Yes, yes, yes! I am a football addict. FACT. There. I said it.

A good politician is quite as unthinkable as an honest burglar.

I was randomly chatting with Afrocentric and Nsoromma the other day about going out for dinner when we all remembered one of the most excruciating dining experiences ever! How it ever slipped my mind I'll never know but of course it had to be blogged about.

So sometime last year, this restaurant (which shall remain nameless) was doing a promotion where you'd come and have lunch or dinner from a menu with no prices on it and then in lieu of a bill, you'd pay as much as you think the meal was worth. Sounds like a great deal right? So of course, being the cheapskates and lovers of eating out that we are, Afrocentric, Nsromma and I trekked down to Farringdon looking for the said restaurant. Ah screw it, the restaurant's called The Little Bay. So after going up and down Mount Pleasant and Farringdon Road we eventually find the place right by where we first started. Isn't that always the case? By this stage we were cold, hungry and irritable and the fact that we had to wait for a table didn't exactly help manners.

We were finally seated and by this time we had warmed up enough to take in our surroundings. Woooooooow! This place was rocking velvet flipping ceilings! Add to this the huge frieze (or whatever it was) of Poseidon, the random gold trimmings, and the portly Mediterranean bloke who was wandering through the tables singing shrill opera. The impact of the décor was so powerful that I actually don't remember much about the food. It was perfectly fine I suppose but nothing to write home about.
 The real excitement began when it was time to pay the bill. We'd already decided to pay a fiver each before even entering the place but when it actually came down to it, the pressure was unbelievable. The three gloating women who had happily trekked halfway across London in search of an (almost) free meal disappeared. Beads of sweat appeared on our top lips and surreptitious glances were made towards the door. We eventually came up with a plan that we'd pay 10 pounds TOTAL between the three of us and Nsoromma and Afrocentric would take the lead out of the door whilst I stayed to paid the bill. This seem like a great plan in theory but the execution was another story. My nerves began to fail me when the waitress came to ask if "everything was okay" as she saw us trying to slyly slip on our coats and scarves. It also didn't help that we were the only black people in there as well. Way to disprove the stereotypes about black people being stingy girls! Nsoromma and Afrocentric "conveniently" found something fascinating on their phones and sidled out of the door. I sat there for about half a second before grabbing my bag, throwing down the tenner and practically sprinting out of the door. We collapsed in fits of giggles as soon as we put daylight between ourselves and the restaurant.

This restaurant had a genius marketing plan. Enough people were probably so terrified of looking stingy that they overpaid on their meals, therefore offsetting cheapskates like us. Nevertheless, this was definitely one of the most painful dining experiences I've ever had. So it's over to you. Can you beat our experience? Let's hear it!


(On a side note: there's a Jamaican Restaurant in South Norwood called "Rastarant" and I've always thought this was the greatest name ever! Any good restaurant names to share?)

This is the wonderful Tic Tac line from Kwani Kwani which me and the other girls love so much. In fact I have always wanted to say it to somebody. Which actually sounds quite mean however, I don't want to say it to be mean...well actually....errmmmmm...look right, THAT IS A LINE AND A HALF!

You know, it's one thing to hear about a phenomenon, but nothing beats experiencing the real thing. Friends who had recently returned from Ghana had complained incessantly about the rise and rise of the LAFA. Huh? That was my initial reaction too. It stands for "Locally Acquired Foreign Accent". You see, as part of some Ghanaians' haste to embrace anything and everything foreign, the beautiful Ghanaian accent has fallen victim to tragic butchering. As a linguist (3 years of uni is worth it just to be able to say that. Yay me! Lol), I'm well aware of the fluidity of accents and how easy they adapt and merge. However, there is a patent difference between somebody who has lived in a different culture and has therefore adopted (consciously or unconsciously) the local accent, and a person who has never stepped foot outside the country for any length of time.

I remember when we we in our teens, Friday's Afro and I would call this an "Aferican" accent and it's sad to see the phenomenon has not died out but seems to be under going some kind of revival. Originally the property of the Ashanti "bogas", the LAFA is thriving everywhere. In my experience, most Ghanaians speak excellent English but I can't count the amount of times I've heard people apologising for their English merely because they don't possess some kind of foreign accent. What is so special about a foreign accent? What are the thought processes that lead a person to think it's normal to fake an accent? Can anybody out there enlighten me?

On the flipside, since my arrival in Ghana, I've become a victim of what I call "accent-ism". I've been introduced to people who are perfectly pleasant until I open my mouth. The English accent provokes a total and complete shut down in pleasantries. Often the person will adopt a look suggesting they have just smelled something bad (it's not my armpits, I checked...) and even Stevie Wonder can see the "wo ye too-known" look that passes across the face. I'm by no means suggesting that everybody has been like this but I'm beginning to see that the accent war goes both ways. Now what kind of fuckeries is that?

