Pause: Rewind: Reflect.

In the light of recent distracting events such as Christmas, social events and a health scare in which I thought I might actually be having a proper bona fide heart attack, my breaking my habit of posting every week for a couple of weeks this month may be at least a bit excusable.

(I'm still not sure what my heart's doing, but having had a chest X-ray today and a blood test booked in a couple of days makes me feel more satisfied having done something pro-active about it. To be honest, for a 26-year-old young woman who loves exercise and good food to have a heart attack is just plain unfair, let alone very unlikely.)

Well, I think I've done myself proud this year in terms of taking life by the cojones. I've tried new things and made some amazing new friends in the process, as well as re-connecting with old friends and staying solid with current friends.

Mad/ funny highlights:

I joined a London Geek Girl group
I went to London Comicon dressed as Egewne Al'vere from the Wheel of Time book series
I gave speed dating a whirl
I had my first crash
I sang Japanese karaoke on stage in Trafalgar Square during London Japan Matsuri

Fun highlights:

I visited my friend in Berlin
I went on an afternoon tea cruise on the Thames with another friend
I went to the BBC Proms for the first time with yet another a friend
In fact almost every weekend this year has been spent with awesome people

Achievement highlights:

I sighed myself up for evening Mandarin classes for a year
I took a short travel journalism course
My baking has been further improved (check out this year's gingerbread house, incidentally!)


Of course, I still have a great deal to look forward to next year, too:

Things to look forward to in 2014 so far

A Northern Lights trip to Reykjavik, Iceland with a friend (literally next week! I need to get better by then)
A trip to KK, Malaysia to see my family
Visiting friends in Brighton and Ipswich for the first time
Making my first wedding cake for a colleague

So it looks like 2014 is going to be just as, if not even more, busy than 2013. Where on earth has this year gone? It seems like it's been a mad race- but it was certainly an amazing year, full of adventure. Here's to another adventure-filled year.  I wonder what mad situations I'll find myself in?

Happy New Year! xxx

Tube Troubles: Unsolicited Drunken Contact

The man sitting to my left reached clumsily into his trouser pocket, moving with his entire body. He somehow managed to simultaneously elbow, shoulder, knee and kick me all in one go. That was the fourth time during my short journey on the London underground.

When I boarded the train, weary from my after-work evening class, I hadn't noticed why there was an empty seat: I just saw an empty seat. I didn't register the young pinstriped businessmen sitting in the seat beside it. I should have: whereas everyone else was sitting in a prim, British fashion, he was slouched halfway down the seat, almost parallel to the floor, chin resting on chest. Somehow, this all escaped my notice.

I sat down, and was instantly hit by a solid wall of beer fumes. The drunken young businessman sighed loudly and laboriously, shifted himself into a slightly more upright position, and crossed his long, wobbly legs. This took a couple of goes before his legs obeyed him.

Me being me, I stood (or rather sat) my ground. I was sure he wasn't dangerous- just more than a little sozzled. Besides, there were no more seats, and I was exhausted. Why should I have to move?

Throughout the journey, punctuated by loud sighs, this man would slide down into his seat and then pull himself up again, only to sink back down- all in quick succession. Down, up, down, up, fail to cross legs, fail to cross legs in the other direction, down, up. His movements were jerky whenever he'd correct himself, like when your head snaps up as you catch yourself on the brink of sleep. At one point he very nearly did hit the floor- the entire carriage watched him in rapture, enjoying the 'Will he? Won't he?' pantomime. We were almost disappointed when he snapped himself back to attention. On several occasions his attempts at lucidity would result in me taking an angular limb to the ribs.

When the drunken businessman finally meandered off the train, the remaining original spectators in the carriage grinned at each other, in a rare moment of public transport unity. I think this alone was worth the experience.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

This is my third consecutive post about things happening to me on trains. It's definitely not one of the only three on this blog, either. Which begs the question: what the bloody hell is it with me and trains?

Sarcasm Done Right: Today on the Tube

I laughed openly, and was surprised that I was one of only two that did, out of the ten people in my carriage. A third cracked a smile,  but that was all. I could only guess that either the others hadn't gotten the joke, or were just being awkwardly British about it.

Just before the doors of the train had closed, the driver's voice- female and sweetly acidic- had announced over the speakers:

'To the gentleman holding the doors open: this is not the last train. I repeat, to the gentleman holding the doors: this is not the last train.'

In Which I Act Uncharacteristically Starry-Eyed

As my train pulled into Euston underground station, I stood up and made my way to the doors. The doors opened, and I found myself standing in the direct eye line of a rather good-looking guy. We stared each other for the longest two seconds ever, and quickly diverted our gazes, embarrassed. I dodged out of the way of the oncoming crowd of people who were waiting to board the train with this guy, whilst I hopped off. As I sidled past him, I stole one last glance, as if to make sure he really existed.

I caught him red-handed in his own second-glance at me, just before we were both buffeted apart by the tide of the crowd.

Utterly disorientated, I turned around, walked straight into a wall and then proceeded to walk in the wrong direction.

The train, of course, left (and a few minutes later I found myself on the wrong platform having come to from my daze).

The unusual thing about this story is that I never act like this. This has never happened to me before- even in my last long-term relationship (RIP) it took me almost a full year to fully realise that I had come to be in love my friend rather than just love him in the platonic sense. Sure I can admire good looks when I see them, but I never go ga-ga over it. I don't even this this guy was what you'd call classically handsome or beautiful, or even particularly striking. But something about this guy caught my attention a couple of nights ago, and apparently him too. I didn't even have anything on my face- I checked afterwards just to make sure.

Well, all else I can say this: even though I still don't really believe in true love at first sight, I think I'll be more lenient about the idea of attraction at first sight- and I'll carry on hoping that no-one saw me walk into that wall. Especially not that guy,

Actually, I Rather Like People After All

Yesterday evening I met up with some of my fellow ex-contestants from the karaoke contest I took part in, just for a fun Japanese (and English, in my case) karaoke session together. I had great fun, and in the process got to know some new people a little better. I think my favourite moment was when I was chatting to the eldest member of the group on the way to the bar afterwards- a small, not-old-yet Japanese lady with a mischievous smile- and laughing about the sex shops we were walking past in Soho. She even quite knowingly asked me if I knew one particular shop in London aimed at ladies (to which I was just a tiny bit embarrassed and rather a lot more impressed!) She had up and left Japan at a young age, taking no friends or family with her, to start fresh in London: in fact a few others in the group had done similar, one even having lived in four different countries so far.

Recently I've been making an effort to go out and meet new people, and in the recent months I have met some awesome people and made some new friends along the way. It's occasions like this where I re-think the thing I have been telling myself pretty much all my life, which is:

'I hate people.'

Well? what does that actually mean? When I dissect it, it isn't a very nice way to go about life. I like lots of people- love them to bits, in fact. So when I used to say 'I hate people', I was directing this at the general public. In general.

But just who are the general public?

Potential friends. Potential enemies. Potential awkward but friendly chats in the queue or dirty looks after bumping into one another. A huge mix of human beings that are capable of doing the most wonderful and the most terrible things you can imagine, and every one as complex as the other.

There is a lot of cruelty in the world that I can't understand and that makes me sick, sad and angry. These things deserve hate, yes- but I believe that I've realised that it's not right to go about life hating the general public as a default. I'll try to be more open.

(Having said that, I hope I never have to work as a waitress or in customer services ever again.)

In Which Woosy Pays Me a Visit

Woosy was my first cat, and my first proper pet- not counting the three goldfish Goldie, Alan and Popeye (RIP) that one by one managed to jump out of the fishbowl. I managed to dig out a few old-school film photos of her- here she's sitting on my first piano.

We adopted her as an almost fully-grown kitten when we found her in the garden- I was five years old at the time. Or rather, she adopted us- we fed the scrawny little thing and she kept coming back, seemingly deciding that we were 'the chosen ones', until eventually she because part of the family. She was with us for sixteen happy years, until she very suddenly fell very ill. I was at university when my mum and dad phoned me to tell me that Woosy had to be put to sleep because of a large inoperable growth in her stomach. They had buried her in the garden. I cried all day.

Dad took it the hardest, I think- Woosy adored him, and he adored her. Thankfully our other cat Fudge (adopted as a kitten soon after we got used to Woosy) was still around for cuddles, although she moped quite a lot for a while after- according to Mum and Dad, she would walk around the house sniffing behind sofas, in corners and cubbyholes, as if searching for her lost friend.

A few years later we adopted Sheba, a cat who lived at the warehouse Dad worked at and was either destined for life as a working cat on a farm, or to be put down, after Health and Safety officials found out about her- and so the household returned to having two cats roaming around and keeping each other company. I still say hi to Woosy when I'm watering the plants in the garden, sometimes.

