The Move Out!

So...that was probably the most stressful thing I've ever done in my life - my newly developed eye twitch (something that's just come on in the last 5 days - clearly a result of the oscillating emotions) is twitching like it's on Acid. Brill.

My dad came up to London from Poole to help me move which was...ummm...helpful yet despairngly irritating too. As my dad gets older he is getting more and more impatient and more and more grumpy and more and more stressed and more and more highly strung - It's actually impossible to have a normal conversation with him when he has a task to do. God, getting out the house was like a military operation and I was only allowed an hour and a half to do it! Quel Horror!

Anyway, got there in the end - mostly. Packed up all my boxes - EURGH and then took one final look at my empty room. Then decided that although we're getting cleaners in I should probably run the hoover over the carpet before I left. I tried to run the hoover over my carpet but the fucking stupid cunting hoover spat even more shit over my carpet then it picked up so after about 10 mins of that game I gave up, took one final final look at my empty room and walked away from a wonderful chapter in my life (and a pretty messy carpet).

If the last year and a half has been a wonderful chapter then the 4 hours that immediately followed was a horrible sentence that I thought would never end. This is all I have the inclination to say as I don't wish to relive those hours: If my dad, who has never lived in London, either listened to me or listened to the Sat Nav or stopped changing the destination and route on the Sat Nav (I hate the stupid cow - yes, the Sat Nav is personified in my world - but even she must have been getting confused) or didn't just keep bemoaning the lack of a map then maybe, just maybe, the journey out of London would have gone more smoothly.

5 days to go!

So with only 5 days to go before I up and move country I seem to be oscillating every 10 minutes between pant wettingly excited and pant pooingly scared.

I've been given access to e-mails already by my new work so every day at my old work I'm gleefully checking my e-mails like the little swot that I am. I've also been given a schedule for my first week at my new job which thankfully looks like it will be a week full of induction, introductions and general learning of the ropes. It honestly feels like it's going to be my first day at school, taking the leap from primary school to secondary school but with all the teachers and current pupils sending you e-mails telling how excited they are that you're coming (I like to think everyone at my current work is really excited about me coming because I charmed them all in the 5 minutes I met them on my last trip rather then that there is a pile of work building up on my new desk and it's blocking the view out of the window for everyone). Anyway, the point is that all this excites me. Greatly.

Sitting in juxtaposition with this feeling is utter gut wrenching stomach whirling pain. I'm having to start saying goodbyes to friends now and God it hurts. I'm going to miss them all so much! But to get myself through it I'm already thinking about their visits and thinking about the people who can't wait to see me in Denmark. Locking myself in the bathroom and crying is also helping a little....

On another note, packing is just the most dull, soul destroying (apparently I'm feeling rather dramatic today) activity known to man. Eurgh. How am I going to take all that I need with just 20kg allowance? I think it is rather mean. Oh, sigh.

Unwanted and unused with no purpose

Today I’m feeling slightly sorry for the string-less tea bags left in the office kitchen’s tea bag box. Their purpose in life as of yet unfulfilled since they lost their strings in what could have been a simple rush-to-make-tea-yank-tea-bag-from-box accident. Left to gather loose tea leaves because since the invention of the “tea bag on a string” we’ve all become too lazy to stir. We’re all dippers now; taking copious amounts of pleasure from the ability to make tea less 1 piece of washing up AND to also use the string + gravity to swing the used tea bag into the open bin without making any mess. Poor unwanted string-less tea bags.

Pinch me...

....Actually if it means I'm going to wake up then don't.

I am so blissfully happy right now. I am allowed to be blissfully happy right now. I am going to enjoy every single second of being blissfully happy right now. Ok, that’s the last time I’m going to write blissfully happy before I jinx it.

I am now back from my trip to Copenhagen and you may deduce from the opening to this post that I had a fantastisk time. Wonderful company, wonderful food, wonderful drink and I managed to get a wonderful job to be started as soon as I get to DK. The whole trip was like a dream that I never want to wake up from. You know when you watch a film and the plot is just incredibly ridiculous and you sit there shouting at the TV “What? Oh come ON. That would NEVER EVER happen. Urgh, God this film is stupid.”? Well that’s what my week in Copenhagen was like. It does happen sometimes. It really, honestly truly does happen. And this time it happened to me.

