A Life Less Ordinary

Learning to live with regrets

There are little things we regret like eating six Cadbury’s crème eggs in the space of two hours (yes, this has actually happened), or generous actions we learn to regret when we have been taken advantage of by those we loved. Emotional regrets teach us to not get caught up in other people’s shitstorms, serving us with knowledge of how to save face and pain along the way. And frivolous regrets end up with unworn shoes in the wardrobe.

But then there are bigger regrets that we have no choice but to live with; negative relationships that went on for too long with emotionally draining men who didn’t accept you for the wonderful being you are.

We all have choices to make and our motivation differs along the way; be it for love or loyalty, sheer greediness when it comes to crème eggs, or simply plain naivety.

I try to live my life regret free; we are here to make mistakes along the way and I figure it would be pretty boring if we were all perfect. However, looking back, I would like to have the chance to do a few things differently. Yet it’s only in the dead of the night, or on a tube journey when you swear you caught a glimpse of an ex-boyfriend, that you find yourself asking; what if some of those ‘big’ decisions have irreversibly changed the course of your life?

My hairdresser pointed out last night he has “always been impressed with the way you pick yourself up and get straight back out there after every failed relationship AD…” Ok, so I wasn’t very impressed with the “failed” comment; I like to see each and every relationship as adding to the rich tapestry of what makes me ‘me’...  But I’ll give myself credit where credit is due; optimism can be a rare trait. Especially for someone like me who has been around the block a few times when it comes to scraping the barrel of men in London.

The way I see it, why should I allow an ex-boyfriend cast me with shadows of doubt and insecurity, denying me a happy future with someone who might just be around the corner? Someone who I might be missing out on meeting, if I were to still be sitting around moping for 'what could have been'.

Girls like me spend our 20's telling ourselves; “we’re having too much fun to want to settle down…” but suddenly that doesn’t quite cut the mustard once you reach 30. And now I’ve reached that milestone, I inevitability compare my own situation with that of my friends, wondering in the dead of the night if I should have perhaps ‘settled’. Gulp.

Which then ultimately arrives me at the place where I wonder if my eternal optimism is flawed. Maybe I have missed the boat... Maybe I missed the opportunity.

That said; instead of sharing a bathroom with wet towels on the floor, toothpaste with no lid, loo seats always up and having to remember to pick up dinner on the way home, I have a forceful independence, a packed diary that anyone lacking in a social life would be envious of, a floor to ceiling wardrobe that is mine (all mine!) and most importantly, I can do whatever the sod I want to do, whenever I want to.

And suddenly it’s occurred to me; maybe it isn’t the ‘emotionally unavailable’, ‘socially inept’ and ‘confused’ boys myself and my friends have become so accustomed to blaming it on. Maybe it’s me… I am the main decision maker after all; I love my life and it’s going to take someone pretty special to get me to give this all up.

Until then, I’m off to fill my wardrobe with expensive shoes, dance until dawn, eat cheese on toast for supper and go on holiday to far flung exotic places with the girls; for these are the glory days I will one day look back on, sighing with regret that they will be no more.

In this decade I have...

• Graduated with a first class honours in fashion.
• Craned my neck looking at the New York skyscrapers for the first time.
  
• Moved to London, where the streets are paved with gold.
• Started my career in the best way possible.
• Fallen out of love with my childhood sweetheart.
• Travelled around the world with my life in a backpack.
• Lived in another country (momentarily).
• Nearly died in a car crash. But have a great scar to tell the tale.
• Got back on the career ladder.
• Turned blonde. And since then, even blonder.
• Gone on a blind date and fallen back in love.
• Bought my first house with my little brother.
• Secured a senior position for one of the most dynamic retail brands.
• Took my first big overseas business trip, and since then many more.
• Learnt how to say please and thank you in Japanese.
• Sung karaoke until 5am and then presented to the chairman at 9am.
  
• Regained my freedom from a negative relationship.
• Become a godmother, again.
• Supported a friend through a divorce and watched my best friend walk down the aisle.
• Made some incredible friendships, but also culled some in the process.
• Faced challenges every day, but realised I'm still learning, so it's all right...
  
• Learnt how to be happy and how to love myself.
• Sat on the beach in Hawaii, watching the sunset whilst sipping Mai Tai’s, realising I have the rest of my life to do what ever I want to do and there is no rush whatsoever...
  

 

 

 

There are many worlds

I love learning new things and today I learnt about the Many-worlds Interpretation.I won’t go into exactly about I learnt about this (as it is neither interesting nor high-brow), but this particular theory was something that caught my attention, enough search on Wikipedia.

