mortified

My younger sister has moved in with me. The other day she came out the flat and my neigjbour Clive asked her whether I was her Mom!!!

Her MOM!!!

I was mortified, horrified. She's 25!!!

She has assured me that the guy was just trying to make conversation, but there are some things that, even said in 'jest',  are just NOT funny or welcome conversational topics. 

I've always prided myself on looking younger than my age. Clearly, this is no longer the case if someone thinks that I am old enough to have a 25 year old daughter!

Do I look that old?

The only thing that's different is that I'm fat. Maybe that's what makes me look old. Maybe that's why the youth don't talk to me at church because they think I am like 40+ years old - WAYYYYY older than they are.

It's really depressing. 

I can't really afford it but I've joined the gym, and will probably go on an extreme diet so that I can look young again

It's throwaway comments like this that make people develop eating disorders

When I next have my neighbours round to dinner, Clive will NOT  be one of them!!!

 

Honest Blog award

So apparently Mjay has tagged me with this award. 

According to her blog

 “This award is bestowed upon a fellow blogger whose blog’s content or design is, in the giver’s opinion, brilliant.”

I'm honored... I really am! 

Hey wasn't FaceBook doing something like this a while back with the 25 things?

And now I get to bare my soul in all honesty. I don't know... people like asking me for my honest opinion. My experience shows that honesty is usually well received when tempered with a heavy doze of sensitivity and tact. I was not blessed with these qualities when God was handing out personalities,  so I tend to upset a lot of people. They never ask me twice....

So here goes - BRACE YOURSELVES!!

1. I think I’m an interesting and exciting person– a sentiment, I am appalled to say, that is not shared by the rest of the world.
   
2. The question that I’ve been obsessed with ever since I was little is “Does God exist?” Sometimes it feels like I am living in the story of ‘The Emperor’s New Clothes’ – pretending with the rest of the religious crowd that God exists when really he may not. I guess you could call me a Christian biased agnostic.
   
3. My deepest wish is to die young. Not a horrific death – more like a slipping quietly away in a ‘she-felt-no-pain’ kind of way (how would they know?)
   
4. And then after I’ve died if I discover that God does exist (gulp), and I am to be excluded from heaven due to my miniscule and sometimes lack of ‘faith’ while I was alive (dem are de rules), that he would just snuff me out of existence rather than send me to hell
   
5. Every year I develop a crush on an ‘unavailable’ man- which renders me emotionally unavailable to men who are available. Weird eh?
   
6. I get very excited about people I like (male or female) – to the point of stalking. I want to hangout and correspond with them all the time. It’s very embarrassing for them and for me
   
7. I used to think I only liked reading sci-fi or fantasy genre, but have now discovered that I enjoy reading anything witty, funny or humorous – whatever genre, whatever medium (books, magazines, blogs)- that’s good for me.
   
8. I consider myself a social misfit and gravitate towards other social misfits - usually those who are more at odds with society than I am – so that I seem normal by comparison.
   
9. I’m not comfortable around kids, although on very rare occasions, I will warm to a kid – but this is VERY rare.
   
10. People who know me say I’m too honest. What they don’t know is that I keep a lid on a lot of stuff– so not all that honest (why exactly did Mjay tag me?)
    

If you unfortunately happen to be tagged, here are the instructions: - 

1) You must brag about the award - Check!

2) You must include the name of the blogger who bestowed the award on you and link back to the blogger: Mjay

3) You must choose a minimum of seven (7) blogs that you find brilliant in content or design.

4) Show their names and links and leave a comment informing them that they were prized with Honest Weblog.

There are links to all the brilliant blogs, on the right hand side. Mjay is the only one who would play along and she tagged me. So in keeping with my commitment to remain 'different', I bestow this award on all 'Blogs that I read', but they will remain UNTAGGED!

5) List at least ten (10) honest things about yourself. Then pass it on! - Check!!

Easter - Part 2

On the Monday, I met up with an old neighbour, from 20 + years ago, for a coffee. He's taller (6' 5"), but the eyes are still the same.
We filled each other in on what had been happening with other members of the family - a lot can happen in 20 years and had an altogether pleasant afternoon. I dragged him to the National Gallery - which I have never been to -despite having lived in London for over 10 years and entrance into Gallery is free (no excuse really). My friend helpfully pointed out which paintings were by famous painters. I recognised a couple of them.
Then there was the highlight of my evening!

