Miss Giraffe

Nadia Zumba

2012-01-06T12:40:00.004Z

ON Thursday I went to my friend Nadia's Zumba class in Homerton. Yes, there is such a place and yes it is in London, Hackney to be exact.

She became a Zumba instructor a few months ago and knowing how much I love my Zumba classes in my hometown of Brixton she invited me to come. I obviously wanted to show my support for her new found profession, so I agreed.

After taking the Piccadilly, Victoria and London Overground lines to Homerton (yes it's a real place on the orange line) I finally arrived.

On entering the church hall I was immediately revived by Nadia's great big smile. Without a clue as to what lay ahead of me I changed into my 'sweats' and awaited the start of the class.

Nadia took her position on the stage and began the warm up. Within minutes I was panting like an overgrown labrador with asthma and soon began to feel the aching of a stitch.

As we went into the class proper, I began to wonder; WHERE ON EARTH DID SHE GET ALL THIS ENERGY? AND WHY ON EARTH CAN SHE WIND HER WAIST LIKE A HULA GIRL ON CRACK?

How on earth did I miss the her dancing skills in the 8 years that we'd been friends, and why was I not aware of her hourglass shape until tonight?

Not that I was in the least bit jealous or regretful of my position AT THE FRONT OF THE CLASS after all I was dancing perfectly well. If by well you mean like a FAT chimpanzee.

SMILE LADIES! LOOK HAPPY TO BE HERE! I CAN'T HEAR YOU? My sweet, kind and softly spoken friend was now a drill seargant, and a rather affective one at that.

I kept smiling, laughing and frowning in equal measure to her commands which I'm sure added a nice bipolar flavour to my monkey routine.

On a serious note, I left the class exhausted not only did I leave feeling like I'd worked ALL my muscles including my face I'm sure I've actually started to grow biceps.

Nadia likes you to use cans as weights for some of the routines to do 'light' toning; just don't let them slip out of your hand and hit you in the face during the 'blow your trumpet' part of the routine. Not that I did that of course.

Want a Zumba class that will actually leave you aching?
Live/Work in East London?

Check out Nadia Zumba every Tuesdays & Thursdays 7pm at St Barnabas Church, Homerton!

It's only £5 per class and you KNOW you've put on weight over Christmas SO WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR????

Facebook: Nadia Zumba Email: zumbawithnadiaql@gmail.com

Tell a friend to tell a friend.

My Perfect Christmas Menu

2011-12-23T11:27:00.012Z

Stuck on what to serve this Christmas? Here's a look at my favourite foods to eat on the big day....

Christmas Breakfast

Smoked salmon with scrambled eggs

Warm croissants with jam

serve, Freshly squeezed orange juice or Bucks Fizz

Christmas Lunch/Dinner

Starters

Stuffed prawns and sweet chilli dip

Cranberry & brie parcels

Mains

Jollof rice, Goat stew, Gizzard, plaintain, coleslaw and Salad

Roast Potatoes, Parsnips, Roast Chicken with Cranberry sauce, stuffing and blackcurrant gravy

Wine, serve Minervois or Beaujolais

Dessert/Sweets

Apple Crumble with vanilla Ice cream

Mince pies with Brandy cream

Luxury chocolates (Hotel Chocolat or Lindt)

Salted caramel macaroons (Laduree)

Liquers, serve Baileys or Amaretto on the rocks

Kids Bedtime

Caramel Hot Chocolate with marshmallows

30 Days - Day 4: 7 reasons why I love January

2011-12-19T12:34:00.023Z

I realise that the following statement will make me sound like 'the Grinch that stole Christmas' but here it goes I LOVE JANUARY!

Now don't get me wrong I love Christmas, celebrating the birth of Christ, family, mince pies, getting together with good friends, mulled wine, goodwill to all men and fairy lights (I have a slight obsession) giving and receiving presents and even the office party.

But January offers us all a clean slate. The chance to leave all our unfinished business behind us and even some unfinished people.

7 reasons why I love January

1. Setting New Year's Resolutions or as I like to call them 'Things I must achieve this year'.

In 2012 I'm going to set monthly reminders to check back and see how I'm progressing, this may sound anal but in 2011 I only achieved 6 out of 12.

One of them was to become a qualified journalist. I achieved that and have now been published. Another was to pass my driving test but I've been setting that goal since I was 17. Fast forward 10 years.

2. The ability to say 'that was so last year' - it has more impact in January, trust me. Just try it.

3. The sudden motivation to lose a stone.

I love the detox/diet/cleanse, January is by far the most successful month to lose weight/shape up. You've over-indulged, you're broke and soup is on special offer. I will be on that weight-loss train with a first class ticket.

4. A brand new diary.

I have an e-calendar on Outlook, hotmail and BlackBerry but I still spend a good hour selecting a beautifully designed paper diary every holiday. There's nothing quite like the possibility the blank pages of a new diary offers. I get a happy hormone rush when I pencil in my first lunch, birthday party, wedding...

5. Budgeting.

January is officially penny-pinching season, it's cold, Christmas payday was a lifetime ago (well last year) and it's always interesting to see how you can eat 3 meals a day on a fiver.

6. Misery. Or rather the opportunity to enjoy being miserable.

There's a strange kind of enjoyment that comes from sitting forlornly in three year old pyjamas and thermal socks every weekend in January whilst watching The Wire/SATC/enter boxset here on repeat.

Perhaps you should spend that fiver on a LoveFilm subscription. After all you're not going to eat anything this month, are you?

7. Making holiday plans.

It's well known the travel pages of any newspaper or magazine are jam-packed in January. It's when you're most likely to start browsing for your summer holiday to cheer yourself up or book a short break to escape the bleak mid-winter.

I've already booked a 2 week holiday to Brazil in Feb, where myself and 6 other girlfriends will bask in the Southern sun and dance to Samba at the national carnival. To say I'm excited would be a huge understatement.

30 Days: Day 3 - Hotmail? How my inbox left me out in the cold.

2011-12-17T18:56:00.005Z

I've been trying to access my inbox for 12 hours with no success. I log on and it takes me to that blasted Windows Live page which is a pointless gimmick by MSN to get you use more features which actually don't help you. I just want to send and receive mail and pictures thanks.

I've been clicking on go to inbox for hours now and I've given up...

I've had to resort to emailing from my BlackBerry handset instead which is rather frustrating when you want to send out a questionnaire to potential interviewees!

What hotmail needs to do, instead of providing its billions of users multiple irritating facelifts, is go back to basics. Bring up my inbox first I have urgent emails don't you know how busy I am...etc etc

I heard there's a setting box I can click on to change this but you have to be in your inbox first...sigh!

If you're Black British please fill out my survey, if you're not or you know someone who is please pass this on http://www.surveymonkey.com/s/V77ZR2T

30 Days: Day 2 - Delivery Disaster

2011-12-15T00:21:00.004Z

2 weeks ago I ordered a Christmas present online (from a shop I cannot disclose, for a person I cannot disclose as they probably read my blog) and paid £3.95 delivery fee to have it dropped off at home. Sounds simple doesn't it? After all millions of Britons shop online and get things delivered to them everyday, at home.

Unfortunately my case was not simple, this undisclosed shop uses a very unhelpful delivery service called Aramax who in turn use an even more unhelpful contractor called DPD. Knowing that I work 9.30-5.30, the intercom for my flat doesn't buzz (although it works) and that I would be out a few evenings I requested a call on my mobile before my delivery was made so my flatmate could pick up the package or I could be alerted to come downstairs.

On Friday at 5.45pm the delivery guy attempted to deliver my parcel but no-one was in. So I went online to track my 2 week old order and saw 'attepted delivery, failed, shipment rescheduled for next working day'.

On Monday, I raced home from work expecting a call. No parcel arrived. So on Tuesday I called Aramax who informed me 'an attempted delivery was made at 7.43pm but no-one was in'. Absolutely fuming I reminded the lady on the phone that when placing my order I had requested a call so I could be alerted to come downstairs and sign for the package as my intercom doesn't make any noise. 'Can't see that on the notes but I'll add it now' was her reply.

'When can I expect the delivery?' I asked. 'Wednesday, but we can't give you a time'. 'But I work!' I protested and 'I was in on Monday night but I missed the delivery because the driver didn't call me'.

'I'll see what we can do.'

5.50pm Weds whilst on my way home on the district line I get a call from the driver, 'I'm outside where are you?' I quickly tell him that I'm on the district line but my flatmate should be in to sign for it. 'Too late, I've left your lights were off'.

This is when I start to see red. I politely ask him to tun back but he says he has ' hundreds of deliveries to make tonight' and he 'can't be dealing with my foolishness'.
Gobsmacked I remind him I am a paying customer and he should have some respect and professionalism, he then retorts 'if I finish my shift early I may return'.

He returns at 8pm, to a very taught woman who has been pacing her flat BlackBerry in hand as if held to ransom.

I launch into a tirade about the merits of good customer service and how I will be complaining to his company.

'Take it easy, I'm self-employed and if I dont deliver a package I don't get paid'.

Even more angry at hearing this I grab my package & storm upstairs to find a slightly ovrerdone victoria sponge in the oven. It really should be illegal for delivery companies not to arrange a specific time and to call on their way to you. It would save so much time, energy, petrol and emotion.

I quickly whip up some more cake mixture, pounding away at the flour butter and eggs I pretend the batter is the driver's face until some carol singers in the street below me interrupt me and calm my vengeful thoughts.

30 Days: Day 1 - Cakes & Books

2011-12-14T00:08:00.005Z

So I've decided to take up a 'do something new for 30 days' challenge, except I'm not doing anything that new, I'm just going to blog everyday for the next 30 days.

This may get tedious, but I will try to keep it as interesting as possible for you and for me otherwise I'll just give up...

So today I went around my flat and room looking for old books to sell at my Xmas 'Read it or Eat it' sale this Friday at work. I'm holding the sale to raise money for a charity that's very close to my heart, Stepping Stones Nigeria.

