Hoax warnings don't usually scare me, but this one is important, please
send this to everyone in your email list.
If someone comes to your front door and says they are conducting a
survey and then asks you to show them your arse, DO NOT show them your
arse.
This is a scam; they just want to see your arse.
Wish I'd got this yesterday.
I feel so stupid and cheap...
Wednesday, August 31, 2005
Pablo
Went on Friends Reunited last night because I AM A GLUTTON FOR PUNISHMENT and found the BEST update ever. A girl I went to middle school with wrote the following -
'After touring North and South America with Ozzy Osborne I developed several Columbian contacts and have a large supply chain of fine grade cocaine. I have made over £150 million pounds importing the white gold and now have plans to start my own airline.
Still using Redditch as a base, but that's just my cover (with all the other criminals and scum in the town, they have bigger fish to fry).
Living with my husband number 5, andy, (the rest went 'missing' suddenly) I run a chain of male escorts who also work as 'Dream boys' or chippendales when I'm not pimping their asses.'
Why am I not in touch with this girl?
'After touring North and South America with Ozzy Osborne I developed several Columbian contacts and have a large supply chain of fine grade cocaine. I have made over £150 million pounds importing the white gold and now have plans to start my own airline.
Still using Redditch as a base, but that's just my cover (with all the other criminals and scum in the town, they have bigger fish to fry).
Living with my husband number 5, andy, (the rest went 'missing' suddenly) I run a chain of male escorts who also work as 'Dream boys' or chippendales when I'm not pimping their asses.'
Why am I not in touch with this girl?
Tuesday, August 30, 2005
Frustrated
So people leave and other people go on holiday and other people who are meant to be covering for the people who have left go one some petty why should I have to go all that way protest and arrive at 11 and leave at 3 and in the middle of that no one has noticed that I am the only person here and am not experienced enough to do the job they have left me to do on my own and I am feeling very sorry for myself in between arguing with ALS coordinators and finding half a million quid and having to listen to the VP drone on and on and on and stop talking and let me get on with it why is your face so very fat when the rest of your body is not as fat and now I have to go to the hotel so
I
can
sleep
I
can
sleep
4 hours...
... to get to work this morning, and all the way my left bra strap was twisted. It was all I could think about, I was SO uncomfortable, and no amount of funky yoga shoulder dislocating adjustment could get it to untwist.
That's what comes of getting dressed in the dark.
That's what comes of getting dressed in the dark.
Do I HAVE to tell you about Buggy Rallying? Really?
It started off so well, really it did....
The Buggy's were quite sturdy little contraptions, worth £10,000 each, 20bhp, capable of up to 50mph (although the fastest anyone went on Saturday was 23mph and that looked quite dangerous in itself) and track was like a dirt track lined with tyres. You had to wear a navy blue boiler suit (why?) and helmet and the safety talk involved being told that should the buggy catch on fire, it would be advisable to GET OUT. That sounds quite sensible until you realise that once you're in the buggy with helmet and gloves on, strapped in and with the nets where windows would be in a normal car tied down, getting out without assistance is pretty much impossible.
Everyone was split into four teams of four, you had three goes on the track (1st go was a practise and 2nd and third were races) and each go consisted of three laps. No one was racing each other, the idea was to get the best time. LOF and Glenn were doing really well, Me and Moch were holding out own, LOF was 1st, Glenn was 5th, Moch was 9th and I was 10th (so not last, which I can tell you, shocked me more than anyone else). Then it was time for the last go on the track, first LOF, while trying his best to shave 3 seconds off his best lap time to retain his first place, crashed heading into a corner too quickly, then Glenn crashed, careering up a ramp.... then (and you knew this was coming) I just could not keep control of the bloody thing, I was on the 2nd lap of my final go and I don't know what happened but I ended up on the tyres... 3 times. I kept thinking I could come off them but finally the buggy just thought 'oh fuck this' and catapulted me onto the side of the track. A man with very muscular thighs (hello....) came running over to pull me back onto the track but I'd had enough, I asked if I could please not have to do it again, and he said of course.
Thus endeth my career as a racing driver.
I came last.
I even came after the buggy without a driver that was driven by a couple of people who weren't racing but just having a go. But I got a round of applause when I came back into the pit!
Moch came 13th (no crashes for her!), LOF came 1st (IN MY MIND) and Glenn came 3rd (he even got a little bronze (effect) medal).
