tag:ilse24.blog.co.uk,2009-11-06:/I don't have a plastic fetish. Plastic is Chic is the title of one of my favourite ever comic books which I was re-reading at the time of starting up this blog. Enter the world of Ilse, if you wish... MokoFeed2009-11-06T07:17:34+01:00tag:ilse24.blog.co.uk,2006-10-03:/2006/10/03/and_then_it_all_went_black~1183128/Steeny2006-10-03T10:11:08+02:002006-10-03T10:17:29+02:00 <p>I have fainted twice in twenty-seven years. Once when I came to conclusion my ankle was no longer attached to my lower leg which was no longer attached to my upper leg and realised it was rather painful. The second time was yesterday, only this time I have no idea why it happened. </p> <p>I was on my way to work and while walking to Canary Wharf tube station I started to get hot, despite it being chilly at that time in the morning. I felt like I was about to throw up - something which I haven't done since I was twelve - and black spots appeared in front of my eyes. </p> <p>I told myself it would be alright and headed for the ticket barriers. And then it all went black...</p> <p>A few minutes - or at least I think it was a few minutes later - I open my eyes to find myself being surrounded by London Underground staff who informed me I fainted. Though I had hit my head on the floor, a man behind me had tried to stop me from falling and it probably helped break the fall slightly for which I thanked him.</p> <p>I got taken to the staff room where a medic arrived to check me out. I was put in a taxi and was sent on my way to the hospital where I spent the next three hours under observation. I was finally allowed home and went straight to bed. </p> <p>Strange...the doctors didn't find anything obvious and though I have been quite tired of late, my overall health has been fine. I hope it doesn't happen again. </p> <p>Was greeted by the staff at Canary Wharf tube station this morning, they now all seem to know my name...at least that makes the journey slightly more pleasant. </p> <p>Ilse </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://ilse24.blog.co.uk/2006/10/03/and_then_it_all_went_black~1183128/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:ilse24.blog.co.uk,2006-09-28:/2006/09/28/get_out_clause~1168564/Steeny2006-09-28T14:12:54+02:002006-09-28T14:12:54+02:00 <p>Help, I need a get out clause! </p> <p>Everyone in my building ais invited to say goodbye to our resident Chippendale (see A different side to my colleague) at 4pm. There will be cake, something which despite my current lack of appetite I don't want to miss out on. </p> <p>However, it means coming face to face with he who stripped off in front of me...unwanted! </p> <p>I have managed to successfully avoid him in the last two weeks, but I feel now there is no way out. </p> <p>I might have to hide behind a few of my bigger and more ample colleagues. </p> <p>He is having a leaving do tonight but luckily I have Japanese tonight. </p> <p>Phew! </p> <p>Ilse </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://ilse24.blog.co.uk/2006/09/28/get_out_clause~1168564/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:ilse24.blog.co.uk,2006-09-27:/2006/09/27/tonight_matthew_i_am_going_to_be_nearly_~1165401/Steeny2006-09-27T14:40:59+02:002006-09-27T14:44:42+02:00 <p>It's been a strange few days...</p> <p>Apart from some personal stuff, perhaps the strangest thing that happened to me was nearly ending up under a car. </p> <p>It wouldn't have been the first time. I ended up under a car when I was twelve and I was cycling home from school. I was about to cross the road to get onto our driveway where my mother was waiting for me when a car came screeching round the bend near our house and boom...I was lying in the middle of the street, my bike on top of me, not really realising what had just happened. </p> <p>I ended up with a concussion, ten broken fingers and luckily nothing more than a few bruises and scrapes. I think my mother was more traumatised than me. </p> <p>Anyway, the incident was slightly different in that this time I managed to stop myself from getting hurt</p> <p>After a very emotional conversation with J that morning and a tiresome commute back to Southeast London, I couldn't wait to get to the safety and isolation of my own home where I could hide from the world for the rest of the day. </p> <p>I was nearly there when the traffic lights in my street turned to red and I was forced to stop and delay my escape with just a few more minutes. I was standing there, avoiding people's gazes when this woman came to stand behind me. I had only just passed her the minute before. She looked incredibly dazed and lost. </p> <p>When she was standing behind me, she was shouting at people passing by, for no reason. I moved away slightly but the pavement was crowded so there wasn't really anywhere for me to go. Cars kept driving past. </p> <p>All of a sudden, I felt her putting both her hands on my back and giving me an incredibly hard push. I felt myself falling forward and nearly ended up under a car when I remembered I was holding my overnight bag. I threw it back and managed to stabilise myself. I just stood there shaken for a second, nodded at people who asked if I was alright, didn't even look where the women had gone to or even checked she was even still there, crossed the street and ran home, dodging all the tourists. </p> <p>My back is sore from where she pushed me. </p> <p>And to top it off, I have just been stung by a wasp which flew into my office and obviously had it in for me. </p> <p>Great! </p> <p>Ilse </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://ilse24.blog.co.uk/2006/09/27/tonight_matthew_i_am_going_to_be_nearly_~1165401/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:ilse24.blog.co.uk,2006-09-12:/2006/09/12/a_different_side_to_my_colleague~1119726/Steeny2006-09-12T17:16:40+02:002006-09-12T17:16:40+02:00 <p>Scene this afternoon in my office:</p> <p>Colleague comes to our floor - currently only occupied by my manager and myself- after his lunchtime run. He removes his sweaty T-shirt and starts doing push-ups on our roof terrace. So far nothing different from what happens most days. </p> <p>Then he comes into our office, grabs a little stool, sits himself down and takes of his running shorts. He sat there for a while in his tight lycras and then announced he was going to take a shower. </p> <p>We both get on with our work, until we realise he was standing in our doorway, covering his bits with a towel. He started to move the towel. Okay, that made us laugh. </p> <p>But then he just dropped the towel, put it out there for us to see and stood there for a while. My manager didn't know where to look while I hid behind the flipchart and my monitor, waiting for him to go. </p> <p>When I thought the coast was clear, I saw him standing next to the watercooler, completely naked, bending over to fill his cup with water. I hope it was of the ice cold version as he def. needed some cooling down. I quickly averted my eyes and kept them firmly on my monitor for the next few minutes until we heard the shower door being locked. </p> <p>My manager and I just sat there, not exactly sure about what had just happened. </p> <p>It's his last day next week, I guess he wanted us to remember him for something else than his job title! </p> <p>Ilse </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://ilse24.blog.co.uk/2006/09/12/a_different_side_to_my_colleague~1119726/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:ilse24.blog.co.uk,2006-09-12:/2006/09/12/to_eat_or_not_to_eat~1118456/Steeny2006-09-12T10:19:47+02:002006-09-12T10:19:47+02:00 <p>One of my female housemates has a few strange habits, especially when it comes to food. She hardly eats and we are a bit worried about her. </p> <p>I have only ever seen her eat two different meals, she will alternate between them during the week. Monday usually starts off with two grilled quorn sausages, boiled carrots and peas, two mini poppadums, four olives and a bit of ketchup. On Tuesday a boiled egg, a mini ciabatta, iceberg lettuce, cucumber and four olives get consumed. And then she goes back to the first meal. </p> <p>These meals usually follow after three-hour sessions at the gym. </p> <p>Her breakfast consists of a yoghurt and her lunch of a sandwich with some quorn thing and fruit. I have never seen her eat a snack or anything that contains more than 150 calories. </p> <p>Our big fridge is full of nice food, mostly heatlhy but very tasty. Except for her shelf: lettuce, carrots, cucumber, skimmed milk and some eggs. Her cupboard contains a huge amount of sugar-free chewing gum, dried fruit and herbs. There is nothing there to make a meal with. </p> <p>Once in a while, we go out for a bite to eat, although we don't do it very often as sitting next to someone who doesn't eat tends to make you feel guilty about actually appreciating yours. Last time, we went to a local restaurant to celebrate my birthday. The three of us tucked into our pizzas while she ordered a salad, minus the dressing and before she ate anything, she removed all the grilled vegetables and ate only a few lettuce leaves. </p> <p>I know it is her body and she might feel comfortable at being that thin but we are all worried. </p> <p>What I find incredibly bizarre though is that every night at ten she'll be in the living room watching an hour's worth of cooking programmes on UKTV Food, the home of double cream, chocolate cakes and roast dinners. </p> <p>She also visits quite a few of the celebrity chefs' restaurants and gives them rave reviews, which baffles me even more. Why spend that much money on a meal when you'll leave most of it on your plate? Surely, that is more of an insult to the chef than anything else? </p> <p>I just don't get it. