New York, New York

Since I was a kid I’ve had a bit of an obsession with the old US of A. I was always drawing the American flag in my sketch books – 13 stripes and 50 stars don’t ya know – and I invested a fair amount of time learning all 50 states in alphabetical order so I could recite them off by heart.

I always said I’d visit each and every one of those states during my lifetime but so far I haven’t made much of a dent. I’ve enjoyed trips to Florida, Nevada, Arizona and New York, touching down briefly in Chicago, Illinois, to change planes but there’s loads more out there I need to discover.

My next trip isn’t going to get me any nearer to that ambition either ‘cos I’m making a return trip to New York – and I can’t bloomin’ wait. The first time I went I had the misfortune of staying in a hovel of a hostel (pee stink, exposed electrics and lunatic residents ain’t my bag baby) and travelled with people who were more concerned that the butter didn’t taste the same as back home than the fact I had neck ache from staring up at amazing skyscrapers constantly.

That said, it still rocked. I achieved one of my ambitions – to climb to the top of the Statue of Liberty, her crown though, not the torch, as it wasn’t deemed safe to go up there. The crown was scary enough as the wind made Liberty sway from side to side and it was a hairy climb into her head, with nothing but a narrow spiral staircase and a rope between me and a big drop to the bottom. Me and heights do not get along.

We also made it up the Empire State Building – thank God for lifts – and while I did briefly sneak a peak over the edge at the breath-taking cityscape, I was much happier standing in the middle of the building. I repeat, me and heights do not get along.

This trip’s going to be much better because I’m older, wiser (debateable) and going with someone who shares my passion for the city. What I haven’t told my travel companion is that the last two visits to the US of A have made me throw up, literally, and without explanation.

In New York – when the twin towers were still standing proud – I felt dreadfully nauseous and while my mate got a makeover at the make-up counter in Macy’s (she ended up looking like a clown), I hid in the toilets retching. A few years later on my trip to Las Vegas I threw up in the middle of the Strip and right outside the Treasure Island Hotel. I had nowhere to run, it happened that fast. I have no idea why this happened, on either occasion. I first thought long haul flights were to blame but I’ve been to Dubai a couple of times since with no vomit in sight. Maybe it’s an America thing or maybe I’ve just grown out of whatever it is. Yes, I am a bit random sometimes.

Anyway, back to my trip. We’re staying in Greenwich Village, a cool little area which oozes creative vibes – musicians, writers and other talented folk have stayed there and I’m hoping it’ll fill me with inspiration for my own  literary ramblings.

I also want to do lots of walking, as much as I love the yellow taxi cabs and the recorded audio messages warning you to “buckle up” when you clamber into them, I think you take more in when you’re walking. It’s the reason I often ditch the London tubes (plus my phobia of public transport) to walk to my destination and take in the sights and sounds.

There are plenty of things I want to see and do but mostly I want to soak up the NYC vibes with my travel buddy and create some new and cool memories.  Let the countdown begin.

Sorry this blog post is late…

Cripes, I haven’t written a blog post for a couple of weeks! I’ve just been reminded of this fact by my mother who is a regular reader; it means we don’t need to speak on the phone much  ‘cos she already knows what I’ve been up to. So, if there’s anyone else out there wanting to avoid their folks – start a blog is my advice.

Anyhoo, I’ve been swamped with work and writing and I’m still struggling with my sleeping pattern so want to snooze in the middle of the day and don’t feel an eency weeency bit tired at bedtime.  And that’s why I’ve been a bit lax on the blogging front. That said, I’ve penned 70,000 words now and with another weekend writing session pencilled in at the end of this week, my first draft should be ready by the end of the month, hoorah.

It’s now only 17 sleeps until my hollibops in Spain and I am very much in need of a break, some proper sunshine and a chance to re-establish some kind of normal sleeping pattern.

The main reason I want to finish the first draft of my book by July is so that my buddy AJ can read it while we’re away. That way I she can give me instant feedback and I’ll be able to hear her laugh – or not as the case may be – at the funny bits. A few select others have been chosen to cast their eye over it too, my mother not being one of them. She read one of my short stories recently and the only thing she could say about it was that it wasn’t double spaced. Give me strength. Him mum, by the way! (I know she’ll be reading this)

Anyhoo, back to the book. I’m at the stage where I really need to print the damn thing off and read it on paper. My eyes are glazing over with the amount of time I spend at the screen and I want to physically hold my book in my hands so it feels more real. This will in no way be the finished article, but I’ll be the best part of the way there, at least.