Good day had by all? In retrospect, I guess so, Chris had a good day and it was his birthday thing so that's most important, but I won't be doing it again in a hurry.
The Buggy's were quite sturdy little contraptions, worth £10,000 each, 20bhp, capable of up to 50mph (although the fastest anyone went on Saturday was 23mph and that looked quite dangerous in itself) and track was like a dirt track lined with tyres. You had to wear a navy blue boiler suit (why?) and helmet and the safety talk involved being told that should the buggy catch on fire, it would be advisable to GET OUT. That sounds quite sensible until you realise that once you're in the buggy with helmet and gloves on, strapped in and with the nets where windows would be in a normal car tied down, getting out without assistance is pretty much impossible.
Everyone was split into four teams of four, you had three goes on the track (1st go was a practise and 2nd and third were races) and each go consisted of three laps. No one was racing each other, the idea was to get the best time. LOF and Glenn were doing really well, Me and Moch were holding out own, LOF was 1st, Glenn was 5th, Moch was 9th and I was 10th (so not last, which I can tell you, shocked me more than anyone else). Then it was time for the last go on the track, first LOF, while trying his best to shave 3 seconds off his best lap time to retain his first place, crashed heading into a corner too quickly, then Glenn crashed, careering up a ramp.... then (and you knew this was coming) I just could not keep control of the bloody thing, I was on the 2nd lap of my final go and I don't know what happened but I ended up on the tyres... 3 times. I kept thinking I could come off them but finally the buggy just thought 'oh fuck this' and catapulted me onto the side of the track. A man with very muscular thighs (hello....) came running over to pull me back onto the track but I'd had enough, I asked if I could please not have to do it again, and he said of course.
Thus endeth my career as a racing driver.
I came last.
I even came after the buggy without a driver that was driven by a couple of people who weren't racing but just having a go. But I got a round of applause when I came back into the pit!
Moch came 13th (no crashes for her!), LOF came 1st (IN MY MIND) and Glenn came 3rd (he even got a little bronze (effect) medal).
Good day had by all? In retrospect, I guess so, Chris had a good day and it was his birthday thing so that's most important, but I won't be doing it again in a hurry.
Glenn Keilloh b.30.08.1978
Song dedication -
The Beach Boys (The Best Of): Track 17 - God Only Knows.
Presents -
1. Book (The Lovely Love, Edward Monkton)
2. Bombay Sapphire (I bottle of)
3. 1973 FA Cup Winners Sunderland Shirt,
4. 12 month Empire Magazine subscription
5. Bag (to be exchanged as was not to Sirs taste)
6. Goal and ball set for garden
7. Pro-Evolution Soccar 4 (have you spotted the theme?)
8. The love that dare not speak its name
Happy Birthday Doofus.
xx
The Beach Boys (The Best Of): Track 17 - God Only Knows.
Presents -
1. Book (The Lovely Love, Edward Monkton)
2. Bombay Sapphire (I bottle of)
3. 1973 FA Cup Winners Sunderland Shirt,
4. 12 month Empire Magazine subscription
5. Bag (to be exchanged as was not to Sirs taste)
6. Goal and ball set for garden
7. Pro-Evolution Soccar 4 (have you spotted the theme?)
8. The love that dare not speak its name
Happy Birthday Doofus.
xx
Saturday, August 27, 2005
Re: Terry
Wow, work colleagues (or EX work colleagues - lucky bastard) reading this blog.
REALLY hope I don't have to worry about that.....
How the hell do you spell 'colleagues'?
REALLY hope I don't have to worry about that.....
How the hell do you spell 'colleagues'?
Friday, August 26, 2005
Debbie Does Dallas? Spanair Does South Shields.
Must tell you what happened to me last night. I was coming out of the college and as I was driving down the road I realised the car was pulling sharply to the left, so I pulled over and got out the car, not having a clue what I was looking for but saw that the front left wheel was totally flat, hadn't been when I got out the car that morning but what can you do? So I thought if I can get back to the college I can find someone to help, or at least sit in the carpark and figure something out rather than by the side of the road (no, I can't change a tyre, I mean I can now but I couldn't then). On the way back to the college the car begins to vibrate and emit a strong smell of burning rubber. I pulled over again because that seemed to be very, very bad, I was now sitting just past a bus stop.