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://ilse24.blog.co.uk/2006/09/12/to_eat_or_not_to_eat~1118456/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:ilse24.blog.co.uk,2006-08-29:/2006/08/29/float_like_a_butterfly_sting_like_a_psyc~1079379/Steeny2006-08-29T13:54:43+02:002006-08-29T13:54:43+02:00 <p>On Monday morning, my housemates and I were brutally awoken by heavy bangs on our door. This was followed by plenty of cars honking their horns and women screaming their lungs out. Wanting to know exactly what was going on, I ran downstairs to look out of the living room window. What I saw, wasn't exactly pretty. </p> <p>This girl in a tiny little dress and with only one strappy sandal one was throwing another girl against our door. Several times. Then she ran across the street which nearly got her killed (shame that) and throw another girl against a car, which got dented in the process. Not satisfied, she went for the hair of another girl and then headed back to our door and continued to kick against it. </p> <p>Oh great. Finally the bouncers of the bar opposite, who had been observing the spectacle up till then, dragger her away kicking and screaming. The police drove past, looked like they were about to stop but then continued on their merry way. </p> <p>I grabbed a jacket, my housemate grabbed her dressing gown and after having checked whether the screaming banshee was really gone, we opened our door. The bouncers saw a bit of damage control was in order and came to apologise. Too late really, our door which is rather sturdy was damaged by someone they had let into that wretched bar of theirs. What did our door ever do to her? Would she like if we would go and kick against her door in the middle of the night? And would it be possible to place electricity on the little fence next to our door and in front of our living room window? </p> <p>The thing is, it was the first time I felt unsafe in my own home. What would have happpened if she really managed to kick our door down? I have lived there for three years now and it has never happened. We have a safe neighbourhood and never had any problems until that bar in our street started opening late and started attracting the wrong crowd. </p> <p>Everyone has complained to the council and the police numerous times but to no avail. The owner of that bar owns another six or so bars in the area and the council thinks that probably outweighs all the problems. Yeah right, what exactly are we paying £155 in council tax for every month? I probably sound like one of those disgruntled OAP's who complain about the state of the youth today but I fear they might be right.....</p> <p>And meanwhile that girl gets away with her actions....</p> <p>Argh! </p> <p>Ilse </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://ilse24.blog.co.uk/2006/08/29/float_like_a_butterfly_sting_like_a_psyc~1079379/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:ilse24.blog.co.uk,2006-08-25:/2006/08/25/parental_unit_problems~1068558/Steeny2006-08-25T14:44:30+02:002006-08-25T14:45:13+02:00 <p>It seems I am suffering from blogger's block. I simply have no inspiration to write anything down. </p> <p>I am feeling slightly demotivated. The job isn't really going how I wanted it to go. I know I shouldn't say it out loud but I sometimes regret leaving my previous job. At least I knew exactly what I was doing and did it well. Here I never really know whether what I do is good and I know I am not fulfilling my potential but it currently seems to be quite hard to get my act together (scans the job section in the newspaper...). </p> <p>At the same time, I had to put up with the parental unit coming to visit. I love my parents and I am sure they love me but they also know how to make me feel incredibly guilty and have a knack of turning back time 12 years and making me act like the stroppy teenager I was then. </p> <p>My parents both grew up in a small village and still live there. They are happy and content but seem to find incredibly hard to comprehend that lifestyle is not something that was making me happy. After five years, I thought they had finally accepted my move to London. Last year we had a great conversation about it and I assured them the move had nothing to do with them. They did not drive me away. </p> <p>I had no idea my mother had been considering that for so a long time and I wish she had just asked me on the day I announced I was moving to London. Although, I can understand why she delayed asking me this for so long. If I would have said yes they would have started questioning everything about the way they raised their children. </p> <p>I try to make them understand that this is where I am happy, where I feel comfortable. I never felt I fitted in and when I left it felt like a huge weight had been lifted off my shoulders. I felt like I could finally breathe again. I have repeated this so many times but it does not sink it in, I don't really know what else I can do really. </p> <p>It also seems the same rules don't apply to my older brother. My parents told me they are happy he is living his own life. And what makes me so different then. </p> <p>Anyway, this discussion was once again held during their annual visit. This time, last week Sunday in my favourite Indian restaurant. My mother even shed a tear which makes me feel incredibly bad about doing something that makes me happy but not them. It drains me, it makes me feel guilty about leading my own life and it makes me feel upset because I know upset them. </p> <p>I am actually rather relieved they are back in the motherland. </p> <p>But things are looking up. I have changed my mind about my Italian degree and am actually starting Japanese in a few weeks. I figure the latter might be more of a challenge as I already studied Italian for a few years. It will be a interesting as up till now every language I have learnt has been one with an alphabet very similar to my mother tongue. I am curious to see how I will get on. My brain can use this work-out! </p> <p>Master J is actually in Japan at the moment. Just before his plane was about to take off yesterday I received a text from him telling me he had been upgraded. Lucky man. After spending two and a half weeks with two of his friends and attending the wedding of one of them, he gets to have his own Bill Murray moment as well as he has booked himself two nights at the Tokyo Hyatt where Lost in Translation was filmed. I am having to console myself with a visit to the Tokyo Dinner in Soho instead. Jealous? Moi? Never! </p> <p>And on that note, I have some work to get back to. Roll on this Bank Holiday weekend! </p> <p>Ilse </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://ilse24.blog.co.uk/2006/08/25/parental_unit_problems~1068558/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:ilse24.blog.co.uk,2006-08-08:/2006/08/08/you_re_fired~1022488/Steeny2006-08-08T11:17:40+02:002006-08-08T11:17:40+02:00 <p>Michelle, winner of this year's Apprentice, has been put on gardening leave. Her £100,000 job with Sir Alan Sugar hangs in the balance.