I find myself in the market for a new kitchen. The purchase of New House is getting ever closer to completion, allowing me to fantasise about island units and ginormous fridges with ice makers. My first port of call is the magazine rack at Sainsbugs. I always have to conduct plenty of research at home before venturing out into the big world and face to face with 'experts'. This is why my bookshelf carries such tomes as 'Running a Bed and Breakfast in France', 'Starting a shop', 'Grow Your Own Fruit' and 'Goat Breeding for Beginners'.
I scanned the many home stylee magazines and picked up one promising to delight me with 'kitchens, bathrooms and bedrooms'. I have all three of those, thinks I, and duly trot to the checkout. Of course the mag is sealed inside its own little plastic cover, so flicking through wasn't an option. I feel the need to say this as I would never purchased the item, had I but known the truth.
So, once home, the wrapper is torn off and all the little inserts shaken out. I gaze lovingly at the glossy pages and decide to reward myself with a Lush bath and the new untouched magazine. Perfumed bubbles gently steaming, I get myself comfortable in the bath and reverently open the magazine. First few pages are ads and contents. Fine. Move on. Then a 5 page spread on how Jocasta and Tarquin couldn't stand their brand new kitchen, so ripped it out and started again. Their new (yes alright stunning) kitchen dining extravaganza has doors out onto the terrace and a huge central island perfect for their cookery delights. My kitchen is 3m square. I don't think this will fit....
A few more pages in and I come to the (again) huge entertaining kitchen of Jocasta and Tarquin, who party hard in their delightful 62 bedroom mansion. Now this kitchen includes not one but two ambient wine storers and a champagne ice bucket in the (obviously standard) gigninormous central island. Coloured LEDs light the kitchen to create "dazzling" effects. Bear and I don't entertain much to be honest. And we don't drink much either. I think perhaps this kitchen is not suitable inspiration.
I flick through, feeling a little let down now. I find a rather lovely photograph of a pink kitchen. The blurb tells me that it comes "primed and ready to paint" and kitchens "start at £17,000". Seventeen grand? And it's NOT FINISHED! I think either my concept of what a kitchen should cost is vastly underestimated, or this magazine is definitely not for PLU.
I have to add that the bedrooms were no better: beds costing £20,000 and more and as for the bathrooms, well!
I have left the magazine, sad and lonely, in the smallest room, where it shall remain until it learns how to behave like a proper magazine. I, meanwhile, have returned to the relative safety of the web. To kuchen huus and beyond!
Sunday 30 December 2012
Thursday 27 December 2012
Crushing the crush embargo
I always seem to have a crush on someone. Sometime it will be a friend, a work colleague or someone I've just seen on the street. Suddenly they are aglow. My heart pounds a little faster in their presence, my brain turns to jelly and I become a giggling schoolgirl incapable of intelligent discourse. This can be rather embarrassing, especially if its someone with whom I have previously had a good relationship.
My ever loving bear is supportive of my little crushes. He knows he's the only one for me. And crushes go as suddenly as they arrive, leaving me wondering what on earth I was thinking! Because a really good crush isn't the famous and handsome actor from the blockbuster. Oh no. My crushes are strange and unusual people, often with a searing intellect and corresponding lack of social skills!
My first ever crush was my father's business partner. To this day the smell of pipe smoke makes me weak of the knee and giddy of the soul. Then in my early teens, the boy downstairs captured my heart. Albeit briefly for I was a fickle young thing. My papa used to announce "It's Lillekat and her men"!
Aged 18 and living in a hall of residence, our flat all were crushing on the upstairs flat, although I was the only one besotted with a third year student, A, who was a brilliant mathematician. This culminated in me getting very very drunk and calling up to A, shouting "I do love you!" I will always remember his patient "Yes, yes, I love you too." So kind, so dismissive! He broke my heart and he never even knew!
Later crushes were variations on the theme of brilliant intellectual. I was crushing on one lecturer so much, I couldn't concentrate when he was behind me and being the only girl in my class did not help! My classmates tormented me terribly about this and I spent much of my undergrad life pink with girlish embarrassment!
These days it's work colleagues who worm their way into my affections. And then get kicked out by their successor, never to return to my crushing bosom.
I read a fantastic word on Facebook, sapiosexual; defined as being sexually attracted to intellect. That's me. It really is brains not brawn that turn me on. And looking at the popularity of Prof Brian Cox, I'm not alone! PhDs are very sexy ;-) I refer you to Dr Sheldon Cooper
So don't be afraid of having a crush. There's nothing wrong with you, and you don't love your partner any the less. But it can make the day a little more fun and just a little exciting. After all you never know who you might meet...
My ever loving bear is supportive of my little crushes. He knows he's the only one for me. And crushes go as suddenly as they arrive, leaving me wondering what on earth I was thinking! Because a really good crush isn't the famous and handsome actor from the blockbuster. Oh no. My crushes are strange and unusual people, often with a searing intellect and corresponding lack of social skills!
My first ever crush was my father's business partner. To this day the smell of pipe smoke makes me weak of the knee and giddy of the soul. Then in my early teens, the boy downstairs captured my heart. Albeit briefly for I was a fickle young thing. My papa used to announce "It's Lillekat and her men"!
