"Name the Nicest Thing Someone has Ever Said About You"

I found this question on an online quiz (procrastination is really taking its grip).
I tried answering it and found that I couldn't. Not because nobody has ever said anything nice, they have! I just can't think of any examples.
So why then can I call to mind at least three un-nice things that people have said about me? I don't really dwell on either, so is it  a confidence thing or a self improvement thing? Or are they one an the same??? Way back when cave men trotted around the country side, those who could run fast, kill well and were presumably attractive were the ones who bred. We can imagine that those who weren't naturally pre-dispositioned to be this way trained hard, learnt to use arrows and clubs and...had the equivalent of cave man botox. Whatever that may have been. They were bad at something so improved. Children do the same at schools all over the world. They don't do well in a spelling test so they (are supposed to) try harder for the nest. Is this not what negative comments constitute to? A way to make ourselves more appealing to a wider variety of people, because let's face it, the smelly, fat slob sat in the corner reading 'Take A Break' probably isn't going to be an employer's first choice. And sadly, that is generally what life has come to; the office has become the new hunting ground and where success was once measured on physical ability it now has more to do with the ability to climb and network company ladders.
If you say anything nice to me, anything at all, I will try to remember it. It just seems like evolution doesn't deem it a satisfactory use of mind space. Either that or I should re-assess this question when I have fewer exams, I'm less stressed and generally in a happy frame of mind.

My Good Friend Nigella

It's said that the kitchen is the heart of the home, and although my kitchen currently looks more like a post apocalyptic refuge, this sentiment is most certainly true. Food is one of life's biggest comforts; it is necessary to eat at least once every three weeks to carry on living, a piece of chocolate or bowl of rice pudding can make the entire world seem like a better place and there really is nothing quite like a greasy £4 pizza at 3am. But before I sound like a secretly obese whale (although how I'd keep that a secret I'm not sure) let's also remember that food is what you eat with friends, where you go on dates (having said that, I've never really understood the attraction of watching a virtual stranger shovel food into a hole in his face while I frantically refrain from dripping pasta sauce all over my top and around my mouth. But each to their own) and an all round bonding experience. 

This is perhaps why celebrity chefs and cooks (Nigella does NOT like being called a chef) have such a special place in our own hearts. Many people are on apparent first name terms with Jamie, Heston and Delia. Food somehow connects us; it is something that everyone has in common no matter what nationality, class, age or gender. It is virtually impossible to dislike someone who cooks good food...which is a little damning for me when I manage to ruin scramble eggs. But practice makes perfect...Breakfast anyone? 

The Real Point of Uni

Maybe the title of this is a tad generic. Should be something more along the lines of "Why I want to get a degree". I'll change it later. Probably.
When someone asks me what I want to do after I graduate, I instantly reply that I want to do Masters (and no, not in Hull). Although the thought of getting a job and being -dare i say it?- responsible absolutely terrifies me, I don't want to prolong my education to stall for time. Nor do I actually want the Masters to further my career prospects (just don't tell my mum this), although most of the jobs that I'd like do require one. Instead the mere knowledge is why I want those letters after my name. It excites me. Alot. Learning in such depth about something that interests me.
In turn the reason I am currently an undergrad is for similar reasons. I just like learning about Wordsworth's politics, Hardy's character formation and Middleton's depiction of London. For me, my degree is more of an indulgence that has the added benefit of career prospects, valuable life experience (from living with other people and budgeting to not drinking sambuca) and meeting new people, some of whom will prove to be incredible friends and others useful contacts, than being a total necessity. It's a bit like an expensive but high quality pair of beautiful shoes. Costs a lot, you do it for love but ultimately they save your feet from getting dirty. I could read the books at home in the same way I could wear crocs or something equally as repugnant.
There is nothing quite like an active, engaging seminar where everyone has their own opinions, the tutor encourages discussion and you leave feeling thoroughly intellectually stimulated.

Yet despite all this I'm still struggling to find motivation to write my essay.

Gilded Beauty

Fashion is a world that is perceived to be a glamorous and fierce place, dominated by beautiful people.  Indeed, the front rows of the world's major fashion shows back up this image. But the magazine editors who adorn their pages with the likes of Kate Hudson, Mary-Kate Olsen and Kristen Stewart to name but a few, sitting with concerted expressions pondering how they can fit the latest trends into their mammoth wardrobes, fail to mention the other side of fashion.

Fashion weeks see journalists, models and designers practically mainlining coffee, clutching their trusty sunglasses to hide bags a panda would be proud of and avoiding human contact as much as possible for fear of an episode of sleep deprived murder. Such are the effects of sleepless nights. And, yes, these may be but a few weeks a year but there is a constant pressure that is put upon people in the fashion industry to live up to a standard that has been set largely by myth and Photoshop.

Possibly the hardest hit in the general fashion stereotype are the models themselves. There is no denying that eating disorders are rife, enhanced not only by designer's preferences for the slimmer creature (samples are much cheaper to produce in a UK 4) but also though an ever-changing ideal body shape. In the real world, the ideal body shape is a natural one, achieved though a healthy diet and lifestyle with perhaps more than a little influence from photographs of flat stomached celebrities and television (think of the current trend for 1950s clothing that best suits a curvier shape). For a model her body shape is her livelihood. If the clothes don't fit her, she won't be booked. Simples.

