Title quote attributed to Captain Kathryn Janeway, Star Trek Voyager
My darling husband and I have a lot in common. We like the same foods, we love a good bottle of vodka, we both enjoy travelling to places we've never been before... heck, we both even have an unabashed adoration of Star Trek. But if there is one difference between us, it is the love of a good cup of coffee. The Yorkshireman cannot stand the stuff whereas I cannot get through a day without it. Mentally scarred by the horror stories about the negative effects of caffeine that circulate every so often when there's a slow health news day, I've recently switched to decaff for the majority of my never-ending trips back and forth to the kettle, but when I'm out at a coffee shop it's generally fully-caffeinated espresso-based beverages all the way!
And boy do I love those coffee shops! Personally I blame the TV show Friends - you see a group of great mates having a laugh with their lattés in a laid back spot like Central Perk and it looks like so much fun. Yes, maybe I too can be a trendy, twenty-something city-dweller, sipping my way through a cup of joe on a slightly worn, comfortable sofa whilst sharing in the highs and lows of my similarly trendy, twenty-something, city-dwelling friends' lives and watching other trendy city-dwellers stop in for a takeaway cappucino and a muffin on their way to somewhere no doubt fabulously exciting.
In reality at 5.30pm in the Starbucks at Corn Market it tends to be grammar school children with more pocket money than sense, screeching at each other about who said what on Facebook over their strawberry frappacinos with whipped cream, or exhausted-looking 9-5 office workers seeking a few minutes' respite and a quick pick-me-up on their way home from work. But yet coffee shops are still one of my favourite places to spend time.
I love the smell for one thing (funny since that's the Yorkshireman's main objection to said establishments); the richness of the roast beans brewing away, the comforting smell of paninis being toasted and the sweetness of the array of tempting baked goods invariably available all combine in a delicious, heady concoction that just epitomises a coffee shop.
The décor and furnishings can be hit or miss though and really, apart from how the coffee tastes, this is a major consideration when you're deciding which coffee shop suits your mood at that particular time. Can you cope with a crowd or do you want some peace and quiet? Do you need the comfort of a big sofa or armchair, or will a hard wooden chair suffice? Are you planning on hanging out for a while with a group of friends or are you just dropping in for a quick caffeine burst solo?
Starbucks has just about the right combination of minimalism, art and comfort for my liking most of the time, not to mention sufficient space to allow me to sip my way through my coffee and read my book without being too disturbed by the aforementionned screeching teens or the loudly complaining yummy mummies ignoring their bawling infants. Indeed the Victoria Square branch seems to have the same ambience but yet a different demographic entirely, usually being full of students telling more and more elaborate tales in an attempt to garner their companions' approval, or young professionals gossiping about colleagues or meeting their other half for a civilised coffee before heading out on a date night.
I also quite like Red Berry on Royal Avenue for its minimalist décor and people-watching bar upstairs; space isn't exactly its strong point but it makes the most of the little it does have. Even the Yorkshireman quite liked this one when I forced him to join me there for a much-needed caffeine hit early one morning, although I suspect that was more to do with the yummy BLT he ordered.
Grand Central (formerly Roast back in my early coffee-shop-frequenting days, fondly remembered by me as one of Belfast's first "real" coffee houses) is probably the closest to Central Perk from Friends. None of the furniture matches, but yet it all goes together. The décor seems to be based on the home of a world traveller with a penchant for the 1960s and the ambience is so chilled out you could happily sink into one of the comfy sofas and put the world to rights for a few hours. Their food is pretty good too - lots of homemade yumminess to tempt you. I really must try that lemon cake sometime... *drool*
The most elaborate café I've been to recently is probably the Harlem Café on Bedford Street - so many details in the décor but yet it just manages to escape being too busy. It's a shame the same can't be said for the café itself at lunchtime - it would be a lovely place to just chill out for a while but in reality you're lucky to get a tall chair at the shared table near the door if it's only coffee you're after.
The strangest little place I've sipped an americano lately is Café Avoca on Bedford Street, not to be confused with the café in the Avoca shop on Arthur Street, which I hear is to die for but I haven't gotten around to visiting yet. This non-Avoca Café Avoca just seemed very cold, hard and unwelcoming, even though the coffees I had there one snowy day and the staff who served me were all lovely.
In a complete juxtaposition the Little Cupcake Café next door has managed to transform a similar space into a warm and colourful wonderland with its delicious-looking cupcake displays in the window and Ikea chic décor inside.
Oscar's Champagne Café is another little oddity. It looks quite upmarket from the outside, and the name certainly implies sophistication, but on the inside it's relatively stark and feels like a strange mix between a greasy spoon café and a bar. Hard to describe but the outdoor area certainly seems popular with the forty-and-fifty-something crowd when I go by anyway. Perhaps it's just not my kind of place.
Café Revive on the top floor of M&S on Donegall place, on the other hand, I really like. The décor is simple and clean and whilst it feels pretty much like any other department store café at first, it has the added bonus of a long table along the window where you can while away your time drinking your filter coffee staring down at the people passing by on the street outside (often confused-looking tourists looking for the Belfast Visitor's Centre across the road - "It's up the escalator peeps! Behind you!").
I could go on and on about coffee shops in Belfast - it seems like there's a new one opening every month and there were plenty to start off with. Not that I'm complaining - I like the variety of choices available to me when I feel the coffee calling to me with its rich, smooth siren song. There are all the usual chains (Starbucks, Clements, Costa, Nero, Streat, etc) as well as the smaller more individual shops and personally I like to have the mix. Where I go depends on what I'm in the market for and what mood I'm in. For instance I can't stand Clements' coffee but their food is divine so I will occasionally pay them a visit. Bizarely I think the nicest cup of coffee is actually from the Caffè Ritazza in Asda Living at City Side Mall and that isn't exactly the first coffee shop that would spring to mind if someone asked for a recommendation.
However all this talk of coffee has made me thirsty so I shall be taking a little trip to the kettle now. Unfortunately it's only instant decaff but I may very well find myself in Starbucks after work on Monday. One tall filter coffee with room for milk to sit in please, friendly barrista - my addiction needs to be fed...
Saturday, 26 February 2011
Sunday, 13 February 2011
Team AntiCupid
I'll just put it right out there: I hate Valentine's Day. Hate it. "Oh but it's such a sweet, romantic day and the perfect excuse to show someone you love them!" Bollocks. It's an excuse for the likes of Hallmark and Cadbury to make some money between Christmas and Easter. It's an excuse for people not to express love and affection for their other half except when a predetermined special occasion tells them to. For me, it's an excuse to stay inside and lock the door.
Why so bitter? It can't just be an objection to commercialism, otherwise why go all in for Halloween, which is about scaring people (sadism?), or St Patrick's Day, which is basically about getting drunk (woohoo!)? Well, it's not entirely, although I do genuinely feel saddened by the knowledge that there are people out there who only tell their partner that they love them when society says that it's acceptable to do so rather than every single day. For me, Valentine's Day is an entirely more sinister affair...
You see, without going into great detail, every time the Yorkshireman and I have attempted to celebrate Valentine's Day in the past, someone has inevitably been maimed or injured. Examples include an emergency operation (exchanging cards through a haze of anesthesia - how romantic!) and a very bad diagnosis for a family member (leaving a romantic movie halfway through to take that call made the day all the more special!). Quite frankly I'm surprised neither of us has been run over by a bus yet. And so as time has gone by, the Yorkshireman and I, both fairly romantic souls at the best of times, have shunned Valentine's Day and the horror that comes with it.
It was therefore with interest that I read this Wikipedia article on AntiCupid. I have long suspected Cupid was evil but this perhaps makes more sense, especially if AntiCupid has taken to maiming the body as well as eating the soul.
And so, for me, February 14th is just that - another day in the middle of February, all the worse this year for having the audacity to also be a Monday. Should you receive a dozen red roses, a romantic dinner or a cute cuddly toy from your beloved tomorrow, I wish you well and hope that you feel cherished and loved. As for me, the phrase "Happy Valentine's Day!" will not pass my lips and I'll be double-checking for Acme anvils and pianos hanging precariously out of upper windows on my way to work.
