“You’ve started a blog. That’s nice, but can you actually earn any money from it?” Mother Bennett

My family are the centre of my world. They have been there through thick and thin, from my first swimming lessons to my move to Swindon. There was the time I baked a fruit loaf (“Alice that’s a brick”), the time I went through my side-fringe phase (“we were so relived when you got rid of that, it never suited you”) and this one time when I was six:

“Mum, India and I were playing builders and plumbers…” (side note, ‘builders and plumbers’? One for the feminists right there) “…and my arm really hurts”

“I’m sure it’s nothing dear, just a sprain.”

[Weeks later]

“Ow! Ow! Mum my arm still really hurts!”

“Fine! we’ll go to a doctor about it.”

[Days later]

“Your daughter has broken her arm.”

“Oh.”

That aside they have supported me more than any daughter could expect. When my secondary school told me I wasn’t ‘academically able’ to even aspire to a Russell group University my family stuck by me and helped me turn statistical predictions of CCC into real grades of AAB. Tears, exhaustion and, finally, joy. Getting into Southampton changed my life and I have my family to thank for it.

Ok, so have you got the point about how key my family is to me? Good, I can stop centring this text now.

So, in homage to them, I will be writing a post on each of my close family. Given their importance to me I guess I should have done these posts sooner, but then explaining my housemates kinda took over in importance due to the blog title. I mean, “My Mother Is a Retired Part Time Teacher” didn’t really spring to mind during the 30 seconds it took to decide on a blog title.

Any who, here goes. Where better to start than with my dear mother, alias Lynn, alias Mumma, Bennett…

(Mumma Bennett and a Greek waiter. If she’d not been constricted by British values she’d have probably hit him for embarrassing her in the restaurant.)

The best way to sum up my mum is to picture Mrs Bennet. No, not my actual mum, but Mrs Bennet from the higher popular (God knows why) novel, Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen. Mrs Bennet by name and nature, mum love to fret over things, especially her two daughters. She dispares that the pair of us will never find boyfriends or, long term, suitable middle-class husbands. Every weekend is spent with her asking me if there is anyone on the scene, and every weekend she’ll let out a little sigh when I say no. I’ll come back from a social evening out and the next day I’ll be asked “were there any nice guys there?” “Mum!!” “What?! I’m just asking!” She may not be as bad as Miranda’s mum from the BBC sitcom who tries any and every attempt to pair off her daughter, but give it a year and I’m sure we’ll be there.

Actually, take that back, having watched that clip I’ve decided she is Miranda’s Mum.

My mum is the head of the household. Dad may like to think that he rules the roost, but if it wasn’t for mum dad would be ruling more of a pig sty than a roost. A pessimist by nature, she is the force that keeps Mr Bennett from undergoing some of his wacky ideas, and believes that if a panoramic view is really worth seeing you won’t have to climb up narrow steps because it’ll be on an interpretation board at ground level. Winding Asian con-callers up is another one of her many skills:

“What can you see on your online banking screen madam?”

“I can see a frog”

“What sorry? A fr-og?”

“Yes, and it’s dancing. A dancing frog!”

“I’m sorry madam, I don’t understand. Can you go back a screen?”

“There’s now a rabbit on the screen. It’s smiling at me.”

“Please click refresh madam.”

“Oops now the screen is black. Oh well, this was fun, bye!”

When she’s not winding me or half of Asia up with her comments she’s running around fretting over something or someone. In Summer 2011 it was four months of “oh I hope you get into Southampton, don’t you?” “Yes mum, this time and the time you mentioned it this morning, half and hour ago and the 500 times before that.”

Spring 2014: “I hope you get this job with English Heritage, don’t you?” “Yes mum, although it’s been over a week now and I’ve still heard nothing.” “Yes, but I still hope you get it. Check you emails again!”

Summer 2014: “I hope India gets into Cardiff, don’t you?” “The weather is lovely today, don’t you think?”

We’re currently in a lull because India and I are happy and stable where we are, which bizarrely frustrates her because there’s nothing to worry about. This is probably why the boyfriend topic is making a come-back. Poor guy, if and when I do find someone she’s going to stalk them to oblivion “Show me a picture. What does he do? What did he study and where?” She does this with my current friends and I doubt she’ll ease off for any partner of mine or India’s.

Photo wise there’s always very few of her. Like me, she believes the camera is her mortal enemy and therefore prefers to act as photographer rather than model. That said, none of the Bennett clan are about to be Britain’s next top model and when forced into it she can put up with the odd photo:

For all her fretting and pesamism though, mum is one of the key rocks that keep our family strong. If you can tolerate Deal or No Deal and have a special place in your heart for Kirsty Allsop and Phil Spencer (Phil on his own is ok. but anything where Kirsty is on her own is the work of the Devil) then odds are you’ll get on. Do you like tea? If you didn’t before you met mumma Bennett you certainly will after a day with her.

So that’s mum. More on my other family members to follow.

To be continued…

Oh, mum also does this indescribable movement that’s half walk/half run and does it up and down the house. She also randomly jumps up and down in the kitchen from time to time. No one knows when these random actions started or why she does them, but it’s her thing. I wasn’t really sure where I could fit this nugget of information in, but I felt compelled to say it.

Alcohol, Alcohol, Alcohol is Free!

April 23, 2015April 23, 2015 My Housemate's a Mermaid (Alice E. Bennett) Holiday Cyprus, Family

“Look, Paphos is check in desks 24-26”

“Paphos? Where’s Paphos?”

It was 6am in Birmingham Airport and we were all brain dead, but even by my sister’s standards this was unacceptable. Usually a 4am start marks the beginning of the annual Bennett Easter holiday abroad so we usually take such comments as part of sleep deprivation. However on this occasion there was no way I was letting my younger, Geography student, sister get away with this.

“Paphos is where we’re flying to you muppet.”

“I though we were flying to Cyprus?”

Ok Alice, deep breath.

“Yes, we’re going to Cyprus, but Paphos is the airport we’re flying to. Like you fly to Birmingham, not the UK.”

“Oh, I thought Cyprus was a town/city?”

“Why don’t we just head to check in? I think we all need a coffee.”

And thus, our holiday had begun.

The Bennett Easter holiday has been something we’ve been doing for years, every year since I was four years old in fact (excluding the one year we went to Florida in the summer when I was 11). In the many holidays we’ve taken we seen and done it all. Ridden camels, seen the pyramids months before it all went to pieces, the Colosseum. All the Euro sites.

We’ve also been through the rubbish. I’ve spent two nights sleeping on an airport floor thanks to Hurricane Charlie (followed by a taxi journey all the way from Edinburgh to the Cotswolds), I’ve been stranded abroad for a week thanks to an ash cloud, and I had the horrible experience at 13 where I thought our Nile cruise ship had left me and papa Bennett behind on the shore. Luxor, place where the only language the locals understood was a girl crying her eyes out (and, respect where it’s due, they did all they could to put me at ease and find someone who spoke English to help).

Apart from India wanting to discuss terrorism checks at security (the girl has the gift of timing) and the pair of us answering the “what do you do if security stop you?” question on the wall with the answer “C. Do the hokey cokey!” the airport was fairly uneventful. On the plane this song kept playing constantly, which made India and I debate how many plays it would take to turn you insane.

After two plays the novelty had definitely worn off on me. The cabin crew were hardly making up a new dance routine to the song either.

Four plus hours later we landed in Paphos, Cyrpus. Bags collected we hoped on our bus with a Thomas Cook representative which sparked a new debate, although this one had to be more hushed for the sake of diplomacy.

“India, why are all holiday reps scouse?”

“What?”

“Seriously, every English rep in Europe is unnaturally orange and scouse. Why do they want to be reps and why would you buy fake tan in a sunny country? Do you think there’s a reason?”

“Why haven’t you eaten your meal deal snack yet? You’re just going to save it up and eat it in front of us with that smug look on your face like you always do!”

Conversation dropped.

