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Nights out in your 30s: Preparation is everything

19/07/2015 by Charlotte 2 Comments

As I lay awake after the first big night out I’ve had which wasn’t at a wedding for the past approx. five years – feet burning, ears ringing, room doing an unhelpful spin – I wondered how on earth I used to do this every night. Because there was a time when that happened. I won’t be too specific but let’s just say MSN messenger was a BIG DEAL back then.

Yesterday’s frivolities brought my 30th birthday celebrations to a close in the best way possible – with drinking and dancing and hanging out with the kind of friends that you want to stand on a stool in front of and declare “I LOVE EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU” until you realise that’s a bad idea as your ability to remain balanced even when you haven’t drunk anything is limited. Best to just text them all afterwards instead.

But aside from other people’s nuptials and birthday parties, big nights of boozing and shape-throwing just don’t happen so much any more. And for that reason, when they do come around, I have to spend a few days getting myself physically and mentally prepared for it. For example, this week I:

– didn’t go out on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday or Thursday evening in the interests of storing up as much energy as possible for last night (much like a hamster loading up its cheeks with nuts or bits of carrot, except I just stocked up on sofa time, Orange is the New Black and sweets).

– considered my pre-party diet very carefully. I had to make sure I ate enough so that I wouldn’t get drunk at the first whiff of alcohol, but not so much that I’d need to lie down in the corner of the bar mid-party and have a nap – OR look so bloated that everyone would think they were at a baby shower instead of a 30th. A very tough balance to strike.

Lucky

– added an extra half an hour to my getting ready time so that I could put on liquid eyeliner. Sure, it looks nice but my main reason for choosing it is because once it’s on, it doesn’t move, whereas after a couple of hours in eye shadow, it’s not so much that I look like I’ve been punched, more like someone has slapped me in the face incredibly slowly, dragging every grain of colour across my eyes.

– decided to wear jeans with a very comfortable waistband. I was going to wear a dress that is very tight around the middle but I shunned it in the interests of being able to breathe – something that matters to be more and more as I get older.

– selected a pair of heels with a very strong strap to avoid stepping out of them and breaking my ankle mid over-enthusiastic dance move (FYI all of my moves fall into this category – if you’re going to go out, you might as well get an entire year’s worth of exercise done in one evening, in my opinion). Of course such a shoe doesn’t necessarily save you from a tumble but my rule is: if I’m going down, my shoes are coming with me.

I didn’t used to need all this preparation – I remember being at university and not even deciding whether to go out until 11pm whereas if you suggested that to me now I’d… well, I wouldn’t hear you because I’d be asleep.

But the good thing is that the less frequently that something lovely happens, the more you appreciate it when it does. Celebrating with friends, drinking cocktails filled with raspberries and lemon (oh and gin, loads of gin), and struggling to go to sleep because your feet are throbbing so hard from all the jiving that they’re just not used to, doesn’t happen every day (and for that my toes will always be grateful) so we have to make the most of it when it does.

I’m already looking forward to next time, whenever that should come around, just as long as I have plenty of warning. In the mean time, I’ll be sat safely on my sofa, nursing my poor feet back to their former glory and preparing them for their next expedition outside.

If my current state of exhaustion is anything to go by, I fear I may be 40 before I’m ready for that to happen.

If you want to be a writer, guilt is just part of the deal

16/07/2015 by Charlotte Leave a Comment

This post is a shout out, a high five, a hug, to all the writers out there currently feeling guilty about the fact that they are not, at this very moment, writing.

Writing is kind of similar to A-Level revision in that when you’re not doing it, you feel bad about it. You feel like you’re letting yourself down and that you’re definitely going to fail because you’ve dared to stop for half an hour to have a Cornetto or a milkshake or to – heaven forbid – take a day off to hang out with friends, decorate the bathroom or get on top of that weeding.

But I’m here to say that we need to give ourselves a break.

There is no denying that if you’re going to do this thing – to get those words down, blogs posted, chapters finished, deadlines met – then you are going to have to put the time in and get your sh*t together, because nobody’s gonna do it for you, but you also have to cut yourself some slack.

You need to make time for writing – lots of time, let’s be honest about that – but you also need to be OK with having time when you don’t write. In fact, I think it’s a good idea to have time when you decide specifically not to do it. Book yourself in for a spot of relaxation, a nap, an episode or seven of Orange is the New Black and do it without a computer screen in front of you. It’ll do you and your words the world of good. Step away from the light.

For anybody who doesn’t write or have another all-consuming passion, this might sound mad. But, for me at least, the guilt is just part of the deal and it’s my job to manage it so that I can do it all whilst still, you know, leaving the house every now and then and maintaining relationships with actual human beings.