To see a fantastic LAFA at work, check out the link below. You have been warned...
http://www.facebook.com/video/video.php?v=100986489923283

Now what experiences of the LAFA or accent-ism have you experienced?

THIS gave me a good chuckle this morning. You have to wonder at the thought processes that were put into place before this endeavour....

I was having a conversation recently with Afrocentric and Nsoromma about travel in London and it was interesting to say the least. Travel in London has the potential to be soul-destroying or life-affirming. Hopefully, it'll lean towards the latter if you take note of some of these general observations. Now place your tongue firmly in cheek and remember these the next time you venture out with your (increasingly expensive) travelcard!

1. If there are empty seats available anywhere on the bus/ tube/ train, DO NOT SIT NEXT TO ME! You have just given your thanks to God above when you get on a half-empty tube/ train carriage or bus when a leering man decides to park himself right next to you. Never mind the 15 other empty seats available. It's Boris Johnson's law that somebody must sit uncomfortably close to you, stinking of stale cigarettes, whilst trying to rub himself against you. With that goes your 27 minutes of thinking up what excuse you're going to give work about why you're late (again), instead, begins the game of how far away you can edge away from the person whilst they're trying to physically sit on your lap....

2. It is not proper transport etiquette to stare at your fellow passengers during the daily rush hour. Yes we're a city of people watchers but one must be subtle with it. So when the 6"3 man wearing a tartan dress, bovver boots, and sporting acid pink hair steps onto the Northern line at Camden, feel free to stare at him all you like but only via the reflection of the windows! I can't vouch for your safety once the words that strike fear into every Londoner's heart are uttered: "What you looking at?!"

3. One must remember that the South Londoner is a different breed of Londoner, in particular those that hail from the South Eastern region. Eye contact is seen in one of two ways: a declaration of war, or an indication of willingness to marry a person. A personal music player and an engrossing book are your only friends in this part of town.

4. There's no point running for the bus. Really. Most bus drivers take malicious pleasure in watching you frantically waving at them to stop via their side mirrors. 171 bus drivers in particular take great enjoyment in waiting until you're a a mere metre away from the stop and then zooming away into traffic with enough skills to rival Jenson Button. If you're lucky and a driver takes pity on you, by the time you pant and heave your way onto the bus winded by the whole 20 metres you had to run, the hostile stares of your fellow passengers will be enough to ruin your morning. They'll have to wait a whole 36 seconds as you simultaneously hunt for your Oyster card (you probably left it on the kitchen table) whilst trying not to display just how unfit you really are.

These are just some of the few recurring travel observations we made. How's travel different where you live?

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This is in the same vein as the first Laugh of the Day. Ummm, the recession is hitting people so hard that instead of bargain designer bags ebay are selling, well, designer bags with a difference...Paper bags!

hahahahahaha! I went to Dubai at the beginning of June to y'kno let off some of that exam steam! And while there our wonderful hotel organised trips and excursions everyday, to the beach in the morning, and 'shopping' in the afternoons. 'Wow' we thought, 'all those famous luxury Dubai malls, you know the ones with ski slopes inside and 5 star (freezing cold) cinemas...' we couldn't wait. So Monday rolls around and instead of naming the place we would be going shopping, all we were told is " yes, its very good place, nice, discount shopping yes good place!" Hmmm, I don't know about anyone else but I was envisaging a mixture of Primark and Poundland, boy what i got was a mixture of Deptford Market, an 'English for foreign learners' class and a bin!

I'm not actually joking when we got there people from our hotel were backing away from the lurid green shopfront where we were greeted by a massive poster saying " RUB-A-DUB DUB CLEAN YOUR TOTS IN THE TUB " accompanied by a Rubberduckzilla monstrosity, weird! And it just got weirder, rows and rows of terribly-made cheap clothes next to prams next to packets of crisps, and the whole while a bearded man following you round the nighties trying to make you take a trolley.
After our initial bout of nausea and convulsions, we decided to look around and thank God we did. You know when you go to other countries you find some strange engrish emblazoned across tee-shirts etc, these were the worst i have ever seen! Once in Martinique I did see a top that said 'Music looks at me PHARD' huh? what?
Anyway, back to Nine Town (as this Oasis in the Emirate Desert was called) the tops ranged from the depressing - a top with a 20 line poem about holding your dog's paw when the time comes to put him down- to the spiritual -incomplete inaccurate lyrics from a Hillsongs song- to the retro- a beautiful piece with I ROCK RUFF AND STUFF WITH THE AFRO PUFF across it- Yes yes Lady of Rage!

