Enter the Godson

This little stunner is my godson John. He was born yesterday in Athens and I missed it because I'm back in the UK. Isn't he a stunner? If you're looking at this be sure to say ftou ftou!

At last, a Greek who speaks less Greek than me.

P.S....

I forgot to add that yesterday I went and exchanged a pair of pink heels all on my own and all in Greek. Getting there, day by day...

Image: http://www.lewrockwell.com/barnhart/shoes.jpg

The Spice of Life

I am ashamed to have used such a cliched heading, but my creativity is running a little low in this heat today. Apologies also for the badly photoshoped image. Anyway I digress.

Before I left the UK, a movie was released called Mistress of Spices starring Aishwarya Rai. I didn't watch it, as I knew the synopsis and knew that such a movie needed vast doses of passion, of which Aish has as much as a damp dishcloth. In the movie she plays a woman who uses the secrets of spices to help people, because due to some under-the-counter stuff she's probably been at, the spices talk to her to give her advice and warnings.

I don't profess to have such powers, but I do miss the spices I take for granted when they suddenly become so hard to find. I knew they existed somewhere, after all there is a budding Asian community here in Athens which would not be possible without certain staples. Chillies and turmeric are the frappe and feta of the Subcontinent.

My tolerance towards spices plummets every times I spend extended amounts of time in Greece and this time I wanted to maintain my tongue as suitably burnt and my insides nicely scarred. The spices, my little friends from the Hinterland, were tucked away somewhere in this city, beckoning me, talking to my spicy sixth sense "Fiiiind ussss, taaakeee usss hooooomeee, looook booooth waaaays when you cross the rooooaddd. Wooooo!"

So a few days ago, I was taken downtown with the promise of finding all the spices and ingredients I was missing. It was an offer I couldn't refuse, so I went and true enough, an entire labyrinth of spicy delights unfolded, each turn revealing another culinary chum I had pined for.

We got off at Monastiraki metro station and headed to Athinaia Street. My Athenian guide also was careful to instruct me when to speed up my walk past the junkies loitering at corners and passed out in doorways. Junkies, huh? I had just thought they were napping from the heat.

Unsavoury as it may be in one respect, this street is the place to go if you need Asian spices. Even the hard to find items turned up, like aniseed, green cardamom, Chinese gunpowder tea, whole cumin, mustard seed, turmeric, tamarind, small but lethal green chillies and mangoes (pickled, green or ripe). There's even a sweet shop selling jalebis and gulab jamuns if you fancy a sugar rush Asian style. Between these was everything and anything you would need to perfectly preserve a lifestyle from Back Home, from smelly carbolic soap to a Bollywood rental shop. Add to this a sprinkling of greasy haired freshies shouting “Hello! Hello! I love you!” and it feels as authentic as the real deal.

Image: Badly altered from http://www.sxc.hu/photo/279172

Nature's Way

In my belly dance class on Tuesday, as I was revealing my life story and how I ended up in Athens, a lady asked me why I chose Greece, because "Life here is hard."

So far I haven't experienced anything too crumby to make me feel that way. I guess having spent your formative years in a third world country makes you immune to the crap-factor of anywhere with a flushing toilet.

I found another reason last night why I think I've made the right choice to land here in Athens. Being somewhat of a nature lover, I like seeing things looking the way nature intended. That doesn't apply to me, of course, thank heavens for my Venus razor.

Ten years in Britain almost made me forget that tomatoes are not meant to look like freakishly perfect round orbs, that cucumbers don't always grow poker-straight and potatoes come in all kinds of bumpy shapes and sizes. I was in a vegetable shop yesterday evening revelling in how beautifully natural everything was. There were curly courgettes and cucumbers, speckled tomatoes of various sizes but all a delicious sun-ripened red. Pity the fools in Britain who think orange is the colour of a tomato, had I not known otherwise even I'd have thought that.

There was lettuce that was at the end of the season. Yes, stuff is available here in seasons which I don't think is inconvenient at all. It adds to your culinary creativity to make do without when the stuff isn't around and means that when it is aubergine season, the aubergines you eat will be full of flavour. I'm looking forward to eating an aubergine to remember how they're supposed to taste. I've actually forgotten, because I used to hate them and by the time I started liking them I was living in Britain and consuming I-don't-know-what from I-don't-know-where.

