Assessed.

Happy Easter Sunday! Hurrah for afternoons filled with paltry English sunshine. I am currently waiting for papa to set up the barbecue and can think of no better use of my time (apart from revision, packing for university, stuffing my face with chocolate etc. etc.) than writing un petit blog post on my day out at the shops last week, though this was no ordinary retail therapy.

Last week, I was assessed -- though to be quite honest, by what criteria I'm not entirely sure. I applied to a well known department store for an internship way back when (well, November). The folks down at HR seem to have enjoyed toying with my feelings, stringing out the application for a full six months. For an internship. Yeah. I completed reams of tests which ranged from the mundane (what's your name and where do you come from) to the insane. A firm favourite was the test of your reactions to hypothetical scenarios likely to occur in retail management - such as if a customer came down and complaining that one of your bibs had stained her baby's face would you
a) pour a bucket of water on the baby to see if it remedied the condition
b) call the CEO of the company down for advice
c) take her to court to sue for libel
Fine. I may  be exaggerating the teeniest, tiniest  bit but some of the situations did seem rather unlikely!

Still, I made it to the gazillionth stage (stage 6) and was invited to a London store for the assessment day. Having spent days deciding upon my outfit, I took great pleasure sashaying up to London in my newly cobbled shoes with the other commuters with all my documents in their colour coded folders. Stunning though my shoes were, they were clearly not actually designed for walking so I was much relieved to find a lift up to the seventh floor where we met with the assessors and other candidates. The exercises, I assume, designed to test general team work and leadership skills, hardly differentiated the candidates from one another. We all seemed fairly on a par so I cannot help but feel resigned about the outcome and am worried I'll be upset.

However, I shall take solace that I was whittled down from around 3,000 applicants and also by the fact that I got to head up to the amazing roof garden (which I had no idea existed!) and soak up some rays whilst gazing at the city scape of the best city in the world. Always a silver-lining, non?

Still, everybody keep your fingers and toes crossed until Tuesday, s.v.p.!!

The Bookshop

The title of this post is somewhat ambiguous: I have both been working in a bookshop and have just finished yet another of Penelope Fitzgerald's novels, coincidentally entitled The Bookshop. However, these two are not wholly unconnected as I have found my lovely, local bookshop to be the perfect place to get really stuck into a book: quiet, without distractions and with enough hypothetical judgement from the customers that you feel like you really need to read rather than daydream!

Obviously I spend the majority of my day during term time reading but normally either in Latin, Greek and even, on the odd occasion, French and German (apparently there are no English philologists!). Tacitus' Annals aren't really my ideal bed time reading, however devoted to my subject I may be. Most of the time, I'm simply too drained or too busy to read for pleasure. I had slightly forgotten just how lovely it is to be completely caught up in a book, so utterly hooked that you accidentally awake in the morning to find the light still on and a book on your face (ahem, no I'm definitely not speaking from personal experience...)

Since I love sharing good finds, I'll end with a couple of favourites for your perusal!

The Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafon. An amazing and fairly rare combination of a tightly constructed plot and excellent writing which manages to be poetic, humorous and yet completely true. I was totally gripped, though must admit that towards the close I had started to tire of the endless gothic cliffhangers. So, whilst I've heard that The Angel's Game is equally fabulous I may need to restrain myself until next vac to launch back into such melodrama!

Bluestockings by Jane Robinson. A very inspiring book about women's fight for university education. I was amazed at how recent a struggle it was, continuing even after the cataclysmic World Wars. I was also shocked by the ridiculous preconceptions about women's mental capabilities (apparently the activity of a woman's mind was thought to be inversely proportional to her sanity and even her fertility!) and what personal sacrifices were made for this cause. A definite reminder not to take my freedom and privilege for granted.

The Bookshop by Penelope Fitzgerald. Fitzgerald was as late a find for me as writing seemed to have been for the author who discovered her talent rather late on in life. Her novels are petite and delicate but wonderful. I've read a fair few now including The Beginning of Spring (an evocative portrayal of Moscow at the turn of the century) and The Gates of Angels (an interesting deliberation on love, faith and science) but this was by far my favourite. The petty injustices suffered by Florence Green and the despondent finale had me completely enraptured.