I've never been to the opera. It has a reputation of being boring, pretentious, appreciated only by classical musicians. I've heard snatches of opera on TV, and once in church, and not been too terribly impressed by the warbling and vibratto. I don't understand half of what they are singing, even if it is sung in a language I understand. But the reason I've never been to the opera boils down to… cost. Opera tickets normally cost about £160+ each for decent seats, and I'm not that keen on making an expensive mistake, if youknarrmean!
It came as a bit of a surprise when my friend Beth (from the previous day) invited me to go along with her to the Royal Opera House to see the Italian opera by Giuseppe Verdi called 'Il Trovatore' (The Troubadour). She had somehow secured cheap seat tickets to the opera of £6 each.

"Wanna come?"
"At £6, hell yeah!"

Never mind that we'd be lucky to even see the stage.
Now for the benefit of the uninformed, I defer to Terry Pratchett's superior definition of opera in his book, Maskerade

… Well basically there are two sorts of opera, ' said Nanny, who also had the true witches ability to be confidently expert on the basis of no experience whatsoever. " There's your heavy opera, where basically people sing foreign and it goes like, "Oh oh oh, I am dyin', oh, I am dyin', oh, oh, oh, that's what I'm doin" ', and then there's your light opera, where they sing in foreign and it basically goes " Beer! Beer! Beer! I like to drink lots of beer!", although sometimes they drink champagne instead. That's basically all of opera, reely.'
'What? Either dyin' or drinkin' beer?'
'Basically, yes,' said Nanny, contriving to suggest that this was the whole gamut of human experience,
"And that's opera?'
'We-ll… there might be some other stuff. But mostly it's stout or stabbin'.'

'Il Trovatore' is in the heavy category. The singing was powerful, but I couldn't help but notice that the actors (sorry… singers) were a bit wooden. Their voices were poweful and full of passion, but they just stood there looking at the person who was singing! In fact my favourite scene, is when the lead tenor sings a song to fire up his motley rebels to defend his town from the evil Count.

Yeah, Now that's what I'm talking about

The other songs were a bit mushy. Sung in Italian, but there were English surtitles (like subtitles only these appear on a screen above the stage) for the benefit of those who can't be bothered to learn another language. Saying that, the only line I understood was... "Il suo fratello" (it was your brother!) in the 'twist' at the end which we'd seen coming for at least a couple of hours! Roll eyes!

Okay so maybe Il Trovatore was not the best choice for a first time opera, but now, I'm interested in opera. Especially after I told M about it the next evening, and he became animated! M studied Music at the Royal College of Music, so he's in the lot who would appreciate opera. He told me that perhaps I should watch a comedy like 'The Marriage of Figaro' (so that would be a light opera? ... See... I'm practically an expert now), and that we should go together to see it.

Now that's what I'm talking about!

What I did over Easter- part 1

A couple of weeks ago, I suggested to my friend Freddie that on Easter Sunday it would be great to drive out to the countryside (in his nice new car) and go hiking. Shortly after we’d made the plans, I realised that I don’t have any hiking gear. I couldn’t call and cancel on Freddie, because well... it was MY idea in the first place; he’d been so enthusiastic about it and had already started planning the trip. He also invited his mom, Inga, who is visiting from Sweden to join us – and she was excited. Then I just had to go mention it to my friend Beth who asked if she could tag along…

Well… just couldn’t disappoint all those people!

So when on the News the weather girl announced with a smile that it would be a cold wet windy Easter weekend, I could have kissed my TV screen in delight. Freddie sent a text amending the plans to pub lunch, safari drive in Longleat and maybe Bath- no hiking! I was ecstatic and I’m pretty sure at some point shouted Halleluiah!

Sunday dawned, and off we drove towards Somerset. We stopped off and had a look around Old Sarum, where you can find the ruins of a palace built by William the Conqueror in 1069. This is an aerial view of Old Sarum

We’d planned to stop at Stonehenge, but because of traffic we were running late for our booked pub lunch. Freddie even had to phone them using his car phone to push reservation back by an hour. He dialled the number on the dashboard and then the speakers of the car started ringing - like a wireless phone- I was suitably impressed!

