Book Review: Brick Lane

Let me introduce my friend Shahnaj: Sylheti origin, South East Kent residing, hijab wearing, fish curry loving, hippie artist. We met at a party at college and I was immediately drawn to her paint splattered jeans and her ethnic jewelry - she was erratic and all over the place, spoke an excited British-English to her friends and a loud Anglified-Bengoli to her family. She was proud of who she was and where she was from, grew up in a predominantly white community as "the only Indian family in Folkestone". And she came from a big stereotypically Bengoli family - father owned an Indian restaurant, mother was quiet and always in the kitchen, lot's of siblings and lot's of in-laws straight from Bangladesh, all under one roof. From the outside, her house looked like any other house on a quiet suburban street, but when the front door opened the smells of freshly ground spices wafted into the street and the chatter of a foreign language with English words thrown in would stop those unfamiliar with the Islam family in their tracks - others just walked on.

I miss my friend Shahnaj. She showed me a culture I was oblivious to, the "Asians" of England. They all spoke English to each other but their mother tongue with their mothers, they knew the insides of Green Street and Southall and they had community gatherings every so often that were filled with music, gossip and gorgeous food. Perhaps I am lucky to have such ethnic looks to have easily blended in the background of Shahnaj's busy household, but I am even luckier to have made such a good friend whose family took me in and showed me what made them different from the Pakistanis, Indians, Sri Lankans and definitely the English. Spending time with them involved dressing me up, forgetting I didn't speak their language and a lot of "Gi Khala" and nodding on my behalf to old aunties who pinched my cheeks - it was always good fun.

I picked up Brick Lane by Monica Ali because I had always seen it on Shahnaj's bookcase but never read it. Upon reading it, I only hoped that it had some good descriptions of Brick Lane and East London and it did far more than that - it painted a beautiful story of a young girl's life and a funny but scarily accurate rendition of living as an Asian in East London.

The book tells the story of Nazneen, a "good Bengoli wife" brought to England to marry Chanu, overzealous council worker who recites English literature at any given moment and teaches his childern about the national symbols of their homeland Bangladesh. Nazneen plays the role of the dutiful wife and mother, sometimes an outsider London but through her Bengoli roots she finds a role in the Asian community of Tower Hamlets. The story goes back and forth between her memories of growing up in a village in Bangladesh and her life as a mother to second generation British Asians. Her pull to her homeland remains with letters from her sister Hasina describing the turbulent life back in Bangladesh and her involvement with a young Bengoli activist who captures her heart.

The story is that of love, betrayal, family ties and the need to belong to a world that any reader could recognise. Ali's descriptions of walking through the neighbourhoods of East London are spot on down to the Indian shop keepers outside their windows and the teenage boys smoking on stairwells. Through her descriptions of London and Bangladesh you are taken to a busy city or the dusty village alike in such a sweet and humble manner. The story is captivating to anyone because of its painfully funny descriptions and sweet story telling nature. Even the events which are somewhat dark are written in such a simple, matter of fact way and Ali shows an extreme comparison between the lives of characters without it seeming so alarmingly disturbing to the reader but hopeful that different lives take different paths.

The characters are charming in their own way: Chanu with his corns and bulging cheeks touches your heart somehow, Shahana and Bibi, the rebel and dutiful daughters, reach out to you by how they become less traditional in times when they don't want to wash their hair with fairy liquid anymore and want to use shampoo. You sympathise with Razia, the chain smoking neighbour in a union jack t-shirt, and her problems with her son Tariq and Mrs. Islam reminds you of the creepy old woman who carries a miniature pharmacy in her handbag and coughs orders to her sons.

The film was released earlier this year, I would have liked to see it and now that I've read the book I think I will duly enjoy it. Monica Ali was picked by critics before her book was even published and for a very good reason: Brick Lane is an enjoyable read and although there is little character progression and the story doesn't come to a big-bang ending, it leaves you feeling light heartened and again, hopeful, for the characters who you could see in real life one day walking down Brick Lane.

Songs that make me cry # 26

Wise Men say
only fools rush in
but I cant help falling in love with you..

Shall I stay?
Would it be a sin?
If I can't help falling in love with you...

Like a river flows, surely to the sea
Darlin so it goes, somethings are meant to be..

