Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes

They say a leopard can't change his spots. As an inherent characteristic, maybe not. And maybe he shouldn't want to, as spots happen to look pretty darn good on a leopard, in my humble opinion. So rock those spots, Mr Leopard. But what about us? Being and staying true to our inner nature is vital, but I don't believe stoic resistance to all the flux around us to be healthy in such a day and age. Change seems to be the plat du jour, society shifts and alters itself according to new trends and happenings, and we are able to remake ourselves almost instantly thanks to the possibilities of the world around us. Social change is and always has been in the air, but that is a story for another day. This reflection is in favour of the day-to-day edits we can make to shake things up a bit: getting a haircut, some new togs, taking up a hobby, swapping up your playlists, supporting a new team (topical reference as an English girl living in Spain during the World Cup of 2014... Sigh. Allez les bleus? We shall see.) 

The idea is not to be a stickler for traditions and customs that are impossible to maintain, or even just that make life more of a chore. A bit of difference or spontaneity here and there goes a long way, for no matter how much control we love to have at the end of the day human nature is to enjoy being positively surprised, and if you go into something new with an open mind you're bound to enjoy it that much more. 

And to wrap up, some wise words conveniently converted into a bumper-sticker mantra, tweaked slightly to suit the purpose of this text: 

Be the change you want to see in your world... 

Have fun folks. 

#justsayyes

A Wednesday morning (at the time of writing, obviously). I find myself on a metro bound for work an hour early, vestiges of last night's G&Ts coursing through my veins, still helping me make questionable choices as I agree to try an early-morning yoga class before the day begins. This after rocking out a teen concert last night, tickets purchased on a whim weeks ago, much to the bemusement of all and sundry over the age of majority. ('Twas a popular act among the sweet-sixteeners; discounting their less-than-amused parent chaperons we had about 10 years on the most part of the crowd. Winning.) Yet there was an unadulterated freedom to being able to do just as we liked and harmlessly party hard with the rest, heedless as to the social stigma or judgment of friends and family. And, who'd've thunk, we had a stellar time of it. 

So this is a short but sweet and fairly self-explanatory tidbit. Throw caution to the wind and seize each moment, you never know where it might lead you next!! 

All's Well That Ends Well

Do you believe in serendipity?

The events that led to my seeing a favourite Spanish singer in concert can only be described as such. I shall regale you with the tale (forgive me this little indulgence):

Once upon a time... No, too cliché. To set the scene, then, the following details: I had bought concert tickets for my flatmate's birthday to see aforementioned popular artiste. The concert was to be in an entirely different city, which we would visit and where we would stay with friends who would also attend the event. The flatmate knew of the trip but not of the show in question. Voilà problem numero uno.
Now, the friend we were to stay with is a remarkably flaky character as it transpires. Little did I know that he had in fact quit his job in the other city a good week ahead of the concert, and was back in our vicinity. My flatmate had his suspicions but for one reason or another chose not to voice them. He merely assumed that the weekend away was not to happen, and thus made his own plans accordingly.
Alas, this left yours truly in the delightful pickle of having tickets to a concert at entirely the wrong end of the country with less than 48 hours' notice to rid myself thereof. Various schemes were cooked up and dismissed as to whether I could indeed attend, but it was deemed a failure and consigned to the 'oh well never mind' bin. And so I set about trying to peddle the tickets, best salesface on, and though for a while it did seem a fool's errand, eventually there they were, gone. Three for cash recompense and one as a charitable gift, for the sake of the old "want not waste not" mantra.
So. We were no longer going to the concert. By this point I had let the cat out of the bag and told a slightly-disappointed-but-not-overly-surprised flatmate about the whole charade. Game over.
That evening, I had lined up another gig lined up (this time in my own city with my own people, who were undeniably less fallible) and so off we popped to have a good time. There we were, dancing away, relishing in the wide array of - I concede, somewhat juvenile - performances, and I soon forgot the trials and tribulations of the ticket debacle that morning.
The more popular the act, the more electric the atmosphere, and although it was aimed at a somewhat younger target audience, the concert turned out to be immensely fun and very diverting.
All of a sudden, the compère (or rather, local DJ, but hey who's against handing him a  promotion here) announced that he had a surprise for us. A thrill of anticipation shivered through the crowd. As he began to drop hints about who the unexpected artist might be, thrilled whispers rippled all around us, whipping us up into an impatient frenzy...
Lo and behold, it was the very same singer I had been due to see the following day! We could not believe our luck. Call it fate, call it chance, call it what you will; it certainly put a smile on our faces. I'm positive I was in a delectable daze of disbelief the rest of the evening. Goodness knows it made up for the unhappy fiasco earlier on. The only disagreeable factor was that the flatmate, the original beneficiary of the piece, ultimately saw no gain in any way; he at best had a pang of jealousy or a slight moue of disappointment to play with.

And so, to conclude, it may all have been a mere balance of fortune, that I should be cursed with a failed attempt then blessed by being in the right place at the right time. Maybe each was in some way my own doing, if you believe in karmic retribution. Who knows. I choose to accept that it was sheer serendipitous luck. It may be a romantic notion or a foolhardy idea, all 'Que Sera, Sera' as Doris would have it, but I find that it more than adequately fits this tale, with no further explanation needed.
And besides, doesn't the word just roll off the tongue oh-so-nicely?!

A friend in need is a friend indeed!

