Cliche's, Over Estimating and Finding Someone Like You...

Its been an interesting few weeks, and I have been painfully reminded recently that life is not simple, it isnt easy and sometimes it isnt nice. However in a cliche to end all cliches, life is what you make of it. 

To the beginning and a jaunt to the UK, to spend time with the girl I refer to as my big sister, I do this not as a throw away term but because sometimes in life you meet people that go further than friendship, that have a place in your heart that makes them family. I have heard the phrase ‘friends are the family you choose for yourself’ over and over again my whole life. I have always questioned it, because given the chance I would pick my own family ten times over, well my immediate family anyway. I always wondered what it meant until I met Rachael. I have a brother, who is my world, who proves that blood is thicker than water and who I would lay down my life for without question or hesitation. You are supposed to be able to be yourself with your family in a way that you cant with anyone else, ever. Another great phrase just re-iterates that ; ‘Maxine you are my family, this means I will ALWAYS love you, but I wont always like you’. It took me many years to understand that sentiment. I strive to find that with friends, and in relationships. Understanding that you cant like someone every minute of every day, you are going to be annoyed, irritated etc but that love remains, and trying to remember that. I digress.

Rachael came along, and stole a little piece of all the Reddings hearts. She is dear to us all for different reasons. To me I gained a sister, one that I can swap shoes with, who I can laugh til we have to pull the car over with, that I can cry with, that I can tell anything too because she loves me, and would never judge, and because I feel the same about her as I do about my family, I would protect her with everything I possibly could, with anything I have. I can be in her kitchen making dinner and I can be at a black tie function and it makes no difference.  So I went to the UK to spend time with her, and drink endless bottles of wine, laugh until even we hurt and cry and gossip and laugh some more.

Aside from Rachael though, there was another important part of the trip. Michael Ball. The months had stretched interminably and then it was there, mere days away. You can imagine my distress the day before to hear that the 4 tickets I had bought for my mother, auntie and Rachael had not been delivered seamlessly as promised. Indeed there were 2 tickets only and not even in the post code of where we were supposed to be sitting. Cue major tantrum. Believe me there was much foot stamping, flicking of hair and shouting. That  was just at the laptop. Help was delivered to me in the form of the great man himself. Michael Ball via the power of twitter alerted the evil puppet masters that are ticketmaster to my plight, and within nanoseconds the worlds campest man, don’t think I am exaggerating here, think Paul O Grady melded with Boy George and a dash of Alan Carr thrown in for good measure, rang me to reassure me.

Reassured but with no physical tickets, at 2.00pm on the day of the show, I head off to do the only thing appropriate at that moment, have afternoon tea at the Carlton. With champagne. More phone calls from the worlds campest man and still no tickets, and we are rapidly approaching the actual show, I now have two new pairs of Louboutins to choose from, Rachael is incoming with great speed from work and I am thinking I may need to breathe into a brown paper bag at some point soon.  More Tweets, more ranty phone calls and Matthew (worlds campest man aka WCM) has rung to say he is working on it, my front row tickets are a thing of the past, some evil bastard has them and I won’t be getting them back, however I am within 2 seats of where I should have been. Now WCM just has to get these 4 little beauties to my hand prior to the show. WCM enquires as to how much I actually love Michael Ball as he is very impressed at the level of detail in which I have quizzed him, and how many managers he has telling him to ensure I am fixed. I assume he meant in regard to tickets, but who actually knows.

Tickets received, Louboutins on I went and promptly had the best night of my life. That is not blowing it out of any proportion whatsoever. I cried, I laughed and I sang my little heart out, much to the joy of the people behind me, if you have ever heard me sing you will sympathise with them.  I have spent 2 years trying to find a song that meant so much to me emotionally, and for many reasons which I will not share with you all, after all some things should remain precious (this one isn’t its just painful) I couldn’t remember the title, I searched everywhere for it to no avail, and then there he was, my hero singing the song, better than I have ever heard it sung. I cried buckets. He followed it with my Mother and Fathers song, cue more tears from a usually non emotional Maxine. It was amazing, and worth every frantic phone call, penny, tear and laugh. He was magical and that’s why I will always defend him, every person in the Royal Albert Hall felt like they had met him personally by the end of the show. My thanks have to go to Matthew, the worlds campest man, he is also a bit of a hero in his own camp way.

