On the World Cup

Is it finished yet?

On hayfever

In an ideal world, the soundtrack of my summer would be something like Sunny Afternoon by the Kinks or August Day Song by Bebel Gilberto or pretty much anything else which conjures up heavy perfumed air, lazy afternoons, ice cold lemonade, pretty much anything other than sneezing fits in the evening as the pollen settles, and gummy eyes. But no, I think the song that most accurately describes most of my summers (in the UK, it seems that whatever is ailing me doesn't lurk in other countries) is The Divine Comedy's Pop Singer's Fear of the Pollen Count. I hate it, I hate feeling the back of my throat itching up, the streaming nose, the puffy eyes, sneezing fits at inopportune moments. Also, the worst year (and day) I ever had for hayfever was the year of my graduation; all my graduation photos for all eternity, my face is puffy, my eyes red and streaming. It honestly doesn't look like me, or it looks like me inflated. And this was after mammoth doses of antihistamine, anti-histamine eye drops straight from the fridge (best thing ever) and generally doing whatever I could to look normal. I suppose it could have been worse, it could have happened on my wedding day.

But, even after all that, I learned that it doesn't end there. I found out (fortunately after I'd finished having exams, otherwise it would have bummed me out too much) that antihistamines can affect your ability to study. So yeah, not only are exams smack bang in the good weather time so you're inside revising instead of outside, doing pretty much anything else (I tried studying outside, it doesn't work), AND when hayfever is at its height, taking antihistamines to be able to try and deal with it can affect your concentration, and your exam results. I'm seriously contemplating contacting my university and seeing if they'll agree to a do-over, of my exams and my graduation photos. Or you know, so I don't have to do exams ever again, just bump my final grades up by 10% across the board, and redo my graduation photos with professional hair and make up, and Annie Leibovits or Mario Testino. That seems reasonable to me.
An example of what my revised graduation photos would look like, only imagine I'm clutching my degree in my hand as I run from the university to a bright future.

On not buying things

Inspired by this post on Design Sponge, I decided to try not to buy things unnecessarily in May. It went well, very well, I came up with a "no buy" list, that I'd add items to, as I thought of them. I noticed a couple of things, firstly I seem to want to buy very random objects at all sorts of strange times. I didn't realise that. I didn't realise that I'd be walking down the road and decide that I absolutely needed a pair of espadrilles.When I started listing all the objects, it turns out that it happened quite a lot, and this also shows in a way what a curse internet shopping is, as it is now possible to go "I totally need a snorkeling mask" and be able to buy one without having to physically go to a store, look at various snorkeling masks and realise it's a ridiculous idea because you live in a landlocked city. Nope, you can buy almost anything instantaneously which means it is very easy to buy lots of stupid things, stupid things you don't really need.
The second was that, over time the list of things I actually properly needed or really wanted to buy was short, very short.

I said it went well, it did, for about a week and then I ended up with a broken leg, lots of time on the internet and being able to accept parcels at home. It kind of went to pot at that point. BUT, my mindset has changed, even though it properly happened for a week. It has forced me to think more about not just buying things because I want them then and there, but to consider it more, save for something good rather than lots of mediocre or rubbish items.

On fashion

I've always loved and admired clothes and fashion, in an over-exuberant puppy type way. I'm full of enthusiasm and joy, but very clumsy and often making a mess and tracking mud through the house. This has been the case since I was a child, and could apparently always be found in layers and layers of dressing up clothes (regardless of whether or not they made sense or went together). I hope that in my years of living and reading who knows how many fashion blogs, articles and staring at Pinterest with feverish eyes (and making friends with someone eminently and effortlessly chic), that I've improved since. There are many times I read GoFugYourself and agree wholeheartedly with the comments, so I must be going right somewhere. One day I was off sick from school, and my mom gave me "The women we wanted to look like"  to keep me entertained, which was a book she'd gotten from my aunt - I consumed it in that one day. It was amazing, all the beautiful clothes, the beautiful women. It had a profound affect on me.

My main problem is I get so bored with my clothes I feel I need to buy more, or throw everything out and start again, to misquote Elaine Benes (I couldn't find the original quote) "I just look at my wardrobe sometimes and I'm so bored". This maybe a uniquely female problem - Mr LaGoz has a very pared down wardrobe, and I've yet to see him standing in front of it looking at it with despair and going "I just HATE everything I own you know? I need a new suit, in a slightly different shade of charcoal and with a different collar. I also want the pocket about half a centimetre higher, amiright?". Or maybe because he doesn't dress by mood; there are times when my wardrobe just doesn't have the requisite clothes for me to feel like Audrey Hepburn post make-over in Sabrina, or Cher Horowitz in casual mode.

My other problem is that I just don't have enough money. This could be helped by going cold turkey on paying rent and eating, but that seems a bit extreme to get a fabulous YSL* Le Smoking jacket (though don't think I haven't contemplated it ...).

