Despite snoozing my 8:30am alarm close to nine times this morning, this has been the most productive day I've had in ages. Woke up at Robbie's and got my stuff together, before heading off back to Lincoln to meet Aimee for a day of filming.
We trooped up Steep Hill with a hefty camera and tripod - obviously taking a few stops along the way - and made our way to the Castle. Today was the day of the 16th annual Lincoln 10k race, and the weather couldn't have been more perfect. That's easy to say as a shade-wearing, hydrated by-stander; I'm pretty sure the runners wouldn't have minded a cooler climate.
After a few rather rude exchanges with the race stewards, we set up the camera close to the finish line. After an hour or so - and plenty of tutting from the public around us (I swear people think all journalists are phone-hackers!) - we had the shots and interviews we came for.
We headed back down the hill, marvelling at the beauty of Lincoln in the sub-mediterranean temperature, before settling at Prezzo's on the waterfront. This was another one of those 'paradise' moments, where we could literally have been anywhere in the world.
The tropical sunshine-y music playing from Nando's next door truly made us feel like we were on holiday. The peaceful water, disturbed only by the occasional swan or boat, glistened in the suns beautiful rays.
The diet went out of the window (yet again!) today, in favour of a long, lazy 3-course Italian lunch, consisting of mozzarella in carrozza, spaghetti meatballs and a shared helping of both honeycomb cheesecake and milk chocolate fudge cake. Everything was exquisite, bar the tables around us blowing all their second hand smoke our way. Nevertheless, we relocated and continued to savour our meal. Two hours later, after a lovely session of people-watching and chatter, we headed back to Aimee's flat.
I spent an hour or so there before heading home to decipher what state the house would be in. After deciding not to tidy the mess I didn't make like I usually do, I began packing for home. Two whole precious weeks off uni, and some quality time with my Mum, Dad, sister, boyfriend and friends beckons. After a few hours and several loads of washing, I seem to have packed everything I need for the next few weeks, but no doubt I will arrive home tomorrow and discover I've forgotten some essential item or another.
Today reinforced just how much influence something as trivial as the weather has on one's mood. And I couldn't be in a better one to be honest. All in all, another lovely day in the gorgeous city of Lincoln, which I have the pleasure of calling my home. Even if it is a temporary one.
Sunday, 25 March 2012
Saturday, 24 March 2012
Take Me Out: To tune in, or tune out?
Having watched the legend that is Cilla Black on Blind Date for years, Take Me Out was naturally going to be right up my street. And it was, to begin with.I welcomed Paddy back onto my screen after his hilarious roles in Pheonix Nights and Max & Paddy's Road to Nowhere left my sides sore, but now - dare I say it?! - I just find him a bit annoying. Whether it's the increasingly tiring 'Let the X see the Y!' or the so clearly scripted cringe-worthy moments with the ladies - or potentially a combination of both! - Paddy is just not tickling my pickle anymore.
The girls are pretty much all the same: fake tan/hair/nails, figure-hugging Lycra numbers, and slutty white stilettos. Cleavage, legs, it's all on display - a 21st century mating call in all it's glory.
But despite the terrible outfits I can't help but feel the girls make a bit of a show of themselves when it comes to their behaviour too, and when the latest single lad comes hurtling down in the love lift they're like hungry dogs around a bit of scabby meat. Clawing, screaming, begging. "PICK MEE, PICK MEEEE... I'M THE MOST DESPERATE!!" Well, that's what their body language says anyway.
It gets worse when they actually get given the chance to speak, too. Christ almighty. Back in the day Cilla's Blind Date showcased cheese in the form of "If I was a fruit, I'd be an apple... because I'm golden and delicious!" whereas Paddy's Take Me Out offering is more along the lines of "Let me at him, I'm hungry for cock!!!"
It's also come to my attention how you have to have an utterly ridiculous name to get on the show too, as if a stupid name will grab the attention of any prospective dates. Tonight battling for a date are the likes of Nike (yes, like the sports brand), Merlisa, Sydney and Cony (?!). I can only assume the parents of girls on here burned the baby names book in favour of what they probably thought was exciting and 'exotic'.
Despite all these annoying little faux pas, I still find myself tuning in every Saturday night without fail. Maybe there's nothing wrong with a little bit of cringe... As Mr McGuiness himself would say "Let the cheddar, see the cheese!"