I spent the next night in London with some awesome people, having a night that ranged from the extreme, 23 pound vodkas, to the hilarious, Gay Eastenders cast members trying to impress me and Simon, to the genuinely awesome, meeting Sayed finally and chin wagging on my favourite subject for quite some time. To the expensive, 400 quid leather jackets which you just HAVE to have. I adore London when you can afford to enjoy it, that sounds arrogant and showy offy, but London is best enjoyed from the back seat of a black cab.

Back to Newmarket and the Sofa or more accurately the wine bar, and there began and ended my trip to see my Sister.

Being back is always difficult, back to work on a project that for the first time in a long time is proving difficult to harness, tricky to beat into Maxine style submission, and having spent weeks not being able to get up the interest or passion for it, it has beaten me to a place where I now need to get it right because I am downright furious. I will show it, and them, and it will be amazing, and I envisage weeks more of nasty facebook ranting, shouting at my friends and family about it, and then it will be over, it will have been achieved, and hopefully done well. Then I can breathe a sigh of relief and get back to normal.

I lost my Grandmother this week, which is something that I wont delve into, as some things are not for public discussion  I believe, however I will say that it makes you look at your family, and you do imagine what life will be like without them. I have learned that even my creative mind cant do it. There is no where in my mind that I can dream a world that doesn’t have my family in it. They are moving into my apartment block soon, and I am the luckiest girl alive to have them so close by, but with 4 floors between us, so I can have a 5 minute arrival warning !!

In the midst of all of that I have my lovely Victory Heights Family Dinny looking after me, trying to ensure that the sparkles are back in my life and I am smiling. They succeed every time they pick up the phone, or send me to a rat infested hotel with practically no booze for a weekend away. I have had a strange year so far, and its already July, some new things that creep up on you and surprise you, some things you thought you wanted and when you get them you don’t anymore, and the things that you find you can wait for, because without being sure, you feel they may be important.

I think that on the route to my 30^th birthday I may have finally learned to keep some things to myself, and not expect people to behave the same way you do, but that when they do you should enjoy it, and treasure it.

Because notes are invisible....

I have been told, repeatedly that 'notes' on facebook are not the place for writing. People constantly ask me about my love of music and where it came from, what I believe in etc. So this is an old blog, transferred here for easy reading purposes .... Enjoy, hopefully.

This last month has been a learning curve. Learning that some people view music without passion, which I have had to learn to just accept without understanding. That is a concept that is as alien to me as to why people like U2. That however is a different story. Music for me is tied into passion. Music is memories and reminders, and music is life and love and tears and laughter. Everything in my life has some kind of relationship to music. Those who know me, know that nothing is better to me than live music, add an impossibly cold glass of Sauvignon to the mix and I will literally be smiling from ear to ear (that is a good note for potential date ideas).

I find it is damn near impossible (unless you are sticking pins in your eyes, and that would be a tad drastic) to be unhappy when faced with good live music. I can chart my life by music. I blame my Mother and Father, my father slightly more if I had to be fair because he fed my ‘habit’ as a youngster, giving me shiny LP’s of people like Hall and Oates, Buddy Holly, Alexander O Neil and Tom Jones to name but a few. He also managed to pass on an uncanny ability to pick a winner out of a bag of rubbish, we can see a hit at 20 paces. It may or may not be the only one your band is going to have, but a hit it will be. If you haven’t heard of it, I can bet you money right here and now that you go listen to it and you will hear a hit too. Living in a box, by living in a box. Classic song. Will forever remind me of Papa T. He also taught me to love all kinds of music. One minute we can listen to Luther Vandross, and then flip over and throw some ACDC into the mix. My Father still does it to this day. He pointed out Flo Rida to me months before I had heard of him. He pronounced an unknown black singer as a potential up and coming, and so Toni Braxton was born. He took me to see Tom Jones when I was 8 years old, he forked out money for me to see Alexander O Neil, the Buddy Show, Luther Vandross to name but a few, he spent a small fortune in the name of teaching his little girl to love music as much as him and my mum do. It was money well spent. Not only is live music my love, it is my work and my escape. How lucky am I ?