This will be the second time I'm doing a cake sale but I've decided to sell secondhand books too as a) some people don't eat cake as I discovered at the last cake sale b) I'd like to share my joy of reading with the world, well maybe just Hammersmith and c) I have far too many books and I might be getting a kindle soon (I don't know why I feel kinda guilty when I say that).

If anyone has any secondhand books or would like to donate cakes for me to sell please email or facebook me.

Horses for Courses

2011-11-04T20:48:00.007Z

According to one 'friend' I am a princess, snob and elitist. This is because I have recently taken up horse riding. Again.

This is due to the view that riding for pleasure has been typically a middle class or upper class pursuit.

But you forget my dear reader it was also once a form of transport and effective agricultural tool for many a farmer. And since the revolution that is the automobile and the great combined harvester horses have largely become confined to the gambling world of horseracing, the fine equestrian showjumping or the stables of a riding school.

Now because I, a working class daughter of a Nigerian immigrant dares to spend her personal time horse riding and enjoying the British countryside, I am automatically branded a snob and a 'bounty'. (Please don't make me explain bounty but for those who don't know it's a black person masquerading as a white one).

I love horses! I love animals! Therefore I'm white? Puh-lease. As a young black person growing up in an inner city estate owning pets or a horse was out of the question mainly due to space & money issues but luckily I got to horse ride occassionally on holiday with my family in Scotland or with my school friends and I liked it.

So now that I have my own salary and pay my own bills I have chosen to enjoy some of my hard earned cash riding a horse.

I would love to sit here and condemn you for spending an hour's horse riding fee on Modern Warfare 3 but that would be judgemental wouldn't it?

Maybe some of your anger issues would be resolved if you took a tranquil ride through the countryside instead of pumping bullets into an imaginary foe for 6 hours.

But each to their own. Lol.

I Know How She Does It. She just does.

2011-09-17T23:21:00.013+01:00

Tonight I saw 'I Don't Know How She Does It' featuring SJP (that's Sarah Jessica Parker for anyone who's been under a rock for the last 10 years) as a busy working mother juggling a demanding but rewarding career with a husband and two kids.

Although a positive 'girl-has-problems, girl-overcomes-problems, girl-compromises-herself-only -a-little,everyone-wins, the end' sort of movie, I found myself uplifted and distressed all at the same time.

As the movie would have it men don't feel guilty when they want to relocate to the other side of the world dragging their willing/unwilling family in tow. A woman wants to fly twice a month to New York to close a deal she's worked hard on and she's a bad mother/wife.

Man feels neglected by busy wife, she's a bad wife. Woman feels neglected by a busy husband, guess what? she's also a bad wife for making him feel guilty.

Why is that a male colleague can achieve mediocre results in the workplace but because he's a 'great guy' and rubs shoulders or noses with the right people he gets offered a promotion, pay rise and more responsibility whereas a woman works hard but she isn't even rewarded with the correct kudos on a project she slugged her guts out over.

Notice how it's always a team effort when you bring in the bacon girls? But he's 'the man' if he closes a deal?

Recently Stylist published an article on the huge pay gap that is STILL occurring in the UK workplace today. I was shocked to see that on average a woman will be paid £300million less in her lifetime than her male counterpart.

Shouldn't we be paid extra for all the guilt? There should be a guilt weighting you know like the London weighting. Disclaimer! This job may seriously affect your ability to spend meaningful time with your family hence the extra we're paying you.

God forbid you should be ambitious because that probably means you're a cold-hearted b**** but be a homebody and your classed as needy, boring or worse dependable.
In the film her husband, who finds her work/life balance more than a little grating, even slates her for writing lists to keep organised. Big no-no, I love lists. Without them I would be lost. Lists are how we remember things and diaries. They are good.

Schedule your partner's doctor's appointment/birthday dinner and you'll probably be thanked but schedule quality time/date night/romantic weekend away you're automatically needy, high-maintenance, paranoid or too controlling.

Funny how spontaneity is only romantic when men do it? You try surprising your man at work/home and see if the bunny boiler jokes don't last a month.

Throughout the movie various characters stop and say to SJP in a annoying/drippy/sarcastic voice (delete as appropriate) ' I don't know how you do it'. I know how she bloody does it she screams into a pillow when no-one's around and mutters prayer under her breath constantly.

Unfortunately for SJP, happy ending aside, this film has only really helped to highlight the status quo and support the notion that women are both superheroes and emotional wrecks. But I still liked it. Feeling unappreciated? Get this on DVD when it comes out and somehow make him watch it.

The fact that this film has moved me to blog will probably have many classing me as 'too emotional' (and guess what I don't even have kids yet, oh what joys to come!)

So I have feelings, bite me. No in fact, don't bite me, PAY ME!

The Party Poopers

2011-08-13T16:18:00.016+01:00

On Saturday night my two sisters arrived at Merah with 3 girl friends for a night out to celebrate one of the girl's birthdays. As my sister had been to Merah before the girls expected to get in, especially as their names were on the guestlist.

As they got closer to the entrance the door manager told them 'not tonight girls'. My sister asked him what he meant and he just repeated 'not tonight'. In the queue were several others waiting to get in behind them. The door manager ushered these people in ahead of my sisters and their friends.

After the other guests were let in they noticed that the 40 odd people left in the queue were either black or brown-skinned. (At the time my sisters & their friends left none were let into the club). Everyone who had been ushered in ahead was of white, Asian or European origin. My sister asked why they were not being let in and the door manager said that the 'manager has seen you on CCTV and he's says you're not right for the club'.

After establishing that it was a normal club night and that their clothes were appropriate for the dress code, they were wearing nice dresses, classy high heels as well as Longchamp, Louis Vuitton & Twenty8Twelve handbags,they left feeling humiliated and as you might imagine quite annoyed.

Determined not to let the prejudice of the Merah manager get to them they met up with 2 male friends and proceeded to The Dorchester for cocktails, after which they spent the night clubbing at Whisky Mist, Jalouse & Jet Black nightclubs whose managers and staff were perfectly pleasant to them.

Unfortunately this is not the first time my sisters, who are well presented black girls and by well presented I mean good-looking articulate and classy looking girls from London, have been rejected from a West End private members nightclub. Neither is it an experience exclusive to my sisters, sadly I've heard this story too many times from a number of my black friends, colleagues & acquaintances.

It also happened a year before at No5 Cavendish Square where they had booked a table with significant bar spend attached to it with their professional footballer friends but arrived to find their names had magically been erased from the guestlist. All of their group including the professional footballers were of black origin.

Having had their previously scheduled celebrations ruined by a weekend of riots and looting, my sisters ensured that they had a good time. But they are angry and disappointed that as civilised residents of London in 2011 they were refused entry to the club based purely on the colour of the skin.

To bring attention to this widespread racism and prejudice in some of London's West End private members clubs I am compiling a list of shame. If you or anyone you know has been rejected from a club/mistreated at a nightclub simply because they are black please tweet/direct message me the name of the club and the date this happened to @MelodysNotebook on Twitter

I will be sending this list and story to the Media to see if they'd be interested in bringing attention to this disgusting practice.

A sign from Self-Publishing Heaven

2011-08-04T13:55:00.015+01:00

Alone on a vacant Victoria line carriage last night, after working unnaturally late, I picked up a copy of my beloved local paper the Evening Standard only to see the following headline 'Writer puts novel on Kindle for 96p and wins a six-figure deal'. It's the stuff of dreams. It's my dream. I am instantly excited.

A gutsy self-published writer has finally got the recognition she deserves from the powerful publishers. Self-publishing a book had barely occurred to me, well it had, but I'd been sitting in a bubble thinking something magical will happen. It hasn't. Yet.

What am I doing? I screamed silently to myself on the humid train. I write, I edit, I moan that no-one will like my stuff, I do a writing course, I do another writing course and then I continue writing suspicious of every other word that comes out of my fingertips. I send stuff off to editors and publishers who can't even be bothered to reject me.

I went to bed excited, (feeling like I've received a sign, a wake-up call, a call to action (I think you get the idea, I'm inspired) dreaming of a white Christmas, one where I own my own luxury chalet with it's very own Veuve Cliquot bar. Okay I'm being silly.
I actually went to bed dreaming of writing more, a lot more, finishing my book, self-publishing my book and winning a six-figure book deal.

As if I needed even more inspiration I got to work today and a colleague announced he has self-published his first book, it's going on Amazon with a real cover, I mean you can put it in your shopping basket and order it and everything. Take a look at www.stevenscaffardi.com

Isn't there a saying somehwere 'if you want something doing, do it yourself?'

The Lech

2011-07-18T18:39:00.031+01:00

http://www.thisislondon.co.uk/standard/article-23970731-dont-hassle-me---real-men-take-no-for-an-answer.do

Praise to Urwin for having the guts to not only condemn 'the lech' but also for making no bones about the repercussions (probably from some malicious bimbos or bulldozing cavemen) her well put together comment with undoubtedly incur.

I feel a great synergy with Urwin's comments and not only because my friends, sisters and I have been subjected to the lewd and sexist behaviour mentioned in her article but also because there are lot of 'real' men who don't act like this but who still turn a blind eye. Is it just plain apathy? Or do they secretly wish to indulge in such behaviour themselves?

There are also many women who readily accept such behaviour as 'just what men do' or who turn a blind eye out of fear, jealousy or some warped idea that lechery is actually some sort of a compliment.

At least 6 times a week I will encounter 'the lech', sometimes it will be at the bus stop, on the tube or even outside a certain local takeaway close to my house where a group of men often line the narrow pavement on both sides literally forming an alleyway of 'lechery'. Switching to the other side often results in more insults than walking through the slime pit itself.

I remember punching a man in the face after he put his hand up my skirt in a bar and quite frankly, and may I add uninvitedly, touched my lady parts. Now what I did was not right, nor did it result in a particularly positive outcome.

In fact it resulted in me receiving reprimands from male & female friends alike with comments such as ' you could have been stabbed' 'you just have to avoid and ignore men like that' & 'a girl I know was beaten up for being rude to a guy who tried to chat her up'.

