You know the drill; you’ve been wedded to your hairdresser and beautician for years since finding the combination of people who don’t give you haircuts that look like a mental patient was let loose with scissors or a one sided waxing job. Its like the holy grail of looking good; no-one’s really sure where to find them, but when you do, you’ll only share their details with your inner circle of friends, on the basis if everyone knows about them you’ll never be able to get an appointment on a Saturday any more.

So there you are, smug in all your European style glory in a new city, but then the inevitable occurs after a few weeks in; your fringe has grown so much you look like you could rival the Dulux paint dog, and you’ve suddenly realized that on yonder horizon it looks suspiciously like summer so wearing 80 denier tights as an alternative to depilation just isn’t going to cut it any more.

Trying to justify a trip home to sort these things out seemed fairly frivolous, even by my standards (and I’ve been know to buy a $350 pair of jeans on a whim courtesy of Gok Wan’s sidekick – fabulous daaahhhhllinnng…) so it was with a heavy heart I started to research where I could go that I wouldn’t end up with a Debbie Gibson style ‘do complete with flip fringe (I know the 80s are in, but in certain parts round here its like they never left…) or being upsold a whole host of beauty treatments that aren’t really me; the last was gel nail tips – all I will say is that getting contact lenses in whilst having these is an art form that continues to elude me, and what’s left of my nails looks like I’ve been using an electric sander whilst blindfolded.

My latest foray was around the local ‘hood to see what was on offer; I’d learnt from my misspent youth to err on the side of caution after being subjected to a waxing experience in New Zealand that involved pouring it all on, waiting til it set and ripping the whole thing off in one go. The term surprised doesn’t quite do that particular experience justice. Anyway, being older and wiser these days and erring on the side of caution, I always opt for something safe like a half leg wax, as it’s not that difficult / painful / long to do, and should be a decider for something a bit more ‘invasive’. I mean what can go wrong, right?

Cue 25 minutes later when I have hot wax stuck to my bunion (for the record, it’s difficult to get off and it hurts. Because it’s hot. No, really) and my little toes which is supposedly my fault as I have cold feet, and I have a crazy lady attacking my eyebrows with a reel of cotton. Whilst I was heartened to learnt they don’t ‘double dip’ (which til now, I’d thought was a term only used in relation to a big social faux pas of eating chips and salsa etc at parties…) I don’t think it really counted as they clearly used the same wax roller thing on more than one client, euuugghh.

Anyway, onto the mani/ pedi and a small massage (no gym and moving flat meant I could hardly move) and cue having to try and explain why I had wax stuck to my feet in a way that didn’t make me look like I’d been up to no good in Vauxhall - suffice to safe to say this was a (marginally) pleasanter experience than the waxing but I can’t help feeling that someone somewhere is laughing inwardly at combination of relaxing treatments and then the subsequent hitting / pummeling part of the procedure..

I stopped there (no fake tan. yet.) although the quest continues, but I figure I need to work up courage (or at least have a couple of drinks) before I go near a hair salon. Altho the 80s *is* in atm, so maybe a Debbie Gibson style do isn’t too outlandish…

I love a good list, especially if it has bullet points that can then be crossed out. It’s a strange fixation, but it gives me a certain amount of retentive joy; I deduce that’s probably one of the main reasons why I have succeeded as a project manager. Either that, or I’m just good at bossing people around and telling them what to do…

Anyway, having had chance to ruminate over my time here at the weekend, and channeling one of the politest 5 year olds I know, my time here can be summed up thus:

