$8 million? That'd be looming marvellous, thanks

So I see this week that Cheong Choon Ng has pocketed himself a neat $80m and consequently, being relatively skint of pocket and much endowed of time, I am not only much jealous (oozingly jealous to be frank), but also wondering what I can be doing to emulate such success, and pronto. 'But who is Cheong Choon Ng?' I hear you cry dear reader! And what has he done to amass not only such a vast fortune, but indeed dear Sophie's eternal jealously. Well, let me explain to the uninitiated out there, for I myself could be counted among your number quite recently.

To be put simply Cheong Choon Ng is the scourge of parents, health & safety officers and teachers the world over. He, my friend, is the inventor of a recent craze called the Loom Band. Now, if you are anything like myself, by which I mean footloose, fancy free and unencumbered by small biologically derivative persons, then you may not yet be aware of this craze that is sweeping the playgrounds of the globe in a fever of elasticated frenzy, and even less so its inventor. So let me explain...

Loom bands are basically cheap, multi coloured elastic bands which anyone with the dextrous fingers of a 5 year old (or an underweight hipster model) weave together on a board to form a wrist band, key fob, or any number of stretchy, multicoloured, elastic products one can think of.  Apparently (well according to the Daily Mail) they have TAKEN OVER THE WORLD with even Duchess 'hold the front page cos she's only gone and got herself a new dress from Zara' of Cambridge sporting one. Mr million dollar Ng invented said board, apparently in an attempt to 'get down' with his 2 daughters who had previously merely loomed using their tiny wee child hands, with which his chubby adult sized hands could not keep up. And lo the board was born *cue jingly jangly capitalist type hymn*. Needless to say, by the time he had got round to inventing said board, pimping prototypes to Dragon's Den* and making himself his very own cottage industry, his daughters had probably moved onto an entirely new craze and were much less impressed by his innovation than the $8m (yes $8 sodding MILLION) boost it had brought to the family bank balance.

Much like you, dear reader, I might forever be ignorant of this craze were it not for the sweet faced daughter of a friend of mine (lets call her Ellie, as that is, after all, her name) asked me to weave her one.  Sure, I thought. Why not entertain the kid. How hard can it be? Needless to say, that was the last calm, coherent thought to cross my mind for quite some time..... 2 hours later, after having sworn repeatedly at an 8 year old on YouTube (call that an easy design? I’ve seen easier designs in the V&A you little brat!), cut off the circulation of my index finger, and having taken many, many cigarette breaks (yes Ellie, Auntie Sophie is just going outside to, ummmm, look at the sky) I was very little better off. Yes, I had constructed a glow in the dark, alternating blue and pink fishtail designed loom band (so the YouTube starlet smugly told me) of which Ellie was VERY proud, but on the whole, what I was left with was a distinct feeling of inferiority. Not only to the 8 smug, ambidextrous 8 yer old you tuber, but also to Mr Ng who had the foresight to invent such a cheap piece of tat that has now raked him in such a whole boatload of cash. 

So, whatever next for the crazes of the playground world? And where can I get me some of that $8m pie? Sellotape knitting? Sticky, but certainly we all have a spare roll of the that stuff knocking around at home to entertain the kids with. Or perhaps a line in millinery, using just the circular waste clogging up the average hole puncher, cos goodness knows there is no point to those. Or maybe an empire of toilet paper papier mâché rucksacks? Easy for any kid to make, with the added bonus of the next year being able to laugh at the hipsters at Glastonbury whose ironically kid coutured backpacks have just melted in the rain. Well frankly, I'm not sure. But just remember, if you see a sticky, see through dress, clinging to the non existent breasts of any stick thin model sashaying her way down the runway of Paris, Milan or London (or indeed across the playgrounds of Birmingham, Cardiff or Scotland, the kid friendly version, natch), I'll take that $8m dollars please. Cash, not cheque.


*artistic license employed

Lessons in life and hot Californians

So here I am, back in the UK and reminiscing on my travel of self discovery... I am back. And now that I've had some time to ponder, spent a frankly rather brilliant, if rather muddy, weekend at Glastonbury and enjoyed several nights In My Own Bed, now is the time to assess... what I've done, what I've learnt and where to go from here. 