All these comments did not make me feel like my punch was any less justified but just made me feel disgusted.
Disgusted that the fear of retaliation has now become the universal reaction to such behaviour rather than contempt, if we women so much dare to complain or react with a fraction of the violence directed towards us by men who seem to think our bodies are their walking play-things.

What made it worse was I began to avoid certain clubs, certain streets and because my experience was almost always but not exclusively linked to black men,I started to avoid eye contact with black men or sitting next to men on public transport. (Please let me say now that I know the lech comes in all shapes and shades and this is by no means an attack on black men)

This however did nothing to reduce my encounters of lechery, (in fact I discovered being conservative with my outings only meant I met more local lechs) and served to incur more rage and frustration that I had to be the one to change my behaviour.

And when friends & family occasionally respond with pearls of wisdom such as 'you're a pretty girl get used to it' I want to scream/slap/shake them (delete as appropriate) but in future I'll echo Urwin and just say 'street harassment isn't about looks. A wolf whistle or a jeer is not an act of lust it is a show of machismo'.

Perhaps I'd replace the last word with chauvinism, misogyny or sadism, because in my opinion harassing women, behaving lewdly and persistent unwelcome advances all equate to hatred and disrespect as well being a candid display of low-self esteem.

Favourite lech response after I ignore/reject his unwelcome & lewd advances 'you think you're too nice, you're ugly b**** anyway'. Obligatory eye roll please ladies.

The Master Cleanse (Day 3)

2011-07-05T19:33:00.011+01:00

It's been three days and I have had nothing but the master cleanse detoxing lemonade and herbal tea.

I'm starting to worry about the effect of the lemons on my teeth; those Colgate acid erosion adverts have finally got to me. I think I'll buy some mouthwash to help my toothpaste.

Current negative side effects - on & off mild stomach ache, tiredness & a bizarre craving for cheese.

Current positive side effects - more time to reflect, pray, plan, study, write. I now know how to make homemade lemonade & I've lost 5 pounds.

Note to self - buy a juicer! squeezing lemons every morning is hard work.

The Master Cleanse (Day 1)

2011-07-03T19:41:00.011+01:00

'It may seem crazy, it might seem strange when I try to explain how I feel' but I have decided to try The Master Cleanse.

5 reasons;

1. It's mid-year fasting & prayer time at my church; time to get some cleanse my body & soul

2. I want to lose 10lbs

3. I am slightly obssessed with ridding my body of toxins, (alcohol, refined sugar) going green, eating organically, cleansing my liver etc, etc.

4.I have a very important outfit to wear very shortly

5. To see if this actually works & drive my housemates crazy (lol)

I've decided to blog about it so to keep a diary of my progress (or lack thereof), stay motivated & so you can all get a good laugh when I pass out on day 5 (I'm kidding, I really would like to avoid this at all costs)

The Master Cleanse is also known as the Maple Syrup Diet or the Lemonade Diet. Beyonce did this to lose 20lbs in 10 days before The Dreamgirls movie.
If it can work for her it can work for me (yes that really is my logic)

So here's what I'll be drinking for the next 7-10 days.

Recipe
#1 (single serving):

•2 Tablespoons of organic lemon Juice (about 1/2 a Lemon)
•2 Tablespoons of Organic grade B maple syrup (not the commercial maple flavored syrup you use on pancakes)
•1/10 Teaspoon Cayenne pepper powder
•Ten ounces of filtered water

No solid food, in fact no other food whatsoever. I can drink 6 glasses of the master cleanse lemonade per day, and only drink caffeine free herbal tea & filtered water to break up the monotony of just drinking lemonade.

It's just past 7pm I've drunk 2 large glasses (which is really 4 glasses) today and a cup of herbal tea. It tastes like homemade lemonade. Quite nice actually.

I have to drink a laxative tea 2 hours before bed to aid my body's digestion as I am not eating any solids but the less I say about this the better.

Anyway I'm going to get back to writing my 1000 word article for class tomorrow.

I'll let you know about the side effects - positive and negative.

May God be with me.

Rise of the Quarter Lifers

2011-06-20T23:52:00.030+01:00

Today I was reading Mike Carter's Uneasy Rider, a travelogue about a 42 year old journalist who suffers a 'mid-life' crisis and hops on an impromptu motorbike road trip alone, when it hit me.

We're going through a quarter-life crisis.

By we, I mean my age group, the 25-29 year olds. It's everywhere I look. But unlike Mike we haven't suffered a failed marriage or become disillusioned with our life choices.

We've haven't even begun. And herein lies the problem. Perhaps we've become so afraid of making the wrong choices be it career or otherwise? Or is it the fear of not 'making it'? Or of turning into our mothers or fathers, that we just need a break?

I've worked for the same company for four years. Starting as an excitable trainee graduate, optimistic and completely on board for a 9-5, full-time salary and the possibility of one day getting a mortgage.

Now the idea of getting a mortgage (I should be so lucky in this economic climate) fills me with dread. The thought of borrowing such a gargantuan amount of money from a bank and working for the next 60 years to pay it off quite literally makes me want to lie down. I'm just not ready for that level of commitment.

And it appears I'm not the only one, in the past two years 6 co-workers within the aforementioned age group have simply dropped their jobs, checked in at STA or whichever suitable travel agent and rolled out to Bali, Laos or Columbia.

In fact a travel rep at STA said he sees more 25-29 year olds than the typical 18 year old gap year students. And that's despite university being harder to get into than ever before.

Now some have since returned to their senses, after all there's only so long you can lie on a beach quaffing £1.50 cocktails and Pad Thai, and picked up at their jobs and gotten on with the normality of marriages & mortgages.

Others have simply gone AWOL.

Many are spending summers teaching English in Santiago or taking sabbaticals to learn Japanese in Kyoto.

When I was younger sabbaticals were synonymous with the retirement pack or middle aged men. I think at one point I even thought it meant you had gone a little 'loopy' and was code for mental illness.(My response to 'he's gone on sabbatical', was to whisper solemnly, 'my condolences')

I wish somebody had told me to lighten up. Even God rested on the Sabbath. Why shouldn't we take some time out? Re-train, recuperate. We're only human.

Those who haven't gone to find the 'meaning of it all' or take a break from the rat race are still suffering from a crisis of sorts. I call it the reverse quarter-life crisis. They are quite simply accelerating into socially acceptable adulthood.

Examples include one friend announcing that she is on the serious hunt for a husband. Another bemoans her boyfriend's distinct lack of a marriage proposal and still another is saving for a deposit for her one bed studio, 'just in case I end up alone', very responsible.

And still others like me, have gone back to the drawing board, quite literally. We're re-training in completely different fields to our degrees or consequent first jobs, we're doing our Masters, night classes or taking cooking with French lessons.

Yet still the question lingers in the air. Will we be happy?

We'd better bloody be. I don't think we can do it all again at 42.

Citizen of the Earth

2011-06-12T23:26:00.018+01:00

It's a question I get asked a lot; 'why do you travel to so many places'? Or 'why on earth do you want to go there'? Mainly by people of my parents generation who are quite often of African descent who sometimes make me feel as though 'backpacking' is a dirty act which can lead to STI's.

Sometimes it's my peers but it doesn't bug me it just gives me a chance to to talk and sometimes debate about my passion.

For those of you who know me well you will know that I can be a little highly strung, accident prone and strong headed but having the third trait has always made me want to overcome the first two.
I am a believer in the 'can do' attitude, I am a realist and an optimist. For example when I say I will never have a mortgage and buy my first house with cash I am being both realistic and optimistic because I have a plan of exactly how I will achieve it.

For those people who think my travels are luxurious indulgences I will say that on some of my travels I have had both indulgences and luxuries.

Yes, I am priviliged to have the freedom and the resources to travel but it is so much more about being a 'jetsetter' or being a lazy sunlounger it is about the journey and the endless possibilities of what I can learn from that place and people.

My father was a great traveller, he visited countries many men who were born in poor villages could never dream of and his blood is in my veins.

I am for anything that emancipates the soul and that contributes positively to the cohesion of all peoples on this earth.
I believe race and sex is irrelevant; I despise the fear behind the voice that says 'black people don't go to those places' or the voice that cautions 'women shouldn't travel alone'. I believe gender serves a function as do biological and genetic differences but neither are limitations for me or my passport.

I am for enlightenment, I am for the human race and I am for the great lessons of humility I have learnt when looking into a volcano or discussing politics with those who live outside of our Western bubble with it's problems of convenience such as delayed trains and coalition governments.

I believe in love, the same love I believe God has for us as his children and this love extends beyond my parents' country, beyond the UK and beyond the boundaries we mere mortals have created.

I am for the sunset over a mountain, the smile of a street hawker when I buy his wares and the midnight song of insects that would probably like to bite me.

I am quite simply a child of the Creator and a citizen of the Earth.

And that is why I travel.

Kura Sushi

2011-05-30T02:33:00.017+01:00

It's official I'm a Sushi fiend and I like it. If 10 years ago someone had told me I'd be enjoying raw fish and rice I would have raised my unshaped teenage eyebrows at them and scoffed.

Yesterday I arrived in Japan with one thing on my mind, okay two things on my mind; finding my man and eating authentic sushi.
I needn't have worried about the first because looking for a 6ft 1 handsome black man in a crowded railway station of 5ft Japanese people was like trying to find a red wine stain on a white tablecloth, unsurprisingly easy.

Due to some unexpected and quite serious turbulence, our flight crew were unable to serve us breakfast. So imagine if you will being on an 11 hour flight from London to Tokyo followed by a 4 hour train journey from Tokyo to Osaka with one tiny plane meal, water and a box of Mikado. Exactly you'd be starving.

So after the necessary preliminaries I was whisked up the road from our temporary home, a typically Japanese apartment complete with tatami mats, sliding doors and futon, to Kura Sushi.

