Japan

I had a banging headache. I don’t often get them, but when I do, I get them bad. It really hurt, so much so that I could have cried, but didn’t because it would have made it worse. I was after some sympathy so started whinging to Chris. He seemed in capable of caring and pretty much blanked everything I said apart from the odd grunt because he was too preoccupied on his phone. I sat back feeling a bit sorry for myself and as I did so I leant on the remote control which changed the tv channel. It went to Sky News. Japan was on. I was suddenly over come with guilt. There I was sat in my house, on the sofa in front of the tv moaning about how my head hurt when hundreds of thousands of people have had their lives totally destroyed by the earthquake and tsunami that had recently hit.

Having studied for a journalism degree for 3 years you’d think that I’d be an avid watcher of the news. I’m afraid I’m not. Don’t get me wrong I know what’s going on in the world but that’s more down to looking on the internet. Nowadays watching the news isn’t high on my agenda. It’s filled with sadness and horrific stories which although are important to know about, I sometimes don’t want to physically watch them. The disaster in Japan is a prime example of this. Our tv screens have been filled with horrifying images and videos from the disaster, which hasn't made for an easy watch. Chris and I sat in silence for a good ten minutes before I had to turn it over. It was terrifying. I couldn't, and still can't even begin to imagine what the people over there are going through. Now, although I'd rather not watch footage of the disaster, that doesn't mean I don't care or am not interested. In fact it's the complete opposite.

For those of you who, like me don't always enjoy watching the news, and subsequently aren't aware of the full devastation that has occurred I'm going to briefly sum up what has happened over the last 6 days in Japan for you..

It all started with a series of powerful earthquakes struck north-east Japan on Friday 11^th March, (5.46am our time) one of which had an insanely high magnitude of 9.0. In Tokyo (which is hundreds of miles from the initial quake) skyscrapers swayed and terrified workers fled out onto the streets. The first earthquake struck at 2:46pm local time and measured magnitude 8.8, the severity of the quakes caused a tsunami. The waters height of which was measured as high as 10 metres. Within 30 minutes the same region was rocked by two more big quakes of slightly lower intensity. The first quake that hit was Japan’s biggest for seven years. More than 50 aftershocks followed, seven of which registered in at, at least, 6.3 on the Richter scale. Tsunami warnings were then issued for Russia, eastern Indonesia, the entire western coast of the United States and Canada from the Mexican border Alaska. Now geography has never been my strongest subject but even I know that America isn’t overly close to Japan as there’s the huge Pacific Ocean between them (I definitely did not just have to google that!) So I knew there was bound to be more bad news to follow...

Sure enough the bad news kept rolling in. On Saturday Japan's government launched a rescue mission mobilising thousands of troops and there were fears that more than a thousand people had died. The tsunami was so strong that ships were being swept away. Towns, cities and whatever else were being instantly destroyed by the powerful water. And as if the numerous earthquakes and a tsunami wasn’t enough, then came the news of the explosions at several Japanese nuclear plants. By Sunday the 13^th of March Japan were now on nuclear alert. There was a hydrogen explosion at Fukushima (one of their main Nuclear plants). On Monday the 14^th a second hydrogen explosion occurred resulting in there being dangerous levels of radiation leaking from the Fukushima plant by Tuesday the 15th after a third explosion.

Amid the mangled towers of wreckage and flooded debris, Japan is a country in despair. They along with the rest of the world who are watching are obviously grateful for any cheerful news. Luckily there was some yesterday; the discovery of a four-month old baby girl who was found alive under heaps of rubble. She had survived the ordeal for three days all alone after the tsunami swept her away from her family and their home. They had believed her to be dead. Now, not only was she found alive and well but she was later reunited with her father. I for one, have never really believed in miracles, but that truly is one.

With the crisis still unfolding, celebrities have started to get involved, trying to encourage their fans to take action and help them collect relief funds. Lady Gaga has designed a bracelet with the words “We Pray For Japan” printed in both English and Japanese on them and is selling them for $5 each, all of the proceeds will be donated to relief funds. Not one to be out of the news, Charlie Sheen has announced that some of the revenue from his upcoming live shows will be donated to help Japan. His website says that $1 of every ticket sold will be donated to the Red Cross Japanese Earthquake Relief Fund. Whilst many have taken to Twitter, including Katy Perry, P Diddy, Chris Brown and Alexandra Burke to spread the word of the Red Cross Appeal.

There have now been 4277 confirmed deaths throughout Japan (as of 5pm, on Wednesday 16^th march) this number will sadly but obviously increase over the upcoming days and weeks, and there are also still over 9000 people missing. Suddenly that “awful” headache I was moaning about doesn’t seem so bad.

Handbags have my heart.

