Sardinia Part 2

I'm disappointed that no one picked up on cliff hanger from my previous post! Oh well, good job I like writing, even if it is for the audience of one. Although that was not good for my ego I tell you.
My sister insists that I should publish this blog into a book. I don’t understand where she’s coming from since very few of you read it, and those of you who stumble across it don’t come back or even leave a comment to let me know that you’ve been. I am clearly not pandering to the ‘blogging’ public
My brother and his friend, Francesco gave us a lift in their hire car to Agririposo Olivar, which about a km from Alghero town centre. It is a beautiful guesthouse, quiet, clean and nestled in an olive grove. The large rooms were bright and colourful (ours was orange). The Irish couple in the next room recommended the sea-facing restaurants in old Alghero town so in the afternoon we set out to have lunch.We found a seafood restaurant, Aquatica Bar Lounge Restaurant, on the water's edge. The menu had a choice of 3 sea food platters, 17 Euros for small, 22 Euros for medium and 25 Euros for large. The waiter told us that the small platter was too small, but the large one would be enough for 3 people. So we went with his recommendation. The food was brilliant and we thought 'Bargain! We'll come here everyday!" When the bill came, we found out to our shock that the actual cost was 25 euros per person. We called the waiter over to clarify - yes that was the price. I felt really cheated! I know that we're tourists, but don’t they owe their customers a duty to be clear on their pricing. TIP: When you are next in Italy, before ordering remember to ask if the advertised price is ciascuno (pronounced CHAS -KOO- KNOW) the Italian word for 'each'
EC and Francesco caught up with us, and then drove us around the north west of Sardinia. Although he grew up in Rome, Francesco's paternal relatives are originally from Sardinia, and he spent a lot of his childhood here. He took us on a sightseeing drive to beautiful beaches like the salt pebbled beach of Saline- where the sea was crystal blue; to posh Stintino on the north western tip of Sardina where we spent an afternoon lazing on the popular white sand La Pelosa beach. the tranquility was only spoiled by constant interruptions by Senegalese and Indian hawkers selling goods ranging from beach towels to costume jewellery. We also went to the towns of Porto Torres, Lu Bagnu, Sassari, Sorso, CastelSardo - a seaside town built around an imposing castle high up on a mountain.

On our last evening, Francesco's friends, Pasqualino and Antonella, invited us over for a barbeque. There was a lot of meat, aubergines with a parsley dressing, local Sardinian wine. His other guests were friendly- didn’t speak a lot of English, and so it fell to me to do most of the translating. My Italian needs a lot of work! I observed that the Italian girls barely touched their food and drink and were content to just eat the raw fennel on a tray in the middle of the table. Whereas, us foreigners ate like starving refugees, and drunk so much wine and the after dinner liquer. We were embarrassingly drunk.
Sardinia is lovely! I wouldn't live there for fear that I would take itfor granted. A lovely holiday destination, with great beaches and hospitable people

Do you remember, the most important for those tourist trap restaurants?

CIASCUNO!

Sardinia Part 1

I wish I still had a camera
But even photos would not do justice to this lovely island off the coast of Italy

For the last 4 years I have been travelling to Italy for my birthday. I didn’t think it would happen this year because of a poor financial situation. I'd even stopped attending my weekly Italian classes because there was no motivation to keep learning. What's the point if I'm not going to practice it.

A couple of weeks ago Yati phones me up to ask
“Can you get Monday’s off work? How about a long weekend in Italy?”
“Yeah, that would be lovely, but I am broke, so aint gonna happen”
“Don’t worry about that. Emily and I are paying for it”
“What? For everything”… ( in case she was winding me up)
“I’m serious, give me your passport details and I’ll book the flight”

Can I just say how overwhelmed I am by the generosity of my friends? I really don’t deserve them! I really don’t!

And so early Thursday morning, I was at the departure gate in Stanstead airport ready to board the plane to Alghero, Sardinia.
I heard someone call my name, and squinted at some dodgy looking black guy with a tall cream hat. Hang on a minute, that’s my brother,
“What are you doing here? Where you going?”
“Alghero”
“Me too”
“You guy. Are you stalking me?”
“What do you mean I’m stalking you, I didn’t even know you were travelling”

Won’t bore you with the details but conversation carried on in the same vein.

It was one of the best things that could have happened on this holiday...

