding number 3 it was the first proper Christian wedding I attended.
I arrived not knowing what to expect.
As I took my seat, I had the urge to touch up my make up but felt it inappropriate to commit such vanity in God’s house – especially when the band was praying!
Sat in the church hall, I felt calm. Whether it was due to being in a spiritual surrounding or because of the sunlight illuminating the room, I felt relaxed.
For a while I did not worry about work or money or how I would confront certain people if I ever had the chance. I was calm.
The time came for the wedding. I have not seen Nat since graduation so to see her walking up the aisle, giving herself away, in this big, white dress, noticing the look her and Matt shared as she approached him, well I got the goose bumps.
The ceremony lasted one hour. That surprised me as I was used to services where the vows begin almost immediately. Oh no not this time.
Led by the entertaining Pastor Joe Davis, there were hymns, readings, vows and prayers. It was so much fun. Singing the hymns was daunting at first because obviously it’s not something I do everyday but thanks to a lyric book and simple melodies I caught on very quickly.
One of the best parts for me was seeing my high school/college/university friend-cum-date for the day Andy Spearman.
Acting as an usher as well as Matron of Honour (or Prima Dona of Dishonour as Nat said in her speech), Andy is one of a kind.
I’ve known him for 13 years and all the long travelling and expense was worth it to see him looking ever dashing in his suit.
Witnessing him do a reading in front of the congregation was fun because I know him well enough to spot when he is being sarcastic, theatrical Andy – especially when he does not necessarily agree with a statement.
He is after all a trainee solicitor so he’s blessed with excellent delivery and natural dry humour.
For better for worse, I know 60 years from now he will still never fail to raise his eyebrow whenever I say or do something that he disapproves of. More on that later….
After the ceremony Mr and Mrs Heyward had their first dance. Now back at uni Nat and Andy were exceptional ballroom dancing partners. Matt however is not the most confident of dancers but he obviously practised for it. Apart from a slight stumble from him, everything else was perfect. Moving in time together, no one could deny that they are a perfect match.
The reception moved to a hotel, initially it was to be held at the church but the caterer’s double booked, where while unfortunately there was no dancing it was wonderful to just mingle. For me it allowed me to catch up with Andy and Nat because we have not been in the same room for three years! This reception was about sparkling wine, ice cream (more about this in the next entry), buffet food and speaking to lots of people (again, specifics to come in the next entry).
The day ended by 7pm. It was very much in the air that the bride and groom were anxious to spend their first night as husband and wife. After all as the groom is a devout Christian, hence the consummation was a huge deal. It’s inspiring and refreshing to know people in their 20s today whose faith gives them the strength to resist all temptation, living up to their vow of abstinence before marriage. Obviously Nat was not a virgin on the day but she told me that having gone without sex for almost a year, in her own way she waited patiently for The One.
In previous entries I may have joked about the idea of Nat, former lesbian, marrying a man and how I will not believe it until the day. But on the day itself, it hardly entered my mind.
Seeing Nat and Matt at the alter in their church committing to one another, even I could tell they are made for each other. They look right and they compliment each other in every way. Where she is loud, walks into the room and grabs everyone’s attention, he is more reserved and quiet. But they balance each other out. I can tell he keeps her grounded and she brings out the best in him.
As I watched the one-and-only Natalie Clark become Mrs Heyward I thought back to the crazy uni moments, some actually too wild to mention, and her past loves. Not even she could have bet that six years on, Fate would lead her to a completely different place, both figuratively and literally.
Sense of humour indeed.
At Natalie and Matt’s wedding I learnt that Fate also has an incredibly, wicked, funny sense of humour. One day we think we’ve got it all figured out: the outlined plans we aim to achieve by a certain age and for the majority of us, the vision of the dream person we hope end up with. For Natalie, Love and Fate worked together to reshuffle the cards and deal her an entirely different hand.