The girls are pretty much all the same: fake tan/hair/nails, figure-hugging Lycra numbers, and slutty white stilettos. Cleavage, legs, it's all on display - a 21st century mating call in all it's glory.
But despite the terrible outfits I can't help but feel the girls make a bit of a show of themselves when it comes to their behaviour too, and when the latest single lad comes hurtling down in the love lift they're like hungry dogs around a bit of scabby meat. Clawing, screaming, begging. "PICK MEE, PICK MEEEE... I'M THE MOST DESPERATE!!" Well, that's what their body language says anyway.It gets worse when they actually get given the chance to speak, too. Christ almighty. Back in the day Cilla's Blind Date showcased cheese in the form of "If I was a fruit, I'd be an apple... because I'm golden and delicious!" whereas Paddy's Take Me Out offering is more along the lines of "Let me at him, I'm hungry for cock!!!"
It's also come to my attention how you have to have an utterly ridiculous name to get on the show too, as if a stupid name will grab the attention of any prospective dates. Tonight battling for a date are the likes of Nike (yes, like the sports brand), Merlisa, Sydney and Cony (?!). I can only assume the parents of girls on here burned the baby names book in favour of what they probably thought was exciting and 'exotic'.
Despite all these annoying little faux pas, I still find myself tuning in every Saturday night without fail. Maybe there's nothing wrong with a little bit of cringe... As Mr McGuiness himself would say "Let the cheddar, see the cheese!"
My Big Fat Change of View
This week I encountered a totally different perspective to a subject I thought I had already made my mind up on: as a very stubborn person, I thought my set-in-stone opinions were unchangeable. Of course, I am talking about gypsies.
Love it or hate it, Big Fat Gypsy Weddings is simply a work of genius. We may laugh and cringe at it in equal measures, but without a doubt it is one of the most eye-opening documentaries Channel 4 has ever aired.
I've been an avid fan since the show first aired as a one-off in February 2010. But past the dresses, fake tan and shire horses, it's the people that really draw me in. Travellers, gypos, pikies; whatever you want to call them, there's no doubt about it they're an extraordinary bunch of people. But now I've seen them in a totally different light. I'd poked fun and made jokes about them, like many others will have, but in this week's episode I actually saw them as real people. People that are no different to you or me.
It was the events of the Dale Farm evictions that made me rethink my perspective. The show followed various families at different stages in the run up to the eviction. It was real, honest, and rather humbling. The most sincere view was through the eyes of a young Irish traveller girl, named Mary. She wasn't aggressive or violent. She wasn't even that bitter. She just couldn't understand why someone in a big JCB wanted to bulldoze her whole community - and everything she'd ever known - to the ground.
The episode revealed the secrets that the news didn't care to cover, in the fear of being seen as anything less than impartial. The news portrayed the inhabitants of Dale Farm as evil criminals, Channel 4 showed them for the real human beings they are; distraught at the possibility of losing their homes and their livlihoods. Surprisingly, they surrended graciously. An older traveller woman proclaiming they didn't want any trouble; they wanted the eviction to be peaceful. And it completely was - on their part.
As a trainee journalist, I'm very aware of the content and agendas of news programs, but it doesn't mean that I am any less surprised at the angles they sometimes take. The coverage of Dale Farm, for example, ring true as showcasing a particular opinion of travellers and gypsies. Arguably the wrong one, but certainly not an impartial one.
In another part of the episode, a very elloquent young traveller described the situation in a way that we should all take note of. He told Channel 4 how gypsies are a community, and so they like to travel in groups, and as with all large groups of people there are going to be a few bad ones. "It's the bad ones people remember." I couldn't have put it better myself.
This has taught me that in future I shoudln't be as quick to judge, as there may be more than meets the eye.
Love it or hate it, Big Fat Gypsy Weddings is simply a work of genius. We may laugh and cringe at it in equal measures, but without a doubt it is one of the most eye-opening documentaries Channel 4 has ever aired.
I've been an avid fan since the show first aired as a one-off in February 2010. But past the dresses, fake tan and shire horses, it's the people that really draw me in. Travellers, gypos, pikies; whatever you want to call them, there's no doubt about it they're an extraordinary bunch of people. But now I've seen them in a totally different light. I'd poked fun and made jokes about them, like many others will have, but in this week's episode I actually saw them as real people. People that are no different to you or me.
