We Need To Talk

Hello there friends. Me again.


I don’t know how to say this.

I know it’s been a while since we’ve seen each other.

It’s time you knew.




I’m sure you have a lot of questions. It’s not your fault, I promise.

You might be hurt. Time will heal.

But go on, have a look! Please! The blog is called Rosie’s Salad Days – which slyly incorporates the turn of phrase (one’s “salad days”) first introduced by Shakespeare in Anthony & Cleopatra, my name and my love of good healthy food and my youth.

But what does this all mean?

Well, Rosie the Postie isn’t shut down in the slightest. Things that are not about food may well cross my mind and spur my need to post on this blog, so don’t go anywhere. I will be posting far more frequently on the other side since I am currently doing it to satisfy a qualification I am doing – you can read about it on this page of the new website.

So yeah! To some of you this won’t be news, but if it is news then there you go. NEWS.


Enough. I’m going to go and make a baguette loaf (at 9.55pm)


Shepherd’s Bush Market

Or at least this is all i could get to when i was trying to film/get smoothie ingredients on a rainy sunday morning. this was for a media assignment. maybe it’s because it’s late at night and i lack any sense of achievement from this week that lead me to putting it on to wordpress


A New Project

It’s been a while. I’ve been reading and not writing lately, and I’ve also spiralled off on a mass change of intended career. But more about that later.

I could talk about my absence, but writing about depression is just as depressing as reading about it and I wouldn’t want to put you all through that. Instead, if you’d like a remarkably accurate representation of what it’s like to go through depression, here’s a version in cartoon form in two parts by the very talented Allie Bosh of Hyperbole and a Half. So yeah, read part one and part two. Then please report back (please this post isn’t finished yet). It’s a bit harrowing in places but that’s what depression is like.

So, new intended career change (I use the word intended as I don’t think doing bits of my mum’s business counts as ‘having a career’). I could give you some clichés about change but I will resist. In short, I’m going to Leith’s School of Food & Wine to do a professional standard L3 diploma, rather than rolling around in the local newspaper offices crying until someone lets me be a journalist.

A skill I’ve neglected recently is my photography. My camera used to be an extra limb, which has since been amputated and replaced by an iPhone 4S camera. However, anyone that follows me on Instagram (you can see a little tiled preview on the sidebar) knows that whilst my DSLR is suffering some neglect, I have not stopped taking pictures of food or cats. But Instagram only gets you so far. Sure, you can share, gloat, shower in compliments and generally show off – but comment boxes are no places for recipes. It is therefore with great excitement I share with you the fact that I’m going to start a food blog. I won’t give you the link yet as it’s very much under construction (blueprint status) but I will be sure to do so as soon as you no longer have to wear a hard hat and steel toe cap boots to enter the site (pun).

Anyway, enough.

Basically, things are getting better again. Cheers if you took a part in making that happen for me.

An Open Letter to Justin Bieber (cc. Izzy Nicol)

Dear Mr Bieber,

It’s a tricky one, isn’t it. The old I hate Justin Bieber vs. the Mrs. Bieber phenomenon. I don’t think I can put my finger on anyone who has had such high amounts of detest and admiration simultaneously. Sure, there is plenty of people who’ve enjoyed a heyday of public respect only to come crashing down – a common story for politicians…the fame trip for Lance Armstrong. For some, just hatred (i.e. the internet vs. Nicholas Cage). But you, Bieber, you’ve got it both ways. Why?

After a look at the compulsive list makers Forbes’ output from late 2012, it’s clear that you are up there with other rich musicians. Is it admiration and jealousy of wealth? (But in my view – celebrity status isn’t just about the money. If it was, we’d be catching up with this sassy guy, rather than the Kardashians) 

The worst thing on the internet.

I mean, you’ve turned it to a complete cash cow, that instead of giving out regular milk produces gallons of glittery magic music potion that makes small girls weak and buy knockoff merchandise from sweatshops in China. Rise of China’s exports linked to Bieber merchandise?! #CONSPIRACY?

Like Miss Nicol, it also took me a good while to realise I’d been spelling your name incorrectly (admittedly I’m hardly practised in such activity). It just so happens that is before e. Perhaps adherence to basic spelling rules of the English language is why the pre-teen audience find you so favourable? I mean, you don’t see Arnold Schwarzenegger or Zach Galifianakis gracing the pastel pink bedroom walls of 13 year olds, now do you.

Do we hate him because he got to perv perform at the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show? The hair? The squint? The pout?

After a little too much deliberation, I’m just going to admit that I’m confused. So, I think I’ll settle and a similar conclusion that Izzy Nicol did in her much more organised articleit doesn’t make sense, I don’t understand. Just deal with it. Like global warming or the fact that you don’t and may never have an Aga.

Yours in confusion,

Rosie Jones

PS. Don’t date Taylor Swift. I know it’s totally cool and in but she’ll write a song about you which will probably be more successful than yours. a.w.k.w.a.r.d.