Why so bitter? It can't just be an objection to commercialism, otherwise why go all in for Halloween, which is about scaring people (sadism?), or St Patrick's Day, which is basically about getting drunk (woohoo!)? Well, it's not entirely, although I do genuinely feel saddened by the knowledge that there are people out there who only tell their partner that they love them when society says that it's acceptable to do so rather than every single day. For me, Valentine's Day is an entirely more sinister affair...
You see, without going into great detail, every time the Yorkshireman and I have attempted to celebrate Valentine's Day in the past, someone has inevitably been maimed or injured. Examples include an emergency operation (exchanging cards through a haze of anesthesia - how romantic!) and a very bad diagnosis for a family member (leaving a romantic movie halfway through to take that call made the day all the more special!). Quite frankly I'm surprised neither of us has been run over by a bus yet. And so as time has gone by, the Yorkshireman and I, both fairly romantic souls at the best of times, have shunned Valentine's Day and the horror that comes with it.
It was therefore with interest that I read this Wikipedia article on AntiCupid. I have long suspected Cupid was evil but this perhaps makes more sense, especially if AntiCupid has taken to maiming the body as well as eating the soul.
And so, for me, February 14th is just that - another day in the middle of February, all the worse this year for having the audacity to also be a Monday. Should you receive a dozen red roses, a romantic dinner or a cute cuddly toy from your beloved tomorrow, I wish you well and hope that you feel cherished and loved. As for me, the phrase "Happy Valentine's Day!" will not pass my lips and I'll be double-checking for Acme anvils and pianos hanging precariously out of upper windows on my way to work.
Tuesday, 1 February 2011
Entirely Gleeful
According to the Thesaurus on Microsoft Word, we're talking about delight, hilarity, merriment, laughter, excitement, amusement, joy and happiness. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, we're talking Glee!
If you've read my previous posts about my favourite, "guilty pleasure", TV shows, you may know that I do not require much class or sophistication in my TV viewing. Okay so I do not like to dwell in the very depths of trash with those who watch Kerry Katona or Jordan's latest "reality" shows and Tool Academy (yikes!), but I have been known to watch the likes of 16 and Pregnant on MTV when I'm home alone (with no-one around to judge me!). And then, of course, there is Glee.
I've been in choirs since I was about 8 years old, mainly at school but then later in mass choirs taking part in things like the opening ceremony of the Odyssey Arena, Les Misérables and One Enchanted Evening. I don't have a great voice but I can hold a tune and that's thankfully really all that matters when you're in a choir. Unfortunately when I moved to Yorkshire I cut my ties to the Belfast choir world and I haven't sang in one since. I must admit it makes me a little sad because there's nothing quite like the feeling of being one voice among many, all sounding so different but yet working together to create beautiful harmonies. I know that all sounds a bit hippy-like, but I just love it. To understand it you just need to listen to something like Handel's Messiah, close your eyes and picture your voice soaring amongst all the sopranos, altos, tenors and basses, creating such a powerful sound, rising and falling, louder and quieter, higher and lower... *sigh*
In the absence of any decent choir action in the last seven years or so, I get my kicks singing along to the mp3s on my mobile phone at bus stops (only when there's no-one else around!) or occasionally playing SingStar. However, when I heard there was a new American TV show coming to the UK about a glee club, it sounded right up my alley. Singing and rubbish TV - joy! (or indeed, glee!)
I know there is a difference between a choir and a glee club. In a choir you kinda just stand there and sing, whereas in a glee club you need to be an all-round entertainer, with amazing vocals and funky dance moves. It's a lot more energetic but I would love to have a go! Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't pass the audition stage in the majority of schools, especially if the documentary Gleeful: The Real Show Choirs of America is anything to go by. Wow, those kids are talented. But I would love to do it just for fun. Someone should start up a Belfast Glee Club. We might be rubbish but we'd have great fun!
As for the show itself, I completely love Glee. I actually think it's one of the best shows to grace our screens in the last couple of years. It just has everything: great singers, great dancing, weird and wonderous plots, themed episodes, characters you simultaneously want to hug and bitch-slap, humour and a big old dose of tongue firmly in cheek, which I think is what makes it. That and the character of Sue Sylvester, who I completely adore. Oh and also Britney, who comes off with some of the funniest one-liners ever.
A lot of people disparage Glee because it's so cheesy but that's entirely the point. People draw comparisons between Glee and High School Musical but there is one big difference. They are both big balls of cheese but where High School Musical took itself completely seriously, Glee not only knows that it's cheesy - it's shouting it from the rooftops. You're not supposed to take it seriously - just sit back and let the teenage melodrama and candyfloss swirl around your brain. It's pure escapeism.
As for the music, I have to say there are a few of their covers that I think are brilliant. I loved Don't Stop Believin', even though Journey's version was already up there amongst my favourite songs ever, and that never happens for me - I tend to cringe when people cover my favourite tunes. Like A Virgin and Vogue from the Madonna episode were also great fun, especially with the different plots that were going on in that episode, and the slowed down version of Poker Face from the Lady Gaga episode was a triumph. No matter how many times I hear them, I can't seem to get enough of Alone and Maybe This Time from the first Kristin Chenoweth episode and Defying Gravity still makes me tingle about a hundred plays on. The duets-themed episode screened yesterday on E4 was also excellent.
If you're not really into pop music, musical theatre or the ins and outs of imaginary teenagers' love lives, it may not be the show for you, but I would say give it a try. Where can be the harm in submerging yourself in an hour of pure and unabashed superficiality and letting your inner Gleek out to play (or indeed sing!)? All together now: "Just a small town girl, livin' in a lonely world…"
If you've read my previous posts about my favourite, "guilty pleasure", TV shows, you may know that I do not require much class or sophistication in my TV viewing. Okay so I do not like to dwell in the very depths of trash with those who watch Kerry Katona or Jordan's latest "reality" shows and Tool Academy (yikes!), but I have been known to watch the likes of 16 and Pregnant on MTV when I'm home alone (with no-one around to judge me!). And then, of course, there is Glee.
I've been in choirs since I was about 8 years old, mainly at school but then later in mass choirs taking part in things like the opening ceremony of the Odyssey Arena, Les Misérables and One Enchanted Evening. I don't have a great voice but I can hold a tune and that's thankfully really all that matters when you're in a choir. Unfortunately when I moved to Yorkshire I cut my ties to the Belfast choir world and I haven't sang in one since. I must admit it makes me a little sad because there's nothing quite like the feeling of being one voice among many, all sounding so different but yet working together to create beautiful harmonies. I know that all sounds a bit hippy-like, but I just love it. To understand it you just need to listen to something like Handel's Messiah, close your eyes and picture your voice soaring amongst all the sopranos, altos, tenors and basses, creating such a powerful sound, rising and falling, louder and quieter, higher and lower... *sigh*
In the absence of any decent choir action in the last seven years or so, I get my kicks singing along to the mp3s on my mobile phone at bus stops (only when there's no-one else around!) or occasionally playing SingStar. However, when I heard there was a new American TV show coming to the UK about a glee club, it sounded right up my alley. Singing and rubbish TV - joy! (or indeed, glee!)
I know there is a difference between a choir and a glee club. In a choir you kinda just stand there and sing, whereas in a glee club you need to be an all-round entertainer, with amazing vocals and funky dance moves. It's a lot more energetic but I would love to have a go! Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't pass the audition stage in the majority of schools, especially if the documentary Gleeful: The Real Show Choirs of America is anything to go by. Wow, those kids are talented. But I would love to do it just for fun. Someone should start up a Belfast Glee Club. We might be rubbish but we'd have great fun!
