ding dong! it's the Avon lady

You know that feeling when you think that buying stuff will make you happier and the more you consume the happier you’ll be so you end up with more and more stuff to fill that empty, aching void in your life?

Well, here’s my review of my Avon order!

I have enough make-up, it must be said but I just can’t resist buying more.  It’s my Achilles heel (that’s been buffed and scrubbed and lotioned to perfection). 

First things first.

Gel eyeliner. 

What’s that all about?

Seriously, it’s all over beauty blogs but I simply don’t get it.  I eagerly tried out my Supershock Avon gel eyeliner in blackened metal, hoping for an easy glide on liner that I could draw onto my lids.  I was bitterly disappointed.  The colour is a faded grey, as if you’ve been wearing it out all day rather than freshly applied and it doesn’t glide on easily with one stroke.  The major selling point of gel liners has been application.  Well, I’m sorry but if you can’t use liquid eyeliner you’re an idiot. Oh yeah, I went there!  I’m sticking to my liquid liners and pencils, thank you very much.  I think gel liner will go the same way as mineral make-up.  Nothing more than a fad.

Much better was my Colour Trend lipstick.  It’s the budget, teen range and the colour is a pretty, glittery sheen of red.  I prefer matte colours but it cost like £1.75 which is ridiculously cheap and it’s quite sheer so I can wear it everyday.  Also, the bullet is shaped into a heart which is super cute!

The nail polish is a purplish maroon colour and very glittery.  At £2.00 it’s an absolute bargain. 

Last purchase was a rose-smelling cuticle balm.  My Burt’s Bees lemon one is running out and this Avon one is a nice little buy.  It smells nice and rosy. My nails are in a good condition from regular application of cuticle cream – will Avon’s product keep up the maintenance?  I’ll only know after using it for a while. 

I find Avon very hit and miss with regards to product quality but it's a 3 out of 4 hit rate so I'm pleased.

So those were my products.  I feel so much better but nothing can escape the void... 

my feelings on music: let me show you them

What is it about Bob Dylan? 

I read a homage to Bob on Rookie mag recently (yes, I’m outside the teenage demographic for Rookie mag but, by golly, it’s a fab site with lots of insightful articles and cool fashion) which reminded of Andy Kershaw’s passionate outpourings of love for Bob which began as a teenager. 

I have evidently missed out on a teenage rite of passage which makes me feel kinda sad.  Bob Dylan seems to be the kind of artist that speaks to everyone and spans generations – no matter what decade you live in or age you are - his songs resonate on a personal level.  I guess I just missed the memo on Bob but music has certainly played a part in my life and it’s got me reminiscing on my own love affair with music.

As a muslim, my relationship with music has been… complicated.  It’s a contentious issue within Islam and I’m not going to rehash all the arguments because 1. Its tedious 2. You can find more informed writing elsewhere via Google.

If I could reduce all the differing points into one sentence each they would be:

1. WRONG WRONG WRONG.
2. A voice and drumbeat is only acceptable.
3. It’s okay as long as the lyrics are not filthy or blasphemous. 

I hope this gives a little bit of context. 

My childhood was pure pop.  Sitting in front of the TV watching Top of the Pops every week seeing the Pet Shop Boys, Kylie and Jason, Erasure, Yazz, NKOTB being piped into the living room.  I bought Smash Hits with its printed lyrics and quirky interviews which were conducted by picking questions out of a biscuit tin.  I only gave up on TOTP in 1991.  I was increasingly fed up of the dance music that was turning up.  There was no spectacle or personality to latch onto.  Just a repetitive beat and soulful voice layered on top.  I’m proud to discover that 1991 has been spoken of by music critics as a fallow period for music.  This confirms what I’ve known all along.  I wasn’t just a person who loved music, I had taste!

Actually perhaps that’s not quite true.  There’s no Bob Dylan for me to look back on with nostalgic eyes.  My first CD was Love & Kisses by Dannii Minogue which hasn’t exactly aged well (although the lady herself is an evergreen beauty).

As a 90s teenager, I lived through the golden age of Cool Britannia and Britpop.  The complicated part kicked in as my love for Britpop turned me into a rebellious teen.  Listening to music in my bedroom was okay.  Active participation was not. I learnt that the hard way when my mum cried when I said I wanted to go to my first gig.  It was the first and last concert I went to. 

As Britpop tailed off at the end of the decade, so did my interest.  I was a snooty indie kid – I had no time for Steps, Britney, Billie Piper or Five.  But the music I was into was leaving me cold.  It didn’t reflect me or my circumstances.  I was a British-Bengali girl living in the Midlands.  What did Oasis or Blur have to say about that? 

The next chapter of my life would not involve music.  Britpop was dead and buried.  I went through what I call my ‘Yusuf Islam’ phase of not listening to any music whatsoever.  If I needed to hear something I would open the window and listen to the birds chirping and the wind blowing through the trees.  The sounds of nature were my replacement.  Did I enjoy it?  Kind of.  I began to dislike music but I realised how difficult it is to be away from it.  I couldn’t cut music out of my life.  It was the soundtrack to adverts and programmes on TV, it blared from clothes shops as I walked around town.  Music had an insidious way of creeping back into my life. 

And I craved it.  

My resolve was broken. 

Screw the birds chirping, I wanted to hear Coldplay’s latest. 

And I knew then I couldn’t give up music entirely.  That teenage passion for music hasn’t left me.  There’s still that part of me that wants to say ‘Hey, have you listened to this?’  I recognise that passion when others write about how they feel about Bob Dylan.    

The majority of my IRL friends are muslim and they don’t listen to music.  They prefer nasheeds (religious music) so music is a solitary affair.  I love listening to 6 music and discovering new tunes or songs from the past.  I have my youtube playlist which I update regularly.  I enjoy nattering away on twitter about the latest tunes I've heard (and you're welcome to join!).  It isn’t the be-all and end-all to my life but it’s there.  A voice, a beat, a melody. 