My mother on the other hand taught me to be fearless in my appreciation of talent. I can hear a good voice, or spot a talented musician with a blindfold on. That’s her doing. She taught me to see talent in any shape or form and not be scared to love it. I have spent my life being annoyed by people who ‘conform’. I have been to see Michael Bolton numerous times, I would sell my liver (if anyone would have it) and quite possibly my left hand to go and see Michael Ball again, once just wasn’t enough. I say this out loud, to people and they are stunned. How can someone who works in ‘music’ dare say that she loves Michael Ball. That’s embarrassing. Really ? I find it more embarrassing that you so called music lovers and artists cannot see the talent that one man has. To have been the Phantom of the Opera, to have been Andrew Lloyd Webbers darling, to have been our Eurovision hope, to have over 10 albums that have sold into the millions. To have possibly one of the best voices of our time (acknowledged by king of cool Simon Cowell), is that embarrassing ? Because he doesn’t fit into what is ‘cool’. Amy Winehouse thinks he is the coolest guy alive. Does that make him a little cooler ? I hope the answer is no, because she to me is everything that is wrong with the music industry, in one woman. 

I have been taught by Mama bear to watch those DVDs of mine and be proud of the fact I adore his voice. I said out loud that Brandon Flowers cant actually sing, people look at me like I just committed a crime. Madonna, one of the most successful artists alive. Cant sing. Talented ? Yes, vocally ? Nope. I admire her for her ability but not for her voice. I look at people like the sugababes and feel sick. I look at local talent (yes you guys at players and all of you who I champion) and could cry that you aren’t seen. Talent. That’s the key. Someone asked me what music I like and I asked a friend how the hell do I answer that. He said its simple in your case, if you didn’t write it yourself, play it yourself or sing it yourself I am not interested. Talent. Its what it always comes back to, like a fat kid to cupcakes and like a dog to a bone. Talent. This is why I cant stand Mick Jagger. He has the ‘it’ factor but the bloke cant sing. Rod Stewart another shining example of a man with ‘something’ but not talent.

Music is a mixture, for me it charts progress and memories. Today for example in a quest for artists I have been playing on my iTunes and also on youtube.

David Grey, flipped me right back to an apartment in London, sitting on a yellow sofa waiting for my then boyfriend to come home from work on my first night visiting him. Makes me happy (even though he was a douche) because it was a beautiful day, and a great glass of wine and I was super happy.

Train, drops of Jupiter, takes me back to being one of the first people to ever play them on the radio in the UAE, sat in a studio, earphones on, overlooking the back of Sheikh zayed road at one of my first ever evening shows, feeling nervous and happy to be a radio DJ at last.

Rob Thomas : 3am, I was 17. I had just met my first real love and I used to play this and it drove him insane, reminds me of laughing at him in one of our rare moments outside of his restaurant.

Toto – Rosanna – Smokey bar, wooden floors, short hair and my first taste of live band music and this song takes me to the night my mum requested this. My boyfriend played it and she loved him almost as much as me that night. My mum had her 2 best friends with her and we laughed and danced and laughed and danced. Awesome memory.

Oasis – Champagne Supernova – Amie Gibbons house, her bedroom, getting ready to begin one of our many many adventures. We listened to it religiously and although I am not the biggest Oasis fan this song transports me back to being a happy teenager with my best friend. There is a lot of music that takes me back to Amie, nirvana puts me in a maroon blazer standing in our form lines listening to on shared ear plugs. Its raining men takes me to a hilarious drunken night in a bar called strawberry moon, the list goes on.

