Smile: the longest word in the dictionary...

...because there's a mile in it.

One of my pet peeves is grumpy people who have a talent for finding the negative in even the most amazing situations. There's a lot of power to be had in being happy. Holding on to a happy moment can transform a dull day into a magical one. So I love being faced with the challenge of a disgruntled so-and-so with the aim of transforming at least the conversation into a positive one. If that creates a domino effect and makes other people happy, there's the bonus.

Yesterday my challenge came in the form of a pub regular. We've just had a refurb at the White Horse in Great Baddow, Chelmsford, and it's being received with a difference of opinion. As most of our clientel are regulars, the changes are being noticed and they either love that the place is brighter, cleaner and fresher or they hate change and want it to be a bit lived-in again.

At about lunchtime yesterday, one of our Carling drinkers commented on one piece of unfinished changes: a light fitting. He questioned why it was left in its condition and argued that it was unsafe. With some electrical training under my belt, I politely refuted his claim with a thorough response and Stig-of-the-Grump was silenced. I left the situation to stew for a couple of minutes whilst I carried on with the daily tasks of making everything look beautiful and shiny before he continued with conversation which took a more positive turn. Rather than finding more to complain about, he asked me what I was planning to do with my life. (It's a simple fact that only a handful of people work in a pub or bar because they eventually want to be managers or specialist bartenders. Whilst the rest of us care about our jobs and are good at it, we're most likely on the hunt for something that will buy us a house eventually rather than just pay the bills.) With many pleasant back-and-forths and an offer to help by giving me a contact, the conversation was transformed from negative and grumpy to positive and happy.

I would regard this conversation as a little win. It's now over 24 hours later and I'm still thinking about it and being happy that it happened. Little successes make the world go round.

All in.

I moved away from Birmingham recently. I'd sorted a job out already so I didn't have that to worry about but I was planted basically in the middle of a new planet. Whilst I wouldn't say that I left behind an active social life, I did leave a handful of people behind whose time I really valued. But Skype exists so that's okay. When I was at University, my spare time was taken up by things that required you to be a student to get involved with so my hobbies were non-existent once I graduated. It was time to start anew.

In search for a new hobby, I thought about what would be affordable, given that my job barely sustains me let alone all the debt I have to sort out, and I had a look at what I was already interested in. I already love running but at the moment I'm not good enough, or confident enough, to justify joining a club - though it is on the to-do list for the near future. And simply continuing solitary running wouldn't push me to meet new people. Being fascinated by Victoria Coren and her love of, and success in, poker, I thought I'd emerge from the world of online and found myself doing alright in a friendly game in The Endeavour last night.

Poker is a very interesting game in that beforehand all players are friendly, banterous and welcoming but during play one would expect them to draw a line and simply concentrate. That's certainly what I intended to do. I didn't win anything, in the end, and called an all-in stupidly when I was in the top three chips-wise in the first round. Stupid, stupid move.

It'll take me a while to be able to maintain a winning streak without getting a little carried away, I reckon, because I'm an open book. I will always remember my high school drama teacher telling an awful joke on a theatre trip coach one evening and giggling in my direction a few seconds after. The joke didn't tickle her, it was my reaction. I wasn't aware that I'd twitched even at all but apparently there was significant disgust on show. Whoops. Thankfully she had an excellent sense of humour and was used to it. She then went on to influence one of my biggest life decisions and I followed in her footsteps with exactly the same course at exactly the same University. But that's a different matter altogether.

So my first attempt at real life poker with a timed tournament was not a terrible one. Discounting the few months of friendly games between flatmates in first year, now I know what it's like to play in person rather than behind a screen. Will I be returning next week? Probably. Got my membership card, have to use it now!

Another list, inspired by impatience.

Life is short. We don't have time to be grumpy. That's what I try to remember when I'm having a bad day or I'm faced with a difficult or tedious situation. When it just gets so terrible that others would throw in the towel, unable to muster up some enthusiasm to go on. At least two people gave up on the tough task I had today. Several muttered grumbles under their breath. It was an ordeal. But that's life in the Post Office queue.