One of the ways round it – obviously – is to have a plan. Whenever I have a clear list of things that I can tick off when they’re done, I feel more able to give myself permission to put the laptop away and do something else – change that bed, go out for that dinner, or just sit and stare hard into that abyss – whatever I want; it’s my time and I’ve earnt it because I’ve made progress. Because that’s what this game is all about after all.

And we all know that even if we’re not actually writing, we’re still thinking about it. The ideas are ticking over, the jokes are formulating, and the words are starting to form into sentences that will be ready to fall out of our minds and onto the page as soon as we can get our hands on a notebook. So we never really truly stop.

So this is for you, fellow guilt enthusiasts. I feel your pain. But let’s ease off a bit shall we, give ourselves a break. That milkshake isn’t going to drink itself now, is it?

30 years, 30 pieces of wisdom

12/07/2015 by Charlotte Leave a Comment

Hello, my name is Charlotte Buxton and I’m 30 years old. No really, I’m FINE with it.

Last year when I turned 29 I wrote this list of things I’d learnt by that point. And in the interests of tradition (and not having to come up with some amazing new idea for a post when I’m still exhausted from opening cards and counting my wrinkles) I thought I’d do it again following this more significant birthday. So here’s 30 things I’ve learnt in the last 30 years. And no, I haven’t just copied and pasted the list from last year and added one more thing to it. I’m old, I’m not lazy.

1. I haven’t had any children, but I’m pretty sure that looking after them will be easier than trying to keep an orchid alive.

2. A good sandwich is like a good man – hard to find but when you do, do whatever it takes to make it a part of your life every single day.

3. If I’m cross, there’s a 99% chance that it’s because I’m either hungry or overtired. And heaven help you if it’s both.

4. Related: If you suggest that perhaps one of those things is the problem at the time, I will punch you in the face (unless perhaps you have a biscuit for me?)

5. All your preaching about why you shouldn’t have chocolate for breakfast goes right out of the window the moment you try Nutella.

6. Nothing cures a hangover so well as time, total isolation, and the freedom to moan until the pain stops. Water also helps.

7. However recently you finished painting your finger nails, it’s still too soon to put on an oven glove.

8. There are some things in life that can be done quickly, and putting on liquid eyeliner is not one of them.

9. See also: painting a bathroom, curling your hair, and saying good bye to your mum on the phone.

10. Nothing is more important than knowing how to use the verb ‘evacuate’ correctly.

11. Never be afraid to try a whole new hair colour. It’s 2015 – worst case scenario, someone will know how to dye that sh*t back.

12. There is pretty much no situation in life that cannot be compared to a scene from The Thick Of It.

13. Whatever time you think you put the dinner in the oven, it was five minutes before that.

14. Related: life without an egg timer is a life lived in chaos.

15. Getting people to like your ideas is one thing, persuading them to pay you for them is quite another.

16. Pedicures are just another example of one of the many forms of torture we put ourselves through in order to look nice.

17. I have always got mascara on at least three parts of my face besides my eyelashes. And it is never intentional.

18. Jobs wise, the grass is most definitely not always greener on the other side. Be sure before you cross that bridge.

19. Yes it is annoying when people put make-up on whilst on the train, but for the extra five minutes in bed it gets you, it is worth p*ssing off an entire carriage.

20. Flip-flops aren’t shoes. I know it’s hard to take, but they’re not.

21. There comes a time when hobbies stop being just a nice thing to pop at the end of your CV, and start being the most precious part of your life. For me, that time is now.

22. If nature knew what it was doing, the banana tree would also grow chewing gum to eradicate the ‘like I’ve swallowed a compost heap’ feeling you get after eating a ‘nana.

23. There is nothing more fascinating than your own head for the first four hours after a hair appointment.

24. If only Cara Delevingne had been there to demonstrate the wonder of having full eyebrows in the mid-nineties, the brows of my generation would look very different.

25. Every person who is in love believes that THEIR love is greater than any other that has ever existed. Bless.

26. Friendship takes on a whole new dimension once you hit your late twenties when everybody finally admits how chuffing HARD life can be.

27. You don’t need to marry somebody rich or famous but you do need to marry somebody who will tell you when you’ve accidentally put together an outfit which makes it look like you’re wearing pyjamas.

28. Though it doesn’t sound like a life-altering discovery, when you find out that you can freeze herbs, it CHANGES YOUR LIFE.