Yes please

• Polite people who actually go out of their way to help you – even on the tube, actually, make that subway
• Clean streets - no manky chicken bones or other peoples’ spit – result!
• Still pretending I’m on holiday so new clothes purchases and the fact they’re actually designer and therefore expensive, don’t actually count (yet)
• The totally awesome Swedish coffee emporium round the corner from work that make my favourite marzipan treats and the fact that they’re pimping their chocolate Easter truffle eggs as delicious and nutritious
• Being able to go out and eat by myself, it be totally normal, and not be shoved next to the toilets / bins
• Cheap, decent manicures on every corner –maybe this will be the year I finally get nails! (false or otherwise)
• Overcoming the usual new immigrant nightmares and getting a bank account, social security number and a host of associated work / HR / general annoyances fixed
• Hamming up my Englishness for maximum impact at times of importance (immigration, local government, housing board interviews)
• The internet and technology in general for enabling me to stay in touch with people without having to rely on a letter that takes 3 weeks.
• Hearing tales about overcoming the seemingly insurmountable; ably demonstrated by someone I met who turned wine making in Kuwait into an art form
• Getting my stuff delivered; for some reason being reunited with my copper bottomed chef pans and proper knives makes me inordinatly happy (probably a direct correlation with the amount of takeout food I've eaten of late...)
• Moving into a permanent home and the view from my bedroom of the cherry blossom tree, and from my roof terrace of the statue of liberty

No thanks

• Some sort of weird intolerance to enumbers / sugar /  additives / washing powder; hello eczema my old friend
• The total lack of escalators in tube stations (yeah, I’m lazy, but at 7.30am in the morning you need all the help you can get)
• Forgetting that the price advertised is not the price you get – total fail on my part to add taxes to everything
• A ‘computer says no’ attitude to service in the strangest of places
• Adopting some kind of weird Lloyd Grossmanesque accent to get understood – especially in taxis and food places otherwise I’d go hungry. I say tomato, or actually tomayytooo
• The cost of internet / cable / phone packages for my flat and the slowness to get it delivered
• The ongoing cold weather – summer please come soon!

Overall, though, I’m in NY, baby, it doesn’t really get better than that...

It's 6 days to go til I get somewhere permanent to live, and I could not be happier about the prospect. Living in transition (and out of suitcases) for the last few weeks has been challenging, not least because finding good free / cheap broadband to run skype off is like the holy grail so meaning calls back to the motherland are few and far between.

In some ways this is good (not wistfully wishing I was back home all the time - although the early onset of summer in London is a bit gutting) and in some ways bad as I haven't been able to catch up with everyone, but I figure this is also a two way street..

I went to MoMA (Museum of Modern Art) today and snapped the below photos; They feel fitting in some way atm

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I also happened upon a captive elmo..

And then for some token 'by 'eck, it's still bloody winter here lass' photos

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In many ways I am completely logical, apart from things that require, well, logic – i.e maths, spatial awareness and most tellingly of late, directions. Everyone has been telling me how easy it is to navigate my way round New York; the grid system plus the numbering of the streets and the East > West directions mean you can never can get lost.

However, I seem to have turned this into an art form – the more logical the lay out of the streets, the more chance there is that I set off in the wrong direction. It’s like I’m operating on some kind of weird compass, in that I am destined to go in the complete opposite direction of where I want to end up. I did idly wonder whether there was some subconscious magnetic field at play, and instead of iron filings (as per school chemistry experiments) mine had morphed into shoe shops and cupcake stores…

Having done this again yesterday, and in the pouring rain no less, I started to think that surely the best way to avoid ending up in the dodgy part of town was to always head the opposite way to where my instinct told me to. Or at least learn how to properly discount some of the options.  But how would this actually work?

Most people reckon it doesn't matter, and their logic - very sensible it is too - goes something like this. The gameshow host eliminated one door. So there are two doors left, one with a goat behind it, one with a Ferrari. There's a 50:50 chance that you've got the right door. So it doesn't matter if you change or not.

The solution

If that's what you thought, you are in the majority. And you are wrong - because you can't separate the final decision from the whole game. Go back to the start. What was the chance you had the right door? 1 in 3. In two cases out of three you would have picked a goat. That holds true whatever. Then the host helps you out by showing you that one of the other doors definitely has a goat behind it. So, in fact you should always change your choice to the other door that wasn't opened. That way there's a two in three chance that you win.