Now I like hanging out with Freddie but here’s the thing. He earns bucket loads of money – compared to me at least, and he assumes that every one has the same amount of disposable income. He’d booked lunch in a nice but expensive pub, the Bath Arms in Longleat at £25 per head! That’s 2 weeks of my grocery allowance!!! I’d withdrawn £20 that morning with the intention of using £10, so suddenly lunch didn’t seem like a good prospect any more. The cheaper option was £19.50 and Beth who is just as poor as me, was studiously avoiding my gaze. Freddie is my friend, but not THAT good a friend, so couldn’t borrow money off him. To cut a long story short, I took the cheaper option. Groceries? What groceries?! The portion sizes were large, and I'm sure must have tasted good, but lunch left a somewhat bitter taste in my mouth, washed down by tap water (the only free thing on the menu)

We took stroll around the Longleat grounds. This place was owned by an eccentric guy called Lord Bath, who in the 1970’s brought over exotic animals which included 50 lions (poor things). It also has giraffe’s, monkeys, flamingos etc. This was one of the first places outside Africa where you can go on a safari drive at a price of £30.80 per adult. I deflected Freddie’s enthusiastic cries of ‘Let’s go on safari!’, and this time I was successful. We ended up doing the free stuff – like touring the gardens around the house, and looking at Lord Bath’s collection of Nazi memorabilia… yeah I know… weird. The guy was a bloody Nazi sympathiser!

We drove back to London, exhausted but happy! (okay… me silently berating myself because of my pride. I should have spoken up about how expensive it was). Our only regret is that we didn’t have time to go to Bath. Freddie suggested a weekend trip later on this year, including an overnight stay. A good idea, but Beth and I privately agreed that while Freddie and his mom, stay in some swanky boutique hotel, we’ll look for a good cheap youth hostel and bring packed lunch along too.

And then it was Good Friday

I took the week off before Easter just to RELAX! I was PMS’d, so was pretty much irritable at everything and everybody. Best to be left alone...

I went down to the library and the (probably new) librarian mentioned as I was checking out my books that they were due back in 3 weeks time. I bit back the sarcastic remark that sprung up “You mean it’s changed from what it was in the last 10 years?” How was the man to know that this was only half of what I usually borrow, and that I was on leave, so was going to use the time to read! Wise-acre!!
By Thursday my mood had somewhat improved as I discovered that if I played karaoke instrumental videos on Youtube, I could make a video of myself singing using the 'I-Movie' application on my MacBook AT THE SAME TIME!!!
This was AMAZING! 1 hour, 2 hours before I knew it, it was midnight. Ballads suit me best (sadly songs by Pussy cat dolls don’t... although I made a video of me lip-syncing and dancing to 'Sway' ;-P)

On Friday, my fabulous neighbours, gave me a lift to St B's for the Good Friday Service. It was such a beautiful service – I blubbed most of the time. In my opinion this is the best service we have at St B’s because it gives room to express the artistic creativity within the Church. The seats were arranged in a circle. We started the service with 30-minute time of reflection watching a themed photographic slideshow put together by one of the Church members- classical music playing in the background. Someone had also written a poem that was handed out. The choir then sung a few songs beautifully in 4 part harmonies. This was followed by readings and actors doing dramatic monologues, Peter first, and then Pontius Pilate. Solos were sung! M sung a Gregorian chant in his lovely bass!!! The drummers did a presentation using tom tom drums placed all over the church. And while we were receiving communion, the tech team played this video!



SOOO beautiful.

During the service, as I reflected on the true nature of love – Jesus example of self sacrifice -laying down one’s life for the sake of others, the nature of my desire for M was laid bare. I realised that I had been motivated by selfishness. Focusing on myself and what I wanted, and how he would fill my needs and being frustrated because I was not getting my way. I made the decision to LET GO. Yes, I am occasionally dogged by thoughts of him, but not with the same intensity as before.
This put me in the right frame of mind for the rest of the weekend.....

