Bloody Brilliant

Let's get practical, practical.

2012-01-29T21:44:00.000Z

So, guys, I have some news: we found a house that we sort of love.

< cue squeeing >

During the viewing yesterday, I sent The Irishman a text that read "It's perfect". And we walked out and down the street and just looked at each other and knew we'd seen exactly what we were looking for.

< cue squeeing >

But this is just the beginning, fragile stages of this love affair. It's very very new, and there are so many things to consider, steps to undertake, and at any moment the whole thing could collapse (not the house of course!). So I need to get practical with all of you readers.

I'm learning that buying a house is a really sensitive process. I am experiencing untold financial transparency with The Irishman, both of our families, a mortgage broker, and a mortgage company. So many possibilities need to be considered, so many conversations need to be had, so many pros and cons to be weighed, and we're being as open as possible with everyone we know. But at the end of the day it is a Big Decision that The Irishman and I will be making together – and alone.

So I need to put up some boundaries on this here blog, to protect our relationship and sanity at this very exciting yet stressful time. I promise to give you a few exposé-type posts when (if!) we ever do actually complete a purchase and buy our house. But until then, I'll continue to update you on our search, let you know how things are going, but I can't give you the gory details. I'm pretty open on this blog, both about my identity and life, but the Internet is wide and purchasing property is risky and I just can't take too many risks with this type of decision. I hope you'll understand and respect this, and continue to follow our progress on the blog and Twitter. I'll try to give you as much as I can, stay as positive as I can, and still make the posts interesting and exciting. Please don't hate me when you see a few "Goddammit-I-really-wanted-that-house-and-we-just-got-gazumped-and-I-can't-stand-this-city!!!!" posts.

Phew, that's over with. Sorry for the formality, peeps.

Now, about this house. In short: 3 beds, in need of DIY, lovely old woman living there and needs to downsize, nice garden, and close to Stoke Newington Church Street. In short, perfect. I am on pins and needles waiting for tomorrow 9am to call the estate agent to schedule another viewing, as we want to check on a few details before considering making an offer. We're not sure it's "The One" but it's as close as I think we'll come to it. So one more look, and then we have to – literally – put our money where our mouths are.

< cue terror! >

Spotted: shopping guide to leafy greens

2012-01-28T16:27:00.002Z

Post-marathon running

2012-01-24T13:16:00.000Z

Editor's note: this post was brought to you by the gentle Twitter insistence of Jumped the Pond and A Hop, Skip and A Jump Over the Pond. Thanks for the idea, ladies!

So it's been exactly 105 days since I ran 26.2 miles. When you think about it like that, it actually wasn't very long ago. But it does feel like it was a lifetime ago, so I'm actually really glad that Anne and Ashley wanted to know what it's like to continue running after running a marathon.

To be honest, it's not much different. It's still the mental battle of getting out of a warm bed, into wick-away clothes that are never 100% comfortable nor smell 100% fresh, and forcing yourself to get out there and put one foot infront of the other. And breathing is still hard, and you still get cramps, and you still get blisters. But the one thing that has changed is my knowledge of what I can do, how far I can push myself. Crossing the 26.2 mile threshold makes you realize that the 3 mile lap "maintenance run" (what I like to call my daily distance) is NOTHING. It's a warm up. And there is NO EXCUSE for not doing it – even if it's hard.

Sometimes when I run, and I'm cranky and don't want to be doing it, I think about the marathon. I think about mile 20 when I really started to feel the distance. I visualize this one turn in the road where I simultaneously started to get sore but felt better because I actually knew where I was in Dublin, and therefore knew I could get to the end if for no other reason than I knew the route. And I think about how tired I was and how I pushed through and how I just need to PUSH THROUGH to FINISH 3 G-D'D MILES ALREADY. And I do. Basically, finishing a marathon has given me mental strength and given my brain a very accurate whip with which to smack my whining self when I err on the side of sloth.

Which I have, because since the marathon I haven't really run much at all. Post-marathon, I had a week off in Prague to recuperate. When I got back to London, I had to jump straight back into work for a few intense weeks and averaged only 2 runs per week throughout November/December. I also haven't really run farther than 4 miles. I need to break it open and do a 10k and then a 10 miler, but something is holding me back (besides my sloth); it's almost as if I achieved this wonderful accomplishment and I don't want to ruin it by trying to replicate it. But that is ridiculous, because every run is different; as a runner, every day you show up with whatever is going on in your body, your brain, and it's up to you to run it out on the track, make the run what you want it to be. So really, I just need to do it. There is no point in putting it off.

Beyond all of this zen thinking about running, though, I did pick up a few practical running pointers that worked for me. Hopefully they will be useful for all of you runners out there.

1. Arms at 90°
This is an interesting one because it is a subtle change that makes all the difference. I run like a boxer, arms up, pumping, but held close to the chest. I read an article about running form, which is basically minimizing extraneous movement that causes fatigue while maximizing essential movement. One of the easiest fixes is to maintain arms at 90° angles (rather than my 45° chicken angles) – it makes your arm pumping more efficient and therefore aids in your speed and cuts down on fatigue. It also helps you hold your back up straight and encourages you to drop your shoulders. It really works, and I think gives a side benefit of toning your triceps.

2. Shoulders down
Linked to above, but really important on its own. I have a tendency to hunch – while I'm knitting, while I'm typing, while I'm running when I get tired. And when I hunch, I get bad upper back/neck pains. But remembering to just lower the shoulders helps reset my whole upper body (I usually reset shoulders and take a deep breath, it's a yoga thing) and sort of center myself for continuing. It's a useful tactic for when you get out of breath (top of a hill) or lose your rhythm.

3. Breathe into cramps
Again, another yoga thing. But really, if you get a cramp, it helps to focus on where the pain is, and for a few breaths aim at breathing in and sending the air to the cramp. Cramps are just muscles that somehow have a little kink in them, and breathing into them is like gently working a knot out of thread. Also, I think this visualisation technique takes your mind off of the pain and surprise surprise 2 minutes later it's gone.

4. Continue yoga/aerobics/stretching
All of this talk of yoga brings me to the point that if you do any other sports (swimming, cycling, yoga, aerobics, whatever), you should continue it while running. I used Hal Higdon's training schedule, and he builds in cross-training days which a really key for strengthening your body beyond running. You don't realize how much strength your body needs in its core, its arms, and overall for successful running beyond just leg power. The more of a routine you maintain that you enjoy, the better your running will be. It will also prevent injury.

5. Cut your toenails
Seriously, I don't know how the second toenail on each foot fell off, but it did, and I can only imagine it was compression from my big toe and the nails being too long. But now I have little stubblies and I want them to grow back so I can get a pedicure. First world problems, I know, but seriously if you don't want to have your toenails turn purple and then fall off, keep them trimmed low.

6. You will gain weight
Marathon training keeps you running, and running keeps you eating, and even if you eat like a machine and never indulge in anything fattening, you will still gain weight. A friend of mine went up a trouser size; I felt like I was just a bit bigger overall. It's just a fact that you will build up muscle and muscle weighs more than fat. You'll also drink more water, eat more salt to replace minerals and fluids, and it all makes you bigger. I lost weight after the marathon, and got a lot of compliments on looking skinny about a month after the race - go figure.

7. Learn to use your butt
Hands down, your butt is the most important muscle when running. It powers you up hills, keeps you stable, and I like to think of it as your engine. So don't try to make it smaller – maximise its value! Seriously, when I go up a hill, I visualise my butt driving me up the hill rather than my legs pulling me. It's a subtle change but it means that I beat The Irishman up every hill no matter what. I actually speed up when I go up hills, rather than slow down, and it makes a big difference.

8. Stick to the training plan – all of it
One of the things I really regret about my marathon training was that I was a bit cocky in the beginning and skipped a few 2 and 3 mile runs. I figured, hey, I already run those distances, it won't matter. But it does, because the point is to gradually build up distance each week from a baseline running ability. So if you skip 2 miles here, 3 miles there and then your weekend long run distances increase, you will get injured like I did. In my next race, I will NOT be skipping ANY little distance runs. No sirree!

9. It's quantity not quality
Probably the only time someone will tell you this. But it's true. It's all about logging the distance. Even if it's the hardest run ever and you're going at a snail's pace. Even if you're lethargic and walk after every mile. EVEN IF YOU HAVE A HANGOVER. You have to log the miles, so you know what 8 miles versus 18 feels like, and you build up the confidence in your own ability.

10. Have fun
Seriously, I loved running the marathon. I loved the old ladies shouting my name, the kids giving me jelly babies, all of the drunk people in Halloween costumes cheering for me. I felt like I was running for all of them, because all of them were supporting me. It made every early Saturday training run worth it. Crossing the finish line was the anticlimax because it was the 4.5 hours of running to cheers of encouragement that really mattered the most.

Anyway, that's just my feelings on running. Everyone who runs a marathon experiences something uniquely different, so I can only encourage you to try it. I've had so many people tell me "OMG I could NEVER do that" but really, you can. Seriously. It's the ultimate battle of mind over matter, and if you're focused and confident enough, your mind will totally win and the matter will follow – for 26.2 miles.

Volunteering with The Ministry of Stories

2012-01-23T08:53:00.002Z

Behind this unassuming storefront on Hoxton Street Market lies a very exciting creative space for young writers. Run by a group of passionate volunteers, the Ministry of Stories was founded in 2010 by Nick Hornby, Lucy Macnab and Ben Payne with the simple mission of helping kids become better writers and learn more about writing and reading.

I first heard about Ministry of Stories through a graphic design blog as a case study by a local small creative studio; they had done all of the graphics for the Ministry of Stories and its Monster Supplies (the storefront, which allows it to be in a commercial property), and I fell in love with what MoS is trying to do in a still underserved community.

So last year I went for a mentor training session, a full day affair that ended with a CRB form I had to take away and fill out to ensure I wasn't a child molester, reference forms for current and past jobs, and a lot of excitement about working with kids and helping them learn to love writing.

And then, I didn't do anything with it. A friend of mine pointed out to me on Saturday night that I did go and leave my job and start a new one and then train for and run a marathon, so you know, I was busy. But I always felt bad about not following through, so earlier this year I logged on to the MoS and found an open Saturday drop in session (most of their activities are during the work week, in the middle of the day, which is really unfortunate for me) and just signed up.

This past Saturday was the day and it was fantastic. 1.5 hours with 30 8-13 year olds is quite challenging, but also really rewarding. About half way through, I found myself with a difficult student and was really proud that I could get her to concentrate on a task and help her get some meaning from the session. It was also really amazing to see the dedication and ambition of some of the older kids, who come weekly with stories they have been working on for a while – one girl is writing a detective novel about a private eye, while another boy is writing a novel about a child who works in a factory and grows up to be Prime Minister. I was really impressed by them and their enthusiasm and optimism.

I fairly sailed out of the Monster Shop that afternoon, and directly to a computer to sign up for another mentoring spot. My next session is in March and I can't wait – it really is one of the most enjoyable ways I've found to spend a Saturday morning.

Spotted: Fwd: No comment required.....

2012-01-22T20:46:00.002Z

The Irishman just sent me this. Sadly true sometimes.

The initial foray into house hunting in London

2012-01-17T14:47:00.000Z

This past weekend, The Irishman and I went for our first house viewing. !!!!

It came about like this:

Once we met with the mortgage broker who told us we could easily obtain (and afford) a mortgage loan in the area of £XXX,XXX (!!!!), we started scouring the internet for listings in our neighborhood and surrounding areas. We were pretty bummed, but not surprised, to learn that N1 is essentially out of our price bracket, especially the lovely Barnsbury Conservation area that I lust after so much (my walk to work is like a stroll through property porn, it really shouldn't be legal). So we started widening our search area and found that Stoke Newington, Islington's edgier, hippier, gayer, crunchier northern cousin, was actually much more affordable while still offering a lot of the amenities we desire – shops, cafes, restaurants, proximity to other cool neighborhoods, parks, and a good vibe. We found an intriguing listing after not much searching and decided, well, hell - no time like the present - and called to arrange a viewing.

Too bad that property was actually taken off the market, scheduled to possibly reappear in March, but the estate agents registered us and immediately started sending us emails of properties that suited our requirements. Those requirements are roughly:

- ideally a house, or a maisonette

- 2.5 or 3 bedrooms (The Irishman works from home most days now, so he needs an office in addition to us needing a spare room)

- 1.5 or 2 bathrooms

- outdoor space mandatory, garden preferred over terrace

- eat-in kitchen or open-plan kitchen/lounge

- ample storage (cupboards, cabinets, closets, etc)

- good light sources (windows)

And low and behold, an interesting property popped up in my inbox mid-way through last week and we got a viewing in the diary. We used it as an excuse to reacquaint ourselves with Stoke Newington overall, and decide whether it was a place we wanted to actually live.

The property itself was lovely, but not for us; we didn't like the layout of the interior and felt that it just wasn't workable for what we wanted. But the road was really pretty, the condition was excellent, and the garden was amazing. Also, the property was definitely owned by one of the former members of the one-hit wonders Cornershop – random!

So we left the viewing feeling like what we want is definitely achievable in our price range – whee!!! – and in that neighborhood.

Buoyed by what we saw, we strolled back in the direction of our current home, along Church Street; if you haven't ever been to Stokey, Church Street is the heart of the village full of cafés, shops, restaurants, and street life. It was buzzing on Saturday and full of people and dogs and with the sun shining it really convinced us that this would be a step up in terms of location rather than a compromise to leave Angel.

Next steps for us are to keep seeing properties: an estate agent told us that the national average is viewing 7 properties before putting in a offer. Simultaneously, we need to get back in touch with our mortgage broker to get what's called an AIP (agreement in principle). That basically means we have the confidence, and legal back up, to walk into an estate agent and make an offer on a house and know that we can get a mortgage to pay for it. It doesn't mean we're locked into using that bank or taking that mortgage, but it does give us a piece of paper that backs up our position.

And, I guess, we wait – with fingers crossed – for the right property to come available and the stars to align for us to see it, make an offer, and have it accepted. It sounds so straightforward, but I know it won't be; I know I will see a lot of houses before I find the "right" one and then it will be taken, or my offer won't be accepted, or it will all fall through... Sounds a bit like dating, no? Here's hoping that it doesn't take me as long to find the right house as it did for me to find the right (Irish) man!

Spotted: my new favorite store

2012-01-14T13:45:00.002Z

Spotted: Canal Impressions

2012-01-13T11:55:00.002Z

(see full image)

Regents Canal
Friday the 13th
London

The surge of inspiration in Kings Cross

2012-01-12T14:31:00.001Z

Image from Flickr courtesy of roeyahram

Many of you will know Kings Cross as most people do: a grubby train station with an overcrowded tube station attached next to the Eurostar terminal where trains take you to Paris. But Kings Cross is changing, fast. My office is in Kings Cross and while I still see a few of the prostitutes and drug addicts that once made the neighborhood infamous, the regeneration of the area is bringing so much more color and life to the area. Before working here, I lived around the corner (flat number 2 of 3 since living in London) and I've witnessed such a change in attitude, inhabitants, and atmosphere.

I had about a gazillion errands to run yesterday and skipped eating in my building's restaurant to use my lunch hour to hit a post office, Boots, and Tescos. On my way back to the office, I made a quick detour to grab a sandwich on the go in the St Pancras International terminal. This is actually a guilty pleasure of mine because nothing is more thrilling and inspiring than to stroll through that building pretending to be off on a glorious European weekend – I especially love the ceiling inside the terminal, so lofting and geometric! And there is a Le Pain Quotidien, which I associate much more with New York than Paris, and I was a little big homesick for New York yesterday so a baguette sandwich was more comforting than just lunch.

I took the canal route back to my office, which lead me up King's Boulevard – a brand new street with a brand new postcode of N1C. The Kings Cross development is so big that the city had to create a new postal code for it! I strolled up past Eat Street (sort of sad that I had a baguette in my hand and couldn't get any tacos), taking in the sight of the new Central St Martins art school building in a converted warehouse (so cool), and crossed over to The Guardian building to access the canal towpath back towards Caledonian Road.

And for my whole journey, my heart swelled with pride and love for all of the art students exploring and examining the world. They were all there, alone and in pairs or in small groups, with their cameras and their sketchbooks, their overpriced coffee cups and ridiculous quiffs, talking loudly and earnestly about their hopes, dreams, projects, loves, and everything in between. It took me back to my own formative years at Syracuse, floating around in my own gritty urban bubble of art and design, scheming, creating, exploring, and learning. It was such a precious and wonderful time in my life that to see it being played out again along the Regents Canal in London lifted my spirits and reminded me just why I have the job I have now, and how I got to be here.

They should name one of the new streets in the Kings Cross development Memory Lane, N1C.

The unknown expat dilemma

2012-01-10T10:40:00.001Z

I've written about this before, about how hard it is to be far away from your friends and miss out on their lives. This becomes especially important when they get married and start having kids – unless they live in a country adjacent to yours to where you can get decently cheap Ryanair flights.

The sad truth of it is that I have now tiered my friends. I'm not worried about writing this and posting it in the ether because I've told them all before. Basically, I have had to be coldly rational and mentally sub-divide my friends as follows:

- People who, if they get engaged and invite me to their wedding, receive a card

- People who, if they get engaged and invite me to their wedding, receive a card and gift

- People who, if they get engaged and invite me to their wedding receive me in person at their wedding

The number of people in each category diminishes the farther you go down the list.

I haven't done this out of cruelness, but out of necessity. I'm at the age where every day brings another Facebook relationship status change to "engaged" and a subsequent "if I invite you will you come" email. And I can't go, most of the time. Airfare has gotten so expensive, and hotels are so expensive, and it's not fair to The Irishman to have to use all of his money and all of his holiday days to jet over to America for my friends' weddings.

This is coming up because one of my friends is getting married in Florida in April. She is in the bottom tier, someone whose wedding I will not miss despite only having gotten engaged 6 weeks ago thus giving me 5 weeks notice (it's okay, she's ALWAYS late). But now my challenge is to decide whether to go to the wedding for the weekend, or morph it into a week's vacation in Florida. This is definitely a "first world problem" but one that is important - to me - as I'm trying to make it to see my friends get married on the beach without breaking the bank, and get the most value out of a 10 hour flight.

