Here’s a blog post written in dedication to those pie in the sky dreams, those resolutions and ambitions we all have around this time of the year.
(Before you ask, yes I am aware that this post is coming 12 days too late and yes, I know Bob down the road gave up on his diet 7 days ago, but I have a life and have been far too busy doing this thing called a job and this other thing called sleeping. Sorry but not in the slightest bit sorry.)
Most people set only one New Year’s resolution, the majority of most people do not stick to this resolution. Quitting smoking, losing weight, at some point in their lives everyone will attempt one or both of these goals. Very noble aims, but also very predictable and targets that we are destined to almost certainly fail. Lets not kid outrselves, we are not these angelic spirits that can just give up a chunk of our life at the drop of a hat. We are human. We are needy, greedy, grabby little creatures, easily tempted to fall back into the trodden route we know best. We also fall into the trap of saying to ourselves that if we can’t fulfil our resolutions now then we may as well give up and bury our heads in the sand for another 11 months when we will then start the process of self loathing all over again.
I’ve decided to set myself a list of small resolutions, with the aim to complete most at least make good head way on it. By setting several goals that vary in achievability and differ from the usual, hopefully I’ll be able to finish the year and feel good about myself on some level (if I can’t achieve any of these I really need to rethink how I’m spending my evenings…)
Personal goals (in no particular order)
Write 100 blog posts (this post is my 35th)
Learn how to apply make up without stabbing myself in the eye
Learn how to look good in make up (“Alice, is that a black eye?” “It’s eyeshadow.” “Practising for Halloween?” “Err, yeah, sure.”)
Get Swindon 18-30 Professionals up to 350 members (ambitious, we’re currently at 240)
Get North Cotswold Young Professionals up off the ground
Stop wallowing in self pity and actually grow my nails
Write/make headway on getting a book written
Get more sleep
Attempt Spanish in some shape or form
Keep up the hard work and stick with the gym
Mama/Papa Bennett’s goals for me (FYI – these are not confirmed)
Get a boyfriend
Preferably rich
And attractive
Who also has a liking for sailing (for common interest) and football (because papa Bennett has been wanting to get into it for years)
And takes a keen interest in TV shows such as Coast and period dramas
India’s goals for me (again, TBC)
Stop being always right
Stop batting younger sisters with pillows
Stop forcing younger sisters to wear silly hats in public places
Accept that this run isn’t appropriate or normal
And understand that certain older sisters will never become professional Strictly dancers while they call this “dancing”:
Some New-ish Year resolutions to keep me going. I did consider to include some super health freak goal about eating more kale or building up more muscle mass, but then I thought those would be unrealistic given how much I was already investing in fitness. Besides, it you set yourself unrealistic aims you’re only setting a New Year’s unreolution where you spend the next month feeling negative and weak, (which kinda defeats how resolutions should make you feel). That and you’re gonna be the most hated person in the office. Just think it through:
January 4th: “Hey Karen, do you want some of my chocolate? It’s Christmas left over from the family but I felt we needed it here more than there!”
“No thanks, I’m eating my salad. Too many calories in one square of choc. Have as much as you want though. Doesn’t bother me.”
“Ok, your loss!”
January 12th: “Any plans for this weekend Karen?”
“I’m shopping for gym clothes. I’m going get something really expensive, so I look stylish when I’m at my fitness class. I be working out so much that I’ll wear it more than anything else I own.”
“Cool. I’m buying a pizza.”
January 21st: “Get anything nice in town?”
“Eggs and kale. Eggs and kale and bread.”
“To go with the fitness routine?”
“I must eat these because Davina says so.”
“O…k. I’m going to walk to the printer now…”
“I’m going to put them in a sandwich.”
“Bye Karen.”
“Or a PORTEIN SHAKE!!”
February 10th: “Hey there Tina. So, I’ve kinda given up on the health routine. Can I have some of your cake?”
“Sorry, can’t. You see, with winter here I need the extra f. Besides, this cake was a special investment, I’ll be wearing it more than anything else I own. Jog on K.”
If I can be bothered I may do a catch up post in six months to see where I’m at with these. I make no promises though.
Friday 16th October 2015: Stood at Oxford station on what can only be described as the first commute of Autumn. Goodness it’s brisk tonight! Can really feel the darkness creeping in too. In an office outfit of black trousers and top, all I can do is huddle deep into my dark padded coat and nibble on my piece of free shortbread obtained from work, wrapped in a mean piece of cling film reused from lunch. I must look like Jane Eyre right now.
Oh my God, Jesus, I’m turning into Jane Eyre. I’m becoming my own literary nightmare.
Still gonna nibble on my shortbread though. I mean it is edible after all.
Another year, another cup of tea, another year of “can we go to bed yet?” It can only mean one thing, it’s New Year’s Eve 2015 at the Bennett household. I’m currently sat on my bed with a snazzy new laptop (“ooh Alice, it has white keys, it’s very stylish!”) Of course what the man in Currys doesn’t tell you is that when this product is used by a twenty-something in scruffy clothes and hair that really should have been washed two days ago, all trace of style is wiped out. A hole is dug and style is buried by the additional insistence of the user to manually rip each CD in her collection to her new iTunes account. In the face of The Corrs, S Club 7 and Now 48 style never stood a chance. Not even nifty white keys can save the situation. I say white, give it six months and they keyboard will be black.
As well as being rejected by the style Gods, I’ve also been relegated to the bedroom after a minor disagreement with my sister. She just disagrees with my better judgement. Nothing a bit of time and cider stealing won’t solve. She can be as stubborn as she wants but she can’t rock up to a New Year’s Eve house party without drink. We have J2O, but she knows J2O at a ‘cool kids’ party is a uncooler than Hell. She’ll come round.
While lil sis had the terrible task of deciding which New Year do she wanted to grace her presence with, I have the difficult task of finding something half decent to watch on TV with my parents. No crazy plans for yours truly this year. Last year was as cray as it got when I spent New Year in a God-forsaken club in Southampton. I only discovered it was 2015 when a merry friend shoved her phone in my face at 00:05. Never liked New Year really, I don’t see the point in celebrating the end of a joyful, yet cold, month and the start of a joyless, even colder, month. It often feels like a trap set up by December to palm us off to January. It’s a con, you’re made to feel bad for not spending a shed load on drink, transport and club entry fees and you can often feel let down or disappointed if you do. Lose/lose situation all ways round.
