The Fart.

It takes a lot to embarrass me but I’m actually cringing as I write this.

I genuinely can’t even bring myself to say the word ‘fart’ out loud I hate it so much. I shoot daggers at anyone who does it near me and I hand even the most beautiful of babies back when they do it by accident. But I have learnt the hard way that many people don’t mind it. Take for instance my first boyfriend. He would (as most guys refer to it), ‘let rip’ all the time. He would even sometimes point his peach in my direction and chuckle to himself afterwards. Romance at its finest. In contrast, my last boyfriend didn’t even utter the word or make a joke about parping let alone do it in front of me. And we went out for almost three years. The poor bloke.

But why do most men think its okay? Because it’s acceptable for guys of course. And for once in my life, I’m happy that there’s an inequality between the sexes. I don’t want to do it in front of my boyfriend. Or anyone else for that matter. In fact, I’d rather be caught with my knickers around my ankles by my boss than let someone hear me parp. I just find it so utterly cringe worthy. Even when married I don’t think I’ll partake in anal acoustics. But is this too idealistic? Is there always a time where the feminine facade gives way to reality?

Take Carrie Bradshaw for example; so elegant and tasteful. I would love to say that I resemble her because I have fantastic hair and an epic wardrobe full of designer clobber. But no, I simply share in her most embarrassing moment. It was back in series one where she and the beautiful Mr Big are getting comfortable with each other and a bottom blast takes her by surprise when they’re in bed together. This happened to me back in 2005 and I still haven’t forgiven myself. In fact, I can’t believe I’m actually admitting to it. My ex and I were messing around and he made me laugh (so technically it was his fault) and along with this hearty chuckle came a little noise. I hoped he didn’t hear until he said ‘Liv… Did you just?’… I almost died. In fact, I think a little part of me did die that day. And I’ve never looked back. Until now.

I guess now that I’ve actually admitted to being capable of ‘doing it’, I should apologise to all those girls who, like me, tell boys that girls just cannot fart.

However, keep at it ladies. You’ll be surprised how many guys believe it. Or want to at least.

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The Sisterhood.

Don’t get me wrong. I, like most girls out there, might feel a slight pang of jealousy when my best friend tells me about her new job while I’m still unemployed three months after graduating. I also recognize that “oh-so-single” feeling when a coupled up chum tells you that her boyfriend bought her tickets to see a west end show while you sit at home watching Downton Abbey alone. But no matter how much you envy your gal pal, above anything, first and absolutely foremost, you should feel happy for your friend.

I’ve noticed recently that women seem to come together and show their strength of sex when things are going badly. When it comes to a break up, we’re there with chocolate and DVDs. Bad exam results? We’re there with the gin and tickets to the nearest club night. We spend hours and hours dwelling on the negatives but when it comes to congratulating our friends on something that’s going well in their lives, the notion of sisterhood goes out of the window and we’re either reluctant to congratulate our friends or we just quite simply forget. Although it’s great that we sympathise so well with our girlfriends, we should celebrate our wonderful characters and quirky abilities rather than join as one in times of woe-we deserve it! After all, since the turn of the century, women really have started to rule the roost. Think Lady Gaga, Michelle Obama and J.K Rowling to name but a few. And although we look up to them and seek inspiration from them, women continue to be threatened by other women. I guarantee that in our day to day lives, we’d be far more inclined to ask a man for directions or hope to be served by a male sales advisor than ask the help of a woman, and yes that is part of the rules of attraction but we should stop feeling threatened. Our sister strangers should be the next best thing to friendship.

For me, Beyoncé is the ultimate woman. She has a gorgeous husband with a baby on the way, a successful career and she celebrates all this by backing herself with an all girl band; something that a number of my male friends have expressed their concerns about and call sexist. I see it as more of a celebration than anything. Don’t get me wrong, she is most definitely making a point by using a band of boobs but I’m not sure that she’s on Pankhurst Patrol just yet. I think she, unlike lots of women in this day and age, feels most at ease surrounded by women. And this to me is a beautiful thing.

I wouldn’t have ever called myself a feminist until recently and I would never burn my bras-it would be far too expensive. But what I will do is sing along, very, very loudly to Beyoncé and her oestrogen extravaganza and celebrate how much I love being a woman.

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The Cheater.

It saddens me to admit that many of my beautiful girlfriends (and boyfriends) have been cheated on over the years. But it saddens me even moreso that the same thing happens time and time again. Someone finds out, tells the victim, we all get very angry and upset, humiliate the cheat, tell them how much we didn’t like their partner in the first place and then they’re normally back together a week later. The stress of looking someone in the eye after you’ve stripped them naked on Brighton Pier for sleeping with your best mate’s sister is second to none I tell you.

But with age, I’ve learnt that sometimes it’s best not to get involved. After all, do we even flinch when our bestie confides in us that they’ve cheated on their partner? I’ve even watched it happen and never uttered so much as a peep to their other half. If I’m honest, I didn’t even bat an eyelid. And that’s not because I think cheating is acceptable, I just see it as a warning sign that their relationship is (for want of a better phrase); ‘a little rocky’. Because that, for me, is exactly what cheating is. It’s a cry for help. A normally uncharacteristic act that oozes the sense that someone isn’t truly happy. A precursor to an already doomed relationship, if you will.