This is the sad reality of expat life: weighing the pros and cons of jetlag, hotels, and baggage fees just to share your friends' big moments. It's another sad reality that I desperately wish, at moments like this, that I traveled more for work so that I had more frequent flyer miles in the bank – even though business travel, especially the up-and-down- in-and-out-in-a-day type, is absolutely exhausting. But at least I could redeem some miles for an upgrade or something.

This part of expat life is not glamorous, nor is it exciting; it is exhausting and tedious and often heartbreaking. Yet had someone actually given me this heads up before I moved abroad, I'm not sure I would have taken it seriously. It's just one of the things you have to accept with the visa, like being called love all of the time and standing in long immigration lines.

Rolling in the (borrowed) deep

2012-01-06T12:53:00.002Z

£$£$£$£$£$£$£$£$£$£$£$£$£$£$£$£$£$£$£$£$£$£$£$£$£$£

Yesterday, The Irishman and I met with a mortgage broker.

< cue terrified expression >

I was simultaneously terrified and excited, and mostly curious about what the process would be like
and what we would end up with at the end.

Surprisingly, it wasn't so bad. The broker was recommended by a friend, and he was open and engaging and helpful in ways I hadn't expected – he not only told us what we could afford, but gave us tips on buying a house, how to deal with estate agents, and ways to maximize our investment. I left our session feeling more hopeful than not that we can buy a house this year if we find what we want.

And yes – we can afford a house. That was the best part of the session: finding out we can, with our available joint savings, afford a decent mortgage with manageable monthly payments.

I feel really adult about it all and the concept of actually owning property is now somewhat daunting. But The Irishman is gleeful and has created a very complicated spreadsheet of ingoings, outgoings, and plausible purchase situations. This weekend we are going to sit down and do the joint budget and discuss, in frank and open terms, what we each need/want in a house - our must-have, non-negotiables vs dream-house qualities. I expect tears, foot-stamps, and strong coffee.

Through this process, I've come to realize that THIS is what love is: not romantic gestures, not engagement rings or weddings, not fancy dates or snazzy holidays. Planning a joint life and property purchase is the ultimate relationship commitment.

Musing on resolving

2012-01-03T18:11:00.000Z

Happy 2012 everyone! I'm glad my first full day back in the UK dawned with torrential downpours and gale force winds. I'm trying to be positive here!

Last year, I made a big deal about my resolutions, even assessing my progress one month into the year. And you know what? I still sorta failed. I didn't keep up with my sketchbook (though I am loving Pinterest more and more), I'm still falling back on my overdraft, and guess what – today's weigh in pronounced me the exact same weight as I was this time last year. Blurgh.

When I was in the US, radio and TV shows kept spouting the same advice on how to stick to your resolutions. Hilariously, one of the tips was to start in March! But seriously, since I fail miserably every year, this year I've decided to rethink my approach to self improvement.

I spent a few days around New Years with one of my closest friends who has the enviable plan to quit her job and travel in Asia for 6 months. She's estimating that she and her hubs will be ready, financially and emotionally and practically, by Christmas time this year. I am putting it out there in the universe that I am jealous of her. Not in a "man I hate her" way but in more of a "God I wish I had that sort of goal/plan" way.

So my New Years resolution is to have my own plan.

It may, or may not, have been evident but 2011 wasn't exactly a great year. I accomplished a few things, like run a marathon and successfully transition to a new job, and spent another great year with The Irishman. But I'm still feeling unfulfilled. I'm dragging. I'm not achieving. And I hate that. So I need a plan to give me focus, give me ambition, help me find the inspiration I used to have on a daily basis. I'm not sure how it's going to happen but I need to do something.

One of the things I hope will help me create my plan is a Life List. Above-mentioned friend shared hers with me, and it is a delightful list of both aspirational things to aim for and achievable goals. I had started my life list earlier this year and only got to 7 things; hers is the full 100 and it made me think that yes, yes there are 100 things i want to do in my life and dammit I can do them!

So I'm going to write my life list. And I'm going to think really hard about what it is I want out of life: personally, professionally, lifestyle, location, attitude. This blog will come under review, my wardrobe will come under review, my savings will come under review, my spending, my eating – everything I spend time doing, thinking, feeling, I'm going to try to be more conscious about so that I don't feel like I'm frittering my life away.

This is going to be a slow burn, but hopefully this time next year will find me more sane, centred, and positive.

Cheers.

Heading home for the holidays

2011-12-23T09:33:00.000Z

And, we're off! Wrapping up a few loose ends this morning working from home and then we schlep to Heathrow on what is apparently one of the busiest air travel day of the year. Ugh. Of course, one of the "loose ends" is code for "packing." Luckily BA has a helpful guide for what you can and can't pack in your luggage: below is a screen grab of the essential information, which means I can go ahead and take those Christmas crackers home for the family – if I can fit them in the suitcase!

Good luck in traveling wherever you're going, and have an amazing holiday break with loved ones near and far.

Metal thieves

2011-12-21T14:48:00.000Z

In a sad and depressing sign of the times, the UK's burgeoning trade in stolen metal has reached its nadir with a Barbara Hepworth statue stolen out from Dulwich Park a few days ago.

Apparently commodity prices for industrial metals like copper and iron are soaring, giving petty thieves an incentive to steal metal from railroads, plaques from statues - basically, anything solid metal has a decent resale value and they're going after it. The Hepworth piece is just the worst – and most high profile – example of the crime. Police are cracking down on the crime, as it is not only just sad to see art being stolen but it's contributing to commuter train disruption and costing the country millions.

At this festive time of the year full of goodwill and cheer, this epidemic is making me despondent. Obviously because public art should be safe through a commonly accepted code of decency in society, but also because the economy is still so bad that more and more people are being driven to crime to try to make ends meet (I'm a fan of believing people are inherently good, and that motives for stealing a beautiful sculpture aren't purely mercenary).

Anyway. Here's to hoping this is the first and last of such crimes in the world, and that the thieves find some Christmas spirit in their hearts to return the sculpture to be restored.

My week in Doha

2011-12-20T13:52:00.088Z

So I'm back in the office, sitting at my desk, trying to get photos from 5 different places into one blog post. Apologies for the weird posting!

Anyway, here it is - a week in the Middle East, working, exploring, and trying to understand this fascinating region.

It started with a flight mid-day last Saturday, which I started with a glass of bubbly. Underneath the glass was a bottle holder for my water. I was served a 4 course meal and my seat had massage settings that I used for the majority of the flight in a state of semi-consciousness. Brilliant. Ryanair this was not, and I am now dreading my flight to America on Friday in row 7,000 of BA economy class. Bleurgh.

Part of my job in Qatar involved visiting museums, and this is by far one of the most amazing museums I've ever visited. Designed by I.M. Pei, the Museum of Islamic Art sits on reclaimed land in the middle of the bay. It is absolutely beautiful from the outside...

And seriously stunning on the inside. This view is looking up to the skylight in the middle of the building's roof.

We also visited the New Old Souk, or Souq Waqif. As with everything in Doha, it was rebuilt recently ("restored") so it is not the original structure. But you can still get spices, animals, and clothing in addition to touristy tat.

We also went to one of the ginormous malls in the city; we were invited to a very swank opening while we were there that was being attended by the Emir and his royal entourage so we had to spruce up the gladrags. It's a good thing that Zara was there, with a very similar pricing structure to that of the UK. But the mall was something straight out of Vegas - complete with a river and gondolier that would take you from one of the mall to the other.

So that was an experience.

But mostly I spent my days calling our driver, waiting for our driver, or being driven somewhere – usually to meetings or important sites that our client recommended we see. No one walks in Doha, so even if your destination is literally around the corner you wait for a driver to take you. Our driver was lovely, a man we called Mr. B, and we found out a little bit about him - a Nepalese immigrant working there for a few years to make some money.

That's another hard realization: everyone there is an immigrant. Qatar is a small nation, with a relatively low population of native citizens. Everyone else is either a Western expat there to work, or an Asian immigrant there to work. And te servent culture in the Middle East is strong. So many times I wanted to say "that's okay, I don't need you to bow/call me m'am/explain the difference between the 9 steak knives you have for me to choose from" (seriously). But when you're a guest in someone's country, you have to live as they do to some extent and effusive service is the easiest to accept.

The team that I traveled with to Doha was an all-woman project team. That's not unusual in my industry, but before leaving we did have a few people raise their eyebrows about it with regards to the region. Qatar is part of the GCC and one of our clients explained to us that all member states of the GCC have adopted similar dress codes for their citizens including the white thobe for men and the black abaya for women. Apparently abayas used to be bright and colourful, kind of like saris, but now they are black and somber in a Iranian Shia tradition. Women wear these in public, with their face either exposed, half veiled, or fully veiled. It is difficult to be a Western woman, dressed conservatively, but still feeling exposed when sitting in a room with women half veiled. It's the most awkward and self-conscious feeling you could ever have.

Beyond these cultural differences, Doha is experiencing an extreme transformation. The entire city is under construction, and the skyline you see today wasn't there 15 years ago. Everywhere there is something being built, and the ambition and energy were palpable. I've never witnessed a city with such a drive towards progress; everyone there was there for the single reason of contributing to the future of Qatar. It was inspirational, to be honest, and made me think that the Gulf is someplace to watch in the future – sort of like India, it is a region where the youth are organising themselves into a new generation with a lot of things they want to achieve. Returning to London felt like going back in time to an older world that maybe hasn't quite kept up with the economic / political times. I think that we will hear more about the transformation in that region over the next decade, and it will be more positive and exciting than not.

Hello from Doha

2011-12-12T16:00:00.000Z

Masa El Khair! It is nearly 7pm and I'm about to dash off for dinner but I thought I'd say hi. I've been desperately wanting to post a few pictures but my iPhone is on the fritz and keeps continuously turning itself on and off – so the thought of me uploading some photographs is but a pipe dream.

Anyway, Doha is a) sandy, b) on a beautiful blue sea bay, c) under constant construction, d) fascinating, e) repeat all of the above. I'm overwhelmed by the cultural nuances that continuously emerge throughout the course of a day and two days in, I am curious as to what will come next.

Hopefully I can share some photos soon and there will be a good long post about women coming up, both specifically in the Middle East and internationally in general, as well as just a fuller update. But until then, work calls so Ma'assalama!

One more big push until Christmas

2011-12-08T10:51:00.000Z

So it is Christmas and London is decorated, Angel is decorated, my office is decorated, but my house is not. Why? Because of course, as per usual, the marketing industry is trying to earn every last cent of revenue for the year and get as much done as possible before 2011 comes to a close. In my case, that means heading off to Qatar for a week on Saturday to kick off a project we've been waiting to do since June. WHERE you ask? I had the same question myself.

View Larger Map

Qatar is a tiny little kingdom near the UAE and alongside Saudi Arabia. My project there is confidential, but essentially we will be helping to define the nation's cultural legacy. No pressure then.

So I'm giving up my weekend and all of next week to immerse myself in Qatari culture and business. I'm already facing challenges as I begin to think about what to pack! Qatar, like most Gulf states, has a completely different attitude towards women and how they should dress, act, etc. As a Westerner entering their culture, it's on me to conform and not to challenge their societal norms (even if they are at odds with my own culture). I found this really helpful post on Lonely Planet, written by an Arab woman, outlining how to dress and act in business situations, but I still feel a bit anxious. I think that until I get there, see the lay of the land, it will all be very up in the air and slightly stressful. But that's okay - the whole reason for me moving abroad was for the challenge and excitement of doing new things, widening my experiences, and this is penultimate! Especially since I get to fly Business Class roundtrip - my first time ever!!! SO THRILLED.

I'll try to blog here and there while I'm in Doha and I get a minute spare, even if it's just some photos. I'm back next Friday evening and go straight to my Christmas party, after which I will just be SO READY for Christmas and going home to the US it won't even be funny.

Deck the Halls

2011-12-06T14:14:00.001Z

Over the past few weeks, I've been loving Christmas in London. Here's a selection of my favorite shots from across the city.

Oxford Street

Liberty's Christmas Shop

Carnaby Street

Burlington Arcade

Fortnum & Mason

My office!

Chapel Down Winery

2011-11-28T20:09:00.000Z

As you may have read, my parents visited me over the Thanksgiving weekend. One of their entertainment requests was a day out of London, and they've already hit many of the easy-to-reach tourist spots (Stratford-upon-Avon, Stonehenge, Oxford, etc). I had a think and remembered a friend of mine had recently visited Chapel Down Winery with her husband and a few other friends, and highly recommended it as a day out. So I booked us a tour and lunch reservations at the restaurant on the site, and Saturday morning we met at Charing Cross station to board a train out to Kent.

The closest train station to the winery is at the village of Headcorn. As we had over an hour before our tour time, we took the opportunity to explore the little town. That's my parents, above, in a lovely wooden bus shelter. It's a really cute town, with a high street decorated for Christmas and an ancient churchyard surrounded by Tudor homes.

There was also a Christmas craft fair in the town hall, which we naturally had to visit. My mother bought up a few souvenirs while The Irishman and I had some really nice homemade sausage rolls. Then we jumped in a cab for a 20 minute drive to Chapel Down.

The tour is approximately an hour and 45 minutes long, including a tasting. We saw two of the different vineyards with two separate types of vines, and the guide explained the growing and harvesting processes. We then went into the barns to learn how they actually make the wine.

Because the best English wines are actually sparkling wines, the guide spent the most time explaining the techniques they use to for creating fizz. Chapel Down uses the traditional French technique << champagnoise >> that involves a long process of turning the bottles to ensure that the yeast in the wine fully aerates the liquid. It's a fascinating process that was once done by hand but now is mechanized – which is still pretty cool to see. Below are some bottles of sparkling rosé in the midst of the turning, with the yeast by-product in the neck. It's pink, because it's ros

And here are some bottles of sparkling rosé ready to be finished.

Of course the tour ended with a tasting; the whites, rosé, and sparkling wines are amazing while the reds still need some work. The soil and temperature of Southeast England just don't allow for the maturing of the grape that will get a really rich, bold, deep red wine; hopefully they can move to making a more Beaujolais-style wine that will take advantage of the lack of intensity. At any rate, we picked up a bottle of their Bacchus Reserve white wine to have with Vietnamese food on Kingsland Road. Score!

Lunch in the restaurant was delicious, accompanied by more Chapel Down wine. We left the vineyard sated and content, having enjoyed the brisk country air and some really wonderful local products. Our cab back to the train station took us through the nearby little town of Tenterden, and had we been more energetic it would have been nice to walk off the meal looking into the shop windows. But at that point, we were all nearly asleep anyway. Oh well – just another reason to go back for another visit.

If you go:

Trains run direct to Headcorn from Charing Cross station; journey time is approximately an hour and train fare is around £18 per person. National Express has a great deal where if four adults travel together on a same-day return train ticket, you only pay for 2 people's tickets – essentially, it's 50% off. Taxis from Headcorn to Chapel Down are around £25 each way, and there is a taxi office at Headcorn station. Vineyard tours are £8 per person, but the grounds are open to the public and you can go for walks around the park regardless of whether you take the tour or not. The restaurant has an a la carte menu as well as a set menu for lunch – 2 courses for £13.95 or 3 courses for £15.95 which is excellent value for some really great food.

I lied.

2011-11-25T11:38:00.002Z

I missed Thanksgiving yesterday.

Lunch was amazeballs, my parents are in fine fettle, and we had a lovely meal last night. But Facebook tortured me this morning with photo after photo after post of meals, families, smiles. Yes I had all of those, BUT IT WASN'T THE SAME.

So sue me: I wanted to slave over a bird in the oven. Now I know for next year.

Obligatory Expat Thanksgiving Post That's Really About Christmas

2011-11-22T10:37:00.001Z

Photo courtesy of Flickr by Paparutzl

This week is a holiday week in America. If I were still living there, today would probably be my last day of work. Or I might "work" tomorrow and scoot out after lunch to catch a train back to my parents.

But I don't live in America and I'm not going home to America this year, and I'm okay with all of this. I chose not to live there, and, while I miss my family and my friends, I don't really miss the food. I actually hate sweet potatoes and yams, so that's a win, and now that I can get Libby's canned pumpkin here (I worked out that I paid $2.25 per can for the pleasure of it, but hey, imports are expensive) I've gotten pretty good at replicating my Mom's pumpkin chocolate chip cookies.

I usually don't get worked up about missing holidays because I live far away, but this year I have an extra reason for being less than sad: my parents are arriving tomorrow evening for a long weekend of non-traditional Thanksgiving-ness.

My office has a restaurant headed up by a chef trained at The Wolseley, and he is cooking us all Thanksgiving lunch on Thursday. My parents will come for lunch in the midst of their museum-ing, and that evening we will go to the holiday shopping evening at my favorite local store Aria before dinner at Trullo. Friday we will see a show in the evening, and Saturday we will head down to Kent for a tour of Chapel Down Winery.

But the real focus of their visit will be to see London all dressed up for the holidays. Sunday will be devoted to visiting everything in London that screams Christmas: Fortnum & Masons, Regents Street, John Lewis, and of course Liberty. I'm gutted that the Christmas Past exhibit won't be open at the Geoffyre Museum while they're here - I'll just have to go to that myself. It's almost as if we as a family have decided to skip the Thanksgiving holiday and just run straight on to December.

I'm okay with that. As a kid, I never really liked Thanksgiving (no presents!) and as an expat I've been delighted to find myself obsessed with Christmas the way only a child can be. It's the way people here get excited for the holiday, the way it saturates the whole country (no multicultural/multireligious politically correctness here!), the way that there are Christmas cooking shows on TV, the way the country shuts down on the 23rd (except for the airports unless it snows/ices/squalls/etc), the way the Queen addresses the country and wishes everyone well. If Thanksgiving is a family holiday about love and thankfulness in America, Christmas is a holiday about love and unity in the UK - one big boozy knees up and bear hug to see out the end of the year.

So I'm glad to not be making a fuss about Thanksgiving this year; I am glad to be embracing the Christmas season early, kicking it off with a bang, with the people I love the most. Little Brother - can you join us last minute to make the weekend complete?

What else I've been up to

2011-11-17T15:36:00.001Z

In the lead up to the marathon, I wasn't drinking and I was staying in most Friday nights and all work and no play made me a very dull girl. So I had to find something to occupy myself when I wasn't running, and I turned to my other favorite sport: knitting.