"Make new friends, but keep the old: one is silver and the other gold." This wise refrain has been with me the past few weeks for numerous reasons. During a difficult time, new and old friends alike have offered words of support and courage, hoping and praying all around the world for a positive outcome, and I couldn't be more grateful. It is remarkable how much strength can be found in the comfort of a loved one, and no matter the scale of their gesture nor the closeness of the relationship.
On a daily basis we each take our respective "normality" for granted; that is to say, we only really notice when things stop running as they should. This can happen as a gradual process, which we adjust to accordingly over time, and whatever issue thereby just becomes another fact of life. Not necessarily a positive thing, but it can be worked around. Or something can suddenly occur; a world can be turned upside down in the blink of an eye, when a message comes to say somebody has been taken ill, for example. I'm talking about personal crises, the events that shake your faith and burst your bubble. How we each deal with these situations is down to each and every one of us: we find our own ways of coping, and everyone has his or her own recovery period.
But the true and constant fact is that the motivation we receive from those around us helps keep us strong and inevitably speeds this recovery along. Having a network of loved ones offering assistance or encouraging words can make all the difference: it is the aid we sometimes need to stay steady and keep a level head when all around seems turbulent and distorting. They are the life-jacket in a sea of uncertainty, the anchor that grounds us and tells us everything will be okay, that we will still be here when the waters are again calm.
With this in mind, I would like to give a word of thanks to all those who in turn offer their compassion and on whatever level become terra firma, their actions, words, and understanding providing an emotional crutch that rights us until we are able to find our feet and stand tall once more. Indubitably these people ask no gratitude, no recognition in return for amity, they do not lend their kindness and consideration at a price; yet I feel it often goes under-acknowledged that the grace of human goodness incites this altruistic support even towards those we barely know.
 We as humanity connect to one another and can sympathise or empathise even with total strangers. For our acquaintances, we can spare a thought, a prayer, a reassuring remark. And to our dear ones we can be the leaning post, the comfort, the rallying cheer, the shoulder to cry on, the reminder that things will be better.
So wear a smile for those who look like they need one, care for them in sadness and share with them their gladness, be the strength they need in any way you can. Know that they are appreciative even when they are left without the words to express it. Be the friend you would want to have by your side.
And in case they don't say it out loud, I will say it here and now; 'thank you' for being there for them. A digital salute to each and every one of you. Merci!

Little Winning

Tiny triumphs. That is today's incipient theme. 

Going merrily about my daily routine (or at least, with as much cheer as one can muster at 06:30 on a Tuesday...), I came to put on my jewellery for the day and discovered I had reached a stumbling block: the tangle of necklaces that would undoubtedly hinder my progress. With a sigh, I set to unravelling the metallic weave and endeavouring to retrieve the chain of choice. A few minutes went by, and I was at the point of giving up hope for the day and doing without when my stubborn streak kicked in. Sure enough, competitive nature won through - I was able to detangle the entire knot without too much of a delay. I felt a small wave of elation, for as minor as this win may have been (and I am under no illusion as to the grandeur of my achievement, fear not) it still helped me start the day well and without grudge or gripe. Other such recent events to help set the day up for a smile have included a waitress defending her bar and its patrons' possessions from young thieves, who intended to pinch whatever possible (including, oddly, my soggy brolly which was quietly dripping by the door) until they were magnificently thwarted by the valiant lady and her relentless shooing. On a less tangible note, there was also a rallying unison during the recent metro strikes, with disgruntled citizens coming together to help each other into/out of the melee... Tube strike uniting old and young alike, all for one and one for all - the crowd turning itself inside out to aid and abet fellow journeyers as they conquer the metro's defiant delays and amassing hordes. It is surprising how oft the train thus transforms itself, how fine the line between a collected assortment of unknown individuals and a group come together through the sharing of an attitude, idea, purpose, or even just a smile... A random chap begins a series of owl noises, and the surrounding carriage feels a fleeting unison as shy grins are exchanged for understanding glances, and all social walls are momentarily broken by his harmless yet untoward behaviour. This type of practice is uncommon, for it is not the done thing to smile at those we do not know. It implies a level of 'more'. At what age do we stop appreciating each other simply for being human beings born into this world? It is deemed perfectly acceptable to smile at children, babies especially, waving at them in their prams or rewarding their very existence with a grin or even a treat. Yet to do this to youths or adults would be rather frowned upon. Bizarre.
I, for one, would like to take the time here and now to say that humanity is pretty darn awesome. The ways in which we come through for each another, as much in the everyday tiny assistance as in grand gesture scale of things, are quite remarkable. From the mundane such as holding doors for complete strangers that extra second longer just because they are older or heavily laden, to friendly off-hand compliments slipped in unexpectedly, brightening your day with a few simple words. 

But I digress. True, I love the way we humankind help each other out, yadda yadda. The point of today's musings, however, was to revel in the delight of everyday occurrences that are in themselves unremarkable, but which compositely get you out on the right side of the metaphorical bed. The most basic of these is invariably weather-related for most of us: the sun coming out suddenly elevates moods and spirits, especially when unexpected. And on the odd occasion that this sparks a rainbow, let alone a full one, why then the joy just keeps on spreading, doesn't it?! Like the sky is leaking happy. Or something like that. Leastways, my personal favourite aspect thereof is not the plethora of colour dazzling the skies (for somehow, no matter how old, I always, always want to chase it and see about that pesky mythical leprechaun... thanks, Dad, for the horseplay of that disappointing impossibility. Just like the tomfoolery regarding mountain sheep, which do not, in fact, have two legs shorter than the others if they go in the same direction for too long. Ahh childhood naivety. Thank heavens I never checked to see about the removal of 'gullible' from the dictionary. Moving swiftly on.) - no, the quirk that floats my particular boat in this scenario is - I was recently delighted to learn - known as 'petrichor'; the smell of the earth after the rain. Natural bliss. 

In slightly less hippie ideals, there are many more silver linings to be appreciated in life. Favourite songs being played on the radio, finding all the right ingredients you need already in the cupboard, mixing together two terrible-tasting drinks to get rid of them... and creating a delicious cocktail, re-starting a batch of cakes and STILL having enough ingredients, having to kill time waiting for someone and happening across a replete little watering hole to while away the delay, getting to the end of the month and realising you have just enough to pull together a meal or make ends meet to tide you over until the next big weekly shop. Dream. 

