Do You Remember the First Time?

2009-09-04T01:23:00.000-07:00

Two first times for me last night. I went to see Alan Cumming's one man show at the Vaudeville Theatre, which is (a) the first time I've ever seen this hero of mine and (b) the first time I'd ever been to the theatre on my own.

Heads up: Alan Cumming is a Scottish actor who grew up in the same part of Glasgow as I did. He used to be in a comedy duo called Victor and Barry, who were very well known in Scotland, and in my opinion, they produced the funniest songs and sketches I have ever heard. Ask me about their version of 'West Side Story' set in the West End of Glasgow, and see me cry with laughter. I would give my right arm for recordings of their work - which is now unobtainable.

Anyway. Little Alan left Scotland and became a real well respected Broadway star (mostly famously in Cabaret) and then started to act too - he's been in movies such as Goldeneye, Eyes Wide Shut and the Flintstones (although I haven't forgiven him for that one - his character was painted green). He's lived in the US for years now and is married to an American man.

So imagine my joy when I realised that he was performing in London for a week. I bought a very expensive seat and decided that I was not bringing anyone with me, safe in the knowledge that I would have smacked anyone who had not professed that it was a work of genius afterwards.

And it was fabulous. It was the theatre equivalent of lying on your couch on a Sunday afternoon, wrapped in your favourite duvet and drinking hot chocolate whilst listening to favourite old songs. The reviews of his show have all strangely missed the point: they say that Alan is basically a name-dropper who constantly refers in the show to famous people he has met and famous places he has been. But in fact:

If Alan's show (or indeed his life) was about the joy of DIY or watching soaps on TV, it would have the same interest, would it?

This also totally misses the point - Alan tells us his stories with an almost child-like wonderment about how excited he is to have done these things - he reminded me of a child returning from Disneyworld who tells you about meeting Cinderella. No one could possibly deny him his happiness.

Alan also has a fabulous voice and the songs are without fail either poignant or funny. All in all, a marvellous evening and I envy each and every person who has the pleasure of knowing this man.

Alan Cumming's show, I Bought a Blue Car Today, is at the Vaudeville Theatre on the Strand until Saturday.

2009-09-03T04:29:00.000-07:00

Hello first-timers, and yes, I am really back. For good.

So many first times to tell you about, but the most pressing one is that DH, George and I have now finally moved back into our house, after months of renovation - so finally, and for the first time, I am living in my forever home. Now the cynics amongst you would undoubtedly say "How do you know it is your forever home - things might change?" but trust me, you would be wrong even to think that. Not only do I love it, but this home is not only a mansion (and I should point out that the photo is not one of our home, just how it appears in my mind's eye) but the stress of unpacking nightmares means that I am never again going to move. Ever.

So, has it all been worth it? It has. We have chosen every last detail and that means that we love it and it is our dream home. Well, it will be when I persuade DH that the basement could usefully be a swimming pool instead. It is light and airy and massive for central London and it feels calm. So, my top tips for a renovation project are as follows:

Trying to decide on a wallpaper which both you and your other half will like is impossible. This year's trend for delicate, hummingbird design or other floral type paper is not going to go down well with your DH, no matter how many colours you show him. He will shout and say things like 'tart's boudoir' a lot. You may cry, and say 'But look at this month's House Beautiful magazine' a lot. You won't win. The wallpaper which you will end up with will be slightly masculine.

You can make up for this by nabbing most of the space in the walk in wardrobe before he has a chance to unpack any of his things. And yes, you can get away with this by pointing out that his rare coin collection/football programme collection/collection of airline sick bags takes up most of the other available storage space in the house.

You will find holes at the bottom of walls and missing light fixtures and yes, the loo on the ground floor won't flush properly. But this is called snagging and is all part of the process to make you even more stressed than the unpacking made you.

Yes, it will rain on the day you move in, thus ensuring that you can't use your first ever garden and your box full of shoes gets all soggy. This is also part of the process (see above).

On the first night, you will feel a bit teary. This is not just 'women's hormones' (as your DH will allege) but in fact is entirely due to the raining on the first day/snagging/unpacking traumas you have just faced.

You will accidentally walk back to your old house at the end of your first day back at work. This is not 'women's hormones' (DH did this and not me actually!).

Appreciate how lucky you are once it's all done, because you really are, and having a home, let alone such a stunning one, is a real blessing.

2009-08-17T11:18:00.001-07:00

Hello and major apologies for being away for so long. I am currently on holiday, first I was at my Mum's wedding and now I am in the middle of absolutely nowhere in Denmark - I mean it, I am over 3 hours drive from Copenhagen and am sitting right now overlooking a fjord (and of course I am sitting on an Arne Jacobsen chair). Denmark is, in my humble opinion, a work of true genius. I can't even begin to tell you all my first times this week, so I'll save them for when I am back in London and the grey days are back. Instead, let me regale you with my new knowledge of this special place:

There are about 5 million Danes living in Denmark.

Taxes are incredibly high. As an example, a new car has 300% tax on it - apparently this is to ensure that people don't pollute the planet too much

If you are from the UK, the exchange rate is crippling. Still, shoes and beer are cheap.

Design is king in Denmark. There is no tat. Everything is beautifully designed, from chairs to housing estates to cakes. Have spent the whole week salivating at chairs and have promised myself a ridiculously expensive sugar bowl at the end of the week if my cash has not run out

Lego is from Denmark. As I have a small child, I shall tomorrow be going to Legoland Denmark. It had better be good, at 30 British pounds for entry.

Traditional food includes pickled herring and curried herring. Sounds awful, is wonderful, especially with rye bread

There are more tanning shops per head of population than anywhere in the world (OK, this is not a scientific statistic, but one which comes from my own observations). I think this must be because it is dark here for so much of the year and people must get that SAD disorder thingy. And yes people do look strangely tanned and healthy.

Lovely place. Must dash - see you soon!

2009-07-31T03:33:00.000-07:00

Last night, for the first time, I saw Jude Law in the flesh, playing Hamlet in the Donmar Warehouse production of the play. My savvy friend S had managed to get seats in the front row of the stalls, and so we were within spitting (and definitely ogling) distance of the great man himself. Before the play started, we made a pact that if it were truly terrible, we would leave in the interval and go for dinner round the corner at Sheekey's - my favourite restaurant in the universe (well, OK, maybe it's in the top 5). However, within 5 minutes of the play starting, it was clear that we weren't going to be filling up on any of Sheekey's signature seafood dishes anytime soon. And this isn't just because of the general attractiveness of Mr. Law (who despite the gasps of the female audience members, is actually is a bit short, and is definitely balding) but because the production was just so excellent.

Afterwards, we sat dissecting it, and it's times like this that I am grateful for cultured friends. I managed "Hey, that was good wasn't it", whilst S said "I thought they could have thought a a bit harder about the Polonius-Ophelia family dynamic. Are they meant to be happy? Distant? Mad?" - she's fabulous, that girl.

The run is totally sold out, but beg, borrow or steal tickets. It's on at the Wyndhams Theatre and returns are available every day.

2009-07-23T05:35:00.001-07:00

Last weekend for the first time, DH, George and I went to see the new temporary pavilion at the Serpentine Gallery. For those of you who aren't au fait with this (and who are thinking great, how middle class and boring does that sound), each year the Serpentine Gallery in Hyde Park arranges for a (usually famous) architect to design and build a temporary summer pavilion. Come the end of the summer, it is all taken down and therefore it only exists for a limited amount of time. There's something really quite poignant (and remember, you are speaking to the Queen of Cynics here) about seeing a building you know for a fact you will never see again.

Last year's was designed by Frank Gehry and was simply stunning, so we headed out to see the new one, deisgned this year by SANAA, the Japanese architect firm. This one looks like a floating pool of water, and is filled with brightly coloured 'bunny chairs' as George christened them, as their backs look like two rabbit ears. I can't recommend a visit highly enough, especially as the Serpentine Gallery itself (next door) has a fab Jeff Koons exhibition on: all inflatable lobsters, pictures of glamour models and Popeye - yes, you couldn't make it up (but he obviously can). Mind you, walking around a gallery with a toddler, when the gallery is filled with inflatable toys which you can't touch isn't the easiest of tasks. The gallery attendants fixed George with a steely glare as we walked round, and I was most proud when he said as we left "Mummy, toys not for touching" within earshot of the particularly evil looking one.

Well worth a visit. The pavilion is there until 18 October.

2009-07-15T09:49:00.000-07:00

Last week, I went shopping with my Mum for her wedding dress. I don't think I need to tell you that this is the first time I've ever done this: my Mum has been married before, but I certainly wasn't capable of accompanying her on a wedding outfit expedition on that occasion...

My beloved Mum gets married in the south of France on August 7th, to a very lovely and kind man called Geoff. It fills me with happiness just to anticipate this occasion: weddings are always full of joy and hope and good feelings, but when one your favourite people is doing it, the happiness really is special. So shopping for the wedding outfit was particularly poignant. In the middle of the first shop my sister and I soon realised that my lovely Mum doesn't realise how lovely she is - the first few dresses were treated to reactions such as "Oh no, that definitely won't suit me" and my personal favourite, "Oh, no, that's much too glamorous for me"... But needless to say that the outfit she chose (which I can't describe for obvious reasons) is wonderful, and what makes it glamorous, of course, is her.

There's something very odd about preparing for your own mother's wedding though. In many ways, it's probably a bit like your child getting married - I shall certainly breathe a secret sigh of relief that I now know she will be well looked after and loved in my absence. And I can't wait to stand next to her as she makes her vows. I'm so proud of her.

2009-07-13T01:27:00.000-07:00

Last week for the first time, I went Dragon Boat racing. As I have the puniest arms in history, and zero stamina (I'm proud of these facts, don't feel sorry for me) I decided in advance that I should be the drummer, rather than being one of the paddlers. This decision, sadly, was taken without having actually seen the boat. In fact, the drummer sits high up on a chair at the front and beats out time - er, multiple falling off opportunities. So here's your summary:

There are ten paddlers and one drummer. The aim is to speed across the lake, the drummer beating time so that everyone in the team rows at the same time

There were 12 teams - all lawyers - so winning was clearly the name of the game

There were at least two lawyers in other teams that I wouldn't spit on if they were on fire, so my determination to win was ferocious.

We qualified fastest out of the heats and then it was down to 4 teams for the grand final. We were hilarious. As we waited on the start line, the umpire t0ld us we had a few minutes to go before the race started, so we could all practice our starts. No, we said. We are ready. And then we were off - me screaming 'Focus, focus!' and the others rowing like crazy. And you know what - we won. By 3 tenths of second. Fastest time of the day. This is us, sporting our gold medals. And I even made it back into central London in time to see Grace Jones in concert again. Lovely.

2009-07-07T03:51:00.000-07:00

I've just returned from a really brilliant three days on the lovely island of Mallorca with my DH, sans child. There is simply no way that I am disclosing the name of the place where we stayed, because it is a small slice of heaven, and it is hard enough to get a room there at the best of times, and anywhere where they anticipate your need for a frozen strawberry daiquiri even when you didn't realise you actually needed one yet is a place worth keeping under wraps. Having been to Mallorca an unnatural amount of times already, my first times were few. But we did go, for the first time, to a really stunning new restaurant called Simply Fosh.

Simply Fosh is run by a chef called Marc Fosh, who is actually British but lives on Mallorca and cooks the most simple gorgeous food in extremely trendy surroundings - art installation? - got it. Located in an old convent - you got it. Posh ex pats fawning around - indeed. Marc Fosh himself welcoming you as you arrive - you guessed it. But despite all these attempts at uber-coolness, none of this can disguise the fact that it is a truly wonderful restaurant. My lemon cream dukka with rosewater sorbet sounded like a show-off-piece-de-2 star Michelin-resistance tat. It was in fact the best dessert I've ever had. And we got the last bus home, just to prove that we're not too posh after all.

Simply Fosh, at Hotel Convent de la Missio, Palma.

2009-07-01T08:27:00.000-07:00

Hello my all-too-hot lovelies. For the first time ever, I have decided that I hate hot weather in London. Now, I know this means I am officially getting old. I have no desire to run off to the park and strip down to my underwear and sit in the sun (and I'll have you know that for someone who's 36 and has had a kid I look mighty fine in my underwear, so that's not why), and the truth is that there's nothing about central London and sun together, in the same place, which really works. This hatred also has nothing to do with the fact that I have to work in it, as I work in a fully air-conditioned office. it has everything to do with the fact that it is http://www.just.too.hot.com/ (don't check that, it is fully made up and may link you to a dodgy site). I also have a real issue with women who wear flip flops in central London. What? This isn't Ibiza, love. It's the mean streets. And your pasty feet look fat and swollen. And men who sport sunburn (and I don't care if you have been playing Wimbledon all week, mate) - what is that about? Attractive.

Anyway, I am off to Mallorca this weekend and the sunshine there will of course be excellent. But that is because there is (a) a beach (b) lots of outside cafes and (c) lots of outdoor pools, oh and also the fact that holidays + sun = good old time. London + sun = horrid sweaty mess. Urgh.

2009-06-23T02:14:00.000-07:00

This weekend, for the first time, I attended a World Cup Final! It was the final of the Cricket Twenty-Twenty World Cup at Lord's Cricket Ground. Now (stop sniggering at the back) this was a truly great occasion. For those of you who have no idea what I'm talking about, here's the lowdown.

Cricket is a game invented by the English. The players usually wear white and traditionally games take days and spectators sit around drinking Pimms and eating sandwiches.

It's played with a bat and a ball and it's all about scoring runs (and not getting out).

The English used to be the best in the world at cricket (when they were the only ones that played). As soon as they shared it with the world, lots of other teams became better than us. Teams who are better than us include Australia, Pakistan, the West Indies, India, and lots of others. Teams who are worse than us generally have no history of playing cricket, see the Netherlands, Outer Mongolia and so on.

Recently, cricket officials started to realise that not that many people have time to come and watch a game which takes an average of five days to complete. So they invented 20-20 cricket, which involved each side having only 20 "overs" to bowl (each over has six balls. Are you keeping up? Quiz later). This means that the whole game is only 3 hours long approx. and can be very exciting as there is real pressure to score high quickly.

Very recently for the first time, they decided to have a 20-20 World Cup every 2 years. This year it was hosted by the UK.

The two finalists were Pakistan and Sri Lanka. England went out miserably at the 'Super 8' stage, despite a 'brave' (rubbish) performance.

The key player for Pakistan is a man called Shahid Afridi, who in Pakistan is bigger than David Beckham. The man next to me almost fainted when he came out onto the field, and held up a banner which said "Be Afridi, Be Very Afridi", which was a clear work of genius.

To cut a long story short, it was wonderful. We sat in the Pakistan end and the atmosphere was electric. Even I was waving a Pakistan flag at the end (and yes, they did win, and Afridi scored the winning runs). All around us, whole families, grannies, toddlers, you name it had come out to support their team. It was like being at a game in downtown Karachi.