Supermodels are a slightly different kettle of fish, but still face the same pressures. Although they can get away with being a little less restrained around the canapés because designers will book them on the basis of their name, their fame means money to the paparazzi.  Celebrity gossip magazines thrive on photographs of supermodels where they are drunk and humiliating themselves or simply have had a late night, haven't worn make up and aren't looking up to their air-brushed perfume ad image.  Have a moment's thought for Lily Cole; a photograph of her stumbling out of a Cambridge club could have a negative impact on her work. She may be rich, she may travel a lot and she may know Karl Lagerfeld and other fashion Demi-Gods   but she can't have the true experience of being a student.

This isn't to say that models should be pitied or felt too sorry for; they choose to stay and it often pays off for them. Modelling gave Natalia Vodianova her fairy tale escape from Russian poverty into a Tom Ford wedding dress at her wedding to the wealthy London property developer, Justin Portman.  Fashion does have its ugly, dark facets but it has a reputation of beauty and glamour and there is never smoke without fire.

Jewels of a Circular Sort

I should be slaving away over an essay, yet I have managed to find time to procrastinate. But after finding this little beauty of a site, I feel my time was well spent.





All from http://www.etsy.com/shop/LaPetiteBoheme?page=1

Love how they all look so individual and special without trying too hard.

Jewellery can be so hard to get right; it should be personal and expressive but at the same time looking tacky is...tacky.
Delicate chains and pendants can sometimes be overshadowed by an outfit yet at other times costume jewellery is just too much.For full impact jewellery should be a part of the outfit, not an afterthought.

A Comfortable Distance

When humans pass one another in the street they instinctively look at one another. They do this for a variety of reasons; personally I check to see if I know them. But what happens when you see someone you know walking towards you from 50 metres away? Far too far to speak without shouting and the other walker may not have even noticed your presence so a wave is out of the question; nothing quite like the rejection of an unrequited wave. 

So, eyes down, you keep walking. But when to look up? Too soon and the smile and acknowledgement will take place but it will be followed by the awkward ten steps as you edge towards a comfortable communication distance. Leave it too late however, and it looks like you're simply trying to ignore them. When did greeting people we know get so complicated? Perhaps staring them out is a solution...would certainly be an ice breaker and a good conversation starter. And better to err on the side of creepy than rude. Sometimes.

Once the comfortable, socially acceptable distance at which acknowledging someone is established the second obstacle arises. What to actually do. Stop, kiss and hug with open arms, enquiring about their health and giving an answer in great detail resulting in a two hour coffee shop conversation? Or smile, say 'hi' and continue walking, even if still exchanging pleasantries? The issue stems from everyone approaching the situation in a different manner with different expectations, based upon their preferences, time availability and mood. There is no easy answer, indeed it is doubtful there even is an answer.

Maybe life would be easier if we all walked around with masks on? 

I Shouldn't Have Bought That...Oops...

When I look in my wardrobe, there are a few pieces that bring a massive smile to my face; sometimes it's because  I have fantastic memories of wearing it but for other pieces it's the memory of actually buying it that makes me smile.
I rarely buy my favourite pieces when I intentionally go on massive shopping trips, indeed the clothes I spend days fantasising about often get relegated fairly quickly. Instead it's what I buy when I don't plan to go shopping, or know I really shouldn't be buying something, that become my favourite pieces. It's something about that guilty decision; the knowledge that it looks amazing and will be thought about for months, if not years afterwards (words of experience here) if it's not bought immediately. Despite only having £37.50 in my bank account. And the oh-so-pretty shoes being reduced to £36. From £70. There just isn't a decision there to made.
I don't know what it is about the impulsive spur of the moment decision and the potential feeling of regret that makes purchasing such pieces so addictive. Perhaps it is emotional roller coaster felt through the handing over of money intended for rent that causes attachment to the clothes that I have bought in this way. Maybe the fondness I feel for them is akin to the unconditional love a mother feels for her new born, 4.30AM screaming baby...I go through hell for those pieces; verbally from my family who think I shop too much, physically from my stomach who complains about the cheap diet I feed it afterwards and emotionally from the fact that the money I spent is rarely mine, instead money given to me for the purpose of surviving. But I have to love those shoes, the jacket, the bag, because it came down to a 'reasoned' decision and I was certainly not wrong in my judgement or justification. The shop shelf is rarely an option on which to keep exquisite things; it's simply not fair.
A small part of me suspects that I impulse buy sometimes simply to make myself feel good. The knowledge that I can go out and spent monstrous amounts of money on unnecessary things (albeit with money intended for another reason entirely) is good. It's rebellious. The purchase becomes the best friend of the moment with whom I break all the rules. Until something else comes along. All the same, I fall in love with it. Although I know I'll move on, it will always have a special place in my heart, no matter what.
Of course there have been times when I've taken home bags of shopping, opened them up and scratched my head, wondering what on earth I was thinking when I bought the flimsy 'dress' that more strongly resembled a night dress that would only be seen on someone over the age of 60 with seriously dwindling eyesight. And yes, that did get a hasty return. But more often than not, my naughty little secrets become my friends for life.