I think I'm a fish, no seriously, in the bigger scheme of things, I am a fish and I have to wait til I get caught right? I mean, others around me are getting caught and if I get the chance to bite that worm (lol) I get chucked back in......or do I let go?
I could pick the petals off a flower saying 'he loves me, he loves me not'and even if I arrived at 'he loves me' the flower doesn't decide, he does?
Countless relationships around me have occured as a result of the guy chasing the girl. So many of my friends have reluctantly said yes, or were not too keen at first, the ones that chased, well history tells me that they are doomed.
I dunno, I like a good chase now and again but my old age is making me lazy, should I just wait til I am caught....ok ok, I must be open and upon catching sight of the fisherman don't let go straightaway.
In all honesty, I'm just not interested in fishing so right now I'll leave the ocean and soar into the sky, single, sexy and free!
Watch out for the vultures
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Sunday, November 22, 2009
I am Britico, mistakenly born in Nigeria
I'm in love...... again......John Legend's Evolver album has some songs that have my head spinning in a fantasy, lyrics such as 'I know that we just met but could you love me quickly...'throw me into a realm of lust, I lust after love.
I bought the CD after perusing the shelves of HMV at Heathrow terminal 4, it was the second time within the last 24 hours that I was at Heathrow. The night before, the majority of my family (meaning without the boss lady-mum as I now call her after this trip) returned from Nigeria on a relatively pleasant flight with Arik Air.
The visit to Nigeria was a farewell to my grandmother who passed away on the 17th September, I was on holiday at the time celebrating a friends 25th when I received a 2-day old text from my sister announcing the news. I was shocked to say the least and although I knew she was old and had been threatening to leave us for a while, she was 'Big Mummy'who was always at the house in Mokola, who could still put me on her lap at the age of 90, who had come to London to look after us in the early 90s.
I vividly remember turning on my phone, I think it was the 19th (I always leave it off whilst on holiday but check for messages at times) and seeing the words, they seemed to dance across the screen of my Blackberry 8210. 'Big Mummy is dead'were the words my sister had sent, or all I could make out. The silence that ensued probably only lasted two seconds, but it was a sharp contrast to the laughter that had filled the room only seconds before. I screamed 'no' several times, threw my phone, ran into the bathroom and slammed the door shut. In fits of tears I started to slide down the wall as I loss all sense of how dirty that place actually was. Why did she have to go I thought selfishly.
Tears fill my eyes now as I think of Big mummy. I am one of 34 grandchildren, the middle child of her eight and last child. She lost two of them in her lifetime, so four of my cousins are orphans. My closest cousins have adopted my own parents as their own and I don't mind sharing because that's what family do. The funeral was like a reunion as we all met to celebrate the life of this brilliant woman who was still making money and providing an income at the age of 92.
The trip was short but invigorating in the sense that I had a renewed enthusiasm for life and what I could do with my own talents. I saw the opportunities that my parents had given me by leaving Nigeria in may 1991 for London. I also wondered what I would have been, would I be this same person, outspoken, bubbly and slightly crazy, would I be downtrodden by the challenges of life in Nigeria, or would I be the spoilt rich brat that I felt my cousins thought me to be?
Being one of the youngest out of the cousins meant that most of the others are married with children or engaged. I marvelled at the different relationships that I saw around me and was encouraged by the blatant show of love between these couples. I remember sitting outside, with my cousin who now lives in America with his wife and beautiful daughter. He told his memories of my parent's wedding day, of how instead for waiting for my pregnant mother who had just lost her father a few days earlier to walk down the aisle, my father went to meet her halfway. He joked that he had chosen his own bride because she was petite and he wanted to do the same and carry her up the aisle
As he continued to talk with his brother's baby sleeping in his arms I learned many other things that I had not known about my family, good and bad. There and then I made a promise to choose carefully who I love and to fiercely protect my children (not in the crazy mum way), I grew excited about the future and a little sad about the past, his and his brother's past. Knowing that you can't trust everybody even family to look after your children is a shame, but that doesn't mean all is lost.
