Charlotte - Nothing good rhymes with Charlotte

Life lessons from Amy Poehler and Tina Fey: We don’t f*cking care if you like it

27/01/2016 by Charlotte 3 Comments

I love it when a book has such a profound effect on you that you think about it every day.

For me that book is Bossypants by Tina Fey. I loved every single word. I read it on the tube to work and it made me want my commute to last longer. This is a significant compliment. I travel to work on the Northern Line, London’s very own moving oven.

There is a chapter in the book called ‘I Don’t Care If You Like It (One in a series of love letters to Amy Poehler)’. If they did wallpaper with the words from this chapter on it, I would use it to redecorate my house. In the interests of the continuation of my marriage, it’s probably best that that particular product remains unavailable.

Tina writes about when Amy joined Saturday Night Live:

“…she did something vulgar as a joke. I can’t remember what it was exactly, except it was dirty and loud and “unladylike.”

Jimmy Fallon, who was arguably the star of the show at the time, turned to her and in a faux-squeamish voice said, “Stop that! It’s not cute! I don’t like it.”

Amy dropped what she was doing, went black in the eyes for a second, and wheeled around on him. “I don’t fucking care if you like it.” Jimmy was visibly startled. Amy went right back to enjoying her ridiculous bit. (I should make it clear that Jimmy and Amy are very good friends and there has never been any real beef between then. Insert penis joke here.)

With that exchange, a cosmic shift took place. Amy made it clear that she wasn’t there to be cute. She wasn’t there to play wives and girlfriends in the boys’ scenes. She was there to do what she wanted to do and she did not fucking care if you like it.”

Tina goes on to explain how important those words “I don’t fucking care if you like it” are when you’re coming up against other people’s opinions whilst trying to get to where you want to be.

She says that you should ask yourself: “Is this person between me and what I want to do?” If they’re not, ignore them and move on. If they are, find someone who does think it’s a good idea and, as Tina writes, with time opinions will change organically. You need to have faith in what you’re trying to do. Do your thing and don’t care if they like it.

This chapter was a game changer for me. It never occurred to me not to care. I’ve always cared so bloody much what people think. But we all know that this is a pointless way to live. Whenever I have had any success, I have managed it because I’ve been single-minded and focused on what it will take to get from A to B – and not on what anybody else has to say about it.

As a woman who is often* trying to be funny, I found these words particularly helpful. Even in this day and age when anybody worth speaking to has worked out that hey, guess what, your sex doesn’t decide how amusing you’re capable of being, there are still plenty of people who need to be walked through it. So to read how two of my heroes avoid letting fear of being disliked bring them down was invaluable.

So when I start to feel self-doubt starting to kick in, I just think: ‘What would Amy and Tina do?’ And so should you.

All together now: We don’t fucking care if you like it!

*ok, fine: ALWAYS

A love letter to all the sweaty girls: You are not alone

24/01/2016 by Charlotte 1 Comment

Tray chic There are so many things that women are conditioned to think they’re not supposed to do. Sweating is one of them. Going to the toilet is another.

And it’s so strange because both definitely happen every single day.

As a woman who has always suffered from the charmingly named condition EXCESSIVE SWEATING I can confirm that this belief is particularly unhelpful.

There are people who say that men sweat and women perspire. Well, you can call it what you like, but it’s the same thing. It’s as basic as coughing or sneezing or yawning so loudly that you sound like Chewbacca. We all do it.

Yesterday, whilst out dancing at a friend’s birthday party, I was reminded of my true sweating credentials. I moved seamlessly from looking like a person who’d put a good couple of hours into straightening her hair, applying liquid eyeliner, and colouring in her lips with a pencil, to a shiny-faced mad woman who appeared to have just done 20 lengths in the swimming pool, and no amount of hand fanning, forehead dabbing or sticking my face out of a window could stop it. I mean, everybody was hot but this was ridiculous. If only I’d been flexible enough to slot myself into the Dyson hand dryer in the bathroom, I would have done it.

I first discovered that I had this issue when I was a teenager. As if growing up wasn’t already hard enough – boy troubles, friend fall-outs, and a permanent fear that I was going to be called a weirdo was already keeping me busy enough – but then I had this little treat thrown into the mix. Thanks very much, genetics.

It didn’t even have to be hot. I just had to be awake. Of course, heat made it worse, but for the real sweaters among us, Winter is no holiday. If anything it’s worse because nobody expects to see somebody mopping their brow when it’s minus one outside.

I became super strategic in my clothes buying. I knew what types of colours and materials were most likely to show patches, and which could shield a day’s worth of salt loss. I didn’t have much money at the time – because who does at that age – so I kept a small number of tops on rotation that shielded me from being outed as the sweatiest girl in town.

And then one day I heard my dad talking about a special type of deodorant that can help people who sweat too much. I’d never told anybody about my problem before – I just assumed I’d have to live with it forever and hope that eventually I’d grow out of it – so I was ecstatic to hear that maybe there was a way out.

