The Nine Girl

It's a hard concept to explain to people, but one that I feel deserves it. So many friends of mine have people in their lives that there's a special something with. That something isn't a relationship, but it's more than just a fling or a repeated one night thing.

I've got friends that have had these 'somethings' and now that 'something' is an engagement, a house move, a cat. I've got other mates that have had these 'somethings' and then they ran their course, they've moved on to the next and it's a part of what was. Time has past and they still don't know what to refer to it as. Were you 'seeing each other', were you 'just good friends' was she 'just that girl I knew'?

I've devised a better (I hope) way of explaining it. Because in this day and age it's a situation we all find ourselves in more often than not and we all get questioned on.So what is she to you then? Well...

Here it is.

To the blokes that have had them, from the girls that have been them.

The Nine Girl. 

The line between a Nine Girl & a Mine Girl is a fine one. It's so easily blurred and one that needs to be stepped with great precaution. You can't overstep if you're not ready for a Nine to be Mine.

For now you have your Nine Girl and there's a certain way it has to go. 

You two are in touch every nine days or so. A week suggests a pattern, ten days suggests forgetting. To the boys you play it out like it's being done to keep your options open but it's because this girl may not be at the forefront of your mind, all of the time, but she's only ever about nine steps behind.

Your text conversations are limited to no more than nine responses and they often only ever occur after nine at night. All day long catch ups aint how you two do. But when you're together nine hours will go by in a flash, of conversation & belly laughs.

The Nine Girl is the girl whose thumb your phone finds after nine or so pints. Who you've drunkenly text nine or so times. The girl who doesn't mind the missed calls at 3.09, but the girl you respect too much to want to see you when you are nine wines in and looking mighty un-fine.

She's no booty call but she's no wife.

You spend hours laughing, chatting & catching up but something will always stop you from stopping past nine am the morning after the night before. You have to step back to draw the Nine/Mine line and you head on your way.

She may be ninth, nineteenth or ninetieth on your list but for you she sits in the top ninety percent. She's a solid nine out of ten.

You're friends with more than benefits. It's friends with 'something' but not everything. You're Nines.

At least nine things always remind you of this girl, a film, a song, a smell. You smile at the thought of the Nine Girl but you can think of at least nine valid reasons why you think this may never work.

She sits about ninth on your WhatsApp conversation list but still features on a list of the nine people you'd want to share your biggest news with.

She makes you laugh with the same jokes you've heard nine times over because there's that something, whatever it is, there.

Your Nine Girls knows where shes stands and that's because love it or hate it, you're her Nine Boy.

You reach nine on the fear scale that she's going to approach the subject of being your Mine Girl when in reality she's nine times less bothered about it than you think.

You may have what you have with your Nine Girl for nine to ninety months, and as long as it suits you there's no limit on it's course. You may see each other every nine days or every nine weeks but it works for you and that's cool.

In this day and age, there's always nine hundred and ninety nine other things that occupy our time and sometimes we can't dedicate the time to make our Nines our Mines.


 Not to say that they won't. Not to say they will.

But for now they're our Nine. And, well, that's just fine.

LL

x

The Pratical Guide To Being Happy

I saw this post on Instagram this week, another in an ever growing list of misty eyed, 'far away look' quotes, set in a sepia tone, that are meant to make the person posting look like a social media philosopher.

I don't know why, but they get right on my goat.

It took me on to search the #happiness hashtag to see what other absolute classics cropped up. In delightful scripts and set over pictures of beaches, I found some real golden nuggets.

'Expect Less'

'Give More'

'Do More of What Makes You Smile'

& my all time favourite...

'Have happy thoughts. They will shine out of your face and you will always look lovely'.

Please.

As great as these quotes look tattooed on your wrist or written on your chalk board, they aren't very applicable to everyday life are they? They are kind of only suitable for those of us lucky enough to be lying in a hammock with a muscly man fanning us with banana leaves, whilst we look down at our naturally toned stomach.

This isn't to say there's no hope for us...the commuting, working, gym goers of the world. But there's a much more sensible and pragmatic way to seek contentment.

And here it is.

.The Practical Guide To Being Happy.

Accept situations for what they are, don't judge them against how you thought they were going to turn out.

Life aint a fairytale, and as it goes, you are actually more likely to find the love of your life on bloody Tinder than catching the eye of someone across a crowded room at a party 'you weren't even going to go to'. Doesn't make your story any less lovely. Be ok with it.