One of the few benefits I’ve come across though is this thing WordPress has put together, showing stats of my blog. For instance, the number of photos I’ve uploaded average at about two a day. If I actually uploaded two photos a day to Facebook I wonder how long it would take before people got fed up with random photos like these:
…And swiftly unfriended me. Yet because I’m so fabulously witty and put a million photos in every blog post you guys tolerate it. Thanks for that.
So yeah, it made for fascinating reading for me personally, although the family’s reaction to these random stats was stone cold silence. It was at that point that I realised this report is infinitely more interesting to me as opposed to everyone in the world. As I speak, thousands of other blog writers are posting up their reports in baited excitement that the world will congratulate them on the success of their food blog or their blog on cat sweaters. I cannot say I expect glowing feedback, I’m really posting this up because I’m bored on NYE, facing not a decision on what dress to wear, but on whether conditioner is really worth the effort.
Anyway, for those of you who are interested, here is the annual report for this blog:
A San Francisco cable car holds 60 people. This blog was viewed about 3,300 times in 2015. If it were a cable car, it would take about 55 trips to carry that many people.
3300 views in 2015 is quite an achievement, I have to say. You guys actually read this stuff?! My dear fans come from around the world, including Korea (“No India, South Korea, not North. No one is going to be in trouble for reading There’s Some Weird Shizz in my Cupboard.”) And I am truly grateful to you guys for sticking with me and taking interest in the ramblings of someone that is a couple of nuts short of a full case. So here’s to you guys on the Eve of New Year 2016. Here’s hoping that next year will be more fabulous and amazing than 2015. I really have my fingers and toes crossed that it will be. I know I’ve sad it 15 odd times before, but I have a feeling 2016 is going to be a good year.
(Here’s also hoping next year I can get the grasp of the zoom function on this laptop. The slightest move of the mouse pad and I go from 100% to 10% or 75% to 200%. Makes trying to type a simple blog post the most trying challenge I’ve experienced so far this month (and in December that is saying something).
And it was on hearing this Christmas call that Michael Bublé did forth arise from his slumber.
Michael 22:10 (the Bublé Bible)
It’s taken over 2000 years, but I think we can finally say Coca Cola do not own the rights to announce when the ‘holidays are coming’. Bublé does.
Christmas is a time of caring, family and the birth of a child who’s name translates as ‘Son of God’ (not a name to be recommended if you’re only 50% sure of the paternity). Of course Christmas is also a time of chaos, family quarrels and naff gifts. At such a time it can be difficult to plan your Christmas shopping and know what to get those you love and those you really do not see the point of. You’re not looking for a perfect ‘how to’ guide, because you don’t want to be lectured on this (also because it would cost you £25.00 and by this stage of the month you’re stuffed for getting it delivered in time). You need something to cover the absolute basics but also inspire you for any last minute gift buying you need to do over the next few days. Welcome my friends to Alice’s Mediocre Guide to Christmas. Enjoy it now, next year I’ll be sticking Michael’s face on it and charging you to read it.
Introduction (the Definition of “Shopping” in this Context)
For the basis of this post we’re going to assume you’re actually going to shop. No, online shopping is not shopping, it’s online shopping. Lets be clear on that. You deserve no credit for getting the last dress in your size because you hit ‘checkout’ first. Did you have to fight other women in Range Rovers for parking spaces? Did you have to wrestle and scream at other shoppers? No? Then that’s not shopping my friend.
Preparation
Before you shop it’s important to have a good breakfast. My personal preference is to go for two extremes, a bowel of porridge made of oats and water (referred to in the good ol’ days as gruel) and a caramel latte.
That way you have that slight feeling of hunger later on, but the hit of caffeine and sugar. Both will help bring out any suppressed animal instincts when you get into a busy town centre.
How you dress is often important. If you wear normal clothes you are bound to be overlooked and have people bump and crush into you. However by dressing like you have a unnatural obsession with Christmas you will find 99% of adults* will stay well away from you.
Bonus points if your sibling also adopts this approach.
Now you have double the weirdness and also a handy way of finding each other in a crowded space.
(*99% of children will stare at you with a level of awe and admiration. Be warned, for those vital seconds you will become God to them).
Shopping – What to look out for
So you’re in town, what next? Well, don’t be hooked in by sky high prices, often they are for goods that are not worth a biscuit (gift sets are the creation of the Devil, trying to tempt us to pay a small fortune for cruddy packaging). The odd shop will warn you of this before you enter their store. For instance, the clothing in Jack Wills is so over priced you will not be able to afford shoes or socks once you have made your purchase.
Keep an eye out for stores putting on sales before Christmas. As I discovered in one shop, you can really get yourself some amazing deals:
Other places will throw a lot of their time and money into Christmas displays. Sometimes these can be low budget and have a nice effect:
Others will create displays that have nothing to do with Christmas at all (for no explained reason):
And then others will seriously make you question the sanity of those who designed and agreed to it:
(Ted Baker)
(Struggling to pick up the Christmas message in this poster found in Boots. Certainly not the Nativity scene I grew up with.)
Spare a thought for those retail/food outlets that can’t afford such displays. Some of these outlets can’t even afford grammatically correct signage.
(I do see the pun there, but it should be man‘slunch!)
To encourage you to spend money, shops will more often than not play the same Christmas pop. If not a bit of MB, it will be this type of thing:
Although everyone love a bit of Wizzard, it can get very repetitive. Top tip: invest in an MP3 devise and plug yourself into whatever music you fancy. Even if you do enjoy the Christmas music being played in shops, having some headphones in gives you the perfect excuse to ignore market sellers shouting at you to look at their various wooden craft items. We all have a musical wooden frog with mini baton at home, we do not need another.
Secret Santa/Generic Giving
We all like to put a bit of extra thought into special gifts for people, but then we don’t always have the luxury of time, money and knowledge for others. The High Street is the one-stop place to solve our Secret Santa woes. Whatever can I get Sally in accounts? How about some hilariously packaged hand wash from Debenhams?
