tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-72512710324076017092024-03-13T23:11:58.996-07:00Life: A Bird's Eye View...Memoirs of a Non-Mum: a bird's eye view of the adventures of a fun-loving ageing raver, writer, intrepid traveller and beauty boutique manager.Samantha Walshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08924699477544035160noreply@blogger.comBlogger84125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7251271032407601709.post-66128407027839747872017-05-11T11:17:00.000-07:002017-05-11T11:19:27.306-07:00The blog has a new home!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Hello, Bird's Eye Viewers!<br />
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Exciting news! I now have a shiny new home for my blog: <a href="http://www.lifeabirdseyeview.com/"><b><span style="color: purple;">www.lifeabirdseyeview.com</span></b></a>.<br />
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I'm a bit sad to leave my Blogger address as it's been my comfy home for the last year or so, but I've outgrown this little place now and it's time for a swanky upgrade.<br />
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I'd like to thank each and every one of you who have been reading my posts; I hope you'll continue to do so. Over at my new self-hosted site all the original posts are there, plus lots of new ones, only now they are all categorised for ease of reference. Get me - organised, huh? 😄<br />
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So grab a drink, kick back and relax - come and admire the new view at <a href="http://www.lifeabirdseyeview.com/"><b><span style="color: purple;">Life: A Bird's Eye View</span></b></a>....<br />
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Sam xx<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-brCb_yF03rc/WRSqJv-wdUI/AAAAAAAACMM/lPMFXYXNpFQjvXrIniutCgsaUjAPJffogCLcB/s1600/new-home.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="277" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-brCb_yF03rc/WRSqJv-wdUI/AAAAAAAACMM/lPMFXYXNpFQjvXrIniutCgsaUjAPJffogCLcB/s400/new-home.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://reaperswargaming.co.uk/blog/2015/10/13/episode-2-a-new-home/">photo credit</a></td></tr>
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<b style="color: purple; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; font-style: italic; line-height: 20.79px;">Fancy reading my back-story before you go any further? You can find my other blogs at:</b><br />
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<dd class="wp-caption-dd" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #767676; font-family: 'open sans', helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; font-style: italic; line-height: 1.5; margin: 9px 0px; padding: 0px 10px 0px 0px;"><b style="color: purple; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px;"><br /></b><span style="color: purple; font-family: "arial" , "tahoma" , "helvetica" , "freesans" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px;"><b><a href="http://www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com/" style="color: #6699cc; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px; text-decoration: none;">www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com</a></b></span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-family: "arial" , "tahoma" , "helvetica" , "freesans" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px;"><b><a href="http://www.samgoessolo.blogspot.com/" style="color: #6699cc; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px; text-decoration: none;">www.samgoessolo.blogspot.com</a></b></span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-family: "arial" , "tahoma" , "helvetica" , "freesans" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px;"><b><a href="http://www.mummymission.blogspot.com/" style="color: #6699cc; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px; text-decoration: none;">www.mummymission.blogspot.com</a></b></span><br />
<b style="color: purple; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px;"><a href="http://www.worldwidewalsh.blogspot.com/" style="color: #6699cc; text-decoration: none;">www.worldwidewalsh.blogspot.com</a></b></dd>
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Samantha Walshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08924699477544035160noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7251271032407601709.post-28691946622660851042017-05-10T01:02:00.002-07:002017-05-10T01:06:09.261-07:00Varadero: Life's A Beach<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Having spent four days embracing all that the enchanting city of Havana has to offer, by the fifth day we are made up of 30% culture and 70% rum. It's time to redress the balance a little: we clearly need more rum.</div>
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The journey time by coach to <strong><span data-mce-style="color: #800080;" style="color: purple;"><a data-mce-href="https://www.tripadvisor.co.uk/Tourism-g147275-Varadero_Matanzas_Province_Cuba-Vacations.html" data-mce-style="color: #800080;" href="https://www.tripadvisor.co.uk/Tourism-g147275-Varadero_Matanzas_Province_Cuba-Vacations.html" rel="noopener noreferrer" style="color: purple; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Varadero</a></span></strong>, our next destination in <span data-mce-style="color: #800080;" style="color: purple;"><strong><a data-mce-href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cuba" data-mce-style="color: #800080;" href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cuba" rel="noopener noreferrer" style="color: purple; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Cuba</a></strong></span>, is around two hours - just long enough to decompress from the hectic pace of Havana and the exhausting business of sightseeing, take a deep breath aaaaaand relaxxxxx in preparation for our luxurious (ahem!) all-inclusive surroundings.</div>
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Varadero is a popular beach resort in the <span data-mce-style="color: #800080;" style="color: purple;"><strong><a data-mce-href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Matanzas_Province" data-mce-style="color: #800080;" href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Matanzas_Province" rel="noopener noreferrer" style="color: purple; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Matanzas province</a> </strong></span>along the coast from the capital, boasting it's own international airport (each of the 15 provinces in Cuba has one), over 60 hotels and 20km of white sandy beaches, which run along the skinny <strong><span data-mce-style="color: #800080;" style="color: purple;"><a data-mce-href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hicacos_Peninsula" data-mce-style="color: #800080;" href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hicacos_Peninsula" rel="noopener noreferrer" style="color: purple; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Hicacos peninsula</a></span></strong><span data-mce-style="color: #800080;" style="color: purple;">, <span data-mce-style="color: #333333;" style="color: #333333;">facing the <a data-mce-href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gulf_of_Mexico" href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gulf_of_Mexico" rel="noopener noreferrer" style="color: #24890d; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank"><span data-mce-style="color: #800080;" style="color: purple;"><strong>Gulf Of Mexico. </strong></span></a></span></span></div>
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<dt class="wp-caption-dt" style="-webkit-user-drag: none; font-weight: bold; margin: 0px;"><img alt="" class="wp-image-844 size-full" data-mce-src="http://lifeabirdseyeview.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/varadero-map-2.jpg" src="http://lifeabirdseyeview.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/varadero-map-2.jpg" height="315" style="-webkit-user-drag: none; display: block; height: auto; max-width: 474px; vertical-align: middle;" width="640" /></dt>
<dd class="wp-caption-dd" style="-webkit-user-drag: none; box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 12px; font-style: italic; line-height: 1.5; margin: 9px 0px; padding: 0px 10px 0px 0px;"><strong style="-webkit-user-drag: none;"><span data-mce-style="color: #800080;" style="-webkit-user-drag: none; color: purple;"><a data-mce-href="http://mytravelresources.ca/varadero/" data-mce-style="color: #800080;" href="http://mytravelresources.ca/varadero/" rel="noopener noreferrer" style="-webkit-user-drag: none; color: purple; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">photo credit</a></span></strong></dd></dl>
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Seeing as the hotels are all-inclusive, which basically gives the green light for gluttony, the peninsula is the only thing that is skinny. I've never been a <em>huge </em>fan of the all-inclusive, for that precise reason: if you weren't huge when you walked in, you will be by the time you leave. <span data-mce-style="color: #800080;" style="color: purple;"><strong><a data-mce-href="http://lifeabirdseyeview.com/2016/05/the-buffet-mentality.html/" data-mce-style="color: #800080;" href="http://lifeabirdseyeview.com/2016/05/the-buffet-mentality.html/" rel="noopener noreferrer" style="color: purple; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">The Buffet Mentality</a> </strong></span>encourages ordinary human beings to consume extraordinary amounts. It's the nature of the beast. And by the end of the holiday, you'll be a beast alright.</div>
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"Hotel Bella Costa!" cries the holiday rep as the coach comes to a halt, rousing me from my daydream. I look out the window. Really? Perhaps we've taken a wrong turn somewhere as we appear to have pulled up outside Nelson Mandela House. It's raining hard and the building - which resembles a concrete block of council flats more suited to South East London than a sandy beach resort - is seriously lacking in kerb appeal. Sceptically, we grab our luggage and head inside.</div>
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If you've ever stayed at an all-inclusive resort, you'll understand what I mean when I describe it as large-scale factory farming: upon check-in you're "tagged" with a plastic wristband for identification purposes, in much the same way as a battery chicken. This is to ensure the<br />
<del style="color: #767676;">poultry</del> guests aren't tempted to stray into neighbouring farms. Next you're led to your room; an identikit holding pen where you'll sleep and rest between feeds. Those who have been in the compound for a while already will giggle and point at the newbies, commenting on their "chicken-white skin" in stage whispers. Then the fattening up process begins: long periods spent pecking at unlimited buffets, beaks in troughs, interspersed with hours spent slowly rotating on sunbeds, basting at regular intervals with an SPF30 marinade.<br />
Chicks consume the cheap spirits on offer until adequately slaughtered, followed by roasting until golden in the midday sun. Cocks strut along the beach in too-tight shorts, feathers puffed up in a public display of masculinity. Once the two week period is up the spent carcasses are routinely discarded and plastic wristbands removed, ready for a fresh influx of virgin-skinned chickens, delivered by coach straight onto the all-inclusive conveyor belt. And so it continues...</div>
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When you've just spent several days in the wonderfully chaotic city of Havana, free as a...bird, coming into such a sterile, structured environment can be a shock to the system. Hotels in Cuba are measured on a different scale to their smart European counterparts, so a 4-star in Varadero would probably be a strong two elsewhere. Having got our hopes up on the journey, we're mildly disappointed by our room upon entry, with it's curtains coming off the runners and mould in the bathroom.<br />
However, after a hearty meal and a good night's sleep, we awake to a glorious day, the rain replaced by wall-to-wall sunshine and the bluest of skies. The view from the balcony is breathtaking: as we're five floors up and in the middle of the peninsula we can see the sea and gorgeous white sandy beaches on either side. Maybe being incarcerated in all-inclusive isn't so bad after all. <em>This</em> is what we came for!</div>
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<dt class="wp-caption-dt" style="-webkit-user-drag: none; font-weight: bold; margin: 0px;"><img alt="" class="wp-image-846" data-mce-src="http://lifeabirdseyeview.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/IMG_4436-1024x767.jpg" src="http://lifeabirdseyeview.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/IMG_4436-1024x767.jpg" height="689" style="-webkit-user-drag: none; display: block; height: auto; max-width: 474px; vertical-align: middle;" width="920" /></dt>
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Breakfast is an all-out banquet: you can have anything from omelettes to pancakes to beef casserole or ice cream should the mood take you, then it's time to plot up with your full belly on the beach and catch some rays. As well as chunky Americans and desiccated German sun worshippers with skin like leather, there are a disproportionate amount of Canadians and also plenty of Eastern Europeans and Russians for the men's viewing pleasure. The latter are Andy's eye-candy: he dons dark glasses and casually eyes souped-up young Serbs with bolt-on breasts and butt cheeks that could crack walnuts. All this sunbathing is thirsty work though, and by 10am hot-under-the-collar holidaymakers are glancing restlessly at their watches, wondering who'll be first to kick off the cocktail runs and give everyone else the guilt-free go-ahead.</div>
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The rum is free-flowing and plentiful, with fellow inmates carefully carrying a steady stream of mojitos, daiquiris, Cuba libres and pina coladas in little plastic cups across the hot sand. The Yanks have clearly done this before: no thimble-sized plastic cups for these dudes, oh no - they've bought their own vast plastic drinks receptacles from home, some the size of small barrels, smiling smugly as they supervise the cocktail-making process. "Fill her up, bartender!" they bellow as half a bottle of Havana Club goes into their supersize travel cup. Hmm. Must remember that for next time.</div>
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It's not just Americans and Canadians who flock to Varadero - the beaches are also home to hundreds of pelicans, who dive-bomb into the sea to catch fish, completely unperturbed by the fact it's full of squawking humans. They bob on the waves alongside adults and children, their long grey bills tucked against their bodies, beady eyes watching the proceedings, bemused.</div>
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In the evenings there are several à la carte restaurant options (Japanese, Cuban and Italian) if you should fancy a change from the free-for-all buffet, followed by a nightly show, which is actually pretty good. The staff are beyond polite and friendly, smiling sweetly as grasping guests gobble everything in sight in a bid to get their money's worth.<br />
After a few days, we've completely settled into the pace and routine and are feeling relaxed and happy, if a little bored at times. We decide to pay 135 CuCs each for a two-day excursion to three cities: <a data-mce-href="https://www.lonelyplanet.com/cuba/cienfuegos" href="https://www.lonelyplanet.com/cuba/cienfuegos" rel="noopener noreferrer" style="color: #24890d; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank"><strong><span data-mce-style="color: #800080;" style="color: purple;">Cienfuegos</span></strong></a>, <a data-mce-href="https://www.lonelyplanet.com/cuba/central-cuba/trinidad" href="https://www.lonelyplanet.com/cuba/central-cuba/trinidad" rel="noopener noreferrer" style="color: #24890d; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank"><span data-mce-style="color: #800080;" style="color: purple;"><strong>Trinidad</strong></span></a> and <a data-mce-href="https://www.lonelyplanet.com/cuba/central-cuba/santa-clara" href="https://www.lonelyplanet.com/cuba/central-cuba/santa-clara" rel="noopener noreferrer" style="color: #24890d; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank"><strong><span data-mce-style="color: #800080;" style="color: purple;">Santa Clara</span></strong></a>, leaving at 8am the following morning. There are 10 of us on the trip including an English family and the rest Germans.</div>
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<dt class="wp-caption-dt" style="-webkit-user-drag: none; font-weight: bold; margin: 0px;"><img alt="" class="wp-image-850" data-mce-src="http://lifeabirdseyeview.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/IMG_5085-300x225.jpg" src="http://lifeabirdseyeview.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/IMG_5085-300x225.jpg" height="689" style="-webkit-user-drag: none; display: block; height: auto; max-width: 474px; vertical-align: middle;" width="920" /></dt>
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<dt class="wp-caption-dt" style="-webkit-user-drag: none; font-weight: bold; margin: 0px;"><img alt="" class="wp-image-851" data-mce-src="http://lifeabirdseyeview.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/IMG_4364-e1494175159314-225x300.jpg" src="http://lifeabirdseyeview.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/IMG_4364-e1494175159314-225x300.jpg" height="1227" style="-webkit-user-drag: none; display: block; height: auto; max-width: 474px; vertical-align: middle;" width="920" /></dt>
<dd class="wp-caption-dd" style="-webkit-user-drag: none; box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 12px; font-style: italic; line-height: 1.5; margin: 9px 0px; padding: 0px 10px 0px 0px;">El Nicho waterfalls</dd></dl>
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We visit Cienfuegos town, <strong><span data-mce-style="color: #800080;" style="color: purple;"><a data-mce-href="https://www.tripadvisor.co.uk/Attraction_Review-g609122-d2149676-Reviews-El_Nicho_Waterfalls-Cienfuegos_Cienfuegos_Province_Cuba.html" data-mce-style="color: #800080;" href="https://www.tripadvisor.co.uk/Attraction_Review-g609122-d2149676-Reviews-El_Nicho_Waterfalls-Cienfuegos_Cienfuegos_Province_Cuba.html" rel="noopener noreferrer" style="color: purple; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">El Nicho waterfalls</a></span></strong> and go on a hike through the forest before stopping for a very dubious-looking lunch. We order pina coladas to wash down some grey matter which we're told are potatoes (I'm still not convinced).</div>
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<dt class="wp-caption-dt" style="-webkit-user-drag: none; font-weight: bold; margin: 0px;"><img alt="" class="wp-image-848" data-mce-src="http://lifeabirdseyeview.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/IMG_4376-300x225.jpg" src="http://lifeabirdseyeview.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/IMG_4376-300x225.jpg" height="690" style="-webkit-user-drag: none; display: block; height: auto; max-width: 474px; vertical-align: middle;" width="920" /></dt>
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We arrive in Trinidad several hours later; a quaint province with a village feel, like stepping back in time, with horse and cart instead of cars, uneven cobbled streets and colourful little terraced houses. It emerges that we will be split up and staying with families in their homes, rather than the hotel we were all expecting (and paid for?). Since 1997 the government has permitted Cubans to rent out rooms in their homes like a B&B, which gives them an extra income and provides travellers with cheaper, more authentic options than the big, government-owned hotels.</div>
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We disperse to our various <a data-mce-href="http://www.casaparticular.com" href="http://www.casaparticular.com/" rel="noopener noreferrer" style="color: #24890d; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank"><span data-mce-style="color: #800080;" style="color: purple;"><strong><em>casas particulares</em></strong></span></a> (private houses) to deposit our belongings and freshen up, before meeting for cocktails and dinner, which is another interesting experience. We are all served fish and chips, or should I say 'chip' as we are literally given one solitary little sliver of potato each, which has us all roaring with laughter, much to the confusion of the waiter.</div>
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<dt class="wp-caption-dt" style="-webkit-user-drag: none; font-weight: bold; margin: 0px;"><img alt="" class="wp-image-852" data-mce-src="http://lifeabirdseyeview.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/IMG_4855-1-300x225.jpg" src="http://lifeabirdseyeview.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/IMG_4855-1-300x225.jpg" height="690" style="-webkit-user-drag: none; display: block; height: auto; max-width: 474px; vertical-align: middle;" width="920" /></dt>
<dd class="wp-caption-dd" style="-webkit-user-drag: none; box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 12px; font-style: italic; line-height: 1.5; margin: 9px 0px; padding: 0px 10px 0px 0px;">fish and chip</dd></dl>
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Trying to find the right front door to our little casa again in the pitch darkness and after several cocktails is, however, no laughing matter and in the morning we're all tired, having spent hours roaming the streets trying to find our respective beds for the night. Our casa owner, Dama, and her mother are very sweet; we communicate in stilted Spanglish and they serve us up omelettes before sending us on our way.</div>
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<dt class="wp-caption-dt" style="-webkit-user-drag: none; font-weight: bold; margin: 0px;"><img alt="" class="wp-image-854" data-mce-src="http://lifeabirdseyeview.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/IMG_4853-e1494176265642.jpg" src="http://lifeabirdseyeview.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/IMG_4853-e1494176265642.jpg" height="690" style="-webkit-user-drag: none; display: block; height: auto; max-width: 474px; vertical-align: middle;" width="920" /></dt>
<dd class="wp-caption-dd" style="-webkit-user-drag: none; box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 12px; font-style: italic; line-height: 1.5; margin: 9px 0px; padding: 0px 10px 0px 0px;">our casa particular</dd></dl>
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The weather refuses to play ball and the city tour is a total washout, resulting in hair plastered to heads and feet skidding out of flip-flops. We pile back onto the bus, which the driver has helpfully frozen to the the temperature of the Arctic Circle and we shiver and shake all the way to Santa Clara, to visit Che Guevara's mausoleum. Satisfied that we've ticked some more culture boxes, it's a relief to be back in the comfort of our hotel where the food is now looking particularly delicious and the bed exceptionally comfy.<br />
We meet Italian Londoners Alex and his dad Raff, who we enjoy chatting to over a few cocktails. Alex fiddles with my iPhone, mumbling something about security settings and allowing cookies, and suddenly it leaps into life, pinging and dinging as hundreds of Whatsapps pour through. I squeal with delight and start uploading my photos to Insta with abandon. At several CuCs an hour, everyone is tapping furiously at their phones in the hotel lobby, not wanting to waste a moment.</div>
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<dt class="wp-caption-dt" style="-webkit-user-drag: none; font-weight: bold; margin: 0px;"><img alt="" class="wp-image-866" data-mce-src="http://lifeabirdseyeview.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/IMG_4886-300x225.jpg" src="http://lifeabirdseyeview.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/IMG_4886-300x225.jpg" height="690" style="-webkit-user-drag: none; display: block; height: auto; max-width: 474px; vertical-align: middle;" width="920" /></dt>
<dd class="wp-caption-dd" style="-webkit-user-drag: none; box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 12px; font-style: italic; line-height: 1.5; margin: 9px 0px; padding: 0px 10px 0px 0px;">new friends: Alessandro and his dad Raff</dd></dl>
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Cardiff pensioners Jenny and Roger join in the fun the next day and suddenly we have a little crew; the British contingent commandeering the beach with our pumping Bose stereo and boisterous behaviour. I'm surprised there's not a path in the sand from the beach to the bar, such is the number of trips we make.</div>
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Making friends makes all the difference and the best meal of the holiday comes the next day when we take a 1950s Buick to visit <a data-mce-href="https://www.tripadvisor.co.uk/Restaurant_Review-g147275-d2458217-Reviews-La_Casa_De_Al-Varadero_Matanzas_Province_Cuba.html" href="https://www.tripadvisor.co.uk/Restaurant_Review-g147275-d2458217-Reviews-La_Casa_De_Al-Varadero_Matanzas_Province_Cuba.html" rel="noopener noreferrer" style="color: #24890d; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank"><strong><span data-mce-style="color: #800080;" style="color: purple;">La Casa De Al</span></strong></a>: mobster Al Capone's sumptuous villa right on the beach, now a luxurious restaurant.</div>
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<img alt="" class="wp-image-856 aligncenter" data-mce-src="http://lifeabirdseyeview.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/IMG_4620-e1494175970659.jpg" src="http://lifeabirdseyeview.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/IMG_4620-e1494175970659.jpg" height="1227" style="clear: both; display: block; height: auto; margin: 7px auto; max-width: 474px; vertical-align: middle;" width="920" /></div>
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<dt class="wp-caption-dt" style="-webkit-user-drag: none; font-weight: bold; margin: 0px;"><img alt="" class="wp-image-867" data-mce-src="http://lifeabirdseyeview.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/IMG_4884-240x300.jpg" src="http://lifeabirdseyeview.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/IMG_4884-240x300.jpg" height="1150" style="-webkit-user-drag: none; display: block; height: auto; max-width: 474px; vertical-align: middle;" width="920" /></dt>
<dd class="wp-caption-dd" style="-webkit-user-drag: none; box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 12px; font-style: italic; line-height: 1.5; margin: 9px 0px; padding: 0px 10px 0px 0px;">delicious fresh lobster with garlic butter</dd></dl>
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As we dine on a lunch of fresh garlic lobster, sipping mojitos, the men puffing fat hand-rolled Cuban cigars as we look out at the perfect pelican-filled beach, we all agree that this is a special moment, one which will linger in our minds long after our tans have faded.</div>
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<dt class="wp-caption-dt" style="-webkit-user-drag: none; font-weight: bold; margin: 0px;"><img alt="" class="wp-image-879" data-mce-src="http://lifeabirdseyeview.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/IMG_4844-240x300.jpg" src="http://lifeabirdseyeview.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/IMG_4844-240x300.jpg" height="1150" style="-webkit-user-drag: none; display: block; height: auto; max-width: 474px; vertical-align: middle;" width="920" /></dt>
<dd class="wp-caption-dd" style="-webkit-user-drag: none; box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 12px; font-style: italic; line-height: 1.5; margin: 9px 0px; padding: 0px 10px 0px 0px;">my cicada creation made by a local from palm leaves</dd></dl>
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<dt class="wp-caption-dt" style="-webkit-user-drag: none; font-weight: bold; margin: 0px;"><img alt="" class="wp-image-876" data-mce-src="http://lifeabirdseyeview.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/IMG_5087-278x300.jpg" src="http://lifeabirdseyeview.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/IMG_5087-278x300.jpg" height="994" style="-webkit-user-drag: none; display: block; height: auto; max-width: 474px; vertical-align: middle;" width="920" /></dt>
<dd class="wp-caption-dd" style="-webkit-user-drag: none; box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 12px; font-style: italic; line-height: 1.5; margin: 9px 0px; padding: 0px 10px 0px 0px;">enjoying our steaks at Barbacoa</dd></dl>
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<strong><span data-mce-style="color: #800080;" style="color: purple;"><a data-mce-href="https://www.tripadvisor.co.uk/Restaurant_Review-g147275-d2092785-Reviews-Barbacoa-Varadero_Matanzas_Province_Cuba.html" data-mce-style="color: #800080;" href="https://www.tripadvisor.co.uk/Restaurant_Review-g147275-d2092785-Reviews-Barbacoa-Varadero_Matanzas_Province_Cuba.html" rel="noopener noreferrer" style="color: purple; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Barbacoa</a></span></strong> is another great restaurant, where we have delicious steaks (the chateaubriand is lip-smackingly good), as is <strong><span data-mce-style="color: #800080;" style="color: purple;">El Toro</span></strong>. Eating out is top dollar in Cuba at around 25-30CuCs (a Cuc is a pound/dollar/euro) for a main course, which is why most people stick to the confines of their all-inclusive haven. You can take an open-top <a data-mce-href="http://cubavaraderobeach.com/hop-on-hop-off-bus-varadero-cuba/" href="http://cubavaraderobeach.com/hop-on-hop-off-bus-varadero-cuba/" rel="noopener noreferrer" style="color: #24890d; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank"><span data-mce-style="color: #800080;" style="color: purple;"><strong>hop-on hop-off bus</strong></span></a> around the town for 5 CuCs a day and visit the museums, shopping mall and other tourist attractions, but apart from venturing out to switch up our dining options we don't bother, preferring to remain reassuringly close to the beach and all-inclusive cocktail bars.</div>