Aged 18 and living in a hall of residence, our flat all were crushing on the upstairs flat, although I was the only one besotted with a third year student, A, who was a brilliant mathematician. This culminated in me getting very very drunk and calling up to A, shouting "I do love you!" I will always remember his patient "Yes, yes, I love you too." So kind, so dismissive! He broke my heart and he never even knew!
Later crushes were variations on the theme of brilliant intellectual. I was crushing on one lecturer so much, I couldn't concentrate when he was behind me and being the only girl in my class did not help! My classmates tormented me terribly about this and I spent much of my undergrad life pink with girlish embarrassment!
These days it's work colleagues who worm their way into my affections. And then get kicked out by their successor, never to return to my crushing bosom.
I read a fantastic word on Facebook, sapiosexual; defined as being sexually attracted to intellect. That's me. It really is brains not brawn that turn me on. And looking at the popularity of Prof Brian Cox, I'm not alone! PhDs are very sexy ;-) I refer you to Dr Sheldon Cooper
So don't be afraid of having a crush. There's nothing wrong with you, and you don't love your partner any the less. But it can make the day a little more fun and just a little exciting. After all you never know who you might meet...
Wednesday 19 December 2012
Not quite PLU darling
I've been reading a book called "Whiter Shades of Pale" by Christian Lander. It's the sequel to "Stuff White People Like" and lists items beloved by middle class white Americans. Prime examples are World Music, Starbucks and the film Juno. A lot of the listings can apply to the English middle classes too, whole food co-operatives, tea and pretending to know about wine to name three.
It got me thinking about the equivalent of "White People" in this green and pleasant land. I would call them PLU - People Like Us.
PLU isn't affected by money, although education whether formalised or not definitely plays a part. It's not even truly about the class structure as it exists in the UK. And don't ever try and believe it doesn't exist. Class is affected by your job level, your family salary and your parentage. As a child of immigrants I am immediately excluded from certain classes, no matter what my parents did for a living! But the chances are the people who live near you are educated to a similar level to you, earn roughly the same as you and go on similar holidays. That's class.
I guess PLU is about taste, it's about appreciating the finer things in life, looking for quality. For the benefit of you, dear reader, here is my list of what is and isn't PLU.
PLU
White lights on your Christmas tree
Loving the theatre, especially the Royal Exchange and the Lowry as opposed to The Palace
Game (I'm talking venison here, pigeon, quail)
White metal jewellery: silver and platinum.
Wholefood co-operatives
Delicatessens
Whisky
France
The Landmark Trust
Radio 4
Radio Times
BBC4
Cufflinks
Prosecco
Leather Chesterfields (in brown, ox blood and green only!)
Not PLU, darling
Leggings as an alternative to trousers as opposed to an alternative to tights
Lots of gold jewellery
Frozen meat. It's plumped with so much water you're not really getting the bargain you think you are
Drinking jagerbombs once you are over the age of 21 (I'm being generous here. Lets be honest, once you're out of your teens, it's time to move on to something else)
Pontins
Caravans
Shiny suits
Toilet paper dollies
Toilet seat covers
Antimacassars
Stiletto heels
Now, hopefully you've been nodding your head along with this, because otherwise you're just not PLU, darling! Feel free to add your own PLU and non-PLU in the comments...
It got me thinking about the equivalent of "White People" in this green and pleasant land. I would call them PLU - People Like Us.
PLU isn't affected by money, although education whether formalised or not definitely plays a part. It's not even truly about the class structure as it exists in the UK. And don't ever try and believe it doesn't exist. Class is affected by your job level, your family salary and your parentage. As a child of immigrants I am immediately excluded from certain classes, no matter what my parents did for a living! But the chances are the people who live near you are educated to a similar level to you, earn roughly the same as you and go on similar holidays. That's class.
I guess PLU is about taste, it's about appreciating the finer things in life, looking for quality. For the benefit of you, dear reader, here is my list of what is and isn't PLU.
PLU
White lights on your Christmas tree
Loving the theatre, especially the Royal Exchange and the Lowry as opposed to The Palace
Game (I'm talking venison here, pigeon, quail)
White metal jewellery: silver and platinum.
Wholefood co-operatives
Delicatessens
Whisky
France
The Landmark Trust
Radio 4
Radio Times
BBC4
Cufflinks
Prosecco
Leather Chesterfields (in brown, ox blood and green only!)
Not PLU, darling
Leggings as an alternative to trousers as opposed to an alternative to tights
Lots of gold jewellery
Frozen meat. It's plumped with so much water you're not really getting the bargain you think you are
Drinking jagerbombs once you are over the age of 21 (I'm being generous here. Lets be honest, once you're out of your teens, it's time to move on to something else)
Pontins
Caravans
Shiny suits
Toilet paper dollies
Toilet seat covers
Antimacassars
Stiletto heels
Now, hopefully you've been nodding your head along with this, because otherwise you're just not PLU, darling! Feel free to add your own PLU and non-PLU in the comments...
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