Though we pride ourselves in our talent for queueing, us Brits do like a good grumble when we're in one. But why? It's only ten or fifteen minutes of our time. Sometimes even less! The Post Office line is the worst for keeping up cheery customers. So to combat this attitude, I've come up with ten things, listed in low to high priority, that you could be doing whilst in the seemingly endless torture of the humble Post Office queue:


10. Your taxes.
If it feels like an age stood there, why not get a pen out and sort your finances out? Why wait until you actually have free time? It might even encourage you to send more things to relatives. The time you spend in queues will add up, right?

9. Tidy up a bit.
Other queuees(?) will have picked up leaflets for pension schemes they're never going to use and international postage they're probably not bothered about. Help out the business by putting these back rather than tutting at the mess others are creating. A tidy space is a tidy mind.

8. Listen to an audiobook.
You could get a whole chapter finished. If you hate the gloom of the Post Office queue, surrounded by imminent death and impatient people, teleport to a new world with Stephen Fry's voice for company. I suggest Narnia or Harry Potter.

7. Count the ceiling tiles.
An old exam technique, revert to childhood by counting and recounting the ceiling tiles. Then noticing which ones are different colours and counting them. You'll love it.

6. Count how many people Taylor Swift has written songs about then alphabetise that list. Then re-order it in terms of age, if you have time.
That girl's been around.

5. Conga.
You're already in a line, it only takes a catchy tune and some willing partiers. This one comes with a scowl warning.

4. Learn how to say the alphabet backwards and speed it up.
And stick it on your CV.

3. Chinese whispers.
Another advantage of the automatic line. Who knows what "Buy me two red roses on a Saturday and deliver them in the afternoon" will end up as?

2. Write a list of 10 things you could do in the Post Office queue.
...that's what I did. Jump on the bandwagon and add a theme: ten things you could do in ten minutes; ten things you really shouldn't do; ten people you'd love to be in the queue with...

1. Be patient and remember the little things in life that make you happy.
Seriously, it could be worse. Donate some money to charity on your phone while you're waiting, for extra karma points.

Rule Britannia: 1, don't be a dick.

How patriotic should we be? Jubilee fever has hushed to less than a murmur, our beloved Olympians aren't nearly getting as much attention as they were in 2012 and the Royals are finally having some privacy. This lull has made us wander out and take up world-watching. Suddenly Obama's second term is interesting and global movements are more appealing to follow. But that's fine, it gives us a chance to ignore the 'mare that's replacing the year-long stream of good home news.

I recently got asked how patriotic we should be and where the line is drawn. The murky, overcast area, I reckon, is occupied by those who know the extra verses of God Save as far as the bits about Scotland, who have a collection of hand-held Union Flags just in case, who deny the importance of multi-culturalism but never challenge it due to a stiff upper-lip and refuse to consume anything other than cucumber sandwiches, tea and a Sunday roast. Ticking these boxes should be avoided in order to actually learn something about the world. 

Shouting obscenities during a tight international game/race/match in which we genuinely have a chance is okay, as long as we're gracious with the end result: there are things to be learnt in losing as well as winning. Being British is all about positive, inclusive progress. The equal marriage bill, equal rights for all, accessible education and rich legacies are what make our island great. The Empire was all well and good until we started enforcing our culture in places that just didn't fit. If my degree taught me anything, it's that identity is incredibly important but also as flexible as Beth Tweddle.

So perhaps it's good that we're having a bit of a breather from a very introspective year. We've shown the world we can put on a good show and waves flags for hours whilst singing Hey Jude. Let's find out what's going on across the pond and next door. At least until Eurovision.

Thank economics for holidays.

I've been hit by the fluffy, sparkly arrow of Cupid. Sorry, world. All week I've been looking forward to today because I knew I was receiving flowers from my 300-mile-away boyfriend. (Yes, I know, surprise spoiled - but that just changes the situation to anticipation and excitement rather than worry that nothing will come). The flowers came (a dozen roses - yeah, I feel loved) with a beautifully rude card one would expect still in the hideously incredible honeymoon phase. Am I making you feel sick yet? Though I can't be with him today to give him a squidgy hug and show him how special he's made me feel, I can do something with this warm and fuzzy feeling: I've decided to give back to my housemates.

