The date was good. He phoned me two hours before we were due to meet for dinner. "I bet you're getting ready." "No I'm not. I'm quite chilled about these things. Probably won't start getting ready for another hour yet." "Uh huh."
Of course I was getting ready. I had an active charcoal face mask on as we were speaking.
"Are you nervous?" I decided to be honest. "A little bit." "Why?" "Well, I'm worried my mouth won't work." "Lisa, from what I've seen so far, that's not even a remote possibility." The cheek of him. I liked it. I decided to be more honest. "Hey, I was also thinking how funny it would be if I turned up for dinner dressed as a man from the 1920s. You know, with a tux, slicked back hair and a monocle." "hahaha. Now that would be hilarious." Oooh. I like him even more.
We had tapas and some fab red wine. My mouth worked fine. I hadn't noticed before, but he has lovely teeth. I like nice teeth. After dinner, we went to Bramble and laid down on this cushioned bed. He introduced me to a special kind of gin. I noticed he had nice shoes. We stayed out until 2am. He walked me home. I said: "I would invite you in, but I'm not a whore". He laughed and said: "We should definitely do this again."
The 10K was good. I'd been struggling to sleep on account of it all week and then Saturday morning arrived. I packed my bag and drove over to Fife. Joleen picked me up and we headed to Inverness. We checked into the hotel and headed into town for some dinner - preferably a pasta overload.
Inverness, however, was full to bursting with runners - and they all wanted a pasta overload. Jo and I walked round the town 3 times trying to find an Italian place that had space. We asked a man for directions and he was very keen to take us there himself - but that was probably because Jo tripped when she went over to speak to him and almost head-butted him in the 'nads. We tried everywhere else, before giving up and joining the queue at Bella Italia.
I didn't sleep at all that night. I was ridiculously nervous about the race, which is nuts. I wasn't running for anybody but myself. I wasn't even being sponsored. I didn't have to do it. At 6am my alarm went off.
Jo and the others were all doing the 5K and set off for the start about 2 hours before I was due to leave. At 0930, I arrived at the Royal Academy and we all had to follow these pipers about a kilometre to the start point. It was totally surreal. I kept thinking 'people are weird and they do weird things'. The race started in the middle of a new build housing scheme, which must have been joyous for those living there. It took about two minutes to reach the starting line after the gun had gone. As I crossed the line, I started my watch and my Ipod. I was off.
The first part of the race was through the woods and it was very narrow. I had to weave in and out, running through ditches to get passed the other, slower, runners. By 4K, we were on the road. At 5K I checked my watch - 28 minutes. Pretty good. I suddenly felt comfortable. I knew I was going to make it. I just wanted to try and do it in under an hour. But I know nothing about pace. And soon after, I noticed that I was no longer passing anyone. They were all passing me. Well, apart from the ones who were stopping - right in front of me, arrgghh!
About 7KMTRS in, I was running alongside two girls in wedding dresses. They clearly weren't taking this seriously so I didn't want to be beaten by them. Then I remembered that I was dressed as a reject from FAME (red training bib emblazoned with my surname, and a red headband) and that people probably thought I was joking around too.
At 9KMTRS I got both excited and relieved. I checked my watch - 54 mins. I might just make it.
But, I swear, that last kilometre went on forever. I didn't think it was ever going to end. My thighs and my ass were really sore. And it was uphill. I got into the stadium and onto the track. I could see the finish line. Thank fuck. Then, hilariously (but somewhat annoyingly given that I struggled so much in that last kilometre) I sprinted like a mad woman and overtook pretty much everyone who was on the track. I didn't know I could get my legs that high. I crossed the line - 1:03. Not my target, but not too bad given that 8 weeks previously I barely made it from the car park to the swan pond.
Jo had snapped some pics of me on the track. Some of the funniest things I have ever seen. I look like a cross between Carl Lewis (all spread-fingered and mecahnical) and Rambo (red and dangerous). Oh yeah, and not in any way attractive.
So, next time, I will do it in under an hour.
Showing posts with label fashion. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fashion. Show all posts
Wednesday, October 08, 2008
Friday, August 08, 2008
Mince pies
In my week off, I also managed to get to the optician's for my laser eye surgery appointment. I know loads of people who have been getting this done, including my 70-year old Grandad. I met him on George Street after he'd been in for a check-up and he was walking along the street wearing black-out RayBans. My Grandad has a full head of shiny white hair so he looked a bit like a reversed-out Ray Charles.