I rang everyone I knew in South Shields (one person) and she couldn't help, so I tried to ring the breakdown service. As the phone was ringing a man tapped on my window, I looked at him and realised he had a) a large handlebar moustache and b) a jacket with 'bus inspector' written on it. 'ok then', I thought, 'well he's either a porn star, a member of The Village People or a ticket inspector or a strange gay porn ticket inspector hybrid, question is, do I wind down the window...?' I weighed the odds and decided to open the window and he said "Jack?" and I sais "no, Hannah", and he said "do you have a jack?" and I said "no, I have a Glenn" and I'm lying now obviously, the point is I have a spare tyre under the boot of my car and a jack, and he changed my tyre for me, there by the side of the road at 6.30 in the evening when I'm sure he would much rather have been at home honing his thrusting technique for 'The Return of Deep Throat', or something like that...
Oh! And the one person I know in South Shields who couldn't help, came out to make sure I was ok and not sitting alone by the side of the road.
So, people of the North East, nicest people ever.
I rang everyone I knew in South Shields (one person) and she couldn't help, so I tried to ring the breakdown service. As the phone was ringing a man tapped on my window, I looked at him and realised he had a) a large handlebar moustache and b) a jacket with 'bus inspector' written on it. 'ok then', I thought, 'well he's either a porn star, a member of The Village People or a ticket inspector or a strange gay porn ticket inspector hybrid, question is, do I wind down the window...?' I weighed the odds and decided to open the window and he said "Jack?" and I sais "no, Hannah", and he said "do you have a jack?" and I said "no, I have a Glenn" and I'm lying now obviously, the point is I have a spare tyre under the boot of my car and a jack, and he changed my tyre for me, there by the side of the road at 6.30 in the evening when I'm sure he would much rather have been at home honing his thrusting technique for 'The Return of Deep Throat', or something like that...
Oh! And the one person I know in South Shields who couldn't help, came out to make sure I was ok and not sitting alone by the side of the road.
So, people of the North East, nicest people ever.
Thursday, August 25, 2005
The Aristocats
After some stuff that I had to sit through at work this morning that I am not going to bore you with now, I have hit upon a genius solution to the pet argument Glenn and I have been having.
Now we have our own house we have both been musing about a pet, I favour the independant, low maintenance cat (he hates cats) and he favours the high maintenance but high in reward value dog (I have a dog phobia) so thus far we are at a stalemate. Until now...
We are going to outsource having a pet! Yes, this means that other peoples pets become my pets, I will love them, nurture them , ocassionally assist in the maintaining of them but moreover I will simply pretend that they are my own when I want them to be while letting other people pick up the crap (quite literally in the case of our next door neighbours - FOR THE LOVE OF GOD PEOPLE, PICK UP THE POO!).
I think this strategy will work very well until such time as Glenn comes round to my way of thinking visa vi: a cat....
Now we have our own house we have both been musing about a pet, I favour the independant, low maintenance cat (he hates cats) and he favours the high maintenance but high in reward value dog (I have a dog phobia) so thus far we are at a stalemate. Until now...
We are going to outsource having a pet! Yes, this means that other peoples pets become my pets, I will love them, nurture them , ocassionally assist in the maintaining of them but moreover I will simply pretend that they are my own when I want them to be while letting other people pick up the crap (quite literally in the case of our next door neighbours - FOR THE LOVE OF GOD PEOPLE, PICK UP THE POO!).
I think this strategy will work very well until such time as Glenn comes round to my way of thinking visa vi: a cat....
The Waterboy - without the hidden talent.
On Saturday we are going Buggy Rallying, you can learn all about what Buggy Rallying is here - http://www.walker-adams.co.uk/
I've got to tell you, I don't think I've been this apprehensive about anything since High School, when in summer they change the PE schedule from tortuous games of Netball to tortuous athletics. I really don't do well in competitive situations, I usually crash and burn (you can see how I am extra nervous of a situation where I could ACTUALLY CRASH AND BURN what with the petrol). I like pub quizes, things like that, I don't generally mind team based things but when it's just me against a whole lot of other people who WANT ME TO FAIL SO THAT THEY WILL WIN, I just don't like it, I don't like being tested (driving test - I FELL APART) I don't like being examined (still hvaen't made that appointment with the consultant), anything where I am being judged on my own, just. don't. like. it.