A family sushi restaurant filled with would you guess, families with small children eating sushi. I cannot imagine eating raw fish at the delicate age of 3 or 4 however these kids' well behaved smiles and innocent stares gave me the impression that this was just standard Sunday evening fare.

Everything about Japanese culture reeks of efficiency and the same can now be said for eating sushi, especially at this restaurant. Apart from the help-yourself revolving belt of sushi and picture & price menu for every dish, each table was equipped with an electronic touch screen from which you could order fresh plates or special dishes.

Once you've placed your order a mini-train then arrives at your table with your selected dish announcing it's arrival with a jingle, you then have to press an illuminated green button to send it back to the obliging chef.
Our interaction with the staff consisted of a brief 2 mins upon entry and paying our bill, which was of course at the till on your way out. Even our Asahi beer was from a vending machine.

The highlight of my night had to be the chute in which we slid our plates after we'd finished; every 5 plates a little animated game would play on our screen for a few seconds and announce whether you'd won or lost a plastic toy.

We didn't win anything despite devouring 15 plates of mackerel, tuna, yellow tail, prawn and crab between the two of us but I left felt feeling full and smiling like a big kid.

Because Children cannot be Witches

2011-05-29T14:30:00.016+01:00

I am supporting Stepping Stones Nigeria an amazing little charity that provide support & aid to abused an ostracized children in the Niger Delta who are accused of being child 'witches'.

Children accused of witchcraft are often tortured via painful 'exorcisms' in churches or abused by their own parents.
One parent poured acid over the face of her own son because a so called 'pastor' said her child was a witch.

They are then left in the streets where they often die of their injuries, fall victim to human traffickers, pimps or drug barons and live a life of destitution and slavery.

The cause is close to my heart namely because I am a Nigerian, a Christian and the exploitation of innocent children is something that makes my blood boil.

I also chose to support this charity as it does not aim to patronise Nigerian culture or religious belief but aims to combat abuse and murder as a result of those beliefs, educate innocent families who are exploited by so called 'pastors' who abuse their position and power for greed.

I am delighted to tell you that on Friday 27th May, I raised £156.05 for Stepping Stones Nigeria on by doing a cake sale in my office. Thank you to Rachael, Dami, Venessa, Sophie & Susie who baked a selection of vanilla cupcakes, red velvet cupcakes, cookies, sticky ginger cake & pineapple upside down cake. We sold every last bite and the compliments have been non-stop! Thanks to everyone who bought a cake or just donated money, your generosity is inspiring.

Please look out for further updates on my fundraising and petitioning; my aim is to do a fundraising and awareness raising event this year that will involve the support of young people in the UK with a special focus on young British Nigerians. All ideas, suggestions, contacts and support are welcome.

By raising awareness of these issues and raising funds we can support these vulnerable children and lobby the Nigerian government to ban the practice of labelling children witches and subsequently abusing them and for the perpetrators of the abuse to be prosecuted.

If you, like me, believe that children cannot be witches please go to http://www.steppingstonesnigeria.org/ for more information

Inspired: Charity Begins In Your Wardrobe

2011-05-15T22:26:00.011+01:00

Lauryn Hill smiles at me from the sea of iconic black faces painted on the walls but I’m not here for the art although the walls of Open the Gate are beautiful, I’m here to shop.

Dalston is not my usual destination for a fashion fix but I’m at MeetMutsa’s Swap Shop; a fundraising event to raise money for MeetMutsa, a peer education project supporting the charity The Butterfly Tree.

The charity provides basic support such as water, food and education to vulnerable communities stricken by HIV and Aids in Zambia. MeetMutsa will educate high school children about HIV & Aids prevention.

I begin by handing over a shopper of unwanted clothes gathered from my wardrobe and flatmates’ along with my entrance donation.
Clothes are grouped into clearly marked price piles of £1, £3, £5 £7 or £10 there is even a special item on sale for £15. As I browse to the soulful sounds of Dwele I’m handed my value card; I can now swap two items at £1, nine at £3 and two at £5 paying the difference for each item if it costs more.

Of the 30 odd people in the room I make the most of the makeshift changing room, trying on lots of items which seem to have largely belonged to Mutsa (great minds do think alike).
Whilst trying on a long sleeved maxi dress, it suddenly strikes me that I am having fun and I look around to see the delighted faces of women smiling over what are essentially someone else’s old clothes.

Intrigued I wander over to talk to Mutsa Marau, the founder of MeetMutsa. A 27 year old woman from North London, her eyes light up when I ask her why she chose The Butterfly Tree. ‘Because they’re a grass-roots charity; my money goes to those who need it. I can work directly with them and make an impact. A lot of larger charities have a lot of overheads’.

For Mutsa, educating young people about HIV & Aids in Africa particularly Zambia and Zimbabwe; is very close to her heart. She thinks more young people should volunteer but she stresses that you have to make some sacrifices. ‘Being determined is crucial as there can be a lot of red-tape involved’.

But for those who want to volunteer but aren’t sure where to start her advice is simple; ‘Google is your best friend’. ‘Websites like idealist.org list thousands of voluntary opportunities all over the world. Start small; there are lots of charities who only need people for a few hours a week’.

With the African Diaspora in London being so large; Mutsa thinks it’s important for young black people here to volunteer in projects in Africa. ‘I’m a British Zimbabwean but I feel like the young people can relate to me, hopefully they can see me as a role model. To be able to educate the next generation; many are young girls at a very high risk of HIV, as a young healthy black woman this is vital for me.’

She chose a swap shop as her fundraising event because ‘May is spring cleaning plus I love going through my friends’ wardrobes so thought others would too. It’s a great way to get rid of clothes you don’t want, whilst giving to a great cause. It’s sustainable, it’s recycling!’

Resisting the ‘MeetMutsa’ cupcakes on sale, kindly donated by Betty’s Burlesque Bakery, I throw my efforts into some last minute shopping At 5pm the shop closes, Mutsa is emotional and delighted with the day’s success; not only has she raised over £300 for her project but she also has enough clothes for a second swap shop.

Smiling, I leave lighter with 3 dresses, a pair of pretty pink ballet pumps (it was love at first sight) and a military-style jacket but more importantly completely humbled and inspired.

I’ve always wanted to do something to for rejected children in my father’s homeland of Nigeria and Mutsa has motivated me to stop procrastinating so on Wednesday I’m attending a fundraising talk and I truly cannot wait.

Mutsa goes to Zambia in July once she raised enough money for the project; she’s planning to stay for 4 months
To find out more visit http://meetmutsa.tumblr.com/theproject or http://www.thebutterflytree.org.uk/

Baking Therapy

2011-05-14T13:15:00.007+01:00

There's something about measuring, weighing and mixing the ingredients to make the perfect cake that is so relaxing.

This week has been a hectic one of deadlines and stress but instead of going to my local, having a chinwag with my girlfriend or sharing a bottle of wine with my flatmates I decided to bake a carrot cake or three.

Diligently following the 'yummy scrummy' carrot cake recipe from bbcgoodfood.com and the cream cheese frosting recipe from the hummingbird bakery book I spent my Thursday evening whipping up a storm in the kitchen. I took my huge carrot cake into work the next day and received compliments such as 'you'd make an amazing wife' and 'can you do this every Friday?' which all made me glow with motherly pride.

It all started two weeks prior when I made chocolate vanilla cupcakes and a Victoria sponge for my afternoon tea party in celebration of the royal wedding where 9 girlfriends descended upon my flat and we ate our body weight in cake and wine.

But thinking about it I've been inspired to bake ever since I met a certain lady who shall be referred to only as the Master Baker of Shoreditch and my penchant for red velvet cupcakes.

It's official I've got the baking bug, next stop strawberry cheesecake which I'm under strict instruction to perfect before my man returns from his 3 month hiatus in Japan.

But don't worry for those of you that know me I won't be getting high on my own supply - cake guinea pigs can happily apply here.

Belle du Ballet

2011-04-05T14:06:00.013+01:00

Last time I blogged, I had just sampled the delights of Italy albeit in Islington but nevertheless still authentic.
This time I'm raving about my new found passion; the Ballet. I'd previously seen Ballet as a fairy tale world accessible to only the elite but it appears ballet is having a revival and I for one am extremely happy.
Thanks to Black Swan, ballet's beauty & underlying darkness has spiralled firmly into the spotlight inspiring even the Designeratti to create whole collections of tutus and pastel coloured satins and silks.
Thanks to an amazing friend, I had the extraordinary privilege of seeing the ballet for the first time on the 17th March. Passing crowds of St Patrick's day revellers in Covent Garden I arrived at London Coliseum, official home to the English National Ballet, feeling slightly apprehensive that I wasn't dressed correctly (jumper, black skirt, brown riding boots)but Lisa assured me no-one would notice. Don't get me wrong I'm not particularly fussed about what strangers think about me, neither am I new to the theatre, but for some reason or another I'd been associating Ballet with royalty, upper middle class and dare I say it princesses. Ridiculous I know but my most recent attendance in theatreland was to see Sadler's Wells Shoes! The Musical, Avenue Q and Cat on a Hot Tin Roof which had audiences of 20 - 40 year olds in jeans drinking wine & beer.

Entering the dress circle bar area I saw a group of regally dressed women in Louboutins surrounded by buckets of Veuve Cliquot. Slinking past hoping they didn't notice my rough post-work outfit (they did and I got stares that could chill the champagne they were drinking) I ordered glasses of rose for Lisa and I to sip on nonchantly.

Once ENB's Black & White started, all my notions of Ballet being pretty yet a little boring (the performances mentioned above all included witty banter & even black humour) completely slipped away. I was entranced by not just the beauty but the sheer power of the dancers. Although dressed in tight shimmering black or white tights and glittering tutus, the muscular tone of the dancers when they performed their dizzying leaps was plain to see. With no storyline, just piece after piece of perfect choreography to the background of a powerful opera singer and orchestra, Black & White was my perfect debut at the Ballet. The excerpt from Balck Swan was the icing on the cake.

