venting

the incompetence level of the service industry in london is astounding. they should receive a prize, really they should. because how it is that every single facet of the service industry, from utilities to telcos to deliveries, can reduce me to tears of frustration, i dont know. I really dont.

my potty mouth is off the scale today. sorry to the people who sit around me.

ribena berries do good.

so, a whole bottle of "really light" ribena only has 15 calories. this fact took me by utter surprise today. i mean, i also bought a teeny weeeeny bag of grapes, honestly no more than say 15 grapes, and that had 51 calories!

plus it tastes good. plus ribena berries are just so damn cute!

i'm drinking ribena forever!

old flames burn bright

when i was about ten, my parents would give us a dollar a week in pocket money. This dollar would stretch a long way back in the day. I'd usually hold my dollar close and eagerly await the short walk home after school, past a local corner store which sold unimaginable amounts of heavenly lollies. I'd be able to buy "twenty cents worth of mixed lollies please", and so the dollar would last me a whole week. Sometimes, instead of mixed lollies, i would buy twenty cents worth of musk bars, because not only were they pink, they were my favourite.

but i also learned the importance of saving at a young age, especially saving for something special, something expensive and something you would treasure for a long time to come. i had such a thing in mind. so i started saving my dollar every week, and for twenty weeks, i abstained from the lure of the lollies (and even musk bars), and saved my pennies.

after the twenty weeks, i asked my mother if i could change my twenty one dollar coins for a twenty dollar note. She didn't approve of what i wanted to spend my hard-saved money on. In fact i think she thought there could not be anything worse to spend my money on, but reluctantly, she gave in, probably because she knew that if she didnt, i would have gone and bought it anyway, with twenty one dollar coins.

so with my twenty dollar bill (how grown up I felt!), my mother took me to K-Mart, where I was about to purchase my very first, very special, cassette album. I went to the counter and asked politely if they had New Kids on the Block's album, Hangin' Tough. I was incredibly anxious about the whole process. What if they were sold out?? I had, afterall, been waiting twenty weeks. That's almost half a year! Plus my mother probably wasn't going to take me to another K-Mart.

The man went into a room behind the counter and after what seemed like an eternity, came back with a small plastic box, with the New Kids' picture on the front and oh yes, a cassette on the inside. I paid with my twenty dollar bill and could not wait to get home to listen to my very first, very own album.

i listened to the songs every spare minute of the day. As soon as i got home from school I would plonk myself down on the carpet, press play on my hand-me-down cassette player and sing and rehearse and by the end of the week, I knew every word to every song on the album, and i was day dreaming about growing up and marrying Jordan Knight.

time warp, almost two decades later to me, twenty-nine years of age.

So Jordan ended up marrying his high school sweet heart. They have two kids. Whatever. Fairytales are made for fairyland, I learned that one a couple of years ago after realising I wasn't going to grow up and marry Jordan Knight.

That minor blow to my ego was a little harsh, but it's ok, it didn't break my love for the New Kids. In fact last night, on a school night no less, I (with two dedicated girl friends in tow) went to their reunion concert in London, having been constantly paid out about it for the past month.

They were incredible. They were older, yes, but they were still them. Still the boys who stole my pre-teen heart all those years ago, still danced, still sung amazingly and if anything i think they've grown some much needed personality and facial hair since hitting puberty! I felt like I was twelve again, and the overwhelming memory of loving that album so incredibly, really made the show that much more special for me.

We danced and sang along and my heart melted just that little bit when Jordan sang "I'll be loving you forever"... because Jordan, I will love you forever!

Photos from the concert here.

Incidentally, gōng xĭ fā cái, happy chinese new year, and today also marks our one year anniversary in London!

being of the fairer gender

I find that some days i am utterly consumed with adoration for that certain somebody, that I am so engulfed with love that I can barely breathe and the mere thought of him brings a tear to my eye ~ happy tears for the sheer joy of being with him? Or perhaps sad tears for the unthinkable premise of ever being without him. Whatever it is, i sit at work like a giddy sixteen year old, whiling away the hours, and minutes and after an eternity, the seconds before I get to go home and burrow myself into his arms for a hug that renourishes me, physically, mentally and emotionally.

And then there are other days, where for no apparent reason whatsoever, i am just completely indifferent to this person. Seriously, completely casual. No mush, no nothing. I’d get home and go to the kitchen, go undress, shower, start cooking, all without a face to face greeting. That’s actually just downright rude of me, but on those days? It’s like “oh that person in the living room? Him? Yeh ok whatever.” It’s not even that he’s done something to aggravate me, it’s just me. It’s just me being female. or just me being me.

Oh man i can already feel the thoughts of any male person reading this post : “frickin women”.