2009-06-17T01:31:00.000-07:00

Apologies for the delay in blogging, it's just been really busy out there in the real world, DH has been away in the States so spare time didn't really exist... but here I am. And today my first time report is really close to my heart. For the first time, I am really conversing with my first born.

Before I actually had a child, the image I had in my mind was of a small child, walking along, holding my hand, pointings things out and having a conversation with me. I think I'd blanked out in my head all the really difficult bits before that: giving birth, having a small baby to look after when you have no idea what to do and so on. But yesterday I realised that the dream has finally come true, after George (who obviously is terribly advanced) started speaking in real sentences. Yesterday, I went to get him up out of his cot and he said: "Mummy, I come out and Mummy change nappy please, it's dirty" - I was really floored, certainly no room for misunderstandings there. And yesterday we spent a good hour in the garden while he pointed out to me a garden fork ("Garden, Mummy, not eating"), asked me all about the tap and hosepipe and pointed out a whole series of raindrops on the leaves. And then last night: "Mummy, play Yeah Yeah Yeahs" (I know, perfect musical taste as well).

I know that it's not de rigeur to post about your children, as I'm sure it's terribly boring for everyone else. But let me indulge in this. For the first time, the Mummy-dream has come true.

2009-06-08T03:59:00.001-07:00

On Friday night, two first times - first time to the Electric Ballroom, to see The Horrors for the first time. Quite a novelty this one, as I have no idea how I could have missed going to the Electric Ballroom before - I go to so many gigs and it just so happens that I've never been there. And what a fabulous venue it is too - small but perfectly formed.

Oh... and that's not even taking into account the wonder of The Horrors. Now, for those of you who have no idea who these boys are, they are an indie goth band who have an enigmatic lead singer called Faris Rotter, who had suffered the ignomy of being Peaches Geldof's other half when she announced that she had gotten married (to someone else). Anyway their music is an acquired taste (I described it to someone as music where the tune and lead vocal appears to be being drowned out by someone doing some loud vacuuming in the background) but in my view, this makes them God-like - a limited fan base means no chance of appearing on an arena tour any time soon.

We rocked up and found ourselves in a crowd of small teenage goths, but we were much admired (me for my T-shirt - 80s B Line Matchbox Disaster) and DH for just being gorgeous, I presume - the girls were very private-school-from-Skins.

Anyway, they came on stage and cue lots of high-pitched girly screaming: "Faris! Faris!" while Faris (who appears to have gotten over Peaches) stood in his beanpole way and waved his arms around and lit his face from underneath to look super-scary. They were all dressed in black (save for someone who looked spookily like Jade Goody's husband on bass guitar and was wearing a Hawaian shirt) and they were sell-your-granny fabulous. 'Who Can Say' is a song which makes me and DH argue a lot (are the lyrics teenage or not? - They are, and I am clearly right) but makes me want to give up life, as if a 20 year old can write this stuff then what hope is there for the rest of us? And when it started up, the crowd almost fell silent in anticipation. Genius.

Overall, not the violent gig the press had predicted, but worth every not-being-like-a-lawyer-for-a-whole-night moment. I am a Horror.

Horrors new album (Primary Colours) out now.

2009-05-30T11:00:00.000-07:00

So, on Thursday for the first time, I attended a ballet class. Now, this is not actually true. I took ballet classes from the age of 5 to about 10. However, that still means that I haven't been to ballet class for 25 years and given the fear I felt as I walked in, it counts as a first time (my blog, my rules, my friend). I thought I had chosen well - an adult evening ballet class for beginners. Note that word, it will become important. OK, so fair enough it was at a well-known ballet school near my home, but nevertheless, an adult beginners ballet class. Does that scream tiny girls in white tights and pointe shoes to you? No, exactly. So imagine my horror as I turned up, in a pair of sweat pants and a rather ugly t-shirt (printed with 'Royal Mail Letters' for some reason), to find the class absolutely full of those young women, plus a token few young men, all attired with tights, leotards and ballet slippers, all limbering up at the barre, looking like they were about to audition for Bambi or Swan Lake or something. I immediately walked out, backwards, and walked into Helen, my new friend and the only other person who was in socks and not wearing tights. She assured me that we were in the right class - she'd been once before - and we stood skulking at the back watching all the Margot Fonteyns showing off (well, just stretching at that stage, but you know what I mean).

Eventually, I plucked up the courage to speak to the rather formidable guy beside me and said (accusingly, you bet) "You don't look like a beginner to me!" to which he replied - "oh, we're not, we just love the teacher." Hm. Anyway, you're probably expecting me to say that I'm never going back, but you'd be wrong. I loved every moment (well, except one, which I'll explain in a moment) and I can't wait to go back.

So the teacher then arrived, and all I can say is that he is the weirdest yet most inspiring teacher in the world. I felt like I'd stepped into a parallel universe. Earlier in the day I had been at my desk being a lawyer and then here I was, practicising demi-pliées in fifth position, whilst having my rib cage position corrected by an Italian man who spent the class coming out with phrases like: "Close your ribcage until you feel like you will suffocate! You won't suffocate, you won't die. Remember when your husband left you and you felt like you would die? Well, you didn't did you?" I was enchanted.

Helen and I lumbered about at the back for two hours whilst watching the stars (pretty much everyone except us) until towards the end of the class, he shouted "Beginners, at the front!" and made us stand in front of the mirrors. I thought he hadn't noticed us, and I genuinely almost walked out. But instead I lumbered about while he watched us, until he dismissed us with a mysterious: "Not bad, you know more than you think you do". I can't wait for next Thursday.

2009-05-27T07:34:00.001-07:00

Well, quite an eye-opener today, first timers. Today for the first time, I sat the Life in the UK Test. For those of you who are (rather fortunately) blissfully unaware of what this experience is all about, quite recently the UK decided to introduce a new test which must be taken by anyone who wishes to become a British national, which is, as its name suggests, all about Life in the UK. This is merely a pre-requisite, you also have to put in a lengthy application and (if successful) you attend a citizenship ceremony, where you swear allegiance to the Queen* (*coughs into hand).

Now rather foolishly, despite having been in the UK for over 30 years, I have never applied for British nationality at a time when it was rather easier, cheaper and had no requirement to sit any test, but recently I decided that if I was good enough to pay tax in this country and represent the Government regularly in court then frankly I'm good enough to have a British passport. So I booked my test and bought my book to swot up for the exam.

And so the fun started. Now, unfortunately I have signed an agreement with the Home Office which forbids me to discuss the content of the test. But what I can say is: oh my goodness me. Despite the fact that ultimately I completed the test in 6 minutes, I had to learn a massive amount of things I did not know. So, avoiding any questions I actually had during the test, or how they are phrased - do you know what percentage of the population described themselves as Buddhist duirng the 2001 census? Did you know the year in which the voting age became 18? Or the number of countries in the Commonwealth? Or why the Huguemots came to the UK and when? Exactly. Last night when I realised how hard it was (having left myself one night to revise) I sweated. A lot.

But hey, the good news is that I passed! Hurray, one step closer to swearing allegiance. And I met a charming Jamaican lady who was taking the test at the same time as me (she failed, sadly). But the bad news ...now I actually have to make the application, pay £700, send in my passport and wait 6 months to know if I've been successful. Er, yes, this does mean not being able to travel for 6 months anywhere ... and they might lose it! Maybe post-summer holidays...

2009-05-26T02:08:00.000-07:00

This weekend I found myself in Brighton and I had the pleasure of meeting my friend Russell's adorable new puppy (Chester) for the first time. I don't usually have any time for dogs (probably because my life doesn't leave time for anything really) but he is really the most beautiful puppy I have ever seen. I obviously forgot to ask what breed of dog he is, but he's elegant and has beautiful eyes and I bet he commands lots of attention...

However, quite apart from Chester, I had the opportunity to have a nose around Russell and his partner Claas's new hotel in Brighton, which opened recently. Russell took great pride in telling me that it is the only 5 star accommodation in Brighton and it's not hard to see why. The hotel is decorated in black, silver and blue and is elegant and luxurious in all the right ways - and with the sea at the end of the road, who could ask for more? It really is a luxurious boutique hotel and yes, this is a shameless plug for the hotel - all at very reasonable prices. Check them out at http://www.kemptownhousebrighton.com/ and enjoy.

2009-05-20T04:35:00.000-07:00

This weekend I went to an exhibition at the Barbican for the first time. If I could summarise it in one sentence I'd say that I feel robbed of an hour of my time. Now, I'm all for a bit of enlightenment and cultural insight (see previous Jarvis post). But not in this case: it was an hour of my life which I'll never have back .

The exhibition in question was the Le Corbusier exhibition. Now, don't get me wrong, I don't blame the Barbican for the set-up or anything. My issue was with Le Corbusier himself. Now for those of you who don't know, this man (and prepare yourself for quite a lengthy speaking-ill-of-the-dead session) is claimed to be the father of modernist architecture. Now, I'm sure he is. What no one mentioned to me before I had paid my £8 entrance fee was that this accolade doesn't mean that anything he designed was actually any good. Let's set the scene here: we're talking about a man who was actually called Jean-Paul-Sartre-de-Genet-de-French-OhLaLa but preferred to be known as 'Le Corbusier' - how pretentious. He also thought that Paris should basically be demolished and then rebuilt with rows and rows of tower blocks in grids. In my view, he also designed the most horrific modernist villas (for the rich) and the most nasty tower blocks for the poor. His 'iconic' recliner screams bachelor pad and has none of the sublety and elegance of, for example, something by Eames or Jacobsen. He appeared to collect stones. Not fossils, stones. I tell you. No. Redeeming. Features.

I'm pleased to report that George was equally unmoved, save for the stone collection (he is obssessed with stones at the moment). I think this sums it up really.

2009-05-18T07:29:00.000-07:00

Look left on this page, and you will see the lovely Jarvis Cocker, the man who inspired this blog and who remains my (only) idol after scores of other idols have fallen by the wayside (usually because I've grown up a bit and seen their true faces - like Madonna for example. I worshipped her when I was 13. Now - this adoption business? The power muscles? That scrunchie? The Jesus effect? Whatever). Anyway, I digress.

So this weekend for the first time, I attended a small impromptu gig at Rough Trade off Brick Lane - yes, merely 100 other people and me and Jarvis. It's actually impossible to describe in words how wonderful this actually was. Being so close to your idol that you can touch them. Realising that yes, they are as cool as you think they are. And best of all - although he still sings songs (as he always has) about the kookiness of love (songs on the new album include a song about meeting a girl in the paleontology section of a museum) now that's he's a Dad he also sings about having a toddler ('Hold Still') and my favourite topic, the art of being deeply shallow ('I Never Said I was Deep'). I leave you with a few of the lines from that song:

"Some girls want to play it dirty, some girls just want to be your Mum. Me, I just disrespected you while we waited for the taxi to come". Work.Of. Genius.

2009-05-09T05:52:00.000-07:00

Even at the ripe old age of 30-something, there are lots of occasions when I can't quite believe that I am an adult and I think: 'Hey, what on earth happened? How come I have to be the responsible person here? Who made me the adult?' And today was one of these days.

For the first time today, I had to take George for a measles jab. Now I won't bore the non-Britons with the details but basically in the UK, the national health service insist on children having a combined vaccine called MMR (measles, mumps, rubella). A few years ago, a doctor did some research and informed the world that this vaccine was linked to autism. He has been discredited since then, but being a fully-paid-up-got-the-T-Shirt member of the middle class, I decided to pay privately for single jabs instead just in case, you know. So we turned up at a terribly posh Harley Street address along with other similarly-intentioned parents. George sat on a mini-Verner Panton chair and was offered cartoons, giant chocolate buttons and some jelly babies (see, I told you it wasn't the NHS). The doctor giving him the injection was young and blonde, so George was in 7th heaven - he is obsessed with blondes -yes, he's 18 months old and a player.

As I held him and she administered the injection I suddenly had a flash of: 'What? Isn't someone else going to hold his hand? Isn't someone else going to think of all the clever questions to ask the doctor?' but no, there was just me and DH, rolling our eyes at each other at the madness of it all. Welcome to parenthood.

2009-05-06T03:38:00.000-07:00

This weekend, for the first time, I attended the Brighton Festival's Children's Parade, and what a riot of colour and fun (and snot) it was. It was a stunning sunny day and what felt like millions of children paraded through the streets of Brighton, all dressed in various costumes which represented one of four themes: earth, wind, fire and air. George loved it - I love how toddlers find the smallest things fascinating - days later he still refers to the 'taps', 'fire' and 'water' that he saw. There's something very special about Brighton, and it made me want to move there (and yes, I do decide this once every six months or so). There's always something happening and you can wake up in the morning and walk down to the sea. What's not to love?

I do however have a major bone of contention today. The news is full of this man who won the 'Best Job in the World' competition. For those of you who have no idea what I mean: http://www.guardian.co.uk/uk/2009/may/06/briton-wins-best-job-australia

What utter nonsense! I am so tired of the hippy surfer-come-toothy-smiled-blond Briton who won this competition already. Best job in the world? For hippies maybe. I grant you, living somewhere new for a year: exciting. Blogging: not too bad a passtime also. But the best job in the world? No way. My best job in the world would entail:

Being near my family and being actually able to spend some time with them

Lots of cocktails, and shoes with very high heels which don't hurt my knees

Using my brain

Sunshine on tap

Meeting lots of new people all the time

Excitement at the sense of achievement

No spiders

Being close to my friends

Oh, so that's the job I currently have.... save for the sun and spare time! Eat your heart out, best job in the world...

2009-04-27T03:21:00.001-07:00

My favourite first time of the weekend has to have been my first visit to the National Film Theatre to watch a film. The Londoners amongst you will be saying "Sweetpea. How could you never have been to the NFT? It is a classic movie theatre, showing all manner of cool films. Where have you been hiding, Planet Odeon?" but the truth is that although I've been to the building a great number of times to meet friends for coffee or just to hang out, I'd never been to see a film.

But when I realised that they had a James Bond season on, I practically manhandled by DH out of the door, such was my excitement. Now, I have come to James Bond late in life. My Dad used to watch them and the blend of violence and the fact that the feminist movement never happened in the world of 007 used to put me right off. But now I think: what's not to love? Especially with the old ones? Sean Connery, rocket launches which look like an episode of the Clangers because the special effects are so bad, and a girl formula which goes something like this: There must be 3 girls. One at the start, who is in bed with James. She must die in the third frame. One who is vehemently anti-Bond. She must hate him, but then be overcome by him and his potent sexual attractiveness. And one who loves Bond and must end up with him in the final frame. And all on the big screen!

DH and I had a lovely evening, curled up on the comfy seats, watching Live and Let Die. Bet you didn't know that Roald Dahl wrote the screenplay for Live and Let Die. 007-tastic.