Less than 2 weeks later I was invited again to the Coliseum, this time to see the Birmingham Royal Ballet's Cinderella. A fairytale more suited to the Ballet some might think, with it's traditional costumes and 9th century origin. Although the moves were perfectly executed, the humour of the ugly stepsisters and the pubescent Cinderella distracted me a little from the dancing. I hasten to add that I thoroughly enjoyed both performances and have now found a new respect for Ballet, ballet dancers strength and opera singers.

If you want to see a Ballet The Royal Ballet's Romeo & Juliet will be at The O2 from the 17th - 19th June Tickets start from just £10 to £60. www.theo2.co.uk

GiraffeTravels: Volcano Valley

2011-03-21T23:12:00.038Z

Staring out across the bubbling lake we can hear the hiss of steam escaping from the valley behind us. 'A man fell in the lake once, he was trying to rescue his falling camera' says Jeffrey our guide. I take this as a warning and step back. Leaning on the crumbling red rocks I lift my aching arms to take a picture but the wet steam hits my mouth and I gasp struggling to breathe.

We're looking over Boiling Lake, the world's second largest sulfur lake in the east Caribbean island of Dominica. Home to nine of the region's volcanoes, Dominica is a small country with large natural defences which is perhaps why the native Caribs were able to repeatedly frustrate the invading colonials from both England and France.

Standing in moist clouds of rotten egg with what I'm pretty sure is the onset of tendonitis, visions of Revelation's lake of fire spring to mind. Scarily close to hell on earth, I stare into the steam waiting for a break so I can take a shot of the epicentre. After twenty minutes of obligatory snapping and half a liquorice tasting tuna sandwich later, we make our descent back into the valley of desolation number two. Valley of desolation number one is still an hour ahead and our rainforest cottage even further.

Eight hours after we set off we arrive at Ti Tou Gorge, a deep canyon with a refreshingly cold waterfall in which we soak our mud-stained muscles. Despite our fatigue, we manage to shower, dress and leave our cottage in the Roseau Valley for a second time for dinner with our friends in the island's tiny capital Roseau. Chicken and rice served with provisions are all eaten hastily washed down with Kubuli, the island's home brewed beer.

The next day we manage to leave the comfort of our four poster bed and dreamy porch swing to explore the valley. We hike uphill, passing small villages, goats chickens and crabs on our way. Forty-five minutes later we arrive at Trafalgar Falls home of two angry waterfalls to see a gang of cruise ship revellers leaving via bus. It seems our fellow guests were right the countless hot pools carved into the surrounding rocks are now deserted. Avoiding the irritable freshwater crabs on our path we find a dryish spot under some trees and strip down to our bathing suits.

As a gecko creeps across the rocks above us, it's head bobbing to the movements of a large pink dragonfly, my boyfriend mutters something about Fern Gulley.

As he pulls me into the hot copper water, in the shadow of the volcanoes above, I close my eyes and listen to the thunderous water behind me.

We sit quietly for a while and savour the surrounding warmth from under nature's spa.

Live life the Italian way - La Dolce Vita

2011-03-12T21:06:00.057Z

Last week, on an 8 hour flight to Antigua, I enjoyed the delights of Eat, Pray, Love a film in which a woman searching for the meaning of her life travels to Italy to eat, India to pray and Bali to love (although I'm not sure that was her agenda on arrival but who can resist Javier Bardem?). I have never been to Italy but after seeing the beauty of Rome and the picturesque Italian villages depicted in the film I jumped at the offer of two free tickets to La Dolce Vita, an exhibition at the business design centre celebrating all things Italian

Upon entry we're greeted by the sounds of exhibitors passionately pitching their wares; I'm delighted to see a variety of stands selling cheeses, pesto, salami, gelato and wine (my fave) as well as luxury properties to buy or rent for holidays and holiday tours.

But I didn't just go for the free tasters (although I didn't refuse the sixth mozzarella & olive parcel or the prosecco refills), I also wanted to find a travel company offering Italian culture and wine/gastronomy experiences (I've been inspired). Out of the travel companies there, I found two that really impressed me, mainly because they offered a service for travellers not tourists.

1. CinqueTerre Riviera http://www.cinqueterreriviera.com/

Beautifully presented by an enthusiastic Miriana, Cinque Terre covers five provinces along the north-west coast between Genova and Pisa and offers luxury and affordable villas in towns such as Portovenere, Vernazza and La Spezia. They also offer Liguria cooking, a style of cooking associated with the region, a weddings & events service as well as gastronomy/ wine tours and catering services. We sampled Liguirian olive oil, pecorino cheese and wine at their stand and were given a free Guide book on La Spezia region.

2. Costa Hotels http://www.costahotels.it/

Operating in the Emilia Romagna province which stretches inwards from Rimini on the Adriatic coast up to Placenza, Costa Hotels provides a fun and relaxed experience such as traditional food & wine tours (which involve meeting local producers, lunch and dinners in eating in local restaurants), art and culture tours to visit medieval towns, rustic castles and local art galleries as well as hiking and amusement parks. Eva, our Costa Hotels rep, was so excited by our interest she recommended we come in September for the wine festival in Rimini and introduced us to her English representative Max (Max's Genuine Italian Food http://www.genuineitalianfood.co.uk/) could make our booking with him to make our lives easier. She even gave his details and some free Flatbread from the Emilia Romagna region and we were so charmed by him and his samples we bought a bottle of pink prosecco and promised to get in touch. Wine Festival here we come!

5 Delicious Italian foods I recommend;

Cheese - Dolcelatte, Galbani - stocked in all good supermarkets. They've been making cheese since 1882 and they know what they're doing. We visited this stand about several times for samples and at the end of the show they gave a huge chunk of Dolcelatte and a baguette. (Me and my flatmate had it for dinner with salad and wine....bellissimo!) http://www.galbani.com/

Wine - Prosecco, Bisol - stocked in Harrods and Whole Foods (USA)we sampled the Cartizze, Crede and the Jeio Cuvee Rose. The Cartizze was by far the best and the most expensive (what can I say? I like the good life) http://www.bisol.it/

Olives - Stuffed Olives, Gela Frozen Foods - we weren't convinced that Italians ate anything frozen except gelato but Gela are apparently the most popular frozen food manufacturers in Italy supplying stuffed breaded olives two varieties - Olive Ascolane or Bocconcini di mozzarella. You can order from Italian delicatessen, Nife is Life who will home deliver http://www.nifeislife.com/

Truffles - White Truffle Sauce, Abruzzo Truffles - one word, Divino. Perfect on blinis at your next dinner party. They're still looking for a UK distributor but CEO Christian Constantini assures me I can order their White Truffle sauce online. http://www.abruzzotruffles.com/

Jam - Confettura extra di Uva Montepulciano, Le Colline di Evagrio - this grape jam is so mouth-watering we bought a jar after just one spoon! (I have a thing about Jam, this week I've bought Passion fruit jam and had a jar of Black Cherry given to me by a friend - I raved about it after breakfast at her place) http://www.lecollinedievagrio.it/

You have one more day to experience La Dolce Vita - 10th -13th March 2011, Business Design Centre, London N1. Nearest tube: Angel

http://www.ladolcevitaevent.co.uk/

Favourite Italian Saying: La Gioia di Fare Niente - the joy of doing nothing. I endeavour to try it on a beach or vineyard in Italy this September, watch this space

Every woman needs a Sanctuary

2011-01-23T11:28:00.016Z

I spent 8 hours yesterday at The Sanctuary Spa in Covent Garden ,(courtesy of my boyfriend)and every hour was spent wisely doing as little as possible. That is I got utterly and truly spoilt. Arriving at 10am with no make-up on (I know you guys can't imagine it but it happened) and my hair barely brushed I was ushered into another world by jade suit-clad hostesses. Once armed with my schedule and complimentary orange juice I was shown into the changing room where I packed up all my belongings into a locker, including my BlackBerry (no phones allowed). Dressed in just a bikini and dressing gown and a waterproof bag with my magazines and books I made my way to the Koi Carp lounge. On entering I immediately new why The Sanctuary was the chosen name for this spa; if this is what heaven looks like Thank you God.

Laying on a large flat bed overlooking the atrium pool and koi carp lounge I soon felt all the cares of my hectic modern day life wash away. And this was a feeling that lasted all day, a blissful numbness of being completely relaxed.

My first treatment was a Hot Sugar Body Scrub, which left my skin feeling smooth as a baby's bottom and the all over massage for the last 15 minutes was divine and almost had me nodding off.

50mins later with glowing and beautifully smooth skin I headed back to the Koi Carp lounge to rest until my lunch, which was in short, delicious! I opted for the poached duck egg with hollandaise on a bed of mushrooms to start and sea bream with crushed potatoes and baby stem broccoli all washed down with 2 glasses of crisp cold bubbly. (I'm getting hungry again)
There is something quite deliciously illicit about having a gourmet lunch with champagne barefoot and in a dressing gown, I think I may have got a glimpse of how the other half live.

Following lunch I headed to the Koi Carp (there's a recurring theme here) to wait for my sleep retreat session. Once I'd climbed into bed with about 9 other ladies, I'm kidding, we each had our own bed, we were asked to switch to vibration mode. Enter renditions of "ooh heaven is a place on earth". My only criticism of this treatment would be that it's too short; didn't some sleep expert says we need to sleep in 90minute cycles to be full rested? I am not ashamed to admit I was the last one to leave and practically had to be dragged out of the bed in order for the next session to start.

I then moved on to the Orchid Lounge for my perfect polish pedicure. Now anyone who knows me, knows my feet are not my best asset but hey nobody's perfect. I cringe at the thought of anyone seeing them hence my love of beautiful shoes, they give the illusion that the I might have beautiful feet too. I won't describe my pedicure, in case some of you are eating but let's just say it was reminiscent of a snake shedding it's skin but hey I can now claim semi-pretty pink toed feet.