 

In layman's terms, the Many-worlds Interpretation offers the reasoning that there a very large—perhaps infinite—number of universes, and everything that could possibly have happened in our past, but didn't, has occurred in the past of some other universe.

 

The eternally optimistic and romantic side of me has always believed in destiny; so as you can imagine, I fell in love with this theory. The thought that the alternate choices and decisions we make in life, aren’t totally lost and forgotten, but they do actually happen. Just unfortunately in a way we can’t ever experience.

Often I find myself retrospectively (introspectively?) thinking about all the decisions that have shaped my life. So after learning about the Many-worlds Interpretation, this got me thinking even more about pathways that have shaped my life thus far.

 

Had I not taken my English teacher's advice at aged 15 and made the incredibly mature (for someone who was always an average student) decision to study the International Baccalaureate, instead of taking the path well trodden of A-Levels and many free periods in the common room, I perhaps wouldn't have been offered an unconditional place at art college, one year early, and I would have instead had to stay in Cambridge completing an art and design foundation course. Who knows what that year would have brought, but one thing is for sure, I would certainly have missed out on a great year in Newcastle, living next-door to Ade; who has since become a constant and reliable friend throughout my life, and my final year living with the ever fabulous, inspirational and darling, Miss Shoe, who I adore.

 

Had I not gone to The Mill Pond on that particular evening all those years ago, I perhaps wouldn't have met the boy who then became my boyfriend for seven years. At this single point of my life, and an age I easily imagined back then that I would be married with children, I look back on this period with a certain amount of regret and sadness. Spending seven of my most formative and influential years with one boy perhaps wasn’t the wisest of decisions. That said, the years since ending what only developed into a destructive relationship, have truly been the best of my life and even though they haven’t quite played out as I’d imagined (a constant flurry of different boyfriends and dates), I wouldn’t change one minute.

 

Had I continued with my first job at that shambles of a PR agency when I first moved to London at aged 21, and not gone against everything my parents had taught me (“never quit”, especially after only two weeks…), I would have foregone two years working at one of the most dynamic brands of it’s time. I would have missed out on some of the best friendships of my life, laughing until I cried, meeting incredible people and one hell of a CV that has since only proved to carve the pathway for the rest of my career.

Had I not followed my heart, gone against everything else my parents taught me and chosen to walk away from my first job for a years travelling around the world, I not only would have avoided a near-fatal car crash in the Arizona desert, but I wouldn’t have spent three months working in Sydney and I definitely wouldn’t have met Miss Mara, who has been a constant, reliant and amazing friend ever since. I also wouldn’t have as many stamps in my passport and a scar on my arm from said car crash. But that’s beside the point.

 

Had I been too proud to let my more-experienced-in-buying-property mother help us house hunt (after we had exhausted all Victorian two beds in SW11), we perhaps wouldn’t have stepped foot through our front door, and I definitely wouldn’t have met Dixie on that cold February morning. We wouldn’t have bonded over two bottles of Pinot Grigio and I wouldn’t have had the opportunity to meet all of her lovely friends and brother, have wicked house parties and an amazing holiday in Hawaii.

 

All in all, I consider myself lucky in the hand that life has dealt me, but there are a few tweaks that wouldn’t go amiss. Show me someone who doesn’t feel this way though. The grass sometimes seems greener on the other side, which sometimes makes it hard not to consider some decisions as ‘regrets’, rather than ‘lessons’, but as my father always said; “it is always better to travel hopefully, than to ever arrive’. Wise words.

Lordy...

...this is one guy I will not be returning the favour and adding to my Favourites (and I don't think he's being ironic...)

"I am a selfish man looking for a woman to show me a good time. I am tall, dark and athletic.

I'm looking for someone 22 - 34 years old, physically fit and attractive, and confident enough to have your own life without a boyfriend who tells you how wonderful you are every 15 minutes. You are adventurous, open minded, and risk taking. You have long legs, short skirts, and high heels.

If you are sexually repressed or not adventurous or just plain cold, we are not a match.

Please do not expect me to call you every day, buy you flowers, or generally do nice things that guys "are supposed to do". It's just not me.

But wait for the killer sign-off (this totally seals the deal)...

I don't mind what height, hair colour or skin colour you are, but I do ask that you are slim. Preferably with gym membership ... That you actually use ... More than once every 6 months. Please write to me telling me why I should meet you."

