McDonalds? We're not 'loving it'.

Who’s idiotic idea was it to allow McDonald’s a sponsor for the Olympics? Come on, own up. 

The Olympics is just a sprint around the corner: everyone's training and the anticipation is increasing. But England seems to have missed the mark on the opportunity to combat surging obesity rates, with the main Olympic's food sponsors including McDonald's, Coca-Cola, Cadbury's and Heineken. The message for this year is: 'fill up on chocolate and chips, with a can of beer'. Where are all the gym advertisers, the health food restaurants and salad bars? Despite healthy athletics running all over the place, diabetes has doubled in the past 10 years and fast food restaurants are only getting bigger.

So big in fact, that just outside the Olympic stadium is a multi-storey McDonald's cafe, the only branded food retailer on site, and aiming to serve and seat a whopping 1200 people per hour. With the promise to promote a healthy lifestyle whilst hosting the games, Britain really needs to step up to the plate. 

The population should be toughening up - not filling out, and swapping snicker bars for salads, and putting 'healthy eating' high on the agenda. Not slumming it on the sofa with a double cheeseburger and extra large fries. It has been suggested by leading health experts that fast food restaurants should be banned from sponsoring big events like the Olympics, as it sends out the wrong message. In addition, teachers, parents and even athletes should be educating children especially, about the dangers of obesity and how healthy eating doesn't necessarily mean sacrificing everything you love for a plate of lettuce leaves. 

Confessions of a Multitasking waitress (3)

Drinks. She wants red. He wants a bottle of beer. Merlot? Tuborg? Large? The older couple want tomato juice and Pimm’s.  Ice and spice? Alcoholic? No no. Virgin. And a bottle of chateau-neuf… or was it chat en oeuf?  And could we have some bread? Olives? Straws? Can we order?

It’s fish night. Table 3 have been waiting for eternity for their garlic bread, so I focus on topping up their wine regularly to ease their pain of waiting… Hopefully they’ll be sufficiently sloshed by the time food arrives they won’t even remember how long it’s been. The man on table 1 keeps harassing me to take their order, which I can’t as two other tables need more assistance and the kitchen are screaming at me for every meal order I put through. Table 5 are staring down at their empty plates - waiting to be cleared, table 8 is semaphoring at me from afar with some weird sign language he expects me to understand, and I’m stuck at table 2 whilst the man who never seems satisfied is telling me that ‘honestly’, the fish he’s just demolished, ‘wasn’t that good’. I apologise with the most remorseful expression I can procure, and point out that had he told me during his meal when I checked on him, then we could have done something about it. Through the mayhem of table-waiting, I am summoned to help out in another section of the restaurant and take an order from table 12. And taking orders it is! I’m greeted with an impatient and stroppy bloke in a gaudy hawaiian-style summer shirt - his wife won’t even talk to me to order her food let alone look up at me (I’m just the waitress) whilst he gets stuck in a rant about how he’s been waiting for ages, and now I’m telling him that half the menu is out of stock (I’m just the waitress). I understand his problem. I really do. But yelling at some poor waitress isn’t going to fix his issue, and he can either order the few remaining items from our menu before those too are sold out, or he can take his wallet to the shitty pub further down the road.

Back to table 1, who are complaining about some sediment in a glass of wine like they’d just pulled out a dirty condom from the bottom. Press pause. I explain that it’s actually normal for sediment to appear in good red wine, despite not the most optimal thing to find in your glass, but by no means the worst. I tell them that it’s simply part of the cellaring process, and is a sign that it isn’t from a massive production line where it’s all plasticized and unnatural and proves the wine has been properly aged… as everyone knows?...only to be met with peels of laughter whilst I stand there feeling absolutely demoralised and humiliated. WAITRESSES ARE NOT DUMB. And if they had any sense whatsoever, they’d be polite and friendly to the person in charge of their food. Do people really think we’re in this for the long-haul? It’s a quick and relatively easy way to fund our way through university/academic studies, so we can eventually land a job in a position that’ll have THEM sucking up to us. SHE wants another wine, stating ‘as you can see, it’s not very good’. Obviously it’s GOOD or they wouldn’t be ordering the same wine again, and it’s good BECAUSE it comes with a few bits of sediment in the bottom. It’s a catch-22. They’re being so stubborn and up themselves about this they deserve a good dousing in sediment-solid wine. 

