Do I have to support QPR Now?

I remember once how Michael Parkinson gave a speech on Sky Sports about how important Barnsley are to him and how important it is to support your local team. He spoke about how it's part of the social-history of the town and how you "can't choose who you support, it chooses you."

I never grew up watching local football, although I did watch our national team in "big" matches when they would almost-could-have-should-have made it to bigger tournaments. I envied people who used to spend every Saturday morning in their local stadium supporting their team, whether they were any good or not, because you could see it was a part of them. I so badly wanted a team to be a part of me too, even if they were pretty rubbish - isn't that the beauty of the game anyway?

Somehow, the English premiership was always more appealing to me. Looking up to a certain older brother and becoming best friends with an Arsenal supporter when I was younger pulled me into becoming a Gooners fan, which included watching matches on weekends and chanting the usual hooligan profanities when necessary. People were skeptical I wasn't a North London Skinhead, but eventually the regulars at my first local (Woody's) took me in. So when asked if I supported any football teams, I always said yes to the Bahraini National Team and Arsenal.

Now I read this: Gulf Air to sponsor QPR? Is this even right? I looked around the QPR official website and didn't see anything that said so - but maybe I just haven't had the time to read up on sports news. So this is a pretty big Bahrain stamp in international football, does this mean we have to all start supporting this team?

The GDN put up a sneak-preview photo of their new footie shirt:

I always liked the J-Crew Sailor stripes, so good enough reason?

Gymmin' It Up with the likes of Eric Prydz

I used to be the girl who would walk everywhere, so much that it annoyed friends to come out with me because I never wanted to use any form of transport. "It's a nice walk!" I would always protest because I liked stretching my limbs. I used to take the stairs up to my office on the 7th floor and enjoyed going out for a jog in the evening. I think I could still dance all night long so I would classify myself as a generally "active person".

Things have changed since I've come back home - my expanding waistline seems to be more than happy with the absence of any physical activity and low calorie pre-packed lunches. It wobbles its satisfaction ever time I gorge it with samboosas, cake, kebabs and the array of sweets my mother strategically leaves in front of the television when I come home from work. One day I started walking over to my car to drive somewhere for lunch with coworkers without thinking that it was only a 5 minute walk away - they looked at me like I was crazy lazy and that's when I realised that something bad was happening and it had to stop. This was far worse than not fitting into clothes, which had already started happening at this point: this was sloth, and sloth is a deadly sin (according to Brad Pitt and Morgan Freeman, of course). The obvious solution? To join a gym and get "fit" again.

This was easy - there is a large selection of decent gyms to suit your needs, whether you're looking for a women's only gym or somewhere to go and catch up with buddies while you attempt your "fat man's workout" (quoting my brother). I joined somewhere with a decent selection of machines, a nice pool with soothing music to relax in and a variety of funny characters that I cannot avoid sneaking glances at.

There is the Determined Young Man (DYM) who is clearly obsessed with the gym. He works in a bank/auditing firm/investment company of some sort, your typical 9-6 job, in his early to late twenties and goes to the gym 3-4 times a week right after work. He has the Puma t-shirt, the Nike shoes, sometimes even the iPod arm band. And he has "The Face". "The Face" isn't evident all the time; DYM walks around more than he actually works out because he is continuously comparing his work out techniques with others. "The Face" only comes out when he is pumping iron (because they all do, they all pump iron). He usually has another DYM spotting him, either a coworker or an old high school buddy, who prompts him to push/breathe/bench/or whatever it is they do. Shortly after you can hear a loud grunt which may make you look over and spot "The Face". It is a terrifying look of pure pain and agony where DYM starts shaking as he lifts X kilos of weight before the bar plummets back down to the safety holdings and not on his neck as you would probably fear if you were watching this for the first time. "The Face" is followed by a look of exhaustion and some heavy breathing and an encouraging hetro-pat from DYM 2, who is eager for his turn next to show off his strong Y gene. When these boys are working out, they can only imagine Peter Andre's oiled six pack in the Mysterious Girl video and that's what keeps them going.

