Claude Debussy/Tokyo Sonata

I don't know much about classical music and I've never attempted to expand on that. I know that I like piano music and I know the greats like Beethoven and Mozart but, in the Western world, you'd have to have been living under a rock not to know those people. I don't know their music, though. My one and only true classical love affair has been with Claude Debussy's Clair de Lune. It is my definition of beauty. When we talk about such things we often refer to the tangible, but I believe that this is the sound beauty makes. The first time I heard it I imagined water, water from a brooke approaching new territory, nimbly finding it's way through a trial of jagged rocks. It slowly and tirelessly made those rocks into supple stones. It did so elegantly but with tenacity, never yielding. In the subsequent times I've listen to this piece I've discovered the wild through my mind's eye; a dense, overwhelmingly green forest that dazzles the eyes while humming the tunes of trickling freshwater into your ears.

I just finished watching Tokyo Sonata... I wasn't in love. The parents where morons, the elder brother was a flake, I only truly empathised with the youngest son who had to live in that lunacy. I once had a dream of playing the piano but I knew my parents couldn't afford it so I never brought it up, but this kid did. When they said 'no' he found a way to have his opportunity regardless. I admire his courage. The kid turns out to be a prodigy according to his teacher but it is not until the very last scene that we experience this. He was the films saving grace.

He performed Clair de Lune by Debussy, he played it perfectly. Exactly like my Francois-Joel Thiollier copy. He commanded my attention as well as his audience's. Not only was he beautiful, in that moment, but he created beauty with his tiny adolescent hands. He made me see that forest. Now, at 01:49 am, I'm wondering if I should let go and start creating my beauty...

The September Issue vol.1 chp 3 Perky Ken

I went back to that cafe. Not to look for him but to make a new friend. I wouldn't normally seek out friends but I realise that, along with an unlimited access to the world wide web, friends are necessary for my balance. I entered the cafe with a ding-a-ling (it still had an effect) and sat in my little corner. Unfortunately, the jaded waitress was absent - probably her day off. She'd been replaced by a super perky waiter with a super smile; perky creeps me out. He approached me with a sincere, wide-eyed smile and I couldn't help but do the same; it was an unconscious reflex, my go to instinct like how a moth is compelled to fly towards the light, I am compelled to smile. It's a curse. I missed the jaded waitress. I could remain indifferent with her. My shield of sugar and spice and everything nice had seen better days. It wasn't because of Japan. In my 'good first impression' mode, I gave no opinions on my beliefs, interests...TV, I was a cordial vault. Back in London I wasn't constantly meeting new people so I could relax every once in a while. This place, this new place made it difficult to get to know anyone or for anyone to get to know me. My defences were permanently up.

Perky's cheeks started to twitch. It was a bit devilish but I smiled back wider and he followed with his eyes screaming irritation which made me smile even more. I decided to order because it was getting cruel. I ordered a hot chocolate, of course, and an omelette. It came and I ate. It had mushrooms, and spinach; I'm not a fan of mushrooms but once something is placed in front of me I feel compelled to eat. Maybe it's having lived in Ghana for all those years; you dare not leave perfectly good food on the plate. It wasn't about the poverty, it was about culture. You did what you were told without question.

So I finished everything and ordered some water from Perky Ken while I tried take two of reading Norwegian Wood. He came back with my water, I thanked him and went back to my book. I expected to hear his footsteps as he walked away but it never came. I eventually looked up to find him staring down at me, intensely. Something had piqued his interest. He looked like, for the first time in the 20 minutes we'd known each other, he actually wanted to talk to me. I figured it was because of the book. I titled my head to the right and gave him the warmest smile I could muster. It was my best comforting teacher look, the look were you pretend that you're understanding and neutral and a haven. I'm not normally underhanded with my powers but he'd piqued my interest. He didn't bite. He excused himself when he caught me looking. I watched as he went behind the counter and came out with a wipe, pretending to be busy, wiping clean tables. So I bit.

The story so far

So I've been away for a while. I can't really explain it except to say that I didn't feel like it. I recently sat the JLPT N5, which is a proficiency test for Japanese, it's the most basic level. I'm pretty sure I failed. And I know this because throughout my academic years I've learned that when I think I've failed, I've failed and when I think I've passed, I've passed. I can't guess and I can't wing it. It's a curse. My vocabulary was great, because all I do is Kanji. But that's not the problem when it's only a third of the whole test. I'm not that upset because now I know where I need extra help on in my studies, but it cost me 70 quid to figure that out. 

The September Issue vol.1 chp 2 Who the hell was that guy?

I didn't notice him at first; but that's what I do, I don't notice, it's necessary for my sanity. He was standing outside one of the boutiques I'd visited the week previous. He wanted shelter, like I did. It was pouring and I had my 'fro out so there was no way in hell I was gonna walk home through that. I wouldn't even if my house was 2 feet away. In case you don't know, afro hair shrinks severely in water. The day hadn't started out that badly; it was bright, a bit chilly but the warmth of the sunshine made that okay. It reminded me of England, I seldom missed England but on days like this it reminded me and when I remembered I missed. I was busy cursing the clouds when I realised that he was there. I noticed the smoke before I actually noticed him. Second-hand smoke is a no no for me. I wanna die because of something I did and not because some moron decided to pick up an addiction. I took two steps away and covered my nose with my scarf, it probably did me no good but at least it smelled delicious, like a flowerbomb. I didn't care if he knew why.

It poured and poured, there was no sign of it ending so I retreated to a near-by cafe. He followed. It would have creeped me out if I was back in London but I was in Tokyo. I didn't really find any single person threatening, mainly because I was often viewed as the threat. Maybe that's too harsh, maybe I should say that I was viewed as an intimidating figure. But like typical Japanese they went out of they're way to be polite. It always amused me in the sporadic occasions when I bothered to observe the world around me; there's nothing intimidation about my stature.

As I entered the cafe there was a ding-a-ling...you know, that ringing sound from the shop bell. For a split second I felt like a magical woodland creature and that ding-a-ling was innate, an effervescent way of announcing my presence, it came from within me and it brought a smile to my face - my brain was quite fanciful today and I was enjoying it. The cafe was empty and on the small side but clean and kinda cosy like everything in Japan. I love cosy, I can't get enough of it; after 19 years in a London terraced house, I like small. I once visited my cousin while he lived in Atlanta, I often found myself house-bound when he went work. It wasn't that Atlanta was boring or anything like that, it was the roads... they freaked me out. They were huge and intimidating and they had matching huge and intimidating cars riding on them.