I think it would be fair to say that I enjoy the finer things in life, especially when it comes to handbags…

My need to have the “best” started at quite a young age, demanding sparkly shoes and whatnot. However it was at the age of 16 that I upped the ante and my obsession for handbags truly begun. It was around the time of the “Wag intrusion” they were all over the newspapers and so were their bags. One in particular caught my eye. The Chloe Paddington. It was relatively small, made of real leather and had a padlock on it. It also came with quite a price tag. One that sadly, as an unemployed, just finished school and unable to save my pocket money, 16 year old I wasn’t going to afford. Thank goodness for parents hey. The day I was given that bag was one I will never forget. I’d just started college and my dad picked me up from the train station. I opened the car door to see a beige Chloe dust bag on the front seat. I screamed. He jumped. I grabbed the dust bag and delved in. There she was, in her chocolate brown glory. She was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. The padlock was shiny and had a leather rim that said Chloe on it. She also smelt amazing, there’s nothing quite like the smell of a brand new bag. I felt like I’d given birth. She was my baby and I wasn’t going to let ANYTHING happen to her. From that moment onwards she would be super-glued to my arm, pride of place. I stared at her the entire journey home (it was only 5 minutes but still I’m easily distracted.) The next day heads turned. The bag was eye catching. People were clearly jealous. I was loving it! Ever since that day I wanted to own the “it” bag of the season.

Fast forward a couple of years and it was the summer before I started uni, I was on holiday in Marbella. There was a shop in Puerto Banus called 007, it had a white Guess bag in the window which I recognised as I had previously seen it advertised in Vogue. I needed it. The eyelashes worked their magic and fluttered constantly until my Dad caved in and made the purchase. The lady went to put it in the dust bag, I told her not to bother and wacked it straight on my arm. It was pristine and amazing. I got the same buzz that I got from the Chloe, but even more so (probably because I was in a hot country.) Let’s skip another year and I was now at uni, which I hated. It wasn’t my friend. The only thing I liked about it was its closeness to West Quay. Instead of going to lessons that would depress me, I’d go shopping, which would make me smile. First week back of year 2 and I was feeling low. I didn’t want to be there, I longed to leave, but I wasn’t allowed. So to cheer myself up I bought a bag. This time it was a Ted Baker beauty. Once again, it was made of real leather and smelt lovely. It worked, the bag cheered me up and I used it as an incentive to attend uni. A good few hundred pounds well spent, thank you student loan! I honestly believe that if it wasn’t for that bag I would have dropped out and not achieved my degree. Now, don't get me wrong, the Ted Baker was lovely, but it wasn’t an “it” bag. I hadn’t seen celebs with it and it wasn’t in magazines, but I had my eye on a new one...

Step forward the Louis Vuitton Limited Edition Monogram Vernis Alma GM (the bigger version) in gold. It was breath-taking. It put all my other bags to shame. I’d never seen anything like it. I needed one. But the price tag was eye-watering. It cost more than several of my friend’s cars. Christ! I’d never been deprived growing up, but I thought I may had been pushing it too far that time. After all it was, just, a bag. Anyway it was nearing Christmas so I put in some ground-work regardless. Mentioning here and there about how much I loved it, dropping hints like pictures of it around the house, you know really subtle stuff… ahem!  Christmas came and went and I didn’t get the bag. This made me a little blue, but I wasn’t overly surprised so it was ok. And anyway, I was going to New York in January and little old me “Emma I-Spend-Everything-I-Earn-And-Even-More Jamieson” had only gone and saved enough for the bag and the matching purse. I had NEVER saved for anything in my life before, but boy was I determined to be the owner of this beauty.

I pretty much headed to the Louis Vuitton shop on 5^th Avenue straight after getting off the plane. I’d visited before and loved the building (it was windows covered in the LV logo all in different colours.) I hadn’t been that bothered by it last time, but this time it was my haven. It was the home of THE bag. I walked in and I saw it immediately. I scanned, but I couldn’t see the colour I wanted. Bugger. I asked the sales assistant who clearly thought I wasn’t serious about buying one and he told me the gold version I had so desperately wanted was a special edition, only 1000 were made and they had all been sold. My world shattered. The bag I had lusted over for months was not going to be mine after all. I pondered about getting the bright pink version instead, but it just wasn’t the same. So instead I blew all that money I’d worked so hard on saving on clothes, make up, Uggs and crap! Once again shopping had come to the rescue for mending my broken heart. I returned to England rather glum, not only was I suffering from the dreaded post-New York blues, but I was also bag-less. Life seemed so cruel. A couple of months passed and I found myself in March and still unable to stop thinking about the bag, so once again I put in some ground work just before my birthday, not expecting anything to come from it, but living in hope (I didn’t bother with pictures this time, they knew what it looked like after my attempts at Christmas!) We went to Dubai for my Mum’s birthday at the beginning of April and went into every LV shop that we came across. They were teasing me, asking me to look at colours, walk around the shop with it on my arm and then not buying me one. It was horrible. I hated them for it.