There is the Old But Still In Good Shape (OBSIGS), who speed walks on a high incline with a look of boredom on his face. He uses all the weight machines and has friendly chats with other old men about going into the steam room to cool off. They go to the gym regularly but don't beat themselves out, they have their towels around their necks and slip out of the gym as quietly as they slip in. They never make an entrance, never speak too loudly and always spend the exact amount of time in their work out - 20 minutes on the treadmill, 10 minutes on the bike, 20 minutes on various machines and 5 minutes on either side stretching. Clockwork that works. They have a routine that their round wives are secretly jealous of.

There are always a few Gym Socialites (GymSoc's) who go to the gym in their Juicy Couture or Y3 gear, stop to say hello and air kiss friends. Females check their waterproof mascara abilities between sessions and males check the gelled hair. Workouts are never strenuous and sessions are never too long because they always have other engagements. Their bodies, however, are always perfect.

And of course, there must be at least one HULK at any given time (also known as I Only Drink Protein Shakes guys, I Work Out 3 Times A Day guys or Look At My Rippling Muscles/I Put Hercules To Shame guys). You cannot miss these spectacles and most other gym-goers openly stare at them with envy. Their bodies are bulky and the have smug faces when they nod their hellos to other regulars "Yup, I wasn't born with this body, I worked for it…" Imagine something superhero-like: Each muscle is properly defined and their arms seem to spread out from their bodies because they're just so big. They saunter in, rarely ever do any substantial cardio and go straight to the weights to lift what seems to be the weight of a small car. They stare at themselves in the mirror a lot and scope out their competition. They are usually the most talkative people in the gym because they always want to give you tips and watch you fail in whatever task they've given you to do. These are the guys with the closest thing to Peter Andre's oiled six pack in the Mysterious Girl video.

As for me, I fall in the HAPOTT category (Huffing And Puffing On The Treadmill). HAPPOTT's can easily be spotted as the person with the red and exhausted look on her face. You can probably hear her terrible breathing from across the gym and pity her. She refills her water bottle at least half a dozen times and watches the cooking channel during her whole session. She tries to go as regularly as she can, she is friendly to the people who work there but still tries to avoid old acquaintances who give her sympathetic encouragement for trying to keep fit. She is also the one who you will spot at the Dairy Queen drive-thru with a guilty look on her face while she orders sinnly onion rings with extra barbecue sauce. Sympathise with her, at least she tries.

Ally McBeal wasn't anorexic, was she?

Being a women lawyer has its pressures. It's very competitive and you give up a lot of things like your social life, time with your boyfriend or husband, everyday errands, not having grey hair, sleep. For me, one thing I stopped doing regularly was exercising, which is proof of the terrible, terrible world I live in. Going to the gym becomes something you talk about but deep down inside you know you never do ("3 times a week" you say when you really mean "3 times in the last 3 months") and you really start to feel terrible, especially when there's nothing you can do about it. I think I'm an active person: I will always walk if I have the choice rather than take transport and I like going to the gym, but lately that hasn't been the case and I've really been feeling it. Working in a city law firm isn't helping this ill feeling either, especially as I realised quite early on that there are only a few overweight female lawyers: Everyone looks fabulous and frankly, I just don't see how everyone can stay in such great shape.

When I first started, I was constantly in awe of the waif like creatures that floated around the office in their Dolce and Gabbanna silk shirts and Dior pumps. They would all turn their heads elegantly towards me to smile while I loitered nervously outside their offices for the horrors of more work. I would stand there, self conscious in my boxy suit while they crossed their pencil skirted pencil legs or lifted heavy boxes with their (deceptively strong) twig-like arms. How did they look so good? Fair enough, most of these model-like female lawyers were not junior lawyers (therefore have gotten used to the type of work and frazzle of it all), but if they were in the office with me at half past nine in the evening, when did they have time to take care of themselves, i.e. work out? They were always so perfectly presented, and moreover, they were were all "skinny".

Bar two of the junior staff who were edging on the curvy side, there are no "fat" female lawyers in my firm. These observations took months to reach a conclusion and I believe that after looking at a large number of successful, young, female lawyers, I can concur that almost all of them are slim. Most of the young female solicitors in my firm of a certain rank and above are even quite "skinny"; no matter how drab their suit jacket may be, tiny waists and prominent collar bones are abundant in the office. They all look extremely busy, too, running around, getting things done (what I would consider "corporate cardio"). Perhaps it's the stress, I thought to myself, that makes the weight drop off. Everyone was fairly busy, there were very stressful times, so perhaps with all the madness your metabolism goes up a few notches and you start burning fat like an Iranian kebab shop. This puzzled me, since most of the men seemed to be well fed, so why were most of the the women "skinny"? Surely no matter how stressful it got, you would still break for lunch and dinner, or give into that mind-block-chocolate-craving that everyone gets just before 4 o'clock...

