Why does turning 25 feel like a mid life crisis?!

Or should I say, a quarter-life crisis...

Twenty-five is a rough age. All your life, you look forward to being 18 then twenty-one so you're allowed to go to bars and legally drink (worldwide) Then you spend the next few years being glad that you're above that 18-20 crowd, more mature and way cool'er. Twenty-two is cool, Twenty-three is cool, Twenty-four is cool and then BAM....You turn twenty-five and suddenly, it's not so cool anymore. 

You're only five years away from being thirty. You start analysing every aspect of your life. Where is it going? Why aren't I married? Why don't I have kids? Chances are by now, you know several couples who are getting married and several couples who have children. Then you start to think "well my parents were married by now" or "all my uncles and aunts were married by now" or "wait my parents already had TWO kids by the time they were twenty-five!"

Then you start thinking about all the things in life that you haven't done yet. I still haven't traveled to Brazil...I've not bought a house and I still would quite like to be able to skateboard. 

Maybe this doesn't happen to everyone, but it certainly happened to me at 24...I always said that I would never move back to London because I'd miss all my family and friends back in Cambridgeshire and despised the Tube battle of getting to work everyday and paying £800 a month for a tiny box flat when I can have a beautiful house with a garden and 2 cats back home. 

When I turned twenty-four all of a sudden I became extremely jealous of anyone who didn't have someone controlling their life... I felt suffocated, stopped laughing as much and unappreciated. And for people that know me, I laugh a lot I needed something and I didn't know what it was.

I started analysing anything and everything in my life. I analysed my friends, job, appearance, family and the person I was in a relationship with. Are they the one? If not, why am I wasting my time? I'm almost thirty. What if I'm thirty and all my friends are married and I'm not?" 

And so, the quest began: what can I do to ensure that, if I get married and settle down in five years, I can take the plunge down the one-way aisle without any fear or regrets? 

I loved him, but I knew deep down that the thought of marrying him didn't excite me like it did 4 years ago and when you start questioning if they are tall enough, look through your recently played tunes on your ipod... You know something is up. So why was I with him? Was I just afraid of being alone? What if my future husband was out there and I'm missing out because I'm wasting time with my current boyfriend? 

The most exhausting year of my life, there is nothing you can take or do to make that constant searching for a fix in your head stop....And there is was. Done. 

After 4 and half years of living together, I ended it and moved out back to London.

(You don't find unicorns with rainbow belly's in Cambridgeshire)

All in all, I think twenty-five is an age where you discover who you really are.What I mean by that is finding who we REALLY are; 

Today I turned 25, my first birthday as an adult without a boyfriend, a date or any shackles...

 London has never felt so exciting.

SW

I've recently moved to South West London, which normally means a few things:

1. I'm instantly categorised as one of those girls that hangs out in Be @ One, loves dating kiwi and auzzi blokes and still thinks secret cinema is cool
2. I went to private school 
3. I'm an Australian or Kiwi

None of the above statements apply to me. But what is it about South West London that attracts a certain type?

A couple of Friday's ago I was out in Chelsea having a few drinks with friends and my godness me... the girls (rich girls) or girls pretending to be "from a wealthy background" to bag themselves a floppy haired  Gucci loafer wearing toff that hang around in these parts are pretty amusing. You can spot them a mile off, the hair is the give-away mostly blonde casually sloped to the side and they insist on constantly playing with it, they are like a pedigree breed, they are  immaculate. 
Watching them is highly entertaining, the rapid rate that they were shooting down these guys was incredible. The guys I was watching didn't stand a chance and that got me thinking, they all love a bad boy, (don't we all) so normal boys of the world here is my advice to you on how to bag a West London "rah rah rah girl"...

Rich girls are hot because their mums are hot. But they're also insane because their dads are inbred sociopaths with Nazi fetishes. Boys, all of this makes dating one for a short period of time an excitingly weird mixture of prescription pills, naps, crazy arguments, depressing music, room service, therapists, tattoos that cost more than cars, jet lag and guestlists. 

They won't stick around forever, however, as they're genetically pre-disposed to breed among their own kind. But as long as you understand you'll never be anything more than just a stopgap to them, you're in with a shout.

MEETING THEM


This is all about timing. There's a point in every rich girl's life where they stop accepting Daddy's handouts and start nicking it from his wallet instead. This is when you strike. This is your brief window of opportunity.

The first step is identifying the bars/ clubs that these girls frequent. One of a rich girl's favourite activities is to go and look at other rich-people-who-are-pretending-to-be-poor playing in bands. A good way to find these is to check your local listings for who's playing in your area, cross-reference band names with the internet, and look out for names like Charlie or Rupert or Frederick. That's where you'll find gold.

