War on Sense

Freak Like Me

2009-01-12T13:19:00.006+01:00

It's safe to say that most people don't really make new years resolutions (everyone's given up smoking and people who are foolish enough to think that by paying a monthly membership they're actually going to go to the gym are already doing it). People do take up new hobbies at this time of year though, as I found out today.
I have an embarrassing obsession which is signing up for adult education courses at civic centres. I have been doing it for about 3 years now, and have tried a variety of different things: yoga (for geriatrics...or maybe they were the only people other than me who could make it on Friday morning), Sevillanas and Rumba dancing (I loved this one, especially the woman who took it so seriously she mesmerised me with her competitive stamping and clapping), Indian cooking (this was also a good one with a teacher who really knew how to stir up not only the ingredients but the students too), African dance (a disaster: I think I went to about two classes), Cooking from around the world (with a woman who strangely seemed completely averse to any food or people that weren't Catalan).
Two things they all had in common: there was always one freakish person who you got the impression was there as some sort of 'rehabilitation into society' programme and generally had absolutely no aptitude for whatever the course was, and secondly, that the atmosphere between the people in the class itself was surprisingly frosty.
So why do I sign up for them? It isn't anything to do with finding the inner me or releasing the dancer inside - they are cheap,I have the time, and because its good to try something new. It has occurred to me that it is me that is the freak in all these classes.
Today I tried to sign up for Modern Jazz dancing (not a joke), but when I arrived I was horrified to find the course full. It seems that I am not alone after all.

The Painful Truth.

2008-10-21T10:33:00.008+02:00

When in doubt, blame your parents. I have inherited from my father the tendency for 'dodgy mincers' (particularly developing non-serious but unslightly eye infections, styes etc). When I lived in the UK, I had to have one surgically removed. When the hospital appointment eventually came through I had moved house, but had to travel out to leafy Windsor to have my eye "done" (an inadequate catch-all verb that masked the horrors that awaited me). My parents had gone on holiday and the alarm bells should have probably started ringing when my dad told me "oh yes, I've had that done, it's not very pleasant". All the hospital told me was that I wouldn't be able to drive afterwards, which seeing as I didn't have a car didn't seem like a big problem. Long story short, after having 4 separate doctors and hospital staff berate me for coming alone ("Don't you have ANYONE to look after you??"), I ended up, post-op, setting off the burglar alarm at my parent's house, so then having to climb over the fence with an eye patch and feeling like I had been punched repeatedly in the face to sit in the garden wondering how I was going to get home.
I eventually made it back to London where my flatmate enjoyed singing Gabrielle songs to me the rest of the day. By then I was able to see the funny side and even crack a few pirate jokes....
I had to have the same thing done yesterday here in Barcelona. This time I made sure to ask if I needed to bring someone with me, and exactly what I could expect. I was told I would be able to go about my business "without interruption" afterwards. What actually happened was I was lying on a table, tears running down my face into the terrorist style hood that they made me wear with two surgeons bellowing "Why are you crying???". I couldn't quite pinpoint whether it was that the needle they had just stuck in my eye was smarting a little bit, or the ridiculous surgical shower cap they had made me wear, or just the constant references to the "little knife" they were about to use on me which was bringing tears to my eyes.....I am a wimp, but I think most people might be a little bit distressed in similar circumstances.
Then came the "Of course you can't work for a few days, look at the state of you!" comment, (so not exactly 'without interruption' then??) and I noticed that the surgeon didn't come out to tell everyone in the waiting room how brave I had been, like he had with the previous patient. I felt sorry for the old woman who was going in after me.
So after suffering the same chien andaluz type experience twice, I can confidently say, if they tell you it's going to hurt a bit, you must always assume it's going to hurt A LOT.

Harder Better Stronger Faster

2008-06-16T20:10:00.003+02:00

It's the last day of my twenties. Until today I was very nonchalant and "it's just numbers" about it, but suddenly the thought crossed my mind today "I will never be a twenty something again" and I felt like it was actually a bit momentous.
This led to me finding a "Things to do before you're 30" website. It said things like: Go travelling (check), Try new foods (check), read such and such books (check check check), Get on the property ladder (errrr...), Spend more than 50 quid on a bottle of wine (nope), Buy a convertible (??).
Then I realised those kinds of lists are just ridiculous and made to make people feel smug/bad.
And idiotic-ness knows no age.
And apparently, 30 is the new 20 anyway...