29. There is no greater victory in life than beating somebody at a thumb war.

30. However mature you thought you were going to be by the time you got to 30, you were wrong.

Turning 30 and the inevitable fear that you’ve done nothing with your life

05/07/2015 by Charlotte 6 Comments

I turn 30 next Saturday (feel free to DM me for my address so that you can send me cards/jewellery/hard cash) and, inevitably, I’ve spent a good amount of the last six months wondering why I have failed to achieve EVERY SINGLE THING IN THE WORLD before reaching this allegedly significant age.

I understand this is normal. Friends in the same position have said the same thing. Turning 30 seems to have a strange effect on us. We all seem to feel that by this time we should know exactly what we’re doing with our lives, that we should be excellent at doing it, and that now we should be free to sit back and chew on one of the vine ripened tomatoes we’ve casually grown in our back gardens whilst simultaneously nailing our careers, marriages and extensive voluntary work.

But I’m just not sure that’s true.

First of all, we need to give ourselves a break. We’re so quick to focus on what we haven’t done that we don’t acknowledge what we have. And in 30 years that will be a lot of things. All the lessons we’ve learnt, the friends we’ve made, the relationships we’ve had, the jobs we’ve done, the haircuts we’ve been through before realising that actually, yes, that forehead is best kept behind a fringe… So many things. So before we write the last three decades off, we’d do well to remember that they most definitely haven’t been wasted. I’ve watched Mrs Doubtfire 25 times, I’m currently on my seventh viewing of the full Cold Feet box set, and I’ve spent a good week of the last 30 years eating cheese puffs – so don’t try and tell me I haven’t used my time wisely.

Secondly, where did we get this idea that this was some kind of deadline? Alright, maybe you don’t know exactly what you want to do with your life, but that’s OK – working that out is, in itself, progress. And you’ve (all being well) got loads of time to ask yourself the right questions so that you can figure it out. People love talking to you about that sh*t because most are in the same position. Or if you’re one of those rare beasts that does know what you want to do but you’re just not there yet then WELL DONE, DO YOU KNOW HOW RIDICULOUSLY RARE IT IS TO EVEN KNOW THAT, and how marvellously exciting that you can now get on with doing it. Treat 30 like a wonderful new beginning, the decade in which you will get that job / write that book / FINALLY finish painting the bathroom. Carpe diem, hakuna matata and YOLO, dear friend. It’s all to play for.

Thirdly, it’s important to remember that success is subjective. I find it so interesting speaking to people I consider to be absurdly successful and sorted who think quite the opposite about themselves. Your idea of a day spent failing at everything might be another person’s idea of a really successful one because you had the balls to TRY whilst they were too afraid to even give their goals a go. We are all our own harshest judges which is why it helps to have a few chums nearby to remind us that we’re much better at life than we realise. And to occasionally just tell us to stop being a baby and GET ON WITH IT. That can be quite useful too.

And lastly, 30 is a good age. (I know I haven’t technically hit it yet but I imagine that the way you feel at 29 years and 359 days old is pretty similar). You know so much about yourself, what you like, what you don’t like, where you stand on important issues like whether cheese should go on top of the beans on a jacket potato or beneath (on top, obviously). You know what your values are, what kind of wife/husband/friend/sister/brother/shopping companion you want to be, and just how short your temper is when somebody pushes in front of you in a queue. This is all extremely useful information. And with it you can enter a new decade filled with good friendships, nice times and orderly queues, without ever being disappointed that all the cheese on your jacket potato has disappeared into a sea of beans.

Having thought it through, I think that turning 30 is going to be just fine. A time for new beginnings, bold choices and confidence in our selection of hairstyles. And who knows, maybe I will invest in that tomato plant after all.

5 excellent places to have breakfast in the West Village, New York City

02/07/2015 by Charlotte Leave a Comment

They say that the best blog posts are useful.

When we were in New York a couple of months ago, the thing I googled most frequently was ‘breakfast west village new york’ (because none of us bother with capitalisation or punctuation on google, do we.) And the internet was a great help to me so it seems only fair that I return the favour and help any future NYC visitors enjoy the same breakfasty splendour that we had.

There are many great things about NYC but my highlight was definitely breakfast. Partly because, as is tradition, it always came at the very start of the day when we had a whole seven hours or so of exploring ahead, and partly because the food was just so damn good. We were there five days, had five breakfasts and I would recommend every single one. They come to you now in chronological order, informed by the small travel diary I am now very pleased that I kept.