WINNING THEM
You have nothing to offer a rich girl other than being slightly less fortunate than they are, so wave your pedestrian lifestyle around as though it was an alternative lifestyle choice. 

The urban equivalent of this is equally potent: Get some lines in your eyebrows, claim to be a small-time coke dealer, wear a lot of Stone Island and basically inhabit all of her parents' nightmares. At the very worst, her dad will probably attempt to pay you off. If he does, shout, "I don't need your money!" and then steal his iPod. 



HER HOUSE

Yes, her flat isn't shit. Get over it. The most important rule here is to never EVER ask how much her place is costing her. I know it's fun to work out in your head how many times more expensive it is than your own rent, or to figure out how many hours you would have to work to pay the rent for just one month (approx 500) but don't. A. Her parents are paying for it and she has no fucking idea, and B. Just fucking be cool. Act like you're so accustomed to this kind of luxury that you haven't even noticed she's using a remote control to operate the curtains. Just shut up, sit back, watch her Sky.

THE HELP

Unless you're a horrible, horrible human being, dating a girl with a cleaner is gonna make you feel like the worst person on Earth; like the conscientious son of a plantation owner. Every ounce of your being is going to want to take your own plate over to the sink or say things like "Don't worry, I'll get it."

But you know when a lion rips apart a gazelle in a nature documentary and Attenborough says something like "although horrifying to us, this is just par for the course in the wild"? Think about it like that. And if you're still upset about it, just remember that the Filipino maid you feel so sorry for lives in a bigger house than you (the outhouse at your girlfriend's).

MUMS

Firstly, you're gonna want to sleep with her mum because her mum is going to look THE EXACT OPPOSITE to your mum. She will smell like whatever frankincense smells like. However, she will understand what you are straight away; which is just "a phase". She might even regale you both with a story about how she once dated a "punk rocker with a motorcycle" before "meeting Daddy", which is essentially a nice way of saying "Lily is marrying Sebastian, and your days are numbered, dickhead."

DADS
The dad is worse. He understands all your disgusting urges because he lives on a diet of secret sex with Polish women that get delivered to his hotel. The other problem with dads is that rich girls and their fathers flirt to the point of obscenity. This may make you feel weird, but imagine how much it messes up those two.

FRIENDS

Two things. Number one: Compared to her school friends, your mates are gonna look like So Solid Crew. Number two: She won't be hanging out with her school friends any more, she'll be hanging out with a touring collective of models, drug dealers, guys who own guitars, guys who own clubs, alternative pop stars in their early teens and really old guys who used to know Joe Strummer. You will hate them. Your own friends will try very, very hard to screw all the models, though.

IMPORTANT! Remember, part of them WANTS to get caught. So when they're racking up lines on a Subway sneeze guard and it seems like it would be funny to join in, don't! They're gonna get bailed. And you're not.

SEX
Well, the first thing to know about all rich girls is that they lost their virginity at a terrifyingly young age. This means that they're all mad. The reason they all have sex so young is that they all want to be models and are surrounded by scumbags who've had their morality exploded by Mexican Adderall and are used to getting what they want to the point of psychosis. Basically, these young, beautiful women have been fucked up. And that means you'll probably have to have threesomes and put up with her walking around with only a bra on while her male Swedish friends talk about their literary projects. Speaking of which...

POLITICS 

At some point in the relationship, despite her bohemian pretensions and transgressive art project, you'll realise that she is a Tory. Listen out for tell-tale opinions like, "Well I don't see why I should have to give away all my money to other people," and "Daddy didn't go on the dole, he went out and started a company / formed Duran Duran."

RUINING YOU
Yes, it's going to destroy you. You'll never be happy with a nightbus ever again. You might not quit your job, but you'll become so bad at it that it'll probably quit you. Unsustainable drug habit? Yep! Ditch all your old friends? But of course! Start wearing £4,000 denim jackets? WHO WOULDN'T?

THE BREAKUP

You knew it was coming from day one. But God, you don't wanna give up on this. You'll cry and bitch and get addicted to heroin, but you'll never be able to convince her to stay. Her type don't care too much about people. Her family buy land; yours plough it. Sorry, now you have to date someone who doesn't even have a linen wardrobe. 

Now these are very cool, upcycled furniture

Now these are cool, upcycled furniture creations from a some very talented designers.