Non - Practicing

'...I'm non-practising when it comes to a lot of things actually. I'm a non-practising exerciser, a non-practising inventor, a non-practising genius. When I was younger, I was a non-practising child prodigy. The brilliance of the non-practising adjective impressed me from the moment I first came across it. It allowed me to declare oneself something and then never have to actually back it up, since that would be against one's beliefs. I am this, but I choose not to demonstrate it, so you'll just have to take my word for it. Genius. Like me. Non-practising...'

Quote taken from short story 'Stray' by Kristin Gore in 'Ladies Night' (HarperCollins Publishers 2005)

It's a small world after all...

The other day as I was browsing http://www.meetup.com, I signed up for a local Book Club that meets one Sunday every month. I scrolled through the list of current members and my eyes almost popped out of my head when I saw a name that I recognised!

First reaction was "No... it can't be!" 

Especially as I haven't seen said person in 20 years, and the most vivid memory I have of him is that he was always crying being the object of much bullying from his and my older brothers. Also his family was like 'Different Strokes' in reverse. A Kikuyu dad, a Canadian mom with her 2 teenage sons from a previous relationship and an adopted Kikuyu daughter. 

On the spur of the moment, I send him an email asking if indeed it is he. Did he ever live in Nairobi on this road, and does he have an older brother and younger sister?

He comes back with a suspicious, 'Yes, it's me. Who is this?'

Not an encouraging start given that we were neighbours. I reply with an email detailing a few remembered facts from our childhood and end with a 'Well can't expect you to remember. After all it was 20 years ago. What a small world. Have a nice life'... 

Ok didn't really say it on those exact words, but that was the tone of my email. U-narr-mean? I didn't want him to think I was a stalker or anything

The next day as I was Skyping with my sister, I started with 

"You'll never guess who I came across the other day in London, neighbours in Nairobi..."

"Who?"

I tell her the family name. Blank. 

"I don't remember them. Were those the Tanzanians?"

I give her pretty much the same details as I gave him. (gosh am I the only one who remembers things?) After constant interruptions of "But weren't those the Tanzanians" and naming all the other families who lived nearby, she finally says "Ask him about his mom's sesame seed cookies, the ones that used to melt in your mouth"

 

Well I don't remember those.... perhaps the Tanzanian's made those?

So we've been emailing each other back and forth. Stuff like when we came to England, what we are doing here, what happened after we left Nairobi etc. In today's email he's asked what I'm doing for Easter and if I'm free would I like to meet up to 'exchange tales of long lost times...'

Yes, you saw that right, there was the 'dot dot dot' at the end of the sentence. Now why would he put a '...' there? Why can't it just be a normal full stop or question mark? 

What if it all goes horribly wrong. I mean the guy couldn't even remember me. What if there isn't anything to talk about beyond the emails we've been sending each other? Plus I'm not sure I want to meet any more new people, especially guys (even though technically he isn't new people). I never have anything to say to them anyway

I guess what I'm trying to say is  'What if he doesn't like me?' 

If only he'd just put a plain full stop or question mark, I would not be in such a panic! 

Darn it!

 

Cute bride

Nope, I'm not married yet

Took this photo on the Brides of March day (14 March 2009) as in 'Ides of March'... you get it? 

A group of about 20 of us (male and female) dressed up as brides and went walking around Central London. It was a lot of fun!!

Secrets...

Recently, M has been blowing ‘warm’ as opposed to the distressing ‘cold shoulder’ treatment of the other day. On Sunday he asked if the dinner invite I’d extended to his family was on condition that his whole family would be there (His mom and dad couldn’t make the proposed date)

“N…n…no, of course not...” I stammered, studiously avoiding eye contact with friend Fiona, hoping that M had not noticed the sharp elbow jab she’d just delivered to my side. “You’re more than welcome to come. In fact I’d love for you to come”

Then, I thought… Hmm I can’t have M all alone in my flat, because he'd think it's a romantic gesture... scare off the poor dude...can't have that...

So later on I invited my tech team chief and his wife to join us
“Is it just the two of us?”

“No, I’ve invited M as well”

“Hmm, there’s been a lot of talk about ‘M’ from you”

Silence

“Oh ho…!”

“There’s nothing to tell really! M regards me as his sister. I don’t regard him in quite the same way. And that’s all there is to it”

“So, you’ll be using us as chaperones”

“No, I won’t! I just want to have you guys over for dinner. That’s all!”

Kim. You liar