The End of the Road

Today I took what was probably the last ride on my Norco hybrid bike. Despite the fact it has for the past five months been out of use and cluttering up the hallway of my flat so much it’s nearly made me and my boyfriend come to blows, I must admit I feel a certain sadness now the time to part is nearly upon us.

I’m neither a natural nor particularly keen cyclist, indeed the only reason that I bought the bike in the first place was because I was coerced (or was it me who did the coercing? I forget) into doing a sprint distance triathlon back in 2009. After the first sprint triathlon I did another, and last year I took on the Olympic distance. Throughout it all my trusty bike was on hand, taking me out training no matter what the weather was like outside. We had good times and we had bad times but we never gave up, and we chalked up some surprisingly impressive results over the course of those three races – results I will be proud to share with my children one day, ensuring its legacy lives on.

But since that last race back in September 2012 the bike has been in premature retirement, and spending some of the best years of its life languishing unwanted in a hallway just isn’t fair. We both need to accept that it’s time for us to move on with our lives, separately. I’m pleased to have found a good home for it with a friend who has also now committed to an Olympic triathlon next year – really, neither of us could ask for more.

And so with a heavy heart I bid my bike adieu, and wish it well for its future endeavours, whatever they might be. I’ve given it one final service and am handing it over with love. Bye, Norco, you’ve been great. Ride well and prosper.

Happy Birthday to my Spiritual Twin

Today is a very special person’s 27th birthday, and as I can’t think of a better way to mark this most auspicious of occasions (plus I’ve only just learned of the occasion and therefore haven’t time to do anything else), I thought a blog post in her honour might just fit the birthday bill. Because, you see, this person is special for a number of reasons, and one of those reasons is writing.

Allow me, if you will, the luxury of a nostalgic trip into the past – May 2011, to be precise, on a lazy backwater tour of Cochin in India. That day I met a girl called Jen who hailed from Brisbane and was five years my junior, and with whom I instantly got on. We were both travelling alone, and it was most enjoyable to share our experiences as our guide negotiated the labyrinthine maze of aquatic waterways.

As fate would have it when I arrived at the Sivananda ashram in southern Kerala a couple of days later who should be there but Jen? It turned out we had both booked onto the two week ‘yoga vacation,’ although it quickly became apparent this would be about as far removed from a holiday as could be. Five am starts, ‘karma yoga’ duties and four gruelling hours of yoga a day was an exhausting regime, and if Jen hadn’t been there to laugh with in the moments when it all got too much I’m not sure I’d have lasted the two weeks.

Fast forward to January 2013, by which time Jen had moved to New York after her travels to start a new life, and was making ends meet by waitressing, spending her free time working on her novel. When I sensed from her messages that she was feeling a little flat I felt a strong urge to visit her, and before I knew it April had come around and I was on my way to New York City.

The six days we spent together were amazing, especially considering we didn’t really know each other that well, and almost two years had passed since our last face to face meeting. We were laughing from the second Jen met me at the airport, and we didn’t stop until it was time to say goodbye. We walked sixty blocks in an afternoon, searched for mystical horses in Grand Central station, ate pizza, burgers and cupcakes like they were going out of fashion and painted New Jersey and downtown Manhattan entirely new shades of red. We also discovered a shared passion for cheese, and whiled away a perfect afternoon in Murray’s Cheese Bar over a bottle of quality red.

Leaving NYC was a wrench, because I knew I’d found in Jen something so very rare – a spiritual soul mate, if you believe in such a thing, someone who is so much like yourself you could actually be related. We both love to write, we’re both utterly neurotic (!) and we share an interest in spirituality.

Since New York we’ve kept in touch via a series of endlessly entertaining Whatsapp messages, which often leave me giggling aloud in public (not a good look). And now as Jen prepares to leave the city she has come to love for pastures new (Hawaii, as it happens – not a bad choice of destination), I find myself wishing I could join her on her next adventure, and in ways I can’t explain feeling that in some way I am.

So, on your 27th birthday, here’s to you, my Spiritual Twin. Thank you for the laughs your friendship over the past two and a half years has given me, and here’s to the future and all it brings. Remember that no decision we make is ever wrong – because each one gives us so much new material to enrich our writing and our lives. Love you x

Televisual Stimulation

Television addictions: We’ve all had them, right? Whether it’s historical programmes like Downton Abbey, murder mysteries like Broadchurch, supernatural thrillers like The Returned or epic fantasies like Game of Thrones, in the world of television series there really is something for everyone.