It must seem as though I sympathise with the cheaters of the world. In actual fact, I find cheating awful. But rarely do I think it is something executed to hurt your other half, which is why I think its best not to dwell on it if it was a onetime affair. Instead of beating yourself up about it and convincing yourself of being worthless and as unattractive as a splinter; take it on the chin and see it as a sort of indicator that the relationship is going down the road to nowhere. You’ve been given a chance to leave before things get really bad and being angry is not the answer. It’s merely a malfunction in your potentially endless dating life, so learn from it, don’t live with it, remind yourself why you’re so much better than the one that hurt you. And walk away.

And although cheating is inherently wrong, I haven’t quite worked out whether or not I agree that ‘Once a Cheater, Always a Cheater’. But just in case, be on your guard.

Don’t get me wrong, go out and find your wild cat, but never, ever entertain a cheater.

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The Smile.

Rather than talking to each other when we’re out and about, we now have ‘tubecrush.net’. It’s just what we needed; another space for people to post pictures for people to look at in a stalker-like fashion and not communicate properly with each other. Although mildly amusing, I do find it a little creepy.

It was bad enough when iPods were first introduced. We became a silent world where facial expression became our main source of communication in public, making the smile increasingly more important. Don’t get me wrong, I am a massive fan of plugging in my iPod on my travels around London but I don’t understand why we don’t just talk to each other? It would make the journey go a little faster wouldn’t it? Why put aside our community spirit until New Years Eve when everyone sings songs between carriages and passes bottles of bubbly around? And why just communicate when we tut about the inevitable delay as we wait for a platform to free up at Earl’s Court?

Smiling should be something we do without even thinking about it. Like breathing. Or going out on a Friday night. After all, we don’t exactly have a great deal to complain about really do we? Half way across the world, people smile in the most desperate conditions and we don’t smile because ‘we might look a bit weird’. I say lose all reservations and make smiling normal. Apparently we use fewer muscles when we do, so think of wrinkle prevention if you must have an excuse to try it.

At a time when people seem a bit angry at the world, I think a little smile goes a long way. So, next time you’re on the tube or wherever, flash those pearly whites. But before you do, make sure you haven’t got your breakfast in your teeth. That’s just embarrassing.

Go brush those tusks and give it a whirl, you’ll feel better for it. I promise.

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The Fall.

Over the past few days I have heard nothing but complaints about the seasonal changes that are fast approaching the capital. And I have to say, I’ve heard enough. I’ve got a lot of love for autumn and all its golden glory. In fact, I would go as far as saying it’s my favourite time of year, and always has been.

Here are the reasons why I love to celebrate this underappreciated season:

Firstly, the cityscape is far more idyllic and so much more romantic than in any other season. St James’ Park is dusted with crispy leaves and people’s padded clasps look all the more cosy in soft leather gloves. And talking of gloves; Autumnal wardrobes are the best. Bejewelled cardigans and eclectic jackets for ladies and huge collared coats and brogues for men. Less unmanicured toes and too short-shorts and more muted tones and red nails. It’s without a doubt, the classiest time of year for fashion. Something which also compliments this is the complexion of our skin beyond September. For those post-holiday; a warm glow still remains but for those who aren’t, the windswept blush will suffice. The look is somewhat post-coital but without the sweat. No need for blusher.

Not only do we look better, but in my opinion social activities are far more satisfying wrapped up in a woollen bow. For instance, it’s the perfect time to go city-surfing. The romantic setting will be pre-packed for you by the falling leaves and darker evenings so no need for champagne and strawberries. All you have to do is find someone to explore with and snog as you’re encompassed in an auburn hue. Let’s be honest, a photo in front of The Eiffel Tower would not be complete without a beret. And you can’t wear one of those in the summer can you eh? Aside from city-hopping, our bad behaviour becomes more and more appropriate too; i.e. eating lots. September is an excuse to gorge on that chocolate cake after behaving for the duration of the summer months and not worry about it as you know that your oversized boyfriend jumper will cover it up whilst making you look utterly adorable to unsuspecting eyes.

And if you Londoners are still not convinced; autumn brings a smooth running TFL. As we all know, transport in London is pretty much non-existent in the winter due to the snow and is pretty much un-usable in the summer because it’s so hot that you feint, thus falling into the arms of a sweaty builder in a beater. In the autumn it’s cosy enough and regular enough to truly enjoy it.

“But the rain!” I hear you cry…

Yes, I will admit that the rain is somewhat irritating when you’re heading to a party or when your new French Soles are soaked right through, but as always, there’s a light at the end of the puddle (sorry). It’s an excuse to share your brolly with that fittie at the bus stop, or run into Starbucks in a bid to talk to the gorgeous girl behind the counter. Plus, the much sought after Toffee-Nut Latte will be re-introduced sooner than you can say ‘Christmas’.

I hope you now agree (at the very least) that autumn isn’t so bad after all.

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