Bob, I’ll be coming for you soon. 

NOTD

Hey peeps! 

Look at my man hands!

I haven't worn nail polish for about a decade and on a whim, decided to wear some pretty nail polish (L'Oreal Jet set) in a rusty coloured red.  The gold flecks in it give the orangey sheen to the red.  It's kinda like metallic mendhi.  Pretty, huh?  

Muslim gals will know why muslimahs wear nail polish on certain days so I'm enjoying my beautified hands while I can.  This includes lots of hand posing each time I pass a mirror, holding my hand in front of me to admire and laying my hands on every door that I open.  Even typing becomes a joy when I see my lovely hands doing the typing.  Who'd have thought painting your nails could be such a pick-me-up?  

Yaaaaaaaaaaaaay, nail polish!

Remembrance

If you follow my Twitter *coughlinkonsidebarcough* you’ll know I listen Nihal’s show Asian Network regularly.  Sometimes, I tweet the show and a few of my tweets have been read out on air (which I find quite thrilling #humblebrag). 

Today’s show was about poppies and it was about how asians feel about wearing poppies.  There were a variety of opinions (and one dodgy phone caller named ‘Mani’ who said that muslims/Pakistani shopkeepers had refused service because of people wearing poppies which I think was total BS and some kind of islamophobic wind-up).  Anyway, it got me thinking. 

How do I feel about wearing a poppy?

I’ll be honest and say I haven’t worn one today and haven’t done for a while.  I feel slightly ambivalent towards it.  I’m muslim.  I’m anti-war in Iraq and Afghanistan.  Would I feel right wearing a poppy?  Am I being unpatriotic in not wearing one?

I sometimes feel like there is a pressure to seen wearing a poppy.  I remember my mum talking about how she wore one to work because everyone else did and it seemed to be a massive faux pas not to be seen wearing one.  Personally, I don’t like feeling obligated to wearing a poppy.  It isn’t a sign of disrespect not to wear one and people should not feel bullied into making some kind of public show of their respect. 

But being Muslim it starts to get a bit sticky.  Muslims and poppies have been in the headlines for all the wrong reasons recently and maybe a public show of respect is needed in our community when others go out of their way to cause maximum disrespect.  I remember helping to sell poppies at school and donating to charity is something I will always support. 

Does the poppy symbol mean anything to me personally?  I don’t have a personal connection to the wars that other people have.  In my own personal history neither set of grandparents fought in the war.  My paternal grandfather was involved in some working capacity but I’m fuzzy on the details.  So do I have anything to feel proud of when remembering the dead?

On Nihal’s show it was mentioned that Asian kids these days don’t know about the contribution the Commonwealth countries made to the war efforts.  They mentioned the name Noor Inayat Khan who I decided to look up on wikipedia.  Turns out our ‘Nora’ was a muslim princess and quite the badass. 

She was the first female radio operator to be sent to France to assist the French Resistance.  It was a dangerous mission and many radio operators were arrested but she rejected an offer to return to Britain and stayed in France until she was betrayed and captured by the SD (intelligence arm of the SS).  She was eventually sent to the Dachau concentration camp where she was executed with a shot to the head.  She was posthumously awarded the George Cross.  I recommend reading the full story at wikipedia. 

So I might not have a personal connection to the war but I understand the importance of remembering the fallen and the bravery of those who laid down their lives for their country. 

Grease lightnin'

OMG, where do I even start?

Okay, so I haven’t blogged for an entire month.   

WHHHHHHHY?  I hear no one ask. 

Well, because I’ve been super busy on a super sekrit project.  I took an entire month and I didn’t have a brain cell spare to compose even the simplest of posts.  October turned into a complete WRITE OFF blog-wise. I’m back now though and raring to blog again.

It’s November and we are well and truly into autumnal weather.  For me that means berry lipstick, butternut squash soup (delish), woolly tights, hot water bottles and an itchy scalp (Yes, that’s right I’m talking dandruff!).  There was a cold snap and my scalp was itching like a mother****er.  Luckily, it’s calmed down now but it freaked me out to have my head feel so irritated.  I was starting to dream of soothing my scalp by pouring olive oil all over my head which brings me onto...

My product for this month which is Morrisons Moroccan bath and body oil.

Argan oil has been making waves in the beauty community so it’s no surprise to find a supermarket version on the shelves.  If you were being cynical you might say this product was jumping on the Argan oil bandwagon (Cynical? Moi? Noooooo) especially with the prominent Moroccan branding and design.  Morrisons version is formulated with sunflower oil, Argan oil and vitamin E so it’s not pure Argan oil.  

I love applying bath oils because I have dry skin and as well as retaining moisture after a shower, I find using oil helps me to feel less cold.  Isn’t that weird?  I can definitely feel a difference – maybe the oil acts as a barrier for exposed skin against the cold air?

This oil doesn't make any outlandish promises except that massaging your skin with oil will also help to make your skin velvety smooth.  I haven't been using my newly acquired oil long enough to know how good it will be for my skin.  I've found olive oil to be the best product for my skin, however, I think this one will do just fine.  I like my oil to smell nice and retain moisture and it does both.  It actually smells pretty gorgeous!

I’m a big advocate for oils and thick, creamy moisturisers in this autumn weather which has been a little crazy.  

Stay warm and beautiful, peeps! 

rectangular objects review (no, not ipads)

Book post ahoy!

Now that I’ve started using the mobile library I’ve been stocking up on books.  I love the mobile library even though I seem to be the only one under sixty.  Actually, that’s not fair.  There’s a few of us without a blue rinse. 

The best things about using the mobile library are avoiding paying fines and making book requests for free – YAY!

So what have I been reading?