</p> <p>That is the 'reward' you get for sleeping with Syed 'I am from the streets' Ahmed. Not only will she have to raise his devil's child, Michelle, who insists she is still employed, might actually get to hear 'You're fired' after all. </p> <p>Rumour has it hadn't been working out, even before she got pregnant and she now awaits Sir Alan's return from holiday to find out her fate. Can't think what is worst really, losing her job or Syed vowing to stand by her. </p> <p>It would never have happened with the Badger. </p> <p>Ilse </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://ilse24.blog.co.uk/2006/08/08/you_re_fired~1022488/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:ilse24.blog.co.uk,2006-08-03:/2006/08/03/the_easy_life_generation_aka_lazy_superf~1010205/Steeny2006-08-03T11:55:17+02:002006-08-08T11:06:57+02:00 <p>I just read a slightly alarming article. Based on a survey of 3,000 women with an average age of 28, it doesn't exactly give me hope for my generation. I know these is only one survey but I feel they might be onto something here as you only have to walk outside or into a bar or even better yet, Topshop to see the result. </p> <p>Workshy young women are now determned to ditch hard graft and flirt and flaunt their way to a fortune instead. These women dream of living the life of luxury, following in the WAG's' footsteps and demand wealth and status without the hassle of career as they fear working might ruint their looks. </p> <p>As if that is not bad enough, the cite Chantelle Houghton of Celebrity Big Brother and Coleen McCloughlin as their role model. Many of them think a great figure is all they need to get ahead in life. </p> <p>Just under a third said they would have a boob job if it guaranteed them easy money. Money also gets put before love. A third said happily confessed they would marry for money. One in ten revealed they would jump at the chance to marry a rich old man and reckon it makes perfect sense to rely on a man to earn cash for them. They rather have a rich man they make it in life on their own. </p> <p>Just under a third also said they would never want to work. </p> <p>And surprise, surprise, almost half said their credit card shopping got them into massive debt! </p> <p>This is seriously setting women back. It makes for sad reading really. Posh Spice and Paris Hilton have a lot to answer for. </p> <p>I have no words for it really. </p> <p>Ilse </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://ilse24.blog.co.uk/2006/08/03/the_easy_life_generation_aka_lazy_superf~1010205/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:ilse24.blog.co.uk,2006-08-02:/2006/08/02/you_re_on_the_other_side_of_the_bed~1008325/Steeny2006-08-02T16:45:42+02:002006-08-02T16:45:42+02:00 <p>I woke up this morning with my head where my feet are supposed to be. My duvet and pillows were also switched.</p> <p>Not quite sure how I managed to do that.</p> <p>Sleep deprivation is obviously having a bigger effect on my than I originally thought. Although when I was turning around and re-arranging my bedding, I was in fact sleeping. </p> <p>It baffles me a little bit. </p> <p>Ilse </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://ilse24.blog.co.uk/2006/08/02/you_re_on_the_other_side_of_the_bed~1008325/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:ilse24.blog.co.uk,2006-07-31:/2006/07/31/toilet_tantrums_in_brighton~1002513/Steeny2006-07-31T13:47:34+02:002006-09-27T14:46:30+02:00 <p>I ask you: why do women take so long in the toilet? It has always been a mystery to me as I am a women myself and never take long. I wonder what exactly it is they do in there. </p> <p> Master J and I drove over to Brighton yesterday to meet up with G who was spending a few days by the seaside. After finding a quiet spot on the beach, I got out my book while the both of them headed for the water. This was followed by a long quest trying to find this cafe Master J had read about in a Giles Coran review. It proved hard to locate but we eventually got there and settled down for a late lunch. </p> <p> While walking back to the beach, my bladder started to protest and I was glad we stumbled upon a toilet, only to find out I had to cross my legs a little bit longer. There were about 12 women in front of me. </p> <p> The queue didn't move. I sighed. Still didn't move. Oh, wait, someone is coming out. Only 11 more in front of me. By this time, I had been waiting 15 minutes. I got my book out. Oh, wait, toilet paper crisis. Another five minutes waiting for the toilet attendant to drag herself to the storage cupboard, unlock it and get some more. Three chapters read by then. Oh joy, one of the toilets out of order. </p> <p> Another five minutes. Phew, three more women in front of me. Nearly my turn. Shouldn't have been so hopeful, they all took about 5 minutes each! </p> <p> Finally, my turn. In and out in 60 seconds! Probably a record time that day. I had spent nearly 45 minutes queueing outside a toilet in Brighton. What a waste of time. Can't they all go in the sea, like every one ;-) It would have saved me a lot of hassle. </p> <p> Walked back to find two impatient men who didn't believe me when I said I had to wait so long until we walked back to the beach past the toilet and saw another 15 women standing outside. Why? </p> <p> I sought comfort in an ice cream afterwards. </p> <p> </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://ilse24.blog.co.uk/2006/07/31/toilet_tantrums_in_brighton~1002513/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:ilse24.blog.co.uk,2006-07-28:/2006/07/28/hoffmania_goes_too_far~995014/Steeny2006-07-28T10:13:10+02:002006-07-28T10:13:10+02:00 This guy <span>(allegedly) </span>sent this as a serious email to a PR company in Belfast<span>... </span><span> </span> <span>______________________________________________________________________________________ </span> <span> </span><br>Dear "Stakeholdergroup",</p> <p>After having my eyes lasered a month ago I've been mobbed by<span> </span>people in Belfast asking to have their photographs taken with me because I<span> </span>look like David<span> </span>Hasselhoff and I reckon that I could use this unusual talent for PR events.</p> <p>I live in East Belfast, so its pretty easy for me to turn up to<span> </span>local events.</p> <p>My telephone number is 07866 <strong>* </strong>*</p> <p>I have a degree in Business Studies too that specialised in Marketing, so I might be able to help you in other ways.</p> <p>Please tell me your thoughts.</p> <p>Many thanks,</p> <p>Magnus Ramsay<a href="http://www.blog.co.uk/srv/media/media_item.php?item_ID=715117"><img src="http://data2.blog.de/media/117/715117_f6e2974b08_s.jpeg" alt="I" title="I" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><a href="http://www.blog.co.uk/srv/media/media_item.php?item_ID=715118"><img src="http://data2.blog.de/media/118/715118_e25356e870_s.jpeg" alt="I" title="I" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a> </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://ilse24.blog.co.uk/2006/07/28/hoffmania_goes_too_far~995014/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:ilse24.blog.co.uk,2006-07-26:/2006/07/26/just_one_of_those_days~989496/Steeny2006-07-26T10:32:54+02:002006-07-26T10:32:54+02:00 <p>I feel it is going to be one of those days. I also feel I need to get it out of my system. So here goes..</p> <p>The DLR I got on was taken out of service the minute I planted my behind on a seat. I weighed out all the options. I could walk to Canary Wharf through the foot tunnel and get the Jubilee Line . I could get the overland and change onto the Bakerloo Line at Charing Cross. In the end, I opted for the bus to North Greenwich from where I took the Jubilee Line, probably the one underground line with temperatures below 50 at the moment. </p> <p>While walking to the bus stop, I passed my house and contemplated going back inside and hiding in my room for the rest of the day. Instead, I carried on and arrived at work to find out someone had stolen our newspapers again. </p> <p>We get eight national newspapers delivered every morning, only the delivery guy is too lazy to put them through the letterbox so at least three times a week, all the tabloids go missing. They are carefully taken out of the bundle and only the broadsheets are left. Though we have yet to catch the culprit at it, we know one thing: he has the reading age of a nine year old! </p> <p>Anyway, with only the tabloids to look through for work-related stuff, I got my bowl of cereal and opened the Daily Telegraph. I spotted an article about the NHS having to invest a huge amount of money into adapting their beds, operating tables and mortuaries for the obese. It annoyed me because my taxpayer's money is going to those with no willpower. </p> <p>Though I understand there are some people who cannot help being obese (those with Prader-Willi Syndrome for instance), I also know that this is a minority and that the rest of them don't always have an excuse and that this is now costing us well over £1.5 billion! Always a great thought to start the day with. </p> <p>Afterwards, I went to grab a glass in the kitchen, only for my colleague to reach for the same glass and drop it. The glass cut my leg and I still haven't managed to stop the bleeding. Oh, and it hurts a little bit. </p> <p>Just now, my doctor rang. While I was in Belgium I had a scan on my knee. This knee landed me in a