It was near empty; just an old guy sitting in the corner nearest to the entrance reading the day's paper while sipping on something hot, coffee maybe. I hate coffee, the smell pungent and the taste bitter. But the cafe was perfect for me because even though the old guy was sipping on the Devils hot drink there was enough space for me to get away from it. I found myself a corner similar to the old guys and glanced over the menu. I hardly read magazines or leaflets or things like that, I just skim-read looking for keywords, in this case it was 'Hot Chocolate'. I heard a ding-a-ling and there he was standing in the doorway, I quickly looked back at the menu and tried my hardest to read it. He had my attention though. And when I finally looked at him, I mean stole a glance and really looked at him I had a physical reaction to him. My brain was on fire, my neurons were like fireworks, they were lit in succession so that each flare corresponded to each stolen glance; something new and intriguing was revealed each time. It was like Guy Fawkes Night.

He wasn't Japanese, he was a westerner so he stood out. I make it a point not to hang around too many westerners; they form groups and they get into a bitching hold. He was tall, anyone is tall to a 5ft nothing like me but I'd say he was about 6ft 2in, he had dark brown hair and matching eyes. He was wearing an Iggy Pop T-shirt and a pair of stone washed jeans. He must have been cold but I did appreciate the love for Iggy. He looked marvelous. I thanked the gods, even tough I'm pretty much an atheist, that I decided to dress up today. He had a bit of a beard, not so thick that you couldn't see the skin beneath, but thick enough so that you could call it a beard instead of a shadow. He looked irritated, or at least that's how I perceived it. I ordered a hot chocolate from the jaded waitress, probably cos she was working a solo shift. I was drawn to her blase... maybe I'd visit again. I nursed my beverage while I tried to re-read Norwegian Wood. The rain stopped after a while and I hadn't gotten any further in the book. It felt like we'd been there for ages and I was acutely aware. I took the reprieve as my opportunity, got my things together and left with a ding-a-ling. I wanted to know more but I'm kinda inexperienced when it comes to the opposite sex. I glanced back and he was looking which was good, but he still looked pissed, which I just didn't get.

It happened 2 weeks ago but I forgot to write it

We were in the downstairs showroom and by we I mean the Henry VIII and the Sidekick who, according to her, went home early that day to study; not to disappear and never come back. After much observation I realised that her boss, the Brazilian, exaggerates things and anything he says should be taken with a grain of salt. We were trying on clothes, cos that's what you do when there's no supervision and the opportunity arises, and cataloging them when they're boss, the Brazilian, (I feel like I constantly need to say that cos it more sensory, when I say Brazilian you think a Rio de Janeiro - which he hates - and Miss World and tropical temperatures and cocktails and it all just seems so exciting) comes in and it's decided that he needs to try on some 5 inch heels. I'm not at all surprised when he finds a pair of heels that fit or when his buddy, our interim boss, the Dutchman (I'm running out of creative names) decides that he needs accessories so he adds a belt and one of the fake crowns we have lying about, and I'm not surprised to see that the Brazilian's waist is smaller than mine. I'm not surprised at all. In fact I'm laughing my head off. What I am surprised by is the way he struts in those 6 inch heels AND dances in them, like a regular at Stringfellow's I might add. Does the can can and so forth. It's a riot. It was a good afternoon but that was 2 weeks ago.

New Plan

I've decided to reject that bloody college. If they're willing to give away my place just because I was badly advised by an incompetent employee and just because they couldn't tell me, over the phone, that the fee would be 1,482 pounds then they don't deserve to have me studying in they're institution. At least, that's how I'm reconciling it. I've set my sights on self study, which I've been doing with Japanese so how hard can it be with Sociology and Psychology, she says (nervous laughter). I've found a place to take the exams and I've downloaded the spec for each course.

I feel good about the situation because sitting around another year was too painful to contemplate. I think in terms of wasted time as opposed to what's meant to be.

The Back-up

I had a back-up plan that was pretty air-tight. If I didn't get into the Japanese degree program I would re-do my A'levels just so I met the entry requirements of the course... it was a really solid plan. Nothing goes the way I want it to. I'm thinking about getting a horseshoe, a four-leaf clover, maybe even finding a pot of gold at the end any rainbow. Anything that would give me some luck would be perfect because I feel like the most unlucky person in the world. I can't re-do my A'levels this year because of some moron's bad, bad advice. The thing that bothers me the most is that it's another year I have to spend waiting, I don't want to mature or wait for fate because I don't believe in that shit. I'm mature enough and I'm ready.

The September Issue vol.1 chp 1 Departures

I've packed my bags. I'm ready. I'm so excited that I can't sleep but I need to sleep because I'm flying tomorrow and I don't sleep on planes. Economy is uncomfortable, even for 5ft nothing me. I could take a Tylenol but that would leave me sluggish in the morning and I don't want that. I'm full to the brim with anticipation. I'm going to Osaka tomorrow. Sayonara London. Sayonara UK. Sayonara Europe. ^_^

You know nothing about people

You'd think that after spending several weeks with some people you'd know them. But I don't. I don't know what about they're families or their journey to get here. I don't know them and I don't make it my business to. I enjoy writing on my blog and a key part of that is to be observant but I find that I care less and less about the people and things going on around me. I'm apathetic about most things right now. Maybe I'm going through one of my depressions, maybe I'm just jaded. I don't know...

It's just a fucking Cape!

Have you met that person who thinks that they know everything about fashion and therefore whatever they say is law. What they say is beyond reproach and a conversation that should have lasted only a few seconds ends up taking minutes of my precious time, which could have been spent daydreaming and lazing. It ends up as a mini argument and the subsequent silence all so that you can forget about the whole saga by the next day. It's boring, it's a waste of time and it's annoying. That person insists on arguing with everything that you say, just because they have thunder thighs and have to be very careful about how the dress. And in the end I think about how I didn't really care that much about the topic in the first place and I was only trying to banter and that she's 29 and this is so lame. I think about how I need a job so that I can get a hair cut and buy some lovely clothes instead of the clothes I've had for five years plus. The clothes I wore when I was 18. I think about how I'd love to be shopping in Japan and away from this situation because I'm bored, unbelievably bored and restricted. It's just a fucking Cape!

The September Issue vol.3 chp 1

I'm one of those confident types, I wear want I want when I want and anything I can't afford I make. I've realised all of my dreams. I'm as artistic and free as I ever wanted to be. I live in Japan. I started off in Osaka and after a year I moved to Yokohama, Tokyo. I hang around in Shibuya, Omotesando and Daikanyama regularly. I experience the street fashion I'm obsessed with and better yet I learn the language, the culture, the people. I am right where I want to be. I have my own dinky, minuscule tatami mat flat. I'm losing weight but that's welcomed. I'm on a budget and that means no matter how awful my cooking, I have to eat it. My closet space is non-existent but I pack lightly. I use a futon that I air out when the weather permits. The neighbours aren't very chatty - not like in Osaka - but I figure it's only a matter of time.