'No Off Switch' - hilarious, brilliant read

My friend recommended to me that I read Stuart Maconie when I mentioned to her that I’d read Andy Kershaw’s autobiography (which I’m also re-reading btw and still loving – it’s hilarious).  I was unsure but picked up one of Stuart's books when I noticed it on the mobile library shelf.  ‘Hope & Glory’ (which I kept reading as ‘Soap & Glory’) picks out an event for every decade of the last century with Stuart visiting each place he mentions.  I don’t know how many adjectives I can think of to describe how wonderful the book is but it truly is a delightful journey through Britain's history.

If I was being cheesy I'd say 'Hope & Glory' is a hopeful and glorious read!  

Fnar fnar, oh, I'm so amusing.  

I loved the mentions of the West Midlands – Stuart seems to be a big fan of the region – as he gives a potted history on Handsworth, eats Caribbean food in Perry Barr and even walks down Soho Road (the most famous road in Birmingham for Asian shopping).  It was like seeing myself reflected in a book.  Funny how attached we feel to the places we live, isn’t it?  

Stuart’s account of multiculturism isn’t all doom and gloom (like certain right-wingers would have you believe) but instead upbeat and positive about the contributions minority communities have brought to Britain.  Reading that made me want to stand up and say ‘YES! YOU’RE SO RIGHT! THANK YOU!’  For just the food alone, we minorities must be thanked profusely.  

'Hope & Glory' is wonderful.  'Love Poems' is poetry of the highest quality

The book is such a pleasant and informative read.  I’m definitely going to delve into the rest of Stuart’s output as I’ve been converted to an instant fan.  I’ve even started listening to Radcliffe and Maconie on 6 Music! 

I also read Carol Ann Duffy’s book of love poems which was good but I’ve read most of her work already so it wasn’t much of a revelation.  I liked the book cover though. 

If I had more readers, I'd set up a book club or something but as it is, I just like talking about what I like.  Any book recs are most welcome.  

Get the (Lancôme) Look

I love the Sunday Times.

Even though it’s owned by the tax dodging octogenarian Rupert Murdoch I can’t help but love The Sunday Times.  It’s part of my Sunday ritual to sit and read the papers while sprawled out on the sofa.  And this past weekend was good ‘un. 

I gratefully received my deluxe sized edition of style magazine (A whopping 14 ½ inches by 11 inches - oh my!) which I think is their version of the September Issue.  It’s crammed with fashion tips, the newest trends, glorious photos, gossipy articles – I even love the glamorous, expensive looking ads – it’s like a sugar rush of high fashion each time you turn the page. 

While leisurely flicking through the mag, I happened upon the most gorgeous photoset in the make up section. 

1. 2.3.

They are utterly gorgeous aren’t they?  My photos don’t capture how wonderful the make up looks but believe me, it’s stunning.

I read through the listed products and my heart sank at how expensive they seemed.  I like my budget cosmetics and favour what Americans call ‘drugstore’ brands (the cosmetics section in Boots and Superdrug basically).  At closer look, I realised that all the products were by Lancôme.  I flicked through the other two pages and all the products listed were by Lancôme.

Huh. 

For my own amusement I totted up the cost of each list of products for each look.  They are as follows:

1. £ 148.50
2. £ 168.00
3. £ 233.50 

Now I understand that not everyone is like me in regards to what I’d pay for in terms of cosmetics.  Style magazine consumers are a well-to-do bunch and expensive brands are of course, going to be featured and I have no problem with that. 

The short paragraph accompanying the pictures says that the person who styled the make up is Aaron de Mey, artistic director of Lancôme.  Okay, well that makes sense. 

But is this feature an advertisement or an article? 

I’m not a journalist and I imagine the lines drawn are a little murky with fashion and beauty magazines (by nature they feature lots of brands and products and probably have dumpster trucks full of freebies landing into their offices, I imagine…) but this seems a little erm, blatant in terms of putting a spotlight on a brand.  I mean, the magazine is already packed with gorgeous ads which the brands will have paid for.  So why did Lancôme get this feature? 

To the magazines’ credit, it also shows upcoming make up trends with a variety of products and brands.  I just wish there was a little transparency.  I mean, at least be upfront about this sort of stuff.  Was a deal involved?  (Mag gets the amazing photos if they agree to feature all the Lancome products). 

Ah well. I hope a make up guru out there ( like my fave Klaire de Lys) does a ‘recreate the look’ tutorial or something for a fraction of the price. 

Also note to the mags and brands; consumers aren't stupid.  We notice when you do shady stuff so please bring it out into the open. 

Use It Up

Unless your introduction to beauty blogs was approximately 5 seconds ago, it’s safe to say, people who click by accident dear readers, that you've heard of ‘project pan’ – a phenomenon that has swept through beauty blogs and youtube make up ‘guru’ vlogs.  In case you don’t know, the basic concept is hold off buying any new make up products until you've finished the ones already in your possession.  Hence the ‘hitting pan’ where you can see the metal casing of your foundation powder/eyeshadow case etc. 

I’m ashamed to say I’m a hoarder of products.  I like to eke out their use very slowly.  Really slowly.  Glacially slow in pace, in fact.  I have make up products that are almost a decade old (that I still use – hello bourjois naturel lipstick in paprika, my favourite lipstick of all time).  It’s not right, is it?  I’m giving this a go because it’s a good way of using up products and being creative. 

First on my list to be used are these products by Burt Bees:

I don’t know the shelf life of Burt Bees products but I bought these products a long time ago and almost forgot about them.  As you can see, I’ve almost used up the Lemon butter cuticle crème – the most delicious smelling product I have in my possession.  By comparison, the lotion and hand salve look brand new.  There’s a part of me that still wants to hold off using them until the winter when my skin becomes dry but I remember the cautionary tale of my Burt Bees almond and milk hand cream.  I used to carry it in my bag and use it whenever I needed a hit of something sweet smelling.  Then, for some reason I took it out my bag and left it on my dresser where it lay forgotten.  I picked it up some months later to find the sweet almond smell had gone off really badly rendering the cream unusable. 