I booked an appointment with my doctor and had to stop myself from crying when I asked him to please prescribe it for me. I was 16 and awkward and desperate to feel normal. It was going to take a lot more than a sweat gland annihilating roll-on to do that but it was a bloody good start.

And ever since then, things have been better because I’ve had some control. Like so many situations, knowing that there’s something you can do about it is everything. Of course, it doesn’t mean I’m cured, it’s just much more manageable. Now it only really kicks in when it’s actually hot, which helps.

Thankfully it doesn’t really affect my self-esteem too much these days. And I have a critical moment that happened in February 2006 to thank.

Leon and I had only been together a few months and we went to see The Arctic Monkeys play in Leeds. This was prime Monkeys time – we were at university in Sheffield and the whole city had gone mad for them.

We went to the front and jumped around and it remains to this day some of the most fun I’ve ever had. When they went off stage I realised my entire head, back, and chest was soaked, my hair was like wet string, and my eye make-up was a distant memory. I looked at Leon and said:

“Sorry, I must look disgusting.”

And he shook his head and said:

“No you don’t – you just look like you’ve had a really good time.”

And ever since, I’ve held onto that answer.

I know that if I go out and let my hair down, I’ll end up looking like I’ve been left out in the rain. I know that dancing for five minutes does to me what 45 minutes on a treadmill does to other people. When I look in the mirror I do feel pretty alarmed – I mean, that level of perspiration does nothing for a heavy fringe; if I went out partying more frequently I might need to reconsider my hair style – but at least it shows I’ve had a good time.

I’m not writing any of this down to gross you out, though I guess there’s a chance it might have that effect. I’m writing it down because this is the internet and those of us who have learnt to deal with the little surprises that life throws our way have a duty to talk about them so that others know that they’re not alone.

I think things have moved on quite a long way since I was young. The This Girl Can campaign has done us the world of good. Hey, guess what, women exercise and when they do it, they look like everybody does when they exert themselves – hot and a bit red in the face – and nobody cares.

We could spend our lives being worried that we might accidentally be revealed as having been human beings all along. That we’re not all that different after all. That our bodies need to do things to keep us alive.

But that feels like a terrible waste of time. For every moment that we’re doing that, we could be dancing to Beyoncé or Taylor Swift. Or The Arctic Monkeys.

I can’t imagine they’d let a bit of sweat get in their way.

I had never seen a Star Wars film before. These were my thoughts during The Force Awakens:

10/01/2016 by Charlotte Leave a Comment

1. I am going to read every word as it flies towards me during this intro. That is the least I can do.

2. This is actually so much easier than reading text going straight down a page. These guys clearly know what they’re doing; I am optimistic about the rest of the film.

3. Is the guy from Inside Llewyn Davis Luke Skywalker? If he is, I’ve found him.

4. I really like the Storm Troopers’ outfits. They look so smooth. I’d really like to clean one.

5. Is that Darth Vader? I don’t think so but he does look a lot like him. He just doesn’t sound as ‘I’m breathing underwater whilst wearing a snorkel’ as I think he should…

6. Everything about this desert makes me feel stressed. Where are we going for supplies here? The odds of there being a Starbucks feel very low.

7. Oh no, Finn, that does not look like drinking water. If you manage to get through this without a stomach upset then you have much stronger insides than I do.

8. I like this little beepy football with a head, he seems friendly.

9. Looking at the food on offer, I reckon it would be hard to live on Jakku with a wheat intolerance.

10. I also really like the way the Storm Troopers sound when they run. Like it’s a brand new floor beneath them. (Note to self: They’re baddies. I don’t think I’m meant to like them at all).

11. I like this girl, she doesn’t put up with sexism in the workplace.

12. Also, is she spelling Ray like Charles or Rey like Lane Del? I need to google this.

13. Only in a film would a person (Han Solo) stop mid-crossfire to comment that he is enjoying using this particular gun. We’ll talk about it later, Han!

14. I’m laughing at a joke in a Star Wars film! (BB8’s flame thumbs up). I didn’t think there would be jokes!

15. I could go from nought to Chewbacca with just one can of hairspray.

16. If I was Poe, I would want that jacket back. Leather is NOT cheap.

17. Hang on, is that a lightsaber in that box? Where’s the rest of it?

18. Oh no look, he’s definitely not Darth Vader because that’s Darth Vader’s melted mask thing. Well done Charlotte, you’re practically an expert already.

19. Ooh it’s Adam from Girls! He must have been hot in that hat.

20. I did not realise that (Not Darth Vader) had a boss. I thought he was the boss. Perhaps this explains why he’s always so angry.

21. Oh my gosh, you press that little button to turn the lightsaber on! That is so clever.

22. Princess Leia’s hair must take HOURS.

23. I think the golden robot is C-3P0. Or is it SeethreepeeOH?

24. Ooh, they’re doing a lightsaber fight. I wonder if this will give me a headache – strip lights always do.

25. Now that I know that having The Force means that you can tell people what to do, I WANT IT.

Goal for 2016: Be authentic

03/01/2016 by Charlotte 1 Comment

Happy New Year to you all!