Take my hand, take my whole life too
for I can't help fallin in love with you...

***

I am a sucker for Elvis and UB40 alike - people just don't sing it like they used to.

Summer Sales: Buy Me, Buy Me, Buy Me

I am not embarrassed to admit that I am one for a bargain - I am a woman after all.

The past 2 weeks have been reduction mad, from clothes to furniture and even places like Ashrafs and Yaquby stores reducing kitchen appliances and cameras - everyone's trying to get rid of all their stock in their air conditioned stores (what a way to beat the summer heat!). Soon enough all the high street stores will follow, but what has really kicked the boot are the designer sales happening around the islands… Looking at other people's baskets and bruised arms, here is a quick low down of what you fashionistas should be looking out for…

Villa Moda
50% off Bottega Venetta, Valentino, Marni, D&G, Dolce and Gabanna, and much more…

Damage: Bottega ballet flats for BD113, Bottega bracelets for BD20, Bottega Men's thobe slippers for BD100, Valentino Bags for BD500.
Where: Movinpick Hotel, until the 21st of June.

Worth it? Depends on what you're looking for… When a Marni dress is reduced from BD 800 to BD 400, you still have to think twice - there weren't as many women over the clothes as expected… The shoes and handbags went on Day 1 like hotcakes, but the clothes were still hung perfectly for people to sniff at their still expensive prices… New shipments coming in every so often and a prediction of prices falling towards the last few days…

Gucci
50% off whatever is left from the massacre (shoes, belts, handbags, tacky accessories)

Damage: Work shoes for BD92, every day clutches for BD 63, nice leather handbags reduced to BD300, a beautiful box clutch for BD220.

Where: Basement of Al A'ali Mall, until the end of the month.
Worth it? The nicest stuff was gone in the first 30 minutes of the sale with women walking out with multiples of handbags on their arms to buy - so whatever left is the real tacky stuff or things that are too bold for anyone to buy.

Ounass
40% off Paul & Joe, Manoush, Juicy Couture, French Sole and others

Damage: Paul & Joe shirts for BD80, Juicy Couture sweats for BD 60, French Sole ballet flats for BD 30.

Where: Al A'ali Mall, until stocks last
Worth it? If you won't leave your house to the DVD place without your Juicies, stocking up on a few isn't such a bad idea… Because it's not a massive sale everything is still intact with no snags on the delicate pieces and the staff are extremely smiley.

Jimmy Choo
Up to 40% (shoes and bags)

Damage: The cheapest pair of shoes were BD 147, everything else was still over BD200...
Where: Al A'ali Mall, until stocks last…
Worth it? If you only wear Choo's and only where Choo's, then it could be.

Special Mention to: Seventh Heaven 90% Sale, where I bagged two beautiful Stella McCartney dresses and two pairs of shoes, an Alexander McQueen handbag, all for 90% off. The bargains were ridiculous and for three days the exhibition center was filled with men and women digging under mountains of clothes for jeans, shoes, dresses, tops, handbags, you name it… The first day was the worst in terms of clean air to breathe in but the best in terms of bargains and after that the excitement died to a dull buzz. Most shoppers came out regretting not buying enough even after spending hundreds of Dinars - that is a sign of a successful sale.

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.

Big 25 for Soos

I like growing older - older and wiser, I'd like to think. Funny, I usually forget how old I'm turning and have always been in the habit of saying I'm older than I really am. For the record, I am turning 25 on Thursday and that is a fact.


I remember getting birthday cards from my brothers over the years congratulating me on my 14th birthday (when I indeed turned 16). Although I made it seem like it infuriated me at the time, I was secretly happy they remembered. I'd like to think I'm easy to please like that.


I remember my old birthday parties in the garden at home, wearing big party dresses and ribbons in my hair. I think of my 5 year old niece a lot and wonder if she enjoys her birthdays as much as I did when I was her age - I'm sure she does, who wouldn't be happy with face painting and pony rides? I cried every year I was away at her birthday, her birthday feels just as important as my own.

I wonder what it's like for my parents to see me turn 25 - surely my mum is not that old? Do they remember the day I was born, do they think of it as a milestone in their lives?