It doesn't all have to be about happenstance either - you can, to an extent, premeditate your mini-good fortune: stashing away a twenty in a wallet crevice to be discovered at a later date, overdoing it a tad at the gym so that you can award yourself some sneaky booze or chocolate (NB I am not, of course, advocating nor indeed admitting to any such healthcare regime...), planning out your week a little so that you have time to do the things you want to do, saying yes to new opportunities or events because they sound like good fun, without feeling you have to (riskily) wait for a group approval to participate. This weekend, I went solo to a street concert (compadres were disabled by varying degrees of hangover, poor mites), and the result was I had a whale of a time. Ambling around the city in the sunshine, not impelled to anyone or anything, pitches a delightfully nomadic freedom and bestows the tantalising gift of possibility: of adventures waiting to happen, secrets to be unveiled, felicity to be found in heretofore uncharted waters. Well; go forth and prosper, say I... 

Odds and Ends

Life is full of humorous daily oddities. We do not have to critically analyse each and every thing that crosses our path to discover them; we merely ought to be open-minded about what we stumble across, ready to be amused, interested, or even inspired, when presented with the right stimuli. Life proffers up such gems every day, we merely have to keep an eye out. 

A few examples that have tickled a smile from me recently:
- a Westie dog out for a walk in the park wearing a leather jacket
- bagpipe practice, again in the [same] park
- a woman trying to get through airport security with four large hold-alls of hand luggage, and not one, not two, but three of the exact same straw hat precariously perched atop her head
- my own dear mother trying to make a snow angel in a nigh-on vertical bank of snow
- seeing the inside of an escalator during its annual cleaning (not so much funny as very mildly fascinating, and so rare a feat that its strangeness and my privilege sparked the smile in this case)

And the best part is, these kinds of weird and wonderful things don't have to be from personal experience - swap such a story with a friend and there's double the fun already. A friend recently told me her flatmate, a tea-making novice, was concerned because the kettle had 'run out of water' and would therefore need replacing...

The internet, too, is a marvellous source for all manner of tiny crazies - this week alone there's been:
- a video about a homeless, toothless man who can make his moustache dance in extraordinary ways
- an intriguing etymological explanation of the term "piss poor"
- a play-off between an American subway busker and a saxophonist on his way home
- a story about an Argentine chap, enraged because the pair of toy poodles he'd purchased turned out to actually be none other than ferrets on steroids. Delightful.

So, dear reader, I beg of you not to become disenamoured by life... It has so many charming quirks to appreciate - lend a cynical eye where you will, just don't write yourself off to being too close-minded to notice...

There's a Spring in my step

One for sorrow, two for joy... 
Spring has finally sprung, the sun has deigned to grace us with some shine, and the world seems a better and brighter place than this time yesterday as a result. Who'd've thought, eh?! Just turning up the sky wattage has coaxed us out of shells and coats alike here in Madrid, and although there is a lingering chill from the vestiges of winter (it was only yesterday, after all...), sleeves are already getting shorter, and the sunglasses are most definitely out. Bravo.
Nature, too, is reveling in this joyous occasion: a birdsong soundtrack and cherry blossom backdrop enhance the scenery; buds bloom offstage, waiting for their chance to burst forth with colour; magpies are but one of the birds taking to the stage of courtship, with glossy wing and gleaming eye belying their romantic intent... Nudge nudge wink wink say no more.  
But my absolute favourite moment of this first springtime day was the glow of sunset's caress as it made the buildings blush... That pure Mediterranean radiance as the fading light strikes facades for one last hurrah, windows winking and twilight blowing kisses from the horizon. The orange aura never fails to impress, tracing steps of contentment across the day's end, setting it to rights just nicely. The dusky violet haze left behind in its wake reflects the serenity of the evening, and the intensity of the clear night sky to follow can inspire even the mildest of star-gazers to level up in their philosophy, and ponder some deep thought or other. Possibly. But let's just say that either way it looks darn pretty. 

Now I'm not saying that all this is hereon out a guarantee: nay, I would not dare to be so naive - chances are we'll be back to drizzle before we know it. It is, however, a rather nice little trailer for the season ahead, and my appetite for warmer weather and balmy breezes has been well and truly whetted, to say the least. Bring it on. And in other news, thank goodness the seasons are finally changing, because I really fancy a picnic. 

Spring also brings with it the wonderful opportunity for change. Spring cleaning, as one of our adopted seasonal traditions, can be the perfect excuse to begin a new chapter in life: habits are easier to keep without the overhanging gloom of winter; outdoor exercise becomes a probability rather than vague possibility (and just as well!); new pastimes are dreamt up (usually involving the park, it seems); and moods are generally inclined to be as light and bright as the weather. Pathetic fallacy eat your heart out. 

So I say this: decide how you want your spring to go, and do your utmost to at least start it off that way, with as positive an attitude as can be dredged up from the dinge of the wintery blues. Your sunshine may be hiding just around the corner, or it may well play hide-and-seek for a little while - or if you're in my beloved Britain, well, then, who knows if it will ever stick around, so good luck ! - but you can still make the most of the shift in your world's emotional kilter and work it to your advantage. Go forth, be merry, frolic like a fieldful of lambs, or just take a second to appreciate whatever side of it floats your boat... From hot crossed buns to daffodils to the fluffiest chicks you ever did see, spring is indeed a wonderful thing. 

(Don't) Rain On My Parade...

They say that old habits die hard. Well I'm starting to find that new ones are just the same. I have recently begun to adopt the charming Madrileñan habit of sizing everyone up on the metro, giving them a good staring to see what they'd opted for - possibly even giving the gracious nod of approval favoured here that doesn't in the least bit seem patronising whatsoever! (I jest, of course, but it does appear to be somewhat of a national pastime.) I am now almost unable to cease. 