Recreate design has a bunch of amazing furniture pieces. I just wish I could afford them! I'm not sure if I attempt to create these with old suitcases and bikes that I have lying around they would have the same appeal:

I love a nice cup of tea I also love these kitchen units by British designer, Rupert Blanchard, made from 1930s-1960s vintage tea packing chests.

 

Save the best for last, this is brilliant, I appreciate a good bathroom, the weirder the sink the better. Designer, Benjamin Bullins creates a dream sink area using an old, discarded bike. Sporty and functional! 

That ego is preggo

No i'm not being a typical girl but this video is one of the coolest things I have seen on YouTube in a very long time.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6wFsFtHhMAE&feature=youtu.be

Yes it is a pregnancy time lapse but its cool, really cool, stay with it, watch it, every baby deserves one of these.

I've broken the silence, I’m here, still alive and kicking. As I’m sure you've gathered from my silence the last few months I've worn a lot of black and haven’t been running as much as I should. That means one thing, the only running I’ve been doing is to the kitchen to get a Gin and Tonic...my thought process for chit chat hasn't really been there. 

Today is the first day I have gone to work without my hot water bottle, yes I’m 24. I'm like a hot water bottle mule, in the winter I have one strapped to my front and my back, attractive. I just need the shuffle and I’m Quasimodo hunchback. But this is a step forward. I also got called childish today for making Whitney Houston related jokes... it's not right but it's ok. So I’m heading back to my old ways.

I'm going to the cinema tonight however I'm not sure how I feel about the snacks there? The grub there makes me feel like I’m going to have a brain haemorrhage however I always feel like I need something to do in the cinema, it's a real challenge for me to just sit there. Why do we HAVE to buy popcorn at the cinema, who actually thinks "o I really fancy some popcorn" no one ever craves it, you'd never normally eat it and its irritating for people next to you. Surely the dream cinema snack is the foam banana, these also happen to be my Scottish Father's favourite sweet. The foam banana is the only silence sweet out there.

There is a market here I might tap into, silent sweets.

Bananas for me are a strange, I eat them because they're good for me, like when I’m ill I take paracetamol, I don't it them but it's something you should do.

How the hell did we discover bananas what a strange thing to look at and think I wonder if we peel it and eat the mush in the middle if it tastes good.

Fact: Did you know bananas also come in purple and red?

I genuinely have a phobia of brown banana’s, are the devil to me. They sweat, seem to have this humid feel and aroma o the aroma that I can't handle.

Ok I have to mention it, it's freezing, like really bloody freezing. But let's just deal with it and stop hyping it up. We know it's cold, stop with the status updates, you're pushing me ever closer to deleting my account. Freezing but beautiful....

The last few weeks for me have been taken over by work, my brain hasn't felt the most creative and chatty. I feel the need to apologise for being on mute especially to the Ukraine, according to my stats thetalesofpollypocket is a hit there! I'm touring the UK at the moment so things have been all a bit hectic to say the least, especially for someone that's in bed by 10 most nights. What better way to eat event stress away than a day and night at a spa. Ralph and Dodger kindly pushed the car off the drive for me.

I have never been to a real spa retreat before and it really was a treat. I went to the Charlton House Hotel, set on the outskirts of Bath. It was everything I preconceived it to be; full of affluent and not so affluent flocks of middle aged women, couples and pale mothers and daughters.
As more snow started to fall, I rocked the fluffy robe look, it was heaven, outdoor hot pools in the snow...

No matter how hard I tried to get into the mode of walking around a hotel in my dressing gown I couldn't, I felt like a plonker. It's the awkward length of the dressing gown that doesn't agree with me, its neither above the knee or floor length, go full floor length I say.

With it being so close to Valentines day, there were some very sweet fresh faced young couples floating around the hotel,  loves young dream and all that. At dinner I looked on at the usual couplefest pressured "lets look adoringly at each other chats", it all feels a little staged. Its like prisoners visiting time, rows of tables of two, people talking intensely to each other.
There is always the anticipation of someone around you proposing, that's a fun way of passing the time. I noticed when I checked in, the hotel actually had an offer incentivising ladies with complimentary spa treatments and champagne to propose to their partners due to the leap year... I find this whole thing hideous, what man wants to be proposed to, one without a set of nuts. And what is the process with that? How does it work?
"Boyfriend will you marry me"
(reluctant) "Yes"
"Great thanks, put that ring on my finger and here are my bank details for you to transfer the dosh for the ring."
Lets take things back, way back. Ladies if he hasn't proposed to you, don't even think about it. It's not attractive to push it, strip it back...