Most of the holiday was spent like this, random half conversations picked up and dropped. Without context you would be very confused about what was going on. Examples: we sang Bonnie Tyler down the promenade, I got increasingly old lady aggressive towards a man reading out bingo numbers (“why is this guy wearing a shirt too tight for him? Why are there inflatable banana’s behind him? Why is he saying ‘you whoo’ all the time?!!”), and India and I sang this song many times:

(I mean, when you’re on an all inclusive in Greece it has to happen! Staff definitely gave us a knowing smile and look whenever we sang it)

Ok, so let’s get some holiday snaps up… (#HolidaySpam)

There are some genuinely nice pictures of us, but you guys didn’t come here for the “for God’s sake Alice, stop pulling faces!” Mumma Bennett photo reel, you came here for the “India, India, photo this tea stain on my trousers that looks like Cyprus!” mobile phone photos. So here we are:

This cat that who was sleeping in a basket…

We genuinely thought this was one of those awful cat’s in baskets made from hair we do not think about. But no, this was someone’s cat, sleeping in among tourist souvenirs. The shop owners accepted it, so we accepted it.

This Toothless backpack

It’s impossible to describe the gasp of joy India and I let out when we saw this.

This Toothless window hanging…

…which is now hanging up on my bedroom window.

A place we visited called Pissouri

Now, we pronounced it Piz-or-ree, however if you were so inclined you could prounce it differently. Before you ask, it actually smelt of flowers (on account of the blossom).

This sign that was grammatically incorrect on every level in Pissouri

A Choice of 39 DifferenD Crepes, by Andreas ‘The crepe Man”

Now why would you pay the money on two signs without getting someone to check them first? And why offer 39? Why not 35 or 40? Where was Andreas storing all these toppings in that hut?

This sign I want to show all my English-studying friends:

“Littery is Strictly Prohibited”

Thank goodness I didn’t bring my Shakespeare and Chaucer to read on the beach.

This section in a local Pissouri shop that stocked Tesco value food:

As a family we didn’t know what to make of this. Either Tesco are big importers to the area (the British base was only a 15 min drive away) or there’s a serious Tesco value smuggling problem. People were clearly buying these products although why there was a demand for Tesco value jam and coffee was a bit confusing. The Greeks produce these products too! We stared at this section for quite some time. Tesco value tomato soup had never looked so interesting.

“Middle Aged Man”…guards the beach

Sorry dad, but you know every holiday needs a MAM shot.

These biscuits:

“What’s so special amount those?” I hear you cry. Well, just look at what they look like translated into the European alphabet…

Papadopoulos

You try saying that with a straight face and no concept of Greek pronunciation.

This sweet food that looked like something else (not like coconut):

FOOD PUNS!

(Sweet memories from Cyrpus)

And you thought only the Brits worked the commercial pun (http://wp.me/p5kuli-45)

This baby who chills out in a giant sandal

This requirement is a must for me. I will not buy a pair of shoes unless I can go to bed knowing that a baby could chill out in them.

As with any tourist destination there was plenty of tourist tat about, if I stopped and took a photo of everything I wouldn’t be enjoying my holiday to the fullest. This is just a sample.

This tea stain I made on my cut offs that I swear looks like Cyprus

If you look really hard you might be able to see it…

Close enough.

I was so happy at this. A little too happy…

Photobombing the Photobomb

Me discovering that the sun sets in the evening

THE GODS ARE EATING THE SUUUNN!!!

This man who serenaded us all – with mixed reactions

This guy sang at our hotel one night and came round people while they ate. We thought we’d avoid him but as people left and the evening wore on we became sitting ducks to his charms.

India smiled politely

Dad had a good old sing along

I personally would have been up for marrying the guy right then and there

But mum on the other hand…

But then in the end she decided this was the best photo of her from the whole holiday

So really we all won that evening.

India got a new hair style…

…And I got my first ever fish pedicure

I paid a massive eight euros for a foot massage and 10 minutes with the fish. For the first five minutes I was laughing constantly. My feet are the most ticklish part of me and far from nibbling, it felt like tens of tiny fish sucking at every part of my feet. It was an experience to say the least. Would I do it again for the soft feet? No. Would I do it again with friends? For eight euros, yeah, I probably would.

All joking aside…

…It was a great holiday. We’d been to Cyprus before, but it was on this holiday that the four of us went to the North of the island for the first time. It was the first time we had really experienced the awkward underlying tension between the Turkish Muslims and the Greek Orthodox Christians. No one says anything, but you sense it. From the stubborn border control (India and I unexpectedly became cigarette mules for one man who bought four packs instead of the two per person limit the Turks impose), to the massive North Cyprus flag painted on the mountain side to overlook the Greek half of Nicosia:

Since the fall of the Berlin wall, Nicosia is now the last divided capital in Europe. Check points everywhere and it just feels weird. I suppose this is what many people felt in Berlin a generation ago. At least now people can cross over the boarder (with a passport). Until 2003 even that wasn’t possible. But there’s no escaping the elephant in the room, although the Greeks don’t hide away from it. This cafe positioned on a check-point border I thought summed up the situation well.

(Berlin No. 2)

Anger mixed with grumbling acceptance. As generations have grown up with the dividing line it has become harder to explain to younger generations what life was like before 1974 and as time goes on it seems more and more likely a peaceful solution will never come about. People were forced of their homes and live from both sides of the border, foreigners have bought and sold land, built houses etc. As our tour guide said, ‘it’s like a divorce, if you do something quickly about it you may be able to come to a resolution. However if you keep leaving it you’re only going to make things worse.”

Don’t get me wrong, the north of the island was lovely. I genuinely could have sat with a book and a coffee and chilled out at Bellapais village/abbey all day.

(I can’t really think of anything like it in England, other than the love child of Hailes Abbey, Gloucestershire, and Kenilworth Castle, Warwickshire)

Kyrenia also had a very pretty harbour and various doors (too many photos were taken of doors this holiday to include them all in this post but this will do):

And then there was the odd road trip where we were reminded that Cyprus has a lot of history to offer:

This was part of a big area of temples for worshipping various Greek Gods, converted over the years to dormitories, baths, houses etc. It’s existence today has certainly been aided by Cyprus not having the shortage of land for development which exists in this country.

However it did mean there was the odd spooky development that had been abandoned to let time and nature do with it as it wished.

That said, as a holiday overall it was brilliant. Just what we all needed. Fun, laughter, cocktails and all the humus and Cypriot (not Turkish) delight a girl could ask for. And as I stood on a bridge over the pool one evening, two cocktails in hand I felt as ease. While mum, dad and India argued over the camera flash I thought, ‘this was as good as family holidays get’.

“See! No flash!”

“Give me the camera. You’re pressing the wrong button. Press that one! No, the other one! The one with the lightning bolt”

“India I’m pressing that one! Oh, now I’ve set the timer on!”

“Still not coming out right. Your father and his silly ideas for taking a decent photo at night.”

“It was just a suggestion…”

“Mum, just give me the camera already!”

Yep, life certainly does not get any better than this.

A Lesson in Modern Culture? High Street Fashion (Spring 2015)

March 25, 2015March 25, 2015 My Housemate's a Mermaid (Alice E. Bennett) fashion, shopping fashion, high street, shopping

With an upcoming holiday to Cyprus on the horizon, a compulsory holiday clothes shop was in order.

As a woman you would think this would be a straight forward enough task. My usual shopping pattern is enter shop, walk around, exit shop, walk to a shop at the far end of town, walk back to the other end of town, walk past Costa half a dozen times before deciding it’s quiet enough to go in, have coffee and read a my book for about an hour. (Intellectual box is ticked, however sophisticated attractive man coming up to me and saying “Hey there, reading Handmaid’s Tale I see. I personally preferred Atwood’s earlier dystopian work, but it’s better than 1984” box will remain unticked). After this I’ll then exit the coffee shop and then my retail habits begin all over again.