wheelchair for six months when I was 18 and it has been troubling me ever since. Turns out something is up with the ligaments they put back together nine years ago and it might mean another operation. Not great news. </p> <p>And all of this in the 3.5 hours that I have been awake. Think I might keep my head down and pray for this day to be over fast. </p> <p>Oh, and have I mentioned it is hot! </p> <p>Rant over. </p> <p>Ilse </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://ilse24.blog.co.uk/2006/07/26/just_one_of_those_days~989496/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:ilse24.blog.co.uk,2006-07-25:/2006/07/25/think_cool_thoughts~987251/Steeny2006-07-25T14:09:30+02:002006-07-25T14:09:30+02:00 <p>I am sitting in a hothouse at the moment. In reality, it's my office but my parents have a hothouse in their garden and I think it might actually be cooler in there. </p> <p>Last week we received an e-mail from our HR person on how to cope with the hot weather. I thought installing AC might have been a simple solution but instead it was suggested we think of colder situations and if we really put our mind to it, our body would actually cool down. </p> <p>Always one to prove them wrong, I am trying to think of colder situations. It's not helping. I thought of the time I once got lost during a cross country ski expedition when I was 17. Cross country skiing might not be something that is regularly associated with Belgium but it is actually possible in the German-speaking part, provided there is enough snow of course. </p> <p>As part of a long established tradition in my secondary school, once it had snowed non-stop for a few days, we were told to pack a backpack and some warm clothes and expect to board a bus bound for said German-speaking region if the snow had settled. If not, we would just have normal lessons. </p> <p>Needless to say, it was probably one of the only ocassions our catholic schooling really came out as many of us prayed that evening for snow, snow and more snow. </p> <p>And our prayers were answered. Once there, skis were fitted and we were on our merry way. Most people had set their sights on the 6km route which meant they'd be back at the cafe early afternoon and could spent the rest of the day sipping hot chocolate with a shot of something a little bit stronger. </p> <p>However, a few of my friends and I decided to show exaclty how in shape we were and opted for the 18km route. Recipe for disaster! </p> <p>The first 6 km were fine, we were doing well, spirits were high and had no problem following the yellow arrows. What those in charge of the route had failed to inform us about was that at one point, we had to switch from yellow to red. So we just kept on going and soon we were the only ones about. Not to worry, it was still light, we had food with us and all we needed to do was follow those yellow arrows right? No, wrong! </p> <p>Those yellow arrows were harder and harder to locate. The skis came off and we decided to start walking instead. Paths were getting narrower and narrower as well and this in area full of swamps covered by snow. Not exactly great. </p> <p>I had been to the area with my parents the summer before and the stories about people straying of the path and never been seen again the guide had told us came to mind. </p> <p>It was getting darker and we had no idea where we were. This being the era before everyone owned a mobile phone, there was nobody we could contact. Panic had set in with a few of my friends and we tried our best to calm them down. Not a simple task as we realised it had neared the time our coaches were supposed to be leaving. </p> <p>Finally, we heard a motor and saw lights through the trees. Some of the locals accompanied by a few teachers had gotten on their snowscooters and had come to find us. They took us back to cafe where we warmed up and when we finally made it to the coach, we were greeted by boos from our fellow clasmates. </p> <p>All they were gutted about was getting home late and missing Beverly Hills 90201 on television. They couldn't care less about us. </p> <p>Hmm, perhaps HR was right, the story has managed to cool me down somewhat. Perhaps it was more the reaction from my classmates rather than the snow that did it though. </p> <p>Ilse </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://ilse24.blog.co.uk/2006/07/25/think_cool_thoughts~987251/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:ilse24.blog.co.uk,2006-07-20:/2006/07/20/everybody_needs_good_neighbours_part~974112/Steeny2006-07-20T11:39:06+02:002006-07-20T13:41:47+02:00 <p>I am now officially a grumpy old woman, at the age of 27! Sad, but true. </p> <p>After what was a very nice two hours with my friend S relaxing in Embankment Gardens after work, the train ride home made me go all grumpy again. I blame the hot weather and the woman sitting next to me, having a fight on the phone with her partner (I think) and it was so loud that I couldn't even hear the music coming through my headphones anymore, even at the highest volume. </p> <p>It meant that after a day of sitting in a hothouse for an office with no AC and receiving an e-mail from our HR person, stating the bleeding obvious that in order to cope with the hot weather we should drink plenty of water (no, really?) and come in at 8 (though the building might not be open) so we can leave 30 minutes sooner in the evening (what difference is that going to make?), my mood wasn't improving. </p> <p>The minute I got home, I heard loud banging music coming from the garden. Not our garden, but the garden next door. Oh joy! Not again...Knowing I wasn't going to like what I was about to see, I went into the garden and noticed about 20 people sat in our neighbours' garden, each clutching a big bottle of beer. </p> <p>I went back indoors and slammed the doors while cursing, hoping to make a point. Not that they would care as they have previously shown not to give a monkeys about the people living around them. The one night I just wanted to have a quiet night, read my book and attempt to have a decent night sleep.</p> <p>But next door had other ideas. I ditched all my clothes, jumped in the shower and then settled on my bed with my book. The conversations outside distracted me though as the level of intelligence didn't seem to be too high. Now there's a surprise. </p> <p>In the end the earplugs came out, the window was closed (risking suffocation) and I tried to stop myself from getting even more wound up by thinking happy thoughts. And then they did something which completely knocked me off guard: they packed up and moved indoors at 23.30 pm! </p> <p>Result! </p> <p>Ilse </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://ilse24.blog.co.uk/2006/07/20/everybody_needs_good_neighbours_part~974112/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:ilse24.blog.co.uk,2006-07-18:/2006/07/18/dress_code_drama~969056/Steeny2006-07-18T16:19:12+02:002006-07-19T11:50:31+02:00 <p>Last week, I was on Eurostar, travelling to Brussels and listening to Jacques Brel’s beautiful chansons on my I-Pod. When the train crossed the border (or at least somewhere near the border) with France and went in to Belgium, ‘ Le Plat Pays’ came on. Quite fitting as he sings about Flanders, the region I spent 22 years of my life in. </p> <p>Anyway, his songs had me travelling back in time to how I thought Brussels might have been in the 1950s when women wore gorgeous dresses which showed off their tiny waists and beautiful curves perfectly and men donned their best suit complete with hat and pocket watch. When there was cocktail hour to attend and the greatest jazz musicians came to town to perform. Ah, what I wouldn’t give to travel to that era, if only for a little while. </p> <p>I was brought right back to 2006 though when Master J and I decided over cocktails to see if the Mirabelle had a table for us on Saturday night. It wasn’t planned but luckily both of us were dressed for the occasion, which couldn’t be said for the two people sitting next to us at the Michelin-starred Marco Pierre White restaurant. </p> <p>He was wearing what seemed to be one of those T-shirts you get given for free at a charity fun run, a pair of old jeans and dirty trainers. She looked a bit better but seemed to be dressed more for an afternoon in the park rather than a four-course meal at one of London’s more refined establishments. I was surprised the lovely uniformed doorman complete with bowler hat let them in. </p> <p>People don’t dress up anymore. Surely, putting on a dress and a nice pair of heels or swapping the jeans for a tailored suit makes the evening twice as special. It sure makes me feel like a million dollars! I am no snob, but it looked more like they belonged in their local Pizza Express rather than at the Mirabelle. I am not one for big designer names, hell I cannot afford them and even if I could, I doubt I’d spend my days walking the length of Bond Street or the King’s Road but putting a bit of effort into your outfit when going to a great restaurant, surely isn’t asking for much? </p> <p>And then there are those that try but fail miserably. Take the woman and her suitor (for the night perhaps?) sitting behind us. He looked in his sixties, one of those pseudo intellectual types who was explaining to someone on his mobile (please, switch it off when you are eating), that the woman sitting opposite him was a delightful stunning blonde young lady. </p> <p>In reality, she was mutton dressed as lamb with a haircut gone wrong and her breast practically hanging into her main course. Classy was one way not to describe her. Putting it all on display would have been enough to put both Master J, who likes a woman who leaves things to the imagination, and myself of our food if it wasn’t for the fact that when she walked through the restaurant, away from her table, she slipped on the wooden floor and fell right on her ample bottom. A shame it didn’t rip her rather short tight skirt but hey, you can’t have everything I suppose….