I work as a English teacher. Everyday I wake up in the morning, brush my teeth, shower, do my hair and get dressed; preferably something quirky but formal... not too formal, mind you; I'm not part of the herd of office, business, all-round serious people in this world. I work with these really great kids, some of them are called delinquents but I've seen worse. No one expects too much from me, they treat me as the foreigner, always different, never Japanese. It doesn't bother me that much because I'm still wondering around Japan with rose-tinted glasses. I take part in after-school activities like archery and film club. Commuting back from work, I stop by the 100 yen store to pick up some underwear and slippers.

On weekends I tutor a student for an hour; just for conversational English. We sit in a cafe and I have some type of fruit juice in the summer or hot chocolate in the winter; I don't drink tea or coffee. My student's a boy, he's painfully shy but I suspect that's because I'm foreign and not just any foreign, I'm black foreign. It doesn't bother me, though. He's a kid. Talking to him is like pulling teeth but I don't care because I'm still getting paid. One day we'll find a common ground, somewhere we can connect, I hope.

After tutoring I call my girl, we're going to see a movie. We're not sure which, we're just gonna get there and then decide. My Japanese is pretty solid by now so I can watch a Japanese film with no worries.  She's really cool. I met her at one of those uber cool vintage shops in Harajuku called Kinsella. She was rummaging around the scarf rack. I have a penchant for scarves. For some reason (I can't remember why) we start talking and we took it from there. Looking back it was very unusual for me to make a friend like that; I'm a bit of a loner, I'm an accidental loner... but a loner all the same. I head home for a clean up of my flat and I make a list of what I need. I head off the the mall in my high-waisted apparel jeans rolled up at the ankle and a cropped top I made out of African wax print. It's a warm enough day, though and I meet someone at the music store. We exchange numbers ^_^.

I get back home around 4:00pm and I'm out of my place just as soon as I got in. I need to get to the cinema's.

Post-August 19th

In My Reality: San was empty because that's exactly what happened. NOTHING. On the night of August 18th I found out that the university wasn't accepting any home/EU students through Clearing, effectively cancelling Clearing 2010. I never got a chance to try...

In My Reality: San

In My Mind: Ni

In my mind this is how I want the conversation on August 19th to go:

Tutor: What were your results?

Me: Three C's.

Tutor: You can't really do any of our courses...

Me: I know, but I got those grades like years ago.

Tutor: I see...

Me: For the past 3 years I been studying Biology at Queen Mary. Last summer I decided to drop out (I'm not sure whether I should add in the fact that I failed) and pursue Japanese full-time. Alongside studying at QM I've been teaching myself Japanese. I feel that I need guidance in my study, short of moving to Japan I don't know how else to best improve my Japanese skills. I really have a genuine passion for any thing Japanese, I want to know anything and everything. I think this uni has the perfect atmosphere to nurture that.

Tutor: Uh huh, uh huh..........Welcome aboard. Give us your clearing number and you can enroll in September.

Me: Woooooooooohoooooooooooooo.

THE END

In My Mind: Ichi

In my mind this is how the conversation on August 19th will go:

Tutor: What were your results?

Me: Three C's.

Tutor: You can't really do any of our courses... (Thanks to this shitty economy and even shittier Coalition Government there aren't any places left in clearing.)

Me: Not even Chinese? (I figure I could get my foot in the door.)

Tutor: NO!!!

ABRUPT END

Pre-August 19th

I'm bloody nervous and it's only August 17th. I have a plan. I have a speech. I'm gonna bombarded them with info about why I'm such a great prospect. I'm not gonna take no for an answer. I'm even thinking about bribing them, but that's for when I'm really desperate. I don't know whether I should write about what August 19th means to me because I don't want to jinx it... but I guess it's OK cos I'm not gonna publish it right away.

August 19th is an important day for any 18-ish year olds in England because the A'Level exam results come out. It's a day when you find out what else you're gonna be studying for the next 3-4 years. My results day was filled with tears because I got three C's, what a waste of tears: a) three C's aren't that bad; especially since I hardly studied for them, b) I would've been failing Biomedical Sciences at King's instead of Biology at Queen Mary. You can see that science was not in my future but I was trying to force the subject. At that spectacularly crap Catholic school I was always good at Art but I didn't pursue it. I didn't think that it was a 'serious' person's subject, so I did Biology and Chemistry... that's what 'serious' people do - you can see how green I was. I couldn't see a future in Art because I never felt like I was particularly good at it, I wasn't particularly good at the Sciences either but I thought I could get better. Why didn't I think I could get better at Art? I was short-sited (I really am short-sited if you saw my pics, hihi) and immature, but that's what you expect of a kid. I wish I'd had more guidance.

City of Westminster College is my back-up plan. I'm one of those people who didn't particularly like school. I'm also one of those people who give little effort or emotion to things that don't interest them. I don't want to go back to that college setting to do Biology, Psychology and Sociology just to get the A'level entry grades for BA Japanese. I might need to, though. Why would I want to go to university? University's a whole other kettle of fish, in my opinion. Queen Mary wasn't even that bad, I just hated Biology. I think studying something I love at a great uni would bring out the best in me. I mean, seriously...I'm a Ghanaian studying Japanese by myself. If I didn't have a passion for it I would have giving up when I started trying to memorise Kanji.

So here I am, wishing that I was Irish or a Leprechaun, praying that someone really fucks up their exams and I get their spot - I kinda feel guilty for that, though. Phone lines open at 9am, so I'll start ringing at 8:58. Fingers crossed, wish me luck. ^_^

You really get to know people

I had a great conversation with Henry VIII the other day. I said earlier that we hadn't really started yet but I think we have now. We talked about university; he told his school that their courses were shit even though he basically failed each year and still managed to graduate, I'm starting to think there's something wrong with me. Why couldn't I tell Stan that his course was shit but he should still let me progress to the third year even though I... ahh, he has the gift of the gab - a gift I'm trying to imitate come August 19th but that's another post. Then we went onto Japan; the lucky bastard got visit a friend in Tokyo the year before, I can at least say that my Japanese is better than his...but that's not really worth shit cos I really want to be in Japan. We even talked about Ghanaian food because he'd tried fufu, this coming out of a English boy had me pleasantly surprised ^_^.

The Queen and her Sidekick: these are two new characters in the saga that is my internship. They're generally pleasant, but they can give off this attitude. I'm not sure whether it's immaturity or the much documented black girl attitude; it doesn't help, in this world, to have that attitude. You have to behave in public, that's all I'm saying. You have to learn to put on a pleasant face when you're pissed off because, guess what, this is an internship. Even if they don't keep you on, you get the experience as well as something great to add to your CV. But they don't get that, the latter more so than the former. Maybe if they'd spent a year in exile, unsure of the future, unsure of plans laid, unsure of everything they would appreciate this opportunity more. I just found out today that the Sidekick left. Just up and gone. She went on her lunch break and never came back. I was chatting with the Showgirl about what a waste it was. It wasn't that bad, but she gave up becuase it wasn't worth it for her to grit her teeth and bare with it. I wonder if that's because of a lack of maturity. When I think about my situation last year, when I think about that sinking feeling and the need to get out of the situation as quickly as possible I wonder if giving up was that simple for her. Granted, she was a moody little cow, hihi (even the models thought so), but she could really talk to people when she wanted to. She could be really charming so that she built up a rapport with the clients - a skill I've only incrementally improved on. She even told me about the clients she had gained, her CV would've been great, what a waste.

