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.

The sun was shining, and the weather was sweet...

With the Lake District on our door step, it would have been silly not to make the short drive up to Keswick. The Catbells beckoned; and we responded. Despite its modest height, it is a very popular fell to climb. This was made clear by all the smiles, tips and nods we exchanged with fellow hikers. And the amount of pictures we took for other groups. As usual, a very simple climb was made complicated. We got lost in the woods, missed the main path up and found ourselves scrambling up the centre of the two mounds like sheep. Though without the aid of extra legs we probably looked more like sea lions, blubber included. Still, the sun reflected off the stone-skipped water of Derwent Lake and my orange hair frizzed in the heat. Unfortunately, the clouds and rain have taken over the skies today. In response I am going to cook chilli sans carne. Meat is still off the menu, but kidney and black beans are definitely on.

No longer red and white, but still orange...

It's easy to see why Soap Operas are so popular. Blackmail, affairs and illnesses plague the screens and people watch because however bad their lives are, the characters always seem to have it worse. This slightly explains why the last blog I wrote, which contained blood, dye and excrement gained the most hits. I obviously need to have more accidents! After the appalling weather yesterday I stupidly took a look at lastminute. Now I am rather tempted to declare bankruptcy, pack my bags and move abroad. Italy is scoring top at the moment, but I have not even started researching into France. All I know is when I am older I would very much like to live by the sea and grow vegetables. And of course, that means beans.

Must. Keep. Smiling...

Over the past few days I have been a nit-wit, rather clumsy and a beanpole. I will elaborate. It was Friday morning. I was jogging. The sun was shining, the smell of manure from the nearby farm was wafting in the wind, and Ryan Adams (not to be confused with Bryan Adams), was singing in my ears about a Nobody Girl. Nothing could stop me. Nothing apart from a slightly raised paving stone. After my legs failed to keep up with my upper body I hit the floor like a plank of wood. Had I got away with it? No. The children from the nearby school found it hilarious. The whole playground did. I gave them my best smile and cursory wave and tried not to grimace. Needless to say my run ended in a limp to the nearest supermarket to grab some plasters. However, this was only the beginning. While hunting for Sainsbury's own brand, I saw that John Frieda products were on sale. Always one to grab a bargain I thought why not. I was going to go blonde. So back home I went; knees patched up, foam in hair, stopwatch set. 40 minutes later, after the remainder of the dye had disappeared down the plughole and my hair had slightly dried I took a peak. And gulped. My hair was now a healthy shade of orange. Over the weekend I have slowly come to terms with my face continually clashing with my hair. I wish I did not blush so easily. So today, I went back out for another bout of exercise. Unfortunately, someone has not yet grown tired of pulling my stings. I looked up to follow the flight of a butterfly and was pooed on by a duck. Right on my nose. I must have been a very bad person in my previous life.

Beans would never have this many problems...

Have you ever seen that movie? Where the two characters have organised to meet...and end up in the same cafe but different places? Today I was one of them. And poor Charlie was the other. It also did not help that my phone, which has developed mood swings at the age of six, decided it would be the perfect time to throw a tantrum. Luckily it all worked out. London just has too much of everything. The last time I was in the city I saw Matilda, The Musical. And after the four girls won Olivier Awards for their performances, I thought I would give my opinion. Amazing. I will never forget the P.E. lesson that Miss Trunchbull took which ended with her flying (rather gracefully) through the air after springing off a tiny trampoline. Kerry Ingram was superb as Matilda, fiery, thoughtful, innocent. The music by Tim Minchin linked all the acts and showed off the clever lyrics. And the 'Telly' song in the interval is not to be missed. (Although Michael Wormwood is not the virtuoso guitar player his father thinks he is.) I'm not normally so positive. The Lion King let me down, twice, as did Wicked. Perhaps I'm just odd. However, it's lovely to be back home for a few days, I just wish I hadn't brought the rain along with me.

Even if I don't look the part...

Last night I was a dancing bean. Literally. After putting it off for a few weeks it was time to face the music. Although next time I will wear something other than a baggy jumper, my usual leggings, woolly socks and trainers. My distinct lack of skirt was visibly noticeable. Salsa also demands hip movement, something which obviously went to my brother in the gene pool. When Tom from Hertford came up to visit we went for a tour around Lancaster Castle. Luckily it is no longer being used as a prison, as otherwise the fact I totally messed up their payment machine with my card might have been a lot more serious. It's well worth a visit. From the functioning court rooms with seats costing thousands, to what's left of the prison with the pitch black cells and thick, bleak walls, you can see why the janitor was bribed on a daily basis. Although that could have just been because he was not paid. One of the most interesting rooms contained hundreds of shields, including the Queen's. This got me thinking about what my shield might look like. Perhaps a rose and some skis, or even a barcode, a nickname I gained in school (another thing which my brother then stole). Whatever the outcome it's final destination would have to be somewhere like the castle. Royalty, here I come!