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When it finally comes to time for us to leave for the airport, we're not so much battery hens any more as Southern Fried Chicken: plump and juicy from all the food and drink; crispy-skinned from the intense Caribbean sun. We're reluctant to leave as the receptionist snips off our wristbands and we're ushered out of our comfy compound, blinking in the sunlight as our beady eyes adjust to the prospect of being cooped back up at work once more...</div>
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<dt class="wp-caption-dt" style="-webkit-user-drag: none; font-weight: bold; margin: 0px;"><img alt="" class="wp-image-865" data-mce-src="http://lifeabirdseyeview.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/IMG_5027-240x300.jpg" src="http://lifeabirdseyeview.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/IMG_5027-240x300.jpg" height="1150" style="-webkit-user-drag: none; display: block; height: auto; max-width: 474px; vertical-align: middle;" width="920" /></dt>
<dd class="wp-caption-dd" style="-webkit-user-drag: none; box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 12px; font-style: italic; line-height: 1.5; margin: 9px 0px; padding: 0px 10px 0px 0px;">that sky though...</dd></dl>
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<dt class="wp-caption-dt" style="-webkit-user-drag: none; font-weight: bold; margin: 0px;"><img alt="" class="wp-image-862" data-mce-src="http://lifeabirdseyeview.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/IMG_4842-300x225.jpg" src="http://lifeabirdseyeview.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/IMG_4842-300x225.jpg" height="689" style="-webkit-user-drag: none; display: block; height: auto; max-width: 474px; vertical-align: middle;" width="920" /></dt>
<dd class="wp-caption-dd" style="-webkit-user-drag: none; box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 12px; font-style: italic; line-height: 1.5; margin: 9px 0px; padding: 0px 10px 0px 0px;">beautiful Varadero</dd></dl>
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<dt class="wp-caption-dt" style="-webkit-user-drag: none; font-weight: bold; margin: 0px;"><img alt="" class="wp-image-882" data-mce-src="http://lifeabirdseyeview.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/IMG_5083-300x225.jpg" src="http://lifeabirdseyeview.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/IMG_5083-300x225.jpg" height="690" style="-webkit-user-drag: none; display: block; height: auto; max-width: 474px; vertical-align: middle;" width="920" /></dt>
<dd class="wp-caption-dd" style="-webkit-user-drag: none; box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 12px; font-style: italic; line-height: 1.5; margin: 9px 0px; padding: 0px 10px 0px 0px;">Bel Air: not just any old taxis</dd></dl>
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<dt class="wp-caption-dt" style="-webkit-user-drag: none; font-weight: bold; margin: 0px;"><img alt="" class="wp-image-858" data-mce-src="http://lifeabirdseyeview.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/IMG_4582-300x225.jpg" src="http://lifeabirdseyeview.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/IMG_4582-300x225.jpg" height="689" style="-webkit-user-drag: none; display: block; height: auto; max-width: 474px; vertical-align: middle;" width="920" /></dt>
<dd class="wp-caption-dd" style="-webkit-user-drag: none; box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 12px; font-style: italic; line-height: 1.5; margin: 9px 0px; padding: 0px 10px 0px 0px;">not a cloud in sight</dd></dl>
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<dt class="wp-caption-dt" style="-webkit-user-drag: none; font-weight: bold; margin: 0px;"><img alt="" class="wp-image-870" data-mce-src="http://lifeabirdseyeview.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/IMG_5107-300x225.jpg" src="http://lifeabirdseyeview.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/IMG_5107-300x225.jpg" height="690" style="-webkit-user-drag: none; display: block; height: auto; max-width: 474px; vertical-align: middle;" width="920" /></dt>
<dd class="wp-caption-dd" style="-webkit-user-drag: none; box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 12px; font-style: italic; line-height: 1.5; margin: 9px 0px; padding: 0px 10px 0px 0px;">getting friendly with the locals</dd></dl>
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<dt class="wp-caption-dt" style="-webkit-user-drag: none; font-weight: bold; margin: 0px;"><img alt="" class="wp-image-872" data-mce-src="http://lifeabirdseyeview.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/IMG_5091-300x225.jpg" src="http://lifeabirdseyeview.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/IMG_5091-300x225.jpg" height="689" style="-webkit-user-drag: none; display: block; height: auto; max-width: 474px; vertical-align: middle;" width="920" /></dt>
<dd class="wp-caption-dd" style="-webkit-user-drag: none; box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 12px; font-style: italic; line-height: 1.5; margin: 9px 0px; padding: 0px 10px 0px 0px;">as the sun sets on our holiday, we both agree that Cuba has been pretty special<br />
<b style="color: purple; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px;"><br /></b>
<b style="color: purple; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px;">Fancy reading my back-story before you go any further? You can find my other blogs at:</b><br />
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<span style="color: purple; font-family: "arial" , "tahoma" , "helvetica" , "freesans" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px; text-decoration: none;"><b><a href="http://www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com/" style="color: #6699cc; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px; text-decoration: none;">www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com</a></b></span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-family: "arial" , "tahoma" , "helvetica" , "freesans" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px; text-decoration: none;"><b><a href="http://www.samgoessolo.blogspot.com/" style="color: #6699cc; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px; text-decoration: none;">www.samgoessolo.blogspot.com</a></b></span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-family: "arial" , "tahoma" , "helvetica" , "freesans" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px; text-decoration: none;"><b><a href="http://www.mummymission.blogspot.com/" style="color: #6699cc; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px; text-decoration: none;">www.mummymission.blogspot.com</a></b></span><br />
<b style="color: purple; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px;"><a href="http://www.worldwidewalsh.blogspot.com/" style="color: #6699cc; text-decoration: none;">www.worldwidewalsh.blogspot.com</a></b></dd>
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Samantha Walshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08924699477544035160noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7251271032407601709.post-43833490373131433112017-05-03T01:58:00.001-07:002017-05-03T03:58:04.539-07:00Havana Good Time<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Arriving in Cuba (Andy's case - mine's WAY bigger)</td></tr>
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Our trip to Cuba kicks off with a two-hour delay at Gatwick; as soon as I clock the uber-glam trolley dollies on our Virgin Atlantic flight I've sussed out why: it must've taken them at least that long to get their make-up on. And that's just the fellas. That's not a criticism - I have nothing but admiration for any gal (or guy) who can convincingly contour their face without looking like a deranged zebra. That's skills right there.<br />
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The nine-hour flight is a breeze - great service (by which I mean free-flowing booze with no judgemental frowns), great food (including delicious Gu desserts, packets of Skittles and an abundance of Love Hearts, which send sweet-toothed Andy into raptures). We even make up almost an hour of the delay.<br />
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Stepping onto Cuban soil - super-excited, sunnies at the ready - we're greeted with...rain. Of biblical proportions. Have a word! We didn't sign up for this. April is Cuba's winter, but still boasts average temperatures of 30 degrees; the rainy season doesn't start until May. We pray this is just a blip (it isn't - more on that in part 2).<br />
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Within 24 hours we've renamed the island Queue-ba, since standing in line seems to be a national pastime. And I thought it was just us Brits who were partial to a queue. Not a bit of it! These guys take it to a whole other level. First we queue for aaages to get through customs, where sour-faced officials painstakingly inspect everyone's visas and photograph us as though we've already committed a crime: serious-faced mugshots allowed only. (By the way, visas are simple to obtain - if booking through an agent they add them for £15pp and post them to you - just fill it in yourself and take inside your passport).<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">random: a three CuC note. <i>Who makes a three quid note?!</i></td></tr>
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Next comes the task of obtaining currency. You can't buy Cuban pesos outside the country - for the best deal take sterling and change on arrival. This involves queueing outside a bank or foreign exchange for around two hours in blistering heat, since they operate a strict one-in, one-out policy. You could change money at the hotel for simplicity, but the rate is poor and Cuba is already expensive. The country has two active currencies: the Cuban Peso (CuP, pronounced 'cup') and the Cuban Convertible Peso (CuC, 'cook'). The CuP is for locals; the CuC used purely for skanking us tourists. One CuC is one pound/dollar/euro. How convenient. (The dollar is dirt here - pay with that and you'll be slapped with an extra 10-20% penalty on top. Avoid!).<br />
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Relieved to finally have some pesos in our pockets, our next mission is to get online. Well, there's no point capturing awesome shots of the city if you can't share them on Instagram, eh? This is where we get another taste of the Cuban way of life. The cheapest way to get online is to queue at the government-owned Etecsa telecommunications building to purchase a wifi scratchcard for 2 CuCs (£2) per hour. Then you have to find a wifi hotspot (e.g in a hotel lobby) and, if you're lucky, get a half-arsed attempt at a dial-up-strength signal.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You've got about as much chance of winning the lottery as you have <br />
getting online with these scratchcards<br />
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After beefing up with b.o-drenched men in the bank queue for hours, we obediently get in line at Etecsa to buy scratchcards before giving up and abandoning our efforts. We eventually settle for the more expensive but thankfully queue-less option at the hotel (4.50CuCs per hour) and quickly discover that we can't connect anyway. Gah! I force down the panic that rises in my throat at the prospect of being offline for fifteen days and we start to explore Havana's Old Town....<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Florida hotel: The view of the lobby from outside our room</td></tr>
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Our hotel, the <a href="https://www.tripadvisor.co.uk/Hotel_Review-g147271-d151622-Reviews-Hotel_Florida-Havana_Ciudad_de_la_Habana_Province_Cuba.html"><b><span style="color: purple;">Florida</span></b></a>, is a beautiful old colonial palace built in 1836, situated right in the heart of <b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Old_Havana"><span style="color: purple;">Old Havana</span></a> </b>(La Habana Vieja),<b> </b>just a few minutes' walk from the main attractions of the city, such as the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/El_Capitolio"><b><span style="color: purple;">Capitol Building</span></b></a>, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Museum_of_the_Revolution_(Cuba)"><b><span style="color: purple;">Museum of the Revolution</span></b></a>, <b><span style="color: purple;"><a href="http://www.hotelparquecentral-cuba.com/"><span style="color: purple;">Parque Central Hotel</span></a> </span></b>and the bars famously frequented by American author Ernest Hemingway: <a href="https://www.worldsbestbars.com/bar/havana/city-center/el-floridita"><b><span style="color: purple;">Floridita</span></b></a> and <a href="https://www.lonelyplanet.com/cuba/havana/nightlife/la-bodeguita-del-medio/a/poi-dri/1116957/358014"><b><span style="color: purple;">La Bodeguita Del Medio</span></b></a>.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">proper mojitos, Havana-style</td></tr>
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Naturally, we start with the bars. Judging by the hordes of (mostly American and Canadian) tourists clutching identical bright yellow Lonely Planet guides, everyone else has had the same idea. Oh. We discover to our delight that mojitos taste even better when accompanied by traditional live Cuban music, salsa dancing and sun-drenched cobbled streets lined with brightly-coloured old buildings. We have a couple more, just to be sure. Yep, definitely and infinitely more enjoyable than a grey-skied London pub charging three times the price (cocktails here range from 1.50-6 CuCs each, depending on the popularity of the bar).<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Floridita, located in Old Havana</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">obligatory daiquiris at Floridita</td></tr>
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Sufficiently relaxed and refreshed, we wander around the Old Town, a Unesco World Heritage Site, which is a series of parallel blocks around four main squares: <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Plaza_de_la_Catedral"><b><span style="color: purple;">the Plaza de la Cathedral</span></b>,</a> <b><span style="color: purple;"><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Plaza_Vieja,_Havana"><span style="color: purple;">Plaza Vieja</span></a>,</span></b> <a href="http://www.lahabana.com/guide/havana-guide-home/places-in-havana/places-in-old-havana/places-in-plaza-de-san-francisco/"><b><span style="color: purple;">Plaza San Francisco</span></b></a> and <a href="https://www.lonelyplanet.com/cuba/havana/attractions/plaza-de-armas/a/poi-sig/1333838/358014"><b><span style="color: purple;">Plaza de Armas</span></b></a>. It's relatively simple to navigate, even for someone like me with zero sense of direction.<br />
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We stroll leisurely around town, taking in the art-deco architecture, charming yet run-down buildings and the general buzz of Cuban life. The atmosphere is electric, due to the lively music everywhere you turn and the smiling faces of the locals, who are warm and welcoming. We're reliably informed that Cuba is the safest Latin American country, and having travelled extensively across Central and South America and the Caribbean, it certainly feels that way to me. To cool off, we nip up to the rooftop pool at the stunning 5-star Parque Central Hotel for a dip. And another cocktail, of course.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Avail yourself of the facilities at Parque Central to take a break<br />
from schlepping around the city</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">another refreshing cocktail? Why not!</td></tr>
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In order to break up what could otherwise easily become a five-day bar crawl, we book some excursions: a city bus and walking tour; an evening show at the <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/music/2015/mar/22/buena-vista-social-club-the-sweet-sound-of-cuba"><b><span style="color: purple;">Buena Vista Social Club</span></b></a>; a cabaret show at the Parisian nightclub situated within the <a href="http://www.hotelnacionaldecuba.com/?gclid=CjwKEAjw_6XIBRCisIGIrJeQ93oSJAA2cNtMGJKoSk9P9IOyjYnhXD7w_R9TNqw5yOTaPidl7NWVfxoCfK3w_wcB"><b><span style="color: purple;">Hotel Nacional</span></b></a> which was a favourite haunt of Hollywood film stars such as Errol Flynn, Frank Sinatra and Ava Gardner, plus the mafia and gangsters of the era such as Lucky Luciano and Meyer Lansky.<br />
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Americans flocked to Cuba in the 1920s and '30s in order to swerve strict U.S prohibition laws. Havana became famous for it's casinos, cabarets and cocktails, with money flooding into Havana and glamourous mob-funded hotels popping up all over the place - that is until <a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/timelines/zttpfg8"><b><span style="color: purple;">Castro</span></b></a>, <span style="color: purple;"><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Che_Guevara"><b><span style="color: purple;">Che Guevara</span></b></a><b> </b></span>and co marched into the capital in January 1959 and the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cuban_Revolution"><span style="color: purple;"><b>revolution</b></span></a> began. Visiting the city today, it's as though time has stood still ever since, thanks to over half a century of neglect. Tributes to Fidel Castro (who died last September aged 91, surviving over 600 assassination plots) and Argentinian-born Guevara (killed by the CIA aged 39 in 1967) are everywhere you turn, as well as statues of <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jos%C3%A9_Mart%C3%AD"><b><span style="color: purple;">José Marti</span></b></a>, who was a poet, philosopher, activist and all-round Cuban national hero. The strength of feeling towards Marti is evident when we take a breather sitting on some steps in front of one such statue and are sternly reprimanded.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"> <a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-EPrewDE2ccw/WQkJ4JETyDI/AAAAAAAACH8/JSxpmmyeDOokxZZoZx8gEcX84ewDT3srwCLcB/s1600/IMG_4204.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-EPrewDE2ccw/WQkJ4JETyDI/AAAAAAAACH8/JSxpmmyeDOokxZZoZx8gEcX84ewDT3srwCLcB/s320/IMG_4204.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> Hasta la victoria siempre: until victory, always</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jos%C3%A9_Mart%C3%AD_Memorial"><b><span style="color: purple;">Marti memorial</span></b></a> is the tallest building in Havana<br />
and must always remain so according to their rules</td></tr>
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The city tour is excellent, and at 20 CuCs each for four hours, good value for money. We'd fallen instantly in lust with Havana, but by the end of the enchanting tour this had deepened to love. Despite the hype, we find the <b style="color: purple;"><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Buena_Vista_Social_Club">Buena Vista Social Club</a> </b>performance<b style="color: purple;"> </b>(30CuC pp) so-so - to be honest we enjoyed some of the street bands more. There's so much great music everywhere you turn in this city that there really is no need to visit a formal show to see it - the raw talent and enthusiasm of the live bands in practically every bar means you're spoilt for choice. Just tip them a few CuCs when they come around to the tables and they'll happily entertain the crowds for hours.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">traditional Cuban music fills the streets</td></tr>
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Having said that, the cabaret at the Hotel National's <a href="https://www.tripadvisor.co.uk/Attraction_Review-g147271-d606051-Reviews-Cabaret_Parisien-Havana_Ciudad_de_la_Habana_Province_Cuba.html"><b><span style="color: purple;">Parisian nightclub cabaret</span></b></a> (35CuC pp with one cocktail) is a definite Havana highlight and gives the much pricier <a href="http://tropicanacabaret.com/"><b><span style="color: purple;">Tropicana</span></b> </a>(79-109 CuC pp) a run for its money. A high-octane riot of energetic dancing, colourful costumes and chintzy glitz accompanied by vibrant Cuban music, the show has barely changed since it started; sipping mojitos at little round tables in the packed-out dimly-lit red velvet boutique nightclub it's easy to envisage the fat-cat gangsters doing the same, puffing on huge cigars, glamorous young molls by their sides.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">1950s taxis are the best way to travel (10Cuc)</td></tr>
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We dine at <a href="https://www.tripadvisor.co.uk/Attraction_Review-g147271-d606043-Reviews-El_Gato_Tuerto-Havana_Ciudad_de_la_Habana_Province_Cuba.html"><b><span style="color: purple;">El Gato Tuerto</span></b></a> (The One-Eyed Cat) beforehand, arriving in an old electric blue 1950s Cadillac. These <a href="http://www.oldcarshavana.com/"><b><span style="color: purple;">old motors</span></b></a>, in a technicolour rainbow of shades, are seen cruising all over the city, interspersed with cute little yellow <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cocotaxi"><b><span style="color: purple;">Coco taxis</span></b></a> - basically a coconut-shaped motorised bike.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Coco taxi</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">cruising the city in a convertible Buick - pink, naturally...</td></tr>
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A sunset drive in a '50s car of your choice along the <a href="https://www.tripadvisor.co.uk/Attraction_Review-g147271-d500981-Reviews-El_Malecon-Havana_Ciudad_de_la_Habana_Province_Cuba.html"><b><span style="color: purple;">Malecon</span></b></a> is a must; seek out your preferred ride (a hot-pink Buick in my case) and climb in the back at around 7pm for an hour's city cruise (around 40 CuC) taking in the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Plaza_de_la_Revoluci%C3%B3n"><b><span style="color: purple;">Plaza de la Revolucion</span></b></a>, Capitol building, swanky <b><span style="color: purple;"><a href="https://www.tripadvisor.co.uk/Hotel_Review-g147271-d607380-Reviews-Hotel_Saratoga-Havana_Ciudad_de_la_Habana_Province_Cuba.html">Saratoga hotel</a>, </span></b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Lennon_Park"><b><span style="color: purple;">John Lennon Park</span></b></a> and other hotspots, finishing up with the Malecon: a 7km-long seawall known as 'Havana's longest bench' since it's a popular spot for families, friends and lovers to convene. On these balmy evenings you can barely see the wall for people sitting along it as our old car and a multitude of others cruise past, the wind in our hair, taking in every aspect of the breathtaking hazy views as the waves occasionally splash over the wall and the blazing orange sun slowly slips down into the ocean.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">sunset on the Malecon</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">posing in the plaza de la revolution</td></tr>
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<span style="text-align: left;">Rather less romantic than the sights and sounds of the city is the food. Breakfast at the 4-star Florida is a real mish-mash of misshapen objects we often struggle to identify: deep-fried crab's claws, hunks of crumbly Stilton and cold pizza alongside pancakes, burgers and salad. It's like the Mad Hatter's Tea Party with extra helpings of hallucinogenics, as random strangers speaking indecipherable languages line up at long tables pouring tea and eating cakes and crab for breakfast. Andy described it as "tucking into the leftover wedding buffet from the night before" and I think that's a pretty fair description. By day four we decide to give it the swerve and go out for breakfast instead, but the dishwater tea and warm squishy spam with the texture of Blu-Tack we're presented with are unappealing and we give up with a sigh. </span></div>
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We're told the random assortment on offer is due to the Cuban government controlling imports of food, so locals are adept at improvising with whatever's available on the day. We do manage to find some decent food at various <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/travel/2012/feb/15/top-10-paladares-restaurants-havana"><b><span style="color: purple;">paladares</span></b></a> (privately-owned restaurants), our favourite being the balcony table at the <b><span style="color: purple;"><a href="https://www.lonelyplanet.com/cuba/havana/restaurants/paladar-los-mercaderes/a/poi-eat/1368559/358014"><span style="color: purple;">Paladar Los Mercaderes</span></a> </span></b>(book ahead as there are only two balcony tables). <b><span style="color: purple;"><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sloppy_Joe%27s_Bar,_Havana"><span style="color: purple;">Sloppy Joes</span></a> </span></b>does some great food and cocktails too - opt for their signature dish.<br />
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I'm genuinely outraged though when there's an apparent national shortage of teabags (bring your own if you come here!) and my attempts to drink coffee instead are short-lived: I can't stand it at the best of times and Cuban coffee is like hot tar. Combined with no internet I'm seriously out of my comfort zone. It's a good job this place is so beautiful, otherwise I might be in danger of falling out of love with Havana at this point.<br />
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Food frustrations aside, this city and it's inhabitants have really won our hearts, and when it's time to transfer to Varadero, our all-inclusive resort a few hours' drive along the coast, our hearts are heavy - even though by now our wallets certainly aren't...<br />
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To be continued....<br />
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<b style="background-color: white; color: purple; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px;">Fancy reading my back-story before you go any further? You can find my other blogs at:</b><br />
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Samantha Walshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08924699477544035160noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7251271032407601709.post-6853345884369707642017-04-10T02:09:00.000-07:002017-04-10T13:22:53.837-07:00Vacation Anticipation<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The smile that says a trip is imminent...</td></tr>
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<b>I. Love. Travelling.</b></h3>
No surprises there - who doesn't, eh? A boost of vitamin sea is usually just what the doctor ordered; a reminder of the rich tapestry of Mother Nature's creative artwork that lies beyond the short-sighted humdrum of the nine-to-five. Travelling the world is one of the most enlightening and enriching lessons you can give yourself, more educational than any geography lecture or history class; providing a better understanding and appreciation for Planet Earth than any nature documentary. But if there's one thing I love even more than stepping off a Boeing 747, savouring the moment my freshly-manicured trotters touch foreign tarmac, squinting in the sunlight before flipping down my shades to protect against a blazing sun that always seems that much brighter than back home - it's the build-up to a trip. The vacation anticipation.<br />
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Don't get me wrong, I love a last-minute bargain; snapping up a deal and heading off within days on an unplanned jolly is always a bonus - but you can't beat the shivers of excitement that arise from carefully plotting a long-anticipated adventure. If I'm going to fork out the lion's share of my salary on a trip then I want all the feels. I've paid through the nose for that excitement, so give it to me by the bucketload. I want to revel in glorious sun-drenched daydreams as I ride the 07.56 commuter train to Bromley surrounded by grey-faced grumbling gargoyles. I want to let my mind wander, conjuring up images of crystal-clear seascapes and swanky city-breaks as a glorious diversion from reading about the latest horrors in the newspapers.<br />
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Some people haphazardly pack their suitcase in a few minutes, slinging it all in willy-nilly an hour before they're due to leave for the airport. Not me. I'll have my case out of the loft and splayed open in the spare room at least a week before I fly. As a sunworshipper (with the telltale wrinkles and sunspots to prove it) my wardrobe consists of mostly summer garb. Oh I'm a fair-weather friend alright. Stick my face under a UV lamp and it'll show more pigmentation patches than a Dalmatian, but boy do I have some nice summer dresses - and what's a few freckles between friends, eh?<br />
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As I prepare for my next trip, I'll lovingly take them out of the wardrobe, where they've no doubt been lurking in the darkness feeling neglected and unloved since my last trip due to our miserable British climate. I hold up the brightly-coloured wisps of skimpy fabric to my body as I turn this way and that in front of the mirror, allowing memories of tipsy moonlit walks on the beach and frenetic dancing at sunrise to come flooding back. If you look carefully you can see a scuff on my favourite sandals from scaling that cliff face in Thailand...or the catch in that top from getting caught on a branch in the Costa Rican rainforest. I won't part with them, despite their imperfections, as my beloved memories are woven tightly into the fabric.<br />
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Those clothes make me happy; to me they symbolise freedom, fun, and adventures past and future. Away from the monotony of the daily grind, we're free to indulge all our senses: tasting new foods; inhaling the aroma of exotic spices; experiencing unusual wildlife, cultures and architecture for the first time. Everything seems so fresh, it's like being reborn; brain buzzing with electrical impulses as neurons are fired up to process all this new information.<br />
