Category Archives: Uncategorized

April 4, 2012 · 9:03 am

My Father is older than me

I had lunch with my Father yesterday. He spent a great deal of time insisting that I look at the ‘special menu’. ‘Everything that’s on the special menu is here, on the normal menu, under the heading ‘specials’, I explained helpfully. ‘No, darling,’ My Father insisted forcefully. ‘This menu will be much better. Choose from this menu.’ I moved slightly to avoid the menu being brandished in my face. My Father, naturally, is somewhat older than me. I know this because of science, but also because:

1. He believes in ‘Specials’. He proudly shows me endless supplies of things that are ‘reduced’ or ‘3 for 2’.

He is delighted when Tesco ‘slashes’ wine prices. It is only his generation who do not believe that all special offers are in place to get rid of things needlessly ordered by an unchecked intern.

2. He has only just set up his own, individual email account. For years, personal emails were sent from an account set up by my little sister. Having emma.karsten@yahoo.com reminding you to apply in good time for your student loan was highly disconcerting. Possibly even more so for my little sister, who is actually called Emma Karsten.

3. He has told me the same story 4 times this week.

When challenged, he stares at me in confusion, and then asks for proof. ‘You want me to prove that you have already told me this story?’ I asked, bewildered. ‘Yes,’ He replied. ‘Um,’ I began. ‘Perhaps when we had lunch yesterday?’ ‘Hmm,’ My Father mused. ‘No, I don’t think so.’ ‘But I know how this story ends,’ I explain. ‘Yes, but that isn’t the point,’ My Father replies. ‘Oh,’ I said.

4. He thinks serving staff want to talk to him. They don’t. This is not a slight on my Father. They don’t want to talk to anyone. They want their shift to pass as quickly and uneventfully as possible, so they can rush home and learn their lines for their audition tomorrow. They begrudge the time they have to stop ‘method acting’ and take your order. They cannot possibly be expected to also listen to your opinions on the changing landscape of neighbourhood restaurants. Do you not know who they are?

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April 2, 2012 · 10:47 am

The definition of insanity

Apparently (I could just google this to check for sure, but I like to keep some mystery in my life) the definition of insanity is ‘doing the same thing and expecting different results’. I could not disagree more.

Every evening, just before I fall asleep, I am filled with a sudden sense of purpose. I cannot wait to wake up the next morning and run for miles, finish all my work and tidy my room. I am excited to organise my desk, work out that tax thing everyone keeps talking about and incorporate a casual 45 minute yoga session into my morning routine. I happily set my alarm for 6am, frustrated that I have to wait for all those hours before I can begin my new and organised life.

My alarm rings dutifully (I would like to take this moment to express absolute disbelief at people whose ‘alarms don’t go off’. It’s their single purpose in life. That’s a little bit like saying, ‘this spoon won’t get soup into my mouth’. I’m pretty certain it’s not the spoon’s fault) at 6am, and I bound gratefully out of bed. Or at least I strongly consider doing so. ‘If I get up now, I’ll have endless time. Even with the yoga and taxes and desk tidying, I’ll still be ready to work by about 8am.’

I think about how productive and impressive that would be. ‘Or,’ I continue to think from the delicious confines of my bed, ‘I could just sleep a tiny bit more. That way I’d be fully energised and probably even more productive when I did all that work and admin.’ Now, both of these are excellent arguments. It is only fair to give them equal consideration. Unfortunately, anything given consideration whilst lying in a warm bed in a dark room leads to a single conclusion. ‘I really need the loo,’ I think, and drag myself out of bed. Washing my hands, I notice my own face in the mirror. (You would think this would be less unexpected than it is, but still). I am not sure what has happened between the time I fell asleep (unremarkable face) and the time I woke up (face that is unacceptably awful and must not be allowed out in public) but it’s made my decision for me.

Back to bed it is.

My point (which I am making, just a little bit more laboriously than usual- probably because of all the yoga) is that I truly, honestly believe that one day I will bound out of bed at 6am to do my endless sun salutations. And therefore I’m not stopping setting my alarm. Because if I did, I’d miss that glorious, productivity filled day. And, that, quite frankly, would be insane.

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March 29, 2012 · 11:04 am

Facebook. (You’re doing it wrong)

We’ve all been on Facebook for a while now.

But I feel that it’s time for a quick refresher course in what is, and is not, acceptable Facebook behaviour.