As for the show itself, I completely love Glee. I actually think it's one of the best shows to grace our screens in the last couple of years. It just has everything: great singers, great dancing, weird and wonderous plots, themed episodes, characters you simultaneously want to hug and bitch-slap, humour and a big old dose of tongue firmly in cheek, which I think is what makes it. That and the character of Sue Sylvester, who I completely adore. Oh and also Britney, who comes off with some of the funniest one-liners ever.
A lot of people disparage Glee because it's so cheesy but that's entirely the point. People draw comparisons between Glee and High School Musical but there is one big difference. They are both big balls of cheese but where High School Musical took itself completely seriously, Glee not only knows that it's cheesy - it's shouting it from the rooftops. You're not supposed to take it seriously - just sit back and let the teenage melodrama and candyfloss swirl around your brain. It's pure escapeism.
As for the music, I have to say there are a few of their covers that I think are brilliant. I loved Don't Stop Believin', even though Journey's version was already up there amongst my favourite songs ever, and that never happens for me - I tend to cringe when people cover my favourite tunes. Like A Virgin and Vogue from the Madonna episode were also great fun, especially with the different plots that were going on in that episode, and the slowed down version of Poker Face from the Lady Gaga episode was a triumph. No matter how many times I hear them, I can't seem to get enough of Alone and Maybe This Time from the first Kristin Chenoweth episode and Defying Gravity still makes me tingle about a hundred plays on. The duets-themed episode screened yesterday on E4 was also excellent.
If you're not really into pop music, musical theatre or the ins and outs of imaginary teenagers' love lives, it may not be the show for you, but I would say give it a try. Where can be the harm in submerging yourself in an hour of pure and unabashed superficiality and letting your inner Gleek out to play (or indeed sing!)? All together now: "Just a small town girl, livin' in a lonely world…"
Saturday, 29 January 2011
"But it's a wonderful game"
~ Quote attributed to Queen Elizabeth II
I write to you from my toasty warm living room and yet I am shivering and cold to the touch. Am I ill? For once, nope (yay!). I am, instead, still chilled to the bone from standing outside in the cold for two hours this afternoon. And why would I do such a crazy thing when my toasty warm living room, pyjamas and laptop were sitting unused at home? Why else, but for the love of the beautiful game.
Ever since I was a wee tote I've lived fairly close to Seaview, the ground for the Irish League football team Crusaders FC, and I was probably a season ticket holder there before I could even spell "Crusaders". Indeed I have spent most of life supporting the good old red and black "hatchetmen" and even when I spent a couple of years living in Yorkshire I regularly checked to see how they were doing in my absence (not great as it turned out, since they were relegated the season after I moved away and promoted again the year I returned - I could read something into that y'know!).
There aren't a great deal of female football fans out there - in my experience those girls who do appreciate the sport either grew up with lots of brothers or, like me, were dragged along to matches from an early age - but I think that men hold a certain respect for a woman who not only understand the offside rule but can go head-to-head with you on a debate about a decision. I'm not saying I know all the rules in intricate detail but when I hear half the things the men in front of me on the terraces are shouting I sometimes think I have a better grasp on things than some. My only fault (if you can call it that) is that I tend to be a bit too unbiased. If there's a bit of a tussle during a free kick and the referee blows his whistle and rules in favour of the opposition, those around me will inevitably be up in arms about it, while I'm thinking, "meh, they were as bad as each other...", which I've learned is fine as long as you don't say in aloud, in which case you are instantly relegated to a "typical bloody woman not understanding the rules of game!"
I must admit that I'm not quite as enthralled by the action on the pitch as my male counterparts. If there are just a lot of long balls going on or it goes out for a throw-in every two seconds, my mind does wander. I probably drive the Yorkshireman mad with random comments about the sky looking weird today or asking him random questions that have formed themselves in the strange depths of my mind, like whether he thinks that the assistant referees and fourth official can relieve the referee of his command if they think he had become emotionally compromised and is therefore no longer fit for duty, à la Star Trek. To give you an idea of how much pity you should feel for my poor husband, these are just a few examples from today's match. Whether my interest is not an intense because I'm female or just because I'm a bit of a daydreamer, I'm not sure, but I really do like the game. There's nothing quite like the thrill of seeing the ball fly over the goal line of the opposition's net. I often jump for joy... literally. And woooo. I woooo a lot.
But never mind a lack of female fans - the problem with Irish football is a lack of fans in general. It seems so strange to me that if you ask any football fan from Northern Ireland which team they support, they'll more than likely name an English club. Even when you prompt them which team they support in the Irish Premier League, most of the time they dismissively say something like, "oh I don't really support any Irish teams." I think it's such a pity. I mean if you live in Belfast and support, say, Chelsea, how often do you actually go to Stamford Bridge and watch them play up close and personal? Granted there are those nutters you always see at the airport on Saturday morning adorned in their team's colours who spend a freaking fortune buying season tickets and then flying back and forward for all the home games on another land mass, but the more usual scenario is that the person you ask has maybe only been once or twice, if at all. And sorry but watching on TV is just not the same - you only see what the TV cameras decide you should see for one thing (which isn't great for me - how am I supposed to tell the Yorkshireman how weird the sky looks if I can't see it?) and also you just don't get the atmosphere and the feeling of camaraderie you get in person in the stands or on the terraces.
It's a shame for the Irish football clubs too. Most of them are in debt and on the verge of financial ruin because they're just not getting enough people through the turnstiles. Okay so the condition of the grounds and the facilities aren't exactly the greatest, but it's a vicious circle: people don't come to the games, so the club has no money, so they can't afford to repair or upgrade anything, so the ground falls further into disrepair, so people don't come to the games... etc. And it's not like the IFA is forthcoming with much money to help the clubs improve things either. Well, except for Linfield. Oops, did I say that out loud?
That said, the clubs are trying their best to muddle through with the few resources they do have. Unfortunately the biggest resource needed is money and the biggest source of money is the fans. Crusaders are lucky in that, whilst we don't have a lot of fans, the fans we do have really get behind the club and are willing to support it in any way they can. There are constant fundraising efforts from the supporters' clubs and the club's Special Efforts Committee to make sure the club stays in business and is able to compete with the bigger clubs like Linfield and Glentoran. They really deserve a lot of thanks because most people, like me, are kind of lazy and quell their conscience by giving money rather than making an actual effort. So thanks guys and gals, if you ever read this.
So, if you get your kicks (pun fully intended) from penalties and corners and your favourite team happens to play a few hundred miles away, why not give a local game a try sometime soon? Although given that I returned home over two hours ago and my feet still feel like blocks of ice, I would maybe recommend waiting until the temperature rises a few degrees... brrrr!
I write to you from my toasty warm living room and yet I am shivering and cold to the touch. Am I ill? For once, nope (yay!). I am, instead, still chilled to the bone from standing outside in the cold for two hours this afternoon. And why would I do such a crazy thing when my toasty warm living room, pyjamas and laptop were sitting unused at home? Why else, but for the love of the beautiful game.
Ever since I was a wee tote I've lived fairly close to Seaview, the ground for the Irish League football team Crusaders FC, and I was probably a season ticket holder there before I could even spell "Crusaders". Indeed I have spent most of life supporting the good old red and black "hatchetmen" and even when I spent a couple of years living in Yorkshire I regularly checked to see how they were doing in my absence (not great as it turned out, since they were relegated the season after I moved away and promoted again the year I returned - I could read something into that y'know!).
There aren't a great deal of female football fans out there - in my experience those girls who do appreciate the sport either grew up with lots of brothers or, like me, were dragged along to matches from an early age - but I think that men hold a certain respect for a woman who not only understand the offside rule but can go head-to-head with you on a debate about a decision. I'm not saying I know all the rules in intricate detail but when I hear half the things the men in front of me on the terraces are shouting I sometimes think I have a better grasp on things than some. My only fault (if you can call it that) is that I tend to be a bit too unbiased. If there's a bit of a tussle during a free kick and the referee blows his whistle and rules in favour of the opposition, those around me will inevitably be up in arms about it, while I'm thinking, "meh, they were as bad as each other...", which I've learned is fine as long as you don't say in aloud, in which case you are instantly relegated to a "typical bloody woman not understanding the rules of game!"