This call may be recorded...

2007-10-13T13:08:00.000+02:00

When you are a little bit angry about something and you have to phone up a customer service phone line, and then be told " your call is important to us, please hold the line", and then you have to press a series of buttons or worse still, say one word answers into the phone as if you are schizophrenic to get through to the right department ("I´m sorry, I didn´t understand that. If you want to speak to a customer service agent, please say ´banana´") these are some of the thoughts that go through my head:

If my call is sooooo important to you, why don´t you just answer it?
Why are you making me key in or say all this information, when I know that when I eventually get through to someone (probably in a foreign country getting paid a miserable hourly rate to save your company money) they are going to ask me to repeat it all anyway?
Why are you playing ´Oh Happy Day!´ on a loop in a thinly veiled attempt to brighten my mood and make me forget that you are charging me premium rate for this call?

Farewell to Summer

2007-09-13T11:03:00.000+02:00

Catalunya's national day (also the anniversary of Chile's 1973 coup and that other incident in America) is over for another year. Notable in Barcelona for stalls selling nationalist t-shirts and people with bad dreadlocks wrapping themselves in flags. (And yes I am aware there is a bit more to it than that, but to the untrained eye..) Everyone is heading back to school, and it's safe to say summer is nearly over.

Highlights were meeting my new nephew and finally understandng why everyone goes so silly when a baby is born. If they are even slightly related to you, you automatically think they are the greatest person you've ever met (even though they spend their entire time eating, sleeping and pooing). I also went to Slovenia which was full of beautiful scenery, nice people and food, and ageing Thai ladyboys...(well just the one, but it was still a surprise). I also worked in Venice, which was good fun. Once again I was baffled as to why people always bang on about 'Italian style'. It is possibly the least stylish nation I've ever been to bar Australia, unless you consider pastel jeans, cropped leapord print leather jackets and masks cool.

I've also decided (again) to give up air travel as much as I can after a bad experience involving my luggage going missing (still not recovered). After causing a scene at Venice airport, we were allowed into a giant room to look at the hundreds of other lost bags (it smelt quite bad, God knows what was festering in there), including one marked' bridal gown'. So next time you are being frisked and asked to remove your shoes in a 3 hour security queue at Gatwick, don't let it make you feel any safer. As one woman admitted to us 'most of the staff don't know what they are doing'. Anyway, losing your luggage is a good way to streamline your wardrobe, and saves you a trip to the charity shop.

Oh yeh, and one of my teeth had to be taken out. It was a baby tooth, and seeing as it's been the last summer of my 20s, I'm taking it as a sign that my childhood really has come to an end. I have a gap in my teeth at the moment which is making me lisp like a real spaniard.

Flip flop and you don't stop

2007-08-11T19:40:00.000+02:00

August in Barcelona is a different kettle of fish. Most people get away for as long as possible, but if you stick around, and you are 'on holiday' (or unemployed in my case), you can take time to do all the stuff you never normally do. Here are some of the ways I've been entertaining myself in the last couple of days:
Playing 'spot the catalan' (this is a challenge as most locals are away at 'their village')
Playing 'guess the nationality' (not so challenging -Italians: easy to spot cos you can hear them from about 2 kms away, French: cool and unimpressed by Barcelona, Brits: overweight and pink like a chipolata, Americans: fanny packs and stetsons...)
Casual racism
Going to free museums
Lying in bed
Facebook (AKA pointless timewaster and jackpot for stalkers)
Trying to resist wobbling my loose baby tooth
Going for a spin on a bicing bike and getting one whenever I want and there being NO traffic.
Getting a seat in bars .

Staying put is the new going on holiday.

Maybe tomorrow I'll wanna settle down...