Wow. I didn't actually realise there were guys out there like that.

Living on top of London

Last weekend was a strange, and a little unsettling, weekend. I am still undecided as to why it was quite so unsettling, maybe because I have spent the weekend with various friends; all at very different life stages to myself and it made me think a lot about where I am in my life.

I have realised I am guilty of being too reflective and spending far too much time looking around at everyone else, evaluating their life, comparing it to my own and wondering why our lives are so different, rather than considering what is right for me to be doing at this moment in time. Although that on it’s own is easier said than done.

Friday night I met up with a dear friend who is now happily married to a wonderful guy and living in suburbia. Her life is a stark change to only a few years back when we cruised the bars of SW11, dancing on tables and stumbling home with a bag of chips in one hand and our high heels in the other, then spending the morning comatose on the sofa, watching Hollyoaks, sipping Lucozade and munching toast. Our most recent meeting was unfortunately a quick one, due to her long commute, and consisted of a few glasses of wine whilst we dissected various aspects of my love life, then laughed hysterically at stories of ovulation tests, demands put on husbands during attempts to get pregnant and the various sexual positions one has to get oneself into, to aid fertilisation post-coital activity.

Saturday I met another wonderful friend for coffee, which turned into a very long brunch, followed by more coffee. This time we dissected her love life. Selfishly, I admit this friend is my constant; the one I can rely on, the one I consider myself to be most similar to, and someone who really does understand me. She ‘gets’ the momentary freak-out’s, the feeling of the ticking of the clock, the questions I ask myself in the dead of night, yet at the same time we share the same pickiness and have both confessed that we actually quite like our beautiful flats, perfectly done the way WE want them and have admitted that having someone else around would only get in the way. And, besides, there is no way we’d give up half the wardrobe space.

Saturday evening and I was invited to my first house party in years, by my new friends. I love making new friends, especially in London where it is so hard to meet interesting people. As yet, we’re not used to seeing each other in ‘proper’ clothing or makeup; we meet most mornings to throw ourselves around Clapham Common at 6am, in what has affectionately been coined ‘bootycamp’. I was clearly out of practise in the ways of the house party; turning up in ridiculously high heels, leather miniskirt, silk tank top (white – big mistake) and a bottle of champagne. Safe to say I’m a little more used to bars these days, although it was still fun to queue for the loo in the corridor, chatting to 27 year old boys, who thought I was 25 (joy!), trying to impress me with their junior positions in advertising agencies, not realising what I did for a living, then being stunned to silence when I confessed my career of choice, and age.

I have to admit, I did a bit of snooping around upstairs, and with fond memories, realised something I had long forgotten since owning my own house. When you flat share you have little choice but to squeeze all, or most, of your worldly goods into your own bedroom, whilst shared areas are vacant of any personality and are simply, common grounds. It reminded me of my fresher’s year at university; six girls sharing a fat, each bedroom totally unique in interior design. Whilst sadly, the living room, where we spent most of our time, was totally void of any character or flavour.

Sunday lunchtime, a good friend said goodbye to her flatmate of two years as she loses her to a boyfriend. Long gone are the lazy Sunday afternoons where all three of us didn’t manage to leave the comfort of her sofa, unless to venture to M&S (45 seconds walk away) in our PJs (yes, it has been done), to buy more supplies of Percy Pigs. When I asked if she was going to miss her flatmate, she said she was sad, but being the landlady, she was also looking forward to ‘getting the place back to mine, getting rid of all the crap and surveying what I have’. I think safe to say, my above observation re common ground, didn’t necessarily resonate in this particular flat share.

Sunday evening I was invited for a roast at my oldest friend’s temporary dwelling in SW12. He is living a transient life right now due to various projects on the go, so to economise as much as possible, he has opted for a shared house in Tooting with five others. Whereas I admit to being a little jealous of the fact he’s doing something about that pesky wanderlust a lot of us seem to harbour, what I don’t envy are the foibles that come with so many people in one shared house; never knowing who is stealing your butter or arguing over who needs to buy the loo roll. I’m a little too old for that.

All of this got me thinking about my own flatmate. Whereas his lack of ability to understand how a dishwasher should be loaded, the constant pile of shoes next to the front door, the clothes, keys, wallet, pens, Oyster card and laptop, that are dumped somewhere in the living room and the kitchen the minute he steps through the front door, and the endless glasses of water I always find under his bed always amazes me. I realise on the flip side, having a flatmate who is also my younger brother is great; there is no bickering about who buys the butter or loo roll (I do), we have the same outlook and morals, I can borrow his food, he makes me dinner when I’m dog tired, we know when to leave each other alone, but best of all, I can boss him around. Or call Mum if he doesn’t do what he is told… ;-)

 

 

Facebook x job applications x internet dating profiles

New look blog. Orange and grey; a fabulously retro colour combination and reminiscent of my early childhood. Orange; the colour of choice for nails and my jewellery. Grey; the colour of the London sky.