Reflections on Worship

Yesterday afternoon I got a text from my friend Ruby saying,

'Mass text, I just win 2 free tickets to Beyonce @ O2 tonight. Hit me up for the spare, whoever gets back to me first gets it, Rubes x'

Well you know me and free things! I fired back a text with "Me!" but my mate Jules had got there before me! I grudgingly congratulated Jules for her luck and half-jokingly mentioned to my colleagues,
"Maybe I should call up Jules and say it was my birthday on Saturday and since she didn't give me a present, she should forfeit her ticket to the concert"

At about 6.00pm she calls me to ask whether I was still up for going to the concert!
"Is that a question? What do you think?"
She was feeling rough, and anyway as it was my birthday on Saturday, it's only right that I should go instead of her!
Result!!!

And so to O2 I went for the most brilliant concert I've ever been to in my life! Beyonce is AMAZING! She is gorgeous and had such stage presence. Her voice is outstanding. She belted out all the favourites like Baby Boy, Naughty Girl, Crazy in Love, Listen, Single Ladies, and then some not so known ones (at least to me) the girls in front of me were REAL FANS because they knew the words and dance moves for ALL the songs!
She graciously let the all female band share the spot light with her allowing them to showcase their amazing musicianship. Her Big Afroed lead guitarist (who used to play for Lenny Kravitz) was brilliant! And the backing vocalists called the ‘Mama’s’ had such powerful voices

The backdrop to the stage was a large screen with stunning visuals that complemented her, the songs. During the song Ave Maria one there were scenes of waves crashing, and background sounds of the ocean.


I was so impressed with the technical centre, the quality of the sound production; overwhelmed by the whole concert. I REALLY want to work in this field and it has given me the much needed push to pursue excellence in PA and AV.
Beyonce’s concert was celebration of herself. She’s worked hard to get there and it shows. Let her enjoy it and reap the rewards of her labour. Our adulation is temporary and will only last as long as she continues to scintillate and give us what we want. It is a sad truth that once the youth, glamour, good looks and voice start to fade, she will pass on into obscurity like the rest of yesterday’s stars.

Imagine how much more elaborate a production celebrating God would be!

There’s always a conflict in worshiping God passionately and self-indulgence. Where does one draw the line? For me, this is not a problem as I don’t enjoy the contemporary ‘indie’ or gospel worship songs that we sing in church. I just sing the lyrics. Although, sometimes there are cheesy lyrics like “I kiss the Son” by Tim Hughes (shudder) which (for me) is just awful!

I went to a Hillsong worship concert once which opened with a fantastic audio visual production showing shots of various natural wonders from around the world. This was overlaid with phrases like ‘God is the Creator’ ‘God is Awesome. In that moment, I believed it and was overcome with an awareness of just how awesome God as Creator is.
I wish I could showcase and celebrate the qualities, personality and character of God in a similar way. I don’t know how I can do this, but one day!

Birthday Weekend

You know those cartoons where the sleepy character has to prop their eyes open using matchsticks! I wish I could do that in real life! I am SOOOO tired. On hindsight I should have taken today off work. I was dozing in the Risk Management workshop- in front of clients!!!

It was an eventful weekend!
Friday night, a good friend Rob invited me for his wife Amy’s birthday dinner in a Middle Eastern restaurant called Darbucka. We lounged on cushions and ate delicious (though overpriced) food at low tables. I only get to see Rob once every 6 months, so make the most of it when we meet up.
After dinner I checked out Bantu night event that aims to bring together the Bantu speaking people of East and South Africa. We have similar words in our languages, and linked by the word ‘Bantu’ which means ‘people’ – hence Bantu people. Incidentally, when I went to South Africa I learnt that this has evolved into a demeaning term that was used to describe the ‘Blecks’ during apartheid. To use it there causes the same amount of offence as the word ‘nigger’ does to Black Americans.
The event was ok. I tried to befriend a group of Tanzanians and then Zimbabweans – but this was hard because everyone was sticking to their own. The Ugandans weren't very friendly either.I gave up and instead stationed myself in the middle of the dance floor for the rest of the evening. The music was good –mainly Ugandan pop which is a truly unique blend of traditional Ugandan, reggaeton, rap, lingala, hip hop and Jamaican dance hall styles of music. Kemi would have loved it. I left at about 1.30am, caught the trusty old night bus N29. Got home about 3 am–went to bed at about 5.00am

my 'baby' sister

Saturday dressed up as pirate and joined my fancy dress crew at the Tatershall Castle pub boat which is moored near Embankment station. My younger sister and B were just standing there laughing at the antics of my ‘fancy dress’ friends. I must admit they are mad. I met Mark, who has 4 natural fangs that have grown out on top of his other teeth- amazing. He told me that he once had them removed but they grew back. He’s a composer and works in theatre. I told him
“With those teeth you were definitely born for the theatre!”