1. French Roast, 78 West 11th Street

The first day of a holiday is just marvellous, isn’t it. So much joy, so much hope, so much time ahead when you don’t have to have discussions about how you’re going to get back to the airport or whether either of you has kept a spare plastic bag aside to carry your worn socks home in. Our first morning took us to French Roast. This place is ideal for your first American brekkie with a choice of all the things you want to see on the menu – eggs, omelettes, fruit, pancakes – as well as the option to sit outside and watch Sixth Avenue fly by. In my jet lagged state I didn’t feel ready to stomach the full NY breakfast experience just yet so opted for the yogurt and fruit with a bonus drop of honey which was delicious, and my husband Leon had eggs Florentine (like he does absolutely everywhere that will sell them to him) and enjoyed it very much. All round a very cool, reasonably priced and friendly little joint. A very strong welcome to NYC.

2. Buvette, 42 Grove Street

If I knew I only had one day left on earth and the choice of just one last breakfast, I would have it here. Positioned on one of the many gorgeous tree-lined streets in this part of town sits Buvette, a petite but perfectly formed café bringing a beautiful touch of Paris to the village. If you go, try and get a seat at the counter where you can watch the magic happen (there are no reservations). I had the Belgian waffles which tasted all the better for having witnessed the mixture being poured onto the griddle and the doughy results plated up in front of me before being drizzled with berries and crème fraiche. They were so soft and so sweet that I had to hold back a tear when they were gone – which they were as soon as I’d stopped taking photographs of them. Leon had fried eggs, prosciutto and chorizo on toast and didn’t say a word until he’d eaten every last bite which is always a good sign. He also says the coffee was the best he’s ever had. So there. Go.

(I understand there is also a Buvette in Paris so will be on the next train out there).

3. Cornelia Street Café, 29 Cornelia Street

On day three – which peaked at 32 degrees – in pursuit of some early morning sustenence, we stumbled upon this Franco-American café just off lovely Bleecker Street and sat at table in the window beneath the bright red awning to try and cool down. This place is wonderfully calm and relaxing and there are seats outside too. The highlight of our visit was our waiter who was able to predict just by listening to my English accent that when I ordered ‘eggs any style’ that I’d want them poached. “It’s a thing, right?” he said with a knowing smile before then doing an excellent impression of a British person saying the word ‘poached’. I guess you had to be there but it was VERY funny. And the food was excellent too. Whoever came up with the idea that breakfast should come with a side of garlic potatoes is a very clever person.

4. Hu Kitchen, 78 5th Avenue

This café is everything I thought New York would be. The food and drink is all supremely healthy – everything is entirely gluten free, unprocessed, clean – you feel like it’s the kind of place you’d love to be able to afford to eat in every day and just sit back and watch your skin glow. We both had a sausage, egg and kale open sandwich which was good and just very wholesome. Unlike almost every single other piece of gluten free bread I’ve eaten (which is a lot, by the way – when I’m not on holiday I keep myself as gluten free as I can in the interests of not being permanently bloated #hotstuff) this was actually really tasty. The fruit smoothies were splendid too. It’s a little on the pricey side compared to some of the other places we went but it very much feels like you’re paying for goodness so it’s definitely worth a try.

5. Café Cluny, 284 W 12th Street

If I knew that I only had two days left on earth and the choice of two last breakfasts, I’d have the first at Buvette and the second at Café Cluny. Our final hurrah in the West Village before getting on the plane back to London was here and WHAT a way to go. Another lovely café on another beautiful street, permanently populated by people walking the best dogs I have ever seen. This is how I shall remember New York. Go here and have the chili avocado on toast (which FYI comes gluten free and delicious as standard. How can we get some of this excellent bread delivered to London?) with a poached egg on top. I can also recommend the pancakes which were MASSIVE but Leon took them on and nobly ate every last piece. I was so proud of him.

I very much hope that this is useful and that it helps somebody someday have a lovely NYC breakfast. Save me a fork-full of waffle, won’t you.

4 things that happen when your name is Charlotte

04/05/2015 by Charlotte 2 Comments

A princess has been born and her name is Charlotte which, in my entirely biased view, was a very strong choice. My mum is delighted. She’s always been very proud of herself for having called me Charlotte – “You have such a good name,” she says, “I did SO WELL coming up with that,” as if she was the one to have invented the name in the first place, back in (a year that was most likely earlier than 1985 and my birth) and given it as a gift to new mothers. And now that it’s been selected for a new member of the royal family, well, she couldn’t be happier.

And with my first name being thrust into the limelight, – the like of which us Charlottes have not experienced since E.B White decided to name a pig friendly spider after us – now feels like a good time to let the new addition to our crew know what it’s like to be called Charlotte. In summary, if you don’t mind spending an awful lot of your life saying “Yep, that’s right, double T, E” then you’ll be just fine.

