365 Days Without Pret A Manger: January

Pret A Manger, also fondly known as 'Pret,' is the dominant urban eatery. Forget Eat. Forget POD. Forget that little Italian sandwich place on the corner. Pret is everywhere and everyone goes to Pret. It's just one of those standard London things that London people do.

But what is it about Pret which makes it so good? Here's what my friends and I thought:

- There's always hot french guys in there

- The coffee is the best 

- When I go into a Pret I feel at home and I can relax there

- I always see people I know in there

- They have tropical fruit sticks and juicy sandwiches

- You can always rely on Pret

- They have nice food mantras on the wall 

- Love the Christmas gingerbread men

- ...and their Christmas dinner sandwich

- Love the name, 'Pret A Manger,' which is french for 'ready to eat'

- They have the biggest bananas ever

On January 2nd I made a new years resolution to not buy food from, or step into a Pret A Manger, for an entire year. My decision came after I walked out of a Pret that day on my lunch break, having just spent another £3.87 on a bottle of water and a fancy biscuit. I began to reflect on the many lunch breaks I have had in my life, where I turned to Pret knowing they'll always have a club sandwich and a cup of tea waiting for me.

I then thought about all the hard earned money I must have spent, which at the time I justified with, 'well, I have been standing up for the last five hours, I deserve a treat.' The reality is, over the years, I've probably spent thousands in Pret A Manger on bloody croissants and swedish meatball wraps.

Trawling through my bank statement I can see that from the 27 occasions where I ate at Pret between November last year and January 2nd, I spent a grand total of £121.91, which works out at £40 a month. That's £480 a year...on lunch, which I could have quite easily, and cheaply, brought from home.

A month has passed and I don't miss Pret...yet. Admittedly the past three weeks I have also been unemployed, and consequently have had no lunch break to fill. At one point I did find myself unknowingly leaning on a Pret whilst explaining my resolution to a friend on the phone, only to look up and see that burgundy star looking down at me, forlorn. Sorry Pret A Manger, not even your gigantic bananas can tempt me now. 

Cover Letters: All you need to know

How to be a Woman by Caitlin Moran (Ebury Press)

'The more women argue, loudly, against feminism, the more they both prove it exists and that they enjoy its hard-won privileges.

 Because for all that people have tried to abuse it and disown it, 'feminism' is still the word we need. No other word will do. And let's face it, there has been no other word, save 'Girl Power' - which makes you sound like you're into some branch of Scientology owned by Geri Halliwell. That 'Girl Power' has been the sole rival of the word 'feminism' in the last 50 years is a cause for much sorrow on nehalf of the women. After all, P. Diddy has had four different names and he's just one man.' (p. 80)

I first came face to face with Cailtin Moran in an advertorial for her newer book, Moranthology, in Stylist magazine a couple of months ago. I thought 'Er...I already know how to be a woman, because I am one...and what's with that green eye make up?'

How to be a Woman is made up of three major elements. One third rant, one third autobiography, and one third sarcasm. These elements are varied throughout sixteen chapters, which each sound like a magazine column centred around her personal life - which is just as well seeing as Caitlin Moran has been reporting since the age of sixteen. She started her journalism career at the now defunct music magazine Melody Maker, and twenty one years later is now a prolific writer who speaks to her middle class audience via The Times and occasionally Stylist, if she's got a new book coming out.

Mentally, woman to woman, you can forge an internal relationship with Moran's narrative as she goes through the many embarrassing, strange, or everyday things that happen to us women. Things like period pain, wearing high heels, and getting drunk with Lady Gaga. She manages to embellish each anecdote with an exaggerated humour, which is what I think makes this book so easy to consume, and probably so comprehensible to the 400,000 people who have invested in it. Her frank tone is contagious, and her openness leaves you feeling like, upon finishing, you've had a very long and very intimate chat with an old friend.

Having now read 'How to be a Woman,' I can see that Caitlin and I not sharing the same taste in eyeshadow is superficial and irrelevant to the fact that this is a bloody good book. Honestly, I have never felt tempted to read any feminist literature before. Perhaps this was because, in my naive mind, I associated it with not wearing a bra and growing out your body hair. And although Caitlin Moran does suggest the latter in the chapter, 'I Become Furry,' she completely succeeds in creating an accessible, funny, and inspiring feminist triumph.

The Seed is Sown

As a recent journalism graduate, one might assume that I have been tending to a well groomed, sustained, and flourishing blog throughout my degree. This assumption is wrong. Sadly I have lost count of the number of blogs I have created, and then let wither in cyberspace as my ideas stay firmly planted inside my brain.

On reflection, I believe there were three significant reasons why my blogging attempts failed:

1. Why would anyone want to read what I've got to say? A word shy journalist is an impossible oxymoron. A bit like an actress with stage fright, or a surgeon with a fear of blood.
2. Existing bloggers are irritating and smug. If you are an existing blogger reading this, please do not take offence. I am merely a touch jealous of your ability to persist with such a venture. 
3. Where's my niche? I have read many blogs about how to write a blog. They all talk about 'niches.' However, the problem these days is that most 'niches' are now no longer niches, because they have been snapped up by a blogger who got there four years before you did. 

And so, why start blogging now? 

I am stuck in the midst of graduate life, unemployed, and creatively frustrated. Pathetic reasons not to blog aside, I am joining the masses. I want to be a journalist, so it's about time I start acting like one. 

Almighty blogosphere TAKE ME!