Robbie Williams, Jesus in a camper van, directly to Nathalie Cockaynes old apartment, do not pass go and do not collect 200 dhs. Weirdly hearing him doesn’t take me to the concert, it takes me to her flat, Vodka and cranberry juice and hoi sin chicken pizzas.

This is my point, you don’t have a lot of control over what music does to you. It can move you in a million ways, your feet, your voice, your heart.

It can make people laugh, cry, fall in love, fight. Its magic, it should be treat as such.

It’s a multibillion dollar industry. Don’t become part of the wheel. Love whatever moves you, regardless of what it is. Don’t be afraid of music and don’t be afraid of what people may think. Try new things, listen to others ideas of ‘great’ before you dismiss it, you never know you just might make a discovery. I did, I hated Jazz all my life until I sat on a cold stone floor, tired and grumpy in the middle of New Orleans in order to ‘humour’ my man. I will be eternally grateful that I did. He gave me a gift that night that is very precious, a memory, and some of the best music I have ever heard played, he reminded me to push my limits and because of that a whole host of music takes me right back to him and what he taught me about music, at the age of 25 when I thought I couldn’t learn anymore.

My Father is still learning and listening and my Mum is still not caring (her pan pipes CD is testament to this) and my brother is still trying to get me to love Oasis. Keep pushing, keep exploring, but always remain true to the memories, they like to be visited now and again.

Fox Hunting, Prime Ministers and Lawyers..

Funnily enough, all things that were on my agenda as a child. I asked someone the other day what they had wanted to be when they grew up, I got a wry smile and a great answer. We forget, we forget the dreams we had as children, the dreams we had when we literally believed we could do anything at all, and that our mums and dads wore super hero outfits under their normal clothes (I still believe that). I wanted to be all sorts when I was little, depending upon the day, and the activity I was doing.

One thing ran the entire course of my life and that was to be a singer, as we all know, I am not, some of you are thanking god, and my Mother is shaking her head and saying 'you could be, if you tried'. Mothers, they are the best. However when I think back to some of my wishes its kind of funny to see what my little crazy mind thought back then.

My first big cause in life, and we all know I have had many many 'causes' that I get passionate about, was Fox Hunting. I came across it thanks to my horses, and in school we were asked to write about something that means alot to us. I put pen to paper to explain my horror and sadness at Fox Hunting. Dont worry at this point, I am not going to don a bunch of leaves, and start waving a placard whilst scaring horses, thats not my style. As much as I would like to hit a few of the huntsmen on the head with said placard. The pen is mightier than the saboteur and so I wrote off to my local paper, safe in the knowledge that this would ensure that they would print my letter and I would make a difference. I was 10. My belief in the world was utterly unshakeable, even though the irony was lost on me. The world would do the right thing, even though here I was campaigning against something I believed was wrong. Go figure, my 10 year old self couldnt see it. Then again, my 10 year old self couldnt see much past horses and well, horses. The newspaper did want to print my letter, they in fact rang my home to speak to me about it, and this is the part where I get to think my 10 year old self was a clever little smart ass, they also thought I was an adult. Yes indeed.

That started my desire to be a politician, I did concede that I would have to be a politician first and then of course I would be Prime Minister. Natural upgrade of course, I would be the obvious choice. I may have to wait a few years, but my first act would be to ban Fox Hunting. I never really thought much further than that, I have to be honest. My next act was to write a poem about Fox Hunting, that will show them. God my 10 year old self was awesome and fairly ridiculous.

