Last weekend saw record temperatures hit London and while I took advantage by chilling in a park for 6 hours (in the shade of course), I was a little bit anxious. I hadn’t felt that kind of heat since holidaying in Spain! It’s all good catching those kind of rays abroad, but at home? I’ll take the 20 degrees celcius with clear skies and a light north-west wind, thank you very much. Here’s why:

1) British Heat is NOT real. Seriously folks – this is not a tropical island and why people are happy to bask in global warming (without sunscreen too, tut tut) is beyond me. I used to do it and after getting my 3rd skin tag removed, I don’t play with British sun like that again.

2) I rather go abroad for sun. Very much linked into point one – and it’s always an excuse to get away!

3) The tube aka the sweatbox aka the Lazy Pedestrian. It can get ridiculously hot below when it’s hot above and I don’t know if you’ve come face to face with a sweat patch at rush hour, but if you can imagine a baby wipe after it’s been used and smeared across your face (minus the faeces) then you’ll get my drift. Disgusting mate.

4) Heat stroke. This is all too real and I think I understand the consequences of severely hot weather from growing up in Texas. Well, I know of at least 2 people that fell foul of this over the weekend, and it is NOT COOL.

5) Cellulite offends me. I know I have it, but I cover that right up in the public domain. But for some reason, once a little sun graces the UK, certain ladies forget that they a) don’t REALLY need to show that much flesh b) Must be Brazillian to show that much flesh – and most importantly, be in Brazil.

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1) NBA Hoops – as I’m an American, I’m under the constant delusion that I’m totally kick ass when it comes to basketball, because I had a Larry Bird signed ball when I was 8, and I used to play in amateur tournaments. Well, I really need to get over myself because I can tell you now that I’m no pro – But I feel no way feeding the basketball machine anything up to a fiver for whatever snatch of glory I can claim for the night; victory in defeat and all that (side glance).

2) The bumper cars – I’ve got unnecessary bruises because of this – and last night, my hat flew off after one of my students smashed into me, exposing my extremely, nappy, atrocious head of curls and kinks. Whatever. But alas, if someone can tell me a better method of helping me de-stress than punching my car into someone else’s with reckless abandonment, than e-mail me. Bumper cars are doing it for me right about now (especially if you jump into one right after listening to Tempa T’s Battle Riddim. SMAAAAAAAAAASH!)

3) Tickets – Call it the early signs of a potential gambling addiction (God forbid!) but when I step into Namco, I’ll do almost ANYTHING to cop those tickets that you can earn from some of the games. Yes, I know the prizes hardly match the value of what it costs to win tickets, but it’ll all in the challenge my friends. It’s all in the challenge (mwah, ha haaaaaaaaa! Now spare me a 50p, I beg…)

4) Dancing Stage Supernova – This is otherwise known as the dancing game the Japanese are really good at. As for me, I’m about a 6/10 – but it’s all about adding those little gestures to the otherwise robotic dance steps that black women like me do oh so well. A bit of booty-bump, some “winding of the waist”; I’m taking the Soul Train, shoot!

5) The Annoying Thing Game – in some countries, this is called Whac-A-Mole, but for obvious reasons, Namco have teamed up with the Crazy Frog to produce a new version of a game because most people will find such animated foolishness infuriating and part with their coins accordingly. This game works for me in the same way as the bumper cars. Those little frogs that pop up tend to represent every person that’s vexed me in the past week – and the relief is absolutely euphoric.

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1) The facilities. So Hospital has got a cinema, recording studio and an art gallery while Shoreditch House has got a heated swimming pool on the ROOF. Man. Can someone say, bougie, bougie!?

2) My age. I’m gonna be 30 next year and have noticed that my social circle is slowly developing into the sort of creative and inspirational crowd I wish I knew 15 years ago when I was getting bullied at school and plotting to destroy those foes with my INTELLECT. Now that I’ve come of age and I’m a proven smarty-pants, I could seriously kick ass with a PMC membership card. Just saying.

3) Impressing my clients (And I know you did NOT just think about Pretty Woman; I frown at your salaciousness, tut tut). PHOTOGRAPHY clients. Duh.

4) Real social networking. Remember face-to-face banter? No retweets, no trending topics, no “BBM”? Yea, well I miss those days and actually value connecting with people in PERSON (in a PMC, of course LOL)

5) No hype. The beautiful thing about PMCs is that they’re so inconspicuous and you could walk right past one without realising the socialisation taking place indoors; it’s the sort of exclusivity a girl like me could get used to :-)

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Sometimes I’ll just be walking down the street and I’m mad. Like Grrrrrrr. Like, “come within an inch of me and I’MMA GO TO JAIL TODAY!” while Ludacris’s Move Bitch is resonating loudly in my head. You know that feeling? Mmmmm hmmmm. Well, that’s what I call Londonitis – a condition which means you express an extreme dislike to the capital of England because it’s getting on your last nerve. There are international versions too – Newyawkitis, Losangelitis – in big cities mainly (and I wish I was not making this up, because you know it makes sense). So this is why I’m off to Surrey for a much-overdue, three day weekend because:

1) The London Underground. Listen – you need to be trained to use it properly, and there are many that don’t know how to. If you don’t, God be with you, because a couple of us with that Londonitis will finish you off pronto, like those Darkseekers in I Am Legend (coming out of crevices and everything). So you’ve got to always stand on the right of the escalator, do not crowd the bottleneck of the platform (there is always space to the left or right – just MOVE ALONG), and when you get on the train, please don’t crowd the entrance where there’s clear space down the aisles. Why would you do this? You LIKE someone’s armpit in your face? Well good for you – we all have our vices. But I’m tired of dealing with rule breakers every blessed day, seven days a week, 365. I’m out!