I had a slight blip on my last night there when I couldn’t help but think that this was all just too good to be true and so surely it couldn’t actually BE true. But a little cry (partly brought on from being utterly overwhelmed by everything and partly brought on by stupidly letting my imagination live the moments when I’m going to be saying goodbye to everyone I love here), a strong, safe, lovely hug, and some words of wisdom soon sorted me out.
I will not feel guilty about good things happening to me. I am not going to ruin the good times by anticipating and worrying about the bad because that is just stupid. I am going to enjoy this and wrap myself up in every inch of it.

A weighty issue

A lot of people don’t understand my borderline obsession with books and reading. They wrongly assume that I think of each book as a trophy to sit on my bookshelf once finished, titles and authors proudly shouting of intellectual prowess, cultural variety and literary knowledge. If anyone took a good look at my bookcase they’d quickly realise that this isn’t the case! Showing off is not why my books are important to me. Each book contributed to my opinions, to who I am and who I aspire to be. Some books made me laugh, some made me cry, some were just beautiful but they all made me feel something. Each book is a part of me, living in a part of time that’s past. So asking me to leave them behind is like asking me pack up my memoires into boxes and put them into storage to be ignored and useless. I don’t want new versions of any of them. I want my originals, with huge gaps between turned down corners from when my greed for the pages outlasted my need for sleep; with phrases underlined in indigo ink so that I can pick out anything that gave me something to chew over; with stained edges from knocking around in the bottom of my bag with makeup, food and leaking felt tips because I couldn’t leave home without it in case I get a spare 2 minutes to delve inside it.

I’m not completely romanticising my move to Denmark. I know that there will be times when I long for home, my mum, my dad, my best friends. Times when I long for the job that I know inside out, the busy tube, The Thames, my old local, the comfort of the house that I grew up in and much more. It will be these times that I look to the familiar and unlike my piano, books are things that I CAN take to comfort me when I get lonely, to cheer me up when I’m homesick and to calm me when I’m frustrated.

Some people think it’s insane to weight my moving to Denmark suitcase with books. I know it’s necessary.

Possibly the best line in literature...

"Ryan's freckles were a join-the-dots enthusiast's wet dream."

White Teeth, Zadie Smith

Image credit Hulton Collection

Copenhagen: The City of Sustenance

I think it’s hilarious that prostitutes are offering free sex to delegates attending the COP 15 summit as a protest against Copenhagen City Hall distributing leaflets dissuading visitors using prostitutes when prostitution is a perfectly legal activity in Denmark.

How hypocritical of a country whose marketing campaign for tourism was a video of a Danish woman who had had a one night stand with a foreigner whose name she does not know, gotten pregnant, had the baby and decided that the best way to find and tell this man he had a baby was through this video.

The anti prostitution plan has backfired superbly hasn't it Copenhagen? Awareness of Copenhagen's red Light district has probably increased ten fold. Hold on, unless this was their clever little plan all along...

SPAM?!

Why is junk email sometimes called spam? Junk, I can understand. Spam I just don’t get. What do rubbish emails have to do with a precooked meat that looks like jellied vomit in a can?

Actually come to think of it I don’t get the whole SPAM “meat” thing either.

Oh no, the word SPAM has gone over and over in my head so many times now that it seems like the most ridiculous selection of letters ever to form a word and has ceased to mean anything.

I'm now even more confused then when I started. Damn Spam.

Super super super excited

I’m super excited today because this time next week I’ll be in Copenhagen. No, I’m not moving early, this is just a pre move visit with my 2 girlfriends, cunningly engineered to coincide with Copenhagen at its cosiest time in the hope that they will fall in love with the city like I have and then have to come and visit me lots and lots and lots.

Planning this visit has been quite hard though – how do you fit all the wonderful things Copenhagen has to offer into just 3 short days (actually 2.5 days when you take into consideration flights etc)? You can’t. So I’ve had to prioritise. So I’m planning:

Wandering through the town on Friday ending up in a cosy pub in Nyhavn for Gløgg

then having a traditional Danish dinner

then shopping on Saturday

and then a visit to my favourite place on Earth, Tivoli

and then a walk in the countryside on Sunday before they fly home.


We’ll have to save the rest for their next visit…

Red Carpet Moment

Yesterday morning was one of those mornings where your bed is the comfiest, cosiest place in the entire world; every last curve of your body is taking pleasure in relaxing against the mattress and pillows and the darkest blue 7am accompanied by the wind driven rain against your window is pushing you deeper and deeper into the warm cocoon of soft duvet you’ve created for yourself (writing this is actually making me want to relive that all over again). So, you can imagine that it was an easy decision to swap washing my hair and actually thinking about my outfit for an extra 15 minutes in bed. ERROR.