It’s almost a year to the day, that I returned from a short break to New York saying the immortal words “yeah, it’s a nice place but I could never live there” that I packed up my life, my house, and most importantly my ever burgeoning shoe collection, to head off to the land of the Big Apple in a permanent move. 2010 threw up a set of events across my life; some were planned for, some were akin to being hit by a bus when looking the wrong way into incoming traffic (always wear clean pants, just in case, people…)

I’d been mulling leaving London for some time; I was bored by my job and couldn’t see what else to do and my heart clearly wasn’t in the new job hunt – probably clearly demonstrated by my complete lack of preparation for an interview for a senior position at another firm where the only preparation turned out to be a bank holiday weekend of drinking and partially losing my voice as a result – professional as ever…

I’d also had enough of London – the cliché says that when you’re tired of London you’re tired of life but I think the equally corny “it’s not you, it’s me” is more appropriate, along with “we’re still friends but the spark has gone for me.”

The city had supplied me with some of the formative moments of my adult life, I’d lived there for the longest time of my adult years. I’d scaled the dizzy heights of Tooting (lots of Indian restaurants and a stabbing on the doorstep) West Dulwich (posh, had a night bus route to nowhere and I had a flatmate who left his toenail cuttings on the sofa) Brixton (right on Coldharbour Lane and its up market nightspots, with a recovering alcoholic for a flatmate who had a tendency to leave dodgy porn around the place; whoever took the piss about him having a shower cam was probably right…) to Nunhead (aka Peckham) famous for Only Fools and Horses, pimp shoes, stabbings, a bar in a carpark, one of the best Indian restaurants I have been to in the UK, and as many manky chicken shops as you can dream of.

I’ve had some brilliant times in the 10 years I’d lived there and it also introduced me to a fantastic bunch of people from all over the world. So why would I leave? I was itching to do something new (and it wasn’t just because I’d been travelling on the manky northern line…) so had decided to leave and go travelling for a year and see what happened. However, a drunken conversation one day in a pub changed all that (don’t they always!) and what was an embryonic conversation about a possible move to the USA, finally became a reality when I received all the immigration paperwork, visa and passport in my grubby little hands in February of this year.

I’d purposely arranged it so as not to have time to think too much about it and change my mind to the point of backing out. Without the support and encouragement of my incredible friends and family I wouldn’t have made it this far. They have stoically put up with my emotional wibbles, tantrums and all round types of teenage behaviour (if I’d have known the move would have been like puberty again, complete with bad skin for 8 weeks, I might have thought twice about it…) that preceded the move, during it and (for the less lucky amongst them!) post the move. It’s amazing what people will endure if there’s a free place to stay in NY at the end of it ;)

All piss taking aside tho it’s made me realize how incredibly lucky I am to be surrounded by such great people, which makes the move bittersweet. Who knows, after a year, or 2 years I may decide I have done the stupidest thing in the world, and run back to the UK and to the familiarity of what I know best.

However, a new job, a new city and a new country are calling, so it seems rude not to get involved. I’ll be trying to keep this place updated on a more regular basis even if it’s to ponder random mundane questions such as:

-          When someone says ‘have a nice day’ are you meant to say it back to them?

-          How far can you take the concept of the bottomless refill of drinks before you’re considered to be taking the piss?

-          Is it any coincidence that Lucky Charms cereal is actually kept next to the sweets?

-         Will I ever learn to love the  combination of all things peanut butter and jam like?

  The last day or so has seen me sightseeing out in the villages and generally buying a 1001 things I'll never use again (although I still didn't get the curly toed shoes..)went on a tour yesterday which encompassed traditional village life, a family of potters, a weavers co-op and the by now obligatory stop off somewhere tto try and part you with your cash. This was probably only about 20kms out of the city of jodphur, but it was like being in a different world. The families are living in 1 room huts with an outdoor farm as a stove and a well for water, with the farmers still using the traditional small hand sickle to farm crops. There's still very much hierarchy in place; the potters have always been potters and will continue to do so unless the kids move to the city and any attempt to do otherwise would be frowned up by the village elders; makes me wonder what would happen if you were crap at it. And also where does the desire to do something different come from; is it because a seed is planted in you by what you see around you / external influences or are some people just generally naturally more inclined to break the norms?