I'm feeling a bit scatterbrained these days, so I think my only birthday wish is to be a little more organised, a little more considerate, a little more caring and fitter. I've been working on the last one the most.



Happy Birthday Me tomorrow, Happy Birthday Uncle Oni today.

I can't help but miss...

Knowing the back streets like the back of my hand, the Thames and the southbank walk, fry ups on the weekend, lazy Sundays, your mp3 player being an integral part of your sanity, reading on the tube, constantly moving, free trashy newspapers, Amy and Peaches always on the front page, our little Moroccan café before the ban, Pret, Wardour Street in all its glory, the Fitzroy on a Tuesday afternoon, VQ in the early hours of the morning, match days in your local, Radio 1 and Radio 4 (and appreciating the difference), being a trendy in Notting Hill, King's Road on a nice day, anywhere on a nice day, Trailer Happiness, the Baker Street and Prince Charles cinemas, Prime Time Video on Goodge Street and the guys who work there (thanks for all the good Korean movie recommendations guys), Oxfam Books, Bang Bang and their magazine cut-out wallpapered walls, obedient dogs in Southwark pubs, discovering Bloomsbury Bowl before it became trendy to bowl, Wembley Stadium, jogging to Cutty Sark, being so busy all the time, fresh coffee and croissants in the morning, Belgian chocolate courtesy of the Belgian flatmate, the laughter that came after the mouse invasion, cooking in the kitchen all the time, milk tea on the couch with plenty of gossip, always having people over, bargain shopping trips, Selfridges Selfridges Selfridges - could there be any other heaven on earth?, Boombox and Sketch, the smell of freshly cut grass, Roman Road market, the DLR during the day, Kate Moss with all her blips, penguin feeding time at the zoo, moody goth kids in Camden, the ruckus of Borough Market and the free baklava, worrying about your 5-a-day, Big Issue guys with a sense of humour, Friday evening after work sessions at the Bridge followed by dinner at that little Thai place, Dick and Dom on a Saturday morning, running to catch a bus and making it, the beep of my oyster card, chatting to taxi drivers about the price of property and football teams (all those QPR fans, who would have thought), awful 70's theme nights when you're the only person dressed normally, seeing other people grimace at the Hare Krishna Hare Ramas, taking in shows, the Young Vic, summer dresses the minute the sun comes out, boots and macs, Khan's, walking for an hour and not getting tired, giving up your seat for older women on the bus, buskers who play good old fashioned music (like George Harrison's "Here comes the sun"), nice streets off dodgy streets, words like "Fuzz" and "Cotch", Primark, the V&A, M&S, swans on the river, bold fashion statements, the satisfaction of slipping on the tube just as the doors close, walking out of work to breath-taking views of Tower Bridge and the lights of the City, appreciating the little things, men always holding doors open for women, always seeing the bigger picture, living in the City and feeling like you're going somewhere…



And there's always more...

Postsecret Dedication: For Mr. Seroo

Charity Dinner/Concert for the Al Wafa and Al Rashad Centers

Charity Dinner and Concert for the benefit of the Al Wafa and Al Rashad Centers for Children with Autism.

Bahrain star Najma Abdulla will be singing a collection of Um Kulthoum's Arabic hits and all proceeds from the night will go to charity.

Date: 14 May 2008

Time: 8 p.m.

Fee: BD 20 (inclusive of dinner)

Tickets on sale at Seef Mall (Gate 1, 1st floor)

For inquiries, call 17623302 - 17795595 - 36424141

Let's help one another

I park my car in a lot opposite the Regency Intercontinental Hotel which is run by the National Foundation for the Disabled. All the money from the car park goes to the charity and it even employs disabled people; it's a good cause that sometimes goes unnoticed.

I've been parking in the lot since June 2008 and now know the regulars who work there, a good bunch of lads who like to chat European football and always have a smile on their faces. They're forever friendly, even when they think they're done for the day and I drive up, apologetic to be waking them from their sleep to let me go - did I mention it's a 24 hour car park and there's always someone there? They do a good job those lads, they do a really good job.

I don't mind paying over BD2 a day when I know my money is going to a good cause. I received their publication appropriately named "Benevolence" (or "A'ataa" in Arabic) , a magazine with a variety of topics and news updates on different charity events and it's gotten me thinking of how else I can help.