I saw these Skinnies step into lifts during lunchtime or leave the canteen, but soon I realised I never saw them eat. You see, there were times where I spent many a late night in my office building with my only real companions being the other junior lawyers who were slaving away and the canteen staff. Come a certain time of night, I would ring the other young 'uns to see who was up for some grub: If I was still at work at 8 p.m. and it wasn't looking like I was going to be going to a homecooked supper anytime soon, I wanted to make sure I got a square meal in me right away. This was my logic, if I was still working at this time, I was entitled to take a break with some food and have all the high trans-fats cheesy trimmings I wanted. I would pile my tray high with whatever hot dinner was at offer (Lancashire hotpots and pasta bakes of the sorts) and sit down to wolf if all down in less than 20 minutes. In the mean time, I would watch the Emma's and Chloe's float in, pick up some fruit and float out. There were exceptions, some did pick up trays of hot food like me (the roast potatoes, oh the horror of carbs past 6 p.m.!) and even though I would smugly watch them sit down and pick up their forks and knives, I never saw more than a few bites go into their delicate little mouths. The rest of their 16 minutes would be spent poking and prodding at their plates until it was time to go back up to their desks, and with a knowing smile sent my way, I would wipe my plate clean of any traces of my canteen dinner and wonder how they do it.

Soon enough, I found myself inspecting my side profile in the bathroom mirrors far too many times in the day and becoming very body conscious. I too wanted to become a hard working, female lawyer climbing the ranks in a City firm, I too wanted to become "skinny." This was not good, considering I have average BMI and was never one to scrutinise my body. Suddenly, I was always digging for skirts in the morning to show my defined calves and erase the illusion of plank legs I was sure the other lawyers all had of me. I wanted to look the part, walk the walk, talk the assertive talk. I, too, wanted to skip meals when working around the clock for Client X's refinancing model or when Client Hippo's demands were my main priority, not my afternoon snacks of sugary treats.

I tried, I really did, but my stummy would cry out infront of my supervisers. "Maltesers, they're only 190 calories per pack" I would say, sneaking down to the tuck shop to pick up 3 packets of the said treats, a Diet Coke and a Geobar (I hear they're good for you). Along with your usual array of KitKats and Yorkies, our tuck shop is also equipped with all the right treats to keep you trim, with calorie indexes on everything and plenty of shiny apples to make your eyes sparkle like a horse at the Derby. Being a City firm, we also have your usual corporate coffee stand for your obligatory morning paper cup coffee: I would gallantly march my way in the queue to place my louder than usual order of "One 'Skinny' Latte, please", only to have my barrista answer back "All our lattes are "Skinny", Miss". You could not even be served full fat milk if you wanted it, you all had to aim to be "Skinny". All of you. Every, single, one of you.

My current supervisor, an exposed chocoholic, has been a great help by stealing any chocolate I leave at my desk, albeit not very sneakily as I always manage to catch him in the act of scoffing the end of whatever sad soldier I've left behind. If it's going to help me get to that high powered job in my size 0 pencil skirt, I won't say a peep, after all, being skinny and successful go hand it hand it seems in big city firms. Also, golden rule number 1 of working in a law firm is never deny your supervisor of anything on your desk, especially if you want to keep your job.

Perhaps I am looking too far into it and that it is just by coincidence that my firm hires pretty, "skinny" lawyers and sees potential in the younger, "chunky" ones. Already I have noticed a few baggy shirts and loose trousers amongst some of the girls from my intake, even though I do not witness it in myself. I can only pray that I do not remain as the exception to the rule as one of the few "chunky" ones that sticks out like a sore thumb in our group photos.

