Category Archives: Real life

Slow walkers

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In a similar vein to yesterday’s post, on today’s commute I was musing on the personality traits of slow walkers. One might, upon initial consideration of this subsection of the population, assume they are more relaxed and happy-go-lucky individuals than the average population; those who feel no need to rush through life and instead take things at their own pace. Fast walkers, by contrast, could be perceived as more uptight, stressed out and highly strung, always rushing from place to place and chasing their tails to try and get things done in time. As someone with both feet firmly in the fast walking camp I can’t say I entirely disagree with the latter assertion. But a further theory I’d like to throw into the mix is that some (not all, as I grant you it’s unfair to label a whole group in the same way) slow walkers are actually a) inherently lazy, b) lacking in direction and purpose in their lives and c) wasting valuable hours just getting from A to B. Don’t get me wrong, walking can be a pleasurable pursuit in its own right when done on holiday in the Lake District (or similar), but what possesses people to walk at funeral procession speed when they are walking to the tube station after work will never, I’m afraid, make sense to me. And that, dear readers, is all I have to say on the matter.

Collision Course

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It has long interested me (yes, I really am this sad) that some people seem to instinctively know which way to move when you cross their path, whereas others appear to have no radar whatsoever to avoid bumping into other people. I’m intrigued to know whether those who correctly guess which way another person is going to move, thus moving in the opposite way to avoid a collision, are more intuitive individuals. Perhaps they are even more intelligent than those who repeatedly fail to judge others’ trajectories correctly. Or perhaps there is no rhyme nor reason whatsoever for this strange phenomenon and I should get a life.

Now you’ve read the necessary contextual preamble I’ll move onto the main point of this post. In order to ease the insufferable pain that is walking through the crowded streets of London Bridge after work I have today devised a game. Borne out of my interest in the behaviour of people whilst walking along a busy road, it’s a version of ‘Chicken’ whereby I walk straight at people and guess if they’ll get out of my way or not. The results of my first attempt are quite surprising. People who look like perfectly reasonable individuals are often woefully lacking in collision radars, whereas those at the scattier-looking end of the spectrum tend to be excellent crowd-dodgers. As social experiments go, this may not make it into a psychology journal, but it’s sure as hell going to improve my daily commute.

The Leader

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Today I’m going to write about the people I’ve encountered on my career trajectory who have made a lasting impact on my life. Those people may not know it but they have inspired me more than they could reasonably surmise. They don’t think they could lead an army into battle and yet they underestimate the force of enthusiasm that they leave in their wake. They have a ready army of soldiers that is beyond prepared to fight, a troop who feel the force for good far exceeds any argument for bad and who will not stop until their dream is realised in which ever form it takes. What they lack in confidence they make up for in realism and integrity, they will never lack in either of these qualities. The only thing they lack is faith in their abilities to succeed, to lead the pack in a direction that hitherto was unthought of. These people are traditional in their inauguration yet the juices of their conscience run clear. They are respected, revered, celebrated and distinguished. They will not cease in their pursuit of what is right, nor will they compromise the view that they have formed of the world in favour of a lesser view that is wrong. They will lead. They will succeed. They are the Leaders.

Duvet Day

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Whilst slobbing around for a whole day in pyjamas isn’t normally my style, from time to time it’s great to give in to temptation and settle down in front of the TV with a fry up and a box set of DVDs (or, in these technologically advanced times, a laptop streaming a series directly from the internet). It’s especially rewarding when the weather outside is foul (tick) and there’s just enough food in the fridge to get you through the day without having to leave the flat or order a takeaway (double tick). Also, given that NaNoWriMo month is fast approaching and this may be the last lazy Sunday this flat sees for some weeks, I feel all the more vindicated for having made this decision.

Duvet days are (I believe I’m correct in asserting) a primary feature of most people’s university experience. Later in life, therefore, it’s rather enjoyable, on the odd occasion, to cast off the shackles of civilised society and revert to eighteen year old type. Characterised by an outright refusal to get dressed and a tendency to eat vast quantities of food whilst watching back to back episodes of the same television programme, Duvet Days are the perfect tonic for the modern overworked and overstimulated mind. Want to eat ice cream in your pants and stare into space for a few hours, troubling your mind with nothing more taxing than what channel to watch and whether to opt for coffee or tea? Go ahead my friend, because a Duvet Day is YOUR opportunity to do just that without experiencing a single iota of guilt. Now, will somebody pass the remote?