The taste for Hendrick’s Gin that I developed in 2015 ensured that 1 January started very slowly, but it was nothing a large sandwich couldn’t resolve, thank goodness.

I’ve been looking forward to 2016. When we were in Australia I bought a beautiful diary and I couldn’t wait to get going with it. There’s nothing like a new piece of stationery to make us think that everything is going to be ok, is there? The feeling will last right up until I write ‘launch’ instead of ‘lunch’ in it and am forced to decide whether to scribble the mistake out, remove the entire page, or throw the whole diary in the bin and start again. (Beware stationery enthusiasts: we are always on the brink of a paper-based meltdown).

And with a new diary also comes thoughts about plans, goals, and New Year’s resolutions. As I get older, I know that it is always a good time to come up with new ways to better yourself – it doesn’t need to be January. But what I do find helpful about the end of one year and the start of the next, is the opportunity to think about what you want to be in the 12 months ahead.

Last year, I wanted to be brave. And sometimes I was. And when I felt my bravest – and indeed when things went best – was when I allowed myself to be myself. So for 2016, my aim is to be authentic in all areas of my life.

Be authentic in your work

If you’re not presenting a real version of yourself, people will be able to tell. And, more importantly, it’ll feel rubbish.

A couple of weeks ago I spent an hour working on a pitch for an article that, in the end, I decided not to send. And the reason was because the publication and I just aren’t compatible. If it saw me on Tinder, it would swipe left. I’d feel bad about it for a while but then, when I’d slept on it, I’d think – no, you were right to do that. You’ve saved us both a lot of trouble.

I was constantly editing the pitch to make myself sound like somebody else, and what’s the point of that? They’d most definitely have seen through it, and I wouldn’t have liked writing it anyway. I won’t go into the specifics but just imagine I’d pitched an article on the benefits of walking around my house with shoes on whilst eating a particularly crumbly biscuit. You see? Not me at all.

Remember, friends, it’s your own time you’re wasting. I’m not saying don’t test yourself or step out of your comfort zone – definitely do that – but do it for things you actually want and will enjoy. Because there will be lots of those.

Be authentic in your personal life

It’s OK to let people know you, to tell your friends what’s really going on – that you’re feeling good, that you’re feeling down, that you’re feeling bloated because you just discovered a new kind of blue cheese (damn you, Cambozola). Whatever it might be – and when you feel able – chat it out. The last couple of years has taught me that people are really rather nice all in all and that as soon as you have the courage to talk about a problem, it’s amazing how quickly you discover that other people struggle too. Hell, everybody does.

I like to return from a catch up with friends feeling exhausted because we’ve laughed and cried it all out. It’s sort of like therapy, just more expensive because we did it whilst consuming cocktails/sushi/all of the cake.

It doesn’t have to be like this, of course, some people just need to be allowed to sit quietly and not say anything at all. And that is just as important. The point is you that you don’t need to pretend. Like I said in my last post, we’re in our thirties now (or some of us are…), if people have you in their life, it’s because they really want you there. So give them the real you – cheese-fuelled stomach aches and all.

Be authentic in your look

Just before Christmas I sat in front of a mirror in a make-up shop while a very nice lady put lipstick on me.

This process would previously have left me in a hot panicky sweat. How could I believe that lipstick would look nice on me? What must all the other people in the shop be thinking? Why is everybody laughing at me? STOP LAUGHING AT ME.

But this time I didn’t feel like that, which was nice. Partly because she’d chosen me a colour that made me look an adult woman rather than a clown, which is an achievement in itself. But also because of my age. I’m 30 now and after three decades living with this face it’s about time I started liking it. I’m also rather enjoying having brown hair. After 16 years of dyeing it blond, it’s quite nice to be getting closer to my natural colour. Perhaps it’s because I’ve removed a level of pretence from my life, or perhaps it’s just that I’m too tight to keep forking out for bleach. I’ll let you decide.

For some people, dyeing their hair blue, pink or purple brings about a feeling of authenticity. Whatever works for you, I say do it. You should look how you want to look. After 30 years of listening out for it, I can confirm that nobody worth listening to is laughing.

Be authentic online

Some of us exist as much in people’s lives online as we do in real life. You may well be reading this despite the fact that we’ve never met. How nice are you?! It’s important to be a real version of yourself on the internet as much as anywhere else. If for no other reason than because you’ll probably enjoy it more.

If you’re not careful, you can spend a lot of time online thinking that you need to make yourself more like other people. Twitter and the like are filled with successful people, chatting – as they should – about all the great things they’ve been doing. And it can be a struggle to just look at them without feeling that maybe you should take up their tone or their choice of words or their excessive use of the exclamation mark because surely that will help you make your fortune too. I doubt it. You’ve got to do it your own way. Sure, take a bit of inspiration from the millions of great people who live in your computer, but don’t feel you have to try to be all of them. I mean, I’m not even sure how that would work but it sounds exhausting.

So that’s my aim for the year ahead. What’s yours?

