Beyonce's Move Your Body

I love Beyonce's new video! It's good fun but just watching it makes me feel out of breath.

The promo and song were made to promote Michelle Obama's Let's Move! initiative which aims to get America's children engaged in physical exercise and eating healthily.

Now... where's my curly wig and shorts, I've got a new dance to learn!!



Anyone for Shoes?

The August Mayfield Diaries

Sing Music to my Heart

Sometimes, I get a real craving for music. It's as strong as the feeling I get when I crave a chunk of cheese or I start craving my dad's jerk pork. Sometimes when I go to bed at night, I know that in the morning, I'm going to have a bacon sandwich or I'll just die. Those kind of cravings keep me awake at night. And then there's the secret craving. My craving for white, dust-free, blackboard chalk! I crave chalk when I'm stressed out.

So every now and then, out of nowhere, I suddenly get a craving attack in the heart for a particular song. This morning, I remembered how Corinne Bailey Rae's song, Like a Star made me feel when I first heard it and I wanted to experience that feeling again. But this time without the tears and emotion. The very first time I heard it, my heard was either bleeding, broken or both.

I'm not feeling tearful and emotional right now, I just felt like reminiscing!



Anyone for Shoes?

The August Mayfield Diaries

Was he hitting on me or just plain Metrosexual?

I was standing on a street corner, waiting for my sister and my sister in law. We decided to go out for something to eat but were meeting up from different sides of the Capital which sometimes incurs a little waiting time.

I was on time but the sisters were running a few minutes late so I had the to do the waiting on a street corner, looking like a cross between a lost person and a prostitute.

When a lone woman is standing on a street corner, she can't help but think sometimes, that someone might come up to her asking for business AKA sex for cash. I always promised myself that if I found myself in a situation where that question was asked of me, I was going to insist on cash up front, accept the money and then take off my shoes and run with the money! But alas, these things only occur in one's day-dreams.

I thought for a second that my day dream might be coming true. A man was steadfastly walking towards me and only me! So I braced myself and the thought crossed my mind that my shoes had buckles on them so I'd have to run in them because undoing an untold amount of buckles would waste a lot of precious running time. Before my thoughts were over, the man said to me "I thought I'd come over and tell you that your jacket is absolutely beautiful, just gorgeous".

Now I'm not one to take a compliment lightly but I must be losing my touch when my jacket's being hit on.

I'm cool with men being metrosexual and able to vocalise their appreciation for my coat, handbag or shoes, but I couldn't help replying SERIOUSLY? You mean the jacket and not me!

Anyone for Shoes?

The August Mayfield Diaries

I’m not racist, I stereo type!

This is the explanation my neighbour gave to me and my children yesterday when he said he was tempted to call the police because there were too many teenaged boys sitting outside my house which is next door to his house. These teenaged boys so happened to be sitting on MY wall, in MY front garden!

Initially, Jeff said he felt threatened. He was threatened by the deep voiced talking, animated conversations and laughter! He said he thought they were arguing which may have ended in a knife fight.

Again, he said he felt threatened. He was threatened by boys ranging from 5ft 7 to 6ft 4. Jeff says as a small and slight man, he has always felt slightly nervous around too much height.

Jeff also complained that the boys were dressed combative in hooded tops and baggy jeans and trainers and he also noticed a bandanna or two. He expressed that he feels uneasy when he sees "urban" wear.

Also, he was threatened because he's heard really bad things in the press about young "ethnic" men thieving, burgling, stabbing, smoking reefers and carrying knives and guns.

Jeff and myself actually sat down and spoke about his fears over a cup of tea and some rum cake. He said to me "August, I know you're coloured and I ain't racist. I simply stereo type".

Anyone for Shoes?

The August Mayfield Diaries

You get more than furniture in that Swedish Furniture Store

I must be getting old because my sister Shebah and my friend Eve and myself decided that we would make an evening of it by going to Ikea of all places!

We all had a clear idea of what we needed to purchase but four hours later, we spent, collectively £200 over our initial budget. Also, our bellies were full; I came home quite tipsy and Eve snagged a date.

We stopped off in the Ikea restaurant mid-shop because Shebah said she can't concentrate when she's hungry and ate dinner, dessert, copious amounts of red wine - well myself and Shebah drank wine; Eve can't drink ginger beer without feeling woozy.

We eventually left the store at 9.45pm and Shebah grabbed a man in the car park to help us load heavy objects into Eve's van and Eve now has a date because muscle man in the car park said he would only help us if he was able to exchange numbers with Eve!