A hand that would have her destined to meet and get engaged to The One within 10 weeks, marrying him eight months later. In her wedding speech (the first bride I know to have given one – that’s our Nat!) she toasted to Love and its sense of humour.
The Heyward’s wedding took place at the Maybridge Community Church in Durrington-on-Sea. Though it was wedding number 3 it was the first proper Christian wedding I attended.
I arrived not knowing what to expect.
As I took my seat, I had the urge to touch up my make up but felt it inappropriate to commit such vanity in God’s house – especially when the band was praying!
Sat in the church hall, I felt calm. Whether it was due to being in a spiritual surrounding or because of the sunlight illuminating the room, I felt relaxed.
For a while I did not worry about work or money or how I would confront certain people if I ever had the chance. I was calm.
The time came for the wedding. I have not seen Nat since graduation so to see her walking up the aisle, giving herself away, in this big, white dress, noticing the look her and Matt shared as she approached him, well I got the goose bumps.
The ceremony lasted one hour. That surprised me as I was used to services where the vows begin almost immediately. Oh no not this time.
Led by the entertaining Pastor Joe Davis, there were hymns, readings, vows and prayers. It was so much fun. Singing the hymns was daunting at first because obviously it’s not something I do everyday but thanks to a lyric book and simple melodies I caught on very quickly.
One of the best parts for me was seeing my high school/college/university friend-cum-date for the day Andy Spearman.
Acting as an usher as well as Matron of Honour (or Prima Dona of Dishonour as Nat said in her speech), Andy is one of a kind.
I’ve known him for 13 years and all the long travelling and expense was worth it to see him looking ever dashing in his suit.
Witnessing him do a reading in front of the congregation was fun because I know him well enough to spot when he is being sarcastic, theatrical Andy – especially when he does not necessarily agree with a statement.
He is after all a trainee solicitor so he’s blessed with excellent delivery and natural dry humour.
For better for worse, I know 60 years from now he will still never fail to raise his eyebrow whenever I say or do something that he disapproves of. More on that later….
After the ceremony Mr and Mrs Heyward had their first dance. Now back at uni Nat and Andy were exceptional ballroom dancing partners. Matt however is not the most confident of dancers but he obviously practised for it. Apart from a slight stumble from him, everything else was perfect. Moving in time together, no one could deny that they are a perfect match.
The reception moved to a hotel, initially it was to be held at the church but the caterer’s double booked, where while unfortunately there was no dancing it was wonderful to just mingle. For me it allowed me to catch up with Andy and Nat because we have not been in the same room for three years! This reception was about sparkling wine, ice cream (more about this in the next entry), buffet food and speaking to lots of people (again, specifics to come in the next entry).
The day ended by 7pm. It was very much in the air that the bride and groom were anxious to spend their first night as husband and wife. After all as the groom is a devout Christian, hence the consummation was a huge deal. It’s inspiring and refreshing to know people in their 20s today whose faith gives them the strength to resist all temptation, living up to their vow of abstinence before marriage. Obviously Nat was not a virgin on the day but she told me that having gone without sex for almost a year, in her own way she waited patiently for The One.
In previous entries I may have joked about the idea of Nat, former lesbian, marrying a man and how I will not believe it until the day. But on the day itself, it hardly entered my mind.
Seeing Nat and Matt at the alter in their church committing to one another, even I could tell they are made for each other. They look right and they compliment each other in every way. Where she is loud, walks into the room and grabs everyone’s attention, he is more reserved and quiet. But they balance each other out. I can tell he keeps her grounded and she brings out the best in him.
As I watched the one-and-only Natalie Clark become Mrs Heyward I thought back to the crazy uni moments, some actually too wild to mention, and her past loves. Not even she could have bet that six years on, Fate would lead her to a completely different place, both figuratively and literally.
Sense of humour indeed.
Monday 9 August 2010
Running in Heels...without the glamour
Seven hours and 10 minutes is how long I spent on public transport on Saturday.