The joys of jogging...

Today I bought a beanbag. And after constantly fidgeting I have now found the perfect position...pretty much off it. We have seen a lot of the Lake District in the past few days. Kendal and Cartmel to be precise. The sticky toffee pudding is well worth a taste. Although the south is very pretty, I still prefer the more dramatic hills of the north. Last year I spent a week getting lost around Ambleside, Bowness, Grasmere and Hawkshead. Personally, I think getting off the beaten path is the best way to explore. Apart from when you are jogging. To see a bus going in the opposite direction with Lancaster displayed as the destination does not bode well. Especially as 'soggy tomato' will never be a good look.

Rocks and mountains...

Beans are back on the menu, the running variety that is. With the half-marathon less than two months away training is in full swing, and Lancaster seems the perfect place. From the flat canal paths to the hills of Williamson Park, hopefully no complications will arise. This weekend I am heading up to the Lake District. The last time I was up in the fells it was freezing and caked in snow; the sun was fighting a continuing battle with the mist and casting eerie shadows across the surrounding hills. Hopefully the weather will be better this time. After being in Lancaster for four consective days, I am finally settling down and completing all those annoying tasks that have been building up over the past year. I now just need to do all those other ones too! For once the rain is working to my advantage; I have no desire to get soaked more than I need to.

All in preparation...

Today I am worrying about my kidneys, bean. Last year I contracted a kidney infection, apparently from my youth, and spent a few days in hospital connected to a drip. And after a sleepless night from back-ache, I am now drinking water like a fish just in case. I am also speeding up to Lancaster on a Virgin tilting train. Amazingly I am sitting first class, for the first time and have already been offered tea, coffee, cold drinks and sandwiches. Stupidly I have turned them all politely down and am now rather peckish. I thought I was going to have a relaxing time back home. I was wrong. From Hammersmith to Henley, birthday meals to catch-up coffees; I spent most of my time on the move. And that's just the start. Edinburgh is on the cards the weekend. I will never learn. Still, I am sure this is all wonderful practice for the half-marathon in May. Although there I will strive not to stop, even if I want to.

Oh here we come a wandering...

Over the past few weeks I have had to be rather like a broad bean. From Jamaica, to the Pop-Up Restaurant, Sweden to Bath. I am very happy to be home. Though not for long! Next stop Henley, shortly followed by Lancaster, and then to Edinburgh for my friend's birthday dance-off. If only I didn't have two left feet. That is not to say I did not enjoy my travels. I loved them. Bath was definitely the most relaxing. How the Roman Baths were not discovered until the late 1800s when the water, that had built up for centuries, pushed its way into the cellars of the houses above is astounding. The Abbey is another beautifully crafted building - in fact most of Bath is stunning. This was not always the case. Until 1960 most of the sandy-coloured stone had been dyed black from years of pollution. Perhaps this is another reason as to why Jane Austen did not enjoy her time in Bath after 1800. For the rest of the day I have vowed to put my feet up and relax. However, I am not one to sit still. I could probably be diagnosed as having itchy feet. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, there is no known cure.

(A while back I promised to write up how the Pop-Up Restaurant went on my cousin's blog, Food and Biscuits. It is now live here, so feel free to take a look.)

Planes, trains and snowmobiles...

Tonight I am a has-bean. I have just returned from Åre, Sweden and would very much like to go back. Åre is an unusual ski resort. Impressive comes to mind. The mountains rise up out of the frozen lake, which is technically a river. And as our taxi driver Tommy explained (by taking both hands off the steering wheel, putting them to the side of his head and bellowing), there are a lot of moose. With only 1,000 permanent residences in Åre, they very much welcome tourists. And as they all speak very good English you don't feel like an outsider. As well as skiing the slopes, we went snowmobiling. Snowmobiles to Swedes are like bikes to the Brits; everyone seems to own one. Luckily no one was injured on the ride, despite one couple colliding with a tree, and another ploughing into a snow-drift. The same can not be said of the snowmobiles. One thing I would say is if you are not a fan of T-bars, then perhaps Åre is not for you. Then again, I can't stand them and I still managed to have a wonderful time. 

Bring on the booze...