2009-04-24T06:35:00.000-07:00

The most loyal of my readers will not have failed to notice that I am deeply cynical. I think it's a combination of (a) having parents who were active CND campaigners (that's anti-nuclear for those of you who have been living on another planet - or continent) who taught me to fundamentally distrust things said by people in power and (b) living in a big city like London where cynicism is the personality trait du jour. I love being cynical. It's part of me and trust me, I'll never be taken in by a scam... but anyway.

My reason for mentioning my favourite personality trait today is to tell you about my recent conversion to the benefits of physiotherapy. Now until recently I had physio on a par with Chinese medicine, fortune telling and osteopathy - that is, I had decided that as I had no idea what they entail, they were clearly just clap-trap, with no scientific basis whatsoever and moreover that they might even entail asking people to part with their cash when they were feeling a bit low in order to make them feel better about themselves rather than being a proper scientific thing. Maybe with physio it's because it involves massage and I thought it was just about relaxation or something.

However, I have well and truly been proven wrong here. Since I had George my right knee has decided that it no longer wishes to play ball and instead is painful and useless. So I was recommended physio and for the first time ever, I agreed to go. I was deeply cynical. In fact deeply doesn't really do it justice, I almost turned and left when I arrived at the physio place and saw a giant gym ball in the reception area, not to mention the natty football shorts they lay out for clients' use. However, apart from the fact that my physio is a most stunning Australian gent who knows all about football, what he does and recommends actually makes me feel better. My knee feels stronger. I've no longer 'lost control of it' (yes, that is actually the medical term for it). So apologies to all the physios of the world. You're clearly doing a sterling job.

2009-04-18T05:17:00.000-07:00

Back in London, where the sun continues to shine. I have a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, but this is because my beloved Arsenal are playing in the semi-final of the FA Cup today and I have a feeling that I am going to go and watch them and they are going to lose. Anyway, this isn't my first time at a semi final or my first time at the new Wembley, so I need to move on.
Instead let me tell you about yesterday. Yesterday, DH and I had the immense joy of going posh furniture shopping. The avid readers of this blog will know that DH are currently, rather rashly you might think, doing up an old Salvation Army hall and turning it into a house. A rather massive house. And we came to the realisation that we move back into it in 3 months time and our tiny furniture just isn't going to cut it. So off we headed to lots of posh furniture shops. It was like being in a parallel universe.
Let me explain: a typical Friday for me goes something like this: get George up, have battle over what George wants to wear today, apply make up with one hand whilst stopping George from diving out of the window, go to work, work hard, come home, go to the park with George, clean up Play-Doh mess in the kitchen, glass of wine, bed.
Yesterday was: Get dressed in designer frock. Attend expensive Italian designer furniture store. Spend two hours discussing sofas and beds and ottomans (yes, exactly), lights, fabrics, you name it with someone called Tristan and another Italian man who waved his hands a lot. Spend indecent sum of money. Go to Bibendum (for the first time, natch!) and eat fabulous steak au poivre. Go to Harrods and spend almost two hours discussing hideously expensive dressing table, love seat etc. Fall into taxi. Very big glass of wine. Bed. Lovely.
But weird as this day was, I am now the proud owner of the loveliest sofa in the world. Well, I will be, three months down the line when Tristan has managed to persuade the Italian man to place the order and get it sent here. The Charles, it's called. Couldn't have thought of a better Italian name myself.

2009-04-12T13:27:00.000-07:00

Hello from sunny Cornwall, first timers! I've spent the last week in this beautiful region, doing lots of first time things: I've been to Mousehole (pronounced Mouzel apparently), Trereife Park (pronounced Treef) and St Michael's Mount (pronounced St. Michael's Mount)... But my favourite first time this week has been the discovery of Ken Eardley. Now I know that it's horribly naff for lawyers to pretend they know anything about art, or anything even vaguely creative. Don't even get me started on all those lawyers who claim that they 'love' and have a 'vast knowledge of' opera and spend vast sums on tickets to Royal Covent Garden tickets. Get with the programme: you're a lawyer. But anyway. I won't say I know anything about this man, or his work, but I loved him. Ken Eardley is a potter. He makes ceramics. And wandering around a little village one day I found some of his work in a gallery. A new lifelong love has begun, I feel it.

2009-04-07T12:13:00.000-07:00

Hello from sunny Cornwall! Yes, I mean that ... it has been so sunny that I swam outside today and my face is a little browner. In the UK. In April. I know. Apparently the weather here is better than it is in Mallorca at the moment.

I am delighted to say that for the first time I am living the middle-class family holiday dream this week and there's nothing wrong with that, so get over it. Don't believe me? Get this: we are staying in a luxury self-catering apartment, in Cornwall, which clearly caters to middle class families just like me: pool, restaurant, babysitters on tap, cocktails brought to your apartment, DVD collection in your apartment, great views, five minutes walk to the sea, designer jewellery gift shop in the lobby. See? I told you. Middle class heaven. Only if I had a 4x4, a child called Jasper and a carbon footprint guilt-complex would I fit in more.

None of this is to knock the place, it's called The Cove at Lamorna and is genuinely wonderful; the staff are so friendly you can be sure it's not London, and swimming outside in April really does it for me. The caipirinhas also hit the spot...

2009-04-03T03:00:00.000-07:00

So, on Monday this week for the first time ever, I went to a new QC ceremony. For those of you who have no idea what I am talking about, my husband was recently appointed Queen's Counsel (hence QC). It's an appointment which is made when you are pretty senior at the Bar and it means that you (a) are really quite clever (b) can command higher fees (c) are really showing off. You simply add the letters to the end of your name - so DH is now Darling Husband QC. If the Queen ever died or she simply handed over to Charles or William - please save us from this day - all QCs would automatically become KCs (Kings Counsel). Make sense?

The day itself is a veritable extravaganza. The outfit DH had to put on was really quite splendid (see photo, and yes that is my fabulous dress) - what you can't see from the photo are DH's black tights and patent leather shoes with buckles - pretty special. Ladies get to wear their own shoes apparently, so I am already starting to save up for some black Louboutins in case my time ever comes.

After an obligatory photo-session, we headed off the Westminster Hall in a massive Daimler, where I practised my royal wave at all the tourists leaning in the windows and trying to take photos of DH (who hates this sort of thing...). At Westminster, Jack Straw gave a speech about how wonderful the new QCs are but how they could not have done it without the love and support of their families (I'm warming to this man no end at the moment). They all had to 'solemnly declare' that they would do something (what this is appears to be lost in the mists of time) and DH was the only one who got it wrong... he solemnly 'swore' instead. Maybe this means he can be stripped of the status?

Then it was off to the Royal Courts of Justice for the main shebang. I think people would pay good money to watch this. We all sat in Court 4, and four judges presided, in all their gold finery and the-least-flattering-wigs-ever-made. Each new QC had to come up in turn and bow to them, then to the left and right, then to the back and then finally they are asked by the judges 'Do you move?' - to which they answer nothing, but simply bow again and leave the court. Was fascinated by this. Surely the answer was 'Yes, if the music's right' or even 'when?' but no. I had Mr. Bombastic's 'I like to move it, move it' in my head and it was almost painful trying to contain laughter as I watched all 104 new QCs being asked the question. Must do some research on what this actually means.

Wouldn't have missed it for the world though. Although the Gods did try. The Court of Appeal office had listed one of my cases at short notice on the same day, but with some skilful negotiating, this was moved to Tuesday. Just as well. It's not often you see your DH in a wig and tights (or at least, not in public.)

2009-03-31T07:39:00.001-07:00

Oh, I have so many first times this week that it's going to be hard to recount them all.. I think I'll do them one by one over the next few days. I'll start with my first ever trip to the Chancery Court Hotel spa this weekend. Now, until I had little George I was a bit of a spa afficionado. Now that I'm a Mum, spare time is as rare as the holding-of-the-Winter-Olympics-in -hell, and I never ever go to spas. My idea of spare time involves getting to sit on the sofa for more than five minutes. However, last week it was my birthday and my lovely DH (probably on the basis that he's fed up of my hairy legs and pasty complexion) decided that three hours, yes, three hours of pampering was what I needed. So off I trotted.

Now for those of you who don't know London or the spa, the Chancery Court is a fairly posh but fairly boring five star in central London; I can tell you, the whole 'boutique' thing really passed them by. Rock stars do not smash up suites there. I was also a bit sceptical when I heard that the treatments I was having were 'inspired by' Pearl Lowe, whose main claim to fame appears to be that she managed to have a baby (the very glam Daisy Lowe) with someone whilst married to someone else. But the 'Black Pearl' massage and 'Crazy for Daisy' pedicure (actually, who cares who her Dad is?) sounded good, so I reigned in my scepticism (I know. Can you believe it?).

I tell you - fabulous. The spa is utterly wonderful. The relaxation room (pictured) was in itself a work of genius. Beds that reclined with the push of a button, headphones for listening to tunes of your choice, a good selection of fruit and drinks, perfect-a-gorgeous. The Crazy for Daisy was a bit ruined by the French lady who was administering said foot-treatment ranting on about how London was so dir-tee and cray-zee! Oh, le qualité of life, she is Oh-FULL! (and I am French, so I can get away with this comment) but the Black Pearl massage (which included massage with hot and cold stones, which sounds awful is strangely brilliant and invigorating, much like jumping into a cold lake after a sauna) was an incomparable delight. In total, three hours of total self-indulgence. Mums of the world take note. Pampering = sanity. I came home happy, full of the joys of life and in the best ever mood with my lovely DH. And the quality of life in London is just fine, French lady.

Comigng up... DH's silk ceremony, roll on the Daimlers, bowing, 'do you move'?, first ever meeting with Jack Straw etc...

2009-03-26T06:07:00.000-07:00

Just as I was starting to panic that I was not going to achieve anything for the first time today, my friend Sam came in with a stick of Blackpool Rock for me, from her recent trip north. So as I type I am polishing it off - oh yes, an entire stick in one sitting for me - I'm not Scottish for nothing.

Only 6.5 working days to go until my holidays now - 2 whole weeks of first times which I shall faithfully report on. But for now, this pick of this week's first times:

For the first time, I know someone called Spike (great name), courtesy of my lovely friends A and B, who have disappointed me somewhat by not having a baby whose name starts with 'C', so that I could have referred to them as A, B and C (but hey-ho)

I had my first ever 'grown up' birthday, with lunch, dinner and friends (actually strike that, it was not grown up at all, watching Match of Day at midnight whilst having had fourteen glasses of wine too many and rewinding the bit where Rooney gets sent off too many times just because it was so funny) probably isn't very grown up at all

Learning for the first time that there might just be different lyrics to Itsy Bitsy Spider (Incey Wincey apparently) despite betting the mortgage that I was right, and losing face quite badly over the whole incident

Eating 'dappled dandies' for the first time - yes, apparently they are plums, I'd never even heard of them before, but they're yum.

Until the next time, first-timers!

2009-03-18T03:04:00.000-07:00

Last night, DH and I went to the Arsenal v Hull City game at the Emirates stadium. Although we won (on the basis of a dodgy offside goal) I thought Hull played well - although the amount of moaning they are doing this morning in the media has put me right off them. Spitting? Whatever. Dodgy refereeing? Get over it.

However, I was distracted throughout most of the game by the boy next to me asking me questions: "Hey, do you think we're going to score?" and "Hey, who was that who was fouled just then?" and "Do you think that was offside?" - and I was trying desperately to contain my language in front of him as well. For some reason, I swear like a trouper at these events. Then at the end of the game, his wee friend came up to me and said "My mate thinks you're gorgeous. Are you single?" Now, I tell you, this is the first time this has ever happened. Asked if I'm single by a 12 year old? And clearly one who has trouble in the eye department as well - not only was I wearing a wedding ring, but I was with DH, who I hugged and kissed after each of the two Arsenal goals (and we held hands at half time). Genius. Bless. I told him that I was not and was old enough to be his granny, which was met with a grin.

Anyway, I enclose a photo of our new player Ashavin next to our striker Adebayor. Apparently he's as tall as Pele...

2009-03-16T10:06:00.001-07:00

It's been a very slow week for first times. Just feast your eyes on my achievements to see what I mean:

I bought a dark green crochet-ed (spelling?) frog pouch to hold my camera in (and I know this says nothing good about me at all).

I have become obsessed, for the first time, with 'statement belts'. I bought my first one yesterday at Spitalfields. It's blue and sparkly and has a gold clasp. It's the kind of thing you'd find in your mother's closet and weep (and not in a good way) but I love it.

I went to Hounslow for the first time. For fear of offending anyone, I'd better not report on this.

I started reading a new author for the first time (Stieg Larsson) but given that he's from Scandinavia and definitely modern, this has done nothing whatsoever to challenge my prejudices in favour of novels which are both modern and European (see one of my very first posts).

So in desperation today for the first time I made a list about things I am deeply cynical about but would like to be less cynical about. Now I know what you're thinking: I am deeply cynical about most things, so how could I choose? But here's the best I could do:

Modern indie music. Are you having a laugh? 'Indie'? It's about as independent (which is what indie stands for, but this has been lost in the mists of time) as David Cameron and Michael Winner's love child. Or turkeys voting for Christmas to be cancelled, take your pick of the analogies. Er, a big A+R outfit discovering you playing in your local pub and then three months later you're playing Wembley (and it sold out in three minutes) is not independent, it's slick marketing rubbish and you've sold out and no-one thinks you're cool. Not even your mates.

People who write articles in newspapers taking some outlandish stance on something: you know, "Pregnant women are killing their children if they have one glass of wine in 9 months" type efforts. You're just doing it to sell newspapers and anyway who cares about your opinion anyway.

People who read and get upset by the articles (set out above). Who cares? Just do what's right for you. Stop writing in to the paper, getting upset. It's bad for the blood pressure and gives more publicity to a subject that everyone else finds dull anyway.

SuperMums. Don't even get me started. The truth must be that you silently weep into your hot drink at night and you haven't had sex since the birth of your fifth baby.

Rugby. Do I need to say anything more?

2009-03-12T04:48:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I decided that for the first time since I moved to London some light-years ago, that I would speak to my neighbour. Now, for those of you who don't live in London, I can hear you say - what? You don't speak to your neighbours? My neighbours are my best friends! - but trust me, in London it's one of The Rules. You do not ever speak to your neighbours. Speak to someone on public transport and you're clearly a lunatic. Give someone eye contact on the street and you're a serial killer. You get my drift. But as I arrived home last night, I saw my neighbour come out of his house and I thought: shall I do my usual thing (i.e. run into my house, pretending I haven't seen him) or shall I let someone new into my life and actually engage in converation? Well, I wish this story had a happy ending. In the film of my life, my next door neighbour would turn out to be Jarvis Cocker's best mate and as a result of talking to him, DH and I would be invited to lots of intimate soirees at his house, not to mention tiny unannounced gigs, international festivals and the like. Jarvis would become my new best friend. But sadly, no. My next door neighbour is one of the most boring men in the world. He drives a BMW and said 'goody' a lot during the course of conversation (and not Jade Goody, that would definitely have been a conversation-starter). I found out that he likes red wine and owns a timeshare. I tell you this for free: knowing your neighbours is fundamentally over-rated.