I think I can trace it back to situations like these;
Age 5 - Running race in the reception class sports day in first school, now I skipped the reception class in first school because my mom taught me stuff before I went to school and they thought I was like, too clever for it or something (and that was the first mistake of many to do with my education) so I was actually running in the race with the kids in the class above my age because that was the class I was in. The race started and I thought I was doing pretty well, running my little legs off, I crossed the finishing line about 2 minutes after the person who crossed the line before me and was awarded last place by a teacher who, in retrospect, probably pulled a muscle she waw laughing so hard. I looked at my mother, and she too was laughing as if she had just witnessed the second coming and as the clouds parted, the messiah turned out to be Zippy. Apparently I run funny, or something.
Age 7 - PE teacher declares at parents evening that I am far and away the worst pupil she has ever had and asks my parents if they have ever had my reflexes checked by an expert because she has never in her entire career encountered a child who can't catch a ball. That's not just a few times, that's never, I never ever caught the ball.
Ages 9 to 12 - middle school, never got picked for any school team, and I think most people can relate to being the last person left in the playground when everyone else is stood in a line behind the captains who are arguing over who has to take you.
Age 13 - High school, first PE lesson, Ms Evil the PE teacher (for that is what we will be calling her) asks us all to spend about 10 minutes playing each of the school games, Netball, Hockey, Basketball and after the lesson asks me to stay behind after school because she was impressed with my hockey skills and would like me to try for the school team. You can understand my scepticism. After the session, she takes me to one side and says she's very sorry but she mistook me for another girl and I don't have to go again, ever, pleasedon'tcomeback.
Age 15 - Set new school record for the 800 metres, it took me 10 minutes, I hold the record for the person who took the longest to complete it, I have never been beaten to this very day, and it's been 9 years since I accomplished it, that's impressive in an odd way.
Age 17 - School Sports Day, went into the city and got my belly button pierced instead.
I do not come from a sporty family, my parents are not interested in any of it, my Dad hates football; when he was a kid, he used to be the one timing people on the long distance races, THEY DIDN'T EVEN BOTHER ASKING HIM TO CHANGE CLOTHES, so they never cared that I was so awful, they didn't even look at the PE page on my reports. By the time I left the school Ms Evil could barely look me in the eye, such was her loathing.
So you can see, I am shaking at the very thought of sitting in a rally car, I can just imagine flying off the track into a carpark with my absolute lack of any kind of coordination. Rallying cannot possibly end well. The last thing Chris (whose birthday is the reason we are going) said to me last night as he was explaining it to me was 'please don't be worried... they have helmets.'. Please note how his instruction not to be worried was not followed by 'because you'll be fine', or 'you're a good driver', or 'I bet you do really well', no no, he is assuring me that WHEN I fail, there will be a helmet to protect me.
I've got to tell you, I don't think I've been this apprehensive about anything since High School, when in summer they change the PE schedule from tortuous games of Netball to tortuous athletics. I really don't do well in competitive situations, I usually crash and burn (you can see how I am extra nervous of a situation where I could ACTUALLY CRASH AND BURN what with the petrol). I like pub quizes, things like that, I don't generally mind team based things but when it's just me against a whole lot of other people who WANT ME TO FAIL SO THAT THEY WILL WIN, I just don't like it, I don't like being tested (driving test - I FELL APART) I don't like being examined (still hvaen't made that appointment with the consultant), anything where I am being judged on my own, just. don't. like. it.
I think I can trace it back to situations like these;
Age 5 - Running race in the reception class sports day in first school, now I skipped the reception class in first school because my mom taught me stuff before I went to school and they thought I was like, too clever for it or something (and that was the first mistake of many to do with my education) so I was actually running in the race with the kids in the class above my age because that was the class I was in. The race started and I thought I was doing pretty well, running my little legs off, I crossed the finishing line about 2 minutes after the person who crossed the line before me and was awarded last place by a teacher who, in retrospect, probably pulled a muscle she waw laughing so hard. I looked at my mother, and she too was laughing as if she had just witnessed the second coming and as the clouds parted, the messiah turned out to be Zippy. Apparently I run funny, or something.
Age 7 - PE teacher declares at parents evening that I am far and away the worst pupil she has ever had and asks my parents if they have ever had my reflexes checked by an expert because she has never in her entire career encountered a child who can't catch a ball. That's not just a few times, that's never, I never ever caught the ball.
Ages 9 to 12 - middle school, never got picked for any school team, and I think most people can relate to being the last person left in the playground when everyone else is stood in a line behind the captains who are arguing over who has to take you.