It’s so funny they won’t realise that you’re insulting their levels of cleanliness.
But what about Lily who always buys the round because she’s so nice (and loaded)?
(As seen in Peacocks)
Dean is into Star Wars, but I have no concept of what Star Wars is about or what happens in it. All I know is that it’s in space. What do I get him?
(As seen in Marks and Spencer)
We have someone new in the office who is from France, but her English is still a little shaky and our French is terrible. It would good to get her something that we both understand. Something that transcends language barriers.
(As seen in New Look)
What do I get someone who is mad on dogs?
(As seen in Cotswold Trading, Broadway)
My friends you are welcome.
General Observations/Trend Spotting
This year there has seen the welcome return of the food pun/phrase (a personal favourite last seen in the Winter/Spring of 2015: )
(As seen in Primark)
(“Jennie, I just can’t live without him, he meant so much to me. Worse still, the bailiffs are coming round tomorrow and Spot has run away.”
“Here, have a bourbon.”
“Oh wow! Life is amazing again!”)
Really Tesco, really?
There are also some questionable puns out there, some are acceptable after a glass of wine:
Others though…
(As seen in H&M)
There are also items shaped like food to look out for. But don’t be deceived, it isn’t actually food.
If you fancy something more animal based, New Look sells dead pug slippers:
(FYI before people get distressed, that’s just because of how New Look have displayed them.)
Ultimately, there is a lot of random items out there for gifting. But if you’re still struggling my personal recommendation is a mildly amusing glasses case which you do this with, reinforcing the notion that you are hilarious:
That or a top quality, one of a kind, original mug:
If you really dislike them, get them a CD from a pound shop.
“Oh how lovely, a CD of Christmas hits!”
Good luck enjoying that.
Food
The notion of Christmas food shopping makes me feel like the right cat on this cushion.
I mean, I look fabulously adorable, but it’s still scary. Packed-out shops, queues at tills, bread sauce shortages, it’s a very British nightmare.
First off, remember which religious festival you are celebrating. In some circles it could get very awkward if you get it wrong.
There are some mild joys to be gained though from random food items which are presented differently to convince you to buy them for no reason other than it being Christmas. For instance, do I like crumpets and iced doughnuts? No, not really, more of a tea cake girl myself. But do I want these?
Yes. Yes I do.
There are also creepy food items which should be avoided.
He’s watching you kids.
Food items with stories are to also to be given a wide berth. They are overpriced and waste your time. E.g.:
Wow. That was a great story Linda and Andrew. Glad I took the time to read that.
By this stage of Christmas shopping you’re likely to want to give up. But, fed up with the traditional you start searching online for something different to inspire you. Something more hipster.
(Fun fact: the year this song was released we actually had a white Christmas. So wonderfully ironic.)
Christmas Trees/Decorations
Your local garden centre will be able to provide a wealth of choice and options when it comes to choosing your Christmas tree.
Pound shops also stock various Christmas decorations, and you will often find the store will go out of their way to make sure you can find everything you need.
Life Choices
By this point in your Christmas planning/shopping the likelihood is you’ll be reaching the end of your tether. Kids are screaming, friends can’t decide what dresses to buy and all your money has been spent on high quality decorations from Poundland. Something has to go. In this predicament dear readers you are not alone. Below are a selection of photos taken where shoppers have ditched one product randomly in order to buy something more essential.
Chocolate over wool.
A watch over clothing (lucky/unlucky neighbours).
The old “I need this to look good wearing these.”
And finally, the middle class dilemma of medication vs. a nice boxing day casserole.
The casserole always wins.
Conclusions
So, there we have it. My quick-ish guide to the Christmas basics. With this guide you should now be fully inspired to go out there and take on Christmas with both hands and a rucksack full of used bags (cool kids never pay 5p for a bag. That’s 5p that could go towards this wonderful dish you’ll be eating on New Year’s Day…)
(I remember when they used to be only 11p. We live in a false economy.)
To play you out, I have the Bennett family song which we listen to every year. Back in 2010 (or thereabouts) India and I came across this song and history was made. Without doubt the worst Christmas song and video you’ll ever see, yet a song that summarises a lot about the British run up to and Christmas day itself. Messy, confusing, but deep down there’s a message there. Merry Christmas everyone, have a good one on me.
Right now you’ll probably be thinking a) she’s lying, b) she’s mad c) she’s referring to Thai brides or d) she’s been set up by Chanel to sell their new fragrance “Happiness”. But hear me out on this ok? Because it is true, money has bought me happiness and really there is no excuse why it can’t do the same for you, you annnnddd you. Maybe not you though. I can’t put my finger on it, but just not you.
Anyone expecting a Buzz Feed list or a three step plan to get happiness with bundles of cash should metaphorically walk away how. Such a list does not and will never exist. If it does exist it’s a con to get you investing in gold goats in the Congo. You would not expect someone to tell you how to make millions of pounds in cash in three steps so why would you expect someone to tell you how to make millions of pounds in happiness in a couple of bullet points?
Lets take this back to the start. Que wavy, squiggly, lines and enter into a flashback…
Back in August 2014 I had just moved to Swindon. A recent graduate, I was sat on my bed knowing no one and nothing about where I was, with only a degree and assorted volunteering experience to my name. Financially I was not destitute but I also had the lovely student debt monster living with me.
Not the stuff of nightmares, just an annoying creature that never buggers off.
I was sat there and it was ruddy scary, I won’t lie. It would be for anyone. You go from being with family, then you are ripped apart to go to university/college and then torn away again to start afresh as a proper adult. What nobody ever tells you (particularly the higher education institutions) is the the second split is much harder than the first time. So much harder. When you go into university no one knows anyone else, so you’re all in the same boat. You’re put with other new people in accommodation blocks (or halls), so you’re huddled closely in said boat. And the university puts on a range of social and course related events to help you settle in, they provide the gentle wind to safely direct your boat to stop you wanting to jump off. What I quickly learnt post higher education is that after you’re received your qualification, once paper and sweaty palm shakes have been exchanged, universities really do not care. “Have you got a job?” “Yes” “Would you deem the job and wage graduate level?” “Yes” “Good. Fill in this survey and off you pop.”