Even I don’t understand my walking pattern. Before Christmas I went to Bath and it got to the stage I was holding casual conversation with the big issue guy every time I walked past him in my wolf hat (which was about six times). I was his ‘wolfie’ and he was my ‘big issue man’.

Anyway, I was going clothes shopping which would normally be simple enough, however this Spring the shops seemed flooded with a lot of WTF (what the fudge) clothing. It’s like the High Street has become the embodiment of the human version of the super-hipster. While some things do look kinda cool if you’re into that thing (or ‘rocking that look’ as the hip kids say), other things are just all types of no.

At this stage I’m going to stop typing so much and post a selection of photos from the wonderfully awful camera on my Nokia Lumia 635 from recent shopping trips…

This long sleeved top in H&M:

…Because daddy/childhood issues is sooo in this season.

This bikini top in New Look that features an insect ladder at the back:

…

It’s either to ensure insects can climb to safety should they get stuck in the pool, or so they can slide down you as part of their insect pool parties. It’s a two in one.

This sheep skin, long sleeve outfit, perfect for pagan ceremonies:

You’ll by the hippiest hipster in this outfit. Darn you New Look for beating my organisation into stocking this! For an added hippy look, add flowers in your hair and skip down the main High Street. You’ll soon be pulling in the instagram followers and trending across Wiltshire.

Clothing that features puns:

Ok, I’ll admit this is a good pun or something I’d buy just to get this reaction from friends initially:

There were a few of these around town. This one was borderline:

Clearly all the good puns were taken though when H&M designed their Spring 2015 clothes range. They’re currently stocking this…

Little Mer-Kitty? What on Earthhh? On the upside it’s a conversation starter. (“Hey, where did you get that top and where is the nearest petrol canister and matches?”)

Clothing which features food:

For goodness sake High Street, I thought I’d covered this in my recent blog post from when I was in Cardiff (http://wp.me/p5kuli-2I). Having food on your clothing is just weird and it encourages either obesity or cannibalism!

Who decided that this year would be the year of the junk? (The type of food on the clothing is also unhealthy). Surely this clothing breaks EU regulations on food offering? I mean where is the salad skirt or the veggie vest?

This rebellious jewellery range:

The photo speaks for itself.

This cool cat:

Oh sorry, this photo shouldn’t be here. I forgot this post was about awful fashion choices…

This outfit that was designed for management:

You’ll never need a name tag again! Your team will entirely respect your decision and reasons for buying this outfit.

Finally, this long sleeved crop top that is still trying to ‘find itself’:

I mean is it a crop top or is it a long sleeved top? Is it French or is it English? It is probably best not to ask, the person who chooses to wear this top is probably just as confused.

The only products I did have time for were at Paperchase:

It’s tough cookies! Because they’re cookie cutters with tattoos that traditionally tough people had. Hah!

So…

These photos came from a selection of outfits from a selection of shops. There were plenty more varying degrees of what I’d consider to be crimes against fashion, however shop assistants don’t tend to take too kindly to people who just photo products and don’t try anything on.

Overall, I have wasted a good deal of time recently gaping at hideous clothes when I should be buying my fifth dress that I really don’t need. I mean who is designed and signed these outfits off? Who is buying these clothes? Most importantly though, WHO SAT THERE AND TOLD THE HIGH STREET STORES THAT THIS IS FASHIONABLE??!!

I want to start a petition, tell the world to boycott some of these products, but then I really, really, hope that the world has an ounce of common sense to avoid awful fashion when they see it. I’m certain I’ll do another similar post to this again in the future. A mouse can’t halt a bull and I can’t halt the wrath of the fashion industry. Has anyone ever dared to tell the fashion world that perhaps they might occasionally get it wrong? Just because the emperor says something looks amazing it shouldn’t follow we accept it at face value. That said, since typing this I would love to see photos of super skinny models wearing clothing with cake designs. Two polar opposites, just like a sad clown. Now there’s something I’d like to see. Do that fashion industry and then we can talk.

Right, on the subject of fashion and being cool I’m off to eat dinner in a pair of jogging bottoms, an oversized university hoodie with my hair scrapped back into a pony tail. It doesn’t matter how fabulous I look this evening because I’ve got a box of chocolate fingers and a night in with this man…

Aka Poldark, aka Aiden Turner, aka the only person I’d ever wear a mer-kitty top for.

Yum.

Educating Alice (#EducatingAlice)

March 11, 2015March 11, 2015 My Housemate's a Mermaid (Alice E. Bennett) Swindon Education, Swindon

The day after my last blog post I walked into the office to get the standard review/critique from my number one fan, Steve (aka my boss). ‘It was good, but again Swindon is not mentioned. You haven’t mentioned all the good things that are here!’ ‘So, overall, B+ for effort?’ ‘Oh I wouldn’t go that far.’

So, here I am, writing ten things positive about Swindon. Because who doesn’t like pigs on hills?

1) There are nice coffee places

The team’s desire for me to write something positive about Swindon actually goes back weeks. Backtrack to the day after my post on when I visited my sister in Cardiff (http://wp.me/p5kuli-2I) and there was uproar among staff (well between Steve and homeware buyer Lucia which is as close to an uproar as we ever get). The pair of them, unknown to me, had been furiously texting the day before over the comment I made that Swindon doesn’t do nice coffee. A couple of hours into the working day and a calendar invite springs up in my inbox titled “#EducatingAlice” (yes, this is such a big deal a hashtag was created for it #SoCool #YouKnowYouveMadeItWhen).

Scroll forward a week and a chunk of the team took me out to coffee at Swindon’s Darkroom Espresso…

(Left to right: Steve, Lucia, Sarah, yours truly, Lorna, Catherine)

(On a side note, Steve pointed out that this was a very good photo of him and mumma Bennett commented that Lucia, Sarah, Lorna and Catherine looked really pretty/lovely. “Have you missed someone mum?” “Oh yes, Steve looks like a nice guy too.”)

Following this outing I now have to admit that Swindon does have at least one nice coffee shop within walking distance from home/work.

2) Swindon has the cheapest petrol in England

Headline says it all really. This information comes courtesy of Steve/the internet.

3) The name ‘Swindon’ is believed to derive from the Pig (swine) market that happened on the hill (don)

The tops of hills = wonderful views (= awesome) and pigs = bacon or babe (both of which are awesome).

4) Wagamamas is a five minute walk away

I do have a tendency to take things for granted. The super snazzy shopping outlet is one example of this. Today, a group of us went to Wagamamas for lunch as part of ‘Educating Alice’ which enabled me to experience the restaurant for the first time (although based on this it was really ‘Educating Alice, Lorna and Barbara’). Photo time…

(Left to right: Barbara, Lorna, Catherine, Helen, yours truly. All of us are in universal agreement that we’ve all looked better.)

Nice dining, and I got a pile of food left over for my dinner this evening (a combo of my, and Lorna’s, leftovers. You can take the girl out of University…).

Following this we trekked some 50 yards to get ice cream from the Thornton’s outlet shop. I have to admit that compared to my normal lunch of cheese sandwiches and a yoghurt (on a crazy day it’s chicken), today trumps them all.

5) My pottery course at the local college

Over the past few weeks I’ve really come to enjoy my Monday evenings thanks to the pottery course I’m enrolled in and, as of last Tuesday, I will be continuing next term also. It’s given me a chance to learn a new skill outside of work. Forget attractive men, I now spend my evenings looking at good-looking pots! (And there is something I never thought I’d say in my life).

I’m about the 8th week in and I’m still learning the ropes with different clay techniques. And while I have several items still in development and one success story (there will definitely be a post dedicated to that one), there have also been a fair share of failures. Week 2 coil pot will always have a piece of my heart. Week 2…

But, post firing (week 3)…

…

Tutor Belinda thought it was probably due to a trapped air bubble in the base which exploded in the kiln. Still, RIP coil pot, you will never be forgotten.