There was a box of tomatoes being sold cut-price because they were hovering between rotten and crispy salad fare. Still okay to eat and fine for making red sauces, I was informed. Imagine that!

Image: http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5567/1146/1600/289440_tomato_cuore_italy.jpg

Face the Music and Belly Dance

When I was in London, I used to attend the belly dance classes of Asmahan at Pineapple Dance studios. I admit that I use the word ‘attend’ loosely; I was religious from September to December 2005 and then attended only once in the new year due to self-induced guilt about up-coming university deadlines. Asmahan is from San Francisco, though beloved of Egyptians for mastering the art of Egyptian-style belly dance. In its highest form, Egyptian belly dance is on a par with ballet due to the level of difficulty, grace and control required.

Now in Athens and working from home, it took me the grand total of three weeks to start going a little crazy being cooped up all day. Remember my complaints last year of the agonized warblings of Greek singers and how it grated my nerves? I thought I had grown up a little because it didn’t seem to be irritating me half as much this year. But yesterday I finally snapped. One more crescendo, one more warbling change of key accompanied by the plinkity plink of a bouzouki and I might have killed someone or myself.

So I decided it was time to find a hobby that would remove me from the flat. I picked up where I left off and sniffed out the belly dance classes of Rhea. I threw my belly dance gear into a bag (one chiffon blue skirt, one tribal belt) and headed downtown to the Acropolis. On exiting the metro station I turned the wrong way and couldn’t find the correct street, which gave me a chance to practice my Greek and ask where it was.

After being pointed in the right direction, I found my destination and descended down the stairs of an apartment into some sort of Kasbah containing a small dance studio. Rhea’s classes are much, much smaller than those I had previously been to. Her style is also a world away from the Egyptian style I was used to, and leans more towards Turkish. The spooky thing is she trained with my former teacher Asmahan under the same teacher in San Francisco.

Given my rather ungenerous hip span, Rhea’s Turkish style probably suits me better than Egyptian style, in which bigger hips give you an advantage in the small, controlled movements you have to make. Asmahan’s classes were much tougher and good for taking my mind off things.

I find Rhea’s classes easier, and a fantastic chance to get out of the house and maybe make some new friends. Classes operate on a drop-in basis, so they’re a good way of doing something other than the touristy stuff if you’re in Athens this summer.

Rhea’s Dance Studio is located in 9 Vironos, Plaka
Ph: 210 32 31 289
http://www.daughtersofrhea.com/
Closest Metro: Acropolis (exit and turn left, Vironos is directly ahead of you)
Beginners: Monday and Wednesday 7.00 - 8.30
Tuesday and Thursday 7.30 – 9.00

Image: http://fire.firepixie.com/img/content/bellydance.jpg

Thelo na po...

Any fool who has ever tried to learn Greek knows just what a difficult task it is. I bet most English speaking folk didn't even know what accusative and nominative meant until they took Greek classes.

I've been learning Greek since October 2005 at the Hellenic Centre, London http://www.helleniccentre.org/
My darling sweety of a teacher Xanthipi is excellent, with boundless patience and enthusiasm. With twelve different words for ‘the’ that’s a much sought after trait in Greek language teachers. She also has excellent dress sense and a very cool name. If I were her, I’d prefix it with ‘Princess’.

Expression is very important to me. This is why I know I need to get fluent in Greek and fast. There’s only so far I can get with phrases like ‘Do you know if there is a bakery nearby?’ Of all the trials I had to endure last summer with my antics in Athens, not being able to communicate was by far the most trying. If I were a man, I would equate it to having your bits chopped off. I felt like Samson without his hair, the Little Mermaid without her tail, Beyonce without the jelly… like I’d lost my Magic Powers because I couldn’t make myself understood.

I’ve got about two weeks now before I come to Athens again for a month, then it’s back to the UK to help out with my sister’s wedding (that will take up most of July), so realistically I can’t commit to Greek classes until August.

And they cost a butt load! It’s around £800 for a four-week class in most places! Cheaper is the National & Kapodistrian University of Athens at about €600 for a year’s worth of classes that run September to May http://www.nglt.uoa.gr/money_en.html

But what I’ll lose in money I’ll gain in expression I suppose, and for me any price is worth paying for that.

Image: http://www.1976design.com/blog/images/65a.jpg

My Life! Now with 50% Extra Difficulties FREE!