I trawl the newspapers for upcoming events that I could participate in but I seem to be reading about events ended and not much that's coming up. I know the Internet is not the best place to look, but I'm sure there's a website or a publication that shows upcoming events and how you can participate that I haven't found yet. I've heard that now that the summer is coming up, things will quiet down so this may not be the best time to be active - or maybe it is? I have a demanding job that doesn't give me much time off, but I'm still keen to do something in my spare time when possible. Every little bit helps I suppose, even if it takes a while to find the people you want to help and organise the most beneficial way to go about it - as long as you get there eventually and you make a difference, big or small.

So, if anyone knows of a charity event or organisation that needs help, please let me know, because I'd like to contribute in any way possible. Post any events, organisations or even your interest in a comment: the more we spread the word, the more interest we can gather and the more people we can help out, in one way or another.

And if you happen to park in the lot opposite the Regency Hotel, give those lads some recognition. Like I said, they're a good bunch, even if they do support Chelsea.

Easy updates, Ea-sy

• I'm consumed at work and it's going well. I have dreams that my clients are in big trouble and I solve all their problems. They pronounce me their hero and have a parade with me on a float and confetti everywhere (it's a nice dream).
• I like work here, it's good quality stuff but I miss London. I miss the office and seeing so many people every day. I miss the bigger picture of it all and unfortunately there's not much I can do about it. Luckily everyone here has been very nice to me and has made me feel welcome - almost as if I've been here for months on end. There are still many things that I miss and wish I could go back to but I will try not to think about them too much and make the most of what I've got on my plate - which is quite a lot, Thanks Godness.
• I like to read aloud the stickers on people's cars.
• I like spending time with Mr. Seroo, it's nice being in the same country again. It makes me happy.
• I still don't understand how time here either gozza by so slowly or flies. I still haven't settled into a good regime and really want to get a good system going where I make the most of my time and spend every minute wisely. I need to fit reading, exercising and alone time back into my days.
• I had a problem with my cargo. The moving company in the UK picked my stuff up from my flat and promised to put it on the next day flight to Bahrain. I kept calling them from Bahrain and they lied for 10 days and said my stuff was "in transit". When I called a little exasperated they confessed my things still hadn't left the UK and were already damaged. After much shouting over the telephone and fist banging on my desk, I sorted everything out and got all my stuff. I'm still sifting through everything to assess the levels of damage, but so far, so good.
• I went to an art exhibition by high school students and I have to say I was very impressed. For real, these kids are really talented and so bold with their work, I was taken aback by the levels of creativity I was seeing. A lot of the work was very smart and it was so refreshing to see the kind of crazy angles that were taken - older generation art students would have never been able to create stuff like this, it was whacky cool. I'm telling you, things are changing in a cool way for kids nowadays.
• I still haven't had a Jan Burger. I know, I know, say what you want but I'm no traitor - I'll sort it out and be in Double Jan heaven soon enough.

For how long? Indefinitely...

That's a lie: I took the tube to the airport.

It took one decision and one week for me to pack up my life for the last seven years and leave London behind. The one decision was based on work, and of course, as if anyone could expect any different, I was back in the office the day after I arrived. Hardcore.

I've been busy at work, will be busier as I think I've been given some leeway on my first week back and have been able to go home at a reasonable hour to spend time with family and friends (and Fiance of course!). Being busier will be good, I hope that it helps my "transition" into being back here and give me some time to "adjust".

Coming back was a big surprise to many people, especially Fiance whose jaw dropped open when he saw me walk through the door - the look on his face was priceless. Many are more surprised this could be "for good". Hmmm. Let's see how that goes.

I already miss my old life behind that I didn't get a chance to say goodbye to properly. Friends and favourite places still visit me in my few hours of sleep every night to tell me that they're carrying alright without me but if I need to come back they'll take me in. The Bridge misses me, or so it swears...

So now that I'm back, I will slowly give myself some time to put together my big plans and build things up for myself, maybe even to relax a little, if possible.

Here's to seeing a few of you around.

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 life at the moment

Clearly since my life recently has just been about my work, I haven't had much to say, or perhaps a better way to put it is that I just haven't had the time to sit down and blag away here so I've had to resort to showing you some measley photos I've taken and hope that it will suffice as an explanation of what it is I am up to at the moment.