1. You have 300 different nicknames

Char, Chars, Charl, Chaz, Chazza, Chas ‘n’ Dave, Charlie Pants, Charlie Party, Charlie Brown, CharlieEEE HEEE! Charlotte’s web, Chuck, Chucky, Lottie, Lotto… and that’s just the ones I can remember. People see Charlotte as a loose starting point from which to create a nickname of their choice. And, as with all names, it’s up to you whether you want to get in there first with your own nickname, waltzing into a party full of strangers and announcing yourself – Hey guys, I’m Charlotte, but you can call be C-Dawg – or if you want to stick with the original and see what happens. Either way, it’s a risky business.

2. You discover it sounds an awful lot like ‘shut up’

You know when people are whispering in class when they shouldn’t be and somebody notices that the teacher is eyeballing you and says “Ssssshut uuup!'” under their breath? Yeah, well, if your name is Charlotte, you will think that person is talking to you. Spoken at speed, those words sound exactly like our name. And as soon as people find this out, well, you might as well just change your name to Shutup – because how many school-age children are going to bother calling you Charlotte when they know you’ll answer to that?

3. Your French teacher may suggest you call yourself Charles

I haven’t been to school for some time, due to my age and responsibility for paying bills, but when I was there, language teachers liked to give each pupil their own ‘French’ name, i.e. the closest thing they could think of to your name that somebody in France might consider calling their child. In my case this should have been simple – Charlotte is of French origin after all – but if you’ve ever tried to say it in a French accent you’ll know that it’s rather tricky; it requires a lot of saliva. But Charles is a lot easier. It’s basically just ‘Charl’ and you can throw in a raised eyebrow for added effect. It’s more masculine than Charlotte – sure – but it does roll off the tongue nicely.

4. Your phone will assume your second name is Church

Should you wish to use your phone to type about yourself in the third person, specify which type of potato you’d like to have for tea, or be so formal as to sign off with your name in a text message then, in these days of predictive messaging, your phone will assume that the next word you wish to type after ‘Charlotte’ will be ‘Church’, which, in my experience at least, is almost never the case.

On balance, it’s a very good name. A strong two syllables, a spelling most people can get their head around (except those individuals who think it starts with an S who, to be fair, do have a point) and, to top it all, there’s a dessert called a Charlotte. And if it’s good enough for a cake then it’s most definitely good enough for me.

Welcome to the club, little one.

Life advice: How to take a compliment

12/04/2015 by Charlotte 2 Comments

If you’re lucky then from time to time compliments will happen.

Somebody might say they like your dress, or your new lunchbox or your selection of scented deodorant, and it’ll all be very nice for everybody involved.

But for those who have – at some stage in their lives – experienced some of the more unfortunate types of comments that can be made about a person’s appearance or existence, compliments can be a hard thing to comprehend.

When you’ve taught yourself to be permanently on guard, ready to play verbal karate against anybody who happens to dislike your shoes or your hair or some other crucial life choice apparently open to public scrutiny, a genuine compliment can take you by surprise. And, as a result, you are constantly at risk of taking a chop at any innocent dude who tells you that they think you have good taste in nail varnish or trainer socks, because you automatically assume they’re out to get you.

On my list of strengths you would see: a keen eye for pun opportunities; ability to remember everybody in the world’s birthday and thus make them think that I am a stalker/identity thief; and a permanent, unfaltering openness to dessert. And on the weaknesses list, among many others, would be: extremely limited willingness to participate in sporting activities (AKA laziness), heavy dependency on crisps; and an inability to accept a compliment without making (often sh*t) jokes. It’s like an illness, for which the cure is just to stop it.

So here’s how I intend to do that:

Step one: Remember that compliments are not traps
Contrary to popular school playground opinion, life is not actually a race to see who can say the nastiest thing about another person the quickest. And compliments don’t just exist to lure you into a false sense of security before hitting you hard in the face with the fact that actually, no, your eye make-up doesn’t look exceptionally even today, it looks like you put your mascara wand into the mouth of a dog and told it to poke you in the eye.

But this can be hard to remember, so those of us in verbal karate mode are always ready with an insult for ourselves just in case, such as these:

“Hey Charlotte, I like the new fringe!

Ah yes, whatever takes the focus off my face, eh?! (*This one doesn’t even work. A fringe does the precise opposite, FYI.)”

“Very strong handbag choice, lady!

Oh this? It was so cheap they basically paid me to take it off the premises! “

“Ooh have you caught the sun?

Nah, I think I kept my face in the oven too long when I was poking at some salmon I’d accidentally cremated last night – woops!”