Well what I've done is easy, had a mostly fabulous time, made some very fine new friends, seen some very fine new things, visited some very fine new places and among other things, pashed a very fine Californian boy. So dear reader, I think you’ll agree so far, so good. But as for what I've learned? Well, a lot, but you'll thank me for breaking down said lessons into easy bite sized chunks:

1. Swearing at Americans in an English accent is 

Pip pip what ho good chap!

essentially pointless. 

Let me clarify: unlike in the South African accent where basically everything you say sounds aggressive anyways, and unlike the Kiwi accent where the first thing Americans respond with is 'are you Australian?', swearing at a Yank in an English accent almost always produces the response where they roll over, bat their eyes and call you cute. No matter what you say, or what tone you say it in, most Americans when they hear the English accent, immediately think of either Dick van Dyke, or Downton Abbey. They assume a vast amount of intelligence on your part, discount the swears & somehow internally translate them into a sentence resembling 'morning guvnor, stick another sugar in my rosie lee & let's have a knees up down the Lambeth walk'/ 'my dear fellow, let me introduce you to the Countess before a fine afternoon of shooting the locals & smoking cigars, pip pip what ho'.

Needless to say, all swears lose their not so cunning power in the US, rendering them entirely useless in the face of American stereotypes, so whilst it may be fun to do, swearing becomes entirely defunct. So unless you really are the Earl of Grantham, don't even bother.

2. Distance does make the heart grow fonder

Clichés are often true for a reason, they have a grounding in fact, albeit sometimes only an ink

American tea. Just say no.

ling. But in my case it was definitely true. Whether it was missing my chums (which I did, A LOT), or simply a decent cup of tea (which, dear reader, if you have read this blog previously, you will know I have hankered for in the US for quite some time. I mean, I really don't get what the problem is! Warm water simply does not suffice. It needs to be boiling! Boiled! Piping! Not this tepid, half limp warm nonsense with a sad not quite Tetleys bag adorning the saucer. Really guys for people that invented the atomic bomb & the assembly line, it cannot be that hard to figure out!). But there were things I missed greatly and coming home to enjoy them has made them seem that much greater. So the point stands, the cliché is true, despite the upcoming caveat….

3. Spending time with family you haven't seen properly for an age is A Good Thing
My Dad lives in The States, an ex pat he is, but a firmly entrenched one. He loves the place and aint coming back to Blighty anytime soon, so when I took the opportunity to go out travelling in the US 3 months ago, Dad gave me a place to stay and a base from which to travel. Consequently I have spent more time with him in the last 3 months than I have since I was a wee bairn, and quite frankly this was a blooming marvellous thing. Now, you see, me and my dad are very similar, as my dear chum Lou said when she first met him, if I was 25 years older, a man, and somewhat more hairy, we would be exactly the same. And however implausible that entire scenario may sound (have never been good at growing a beard), let it just be said my father and I are as equally batty as one another and very happy for it too. So while distance may often make your heart grow fonder, proximity made this particular relationship bloom stronger. Ladies, treasure your poppas, cos they really are awesome.


4.  American supermarkets are a thing of wonder

Going down to Booty Snack town

I have previously espoused the comedy virtues of these churches to consumerism as I just find them fascinating. From the ‘ethnic vegetables’ aisle, to the ‘aisle of values’ (I couldn’t find morality anywhere, no matter how hard I searched) there is much to amuse. And don’t even get me started on the product names… Cheesy nips anyone? Booty snacks for all! Or perhaps just stick to a safe dinner of smoked pork butt. Then again, maybe not... But these places are a gift to comedic gods and can wile away the hours, for well, hours innit?  So, go wonder, tell the manager I sent you, and take it from me, pass on the pork butt.

5. When American men say 'can I be really forward?' what they really mean is can I jump your bones
It was an expression levelled at me at more than one occasion on my travels, and always meant the same thing... And really, no further explanation is required, but needless to say such chivalry (even if it did only thinly disguise randiferous ends) really was a novelty, and a good one at that, cos at least they are polite about it (Mr California, I'm looking at you here). Basically, British boys, listen up, the boob honk is not your friend, never has been and despite what you may think, never will be.