Some people just never learn. For a start, I should be working on my university deadlines right now and instead I am updating a blog that no one reads with information that no one cares about. If proof were ever needed of just how foolhardy I am, it’s this: I have less than one month left in the UK before I take myself back to Athens. Yes yes, I know I wept (in a virtual sense) over leaving Athens last time, I kind of got to like it there, the thought of going back does raise a question in my mind:

WHY?

Over the course of this blog, I have deliberately revealed very little about myself. To protect the innocent, you understand. Here’s a brief synopsis:

1. Girl is 22 and looking for fun
2. She applies to the Olympics as a volunteer
3. She gets accepted
4. She comes to Athens. On landing, she thinks “My, I thought it would be flat” This is the first shattered illusion
5. She falls in love (with a person, not Athens)
6. She leaves Athens to finish studying
7. She turns 23
8. She returns to Athens for a summer spell
9. She leaves again for the start of term
10. Now she is almost 24 and almost done with studying so love beckons her back to Athens

Yes you cynical fools, all this is for LOVE! You understand, my behaviour is just about the worst thing that could happen to my unsuspecting parents. Girls of my ethnic and cultural background just don’t do this kind of thing, and boy have I paid the price emotionally! I shall elaborate no further… lest my identity be discovered… So now I am back to moaning about Greece and all their hair-brained ways. It’s only temporary, come on, I’m young.

ps: regulars to this blog (ha! if they exist) will notice this post changed. I realised teamed with certain background info plus details of my schedule, any crazy cousin o' mine could take it upon themselves to cleanse the family's honour... kidding! But you never know eh, one stalker is enough for this lifetime.

Don't Cry For Me Athina...

After three months in Greece, tomorrow I board a flight to go back to the UK. It makes me miserable. Sure, Athens is a lot like London in terms of how hectic it can get, bad traffic, pollution etc but it has two major and very vital differences, a) The sun (not the Sun with ladies showing their boobies on page3, London has that) b) the Greeks.

So it's going to be goodbye from one humble participant in everyday Greek life. I bumbled along trying to learn Greek and making hapless trips to supermarkets, almost drowning after just learning how to swim etc. Athens may be insane, dirty and even downright irritating sometimes, but the fact that it's in Greece makes it all better. Sure their economy is crappy, people get paid kotopoulo feed (chicken feed) and there is enough bureaucracy to make you want to throw yourself off the Rion-Antirion bridge, but you can eat out any time of the day or night, you can buy foot-long cinnamon sticks for €2 a bundle and it's home to the goddess Elena.

Athens, I will really miss you. I hope I get to come back soon, next time for good

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Is no one reading this blog? Sob!












Image: http://www.yourchildshealth.com/halert/images/shame105pic.gif

%@!*ing Euro

I'm not someone who parades around cursing and swearing, but even I couldn't help but giggle over the bountiful ways in which the Greeks insult themselves, each other and other nations. Four letter expletives are sprinkled liberaly over all conversations like lemon juice to a main meal. F**k features everywhere, f**k you, f**k your family, f**k your house. W****r is also used in a casual sense, between friends as in "Hey w****r how're you doing?" "Long time no see, w****r!" I don't know how that came about, but no one seems upset about it, unless you say it with a certain emphasis. I need to improve my language skills to be able to understand the melodious string of insults that flows forth at even the simplest of mishaps, it's hilarious. But my personal favourite is a timeless classic. Lest you dare forget that Greece is the best nation in the world ever (only Greeks are allowed to comment on any of its crap aspects) when watching international news reports of, say, the UK or US trying to tell the world what to do, your average Greek might delight you by saying with utmost sincerity:
When we were building the Acropolis you were still living in caves

Image: http://lapsusstili.no.sapo.pt/insults.jpg

We'll always have Athina...

As the sad day of my departure draws closer, today's blog is dedicated to all the things I will miss once I am deposited back on the unfortunate shores of the UK.