…whilst the other person looks on, wondering if you’ve either gone mad, or perhaps you just didn’t hear them properly when they said they liked your hair/bag/face/voice and maybe they should write it down for you next time to be sure.

Step two: Remember that accepting a compliment doesn’t make you horrendously full of yourself

People don’t compliment you so that they can be outraged at your acceptance of their words. They don’t say “Well, aren’t you good at making a casserole!” so that they can then bitch amongst chums later about how arrogant it was of you to believe that they did indeed enjoy the way that you merged meat with vegetables and [whatever the liquid that goes into a casserole is] for their enjoyment. That would be a very strange way to live your life. Now, of course, it is possible to overdo it – don’t stop them mid-sentence to call and tell your mum, or to change your twitter handle to @COOKOFTHECENTURY – but beyond that you are allowed to just believe nice words when they’re said to you.

Step three: Just say thank you and carry on with your day
Yep. That’s it. Simple, eh?

Learning to accept compliments – and that the whole world isn’t trying to bring you down, one joke about your taste in necklaces at a time – is all part of our journey to becoming a truly confident human. Being an adult means having the freedom to – as much as possible – only spend time with people who bring us joy so, rather than constantly having to keep our arms up to fend off nastiness, we can let them rest by our sides, only raising up for a hug or a high five or take a well-earned slice of cake.

And it leaves our marvellously quick minds free for more useful activities, like playing along with Countdown or spotting opportunities to make a good pun.

Because life’s far too short to miss out on too many of those.

Don’t look too keen: Why dating rules were made to be broken

29/03/2015 by Charlotte 2 Comments

Dating rules can be ridiculous.

Leave at least an hour between text messages.
Don’t accidentally point at wedding dresses whilst you’re out together.
Don’t do too much smiling in case they think you’re a psychopath.

Urgh, I’m glad to be out of it.

The rule I always struggled the most with was ‘Don’t look too keen’.

Now, this is not because I’m a crazy person with a body secretly tattooed with the name of every man I’ve ever admired (I’m afraid of needles, thanks very much) but because this rule is actually unfinished. What it should say is: ‘Don’t look too keen unless you’re ABSOLUTELY 100% SURE that they are equally keen on you in which case, do what you like’.

The game goes something like this.

Meet someone you like.
Appear interested but nonchalant, like a Coronation Street viewer passing the time with an episode of Eastenders. You’re here, you’re looking, but you’ve just got so much else going on.
Commence dating. Brush your hair and clean your teeth but don’t let them think it was all for them. There’s a good chance you’d have done that today anyway.
Begin to incorporate occasional smiling and physical contact into dates. Maybe even laugh at their jokes but don’t play with your hair. It’ll totally give the game away.
Undertake mind reading exercises/ask a couple of their mates if they’ve mentioned you, to confirm that they definitely do like you precisely as much as you like them.
Say something encouraging like “You’re nice” or “Those jeans fit you well around the waist” to let them know that actually, yes, you are interested too.
Enter balanced, game free relationship. Reply to their text messages when you want and perhaps even answer the phone when they ring you (unless Corrie’s on, obviously).
Get married. State just how keen you are in front of everybody you know.
Schedule regular occasions on which to demonstrate your deep felt keenness throughout the year, such as anniversaries, birthdays and Pancake Day.
Specifically do not appear keen on anybody else at all for the rest of your life, with the following permitted exceptions: David Beckham, Leonard DiCaprio (Romeo and Juliet era preferred) and anybody offering free chocolates, as long as you make sure you get enough free samples for both of you.

It’s an exhausting business. But here’s a thing nobody tells you. That isn’t really the end of it.

If you’re somebody who has worked tirelessly for years to ensure you’re always on the right side of the keenness tracks, taking occasional breaks to kick yourself hard in the shin for accidentally misreading a high-five as a marriage proposal, your guard never quite goes down.

Dating rules were meant to be broken I think it’s because dating teaches us to be so cautious that when we do let ourselves relax, an alarm bell rings inside our heads and says WOAH WOAH WOAH YOU’RE VULNERABLE! QUICK, DELETE HIS NUMBER AND START PRONOUNCING HIS NAME INCORRECTLY! YOU NEED TO WIN BACK SOME POWER!

It can come up out of the blue. You can be asking an innocent question about the weekend ahead and your options for mutual socialising, and all of a sudden you’re feeling the need to clarify that you were just wondering what they were up to and you don’t even want to hang out with them anyway, and you have so many other options on the table you can hardly wade through them, whilst they look on, baffled.