I must admit that I'm not quite as enthralled by the action on the pitch as my male counterparts. If there are just a lot of long balls going on or it goes out for a throw-in every two seconds, my mind does wander. I probably drive the Yorkshireman mad with random comments about the sky looking weird today or asking him random questions that have formed themselves in the strange depths of my mind, like whether he thinks that the assistant referees and fourth official can relieve the referee of his command if they think he had become emotionally compromised and is therefore no longer fit for duty, à la Star Trek. To give you an idea of how much pity you should feel for my poor husband, these are just a few examples from today's match. Whether my interest is not an intense because I'm female or just because I'm a bit of a daydreamer, I'm not sure, but I really do like the game. There's nothing quite like the thrill of seeing the ball fly over the goal line of the opposition's net. I often jump for joy... literally. And woooo. I woooo a lot.
But never mind a lack of female fans - the problem with Irish football is a lack of fans in general. It seems so strange to me that if you ask any football fan from Northern Ireland which team they support, they'll more than likely name an English club. Even when you prompt them which team they support in the Irish Premier League, most of the time they dismissively say something like, "oh I don't really support any Irish teams." I think it's such a pity. I mean if you live in Belfast and support, say, Chelsea, how often do you actually go to Stamford Bridge and watch them play up close and personal? Granted there are those nutters you always see at the airport on Saturday morning adorned in their team's colours who spend a freaking fortune buying season tickets and then flying back and forward for all the home games on another land mass, but the more usual scenario is that the person you ask has maybe only been once or twice, if at all. And sorry but watching on TV is just not the same - you only see what the TV cameras decide you should see for one thing (which isn't great for me - how am I supposed to tell the Yorkshireman how weird the sky looks if I can't see it?) and also you just don't get the atmosphere and the feeling of camaraderie you get in person in the stands or on the terraces.
It's a shame for the Irish football clubs too. Most of them are in debt and on the verge of financial ruin because they're just not getting enough people through the turnstiles. Okay so the condition of the grounds and the facilities aren't exactly the greatest, but it's a vicious circle: people don't come to the games, so the club has no money, so they can't afford to repair or upgrade anything, so the ground falls further into disrepair, so people don't come to the games... etc. And it's not like the IFA is forthcoming with much money to help the clubs improve things either. Well, except for Linfield. Oops, did I say that out loud?
That said, the clubs are trying their best to muddle through with the few resources they do have. Unfortunately the biggest resource needed is money and the biggest source of money is the fans. Crusaders are lucky in that, whilst we don't have a lot of fans, the fans we do have really get behind the club and are willing to support it in any way they can. There are constant fundraising efforts from the supporters' clubs and the club's Special Efforts Committee to make sure the club stays in business and is able to compete with the bigger clubs like Linfield and Glentoran. They really deserve a lot of thanks because most people, like me, are kind of lazy and quell their conscience by giving money rather than making an actual effort. So thanks guys and gals, if you ever read this.
So, if you get your kicks (pun fully intended) from penalties and corners and your favourite team happens to play a few hundred miles away, why not give a local game a try sometime soon? Although given that I returned home over two hours ago and my feet still feel like blocks of ice, I would maybe recommend waiting until the temperature rises a few degrees... brrrr!
Sunday, 23 January 2011
Is The Biggest Loser the winning contestant or the obsessive viewer?
Apologies for the lack of posting recently. As the Yorkshireman has explained on his blog, we've both been having a few health problems. Thankfully he seems to be on the mend anyway, with only a little residual mucus still causing a problem (mainly for me, since he keeps coughing or blowing his nose when I'm midway through a sentence, which drives me nuts). As for me, well, as Facebook would say, "it's complicated" but not particularly worth whining and moaning about, especially since it's not even serious enough to get me out of work, dagnammit! Funny how some things in life can simultaneously be a blessing and a curse!
So, how are you all enjoying January? I'm not a big January fan, since I always end up broke, cold, tired and verging on Seasonal Affective Disorder, and at the moment I'm also running the risk of breaking myself every time I step out the door on to the slippery frost/ice combo out there. It's apparently -3°C outside at the moment so it doesn't look like it'll be any less white out there tomorrow. Thankfully it's the weekend, so I can spend the majority of my day indoors in my classy Primark pyjamas. Actually I think my current nightwear is a George D'Asda creation - clearly I felt like dressing up a bit this evening.
One good thing about January is that a lot of good TV shows are back on our screens. Well, I suppose it depends on your definition of "lots" and "good" really. Most people would, I imagine, not join in my delight that there is not just one but two series of The Biggest Loser on at the moment (British and USA versions), but surely you have to love a bit of Glee? No? Really? Ah, you clearly have no taste but we'll agree to disagree.
I do love a good weight-loss show though and The Biggest Loser is one of my favourites, so I was highly excited when I learned that series 9 of the US version had started on LivingIt (so excited, in fact, I mentioned it in the blog post I was writing at the time). Then, when I was checking the TV Guide website for the next showing of said show, I accidentally stumbled upon the new series of the British version starting the next week! How thrilling!
It's hard to describe why I love The Biggest Loser so much, especially when most of the things I mutter about when it's on are fairly critical. She's annoying, why did he bother signing up, they're cheating, that's sneaky, oh they're not going to be happy about that, etc. But like all reality TV shows that's part of the fun. I like to hear people's stories and figure out what makes them tick, but if there's a juicy argument or some duplicitous underhandedness to observe along the way, all the better! It's entertaining. But then why would I merrily watch The Biggest Loser and yet remain so scornful of I'm a (D-list) Celebrity Get Me Out of Here or Big Brother?
I guess it's because the people who sign up to The Biggest Loser are (for the most part) doing it to improve their lives and those of the people who love them. What they're doing will help them to live longer, learn more about themselves and gain confidence and skills they probably only dreamed about possessing, and you get to watch the transformation, week by week. It's inspiring. The eejits on those other reality shows, on the other hand, are only after money or fame and quite frankly I don't really care who they're flirting with or why. Heat magazine would definitely go into my Room 101 because it's that kind of "celebrity" gossip obsession that only encourages more and more reality shows about uninteresting, superficial people with no discernible talent and are about as entertaining as watching algae form (with the IQ to match). I prefer my reality TV with, well, a point really.
So, whilst I realise that watching bossy personal trainers yell at fat people to run so hard they end up vomiting is not everyone's idea of a good night in, I really do enjoy it. There are two episodes in each series that I particularly enjoy. The first is when the doctor guy does a full health assessment on them all and then tells them just how bad shape they are actually in. I'm actually gutted because I accidentally missed that episode in this series of the US show and now cannot find any form of catch-up online for it that NBC hasn't had removed for infringement - bah humbug! In one of the previous series I remember the doctor asking one guy how healthy he thought he was and the guy said something like, "well I know I'm a big guy but I'm fairly healthy - I mean it's not like I have type 2 diabetes or anything", to which the doctor replied, "actually you do." There's a conversation-stopper!
Yes there probably is an element of schadenfreude in liking those bits, but really I just find it fascinating, both from a medical perspective (the effects that weight really does have on your body's ability to function) and also from a psychological perspective (watching years of denial that "it's not that bad" instantly drop away and a vulnerable, scared and highly motivated person emerge).
The second episode I like so much is the makeover episode, where they take people who have lost loads of weight very rapidly and whose heads probably haven't really caught up with their new and improved bodies, they give them amazing haircuts and put them in flattering clothes they would never have even considered before, and then show them the finished product in a dramatic mirror reveal. They always look completely amazing, even when they're still relatively big, and then just when they're overwhelmed by how great they look, they bring in someone really close to them who is gob-smacked by all the changes too and they inevitably cry. Even the men. In fact the men are often worse, especially the Aussies. It's so touching and it just makes you feel like you can achieve anything if you have the right attitude and resources.