The people on the course are all friendly, and it’s just nice to be able to unwind and not think about anything. Plus there aren’t many places where if something goes wrong you can screw the clay up, throw it on the table and make something beautiful out of the mess.

6) The Magic Roundabout

Love it or loathe it, you have to acknowledge this piece of roundabout engineering:

7) It is easy to get to other places

I won’t dwell on this one as it has been extensively covered in a previous blog post: (http://wp.me/p5kuli-1V) but I have to admit it has been a big plus factor when I’ve wanted to explore places outside of Swindon or get home. There’s also lots of pretty Cotswold towns nearby. As a Cotswold girl myself that’s certainly no negative.

8) Urm, Swindon contains the word ‘win’…?

8.5) Potential team outing to Swindon’s indoor crazy golf course

(TBC, depends when Catherine gets round to planning it. I’m told it’s a must as part of #EducatingAlice. I’ll keep you posted on this one).

9) Thanks to an enthusiastic, active individual, Swindon now has a brilliant social group for young professionals

34 members and growing, with lots of events going on. I hear the person that created it has also sweet talked venues to providing drinks deals and pizza for free. She sounds like the kinda gal I’d like to be friends with. Find out more here:

Swindon 18-30 Professionals

Swindon, GB
34 Young Professionals

Have you just recently graduated and/or moved to the area? If you have, and you are aged 18-30 then come and join us for social activities to meet new people and make friends….

Next Meetup

Cinema (Focus) and Nandos at Regent Circus

Thursday, Mar 12, 2015, 6:00 PM
10 Attending

Check out this Meetup Group →

(Look, if I can’t plug my own social group here where can I? #ShamlessPlug)

10) I live with friendly housemates and work with a crazy but loveable bunch of people who do random things like celebrate my birthday by wearing hats:

And you know what? I wouldn’t change them for any town, anywhere.

Happy Valake Day!

February 21, 2015February 28, 2015 My Housemate's a Mermaid (Alice E. Bennett) love Pancake, Valentines

Ah February – that wonderful time of the year where you either freeze to death in the cold or narrowly avoid death slipping on ice. Yes, February is a wonderful time of the British year. I don’t know what people are saying when they say February the 14th is just an excuse for companies to make money out of us. It’s not like you can only go to restaurants because it’s too cold for a picnic, only want to buy cheesy tat because the thought of buying t-shirts makes you shudder…Oh wait. In my 22 years on this planet I’ve gone through a variety of Valentine’s Days. I’ve had the personal ‘being single sucks’, the fake Valentine’s cards, the snotty friend going through a break up, right through to where I am now, the ‘meh, just another day, ooh look reduced chocolate!’ One common theme runs through every V Day though, I’ve always been single on it. Before anyone sits there thinking ‘oh poor, poor Alice’, don’t, just don’t. On the other hand, if you think for a second that I’m the kinda girl to preach on about companies making money out of us, well you can just keep walking. I genuinely have no strong feelings on the subject or the day itself. I actually think in a modern society filled with faceless social media and online gaming there’s a need to force people to show affection. On a separate but related note, the other day I saw this advert on TV and I made me a very little bit annoyed:

“OH COME ON! REALLY?!” (As if this website needs further drilling into our lives) Another ad campaign which is doing its rounds in the UK is the ‘Love Your Imperfections’ series of adverts by Match.com.

Saying ‘Love Your Imperfections’ is all well and good, but one of my imperfections is spilling coffee and tea over everyone and thing and I’ve yet to find anyone who loves that about me. It’s not even endearing, it’s ‘oh for God’s sake Alice’. Love is definitely too strong a word to describe my imperfections (#BlasphemeYourImperfections). (Sorry, I have to say something now as an FYI for the future. If you run towards me on a first date I WILL run away in fear, if you alter my collar I WILL find it controlling and I swear to goodness if you photo bomb a picture with my friends I will give you two words and push you away. And if that photo was even vaguely decent, run. Run away and never return. I won’t be responsible for my actions if you don’t. (There are many people in Southampton who can testify to all of this). So that’s where my head is at with Valentine’s. Love it, loathe it, or be indifferent to it. Single or taken, you can say whatever you want about the day. This year though was slightly different to normal years in that Shrove Tuesday (aka Pancake Day) was the Tuesday straight after Saturday 14th February. Potted Bible lesson: Shrove Tuesday is the first day before Lent, the period where traditionally you’re meant to forbear ingredients such as eggs, flour and milk for the 40 days before Easter. These ingredients were meant to be thrown out or consumed before Lent, and put together they make great pancakes. Shove Tuesday = Pancake Day (there is some logic behind it). Pancake Day gives people the excuse to binge on this delightful foodstuff and add all manner of toppings to it. Lemon, sugar, chocolate, fruit, the list goes on and on. Someone at work suggested savoury fillings like ham and cheese. She was shut down fairly quickly. If you’re like me, you also get excited when you inadvertently make your pancake look a little like a face: It looks like a face!

It got me thinking, why can’t single people quit their whining and celebrate Pancake Day like a sort of ‘singles day’ (without calling it that.) Think about it, you can go round to a friend’s house and laugh over the whole batter making, flipping, pancake on floor, start again thing and it’s socially acceptable to binge yourself silly. You don’t have to feel guilty eating your weight in sugar and Nutella. You can watch a guilty pleasure film or do anything you want under the tag line ‘I’m giving this up for Lent’. If you don’t fancy staying in there are all manner of ice cream/pancake/waffle parlours across the land that will do the job for you. Let the couples have Valentine’s Day, but let the single’s have a day too. If you’re in a relationship you’re probably feeding each other chocolate covered strawberries or spaghetti, or whatever it is couples eat. Single people are normal humans, we work and have money to spend and, with no one else around, we can be very impressionable. For example, I convinced myself that I would look awesome in animal hats thanks to a hat display in a shop. Oh, I don’t regret it, I do look awesome. Let us singles have a harmless day to binge and have fun and not feel guilty in doing so. Give me the chance devour these over an oversized teddy any day:

Seems like a fair trade.

Valentine’s or Pancake day, or, as I would like to call the whole period, Valake Day. Why make two events exclusive, when they could work together to make everyone happy? Couples, don’t get lovey dovey on Shrove Tuesday. Singles, stop wallowing in self pity and get a pancake down your throat. Do this and who knows, we may get through this depressing month a hell of a lot quicker.

Alice and India Take on Cardiff

February 8, 2015February 8, 2015 My Housemate's a Mermaid (Alice E. Bennett) cardiff Hollister, John Lewis, Primark, Sister, Valentines

Yesterday I went to visit my dear sister in her university city of Cardiff. Cardiff is the capital city of Wales, but it also happens to be the location Brad Pitt will fly to when the Zombie apocalypse comes:

(I think all Welsh persons will agree the post-crash footage isn’t really a fair visual representation of Cardiff. I’m sure Americans were equally up in arms about this, if not…)

Anyway, I visited Cardiff for the day. I’ve visited the city before, once to see India’s halls and silently weep over the fact I’m not a fresh-faced student any more, another time to go to the castle and a final time by myself to undergo some retail therapy. This time though I was able to pick up on more things about Wales and then put them to my 19 year old sister who has only been in the country for six months (because that’s enough time to make someone Welsh right? We are 25% welsh after all.) First of all, I asked her why every train I take towards Wales is late:

Admittedly this photo was from another train I took to Cardiff (delayed by 14 minutes), but the train yesterday was 19 minutes late. That day it was due to ‘a train fault’. I wonder if First Great Western do some sort of delayed train I Spy, because I’m certainly well on my way to having enough points to claim for my ‘delayed commuter’ badge. India had no idea, so I had to assume it was because they were coming from London (if in doubt, blame London).