It was the events of the Dale Farm evictions that made me rethink my perspective. The show followed various families at different stages in the run up to the eviction. It was real, honest, and rather humbling. The most sincere view was through the eyes of a young Irish traveller girl, named Mary. She wasn't aggressive or violent. She wasn't even that bitter. She just couldn't understand why someone in a big JCB wanted to bulldoze her whole community - and everything she'd ever known - to the ground.
The episode revealed the secrets that the news didn't care to cover, in the fear of being seen as anything less than impartial. The news portrayed the inhabitants of Dale Farm as evil criminals, Channel 4 showed them for the real human beings they are; distraught at the possibility of losing their homes and their livlihoods. Surprisingly, they surrended graciously. An older traveller woman proclaiming they didn't want any trouble; they wanted the eviction to be peaceful. And it completely was - on their part.
As a trainee journalist, I'm very aware of the content and agendas of news programs, but it doesn't mean that I am any less surprised at the angles they sometimes take. The coverage of Dale Farm, for example, ring true as showcasing a particular opinion of travellers and gypsies. Arguably the wrong one, but certainly not an impartial one.
In another part of the episode, a very elloquent young traveller described the situation in a way that we should all take note of. He told Channel 4 how gypsies are a community, and so they like to travel in groups, and as with all large groups of people there are going to be a few bad ones. "It's the bad ones people remember." I couldn't have put it better myself.
This has taught me that in future I shoudln't be as quick to judge, as there may be more than meets the eye.
Monday, 19 March 2012
My working life has taught me..
Customer service is EVERYTHING. (So much so that I even felt it appropriate to use bold, underline AND capital letters there!)
Yep, I have worked in the customer service industry since the young age of 13, where I began work at my godparent's farm shop. Various jobs later, I found myself spending 2 years at a large hotel, working my way from Waitress to Restaurant Supervisor.
The truth is, customer service can make or break someone's experience of your industry. Take the weekend for example. My Dad and I headed into town to see about getting my phone upgraded - I knew it was due in February, but kindly Vodafone hadn't bothered letting me know. Walking into the shop to see it packed with queues didn't fill us with much hope of being dealt with quickly. Nevertheless, a friendly 'Ashley' approached us pretty much upon crossing the threshold.
Greeted with a massive smile, and an informal but friendly "Are you alright there guys?" set the ball rolling. We told him what we wanted, and he promptly explained the options to me. After deciding upon the best plan, he directed us to one of the customer sales assistants towards the back of the shop. This is where the difference really was obvious.
A very chilled, cool Aziz invited us to take a seat, before getting our details up on the computer. Whilst tapping away he asked what we'd been up to, and what we had planned for the rest of the day. The conversation felt very natural and easy, like talking to an old friend.
That guy literally made our day. Probably unknowingly, but he did nonetheless.
Even after being on numerous training courses I still believe customer service is something that can't be taught. Sure, the company policy can be drilled into you, but no one can teach you how to conduct a friendly, free-flowing conversation with a customer. No one can teach you how to reassure someone and put them at ease. These are traits which come naturally. I mean, you can practice them, and as you grow with confidence they may improve, but ultimately it's something that comes from within.
Yep, I have worked in the customer service industry since the young age of 13, where I began work at my godparent's farm shop. Various jobs later, I found myself spending 2 years at a large hotel, working my way from Waitress to Restaurant Supervisor.
The truth is, customer service can make or break someone's experience of your industry. Take the weekend for example. My Dad and I headed into town to see about getting my phone upgraded - I knew it was due in February, but kindly Vodafone hadn't bothered letting me know. Walking into the shop to see it packed with queues didn't fill us with much hope of being dealt with quickly. Nevertheless, a friendly 'Ashley' approached us pretty much upon crossing the threshold.
Greeted with a massive smile, and an informal but friendly "Are you alright there guys?" set the ball rolling. We told him what we wanted, and he promptly explained the options to me. After deciding upon the best plan, he directed us to one of the customer sales assistants towards the back of the shop. This is where the difference really was obvious.A very chilled, cool Aziz invited us to take a seat, before getting our details up on the computer. Whilst tapping away he asked what we'd been up to, and what we had planned for the rest of the day. The conversation felt very natural and easy, like talking to an old friend.