1. Posting 40,000 photos of you and your partner
Unacceptable. It begs so many questions. How did you take the photo? Was it on automatic timer? In which case, why? And if not, who is the creepy third wheel who is following you around your romantic break?

2. Posting photos of your engagement ring


Unacceptable. There are only two people who care about your engagement ring. Your actual, real-life friends, and your insurance provider. There is no need to show it to anyone else.

3. Posting inane status updates
Acceptable. It helps the rest of us feel better about ourselves, knowing that you are ‘really thirsty and want to leave work!!!!!’

4. Posting photos of yourself posing
Acceptable. Please see (3).

5. Friend requesting people you have met once.
Unacceptable. And actually extremely odd. Please seek professional help immediately. And when I say ‘professional’, I do not mean your ‘girlfriend’*

*lady you once met and bought a drink for*

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March 28, 2012 · 9:59 am

Hierarchy of body parts

Yesterday, I forgot to close my curtains properly before I fell asleep. I have been awake since 5am. Not functioning, full of derring and get-go, but frustratingly not asleep. I have spent 4 hours today in a frustrated, sun-drenched Twilight zone, where I was too tired to get up and close my curtains, and too covered in blazing sunshine to fall back asleep. (We all have our crosses to bear, it’s just mine is the worst).


Today is also the day that my Father is having the first of his cataract operations. ‘I am having each eye done separately,’ He announced last week. ‘To reduce the possibility of losing sight in both my eyes.’ ‘And also to give the surgeon twice the opportunity to blind you,’ I pointed out helpfully.
Anyway, all this talk of eyes has helped me to put together the following comprehensive list of body parts, in order of their value and disposability (by which I mean, ability to live without, not biodegradableness).

1. Eyes
These are totally disposable. Sunglasses mean no one would even have to know. Losing your eyes would allow a pleasant night’s sleep and let people think you were a person who saw ‘inner beauty’ when you accidentally snogged a monster.

2. Fingers
You only really need 2. Possibly 3. Stop being so bloody greedy.

3. Ears
Very little use indeed. You can hear what you are saying inside your head before you say it.

4. Tongue
Invaluable. Don’t be ridiculous.

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March 27, 2012 · 8:53 am

Call the Midwife

I have started watching ‘Call the Midwife’.

(Yes, I am aware it is long gone from TV, but it’s on my Sky+ box and there was nothing on TV last night. Well, if I’m being strictly, painfully accurate there was lots on TV, but I had seen the ‘Friends’ re-runs 40,000 times and I don’t really care about ‘Embarrassing Bodies’, and it was 9.15pm, so I had missed irreplaceable moments of CSI:Miami.)

‘Call the Midwife’ and I didn’t get off to the best of starts. ‘There’s something wrong with the brightness setting,’ I muttered to myself, as Jessica Raine cycled into a catfight. I fiddled about with the TV remote to no avail. By the time I looked up, Jessica (who is either the main character or a pushy extra who has the means to pay for her own hair and make-up artist) was eating cake with an elderly nun. ‘Brilliant,’ I thought happily. ‘I have long wondered what happened to those Nazi-fighting nuns in ‘The Sound of Music’.

I am so pleased they have re-settled in East London. I wonder what type of cake that is. It looks lovely and moist.’ I wondered briefly if I should pause ‘Call the Midwife’ and bake myself a cake.
I’m glad I didn’t, because fairly soon after this a lady gave birth. Here are the things I once knew about giving birth:

1. It wreaks havoc on your undercarriage
2. It is imperative to get an epidural
3. It is possible to hold your husband’s hand so hard it breaks.

I have always thought I was pretty prepared for the whole thing. Here is what I now know about giving birth:

1. It wreaks havoc on everything
2. It is imperative to boil water. I have no idea why.
3. It is possibly the worst idea imaginable to let any man you wish to find you attractive anywhere near the labour room.

I was pitifully grateful for the low-lighting that the director has obviously decided is ‘atmospheric’.
‘Call the Midwife’ seems to be excellent (I have only watched the first episode, and am painfully aware of other TV series that tricked me into following them to dire second seasons). I would encourage all cake-eating to be done before watching, however.

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March 19, 2012 · 3:37 pm

Gentrification (it happened while I was sick)

I went for my first post-pneumonia run yesterday. A couple of things seem to have changed:

1. It is Summer. While the balmy temperatures and excessive sunshine are great, I would probably have appreciated someone warning me of this seasonal change before I put on my usual Nike thermals.