Living with a couple is not easy, especially when you're in a long-distance relationship. Rather than grumble that they're in the fortunate position to be with each other whenever they like, I'm embracing it. I've cleaned the kitchen, sorted the recycling, tidied the hallway, loaded the dishwasher, cleaned the living room and set up a little romance. What I'd love to do is cook them a romantic dinner with an oozey chocolatey pudding and a bottle of wine. Unfortunately, I have no money to do that. Instead, they came home to this:

Whilst the cynics can happily (or grumpily) load Valentines Day off as a corporate holiday invented by card companies to make money between Christmas and Easter, I quite like it. You can really make it a good excuse to non-awkwardly show friends that they mean something and are appreciated. Of course, there's no reason we should limit this show of affection to February 14th but if you're the kind of person who finds it difficult to express feelings, today is a good shield.

A couple of days ago I was a bit grumbly because I hadn't eaten anything before work and was destined for a late finish. To cheer me up, one of the managers set up a plate with jaffa cakes, sweets and orange slices with an innocent smoothie. It was a small gesture that helped a vast amount. Little things like this should happen everywhere. You might embrace the good deed culture already and you will certainly have been the recipient, whether you know it or not. We're in lent now, so many of you might have given up chocolate, sweets or, like a genius once suggested, skateboarding and celery. How about taking up good deeds? One good deed a day is an excellent aim. Sometimes not possible, a more realistic goal would be three good deeds a week.

Holidays are a brilliant excuse to be wonderful to others and yourself. Send a card for Christmas. Give a hug for New Year. Say thankyou for Valentines. Clean the house for Spring. Cook dinner for Sunday. Make a cup of tea for, you know, 11.14am. Just because. May you all feel fluffy and squidgy today. And if you don't, at least hold someone's hair back while they're sick due to chocolate overconsumption.

Squeezing life into days off

Is it a Gemini thing to just be distracted so easily that I don't have anything I've done all my life or is that just a me thing?

Schools are so career focused now that we may as well be asking pet humans (small, young people), as soon as they can hold a conversation, what uniform to order them for when they're job-hunting. I was never really that decisive about careers - or anything, for that matter - but explored many options. I only took Drama at University because higher education was the natural path for anyone clever and I was particularly good at Drama-related things. I still don't exactly know what I want to do for the rest of my life but I'd quite like to try many things. That's the problem: employers don't want you to be adventurous, they want you to stay in the company forever. To move half your possessions in, train like a Labrador at Crufts and sign your life on the dotted line.

It doesn't help that most jobs require experience. The catch-22. I'm an unlikely employee of Mitchell and Butlers because, I'm told, in this 'economic climate' to get a bar/waiter job one has to have bar/waiter experience. It's because I'm likeable that I'm still there, apparently, and haven't been shunted out by someone with a one-track CV. Is it any wonder there's an ethos of being miserable in a loathsome job? Not mine, I actually quite like mine. But in general, I'm saying.

Life is much more interesting than a job. Granted, there are brilliant jobs out there for people who have enough training. For PhD students/graduates, for example. Yes, well done, you've spent a bazillion hours at University. Here, have an excellently paid job that you enjoy and in which you are treated like a God. Also welcome to half-way-up-the-career-ladder.

For those of us who aren't sure yet, there's the beauty of unpaid experience to be had. And even then, you have to have experience to get that. The catch-22. Sure, if you show enough enthusiasm and knowledge you can get most entry-level jobs. But that's on the off chance that you're not in competition with someone who has had that same job already in a different company or city.