2009-03-10T03:19:00.000-07:00

It's been a horribly long time since I wrote, apologies. There's too much to tell and I won't even try. I have become obsessed with making lists and with the whole Julie Myerson debate. For those of you who don't know, Julie is an author who has recently decided to publish a book based on her and her husband's real-life decision to throw their 20-year old son out of the house on the basis of his problems with drugs. Skunk, mind, not heroin. She has been absolutely vilified in the press, accused of everything from being middle-class about drugs to 'letting down the concept of motherhood'. Her husband Jonathan wrote an article in the Guardian about it today which prompted me to do something else for the first time: write to someone I've never met about a subject I know nothing about. His article was, in my view, exceptional. 'Exceptional' is an over-used word but it's a useful one in this context. His article was full of pain and love and hard facts. I know nothing about having a teenage son or the effect of drugs and to be honest neither are things I worried about, but I was compelled to write to say how exceptional his article was. It will be etched on my mind for a long time, for sure.
Anyway, on to lists. Yesterday for the first time I made a list of things I like which are deeply uncool but which make me who I am:

Francis Cabrel (see photo): wrinkly old French folk-rocker who sings songs about women's eyes, the beauty of children, ladies who live in wooden chalets in the Alps and always appreciating what you have. Subjects so uncool that they're almost cool again. Desperately uncool, but strangely brilliant.

Cheryl Cole. Now I know that this one divides the nation. How can any woman like someone who was once convicted of assault on a nightclub attendant (although cleared of racist charges), is a UK size 4 (size zero, US-dwellers) and is married to Ashley Cole, the most stupid footballer of all time? But there's something about her, isn't there?

Eating peanut butter out of the jar with a teaspoon. Preferably whilst watching 'Coleen's Real Women'. And only the crunchy variety works here.

'Coleen's Real Women'. For those of you who have not sampled this work of genius, the premise for this TV show is that Coleen (married to Wayne Rooney, a footballer of uncertain physical attractiveness) finds 'real women' to star in ad campaigns, often 'beating real models' to the job. I love it for the simple fact that models around the UK probably detest her - "Hey Coleen, rack off! How are we going to get jobs if real women are taking them over!" (see also American's Next Top Model, Stylista and so on).

Bed socks. Cashmere. But I never wear them in bed, as surely this is the end of marriage?

Anyway, see you soon. x

2009-02-27T08:27:00.000-08:00

Last night, I went to the NME Big Gig show at the O2, featuring (amongst others) Franz Ferdinand and the Cure. Franz Ferdinand were very slick as usual - and I loved their set, probably mostly due to two facts: (1) I have forever had a little tiny crush on their lead singer, Alex Kapranos. Very tall, very Scottish. Don't ask. and (2) I think their new single, Ulysses, is a work of incomparable genius. And they played a really heavy version of it. But The Cure were truly underwhelming and I left early. I love the Cure, but er, guys? Note to you all: people have come to see your hits. I don't care if you think a funk jazz odyssey is the way forward, it isn't. But sitting through their (dismal) set did have one major advantage, I was able to think back to all the truly wonderful gig experiences I have had in my life and for the first time, I narrowed them down to five - I know! A totally male 'list'! Here they are and they are so in order.

(1) Placebo at Brighton Concorde II - about five years ago. Now this really was a gig the truly magnificence of is unlikely to ever be repeated. As you may know from previous posts, I love Brian Molko and they performed at the tiniest venue. He dedicated a song to Britney Spears. I can't really explain the irrational, but this was the best gig ever.

(2) Prince at the O2. Now I don't do big gigs, but this one involved the front row, being nine months pregnant, dancing, being six feet away from Prince and then being given his plectrum by the roadies afterwards with a message from the small man himself.

(3) Pulp at T in the Park. OK, picture this. France are playing Brazil in the final of the world cup. Yes, my team. I have tickets for T in the Park for the same day. My favourite band in the world (Pulp) are playing that day. The dilemma... I decided to attend the festival and watch the match on a big screen. Disaster. The game clashes with Pulp being on stage! I watched the first half, bombed it down to the stage only to have Jarvis announce that France has won the world cup....Does life get any better?

(4) Grace Jones at the Roundhouse a few weeks ago. See blog entry. Just for the jaw-dropping hula-hooping.

(5) James at the Queen Margaret Union, sometime in the 1980s. Oh, just a fabulous occasion. All of us sitting down during 'Sit Down'. Being out later than allowed. Having a crush on someone who later turned out to be gay (you know who you are!).

Oh and I've posted a random photo of my new Dries van Noten dress (it's the one in the middle).

2009-02-25T09:09:00.001-08:00

Well, I wasn't expecting this one. Today for the first time, I appeared in the High Court with no wig and no gown and no bands. I have attached to this post a handy little before and after illustration which shows what I mean, although can I say that I clearly wasn't wearing a horrid shapeless nasty-looking grey suit. The judge I am appearing in front of decided that he hates these things and asked us all to unrobe (no, not that sort of unrobe). I hate it! I paid good money for my wig and gown! They make me look more senior. And it means that tomorrow the pressure is on - what on earth am I going to wear? Not that it matters, as when the judge left the court tonight he said 'good evening, gentlemen' (I was the only woman in court). Great to see that the good old days aren't over, hey?

On a more serious note, I need your help. Please write in with your offers of first times I can experience. Seriously, does anyone work at a magazine where I can spend a day? Does anyone have an interesting hobby I can try just the once? Please add a comment (or email me at doyourememberthefirsttime@hotmail.com), and if it's offensive, I'll sue. Ha!

2009-02-24T07:43:00.000-08:00

Now, I've always considered myself a bit too cool for school (on the inside!). To you can imagine my surprise myself when I found myself this week, for the first time, not only enjoying a musical I attended, but (look away, all those who don't want to see my cool-tag ripped away for all eternity) actually shedding tears and then giving a standing ovation at a West End Musical. I don't do musicals. I hate the false-cheeriness, unless it's a really old-fashioned one, like The Boyfriend, which is a true great. Don't get me wrong. I love cheese. But not tug-at-my-heartstrings, oh-look-he's-flying-over-the-audience, Lloyd-Webber-laughing-all-the-way-to-the-bank kind of cheese. But this one, I (whisper) ... loved it. I'm not sure I can mention what it was (Billy Elliott). I would try to explain why I loved it but none of my reasons make rational sense to me and some things are just inexplainable and we need to move on ...

I've had such a wonderful week for first times as well. On Sunday I went for the first time to Sunday UpMarket off Brick Lane, which immediately got promoted to my favourite market in London. It's like Spitalfields used to be; edgy, full of great food and quirky fashions. Sad lawyer that I am, with very little creative flair, it was brilliant to meet young designers. I bought a toy frog for George, who was holding this messgae: "Not many people do, but I like a rainy day". Bless. I also bought a cool fascinator (and learned what that actually means!) for the impending QC ceremony I have to attend.

But my best first time this week was going to Manchester for the first time. The new civil justice centre there is a feat of architecture and the modern architecture nerd in me could wax lyrical for hours, but I won't bore you. But what's not to love about a city where Harvey Nichols and Selfridges are literally across the road from each other? I stood outside and hummed and hawed and eventually chose Selfridges (not being a west London girl at heart). And there I had one of my best ever first time experiences. Two words: personal shopping. Oh my word. I explained that I needed a fabulous dress for an important ceremony I was attending. The wonderful lady misheard my budget requirements and soon I was trying on D&G, Victoria Beckham, Roland Mouret, you name it, the full Cheryl Cole experience. Oh how fabulous. I tried on all the outfits pictured and it was too fabulous for words. I eventually chose an understated (not) Dries van Noten creation, spending more that it is appropriate to disclose. But what an experience...

2009-02-19T05:40:00.001-08:00

I've had the busiest week, doing all sorts of first things and lots of old things too (and sometimes the old things are definitely the best). Now, first of all, I have decided that Valentine's Day is definitely the most retro cool event of the year. Those old fusspots who proclaim that it is too commercialised, or (and they think this one is a killer) that couples should be romantic every day are missing the point completely. What's the problem with a day of celebrating love? Or the fact that you've found someone you love having sex with? Or the fact that someone has accepted all your flaws and still wants to be with you? Or with celebrating a day whose primary colour is pink? I had a truly excellent Valentine's Day which involved lots of first times - no, not those sorts of first times, you salubrious lot. I went to the new Mark Hix restaurant (very meaty), stayed in a rooftop room at the Zetter (funky) and had a cocktail called Make Me Happy (I lie. I had several. And then was almost sick. Whilst shouting "come on, let's have another one, you girl!" at my lovely DH who still manages to love me and put up with me).

Oh and speaking of my lovely DH, he found out yesterday that he has been appointed a QC. This means, for those of you who don't know, that he has reached the top of his profession as well as being very good-looking and nice and good at knowing when I've had enough cocktails. He's also now entitled to wear this lovely wig (as opposed to the smaller ones we barristers usually wear). So for the first time, I am married to a QC!

2009-02-12T08:25:00.000-08:00

Hello blog fans! I've been so overwhelmed at work over the last week that it's been hard to blog... but here I am, thanks for bearing with me. Actually, today I had what I think was my best every victory in court - but that would involve me blowing my own trumpet and I'm not going to do that (too obviously)... it's probably enough to say that it involved the Court of Appeal and my miracle turn-around arguments. Days like this, hey, shucks, it's cool being a barrister.

Two particularly notable first times this week. The first was a visit to the Design Museum to be acquainted with a fashion designer I had never heard of - Hussein Chalayan. He's Cypriot and designs clothes which are cutting edge in terms of their futuristic design and, in my view, their sheer ability not to pander in any way to the desire of the wearer. Comfort? Whatever. Flattering cut? Whatever. Suffice it to say that it's not going to surpass Prada on my coolest designer ever list. The coolest design on display was however this laser outfit. I think George would have paid serious money to take this away - what is is with babies and light?

Also this week I went for the first time to a baby shower. Now, this does not mean that I have no friends (or no friends with babies). It's just not really done much in the UK but my friend A was holding one and so I attended. Fabulous and horribly under-rated. The cakes! The hand-knitted toys! My competitive streak revealed (during party games)! Loved every moment and I can't believe how small A's bump is. Will be thinking of you, A and can't wait to meet the new arrival...

Oooh and one more thing - my Phaidon Atlas of 21st century architecture arrived, so prepare not to hear from me again for weeks while I swoon over the best modern buildings in the world... I love the architectural nerd in me!

2009-02-05T08:48:00.000-08:00

For the first time ever today, I attended the RTPI awards ceremony - held this year at the Park Lane Hilton. Yes, 600 planners in the same room. The Oscars of the planning and regeneration profession. Now, the cynics amongst you will undoubtedly assume that this was the most boring event ever invented, and that awards must have included 'award for the most innovative water feature in Bradford 2008', and you'd be partly right (there was an award for a golf course) but actually mostly you'd be wrong. Normally, I wouldn't be seen dead at this sort of event and I'm a Grade A cynic about such things. I loathe marketing and networking with a passion, mainly because last time I went to such an event two separate sweaty fifty somethings cornered me for the best part of two hours, trying to talk to me about a new document they loved, called Manual for Streets (which actually won an award today, but that's a separate story).

Today I was involved in presenting the 'Infratructure Project of the Year award' (yes, I'm that cool) which was won by the Channel Tunnel Rail Link and as I mocked (internally of course) I suddenly realised what a difference the Channel Tunnel - which runs between France and England and has obviated the need for ferries between the UK and the rest of Europe - has made to my life and those of countless others. The romantic trips to Paris which now take 2 hours! The visits to the Lille Christmas market which took less time than a trip to Birmingham... And I also realised how hard everyone who worked on the project must have worked. And how infrastructure and regeneration schemes totally transform the way we and others see the UK. And suddenly I was up there clapping with the rest of them.

And anyway, what's the problem with celebrating the area you work in? Not everyone can win an Oscar (and anyway don't get me started on my usual rant of WHY it is that actors are revered as they are anyway. Especially as most of them have zero talent) and it's lovely to see your work rewarded. OK, rant over...

2009-02-04T08:38:00.000-08:00

Hello and Happy February! So many of my first times are snow-related this week. It's definitely the first time I have seen so much snow in London ever - and this is true, as they say that London hasn't seen this much snow for 18 years. So I took full advantage (all in the name of this blog, of course).

Thanks to encouragement from my friend Ben, I decided to do a snow angel for the first time; you know, lying in the snow with your arms and legs out to make an angel shape in the snow? This was a brilliant feeling and would have been more brilliant if I had not (a) been wearing glittery open-toed shoes which soaked my feet - but hey, a girl's got to look good no matter what the weather, right? and (b) forgotten that I was wearing my fur hat (see Paris posts) and thereby created a very un-angel like head shape; and (c) done this in front of the middle class Islington intelligentsia who frequent the garden square I chose to undertake this activity in. I swear, London is so prudish - they all thought I was insane and didn't get into the spirit of it at all. One man actually said 'at her age, as well!' ...

Oh and I bought cashmere socks for the first time. Never let it be said that I'm middle aged and middle class!

I also said hello to lots of people on the way into work on the first day of the snow. This never happens in London. No one says hello - it's a criminal offence. There were no cars on the road and everyone was sliding on icy pavements and saying hello and for once there was solidarity. I think they call it Blitz spirit.

Also for the first time, I had to deal with chickenpox. No, not mine, but George's, who came out in the most ridiculous number of spots and currently looking like he is going through an EMO teenager phase (complete with bad hair, but that's a different story). I tell you, men and illness just do not work. Ever. 16 months old or not.

2009-01-30T05:54:00.000-08:00

Hello, first time lovers! Well, the astute amongst you will have noted that DH, tiny George and I moved last weekend, so there have been lots of new-house-related first times in the last week. But best of all, the beauty of (a) London and (b) a new house is the great opportunity to discover new shops. Now, I know what you're thinking - there's a recession on, love. Haven't your heard that the UK is going to be the worst affected place in the world? But hell, yes, I have. And little local shops are probably scared stupid by the idea of not having any customers. So it is my duty to keep shopping while I can. So anyway. Our house is near Amwell Street which (in shop terms) is like stepping back in time. It has a sweet deli, florist, chemist, grocer's, shoe shop (Emma Hope for you fashionistas but frankly they're a bit granny-does-hip for me) and best of all, on another road, my new fabulous discovery - a shop called Covet. When I first saw it, I thought 'Hey, right people - you are so trying too hard with that name' but then I parked outside the window (not literally you understand, I'm in the congestion charge zone and anyone who drives here is insane) and saw the most amazing 'alphabet bags' - hand made bags with letters of the alphabet printed on - and I knew I had found my home. I'm going to covet away, knowing that Valentine's Day is just around the corner...

