If I Was a Rich Girl

I was sitting and watching First Dates Hotel the other night, and they featured an 87 year old multi-millionaire. He was the epitome of old-man goals! He was fit, funny, charming and way too blasé about the fact he had the income to rival a small country! He even offered his date, as a flirtatious side-note, to move to the Bahamas with her. I mean, if that doesn’t scream sugar-daddy, I don’t know what does! As someone who has had to come to terms with the fact that she will never be in a pay-grade high enough to even joke about moving to the Bahamas, I like to live vicariously through the riches of others.

And so, it got me thinking… If I had enough money to match someone’s phone number, what would I actually do with it? Now, I’m not talking about all the boring, and sensible things that I could do, like reinvesting and stocks and blah blah blah, or donating to charities and helping those in need… I am talking, splurges that I would make!

I think, first of all, I would pay for an around the world holiday, for me and my partner. We could just drop everything, and gallivant around countries I have never even heard of! We could try wines that come with dust on the bottle, eat food that is ridiculously priced, and explore town’s that look like they belong in movies. I would book my flight’s as I go, and not plan anything more than a week ahead of me, leaving the excitement of the next adventure lingering for as long as possible. I would go to the heights of Machu Pichu, the cool streets of Cuba, the amazing waterfalls of Bali and everywhere in between. I would spend a winter in New York, a summer in Europe, an autumn in Australia, and a spring in Asia. I would be living that Instagram dream!

After that though, it’s hard to say… I know I would treat my friends and family to amazing gifts! I would make up for all the times when I haven’t had enough money to scrape something together for their birthday or Christmas. I would buy a house, or two, with stunning homewares! I am talking Zara home and Habitat level… Yuh, I know, luxurious! I would buy a dog or two, that could, of course, run around in my huge back garden, and cool off in our own swimming pool. I know that I would buy life things. Nothing extravagant like boats or cars, just things that make living comfortable…

That’s not to mention, my hair and nails, and clothes would always be on point… Got to be selfish sometimes!

And then, at the age of 87, like the old man off First Dates, I would drop everything and move somewhere fancy. I would make sure my kids are comfortable and happy, and then fuck off somewhere sunny to live out the rest of my days… what a dream!

But oh so swiftly, I crash back to reality, and realise that I have about 5 quid to last me until the end of the week, and only tinned soup to eat in the cupboard. Well, I guess I better start buying some lottery tickets then…

Cafe Squatting

So I’m sitting in the corner of a hipster little café in Hampstead. I have a flat white, complete with swan art, to my left, and a finished plate of smashed avocado to my right. I am wearing a big swishing scarf, and bright red lipstick, in the hope that I may scream some sort of sophistication in this place, that is definitely far too cool for me. On the overhead speakers, some husky man is murmuring meaningful lyrics, accompanied by a guitar and the chatter of the people dining in this small space. Of course, everything is wooden, mismatched in the way that looks put together, if you know what I mean. Even the staff are all co-ordinating in their dark shirts, pierced noses and waxed moustaches.

I love going to places like this, it’s a prime spot for people watching, and so let my totally inaccurate observations begin…

Sitting opposite me, are the ladies that lunch. Two middle-aged women who definitely do Pilates on the weekends. They are munching down on their gluten-free salad option, because they are trying to watch what they eat. They sip on their extra hot cappuccinos, but of course, no sprinkles, thankyou very much. Their double denim attire, completed with a beret and boots oozes luxury. As their second round of coffee arrive, they completely ignore the young server, as they are too busy gossiping to acknowledge anyone around them. A dismissive wave of the hand as the guy offer’s two cappuccinos, but oh no, they have sprinkles! A slightly curt suggestion that he should’ve known what they ordered before he served them is said, and they continue their loud catch-up as two new ones are made.

Next, are the cool guys. Two youngish boys dressed in an effortless sweater and denim combo. Pulled up socks cover the area of their shins that their too-short jeans don’t, and the white trainers tie the look together. One guy has his hair tied up in low buns behind his head, accentuating the three gold hoops in his ear that he and his mates pierced themselves. The other has a beige cap on to cover his mop of curly hair, and a strong beard to match. They are only drinking water, because they don’t actually like the taste of coffee, but that’s okay because coffee is probably to mainstream these days anyway. They are looking at a laptop, and discussing ideas together, maybe for the next start-up business venture in east London.