I was studying Biology because I didn't take a breath after my A'Levels to truly understand what best suited me, I can be at peace with myself over the decision to quit a degree I had no intention of utilizing except to get my visa for Japan. The Sidekick is a fashion student, can she guarantee that she won't meet any of this people ever again? That they won't remember?

Look! It has Wiiiinnnggggssss

Do you like them, do you? Don't worry if you don't cos I do. Flaunt anything with a Japanese style heel or pleats (preferably not together) and I'm sold. I go crazy for these VW + Melissa Plastic Dreams Rocking Horse shoes, but alas I'm poor. Feel free to buy them for me in any colour, I really don't mind. I'm a European Size 5 (I'm a 5 and a half really, but no one sells that). ^_^ ............. .....and this.

She Judo Chopped me

So, during the busiest week yet at this internship I was Judo chopped. Yes, JUDO chopped... OK, maybe I'm being a bit dramatic. I'd been on my feet all day helping the models change into and out of their clothes. I'd had lunch courtesy of the company but it was awful. I had a Falafel melt from Pret; it's a wrap filled with Feta, sauteed red onions, tomato sauce and Falafel, of course. Don't ever get it, it's pure acid. The Falafel was drowned out by the lemon acidic, tomato puree sauce (hey Pret, you have to balance tomato sauces with sugar or the equivalent) and the Feta just intensified the sharp, biting taste. The only relief came from the sweet red onions but they were scarce.

Anyway, I was on a roll; unzipping, buttoning etc. I had just finished unbuttoning a garment and I was about to place/chuck it onto the model's chair. BAM! She got me! It was purely accidental, but in a blink of an eye my glasses were on the floor in two and my vision was a blur. The model was filled with apologies and promises to fix them. She was surprised at how calm I was but... I really didn't care that much, I was too busy and I had another pair; they're not the same prescription but they work. I've been wearing glasses since I was in year three so that makes it about 12 years. My eyesight is bad but not awful. I can function without them but I can't drive, or read or see people very well... that sounds quite bad, though. Thinking about it now, my eyesight is shit. I wouldn't even be able to cross the road. My boss sent me upstairs to get a replacement to assist the models and to fix my glasses, I offered to carry on but she wasn't having it. I don't know what I was thinking, I can just imagine it now; unbuttoning the clothes with them 2cm from my face because that's the only distance at which they weren't a blur, lol.

My boss's boss examined them and decided that because it was a clean break they could be super-glued together again. I was up for it cos I wanted to get back to work. She glued them back together and they were like new. You wouldn't even know that they had been broken. Moral of the Story; don't get too close to the models ^_^    

You get to know people

First impressions aren't always true. You hang around the same people long enough, you find that you peel off a new layer each time. This past month and a half I've learned a lot about the other interns. Some of them have revealed their ages in their stroppy behaviour, while others have revealed their adaptability, their street savvy.

I feel like I'm jumping the gun because I didn't write a post about the Spring/Summer interns of '11 - I planned to but I didn't get to it, mostly because I was feeling lazy; that's how we ended up with Newbies. I think I mentioned before that there were nine of us in all, and of that nine there were only two guys so I'll start with them. The first guy, I'm gonna call Henry VIII cos he looks like Henry VIII, the early years; I wouldn't compare him to the fat, bed-sore ridden, "hoist me onto my horse" Henry VIII in his latter years. He's more like Henry the hunter of game, the lover of sport and trophies. He's 6 ft ish with a bit of a belly though, lol. He's got a really cool fashion sense for a straight guy, and he wears a lot of expensive brands which I'm still not sure how he gets his hands on. I figure he's either a rich kid or he knows someone who knows someone. The type who has a lot of connections. He wears tailored trousers, rolled up so that he reveals his quirky striped socks and brown, leather shoes as is the fashion in London nowadays. Yesterday, he donned a black, sequined cap; it was so wrong but so right. Henry's a Chatty Cathy in a really good way, that's the first thing I noticed about him. He fits in so well. Initially, I thought that he was a permanent member of staff; he'd only started a week prior to me but he knew everything and whatever he didn't know he was quick to learn. He was able to talk to the staff as a colleague and not as an unpaid intern. I don't think that we've gotten off to a good or bad start because we haven't really started. That's what happens when you have so many interns that work on different lines, you can go the whole day without talking to each other or even seeing each other. But when we do see each other it's usually at the office and he's crazy funny, and witty and knowledgeable.

The other male intern is the Raj, he's very friendly and inquisitive. He's really dedicated to his work - which I admire. I think he comes from an affluent family because he's an oversees student, who's still here during the summer. And he goes out for lunch - a luxury I can't afford, lol. I think he's sweet and by sweet I mean gay. Why? The swish of his hips as he walks is unlike any other heterosexual man I have met in my life. We all know that straight men pretend to be unaware of they're hips unless they're dancers. I think we'll get on fine ^_^.

The other interns are OK, there's not much to say about them because no particular personality stands out to me. I'll just say that I can see some issues between certain girls, but we're girls; I don't think we could call ourselves females if we didn't dislike each other at some point during the day, lol.

Why the Fuck are you Here?

So far, at this internship, we've had pretty good clients. They range from pleasant to seriously funny. Today we got an über bitch. The type of bitch you read about in books like The Devil Wears Prada, she was just so pissy. She came later than her colleague, for whatever reason, and I ended up having to greet her at the door. With a smile Julie Andrews would be proud of I greeted her and with a sour-ass face she greeted me, no that's wrong, she didn't greet me, she registered my presence. She was a heavy set woman, which was probably why she insisted on wearing a boring, black, wrap-around dress that skimmed over her. I wouldn't have pegged her for a buyer at first glance. They normally have a sense of style even when it is simple, she could have been on Fleet Street with the way she was dressed. She had blonde hair; not the nice kind, no, it was dull, unnatural... like she'd been dyeing it for some years.  I knew this wasn't gonna go well.

I took her upstairs - oh, I forgot to mention that she was so late that her colleague had already picked out the collection she thought would work best for them. She walked in like a tornado and said 'No. No. Don't like it. Can't sell it.' All with a sour-ass face. She didn't like anything that made the collection unique. She wanted safe and easy. I despise safe and easy. When she left as sourly as she came in, her colleague quietly apologised to my boss for her boss. But this is the fashion industry, there are pricks and sour bitches everywhere you turn.

