Trickle Trickle...Splash Splash

Exciting news here at Gidday HQ.

I've had a new boiler installed. 

For those of you who don't know - like me before my migration north of the river and away from electric heating (in the ceiling no less) and hot water - the boiler is an essential piece of kit in one's house here in the UK. It not only supplies the hot water but also fuels the gas heating.

And with the temperatures dipping into single figures this weekend, these two 'objet d'omesticity' have grown particularly close to my heart. Especially as, after arriving home earlier this month to a chill indoors, I had to break out the bedsocks twice in the space of a week.

So last week, the pipes were fitted and the new combi-boiler installed. Gidday HQ is toasty warm and ready for winter.

But there's been an unexpected bonus. The water pressure is amazing.

No more shimmying around under the dribble from the shower head.

No more waiting 20 minutes to run a bath.

And the kitchen sink is full within a minute or two. (Let's face it, the quicker I can get washing the dishes out of the way, the better. It's not my favourite chore but there are not many other options when there's no-one else to blame nag cajole ask.)

It's gone from a trickle to a veritable torrent.

I didn't think it could happen but Fabulous Finchley just got even more fabulous.

I am one happy little Vegemite!

Frocks, Flicks And Champers...

This morning I wrapped myself up against the cold and stepped out into the crisp Autumn air to meet friend J for a few hours of glam gambolling at the V&A. The day was bright and it all started with a coffee in the sun before we wandered around the block to the museum in time for the first fabulous instalment of our day, Ballgowns.


The exhibition runs over two floors and displays ballgowns from the 1950s right through to the modern day. There were royal rags made by Norman Hartnell and Catherine Walker (remember Princess Diana's 'Elvis dress'?) right through to celebrity stunners worn by the likes of Helen Mirren, Sandra Bullock and Liz Hurley. There were even gowns made from everyday items like aluminium foil and plastic.

The 'Elvis Dress'

So after ooh-ing and aah-ing and eew-ing (yes there were some of those too - I am not a fan of Zandra Rhodes or Vivienne Westwood) for about 45 minutes, it was time for a quick break before venturing into the V&A's newest exhibit, Hollywood Costumes.

(It opened only last week - we are just SO up with the latest you know *wink*)

The three halls - Deconstruction, Dialogue and Finale - contained over 100 original costumes from the last century of Hollywood films. There was the iconic, the heroic and the historic - Star Wars and Superman, The Birds and Breakfast at Tiffany's, Elizabeth and The Iron Lady. We saw Indy, Arnie, Rocky and Neo as well as the yellow track suit from Kill Bill, the white halterneck from The Seven Year Itch, the green velvet 'curtain' dress from Gone With The Wind and the ruby slippers from The Wizard of Oz.

Dorothy Gale's gingham dress and ruby slippers, worn by Judy Garland in 1939, are one of the last exhibits. You know you are not done until you see these.

Speaking of wizardry, the behind-the-scenes notes along the way gave a really intriguing insight into the development of character through costume as the art of costume design morphed from stand out to understated and back again before our very eyes. And after almost two hours of wandering down celluloid lane, I can tell you that David Prowse (Darth Vader) is really tall, Robert de Niro is an absolute chameleon and you should definitely book yourself a ticket to this before it closes in January 2013.

After almost three hours of glam, it was time for a little refreshment so it was off to The Pelham (near South Kensington Station) for a spot of my sort of tea, the champers kind.

There was a cosy fire, a glass of champagne and plenty of sandwiches, scones and cakes to enjoy as we chatted about what a great time we'd had at the exhibitions and stretched our aching feet towards the warmth of the hearth.

Post champers cakes at The Pelham. The raspberry macaroons were uh-maaayzing!

(There may also have been a slightly congratulatory tone as we appreciated the brilliance of pre-booking our (timed) V&A tickets instead of dealing with scrum of people who had a three hour wait in front of them. Well done us!)

And so that was our spectacular showbiz Saturday, a perfect way to chase away those looming winter blues and celebrate that sacred triad of all things glam - frocks, flicks and champers.

Cheers!

This Is My Life...

In perusing my weekend-ly dose of Saturday Times this morning, I read that Deborah Meaden - yes the multi-millionaire businesswoman on Dragon's Den - was a gifted pianist as a child who, upon winning a prestigious music scholarship, decided she wouldn't do it because 'all eyes were upon me and it became someone else's thing.' 

She doesn't say anyone pushed her but does cite her 'refusal to obey orders' in the preamble to this tale. I suspect no-one ordered her to 'do' anything but rather felt that they were merely encouraging what she loved to do anyway and wanted her to fulfil her promise. But now her passion and talent had an expectant audience and it had stopped being hers.

And in her anecdote of childhood wilfulness, I recognised myself and a lifetime of rebellions and I won'ts flashed before my eyes. If you are regular Gidday from the UK reader, you can probably figure out some of these for yourself, my sudden move to the UK being among the most notable.

But there are many - giving up clarinet as a teenager after 9 years of playing, an all-or-nothing approach to my tertiary choice, a double degree that no-one had heard of (no-one did 2 degrees at the same time then) at an institute of technology, rather than a university. Not playing the corporate 'open all hours' game to get ahead, climbing the ladder at a rapid rate anyhow by producing results no-one thought I could. Refusing to fill my life with the work or ambition that 'society' suggested I should in the absence of children. And even now walking away - sometimes mentally as well as physically - from the people and the things that don't work for me.

It took me a long time to reach this point - where my life is mine and mine alone - and to stop feeling battered by the best-intended expectations and good opinions of others. For while my rebellion may have seemed intransient on the surface, it was so often underpinned by guilt and inquisition. Was I cutting off my nose to spite my face? What sort of a person did this make me, this proud and jealously possessive soul?  Selfish, impatient, ungenerous, obstinate and righteous?

These were not 'nice' things to know about myself.

I look back over almost 9 years in London and I am proud of what I've learned from all the challenges I've faced here and how my expat experiences have given a different cast to the way I shape my life. That's not to say that all of those years leading up to January 2004 didn't teach me a thing or two. Things like resilience, resourcefulness and learning to ask for help (although the last could always use a little more practice than I give it).
Somewhere along the way I learned to believe that saying no was valid, that disagreement was OK. That the love and the listening of close family and true friends really was unconditional, whether they actually liked what I was doing or not. That they just wanted happiness and success for me even though the direction I chose did not appear to be the obvious path to them.

Many years ago, I committed to living a life of complete generosity and inspiration. Little did I realise that the biggest bridge to cross was to be those things for myself first before others.

And in this, I finally learned that all of the 'theys' (and that includes all of the 'yous' who might be reading this now) don't have to like my life.

I do.

And that is when I found happiness.

This post is also part of Post of the Month Club - October - pop over to discover more great bloggers.

Just The Essentials...

What is it about life when it delivers randomly themed events that make you wonder what on earth kind of secret desire energy you were channelling?

I went to work on Monday thinking to myself - on my early morning bus trip - that I really must do some bra shopping to support those which precede me.

I open my Springwise email - which, along with strong black coffee, is about all I can manage at that hour - to be greeted by this...

...a breast tissue screening bra that uses smart technology to detect tiny changes before cancer can grow.

What a great idea and a timely reminder to give my protuberances a preventative prod or two.

So I go to work Tuesday thinking I should do a breast check this week (again on the early morning bus ride - obviously these things germinate while I sleep).

I get to my desk, open my Springwise email to find this...

...the Joey bra complete with handy side pocket for your essentials.

Because aren't every woman's essentials small enough to fit in your armpit?