 Next stop was a farming family where the kids reminded me of next door at home; i.e. air raid siren method of getting more and more disruptive, so i can see that maybe the neighbours aren't completely on their own with that style of child rearing...I got invited to an opium / chai ceremony even tho opium is now illegal except for production of medical purposes. It would be rude to say no, so I drank the finest Tetley, whilst the head of the house went through some ritual preparation ceremony it seems that no matter what the substance the ridiculous before and after (complete with yack screw face..) are always the same. Anyway,we soon finished that and I left wondering what his wife(s) thought of that whilst they got on with the hard work. I then spent a really interesting hour with a weavers co-op who handweave rugs and wall hangings and sell them to the UK, and saw one I really liked but it was massive and I already have an abundance of home furnishings which I should be minimising instead of adding to. I also only had limited cash on me but cannily they accepted credit cards. How forward thinking. So yes, I did buy something and then went on and bought 2 duvet covers at the next place we visited. The rationale behind this was all my stuff is knackered, although I'm not sure how well a mirrored cover will wash...

 I ended up then taking chai with my tour guide's family which was cool. I just about managed to survive the now routine questions about my family, me and whether I had an arranged marriage waiting for me (I did think at one point that maybe this was the way forward, lol) By now I was practised at this so trotted out what people were comfortable with hearing, including the obligatory fictitious engagement, and no, my dad wasn't totally distraught he didn't have a son in the family.

 Monday evening caught me doing some last minute shopping in Sardar market in Jodhpur central after having a massive bust up with the auto driver when he tried to fleece me for a fare of 4 times what was agreed. Granted, it was still only about £3.50 but it was the straw that broke the camel's back; I might not speak the language but I think 'go fcuk yourself' translates in tone alone. However, he did start getting a bit mental and did the Indian thing of getting bystanders included so I basically threw the cash I was going to pay at him and raced off in the market where I knew he wouldn't get his auto down. Ahem. Normally I wouldn't be phased but I think alcohol withdrawal and pms was setting in which left me in a filthy mood, which has bubbled along today with piss taking left right and centre when I got to Mumbai airport.

 However, salvation set in today with spending some time with Mrs Singh, the mother of the family who ran the hotel who was lovely and has insisted on treating me as one of the family throughout my stay making sure her sons made sure I was ok - it was a classic case of the Indian Auntie :) we spent some time having a chat about their fab garden and she showed me the temple in their house and their family tree which was pretty amazing. I can't help wondering if by being a non believer I'm missing out on something (altho I don't count catholicism as that's a step too far for me based on previous weirdness..) so maybe the girls at work were right; I'd end up coming to India and be a bit like the woman who wrote the Eat, Pray, Love book. Arf, I don't think so, I haven't met any fanciable meditation teachers for a start.

  Friday saw me fly up to Jodhpur to see some sights and catch some of the Rajasthan International Folk Festival (aka RIFF) I knew it'd be a different vibe but maybe didn't realise quite how much until I got talking to a guy on the plane who described the place as a one horse town, which was accurate, if you replace horse with camel / cow. However, it was also supposedly good for shopping so maybe all was not lost...

  Stepping off the plane the heat hit me along with the dust and I started to get a sense of being in the real India when we got on the road and there's camel carts and 4 people on one motorbike. Within about 2 hours I had a wibble about just exactly why I'd decided on the trip as it became apparent that solo women travellers are rare and warnings of abduction, murder etc were prolific. Anyhow, given us northern women are made of sterner stuff and adopting the 'don't even think about it' stance I set off in the evening for the first evening (and one of many bone shaking auto rides, a sports bra would have been a good investment. ahem..)of the RIFF concerts.

  The idea behind it was to hold a combination of traditional and western music and performances in the Mehrangah Fort which is on top of a hill in Jodphur, and was built for one of the maharajahs (more blurb here http://www.mehrangarh.org/) the place is amazing and I can't wait to get my photos sorted to post them up. The performances were amazing but the event itself was an odd combination of people - cross between the womad and guildford festivals, a sprinkling of linen wearing guardian readers (like I can take the piss given where I got the idea from...) with a handful of expats and luvvies thrown in for good measure.

