The Royal Wedding

I've tried writing about this occasion several times. The first attempt mutated wedded bliss into a perspective on modern day feminism. The second began with my scepticism about the crowds that were to be expected and delved into a recent run in with your average London footpather. Today, I intend not to succumb to the random stream of consciousness that I normally embrace. 

Londoners love to moan and the city appeared to be wishing the worst brand of unhappily ever after upon the now Duke & Duchess of Cambridge. Complaints about the transport disruptions, excessive media coverage and overall extravagance of the affair ran rampant. Every mention of the impending nuptials was dripping with disdain for weeks, maybe even months! Until something very strange occurred...

Stop. Switch. Flash. Scene. Frown. Upside down.

I can't explain exactly what happened, but the winds of change blew through London as the bunting went up. Whether induced by exhaustion, curiosity or belief in fairytale, London gave in to romance this week. Genuinely happy to be hosting the wedding that the world was watching (3 Billion viewers worldwide!), you couldn't escape a conversation without discussing wedding day plans - Where to watch, which street party to attend and how magically the bunting was draped across the city.

Sure the wedding meant that we all received an additional bank holiday which produced 3 long weekends in a row, but it was more than that. London recognized the romance of the occasion and led a celebration that the entire world admired from afar.

The crowds were more massive than ever, the police presence was heavy, but I felt absolutely elated by the genuine happiness and good humour demonstrated by everyone on the streets that day. London was hosting the largest wedding reception in history and it was a day that I'll never forget.

Congratulations to Wills & Cate!

Roar

London is a big, bustling city. People are always in a hurry and almost always unnecessarily aggressive to accomplish their end. For example, walking off the tube a few weeks ago, I was accosted by an angry, suit-guy. After stumbling into me, he had the nerve to yell: 

Oye, watch where ya goin' ya fat slag!

Now as shrill as Londoners can be, let's remember that I've lived here for over 6 months now...

As he tried to walk away, I, naturally, lunged over, jousted my finger in front of his face and roared:

Don't talk to me like that at 8 o'clock in the morning! Correct yourself!!!

It was the verbal equivalent to a dragon breathing fire on his prey.

Did it make any sense - "Correct yourself"? Probably not, but I was so riled that I lost much of the composure I normally possess.

I later found out that fat slag is a term Brits use to describe whores. Nice.

Pink

Am I not supposed to like pink?

As a modern, 30-something woman, I am troubled by the world's translation of me. Am I an academic? Am I a party-girl? A corporate bitch? Or could I be a jock? I find it difficult to define myself because I embrace diversity and have always sought to colour myself with a varied hue of interests. 

In the post-women's lib era, I am encouraged to seek higher education, ambitiously pursue my career and participate in sport, but can I bake a cupcake without being mocked? I can't help but feel the steely eye of judgment when I wear frilly frocks and pink lip gloss at a feminist poetry slam (though my short hair gives me some fem cred in these circles). Nonetheless, I will not resign myself to uniform and have always defended my love of clothing. What I wear is not a comprehensive reflection of all that inspires me.

As we prepare for the Royal wedding, I realized that it's become uncool to be romantic. Dreams of Mr. Right, wishes for a happily ever-after and hopes to one day find romance are pretty much considered doe-eyed and unevolved. It's much cooler to say you shun the idea of romance, don't believe in marriage and strike up a conversation about the sexual quirks of your last partner. Is there anything wrong with that? No. 

So what's my problem? Simply this: while we move beyond old world social constructs that depicted women as antiquated caricatures, let's be careful not to create an entirely new set of restricting definitions that once again force women into mutually exclusive groups. Daring as they may be, confining us gals to narrow definitions has never and will never work.  

Marcelle The Shell

This makes me happy. 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VF9-sEbqDvU

London Marathon

The past week had some highs and lows, but was all about running! 

It began with my co-workers organizing a running club. As someone whose run a few 10K's, I joined and expected myself to be a leader of the pack. So I was aggrieved when the group ran so far ahead of me that I was frantically racing to keep up and eventually lost sight of the group altogether. I actively searched for the group for about 5-8 minutes when I thought to myself... These guys are freaking crazy. If I stay low, they won't see me and I can sneak home on the tube - And that's exactly what I did!

Upset about my poor showing and annoyed by the torment I suffered the following morning at work, I decided to run the following weekend in Hyde Park with a friend. We ran a total of 8 miles in 2 hours. In fact, we ran right into the London Marathon that was taking place on Sunday, April 17, 2011. It's the largest marathon in the world so I enjoyed celebrating my redemption with running royalty.

The very next day I signed up for the Bupa Great North Run taking place in Durham on September 18 - the world's largest half marathon. Let's hope I don't get lost then.

PIMM'S

The British pub culture is undeniable. Wrists are raised from 11am until 12am everyday. However, the common pint goes posh on sunny spring and summer days as the locals opt for perfect summer elixir - Pimm's.

Pimm's No. 1 Cup is often taken with lemonade, as well as various chopped fresh ingredients, particularly apples, cucumber, oranges, lemons, strawberry and mint. This gin-based liqueur was created in 1823 by James Pimm, but is a vital part of any sunny day in London these days. How do I know? I joined my local brethren and knocked back a pitcher last Sunday afternoon. I reminded myself that I was a Vancouverite when I used the two straws in my drink as chopsticks and ate the remaining alcohol infused fruit at the bottom of my glass.

Butt Advert

Another cool advert... Notice how the communication is not trying to discourage smoking. Instead, it aims only to alter the associated behaviors.

The Good Girl

I live in London. 

And this statement has been true for the past 5 months. 

Since my arrival, I've celebrated Christmas, New Year's and my birthday far, far away from family and close friends. So I felt elated to be back home in March. 

My entire family came to the airport to pick me up. Sorely unnecessary. Deeply appreciated. 

When I saw everyone, I felt an immediate excitement that prompted me to do a run-walk towards them with a few leaps in between. It was as though I was trying to suppress the urge to run like an inner 8 year old held captive in an adult body that insisted on walking. The week leading up to my trip was mostly spent shopping and I couldn't wait for the gifting to begin. I brought back food, sweets, souvenirs, clothing and even a few accessories and housewares. Watching them assess their new wares made me feel so emotional. I was happy to be giving, surprising and pleasing these people. 

A wisely selected gift has, in the past, urged other feelings within me. Often I've been so impressed with my purchase that I've wondered.... Hmmm, should I keep it? However, no such unfavourable intention entered my mind this time. 

My Nani ate her chocolate covered prunes from Harrod's. My mom embraced me. And 2 weeks later I went back home to London. 

It was great to be back.