* The contents of this web site may contain offensive material towards lawyers and not-skinny people. The owner of this website has made all reasonable efforts to ensure that all information provided in or through this website is complete and accurate at the time of inclusion. However, there may be inadvertant and occasional errors and omissions, for which the owner of this website apologises. The owner of this website makes no representations or warranties about the accuracy or completeness of the information provided through this website and reserves the right to publish this information. The owner of this website accepts no liability for any direct or indirect damages or any other losses or other liability whatsoever resulting from whatever cause through any person's access or inability to access tihs website, or through the use of, and/or reliance upon any informaiton obtained either directly or indirectly from this website. Because frankly, if you were in my shoes, you'd probably be touchy about not being skinny, too, and just want to cover your own ass.

My summer island hopping (Bahrain is an archipelago after all)

It has been a hot summer here and I did not anticipate it to be otherwise. Hot, sticky and humid. It has been a nice summer.

I could have only guessed my stay here would fly by with days in the office and nights fluttering between one social event to the next. Weekends were spent with my family and his family and their family and then at various dinner parties eating Thai tidbits until 2 months flew by. I carelessly counted the days until reality told me my time here is coming to an end and soon I'll be back on the outside looking into a world I forgot I was a part of.

It's been a good summer because I love Bahrain. I love hanging out with my family and my childhood friends. I love cocktail Kuwaiti from Burair and drive-thru everything. I love the simple life here that can get you as far as you need. It's great, isn't it? My friends abroad leave me jealous facebook messages on how sunny life must be here and how wonderful it all is.

What I don't tell them is that after a whole summer here I've now got an itch that no matter how much I scratch will not go away. Who was I kidding, a whole summer here and I was expected to stay sane? With no special exhibitions in museums, no parks, no outdoors activities, no long walks, no intellectual stimulation, no anything new and no character to anything around me, was I supposed to be just fine and not feel useless?

I may have been working since day 2 of being back but I've just felt generally lazy this summer. I can't pinpoint what it was and I feel pangs of guilt everytime I try to break it down, but it just might be that I tried too hard to transition into life here and it wasn't as easy as I thought it would be. I miss being outdoors and exploring, I miss going for a run and then having a day jam packed with things to do. I miss being busy with "that sort of life" that a lot of people here just don't understand - "Miskeena" they say, shaking their heads "you're always running around, you don't have time to take care of yourself and relax"... all I can think is that maybe I like that kind of life...

I hated it when people said they "hate Bahrain" but I sympathise when people said it's "boring". It is boring and if you don't find ways to keep yourself busy it could drive you crazy. Life in Bahrain is far slower than many places in the world and if you don't accept it, you will go mad. I see people in Bahrain who are comfortable. They have their jobs, their social lives, their routines and it suits them just fine. I don't see myself there just yet. Where's the music, the art, the life? Or am I just being too ambitious?

And this is why I love London. I love every bit of it - even the mad bursts of sunshine in between rainy days, park lunches and all the media types of Soho. I love the side streets and the cafes, I love the Indian men in corner shops who drive Mercedes because they over charge you for a bottle of water and a Kitkat. I love the monuments, the benches, the Thames, I love everything about London. I love the Electric Ballroom and Harlem, kebab at Behesht and Kulfi from Brick Lane in Ramadhan. I'm itching to go back to the way things were when I was there... back to walking up long escalators and crossing streets like a real pedestrian. I miss our cafe nero and the beep of my oyster card, I miss shuffling through lines of slow people, I really miss it all... It's just my city and right now I feel like I need to go back.

Sometimes other Bahrainis talk about London and how much they love it, and I try not to get too possessive. I mean, not everyone knows where the best dim sum is or what it feels like to be attacked by a hobo. A lot of people don't know London overground or what buildings are teaching hospitals and elementary schools. Probably none of these people have ever worn mismatched clothes and gotten complimented on their outfit. Still, it's such a great city that it can be anyone's city - there's just so much to see and feel and taste and experience with all your senses and enough to go around for 11 million people at a time... Oh, I sigh as I write about London with a dreamy look on my face, I do love my city...

I love Bahrain but I miss my life in London. I miss being energetic, being arty for a day, being professional the next, being serious all morning and fun fun fun the rest of the time. I just haven't figured out how to bring that here.

Maybe what I need is to get away and reflect about all of this.