Burt Bees is like Lush in the sense that the ingredients are natural (or at least not overloaded with chemicals I've never heard of) and guess it must have a shelf life of some sort even if it’s not stated on the package.  Actually, the ingredients on the foot lotion are quite interesting to read through.  It has witch hazel, tea tree oil and baking soda amongst other ingredients. 

I’m gonna start using it and will report on it if all goes well.  Burt Bees is a great little company and I’ve been happy with their products so far (except the shampoo bar which didn’t clean my hair) so I expect great things.  

Let me shoehorn in a quick review...

Despite my ‘project pan’ I bought a new lipstick from The Body Shop.  I’d put buying a suitable shade of lipstick on a par with finding a decent pair of jeans that fit.  BLOODY IMPOSSIBLE!  I would have bought a lipstick from Revlon but I could get a major discount with my Body Shop card so I plumped for a sheer lip colour from the delipscious range.  

I’d read through the reviews on the Body Shop site and I would concur with the odd smell of the lipstick.  It’s natural fruit flavour apparently.  I’ve never smelt a fruit like it.  It smells off.  Also, weirdly, when testing the colour on the back of my hand, it looked a lot lighter than the actual shade printed on the sticker.  I bought ‘pomegranate’ colour thinking it was lighter than the sticker shade.  The reality is that when applying it to your lips, the colour matches the sticker not what's on the back of your hand.  It’s a berry colour and it looks very natural on the lips.  I'm quite pleased with it even if it's a tad darker than I wanted.  I suppose it will go well with the autumnal look although looking out my window, it’s far too sunny to make the wardrobe switch to autumn – not that I’m complaining.  This summer has been underwhelming weather-wise.  

Retro Packaging

I want to finish off my post by drawing your attention to another product that’s been sitting on my shelf.  My mum bought me this hand and nail cream.  It seems like a cute piece of retro packaging that was in vogue a couple of years back.  I think it’s cute too.  However, there’s something that just niggles at the back of my mind.  On the front it says ‘Saucy Girl’ probably in reference to the rather well endowed lady sitting pretty.  

On back it says:

Sweet as sugar

And cute as a kitten;

A night with me

Will leave you smitten.

The hand cream does indeed smell sugary but is it possible for a hand cream to be described as cute?  And does anyone spend a night with their hand cream? (Oh God, don’t answer that…).  Maybe I’ve got it wrong.  Maybe this flirty little verse refers to the ‘saucy girl’ so it’s some kind of hand cream as a girl metaphor?  In which case: eeeeeeeeew. 

And yet it sits happily on my shelf (although discreetly placed).  Secretly, I quite like the naughty innuendo.  

Oh, I’m such a bad girl. 

iLOVEfilm

Contributing in my own little way to the demise of the cinema multiplex, I like to rent films from LOVEFILM, to enjoy movies in the comfortable surroundings of my home. I rarely go to the cinema although I do cherish the cinematic experience. But then I also like to wrap up in my duvet and binge on chocolate in my pyjamas which an Odeon ‘premier’ ticket cannot possibly compete with unless they take a very relaxed approach to appropriate cinema-attending attire and provide the duvets.

Anyhoo…

LOVEFILM screwed up my 3 DVDs a month arrangement and as a goodwill gesture sent me two films in the post; ‘Tangled’ and ‘Submarine’. It was a cunning move on their part to send such a killer combination of films. Tangled was impossibly cute and sufficiently Disney-esque although I still can’t shake off the 90s glory years of ‘The Little Mermaid’, ‘The Lion King’ etc. My tumblr dashboard seems to throw up images of Ariel and Belle at regular intervals (and I’m not complaining because I love to indulge in a little 90s Disney nostalgia). But Tangled was a cute fairytale with catchy ditties, funny little sidekicks, witty jokes and lashings of romance.

I was slightly wary of ‘Submarine’. I’d read enough reviews to know that the critics loved it but I think any semi-decent British film seems to gets hyped to skies because the bar is set so much lower. I mean, how many great British films can you remember? Only a handful, I’d imagine. I was also wary of comparisons to Wes Anderson. A film’s ‘quirkiness’ and affectations of cool are not an incentive for me to watch. I had sat through ‘The Royal Tenenbaums’ in the cinema and found it dull. I remember a couple of people walking out before it was over. And yet, critics had fawned all over it.

So it was with some trepidation that I watched Submarine. And whaddya know?

I LOVED IT!

I mean, it’s as hipster and quirky as all get out – there’s even a scene with fireworks and sparklers thrown in for good measure – and yet I loved everything about it. The scenery, sets and costumes are rich in colour and detail  – there are edited sequences of startling beauty – they obviously took great care in putting it together.

The actors are all wonderful. The central character, Oliver Tate, is an arrogant and at times unlikeable chap and he’s played brilliantly by Craig Roberts.  His love interest who is fabulously unimpressed by Oliver, is played by Yasmin Paige. If the characters were American, I’d imagine them to sound world weary and achingly hip but there’s a humour that undercuts their pretension and self-importance. Oliver may think himself an intellectual but he’s still the loser getting beaten up at school (I guess only Brits would find this funny).

The Alex Turner (he of the Arctic Monkeys) soundtrack is woven seamlessly into the film and characterises the emotional journey of Oliver. I've never considered myself a fan of the Monkeys but the soundtrack is just the most perfect accompaniment.




And did I mention it was funny? It’s touching, sweet and a little dark in places but it rattles along nicely and I wasn’t bored at all. It wasn’t twee for a coming-of-age story nor a rose-tinted nostalgia fest and yet it manages to hit all the right notes. So did the critics get it right for once? I think so. It’s a fantastic film and would make a great rental for rainy night in, box of chocolates in hand.