Covet, 21 Arlington Street, London EC1.

2009-01-28T01:25:00.000-08:00

Well, I've done something for the first time every day this week, but frankly they all pale into insignificance when compared to last night's first time, so I'll spare you the details. Last night definitely goes to the top of my first time experiences since I started writing this blog. So, last night, for the first time, I saw Grace Jones in concert. DH and I chose Grace's cover of 'La Vie en Rose' as our first dance at our wedding, so we were in a state of some excitement as we headed off to the venue.

I was speechless as I left. It is hard to describe in words just how phenomenal this woman is. She is 60 years old. And yet - she comes onto stage, wearing practically nothing save a hat (which changes for every song), looking like she could snap you in two, no problem. Her legs are the longest legs I have ever seen - if she were a machine, she'd be described as a feat of modern engineering. To my surprise, she can also sing. I stared open-mouthed throughout the show. For her final song, she chose 'Slave to the Rythmn' (of course) and stood, wearing basically a corset and a red net hat with horns, and 8 inch heels, hoola-hooping as she sang. Yes, hoola-hooping. And not in a child-like way, but in a tall, step-over-your-dead-body-in-heels, man-eating machine, sexy and undulating sort of way. Definitely the first time I've seen that ... and I'm ordering my hoola hoop on ebay right now.

2009-01-20T03:21:00.000-08:00

I know it's been ages since I last posted, but sometimes living life just gets in the way... but I have not cheated. I have done something for the first time every single day. Some highlights from the past week:

I went to Clissold Park (and associated café, pirates castle and so on) for the first time, with George. George loved it all. Continuing on my theme of 'I hate everywhere in London except my own area' (I call it reverse NIMBYism, or OIMBYism - Only in my back yard) I decided that Stoke Newington is far too nappy valley for me. Having said that, Clissold Park is lovely and there are even deer.

I went on a secret mission to a Japanese restaurant. Details too top secret to disclose but it was seriously spy mission extraordinaire.

I got assaulted by a crazy lady at the council offices who thought I worked for the council. She hit me over the head with her umbrella (first time this has ever happened, I have to say) but when she realised that I did not in fact work for the Council, she told me that I would be rewarded in heaven. I guess I'll have to wait and see.

I read a Henning Mankell book for the first time. Thanks to my friends Alex and Sarah. I love Wallander and yes I am aware that reading crime novels is desperately sad, and that by reading books which are (a) European (Swedish) and (b) modern-day, I have wholly failed to expand my literary horizons. But I don't care. Last night I stayed up until 2.30am reading the end of The White Lioness because frankly I wouldn't have been able to sleep without knowing what happened.

I heard the new Franz Ferdinand single and so far am distinctly underwhelmed.

I went to see Slumdog Millionaire and was distinctly overwhelmed. [What? This isn't a movie and music review blog, you know].

But I've got to tell you about my best first time this week. Those of you who read this blog avidly (probably only my Mum) will remember that when I went to see Glasvegas a few months ago, I also saw a band called White Lies. They played a fabulous acoustic set and I thought they were brilliant. Anyway. They have just released their new album this week and already the hype is horrific and already part of my love for them has died on that basis alone. But for the first time since I was a teenager (and as this is my blog, this so counts) I have been desperately impressed by a set of lyrics. Remember those days when you used to copy lyrics off the back of Smash Hits magazine and wish you could have written them? Nope - only me then. Well, White Lies are obsessed with death. Properly obsessed. Their first EP was called Death and their first single is called To Lose My Life. Anyway, one of their songs on the Death EP is about fear of flying - a theme dear to my heart. Every time I get on a flight, not only am I terrified but the fear is also made worse by the fact that my lovely DH hates that I hate flying and gets terribly tense too. So the lyric:

"I'm frightened of dying; relax? yes I'm trying". A work of genius.

2009-01-12T12:45:00.000-08:00

A very lovely and special first time today. For the first time ever, I attended a judge's 'swearing in' ceremony. This is the occasion on which a judge is formally sworn in, and swears allegiance to the Queen and officially takes up their position.
The judge in question was my favourite judge in the world, Jeremy Sullivan. Mr. Justice Sullivan has been a judge of the High Court for eleven years and was today being elevated to the Court of Appeal, so as of today he is Lord Justice Sullivan. It's hard to describe this man. If I had heroes, he would undoubtedly be my judge hero. Jarvis would be my music hero and Sullivan is my law hero. I must explain that this is not (unlike the case of Jarvis) because I have any kind of a crush on him. It's because he manages to be a rare combination of things: very clever (obviously goes without saying), courteous to all advocates who appear in front of him (some judges could really learn from him, I have to say, you know who you are) and brilliant at spotting the heart of the issue. Everyone agrees that you could tell within the first five minutes whether you had won with him.
Anyway, so the ceremony was brilliant. It was in court 4 at the Royal Courts of Justice, one of the biggest courts, so that it could fit all the judges and barristers who wanted to wish him well. He came in dressed in the world's fanciest outfit: all wig and gold embroidery and silk and you really had to be there to believe it. He swore allegiance to the Queen, and, rather touchingly, to 'do good for all manner of people'. Congrats, Lord Justice Sullivan. And every best wish for the future.

2009-01-11T12:59:00.000-08:00

Well, lots of first times to catch up on. This weekend, I was in Edinburgh (actually, that's a bit of a misnomer as I actually spent more time on the train than in Edinburgh) for my supremely wonderful friend Elpseth's 30th birthday dinner. For the first time, I went to Bruntsfield (never did see it other than in the dark though), had dinner at The Olive Branch and drank peaty Bunnahabhain whisky - yum. Elspeth looked gorgeous and I realised how much I miss her!

On Friday night for the first time I went to a party in the Bear Garden, which is part of the Royal Courts of Justice in London. Rumours that it was named after the experience of appearing before judges there are, I am sure, unfounded. It was a colleague's 40th birthday, and his wife gave a really moving speech about him. I really hope that I inspire that much love and confidence in the ones I love.

On the train on the way home from Edinburgh, on a Sunday morning, I realised for the first time that the country is absolutely full of Sunday football teams. Complete with cheering parents on the sidelines, in most cases. It was beautiful. Just south of Berwick, I saw (somewhat improbably) one team playing on a narrow strip of land between the railway line and the sea. One bad kick either way and the ball is lost surely... Just outside Newcastle I saw a team of really quite tiny boys playing in hats and scarves and woollies. As the train passed, the ones on the subs bench stood up and waved at the train! Lovely. I waved back. I think I saw at least 15 teams in all. Please God let George want to play football one day.

2009-01-07T12:48:00.000-08:00

Well today for the first time, I sat on a board which decided the fate of lots of junior barristers. But it's all a bit dull (and probably horribly confidential) so instead, I'll tell you about falling in love with a TV advert for the first time. Remember when you were a teenager and you saw a music video of your favourite band for the first time, you saw that lead singer you had a crush on in the tightest trousers imaginable and you were glued to the screen in wondrous delight? Well, exactly the same happened to me today in respect of a TV ad. Now I know it sounds unlikely. Intelligent, professional woman, brought up in a rather left-wing household - and therefore brought up to eschew the value of captalism - seduced by a TV ad? But oh yes. Tonight, the new Virgin Atlantic: 25 years ad came on and I sat transfixed by it. It's wondrous. It made me want to be an air stewardess (and those who love me best know that I'd rather eat my right arm than fly on a daily basis). The glamour! The 80s icons! Do they do a DVD of it? I think I'm going to set my V+ box right now to tape through the night and hopefully I can see it once more...

2009-01-06T08:11:00.000-08:00

Over the last couple of days, my first times have been entirely house related. First, we went to see for the first time the palace we are renting for the duration until our house works start. Enough room to swing several small tigers, I can assure you. Five floors! I tell you, I won't want to leave and will have to be dragged out.

Today for the first time I met the builder who is going to carry out the gutting out and general magical transformation of our home. Classic male/female questions for the builder at our meeting. DH: "So, are we configuring the Cat 6 wiring in a star formation?" (yes, exactly, what?). Me: "No, we can't have the speakers there, it will clash with the colour of the wallpaper!" DH: "Does the repeat router need to be in the open or will the connectivity be affected if it's located in a cupboard?". Me: "Hey, can we paint the dressing room wall pink?". I think my questions were best really. TWO weeks and we are finally free of the Mexican green kitchen, and that kiln. Freedom!

2009-01-04T12:51:00.001-08:00

Today for the first time, I went to the Natural History Museum in South Ken. Now I know -what? I've lived in London for over ten years and I've never set foot there? My excuses are that (a) I didn't grow up in London, childhood being prime visiting time for such places - and instead I was a regular visitor to the dinosaur exhibitions at Kelvingrove Gallery in Glasgow; and (b) I can't really understand west London, let alone that part of it. By saying 'not understanding' that is of course code for I can't understand what would make someone want to live there (ooh, controversial, I know). But undoubtedly the museums are great, so we headed off. And now I'm , thinking - why didn't I go before? The dinosaurs (and the especially, the living, breathing, T-rex) are just brilliant. George beamed and did his Nelly the Elephant dance when he saw the stuffed elephants, which made DH and I giggle and all was well with the world. George fell asleep in the car on the way home, wearing his bobble hat and clutching his new plastic diplodocus. I looked at him for a long time and realised that in such moments, I really am living the dream.

2009-01-03T13:17:00.000-08:00

OK, so I know that I've been totally rubbish at blogging over the last few weeks but this is for three very good reasons. First, it was the festive season, and no matter how cool your blog is (and I don't for a moment profess to be in that category) you can't really excuse yourself in the middle of Christmas dinner with a view to spending an hour glued to a screen. Secondly, I have spent much of this time on a romantic mini break with my DH. If you thought excusing yourself in the middle of Christmas dinner was bad, then try excusing yourself whilst on your first proper holiday sans child. Divorce territory. And finally, I've just not been that near a computer screen much. But worry not, I have been completing first times every day (sometimes more than one) and I plan to write almost every day from now on.

I can't possibly tell you everything about my magnificent romantic holiday with DH, for puratanical reasons as well as practical. Most notable of all was of course staying for the first time at the fabulous Marques de Riscal hotel (can't resist another photo here). I was blown away by the Guggenheim in Bilbao and equally blown away by this hotel. We had a room right in the body of the hotel (most rooms are actually in an annexe) and words cannot describe how cool it was. Just a few first time highlights from the hotel itself:

The hotel was commissioned by the Marques de Riscal winery, the oldest winery in the Rioja region of Spain. We went on a wine tour of the winery and discovered that it has a private collection of every vintage since 1860;

For the first time ever I have been more impressed by the architecture of a hotel rather than anything else. It is amazing. Just being in the rooms (twisting and turning to fit in with the architecture rather than being rooms designed for the user in mind).

The restaurant makes you want to live in the hotel forever. Any hotel restaurant which does a 'stew of the day' (which makes you want to cry, it's so good) each day clearly caters to the Scot in me.

Other first times from the holiday:

I discovered that there is a Spanish city called Logrono (and visited it). It apparently has 150,000 inhabitants. Now, I absolutely defy you to have heard of it. Unless you're Spanish or have extensively toured there. Now, I expect most people have heard of most large Spanish cities. But Logrono? I had never heard of it and it has no tourists and as a result is amazing. We had a great tapas bar hopping experience there.

I went to Pamplona for the first time. Yes, that bull running place. Lovely place - was most impressed by the tiled bathrooms in the cathedral (yes, I'm that sad. I only took about six photos all holiday and that was one of them).

I went to a medieval village called Laguardia. Previously, this had only been known to me as NY's second airport, which just goes to show what I know. It was bitterly cold. I actually cried with cold (but had an excuse to wear all my new scarves at once - see previous posts). It's lovely - no need to make a special trip there, in my HO.

I had lunch in Biarritz on the way back. Get this - it was the 30th December and I sat outside to have lunch, it was so warm. I had never been to Biarritz (south of France, but Atlantic side, not the Med) and now I am in love with it. Beach and a Galeries Lafayette. When can we move there?

Went to San Sebastian. I can't claim this as a first time, but I can say that I ran along La Concha beach for the first time. Felt a bit sad as that was the first day without George.

So that's a potted summary of my last few first times. Which takes me to today. Went to see Arsenal play Plymouth in the Cup (we won 3-1 for those of you who have not fallen asleep at the mention of football). I decided that as it is new year, I'd say happy new year to the man next to me, and ask his name. Now I know. This doesn't sound like a big deal? It is. Men go years and years and years sitting next to another season ticket holder year after year without asking their name. It's how it works. It is not manly to seem too friendly. But I'm not a man, and I have a blog to write, so I did it. Now the man I usually call the "Behave, you f***ing muppet!" man (as that's all he ever says during a game - to the players, not me) has a name. He's called Derek. And he even smiled.

2008-12-31T01:42:00.000-08:00

Am currently staying, for the first time, at the Marques de Riscal hotel in the Rioja region of Spain (see photo). More detail to follow but in the meantime, happy new year to all!

2008-12-25T09:37:00.000-08:00

Merry Christmas, all! I have to say that it's very hard indeed to do something for the first time on Christmas day, as it really is the day for doing the same old traditional things you do every year. I'd go as far as saying that every year I try my hardest to recreate the same old traditions, which usually involve dancing around the living room with my sis to some cheesy tunes, and then falling asleep on the sofa. But today, of course, I had to do something for the first time. So I dragged myself out of the house (I know! On Christmas day!) and had a game of football in my Mum's garden with my tiny son. A new tradition - and one where I realise that I am no longer the child. Just as well, at 35 years of age! He's clearly a star in the making as well... (although he preferred the boxes to any of his presents - see photo).

Happy Christmas to all.

2008-12-21T12:42:00.000-08:00

Now, here was me thinking that having a baby had rendered me about as cool as Cliff Richard. Or liking The Feeling. Or putting lovehearts instead of dots above my 'i's when I write. You get my drift. But actually, I could not have been more wrong. My celebrity spot count has been vastly improved by said motherhood state. First of all was Bobby Gillespie from Primal Scream in Coram's Fields the other day, playing with his two boys (and yes, they are exactly as you'd imagine, long hair, skinny etc). Then a celebrity spot which I thought could not be topped - at George's Tuesday music group (which involves walking around in a circle and singing Grand Old Duke of York and Hokey Cokey and is the very epitome of uncool) I bumped into Julian Baratt from The Mighty Boosh, with his partner Julia Davis and their twins.

But today - the spot of all spots. The master of the spottery. DH and I went to Giraffe for lunch. Giraffe is an establishment which you can only frequent if you have a small child in tow, otherwise your head would explode. It specialises in high chairs, balloons and crayons with meals, you get my drift. But as we sat down DH whispered urgently: "One of your all-time heroes is sitting behind you!"