I found a pattern for a replica of The Dude's sweater from The Big Lebowski on Crafty Crafty, and jokingly sent it on to my little brother who simultaneously worships The Dude while trying to recreate his lifestyle. He also hates when I knit him stuff. So imagine my surprise when he responded saying "MAKE ME THIS FOR CHRISTMAS OR MY BIRTHDAY".

Cut to me in the midst of knitting my first full-size human garment beyond a scarf, as well as my first fair-isle knitting piece. This is unchartered territory people. The image above (crappy, I know, sorry for the bad lighting) shows the back – I took it to show my mother and get her opinion on some pattern irregularities due to me knitting two colors of yarn together. I've since fixed them as she gave me a tip on avoiding this pesky hole that appears between 2 colors when you create straight line. Anyway.

At this point I've finished the back and half of one of the front panels. I am confident I can get the pieces done before Christmas and when I get home to the US can do the making it up and finishing details. But the nerd has to also supply me with a measurement of his arms as he has seriously the longest arms of any human I know so I need to knit accordingly. The Irishman is grumbling about being a knitting widow but frankly I think he's just jealous as he has also refused me knitting him apparel in the past – maybe this project will be the one that changes his mind.

Prague

2011-11-12T15:58:00.000Z

Prague is one of those places in the world that I have a created for myself a wildly romantic notion about what it should be: cold, cloudy, atmospheric, full of cobbled streets and small dark bars with crackling fireplaces. A city where you spend time walking and thinking, growing colder with every step and revelation, then warming yourself up with mulled wine in a comfortable chair in a sparkling café.

What I found when I got there was not much different, as illustrated by my photo of Charles Bridge above, but was also much more complicated than my easy, self absorbed fantasy. I have a very long Polish surname with many consonants including 2 Z's, and the Czech immigration officer took one look at it and immediately demanded whether I was Polish, if my parents were Polish, just how Polish was I? And I thought "Shit. I have no idea what to say. Do the Czechs even LIKE the Poles? Is this an ISSUE?" I cleared immigration just fine, but from that moment I was acutely aware that this holiday was different from my previous ones; for the first time I was visiting a country and culture of which I had absolutely no prior knowledge or understanding.

But that didn't stop me from enjoying myself; I merely just went straight to our hotel in the Mala Strana neighborhood and read up on Czech history on Wikipedia. And then I went on to indulge myself in everything I dreamt Prague would be: beer, meat, dumplings, and cake. Oh, and beautiful architecture and design.

If you're really into architecture, Prague is the place for it. There is a beautiful and intriguing mix of ancient structures, Baroque monuments, and modern interventions that all come together to create a really fascinating cityscape. Highlights were the main square, with the astrological clock, and the Frank Gehry "Fred and Ginger" Dancing House building (above). We also took the subway out to the Zizkov TelevisionTower to see the panaroma of the city from what felt like a throwback to Soviet-era tourist attractions. It also reminded me of the old Tomorrow-Land at Disney World, the one that was made in the 1960s. Unfortunately the day we went a fog was settling over the city and we couldn't see very far, but I still thought it was amazing to go up the fast elevators and look out over Prague from up high.

Overall, Prague is definitely a city that has realized that tourism will lift it into the global economy. After our first full day, we actively sought to avoid the Old Town and stay on the left side of the river or in the New Town. I really found myself wanting know how native citizens lived, what they saw on a daily basis, and what Czech culture really was about beyond beer and castles.

But that doesn't mean we didn't do touristy things. This is me in an alcove on the stairway up to the castle.

In the cathedral within the castle walls, I saw this AMAZING stained glass window by Mucha.

And after the castle, we went to a brewery in a monastery overlooking the city.

That made us very happy.

We also ate quite a lot of meat, and drank quite a lot of beer. We also found a wine bar that served only Czech wines, which were surprisingly good. Below is our favorite beer hall, basically a hipster beer hall with very cool backlit carved walls, called Lokal.

And here is the Irishman in "our" wine bar, enjoying a nice glass of white.

On the day we left, the sun made an appearance and burnt off the haze. So we took what seemed like a rare opportunity to see the city in the sunshine.

But to be honest, we sort of preferred the overcast skies to the sun; clouds seemed to fit the character of the city and especially the cuisine. I seriously wonder whether people eat all of that meat and all of those dumplings at the height of summer – and if so, how do they manage it?!

Overall, we really enjoyed Prague; it is beautiful and the perfect city for low-key exploration. Four days was the perfect amount to get a feel for the city and find your favorite haunts without getting bored. It was also great for post-marathon recovery; with everything in short walkable distances, we were able to stretch our legs without overdoing it. We ended up, after all of the sightseeing and wandering, enjoying spending time together in cafés most; despite the omnipresent smoking in all establishments, we appreciated being able to relax, graze a bit, drink a bit, read a bit, and generally just hang out without being rushed. It was difficult to be in a country where I only knew how to say "Hello" and "Thank you", so The Irishman and I instituted a new rule: every time we go to a place where we don't know the language, we have to learn 10 useful phrases before we go. I guess that's our end sort of learning from Prague: there are vacations, and then there is going to a new place to learn about that place, and sometimes you have to accept that one is not the other. So for me, Prague was a vacation and a very lovely, restful, and atmospheric one at that.

If you go:

Flights are available on a few airlines; as we flew from Dublin, we took Aer Lingus there and used BA Airmiles on the return to Heathrow. In terms of hotels, we stayed at the hotel At The Three Storks in the Mala Strana district. It was nice – clean, affordable, helpful staff, great location – but frankly it was disappointing in the way that only design hotels that go wrong can. I'd say, if you want a basic hotel that's cheap and well located, this is your place but if you want more style or luxury, look elsewhere. The Czech Republic is in the EU but hasn't adopted the Euro; currently, the Czech crown exchanges at roughly 27kc = £1 and a cup of coffee is about 50kc, a beer was 75kc.

Marathon, one week on...

2011-11-08T20:57:00.002Z

There was request for some bling... here you go!

I also have a link to some really hideous "official" marathon photos that I really didn't want to share as I look like a running oompa loompa, so please use your imagination.

It's been over a week since the marathon and I've had a tough reentry to the working world. Two long days already at the office have precluded me from lacing up the runners again, but I did get to a yoga class this evening. It felt really good to stretch everything out, though I did find that I still have some latent soreness and stiffness deep down in my quads and hamstrings. I also think I'm going to lose the second toenail on each foot as well; they are both a purple and looking a bit wonky...

So how does it feel to be a marathon runner? Pretty awesome, to be honest. I got a round of applause at my office's weekly Monday morning meeting and that felt really great. I feel like I have more inner confidence and strength; I find myself straightening up a lot more, giving myself more pep talks, reminding myself that I achieved this incredible feat.

And I have to keep reminding myself, because the other thing is that it feels like it never happened. Sometimes I mentally review each mile from the race so that I don't forget what it was like to complete a marathon. If I don't, all I remember is this glow of finishing – which isn't such a bad memory, but I am worried it might cloud my judgement if I decide to do another marathon!

Which is the final outcome: I am definitely going to run another marathon. Not tomorrow, not this year or next year. But I would love to run New York or London, and to improve my time. It is such an amazing confidence boost and surreal experience that I know I will have to relive it (once I've fully recovered).

Dobre den!

2011-11-03T17:18:00.001Z

The Irishman and I are in Prague for a long weekend to relax and recover from the marathon. We flew in yesterday and leave Sunday, so until then have a lovely weekend. More marathon highlights and a full Prague debrief next week when I return xx

4:33:42

2011-11-01T10:45:00.002Z

Of pain...
Of anger...
Of sweat...
Of tears...
Of glucose in various forms...
Of snot...
Of cheers...
Of little kids holding out their hands for high-fives...
Of intermittent downpours...
Of hills...
Of Dubliners in Halloween costumes...
Of water intake...
Of blisters...
Of counting the miles...
Of watching the pace runner balloons...
Of readjusting my hairband...
Of questioning what the hell I was doing...
Of making pacts with myself to make it to certain targets...
Of wishing for the finish line...
Of determination.

I still can't quite believe I did it. It was an amazing experience that shocked me by showing me just how strong I am mentally and physically. I totally agree with people who say it is a mental achievement, because though various parts of my body ached at various times in the race, it was mental fortitude that kept me moving. I just knew that if I did stop, I wouldn't start again and I had to make it to the end. Unfortunately The Irishman suffered a cramp in his calf that really slowed him down, and he urged me to go on without him; this was the scariest part as I hadn't ever run that far on my own. But I found it in me to just keep running and even found some sort of latent energy (I credit my larger than normal butt for holding this reservoir) to actually speed up at the end. I sprinted across the finish line in some sort of ethereal state of contentedness, despite being soaked to the bone, satisfied that I had given it my best.

Last night, after warming up with a cup of tea and a bath, I still felt that calm sort of invincibility. Today, my knees and legs feel like they've aged about 35 years in 24 hours and my arms have an odd soreness in the triceps from me pumping them to keep momentum. The slight cold i had earlier in the weekend has firmly taken root in my chest, leaving me sniffling incessantly. But I still feel amazing. I assume this is what childbirth is like - intense pain for an extended period of time that results in you feeling so powerful that you forget just what the pain was like. In any case, I'm hoping the euphoria lasts a bit longer so that I can kick this cold and enjoy the feeling of being part of 1% of the world's population: a marathon runner.

Times up

2011-10-30T20:59:00.001Z

The marathon is in 12 hours.

Today The Irishman and I woke up refreshed after an extra hour of sleep and did our last training run, a light 4.5 km jog down to the east pier in Dun Laoghaire and back.

Then we drove the race route to get a good sense of the terrain and elevation. Unfortunately that made me even more nervous than not. Quite a lot of the race from miles 6-15 have minor inclines that, while inconsequential in a car, are going to be killer on foot. It took quite a bit longer than we thought, and we gave up after mile 20 and headed off for food. We didn't get out to Avoca in the end, but enjoyed a nice pasta dish in Dalkey.

Now we've completed our preparations: our race numbers are pinned on our tops, our gels are attached to our bottoms, our race bags are packed, and I've got the jitters. My sore throat has slowly progressed to a runny nose and slight cough. I'm hoping this is mostly nerves and hypochondria, but who knows. As long as I can breathe, I should be okay but I really just want to be able to DO IT.

Anyway, this is it, isn't it? Now I just need to get on and do it. No more preparations possible, really. Although The Irishman just reminded me that I need to poop tonight. Thanks, dear.

Thank you all for all of the on-going support and care you've shown me through this process. If you are keen and want to watch the run, RTE (www.rte.ie) is televising the race from 9am tomorrow. I'll let you know how I go as soon as I can. Hugs xx

(Editors note: I'm using the Blogger app and it's rubbish. You can't add hyperlinks, do any text editing like italics or bold, or put pictures where we want. Anyway, sorry for the crude posting this weekend.)

Race Pack Pickup

2011-10-29T17:24:00.001+01:00

After sleeping until 11:30 today, The Irishman and I fetched our race packs at the RDS Center, which was also hosting the Over 50s Show and The Ideal Homes Show. So after €6 to park, we entered the hall to find the smell of pasta in the air and lots of eager/nervous runners milling around browsing Power Bars.

After picking up our gear, we drove down to Superquinns and got lots of food. Here's our eating plan:

Today:
- Breakfast: porridge, OJ, coffee
- Lunch: sandwiches at M&S
- Dinner: Thai-style chicken with chilies over brown rice with steam veggies

Tomorrow:
- Breakfast: porridge, OJ, coffee
- Lunch: sandwich out somewhere, depending on what we are up to (possibly going to Avoca Cafe!)
- Dinner: whole wheat pasta with a tomato, bacon, onion (amatriciana) sauce

Race Day:
- Toast, OJ, bananas

And of course, hydrating - constantly.

Wouldn't you know that I woke up with a sore throat this morning so I picked up some cold medicine as well and am embracing serious resting. I'm lying on the sofa, watching Ghostbusters. I may also have eaten a donut. Oops.

In Dublin

2011-10-29T00:21:00.001+01:00

Just a quick post to let you all know I've arrived in Dublin and am safely tucked up in The Irishman's family home, about to pass out. I would have posted earlier, but I got a bit tied up at work this week - in Switzerland!

I found out Wednesday that I had to make an impromptu client meeting in Zurich today, which meant flying out Thursday night and doing 8 hours of client work today before flying to Dublin. And as there were no direct flights from Zurich to the Dub, it also meant a high intensity, stressful, anxiety-laden cab ride from London City Airport to Stansted Airport so I could make my Ryanair flight. Luckily the gods were all with me: we landed early at City, immigration moved quickly, there was relatively zero traffic getting out of London, and Stansted was virtually deserted - I walked straight up to the Ryanair desk for my passport check, no queues!

As you can imagine, I'm absolutely knackered, so there will be more updates tomorrow. Our marathon adventure kicks in tomorrow with a trip to pick up our race numbers and to Ireland's version of Waitrose / Wegmans for carb-loading supplies. Eeps! Better rest up!!

The only thing that could stop me from running the marathon? Flash floods.

2011-10-25T15:33:00.000+01:00

Newsflash: Dublin has been experiencing severe rainfall over the last 48 hours, leading to flash flooding across the city. News reports state that Dublin had a month's worth of rain in 24 hours and the city is in a state of emergency. The video above shows one of the city's biggest malls flood with water through seams in the glass walls, and BBC reports show a bus filling with water as it drives down a city street.

Well, hell, people. Only an act of god could prevent me from running this race and here we have it. There aren't any reports of cancellations or changes yet, but I suspect we'll hear more by the end of the week when the city dries out. I can only hope that if the race does happen, we don't have to run through rain like that!

We're thinking of you, Dub.

One week to go

2011-10-24T20:32:00.001+01:00

So, one week from now I will have finished running my first marathon. Shit, people. It's really going to happen.

This past weekend was all about prep. Yesterday The Irishman and I ironed letters on our race tops (for all of you designers out there, it's a very fun kerning exercise and let me tell you how the last E of my name will forever haunt me, having slipped up a few millimeters when I set them. I can't even look at it) and bought our race gels. We planned out our pre-race nutrition and carb loading schedule. And we ran together, sort of: because my injury, The Irishman and I haven't been on the same running plan since the end of September. He ran 18 and 20 miles on his own, while I stretched it out in the gym doing my physio exercises, and has been tapering down the mileage for the last few weeks. I, on the other hand, am still ramping up the mileage since I effectively lost a month of training. So Saturday I had to face my longest distance run on my own.

I was supposed to run 29 km / 18 miles, and The Irishman joined me for the first 8k – out Regents Canal east to Victoria Park for one – and I continued on by myself. I had my iPod and my running mix, I had my gels, and I had my water, and I was confident. I really did wish for The Irishman to be with me, but I also realized that I had to prove this to myself that I could do this by myself. What if (god forbid, knock on wood, etc) The Irishman got sick? Or injured? I told myself that I had to know I was able to do this on my own.

So I ran. And I felt GOOD. I totally experienced that moment of bliss where my body felt like a machine, moving smoothly without effort. I was wearing the GPS watch (which I hate) and it beeped away merrily telling me I was going at a lovely pace of 6:00, 6:09, 6:15, 6:22 km. I didn't get lost as I passed the Olympic site and headed down to Limehouse Basin. I got past 21 km and I told myself "8 km, I know this distance, I can do this." I took a water/gel walk break for a minute, and kept on going. And then I met the phenomenon called "The Wall" and experienced the first moment in my training when I just couldn't go on. It was frightening, humbling, and mortifying as my body systematically just stopped working. I made a pact with myself that I would make it to the bottom of this hill that leads to my street, and from that moment my brain could only focus on waiting for my designated stop point to appear.

In the end, I only managed 27.58 km / 17.13 miles and felt ashamed that I couldn't push myself that last mile; when I walked through the door, I burst into tears and told The Irishman that I didn't think I could do it. But he told me that he felt the exact same way at the end of both his 18 and 20 mile runs, and we made a pact that no matter what we would stick together for the marathon and make sure we both finished. So even though I proved to myself that yes I can run the long distances on my own, I am very happy and reassured to know that I have my man with me to support me in going the distance next week. Besides, he's the reason I'm in this mess in the first place!

Countdown

2011-10-20T16:09:00.003+01:00

5 MORE RUNS.

Commence freakout.

Update: Ryan Gosling loves Hey Girl

2011-10-19T10:19:00.001+01:00

My colleague who also shares the love for Ryan Gosling, and found him reading out some Hey Girl (F*ck Yeah Ryan Gosling, not the feminist ones) quotes. Swoon, regardless. Enjoy.

Time out for Ryan Gosling

2011-10-18T15:30:00.003+01:00

Image courtesy of Feminist Ryan Gosling

Due to my even more bruised ego (see earlier post), I'm taking a break from my "running only" posts to share my new favorite blog with you all: Feminist Ryan Gosling.

What could be better than hot Ryan Gosling + feminist theory? Only Ryan Gosling + feminist theory + a pug.

Subscribe to the feed, and enjoy.

Blood, sweat, and tears

2011-10-18T11:11:00.000+01:00

I contemplated taking photos of my wounds for you, but I decided I wanted to keep you as readers.

So, it's finally happened: I fell running on Saturday.

I know these things happen all of the time, even to people like Paula Radcliffe, but you do sort of think "really, I am 30 years old, I can put one foot infront of the other even at high speeds." I mean, how hard can it be? And then it happens and you're so shocked and all you can do is cry.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. The Irishman and I went running Saturday morning, a light 13 miler; I wanted to take it easy and flex my lower shins. It was really more of a test to see how my leg would hold up. It was going really well, though; nice and easy pace, beautiful weather. We were doing a new route west along Regent's Canal – through Camden Lock, past Regent's Park to the south, through Little Venice out to Kensal Rise and back. I've run most of this towpath before, but only in sections, never together, and I encountered one part that literally tripped me up.

Right before the Little Venice area, there is a section of canal that is sometimes locked – it is a permanent boat mooring and the residents have some cool little art installations. They also have electricity supply points at the edge of the canal. These electricity points have cables that run to the side of the towpath which aren't buried but covered with concrete, resulting in a series of about 15-20 low-rise hurdles we had to clear. I've found a picture of the offending obstacles.