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It's when I'm travelling that I truly feel most alive, so anything that prolongs a trip is fine by me - be it planning, blogging or photography. Having forked out thousands on a six-month round-the-world trip in 2008, it was that sense of wanting to capture the memories that inspired me to start blogging in the first place. If ever something jogs my memory about a particular country, I can go to my blog and every detail is right there; I relive the moments in my head all over again.<br />
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As well as the wistful romanticising, I also love the practical pre-holiday prep: buying the travel guide from Amazon; plotting my route around a country. Routine trips to Superdrug suddenly become exciting when I'm in the market for mini travel toiletries. I know they're not economical, but they're just so goddamn <i>cute</i>! I add my next destination to my weather app so that I can flip between it's blue skies and London's bland ones on chilly grey days and remind myself why I go to work at all. I've even downloaded a countdown app so I can happily tick off the days from booking until trip time, excitement building as triple digits quickly become single ones and it's time to check in online.<br />
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As each final item goes into the suitcase so does another sprinkle of fairy dust, until it's time to zip up my luggage and head off on another memory-filled voyage into the unknown...<br />
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Next stop? Cuba, baby!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not long now! Counting down the minutes...</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My trusty Lonely Planet guide</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No doubt I'll be Havana good time here in my next post 😛</td></tr>
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<b style="background-color: white; color: purple; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px;">Fancy reading my back-story before you go any further? You can find my other blogs at:</b><br />
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Samantha Walshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08924699477544035160noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7251271032407601709.post-62703510077300980152017-04-06T09:21:00.000-07:002017-04-06T23:26:02.707-07:00Make Time For Tea - in association with TeaTourist<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b>Back at the beginning of March, I wrote </b><span style="font-weight: bold;"><u><a href="https://lifeabirdseyeview.blogspot.co.uk/2017/03/youre-ovary-acting_91.html"><span style="color: purple;">this post</span></a></u><span style="color: purple;"> </span></span><span style="font-weight: bold;">entitled You're Ovary Acting </span><b>in aid of </b><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: purple;"><a href="http://ocam.org.uk/" style="color: purple;"><span style="color: purple;">Ovarian Cancer Awareness Month</span></a> </span><span style="font-weight: bold;">and pledged to hold my own event to raise funds and awareness for gynae cancer charity,</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span></span><span style="color: purple;"><a href="https://eveappeal.org.uk/"><span style="color: purple;"><b>The Eve Appeal</b></span></a><b>. </b></span><b>Having set the date for my </b><a href="https://eveappeal.org.uk/supporting-us/take-part-in-an-event/make-time-for-tea/" style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: purple;">Make Time For Tea</span></a><b> charity fundraiser, I figured I'd best tackle two of my all-time personal pet hates: coffee and cooking.</b><br />
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I know most humans are drawn to coffee like cats to catnip, but for me it's a major turn-off: the aroma, the bitter taste, the tar-like appearance. Just...no. Similarly, the very notion of trying to conjure up a Jamie Oliver creation in 30 short minutes is completely alien to me - I mean why would you even put yourself under that kind of undue pressure? Just <i>thinking</i> about pans bubbling over and utensils clattering is enough to bring me out in hives. The thing with cooking is that there's just so much <i>effort</i> involved. You do the maths: take a gazillion ingredients, add several different cooking durations and temperature requirements, sprinkle in a few distractions such as Facebook and the telly, then subtract the luxury of enough time...equals so many opportunities for things to go pear-shaped. <i>Far</i> too much admin, if you ask me.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Even the eggs were laughing at my cooking efforts</td></tr>
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Fortunately, my distaste for all things coffee and culinary is countered by a love of tea and eating, so with a little determination I was able to overcome my lazy-girl issues and get cracking with the preparations. Well, it's all for <i>charidee</i>, mate, after all. As my partner Andy imports coffee for a living, he supplied the good stuff (I'll take his word for it), then I rolled up my sleeves and got my bake on...<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Getting my bake on (that's not really a big splodge of cake mix on my chin - honest 😋)</td></tr>
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Now I doubt Mary Berry will be fearing for her job anytime soon, but I have to say my lemon drizzle cakes (yes, plural!) came out remarkably well - so much so that a couple of friendly neighbourhood mice (or perhaps it was my parents), scurried in and nibbled one of them and I had to bake another. Weirdly, I didn't mind at all - having overcome my concerns about the edibility of anything I could create in the kitchen, got past the faff of having to buy all the various cake-making components and worked out how to grate lemon zest without reducing my acrylic-nailed fingertips to bloody stumps, I actually began to relax and enjoy the bake. There may have been a flour cloud above my head and sticky lemon juice on every available surface, but licking the bowl was heavenly and the finished result made up for all the mess.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My lemon driz is the biz 😛</td></tr>
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Whilst I cooked up a storm in the kitchen, my family rallied round to help get my house tea party-ready: mum loaning me the best family china; dad repainting my battered garden furniture that has definitely seen better days. My sister took one sceptical look at my child-unfriendly house full of angular units and breakables and began carrying out a full risk assessment...quickly concluding that a trip to her place to collect enough primary-coloured bits of plastic to open our own branch of Toys R Us was required. (Later, when I clocked her easing grubby little mitts off my travel memorabilia and back towards the toys I was extremely grateful for her contribution).<br />
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Zipping round the supermarket for some prefessionally-baked back-ups, I was aware of the judgemental glances of other shoppers; eyes sliding away as I clocked them peering at the cake mountain in my trolley: lemon meringue pie, swirly strawberry cheesecake, scones, red velvet cake, <i>Taste The Difference</i> carrot, morello cherry bake (that one was delicious, by the way) - you name it, I bought it. I looked like some crazed sugar junkie on a bender. I slung in a few bottles of prosecco for good measure and I was good to go.<br />
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On the morning of my event I awoke early to prepare the treat-filled feast for my guests. Having performed yet another last-minute supermarket sweep, the spread was looking even more bountiful: baked goods balanced on every surface. Sprinkling heart confetti on the table and adding flowers, I stepped back to admire my handiwork...<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HadY8aRZvkI/WOZXOoUQVyI/AAAAAAAACCM/_PFqWAfoBaocC2UbzKTrVMyhNwhXT4lSACLcB/s1600/spreadwithflowers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="346" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HadY8aRZvkI/WOZXOoUQVyI/AAAAAAAACCM/_PFqWAfoBaocC2UbzKTrVMyhNwhXT4lSACLcB/s400/spreadwithflowers.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm not sure there's enough...?</td></tr>
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My sister, mum and cousins were my first guests to arrive. A special mention must go to my cuzzy Lucy Blake, a cake-baking whizz, whose impressive cupcakes complete with Eve Appeal logos and edible glitter drew gasps of delight from my guests.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Move over Delia! My cousin Lucy's handiwork...</td></tr>
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Hungry ladies began arriving in their droves and we finally allowed my little nephew Hayden to get stuck into the cake table - something he'd been slyly attempting for the last hour, his mum and I swatting him away until the other guests arrived.<br />
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All my nail-biting fears of no-shows, mumbled apologies and texts of regret dissipated as the doorbell chimed; the tea was poured, the cafetière plunged and cakes gratefully eaten. Neighbours popped in, friends dutifully appeared; there were even a few surprise appearances and tears.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KluLGXnioi0/WOZZmsj54FI/AAAAAAAACCw/jHnzplywd2clPuuqILvkrMP5Eb8YDvPOgCLcB/s1600/cousinsandcakes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="292" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KluLGXnioi0/WOZZmsj54FI/AAAAAAAACCw/jHnzplywd2clPuuqILvkrMP5Eb8YDvPOgCLcB/s320/cousinsandcakes.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">cousins and cakes</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LEhBHLVkTHg/WOZYE5nIRSI/AAAAAAAACCY/p1mLU-Tod74dPAa_vslLdOaF2dD0O389QCLcB/s1600/blondesandcakes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LEhBHLVkTHg/WOZYE5nIRSI/AAAAAAAACCY/p1mLU-Tod74dPAa_vslLdOaF2dD0O389QCLcB/s320/blondesandcakes.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Blondes have more...cake?</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/--rE9SaFoI9c/WOZZNdzX-eI/AAAAAAAACCs/-iMQIOZXxZkqeoDA20bTaBkk9bk1k7y6gCEw/s1600/girlsandcakes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/--rE9SaFoI9c/WOZZNdzX-eI/AAAAAAAACCs/-iMQIOZXxZkqeoDA20bTaBkk9bk1k7y6gCEw/s320/girlsandcakes.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">a few of my oldest pals<br />
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A timely collaboration with those lovely folk at <a href="http://www.teatourist.co.uk/"><b>TeaTourist</b></a> meant that as well as my trusty PG Tips, I also had an abundance of interesting herbal tea blends to offer my guests. Available as a one-off purchase, a thoughtful gift or a monthly subscription, the company selects an array of carefully-crafted artisan teas from various respected suppliers and then delivers them to your door in a slimline box that fits easily through the letterbox, so no hanging around for deliveries. The complementary taster box I received included some intriguing flavours such as Chocolate Orange and the cinnamon-tinged Mulled Apple Brandy - although my favourite of them all is Rose and Strawberry. Each taster sachet has enough for four cups and includes information about the tea as well as the company who produce it, along with a discount code if you'd like to repurchase directly. Seeing as there's a subscription box for just about everything these days, it makes sense to have one for tea too. (Use code FIRST10 for 10% off your <a href="http://www.teatourist.co.uk/join"><b>first box</b></a>).<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3id35Da-cPs/WOZYZoWeLZI/AAAAAAAACCc/TaBU99aVj-k2OjPIWDbrFUbHSwJJcwUWwCLcB/s1600/teatouristbox.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3id35Da-cPs/WOZYZoWeLZI/AAAAAAAACCc/TaBU99aVj-k2OjPIWDbrFUbHSwJJcwUWwCLcB/s320/teatouristbox.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Teatourist taster box</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption">Hmm, which shall I try next...?</td></tr>
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By mid-afternoon the first sitting of tea-guzzlers had thinned out, so there was just time for a quick washing-up session and a replenish of cakes before round two. By this point I was buzzing: partly due to the sugar rush from all the cake-sampling, but even more so upon seeing my strategically-placed collection boxes overflowing with crisp banknotes. Way to go, ladies!<br />
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To add to the warm fuzzy feeling that gave me inside, Mother Nature provided a warm fuzzy feeling on the <i>outside</i>: Thursday 30th March turned out to be the hottest March day for five years, enabling us to spend the entire afternoon in the garden eating yet more cake and quaffing prosecco. High five, Sister! <br />
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-rUTT3lqJJNA/WOZbYnkl2II/AAAAAAAACDE/bpjn7EBX8DELGDUU-n0h3BAJZvO9zGxCwCLcB/s1600/ovaryacting.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-rUTT3lqJJNA/WOZbYnkl2II/AAAAAAAACDE/bpjn7EBX8DELGDUU-n0h3BAJZvO9zGxCwCLcB/s320/ovaryacting.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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The final guests left at 6pm, so I kicked off my shoes, had a cup of Wilderness Honeybush from my TeaTourist box and totted up the funds raised. The cash on the day totalled £265, with another £298 via my Just Giving account, giving a <b>grand total of £563! Add to that the 25% gift aid and the total raised climbed to £703.75!</b> How cool is that?! A pretty productive day, if I do say so myself...<br />
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So on behalf of The Eve Appeal and myself I'd like to say a huge and heartfelt <b>"Thank you!"</b> to everyone who donated to my campaign - either in person or online. Your generous contributions will enable this fabulous charity to continue their great work: protecting women's health by helping prevent gynae cancers.<br />
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The word I'd use to sum up the day? Much like the cakes themselves actually:<br />
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"Sweet!" 😉<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hayden and Amelia enjoy a cupcake</td></tr>
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<b style="background-color: white; color: purple; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px;">Fancy reading my back-story before you go any further? You can find my other blogs at:</b><br />
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<a href="http://www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com/" style="background-color: white; color: #6699cc; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: purple;"><b>www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com</b></span></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.samgoessolo.blogspot.com/" style="background-color: white; color: #6699cc; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: purple;"><b>www.samgoessolo.blogspot.com</b></span></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.mummymission.blogspot.com/" style="background-color: white; color: #6699cc; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: purple;"><b>www.mummymission.blogspot.com</b></span></a></div>
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<b><br /></b><b>Twitter: <a href="https://mobile.twitter.com/SamanthaWalsh76">@SamanthaWalsh76</a></b></div>
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<b>Facebook: <a href="https://www.facebook.com/samantha.walsh76">Samantha Jane Walsh</a></b></div>
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Samantha Walshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08924699477544035160noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7251271032407601709.post-59668211556342035592017-03-23T07:19:00.002-07:002017-03-23T12:56:49.231-07:00Knee Deep In London <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GNsapfYJFTs/WNPTYoCUOXI/AAAAAAAAB_4/uJ3875U8tcMBd1eSDRpezJiispESiq14wCLcB/s1600/mylondon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="328" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GNsapfYJFTs/WNPTYoCUOXI/AAAAAAAAB_4/uJ3875U8tcMBd1eSDRpezJiispESiq14wCLcB/s400/mylondon.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Knee Deep in London: <span style="color: purple;"><a href="https://itunes.apple.com/gb/podcast/knee-deep-in-sound-podcast/id1002445989?mt=2"><b>Listen to the Knee Deep In Sound Podcasts Here</b></a></span></td></tr>
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If moving to tranquil Sevenoaks was like double-dropping super-strength valium, then a trip back to The Big Smoke is like a shot of adrenalin to the heart.<br />
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London, like any drug, loses it's impact after several years of hits. You get used to the rush. To the uninitiated - a country-dweller, tourist or infrequent visitor - the city hits you in the face with all the subtlety of a shovel. Like a tornado it sucks you in, spins you around and then unceremoniously spits you out, like the cyclone in Kansas stealing Dorothy and Tonto from their home.<br />
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The human body is a resilient and adaptable marvel. You only have to study a commuter for the evidence: after decades of the daily schlepp from the 'burbs they have adapted accordingly. Darwin's theory of evolution suggests that animals evolve according to their environment: so it follows that commuters adopt a hard outer shell, fixed, forward-facing gaze, and immunity to their surroundings in order to survive the tough daily grind; the dog-eat-dog fight for survival. It's every man for himself. In short, you become hardened and immune to London - which includes its bright lights and dazzling charms, as well as the pitfalls of the polluted, overcrowded city.<br />
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But take the aforementioned human out of London for a period of time, and they soften once more. Then, when returning to the city as a visitor, rested and re-energised, the sense of awe is restored; stiff necks now fully mobilised as they crane to see skyscrapers; blinkers come off tired eyes as they open them wide in wonder.<br />
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This has been my experience. When working in the capital day in, day out, the slog of the journey and the sheer effort required to get through the day began to erode at the joy of the experience - in much the same way the sea wears away a cliff face. But now, a few years down the line and currently working closer to home, fully recovered from the exhaustion and soul-destroying monotony of it all, I'm able to return as a visitor - a tourist almost - on a purely social basis with renewed vigour. Like computers, most things work again after a control-alt-delete reboot, or by simply unplugging for a while - including humans.<br />
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I'm like a kid at Christmas when travelling into town, senses heightened in anticipation. Instantly absorbed by the madding crowd as I step off the train, the energy hits me: surging through my body like a jolt of electricity - as opposed to a baton over the head during my former incarnation as a worker ant. My head is like an owl's: almost rotating through 360 degrees as I attempt to take everything in - the architecture, shops, restaurants, bars - not to mention the deafening noise that such a hive of activity invariably generates.<br />
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Long nights out in London take on a hypnotic state as we drift from bar to club to afterparty, carried on a sea of cocktails and chaos, pinging from one venue to the next like silver balls in a pinball machine.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vIgiYIAAhmI/WNPbTKMcADI/AAAAAAAACAk/qwrjsZ0IW64q2QTob3vVg1QRE2hfQrDrACLcB/s1600/magicroundabout2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="198" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vIgiYIAAhmI/WNPbTKMcADI/AAAAAAAACAk/qwrjsZ0IW64q2QTob3vVg1QRE2hfQrDrACLcB/s400/magicroundabout2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.magicroundabout.co/">Magic Roundabout</a>: located in the middle of Old St roundabout</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-h9OMQMD2zik/WNPTkXaRaHI/AAAAAAAAB_8/tAHjiM_IqaUiKW8ZuPef5wJDtF5EqezfwCLcB/s1600/magicroundabout.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-h9OMQMD2zik/WNPTkXaRaHI/AAAAAAAAB_8/tAHjiM_IqaUiKW8ZuPef5wJDtF5EqezfwCLcB/s400/magicroundabout.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A recent night out at The Magic Roundabout: one of my fave haunts...</td></tr>
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Suddenly it's time to go home, and no sooner have the lights come on than we're in a taxi; whisked away from the choppy murkiness of the Thames and back to the still waters and serenity of Sevenoaks. When we awake bleary-eyed to hazy recollections we wonder if it was all a dream; one glance in our wallets tells us it was not. Oh well, it was worth it, we all agree; the memories sustain us throughout the corporate humdrum of the working week ahead.<br />
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Until next time, London...or should I say, next payday...<br />
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I love you 💋<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ZrmfdyXE-Zw/WNPVDBQfMZI/AAAAAAAACAI/4YbM7vwpL1MaqifWLhalft-V8bMTbKgvACLcB/s1600/lovelondon1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ZrmfdyXE-Zw/WNPVDBQfMZI/AAAAAAAACAI/4YbM7vwpL1MaqifWLhalft-V8bMTbKgvACLcB/s320/lovelondon1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://clipartfest.com/categories/view/e46dace90a670e44997e9414613bf74070279f36/i-love-london-clipart.html">photo credit</a></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HHVUGFcPq-w/WNPWg67sY3I/AAAAAAAACAU/XabUMAFlwyIQ3CRhRDHJP1AIJR_6LyVAACLcB/s1600/kneedeepinsound.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HHVUGFcPq-w/WNPWg67sY3I/AAAAAAAACAU/XabUMAFlwyIQ3CRhRDHJP1AIJR_6LyVAACLcB/s1600/kneedeepinsound.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.residentadvisor.net/event.aspx?911143&gclid=CjwKEAjw5M3GBRCTvpK4osqj4X4SJAABRJNCbInCkTtMRPl_VbTJ-0d_oRWv-6qwMT2rXRVCGbsmyxoCWC_w_wcB"><span style="color: purple;"><b>Buy tickets to Knee Deep In London via RA here</b></span></a></td></tr>
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<u>Tired of London, tired of life: my ever-increasing London '17 to-do list, ticking them off as I go...</u><br />
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<u>Jan: </u><br />
<a href="http://tobaccodocklondon.com/">Tobacco Dock</a> NYD <span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "open sans" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">✔</span><br />
Groove Odyssey @<a href="http://www.ministryofsound.com/"><span style="color: purple;">Ministry Of Sound</span></a> <span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "open sans" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">✔</span><br />
<a href="http://www.magicroundabout.co/">The Magic Roundabout</a> <span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "open sans" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">✔</span><br />
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<u>Feb:</u><br />
<a href="http://forgeandco.co.uk/">Forge and Co</a> Shoreditch <span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "open sans" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">✔</span><br />
Mulletover at <a href="http://eastbloc.co.uk/">East Bloc</a> <span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "open sans" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">✔</span><br />
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<u>March: </u><br />
<a href="https://www.thebreakfastclubcafes.com/locations/london-bridge/">The Breakfast Club</a> <span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "open sans" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">✔</span><br />
<a href="http://callmemrlucky.com/">Call Me Mr Lucky</a> <span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "open sans" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">✔</span><br />
<a href="http://www.clockworkorange.co/">Clockwork Orange</a> at <a href="http://www.koko.uk.com/">Koko</a> <span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "open sans" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">✔ </span><br />
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<u>April:</u><br />
Knee Deep In London at <a href="http://printworkslondon.co.uk/">The Printworks</a><br />
<a href="http://www.oldstreetrecords.com/">Old Street Records</a><br />
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<u>May:</u><br />
Norman Jay Up On The Roof @<a href="https://pow-london.com/">The Prince Of Wales</a> - MayDay Bank Holiday Special<br />
<a href="http://www.wearefstvl.com/">WeR Festival</a> (I know, I know, that's Essex not London)<br />
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<u>June:</u><br />
<a href="http://www.theo2.co.uk/events/detail/jamiroquai">Jamiroquai at The O2</a><br />
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<u>July:</u><br />
<a href="http://loveboxfestival.com/">Lovebox</a><br />
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<u>August:</u><br />
<a href="https://www.residentadvisor.net/event.aspx?944653">Elrow Street Party</a><br />
<a href="https://www.51ststatefestival.com/">51st State</a><br />
<a href="http://southwestfour.com/">SW4</a><br />
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<u>TBC:</u><br />
<a href="http://www.thesteelyard.london/">The Steelyard</a><br />
<a href="http://electricbrixton.uk.com/">Brixton Electric </a>(been before - good times)<br />
<a href="http://queenofhoxton.com/">Queen Of Hoxton</a> (an old fave)<br />
<a href="http://www.thehoxtonpony.com/">The Hoxton Pony</a> (ditto)<br />
<a href="http://www.villageunderground.co.uk/">Village Underground</a> (been before and enjoyed)<br />
<a href="http://dalstonsuperstore.com/">Dalston Superstore</a><br />
<a href="http://proudcamden.com/">Proud Camden</a><br />
<a href="http://www.roundhouse.org.uk/">The Roundhouse</a><br />
<a href="http://thejazzcafelondon.com/">The Jazz Café</a> (saw <a href="http://toomanyzooz.com/">Too Many Zooz</a> here - great fun)<br />
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Have you got more suggestions for my London '17 To-Do List? Hit me up!<br />
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<b style="background-color: white; color: purple; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px;">Fancy reading my back-story before you go any further? You can find my other blogs at:</b></div>
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<a href="http://www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com/" style="background-color: white; color: #6699cc; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: purple;"><b>www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com</b></span></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.samgoessolo.blogspot.com/" style="background-color: white; color: #6699cc; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: purple;"><b>www.samgoessolo.blogspot.com</b></span></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.mummymission.blogspot.com/" style="background-color: white; color: #6699cc; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: purple;"><b>www.mummymission.blogspot.com</b></span></a></div>
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<b style="color: purple; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px;"><a href="http://www.worldwidewalsh.blogspot.com/" style="color: #6699cc; text-decoration: none;">www.worldwidewalsh.blogspot.com</a></b></div>
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<b>Follow me:</b></div>
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<b><br /></b><b>Twitter: <a href="https://mobile.twitter.com/SamanthaWalsh76">@SamanthaWalsh76</a></b></div>
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Samantha Walshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08924699477544035160noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7251271032407601709.post-80676716681055620212017-03-23T04:23:00.005-07:002017-04-10T05:30:46.308-07:00The Non-Mum Network<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.23999999463558197px;"><br /></span></span></span></span>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1Y8hF-h_qlk/WNOvc-FZp0I/AAAAAAAAB_k/LUD-_Lfo-xQSWpgdW2-vcVBY0AacmQECwCLcB/s1600/sparkleface.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1Y8hF-h_qlk/WNOvc-FZp0I/AAAAAAAAB_k/LUD-_Lfo-xQSWpgdW2-vcVBY0AacmQECwCLcB/s400/sparkleface.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ageing raver: I love the glitz and glamour of clubbing<br />
almost as much as the music itself</td></tr>