The rest of the day I spent lounging in the main lounge with a cup of tea, magazines, books and my journal (I spent 30mins re-writing my goals. ambitions and general life plan, I know I'm a geek but it was the perfect place for reflection).

Once my toes had dried I dipped into the jacuzzi for 20minutes of bubbly bliss where I got talking to a fellow singleton, glad I wasn't the only one not in a group, then headed for the hot steamy shower to finish up.

I recommend this retreat for any and every woman, it is utter indulgence and involves you completely giving into a meditative state. I think I have now overcome my BlackBerry addiction and the thought of going into work tomorrow and facing a huge looming deadline doesn't even phase me. I do wonder how long it'll last? I think I may need to do this quarterly..I've got 20% off if I bring a friend, any takers?

January the Scapegoat

2011-01-10T22:11:00.014Z

It's the second week in January, I'm in my pyjamas half-heartedly watching Collateral on Film4 after my first day at a new gym, or should I say my first day at exercises in months. Legs, Bums & Tums has already taken it's toll on my innocent muscles.

I've just checked my Twitter page and I see that @LittleMissSocial is out on the town with her girls; who goes out on a Monday anyway? In January. Really?
Everyone over 25 knows that Tues -Thurs & Friday (if you've had a quiet week) are the new weekend, Sunday is brunch or very early dinner and Saturday is still date night. Unless your single actually scrap that, especially if you're single.

If January is the month of goal-setting, resolution making and diet starting why does it feel so depressing? Shouldn't all these new plans fill everyone with excitement and hope or is that we secretly know over half of our resolutions will fall flat on their face?

Is it really the worst month of the year as my colleagues and friends complain? The month of being broke, overweight and cold? Or is that psychologically we need a month to mope, moan and create an excuse to abandon polite company in order to make the rest of the year seem better.

January seems like the perfect scapegoat; it has no bank holidays, major religious celebrations and it doesn't signify the beginning or end of a season. Instead it has inflation, increased VAT and ridiculous rises in train fares (I could write a dissertation on why Southeastern railway does not deserve any of the hundreds of pennies I fork out each month yet alone their disgusting fare increase but I'll save that for another post) January is a hard month to work through.

By the 15th it's been a month since your last paycheck and you're wondering how long you can go on eating cuppa-soup and apples to save money, I mean lose weight.

In all honesty I have used January for moping and moaning but to be honest this year is different. I love the fact that my brand new diary is relatively empty and that I can start filling it up with the things I want to do with the people I love to do it with before the obligatory work/family things creep in. I can decide now at the beginning of the year how I want to live this year and I can make steps towards achieving it.

This month I've decided not to write resolutions but instead goals, mission statements and things I want to achieve. In fact this year already I've booked an exotic holiday to the Caribbean, one of my goals was to go to somewhere I've never been before. I've booked a spa day at The Sanctuary where I will be unavailable to everyone but me, myself and God, another goal is to have more me time.

January is my month of planning and meditation but don't be too hard on me if you hear me grumbling at the innocent Southeastern platform assistant when my train is late again or cutting back on the Wasabi lunches I'm feeling optimistic, I never said I was perfect.

My First Published Piece - A review of Fela!

2010-12-14T22:56:00.007Z

It's official; I am now a writer. I have no degree in journalism just the extraordinary privilege of working in Publishing for an established magazine and knowing some good-hearted people at Flavour magazine who've decided to take a gamble on me (Thank you).

It's only a a review but here it is - http://www.flavourmag.co.uk/review-fela/

The Value of Friendship

2010-11-07T18:18:00.035Z

Friendship, as described by the New Oxford dictionary, is defined as the state of being a friend; having a friendly relation or intimacy, harmony understanding and rapport.

Whilst having a champagne lunch in a West London brasserie on Saturday with a woman I share an intimacy and rapport with and whom I consider to be family; we discussed love, life plans and of course friendships. As old school friends we have some mutual friends however we moved in different circles but always stayed close especially when we found out our families have been interconnected for years.

We both identified that unlike the girls of Sex and The City (of which I am a huge fan by the way), neither of us have one group of best friends that do everything together, which is fine. In fact the two of us each have one or two close friends from each social group such as school, university, childhood friends and now even work but has we've got older we've established that networking seperately doesn't make our friendships less worthy.

In today's digital age of social networking what makes a good friend? Why do some friendships last and some fade out?

Reading an article on being "friend dumped" in the latest Grazia made me think about the number of times I've had lost a friend. It's always been awkward seeing that person later on in life but I've learnt that people are sometimes in your life for just a season and sometimes they're there for life.

My closest friends are the ones that have learnt to stay true to themselves through all our life's ups and downs, in fact the older and wiser I've become the more I realise that the times I've been unhappy in my friendships is when I or the friend in question have deviated from our core values.

Friendships can be complex and trying but one thing they should always have is a certain quality. Nobody's perfect (even me!) but those who truly have your best interests at heart are the ones in whose company you most enjoy even when they've pissed you right off.

But I've also learnt that it's okay to let some friendships go. That's it's okay to not want to be their friend anymore, that just because you've shared some major life experience with them or you've known them for so long you actually find them quite draining, selfish or just downright bitchy. I've also learnt that the best friendships are the ones worth working at, that to love someone as a friend is to make an effort with that person and show them you care.

What people often fail to remember is that friends are the family you choose for yourself. I may have to make amends with a family that doesn't appreciate me because I live in the same house as them, because of cultural protocol or just because they're related to me but as my friend there should exist a mutual privilege.

What is most interesting is the realisation of how few people I interact with on a daily and weekly basis; I probably speak to the same four girls each week who may I add are all from different social groups that rarely interlink.

But I'm okay with that, because I know it's not about the quantity it's all about the quality. And to me, that is the value of friendship.

Collioure : A Francophile's dream

2010-09-15T13:29:00.098+01:00

I'm a self-confessed francophile (a lover of all things French in case you were getting worried) so when my cousin invited me to spend 4 nights in the quaint little seaside village of Collioure for free (well we had to pay for flights and stay with her godparents but I'm not one to look a gift horse in the mouth) I jumped at the chance.

After realising that life moves at a somewhat slower pace, we waited for the 'regular' navette (shuttle bus to me & you) for an hour and a half, I was pleased to see the town of Collioure was bustling in the late afternoon sunshine.

Crossing the road to the main town centre I encounter a beautiful sight; sparkling azure sea bouncing off a sandy shingle beach framed by jagged hills and a towering clocktower. How do I like to be beside the seaside!

Seventy steps up a crooked stairway we arrive at the holiday apartment, which for all intents and purposes looks exactly like a holiday apratment should.
White walls, comfy white sofas (I later learn that red wine and white funiture are arch-enemies but the less I talk about that the better)and an adorable terracotta roof terrace.

Once we'd settled into our twin attic rooms, and had taken some obligatory ''we're on holiday snaps'', we were offered a delicious & healthy looking dinner of chicken, salad, fresh bread and wine. Lots of wine. I decide I like our new hosts Bill & Susan and Collioure very much.

After dinner, catch up and introductions we're offered a variety of activities for our stay. Snorkelling and sunbathing on the beach, visit to the nearby towns of Port Vendres & Banyuls-sur-la-mer and a tour of the old castle ruins. I volunteer for everything much to the dismay of my cousin who just wants to chill.
I'm down for chilling I insist but I love exploring french towns and I also want to practice my lingo with the locals.

Thursday morning arrives and we awake to a sorry start. We haven't slept all night a combination of mosquitoes (who knew?) and soft lumpy mattresses.
Two sleep deprived urbanites does not a good breakfast convo make.
Once fed and watered we head to the beach and encounter the arctic ocean disguised as a Mediterranean sea.
It is FFFRRREEEZZING!! This propmptly ends my fanatasies of swimming and I return to the beach to absorb some sunrays as quickly as humanly possible.

Thursday evening arives and we head to dinner with our hosts at a restaurant which seems to double up as a bird sanctuary. Anyone who knows me will be familiar with my phobia of birds,least to say I was not impressed with that or the speedy delivery of my meal. It tasted good which further increased my cause for concern.

We decide to head to a little café for dessert and wine and order the most sour profiteroles I've had in my life!!
But us two young girls seem to be causing quite a stir in a town of mature holidaymakers and we end up with a free pitcher of wine courtesy of the restaurant owner whose friend is very enthralled by my beautiful cousin. The enthrallment wasn't mutual.
Shortly after midnight we stumble back to the house via a detour to the ice cream stall, there are hundreds here selling diverse variety of gelato such as pistachio, melon & grape. I stick to chocolate & strawberry.

Friday morning arrives and we're even less refreshed than the night before (I'm hungover)but I think we've accepted our bed fate and look forward to the day ahead. Today we take the Le Petit Train to Port Vendres, which has the best moules frites & sangria Susan assures me.

Our little train trundles up through the winding hills & rocky mountians of the languedoc-roussillon countryside to give us the most spectacular views of the vineyardshills and the town of Port Vendres.
We stop at Fort Saint Elme and look down from the old castle to the town of Collioure. It's breathtaking, windy and perfect all rolled into one. Later on I find out that Susan wasn't lying, they do make the best sangria in Port Vendres and it is the best tasting and most effective hangover cure I've ever had.

The rest of our trip is spent eating a lot, (I had the best salade fruits de mer at L'Andalou) drinking rosé and shiraz on the roof terrace at sunset and taking in the sights and sounds at the outdoor arts festival and the Sunday markets where I buy a beautiful pearl and silver bracelet and Bill buys me some bottles of Banyuls, a sweet dessert wine as take home presents.

Come Sunday our time in Collioure is cut short but we're sent off in style with a homemade pack lunch, several gifts and souvenirs cortesy of Bill & Susan. Their charm and hospitality definitely made our trip more enjoyable but I have a feeling I won't be waiting 'til they're back in town to visit this bewitching little town again.

ZUMBA!!!

2010-08-27T11:55:00.017+01:00

After accidentally leaving my tv on one night a few months ago, I woke up to a Zumba commercial or what the americans call an 'infomercial' which lasted about 15 mins long and listed the benefits of Zumba, a high energy workout based on latin rythms with a good dose of carribbean dance moves. After seeing a few convincing testimonials from women who had lost weight and toned up I was sold.