  Despite feeling like the new kid at school when everyone knows each other, I got talking to some people including a guy I met on the flight up who was English but lived in Mumbai. Really interesting to get his take on living here and what it was like as he'd relocated 3 years ago with work, which kind of sounds familiar... (altho I can't see myself craving smoked kippers) In the space of 2 hours we covered London, Mumbai, Indian culture, living as an expat, the benefits of the internet (streaming radio 4) and enough subtle piss taking out of other people, so just like being back at school when it's you against everyone else. Oh and the music was quite good too!  I ended up leaving quite late and got home to find the whole hotel family had been waiting up for me - it was like getting a bollocking from my mum at age 16 after a night on the tiles (altho at least this time I didn't puke...)

  When I haven't been at the concerts, I've squashed in as much sightseeing as I can manage / feel up to. The latter might sound lazy but it's been a bit of a headspin this trip in terms of what I've felt I've been able to do / see / go based on warnings / recommendations and just being sensible generally. The place I'm staying at has been great but they clearly feel a massive responsibility for me as a single woman, and have tried to organise everything so they know where I am or that I'm in the guest house. In terms of service / host skills this is great but I've found it really claustrophobic.

  The other thing that has wound me up immensely is being totally invisible, but not. i.e. I get stared at and comments made all the time, but when I'm in a queue / trying to buy something I'm totally invisible, cue being pushed in front of and not served. The absence of women from the streets / shops (apart from in the touristy places) is noticeable, as is the amount of men just lieing around drinking tea / smoking / having a 6 person discussion about something and not reaching a decision. All in all an odd concept to come to terms with, and has really made me realise the freedom I have and how easily I take it for granted (not that it hasn't been fought for...)

  Anyway, enough for now, I have money to spend and some curly toed shoes to buy as my wardrobe isn't complete without it.

  As for the title of this post? I read it in an Indian paper yesterday, in reference to some construction contract gone wrong, and reminded me of my current project. Every time I read it in an Indian accent, it makes me laugh.

 Spending a week in the Mumbai office, everyone thinks I'm mental for travelling by myself, and yet again I find myself writing about it in some random faceless business hotel. Its like south america all over again but with crapper cocktails (avoid the ice at all costs....) there's something about expensed beer, free wifi, crap tv and a keyboard that brings out the reflective part of me; well either that or the jetlag is sending me a bit loco.

 In some ways south america was easier, i may not understand part of the language but the class system and culture is easier to figure out. Top lesson from this week; everything is no problem, even when there is no actual way something can be done. Whilst I commend the helpful attitude for someone as anally retentive as me it's a lesson in unlearning attention to detail. However, once you learn to factor this in then suddenly everything becomes a lot easier (along with learning not to look at the oncoming traffic when in an auto - basically a tuk tuk) The society here is very family orientated so in the office I'm a bit of an anomaly as I'm of marriageable age with neither that or kids on the horizon.

 I did try and rectify this on the business class flight over by chatting up a suspiciously famous  looking guy (my guess was a swedish dj...) but the free champagne was a winner instead (well until the kid two seats down projectile vomited everywhere and the 2 babies started crying for the night) despite offering him a read of my Marie Claire  - GQ wasn't available...

 So the really big question left (that I wasn't even aware of) is will I see any of the Russell Brand / Katy Perry nuptials. Supposedly they're nearby so who knows. All I know is if I do I'd gladly donate the ridiculously tight trousers that came with the two tops I bought this week - they make skinny jeans look like boyfriend fit...

  Starting night class is always a bit weird for me. Not only do I have to mission out of work to make it on time, there's the usual new school nerves about having to spend time with people you've never met before and whether you've actually signed up for the right course, whilst making sure you've invested in some hideously expensive impractical stationary.

  I'm doing part two of a jewellery making course to try and finish the pieces I started last year, plus potentially have some way of getting hold of decent christmas presents...ahem.

  Anyway, it struck me whilst sitting in the induction that us humans are all essentially a bit odd, especially in group scenarios. Without fail, you always get the person who's so self absorbed it's all about them, in this case a complete beginner on an intermediate class who didn't want to learn the basics, but wanted to start welding, the one person who's borderline OCD / a bit special, the person who's incapable of following instructions (usually this is me unless I write copious notes..) the person who has no self confidence but is really irritating with it - in this case unable to grade themselves on their current ability; surely you either know how to do something or you don't? and then everyone else who muddles on being nice to each other aka trying to sound out who the weird ones are.