I must admit that I don't like the British version of the show quite as much as the US version. The trainers aren't as personable (stereotypical English coldness I suppose) and some of the accents and things the contestants say make me facepalm in shame for our nation. That said I have a bit of a girl-crush on Davina McCall, who has taken over presenting it this series, so that's a plus point. I can still get my Bob and Jillian kick from the US version after all.
It's quite early in both series so I haven't yet developed any favourites, although I have taken agin' a few people already. In the British version I'm glad the orange team got booted out because they were just taking the piss really. "Oh I'm too sore to work out today" - boohoo, that's what you signed up for! In the US version the red team seem to be throwing the weigh-ins at the moment and I really hate cheaters; so does Bob if his rant to them during last week's weigh-in is anything to go by. The green team really annoyed me last week too. "We didn't come here for you to change who we are". Actually you kinda did. The white team are sort of bugging me too. Alright so the guy is over 500lb and yes it's hard to get around never mind work out when you weigh that much, but he needs to stop messing around and annoying the other contestants when they're trying to work hard and get his head in the game. My opinions tend to change as the series progresses though, so I look forward to seeing how everyone gets on.
So tomorrow evening my entertainment will be the British Biggest Loser (ITV at 9pm) and then Glee (E4+1 at 10pm) - it's a little sad but whatever gets you through a cold, miserable January Monday, right?
So, how are you all enjoying January? I'm not a big January fan, since I always end up broke, cold, tired and verging on Seasonal Affective Disorder, and at the moment I'm also running the risk of breaking myself every time I step out the door on to the slippery frost/ice combo out there. It's apparently -3°C outside at the moment so it doesn't look like it'll be any less white out there tomorrow. Thankfully it's the weekend, so I can spend the majority of my day indoors in my classy Primark pyjamas. Actually I think my current nightwear is a George D'Asda creation - clearly I felt like dressing up a bit this evening.
One good thing about January is that a lot of good TV shows are back on our screens. Well, I suppose it depends on your definition of "lots" and "good" really. Most people would, I imagine, not join in my delight that there is not just one but two series of The Biggest Loser on at the moment (British and USA versions), but surely you have to love a bit of Glee? No? Really? Ah, you clearly have no taste but we'll agree to disagree.
I do love a good weight-loss show though and The Biggest Loser is one of my favourites, so I was highly excited when I learned that series 9 of the US version had started on LivingIt (so excited, in fact, I mentioned it in the blog post I was writing at the time). Then, when I was checking the TV Guide website for the next showing of said show, I accidentally stumbled upon the new series of the British version starting the next week! How thrilling!
It's hard to describe why I love The Biggest Loser so much, especially when most of the things I mutter about when it's on are fairly critical. She's annoying, why did he bother signing up, they're cheating, that's sneaky, oh they're not going to be happy about that, etc. But like all reality TV shows that's part of the fun. I like to hear people's stories and figure out what makes them tick, but if there's a juicy argument or some duplicitous underhandedness to observe along the way, all the better! It's entertaining. But then why would I merrily watch The Biggest Loser and yet remain so scornful of I'm a (D-list) Celebrity Get Me Out of Here or Big Brother?
I guess it's because the people who sign up to The Biggest Loser are (for the most part) doing it to improve their lives and those of the people who love them. What they're doing will help them to live longer, learn more about themselves and gain confidence and skills they probably only dreamed about possessing, and you get to watch the transformation, week by week. It's inspiring. The eejits on those other reality shows, on the other hand, are only after money or fame and quite frankly I don't really care who they're flirting with or why. Heat magazine would definitely go into my Room 101 because it's that kind of "celebrity" gossip obsession that only encourages more and more reality shows about uninteresting, superficial people with no discernible talent and are about as entertaining as watching algae form (with the IQ to match). I prefer my reality TV with, well, a point really.
So, whilst I realise that watching bossy personal trainers yell at fat people to run so hard they end up vomiting is not everyone's idea of a good night in, I really do enjoy it. There are two episodes in each series that I particularly enjoy. The first is when the doctor guy does a full health assessment on them all and then tells them just how bad shape they are actually in. I'm actually gutted because I accidentally missed that episode in this series of the US show and now cannot find any form of catch-up online for it that NBC hasn't had removed for infringement - bah humbug! In one of the previous series I remember the doctor asking one guy how healthy he thought he was and the guy said something like, "well I know I'm a big guy but I'm fairly healthy - I mean it's not like I have type 2 diabetes or anything", to which the doctor replied, "actually you do." There's a conversation-stopper!
Yes there probably is an element of schadenfreude in liking those bits, but really I just find it fascinating, both from a medical perspective (the effects that weight really does have on your body's ability to function) and also from a psychological perspective (watching years of denial that "it's not that bad" instantly drop away and a vulnerable, scared and highly motivated person emerge).
The second episode I like so much is the makeover episode, where they take people who have lost loads of weight very rapidly and whose heads probably haven't really caught up with their new and improved bodies, they give them amazing haircuts and put them in flattering clothes they would never have even considered before, and then show them the finished product in a dramatic mirror reveal. They always look completely amazing, even when they're still relatively big, and then just when they're overwhelmed by how great they look, they bring in someone really close to them who is gob-smacked by all the changes too and they inevitably cry. Even the men. In fact the men are often worse, especially the Aussies. It's so touching and it just makes you feel like you can achieve anything if you have the right attitude and resources.
I must admit that I don't like the British version of the show quite as much as the US version. The trainers aren't as personable (stereotypical English coldness I suppose) and some of the accents and things the contestants say make me facepalm in shame for our nation. That said I have a bit of a girl-crush on Davina McCall, who has taken over presenting it this series, so that's a plus point. I can still get my Bob and Jillian kick from the US version after all.
It's quite early in both series so I haven't yet developed any favourites, although I have taken agin' a few people already. In the British version I'm glad the orange team got booted out because they were just taking the piss really. "Oh I'm too sore to work out today" - boohoo, that's what you signed up for! In the US version the red team seem to be throwing the weigh-ins at the moment and I really hate cheaters; so does Bob if his rant to them during last week's weigh-in is anything to go by. The green team really annoyed me last week too. "We didn't come here for you to change who we are". Actually you kinda did. The white team are sort of bugging me too. Alright so the guy is over 500lb and yes it's hard to get around never mind work out when you weigh that much, but he needs to stop messing around and annoying the other contestants when they're trying to work hard and get his head in the game. My opinions tend to change as the series progresses though, so I look forward to seeing how everyone gets on.
So tomorrow evening my entertainment will be the British Biggest Loser (ITV at 9pm) and then Glee (E4+1 at 10pm) - it's a little sad but whatever gets you through a cold, miserable January Monday, right?
Friday, 7 January 2011
Warming up while it's cooling down
Flip me, it was a bit nippy out there this morning, wasn't it? I felt literally chilled to the bone as I stood waiting for my buses to work and indeed sitting on said buses. So cold, in fact, that my first task of the day when I switched on my office computer was to check on the temperature. Apparently, according to Wunderground, it was -7°C in Belfast Harbour (the City Airport to me and thee). I knew it! Very chilly indeed! The same source reliably informs me that it's now a toasty 1°C in comparison - typical, now that I can sit indoors in fleecy pyjamas with the heating on instead of turning slowly into a human icicle waiting for the delightful sight of a big pink bus appearing on the horizon!
Further freezing temperatures are supposedly expected over the weekend, so I'm glad there's no match on at Seaview this weekend to shiver through. Instead I shall be staying in my fleecy jammies and watching Arsenal v Leeds (come on the Leeds!) in the FA Cup tomorrow afternoon and then baking a Victoria Sponge Cake - so pretty much my usual tomboy/girly-girl mixed up kind of weekend then!
The Yorkshireman and I may also return to our new gym sometime over the weekend. We've just joined Pure Gym, a 24/7 gym which has just opened its first Northern Irish branch in Belfast. We used to go to our local Council gym but the opening hours weren't really ideal for us, so it's quite exciting to think that we could now just pop down the road for a bit of a workout at 3am should we choose, although I must admit to preferring my bed at that time, whilst my naturally nocturnal husband would probably prefer watching a good NHL game and meandering through the Internet. Besides, we're reliant on public transport and unfortunately late night/early morning buses in the City are an area Translink could do with improving upon greatly! If you want to go anywhere between 11pm and 6am, you're kinda screwed.
