So, it’s no surprise that I have thing for Invader. I’ve mentioned here a few times (like here). Generally, I have thing for street art, and I’ve loved invader well before I left NZ, before Exit through the Gift Shop came out, before I’d ever seen one of his pieces in the flesh. He’d never visited NZ before, so I’d never had the chance.

I made a point to put it on The List. I knew I was coming to London, and I knew that Invader had hit London many times. I wanted to see them!

I did. I convinced friends to look for them when we were wandering around. I easily saw 10. Since then I’ve seen many. I even occasionally spot new ones. There today when it was definitely not there yesterday. One of the great things about going out of my way to spot Invader pieces is that I’ve come to appreciate some of London’s amazing street art. Like Vhils,Stik and Roa. And they are amazing.

Made me really appreciate London’s thriving street art scene, you know?

That number 10, well, it was a pretty amazing moment. I was on a date with a Jimmy when I spotted it on Wardour St. I may have squealed, had a little squee moment, had a bit of a dance, followed quickly by a mad panic when I realised that I didn’t have either a phone or a camera. A guy sitting on the wall right next to it offered to take a photo with his very shit, very old school nokia phone. It was dark, and raining, and we all laughed a little bit at the quality. But still, I had my moment. The 10th Invader piece I’d seen, in person.

So yes. Number 114 on The List, done.

I roasted my chicken on New Years eve. I told my flatmate Duke that when we moved in that roasting a chicken was on The List and that I was going to do it! This year! Yeah!

That was in March. Cut to New Years Eve and I still hadn’t roasted a chicken. Fail. So, on the last day of 2011 I went to the supermarket, got a bunch of things that Jamie Oliver told me I’d need and got to work. It was mostly the easiest meal I’ve ever made.

Things I wasn’t so down with:
* Rubbing down the chicken. I think it was uncomfortable for both of us.
* Stuffing the cavity with herbs, and then discovering that the cavity was too small for the lemon I was meant to get in there. Awkward.
* I went on a limb and added onion + celery to the trivet. I should have known better (not a fan of either).
* Trying to figure out how to carve it. Thank goodness for you tube.
* Trying to figure out how to make gravy, and not having it thicken. The internet not so helpful here.
* The waiting. The waaaaaaaaaiting!

Things that were awesome:
* I didn’t give anyone food poisoning, yay!
* Putting something in oven + just leaving it is a pretty easy way to cook!
* The eating. The glorious glorious eating that came after, and lasted a good four days (I may have over estimated how much food two people can eat).
* Taking a mini container down to the fireworks for Duke. It made for good snacking!

So yes. Number 7. Roast a Chicken. Done!

While I was in Dahab, in Egypt, I booked a Bedouin trip into the local mountains. There was a BBQ (BEST mountain food I’d ever eaten, hands down), and we climbed the peaks and watched the stars. And we rode in on Camels.

Now, let me tell you that every rumor that you have heard about camels being grumpy is true. They are like grumpy, horrible old men that smell bad and want to be somewhere else. Anywhere else.

They don’t like being patted. They don’t like carrying people. They don’t like being told where to go, and definitely don’t like being told that they have to stop eating that garbage to walk up a hill with me on it’s back. Otherwise they were perfectly darling. Except that it was uncomfortable. Not like riding a horse at all. Their gait was strange, and watching them unfold as they stood up made them seem like Mother Nature’s transformers.

Still, I did. Consider 118 Done!

Because this is the first time I’ve been away from home for Christmas with no plans to go back, I thought it would be nice to send my Mother a handmade Christmas Card, with a review of all the things I’ve done this year. It ballooned, of course. And if you were on my Christmas Card List you probably got one.

Well, Mum liked it, anyway. It was a fun, small thing that I did. Do any of you create yearly reviews to send out with your Christmas cards??

So, it’s coming to the end of 2011 and I thought that as blogging + I are on the outs at the moment (I’m just not feeling it, you know?) that I’d do one last post for the year and square everything away.

Egypt
I went. And it was delightful. There was windsurfing, and kitesurfing and paddleboarding and snorkeling. I got a tan, and spent an awful lot of time being warm. I ate an awful lot of Egyptian Food, and drank well too much Egyptian Vodka. I spent a lot of time with my cousin Morfee, and he’s brilliant to hang with. I (surprisingly) miss him now that he’s not around so much. We hung out with the Neilson crew, I spent a lot of time sunning myself in front of a bar that sat on a lagoon. I fed a ridiculous amount of stray kittens, and napped and I rode a camel.