I don't know whether you can make out the teeth in this photo.

We then made our way to Zoo bar off Leicester Square. The club has 3 rooms, each playing different style of music. I loved the Funky House/Dance music room. My friends (except Tiago and Giulia) who hate it, voted to go to the RnB room. The sound and air conditioning in that room wasn’t great so after a while I got bored and went back to the funky house room. An Algerian, Mohsin, homed in on me to dance, and then followed me back to the RnB room. He kept pestering me to go outside with him for a smoke. I’d had a lot to drink by this time, so Stuart stepped in and asked whether I needed rescuing.

Me and my Sicilian friend Giulia!

A couple of my favourite guys- Stu and Tiago

He took me to a sofa where we cosied up apparently looking so cute that someone asked whether we were married. (again!) Stu and I then had rather bizarre conversation about our 'wedding'. I’d be dressed in a bright red mini dress and the church would be decorated with disco lights, music set to funky house. Stu would be at the front dressed like a DJ waving his hands shouting, ‘Can I get a whoop, whoop!’ Haha. I glanced up and noticed Mohsin with a hurt expression on his face. What is it with these guys? You dance with them and they think you owe them? Left at 3.00am and got home at about 4.00am

Stu and me- cozying

Sunday Iwas on to do PA at morning service. No one to blame but myself really because I’m the one who does the technical team rota. How I managed to do it, with only 3 and half hours sleep- I don’t know. Lots of coffee! Jackie Guy - fantastic dancer

After service I went down to the South Bank Royal Festival Hall for the Bloom Festival that my good friend Jeanette organised for that weekend. I took part in the African Caribbean dance workshop that was taught by a Jamaican International Choreographer called Jackie Guy. He did not look his age of 73. He was cracking hilarious jokes! It was a lot of fun. Not only did he teach us some dance moves, but dropped in bits of Jamaican history and culture.

Got home at about 5.00pm, but had to stay up to watch ‘The Apprentice’ at 9.00pm . Was really pleased that Yasmina won this year. I went to bed at midnight.

Not bad going for a 34 year old eh?

The London Loop

The 140 mile London Loop, referred to as the ‘walkers M25’, goes around the London Greenbelt area (Zones 5 and 6). It features country parks, woods, stately homes, farms and the odd ugly industrial building.
Three years ago a colleague lent me a London Loop guidebook which broke it down into 15 sections of approximately 9 miles each. At the time, Yati, my sister Ngonzi and I were determined to tackle a section every other Sunday, however, interruptions like our unpredictable English weather, foreign trips etc have meant that we’ve only done a third of it.
There are several websites on the London Loop but the one I like best is this one by a guy called Stephen and his dog George. (Sometimes there’s another dog called Ellie). It's got nice photos of the walk and his dog is cute.

Last Sunday Yati, Jody, B and I walked the Petts Wood to West Wickham section. The guidebook said that the walk was 9 miles long, but I’m pretty sure we walked about 11 miles. It didn’t get up to a promising start. When we left the train station, ‘someone’ holding the guide book, got their left mixed up with right and we made the wrong turn. When we didn’t recognise any of the roads we stopped to ask for directions,
‘Uh Jubilee Park is one mile back that way!” (The way we’d just come! Hmmph)
B took over the guidebook and did a good job of navigating us through the rest of the walk. It was a pleasant day; the woods provided shade against the heat. Half way, we stopped at a lovely village pub and had a well deserved drink in its beer garden.