I had one such day yesterday. Today is yet to be decided. Anyway don’t worry, I’ll soon be back to my usual huge-gumball-machine-of-love self, spitting out multicoloured miniature love balls all over the place *grin*

can he?

can he be the man, the president and the superhero that the world wants (needs) him to be?


yes he can!

shit ass host of the year

Welcoming us back from our Morocco/Milan trip were three of my most favourite people in the whole world – Mariano, Ita and Andrew. They’d arrived the day before and proceeded to freeze their little tooshes off in London’s subzero ‘big freeze’. I have to say, I win the SAHOTY award hands down. Shit Ass Host Of The Year. Of the frickin' millenium, more like. Not only was I sick the whole time they were here, I made them miss new years eve (they went out, but came home before midnight to count down with me – I know, I totally felt the love!) and then I made them sick too! To return my love, clearly.

I think the whole London trip was jinxed anyhow… Maz completely screwed up their hotel booking, Andrew lost his camera and after relying on the other camera for happy snaps, Ita accidentally deleted all of their photos! So really, it was like London didn’t exist. And me, I was totally not myself… I didn’t take a single photo! I know, can you believe it? I told you I was sick!!

On Monday 5 January, I sent them off at Heathrow, to begin their South American journey… they made their flight to Madrid, but then missed the connecting flight to Cuba. Doh.

I love them much. Can’t wait to see them in March.

In other news, after being sick for four weeks, today I feel mildly human. Touch wood.

an oldie but a goodie

some love for a friday afternoon... watch it, to the very end. makes me grin like a fool and want to bawl my eyes out, all at the same time, every time.



how cute is it that they drift apart and he reaches out for her again? awwww.. (and yes, I am assuming that it is he who reaches out for her, cos he just bloody well should!)

buon giorno milano

i was about to call this post bonjour milano, but i think i am getting my languages mixed up. oops! *grin*

anyway, after dusting off the dust (oh yes there was dust) from Morocco, we hit Milan enroute back home to London. By this stage I had well and truly contracted the virus which was to be with me for weeks to come (if i knew this back then, i might well have shot myself to spare me the misery) so i wasn't my perky self.

we did squeeze in a fair amount of touristing though, some shopping and lots of food.




















i didn't spend as much as i was prepared to. being the home of designer everything, if i'd seen a hangbag i loved in Milan, i would have snatched it right up. Too bad the one and only bag that stole my heart was circa €2,000 (or was it €3k? I've repressed the memory) and with the £ taking a pounding (don't mind the pun), it was just not within my measley budget.

I did however, get some Juicy Couture half price, so there was still something to smile about.

Some non-food photos here.

Note: the bag i fell in love with was as above, but a deep purple python leather. Orgasmic.

my new babies!

80, that's right 8-0. 80% off my new Karen Millen heels, from Harrods.

*i ♥ sales*

labelling bites

so last night i decided that i was going to start labelling my blog posts, for ease of reference for god knows who, cos i probably won't ever use it. anyway, starting was easy, but now i'm through labelling about 200 posts and with about 200 more to go, it's looking less appealing by the minute.

the upside was that while i was labelling, i watched The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. Unbelievable. Tear jerking (although, i might just have been pms-y). Must watch.

the big fat Morocco post

Christmas just gone was spent in probably the most unique way, compared to the other 28 Christmasses that i've had the pleasure of experiencing. Six of us packed our bags (strategically might I add, thanks to the one-bag-per-couple policy we enforced on ourselves) and headed for Morocco, which in my sheltered existence, i imagined to be like something out of Aladdin.

And I tell you what, I was not disappointed! A breakdown of our trip...

Brussels and our new love of Starbucks ~

Before we hit Moroccon soil, we initiated ourselves so somewhat of a getting to know you exercise ~ spending a night together in transit, stuck in Brussels Airport (a 24 hour Starbucks to be precise, thank God, and thou shalt vow never to sh*t on Starbucks again!). The overnighter could have been worse. We had a tennis ball (which believe me, can be entertaining), we played poker wagered by roses chocolates and we had cushy seats in Starbucks, which were a Godsend - just ask the other overnight drifters camping on the cold tile floors in various corners of the airport. So we survived it pretty well, and we were still friends. That's a good start if you ask me.

The travels ~

3.30am on Christmas eve we headed to Brussels Charleroi airport for our flight to Fes. We spent two days in Fes before once again, on Christmas night no less, subjecting ourselves to some kind of morbid torture and all six booked into a train car enroute to Marrakech on a journey which took 8 hours, but i think if we drove, it might have taken maybe 20 minutes. 30 tops. The car was either below freezing, or nauseatingly warm. We squeezed in and managed to all lie down; there were some head bumps, some shoulder bumps, even an ass bump or two, but the guys would never admit to it.

Eventually at 10am Boxing Day, we arrived safely in Marrakech... only to be met by our driver who insisted that yes all six of us (plus himself) can absolutely fit into one car by way of transfer to our Riad. So, 4 in the back, and me on Panu's lap up front, we went! And yes, we're all still very much alive!

The accommodation ~

I'm not even going to talk about the hotel in Fes. It was £30 a night. Period.

In Marrakech, we treated ourselves to the lovely L'Heure D'été. Hidden in a somewhat dark alley in the medina, this place was a slice of heaven. Tranquility oozed the moment you stepped in the front door, and the rooftop terrace i just want to bring home with me.