I got a little older, and realised that potentially being the Prime Minister would be fairly hard work, note I still didnt see this as being out of my grasp, and if the truth be known, I still now believe if that had been the road I had chosen I would have made an awesome Prime Minister, with much better hair than any of them to date, thats a fact. I then moved naturally on to becoming a Lawyer. That was the next step. Not because I was interested in the nitty gritty details of law, or of justice, but because I believed that I would make unbelievably brilliant closing statements, and that all my cases would be won because no jury could possibly rule against me and my superior oratory skills. It was then pointed out to me that I was not American, that I also wasnt on TV and that being a Lawyer was possibly the hardest job ever. This put me off somewhat, not the hard work, but the lack of being able to stalk around a court and be fabulous.

I went on to various desires throughout that time, TV presenter, all round famous person, teacher amongst others, all of them really just came back to one thing, I liked to talk, and I liked it when people listened to me. Quite simple. Therefore Radio was the place for me. Why hadnt I thought of that before.

Really though, we should all spend a moment and try to remember what we wanted to be, back then when we had no troubles or worries and our dream job wasnt based on degrees, how clever we were or how much money we needed, when we could have done ANYTHING, what did we choose ?

I never even dreamed I would do what I do now, and yet this is my dream job....

Metallic Nails, Being yourself and Ladder Climbing

Having not got the best ability in the world to only think of one thing at a time. Think Billy Conolly and his ability to wander off topic and then come back with unerring accuracy, then lose the unerring accuracy and voila,  you have something similar, minus the scottish accent and beard, to me. Keep the swearing, definately. I have tried, somewhat unsuccesfully to stop swearing. I have learned to say the F word less, although it can sometimes be a knee jerk reaction. There is something familiar about it, something in a swear word that conveys what it is you are trying to say, sometimes 'oops' or 'damn it' just dont cut it. A good well timed 'F*ck Off' can just be deeply satisfying. Not when its in the wrong moment though. Not when your boss has just asked you to do something and you respond with "are you having a f*cking laugh?'. Thats when you need to go put a dirham in the swear box, and also brush up on your ass kissing techniques, or your CV writing skills. Aside from swearing, I have had a few thoughts this weekend. Namely whilst having my nails done (just call me Jumeirah Jane), and a couple of people I know said wasnt I too old for metallic tin foil colour nails ?. This gave me pause for thought, and the answer is a little complicated. No. No I am not 'too old' is there such a thing. Dont stress, this isnt the moment when I start banging on about age, and you are as old as you feel etc, because there are certain things you just shouldnt do after a certain age :

See through shoes, on second thoughts, these should never be worn, scratch that. Unless you are a MEGA star, dont wear mini skirts, ever. After 19 wearing Doc Martens with a smart outfit just makes you look like an out of work student, and never ever wear a thong on the beach. Ever. Its never good, unless you are J-Lo, and even then, they make me feel a little ill. Boob tubes are questionable, as are any kind of lame hot pants. However my nails do not fall into that category as yet, if I want to have nails that reflect the surface of the sun, then I will. If I want my nails to resemble the stuff we wrap turkey in, then that is my own damn choice, and while I like it, it will continue to happen. End of conversation. Plus I love them and they make me smile, and I have the classy version (if that is indeed at all possible).  Its about the importance of being yourself when it comes down to it, and more importantly quite liking yourself. I have a theory that no one else is going to like you if you dont like yourself, notice I said like, not love. There are FAR too many people in this country that cant walk past a mirror without giving themselves a thumbs up and a quick eyebrow raise to reaffirm their awesomeness.

I like me, there is plenty I dislike, but plenty I like, and I like my desire to have silver nails, also I dont care as I am turning old this year, and intend to stay as young feeling as possible. If this makes me behave like Katy Perry in the nail arena, then I care not.

I was considering a quick paragraph on the pitfalls of people cosying up to you for who you are and what you can achieve on their behalf. I then decided that whilst it may make me a bad judge of character, and it may end in tears (it certainly has before) I wont change my attitude to the people in my world. I wont question you, I wont look at you and question why you are in my life. This I promise. I promise I will do everything in my (limited) power to be the best friend I can be. I may fail, it has been known to happen. I will not wonder about your motivation, I will assume that your presence, however fleeting or permanent in my life is down to you and I having a connection because we have found something in one another that we like, and by that I dont mean roladexes or bank accounts. That will be all on the matter ... I am very blessed with the friends I have in my life, those who are near and those who are far, and I love them for who they are too. Mostly because they are amazing people. Sometimes its for their money and fame but mostly amazing, mostly.