Like Pandora's box, what's left is hope, hope in the good people of the world.
TBC
I bought the CD after perusing the shelves of HMV at Heathrow terminal 4, it was the second time within the last 24 hours that I was at Heathrow. The night before, the majority of my family (meaning without the boss lady-mum as I now call her after this trip) returned from Nigeria on a relatively pleasant flight with Arik Air.
The visit to Nigeria was a farewell to my grandmother who passed away on the 17th September, I was on holiday at the time celebrating a friends 25th when I received a 2-day old text from my sister announcing the news. I was shocked to say the least and although I knew she was old and had been threatening to leave us for a while, she was 'Big Mummy'who was always at the house in Mokola, who could still put me on her lap at the age of 90, who had come to London to look after us in the early 90s.
I vividly remember turning on my phone, I think it was the 19th (I always leave it off whilst on holiday but check for messages at times) and seeing the words, they seemed to dance across the screen of my Blackberry 8210. 'Big Mummy is dead'were the words my sister had sent, or all I could make out. The silence that ensued probably only lasted two seconds, but it was a sharp contrast to the laughter that had filled the room only seconds before. I screamed 'no' several times, threw my phone, ran into the bathroom and slammed the door shut. In fits of tears I started to slide down the wall as I loss all sense of how dirty that place actually was. Why did she have to go I thought selfishly.
Tears fill my eyes now as I think of Big mummy. I am one of 34 grandchildren, the middle child of her eight and last child. She lost two of them in her lifetime, so four of my cousins are orphans. My closest cousins have adopted my own parents as their own and I don't mind sharing because that's what family do. The funeral was like a reunion as we all met to celebrate the life of this brilliant woman who was still making money and providing an income at the age of 92.
The trip was short but invigorating in the sense that I had a renewed enthusiasm for life and what I could do with my own talents. I saw the opportunities that my parents had given me by leaving Nigeria in may 1991 for London. I also wondered what I would have been, would I be this same person, outspoken, bubbly and slightly crazy, would I be downtrodden by the challenges of life in Nigeria, or would I be the spoilt rich brat that I felt my cousins thought me to be?
Being one of the youngest out of the cousins meant that most of the others are married with children or engaged. I marvelled at the different relationships that I saw around me and was encouraged by the blatant show of love between these couples. I remember sitting outside, with my cousin who now lives in America with his wife and beautiful daughter. He told his memories of my parent's wedding day, of how instead for waiting for my pregnant mother who had just lost her father a few days earlier to walk down the aisle, my father went to meet her halfway. He joked that he had chosen his own bride because she was petite and he wanted to do the same and carry her up the aisle
As he continued to talk with his brother's baby sleeping in his arms I learned many other things that I had not known about my family, good and bad. There and then I made a promise to choose carefully who I love and to fiercely protect my children (not in the crazy mum way), I grew excited about the future and a little sad about the past, his and his brother's past. Knowing that you can't trust everybody even family to look after your children is a shame, but that doesn't mean all is lost.
Like Pandora's box, what's left is hope, hope in the good people of the world.
TBC
Monday, November 16, 2009
Chez Moi
Mum's birthday was literally round the corner, the big 5.0., there was no way that I would miss it and I had to look right too. So back to london I went and I did enjoy the party, when we finally got there....
The journey back to London was uneventful, but my throat constricted as I sat on the train to London Bridge, a strong feeling of nostalgia rose from my stomach as I remembered making that journey many a times. I leant back and thought of what the weekend would bring, little did I know what was instore.
My initial feeling of nostalgia was quickly replaced by regret, regret that I had bought a Gatwick Express ticket to London Bridge, the barriers were open and I could have walked straight through dagnamit! The salary of an au pair isn't a desirable renumeration and I am seriously penny pinching.