My current television addiction is Breaking Bad. As with previous TV obsessions – 24 and Lost being but two examples – I’m somewhat late to the party, only now reaching the final series when everyone else watched it several weeks ago. But irrespective of the timing, it’s true to say that once I’m into a programme it becomes an integral part of my life, and I can’t stop until it’s finished – simple as. That’s why I rarely, if ever, allow myself to watch more than one television series at a time. I learned from the first two series of 24 during my university years that it’s not socially acceptable to hole yourself up in your room for eight hours at a time and miss out on social engagements (most notably good friends’ birthday parties – but shhh, I didn’t admit to that) because you’re so desperate to find out what happens next in the programme you’re watching that real life pales into insignificance.

And yet there’s something deeply satisfying about following a programme you enjoy, watching the characters as they grow and develop and observing the plot as it twists and turns in exciting and hitherto unforeseen directions. It’s much the same as being absorbed in a good book – a form of escapism, entertainment at its best.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got episode eight of the final series to watch…

From Warehouse Project to Takeaway Project…

So, plans since yesterday’s post have changed somewhat considerably. Why? Because, thanks to the lurgy that’s been sweeping the office for the past few weeks, I’m feeling far too rough to make the journey to Manchester for an all-night clubbing extravaganza. This is very disappointing, not least because in cancelling I’ve lost somewhere in the region of £70, but also because the Warehouse Project is something I have wanted to attend since I first heard about it many years ago. I feel instinctively and with a heavy heart that particular ship has now sailed, but in life I guess you win some and you lose some, and as I win far more often than I lose I can’t complain. Still, it rankles that I’ve had to pull out and, in doing so, have turned my reputation on its head from party trooper to party pooper in one fell swoop.

On the plus side I no longer have to concern myself with running out of steam at 2am and spending three hours counting down the minutes to my return train. I have also just ordered an obscene amount of Chinese takeaway and bought a consolatory bottle of Beaujolais, so things could be infinitely worse…

Sensible / Silly Season

Loathe as I am to admit this, it seems that (perhaps unsurprisingly) my productivity levels sky rocket when I a) go to bed before 11pm and b) go to the gym before work. Today was quite simply exceptional; I ploughed through my work and personal to do lists, completing tasks I had been putting off because I hadn’t previously managed to find the energy to deal with them. I then came home and spent two and a half hours cleaning and tidying the flat from top to bottom before putting up the Christmas tree (fiddly decorations and all) and cooking a stir fry for dinner. Even now as I sit in my newly cleaned and decorated flat my energy levels haven’t dipped to where they would usually be at this time of night. In short, today has been a valuable lesson and one I must remember and make an effort to repeat more regularly.

But whilst another early night tonight and gym session tomorrow are most certainly scheduled into the diary, tomorrow night will be another matter entirely. Why? Because some months back four friends and I decided it would make perfect sense to purchase tickets to the famous Warehouse Project music event in Manchester and, to save ourselves money on accommodation, return to London on the first train on Saturday morning. What we may have failed to factor into that particular equation is that all of us, bar one, are now in our thirties, and not quite the spring chickens we were when we went all night clubbing in the halcyon days of our twenties. Not that we can’t still party with the best of them, but these days I struggle to stay up until the sunrise, let alone to stay up until the sunrise and then get a two hour train home. But hey, it’s Silly Season. Nights like tomorrow are the whole point, no?

Silent Disco at the Shard

Last night I went with three girl friends to a special silent disco event at the top of the Shard, organised by Time Out. I first discovered the silent disco concept several years ago in a south London club. The idea of everyone wearing headphones with the option of flicking between several different music channels seemed utterly ridiculous – and I loved it from the outset. Since then I’ve attended only a handful of similar events, most recently at London Zoo as part of its series of ‘Lates’ evening events. But whilst silent disco dancing near wild animals was fun, it was nowhere near comparable to doing it on the top three floors of the tallest building in Western Europe.

With its unobstructed 360 degree views across London, the View from the Shard is really something else. Not being a big fan of heights I wasn’t quite so taken with the outside viewing platform on the top floor, but in the two enclosed floors beneath I was in my element, switching between the three available music channels as I bopped away with the rest of the lucky few who had purchased tickets to the event. It really was a phenomenal experience, and one I doubt I will ever be fortunate enough to repeat. It’s nights like that which make seasoned Londoners like myself appreciate this magnificent city all over again – God bless London, and God bless the creators of the silent disco (the crazy bastards).

The Personal Touch

I’ve just got back into the office after an exciting awards ceremony that I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to disclose further information about until tomorrow – but suffice to say it’s very positive for the charity I work for and will hopefully provide us with leverage to a higher platform of media awareness.