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<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.23999999463558197px;"><br /></span></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: inherit;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.23999999463558197px;">Those Bird's Eye Viewers who have the dubious pleasure of being acquainted with me in </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: -0.23999999463558197px;">real</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: inherit;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.23999999463558197px;"> life will know </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; letter-spacing: -0.23999999463558197px;">that I love to party - the whole process of pondering which outfit to wear for weeks in advance...which accessories...perhaps buying a blingy new pair of heels; selecting false eyelashes and face glitter whilst out shopping, head tilted as I cradle my iPhone on one shoulder, chattering away to my mates as we come up with a group game plan for the forthcoming shindig.</span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.23999999463558197px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.23999999463558197px;">I love clubbing; I pride myself on the fact that there's barely a cool club in London I've not frequented and had never been turned away by a clipboard-bearing Door Whore...until of course I went happily trotting upto the red ropes of the Mummy Club, beaming away expectantly, eager to come in and join the fun. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.23999999463558197px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.23999999463558197px;">The glamorous young MILF on the door took one look at me - looked </span><i style="letter-spacing: -0.23999999463558197px;">through</i><span style="letter-spacing: -0.23999999463558197px;"> me into the depths of my empty barren womb - and promptly declared "You're not on the guest list...you can't come in," before turning on her stiletto heels and dismissing me with a flick of her wrist. Oh. Never one to be beaten down so easily, I had several attempts at IVF before returning to the Mum Club once more. Again, I was turned away. "Your name's not down, you're not coming in..."</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.23999999463558197px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.23999999463558197px;">"Not even with a mate who's a member?" I begged, my dignity rapidly being replaced with desperation. "I'm not expecting a freebie, or even concessions, I'll pay full whack" I whined.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.23999999463558197px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.23999999463558197px;">"Uh uh," replied the door staff sternly - all the commotion attracting quite a crowd of Mum Club regulars; members who were by now regarding me suspiciously through narrowed eyes. Who was this Non-Mum imposter, attempting to infiltrate the Mummy Club? What was she doing here?</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.23999999463558197px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.23999999463558197px;">Crestfallen, I slunk off homewards, yanking off my false eyelashes as I blinked back tears; scrubbing off my Glitterlips on the tube. I was devastated to be turned away. </span></span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; letter-spacing: -0.23999999463558197px;">I vowed not to be beaten...</span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.23999999463558197px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.23999999463558197px;">Years later, feeling strong and positive once more, I made a conscious decision not to let the whole experience of being turned away from the Mum Club continue to get me down. I had a lightbulb moment - an idea so obvious that I instantly wondered why I'd not come up with it sooner: I'd open my own club. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.23999999463558197px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.23999999463558197px;">This club would be exclusively for women who'd also been turned away at the entrance to the Mummy Club; those who had done everything they could think of to be allowed entry: eating the right foods, hanging around with mums, trying to <i>look</i> like a mum even, before </span></span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; letter-spacing: -0.23999999463558197px;">turning to fertility treatment as a last resort - but for whom the doors to the club remained resolutely closed. Then I decided to open the door a bit wider: to allow other women into the club, ones for whom The Mummy Club was never an attractive venue, but who would like to hang out with other Non-Mums anyway. </span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.23999999463558197px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.23999999463558197px;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">My club? </span><b><span style="color: purple;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/752469014913024/?ref=br_rs">The Non-Mum Network</a></span></b><span style="color: #1d2129;">. </span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.23999999463558197px;"><span style="color: #1d2129;"><br /></span></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.23999999463558197px;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">It may just be a virtual club at the moment - picture a chic and bijou little members-only establishment: expensive but comfy oxblood leather sofas; soft lighting; free-flowing cocktails being served by hot bartenders; an achingly hip DJ spinning tunes in an alcove - low-level at first before ramping up to fever pitch as we all get relaxed and tipsy, confiding in one another in the chill-out area. Who knows, one day I might have a real life Non-Mum Network venue - a physical place for women like me to meet other women for lunch or workshops. I'm dreaming big. </span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.23999999463558197px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.23999999463558197px;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">If you've also been denied entry to the Mum Club, the one club you most wanted to get into, whilst everyone around you is breezing into it just by flashing a wristband, fear not. Follow this Facebook post for more information...</span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.23999999463558197px;"><iframe allowtransparency="true" frameborder="0" height="313" scrolling="no" src="https://www.facebook.com/plugins/post.php?href=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.facebook.com%2Fsamantha.walsh76%2Fposts%2F10154210093621262&width=500" style="border: none; overflow: hidden;" width="500"></iframe></span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.23999999463558197px;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #1d2129; letter-spacing: -0.23999999463558197px;">Why not </span><a href="https://www.facebook.com/samantha.walsh76" style="background-color: transparent; color: #1d2129; letter-spacing: -0.23999999463558197px;"><span style="color: purple;"><b>add me as a friend on Facebook</b></span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #1d2129; letter-spacing: -0.23999999463558197px;">, search on Facebook for the Non-Mum Network under 'groups' or </span><a href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/752469014913024/?ref=br_rs" style="background-color: transparent; color: #1d2129; letter-spacing: -0.23999999463558197px;"><b><span style="color: purple;">just click here</span></b></a><span style="background-color: transparent;"><span style="color: #1d2129; letter-spacing: -0.23999999463558197px;"> to go straight to it. It's a closed group so everything said in there is for members' eyes only. I've also got a Non-Mum Network </span><a href="https://www.facebook.com/nonmumnetwork/?ref=bookmarks" style="color: purple; font-weight: bold; letter-spacing: -0.23999999463558197px;">public page</a>. </span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.23999999463558197px;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #1d2129;"><br /></span></span></span></span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.23999999463558197px;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #1d2129;">So if you're not a member of the Mummy Club, come and join us instead. We've got bouncers on the door to keep the mums out, just in case a few try to slip in under the rope, as I did with their club 😋. You need never feel alone as a Non-Mum again... </span></span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ibiza 2006: smiling with my imaginary baby <br />
(I didn't realise at this point my Non-Mum status was permanent)</td></tr>
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<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.23999999463558197px;">#<a href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/752469014913024/?ref=br_rs">The Non-Mum Network</a></span></span></span>
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<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #1d2129;">This article has also appeared in the </span><a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/samantha-walsh/the-nonmum-network_b_15850600.html"><b><span style="color: purple;">Huffington Post UK</span></b></a><span style="color: #1d2129;">. </span></span></span><br />
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<b style="background-color: white; color: purple; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px;">Fancy reading my back-story before you go any further? You can find my other blogs at:</b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<a href="http://www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com/" style="background-color: white; color: #6699cc; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: purple;"><b>www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com</b></span></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.samgoessolo.blogspot.com/" style="background-color: white; color: #6699cc; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: purple;"><b>www.samgoessolo.blogspot.com</b></span></a></div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
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<a href="http://www.mummymission.blogspot.com/" style="background-color: white; color: #6699cc; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: purple;"><b>www.mummymission.blogspot.com</b></span></a></div>
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<b style="color: purple; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px;"><a href="http://www.worldwidewalsh.blogspot.com/" style="color: #6699cc; text-decoration: none;">www.worldwidewalsh.blogspot.com</a></b></div>
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Samantha Walshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08924699477544035160noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7251271032407601709.post-65421654984420312632017-03-16T12:58:00.000-07:002017-03-16T12:58:38.145-07:00Oil Be Back<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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...as Arnold Schwarzenegger would say.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ALSDUe1V-IM/WMbSi93tSEI/AAAAAAAAB_A/7tyoshUwjYYvtBrxpbBGe_XWM35I9YNNQCLcB/s1600/arnold-schwarzenegger-terminator-wallpaper-the-terminator-1331192940.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="255" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ALSDUe1V-IM/WMbSi93tSEI/AAAAAAAAB_A/7tyoshUwjYYvtBrxpbBGe_XWM35I9YNNQCLcB/s320/arnold-schwarzenegger-terminator-wallpaper-the-terminator-1331192940.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'll Be Back: Arnie as The Terminator<br />
<a href="http://cdn30.us1.fansshare.com/image/theterminator/arnold-schwarzenegger-terminator-wallpaper-the-terminator-1331192940.jpg">photo credit</a></td></tr>
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And I will, Aromatherapy Associates. You betchya sweet-scented ass I'll be back. For these luxurious oils are to stress and tension what Arnie is to the big screen: The Terminator.<br />
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One thimble-sized capful of the potent blend of essential oils found in each frosted glass bottle has the power to sucker-punch aches and pains and KO your cricked neck. The stubby 55ml bottle may not <i>look </i>like a Hollywood heavyweight, but don't be fooled by it's diminutive stature - this badboy can certainly pack a punch.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-JwW9387F6H4/WMbPBEZrX1I/AAAAAAAAB-k/xX1TWlc1ZIAZMISTx_zGkOpNX6fFofvLACLcB/s1600/AA1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-JwW9387F6H4/WMbPBEZrX1I/AAAAAAAAB-k/xX1TWlc1ZIAZMISTx_zGkOpNX6fFofvLACLcB/s320/AA1.jpg" width="256" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A capful of this oil is even enough for a big bird like moi</td></tr>
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At first glance, I was dismissive: as a super-tall woman who stands (ok stoops) for endless hours in a beauty shop (yes, I sell similar products; I know my stuff), I have a tendency to carry a lot of tension in my neck and shoulders. When I invest in bath products I like to glug plenty into the tub. It follows that I like my bath-time buddies as I like my men: tall, generous and strong. I expect a lot of bang for my buck, so to speak. So as soon as I clocked the hefty £45 price tag on this little fella, I almost dismissed it out of hand, in much the same way I'd dismiss Danny Devito as a potential love interest. This cheeky lil chappy just wasn't doing it for me.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bZzs1vYbB9A/WMbPVNE_rYI/AAAAAAAAB-o/kmqolYtuG8s6PXDKQnnjUj0qt10KQ3CogCLcB/s1600/Mumandme.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bZzs1vYbB9A/WMbPVNE_rYI/AAAAAAAAB-o/kmqolYtuG8s6PXDKQnnjUj0qt10KQ3CogCLcB/s320/Mumandme.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">De Mama and I on our way out for a day of beauty buying</td></tr>
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It was my mum who persuaded me otherwise, having had a satisfying experience with it herself. "Don't judge a book by it's cover" she advised wisely with a knowing look "it's worth every penny." At five foot nothing, my pint-sized mama knows that good things can come in small packages. And boy was she right.<br />
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After a consultation during which we closed our eyes and inhaled our way through every tester in the rack, Mum opted for <span style="color: purple; font-weight: bold;"><a href="https://www.aromatherapyassociates.com/deep-relax-bath-shower-oil.html">Deep Relax</a> </span>(a knockout blend of vetiver, chamomile, sandalwood and patchouli), whilst I was drawn towards <b><a href="https://www.aromatherapyassociates.com/inner-strength-bath-shower-oil.html">Inner Strength</a> </b>(an uplifting combo include clary sage, frankincense, geranium and ylang ylang)<b>. </b>I was also given a 3ml bottle of <b><span style="color: purple;"><u><a href="https://www.aromatherapyassociates.com/hydrating-nourishing-face-oil.html">Hydrating Nourishing Face Oil </a></u></span></b>as a freebie, which I obviously didn't turn my nose up at (quite the opposite - containing jojoba oil, evening primrose, sandalwood, rose and patchouli, the aroma is absolutely divine).<br />
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I couldn't wait to get my new fella back home and whip him out of his attractive packaging. Within minutes the bath was run and we were naked (don't judge; older women know what they want - we don't mess about). I sloshed a capful of the oil into my bath and slightly more than a capful of wine into my glass.<br />
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Like most people, my morning routine is a speedy shower - so when it comes to my day off or an evening of pampering, I like to set the scene with military precision: cold glass of white, lights off, candles on, hair up; ipad propped on the shelf near the bath with my favourite show on catch-up. Bliss.<br />
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My senses were instantly assaulted by the strength of the top-quality fragrance of this bath oil - my house smelt like a spa - and as I sank into the steaming water (I know it's not good for you but I love a red-hot bath) I could literally feel the stress melting away (or that could have actually been my skin; I told you I have it too hot). Either way, the oils enveloped me in their warm embrace; any qualms about the value or efficacy of the products instantly dissolved, along with the ache in my neck and throbbing feet.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xjqoZkT9iP0/WMbPgDVkM7I/AAAAAAAAB-s/R3aOeXLGZ2MKS5aIVi2uioenzyZbTUJ2QCLcB/s1600/AA2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xjqoZkT9iP0/WMbPgDVkM7I/AAAAAAAAB-s/R3aOeXLGZ2MKS5aIVi2uioenzyZbTUJ2QCLcB/s320/AA2.jpg" width="256" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hydrating Nourishing Face Oil: a little goes a long way</td></tr>
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After the oils had worked their magic and I'd binged on my boxset, I emerged from the bath like a phoenix from the ashes: majestically restored, soothed and ready for my bed. I just had the strength to slather on the face oil - the few drops required means that even this teeny bottle will last for ages - then it's off to the land of nod to sleep, perchance to dream...of Hollywood hunks and glamour. Hmm, perhaps I shouldn't have dismissed Danny Devito after all....<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GgvbHUUExM8/WMbRKINBgTI/AAAAAAAAB-0/qW_XbeOLT1kF8SRkOQ1hWsRJrxJLWlRfACLcB/s1600/dannydevito.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GgvbHUUExM8/WMbRKINBgTI/AAAAAAAAB-0/qW_XbeOLT1kF8SRkOQ1hWsRJrxJLWlRfACLcB/s320/dannydevito.jpg" width="215" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Small is beautiful<br />
<a href="https://uk.pinterest.com/pin/335307134740764174/">photo credit</a></td></tr>
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<b><span style="color: purple;"><i><br /></i></span></b>
<b><span style="color: purple;"><i>You can find out more and purchase Aromatherapy Associates luxurious oils, lotions and potions <u><a href="https://www.aromatherapyassociates.com/">here</a></u>. As well as being the perfect cheeky treat for yourself, they would also make a fantastic Mother's Day gift - you can even get the bottles engraved. <u>To get a 20% discount enter the promo code PB20 at the checkout</u>. The code is valid until the end of April. You're welcome </i>😉.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="color: purple;"><i>Enjoy!</i></span></b><br />
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<b style="background-color: white; color: purple; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px;">Fancy reading my back-story before you go any further? You can find my other blogs at:</b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<a href="http://www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com/" style="background-color: white; color: #6699cc; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: purple;"><b>www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com</b></span></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.samgoessolo.blogspot.com/" style="background-color: white; color: #6699cc; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: purple;"><b>www.samgoessolo.blogspot.com</b></span></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.mummymission.blogspot.com/" style="background-color: white; color: #6699cc; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: purple;"><b>www.mummymission.blogspot.com</b></span></a></div>
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<b style="color: purple; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px;"><a href="http://www.worldwidewalsh.blogspot.com/" style="color: #6699cc; text-decoration: none;">www.worldwidewalsh.blogspot.com</a></b></div>
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<b>Follow me:</b></div>
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<b><br /></b><b>Twitter: <a href="https://mobile.twitter.com/SamanthaWalsh76">@SamanthaWalsh76</a></b></div>
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<b>Facebook: <a href="https://www.facebook.com/samantha.walsh76">Samantha Jane Walsh</a></b></div>
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Samantha Walshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08924699477544035160noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7251271032407601709.post-14295544434089004642017-03-13T08:46:00.000-07:002017-03-13T08:49:03.952-07:00Send Me Nudes<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Lads, before you start skimming this article hoping for flashes of flesh or requests for dick pics, let me be clear: it's about nude makeup. Not actual nudes. I just used that title because it's catchy. Soz and all that.<br />
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Due to the surge in popularity of 'dating' apps such as Tinder, asking a new 'match' to "send nudes" is dropped in as casually as asking what they do for a living - and almost as quickly. The exchange usually goes something like:<br />
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Him: Hey, you're fit.<br />
You: You're cute too. So, tell me about yourself: what do you do for a living...?<br />
Him: I'm in IT. Send me nudes!<br />
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When I signed up to Tinder (in 2013, before I met Andy the following year) I was not only bombarded with unsolicited nudes, and requests for nudes, I was also sent plenty of pictures of other women in their underwear...or completely nude. Not by the women in the pictures themselves - I had my settings firmly set to 'women looking for men' - but by the guys they were sending them to, as if this was somehow proof that "all the other women are doing it." Sometimes guys would even say, "I'm not sure whether to date you...or her (female nude pops up on my phone). Who should I choose?" as if trying to start some kind of competition between us. One glance at the picture of the posing woman staring seductively into the camera tells me she's a man-eater; if she were a plant she'd be a Penis Fly Trap. Oh I certainly hope so. I'm happy to let her 'win' this one and swiftly delete the dastardly dude.<br />
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So girls, beware that when they guys say "send me nudes, I swear I'll never show anyone," he's telling porkies - not only will he show his mates, he'll also show everyone else he can think of...<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Vr9YngADFNY/WL18wkterlI/AAAAAAAAB84/36CNdwIAbnsZmB1pE4Fu-yzf7iRH-Cs0QCLcB/s1600/bourjois2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Vr9YngADFNY/WL18wkterlI/AAAAAAAAB84/36CNdwIAbnsZmB1pE4Fu-yzf7iRH-Cs0QCLcB/s320/bourjois2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.superdrug.com/Make-Up/Lips/Lipstick/Bourjois-Rouge-Edition-Velvet-Lipstick-Don't-Pink-of-It-10/p/414001">Rouge Edition Velvet</a> - great creamy texture, velvet matte finish</td></tr>
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Anyway, I digress. Back to the nude makeup. To me, the words 'nude' and 'makeup' had never featured in the same sentence until recently. Why would they? To me the term 'nude makeup' is an oxymoron: if you can't even see it, how is it making you look better? What's the point of shelling out a load of dosh and then taking an age to painstakingly apply a ton of products you can't even see? Sounds like a case of The Emperor's New Clothes to me.<br />
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No, if I'm going to spend an arm and a leg on the latest beauty innovations and formulations I want to emerge from the bathroom in the morning looking catwalk-ready and as glamorous as Marilyn Monroe. Nude doesn't come into the equation: I want endless raven lashes, lips dripping brick-red gloss and skin like the finest porcelain. Or I did until now.<br />
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But recently I decided to give nude another chance, albeit <i>my</i> interpretation of nude. Rather than so little makeup that I still look anaemic, my naturally blonde features barely discernable on the blank sheet of A4 that is my morning face, I opted for visible makeup, but in hues of peach and muted browns that looked vaguely natural rather than naked.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.bourjois.co.uk/home?mood=0">eyeshadow palette in 02 OVER ROSE, lip pencil in 01NUDE WAVE, <br />velvet matte lip cream in 10 DON'T PINK OF IT</a></td></tr>
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"I prefer women to look natural" proclaim men everywhere - until the aforementioned women have the bare-faced cheek to leave the house without a scrap of slap. Because there's natural...and then there's rough as a badger's backside; rarely does a woman look as good as Gigi Hadid does without makeup. (That's not dissing the sisterhood girls - it's just the brutal and blatant truth).<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GRZw34G0EW0/WL2DxwhL74I/AAAAAAAAB9M/kfjW8ZxIVboj2AHwDUAK5-A_bogf4wmqACLcB/s1600/gigi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GRZw34G0EW0/WL2DxwhL74I/AAAAAAAAB9M/kfjW8ZxIVboj2AHwDUAK5-A_bogf4wmqACLcB/s320/gigi.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Because we all look like Gigi without makeup...NOT!</td></tr>
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The fellas then quickly back-track with a tactful "You look beautiful either way...but I do love it when you're all glammed up," baulking in horror at the sight of thread veins, sparse brows and piggy eyes. He's hardly Tom Hardy himself, let's face it, but nevertheless everyone heaves a sigh of relief when the giant makeup bag comes out once more...<br />
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So here's my version of nude: still made up to within an inch of my life, but in a softer palette of shades. No red lippy or flicky felt-tip liner, yet enough colour and definition that I won't be mistaken for Casper the friendly ghost on my morning commute. The pigment is good, the quality decent and the best part is the price: <b><a href="http://www.boots.com/CategoryDisplay?storeId=11352&urlLangId=&beginIndex=0&urlRequestType=Base&categoryId=1610726&pageView=&langId=-1&catalogId=28501">Bourjois 3 for 2 at Boots</a> </b>meant I got all 3 items for around £15 (there are often offers on at either Boots or <a href="http://www.superdrug.com/brandshop/bourjois" style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: purple;">Superdrug</span></a><span style="color: purple; font-weight: bold;"> </span>- there's one at Superdrug now).<b> </b>So if my love-affair with the nudes turns out to be as short-lived as most of my Tinder matches, I won't be left broke and broken-hearted...<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2gyi0gHFxCk/WL19MiP9lQI/AAAAAAAAB88/xVDn4n0AQ5QK61jYWNMMwT7twI-KS6HagCLcB/s1600/flamingo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2gyi0gHFxCk/WL19MiP9lQI/AAAAAAAAB88/xVDn4n0AQ5QK61jYWNMMwT7twI-KS6HagCLcB/s400/flamingo.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">lanky birds: I've got an affinity with flamingos 😉<br />
<a href="http://www.oasis-stores.com/gb/clothing/knitwear/flamingo-knit/061594.html?dwvar_061594_color=45&gclid=CjwKEAiArvTFBRCLq5-7-MSJ0jMSJABHBvp0OgAdTqgUlbXMjdo6UtZRTIg23-wUfgjJLL1vFemesBoCi1bw_wcB">jumper from Oasis</a></td></tr>
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<b style="background-color: white; color: purple; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px;">Fancy reading my back-story before you go any further? You can find my other blogs at:</b></div>
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<a href="http://www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com/" style="background-color: white; color: #6699cc; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: purple;"><b>www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com</b></span></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.samgoessolo.blogspot.com/" style="background-color: white; color: #6699cc; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: purple;"><b>www.samgoessolo.blogspot.com</b></span></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.mummymission.blogspot.com/" style="background-color: white; color: #6699cc; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: purple;"><b>www.mummymission.blogspot.com</b></span></a></div>
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<b style="color: purple; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px;"><a href="http://www.worldwidewalsh.blogspot.com/" style="color: #6699cc; text-decoration: none;">www.worldwidewalsh.blogspot.com</a></b></div>
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<b><br /></b><b>Twitter: <a href="https://mobile.twitter.com/SamanthaWalsh76">@SamanthaWalsh76</a></b></div>
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<b>Instagram: <a href="https://www.instagram.com/wanderingblonde76/?hl=en">wanderingblonde76</a></b><br />
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Samantha Walshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08924699477544035160noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7251271032407601709.post-67443431750178162022017-03-09T23:16:00.001-08:002017-03-15T03:04:26.598-07:00Happy Birthday, Bird's Eye View!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7gGzhpO7A_E/WMGtbjrOMUI/AAAAAAAAB-I/4o_b5BwbUVIJsZQtjiAK9AVlAmo6T8zNQCLcB/s1600/bdayblog2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7gGzhpO7A_E/WMGtbjrOMUI/AAAAAAAAB-I/4o_b5BwbUVIJsZQtjiAK9AVlAmo6T8zNQCLcB/s400/bdayblog2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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It's my blog-versary!<br />
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An entire year has passed since I penned my first post here at Life: A Bird's Eye View. And what a year it's been: from getting an article published in So Magazine, to being featured on an American podcast over in Washington DC, to securing a regular gig at Huffington Post UK. </div>
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I've written a whole host of articles (76 of them in fact!) about topics I never dreamed I'd dare, including sexual abuse, infertility and IVF, as well as cancer, marriage breakdown and depression. I've been a guest on another podcast, this time for Mike's Open Journal about mental health; been interviewed by Caledonian Kitty; met tons of inspirational bloggers and influencers; attended an event as an 'influential blogger' (get me!) for The Eve Appeal; got involved in Project Teen (to help improve the mental health of teenage girls); campaigned to raise awareness of cervical cancer for The Eve Appeal and Jo's Trust, and fought to get the wording changed on the smear test letter (which is now in the process of happening - watch this space). </div>
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This blog has been the baby I never had and I've loved every minute of nurturing it and watching it grow. I know it may seem a bit Crazy Cat Lady to have bought the blog a card and cupcake, but seeing as I'll never get to buy one for my <i>real</i> baby just grant me this one indulgence, please (plus, any excuse for a trip to Lola's Bakery, eh?). </div>
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Anyway, thank you <i>so</i> much to all of you who've read my blog over the last 12 months, and please do continue to keep reading and giving me feedback. You're making a silly old bird very happy! Thank you also to my long-suffering boyfriend Andy who never anticipated becoming a blog widower when he started dating me a few years ago, bless him! (Makes a change from us girls being football widows though, huh? 😉).<br />