I also think that fashion is an underrated art form; a recent visit to the Jean Paul Gaultier exhibit confirmed that. The man is a genius and a craftsman, a sculpture if you will (and thanks to Stanley Tucci in Devil Wears Prada that my view in general is correct. Yes I know it was probably in the script and doesn't represent the personal views of Mr Tucci, but in my head it does).

*It will always be Yves St Laurent to me. I know this puts me firmly in the past, just like my insistence on treating Pluto as a planet. It was always my favourite, so just dumping it like that was hard to bear. Maybe in time.

On Music

At the moment, I am mostly listening to Pharrell Williams' Happy (so much so I watched two versions of the video this morning, the original and one with dogs and a cat. It's a close contest as to what I prefer; I think the cat just edges it to the second option). It's strange, as despite it being quite a subdued song in a way, it is happy, super happy. The other one is "Blister in the Sun" by the Violent Femmes, because of the line "let me go out", because I want to go out (I'm housebound with a broken leg, and my most recently heard refrain, beyond "I think it's less swollen and more of a normal colour" is "can I go out now?"). These are going on a playlist, specially designated to the last month or so. I like to do that - create a playlist to capture a particular time in my life, or month. Music is such a trigger for memory; the album "Blue" by Joni Mitchell is my first trip back to South Africa after leaving, and despite being quite a sad album, for me it's happy. Or Mika's first album is the first holiday I took after I started working (I hadn't any time off for over a year), and it takes me back to standing in the living room ironing my clothes, the night before flying off, and arriving and sitting on my friend's boat sipping a beer. It can work against you though; I bought a new album and unfortunately listened to it a lot while reading Margaret Atwood's "The Blind Assassin" (which isn't a terrible book, but it isn't my favourite) so for me the album is now eternally linked to it (though I'm putting in the effort to change this, listening it constantly while doing other things). The Shins "Celibate Life" is taking the bus to my law exams (and seeing a priest while I was listening to it, which I thought was good timing).

I'm also listening to Girls of Hawaii (which is a Belgian band, I never would have thought that, given the name and that they largely sing in English) which I now have after the bi-annual music exchange between me and Mr LaGoz. Poor man - he now gets all the random songs I've bought off iTunes on a whim in the past six months; he has such serious, good taste, in all things (including wives), whereas I'll download any old rubbish (a friend once described listening to one of my mix CDs as like "being inside the mind of a mad man") but he has been introduced to OMD's "If you leave" and "War" by Edwin Starr (this means he now gets the joke on Seinfeld about the original title of War and Peace being "War, what is it good for" - this just shows how awesome Seinfeld is, that it's still hilarious after 20 years and multiple watchings, AND if you don't get all the cultural references). It's like that episode is renewed for him.

On being an immigrant

I am one, and I feel like one, and sometimes I don't. I suppose my idea of "an immigrant" came from films mostly, desperate people in rags clutching their few possessions as they arrived at Ellis Island. I didn't imagine them as flying into Heathrow and strolling in with a rollie suitcase and some hand luggage. I suppose it also helps that I didn't need visas, so I did literally just stroll in.

But then I do feel it sometimes; I certainly felt it when I arrived. There were times when I felt like I'd been born at the age I arrived in the UK, given that I couldn't remember all the children's tv shows or foods that other people could, who were my age. It was disconcerting. Then, also finding some things so strange and exotic, like the sheer volume and choice of lettuce in the UK supermarkets. I only ever recall eating one type of lettuce in South Africa (I'm guessing it was iceberg), I don't think we'd ever felt the need to have 15 different types of lettuce. Also, standing in front of a fridge in a supermarket and having no idea which type of yogurt is actually good (and being told that you pronounce the word incorrectly), or not knowing where to buy things. I remember trying to buy my Dad a magazine. I thought that Clinton's Cards = Cardies, but no, they did just sell cards. Not magazines and cards, or cards and fluffy toys. Just cards. (I now know that WH Smith is the place to go when you want cards and magazines, and to be asked every time you go to the till whether or not you also want chocolate). Now when I'm back in South Africa, I have the reverse, and I have to trawl back over a decade to figure out where and what to buy, and does that still exist?

The other thing I find strange, is that I'm now jealous of the people who grew up in the same place their whole lives; who belong so firmly in one town or city. Before we left, I always wanted to move around, to go all over the place (my grandmother said that I had itchy feet, and I don't think she was referring to athlete's foot). Yet now, I see (through the magic of Facebook), all these people who stayed, who are so firmly established and part of my native city, going to the parks I went to as a kid, whereas I'm not. I never thought I would have that jealousy. But then I know, if it was the other way around, if I was the one who stayed looking at the others who moved, the jealousy would be worse so ultimately, it was the right choice.

I suppose the other jealousy I have, is belonging so much to one place, rather than partially belonging and therefore not belonging to so many places. I no longer know what is normal, and this has been compounded by being married to a French man, who has another version of normal (like saying that there's only five continents, whereas everyone knows that there's seven. What are they teaching over there?).

The best is to just embrace it, know that I'm not alone, that there are plenty of people who have split lives, who know where to buy magazines on three continents and have friends stretched over multiple cities linked electronically, and who belong here and there and everywhere.