Anyone for Shoes?

The August Mayfield Diaries

Decapitaded Easter Bunny

My very dear male friend Audley decided to drive over 50 miles to my house to give me an Easter gift.

I was very happy about this gift-giving from Audley because we worked together for years. Sat together, went to lunch together, bitched and moaned together and ended up resigning together.

We always kept in touch because we really clicked, not romantically I must add. Let's just say some guys are best kept as friends. But my frienship with him has been patchy since he got married to Ezmeralda.

I try to like Ezmeralda but it's difficult to like someone when you know without a shadow of a doubt that they don't like you, but that's another Blog for a another day!

Anyway, dear Audley came with a chocolate gift. I opened the present right there and then because nothing was going to get in the way of me and a piece of chocolate. I picked the present of out the box and on the packaging, it said it was a chocolate Easter bunny.

To both of our horror, the bunny was head-less! It was just shoulders and a body.

I don't know who was more horrified. Me or Audley? But I can imagine where the head's gone. Deep in the belly of Ezmeralda.

Audley said he gave it to her to wrap in gift paper, so either the bunny's head miraculously melted on the way down from Brighton, or Mrs Audley decided that all I needed for Easter was a decapitated chocolate bunny.

The witch!

Anyone for Shoes?

The August Mayfield Diaries

Tears of Joy... or maybe Sorrow!

My friend Jade decided to come over today to explain the difference between tears of joy and tears of sorrow. Oh Please!! As if I needed a lesson on tears. I was up to my elbows in pink Marigolds and soapy water trying to clean my windows.

Jade claims that she's the ultimate champion of knowing the difference between the taste of tears because she's cried a river over the last 10 years and takes the time to taste her running water. She says sadness tears are bitter and salty and happy tears taste sweet and honey-ish! Who does that? Jesus, I think I've surrounded myself with a bunch of crazy people.

Why would someone in their right mind - in the middle of crying, taste their tears? That's the last thing I think about when I'm bawling. Whether it be through happiness or abject sorrow?

But you know what she's gone and done. She's left me with a project. To taste my tears the next time I cry. Well if you know me, you know I HATE crying with a passion. So now I've got to fight tears and on top of that, I've got to either taste my tears to prove her wrong or resist the temptation because I don't want to turn into a crazy woman. Either way, I've got to prove my point... which is all tears - happy or sad, taste like salt water. Damn!!

Anyone for Shoes?

The August Mayfield Diaries

Champagne and Hangover Moment

My mother decided to call me when I was right in the middle of a champagne and hangover moment.

I hate these moments because my mum is a worrier. She worries that I work too many hours. She also worries that I party too much. She expresses total horror when she hears about how much time I spend doing nothing and complains when I'm too busy doing too much of everything.

But most of all, I hate it when she gets in touch with me when I'm recovering from "sinning". Mother especially feels like she's failed as a mother when I'm suffering from a dirty hangover.

When mother called, I pretended that I might be catching a cold and not recovering from any after effects from surplus-living. She advised me to cut down my hours of working, partying and told me to take a large swig of brandy to chase away my cold.

Is it any wonder why I'm now suffering from a hangover? Mixed messages from parents!

Anyone for Shoes?

The August Mayfield Diaries

An August Moment

SERIAL EMAILERS

To all my friends & family who have sent me best wishes.
You've sent me chain letters, Angel letters and other promises of good luck via constant unsolicited email contact.

NONE OF THAT SH*T WORKED!

Could you please just send me cash, maybe even brandy, chocolates, Italian food, wine or you may consider airline tickets instead of all that hee-bee-gee-bee email.

I don't want to see another piece of crap. I'm tired of deleting all that BS. Send it on to someone else.

Thank you!

The August Mayfield Diaries

Dating Tips According to my Mate Michael

My friend Michael was married to Cherry for almost 20 years. Unfortunately, Cherry ran off with her hairdressers' husband and left Michael's heart in pieces. It took him about four years to get his life back in order. He really fell apart in the most spectacular way. He even spent six weeks hospitalised and Sectioned under the Mental Health Act at one point when his life spun totally out of control. It was a low point when he was found emptying his neighbours' rubbish in the middle of the street at 3am in the morning wearing nothing but a bed-sheet.
Read more ...

Anyone for Shoes?

The August Mayfield Diaries

He didn't look good... I'm afraid he looked a bit like a tramp!

I bumped into an old school friend on the way home from a long night shift this morning.