We made our first visit to our new gym this evening to check out what we'd actually signed up for. I must admit I was quite cynical about the website's promise of over 170 pieces of equipment ("yeah, are you counting each dumbbell individually there by any chance?") but I was actually quite impressed. It really is a pretty big facility and they have loads of equipment, all new and shiny-looking. The first thing I saw when I entered was a veritable sea of treadmills (I wonder what a large group of treadmills should be called? A flock? A herd? A murder, like crows, seems most appropriate!) and then as we ventured further in it was like a magical land of fitness! There were rowing machines and strength machines and loose weights and even more treadmills and cross-trainers and every type of exercise bike you can imagine, including some with arm rests that I will be intrigued to try next time.
Please don't get me wrong here: the Yorkshireman and I are not gym bunnies in any way, shape or form. We do not have sculptured abs or flat stomachs (far from it indeed!) and our fitness levels are probably akin to someone in their 60s. With asthma. And sciatica. I also find exercise quite tedious and fail to understand why anyone would actually enjoy hurting themselves or getting out of breath. However I would quite like to be a bit healthier than my usual sickly self and, y'know, live for quite a long time to come and stuff. Popular medical opinion seems to suggest that exercise is required to achieve such goals and therefore is unfortunately a necessary evil. Realising this a couple of years ago, I decided to give our local Council gym a try and the Yorkshireman followed suit soon after when I came home declaring it "not that bad actually" in a surprised tone.
It was the first time either of us had ventured into such a place but we soon realised there was something about the gym that appealed to us both. Namely, our competitive natures. We didn't often compete against each other (because I would always lose and I am not a good loser... except for the leg press - I can out-leg-press any one of youse - bring it on!) but we're both sad individuals who like to compete against ourselves. Every visit we would try to burn more calories than last time, or run faster, or run for longer, or increase the weight, or crank up the level. It was a good challenge and sometimes was the only thing that kept me interested during the mundaneness of a 15-minute treadmill session.
The other thing that keeps me going is, of course, a good soundtrack. I mean, imagine jogging on a treadmill. Actually picture it in your mind - all the sensations you would experience, jogging along on the spot, your limbs gangling around, maybe struggling to keep up. Imagine the whirring noise of the belt beneath your feet and the sound of your own ragged breath. Imagine looking at a wall or at other gym equipment while you're running, the dreary scenery unchanging. Imagine looking down at the screen thinking "surely it must have been at least 10 minutes by now?" and realising it's been 2 minutes and 35 seconds and you have another 17 minutes and 25 seconds left. Yawn. It's all so bloody boring! But! Now imagine jogging along with the theme from Chariots of Fire playing loud in your ears:
You can feel the inspiration. You can almost imagine you're running, wild, young and free on a beach instead of on a machine in a room full of machines, going nowhere. The imagination is a powerful tool after all.
Personally any upbeat song will get me going, be it rocky or cheesy pop... even classical can get my blood pumping. I was practically doing jazz hands walking along through the City centre this evening listening to 'Maybe This Time' as sung by Kristin Chenoweth and Lea Michele in Glee. So some good music is an essential part of my workout routine. The only problem now is that I can't find my ye olde first generation iPod Shuffle from the last time I was at the gym about 700 years ago and so I fear that I may be musicless on my next trip to the gym! Woe and alas!
Still, it gives me a chance to work on an updated workout playlist. We No Speak Americano has to go on there, as do most of the Glee songs (shush, I am a Gleek and proud of it!) and the Avenue Q soundtrack. I'm only sorry that the festive season has now passed, as I quite fancy cross-training along to Marshmallow World or Dominick the Donkey, but there's always next year!
Further freezing temperatures are supposedly expected over the weekend, so I'm glad there's no match on at Seaview this weekend to shiver through. Instead I shall be staying in my fleecy jammies and watching Arsenal v Leeds (come on the Leeds!) in the FA Cup tomorrow afternoon and then baking a Victoria Sponge Cake - so pretty much my usual tomboy/girly-girl mixed up kind of weekend then!
The Yorkshireman and I may also return to our new gym sometime over the weekend. We've just joined Pure Gym, a 24/7 gym which has just opened its first Northern Irish branch in Belfast. We used to go to our local Council gym but the opening hours weren't really ideal for us, so it's quite exciting to think that we could now just pop down the road for a bit of a workout at 3am should we choose, although I must admit to preferring my bed at that time, whilst my naturally nocturnal husband would probably prefer watching a good NHL game and meandering through the Internet. Besides, we're reliant on public transport and unfortunately late night/early morning buses in the City are an area Translink could do with improving upon greatly! If you want to go anywhere between 11pm and 6am, you're kinda screwed.
We made our first visit to our new gym this evening to check out what we'd actually signed up for. I must admit I was quite cynical about the website's promise of over 170 pieces of equipment ("yeah, are you counting each dumbbell individually there by any chance?") but I was actually quite impressed. It really is a pretty big facility and they have loads of equipment, all new and shiny-looking. The first thing I saw when I entered was a veritable sea of treadmills (I wonder what a large group of treadmills should be called? A flock? A herd? A murder, like crows, seems most appropriate!) and then as we ventured further in it was like a magical land of fitness! There were rowing machines and strength machines and loose weights and even more treadmills and cross-trainers and every type of exercise bike you can imagine, including some with arm rests that I will be intrigued to try next time.
Please don't get me wrong here: the Yorkshireman and I are not gym bunnies in any way, shape or form. We do not have sculptured abs or flat stomachs (far from it indeed!) and our fitness levels are probably akin to someone in their 60s. With asthma. And sciatica. I also find exercise quite tedious and fail to understand why anyone would actually enjoy hurting themselves or getting out of breath. However I would quite like to be a bit healthier than my usual sickly self and, y'know, live for quite a long time to come and stuff. Popular medical opinion seems to suggest that exercise is required to achieve such goals and therefore is unfortunately a necessary evil. Realising this a couple of years ago, I decided to give our local Council gym a try and the Yorkshireman followed suit soon after when I came home declaring it "not that bad actually" in a surprised tone.
It was the first time either of us had ventured into such a place but we soon realised there was something about the gym that appealed to us both. Namely, our competitive natures. We didn't often compete against each other (because I would always lose and I am not a good loser... except for the leg press - I can out-leg-press any one of youse - bring it on!) but we're both sad individuals who like to compete against ourselves. Every visit we would try to burn more calories than last time, or run faster, or run for longer, or increase the weight, or crank up the level. It was a good challenge and sometimes was the only thing that kept me interested during the mundaneness of a 15-minute treadmill session.
The other thing that keeps me going is, of course, a good soundtrack. I mean, imagine jogging on a treadmill. Actually picture it in your mind - all the sensations you would experience, jogging along on the spot, your limbs gangling around, maybe struggling to keep up. Imagine the whirring noise of the belt beneath your feet and the sound of your own ragged breath. Imagine looking at a wall or at other gym equipment while you're running, the dreary scenery unchanging. Imagine looking down at the screen thinking "surely it must have been at least 10 minutes by now?" and realising it's been 2 minutes and 35 seconds and you have another 17 minutes and 25 seconds left. Yawn. It's all so bloody boring! But! Now imagine jogging along with the theme from Chariots of Fire playing loud in your ears:
You can feel the inspiration. You can almost imagine you're running, wild, young and free on a beach instead of on a machine in a room full of machines, going nowhere. The imagination is a powerful tool after all.
Personally any upbeat song will get me going, be it rocky or cheesy pop... even classical can get my blood pumping. I was practically doing jazz hands walking along through the City centre this evening listening to 'Maybe This Time' as sung by Kristin Chenoweth and Lea Michele in Glee. So some good music is an essential part of my workout routine. The only problem now is that I can't find my ye olde first generation iPod Shuffle from the last time I was at the gym about 700 years ago and so I fear that I may be musicless on my next trip to the gym! Woe and alas!