And fast forward. Napkins go from table to laps to lips to noses to being discarded on the floor during a toilet trip. Can we grab the cheque please? No, I don’t know what wine I was drinking but another of the same. A Ketchup is opened, titled, smacked, put back, lid on.  Crockery and cutlery from the kitchen to relay tables, food on its way out, pudding orders on their way in. My chest feels tight and my stomach is empty, one side of my head is pounding, but I can't sit down, I can't even close my eyes for 30 seconds and wish this calamity away. I can only force limbs to continue this frenzied dance and hold the fort down until 11pm when the prospect of closing up is in sight. Possibly. 

Drinkers drinking, tables not leaving, a list of chores to be done and everyone trying to find their refresh button. Glasses smashed because everyone’s trying to do everything at once. Bills needed, wine glasses needed, a restock of napkins needed, my sanity needed. Thank goodness fish night’s only once a month and ocean stock is depleting. 

Ending on a high

Finally getting used to my rigid sleep cycle, I wake up bright and early at 7.20 moments before my alarm. I manage the trains like a pro, and arrive at the office right on time with minutes to spare. My final day consist of researching for gluten-free brands (of which I am now an expert), seasonal foods for September (the month of lobster, venison and beetroot), and writing another two or three articles (I've lost count). The team meeting this morning discusses our page spreads, and filling in all the blank pages with appropriate adverts, and corresponding articles. 

As a thank you for my hard work, Jessie hands me a huge bouquet of flowers, something I am so delighted with. It's not until I've made it onto the tube that I realise that maybe they're not the most practical of gifts to mission two tube lines and an OG-train with, but I am very grateful for their thought!  


The final Set List show is a triumph, with Roisin Conaty, Frank Skinner, Richard Herring, Marcel Lucont and TJ Miller all performing. I'd actually researched Marcel prior to the show, and discovered him to be quite a hilarious dry-humoured non-french-but-very-convincing frenchman. Look him up; he's very good. But, my absolute favourite BY MILES is definitely TJ Miller. He was so unbelieveably talented at getting the most obsure topic and making it a hoot. Topics this evening included Sesame street crime, coma VAT, prostitution voucher, overescapegoating, 'safe falling out of a window' syndrome, and neurotic heart surgeon. It was a fantastic ending to a fantastic week (with exception to the exclusive screening of a waterfall, and Rosé so sweet it was like straight Ribena juice).

With the wise decision of leaving the flowers with Jen in SW, I take the train back home, bags bulging, and with an extra pair of shoes and trousers than when I arrived. (Couldn't resist a bit of shopping!) 

Troubled Water

Another two productive days, writing my own articles for the website and getting started on features for the magazine including skin care products, answering Men myths (whether shoe size relates to penis size, if hair products cause baldness, if briefs reduce sperm count etc) and emailing a billion companies for high-res images to use for the magazine. All in all, it's still amazing and going great.

This morning started off rather disastrous though - I'm glad it doesn't continue in that vein! As a lady pushes past me on an over-crowded train, I suddenly hear a crunch and realise she's managed to puncture my pot of M&S bean salad, spilling juice all over the carrier bag. After debating whether to just give up and bin it (it started to look like I'd just vomited into a plastic bag and was waving it around freely), I stop at a food counter at Vauxhall to grab a spare bag to decant it into, and spend the rest of the journey carrying it upright like a highly explosive bomb.

After work I finish the day off with a quick trip round Oxford Street in torrential rain before meeting up with a friend for a trip to Wagamama's. We have a good catch up over miso soup before walking along Southbank in the rain.