When is right though? Is there ever a right time? If there is it could be in this hot tub right here...excluding my hand feet.

Pretty Pop Phones

There are some things you hear about and don't think you'll actually see in practice. Today my POP Phone virginity was smashed...

Although on first glance they look like something you could only ever use in Dalston or Shoreditch, these bizarre and deceivingly practical handsets are cute. I know lots of people won't agree.
Yes the girl I saw using it was in East London,  yes she was a bit try hard trendy (however her Pop Phone was green, bad colour choice, get on the pastel shades love) and yes she did have oversized glasses on.

Designed by the French designer David Turpin the POP handset combines classic style with a contemporary edge and is finished with a luxurious soft-touch texture. The speaker quality in them is impressively high and they are compatible with most phones. You can also use them on your laptop for Skype with a USB.

What's not to like about them, they come in matte pastel shades... my favourite sort of colours and I quite like the idea of feeling like an powerful Stockbroker. With the POP Phone you can chat with someone whilst being able to do stuff with your hands without your iPhone cascading off your shoulder and shattering on the floor...

This feeling isn't so devastating to me anymore, I’m immune to it. I'm now onto my 6th iPhone for screen casualty reasons, of course none of my late iPhone deaths (god bless them) were not my fault, I blame various DJ's and bands for dropping a banger...therefore me owning the dance floor yet severely impacting on my movement control.

I think a POP Phone could work for me. They just strip things back,  I'm all for a conversation.
I've touched on this before, no text/WhatsApp/Tweet/Facebook...

Just call me... call me on my Pop Phone.

If Lenny's in, I'm in.

Buy them from Native Union, link to follow shortly.

Next Episode on the Bakerloo Line

The lull is over, I'm excited, something is going to happen soon, not sure what but I’ve got the vibe things are on the turn...Maybe February is on the horizon and I'm going out London town this weekend.

Last night I carried on with my very peculiar tradition

of the late night bake...inspired by the #Britishbakeoff.

I'm not sure why I’ve started doing this but I quite like it,

sporadic baking. Last Saturday I attempted a British classic

Victoria sponge cake at 11:30pm.

Last night the midnight urge to do it again kicked in... so I made Belgium chocolate cookies.

I made 8 in total, they are now all gone. I still have a bit of a cookie dough haze going on in my head but its good, very good.

There seems to be some trend at the moment with baking, this Lorraine Pascale who seems to wear a white long sleeve top extremely well has played a big part in it for me. Her programme broadcast on BBC2 is somewhat irritating yet addictive, it's shot beautifully. They have really nailed how to make baking cool and politely seductive.

Click here to get on the Bakerloo line with Lorraine Pascale Trust me she will make you want to go out and buy a white long sleeve t-shirt. FYI I got mine from H&M
H&M good, classic, white long sleeve Lorraine Pascale style baking outfits


My perception of a highly attractive, slender lady that bakes is the near makings of a modern day superhero. You think of a baker to be overweight, pale, shuffle around a messy kitchen and ooze an odor of damp washing/sweet/yeast smelling sweat?
Very much like the 2 Fat Ladies (the cooking show)remember them? Now although Lorraine Pascal is nice to look at and I still can't get my head around how her whites are so white(I bet she smells like lavender too)... I really enjoyed watching these two porkers fubb-fubb- fubb around the kitchen, encourage their viewers to nip out for a ciggie when pans was simmering and share their dislike of vegetarians.
Neither gave a monkeys about calories or fat. Sadly Fat Lady 1 died of cancer, one month after diagnosis. The day before she died, she asked Fat Lady 2 to bring her a tin of caviar but when Fat Lady 2 arrived at the hospital, Fat Lady 1 had died.

How the times have changed, bearing in mind this was only a few years ago, I'm sure if The 2 Fat Ladies were on TV now, it would be banned and deemed as offensive/discriminating or the 2 Fat Lady's would be made to do a Zumba class and incorporate it into their show.


Most women right now seem to be into dieting and Zumba'ing, I don't think I know a woman who isn't dieting and "Zumba'ing" apart from me. Actually that's a lie, I’ll occasionally eat cereal (cough starve myself) for a couple of days, job done. That means I can not only look miniature but I can spend my food budget in TopShop, yes I have a food budget. Not big or clever I know, instant result though, I’m inpatient.