2015: This was the year

31/12/2015 by Charlotte Leave a Comment

2015: This was the year

This was the year when I started catching up with friends over breakfast. At, like, 7.30 in the morning. Actually, let’s rephrase that – this was the year I went MAD.

This was the year when I realised that most of the time I only cook meals so that I can eat the condiments that go with them. Don’t pretend you don’t do the same.

This was the year when 24 months after I started growing my over-plucked eyebrows back, one of them started looking almost normal. Pumped to see what 2016 brings!

This was the year when I started having to ask my younger friends if I’m too old to wear hi-top trainers/leather skirts/double denim. It was also the year when they were polite enough to say no.

This was the year when I saw my byline on top of an article I’d written for a magazine and I realised just how much I want that to become a regular occurrence (loads).

This was the year when I was forced to admit that lychees are delicious. Lesson: just because something looks like an eyeball, it doesn’t mean it won’t taste amazing in a martini.

This was the year when I resolved to be less afraid. I’m not sure I was, to be honest, but I certainly did a lot of things regardless of my fears, which is good enough. The most important thing is not to let them win.

This was the year when I went to Lisbon and learnt that it’s always worth telling a hotel that it’s your husband’s birthday (which it was, honest) because they might just have a little chocolate cake waiting for you when you arrive.

This was the year when I read books by amazing female writers and fell completely in love with each and every one of them. If I can just recommend one thing to you, read Bridget Christie’s book, A Book For Her. Read it and then phone me so we can discuss how brilliant that woman is.

This was the year when I couldn’t help also recommending: Amy Poehler – Yes Please, Lena Dunham – Not That Kind of Girl, Mindy Kaling – Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me? (And Other Concerns), Bryony Gordon – The Wrong Knickers, Miranda July – The First Bad Man, and OH MY WORD JUST READ BRIDGET CHRISTIE ALREADY.

This was the year when I got to read published stories written by one of my best friends, Alexa Radcliffe-Hart (like this one, right here). The pride I feel for this woman – and for so many of the brilliant people in my life – reached new heights this year. If you know me, you’ll know I am a crier and that I have therefore spent a lot of 2015 dangerously dehydrated.

This was the year when I went to New York and discovered just how amazing breakfast can taste, how strong cocktails can be, and how many milkshakes one girl can consume in a week (a lot).

This was the year when I built this little website right here. It has its imperfections but they are my imperfections and I stand by each and every one of them (by which I mean that I have googled how to fix them but can’t find an answer).

This was the year that I turned 30. They said it would happen eventually and it did. But I’m OK with it. Because with 30 comes an opportunity to focus on what you really want to do with your life, and a new motivation to just get on and do it.

This was the year when I helped Leon write a Best Man speech and felt so proud watching him deliver it that I could have burst.

This was the year when I got sunstroke and learnt the hard way that you must RESPECT THE SUN.

This was the year when I started feeling really enthusiastic about fabric conditioner. Nothing makes me happier than a good smelling pile of washing and I don’t care who knows it.

This was the year that Leon and I celebrated our second wedding anniversary and I wrote this blog about marriage. When I read it back through, it makes me cry, which is a bit like laughing at your own jokes but much, much worse.

This was the year we went to Australia. I cuddled a koala, I fed lots of kangaroos, and I spent more time by myself than I ever have before. What I learnt was that I like my own company, but that my best memories are definitely made with other people/marsupials.

This was the year when I realised what a compliment it is for an adult to maintain their friendship with you. Remember: we’re in our thirties now, we don’t have to do anything.

This was the year that I realised more than ever that the best gift you can give somebody is your time. I’m very grateful to you all for giving me yours.

Happy New Year, friends.

6 things you have to do when starting out as a freelance writer

16/12/2015 by Charlotte Leave a Comment

Friends, I’ve gone part-time.

I’ve been talking about doing this for so long. I wanted to have just one day to myself every week that I could dedicate to writing, to building a little freelance world for myself, to focusing on the work I already have, to pitching for some more, and to working on some creative projects too.

And now I have it. In many ways I am living the dream. That is, if your dream is to spend a day each week suffering from imposter syndrome and looking at the sky and hoping that all of the work you could possibly dream of will just fall out of it and then crying as you realise that life doesn’t work like that.

Until recently I did all of this on Sundays. I wouldn’t allow myself to leave the house (except perhaps to pop out for a milkshake because I have NEEDS) and it started getting a bit unhealthy (the strawberry shakes may have had something to do with that). I didn’t let myself rest or really enjoy myself and I’d wake up on a Monday feeling like I’d been out raving all night, when in fact I’d just been staring at a computer screen all day.

But then I realised that perhaps there was another way. That I could still work and be part of a team (I’m a comms manager/copywriter type person the other four days of the week), write, and have a life by changing my working life a little. I am delighted that it’s been possible so now Wednesdays belong to me. I still need and want to write at the weekend and at other times too, but things are a bit more balanced now which is lovely.

I opted for Wednesday on the basis that people I email would hopefully be more likely to engage with what I send than they might be closer to the weekend, and also because Tuesday – formerly the absolute worst day of the week – now has a slight feeling of Friday about it (although I keep that to myself because sentences like that just make people hate you).