2. There are lots of children.

3. This is ironic, because my neighbourhood has slowly removed all traces of my own childhood. Gone is the sweetshop where I laboriously counted out my £1.10 pocket money (I was 11 years old then, obviously. I saw an above-inflation raise to £1.20 a mere 12 months later) in return for slightly sweaty penny sweets. (Not sold in sweaty condition, but you try holding 110 fizzy cola bottles in your hands).

Also now a fond memory- the video store where I worked out how to illegally rent 15-rated movies. (Enter alone. Walk straight to movie. Pick up movie. Walk to foreign films. Pick up another movie. Walk to counter. Frown. Discard foreign movie. Leave as fast as possible). Thirdly, the library is shut. Apparently, it’s being ‘renovated’, but I think we all know what’s happened. They have finally worked out that I, over a period of 4 years, stole every Mills & Boon novel from their shelves.

It is unlikely it will ever re-open. OK, that’s really all that’s changed, but between those three places you can account for a ⅓ of my life, so it’s fairly harrowing. Also, it makes life terribly difficult for my future biographer*.

4. The local Tescos doesn’t sell Curly-Wurlys.

Curly-Wurlys being the treat that always accompanies the end of illness. Now I probably will have pneumonia for ever.

*Huge yet completely unnecessary concern*

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March 16, 2012 · 11:51 am

Child-rearing expert (ME)

I don’t have any children (mostly, as my Mother is quick to point out, because no-one will breed with me), but I consider myself an expert on them. Well, perhaps not an ‘expert’, but certainly better than most actual parents. Let me explain.
I was on the bus. It was not a particularly long journey, but soon felt as though I was in a vehicle designed exclusively by Chris Rhea*.

‘Daddy,’ The little girl in front of me whined. ‘Why can’t we have ice-cream for dinner every night?’ ‘Oh,’ Her Father replied, chuckling. ‘Well, why do you think we can’t?’ ‘But I love ice-cream,’ The little girl replied. Her Father laughed, dotingly. Her Father is an idiot. All the little girl did, without pause (but to the continuous soundtrack of her Father’s proud laughter), was ask asinine questions. Now, everyone should ask questions. I’m not blaming the little girl in the slightest, who I began to see as a modern-day Matilda, trapped with her developmentally challenged Father.

Here were her questions. Please imagine them being spoken in ascending volume:

1. Why can’t we have ice-cream for dinner every night?
2. Why are we on a bus?
3. Why do I have to go to school every day?

Here are her Father’s answers:

1. Doting chuckle
2. Doting chuckle
3. Doting chuckle

Here are the answers I was frantically close to giving her:

1. Because you drip it everywhere whenever we let you have some. Also, have you seen the price of Ben and Jerrys? Do you not want to go to university?
2. Because you walk so infuriatingly slowly it is an occupational hazard to all other pavement users.
3. If I had to look after you all day everyday, I would surely kill you. Go to school, it’s for your own good.

Like I said, a child rearing expert.

*Artist, The road to Hell*

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March 14, 2012 · 12:39 pm

When I am old

I have been suffering with pneumonia, and naturally my thoughts have turned to old age, and also to death.

But being a perennially optimistic kinda gal, I have decided to focus more on old age. Here are the things I promise not to do:

When I am old
There will be things I don’t understand. Much as my parents don’t understand Twitter, or pop-up restaurants, or blogging. (“Yes, but darling, what is the point?” My Mother often asks. To be strictly fair to her, she’s probably not alone. Nevertheless, it is slightly galling to hear from one’s own Mother). Unlike my parents, I will accept the things I do not understand and never ever mention them. I will not wildly pepper my conversations with inaccurate references to ‘the latest new-fangled invention’. I will not threaten to ‘go on’ whatever new social networking thing is happening. I will not buy the latest phone and ask my children endlessly to explain ‘what it is doing’. I will happily continue to use out-of-date, 2012 technology and never bother anyone.

