Right, so regular blogging is not really happening given that this is my first post for over four months...
Moving swiftly on.
2009 is coming to an end. It has to be said that this has been a good year for me. I am perfectly settled: I have a wonderful fiancé whom I am due to marry next year; I currently live in a lovely town flat but have just bought a house; I have a job which I love and which I am good at; I have a fantastic family, with whom I have been reconciled following the drama and breakups of last year; I have a brilliant set of friends.
Life is good right now.
There have, of course, been periods of tension throughout the year. Getting divorced was pretty traumatic for many people close to me. However, I felt very disconnected from the whole process, like it wasn't even happening to me, but to somebody else. Despite this, it is still a key event that has taken place this year; a defining colour on the canvas of me. Once the divorce was made absolute, I was able to really close the door on that chapter of my life, for myself, my ex-husband and our families, and look forward to the future.
Obviously, 2009 has been a testing time for myself and Chris, too. There was always a danger that coming out of a broken relationship and leaping straight into a new one would drag us both down. In fact, the opposite has happened: we have grown so much as a couple over this past year. There is a certainty, an inevitability, to our future now that was not there a year ago. This is a relationship that we have both had to work at: a relationship that was confronted with initial instability and opposition. I am more in love now than I have ever been; I love Chris more with each day that passes. He proposed to me in August; some say it was too soon but it felt absolutely the right time to us.
My family has accepted 'us' now. I realise now that it was naive of me to have expected them to come to terms with this quickly. My dad invited us over for Christmas Eve dinner last week: this made both my mother and I very happy; it honestly felt like my family was back together with Chris being an addition to that family. I hope that relations will continue to strengthen here.
Starting a new job is never easy but I think I made exactly the right decision when I decided to leave George Farmer and move to Springwood. I work in a Faculty that I feel I truly belong in and contribute to. There have been moments of angst and I am, indeed, prone to stress (it comes with being a bit of a perfectionist), but I love the school; I love the people I work with. I am content. George Farmer was a great school to begin my career at but I don't think it was the sort of school that would've really allowed progression and development as a teacher; I believe that Springwood will do this.
We have bought a house. Well, nearly. We have put in an offer that has been accepted and we have been approved for a mortgage. Again, we are in a state of trepidation: is this the right house for us? Will we move in and hate it? I don't think so but it is natural to feel such nerves. This is the biggest thing I have ever done: bigger than getting married. We are excited, though we realise the scale of such an act. As we have learnt, buying a house with someone is far more legally binding than getting married. It took a long time for Chris' house with his ex-partner to sell and, until it did, we could not make any progress of our own towards buying property and moving forwards in that respect. However, we are ready for this; it seems to be the next step for us.
So: 2009 has been a year of progress; I suspect 2010 will follow in a similar vein.
Happy New Year; apologies that this has been a rather self-indulgent post.
Wednesday, 30 December 2009
Tuesday, 18 August 2009
Italians
Disclaimer: the following post is in no way intended to cause offense or suggest any kind of prejudice on my part.
Chris and I recently returned from our summer holiday in Sorrento, Italy. We had a fantastic time: the sun shone; we ate good food and drank nice wine; we saw lots of interesting things; we found the locals to be friendly and welcoming. However, the overwhelming impression that I have come home with concerning the people of Sorrento is this: they are slow.
When I say 'slow', I am not suggesting that they are mentally slow or backward: rather, they are physically slow. Italians seem quite happy to dawdle along the narrow streets: they appear to be in no hurry at all or have no particular destination in mind. Additionally, they do not consider the people behind or around them: of course, fellow Italians would feel the same way: that there is no rush.
Chris and I are both fast walkers: when we have a place to get to, we see no reason to waste time by getting there at a leisurely pace. We walk with purpose. Thus, we became rather irritated by the slow-walking Italians who, consequently, forced us to constantly slow down as well.
There are reasons behind this more relaxed, slower pace, I think.