Note to LOVEFILM: You've earned my forgiveness.  Just don't screw up again, 'kay?

Eid.

EID CELEBRATIONS AHOY & MINI FOOD PORN POST!

FOOD GLORIOUS FOOD!

UNF!!!

MELTED LOVELINESS!

1. salted caramel cups - recipe  2. pizza  3. grilled cheese

Ramadan has left us for another year which is always a sad occasion.  Did I make the most of it?  Truthfully, I’m not sure.  The beginning of Ramadan started out well enough but my resolve started to sag in the middle.  Tiredness I guess.  What I like about Ramadan is that you can just shut out the world and focus on faith and worship.  I’ve learnt new duas (prayers) and I want to take myself forward with a positive, upbeat attitude.

               

For Eid I wore my fuschia pink salwar kameez which is so bright it could be used as an alternative light source.  I cleaned myself up using my wild cherry scrub.  The scrub was good – it was strangely jam-like – it was sticky, sweet and I applied the scrub on my loofah like I was spreading jam on a piece of toast.

We visited another family for an evening Eid party.  It was fun although there weren’t any people around my age which sucked.  I ended up talking to a young girl of 10 who asked the most rude, intrusive questions I’d ever heard (‘how old are you?’ ‘What do you for a job?’ ‘Can you sew?’ etc, etc.)  I tried to bat away the questions (especially the age one because damn it that’s just plain embarrassing) but it was to no avail.  At the risk of sounding like a self-loathing Asian, why are Asians so damn nosey?  I mean, seriously, it’s just ridiculous the way some people think they have the right to know everything about you and your family even if you are visibly squirming and being evasive.  Just sod off already!!! Ugh. 

Thankfully, she left with her family early and the rest of the evening was spent in peace but my auntie (hosting the evening) noticed and said that the whole family was like that.  Apparently, the littlest daughter of 3 or 4 years old calls my auntie by her first name which is just plain rude. 

anyway, I’m just going to set that aside and let the Eid goodness wash over me. 

Eid Mubarak everyone! 

My brain is working at half-speed

As you might have noticed, Fasting in ramadan really takes away one’s appetite to blog. I’m not on my laptop as much. I’ve been listening and reading to the Qur’an on my electronic Qur’an player altho unfortunately the batteries have died. I could pick up an actual book of the Qur’an but I don’t wanna. Turning pages is for suckers! [/lazy]

I’ll have to scrounge around for some batteries.

*

I finished off ‘The Junior Officers’ Club’ which neatly coincided with a repeat showing of ‘Our War’ on BBC3 which I caught by accident while watching TV after I’d eaten my sehri. The programme showed the soldiers’ perspective of the war in Afghanistan. I thought it would be a very self-congratulatory piece (teary eyed piece to camera talking about ‘our brave boys…’) but it showed the human, everyday experience of being a soldier. They acted like the young lads they are with lots of goofing around and pranks interspersing the warfare. I don’t agree with the war but the soldiers seemed to act with integrity while on duty which gives me a little solace. All footage would have been greenlighted by the Ministry of defence first though so I’ll still take it with a pinch of salt.

Muslim readers may wonder why I’m watching TV and reading books during Ramadan. I’m actually watching less TV and doing more worship but I can’t give up the goggle box completely so I just try to be moderate (and realistic) with it.

I was sifting through all the rubbish I’ve accumulated in my drawers and found a calendar from two years ago. 2009 was my annus horribilis and I certainly don’t want any reminders of it but the calendar (made by Islamic Relief) is so beautiful I haven’t the heart to throw it away. All the pictures are from muslim countries and I remember how soothing it was to wake up and see such gorgeous pictures hanging on my door.

I took a few pics of my fave images:

Agra, India

Cairo, Egypt

Istanbul, Turkey

I think maybe I need to let go of things that have hurt me in the past and as ramadan is a time for renewed hope and renewed faith, hopefully I can move forward and cast away reminders from the past.

“And when My servants ask you, [O Muhammad], concerning Me – indeed I am near. I respond to the invocation of the supplicant when he calls upon Me. […]” (Qur’an 2:186)

My fasting is going well. I find it hard but it’s manageable. I’ve fasted every single day and feel like a champion!

My ‘five a day’ quota is taking a major hit though. Do chickpeas count?

I’m taking the desi approach to sehri: Rice and chicken curry (although today I had lasagne – go figure). Iftari is dates, samosas, chickpeas with muree (puffed rice), pakora and cake (I’m gonna be one of those greedy peeps who put on weight during ramadan, aren’t I?).

Even though I can’t eat food during the day, I've discovered the next best thing:

Body Shop products smell so good. The above are papaya body butter (smells fruity and lush), wild cherry scrub and shea body butter. I have the berry lip roll-on too but I don't wear it in case I end up ingesting it. I've never paid full price on a body butter - I've always bought discounted half price ones. The scrub was on offer and it's pretty good. If you can't afford it, the ace blogger Lipstick & Pearls has her own DIY scrub.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm just off to stick my nose in the papaya body butter.

Peace out!

Ramadan Part II - Electric Bugaloo

Okay, so I announced it was Ramadan in my last post but it was coupled with rather materialistic ramblings (I bought stuff, yay! I wasted food… yay?) and I want to redress that with a gigantic mega-post full of Ramadan goodness. So let’s get cracking.

What is Ramadan?

"Oh you who believe! Fasting is prescribed to you as it was prescribed to those before you, that you many learn piety and righteousness" (Qur'an, al-Baqarah, 2:183)

In the month of Ramadan, Muslims are required to fast everyday from dawn till dusk. Fasting means refraining from:

v Food

v Drink

v Intoxicants e.g. nicotine

v Sexual relations (ooh-err, missus… I’m sorry I can’t help it, well I can, but, you know…)

Muslims eat a meal before dawn called sehri then it’s fasting all day until sunset and the time of eating again is called ‘iftari’.