Saturday afternoon random pub chat, and after two jeroboams of chardonnay, with the delightful Mr and Mrs Thorpe, and Baxter, the Short Haired Pointer (which if I were to be single, would be an excellent tool for conversation starting with any man in a dog-friendly pub), we discussed the following observations:

Observation Number One

Through experience of other patrons, we learnt that applying for a job in today’s economic climate, is a bit like Poking or being Poked on Facebook; it’s rare to get a response.

You spend time reformatting your CV, writing and rewriting a cover letter, and whereas in the past you would have received an almost immediate eager phone call from a recruitment agency shortly after dispatch, keen to take advantage of a new candidate to market (I think my record is approximately four and a half minutes after clicking ‘Apply’), today in a market flooded with middle-management, you’re lucky to get a ‘thanks but no thanks’ email.

Not being a fan of Facebook, as many of you know, and being rather proud to have avoided joining thus far (despite threats from Ade to create an account on my behalf and Poke at random, which fills me with dread as I would hate people to think I was a ‘late adopter’), we started reminiscing about days before email, Web 2.0 and social media.

As Mr Thorpe succinctly put it, "I faxed the other day and I loved it. It's a valid form of communication. You get the 'erbbbbbbrrrrr' and you know it's gone. You get the 'beeeeeep' and you know it's been received. I'm telling you, we're going full circle and I'm going to be cool again. Do I sound middle-aged?"

Maybe you do sound middle-aged Rog, but there is something rather nice about receiving a document in paper form.

I am however an updater of Twitter (see right), which bodes the question; if you’re willing to update the world on your whereabouts, dating and eating habits, why choose Twitter and not Facebook?

I'm in touch with all my friends on a regular basis via more traditional methods of communication, I don’t care for people in my past; frenemies, ex-boyfriends etc. (they’re in my past for a reason) and I quite like the fact people I knew when I was 12 haven't the foggiest what I'm up to. Plus, there is something quite nice about an update in less than 140 characters - it doesn't need to be anymore. But to put it more succinctly, as I read somewhere; “Facebook is for people I used to know, Twitter is for people I want to know”.

Observation Number Two

We also decided that Internet dating profiles and wine descriptions, particularly female, could be one and the same thing. Simply substitute the word wine and Bob’s your mother’s brother.

If I were to be a wine, I would (of course) be a champagne; I am my mother’s daughter after all…

"An assertive wine that distinguishes itself by its intense fruitiness. Crisp yet lively, with a seductive palate and a light fruity edge. A maturity and alluring warmth, creating opulence with a long, satisfying finish."

As you may suspect, yesterday was a thoroughly productive day in W4 - including finding lav facilities that would rival the Chelsea Flower Show. We also met a group of American ex-pats on an all-day pub-crawl, which caused both amusement and bemusement, especially when it comes to attire and ‘college rings’, apparently the only time an alpha-male is allowed to wear a gaudy ruby stone ring... I don't think there is any excuse.

 

Summer in the City

And the air is sweet.

Honestly, a little bit of sun and we all think it's acceptable to get our pasty bodies out, cruise around in flip-flops and dust off our shades. Mind you, we don't get to see much so at every available opportunity Sainsbury's sells out of baguettes, sausages and beer and Clapham Common is littered with urbanites checking each other out. The girls are at a slight advantage, being able to prepare for this occasion at the drop of a hat with the aid of a ladyshave and fake tan. The boys, well let's just say two weeks somewhere exotic around mid-March would help lose the Christmas weight and ensure slightly less pasty skin. Fake tan isn't as acceptable for boys.

Why is it that everyone looks more attractive when the sun shines?

Internet Dating

According to a guy I dated (just the once), driving a sports car in London is a bit like going to a strip club; it's drawn out, frustrating and you get no *ahem*, 'release'. I guess in the same sense, you could compare dating in London to driving a vintage car. It's slow, hard-work and there are some very strange quirks, but sometimes you come across a one of a kind. 