Goodness knows what bean I am today. Crazy comes to mind. I am hosting a charity dinner for a group of friends tomorrow. My plan. To get them as drunk as possible so if it goes horrendously wrong they won't remember.
Back in January I took part in the Everest Challenge for Snow-Camp. Snow-Camp is an innovative youth charity that uses a unique combination of skiing, snowboarding and life-skills programmes to support inner-city young people. All the money raised during the meal will be donated to this organisation.
Not only am I going to keep the wine flowing, I am also flying off to Sweden the next day just in case I become a wanted chef. All records of Saturday night will be posted on a very successful food blog called  Food and Biscuits. (Created by my cousin and her fiance.) So take a look (although give it a few days) and I hope you enjoy it.
The next time you hear from me I will probably be in Åre. So wish me luck. If nothing appears then I will make sure someone posts the whereabouts of my funeral. Food poisoning can be deadly. So are hung-over friends.

Apparently I don't look that innocent...

Today I am an addicted-to-coffee bean. After only managing to grab a few winks on the flight home due to lumpy seating, I am desperately trying to remain awake so I don't become nocturnal. My Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee also made the sniffer dog in Gatwick rather excitable. This meant I was taken aside by two burly blokes who proceeded to interrogate me about my time in Kingston. They finished by stabbing my coffee until they were satisfied that if it ever had been alive, it was now definitely dead, and that it was not harbouring any other suspicious substance. Luckily for me, it wasn't.
I've had an incredible time in Jamaica. From diving to dolphins through to manatees and making cakes, it's been a really wonderful holiday. A wise person once said, 'people make things special'. A well-worn phrase, but one that holds very true. Helen and her family went above and beyond to give me a taste of what Jamaica has to offer. And I loved every minute.

Those horns are made for honking...

Two days ago I was a soybean. Patties are a local favourite in Jamaica, and after trying one, I can see why. Slightly like Cornish Pasties, but with a hint of chilli and a range of fillings from fish to beef to soya, it makes the perfect snack.
When thinking about Jamaicans 'laid back' and 'no problem' comes to mind. And indeed, many are. However, after travelling to a number of places, especially Kingston, the relaxed attitude is clearly being stretched. The center is packed with shoppers closely monitored by policemen carrying rifles. Shanty towns, rather like the slums of India stretch for miles. Horns blare as cars make their presence known (usually while cutting up other drivers or people). And families selling local produce (or men tapping on windows to ask for change), weave through the queues created by pot-holes and traffic lights. Night-time brings a whole new world. Iron railings and shutters close across shop windows and home porches causing them to resemble miniature versions of Fort Knox. The volume is muted as the streets slowly become deserted. And yet even with barriers guarding their possessions and the slight road-rage, everyone remains friendly, open and helpful. From directing traffic when a lorry breaks down to pointing you the right way when lost, a wave and a smile, whatever their mood, goes a long way.

Colours of the rainbow...

Tomorrow I will be a coral bean. The last time I went diving was in Egypt with my Mum and Brother. The sign-language you are taught, can always be improvised upon. And after some interesting actions from my Mum, (hands a meter apart, pointing finger through OK sign, and universal shark symbol), I realised what she was getting at was rather rude, and that you can laugh underwater. Helen is in for a treat. Jamaica is a very diverse island. So far I have been swimming with dolphins, trekking through the rainforest up in the Blue Mountains, and seen This Means War. Going to the cinema in Jamaica is definitely a worthwhile experience. Everyone stands for the National Anthem, the idea of being quiet throughout the film does not register, and there is an interval about two-thirds of the way through where a heavy-red curtain closes off the screen. It makes your evening even more enjoyable, to know that when you laugh (and quite often in my case, snort) loudly, instead of feeling embarrassed, it joins the constant wave of noise and gives the impression (whatever your thoughts, and however far you've travelled) that you belong.

Cool runnings...

Today I am a baked bean. After being serenaded by a drunk Jamaican on Grolsch, listening to another man belt out his prayers, and watching a small toddler practice her sprinting between the aisles, we arrived. The first thing that hits you is the heat. And the second thing was Helen. (Not hitting, of course, but hugging.) We are about to head off to Port Royal, a small fishing village near downtown Kingston. The Rough Guide says it was once condemned as "the wickedest city on the earth". Luckily  we are wicked enough already, so won't be influenced.

Perhaps some whiskey is in order...

Today I will be a winged bean. (I promise to stop these awful bean-related comments soon.) So the next time I write some witty (just kidding) paragraph I will be in Kingston. After travelling on many planes, I realise now I will never totally curb my fear of flying. Whilst coming back from Cuba last year, the elderly man I was sitting next to clearly saw that I was not entirely comfortable, and so spent 30 minutes telling me the basic laws of physics in regards to an airplane, with diagrams I hasten to add. Apparently, the take-off is the safest part (apart from it not taking off of course), but that still did not solve my problem with the landing. I read in the Lonely Planet magazine recently that Ben Fogle has trained himself to fall asleep the moment he sits down on a plane, and does not wake up until the tires bump onto the runway. I wish now I knew his secret. Although, knowing him, the answer would be along the lines of perseverance.