His name is Devon. Devon Denton was a gorgeous specimen of a boy at school and very popular with everyone. He came from a large family of handsome boys and even had a handsome dad. There were five other Denton boys - all equally gorgeous, but not as gorgeous as Devon was back in the day.

At 15, he was tall and muscular. He was the captain of our school football team for four years in a row and also was the after-school gym monitor. Every girl fancied Devon and he fancied all the girls.

Later on when we reached our 20s, Devon started a popular dance class called The Body-Move Society which raked in a trailer load of money. In our little part of South London, he became pretty famous and had everything going for him. Slick hair, fab car, a fit body and most importantly, SWAGGER!

I don't know what happened between back in the day and now but when I saw him this morning, I thought he was a vagabond!

He looked like he was dying. Thin with straggly dread locks. Brown humbug coloured teeth and large baggy clothes swamping his thin body.

I can't say I looked like a beautiful oil painting; not after a long and arduous 12 hour shift but generally, I looked tired but not much different to years gone by. He, on the other hand looked like he needed a bath and a hot meal.

I said to him how are you? What have you been up to. I expected he was going to go into a long monologue of hard times. I thought I'd hear tales of him dying from too many women and too much dancing, but instead, he said he was doing really well and was very content with life. He was happily married, just got back from a family holiday in The Bahamas and he had just resigned from being a personal fitness trainer to now opening up his own barber shop!

He said I looked well and with that, I didn't know what to say in return to him because he looked like death. I’ve never seen a well man look so sick.

We exchanged numbers and promised to keep in touch. He invited me to his wife's birthday barbecue next Sunday and we went our separate ways.

I'm not going to lie. I'm a little bit confused because what he said didn't match what he looked like.

I guess I ought to drop all judgement and keep my visual opinions to myself. Obviously, that's a bit late now because I've just told all of you. But he doesn't know that!! All I can say is people change and nothing stays the same. For all I know, he's going to go back home to his wife and say I saw August Mayfield this morning and she looked like a bag lady!

Anyone for Shoes?

The August Mayfield Diaries

Always the Bridesmaid, Never the Bride!

I'm about to be a bridesmaid for the third time in my life.

The first time I was 8 and I remember being in awe of my cousin Leona. She looked like an Angel. She had the biggest dress I'd ever seen in real life. I was a teenager before I realised I had taken part in a gun-shot wedding and my cousin was actually 6 months pregnant and the huge, everlasting swathes of bridal material swamping her was to hide her bump.

The second time I was a bridesmaid, I was just about emerging from the shame of having had my first child out of wedlock. My parents were sadly in mourning because of me. I'd disappointed my dad and my mother's heart was broken into tiny little pieces. My brother's wedding took my parents' mind off me; the black sheep of the family.

So here we are again - holding other people's flowers. I'm about to be a 2011 bridesmaid and a huge dose of stress has been put on me. I have to grow my hair because my friend Jade, the bride-to-be has decided that she wants some sort of big bouffant hair-do inflicted on her maid of honour and all of her bridesmaids!

I've just cut my hair so Jade wants me to either wear a wig, a clip-on, a weave or glued on extensions. Boooooo!! I don't want any part of it. In the past, added hair just weakens my "real" hair but I'm of the mindset that whatever demands the bride wants, she gets.

What a nightmare!

I hope she knows that as soon as the photographs are over and done with, I'm going to drag off my clip-on hair and throw it on top of the wedding cake. Can you imagine the looks of pure horror.

She can post my wig revelation on YouTube and get lots of hits on my account.
Anyone for Shoes?

The August Mayfield Diaries

The Hangover: Part 2

I look forward to watching The Hangover Part 2 for two reasons. Firstly, the first one was so good I watched it twice.

The second reason why I can't wait to see it is because it's set in Thailand and Thailand remains one of my favourite holiday destinations. If you ask me what I loved about Thailand, I have one word: EVERYTHING!

1. It was a three week get-away from my children - YEAH!!!
2. I travelled with my seasoned traveller friend Cora and she's so organised, she planned every trip we went on to the last detail. One minute we were in busy Bangkok and the next we were staying in a beach front apartment in Koh Samui.
3. We stayed at some fabulous locations and no two days were the same.
4. The wondeful, fabulous, mouth-watering food.
5. The chilled out people.

Anyway, this trailer is short and doesn't give too much away - enjoy!

Anyone for Shoes?

The August Mayfield Diaries

What's that on your face?