2) The High Streets. Similarly, this is to do with overcrowding, and that occasional sense of claustrophobia I get when there are way too many people up in this place. And the problem is, there are some shoppers that walk around with no sense of purpose – just milling around and taking everything in, smiling like it’s completely okay to be pedestrian in a busy area as opposed to ushering you and your fam in a corner, working out your destination and doing your best to get there as swiftly as possible. This is not a science, just courtesy. It’s a shame many forget this is LDN, and we’ll come with that POW! if you do not get to stepping! (I’m talking a good old fashioned shoulder slam – not gun/knife violence folks, Lethal Bizzle’s just kidding – side glance).

3) The contradiction of Hyde Park (and many of the others). I love Hyde Park, I really do – it’s actually one of my favourites because I live in West. But apparently it’s unhealthy to jog there because of the surrounding traffic – so those poor trees cannot knock suck up that amount of CO2 to help us, and I might one day be jogging with a water bottle in one hand and an inhaler in the other. Terrible. 1-0 to the Countryside.

4) The noise. I’ve sort of grown accustomed to the sounds of traffic lulling me to sleep when it’s time to go to bed. But every now and then there’s that ONE dude. Drunk. Loud. 3am. Talking about “SANDRA BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH SHURRRRRUP! I LOVE YOU!” Who is this dude? And where is the police? He aint romantic, talking about shut-up, I love you! I can’t STAND him! (hate’s too strong of a word, but believe me when I say the sentiment is close).

5) It’s really quite lovely. That’s the British countryside, not the delirium of London. And seeing that Surrey’s only an hour away, that’s a mere hop, skip and a jump to fresh air, good food, lovely fields and a good night’s sleep. And no mobile phone! (Yep!) You’ll see the pictures next Wednesday and see exactly what I mean.

PS: I do love London :-) (but you know there’s a thin line, c’mon now!)

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Anyway, while I do love the breadless avocado and crayfish sandwich from Pret ‘A Manger, I’ve got to hand it to Starbucks for taking a good chunk of my income over the last few months. Here’s why:

1. I’m American. Starbucks is an American company. Americans rule dontcha know? That’s loyalty right there. Red, white and blue all the way! Black president! Popeyes Chicken!!!! MACYS! (CHEST BUMP!)

2. I believe in the Starbucks Card. It affords me free wireless in all of their branches AND if I top it up, I get free shots of syrupy stuff. This didn’t matter until I started drinking coffee – trust me, a shot of vanilla helps with the bitterness.

3. It doubles as my office sometimes. The longest I’ve stayed in a Starbucks is about 5 hours, and that’s on the basis of a single cup of Chai Tea Latte. Result, surely? I didn’t get any dirty looks, I could keep my laptop plugged in, and the armchairs are ridiculously comfy. Not sure Pret or Caffe Nero would afford me the same treatment. Pret is French and Nero is Italian and we know that can be love and war. Mmmm hmmm.

4. Caramel Waffles. I could eat 15 of these and search my teeth for remnants a day later. Deep, I know, but they’re that good.

5. They are EVERYWHERE. I live smack between two, and while I know it’s mass capitalism playing me for the fool, I can’t knock the convenience. Sorry.

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1) You know those days when you really feel like you’ve accomplished something? Like not flipping out at a tourist on the Tube for blocking the doors or resisting the temptations of Twitter to actually get some work done (hello, somebody?). Well a cupcake from Hummingbird is my royal round of applause. There’s nothing like a high calorie well-done to keep you motivated, and the icing actually sings to me in the chord of C Major. Yup.

2) There’s one in my neighbourhood (S Kensington) and they’ve also landed on Wardour Street. Can you imagine? Cupcakes on my doorstep! Oh the joy!

3) Prices are low which is good cause I’m kind of on a budget. You know how that gets.

4) The packaging is really pretty. I thought buying MAC make-up made me feel posh – HB present their cupcakes like Christmas pressies you haven’t paid for (before reality sets in of course, for example: “Oh, for me? Why thank you, you’re too kind. Oh, you want money… Damn”)

5) They’ve got a thing for pink and that’s great because I’m female and I’ve been conditioned from youth to fully appreciate and unconsciously graviate towards that colour. Totally suckered? You betcha.

www.hummingbirdbakery.com

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