Which as you can see, isn't much.

My phone.

My afternoon snack.

My walk in the morning.

My view leaving the office.

Maybe I'll do a camera phone "day in the life" as inspired by Twix. That could do it for me.

almost there...

Au Revoir

It's a sad day in my b'sphere. Today I have to say goodbye to the feeling of anticipation of reading new posts by someone I really admired, for many reasons, as he will no longer be writing in his blog. Your rants and raves will be missed, funny man.

Let's wave our farewell to our dear friend over here.

See you soon x

I am dusting off my Chipmunk's Christmas Special CD as we speak...

Jinga ling ling, Christmas time is coming up. The lights are up, shoppers are going crazy and all is jolly and merry in the air. As I sit, wrapped in my scarf in this cold glass building, I sneak peeks at the Christmas fair that has gone up outside Potters Field and feel a bit better about the winter chill... Little children appear out of no where (don't they have school to go to?) and everyone rushes out in their lunch break to buy some mince pies and Christmas cards. The best thing about winter in this country is Christmas time, the whole city lights up and there's something special in the air... I love watching the lights go up, this year I especially like the Art Deco lights of Regent's street and not very impressed by Oxford Street this year. I am certainly most impressed by the decorations in our flat...

Our tree was bought last year when my flatmate went out to get a "small little jobbie from Waitrose" and came back with a huge 6 foot (fake) tree with a trunk full of decorations. She had a sparkle in her eye and infected me with Christmasitis, we had a ball putting up decorations. I always liked Christmas decorations, but I suppose coming from a place where we don't really celebrate Christmas I was initially shocked by how far my flatemate goes to decorate the flat. I'm not just talking christmas lights, a tree and some baubles - I'm talking mini little snow topped cottages on our tree skirt and plushy beefeaters, as well as a few Christmas doggy ornaments and the special coffee mugs that come out every winter. Every night we get a chance to settle on the couch to watch some tv, the first thing we do is put on the Christmas lights on the window, light up the tree, and then sit in the relatively dark living room to relax. We always have to have the tree up before SinterKlaas (my flatmate is Belgian) and we must on the night of the 5th of December put out a carrot and a drink for Santa and his horse (yes, we're not 4, but before she wakes up I make sure there are some chocolate gold coins in my flatmate's shoes... and to my surprise, when I wake up the carrot and drink are gone! Must be a Christmas miracle...).

In the office there hasn't been much of a Christmas feel until today - the day of our Christmas Ball. The jolly admin staff have already sent around an email to notify us that we cannot ruin our brand new building in any way, so we are not allowed to hang Christmas decorations - well, at all. I mean, we can put some our desks but what fun is that? Let me tell you, the secretaries are not pleased.... This means nothing from the ceiling, no fake snow on the windows, no snow flakes or little christmas teddies anywhere. I understand it's not professional, but come on... it's Christmas... and if I can't have office decorations, well then Ricky Gervais lied to me in The Office. Hmph. Scrooges.

This is our busiest time of year in my department so I haven't had much time to do any Christmas shopping or go to a Christmas Fayre, but I will make time soon enough. Although last year I had the pleasure of spending Christmas with two of my dearest friends, I've opted to go back home and spend this time of year with my family, especially my nieces. If anything, Christmas is for them (how funny for me to say "them" and not "her"... there's two of them now!) so I want to go back and just be with them... I now wonder what I would have done if I had to spend Christmas here alone (probably working) - Although it is a lovely time of year, it's the most lonely if you'd have to spend it by yourself and that I am not planning on doing... No sirree...

And while we're at it, I feel like I should put up my Christmas Wishlist for those of you who are stuck for ideas:

1. An iPod that will not die after a few months of serious usage, can hold all my photos, my music, tell me the weather, pull up maps of dingy side streets when I'm lost, look pretty... basically, an iPhone.
2. Sunshine in a jar. Comme ca.
3. Some nice leather boots
4. Perhaps a nice handbag to go along with my nice leather boots
5. A Castle (or for those on a budget, the pink Sheera castle I had when I was a kid needs to be replaced)
6. A baby grand piano
7. Gift certificates for John Lewis (sensible aren't I?)