Age 13 - High school, first PE lesson, Ms Evil the PE teacher (for that is what we will be calling her) asks us all to spend about 10 minutes playing each of the school games, Netball, Hockey, Basketball and after the lesson asks me to stay behind after school because she was impressed with my hockey skills and would like me to try for the school team. You can understand my scepticism. After the session, she takes me to one side and says she's very sorry but she mistook me for another girl and I don't have to go again, ever, pleasedon'tcomeback.
Age 15 - Set new school record for the 800 metres, it took me 10 minutes, I hold the record for the person who took the longest to complete it, I have never been beaten to this very day, and it's been 9 years since I accomplished it, that's impressive in an odd way.
Age 17 - School Sports Day, went into the city and got my belly button pierced instead.
I do not come from a sporty family, my parents are not interested in any of it, my Dad hates football; when he was a kid, he used to be the one timing people on the long distance races, THEY DIDN'T EVEN BOTHER ASKING HIM TO CHANGE CLOTHES, so they never cared that I was so awful, they didn't even look at the PE page on my reports. By the time I left the school Ms Evil could barely look me in the eye, such was her loathing.
So you can see, I am shaking at the very thought of sitting in a rally car, I can just imagine flying off the track into a carpark with my absolute lack of any kind of coordination. Rallying cannot possibly end well. The last thing Chris (whose birthday is the reason we are going) said to me last night as he was explaining it to me was 'please don't be worried... they have helmets.'. Please note how his instruction not to be worried was not followed by 'because you'll be fine', or 'you're a good driver', or 'I bet you do really well', no no, he is assuring me that WHEN I fail, there will be a helmet to protect me.
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
HOW embarassing?
So many photo's of Moch aged about 12 and wearing questionably patterned shirts to post... so little time...
Friday, August 19, 2005
Secret Shame #2
That new song by that one from Blue. That Simon Webb one, unfortunately I think Alvin from The Chipmunks is singing backing vocals but apart from that it made me feel all warm and tingly.
Trifle or Cake?
It takes a certain kind of person to believe, at the tender age of 19, that they could be alone for the rest of forever. I was exactly that kind of person, that's why I have gone out with so many arseholes, that's why I have always rung every last drop from every relationship I have entered into, even though it was clear it was over, because I believed I would end up in some kind of air pocket if I was single for any length of time, unable to ever get out, and that no one decent would find me.
Then I met Glenn and blah blah blah. Anyway, Mr Bogus (I know who you are....) quite rightly pointed out that all my 'thinking' is bollocks really, and that my choice is absolutely one of those no brainers, marry or don't marry, who really cares, the point is I am in a great relationship with an amazing man and I should just enjoy that. When I think about how afraid I was that this would never happen, I want to slap myself for being so daft as to worry about the things I wrote about yesterday.
Mr Bogus is a wonderful man (despite his dubious pseudonym) and the right girl is out there somewhere, probably as worried as he is about ending up alone. One day their stars will collide and there will be fireworks.
Then I met Glenn and blah blah blah. Anyway, Mr Bogus (I know who you are....) quite rightly pointed out that all my 'thinking' is bollocks really, and that my choice is absolutely one of those no brainers, marry or don't marry, who really cares, the point is I am in a great relationship with an amazing man and I should just enjoy that. When I think about how afraid I was that this would never happen, I want to slap myself for being so daft as to worry about the things I wrote about yesterday.
Mr Bogus is a wonderful man (despite his dubious pseudonym) and the right girl is out there somewhere, probably as worried as he is about ending up alone. One day their stars will collide and there will be fireworks.
Thursday, August 18, 2005
Thinking
I want a wedding, I don't want to be married.
I don't want to be Miss forever but the thought of being Mrs makes me slightly faint.
I don't want to have children outside of marriage but I'd rather have children than be married.
I don't want to let my parents down and never get married but I don't want to put pressure on my relationship by deciding to married.
I'm not terrified of marriage, I'm terrified of divorce.
I don't want to be Miss forever but the thought of being Mrs makes me slightly faint.
I don't want to have children outside of marriage but I'd rather have children than be married.
I don't want to let my parents down and never get married but I don't want to put pressure on my relationship by deciding to married.
I'm not terrified of marriage, I'm terrified of divorce.