The food ~

Tagines. Couscous. I'm sorry, did you say you wanted something else? too bad, you ain't getting it.

I was absolutely brimming with excitement at our first meal, and so utterly disappointed that the cafe did not serve tagines. All i wanted was some traditional Moroccon food! Is that too much to ask? Well somebody heard my cry for help because for what felt like weeks afterwards, all we had were tagines. and couscous. and the occasional bean. Don't get me wrong, the food was incredible - the lamb so melt-in-your-mouth that it swallowed itself for you. But variety aint the spice of life over there. Be warned.











The old towns ~

i loved Morocco. i can't speak for anyone else in the group but the culture and the sheer different-ness of the place snuck into my heart. The old towns of both Fes and Marrakech (the former being my favourite as it was more traditional and less diluted by tourism), built with red clay and bustling with amazing culture in all its facets ~ the people, the food, the smells.

Second world as they are, it didn't feel as though the towns were impoverished. Activity and business flourished, but not in the sense of what we know as business. Up and down the narrow souk alleys, little Moroccon men in their funny pointy-headed outfits dragged their mules along, piled high with commercial goodies.

In Marrakech, whose heart lies in Jamaa el Fna, a big square in the centre of its old town, bubbles to life as the sun sets with literally hundreds of foodstall and buskers set up to entertain tourists as well as the locals until the small hours of the morning. The energy is seriously mesmerising.











My favourite ~

Whilst in Marrakech, we took a day trip out to the Atlas Mountains, riding on mules high into the mountainside, soaking in the breathtaking scenery and experiencing life first hand in a traditional Berber household.

Firstly, I loved my mule. He was awesome and brilliant at keeping me from falling down the steep cliffs. Secondly, I loved my guide, who was oh, maybe 9 years old. So cute.

and lastly, the trek was hands down the most amazing thing I have ever done. Imagine this: riding muleback through serious mountain terrain - not man made footpaths but rocks and cliffs, climbing precariously close to the edge. You look up and just there are the amazing snow capped mountains of North Africa. You look around and almost camouflaged against the mountainside are clay houses, a clay village in fact, housing the Berber people of Morocco who I mean seriously, I cannot even begin to grasp what their lives must be like. You're invited into a Berber house, you meet these people first hand, you drink their tea and shake their hands.. and still, not a clue, not a pathom as to how these people live. It is such a different life. The air is crisp high in the Atlas mountains, but it's not as cold as you expected. On the way back, 15 minutes from base, the mules are abandoned and your guide leads you by foot the rest of the way down. You climb down most of the time, I'm talking serious on your hands and knees stuff. You are guided by a small mountain waterfall, and taste its crispness. And eventually you're back at base.










that was my favourite memory of the trip.

I wanted to also blog about the most shocking moment of the trip, but refrained for fear of offending anyone. In a nutshell, enroute to the Atlas Mountains we were given 15 minutes in a local market, which sold you know, fruits, vegies, household items and so forth. We wandered into the butchers section of the markets and well, let's just say they just plain and simply chop the animals up there (unbled so there is serious amounts of blood everywhere) and here is a pile of goat heads, and there is a a pile of legs. Lots of blood. I have photos but I won't even think about posting them.

And that was Morocco. I loved it and will absolutely return to check out Casablanca and Tangier.

Some more pics here.

it's still 2008, right?

i have this inate ability to disappear from bloggersphere for random amounts of time, and suddenly return with numerous spurts of brainvomit. i think this is one of those cases because so much has occurred in the last three weeks worthy of bloggersphere-dom and i've barely just had the chance to re-assess and file my thoughts, ready for regurgitation.

first and foremost, a happiest new year to all of you! I hope you all had a fantastic mind-numbing new years eve, as all new years eves should be. Me, i'm still in 2008. Still vehemently in denial that new years ever did happen because to my conscious memory, it did not. I must have committed a most heinous crime against the allmighty God of new years because come the morning of 31 December, I was struck down bad with an insufferable case of the 24 hour tummy bug, rendering me more than useless and making very good friends with the porcelain bus.

i willed myself to go out, boy did i will myself. in a perpetually nauteous state, i showered and even washed my hair, i ate (and vomited), drank tea (and vomited) and incessantly insisted that yes i am ok to go out tonight. The clock struck 8pm and seeing that my willpower was certainly one to contend with, the allmighty God of new years decided to bring on the big guns. A tummy bug wasn't keeping her down, i curse thee with hives!

fuck me! out of no where, i broke into hives.. my neck, my arms, my forehead, it was pretty revolting actually so we won't dwell on the matter. I mean, really? I withstood the vomiting and I get hives?

i think the hives damaged my vanity moreso than anything, but it also made the constant vomiting that much harder to deal with. I caved, wrapped myself up in blankets, waved the others goodbye... and curled up for back to back episodes of Sex and the City instead.

and i was in bed by midnight... and no, new years did not happen. We're still in 2008, folks.