E(1) is for Edgy

I've just spent a lovely day (topped off with just a hint of spring-ly sunshine) avec the Best Friend in Spitalfields and think I am in love. I'm not sure I'll ever be able to shop anywhere else ever again. Well, this is clearly a lie as I love my Zara and a cheeky bit of Topshop from time to time but there's something oh so satisfying about digging out a vintage item from a big heap of, quite frankly, questionable clothing (were red leather hot pants a good idea, even in the sixties?) As I still harbour a somewhat snobbish concern, totally against the vintage mentality, over the origins of the clothes, bags, belts and broaches were the main culprits aujourd'hui.

As we walked down Brick Lane I was completely caught up in the bustle and the noise. I can't wait to move back to London permanently. I am most definitely not made for the country, far less for a small town. Once university is over, it's back to the big smoke for me and all the excitement, diversity and history which comes with it. I realise that, attending one of the oldest universities in the world as I do, that statement is somewhat ridiculous but there's something of the chaotic, the ramshackle to London's history which I adore. Mostly though, I am consumed by the grittiness, dirtiness and dubiousness of London's past, something which feels lacking from the smooth, sandstone colleges of academic life.

That said, I simply do not know my home town well enough and have thus resolved to eschew the touristy and the tacky London, the better to hunt down the quirky and offbeat. Goodbye Leicester Square with your dodgy night clubs, hello Portabello with your soulful blues nights!

Frankie says relax ...

So, here we are again. It's the stress fest that is the beginning of term. You've just arrived, have barely unpacked and before you know it you're about to have a nervous meltdown about beginning of term tests, let alone when full term kicks in - overload of lectures, insane amounts of essays to write, huge charitable events to organise, trying to fit in new societies. Aaaand relax, because no matter what has gone before, this term is going to be different.

Last term, the stress got to me but now I refuse to let the expectations of others and the pressures of work affect my wellbeing and push me towards a lifestyle which is an unbalanced, not to mention an unhappy, one.

My plan (aside for power bikram yoga sessions on my new mat which I received from Best Friend for Christmas?) is to be inspired by a quote which mirrors my mentality.

The first one I found was from Sylvia Plath's The Bell Jar: 'There must be quite a few things that a hot bath won't cure  but I don't know many of them.' Well, wise though she may be, this quote is simply unfortunate for I do not have a bath at university and 100 miles is rather a long trip to soothe away my troubles.

The next, located firmly in the classics, was from Ovid: 'Take a rest. The field that has rested gives a bountiful crop.' Firstly, I'm not a field and, secondly, I don't need to rest; I need motivation to work yet in an unstressed and zen like manner. Onwards and, hopefully, upwards.


My third quote is from Maureen Killoran,who quite frankly I do not know from Adam but whose advice is sage. "Stress is not what happens to us. It's our response TO what happens. And RESPONSE is something we can choose."

Can I buy you a drink?

Yesterday, after a pretty solid day of revision, I thought I'd earned break and so popped out for some birthday cocktails with a friend who's back from her year abroad. Only virgin cocktails, though ... I'm still on a bit of a detox from NYE! So, I slick on some mascara and bop off to the bar. So far, so good. The group was a little awkward at first but, as the night went on, we all loosened up and it was pretty chilled - just what I wanted from the evening.

But, cherchez le drame, as my tutor always reminds me! As we were chatting and laughing, these two guys outside started dancing at the window. At first, I though they were so drunk they were just dancing at their reflections but it turned out they were dancing at me! One of them motioned at me to come with. Well, as you can imagined, I laughed it off, smiled and carried on with my pint sized class of vodka - I joke, water! Ten minutes later, this guy pops in and says that he sorry to interrupt but would I like to pop down for a drink with him at a local pub. Slightly shocked, I declined as politely as I could, explaining that it was my friend's birthday whilst complimenting him for his unusual twist and swivel dance move. Again, we carry on chatting and joking and then these two guys casually saunter into the bar, trying on the whole 'oh, you're here too?' act. He comes over (apparently, third time's a charm!) and offers to buy me and the birthday girl a drink... so much for the detox! I very reluctantly accepted an appletini (sickeningly sweet, in case you cared to know) and then felt obliged to go over, thank him and then chat to him for a good hour as he blatantly hit on me and I tried to maintain a bizarre balance between polite and friendly yet frigid.

But here's my dilemma: what is the suitable etiquette for such a situation? Essentially, I just wanted to hang out with my friends but there's only so many times I can politely refuse. The whole situation seemed epitomised by the appletini: yes, it was a sweet gesture, and there didn't seem to be a creepy subtext, but it was sickening, if only because I was trying to detox at the time and hang out with my friends and didn't want to be pressurised into flirting with a guy who I wasn't particularly blown away by. This was not helped by being referred to as 'little lady' all night.