So many of my working friends look forward to days off or holidays and cheer when there's a bank holiday. That's because life starts then. Some find life in a lay-in, a huge breakfast and lazing about with a film or a book. Some go off and get exhausted up mountains or on squillion mile walks. Either way, life doesn't include work. I'm moving to Essex in the summer and I'm spending most of my time researching running clubs and scanning the map of the area to spot good lengthy runs to complement my upcoming training. The snow is finally gone which meant that last night/this morning after work I ran home just to enjoy the non-slippy ground again. And I bounded out of bed to stride over to the corner shop in record time to get the Sunday paper before breakfast, grinning that I could finally do that rather than timidly balancing on the ice. The snow/ice was work. Now it's gone, I'm full of life.

The point I'm trying to make, in a very me way, is that employers should really loosen up and see transferable skills as an actual thing. I was taught that they are fantastic and mean that you can sell yourself to any company. Apparently that was just because I was so excited by all of the careers that it was my only get-out-of-jail card. Invest in people, good companies. People are good. People are interesting, happy and have life in them. Career drones are robots, programmed to be so single-minded that there's no room for adaptation. People are so much more fun.

The beauty of the pun

A showcase of puns hits the social media platforms whenever a huge news story breaks out. Twitter explodes with an array of fantastic manipulations of language ranging from acceptable to Dad-jokes, all the way to stinkingly offensive. In the mane area of the horse-meat burger scandal, my favourite was a tweak of Shakespeare's most famous line from Hamlet: "In beef or not in beef, that is equestrian." Intelligent on so many levels. When I shared this pocket of pleasure with my boyfriend, he didn't quite enjoy it as much as I did.

But is this a normal pleasure or should I mark it in the guilty pile? Puns do appear to be more popular in the Dad-joke arena, sharing some air time with bad birthday cards, but that shouldn't make them any less indulgent. Another of my top five does happen to be one of the most uncool jokes in the world, possibly the universe: "You're so street, you're practically pavement." It made one of my colleagues laugh, anyway, so I'm taking that as a win. No one needs to know that she then remarked that the things that come out of my mouth are just plain weird.

Surely word play jokes are a way to show how well you know a language and should be honoured in the highest form of wit, should you be so clever as to be able to come out with them straight away. For example, at another workplace, my manager was telling us how she needed to take the afternoon off to fix a gate at home. After the long-winded story, I accepted her excuse and said "Well, as long as you're replacing a gate and not taking a fence." A groan and a giggle meant it was well received. Tag-team puns would happen in my student job whereby we would unknowingly set up a beautiful corker and congratulate or punish the joker where appropriate.

Long may we pun.

Siiimbaaa!

People aren't called Ophelia anymore. There were no Huckleberrys or Ebeneezers in my school. Names are just a bit common and dull now, really. But I would say that, I'm used to them.

Overhearing a conversation about what a friend should call her unborn child, I thought about influences from popular media and the rise in popularity of more unique names like Apple. According to the Office of National Statistics (ONS), Harry was most likely to be the name of your new male pet human in 2011 whilst Amelia was the wide-eyed angel of innocence leading the female race. It's logical that household names will be the first choice because they'll be in your head already. Harry known for, depending on your lifestyle, being a Prince, a boy wizard or being that one with the flippy hair from One Direction. Amelia: the Doctor's companion or the young and feisty comeback queen from Strictly Come X Factor On Ice. Popular culture inevitably dictates the names we're going to shout when something is broken or dinner's ready.

I won't be surprised if Bella (already at #69) and Edward (quietly confident at #40) top the charts when 2012's statistics are revealed. Perhaps Kate or Pippa will make their comeback post-Royal Wedding. Olympic winners are likely to also feature strongly, maybe in an effort to tempt fate and create our future athletes. In a decade or so when I'm (maybe) carting my child to and from school, I will likely find it normal to hear stories about how Katniss has the best pencil case and how Ron kept copying maths answers.