B was quiet as usual. I don’t know why he hangs out with me and my friends. He can’t possibly enjoy himself. There is just nothing in common. He is into history, current affairs, and politics. Whereas I am into gossip, guys, clubbing, films, fiction. (Just reading that sentence back I seem quite shallow. Heck…. I am shallow). Such a shame because he really is quite good looking!
I’d kind of hoped that B would hit it off with Jody. She tried to engage him in conversation, asking incessant questions but he only responded in single sentences- never volunteering anything extra. After a while it gets exhausting. Even for listeners. In the end she admitted defeat “He’s just too quiet!” She even asked him
“Why are you so quiet?” and he responded “I just am”
Oh well

Rivers in the desert

I’ve started June in negative bank balance. Not to worry… what are overdrafts for eh? Of course this means that the next month will start on the same note and the cycle continues. I feel really vulnerable – teetering on the edge of this abyss. I’m so dependent on this one job, credit cards and overdraft– which could easily be snatched away. There is no ‘safety net’- no investments, savings or rich relatives to bail me out. Each time I enter my pin number I wonder whether this will be the one that will push me over completely.
The way I deal with living in credit is with a ‘stick-your-head-in-the-sand’ mentality. I’ve got to deliberately NOT worry about the future, live in denial or I will go insane. This is a hard thing to do as I’m a worrier by nature. I keep things bottled in; wind myself up so tightly, and then in a moment of release it all comes out – often disproportionately to the situation. Yesterday during the sermon I burst into tears when I heard the words from Lamentations 3:17-26 (Contemporary English Version)

I cannot find peace or remember happiness. I tell myself, "I am finished! I can't count on the LORD to do anything for me." Just thinking of my troubles and my lonely wandering makes me miserable. That's all I ever think about, and I am depressed.
Then I remember something that fills me with hope. The LORD's kindness never fails! If he had not been merciful, we would have been destroyed. The LORD can always be trusted to show mercy each morning. Deep in my heart I say, "The LORD is all I need; I can depend on him!" The LORD is kind to everyone who trusts and obeys him. It is good to wait patiently for the LORD to save us.

I’ve made bad choices, but I think I’m where God wants me to be. I need to trust that he will turn this mess around. And if he isn’t turning it around quick enough for me, then he isn’t. Perhaps there are lessons I still have to learn- responsible stewardship for one.

I can choose to wallow in depression, or focus on the blessing that it is. One of my favourite verses is in Isaiah 43:19 where God says he ‘creates rivers in the desert’ (Amplified Version). And there have indeed been rivers. If I hadn’t been in this situation, I would never have known or fully appreciated just how kind my friends and relatives are. Ros and Jon lending me their car; Yati and Emily offering to pay for a holiday to Italy; Stuart buying me drinks at every social gathering; Paul bringing me loads of meat (Kemi remarked “He must have slaughtered a whole cow”) and Kemi who barely has anything, buying me the occasional little thing to bless me.

And so I praise you God for this shitty, unstable situation. I will try not to worry too much, continue to look for the lessons that are yet to be learnt, enjoy the blessings and wait on you. AMEN.

Matchmaker Matchmaker make me a match

I'll be the first to admit that I'm pretty crap at this 'guy stuff' and need all the help I can get. One of my friends, Emily has been trying to set me up since we were at University. She fancies herself a bit of a matchmaker and calls me up at least once a month, to tell me that she's found me yet another 'perfect match'. Usually nice guys, but just not my 'type' (one time even the guy was gay).


And whenever I make a new guy friend, Emily is always the first to urge me to move the friendship to another level "After all... you enjoy his company so you are halfway there." She obviously hasn't caught on to the fact that guys I fancy NEVER make it to the 'buddy category'.


For a close friend, I don't understand how Emily can get it so wrong. At the moment she's convinced that what I really need is a serious, intelligent older man (YAWN)


Earlier in the month, I invited my friend B to her house party and true to form she decided that we were perfect for each other. Never mind I barely spoke to him for most of that party - we don't have a lot to say to each other. I laughed it off at the time, but when she kept bringing it up in every conversation it stopped being funny. Apparently, I'm too picky. Don’t get me wrong. he is a nice guy, good looking too. But there is just no chemistry and our interests do not intersect at all. Yesterday we went to the British Museum together. As soon as we entered the main exhibition, he wandered off on his own. I was a bit confused. After all, if someone invites you out to a museum or art gallery surely it is to share the experience. I tried to engage him in conversation about the artefacts, but he was clearly not interested. I might as well have gone on my own. Just as I was working out an exit strategy, Yati showed up with 'S'. Things got much better from then. We managed to shake 'B' off and had a great afternoon together.


