I caught a glimpse of the Olympic Torch

Today, I braved the heat (unusual for any time of year) to witness a historic moment that I will be able to tell my grandchildren about in many years to come. The build up was tremendous (at least on my part), despite the traditional British moaning about the traffic, the sneaky immigration and the new olympic lanes.

The crowds slowly built up…

The police were waiting whilst telling people to keep to the pavement…

Coca Cola made an appearance, commercialising the entire event and gaining publicity that they most definitely do not need…

And finally, the Olympic Torch passed us by. Those who blinked missed it. The torch-bearer was jogging along the road and was gone before some people had even realised he had arrived. I was prepared and managed to catch it on video.

These small fleeting moments make up history and it feels good to be a part of it, even if it means baking under the hot sun for three seconds worth of a historical event.


There’s a War On and I’m Armed

Have you all been following the news lately? Then you’ve heard about the rising tension between the U.S and Iran over their nuclear weaponry and are wondering why this would be of any interest to a girl like me, living all the way in the U.K…

Well then, my mother and her friend have deduced that the recent happenings are a clear sign that World War Three is about to erupt; America is bound to dive straight in and we won’t be far behind. It will not be another Cold War and we will be in the midst of it, therefore, we must be prepared at all times. According to my mother, her friend has an emergency box and is stocking up; we should do the same. I told her that country leaders do not enter wars without giving a reasonable amount of warning; we will not wake up to find nuclear bombs dropping over our heads. Of course, I hadn’t thought of the chaos and rapidly rising prices that a population rushing into the supermarket would cause. It’s better to be one step ahead, even if it’s the wrong one.

It would seem that my mother is joking and that was our initial thought but as tears spilled onto the dinner table whilst some of us laughed on and others shook their heads in contempt, it became evident that she had somehow managed to trick herself into believing her own nonsense. Real tears filled her eyes as she blubbered on about how we would so go through it together as a family…she wouldn’t choose to live through a war with anyone else…we don’t need television if we have each other, so on and so worse…

My sister became extremely annoyed, hinging on disbelieving terror, and arguments ensued about the absurdity of the entire idea. I would rather die than live through a way with you if you’re going to be this emotional. Fortunately, I managed to alleviate the situation by summoning my great expert knowledge in the art of fabrications and convinced them all that, for the moment, we were safe because in accordance to ‘the Geneva Law’ wars can only begin on Mondays and every world war and the Falklands War started on this assigned day. I think they bought it. Unless, they’re reading this.

In the unlikely event of war breaking out, my mother will be well within her right to say ‘I told you so’ and it will serve us all right for not taking heed of her previously ludicrous warning. However, despite the many horror stories of war as well as the grim statistics, the prospect does hold a dangerous allure and evoke some feelings of excitement. All the drama, the evacuation, the heroes and even the food rationing that I have read about would all become a part of my ordinary and action-lacked life. As long as the bombs were falling but nobody were dying, war would be an adventure!

Just in case there is a war and because it is my birthday tomorrow I have finally bought myself my own kindle and will not have to suffer through the rough days of no internet. I spent an entire hour yesterday buying the emergency item, unable to decide between a £60 cheaper and faster kindle without a keyboard or a £60 more expensive and slower kindle with 3G and a keyboard. Decisions, decision and the time bombs were ticking…. I chose the latter, no reason just instinct that took an hour to awaken. So, I await my £60 more expensive and slower kindle with 3G and a keyboard which should be arriving soon. It better arrive before Monday…

In no way am I starting to believe my mother but, in the event of war, what emergency item would help you through?

Washing up: A thing of the past

Since the beginning of time, women from all over the globe have suffered through daily hardship. At the end of each meal, as the cave men went out to hunt for the next, the poor wives, daughters and conquests were left with the bloody task of washing up. As centuries went by this form of gentle torture continued, expanding as people became civilized and decided that plates and cutlery were a good idea. Although, the rich privileged upper-class would never experience the trauma of having to touch a plate but with their engraved silver knives and forks, imparting the unpleasant chore on to their poor downstairs servants.

Then, in the 1900s, under the false guise of attaining equal voting rights, the suffragette movement began; its true aim to eradicate washing up. An aim which was not achieved. However, it did serve to drag men, kicking and screaming, into the kitchen and offer a clumsy helping hand, lessening the burden of 20th century women.

Fast forward a few years and meet the modern-day world. With the speedy progression of technology and the fast pace of life, washing up has become a hindrance, and an unnecessary obstacle that has fortunately been eliminated thanks to the most revolutionary invention of our time. No, I don’t mean paper plates. I mean… The Dishwasher.

This miracle machine has improved the lives of many working mothers, aquaphobics, pensioners, lazy college students etc. and now that list will extend to include my family. At long last, after months of my father obsessively searching the internet for the best prices and my mother constantly giving hints, reminders and complaints, we have received our new dishwasher! It probably has something to do with the fact that my aunt is coming for a two-week visit but why ponder the reason when I could just be grateful?

From my extreme excitement you would be fooled into thinking that I actually did the washing up but it is had always been my father’s area of expertise. At the end of each meal, armed with soap and sponge, he would be the first to get up, leave to his post at the sink and dutifully wash up as we brought him the dishes. Those days are over. Sorry Dad, but you’re out of the job.