SOS
Help... me... South... Shields... sucking... out... all... the... joy... must... go... home... and... see... real... people... or... become... alcoholic... or... both...
Wednesday, August 17, 2005
How sweet it is to be loved by you
Moch and LOF are having sex in a country that is not Britain this week, that's right, they're on holiday. It's very weird them not being around, it's amazing how quickly you get used to a person just being around the corner from you even after years and years of living hundreds of miles away from each other.
I may have spoken oh so briefly (and for 'oh so briefly' you can read 'banged on about until Glenn has started to fantasize about driving a monster truck through my face') about some people who I used to know who I don't know anymore. That is to say we choose not to know each other because if we did ever come face to face again we would attempt to claw each others eyes out with dull instruments. It left me very unsure of who I was and what I was doing, and I realised that whether it be through these people with VERY BAD HAIR or through boyfriends my parents tried to have arrested, I was very much defining myself by who I surrounded myself with. This meant that when these people were no longer part of my life I felt lost.
(Glenn is revving the monster truck, I can hear it....)
Anyway, this isn't going to be some poor me, why were they so mean? I hope they die post, this is going to be a thank you post.
(he's taken his foot off the accelorator but it's hovering above it just in case...)
I want to say thank you to Mocha and LOF and also Ros, Nikki, and Mr Dz), for giving me lots of metaphorical hugs and some real ones, for always treating me like part of their family even when I'm sure I was annoying the living shit out of them. I can't believe I wasted so much time crying and moaning about what my 'friends' had done when they were not my friends at all, and my real friends were the ones making the cups of tea and telling me not to worry about it (and sometimes offering to find certain people and open up a can of whup ass). I owe you so much.
To Moch especially, recently Moch has been a little sad, I don't know if she knows that I've noticed because I haven't asked and she hasn't said anything, but there has most definately been something up. Now being the kind of person I am (INCREDIBLY SELF ABSORBED) I instantly thought that I had done something to upset her and so I kind of hung back for a few days, on reflection I don't know if this was the right thing to do because in the (MOST LIKELY) event that it was not about me, she may have needed a chat, a cup of tea and some support (HOW SHIT AM I?). I think it could be about her disillusionment (sp?) about her job which she loves, or just the stress of every day things, but she should know that I admire her immensely and can totally see why my Mom would prefer she had had her rather than me (seriously, please don't doubt that to be the truth because when my mom says her name, I swear birds start singing by the window).
Anyways, I just wanted to say that because they are away and I miss them not being around, and not just because I would rather they were there to supervise Glenn playing with live wires either (although that too).
I would also (and I have to be quick here because Glenn is checking the oil on that monster truck and rubbing his hands together with glee) like to say that Liz is the cherry on the top of a fucking sweet cake, and I cannot wait to spend more time with her and Gareth because every time I see them I spend the whole time laughing (with them, not at them) and they are pretty amazing people to have come to know and love.
If I had known this time last year what was just about to happen to the friendships I thought were my bedrock, I would have been terrified, but if I had known how the story was going to end, I would not have been worried at all.
I may have spoken oh so briefly (and for 'oh so briefly' you can read 'banged on about until Glenn has started to fantasize about driving a monster truck through my face') about some people who I used to know who I don't know anymore. That is to say we choose not to know each other because if we did ever come face to face again we would attempt to claw each others eyes out with dull instruments. It left me very unsure of who I was and what I was doing, and I realised that whether it be through these people with VERY BAD HAIR or through boyfriends my parents tried to have arrested, I was very much defining myself by who I surrounded myself with. This meant that when these people were no longer part of my life I felt lost.
(Glenn is revving the monster truck, I can hear it....)
Anyway, this isn't going to be some poor me, why were they so mean? I hope they die post, this is going to be a thank you post.
(he's taken his foot off the accelorator but it's hovering above it just in case...)
I want to say thank you to Mocha and LOF and also Ros, Nikki, and Mr Dz), for giving me lots of metaphorical hugs and some real ones, for always treating me like part of their family even when I'm sure I was annoying the living shit out of them. I can't believe I wasted so much time crying and moaning about what my 'friends' had done when they were not my friends at all, and my real friends were the ones making the cups of tea and telling me not to worry about it (and sometimes offering to find certain people and open up a can of whup ass). I owe you so much.