So now I am figuring out how to get the most from my day. I’ve had just three of these precious Wednesdays so far and even in that short time I have learnt a few things that I realise are essential for this freelancing game. Should you be interested in a similar lifestyle, here are six crucial things I recommend doing:

1.GET UP

It is not the weekend. You are not on holiday. You will not be paid for a single second of this day unless you find yourself some work. In fact, a lot of the time you will make a loss because you will inevitably go to Starbucks and buy a dense chocolate brownie in the hope that the answer to all your prayers is hidden inside it. Spoiler: it isn’t but they are delicious.

2.GET DRESSED

If you’re anything like me then you will at least feel a bit more like a serious person if you’re wearing actual clothes and maybe even a bra. We both know that you don’t have to do this. You could stay in your pyjamas all day but if you do that it’s going to make it much more awkward when you…

3.LEAVE THE HOUSE

Go out. Go sit in a cafe and write emails. Or write notes. Or have thoughts. Or read something. Or go for a walk. You are running your own thing. Be free to do that thing in the best way and place that suits you. Let your brain breathe. Feel good about this opportunity. Smile at a dog or a baby. And then come back home before it gets dark and use that refreshed mind to KEEP GETTING THINGS DONE.

4.SEND THAT EMAIL. SEND ALL OF THE EMAILS.

Nobody is going to reply to your email if you don’t send it in the first place. That’s kind of the way correspondence works. The same goes for your tweet, letter, phone call or carrier pigeon. It’s frightening – SO frightening – but literally nothing will happen if you don’t do it. Nobody will know you exist. So have a good think, write down some words, have a little walk to the fridge, read it again, and then HIT SEND. (And do this about a billion times).

5.PUT YOUR BLOODY PHONE DOWN

WhatsApp is fun, yes, but it can wait. Yes I know you want to tell your mate Sarah how sweet you look in your new hi-top trainers but such words are not going to get you any dollar, are they? (I am telling myself off here. I did this today. I was right, they look ace, but I should have been WORKING NOT FANNYING ABOUT). Do not seek out distraction. Do not consider today the ideal opportunity to do a Facebook cull or to attach amusing photos to each of your phone contacts. Do that tomorrow on the train like a normal person.

6.WRITE

If you’re a writer then you need to write things. Make time to do something creative. Yes, you need to email people and pitch and put yourself out there but you will be all the better at it if you keep writing creative, fun things and reminding yourself why you wanted to do all of this in the first place. It’ll also help you maintain the will to live when nobody is replying to you, which is important.

So yeah, I’m learning.

And I’m scared as hell because it feels like a very bold thing to admit that you are trying to do something. But, as mentioned above, there’s no other way.

If you have any tips I should add to my list, please do send them to me. I’d love to have another reason to be utterly distracted from what I’m supposed to be doing…

Photo blog: 18 days in Australia

29/11/2015 by Charlotte Leave a Comment

I have been awake since 2am thanks to the wonders of jet lag so I thought I’d take a risk and see what a blog post looks like when I’m in this state. Please fasten your seat belts, this could be a bumpy ride.

I have just returned to London town after an excellent three weeks in Australia. I have boarded nine planes, I have eaten a lot of ice cream, and I have managed not to have a single altercation with a crocodile, so I consider the trip to have been a success. As mentioned in my last post, my husband was there for work and I was there to be supportive/to have a sweet time in Australia.

And rather than bore you with pages and pages of chat about what I’ve been up to, I thought I’d tell my tale via photographs and limited sentences. That way you get a blog post you can scroll through at speed, and I get to avoid having to think of too many words. It’s win-win all round.

Day 1

I discovered that, in Sydney, some trees are purple. Australia 1 England 0

Day 2

I decided to fight fire with fire. And by fire I mean ‘jet lag’ and by fire I mean ‘margaritas’. At best we can call it a draw.

Day 3

I discovered what it really means to hang out by yourself – you can do whatever you want. So, for example, when you’re heading for the aquarium and you stumble upon the Chinese Garden of Friendship, you can go right in and spend an hour there. And then you can decide you don’t want to go to the aquarium after all, you want to go whale watching. And then you can discover that whale watching season is over and perhaps you’d just like to get a chocolate milkshake and then lunch. It’s a lot of fun. Day 4

When in Rome, do as the Romans do, which in Australia translates to GO TO THE BEACH.

Day 5

You’ve not really seen Sydney until you’ve been on the water, they said. So I did, and then I realised what they meant.

…and then I went to Manly Bay and Shelly Beach because that is what you do here.

Day 6

At Taronga Zoo we found out that giraffes have super strong necks, very long tongues, and an unbelievably good view.

… and that koala bears really know how to work the camera.

I also had my first ever encounter with a kangaroo. Needless to say one of us was much more excited about this than the other.

Day 7

Sometimes on a holiday you have a day when you go to all the right cafes, you drink all of the right drinks, you eat all of the right food, you make hilarious joke after hilarious joke, and you look at each other and think: We are absolutely phenomenal at this. No, seriously, we should do this for a living. Is that a thing? Can going on holiday be a job? WELL IT SHOULD BE.