So these are my pearls of wisdom. They are my lessons I have learned. Are they useful for later life? Maybe. Good to learn? Mostly. What I expected? Not at all. But, dear reader, should you be visiting the US anytime soon, learn these lessons well and enjoy. Oh, and don’t forget to pack your own teabags and always, ALWAYS, smile sweetly at the Californians. Especially the hot ones.

California, home of Big Things

4th July: Independence Meh

Bacon, that's what REALLY matters

So, Independence Day. That grand ole 4th July!  That day of freedom from us damn persecutors and royal British bullies. Get out yer flags, dust off them barbecues, roll up the parade and all manner of some such stuff that I am very glad not to be in the States for, for I am indeed now back from my travels. And it's odd, the 4th July stuff that is, not the back from my travels bit, that was a foregone conclusion. I obey visa laws see, contrary to what US customs officials seemed to assume on my arrival judging by the 2 hour stint in Philadelphia's immigration interrogation centre, rummage through my bags and questioning about my bank balance. Needless to say I passed with flying colours, possibly just because liked the look of my smalls. But anyways, I digress, and never mind cos it's THE 4TH OF JULY, LET MADNESS ENSUE!

And madness it is really, or at least it seems a little mad from my British perspective, and even more so following the conversations pressed upon me by various Americans in my travels. Maybe it's being British, and being the repressors rather than the repressed. You see us Brits don't have a day like this. A freedom day, a national day. Yes ok we English have a St George's day, but it's not really the same is it? I mean, we don't have giant St Georges parading the streets, felling foul dragons every year, accompanied by the sound of Morris bells twinkling, English flag waving and cream teas, though actually, that does sound quite fun... But maybe we should have such a day (putting to one side that our Patron saint hailed from what is now modern day Israel, so not really very English at all) as after all, the Americans seem to get so much from Independence Day, as do the Canadians from Canada day. But us Englanders, not so much. 

Yanks on the other hand can't get enough, and when the subject of Independence Day came up, as it did once or twice on my travels, their glee and triumphalism was rather deflated by the muted 'yeah, it's not really a big deal' shoulder shrugging of my father and I. The 'yeah, we beat you colonialist overlords, don't you regret that now' bravado was somewhat punctured my 'when was that war again?' mehness that they simply can't understand. Maybe it's just a matter of scale. You see, our history in the UK (& I never meant to sound snobby or imperialistic here) is 

Independence Day, Abba style

so much longer than the Americans. It's not rude, that's just the way it is. Our land has been fighting so many battles, over so much longer a period of time, that we simply can't study and 
celebrate them all or we'd be having public holidays all over the shop. I mean, one can hardly imagine holding 'Agincourt day' or  'Waterloo day' (for which I am quite glad to be honest as I could only foresee Abba's notorious hit being the new Noddy Holder number for mid June). And that's certainly not to say we won all our battles, we lost so many it's hard to keep track let alone hold a day of mourning for them, but there are just SO many.


But yet, I think that's what Americans seem to think we do on 4th July, mourn our losses. They discuss it with a Brit with this look of sympathy on their faces, like we should be weeping the day through. I hated to let them down (that's a lie, I did often let them down, if only to puncture the afore mentioned triumphalism), but in the UK we barely notice the day passing, it's just not A Thing. We don't even study it in school, let alone mourn it's passing each year. However I think the crux of the matter was highlighted when one cheeky yank said to me 'we wouldn't study wars we lost either', as you see we don't seem to study wars. We seem to study (or at least I certainly did right up to the age of 18) civilisations, the Romans, the Normans, the Tudors, Stewarts, industrial revolution etc. It's not about wars it's about people. I mean yes, we have the world wars which get studied, but not because we won them, but because they were such Big Things in our history, nay in WORLD history. I mean the Germans lost them but they certainly study such epic moments in history, because they are just so epic and there are lessons to be learned from such events. But America is such a new country their history is still in the making. They have to celebrate these days, and that's just fine and Yankee Doodle dandy, so let them get out their bunting and barbecues. Let them wave their flags and hate the English for one day of the year, and enjoy it America. Really do. Just don't expect us English to mourn the day. After all, we're too busy mourning the fact your football team are better than ours, cos when it comes to it, that's what really matters to the English.

Another day in the life of an England supporter