A Cocktail and a Farewell

That lucky bitch got to model for the Designer. I'm sorry to jump straight into it like but I'm so green, so what if I'm barely 5' 2'', so what if I have a hips that hate me. I could have done it. Okay, so I've had my rant and I've left la-la land. Life's comme ci, comme ca - if your wondering. I've been at this internship for a month and I'm definitely starting school this September... I just don't know where. I'll either be at a university or at a college. I don't have to state which I'd prefer, do I?

I was reading wanderinginmiyazaki today, she was leaving Japan after a 2 year stint as a teacher. I was... what's the word... not as strong as melancholy but thereabouts. I was sad to see her go because the blog was great and real and welcoming. But I could still see that she had had a great experience and it was time to move on. She seemed like she had learned and grown from life in Japan. Good Luck ^_^

Newbies

Interns are plenty, for the showroom alone there are nine. We don't get travel but we can help ourselves to biscuit and diet coke - as long as we don't gorge. I give myself a coke when I've worked particularly hard but I try not to make it a habit, don't wanna be accused of stealing. We do anything and everything ranging for getting tea, coffee, lunch and aiding in general sales. We work in pairs for each brand, I work with a showgirl... at least that's what I'm gonna call her. I know a lot of people that would dislike her, but I'm not one of them. Why? Cos I don't give a shit. We work together and have pleasant conversations. That's it. I don't take her too seriously. I think it's that attribute the makes it easier to live in a place like Japan, which has a  pretty homogeneous population. I'm spectacularly unobservant.

The Players

I got an internship thanks to some much needed nepotism, my CV is quite scarce. The interview was so informal; it seemed more like a formality, really. It took place in one of their offices with my soon-to-be boss, her boss and my sister. When they invited my sister to sit in we both looked at each other with that 'what the fuck expression?'. Thinking back, that look could have been because she was off in la-la land on account of the cold/flu that had been going around the family. She looked like hell that day, so she donned on some sunglasses - thanks to the freakishly warm English summer - and the simplest maxi she could find. I escaped relatively unscathed with a brief cough. It went by really quickly, but that might have been because I was still in shock about my sister sitting in. You see, I had a plan. I had questions to ask and things to tell them. That all went to hell though.

On the first day of work I was introduced to the players, like one of those crime capers where you get a rag-tag team of crude but skillful crooks trying to get their biggest score. There's the Boss Lady; tall and as friendly as you'd expect your boss to be. She has a continental accent but I still haven't been able to figure out her origins. She was lovely at my interview but as a general rule I try not to look her directly in the eye - it's been a habit of mine since primary school to limit eye-contact with persons of authority. The Kooky; she's my boss, she's great, she's funny, she's mad about the World Cup - a person after my heart. As a general rule don't ask her to explain how to do anything, ever - you can see her mind bouncing around like an energised bunny. She's the only one in the office who wears heels, which I have to applaud her for. I only wear heels at home, on my carpet for like 5 minutes at a time (just to show off to my sisters how much smaller my feet are then theirs and why I have inherited mum's vintage shoes instead of them, haha. (A bit off topic, hihi).

The rest of the gang have small but important roles in my education, there's the Jeweller; a fan of all things animal print, he's amusing and a wonderfully eccentric - in his fashion sense - Italian. I worked with him for the first week because Kooky hadn't received her stock. I didn't know that I would love bags and jewels sooooo much but I really, really do; I've been using the same bag for like 4 years, so you can tell how much importance I normally place on accessories. Maria the Nun; outspoken (very much so) and has a wacky dress sense that I can very much appreciate. The Brazilian; an avid fan of my hair, whenever I walk in without the curly fro he shouts in his accent 'Why you not doing your hair?!'. And last but not least the Man; he's really easy going and cordial but there's more to him than meets the eye... but that's for later.

Oh, and a big Fuck You to the Jobcentre ^_^

Decisions

I decided to drop out of my course, no more Biology, no more unhappiness. I have to go back to school to get some more A'levels because I've decided to gonna study Japanese as a degree. I'm really excited about something for the first time.

Balancing

So, I've been neglecting my blog lately. It's 8:16 am and I'm about to leave for work (unpaid internship). I promise I'll tell you all about it when I get home, cos HEY it's Friday!!!!!!!!

Word of the Day: Indolent...

...yes, that's me. Indolent, faineant, otiose basically I'm a lazy git. Today I remembered that I have an exam on the 7th. When I told my mother she laughed while she remarked that she worries about me. Me?! Why? She said it was because I didn't like learning. I had to correct her. It's not that I don't like learning, it's that I don't like what I'm learning. If I despised learning I wouldn't have decided to learn a whole new language all by myself. It's not easy and really requires dedication. I haven't had time to blog lately and I feel like I've been neglecting SayJ, unfortunately it's gonna have to go on for a bit longer. My mother's having the kitchen done and I'm studying for my resists. I promise after the 24th I'll be back with some more anecdotes ^_^... .. .   .

A Quickie

I'm supposed to be studying know, so this one's gonna be short. My mum's having the kitchen done so we only have the sink and a portable stove at our disposal. The neighbours are playing obscenely crappy loud music again, which wouldn't be a problem if my mother would just give me the landlady's number. She thinks I'm gonna be nasty to her but I'm just gonna be a bitch.

Miscellaneous

The elections are looming, personally, I'm not going to vote. I never have but I actually have a reason this year. They're all the same and they're all crap, but not just any old crap... you know what I mean. All they do is steal and throw stones, and these are the people who a supposed to have had the most highest of education. The people who are supposed to lead us out of the Recession. If you ask me the problem with the politicians in the UK is that they have all been galvanised with a thick, glossy coat of shit. They look fine to the untrained eye, they even look like everyday professionals in suits... except for that extra glossy coat. It's a coat you gradually build up with experience, the older you are the thicker the coat. Having said that David Cameron's pretty young for a party leader, but he's got 'dodgy' written all over him; especially with the eerily smooth face of his, it has no character at all. Then the James Gordon Brown, he's got more than enough lines but then he's got the creepy jaw thing. I don't believe any of them and if there was a "none of thee above because you're all f**king liars" option I would get off my arse come election day to my old primary school and tick that option.

And on a plus note I made something, I made some scarves. They involved a lot of stress (not really), tears (definitely not) and pain (well that's actually true, crochet hurts). 

Me... an Officer... hhmmmm

I had to laugh. I'm not that fussed, anymore, about the things the jobcentre makes me do. I just tried to apply for a job as an Applicant Enquiries Officer at a university. Me. I had to do the standard registration thingy; the first question they asked was: Do you have A levels? So I answer YES, then they ask: Do you have any customer service experience in student applications? or something like that. It was one of those questions that everything hinges on, I could tell, and so I answered NO. 'I can not tell a lie'. It quickly takes me to another page with a message saying: 'Unfortunately you have not proceeded any further'... blah, blah, blah. Gee, I didn't see that one coming. I had to laugh. The job offered a £23,000-26,000 salary. Why would any employer in their right mind give me that much money, knowing that I have no customer service experience and that my last job was as a sales assistant in year 9 on my work experience. I had to laugh. Hehe.