</p> <p>Ilse </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://ilse24.blog.co.uk/2006/07/18/dress_code_drama~969056/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:ilse24.blog.co.uk,2006-07-10:/2006/07/10/everybody_needs_good_neighbours~948608/Steeny2006-07-10T13:49:28+02:002006-07-10T13:52:55+02:00 <p>We have new neighbours and they don't seem to be of the good kind you see in certain soap operas. </p> <p>They interfere with my sleep and for that I do not like them. Two weeks ago, they decided to have a barbeque in their garden, which, in itself is no problem as we had had one just the night before. </p> <p>I got home, not realising they were in the garden, and seeing as none of my flatmates were in, I decided to strip off in our utility room overlooking said garden and toss the clothes I had been wearing in the washing machine. Standing there naked I suddenly turned around and realised now the poison ivy had been removed from our garden wall, those five people huddled over a barbeque could all see me. </p> <p>Ran upstairs, closed my curtains and put some clothes on. </p> <p>Aggravation level: 0 </p> <p>They had decided to place their barbeque so that all the smoke went straight into our bathroom and ended up setting off our smoke alarm. </p> <p><strong>Aggravation level: 2<br> </strong></p> <p>I settled down for an evening in front of the television shortly after managing to switch off the alarm but there wasn't much settling to be done as people arriving for the barbeque kept ringing our doorbell instead of the one next door. I got up exactly seven times and missed most of the programme I was watching.<br> <strong><br> Aggravation level: 4 </strong></p> <p>After I had given up on the television, I decided to retreat to my bedroom to get a good night's sleep. That didn't happen. Till 4am in the morning, I was forced to listen to that lot next door singing along to the Oompa Lumpa song, butchering one of my favourite Nina Simone songs and ruining all of Frank Sinatra's repertoire. </p> <p>I closed my window even though it was boiling inside my room. I put in earplugs, tied a headscarf around my head to make sure the earplugs stayed in and put two pillows over my head while at the same attempting not to suffocate. It was useless, I could still hear them. One girl stood out, she had the most annoying laugh ever and if I would have had a shotgun that night, I probably would have been very tempted to use it. Bad things can happen when people mess with my sleep. </p> <p><strong>Aggravation level: 10!!!</strong> </p> <p>Our barbeque had finished at 11pm the night before as our neighbours on the other side have a little baby and we deemed it respectful not to keep anyone awake. We get on well with everyone and though we have had some trouble with the Laurence Llewelyn-Bowen designed bar on the other side of the street, we have never had any complaints about anyone on our side of the street. </p> <p>Until now...</p> <p>They were at it again last night. After the cheers of the Italian representation in Greenwich had died down, I too settled down for a good night's sleep. Precautions had been taken so the earplugs were in. At 1am I got woken by that most annoying laugh ever. Was the girl from next door at it again or was I just having a nightmare? The latter would have been preferable. </p> <p>Seems they had all decided to sit and chat in their garden for a good hour or so on a Monday morning when everyone else in the street needs to get up early to go to work. And though I very much run the risk of sounding like a grumpy old woman at the age of 27, it wasn't appreciated. A bit of consideration for those living around them wouldn't go amiss. </p> <p>How I long for those days when the house next door was occupied by a young family with their barking dog. It seemed peaceful compared the new neighbours...</p> <p>Must find a way to tell them this...</p> <p>Ilse </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://ilse24.blog.co.uk/2006/07/10/everybody_needs_good_neighbours~948608/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:ilse24.blog.co.uk,2006-07-04:/2006/07/04/a_not_so_soothing_symphony~932125/Steeny2006-07-04T13:55:06+02:002006-07-04T13:56:00+02:00 <p>Last weekend, I had booked myself and master J into a hotel. The hotel has a lovely spa and after what was a stressful week waiting for my results which luckily came back negative, I was hoping to make the most out of it. </p> <p>I needed to relax and the hotel's spa would be perfect. While I waited for Master J to arrive, I settled on the balcony overlooking Tower Bridge and took in the view. A good start. </p> <p>Things got even better when Master J arrived and I managed to take his mind of the football for a good while (his interest in the whole World Cup went as soon as it came really). Afterwards both of us needed to cool down so we headed for the pool. </p> <p>It was quiet, something which Master J commented on. He should have just keep his mouth shut as in walk two hen parties. More than ten women nattering away and shrieking at the 'cold' water of the pool, which at 27 degrees C felt rather nice to me. </p> <p>I tried to escape them. We fled to the sauna. To no avail as they join us about three minutes later. Discussions seemed to range from 'hair drying times', 'to straighten or not to straighten'to 'check out Tracey's celulite'. I tried to block them out but they just seemed to get louder and louder and reached a climax when they jumped in the pool again. My ears had started to hurt. </p> <p>Dragged Master J to the jacuzzi. Perhaps the sound of the bubbling water would distract me from those dreaded hens. It helped until one of them decided to come and join us. I fled again, scared the rest of them would soon follow her. Master J had to fend for himself. </p> <p>With relaxation no longer on the menu, I figured I might as well do some exercise. The pool seemed to be the only place that was safe. It was either too cold or neither of them could swim. I did about thirty-odd lenghts and decided to give the steam room one more go. There they were, complaining it was too hot! Ladies, it does what is says on the packet!</p> <p>I gave up. Defeated by my own species, I dragged myself over to the changing rooms. There they were again! Was I being followed. I ripped my bikini off, put my clothes on in a what must have been a record time, jumped in the lift and locked myself in the bathroom for some real relaxation. I then let myself dry in the sun on the balcony before Master J arrived fully relaxed from his afternoon in the spa. </p> <p>Perhaps his ears are trained and he can easily block out the noise of shrieking women who do not seem to grasp the concept of a spa. I, on the other hand, was quite exhausted and slightly grumpy. </p> <p>The tables, however, turned when England's penalty shoot-out started and I suddenly felt complete relaxed! </p> <p>Ilse </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://ilse24.blog.co.uk/2006/07/04/a_not_so_soothing_symphony~932125/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:ilse24.blog.co.uk,2006-06-29:/2006/06/29/not_so_food_fanatics~920760/Steeny2006-06-29T14:31:28+02:002006-06-29T14:31:28+02:00 <p>With a daily supply of every national newspaper, there is always something to keep me occupied at lunchtime. I positioned myself on our roof terrace, tucked into my bagel and read an article about 'pro-anorexics'. Not exactly lunchtime reading, but it takes a lot to put me off my food. Not something which you could say about the girls featured in the articles. </p> <p>L is a 24-year old from Oxford. She lives on a handful of cereal for breakfast, a Diet Coke from McDonalds (strange choice for an anorexic) for lunch and one tea biscuit for dinner. A total intake of 150 calories a day, compared to the guideline daily amount of 2,000 calories for women. Though she regularly falls asleep behind her desk and suffers from fainting and dizzy spells, she just moved into her £200,000 flat. Is her boss blind, I ask you? </p> <p>To her, Victoria Beckham is perfect and anorexica is a lifestyle choice. She constantly surfs 'Pro-Ana' websites for inspiration on how to starve herself and competes with the other anorexics girls at her therapy session. </p> <p>Sad reading really. </p> <p>And I kept on eating my lunch! </p> <p>I have a flatmate who is incredibly obessed by food. I have only ever seen her eat two different meals, she alternates every other day and they contain some strange combinations. I have never seen her cook a proper meal. She goes to the gym every single night and will not change this pattern even if other things come up.