Moving to Swindon to start work was hard. In the real world everybody knows each other already, they are all a range of ages and live in their own properties, so you can’t live with them (I tried that card, apparently it’s not a thing). And these people have things that take up time called children and partners? I.e. they don’t socialise in the same way. I felt like I was in a leaky boat, by myself, being pushed along to China, or maybe South Africa, there was no map or wind to guide me. I felt a bit betrayed by my university, especially when the Alumni please-give-us-all-your-money emails started coming through days after I’d begun my job. At this time a self-help email to work, tax, living alone etc. would actually have made me feel so much better when I was at my worst.
It was around mid September 2014 I realised happiness and a social life in the real world does not land on your lap without effort. With that I switched off TV, cracked open the laptop and started singing “Eye of the Tiger” while I searched for a solution online. I sounded like this.
Pottery Classes
I searched evening classes at my local college. I decided on Pottery classes, a 10-week course which would introduce me to the subject. Annoyingly it was fully booked for the Autumn term, but I handed over £90 and signed myself up for the Spring term class. It was meant to be an introduction but I ended up paying to do the Summer term as well. Pottery was a great way for me to relax after work and learn something new. I was never great at it and truth be told being back in a classroom with people that were naturally better than me always played on my mind. However it gave me something to do on a Monday evening and I met new people outside of work. It was a creative release from the day-to-day. After two terms I felt I’d reached my potential and was reach to move on. I packed up my assorted creations (including my humble bowl) and moved on.
Happiness rating – 5 / 10
Gym
The idea of going to a gym, let alone signing up to gym membership, was an alien concept thought before I moved to Swindon. Why would anyone pay to put themselves through torture? But after I had stopped my pottery I found I had a gap in my evening schedule and, lured in by the promise of company and attractive men I was persuaded by my housemate and a colleague-turned-friend to sign up. I recently wrote a post on said gym, where you’ll find more information on my experiences with various equipment and those who use it. Gym membership minus corporate discount is £12.99 a month (including fitness classes) which works out as a very good deal. A good deal but also a good investment. Since I’ve joined the gym I now feel better about myself (the extra slice of cake isn’t so guilt ridden), I feel happier due to the extra endorphins I now have (the type I used to believe were a work of fiction) and I aim to go at least once, if not twice, a week which keeps the mind and body distracted. The only drawback is the lack of social company. A gym is not the place to make new friends. With the gym my body started to feel happier and I’ve come to learn that physical pain can result in mental gain. I’m still a member of said gym.
Founder and Manager of Swindon 18-30 Professionals
My housemate Cherice and I had moved to the area for jobs post university and both struggled with our non existent social lives. We cracked around October 2014. We both ploughed our joint efforts into finding a social group for young people in Swindon. “Swindon is a pretty big place, there must be something” we both thought. We were very wrong. I struggled to find something that wasn’t for over 40’s or amateur dramatics.
(“I thought you’d like that sort of thing Alice, you were very good when you played the gangsta rat in the Pied Piper of Hamlin” “mum, a) that was a year six school panto and b) I was the leader rat, George Richards was the gangsta rate” “Oh, well he was pretty good”)
Five minutes later of searching online I got bored. 10 minutes later I was in this part of the internet.
Cherice and I did end up going to to meeting for Swindon’s JCI group (I still don’t know what it stands for or does). We went to the event in jeans and very causal tops expecting a small group of people to chat and socialise with. To our horror we walked into a large room, which was packed (and I mean packed) with suited people aged 45+ who had all come to persuade myself, Cherice and two other nervous people to join their cult organisation. We were trapped in a surreal corporate environment listening to a power point presentation where each slide changed when the lead speak clicked his fingers. I didn’t notice it at first but when I did I couldn’t forget it. Combined with the ridiculously formal environment which made it unacceptable to laugh, his click and flick of the hand became unbearably hilarious for the two of us. I was crying at one point. 1.5 hours later we dashed out while the room ‘networked’ and roared with laugher all the way home. At the very least we said it was a bonding experience.
There was also another group called “Swindon Young Professionals”. We went to two events hosted by this body. The first was for Pizza Express, where we paid a small fortune to go to a pizza making class and the second was two months later where again we were ripped off by the organiser who made us pay £20 to enter a pub quiz created by them and have a very poor quality Indian meal. Both events gave us a harsh dose of clique society. All solicitors who worked together, people who didn’t give the slightest dam about us. The pub quiz was like the scene in Bridget Jones where she’s at the lawyers’ Christmas party. More in jokes than you can shake a stick at. On principle we refused to not give them a penny more of our time and money.
We also tried a couple of events in Oxford, but these events were too far away from Swindon for us to seriously commit to. We met people, then the next time those people weren’t there and we had to start again from scratch for one evening. “If only Swindon had something like that” said Cherice as we walked back to the train station, “I enjoyed that, but you can’t meet people in Swindon. Where we live is so boring compared to Oxford.”
This planted a seed in my head which turned out to be the best dam thing I’ve ever done. If Swindon didn’t have a decent social group for 18-30 year olds, I would make one myself. And that is what I did. Swindon 18-30 Professionals was born on 1st February 2015. To set the group up I had to pay fixed amount of around £30 (the website runs on dollar currency) which granted was a special half price offer, but still took courage on the grounds I didn’t know if anyone would join or it would work. I opted for the higher fee so I could have more than 50 members in the group. At the time mumma Bennett was doubtful I’d get that many members (I kinda was too).
I created some provisional events and waited to see what happened. To my amazement they came, at the launch event about 12 people turned up. This took me by surprise, for months I hadn’t met anyone new and yet in 5 minutes I was overwhelmed with new faces to talk to. With many different events being hosted by the myself and others in the event team the group quickly went from strength to strength.
As the group increased in size I was able to pick up the courage to ask a large bar called Baker Street in Old Town to put on special drinks offers for us. They happily obliged.
More events put on and more members increased. To give you an idea, in my post Educating Alice where I talk about good things in Swindon, the group had 34 members. That was in March. The group now has 205 and we haven’t even reached the 10 month mark. The group has an average of one new member a day, and several more will apply and not be accepted (Requirement: this group is for people aged between 18 and 30. How old are you? Response: 45.)