Anyway, I figure if my septuagenarian grandfather can do it, so can I. What I was forgetting was that he is minted (mostly because he does the rounds of the pensioners' lunch and dinners and doesn't really spend much money). I however, will have to forgo a lot of cocktails and unnecessary purchases in order to fund mine. Apparently, because I have such enormous pupils I don't qualify for the standard (reasonably priced) treatment. "Yeah, but you just said you put drops in my eyes to purposefully dilate my pupils." "Ha ha. You're funny." Hmmm, I wonder how many people have 'enormous pupils' and 'don't qualify' for the standard treatment.
The optician was manic and seemed to have received some kind of training in order to try to hypnotise me with her eyes, her smile and her quasi-American voice. She kept telling me that the advanced (expensive) treatment was approved by NASA and all the astronauts were having it. "Oh, I'm not an astronaut," I said, "I know I left the occupation field blank but that was just because I don't think you need to know what I do for a living." "Ha ha. You're funny." Also, it's annoying that they give you a price per eye. "So that'll be £1000 per eye." "Actually, I think I'll just get one done." "You just want to do one eye?" "Yeah, I was thinking the left one, and I can wear a patch over the right one. Patches are totally in this season." "Ha ha. You're funny." Honestly, it felt like I was being sold a time-share.
I told them I'd think about it. I want to explore why I don't qualify for the standard treatment. I mean, I'd much rather have the cool astronaut treatment for my enormous pupils (and probably will), but I hate bullshit and I'd like to know if that's what I was getting today.
After the eyes, I'm going to get my teeth whitened, then the botox. I'm toying with the idea of trying to build myself into a bionic woman/Robocop. You know, just for a laugh.
Anyway, I figure if my septuagenarian grandfather can do it, so can I. What I was forgetting was that he is minted (mostly because he does the rounds of the pensioners' lunch and dinners and doesn't really spend much money). I however, will have to forgo a lot of cocktails and unnecessary purchases in order to fund mine. Apparently, because I have such enormous pupils I don't qualify for the standard (reasonably priced) treatment. "Yeah, but you just said you put drops in my eyes to purposefully dilate my pupils." "Ha ha. You're funny." Hmmm, I wonder how many people have 'enormous pupils' and 'don't qualify' for the standard treatment.
The optician was manic and seemed to have received some kind of training in order to try to hypnotise me with her eyes, her smile and her quasi-American voice. She kept telling me that the advanced (expensive) treatment was approved by NASA and all the astronauts were having it. "Oh, I'm not an astronaut," I said, "I know I left the occupation field blank but that was just because I don't think you need to know what I do for a living." "Ha ha. You're funny." Also, it's annoying that they give you a price per eye. "So that'll be £1000 per eye." "Actually, I think I'll just get one done." "You just want to do one eye?" "Yeah, I was thinking the left one, and I can wear a patch over the right one. Patches are totally in this season." "Ha ha. You're funny." Honestly, it felt like I was being sold a time-share.
I told them I'd think about it. I want to explore why I don't qualify for the standard treatment. I mean, I'd much rather have the cool astronaut treatment for my enormous pupils (and probably will), but I hate bullshit and I'd like to know if that's what I was getting today.
After the eyes, I'm going to get my teeth whitened, then the botox. I'm toying with the idea of trying to build myself into a bionic woman/Robocop. You know, just for a laugh.
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
The trouble with wellies
On Tuesday morning I opened my email at work. There was a note from my manager entitled 'Areas of improvement'. I knew it wasn't going to be good. This is what it said:
"It has recently been brought to my attention that there are certain areas of company policy that you are not following sufficiently.
Dress Code
1) Wellies are not permitted - even on casual Friday.
2) Stripey or excessively patterned tights are not permitted.
3) Crimped hair is not permitted
4) Generally, your dress on business days is too casual. Sometimes your tops are cut too low and your skirts are too short. This is not professional and does not create the right impression.
Organisation & Planning
Although you always get all your work done on time and to an exceptionally high standard, you are not organised in the way you go about it.
Please do all you can to remedy these points as soon as possible."