When I am old
There will be things I dislike. I will probably be annoyed by the fact that everyone talks in ‘txt speak’, or perhaps that they no longer bother to open their mouths to talk, but rather text their thoughts to people around the table. (Or will we still have tables? Perhaps we will only use hoverpads and floating cloud-like structures that instantly adapt to their environment, making spillages a thing of the past). Nonetheless, I will grin cheerfully and adapt. I will not stubbornly refuse to adapt, lugging my own, long obsolete table around everywhere I go. Instead of asking constantly, as my Father does, ‘what do you mean by ‘whatever’. What does it mean?’ I will, Zen-like, reply promptly to text-conversations whilst delicately balancing my bowl on my personl cloud.

When I am old
There will probably be loads of things I like, but like a good and respectable old person, I will be discreet about this.

In conclusion, although being old seems as though it will be quite rubbish for me, I am certain it will be an absolute delight for everyone who knows me. Something I will make quite sure to tell them.

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March 7, 2012 · 1:39 pm

WIE and working for my Mother

I flew back from NY yesterday, which sounds terribly glamorous. Unfortunately I went straight from the airport to my Mother’s office, because in a moment of weakness (and poverty) I agreed to cover for her PA.

I arrived at my desk at 9.30am, to be greeted by a note from my Mother. ‘Welcome! Much work for you. Please do. Will be in at 11ish.’ I was not precisely sure what to do, so I pottered around the office showing everyone the excellent salt n pepper shakers I had purloined from Virgin Atlantic. 11am came and went, and I was still having a lovely time. At 11.45 my telephone rang imperiously. ‘Hello,’ My Mother shouted cheerily. ‘Please come up to my office. I have arrived.’

 (My Mother believes she is so sylph-like that it is imperative she announces her presence at every occasion, to save being over-looked. I would like to point out that my Mother is enormously tall, wears absurdly bright colours and shouts a lot. It would be easier to over-look a rat running across your face while you slept.

 The rat-thing has actually happened to my little sister, who prefers us not to bring it up. Naturally, I try to mention it as often as possible).

 ‘Hello Mother,’ I said politely as I entered her office. ‘Something has happened to your hair.’ ‘Oh darling,’ My Mother replied. ‘I have just been to see my hair chap. (My Mother’s life is littered with ‘chaps’, all of whom perform various tasks most normal people do for themselves). She proceeded to offload work onto me, metaphorically and physically (‘No darling, it really would be much easier if you took all of the files at once. Can you not pile them higher then just feel your way down the stairs?’).

I need a new job. Ideally, I need my Mother’s job, but she seems to be pretty firmly ensconced, so I’m looking elsewhere. In fact, tomorrow I will be looking all day, at the WIE symposium. (For those of you sadly out of the loop, this is the Women Inspiration and Enterprise symposium, taking place in celebration of International Women’s Day).

I expect the stellar line-up, who are there to ‘equip women with the tools and confidence to succeed’, and who include  Jo Malone, Kathy Lette and June Sarpong will be completely prepared to pass their impressive, well-paid jobs to me. In fact I notice that they will be launching the WIE Mentorship Scheme- I would be the perfect candidate for this. (I would like to run it, naturally).

For tickets: www.wienetwork.org. But don’t come if you want to steal my job.

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March 5, 2012 · 11:17 am

Starbucks, USA

‘Hello!’ The employee said cheerfully as I entered Starbucks. ‘We were just talking about you.’ I was a little confused, but assumed it was a new American ‘thing’, like wishing everyone a ‘nice day’ and irrepressible cheerfulness.

‘Oh,’ I replied politely. ‘What were you saying?’ (I was secretly quite worried. I had been in this particular Starbucks several times already, using their free wi-fi and never buying a thing. I wondered if I was about to be told off). ‘We were just saying how much more fun things would be once you arrived,’ The chap continued. I smiled happily. Perhaps all the Starbucks employees wanted was a slightly disheveled English girl loitering around their café, sneakily avoiding data roaming charges and wondering how New Yorkers stayed so slim when the portions were so enormous.

‘So, come and start your shift, silly,’ The Starbucks employee told me firmly. ‘Um,’ I said cautiously. Oddly, the first thing I thought was that I was wearing running kit. ‘I don’t think I’m appropriately dressed,’ I said quietly. At this point a girl walked past me, laughing at her colleagues. ‘Give me a minute’, She yelled as she walked through the café. ‘I’ll be with you for the next 5 hours.’ What I like most about this Starbucks is their discretion. Not only do they let one use wi-fi without buying a single item, they politely ignore you when you hold entire conversations with yourself. Perhaps they assume both are a highly respectable British ‘thing’. Which, if I were in charge, they certainly would be.

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