Some time last week, when Dad went to work and Mum had gone to bed, I was up late doing some work. I got up, taking care not to disturb Sheba (who was asleep in the chair next to me), and went into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. I felt Fudge brush up playfully against my leg.

"Hello, Fudgey," I said automatically.

I heard Fudge chirp back in greeting, but the sound didn't come from by my feet. I looked down to see nothing but bare floor, and looked up to the source of the friendly sound: Fudge was sitting on the warm radiator, on the other side of the kitchen. Very suddenly, my first and very much-loved cat popped into my head.

"...Woosy?" I asked tentatively. I looked around and looked back at Fudge, who had started to purr quietly. Fudge was gazing at the space next to my leg.

"Hi, Wooss-Puss," I whispered, using her old nickname,  and got on with making my tea.

I'm not sure that I believe in ghosts- I don't rule the possibility out completely, but I maintain a healthy amount of skepticism about the whole subject. I don't even know if that *was* the ghost of my former pet letting me know she's still around- the nerves in my leg might have just played a trick on me, and Fudge's reaction may have just be cooincidence- and the strong feeling of Woosy's presence rather than fear merely a very human grasp at hope. Whatever it was, it's nice to think that old Wooss-Puss is still kicking around in her own personal dimension, making sure no other ghost kitties invade the territory that she once called home.

RIP little friend, we all still miss you.

Bow Down, Minions!

Well I had quite the eventful birthday- and I've certainly began my 26th year with style. The day before my birthday (the Saturday) I visited Birmingham to see Lucia, since her birthday is always the day after mine and I couldn't make it to her party this year; I went out with Siu Yen and some other friends from my Geek Girls meetup group to see Siro-A on stage on my actual birthday, and on Monday (yesterday), my colleagues proudly presented me with their birthday gift to me.

A small plot of land in the Highlands, and the legal title of Lady.

Kickass.

I think I'm going to like being 26...

I Did It! The Nodojiman Karaoke Contest at Japan Matsuri London

On Saturday I got up there in front of thousands of people and danced and sung Tsukema Tsukeru ('putting on false eyelashes').

It was EPIC.

Even though nerves made my voice go horribly strained and wobbly from trying to escape my throat, I danced by butt off and felt pretty epic. I had an amazing bunch of friends cheering me on, my mum and dad looking on in pride and amusement, and the other amazing contestants lined up behind me cheering and clapping along too. Sadly my voice let me down too much to be in the running for a prize, but I didn't mind at all. The winners were incredible (the winner of the first prize had a truly jaw-dropping voice), and I felt like I had leveled up in life. I got a lot of attention outside the competitions regarding how I'd done my makeup too, which was funny (falsies- of course, rhinestones around my eyes and lots of pink and glitter).

When I posted the video on my Facebook, my friend Ruthie- who I've known since I was at school- commented:

'Wow. had strange moments of remembering how shy you were when we met...and watching this... amazing xxx'

I replied:

'This caterpillar sure turned into one crazy-ass butterfly, huh? xxx'

Honestly, if you'd have known me those thirteen years ago- hell, even as little as three years ago- I'd have never dreamed of getting up on stage in the middle of London and potentially making an utter arse of myself in front of thousands of strangers. Sure I performed all the time on the piano at school concerts all the time and one or two other things, but I always felt secure behind a piano- but even after years of singing, I never liked singing in front of people. But you know what? Saturday felt fantastic. I'm definitely going to practise so I can do a better job next year, if I'm lucky enough to be accepted a second time.

In the meantime, I feel like I'm ready to venture back into music again- I do have a dipABRSM in performance and two additional Grade 8's after all and it would be a shame to let them go to waste... if only I could find a way to squeeze it in between baking, writing and the Mandarin course and Google Analytics course I've recently taken up.

In any case, I turn 26 next weekend. Bring it on, bitches. I'm ready.

Pass Me the Mic, I'm a Superstar!

Well, not quite. But I will be singing karaoke on an open air stage in Trafalgar Square in front of potentially thousands of people in a couple of weeks' time.

In Japanese.

About false eyelashes.

It's Japan Matsuri London on the 5th October- London's (recently) annual Japan festival. I missed last year's because I was doing something else with a friend and we ran out of time, but this year I signed up to the Facebook page so I could plan in advance.

Almost as soon as this year's festival date was announced, they announced the Nodojiman karaoke contest. The requirements: to sing a Japanese song- in Japanese, of course- on the main stage in Trafalgar Square on the day. The prize: a return ticket to Tokyo.

Hell, yes.

All I had to do was record a demo of myself and send it in with my application. So I picked a song I know and love- Tsukema Tsukeru by Kyary Pamyu Pamy- practised my arse off in secret in case I sucked (in my car, whilst my parents were away in Malaysia etc), recorded a demo and sent it off. Soon after I received a confirmation of my application, and was told I'd be notified in the last week of September after the closing date if I'd gotten through to the final round: the karaoke-in-front-of-lots-of-people round.

That was about two months ago.

Yesterday evening after work I checked my emails to find this:

Dear Natasha-san,

Thank you for applying for the Nodojiman J-Factor competition.

I am delighted to inform you that you have gone through to next round.

The Nodojiman team is looking forward to welcoming you at Trafalgar Square on Saturday 5th Oct 2013.

I will send you e-mail you again nearer the time with details of the day.

I felt wildly excited- and wildly terrified at the same time. Which is pretty much how I still feel! Luckily I've been practising almost every day since getting the confirmation email, knowing that I'd only know if I'd have to perform on stage just over a week before the actual event.

To celebrate quite possibly what will be the maddest thing I've done during 2013 (and there have been some contenders), I wore false eyelashes for the first time in my life to the office today. After all, I can't sing a song about false eyelashes and not wear them, and I've got to practise.

Of course, practising putting on falsies is the least of my worries- after all, the last time I sang solo was four years ago for my degree final. Wish me luck!

Oh Sweet Irony

Twelve hours ago I said to my colleague,'I hardly ever get ill any more. Actually, I can't remember the last time I was properly sick to my stomach.'

Twelve hours on, I have something to remember. Hello upset stomach and sleepless night.

First Time In an Ambulance, Twice within One Hour

Last night at about 10:30pm, my mum called me from upstairs to say she wasn't feeling well. I came upstairs to find her slumped on the bathroom floor, incoherent from extreme nausea and fighting to keep conscious- I've never seen her so ill, and I was without doubt that I needed emergency help. I made sure she was in a safe position, dashed to the phone and dialled 999 for an ambulance, brought up some water, tissues, a cushion and a blanket, and made mum as comfortable as I could on the floor in the recovery position once I'd checked her out as best as I could- then I phoned my dad to bring him home from his night shift, changed out of my pyjamas into proper clothes, and packed my mum's phone, glasses and a bottle of water into my bag for a possible trip to A&E.

Mum had a sore throat a couple of days ago, but we assumed it'd just turn into a cold like usual. She used to have issues with high blood pressure, and according to Dad she'd had episodes like this before when she got ill, and had been taken into hospital once before, years ago. They found nothing wrong at the time, but I wasn't taking any chances.

Dad came home long before the paramedics came- I waited an hour and a half. By the time they came, mum had recovered herself just enough for us to move her to an upright sitting position on her own bed. I went with Mum into the back of the ambulance while she was checked over, and there was nothing to report. I advised mum to get proper checks anyway, but she refused since she was feeling better. We all thanked the lovely paramedics, and they set off on another call.

Sure enough, an hour later and Mum was barely conscious again, almost on the verge of being sick and passing out. Despite her protests, I called an ambulance again and insisted she go to get proper checks. This time an ambulance came within about ten minutes, I think because the services knew about the situation. With a lot more effort this time, we got mum into the back of the ambulance, I accompanied her to the hospital and Dad followed in his car. By now it was 2am.

Once the various tests were done and ready and a doctor was able to see us (about 6am), there was just nothing to report. Blood pressure fine, blood sugar levels fine, everything medically fine. Nothing to explain how a highly intelligent, sharp woman like my mum could be transformed into a limp mass of incoherent discomfort. The best the doctor could guess was that mum's cough cold and other factors were signs that she had both a bacterial and a viral infection. Thankfully after four hours of quiet waiting (or as quiet as you can get in busy A&E), Mum was just about well enough for us to drive her home. We propped her up in Dad's comfy reclining chair, made her a honey and lemon tea, and tucked her in, where thankfully Mum fell asleep and got some proper rest. I went up and managed to snatch a couple of hours on my flat bed (I had forgotten that I'd use my pillows to prop Mum up earlier and couldn't remember where I'd put them).

This morning Mum's like a different person. She still has a sore throat and nasty cold, but she's not in the same way as she was yesterday. In any case she seems to be out of the danger zone, but I've taken the day off work to keep an eye on her, make chicken soup, provide tea and water etc. I'm not feeling great on two hours of sleep and several hours of quiet panic, either.