So, what else am I gonna do in Spain? Very little, to be honest. I plan on spending the days being horizontal, soaking up the sunshine and occasionally dipping my toe – maybe even my ankles – into the sea. (Obviously I won’t be horizontal for that bit). I am going to set a holiday reading record and try and plough my way through five books in seven days and I may partake in the odd logic problem too.

The evenings will be spent tucking into salted seabass, paella or steak tartare, washed down with white wine spritzers. There may be a few mojitos consumed at Nikki Beach and a spot of shopping in Puerto Banus and that’s just about it. Me and AJ have our little holiday routine and I’m looking forward to starting it. Relaxation is the name of the game and as tempted as I am to take my Macbook Pro with me, the mean machine will be staying at home. No internet? For a whole week? Nooooo.

Things to cheer and fear…

I feel I’ve been neglected my blog a little bit lately, and there are a few reasons for this, namely because my writing efforts have been going into a book. Watch this space.

So, here’s a quick post for you: things to cheer and fear in 2009…

Things to cheer

• My Start Writing Fiction course which will hopefully spur me on to finish my book. There’s a novel in me, I just need to extract it
• Patty’s hen weekend in Glasgow. Reunited with my old netball team, we’ll be clay pigeon shooting and gossiping for a whole three days
• Quad biking for Jonesy’s birthday. Any excuse to get dirty
• Playing netball with my new team, a team that actually plays and has fun rather than moans and talks tactics all the time
• Continuing to improve my hitting and blocking in volleyball. I will be someone to fear on court…
• Weddings – Patty and Matty’s, my cousin’s, a childhood friend’s and CK’s from work
• A week in Spain (shame about the stinky Euro)
• A week in Dubai
• Lots of preggers friends will be having babies this year and the joy is being able to hand them back when they start crying and puking
• London Book Fair literary masterclass with Rhubarb Ruby in April
• The prospect of finishing my book and sending it off to agents
• All my gym visits and healthy eating paying off and becoming a size zero (this is a joke, btw, just looking buff will do me)

Things to fear

• The credit crunch/recession and constant feeling of guilt everytime I spend money
• The possibility that I’ll never get the mystery stains out of my almost white carpet
• The possibility that my contract at work won’t be renewed/made permanent and I’ll be jobless
• Potential joblessness may mean abandoning my lovely life and lovely apartment in the MK Massive and heading for pastures new
• My 30th birthday (remember, it’s only a number, it’s only a number)

No news is good news?

No news is good news. Probably a very accurate statement, seeing as there’s lots of news at the moment and it’s all so God damn depressing.

I’m a journalist and I know all about twisting the truth, making something out of nothing, plucking an “angle” out of thin air, and “generating” news. But, seriously, it’s got to the point where I don’t want to turn on the TV or the radio for fear of what I’m going to hear.

And I don’t want to read newspaper headlines about how skint we all are, how we can’t afford to pay the bills and how we’re all going to be homeless and unemployed soon. What joy! NOT.

I know that news is about telling people what’s going on in the world, but it’s also about making money. Media outlets don’t just conjure up headlines because they think the public should know that Prince Harry has a racist vocabulary but because they want to sell newspapers or get more website hits. And bad news sells. Print in particular is facing flagging circulation figures and decreasing advertising sales, so they’re getting desperate.

So, part of me wonders if I should take all this recession nonsense with a pinch of salt. Or should I really be worried? I’m on a temporary contract at work which I’d very much like making permanent and I do worry about that in the current climate.

But day to day, nothing much has changed for me. I realise businesses are suffering and people are losing their jobs but it isn’t all doom and gloom for all of us, is it? In fact, a friend of my who runs a small PR firm, reported her best ever month of business in December 2008.

A chat with a colleague over lunch today revealed that, fuelled by the news headlines, we were both being very careful with our pennies and feel incredibly guilty about spending. But for what reason?

I feel terrible for booking a cheapo flight to Spain for the summer when the headlines would have us believe the rest of Britain will be holidaying in caravans this year. And should I be ordering sports earphones off my beloved Apple website or scouring for bargains on Amazon? And what about those sports trainers I need so I can avoid another ankle injury? I worry that I can’t afford them, even when they’re half price and will save me a fortune in physiotherapy.

It’s a funny time, in terms of both economy and news. I’m so looking forward to hearing something positive.

