Tweeting with the Frenemy – The Chicken and Egg Conundrum of your Social Network and your Social Life

Growing up I had a very merry band of friends – some best friends, some acquaintances, new and old friends and friends of friends. Conversely, along this journey and indeed regardless of age, there were many departed friends from the ‘inner circle’ as a result of the usual playground tiffs, schoolgirl rivalry (often adult rivalry), births, moves, travels and marriages. Despite how wide the friend network grew or depleted, however, there was always an unspoken clarity. The friend-gagement - the most special relationships stayed strong, many still remain in place, the less special became memories of people you met along the way and, when a split happened, it was definitive, no ties, life goes on.

This week, however, as I set about familiarising myself with my expanding private and personal social networks I have reflected on how the rules of friendship have changed and I wonder….in a world commodotised by real time updates, has the BFF been replaced by a BFNetwork?

We are lulled into a false sense of security that the ability to grow friends en masse from one Saturday night to another indicates popularity, but is this race to add faces the sign of the utlimate 'in' crowd or can real friend loyalty really be generated from 4 'likes' and a poke. If forced to meet as friends every week, could I really afford to call my new top 20 every other day to make plans, treat them to drinks at the weekend, or would I recognise them if I did? Indeed....at what point does the facebook friend tally tip from Best to Rest…?

The same consideration applies for the relationships we decide are not worth the investment. Before the days of electronically tagging our friends with the hot iron of facebook branding, friend territory was managed on the simple rules of trust.

Simply we parted company with those that didn’t work out, avoid going where they go, study the cracks in the footpath if they passed by, removed their number from our phone. If the art of making friends the facebook way is speed dating, then the art of defriending is like a messy divorce – public viewing of the breakup, sides taken on why you have made the cull, gossip, tweets, posts and a incredibly stark revoke from pokes. In today’s open-call of who’s who and who knows who knows you, wonder, have we lost the ability to quietly slip out the back and ease away?

So, as you rush to accept you next entourage of friend requests consider the chicken and egg situation of your social network within your social life and ask yourself do you really know which came first or has the desire to be popular leave us no choice but to keep our friends close and a multiplying group of frenemies closer?

'Til next time, Pandora

The Search for Design Intervention...

They say that a gentleman’s home is his castle. As is a lady’s, I would add, although the latter is possibly slightly better colour co-ordinated and, in the ideal world, surrounded with the aroma of freshly baked bread and home made apple pie.

For the jet set community (understandably I deflect from categorising a travelling community) that may sleep half of the week beyond the motte and bailey, however, home has a tendency to be more of a weekend retreat. Monday to Friday dwelling, therefore, demands an expectation to at least meet the same comfort and design as we are used to at home - room service and daily change of linens is, of course, a perk, but to be fair it is offset by the fact that any welcoming scent of roast dinner or morning toast is guaranteed to come with a 10% tray charge.

This very mecca for design intervention has been the inspiration for my blog this week, if not every week, but a long week that has been somewhat of a pilgrimage of personal down time and professional up time, moving from city to city. It may seem like a simple request that Home Sweet Home can be found away from home but, with a life as ubiquitous as a colony of ants, the reality is that it takes intricate research and forward planning to ensure each night’s remote sleep doesn’t result in an episode of 'Holidays from Hell' and, as I reflect on what lay behind many hotel doors this week I wonder ….does living a life on the road or in the skies have to come at design compromise?

The Holy Grail of chic sleep for me is easily met with cool décor, friendly service, working wi-fi and a good fish menu. Get this and designer bathroom cosmetics, well the sign of a real winning formula is one less plastic bag to trek through airport security…

Last minute hotel hopping is as dependable as camping at Glastonbury. I have gained some level of routine in that at least 75% of my time may frequent the same 6 cities in any given month, and with that am unashamedly particular on where I stay. The seasoned traveller will know that Holiday Inn and Best Western may not always truly represent the branding, and anything promising the sun, moon and less than 4 stars is a galaxy where no man, or woman, should honestly venture. Indeed, a simple rule of hotel thumb, if it comes with a wallet sized card to promote loyalty, chances are you are no more than an unknown six digit plus number in their database, not a preferred guest, and first come is usually still first served.

My personal penchant is the boutique hotel – an eagerly sourced menagerie of tried and tested intimate abodes that cater to the personal whims of any Mr or Mrs Smith (or Skies) and where repeat visits promise personal service with a smile and an upgrade, not a loyalty card. Monday to Friday décor is guaranteed to recreate a home away from home or, on occasion, ignites new concepts that have been known to spark a chez-moi remodel once the Friday evening key is turned in my own front door. 