Day 8

I flew to Melbourne. I met up with a friend I hadn’t seen for three years. I ate a really nice salad. As Mondays go this one was good.

Day 9

We spent the day wandering around the north part of the city. Amongst many other things, I learnt that going to Melbourne and not liking coffee is like coming to England and not enjoying queuing and rain. My apologies, Australia.

…and that a wall is not just a wall in Melbourne, it’s a canvas waiting to happen.

Day 10

In 31 degree heat, the city of Melbourne was hot hot hot. And thank goodness for that – if it hadn’t been, my friend and I wouldn’t have discovered when I said that I wanted an ice lolly (because I’m 30 years old, thank you very much) that in Australia a ‘lolly’ is what we would call a sweet whereas in England a lolly is… well, a lolly. I KNOW RIGHT. Oh no don’t worry, I’ve already called up Lonely Planet to give ’em the scoop.

Day 11

The time had come for me, Melbourne and my dear chum and tour guide to part ways. With a final farewell to the beautiful street art, I headed back to Sydney.

I got off the plane, raced back to my hotel room, showered, changed, and got a cab to Bondi beach to meet Leon. I’m not quite sure whose life I was living that day but it certainly wasn’t mine.

Day 12

For a laugh, Sydney decided to shoot up to 42 degrees on my last full day in the city. In case you’ve never been outside in heat like that before, just pop on your oven, open the door, and imagine what it would be like to live in there. I managed two hours outside before diving into the rather lovely Art Gallery of New South Wales. God bless you, air con.

I don’t like to actively envy other women if I can help it but I must admit that I would have given anything to be this girl that day.

If you’re in the UK and you’re as hot as I was whilst looking at this Christmas tree, you have had FAR too much mulled wine.

Day 13

Next stop: Cairns. We just couldn’t get enough of those high temperatures so got on a plane for a fun five days in the tropics. An hour’s drive around the coast and we arrived in Port Douglas. Starving we hit the supermarket and then the beach for a picnic. You know how they say that a cold beer tastes even better on a hot day? Well, the same applies to The Laughing Cow cheese. Honest.

Day 14

We went to a market and bought a picture from a guy who had a dog named Moo. You?

Day 15

“Oh hey Charlotte, I like your suit. Why are you wearing that? Are you auditioning to be a tadpole in your local school play?”

Nope, I’m about to go snorkelling on The Great Barrier Reef and if any jelly fish want to sting me then they are just going to get a tentacle full of nylon (or I guess they could just go for my face, what if they went for my face?)

On a serious note, this was an extra special day as I was really quite anxious about the snorkelling – just because I so wanted to love it and enjoy the reef but sometimes I find the mask and the sea and the breathing through my mouth a bit claustrophobic but I was absolutely FINE. I loved it. AND I saw an actual shark and it didn’t even eat me or anything. A very strong day all round.

Day 16

Can you see the crocodile? Well, if I learnt anything whilst exploring the Daintree Rainforest and river it’s that he can definitely see you.

This is Cape Tribulation. S’alright.

No YOU swam in a waterfall that you later discovered was home to an almost two metre long (and totally harmless but STILL) eel.

Day 17

I mean, you say he likes living at the wildlife habitat, but don’t you think he would prefer to live in London? I don’t think anybody would have minded – look how happy we were together.

Day 18

The problem with holidays is that they must end. I know, it’s bullsh*t. So we boarded the plane back to Sydney and bid a fond farewell to Port Douglas, its beautiful birds, its nightly flights of thousands of fox bats, and to everything this little bit of paradise did for our souls. Thanks for having us, PD.

I now know that when you have a 24 hour flight ahead of you, all you can think about when you get out of bed that morning is the fact that you will not get into an actual bed for an entire day. Which doesn’t help at all. But like it or not, it was time to go. If nothing else, we’d spent all of our money. So we sat on our suitcases until they closed and made our way to the airport.

Thanks for having us, Australia; we had a blast.

As soon as I figure out how to sleep again, I know that you’ll feature in my dreams.

A few (hopefully useful) specific Australia tips

Sydney

Go to: Taronga Zoo, Art Gallery of New South Wales, the State Library of New South Wales, the Royal Botanic Gardens – all obvious but lovely.

Eat at:

Makoto, Liverpool Street – for the best and most reasonably priced sushi of your life.
Mejico, Pitt Street – for all of the margaritas, the guacamole made in front of your eyes, and the tacos.
Cafe Sydney, Alfred Street – but you didn’t need me to tell you that.
Reuben Hills, Albion Street, Surry Hills – for a brunch worth queuing for.
Mr Wong’s, Bridge Lane – for all of the Chinese food.
Macchiato, Liverpool Street – for a late night pizza.
The Canopy, Liverpool Street – for the porridge and the salads.
Bills, Darlinghurst – hey, I never said this was going to be an original list.