Oh my God. How ridiculous is that? I was stunned. There's nothing in the rules about crimped hair, patterened tights or even wellies. It's all at the manager's discretion. Admittedly, the wellies I wore the previous Friday on dress-down day may have been pushing it, but it's not like they're mucky, farm boots. They're knee-high, red rubber boots and they looked fab. The child in me now wants to find a pair of knee-high, red leather boots and wear those instead.
I immediately sent an email back, in which I stated that I believed I was one of the best put-together people in the whole department. There are a few people who wear the same clothes everyday (including the same shirt/blouse) - gross!
I went on: "One of the many problems with this company is that there are far too many people who concern themselves with being overly organised and not enough people capable of creative or independent thought. I have a different way of working, but if the job is done on time and to a satisfactory standard I don't believe there's a problem."
They continually tell me that they love the fact I'm different, but try to iron this out at every opportunity. The book is now open on how long I'll last.
"It has recently been brought to my attention that there are certain areas of company policy that you are not following sufficiently.
Dress Code
1) Wellies are not permitted - even on casual Friday.
2) Stripey or excessively patterned tights are not permitted.
3) Crimped hair is not permitted
4) Generally, your dress on business days is too casual. Sometimes your tops are cut too low and your skirts are too short. This is not professional and does not create the right impression.
Organisation & Planning
Although you always get all your work done on time and to an exceptionally high standard, you are not organised in the way you go about it.
Please do all you can to remedy these points as soon as possible."
Oh my God. How ridiculous is that? I was stunned. There's nothing in the rules about crimped hair, patterened tights or even wellies. It's all at the manager's discretion. Admittedly, the wellies I wore the previous Friday on dress-down day may have been pushing it, but it's not like they're mucky, farm boots. They're knee-high, red rubber boots and they looked fab. The child in me now wants to find a pair of knee-high, red leather boots and wear those instead.
I immediately sent an email back, in which I stated that I believed I was one of the best put-together people in the whole department. There are a few people who wear the same clothes everyday (including the same shirt/blouse) - gross!
I went on: "One of the many problems with this company is that there are far too many people who concern themselves with being overly organised and not enough people capable of creative or independent thought. I have a different way of working, but if the job is done on time and to a satisfactory standard I don't believe there's a problem."
They continually tell me that they love the fact I'm different, but try to iron this out at every opportunity. The book is now open on how long I'll last.
Friday, November 10, 2006
Claws and crimps
Life? Manic? Yes! And not in the good way. Work has been so crazy that I've taken to avoiding my email and my phone like the plague. In some ways it's good because it's only ever pishy little stuff that comes via those channels, but in others it's bad because I now have something of a 'diva' attitude towards my tasks. "If it's not even remotely interesting baby, I ain't touching it."
Yesterday I ran a future planning session for my favourite clients. It went really well and I only mentioned taking my clothes off once. Today, I was filming in Leith. Oh there's no end to the glamour. A couple of months back I'd drawn up some storyboards (complete with stick men) in response to a client's request to make a film, and today it all became reality. My left hand was required for one of the scenes. The very same left hand that had an confidence-shattering experience in this month's company magazine.
Somehow I ended up being centre-spread. There are a number of things wrong with the picture:
1) It's enormous
2) It's a cut-out and as such is bereft of context
3) The photographer shot it from below
4) My left arm is outstretched and, as a result of point 4, appears hideously disproportionate to the rest of my body
5) I am wearing a (hideously disproportionate) chunky, gold bracelet on my (hideously disproportionate)left wrist.
6) I pity da fool.
The only saving grace is that there are staples and a crease down my face so people may not know it's me (I pray. Oh dear God, do I pray).
My colleagues have now nicknamed me 'the claw' and do the full on Toy Story thing every time I open my mouth.
Anyway, I saw today's film as a chance to recover. I was required to stack £2 coins. It doesn't sound very difficult, but I hadn't factored on stage fright. My hand began shaking like Sue-Ellen in the early years. I had to do four takes - dismal.
It was really interesting seeing the film come together. I also had to sit in on the voice-over recording which was really cool. The guy had an amazingly smooth voice, which reminded me of just how nasal mine is.