But it resulted that my tendency towards colour in clothing = frowned upon. Brown is to the Madrileña as black is to the Parisienne. Let's just say the coral raincoat currently in my possession attracts more than a passing glance because it's too darn bright and happy in stark contrast with the humble taupes, tans, and other such suave and sombre shades. But I just can't resist - any chance to brighten up a grey wintery day... 

The one saving grace here, therefore, is the sea of umbrellas that pops open amid the puddles, little personal rooves of all colours and sizes, a sea of technicolour canvas. It brightens up the drizzle with an uncomplicated grace, ebbing and flowing as its' bearers weave their way about town. For a city so daubed in serene elegance and subtle tones, the affinity towards bright brollies is a sight to behold. Dream. 

And so I marched on with my own brightly-coloured 'bumbershoot' (rumour has it we Brits are to thank for this word - definitely not as far as I can tell, but a marvellous manipulation of the English tongue it is too!) proudly held high against the downpour, and quietly rejoiced to myself in the merriment of the melée. Next time you're dodging the droplets why not glance about to appreciate these little splashes of colour: sure, they're not a real sunshine-induced rainbow, but they're far more tangible than any leprechaun pot of gold, that's for certain! 

Faith, trust, and a little bit of pixie dust...

One of my philosophies in life is that I may not agree with what you have to say, but I will surely defend your right to say it. (Well, just so long as 'it' isn't going to cause harm to others. That doesn't sit too well.) 

This does not, however, mean that from time to time I don't resent the selected manner of delivery in sharing said opinion. If the content of the message, be it in line with my own views or not, is being etched into someone's metaphorical skin, then I would have to draw the line, and kindly request the orator back the heck off. Or at least adopt a less aggressive tone. Or maybe I would merely tut at them. Mentally. But you get the gist. 

Well, the same situation played out today, on the metro. There we were, minding our own business, in blissful ignorance of each other's trials and tribulations, calmly respecting the codes of polite train conduct, when suddenly, a wild religionist appears. (Denomination shall remain un-stated, though feel free to imagine away and pin whatever assumptions you may choose to this scenario.) Needless to say, she had the faith. Up and down the carriage she went, preaching her morals, sermons, observations, and whatever else she fancied. Some folk turned away, some pretended not to hear, some turned a vaguely attentive ear. Headphoned-up as I was, I initially assumed it was just an unusually loud conversation within the carriage. Then, as it dawned on me that the voice was getting louder and seemed a tad pointed, I realised the source of the mêlée, and paid a little more attention. Not particularly because I was interested in what she was saying, but because there was something in her manner that implied she actually had so much faith in what she was saying that she really wasn't bothered what people thought of her and whether they were listening to her, she wasn't trying to convince us of nor sell her beliefs, she merely wanted to share them with us. It wasn't about her message, but her passion. That's the inspiring part here. She wasn't going about it in a harmful or offensive way, and we perfectly well had the choice to ignore her to our hearts' content. And as I stood up to disembark the train at my stop, she happened to be departing too. And do you know what? She carried on talking right the way through the door, and onto the platform. Off she shuffled, proclaiming away and quite happy to be doing so, thank you very much. That level of dedication and devotion was what drew me, not her words, and I think the lesson one could learn would be this: that if you're going to have a cause, a passion, a love, or even just a penchant for something, well then you might as well go whole hog and do it properly. There was no beating about the bush where this devotee was concerned, she just dove right in and got on with it. No need to worry about the impracticalities of orating whilst exiting a train, not when she had such conviction and movement to her cause that she wanted to offer its message to all and sundry. That, my friends, is the power of belief. And wouldn't a society without belief be a drab prospect indeed?! 

P is for Party

As you may already have gleaned from previous entries, or indeed thine own wisdom on the subject, Spain is prone to partying, and requires little in the way of excuses to do just that. This weekend bears no exception. 
I learned but two days ago that this was to be some form of carnival weekend, and sure enough I was not disappointed to see revellers bedecked in guise and glitter, making merry about the city. Now, this is nothing to be sneered at. Make no mistake, had I not had previous arrangements to be upheld, I would more than likely have been costuming up and taking to the streets to join my fellow party-goers. Nevertheless, my reason for writing to you today, dear readers, is as follows: if there's cause for festivity, be it a socialite soiree or simply a shindig, you might as well make the most of it. Celebrate life as it goes along, and join in the fun as and when. Don't be afraid to raid the fancy-dress box every once in a while, or put on your glam-rags, or even just go out when you'd 'probably' have just as nice an evening at home with a cuppa in front of the telly. For shame. (I am not disputing that this is not a very viable course of behaviour, I am a big fan thereof myself, I am merely championing the more pro-active convivial option at this point.) At the very least, it certainly makes for a good hearty tale to tell afterward! 

And, without wanting to lower the tone on any supposed level of eloquence, here is a little ditty to help you remember the above advice, from whence came the title: 

[To be 'chanted' in a mildly aggressive American tone. Yes, you heard. Apologies.]

P is for party, and
A is for alright (alright!) 
R is for rowdy*, and
T is for tonight (tonight!) 
Y is for you, and you know what to do, so
Paaaarrdaaay! (Don't let your momma know) 
Paaaarrdaaay! ('Cause she won't let you go) 

*I learnt this 'song' with the substitution of ready for rowdy, and a few variations on the bracketed forms. Ad lib as you will; I suspect the message is clear.  