Bus, tube, train, train, tube, tube, taxi – Ealing, London Victoria, Durrington-on-Sea (27 minutes outside of Brighton), London Victoria, Camden and then back to Ealing.
If there’s one cliché most appropriate for the mammoth adventure it’s the one that goes something like it’s not where we finally end up but the journey itself in getting there.
And a journey it was.
You know those films where the main character is running through an airport desperately hoping to stop the love of their life getting away before it’s too late?
They’re all immaculately dressed, hair in place and never look flushed.
In my film, the scene would go like this: 9.40am – Victoria train station – very busy. I’m in my floaty dress, heels and scarf running across the station to platform 17 which Sod’s Law would have it, was the furthest away. I’m running and praying that I make the 9.47 train. Enter very elderly couple with walking sticks who I dodge past without breaking my speed. I’m ashamed at my lack of patience. Enter next backpackers queuing at the ticket machine. I pushed through hoping that I did not knock one over. Then of course lets bring in a dog on a leash. Thankfully the worst did not happen where I would trip and fall in front of hundreds of people.
Running is not a strong point of mine. However when the adrenaline kicked in, I discovered I can run. If only I also had Moses’ power to magically separate the crowd, creating an open space.
Whilst running my scarf was flapping all over the place, hitting people on the way and my hair, which I spent 15 minutes putting up, was now coming apart. On top of all that I was sweating. Yes in my film, had I caught up with the love of my life, he would have taken one glance at my sorry state and boarded the plane in extra speed!
So I just about all made it onto the train, getting some oxygen when the conductor announces that the carriages will be split halfway so can all passengers ensure we’re in the right coaches. Typically I got on the wrong one.
All that time spent travelling on Saturday got me thinking.
I thought how funny it would be if I was on the wrong carriage and ended up somewhere far, far away. One day I’d like to experience the freedom of grabbing my railcard, picking any random destination on the board and just spending a day or weekend there. It would have to be somewhere I’ve never heard of or so completely out of the way that it would require more than one change. I’d get off at the chosen place and without a single clue or plan I’d just walk north.
Then I thought about writing a book. Something light, trashy and fun. Maybe I should turn this blog into a book. While attending all these weddings, the heroine finds herself. OK so the plot is not unique but I’m sure someone would read it on a beach holiday.
Strangest of all I got to thinking about wedding vows which is unlike me in every sense. I decided that I prefer personal vows to the traditional have and to hold/ in sickness and in health/ till death do us part and so on. In my head groom’s words are inspired from a Shakespeare’s sonnet or Nicholas ‘The Notebook’ Sparks novel. Yes even in my imagination I still have unrealistic expectations!
I’m sure I must have chuckled to myself during my thoughts. Bless the man sat across from me who most probably was only thinking: Help. Get me away from this lunatic.
Bus, tube, train, train, tube, tube, taxi – Ealing, London Victoria, Durrington-on-Sea (27 minutes outside of Brighton), London Victoria, Camden and then back to Ealing.
If there’s one cliché most appropriate for the mammoth adventure it’s the one that goes something like it’s not where we finally end up but the journey itself in getting there.
And a journey it was.
You know those films where the main character is running through an airport desperately hoping to stop the love of their life getting away before it’s too late?
They’re all immaculately dressed, hair in place and never look flushed.
In my film, the scene would go like this: 9.40am – Victoria train station – very busy. I’m in my floaty dress, heels and scarf running across the station to platform 17 which Sod’s Law would have it, was the furthest away. I’m running and praying that I make the 9.47 train. Enter very elderly couple with walking sticks who I dodge past without breaking my speed. I’m ashamed at my lack of patience. Enter next backpackers queuing at the ticket machine. I pushed through hoping that I did not knock one over. Then of course lets bring in a dog on a leash. Thankfully the worst did not happen where I would trip and fall in front of hundreds of people.
Running is not a strong point of mine. However when the adrenaline kicked in, I discovered I can run. If only I also had Moses’ power to magically separate the crowd, creating an open space.