On the opposite side of the table, is the first-time mum. Hair tied-up in a fuss-free ponytail and a knit thrown on, that definitely has a stain from this morning’s breakfast. She clutches her latte for moral support while her baby cries in its pram, for no particular reason. As she pulls her little one out, and balances him on her knee, you can see her tired eyes wishing for some sort of magical cure for crying toddlers. She shares her portion of plain toast, out of love but also in the hope of a moment of silence. As she folds him in a hug, you can see the bond of love between them, despite the sleepless nights.

Finally, the coffee guy. He has short brown hair, and is dressed in vintage chic that only waiters in cool coffee shops do. He is shy, not wanting to interrupt his customers as he carries over coffee after coffee. He has been working all day, but still wears a smile on his face as he welcomes new people into the café, a smile that his masking how bored and tired he really is.

As I sit in the corner of the coffee shop, I notice each group of people, sipping their coffee and enjoying their afternoon chat. They flow in and out, but I am that one weirdo who has been here all afternoon. After all of the judgements I make on other people, which are definitely in jest, the staff are probably making the same on me:

There is a girl sitting in the back corner of the shop, who has only had one coffee all afternoon, but keeps asking for water, probably because she is too stingy to buy anything else, but wants to sap our free wifi. She has been furiously typing away on her laptop, probably writing some essay about the arts, judging by the colour of her hair, and her bright clothing, not to mention the nose ring.

If only they knew, that if café squatting was a sport, I would be the champion….

The Grandma In Me

Do you enjoy a great smelling candle?

Do you revel in the thought of a Friday night spent on the couch, watching The Crown and drinking tea?

Does a comfy, new pair of pyjama’s give you that tingly feeling all over?

Are you under the age where it is socially appropriate to be slightly rude, grumpy, and often hard of hearing?

Well then, you my friend, are an underage grandma! But never fear, because I am too. And Proud.

The horror my teenage self would be feeling right now. She would be out partying, dancing away to music until 4am and drinking everything like it was water! I used to love dressing up and being in an underground darkened room that would progressively get hotter and sweatier with every song. And that was just on thirsty Thursday! Sounds delightful doesn’t it!?

In saying that, I would like to point out that I do still love a drink and a boogie every now and then… but boy, I definitely need a week to mentally prepare for anything more than 3 glasses of something! And the hangover stamina is not what it used to be, at all.

Having hit the withered and decrepit old age of 21, less often do I find myself wanting to go out clubbing and getting ridiculously sore feet, but rather, sitting somewhere much more mellow, enjoying a nice glass of wine. Erghhh… who am I? (I should definitely not know the difference between a pinot grigio and a sav blanc at my age!) When I put it like this, it really does age me by about 25 years! Even my parent’s tell me I’m getting old. They are out at concert’s, parties and dinner things, whilst I am at home, in my sleeping gown, treating myself to a bubble bath while dinner is cooking!

But you know what?

Sometimes, I really fucking love going to ikea and looking at homewares!

I really fucking love getting into bed before 11pm and having a great night sleep!

And, I really fucking love scatter cushions!

I am honestly laughing at myself as I write this, but I don’t think I’m the only one suffering a case of underage grandmaism…. My flatmates revel in those nights where we are all home, drinking tea and watching movies together. And yes, we have all taken part in that buzzfeed quiz, and we definitely all got diagnosed as a Grandma in our 20’s.

It’s the way of the future, and I am all about this revolution. Bring on the young people who are already embracing their elderly selves (I mean, I have dyed my hair silver for god’s sake)! Never be embarrassed to claim it, and be proud of your array of scented candles and bedding.

I sure am!

Welcome!

Welcome, to my humble little corner of the internet.

I often find myself staring at people on the Tube, or over my Pret sandwiches during break, making up stories in my head about who they are, what they do, and why they went for the egg and mayo sandwich when anything would be better than that beige coloured lunch of sadness.

I am a pathological liar… But in a good way… And mostly in my head. I make up stories and outlandish excuses for everything, before politely telling the truth when confronted with the real-life situation.

And so, instead of letting those stories and thoughts gather dust in my peroxide soaked head, I thought I would share them here, in my little corner. So, thanks for joining me in this digital den filled with pillows, fairy lights and endless cups of tea to read my musings and ramblings.

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I am currently in my final year of a drama and theatre degree in London, but am originally from Australia, where I lived for the first 18 years of my life.