We also did a day trip out to Cairo, where we so the pyramids, learned to say “la shukran” to all the people trying to sell me stuff. We even (though not advised by any embassy that I could find) went to Tahrir Square. It was the one place we went to where we were the only tourists. We saw a tiny part of a revolution, and it was pretty amazing. Tense, but amazing.

Whitewater Rafting
I did it. On London’s Olympic Course months and months ago now, with The Third + Fourth Quarters, with J, and with a Bunny. We got wet. We capsized. We paddled our little hearts out. There was a lot of water in the face, a lot of trying to sync our paddling with the person in front and not get caught up with the paddle of the person behind us. It was a lot of mad grinning and bumping into other rafts and I generally had an absolutely brilliant time. Apparently the park opens back up again in January, so if you are London based and get the opportunity, you should go!

Culture++; and other fun things I did
I have seen a bunch of shows in the last little while. Les Miserables, which I enjoyed quite a lot. The Phantom of the Opera, which I enjoyed less. The Phantom was quite creepy and very insecure. Sibling
graduated from university, I’m super proud of her! I’m also well annoyed that I couldn’t be there, and the other side of the world seems too far away. There was a usability conference, Liz + Rob came and stayed (and we visited Byron Burger, honestly, best mac+cheese I’d had in a long time!), there has been a bunch of design work (windsurfing brand redesigns, bio oil conversion site, b+b’s, a possible forrrst for photos) so yes, been busy.

The Dating Files of 2011
I had loads of posts for this. Loads of little moments I wanted to remember, and things I wanted to better understand. But I managed to discard the draft in which I’d stored all these moments. Fail. In the interest of keeping it short + sweet there were two Jimmy’s that I haven’t mentioned yet. One I spent a good six months trying not to fall for before his visa ran out (and was mostly successful) and the other, well, let’s just say that sleeping with that super cute Windsurfing Instructor in Egypt was probably not the cleverest idea I’ve ever had.

Anyway, as it’s the end of 2011 I’m retiring this series. Also, I’m avoiding boys and gettin into anything anyway, so it would be a pretty boring series going into 2012.

The List
I have done a bunch of things (#112 – See 10 invaders pieces in person, #118 Ride a camel) and crossed off parts of a few other ones. I’m glad that I still have The List, and that I’m still crossing things off. I feel like these deserve their own posts, and so will have them.

The Blog
While I’ll still blog about The List, I’m not really feeling blogging in general. So while I’ll still be around, and still comment and read all your blogs, I probably won’t update here is much. Maybe when inspiration strikes, but not much more. Call it a new phase?

Hope your holidays are brilliant, Merry Christmas!

elly x

I’m in Egypt, in Dahab. As I type this, I’m set up in a bar by a lagoon. I’m in a bikini, still slightly wet, having just come off the water and out of a windsurfing lesson. I’ve been here a week, and oh oh oh, it’s been glorious! It’s been warm, deliciously deliciously warm. I’m tanned, and quite happy with my lot at the moment.

The people are brilliant, from the Neilson crew (who, very conveniently, my travelling buddy Morfee is part of, thanks to his seasons in Greece), the other guests, the Datchet crew, the guy behind the bar – Naggy, who flirts outrageously with all the girls here.

It is a gorgeous place to be. This afternoon I’ma go back on the water and hopefully learn how to beachstart. There’s a dregs party with the Datchet crew, and then the Neilson BBQ. There will be Camel riding out into the desert with a Bendouin BBQ. There is a bunch of kitesurfing to be had, cocktails to be drunk, and partying to be danced.

I’d planned to write a bunch of posts so you wouldn’t notice my absence, but while I’m here? Writing is the last thing I want to do. Sooo, I will let you know when I’m back in a week or two.

Till then, this is the view I’ve got. Hope your view is just as pretty x

Chronic Ankle Instability. That’s what the physio said when he told me stand on one foot and I fell over. The reason I’m having such issues with my ankles, that I’ll do something relatively normal like walk down stairs and then suddenly and unexpectedly be on my face and unable to walk is because my ankles are unstable. Chronically so.

I rather suspected this, but was doing that great denial thing of ‘its fine’ and ‘I’ll just walk it off, its good’. I was playing netball all the time, I was running a few times a week, and I was adventuring. None of these things are good for unstable ankles, apparently. I was aware of this too, aware that any uneven paving stone could have me limping through the rest of my run, or landing on someones foot in netball could have me off the court in no time.