I've often wondered if I'd be any good in a situation like this- I always worried that I'd become a useless blob of panic. I didn't even know that I still remembered basic first aid, which I learned about ten years ago at school. When I dialled 999 and spoke to emergency services, I remember hearing my calm voice giving out meticulous details about the situation, and wondering where that steady voice was coming from when inside I was like jelly. I guess I'm just good a faking being calm.

Whilst we were waiting in the hopsital during stupid 'o clock this morning, I joked with Mum and Dad that I could have gone into medicine, if only I didn't dislike people so much.

Covered in Blood and Onions

I stared at the massive bowl of chopped onions and chillies; the onions and chillies stared back at me. I donned my onion goggles, held my puny hand blender aloft like a weapon, and jammed it into the bowl.

What followed was an complete vegetable carnage.

The hand blender made a terrible strained scream, and a geiser jet of vapourised onion forced its way into the air like water from a whale's blowhole, followed by a horror movie-like spray of chilli-reddened onion gore in every conceivable direction. It was too late to stop. I had to continue.

Sanguine vegetable matter continued to fly at me as I gritted my teeth and carried on blending, the cut on my thumb from an earlier mishap with a broken food processor burning from the chilli juice, despite the plaster covering it.

And then suddenly, it was all over. In front of me was a bowl of wonderfully fragrant curry paste; on me was about a third of it. I calmly wiped myself off, sprayed on a bit of perfume to mask the smell of debauchery, and stepped out of the house with bits of onion still on my T-shirt.

How did I get here?

Last week I was bought a food processor as an early birthday gift. I've never owned one before but always wanted one, knowing the amount of amazing things I could do in the kitchen with one. Finally, I could now create almost anything from scratch!

Alas, it wasn't meant to be. A week on- today, this is- I unboxed it, cleaned all the parts up, and plugged it in to give it a test run. I was very disappointed when absolutely nothing happened.

After checking that I hadn't done something silly like forget to turn an extra button on or something, I traipsed down to the supermarket along with my mum who still had the receipt (thank God she's so organised) to get it replaced.

There was only one of the same model left, and it looked like it had already been opened. I insisted on checking the contents of it before taking it home- and as my mum and I were going through it, we both cut ourselves on the processor blade, which had been shoved haphazardly back into box my whoever the last person to handle it was. The blade was also embedded in the processor itself, making it, again, totally useless.

We settled for a refund, I promised to write a disgruntled letter to the supermarket's CS department about the dodgy way returned stock is handled, and we headed home empty-handed. A slightly annoying shame, since I was halfway through making a fancy curry, and needed a food processor to make the curry paste. I had already prepared my ingredients, and there was no way I was making anything less than what I'd planned all week to make.

So now you can see how my train of thoughts went, and how I ended up creating chaos in the kitchen with my too-small hand blender. In any case, I doggedly kept on, eventually got the meat happily marinading, and set off to my favourite shopping centre to invest in a more expensive but infinitely more reliable brand of food processor. A little absent-mindedly though: hence the bits of onion still stuck to me.

So. Now that I finally have my amazing machine, next time I hope to create magic in the kitchen instead of mayhem.

Oh, and the curry turned out absolutely amazing. I should bloody well think so too, after all of that.

~Fin~

Just Say Yes

A weird thing happened to me at work today.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"... So Tash, we were wondering if you'd be able to pick up where the last blogger left off. How do you feel about taking it on?"

"...Er..."

"It's okay if you don't feel comfortable writing about that topic, I just wanted to know what you think?"

"I really don't think I'd be able to write about that topic with much authority. Sorry, it's a no on this one."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Why is this weird? It's weird because I pretty much agree to do everything, all the time.

It's a combination of several things, the main one being the loose 'just say yes' policy I adopted a couple of years ago to open myself up to new experiences. Not wanting to disappoint others is a part of it I'll admit, but it's equally about me getting as much out of life as I possibly can during my brief time on this planet.

There are a few downsides to the 'just say yes' policy. The first obviously being that I barely have enough time to myself anymore because I'm always Doing Things, leaving little time to just 'be' and leaving me often quite tired- at work and just as much at home. The second main downside is that sometimes adopting this policy is a bit expensive when it comes to social activities. Just hopping on the train, driving around, taking a bus already costs money to get to the place before you've even paid for a ticket for anything: and of course this is London, so few things are cheap.

The upsides, however, greatly outweigh the downsides. I have had so much fun these past couple of years, and I have so much lined up for the future, still. I've visited some pretty cool places, experienced ridiculous things, made some new friends, re-connected with old friends, and spent time brushing up my creative skills in the kitchen and through blogging. One of the things I'm most proud of is doing some writing work for Lady Dinah's Cat Emporium (soon to be London's first cat cafe), helping with mailers, SEO, blogging and the like.

So I may be a little tired, at times even a little frantic to pack everything into a day- but I'm living rather than simply thinking about living, and that's the most important thing for me.

Still, even though today was a surprise break in my track record of willingness to do everything, it also reminded me that I can still stick to my guns if I need to, and say no occasionally.

Even if I only ever say 'no' once every few months.

The Tsundere Drawback

'Tsundere (ツンデレ^?, pronounced [tsɯndeɽe]) is a Japanese character development process that describes a person who is initially cold and even hostile towards another person before gradually showing his or her warm side over time. The word is derived from the terms tsun tsun (ツンツン^?), meaning to turn away in disgust, and dere dere (デレデレ^?) meaning to become 'lovey dovey'.' - Wikipedia

Not necessarily in a romantic way, and not necessarily gradually warming up over time- it can come out in dribs and drabs, almost like a very mild and very annoying but possibly endearing personality disorder that only manifests itself around specific people, or a specific person.

You probably know a tsundere character, even if you don't watch anime. Helga from the cartoon Hey Arnold!, who acts downright abusive and cantankerous towards her secret crush; Sherlock Homes from the TV series Sherlock who needles his long-suffering friend John with smug superior sarcasm; even Grumpy from Snow White and the Seven Dwarves, who's generally bad tempered about everything but has plenty of 'aww, so you do care!' moments.

My name is Tash, and I'm tsundere.

So is it as cute and funny in real life as it is in popular culture?

No.

Real life doesn't happen like that. Being tsundere is in fact very, very inconvenient, and in more than one way.

There's the first, obvious way: people (okay, guys in particular) that I take a liking to make my brain go weird. I go from being easy to talk to, fun, friendly and intelligent to not being able to make eye contact, aloof, even prickly. At best I'll be giving the silent treatment- not because I'm bored of someone, but because my brain inexplicably draws a complete blank- and at worst I'll come off as polite but frosty. Again, not because I want to be, but because my whole system goes into default defence mode.

It takes a long time for me to properly warm up to guys, even just as friends. I'm naturally guarded. Hell, it took me a whole year to fall for my now-ex (who was a close friend for a long time before we started a relationship, and who subsequently got bored of me after three years of  being in a relationship). But once I eventually warm up, I'm the most loyal and caring person ever. See? Tsundere. Of course, however, this doesn't go down very well as a first impression.

Which leads me to the second downside. Making an effort to be warm from the outset in social situations that make me uncomfortable actually makes me come across as unnatural or just plain weird. Here was my internal monologue today (I was in a queue in one of my favourite geeky shops, and there was a guy with a pretty awesome Nintendo bag in the queue next to me):

'Wow, that's a cool bag. Maybe I should compliment him on it? Uh-oh, he spotted me looking, abort, abort! No, I should make eye contact. Don't forget to smile! Yay, he smiled back! You should look away now. I said look away! TOO MUCH EYE CONTACT!! Great, now he looks weirded out and is looking in the other direction. Way to go, dumbass.'

So training myself to be warm to everyone equally isn't going so well. Which brings me to the third and final downside.

Being friendly to guys and male friends who I'm not romantically interested in and them getting the wrong idea.

Before you cry 'bitch!' let me explain: I don't flirt, I don't tease, I just smile, listen, chat- you know, all of the normal friendly things- because I don't feel like I'm in an awkward situation. Unfortunately, it seems like merely being kind is a sort of green light to guys. I can count four guys in the past singular year who have taken my natural non-tsundere nature as a 'green light'- three of which I only met once! One is a little more unfortunate because he has been a friend for a few years and it's horrible to have to hurt his feelings, but what all four have (or had) in common is that fact that they don't seem to take 'no' for an answer.

'I don't see you in that way' seems to morph in their minds into 'I don't see you in that way yet.'

'I'm not interested in a relationship' becomes 'I'm not interested unless you change yourself.'

'You're like my brother' becomes 'If you show me a different side of you maybe I'll feel differently.'

No, no and no. And yes, as ball-crushingly soulless as it might seem, I have tried the 'brother' line in sheer desperation.