The next day, with an empty purse in tow, I proceeded to buy my extensions, apply the extensions at the salon at a bargain price, do my nails and buy an outfit...oh and mum's present too. By Friday 23rd 12pm all missions had been acomplished. The big day had arrived and all that was left was to pick up my brother and roll on out to the party.
We did roll...... slowly down the hill that constituted part of the roundabout in Canning Town, it turned out that all missions had not been completed and my brother still had to get his hair cut. It was a busy Friday afternoon in East London but as long as we were on the motorway by 4pm, we whould be fine.
It was 3pm, the P-reg Polo I was driving started jerking and stalled. Hmmm, perhaps it was me, I proceeded to turn on the engine and after several attempts, a lot of beeps from other drivers and a little persperation from me, it finally chugged to life, phew! Making our way barely 50 m along Barking Road the car stopped again. Hmmm not a good sign at 3.05pm and the fact that we were just pulling past a bus stop meant that we were in the way of an angry looking driver with a bus packed full of equally menancing looking passengers.I have obviously lived in London too long as that didn't phase me, I was more worried about getting to the party on time.
5 mins later the car still wouldn't start and well luckily we figured that the problem was simple, we were out of petrol. While my sister went to get flowers for the party, my friend and I started our walk to the petrol station, oh the shame.
Halfway there we decided that we had no time to lose, so she returned to the car and I hopped on a bus to Greeengate. I managed to get some petrol for double the price because I also had to buy the container (argh). I then had to top up my oyster. So by now I was 15 pounds down but I had learned to always check that there is petrol in the car that I am driving, even if it isn't mine.
Petrol can in hand I thought to myself, Ok, perhaps someone will offer me a lift. My new regime has me looking leaner, maybe someone will take pity on me (or find me really hot) and drive me back to my car......I guess not and I should have known better because I cannot remember the last time I was offered anything more than verbal harrassment from the male species. Just when I had lost hope, a rather dashing young brother looked me up and down, noticing the petrol he commented 'broken down'? 'Yes, ran out of petrol' I replied, he smiled and...........that was it. Yes, seriously. I jumped on the 115, direction broken down car. We were on the M11 by 4.15 and I still managed to look fan far king tastic in the 30 minutes it took me to get ready. Oh what a night.
The journey back to London was uneventful, but my throat constricted as I sat on the train to London Bridge, a strong feeling of nostalgia rose from my stomach as I remembered making that journey many a times. I leant back and thought of what the weekend would bring, little did I know what was instore.
My initial feeling of nostalgia was quickly replaced by regret, regret that I had bought a Gatwick Express ticket to London Bridge, the barriers were open and I could have walked straight through dagnamit! The salary of an au pair isn't a desirable renumeration and I am seriously penny pinching.
The next day, with an empty purse in tow, I proceeded to buy my extensions, apply the extensions at the salon at a bargain price, do my nails and buy an outfit...oh and mum's present too. By Friday 23rd 12pm all missions had been acomplished. The big day had arrived and all that was left was to pick up my brother and roll on out to the party.
We did roll...... slowly down the hill that constituted part of the roundabout in Canning Town, it turned out that all missions had not been completed and my brother still had to get his hair cut. It was a busy Friday afternoon in East London but as long as we were on the motorway by 4pm, we whould be fine.
It was 3pm, the P-reg Polo I was driving started jerking and stalled. Hmmm, perhaps it was me, I proceeded to turn on the engine and after several attempts, a lot of beeps from other drivers and a little persperation from me, it finally chugged to life, phew! Making our way barely 50 m along Barking Road the car stopped again. Hmmm not a good sign at 3.05pm and the fact that we were just pulling past a bus stop meant that we were in the way of an angry looking driver with a bus packed full of equally menancing looking passengers.I have obviously lived in London too long as that didn't phase me, I was more worried about getting to the party on time.
5 mins later the car still wouldn't start and well luckily we figured that the problem was simple, we were out of petrol. While my sister went to get flowers for the party, my friend and I started our walk to the petrol station, oh the shame.