Ramadan is a time for being devoted to worship and the act of fasting brings you to a higher state of mind. It’s a time of the year for self-reflection and contemplation. How big of a jerk have I been this year and what do I need to do to stop it?

Yesterday, I was practically dying for a glass of water. I got all panicked and thought I would end up in a coma and die. I had eaten and drank my fill only half an hour before. Just how on earth are people in the Horn of Africa coping with famine? Subhanallah, we are so lucky to have the luxury to choose not to eat. I hope Allah brings relief to those suffering, ameen.

The Prophet said: He who gives food for a fasting person to break his fast, he will receive the same reward as him, except that nothing will be reduced from the fasting persons reward." [Ahmad, at-Tirmidhee, Ibn Maajah, Ibn Hibbaan, Saheeh].

It’s not just about guarding your stomach though. It’s about guarding your thoughts and your body parts too. One has to be careful not to quarrel, use curse words or lie.

Now, during ramzan, I try not to watch too much TV especially stuff to do with romance (which is hard because I am or was a Twilight fan – don’t judge me!) and I turn away from seeing two people kissing on screen cos I don’t need to see that while I’m in a state of fasting (or on any other day) buuuuuuuuuuut…

... after one day of fasting, I happened to have the TV on and was flicking through the channels. The film Alexander was on and Colin Farrell happened to catch my eye as he was eating a pomegranate. I was utterly mesmerised. My pious resolve was almost shattered. Considering Colin Farrell looked like this:

Throughout the movie, I can’t decide if it was a testament to Colin’s acting or my state of piety that I could be so entranced by him eating a friggin’ piece of fruit. Moral of the story: don’t watch TV during Ramadan. It will mess with your head.

Now, it’s all very well fasting but what does one have to look forward to as a reward for all the good deeds and hard work?

In the aftermath of 9/11, the idea of ’72 virgins in heaven’ was bandied about and it caught the public imagination. I was talking to my friend about this. As a muslim, I had never even heard this phrase before but didn’t know enough to dispute it. Thankfully, someone else did the hard work and I was so happy to find this youtube clip which explains beautifully what an Islamic version of paradise is really like and debunks the '72 virgins' myth.

Beautiful gardens with rivers which flow beneath. Sounds rather heavenly to me.

photo - optical illusion

Ramadan Mubarak!

To tell you the truth, Ramadan has snuck up on me because I’ve been putting off even contemplating it. I know, I know, bad muslimah! My imaan (faith) is thoroughly worn out and my spiritual batteries need re-charging so I’m hoping I can turn things around this month, Inshallah.

I’ll quickly tell you about my weekend seeing as I never relate my ‘real’ life events. I met up with a friend of mine in Birmingham city centre. We went clothes shopping and visited the Forever21 store. It’s a pleasantly airy store and we weren’t being jostled between the clothes rails which was a nice change from the usual shopping experience.

The biggest surprise came from Topshop. I haven’t bought any of their stuff since the last millennia when I last fit into their clothes. However, when browsing I spied the most beautiful, burgundy, long flowing skirt. I couldn’t believe my eyes. A modest and appropriate piece of clothing? From Topshop? Some mistake surely! I nabbed it and tried it on expecting to be let down. I wasn’t.

I immediately bought it and spent the rest of the day in a state of buyer’s euphoria.

The best thing of all? It was a size 12. yeeeeeeaaaaaaaaah. I heartily recommend any muslimahs to run down to their nearest store and snap it up. The pic doesn't do it justice.

Also, the shopping bag:

... is Slytherin House inspired madness. Amazing.

We ate at Café Soya, a Vietnamese restaurant, for lunch. I ordered a main course meal of papaya vermicelli. A huge plate with a mountain of food the size of Everest arrived and I only managed to eat half of it after much struggling. Papaya vermicelli sweats are not pretty, y'all. I felt incredibly guilty to leave food on the plate so it’s only right that I spend a whole month starving every day as penance.

That’ll learn me.

I finally read the damn book

Dear reader, it’s the long awaited Andy Kershaw book review. Can you even bear the excitement? So, after much anticipation, what did I think about it?

I FLOVED IT.

THE END.

I’m just joshing you… of course I have more to say than that (although it does neatly sum up my feelings in a nutshell). Basically, this post is going to be me fangirling like some psychotic teenage beiber fan over a broadcaster and journalist who is two decades older than me.

So why am I mad about the Boy Kershaw?

Well, for starters, the book is beautifully written. I’ve stayed up past 1am every night since I got this book because I’ve been so hooked on it. From birth Andy was intelligent and inquisitive about the world. He learned about space and flights to the moon and studied up on the JFK assassination – by the age of eight. He wrote pieces and took photos for motorbike racing magazines and was offered a job as a journalist before he had even left for university (and oh, how I envy him for that - R.I.P teenage dreams of being a journalist).

Andy’s passion and enthusiasm leaps off the page. Whether it’s music, motorbikes, travel or women – he embraces it fully and lives very much in the moment of joy (sometimes to his detriment). It’s obvious from the book that Andy is a lot of fun to be around. What he chalks up to as luck I would say is his fizzing energy and charisma. As someone who is so shy that my personality is in constant danger of folding in on itself, I love being around big ‘characters’ and Andy is a wonderful shining planet drawing all objects around him into his orbit.

It’s also clear that the guy was a hottie in his youth.

Hubba hubba, it's hipster Andy.

Yes, it’s a shallow thing to note but I wouldn't be human if I didn’t pay attention to these things (mullet notwithstanding).

He rightly calls out Bob Geldof for not including African artists on the Live Aid/Live8 bill. He describes the shambolic nature of presenting live aid which includes this highlight here of Andy interviewing Sting, Phil Collins and Howard Jones.