Tell them to their faces in cold, callous terms (or in some cases again)? Well the problem is, none of them have actually told me in plain terms to my face what their agenda is, and have therefore not given me the opportunity of doing so without making a fool of myself and them denying everything (despite two mutual friends clue-ing me up on two separate situations, which reassures me that it's not all in my head). Instead they (well, three out of four now that one seems to have finally given up) text endlessly, or message endlessly on social media.

Of course this can only end with hurt feelings. I've been on the other end myself, so I truly empathise (although I was much better at the whole giving up thing...) My empathy and sympathy won't help me or these guys- who really don't deserve this- though.

What do you mean, 'stop being so picky?' Isn't it even worse to humour someone when your heart's just not in it? Life isn't about taking anything and everything you can get at the expense of others- at least, it isn't to me.

So what should I do? Set my tsundere side as a default and freeze out everyone without discrimination at first? Stop being nice to my male friends and become a total biatch towards them (except for the friends who are already spoken for- funnily enough and thankfully I don't have this problem with them)? Try to be equally warm and friendly to everyone?

Probably the latter, I suppose. Easier said then done though: you saw the awkward-salad that was my non-encounter in the shop today.

I'll try to be more open with everyone, then. But only because I want to!! Got it? [/tsundere]

Worst Attempted Pick-Up Ever

After Siu Yen's birthday meal and the live comedy show after, we all headed down to a bar for cocktails. As we descended the stairs into the bar, some random guy caught up with me and walks beside me on the stairs.

"They say walking down the stairs by someone's side is bad luck, did you know?" He shouted over the din of the music and crowd.

"Huh?" I turned around as I walked on, at first not entirely sure that this question was directed at me.

"Yeah," he said seriously, "But I reckon tonight it's pretty lucky for me!"

I blinked, and laughed while quirking a single eyebrow.

"Really?" I couldn't hide the ironic disbelief in my voice. The poor guy fell back as my group carried onwards.

B+ for effort.

An Illusion of Class

I'm writing this sitting in the First Class carriage of a Virgin Train, on my way to celebrate a friend's birthday in Birmingham, wearing my favourite cat-Avengers T-shirt. I had a ridiculous moment this morning where I considered wearing something smarter for the journey.

I don't often travel by First Class and I wondered if my very geeky attire was too... plebeian. Thankfully I came to my senses and remembered that no-one cares about that sort of nonsense any more- and anyway, I was just going on the train,  not Buckingham bloody Palace.

In any case, here I am, and I was right not to worry. Yes there are handful of stuffy-looking businesspeople, but there's plenty of average Joes and Janes like myself, a token loudmouth couple with obnoxious ringtones, and a guy in the biggest, shabbiest straw hat I've ever seen wearing an overall-ed getup that has 'farmer' stamped all over it.

I think that between my T-shirt and his hat, people are more likely to notice the hat. Either way, no-one minds at all.

Will Take Kittens for Bribes

Recently, an old school friend of Dad's passed away from a combination of lung and bone cancer. From what I hear he was a great guy, and one of the last things he did before he died was to reunite his and my dad's old group of school friends. It's unknown whether or not he knew he was dying when he got everyone together- I suspect he did, but others say he wasn't officially diagnosed until only two weeks before his passing. In any case, when his condition rapidly deteriorated, he was in such a bad way that all his family could do was wish him a swift passing to end his suffering.

My dad has smoked since he was a teenager, and I've always been on at him to quit, terrified that this may one day be his fate, too. Alas, he's always been of the 'it won't happen to me' mindset. He refuses to believe that you don't have to be a chain smoker to be killed by cigarettes, choosing to believe that his couple a day is healthy enough. However, I can tell his friend's untimely passing has struck a note with him.

So I decided to strike while the iron was hot.

I asked Dad if he was ready to give up smoking now. He said no- whilst lighting one up. We stepped into the garden while he smoked (Dad hadn't smoked in the house since I was born). He added that he could right away if he wanted to- he just didn't want to. In fact, for the whole two weeks he and Mum were on holiday in Malaysia recently, he didn't take any tobacco with him and didn't smoke once! So what was the problem, I asked him? Dad half-joked that I was trying to take one of his few pleasures in life away. What would it take for me to get him to stop smoking? I asked him. He looked thoughtful, took a drag of his cigarette, puffed out and grinned.

"If you can convince your mother to get two new kittens, then I'll give up smoking."

I laughed. It's no secret that we're a family of cat people, neither that Dad has been thinking about adding to our feline family. But two kittens? Impossible. We already have to adult cats, and Dad knew as well as I did that Mum would hit the roof if I suggested we added two energetic balls of fur to the collection.

But then I got thinking. Dad didn't smoke in Malaysia at all- was it because he was enjoying himself out there too much to care? Back at home, with the stress of work and bills and daily life, of course it'd be harder to kick the habit. Dad has no regular hobbies, so maybe a distraction is the answer to this problem. And maybe a distraction in the form of an energetic ball of fur is just what he needs.

"One kitten."

"What?"

"One kitten." I looked at him seriously. "I'll convince Mum- but only and ONLY if you solemnly swear that, if I succeed, you'll give up for good."

Dad looked at me warily, cigarette hovering.

"I mean it: Dad's honour. One kitten, no smoking."

Dad took a thoughtful drag of his cigarette and exhaled very slowly. "... Alright."

We shook on it, me giving my poor Dad the meanest stare I could muster.

"Give me a month," I said, ominously.

I didn't feel as brave as I sounded, though- I knew it would be a real job convincing Mum. While I'd like another cat as much as Dad- I also have my Mum's practical brain in me. What about the extra money on vet bills and food? Dad's retiring soon, can we really afford another cat? Would it be fair on the other cats to cause them the stress of socialising them with a new cat? How would we juggle taking time off to litter train the kitten, introduce it to the garden, make sure it didn't escape through the cat flap before it had orientated itself in our home?

But if it meant Dad giving up cigarettes for good...

This was a week ago. Last night I caught mum in a good mood. I tentatively broached the subject with her, mentioning that there was a chance that we could get Dad to stop smoking... but only if we supplied him with a kitten.

To my surprise, Mum responded only by scrunching up her nose a little. This might seem bad to you, but to me- who has a couple of decades of reading my mum's body language- this was positive. It wasn't an outright and definite no.

Sorry Dad, your smoking days may be numbered after all.

Self-Marketing: A Case Study with a Surprise

Everyone has different facets of their personality. At least, people are rarely two-dimensional, and there are lots of things that make you, well, you. However, I believe everyone has a facet that they put out there as their main USP for the world to judge them with. It's hard for me to determine what my own main USP is, but my general geekiness is definitely one that I don't bother to suppress.

This weekend I managed to bust out two almost contrasting sides of myself, one day after another: the Geeky Dorky Girl (GDG), and the slightly rarer Sophisticated City Gal (SCG) . Where GDG has a shy, slightly bashful smile, is hesitant to meet your eyes and will suddenly become comically animated when you talk to her about sci-fi, Super Mario or fantasy, SCG is confident and collected with an easy laugh.

On Friday night I was SCG, and Saturday and Sunday I was GDG.

My friend Siu Yen came to visit me in London over the weekend, and we began by going to a cocktail bar on the Friday night. We both styled ourselves with nice-but-not-too-OTT dresses, tamed and styled our hair to enhance our natural looks (sleek and straight for Siu Yen, boho waves for me), and made our faces up with careful precision (again to suit our natural looks, because neither of us likes the heavy makeup look). Still, we were pretty polished, and looking at our best for the evening.

Siu Yen and I are both slightly dorky and cute but very intelligent, and we share a very similar sense of humour and way of thinking- but Siu Yen is a little more used to dressing up and partying in the more traditional sense than I am- don't get me wrong, I love doing girly stuff, but my time is more often taken up by nerdy things like conventions and visiting places. She seemed pleasantly surprised to see me all dolled up when we met for cocktails with another friend (that's how often I go the extra mile to look nice), and off we went to hit the bar.

The first person to try to strike up a conversation with me at the bar was a man old enough to be my father. I politely chatted with him without encouraging further questions until he moved on to rejoin his group of friends, and I turned to Siu Yen and lamented at how I only ever seem to attract much older guys (it certainly seems to be true, sometimes). However to my personal quiet relief, another guy started chatting to me, and he was more my age. Thank goodness it's not only older men that like the look of me, after all! I mean I know I'm awesome on the inside, but let's face it: in this unjust world, first impressions are everything. In any case, I wasn't interested, and after a few good-natured digs at each other's choices of drinks I re-grouped with my friends.

I couldn't help but wonder what would have happened if I was interested in the second guy, and I thought of how he'd probably run a mile as soon as he found out that beneath my charming, elegant exterior was hiding a slightly awkward supernerd who only properly styles her hair once every few months. I certainly found that the young professional guys during my social experiment pretty much eliminated me as a serious option the more they discovered how dorky I really am. On the other scale of things, when I'm 'off-duty' and just my normal slightly dorky self, there's still a professional,strong-willed and sharp person under that, too.