I tend to voice my irritation at simple things when I’m with other people. For example, in John Lewis they had a Valentine’s Day section. Sis and I were playing a ‘what would we want if someone was buying for us’ game when I saw this product:

It’s simply two separate keyrings saying ‘You complete me’ and ‘We fit together’. Aside from the cheesy lines written on the product, to all intents and purposes the product is useless. That heart is a lot bigger than the picture suggests (my opinion it’s clunky) and when taken apart the two pieces mean nothing (a heart with a massive hole and the line ‘you complete me’ sounds more like a break up gift than a Valentine’s present). I also spent a good deal of time trying to get the jigsaw piece to fit into the heart. Surprise, surprise it doesn’t (the keyring chain itself hasn’t been heavily factored into the design). India managed to force one in eventually, because forced love is the best kind.

To try and take away the irritation we then went swiftly over to the chocolate and sweet section. We both got surprisingly serious over our discussions of what our imaginary boyfriends are buying us. India was certain hers would be buying her Jelly Belly beans, most likely a couple of poles so they could have a jelly bean fight beforehand:

I decided that I’d be getting a load of Hotel Chocolat chocolates (or as I called them, Hotel Chocolat chocolats, because I’m classy and annoying like that). In particular these (at £22):

And these (at £16):

I was then asked which chocolates I’d have and which ones my boyfriend will be eating.

“Oh no, you’ve got me wrong sis, I’ll be having all of them.”

“Then what is your boyfriend going to have?”

“These.”

“But they’re only £2.50?”

“Look, I was having a very exhausting time in the office the day I got paid that £2.50, he should feel grateful I’m giving him any money from that particular day!”

It was at this point we realised people around us genuinely thought we were being serious, so we put the products down and slipped out of the John Lewis store.

We then went to Hollister for the first time where we quickly learnt what people are talking about when referring to the lack of light in stores.

“Are we in men’s or women’s?”

“I’ve no idea, these look like girls’ shirts…”

“Oh no wait, these are guys t-shirts, turn back, turn back!”

“This must be women’s. It still smells like aftershave, but a more feminine aftershave”

“Yep, you’re right. Look, there’s no upper half, but those legs are definitely too thin to be a man’s”.

Again, we were getting looks, but this time from people half our ages.

“India, do you ever feel you’re 50 years older than you are?”

“Erm, yes, yes I do. How about you?”

“I didn’t before I entered this shop, but I do now.”

After all the looks and all the ranting, we were both ready for coffee and a sit down. We chatted about life, discussed gothic literature (“look, all I’m saying is that when I got to Heathcliff forcing Cathy to marry his son I did think ‘oh for goodness sake Heathcliff!'”).

There was also the compulsory “you’re so cool, with your freedom on weekends and money for fancy coffee. You could have fancy coffee all the time!”

“I could have fancy coffee India but I don’t live in Cardiff do I? I live in Swindon.”

“But you could have fancy coffee and cake if you wanted to.”

“Swin-don!”

Conversation cut (thankfully) short by mumma Bennett calling us to have a three-way conversation. This plan was dropped quickly when the speaker phone function resulted in sound echoing around for all to hear and mum being unable to hear anything. ‘I can’t hear you, who is that singing, why can I hear rustling, what are you doing?!’

India took control of the call and I decided to play about, writing stuff down for her to say to mum, or try to read and not laugh.

India failed massively, laughing at all of them.

When I got given the phone I had a mother who was clearly fed up.

“Have you got anything sensible you want to say or ask?”

“Did India tell you she was running away with Antonio?”

“What?”

“I know, shocking isn’t it? And I hear she’s a woman as well!”

“(Long sigh) well at least you’re both having fun.”

Mumma Bennett has got all too used to us being big kids when we’re together. If anything it’s got worse over recent years. When I went off to University we were separated and the result has since meant a higher concentration of sheer stupidity whenever we’re together. I’m sure mum has been hitting the internet for solutions but short of ‘feed them less additives’ or ‘sit them on the naughty step’ there’s probably not a lot out there for curing grown adults of whatever it is we have.

The final leg of the day saw us hit Boots, where I asked India (the representative for all things Welsh) what the hell this was:

All she could come up with was “no idea, but it’s very freaky”.

Quickly deciding there was nothing of value in Boots other than a Madame Tussauds death mask we headed into Primark. Primark in Cardiff has four floors, four! I always get lost in there, and I always find that on the weekend it’s the closest thing to experiencing London without being in London. People everywhere, narrow isles, security patrolling around, but because it’s not London I’m somehow more accepting of it. I also learnt some Welsh while I was there.

Plant must mean child in Welsh. If the pronunciation is the same in Welsh as English that makes it all the more amusing. I can’t decide though if calling a child a plant is either cute or weird. On a separate note, I’ve discovered I have a tendency to wind-up my sister and Welsh citizens up by randomly reading Welsh words out loud (very badly, I’m sure). I’ll walk along and, for example, see customer services in Welsh. I’ll then randomly say “g-wasnelkjsdkfjsla c-wmeris-aid!” (i.e. absolute rubbish) and watch my sister as her eyes rolls right to the back of her skull. I think it’s hilarious, even though in doing this in a crowded space I know I’m risking my life.

The clothes in Primark though were something else entirely. First there was this:

The bikini was reasonable enough, but why anyone would spend £8 on the fish net wrap/shawl had the pair of us baffled. As India said, ‘it doesn’t keep you warm or dry you off, and it doesn’t exactly cover you up. People can’t wonder what sort of costume you’re wearing because there’s nothing for the imagination!”

“I know, and imagine the burn lines”

“Oooh, the burn lines!”

On the same floor we also discovered these PJ bottoms with a rather busy cake/biscuit pattern:

I had stronger views on this than India “what if you go to bed a little bit hungry? You’re just going to want to eat your own legs!” India, though fits of laughter, said “not the reaction most people would have to hunger, but I get your point”. My point still stands. Primark: supporting cannibalism since 2015.

That said, I did end up purchasing this amazing fashion piece for a bargain £5

Yes, that is indeed a kitten onesie. Right, so before your judge me over my fashion sense I’ll have you know this is only my second onesie. My polar bear one still lives at the family home and actually saved my live while at university, keeping the violent shivering down to a minimum in January. However, unlike my polar bear one, this onesie has pockets to do pockety things with!

(“Oh my god Ali, are you actually posing in that?” “Yes I am, now take the photo!”)

And the hood!

In short, this piece was my buy of the day (only £5! Why on earth has this been reduced down to £5?!). Before you ask, I am indeed wearing it right now as I type. The only issue with this outfit is that it also has a bell attached to the zip. This means that while I’m wearing this onesie everyone will be aware of my movements, and it’ll also stop me from stalking birds and mice (a favourite pastime of mine).

Overall, a fun day out with my fabulous little sister. I’ve learnt that Primark sells a mixture of clothing, both awesome and awful, that Hollister needs to invest in more lighting and that when I enter a relationship I’ll know exactly where to direct my other half. In fact, perhaps I should start noting down products now? That actually might not a be a bad idea, that way on the first date I can produce this list. It will certainly save the time wasting later on. How could such a plan ever go wrong? Right, where are my notepads and pens…

Attempts at Sophistication: This Will Go One of Two Ways…

January 29, 2015February 1, 2015 My Housemate's a Mermaid (Alice E. Bennett) sophistication hobbies, professional, Swindon

So, I’ve now been in Swindon cracking on six months. Alice reminiscing moment: this time last year I spent a week doing solid dissertation research, including eight hours in Warwick archives on only a snack bar (I painfully discovered that they only had coffee sachets and an out of date cuppa soup. In my defence you look at this site and tell me you wouldn’t assume they’d at least have a bar of chocolate for sale: http://heritage.warwickshire.gov.uk/warwickshire-county-record-office/visit/) It was also the week I interviewed these lovely people:

Ok, so, left to right: Anne Fox, Coughton Court volunteer, Lisa Parry, Coughton Court property manager (also one of my internship managers), Jeffrey Haworth, National Trust curator, and Lord Hertford, Marquess of Hertford and owner of Ragley Hall. Anne fed me with so much cake I wasn’t sure I’d be able to walk out the door, and I’ve never really shut up about my interview with Lord Hertford.

Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, half a year in Swindon (one extreme to the other). So, in December I realised I’d been here for a few months. The job was/is going swimmingly and my colleagues were/are hilarious (the toy and game buyer lifted her top to show me her dress underneath this week, such is her desperation to feature in my blog. Don’t say I never mention you Lorna).

But despite this I felt my evenings were lacking. I’d gone from being this clued up, academic who would yell scholarly quotations at those who supported the death penalty, to an individual who by 6pm was in an oversized hoodie and watching Teen Mom 2 (you know, something I could really relate to). I was doing nothing but upholding the Grimgrad title I’d given myself. Something had to change.

So what has changed Alice? Well, I hear Teen Mom 3 is starting soon on Viva… But in all seriousness I have done a few things. I started writing this blog (which I think everyone will agree is the best thing since sliced bread). I’ve also started a pottery course. This Monday will be week four of a ten week course. I have no pottery experience but in week two I made this:

It certainly isn’t about the start a new arts and crafts movement, but I was quite proud of it (next week I’ll start glazing it). Mumma Bennett gets the award for best reaction: “You know, we always knew when you were running around the garden with mud pies you’d accomplish something.” “really?” “No, but seeing this has reassured us”. I expect to be writing more on my pottery in the upcoming weeks. You ain’t seen the last of Alice and her mishappen pots yet!

A couple of months ago I also restarted my favourite pastime of going to coffee shops in culturally interesting places (e.g. Cardiff, Oxford, Bath) and reading a book. Right now I’m reading Wild Swans, which is all about three generations of Chinese women living under Communism.

This is how I think I look doing this:

This, though, is probably what you’re picturing/what I actually look like:

On top of this I’m also going to try to make a start on my Spanish language CDs which I’ve had knocking around for a while. I did it at GCSE but since then my Spanish has boiled down to ‘piso’ (piss-o) AKA a flat, gato (cat, not to be confused with the French, gato, meaning cake). That and shouting “tortoise!” whenever Captain Jack goes to the Island or Tortuga. Hopefully by April I’ll be able to construct a few sentences. Perfect timing for when I go to the Turkish/ Greek Island of Cyprus.

As my title sums up, I hope doing all this will enlighten, educate and sophisticate. One thing is for sure, I’ll either come out of this as a graceful lady like the ones in Jane Austen novels, or I’ll come out like Jane Eyre. Jane is an annoying, whining, poor, girl who throws the attempts of the rich Mr Rochester to lady-fy her in his face when she runs away across the Yorkshire Dales, taking no provisions with her and leaving her money on the coach. WHO DOES ANY OF THAT?! She ends up moaning about being hungry for the next two chapters. Oh dear Lord, no matter how bad it gets, I hope I’m never Jane Eyre. If anyone sees hints of Jane Eyre in me please stage an intervention before it’s too late.

Right, I better go. We have a slight issue developing here. Nothing big, just water coming through the ceiling. Standard Thursday night really. Until the next time.

…My Other Housemate is a Reclusive Journalist

January 20, 2015January 20, 2015 My Housemate's a Mermaid (Alice E. Bennett) Young Professional Housemate

When I get back from work the first thing I do is make my lunch for the next day. This is usually followed by chopping carrots for my mid-morning snack, making a fancy coffee with my machine, grabbing some chocolate and sprawling out in front of the TV. Sorted.

This evening though was another story. To start with, I successfully managed to get tangled up in cling film while wrapping up my sandwiches (but this is typical of most nights, why must it be so clingy?!). Then the yoghurt wouldn’t fit my lunch box for some reason so I engaged in a battle of strength, Alice vs yoghurt, in an epic lunchbox lid closing battle. The yoghurt won.

After making another sandwich, I was cutting up my carrot with a sharp knife when it slipped. After spending an unhealthy amount of time analysing the fact that yes, I was indeed bleeding, I went and rectified the situation with a plaster. I was ready for fancy coffee. I was able to make that without fault, but then a sudden jerk movement found half my coffee across the kitchen floor. I cleaned up the mess but then (somehow) spilt more of it down my dress walking up the stairs. Everything is going wonderfully this evening so far. Based on this I thought ‘why not tackle the housemates: part two, because what else could go wrong right now?’

Dom / Dominic (it varies so much you’d think it was dependant on the weather) – AKA the Secretive Journalist

(Fourth from right, hidden behind relatives of the murdered Becky Godden-Edwards. They were handing in a petition into Number 10 in relation to Becky’s murder case which was dropped.)

Sheri calls him Dominic, Becki and Cherice call him Dom, when I mention him to my family he’s Dominic, when I talk about him to friends he’s Dom. Let’s see, there’s moisture in the air tonight, so right now I’ll call him Dom.

Job Summary – Crime reporter / journalist for the Swindon Advertiser (i.e. the local paper)

Dom moved to Swindon cracking on two years ago to undergo a journalist training programme on the Swindon Advertiser. During this time he has covered a range of criminal pieces on news stories related to crime. These vary from the scary such as rape attacks, to the interesting such as crime dropping by 10%, through to the more focused on the cute doggie than the crime and I know it’s serious, but part of me finds it amusing stories of Swindon. If you sneeze at 2am on double yellow lines you can be fairly sure Dom will be reporting on it in some shape or form. And that’s the thing, we hardly ever see him in the house. He seldom, if ever, comes in communal areas. He lives on the ground floor with a bathroom next door and always orders take away. He’s really social when you talk to him, but he never wants to come out of his room to talk to you in the first place, and because he works varied days/hours he can dash off without a moment’s notice.

As an example, Cherice and I managed to pin Dom down to go for a social drink one evening. We were there hardly any time when he looks at his phone, grabs a notepad and rushes out the door without saying a word. Cherice and I had no idea when or even if he would come back. He strolled back in 15 minutes later, “thought it was a suicide on the tracks, ended up being a false lead”, took a sip of beer and carried on with life. His blasé attitude towards crime can sometimes be concerning. You ask him for a good crime story near your house, he’ll give you one. Ask for a violent crime, he’ll give you three. You never see him, and because he hides away in his room all the time you start to wonder what he could be up to. Now I’m not the type to put labels on people, but all I’m saying is that Dom will definitely be making headlines in the upcoming years, although what sort I’m still undecided on.

Sheri – AKA Little Miss Happy All. Of. The. Time.

I do love Sheri, sometimes it feels like I have her on the brain (“Sheri?! My name is Cherice Alice!” Cherice: every other day of the week, 2014-15). Sheri is a bundle of pure delight, always smiling and always happy. You could stand on her toe while carrying a pile of bricks and she’d be cool with it.

Job Summary: Used to work for a hotel, now works in telecommunications, calling people who make online enquiries into private health insurance.

Sheri works the telephone lines for a health insurance company. If you’ve ever been on a price comparison website and seen the big ‘call-back service’ button, she’s the person that will be calling you back. Choose the decision to hit this button wisely, the other week she was telling me she was doing call-backs for requests made four months ago. She and her colleagues can have all sorts of abuse thrown at them (I don’t think the phrases bear repeating), yet she’ll always be happy when she gets back. Compared to the hotel she used to work out, she’s ecstatic about getting back no later than 9:30pm, and she doesn’t have to deal with unruly wedding parties (as a former silver-service waitress for hotel events, I can entirely understand her joy.)

A positive side effect of her cheeriness is that she’ll sing little tunes. In the right frame of mind I’ll harmonise with her, for example when her, Becki and I decided to play a board game at 10pm (I mean, who doesn’t do that?) we started singing ‘cheeeeeeeseee’ or ‘blue cheeeeessee’ etc. If had formed a pop group there and then we’d have been the ‘Trivial Pursuits’.

But then there’s only so much I can take. I’m not a morning person. Never have been, never will be. I will trudge down the stairs at 8:15, wearing an oversized hoodie, hair looking like its been dragged through a hedge, finished off with a sexy streak of mascara across my face from the night before. If you can get more than a gruff ‘hi’ out of me then you’re doing well. When I’m in this zombie state, trying to get coffee, breakfast, and lunch sorted, the last thing I need or want is someone singing ‘good morning, good morrrrning, la, la, la…’ on repeat.