Justin feels weak at the knees following the attack by Miss Delevinge’s eyebrows.

Hiatus? What!

Pitchforks away everyone. Just to let you know that my attention will be elsewhere for the moment. I’ve been recruited for my Local Guardian’s Young Writers’ Scheme, and for anyone who is interested, I have to write eight articles over the next eight months.

I will update this post as I write them (usually thirty minutes before the deadline).

  1. An article on the Samaritan’s Christmas Child scheme
  2. A whinge about my practise D of E expedition
  3. A rushed account of the past year with my Student Council
  4. A really quite bleak analysis of Hinchley Wood at Christmas
  5. I pretended that I had done a vox populi on Hinchley Wood station but actually I stayed at home and watched How I Met Your Mother and ate some pistachios

If you fancy it, give them a comment. It makes me feel better.

Queen Mary

The last time I encountered anyone called Mary, she was drowned in tomato juice, cheap vodka and getting acquainted with stick of celery. A miserable experience, one might suggest, but nothing to what I am currently occupied with.

I am sitting in a modern lecture theatre, designed by someone who never wanted to be lectured to in it, and being spoken at by a man with greying hair, slicked back and wearing a fleece that the Geography department would be jealous of. I am waiting to be told all the reasons why I want to study English at Queen Mary University. Edge of your seat stuff.

The rest of the room are listening perhaps even less intently than myself. A collection of hijabs sit in the front row eating crisps (not burkas – a little too difficult to eat and wear a burka, no? think about it…) and the girl behind me is whining on the phone in a dialect that I cannot even begin to understand.

My journey here was more interesting. I have an irrational fear of Bank tube station (too many employed people, there are gaps in the tiling and you can see the earth from inside the tunnels – a little too metafictional for my liking) and so I decided to traverse accross the bridges from Waterloo to Embankment, with all the meander and swagger of a Romantic poet. Before which, I evaluated my coffee budget, and requested that Emmanuel, the French ‘barista’ at Costa that he “put all the caffeine you have in a large Americano to go”. He complied.

On my happy wander from Waterloo, I observed a gaggle of Koreans queuing outside a hired out building near the Savoy. Some were stretching, others were warming up vocals in an unfamiliar, Gangnam style (pop culture! Ha) sort of way. On further inspection, I discovered that today are the auditions for ‘e-pop’, some desperate entrepreneur’s answer to the hideously successful chain of reality music shows. So if you see yourself as the next K-pop star, sorry but you missed your chance. You’re just going to have to sulk in lack of kawaii.

The chap with the fleece has introduced his colleague. A chirpy woman with a PhD that you’d probably describe as having a “nice personality” or “good sense of humour”. I think she can tell I’m not listening.

I should’ve stayed home and juiced a tomato.

Open up London, it’s Ceremony Time!

Becks & BoJo are hyped as.

As you will likely recall a few posts ago I made a rather scathing evaluation of London’s prod at an opening ceremony for the Olympic games. Remember? Yes, you do. Untangle yourself from the amass of rainbow coloured London 2012 bunting and pay attention, I may just have to change my mind about something.

As I write this, BBC’s 6pm news is giving a roundup of what the country have been up to today prior to the delivery of £27 mil worth of jazz hands. Our darling culture secretary Jeremy Hunt has been instilling masculine values, Boris has been practicing his speech, and I stayed home and made chutney. I think somehow I win.

Indeed, as you think back to my last post on the matter the budget had been quoted as something similar to that of the first Pirates of the Caribbean film. Remember? Yes, well it seems like it’s been shrunken dramatically. From what I have heard thus far, Danny Boyle has bought some very expensive drugs and then thrown pennies at children to make them dance to ThrillerThat said, I’ve only been shown the rather tacky press images of the rehearsals. Be warned, there is a lot of glitter.

Amongst the road decorations that have lined the streets of our counties, the main messages that initially won the bid are banded about on banners and bunting. Inspire a generationAnd what does that really mean? From where I am sat (ie. In front of the telly) it means that the youth of today need to be pushed to the front, blinking and scratching their acne in order to reflect our values. Well, we’ll see how that one goes. As a representative from that demographic, I’m off to can my chutney.

BoJo: Back on my Agenda

Everyone calm down! Return your pitchforks to their rig20120502-115424.jpghtful habitats! Extinguish your flaming torches! I’ve changed my mind about something!

Avid readers of RosieThePostie will be aware that I recently composed a post discouraging those who have the privilege to vote in the London Mayoral elections (tomorrow) to abstain from crossing the box that would coax the shaggy haired Bojo Jojo Boris Johnson back onto the throne as London Mayor. My reasons were simple; in spirit of how unfair it is of how ridiculously priced bus travel is, we should consider our options. That doesn’t mean having to submit our vote to the other half of the Barbie and Ken (Barbie.. Blonde.. Boris.. Ken.. No? Okay) duo, but just have a little peek at the other candidates. After all, the voting system does allow you to make a second choice. Who will it be? The viscous Green party representative, Jenny Jones, who looks like she needs a sit down with a hair stylist and a bottle of Herbal Essences? Or one of the other independent candidates who I cannot be bothered to Google? It’s not like I get to vote anyway .