It’s exhausting spending hours waxing lyrical about what your organisation does, but it’s also immensely satisfying, and it’s reminded me of the importance of establishing face to face contact with people instead of always relying on email introductions and social media to do the job. No form of online contact can ever match the effectiveness of face to face interaction, but sadly in our ever-more isolating technological world we are all too often resorting to anything but that mode of communication.

Much as I hate to wax lyrical about ‘when I was young’ (not least because it makes me feel, at the age of 32, positively ancient), there is a hugely notable difference between what it was like to be a teenager then and what it’s like now. I remember signing up to rudimentary chat rooms and carrying around a mobile phone the size of a brick solely to put my mother’s mind at rest, but back then Facebook was but a seed germinating in Mark Zuckerberg’s brilliant mind, and the concept of instant messaging my friends instead of calling their family homes to organise meeting up under Carfax Tower in Oxford on a Saturday afternoon was unthinkable.

Times have changed so much since my childhood and society is, as it always does, adapting. On the whole I am an advocate of social media (I use it enough in my personal life, how could I not be?), but today has reinforced the importance of occasionally reverting to more old fashioned methods. Embracing change is all well and good, but sometimes the old ways really are the best.

Santa’s little helper

After all the logistical challenges I faced in organising it, I’m delighted to report that yesterday’s festive lunch was an outright success – so much so, in fact, that I’d go so far as to say I’d consider doing it all over again next year. There was festive cheer in abundance (assisted in no small part by an impromptu appearance from Santa Claus and his talking Christmas tree assistant), the pub itself proved to be the perfect Christmassy venue and, despite the lack of turkey, the meal was nothing short of stupendous. All in all a fantastic way to kick start the festive season.

What I loved most of all about yesterday was looking around the room and seeing friends making new connections with people they hadn’t previously met, who I had deliberately sat them with because I had a feeling they would hit it off. It was lovely knowing I had played a part in bringing people together, and the smiles on everyone’s faces from the moment they arrived right up to the moment they left will stay with me for a long time to come.

I was also pleased with the reactions to the presents I selected for “Santa” to hand out – an assortment of retro toys I knew most people would remember from their childhoods, including whoopee cushions, rubix cubes, scented bubbles and slinky springs. One friend who works as a therapist with children was particularly pleased with her silly putty, which she said would be perfect to use in her therapy sessions. In short, I really couldn’t have asked for more. Ho, ho, ho!

Festive Fun

Several weeks ago, channelling my self-elected role of Chief Planner, I decided it might be nice to organise a festive meal for a group of friends in a central(ish) London pub. I created an online poll thinking the total number who would be keen to join might make it into the twenties if we were lucky…..and here we are, on the day itself with forty people confirmed and paid up for a three course meal in our own private dining room in Primrose Hill.

The planning process has not been without its hitches – the pub calling to say they had messed up and the festive menu would not actually be available this early being the main one (along with other minor irritations such as people dropping out, failing to read the instructions and paying the wrong amount of money into my account). I have also made things unnecessarily complicated for myself by deciding to purchase decorations and gifts for all the guests, but I hope they will add to the ambience and make it a fun afternoon.

In truth I’m not sure I’ll have the energy to do something this ambitious again, so I intend to get the most out of today and enjoy the fruits of my labour. Happy early Christmas to one and all-Ho Ho Ho.

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Oversensitivity

Today I’m musing on the concept of ‘over-sensitivity,’ after I posted a tweet saying I was feeling over-sensitive and one of my followers responded by saying she doesn’t like that term because she believes (and here I quote @emjs81 – hope she doesn’t mind!): “I think if something upsets us it’s because it’s real to us, and therefore somewhere someone’s been insensitive.” When I explained I sometimes take things more personally than they’re intended and then end up feeling I’ve overreacted her response was “that’s perfectly valid and to me an indicator that others need to get to know you better and be more sensitive.”  I think there is so much truth in this.

Normally I handle teasing pretty well – not least because I feel that I often court it with my too-frequent posting on social media and over-planning to the point of being anally retentive. I can take the odd joke at my expense but sometimes, for some reason, the joke will go too far and hit a nerve – and it’s at that point I start to feel paranoid and upset.

I think perhaps in recent weeks I’ve just been taking on too much and the strain is beginning to show. The thought of having a few days with nothing whatsoever to do is becoming increasingly more appealing (when isn’t it?!) – roll on Christmas…

As an aside, the Twitter exchange I’ve just mentioned is a perfect example of the positive side of social media – there’s nothing like an instant, free counsellor to help allay your worries and rationalise your behaviour and emotions – thanks @emjs81!