2pm that day…my colleague wanders over to my desk and I begrudgingly remove my earphones to hear what he is going to try to add to my workload (this isn’t unfair – this is the standard result of his little trips to my desk). This time though he actually brings good news - he has a spare ticket to the Where The Wild Things Are premiere in Leicester Square tonight AND after party and wants to know if I would like to go. Yes, yes I would like to go. I would like that very much indeed. However my morning duvet indulgence means that you could fry an egg with the grease from my hair (although it probably wouldn’t taste great) and my old, holey green dress, leggings and flats are far from red carpet compatible. Oh dear.

3pm that day…I’m drinking a coffee, reading Vogue and being given a massage by the chair I’m sat on whilst my hair is being manipulated by a man and his hairdryer. One of the many benefits of having a female boss is that in a crisis such as being invited to a premier but looking like crap, is that she will understand the need for you to take an hour to go and get a blow dry. The outfit will just have to do, in a “I’m so cool that I don’t need to try hard” kinda way (not sure I pulled that off but there was nothing I could do about the outfit so it was tough).

7pm…I’m super excited because I’m about to walk down the red carpet. Unfortunately, it was soaking wet from being pounded by the rain all day which had created puddles like potholes in a country lane so rather then strolling elegantly down the carpet, I had to navigate my way through the puddles by hoping from one foot to the other praying that I didn’t trip, skid or land incorrectly in rivet of rainwater. Not exactly what I had imagined. But the paparazzi were in sight now which quickly and easily distracted me. I’ve never been that close to a group (ravenous herd may be a more accurate description) of photographers before. I found it quite exhilarating to hear them all screaming at the young, beautiful and famous that sauntered down the carpet to try and manoeuvre them into position for the shot that was going to earn them their name in the credits of a magazine the next day. I think I may have angered the mob slightly as my position on the carpet whilst waiting to go into the cinema must have been slightly in there shot and they kept shouting at me to move and I was like “Where?, Where the hell do they want me to move? I physically can’t move forward and if I move backwards I’m going to be even more in their shot!” I could only assume that they wanted me to move INTO shot for them so I prepared my best pose and moved into the flashing bulbs…Just kidding. After deliberating over where the hell to move so that I wasn’t in their shot I just turned around so at least my face wasn’t in shot and thought they’d just have to be happy with that. They did stop shouting at me after that so I can only assume that it was the thought of my face in their shot that was offending them so much. Nice.

7:45pm…It dawns on me that the microphone has been set up at the front of the cinema since we sat down in a row 3 from the front (in itself odd – shouldn’t these seats be for important people?!) and yet no-one has come out to address the c list celeb dotted audience which more than likely means that the premiere has been split between 2 different cinemas in Leicester Square and I am in the one reserved for lesser folk. Not that I mind, I’m just happy to be there. It just explains a lot. Eventually though Spike Jones (the film’s director) comes out and introduces the film. I like him. He is understated and a little aloof but genuinely passionate about the book that inspired this film and the result which we are about to see.

9pm…The film was stunning. I had been wondering how they were going to manage to turn a classic picture book consisting of 60 sentences into a full feature film. Imagination. I loved it.

10pm…a few free cocktails, some perfectly catered canapés and a spot of celeb spotting (they must have merged the 2 audiences into one after show party venue as the list of celebs spanned from D to B at the party) later and I’m left thinking that this isn’t what I expected. It seemed that the people at the party didn’t really laugh, or eat or look like they were having fun at all. They just kind of stood in small groups, rolling their eyes when someone from the social circuit approached them who they clearly thought beneath them. I had a nice time, don’t get me wrong, and the room was dressed beautifully. It’s just that I think everybody acts all nonchalant at these things, afraid of making a wrong move and I think I’ve had more fun sitting in my front room with the girls. That sounds unbelievably ungrateful, doesn’t it? I’m not ungrateful, the whole evening was brilliant (and free), it’s just that your imagination can run away with you sometimes and the reality of a situation can be completely different, not bad just different.

No matter, all in all as I lay in bed yesterday night I thought back to my morning’s extra 15 mins in bed and laughed at how differently my day had panned out to what I had thought might happen. I had my hair done, went to a premiere and hung out with rock stars and supermodels drinking free cocktails – not bad at all.