Bug Eye Sunglasses:
To the modern Athenian woman, these are as much a part of being a woman as bras and lipstick. Oh the advantages of looking unbercool while gazing at any part of anyone's anatomy undiscovered. I will miss them.
Image: http://static.sky.com/images/pictures/1291242.jpg


Souvlaki:
Nai nai nai... yes my delicious snack, no more shall you delight my tastebuds in the early hours of a warm summer dawn after a night of socialising. You, the true souvlaki, are so abused, mutated and corrupted in the UK that I spent three years of my student life thinking what a great deal I was getting. No more. I can never touch another souvlaki again unless it's in Greece.
Image: http://blogsimages.skynet.be/images/000/188/373_souvlaki.jpg


The Acropolis:
I pass it every day on the bus when I'm going downtown and only a few days ago it hit me just how luck I was to be seeing the Acropolis every day. In the middle of all the modern craziness of Athens, it's like a monument to serene greatness. I love it. It sure beats crappy views of run down bits of London on buses which threaten to explode at any given moment.
Image: http://faculty.eicc.edu/ckrumbein/images/greece%20acropolis.jpg



Koulouri:
Venture to any metro station or random street corner and you're bound to find a koulouri stand selling rings of sesame coated, bready delight to fend off hunger pangs and stuff into the mouths of screaming children. At 50 cents each they're a great way to get rid of spare change. The secret ingredient is the film of pollution covering each one. Mmmm....
Image: http://eudoxos.math.uoa.gr/~designs/pic/koulouri.jpeg


Olive oil:
I'm spoiled for life now. I can never again buy olive oil from a supermarket after the heavenly oils I've sampled in Greece. Fruity indeed.











Devil-may-care attitude to life:
I will miss this most of all. The Greeks like no one else I've ever seen really squeeze every last drop out of what life has to offer and don't apologise for it. Two days ago I was going downtown on a bus when I noticed a man chasing the bus on his scooter blowing kisses to a woman on board, and it struck me as a highly romantic gesture, the sort of thing you do when you're all dolce vitad up. The Greeks have fun, the flirt, they laugh, they get angry, shout and scream, kiss and make up, complain about the Euro, take out bank loans on the pretext of building a house which they then go shopping to Kolonaki with, the men are men and the women exude feminity without feeling threatened by it. Perhaps all this combined is why they live so long.
Image: http://www.jennworks.com/images/dumdeedum.jpg

Hooray!

I almost forgot to mention my biggest triumph of the year. I went shopping to the Athens sales.

And how! Three pairs of very nice jeans for €5 each! And they fit like a dream. One is white full length, the other is white cropped and the third is super fun with colourful stripes and a studded waistband with holes, meaning you have to go commando to wear them.

A small price to pay for looking so good. So that's why women in Athens look so good, the pay is crap here thanks to the Euro, but clothes are so cheap it costs nothing to make an effort! Hooray! Now I have new threads and my hair doesn't look like the woman in this picture. Life keeps getting more and more perefct.

Image: http://www.bloomees.com/images/small-shopping-bags.jpg

Sweet, sugary goodness

There's this singer, right. His name is Sarbel. I can't find a good enough picture online to do him justice but my oh my, what a lovely piece of work he is.

Half Greek, half Lebanese, born on the 14th of May 1982 JUST LIKE ME! His parents still live in London and he's pursuing a musical career in Athens. Hmmmm... there's a hobby to keep me busy on crappy winter nights back in London, hunt down where Sarbel's parents are and deposit myself on their doorstep.

He sings a song with a chorus line that translates to "Save a piece of yourself for me, like chocolate"

Sarbel, my dear man, if you are reading this, why ask for a piece when the entire bar is right here waiting for you.

Let the fur fly!

Okay, I know this blog is all about my summer in Athens and stuff, but how many times can I rub all your noses in my trips to desolate beaches where the only light at night is the complete band of the Milky Way across a shooting-star streaked sky? Or about how I learnt to swim in warm waters where I could see the fish right to the bottom? Or my beautiful tan? Or the great food? You get the idea. So once in a while I shall deviate, and today is one of those days.

Today I'd like to draw attention to these six stick insects, the Pussycat Dolls. They've released a song called "Don't Cha" which basically entails the chorus "Don't cha wish your girlfriend was hot like me?"

Heck, yes! There isn't a man alive who would say no to that question, and if he does it's only because you his partner are hovering over his head with a shoe, either that or he's gay. Personally, I'd die of shock if you could find me a hot blooded man who would say "No my dear, I do not in fact wish you were hot like her." And where does that leave mere mortals like you and me?