Eurgh! the shop was disgusting, afterwards we were thrown into a tro-tro (van/minibus) with about 25 Iranians who found our dark skin and our English extremely funny, horrific, one of them was making a video of us! Lord have mercy!
Not a minute too soon we were returned to our hotel where we wept with shock and relief, it was over, Nine Town was over. Oh and did I forget to mention the Iranians bags were bulging with tat from Nine Town, yuck!

I know we're in a recession but I have no words for this. Click on the link and see for yourselves. Wooooooooow....
Madness I tell you

So, Houdiniism, a five-syllable word, say it now: Hou-Di-Ni-Is-Sm, good, now you may be thinking what are you on about? Well, let me tell you, houdiniism is an affliction of the modern male, where they become experts at escaping situations, and coming out unscathed, only to be captured, locked down and to escape...again.
This may sound like good ol' commitment issues, but this is more, it creeps silently into the relationships of many males, whether these relationships be platonic or other. The first reported case of this condition, lets call him Joedini, suffered very badly from it, and therefore so did his girl -he's the one who'd make the appointment, tell you "you better be there...2 o'clock yeah?" implying that he just needed to see you, then , at about ahh 14.50, the call - and don't be silly you know you're calling him - he'll say,"I'm just coming blah blah, trains, blah blah, my mum, blah blah I'm on my way now", using your name and 'ish when he profusely apologises, you'll say "oh, it's ok the snow isn't too heavy at the mo'...wish I'd brought a coat..." and then he actually WOULDN'T TURN UP, like seriously, he just wouldn't come, and off you'd trundle, knowing he'll call you when you get to Brockley station (as if he knew) giving you some TALL story, which, even though you don't believe, will have you back at Norwood Junction saying "Oh it's cool, there's a really nice crackhead telling me about his pipe collection..."

But people, don't be fooled this maladie has varying symptoms and manifestations, trust me, take this guy I know, lets call him LightNTall (LNT) an intelligent, musically gifted nice chap, he'll call and it's all good...until "oh...let me call you back..." which he doesn't or does at like 4:37 am the next day, or there's ShortNDarkWithBlazerPatches (SDWBP) who displays an alternate form of houdiniism. The kind of escapologist who will 'toot-toot' you while you wait in the rain at the bus stop after you thought the jokey banter from the night before meant you were getting a lift...sorry yeah! As you see SDWBP escapes home at 35 mph, no curve, no bend, with all the affirmations of close friendship toned down by the blatant selfishness and unwillingness to share that 15 minute ride with you.

Now, this affliction has evolved over the years since the original Houdini (Harry, that is) who merely escaped from physical chains. These 21st century houdinis will leave you wondering, 'when the hell did he leave?' in both physical and emotional ways, shoot, you'll be having a face-to-face chat, look at your watch, and he will be gone, his shadow still lingering because he left so fast! But before I lose focus, and get too personal I'm just gonna rein it in, Houdiniism appears to be a natural phenomenon, whether its the one who never calls back, or the "partner" who you see once every 4 months, or the one who tells you 'I'm coming to Norwood Junction now Babes' (Babes?) while he sits sipping mojitos in Jamaica or something schtupid like that, or the Igbo boy who leaves you and your cousin buying Expensive drinks in the bloody Hilton at Trafalgar, only to stretch his big lips into what he thinks is a pacifying smile...Ahem (!) or the one who manages to slip away after church when you wore heels because you knew you had a lift, blaad, they're all escapologists in one way or another, and if they're not... well they're something else, and that's whats up!


'

Now most people who know me know that I have a somewhat gentle obsession with misspelt signage. I have a love/ hate relationship with this because although they may provide me with many instances of unexpected mirth, I can't get over the sheer laziness of having a misspelt sign outside your shop. How can you expect me to take you and your business seriously when you're offering me an "intinet cafe"? What kills me even more is that nobody manages to spot these mistakes from the owners, to the people who put up the signs, etc. etc. Some may say I'm being pedantic and I probably am but come on! We live in the age of spellcheck don't we? Lol. Being a linguist (ahem!), one of the first things you're taught in any foundations class is to let go of our belief in prescriptive grammar and embrace descriptive grammar. I tried is all I can say. I may have become more descriptive in my grammatical views but if you're gonna have the cheek to proudly display something in order to entice me into your place of business, at least let me know that you bothered to press F7! Nevertheless, it's a tiny habit of mine to document these moments of unintended humour on the mean streets of London lol. So expect more of these whenever I feel the urge....