That's what friends are (not) for

Right. Friendship is a funny thing, isn't it. It can be something which is constant, with two people seeing each other frequently, talking on the phone, lending a hand whenever needed, etc etc. That's close friendship, and I'm lucky enough to have several friends like that. But friendship can also be more sporadic, more infrequent, based on past shared experiences and the knowledge that even though you can't see this person all the time, you've been through things together and when you see them again, it will be as if no time has passed at all.

I've recently been stung by one of those 'friends' who, I thought, fell into the latter category. A university friend - my best friend from uni actually), who, it has to be said, was often my rock through those tumultuous years of studying, boys and developing fears about the future and the next stage of life. After university, we moved to different towns, started jobs and, inevitably, meetings once every couple of months became rarer, turning eventually into maybe once or twice a year. the phone calls were there occasionally, but busy jobs prevented us from being in constant contact.

Now I know both of us were to blame for this - staying in touch wasn't easy, and I suppose neither of us put in the amount of effort we could have done. But the issue is; for me, it wasn't a problem. On those surprising, glorious moments where we did talk or we did meet up, I had fun; the joys of infrequent meetings is that you have so much to catch up on and learn when you do get together.

Now, I have no interest in spelling out here the details of what happened recently to end this friendship, but what I will say is that I am saddened and surprised that this friend, although admitting equal guilt to me in terms of not meeting more regularly, has now decided that what we had over the last few years is not a friendship at all and that we should now cut contact altogether. they are not even coming to my wedding in 3 weeks. Oh well, their loss I suppose. I just think it's a shame to put a value on friendship like that. Grab the moments of happiness and shared experiences while you can, I say. It really doesn't matter how often they come.

The name game

Jeez I've been bad at this recently, haven't I? Anyway, I'm back now, so stop your moaning... :P

I was reading the Londonpaper on the tube tonight (as an aside, can I just say how gutted I am that it's folding in the autumn, it's much better than the London Lite! The love page cracks me up!) and there was a story about Cheryl Cole being chosen as the new UK face of L'oreal. Apparently she's 'always wanted to utter the immortal phrase "because you're worth it"'..now, there's a quote. Anyway, as I was reading, I was thinking what an icon and media darling she's become lately, and I came to wonder, would she be this popular if her name was still Cheryl Tweedy?

Now, obviously, having the name Cole, at least for the next 6 weeks, you may think me biased, or those of you who know mw well and also know my grammar obsessed ways, may even be forgiven for thinking it's something about the alliteration. But let's face it, Cheryl Cole, however you look at it, is a cooler name than Cheryl Tweedy. I can understand why she changed it. And call me shallow, but I really don't think our image obsessed public and our even more image driven press in this country, could really ever allow themselves to truly love a woman named Tweedy.

So what is in a name? Do a few randomly selected consonants and vowels really have the power to influence our lives and the impact we have on the world and on others? I know some people with some bland names, some tricky to spell names, and even some downright silly or unfortunate names, but now I think of it, none of them are either lifted up or downtrodden by their names. Personality and what people choose to do with themselves in life seems to be the key. So, I appear to have talked myself out of my original argument. the only conclusion being, I suppose, that Cheryl Cole is now loved where she was once vilified, because she used to be a chav and now she's a classy strong minded woman.

Really???

Running for Life

Phew - been a long time.. since I wrote a blog post or did any exercise; and today I managed to do both! Yes, ladies and gents, today I ran 5K for the Cancer Research UK Race for Life, and what a proud little bunny I am.

Now, many people may scoff at 5K and say that they, seasoned exercisers and runners extraordinaires, could run that distance twice before breakfast and not break into a sweat. Maybe so. I, however, was not made for running. This body can dance, move smoothly to the beat of an aerobics teacher's drum and has even attempted a few martial arts classes (well, the softened down versions they offer at the gym, anyway). What this body does not take kindly to is running. There seems something disjointed and awkward about the way that I react when I start running; my thighs feel heavy, my neck slumps forward, and my breathing becomes panicked and laboured.

This last point has much to do, no doubt, with the fact that I've been terribly lazy recently and haven't been to the gym, and so am extremely unfit. I do walk everyday, and have of course lost almost 2 stone over the past two years, but..still...

Anyway, this was not my first 5k - I've done the race for life twice before, both times before the big 'weight loss', so I was cautiously optimistic that today, even without the benefit of training and despite the fact that I CANNOT RUN, would be more enjoyable than the last two.

And, drum roll please...it was! I loved it! I completed the course in 38 minutes; no record for the masses, but a record for me, and actually ran at least a third of the course, with just small intervals of walking interspersed. The atmosphere, as ever, was amazing. I was standing behind a lady at the start who had pinned a note to her back, as many participants do. Whereas most people write down who they are running for; those who have passed away, those who are still fighting cancer, this lady had written proudly in huge black letters " I'm here to celebrate - I survived the big C four years ago and I'm still here." Gulp - that nearly had me in floods of tears before I'd even started.