Make an effort with yourself.

 If you go out looking like a bag of shit, you'll feel like a bag of shit. It's science. Get to the gym, buy a hairbrush, find your inner peace.

Learn to enjoy your own company.

There is no truer state of happy than that found in a pair of jogging bottoms, on your sofa, eating Dominos straight from the box, in the view of nobody. Apart from, perhaps, the state of happy found at the bottom of a pot of hummus. But to save the cholesterol, just jam on your own one night a week. It's bliss.

Don't expect less.

That's literally the dumbest thing I've ever heard. Expect more. Why lower your expectations? Live by the analogy that you would never settle for a Happy Meal when you had every intention of going Extra Value with a side of nuggets. Life should be like this. Chase the Big Mac dream.

Delete people that make you feel bad about who you are or what you do.

 In short, avoid arseholes. Being judged for drinking on a school night, or getting sideways glances for going back out with the guy you know isn't really very good for you, isn't what you need in life. Stay close to the mates that will open the wine for you and give you a high five for getting your kicks. Everyone else can play with traffic.

Be ok with the past being the past.

Things end for a reason. Jobs, relationships, friendships, Breaking Bad. Leave them where they belong and don't dwell.

Don't over commit.

You've set amount of hours in the day and days in the week. Don't try and tear yourself in five different directions. Be practical about what you can do. Don't stress yourself out and don't piss people off by always being late. Simples.

  

 Realise your worth.

If you're a bit of a bastard, then fully expect to be kicked around. If you're the best then demand to be treated as such...or just not like an idiot. Don't get too ahead of yourself, but don't be a doormat.

Don't compromise on the big things.

Yes, back down on the inane crap like bed linen colour choices and washing up. Don't compromise on the things you've always dreamed of. Travel, kids, an x-box in the bathroom etc.

Stop trying to improve your physical self. 

Ok, be healthy and abide by the basics of personal hygiene. But on the whole, you got what you got. Deal. True story - confidence is attractive. Constantly folding your arms in front of the bust you view inadequate isn't. Enjoy the fact that your bras don't resemble circus tents.

Don't focus too heavily on work.

True, enjoy what you do, you are there A LOT. But don't blur the lines. It's the thing that should pay for us to get on planes, treat ourselves and eat in places that aren't Wimpy. It shouldn't be the thing that gets in the way.

Stop planning.

My least favourite people are those with 'five year plans'. Something will f-up in the matrix and you'll end up disappointed. Have a vague idea of what you'd like. Other than that, go with the bloody flow.

Don't be uptight.

Not only will it ultimately lead to wrinkles and early onset angina, nothing is really worth it. Save getting wound up for the day you get declared bankrupt, for the day you loose someone close, for the day United get relegated. Don't waste energy on delayed trains or arsey emails. Chill, Winston.

& lastly.

Have a vice.

Smoke, swear, juggle naked, eat Doritos in the morning, drink gin through your eye if you want. But have that little thing that's yours, that you probably shouldn't do, but that makes you feel nicely dirty.

Bliss.

LL x

Texting Back

I often listen to my Nan talk about the days when she would write to my Grandad when he was out at war. She would write him a note about how London was, how she was, let him know she was safe. He would write back, sometimes weeks later, and share stories of life on the front line.

A real romance. A real story. 50 odd years married. Years and years apart with nothing but a letter now & again.

I’m sure my Nan would check the window for the postman and would have butterflies if something were to land on her mat with my Grandad’s distinctive writing scrawled on the front.

I’m also sure that she was more than happy to wait the weeks. The more weeks, the more special the letter seemed. She just couldn’t wait to have him home. No matter how long she waited. They were only “courting” at the time. This was their way of chatting each other up.

I often wondering what it would be like if my Nan and Grandad were "courting" now. I reckon things would be going a little something like this

.

Grandad would text Nan after having met her in the pub, having had a bit of drunken banter. Met her Friday, Sunday text. Standard two day turn around.

Nan would give it about forty minutes to an hour before replying with a cool, calm, contrived response, accepting his invite to go for a drink. Nan would not put a kiss at the end of the text. Grandad hadn’t put one on his. She wouldn’t want to seem too keen.