Image courtesy of Towpath Treks

See that white horizontal strip on the right, leading up to the red things? That's the jump. And you can see many of them moving up along the path. Anyway.

I had passed what I thought was the last of the bollards and was taking a drink from my water bottle, and trying to close the top when all of a sudden I found myself on the ground on all fours. Stunned, I sat down and just started sobbing. I think I said something to the effect of "I don't want to run the marathon" in between all of the tears. The Irishman got me up and moved me to a bench, and poured water over my wounds to clear away the dirt. When I calmed down, I had 2 skinned knees, a broken thumbnail on my left hand, deep scratches on my knuckles on my left hand, and deep wounds on the palms of both hands.

Eventually I got up and calmed down and got my breath back (you can't imagine how hard it is to run when you're crying, your throat closes up and you can't breathe and it's just a nightmare), and I continued on the run. We finished 13 miles with me much worse for wear, as not only was I bleeding but I also have some serious bruises on my knees and hands below the scrapes.

A lot of Neosporin and Band-Aids later, I am feeling better about this whole running thing but at that moment I really hated it. I have 5 more runs to do after today before I run The Race, and I need to restore my love of the effort in order to reap the reward. But Saturday I was so not interested AT ALL. My only consolation is that "this happens to everyone" and it really does.

There's no good time to run a marathon.

2011-10-13T11:51:00.000+01:00

It's getting cold here in London, and worse than the cold is the rapidly shortening days. Barely light when I wake up, it starts getting dark around 6 and it's pitch black by the time I'm heading out for my evening run. I'm finding it hard to motivate myself, either to run or to go to the gym to do my physio stretches. How quickly the tables turn... just a month ago I was gagging to go running, and now I'm finding it hard not to flop on the sofa for the evening.

I was thinking this morning how I really should have entered a marathon at a different point in the year to make the training easier. But I came to the conclusion that really, there is no good time to train to run 26.2 miles. Here's why.

Most training programmes are 18 weeks long. It makes sense, as you're really only supposed to increase your mileage by 10% per week or else risk injury (ie, my earlier post). It takes you that long just to get up to those longer distances which are important for physical endurance but probably more for mental reassurance that you can actually do it. But there are only 52 weeks in a year, which means that marathon training will typically take up over 1/3rd of a year. That's a big commitment.

As well as the time and energy, 1/3rd of the year naturally spans more than one season and can even go on to span 3 seasons. So you may start your marathon training at the beginning of the summer (like I did) and then go on finish it right before winter hits. The Irishman ran the London marathon a few years ago and started his training right after Christmas, which meant for a large amount of time he was running through the snow. While London has more temperate climate than, say, America's Northeast, it's still no fun training during extreme temperatures or in the dark at 4pm. And if you enter a marathon to take advantage of a good training period, you run the risk of actually running in 90 deg F weather.

So basically, the entire marathon process, when you really think about it, is absurd. Why am I even doing this? WHY HAVE I GIVEN UP MY ENTIRE SUMMER OF DRINKING ROSÉ IN PUB GARDENS TO RUN LONG DISTANCES, GET INJURED, AND SPEND £100 ON PHYSIO IN ORDER TO BE FIT ENOUGH TO DO THIS RACE?

I need to eat a cookie to feel better. I'll run it off later.

Editors note: running posts only for a while

2011-10-10T13:23:00.000+01:00

Photo from Flickr courtesy of Cuegalos

Well, it was bound to happen: this blog is officially, temporarily, going to only be about running for a while. It's exactly 3 weeks until the marathon and the highlights of this past weekend was buying a new sports bra (it was 25% off!) and doing an 8 mile run at my marathon pace. Big doings, folks. I can only imagine that the next few weeks will be more of the same.

I hope you'll stick with me through the next 3 weeks, if only so that you can be rewarded by lovely Prague photos and tips. I promise that come November there will be nary a post about running. Until then, maybe you will be inspired to run as well? If so, GREAT! If not, I don't blame you. It's a masochistic sport.

Either way you roll - runner or not, reader or not - I hope you enjoy the autumnal season. Go gourd shopping with a vengeance and get some Indian corn to hang on your door, and enjoy the end of the golden sunshine while crunching on leaves.

PS Why do I always find pictures of runners on the beach? I NEVER run on the beach!

Can a girl survive with only 4 pairs of shoes? The answer is, apparently, yes.

2011-10-05T14:55:00.001+01:00

Mojito shoe by Julian Hakes from Dezeen

I love shoes. I love them with all of my soul. I own many pairs. Truth: I don't know how many pairs I actually own. The Irishman will say here "too many" and I will disagree. A lady can never have too many shoes.

Or can she?

Ever since The Incident, aka my injury, I've restrained myself from wearing heels. We all know and disregard the fact that high heels are really bad for your joints and overall locomotion, but in this case since I really want to run this marathon I figured it was best to just lay off the stilettos until after the race. But that left me with the following footwear options:
- Marimekko Converse low tops
- Liberty print Nike high tops
- black ballet flats
- boat shoes

And you know what? It's been okay.

I mean, don't doubt that there haven't been moments that I didn't wish to reach for my snakeskin peep toes. Or my taupe platform stilettos. Or my black heeled ankle boots. But I've been good. And my outfits haven't really been compromised. Sure my legs would have looked longer with a bit of height but in this case, my running dreams were more important than impressing my colleagues.

So I'm feeling quite smug about this feat (pun absolutely intended!) at the moment, but seriously? I cannot WAIT to raid my own shoe cupboard the minute I can walk properly again after the marathon. I think it might feel a little bit like Christmas Day without the looming credit card bills.

Back on track

2011-10-04T15:03:00.004+01:00

A little overexposed photography to prove to you all how London has returned to its regularly scheduled weather programming. It's still warmer than average but the breeze carries a chill and when I woke up this morning I had to close the windows (after admiring the scent of woodsmoke). We're supposed to get down into single-digits-Celsius by the end of the week, and I'm secretly pleased as it means I don't have to put together mish-moshed outfits out of the 3 pieces of summer-weight clothing still in my wardrobe.

I'm also back on my running track. Physio Chris cleared me to get back into my marathon training with the following rules: no hills, no cambers, no pavement, and SLOW. I did my first run in 3.5 weeks on Sunday and despite the heat did 4 miles in my normal pace (it was odd, however, to be sweating profusely while crunching through piles of fallen leaves). I felt pretty good post-run, so I'm feeling positive about the race again. But I definitely am listening to my body a lot more, gauging my pain levels and trying to understand where I can push myself and how hard. It's been a learning experience for me, this voyage; yet another sign that I am a mere mortal (with biomechanical issues!) and that "running a marathon" is a lot more of a mental exercise than just running 26.2 miles.

So now that the universe has been righted and the weather is headed in a more normal direction and I have resumed my running regime (albeit, slightly reduced), I feel like I can confidently look forward to such seasonal delights as crisp apples, fresh breezes, and bundling up against wind and chill. I WANT to hide my freshly tanned legs under tights, so bring on autumn and bring on Dublin Marathon - less than 4 weeks to go!

Heat wave = Beach day!

2011-10-03T13:15:00.001+01:00

Once a Jersey girl, always a Jersey girl, and when the first few days of October throw out some serious heat what is one to do but go to the beach? For most of my childhood, Mom-Mom and my late grandfather lived in Ventnor, just south of Atlantic City, a block off of the boardwalk. I used every opportunity to visit them and spend hours in the sun, with snacks Mom-Mom packed me in cooler bags and the promise of something delicious for dinner upon my return to the house. It's been a long time since the Ventnor beach house, and since living in the UK I haven't had the opportunity of guaranteed sun and heat to warrant a trip to an English beach. But this crazy atypical autumn heatwave was a golden opportunity. I asked around my office for some suggestions of places to go and the one most mentioned was Camber Sands on the East Sussex coast near Rye, and an easy 1.5 hour train journey from Kings Cross. So I packed up my beach bag, applied some factor 30, and after the rugby The Irishman and I were on our way to the sea.

As you can see, the beach was absolutely jam packed but that didn't stop me from basking in the sun, reading a Grazia and a book, and wading into the ocean up to my waist. The Irishman isn't really a beach person but he was flexible for me and snoozed contentedly because I promised him a special treat: fish and chips. Post beach, we headed straight to the nearest chippy (with a line out the door) for cod, chips, and battered sausages. The bag our food came in had this lovely exhortation:

Honestly, people!

Post grease, we strolled through town and admired the old buildings; Rye seems to have a lot of history and The Irishman and I agreed that we would definitely return for more exploration. After a pint in a cozy pub, we headed back to steamy London to sweat the rest of the weekend.

If you go:

The high-speed train from London Kings Cross to Ashford takes about an hour; transfer there to the train to Rye, approximately 25 minutes. The 100 bus outside of the station goes to the beach once an hour. Train fare was £30 pp and bus fare £3.90 - both return.

London Design Festival & Serpentine Gallery

2011-09-25T19:26:00.061+01:00

This is a bit of a retrospective post on the London Design Festival. I have a kind of a love-hate relationship with LDF; as I work in the design/branding/marketing field, this should be the zenith, the penultimate week of my professional diary, jampacked with talks, openings, receptions, mingling, networking, and inspiration. And it is... and it isn't. For a few reasons, LDF doesn't quite live up to my expectations:

1. "Design" doesn't mean graphic or communication design in this situation; while there are events that incorporate print and corporate design applications, the vast majority of the events are around product, furniture, and interiors design.

2. Most of the events are pay-in, or small gallery events. For the record, despite being a cheapskate, I don't mind paying in to events if I feel that I will get something out of them. But I attended Tent London last year specifically for Tent Digital and I was vastly disappointed. There were only 2 digital exhibits, both lacking in content and explantation. The £15 I paid to be inspired was wasted. As for the gallery events, I've found that most are small galleries with only a few items on display and I personally feel awkward walking in, examining a £2,000 chair, thanking the gallery owner and departing. Over and over and over again.

3. I find London Design Festival to be ironically difficult to navigate. There are so MANY events that it's hard to figure out when the ones you want to see are on, find out when speaker events are taking place (and more importantly, when the tickets go on sale!), and generally plan your week. So I missed out on a lot, especially the Google Design Lectures and Perspectives at St Pauls Cathedral.

Thus, every year I run around town trying to lap up whatever I can with short notice. I know I should just put it in my diary for early September next year and plan it properly, but a festival by it's nature shouldn't require tons of forward planning. Anyway, rant over.

Today I strolled down to The Illy Galleria, a pop-up installation, gallery and coffee shop that started in New York and has since traveled to Milan, Trieste, Istanbul and Berlin. It's located in a design showroom on Roseberry Avenue, EC1 (near Farringdon tube station) and unfortunately, it was closed (you know, that old "nothing is open on Sunday" chestnut). Luckily the Galleria remains in situ until 16 October so there is still time to check it out. I had a peak in the window and I must say it looks really cool.

Then I headed over to the V&A. The V&A was the LDF Hub, as evidenced by this fabulous wood spiral sculpture at the museum's main entrance.

Inside there were mostly events for kids and families, though there were a few workshops on learning how to design. The final Google Design Lecture was also underway, focused on digital design, and there was a digital design workshop as well. Again, most events had pre-registration so you couldn't just jump in, but the museum did have mini-exhibits scattered throughout the building. I stumbled upon the Outset display after viewing the Jameel Prize, and was pleased to find some really provocative furniture. But again, I would have loved to see/attend some of the lectures on IP, design's impact on economic recovery and the overview of London Underground signage.

Anyway. I was pleased as always to visit my favorite London museum and to at least see some of the fabulous events taking place. But since the lines for the new exhibit "Power of Making" were out of control and I didn't have the intellectual energy for Postmodernism, I decided to trot up to Hyde Park to visit the Serpentine Pavilion.

I've wanted to see the Pavilion for the last 3 years and clearly never got my butt over there to experience them, so I'm very proud of myself for not missing it for the fourth year in a row. The Serpentine Pavilion is a temporary modern architectural installation that is erected each summer for a few months. This year's structure is by Peter Zumthor and features a cloister-like garden.

So I spent a leisurely hour reading, enjoying the flowers with a cappucino in the open air, away from the busy Knightsbridge streets. Despite not having ingested quite as much "design" as I wanted, I think in the end I had a very fulfilling and inspirational Sunday.

PS: If you, like me, are gutted that you missed out, the Perspectives installation in St Paul's Cathedral is up through the end of the year – unfortunately, you have to pay in to see it.

Spotted: Pop Top

2011-09-24T18:21:00.001+01:00

Saturday September 24, 2011

Angel, Islington

Moonlighting at Betsy Transatlantically

2011-09-22T09:23:00.000+01:00

Image from Flickr courtesy of Hellojenuine

While I nurse my shins and my ego, pop over to Betsy Transatlantically to read my guest post on one of my favorite joys in life: solo traveling.

Physio followup

2011-09-19T19:07:00.000+01:00

I tried to find a decent picture of physio exercises but they were all either obscene or strange. My physio is neither, but I do have some odd stretches to do.

Friday night I rocked up to physio and was like, dude. Fix me. And he did - sorta. After listening to my painful tale of woe, he told me to put some shorts on and proceeded to rotate my ankles, legs, and feet in various ways. Then I ran on the treadmill for a bit and he pronounced me as having legs that inwardly pronate too much and something to the effect of having not enough rotation in the hips. I know this from yoga (I'm flexible but not in the hip flexors) but I had no idea that it could impact my running! But it is, as my internal rotation issues are causing strain on my to the tune of very bad shin splints.

To make a long story short, I will run the marathon (woot) but I have to do a lot of stretches and exercises to build up the muscles in my calves and thighs (to offset the weakness of my hips) and also to increase the flexibility in my hips. I also need to simulate running as much as possible, which means like 30 mins at least per day on the elliptical (called "the cross trainer" here in the UK). So I have now taken to spending over an hour in the gym per day. Groan.

I apparently get to start running this weekend if all goes well. I had to buy orthotics (!) to put in my runners for more support, and Physio Chris tells me my training plan is bollocks (how dare he say such things about Hal Higdon). But if he gets me running and I can do the marathon without seriously injuring myself, then he will be my knight in shining Theraband armor.

I'm injured

2011-09-13T11:00:00.001+01:00

Photo courtesy of Flickr by Trevor Haldenby

I haven't blogged since it happened. I'm trying to ignore it, ostrich-style, head in the sand.

Training was going really well. I did 15 miles the Saturday before last and it felt good - hard, but good. I was ready to stop at the end but if someone told me I had to keep going, I could have. I had a massive blister at the front of my left heel, but considered it a badge of honor. I was ready to go!

I skipped my Tuesday run because of an evening event (only 3 miles, no biggie) and did just shy of 7 on Wednesday. It was hard, and I could feel it, but I figured I was rusty after not moving for a few days. I had some shin splints but I get them fairly regularly so I wasn't overly concerned. And my blister hurt but, whatever. I was more concerned that it felt like I was running on the seam of my shoe, and that was what caused my blister rather than anything else.

Thursday I went out with The Irishman for 4 miles and it was really painful. I did the 4 miles but the blister, the calves, the shins, they all hurt - especially my left leg. It made me doubtful for the first time in my training that I was going okay. I rested Friday and skipped 16 miles on Saturday, opting for swimming at the gym instead (btw, swimming is hard work!).

I went to Niketown with my runners and discussed what was happening: they had me try a few shoes and run on the treadmill to diagnose my stride. Turns out, to make a long story short, I'm a neutral runner (not needing any correction) in a very firm and tough stability shoe - therefore overcorrecting my stride that doesn't need any correction and possibly forcing me to run differently. They wanted me to buy another pair of shoes but my left calf hurt so much running on the treadmill that I couldn't focus on the bloody shoes.

So I rested Sunday and Monday, and will rest for the rest of the week. I have been icing my calf and doing a lot of web research, tentatively self-diagnosing myself with a strained calf. I have a few suspicious black and blues turning green around my calf and ankle which I think have to do with the stretched muscle bleeding and pooling at pressure points. Great.

Clearly I am overreacting at this point. I've been alternating between despair and making pacts to sell unborn children for my calf to recover. A friend recommended a physio who herself is a marathon runner, so I'm going to gingerly do a few miles Thursday or Friday and then book into see her. I have 7 weeks to get back to fighting form on my calf and I'm not quite desparate, but at this point I've invested so much into this race that if I DON'T get better and can't run I'm not quite sure I'll be able to console myself.

Do any of you runner readers out there have any tips beyond the RICE technique?

The McQueen exhibit is COMING!!!

2011-09-07T18:07:00.000+01:00

Image courtesy of The Metropolitan Museum of Art, © Alexander McQueen

If you've been to Bloody Brilliant lately (not just read the feed), you'll have seen a widget asking you to vote to have the Alexander McQueen retrospective brought to London. I'm a bit late in updating you all but it seems as though those in the fashion world who have been championing the cause of bringing McQueen "home" have gained some measure of success. They're not sure exactly where the exhibit will be held but hopefully it will have a grand location for such a triumphant homecoming. Based on the success of the exhibit at The Met in New York, I think I might stake out my spot in line now! Hurrah!

Celebrate British Wool Week

2011-09-06T14:18:00.000+01:00

If you've been out and about in town recently, you may have seen shopfronts declaring their support for the second annual Wool Week. The celebration of our favorite textile is a project of The Campaign for Wool, sponsored by HRM Prince Charles, with the objective of promoting and championing British grown wool through British commerce. It seems that the highlight of this year's event is an exhibition on Pall Mall called Wool Modern showcasing innovative ways of using wool in the 21st century, and big shops like Liberty and Jaeger are also getting in on the fun.

I first found out about Wool Week through fashion mags (of course) as big British fashion names like Vivienne Westwood (swoon) are supporting the cause with one-off items that Harvey Nichols will auction on eBay to raise money. I am SO in for that tartan bag!!!!

But Liberty also informed me, through their crafts e-newsletter Sew Liberty, that Rowan Yarns are also in on the action for the second year with a special line of knitting wool made from British sheep breeds – and specially designed free British patterns. If The Irishman will let me, I really want to knit the unionjack cushion cover.

So crafty expats out there, embrace the start of the UK winter with some British yarn and fashion. You can sign up to support the Campaign for Wool here.