I guess I’ve been around the block a few times when it comes to dating, in particular Internet dating, of which I have had mixed results, so I reckon I have a few pearls of wisdom to pass along. Although anyone who knows me, I also have an arsenal of terrible dating stories that can cause much amusement over a few glasses of wine.

Another guy I once dated said: “Internet dating for girls is far more entertaining; men tend to be a little more random, i.e. there's a wider gamut ranging from ‘sane’ to ‘nuts’ with men. Nature experiments a lot less with women, so they all tend to relatively un-nuts.”

The more I think about it, the more I agree; while women were in their caves gossipping, the men were out hunting and grunting at each other. The male ego is one that doesn’t allow great depths of communication; hence why they carry on blissfully unaware of ramifications of their behaviour.

Basically in a nutshell, women are the superior race when it comes to communicating. But we already knew that.

This is by no means a male-bashing blog, I am a big fan of men and am lucky enough to have not had my fingers burnt enough to hate all men, but I consider Internet dating a rite of passage for any young, single lass in the 21st Century. So herewith find a bit of advice...

Lesson 1.0

Fiction vs. Reality

Never underestimate how far from the truth a profile can be from the actual man.

• "Super fun loving / party starter" = laughs at his own jokes and throws himself around the dance-floor with as much vigour as a washing machine on spin, flinging beads of sweat on anyone unfortunate enough to be in his vicinity.
• "Just as happy in a club as chilling out with a DVD and nice bottle of wine" = Lacking in imagination. This is perhaps the biggest cliché of them all. Steer well clear.

Lesson 1.1

Photos

We've all done it; trawled the depths of our digital photo albums looking for a half decent shot where we're not squinting at the sun, looking 10lbs heavier or hugging our ex.

However, there is no excuse for featuring any of these:

• Self-portraits. It’s quite obvious to spot these; they are usually heavily cropped and the subject looks somewhat awkward. If they haven’t got any half-decent photos of themselves, they’re a social pariah.
• Posing with their car or (worse still) motorbike. They love it more than they will ever love you.
• Topless. This is obviously to show how ‘stacked’ he is. However, he may as well be saying "I love myself more than you will ever know". Avoid like the plague.
• An abundance of various adventure sporting activities. Yeah, that's really helpful to see you as a tiny dot on the horizon wave-boarding/surfing/skiing.
• Photos of them snowboarding - I can guarantee there will be at least one photo of winter sports based activities on 98% of all profiles. And boys: photos of you in head-to-toe ski gear is a) unflattering and b) not in the bit helpful when we can only see the tip of your nose.
• In fancy dress. Unless you’re into that kind thing of course.

Lesson 1.2

Read the profile

Make sure you read their profile before emailing them, don't just go by the pretty photo. In particular the 'height', 'body shape' and 'age' sections need to have extra attention paid to them. Having said that, don't believe everything you read. One guy I met, was 32 on his profile, but 39 in reality. One or two years you can get away with, but seven...

If their profile says "I love playing sport and spend most of my weekend either on the pitch or coaching rugby". He WILL spend all of his weekend on the pitch or coaching rugby. Your cosy Friday nights will be non-existent; he'll be preparing himself mentally for the upcoming weekend's sporting activities. Your Saturday nights will be spent waiting for him to come back from "a few beers with the boys after the match". Your Sunday mornings, well you can forget lazy mornings in bed; he'll be up watching the Sky+’d Match of the Day at 8am. Your mini-breaks will be spent finding a local bar showing whatever pertinent match he may be missing. And your wedding will be planned around whatever sporting events that clash with your big day.

Lesson 1.3

Never date a guy who...

• Has finger nails longer than yours. Even if he does play the guitar, it’s just weird.
• Asks you how your Shepherd's Pie making skills are.
• Doesn't like to drink red wine in case he spills it…
• Tells you he loves you on the first date.
• Applies fungal foot cream, in-front of you, on the second date.
• Records Prime Ministers Question Time and leaves you in bed on a Sunday morning to watch it.
• Didn't ask you one single question about you on the first date.
• Turns up 20 minutes late to the first date.
• Slurps from his plate over dinner.
  

Lesson 1.4

Get Out Quick

You'll know in the first few moments if there is any chemistry and if you should hang around or not.

Don’t feel as if you have to hang around to save his feelings. Trust me, guys don’t have that kind of tact and wouldn’t think twice about ditching you. Remember: it's the girls who choose the guys. The guys just decide if they want to hang around or not. 

Lesson 1.5

And finally…

As my Mother said; there are plenty more fish in the sea, and apparently I'm a good swimmer...