Well, I confess that they're ruining my life is a bit of an exaggeration. I too enjoy a dance along to their pretty danceable tune. But come on ladies, did you really have to ask such a sore question and beam it across hundreds of nations to the ears of thousands of men? Mark my words, this song is responsible for the disintegration of many a relationship.

Thanks for nothing, Pussycat Dolls!

Image: http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5567/1146/1600/PCD001.jpg

For God's sake, where is the frappe!!

I just got back after spending 17 days in Spain with three Greeks. The thing which I learnt is never to separate a Greek from their frappe. Bless their little hearts, necessity really is the mother of all inventions. Here's what to do if you find yourself caught out without an ample supply of cafes where skinny waitresses can serve you endless frappes:

1. 1) Locate your nearest coffee shop
2. 2) Have ready with you an empty water bottle. If you don't, buy a water bottle and tip its contents down a drain
3. 3) Through elaborate sign language, acquire one glass, a few sachets of sugar, a few sachets of coffee, a straw, a glass of ice water and a little milk (optional)
4. 4) Pour sugar, coffee and a little water into the empty water bottle you have prepared.
5. 5) Shake bottle vigorously until you have a creamy light brown concoction
6. 6) Pour mixture into empty glass
7. 7) Top up with ice water, a little milk and a straw
8. 8) Enjoy
9. 9) Compliment your invention loudly so that the Spanish get an idea of what they're missing

10) Complain to each other about how bad the coffee is outside Greece

Ten out of ten for getting around the problem. Oh, and as good as Spain was, I agree that Greek olives are head and shoulders above theirs.

Image: http://www.frappe.cz/images/firma.jpg

Burn, baby, burn!

Ah, the heady days of youth... opening Greek bank accounts because Barclays screwed you over, hitching up a tropical print dress to ride a motorbike to an ATM, (walk? ha! only losers do that!) burning your thigh on the red hot exhaust of said motorbike... isn't being young fun??

So now I've ruined my legs for the beach, well, at least the left one. Oh, the irony! A month ago I was too conservative to wear shorts out in public and cringed the first time I had to step out onto a beach heaving with people in nothing but a bathing suit. Now all I can wear are itsy bitsy shorts. How the tables turn!

Thanks to my burn, I can't even go shopping because I can't try anything on trouser wise. So each day the sales pass me by, and I have to sit at home prodding the blisters on my burn. Fun! There go my plans of transforming into a hot Athenian babe. I also can't shave the area above or near the burn, turning it into a hairy, gloopy mess. Last night I forgot the burn was there and rubbed my leg in my sleep. Ah, the follies of youthful misadventure! Pass me the burn cream!

Image: http://www.classicactresses.com/bettyg2.jpg

Death by Summer Sale - at a highstreet near you!

The summer sales started today. I alighted from my ride and tried to make my way to the bank to check if the money transfer from my useless Barclays account had arrived.

Total panic.

Bug-eye sunglassed Athenian ladies everywhere, and I mean EVERYWHERE. It was like all the building were heamoraging well-dressed Athenian women.

They were strolling along, but even with their cool style it was easy to see the panic in their eyes. Actually, that is a little hard because of the bug-eye sunglasses, but anyway. They were walking in a way that only a woman will understand, in a way that only a woman can during that most urgent of seasons.

The summer sales.

Yes, today the summer sales start in Athens. Tomorrow I am delving into the throngs. I hope my shabby wardrobe will attract some pity and allow the crowds before the bargain bin to part before me like the Red Sea, but I doubt it. I'm not ashamed to admit that I am scared. So much so, that I had to switch radio channels when Athens International Radio started talking about the sales.

When I go bargain hunting, I wear something easy to take off so I can try things on. The women of Athens dress to kill, especially, it seems, when bargain hunting. It's as if the message they are sending is "You silly little fool, do you really think that item of clothing which I have my eye on will look good on you? Look at me! Can you not see how much style I have whereas you, poor wretch, have none. Do you know why I dress like this? Because I don't need to undress and try things on like uncertain fools such as you. Every item I like was made for ME!"

Maybe I should just get over myself.

Image: http://membres.lycos.fr/cj68/hpbimg/W.Cat%20Fight,%20Siberian%20Tigers.jpg

You sell WHAT?

Isn't it dumb how when you find stuff overseas which you had been craving you pay really stupid prices for it. Even worse, you invent memories in your mind of how this was your absolute favourite thing back home.