So Nan and Grandad have gone on a few dates. Nan’s been well behaved and not got stupidly drunk, not spoken about her crazy ex who once got a kick out of joyriding milk floats, not sworn too much, kept good eye contact but most importantly she played it cool.

 Grandad, cool as ever, is really keen. Nan's like no other girl he knows. She drinks gin like a sailor in head turning dresses. Her laugh is contagious and she likes a good gangster film. Get her talking about football and he's ready to get down one knee.

 After a month or so he can see this going places and reckons he wants to see a bit more of Nan. He’s going out for his birthday in a few weeks and has already bought her a ticket. He means it.

Nan reckons she can sense this and let’s be honest, he’s a catch so she’s beyond keen back. Grandad’s done the running, sorted out the cool east London bars to go too and treated Nan to a couple of cinema trips. It was her turn. 

Nan’s a modern woman. She works, she drives. She knows she needs to be making the moves back. She doesn’t want Grandad thinking she’s not keen. He’s been pretty hot on the texting thing. Most days a cheeky one liner will come through, perhaps a wink emoticon. There’s been texts back and forth. Nan’s confident on this one. After years of bad All Bar One experiences and sketch situations with blokes at work, she’s landed the guy that does the right thing. He replies!

So casual as, Nan sends a text. A cheeky offer of a few drinks and a bite to eat on Friday night. It’s Monday so plenty of warning. Grandad will love this, a confident woman, a woMAN with a plan. Send text.

The standard forty “I’m not going to instantly reply but I want to still appear keen” minutes goes by. No response. Nan gets home. No response. Hair wash. No response. Dinner. No response. The absolute killer…the next morning. No response.

The entire next day in the office is spent in blind panic. Nan’s head is filled with scenario upon scenario about what could have happened. By her afternoon cup of peppermint tea, Grandad is either dead or has fallen head over heels in love with a woman on the bus.

Tuesday night/ Wednesday morning is dedicated to Nan constantly refreshing her Facebook feed. 1am Wednesday morning and Grandad checks in at the pub and likes a few comments. 'Checked in using Android'. The “he’s been mugged so couldn't possibly reply” option is out of the window.

Wednesday is spent heartbroken that Grandad hasn’t been involved in a fatal accident and is in fact ignoring Nan. She spends the day re-reading the text. Wondering if the smiley face and the wink was a step too far. Maybe she wasn’t direct enough? Maybe she was too forward? 

5pm Wednesday and the sending texts to herself thing begins. Poor Nan just wants to ensure that her phone is actually working. It is.

By the end of the bus journey home Nan has decided to join the gym, dye her hair and eat salad only for a month. He clearly is so repulsed by the sight of her name, let her alone her face, that he can’t bring himself to reply to a god damn text.

"That’s It!", Nan thinks. She’s moving on. She didn’t like him anyway. Another shower. Her phones on silent and in the bottom of her bag. She’d rather Aunty Rene didn’t send a text, she hear it and get her hopes up.

Gets in to bed. Making a mental note to smile at every bloke on the way to work tomorrow. 48 hours is plenty of time to secure a date for Friday night. She has after all already told her Mum she won’t be in for dinner. The potential humiliation is too much to bear.

11.15pm Wednesday.
1 message received
Grandad;
yeah sounds good ;) what time?

Nan blushes even though nobody’s there. She falls asleep wondering what to wear and giggling to herself at the jokes she knows he'll already make. 

Bloody Grandad.

 Imagine if he’d have left it 3 weeks to reply like he did in 1941….

LL x

Lady London Lands

So here it is, after years of thinking about it, going to do it, and plain chickening out...it's here.

 

The Lady London blog.

 

After many a year, I've decided to put my English A-Level and my useless knowledge of this fantastic town to good use.

 

I aim to feature lifestyle articles ranging from the joys & woes of boys to the amount of hours I've spent crying that if I was to now enter X Factor, I'd be an over! The perils of internet dating and the joys that can be found in a Pret croissant. The evil that is What'sApp and the power of a misused piece of punctuation.

 

I want to review my favourite bars, my new eats, and those random little galleries that I walk past and never walk into.

I will write about all things fantastic about emerging young talent in the city. Comedians, designers, change makers. Whatever you're doing, I want to shout about it.

 

The best markets, the best new shops, the best eats, drinks, laughs & dates.

 

Lady London is here.

 

And she's planning on taking this town by storm.

One blog at a time.

 

LL x