In any case, it gave me a bit of an always much-needed confidence boost. I often think that older men chat me up because they think I might be easier because I'm not as stunning as other girls in the room (I'm alright-looking, but I'm no classic Ten). It's nice once in a while when I get noticed by someone more my age in any case, even if on a selfish level because I'm not interested back. Anyway, at the end of the evening I took my SCG face off, brushed my immaculate SCG curls back into my hair's usual slightly fluffy shock of waves, and by the next day I'd morphed into GDG- my fallback facet.

I own quite a few nerdy T-shirts. A Big Bang Theory-themed one with the word 'BAZINGA' emblazoned on the front in large writing, a crossover one with some minions from Despicable Me carrying off the TARDIS, more than one My Neighbour Totoro T-shirt, one with the Thundercats logo, a pretty cool 3D effect from from Cyberdog... but my current favourite one is a picture of all the main characters of Marvel's The Avengers as cartoon cats. It's freaking adorable. This is what I wore on Saturday, with some cropped linen trousers and sandals. Not exactly 'hot girl material', but it was very me.

Ironically, I told Siu Yen about my theory about me getting more attention when I'm dressed up, but whenever I'm more like myself, no-one so much as glances in my direction. I noted how although I hate being the centre of attention and quite like vanishing into the crowd, I do feel kind of sad that the exterior of the 'real me' doesn't seem worth a bother. Does that mean that the interior that goes with it isn't worth a bother, too? That is of course ridiculous- but the problem of course is that you have to get to know me over time to realise there's more to me than that. It's the same for everybody- but alas, some people get a visual head start in life.

The irony of that conversation happened when Siu Yen and I went shopping, and I was paying for my stuff at the checkout of a semi-stylish high street store. The guy serving me at the counter glanced at my Avenger Cats T-shirt and quirked an eyebrow at me. I felt a little self-conscious, but stared back politely but defiantly. I assessed him quickly: gelled spiky hair, effortless smart-casual style, a slightly haughty stance- he probably didn't have a nerdy bone in his body.

"Nice shirt," he said, scanning the surprisingly) fashionable top I'd just bought.

"Thanks," I said, thinking he was being slightly sarcastic but deciding to play along as if he were being sincere. "Cats- awesome, Avengers- epic, can't go wrong!"

The guy grinned, and I suddenly felt slightly defensive.

"Sorry," I said, instantly mad at myself for apologising like I always do, "Super-geek."

He looked a little surprised, and then he said something that blew me away.

"Me, too. Marvel, games, Warcraft, love it."

Now I was the one judging a book by its cover. Great. Wait, Warcraft?

"World of Warcraft? I lost like, a good two years of my life to that game! I quit just before the Cataclysm expansion because I got bored of how long it took to get from level 75 to 80."

"Well I've lost eight years and counting, but I really got into it during the Wrath of the Litch King."

"That's when I started playing, but I got sick of waiting for the right gear to drop from bosses."

"I guess I got lucky, now I have three level 90 guys."

"Geeze that's dedication."

I was aware of Siu Yen grinning off to the side, a little non-plussed at the WoW talk having never played it. In the end I paid for my stuff, all the while chatting away about the nerdiest stuff ever, and left grinning like a lunatic. Finally, for once someone noticing the real (well, more genuine) me from the start! It felt amazing. Maybe I don't have to be SCG all the time to be taken seriously as a person. I spent the rest of the day in a great mood.

The next day, I came to the station with Siu Yen to see her off, wearing my BAZINGA top. When we were in the coffee shop, the girl behind the counter pointed to my T-shirt and said to me "amazing top, I LOVE that show! Where did you get it from?"

I was in a great mood that day, too.

So even I am guilty of judging people by the way they present themselves, and there are people out there that will notice me when I'm not all dolled up too. In which case, I should learn to look at people in a different way, and remember that there's more to people than what they put out there on the surface for the world to see. I know this. Everyone knows this. It's just hard to remember sometimes when you're wrapped up in your own world of facets.

In Case of Emergency, Don't Break Bones

I took the afternoon off work today to get a head start on tidying the house for a friend who's coming to stay for a couple of days from tomorrow. Being home alone for a bit, I figured I'd need a little extra time to be able to tidy everything.

Operation: Cleanup wasn't going so well. I'd already completely obliterated a very old saucer that didn't so much shatter as explode in all directions like a shrapnel bomb, and I hadn't even started yet: I'd only just gotten home and started to unload the dishwasher.

Next, after wasting valuable time sweeping my previously nice clean floor, I attempted to water the garden as it had been dry and sunny for the last couple of days, with no sign of rain to come for a while. That went wrong, too: the garage door jammed, leaving me unable to access the hose pipe- resulting in me doggedly watering the entire garden with a medium-sized watering can.

I'd just finished watering the tomatoes in their plant pots when I remembered the hanging baskets out at front. Already exhausted, overheated from the sun, hair sticking out at odd angles from my ponytail and having not even started truly cleaning the house itself, I retrieved the smaller watering can. I filled it, trouped through the house, opened the front door and got to work.

The wind blew. *SLAM*.

I turned around to find the front door in my face.

And realised that, for the first time in my existence, I'd gone out without my keys.

It was one of those moments where your brain takes a few seconds to process the situation. I stood, dumbly, staring at the door in front of me with the watering can still tilted into one of the hanging baskets. A drop of water landed on my sandal-ed foot, and I snapped to attention. I was locked out! Stupid, stupid! Alright, focus! What were my options?

Remembering that I'd left the kitchen door unlocked from watering (but knowing I'd somehow have to get past the locked garden gate), I made my way to the side and back of the house. I set the watering can down, kicked my flimsy sandals off and attempted to scale the gate- with no luck. It was too high and devoid of footholds, and the angle at which I was coming at it was putting too much force on the thin top of the gate. Not feeling like breaking my neck today, I turned the recycling bin by the gate upside-down and tried to use it as a boost. Still too short!

I had an idea: if I could reach over far enough, I might be able to knock the bolt back with the watering can and let myself in. As I was thinking of asking any neighbours that were at home (it only being 4pm and most still at work), I remembered something: my aunt and uncle! Years and years ago I remember my mum mentioning them having spare keys. It was a long shot: this was way back when I was a child- but it was better than nothing- and at very least they'd have a step ladder and were likely to be in, since it's the school holidays at the moment and they have two girls at school.

So I shuffled back into my sandals and off I went, walking to their house. It's only a five-minute walk, but  it felt longer thanks to my footwear: these sandals were of the cheap, poorly-made sort that I only use to nip out into the garden with. The straps had already begun to cheese-wire into the tops of my feet, but I was able to ignore the pain and instead focus on how horribly hot the sun was overhead.

Luckily my aunt was in. As I feared, they no longer had the spare keys to my house- but they did have a stepladder. Assuring my aunt that I had everything under control, I hoisted the thing over my shoulder and set off back to my house, passing a few puzzled local pedestrians on the way.

Hoping in vain there weren't any police people about or suspicious passers-by, I set the ladder by the back gate, kicked the stupid sandals off again and climbed. I was still too short to get a leg up! But at least I could lean over a bit and see the bolt, now. I scooted back down, grabbed the watering can and scooted back. Holding the spout, I attempted to hook the bolt with the opening of the watering can to slide it back.

Unfortunately the watering can was that little big too short to reach, and I ended up knocking the catch of the bold upside-down and flat against the door. Now what?

I climbed down, and Macgyver-style started looking through the recycling bin, hoping to find something I could make some sort of rudimentary lasso with in order to hook the bolt back up. Alas, there was nothing but newspapers and a small empty tissue box.

Then I thought: a coat hanger! If I can find someone who has one of those wire coat hangers, I could bend that into shape quite well, and it'd be long enough too. Putting my sandals back on (by now my feet were pretty cut up), I started pushing doorbell buttons- but to no avail. No-one was back from work yet. How far was I going to have to walk to find someone?

Just as I resigned myself to more foot torture, I saw a white van pull up down the road: Mick and Paul! Two family friends, also a builder and plumber who'd sorted our kitchen extension out for us. They were looking at me curiously (I realised I was walking about with the watering can still in my hand), and with an almost absurd calm I strolled up to them.

"Hey, Tash! Paul said. "You alright?"

"Not really," I replied, grinning sheepishly. "I've gone and locked myself out of my house. I don't suppose either of you have a wire coat hanger lying around, do you?"

 "Coat hanger?"

I explained what had happened, and how I intended to infiltrate my own garden. Paul asked me if the kitchen door was unlocked, and grinned when I confirmed that it was.

"Let's see what I can do."