However the emotional part for me was the end; I found enough energy to sprint the whole last 500 metres, which is a great achievement as just the mention of that figure brings back horrible memories of PE lessons at school. I pelted down that last strait and took my medal as if I'd won the olympics - after all, I (and my family) know why and for whom I was running today, and the thought of them pushed me right through to the line.

Shame I've now gone and ruined it all with a chinese takeaway and a homemade sponge cake. Ah whatever, I've deserved it!!

Taste of London

Ok so this is a bit delayed but I'm still reeling from the amazing time I had last weekend at Taste of London in Regent's Park...YUM!!!! My lovely friend Melanie from work, the author of fab food blog om nom London won some VIP tickets and she was kind enough to take me along. See Melanie's blog for a full run down of what we ate, but I can give you my main memories of the day.

First off was a rabbit stew from Hereford Road, which was great in flavour, but a bit sloppy and full of bones for us.

We then had some great samples from Almondy and The Curry Company, plus a young's pie which was beautifully rich on the inside and flaky on the outside...perfect.

My favourites however, were the pork from Asia de Cuba and the cold pumpkin and crab soup from Pied a Terre ... simply delicious.

In between all this, we managed to take advantage of the VIP tent, supping champagne and partaking of neck and back massages, both complementary, and both fabulous.

The great thing about the Taste of London is the fact that everyone gets involved, and everyone is welcome. yes ok so it takes a bit of money to get there, but in terms of attitude, I didn't find it as snobby and exclusive as I expected. The chefs and kitchen staff were friendly, chatty and welcoming, and the other guests all seemed gracious in queues and looked genuinely happy to be there.

I might even buy my own tickets next year...coming?

p.s Technorati says if I post this it will boost my blog profile.... nyzfu5mtdx

It feels good to do something good

Hello. I gave blood tonight...and I feel good about it. I know that's terribly cliched; do a good deed and feel all proud etc, but really, I do feel good. I don't know what the statistics are but I know that thanks to the 15-20 people that I saw pass through the clinic tonight, including me, a few more unlucky people might be ok , or even live instead of die.

Ok, so it was a long wait, and ok, it was slightly annoying that I had two people double and triple check the manual to see if my meningitis four years ago affected my eligibility to donate. Yes, it was painful when Patrick the grumpy but delightful old american man who took my blood put the needle in at the wrong angle and had to jiggle it around causing a cascade of lovely red liquid down my arm. Yes, it was weird that some strange lanky dutch boy was appearing to eye me up while lying on the stretcher bed next to me, watching the blood trickle out of my arm with a peculiar leer on his face.

It was even frustrating that the biscuits they made me eat to stop me fainting afterwards meant that I'll most likely go over my weight watchers points for today. All of these things were probably not what I'd usually include in my regular Thursday night, and some of them, especially the latter, WW related point, were a little inconvenient. That said, in order to help a few people out and blimey, maybe even save a few lives, it's got to be worth it really, hasn't it?

The customer's always..right??

Wow, it's been a while. Hmmm. I seem to have slipped back into the 'wake, work, eat, sleep' mode, which is not a good thing but inevitable I suppose.

I had a brilliant customer service call today. Abel and Cole rag me, because I set up an account last week, and made an order, then cancelled just before the payment stage because I realised I was going to be on holiday (d'oh...). Anyway, this very nice chap called me today and casually asked me if I was having problems, could he help, just to introduce me to the service...yada yada. I was very impressed. You see, the problem with most customer service people is that they either try and be super efficient, which often comes over as unfriendly and patronising, or they can't give a monkeys.

I HATE bad customer service. Having worked in a supermarket once, I can't understand why or how people who work in shops can even contemplate not acknowledging or saying hello to thier customers, talking to colleagues while serving, or even (and this really winds me up) taking mobile phone calls whilst in the middle of a transaction. Appalling. I know I sound like a prude, but really - are we so 'advanced' in our society now that we don't even need to make contact with people while we serve them at the supermarket?

Anyway, I digress into the negative because it's often easier to do so than focus on the positive. But, Mr Abel and Cole, you were extremely impressive - you didn't try too hard, didn't gush over me, and you only stayed on the phone as long as I wanted to. Top marks, sir.

Cornish fasties

Ahhh...Cornwall. Just returned after five glorious days visiting my nanna in Falmouth and I couldn't be happier, more sunburnt, or any fatter... Honestly, I have eaten so much food in the last week that I don't think I need to have another meal for months. Seriously though, we couldn't have asked for better weather; the sun was out, there wasn't a cloud in the sky and the wind was just enough to be a comfort without making my hair look like a hedge with a bird's nest in it.

I've spent lots of holidays in Cornwall, visiting family and gorging myself on pasties and the like, and quite often we've had great weather for most of the week, or a few days rain followed by one reasonable day, but this time, I was gobsmacked as each morning as I dragged myself out of bed, I was greeted by bright blue sky and glorious sunshine. Pretty perfect as one of the reasons for the trip was to prove to the Kiwi other half that there are indeed sunny days and sandy beaches to be enjoyed in the U of K.