Bank Holiday in Brittany, France's Emerald Coast

2011-09-05T14:48:00.000+01:00

One of the saddest things about being an expat is missing out on sharing in milestones with those dearest to you, often due to sheer cost. But the upside is when those people are ALSO expats, and you get to share in their big days BECAUSE you are dearest and nearest. Such was the wedding of my buddies Jon et Alix. Jon and I went to Syracuse University together, where I relied heavily upon his Mac nerding skills to reformat my hard drive and rescue all of my design work at 4am when my computer crashed. He relied heavily on me for homecooked food. Bargains all around.

When I left New York, he was just embarking on a transatlantic romance with une jeune fille s'appelle Alix who he asked out on a date three days before she left New York after an internship at his company. Three years later, he had quit his job, moved to Paris, studied French to fluency, earned a MA in Sustainable stuff at Europe's most elite business school, and generally was in that sickening sort of perfect love everyone loves to hate. I for one revel in them, their general adorableness, and joie de vivre.

So when they announced their marriage in the seaside town in Brittany where Alix's family has vacationed for years, The Irishman and I jumped at the chance to celebrate with them and explore a part of France new to both of us. The wedding celebrations were held in a sleepy village called Saint Briac sur Mer, close to Saint Malo and Dinard on Brittany's "Emerald Coast."

Jon et Alix were officially married here on the Thursday, which we missed due to Ryanair having only 1 flight per day to Dinard, the closest airport. But the mairie, or town hall, is absolutely evocative of Saint Briac sur Mer overall: stone buildings, beautifully planted gardens and flower boxes, and epic, changeable skies. The church wedding took place in the town's stone church on Friday, with the reception in an old manor house a few miles away.

Little did I know that French weddings are epic events; we left at 1am when the dancing was just starting due to tummy upset on my part ( I think I had too much paté) and the groom informed us the next morning that they didn't really make it home until 6am. Sheesh. But the reception itself was amazing; much more personal than an American or British wedding. They have a tradition of interventions when friends and relatives make little skits and entertainment about the couple. So we had a few songs, a few photo montages, a video, all about Jon et Alix and their relationship (this was also why we didn't eat until 8pm and didn't start dancing until 1am). But it made for a really wonderful celebration of them and their love.

Hangovers were remedied the next day at a brunch hosted by Alix's parents where I ate the most amazing olive & ham "cake" which was possibly the most exciting thing I've ever eaten. This recipe here seems close to replicating it but I think I need Alix to teach me the secret French way.

One of the other wonderful things about this wedding, besides the oyster bar at the reception, was reuniting with several friends that I hadn't seen in several years. After the drinking and dancing and general merriment of the wedding, we spent the next afternoon exploring the seaside port of Saint Malo together. There is nothing quite like reminiscing over ice cream on the seafront.

Sunday we said goodbye to all of my friends and headed off on sightseeing adventures of our own, specifically to Mont Saint Michel.

Visiting Mont Saint Michel has been a childhood dream, ever since reading ancient textbooks in French class recounting how it was built and how it has become a symbol of France. So I was actually a little bit disappointed when we arrived and the five mile drive to the fortified island was a strip of tourist trap restaurants and "articles authentiques." I was under the impression that you still had to plan your trip according to the tides and that it was still a working monastery and that the whole thing would be a pristine wonder of the world.

Once you made it past the choke of touristy shops and snack bars, the monastery was beautiful. Looking out into the tidal pools through arrow-slit windows made me dream of being a Lady in medieval France, hiding away during sieges and battles. Mont Saint Michel survived the constant onslaughts from the English during the 100 Years war without being taken, and I can't imagine how life must have been hunkered down on that island.

Despite my disappointment at the reality of Mont Saint Michel, I was very glad to have visited. And even happier when later on that night we visited one of the best crepe restaurants in the region, L'Hermine, for farewell galettes and boules de cidre.

We spent our final day in Brittany saying goodbye to the happy couple, who were jetting off to Corsica for a few days break, and touring the tiny medieval walled village of Dinan (notice a trend?). Yet another cute touristy village built around showing tourists "authentic" Breton culture and cuisine while trading on the vast history of the region, it is a charming little town to spend a few hours strolling. Which we did with gusto. Somehow our holidays always end up with us climbing fortifications and then walking back down.

And then we flew home from the very cute Dinard airport, that does not have a boarding lounge – only a << Café irlandais >> before security on the top floor of the airport where you can watch your plane land before you board it.

The best part of the weekend, besides seeing my very lovely friends get married in a very lovely ceremony with all of my friends around, was the fact that 4.5 days of vacation felt like a week off and I returned to London restored and relaxed. I never thought of Brittany as a "must-do" vacation spot, but I can see how staying on the coast for 1-2 weeks, reading, sailing, swimming, and lounging would do anyone a world of good. And if that doesn't float your boat, well the food definitely will!

If you go:

Ryanair flies once a day between Stansted to Dinard, flight time of 45 minutes. There is some public transport around but you'll see more and get around more easily if you rent a car. There are many B&Bs and rooms to rent (chambres des hotes) around; we stayed about 1km out of Saint Briac sur Mer at Le Clos Josephine which was beautiful with a really lovely pool and amazing breakfast. There aren't that many restaurants in the town, but several around the region that are worth the trip, so renting a house/apartment where one can cook is a smart and budget option.

Last long weekend: Brittany

2011-08-24T18:29:00.000+01:00

Image courtesy of Flickr from finofilka

Tomorrow, The Irishman and I are off to Brittany for a long weekend to celebrate the much-anticipated nuptuals of my friends Jon et Alix. A bunch of Americans are flying over, and we are taking advantage of Bank Holiday Monday to have a 4.5 day weekend. It's also The Irishman's birthday on Saturday so we have even more to celebrate. So here's to a sunny (okay, I'll settle for a rain-free) weekend to close out a wonderful summer so far. Hope all of you have an amazing Bank Holiday weekend as well! xx

Irish Rugby Weekend

2011-08-23T10:23:00.001+01:00

My latest sojourn in a string of weekends away was back to The Irishman's hometown of Dublin for a weekend of running (natch) and rugby. The new Aviva Stadium opened last year and The Irishman hasn't had a chance to go inside until now. Luckily for him, his dad is a senior member of the IRFU and so walking in the door there isn't exactly difficult for us. So we took advantage of the perk, something we rarely do, and flew over to see his parents and attend a pre-match lunch, the France v Ireland World Cup friendly match, and post-match drinks. You know, as you do. There is something slightly ridiculous about walking into a stadium to watch a sporting event in high heels, but nevermind – it was part of the fun.

I actually really enjoyed the match, I think possibly because it was a nail biter and you can't really avoid getting swept up in the excitement when a full stadium roars around you. We were pretty close to the pitch and therefore nearly IN the action. I think it's much better when you can see the players' faces from your seat, but The Irishman said he would have preferred to be up higher to see more of the field. Whatever.

At the after match drinks reception, I took the opportunity to introduce myself to my favorite (re: crush) team member who gallantly agreed to a photo with me.

It's a crap picture because the boys were not too keen on actually taking the photo for me, but nonetheless I TOUCHED ROB KEARNEY. Enough said.

Post drinks, we headed into town for dinner and drinks with The Irishman's brother and cousins – with a quick detour to practice our scrums:

And, in addition to all of this excitement, we ran a half marathon route in 2:14:44s. Phew. Note to self: wearing heels for eight hours post run is NOT smart (despite pretty sexy).

The Lakes

2011-08-19T13:00:00.001+01:00

So it's Friday, and a week since I told you I was going to The Lakes. Soz guys.

But! I went and it was great. The Lake District, as you might expect, has a lot of lakes in it, as well as a lot of hills. So our activities mostly included walking around little towns at the base of the hills and walking up the big hills, and looking at the lakes. The area is rather touristy, with the feel of a region whose main industries (slate quarrying, mining, wool/textile production) have given way to leisure pursuits and the people who visit for them. So the towns are full of touristy shops and tearooms, and B&Bs line the roads with lots of places to rent boats or go on adventure tours.

Also in the Lake District are the homes of famous people. So Wordsworth's family home is there, as is Beatrix Potter's home. We went to see the latter, and saw the garden that inspired her to write about Peter Rabbit, but didn't go into her home. It's a National Trust site and apparently so popular that you have to have a timed ticket! Here's some photos of her beautiful home though.

One of the regional specialities of the Lake District is something called Kendal mint cake. It seems like the Marmite of Cumbria in that everyone either loved it or hated it but insisted I try it. I went for the chocolate covered version (it also comes in white and brown sugar versions).

Basically, it's like a York Peppermint Patty but with a more granular filling rather than a creamy minty filling. People take it up the mountains for energy and endurance fuel. I wouldn't personally keep a stack of it in my cupboard, but it was interesting to try for sure.

And beyond that, we enjoyed some good food, good wine, and the company of some good friends. All in all, a lovely weekend.

Oh! And we also did our 12 mile run along the undulating main road. It was hard. But we did it. And then walked up a mountain the next day which possibly was not smart as I have been enduring some mighty shin splints. Note to self for next time.

The Lake District:
Virgin Trains run regularly to Oxenholme and you can transfer there to a mini-train that takes you up to Windermere (the largest of the lakes and a good base for exploring the region). There are tons of B&Bs in walking distance of the train station but to explore the area and see some of the further sites a hire car is advised. Weather is changeable, so pack for everything!

And, we're off!

2011-08-12T15:00:00.024+01:00

Image courtesy of ThundaFunda

Tonight, The Irishman and I are on a 5:30 train up to the Lake District. We're visiting friends of his who live in Australia at their family's vacation home. I mentioned to a colleague that I was going to Mr Darcy's country (you know, where Elizabeth Bennett visit's Mr Darcy's estate after she realizes she loves him in Pride & Prejudice) but I was gently told that is, in fact, the Peak District. I actually have no idea where I'm going, but it's a 3 hour trip on Virgin Trains to Windermere so my iPad is loaded up with several copies of The New Yorker and episodes of The Killing to keep me entertained.

Given all of the craziness that's been taking place in London and the rest of the UK's urban centres, we're both really glad to be getting out of Dodge, as it were, and escaping to someplace more tranquil. However while we're up there, we are supposed to complete a 12 mile run. Eeps! I'll let you know how it goes, and share some of my own photos (they won't be this beautiful) when we get back Monday evening.

Hope you have a lovely weekend yourself, wherever you are, and if you're in a riot-affected area that you as well get a chance to finally truly relax.

Riots calming down

2011-08-11T16:17:00.001+01:00

Image via Flickr courtesy of Spinneyhead

I didn't have much to add to the blogosphere on the subject of the riots after my initial post Tuesday morning, and since then London has calmed down considerably. The increase in police presence definitely helped me, personally, feel safer and more secure; though there over 3x more police on the streets each evening, stores and pubs are still boarded up. Tuesday night the police in Islington were from Cumbria; last night they were from Cleveland. On my way home from my run, we saw a bunch of Cleveland cops resting in their van and I thanked them for coming down to help us – they seemed genuinely pleased to be acknowledged.

Meanwhile, the violence has spread north to Birmingham, Manchester, Nottingham, Leeds, Liverpool, and west to Bristol. I feel bad that some of their police are in London keeping the peace while the colleagues left at home are battling the riots in reduced numbers. But it's been made clear that police now have the authority to act against the rioters, rather than watch and contain the violence, and it seems to be making an impact.

No one knows when this senseless lawlessness will end; it's been raining now across the north for the last day and now raining in London which should help keep the criminal element indoors. The Irishman thinks we will have unrest of varying degrees for a few more weeks yet, even if the major rioting stops. What is worst about this situation for me is the heightened sense of suspicion I think all people are feeling. No longer am I apt to just dismiss the kids on bikes with hooded sweatshirts that I see on a daily basis – now, and for some time to come, I will wonder what they are up to and probably judge them. I don't want to be that person. I want to maintain my idealism and faith in humanity... problem is, I fear they're both already gone. Hopefully, I can somehow nurture their return.

London Riots: civil unrest for three days (and counting)

2011-08-09T11:46:00.000+01:00

Image from Flickr courtesy of Erik Hartberg

Today is cold and bright, with gorgeous sunshine, and a growing sense of unease. The world is now aware of what is going on in London: thousands of thugs are running the streets, crashing through shops, looting, stealing, committing random acts of violence and arson. It's been going on since Saturday, and it doesn't seem like it will stop any time soon.

It all started as a peaceful demonstration in Tottenham on Saturday to protest the death of a young man who was killed by the London police. It was a peaceful demonstration until a criminal element used it as an excuse to start throwing bottles and petrol bombs at police and ultimately smashing into stores, looting them, and then setting them on fire. It continued Sunday evening, then yesterday evening, spreading from North London throughout the capital and now across the country. Birmingham, Bristol, Leeds, Nottingham are all experiencing gangs rioting in the streets (if you're interested in seeing just where the violence has occurred, here's a helpful/grim map).

Each night I've gone to bed with the sounds sirens racing down the street and helicopters circling overhead. Though the violence is largely far from me, tucked up in safe, bourgeois Islington, I keep expecting to hear glass shattering, shouts, and aggression. Last night we had our first incident, a bike shop that The Irishman and I know and love was broken into and looted. I've never been so happy to live above the ground floor, and I've never been so quite afraid to leave my house. I spoke to some colleagues this morning who cycle to work and we all agreed that the ride home last night felt dangerous – there was something in the air that just wasn't right. The atmosphere was threatening.

What struck me last night while I watched hours of coverage of the flames and fear was that nearly all of the places targeted were places The Irishman and I considered moving to just a few weeks ago: Hackney, Peckham, Brixton, even Clapham suffered at the hands of merciless people out to get revenge for something. Many are saying its due to frustration at a lack of economic opportunity; many others are saying it's race; many others are saying it was simply a criminal mindset taking over. Despite the causes of all the violence, what made me well up with tears was the realization that the people who are and will continue to suffer are the hardworking innocent people trying to build a life in one of the most expensive cities in the world. Watching people jump out of burning buildings, watching fires spread from shops to homes, watching grown men and women in anguish over their lives in ruin made me shake with anger. The lack of respect these rioters have not only for the police but for the people in their communities is so appalling that it defies logic.

I do also feel for the police. They haven't had a good time of it over the last couple of years, between the G20 protests when a man was hit by a riot policeman and died from his injuries to the student protests earlier this year during which Prince Charles's motorcade was attacked. But they are damned if they do, and damned if they don't. At the moment, citizens are outraged that the police aren't doing more to protect them; however if the police were to go in heavy-handed, there would be hell to pay for their brutality. The fact is that they are underresourced, budget cuts are looming, and I don't envy them having to stand up to kids with knives. According to the BBC, there were 5,000 police on the streets last night; tonight there will be 16,000. But the increase in security doesn't replace the millions of pounds worth of stolen goods, repair the damage to property, or restore the confidence of the public.

There is some hope, though. A North London artist quickly organized Riot Cleanup last night for people to take back control of the high streets across the capital. Currently trending on Twitter is #riotcleanup, #PrayforLondon as residents of the city stand up for their neighborhoods and their city. But it's easy to be brave and confident in the daylight; what happens when dusk falls again tonight will bely the truth of the situation. Hopefully, Boris, Dave, Theresa, and Ed returning from their summer holidays will help get a handle on this situation, and we can all start rebuilding the London we know and love.

Thanks to everyone who has expressed their concern for me and The Irishman on Facebook, Twitter, and email. We're okay, and we'll let you know ASAP if that changes.

UNDER CONSTRUCTION

2011-08-08T22:40:00.000+01:00

Hi all! Please be patient with me as I make some big changes to Bloody Brilliant. If you visit my actual page, you'll see a new look and soon some new sub-pages. I'll also be making a few shifts in the type of posts I'll be writing. It's all very exciting for me, so stay tuned!

Blitz London

2011-08-08T12:05:00.001+01:00

Image via Blitz London's Facebook page - I hope you guys don't mind, I was too overwhelmed to take my own shots!

Saturday was supposed to be my day outside, in the sun, loving the weather and reading my book; I'm currently in the middle of The Shadow of the Wind, which took me a little while to get into but I'm now 100 pages from the end and can't tear myself away. I couldn't wait to take my book and my blanket to the park and bask in the sun and the end of the novel. Instead, Saturday was changeable at best, chilly and cloudy with intermittent bursts of sun and showers. So how did I spend my time? I called up my friend Maya and we met in Brick Lane to make our first visits to East London's newest – and best – vintage temple.

Blitz London is by far one of the most enjoyable vintage experiences I've ever had. Calling itself a Vintage Department Store and housed in an old warehouse, it boasts spacious rooms, high ceilings, artful displays and QUALITY CLOTHES. Nothing is falling apart, everything is clean and EVERYTHING passes the sniff test. There is nothing worst than having a fabulous vintage find that reeks of old despite many washes. We found Vivienne Westwood, Comme des Garçons, Yoshi Yamamoto, an entire vitrine of 90s Swatch watches (Maya swears they had one she rocked for several years), racks of Converse, and tons of great furniture and home decor. Maya snagged a late 50s silk dress suit with a velvet collar (hello, Joan) and I picked up a brilliant blue mid-century wool blanket probably from the French Navy, with an anchor woven into each corner. I was trying to be good otherwise I'd have probably bought about 25 more things.

Blitz will soon have a coffee shop inside as well, and has an excellent selection of bargain paperbacks. Perfect place to escape the hubbub of Brick Lane for a browse and a brew. I will definitely be taking my next book obsession there - and my credit card. Read more about Blitz here, here, and here.

Blitz

55-59 Hanbury Street, E1 5JP

020 7377 0730

Thoughts of Angel

2011-08-05T17:21:00.001+01:00

Image courtesy of Thoughts of Angel

If any of you spend time in Angel, Islington – or at least use the tube station – you may have seen the witty, often ridiculous words of wisdom that someone in the station writes on the updates board inside the vestibule. Well, The Irishman found out that those clever TFL employees now chronicle their sayings on a blog called Thoughts of Angel. Now, even those of you who never quite make it up to Islington can have a daily chuckle courtesy of Angel tube station staff.

Happy Friday, everyone! Enjoy the weekend!