Parklife

Part 1: In the gloaming

This one goes out to all the When In Romers... Having taken up running last year, and wanting to continue that habit post-relocation, I endeavoured to find a good circuit in the walkable neighbourhood shortly after moving in. And lo, there 'twas, a newly developed riverside park complete with wheel-friendly paths, some truly admirable landscaping, and a good deal of activity equipment to make even the surliest child crack a grin... Dream. Thus, I donned my jogging attire and set out. The more I ran, the more I realised that I was becoming part of a mass movement - the park life. There are different levels to this animation: some folk are just out for a simple stroll, others yearn for greater velocity and thus take to their trainers or wheels, whilst a select few are hell-bent on a personal best, and will dodge, duck, dip, dive, and dodge their way through and around the dawdlers as best they might. I fall into this second category: not that I'm not content to amble about at my leisure, rather I admit I unabashedly use the park to slake my cardiovascular needs. 
Well, to begin with I was quite satiated by a good run a couple of times a week. If the sun were out I would go out more frequently. Wonderful! My workload was upped, but I mercifully I discovered that, in fact, my favourite time to run was chasing the sunset across the park, trying to race it home and beat the dark... The twilight hour changed everything - the intensity, the spirit, the emotion: the carefree gallivant became a purposeful stride, children were being taken home instead of taken out to play, bats began to dance across the darkness while the moths played with the street-lamps. And best of all, the sweet scent of sun-kissed earth lingered in the air, as it only can in warmer climes. Well, that, and there was the added touch of a cleanly bleach-like fragrance of the detergents floating down the river. (On a tangent, some have quibbled the latter, protesting as to the safety of the poor defenceless ducks who deign to paddle on in from time to time. Yet, this was negated by some science bods, and all is well in the world. Personally, I quite like it. It has that magnificent illicit bouquet of something not-really-supposed-to-be-inhaled, like marker pens or turpentine. Yummy.) Anyway, back on point - there was also a sporadic whiff of lavender, casually sedating the senses of any and all who wandered past, inducing a yet further sense of tranquility, aided and abetted by the chuckling of the river as it gurgled over the ornamental dams. 
And all of this to a rainbow myriad backdrop as the sunlight's final caresses make windows beam and clouds blush... The dazzle of liquid gold spilled across facades illuminates the faces of those in its vicinity, inspiring a momentary amnesia of reasons for angst and ire, and a fleeting acknowledgment of awe and admiration. 
To summarise: park = yes. At sunset, a thousand times yes. And please sir, can I have some more? 


Part 2: If you can't beat 'em, join 'em! 

That was all fine and dandy until I realised my envy of those whooshing past on personally-powered wheels (be they blades, skates, boards, bikes, prams... well not so much, but you catch my drift) would not be abated. I kitted myself out, and, fully equipped, made a bee-line for the park. This was to be the start of a beautiful friendship... 
Two months down the line - and although shamefully I must own to still not having learnt how to stop - I remain quite happily in the honeymoon phase with both park and wheels. The fact is, I am still doing the same quantity of exercise as before, if not more. But I'm willing to put more effort in, and go more often, because it's just darn good fun. I have also convinced others to join me in this persuasion, thus killing two birds with one, more sociable, (rolling) stone. (Geddit.) (Oh dear.) 
So I suppose this has brought me nicely to a well-rounded moral: if there is something you really ought to do, but which doesn't quite whet your appetite as is, explore it in other forms, styles, or mediums, until you should discover the float for your boat. Here, in such a pursuit, I once again decided to indulge my inner child, and following a common trend turned out to be an inspired way of transforming my exercise routine. As you can see from Part 1, it wasn't that I didn't enjoy running, rather the opposite. Physical activity remained, however, much more of a chore, until there were rollerblades involved. Now, it's honestly a delight. So I advocate rifling through your options, and using whatever you can to turn your tasks - not just exercise, but any assignment or burden that might benefit from such a transformation - from tedious to terrific. What are you waiting for?!

"Why Not?"

January once again. Looking around at the start of this, another 'new' year, it is unsurprisingly possible to see the familiar pattern of unrealistic self-challenges being set, and sadly, more often than not, discarded, all in the name of another new beginning. Gymmers, healthy eaters, non-smokers, non-drinkers, drink-lessers, drink-the-same-amount-but-of-milder-stuff-ers, runners, walk-to-workers, losing-weighters... the list goes on. This time, I myself am not conforming to this archaic ritual of trying to impose upon myself some new delusive habit for all of two or three days before I bow to the pressure and resume my former ways just with a smidgeon more self-loathing... I have decided simply to carry on as before, perhaps with a tad more moderation but otherwise living the life of Riley. Or of myself, as I do not actually know the aforementioned Riley nor how he lives, and so cannot bear testimony, but I'm quite happy with my lot and I'll thankfully try to keep it that way. 
I found to my bemusement, however, that my subconscious apparently had different ideas: whilst out with some Spaniards for yet another festival - they will use any excuse for a good party! - I was informed that my catchphrase is apparently "ah, why not?!". Now, although this has led to many an amusing shenanigan (and quite possibly one or two hangovers, I won't deny) it does in fact summarise the epitome of my mantra: life is for living. Rather than fret the minor consequences - and needless to say, here I'm not advocating illegal or harmful behaviour - just go for it. Say yes. Do it. And enjoy the heck out of it. 
A friend was celebrating her birthday yesterday and decided she wanted two different cakes, so that's what we had. Why not? Another was umming and ahhing about coming to join us for the weekend, and after a hearty round of 'why not?' he ditched the dithering and had a whale of a time. Voila. I don't mean to say that you should give up on things you have resolved to do, quite the opposite - I'm a keen bean for sticking to your word on things - but that if you're offered an opportunity, go with your gut reaction, and if that says go for it, then why not do it. Chances are it won't come round again. Plan the trip you've been meaning to have, run that marathon, buy the bike and use it to go to work each morning (and back again evening, I suppose, might be wise at any rate), eat the extra pudding if you're really craving it (but maybe hit the gym afterwards if you fall into the lose-weighter category, for obvious reasons), ride the bumper cars at 5am... Whatever the occasion calls for, but don't save it for a special occasion or deny yourself too often, as you're only really cheating yourself. Love a little bit harder, smile a little bit wider, and live a little bit larger. After all, why not?! 

'Tis the season to be jolly!

A pinch and a punch (or maybe a bowl of mulled wine rather than punch?!) for the first of the month... 