I mentioned I'd seen the advert to my cousin and she excitedly told me that she'd been going and had really enjoyed it so I thought I'd try it out but alas they didn't offer it as a class at my local gym so I pursued it no further.

Sitting on the sofa on Sunday evening my sister mentioned the need for both of us to do more excercise and told me how her best friend wanted to try Zumba at the local gym. Excitedly I googled Zumba classes in my local area and found that they now do offer it at our local leisure centres and made a plan to attend on Thursday.

Boy was I not disappointed. Zumba is everything and more that a girl could want from a group excercise class beacuse it just so liberating!
Lots of booty shaking to anthems such as Shakira's 'Waka Waka' World Cup Africa 2010 anthem and TOK's dancehall tune 'Shake your bam bam'.
We even did parts of the Beyonce ' Single Ladies' dance routine while all the time our pint-sized rocket of an instructor told us not to think of the complexity of the steps but just to follow our bodies and have fun. She also reassured us that despite it's crazy, sexy cool appearance Zumba would work every muscle group mercilessly and she wasn't wrong.

This morning my waist aches from all the 'winding', my knees are sore from dropping my booty 'low to da floor' and my cheeks ache from all the grinning. Not for the faint hearted, this workout will leave you thorughly exhausted but on an amazing high and hopefully in time with a smaller waistline.

And to top it all of I won my instructor's DVD of her doing the Zumba workout so now I can do it at home, I see a girls-night-in Zumba party on the horizons...ladies are you ready??

August News Highlights

2010-08-27T10:50:00.017+01:00

As an avid fan of the Evening Standard, Metro and BBC Breakfast news I've been tickled & incensed by several news items this past month- here's a few of the best & worse.

Woman who put cat in bin - http://www.thisislondon.co.uk/standard/article-23870144-hunt-for-woman-who-threw-cat-in-bin-and-shut-the-lid.do
This was absolutely priceless, although incensed at this obvious act of viciousness I had to laugh when my colleague said 'what's the big deal, she was just bored?'
Well here's a warning to everyone, be careful what you do in times of boredom.
There are cameras, EVERYWHERE.

Welcome to Nollywood... Nigerian films hit London - http://www.thisislondon.co.uk/standard/article-23869244-welcome-to-nollywood-and-8201-nigerian-films-hit-london.do

Just want to say Nollywood has been around officially since the mid 1980's and has been the third largest film industry for over 10 years now - I remember watching 'Neke'a film about a witch who could turn into a cat on land and a mermaid in the sea at about 5 years old. Absolutely traumatised me.
Funny thing is my parents didn't want me to watch Hocus Pocus because they felt it glamourised magic & witchcraft and would be too scary but didn't they realise the basic special effects used in the Nollywood movies can sometimes produce a more terrifying result than the polished productions of Hollywood.

Police probe private life of MI6 spy found in bag after 'sex game went wrong'- http://www.thisislondon.co.uk/standard/article-23871489-police-probe-private-life-of-mi6-spy-found-in-bag-after-sex-game-went-wrong.do

There seems to be an alarming increase in the number of people dying after playing violent sex games. Think Meredith Kercher and Jessica Davies. Life is just too high a price to pay for any level of sexual pleasure no matter how many people may joke and say you should 'die doing something you love'.

Big Brother to be bought by Channel 5? - http://www.metro.co.uk/tv/839227-big-brother-to-be-bought-by-channel-5
Bad, bad idea C5. What the world needs now is a break. Not more 'car-crash-rubberneck-cringeworthy' telly. When I saw the last ever big brother advertised I breathed a sizeable sigh of relief but alas it was too good to be true as the Ultimate Big Brother was readily announced. I can't watch it because I fear that the desperation of the contestants and C4 alike may seep out of my tv set and infect my brain. So please C5 let this 'reality' show die a good death. Permanently.

Emotional

2010-08-13T12:13:00.042+01:00

My colleague likened me to a bi-polar pitbull the other day. Least to say I wasn't impressed but I kinda get his drift. This day, week & past three months has been full of emotional highs & lows. How I haven't been locked up in a loony bin is beyond me.

If it wasn't for a strong desire not to self-combust & my belief that God just won't let me I think I might have checked myself into The Priory.

Now I'm not a fan of mood elevators (trust me I have a Psychology degree) but it has occurred to me several times over the past weeks that keeping a supply for those bad days might be a good idea.

Now I consider myself to be a slightly anxious but well-rounded person, I'm far from flawless but my emotional state has been tried & tested way above what I'm comfortable with. It seems that no sooner than something good happens to me something bad comes along to try & trump it. So I thought I'd write a summary of the highs & lows to help me put it into perspective (and maybe to see if anyone else's life is this bizarre at the moment)

WARNING! - Those who hate self indulgent rants, look away now.

LOWS

Got mugged on a night out. Head smashed, arms & legs punched and camera stolen.

Discovered that the Police have no clue how to solve muggings or how to be decent human beings.

Swallowed the bitter truth that family do not always have your back.

Fell out with my mum over the organisation of her wedding about 6,000 times. I was her wedding planner. Bad idea.

Acted like a right female dog to someone I love. So sorry.

Didn't get the promotion I deserve, again.

Quit piano lessons due to time & budget constraints

Lost my ANNUAL Oyster card & Young Person's railcard today.
(Well it is Friday the 13th)

HIGHS

Had the BEST BIRTHDAY EVER in Paris courtesy of my loving boyfriend.

Started a blog and my path to a potential career in writing!! Yaye!

Successfully organised the best team night out in history! Free food, free drinks, bowling & karaoke!!!

Lost but FOUND my blackberry. Honest cab driver.

Went on a double date with my friends from the Caribbean.

Reconnected with a good friend who might give me a writing job! (Please!)

Ate 10 times the recommended yearly allowance of Hummingbird bakery's Red Velvet cake

Got a free holiday to the South of France courtesy of my boyfriend's company. Sweet!

Fell out with my sisters way over our monthly average. This is in the good section because it proves I still love them, for now.

Learnt the names of the people who sit on the other side of the office. They're actually quite nice.

Finally booked a girly get away with my cousin after 9 years of trying!

Went over £2K in savings for my travelling fund - only £1million to go...

RESULT: HIGHS OUTWEIGH LOWS

No need to check into The Priory just yet then..

10 Tips for organising a Nigerian Wedding in London

2010-08-10T14:21:00.019+01:00

No. 1 - Never organise a Nigerian wedding in London. Or anywhere else for that matter.

No. 2 - Nigerians are generally kind people with big hearts & bigger mouths. Once you understand their complex simplicity you'll be fine. (This may take a few years, the wedding is in 2 months. Good luck!)

No.3 - Be prudent when relaying quotes - going back with what you may think is a reasonable quote may elicit responses such as 'Maybe their banqueting chair is going to massage my buttocks & call me princess? That must be why they are so expensive!'

Always ensure you've got the best rate first then tell them a long winded story of how you begged, cajoled and even flattered to get that price just for them.

No.4 - If you work in the events industry (as I do) and you're using a client to help you with say the production or furniture - don't let them actually meet your family members. This could result in them cancelling any future business with you.
You may have trouble explaining this to your boss.

No. 5 - Be warned, your recommendations, suggestions & general common sense WILL be ignored most of the time. If you are easily frustrated you may want to avoid the whole debacle all together.

No. 6 - Distant relatives from Nigeria. There is only one thing I would advise when dealing with their unhelpful suggestions, endless running commentary and general lack of tact. IGNORE THEM.

No. 7 - R.S.V.P - Most Nigerians don't speak french so this is pointless. The majority run on LMT (Lagos Man Time) so expect people calling you to RSVP on the day of the wedding. Actually don't expect them to RSVP at all.

No. 8 - Add an additional 100 people to the guestlist. It doesn't matter who these extra people are, they're coming anyway. Your table /seating plan just blew up.

No. 9 - Be prepared for the following dilemma - Delegation of tasks.

Whoever you delegate tasks to on the wedding day must be a Nigerian.
They must speak both English & Yoruba/Igbo/Hausa (Delete as appropriate)
They must have a close relationship with your family and a profound knowledge of Nigerian & British wedding customs.
They must have knowldedge of the British legal system.
They must have no problem communicating effectively with British people or law enforcement officers.
They must be calm people with low blood pressure.
British born Nigerians preferred.

If in doubt copy & paste the above job description and email to prospective candidates.

No.10 - HAVE FUN! You will never eat, laugh & dance as much at any other kind of wedding. I promise you.

Procrastination

2010-07-29T01:37:00.011+01:00

Rushing from my colleagues leaving drinks in West London for an obligatory dinner with my mum's friends in Kent,I stop to pick up this week's edition of Stylist. Reading an article entitled 'Is it really work that stops us enjoying our lives?' I'm filled with a sudden and bitter feeling of resentment.

I hardly have the time to do the thing I really want to do.

However, the author questions our busy rushed lives and the real reasons we fail to spend quality time doing the things we want to do. Does work really affect us that much?

In most instances I would have said yes immediately, but actually after reading this I guilty realise I am more in my control of my own time than I give myself credit.
Just so you know, I've been meaning to become fluent in French, play grade 1 piano, write a blog, write a book, put up shelves in my cramped cell of a bedroom and generally live life to the full.

I'm constantly attending obligatory networking work events in the evening (oh poor you I hear you say), staying late at the office to do my never ending list of admin and at the moment I'm planning my mum's wedding which is next weekend (my stress levels and panic attack risk are sky high)

Juggling the things I want to do like piano, blogging & DIY with seeing my boyfriend (who currently works in France Monday to Friday) and spend time with my best friends, at times, seems impossible.

I stopped my piano lessons because I couldn't commit to being there every Wednesday evening because of networking events. But this is what I signed up for isn't it? Everyone working in the events industry knows it comes at the price of your own personal development & social life.