Maybe I'll do just that... 6 months in London again? Back to suiting, booting and commuting?

Perhaps that's exactly what I need...

mmm mmm good good!

I was never a soup person. I was just never that into soup.

I guess I always preferred having the lamb chop or the cheese burger or the tikka (notice a trend) and never really the watery slurpy soup.

Perhaps it has something to do with it being too filling for before a meal and then not filling enough on its own. Whatever it was, I was never too big on the soup & salad combo (just the salad, thanks) or the soup and sandwich (just a bigger sandwich, thanks again) - I simply was never a soup person.

Then one day, things changed, and on this particular day, I was cold. On this particular day, I noted that winter was upon us and there's no denying that fact: as I stepped outside the building and pulled my coat tighter across my waist and cursed Mother Nature for giving us 4 seasons instead of one (Spring of course). I wasn't hungry but I needed something to warm me up and I've had enough heartburn from numerous cups of tea and coffee all morning. I needed something else. A pie? I looked at the queue in the tiny eatery and decided against it, walking to the Sainsbury's and keeping my face down, away from the piercing wind. What could I get?

"Get some soup" Charlotte retorted 5 minutes earlier in our office when I pondered aloud as what to have. We wrapped ourselves up in layers of dull coloured mixed wool and made our way out the building for lunch.

"I don't know..." my voice trailed off, thinking of the stringy chicken soup mums force down the throats of their sickly children. "Where's the chicken, Mama?" I'd ask, playing with the steaming liquid infront of me, unsure of why I was drinking something I should be chewing on - especially as a child, the concept of a meal you had to drink wasn't at all appealing unless it was space food. Looking back at it, perhaps it wasn't the fact that it was soup but more the fact that it was chicken (and I'm not so hot for the chicken) and that I was sick and sometimes funny things like that carry on with you for the rest of your life and you can't really explain why. Perhaps.

I could get soup... I looked at the alternatives: Sandwiches? Nothing satisfying. Baked Potatoe? Never really fussed about a potatoe before... Greasy Chilli Con Carne on long grain rice? Pass. Soup it is then.

I turned the corner to the fridge and I have to say, I was impressed. Soup isn't the boring cream of tomato it used to be. Oh no, soup has now evolved into so many different things as I looked at all the possibilities. Hearty Broths and Chunky Chowders, even the boring Chicken Corn Soup had been given a face lift and there was the bold Red Thai Chicken (even soup has become Thai-a-fied! Incredible!).

I hung around the soup shelf shyly for a couple of minutes, mulling over the possibilities. Minstrone or perhaps the Winter Warmer? So many choices and the clock was ticking - I was somewhere between the begining of lunchtime and the middle of rush hour, so I had to make a decision fast. I decided to go for the Vegetable Mulligatawny Soup - seemed safe and had some chunky vegetables and some rice, so I could do a bit of chewing and ease myself into it. Would I be disappointed? I bit my lip as I paid for my veggie soup and wondered whether this was going to be a bit mistake - in a flash, I imagined having my first spoon of soup and feeling so revolted I'd spit it out at my co-workers in disgust. I shivered at the thought of stringy chicken soup and vowed to give this a try.

And disappointed I was not - My Mulligatawny soup was just the right mix of veggies, rice and broth and was satisfying til the last spoonful. I was overjoyed - one less food not to like! And the days that followed after that were filled with different soup adventures: the chunky chilli veggie, the carrot and corriander - perhaps a multi-grain bagel to go with that? Sure!

The key element to take back with you is that soup is perfect for those cold winter days. Unfortunately, today the sun was shining and I was stuck for choice of lunch so just ran in to get my dependendable Carrot and Corriander and bagel only to find it bland and unsatisfying. This was probably because the sun was out, and when the sun's out, there's no need for the warmth of soup. Maybe tomorrow, when it's cold and grey and there's a chill in the air, I'll go back and have some nice chowder. If not, it's okay, at least I know Soup Isn't Just For Sick People, it's also for those with the winter blues.

Sad little Robot Me

This past week has been tough. But fret not, this broken robot will be fine tomorrow, because:

(a) it will be the weekend

(b) two of her faaaaaaaaavourite people come into town this weekend

(c) two of my faaaaaaaaaaaaaavourite people will remind me that I'm not a broken robot nor do I have a square head and that they love me anyway (i love you guys)

Happy Friday everyone... you know, I really do think robots are cool...