Yasmine in the World Wide Web

Last night, I was in the bathroom going about my usual business; contemplating the meaning of life; when I received an unexpected spark of total genius. During my musings and out of a random muddle of disconnected  thoughts a blog name appeared before me: Yasmine in the World Wide Web.

It is a simple name but nonetheless allow me to explain. My name is Yasmine (hi 🙂 ) and I am a small, miniscule, microscopic part of the greater cyber-universe that is the Internet. As an individual I contribute to those three big “W”s. I am a part of something much greater than just a few jotted down sentences in an inconsequential journal hidden under a mattress. Hence the blog title.

I have been trying to come up with a blog title for a considerable amount of time yet is only when I am not actively thinking of one and in the most unlikely of places that I actually do. What is it about the toilet that stimulates such creativity and induces that light bulb moment? I’m no psychologist but if I were to have a guess I would assume it has something to do with the way you feel shut off from the world, giving you the confidence to explore your deeper thoughts and triggering vigorous brain activity…

I’m also no historian but there must be a reason that all the history books fail to mention the exact locations of the conceptions of all the greatest inventions. Where exactly was Thomas Edison when he had what we would now, thanks to him, call his light bulb moment? Any guesses?

My blog title does not compare to a light bulb, unless you think so, but I am more than a little bit proud of the result of my bathroom activities. The only thing that could dampen my excitement would be the discovery that the title in not my own and that it has simply remained in my exceptionally retentive subconscious after reading someone elses blog. Oh, what a tragedy that would be! Here I am gloating and it’s not even an original idea.

What do you think of my new title? Any ideas for a tagline?

Born into the wrong century

This week-end we abandoned our usual  family hangout of our local shopping centre for a much more sophisticated venue. We travelled back in time to the romantic age of chivalry, courting and curtsying,wandering around the lavish halls and strolling through the magnificent gardens of Kings and Queens. All the historical novels that I have ever read came to life around me in between the regal red velvet walls of Hampton Court.

The palace (built in 1515 ) had been inhabitted by the royal family until the 18th Century and since then remained very much the same, making you feel like you have entered into an entire different era. As I gazed upon her dressing table, I could imagine Queen Mary sitting there as her ladies in waiting brushed her hair, sharing the gossip of the latest scandals at court; which Earl had taken on a mistress, which Lady was secretly barren and had lied to her husband, which young Duchess had fallen in love with a kitchen boy! 

History surrounded me,

like magic; 

trickling down the walls,

seeping through the carpets,

pouring through the ceiling.

It was overwhelming. Just being there made me feel like I had been born into the wrong century. We missed the massive Next sale and yet I can not bring myself to care. I no longer find myself excited by the brightly coloured jumpsuits or the cute ballet flats. It seems that I have developed a more…vintage style. By that I mean corsets, lace and a crown.

During my trip back in time I did manage to take a few pictures using a very out of place digital camera. They do not compare to the actual majesty of the palace but I hope some of the magic was captured.

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High Court Fashion: The Horse Wig?

I can now proudly say that I have completed a full 2 weeks of work (experience) and let not anyone else say that it went to waste. As well as becoming an expert in a wide array of menial office jobs; photocopying, shredding, printing, hole punching, filing; I also managed to gain an insightful look into the world of High Court fashion.

Last week, I had my first visit to court. I sat in on the case of an 18-year-old who had been growing cannabis in his flat, not your typical houseplant but who’s to say he was going to smoke it? Can’t a teenager grow cannabis anymore without people making assumptions?

Apparently not. The judge did not seem to agree with me, refusing to believe that the boy was using the cannabis as an eclectic piece of house hold decor due to the high unlikeliness of it (and the fact that he pleaded guilty).

Away from the drama of the court room, the friendly barrister met with me and shared his job description, court stories and valuable  fashion tips. Dressed in a classy black robe, shiny shoes and a charming grey wig that brought out the blue in his eyes, he was willing to impart on me his knowledge of the competitive, sharp and colourful world of high court fashion.

Not surprisingly, my eyes were drawn to the curled up wig on his head that did little for his physique and aged his appearance by a decade. Around the court-house it seemed to be a fashion fad, as every serious faced lawyer was given a comical appearance by their greying locks. This trend goes back to early Tudor times when black flat bonnets or caps were worn in court. Since then, lawyers and judges have decided that they would much rather wear hair. What an improvement! 

This court accessory does not come cheap either with prices ranging from around £300 to £1,000. A ridiculous amount for a wig if I do say so myself. One should not have to pay such a fortune to look one’s very  best in the presence of judge and jury. Why such a high price for a wig? Is it designer? Gucci? Prada?

No, but close.It is in fact made out of pure horse hair which is apparently quite expensive. At first they were made of human hair.People in debt would sell their hair to the wigmaker, and there was a  trade in the hair of the dead.

Should any one of my readers want to wear horse hair on their head or feels the need to purchase one of these delightful wigs follow here is one I found online at a bargain price:

Dark Blonde Barrister’s Wig

Hand Made From 100%Pure Horse Hair

PRICE £305.00