Lo, December is upon us! And it brings with it good tidings and pretty lights. Dream. Once again the shops have been chomping at the bit to engage us in festive spirit (and spending) since about mid-August, but this year I for one have staunchly refused to budge. My pent-up yuletide joy is brimming over today, and so with the start of Advent comes the start of the celebrations. Lambrusco whilst cooking lunch, Christmas tunes blasting out, a giddy sense of glee at the prospect of seeing the city's fairy lights and decorations, and going-ice skating, and buying presents, and going home for the holidays... yes, it is most definitely that time of year once again. And so glad I am of that fact! 

Sure, these particular winter holidays are expensive, fattening, quite often tiring: and afterwards the prospect of a distinct lack of such exciting activity is a tad bleak, especially as we are usually confined to our homes in the long month of January due to excessive expenditure in December, but hey! It's worth it. Love and be loved. Be happy, merry, and jolly. Enjoy yourself and the company of those you care for, and delight in the joy the season extends. If you're the Scrooging type, well, then it'll all be over soon, so might as well make a go of it while it's here. And if not, then all the better for you, and continue to seize the opportunity whole-heartedly and with seasonal spirit. Have a mince pie, a glass of mull, put on a carol or two, and festive-cheer the heck out of this month! 


Please note: glad tidings too to those who do not celebrate Christmas. This is just my personal merriment and not a commentary on societal behaviour nor what we should follow... to each his own - I just hope that each enjoys what he or she is doing, and shares the love. Happy winter-time joy-spreading, everyone! 

Tache-tastic

Well, well. It's that time again, folks - the period when it suddenly becomes acceptable to sport an otherwise antisocial amount of facial hair and all in the name of charity. Or at least to try, anyway. 'Movember' is fantastic. Not only is it embracing a trend some people have shunned - (myself included, in the past: I'm all for that rugged look, but scratchy lower-face hair is often uncomfortable for the wearer, and, in my case, the 'kissee') - but it encourages styling and grooming alongside, resulting in less hobo more handlebar. And to top it all off, it's helping others. WIN. 

The styles adopted vary from person to person (according to their ability to sprout facial hair and the effort they put into maintenance thereof), but sadly it is not a trend that has caught on yet here on the [European] continent. I did glimpse a chap with a terrific wizard beard on the metro yesterday, to which I would doff my invisible hat time and time again... not sure if he was slightly odd and with semi-secret Merlin-esque tendencies, getting some serious preparation in for 'Decembeard', or just a legend. Either way, bravo, sir! 

Having seen some pretty impressive moustachery in my time, including a wonderful handlebar on a jazz musician that must have taken a great deal of time and effort to nurture (again, I salute you!), I am most pleased that the humble moustache has made the leap back to its former self as an iconic symbol: from once being a historic badge of status and power, it crept further and further away to the realms of society's outskirts, but is now re-emerging triumphant. The fact that it in doing so it is providing some benefit to others is simply marvellous.

Sure, I'm still not desperately inclined to get up close and personal with any myself, and I'd rather the clean-shaven, or ideally, slightly rough shadowy look on a man, but that said, I bow down with utmost respect for this art form of charitable male grooming. 

I only ask that we not stray too far past this current stage. Any more face-hair-related months would be overkill. And, quite frankly, the thought of 'Septembrows' is disturbing to say the least... 

The Witching Hour

Isn't there something wonderful in being up and about in the early morning hours (sans drunken stupor of course)?! Alright, so I suppose I'm referring more to the state of already being up at that time, either at the end of a night or for some ulterior purpose, say during a journey, or to stargaze, or some other such motive, rather than the act of having to get up early-bird style for work... The latter in itself is, I concede, a chore, but once up there's nothing to stop you making the most of things and appreciating the dawn. 
At this hour, country-dwellers are blessed with an infinite of stars to behold, whilst their urban compatriots have the surreal wonders of a sleeping city. The eerie calm that steals across the land for those precious few hours around 3am (or 5am if we're on the continent) turns the working world into a hazy memory, a mirage in the distance of "tomorrow"...

And seemingly anything becomes possible in the twilight. We are more daring: despite our minds' increased sense of paranoia, insisting on offering any and every danger as a what-happens-next scenario, we brave the night and journey on. We dare to dream: what the future has in store for us what we might like to do, given the chance, who we might be with for each of the above... We are more prone to ponder life's great questions - and what's more, we're like to find clarification at this tranquil hour over most others without their busy frenzy of distractions. It is a time for thought, for musing, for gazing and seeking, and, hopefully, finding. 

Gradually, the sun begins to peep over the horizon, and so either we head to bed to rest our weary heads, or we face the day ahead with that edge of perspective that only one who's seen the day's sunrise can have (be it of clarity and wisdom, or merely a smugness and entitlement to gripe for having been up the longest... either way). Evidently this idea does not hold the same romantic charm on a rainy day, so far be it from me to oblige philosophical wanderings during a 4am downpour. No siree. But what I'm saying is that if or when you do find yourself in the limbo that lies in wait between dusk and dawn, use the surreality to gain perspective over your own affairs, appreciate the certainty of the sun breaking into a new day, make your decisions and resolutions and then go out and stick to them. 

The morals of this story are: 
Live well the day you're given, and love what you're living. 
If you don't like it, change it, and if you don't change it, like it! 

So I say thank you for the music

On a run around the park last week, I reached the point where I just wanted to give up. Despite the encroaching winter, the sun was hot on my face, and my feet decided that they quite simply had had enough. End of. And thus I ground to a halt. It was only when skipping aimlessly through songs and a feel-good tune suddenly came on that I realised I could in fact continue and finish my run (and thank goodness for that!) so on I slogged and made it back home in one piece. 

Today I therefore want to pay homage to the miracle that is music. 