I almost died. Jarvis? But no - for the first time ever (drumroll) I had the pleasure of being literally 6 feet away from Brian Molko, the lead singer of Placebo. Now I know many of you will say - what? who? - but that just goes to show how cool I am, frankly. If you look at the photo, you'll see he is one of my usual types - dark, gangly, geeky. I love that man. One of my best nights ever was seeing Placebo at the Brighton Concorde II a few years back - it was the music equivalent of wanting to run away to join the circus. I just stared at them all and thought: "I can't ever do a normal job again...." (although, dear reader, of course I did).

Anyway, there he was. Looking as androgynous as ever. With partner and small son - and here was me thinking that he was gay and all - the make-up is clearly just a front! My Brandon Flowers effect kicked in of course and I was completely unable to say anything to him, which is just as well, as he got to enjoy his chicken burger in peace. Joy to the world!

2008-12-20T13:09:00.000-08:00

My lovely followers, let me apologise. I left for the deepest darkest Cotswolds for a week without forewarning that I would be unable to post for a week. I couldn't even get mobile phone reception for goodness' sake. And I'm off to France on Monday but will try to do my best to post from there. So many fabulous first times this week:

Stayed for the first time in a fabulous modernist house in the Cotswolds (see photo of our living room!). View from the living room to die for. An on-site spa with two amazing swimming pools. It's roughing it in the country, but not as you know it.

Swam outside (yes, outside) in the wonderful outdoor swimming pool. It was minus one degrees outside and it was just bliss.

Had my first ever accident with George which was my fault. Entirely. Took me days to get over it. It involved him falling onto a stone floor while I turned away for a second. I know it's a rite of passage but that doesn't make me feel better, thanks.

Drinking lovely English pink champagne for the first time. Yes, I know you thought you'd never see all those words together in the same sentence.

Going to Cotswolds Wildlife Park and being chased by a goat. Lost a shoe. It's a long story and one which my dignity could not entertain disclosing.

Went to Paris on my romantic one-day only date with lovely DH. We went for the first time to Le Train Bleu for lunch. I cannot recommend this restaurant enough. It sounds unpromising: a brasserie in a station. It is utterly incredible. Painted vaulted ceilings - and suddenly you're dining in the Sistine Chapel. Glamour central. Indulged in one two many 'Train Bleu' cocktails. Ever want to impress a new love? Take them here.

Bought three scarves over the last two days. This is from the woman whose attitude is usually "cold, what cold?" - I have a new addiction to cashmere.

And those are just the highlights. And we have found a new home to rent. Works on our current house start in January at last so prepare yourself for some 'shouted at an electrician' or 'fell out over wallpaper' first times soon... Hope I can post again before Christmas, but if not... Happy Holidays to everyone. Love to all. x

2008-12-12T04:17:00.000-08:00

Today for the first time, I shed a tear over something on the internet. Now, those of you who are closest to me may well say that this has been coming for some time. Yes, we are talking about the same woman who had tears in her eyes at the Whitney/Tony storyline on Eastenders the other night. The same woman who used to read reports of torture without blinking an eye has officially cried at (imagine this being said in a whisper) ... a thread on Mumsnet. About Secret Santa...

Now here's a heads-up for those of you who are blissfully ignorant of what on earth that means:

Mumsnet is my all time favourite website ever. It carried me through pregnancy (the 'due in September 2008' thread), it deals with all my child-rearing issues (the 'Parenting' thread) and makes me laugh out loud every single day (the 'Am I Being Unreasonable?' thread)

It's a website for Mums, where we get together and chat. I have no idea who anyone else is, as we all have natty monikers. No of course I am not telling you mine, that would totally defeat the purpose.

At Christmas every year, Mumsnet organises 'Secret Santa'. You can either be the giver or the receiver. It means that Mums who have had a hard year financially can receive presents for them or their kids from fellow Mumsnetters.

I gave this year. For the first time. I sent a parcel off last week (it's all anonymous of course) to someone's family I had been matched with. Now I don't tell you this to make me sound like a lovely person, although of course I am.

And today I got my response on the 'thank you' thread. Here it is. "To the lovely lovely lovely person who has sent me ... today in the post, I cannot believe someone would be so kind and I thank you from the bottom of my heart. THANK YOU SO SO MUCH, you restored my faith in the human race!"

I actually cried.

2008-12-10T12:03:00.000-08:00

The culinary delights continue... yesterday I had my first ever ovenbottom muffin. To be more precise, a ham salad ovenbottom. Now, before you make any sarcastic (or even plain rude) comments, I know that to most people in the world, "muffins" are little cakes filled with chocolate or blueberries. There's also what Americans call "English muffins", which is just silly, because they are little round bits of bread rarely seen in England itself.
However, real muffins are apparently Lancashire Oven Bottom muffins. These are bread rolls with a blackened ring on top. These delicacies are still only available from market stalls in Lancashire. These days, they apparently also make wholemeal ones as a gesture towards healthy eating, but as you may have guessed from yesterday's entry, there's really there's no place for such healthiness in Lancashire's lard and stodge diet in my view!

2008-12-08T10:26:00.001-08:00

Ooooh, so many first times, I don't know where to begin. I'm up in Blackburn, Lancashire. Today, I went to find lunch at a little café down the road from where I was working. The bakery/café was full of things I had never heard of. Pie and peas? Butter pie? (Butter pie?) Lancashire hot pot with oysters? All for thr princely sum of £1.13 each. Each! Genius. I went for the Lancashire hot pot with oysters and was surprised to find kidneys, yes, kidneys, amongst the oysters. I refrained from commenting.

People are really friendly, I discovered. More culinary discoveries to come...

2008-12-07T05:45:00.000-08:00

This weekend, for the first time, we went to the Hyde Park Winter Wonderland. We got there at 10am to avoid the masses - just as well. As we left at 11.30am, it was already horribly busy. George went on a carousel which he adored and I am pleased to report that he became one of these glowing mothers, watching their tiny one beam with happiness as they go around in a little car/horse/fire engine. I don't think he'll be denied many of these rides in his life. George was also fascinated by the ice skating (mobbed) and loved the big wheel, which weirdly had one 'VIP' box, painted black. Who goes in there? Hyde Park is simply stunning at this time of year, despite being overrun by the buggy brigade(of which I am now a fully paid up member).

Tonight, I have to go to Burnley for the first time.I'll refrain from being rude until I've actually been there...

2008-12-05T02:14:00.000-08:00

Today I found out that a friend is very seriously ill. For the first time ever, it made me think seriously about mortality. For ages, I have just put these thoughts to one side and I readily subscribe to the theory that death really is the last taboo. It's made me realise lots of very obvious things: that friends and family are the most important thing, for example, but it's also made me think about lots of less obvious things like which songs I'd like played at my funeral (I think anything by White Lies at the moment). Also for the first time ever, I think my blog entry may have not a hint of sarcasm or cynicism in it. And that really is a first!

2008-12-03T08:23:00.000-08:00

Over the last couple of days, I have, for the first time since I started earning my own living, reigned myself in financially. Now I'm not having a moan about money, I assure you. But today I was meant to be going to the Nicole Farhi sample sale, which is a once a year thing, where I delight in buying Nicole stuff at very good prices. But today, as I headed in its direction, I felt guilt. Yes, can you believe it? I turned around and didn't go. Yesterday I refrained from spending money on a necklace I really really wanted. Credit crunch? Having a baby? Works to the house worrying me? Who knows. But miracles can happen, clearly.

2008-12-01T03:48:00.000-08:00

We'll always have Paris...

It may not have been quite Carrie's trip to Paris for the season's finale (and I don't think I would have looked good in that stripey outfit she wears to meet Alexander's first wife - would anyone? Let's face it, it's true) but it was mine and I loved it. Lots of first times. Too many to mention. So here's a list of my favourites:

First time visit to L'étoile du Nord theatre, where my sister was performing in a play

First time visit to Les Jardins du Luxembourg (which close at 5pm - is there a war on or something?)

First time to the fabulous vintage shop across the road from the hotel from which was purchased my new hat: it's not real fur, right!? (see photo)

First visit to Indian restaurant with lots of extended members of my family (including new partners of both my parents)

Having a bath with George in a massive jacuzzi bath in the hotel.

My sister is an actress. I'd like to say that it's always a pleasure to see my sister in a play, but it's not actually true. True enough, she's always disconcertingly fantastic, and trust me, I'd say if this wasn't true. What's stressful is waiting beforehand - Is the play going to be awful? Will I have anything nice to say about it afterwards? Will other people like her? She's in a play about (get this) a man who is badly disfigured in a war, who has a face transplant and ends up in horror films. He dies at the end - sorry if you were going to see it, by the way. Didn't sound too promising, was brilliant. She is unrecognisable and I say that in a good way.

2008-11-28T03:45:00.000-08:00

Today, for the first time, I am taking George to Paris. Yes, Paris, the city of lovers, with a 14-month-old. And no lover (he's got to work all weekend). Passengers of first class on the Eurostar, beware. If one single person tries to give me a dirty look - yes, there are people who think children shouldn't be allowed in first class - you're absolutely right, but tough! So off we go, on our voyage of discovery. I think George will love le Jardin des Tuileries. And crepes. And all the Christmas lights. See you on Sunday. x

2008-11-27T11:25:00.000-08:00

I'm getting old. Last night, I headed off to see Jarvis Cocker in concert, and all was well with the world. I love Jarvis. This blog is named after him. He's my one and only icon. I don't want to marry him, it's just not that kind of love, and anyway if I ever tried to speak to him, I know that I would just clam up (must tell you the now-famous story of how I reacted when I met Brandon Flowers of The Killers once). He's just the one. He always will be. But he's grown a beard. Not a little ironic one, but a full 0n, Peter-Sutcliffe-eat-your-heart-out creation. And for the first time I felt my love wane a little. What? - I hear you cry? How can you stop loving Jarvis? Loving Jarvis is part of who you are! You've loved him forever. He wrote 'Babies' and lots of other songs which are the soundtrack to your life. Of course you still love Jarvis! And of course, you're right. Maybe this is one of my very short-lived first times, never to be repeated...

And whilst we're on the theme of shallowness (see Andy Warhol) he'd written a new song called' I Never Said I was Deep', a work of utter genius. It made me think: is being superficial the newblack? I do hope so.

2008-11-23T12:19:00.000-08:00

Lots of first times this weekend. I'll tell you about three of them, in a vain attempt to start catching up with all the first times missed whilst my internet access had decided to go on holiday for a week or so...

First and foremost, for the first time, I found out more (much more) about a modern icon - Andy Warhol. Now until yesterday I knew about as much as the next guy in the street about this man. If on Friday you'd asked me about him, I'd have said "Andy Warhol? You mean the guy who did neon versions of Marilyn and painted tins of soup? Kind of white hair and glasses?' and that would have been it. But now that I've seen the Andy Warhol exhibition at the Hayward Gallery I've realised an important thing about my lack of knowledge. He really would not have minded. I learned lots of things about the said Mr. Warhol for the first time this weekend. He didn't just do lurid pop art. He designed packaging. He designed album covers. He had a TV programme. He lived in and loved New York. Most beautifully, he filmed lots of incredible short films - my favourite was one of his lover (John Giorno, a poet) sleeping. Hours and hours of film of this man sleeping.But perhaps most importantly I learned that he didn't care whether people knew about him or cared. He believed in himself and that was all that mattered. He described himself as wholly superficial. For me this is the most wonderful thing - maybe he was. And that gives us all hope!

I highly recommend the exhibition, by the way. It is massive, laid out beautfully and there is a room full of silver helium balloons to play with.

Also this weekend, I went to a wine growers fair for the first time (drunken behaviour mandatory) and to a great installation at the Barbican which George obsessed over - a light/radio thing which cast giant shadows of yourself on the wall. Spent many a happy hour in there.

2008-11-21T09:03:00.000-08:00

Back online, hurrah!

I promise to catch up all my first times...

But today, for the first time, I realised how important new (as well as old) friends are. I made a new friend. He is my friend for the first time. He is the man who owns the Portuguese café by Oval tune station. I learned all about making custard tarts and ate three today. More on him later.

2008-11-17T10:36:00.000-08:00

Please don't give up on this blog! Experiencing technical meltdown. Back soon with catch up... Lots of first times to report.

2008-11-11T07:06:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, I became a pupil supervisor for the first time. For those of you who have no idea what that means (and far less the old-fashioned term, a pupil mistress), this means that I am now officially qualified to take pupils, i.e. to have a trainee barrister sit in my room for 3 months at a time, shadowing me and learning what the profession is like. It's an important role and I had to attend two hours of training, during which they encouraged us to think in advance of what we expected of our pupils, what we had enjoyed about our year as a pupil (nothing, was my initial thought) and most importantly, what we would tell them in advance about what it was like sharing a room or office with us. So today, I sat down and analysed what it means to share a room with me and what I would tell my first pupil in order than they begin to understand me, and here it is:

I spend quite a lot of time on the internet. This does not mean that I am shopping for clothes on Net A Porter or planning my next holiday, oh no. It means that I am looking up the finer points of a difficult legal argument.

Yes, I do spend quite a lot of time enquiring about the well-being of someone called George. He's my son, and yes, I do spend a disproportionate amount of time discussing the cuteness of said person.

I do have quite a lot of sweets in my desk/bag/drawer. If you're having a low sugar moment, I will reliably have piece of chocolate somewhere to hand.

I will never expect you to make tea for me, but if you're making one, mine's white with no sugar.

I love what I do, but it's not always easy to believe that I do it well. Dropping in the odd 'you were brilliant in court today' will gain you unlimited Brownie points.

I love this job. I hope you will too.

2008-11-09T11:11:00.000-08:00

Lots of first times this weekend! First, continuing on the theme of public humiliation, I actually sang out loud (and shed a tear) at a football game for the first time. Now I must admit, I am prone to a little mumbling at Hamden Park when the Scottish national team are playing - there's something special about the national anthem "Flower of Scotland" somehow. And how many countries can boast a national anthem which (a) started life as a pop song; and (b) was written in the 1960s? Anyway. I watched the mighty Arsenal beat Manchester United this weekend - hurrah! At the start of every game at Arsenal, they play an old tune - 'The Wonder of You',which I love. Hey, I thought, I am going to belt it out today. So I did. Tunelessy, I bellowed along "I guess I'll never know, the reason WHY, I love you like I do... that's the wonder, the wonder of you!" - genius. I actually shed a tear (must be hormones). I really love my team.