2007-05-23T12:18:00.000+02:00

I'm surrounded by boxes nicked from the local Condis (they weren't too forthcoming in giving them away), full of all my stuff, which actually isn't that much but is still too much. Tomorrow I'm moving house (again), to Poble sec, the slightly seedier end of town, with less catalanismo and perro-flautas, but more pissy smelling rubbish bins and drunk mentalists wandering the streets.I'm hiring a man with a van to help move my accumulated rubbish and if he's any good, I might keep his number for next time - I calculated this is the tenth flat in ten years that I have lived in, so chances are it won't be so long til I'm packing it all up again.

(cheers for the reminder)

Top 5

2007-05-07T14:12:00.000+02:00

Annoying and/or stupid questions: (in no particular order)

"Have you tried control-alt-delete?"

"So...where's your boyfriend tonight?" (especially when said in latino accent by a man wearing a slightly too tight t-shirt)

"Are you coming to the hen night??" (followed by) "Did you see the e-mail about the penis shaped visors we're all going to wear?"

"Do you want a fight?"

"Have you been to a Harvester before?"

Ill communication

2007-05-04T10:17:00.000+02:00

Everyone has had a mobile phone embarrassment at one time or another. Like when you send a message to a mate along the lines of 'alright lame-o, are you up for a big one tonight?', only to discover that you've accidentally sent it to a potential employer, or your grandmother. It's happened to me on many occasions. I've even had to endure nights out with people that I've texted accidentally, because explaining the mistake was too awkward. The thing is, I'm no less embarrassed when someone does it to me, as you know that they didn't actually want to contact you in the first place, then you have to endure an awkward 'so, how are you anyway?' type conversation. It's a situation where both victim and perpertrator are equally humiliated.

These days 'the kids' have their own language for texting, which my mum has bizarrely adopted (being relatively new to the world of mobiles). There's something disturbing about getting a text message from your mum that reads: 'hi, hope u hd GR8 Wknd, spk sn mum x'

To its credit there are probably thousands of couples who would never have got together these days without the 'third way' of the text message. Not quite a phonecall, its the soft option for the phone-shy and chronically lazy.

E-mail is also risky. The dangerous proximity of the 'forward' and 'reply' buttons, when you pass on an e-mail with your own hilarious added comments, only to discover you've returned to sender. Friendships can be ruined.
Then there are those so-called friends that constantly bombard you with all manner of absolute bullshit, in the form of forwards, and chain letters ('Send this to ten people or your friends and family will all suffer a slow painful death'). And the awful 'reply all' option, which is like the electronic form of those christmas newletters that some people send out that none of us can wait to receive every year ('hey guys! I've just been promoted and tiddles the cat has just learnt to use his tray! )

I'm going back to using an old school finger dial phone, where to dial a number takes about 3 minutes, and then you can rest up while you have a proper conversation....

Primavera. Sound.

2007-04-22T23:55:00.000+02:00

After the unusual turn of events where British mates were getting in touch to gloat about the unsesasonal 26 degrees that they were enjoying, while Spain was covered under a haze of cloud and rain since before Easter, I think this week Spring finally sprung. Suddenly people are wearing flip flops, horchata shops are open (sweet sweet tiger nuts...), the plazas are filling up and everyone's got a little spring in their step. So, break out the pink Lambrusco, fire up the barbecues, get the Factor 25 at the ready, and let the good times roll....

24 hour Metro Madness

2007-04-16T23:14:00.000+02:00

The powers that be in BCN have decided to open the metro all night long on Saturdays, making it easier to go home at a 'sensible' hour when bars shut (i.e. 3 a.m.), instead of wandering the streets providing business to illegal beer sellers (my personal heroes), queueing for the nitbus, or ill-advisedly paying too much to spontaneously go to a club and drink that unnecessary "free" drink (you always pay the next morning...)

This is all good news, although it's just a trial, so use it or lose it. The timing is a little strange though, seeing as the Generalitat keeps shutting down so many late night bars and clubs these days. Maybe soon the only thing to do after 3 a.m. will be to ride the metro up and down until the break of dawn.

whoever dies with the most stuff wins

2007-03-09T15:27:00.000+01:00

I think being obsessed with money is a pointless waste of time unless you are about to become homeless. That said, I did find out this week that my flat is going to be sold later in the year, so I will soon be joining the unlucky people in Barcelona trying to find somewhere affordable to live. (I've been hearing lots of horror stories lately, including someone who went to see a flat which had real dog shit on the floor as an added feature to the 400 Euro a room asking price - a bit like some kind of Damien Hirst in your own home). If you do manage to find somewhere that's poo free then there's the rollercoaster ride of psychotic flatmates to deal with. I'm really looking forward to spending half my salary on all that...