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Here's to the next 12 months of blogging!<br />
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Much love, Sam 💋</div>
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<b style="background-color: white; color: purple; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px;">Fancy reading my back-story before you go any further? You can find my other blogs at:</b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<a href="http://www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com/" style="background-color: white; color: #6699cc; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: purple;"><b>www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com</b></span></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.samgoessolo.blogspot.com/" style="background-color: white; color: #6699cc; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: purple;"><b>www.samgoessolo.blogspot.com</b></span></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.mummymission.blogspot.com/" style="background-color: white; color: #6699cc; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: purple;"><b>www.mummymission.blogspot.com</b></span></a></div>
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<b style="color: purple; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px;"><a href="http://www.worldwidewalsh.blogspot.com/" style="color: #6699cc; text-decoration: none;">www.worldwidewalsh.blogspot.com</a></b></div>
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Samantha Walshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08924699477544035160noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7251271032407601709.post-14970749439782455842017-03-09T10:19:00.000-08:002017-03-16T08:52:58.969-07:00Project Teen: 6 Things I'd Say To My Teenage Self<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me at 16</td></tr>
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It's a long time since this picture was taken (a quarter of a century in fact), but if I close my eyes and think back I can still <b>feel</b> the hormones surging through my veins, <b>hear</b> my insecure outpourings whispered to friends on my parents' landline, and <b>experience</b> once more the raw emotion and angst of those challenging years. I've written about it before, in <a href="https://lifeabirdseyeview.blogspot.co.uk/2016/06/smells-like-cheap-spirits.html"><b>this post entitled Smells Like Cheap Spirits</b></a>.<br />
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Which is why, when invited by young entrepreneur and author <a href="https://www.facebook.com/ella.stearn"><b><span style="color: purple;">Ella Stearn</span></b></a> from <span style="color: red;"><b><u><a href="https://www.facebook.com/theluckytruth/?pnref=lhc">The Lucky Truth</a></u></b> </span>to take part in <b><u><a href="https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/projectteen-tackling-mental-health-more-youth#/"><span style="color: purple;">Project Teen</span></a></u></b>, an initiative designed to support teenage girls through the daily challenges they face, I jumped at the chance.<br />
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<span style="text-align: left;">By supporting this campaign and sharing our </span><b style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: purple;">#YoudNeverBelieve</span></b><span style="text-align: left;"> quotes in this video, (yes that's me confessing to insecurity about my height), the other women and I are saying to teenage girls everywhere: you're not alone....</span></div>
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Which got me thinking "what would<i> I</i> say to <i>my</i> teenage self?" So here goes:</div>
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<u>6 Things I'd Say To My Teenage Self</u></div>
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1. <u>Don't dumb yourself down to be cool</u><br />
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You go to a grammar school; you're lucky. Make the most of it. You're among the most intelligent kids in the country (yes, really!). So what's so cool about acting dumb? Messing about in class; winding 'Sir' up to the point of throbbing veins in his temples; driving the poor teachers to drink. And for what? To attract the attention of some spotty-faced oik with an attitude who you'll never see again after the next few years. Your intelligence is the most powerful thing you have; don't play it down. You can't go to the doctors for a quick IQ booster injection later on; there's no miracle cure for stupid. Ignore the bullies; keep your head down. This is your chance to absorb knowledge like a sponge. Those popular, rebellious girls poking fun at the geeky, studious ones? Half of them will leave school with a few lame GCSEs and an imminent baby bump. It's the geeks who'll have the last laugh when they get the top jobs and travel the world.<br />
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2. <u>The boy who breaks your heart won't matter</u><br />
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Talking of oiks - that rakish bad boy, the dark-haired one with the curtain hairstyle flopping across his face and the sexy side-eyed glances? Forget him. He'll draw you in, use you up and spit you out. It'll hurt. Learn your lesson and move on. What'll feel like the end of the world for a while will seem pathetic in a year's time. Trust me on this. But don't trust him.<br />
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3.<u> Be proud of your USP</u><br />
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Don't be ashamed of your USP. (That's Unique Selling Point, kiddo). Yes, you do have one. Several, in fact. You're a six foot natural blonde with brains, for Christ's sake. Instead of hunching your shoulders and mooching about like Herman Munster, push your shoulders back, stand tall and be proud. When you get a bit older you'll realise what an advantage being tall is. You'll be able to reach stuff, buy alcohol before your mates and see everything at concerts. You're onto a winner.<br />
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4.<u> Dream big</u><br />
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Ok, now we've got that straight, let's talk goals. Think of some. Write them down, stay focused and don't let anyone stand in your way. Go to university (you won't, but you should). Live boldly. Have adventures. Travel the world. You'll learn far more by backpacking than you ever will in a musty classroom. School is just a small percentage of your lifespan; there's a big world out there. Who cares if that boy doesn't fancy you? Plenty of others will. Now stop expending energy on some little no-mark and get planning the big stuff. What seems important now will be like a grain of sand on a beach in the great scheme of things. The world is your oyster.<br />
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5. <u>Be kind</u><br />
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Be kind. Be kind to everyone. Karma is real; it's a thing. If you pull the legs off a crane fly for the fun of it, be prepared to come back in your next life as a crane fly. Be especially kind to your family. You may moan about your parents not letting you stay out all night and bitch about your little sister stealing your makeup, but they will be there for you no matter what. Until they're not; don't take them for granted.<br />
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6. <u>Love yourself</u><br />
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On the subject of kindness, my final point is a big one (I'm almost 41, and it's still a work in progress). You'll probably never master it completely, but you have to keep at it. Ready? Be kind to yourself. That's it. Sounds simple, doesn't it? Believe me, it'll be the hardest one of all. If you can be kind to yourself - tell yourself you're worthy; capable; beautiful - it'll be the best thing you'll ever do. Until you can learn to love yourself, you'll struggle to love anyone else: negative emotions like insecurity and jealousy will tarnish relationships and cloud your judgement. Look after your health and your sanity; take care of your body. It's the only one you'll ever have. Surround yourself with good people. Believe in yourself: if you believe you can or believe you can't - either way you're right. When you finally work out how amazing you are, how precious life is and how little time you have to waste worrying about the small stuff (spoiler alert: it's almost <i>all </i>small stuff), then, and only then, will you discover true happiness.<br />
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Good luck.<br />
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<b><span style="color: purple;">To support Project Teen and get Ella's book <i>Yeah Right! A Girl's Guide To Surviving Teens </i>to the girls that need it most, <a href="https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/projectteen-tackling-mental-health-more-youth#/">click here</a>. Please share this post and the videos it contains to raise awareness of the campaign, the issues facing teenage girls and to let them know that we love them, we support them and we have their backs. </span></b><br />
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<b style="background-color: white; color: purple; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px;">Fancy reading my back-story before you go any further? You can find my other blogs at:</b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<a href="http://www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com/" style="background-color: white; color: #6699cc; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: purple;"><b>www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com</b></span></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.samgoessolo.blogspot.com/" style="background-color: white; color: #6699cc; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: purple;"><b>www.samgoessolo.blogspot.com</b></span></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.mummymission.blogspot.com/" style="background-color: white; color: #6699cc; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: purple;"><b>www.mummymission.blogspot.com</b></span></a></div>
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<b style="color: purple; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px;"><a href="http://www.worldwidewalsh.blogspot.com/" style="color: #6699cc; text-decoration: none;">www.worldwidewalsh.blogspot.com</a></b></div>
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<b><br /></b><b>Twitter: <a href="https://mobile.twitter.com/SamanthaWalsh76">@SamanthaWalsh76</a></b></div>
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Samantha Walshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08924699477544035160noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7251271032407601709.post-38726789149791538782017-03-06T06:03:00.000-08:002017-03-16T10:42:06.568-07:00Because It's Cancer<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OMDOXPpV3QI/WL1pGqilAvI/AAAAAAAAB8Q/-bJonhV5psgRa-tZBaWREWeYuMqaaZpWwCLcB/s1600/DrGoogle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OMDOXPpV3QI/WL1pGqilAvI/AAAAAAAAB8Q/-bJonhV5psgRa-tZBaWREWeYuMqaaZpWwCLcB/s320/DrGoogle.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The doctor will see you now<br />
<a href="https://blogs.uthscsa.edu/weblife/2013/09/ask-dr-google-open-247/">photo credit</a></td></tr>
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If you're anything like me, when you notice something different about your body - a lump; a pain; a reaction - the first thing you do is pick up your phone and tap your symptoms into the Google search bar. A few seconds later and wise old Dr Google responds with a myriad of possible causes and diagnoses. At this point you frantically skim-read the first page of results and are either:<br />
a. reassured that it's just a minor complaint, or<br />
b. panicking that death is imminent, or at the very least it's a depressingly debilitating life-threatening illness.<br />
<br />
What often happens next is the common sense part of your brain shouts down the neurotic one, gives it a sharp slap round the face to calm it down, and then you push it to the back of your mind and go about your day.<br />
<br />
If the symptoms persist, Common Sense reluctantly listens to Neurotic Hypochondriac's frantic pleas until he eventually gives in with a sigh and an eyeball roll and books a doctor's appointment, just to silence the inner conflict that's distracting you from living in peace. Common Sense tells Neurotic Hypo he's overreacting, but he simply shrugs and gives a wry smile, knowing he's won the battle - this time at least.<br />
<br />
But then Life takes over; work is busy, home life hectic, and the doctor's appointment is forgotten. Common Sense says "the symptoms have subsided, it's fine." Hypo is unsettled, but sulks and doesn't push it. Time passes. The symptoms reappear. Intuition decides she needs to step in. She gives Hypo a nudge, who reminds Common Sense the appointment is outstanding, and another appointment is made...and cancelled. Something came up.<br />
<br />
Eventually, you get to the appointment. By then, you've got used to the symptoms. Common Sense plays them down at the appointment, as you're feeling ok today and besides, you have an important meeting to get to. "This is important too!" shrieks Hypochondriac, panic rising, but he's said this before and it turned out to be nothing, so Common Sense puts his hand over his mouth and drags him kicking and screaming from the surgery. Intuition is unsettled by this performance, but despite her concerns she silently retreats.<br />
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Some months later, something remarkable happens: all the inner voices agree. The usually dominant and pragmatic Common Sense finally admits he's been bullish and listens intently to softly-spoken Intuition; both agree Neurotic Hypochondriac's voice no longer sounds crazy but actually quite feasible, and all three drive you back to the doctor. He also concurs this time and you're promptly referred to a specialist. But instead of feeling a sense of happiness, relief and calm that everyone is aligned and in agreement for once, you feel something else entirely.<br />
<br />
Because it's cancer.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/--3Jm7-W_718/WL1pPqmM0jI/AAAAAAAAB8U/vPRz7r2SI9wb7snQrIy0TLzGorpdB0yfgCLcB/s1600/sadgirl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/--3Jm7-W_718/WL1pPqmM0jI/AAAAAAAAB8U/vPRz7r2SI9wb7snQrIy0TLzGorpdB0yfgCLcB/s320/sadgirl.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://globalrightsforwomen.org/2016/11/10/darkness-traumatic-brain-injuries-not-just-football-anymore/">photo credit</a></td></tr>
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<b style="background-color: white; color: purple; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px;">For early symptoms of cancer, <a href="http://www.nhs.uk/Conditions/Cancer/Pages/Symptoms.aspx">click here</a>. </b><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YoW7YSpVhss/WL1tq7_jHHI/AAAAAAAAB8g/AqJjZ7tla6gcPmGUjHIpwNjU2xBhYHLbQCLcB/s1600/cancer_signs_infographic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="208" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YoW7YSpVhss/WL1tq7_jHHI/AAAAAAAAB8g/AqJjZ7tla6gcPmGUjHIpwNjU2xBhYHLbQCLcB/s320/cancer_signs_infographic.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b style="background-color: white; color: purple; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px;"><br /></b>
<b style="background-color: white; color: purple; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px;">Fancy reading my back-story before you go any further? You can find my other blogs at:</b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<a href="http://www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com/" style="background-color: white; color: #6699cc; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: purple;"><b>www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com</b></span></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.samgoessolo.blogspot.com/" style="background-color: white; color: #6699cc; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: purple;"><b>www.samgoessolo.blogspot.com</b></span></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.mummymission.blogspot.com/" style="background-color: white; color: #6699cc; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: purple;"><b>www.mummymission.blogspot.com</b></span></a></div>
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<b style="color: purple; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px;"><a href="http://www.worldwidewalsh.blogspot.com/" style="color: #6699cc; text-decoration: none;">www.worldwidewalsh.blogspot.com</a></b></div>
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Samantha Walshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08924699477544035160noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7251271032407601709.post-44061723701759514072017-03-06T05:40:00.000-08:002017-03-06T08:00:43.043-08:00You're Ovary Acting<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wow! You're Ovary-acting</td></tr>
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...or are you? You don't want to upset those ovaries do you?<br />
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Do you even know the symptoms of ovarian cancer?<br />
<br />
C'mon ladies, we need to be clued up on this stuff. I know, I know, it's not the most fun topic to chat about when you see your girlfriends - we'd far rather be quaffing champers over a long lunch...or perhaps you'd prefer to be at home helping the kids with their homework - well, anything's better than talking about The Dreaded C, isn't it? We've all been affected by cancer in some way in our lives - either personally or having to watch the suffering of a loved one - so it's a painful topic, I get that. It's bringing a lump to my throat typing this, as I recall the faces of those I've loved and lost to this terrible disease.<br />
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But, as a friend suffering from terminal cancer so succinctly put it recently: knowledge is power. If we know what we're dealing with, which symptoms to look out for, we can stop it in it's tracks by getting the required treatment early on. As with all cancers, early diagnosis is key - but ovarian cancer symptoms can be confused with other conditions, or dismissed as part of growing older, since it most commonly occurs after age 50. So familiarise yourself with the symptoms, and visit your GP if you have any of the following for more than a few weeks:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dQh2jRl8w3s/WL1gK62jFgI/AAAAAAAAB7Y/DfkVnGj-3ncg4aGOoKMi_ua0bHFkLayCACLcB/s1600/ovariansymptoms.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="228" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dQh2jRl8w3s/WL1gK62jFgI/AAAAAAAAB7Y/DfkVnGj-3ncg4aGOoKMi_ua0bHFkLayCACLcB/s400/ovariansymptoms.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.ovarian.org.uk/">www.ovarian.org.uk</a></td></tr>
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<br />
There are also certain risk factors that increase your chances of getting ovarian cancer too:<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mEHIvq2eBDo/WL1gvNi_C2I/AAAAAAAAB7c/2FbH0NAEcgwPuI--XhFfhgMQ3WuUcK1TQCLcB/s1600/risk-factor-of-ovarian-canc.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="273" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mEHIvq2eBDo/WL1gvNi_C2I/AAAAAAAAB7c/2FbH0NAEcgwPuI--XhFfhgMQ3WuUcK1TQCLcB/s320/risk-factor-of-ovarian-canc.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.consumerhealthdigest.com/health-conditions/ovarian-cancer.html">source</a><br />
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March is <a href="http://www.targetovariancancer.org.uk/march-ovarian-cancer-awareness-month"><b>Ovarian Cancer Awareness Month</b></a>, so I'm fundraising in aid of <a href="https://eveappeal.org.uk/"><b>The Eve Appeal</b></a> by hosting a <a href="https://eveappeal.org.uk/supporting-us/take-part-in-an-event/make-time-for-tea/"><b>Make Time For Tea event</b></a> at the end of the month. All you have to do is bake (or buy!) some cakes (and/or ask your friends to bring some along too), pour the tea and have fun with your friends whilst raising awareness and funds for the campaign - simples!<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-iZ387gqZh70/WL1iPGHRtmI/AAAAAAAAB7w/wA0oMOhHvGsv1CAUD9pzbj_xEQ_g6pUtQCLcB/s1600/Tea1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-iZ387gqZh70/WL1iPGHRtmI/AAAAAAAAB7w/wA0oMOhHvGsv1CAUD9pzbj_xEQ_g6pUtQCLcB/s320/Tea1.jpg" width="256" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">my fundraising pack arrived when I was leaving for work the other day<br />
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If you are not able to host your own tea party, or attend one locally, you can always donate to my Make Time For Tea Just Giving page here:<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="color: purple;"><b> <a href="https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/wanderingblonde">https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/wanderingblonde</a></b></span><br />
<span style="color: purple;"><br /></span>
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So come on everyone, let's raise funds for The Eve Appeal and keep those ovaries happy. You're not overreacting; you're Ovary Acting. 💋<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ORp4hh4-XX8/WL1jSJReoEI/AAAAAAAAB8A/-ynvApnT980ofbevDd_33zfs_rTSKeQwgCLcB/s1600/prettyovary.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ORp4hh4-XX8/WL1jSJReoEI/AAAAAAAAB8A/-ynvApnT980ofbevDd_33zfs_rTSKeQwgCLcB/s320/prettyovary.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Thank you! xx<br />
<br />
<br />
<b style="background-color: white; color: purple; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px;">Fancy reading my back-story before you go any further? You can find my other blogs at:</b><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<a href="http://www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com/" style="background-color: white; color: #6699cc; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: purple;"><b>www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com</b></span></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.samgoessolo.blogspot.com/" style="background-color: white; color: #6699cc; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: purple;"><b>www.samgoessolo.blogspot.com</b></span></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.mummymission.blogspot.com/" style="background-color: white; color: #6699cc; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: purple;"><b>www.mummymission.blogspot.com</b></span></a></div>
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<b style="color: purple; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px;"><a href="http://www.worldwidewalsh.blogspot.com/" style="color: #6699cc; text-decoration: none;">www.worldwidewalsh.blogspot.com</a></b></div>
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Samantha Walshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08924699477544035160noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7251271032407601709.post-54997118255471642322017-03-04T13:49:00.000-08:002017-03-04T14:20:15.533-08:00Born Lippy<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PoD9wChorBQ/WLsUPmAvKKI/AAAAAAAAB5E/96TFhQpzakYZ2rOjFc0qYR60W8yj9xuJwCEw/s1600/sparklepack.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PoD9wChorBQ/WLsUPmAvKKI/AAAAAAAAB5E/96TFhQpzakYZ2rOjFc0qYR60W8yj9xuJwCEw/s400/sparklepack.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.sparkles-lips.co.uk/buy/"><b>Sparkles Lips</b></a>: add some glitz to your lips</td></tr>
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They say you should never wear glitter over the age of 40...or is it 30? Whatever! I say to hell with them and their rules - whoever 'they' are anyway! 'They' are probably the hoity toity, buttoned-up Fun Police - the conservative rule-followers who also disapprove of holidaying in Ibiza (so common!) and clubbing at any age after graduation. Well 'they' can just push their horn-rimmed specs back up their aquiline noses, quit quoting endless dos and don'ts from the play-it-safe rulebook and go back to finishing the Guardian crossword - 'cause we ain't listenin'!<br />
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I've never been particularly fond of being told what to do, so I'm not about to start now. I've always had plenty to say for myself - too much, perhaps. My mouth does have a tendancy to run away with me: I was born lippy. But I'm an upstanding member of society and have never been in trouble with the law, so if the only crimes I'm committing are those against growing old gracefully then I think a mere caution is ample punishment, don't you Officer?<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bTIncB7rLwQ/WLsS-iWc5XI/AAAAAAAAB44/iPa634bhdzwLJyDvSHCZq5BOnaYTP84nwCLcB/s1600/sparklesmile.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bTIncB7rLwQ/WLsS-iWc5XI/AAAAAAAAB44/iPa634bhdzwLJyDvSHCZq5BOnaYTP84nwCLcB/s320/sparklesmile.jpg" width="312" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sparkles Lips in Holographic Pink</td></tr>
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Yes, glitter sits in your wrinkles and shimmer shows up your crow's feet, but does anyone really care? I'd far rather see someone out having fun, eyes crinkling, head thrown back and giggling uncontrollably with a bit of glitter settling into her laughter lines than a perfectly stylish yet stony-faced ice maiden.<br />
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There's a time and a place for everything of course - the glittery lips I'm demoing in the clip below are not geared towards the school run (the dried glitter has the texture of sand so will probably remove several layers of little Johnny's delicate peachy skin as you kiss him goodbye on the cheek at the gates) or zipping round Sainsburys (people will assume you've pulled an all-nighter and not slept yet), but on a big night out or a summertime festival they are perfect: fun, frivolous and - in my humble opinion - 40 year old-friendly.<br />
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I know I have major crow's feet around my eyes and in a few years will resemble a big blonde shar-pei, but having a strong sense of humour is what's got me through life thus far, so I wear the resulting laughter lines with pride. And besides, I'd rather crinkly eyes from smiling than deep frown lines and a furrowed brow.<br />
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So tear up the rule book (and that boring Boden catalogue whilst you're at it), whack on the tunes to get you in the mood and get out the glitter pots, girls! It's time to shine bright like a diamond and join the glitterati. Let's sparkle, shimmer and shimmy our way through life while we still can (if we listen to the nagging naysayers it won't be long before the ol' knees give way and we won't have the option anyway, eh?).<br />
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If being covered in a fine layer of fairy dust makes you happy then go right ahead, I say. I'm sure even the most fastidious of fashion rule-followers would agree: the best accessory you can wear - whatever your age - is a smile. So you may as well make it a sparkly one...<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: magenta;"><b><a href="http://www.sparkles-lips.co.uk/buy/">Order your Sparkles Lips here</a></b></span></td></tr>
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Now<span style="text-align: center;"> you've got your glitzy lippy sorted, crank up this old club classic and get yourself in the mood to party....have fun! 👯</span><br />
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<b style="background-color: white; color: purple; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px;">Fancy reading my back-story before you go any further? You can find my other blogs at:</b></div>
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<a href="http://www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com/" style="background-color: white; color: #6699cc; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: purple;"><b>www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com</b></span></a></div>