Today's the Day

I'm not blonde and I don't have a ribbon adorned grey cat as a sidekick - my mother wouldn't let me - but it is my birthday. Another year has gone. I'm a bit older, at least that's what they tell me, but I don't feel like it. I'm 21 today, I still can't drive, I'm still gonna be in England and I'm still gonna be in school. Maybe I'll get my new laptop, maybe I'll get a job. I'll keep holding my breath ^_^.

Racist MF

So my mother and I went to sign the papers for our new kitchen, we're in dyer need. We have one of those seriously dated kitchens. I think it's the original kitchen from when she bought in the 80's and that's exactly what the kitchen is, 80's... seriously. It's got this worn, crappy, white gloss facade on MDF. I despise MDF. That's one. The hobs, as far back as I can remember have never worked at full capacity. Out of the four hobs only two have ever worked. And of those two only one emits a full flame. That's two. The grill hasn't worked in ten years and the oven burns anything facing it's parallel heating filaments. Imaging getting a sun tan only on your arms and legs, leaving a white strip of untanned skin. When that happens with your roast chicken you end up with raw chicken in the middle. That's three. I'm not gonna miss that kitchen, in fact, if I could, I would help the builders dismantle it.

We finished signing and paying; I say 'we' but it was really my mother, I was only there for the technical stuff. I wanted to go buy some wool because I'm obsessed with making my own socks right now, so I spilt up with my mum. I was waiting for a bus to take me to the shopping centre, all the while thinking 'It's fucking cold!'. The bus finally came but the bus driver wouldn't open the door, he could see me but he didn't care. Only opening the exit doors instead, it pissed me off. He was thin, like willowy thin. He had dark circles under his eyes, not from lack of sleep though, I think it just some hyper-pigmentation thing. His hair was shaved pretty low. I gave him a couple of seconds and then knocked on the door.

Me: "You gonna open the doors?"

He didn't say anything, but instead did a hand gesture I didn't understand. I looked ahead and noticed that the bus in front was changing drivers so I figured that was what he was waiting for. He started to move, getting ready to change shifts. I looked behind to see a female driver ready to take over. He opened the doors and stepped out.

Me: "You couldn't have opened the doors to tell me that?!" You're in public service, you're supposed to be courteous.

Racist MotherFucker: "$%?£?$!!!" 

Me: "$%£^&%!!!" What the fuck's wrong with you? Psycho!!!

We carried on like that swearing back and forth for a few more seconds then an older black gentleman came and told the Racist MF not to talk to me like that, but the Racist MF just directed his attention and misguided anger at him instead. Then as he walked away he said:

Racist MF: "You're like the colour of my shit."

Now if that isn't racist I don't know what is. If he'd just said 'you're shit', that would have been different because only he would know what he truly meant by that. But he said the colour of my shit. The funny thing is that the Racist MF was Asian, ie. Indian, Pakistani etc. I am very aware of the country I live in. I am very aware that I'm a minority and that's the first time I've ever seen overt racism. What he doesn't realise is that together we make up 7.9% of the total population. This isn't his country. He's viewed with the same contempt I am. What a piece of shit. No fucking respect. I filled out a complaints form and I hope his racist arse gets what's coming to him.

Oh Fanny!!!

I'm watching Oprah, I feel it's necessary right here and now to state that I'm not a fan of the show. It's boring and stupid and boring most importantly. It's basically Oprah talking to middle aged housewives who hang on her every word, thus spending the duration of the show oohing and ahhing and clapping like puppets. It's gross, repetitive and monotonous. Unfortunately I don't have control of the remote. She's interviewing Martha Stewart pre prison sentence (we get lots of re-runs) and that got me thinking about the home cook goddesses we have in England: Nigella Lawson; who oozes sex, Delia Smith Queen of Patronisation; she actually did a show about how to boil an egg and the original Fanny Cradock. Now she was something.

We get to watch her shows around the Christmas holiday because of  the nostalgia, the first of her kind. She had those old school eyebrows drawn in after shaving her original ones off, giving them a manufactured hooked shape. And then there was her roller set overnight pale blonde (sometimes reddish brown) hair framing her powder pale face. She spoke the Queen's English. She was definitely a lady of her time. She was no nonsense. She was spectacular but I wouldn't recreate any of her recipes.

The first time I watched her show I was taken aback, she did this segment because apparently no one in England during the 1970's could carve their chicken properly at Christmas and she was on a mission to fix that. It scared the shit out of me, not enough to make me hate chicken (nothing could do that) but... maybe I was more grossed out than scared. Watching it again I think my reaction was due to the insipid, anaemic appearance of the chicken.

Something Funny

In between being Pissed Off

I was waiting to be probed about not applying for that crappy job... no wait, those crappy jobs.

Guy at Jobcentre: Are you Muslim?

Me: No. What?Huh?Why?

Guy: Then why is your head covered.

Me: I'm a black girl. I have a hairstyle I don't want to expose the general public to. (reference I Am Not My Hair) You're black too, should I be explaining this to you?

Guy: Oh. Understanding nod, he's been around a lot of black girls

Me: I'm not religious.

Guy: Why? You don't believe in God?

Me: I don't believe God is all-loving. I don't think about God in my everyday life... I don't believe anything will happen because I faith in God like they say I should... and I don't believe things happen because of God.

Guy: Oh, okay. Uh oh, went overboard

Guy: I have a theory about that: there is no original thought/idea, everything is based on the previous. And at the previous there is God. He's definitely been waiting a while to tell someone this.

Our conversation was interrupted by my case worker who told me I could go home. I do believe in God, I just don't believe the pretty omnipresent, omniscient, omnipotent and all-loving God. Not when things like The Tsunami and Haiti happens. Yes, I believe that there is a God, but I believe it cares about me as much as I care about it. Negligible.

I didn't see that one comin'

I went to the jobcentre again today for my weekly appointment. I was almost late because I'd just engulfed the porkball soup my mother made with the cheddar scone my sister made. You know how you get all sleepy after a good meal. I think it's because of the heat released when you're breaking it down in your stomach. Anyway I couldn't help it, I wanted to have a nap, a siesta. I had been re-reading Frank Herbert's Dune, but my lids were heavy, really heavy; the type of heavy that would make you read the same sentence at least 3 times. I decided to give it a rest and instead concentrate on the Judge Judy episode, it was just getting good when the shutters came down, DRAT. It was around 11.15 when I fell asleep and my jobcentre appointment was at 11.50, this had to be a quickie. I vaguely remember Judge Judy going off on some idiot teenager accused of harassing another teenager. I woke up at 11.45 which gave me just enough time to walk over to that place. I had to hustle but I got out of the house in time.