As highlighted in the above article, having the ability to say no to certain events or tasks in my own time will take some getting use to and the ability to judge which events are really necessary and which are not is a skill I'm fast developing.

And as an avid fan of my diary, blackberry and to-do-list notebook I will just have to take Stylist's advice and block out some much needed me time every week much to the annoyance of my boss, or disappointment of my boyfriend, friends and the procrastinator /guilt-laden people pleaser inside me.

'Teachers will be handed tough powers to search pupils for alcohol, drugs and mobile phones in a crackdown on bad behaviour': too much, too late?

2010-07-08T21:41:00.045+01:00

Reading this article in Wednesday's Metro led me to think back to the days when I attended secondary school in south west London.
As a 15 year old with strict parents & studying for GCSE's at a private girls school most may be under the impression that we lived in perfect disciplined harmony where are teachers always had the upper hand and on most days you would have been right.

However I clearly remember us causing our geography teacher to cry, making our maths teacher uncomfortable with our incessant firting and sexual innuendos and in on one occasion blocking the sinks with tissue paper until they overflowed with soapy water into the hallway. Now I am in no way proud of our exploits (or even admitting my involvement in these acts of rebellion) but I wonder to what extent searching us for contraband & detaining us without notifying my parents would have stopped us from behaving this way. Both pupils & parents would have been indignant with outrage. Well my parents would have thought it a good idea and voted for the return of corporal punishment.

If the media, home office and our own personal experiences are to be believed, today's schools appear to be overrun by violent and unmanageable children who are ready to take on their teachers & fellow pupils with no qualms.

A report released in July 2009 found that 'Children were suspended from school more than 83,000 times last year for attacking teachers and other children'.

A culture of disrepect has been propagated throughout society's children today and the majority of them simply have no fear or respect for authorities at all.
I can see the huge difference in the last ten years when I was at school. Parents & teachers alike have been stripped of power, children are all to aware of their rights and how to exploit them to their advantage.

I personally know of a close family friend who was falsely accused by his pupil of physical and sexual assualt. We were all so outraged and devasted by these claims and the way in which the pupil's story was believed above and beyond that of the teacher. Luckily he was found innocent but the lack of support for teachers in that situation and led me to reflect on the vulnerable and weak position teachers are in these days.

There have been 9 fatal stabbings of teenagers this year alone and the abhorrently low conviction rate of the young killers involved, it would seem rational to most especially those affected by these killings that this searching teenagers in schools is a good idea.

But I fail to see that this will deter most serious offenders, in fact I worry it may incense some youngsters and cause teachers to become vilified even further.
Also the main role of teachers, teaching, will be hindered even further and will put them at risk of further allegations from sensitive parents.
However I do agree something must be done to enable teachers regain their dignity, control and power in the classroom and I welcome the sentiment behind this reform.

In searching pupils at the school gate, a 'violent free' zone may just be able to thrive in some schools and a feeling of 'leave your aggro at the door' may be heard by some pupils.

I do feel that much more intervention on a parenting level is needed as well as more cohesion with the local police and a blatant stand of defiance from both teachers & parents is needed to put society's youngsters back in their rightful place; which is in the classroom learning not rebelling, fighting or killing one another.

Praise for Provence

2010-07-04T20:28:00.023+01:00

I arrive at Gatwick less frazzled than I had previously anticipated and on time, which for me is a good thing (my boyfriend has often despaired over my 'gung-ho' attitude to catching flights and trains to or within foreign countries).

Looking at the 'Which terminal?' noticeboard it sinks in; I am on holiday. An ALL EXPENSES PAID long weekend to the South of France courtesy of my boyfriend's company. This is the kind of thing I read about in Jackie Collins and Tasmin Perry novels, no-one in real life ever gets flown out to an exotic location, in high season might I add, well no-one except my beautiful cousin who manages to go through passports like I go through Jelly Belly sours but she's just an exception to my well-tried rule.

I make my way straight to security feeling quite smug that I only have hand luggage, already printed my boarding pass and have put all my mini 'under 100ml' liquids into a clearish plastic bag. This will be a breeze.

My experience with Gatwick security however, is nothing as I imagined. After putting my very cute straw summer bag, jewellry and liquids into seperate trays I walk through the body scanner. It beeps, loudly. 'It must be my watch' I say all smiling and polite to the butch female security guard who then proceeds to tell me that the machine is programmed to go off randomly so I have nothing to worry about. Reassuring for most level- headed people but not me. Feeling a little annoyed for being so smug I endure the embarassing and probing body search (I'm wearing a clingy long black maxi dress over a bra & tiny thong- what could I possibly be hiding?) and turn to collect my stuff.

To my dismay another security guard is peering into my clearish platic bag of essential mini products with a resigned look on his face.

'I'm afraid you have too many products here miss, all your products should only fit into 1 small clear ziplock bag. Uh-oh. Alarm bells go of in my head, keep calm, this is not the start to my dream vacaction I had dreamt about.

I politely inform said security guard that I did not know it was 1 bag per person and explain that I only have hand luggage and am going on a beach holiday so it is essential that I have all my cosmetics and products to hand.

He acquieces after taking out all my minis (good God this is getting embarassing) and puts them into 2 small ziplock bags. His colleague (miss butch gropey fingers) then warns me not to try this 'little stunt' again.

Cheeks burning I make my way into departures and search for the flight board, I think I'm going to scream; my free easyjet flight is delayed.

One toasted bagel, one orange juice and some chocolate buttons later I board my flight. I text my boyfriend 'ABOUT TO TAKE OFF SEE U IN 1.5 HOURS. LOVE U XXX' and settle into my seat and fall asleep.

It is H-O-T in Marseille. My gorgeous-all-expenses-paid-sexy-IT-consultant of a boyfriend is waiting for me in arrivals. After a little PDA (we are in the land of french kissing after all) we're heading down the autoroute towards Cavaillon a little town outside Marseille.

Dropping my enormous hand luggage off at the hotel we jump back in our Avis rental and go nowhere. That is, it is rush hour in Cavaillon, and everyone is on the way home from work.

After an hour of frustration we're on the move to a 'secret location'. Twenty minutes and some beautiful winding roads later we arrive at Fontaine-de-Vaucluse. Every notion I had of the beauty of Provence is exceeded. It is beautiful. Quiet. Peaceful. Instantly I feel my usual highly strung persona slipping away and swiftly being replaced by euphoria.

Holding hands we walk over a bridge under which a startlingly clear stream is running. The sleepy little village is picturesque, balmy and the exact breath of fresh I need.

Climbing up a rocky path, we pass vendors selling colourful pottery and 'boissons froides'. We stop by the river which is fringed by colossal limestone cliffs and rocky mountains to marvel at the clear aqua coloured water which leaps and gushes in some places over huge slick boulders and slides seamlessly and slowly in others.

'The best is yet to come' my boyfriend whispers, lifting me out of my revrie. At the summit of the dusty and steep path a low fence awaits by which a few out of breath hikers are waiting in a group. Leading me over the fence, up and down a rocky path, we reach the piece de resistance.

At the base of a gargantuous cliff lies a perfectly still clear pool of iridescent turquoise water. The water almost seems alive with sharp gasps of awestruck tourists surrounding it's edges.
I have never seen water like this in my life and I consider myself to be somewhat well-travelled for my 25 years. Feeling insignificant and extremely lucky I cling to my better half and sigh deeply.

This is what life is about. These small still moments of indescribable beauty and self-reflection.

S is for Stepcousin

2010-06-28T22:40:00.001+01:00

It's an abnormally hot Saturday afternoon when I pile my overheated body and four very necessary goodie bags into my mum's 4x4 in West London. I've been at the Clothes show for four hours and after finding only one suitable 'Do I look like I fly economy?' 1950's summer dress, I'm exhausted. So out come the wet wipes, mini deo, mascara, eyeliner, bronzer and lipbalm - 15 minutes later I'm less 'crazed shopper' and more 'bronzed babe'.

We've all made an effort even my mum, although I'm surprised she's not sporting her Louis (it's her one designer handbag and makes me feel rich in the company of newbies). Halfway down the M4 towards Bracknell Forest in the unforgiving heat, I'm handed an A4 piece of paper with names, dates, job titles and a mini family tree. 'These are his children's names, his brothers and his nieces' my mum says in a tone that suggests I committ all 17 odd names to memory before our hour journey is over.

We're meeting my soon-to-be-stepfather to be and his family for dinner, namely for us to meet each other before the fast approaching wedding dates arrive and to celebrate his 60th birthday.

Tentative and shy greetings are exchanged along with names I've forgotten as soon as they're said (I knew I should have brought the sheet) and we all bundle back into our respective cars and drive to the restaurant.

On arrival we're shown the roof top terrace which gives stunning views of wherever it is we are and asked for our drinks order.

I look nervously at the drinks menu, which only lists potent looking cocktails and one mocktail - I wait til I hear the first of 'his nieces' ask for a glass of rose. I can almost hear my sister's simultaneous sigh. 'Thank God they drink' is mouthed between stifled giggles.

Sipping our Pimms, Becks, kir royales (me) pineapple juices (my mum) we make our way out of the greenhouse -like terrace and on to our table.

I'm 'requested' to sit next to people we don't know; namely the males of this new family and socialise. Us girls have already broken the ice out on the sweltering terrace and are bordering on too much girly gossip and banter to the dismay of the male seated between us.

Two courses of scrumptious thai food, One slice of decadent chocolate cake and 3 bottles of wine later we painfully manouever our stuffed bellies over to the bar area. The 'adults' or should I say older generation (we're all adults here) retire to the now cool balcony for more drinks whilst us 'youngsters', eighteen to twentyseven year olds, stay in the bar.

Too many glasses and sleepy random convos later my sister blurts ' So are we stepcousins?' this automatically sends me and a few others into fits of giggles.

So it seems are new family are normal, actually better than normal, very cool and like to drink on balmy summer evenings - welcome to the age of stepcousinry.