That guy literally made our day. Probably unknowingly, but he did nonetheless.
Even after being on numerous training courses I still believe customer service is something that can't be taught. Sure, the company policy can be drilled into you, but no one can teach you how to conduct a friendly, free-flowing conversation with a customer. No one can teach you how to reassure someone and put them at ease. These are traits which come naturally. I mean, you can practice them, and as you grow with confidence they may improve, but ultimately it's something that comes from within.
Sunday, 18 March 2012
"You are here because you some Justin Beaver, Miley Cirus lookin' muthas."
Exclaimed Captain Dickson (the legendary Ice Cube) to his two newest Jump Street recruits. I howled with laughter.
After seeing the trailer for '21 Jump Street' at our last visit to the cinema (to see another Channing Tatum number, 'The Vow' may I add) we just knew we had to see it. I have to admit I was slightly skeptical that this could be one of those films where they show all the funny bits in the trailer - it seemed I was the only person in the cinema who deemed it appropriate to snort with laughter from the beginning to the end - but with two of my favourite actors with starring roles, I had to give it a go anyway.
Jonah Hill's roles in 'Superbad', 'Forgetting Sarah Marshall' and 'Get Him To The Greek' to name just a few, have secured his position as one of our all-time favourite fat-boy funny men, and Channing Tatum has long-since been one of my most-loved Hollywood hunks, following his performance in the likes of 'Dear John' and 'Step Up'. In fact, it's not just me who holds a bit of a torch for him, after my boyfriend made a slightly worrying comment along the lines of "If I was gay..." Well, you can guess the rest - sorry Rob!
In a nutshell, these two slightly immature young-looking cops are given an undercover assignment to go back to high school and infiltrate a teenage drug ring. Now that may sound a bit serious, but believe me, there are plenty of laughs along the way.
Years ago at high school Schmidt (Hill) and Jenko (Tatum) couldn't be more opposite. Schmidt was a typical stuttering nerd, whilst Jenko was the stereotypical popular knobhead of the school. But upon graduating and joining the police force, they became best buds. However, the life of a cop was not quite all the car chases and firing-you-gun-whist-jumping-through-the-air action that the boys had hoped for. In fact, it was more riding geeky police bicycles through the park warning kids not to feed the ducks stylee.
Having never made an arrest before, the partners saw their opportunity when they spotted a group of thuggish motorcyclists smoking dope in the park. However, not knowing the miranda rights (You have the right to remain silent, etc) didn't do them any favours, and soon they were transferred to 21 Jump Street to take on an undercover assignment.
The pair were sent back to school with false identities posing as brothers. The roles were very much reversed as the assignment gave Schmidt to chance to have the high school experience he had always wanted; popularity and a prospective prom date. Whereas Jenko found he didn't fit in quite as well as he had hoped, hanging around the science labs with his geeky mates.
Anyway, to cut a long story short and avoid giving anything away, this movie is jam-packed full of awkward teenage moments, hilarious gags and laugh-out-loud comments.
I fully and whole-heartedly loved this movie, and it held my attention from the word go, whereas some action comedies tend to flesh it out with unnecessary plot points. I urge anyone who even remotely likes to laugh to go and see this while you can; don't do what I am so guilty of doing, by waiting for it to come out on DVD and then be reduced to about two quid in Morrisons.
All in all, 21 Jump Street is 109 minutes of side-splitting, snort-your-pop-down-your-nose moments.
Jonah Hill's roles in 'Superbad', 'Forgetting Sarah Marshall' and 'Get Him To The Greek' to name just a few, have secured his position as one of our all-time favourite fat-boy funny men, and Channing Tatum has long-since been one of my most-loved Hollywood hunks, following his performance in the likes of 'Dear John' and 'Step Up'. In fact, it's not just me who holds a bit of a torch for him, after my boyfriend made a slightly worrying comment along the lines of "If I was gay..." Well, you can guess the rest - sorry Rob!
In a nutshell, these two slightly immature young-looking cops are given an undercover assignment to go back to high school and infiltrate a teenage drug ring. Now that may sound a bit serious, but believe me, there are plenty of laughs along the way.