No sex on the beach…

You wouldn’t believe the number of emails, texts etc I’ve had asking if it was me who was arrested in Dubai for having sex on the beach. Well folks, no it wasn’t – yuk, the thought of sand in private places makes my bum fizz – but my trip to the United Arab Emirates was an adventure nonetheless.

Me and my four girl pals were pretty conservative on hols, keen to respect Arabian traditions and religious customs. So, we dressed appropriately, particularly in the old part of town, Deira, which is mostly full of men and a place where public shows of affection are frowned upon.

We also greatly limited our alcohol intake, sipping only glasses of wine with meals or at the classy bars in the Madinat. You can’t readily buy alcohol in the supermarkets so the fridge at our Palm Jumeriah apartment was stacked with water, diet coke and fruit juice. So no hangovers, result!

Dubai is wicked, and so hard to explain. The collision of Arabian culture and westernised convenience makes for a holiday with a difference. On one hand, there are the historic parts of the city, learning about the religion and admiring the striking henna tattoos adorning ladies’ hands. There’s one on my left hand now too! (see below). On the flip-side, there’s the US-influenced convenience of air conditioned shops, amazing skyscraper hotels, the inconceivable man-made palm islands and the sheer enormity of the place.

To walk around the Mall of the Emirates you wouldn’t know you were in Dubai. I heard so many different languages spoken and saw so many different styles of dress, I could have been anywhere. Step outside into the humidity and you soon remembered you weren’t far from the desert though (pictured above).

I’m still playing catch up since arriving back in rainy Blighty so check out my next blog post for Dubai highlights…

Venturing into the unknown…

I’m of on holidays at the weekend and my excitement is tinged with a few nerves ‘cos my four girl pals and I will be venturing somewhat into the unknown. We’re spending eight days in Dubai and although I did spend five days there last year, it seems so long ago and it was barely enough time to taste the true Arabian flavour.

The majority of my holidays are spent in Spain – I know it well, love the food, the culture (and the siestas!!), the people and the weather. But I like new things too and this holiday will definitely be an Arabian adventure. Last year I mostly soaked up the rays and the food but this time I want to do more than that; I want to experience Dubai.

Unlike my terrible experience in Morocco (not because I am a slapper and ignorant to different cultures but because it’s a horrible country and the men are intimidating and rude), this holiday is going to be a discovery holiday so I can return to Dubai year on year and know what’s what.

On the agenda so far is sunbathing (well, it would be rude not to squeeze a bit in while we’re there), a desert tour including camel rides, bellydancing and henna tattoos; a dinner river cruise to soak up the Dubai nightscape; shopping in the souks; skiing in the world’s biggest indoor snowdome; and possibly a water park. We quite fancied the newly built Atalntis water park, where you can swim amongst the sharks, but rumour has it that there is no water; kinda essential for a water park wouldn’t you say?

On the turn? Certainly not!

A “friend” has just skimmed through my holiday piccies on Facebook and made the strangest of assumptions. He thinks that because I went on holiday with three other girls, and because our holiday snaps don’t show us sucking the faces off some Spanish bullfighters, that I must be on the turn. In other words, he thinks I might be a lesbian.

I am a little offended. Not that there’s anything wrong with being a lesbian, if that’s your thang, but women don’t have the right plumbing for my sexual tastes.

Who are us single girls supposed to go on holiday with anyway? Our parents? I think not. And me and my girl pals have all reached a certain age where pulling random strangers on hollibops isn’t very cool. Therefore our holiday photos show four girl mates having a jolly good time, without the aid of the male species. Yes, I know, shocking isn’t it. But it can be done.

This “friend” – a male in his 40s – also makes reference to me “blow jobbing” a bottle in my Facebook profile pic. Sorry to disappoint, but I was simply taking a swig of Corona. Maybe this guy needs glasses!

Back to reality

Well folks, it’s been a busy couple of weeks. Week one was spent in sunny Spain with three girl pals, generally doing what girls do on holiday – not much. We all worked very hard on our tans, didn’t drink too much booze amazingly (so no hangovers, yay!), ate scrummy food and basically chilled out without the guilty feeling you get at home because you should be doing a million other things. I also read four books.

The entertainment on hols was provided by my good mate LJ. She’s very fair skinned and has an amazing ability to burn in the strangest of places when exposed to sunlight. It doesn’t matter how well she applies the suncream, she’ll always end up with a random red patch (or five!) and then soon after her skin will start to peel off. Not only that, when her skin is exposed to the cold and wet, ie a swimming pool, she gets a rash akin to the sort you get when you’ve rolled in stinging nettles. Odd.

