On the move...

It’s that time of the year when everyone, including me, seems constantly on the move. Friday saw me tottering around in wedges at a Summer Party. Saturday brought a Travel Writing Workshop (TWW) in London and Sunday a flat tyre, which then meant I had to run between my parents’ houses. Or sprint, as I was slightly late. Yesterday, I could be found in Bournemouth testing out new Salomon ski gear and tomorrow I will be racing across the city to two different meetings in quick succession. Finally, on Saturday I am off to Devon to chase the waves, inevitably missing most of them. The words hectic and exciting come to mind.

Having never been to a TWW I had no idea what to expect when I entered the small room in the Indian YMCA near Warren Street station at 10am on the weekend. Greeted by course leader Peter Carty, a very experienced travel writer, we (a small group of 10) switched on our brains and settled down. Aside from giving us excellent tips on how to write travel features, he also showed us how to go about getting them published. Wanting to give us the best possible Travel Writing Workout, lunchtime saw us disperse into cafes, museums and bars to compose an article in triple-quick time. Never have I had to eat with one hand, write with the other and talk between mouthfuls to anyone that would listen.  

Food is no longer simple either. My stomach is now only being fed Gluten and meat-free products after complaining. A lot. And although I am missing pasta, nuts seem to be doing a superb job. And I can always rely on those trusty beans. 

Wine and dive…

After a few tiring, but very splendid days I am ready to hit the sack. Unfortunately, as it is only Tuesday this is looking unlikely. So instead, I am going to share with you a true, and rather funny tale… I’m glad someone can be as beanpole-like as me!

We were sitting on the bank, lapping up the sun and sipping white wine. What better way to spend a Saturday afternoon than at Henley Regatta.  And the day was about to get even more enjoyable. A punt, complete with a gramophone and four very rich people sidled over to the bank where we were sitting outside Maggie’s Bar. Bumping to the shore a dark haired lady called out with something along the lines of, “can you possibly find my daughter? She’s wearing a green dress with flowers…she’s very pretty…” A tall girl soon emerged and seeing her, the lady started to make her way off the punt. Wobbling slightly, she grabbed onto the gramophone, which instead of steadying her, swung out onto the water…she followed. Diving headfirst with a yelp, (grabbing a branch which then snapped) she then emerged dripping. Hair plastered across her face, and still clutching the gramophone she dragged herself back into the boat gasping. (Her hat meanwhile was floating off down the Thames.) The hushed silence that had spread around the punt in case she had hurt herself, soon changed to chuckles and then hysterics. Only moments before we had said, ‘Wouldn’t it be funny if someone fell in…’ Well, it was.  

New balls please…and a brain while you’re at it!

Suffering from writers block is very annoying. Or indeed article block as the case may be. The Fudge bar I have just consumed seems to have made no difference to my brain. Perhaps the solution is red wine, especially as I have a handy bottle sitting on my desk. This weekend I am heading to Henley for the Royal Regatta. First held in 1839, it has taken place every year since (except during the two World Wars). My old school Boater will for once not stand out, but fit in. And tonight I am off to play tennis in Wimbledon…Park that is. I hope to make an appearance at the actual Wimbledon tomorrow evening. Jelly Beans, Pimm’s and Pizza; here I come. 

Oh what a night...

If you’re sitting comfortably then I’ll begin. The weather was dire. Kate and I were in Fort William for the weekend and had spent most of the day up Ben Nevis getting soaked. To cheer ourselves up we thought we would consume some wine with our meal that evening. A glass turned into a bottle and on leaving the ‘Grog and Gruel’ we posed by the statue of their pig. Cool. Hearing music, we followed it down some steps into to a snooker haunt. After purchasing one of my new favourite drinks, Amaretto and Coke (A+C) we proceeded to break their Juke Box. After failing to revive it we made a speedy exit. We had eaten in the ‘Ben Nevis Bar’ the night before, and so headed back in that direction. We were in luck. Saturday was karaoke night. After another A+C each we hit the mic. ‘Don’t Stop, Believing’, went down as a massive hit…even if our singing had a lot to live up to, our dancing (which was worse) made up for it. The Hen Do girls were very enthusiastic…and soon stood up with a single of their own. While waiting for another drink, an Irish bloke, Tom, asked if we would help him out. The youngest member of their group, Daniel (21) apparently needed some persuasion to stand up and sing, basically we had to flirt. Heads held high, Kate and I took on the challenge. And succeeded. 10 minutes later ‘Mack the Knife’ was being sung, very well I might add, by the checked shirt guy. Because of this we became honouree group members and were offered many drinks. This lead to yet another Rosie and Kate number…which I don’t remember singing. Though I do remember that the Hen Do ladies joined in, and we must have been jumping as their fluffy headbands were bobbing away. The night ended with a group of us jigging on the dance floor, replicating some moves from the can-can and falling into a Rhododendron bush. Sadly, there were no beans in sight. 

On the road again...

After determinedly telling myself not to let work take over my life, I realise from the lack of blogging it already has. Also, from the pre-stress of work I forgot to talk about beans full stop in my last post. Outrageous I know.  At the moment I am trying to organise a Fashion Shoot for the new skiwear that will come out later this year. Now equipped with two photographers, a stylist, an assistant, and the Fashion Editor I just need to get hold of four models… I’m not sure that blank backdrops or lifeless clothes will cut it, for the advertisers or the readers. Since the half-marathon I seem to have developed a slight vendetta against running. Perhaps it was seeing pictures of myself taken during the event where my light pink top had become rather dark, my face looked like a red balloon and my straw-coloured hair clashed horribly with both. Grabbing the chance my Mum has since hired me as a part time stable cleaner, garden weeder and occasional tennis player. To get my ‘runner beans’ back I am joining in with a running club tonight. With five miles considered a piece of cake by the pros it’s going to prove an interesting evening. Or just an uneventful one if I don’t make it. 

The life of Rosie, not Riley...

June brings a new month, the Queen’s Jubilee and my job. Although the magazine can stress me out and take over, I still rather enjoy it. And anything that means I can put something into my now empty travel pot is great. Vietnam, here I come. The last few months have been wonderful. From the adventures in Jamaica, to skiing in Sweden and finishing it off with the Half Marathon in Edinburgh, there was never a dull moment. Especially when the shape of the medals given out on completing the race caused some controversy. Looking at mine now, I can see why the Scotsman wrote, ‘held in a certain way...it suddenly looks startlingly like the Kintyre peninsula or, more bluntly, a tacky souvenir from a raucous hen party.’ However, if that was supposed to put me off the slightly mad pink-feathered celebration, it failed. Since being back in the real world my work inbox is 4,000 emails lighter, on the other hand, my calendar is now however many meetings, events and interns heavier.  Still I will keep up the jogging, blogging and perhaps add something else into the mix. Lacrosse anyone? 

Back to basics...

Yesterday I was a jumping bean. After realising the garden was resembling a set from 'The Day Of The Triffids', I brandished my shears and set to work. Following this I was in rather a lot of pain. The plants had obviously taken revenge and decided to implant many of their thorns into my leggings. I won't expand on where, but it did make sitting down very uncomfortable. Still, at least I can now leave the garden without getting scratched, rained upon by leaves and then sapped: (by a tree, not by a bludgeon or club). It's nice not to resemble this interesting looking fellow as pictured here when out and about. London's calling at the weekend, as well as a five-year reunion at my old school which I am rather excited about. And then to Norwich, my old haunt to remember the time I spent £10 a week on food. Tuna, onions and cucumber on brown toast seemed like a super idea at the time. Although I hate to think how bad my breath must have been. Horrendous springs, or rather chokes to mind.