Whilst running my scarf was flapping all over the place, hitting people on the way and my hair, which I spent 15 minutes putting up, was now coming apart. On top of all that I was sweating. Yes in my film, had I caught up with the love of my life, he would have taken one glance at my sorry state and boarded the plane in extra speed!
So I just about all made it onto the train, getting some oxygen when the conductor announces that the carriages will be split halfway so can all passengers ensure we’re in the right coaches. Typically I got on the wrong one.
All that time spent travelling on Saturday got me thinking.
I thought how funny it would be if I was on the wrong carriage and ended up somewhere far, far away. One day I’d like to experience the freedom of grabbing my railcard, picking any random destination on the board and just spending a day or weekend there. It would have to be somewhere I’ve never heard of or so completely out of the way that it would require more than one change. I’d get off at the chosen place and without a single clue or plan I’d just walk north.
Then I thought about writing a book. Something light, trashy and fun. Maybe I should turn this blog into a book. While attending all these weddings, the heroine finds herself. OK so the plot is not unique but I’m sure someone would read it on a beach holiday.
Strangest of all I got to thinking about wedding vows which is unlike me in every sense. I decided that I prefer personal vows to the traditional have and to hold/ in sickness and in health/ till death do us part and so on. In my head groom’s words are inspired from a Shakespeare’s sonnet or Nicholas ‘The Notebook’ Sparks novel. Yes even in my imagination I still have unrealistic expectations!
I’m sure I must have chuckled to myself during my thoughts. Bless the man sat across from me who most probably was only thinking: Help. Get me away from this lunatic.
Friday 6 August 2010
"You'll never catch me wearing the same dress twice" said Miss Unrealistic
How bad is it to wear the same dress at two different weddings? I ask this because due to lack of choice, time and spare cash, tomorrow’s event in Brighton will have me wearing the Karen Millen frock again.
Defence number one: different weddings, different guests and polar opposite locations. Despite the adage of six degrees of separation, I am willing to bet that I will not bump into someone at Nat’s wedding who also attended Lu and Rob’s do up in Darlington.
Defence number two: beautiful dresses that costs half a week’s wages must be worn more than once to justify the expensive, heart-wrenching, all consuming guilty purchase.
Defence number three: Tis sale season in the high street. Up to 70% off – woo hoo! Here’s comes the reality: anything that is reduced is almost always the naff items that some people buy just because it’s cheap when the one thing we really want is full price. (Yes, my Karen Millen piece is the (only) exception to the rule.) The dresses I have come across are all either too bling, low cut, cheap material or just too small.
Defence number four: some who cheat on their partners/ spouses use the argument of different postal codes equals the right to sleep around. OK this is a ridiculous justification!
Essentially what I am trying to get across is many factors mean that I have to be wearing the same dress twice.
Men have it easy. So easy. A properly fitted suit can make ANY man look good. Think Daniel Craig as 007 – even when he’s covered in blood punching some villain out or walking through the desert in dusty, torn, tailored Armani, every man still wants to be him and every woman are lying if they did not want him.
Actually in the office today is some silver fox PR man called Toby (I think – in this case specific details are irrelevant). Every time he walks across the room, I kid you not, all of us women have our eyes on him. Think back to that old Diet Coke 11.30am advert where instead of hunky topless window cleaner, there’s Silver Fox PR man in a suit, tie loose, top button undone complete with magnetic charm and sex appeal that makes all the ladies literally stop and stare. For me the added bonus is when he’s reading the Financial Times as he passes my desk towards the drinks machine that makes me do the head to the side thing (the signal I give when I find someone really attractive) because to me this shows he’s intelligent. To be honest he could be reading Heat and the head will still be at a 45 degree angle.
Anyways moving back to point, in conclusion, for us women finding the dress to wear to any formal event is difficult. Men on the other hand have it much easier – suit, shirt and tie. The first two can be worn again and again and no one would bat an eyelid. A beautiful dress can be ruined by ridiculous accessories, painful blister-inducing shoes, overly done make up and horrific hairstyles that screams you’ve gone just too far love.