Thoughts on marathon training - 1/3rd of the way through

2011-08-04T13:05:00.001+01:00

Image courtesy of Flickr, by Daniele Sartori

Six weeks into my Hal Higdon marathon training schedule and I'm finding my life slowly consumed by either the actual ACT of running or the planning for the act of running. So I thought I'd give you my initial thoughts on the pros and cons of training for completing a 26.2 mile race, in case you ever thought you'd want to give it a go yourself.

PROS

1. My arms look amazing.
You'd think running was all about the legs but you'd be wrong. A lot of it is upper body, and your arms help propel you forward as you lag in energy. As a result, my arms are nearly as toned as when I was religiously practicing yoga x2 a week.

2. My abs are starting to look amazing.
See above, same thing - your core holds you up and you naturally tone your abs as you run, stabilizing your body and linking the top and bottom. But it's slower than the arms so I'm hoping I see more soon!

3. All of the cellulite I never admitted to having is gone.
No joke. The backs of my thighs are smooth and sleek all the way up to my bum. Now I don't have to admit it to myself at all, at least until post marathon when I stop running and the cottage cheese returns.

4. I have so much more energy.
I am much more alert at work these days, and no longer have sluggish slumps. And if I manage to drag myself out of bed to run before work, the energy levels are even higher. I may need to just permanently become a morning running person (... or not).

5. I am hungry all of the time.
As a foodie, there is nothing worse than not being hungry. Or feeling so full you might burst. Or, the worst situation, having to decline something delicious to fit into a dress (corollary: eat lots of delicious things and then NOT fit into a dress). Anyway, when you run 4x a week, you need to eat. A lot. I've noticed that if I eat just a salad for lunch, my run that evening will be harder than if I eat meat. I find I wake up ravenous. Don't get me wrong, cake does not help - nor do you lose weight if you keep on the desserts (I still have a little roll because I refuse to cut out ice cream) but running a lot really forces you into shifting your eating to fueling.

CONS

1. My feet are disgusting.
For real. Peeling, blisters, callouses... apparently, your feet build up callouses to protect fragile skin, so I shouldn't even get a pedicure because it will expose sensitive skin to trauma. I am going to treat myself to one in a few weeks, before I go to France for my friend's wedding, and then no more until post-race.

2. I sweat more.
It's a fact that the better your fitness level, the more readily you sweat. So the more I run, the more quickly my body starts sweating when I'm warm. So this past week when temperatures were around 30°C (86ish in F), I was sweaty all of the time. Ew.

3. We do a lot more clothes washes.

I only have 1 sports bra, and only a handful of running tops and shorts. And because of #2, they start to smell pretty quickly. So we have to wash them nearly every day, which means our washing machine is constantly running. This must be what it is like to have a child.

4. My skin is not so great.
#2 also means my face is sweaty a lot and i noticed I am getting a lot more little breakouts. My clay mask of choice isn't up to the job, I fear, and so I think I might have to look into something a bit stronger. Until then, I'm reminded of my 13 year old self.

5. Training is boring.
This is probably the worst. When you run 4 times a week, your 3 days off (and as Hal says, it's not 3 days off because 1 of those days is cross training so really you only have 2 days of rest) are spent enjoying not running. But you can't drink too much because you're always about to go running again. So Friday nights are dry, because first thing Saturday you're up and running your long run. Evening drinks during the week aren't much better because even short distances are hampered if you've had a few pints. And everyone knows that going to the pub and not drinking is lame. If you do, you end up talking about running the whole time. Boring. So I've become that person who is holier than thou and doesn't go out. It's really miserable when the days are long and nights are warm and all you want to do is sit in the garden of a pub and drink rosé. Sigh. We have a lot of plans on the weekends throughout August, traveling and seeing friends, and then September and October will be hibernating/running/detox months. Boring.

So there you go. Now you know the benefits and risks of taking the marathon plunge. I'll let you know if there are any new ones when I'm 2/3rds of the way through around the middle of September.

Spotted: Apt aft

2011-08-03T15:34:00.002+01:00

Lunchtime on Regent's Canal, across from the Ice Wharf

August 3, 2011

My 7 Links

2011-08-02T12:59:00.001+01:00

Eeps! Over a week ago, Ashley from A Hope, Skip & Jump Over the Pond tagged me in a little web trend that is probably over (this is so me, I jump on the train as it's pretty much come to a halt). Started by Tripbase, the whole point is to review the body of posts on your blog and republish 7 links buried in the archives of your blog so that new readers can find them (and you, blogger, can celebrate them). Then you get to tag some of your other travel bloggers and get them to do it too.

So without further ado or delaying on my part, here are my 7 links to posts I think were pretty darn great. I've sought out the original topics, out of curiosity for how this whole meme started.

1. The post where I almost died: Swimming in the Irish Sea

Physically or metaphorically? I chose physically but I'm sure I had a few mental breakdown posts along the way. Anyway, swimming in the Irish Sea on Christmas Day last year was one of the more ridiculous, and death defying, things I've ever done. SHEESH. I shiver just thinking about it.

2. The post where I accidentally ran a marathon: TBD.

Oh wait. I am running a marathon. So this round up is missing a post that I will write on November 1st, after I run my first 26.2 mile race. Until then, you can reminisce about my half marathon last year.

3. The “live in the moment” post: This is Hard

This is an oldie but goodie, my third ever post, written as I packed up my bedroom in Brooklyn and tried to get myself through the overwhelming doubt and sadness that hit me. I think it's one of my best ever posts, frankly.

4. The post I really enjoyed writing: My 30th Birthday

I didn't think I would enjoy it, but I did. I loved turning 30. It was a great weekend, full of great people and great times and great food and therefore it was perfect. It wasn't what I thought it would be when I turned 25 (or even when I turned 29) but in the end, the day was exactly what I wanted and I loved sharing it with you all.

5. The fabulous food post: The Fat Duck.

I had so many choices here - besides The Fat Duck, there was Chateaubriand, The Sportsman, pinxtos in San Sebastian, Mercado San Miguel in Madrid, all of the glorious meals in Italy and all of our other travels. But at the end of the day, The Fat Duck wins because it was a special event, our second anniversary and such a treat. I highly recommend that anyone who is a foodie go there IMMEDIATELY.

6. The post where I found my voice: Bridges in Japan

A year and a bit into my life in the UK, a young colleague of mine quit her job to move to Japan and teach English for a year (that's us earlier this year with our friend Sarah's baby). I wrote her a little ode about what to expect from her life abroad. Upon re-reading it, I think it's all still true and relevant to a person living abroad for 3+ years.

To be honest though? I still haven't found my voice. I think this may be an on-going project.

7. The “vacation I wish I was still on” post(s): Cro-Italy (Dubrovnik, Korcula, Hvar, Bologna, Florence, Lucca)

Hands down, best vacation: 2 weeks of sun and eating. In fact, I'd just do Croatia again, but definitely on a boat. Our vacation was planned around the ferry schedules, so we took boats everywhere but next time I'd love to rent a boat and lazily sail from island to cove to town. The Irishman chided me for our travel plans this year; when I moved jobs, I didn't negotiate very well (kicking myself still) and wound up with only 16.5 days of holiday. So we are only doing long weekends this year, which really blows. It just means that next year we can look forward to a 2 or 3 weeks of relaxation.

Tradition has it that I'm supposed to tag 7 more people, but because I'm joining this party so late I'm not going to... everyone I would have tagged has already done this post! If you want to be tagged, or think I should tag someone, let me know.

I went to Paris and all I got were these photos (and a skirt on sale from Comptoir des Cotonniers)

2011-07-27T10:52:00.000+01:00

It's true. Though there were soldes in every store, I practiced the utmost in restraint and only bought a cute flippy silk bubble skirt that was 50% off from my favorite French high street brand (oh, Jil Sander hot pink pointy toe flats, I will always rue the day I did not make you mine!). Instead, I took photos of everything. Here's a selection of my favorites.

Marathon playlist

2011-07-26T16:29:00.000+01:00

The Irishman sent me this a few days back and it made me giggle, so I thought I'd share:

But it also made me realize that I have to start planning my marathon mix soon. I'm gonna need at least 6 hours of upbeat hits to get me through 26.2 miles – but at least making the playlist is much easier than it was back the day!

My current running playlist is literally my iPhone set to shuffle, which means that for every Beyonce and Katy Perry song I get two ballads or slowjams. I only remember this as I'm huffing and puffing up a hill while simultaneously trying to jump to the next song in the queue. Infuriating!

The list I'm planning in my head is basically all of my favorite "hit" songs from the last decade:

Beyonce Single Ladies, Girls Rule the World, Independent Women, Irreplacable

Rihanna Umbrellas, Only Girl in the World

Katy Perry Teenage Dream, ET, California Girls

Jay-Z 99 Problems, New York State of Mind

MIA Galang

Take That Circus, Smile

Cee-Lo Forget You

Tinchy Stryder Take Me Back

Lady Gaga Poker Face, Bad Romance, Boys Boys Boys, Paparazzi, Alejandro (f it, I'll just include both of her albums)

Amy Winehouse Valerie

etc...

Plus some dance remixes (Pump Up the Jam will feature) and some rock songs as well (Bruce Springsteen and Bon Jovi, Jerz represent).

Now that I've outed myself as a closet bad music junkie, are there any other songs that my fellow runners out there would need on a playlist for inspiration? All suggestions welcome!

Bloggybody

2011-07-20T12:31:00.001+01:00

Yet again, it's me, back at the blog after a noticeable absence, about to apologize for a lack of posting and etc. But this time, I'm not going to: I've been busy in the real world, and haven't really had the time or patience to chronicle it all in the virtual world. I'm not sorry about the lack of posting but I am sorry abut the lack of sharing.

So what have I been up to since my last post?

The last three weeks have been, well, just life. There were some highs and lows, celebrations and despair, decisions and reversions on decisions, trips abroad and time in my house. In no particular order, I...

...finished up a knitted baby gift over many evening hours for my dear friend Alex, whose baby shower is Saturday (which I cannot attend, to my chagrin) and who is due in September...

...played kickball at my friend's third annual Colonists vs Commonwealth 4th of July kickball game (we lost, again)...

...saw La rondine at Opera Holland Park and spotted Gok Wan and Joanna Lumley in the audience...

...met up with many friends for meals and drinks...

...missed my company's summer party at the delightful looking Dock Kitchen...

...agonized over whether to buy a pair of shoes in the Net-a-Porter sale...

...sort of tried to stay on track with my marathon training programme...

...decided, with The Irishman, to put off the plans to move until he makes some career decisions that will affect where we live...

...spent a weekend working on and off in the office and at home...

...went to Paris for 5 glorious days of shopping, eating, strolling, and seeing friends.

And now?

I'm back in the office, trying to repatriate myself into the working world. The weather is chilly so it feels like September, and I'm trying to keep the summery spirit rather than seek comfort in soft woolly sweaters. It's hard though with a dense sky that looks like lead and temperatures hovering at 19°C.

But I have much to look forward to!

This weekend a friend from the Netherlands visits to see art and eat food, next weekend we have tickets to Rosencrantz & Guildenstern Are Dead and another excursion to a local pop up restaurant, and after a quietish weekend in between I'll be traveling to the Lake District for the first time! Then it's off to Ireland for a rugby match of some sort, and then Brittany to celebrate the marriage of Jon et Alix, mes chers amis français. After all of that, I will be out of money and running upwards of 15 miles a weekend so by the time it really truly is September, I will be ready to start some serious hibernation.

And of course, I will try to blog about it all.

Heat wave, house search, and running scared.

2011-06-27T12:04:00.000+01:00

Photo from Flickr courtesy of lakewentworth

The UK is in the midst of a heatwave and London is hardest hit... we got to 30°C yesterday and will max out around 33°C today. That's about 90°F for you guys in the US and this is VERY HOT for English people. Men are wearing shorts in my office and there's already talk of a pre-lunch ice cream run. Personally I love it even though I'm feeling a bit sweaty; this is the way summer should be, and I'm reveling in the 48 hours of sultry breezes.

Unfortunately, this week kicks off my marathon training, and the one thing I DON'T want to do is go running when it's hot out. Luckily today is a "rest day" according to my coach Hal, and it starts tomorrow morning with an easy 3 miler. Easy except for the fact that I haven't really run since the end of May. Oops. So not only is the looming marathon freaking me out (it's only 18 weeks away!), but the knowledge that I'm starting out my training with a lowered base level of fitness is also making me sort of wish I'd drunk less rosé in June and done more running. But I can't go back and change it now so I have to make the best of it, buckle down, and take my training seriously.

And in and amongst the heat and the running, I'm flat hunting. Not only flat hunting but neighborhood hunting. I will write up a post about Highgate, but since last weekend we're also considering Stoke Newington, Victoria Park Village, De Beauvoir Town (sort of), with some parts of south London still in the offing. It's only been 2 weeks of solid looking and I'm already fed up. There are so many decisions to make, compromises to consider, and the stress in this heat is really taking its toll. I realized yesterday that I've moved every year since moving to the UK, so I need to take this move seriously enough so that it's the right place for us until we buy a place. In other words, this needs to be pretty perfect.

Somehow I feel like this is going to be a long, hot summer.

Pop Up Restaurant Revolution

2011-06-23T12:07:00.001+01:00

First it was Underground restaurants, but that was so 2009; now Pop Up restaurants are sweeping London's epicurious landscape. This summer, it's all about Pop Up eating around the capital. Here's my personal hitlist of deliciousness:

Dishoom Chowpatty Beach Bar
Covent Garden's Dishoom has opened Bombay-inspired takeaway stands on the Southbank Beach. Perfect for a bite before you go see a show.

Rock Lobsta
Shoreditch boutique and collective Luna & Curious is hosting a pop up lobster roll/crab roll/seafood truck. A little bit of New England in, well, England.

The Bonnie & Wild
Just down the street from me, on Angel's Chapel Market, is a Scottish pop up restaurant called The Bonnie & Wild. Beyond haggis I'm not sure how Scottish food is really different from British food, but I'm gonna find out. It's only open Saturdays and no bookings.

Roganic
Michelin-starred chef Simon Rogan (who I haven't ever heard of, but apparently is a BIG DEAL) is opening an only-organic pop-up in Marylebone. YUM.

Limination by Ceviche
This is over, unfortunately, but last week Peruvian restaurant collective Ceviche hosted a pop-up restaurant on Farringdon Road serving Peruvian fusion foods. It was billed as a test run before a full restaurant opening in the not-so-distant future. The food was really tasty, and the cocktails amazing, but it overall lacked some consistency in service and preparation that I hope they'll iron out when they open for real. Looking forward to it!

Anyone else hear of some amazing gastro-pop-ups? If you're interested in pop-ups of all sorts (not just food), check out PopUpsLondon.

Spotted: anniversary blooms and basket

2011-06-22T11:49:00.002+01:00

The Irishman and I celebrated our 3 year anniversary yesterday and I got spoiled. He sent me these lovely blooms to my office, and when I got home I received the best bike basket ever! We went to a local pub for Thai food and a few drinks since it was the longest day of the year, and we'll celebrate properly on Friday with dinner at Zucca. What a sweetheart... here's to you, stinky xxx

The defining dilemma of my life.

2011-06-17T17:59:00.002+01:00

Image courtesy of Mshades on Flickr, who also has a photostream of a very cute Pug named Milo!

I know I've been quiet lately, but it's because I'm struggling with the defining dilemma of my life: city vs. country. But before I begin, I'd like to just point out how interesting it is that themes sort of roll through the interwebs; last week BetsyTransatlantically wrote about her country getaway and I have several other friends who have been emailing me about their city/country balance problems. Maybe it's because of the eclipses?

Anyways, last weekend The Irishman and I went to the Wiltshire countryside for our friends' baby's first birthday party. It was my first time as an adult at a child's birthday, and I thoroughly enjoyed it despite my blatantly absent desire for children. This little guy is pretty much the coolest baby around and it was great to celebrate his first year with him and his parents and all of our friends. But I did leave the party with a yearning – a yearning for more outdoor space, better access to nature, more room.

After spending the weekend looking out at rolling vistas from a patio full of flowers, The Irishman and I returned to our small, cramped flat and made a big decision. We are ready to move. Not out of town, but to a further ring of the onion that is London. We want at least two bedrooms and some outdoor space. I dream of a little studio space for making things, and I dream of sitting on a lounger in the sun surrounded by potted geraniums. The Irishman wants a full herb garden, even if it's in pots or hanging, and possibly some little tomato plants. Oh, and we also want to keep saving for a house. So realistically, we need to move farther out, probably to the furthest edges of Zone 2.

It's a big step for me. I've only ever lived in N1, and frankly, I love it. But my desire for more than a room with a bedroom attached and enough money to eat in restaurants and buy shoes is outweighing Angel's many charms and conveniences. I'm looking at this as an adventure, and planning a few Sunday excursions to new areas of town. We're concentrating on small village-y areas that feel like small towns within the larger metropolis. This Sunday is Highgate, and Crouch End, Dulwich, Stoke Newington and possibly Walthamstow aren't far behind. We have the luxury of one month's notice, and no deadline for finding a place, so we can be as picky as we want (which won't be hard).

Any readers out there live in a village in London that they love? Any tips? I'd love to hear your neighborhood suggestions!

Spotted: Shoreditch Street Art

2011-06-04T20:07:00.001+01:00

Spotted: Roses that are not red

2011-06-04T13:11:00.002+01:00

This is sort of a Spotted cheat, because these roses are in my house - I'm just featuring them because I bought them for 99p on sale at Waitrose on Tuesday and they've lasted brilliantly and are SO fragrant! Mmm, I hope they never die.

British Food Festivals

2011-06-02T19:00:00.000+01:00

Photo courtesy of Net Efket on Flickr

Sometimes I am a bit slow with Google Reader; weeks go by when I only manage to read my favorite blogs and I end up with stockpiles of food, design, and travel blog entries (you know, the ones with multiple posts per day that I yearn to be like) to catch up with.

Today is one of my catch up days when I am a bit light in the office (shh don't tell anyone) so I've zoomed through my cache of food blogs I follow. I was excited to find in my reader this article on The Guardian's Word of Mouth blog - an interactive map of food festivals in the UK this summer. How exciting!

The Irishman and I aren't slated to go to any at this point, but when he returns on Sunday we may have to have a think - spending some days in the sun enjoying the best of British produce sounds pretty much perfect! I'm considering The Whitstable Oyster Festival and the Great British Beer Festival.