To top the day off in the same spirit that it started, I return home later to find water absolutely gushing from a light fitting in the hallway ceiling, whilst Jen is at a Set List show. After some running around like a psycho wombat attempting to dodge the waterfall (no lies), I realise there's only one person to call: my dad. Half an hour later, and I've managed to locate the stop tap and turn off the water, strategically place a wok, a glass bowl and a frying pan on the already-sodden stairs and throw down towels over the lake of water rapidly making it's way to the kitchen. Look at me, a strong independent woman, finding the stop tap. Not stressed at all.

By 11pm, Jen's dashed home and we've got a Polish plumber round, who has bad news and good news after looking at the water tanks in the loft. Ever the optimist, we start with the good news, which is that he can make it temporarily safe. This leads to the bad news that the tanks are for-no-better-words 'fucked' and need replacing. We spend the rest of the evening laughing about it, whilst water keeps steadily dripping through the light fitting in Jen's bedroom. At least she hadn't gone ahead yet for a new stair-runner to be fitted in, or that too would have been screwed!


More articles of mine online: A Matter of Time and A Toast to Breakfast. 

A Published Writer already!

Up for round two, and despite being 2 nights sleep deprived (I like my 8 hours) I’m prepared. Prepared for the tubes, prepared for the steps, and fortunately my outfit today includes my flat brown leather boots. I am so prepared in fact, that I arrive at the offices half an hour early, but I love it so much already that I don’t care. 

My first tasks are organising the folders for September and October editions, and typing up notes. By late morning I’m writing my own pieces to go up on the website, which is very exciting! There’s always a worry with internship-ing that you’ll turn up, be seated on the floor surrounded by a bunch of files to organise, and the only other task of making coffee for the team. But it’s day two and I’ve been unleashed to write about anything I want. Allbeit 300 words or so. Come 3pm I’ve emailed two articles to Jessie, and after a couple of quick edits, they’re ready to go up on the website. WOW. (or whoa.) I was half-expecting constructive criticism, or ‘not really what we’re looking for’, but nope. *Jaw drops*

At 4pm I leave the office, finished way ahead of time. I’m meeting a friend at Oxford Street, so make a dash and meet her there on the dot. In true London style we stand in a crowded pub throwing back diet cokes, talking ourselves into a state of supersonic mass as we catch-up on the last 3 months in less than 30 minutes, including a successful marathon, a trip to Barcelona, and a sneak peek at my August edition, to go on sale mid-July. She’s off to Wimbledon Tennis and I’m off to Marylebone, so after the fastest and most informative conversation I think I’ve ever had, we hug and plan to meet for a rather longer time-period next week. London’s amazing and I’m in love with it. 

Check out one of my articles on the website: Tackling the Masses - Top Tips for Sale Shopping

Death by High Heel

I wake up half way through the night to a loud, spine-chilling ringing sound. Fuck. It’s my alarm and it’s actually an eye-watering 7.20. I plaster on make-up and thank goodness I planned today’s outfit in advance or I’d have thrown on any random mach of clothes and leave the house resembling a child who’s decided to play in Mummy’s Dressing-up Box. I stagger down the road in heels I haven’t worn in over 2 years. There was a time I lived in towering high heels without a blister or a bunion, but by the time I get onto the tube I’m cursing the blood-sucking buggers. 

The transport for London (TFL) site estimates my travel-time will take 1 hour 10, though I forget to consider one significant environmental factor. The London population. After several tube stations and hundreds of tube station stairs, I arrive in North London, only 2 hours later. 

I arrive somewhat flustered - sweaty, crowed tube carriages and footwear NOT intended for a marathon of stairs are not the optimum recipe for the stylish London look. However, I am greeted in the office with smiles, and after Jessie, the lady I’ll be working for, introduces me to the rest of the team, she shows me to my own (MY OWN!) desk with beautiful and shiny Mac computer. Inside, I’m dancing like a happy clown. 

