When Cheating is Necessary

At some point post-relocating overseas, it's inevitable that one must cheat on some of the longest relationships of their life. Arguably, it is even essential in order to uphold some basic hygienic standards expected by society.

I am of course talking about long-standing relationships with health and beauty professionals. These are relationships that you have researched prior to initially committing to, and thereafter have rarely even considered being unfaithful. My beauty therapist saw me through every romantic relationship I've had in my life, my hairdresser saw me through all of my school years and my dentist has looked after my oral health since I was born. The trust I place in these professionals is unquestionable and unwavering.

What then happens when you are forced to start all over again?

Well, first of all you delay the moment for as long as possible. Buying up on hair ties and adopting the bun hairstyle to hide away split ends. Plucking rogue eyebrow hairs until eventually losing the shape altogether, and trying not to whimper and swear as you attempt to give yourself a bikini wax for the first time (ohhhhhhhh owwwwww holy mother of canoli).

Eventually it gets to the stage where you cannot risk tearing the skin of your privates away from your body anymore and have to face the music. The number of times I walked past the hair salon without venturing inside is simply embarrassing. However, the thought of permanently being remembered in our team photo at work as the girl with the bushy hair and monobrow was most certainly enough to scare me into finally walking through the doors of the salon.

I must say, lying on a table with a strange lady pouring hot wax all over my eyebrows the day before the photo had me questioning my judgement. Who's to say that in my vain attempt to avoid the monobrow look I wouldn't lose my eyebrows altogether? After a long half hour appointment I tried to walk out as coolly and casually as possible before sprinting home and racing for the nearest mirror.

Fortunately, I am happy to say that I survived, eyebrows in tact and ready for my upcoming long weekend in Bath. I am hoping this trip will give me more writing content to work with - you know you're scraping the bottom of the barrel when you write a blog on hair removal. I would have loved to have talked about escapades at work, house party dramas and my night getting kicked out of McDonald's and roaming the streets of Tooting with three male celebrity lookalikes but unfortunately it's a public blog that all of the protagonists also have access to so you shall have to use your vivid imaginations about what happened instead :)

Love, Em xxx

Overcoming the yikes over bikes!

Dear blogging world,

Paris is now but a distant memory as I watch the rain pour down outside my London window with cup of tea in hand, watching what is quite possibly one of the most heart-wrenching movies I have seen. To the writer of "One Day" - thankyou, I am now thoroughly depressed. I can't help but think that there are some really sick minded people out there who enjoy transporting people to such helpless places through books and film. WHY.

All morbid and gloomy things aside, I suppose it is now time to make you all jealous of my goings on over in the northern hemisphere. Paris well and truly reignited the spark for travel and I have spent many hours since then researching, budgeting and planning for future trips great and small so much so that my head has wanted to explode a few occasions.

However, I managed to firm up on a day trip to Cambridge last weekend. Having already visited Oxford a couple of years ago, it seemed only fair to plan a visit to the competitor university town. Plus, a trip to Cambridge meant an excuse for train travel.

Train travel. Despite a summer that's seen three major train accidents in France, Spain and Switzerland and all of the negative media that has followed, I am the biggest advocate for train travel. No long airport check ins required, efficient, reliable, on time, comfortable, a scenic way to travel, more leg room, departing from the beautiful Kings Cross station and the opportunity to stock up on Pret a Manger porridge before departing, which I am hugely sentimental of after living off the stuff during my first three weeks living in London. I would even go so far as to say sometimes it is MORE about the journey rather than the destination.

I digress. Where did I visit again? Oh right. Cambridge. Cambridge.

Cambridge is a gorgeous town that can be explored by foot, bike or boat. Given that foot travel is so incidental and my last boat experience was a most unfortunate one that featured a very sexually inappropriate gondola driver (hey Jamila...) I decided that bike was the way to go.

The image of cruising along on a biiiicycle, biiiicycle with the wind in my hair and without a worry in the world is often enough to make me forget that I'm not the world's most natural cyclist. Despite having a father who was born on a bike, I have never quite displayed such capable qualities. In fact, I can safely say it is possible to forget how to ride a bike. My loving father taught me not once, but twice and despite financially investing in my road bike to maximise on more quality father/daughter bonding time, the few times I took it out my knuckles were always white from my tight and terrified grip on the handles.

Fast forward to my bike tour then, in a country that doesn't legally implement the wearing of helmets. Cycling along next to a lovely girl from the Netherlands who could ride a bike in her sleep, she barely noticed as I slowed and went silent every time I had to concentrate hard to ride through narrowly positioned poles rather that into them.

With all disasters averted, it was a lovely experience and I got to learn about rowing "bumps race" style, whereby the aim of the game is to actually bump into other boats to disqualify them from the race. When I queried about how this style of racing was sustainable with the inevitable damage and expense caused to the boats, the tour guide simply blinked at me and said, "look around, this place is dripping with money."

Indeed, signs of money were all around. Enter the college boys. These preppy boys put any Brisbane try hard boys to shame. Here in Cambridge, it is compulsory to wear Ralph Lauren and boater shoes. Teamed up with a most gorgeous plummy accent, it would be a dangerous combination if it weren't for the natural arrogance that goes along with it. Still, I have no doubt that these boys had a lot of success luring unsuspecting girls into the punting boats and could easily make a career from it should their scholastic endeavours flounder.

I've found that people are surprised when they hear that I've planned a trip and don't plan to travel with anybody else. It's not that I necessarily choose to travel solo, it's simply that the opportunity to travel with somebody else doesn't arise all that often. Absolutely fine with me! I must say though, as wonderful as solo travel can be with its flexibility and ability to one ramble about and do your own thing, there is one major hurdle that one must overcome: plucking up the courage to ask a stranger to take your photo. It's awkward, it's horrible and it would be so much easier to avoid if it weren't for the disappointed, "but there are no photos of you!" comments. I always end up doing an awkward-style dance that probably looks like I need to go to the bathroom as I try and decide to approach someone, before changing my mind and quickly retreating. This usually goes on for at least a minute before finally committing to the cause. The end result is always worth it, though you as my blogging audience will now know the secret anguish that's behind every photo.

Speaking of photos, I end this blog with a happy photo of Dan and Graeme with girlfriend Sarah, my family away from home. A big happy birthday to Graeme who is constantly disappointed that he misses out on a blog mention. You made it this week, buddy!

Love, Em xxx