Drink at:

Palmer and Co, Abercrombie Lane – for the Clover Clubs, the music and the novelty of being able to sit down in a bar on a Friday night.
Shady Pines Saloon, Crown Street – for the pride of actually managing to find the place.

Melbourne

Eat at:

South of Johnston, Oxford Street – for the green eggs. Warning: do not make any plans for the rest of the day. You will need to lie down after this.
Addict, Johnston Street – for the healthiest breakfast you’ll ever have and an excellent window for people watching purposes.
Naked for Satan, Brunswick Street – for the views, the food, and particularly the eggplant with blue cheese oh my goodness.
Xeom, Smith Street – for vietnamese street food and a test as to how much chilli you can take.
Arbory Bar and Eatery, Flinders Walk – for lunch by the water in a bar which is attached to a station and yet is in no way horrible.
Miss Chu, Exhibition St – for a tasty, crunchy vietnamese salad

Port Douglas

Go to: The Wildlife Habitat Port Douglas, the Great Barrier Reef (we went on the Calypso boat and had a great time), and for a tour of the Daintree Rainforest (we went with Daintree Discovery Tours and cannot recommend them enough).

Eat at:

Zinc, Macrossan Street – for the barramundi, the kiwi flavoured mojitos, and the bathrooms (I’ll let you find out why).
Mango Jam, Macrossan Street, – for the calamari and the mango daiquiris. Turns out they go surprisingly well together.
Watergate, Macrossan Street – for the duck. Have the duck. It’s just so good. Please, just have it.
The Surf Life Saving Club, Mowbray Street – for a good and thrifty meal, a gin and tonic and service with a smile.
Sassi, Macrossan Street – for the squid ink pasta and the massive prawns. Stewart Lee fans, it’s true, they’re huge.
Salsa Bar and Grill, Wharf Street – for a reminder of what it means to have eyes that are bigger than your stomach.

Drink at:

Sassi (mentioned above) – for great drinks as well as food. Have a margarita or two, you’re on holiday.

GROWING UP AND LEARNING TO LOVE HANGING OUT BY YOURSELF

25/10/2015 by Charlotte 2 Comments

Today, for the first time in my life, I went to the cinema by myself.

There was a time when I would have responded to the suggestion that I might go and see a film on my own like I would now if somebody asked me if I’d like to go out on a Monday night – ARE YOU INSANE? ABSOLUTELY NOT! GOOD LORD, DON’T EVEN SUGGEST SUCH MADNESS!

But that time has passed.

And I’ll tell you what, I loved it. (I went to see Suffragette which, if possible, seemed all the more powerful because I was alone. I cried and cried and wanted so hard to go back in time and say THANK YOU).

I think it’s a sign of age when you start really enjoying hanging out by yourself.

When I was younger, the pure idea of doing anything on my own was just too much to bear. I was so self-conscious growing up that I felt like I needed other people around me at all times just to justify my existence. Whereas now, not so much.

I always used to be late when going to meet my friends – partly because I’m a disorganised mess who decides to start straightening her hair at the time when she should be leaving the house – and partly because I never wanted to be left sat or standing there, just waiting. What would all the strangers around me think? I’d be a laughing stock, surely.

But then I decided to cut that out. I realised it’s not cool to be late (just do your hair earlier, yo) and that I really don’t care if I have to wait by myself. I’m an adult – extra free time when I can read or write or STARE at the clothes and shoes of strangers (don’t pretend you don’t do it too) is very welcome in my day.

IMG_20150819_175401 Because, guess what? Nobody cares (alright possibly re: the staring but just try to keep it more generally-having-a-look-around than super-creepy-weirdo) And if they do, do you? I’ve gradually managed to train myself not to.

In a couple of weeks this apparent newfound confidence is going to be put to the test. My husband is going to Australia for work and I’m taking some time off to go along for the ride because WOULDN’T YOU and will be hanging out by myself in Sydney.

And I must admit that I am a little apprehensive about this. Admittedly this is mainly because Leon is usually in charge of directions when we go away – like all good couples, we play to our strengths: I’m great at sorting out the admin, the dollar, and making sure I’ve got plenty of pants, and he’s good at working out which way we should turn when we get there.

But this time I’m going to be responsible for my pants AND which way I’m pointing. And I’m going to be a one-woman tourist party – seeing the sights, hitting the beach, and hopefully adding ‘turning right when I should have turned left’ to the list of things I’m not ashamed to be seen doing by myself. I’ll let you know how I get on.

A girl travels a long way on the route to turning 30. There are a lot of opportunities during those three decades to learn to like yourself enough not to fear the judgement of every single person who might happen to cross your path. It’s hard to put into practice but I know that, on the occasions when I do manage it, it’s the absolute sh*t.

A solo cinema trip might not sound all that impressive – and it isn’t in the long scheme of things, of course – but it’s always handy to be reminded that you’re no longer the terrified teen you used to be.

And that if you want to go to the cinema, eat some chocolate covered raisins and have a good cry on your own, you should.

Because there’s nothing embarrassing about that.

Want your relationship to last? Be nice to each other

04/10/2015 by Charlotte 1 Comment

Sometimes I have the audacity to use this blog to offer advice.