At the six month mark my subscription was up for renewal, this time at a much higher rate. In need of sponsorship I put on my empowered professional female hat (an actual thing I own) and typed a lengthy proposal to Baker Street with the situation and why they should invest in us. I outlined the group’s growth, projected growth and the money my members brought into their establishment. To my utter joy they accepted and a new business partner was established. Sponsorship meant my members could now join for free, another big feather to our cap.
Baker Street have supported us massively ever since. They have even helped me radically improve the promotional material we put out and about in Swindon. The images below give an idea of the evolution of our posters:
February 2015
July 2015
November 2015
It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to work out which poster was created with the aid of a professional designer and which one has helped to radically boost membership. All the same, being able to have a strong creative input into the design has helped give me new skills and boost my inner confidence that I am pretty awesome.
While the growth of the group is amazing, it’s the people I’ve met that have really brought about the most happiness. At every drinks night we host on the first Wednesday of the month I see a range of people. I see the well seasoned members who have been there from the start, those who tend to only come to this one event a month and those who are completely new and, understandably, nervous. All three types stood around, chatting, laughing, enjoying themselves. Sometimes I get caught off guard and feel quite emotional at what I see around me. There are no cliques here, everyone has different professional backgrounds and opinions. It is a welcoming environment, everyone is relaxed and open with each other. No matter how many events they have attended every person in that space has been in the same position when they were new to the group, coming along to meet new faces. Everyone is in the same boat. Members may not live together but they socialise in the same boat. And, with all the events myself and my now extended event team put on, there is a schedule of events that people can go to to forget about the stresses of work, even if for one night. We provide the wind to safely guide the ship.
We recently had our Christmas party where we went to Pizza Express for a three course meal and then onto the group favourite, Baker Street, for endless complimentary prosecco from the venue and 2-4-1 cocktails.
It was a great night. An old friend from university was visiting me for the weekend (the girl sat opposite me at the table). As we stood in the cold waiting for our taxi she said to me, “you’ve made a life for yourself here, they’re a great bunch of people. They all really care about you, you just don’t see it because you spend all your time making sure they’re having fun. They call you God!”
When I went to upload the album on social media the next day I contemplated what to call it. It was a Christmas party, but it wasn’t a traditional work Christmas do, nor was it so detached from my personal life that I felt happy calling it just “Swindon 18-30 Christmas Social”. I settled in the end with something much better:
“Christmas Party with Friends”
Happiness Rating – 1,000,000 / 10
Conclusions
So there you have it. Money CAN buy you happiness. If I hadn’t spent £90 on pottery or £12.99 on the gym I would not have learnt as much about myself as I do now. If I hadn’t spent £30 on setting up my group, well, I don’t want to even think about what my life would be like I hadn’t done that. I laugh now thinking about me sat at a kitchen table debating whether to invest the money to set up the group. If I could I’d go back in time and throw a banana at myself. I’d know it was future me trying to knock sense into my head and I’d stop faffing about.
Yes, money can’t buy you everything. I’m not telling you to invest all your saving in meaningless gifts and spending outside your range. What I am saying is that your social life should be treated as a business or a bank account. If you keep investing little and often into it you will find the interest and rewards will build up. Money should not always been seen as the enemy that will prevent you reaching your personal Nirvana. How about a new ethos to life? Something like…
Money in modesty makes for happiness.
(Alice’s big book of terrible sayings, coming not-so-soon to a discount book store near you!)
Because, at the end of the day, how can anyone argue differently when faced with an image of Alice after a couple of glasses of free wine mixed with an additional glass of complimentary prosecco.
And if that isn’t happiness, I really do not know what is.
It may/may not surprise you to hear this, but I’ve now been blogging for over a year (one year two days to be exact).
I’ll be honest, it took me a bit off guard when WordPress pinged me a little congratulations notification on Wednesday 11th November. It was like WordPress was saying to me “well done you for making it to a year. We’ll be honest, when we saw your first post we were a bit unsure whether you’d hack it. We were not sure the content was really appropriate considering most of our bloggers write about interesting, informative things and make an effort with their photographs. However you sure stuck at your own little niche writing style and lo and behold you’re still around. I’ve lost 50 Bitcoin in a bet to Tumblr and still don’t get what keeps your readers coming back, but all the same well done you.”
Of course, all I got was this:
(I studied English Literature at AS Level, I can read between the lines. Well, line.)
At first I shook off this news. I was halfway through writing my last post and too focused on Ainsley Harriot’s tomatoes to process this notification. When I was 75% of the way through writing said post I was actually annoyed with WordPress for telling me this news randomly when I was typing something else that was unrelated to blogging for a year. I felt the site had robbed me a golden chance to post on the actual anniversary that I created My Housemate’s a Mermaid and my Grimgrad identity.
“Dam you WordPress” I thought.
“Sod off, I’ve already lost 50 Bitcoin to Tumblr and now I’ve got MySpace on the phone laughing at me. MySpace!” An anthropomorphic version of WordPress responded.
Anyway, here I am, a week later than billed, writing my thirtieth anniversary post. Sometimes it feels weird to think this image marked the start of something new for me:
I mean the image itself is not strange, I pull stupid poses all the time (regardless of whether there is a camera present or not). But four things make it particularly interesting to me:
a) I think everyone will agree this photo expertly sums up everything about this blog. The style, the importance, the sheer randomness about every word that is written. Someone once asked me if I did stand up as well as the blog, they found the writing style to be so amusing and witty. Unsure whether I should be flattered, concerned or ring up my local comedy club I simply responded with the truth; that every word I write for my blog is 100% natural me. Colleagues and friends may say I’m nothing like this in real life, family will tell you I’m worse, but what I type are literally the mental ramblings of my little brain.
b) This one photo marked the start of a new interest, hobby and creative release. It kinda makes it a big deal to me.
c) Since posting it on my blog I have never taken the time to look at or use this photo again. I could have used it for the Hat Season post but I didn’t. I remember at the time thinking it was a photo of significance and it should not be repeatedly used without a justified reason. In a bizarre twist of fate, this silly photo had adopted a degree (pun not intended) of near holy importance to me.
and 4. It looks like a mouse is hiding on the top of my mortar board. Never noticed that before.