Mmmm delicious!

Back to Basque (Country)

2011-06-02T12:28:00.004+01:00

The Irishman and I spent the final Bank Holiday of our long string of extended weekends with his family in the lovely Basque beach town of San Sebastian, in Spain. His family graciously invited me along for their family holiday, and who was I to decline four days of beach, sun, food and wine in such a gorgeous setting?

We stayed in a sunny apartment overlooking the main beach, adjacent to the Old Town. The picture above is the view from the balcony (there were 4 balconies!) The main draw there is the pintxos, small dishes you order in every bar with wine. They are like tapas, but different; more like bite-sized tapas, usually on bread like bruschetta, and with amazing seafood.

This doesn't look like much, but it was the fabulous beef-cheek we ate in our favorite pintxo bar. OMG delicious.

And of course, cortados. We washed down some fantastic pastries with many cortados over the weekend.

And the ham... I could wax lyrical about the jamon.

Aptly named, no?

The town itself, both old and new, is beautiful. Amazing architecture, old buildings with ornate details and new builds that showcase that amazing sense of Spanish design.

Because of where it is situated, in a cove nestled in the mountains at the very northwestern tip of the Iberian peninsula, the town is tucked behind a huge rock that was fortified for the city's defense over the last several centuries. Of course, now you can climb it. In 1950, the town erected a gigantic statue of Jesus on the top. You know, just because. So of course I had to go up and say hi to Jesus. Appropriately, I did so on Sunday.

Look at that view!

While we were there, San Sebastian was alive with concerts and events in the streets; it took us all weekend to work out that it was their bid for 2016 European Capital of Culture. From what I saw, they definitely deserve it!

On Monday, we left San Sebastian and drove north into France. I was returning to London in the afternoon, while The Irishman and his family were voyaging on into Bordeaux. On the way to Biarritz airport, we stopped into a charming seaside resort town called St Jean de Luz.

It's so interesting to me how two towns can be so close, and yet so different. San Sebastian and St Jean de Luz are both "Basque" but so definitively Spanish and French respectively. They share a lot - food culture, native textiles and patterns, and some architecture - but they both also have their own distinct cultures. Both are beautiful in their own ways, and I'd definitely return to each but possibly for different reasons. San Sebastian offers everything you'd want in a perfect package: beach, food, culture. It's easily accessible and The Irishman and I discussed how we could definitely do another long weekend there. St Jean de Luz, though, in the languid way of the French, is the type of town you might hole up in for a week, venturing out only to see if the neighboring towns have better sand on their beaches. It's quiet, old, and perfect for a relaxing week of doing nothing.

Diagnosing my travel bug

2011-05-31T21:11:00.000+01:00

I've returned from spending the Bank Holiday in San Sebastian, Spain. A nice long post extolling the virtues of this Basque beach city with excellent food will be following shortly, but before that I have to talk to you about traveling. And the specific ways traveling never fails to affect me.

I guess I just never want to come home. But once I get home, I'm happy to be in my cocoon.

I was thinking about it when I was standing on the tarmac at Biarritz airport in the blazing sun; the thermometers on the green light-up pharmacy signs were saying rational numbers like 23, 24°C, but it felt like at least 30°C under it's full stare. As we boarded the plane and taxied out to the runway, I looked out over the farmlands surrounding the airport and thought to myself "why do I punish myself, living in a place that is so damp and cold when there are warm and sunny places in the world"? And I thought about it again while I was in a cab from Liverpool Street station when the rain started in earnest.

But then I saw rows of Georgian townhouses with variegated colored front doors, nestled up against each other around a gracious square, and remembered how England at least can make the rain cozy.

And then I watched some very intellectual television, which made me remember how nice it is to have entertainment that isn't trash (all of the time).

While I was away, I was laughing at myself and my inability to speak foreign languages. Flying to France with an ultimate destination in Spain, but one with a strong ethnic dialect that I've never heard (let alone seen written) was a complete and utter mind f**k. I couldn't help but laugh at myself as I struggled to remember how to count to 10 in Spanish, and how to even say please and thank you. I was even more amused at how relieved I was to get back to Biarritz, because I could finally understand what people were saying to me - even if I couldn't respond 100%.

It's just so fascinating to me how the human mind seeks out ways of communicating. I studied French for five years in high school; I can speak it okay but I can read it quite well and understand most of what is being said to me if I'm really concentrating. But I'm not a very confident speaker, and will often default to just asking if they speak English when confronted with a potentially complicated conversation. Take me to a country where I don't know the language at all, though – The Netherlands, Spain, Italy (even though I know the most basic bits of Italian thanks to my study abroad) – and my French comes flooding out. I've given Dutch taxi drivers directions in French, Spanish waiters my order in French, and in Italy an odd mix of Fritalian comes streaming out in all directions.

And then I get back to English-speaking places and I'm still thinking en français and I'm just exhausted.

Finally, the weirdest thing about traveling is encountering other Americans.

I'm really shy when I travel, which means that when I'm abroad I disappear into my own little bubble of wonderment, floating through cities and countryside taking in all of the new and constructing my own understanding of what I'm experiencing. I don't particularly like to socialize with other tourists, be them American or Australian or British; I'm not on vacation to make new friends. Sometimes I even wish I were on my own without The Irishman, and when we first started dating I had to introduce him to the concept of traveling alone (for the record, he still doesn't get it but is pretty supportive if I ever want to run off on my own). So when I am in a foreign country, immersed in trying to figure out what to say to a waiter, and I hear an American accent (for instance), it's like someone popping my bubble. It's weird to be sucked out of the dreamstate and back into reality where you can listen in on other people's conversations and know where they are from just from a few words they say. My first reaction is not to say hi, it's to run away.

This is much different from The Irishman. Anywhere he goes, if he runs into another Irish person they exchange a knowing nod. When he was living in Australia, he amassed a huge crew of Irish people around him and is still friends with them. But I don't know. I still feel, maybe naively, that travel is about exploring and discovering the unknown... and making friends from "home" while traveling feels... odd. I don't know. I'm still trying to work that one out.

But for now I'm back, back at home and recovering from my travel bug – and I'm hoping I come down with it again soon.

On discipline.

2011-05-25T17:38:00.001+01:00

I've just finished reading What I Talk About When I Talk About Running by Haruki Murakami. I've never read any of his books, but The Irishman has quite a few on the shelf and often mentioned this particular book. Then my friend Alice handed her copy to me about a year and a half ago, declaring that I MUST read it. So I did. Last week.

Alice is one of those lovely friends who is super sporty. She is an avid (and violent, I hear) hockey player, is constantly entering half marathons, and in a few weekends will do her first triathlon. She's someone who I would term "naturally athletic", and thus a different species from myself who had to cultivate an interest in sports. So when I talk to Alice and she's telling me about her British Military Fitness classes meeting in Wimbledon at 6am, I shudder and think to myself "She's mad!" as I recall hitting the snooze button about 4 times each morning.

But reading Murakami's book made me feel guilty because Murakami is like me. He's a guy who realized he was putting on weight and had to do something about it so he started running. And then he started to like it so he entered races. And in order to get better in his races, he set up a regime of running every day, gradually increasing his distances, refining his technique, improving his pace. He writes about it like it is his own version of zen meditation. Reading his book made me realize that I'm quite literally punking out on my running.

Lately I've been sleeping in, dashing off to work, feeling lethargic all day, and then reluctantly lacing up my kicks at 7pm for a run - which means that once I've done my 3 or 4 miles, stretched, and showered, it's now around 8pm and my evening is relegated to TV on the sofa. I was locking myself into a pattern of resenting running because it kept me from enjoying social activities; I was making choosing to run a sacrifice instead of an intention.

So this week I decided that I needed to stop this pattern and start running before work. I'm privileged enough to live so close to my office that I don't need to leave the house until 9am each morning. Which means I don't have to get up much earlier than at 7am to get a properly good run in. I've avoided morning exercise for so long now because I so enjoy sleeping in, but really, that's just a weakness. Murakami's discipline in his training routine opened my eyes to the fact that I need to make myself do things that may be uncomfortable to get the results I want.

So far this week I've run my entire usual route before work on both Monday and Tuesday, and today I ran half and went to the gym. Tomorrow and Friday I will do the same. I'm going away this weekend for the Bank Holiday, but typical weekends will include a long run of 10k or more on Saturdays and a rest on Sunday. This is new schedule for a new me.

Apparently it takes doing something up to 30 times to make it a habit. I'm not sure I can do it. But each morning this week, when the alarm rang at 7am, I've thought about how nice it is to just go and do the run, wake up mid-stride, and feel really awake once I'm work – with the added bonus of having my entire evening free for all of the things my new job has allowed me the time to rediscover. Though I struggle, and I moan, and frankly I am not a happy nor nice person during the beginning stages, I feel like I have a new lease on life.

Watch this space to see whether this new disciplined phase becomes a habit, or whether I slip into my former (lazy) ways.

Super spotted: sunny Southeast England weekend*

2011-05-23T18:00:00.017+01:00

Independent Label Market

Soho

Saturday 21 May 2011

I heard about it on Radio 6... and then I ran into it. Lots of cool kids buying, selling, and trading records. Just like the old days.

Site of a soon-to-be Forever 21

Oxford Street

Saturday 21 May 2011

Another piece of America invading Britain this summer...

Paul Rothe & Son Delicatessen and Tea Room

Marylebone Lane

Saturday 21 May 2011

But never fear, some quintessential British establishments will never die.

Southover Grange
Lewes
East Sussex
Sunday 22 May 2011

Life lessons from Her Majesty

Lewes

East Sussex

Sunday 22 May 2011

*Apologies for the delay in posting, but Blogger has decided not to work with Google Chrome. I'm seriously considering the switch to WordPress. Anyone have any advice?!

Blognic!

2011-05-20T12:42:00.000+01:00

The lovely Tea for Joy is hosting a blognic!

Bloggers and bloggerfans, sign up and see you there – hopefully with as much sun as there is today! It's glorious outside, isn't it?

The big save

2011-05-19T20:13:00.002+01:00

Photo courtesy of Georgivar

I don't know this guy, but these pictures make me laugh because they remind me of how I probably look when I start thinking about money. My mother always said I don't have a poker face.

I think everyone who knows me would agree that I'm not great with money. I'm not ashamed to admit that my budgeting/money management skills aren't exactly keen. Which is hilarious since a large amount of my job is about managing budgets - those of my clients; for some reason, since it's someone else's money, I can handle that but my own is like water running through my hands.

When I lived in New York I was pretty good about saving, though; I dutifully put the max into a Roth IRA every year, and enough into my 401(k) to get the employer match. When my grandmother passed away, I invested the money she left me in the market (of course, 18 months before the crash) in a mix of growth and retirement funds. So for longterm money, I'm your woman; it's just the day-to-day and monthly cash expenditures that I cannot - or refuse to - deal with.

When I got to the UK, my salary and budget were way out of line with each other and it took me nearly a year to settle on my feet in terms of monthly expenses versus spending money and making ends meet. Now, living with The Irishman and having a new job with a new salary, I am ready and able to return to saving more than just £50 per month. In fact, I'm going to be putting a lot more than that away every month from now on, because The Irishman and I are going START SAVING FOR A HOUSE.

Grandma, calm down. We're not sure whether this house is going to be in London, in England, in the USA, or even in the UAE. We're also not sure whether it will be a flat, a townhouse, a house or a farm. But we both want more than one room to share, and we'd like to be able to grow vegetables, and we want to have the space to potter. It's not going to happen without us buckling down and putting the money away, which is going to be a tough exercise for me. No more shoes, sales, or treats on a whim; last weekend, we wrote out a budget for us to both based on combined income and it was SCARY. And hard! It starts in June after we both get paid next, and it will be a big test whether we can continue our lifestyle as we now enjoy it within the confines of our new allowance.

Not only is it scary to think of curtailed spending, but it's pretty scary to think of joint saving. If this isn't commitment, I'm not sure what is. Lately it's been slightly freaking me out a bit, and The Irishman has been shaking his head at my footstamping about wanting to go out and do CRAZY THINGS to prove we're still young and hip rather than the truth: old souls who wish for a bigger living room of their own to curl up in on Saturday nights. But that doesn't mean I won't make him go out and shake his booty this weekend – I hear there is a 2-for-1 special down at the local pub. Cheap date!

I hate my hair.

2011-05-16T21:23:00.000+01:00

No, really. I know everyone says this, at some point or another. But I think I have a real argument for at least exasperation if not full-on anger. Let me explain.

When I was young, I had pin-straight hair.

I know. I was pretty cute too. See those cheeks? I still have them. Meh.

Anyway, my hair was so straight that my mom let me get a perm every so often. I won't post those photos, cuz they are pretty tragic. But that meant my hair flipped from straight to 'fro throughout my pre-teen years. Post-puberty, my hair got really thick and puffy, and I developed a really annoying jeri-curl in my bangs that I could not blow-dry out to save my life. This should have been my first clue.

So my solution to a lot of these issues was to chop my hair off. I spent quite a lot of my high-school self with a pixie cut. Hey, it was the 90s. I loved it. It was so cool! I don't have any pix of it, but I would share if I could.

When I got to college, I grew my hair out and straightened it religiously every day. I can't even imagine how much damage I did with that flat iron. But I had a mane of straight and lovely hair and I loved it.

Please disregard the horrible glow off of my shawl-thing, but focus on how straight my hair is. Le sigh.

But then I moved to New York. And I found Paul, the most fabulous hair dresser in the world. He cut my hair and discovered that the frizz I battled for so long was actually natural curl! And lots of it! So I ran around New York for many years with bouncy waves.

I thought I had a better picture of my lovely curls, but this will have to do. Also enjoy my 27th birthday crown, courtesy of my lovely friend Rietje.

Soon after this picture was taken, though, I moved to the UK. And there started the downward spiral of my hair – pun SO NOT INTENDED. I lost my hairdresser, my styling routine, and access to cheap hair products. Even though I went to see Paul every time I went home, I soon ran out of products that I was used to using and couldn't quite find the right replacements. Over the years, I've used so many – Redken Ringlet 07, Deva-Curl AnGel, Schwarzkopf Osis+ Twin Curl 2, MOP C-Curl cream – but none seem to do the trick of shaping and defining my waves while cutting down on the frizz. Then, last summer, I got an unfortunate shag cut that, while cute, was actually heavily thinned.

As it grew out, it looked increasingly limp and straggly and was losing a lot of its curl. In search of a solution, I bounced from hairdresser to hairdresser, seeking a good cut as well as someone with whom I could build a hair styling relationship, as I balanced waited for my hair to grow out. Meanwhile I was using up all of the remaining product I had in my cupboard, trying to economically get to a place where I could start over, as it were, with fresh product and a fresh outlook on my hair. Not only was I dealing with the poor haircut, though, I was also battling some dry scalp, the general feeling of thinness to my hair, and a lot of hair breakage.

Cut to now. I've just had a haircut where the guy did something weird, something I've never seen before: he twisted my hair into sections and cut perpendicularly into it. Curious, I started doing some research into the best way to care for and style curly hair and discovered a whole lifestyle devoted to caring for natural curls. Reading sites like Naturally Curly and British Curly Girls is just exhausting me with the amount of time and energy to required to "do" my hair. When I think back to deciding to wear my hair curly, the number one reason was definitely so that I wouldn't have to dry and straighten my hair for hours anymore!

So. Where to next? I've switched to low sulfate shampoo and conditioner in the hopes of really cleaning my scalp and preventing breakages, and I'm trying Trevor Sorbie Curl Cream (a cheap Boots product) because I've had a travel size bottle of it for a couple years now and my hair ALWAYS looks good on holiday. So far, mixed results as washing my hair has made it feel even limper (yet softer)! and the Curl Cream is disappointingly a different formula. I've also discovered that hard water is to blame for my dry scalp and thin-feeling hair (great) but I can't quite solve that in a rented flat. I think that over the summer I will treat myself to a cut at a salon that specializes in curly hair, and in the meantime commit myself to the scrunch.

Any curly-girls out there have any hard-earned advice? Melizza over at Sifting Through just wrote a post about liberating her curls, and she's reinspired me to keep up the quest to keep my curls happy – c'mon girls! We can do it!

Spotted: Sleeping on the job

2011-05-16T12:34:00.001+01:00

Cross Street, N1

Saturday, May 14, 2011.

Year 3

2011-05-10T08:45:00.000+01:00

Last week was my three-year anniversary of life in the UK.

And you know what?

I forgot.

Between getting swept up in the giddy excitement of the Royal Wedding, suffering another Irish invasion in my apartment, keeping an eye on the situation in Syria while getting out and about to enjoy the glorious weather, I've simply been too caught up in my life here in London to remember when I actually arrived. I contemplated not posting about the anniversary, and just blithely sweeping past it into year 4. But ignoring a milestone means not taking the time to remember just what has been achieved. And I've achieved a lot since moving here; sometimes it doesn't seem like it, as small victories like successfully shopping for groceries and finding one's way on a bus are everyday habits back home.

But it's also a good thing that I forgot the anniversary. It means I'm fully acclimated to life in the UK, really a resident rather than a transitory guest overstaying her welcome. My daily life is normal, rather than exciting; the currency in my wallet has lost its charm (as well as its buying power) and I whinge just as much a native Brit. The only thing left for me to do is vote - which I won't get to do for a while yet.

As I move from enchanted tourist to weary nearly-citizen here in world's biggest small island, the implications for this blog are also weighing on my mind. I started BloodyBrill as a journal of my time away, my travels, the quirky Britishness I encounter, and record of my experiences. As I settle in and settle down, I'm finding it harder and harder to think of what to write. It's not that I don't love the readers and commenters who frequent BloodyBrill, but I'm thinking that you probably don't want to read about my composting, my struggle to keep my flat clean, or my constant war with TFL about overcharging on my Oystercard. As I am not traveling too much for work anymore, there isn't much for me to report as the farthest I'm going is in cabs to Embankment – a far cry from monthly meetings in Amsterdam.

So friends, three years on... what do you want to see, read, hear about on BloodyBrill? I'll be using the summer to think about a new focus for BloodyBrill, so please let me know what you think. There are so many other expat blogs out there doing a much better job than I, so hopefully you can help me develop a more personal (and sustainable) angle here.

