Just Go With it?

Just Go With it?

By Emily Stephenson-Rose


My father always says that when you’re young, you’ve got nothing to lose. Being young, is a time to be carefree and fun loving, a time you can be reckless with the calories you consume and the guys you go out with. Is it just me or are older people completely deluded when it comes to youth? I’ll give you an example. I’m watching a movie review for Just Go With It. Apparently a romcom about some middle aged guy who wants to hook up with this hot young thing who happens to loves kids, so he persuades his female friend (played by Jennifer Aniston) to “lend” her kids to him. Lost the will to live yet? Anyway, the interviewer asks the hot young actress (who by the way looks so unbelievably good in a bikini, that she should be sent directly to jail without passing “Go“ or collecting £200) a few generic questions, before moving on to the older Jennifer Aniston and proceeds to make enquiries as to how she stays in such great shape. So I turn incredulously to my mother and ask, “Why is she making an issue of it with her, but she didn’t ask the younger one?!” And what does my mother say? She explains to me calmly, that it’s no great achievement to look hot when you’re twenty-three because that’s the body you’ve been given. Well, I’m sat there thinking, “Honey a body that good at any age don’t come fo’ free!”

Why do older people think young people have it all? I didn’t know a single girl at university who didn’t watch her weight. It’s not just females either, if only you knew the amount of chubby, balding teenagers I’ve sat beside during lectures. And who says young people have “flawless skin” and younger women don’t “need” to wear makeup or even a bra? Because the two-pence coin rule only applies to postnatal or post-forty women? Yeah, right! Older people have this obsession with youth as being one of the most privileged physical and societal positions one can hold. Talk about “rose tinted spectacles”. How often do you hear people say, “When I was young, I was absolutely gorgeous” then you see a picture of the Mr/Mrs Supposedly-Gorgeous and you nod in agreement while secretly harbouring the thought, “Gorgeous over ’ere shoulda gone to Specsavers!”?

And it’s not just the looks department, it’s the dating department too. People think, you look better when you’re younger and you have better sex when you’re younger. Well let me tell you, trying to find a decent boyfriend when you’re in your twenties these days, is like shopping for an unsoiled designer handbag from TK Maxx. I’ll give you an example, I’m out with this guy having dinner at The Terrace in Wimbledon, when during the course of the conversation he blabs out that not only does he have a nearly five year old daughter but a criminal record to boot before smiling sweetly and asking me if I‘d like another apple martini. I say “yes”, I need a drink after all that.

And maybe my father is right when he says that “when you’re young, you’ve got nothing to lose” but surely wasting your time, whether it’s worrying about your appearance or waiting around for a dead beat guy can be the biggest loss of all.

Eating Out

Eating Out

By Emily Stephenson-Rose

I just turned twenty-three, I'm also single...feel sorry for me yet? Probably not. I was having dinner with my good friend (also called) Emily the other day at Lambourne (a very cosy restaurant and bar) on Wimbledon Broadway, while being repeatedly reminded of the fact that she, the poised blonde, has a boyfriend and a regular salary working for a high-end retailer, while I, the brunette, university (almost) graduate, had...well a delicious salmon roulade, a margarita and not much else to be honest.

By the way I highly recommend Lambourne if you want to enjoy a romantic, candlelit dinner for two. Yes, it has a pretty rowdy bar (I think it was particularly so that night because of the football) but tucked away at the back is a delightful little den, with comfy seating and a deliciously-dark décor; the perfect way to set the mood. So just as Emily is regaling me with how much action she's getting now that she has a regular beau, I look over to the table positioned one away from ours, in between which sits a thirty-something year old guy enjoying a solitary linguine, just as two people sit down. One is a gorgeous yet demure looking, immaculately dressed, blonde girl and the other a very sexy, older, 'businessman' type. They look a little formal, shy even. I stop Emily and ask, "A couple? Or father and daughter?" To be honest she really couldn't care less. In Emily's world thirty is old and twenty is a baby, so unless the Eastern European girl and the Asian guy are indeed father and daughter, then the situation is entirely perverse and she really doesn't want to know. Nevertheless I'm beguiled. Yes these two are a little awkward with each other, but hey, I really wouldn't mind an older guy like that. Having said that, if this guy is indeed her father, I'm going to feel a little bit ridiculous, so for the time being, I keep 'em shtum.

Emily, otherwise known as Blondie, made a good choice with this place and thus being in possession of a thirty-percent-off-food voucher, we arranged to meet for a quiet dinner. Upon first arrival, I really thought, "Beam me up Scotty" because a flat screen TV, pine-wood overload and a chaotic-looking bar are really not my thing and certainly not my idea of a "classy joint". But I was delighted to see, after venturing a little further, that the restaurant has an entirely separate ambience to the rest of the place. Yes it's virtually blacked out; black banquettes, black chair, tables, but rather than being oppressive, with the candlelight and comfy seating, it was more like being in a chic and cosy grotto.

Remember the guy? The one who's sat alone with his linguine? I want to be like that! The sad truth of it is this; lunch alone, coffee alone, fine. Dinner alone? God no. Is that bad? I don't know. I've sat in Kingston's Wagamama plenty of times, shamelessly wiling away an afternoon, nursing an issue of Cosmopolitan Magazine alone, while enjoying an amai udon and a duck gyoza in my teens but something I've never managed to grow out of is the “alone at dinner time in a restaurant” fear. And there sits this man, completely alone and enjoying his meal, totally self-assured and relaxed. No blackberry, newspaper or God forbid a book to arm himself against judgemental onlookers. Maybe it's an age thing, you grow up and stop caring about the little things. You grow up, get hungry and when you gotta eat, you gotta eat. Or maybe it's (dare I say it) a woman thing. No, I'm not saying women aren't allowed to go out and eat dinner alone. I just think, sad though it may seem, that eating dinner alone, screams "I don't have a man to take me out and all my friends are busy!" Pretty pathetic when I see it written down like that to be honest.

The dinner is rounded off by a slice of chocolate tart with creme fraiche (not exactly the highlight of the meal) and there, out of the corner of my eye, past the thirty-something year old guy as he reaches for his wallet, is the couple now sitting beside each other on the banquette. She holds his face in her hands and leans in to kiss him but stops as she catches me staring. I look away, embarrassed.