Wisdom is that little piece of knowledge that helps you

I confess that I am what you might call a philistine. By this I don't mean that I am a native or inhabitant of ancient Philistia (somebody's been using wiki). Oh no. I mean philistine in the complete ignorant sense. I don't appreciate the finer arts and I undervalue spirituality and beauty and I tend to deride those that do.

So, whilst listening to formerly ginger Chris Evans on a moderately lengthy car journey, I was unimpressed to learn that a philosopher was appearing on his drive time show.

OK, so lets start from the beginning. I am an ignoramous. My only experience of philosophy was when a fellow student in my A Level Physics class announced he was going to study the subject at university and the teacher (who is actually my real life superhero), guffawed. Ergo, in my head, it must be a grand ol' pile o'shite. So, for the last 10 years I've not known what it is or what it means but I do know I don't like it based on an expulsion of air through my former physics teachers nasal canals.

Now, that's ridiculous. I've since done some research and this is the dictionary.com definition:

phi⋅los⋅o⋅phy

  [fi-los-uh-fee]

–noun, plural -phies.

1.	the rational investigation of the truths and principles of being, knowledge, or conduct.

2.	any of the three branches, namely natural philosophy, moral philosophy, and metaphysical philosophy, that are accepted as composing this study.

3.	a system of philosophical doctrine: the philosophy of Spinoza.

4.	the critical study of the basic principles and concepts of a particular branch of knowledge, esp. with a view to improving or reconstituting them: the philosophy of science.

5.	a system of principles for guidance in practical affairs.

6.	a philosophical attitude, as one of composure and calm in the presence of troubles or annoyances.

Clearly there's a lot more to it than the definition above. There's also oodles of history and texts and dudes who are now immortalised in stone.

So, back to the plot. The philosopher on Christophe Lammy Pie's show was a guy called Alain De Botton. Sounds pretentious huh? Well, it did to my tiny mind. He's not, he's just Swiss. I didn't really know what to expect but a reasonable guy who seemed of sound mind and was quite good fun was not on my agenda.

Alain's words regarding philopsophy?

"Learning to be wise about things",

"Responding to situations with a certain amount of calm"

"Philosophy is about a commitment to thinking through problems".

None of this is scary or pretentious. It's just makes good sense. More sense than dictionary.com's version might I add. I could continue to quote him but that's silly and I am supposed to be getting on with other things.

His parting words on the show? "The thing we waste most of is our lives"

He was brilliant and for the record, completely unpretentious. I think there might be some cracks showing in my completely closed mind. An expanse is nigh.

I have since listened twice to this segment on the iPlayer. If you're interested, click here.

I've also since looked him up online and this is his website.

Enjoy, fellow philistines.

Unfortunately Amy....

I stumbled across a new blog today whilst in pursuit of an easy recipe for wholegrain muffins and this is that blog... thatbritishwoman.blogspot.com

She had posted a game whereby you type 'unfortunately' and then your name in brackets into google to see what comes up. By the very nature of sharing a name with Amy Winehouse, there were a few hits for me which made me laugh....

"Hubby May be Going Down - Unfortunately, Amy may be heading the same way" from this link

"Unfortunately, Amy and her friends misread the enlistment form and found out they couldn't stop Dr. Eggman unless they were ordered" from this link

"Unfortunately Amy was photographed sneaking out and jumping into a random passerby's car". from this link

Well, it's got to be more fun than working hasn't it?!

Fancy gym no. 2

I ventured into fancy gym no. 2 today on my way home from work.

Anna was todays tour guide. Anna is lovely. Small and blonde, she made me feel a lot less insecure than me ol' mucker Seth (who, FYI keeps ringing me his amazing 24 hour only deals - I swear he's a flat cap and a Robin Reliant away from being Del Boy).

This unnamed health emporium boasted a plethora of CV machines, a ton of free and fixed resistance kit, a ridiculously long list of excitingly named, sweat inducing classes including core zone, TRX, Ab attack, Fast class (?), PUNCH and power plate. Plus tennis courts, a gorgeous swimming pool, aerobics, pilates, yoga, personal trainers etc. Also in tow, a jacuzzi, a steam room, a sauna and a wee shop for buying beauty supplies AND you can also drop in for a massage. Also, a coffee shop you can hang out in after your gruelling workout.

It's very close to work, easy and safe to get to and the place had a really good feeling about it. No word of a lie, I could live there. Easily.

There's just only one, teeny tiny flaw to my new life as a stress free, gym bunny hanging out with the elite. Wonga. Yes, dosh, cash, dough, legal tender. The salient fact of the matter is that I just can't justify spending, what I consider, to be an obscene amount of money, on a health club when I have a mortgage and all the trappings such as insurance and furniture to purchase.

We need to turn our garage into a gym. Pronto.

Do excuse me, I need to check out what deals Tesco have on treadmills......

The tables have turned

Being proud new homeowners we are keen to show off our wee hooose to, well, everyone really.

Parents naturally get first dibs though and last weekend and this weekend we have had the in- laws and my parents (and pooches) respectively.

There's been much 'oooohing' (look at your lovely fireplace), 'wowing' (what a big garden you have) 'aaaaahing' (look at the lovely photographs) and 'mmmmming' (steak dinners we have cooked).

There's also been a lot of beaming from the two 'kids' who, I think, have now successfully persuaded their parents that we are actually grown ups. Well, almost.

When adverts go bad.