Zumba classes are killing it at the moment, but for me, although I’ve done it and bashfully can say I loved it, there really is something quite eggy about it. By eggy I mean think of the way an eggy smelly makes you feel/act...this comes in three parts 1. The uncertain looking around 2. The screwing up of the face 3. The embarrassment & giggles. If you're new to Zumba you will experience this, be warned.
The 2 Fat Ladies are the classic demographic for Zumba; overweight older women who wouldn't normally exercise, which is great...not that I’m "Fattist" of course anything we can do to eliminate podge is good, it leads to a longer life.

Zumba is just a bit strange, when has your Mum or Carol the busty family friend that you call "Aunty Carol" ever played HipHop, RnB/Dancehall music, grinded like Playboy bunnies to it and loved it... Never! (except when there is alcohol involved) The amount of times I can quote my Mother shouting at me to turn my Technic 1210s down "TURN THAT FU*KING SHOUTING DOWN NOW". That would be Snoop Dog Next Episode Mother.
Click for a Snooooooooop blast from the past


Maybe it's the music these loose women like... Zumba has brought a whole new flood of fabulous size 14, middle class, 50 something female black music fans. You'll see them cruising in their Range Rovers outside Oundle School waiting for Florence and Tarquin Junior. Never before would this of happened without Zumba unless Tim Westwood became the new Philip Schofield or Hugh Grant.
Or possibly it's the way it makes them feel... Zumba packs out shabby village halls and commands these MILF's into feeling sexy, that could explain why they're there in the first place... Sex Burns 360 Calories per hour (explains why sluts are skinny).

Never turn down a good meal, cake or bit of caviar then make sure you have sex for at least 1 hour...
Live for pleasure and parade the LOL's.

 

Mac and Cheese Wrap

Save this Cheeseburger wrapping paper for your juiciest gifts.
Extravagant? Maybe. But embracing this mouth-wateringly wonderful cheeseburger wrapping paper might actually save you in the long run. I mean, when you wrap and stack six gifts to look like a Big Mac with cheese, who cares what's in the boxes?

I found this on Gizmodo, Gizmodo is cool, brings a little "arty culture" to your day...buy it from giftcouture.com.
Follow @Gizmodo

Monday morning electric beach

Tropicana brought light, warmth and happiness to grey, grumpy London.
Dawn broke yesterday after an artist installed a fake sun in Trafalgar Square to chase away the Monday morning blues.
Surprised and delighted onlookers bathed in warm sunlight as the spectacular installation began to glow at 6.51am.
The brilliant 'sun' is as bright as 60,000 light bulbs and can reach a boiling 100C at its core.

For me, this is one of the best experiential stunts I’ve seen in a long time. Mainly because I’m a sun worshiper and commutes to work in London in a word are... gash. If you live or have lived in London you'll know what I mean, of course unless your commute is a walk along Southbank for no more than 2 minutes (any more than 2 minutes it would be too windy) in which case you probably don't need to work. If you live on the Southbank, you've got far too much money and I have no sympathy for your "commute".

There is so much negativity around at the moment and London commuters are known to be and are some of the grumpiest in the world... the relentless battling to get to work, tuting at people you wouldn't normally tut at, getting angry inside because the person next to you is incapable of showering, the tube haze making your freshly washed hair smell like a three day old McDonalds breakfast and not getting a seat ruining your day.
This sort of stunt is what makes living in London amazing, and like no other place, high five Tropicana.

In the morning if you're like me when you're rushing around to get ready for work you have the TV on purely for keeping an eye on the clock and of course ensuring there isn't a live broadcast from my street which means I've won £50,000, a car, a "once in a lifetime holiday" and some electrical items I won't use.
Whether your programme of choice is Daybreak (trashy) or BBC News (makes you intelligent) just like eating fish...the more fish you eat the more intelligent you become. Either way, you will of come across Martin Lewis (the guy that you would never want to serve in a shop) on Daybreak/BBC News. Now don't get me wrong I think he's inspiring but there is a time and a place for someone to be so passionate about debt, complaints and saving money. There should be a watershed for him, he's too loud, aggressive and shouty about such a dull subject.
"I can't do anything about it now Martin its 07:10 in the morning!" I know you're all thinking the same.

I dream about winning the lottery so frequently that I’ve decided to play it, I'm convinced I’ll win. The huge brick wall that's stopping me right now is not having a ticket because I’ve forgotten to buy one, you've got to be in it to win it. The way around that is of course to do it online but I’m pretty sure you have less chance of winning this way and I don't like it.
I'm traditional, if I won, I'd win with a ticket that I had to guard with my life and frame it in my beautiful, always warm, fresh linen smelling house filled with duvet rooms, good sound systems and Alpacas outside.
When I win I also won't need to strap my Prada handbag into the car seat every morning... looser.