Transatlantic Travels

It has been awhile since I blogged, and I have learned to be ok with that. I cant just write on demand because I have to have something to say. Right now I have nothing specific to say, its just that writing sometimes makes me feel better. Bit like music, but I’ve had to really cast my net far today to find the solace I needed in music. I have finally landed on Country music, you can laugh, but every now and then my soul needs some twanging guitar and cowboy boots in order to feel better. Its been a odd couple of weeks.

I knew that saying goodbye to a friend would be painful, but consoled myself with thoughts that I would still have phone, email carrier pigeons etc and that in this day and age a little distance isnt the end of the world. Turns out I talk bollocks, not that this is news to anyone at all. Way harder than I thought it would be. Living in the UAE you get used to people coming and going, and therefore learn to make friends fast and learn to say goodbye fast. It’s a transient place, and it becomes a way of life, you end up with friends all over the globe and that’s a good thing. Every now and again though, when you least expect it someone comes along that you never expected, with no warning and it’s instant. That person is unique, that’s when its impossible to replace.

Snoop Dogg was one of the most interesting shows I have ever worked on, in terms of working with a different kind of tour party, in so many ways. In the middle of all this, I find myself standing in the lobby of a hotel watching history walk towards me, not looking a day different for 6 years of not seeing them. No matter how you move on or change, there are something’s in this world that remain constant, chocolate will always soothe the soul, shoes will always make a girl smile, especially if they have red soles, and some people  will always look good in a suit and make you smile so big you think your jaw will never stop aching. I left the hotel feeling very odd. My world in 2 weeks has had a fairly major shift in focus, and that makes you think. The pondering I will keep to myself, as we all know how I can ramble and these thoughts so far make about as much sense as Charlie Sheen, slightly less if truth were to be told, and just without the drugs, porn stars and warlock talk.

I have been refusing to entertain a birthday this year as I do not want to turn 30, I rephrase that, didn’t want to turn 30. I have decided to stop being childish, if I am going to be 30 I should behave like a grown up. I realized that by not throwing a party in normal Maxine style just actually makes me one of ‘those’ 30 year olds. So with renewed optimism and a slightly scaled down event streak, due to chronic fatigue am going to celebrate my birthday in the manner in which it should be. Surrounded by friends, and drinking Champagne. I will however refrain from sending out the invites just yet, it is after all only May and well I get to be 29 for another glorious 3 months.

I am going to attack the rest of this year in the style of which I am proud of. I will reclaim my social status, and I will reclaim my hold on my sense of being. My kitchen is woefully underused this year, and the new cooker I bought in order to aid me with my mega cooking sessions still sits unplugged in. I am very fond of the old one, however cooking for 12 with only 1 working ring on the stove top can prove a little dicey at times. All is well with one chef, but add Mother Chef into the equation and there are just not enough electric rings to go round.

On other fronts, things are changing, noticeably my front, and rear.  I have dropped a few kilos and as such am now facing the dreaded task of the wardrobe over haul, the easy bit has been done, I have bought new clothes, interims as they are called. I then bought another set of interims as the first set got a bit baggy. This is great, a whole new set of underwear (that took some doing I have to add, aided by a surly Philipino lady and a much aggrieved mother). However I have to chuck out all the old stuff. This is going to take some doing. 6 wardrobes full of clothes that I love, but will have to get rid off. Its enough to make a girl cry. Safe to say my shoes all still fit, as do my handbags. Which to be quite frank is neither here nor there as if they didn’t fit, I would wedge tissue paper in them and wear them anyway, such does my love for my shiny feet covers run deep.