Defence number one: different weddings, different guests and polar opposite locations. Despite the adage of six degrees of separation, I am willing to bet that I will not bump into someone at Nat’s wedding who also attended Lu and Rob’s do up in Darlington.
Defence number two: beautiful dresses that costs half a week’s wages must be worn more than once to justify the expensive, heart-wrenching, all consuming guilty purchase.
Defence number three: Tis sale season in the high street. Up to 70% off – woo hoo! Here’s comes the reality: anything that is reduced is almost always the naff items that some people buy just because it’s cheap when the one thing we really want is full price. (Yes, my Karen Millen piece is the (only) exception to the rule.) The dresses I have come across are all either too bling, low cut, cheap material or just too small.
Defence number four: some who cheat on their partners/ spouses use the argument of different postal codes equals the right to sleep around. OK this is a ridiculous justification!
Essentially what I am trying to get across is many factors mean that I have to be wearing the same dress twice.
Men have it easy. So easy. A properly fitted suit can make ANY man look good. Think Daniel Craig as 007 – even when he’s covered in blood punching some villain out or walking through the desert in dusty, torn, tailored Armani, every man still wants to be him and every woman are lying if they did not want him.
Actually in the office today is some silver fox PR man called Toby (I think – in this case specific details are irrelevant). Every time he walks across the room, I kid you not, all of us women have our eyes on him. Think back to that old Diet Coke 11.30am advert where instead of hunky topless window cleaner, there’s Silver Fox PR man in a suit, tie loose, top button undone complete with magnetic charm and sex appeal that makes all the ladies literally stop and stare. For me the added bonus is when he’s reading the Financial Times as he passes my desk towards the drinks machine that makes me do the head to the side thing (the signal I give when I find someone really attractive) because to me this shows he’s intelligent. To be honest he could be reading Heat and the head will still be at a 45 degree angle.
Anyways moving back to point, in conclusion, for us women finding the dress to wear to any formal event is difficult. Men on the other hand have it much easier – suit, shirt and tie. The first two can be worn again and again and no one would bat an eyelid. A beautiful dress can be ruined by ridiculous accessories, painful blister-inducing shoes, overly done make up and horrific hairstyles that screams you’ve gone just too far love.
Tuesday 3 August 2010
Getting ready for a gay-turned-straight wedding!
This Saturday is Natalie’s wedding. Now this is the one wedding where I could not turn down because I have to, need to, must be there to witness the moment the vicar says: “I know pronounce you man and wife.”
Why? Simply because Natalie, Queen Nat, leader of the Gays, used to be a lesbian.
That’s right – a lesbian.
I met Nat at university where through sheer coincidence her and my high school friend Andy (who is the maid of honour!) were also best of friends.
From day one Nat was this in your face, confident, bold, loud, love to dance, fabulously wonderful straight up lesbian.
She’s the type of person who can bring out the best in anyone around her and one comment from her can set me off laughing until it is just too painful to breathe.
To me she will always be the first person to label me The Fag Hag, owed greatly to my many gay friends (for the record, she introduced most of them to me)!
Simply put, Nat is the kind of friend that every man or woman should have in their life.
Nat is also someone who continues to shock and leave even her closest of friends speechless.
That was exactly my reaction in the New Year when I received the “I’M ENGAGED” text.
At first I thought she was having a laugh.
However Nat reassured me that she is indeed very much engaged to her Matt whom she met at their local church and eventually realising that he is The One.
Imagine loving someone so much that you are prepared to not only give your heart, soul, future and life for them but to actually change your sexuality. I can’t so kudos to Nat.
Love in this case definitely works in mysterious ways.
Why? Simply because Natalie, Queen Nat, leader of the Gays, used to be a lesbian.
That’s right – a lesbian.