Perhaps I should be submitting the above picture to the various examination boards of Britain. I mean clearly this is an image that school children can and should rip apart to fully understand Britain in the early 21st Century. Best to get the resources together now AQA, you’ll only be regretting it when you have to pay my grandchildren royalties for using this photo.
To bring it back to the title, why is this post also being referred to as a year since I bought loo roll? Well, it’s not uncommon for people to ask bloggers the predictable question of “what made you want to start writing?” Now, the normal answer to this would be equally as dull and expected, something along the lines of “I was inspired to write because…” or “when *blank* happened to me I felt impassioned to tell this important story to the world”. Which one was I? Come on, you know me better than that. Did you seriously think this blog had a dully beautiful creation? I’ll tell you the story of how this blog came to be:
I was in Sainsbury’s after work. It was wet and cold out and I really could not be bothered to go, however we were out of toilet roll and it was my turn to buy some. Sure, I could have left it another day, but we were down to the last roll and you are playing with some serious hand grenade if you’re sharing a bathroom with two other females and you keep putting off the loo roll shop.
I was standing there in front of all the types. I think a new Olly Murs track was playing? Yeah, I think it was him. Singing some generic tune, something to make me feel happier about a product that would see my money being literally flushed down the toilet. In front of me was the branded Andrex on offer at £3.50 for nine rolls vs. Sainsbury’s own brand at £6.50 for 16. Sheri and I had always bought in high volume on the grounds that loo roll isn’t about to go out of fashion. I remember debating it forever, analysing every single aspect of each product. Sheri had always bought branded toilet roll and I didn’t want to look like a tight wad by purchasing own brand, but did I really want to pay up any more than I needed to?
I don’t think in the history of loo roll has anyone spent so much time studying the details of something no one really cares about. “Lovely bathroom Tina, but it’s a shame your toilet roll didn’t feature a floral boarder” said no one ever. I finally selected the Andrex family pack. I paid for the goods and walked out of the store, chuffed at my purchase.
“This will see us through to the new year. I won’t have to buy any more toilet roll for ages,” I thought “not even this misty rain is going to get me down.”
I pressed the button at the pedestrian crossing and waited for the lights to change.
“Hey, why don’t I start writing a blog? That could be interesting, although I probably wouldn’t be able to hack it. I mean I tried it once ages ago while at Southampton, when I created the account for a party pineapple…
…that was until I realised I’d created a persona that was more Twitter than WordPress. He rotted away and I did not have the energy or funds to invest in a new pineapple. Yeah, that was a bit of a fail. But maybe I should try again though.”
Green man appears, I walk across the road.
“But what to call it…”
There was literally zero thought process to it, I don’t know how it came into my head but two minutes later the title “My Housemate’s a Mermaid” was firmly stuck in my head and I became more determined than ever to write my first post.
Ever since that moment the only time I’ve been frustrated with blogging was the first fifteen minutes when I got back and I just wanted to write something. I had to quickly research which site to use and fill in so many boxes to create an account “Jesus Christ, just let me write already!”
And that my friends is the true story of how I came to be sat in bed a year later, still writing the same old waffle. The same old waffle you’re still reading now. I’ve come a long way since then, I now type with the duvet over me as opposed to under me. No need to thank me, thank Sainsbury’s special promotions and your natural bodily functions. I was actually in the same supermarket a couple of weeks ago to buy loo roll. Even though I had no idea my blogging anniversary was coming up I had this weird feeling which I couldn’t quite place. And then it dawned on me…
Own brand toilet roll had increased from £6.50 to £6.65.
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “An Odd Trio.”
In my quest to post more stuff on this blog in the intervening time while my mind concocts amazing ideas for longer pieces (keep you eye out for a Christmas shopping themed post – Working title: “Christmas confessions of a Grimgrad shopper, well, not confessions because if they were confessions I wouldn’t be putting it on a public blog for all to read, nor would be I be casually whipping my phone out in shops to photo products while staff watch me uneasily from behind the till.” That, but a little bit shorter. Also a little bit more interesting. And grabbing. Basically everything this working title isn’t. Hmm…
Stay tuned!
Ok, where was I? Oh yeah, I’m doing this daily prompt thingy. I have three items I have to mention, but can you guess what they are? (What do you mean you clicked on the link above and know already? That’s cheating! Be honest, was it prompted by the paragraph above? Ok, noted.)
New readers – this is my style of writing. You get used to it, like a toy soldier riding a cat. It’s weird and not normal, but you can’t help but look at it anyway.
I’ll be honest, this is not a fabulously amazing evening. My knee is still not great (see http://wp.me/p5kuli-je for the background), in fact I actually believe that doing no exercise has somehow made it worse. Classic Alice. As such I’m spending the evening in the house as opposed to hitting the fitness classes. Nice cosy night in I thought. That was until I realised I have nada food in. All I have in my cupboard is Ainsley Harriot couscous and a tin of Sainsburys basics soup. Let the battle of the medicore foodstuffs begin!
Vs.
With my knee I’m not taking any more chances so I’m facing the choice of a bowl of soup or a pile of couscous. If this was live TV I’d get people to vote on what I should eat, but the BBC has yet to approach me with a broadcasting deal so I’ve had to make this decision for myself. After a long hard think (over 20 seconds), I’ve gone for the soup. Why? Because a) with my leg I’m still classing myself as ill and b) I’m still trying to get over watching Ainsley doing the salsa on Strictly Come Dancing:
Looking at the packet of couscous all I can think about is him telling me to not touch his tomatoes. Couscous also involves water which will indefinitely mean I spill at least half of it on the floor, resulting in me dragging out the floor towel to mop it up. Once upon a time it may have been a beach towel, it’s certainly big enough to have been one, but years of washing and mopping up our sorry excuse of a kitchen has just killed it. You know the Wizard of Oz? Our floor towel went through the reverse affect. Was pretty, now bleak and dead.
So soup it is!
“Waiter! One can of sad soup for one if you please! Oh and can I get some extra frozen, reduced-price, bread and a glass of orange squash to go with that?”
Don’t you just envy the lie of a Grimgrad?