The ugliest cat in the world

Call me inhumane but I just do not go all gooey and fuzzy at cute animal pictures. Especially not dogs and cats (penguins I think are the only exception to this rule). No, I do not think that cat has a whimsical "I can communicate with you on a level that transcends species" look in his eyes - I think he's probably got gas.

So I was pretty tickled when I came across this picture. May I present my rebellion against cute, fluffy, animal pictures. I think he is officially the most ugly cat in the whole world. And I applaud that.

The absurdity of dinner parties

Im currently reading “I capture the Castle” by Dodi Smith (recommended to me by my colleague after I wouldn’t stop going on and on an on about Pride & Prejudice). I’m halfway through at the moment and have just about started to find the protagonist endearing rather than annoyingly analytical.

I read the following passage at about 3:30 am. I should probably say that rather then the book being so engrossing that I was up till the wee hours absorbing it, the book was actually keeping me entertained and distracted from the most horrible cough I have at the moment which has kept me awake for the past 3 nights in a row (yes, I think I may actually be asleep whilst typing this). By the by, my cough also happens to be causing me a huge amount of embarrassment on the tubes and trains to and from work as I go purple in the face from coughing, coughing, cough cough coughing. The silver lining here is that it means a lovely amount of space appears around me as people attempt to get as far away from me and my lurgie as possible. So, faking illness could actually be a handy tip for getting yourself some space on public transport in London. Anyway, I’ve completely gone off the point. Ok, just re-read the first sentence of this paragraph and now remember that I was supposed to be sharing with you a passage from the book I’m reading which now seems utterly inappropriate and pointless but oh well, I’ve invested the effort now so I may as well continue. So here you are:

“It suddenly seemed astonishing that people should meet especially to eat together – because food goes into the mouth and talk comes out.”

I found this quite an amusing analysis of a dinner party. The absurdity of an event being about 2 things that work in direct conflict of each other - talking and eating. Why not just meet to talk? I guess because people would get hungry. Well then why not meet after dinner? I guess because people love to show off their cooking skills (I also presume that everyone fears the effect of having a drink or 2 on an empty stomach).

In reality, I find dinner parties such a pleasure. I think this is because a) I love food b) I love people watching, even if I don’t particularly like the person c) my mum always tried to make sure that as a family we ate dinner together as often as possible. My mum likes long dinners, with lots of conversation and she is the slowest eater I’ve ever known. I guess this is the Dane in her. My dad (an Englishman) on the other hand, will sit to eat then leave the table once finished. Dinner is less of an event and more of a necessity in his eyes. I prefer it my mum’s way. I guess that’s the Dane in me.

So at 3:30 am this morning I was sat upright in bed night dreaming whilst awake of long, cosy dinners in Denmark.

Ha! I saw a blog I wrote about a few months ago (The Uniform Project) in the December edition of Vogue yesterday. Do you know what? It feels great to be one step ahead of one of the biggest fashion power houses in the world for once. Yay!

My need for somewhere to vent has finally overtaken my laziness.

I’ve been absent for a while, you haven’t missed too much though. Oh, except for the decision I have made to move to Denmark. But that’s it really. So nothing major.

How? Why? When? I think of it really simply actually. It's something I've always wanted to do, I have no responsibilities or commitments tying me down here, and I think it will be a hugely challenging experience. I can't wait to explore my Danish roots, learn the language and generally just be Danish for a while!

All I know is that every time I leave Denmark I always wish I was staying. Simples.

I’ve since been devouring every piece of information I can find online about Denmark and Copenhagen. I recently came across a great website for expats (www.expat-blog.com) through which, when I’ve gathered up enough courage, I hope to meet some people living in CPH who have been through the same experience as me.

I started off reading a lot of the blogs that people on the site have written and then suddenly decided to stop because it was scaring me (nothing like burying your head in the sand!) and so have just decided to write my own thoughts down since they are already enough to scare me!

Clearly the most sensible thing to start with is a list of everything I need to do before I leave in just 9 short weeks.

1) Hand in my notice at work L.
2) Decide what to take and what to leave
3) Put the stuff I’m not taking into storage
4) Look into costs of putting stuff into storage
5) Figure out what to do about my bank account overdraft
6) Open a bank account in DK
7) Research which is the best bank account to open
8) Find a job in DK
9) Find somewhere to live in DK

I’m bored of this list already. I’m off to learn all the words to “Wonderful Wonderful Copenhagen”.