Merry Christmas

To quote the Cure:

Dressed up to the eyes
It's a wonderful surprise
To see your shoes and your spirits rise
Throwing out your frown
And just smiling at the sound
And as sleek as a shriek
Spinning round and round
Always take a big bite
It's such a gorgeous sight
To see you eat in the middle of the night
You can never get enough
Enough of this stuff

It's Friday, I'm in love

It's Friday, I've got a long weekend. I'm in love with the idea of stripey socks and DVDs and cheese. The eating kind.

Wishing you all a Merry Christmas

Soos xxx

(ARYRSE: I miss you guys. Now that is cheesy)

AIDS AWARENESS DAY

No wants wants to talk about it but it is a reality: Around 40 million people are living with HIV throughout the world - and that number increases every day. Ignorance and prejudice are fuelling the spread of a preventable disease and we need to spread awareness.

Wear your red ribbon and break the silence.

Soos on the first day of the week - pooped

I need a weekend to recover from my weekend... Monday mornings are always a drag and this does not make it better: a starbucks credit card? It depresses me to no end to think that we can't even have the time to fish for change in our purses because Starbucks have found a way to take away those few peaceful moments paying for your coffee - that and put you in debt by not realizing how much money you can spend at a Starbucks.... I can hear the corporate lemmings cheering from their cubicles, sadness...

I suppose I can only leave you with some fun from the Surrealist with their movie quotes... who ever thought Soos could do so much?

Happy Monday people, it's almost over...

The greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was convincing the world soos didn't exist.
(The Usual Suspects, 1995)

Breakfast Run

Recently, I had to come into work fairly in the morning - an hour earlier than usual - for a conference call that could have been without my breathing over the telephone. Being able to sit in a dark empty office all alone is nice; checking the emails and organizing the works for the rest of the day, all in absolute peace... the only noise in the office this morning was the scribbles of my pen and the grumbling of my stummy.

The race to make a call early that morning justified my race for a Starbucks treat before everyone started filing in... Breakfast is very important to me... It's that morning warm drink, be it a milky chai or a nicely brewed coffee, that gets me going in the morning... then there's the cereal, the toast, croissants, eggs (only cooked one way), bacon, sausages, the yum yums... I'm a breakfast person, as a lot of my friends can tell at 8 a.m. while we sit in someone's kitchen and my stomach sings its happy song as I flip some pancakes... ah uni days, days made for waking up for a nice full english and nothing else...

I hadn't had breakfast and it looked like I wasn't going to have lunch, so I thought, "half assed cappacino? Never" and proceeded with my order... A coffee, a panini and a muffin... Mmm... My mouth watered as they raised the melted mozerella from the press and proceeded to wrap it in its special oragami package just as my lips tingled watching the temprature rise of my extra-hot-wet-skinny-toffeenut-latte (fairtrade, always fairtrade)...two of my all time favourites that only come with winter time and when I allow myself for a treat...

They're really not the best breakfast foods - mozerella panini with sundried tomatoes and pesto shrugs a knock off riviera lunch and the latte is skinny for a reason (not everyone can stomach full fat milk my friends... not everyone...) so it's not entirely breakfast, so sue me (and take me back to the 90's, please!) but it's good sustienance for the rest of the day... and I deserve it for having to listen to a Sharon and Amit argue at 8 a.m. in the morning...

One of my favourite articles about breakfast foods is by the Daily Mail which is awesome - puts down everyone's perception of the skinny bluberry muffin in Cash Cow Coffee that isn't really that skinny... we like it when they trick us, don't we? We allow it all the time and I'm not exception... Anyway, it's a fun article to read when you're thinking of what to grab for a quick breakfast... (here)

What keeps you going for the rest of the day?

(Dedicated to the gorgeous breakfast at a said-so trendy hotel which was an absolute treat - thank you St. Martin's Lane!)

Today I...

... started my new job!

... became a guppy in a sea of commuters!

... have gotten used to my new place (which I love)!

... am fasting!

... will probably steal internet off the unsecured wireless connection I picked up at home!

... will break my fast with my little cousin!