Apparently fans of vowel endings, most parents name their children after faux adjectives (Daisy, Ruby, Alfie) and the traditional long name that can be shortened to make a nickname is long-gone. This opens up the possibilities for fantastic nicknames. No more do we stop at simply being lazy with each others names - Alexander becoming Alex, Thomas becoming Tom. Now we can focus on beautiful nicknames that bring us closer together and relate to something relevant to individuality. You know what I'm talking about. Like in How I Met Your Mother when the barista mishears Barney's name as Swarley which earns him this nickname for several weeks. Or when I was young, my Mother refused to allow Vicky as an alternative so my best friend gave me a different nickname every few days. My favourite, and entirely unexplained even at the time, was Little House On The Prairie On Wheels. No? Okay, perhaps overactive childish imaginations won't produce something like that again in a few decades. We'll have to wait and see.

Explode ALL of the fireworks

Countdown to 2013, Big Ben chimes, suddenly the sky is on fire for over 10 minutes. Subtlety was absent from the planners' dictionaries, I reckon. Though this year it was set to music and a couple of clips of Cameron, Boris and the Royals commenting on the year, the Jubilee and the Olympics, there was a lack of shading.

I'm not sure why I expected something new as I've seen year upon year of midnight explosions, now, and the variation is minimal. Forgive me for comparing something as expensive as London's New Year fireworks to a meagre £6k Wythall display in November but cheaper is better. Wythall's display included deliberate pauses and crescendoes rather than a constant attack. The end was defined and noticeable. It lasted longer. It didn't try too hard. The fireworks were visible, rather than described as "oooh, pastel colours" in parts.

As for the choice of music, I'm equally disappointed. Akin to the big bangs, the sound engineers crammed in as many popular tracks as they could. I spotted Dizzee Rascal's Bonkers towards the end which, I might add, was not famed in 2012 at all. Did they cram so many songs in that they had to dip into previous years? Is my popular music rant deserving of perhaps suggesting that I'm getting old or was it really just a bit naff?

Admittedly, when I could see the fireworks through the smoke it did look impressive. Just not impressive enough. If the planners had reeled it in a bit and spread out the massive displays to weave with some smaller shows it would have held my concentration for longer and made me far more interested in what was going to come next.

When I saw the London fireworks for myself, squished at the banks of the Thames in 2010, one of the best moments was the very end when the sky slowly cleared and the twinkles from the last explosion faded. The crowd crescendoed to a deafening cheer and shouts of "Happy New Year!" in all different languages and accents were heard. The BBC always miss that bit and cut the edit immediately after the last firework has done its duty. Shame.

But what can one hope for after such an intense year focused on London's expertise? We've burnt out a bit with the Olympics, Paralympics and Jubilee. Maybe 2013's display will be longer, more subtle and with a bit more care.

99% less death but much more visibility: a moral dilemma

E-cigarettes confuse me. They don't smell, they don't threaten the unwilling with diseases and they're apparently cheaper in relative terms. I've recounted my qualms regarding the real deal before and it seems the new version of the death stick features 99% less death so I should be happy.

I grew up after the smoking ban so I have little memory of what it was like in pubs and restaurants under a cloud of cancer, though there are some recollections of being annoyed with poorly placed air conditioning units in non-smoking areas. On Sundays, during daylight, at my pub there's an average ratio of 1:5 children to adults. My gut reaction was tested when I saw a regular customer use a very real-looking e-cig when there were families around enjoying a quiet lunch. Initially I was used to seeing the thin vapour so thought nothing of it then it dawned on me that this occurence would not be the norm for inquisitive kids. Upon seeing a respectable-looking adult casually enjoying a cigarette, electronic or not, a young non-smoker will remember and either be intrigued or passive. The intrigue is worrying.

As far as I know, electronic cigarettes are initially more expensive and less accessible than the standard death stick. Logic states that an inquisitive onlooker may be inclined to buy fags after seeing them. Obviously I acknowledge that the majority of people will not be affected by seeing cigarettes more often so my concern is minor, not to pun.

Time will tell what the e-cig will do for social, family places like pubs, restaurants and cafes.

For now, I reserve the right to be concerned but further reserve understanding.

Head in the clouds

Climb Ben Nevis? Why would you want to put yourself through such a physical challenge and endure the aches for the following couple of days? Well, it is quite fun.