Firstly, the weather in Italy is hot: the average daytime temperature was about 30 degrees Celsius the week we were there. We often found ourselves caked in sweat; perhaps this was due to our brisker, more energetic pace. The Italians obviously cope with the heat much better: walking slower does not cause unnecessary perspiration.
Secondly, the pace at which the Italians walk appears to reflect their lifestyle and culture: everything is a little more laid back than it is here. I found there to be absolutely no sense of urgency at all. The shops are open for longer hours and later in the evening, so there is no rush to buy what you need straight after work or only on a weekend, as we would have to here. It seems to me that the British generally lead more hectic lives, as well as capitalise on more condensed opening hours: if people have limited time in which to shop, then they are more likely to take advantage of that limited time spend their money. This also rings true when it comes to dining out: I found Italian service to be somewhat slow, but this is because they take time to enjoy their dinner (and many courses of it). In Britain, service is rushed as restaurants seek to get as many people through their doors as possible before clearing them out for the next lot.
In a way, it was quite nice to slow down for a week. Chris and I both have busy, stressful jobs, and our lives outside of work are fairly full as well. However, I think it would drive me nuts to live in Italy: I like my busy, British life too much.
Chris and I recently returned from our summer holiday in Sorrento, Italy. We had a fantastic time: the sun shone; we ate good food and drank nice wine; we saw lots of interesting things; we found the locals to be friendly and welcoming. However, the overwhelming impression that I have come home with concerning the people of Sorrento is this: they are slow.
When I say 'slow', I am not suggesting that they are mentally slow or backward: rather, they are physically slow. Italians seem quite happy to dawdle along the narrow streets: they appear to be in no hurry at all or have no particular destination in mind. Additionally, they do not consider the people behind or around them: of course, fellow Italians would feel the same way: that there is no rush.
Chris and I are both fast walkers: when we have a place to get to, we see no reason to waste time by getting there at a leisurely pace. We walk with purpose. Thus, we became rather irritated by the slow-walking Italians who, consequently, forced us to constantly slow down as well.
There are reasons behind this more relaxed, slower pace, I think.
Firstly, the weather in Italy is hot: the average daytime temperature was about 30 degrees Celsius the week we were there. We often found ourselves caked in sweat; perhaps this was due to our brisker, more energetic pace. The Italians obviously cope with the heat much better: walking slower does not cause unnecessary perspiration.
Secondly, the pace at which the Italians walk appears to reflect their lifestyle and culture: everything is a little more laid back than it is here. I found there to be absolutely no sense of urgency at all. The shops are open for longer hours and later in the evening, so there is no rush to buy what you need straight after work or only on a weekend, as we would have to here. It seems to me that the British generally lead more hectic lives, as well as capitalise on more condensed opening hours: if people have limited time in which to shop, then they are more likely to take advantage of that limited time spend their money. This also rings true when it comes to dining out: I found Italian service to be somewhat slow, but this is because they take time to enjoy their dinner (and many courses of it). In Britain, service is rushed as restaurants seek to get as many people through their doors as possible before clearing them out for the next lot.
In a way, it was quite nice to slow down for a week. Chris and I both have busy, stressful jobs, and our lives outside of work are fairly full as well. However, I think it would drive me nuts to live in Italy: I like my busy, British life too much.
Tuesday, 4 August 2009
Beta Blockers
Today, I gave a violin recital at St. Margaret's Church. It is something that I agreed to do many months ago, and subsequently spent many an hour practising in order to get my chosen pieces up to scratch.
I have been playing the violin since the age of nine. I passed Grade VIII with Distinction; passed A level music with a grade A; read music at King's and got a 2:1:. I am a good violinist. Despite this knowledge--and the qualifications to prove it--I have always suffered from performance nerves. In their most aggressive form, these nerves manifest themselves through both an unsettled stomach and tremors: the latter in particular is very unhelpful for a violinist, where control of the bow is absolutely essential.