That was the question my friend asked me today when she popped around unannounced. To be honest with you, it was none of her business quite frankly. People who come to your house unannounced should never be surprised by what they find. Afterall, you never know what goes on behind people's closed doors. How many times do you find out that someone's been killing for years with bodies under their floor boards and friends and neighbours are completely horrified. "He was such a nice man", they say. "She was always smiling" they tell the press! All the time, they've been chomping on people's body parts.

I hate unannounced callers. Not because I'm harbouring bodies, simply because it's always an unexpected intrusion. More often than not, I leave people standing on the doorstep because if they didn't have the decency to call me in advance, I haven't got the decency to tear myself away from Grey's Anatomy or Masterchef.

I have a mobile and a house phone so there's no reason why she couldn't call ahead.

I could have been making love. Or having some sort of secret MI5 or CIA meeting. I could have a second job that I haven't told anyone about like a phone sex worker or a dominatrix and simply rolling up to someone's house, my house, isn't very thoughtful.

Anyway, I guess I ought to get to the point. Eve came to my house unannounced and I had my vitamin E, honey and oats facial scrub on and when I answered the door, she wanted to know what was on my face. Her exact words were "Lord have Mercy. What's that on your face"?

My reply was none of your business! What the **** do you want?

We spent the rest of the afternoon sampling cocktails. I say sampling when I really mean swigging them back and draining the bottom of the glass and we also teamed this cocktail thing with gossiping about other people. Oh... and I also slapped a home-made face mask on Eve.

As I sit here now, I can feel the effects of one piña colada too many and I don't feel very well so I think I ought to go now.

Anyone for Shoes?

The August Mayfield Diaries

Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels

Oh I don't think so.

Becoming unnaturally skinny is exhausting, depressing and very self-absorbing.

I know chocolate cake is fabulous and I cry when I eat New York style lemon cheese cake.

I ate the most delicious scallops yesterday. They melted in my mouth and the butter they were fried in stained my beautiful pink silk blouse but I didn't care. It was worth it.

I love chips - they make me happy, especially when I dip one in tomato ketchup and then the next one in mayonnaise and I alternate sauces until all the chips are gone.

So I guess you can imagine that I'm not too pleased about these stupid kiddie t-shirts. As far as I'm concerned, the slogan on them are a sin. It sends out a hideous message to little girls who haven't even begun to get lost in the maze of being a teenager with image issues that last until FOREVER.

It's a sad day when designers, manufacturers and stores think that negative messages aimed at little girls is OK. Well it's not OK! When did bullshit become real life anyway?

As for the baby vests that read "please don't feed the model". I don't know what to say. Is my sense of humour off? Am I missing the ha-ha-ha moment? Am I going crazy or is this stuff for real?

I think I need to lie down, but when I get up, I'm going to have some apple pie and custard.

And now look... just look at these starving models! If I were a designer, they wouldn't been seen dead in my clothes.

These highly paid "models" wouldn't look out of place in a third world, war torn country that's lacking in food, water and sanitation.

Anyone for Shoes?

The August Mayfield Diaries

An August Moment

He made me feel like this and like that!

He walked into my life like a warm summer breeze.

Was it a warm summer breeze? Was it sensual heat? Or was it an afterglow, straight out of hell?

We spent mornings walking hand-in-hand through the park with coats over our pyjama's.

We spent afternoons drinking champagne and eating strawberries in bed.

We spent evenings entertaining and showing everyone our love-lust.

We spent the night together of course.

And then... why is there always an "...and then"?

He told me his other girlfriend was having their baby.

OTHER Girlfriend. Baby! Who are you?

On Friday, I felt like a newborn, safe in his arms.

By Saturday, the whole world stunk of blocked drains and boiled brussel sprouts.

He became a red wine stain on my white dress.

He became the broken heel on my Jimmy Choo's.

He was the painful corn on my right toe.

He was the puss filled stye in the corner of my eye.

He was the acid in my belly-ache and heart burn.

He was the parsley on my teeth.

He was the boil on my bum.

He was the stretch marks on my thighs.

He was the dandruff in my hair.

He was the broken nail on my newly acquired manicure.

The scratch on my record.

The pain in my brain.

The in-grown hair on my va-jay-jay.

He was everything that made me sick, shame and vex. Vex to the highest point of vextivity.

He turned me off and he was painfully, very clearly going to have to be deleted.

I knew deep down in my soul that he didn't make an entrance on a warm summer breeze. All of my sensibilities told me that his heat was the glow from the embers of hell!

Anyone for Shoes?

The August Mayfield Diaries