The last few weeks have been really good for catching up with my friends. Jen (who incidentally was pished at her work today)and I had a marathon phone sesh which was cynical yet optimistic. I also spoke to Kerry, who informed me that one of her budgies has 'croaked'and that she'd bought a replacement which is 'much brawer like'. We're heading off to see the Scissor Sisters in Newcastle next week and are trying to decide what to wear. I'm definitely going to crimp my hair. I've had crimped hair every day this week and it's been attracting a lot of attention. Jayne said:"Oh my goodness. I've not seen a crimp since 1987." To which I replied avec great gusto: "Well Jayne, you'll be seeing lot more of them as it's a key part of the look for this season. And as everyone around here takes their fashion leads from me, expect to see plenty more crimped heads around here next week." She laughed, but in a nervous kind of way.
Sinead emailed with a subject heading of "Colin Fry - Mon 13th, Playhouse", so we're going to see him. I'm looking forward to hearing repeated use of the word "passed-over". On the phone last night, Sinead told me that she'd sent the same email to Joleen and she'd written back saying: "Great! When & where?" Prone to Hulkesque outbursts, Sinead resisted and replied: "Mon 13th :) at the Playhouse :)". Well done that girl!
That's enough from me. I'm off to work on my fireside tartan.
Yesterday I ran a future planning session for my favourite clients. It went really well and I only mentioned taking my clothes off once. Today, I was filming in Leith. Oh there's no end to the glamour. A couple of months back I'd drawn up some storyboards (complete with stick men) in response to a client's request to make a film, and today it all became reality. My left hand was required for one of the scenes. The very same left hand that had an confidence-shattering experience in this month's company magazine.
Somehow I ended up being centre-spread. There are a number of things wrong with the picture:
1) It's enormous
2) It's a cut-out and as such is bereft of context
3) The photographer shot it from below
4) My left arm is outstretched and, as a result of point 4, appears hideously disproportionate to the rest of my body
5) I am wearing a (hideously disproportionate) chunky, gold bracelet on my (hideously disproportionate)left wrist.
6) I pity da fool.
The only saving grace is that there are staples and a crease down my face so people may not know it's me (I pray. Oh dear God, do I pray).
My colleagues have now nicknamed me 'the claw' and do the full on Toy Story thing every time I open my mouth.
Anyway, I saw today's film as a chance to recover. I was required to stack £2 coins. It doesn't sound very difficult, but I hadn't factored on stage fright. My hand began shaking like Sue-Ellen in the early years. I had to do four takes - dismal.
It was really interesting seeing the film come together. I also had to sit in on the voice-over recording which was really cool. The guy had an amazingly smooth voice, which reminded me of just how nasal mine is.
The last few weeks have been really good for catching up with my friends. Jen (who incidentally was pished at her work today)and I had a marathon phone sesh which was cynical yet optimistic. I also spoke to Kerry, who informed me that one of her budgies has 'croaked'and that she'd bought a replacement which is 'much brawer like'. We're heading off to see the Scissor Sisters in Newcastle next week and are trying to decide what to wear. I'm definitely going to crimp my hair. I've had crimped hair every day this week and it's been attracting a lot of attention. Jayne said:"Oh my goodness. I've not seen a crimp since 1987." To which I replied avec great gusto: "Well Jayne, you'll be seeing lot more of them as it's a key part of the look for this season. And as everyone around here takes their fashion leads from me, expect to see plenty more crimped heads around here next week." She laughed, but in a nervous kind of way.
Sinead emailed with a subject heading of "Colin Fry - Mon 13th, Playhouse", so we're going to see him. I'm looking forward to hearing repeated use of the word "passed-over". On the phone last night, Sinead told me that she'd sent the same email to Joleen and she'd written back saying: "Great! When & where?" Prone to Hulkesque outbursts, Sinead resisted and replied: "Mon 13th :) at the Playhouse :)". Well done that girl!
That's enough from me. I'm off to work on my fireside tartan.
Monday, February 06, 2006
Ask and you will receive
What an unexpectedly fab weekend!
Once upon a time, I dreamt of a more interesting life. In recent months this has been working out nicely. My life seems to have fallen into a pattern whereby I am booked up every night of the week and totally 'free' at weekends. You'd think this might make my weekends a little dull and boring, but it's just the opposite. What usually happens is that on Friday night I get at least one call to say "well do you, do you, do you, do you wanna go ...". The offer usually involves alcohol and chat, so I tend to 'wanna go' more often than not. On Saturdays, I get to the gym before heading off with the Economist (that's the paper rather than Gordon Brown or someone of a similar ilk) for a few coffees.