Have you ever seen what happens when a morning person and an anti-morning person meet in an confined space? You want to tell them to lose the energy, but then realise that would involve saying four additional words and, at 8:20 in the morning, your brain/mouth prioritises this request as E grade – up there with Tracy’s broken blind and that one squeaky chair in customer services.

But, like I said before, I do enjoy Sheri’s company 99% of the time. There are very few people in the world who randomly give you chocolate and don’t expect your services or a dead body in return.

So…

Those are my housemates. I feel I owe a mention to my landlord at some point as well as myself.

My boss has also discovered this blog, which thanks to the power of group emailing, means the whole department knows about it. I’m now being flooded with reasons why Swindon is the best town in the whole Universe on a daily basis. For the sake of my own sanity and personal safety I think I’m going to have to refer to some of these comments at some point. I’d love to do it now, but oh, would you look at that, I do believe my dinner is ready. Gotta dash!

Dom’s Twitter page can be found here: http://twitter.com/DominicGilbert?lang=en-gb

My Housemate’s a Mermaid: The Post you Came to this Blog for

January 14, 2015October 26, 2015 My Housemate's a Mermaid (Alice E. Bennett) Mermaid, Swindon Mermaid, Swindon

Before you read this blog there are three things you should know about me. 1. I like tea and coffee. 2. I love my hats and dresses. 3. My housemate is a mermaid.

Yes, you heard right.

I live in a shared house located in the fine town of Swindon (Wiltshire, England). A town renowned for its stunning beauty, charming residents, and it’s thriving young professional social scene. Hah, who am I kidding? It’s none of those things. I’ve now been here almost six months and I’ve learnt just two things. We have this guy who writes his unique take on poetry on the pavement in the town centre (aka the resident ASBO burner), and we have trains. You can leave Swindon in any number of directions on a train and get to somewhere a bit more favourable in no time at all. Cardiff, Bath, Bristol, Oxford, London, all of which take no longer than an hour 15 minutes to get to by train. A town that makes it easy for you to leave. I like to think that if Swindon was a person he/she’d be a Psychologist’s dream patient, but alas it is not. It’s a rapidly expanding town with little of architectual significance other than this piece of road engineering known as ‘the magic roundabout’

Yes, that is indeed five mini roundabouts positioned around one central roundabout.

So, that’s a pit-stop guide to Swindon. Trust me, it’s all you’ll ever need or want to know about this place, well, unless you actually live here. In my opinion Swindon’s slogan should be ‘Visit Swindon: Because lets be honest, it could be worse’. Expecting a call from the tourist board to call any day now…

Anyway, where was I? Ah yes, my living arrangements. I live in a three storey shared house in Swindon. I live with four other people (making there five of us altogether), all living under the banner or pretence that we’re all ‘young professionals’. When it’s been a long day at the office it has become our thing to remind each other of this simple fact. It semi works. Four housemates to talk about and no time like the present, so lets get to it.

Becki – AKA the Shire Mermaid / Mermaid Aura

Who better to start with than the very person my blog’s title revolves around. The person who I have to thank for grabbing your attention, and adding some spice into my otherwise mundane life.

Becki works in CCTV for her day job, doing tough 12 hour shifts which are either 5am-5pm or 5pm-5am.

Job summary: monitoring CCTV cameras, providing security for buildings.

It’s a job which denies her any social life and tends to lend itself more towards a slow rather than fast pace, but it pays the bills and funds her real passion; the world of fantasy and mermaids.

When I moved into the house in August, Becki had two tails, few bikinis and a Mermaid Aura Facebook page. That was it. This winter she is currently working on building her mermaid profile, starting off by renaming herself to the Shire Mermaid. This is to reflect her well travelled background, but also to weave her way into the Lord of the Rings fandoms. I don’t know much about Lord of the Rings (yes, I know I deserve to be shunned) but the closest image I could find on google with the words ‘LOTR’ and ‘Mermaid’ was this:

That could easily be a movie poster/still for a LOTR film. I mean you tell me what’s out of place there?

I’ll pop links to her social media sites at the bottom of this post, but here’s a video of her doing a gig for a Cancer Research UK event:

So that’s Becki. She’s recently started investing more into mermaid accessories and an even better, personalised, silicone tail (her current tails are made of material). This tail from America is going to cost her something in the region of $3500. As I would say, that’s a lotta 11p noodles.

Stay tuned in the upcoming months for more information about my mermaid housemate, but for now, onto the next ‘young professional’…

Cherise – AKA the London Loather

Like me Cherise graduated from University in 2014 and like me she also moved to Swindon recently for the sake of a job. Cherice works at Nationwide head office.

Job summary: credit risk analyst for a high street bank, deciding whether or not to approve mortgage requests.

It kinda flies in the face of my university career-based rant in an earlier post, but Cherice’s job at Nationwide is a job on a graduate scheme. Her job will be secure for a year and after that who knows, she may stay at Nationwide, she may move on. Who knows.

What I do know is that she won’t be skipping back to her home city of London, she loathes the place. The traffic, the price of rent, the fact the 2010 London Riots took place just meters from her family house, there’s nothing about the city that grabs her, despite the fact it was the place she was born and raised. Given London is just over an hour away by train, you’d think she would stretch herself a little out of comfort zone and go here frequently. Nope. Ah, but I bet she studied at a London university I hear you say. No again, she went to Coventry University where she studied, wait for it, Maths (bet you weren’t expecting that).

As a fellow London hater with friends who dote on the city, I couldn’t believe my ears when Cherice told me this piece of information about herself. An instant bond was made and I saw that maybe there was hope in the world yet.

I think now is a good time to leave it here. Once again I have food in the oven, and I’ve underestimated how much there is to talk about. I have learnt something from writing this post mind and that is even Swindon can’t be summed up in one sentence. Maybe the Visit Swindon board really should get me involved with the 2015 tourist guide.

Anywho, keep your eyes open for the next post in which I’ll tell you all about my other two housemates and maybe a line or two (or three…) on yours truly. Until the next time, may your days be as light and fluffy as the jacket potato I’m about to eat.

Ps…

If you want to see more pictures/find out more about Becki, her Facebook page can be found here:

Mermaid Aura

And her Twitter:

The Shire Mermaid

A Lesson in Modern Culture? The Jack Wills Christmas Gift Guide 2014

December 18, 2014December 18, 2014 My Housemate's a Mermaid (Alice E. Bennett) Culture Culture, modern

My sister and I have always preferred physical catalogues compared to online shops. I like the smell and feel of the pages, my 19 year old sister enjoys drawing mustaches and glasses on the models. Like many people, we get flooded with various clothes magazines every year, but this year one caught my eye in particular. I am, of course, referring to the Jack Wills Gift Guide 2014 (Unknown author: 2014).

(Heads up, this is going to be a very visual post and I’m armed with only my Lumia phone)

Page Three

Open the cover and the first thing you see is this:

For those of you with normal eyesight, it says ‘This Book Belongs To’ with a gap underneath for a name. Because a dated gift guide for this season’s choice outfits will always be relevant and have a place on my bookshelf next to my dystopian classics including Nineteen Eighty-Four and the Handmaid’s Tale. I think the feminist author Atwood would particularly approve of the up-skirt underwear imagery. Actually scratch that, I don’t want to devalue this first 1,000,000,000 edition by writing my name on this. I’m no fool.

The Models

These two loveable delights are the main focus for the Jack Wills gift guide:

Wait, I think I recognise these two from somewhere. They have that 90s awkward are-they-friends-or-brother-and-sister-or-girlfriend-boyfriend look. Oh wait, I know these two. OH MY GOD IT’S SAME DIFFERENCE FROM X FACTOR

For those of you too young or hipster to remember these guys (aka the readership of the Jack Wills Gift Catelogue 2014), Same Difference were a pop duo from 2007 who released this classic:

(FYI playing this track may help you get through this post.)