Tra la la.

The day of silver lining

Hmmmm, after my indulgent and very naughty egg mayonnaise sandwich (I’m trying to steer clear of carbs at the moment. It’s not going well. Carbs make me feel happy.) and my delicious and angelic humus and veg, I still need something else. Something sweet. Something that will invite little mini glucose men into my body so that they may prop up my eyelids with matchsticks. It’s 4 nights in a row now I’ve had no sleep. I’ve ventured past the point of grouchy and am now a mute shadow of the lurgy, all pale and clammy with not even the energy to feast on the energy of others. I’m well and truly wilting.

Chocolate is the answer.

Chocolate is ALWAYS the answer.

I spy with my little eye…a box of my uber favourite Lindt chocolates in the Rights department. Sneak, sneak, sneak, snatch. Damn it. Only dark chocolate (yuk) and hazelnut left. Need for sugar stronger than fussiness I take out the hazelnut chocolate and saunter off to the kitchen in a nonchalant fashion, oooozing guilt and put the kettle on.

Alas, as I unwrap the chocolate I discover that no! It’s not hazelnut, its white chocolate! Joy of joys, yummy, creamy, sweet, delectable white chocolate. A sweeter taste has not passed my lips in months. I sink back, resting against the kitchen counter, savouring every last drop of pleasure and delve my hands into the back pockets of my jeans. My hand gets caught in a crinkled receipt.

Alas, as I pull out the mystery receipt I realise that to my giddy delight it is in fact two £10 notes crumpled into my back pocket. I think I may pass out from all the excitement. Has ever a more thrilling combination of events happened? Ever? To anyone? I think not.

The powers that be have clearly proclaimed this day to be the day of good things and do please dear God let it bring sleep.

The Elusive Gem Thieves

My first thoughts on reading that the police are closing in on the thieves that managed to conduct the UK’s biggest ever jewel theft, scarpering with £40m worth of gems, were not thoughts on the righteous prevalence of moral justice as one may imagine. Instead I shocked myself as my initial reaction was one of disappointment followed swiftly by a will of their evasion. I want them to get away with it. After discussing this with friends, I realised that I wasn’t alone. Many of us want them to get away with it.

Perhaps in the boredom of all the economic and political doom and gloom recently society secretly admires the bottle of these guys coupled with the meticulous planning that seems to have gone into the heist (prosthetic masks, brilliant!). Whilst they were probably shitting themselves, I imagine it to be quite glamorous, very Ocean’s 11.
Perhaps beneath those prosthetic masks lay the faces of Brad Pitt and Gorge Clooney. Maddox Pitt-Jolie definitely looks like he’d be comfortable driving a get away motor bike….

The Dress!

Ahhhhh, ASOS.com have the dress back in stock. My prayers have been answered! Please somebody buy me this for my birthday!

new addiction

Oh no. I found a new website full of lovely clothes. I want them all but especially this dress!

http://www.devoted2vintage.co.uk/women/Dress/05241/Vintage-1970s-chiffon-cocktail-dress.html

and this coat

http://www.devoted2vintage.co.uk/women/Coats/05080/1980s-Laura-Ashley-wool-swing-coat.html

http://www.devoted2vintage.co.uk/

The Uniform Project

I LOVE this blog! What an inspiration. 1 dress, 365 days, myriad of outfits. And all for charity.

http://www.theuniformproject.com/

An 'A' might as well be an 'F'

http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/life_and_style/education/article6797738.ece#none

The insinuation that the rise in good grades is a result of labour 'dumbing down' exams is frankly insulting to those students who are currently opening their exam results nervously. I sincerely doubt any of these politicians even remember what that felt like.

Being 23 I can recall this feeling with ease. As one of the first generations to tackle the change from A levels to the AS/A2 level system I can honestly say that the jump in difficulty between GCSEs and A levels was one that even a freerunner may struggle with.

Has anyone considered that students aren't perhaps as stupid as everyone seems so quick to assume they are, and with the economy in the state it is in and unemployment on the rise students are actually trying harder to get the top grades to give them a fighting chance in the mess that is the UK at the moment?

Lets not forget that this isn't about Labour vs. The Conservatives. It is in fact about young adults who feel that their dreams and aspirations rely on what is written on those few bits of paper.

To take the success away from these students is de-motivational and unfair. Can you imagine telling your children that their good grades are not a result of hard work or determination but in fact a result of the government's game playing?

These people should hang their heads in shame.