Also this weekend, I went to the Union Chapel for the first time. The Union Chapel is a stunning church which is used for pop concerts sometimes. It is a phenomenal space, and when a band is performing they light it with coloured lights and candles. Brilliant. Anyway, DH and I rocked up a little late, and we saw the end of the 'Cage The Elephant' set (a band so New York that they can't possibly actually be from New York) and the whole of 'White Lies' - absolutely brilliant. And the headline act, Glasvegas, my current favourite band, who played a few of their hits and did a brilliant acoustic version of 'Daddy's Gone' and a very Glaswegian version of 'Be My Baby'. At the end of the set, Glasvegas thanked all the other bands and said "Hey, but the greatest thanks must go to The Killers, who played first on the bill tonight to launch their new album...!". I hope that you Feel. My. Pain.

2008-11-07T08:22:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, for the first time, I went to La Forchetta, an Italian restaurant near where I live. Why is it that I have managed to eat in places which are 12 hours on a plane from where I live but I'd never ventured into my local Italian? I went with my good friend S, and we had one of those girly-squeal-with-laughter-dosed-in-red-wine evenings which are at the root of any good friendship. My scampi diavolo arrived, and I realised that I had ordered a dish that was bigger than the size of my head - cue more squealing - I'm sure the staff loved us. There's something very fabulous about discovering a new place near to your home.

And today, I tackled an important first time - classic English embarassment. Now, I'm not actually English. But as you know, they're a pretty reserved bunch; complaining in public is generally frowned upon, as is saying anything embarassing in public. I live in fear of being publicly embarassed. So today, I was in a bookshop buying a book for a friend. It is a book about Pregnancy. Could I find it? Of course not. So I went up to the Information Desk and whispered at the weasel-faced bloke behind said desk: "Do you stock the Rough Guide to Pregnancy and Birth?" Now I appreciate that this was said at a volume so low that a microphone wouldn't have picked it up but he bellowed - "What?" and sneered. And then it came to me - for the first time ever, who cares what people think? Who cares if people think I'm buying it for me? Who cares if the cool guy currently flicking through 'The Life and Times of Nietsche' looks at me with disdain? Who cares if people do think it's for me? And I practically shouted:

"I'm looking for THE ROUGH GUIDE TO PREGNANCY AND BIRTH!" Classic. Everyone turned around and I gave a massive smile. Has been making me smile ever since.

2008-11-05T03:37:00.000-08:00

I simply don't think I could let today go past without noting that today for the first time, the US has a (rather fantastic) African-American president. Now I know that this isn't my first time. But it is the first time that I've taken so much interest in an election in a country other than my own, the first time I've bounced up and down on my bed when discovering the results of an election (despite the chest infection, very brave of me, I know) and the first time that I've taken a deep breath of relief as to the future in this way. This morning, I danced with George around the room, singing 'Obama! Obama!' which George thought was hilarious. I'm so delighted and I was genuinely touched by the sincerity of McCain's concession speech. I can't claim this first time as my own, but thank you, all Americans who voted, for such a fabulous first time. I can't ever hope to top this one.

2008-11-04T10:50:00.000-08:00

This is the second day that I have been really ill. Yesterday I went to see the doctor, as I have been unable to sleep through coughing and it's just miserable. He announced that I had a chest infection and that as usual, I had been overdoing it. Since I had George my immune system has been really low and he recommended a complete break.

"Is taking tomorrow morning off work a complete break?" I asked. Given the look he gave me, apparently not. "No", he said. "I mean a complete, all-expenses-paid-trip-to-the-Caribbean sans baby kind of a break". Is he insane?

But given that I have basically been ill for about two months non-stop now, for the first time, I decided not to ignore the doctor. Now, don't get me wrong, I have the greatest respect for doctors. But they have no sense of reality. It reminded me of being very ill a few days after George was born. "Rest up completely" said the doctor. Yeah right. Because been woken up every 45 minutes in the night by a newborn is a complete break. But I decided that enough was enough and my poor body has to recover. So I took the morning off work (pretty much unheard of). I did go in at lunchtime but remembering that I was supposed to be listening to the doctor for the first time, I went home again, sat on the sofa all afternoon and watched my V-plussed Britannia High episodes - a TV programme aimed at the 12-25 age range and therefore perfect viewing. Watch this space for more relaxing first times.

2008-11-02T11:38:00.001-08:00

What a horrid miserable weekend to be in London: drab, rainy and we all had colds and coughs. Still, two great first times. First, George and I headed off to a foodie shop I'd been dying to try. Very proud of myself on this one, as it is one of my aims of this blog to discover more foodie shops. Now, call me set in my ways but I hate posh foodie shops, you know who you are, Ottolenghis of this world. I hate the overpriced nonsense, I hate the customers ('ooh, YaH-zmin, these hand crafted banana and creme fraiche mousse tarlets are to die for!') and I really can't be bothered. So instead I headed to The Olga Stores, a local deli on Penton Street which sounds like it should sell Russian caviar but is in fact a down to earth Italian. I bought fresh mortadella, bacalao croquettes, fresh asparagus pasta and the most delicious fat Italian sausages. All for £10! As I left the shop, I realised that George had managed to shoplift a lemon, so I had to go back to pay for it and the lady (Olga, I presume) smiled at him and said 'for that smile, it's worth the price of a lemon'. I love Olga and her shop.

And today, my first time was going to a shop to have my firstborn fitted for his first ever shoes. He walked around the shop in them doing giant moon steps (hello Bertie!). This isn't a blog about motherhood so it is sufficient to say that the memory of him and his Daddy leaving the shop wearing matching shoes is now imprinted in my mind for ever.

2008-10-31T08:44:00.000-07:00

Last night, I went to the most phenomenal concert. I went to see Antony and the Johnsons at the Barbican Centre. Antony was performing with the London Symphony Orchestra and it was without a doubt one of the best events I have ever been to (and that's saying something). Allow me to wax lyrical for a moment. Antony's music is hard to describe. He has one of the most unusual, beautiful and arresting voices I have ever heard. He is 37, yet dresses and looks like a middle-aged woman - all diaphanous silks and draping fabrics. His songs are unashamedly poetic and free from cynicism, and he spends much of his time singing about love, the tragedies of life or dead people (his best songs include all three). Now, I know. You're thinking - dearest, that doesn't sound very cool. A man who dresses as if he shops at Hampstead Bazaar, singing about clichés, supported by an orchestra? Doesn't sound like the usual Sex Pistols and new indie bands soundtrack to your life...

But there was something which glued me to it, somehow. He stood there and sang about dead boys and starfish and rivers of sorrow and the violins swooped and I felt like the bottom had dropped out of the world for a while.

And today, for the first time ever (and I've been to hundreds of concerts in my time and consider myself a bona fide cynic generally) I have been unable to get this concert out of my mind. It feels a bit like when you've been out for your third date with someone and suddenly you've realised that you're falling love; you have mentionitis, you think of that person all the time, you start daydreaming all over the place. So - I've (horrific cliché alert!) officially fallen in love with an event which can never be repeated.

2008-10-30T07:38:00.000-07:00

This afternoon, for the first time, I tried to arrange a visit to Santa's Grotto. This is what having a small child does to you. I got a helpful email from Selfridges, telling me that 'booking was now open' for this special event. I laughed and almost deleted it (it's October) and in many ways I wish I had, because I could have avoided much of the heartache which followed. But I didn't. i thought - hey, I have a lull in my day, I can book tickets for this now! So I went online. Every single ticket for a Saturday and Sunday had been sold, already, ten minutes after the email came out. OK, I thought, I'll check out Harrods, they must have a grotto too, right? They do. It sold out months ago apparently. All the slots sold out months ago. Is this madness or what? So in a panic I clicked back on to the Selfridges website, only to see that by now, about 75% of the slots had gone .... a whole 15 minutes after the email came out... So in a panic, I booked a random weekday slot.

Is this just London? And I know this is a treadmill I can't get off. It's called Having a Child in London. Welcome to my new life.

2008-10-30T03:56:00.000-07:00

It's been a very busy few days, not without its share of first times though. Last night, I trooped off (wearing all my clothes at once - what is this 'first time there's been snow in London since 1934' phenomenon?) to watch Arsenal v Spurs at the Emirates Stadium. For those of you who are less than familiar with the implications of this, let me give you a heads-up:

Arsenal and Spurs play football (soccer for Americans). You know, the type David Beckham plays (or used to, before he got all into developing his own perfume, wearing Calvin Klein underpants, living in LA and being a squeaky-voiced bona fide celebrity).
I support Arsenal. I have a season ticket. They dress in red and white.
Arsenal and Spurs fans HATE each other. The whole night consists of singing songs such as "Stand up if you hate Tottenham" and "Maybe next year, maybe next year, Tottenham in the top four [places in the league] maybe next year" (and these were just the polite ones). I love Arsenal songs. They've always got a funny new one. Arsenal have a striker called Adebayor. He's African - and hence black. When Steven Gerrard (Liverpool player) was having paternity issues about his latest offspring, the song went: "Adebayor's. Adebayor's. Gerrard's baby - it's Adebayor's." Genius. I digress.
Arsenal v Spurs is always a fabulous occasion. The fans sing very loudly and when 60,000+ fans are singing, it makes for a good night.

Anyway. So Arsenal were winning 4 goals to 2 in the last minute of the game. Spurs had played terribly. Half the Spurs fans had left the ground. I was packing up to go home. Three points (for a win) were in the bag. The Spurs side then scored in the last minute and the score was 4 goals to 3. The Arsenal team literally fell apart and in injury time (time added on), Spurs scored again. For the first time ever - and this is not in my nature - I swore profusely and actually walked out of the ground before the final whistle in a strop. I stood outside muttering technical terms such as 'totally lost their shape'; 'totally inappropriate substitutions' until DH came to collect me. I almost cried on the way home and had to be consoled by the purchase of a warm pie. Who says it's just a game? I shall lamp anyone who says that to me today.

And the other first time? Well, got home to find a package addressed to me. Opened it to find a present from my lovely friend A. Opened it up and what is it? A tube of Estée Lauder Marzipan lipgloss. This will make sense if you have been reading the blog. For the first time, I shed a tear in the name of friendship. Who needs Arsenal when you have friends?

2008-10-27T12:46:00.000-07:00

DH and I are about to start major building works on our house. Whilst the major works are being done, which will take a year or so, we want to rent a house in the area. Amazingly enough, a house for rent has come up on our street, three doors down from us. So I had to go to see it, living there would be too good to be true. So off I went. It was only when I headed out to the garden that I realised what my first time would be - seeing my home, which I've lived in for a few years but hopefully many more, from a completely new angle. From this garden, it looked like a giant brick monstrosity (which it is). It dominates its neighbours. It's unneighbourly. It's given me real food for thought.

2008-10-26T11:49:00.000-07:00

Lots of first times this weekend to report, including a look at the £1.5million gold statue of Kate Moss in the British Museum (at the entrance to the gallery where the Elgin Marbles are displayed - can you think of anything more strange?). Oh and while we're on the Elgin Marbles, my view is that the Marbles should be returned to Greece - I know that they say that they wouldn't exist if it weren't for the UK but isn't keeping them is a bit like saying that a foster family shouldn't return a foster child when her mother has shaped up? Anyway.

As usual, I digress. That wasn't the first time I wanted to tell you about for Saturday. On Saturday afternoon, as one does, I went to the supermarket. Big mistake of course, the worst day to go. As I stood in the queue for an age, I decided that my first time for the day would be a very non-London thing - I would actually attempt a conversation with someone in the queue. So picked the lady in front of me, on the basis that she was the least likely person I would usually pick (there was quite a good-looking man behind me, for example) and I am so glad that I did. She was 80 years old. She had a fantastic Italian accent, so I asked where she was from - she said that she was born in Italy but had married a Scottish man and moved to the UK. He was a coal miner, she explained, who died after he got coal dust on his lungs for many years. She was full of praise for him and said that he was the best husband a woman could have. She was delighted to hear that I also had a lovely Scottish husband. I asked if she had any children, and she said 'no - the bambinos never came' with a wistful look in her eyes. I loved her. She said she was quite alone, but had her friends at the Italian Church. I've given her my number, so hopefully she will call me next time she goes shopping.

On Sunday, George and I headed off, for the first time, to the Museum of Childhood in Bethnal Green. This will mean nothing to those who have no children, but is a space of utter genius for small (and big) children. George, who has decided this weekend to walk for the first time, scooted around it, playing in sandpits, looking at light displays and dressing up in bunny ears. Total result for his endless-photo-opportunity Mummy.

2008-10-24T06:55:00.000-07:00

Today, I decided to challenge myself in respect of that most important of daily choices: lunch venue. It's all too easy in the job that I do to grab a sandwich and to eat it at your desk. Today, as I was lunching with a friend who has recently been appointed a High Court judge, I decided to try somewhere new.

We went to Edokko, an authentically rickety Japanese restaurant on Red Lion Street. It was like stepping into Japan; shoes off, tables positioned so that you sat cross-legged on the floor and waiters who generally had no idea what you were saying. An exceptional find, as the sushi and salmon teriyaki I had were just fantastic. If I'd been in Japan, not that I ever have been, so here follows a really useless comparison, I'd have been delighted.

Lunching with a High Court judge is an eye opener. I asked him how he had found the transition between being a barrister and now being a judge. The bank balance is different, he said. True enough. But apparently all judges meet once a week for a 'judge's tea' - how wonderful to imagine them all sitting round in their wigs, drinking tea out of patterned china cups, discussing the laws of England. It's undoubtedly not like that but it's made me think that maybe a judge's life isn't so lonely after all...

2008-10-23T04:48:00.000-07:00

Ooh, I have two first times to catch up! Yesterday, my first time was hearing my son, George, saying his first distinct words. Yeah, you say, he has been saying mama and dada for months, get over it. But this is the first time I have heard him say something distinct. So here it is. Itsy. Yes, you read that correctly. And before you say 'that's not a word' - it so is. Itsy Bitsy Spider? I was reciting said Spider tale to him as he came out of his bath and then there it was - a perfectly formed Itsy. He then said it 17 times in a row and this morning, as I lifted him out of his cot, he beamed at me and said it again. It-sy. Does this mean he will grow up to be a spider-collector? I am so impressed by this first time (which admittedly is someone else's first time, but I'm his Mum so whatever) that I went online and had him printed a tee shirt which says Itsy. I'll have it framed when he's bigger...

And that online voyage made me think of my first time for today. A sad story, this one. OK, I know that in the light of credit crunches, wars and famine it's not that sad at all, but I think you'll sympathise.

On my wedding day, 2 and half years ago (don't get me started on how perfect that day was, you'll never stop me) I wore a lip gloss which I loved. It is called Marzipan by Estée Lauder and is just perfect - a sparkly yet neutral shade which looks good with everything. I'm not usually a lip gloss girl but when I put this on, it makes me feel happy and reminds me of that day. Anyway. A few weeks ago, I ran out of said gloss. I put the empty tube in the bin and felt quite sad. So off I went to a make up counter to buy another one, so that I could again relive that happy day next time I put it on. But horrors of horrors the Estée Lauder Lady (and why do make up ladies always wear so much foundation? I digress.) told me that it had been discontinued. WHAT? - I cried. And not just discontinued in that store, but discontinued worldwide. Oh yes. I have to say that I almost shed a tear.