... got in touch with another blogger!

... discovered the term "blogger" confuses me!

... miss my family!

... miss my friends and family!

... will pay bills!

... handed in my payslip with work! yay!

... saw an old college friend in the office!

... need to eat!

Yeah... that pretty much sums it all up... Peace xx

All the Leaves are Brown...

It's pouring outside and there's a chill in the air... No one needs to say it, but you know it's a fact: Summer is over here in the capital... Summer Sales a distant memory of the past and winter coats have replaced bathing suits and sarongs in shop windows... Not just Back To School ads on television break our hearts, as there are a number of signs that the sun's going to be leaving us for a long,long time... I've compiled my list below, got any additions?


Signs It's The End of Summer in London:




1. Big Brother Seven - After 93 days of watching a group of people live their lives in the BB7 House and forgetting to live ours, Tourette's Sufferer Pete Unsurprisingly Wins the Hearts of Millions (and the £1000,000 cash prize), does his one only interview with Hello/OK! magazine (I forget the second I pick it up) and our summer celebrities fall into a black hole of obscurity never to come back to the lime light again... No more watching a group of wannabe tv presenters lounge around a pool in thier skimpiest bathing suits all day long - well, not until next summer that is, when the brilliant folks at Channel4 find another group of hopeful chavs to keep our long summer days entertained with meaningless tasks... Say your goodbye to your summer tv stars, becuase who knows when you'll ever see them again... *serving you at a Tesco's next November* "Nikki? NIKKI? Is that you? OHMYGOSH you look so faaabulous! What happened? No modeling contract eh? No E4 presenter job? Ouch... Hey, I'm sorry love, you were fantastic... those tantrums? So real! Your hair & makeup so professionally done at every hour of the day! My God you were fantastic... Err... could you not bag those eggs with my sausages, mate? Cheers..."


2. No More Arabs - I can't say no tourists, because London's a city that's always buzzing with holiday groups in their bum-bags and brick Reebok cross trainers, no matter what time of year. However, June always welcomes that influx of Arabic families that lazily waddle down the streets and bang into everyone with their dozen or so shopping bags in hand. It's almost like it happens overnight - one day you hear the weather's going to clear up, the next you're pushing your way through loud, obnoxious (and usually obese - I don't know why) crowds of arabic families who are either a) eating shawarma or b) trying to hail a cab to Edgware Road from Marble Arch corner. I won't miss you when you're gone.



3. No more '99s on Oxford Street - I will miss the glowering vendors on every corner & the grownups who run to them before you cay say "Diabetes"... Ah that soft ice cream with the perfect flake and the funny stories of how its name came about... No, it was never 99p but we can still scowl at inflation on England's biggest shopping street... However, the disapperance of everyone's favourite ice cream cone is excused: it also takes with it the fake south american musicians/dancers who sell you their homemade CDs for a tenner. These people must camp out in some crack in the pavement (all 8 of them) until they spot a good amount of tourists loitering around... and BAM! Before you know it, they've popped out with their keyboards and maracas. I swear I hear them speak Tagala to eachother in their cheap fabric-micro fiber faux suede ponchos... LIARS! BE GONE!



4. The End of the Flip Flop - NO MORE FEET. Summer marks the beginning of bare feet - Muji maxes out on this season with their awesome flip flops for under a fiver and cityfolk go crazy. Now, as someone with not-so-pretty-slave-girl feet, I try not to exhibit my monstrosity often, but summer is an exception. This is a strange phenomenon as walking around in flipflops in London is really an act of bravery - do it, spend a sunny day out in the city in yer flippers & then take a look at your feet at the end of the day. Gross - it's as if you've been walking on soot all day long, you'll be scrubbing your feet clean for hours. Still, it's a drawback people are ready to take on to exhibit their feet. The weather's clouded over and I'm pleased to see people wearing closed two shoes again - no more big foot spottings down TCR.



5. Notting Hill Carnival / Bank Holiday Monday - This really is the last weekend of the summer... If people haven't already migrated to sunnier spots like Cornwall or Margate, they'll desperately head over to Notting Hill where they'll take part in the last crazy festival of the summer, and get mugged in the process... Fun, colourful and full of drunks, perfect way to end your summer...

How do you know your summer's over?