Royal Wedding Recap

2011-04-30T12:46:00.004+01:00

So it's over... the entire nation (and possibly the world) has a massive hangover from the pomp, circumstance, and Pimms of yesterday. I originally poo-pooed all of the hype but this past week I've been sucked in. I think it was the genuine excitement of English people, rather than the manufactured hoo-ha of the press, as they hung bunting, flags, planned street parties, and reminisced about royal weddings past. People genuinely were worried for the couple that it might rain on their day and I'm sure were pleased that the forecasted thunder and lightning stayed at bay. I think Will and Kate really resonated with everyone because they are modern young people in love, rather than stoic and wooden royals so far out of reach. Their personal openness encouraged people to join in their day as revellers, rather than subjects. It's not just semantics.

But that didn't mean I wanted to be thick in the festivities on processional route. Instead, we jumped on an early train to Salisbury to have a Royal Wedding House Party with friends in Salisbury. By 10am I had champagne in hand infront of BBC1 lapping up both the fizz and the coverage - and I loved every minute. I LOVED THE DRESS - perfect for the occasion, perfect for the location, and absolutely fabulous with the Victorian bustle detail at the back. And both Princes cut fine figures, though I couldn't help coming up with cheeky comments every time Harry leaned in to tell Wills something; if I'm not mistaken, he was TOTALLY chatting up Kate's sister Pippa coming out of the church. Mwah!

Once the initial coverage ended, after the two kisses (so cute) and after about 5 hours of drinking and TV watching, we headed out to a pub and then the backyard for celebrating in the sunshine. We ended our day with fireworks and sparkers, and trouped back to London on a 9:30 train. It was as we left it - empty, but with a frisson of excitement in the air as the nation and its guests sleepily smiled at the sweetness of it all.

Back to the Future

2011-04-28T17:53:00.000+01:00

I'm a bad little blogger; I've been back from the US since Monday and haven't really made the time to write a post saying HI and how great my trip home was. I blamed this on the fact that The Irishman hid my camera cable so I can't upload pix from our trip to post, but really that's just me making excuses.

Jetlag this time has been an odd one. We took the overnight flight from Newark Sunday evening after a delicious Easter dinner and though it felt like I didn't sleep much, I think I did because I was FINE on Monday. Like, did laundry, went to the park and read in the sun, and wasn't cranky fine. Meanwhile The Irishman spent all day on the sofa and couldn't put two words together properly. But now, man, I get home from work at 6:30 and I am BEAT. And I get up at 8am and I can't open my eyes because at 4am I've been waking up bright eyed and bushytailed. I have no idea what's going on, but I am really hoping this goes away stat.

Anyway, about my trip home. In Philly, I made sure my bestie got married in one piece - she won't mind if I say that she got horribly sick the week before her wedding and us 'maids had the job of telling her how beautiful she was (AND SHE WAS GORGEOUS) through the pain. It was hard for me, though, because I felt guilty that I only flew in to shower her with presents and Grazias, rather than being there for her throughout the wedding planning process. Yet another one of the travesties of expat life: not being there for your bestie until the last minute.

Also in Philly, The Irishman and I ate a lot of his firsts: first cheesesteak, first pork sandwich, first soft pretzel, first Amish deli, first whoopie pie... He was in heaven. I was just trying to pace myself so my 'maids dress fit. Then The Irishman celebrated his first Seder with my family. He wore his first yarmulke and chose a fetching teal one; I was so proud of him for jumping in and fully embracing the holiday.

In New York, I crammed about 10 meals into two days so I could see my peoples. Every trip home it gets harder to spend quality time with people; meetups are shorter and less deep and I consciously feel the distance growing between myself and my friends. I know they care, I know I care, but the truth is I'm less involved with their current lives and vice versa. I'm learning to accept that, and to be okay with it. It's no one's fault, we're still friends, and it's enough to be able to see each other and pick up with wherever we left off - even if it is only in hour-long chunks.

And then we had Easter, where The Irishman was the star of the show. Again. Honestly, they love him more than me.

But the oddest part of the whole trip was that I was excited to go home because it was vacation, not because it was home. I forgot a lot of driving directions, like the backroads around my parents home that lead to I-95. It didn't feel like my place anymore; I am increasingly offended by American TV and anachronistic customs. Yet when I left, I didn't feel like I was going "home"either. Landing at Heathrow didn't feel like relief - it was just where I was going. So at this point, I just feel nationless. It's actually quite a freeing place to be, not being held down by some invisible cultural rope to a set of customs and expectations arbitrarily assigned by birth; I feel liberated but bewildered, like a kid who is home alone for the first time and knows she can do whatever she wants but isn't quite sure what that might be.

My bestie told me something funny after her wedding; apparently her family were quite disappointed that I wasn't actually British. She had told them that her friend from the UK was attending, and when they met me, heard my accent, and learned I was from New Jersey it was all a bit boring. I loved that. Expat life continues to amuse me in all of the oddest ways. So here I am, back in England, back living my odd stateless life, back to living my future.

Well then. I'm off to the pub.

Spotted: Royal Wedding Bunting

2011-04-28T10:32:00.001+01:00

My office

King's Cross

Thursday, April 28, 2011

Role reversal

2011-04-12T10:31:00.000+01:00

I'm officially 1 month into my new job. So many people have asked me how it's going and what it's like, and I'm sure all of you virtual people are wondering too. Obviously then a post is in order; while I do generally keep work out of Bloody Brilliant, it is the reason I moved to the UK and a large part of my life, so I am okay with blogging from a personal point of view about how work is contributing to my life (ie, me and my experience with/at work) without it straying too far into overshare territory.

Anyway, my new job. First impression: scary. Not that the company is scary; far from it, it is warm and welcoming, a great bunch of people with great personalities who have been really inclusive and kind from day 1. But it is scary because I don't really think that I realized just what a change I was making when I left my former position. There, I had a personal reputation in the company that extended beyond the US and UK; I could call up someone in our Asian offices and they knew my name. I had firsthand knowledge of work we had done in South America. I could find resources in Russia if necessary. This reputation was in some ways good and bad: people knew who I was and my skillset, and I was often pointed to as an excellent example of the company's commitment to international collaboration across offices. But that reputation also pigeonholed me at a level I couldn't break free of, and as I yearned for bigger, more exciting challenges, I realized they wouldn't be happening there: the downside of someone knowing what you can do is that, well, that's all they think you can do.

So I left. And now I'm in a new place with new expectations and NO history. Sheesh people. There is nothing more humbling than having someone rewrite something you've been writing for years, because "that's just not how we do it here." S/he didn't do it rudely; it's just a learning curve that I ran smack bang into and I'm only now starting to adjust my approach to the incline. It's just a really weird situation to be in, going from being at the top of one's game, to relearning how to do everything that was seemingly automatic.

There are silver linings of course. I've imported a lot of ways of working that have been really well-received, and I think I'm contributing well to a situation here that is also in transition: fresh thoughts, new processes, etc. But I still have a ways to go to establish myself, craft my reputation, and make sure I'm controlling my own situation. My former boss recommended I read The First 90 Days; 30 days in I've only really gotten through the introduction. I figure if I don't count my vacation next week, I have 60 days to implement what I learn. I'm gonna read it on the plane next week.

Despite the upheaval, I really believe that every transition affords a learning opportunity. Look at how much I've grown since moving to the UK! As much as I look back on it with rose-tinted glasses, I know deep down it was such a hard thing to do. And it's the same thing with my new job. You don't change roles after 5 years and not feel any displacement; it's learning how to find your feet again that makes the challenge worthwhile. I'm on a boat, people, and I'm adjusting to the motion of the waves.

Spotted: Ship-shape and floral-ly!

2011-04-11T09:48:00.003+01:00

Upper Street, Islington

April 9, 2011

Temperature: 80°F

Got my passport!

2011-04-07T12:22:00.000+01:00

I'm good to fly this day next week!

Phew!

The bride and my bestie told me yesterday she was a wee bit worried about all this (oops, sorry Kat) but it's all resolved. Now I have a document that is valid until March 27th, 2021. WHOA. I haven't even thought about the 20s!

Also interesting is that this here passport is an ePassport. I've never heard of such a thing! How very high-tech-Bourne Identity-Big Brother of them.

Anyway. One less thing to worry about. Now, fingers crossed that the alterations to my bridesmaid dress that will cost me £30 turn out well...

The abovepar programming of the BBC

2011-04-06T09:14:00.000+01:00

I've been a bit quiet on the blog as I settle into my new job and prepare all of my imports for my trip home next week. I've also been enjoying the lovely spring weather, and revelling in the fact that the BBC has finally launched their new season of programming. Warning, this post has a high geek factor, so if you didn't think I was a bit nutty before, you will now.

Last night was the first episode of "Filthy Cities," a show about world cities (London, Paris, New York) and their struggles with sewage and filth that led to municipal intervention through sewer systems and garbage men. I was excited all day for this show, because I particularly love the BBC's efforts to turn history and learning into entertainment. There is nothing quite like relaxing after work and watching a presenter attempt to clear six tons of dung from a street outside of a steel and glass center of power in the middle of the City of London.

I'm even more exciting that tonight is the first episode of The Crimson Petal and the White. Not only because I spent about $15 on overdue fees at the Brooklyn Public Library for taking about six months to finish the novel (that weighed about 5 lbs), but because I love period dramas. I know, I know - I'm a big girl. But the BBC hasn't given us a really good one since Little Dorrit so I'm chuffed to bits to get stuck into this one. Only problem – I'm flying to the US two episodes in. I now have to figure out how to get to the last 2 episodes before they disappear from iPlayer.

Here's a clip to whet your appetitie:

The UK census

2011-03-27T19:48:00.003+01:00

Today is the day to complete the UK census. I got very excited when we received our census packet; though there was an option to fill out the census online, I personally, nerdily, love filling out forms and told The Irishman I would take over filling out the bulk of the document. Secretly, I was also excited and intrigued to see just what the government wanted to know about me.

Like the US, the UK census comes around every 10 years and is compulsory. Unlike the US census, the government is surveying households on a particular day (today), so if you're visiting a friend and staying with them you are counted with them as part of his/her household as well. If you're travelling and not at home today, you have to fill out a special section explaining why and get it done asap. The most notable differences in the document itself were questions that pointed towards the UK's more liberal social policy stances: questions about marital status included as many options for gay people as for straight. The race and religion questions also had many more options, as well as write-in opportunities, than in the US. There were questions about health, occupation, and caretaking, and I had a pretty hard time trying to figure out how my academic credentials matched with UK degree levels.

The Irishman found my enthusiasm for the census to be pretty hilarious, but I did find that filling out the form gave me a really good understanding for how British social policy is planned and executed. I any documents that survey people and find the questions to be more telling than the answers. Just one more little peak under the covers of British society and culture.

Spring has sprung and I smell divine

2011-03-24T12:03:00.000Z

The blogosphere is erupting with posts about the budding trees and flowers and the fact that we've had a week of gorgeous sun, topped off with the temperature reaching 18°C/70°F over the last two days. I decided that meant it was time for me to take my wool winter coat to the dry cleaners, and abandon my winter fragrance, a heavy, sweet, slightly musky scent called Wish by Chopard.

With glee this morning I spritzed my new summer favorite, Prada's Infusion de Tubereuse. It is light, fresh, slightly sweet, and tinged with roses - like modern Victoriana. I probably was a little more liberal with it than I should have been, but cycling to work this morning I could smell it wafting off of me and it reminded me of the lazy hot summer days from last year, my holiday in the south of France, and chilled rosé wine.

I love that perfume and scents hold so many memories, and can completely define a point in time. Changing perfumes with the season is more rewarding than changing your wardrobe from winter to summer clothes, or even to wearing your open-toed sandals for the first time in a season. It's the first true step forward from winter into spring and I am relishing it. I just hope people forgive me for sniffing the inside of my wrist a lot today.

Images courtesy of Fragrantica

A staycation minibreak

2011-03-22T10:56:00.006Z

Image courtesy of Hipkiss

Friends, I'm very excited to announce that this weekend The Irishman and I are treating ourselves to a minibreak holiday... in Wandsworth! Friends of ours are heading to Berlin for the weekend and their dogsitter bailed, so we're going to stay in their house to mind a very lovely and well-mannered Labradoodle named Paco. But we are using the favor as an excuse to explore a part of town we really never get around to visiting: SW. Sure we go down there to visit friends, walk along the river, to go to restaurants, for Battersea Park fireworks on Guy Fawkes... but it amounts to maybe 5 days per year. There are so many nice things to do and see Down South that I often feel like I'm not really taking advantage of a large swath of the city. So this weekend is a chance for me (us) to really see what South London is all about.

I don't have any concrete plans yet, but I welcome suggestions from those of you who live in/near Clapham, Wandsworth, Putney... tell me where to go! what to see! where to shop! Bonus points if Paco can come along!

Expat joys: passport renewal

2011-03-18T12:05:00.001Z

Image courtesy of Flickr: Ho John Lee

One of the cruel jokes that the US government and its worldwide counterparts have devised to play on us unsuspecting tourists is passport validity. My passport is technically valid until July 18th of this year, but most countries in Europe require that it be valid for three months after the date of entry into that country and many others require 6 month validity. So technically, from April 18th I can't travel on the damn thing unless I'm going back to the US. Which, funnily enough, I am - on April 14th for my friend's wedding and the Passover and Easter holidays. So in my infinite planning wisdom, I decided to wait to renew my passport until my return to the UK.

Fast forward to the new job, new client and new project, and now I may have to go to Prague in the middle of May. So I checked the embassy website for passport renewal processing times - 15 working days - and did the math to realize that waiting until I returned from the US wasn't such a smart idea. But as of yesterday, there were 20 working days until I leave for the US... so I crossed my fingers and sent it off. I dashed into Snappy Snaps for some of the worst photographs of myself at the exorbitant rate of £12.99 for 2 photographs, and paid a courier service £25.50 for the pleasure of taking my application to the embassy and returning it to me (hopefully before 5pm on April 14th when I have to leave for Heathrow). Add those charges to the $110 passport renewal free, and I just spent about £100 in the space of an hour - all to renew my most important identity document THAT IS STILL VALID FOR 4 MONTHS. I wish I could get a prorated discount refunding me for the time left on the document. I know, I know, stop laughing but I think it's only fair.

Add to this the fact that my visa is in what will now be a cancelled passport. The UK government strongly suggests that I send my new passport to them so they can transfer the visa sticker into the new book - for the princely price of £200! It is legal to carry both the old, cancelled passport with the visa sticker in it as well as the new passport, so that is what I will be doing. I've already donated enough of my post-tax earnings to the Border Agency; as much as I love have stamps and visas and stickers in my passport, none of them are worth that much financial pain.

Shareworthy: Anthology magazine

2011-03-16T12:59:00.000Z

For those of you who fondly remember that lovely home/design/fashion/lifestyle dream mag Blueprint and cried at its demise, I'd like to share what I think might be a worthy replacement:

Anthology is a lovely mag with a lovely blog, full of design inspiration. I haven't seen a full issue yet, as you can't buy them on the newsstand in the UK but they do let those of us living in the UK subscribe at what is what I think a not-too-bad-rate! It seems to be distributed in the US through every design-girl's mecca, Anthropologie.

Anyone seen the mag? Hold it? Taste it? Love it? I've subscribed to the blog and when I'm in the US I'm definitely going to pick up a copy from Anthro and give it a good peruse.

Brief unemployment and the first day of work

2011-03-14T11:25:00.000Z

My actual birthday was last Sunday, and after all of my guests departed for their homes I enjoyed a homecooked meal courtesy of The Irishman with him and my parents. He made a very "me"-inspired meal of cassoulet with salad and bread and bottle of cheap Chateauneuf-du-Pape that we bought in a French supermarket last autumn, followed by chocolate mousse for dessert. Oooh la la!

Monday brought me my two days of unemployment/freedom (more on that in a separate post), and the overall mission was to relax. The Irishman took a day of holiday with me on Monday so we could have some quality time together without visitors, and he was a genuine sweetheart in forcing me to not do or stress about anything. I didn't get up until noon and our most ambitious activity of the day was walking to the supermarket to buy ice cream.

Tuesday I was on my own with quite the jam-packed day: I went to the gym to start my 8 free sessions with a personal trainer, had lunch with an old friend who I hadn't seen in 6 months, got a manicure, and then went to a local spa to treat myself to a luxurious rose petal pamper. Phew! Actually, the spa treatment was probably the nicest thing I've done for myself in a very long time. Basically, I had two types of full body exfoliation and then was rubbed in cream and wrapped in a plastic sheet in insulate me while the moisturizer absorbed into my skin. As I lay in my plastic wrap, I was treated to both a head and foot massage: bliss. I left that spa more relaxed than I have been in recent memory. If anyone lives near to Angel, or visits it often, I highly recommend checking out Angel Therapy Rooms.

My personal trainer session was also strangely relaxing; Tyrone, who reminds me of one of J.Lo's backup dancers, was extremely helpful in developing a gym routine that I could do easily in a relatively short amount of time. He showed me 4 mat exercises and 3 machine exercises to work each of the major muscle groups, and I feel confident that I can do them without messing them up. I also discussed my plans to run the Dublin marathon in October, and he made sure that the exercises would complement a running schedule rather than cause undo strain on my body. He is also a big fan of rest days, which means I'm a big fan of him. The free personal trainer sessions are fairly scripted, so this week I will see him to discuss my nutrition, but hey it's better than nothing.

So Wednesday of last week was my first day at the new job. My first day I was asked to arrive at 10am; normal start time is 9:30am which is absolutely incredibly restful compared with my former job's 9am (which really meant 8am) start. The office is also in my postcode which means it is a 20 minute walk or 10 minute cycle. Swoon! I was greeted by HR and shown around the building, introduced to everyone, and led to my desk. The next three days were a blur of inductions, meetings, paperwork, forms, and just trying to acclimatize myself to a whole new way of working. It wasn't easy: little things like logging into my laptop reminded me that I'm not in Kansas anymore, and big things like the realization that no one knows me or my history were big WHOA moments. Wednesday night I was utterly exhausted, but with the type of exhaustion that is less monumental, less feeling like I can't possibly go on, but the type of exhaustion I remember feeling from my university days: exhausted with the anticipation of just what could possibly come next, what could possibly be more exciting or engaging than today.