Halfway there we decided that we had no time to lose, so she returned to the car and I hopped on a bus to Greeengate. I managed to get some petrol for double the price because I also had to buy the container (argh). I then had to top up my oyster. So by now I was 15 pounds down but I had learned to always check that there is petrol in the car that I am driving, even if it isn't mine.
Petrol can in hand I thought to myself, Ok, perhaps someone will offer me a lift. My new regime has me looking leaner, maybe someone will take pity on me (or find me really hot) and drive me back to my car......I guess not and I should have known better because I cannot remember the last time I was offered anything more than verbal harrassment from the male species. Just when I had lost hope, a rather dashing young brother looked me up and down, noticing the petrol he commented 'broken down'? 'Yes, ran out of petrol' I replied, he smiled and...........that was it. Yes, seriously. I jumped on the 115, direction broken down car. We were on the M11 by 4.15 and I still managed to look fan far king tastic in the 30 minutes it took me to get ready. Oh what a night.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
You've got to roll with it
The cold concrete felt rough against my right hand and I could feel my skin react as it grazed the hard wall. I was trying to teach myself how to ride a bike, for the very second time in two weeks. 1, 2, 3, 4. I managed (with one hand on the wall) to balance…well that’s a start as I couldn’t really get on the last time. I didn’t much like this bike, it had this foothold thingamajig that made it even more difficult for a beginner to get on. So, I was now balancing, ok, can I roll? I applied pressure to my right foot, then to my left and so it continued…now did I have the courage to let go of the wall?
I didn’t that time but the second time round I did, I was surprised at how easy it was to roll with it (was it Blur or Oasis that sang that?).
I was inspired to make a second attempt at the bike riding thing after a trip to the tennis courts with Coraline, she insisted we take the bikes and their mother was very enthusiastic too, she is keen on Coraline getting as much exercise as possible and I seem to have become her personal trainer.
So off we went to fetch the bikes, I was filled with dread, wtf do I do? Maybe it will be easy. Quick try and get on while her back is turned….unsucessful…ok feign an injury…..no, how long would I have to carry that on for.
As Coraline hopped on, I rolled the bike towards the front gates. ‘Is the bike ok?’ She asked, ‘a little too high' I lied (why do adults hate humility, just tell her you can’t ride the damn thing). She showed me how to adjust it. Hmmm what to do now?
Coraline peddled smoothly down the country lane while I grabbed the handlebars and followed swiftly. There was no way that I was going to roll down that hill. Well not on the bike anyway.
Today, I had an audience, all the animals in the garden were looking at me, even that bloody donkey, they watched with amusement as I did a successful tour of the expansive garden. I felt relieved……I knew that I could do it.
I didn’t that time but the second time round I did, I was surprised at how easy it was to roll with it (was it Blur or Oasis that sang that?).
I was inspired to make a second attempt at the bike riding thing after a trip to the tennis courts with Coraline, she insisted we take the bikes and their mother was very enthusiastic too, she is keen on Coraline getting as much exercise as possible and I seem to have become her personal trainer.
So off we went to fetch the bikes, I was filled with dread, wtf do I do? Maybe it will be easy. Quick try and get on while her back is turned….unsucessful…ok feign an injury…..no, how long would I have to carry that on for.
As Coraline hopped on, I rolled the bike towards the front gates. ‘Is the bike ok?’ She asked, ‘a little too high' I lied (why do adults hate humility, just tell her you can’t ride the damn thing). She showed me how to adjust it. Hmmm what to do now?
Coraline peddled smoothly down the country lane while I grabbed the handlebars and followed swiftly. There was no way that I was going to roll down that hill. Well not on the bike anyway.
Today, I had an audience, all the animals in the garden were looking at me, even that bloody donkey, they watched with amusement as I did a successful tour of the expansive garden. I felt relieved……I knew that I could do it.
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