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Samantha Walshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08924699477544035160noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7251271032407601709.post-61519795085904867522017-02-28T01:29:00.000-08:002017-03-15T03:07:24.823-07:00Double Wear: The Ace of Base<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Double duty beauty: Double Wear Stay-In-Place Makeup SPF10<br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Let's keep this short and sweet girls. When it comes to foundation, </span><a href="http://www.esteelauder.co.uk/product/643/3894/product-catalog/makeup/face/foundations/double-wear/stay-in-place-makeup-spf-10" style="color: purple; font-family: inherit; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: underline;">Estée Lauder's Double Wear</a><span style="color: purple; font-family: inherit;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">is the daddy. End of. That's all you need to know. Some women play their beauty cards close to their chest, for fear of revealing their other hand to other females; protecting their coveted secrets from 'rivals'. Not me. I'm the generous croupier: dishing 'em out left, right and centre. No poker faces round here; I want you to have the ace of base. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The only reason I've never mentioned this product on my blog before now is because I thought it was obvious; I assumed you all knew. It's the cosmetic industry's worst-kept secret - a long-standing staple, along with </span><a href="http://www.lancome.co.uk/makeup/eyes/mascara/hypnose/162019-LAC.html?gclid=CjwKEAiAuc_FBRD7_JCM3NSY92wSJABbVoxBpsTx6UxzmSTUV5Z7ZGpaCCVjW5OEMjXEAOZJDY9gbxoCR2Dw_wcB&gclsrc=aw.ds&dclid=CP-lh_6KsdICFWqs7Qoda5AOBw" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: purple;"><b>Lancome Hypnôse mascara</b></span></a><span style="font-family: inherit;">, </span><a href="http://www.maccosmetics.co.uk/product/13852/340/products/makeup/lips/lip-pencil/lip-pencil#/shade/Spice" style="font-family: inherit;"><b><span style="color: purple;">MAC Spice Lip Pencil</span></b></a><span style="font-family: inherit;"> and </span><a href="http://www.yslbeauty.co.uk/gift-guide/must-haves/touche-eclat/141YSL.html" style="font-family: inherit;"><b><span style="color: purple;">YSL Touche Éclat</span></b></a><span style="font-family: inherit;">: timeless classics that you just don't mess with. They are the Don, all the others mere footsoldiers; you'd be ill-advised to question their authority. These guys are to make-up what Mary Berry is to cakes.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I can't believe I'm even having to mention this now, if I'm honest. This is basic stuff ladies - like GHDs for hair or Colgate for teeth. Any MUA (that's makeup artist by the way 😉) worth her salt will have this product by the bucketload in her kit.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I don't mean to patronise you - teaching you to use Double Wear is like sending your granny on an egg-sucking course. Or so I thought. But recently I've come across several strange creatures masquerading as females who seem to have got to middle age without acquiring this common knowledge. Sure they <i>look</i> like women, they <i>sound</i> like women, but when they ask me which foundation I use and I tell them "Double Wear, obvs" (with a subtle glance to the heavens) and they simply look at me blankly, I swear they must be aliens that have just landed from Mars.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I may be a basic bitch, but I know my base. I've been in a committed relationship with Double Wear for at least 15 years now, save for a short-lived but passionate dalliance with <a href="http://www.yslbeauty.co.uk/makeup/complexion/touche-eclat/touche-eclat-le-teint-foundation/WW-20350YSL.html"><span style="color: purple;"><b>Touche <span style="color: purple;">Éclat</span> Le Teint Foundation</b></span></a>, for which I've been forgiven and we shan't discuss further. It was fun while it lasted, but it just couldn't go the distance. Obviously there were others in the past, but nothing compares to my darling DW - this is the real deal.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">So what makes Double Wear so impressive? Well this stuff glides on like a dream and stays put for eternity. Just like building a house, the rest of your makeup won't stay put unless you get the foundation right first. I've been known to go to work, straight on to a night out and rock up at the after party at 8am, make-up fresh as a daisy - all thanks to this badboy. You can attend a sweaty rave, a damp festival in a field or have a cheeky roll in the hay should the occasion arise (or all 3 if you're lucky) and still this stuff ain't budgin'. I've trekked Machu Picchu, through Brazilian rainforests - even endured the 100% humidity of summertime Bangkok and it STILL did the business.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">So with SPF10, oil-free formula, and more staying power than the Dulux emulsion on your kitchen walls, surely it's a similar consistency too? Amazingly, no. That's the beauty of it. Before you nip down to Homebase to invest in overalls, a paint tray and non-drip roller to apply it, listen up: you only need a small amount - 10p sized blob max - dotted onto forehead, nose, cheeks and chin and then blended with fingertips for a flawless coverage. A 30ml bottle costs £31 and lasts me around 6 months. Don't bother with sponges or a foundation brush, you'll just waste product. If you look out for the Gift Time promos (<a href="http://www.debenhams.com/content/estee-lauder-free-gift"><b><span style="color: purple;">like this one currently on at Debenhams</span></b></a>) you'll get a load of goodies thrown in free with the purchase of 2 items, one to be your foundation. Alternatively, sign up to Lauder's mailing list - there are tons of offers on online, often with a lower spend threshold. </span></div>
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-75xw8K33V40/WLSEyYmWfBI/AAAAAAAAB30/eDntrfXN4jcEZ6Usvz3ooQOsPd45wLICQCLcB/s1600/YourGift.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-75xw8K33V40/WLSEyYmWfBI/AAAAAAAAB30/eDntrfXN4jcEZ6Usvz3ooQOsPd45wLICQCLcB/s320/YourGift.jpg" width="240" /></span></a><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wUJvG_F1hq4/WLSE4fU6rVI/AAAAAAAAB34/ks3VufhIAXg8tpcvU9R9XmJ4YinBhIZhgCLcB/s1600/Gift2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wUJvG_F1hq4/WLSE4fU6rVI/AAAAAAAAB34/ks3VufhIAXg8tpcvU9R9XmJ4YinBhIZhgCLcB/s320/Gift2.jpg" width="320" /></span></a><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b style="background-color: white; color: purple; line-height: 20.79px;"><br /></b></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b style="background-color: white; color: purple; line-height: 20.79px;"><br /></b></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b style="background-color: white; color: purple; line-height: 20.79px;"><br /></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">You'd think with coverage and staying power this good (the claim is 15 hours, I say easily 24+ on a big weekender), that removing it would be like scrubbing graffiti off a wall, but no. A squirt of </span><span style="color: purple; font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://www.international.boots.com/garnier-micellar-cleansing-water-400ml-10169115"><span style="color: purple;"><b>Garnier Micellar Water</b></span></a> </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">(don't even bother asking me what that is - have you been living under a rock?) on a cotton pad and you're ready to hop into bed. Which is just as well; the only time I'm willing to be without my Double Wear is under cover of darkness and in the presence of a compassionate fella who understands the witchcraft that is good makeup.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">So if you're one of those unfortunate middle-agers still living in the Middle Ages, get with the programme, get down to Debenhams and get that Double Wear on your boat race.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">On the double.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ready for her close-up: my shade of choice is 02 Pale Almond </td></tr>
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<b style="background-color: white; color: purple; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px;"><br /></b><b style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px;"><span style="color: #444444;"><i>NB: This is not a sponsored post, nor am I affiliated with any of the brands mentioned above. I simply love the products</i></span></b><b style="background-color: white; color: purple; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px;"> 😊</b><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: purple; font-family: "arial" , "tahoma" , "helvetica" , "freesans" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px;">To follow my Facebook thread on this topic and see what my friends are saying about this </span><b style="background-color: white; color: purple; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px;"><u><a href="https://www.facebook.com/samantha.walsh76/posts/10154157848861262">click here</a></u></b><br />
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<a href="http://www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com/" style="background-color: white; color: #6699cc; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: purple;"><b>www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com</b></span></a><br />
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<a href="http://www.mummymission.blogspot.com/" style="background-color: white; color: #6699cc; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: purple;"><b>www.mummymission.blogspot.com</b></span></a></div>
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Samantha Walshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08924699477544035160noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7251271032407601709.post-86394861747389545962017-02-21T03:32:00.004-08:002017-02-22T06:29:33.301-08:00I'm a guest on Mike's Open Journal Podcast<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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G'Day Birds Eye Viewers!<br />
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How are you all on this dull February morning?<br />
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Now, those of you who know me personally and not just via the blog will already know that I'm something of a motormouth. I have a tendency towards being <i>pretty</i> full on: turbo-charged and as nutty as a tray of Ferrero's at the Ambassador's Reception. Some of you may remember <b><a href="https://lifeabirdseyeview.blogspot.co.uk/2016/09/im-guest-on-society-lounge-podcast.html">my previous podcast</a> </b>recorded with Washington DC-based podcasters Sip And Shine. <br />
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Trying to get a word in edgeways when I'm on one is no mean feat...as <a href="https://twitter.com/Mike_Douglas_"><b>Mike Douglas</b></a>, creator of the mental health podcast <a href="https://twitter.com/Open_Journal_"><b>Mike's Open Journal</b></a>, was about to find out, when he invited me onto his show to talk about my experiences with mental health issues, specifically in relation to <span style="color: purple;">infertility</span>, <span style="color: purple;">IVF </span>and <span style="color: purple;">marriage breakdown, as described in<a href="https://lifeabirdseyeview.blogspot.co.uk/2016/08/were-all-broken.html"><span style="color: purple;"> <b><u>this blog post</u></b></span></a>...</span><br />
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Having had his own experience of mental health issues and also a marriage breakdown and no children, Mike and I have plenty in common. Unfortunately what we don't have in common is the same calm and controlled style of speech, so listening to Mike's even and lilting tone will be soothing and easy to listen to; my own hyper and breathless babbling...not so much.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CAy8dd68H_k/WKwj-Tbn6VI/AAAAAAAAB28/rpgXI-ItZdE885lo8jNqmekSAgzjVjUNgCLcB/s1600/motorchat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CAy8dd68H_k/WKwj-Tbn6VI/AAAAAAAAB28/rpgXI-ItZdE885lo8jNqmekSAgzjVjUNgCLcB/s1600/motorchat.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I wonder which one's me...?<br />
<a href="http://www.nerdymoms.com/31-days-series/learn-to-listen/">photo credit</a></td></tr>
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So apologies for the frantic pace of my chatter - oh, and the fact that I sound like Pat Butcher from Eastenders...and say "yeah" a thousand times. Believe it or not, despite the mile-a-minute rambling, I actually don't like the sound of my own voice that much. Let's just say I make Bianca Jackson sound posh.<br />
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Anyway, thanks for listening! I hope I don't send your blood pressure soaring and you can listen with a nice cuppa, and not require a vodka and a fistful of Statins to get through the hour-long episode....<br />
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<span style="color: purple;"><u><b> <a href="https://www.acast.com/mikesopenjournalpodcast/ep54-discussion-with-sam">To listen to the podcast click here</a></b></u></span><br />
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<b><span style="color: purple;"><a href="https://www.acast.com/mikesopenjournalpodcast">Listen to Mike's other episodes</a> </span></b><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Who, me? I don't know what you mean...<br />
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/ebonique07/5696395478">photo credit</a></td></tr>
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<b style="background-color: white; color: purple; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px;">Fancy reading my back-story before you go any further? You can find my other blogs at:</b><br />
<a href="http://www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com/" style="background-color: white; color: #6699cc; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: purple;"><b>www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com</b></span></a><br />
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<a href="http://www.samgoessolo.blogspot.com/" style="background-color: white; color: #6699cc; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: purple;"><b>www.samgoessolo.blogspot.com</b></span></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.mummymission.blogspot.com/" style="background-color: white; color: #6699cc; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: purple;"><b>www.mummymission.blogspot.com</b></span></a></div>
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<b style="color: purple; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px;"><a href="http://www.worldwidewalsh.blogspot.com/" style="color: #6699cc; text-decoration: none;">www.worldwidewalsh.blogspot.com</a></b></div>
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Samantha Walshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08924699477544035160noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7251271032407601709.post-28825623206345949462017-02-19T04:52:00.000-08:002017-02-22T06:34:45.907-08:00Netflix and Chills<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.google.co.uk/url?sa=i&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=images&cd=&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=0ahUKEwiWj_fykZzSAhVDXRQKHdd9DawQjhwIBQ&url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.todaysentrepreneur.info%2Fwordgsuggest-grease-sandy-and-danny.asp&psig=AFQjCNFKiCOZNkG8CD1Qlxl8jquvbuMy-g&ust=1487592791319095">photo credit</a></td></tr>
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<i><b>"I got chiiills, they're multiplyin'....."</b></i><br />
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Don't worry, I'm not about to launch into a rousing rendition of <i>Better Shape Up</i> from <i>Grease</i> - not least because with a slight hint of a 'tache and pasty un-made-up face I look more like Danny than Sandy right now. No, I've got chills because I'm sick.<br />
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<span style="color: blue;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a class="word" href="http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=Sick&defid=864817" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-weight: bold; line-height: 41.279998779296875px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: middle;">Sick</a> </span></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Adjective. </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">1. to feel ill, or not well. <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />2. A secondary word for awesome. <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />3. Gross, disgusting. <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />4. Tired, pissed off. <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />5. Horny.</span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">1. I feel very sick, I think I might vomit. <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />2. Dude, that song is so sick! <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />3. That was sick when he had sex with that gorrilla. <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />4. I am sick of your attitude. <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />5. Who wants to get sick with me?</span></div>
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Since we live in a ridiculous time when "sick" can now mean both violently ill and also amazingly cool, allow me to clarify: I'm sick in the old-fashioned sense. Did you really think a forty-something woman would be using the word in the new trendy slang way? Nah. That would not be "sick"...that would be embarrassing.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sam...or Slimer?</td></tr>
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So I'm sitting in my bed, bolstered by pillows and cushions to keep me bolt upright, since whenever I tilt even a few degrees to one side I leak snot like some kind of <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Slimer"><i>Ghostbusters</i> blobby thing</a> oozing ectoplasm, when it suddenly occurs to me: I've not been ill for ages. Sure, I've had the odd hangover, but that's entirely self-inflicted and doesn't exactly classify as illness; I mean, anyone who downs wine, jäger bombs and cocktails over the course of a lively evening hardly expects (or deserves) to wake up feeling full of beans, right?<br />
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No, what just struck me was how rarely I feel as rubbish as I do now, which is as an extra from <i>Thriller</i> might do (i.e freshly dug up) and ergo, how lucky I am. I can't remember the last time I had a day off sick from work. Certainly not in the last two years (and I'm not about to start now: no-one likes a Sicknote). Health is something we all simply take for granted...until it's not there.<br />
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<span style="text-align: left;">The Thriller vid: still worth a watch, 35yrs(!) later</span></div>
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Just as we don't really appreciate our parents when we're kids - the endless dinners prepped, expensive trainers, school trips, dad being our personal taxi service, ferrying us about (mine still does sometimes - cheers Pops) - we also don't always appreciate feeling "normal"...until we don't. It's just taken as a given that we feel fine, thus allowing plenty of time to focus on the big stuff - like the size of Kim K's ass, Queen Bey's baby news, or our mutual loathing of Trump.<br />
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So this post contains no big revelation; it's just a simple expression of gratitude for my health. I'm not particularly religious, so I'm not quite sure who I'm addressing it to - not God, exactly. The Universe?<br />
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It's the same when it comes to discussing the ageing process. Of course I'd love to be gazelle-like (or maybe <a href="http://www.giselebundchen.com.br/"><b>Gisele</b></a>-like?) forever - springing about all plumped and pumped with the vigour of youth - but getting older is actually something to be proud of. I spend my days peddling "anti-ageing" products in my job as a beauty boutique manager - it's big business - but why are we so ashamed of getting older? Yes, I'd rather look like Bambi than a taxidermist's mishap, but a lived-in face shows character and experience. It says: "Oh I could tell you a story or two....." delivered with a sly, crinkly-eyed wink ;-)<br />
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I reckon we need to change our attitudes towards ageing. I mean, we made it this far - so many don't. The alternative to getting old...is not getting old at all. I know plenty of amazing people whose lives were cruelly snatched like a rug from beneath their feet long before their time - some in their twenties and thirties or even younger.<br />
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Of course I bemoan the crow's feet when I look in the mirror as much as the next person, but the overwhelming feeling is <b>gratitude</b> that I'm actually still here. I've put my body through a lot over the years, but still it soldiers on and serves me well (even if it <i>is</i> starting to creak and click a bit in protest).<br />
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So although from the outside it might <i>look</i> like a sorry scene in my bedroom this Sunday afternoon: me slumped in bed during the day clad in fox-print peejays (well Andy <i>did</i> say to "buy yourself something foxy") accessorised with a big red bulbous hooter, sore from being blown umpteen times - I'm actually feeling decidedly upbeat.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Feeling bleugh: Netflix and a chill</td></tr>
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I might on the surface of things be feeling fifty shades of meh; the scene more "Netflix and chills" than chill, but underneath the mountains of Kleenex and trashy magazines is an ashen-faced 40-something who's actually bloody grateful.<br />
Grateful that this is just a cold.<br />
Grateful that in a few days I'll be right as rain.<br />
Grateful that by next weekend I'll be back to drinking wine and dancing with friends and taking my health for granted all over again....<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">About last weekend...clubbing with the gorgeous JenKat</td></tr>
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But in the meantime, I'm just chillin'.<br />
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<b style="background-color: white; color: purple; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px;">Fancy reading my back-story before you go any further? You can find my other blogs at:</b><br />
<a href="http://www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com/" style="background-color: white; color: #6699cc; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: purple;"><b>www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com</b></span></a><br />
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<a href="http://www.samgoessolo.blogspot.com/" style="background-color: white; color: #6699cc; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: purple;"><b>www.samgoessolo.blogspot.com</b></span></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.mummymission.blogspot.com/" style="background-color: white; color: #6699cc; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: purple;"><b>www.mummymission.blogspot.com</b></span></a></div>
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<b style="color: purple; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px;"><a href="http://www.worldwidewalsh.blogspot.com/" style="color: #6699cc; text-decoration: none;">www.worldwidewalsh.blogspot.com</a></b></div>
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Samantha Walshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08924699477544035160noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7251271032407601709.post-55590137750795381952017-02-07T05:09:00.001-08:002017-02-23T01:42:08.966-08:00Grandad's Great Escape<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My mum as a child with my grandparents</td></tr>
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Imagine all your memories, amassed over a lifetime, handwritten in tiny lettering on a deck of cards, neatly stacked in chronological order. Then imagine someone deftly shuffling this deck: fancy fingerwork as they expertly weave and riffle the cards until there is no order whatsoever. They replace the shuffled cards carefully on the table in front of you and look you directly in the eye, stony-faced. You're confused: why would they do that?<br />
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A sudden gust of wind from an open window blows the cards into the air, sending them in all directions. You scrabble to catch them, to gather your precious memories up and re-stack them as they were in the original pile, but it's no use: some have disappeared out of the window; one has gone, unnoticed, down the back of the sofa. A few have slipped under the television unit. The ones you have left are jumbled and, try as you might, you just can't seem to sort them into any logical order. Distressed and frustrated, you scatter them over the table, rest your head on your folded arms, and begin to cry....<br />
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My maternal grandfather has dementia.<br />
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As I contemplate the way the illness has robbed him of his memories, that's the image that I conjure up in my mind's eye: of an elderly man, sitting alone at the table in the modest council house he shared with my nan for most of their lives (before she passed away some years ago), desperately trying to remember things.<br />
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He is surrounded by nick-nacks and keepsakes and fading pictures in frames; stacks of old black and white films on VHS that he used to watch continuously but whose storylines he now struggles to follow. The decor is old-fashioned, the swirly carpet a nod to the Seventies, yet the house is neat and carefully maintained. Murphy, his faithful Irish setter, sits at his feet, his head resting on Grandad's knee.<br />
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For several years we would visit him; the trips to the house in South East London taking me back to my childhood, when Nan would serve up beans and sausages from her 1950s stove for my sister and I; my grandad smoking a pipe and twisting his pipe-cleaners into stickmen for us. In the summer my nan would show us how the snapdragons growing in their little back yard looked like bunny rabbits, whilst grandad tinkered away fixing things in his shed. When my mum came to pick us up they'd wave from the gate until our car rounded the bend.<br />
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Returning as an adult always felt strange as the house seemed to shrink: I felt like Alice In Wonderland after drinking the potion. Years later I'd visit him occasionally after work; Grandad preparing milky tea and a Fray Bentos pie for me, whilst Murphy the red setter casually released silent stinkbombs under the table. <br />
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Gradually it became apparent that Grandad would not be able to live alone for much longer. He started misplacing things; getting increasingly paranoid, confused and upset; calling the police to report perceived thefts of "stolen" belongings; starting his morning routine with a wet shave in the middle of the night.<br />
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Eventually he moved into a care home. The thing with dementia is that long periods of total memory loss, whereby the sufferer cannot remember what happened two minutes ago, are interspersed with occasional spells of complete lucidity. It's fair to say that many of the residents of the home have less frequent lucid moments than Grandad, so sometimes he gets bored. Recently, he spoke about "escaping" - breaking out of the secure residential building and making a break for freedom. My mum, who is also his main caregiver outside the home, brushed it off and changed the subject.<br />
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A strong-willed old chap, 89-year-old Grandad is in otherwise rude health. Never one to do as he's told (I wondered where I'd inherited that trait from), he hatched a plan - a plan so cunning that the local mischievous fox would've struggled to better it.<br />
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Waiting till the dead of night, Grandad got out of bed and dressed silently, putting on an extra layer against the December chill. Tiptoeing along the corridors, he ducked past the carers' office, slipping into the laundry room and out of the unlocked fire escape. Excitement building, he scurried down the path out into the crisp night air, leaves and twigs crunching underfoot in the rural setting of the Kent countryside. Freezing cold, but warmed by the euphoria of victory, he marched on...<br />
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Until some time later, when one of the carers noticed the open door and, panicking, alerted the police - who duly located him walking along a deserted street in the early hours of the morning and returned him safely home. It was the first time the home had ever had a resident "on the run." When my mum got the call in the middle of the night, she immediately feared the worst. However, upon arrival at the care home at 5am, she was greeted by the sight of Grandad, ruddy-faced with cold and excitement, sipping a mug of hot tea as he animatedly regaled the police officers with tales of his escapades in Kenya during the war.<br />
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When Mum rang to tell me about Grandad's little adventure it was hard not to chuckle, as we admired his sly determination and resourcefulness: "Good old G-Dad!" was my initial reaction (obviously after hearing that he was safe and well). "There's life in the old dog yet!" I joked, marvelling at his "great escape." Mum recounted how he'd told the officers with an eyeball roll that it was "like living in Pentonville."<br />
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There was a brief pause, as we both let that comment sink in. The mood turned sombre. In the cold light of day, Grandad had absolutely no recollection of the previous night's shenanigans, asking instead where various relatives were - all of whom have long since passed away.<br />
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We both know - we ALL know - the reality: that it's not the care home holding Grandad prisoner.<br />