On New Year's Eve morning, my significant other wombled off to be the tallest man in Britain for a minute or three and left me to my own devices for the day. He expected me to sleep for a few hours then read and perhaps explore the centre or even a flat walk. However, when he called me to tell me he made it to the top, I was already 690m up Nevis myself. Seeing him all kitted up inspired me to scooch over to the nearest Highland Centre and buy some waterproofs, a hat and gloves and see how far I could make it. 

As far as I can remember, I'd never actually reached the summit of any mountain or substantial hill. Ever. I'd been dragged on plenty of walks in Derbyshire and the Peak District but the pinnacle, so to speak, had never befriended me. My boyfriend is a seasoned masochist for walking and hiking so he was in very good shape to mount Nevis (apologies for the awful pun). He was perfectly tolerant when I politely refused to join him and let me have a relaxing day in the Highlands, expecting the peak of my physical day to be chatting to a sheep in a very nearby field.

It isn't as if I do absolutely nothing physically demanding, though. I like to call myself a runner and try to keep up with training in that respect. Road running is fun, for me, and though I'm not as fit as I hoped I would be when I started running, I manage to keep at least some discipline. When I was younger, too, I'd hop on a train and go for a walk round the Peaks for funsies. They'd be flat walks but I'd enjoy it, longingly gazing at the surrounding hills and wanting to be able to clamber up to their clouds.

So on New Year's Eve morning, I set off towards the Nevis range, got my feet absolutely soaked within the first half an hour thanks to a mini-lake in my path and challenged myself to catch up to walkers ahead every so often. Rather than setting a goal of height or time or distance, I'd just reach checkpoints or embrace the relentless desire to 'see what's on that sign' or 'get to that waterfall'. I'm glad I stopped at 690m. To me, that's a bloody impressive height. According to walkjogrun.net, it was about a 4.5mile journey from the hotel. My watch told me it took just under 3 hours of climbing, which, if you notice I took several stops to take photos and weigh-up the obstacles, is pretty good for a first-time mountain-climber.

The reason I stopped where I did was because I was faced with a pretty strong waterfall to cross, followed by not a stone path but a snow-covered side of the mountain. There was no way my shoes would have protected my feet, there, or that my balance would have allowed me to stay upright. There was a small bit of traffic, too, as the snowy pass was only a one-person attempt. I waited on a rock just before the waterfall and got talking to a very friendly Barnsley walker who'd just been to the summit. He told me how high I was (without him I'd never know exactly - thank you so much!) and showed me a video of himself at the summit, surrounded by snow and thick cloud. His bag was frozen solid with no chance of opening the zips for a while and his pride was infectious. Having seen minor celebrities climb mountains on TV for charity, my perspective on mountain climbing was that it was a thing that only happened on the telly box. My brother does a fair bit of it himself but I'd never been there so it never occurred to me that these things actually happened. Odd logic, I realise. But Barnsley man showed me that video and I was so taken aback. This man was sitting next to me, had been at the summit only 2 hours ago and I was on Ben Bloody Nevis. We shared a bit of a moment when he looked out in front at the view and told me it was the first view he'd had all day because on his way up the fog was so thick he was only concentrating on marking out the path in front of him. Barnsley man, I salute you.

The first thing my boyfriend said when he finally appeared round the corner and reached me was, "You have waterproofs?". I think it took him a while to realise my personal achievement but it was lovely going back down the mountain with him. Even though I slowed him down massively. It means, also, that I actually have photos of me clambering over rocks and pathetically attempting to be somewhat adventurous.

So climbing Nevis was one of the best spontaneous trips I've made in my life so far. I reached incredible heights, saw amazing views, breathed very fresh Highland air, drank very cold Highland water, got a massive rush of adrenaline, met an inspirational bloke, inspired my boyfriend to take a photo of us both (this is a big deal - he doesn't do photos!) and got rewarded with the satisfying ache of muscles the day after. And infinitely saved a bit of a naff New Year's midnight.

Click to view the route I took.