I was very impressed with S


Yati has been wanting to introduce S and me for ages. She said he was my type, we'd get along, I'd really like him etc. I've been putting it off because after Emily's matchmaking efforts, I am reluctant to meet anyone recommended by friends. I should have trusted the fact that Yati lived with me for 3 years and knows me better than anyone else. She's nailed this one! From the fact that he’s a Christian, to the height, build, personality, age, interests, looks, a touch of political incorrectness… At least one friend listens to me!! In a way S reminds me of ‘A’ (another guy that I had a MA-HOO-SSIVE crush on a couple of years ago). I was so into him that I literally threw myself at him, and was firmly rebuffed! Won't be making that mistake again. Hmm, how am I going to do this!

Rugby Sevens

On Saturday, courtesy of my new friend Ruby, I went to watch the Emirates Rugby Sevens at Twickenham Stadium She got free hospitality box tickets through the company she works for.

Rugby Sevens is an International event and is made up of teams of seven, playing short 14 minute matches. The last time I watched a live rugby game was in Uganda – over 10 years ago, so was really excited. I just love Rugby players. Especially No 12 England team Chris Cracknell who has a fantastic body! On the Rugby Football Union website, he is listed as ‘Unattached’. I know, it probably means that he is not tied to any Rugby team, but one can hope…

Ruby and I met up at Richmond station. As the advertised free bus shuttle service was not running, we walked to the Stadium. On the way, she smoked a joint. I didn’t realise it then, but must have inhaled quite a bit (keep this in mind, will come back to this later)

The atmosphere in the stadium was electric. There was a large Kenyan turn out to support Kenya team. The Southern stand was full of them – colourful and loud. Ruby and I went over to soak in the atmosphere. The Kenya team did really well winning 2 out of 3 games. They only lost (with dignity) to Fiji which is a superior rugby team anyway
.
Then there was the England team. Each time they came on the cheer leaders would stand in parade waving England flags. There’d be a flash of smoke and pyrotechnics and the commentator would shout “Here's what you've all been waiting for....WELCOME YOUR TEAM” The crowd went wild. I screamed myself hoarse – for Kenya, England, and South Africa.

Throughout the day, I had a splitting headache – I’ve never experienced such intense pain. I realised I must be suffering from the side effects of that smoke I inhaled in the morning. Second-hand skunk smoke is bad for you. Next time Ruby lights up –I will distance myself, put a wet cloth over my mouth and nose! I never want to go through that again. Terrible

Being Posh

Yesterday, my friend Julius sent me a text message asking whether I was free for ‘proggy’, a private art exhibition at a gallery in Mayfair.

The artist Pip Mcgarry  is 'one of the Europe’s leading wild life artists with an international reputation for his oil paintings of big cats and African game'. He recently sold a painting at Christies for a record £29,300 – so serious art there!! He was auctioning off a couple of pieces; the proceeds going to the charity Five Talents (UK) who organised the event.

I must admit I was a bit apprehensive. My preconception of Art Exhibitions is that they are ‘snobby’ affairs where a bunch of rich people stand around, drinking free wine and saying ‘Yah, Astounding! Yah, Spiffing”. Not really my scene. Plus I was going straight from work and concerned that I may not be dressed for the occasion in my sweater and cowboy boots. What if the women were wearing evening gowns? I didn’t want to embarrass Julius. He assured me that I was okay.

“I’ve been to these functions before. You’ll fit in just fine’

When we got there, the first person I saw was the photographer. A couple of years ago I went on a blind date with him, and we really hit it off. He sent me an email afterwards declaring his love yada yada yada. Not long after, we went on a disastrous second date (for some reason didn’t stay in touch...) Yesterday, he couldn’t even remember my name (so much for love eh) “Which one were you? The Gemini?”No doubt the story of ‘The Gemini’ has been filed away in his repertoire of dating disasters. Well in mine he is under ‘Infantile photographer facing mid life crisis’ HAH!

Julius was schmoozing, so I grabbed a glass of wine and walked around the gallery. The art is good. I really liked this one of the elephants at a watering hole called 'Savute Evening' . It almost looks like a photograph and not an oil painting.

I met another woman who'd tagged along and discovered that we have a lot in common. She works with my organisation and yeah,

She was also there for the food

And the food- cucumber sandwiches yeurggh!