Years ago at high school Schmidt (Hill) and Jenko (Tatum) couldn't be more opposite. Schmidt was a typical stuttering nerd, whilst Jenko was the stereotypical popular knobhead of the school. But upon graduating and joining the police force, they became best buds. However, the life of a cop was not quite all the car chases and firing-you-gun-whist-jumping-through-the-air action that the boys had hoped for. In fact, it was more riding geeky police bicycles through the park warning kids not to feed the ducks stylee.
Having never made an arrest before, the partners saw their opportunity when they spotted a group of thuggish motorcyclists smoking dope in the park. However, not knowing the miranda rights (You have the right to remain silent, etc) didn't do them any favours, and soon they were transferred to 21 Jump Street to take on an undercover assignment.
The pair were sent back to school with false identities posing as brothers. The roles were very much reversed as the assignment gave Schmidt to chance to have the high school experience he had always wanted; popularity and a prospective prom date. Whereas Jenko found he didn't fit in quite as well as he had hoped, hanging around the science labs with his geeky mates.
Anyway, to cut a long story short and avoid giving anything away, this movie is jam-packed full of awkward teenage moments, hilarious gags and laugh-out-loud comments.
I fully and whole-heartedly loved this movie, and it held my attention from the word go, whereas some action comedies tend to flesh it out with unnecessary plot points. I urge anyone who even remotely likes to laugh to go and see this while you can; don't do what I am so guilty of doing, by waiting for it to come out on DVD and then be reduced to about two quid in Morrisons.
All in all, 21 Jump Street is 109 minutes of side-splitting, snort-your-pop-down-your-nose moments.
Tuesday, 13 March 2012
Spring
I took it on Sunday, whilst out on a walk with my Dad. As we were walking to the lake, the chirping of this tiny little robin red breast caught our attention. Cue iPhone to capture this beautiful spring-like moment.
I love the contrast of the white against the perfect blue sky. Suffice to say, this picture has become my wallpaper on every device capable of setting a background image. It's so beautiful.
Just thought I'd share, that is all.
My knight in shining armour
So today I was (partly) rescued by a knight in shining armour. By knight I mean Halfords employee, and my armour I mean t shirt... but you get my drift.
My little car has been the cause of much unrest these last few years, due to the fact that it has a major oil leak. Ever since we bought it in October 2010, it's leaked. Leaked and leaked and leaked. So much so, that now I can't even park it on my mother's pristine driveway - not so pristine anymore may I add. Anyway, when my oil light flashed on today I decided to tackle this one by myself. Usually I'd rely on my boyfriend or my Mum to sort it out, but with neither of them present it was all down to me.
Again, I say tackle by myself, this independence did involve a quick text to my Dad:
After answering all his questions "Yes it's a Corsa... Yes it's a 52 plate... Yes it's a 1.2... And yes it's an SXI..." He determined the type I needed, handing me a 5 litre bottle and setting me back twenty two quid. When asked if he could put it in for me, he laughed. Before replying that he could, but it'd cost me another two quid - may as well since I'm already giving my debit card a battering today, I thought.
He followed me out to my tired little motor, and without prompting him he flipped the bonnet and began fiddling away. He located my tremendous leak the second he set his eyes on the engine, explaining I needed a new oil pressure sensor and rocker gasket cover. At this point he may as well have been speaking Chinese. I noted these items down nonetheless.
He explained he was a trained mechanic, who had walked out of his job before Christmas, and took up the position at Halfords to support his wife and two kids. Although it was pain-stakingly obvious he didn't enjoy his work there as much as his previous job, and he'd rather be laying under a greasy motor fiddling around with spanners and allen keys, "a job is a job" he said. I really felt for the guy. After telling us he knew all about this common problem that my car and a wealth of other Corsas have, he mentioned that he was a fully trained Vauxhall specialist. Handy, I thought.
Cue desperate puppy dog eyes, and a sly "Will I be able to fit these parts myself sir?"comment, and he offered to do the work for me. I noted exactly what parts I needed, and where to get them from, before taking his name and number. Kristian, with a K. I left feeling pretty smug that I'd manage to go to a man-shop, buy oil, put it in and organise for the problem to be looked at too.