We walked back to the garden gate, where Paul climbed the ladder and vaulted the fence like it was nothing. *CLICK*, and I was in! Thanking Paul profusely for saving my skin (or at least a fair bit of money from having to call a locksmith), I darted in, put the watering can back in its rightful place, changed into less painful shoes, grabbed my keys and took the ladder back to my aunt in my car.

Like I said before, I've never, ever set foot out of the house without my keys before, even for watering the hanging baskets. I think I was just so flustered by the way the day was going I just got carried away. Anyway, I felt satisfied knowing that I'd made the plants happy, even though I had a tough time doing it.

But do you know what the real kicker was? About an hour later it started to rain.

~Fin~

Let Your Conscience be your Guide

I've had a pretty rough week. No, let me rephrase that: I've had a pretty productive week. It's just that it's been so productive, I'm shattered beyond belief, and there's still one more day of non-stopness to go. Every day after work I've been going out on errands and the like, and now it's the weekend I've been even busier running around for people (two consecutive birthdays = a lot of baking of Tashcakes). The only evening I had off in my diary to rest this week was Tuesday.

However, this changed on Monday evening. I was in town after work because I had to commute, my car being in the garage for its MOT. I decided to stop by my favourite bubble tea shop on the way home, because I was tired and fed up, and it was only Monday.

There are lots of bubble tea shops to choose from in Chinatown, but the small shop Cuppacha was the first to sell bubble teas in almost as many flavours as you can get in South West Asia- and even though since then a bigger, more internationally popular bubble tea brand with a bazillion flavours and options has set up shop right on the main street of Chinatown, I've remained loyal to Cuppacha. Why?

Because they smile.

They are always so friendly in Cuppacha, and an attitude like that is becoming tough to find in retail and catering. At the other places, you're not really a human being, just a talking, moving body. And even if all customers are just bodies moving in and out of the shop, a smile really makes a difference.

So I went in to get my tea, ordering a fancy one where the topping comes separately. The guy serving me double-checked that I knew the topping was 50p extra, and I confirmed I knew. I paid for my tea, put my change in the tip jar, picked up my bubble tea and left.

A worried little buzzer went off in my brain as I sat on the train home sipping my bubble tea, and I fished the receipt out of my pocket: I hadn't been charged that extra 50p. I'd effectively stolen a topping! What was I going to do?

Normally, I'd feel a tiny bit guilty but forget about it, knowing a small undercharge wouldn't be missed. However in this case I felt terrible. This little tea shop was beginning to struggle to compete against the bigger company in its prime location, and I felt ridiculously loyal to it for a silly old bubble tea shop. However I always go to it- how on earth could I go back and look them in the eye again knowing I'd stolen toppings?

So the next day, I went two hours out of my way after work to go back and give them the extra 50p.

I know I know, I'm mad.

I felt really embarrassed, but the girl that was serving that day gave the cutest, most delighted laugh I have ever heard and like magic I felt better. Of course, I also bought another bubble tea while I was there (see? Being smiley works).

Don't tell me you've never been in a situation where you feel like you've conned someone, willingly or not, and felt bad afterwards. Was I completely pathetic going back? Probably. But at least my conscience is clear.

~Fin~

When Was the Last Time...

... that you were proud of yourself? Properly 'wow, I'm actually pretty awesome aren't I?' proud.

I'd typed out a message to my friend Vicky (whom I visited in Berlin not too long ago), bemoaning all the stuff I've gotten myself into and how relentlessly busy I've become- partially to block out my fear of the future, partially because of the 'just say yes' policy I've come to loosely adopt in order to stop myself from being the social recluse I once was. I was just internally reflecting upon how I must be some kind of idiot to take on so much, when Vicky's reply popped up.

'I know you don't mean it but .... stop making me feel bad! I feel so lazy...'

I blinked. Lazy? Vicky? 'Mate', I thought to myself, 'You up and went to Germany for two years just like that to teach English, having known no-one in the country beforehand, became really proficient at German as a language itself, you're teaching yourself Russian now- successfully for such a difficult language, too- and you're also about to go to Peru to learn Spanish and travel!'

It's funny isn't it, the way we perceive ourselves? It made me realise how I'm just as guilty of ignoring my good points as anyone else (except for maybe two of my friends, who are unusually exceptional- especially for a couple of fellow Brits- at recognising their own amazingness; I say this with no guile).

I, like anyone else, suffer from that horrible, mean little thing called Envy. I envy Vicky, for doing what I've always wanted to do and travelling by herself to discover the world, carving out her own path by her own terms, whereas I'm too cowardly. I envy Lucia, who goes on trips away with their friendship groups in Birmingham that are too awkward for me to join in on, being in a different city. I envy Toria, who makes friends so easily, and keeps them. I envy all my friends who have their own houses while I'm a City Statistic still living with my parents, trying to save for an elusive place in London. And let's not even go into the envy I feel for people I don't even know.

If, up until just now, you'd have asked me when the last time I felt proud of myself was, I'd probably have replied '2006.' Now I know how ridiculous this is.

This isn't a brag post; I won't list the things I've found to be proud of for myself. But I have found some, all the same. The thing to remember is not to be the best of everything- that's impossible, and few even get to be the best at anything- but to be the best at being yourself. Cliché, but no less true now than when you were told this in nursery.

It's pretty much impossible to see ourselves the way other people do. The best guide we can have is to try and understand the way our friends see us: after all, surely they wouldn't be our friends if we were as ineffective and silly as we thought we were, right? I know I'm proud of my friends, and know that they're all amazing people with their own amazing qualities. Logically, it stands to reason that the feeling is mutual.

So if ever any of you have a 'God, why am I so useless?' moment (as we all have, sometimes), remember how your friends see you, and know that even if you can't understand it yourself, your friends admire and respect you for a reason.

Jim Beryl: A Salute to One Cool Dude

The orchestra triumphantly belted out the last few notes of the final movement of Shostakovitch's Symphony No. 10 in E minor, and the Royal Albert Hall exhaled and let rip an awed, enthusiastic round of applause. The themes in that particular symphony are rather dark and intense at times, and the oppressive tension is very noticeable in the music, even if the listener isn't aware of the political significance of it 71at the time of its composition. Nevertheless, the ending of the final movement seems to release all of that tension at once in a frantic controlled chaos, leaving all listeners breathless and ever so slightly relieved. It's a fantastic piece of music.

My friend Min Hwee leaned in to shout over the audience's applause to express how impressed she was with how strong the percussion section of the orchestra was. I shouted back in agreement.

"You know, it made me think of Mr Beryl," she shouted.

"Who?" I shouted back.

"Mr Beryl! You know, the percussion teacher?"

I did indeed remember. Mr Beryl: glasses, smiles, a mischievous twinkle in his eye, a wizard on the drum kit; in his late fifties when I left school, probably mid-sixties by now.

"Oh, Mr Beryl! How come?" I asked.

Min Hwee blinked. "Well, you know," she said slowly, "how he passed away..."

Min Hwee tailed off and looked mildly horrified: I hadn't known. I had frozen mid-clap, and I think my face openly showed my shock.

I learned that he'd been diagnosed with cancer, and had been battling it for just a few months after diagnosis before he died. Apparently he'd been teaching almost right up until the end.

Jim Beryl: not a big man, but larger than life even so. Always full of fun and enthusiasm.

School wasn't an easy experience for me to begin with. It took quite a few years for me to figure out who I was and where I fit in, by which time I was already doing my GCSEs. By Sixth Form and A-Levels, I practically lived in the music school, taking part in the vast majority of music groups in some shape or form. One of the things I found myself in during Sixth Form was Percussion Ensemble, which was headed by Mr Beryl, the percussion music teacher. I enjoyed myself immensely in all of the music groups I took part in, but Percussion Ensemble was 'pure fun' because it was the only group in which I played instruments that I wasn't formally studying.

I became one of a few unofficial members of Percussion Ensemble during the biennial music school tour, as the ensemble needed a few more people to play who were also going on tour. We unofficial members picked tuned percussion up quite quickly, having already had solid musical backgrounds, and my two favourite instruments in the ensemble became the marimba and the vibraphone, partially because of the similar layout to the piano (my main instrument), and partially because I loved the sounds they made. In any case, I've always associated Percussion Ensemble (along with the whole of the music department) with the time I stopped dreading school, and began to love being there.

Min Hwee and I reminisced about the time Mr Beryl got a little carried away during a school concert: during a section of music where there was supposed to be a pause, he kept on playing the drum kit with gusto before realising that it was time to stop. Mr Mitchell (the conductor/ head of the music department, and also another well-liked teacher) shot him a exasperated look, which was met with a not-quite-sheepish-enough grin- giving the rest of us the giggles as we tried to remain professional and continue with the concert.

That guy had an amazing sense of humour. He was an incredible musician in his own right, his enthusiasm for music was infectious, and he was a great inspiration to many a pupil. If there's any justice in the world, I'd like to think he's up there jamming with Sir Patrick Moore.