My challenge today is finding events for the magazine’s October edition calendar, a double page spread near the front with events relating to the issue’s theme. October features Jo Frost (AKA Super Nanny), so the issue and calendar will be related to parenting and family life. Events such as National Walk to School Week, or National Milk Day (eww), to Disney’s Fantasia at the Royal Albert Hall and a trip to see Thomas the Tank Engine at Colne Valley Railway. My own words are going into these short dates, and I get rather egg-stravagent on the ‘British Egg Week’ slot. But they liked my style, and my words will be featured in the October issue. Plus, I am now a walking/talking events advisor for October 2012. 

After a wonderful day of work, which feels amazingly natural and second nature to be working for a magazine firm at my own desk, I head to the tube station and take the Victoria line straight down to Brixton for another night of comedy. I’ve noticed during the last 24 hours of tube-travel particular London trends. Such as, the fact that several people are wearing bright orange nail varnish, even more people are wearing flip flops (which seem a little inappropriate for tube-travelling in my opinon), and just about everyone seems to be reading ‘Fifty Shades of Grey’. One girl sat next to me slurps on some horrendous looking Mars bar-flavoured MacDonald’s concoction before putting the cup down next to her feet. Thanks to her, I spend the rest of the journey worrying that it might topple over and mars-flavoured cellulite will start glooping it’s way towards me. 

Whilst waiting for my Aunt, I take a sit down in between my hectic London lifestyle for a well-earned fruit-pot and coffee. As an attempt to have a more personal relationship with their customers, Starbucks now write your name in marker on your takeout cup. However, even the best of plans have their flaws, as ‘Conni’ is the nearest attempt Starbucks have ever got to spelling my name correctly, even on the many occasions when I have spelt it out for them. I’ve even had ‘cone’ written on my cup before now. Spelling certainly isn’t their forte, but it’s definitely an attempt to be friendly and personal to each customer. 

Another comedy night, although we spend too much time for my liking standing about in the queue outside (front line VIP of course). The sun’s out fortunately, but I swear the heels of my shoes are about to break through into my foot…

We return home at midnight after a long night of comedy, this time from Josie Long, Russell Kane, Judah Friedlander, and Rufus Hound, and I’m so tired I can barely manage a piece of smoked salmon before crawling into bed!

Getting into the Swing of things

After a traumatic car journey through central London, evoking stomach-churning nightmares of driving through Brighton involving one way systems and rogue mopeds, I arrive at my aunt’s flat in South West London showing off a result of several years’ worth of ‘light packing’ improvements in baggage reduction. Despite being terrified about getting lost on public transport , and jumping onto a train going in the opposite direction, I’m rather looking forward to a less stressful underground commute tomorrow morning than another car drive in not-even-rush-hour London traffic. I’m surprised the cars around here don’t resemble the hoard of battered cars in Paris. 

Another journey to go, as I’m spending my evenings this week watching a friend of my aunt’s film a series of comedy for TV. If it’s any good, I’m hoping for a six-pack by the end due to fits of laughter. A drive to Brixton and I actually feel rather sick - not because of the driver, but the stress of sitting in a fast vehicle maneuvering around London. City driving petrifies me. 

We arrive at the Electric theatre/club for the comedy show, Set List, being filmed live for Sky Atlantic. Performed in America and Edinburgh amongst others, this is a stand-up comedy show where the comedians have to improvise - given a set list of odd topics, such as ‘what’s the deal with mice?’,‘wine racism’, ‘borgasm’, ‘Jehovah’s Witness annual conference’, and ‘Wow vs Whoa’ etc. Comedians tonight are Rich Hall, Tony Law, Anthony Maxwell and Drew Carey. As we know the producers, I feel privileged to be on the VIP guest list; I’m the first person in and have first pick of the seats. The night is exciting despite not being a total fan of comedy and being afraid to admit I had no idea of the ‘famous’ comedians before I arrived… After the show we hang out in the Green Room with the producers Paul and Troy and the comedians, before heading home and eating prawns for tea.