So I was glad when the physio gave me something to do to fix it. He said that the tendons in my ankles were basically like rubber bands that had lost their elasticity. That they’d been pulled, but were all stretchy + didn’t snap back to normal. He gave me a section of rubber film and started me on resistance training. A whole bunch of not interesting things to do with this rubber film that is apparently going to make things better. And a whole bunch of stability exercises. Calf lifts. Standing on one foot with my eyes closed. I’m meant to do it 3 times a day for the next forever. And I’m meant to give up netball and running and all that other stuff.

Well, I’ve stopped running. I probably won’t stop netball. And all that other stuff is a pretty vague term, so if it doesn’t involve running, then I figure its good. Like rock climbing, say. Or long walks, probably still good. Boris bike adventuring. We’ll see. It’s been a few weeks, and I’ve managed to do the exercises at least once. I spend an awful lot of time standing on one foot (which I feel ridiculous for, because I’m wobbly like a wobbly thing), and while I still don’t trust my ankles not to give out, they haven’t given out since. That’s got to be a good sign, right?

I’ll let you know. Do any of you have chronic ankle instability? How’s that working out for you??

I was shocked at his unexpected attack. He called me weak, he called me spineless. He told me I was only one of the many many sluts who have done what I done. I must be especially transparent, because he took every insecurity I had and then he hit me over the head with them. He wrote himself in as a victim, that I was more drama than he wanted to deal with, that he didn’t want to have to listen to this shit. I protested, but, as he continued, I broke down and agreed. Because to my ears? He was right, I was useless, and weak, and a million other things I didn’t want to be. And in a moment of perfectly timed self-pity, instead of fighting back, I fell to pieces.

It was at about that moment that he stood up, decided that his work was done, and swaggered off down the road.

I stood where I was and I cried. I sobbed my little heart out, half hidden in some strangers garden. I called home a handful of times, to no answer. I felt alone, and I felt pathetic. I felt like I was all the dramatic things that I did not want to be. Like I had betrayed myself. I was humiliated.

Eventually, my brain kicked in and I called my friend Bunny, who was only half a city rather than a 12 hour timezone away, and he talked me down. I listened to what he said, and I got my shit together. Once I was able to breathe, once I’d dried my tears, I realised a few things. That all of his opinions? They were not about things that were any of his business. That he didn’t know me, nor my reasons for doing what I’d done. He wasn’t even involved in any shape, way or form.

At the time, I decided that this probably wasn’t about me at all. That maybe? Maybe I was just a convenient punching bag. An easy target for him to get out whatever he needed to. I decided that this was the case, that I wasn’t any of things he said, and then I got all high and mighty. Took it as lesson in trusting people less and opening my eyes more. I hoped that he felt better, getting it all out on me, rather than someone else who might take his words to heart. I hoped that I had helped take the edge of whatever is going on in his life, and in doing so that he would be better equipped to deal with it.

I made valiant ‘next time’ statements, that next time I wouldn’t take it without a fight. That there will be no more left hooks from an unexpected quarter. That I would not willingly be a convenient punching bag. I would not let some bastard make me cry so that he can feel better. I would not let someone paint themselves a victim with my insecurities again.

I was rocking denial like a big giant shield, getting all high and mighty, and making sweeping assumptions left right and centre.

But really? Really I’m an idiot who didn’t listen.

What I should have seen was that he was right. More than right, actually. He wasn’t tactful about it, not in the slightest, but what he was saying, at heart, was something I needed to hear. It’s just that I wasn’t listening to all the things he was saying. What he was doing was being a friend, he’d seen I was in a situation I didn’t want to be in, and that I hadn’t realised I was in it. He was saying that I’d let myself ignore the values I held, and that I was better than this. That I needed to step up, that I was worth more. That I had a choice, and I shouldn’t be doing this to myself.

It wasn’t his intention to be malicious, or make me cry. When I did he skedaddled. He took no joy from this, I don’t think. But I wanted to package it all up nice and proper and paint him as the bad guy. He isn’t the bad guy, there aren’t many people who will step in and tell you that you’re doing it wrong. There aren’t many people who will take the time, when it’s none of their business, and say you’re a friend, and you’re better than this. Okay, fair enough, I personally wouldn’t do it with insults, but I think his intentions were good.

It took a while, a week or two maybe, but eventually I caught up. Eventually I realised that he was right, and that I should do something about it. So I did, and while the world is not peachy, I’m satisfied that I can be held accountable to the things in which I believe.

Maybe a dressing down is just what I needed to take the step up. Life lessons, aye? I’ll take ‘em as they come, in whatever messed up form they may be in.