My heartfelt condolences to his family. I was deeply saddened by the news, even if it is old news for some. To the man himself: thank you for being such an awesome teacher, even though I wasn't directly a pupil of yours, and thank you for giving me one more much-need reason to love school.

In Which Tash Takes a Day Off

Well alright, most of the day off- but it's as close to a full day off as I've had in quite a while.

I've been very, very busy. I work full-time, manage five blogs altogether which involves a lot of baking, photoing and editing, writing and Going Out and Doing Stuff, I have a regular exercise routine, still occasionally try to keep up with music, and I have a very active social life from making sure I give my time to as many friends as possible. One of the downsides of being so busy all the time is that friends have gotten used to having to book me up to two months in advance, but at least my friends are also very understanding.

Recently I've been doing some voluntary online work for the up-and-coming Lady Dinah's Cat Emporium (London's very first cat café), which is super-exciting! Of course it's been a challenge to juggle the mad amount of stuff I already do, but I'm so happy to be able to be part of it in some way, although it does mean that time management has become a fine art.

Which is why maybe it's a bit sad that having a relaxing day is novel enough for me to write about it in The Wacky World of a Weird Girl. In fact, I'm writing this right now as a break before I get back to work.

I booked a day off work today, originally because a friend was coming down from Birmingham to visit, but then she had to go to a medic's function (she's a doctor). I decided to keep the day off instead of cancelling it, because I suddenly realised that actually, I really do need a day to myself.

So this morning after a mini lie-in (but not too much because I prefer being productive), I got up, and started the day by visiting a café I'd always wanted to try out for breakfast (reviewed in one of my other blogs).

I LOVE going into London just after the morning rush hour on a weekday. It's so quiet! I sat outside the café with my coffee and breakfast, and for the first time in months I felt truly relaxed. Note that I don't mean happy- I've been very happy indeed- but it was the first time in a long time I actually sat back in peace and quiet, did nothing and didn't feel guilty about doing nothing. I sat slowly sipping my coffee and nibbling my cake until it was all gone, and sat watching the world go by just for a little longer before I reluctantly got up and continued with my day.

Even though I was reluctant to shift myself from my relaxed spot, I knew I'd enjoy myself at my next destination: Camden Town, one of my favourite places in London. Also another great place to be during those few hours between breakfast and lunch on a weekday.

Camden Town on the weekend- and even during lunchtime on a weekday- is always absolutely rammed. It's a trendy place to be for all ages, is a popular tourist destination, and is just an overall cool place to be. This morning I got the chance to walk around at my leisure, discover new nooks and crannies without being squeezed out of the way by more people, and actually be able to look around without my vision being blocked by bodies.

Whilst I was there, I bought a cup of tea from Yumchaa, and sat on the balcony outside which overlooks the canal and the Camden Lock West Yard world food market. There was still an hour to go before people would start trickling in for lunch, and it was bliss. There was one funny moment when a couple of French tourists walked past me, sitting with my cup of tea, and one said something to her friend like 'Ah, le typique anglaise!', gesturing towards me in a way which she obviously thought was subtle. Yes, yes, we do love our tea here. And I do understand a bit of French, lady.

Sitting there after Relaxation Time Stage 1 earlier in the morning, in view of the canal and the smells of food from all around the world wafting from the market below, colourful bunting for the coming evening's music festival billowing in the gentle wind, with tea in my teacup and a little more left in the teapot- it was zen. There was even a resident friendly kitty cat to play with: perfect.

I was quite sad to leave when lunchtime hit and the zen was broken by the oncoming crowds of people- but I was able to leave my quiet spot outside the tea shop knowing that there was more fun stuff to do, even if relaxation time was over. I had lunch, and headed off home to do continue with work before making dinner for the family.

This weekend I'm back to my old tricks, going out to meet friends and baking and blogging and going to events, and soon the memory of being totally 'at ease' will fade- but one thing I will remember to do is take time off for myself more often: sometimes it feels like I'm so busy making time for other people that I forget to make time for myself. Don't get me wrong: I choose to be busy. It's a way of life I enjoy. However, sometimes I need to be reminded that I need switching-off time to recharge (even if it's only once every two months). I can't wait to be able to have another day off where I can sit with a cup or tea with my favourite place almost all to myself, and literally do nothing else but drink tea, sit and watch the world around me.

In the meantime, I'll try to hang on to that memory of the feeling of zen for as long as possible, before the business of tomorrow and the day after sweep it away.

Anyway. Back to work.

In Which I Conduct a Social Experiment: Part 3- Conclusion

Bloody hell you know how I was bragging about running two miles a little while ago? I thought I was pretty hardcore doing it when it was 22 degrees out. Even more hardcore when I did it in the rain. I just went out in 28 degrees C skin-spitroasting-sun weather and only managed a mile and a half before feeling like a dehydrated jellyfish. Utter fail.

Anyway, yesterday. It was alright! At least I felt happy enough, the guy was indeed fun to talk to as I'd suspected and the hour in the coffee shop before I had to go meet my friend Jules went pretty fast. I made the mistake of choosing a size Massive coffee after a week's coffee prohibition though and spent the whole hour trying to act as little like I was about to be sick and then pass out as possible, but I think I covered it quite well. I think. I've discovered that I have a weird automatic response to feeling slightly awkward in new social situations: shaking people's hands way too often. It's weirdly overly formal, I've got to stop that. In any case, it was fun hearing a bit about what it's like to be on the guy-end of speed dating and the like.

So he texted me his email a little while after, which I guess means I didn't weird him out too much. His email address does have '1337' in it though so there's a small chance I might have been trolled (if you don't know the significance of 1337, look up 'leetspeak' and then bear in mind it has the same trendiness as 'YOLO' nowadays), but that's just me being a smidge overly analytical. Other than that, I didn't spontaneously combust into flames of embarrassment and shame, and neither did he, so I'd mark that as a pretty successful interaction between two human beings, even if that's the last I hear from Daniel-Does-Not-Do-Comicon. Therefore I close this experiment on myself, and anything related to this experiment that may or may not happen afterwards will just be put down to Life. Or possibly Irony. Most likely a bit of both.

Oh, and although I failed at running in the heat today, my training is definitely paying off: when I realised that I'd left my phone in the coffee shop whilst I was waiting for Jules, I sprinted a whole 300 metres back to the coffee shop, where my phone was thankfully waiting for me, and then 300 metres back again to meet my friend on time. It was 30 degrees out. Win. Although the sudden caffeine spike may have helped...

~Fin~

In Which I Conduct a Social Experiment: Part 2

(Or rather the experiment has concluded and now the consequences commence).

So I mentioned that as a result of speed dating I friend-matched two people, and one sent me a message: Daniel-Does-Not-Do-Comicon, the one who seemed like an almost polar opposite to me interests-wise but still seemed fun. Part of his message read:

"You're very different to most people I meet // and I like that."

This made me laugh out loud- I thought it summed my efforts of the evening up pretty well! Part of my reply was:

"I got the impression that I'm very different to most people other people meet on Saturday, haha."

In short, we're meeting up on Sunday morning in town for coffee (no euphemism, literally coffee), which works out quite well because I'm meeting another friend for lunch in the same area after. So if he turns out to be a crazy person (and let's face it, we all know that between me and anyone I'm the most likely to be the crazy person...), I'll be in a very busy area with a friend nearby.

It's kind of a weird situation for me to be in. When I make friends it's purely 'organic' and happens gradually. In this case, it's more like 'Hey, I think we should be friends! Let's meet up at this designated time and place and try to be friends even more!' Of course, put like that, it sounds like an unusual situation for anyone to be in.

I guess the experiment's now on me, then. Let's see how a Socially Awkward Penguin like myself copes out of her comfort zone, shall we?

Haha that's ridiculous, a Socially Awkward Penguin has no comfort zone.

I'm screwed.

I Crashed My Car- Part 2

Remember when I crashed my car about six weeks ago? A few unbelievable things have happened since then.

Firstly, the insurance's garage assured me that my old car was going to be written off, in the end (this was why I went ahead and bought a new one). They suddenly called me a couple of weeks ago to tell me that my car was in the process of being repaired.

What.

The day before yesterday saw the return of my old car 弟弟. I can't say I wasn't glad to see him again, but now I'm stuck with two cars. I re-transferred the insurance to my old car, since it has a personalised numberplate and air conditioning, and I'll have to try and sell on poor 妹妹, the new car. Again: what a faff. At least insurance waived the transfer cost because of all the trouble they and the garage caused me.

The second unbelievable thing happened today was I got a call from insurance saying that the lady I crashed into had decided to take out an injury claim.

WHAT.