Let's all get into the spirit now... xxx

Absolutely Gutted

Yes you twat, cry.... hold your umbrella and sob because after tonight's performance, I really don't see how you'll be keeping your job... You may not want to resign but you'll definitely think about it when you come home to a trashed house and your car on fire...

It is completely your fault England have not qualified tonight... they played appallingly tonight... 4-3-3? What were you thinking? Why? And then watching Crouch play alone oh my... He may have scored the second goal but what were you thinking.... The whole team was absolute rubbish...

Carson... my oh my oh my... I don't think there's anything I can say that hasn't been said already...

I'm so upset... I can't believe we were clinging on to Andorra as our last chance to equalise against Russia... Andorra who haven't made it in the last 29 years were supposed to score a goal for us and they couldn't come through... All fairness to Andorra, they probably weren't as horrible as England tonight...

So much I can say but I think I should go to bed... goodnight...

Out and about: London Jazz Festival

I really needed to chill out. Predicting a peak in what one could call emotional instability, I sent an email to a friend with a link -"jazz at lunchtime?" - to which she was quick to agree to meet on Sunday at Waterloo ready to switch off and just chill out. The long sunny week passed and when Sunday came, the weather was horrible and we had to walk far too long to get a cup of coffee, but when we finally got to the Royal Festival Hall and saw the dim light stage, we relaxed. After finding a proper seat, I slipped into a stream of rhythm and forgot about my worries and my doubts...

We attended a performance consisting of 3 of England's top contemporary jazz bands in the Southbank Centre and although we only got to see one band, it was well worth it. The band consisted of a piano, saxophone, trumpet, bass and the drums and the composition of the music was very young, very vibrant and very, very good.

The nice thing about listening to contemporary jazz bands is the different ways of integrating each individual sound together. In the band we saw, there was no singer - which I prefer only because I tend to focus on the instruments rather than the singing (and usually the piano, just my own personal preference). The type of music that was being played wasn't the type that you could write lyrics to, let alone sing along to: any attempt to add any written words would have ruined it all for me personally. The final sound that came out together was just right for the audience of all ages and very current to today's tastes.

Some people don't like this particular style of music because they don't find it uniform enough and hard to follow - there's no obvious bridge or scale and can sound off key. Every instrument plays a different role which on the surface doesn't seem like it goes with the rest of the band - for instance, the piano player sounds like she's constantly hitting the wrong keys while the trumpet sounds like it would be better off alone. But what's great is that once you dissect each instrument and musician by himself, that is a song in itself - and every musician was playing to the same subtle tune. In one song, each musician had a solo in which at the end of the mini performances, when they all came together, the song made sense and you appreciated each musical contribution separately.

Some people also think that this sort of music requires a lot of improvising from the musician. I have to disagree with this because although it may sound like a lot of improvising (what may sound like a lot of mistakes, a lot of missed keys) - a lot of the time, it's actually not. After paying attention to a whole song, you'll notice the pattern of the music that really requires talent by someone who is trained in that genre.

As I said, I tend to focus on the piano if there is one because it's my favourite instrument so my eyes were glued to the pianists fingers - she was incredible, and I could tell it was from a lot of practice to refine that particular song. A lot of funky finger rolling was going on and I was just in awe, which also made me appreciate the rest of the band because the music wasn't all in the piano - the whole band was extremely talented and I could see why they were one of the best contemporary jazz bands of the country at the moment.

Although I really love the piano, I much prefer listening to a jazz band than one musician. There is talent in playing a musical instrument but there is far more talent in synchronizing your music with someone else's, especially in a genre like this. The band was very good and very original - they avoided the whole mainstream jazz scene which is exactly what I wanted to hear. It was a good end to the week and a much needed change from the norm - I'm hoping to catch another performance soon so long as I'm not stuck in my office building too often...

The London Jazz Festival will be on until Sunday the 25th of November with events on every day. Events at the Southbank Centre can be seen here.

Forster Gallery

You can buy me the prints. All of them.

Back to London tonight

In a bullet proof vest
With the windows all closed
I'll be doing my best

And I'll see you soon

In a telescope lens
And when all you want is friends
I'll see you soon

- See You Soon, Coldplay