Not content with amusing us with her strange skin, LJ somehow managed to develop an ear abscess while we were away. The poor mite couldn’t sleep she was in so much pain so we called the Spanish doc out who fixed her up with antibiotics and an injection in her butt cheeks. I’m not sure he was joking when he said we could watch him stick the needle in for 30 euros each!

After winding LJ up that her ear might explode on the flight home (she was actually quite worried about this and we did little to alleviate her fears) she went to the UK docs to get the pain nipped in the bud good and proper. But UK doc said she didn’t have an ear abscess at all and that the pain was actually caused by…..wait for it….chewing hard food! What!? Honestly, she’d hardly been munching on rocks for the past couple of weeks and she certainly hadn’t consumed anything out of the ordinary. Apparently she’ll be in pain for a couple more weeks but it should go away if she stops eating bricks. I think she should get a second opinion.

Anyway, week two has been spent moving house. Stress city! This means I now live in a fab apartment which I can barely afford but has sweeping views over a lake so it feels like I’m on holiday every time I look out the window. But it also means I’m skint, I ache from head to toe after shifting boxes, moving wardrobes, building furniture and buying plant pots.

I’ve also developed an addiction to tea, thanks to my mum. She drinks a mug of tea every 10 minutes (with skimmed milk, yuk!!) and now I’m following suit. Mum made her way back to the shire this morning after almost three days of sharing my house-move agony and has instructed me not to move ever again. This is my sixth or seventh move I think and mum’s had enough. Particularly after our Ikea trip and the fact the table I’d just bought wouldn’t fit in the damn car. Had to call a taxi in the end, a big one, and put up with the funny looks from passers-by who knew I’d made a bit of  boob.

Couldn’t have done without mum’s help though, and she’s much more patient than me. I have a short fuse which is reduced by half when I’m stressed and I end up snapping at thos closest too me. Soz mum. Bet she’s glad to be back in the shire for a bit of a rest.

So, here I am in my tidy new flat with just a few million more change of address phone calls to make and my flaming CIPR tutorial to go to tomorrow, boo.

Aggghhh and Max just died in Hollyoaks (the TV’s on in the background and I just got distracted.) Gotta go and wipe my tears now, so sad.

Hola! Hollibops heaven!

I’m going on hollibops next week and I can’t bloomin’ wait. As soon as the clock strikes 4.30pm I’ll officially be on holiday and by Tuesday morning I’ll be sunning myself on the Costa Del Sol with three chums.

I’ve been to Spain pretty much every year since I was 18 and spent a lot of time there as a kid too. We’ll be taking up residence, as always, in a little coastal resort called Eviria, just outside Marbella. Spain is great and here’s why I keep returning:

• How cool is the whole siesta thing? I love nothing more than spending a day by the pool (not the beach as sand sticks to places it shouldn’t) and then retiring to the apartment for a late afternoon/early evening snooze before the night time entertainment begins. Siestas rule!
• The food is yum. The Spanish don’t mix their flavours like us English folk and simple is best. Seabass cooked in salt with boiled potatoes and green beans. Yum. And they know how to cook a steak rare. I like my fillet practically mooing and the Spanish never fail to deliver.
• The lifeguard is a hottie. Hoolio from the Poolio gives us girls something pretty to look at while we sunbathe. Tanned, toned and topless! Please excuse me while I wipe dribble from my mouth.
• The bar at the top of the road sells the best frozen strawberry daquiris ever and it’s not far to stumble home.
• The word rapido (rapeedo) means faster in Spanish and we always tell the taxi drivers to go rapido. Don’t know why, it’s just funny.
• Nikki Beach. Now, while incredibly over-priced, it’s worth going at least once while on hollibops. We usually go on a Sunday and make a day of it. This includes a long lunch just off the beach with plenty of wine, probably a fashion show and three very fit female dancers shaking their stuff on the tables while men drool. As the day goes on the music gets louder and the beat gets faster and we move onto mojitos. We admire all the designer sunglasses, play the “are her boobs fake or real” game and chuckle at the men wearing inappropriately tiny speedos. And there’s always one! The evening usually ends at 11pm when Nikki Beach closes and we stagger home along the beach. This will take twice as long as normal as we’ll be walking in zigzags and it’ll be dark. Note to self: when falling over on the beach, remember to close mouth.
• Puerto Banus. The place is lovely and used to be great for a night out. It’s too expensive these days but a good place to people watch, admire sports cars and big boats and maybe spot the odd celeb. It used to be a lively yet classy place but in latter years the chavs have started to move in. I’ve seen a few too many pairs of white stilletoes for my liking so a trip to Banus will either be for a classy dinner in a posh frock or a lunch and mooch round the shops, rather than a mad night out.
• Pot Noodles. I would never eat a Pot Noodle usually, it’s crappy food, but we tuck into them a lot on hols. Dunno why really, it’s just easy daytime food. We also love chocolate brioche, mini pickles and weaners – our typical holiday diet.
• Long dinners. The Spanish don’t hurry their diners out after just an hour; once seated you’re there for the evening and I love taking my time over courses and engaging in adult conversation over a glass or two of vino.