An Awkward Moment

As it was M’s birthday, a bunch of us went to the old White Lion pub, a favourite haunt with St B’s youth. By the time I got there M, was drunk. I’ve never seen him drunk. It was hilarious.

Stu and I were exchanging our usual playful banter.

Slight explanation: - I love Stu – and I’m pretty sure he loves me- as a brother. Ok not so sure about the ‘brother’ bit. Lately he’s always grabbing my ass. (It’s a nice ass, if I should say so

 myself ;-P) The last incident I moved his hands to my waist saying; -
“NOT there, HERE”
His explanation was “Sorry…my hands slipped!”
Yeah right!! Hands slipped! Original!

Okay, so back to the pub. Across the table, I noticed Rob studying us. He nudged Hannah and whispered something to her.
Then they both turned to us deliberately
“Guys we’ve decided that the two of you should get married”

This is what is called An Awkward Moment

There was a hush at the table. I was thinking 'what the f*@K! M is sitting right next to Rob. You idiot, you are blowing my CHANCES man! (All this in the space of a second) I frantically searched for a response – no help from Stu there.

When Bianca piped up with, “Why do you say that Rob? Is it because they are Black?”, I grabbed on to it like a drowning man- ,

“Hey, that’s our line! You just stole my line! I’m supposed to say that”

Every one laughed and the moment was broken.
Hmm! I hope it doesn’t come up again.

Neighbours, a car and a lesson in Grace

I don't know whether I have mentioned before that I have pretty amazing neighbours - Ros and Jon. I learnt that they moved onto my road in February this year when a mutual friend sent an email to introduce us to each other.

Ros and Jon are really quite brilliant. They blow every misconception that some of us Blacks have of ‘White People.’ Where do we get this idea that all ‘White People’ are cold with ‘Etiima’ (in my language this loosely translates to ‘heartless’); sticklers for rules at the cost of relationshi- selfish ‘…putting their elderly parents in Retirement homes!’

Perhaps I shouldn’t generalise. Not ALL Blacks feel this way about 'White People' – maybe it’s only the ones I talk to. 'White People' stories (almost always the nasty experiences) end in ‘trademark’ punch line…

“White People! Hah!!” (Note, not the short sharp ‘Hah!’, but the long drawn out ‘Haaaaaaah”)
The listeners (black) usually respond with a chorus of understanding, “Mmhmms!!!” knowing looks and sniggers all around.

The same people, when I tell them about an act of kindness that a friend has done for me, will ask first,
“What a nice person. White or black?”
“Black” will get little reaction. Say “White” – and it's like they've been stung by a bee, a sharp intake of breath and if they are Nigerian you might even get “Ah Ah!!! – slap the leg – “You’re joking me!!!”

When Ros and Jon found out that it takes me about an hour and a half to get to church on Sunday mornings by bus, they offered me the use of their second car for the weekends. They wouldn’t even let me pay for the extra cost of insurance insisting that it was a gift - their way of blessing me. But not wanting to abuse this privilege, every Sunday before I return it, I wash, wax and refuel the car.

When I got home last Friday, I found that they’d dropped the car off as usual and left a message with my sister to tell me that the petrol tank was full and there's no need for me to put in anymore. 

This car thing has got me thinking about my relationship with God and my response to grace. Ros and Jon, like God, have given me a free gift, and don’t expect anything in return for it. And yet against their express wishes and assurances I continue trying to earn the privilege - fearing that it might get withdrawn if I don’t show enough appreciation. 

Isn’t it frustrating when you give someone a gift, that where a simple 'thank you' would have sufficed, that person overdoes the ‘appreciation thing’! This attitude questions the character of the Giver, of the friendship and just kills the whole pleasure of giving!

But let me remove the plank from my own eye before I start pointing out the splinter in others. I know I still haven’t learnt how to receive grace and as a result, I am not growing in my relationship with God. How can I when I insist on behaving like a servant and not a friend?

I reckon the reason why people reject the gospel is because of society’s inbuilt scepticism that makes us meet kindness with suspicion

‘There's nothing-like-a-free-lunch’ 

“It can’t possibly be free"
"What’s the catch?"

Sound familiar?

Perhaps we all need neighbours like Ros and Jo to teach us what grace means! 

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