So, Same Difference are modelling nowadays. Huh.

These guys rock all the looks in this gift guide. I won’t drown you in images but here is my personal highlight:

Where have I seen this look before…?

However, my lowlight of the Same Difference models is:

I know the picture is blurry, but as you can see there are four items on this page. One is being modeled (i.e. the coat) and two have additional information (product name and price). The awesome gingerbread reindeer, the only product on this page (and arguably in this entire gift guide) I want to buy is neither priced nor modeled. Where can I buy/eat this?!

Very disappointed by this.

I even hit Google in case I was mistaken and Jack Wills did stock gingerbread, that there had been a mistake when the guide had gone to print but alas all I found was this blog post:

http://http://blog.jackwills.com/biscuiteers-interview-recipe/

I don’t want to read about how they made them, or how I can make gingerbread, I want that gingerbread reindeer and I want it now! I then clicked on the link to their website, to find out where I could buy them…

http://http://www.biscuiteers.com/

Of course the company that makes them is based in ruddy London, why am I not surprised. Not just London, Notting Hill London. Even if you didn’t know this information, one look at the price they charge for their gingerbread men should be enough to guess it. This Alice-after-a-froffy-coffee (sorry, Santa) gingerbread man is £6. £6!

christmas gift card biscuit santa clause biscuiteers, cutout

On finding out this information I decided that maybe a chocolate bar would fill the reindeer shaped hole my stomach craved. It did.

Anyway, all this tangent talk of gingerbread his links me nicely to my next subject of review…

Page Design/Layout

As you have seen, no expense was spared on the models. Expense was however spared was given the job title of product page layouty stuff. The gingerbread reindeer was just one (although I don’t think I’ll ever forgive Jack Wills for teasing me so). This confuses me:

As my old art teacher, Mr. Grover, would have said, “Needs to make more of space. C grade”. Some of these products are priced at £25. I think the logic that was used here is that if your eyesight is too poor to see these products you’re not worthy of buying these products. I know there’s only so much space on a double page, but still, there’s space there to play with. This catalogue has several double page spreads like this. The spacing and size of he products just reminds me of that one time I accidentally went into a fancy shop in St. Mawes, Cornwall. I’m relieved I took this picture quickly, I couldn’t look at this page for that long before feeling judged that I wasn’t buying something.

Something else I didn’t like was Jack Wills, the brand, verus Jack Wills, the reality. This was a real bug bear with me and I’m sure I am neither the first or last person to mention this. The JW slogan is ‘Fabulously British’ and is frequently displayed like so:

…Yet very (and I stress very) few of their products are actually British, in the sense they’re made in Britain. In the whole of this gift guide I found two products made in Britain. A scarf and two perfumes:

It’s good to know that Britain can produce water, rose petals and fern leaves. Stuff to really make the world sit up and realise we can produce a diverse range of products. Like I said, I’m sure this point has been raised a million and one times either in passing as people look at the ‘made in Korea’ swing tags, or in ranty letters. I won’t linger further on this point.

Fun Stuff!

I know right, because going through a gift guide and selecting what overpriced goods you want to buy loved ones can be sooooo tiring. Thank goodness Jack Wills’s put a dedicated team in charge of a fun section to relive the boredom and stress of shopping from home.

“Colouring!! I wanna colour the worldddd!” was my first thought, until I realised I was a grown adult and haven’t had crayons since 1999.

There are some weirdly drawn images in this section, including Fred doing the reverse Alistair Darling with his dark hair and white eyebrows…

Although watch out, it’s those creepy Uncles that are always invited around for Christmas. You know, the ones who have given themselves the name ‘Uncle’ when you pretty dam sure they aren’t related. Yep, they feature in the Jack Wills Christmas Gift Guide 2014 too!

The wave and garish jumpers should speak for themselves.

What Have We Learnt From This Piece of Literature?

So, what can we gain from this glossy clothes catalogue? Well on the surface of it we’ve learnt that Jack Wills has models that bear a strong resemblance to former pop one-hit wonders, they don’t sell gingerbread creations, and I really would like to meet their creative department. That’s all obvious and only goes page deep. Being a History graduate I couldn’t help but read further into this guide as a reflection of modern society and culture.

Everything about this guide screams ‘childhood’ and ‘immature’. I’m sorry, it does. From the ‘this book belongs to’, to the comic modeling, through to the double page colouring-in spread. A dedicated 12 page section of the guide may be fun and lighthearted but it shows the readership of this publication.

I know what many of you will think, you’ll be thinking ‘yes, so what? Can young people not buy clothes now?’ and yes, I totally agree, they can indeed (beauty of free will). But what gets me is the level of it. These are not cheap items, Jack Wills sets itself as a semi-designer high street brand. £198 for a red coat and the £44.50 price tag on their Langthorne scarf shows that. Yet this is a publication which is being targeted at young teen/pre-teen people. Don’t believe me? Can I point out this question in their quiz…

I can’t speak for the rest of the world, but no one over the age of 17 in the UK is a Belieber. I may also be losing it at the grand old age of 22, because I have no idea what a ‘dutty beat’ is.

Also, these stickers came with the gift guide, featuring images from hearts and arrows, to pugs and bacon:

I’m not disputing that pugs and bacon aren’t awesome, they both are, but it’s an odd addition to a Christmas catalogue given the nature of this publication.

The point I’m trying to make here is that Jack Wills is targeting themselves at a younger age group compared to, say, Laura Ashley. But the prices aren’t cheap. Bear in mind I’m speaking as someone who was raised in the 90s and 00s where clothes shopping was limited to what Mum bought you and the only money you got was £1 a week for cleaning cars, the kitchen, living room etc. If JW are targeting themselves towards younger people I don’t understand where their money is coming from.

Maybe it shows that young people are now in possession of more money and are being exposed to fashion at a earlier age. Maybe this catalogue is just trying to be different. I just don’t get it, and I think the fact that I’m 22 adds to the confusion. Surely at my age I should get the point of this gift guide? As someone who has bought Jack Wills products in the past, surely I should be swept away with the products on display here? Why am I not getting the point? Why am I hungry when I’ve just eaten a big meal? Why am I asking so many rhetorical questions?

Of course, the Jack Wills team might say that the fact they’ve had a scarccy blog post written by a nobody about their gift guide does them no harm. Even if I was a somebody in the big hipster world they probably would shrug their shoulders. Bad publicity is better than no publicity and all that. For me such an outcome would be what the young people call a ‘massive fail’, right? I stick by my guns though, this gift guide says a lot about where fashion and the high street has come from and where it’s heading. Dumbing down to get the pounds. Combined with the rise of social media, television and film and the ending of the financial recession, will we start to see more of this creep in elsewhere? Should we not only accept, but embrace it? It wouldn’t be the first, nor will it be the last time big stores chase the consumers with the money and young people have more money than ever before. How they come into such money is another debate altogether, but they must have it. Either young people have money, we’re becoming more simplistic as human beings or I’m reading far too much into this one gift guide. Don’t answer that last point too quickly.

So yeah, that was my first book review/analyis since writing my dissertation about ten months ago. It’ll probably be my last. Glad to see I haven’t lost my commentary skills in the intervening time (hah). Two posts in one week, I’m on fire in the run up to Christmas. Don’t get too excited though, I doubt very much I’ll post anything else this side of the festive season. Work is very busy and my social life is crazy at the moment (eating my weight in chocolate every night while watching Don’t Tell the Bride takes time). But I will be back in the New Year, and you will get more information about my housemates, including my mermaid housemate. Honestly, I promise it will happen!

Anyway, until then, HAPPY CHRISTMAS AND A MERRY NEW YEAR ALL AND ONE!!

Did someone say they wanted a terrible Christmas joke, courtesy of Jack Wills? (Of course you did):

What did you think of that Peter?