The Magic

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I’ve just awoken from a lucid dream about one of the characters in the novel I’m planning to write for next month’s NaNoWriMo. The details I’ve been struggling to come up with when fully conscious presented themselves, as if by magic, when I was semi-conscious. Not only that, when I fully woke up and jumped out of bed to write those details down, the ‘twist’ in the plot I’ve been scratching around for over the past few days popped into my head, just like that. All of a sudden I am no longer ill at ease with my plot, but positively in love with it. There may still be (many) details to work out before I’m ready to start writing it in thirteen days, but instead of dreading it I now can’t wait to get cracking.

THIS feeling is what the writing process is all about, and it’s a feeling I haven’t had for a long time. Sometimes it’s such a battle just coming up with a plot, let alone developing the characters to bring that plot alive. And my inner critic doesn’t help, making constant digs about not being good enough. That’s why I love NaNoWriMo; because for one month every year I can commit to a writing programme so intense there is no time for introspection and self-criticism. It’s pedal to the metal all the way to the finish line, and whilst it’s not easy it is exhilarating. And that’s what makes it worth every minute.

nanowrimo

The seventh circle of (shopping) hell

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Oxford Circus on a Friday night is, one imagines, akin to being in the seventh circle of Hell. Just making it out of the tube station is a fight for survival, but once you hit the main concourse that’s when the struggle really begins. As you navigate the constant stream of dazed shoppers and excited tourists you find yourself sympathising for salmon in their battle to make it upstream. Everyone seems to be going in the opposite direction to you. In this no man’s land they are your enemies, yet when you scan their hostile faces you see your own plight reflected back at you as if in a mirror. Your bags become lead in your hands, your feet heavier still.

When the need to escape this throng of lemmings becomes overwhelming you duck into a department store, but after wandering amongst the over-painted perfume ladies their cloying scents make you heady and nauseous. You are losing focus and you know it. Panic bubbles furiously in the cauldron of your stomach. Beads of sweat nudge down your temples like a landslide. “Can I help you, Madam?” says a perfume lady. ‘Yes,’ you want to scream, ‘please help me! I’ve no idea what I’m doing here and I want so desperately to go home! And, while you’re at it, can you tell me why it’s so interminably hot in here?’ But of course you don’t say that. You just give her a strained smile, and beat as hasty a retreat to the exit as you can whilst maintaining the shred of dignity you still have left.

Gasping in the air outside the shop you scan the pavement for a break in the plasma flow of fellow humankind. When that break comes you run as fast as your heavy feet will carry you back to the tube, eschewing the advances of the Evening Standard seller as he tries to thrust a paper into your clammy hands. And within minutes you are cocooned in the carriage of the tube train, speeding away from the place that has tormented you, empty-handed but immeasurably relieved.

Defining Potential

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potential

 

Reading this article on the BBC News website today really struck a chord. Rumination is something I have always excelled in (shame I couldn’t have excelled in something more useful, like academia for example). Not to the point of falling into a depression, you understand, but often to the point of being paralysed by feelings of disappointment in myself – for not working harder, not being more assertive etc. (trust me, the list goes on and on).

In recent months and years, however, I have begun to develop a coping strategy in response to this. It’s gradually becoming easier to recognise when those familiar feelings of self-doubt are creeping up and to nip them in the bud. Perhaps this is a positive result of the ageing process (there have to be some, right?), whereby we come to know ourselves that little bit better as each year passes, so that over time we realise it’s not worth beating ourselves up for our failures, and is far better to just accept them and move on.

Instead of wallowing when we feel we have failed, we should celebrate when we have succeeded, because only then will we start to positively re-affirm who we are and what we can achieve. It makes me sad to see so many people failing to realise their potential in life – myself included. But what is ‘potential’ really? Maybe part of the problem is our definition of that word, and our perception of how much we are really capable of. If we were kinder to ourselves and other people perhaps it would be easier to put our failures behind us and stride into the future unencumbered?

Tips on Resolving Workplace Tension

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Given that most of us spend the majority of our week in the workplace, it’s inevitable that sometimes tensions will run high. The more pragmatic people in the office might find it easy to keep things professional rather than personal but, for many, keeping emotion out of the equation isn’t always easy.