(Ps, the three items were a cat, a bowl of soup and a beach towel. And you thought it was going to be Ainsley Harriot’s tomatoes.)
(Before you ask, the question was not “if I have $999,999 and I add $1, how many dollars will I have?”, it was “why do you blog?” Well I was in Swindon’s beautiful town centre on lunch…
Truly a centre of chavsbeauty paving slabs.
Swindon is a landlocked place, with no sea or lakes anywhere near it. So imagine my surprise when, full of November gloom, I saw a video of fish playing on the said screen pictured above. A video that bore no relevance to Swindon, the time of year or even this country:
Not even the pigeons are interested.
In a spookily empty area I found this video both random and hilarious (as you can probably hear in the audio). Only on a blog can I upload and post random insights such as this.
Gonna get straight to it, I’ve taken up membership at a local gym. In it is loads of gym-y equipment like treadmills, weights and water fountains (the stuff you’d expect) but there are also items of equipment which to the novice gym goer are both weird and scary. Take for example the Stair Stepper, a machine that looks like something you’d buy on The Sims as a wacky item. Shock (/horror) it exists in real life:
Another fine example is the nicely titled ‘Ab Cruncher’ that aims to do exactly what it says on the tin. Now in this image you’d think it was a right jolly using one of these:
But seriously, when you see people using them in real life it’s easy to question whether the design originates from some form of medieval torture. I mean look at the girl in this video demonstrating how to use the machine:
Rebecca looks like she’s about to poop herself.
I will be the first to admit that my bi to thrice weekly gym visits has not seen me use either these two machines so far (I joined up about a month ago). Thanks to Rebecca I’m now scared of the Ab Cruncher and part of me asks why there is a demand for a Stair Stepper. Either these people are living in bungalows or have never utilised an escalator in an empty shopping centre.
Back to me then. I joined the gym after many weeks of boredom pondering how to spend my evenings after work. I mean sure, I have socks to wash and I guess the cheap cheese won’t buy itself, but these are hardly riveting ways to spend one’s evening. I was also getting worn down by my born-again-fitness-freak housemate who was coming home every evening in her gym gear saying, “I’ve just been at a couple of fitness classes and on the weights. You been up to much?” “I made a sandwhich and now I’m deciding which chocolate bar to eat. It’s been a hectic evening.”
The two factors combined I took the plunge and signed up to the gym. I was uneasy about the idea at first, more than anything because I’d previously signed up to the gym at university, handing over £120 annual membership in my Freshers’ Week. To 99.9% of people this would be a good deal. Guess how many times I frequented the gym in one year?
Twice.
Yes, that’s right, twice. Both times to use the pool. And one of those times was because Alice got a little tipsy one evening and convinced someone she barely knew to go swimming the next day. It was both incredibly awkward and with a headache incredibly not fun. I suppose you could count the time I went to the gym induction. Oh yeah, went to an induction on how to use the gym equipment but then walked out with this new found knowledge never to return again. Who does that? Oh wait, ME!
Simply put, I had a deep rooted fears I would bail again on this gym in Swindon. This time though I double checked the money would leave my account every month so that I was reminded of my responsibility to commit to this. Money on the table, cheeky corporate discount applied, I signed up. First thought after clicking ‘submit’, “shoot, I’m actually going to have to go to this place now”.
First day and I think both my friends will agree I was completely clueless on what to do. I was only one rung of the ladder up from Homer…
I did not know where to go or what to do and I was wearing gym clothing bought about a year ago (I have a theory that goes if you buy the equipment, your body will do the rest. If you buy the textbooks, the essay will magically write itself; if you buy the sports gear, you’ll magically lose weight overnight. It is a theory that has yet to be proven true).
Where to look was also a source of confusion. I mean in the gym the men either look like this:
Or this:
Or this:
I mean not that I have anything against any of these sort of guys, but in my gym they’re never…
Or…
In the space of five minutes I felt every stereotype and expectation I had come to build up in my mind turn to sweaty ash before my eyes. I was in a very good mind to write a strongly worded open letter to the advertising industry.
That said, since joining the gym I spend less time fussing about the lack of eye candy and more time in female dominated classes, (in the words of one family member “you don’t get many guys attending Zumba classes, those that do are a bit more, you know, theatrical”). However pushing my body to its limits has, well, it’s limits. After four weeks of intense aerobics classes and prolonged periods on cardio machines something had to give (literally). On Wednesday my knees were absolutely knackered.
Despite the pain and genuine concern I had, I was also a little bit chuffed. I’d never had a sporting injury before! Sure, I’d given myself stitches stretching to get crisps and there was that time I fell face first onto the ice on a school trip, spraining my wrist and bringing half the class down with me, but this was a proper minor injury.
I Googled knee sprains and from the information I could find I made the balanced decision that I wasn’t going to die. Giddy from the excitement of a) knowing I wasn’t going to die and b) realising I wasn’t doing this for a laugh, I was a health freak with an injury, I started doing crazy stuff like buying vitamins with fancy names like glucosamine and Ebay-ing joint supports.
(I’m aware in that photo it looks like my knee has taken a liking to the model in the photo. Wouldn’t blame it, that’s one nice looking knee.)
Pain kicked in though so I dug around in my limited medicine drawer to find this. A product that I never, ever, thought I’d end up using.
It’s like the cold sore cream Mumma Bennett made me buy before University “you won’t ever need this, but it’ll be nice to know you have it.” Never used it. Actually I think I still might have it…expiry dates don’t matter on drugs right?
The next problem with the heat cream was how the heck was I meant to apply it. Unsure, I decided on two very different approaches, the hope being one of the two ways must work.
If you can’t be bothered to watch the video, right knee got the dotted treatment:
The left knee got the smiley face treatment.