</p> <p>Going out for a bite to eat with her, will make you feel guilty about your choice of meal and a bit self-conscious about polishing it all off. She is incredibly thin with bones sticking out and a very drawn face. I would not call her a 'thinspiration' at all, but rather a wake-up call what a messed up relationship with food can do to you. </p> <p>It is something which concerns my other two flatmates as well but neither of us know how we could point it out to her. What I find incredibly strange though, is that every night she watches cookery shows on UKTVFood for about an hour.</p> <p>Bit puzzled! </p> <p>Ilse (currently eating chocolate) </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://ilse24.blog.co.uk/2006/06/29/not_so_food_fanatics~920760/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:ilse24.blog.co.uk,2006-06-26:/2006/06/26/an_new_sexual_manifesto~913181/Steeny2006-06-26T17:16:12+02:002006-06-26T17:22:01+02:00 <p>I am attending this debate tonight, should be quite interesting! </p> <p><strong>A new sexual manifesto</p> <p>A Guardian debate</strong> </p> <p>In her new book Female Chauvinist Pigs, the American writer Ariel Levy identifies a current "raunch culture" in which commercialised images of sex and sexuality are ubiquitous, and where young women regard pole-dancing lessons and the Playboy bunny logo as symbols of liberation. How does this culture affect our sexual development? Are men and women any closer to developing a common erotic language? How do we wrest back control of sex from the advertisers? To live the kind of sexual lives that are genuinely liberated, responsible and pleasurable, we're going to need a new manifesto. At a special readers' event, Madeline Bunting will chair a debate on the issues surrounding raunch culture with a panel including Ariel Levy, Sam Roddick, Lynne Segal, Alok Jha and Zoe Williams. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://ilse24.blog.co.uk/2006/06/26/an_new_sexual_manifesto~913181/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:ilse24.blog.co.uk,2006-06-26:/2006/06/26/a_rather_fragile_state_of_mind~912849/Steeny2006-06-26T15:25:07+02:002006-06-27T13:52:57+02:00 <p>I had my test on Friday and it left me feeling rather fragile over the weekend. It hurt, which it usually never does and I thought that after nearly two years of this malarkey, I had gotten used to it but then I suppose it might be something I never get used to. It is not so much the test, as the waiting for the results that does my head in. </p> <p>I constantly have to tell myself to stop fretting and for a little while it does the trick and then my mind starts to wander and it is taken over by a constant series of thoughts, revolving solely around two simple words: What if…</p> <p>I kept busy for most of Saturday afternoon and went for a walk in the park to try and clear my head. Afterwards I headed over to Master J’s place and got ready to go and listen to some jazz at a charity event organised by one of his friends. Confusion over outfits didn’t help my already fragile state. Usually a comment along the lines of ‘you look like a girl working in a saloon in a Western film’ is nothing more than an invitation for me to start talking with a Texan accent (or at least attempt at) and get into character for the rest of the evening but this all it brought out in me was a panicking thought that perhaps my sense of style had let me down this time. </p> <p>Things only got worse when the buttons of my blouse kept becoming undone. This I might add was due to the button holes being to big rather than the size being too small. Master J, take note! Luckily, salvation came in the form of the new German lady in G’s life (Master J’s flatmate) when she said: ooh, like your outfit a lot, that looks great. Again, Master J, take note ;-) </p> <p>Off we went for a bite to eat followed by an evening of jazz. For the first time since being together, I was introduced to some of Master J’s friends. I don’t think G (knew him already) and the owner of his local curry house count. Although, curry does play a significant role in his life. I managed to put the test at the back of my mind, made sure I was on my best behaviour as to not cause him any embarrassment and had a good time. The band was great as the tiny little singer displayed a great set of lungs and an amazing voice. And for a little while, my worries left me. </p> <p>The next day was a mixture of being happy and sad. Earlier on this week, I decided to tell Master J about the test. A decision which wasn’t easy as in the past I have found it easier to deal with when I was the only one who knew. It means that I am the only one worrying and I do not have to worry about someone else worrying about it. Though it is nice to know someone cares, I do not want to get used to that feeling. My track record proves it will at one point disappear. </p> <p>I suppose I wasn’t the best of company to be around and hope I didn’t manage to ruin Master J’s weekend in the process. When we first started going out together, he told me he liked the fact that I was always happy and don’t let anything get me down. Though it was a great compliment, I worried this meant I constantly had to make sure I was smiling and show him that I have no care in the world. </p> <p>This is impossible. For most of the time, I am a happy person but like everyone, I have my off days. Sometimes things get on top of me, sometimes there are things that make me worry a bit too much, like this test is doing at the moment. </p> <p>Sometimes I am perfectly happy but feel like being quiet for once. This gets other people worried as they think I am upset. This is not the case. My job requires me to be charming, chatty and friendly all the time and in my already overtly vocal life, it is sometimes nice to hide from the world and be silent. </p> <p>After all, I am only human…</p> <p>Ilse </p> <p>(results on Wednesday, so two more days of fretting) </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://ilse24.blog.co.uk/2006/06/26/a_rather_fragile_state_of_mind~912849/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:ilse24.blog.co.uk,2006-06-23:/2006/06/23/ten_ways~904612/Steeny2006-06-23T10:53:24+02:002006-06-23T10:53:24+02:00 <p>As read in today's Times: </p> <p>Ten ways...to help Thames Water ( not that it deserves it). By Tim Teeman </p> <p>1. Stop bathing. Smell. Be dirty. It's London's natural state, anyway. The benefits? The Tube will start resembling sets for A Streetcar Named Desire - which is very sexy. You'll get used to the pong.</p> <p>2. Have nightly street-party meals, a la Coronation Street, with paper plates, to reduce washing up and boost community bonding. </p> <p>3. Children to stop throwing water bombs from flats on to pedestrians (saving 800 million litres a year). </p> <p>4. Ask Thames Water to stop filtering completely, turning our supply the colour of cold tea. </p> <p>5. Encourage public health officials to talk down the benefits of drinking water: Take a gin and tonic on your morning workout, every kid needs a Coke a day. </p> <p>6. Promote dehydration as a high-fashion concept. Swooning becomes de rigueur. </p> <p>7. Invent a spurious public health panic, eg: Because of the warm weather your water contains a deadly tadpole, possibly sponsored by al-Qaeda. </p> <p>8. Force the chairman and board of Thames Water to swim the equivalent of the 366 Olympic swimming pools (915 million litres) that the company wastes in leaks every day. Chairman also to water my garden by watering-can for the whole summer (and no skimping on the hydrangeas). </p> <p>9. Evian and Volvic to sponsor rainfall and eventually take over running our water supply. There nevers seems to be a shortage of bottled water in the supermarket. </p> <p>10. Make a dire situation into It's a Knockout. Thames Water recently sent temps on to the station concourse at Victoria dressed as home appliances (such as a toothbrush, dishwasher and washing machine) to persuade its customers to use less water, under the slogan ' Let's tackle it together!'