On a walk around the maze of markets around Omonia, I discovered a street full of Chinese and Indian shops, and attracted more attention to myself than necessary by clasping my hands together in delight every time I came across some random Indian object like kebab mix and all the other things from the Homeland. "Hooray" I thought "now I won't starve!"

The highlight of my escapade was a barren Halal meat shop with a fridge stocked with mango juice, a TV perched atop it blaring out Bollywood. I nearly wet my pants with joy. I purchased said mango juice at the hefty price of one euro per can. Later when I was scraping together change for a bus ticket, I questioned the wisdom of my youthful enthusiasm. Hey, when a girl wants her mango juice in a forgein country, she's gotta have it! All I needed after that was a cotton sari to wear to work. Strangely enough, on trips to Birmingham's Sparkhill, I tend not to go into fits of happiness with mango juice and just have water.

Image: https://www.simplyspice.co.uk/images/shan_10.jpg

Musical tastes and sundry items

An entertaining aspect of foreign countries is popular culture.

Who??

This crime against fashion goes by the name of Arash. He's an Iranian singer who somehow, mysteriously and miraculously has hit the big time in Europe. How come we never heard of him in the UK? I feel deprived! He has released a song called Boro Boro (translated as go away). I doubt he'd have been as successful if he hadn't stolen the Bollywood format. Everyone loves Bollywood!

Waaaaaill...

After Arash, most Greek pop music is comprised of the power ballad, and all the singers sound like they're trembling on the edge of bursting into tears. Never in my young life have I heard such warbling. Talk about miserable! Most days it's fine, but every once in a while you think "If I hear one more warbling note with bouzoki playing, I'll kill myself."

Athens International Radio 104.4fm:

Hooray! They speak English!

Cafe Waitresses:

Aloof, skinny and always fashionable, the Athenian cafe waitress can make you feel bad about yourself without even trying. In fact, all the women in Athens manage that with a mere flash of their bug-eye sunglasses, which they all wear. Rule number one for survival and any hope of being a part of decent society: you don't go to the corner shop in your jim jams. Nothing less than this season's cutting edge fashion and immaculate hair and makeup will do.

Let's go for a coffee:

Never say yes to this offer unless you have at least three hours to spare. Ordering is superfast, service follows at the speed of light, but more often than not, that precious frappe, ambrosia of Athenian life, will lie there untouched for a minimum of two hours while its owner talks about anything and everything. And God the Greeks can talk. They may have missed out when God was handing out pieces of land, which is why they say they ended up with some rocks in the sea, but they must have camped out overnight to be first in line for the Gift of the Gab.

Damn the Euro!

Everyone I spoke to hates it. They blame it, along with America for everything. Like an old person looking back on their youth through rose tinted glasses, everything was better with the drachma, and the sad thing is this is probably true. The Greek government's finance department has some funky ideas. They've proposed a 25% tax for all earnings across the band. So if you earn 100 euros, you pay 25% tax, if you earn 10,000, you pay 25%. Hmmm! Good idea - not!

Image: http://omid.lavasani.com/images/pics/arash.jpg

"If I help you, my genitals will fall off"

Okay, I've never actually heard a Greek man say that, but it seems to be how some of them feel about housework.

This country is pretty cool, but the worst thing about it is the gender inequality. A survey 58 countries analysing gender equality put Sweden at number 1, Egypt at number 58 and Greece at number 50. I guess the women aren't really helping themselves because gender inequality doesn't appear in a vacuum. Should they stop appearing on breakfast tv and politics shows with their cleavages hanging out, perhaps? I don't know.

Don't expect too much. Greek men may be experts at old-fashioned romance, but the second the honeymoon is over, he will curl up into a cowering mass if you so much as suggest that he picks up after himself or does the dishes for once. Don't you know that even the mere suggestion of treating you like an equal human being risks making him impotent?? Greek men are inherently spoilt rotten as children by their mothers so can't help the fact that they grow up expected to be waited on hand and foot. It's actually spookily reminiscent of the Homeland.

There are, of course exceptions, but it's like finding a very equal needle in a very sexist haystack. Lucky for me said needle came up and poked me in the eye so I didn't have to do much looking. So you can't always believe everything statistics tell you, I still feel safer here as a woman than in Britain.

Image: http://lauraholder.com/images/06_dirty_dishes_300.jpg