It is an art form unlike any other, as it flits between visual and aural, across many media, it varies from place to place yet it is found in each and every pocket of the world. It can be created with nothing or with a whole host of instruments, technologies, or anything at all really... Even with lyrics it can be understood through the sentiment of the notes themselves - yet the very same notes in a different order, rhythm, or speed might belay an entirely different feeling. And no matter how much music is composed, it seems that day in, day out, there is so much more just waiting to be discovered.  

One of the things I find most intriguing about music is its ability to shift moods. Just one song can completely turn your day around - if you're feeling a bit down because things aren't going your way, a long-forgotten favourite can put a smile back on your face and brighten up the afternoon, for example. But more than that, just a few notes put together a certain way can evoke such deep feelings as to bring a tear, a smile, a tug of the heartstrings... Furthermore, it is used to heighten the emotions of film - if you imagine watching Jaws without that soundtrack of suspense and horror but with some pan pipes or 90s pop or country music instead, do you think gripping terror would still reign? Somehow I doubt it... Similarly if it were not Hans Zimmer's emotive soundtrack over the concluding scenes of Gladiator but the dulcit tones (and here I use the term with just a smidgeon of irony) of Justin Bieber or Miley Cyrus, for example, I think there'd be a good chance of rating turning to slating. Or not - whatever floats your boat.
But the overall message is that when you're a bit low, you can always use music to help lift your spirits. And when you're happy, well it just makes things even sweeter! For me, it's all about soundtracking life. I love to put some music on when cooking and travelling, and it helps keep me sunny-side-up. Dancing round the kitchen, spatula in hand, blasting out some 80s classics, or doing the washing up and humming along to some acoustic chillout... Club beats are best kept for prepping for nights out, whilst classical music works well as a background for dinners or whilst working. Big band jazz or poppy 50s/60s is great to bop along to during the household chores, and 90s music is always good. Have a dabble, try out some new bands, see what works for you... maybe you'll make some discoveries or rediscoveries along the way! 

Music is also an immense vessel for memory. Emotions flow through it in the present, certainly, and can inspire such profound feelings at the time of listening, but a melody can also hark back to times gone by, and elicit the sentiment felt at the time, either from the listener or from the subject of the piece. You don't have to have lived the events or situations described by the music to relate to the emotions behind it, and that's what makes it so powerful. What's more, it can be months, years, decades, centuries even before the song is heard again and it can still have the same capacity for inspiration. And, I suppose, linked to this is the fact that a musical moment or a particular song can trigger memories from your own past, emotions relating to people, certain times of your life, even down to very moments themselves... And no matter where we hear the song or what we are doing, for a fleeting second we are transported back to that other point and for better or worse we recall what passed and relive it once more. Magic. 

And one of the best things about music is its ability to connect people. No matter who you are or what your musical taste, there's always going to be someone who shares your opinions and someone else who doesn't - but that's the beauty of it. It can create surprising unions and break down barriers like nothing else - and now more than ever there are so many varieties and fusions that it's impossible not to like something accessible... Yes, there are still and probably will always be particular genres and groups adhering to the stereotypes thereof, but they aren't limiting. Obviously you can decide for yourself to stay within a particular area of music, and that's fine - it's good to know what you like and enjoy it. Maybe you even play music yourself, so you have something in common with others who do the same. Playing an instrument or singing or even recording your own digital music is a great way of meeting new people and making new friends, I heartily condone it! It's passion in itself to express yourself through a musical form, such that it probably brings you closer than most if you connect to someone else through that music. 
But the point is that no-one can govern your music tastes, you're free to make your own choices, and there's just so much to choose from that you can have all your cakes and eat them too! You shape your own musical life, and right down to a day-to-day or even minute-to-mintue basis - all you have to do is just change your tune... 

The bottom line is: if music be the food of love, play on! 

If it walks like a duck and talks like a duck... it wants to be a duck, so let it be a duck!

This one goes out to all the wannabes out there... 
I, for one, am currently doing my utmost to blend in with the locals here in Spain. This is no mean feat, as despite my best efforts, my frequent butchering of the language and quite blatant lack of natural 'latin' attitude soon become painstakingly apparent. Which serves to render me all the more flustered and I this commit even more crimes against the Spanish tongue. (Mierda.)
Yet all is not lost, as fortunately there are still those who will take pity on a bumbling Brit and relish the chance either to practice whatever English they've picked up along the way or at the very least give zealous correction of the many linguistic errors made. 
The ultimate triumph for me, however, did not come in sophisticated conversation with a handsome stranger (alas!), nor bantering with the locals in the bar, nor even in finally achieving the blissful art of the siesta, but in being able to understand and be understood by a three-year-old (well, for the most part anyway). The awesome ramblings of a Spanish toddler - or one of any other nationality, as it happens - are difficult enough to comprehend with a language in common. So imagine my delight when I found that I had substantially mastered this second language to follow (again, most of) his chatter, and thus try to answer his inspired questions - with a lack of response on my part hereby indicating the difficulty of providing an adequate answer to a child's inquisition rather than linguistic fault for once. 
I would therefore like to impress upon you, dear reader, that should there be something you'd like to do, somewhere you'd like to go, or more importantly, someone you'd like to be, and you have the opportunity to put it into practice, then go for it! Take that chance, try your hardest, and enjoy it while you do. If it's within the realms of your human capability (and is not harmful to others) then you should make every effort to realise your dreams, for, as they say, life doesn't have a dress rehearsal... This is it. Feel it, believe it, love it, eat it, think it, see it, be it, do it while you can. And take a few moments each day to enjoy what you're feeling, believing, loving, eating, thinking, seeing, being, doing, as who knows if or when it'll happen that way again! It's all very well and good planning for the future or reflecting on the past, but if we spend all our minutes thus occupied we'll forget to actually live life itself... Once again, I find myself coming back to repeat my mantra, but here it is anyway: carpe diem. Be yourself, as nobody else will do it for you. (Unless your name is Elvis Presley, in which case I think there are a few people who'd like to have a word...) Go out and live your life the way you'd like to live it, and make the most of what you've got and what comes your way. Work hard, play hard, live hard. And don't forget to smile! 