The words of wisdom I have to offer today sound so obvious that I might as well accompany this with a post about how you shouldn’t wake a sleeping baby, touch a lit hob, or suggest that perhaps an England rugby fan is ready to laugh about the team’s World Cup performance (WARNING: they’re definitely not).

But the number of times I find myself discussing this issue makes me think that maybe it isn’t, so here it is written down just in case.

This week marked ten years since my husband and I boarded the now decade long party bus that is our relationship. (I considered writing something here about the petrol being our love, the steering wheel being our hearts, and the GPS system being our forever-entwined souls but I decided against it in case it wouldn’t be immediately obvious that I was being ironic. Thank goodness we dodged that embarrassment, eh guys.)

And I realised that above all else, the most useful thing this time has taught me is how important it is to be nice to each other. That at your core, sitting quietly below the surface of your relationship, holding you together like roots under a tree, foundations below a house, or a good pair of pants beneath a very close fitting dress, needs to be a solid layer of kindness. Because without it, it’s just a matter of time before the whole thing unravels – and everybody catches an eyeful of your wobbly bits.

I think that part of the reason why this blindingly obvious statement needs to be made is because of how incredibly easy it is not to be nice – to let exhaustion turn you into a short-tempered, unreasonable fool; to let domestic gripes cast a shadow over your weekend, to think that just because somebody sleeps with their head next yours it means that they can read your mind…

So we have to put the effort in.

I know that any time we’ve had a run in, it’s because one of us hasn’t been nice to the other person. We’ve forgotten to think about how something might make them feel, or what sort of state they’re coming to a conversation in. Or, as is too frequently the case for me, I’ve failed to just keep my mouth shut, go to bed, and realise I’m not actually angry at all, I’m just tired and feel like having a strop. (Because guess what, Charlotte, that isn’t a good enough reason).

We all have to learn what it really means to be a nice person to be in a relationship with. I don’t see how anybody could nail it straight away (unless you really are a mind reader, in which case, you must be awesome at it). You just have to care enough to try, and to put the energy into getting it right. Otherwise, you might as well just pack up, go home, and stop wasting everybody’s time.

Despite having the gall to write this down and publish it on the internet, I do not consider myself to be any kind of expert in this area; I just thought that what I’ve learnt might just come in handy for somebody else:

That life is better when you stop and think about how nice you’re really being – rather than just powering ahead and behaving badly.

That behind every good relationship is a constant stream of feedback (sexy stuff, I know).

That loving someone means wanting them to be happy, and that being kind to them is Step One.

And that no matter how long you’ve been together, or how old you are, it never hurts to be reminded to try not to be a dick.

Marriage, sometimes

06/09/2015 by Charlotte 2 Comments

Sometimes he’ll accidentally throw a loo roll down the toilet and she won’t understand what…how did you… they’re so expens…just pop it in the bin.

Sometimes, a couple of days later, she’ll hurl a sock in the toilet instead of the laundry basket, and they’ll call it even.

Sometimes she’ll break her ‘no food in the bedroom’ rule and devour a whole bag of Maltesers on top of the duvet.

Sometimes he’ll find the empty red packet on the floor and resist the temptation to start a discussion about double standards.

Sometimes he’ll go out drinking so much ahead of her 30th birthday that he has to leave her party early to go home and nurse his aching throat.

Sometimes she’ll keep partying, force him out of bed at 3am to let her in the house, and they’ll call that even too.

Sometimes he’ll buy her a new fancy laptop to prove how much he believes in her writing (and to make her weekly exclamations of MY F***ING LAPTOP IS RUINING MY LIFE stop).

Sometimes she’ll cry when she remembers that he did that.

Sometimes she’ll fall asleep on the sofa until 4 o’clock in the morning, after promising she would go to bed in a minute.

Sometimes he’ll come downstairs to get her, and decide not to let the tirade of abuse that comes when he disturbs her hurt his feelings.

Sometimes she’ll get sunstroke, or food poisoning, or eat something that’s too ‘wheaty’ and turn into a quivering, vomiting, moany mess.

Sometimes he’ll use a VERY FIRM tone to tell her that if she doesn’t drink all of the water she needs to rehydrate then she’ll have to go to hospital (and then explain later that that’s just what he sounds like when he’s scared).

Sometimes he’ll show her a clip of a big kick or some good running that a rugby person did.

Sometimes she’ll make the right face to make him believe that she knows why she should be impressed.

Sometimes she’ll manage to figure out the answer to the 8 out of 10 Cats Does Countdown numbers game within the assigned 30 second period.

Sometimes he’ll look at her like she’s the cleverest person in the world.

Sometimes he’ll suggest going out for sushi instead of cooking food at home.

Sometimes she’ll think – this right here is exactly why I married you.

Sometimes he’ll look at her, panicked and say “I am in no way prepared for our anniversary tomorrow. I’m going into town and may be gone for some time.”

Sometimes she’ll look at him and think – it doesn’t matter. I’d still choose you.

Every single time.