It's dementia.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My grandad and I</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><u>Dementia Facts:</u><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;">- </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;">- The number of people living with dementia worldwide is currently estimated at 47.5 million and is projected to increase to 75.6 million by 2030. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;">The number of cases of dementia are estimated to more than triple by 2050. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;">- Dementia is the biggest killer of women in the UK, and the third biggest killer of men. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;">- A new case of dementia is diagnosed every 4 seconds around the world.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="color: #333333;">- There is currently no cure for dementia and far more research is needed. You can help by </span><b><u><span style="color: purple;"><a href="https://www.joindementiaresearch.nihr.ac.uk/home">signing up to Dementia Research UK</a></span></u></b></span></span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: inherit;"> to help with studies as a healthy person, as someone with dementia, or on behalf of someone with dementia. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;">- For more information go to </span><span style="color: purple;"><span style="background-color: white;"><b><u><a href="http://www.alzheimersresearchuk.org/about-dementia/helpful-information/">Alzheimers Research UK</a>,</u></b></span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;"> </span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: purple;"><a href="https://www.dementiauk.org/" style="font-weight: bold; text-decoration: underline;">Dementia UK</a><u style="font-weight: bold;"> </u></span><span style="color: #333333;">and <b><u><a href="https://www.dementiafriends.org.uk/">Dementia Friends</a>.</u></b></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: inherit;">This article has also appeared </span><a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/samantha-walsh/grandads-great-escape_b_14877082.html" style="font-family: inherit;">here</a><span style="color: #333333; font-family: inherit;"> in The Huffington Post UK. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #333333;"><br /></span></span><b style="background-color: white; color: purple; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px;">Fancy reading my back-story before you go any further? You can find my other blogs at:</b></div>
<a href="http://www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com/" style="background-color: white; color: #6699cc; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: purple;"><b>www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com</b></span></a><br />
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Samantha Walshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08924699477544035160noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7251271032407601709.post-44206891468286726132017-01-31T08:18:00.004-08:002017-02-07T08:55:28.803-08:00Finding Your Purpose: The Journey To Stardom<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">night sky over Ayers Rock/Uluru <a href="http://twanight.org/newTWAN/photos.asp?ID=3002881">photo credit</a></td></tr>
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Do you ever look up at a starry sky on a clear night and feel overwhelmed by your utter insignificance? In the great scheme of things, you are a speck of dust, existing for merely a millisecond in the history of time. I remember the exact moment in my life that this felt most apparent...<br />
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I was backpacking across Australia: a group of us way out in the outback, the dusty <a href="http://www.australia.com/en-gb/places/red-centre.html"><b>Red Centre</b></a>, camping beneath the stars one night, on a mission to reach <a href="https://www.ayersrockresort.com.au/?gclid=Cj0KEQiAwrbEBRDqxqzMsrTGmogBEiQAeSE6ZQF_pwkIbbQqQHMkJ09QZE5R22kxbHM51jnzHmQy-HoaAmKm8P8HAQ"><b><span style="color: purple;">Ayers Rock</span></b></a> - or <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Uluru"><b>Uluru</b></a> as it's more accurately known - in time for sunrise.<br />
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Now I use the term 'camping' in the loosest sense of the word, since we had no tents; we were just lying in a row in our sleeping bags directly on the dry and cracked red earth, hiking boots tucked inside our sleeping bags so that they wouldn't be stolen in the night by the circling dingos, who sporadically startled us with piercing cries.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sleeping under the stars</td></tr>
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In between flicking on flashlights to see if anything was about to feast on us and brushing insects from our faces, we finally settled enough to gaze silently up at the huge expanse of black sky and marvel at the bright, white, twinkling stars. With not a single light or building for miles around it was probably the best, the clearest, view of the universe that any of us - a group of travelling city-dwellers from around the world - had ever seen.<br />
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As we lay on our backs, heads fuzzy from exhaustion and warm beer, staring up at the sky whilst one of the more astute astronomers amongst us pointed out the various constellations, we agreed that we had never felt smaller, or more irrelevant, than at that moment.<br />
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It's easy to be overwhelmed by life; to feel like a tiny ant standing at the foot of a giant mountain. Sometimes, I contemplate the scale of a task, such as gathering 100k signatures for <a href="https://www.change.org/p/phe-screening-cancer-is-not-your-choice-change-the-wording-on-screening-invitations-atyourcervix"><span style="color: purple;"><b>my petition </b></span></a>(challenging the NHS's new laissez-faire approach to cancer screening) and it feels impossible.<br />
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It's all too easy to doubt yourself, to ask "why am I bothering?" or "what's the point?" The pessimist in me mutters "another 40 years and you'll be dead and forgotten anyway" - which is a pretty dark way of looking at things (although on the flip side it does help keep worries in perspective).<br />
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But then I remember that an ant is actually one of the strongest creatures there is, able to carry over fifty times it's own bodyweight. This video, which I filmed in Costa Rica, demonstrates the impressive strength and resourcefulness of leafcutter ants:<br />
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But that's nothing! A dung beetle can pull 1141 times it's own body weight, making it the strongest animal on Earth for it's body weight. Not a rhino, an ox or an elephant - a <i>dung beetle</i>. Think about that for a moment. I try to remember these facts whenever feelings of my own insignificance challenge my sense of self-worth.<br />
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As humans, we often measure our value in terms of our job, earnings, looks, popularity or possessions. You don't need to be a CEO, a celebrity or a supermodel to be worthy. You just are. Being a decent human being is enough; <i>you</i> are enough. But one thing I've learnt is that having a real purpose, a passion, a goal, is what gives us a sense of self-worth and what, ultimately, makes us happy.<br />
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<i><b>"Having a purpose is the difference between making a living and making a life" - Tom Thiss</b></i><br />
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For years I went to work, living for the weekends and holidays, without any real plan or focus. I'd assumed, somewhere in the back of my subconscious mind, that at some point soon I'd become a mother, which would then become my purpose.<br />
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My older, feminist self shudders at this admission. Sure, I worked long and hard, bought property and upgraded: from flat to house to bigger house. But it wasn't the product of a burning passion; I just had a regular managerial job and clocked up the hours. Alas, motherhood was not to be, so then my entire being was thrown into question. What was my purpose now? What had I been working towards? What was the <i>point</i> of me? Years of agonising self-hatred and despair followed. What was the meaning of my life?<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Life may have no meaning; but you can create a purpose</td></tr>
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Then, one day, I rediscovered my passion for writing - a pastime that had been largely discarded, along with sketching and netball, soon after I left school, to be replaced with the monotony of working-class life; nose to the grindstone. Adulting had taken over.<br />
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Suddenly, the cloud lifted and I had a purpose. With renewed vigour, I'd wake early in the morning to write a blog post before work. My articles started getting more hits. I had one featured in a magazine, and then another. I drew on my life experiences and began campaigning to help others on physical and mental health issues, particularly cervical cancer and infertility. My excitement grew along with my stats. I was using my blog to do good; there was a reason to get up in the morning. Perhaps I <i>could</i> have a legacy after all. Finally, I had a voice.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Feeling proud: my first published article</td></tr>
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Whenever I encounter a setback and that sensation of being tiny and insignificant threatens to overwhelm me, something inspiring happens - like a retweet by a celebrity or a request from Washington to appear as a guest on a podcast - and my confidence is buoyed once more. A tweet last week to Piers Morgan was read over 203,000 times and later quoted in <b><a href="https://www.thesun.co.uk/tvandshowbiz/2681525/piers-morgan-womens-march-rant/">The Sun</a>.</b> Thanks to the internet, the world is now a much smaller place:<br />
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Some might say, "So what?" "Who cares?" Haters gonna hate. The bigger your dreams, the more you'll come up against resistance to them. If your "purpose" brings you joy and benefits others (or at least doesn't affect anyone else negatively), then keep your head down, blinkers on and teeth clenched in dogged determination.<br />
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On a basic quantum level, all the matter in the universe is made up of stardust. As Moby sang: <br />
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<i><b>"No one can stop us now</b></i><br />
<i><b> 'Cause we are all made of stars..."</b></i><br />
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You don't have to be famous to be a star; you already are one. So find your mission, no matter how small or insignificant it may seem in the great scheme of things, and pursue the hell outta that shit. We all want to leave our mark, a footprint (and not just a carbon one) to show that we were here, we existed. We <i>mattered</i>.<br />
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When you find a hobby, job or some passion that makes you want to jump out of bed in the morning and crack on, you've found your raison d'être. When you're fully immersed in that passion, when you've <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/randy-taran/how-to-get-unstuck_b_8137404.html"><b><span style="color: purple;">found your flow</span></b></a>, you'll experience true happiness.<br />
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It's never too small, and it's never too late. Don't simply accept the status quo. If you found your passion at an early age: congratulations! Lucky you. If you've not found yours yet, there's still time (but not a lot; don't rest on your laurels).<b> </b><br />
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<b><a href="https://personalexcellence.co/blog/life-purpose-exercise/">Try this simple exercise, which can help you find your life's purpose</a></b>.<br />
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So get out there, find your purpose - whatever that may be - then live boldly: be your authentic self and shine like the star you are.<br />
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Now, when I look up at the night sky contemplating the infinity of the universe, I no longer feel irrelevant; I feel exhilarated by the infinite possibilities...<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uxLeYfPyL9w/WI3_Wkooi6I/AAAAAAAAByg/GMHaC_8-mHkkvcgFZk6bNZdxfRAb44BYwCLcB/s1600/ayersrock3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uxLeYfPyL9w/WI3_Wkooi6I/AAAAAAAAByg/GMHaC_8-mHkkvcgFZk6bNZdxfRAb44BYwCLcB/s400/ayersrock3.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">my first glimpse of the sun rising over Ayers Rock</td></tr>
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<u>Inspiring links:</u><br />
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<span style="color: purple;"><b><a href="https://www.ted.com/talks/candy_chang_before_i_die_i_want_to">Before I die i want to... by Candy Chang</a> </b>(NSFW warning: this one'll make you blub)</span><br />
<a href="https://personalexcellence.co/about/"><b>Personal excellence: A self-development site by Celestine Chua</b></a><br />
<a href="https://www.ted.com/playlists/313/talks_to_help_you_find_your_pu"><b>TED Talks to find your purpose</b></a><br />
<a href="https://markmanson.net/life-purpose"><b>7 strange questions that help you find your life purpose, by Mark Manson</b></a><br />
<span style="color: purple;"><a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/shannon-kaiser/3-unexpected-ways-to-find_b_5176511.html"><b>3 unexpected ways to find your life purpose, by Shannon Kaiser</b></a></span><br />
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<b style="background-color: white; color: purple; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px;">Fancy reading my back-story before you go any further? You can find my other blogs at:</b><br />
<a href="http://www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com/" style="background-color: white; color: #6699cc; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: purple;"><b>www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com</b></span></a><br />
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<a href="http://www.samgoessolo.blogspot.com/" style="background-color: white; color: #6699cc; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: purple;"><b>www.samgoessolo.blogspot.com</b></span></a></div>
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Samantha Walshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08924699477544035160noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7251271032407601709.post-4248715637669870152017-01-27T06:10:00.001-08:002017-02-20T04:04:41.005-08:00Cervical Cancer Prevention: Please Sign My Petition! I'm #AtYourCervix<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rHQ09PnDKG0/WItTfqCnR9I/AAAAAAAABvc/8UDbFQist48Oj0MgxT9a3sU14Wz0A9YeACLcB/s1600/cervixpix.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rHQ09PnDKG0/WItTfqCnR9I/AAAAAAAABvc/8UDbFQist48Oj0MgxT9a3sU14Wz0A9YeACLcB/s400/cervixpix.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Samantha Walsh, #AtYourCervix!<br />
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Hello guys, I'm clocking in and reporting for duty. The mission? To Save Your Cervix! Think of me as your friendly Customer Cervix Advisor.<br />
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Do you have a cervix, or know someone who does?<br />
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Then in that case this petition is for you! I'm campaigning to get the wording of the smear test invitation letter amended to actively encourage women to attend screening, including re-adding the phone number to call to book your appointment, which has actually been <b>removed</b> from the letter as of last year! I know, crazy right?<br />
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At a time when around 30% of women don't attend screening these cost-cutting changes to the letter feel irresponsible at best. If you agree, please sign my petition by clicking the link below:<br />
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<b><span style="color: purple;"> <a href="https://www.change.org/p/phe-screening-cancer-is-not-your-choice-change-the-wording-on-screening-invitations-atyourcervix">PLEASE CLICK HERE TO SIGN!</a></span></b><br />
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Thank you, Birds Eye Viewers! Xxx<br />
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<b><u>EXCITING UPDATE 31/1/17:</u></b><br />
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Just a few days after starting this petition, I got a tweet from Jo's Trust which reassured me that all my months of campaigning had not been in vain! The letter changes (which I initially drew the attention of the charities <a href="https://www.jostrust.org.uk/"><span style="color: purple;"><b>Jo's Trust</b></span></a> and <b><span style="color: purple;"><a href="https://eveappeal.org.uk/"><span style="color: purple;">The Eve Appeal</span></a> </span></b>to) had been debated in parliament, leading to an agreement that the cervical screening invitation letter did indeed need to be reviewed and updated. They will be working on amending the wording to encourage attendance. Wahoo! I'm totally made up about this! (there may even have been tears).<br />
I feel like the renegade master: power to the people! High five ladies!<br />
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<b><a href="https://www.facebook.com/wanderingblonde/posts/375255879514808">https://www.facebook.com/wanderingblonde/posts/375255879514808</a></b><br />
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Read the parliamentary transcript <b><a href="https://hansard.parliament.uk/Commons/2017-01-27/debates/D80766A1-CAE4-4EEC-8D03-A7DC2B32C42F/ProvisionOfCervicalScreeninghttps://hansard.parliament.uk/Commons/2017-01-27/debates/D80766A1-CAE4-4EEC-8D03-A7DC2B32C42F/ProvisionOfCervicalScreening"><span style="color: purple;">here</span></a></b><br />
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<b style="background-color: white; color: purple; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px;">Fancy reading my back-story before you go any further? You can find my other blogs at:</b><br />
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Samantha Walshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08924699477544035160noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7251271032407601709.post-1272745132899072442017-01-17T10:42:00.003-08:002017-01-27T06:22:39.306-08:00Use It Up, Wear It Out<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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This post is inspired by a conversation I had with a customer in my shop a few months ago; one which left me feeling a tad melancholy, and which I've thought about several times since...<br />
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The customer in question had popped in to re-purchase some of her favourite products, explaining that she'd first come across them whilst clearing out the house of her mother, who had sadly passed away some months prior. Her dear old Mum, being from the "make do and mend" generation, would darn her socks and wear her functional (but dreary) clothes until they were threadbare, despite the fact she had far nicer ones hanging in the wardrobe. Those luxurious garments were kept solely "for best," she'd declared to her daughter solemnly. The same applied to her "posh smellies" (i.e. the L'Occitane products I sell).<br />
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This is completely understandable, especially for a generation who has lived through hardship, war, and rationing. It's nice to have some things that feel special when you use or wear them. But the sticking point? Well, what if those special occasions - the glory days of fun and frolics spent draped in pearls and silk, hair coiffed, quaffing champagne from your finest crystal - what if those days....whisper it....<i>never come?</i><br />
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This customer choked back tears as she told me how she had come across drawers full of expensive, albeit expired, fragrances and beauty products; discoloured Chanel perfumes and old-fashioned powder puffs with fading labels. She had only ever seen her mother use Cussons Imperial Leather soap and basic Nivea - you know, the one in the blue tub. She had clearly been saving all the good stuff "for best."<br />
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Amongst the products she discovered were some L'Occitane soaps, which the customer then used up (solid products survive longer than their liquid counterparts; water-based ones need preservatives). She now uses and repurchases the products she found at her mother's house, partly as a way of feeling closer to her mum, but also, I think, to apply the important lesson she'd learnt from her: don't save things for best; make <i>every</i> day a 'best' day.<br />
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This conversation was poignant for me, having helped my mum clear out my grandad's house a couple of years ago when he moved to a residential care home. The modest terraced house needed to be returned to the council, so we set about packing up fifty-odd years' worth of life and memories into boxes: black and white photos, nick-nacks, tarnished silverware. It was quite emotional, particularly as she'd grown up in that house. We came across various brand new items belonging to my nan, who had passed away several years earlier. It brings a lump to my throat thinking about it. What was she saving it all for?<br />
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As a young girl I used to squirrel away my Body Shop bath pearls and Strawberry Body Shampoo that I'd spent my pocket money on - although I was usually hiding them from my younger sister rather than myself. I remember my mum's shocked expression, years ago, when she noticed me using an expensive cutlery set, which my grandparents had recently gifted my ex and I as a wedding present:<br />
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"Are you not saving it for best?" she asked. My answer was simple: "Mum. For one, I'm not much of a cook, so if I saved it for dinner parties it'd never see the light of day. And two, I might die tomorrow. Surely it's better to use it now...even if it is just for eating beans out of a can." (I may have mumbled that last bit).<br />
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These days, I make a conscious decision not to save things for best - although I do use them sparingly; I have to remind my partner that it's not called "Precious Cream" for nothing, as he greedily scoops out half the pot with a giant paw, as a bear would honey. I remember "saving" a beautiful dress once, only to take it out of the cupboard a year later to find a bunch of merciless moths had turned it into a (very expensive) meal. The little critters. I was gutted. Similarly, I cherished my first-ever curvaceous bottle of Gaultier's Classique eau de parfum so much that it'd gone off by the time I got halfway through it.<br />
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So now I wear it/use it/do it/whatever. 'Things' don't last - and neither do people.<br />
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I'd rather be <i>that</i> eccentric old lady dressed in faux fur and diamonds and reeking of expensive French cologne to go and collect her pension, than the one whose relatives later discover said diamonds*, nestling unworn in their pristine box, whilst clearing out my house after I've gone...<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-42LdQs3P3zQ/WH5hAiaGl2I/AAAAAAAABuw/SplcDkQeo4s6lZMtlHMdP0Bk3lGAYIwMgCLcB/s1600/irisapfel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-42LdQs3P3zQ/WH5hAiaGl2I/AAAAAAAABuw/SplcDkQeo4s6lZMtlHMdP0Bk3lGAYIwMgCLcB/s400/irisapfel.jpg" width="308" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The inimitable icon <b><span style="color: blue;"><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Iris_Apfel">Iris Apfel</a>,</span></b> whose philosophy is More Is More, still bossing it at 95.<br />
Follow her on Instagram <a href="https://www.instagram.com/iris.apfel/?hl=en"><b>here</b></a>.<br />
<a href="https://www.google.co.uk/search?q=iris+apfel+images&client=safari&rls=en&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwiu5-H06cnRAhXhK8AKHVFdAukQ_AUICCgB&biw=1240&bih=623#imgrc=pC1sczojs3tABM%3A"><b>Photo credit</b></a></td></tr>
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*Before anyone burgles my house: I don't own diamonds - it's called artistic license.<br />
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<b style="background-color: white; color: purple; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px;">Fancy reading my back-story before you go any further? You can find my other blogs at:</b><br />
<a href="http://www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com/" style="background-color: white; color: #6699cc; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: purple;"><b>www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com</b></span></a><br />
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Samantha Walshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08924699477544035160noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7251271032407601709.post-10091468429490802572017-01-11T11:22:00.000-08:002017-01-17T09:27:02.203-08:00Crocodoil: Snap It Up! <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
When I was first invited to test <b><u><span style="color: purple;"><a href="https://crocodoilskincare.co.uk/">CrocodOil</a></span></u></b> my initial reaction was "Is this a crock...?"<br />
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...closely followed by: "Surely people don't rub oil from a <i>crocodile</i> into their skin? Their prehistoric-looking hide doesn't look too supple to me; if it's so full of goodness why do they look as though they're in need of slathering on a decent moisturiser themselves, huh?" When you picture a crocodile you're hardly conjuring up images of baby-smooth skin. "And anyway, aren't they an endangered species?"<br />
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At the mention of Crocs I usually get a mental image of those ugly rubber shoes with the holes - you know, to let your dignity seep out? I shudder at the thought. I've been working in the beauty industry for over twenty years, yet I'd never heard of crocodile oil, so I was intrigued...<br />
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Actually, crocodile oil has been used for centuries to treat a variety of skin conditions, from eczema to psoriasis, burns to bites, as well as in anti-ageing preparations - although it's relatively new to the UK market. I find several respected publications running glowing features about it, such as <span style="color: purple;"><b><u><a href="http://www.marieclaire.com/beauty/news/a16611/crocodile-oil-benefits/">Marie Claire</a></u></b></span><b>, </b><span style="color: purple;"><b><u><a href="http://www.instyle.co.uk/beauty/news/why-crocodiles-are-the-secret-to-good-skin">InStyle</a></u></b></span> and <b><u><span style="color: purple;"><a href="http://www.telegraph.co.uk/beauty/skin/crocodile-oil-cream/">The Telegraph</a>.</span></u></b><br />
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Peering into the mirror at my rough forty-something skin and sunken little eyes I'm all too aware that a harsh British winter has left me looking, well, a tad reptilian myself, so, curiosity piqued, I decide to get back in touch with Barbara Bantleman, CEO of Crocodoil, for more information.<br />
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I fire my questions at Babs, and she's quick to reassure me that the crocodiles used in her skin preparations are farmed primarily for their meat, and that the skins are used as a by-product by the fashion and beauty industries in much the same way as cattle. However, the farms CrocodOil work with go one step further and release up to 30% of the baby crocs they rear back into the wild, contributing to the <b><u><span style="color: purple;"><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nile_crocodile">South African Nile crocs</a></span></u></b> they use coming <i>off</i> the endangered list. The crocodiles must be carefully cared for: any damage to skins would render them worthless, so it's in the interests of the farmers to ensure their wellbeing. Hmm..so far, so fair.<br />
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She goes on to explain that the crocodiles are farmed in a natural environment over a large area; there's no use of hormones or pesticides; no animal testing - and the products themselves are created in a UK laboratory, independently tested and are <b><u><span style="color: purple;"><a href="https://ec.europa.eu/growth/sectors/cosmetics/legislation_en">EU cosmetic licensed</a></span></u></b>.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Free range crocs on the farm in South Africa</td></tr>
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Having ticked the animal welfare and ethics boxes, I'm eager to test the product for myself. Crocodile oil contains naturally-occurring terpines which are known antiseptics, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oleic_acid"><b>oleic acid</b></a> for cell regeneration and sapogens<span style="color: purple;"> </span>to soften the skin. It's rich in omegas 3, 6 and 9: <span style="color: purple;"><b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Essential_fatty_acid">essential fatty acids</a> </b></span>(EFAs) needed for the body’s functions, with strong anti-inflammatory properties which can’t be produced by the body itself. It also contains <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Linoleic_acid"><b>linoleic acid</b></a>, which eases muscle aches and joint pain, as well as antioxidant vitamin A to fight free radicals and helps repair skin.<br />
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CrocodOil is 100% pure, with only healing vitamin E and neroli (orange blossom) essential oil added to it, which gives a delicate floral fragrance, as well as being antiseptic and radiance-boosting. The product contains just these three ingredients; no chemicals, no preservatives.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Gxk8GAm9SN8/WG_esvlN7TI/AAAAAAAABr4/1WxeX6_P3_keGBAorQ_kmg0Sx3Tulb_5wCLcB/s1600/crocodoil.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Gxk8GAm9SN8/WG_esvlN7TI/AAAAAAAABr4/1WxeX6_P3_keGBAorQ_kmg0Sx3Tulb_5wCLcB/s320/crocodoil.jpg" width="256" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">15ml CrocodOil</td></tr>