It’s been an odd few weeks, and now I am making some life plans, I have some life admin to get through, and then life will undoubtedly throw some new curveball at me and I will have to re-evaluate. Such is life.

Facebook Valentine

I realise its Valentines day, but believe me there will be no ranting. I am not a huge believer and I am not a ‘this is a hallmark holiday’ town crier either. If you are with someone its nice, its nice to receive flowers etc, but this shouldn’t be reserved to only this day of the year. That’s it, mini attempt at a rant over.

Today I am mostly being the facebook superuser for the Yas Rock Factory and realizing just how powerful Facebook is, and also how terrifyingly at home I am with it. Everyone who knows me laughs at my status updates, and the frequency of my use of facebook. I see it as another outlet for me. I am regularly the girl who is stood up in a restaurant acting out a recent funny story for my group of friends. I am the one who cares not about the stares of others, the one who doesn’t care how loud she is, or where she is. In the name of being social, funny and 9 times out of 10 the centre of attention. So to give an exhibitionist who loves to perform a platform such as facebook is just asking for me to have billions of photos, and a million updates a day. I like to share, I talk frequently and am rarely quiet, why you would expect anything less from my facebook persona is odd. If nothing else Facebook is going to allow me to be even more of myself, which could be a little much, if not far too much at times. That’s the thing isnt it, its choice, I choose to read your statuses, I also choose to hide some of you, the reasons I hide you are my own. What you do on Facebook is up to you, I have no place to comment, I have more than enough ability to do something about it rather than wine or moan or make a big deal out of it.

Thats about the long and short of it today, got nothing much more for you than that :)

Who lit the Grail shaped beacon ?

It seems I write best, and most prolifically when I need to rant, vent or stop myself from being arrested for verbal abuse that borders on the physical. This is going to have to be part of the resolution as well, to push myself to write on topics that don’t require my sheer contempt. It has been an interesting week, the pitfalls of working in another country have been once again highlighted to me by the predicament of a friend. The sheer helplessness of being in the hands of other people, and having to rely on others for help and support can be a frightening thing. Especially in this country where an attitude of ‘its not my job’ prevails. That has always been something that I have tried and failed to understand. I could quite happily wax lyrical about the type of person who utters those sentences, however today will not turn into a rant. Safe to say though that the old adage of treat people as you would wish to be treat is a a good rule to live by, because to get very clichéd karma is an unforgiving bitch and will come back to haunt you. Good karma is something you should try and store up. That all sounds a bit preachy, I can be as vile as you like, a great expression I will steal that made me laugh the other day was, ‘ are the still treating you like Lord Voldermorts Niece?’ which sadly the answer had to be yes.

I have also begun the painful business of venturing into the world of renting a villa, I am desperate to rid myself of my 2 hour return trip home on an evening. When you have had a long day and all you can think about is your sofa and a glass of wine, the drive gets ever longer. Its actually not the driving, it’s the lack of driving, the sitting, and inching forwards and wondering what fool has tipped his car in order to keep me from my wine. I realize I am now starting to sound like an alcoholic. So the few things I have learned this week about villa hunting. Real Estate agents are liars, my apartment is an utter gem of a place and I want to move it 10 kilometeres up the road. I cant live in a generic apartment block for fear of killing myself due to averagitis.

That’s not a word I hear you say. To me it is, and also possibly to the mad Italian who I work with.  It is something I have been terrified of my whole life, its what makes me strive to do what I do with my career. Being average. This is what has made me change my hair repeatedly over the years, adding colours, and stripes and even chopping it off, in order to avoid being ‘the same’. Thanks to my Mum I have always been happy to be ‘different’. Not in a special person type of way, although there is an argument for that too. So to live in a generic block of flats would take the person inside of me who has to be unlike everyone else and annoy her til she exploded. So I will not be living in a generic shoe box, I will continue to hunt until I find the quirky house I need.

In the meantime I will continue to shout at traffic and impatiently tap the wheel of my car in my daily quest to beat the traffic home to my wine.