He’s incredibly funny. That’s a FACT.

I love a good celebrity anecdote and the book is chock full of them. Yaaaay! He’s met a huge amount of incredibly famous people and the encounters he describes are fascinating. Some celebrities also find Andy fascinating such as Little Richard who lustfully chases a young, handsome Andy around a radio studio!

I was cheering Andy on and rooting for him all the way.  I was a huge Radio 1 fan so I loved peeking behind the curtain and reading up on the 'behind the scenes' tales Andy recalls.  I didn't know about his friendship with John Peel and the working relationship they had so reading about it was really interesting.  Andy manages to pay homage to Peel while also stripping away the mythology that has built up around him.

Andy writes with great affection about John Walters, his mentor and producer, who kept things running Room 318 and who acted as saviour when malign influences conspired to close Andy or John down.  You get a keen sense of loss when John Walters passes away leaving Andy bereft of his mentor and friend. 

The book keeps building and building like waves crashing over bigger waves until the chapter on his breakdown where Andy's life takes a giant swerve towards imminent disaster. Thankfully, Andy pulls his life back together and I admire him deeply for that.  I found Andy's rides through his ups and downs to be truly inspirational.  His thoughts and memories have been sloshing around in my brain for a few days now.  I found myself becoming attached to all of Andy’s friends (whatever happened to Anna Jenkins? Poor love) who shared in his adventures and who he obviously holds in great affection.  I feel like I've lived his life in a vicarious way. 

Is there any chance Andy googles himself? Cos I wanna point at my blog and go:

LOOK AT MEH! I WUVS YOU

Actually, it’s probably better he doesn't see this – I’d scare the crap out of him.

In summation, his book is pure amazingness and you should all read it now.

current affairs keeps getting currenter and I can't keep up

I’ve already noted twice already that I can’t do current events blogging and yet I keep going back to the well because I can’t help myself. But I need to face facts. I can’t keep up with the news because stuff KEEPS happening.

News is still unravelling on the Oslo killings therefore rendering my meagre one post obselete. Or at least it needs further commentary because I can't just leave it at one post can I? It seems sloppy and lazy not to follow through on the story and I feel the need to be on top of it so I can get the last word in.

I'm just going to have to surrender to the fact that I'm crap at news blogging.

I'd much prefer to leave commentary to writers who are vastly more skilled at this than I am like the awesome Charlie Brooker whose Oslo article is a welcome read.

As for the terrorist himself… well, turns out he was fond of websites by the abhorrent Pamela Gellar and made contact in the UK with the English Defence League. Perhaps we could start to properly condemn these groups and organisations as dangerous and extremist, and deny them a media platform for their anti-muslim hate speech rhetoric? Just a thought.

And that is all I have to say on that.

In other news, guess what came in the post on the weekend?

Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay!

I abandoned my library copy of ‘the junior officers’ reading club’ pretty sharpish (and I was glad too - the soldier jargon was wearying) and I’ve been immersed in the Boy Kershaw’s world ever since.

And it is sooooooooooo effin good. I’m possibly considering writing a fan letter full of embarrassing fangirl praise – it’s that good. Will blog about it when I’m done.

Until then it’s cheerio from me.

Oslo

I’ve already said before that I’m no great shakes at blogging about current affairs but I feel I must address the Oslo tragedy. Yesterday when I watched the news, I only saw the bombed buildings with a fatalities tally of two. Today, I switch on the news and I see that there was a shooting at a youth camp driving up the total body count to 91 (so far - if you were to add up the bombing and shootings total). It’s completely horrific and my heart sincerely goes out to the victims and people of Norway.

Although I must admit when I saw the first pictures of the shattered building fronts and fallen debris, there was a tiny voice in my mind saying ‘please don’t let it be Muslim terrorists, please don’t let it be Muslim terrorists…’ I’ve had enough self-detonating lunatics dragging my religion through the mud and the weary sense of dread of whatever islamophobic backlash that may be coming my way. I can only wait for the dust to settle and people’s anger to die down for me to return back to a life without fear of reprisal.

It’s inevitable that everyone’s fingers were pointed at Islamist terrorists (and I can’t really blame anyone for doing so) and the speculation began in earnest on the news channels and the internet but it turns out, ‘fundamentalist anti-Muslim Christians’ are the suspects. The tiny voice in the back of my mind is sighing with relief. Totally selfish I know but when global events directly affect your day-to-day life you take a different view on things. I don't want to sound like a dispassionate bitch though and I comprehend that my feelings are molecular in size compared to the grief and sadness of people affected by these atrocities.

‘Christianity’ is trending on twitter and with it the sentiment of ‘ban all religion’. Christians must now defend their faith from the twisted ideologies of extreme far right perpetrators although I get the feeling they will be able to distance themselves more clearly than us Muslims have been able to from our demented counterparts. I’m curious to see how this will be represented in the media. Meanwhile, from the rubble and ruins, a country shaken to the core must rebuild their lives.

It’s not fair, is it?

reading and ting

Oh hai!

I’ve decided to have a jaunty little picture post cos you know... because. I have a crappy 2 megapixel camera phone and I keep saying to myself I’ll one day buy a proper digital camera (inshallah) but until that day happens, I’m using my camera phone.

I went to the library last week and picked up a small stack of books. I wanted to bring more but I couldn't lug heavy library books around when I still had shopping to do. I’m currently reading Memoirs of a Geisha. I adore the film but hadn’t read the book which I’ve felt guilty about so I’m finally reading it to see what I missed from the book-to-screen adaptation. So far? I prefer the film. Heresy, I know but the writing isn’t living up to what I’d expected. I’ve yet to finish it though so I’m still reserving judgment.