A tale of two cities...

Of all the gin joints in all the world... Actually, all the gin joints currently seem to be in Madrid. It's the latest thing, apparently. (I suppose they feel they've been missing out on good ole G+T and want to make up for lost time - and hats off to that!) But that's another story. The tale I wish to tell is that of global citizenship. People across the world still love and care for one another, there's no doubt about it. And despite our differences, it's always possible to make new friends in the strangers you come across, even in far-off lands, as they accept you into their lives. With some, it's down to a mild interest in your differences and similarities. For others, it means welcoming you into their homes and families with open arms. Either way (or anywhere in between) it's apparent that life is too short to keep our distance, we have to make the most of whatever and whoever comes our way, and if that means being a bit more open to life's passers-by then so be it (within the limits of personal security, naturally). You will, I'm sure, be familiar with the ditty 'if life gives you lemons [insert positive turnaround here]' - well I'm saying 'if life gives you new friends, share your lemonade/tequila slammers/[lemon-based product] with them and enjoy the heck out of it all... 'Do unto others' would be another way of putting it - if you'd want you and yours to be accepted and treated well when in a new place, then make sure to do the same within your own realm. 

But on a lighter note, my current blithe musings are as follows: it seems that no matter where you go in the world (potentially with the exception of that as-yet uninhabited corner of deepest darkest peru, naturally), there are people patterns - there are incredibly similar habits and the same set of residents repeated in every city. 
Take, for example, the subterranean train system. In it, you'll find the one listening to music, the one napping, the one reading (quite often a girl worryingly absorbed in the latest trashy fad novel), the one with small children and sometimes the one who dares engage these tots in play (great fun wind the little mites up and leave them in the ever-capable hands of their parents. Win!), the one playing with their phone, the foreigner, the ones overdressed, underdressed, dressed in quite frankly bizarre concoctions of outfit... And with frequent use, you'll inevitably end up crammed in like sardines one day, and breathing free and easy the next. Go figure. But that's by the bye. The folks within are effectively still one and the same, just with a handful of new names, and a different way of talking. 

So the next time you're out and about in a new place, be it, or not, your own country, take a sneaky glance at the people around you (and here I mean subtly as opposed to furtively, we are not trying to be creepy nor appear to dabble in espionage) and just see if you can see your friends/family/colleagues reflected in the faces of those you come across. Perhaps one day, you'll even meet yourself... who knows? 

And this season, it's all about maroon.

I'm excited. In the not-too-distant future I will be moving abroad (life win!) and starting a new job, and I just can't wait. The thrill of the unknown combines with the prospect of starting afresh, being able to recolour my life any which way I please, sparking a shiver of anticipation at the thought... Giddy ideas ensue. What to do? Where to explore? Who to meet? What to buy, eat, drink, watch, hear, see? How to feel? 

Going away to a new place always presents challenges and opportunities galore. Clearly, some element of planning is necessary to ensure a safe transition, yet the most fun is to be had in discovering the hidden gems that only its residents would know about, and meeting a local character or two. Certainly, I'm going to miss my old haunts and my day-to-day people - friends, family, familiar faces - but it'll be wonderful to find some new ones.

And (packing for) all this change nicely coincides with the gear of the 'new season' arriving in shops across the city. September's colours and heavier cloths remind us that autumn and then winter are on their way, that we should be thinking about the things to come, wrapping up warm, opting for scarves instead of shades. I'm not going to go down the Christmas route as I'm in favour of getting excited for that when the time is right (December, and not before!) - but there are always things to brighten up the post-summer darkening. For those with late-year birthdays, result! It's nearly your turn. For those without, there's always fireworks season, the joys of mulling (a warm cider or wine is always a fine treat on a nippy day), the colour of the canopies ready to drop, and subsequent crispy foliage ready and waiting to be stomped in or thrown about, the absolute joy that is a snow day (need I say more?), being able to justify hot chocolate to warm the cockles from the cold, a blazing fireside or candelit window, curling up in a blanket with a good book, even just giving the long-forgotten winter coat a new lease of life... Bring it, winter. We're ready and waiting.

Giving something back. Quid pro bono?

’Tis the season to be generous, fa la la la... Actually, I’m a firm believer of giving what you can when you can, and that charity comes around full circle. ‘Do unto others...,’ yadda yadda.
Following the ‘Yes Man’ philosophy can certainly have its drawbacks – in terms of time and location constraints, let alone financially speaking! – but it does come with a sense of liberation. The knowledge that you may have helped someone or brightened up their day even the tiniest bit is soul-soothing indeed. You may well say ‘but I simply do not have the time, the patience, the energy!’ – but it is not about giving so much of yourself away that barely anything remains for you and yours. Generosity is shown in wishing someone a nice day (and meaning it!), in sharing a smile with a stranger (okay, not the creepy ones, but you get the gist), in donating leftover change, in waiting the extra second to hold the door for someone, in offering assistance or advice to the person in a pickle...
And no matter how full your plate, trust me, it is always worth saying yes if you do have the option to help someone out: this summer I ended up agreeing to four entirely separate projects scattered about the country (only the first of which was reimbursed). Upon realising what lay in store, my initial reaction went something along the lines of 'oh. dear. what have I done...' and I was regretting the quagmire of volunteer-based efforts to be required over the subsequent weeks. Yet I was rewarded with irreplacable experiences each and every time - definitely worth the slog!

For me, though, it's all about saying the unspoken thank yous, repaying the kindness shown over the years, both to you individually and to your world in general. It's about respecting the world we live in and all its people, and it's about looking out for those to come. It's about setting the best example possible for generations to come, and doing our best with what we've got. But this is starting to sound frightfully hippie, so let's just say we'll do what we can, and enjoy it regardless.