So, let the holiday fun begin. Uno cerveza por favore!

Brain pain

Ever feel like you’ve got so much going on inside your tiny little mind that it might just explode? Well, that’s the way I’m feeling at the moment.

I’m a creature of habit and survive by meeting deadlines, having regular slots for regular activities and writing numerous “to do” lists. But frantic fever has set in and there is so much to be done.

• Holiday. While this should be a time of relaxation I have to find time to pack, wax and fish out my passport before I jet off to sunnier climes on Tuesday morning. And will I be able to go a week without checking my email? Probably not.
• Moving house. I’ve spent the past week lugging boxes from one place to another (why didn’t I choose a ground floor flat?!) and that’s just the half of it. My current flat replicates a modern-day bomb site as I attempt to pack things into boxes, shift furniture etc. It also means I need to notify various organisations of my soon-to-be change of address and spend hours on hold to BT in an attempt to get my phone line connected. And then there’s the actual big move which happens the day after I get back off hols. Stressed and tired is a bad combination. There’s also new stuff to find out – what day is bin day, which one is my allocated parking space, can my neighbours hear my loud music, is my landlord a nice guy, how long will it be until I get make-up on the bright white carpet?
• Dreaded diploma. Two nasty assignments coming up, both of which will require time and brain power. And I’m distinctly lacking in both. And I’ve just agreed to a PR research project which will no doubt require more of my time. Doh! Am also way behind on my PR reading and reluctant to read Planning and Managing PR Campaigns while sunning myself in Spain. Would much prefer the latest Jonathan Kellerman thriller.
• Netball. Recently got back into it after a year off and loving it. However, I’ve sneakily been training with two teams and the time has come to choose the one I want to play for. Do I choose the team I initially agreed to play for? Their fees are cheaper, they’re a less serious team but they haven’t trained much so I’ve not bonded with them. Or do I choose the other team? Their fees are double but the players are more my age and I’ve bonded with them during summer training. Eek. Dilemma. Need to make a decision soon and feel guilty that I can’t say yes to both.
• Work. Got loads on at the mo and feel my two week holiday is slap bang in the middle of what will be a manic time. Bad timing! I have lots of reading I want to catch up on and just don’t get round to it. I also feel I’ve lost my sense of what’s happening in the news. My last job involved me sitting at my desk every morning with a cup of tea and a copy of the Daily Mail. I don’t like reading news online, it’s not the same as flicking through a tabloid, so the only proper news I get is provided by the Radio 1 bulletins to and from work. Not good. Must get back into newspaper habit as current affairs is a big part of my job and I need to know what’s going on in the world. And that doesn’t mean the latest Big Brother task!
• Money. An overlap in rent and investments in new things for my new flat means I’m going to be skint for a while. Add to that the fact I need money for my holiday next week and I’m quite generous with my spending, it’s going to be a struggle to cut back. Might have to hide my credit and debit cards.

So, with so much going on at the moment I have made some drastic decisions. Cut down on alcohol consumption (apart from holidays and events) and spend more time reading. Get up earlier and read the paper over breakfast instead of my usual shower, dress, dash out the door routine. Focus on work and CIPR assignments as failure will mean doing them again and avoid any kind of dating/interaction with attractive males as this only leads to disappointment and misery. Going out less will also save on money and I do not need to buy any new clothes, shoes or bags until the autumn. Partying less and playing netball more should keep my BMI on the right side of 24 and I’m considering cycling into work. Sounds pretty boring doesn’t it! We’ll see how long it lasts.