I learnt how to make a pretty origami bookmark for all my books. When I worked in a school, I got shit ton of free bookmarks but they’re all over the place in my room so I can only find a few at a time. No more receipts or bits of tatty paper for me, no sirree bob!

Momentary paranoia in library

I hand over my library card to check out books.

The librarian scans my card.

I assume my details come up but the screen is facing away from me.

Librarian #1: look at that. *nods to screen* that's weird.

Librarian #2: yeah, that is weird.

Me: o_O TELL MEH WHAT’S WRONG!!!11

I didn’t actually ask what was wrong because I’m way too shy and embarrassed to ask but now I’m wondering what she saw and it’s going to nag me till the end of time. Thanks paranoia-inducing librarian chick!

There was a sale in Boots and I bought this awesome bracelet with a cute little bird pendant for £2.50 BARGAIN!! The feathery looking things are hair clips which I'm hoping to wear as a hijab ornament. It was also on sale but I can't remember the price.

I’m a massive fan of Simon Armitage. The man can’t write a bad poem. ‘Seeing Stars’ is wonderful. I’m enjoying letting every word sink into my brain.

Wiki ~Fee~ dia

I still haven’t got the Andy Kershaw autobiography yet but I’ve been listening to the Daily Bacon podcast over and over again, marvelling each time at the chaotic nature of the interview between Andy and Richard. Andy was on fine form and talking ten to the dozen while Richard steered the interview through its many twists and turns with good humour. Great fun to listen to. I love listening to Richard Bacon on 5live as well as radio 4, radio 4 extra, 5live, 6music and Asian Network. Since getting a digital telly, I’ve been listening to a lot more radio programmes and discovering the joys of radio as entertainment rather than just listening for the music.

But I digress. Andy got me recalling some memories of my own. I remember as a little girl declaring to my mum that I was going to write an autobiography (yes, I was that precocious and annoying). Would the seven year old girl that was me be very disappointed to meet the adult I am now? I would veer toward a ‘yes’ but even as a child I felt the keen disappointment of an unfulfilled life. My head was stuck in Famous Five books and I yearned for adventure which never came. I didn’t have any crazy uncles who owned a private island. I didn’t have any friends who went camping in the hills drinking bottles of ginger beer. My friends were lame. I was lame.

But life isn’t really about that is it? All that gallivanting and adventure? Maybe I’ve set the goalposts a lot smaller but I think it’s the tiny details that can be just as significant as the ‘big’ moments in one’s life.

My life is as insignificant as a dust mote. But it’s still my life and it means something to me.

So I want it noted somewhere, even if it’s just a tiny, unvisited corner of the internet, the puzzle pieces of my memory that helped to form me as a person. A reminder to say you were here; you lived and breathed and mattered.

Let’s take a walk down memory lane. I’ll start with a few childhood memories:

v Your first trip abroad that you can remember was to Bangladesh when you were five yrs old. One of the maids (or ‘helpers’ as my nana made everyone call them) held you over the apartment balcony where you were three or four floors up. You honestly thought she was going to drop you and cried until nani (grandma) came and scolded the maid. This might be the reason why you’re afraid of heights and can’t even stand on a chair without feeling your ankles might break.

v Your favourite teddy bear came from a summer fete. You wanted the pink one but because your brother knew that he immediately wanted it for himself. You made a deal and traded it for a yellow and orange one which became your treasured possession. You came into your room one day and found it hanging from the doorknob with a noose round its neck. Brother could be heard laughing in the next room.

v You still hadn’t learnt your lesson from the previous point. You were given a marigold plant to care for. You watered it with your own pink watering can everyday and even talked to it. The plant flourished and was ready for planting. You were excited to plant it with your dad. Your brother suddenly declared that he wanted to plant your marigold. You were so upset and angry about your brother trying to take over something that you cherished and which meant nothing to him that you threw the plant in the trash. It hurt you to see it lying there and it was taken out and eventually planted in the garden by your father. Life lesson learnt: never openly declare your love or passion for anything because people will just want to take it away from you.

v You still can’t watch ‘The Thief of Baghdad’ without being scared senseless. Same thing goes for any ray harryhausen movie. You saw a school programme on religious festivals which fuelled a lifelong fear of religious statues.

v As a child there were two places on earth you wished to visit: Mecca and Disneyland. By 14 years old, you had accomplished both. This reminds you of your privileged upbringing and how lucky you have been.

v Your first memories are of when you lived in Talgarth, Wales. All your memories are bathed in a haze of yellow sunshine. It always seemed sunny. You lived in a big house which had a cricket pitch over the garden wall. A stream ran at the bottom of the front garden. You collected conkers from the tall oak trees by holding up the hem of your dress. You played poohsticks at the bridge and watched your twig floating downstream just like in the Winnie the Pooh books. You got a scar in your eyebrow because your brother's friend threw a sharp pebble at you (stupid little git!). There was a family whose son played with your brother. You remember seeing the mother walk barefoot on the gravel drive and wondering how painful that was. They had a bathtub filled with goldfish at their house. It seemed magical to you.

v You remember the first school friend you had. It hit you like a lightning bolt the moment you saw her walking in late to reception class. You were close friends until she moved school. Her parents came to visit the house once. Your mum wanted to show them the new wallpaper in your bedroom. You could hear them coming up the stairs with your mum. They stopped outside your bedroom door while your friend’s dad read out the extremely pedantic bedroom entrance rules tacked on your door, which you had written specifically for your boundary-encroaching brother (‘knock three times and wait until permission before entering!!!’ ‘You may not enter without permission!!!’). Hearing the rules being read aloud in a deadpan voice had you almost eating your fist to stifle the giggles as you stood behind your bedroom door. It was the funniest thing you’d ever heard. You’re no longer in touch and your friend’s dad passed away a few years ago but you dearly wish you could tell this story to your long lost friend. It was one of many happy memories that you cherish.