(By the time I took the photo I had wiped the hat off. It didn’t suit the smiley face’s style)
This didn’t really work so I tried the new fangled method of rubbing the cream in. Seemed like a good decision at the time. I put a hot water bottle on my knees and relaxed with a tea to watch The Apprentice. 20 seconds later I felt a tingling (not the good tingling like the feeling of Christmas or a puppy licking your hand). It was then that I very quickly realised I was burning. The hot water bottle had proceeded to leak boiling water on my knees and the cream I had applied using my hands had got into a burst blister (I was so hyped on my knees I hadn’t noticed this other sporting injury). Both my knees and my hand was burning. I yelped and jerked forward, spilling very hot tea all over my torso, the additional shock causing me to fall out of bed, whacking half my body on a floor covered with chargers and pens. I stumbled out to get tissue but upon re-entering my room I was hit by a wall of menthol. In my excited attempts to self heal I must have used more of the cream than recommended, because now my eyes were burning from the fumes. In the space of five minutes I had managed to turn one injury into six. If that isn’t talent I don’t know what is.
On the plus side, my knees are now fine.
All this and I only joined the gym a month ago. This is still very early days, who knows, I may even do another post on this later on looking back on my what I have/haven’t achieved (ok future me, now you HAVE to keep going at it!) Right noe though I’m determined to stay at this and get fitter, even if it kills me.
I’m going to start this piece with some of top notch fashion advise from Patsy Stone:
…And Stewie Griffin’s shopping habits:
Warning: this post contains images and frank talk of hats. If you are of a delicate disposition, are allergic to, or in any way do not like the topic of hats please leave now. Go into another room, sit and think hard about your issues, wear a hat constantly for a week, learn to love them and then come back to this post. No, there is no middle ground, you either really like hats or you love them. End of.
So yeah, I kinda like hats. They make me feel like this:
Those linked to me on social media will know that recently I declared the official start of hat season with this photo of me in a Costa Coffee shop:
Hat season does not have an official beginning nor end, there’s no set date for it (a lot like Easter and The X Factor). It’s really linked to weather patterns and air temperatures, which in the UK means you could almost wear a hat at any stage of the year. In 2013 I caused a stir when I inadvertently declared the start of hat season on the hottest day of the year:
However on the whole it lasts from around mid-September through to late March (if you’re still unsure ask yourself, “is it Summer?” if the answer is “no”, “not sure” or “I haven’t seen daylight in five weeks, how should I know?” then the answer is yes, yes it is hat season).
Because there is no set start and end date for this period, one set day a year people rejoice in the glory of the hat. The 5th December is this day (and what a coincidence, it also happens to be my birthday!) On this day everyone should be forced encouraged to wear a hat like my office colleagues:
But of course that shouldn’t limit one to only wearing a hat in the office one day a year…
I like to think myself a very open and liberal individual. I know some people get very funny about what does or doesn’t constitute as a ‘hat’ (it’s like the whole tomato fruit vs. vegetable debate) but if it covers the top of your head it counts as a hat.
There are some grey areas to this theory. E.g. this counts as a ‘hat of sorts’…
…Because a) it’s a slefie/deliberately taken that way photo and b) I was about 14/15 years old when I took it (i.e. I was trying to look cool.)
This though does not count as a ‘hat of sorts’…
…Because a) it was a cold day and a coat was needed b) it’s a laid back photo taken with friends and c) when I didn’t have my hood up this happened:
(I.e. the hood had a practical, not a fashion, purpose.)
Starting to get the hang of this?
So, based on these simple rules, here are some ways you can look glamorous in hats. I’m aware that I am a female (I know, what a shocker!) but humans of the male variety will quickly get the gist of this. There is no excuse why my fashion tips can’t be applied to any age and gender.
Animal Hats are always in
I mean, you can look so deep in thought and philosophical in a penguin hat
And so mysterious
(Who is that girl? What is she thinking? Does she have a second eye?)
“Quick! There’s a wolf over here eating someone!…
Oh wait, my mistake, it’s actually someone wearing a fabulous Wolf hat.”
Hosting a charity fundraising event? Better get a Moose/Reindeer hat on then.
On the Continent
You can wear a beret in Paris, France (bonus points for wearing it to be classy, not ironic or stereotypical)
Or in Cyrpus, Greece…
Rome (Italy)? Yeah, that works too
“Does wearing one as part of a Eurovision party count?”
“Is alcohol present?”
“Yes”
“Sure, I’ll take that as a foreign place”
Special Events
Where a hat is not permitted, a mask will meet the requirements of a hat, e.g. a formal night out
Graduation
Posting a Christmas wish list in the North Pole Postbox in Southampton’s Disney Store
You know, the big events in life.
In General
There is always an excuse to wear fashionable head wear during hat season. I mean, if you can’t sit on a large ball of snow with two tennis rackets and a hat when can you?
And you can dress up with them at many historical sites nowadays…
You could say it’s a HATucation! Here all week.
If you need a stronger reason to start wearing hats then all you need to do is turn to the old favourite, the high street. You can buy this card in Clintons:
I mean they’re cats! In hats! CATS IN HATS!! CATS IN FLIPPIN’ ANIMAL HATS!!!!
How do I know this? Because this is the birthday card I’m giving to my lil bub sister for her upcoming birthday (India, just so you know I’m typing this post on Thursday but will have to wait until Sunday before I can upload it because I’m including this image. That’s how much I love you. Think about it. Many siblings would kill for a sister who holds off posting something just for them. Remember this before you start analysing the physical presents I’ve given you.)
Happy birthday sis.
“Hey Alice, you look just like that weird guy from that awful Scottish comedy. The one about mountains.”
“Hmm yeah, thanks.”
“Isn’t that the hat worn by the guy on Mountain Goats Alice?”
“Well this hat has been a poor investment.”
From some of the comments I’m making in this post it may be no surprise to you that sometimes I get a little bit too excited with hats…
At times like these I have to remind myself that I didn’t always have hats. There was a dark period when I didn’t know of their existence. In those days I only had my wits and mini umbrellas to go on. They were the BH (Before Hat) years…
And this thought mellows me out a little bit.
(Because ultimately I’m still wearing a hat, that’s pretty dam good whichever way you look at it)
So, what I’m trying to say is that hats come in all shapes and sizes and there’s no excuse not to wear one, no matter what the occasion or mood is. After all, if you can buy a pink cat hat (CAT HAT!!)…
…then you can buy/wear almost anything. Where hats are concerned there is no judgement here. To be honest I’d be more insulted if you told me you weren’t wearing a hat right now.
Hat season has begun. Now go forth dear readers and do the hat industry proud.
My Housemate's a Mermaid 