  In some ways it's like you never really change from that first day at school when you're trying not to get sat with the weird kid, or the one that will steal your toys/ packed lunch. You just get better at spotting what to avoid. The whole thing made me wonder tho whether it's possible to change the way you are - i.e. I can't follow instructions - is this because I can't retain information or I don't listen or I panic that I can't do something which makes me not listen or that I have ADHD  or is it because you think you can't do something, so it then becomes a self fulfilling prophecy?

  Whilst I prefer the option of ADHD  (I think a syndrome is way cooler than just being a bit crap...) I'm converting more to the last point; i.e. the only real barrier a lot of the time is your own doubts about your ability. Changing the mindset is difficult but once you realise that yeah, sometimes you will screw up along the way but you may as well have a go to see what happens, it's a bit of a lightbulb moment.

  Hence the jewellery course - nothing like anything I have ever done before, and its learning by trial and error, but it's excellent (and a total antidote to the office job...) I'm pleased with the pieces I've made so far; two rings, an asymmetric heart shaped key ring and a bracelet. The bracelet is my learning curve - I did indeed screw up with the measurements so it's a bit too short, but have remedied that, and the in process learned some new skills. It's not finished yet tho; I'm determined to complete it this course, no matter what the slightly unnerving tutor (think an extra from legs akimbo from the league of gentlemen..) says. Hammer 1 - self doubt 0

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DIY lessons learned this week; new taps are expensive, quick dry polyfilla covers a multitude of sins,  if you touch a loose looking piece of plaster, half the ceiling will come down with it, the unmarked bottle in the shed is definitely not meths, and to get a BMW series 3 to start you need to depress the clutch at the same time as starting the engine with the electronic key (ok, so the last might not be a DIY lesson but it completely baffled me as the minutes ticked away on my streetcar booking....)
 
These are all facts I have learnt  in embarking on the equivalent of a spring clean in autumn, I figure I'm on southern hemisphere seasons in a bid to try and convince myself that another winter is not just around the corner. 
 
This week has been mainly about prepping the house for, and embarking on, various DIY projects. Try as I might to overlook them, there's a number of niggles that keep jumping out at me that need fixing, mainly the rather large hole in the kitchen wall from where the electrics got redone, the hammer marks in the bathroom ceiling from getting a new roof and the ever expanding ominous looking crack in my bedroom ceiling, which I suspect is from getting the loft boarded and generally organising things up there.

It doesn't interest me in the least, but I can liken it to a decent skin care routine; the more effort and time you put in ongoing maintenance, the less likely you are to have to go for the all in hideously expensive total facelift in two years time.
As with all things practical I tend to approach things a bit cackhanded; i.e. don't prepare properly and then end up paying the price afterwards, covering halogen lights in paint by accident is a scenario that comes to mind...
 
However, experience has taught me it is better to prepare then do stuff half arsed, altho taking a week off work to concentrate on DIY is not really how I imagined it, but given the state of my latest mastercard bill (interest free credit +  shoe habit = tesco value beans for the rest of the month) I figure it's cheaper than getting someone in.

Overall I'm feeling quite smug as I have successfully managed to polyfilla half the house, 
 

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I also painted the bathroom and fixed the dodgy electric problem with the lights in there (if all else fails, duct tape is the answer...) stripped and sealed the kitchen units, fixed the leak in the outside toilet and actually figured out how to use the ladders properly (important when yr vertically challenged..) tackled the sealant and grouting in the shower, which was actually way easier than I thought. However, I'm rueing the day I decided to put round mosaics on the shower floor as it's a b@stard to keep the grouting in one piece, and cutting grouting out is only easy if its in a straight line; cue much swearing....

True to form, this all required more tools and yet another trip to B&Q for everything I forgot the first time round. I think I can safely say I have half the sodding store in the Harry Potter cupbard.  However, some stuff just baffles me - like this, it's a filling knife but they put the sticker over the sharp pointy end rendering it nearly useless unless you spend 30 minutes trying to pull it off.