I met Nat at university where through sheer coincidence her and my high school friend Andy (who is the maid of honour!) were also best of friends.
From day one Nat was this in your face, confident, bold, loud, love to dance, fabulously wonderful straight up lesbian.
She’s the type of person who can bring out the best in anyone around her and one comment from her can set me off laughing until it is just too painful to breathe.
To me she will always be the first person to label me The Fag Hag, owed greatly to my many gay friends (for the record, she introduced most of them to me)!
Simply put, Nat is the kind of friend that every man or woman should have in their life.
Nat is also someone who continues to shock and leave even her closest of friends speechless.
That was exactly my reaction in the New Year when I received the “I’M ENGAGED” text.
At first I thought she was having a laugh.
However Nat reassured me that she is indeed very much engaged to her Matt whom she met at their local church and eventually realising that he is The One.
Imagine loving someone so much that you are prepared to not only give your heart, soul, future and life for them but to actually change your sexuality. I can’t so kudos to Nat.
Love in this case definitely works in mysterious ways.
Sunday 1 August 2010
Married with boys...
... is what a 74-year-old Parkinson's Disease sufferer and apparent mind reader saw in my imminent future... over breakfast at the B&B.
I came into the dining area to find an old lady standing by her chair. She asked me to help her turn around so she can sit on the armchair. Her name was Dee and she was not afraid of making conversation with strangers - my kind of person!
Almost immediately Dee told me that she has suffered from Parkinson's for 30 years and yet she met her partner, a man called Colin who is a freelance Sports journalist for The Sun, 17 years ago. Then she got into a rather graphic account of how Parkinson's has robbed her of her sexual appetite. Not my kind of breakfast conversation but what place did I have to tell a sweet elderly lady to change the subject? All I could do was listen and nod sympathetically.
So as I was eating my museli Dee asks me random questions. In fact they were more like statements and she needed only my confirmation:
Then Dee asked for my hand and she held it between her palms for about ten minutes. Despite her slight tremors, she looked me dead in the eyes and asked me to concentrate on the heat going up my arm. Then she gave me a slight head massage before pressing her hands on my shoulders. Strangely enough I was so relaxed that I almost fell asleep! I did not flinch once.
On the train journey I thought about Dee. I wish she could have shed some insight into my professional life - whether I would ever make it as a journalist again and if not where my path will lead me next. I turn 24 in five days and if Dee's prediction is to come true, I do not want to be 30, married with children and look back having made no real impact or built a successful career in writing.
I came into the dining area to find an old lady standing by her chair. She asked me to help her turn around so she can sit on the armchair. Her name was Dee and she was not afraid of making conversation with strangers - my kind of person!
Almost immediately Dee told me that she has suffered from Parkinson's for 30 years and yet she met her partner, a man called Colin who is a freelance Sports journalist for The Sun, 17 years ago. Then she got into a rather graphic account of how Parkinson's has robbed her of her sexual appetite. Not my kind of breakfast conversation but what place did I have to tell a sweet elderly lady to change the subject? All I could do was listen and nod sympathetically.
So as I was eating my museli Dee asks me random questions. In fact they were more like statements and she needed only my confirmation:
- You're the youngest child in your family. (Correct)
- You're father adores you and you have a very special relationship with him. (Again correct)
- You like to learn and see the world. (OK now I'm freaking out)
Then Dee asked for my hand and she held it between her palms for about ten minutes. Despite her slight tremors, she looked me dead in the eyes and asked me to concentrate on the heat going up my arm. Then she gave me a slight head massage before pressing her hands on my shoulders. Strangely enough I was so relaxed that I almost fell asleep! I did not flinch once.
On the train journey I thought about Dee. I wish she could have shed some insight into my professional life - whether I would ever make it as a journalist again and if not where my path will lead me next. I turn 24 in five days and if Dee's prediction is to come true, I do not want to be 30, married with children and look back having made no real impact or built a successful career in writing.
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