Still, it gives me a chance to work on an updated workout playlist. We No Speak Americano has to go on there, as do most of the Glee songs (shush, I am a Gleek and proud of it!) and the Avenue Q soundtrack. I'm only sorry that the festive season has now passed, as I quite fancy cross-training along to Marshmallow World or Dominick the Donkey, but there's always next year!
Tuesday, 4 January 2011
Take time to deliberate, but when the time for action has arrived, stop thinking and go in - Napoleon Bonaparte
Well here we are in 2011. Hope everyone had a lovely time in the festive season and has been enjoying our new year thus far. Preferably with water and without burst pipes.
2011 has been grand for me so far. Yesterday the Yorkshireman and I spent our bank holiday sleeping late and then firmly in denial that we would unfortunately yet inevitably have to return to work the next day. I finished my current book (Welcome to my World by Miranda Dickinson - not bad though a little predictable) and browsed the Interwebz for a nice off-peak summer holiday later in the year. The current favourite is Alcúdia, since the Yorkshireman has never been to the Balearic Islands, but it's open to change.
Then today it was back to porridge, trawling through unread emails and watching the clock for home-time. I hadn't held out much hope for lasting the whole day (only this morning my colleagues and I were musing about the merits of some kind of phased return system for coming back to work after a break and came out in unanimous favour) but somehow I even managed to make up a good 50 minutes of flexi time - a good start to the year. What has made it even better is the start of Season 9 of The Biggest Loser USA starting on LivingIt this evening - another of my not-so-secret shame reality TV shows! I had no idea it was starting until my very kind (and equally sad) mother just texted me. Excellent surprise!
My darling Yorkshireman has already ruminated upon the new year being a good opportunity to reflect, both on lessons learned during the last 12 months and also on any goals or ambitions you would like to fulfil in the coming year. I had already planned to do the same but don't worry, I'll keep it short and I'll refrain from any mention of reality TV shows!
2010...
What an interesting year, where I think my main focus has been on learning a lot:
Hopefully this will be another interesting year, for all the right reasons. I don't believe in new year resolutions on the principle that if you're truly ready, willing and able to do something, you should just go ahead and do it regardless of the date. That said, there are some things I would like to do this year. I'll keep most of them to myself, but the main principles are (in no particular order):
So here's to 2011... let's hope it's a good 'un!
2011 has been grand for me so far. Yesterday the Yorkshireman and I spent our bank holiday sleeping late and then firmly in denial that we would unfortunately yet inevitably have to return to work the next day. I finished my current book (Welcome to my World by Miranda Dickinson - not bad though a little predictable) and browsed the Interwebz for a nice off-peak summer holiday later in the year. The current favourite is Alcúdia, since the Yorkshireman has never been to the Balearic Islands, but it's open to change.
Then today it was back to porridge, trawling through unread emails and watching the clock for home-time. I hadn't held out much hope for lasting the whole day (only this morning my colleagues and I were musing about the merits of some kind of phased return system for coming back to work after a break and came out in unanimous favour) but somehow I even managed to make up a good 50 minutes of flexi time - a good start to the year. What has made it even better is the start of Season 9 of The Biggest Loser USA starting on LivingIt this evening - another of my not-so-secret shame reality TV shows! I had no idea it was starting until my very kind (and equally sad) mother just texted me. Excellent surprise!
My darling Yorkshireman has already ruminated upon the new year being a good opportunity to reflect, both on lessons learned during the last 12 months and also on any goals or ambitions you would like to fulfil in the coming year. I had already planned to do the same but don't worry, I'll keep it short and I'll refrain from any mention of reality TV shows!
2010...
What an interesting year, where I think my main focus has been on learning a lot:
- January... in which I learned that pneumonia fecking well hurts
- February... in which I learned that no matter how nice you are, some people are just pricks through and through
- March... in which I learned that I can be as stubborn as a mule if I feel strongly enough about something
- April... in which I learned that I can do things I never would have thought possible
- May... in which I learned that my fellow UK citizens are depressingly easily led by empty promises and plastic-looking men
- June... in which I learned that "perseverance is the hard work you do after you get tired of doing the hard work you already did" (Newt Gingrich)
- July... in which I learned that Command Strips are an amazing invention
- August... in which I learned that extra firm control underwear from Debenhams really is worth the money
- September... in which I learned that even the farthest-seeming finish line does eventually arrive
- October... in which I learned that even a rainy day in an English seaside resort can be fun with the right company
- November... in which I learned that there are many reasons why people really do ♥ New York
- December... in which I learned that happiness is wherever you're willing to look for it
Hopefully this will be another interesting year, for all the right reasons. I don't believe in new year resolutions on the principle that if you're truly ready, willing and able to do something, you should just go ahead and do it regardless of the date. That said, there are some things I would like to do this year. I'll keep most of them to myself, but the main principles are (in no particular order):
- To try and stop stressing out so much about things I can't actually do anything about (tricky for a worrier like myself)
- To seize every opportunity to do the things I really want to do (be it to relax with a book in a coffee shop or to visit somewhere new and exciting)
- To spend quality time with those I love and care about
So here's to 2011... let's hope it's a good 'un!
Thursday, 23 December 2010
Merry Christmas everyone!
Yep, I'm a tad early, I know. It's only Christmas Eve Eve, after all. However I'm disappearing off to the land of no Interwebz over Christmas (also known as the in-laws') and so my festive wishes must come early. I've packed my Miracle on 34th Street and White Christmas DVDs and my red glittery Christmas bauble earrings are waiting to be put on at silly o'clock tomorrow morning when we have to get up and start our journey. All that therefore remains is to wish everyone a very merry Christmas and a wonderful 2011. And now that's done, so I'm off to bed. Happy Christmas to all, and to all, a good night!
Monday, 20 December 2010
A holiday tradition
BACTERIUM 1: Hey, Martha?
BACTERIUM 2: Yes, Eric?
BACTERIUM 1: What's the date today?
BACTERIUM 2: Um, Friday 10th December. My my, where has the time gone?
BACTERIUM 1: I know, it has flown by! Of course you know what this means?
BACTERIUM 2: I do, but I must admit I do feel a bit guilty. Could we not wait until after Christmas this year? Give her a bit of a break for a change?
BACTERIUM 1: No, a tradition is a tradition, Martha.
BACTERIUM 2: Ok, ok. So, what's it to be this time, Eric? Sinusitis? UTI? Pneumonia?
BACTERIUM 1: Ah sure we can decide when we get there. But why limit ourselves to just the one? We should really spoil ourselves this time.
BACTERIUM 2: No problem Eric - just make sure you bring plenty of supplies - I'm planning on a long stay again this year and of course we're inviting the whole family too.
BACTERIUM 1: Ah yes, it will be a lovely big family Christmas. I can't wait. I do love the smell of infections in the winter... it smells like... victory...
BACTERIUM 2: Indeed. Of course it will be over all too soon.
BACTERIUM 1: Yes but then we will be visiting again in January anyway... and then there's our February break too. Don't worry, darling, we'll be infecting her for many, many winters to come.
BACTERIUM 2: You're right, dear. So what are we waiting for? You grab the resistance to first-line antibiotics and I'll go pack the fever and fatigue!
Friday, 17 December 2010
O Christmas tree, O Christmas tree, How shiny are your baubles.
You may have gathered that I quite like Christmas. Back near the start of November I felt like it was being forced upon me but since we returned from New York bearing adorable Christmas tree decorations at the end of the month I've been really getting into the festive spirit. I even have red glittery Christmas bauble earrings to prove it.
One of the highlights of the Christmas season, for me anyway, is to decorate the house for Christmas. When we were younger my sister and I spent a lot of time in our granny and granda's house and there would always be one Sunday near the start of December when my granny would declare that the decorations were going up. Her house was like Santa's grotto by the time it was finished - a real children's wonderland. There were a million Santas and navitity scenes and snowmen and snowglobes and (rather strangely) a set of plastic Snow White and the Seven Dwarves (always along the windowsill looking out into the street).