Advertising at best can be both brilliant and inspirational. As a communication aid it can be used to persuade us to buy things we don't really want or need, get us to vote for unsuitable political parties or use services that may or may not be ultimately useful to the consumer.

Advertising can also be cool and iconic. The slogan, the brand, the image - they're all instantly recognisable by implementing clever advertising. Not a soul on the planet is ignorant as to what a can of Coca Cola looks like or the infamous golden arches of McDonald's (maybe that's a sweeping generalisation but you get the drift).

Even those darn PG Tips chimps are etched into the British consumers memory bank. As ethically challenging as it was, we still talk about it and therefore still talk about PG Tips tea.

With that said, how, on God's Green Earth, are we allowing ads like this to pollute the ether of the media?!

What a load of wink.

Finding a new gym

Now that the new route to work is down pat and having spoken to a few of my fellow compadres I have found that there are a couple of fancy gyms on my route home from work.

Just the ticket as I find, and ohmygoshIcan'tbelieveIamgoingtosaythis, I miss the gym. Yes, you do not need to readjust your screens, I confess. I miss it. The curious thing is, I can't quite put my finger on why I miss it so. Is it my expanding mid section? Maybe. Is it the smell of sweat and the hum of crap dance toons?Definitely not. It's somewhere between the whirring, clunking sound of the groaning CV machines and the smug self righteous feeling I have as I step through the door. On the way out of course. I never feel smug walking into the gym. That would just be mental.

Anyhoo, I went for a wee nosey today around a fitness emporium, which is part of a chain and if I am to believe Seth, today's tour guide, it's the largest corporation for health and fitness in the world.

Seth, by the way, looked about 17, a right cockney geezer covered in tattoos and wouldn't look out of place in the one album wonder boy band, Busted. Nice enough guy but if he said "d'cha know what I mean though" one more time I would have cried real tears of acute frustration.

The gym itself is above a pub (it beggars belief) and in the middle of a high street. It's just a plain weird location. Despite this, the monthly rates were respectable with lots of extra bits thrown in like a few personal training sessions. It has a little weights room for women only, in case you felt a bit insecure by all the testosterone filling the room (which it certainly did tonight), t'is a nice idea. There's a big boxing room with a ring, bags, speed balls and alike, there are even boxing classes which sound really cool. Tons of group classes, free newspapers, free tea, coffee and soft drinks. Changing rooms were gorgeous (which is more important than you think). Staff all seemed nice enough and it seemed like a sociable place to be.

There was just one thing wrong with this place. Something I can't shake.

But for the life of me I can't figure out what it is.....

I'm going to see fancy gym number 2 next week. And this one is real fancy and probably well out of my price range, even after playing the I'm a student and I work in the NHS card but hey ho, let's give it a bash.

A three day Snot-a-thon is worth £50

My father in law once said that the common cold typically lasts three days. So, going by that theory I should be fine by tomorrow. Somehow, I don't see it happening. When someone else has a cold and has the downright audacity to complain about it I do feel somewhat disgruntled, "it's a cold for crying out loud" I inwardly shriek to no-one in particular.

Totally different ball game when it's me though. I turn into a mess, a red nosed dribbly mess to be more precise. I wail and I moan about it like it's some kind of big deal. I mean, it's not like I have got swine flu is it? Or have I? Oh God.

My mum told me many years ago the difference between having a common cold and having flu is money. Imagine that there is a fifty pound note 10 metres away from your sick bed. It's all yours if you prize yourself out of bed and collect it. If you genuinely have flu, the money will sit there and taunt you like a whore in church as you'll be too poorly and just plain knackered to go and get it. Alternatively, should you manage to get up to collect the goods you are lucky enough to be inflicted with the common cold.

I could definitely tear myself out of bed for fifty quid so hopefully I'll be fine by tomorrow.

Mastering my Metabolism

I have just purchased the Master your Metabolism book by the fabulous Jillian Michaels.

I think I am hoping that by virtue of making the purchase alone, I will reap the reward of becoming a healthy, toned goddess overnight. I concede that I may be kidding myself there.

I've casually flicked through the book and it looks like hard work. Reeeeeeally hard work, which I am sure pays off eventually but doesn't look like all that much fun.

However, the bits that I have read with regards to the endocrine system and more specifically, the thyroid make good sense so I am hoping that I'll understand it and therefore take a pro active approach about changing my diet.

The juries still out at the moment.

Slippers

I think you can tell a lot about a person by the slippers they choose (or not) to wear.

I used to wear ridiculous slippers when I was younger. And by younger I mean, like, 19. Anything before then and I wouldn't have been seen dead with anything furry on my feet (unless the dog had fallen asleep on me - he was so heavy my legs went numb). Maybe this was because every year, without fail, we (the collective 'we' of Mum, Dad and I but always chosen by Mum) would give my Nanna slippers at Christmas. And they were always hideous. Nanna, of course, loved them, or gave a performance worthy of an academy award if she didn't. This somewhat tainted my view on what is an otherwise fabulous institution.

I've had all manner of indoor shoe wear from big, bright and fluffy (gayer than Elton John) to Little Miss Sunshine (of course given ironically) to something resembling a dogs face (don't ask and no, it didn't keep the dog off my feet).

These days, given the fact that I am approaching thirty and now have wooden floorboards I have opted for something more grown up and subdued. Not only are my latest slippers from M&S but they also have "secret support".

Bet you're jealous.