As if they knew about my impending financial doom, I also received the annual 'Got a proper job yet?' reminder of my student loan deferment letter. I'm not sure what's more laughable, the increasing mountain of impossible debt (if you convert it to Euros it's much worse, I prefer to think of it in Icelandic Krona), or the lost promise of what they obviously thought I would be achieving salary-wise by now when they lent me it...fooooooools. There's always that rumour that your student debt gets wiped if you reach 45 and still haven't earnt enough - now there's a financial goal I think I can aim for.

Cash to Spare??

2007-02-26T15:51:00.000+01:00

Hey dumbo! Want to make a quick buck?, Do you have a dubious moral code? Are you a bit naive and easily sucked in? Are you oblivious to the goings-on in the outside world? Does the phrase 'more money than sense' apply to you?

Then jump on the latest investment band wagon. Buy some NEW IRAQI DINARS! They are selling like hotcakes. If you are American, you have the same investment rights as an Iraqi citizen, but you miss out on living in a place where you have the excitement of not knowing when your legs might be blown off!! Still, you can't have everything....

Don't go changin'

2007-02-19T21:23:00.000+01:00

I just got back from a weekend in the UK, from another wedding (my brother's). It was all very lovely and involved a Humanist minister who looked a lot like Leo Sayer and made everyone feel like dancing.

When I got to London, I realised that I had left my 'outfit' in Barcelona, so I had to get up very early and try and find something to wear. This confirmed what I had already suspected about different shopping experiences in the UK and Spain.

In London: They make clothes bigger than a size 6; There is almost always more than one assistant in the shop; Shop assistants will go out of their way to help you find something (albeit usually in a slightly false way); If you go to 'London's premiere fashion retail experience (TM)', Topshop Oxford Street, (which if you are trying to find the exit is like a bad dream), the staff will use phrases like 'I'd go for 80 denier on the tights, that's so on trend right now" and they're not being ironic.

In Barcelona on the other hand, you are generally treated as if you are invisible, or as some kind of sociopath if you ask for any information that doesn't fall strictly within the remit of the shop assistant's job title.
(I won't mention my Ferreteria experience here again, but suffice to say Watchdog would have been alerted if it had happened in Britain).

So, for me, in general, shopping is a more pleasant experience in the UK. But, there is something about the surliness and general lack of interest in attracting customers that makes Barcelona a better place to live. The fact that people are more interested in other stuff (drinking nice coffee and eating three course lunches for example) is what makes life a lot less hectic than a city like London. Also, you can still find shops in Barcelona that sell, for example, nothing but slippers, or that repair shoes, or that only sell clothes made of crinolene, where what's 'on trend' is irrelevant and unknown. And there's not an All Bar One or Bar 38 in sight. Yet.

Stick it up yer terror beard network

2007-02-02T15:25:00.000+01:00

As published by the BBC yesterday: The Muslim reaction to the current terror investigations in Birmingham.

Catching Worms

2007-01-29T22:31:00.000+01:00

early bird
noun
colloq:
1. A person who gets out of bed early.
2. A person who arrives early.

There are always people who are more organised than you that end up ruining your badly laid plans. The kind of people who get to airports 3 hours before the flight leaves "just in case" (the ones that are in the departure lounge sipping a Starbucks while you are waiting in a 3 mile queue 30 minutes before take-off waiting for a good frisking).
The ones who get to the sales as the doors are opening and snap up the only bargains, leaving everyone else fighting over a pile of last year's leopard print leggings, or will camp outside a department store to buy overpriced tickets for a U2 or similarly rubbish stadium concert.
The same kind of people who are smugly munching popcorn and watching trailers while you get turned away from the cinema because you didn't think it was necessary to book seats on-line the day before.
People who plan everything, calculate the exact level of slackness of everyone else and get in before them. Don't let these people turn you - Resist planning your cinema trips in advance and getting up early at weekends! Viva spontaneity! These people will get what's coming to them when they have to sit through 3 hours of Bono and crew in a venue so big they may as well be looking at the moon.

hay que aprovechar...