It can be difficult to shake the dating game off. Of course some elements apply forever – it’s nice to listen to what people have to say instead of just saying “Uhuh” every ten seconds and continuing to look at Twitter, and washing is always a positive activity, but once you’re in a relationship it’s nice just to have a bit of trust and stop all this fannying about it.

The dating game is just that – a game. Sometimes you win – and by win I mean you meet somebody you like and who likes you and that you enjoy spending time together for an appropriate length of time (whether that be forever, or until you realise that you just can’t get past your differing opinions on who made a better Batman), and sometimes you lose, by which I mean that it leaves you wondering whether you should just marry your cat and be done with it.

But when it does work out, you have to just throw the rule book out and admit that you do indeed like another human being. Relationships do make you vulnerable because you can’t enter into one without admitting that actually you are rather keen. Queen Keen of Keen Town, actually, and you don’t care who knows it.

All you can do is try and find yourself in a situation where everybody is as keen as each other so that that never feels like a bad thing. With somebody who also believes that eight is the optimum number of kisses to include at the end of a text message, and who feels just as strongly about the apostrophe as you do, and who agrees that, yes, Pancake Day really is the greatest day of the year.

How to look after an extremely hungover person

22/03/2015 by Charlotte Leave a Comment

With a long term relationship comes appreciation than some events are non-negotiable.

Birthdays are one, Monday, Wednesday and Friday episodes of Coronation Street are another, and the Six Nations also manages to make its way onto the list, whether I like it or not (spoiler: I do not).

But I don’t grudge the fun that comes with it, on account of my overall life intention to not be a dick about harmless things (with the exception of all the things about which I give myself permission to be a dick, namely: poor customer service, people wearing shoes in my house, and any occasion when I’m feeling a bit overtired).Sure, having life arranged around relentless games of rugby for a number of weekends straight (I’ve lost count, does it go on for 21 or 22 weeks?) is a little inconvenient socially speaking – the games tend to kick off around the sort of time when I particularly like to step out for lunch or change the bed, but these things can be rearranged. I am a reasonable person. Also I’ve learnt that it’s possible to eat lunch whilst watching rugby which makes it a 100% more interesting pastime.

But mainly I just don’t partake, I do other things, I see friends, I read a book, I stare into the abyss – I’m very good at keeping myself entertained. But what I do get involved with is with the side effect of relentless rugby and sporting celebrations, and inevitable all day drinking. The hangover. A condition which, if I may say so, I am exceptional at caring for. There’s basically six steps to it:

STEP ONE: Prepare the ground

Buy up all the ibuprofen, Lucozade, eggs, meat-based breakfast goods and sugary sweets you can get your paws on but, CRUCIALLY, keep them out of reach until the following day, otherwise you could find everything has disappeared in a post-party-time midnight feast, and then you’ll have to leave the house to buy more things and nobody likes leaving the house.

STEP TWO: Turn off your alarm clock
No, not for him, he’d sleep right through that bad boy. Hell, he wouldn’t wake up if you shouted “Rugby has been cancelled forever! Apparently you can pass the ball forwards after all and the whole game has been called into question!” (Ok fine, he might, but mainly because he’d be wowed into consciousness by my exceptional rugby knowledge). No, this is for you. Have a good sleep, you’ll need your energy for all the kind caring you’re about to do.

STEP THREE: Remember, the fact that this was all self-inflicted is irrelevant

You know what you feel like when you’re ill? You know, pathetic, delicate, like all you want is to be tucked in and fed drinkable yogurt through a straw? Well, a hungover person is very similar, except replace ‘tucked in’ with ‘left the hell alone on the sofa in front of the TV under a blanket’ and ‘drinkable yogurt’ with ’50 different types of fluids because I JUST CAN’T DECIDE WHAT I WANT MY HEAD HURTS’. So behave accordingly. Best stock up on glasses in advance.

STEP FOUR: Keep it down

The problem with looking after a hungover person is that it’s a bit dull. They’re not great conversationalists in this state, and ideally they’d like nothing more than total peace and quiet. But if you’re not also recovering from a booze-fest, you might find yourself feeling a bit restless. So, sure, pop on an episode of Corrie, but keep the volume down low. Just the sound of the theme tune could be enough to finish a person off.

STEP FIVE: Use motivational phrases to boost morale when things get tough

A hungover day is like a metaphor for life. Sometimes you wake up and think everything’s going to be OK and then before you’ve even got down the stairs you realise that you can’t even remember where you left your shoes last night or if you remembered to shut the front door. So morale is going to dip from time to time, and it’s up to you to keep everybody motivated. My go-to words of support are: “You’re doing so well – I reckon you’re through the worst of it now!” and “If anybody can beat this, it’s you – just do nothing, you’re ace at that!” I recommend going for heartfelt but with just a little edge, for your own personal amusement.