So, about a year ago I went to the doctor to share my problem. I told him that my nerves impede the quality of my performance. He did not seem very surprised and very happily prescribed me with Propranolol: a drug that primarily slows down the heart rate, but one which has also been proven to stop tremors; a drug that many musicians take to assist them in conquering their performance nerves.
These drugs have worked a treat for me; although I still get nervous--I still get the knot in my stomach and a dry mouth--the tremors are absent providing I have taken a beta blocker about an hour ahead of my performance.
Chris is unhappy at the thought of me ingesting something that messes around with my heart; he is probably wise to be worried. However, I don't think I could ever do a big solo performance again without taking a beta blocker. It is not an addiction; it is not a placebo; it simply stops me from shaking, and--as a consequence--my public performances actually reflect my ability.
A miracle drug, I believe.
I have been playing the violin since the age of nine. I passed Grade VIII with Distinction; passed A level music with a grade A; read music at King's and got a 2:1:. I am a good violinist. Despite this knowledge--and the qualifications to prove it--I have always suffered from performance nerves. In their most aggressive form, these nerves manifest themselves through both an unsettled stomach and tremors: the latter in particular is very unhelpful for a violinist, where control of the bow is absolutely essential.
So, about a year ago I went to the doctor to share my problem. I told him that my nerves impede the quality of my performance. He did not seem very surprised and very happily prescribed me with Propranolol: a drug that primarily slows down the heart rate, but one which has also been proven to stop tremors; a drug that many musicians take to assist them in conquering their performance nerves.
These drugs have worked a treat for me; although I still get nervous--I still get the knot in my stomach and a dry mouth--the tremors are absent providing I have taken a beta blocker about an hour ahead of my performance.
Chris is unhappy at the thought of me ingesting something that messes around with my heart; he is probably wise to be worried. However, I don't think I could ever do a big solo performance again without taking a beta blocker. It is not an addiction; it is not a placebo; it simply stops me from shaking, and--as a consequence--my public performances actually reflect my ability.
A miracle drug, I believe.
Friday, 24 July 2009
Race for Life
The King's Lynn Race for Life event took place on Tuesday evening. I completed the 5k run in approximately 32 minutes, and have so far raised £85 for Cancer Research UK.
Now, I know that Race for Life is supposed to be a charity 'fun run'; it is aimed at all women, not specifically athletes. It gives you the option to either run or walk. It is designed to give women a sense of elation and achievement when they cross the finish line. It is not a competitive event; there is no prize to be won or reputation to uphold.
However, the uber-competitive streak in me refuses to walk: I am not the best runner, but, quite frankly, if I can't run 5k without stopping, then I must be very out of shape. I feel weak if I give in and walk; I feel like I have failed. Thus, I find it quite demoralilsing and frustrating to get stuck behind women who have claimed that they are going to run the race rather than walk it, yet begin walking after only the first 200 metres! Not only that, they decide to walk in the middle of the track, rather than move to the side so that faster people can get past.
So, I ended up feeling quite cross as I completed the run, which detracts one's focus from the whole point of the event. Besides, at least these women are getting out of the house for the night and doing something proactive for charity. Of course, I don't believe that charity fundraisers should be at all discriminating, but I do think perhaps that there need to be slightly stricter guidelines surrounding these sorts of physical events: for example, perhaps people who know that they are going to end up walking the course should accept this and start after the runners have set off; perhaps there should be a separate track for the walkers.
I know I'm sounding very intolerant and cynical; perhaps I need to lighten up a little.
Now, I know that Race for Life is supposed to be a charity 'fun run'; it is aimed at all women, not specifically athletes. It gives you the option to either run or walk. It is designed to give women a sense of elation and achievement when they cross the finish line. It is not a competitive event; there is no prize to be won or reputation to uphold.