So, enough of the Michael Fish impersonation, and on to the Rick Stein (from weather to food if you need further explanation). Cornwall and food, for those of you not familiar with the county, go hand in hand. The Cornish are fiercely protective of their own creations, and have now moved from cheerfully moaning that none of their wares (hog's pudding, saffron cake, Rhodda's clotted cream) could be purchased outside of Cornwall, to cheerfully moaning that 'you can get it anywhere now.' However, even though I'm delighted that I can get 'proper' food in London, there's nothing quite like eating the delights of the most south west county in the place itself. What would be bread rolls, cream and golden syrup anywhere else becomes the deliciously mysterious sounding 'thunder and lightning', and thick white sausage takes on the brilliantly country bumpkin persona of hog's pudding. Yum. I'll still be eating them in my dreams a week from now.

So on to the tricky subject of pasties. Mr Kiwi had tasted some pasties before but had not yet enjoyed a proper Nanna version, and other than that he'd only been exposed to the horrors of the supermarket and train shop versions (Mince?? in a pasty?? whatever...) Come Thursday night, we were sat down at the table and there, placed ceremoniously in front of us were the most beautifully rustic, crispy parcels of pasty perfection. I would go into detail about how juicy the steak was, how smooth the kidney was , and howthe potato, swede and delicious pastry melted into each other, but I think I'd start salivating onto the keyboard. Oops..too late. Needless to say, on account of both the weather and the food, Mr Kiwi and I are already planning our next trip to Kernow, but before then, I seriously need to start dieting. Hence the title.

recipe for bliss

Ah, the joys of youth..when I was so sure I would grow up to be an independent-minded, career driven girl with no desire to stay at home and cook. What did I do today? Cooked a big lunch and spent the afternoon baking brownies...haha!

But seriously, there is a serious pleasure to be had in cooking. I never really cooked much when I was younger, I guess it came from having an HE teacher as a mother! She was so good I was happy to leave it all to her! But as I've moved away, got older and found my own man to cook for (oh the feminist in me is groaning, and the man himself is even protesting because he actually would love to cook if I let him in the kitchen), I've discovered a real love for cooking.

Whether it's the long drawn out joys of a roast dinner (the cooking is drawn out; the eating takes a frustrating 5 minutes!) or the 'will it rise, will it collapse' traumas of baking, I find I can really escape from stress and throw myself into cooking, it completely takes me over and I'm as happy as Larry. However happy he is.

Brownie anyone? Before the other half eats them all?

Telly-vision

Why is it that a TV programme can sometimes make me feel as good as meeting an old friend, or spending a really nice night with my fiance or my family? Is it sad that sometimes, looking at a small box (well, actually, my TV is enormous - old and unsexy, but enormous, yet that's besides the point) can evoke in me the same emotions and feelings of comfort as more, well less face it, legitimate pleasures?

I sit here, wearing old clothes and hugging a cup of tea, and pass the hours watching a mindless soap or drama, or going goggled eyed over the latest reality-let's pick-the-best-out-of-a-bad-bunch music / model / entrepreneur show, and it actually makes me feel really, really relaxed and happy. I read constantly that such shows are 'drivel', 'brainless' and 'dire', but what if mindless and unchallenging is exactly what I need after a long day? I take comfort in the fact that I don't need to strain to understand these programmes, be disturbed, shocked or frightened by them, or feel uncomfortable with the subjects they deal with.

Don't get me wrong, sometimes I love to watch programmes that challenge, educate and confront me - I like to learn, I'm not afraid of tough topics and I'm not averse to being proved wrong or have my views altered by what I see. There are days when this kind of viewing is what I need, what I crave.

But sometimes, just sometimes, give me a cuppa and American Idol and I'm the happiest girl in the world. Oh and maybe throw in a biscuit. Covered in chocolate.

The morning after

After setting up my blog last night in a wave of enthusiasm and confusion, I now have that familiar but unpleasant morning after feeling of 'oh no, maybe I shouldn't have done that.' It's not that I don't want a blog, I do, but the name, the purpose...

Anyway, I am a worrier so the name will stick. But what I really want to do with this is write, put feelings and thoughts to page and generally just observe and post. Being in the communications business I am of course like many others a frustrated writer, and now I can submit my ramblings to the ether forever...

What I'm interested in this morning is why people react so differently to the same topic or problem. Why do so many of us look at an email, a situation, or hear a conversation and immediately think the worst or start panicking? Are we just programmed to be that way? Or is it something we've experienced; is it past bad memories that make us panic so dramatically? Sometimes I'd love to be one of those gloriously laid back people who can always look at a situation and just say 'oh it's fine, it will all blow over.' It must be nice not to tense up and imagine the worst all the time. But other times I realise why I am the way I am; I think I just really like the drama, deep down.

Welcome to worryland

So I was wondering what my blog should be about, and I thought it should reflect who I am; what my nearest and dearest would say to sum me up. Worryingly (haha), the main thing I could think of is that I worry too much - I am, always have been and always will be a worrier. Sometimes I worry about sensible things, such as when the bills should be paid or if my friends and family are ok, and other times my concerns are much less valid...I won't bore you with examples just yet.

But be assured that these pages will certainly be an interesting trip through a worried, but hopefully not too worrying mind.