I described her in my last post as 'absolutely lovely'. I might have to take that back. She and her son were fine! I talked to her for about half an hour In fact, when I took the cupcakes round the day after the crash, whilst I was already (genuinely) suffering from whiplash and concussion, they were both still fine when I was chatting to them- chipper, even. Now after over a month has passed she's claiming injury. My dad mentioned that the last time he was involved in a car crash that wasn't his fault, he got hounded by claim companies left right and centre, encouraging him to make a claim when he was fine. Dad stoutly refused. Apparently this lady got caught up by them.

A small, mean part of me kind of wishes that I hadn't made those cupcakes, now.

In Which I Conduct a Social Experiment

Or more to the point, in which I go speed dating.

You heard me.

A couple of weeks ago two colleagues and I were talking about the merits of being single, and somehow we got onto the topic of how to flirt. None of us could decide on how to define flirting exactly, so as a joke we Googled 'flirting workshop'. We actually found one! Only they cost over £200 for a day course.

Two hundred smackeroos of my hard-earned cash to learn how to flirt? Seriously?

Anyway, one thing led to another and we ended up agreeing it would be jolly good fun if we signed up for speed dating, which happened a couple of nights ago, on Saturday night. In the end neither of my colleagues made it, one having never actually gotten around to booking and the other having to go to a friend's wedding. Thankfully (really, really thankfully) I found a couple of other people to go with instead.

Off we trotted to the bar, making sure we were intentionally ten minutes late to avoid being the first ones there. Of course, we were the first ones there. I was rather amused and more than slightly worried that the doormen (or rather doorladies) began to ask for our IDs, but then told us not to worry and go straight in and downstairs to the event bar when they realised we were there for the speed dating event.

So if we're just here to down booze we need to be ID-ed, but if we're here to meet a bunch of random strangers whilst downing booze at the same time it's a-okay? Huh.

Even though we were the first to the scene, we were very quickly followed by more ladies ("What did I tell you? The girls always arrive first," I heard one say to her friend). Soon enough the place was full: twenty girls, eighteen guys (because two guys had chickened out failed to turn up). It was a relatively small room, and to my slight discomfort I realised that dates would be sitting side-by-side on sofas rather than face-to-face like an interview. Scratch that, I'm not sure which is worse. Anyway, the rules were that girls stayed where they were and guys rotated, often having to squeeze onto the sofas by sliding past the fixed tables (I was particularly glad I didn't have to move as I'm not known for my natural poise and grace).

The bell rang. Off we went: four minutes per person and *DINGDINGDING*, time to move on to the next.

Speed dating is surprisingly exhausting, even if you're a talkative person. As a writer, I'm quite contented to sit for hours on end and type or scrawl, and as for the quality of my writing- I've been told I could convince anyone to do anything, on paper. Talking... not so much. Some people are blessed with a silver tongue- mine's more like one of those roll-up party horns. As a result, when I talk- especially about the things I'm interested about- I think I sound rather manic.

Combine manic speed-talking with a whole load of wild hand gestures and an increasingly shrill voice as I struggled to compete with the growing din of a large crowd with booming club music in a small room, and you'll get a general feel for how I was coming off.

Combine this with my unbridled geekiness, then, well...

I joked with some other friends that I wasn't worried about meeting weirdos: I'D be the weirdo. I joked that there would be guys going home later that night, going back to their mates and saying "Yeah... there was this one really crazy girl there..." By the time I left, I really felt like I'd completed my own prophecy. The confident guys either humoured me or, in one case, acted physically repelled by me (although the latter wasn't much liked by my friends either because of his slightly arrogant air), and the shy guys were overwhelmed by me.

Without further ado, here were some of the most memorable moments of the evening on my end.

The Good:

One guy asked me what the most exciting thing I'd done in the last couple of years was (I replied I went to Go Ape). This was a nice change from the 'so what do you do?' or 'is this your first time speed dating?' questions I'd been asked. As the minutes went by the subject of me once doing a lot of battle reenactment came up, and I was impressed that he actually asked what century reenactment my group did and what kind of sword I had. I asked him what TV and books he liked, and just as he replied 'Game of Thrones' the bell went *DINGDINGDING* before I had a chance to enthuse. Ah well- such is the nature of speed dating. I scribbled 'Paddy- Game if Thrones' hurriedly as a prompt on my 'score sheet'.

As soon as this other guy sat down, I decided to ask him what the most geeky thing about him was. To my puzzlement and amusement, he stared at me, blinked and suddenly replied "You know what, screw this. I'm liking your blue dress and black cardi thingy combo." I laughed and said thanks, but I still expected him to answer the question. When I asked him what he did, he only replied "All in good time." As our conversation progressed it became very apparent that there were very few geeky bones in this guy's body, and he even asked me "So would you force any unsuspecting boyfriend into wearing a costume to Comicon with you?" (My answer was of course not- one man's cosplay is another man's form of cruel and unusual punishment). The bell went *DINGDINGDING*, and just as he got up he shot back in my direction, "And to answer your earlier question I work in finance." "Oh! I'm sorry" I said, and thankfully he laughed. I scribbled 'Daniel-Does-Not-Do-Comicon' down.

The Bad:

The arrogant guy- as he slid across the sofa, I joked at how they could have picked better seating arrangements for a bunch of strangers meeting each other for the first time, wanting to make the best impression. I wasn't expecting the single raised eyebrow I got, paired with a very chilly, "Actually, I thought I did that rather well." I laughed as if he were joking, but he just continued to stare ever so slightly down his nose at me and repeated, " Wouldn't you say I did that well?" I rolled my eyes and said something like 'fine then'. We ended up talking about food for the rest of the few minutes left (at least food is something I can talk about), with him mentioning one of these fancy places that has no menu and me struggling to remember the name of one of my favourite Malaysian restaurants as he boredly stared at me as I struggled. It was a rather long four minutes. At least my friends all had a similar experience. To be honest, he was acting like actually being there made him sick. You know what the craziest thing is? The friend he came with happened to be Game Of Thrones Paddy.

When one guy asked me if I'd been speed dating before and I said no, he countered with, "You have such a lovely, innocent face for someone who lies so well!" I covered my discomfort by a show of obvious mock-offence.

The Mad:

That'd be me, then. Aside from mentioning I owned my own chain mail, lost two years of my life to World of Warcraft and have been to London Comicon dressed in Stark Trek uniform, I also occasionally asked "What would you rather be: a pineapple or a papaya?" Curiously everyone I asked answered pineapple, and everyone said it was because of their hair. I also asked "Star Wars or Star Trek?" on one occasion.

The Interesting:

One guy's English wasn't particularly polished, and it turned out that he came from a small village in Italy and had moved to London to seek his fortune as an artist (or rather seek a career- few ever make a fortune in art). Not quite believing him I asked him questions like what was his favourite medium, period of style and favourite artists, and to my astonishment he was totally genuine. I didn't put him down as a 'Yes' or a 'Friend', but all the same when I wished him well in the city at the end of the four minutes, I meant it wholeheartedly.

So would I do it again? Maybe. Not in a long while- it was more a novelty and a fun night out for me, and I certainly didn't expect to meet any knights in shining armour. They say speed dating is a numbers game, but I never was that great at probability in maths.

Anyway, there are several major flaws to speed dating, the major one in my opinion being the time limit. Sure it's handy if you get someone you don't get on with, but what about people like Game of Thrones guy? There were a few more like him, like a slightly shy-er guy who I found out when we had just seconds to go that he played jazz piano (interesting to me, being a qualified pianist), and another even shy-er guy who was just beginning to come out of his shell before he had to move on.

The second biggest flaw is more of a personal one: I'm a geek girl. I'm pretty niche. Even worse, by a lot of 'geek guy' standards I'm not 'geeky enough' (sod them, is what I say). Speed dating events in my age range are often for city professionals who are more into sports than sci-fi. So I can't really win. All I can do is do what I do best, and be myself as hard as I possibly can.

One question I really wanted to ask people but never got around to was, "What do you enjoy most about being single?" I could give a whole list of reasons why I love being single- which is probably why I only ticked the 'Friend' box on my score sheet for some of the guys, and no 'Yes'es for dating. Dating and boyfriends can wait- I'm too busy geeking out.

So. After the event you go home, and in the next couple of days enter in your ticks online to see if anyone has matched up with you. Did I get any friend matches afterwards? Well, I've just gotten around to checking and yes, I have two: one is the shy-er guy, and the other, most amusingly, is 'Daniel-Does-Not-Do-Comicon'. 'Game If Thrones Paddy' has yet to input his scores.

I did find 'Daniel-Does-Not-Do-Comicon' quite fun though, and thought we'd probably actually get on rather well despite the culture difference (or else it would have been rather silly for me to tick 'Friend' if I didn't mean it, wouldn't it?). In fact, halfway through writing this I got a pop-up email alert telling me that he's sent me a message. I haven't read it yet- it's way past my bedtime and my brain has already made as much social interaction as it can take for a few days. I'll take a look and maybe reply tomorrow. This could be entertaining...