However, the uber-competitive streak in me refuses to walk: I am not the best runner, but, quite frankly, if I can't run 5k without stopping, then I must be very out of shape. I feel weak if I give in and walk; I feel like I have failed. Thus, I find it quite demoralilsing and frustrating to get stuck behind women who have claimed that they are going to run the race rather than walk it, yet begin walking after only the first 200 metres! Not only that, they decide to walk in the middle of the track, rather than move to the side so that faster people can get past.
So, I ended up feeling quite cross as I completed the run, which detracts one's focus from the whole point of the event. Besides, at least these women are getting out of the house for the night and doing something proactive for charity. Of course, I don't believe that charity fundraisers should be at all discriminating, but I do think perhaps that there need to be slightly stricter guidelines surrounding these sorts of physical events: for example, perhaps people who know that they are going to end up walking the course should accept this and start after the runners have set off; perhaps there should be a separate track for the walkers.
I know I'm sounding very intolerant and cynical; perhaps I need to lighten up a little.
Wednesday, 15 July 2009
The Dyson
Chris and I realised that the end of term is approaching when we noticed that the standard of cleanliness/tidiness of the flat was slipping: something that generally happens when we are very tired and ready for a holiday. Rather than skirt around the clutter until the start of the holidays, we embarked upon a thorough clean up operation last night. Thus, Saturday will arrive, and we can gently ease ourselves into the holiday as opposed to wake up to a list of jobs to do.
Our vacuum cleaner had been getting progressively worse over the past few months. It had always been reluctant to clean the carpet due to its very weak suction. However, when vacuuming the carpet suddenly became a 20 minute job resulting in Chris panting and dripping with sweat, we knew it had had its day.
My mother recently bought a Henry, which meant that her Dyson was going spare. I knew that Mum had not had a lot of luck with the Dyson, but it surely had to be better than the vacuum cleaner we did have; it later transpired that Mum had always had the filter in upside down, so no wonder it didn't work so well.
So, I picked the Dyson up from Tobie's who had been using it to vacuum his loft. I was presented with something that was so thoroughly dirty itself that there was no way we could use it to clean other things; turns out--up until Tobie borrowed it--the Dyson had been sitting in my dad's garage, slowly accumulating a coating of dust and motor oil. However, we gave it a good scrub down before testing it out. Unfortunately, we learnt the hard way that vacuuming a cream rug with a Dyson that had been kept in a dirty garage for months on end and was still damp from being wiped down was not the best idea; the rug was instantly splattered with dark spots of who knows what.
Still, we did not become disheartened. After another little clean and letting it dry out, we tried again: it works a treat. 'Operation: Clean The Flat' was carried out with success before the start of the holidays. Our carpet has not looked this good for a long time, and whipping the vacuum cleaner round the flat is no longer a physical workout; I suppose that means we shall have to start exercising more frequently again, then.
My mother recently bought a Henry, which meant that her Dyson was going spare. I knew that Mum had not had a lot of luck with the Dyson, but it surely had to be better than the vacuum cleaner we did have; it later transpired that Mum had always had the filter in upside down, so no wonder it didn't work so well.
So, I picked the Dyson up from Tobie's who had been using it to vacuum his loft. I was presented with something that was so thoroughly dirty itself that there was no way we could use it to clean other things; turns out--up until Tobie borrowed it--the Dyson had been sitting in my dad's garage, slowly accumulating a coating of dust and motor oil. However, we gave it a good scrub down before testing it out. Unfortunately, we learnt the hard way that vacuuming a cream rug with a Dyson that had been kept in a dirty garage for months on end and was still damp from being wiped down was not the best idea; the rug was instantly splattered with dark spots of who knows what.
Still, we did not become disheartened. After another little clean and letting it dry out, we tried again: it works a treat. 'Operation: Clean The Flat' was carried out with success before the start of the holidays. Our carpet has not looked this good for a long time, and whipping the vacuum cleaner round the flat is no longer a physical workout; I suppose that means we shall have to start exercising more frequently again, then.
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