STEP SIX: Reap the benefits of your kindness

One day it will be your turn. You’ll step out of an evening, sup on two or maybe even three mojitos and you’ll find yourself regretting all that mint and crushed ice (and probably the rum) come the following morning, and you’ll welcome a little TLC with open arms. You too will want to have a variety of drinks and snacks to choose from, and somebody there to reassure you that, no, life will not always feel this way – the universe isn’t really going to punish you forever for having the audacity to have fun – and you will reap the benefits of the exceptional standards of hangover care you’ve set.

If an event must come around every year then we might as well make it as pleasant-a-part of the calendar as possible, rather than just two months of sighing and stomping off upstairs and muttering about ‘never disappearing to the pub all afternoon to watch my programmes!’

Ok, fine, I said that once. It’s not my fault they don’t show Coronation Street in bars. But if they did, I’d be there. And I might find myself taking up that hangover care a little sooner than I thought.

16 things I’ve learnt from my mum

15/03/2015 by Charlotte 4 Comments

1. There is no situation that could not be improved by the involvement of a hot water bottle. A long car journey, a late evening trip to the movies, a stomach ache that just won’t quit – my mum’s got an HWB for every occasion.

2. A handbag should enable you to address any need that you, your friends, family or casual passers-by could identify. Got a headache? Worry not, she’s got her pouch of tablets. Need to freshen up? Well, would you like a Tic Tac or a Polo? Fancy a snack? Well, sure, but not before you’ve had a wash. You can choose between either hand sanitiser or wipes, which are stored in the specially purchased cleaning products purse. Turn your nose up if you like but if you want to eat you’re going to have to WASH THOSE HANDS.

3. When I’m not wearing mascara, I look unwell. If I had a pound for every time mum’s asked me “Are you ill or have you just not put your make up on yet?” then maybe I’d be able to afford to have my eyelashes permanently tinted and save us all a lot of trouble.

4. She may not always be able to hear what I’m saying to her when we’re sat next to each other, but she can hear me opening the fridge door from ANYWHERE.

5. Related: when we went to Japan last year, I bought my mum a small battery operated walrus that goes in the fridge and shouts something in Japanese every time the door is opened (presumably “Remember to close the fridge door!” or “That cheese has got to last all week, you know!”) It’s true, there really is such a thing as a perfect gift.

6. Greetings card occasions can creep up on you. But that isn’t a problem in our house, oh no. My mum has a special file that she keeps permanently topped up with all available types of cards to ensure that all possible greetings needs are met. Whether your friends have just had triplets or your neighbour is celebrating the completion of a new conservatory, my mum has got the card for you. She’s even offered to source cards for herself on a number of occasions but we have to draw the line somewhere.

7. Hands down, nobody’s washing smells better. Nobody’s.

8. Related: it might say ‘hand wash only’ on the label, but the exception to that rule is ‘mum wash’. I don’t know how she does it; I just know that I have so much confidence in her washing abilities that I’m pretty sure that even I would survive a spin in her machine.

9. Yogurts with the best sell-by date are always at the back of the shelf in the supermarket. Some things are worth getting a cold arm for.

10. That if my mum, my auntie and I are in the same room, the odds of being called by the correct name are extremely low.

11. That, no, I don’t need to leave the water running whilst I clean my teeth and, yes, I do care a lot more about wasting money now that I am responsible for the bills.

12. On a cold day, if one must leave the house, one should do so in jeans with tights underneath. No bug in no rug has ever felt so snug.

13. Come hell or high water, this woman will get her five-a-day. My mum can eat kiwis in a moving vehicle, apples in bed and bananas whilst cleaning the bathroom. Nothing gets between my mum and her fruit.

14. Little treats are the best. If my mum knows you like something, whether it’s a particular type of sweets or a brand of chocolate or, in my husband’s case, as much fudge as you can possible get your hands on, she will make sure she sends you off with some every time you see her. My treats bag also often includes a box of dishwasher tablets, which makes me happier than it probably should.

15. Receiving a hand written note from someone you love is one of the best things in the world. When I was at school on my birthday, my mum would slip a little note in my lunchbox to say ‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY!’ even though she’d obviously already said it to me that morning. I’d look forward to it every year. Similarly, if she ever left us alone in the house during the school holidays, she’d leave a note in the kitchen saying ‘Lunch in fridge please don’t make mess love mum x’ which I also enjoyed.

16. That the greatest thing you can do for another person is to never let them doubt for a single second that they are loved. I can only hope to nail this skill as well as she has.