Asked by cheerpuppy
Hi back at ya! :)
Even with the best will in the world sometimes you just wont make it. If you ask me, its a myth that timekeeping is unstylish. But while being fashionable late is one thing, being supremely delayed is tardy, chaotic and ill mannered. In my books? Only fashion shows and marriage proposals can be truly delayed and even they must have a cut off point. For fashion shows its 3-4 hours, for marriage proposals, if its nine months and theres no action, its time to move on. This is my guide to help gauge the appropriate level of apology:
0-20 mins no excuse necessary. You have arrived so whats the problem?
20-45 mins disarm irritated faces with compliments followed by casual apologies blaming external factors. Opening gambit usually runs along the following lines: “oh how lovely to see you all again. You look so well. Nightmare getting a taxi/ traffic/ parking isn’t it?
45mins-1hr vaguely suggest a day of exciting trauma being careful not to elaborate, settle in quickly and become absorbed in the current conversation.
1 hour plus. This requires a show stopping entrance but its no bad thing as it will remind everyone that you are a special creature and can’t be expected to keep to standard timings.
Lastnight, I learnt a vital life lesson: how to eat tricky foods.
Artichokes are one problem dish, and unless you have an allergy to seafood/shellfish there are two other suckers you should get to grips with. Oysters and lobsters. To be honest, I haven’t mastered oysters yet, but lobsters are easy. Assuming that all you have to do is consume and not cook the wretched beast, half the battle is already won. Lobsters are an impressive dish to be served and most decadent to order. Plus, you have to really fight and wrestle to get to the meat so you will build up an appetite.
First, take away the weapons, twist the claws off. Use the crackers if you have to.
Bend the body back from the tail, this will crack and reveal more meat. Ease the meat out of the cracked shell, discard the black vein in tail, dip meat in butter and enjoy.
It started one day several weeks ago, when I realised that at some point while I was wrestling with London, my life was about to take a new stumbling step. After months of knowing intellectually that their time was over, I finally felt it to be true.
I’ve had to wave goodbye to two of my best friends. Man it was hard, I can’t begin to tell you how hard it was. It was an awful process; I helped them squeeze their lives into suitcases, cried with them all the way to Heathrow, but by the time I got home I felt fine. It wasn’t the shock I expected. It was quieter, and it took me a while to realise, like I realise now, that my heart is still aching.
It wasn’t the only stumbling step, it was just the start of several, and I realised I needed them more than ever. I’ve had a hard time in London, a really ugly streak of bad luck after what was already an unusually queasy year. And I don’t think I’ve ever had such a terrible attitude in my life. Allow me to confide that I generally think the universe likes me a lot, if that doesn’t make you sick. I’ve always felt my hardships were balanced by the countless little amusements scattered all around me every day. That’s the truth, guys! I admit it!
But I have enough sense to recognise this part of the process, for me and for many, many others. It’s a theatrical ultimatum: stop or go, back or forward, fold or gamble. Seriously, I feel like a foreigner, alone in this City, struggling to make a life for myself. Everyone is advising me to quit and go back, because it’s not worth the headache. I respect that, but it won’t be happening here. I’m over that shit! Rats don’t scare me, bird poo on the bench can’t stop me. Recession, whatever. I’m here now and I’m gonna do this thing. So, wish me luck! And I wish you luck, too, if you’re in these shoes.
To my friends Kate and Ami: you know, being a foreigner in your own country for a while is as worthy an adventure as anything, and making a life for yourself is as rewarding and enlightening an accomplishment there as anywhere. No matter what you decide, please enjoy this advice my mum gave me when I was a critical mass last Monday: “Don’t forget to enjoy whats good where you are right now, so even if you decide to leave next week, make sure this week is amazing”
Hang in there baby, tomorrow could be brilliant!
Dinner at The Cavern Club in Liverpool. Six chips stacked on a plate and lousy service but the place smells divine, music is amazing and the ambience makes up for it.
#Liverpool #Beatles #Cavern club
Asked by cheetos3
Well hello there! Ya I’m back. With an iron clad will to resume my photography/writing.
I’m in London and i’m happy, cheers!
Hope you’re good doll face.
So we know about all the little things that startle you when you when you move to a new city. But for me there’s been a sneakier side to culture shock. It started one day several weeks ago when I realised that while I was scrambling around wresting with London, at some point I had taken that last stumbling step out of my life in Manchester.
So what’s weird about it? I hate writing these four words, but: it’s hard to explain. First of all, just because I’ve moved on from Manchester doesn’t mean that I’ve found a place here. I have not. I feel like an expat in the country I born and bred in.
But lately I’ve started wondering if that’s just because I’ve spent my life in the Northwest and abroad. Because yeah, it’s obvious the universe is fond of me when I’m skipping along the river eating huckleberries, or when a bad night means sulking under a billion neon lights, in a great outfit, under the soulful gaze of a cheesy pop idol…but life’s benevolence is not quite as obvious when strangers shriek MOVE! at me as I walk by. Or when volatile drunks throw their arms around me. Or when a dark liquid from somewhere above me splatters against my cheek on Regent St at 6am. And these are mild happenings compared to what I decline to publish, but the idea is that my superstitious soul, already wearied by the whole saga, has had a hard time dealing with such aggressively unpleasant everyday incidents. I mean, I had a cat pee on my shoe in Hyde Park. I don’t think I’ve ever felt my sense of humour under so much strain. I can take a bit, but that’s some heavy lifting, right?
Asked by Anonymous
Haha thats not true! I eat, therefore I am fat! :D
Asked by lishlovesdreaming
LISH! I’ve neglected my tumblr for so long, gonna start blogging as soon as I have something interesting to blog about!
It might seem like I actively seek out Asian people to take photos of and have odd/cute/funny conversations with, but it really is not the case. I’m always at the right place at the right time.
Resting my feet after walking round dressed as a Geisha all day I met this couple. The gentleman truly is the best of the best of old people I have ever met. I found it adorable the way he lovingly watched his wife peel kiwi…lovingly. So here’s the cute bit…firstly his wife kindly offered me a kiwi and when I declined, her husband told me to wait and ran off somewhere; he returned a few minutes later with a tub of Haagen Dazs icecream, handed it over to me and told his wife: “girls like icecream not kiwi”. AHHHHH!!! They both had a giggle. I was so touched I was almost in tears. I also love the fact that he thinks im still a girl and not a woman. AHHHHH!
I ate the icecream, I also ate the kiwi the lovely lady peeled for me…because I want to age as gracefully as she has when I’m 67 years old.