The thing that bugs me about the jobcentre is that everything related is just as fucked up as the jobcentre itself. Even the route to the jobcentre is littered with shit, literally, there's dog shit all along the pathway, like breadcrumbs leading the way. Not any old dog shit mind you, it was the kind others, less conscious than I, had stepped into and smeared along the path in an attempt to remove the shit. So to recap, I have to walk under the underpass which is littered with shit, chicken bones and every piece of crap you can think of to get to the jobcentre. And thanks to the diligently crappy English weather, it was too dark to see were I was going. Not to mention my really shitty eyesight, even with my glasses. If you saw me from afar you'd think I was playing hop scotch with all the side stepping I had to do.

I got to the jobcentre and went upstairs to wait for my case worker. That changes pretty regularly but I recognised this guy, I'd had him before (not in the creepy way it sounds). He was bald, no vestiges of the hair follicles he rocked during the 60's. He had a goatee though, stubbled with grey hairs and glasses. I think they were one of those frameless ones, but to tell you the truth I wasn't paying that much attention. I try to go in and out as quickly as possible, if I'm too attentive I have to stay there longer. I still wanted to make it back for the rest of Judge Judy.  

Him: So how are your job searches going?

Me: Fine.  Keep the answers short

Him: Mmm...aahhhhh...hh  Doing that annoying mumbling thing again 

Him: Did you apply for these jobs?

Me: No, I forgot.  Hurry up

Him: So... aahhmmmhh... you didn't apply?

Me: No. I forgot.  Redundant

Him: Mmmmhhhhh...aaaaaaahhhh  Uh oh, that's an extra long 'mmh'

Him: Excuse me.

So he left for a while, I thought he was printing off some job searches for me, but to my surprise he comes back with a form. An official form for me to fill in and sign explaining why I didn't apply. It's not like I didn't do any job searches, I just didn't do those ones. I'm very much a fan of the expression 'beggars can't be choosers', I'm not at the stage in my life where I'm a beggar so I ain't gonna do some crappy job just cause they shove it in my face. He made me wait for some guy to interview me about why I didn't apply. I'm really pissed off. I missed Judge Judy.

Music's My Business

I can't sing and I can't dance but I like my music. My mum went halfsies with me for my birthday present. I got an Ipod, the last one I had was a mini which broke down shortly after I gave it to my sister ^_^.

I Am Not My Hair pt.2

I was happy with the result, no more running out of the rain like a cat. My hair was now permanently straight (at least until the afro hair roots started to grow again, we in the community call this re-growth, lol). They told me that I was eligible for another relaxer after 8 weeks minimum. Then the relaxer could only be applied to the roots of the hair; the new, tough afro hair in dire need of taming. The only downside, at the time, was that you had to fork out 40 to 50 quid every 2 months. Which prompted you to buy a damn good blow dryer and take the best care of your hair possible just to make that 40 quid worth it's while. I could go up to 4 months without a relaxer because my hair was surprisingly easy; it stayed moist, it grew easily and it didn't get split ends.

I also found out that the burning was subjective; my sister told me that she didn't feel a thing when the relaxer was in her hair. What the hell? Her scalp was like concrete while mine was silk chiffon. I wasted My mother wasted a few more hundred pounds in the next 2 years on me so I could sit in the salon and burn the shit out of my scalp on a regular basis.

I think it was Christmas of 2008 when I decided that relaxing was full of shit. I mean before that I had been dabbling with the idea but it was a lot of effort to get rid of the relaxed hair. Effort involving cutting most of it off, I didn't want to think too much about that. I went to the hair salon as usual and the relaxer burned the shit out of my scalp as usual... it was f**king painful, it left f**king scabs. And I thought 'why should I ever have to put myself through that shit?', that was it, my decision was made. I just wish I made it before I went in. I could've saved my self 50 quid and some hair, lol.

The funny thing about afro hair is how much it shrinks when you wash it, literally. The hair shrinks as a reaction to water, a bit similar to they way caucasian hair curls when wet but this is more extreme for black people. When I wash my hair it shrinks so much it reminds me of primary school haircut, the one I had when I was 'fresh off the boat' from Ghana and hardly spoke any English. It's really short, lol. Nowadays we have the godsend that is the blow dryer, I can go from freakishly short hair to cute short hair ^_^. But before that, when I was in primary school my mother would braid my hair.

She used to section my hair into 6 then apply a generous amount of blue magic to my hair. It's very greasy and very heavy but it works. As she applied the magic (lol) to my hair she would comb out all the knots with a Matador; the only comb that didn't break or bend in my hair. The thing that gets me about my hair is that even after conditioning it still has knots. It hurt then and it still hurts now, but I'm getting used to it all over again. She would do this to all 6 sections then the real work began. I would get black thread ready with a knot at the end; something thick and strong enough, something that wouldn't break easily. I would give it to my mother and she would wrap it around my hair. She used as much thread as needed until the whole section of hair, from the root to the tip, was wrapped in the thread. 

The best way I can describe the end result is that it looks like six sticks glued onto my head. It's really tight and I feel like I've had an instant facelift. Literally, I feel like my eyebrows are touching my hairline. Luckily I only have to wear it for a couple of days.

So, this is how I grow my hair now. Utilising the wisdom of my ancestors ^_^. The idea makes sense when you think about it. By pulling the hair and creating that tension it forces the root to grow to relieve the stress. You get used to it, although having said that I had to take an ibruprofen the last time my mother did my hair; one side of my face was throbbing like a son of a bitch, lol. The things a girl is willing to go through for her hair.

I Am Not My Hair pt.1

India Arie, Testimony: Vol 1 Life & Relationship. It's a great album, truly. I very rarely listen to the actual words of a song, mainly because they're all the same and sometimes because I get distracted by all the hoopla. But not with this, no, I Am Not My Hair made perfect sense, it was clear, she was clear. I even like Akon on it and I DON'T LIKE AKON; it's nothing personal, I just dislike his voice. She describes the numerous processes her hair went through, all because society decided that afro hair wasn't attractive. She starts off with a presser curl, then a Jheri Curl and finally a relaxer before her hair breaks off. Not a pretty sight, trust me. There's nothing worse than the day you realise that there's a whole chunk of your hair missing all because you liked you hairband a bit too much.

Having lived with an afro all my life because I'm black (applause), I know that there are just some things you can't do to it. It may look tough because it's so bushy but it's actually very brittle. DON'T put too much heat into it, DON'T apply more than one chemical process to it at a time and DO condition like your life depended on it.