Anyway along come the morning of 20^th April 2009. My mum and dad knocked at my door, I was angry at them for doing so because I didn’t have uni until mid-day so there was no need to be waking me up at 9am. They entered the room and I was being grumpy because they’d woken me up. My dad had a huge, I mean an enormous, box in his arms which he put at the end of my bed. “There’s no way we could hide this so you can have it now.” Huh? I was so confused, what was he on about? I sat up and looked at the box; it had LV all over it. My heart literally stopped. Could it be? Had they bought me the bag? Surely not? It was super expensive and I hadn’t done anything extra ordinary to deserve such a bag. I hadn’t passed any major exams, in fact I’d failed quite a few. Maybe it was just a horrible joke they were playing on me and it was a big Jack-in-a-box or something. Anyway I grabbed the box and tried to get into it regardless. I managed to open it, after breaking a nail, fml. I started shaking. It was the bag. They’d bought me the bag. In a stunning violet colour. It was beyond beautiful. Words couldn’t (and still can’t) explain it. I took it out and stared in awe. I totally forgot my parents who had bought it for me were in the room and I hadn’t even said thanks yet! (I may sometimes be spoilt, but I am always grateful. I was bought up to have manners and I hate people who don’t have any - but that's a total other blog!) I said a huge thank you and then went back to dribbling over the bag. And they hadn’t just got me the bag but the matching purse as well. I felt like I was on cloud 9, a violet monogrammed patent leather Louis Vuitton cloud 9! I went to uni that afternoon clutching my beautiful present and feeling somewhat like Victoria Beckham, I was obviously rocking the over-sized sunglasses as well. Once again heads turned, this time even more so. The bag was HUGE. It was shiny and it was simply amazing. I walked in and people knew. I’d been going on about how much I longed for the bag for months, (surprisingly no one had told me to shut up about it, bless them they were such a lovely bunch at uni) and now I had it. It was there, in the flesh, on my frigging arm. Get in! It wasn’t long before I was known to many as “the girl with the bag.” That made, and still does make, me smile! That bag was and still is my pride of joy. I don’t use her as much as I should; she now comes out just for special occasions, instead of an everyday kind of bag. But I still get butterflies when I step out the front door with her. She really is special!

Sadly since my Louis, I haven’t had another ridiculously extravagant bag. But, fear not my birthday is coming up and my next conquest is a Mulberry, or a Chanel. Actually why stop at one? I’ll have them both. Thanks!...

Circular Culinary Delights

The title may seem like a bizarre choice, but please don’t judge a blog by its name. There really is a reason behind my madness…

Today is Tuesday the 8th of March 2011, this year’s Shrove Tuesday (also the day after Jaz’s birthday.) The tradition of Shrove Tuesday is to eat Pancakes. I for one am a fan of pancakes. They are circular in shape. I have subsequently come to the conclusion that circular-shaped-foods are my favourite. So I thought, to hell with it, I'm going to write a blog on it. (As ever I am delving into really important issues and news worthy matters, and blogging about them.. *ahem*)

I’ll start with some English terminology and background history. *snort* The word ‘shrove’ is the past participle of the English verb to shrive, which means to obtain absolution for one's sins by way of confession and doing penance (remorse for your past conduct.) ‘Shrove Tuesday’ is the last day before Lent starts on ‘Ash Wednesday.’ Lent is a Christian tradition which leads up to Easter. Lent is a time for sacrifice for Jesus. Believers (and non-believers) give things up that they love (normally edible) for the 40 days (or around) until Easter Sunday. It’s difficult, I tried it, once. Second year of uni. No chocolate. Killer.

Enough of the ‘intellectual’ chat and onto the pressing issue of this blog: My favourite circular shaped foods. Please note, these will be listed in no particular order (so if any Malteasers or Oreos are reading this and don’t like where they are placed, rest assured I love you all equal amounts.) Right let’s do this, my favourite circular shaped foods are as follows...

Pancakes. Pizza. Crumpets. Chocolate Hobnobs. Oreos. Party Rings. Aero Bubbles. Chocolate Buttons. Candy necklaces. Malteasers. Terry’s Orange Chocolate. Oranges (more for the colour, not the actual fruit.)

And, there we have it, a list of my favourite circular foods complete. I also noticed that they all make you fat. They expand your waistline to resemble somewhat of a circle, if you will. Talk about an absolute coincidence/BONUS!

However, one circular shaped food that breaks my un-dying love, are peas. I do not enjoy them, in the slightest. Hate is often described as a 'strong word' but I genuinely hate the rancid little green things. Seriously why anyone would choose to eat peas is beyond me. I’m not a fan, apart from these two that I found on a postcard. They are cute; I appreciate them, a lot.