YES I changed my mind because YES I now like Boris and the Conservatives a great deal more after following the campaign and YES you should vote for him, and no don’t worry, I won’t suggest anyone votes for a Labour representative again. I am admitting defeat! The stubborn part of being a Taurus (at least that’s what my hair dresser puts it down to) has been crushed! So please, am I permitted to change my mind without angst from everyone else?

If you ask me, I think we have a bit of a warped attitude to change in this culture. Ask anyone selling the Big Issue and they’d love some change (pun), and party leaders (looking at you Obama) can’t get enough of it. On the flip side, when Mark Zuckerberg’s team stretch out their billionaire fingers and make an alteration to the Facebook interface, National Bloody Disaster. I make a minor alteration to my political outlook, and I feel like I’m letting someone win. I feel like the strength of my conviction has taken an almighty stub on the toe, and is curled up in crippling pain on the floor.

So what I’m really saying is that if Boris has to crawl back into his cave, fall back into the river or cycle off sheepishly into the polluted London sunset, I will feel a tad responsible.

Pants to the Unpatrotic

"You're Silly!"

Striking. I’m just going to put that word there for a minute. Have a little think. Have you been on strike recently? Are you an employee for TFL? Are you a rebellious public sector worker? Yes? Okay, well the big DC from Witney has some words for you (or at least, his spokesman does).

If you’re unhappy with your job, your pay, the occasional workplace harassment or you just fancy a day out, you go on strike (unless you like having a spotless record and like being rehired in other establishments). That’s the general rule. It’s a Human Right to protest peacefully, so go speak out against creepy Kevin you looks at you funny when you use the photocopier, or the fact that you’re not paid enough to afford a new Magimix, just don’t plan on doing it during the Olympics.

There are a number of Trade Unions who are a bit peeved about the Olympics, and so plan on having a day off and going on a bit of a jolly during Summer 2k12. (Maybe they’ve organised a Trade Unions on Tour minibreak to Kos and they’re doing this is a cover up…) and so David Cameron’s [spokesman] has used a big word against them. He [his spokesman] thinks that going on strike will make everyone hate the Olympics and will put off tourists and so apparently to strike during the Olympics is “unpatriotic”.

Seriously, DC, you’ve come up some some pretty serious things in your time but is that the best you could come up with? Unpatriotic? What are they supposed to do with that? Cry? Make their mum call your mum?

I can’t say it’s helping the Etoxbridge image for Parliament if the biggest insult you can come up with is based on not wrapping yourself in the Union Jack and crying with glee. But who knows, it may well deter them from striking, and maybe there won’t be a single cock up in the Royal Mail Sorting Office, the trains will be on time, our teachers won’t be out on the front line beating each other with placards and Tesco won’t have run out of low-fat margarine all on the same day.

Pub Tran (or, why I’m specifically not backing Boris)

So usually this blog is free of rant, but I made an actual post the other day, so I think I deserve one now. Yes? Agreed. I should jolly well hope so.

So I, as a sixteen year old who lives outside of London, cannot vote for a London Mayor in the upcoming elections, but it’s fair to say that I am an avid user of the services TFL provide.

As an avid user, I occasionally skip fares, fail to tap out, unleash my rage on bus drivers and talk loudly on the telephone whilst on the train. I feel that these aspects alone render me eligible for the vote, but the UK democratic system does not. Whatever, I’m over it.

The system used to elect Mayors in the UK is a first choice second choice basis. My first choice? Well this year, old Ken Livingstone. I’m surprised as much as you are, but hear me out on this one.

It’s a pretty well known fact that the strength of Mr Livingstone’s campaign is based on the fact that he is promising fairer train fares [hilarious pun], and that’d be great if he delivered, but it’s not all about what he’s promising. In a recent study of the people of Britain, it was revealed that the least trusted individuals by profession are politicians, followed a close second by estate agents. So with this in mind, we take their manifesto promises with a pinch of salt and hope for the best.

What you must realise here is my hop from backing BoJo to K-Stone isn’t a politically based notion. I haven’t suddenly leapt on the Labour bandwagon. I could probably still be put in a box with other safe-seat constituency Conservative backers, all singing, all slating ethnic minorities with a nice degree and a four by four to show for it, don’t you worry. It’s not even about the fact that he’s promising that he’ll knock down my Oyster card bills, it’s about what voting for someone who isn’t Boris. Yeah, gotta love the blonde haired ragamuffin, but this is about accountability.

What I’m saying is that if I did have the vote, I’d vote for someone who hasn’t put the price of a child travel card from zone six from £2 to nearer a fiver. Thus holding the muppet to account.

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