I was only too happy to be distracted by the arrival of some of the boys, even if it meant being mercilessly mocked for my debauched NYE antics!

New year's resolutions

I firmly believe that I am cursed when it comes to NYE. Two years ago, I was stranded at the world's most bizarre party. A friend and I came up with the marvellous plan of ringing up an old friend and inviting ourselves to his house party in Euston. However, after missing the last train, being dumped by a cheat of a taxi driver in the middle of nowhere and faced with policemen who seemed to be having difficulty with the concept of London let alone with the notion of providing directions, we decided to call it quits. We finally arrived (at 3am) back at Victoria to stumble back home to bed. Last year, a group of us were having a lovely dinner before we realised that we had not organised a single thing. Cut to us texting everyone in our phone books trying to scout out a glamorous location for midnight (not my proudest moment, I'll admit). Finally, we got an invite from a girl whom we knew from school. In our desperation, we headed over. Whilst sitting at her glass dining table, it spontaneously smashed to pieces which I found a very fitting metaphor for the entire night. We left at approximately 5 past midnight.

So this year, with absolutely no expectations (perhaps the downfall of many a NYE), we set off for our party. Lovely dinner beforehand and a brief stop off at the pub before we arrived, all quite merry... And when I say merry I mean I can't remember much past midnight. It is such an unpleasant feeling not being able to remember how I behaved or what I did and I feel terrible for placing such a burden on my friends. I've not been able to stop thinking about it for days and feel ridiculously embarrassed as well as unable to work out where I went so wrong.

However, I've resolved not to dwell too much longer on the whole debacle which completes my triad of dubious New Year's Eve parties, save only to take away these realisations: Firstly, how lucky I am to have such savvy friends who did such an amazing job taking care of me. Best Friend's dad was also (unexpectedly) amazing and all made me feel a little bit better in the morning by gently mocking me for my drunken behaviour including believing we were living in the 1990s. Secondly, to curb drinking so much. More difficult as I can't pinpoint exactly where I went wrong and am sure I've drunk more than that before but hopefully this memory will serve as an acute warning in the future, if ever I feel myself tempted towards one to many.

This brings me to my general new year's resolutions, aside from being grateful for my friends and trying fairly hard not to become comatose too often. People often treat resolutions with such disdain but I love the feeling of hope which a new year brings, a feeling that one can start afresh and not be dogged by past attitudes and behaviour.Et voila, one no longer even has to try with such an amazing website - why not give it a go?

Tidings of comfort and joy

Yes, dear reader, I am bringing you tidings of comfort and joy of my lovely Christmas period which is now being completely sullied by horrid collections (as you can see, I'm revising hard).

The nightmare before Christmas:
Having rushed round the shops in near blizzard-esque conditions (sc. light dusting) I dashed over to Best Friend's dragging an oversized suitcase with me since I was staying the night before we headed off to Dublin for a couple of days with the girls. At least, this was the plan before RyanAir and snow conspired against us. We packed all our clothes into our liquid-free hand luggage and combined all the rest of our belongings into a giant suitcase of
a) make-up
b) alcohol
SO CHRISTMASSSYYY! But, alas and alack, we returned from a celebratory dinner to find that our marvellous plans had been ruined by the dastardly Ryanair who only deigned to inform us that flight was cancelled two hours after scheduled to arrive and even had the cheek to label their message 'urgent.' So, we slept a lot, exchanged birthday presents and trumped off back home again. NYE is definitely the new Dubs.

All I want for Christmas:
Is an internship. Seriously. Before Christmas, I almost landed the DREAM internship - charity+arts+glamourous location+big celebrity laden party to organise = a very excited bunny. I spent the entire day before hand trying on multiple corporate outfits before tottering off to the interview only to be told that our dates clashed. I couldn't have felt more disappointed (I think the word I'm actually looking for is bleugh) but have come to realise that not only was it a great experience but I also managed to sneak in a casual bit of networking. Score.

Joyeux Noel:
Lots of enjoyable little events made up my Christmas this year: going to see the Winter's Tale with the cousins, lovely carolling in the chapel, the big day before our very own version of a Winter's Tale: going to see our other cousins on boxing day who (almost a year and a half after moving in) still have no heating! Then more family and more bored games (sorry, I meant board games, honestly) before the FEAR set in. For those of your unaccustomed with the concept of the FEAR, it's what you need to get in the ZONE, which is where you want to be if you have high hopes for exams...Yeahhno, I'm not 100% on these buzz words either.

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!