Having written this blog, I’ve realised that I quite like circles in general. I feel this may because of the little maths geek that is hidden away deep down inside me but dying to be unleashed. I mean, a circle is the locus of all points equidistant from a central point. What’s not to love about that? And with circles comes the cheeky little devil that is pi (π = 3.14159265.) This is the mathematical constant of the ratio between the circumference and diameter of a circle. I personally think the circle is the most efficient two dimensional shape: the greatest area enclosed by the least perimeter. And on a lighter note, the sun also appears circular in shape. He is out in full force today. And bubbles are round. I fricking love bubbles. Smiley face.

FYI today is also ‘International Women’s Day’ so I thought I’d take full advantage of my allowance to free speech and write yet another absolutely pointless blog. For all of the males out there who don't like it, SUCK IT. Women died to allow me to do this, therefore I shall milk it for all it is worth. This is a big up to all the ladies out there, past and present, who share my love for circular foods, in particular my CHS’s and Rihanna. I have big love for you ♥ (espesh you Elliza, CHS of the week!) xxxxxxxx

I'm off to listen to Independent Women by Destiny's Child on repeat. I will obviously attempt to sing along whilst stuffing my face with pancakes. I love life!

All the women who independent, throw your hands up at meeeeeeeee... *crams in a pancake*

The aftermath of THAT blog...

This blog should be seen as an achievement for CHS everywhere. We're spreading the word and making guys realise the errors of their ways. Well done to you all. Keep those legs of yours open and your hearts closed.

Now, this will seem big-headed but sometimes I receive the odd comment after writing a blog, or asking for another one to be written. It’s the most fulfilling feeling. I love writing these and I love the fact some of you enjoy reading them even more. Because I don’t write them as frequently as I used to, I feel that when I do I need to have the perfect topic to rant on. A topic I feel strongly on. A topic that will hopefully interest and entertain you all. I didn’t think I was onto a winner with the whole PDA, CHS and GGS triple whammy but it was something I could talk about for hours so in my hungover state I thought why the hell not?

So there I was, late on Sunday evening, in joggers looking and feeling rough after a heavy Saturday night. Having endured a day filled with a hangover from hell the last thing any normal person would want to do is write a blog... Well, I’m not normal, so out came Word and I started to type. I’d wanted to write a blog based around PDA’s for a while, as I started to get into it the CHS and GGS elements just seemed to fit perfectly, so they were included. I wasn’t really thinking about what people would make of it, I was too busy making sure I got everything down before I forgot it. I forget things easily at the best of times, but when suffering from a mushy hangover brain I’m ten times worse. It wasn’t pretty, there were bullet points, spelling mistakes and incorrect grammar all over the shop.

I published it, popped it on Twitter and Facebook and went to sleep. Even though I was lying in bed when typing it up the simple activity of having to use my brain was shattering so I dozed off not thinking anything of it. I awoke the next morning/lunchtime to several messages. I’m not going to lie, that’s not an unusual occurrence (I’m a CHS I have many people on the go, obvo. – Jokes C…) Anyway 7 texts, 12 bbms, a few facebook notifications and several tweets did seem quite a lot, even for Queen Bee Me. I got tucked in and they were all about the blog (well apart from one message from my mum telling me to walk the dog AND hoover downstairs, biatch obviously confused me as a slave and not her daughter that day..)

I didn’t realise I knew so many CHS. I honestly feel it’s shown me a different side to some of you sly little minxes! So proud! And the fact that some of you have even re-evaluated your ways and are thinking of becoming CHS's is super. So very proud! Anyway the reason I’m writing such a self-indulgent blog is because I’ve just been sent a picture from Kelly (one of my most loyal CHS') of two guys (I’ve never met either of them) with GGS written on their arms, just before going out. ABSOLUTE IDOLS. Freddie and Ben, I salute you. (FYI you've been added to my cuddle list, you both deserve one!) You go with your GGS bad-selves and you pull some pathetic un-CHSs tonight. Go hard boys, make us CHS proud! Never in my wildest dreams did I think I’d be supporting GGS sufferers, yet here I am praising them. Crazy!

Basically, I genuinely meant every word I wrote in that blog and I'd just like to reiterate how much time and love I have for my fellow CHS, you complete me. Honestly, cuddles repulse me the majority of the time. Sometimes, yes I’ll admit it, they can be nice. After a long hard day a snuggle on the sofa when watching Gossip Girl, whilst imagining it’s Chace Crawford I’m cosied up to, can be ideal. But too much cuddling is like munching on aero bubbles, whilst drinking a hot chocolate and dunking borbon biscuits. It’s sickly. (Trust me, I’ve tried it.) And on that note I’m off to brush my teeth...!

FYI sometime soon I will be writing a blog all about breakfasts. It's going to be intense! xo