Wow, this was a very independent day.
So off we went to Allwood's, a parts shop near my house. Managed to get through telling the bloke what I needed and paying for it, without looking like too much of a clueless woman. However, walking out leaving my parts on the desk probably reaffirmed their initial view that this was well out of my comfort zone.
I called Kristian after 5pm as he asked, and arranged for him to come over on Friday to fit the parts.
Today really has felt like such an independent day for me. Don't get me wrong, I'm a very independent person, and the whole transition to uni - and having to do everything for myself - hasn't come as much of a shock to me. However, where my car is concerned I haven't previously had much to do with it's upkeep - apart from putting petrol in it and buying it a new air freshener every now and again - so today felt massive for me.
I also feel happy that instead of paying the usual garage a hefty fee for parts and labour, I have saved a few quid by going and getting the parts myself, and that I'll be putting a bit of extra cash in the pocket of a nice genuine bloke struggling to make end's meet for his family.
My little car has been the cause of much unrest these last few years, due to the fact that it has a major oil leak. Ever since we bought it in October 2010, it's leaked. Leaked and leaked and leaked. So much so, that now I can't even park it on my mother's pristine driveway - not so pristine anymore may I add. Anyway, when my oil light flashed on today I decided to tackle this one by myself. Usually I'd rely on my boyfriend or my Mum to sort it out, but with neither of them present it was all down to me.
Again, I say tackle by myself, this independence did involve a quick text to my Dad:
Where can I get oil? Which oil do I need? How much does it cost? Where does it go?He replied with all the answers I needed, so off to Halfords Aimee and I went. Despite many an hour spent wandering around this shop with my Dad as a child, I decided I wasn't quite ready to locate the necessary aisle just yet. I was quickly sprung upon by a fella working there (haha - he obviously worked there, I wasn't just approached by a random stranger!) who showed me to the oil section.
After answering all his questions "Yes it's a Corsa... Yes it's a 52 plate... Yes it's a 1.2... And yes it's an SXI..." He determined the type I needed, handing me a 5 litre bottle and setting me back twenty two quid. When asked if he could put it in for me, he laughed. Before replying that he could, but it'd cost me another two quid - may as well since I'm already giving my debit card a battering today, I thought.
He followed me out to my tired little motor, and without prompting him he flipped the bonnet and began fiddling away. He located my tremendous leak the second he set his eyes on the engine, explaining I needed a new oil pressure sensor and rocker gasket cover. At this point he may as well have been speaking Chinese. I noted these items down nonetheless.
He explained he was a trained mechanic, who had walked out of his job before Christmas, and took up the position at Halfords to support his wife and two kids. Although it was pain-stakingly obvious he didn't enjoy his work there as much as his previous job, and he'd rather be laying under a greasy motor fiddling around with spanners and allen keys, "a job is a job" he said. I really felt for the guy. After telling us he knew all about this common problem that my car and a wealth of other Corsas have, he mentioned that he was a fully trained Vauxhall specialist. Handy, I thought.
Cue desperate puppy dog eyes, and a sly "Will I be able to fit these parts myself sir?"comment, and he offered to do the work for me. I noted exactly what parts I needed, and where to get them from, before taking his name and number. Kristian, with a K. I left feeling pretty smug that I'd manage to go to a man-shop, buy oil, put it in and organise for the problem to be looked at too.
Wow, this was a very independent day.
So off we went to Allwood's, a parts shop near my house. Managed to get through telling the bloke what I needed and paying for it, without looking like too much of a clueless woman. However, walking out leaving my parts on the desk probably reaffirmed their initial view that this was well out of my comfort zone.
I called Kristian after 5pm as he asked, and arranged for him to come over on Friday to fit the parts.
Today really has felt like such an independent day for me. Don't get me wrong, I'm a very independent person, and the whole transition to uni - and having to do everything for myself - hasn't come as much of a shock to me. However, where my car is concerned I haven't previously had much to do with it's upkeep - apart from putting petrol in it and buying it a new air freshener every now and again - so today felt massive for me.
I also feel happy that instead of paying the usual garage a hefty fee for parts and labour, I have saved a few quid by going and getting the parts myself, and that I'll be putting a bit of extra cash in the pocket of a nice genuine bloke struggling to make end's meet for his family.
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