</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://ilse24.blog.co.uk/2006/06/23/ten_ways~904612/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:ilse24.blog.co.uk,2006-06-21:/2006/06/21/dialogue_of_the_day_the_aftermath~899366/Steeny2006-06-21T13:30:39+02:002006-06-23T10:08:20+02:00 <p>I met up with my ex-boyfriend D (the nice one, not the one from the previous post) at lunchtime for a chat. Was really good to see him. He managed to cheer me up a bit. </p> <p>On my way back, I had another encounter with Makeover Man (see Dialogue of the Day post). He came up to me and was about to ask me about my hair when he recognised me. </p> <p>He gave me the 'oh, here comes trouble' look, smiled and decided not to say anything. I smiled back. I think we now have a mutual understanding. </p> <p>I think this is a result. If he could pass the news onto his dozen colleagues I would be incredibly grateful. Not enough to commit to one of their makeovers though...</p> <p>Ilse </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://ilse24.blog.co.uk/2006/06/21/dialogue_of_the_day_the_aftermath~899366/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:ilse24.blog.co.uk,2006-06-21:/2006/06/21/one_sunny_september_day_in~899113/Steeny2006-06-21T11:54:04+02:002006-06-21T11:54:04+02:00 <p>In September 2004, a malignent lump was removed from my left breast. I was 25. It was a huge eye opener but things happened so fast that until it was all over, I didn't have time to think about it really. </p> <p>Thanks to private medical insurance, the lump was removed a few days later after having discovered it. Turns out they were right in time. Good, because all I could think of was: I don't want to have chemo, I have only just started to grow my hair ;-)</p> <p>I didn't have to stay in the hospital, I just spent a day there and that was it, it was all over and done with. </p> <p>When I found the lump, I told my then boyfriend who told me: Ilse, these things happen, deal with it! We split up the next day. With his reaction in mind, I decided not to tell anyone apart from my best friend S, my then manager D who I am very close to and my housemate and good friend K. They all offered to come with me but I declined. I would figure it out on my own. </p> <p>I didn't tell my parents either. They already worry enough about me so I didn't want to add to that. There was nothing they could do about it and I thought it might be easier if I told them afterwards. I never did! Yes, I have been told off for that many times but I have my reasons and to me they make sense. </p> <p>So, I went to the hospital on my own and afterwards after what was half an hour of persuading the doctor and nurses that my house was only a five minute taxi ride away and that I would just be going to bed straightaway and that I really wasn't in much pain at all, I managed to get in that taxi, collapse on my couch and sleep for the rest of the day, thanks to a few painkillers. Two days later, I was back at work, pretending nothing had happened and everything was fine and dandy. </p> <p>I didn't want to think about what could have happened in case I hadn't found the lump. There was no point. Like the ex said these things happen and I was dealing with it. </p> <p>Every two months I get a nasty reminder though. I get tested and spent the next few days fretting about the results. I have a check-up on Friday and I am contemplating telling Master J about it. I didn't tell him about the previous one. </p> <p>I don't want to get used to having someone there to go through the process with me. I have gotten used to dealing with it on my own. People never stick around in my life, at one point they always leave and though I do not want to be the eternal pessimist I make out to be, Master J might at one point exit my life as well and perhaps just when I got used to having someone there to live it with me. </p> <p>Trust issues, me? Surely not? </p> <p>He does know about what happened that September and it sometimes makes me wonder whether that is the reason why my breasts don't seem to be on his list of my favourite body parts. </p> <p>I am not looking forward to Friday but it is something that has become part of my life. </p> <p>Fingers crossed! </p> <p>Ilse </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://ilse24.blog.co.uk/2006/06/21/one_sunny_september_day_in~899113/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:ilse24.blog.co.uk,2006-06-19:/2006/06/19/fortune_cookies_galore~894359/Steeny2006-06-19T17:15:49+02:002006-06-19T17:15:49+02:00 <p>The other day I was forced to get a Chinese take-away. Indeed, forced, mainly because my housemate had left the gas on after cooking and I felt it quite unsafe to start preparing the dinner I had so longed for during the day straightaway. I value my life.</p> <p>My stomach was protesting heavily after an hour at the gym and my mood went from slightly jubilant about having managed 30 minutes on the treadmill without fainting to rather annoyed at said housemate, I decided food was needed there and then. Crossed to street to the local noodle bar and ordered my usual number 19 (noodles and king prawns). And I got a fortune cookie to go with it. </p> <p>I got me thinking, if I could have any fortune cookie...what would I want it to say? </p> <p>Here goes and I am starting with the most predictable one first:<br> - the winning lotery numbers (the next Saturday's draw)<br> - Elvis is alive!<br> - From today, every day will be a vacation<br> - Help, I am trapped in a Chinese sweatshop!<br> - Uncontrollable flatulence will come to your enemies<br> - A blank cheque signed by Bill Gates<br> - You can fly! Go jump off a building now and find out!<br> - You will start an all Belgian disco rollerskating team<br> - The formula which would create me the perfect pair of jeans<br> - Follow the white rabbit<br> - You will quit your job but retain an adequate salary to live your life in creativity<br> - Don't worry about it, we've got it covered<br> - The meal is on us!<br> - The answer to what Willis was really talking about on Different Strokes </p> <p>That'll do for now. I'll think about it some more when I next get a take-away, hopefully in slightly less dangerous circumstances. </p> <p>Ilse </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://ilse24.blog.co.uk/2006/06/19/fortune_cookies_galore~894359/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:ilse24.blog.co.uk,2006-06-16:/2006/06/16/dialogue_of_the_day~886077/Steeny2006-06-16T14:25:15+02:002006-06-16T14:25:52+02:00 <p>Ilse's Dialogue of the Day</p> <p>On my way to the quintessential British shop to go and buy some quintessential scones to celebrate my five year stay in the UK, I was stopped in my tracks by one of this guys who flogs makeovers/photoshoots for a living.</p> <p>Makeover Man: Hey, can I ask you about your hair?<br> Ilse: No, you can't, sorry.<br> Makeover Man: Well, it's your hair honey...<br> Ilse: No? Really? There's me thinking this was a wig! Wow! Thanks, you've been a great help! </p> <p>He wasn't amused. I was! </p> <p>Ilse </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://ilse24.blog.co.uk/2006/06/16/dialogue_of_the_day~886077/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:ilse24.blog.co.uk,2006-06-16:/2006/06/16/ten_things~886016/Steeny2006-06-16T14:05:17+02:002006-06-16T14:05:17+02:00 <p>As read in The Times today: </p> <p><strong>Ten things...to do with prisoners in our overcrowded prisons. By Hugo Rifkind<br> </strong><br> 1. Send them off to a distant island. In retrospect, this seems to have worked pretty well. Although not for the French. </p> <p>2. Put them in the <em>B</em><em>ig Brother </em>house. All of them. Especially if they have convictions for violent assault or murder. </p> <p>3. Travelodge rooms cost from £15 a night, and Big Yellow Self-Storage can be even cheaper. This is definitely worth thinking about. </p> <p>4. Stand them in the corners of the Royal Academy. Chances are that people will assume they are works of art. </p> <p>5. Make them dress up as Big Bird from <em>Sesame Street</em>. Nobody can commit a crime when dressed up as Big Bird from <em>Sesame Street. </em></p> <p>6. Send them to Germany for the World Cup. Possibly the Germans won't notice the difference. </p> <p>7. Distribute them around the