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The product I'm testing is the <b><u><span style="color: purple;"><a href="https://crocodoilskincare.co.uk/product/pure-croc-oil/">15ml pump dispenser</a></span></u></b> which retails at £28. My initial reservations about the morality around using an animal-derived product on my skin are appeased when I do my research. Animal fats are present in so many household items, from face creams to toothpaste, carrier bags, candles, soap, and anything requiring glue. Even the new five pound notes contain animal fat. If you're using the meat from the animal, there's no further harm in using the fat, which would otherwise be thrown away. No crocodiles are killed solely for the oil.<br />
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The Nile crocodile is a common species, farmed extensively as food in South Africa. If I eat meat and own leather bags and shoes, then really what's the difference? I appreciate it may not be for everyone, and I respect your opinion on this one; I'll leave it you to decide. I slather on a generous layer and take to my social media accounts to share my discovery...<br />
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Some friends react in the same way that I initially did: voicing their concerns. Others get in touch to share their successful experiences with similar oils, such as <b><u><span style="color: purple;"><a href="http://undergroundhealthreporter.com/emu-oil-benefits/">Emu Oil</a></span></u></b>, used by Hollywood stars such as <b><u><span style="color: purple;"><a href="http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-2901705/Cate-Blanchett-swears-EMU-oil-flawless-complexion.html">Cate Blanchett</a></span></u></b>, who swears by their rejuvenating and healing properties.<br />
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Like most women of my age, I'm keen to look as young on the outside as I still feel on the inside, yet am unwilling to succumb to the stunned-bunny look that often comes with Botox. And besides, I want my pocket money for more important things - like wine...and cake.<br />
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The following morning: to my surprise I wake up with the smoothest, softest skin I've had in years. I'm gobsmacked. Andy tries it too and is similarly impressed. My dad has always suffered with very dry skin and also found it beneficial. Over the following days my skin certainly appears more radiant and make-up glides on smoothly. The oil is also recommended for hands and nails, ragged cuticles, a scrawny neck, stretchmarks, cracked heels - none of which I have, of course <coughs>.<br />
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Needless to say though, if these benefits continue, I'll certainly be getting some more. If the expression "Dry January" applies more to the state of your skin than your abstinence from alcohol this month, you might want to snap some up too...<br />
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<a href="http://www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com/" style="background-color: white; color: #6699cc; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: purple;"><b>www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com</b></span></a><br />
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Samantha Walshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08924699477544035160noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7251271032407601709.post-73427446366308215012017-01-04T13:15:00.000-08:002017-01-13T04:23:26.605-08:00My New Year's Resolution: Work Less, Live More<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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It's around this time, when my bodily constitution is around 40% alcohol, 20% pigs in blankets and the remainder squishy, squidgy Camembert rolling over my waistband, that the post-Christmas regret sets in and I frantically scribble down a list of all of my favourite pastimes, whack the word STOP in front of them, and off I go, lumbering into the New Year, unlikely resolutions tucked in my back pocket - and the faint whiff of imminent failure (along with rotting sprouts) already carrying on the air.<br />
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Let's face it, the only way I'm going to stop all my guilty pleasures is if someone wires my jaw shut in the night, brings back prohibition and closes every nightclub in London (if Westminster Council have their way, the last one is a distinct possibility). Yep, I'm an embarrassingly old Graver (grey raver): <a href="https://lifeabirdseyeview.blogspot.co.uk/2016/04/one-foot-in-rave.html"><b>one foot in the rave</b></a>.<br />
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I don't mean to kill your "New Year, New Me" buzz as you skip off happily to the gym, chanting positive mantras and sipping on a green juice that you got up at 6am to prepare, but in my experience these out-of-character transformations tend to fall on their arse approximately three weeks into January when, suffering from stress, SAD and disillusioned by Dry January, my phone jumps back into life as various mates fall off the wagon...and back into the pub. Thank God for that. I hate drinking alone. <br />
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I'm not dismissing making positive changes to your life; on the contrary, I'm all for learning, improving and evolving, but I find that change happens when you're mentally in the right place - not because society dictates that the first of January is the day on which we ditch all our bad habits and become mung bean-munching paragons of virtue. It's just not realistic.<br />
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Change is more sustainable when it stems from passion rather than obligation. Last year I rediscovered my love of writing. Maintaining my blog has been relatively simple, as it's something I truly enjoy. Funnily enough, the diet and exercise regime I also pledged to keep up crashed and burned at the first hurdle. Strange that.<br />
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One day last year, having pulled an all-nighter and smelling like an overflowing ashtray, I decided I was finally ready to stop smoking. I haven't lit up since and it's been surprisingly easy. I'd half-heartedly vowed to give up the cancer sticks practically every New Year's Eve for the last 20-odd years, but I knew deep down it was just an empty promise mumbled to myself; my heart simply wasn't in it.<br />
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So this year I've decided to give myself just one simple resolution: <b>work less, live more</b>. I've worked relentlessly since I was a teenager, with just the occasional sabbatical to go travelling. Not being able to have a baby means I've not had the pleasure of taking those child-rearing years off work like most of my peers. I decided a few months ago that just because I wasn't blessed with the gift of a family why should I deny myself the greatest gift of all: the gift of time?<br />
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Over the past four years, since I downsized my home and life - reluctantly at first due to my newly-single status - I've noticed a shift in my attitude. Whereas in years gone by I'd spend every last penny of my wages on buying shoes, clothes and nice things for the house, now I think carefully about whether I <i>really</i> want or need that item...and usually decide against buying it. My motto has become <b><i><a href="https://lifeabirdseyeview.blogspot.co.uk/2016/03/buy-less-do-more.html">buy less, do more</a></i>.</b> I want to spend my money on <i>living</i> not having.<br />
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So it's a natural progression that I've now opted to reduce my working hours in line with my simpler life. As of this week, I'm cutting my hours to four days in seven. Put simply, as I get older I value my time over money. I'm trading in a chunk of my salary in exchange for an extra day a week doing what I want; I'm effectively buying a slice of my life back.<br />
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The way I see it, no amount of money is more precious than time. As long as I have food to eat, a roof over my head and enough spare cash for a spot of travel and fun, I'm happy to make sacrifices elsewhere. Once you have the essentials in life, everything else is just future landfill.<br />
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Rather than slog like a hamster in a wheel five days a week, month in, month out, focusing my beady little rodent eyes on some abstract concept of a relaxing retirement, I'm going to grab a little sliver of my time back now, while I'm still young enough - and healthy enough - to spend it doing the things I love.<br />
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Because here's the thing: life is what happens whilst you're making plans for the future. Yes you can avoid risk, stick to your resolutions, get a pension, eat your greens...but for what? A couple of extra eventless years tagged onto the end of your life in an old folks' home, blanket across your knees, rheumy eyes gazing off into the middle distance? No ta - I want more free time <i>now</i>.<br />
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For me, 2017 is going to be about finding a better work/life balance, making memories and pursuing my dreams. I'm going to write my first novel. There, I've said it, so I'll have to do it now. It might crash and burn, but I have to at least <i>try </i>(I've actually started writing books before but given up a few chapters in...but hey, God loves a trier, eh?). I'm going to <b><a href="https://lifeabirdseyeview.blogspot.co.uk/2016/06/sprinkle-salt-on-slug-of-self-doubt.html">sprinkle salt on the slug of self-doubt</a> </b>and plough on.<br />
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Sometimes we're so focused on making a living that we forget to make a <i>life</i>. The calendar flips over at an alarming rate; before you know it there won't be any time left to do all the things you really want to.<br />
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When I'm drawing my final breaths and my life flashes before my eyes, I don't want to have to press fast forward on great boring swathes of <i>Sam Walsh: The Movie </i>because most of it has been filmed at work...<br />
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This article has also appeared in <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/samantha-walsh/new-year-goals-work-less-_b_13968442.html"><b>The Huffington Post</b></a>.<br />
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<b style="background-color: white; color: purple; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px;">Fancy reading my back-story before you go any further? You can find my other blogs at:</b><br />
<a href="http://www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com/" style="background-color: white; color: #6699cc; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: purple;"><b>www.costaricachica1.blogspot.com</b></span></a><span style="color: black;"></span><br />
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Samantha Walshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08924699477544035160noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7251271032407601709.post-71115978975173607612016-12-15T05:24:00.000-08:002016-12-15T05:34:59.397-08:00The 40 Year Old (I.T) Virgin<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I've always liked the idea of being an '<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/It_girl"><b>IT Girl</b></a>.' That's IT as in rhymes with fit, not IT as in Information Technology. As a teenager flicking through the glossy pages of Vogue (in the newsagents, before putting it back and buying More magazine), my secret ambition was to be an It Girl (well I didn't want my grammar school education going to waste, did I?).<br />
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I had visions of being an effortlessly chic and stylish siren, wafting in and out of parties, dry martini dangling from one perfectly manicured hand, on a cloud of Chanel number 5. It all sounded so glamorous, such fun - and so <i>easy</i>. You simply loitered casually around the swankiest bar you could find, primped and bouffed to within an inch of your young life, and your Prince Charming would appear in a puff of smoke (well, through clouds of cigarette smoke at least - you could smoke in bars in those days) and sweep you off your stiletto-clad feet...and into a life of elegant luxury.<br />
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Only that never happened. The slight flaw in my plan was the fact I lived in Bexley and not Bayswater, and the swankiest bar in town was....The Polo Bar. Where the men were chavvy rather than chivalrous. And not even men, it turned out. They were mostly pimply boy-racers named Dave or Steve, driving pimped-up Escorts and sporting snyde Ralph Lauren polo shirts with the collars turned up. You know the type: more <i>no</i> money than <i>new</i> money. The hours spent getting ready for a night out felt like a waste of make-up as soon as you got to the bar and had a quick scout about, talent-spotting. Jeez, the totty sure was thin on the ground. The fellas I seemed to attract like drunken moths to a flame were more Mr Potato Head than Mr Head of Finance.<br />
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I had a go at hanging around the King's Rd for a while in my late teens, but the cliquey Hooray Henry's seek out their own, and the Sloane Rangers could sniff out a Cockney (or Mockney, in my case, having been born in Kent) at a thousand paces - even (especially?) if it's doused liberally in Erith Market knock-off Chanel. Or perhaps it was my Joker-style attempt at a brick red pout that put them off (I was channelling Heath Ledger's interpretation of The Joker long before he was even a twitch in his dad's pants).<br />
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So my plan backfired.<br />
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By my early twenties I began to wish I'd studied IT instead of Latin, as any hopes of living in a penthouse in Knightsbridge with a gaggle of daschunds and an oligarch began to evaporate like my cheap synthetic fragrance. It was looking like I was just going to have to fend for myself. How very modern, I sighed. I still dressed up like a Disney princess on a night out, ever the optimist, but alas I was just a donkey making an ass of myself in a sea of Shreks.<br />
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Since I wasn't interested (or capable, probably) of being a doctor or a vet, and had zero interest in horticulture (I was more interested in <i>hotty</i>-culture), it quickly became apparent that Mr Chandler's Latin classes would be as much use in my future endeavours as a chocolate fireguard. The other occupation best suited to a Latin speaker is a Latin <i>teacher</i>, and judging by his rhino-hide skin, horn-rimmed glasses and miserable downcast expression, Mr C's career path wasn't a line of enquiry I was inspired to pursue.<br />
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So it was an endless merry-go-round of beauty and make-up artist jobs for me. Yes, Dear Reader, I'm afraid I ended up working in Harvey Nics instead of shopping there. Ah, the irony! I think I was subconsciously hoping some of the wealth would rub off; that by making up the faces of the It-girls, one day I'd meet a sister-from-a-richer-mister whom I'd instantly bond with; she'd whisk me off to Bond St for shopping and cocktails, before introducing me to her trustafarian brother and heir to the family fortune, Tarquin.<br />
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But alas, it was not to be. Oh I met many a Tarquin, for sure, but he usually had a bejewelled Tamara on his arm, looking down her perfect aquiline nose at me with smug condescension. She'd give a visible shudder as I thanked her with my weak vowels (chucking in a bit of gratuitous rhyming slang just to watch her wince), before snatching her bag of pricey products and turning on her Valentino heels to clip-clop off for a (liquid, fizzy) lunch on the 5th floor (because eating in public is sooo vulgar, sweetie).<br />
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Fortunately, life on the shop floor doesn't call for IT skills. There's no need to be tech-savvy when your day-to-day business involves comparing the merits of various caviar face creams. We specialised in soft skin, not software. By evening we were out clubbing, not poring over computer manuals: I prefer techno to technology. I'm more familiar with fish 'n' chips than microchips...and if you mention gigs I picture music concerts. Which is why I come unstuck in the modern world.<br />
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I love to write, but when it comes to code and formatting - forget it. You may as well be speaking in Japanese. My eyes glaze over and I zone out. If I'm having trouble sleeping, I whack an Excel tutorial on YouTube and I'm snoring quicker than if I'd swallowed a fistful of Valium. You know you're a technophobic dinosaur when your two-year-old nephew takes the ipad out of your hands with a sigh, before expertly flipping through the apps to find the one he likes.<br />
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My mind boggles when I'm blogging and I have a technical issue. Whenever someone praises my blog, I laugh nervously, terrified they'll discover I'm a fraud: one-finger tapping it out on an ancient Amstrad. That's a joke, by the way. I have a beautiful baby named Mac - well, her full name is MacBook - and she's been keeping me awake all night just like the real thing. I look blankly at her while she makes noises at me, wondering when I'll learn how to look after properly. These things don't come with a manual, you know (oh no actually they do - I was confusing her with a real baby for a moment there).<br />
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Somehow, amidst the travelling, the partying and the chaotic noise of life, I forgot to tick the achievement box marked "PC literate" on my CV (Curriculum Vitae - see, fluent in Latin). Anyone will tell you I'm the most un-PC person, in all senses of the term. I'm a 40-year-old I.T virgin.<br />
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So if anyone fancies popping my Apple cherry, I'm all yours. No gooseberries allowed, just a right pear of sorts. I'll whip out my Blackberry and let's get fruity. I've got all-you-can-eat data on the Orange network so we can really go bananas. I'm not taking the pith, I'm just a bit of a plum on the 'puter.<br />
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Sorry. I'll stop.<br />
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It would appear my puns are about as good as my IT skills - and my fruitless attempts at becoming an It-Girl.<br />
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<b style="background-color: white; color: purple; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px;">Fancy reading my back-story before you go any further? You can find my other blogs at:</b><br />
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Samantha Walshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08924699477544035160noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7251271032407601709.post-47595030278453576132016-12-08T11:53:00.000-08:002017-01-13T04:25:03.159-08:00Speaking Out About Sexual Abuse: The Seed Of Change<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://isha.sadhguru.org/blog/sadhguru/masters-words/letting-the-seed-grow/">photo credit</a></td></tr>
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A child is like a tiny seed; a tree at the start of it's long life. The quality of the soil, the water, the climate - all determine the tree that seed will grow into. It's the duty of everyone who comes into contact with that little sapling to nurture it and protect it from the elements; to help it grow.<br />
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I don't have a child, but I've been one, and so have you, so we're all qualified to speak about this topic. We all remember the bewildering feeling of being small, defenceless; not yet understanding the world. Everything we encounter as a child is new: in turn awe-inspiring and confusing, fascinating and terrifying, as we look to the grown-ups to guide us and help make sense of it all. To be betrayed by the very adults that are meant to protect us causes lasting, irreversible damage. The bark of that young tree is marked with permanent scars.<br />
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The recent revelations of <a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-38251956"><span style="color: purple;"><b>widespread sexual abuse in football</b></span></a> have once again brought this difficult topic to the fore, although for victims of abuse it's never far from their minds. A survey last week revealed that 86% of respondents had either been abused themselves, or knew someone who had. This figure, whilst shocking in itself, is likely to be even higher in reality, as it doesn't include those who have never breathed a word of their suffering to another soul - of which I'm sure there are many.<br />
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So I, alongside many others, was disgusted by the <b><a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/entry/eric-bristow-loses-sky-sports-role-after-twitter-comments-about-football-abuse-victims_uk_583d5989e4b072ec0d603094"><span style="color: purple;">recent ignorant comments</span></a> </b>made on Twitter by Eric Bristow: a washed-up former darts player who was probably spouting his nonsense from his front room, beer can in hand, whilst watching old reruns of Bullseye.<br />
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Eric, the overweight chain-smoking dinosaur who's been putting the "cock" in Cockney since 1973, implied that the victims were somehow "wimps" for not taking action sooner. I took to my own social media account to let him know exactly what I thought of his careless and damaging remarks, and was horrified to discover that although the majority of my friends and followers firmly agreed with me, there was the odd (very odd!) person who defended him. One particular Bristow-sympathiser was a woman, albeit an "old school" one from a similar era as him, who questioned why anyone would "wait thirty years to speak up."<br />
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Whilst infuriated and incensed by their comments, I'd actually like to thank Eric and his out-of-touch cronies, as their ignorance inspired me to write this piece.<br />
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Firstly, they clearly have never experienced any form of bullying, assault or abuse themselves, otherwise they would have some understanding and compassion for the shame, fear and self-loathing that wraps itself around the victim like a bone-crushing boa-constrictor.<br />
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Many years ago, when I was of primary-school age, I was sexually assaulted several times by the neighbour of a relative. Despite being appalled, disgusted and terrified on each occasion, I didn't tell anyone what had happened until much later and soon after that, the man died. I came from a loving family, I knew it was wrong, yet I was told by this person to stay quiet, so I did.<br />
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Does that make me a wimp? Of course not. Quite the opposite in fact. It takes a lot of courage to carry around a burden like that, especially as a child. I know several people - strong, amazing people - who have also been sexually assaulted, raped or abused. In most cases, the perpetrator went unpunished.<br />
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So I have nothing but the utmost respect for these footballers and others who have been abused - in fact <i>all</i> victims of <i>any</i> crimes - who find the courage and strength to speak out - no matter how long it takes for them to feel able to do so.<br />
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Self-confessed selfie-queen <a href="http://news.sky.com/story/karen-danczuks-brother-found-guilty-of-raping-her-as-a-child-10678571"><span style="color: purple;"><b>Karen Danczuk</b></span></a> has also recently been in the spotlight for winning a court case against her brother, who was last week found guilty of repeatedly raping her (along with two other victims) throughout her childhood. Having attempted to bury the trauma for many years, Karen finally spoke out on Thursday during an <a href="http://www.ok.co.uk/tv/loose-women/953919/loose-women-karen-danczuk-breaks-down-sexual-abuse-ordeal-rape-brother-guilty-speaks-out"><span style="color: purple;"><b>emotional interview</b></span></a> on the daytime television show Loose Women, during which she told of her shattered confidence and efforts to seek approval from others through constant selfies, a habit which had previously seen her ridiculed and written off as arrogant and narcissistic.<br />
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Those of you who read my blog regularly will know that I don't shy away from broaching difficult topics, yet it's taken me until this post (my 60th article for '<span style="color: purple;"><b><a href="http://www.lifeabirdseyeview.blogspot.com/">Life: A Bird's Eye View</a>'</b></span>) and forty years of life on Earth to write anything about this subject - although I've started to a few times then hit the 'delete' button instead of 'publish.'<br />
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Common effects of abuse include anger issues, low self-esteem, depression, self-harm, law-breaking, substance abuse and promiscuity. This may seem like a tenuous link, but I directly attribute my childlessness to those unfortunate childhood experiences, since the careless behaviour which led to my cervical cancer surgery and subsequent inability to conceive was a direct result of my damaged self-worth caused by those events.<br />
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The repercussions were mental, as well as physical. I was afraid of bringing another person into this world, for fear of passing on my flaws; the responsibility for shaping the personality of another human being just too great. Well, I got my wish and never became a mum. (I later changed my stance on this and went on to have multiple failed IVF cycles; it was too late).<br />
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Why am I telling you this? Certainly not for sympathy, or to jump on any bandwagon; rather to illustrate the far-reaching effects of sexual abuse, and that it can happen to anyone.<br />
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So how can we protect our children from these vile predators?<br />
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It is vital to talk to your child. Even if you think they are too young for such a conversation - they are not. The <a href="https://www.nspcc.org.uk/preventing-abuse/keeping-children-safe/underwear-rule/"><span style="color: purple;"><b>NSPCC Pants campaign</b></span></a> and accompanying Pantosaurus Quiz are great tools to assist with this, and the charity recommends introducing them to children as young as four.<br />
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Do not make the mistake of thinking that it can't or won't happen to your child. Abusers are usually well known to the child: a family member, family "friend" or trusted adult in a position of authority. These are rarely scary strangers in macs; they are the smiling, normal-looking men you've known (and trusted) for years.<br />
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This has to be a joint effort. It's up to all of us to protect <i>all</i> children, not just our own. One in five girls under 18 is a victim of sexual abuse, and one in 25 boys. If you suspect something, <i>do</i> something. If a child's behaviour changes, find out why. The internet presents a whole extra dimension of risk that didn't exist when my generation was growing up; including <a href="http://www.telegraph.co.uk/technology/2016/06/20/children-as-young-as-one-fall-prey-to-paedophiles-using-internet/"><span style="color: purple;"><b>very young children being groomed online </b></span></a>whilst their parents watch TV downstairs, oblivious. Educate yourself - your children are probably more internet-savvy than you are.<br />
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By talking openly about uncomfortable topics such as this, we remove some of the shame, guilt and isolation felt by the innocent victims. Perhaps then, we can prevent some of these incidents happening in the first place - and if they do happen, hopefully victims <i>will</i> feel able to speak out sooner and the perpetrators punished so that they can't harm anyone else.<br />
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We've all heard the saying: "from tiny acorns mighty oak trees grow." Well it's up to us to nurture those tiny acorns as they grow into trees, warding off silent predators that creep like poison ivy, threatening to wrap their suffocating fronds around delicate branches. A child can only truly reach his or her full potential as an adult if they are allowed to blossom without suffering physical and/or psychological harm.<br />
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So please, look around you; be aware. Let's not blindly trust people with access to our children, no matter who they are or how well (you think) you know them. Sometimes, you can't see the wood for the trees.<br />
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<u>Useful Links:</u><br />
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<a href="https://www.nspcc.org.uk/globalassets/documents/advice-and-info/underwear-rule-guide-for-parents.pdf"><b>NSPCC parents' guide</b></a><br />
<a href="http://www.samaritans.org/how-we-can-help-you/contact-us?gclid=CjwKEAiAg5_CBRDo4o6e4o3NtG0SJAB-IatYmGt3hlJMCDZz2H61PC_BsfbQZ3HJcfZKEAqiq7sxLhoCKA7w_wcB"><b>Samaritans</b></a><br />
<a href="http://napac.org.uk/?gclid=CjwKEAiAg5_CBRDo4o6e4o3NtG0SJAB-IatYpdQR_ZAD7tkES7ehazh3kjuLBc4Wv_PboNlwZI-15xoCB2Dw_wcB"><b>NAPAC</b></a><br />
<b><a href="http://refugecenter.org/compassion-cure/">The Compassion Cure</a></b><br />
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This article has also appeared in <b><u><span style="color: purple;"><a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/samantha-walsh/sexual-abuse_b_13516954.html">The Huffington Post UK</a></span></u></b>.<br />
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