This Friday I called my mum; who told me that she and my dad were coming over to see me on Saturday afternoon. I was most pleased about this as I have some trousers that need to be re-hemmed and some bed covers that could do with an iron. I also enjoy my parents' company. After that I called my Gran to wish her a happy holiday; she's off to Zambia for a month. By the time I got off the phone it was rather late, so I decided not to go out and opted instead to purge my wardrobe of clothes that were a)too big, b) far too small, c) hideous (and, thank God, unworn) and d) the wrong colour. This stems from the fact that I had a colour consultation last week during which I was told that I am light, cool and apparently sporting the wrong hair colour. Having just spent a small fortune having my hair done the week before, this isn't what I wanted to hear.
On Saturday I was waiting for my parents when I realised I had managed to read the Economist cover to cover. It followed that I had been there for quite some time. I called my mum to find out where the hell they were, only to have her tell me that they'd been diverted at the Forth Road Bridge and were on their way to Kincardine. Why didn't she call me to let me know you may ask? Alas, she had no credit in her phone. This is a regular thing. I refused to get annoyed and stemmed any rumblings of rage with a trip to Harvey Nick's where I bought a new perfume.
After an enjoyable (and rather hilarious) dinner with my parents, I bumped into Keith, then Jeff, then Sam, then Katie. They were all on their way to the Blind Poet to drink to Jeff's birthday and asked if I wanted to head along. I promptly did so and had a rather excellent time chatting, drinking and arm-wrestling.
I got to bed around 4am. Mog sent a text at 8am asking if I fancied doing something. I begged off until noon and we ended up going on a little jaunt to North Berwick (oooh, how elderly). We consumed copious amounts of food, bought some sweeties and had a walk along the beach before driving back home. An already fab weekend became fabber still when my Grandad called to 'give' me a car; a decent one with a year's road tax and MOT.
Sometimes life really does work out just as you'd imagined; sometimes it's even better.
Once upon a time, I dreamt of a more interesting life. In recent months this has been working out nicely. My life seems to have fallen into a pattern whereby I am booked up every night of the week and totally 'free' at weekends. You'd think this might make my weekends a little dull and boring, but it's just the opposite. What usually happens is that on Friday night I get at least one call to say "well do you, do you, do you, do you wanna go ...". The offer usually involves alcohol and chat, so I tend to 'wanna go' more often than not. On Saturdays, I get to the gym before heading off with the Economist (that's the paper rather than Gordon Brown or someone of a similar ilk) for a few coffees.
This Friday I called my mum; who told me that she and my dad were coming over to see me on Saturday afternoon. I was most pleased about this as I have some trousers that need to be re-hemmed and some bed covers that could do with an iron. I also enjoy my parents' company. After that I called my Gran to wish her a happy holiday; she's off to Zambia for a month. By the time I got off the phone it was rather late, so I decided not to go out and opted instead to purge my wardrobe of clothes that were a)too big, b) far too small, c) hideous (and, thank God, unworn) and d) the wrong colour. This stems from the fact that I had a colour consultation last week during which I was told that I am light, cool and apparently sporting the wrong hair colour. Having just spent a small fortune having my hair done the week before, this isn't what I wanted to hear.
On Saturday I was waiting for my parents when I realised I had managed to read the Economist cover to cover. It followed that I had been there for quite some time. I called my mum to find out where the hell they were, only to have her tell me that they'd been diverted at the Forth Road Bridge and were on their way to Kincardine. Why didn't she call me to let me know you may ask? Alas, she had no credit in her phone. This is a regular thing. I refused to get annoyed and stemmed any rumblings of rage with a trip to Harvey Nick's where I bought a new perfume.
After an enjoyable (and rather hilarious) dinner with my parents, I bumped into Keith, then Jeff, then Sam, then Katie. They were all on their way to the Blind Poet to drink to Jeff's birthday and asked if I wanted to head along. I promptly did so and had a rather excellent time chatting, drinking and arm-wrestling.
I got to bed around 4am. Mog sent a text at 8am asking if I fancied doing something. I begged off until noon and we ended up going on a little jaunt to North Berwick (oooh, how elderly). We consumed copious amounts of food, bought some sweeties and had a walk along the beach before driving back home. An already fab weekend became fabber still when my Grandad called to 'give' me a car; a decent one with a year's road tax and MOT.
Sometimes life really does work out just as you'd imagined; sometimes it's even better.
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