public's lofts and wall cavities in attempt to counteract global warming (the human body makes wonderful insulation). The prisoners could be fed and watered through the hatches in the wall. </p> <p>8. Bring back prison boats. (Believe it or not, this had been considered. The last prison boat was the 400-place <em>Weare</em>, in Portland harbour, which opened in 1997 and closed again last year. Maybe they could commandeer one of the cruise ships that people keep getting sick on)</p> <p>9. Set up prison canoes. Less secure obviously - and open version of the above. </p> <p>10. Just let them escape. Oh, wait; that's been thought of too. </p> <p>He might be onto something, although he did drop the ball slightly on number 9 but won't hold that against him. </p> <p>Ilse </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://ilse24.blog.co.uk/2006/06/16/ten_things~886016/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:ilse24.blog.co.uk,2006-06-16:/2006/06/16/five_years_here_s_to_my_anniversary~885975/Steeny2006-06-16T13:51:43+02:002006-06-16T13:51:43+02:00 <p>It's my fifth anniversary today! Though I sound like a recovering alcoholic or a married person why I say that, I actually mean I have been living in the UK for five years now. </p> <p>I feel I should go out and have some roastbeef and perhaps some spotted dick. </p> <p>This time five years ago, I boarded a Eurostar train bound for London, said goodbye to two emotional parents and left everything and everyone I knew behind. Didn't really know what was ahead of me. </p> <p>It has been five years up ups and downs, of great times but also some sad times but I would trade it for the world! At first, I thought I'll stay for a year, see how it goes. Think at that point, my parents were still hopefull I'd return. The second year went by and after five years, they have now fully accepted I might not ever return to Belgium again. </p> <p>Five years in this country also means I have been working for five years. And I am ready for retirement! </p> <p>Bring out those scones!</p> <p>Ilse </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://ilse24.blog.co.uk/2006/06/16/five_years_here_s_to_my_anniversary~885975/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:ilse24.blog.co.uk,2006-06-15:/2006/06/15/the_beautiful_game~883287/Steeny2006-06-15T17:06:04+02:002006-06-15T17:06:04+02:00 <p>One of my colleagues just referred to me as 'foreign scum'. He said because he is English he can say whatever he wants today. </p> <p>So just because eleven men happen to be playing some game in Germany, that gives him the right to insult me. While I have nothing against the England team or football at all and wouldn't even mind if England won, it is the arrogance I do not appreciate at all. </p> <p>Surely it would be much better to start from the position of underdog rather than to act as if the Cup is already theirs? Seems not..</p> <p>So for certain fans calling people like me foreign scum also comes with the beautiful game. What exactly is so beautiful about that? </p> <p>I could rant on for a long time, but am not going to waste my energy on it, it is not worth it. </p> <p>Ilse </p> <p>And this has nothing to do with my country not having qualified for the tournament. I admit, we have a crap team. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://ilse24.blog.co.uk/2006/06/15/the_beautiful_game~883287/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:ilse24.blog.co.uk,2006-06-15:/2006/06/15/a_pondering_state_of_mind~882853/Steeny2006-06-15T14:07:23+02:002006-06-15T14:13:20+02:00 <p>Once a month, like clockwork, it seems my mind will temporarily puts itself into what I like to call 'pondering mode'. </p> <p>Seems today has been chosen for that exact state of mind. I managed to at least be productive during a meeting about a regional awareness campaign and that is quite a victory as 'pondering mode' usually doesn't allow me to me make any sense at all. </p> <p>It is also reflected in my choice of music. Out go the songs that make me smile and in come the French chansonniers and the Nina Simone's of this earth.</p> <p>I ponder about several things really. There isn't a certain pattern, it can go from the man in my life to effect of global warming. There is a whole array of 'ponderage' really. </p> <p>Today however, I am pondering about fashion and more to the point about why women wear enormous sunglasses which make their faces disappear. Adding fuel to this, was an article in the Daily Mail (not exactly my favourite newspaper but my job requires me to check all the national papers every morning)on this rather strange phenomenon. </p> <p>These glasses make their eyes look like those of a fly rather than a fashionista. Actually, that would be insulting the fly. It just makes these women look like fashion victims. Do they need to hide behind these glasses, is their face really that bad to look at or do they actually really like the 'footballers' wive/Hollywood stick insect' look? Does it make them look mysterious or just silly? And how do they little faces put up with the weight of a heavy pair of glasses. </p> <p>I hate sunglasses. I prefer not to wear them but common sense tells me to protect my eyes while out in the sun so to me their are more practical than fashionable really and personally, I prefer to look into people's eyes when I am talking to them rather than having a conversation with someone ressembling a fly. I don't really like flies either. </p> <p>Once again, the Nicole Richies, Sienna Millers and Kate Mosses of this earth have a lot to answer for. </p> <p>The mind does allow me to ponder about several things so another thing on the list is weddings. </p> <p>I don't like weddings but for the first time in my life me plus one have been invited to a wedding. Usually it is just me as everyone always assumes I cannot keep a man and am therefore single. When my brother got married, he and his then fiance (now the wife) couldn't even be bothered to send the invite over to the UK. It came in a big enveloppe with some Belgian magazines my mum had sent over and of course, there was no mention of me inviting anyone else along as just as they have always thought: Ilse, she must be single...If they would have asked, they would have heard a different answer. </p> <p>So I went on my own. Belgian tradition requires for the groom to walk into the church with his mother, the bride with her father and the mother of the bride and the father of the groom to walk in together. The siblings walk in with their partners. I was alone and had to listen to my mum and dad telling me the cousin of the bride was a lovely young man who had agreed to walk into the church with me. Feeling like some outcast, I shut up as to not upset anyone and went along with it. It would make my brother happy and that was what the day was about. </p> <p>All I needed to do was sign the register when the priest asked me to. By that time, I had nearly fallen asleep due to a rather boring ceremony so my mum had to nudge me and tell me that my 'important' moment had arrived. After that, I became a spare part once again. I prayed for the day to be over as fast as possible and escaped when I could. </p> <p>So anyway, I am no fan of weddings but now myself and master J have been invited to Normandy to attend the wedding of one of my friends. Though I am a girl, it has never been an ambition of mine to get married and I never ever get emotional during these things. I usually turn invites down. But this one, I would like to attend as it is very kind of her to invite the both of us, several of my friends will be there and it would be a good opportunity to catch up with them, there will be some lovely food to get stuck into and it is a nice excuse to head abroad for the weekend. </p> <p>And though I fight it most of the time, the sentimental old fool in me sometimes surfaces and it was quite nice to see Ilse plus one on an invite. A first in my life. </p> <p>But the plus one is not so keen on going. Perhaps understandably so as he won't know anyone and would not understand a lot of what was going on as it will mostly be a Flemish/French affair. Or perhaps he thinks I might be getting ideas to walk down the aisle myself. He only needs to look at what I have just written to know I won't be thinking along those lines. Anyway, when I see him I will tell him he is has been released from wedding duty. A shame as it means having to go on my own once again or maybe not going at all. I will have to consider my options. Such is life...</p> <p>And the pondering continues...</p> <p>Ilse </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://ilse24.blog.co.uk/2006/06/15/a_pondering_state_of_mind~882853/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>