Not Quite Resolutions

Image From http://therichkidwannabe.blogspot.com/2011/01/resolutions-for-new-year.htmlI’ve never much believed in New Years Resolutions, mainly because the turning of the year is no more likely to get me on a treadmill than bikini season or my gym instructor’s scornful “I haven’t seen you here in months” eyes. So just to be clear these are not resolutions. It’s two weeks into 2012, so we can agree that I’ve definitely missed the resolution making portion of the year.

These are not so much ways to improve myself, and lets face it why would I want to (don’t answer that) but instead, more ways to ensure I don’t reach 2013 without a single thing to show for myself aside from that increasing Jack Daniels dependency. And shoes, far, far too many shoes.

1. Get a job, one which pays more than the most minimum of wages. As much as I love my mum, I can’t spend the next 27 years living at home, which incidentally is how long it would take me to put a deposit on the very shittiest of flats with my current salary.

2. Sky dive, or bungee jump, or take up aerobatic flying lessons or pretty much anything in this general category that is guaranteed to make me pee my pants a little bit. You’re never going to be amazed in life, unless you do some things, which are a little bit amazing.

3. Succeed in getting George Michaels “Faith” out of my head. It’s been stuck there for approximately 3 years, and whilst before it was bad, now it also comes with the accompanying dance moves compliments of J.D. No not the liquor, the character, in Scrubs.

4. Visit a county, where the rain is warm. Or perhaps before I get ahead of myself, I should aim to visit a country which is not Cypriot, Greek, Greek-Cypriot or any other variation which results in me eating Feta in the village tavern owned by Stelios.

5. Slow dance. Not jokingly. Not with my God-sister while drunk. Not with my dog (who for the record does an excellent Waltz) and not with my fingers on the steering wheel whilst bored in traffic.

The list could go on. A result of a very unproductive 2011 no doubt, I am left with a million and one things I was always meant to, but never quite got around to doing. I guess I could add teaching my dad how to text to the list and losing that last pound that just won’t budge from my thighs, but like I said these’s aren’t resolutions, and I am not a miracle worker.


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How To Recognise People With Foreign Parents.

I’ve lived in London my whole life. I was born over here so I suppose that makes me, if not English, then British at least. So what separates me from all my English friends? Because despite the fact we all went to the same school, watched the same cartoons growing up and all now live within about a 2mile radius of each other, there is a definite difference.

It’s our families, and while my classmates were all bought up with some level of normalcy, I was raised by a man who herded sheep as a child and the woman who chose to marry him. On face value we might seem the same as every other Londoner, but once you know how to read the signs, you’ll notice that you can actually spot us as mile off…

1. You know you’re dealing with someone who has foreign parents when it takes them 10 minutes to explain to the Fed Ex guy how to spell their surname. “No… an.. as..iou… iou… no just one iou… here let me just write if for you!” Because apparently even spell-check can’t help you out with Athanasiou.

2. It doesn’t matter if she’s 26, while she’s living at home, if you’re picking her up for a date, the chances are you’re going to have to wait around the corner.

3. Also, once they do move out, it’s of no consequence how many years they’ve been living away from home, if they’re going to visit their parents, they will be coming back with a clean basket of laundry and 6 assorted Sainsbury’s carrier bags. This is has nothing to do with being spoilt, this is just how our mothers show us love.

Quiet Sunday Dinner...

4. Cooking for Sunday dinner doesn’t involve a quiet meal for 4. No, it involves peeling potatoes until your arm goes numb; after all it’s rude to cook and not invite the whole family over. And even if the whole family isn’t coming, it’s best to cook for them anyway… just in case. Don’t worry this isn’t wasteful, what doesn’t get eaten today will be re-heated four times and eaten every night next week.

5. If while cooking together you pass them the wooden spoon and they duck, I promise this is completely normal. It’s a reflex deeply ingrained in them from the age of about 10 when they brought home their first bad report card and in turn got their first beating. Other such painful memory triggers include: slippers, brooms and their mums hand.

6. This one may be Cypriot specific but, we don’t say turn ‘on the lights’, we say ‘open the lights’. And no, despite being corrected several million times, we still don’t care that it doesn’t make any sense.

7. We have all at some point in our lives received a lecture which is a variation on the classic: “I came to this country with only two pounds in my pocket and I worked hard to build all this for you so you and your sister could have everything…” This may have something to do with the fact our parents believe we don’t recognise hard work due to the fact we have never ploughed a field.

8. “I’m going on holiday to see my family” tends to mean “see you in 5 weeks. I may have a twinge to my accent upon return and if all goes to plan I will be almost black”.

9. Despite being born over here, and having cultivated just about every British tradition going,  we still refer to everyone else as: “English People“.

Souvla Sunday...

10. Again, this may be a Cypriot specific adaptation, derived from the days where public transport was called Laki The Donkey, or perhaps it’s a result of our families missing the village days where everything you ever needed was a 3 minute walk away. Either way we all live pretty much down the same road, or at a push a couple of roads over. This essentially saves money on phone calls because you don’t need to call everyone to invite them to a Sunday BBQ, you just put the meat on and wait for them to smell it.


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Am I Rich Yet?

Me in 5 Years?

I actually picked up 20p off the floor today. It’s come to that.

Before you judge me, let it be known I gave it a hand sanitiser bath before popping it into my purse next to that losing lottery ticket I couldn’t quite bring myself to throw away.

Who knew you can’t get a loan for a Masters? Not me. Hats off to NatWest really for allowing me an overdraft the size of Brazil. Not that I’m worried about it or anything, I love a good challenge, and digging my self out of that one, is going to be just that.

I remember earning some money somewhere along the way, but since the only thing I ever invested in was my feet, we’re back to square one. My maths is rusty at best, so correct me if I’m wrong, but with the help of my blackberry’s calculator I worked out that over the years, I’ve spent approximately £3000 on shoes.

My next pair perhaps?

Now, I didn’t want to have to whip out the finger of blame, but I’m convinced that my parents have been encouraging this unfortunate obsession on the basis that without savings I’d be forced to live with them until the age of 35.

To any other culture this would seem an inprobable explanation, but us Greeks like our kids where we can see them. Where we can ensure they are eating four square meals a day, and only bringing home acceptable suitors (wealthy bankers who grown their own tomato plants and are in possession of a stereotypically Mediterranean  long baby finger nail).

“Love grows” my Grandma tells me, “what you need is stability”. They may as well give up this pretence of happiness altogether and nudge me down the aisle, to Abba’s Money Money Money proving my fellow students right once and for all.

I should elaborate. Way back when in sixth form, I had been voted “Most Likely To Marry For Money”. I personally don’t know where they got such an idea.

Yes I’d like to be rich, who wouldn’t? (Walk in wardrobe’s don’t build themselves you know). And yes it’s probably going to take me a while (because as I’ve discovered, working in the media industry involves a lot of working for free). And okay, if I were the “sleep your way to the top” type of girl I’d probably get there a lot faster. But damn it my morals are always getting in the way of an easy life.

So until success busts a groove over to my ends, London keep dropping those 20p’s and I’ll keep picking them up. And one day, when I can spare them, perhaps I’ll drop a few back.


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