So, as I flick through the pages of my coveted little black book for next weeks stays away, an A for Abode through to K for first Klass at K-West and D for divine at Du Vin, only one question really remains…Would you live in a place like this? (Oh, and when will my home phone dial 9 for room service!)

'Til next time, Pandora

Darwinding Down - The Origin of a New Spa-cies….

There should, quite possibly, be a new tag-name for people like me, and by me I mean a 'we', those of us who, whether for escapism or plain unadulterated pleasure, have developed an addiction to pre-scheduled relaxation.
Spa-sionista, perhaps? Noun: she who can ubiquitously pinpoint, on demand, the exact must-have treatment in the next must-visit spa, customised to every budget, needs or dream from a pre-defined stack-rank scoring system that rates pleasure to painful from her own personal experience.

This week my blog has been inspired 'in-spa' - fortuned by lady-luxe, my spa-venture upgraded to first class, I was blessed with sampling the pampering of the crème de la crème of beauty treatments with a 2-hour soaked and stroked spa-cation in Crème de la Mer.

Stepping out of the Harrod’s lift to the pent-house 5^th floor Urban Retreat was as decadent as a 5-minute Wonka elevator ride in the chocolate factory. I was immediately surprised, though, that even as early as the turn of the morning key there was no room to spare on the velveteen banquettes that decorated the waiting area. Recession was certainly not hindering relaxation, golden tickets were in plentiful supply and any more attention from the welcome reception would have demanded a paparazzi spread in Hello magazine.

My next 2 hours was a spa-volution time-lapse that was to take me and my spa expectations to a whole new level of unwind where whales and panpipes would, quite simply, no longer be enough and, as I mastered my new life in this pent-house spa-cial territory in the virtual sandy cove of ‘La Mer’, I started to consider …does the reality of a life in the fast lane mean we need our relaxation pit-stops to up their game? 

My visit to La Mer served not only to de-stress but to confirm the value of having high expectations and, as I allowed myself to embrace the Darwininan spa-vival of the fittest, I realised that scented candles, incense, fluffy robe and a bowl of fruit are no longer sufficient to dress up a glorified back rub or a toe polish that has been tinkered by a max-factored beauty.  No, with our time, money and tolerance tight, when we choose to invest we have a right to demand a guarantee of good rest. If and where the price is high, then the environment, products, treatments and service need to reflect real experience, not work experience...

So, as I left my penthouse pod with my head emptied from thoughts and my voice hoarse from silence, I accepted that where there is a trend there is always a spend but, in a world where our nine-to-five stretches to seven-eleven and where escapism for relaxation is rapidly becoming a weekly reminder on the fridge door, I wonder ....should we, in fact, value our ‘me-time’ as precious a commodity as the massage oil that unashamedly caresses our wallets with its boutique price-tag?

'Til next time, Pandora

The Power of Pie...

So it's National Pi Day. Yes, its own National day of hurrah. Not the cream or apple type, the multi decimal point mathematical type. I think everything has its day of celebration, these days - cupcakes, popcorn and pancakes...so, let's just make this more appealing to everyone and throw in the less academic pie to Pi Day, too.

There is, in fact, a rather uncanny correlation between the mathematical genius of PI and the alphabetical ingredients of PIE. Read on, grab a spoon, Its time to get somewhat pie-eyed over pie...

It's quite possible that my life-long dessert dilemma, 'To Eat or Not To Eat', has triggered this sudden revived obsession with pie possession. I mean, faced with a life of refute and abstinence, I wonder...have my taste buds subconsciously been on an eternal search for some form of scientific pie-thagarus theorem that might justify the calorific conundrum that challenges every post-dinner endorphinal rush?

Interestingly, by its own proven mathematical calculation, pi is an infinite decimal and as such is mathematically known as irrational, so I guess it is really no surprise that my recurring third-course mental dialogue always results in denial winning over longing...

However, this week, since unearthing this pictorial peace-maker I have found myself exploring my thoughts on the power of pi on pie itself and I wonder....have I finally discovered the secret to having my cake and actually eating it?

By definition, pi is the ratio of the circumference of a circle to its diameter. Stay with me -  Pi is always the same number, no matter which circle you use to compute it, large or small.

If we consider, therefore, our circle to be our plate and our slice of perfect pie to extend the width (diameter) of this plate....then doesn't the logic follow that regardless of the size of the plate, your pie will always be the same? Genius. Where is that waiter...?

So, next time you ponder over pavlova or exchange banoffee for a boring coffee, ask yourself ....is the restrain worth the pain or if, in just 3.14 scientific seconds, you can truly enjoy your just desserts...?

'Til next time, Pandora