The real danger lies not in feeling – or even expressing – that emotion, but in consigning it to record by writing it down in an email-and copying in every man and his dog to boot. What may start out as a small difference of opinion can rapidly escalate into a war of increasingly unpleasant words-at the end of which it could be your own head on the chopping block instead of the person with whom you are arguing your well considered (at least to your mind) point.

In a cyber war of attrition it’s easy to forget the person on the receiving end of your diatribe is actually just that-a person. In the heat of the moment it’s also easy to forget that as soon as you’ve hit send you’re rather likely to have to face that person on your way to the kitchen when you want to make a cuppa, which can make for an awkward encounter.

With the above in mind, here are some tips on avoiding unecessary escalation of arguments in the work place:

1. Speak face to face as soon as an issue arises
2. Don’t succumb to the temptation to copy in your boss, your boss’s boss and the boss’s daughter to try and accumulate allies-if it backfires the only one with egg on their face will be you
3. If someone is winding you up via email sit back (or better still, get up and walk away from your computer), take a deep breath and think long and hard before firing off a retaliatory message that you will regret
4. Be professional – even if someone else is being anything but. That, rather than getting overcome by emotion, is the best way to earn the respect and alliance of your colleagues.

I wish I could say I always practice what I preach, but in this case I’ve still got a long way to go…

The Power of Touch

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Everyone has a ‘thing’ that helps them to achieve ultimate relaxation. For some it might be listening to music, for others reading a book or meditating. Whilst I do love all those past times, my ‘thing’ would have to be, absolutely and unequivocally, massage. Why? Because not only does the feeling of another person’s fingers connecting with your skin feel toe-curlingly sensual, it’s also recognition that you need – and more importantly deserve – time out from your normal routine. It’s decadent, extravagant and too expensive (for most of us mere mortals) to be a regular occurrence, which makes it all the more enjoyable. As an ardent traveller it also takes me back to exotic places I’ve visited like Bali, conjuring up the many sights, sounds and smells I experienced there.

Today I had my first massage in a depressingly long time at the Tantalizing Spa in Pimlico. I’d bought it as a Wowcher deal last month for a paltry £14, so in truth I didn’t have the highest of hopes for its quality. How wrong I was. The spa doesn’t look much from the outside but the room I was led into was cosy and beautifully decorated. The massage table was so comfortable it felt like lying on a cloud. And the massage itself was just…Wow. This lady clearly knew her stuff, as an hour later her finger tips had melted my rubbish day away and left me feeling fantastic. I floated out of the salon and down the road to the tube station without once feeling the need to check my phone or my watch. I also noticed that my walking pace had slowed compared to normal, which for me is a sure sign relaxation has set in.

But the real treat came as I was heading for the door and my masseuse offered me a second massage for half the normal price if I came back within a month. With such positive benefits to both mind and body, it would have been rude to turn her down…

For Pauly xx

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Tomorrow is the funeral of the wonderful Paul Wickerson, who came into my life with his beautiful girlfriend Sarah eight weeks ago at the wedding of our mutual friends Harry and Emma, and who left it a mere two weeks after that.

I’m struggling to find the words to describe how I feel as I sit here and consider all that’s happened in the past few weeks. We only knew Paul for a weekend, and yet he has made a lasting impact on our lives. His gentleness of spirit and sense of fun were plain to see from our first meeting, and I’ll treasure the memory of the four of us spending several cycles in the Jacuzzi (naughty) before launching ourselves down the children’s water slide. I will also always remember the fry up Paul cooked for us before we left that sunny Sunday, sharing the food he’d brought as we hadn’t had the forethought to bring our own.

When I think of Paul it will always be in that beautiful five star lodge besides a lush green golf course, a big smile plastered on his face. And I, in turn, shall make sure I have a big smile plastered on mine.

I wish I could write more eloquently but my sadness prohibits me saying more. Instead I have taken the below picture, which I hope encapsulates Pauly’s love of fancy dress, fun and silliness. And I am posting the following poem which I read at my grandma’s funeral and which, whilst heartbreakingly sad, I believe with all my heart:

Do not stand at my grave and weep

I am not there; I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow,

I am the diamond glints on snow,

I am the sun on ripened grain,

I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the morning’s hush

I am the swift uplifting rush

Of quiet birds in circled flight

I am the soft stars that shine at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry,

I am not there; I did not die.

God bless Pauly. The world’s a less colourful place without you in it.