2007-01-22T00:03:00.000+01:00

Us: making the best of global warming

6 am Saturday morning. Las ramblas. A great idea is born after one too many rum-based drinks.... Who cares that the world is getting hotter ? Let's live the dream! Let's have a January barbecue on Jim's roof!

Honesty never pays

2007-01-12T19:30:00.000+01:00

If you've been in a job for a while (like when you've lived in the same place) , you soon forget the horrors of job (or flat) hunting, and the deceit and self abasement that's involved. First there's the fact that you spend your whole time looking for a job, then as soon as you get one you wish you could have all those sweet, unemployed hours of freedom back.
Then there's the interview process. Despite having something to say on most subjects I actually hate talking about my 'career' to someone who has all the relevant details in front of them in the form of my CV; especially when they go through it line by line, and put a little tick everytime that you confirm that something on there is actually true.
Then comes the inevitable series of 'can you think of a time when...' questions (as in 'can you think of a time when you had to show intiative/ leadership/ flexibility/ feigned interest in a stupid question?'). I defy anyone to answer honestly and still get a job. And then the best one of all - 'What are your weaknesses?'. Just once, I would like to turn that question round and say 'I don't know but yours is obviously a total lack of imagination when thinking up interview questions'. [I'll see myself out....]

It's getting hot in here....

2007-01-05T00:18:00.000+01:00

Nelly got that right...
Normally this unseasonal weather makes me call someone back in England and ask them what it's like there (9 times out of 10 cold and wet..ha ha). But then autumn leaves, people wearing T-shirts and the thermometer tipping 20 in January isn't really natural, and then I thought back to last July when the city was melting while people sat parked in their cars pumping out the air conditioning and old women randomly stopped you to give it 'que calor! - Es insorportable!'. It certainly feels like climate change is here, despite what caring sharing Exxon Mobil will pay scientists to say.

I'm not exactly blameless in my production of noxious gases (who is?). Although I don't drive a car, I am a big user of aeroplanes (not something I'm proud of or remotely enjoy). Strictly speaking I blame my friends and family for selfishly insisting on staying in the UK and getting married and other things that involve me flying there (and generally flying back poorer and with a hangover).
If you add to this the increasingly bizarre security measures that keep changing at UK airports - liquids yes, as long as they're in a small bottle, (although I actually got through this weekend with an illicit lip balm and a bottle of water!), being told to take my shoes off, then to put them back on before I went through the scanner - (I think they were just checking out the christmas socks). All in all flying is becoming more and more like a national express coach ride. Uncomfortable, long, with overpriced Wagon Wheels and with the threat of danger looming.
So I was thinking about getting the train to london next time I need to go. I have checked this out to compare whether it would be feasible or remotely cost efficient

Plane to london: around 100 Euros return, Time: 2 hours
Train to london: around 225 Euros one way (the return leg was 'not available'. Time: *only* 17 hours each way.

Easyjet it is then....

But mummy I wanted a pony...

2006-12-31T02:04:00.000+01:00

Ahhhhhhhh Christmas. Nothing quite like the heady mix of indigestible quantities of meat, heart-attack portions of sugar and salt and booze coupled with a palpable family tension to create the perfect relaxing christmas....
Best present this year: some cherry scented shoeliners (to make your trainers smell nice)
Worst present: A rabbit fur stole (hideous)
Most disappointing moment: Flight to France being cancelled (grounding me in a very foggy Egham...motherfoggers)
Still, what other time of year can you eat half your own bodyweight in cheese for free?
A word of warning: While trying to recreate a Dickensian christmas, I went ice skating outside. Amazing fun if you enjoy shuffling round a 50 metre circuit for an hour listening to pan - piped Cliff Richard, only to discover that you have ravaged shins from the ill fitting boots and spend the rest of the festive season with frozen peas attached to your swollen ankle.....