Each generation has their own schtick, we don't know when my grandmother was born because for Ghanaians, in those days, there wasn't a need to know. I suspect they were busy trying to live past the age if 5. When we went back for her funeral I saw some pictures of her in her hay-day, she had thick, lush hair and because she was having a special picture taken she wore her hair straight. I asked my mum about it and she said that she had pressed her hair with one of those old school hot combs, probably the ones that you have to heat on the stove, then she curled it with metal rollers.

My mother was born in the late 40's. I found some baby pictures of her when we went to the funeral too, but she didn't think much of her hair back then. She remarked about how tough her hair was (has always been) and how her scalp was chronically sore for one reason or the other. By her late teens she'd started relaxing it because it was an easier way of maintain the highly sort after straight hair. She had few hairstyles in the coming decades, but they revolved around faux afro wigs like the lady in the black and white photo.

She started braiding my hair for me in '95 when my sister and I first came to live with her in England. I had a boys hair cut back then. A 1cm long No.1 haircut, because in Ghana, school girls have boy's hair cuts. Don't ask me why, it's one of those unanswered questions, like why Mariah Carey decided to get a boob job. I think I first relaxed my hair the summer before Sixth Form (College), I was tired of walking around with my afro hair. I didn't know what to do with it and I stood out, mainly because of the way I wore it but partly because I was the only student in my year group that had afro hair that long.

For those who don't know, a relaxer is a chemical treatment used to straighten obstinately curly hair. The first time at the salon was an eye-opener, the hairstylist distributed the relaxer from the root right to the ends because my hair was all afro (virgin hair). I think she took about 15 minutes to get the relaxer in, I don't know the right amount of time but I know now that it's best not to dilly-dally. I hadn't washed my hair for 2 weeks in anticipation; that's not as abnormal as it may seem, not washing afro hair for that long I mean. It began to tingle as soon as she was done applying the relaxer. Several minutes passed and that tingle started to spread enough that it become an itch I wanted to scratch, desperately. I resisted the urge because the hairstylist used gloves as she applied the relaxer and I'll be damned if I was gonna stick my, unprotected, hand in my itchy head. While I was busy thinking about not scratching, the itch started to burn ever so slightly. And then it grew, the burn I mean. It brought heat on top of heat. It spread like a wildfire on my scalp, increase in coverage and intensity simultaneously. It burned like hell.

Learn Japanese, it's Easy

NO. It is bloody-well not easy. It's hard to keep motivated because even when you don't have a job and you've been kicked out of school (temporarily), you can get easily detracted. i.e. We just got the Food Network over here in England, and TV in general's kinda crap so my sister put it on the Food Network just so it's not too quiet. We're watching Grill It! with Bobby Flay: Chef Extraordinaire or so he thinks. Why is he so obsessed with chillis? Even though I don't care for food adorned with cilantro, it's still better the taking those two steps to my Japan Centre Kanji Book. I'm rambling aren't I?

p.s. Why do all American cooking shows revolve around a 'battle of culinary masters'? Ever heard of Rick Stein?

Bikram Yoga... Break my back more like

So, I started Bikram Yoga. They were doing a New Year's deal because everyone's put on some pounds since the holidays and made all those crapy resolutions. It was a 20 quid for 14 days thing, which is pretty worth it considering a drop-in session cost 15 pounds alone. I went with my sister to to one of they're many sites in London to register and feel out the place. Bikram yoga is no more strenuous than Ashtanga yoga, which is what I normally do, except you don't have some guy telling you to relax your anus, ^_^. The postures are different and in the 40 degree celsius heat it's particularly hard; not only are you stretching and tensing all the muscles in your body, you're also trying to do it all while breathing through your nose AND sucking your stomach in. You go in looking like this...

...but you come out feeling like this, lol.

You sweat bucket loads even if your technique isn't that good.

The picture says it all.

My year in exile's taking it's toll on me. I just went to the job centre, I despise the job centre. I really do. They give me 50 quid a week, but it's not like I need it, I'm luckier than most because I have a lovely mother. I only go because I don't want to burden her too much. But... it's taking it's toll on me. I feel like I'm ready to go but... I'm stuck. And frustrated... and I can't breathe. Today's not so good.

Ice Age... that's what they tell me

We had some bad weather after Christmas. Seeing as I'm a bit of a recluse I didn't notice. They were droning on and on about it on BBC and SKY though. There were stories, lots of stories about the injuries and disruptions associated with the snow. Stories about the villages cut off, but surprisingly none about the abundance of the supposedly scarce grit on Oxford Circus and the Kensington area. We can't have the rich slipping and spraining an ankle or worse yet cracking a skull. Oh no, the working class, without which the city would not run, would fair better doing the slip-slide all the way to work... in the city.

Personally, the funniest moment for me was when they realised that public transport would be shittier than usual as a result. This from a city who's trains can't function during Autumn because of leaves on the tracks. Oh yes, London's that far ahead. London's the city of the future, didn't you know? There's always this crap about attracting international businesses to London because it's this and it's that. Well I'm here to tell you that it's overpriced... normally you'd have more than one critique of whatever you're hating on, but for me this is it. It's overpriced. It's bollocks. And it's on it's way to worse, why? Because the recession hurt the UK more than the US, because the US manufacture and there's always gonna be a demand and because our un-elected Prime Minister is a ditherer. James Brown (the name he keeps secret from anyone with a sense of humour) can't make decisions, so why is he in politics? I don't know either.

My whole point is forget about the snow, there's a huge economic storm to weather and we (in London) are gonna feel it in full force after the 2012 Olympics. Maybe that's why I'm so eager to get out of here.

Q. Does anyone like the Logo?

The World of Suzie Wong

Suzie Wong was a proactive, savvy girl, but most importantly she was stylish. Personally, I think it's hard not to find a stylish women in the 1950's. Don't get me wrong, I very much appreciate and admire modern fashion, but it can never match the effortless glamour of the decades past.

The plot is pretty simple, architect Robert Lomax (William Holden) wants to be an artist so he moves to Hong Kong to see if he can make it. On route he meets Mee Ling aka Suzie Wong (Nancy Kwan) who unsuccessfully tries to have him arrested for stealing her purse. They go their seperate ways. Lomax has limited funds so he looks for lodgings at Wan Chai district where he stumbles across his accuser coming out of a hotel. Lomax goes into the hotel and rents a room for one month. This comes as a shock to the landlord; his rooms are only rented for a couple of hours at a time. Yes, you've guessed right, Suzie's a prostitute. Lomax asks Suzie to pose for him and they strike up a romance in the process. They fight, they laugh, all the things never absent from a love affair. There's more but that would be spoiling it for you.

It's a great oldie to watch when you have some time free.

Ol' Mag

The name of my new blog theme Old Magazine by Blogger Themes, I love it 0_0. I'm a bit bored... I should stop talking/writing now.

p.s. why doesn't Apple ever go into sale???