My granny passed away about ten years ago now and my granda hasn't really "done" Christmas ever since - it still makes me a little sad to walk past the house near Christmas and see the living room window all gloomy and stark instead of the warming flicker of an electric candlebra and Bashful, Grumpy, Doc et al. Don't get me wrong, it was all entirely over-the-top, but it felt like Christmas. However the torch has since been passed and my mother's house is now our family grotto, allbeit an entirely more tasteful one. It's hard not to relax into the glow of the blue fairy lights and the stares of the many Santas and snowmen adorning the hearth, enjoying that festive feeling.
As for my own house, well, the Yorkshireman and I like to create our own mini grotto too. We have our fair share of snowmen and Santas and electric window decorations to brighten up the place, not to mention some singing and dancing reindeer (complete with ringing bell!). The Yorkshireman is always calling for more festive bunting and in fact I think we have a paper-chain-making session ahead of us sometime soon, since he came home with some coloured card the other day. But for me the centrepiece of any grotto is the Christmas tree. It's such a weird idea - let's chop down a big green tree, drag it inside where it will surely drop its needles all over the place, and then cover it in shiny things until you can barely see it any more. However, props to Queen Victoria and Prince Albert for making them popular because I love 'em!
It's not just the twinkling fairy lights and the shiny tinsel and beads (although they are entirely fabulous), but I think the decorations on the tree add to its charms. Perhaps not if you've just bought baubles in bulk from Asda and are entirely dedicated to a colour theme, but if you go down the route of the little individual decorations that each hold a memory, a Christmas tree can really make you smile. Take ours for instance...
(NB: I'm going to attempt to use photos here - I am not a good photographer like the Yorkshireman and have no idea what a ISO setting is and tend to stick to the "auto" setting, so I can only apologise for what you get!)
The Tree
This is our lovely Christmas tree in all its festive glory: the decision to buy a pre-lit tree was perhaps one of my better ideas!
The New York decorations
The Starbucks red cup decoration I trawled half of Manhattan for.
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The shoe decoration I bought in Chelsea Market - good Crusaders colours!
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I was going to include a picture of the cute little snowman we bought at Tiffany's too but it turns out that amateur photography and transparent crystal decorations are not a match made in heaven, so you'll just have to use your imagination I'm afraid!
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The Honeymoon Decorations
We bought this gorgeous glass decoration in Mauritius when we went there on honeymoon last year. Getting it home in one piece was a challenge but it made it!
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There are two of these plastic glittery stars on our tree (if you can even pick it out against the tinsel). We know that they are the tackiest thing in all of Tackdom but that was their charm when we saw them in the giant 'Jumbo Score' hypermarket near Port Louis and they've been merrily shedding glitter on us ever since.
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The Just Getting Started Decorations
The Yorkshireman and I got our first flat together over in Yorkshire in mid-October about 6 years ago. He was still a student and I was working in a call centre so we were quite cash-poor at the time, especially after having to decorate and furnish the place from the carpets up. However my aunt very kindly showed up, like a Christmas fairy, about a month before Christmas and whisked us off to Morrisons and Woolworths' Big W to equip us with the seasonal basics, like a tree, some tinsel, some baubles and something for the top of the tree. We've never forgotten her generosity and in fact many of those first decorations are still with us...
... like the purple tinsel, the silver beads, the beautiful glass baubles and the little pink bells (that do indeed ring in a very festive manner!). I love putting all these up every year.
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And then there is of course the star on the top of the tree. The Yorkshireman is not a religious man and so a star was more fitting than an angel. This was our very first Christmas tree topper and, even though it's just plastic, I still love its simplicity and shininess!
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I remember, coming up to our second Christmas together, buying a set of 3 of these stained glass ornaments from a friend who was an Avon Lady and feeling so grown up to be buying beautiful and fragile glass decorations for my own Christmas tree. Somehow, despite the Yorkshireman and I each having a somewhat clumsy side, they have lasted 7 Christmases and about 3 house moves, including to another country. Bet I've jinxed myself now and I'll end up crushing one before the night is out somehow!
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I can't even really remember where we picked up the little set of wooden Christmas tree decorations but they seem to have been with us forever. They're so traditional they remind me of the wooden toys children used to get "back in the day" - you could just imagine Santa's elves making them in their workshop in the North Pole, so they always make me smile.
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We of course have loads more decorations and I do have memories attached to most of them - even the red and transparent glass Christmas tree decorations I bought in Ikea last year on a shopping trip with my mother! So for me our Christmas tree is more than just a colourful seasonal centrepiece - it genuinely makes me smile again and again and I look forward to adding more unique and special ornaments to it in future years to help me remember those times fondly too.
That said I'm currently sitting in my dark bedroom, looking out at the neighbours' Christmas decorations glowing in the snow instead, so I'm off to enjoy my own in the living room... there's only so much manic flashing of red 'Merry Christmas' signs a girl can take! Also the seven foot snowman the people across the road built today is freaking me out a little...
One of the highlights of the Christmas season, for me anyway, is to decorate the house for Christmas. When we were younger my sister and I spent a lot of time in our granny and granda's house and there would always be one Sunday near the start of December when my granny would declare that the decorations were going up. Her house was like Santa's grotto by the time it was finished - a real children's wonderland. There were a million Santas and navitity scenes and snowmen and snowglobes and (rather strangely) a set of plastic Snow White and the Seven Dwarves (always along the windowsill looking out into the street).
My granny passed away about ten years ago now and my granda hasn't really "done" Christmas ever since - it still makes me a little sad to walk past the house near Christmas and see the living room window all gloomy and stark instead of the warming flicker of an electric candlebra and Bashful, Grumpy, Doc et al. Don't get me wrong, it was all entirely over-the-top, but it felt like Christmas. However the torch has since been passed and my mother's house is now our family grotto, allbeit an entirely more tasteful one. It's hard not to relax into the glow of the blue fairy lights and the stares of the many Santas and snowmen adorning the hearth, enjoying that festive feeling.
As for my own house, well, the Yorkshireman and I like to create our own mini grotto too. We have our fair share of snowmen and Santas and electric window decorations to brighten up the place, not to mention some singing and dancing reindeer (complete with ringing bell!). The Yorkshireman is always calling for more festive bunting and in fact I think we have a paper-chain-making session ahead of us sometime soon, since he came home with some coloured card the other day. But for me the centrepiece of any grotto is the Christmas tree. It's such a weird idea - let's chop down a big green tree, drag it inside where it will surely drop its needles all over the place, and then cover it in shiny things until you can barely see it any more. However, props to Queen Victoria and Prince Albert for making them popular because I love 'em!
It's not just the twinkling fairy lights and the shiny tinsel and beads (although they are entirely fabulous), but I think the decorations on the tree add to its charms. Perhaps not if you've just bought baubles in bulk from Asda and are entirely dedicated to a colour theme, but if you go down the route of the little individual decorations that each hold a memory, a Christmas tree can really make you smile. Take ours for instance...
(NB: I'm going to attempt to use photos here - I am not a good photographer like the Yorkshireman and have no idea what a ISO setting is and tend to stick to the "auto" setting, so I can only apologise for what you get!)
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We of course have loads more decorations and I do have memories attached to most of them - even the red and transparent glass Christmas tree decorations I bought in Ikea last year on a shopping trip with my mother! So for me our Christmas tree is more than just a colourful seasonal centrepiece - it genuinely makes me smile again and again and I look forward to adding more unique and special ornaments to it in future years to help me remember those times fondly too.
That said I'm currently sitting in my dark bedroom, looking out at the neighbours' Christmas decorations glowing in the snow instead, so I'm off to enjoy my own in the living room... there's only so much manic flashing of red 'Merry Christmas' signs a girl can take! Also the seven foot snowman the people across the road built today is freaking me out a little...
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