But anyway. Today, as I indulged the ridiculous urge which entailed buying a tee shirt printed with my son's first word, I decided to look online for the gloss. Not available anywhere in the UK. Not on ebay. And then I thought - why don't I - for the first time, throw caution to the wind disbelieve the expert and try calling a store in the US? So I did. I rather disproportionately called a store in New York and it has NOT been discontinued there and they have posted me a tube of it! Genius. All is well with the world.

2008-10-21T04:04:00.000-07:00

Over the course of yesterday and today (so you'll forgive me if this first time is shared over two days) I organised my first romantic trip away with my DH since George was born. I know that this is outrageous and that it's very important for couples to retain a sense of identity, fun and independence when they have a baby, blah-de-blah-de-blah, but just you try combining motherhood, full time work and, er, serious TV watching! Oh and it is so romantic and wonderful and special. We're getting the Eurostar, first class (credit crunch, what credit crunch?), to Paris. I've take a day off work. We're spending the day there. Together. Alone. No buggy. Just before Christmas. I have teed up a romantic lunch, some romantic ice-skating and of course some romantic shopping - what could be more romantic than seeing your loved one's face light up as she finds the perfect pair of shoes, huh? See the Galeries Lafayette's Christmas make-over and die, as they say.

And it's all thanks to this blog. I'd never have done it otherwise.

2008-10-19T11:25:00.001-07:00

So can you wear teenage fashion when you're over 21?

Today, for the first time, I wore footless tights. Out of the house. And I'm 35 years old (get over it). I even went out and wandered around for 3 whole hours in them. And I had a ball. I managed to ignore my inner voice, telling me that Lindsay Lohan wears them and certainly no one over the age of 21 looks good in them. DH looked at me questioningly as I came down the stairs, but that was it. No hordes proclaiming 'hey - are you a Ting Tings reject?'

I have chosen this photo because my outfit looked remarkably like this one, and there is no way that my photo of my actual outfit is making it onto the web (until I've got braver).

I have now embraced the whole teenage fashion thing. Peaches Geldof, eat your heart out. I'm going out tomorrow to buy some blue tights and pink tights for winter. I'm going to buy more footless tights. I'm going to buy some shoe boots. If I can't dress teenage now, then when?

2008-10-18T11:02:00.000-07:00

London is full of wonderful gallery spaces, so today, I decided that my first time should involve seeking a new one out. George loves galleries, as they are usually large enough to walk around in, he loves looking at new things and he always seems fascinated by new spaces. So this morning we perused the listings and realised that there was an exhibition of Richard Serra's sculptures at the Gagosian Gallery near Kings Cross. As arty-silly-interesting-specs as this may sound, pre-George, DH and I saw his sculptures exhibited at the Guggenheim in Bilbao and had been really blown away by them.
So off we went, in the autumn sun, and found this gallery, a mere 5-minute bus ride from our house. As we arrived we realised that lots of people were also heading for this tiny gallery; people arriving in taxis, people generally wearing black polo necks and interesting glasses (I know it's a cliché but it's true). Thank goodness George was wearing one of his coolest outfits, I thought.
Richard Serra's sculptures are very hard to describe. They are giant steel sculptures, 12 or 15 feet tall. They are large enough to walk in and for the most part, evoke feelings of discomfort and even panic as one walks inside them. One man emerging from one caught my eye and took a deep breath: "thank goodness for that", he said.
George of course took everything in his stride, walking around and inside the sculptures, staring at them occasionally. Some people smiled at him and others looked at me as if to say "Hey! A baby? Shouldn't he be at the park or something?" - but there's no accounting for people's prejudices...
Very highly recommended. Richard Serra, Gagosian Gallery at 6 Britannia Street, WC1X until December 20th.

2008-10-16T12:15:00.000-07:00

Some of you may know that I work in the law. I'm in the middle of a big case at the moment, which involves the Oval Cricket ground (as my last post might have indicated....). This makes it supremely difficult to fit in any really exciting first times - although I do have some crackers lined up. As I came home tonight, I thought long and hard about whether I had done anything for the first time today. I bought a pasteis de nata from the local Portugese café, but I've bought them before (although I envy people who've never had one before. What a treat they have in store). I got the tube to work, which I never do, but I've clearly been on the tube before. And then I realised - I learnt a fascinating new fact today, for the first time, which I'm going to share with you.

On the pitch at the Oval, there are two small darker patches of grass. One is just in front of the Pavilion and the other close to the wicket. The first (larger) patch is where people who wish to have their ashes scattered at the ground come to rest. The groudndsmen are under strict instructions never to dig up the turf there. And the second (small) patch is where each and every one of the Oval's eleven cats have been buried. Again, they never dig that area up...

2008-10-15T12:09:00.000-07:00

There's something a bit manly about my first times so far, and I'm beginning to worry if in my heart of hearts, this whole endeavour is about becoming a bit more brave? But anyway...

Today I went on a guided tour of the Brit Oval cricket ground. For those of you who've not had the privilege of going to the Oval (or indeed who have no idea what on earth I'm talking about), the Brit Oval is the second largest cricket venue in the country. Cricket? That very English obsession with wearing white clothes and hitting a small ball with a large bat in a very dignified manner? The current England captain is actually South African? Anyway. Quaint English thing. To cricket fans, this is a bit of a Mecca, with test cricket having been played there for the last 120 years.

A guided tour is a rare event. I love cricket and was delighted as wewent all around the ground, looked at the stands, went in the executive boxes and marvelled at the proximity of the iconic gas holders immediately next door. I was really disproportionately excited and as my excitement grew, so did the pitch of my voice. It's funny how an inside look at a public place can do that to you.

2008-10-14T12:43:00.000-07:00

Today's first time makes me sound like a country bumpkin. I'm not. Just for the record, I've had sushi and sashimi in all forms, soft shell crabs eaten whole, papaya and mangosteens; I've eaten fried bugs in Thailand, snails in France, random lard crisps in Brazil and I'm usually up for trying every foodstuff at least once.

But today for the first time, I ate a fresh fig. I realised that for some reason, my palate had been denied this pleasure. I hate fig rolls and with my blinkered creature-of-habit ways, had always resisted the fresh fig. Well, no more. I ate one. It tasted very subtle and sweet. And that's all for today, folks.

2008-10-13T02:43:00.000-07:00

So this weekend, DH, DS and I went off to Brighton for the weekend. The weather was wonderful; we spent a lot of time on the beach, lazily trying to persuade George not to eat stones (but Mummy they look like sweets). You might think that going to a new place is fertile ground for first times, but Brighton is my comfort blanket - I love it, I have been there many times, and each time I go I want to do my old favourite things. But the aim of this blog is to challenge me, so I did two new things for the first time.

Firstly, I persuaded DH that we needed to visit the Brighton Museum, which contains lots of things about Brighton in it. Tucked behind the Pavilion, this is a museum which I've never had the urge to visit because it just sounds dull to be honest. But the urge was upon me: we need to do something new today, I cried. So off we went. The first thing to note is that it's free and secondly that it has the most amazing collection of Louis Poulsen artichoke lights I've ever seen. Six. In a row. Genius. I decided that lying on the ground to see them better was a good move, which made George laugh and try to lie on top of me. Not sure the museum staff were impressed.

On Sunday, I decided that Saturday's first time was not nearly challenging enough. So I took a big leap of faith and went on the rollercoaster at the end of Brighton Pier. This is the first (and only) time that I have been on a rollercoaster. As those who love me best will testify, I'm the person who holds everyone's loose change when they go. As a teenager I would rather have asked a boy out that go on one. It was awful. I waited in line with a group of Spanish teenagers wearing emo tees. One of them tried to blow bubble gum in my hair (although I was later rewarded by seeing her crying as she came off the ride - ha!). WHY do people do on these things? Oooh how great it is to feel like I'm going to crash into the ground? I don't think so. First and last for sure.

So today my first time is making a list (for the first time) of the first times I actually want to achieve over the next year. Ones I think will challenge me rather than terrify me. Ones which will become small achievements in themselves. So here they are:

(1) Learn some Japanese (secretly) so that when I go to Japan with DH, he will be exceptionally impressed

(2) Sign up for some charity work of some description and actually commit the time to do it properly

(3) Actually figure out how to use an iPod and downloading etc.

(4) Go to see something I wouldn't actually ever do, like an opera (maybe not) or flamenco dance (I'd rather give birth).

(5) Go to see lots of galleries, and parks etc which I have never been to in London

(6) Discover lots of new yum foodie shops.

Anyway, that's just for starters.

2008-10-10T08:36:00.000-07:00

I stayed up late last night reading Mapp and Lucia and finished it. It's fab. Dickens next (maybe not).

Today, for the first time, I am wearing my new eternity ring. It's called a Marguerita, it's the size of one of my fingernails and it sparkles like there is no tomorrow. No, it's not a diamond, it's an aquamarine.

This is a special first time, because I will be wearing it every day for the rest of my life. This ring was a present from my husband for having our son and is engraved with my son's name. I'm unofficially calling it The George Ring as a result. It got me thinking - how many material things in life do you really hang on to for life? Your home is likely to change, your clothes change, even once treasured items seem to fade in importance somehow.Even shoes fall apart (well, apart from my small collection of Pradas which will be with me for eternity - except that they're still in a box from the last move 2 years ago and still I can't find them).

Points for making me stare at my finger all day instead of concentrating on difficult technical evidence I was meant to be staring at today: 3.
Points for making me feel very lucky: 6.

2008-10-09T10:53:00.000-07:00

I live in London. Fertile ground for a first time blogger. So today I decided that I'd better get a new look at my city.

Today was the perfect day for this excursion. A bright, sunny autumn day with perfect skies. I got the train to Woolwich Arsenal (fell asleep on the train, and almost missed my stop, which almost usurped the subject of today's post by almost being the first time I did this, in general terms I'm just too organised to miss my stop).

Anyway. Reached Woolwich and got the lift to the top of the Greenwich Council Offices on the river, in advance of a meeting I had there. The view from the top is breath-taking: right down across the river, with a stunning view of the Dome, Canary Wharf, City Airport and most beautifully the Thames Barrier, which controls London from flooding. Actually I have no idea what it does so, mental note to self, I must check out its visitor centre sometime. It looks a bit like lots of tiny Sydney Opera Houses, floating on the water. Check it out for yourselves.

I spent about 20 minutes watching the planes take off and land from City Airport, just across the river from where I was. In order to avoid hitting tall buildings, they take off steeply and serve in a most unnerving manner. Stunning.

So: points for thinking 'London really is gorgeous' for once, instead of my usual 'Jeez! Why is London so busy? Why are people so rude? Why do the National Slow Walking Championships always take place when I am trying to get down a street quickly?' etc. : 8.

Points for being able to watch planes for a while without actually having to get in one (hurrah!): 7.

2008-10-08T05:23:00.000-07:00

Right. Day 3. Today, I decided that my 'first time' should actually involve some change in the way I usually do things. In my humble opinion, there's nothing more 'first-time-ish' than doing something old in a new way. I'm not saying that I'm a creature of habit (although clearly I am) but even people whose views of things are just plain right sometimes need to try something new, right?

OK, so today I needed a new book to read. This is a very regular occurrence. There's something about having a small child who needs to go to bed every night at 7pm and therefore being confined to the house, which is very conducive to reading. And eating chocolate - but that's another story. So, I went to the bookshop and decided that I wouldn't go with my usual comfort zone books. I only ever read foreign, modern novels. The more obscure the better. Mainstream is fine too. But I don't do British and I certainly don't do historical. I am proud of never having read Dickens. So today for the first time I decided to try something completely new.

I've just spent my lunch hour with the results. Oh and what results they are. I considered Dickens, but I bought 'Mapp and Lucia' by EF Benson. It's British and it was written in the 1920s. Now, this blog is not about book reviews, so I'll spare you. It's enough to say that it's about two old ladies who compete for supremacy in a small English town and that the character of Lucia has given new joy to my life. She is funny, mean, scheming, and so well-written that I can't believe that EF Benson was (a) very much British and (b) not alive in my lifetime (you see - this first time hasn't changed me or anything).

The best thing about this first time was that I had that rush you get when you discover a new author you love and then you realise that the back cover says "this author has published over 80 books". Hurrah! New reading for months and months.

So yes - a great first time. I recommend Lucia very highly.

So:

Points for making me fall in love with a character: 8 (this hasn't happened in a long time either)

Points for embarassment when asking the man in the bookshop what the 'most traditional British historical novel' was: 7

2008-10-07T11:34:00.000-07:00

Today's first time is far more exciting than I had thought possible for the early days of this blog, I have to say. In fact, I'm sure that I'll be accused of making this up. Today, for the first time, I went off-roading in a 4x4 with no less than three Colonels in the British Army. Yes, I actually climbed into a jeep, wearing the most impractical skyscraper heels and the thinnest denier tights, and was bounced around at high speed around Salisbury Plain in Wiltshire, surrounded by men in camouflage uniforms. And to think that I'd promised no salacious first times... Salisbury Plain is a beautiful but eerie place; a large area of wilderness with huge craters and a tank graveyard. It's a bit like the moon really.

Thoroughly recommend it. Especially the men in uniforms.

I think it's time to create a rating system (out of ten, naturally). So:

Points for this 'first time' making me feel like a small child again: 9.
Points for this 'first time' being lots of other people's fantasy: 9

2008-10-06T06:39:00.000-07:00

Well, here it is. My blog.

The concept is very simple - over the next year, I'm going to attempt to do, or try, something new every single day. I'll try to include photos when I can. Hopefully this will culminate in my husband making good his promise that our small family can go to live somewhere new for 3 to 6 months (all suggestions welcome) so that we can try something completely new every single day.

I'm not trying to life-defining or inspiring, I'm doing this just for me. Let me try to explain my own inspirations. First, there's that advert, you know, the one with the elderly lady who takes a helicopter ride for the first time? The tagline is "When was the last time you did something for the first time?" - it gets me everytime. Secondly, I'm inspired by one of oldest friends, Mel, who recently started a sassy and fabulous 'single gal in NY' blog which makes me laugh every morning. And finally - but most importantly, becoming a Mum. I promise that this isn't going to turn into one of these slushy blogs about how wonderful motherhood is. Becoming a Mum has made me somewhat sad about the things that I miss and I am determined to life to the full.

So here it is. I'm sure there will be occasions where my 'first times' will be very minor (new type of sandwich at lunch) but hopefully there will be all sorts of exciting ones too. No salacious first times either, I'm afraid.

And so for today - my first 'first time'. I've started and written my first blog. Here's to all the first times. And thanks to Jarvis Cocker for the name.