An English Girl in New York: A Permanent Reminder

My first tattoo was done in Spain under the influence of a fair few vodka and oranges around six years ago. And with Spanish measures much more generous than English ones, it’s fair to say I was a tad tipsy. It’ some kind of Celtic squiggle thing on my lower back, very unoriginal, but can be seem by only a select few. It’s not for public consumption and that’s what I like about it. I’ve never been a fan of tattoos that are really obvious, especially on women.

I don’t want to waltz down the aisle one day in the wedding dress of my dreams, only for my guests to be looking on in horror at the skull and cross bones inked on my shoulder and the barbed wire ring around my bicep. Not so ladylike. If that’s your bag, great, it’s just not mine.

That said, I’d been thinking about a second tattoo for a while and New York was the place I was gonna get it. We went to Village Pop in Greenwich Village, the exact same place BF got his first ever tattoo six years ago, and made our selection.

Oh yeah, did I mention that I’m pants with pain? Yeah, well I am. So I looked away as my tattoo-laiden artist went to work on my wrist. It only took about 15 minutes and it wasn’t that bad – nowhere near as bad as the one on my back, that brought tears to my eyes – just an annoying scratching pain.

I plumped for the Arabic symbol for “to shine” on the side of my wrist. Obvious enough to be seen by those who are looking, yet subtle enough to hide it if I want to. Classy isn’t a word I’d use to describe a permanent tattoo, but this one ain’t half bad and serves as a permanent reminder of my fabulous trip to New York. It rocks.

Catching up with myself

I can’t believe it’s been a  couple of weeks since I last blogged. I vowed to keep this blog up to date but lately my writing mojo has had peaks and troughs and more recently I’ve been troughing. Soz folks.

So, to get back into the swing of things here’s a round up of what I’ve been up to…

Ego hell

During my long weekend in Spain I had the misfortune of visiting Nikki Beach. I’ve been a few times before and this visit reminded me why I’ve avoided it for the last couple of years. I like the concept – restaurant off the beach with bar, cool music, dancing and people enjoying themselves all day long. Nothing wrong with that. But it’s incredibly over priced – £20 for a small jug of orange juice – and seems to attract the sort ouf people who need to book two tables, one for their party of guests, the other for their egos. Seriously, who wears strappy stiletto heels and false eyelashes with a bikini? What’s wrong with good old fashioned flip flops and a flick of mascara? The place is full of women who queue for the toilet just to rearrange their breast implants, reapply make-up to their tightened eyes and cheekbones with a trowel and pat down whatever scrap of fabric they’re wearing to barely cover their modesty. The men are muscle bound idiots flashing the cash and spraying bottles of champagne on people who have so few brain cells they think wasting such an expensive tipple is cool. The smaller the guy’s trunks, the bigger his ego; that’s the rule at Nikki Beach. I loathed every minute of it and queuing for the toilet increased my anger – unlike the beauty queen wannabes around me, I didn’t want to powder my nose, I just wanted to pee.

Family arguments

Every time I spend a decent amount of time with the family, an argument ensues. In fact, me and my two bros and one sis actually take bets on who will be next to start one. It usually involves my dad and one of us siblings. This time, during the same long weekend in Spain mentioned above, it was my oldest bro who ticked Papa Slingsby off by getting so drunk he could barely speak. No rules against consuming alcohol when you’re on your hollibops. Not in my book anyway.

Norfolk news

After my jaunt to Spain I spent a couple of days with a good friend of mine who moved from the depths of Walsall to picturesque Norfolk a few years ago and is now three months pregnant after her second bout of IVF treatment. I’m very proud of her! Our friendship was forged as trainee journalists almost 12 years ago so it was good to catch up, stretch our legs in a pretty woodland and fuss her dog Holly who seems to have taken a liking to me and so wants to walk where I walk. Sadly for Holly, this means I often tread on her paws. Whoops!

The Apple Suite

The spare room got a bit of a transformation over the Bank Holiday and has gone from being a teeny weeny and overcrowded work space to a super cool and minimalistic office, showcasing Apple’s finest technology. I can see me getting a lot of work done in there, it inspires creativity and I’m looking forward to some quality time at the desk with a glass of vino in hand.

Commitment issues

The new volleyball season has started and already we’re struggling for players. Usually the start of the season is heralded with an influx of newbies but not so this year. Our first National League match of the season is in less than two weeks and already some players are prioritising elsewhere. Perhaps because I’m club chairman or perhaps because I travel from Milton Keynes to Leicester every week for training – and am hence committed – this annoys me. You’re either in or you’re out when it comes to team sport, it’s not fair to pick and choose what suits. Rant over. Actually, no, not rant over. It’ll no doubt be the same for the forthcoming netball season which starts next week. Struggling for players, poor turnout at training and so poor performance in matches. I’m hoping I’ll be wrong. Maybe I’m just narked because I promised I’d shave down my commitments this year to spend more time on my writing. So how have I found myself chairman of Leicester Volleyball Club and vice-captain of my netball team. Sucker!

My passion for tacky fridge magnets

Have I ever told you that I collect tacky fridge magnets? Probably not, ‘cos it’s not something most people would want to boast about. But I do, the tackier the better. That said, all fridge magnets are tacky so it’s not hard.

This week has been particularly fruitful in the fridge magnet stakes, bagging three of the not so precious items – from Mauritius, New York and Portugal. Excellent work, Smithers.

I have quite a collection now, my favourites being a Cornish pasty from Cornwall, which actually looks more like a dead turkey; a fetching wooden shield type thing from Prague;  a snow globe magnet from the French Alps boasting a picture of a husky dog; and a paella dish from Spain. Classics.

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.

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?

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!