Today I made my debut appearance on national radio, speaking on Woman’s Hour about makeovers. I write “debut” as though it’s going to be a regular occurrence but I’m pretty sure it’ll also be my last. I mean, I wasn’t totally terrible. I didn’t just sit there and sob, even though I’d spent the past thirty-five minutes alone in a soundproofed room, face to face with a massive BBC clock ominously counting down time (which for some reason made me feel like I’d turned into the 1970s test card girl, minus the noughts and crosses and the scary clown).* And then when I finally did get to speak, I controlled myself. Even when searching for a metaphor to describe how not all of us can be beautiful, no matter how hard we try, I didn’t just blurt out “you can’t polish a turd”, even though that was the phrase I couldn’t get out of my head (in the end I settled for “you can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear”, which I nevertheless described, incorrectly I fear, as an analogy). Anyhow, avoidance of major disasters aside, I don’t think I did Brand Me any particular favours this morning. Just as well I had to dash off for a one-which-turned-into-three-hour meeting on real-life work-type things to take my mind off the experience. (more…)

I am 37 years old. I have two children, work full-time, am permanently stressed and wonder where I’m going in life. I am a mid-life crisis waiting to happen. So what better thing to do than visit a far-flung country, sans kids, in order to “find myself” with a little help from some patronizing cultural stereotypes?

So I’ve been in Barbados for a week now. Here are the things that I have learned about myself: (more…)

Official statement:

Following several in-depth pieces of quantitative and qualitative research, backed up by the findings of a focus group (all of which took place in my head), I have decided to reposition the Glosswatch blog brand. I do so not without serious misgivings. The overall brand identity – and the feelings of familiarity this can inspire in loyal followers – is not something with which I would wish to dispense. However, I have, for quite some time, been thinking that my blog looked a bit shit and furthermore that the rubbish design may even have led some to assume that I’m more of a twat than I actually am.

Basically, I have changed the theme and tagline of the blog. And I am really, really embarrassed about having done so, because it looks like, you know, I actually care about this blog. Whereas what I’d want people to assume is that it just kind of “happens”. (more…)

The French call it l’esprit de l’escalier. The English do not call it the spirit of the stairs. But we should do. It’s a lot less wordy than that-thing-that-makes-you-think-of-the-right-thing-to-say-once-you’ve-walked-out-of-the-room-and-it’s-too-late-to-say-it.

I have the spirit of the stairs in buckets. This is largely because I am crap at talking. I am always the person sitting in meetings thinking how did they just come up with that? How come everyone else is so in the zone? I think this even if people have said things I don’t agree with (there’s a bit of me that always appreciates total crap if it’s nicely phrased).*

If I’m totally honest, it may be that the reason that I’m not saying ace stuff is I’m the only one in the room having the stream-of-consciousness why can’t I say ace stuff? inquisition in my head. And then I start thinking about that in itself and it all gets way too meta.

Over the past couple of weeks I have got pretty much addicted to blogging and twitter as suddenly I’ve discovered a way of, well, just saying stuff without the pressure. It’s also a means of saying stuff in a format of my choosing (not academic or business-speak). Hence I’ve learned that the way, deep down, I really want to communicate involves a lot of swearing. I never realized that before but fuck me, it feels good.

Anyhow, this post is all getting a bit self-absorbed, or up its own arse, as I should say now that I’m communicating as “the real me”. I’ll probably be back later to edit it. Once I’ve thought of something really ace to say.

* Julie Burchill, I love you.

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