To Moch especially, recently Moch has been a little sad, I don't know if she knows that I've noticed because I haven't asked and she hasn't said anything, but there has most definately been something up. Now being the kind of person I am (INCREDIBLY SELF ABSORBED) I instantly thought that I had done something to upset her and so I kind of hung back for a few days, on reflection I don't know if this was the right thing to do because in the (MOST LIKELY) event that it was not about me, she may have needed a chat, a cup of tea and some support (HOW SHIT AM I?). I think it could be about her disillusionment (sp?) about her job which she loves, or just the stress of every day things, but she should know that I admire her immensely and can totally see why my Mom would prefer she had had her rather than me (seriously, please don't doubt that to be the truth because when my mom says her name, I swear birds start singing by the window).
Anyways, I just wanted to say that because they are away and I miss them not being around, and not just because I would rather they were there to supervise Glenn playing with live wires either (although that too).
I would also (and I have to be quick here because Glenn is checking the oil on that monster truck and rubbing his hands together with glee) like to say that Liz is the cherry on the top of a fucking sweet cake, and I cannot wait to spend more time with her and Gareth because every time I see them I spend the whole time laughing (with them, not at them) and they are pretty amazing people to have come to know and love.
If I had known this time last year what was just about to happen to the friendships I thought were my bedrock, I would have been terrified, but if I had known how the story was going to end, I would not have been worried at all.
Another Poem
Ode to My Winter Coat
But today, by the reading on the thermometer
It was cold enough for me to burrow into your entrails
Just like Han Solo and Luke Skywalker burrowed into the entrails of that giant thing they killed in that one Star Wars movie.
The Empire Strikes Back, I believe it was.
Anon
But today, by the reading on the thermometer
It was cold enough for me to burrow into your entrails
Just like Han Solo and Luke Skywalker burrowed into the entrails of that giant thing they killed in that one Star Wars movie.
The Empire Strikes Back, I believe it was.
Anon
Poem
Snowdrop
Now is the globe shrunk tight
Round the mouse's dulled wintering heart
Weasel and crow, as if moulded in brass,
Move through an outer darkness
Not in their right minds,
With the other deaths. She, too, pursues her ends,
Brutal as the stars of this month,
Her pale head heavy as metal.
Ted Hughes
Now is the globe shrunk tight
Round the mouse's dulled wintering heart
Weasel and crow, as if moulded in brass,
Move through an outer darkness
Not in their right minds,
With the other deaths. She, too, pursues her ends,
Brutal as the stars of this month,
Her pale head heavy as metal.
Ted Hughes
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
I swear down...
... that this just happened.
The college that I am at has a small rockery on an island in front of the main doors, the rockery is surrounded by heather. About half an house ago the fire alarm goes off and all the staff walk out and stand on the side of the road opposite the main doors. The fire engine comes up the road and pulls around the small island. As it does so the corner of the truck clips a rock on the island and sends some sparks flying, the sparks land on the heather and SET FIRE TO IT. Four burly fire men in full fire fighting gear leap out of the truck and proceed to execute expertly learned and well practiced techniques in fire extinguishing - They stamp on it.
For about 10 minutes.
It was very funny.
The college that I am at has a small rockery on an island in front of the main doors, the rockery is surrounded by heather. About half an house ago the fire alarm goes off and all the staff walk out and stand on the side of the road opposite the main doors. The fire engine comes up the road and pulls around the small island. As it does so the corner of the truck clips a rock on the island and sends some sparks flying, the sparks land on the heather and SET FIRE TO IT. Four burly fire men in full fire fighting gear leap out of the truck and proceed to execute expertly learned and well practiced techniques in fire extinguishing - They stamp on it.
For about 10 minutes.
It was very funny.
Missing you
My house is not the dream house that I envisaged it would be when I imagined my first home. We saw about 30-40 houses before we found the one that eventually became ours and not once did I have warm and fuzzy feelings about any of them, including the house we bought. My feelings ranged from heavy hearted resignation to abject horror that any self-respecting estate agent could POSSIBLY show it to me and expect me to want to live in it.
(Here is where I should tell the tale of the man whose house faced a tower block, and who opened the door with a fag hanging out of his mouth, wearing a dressing gown. He told us to 'have a fucking look, if that's what we fucking wanted', and turned an Anastasia CD on EXTREMELY LOUDLY, his house looked like something out of some shitty programme about really dirty houses, the lightbulbs had burnt through all the shades and if I try to describe the bedroom I will pass out from the memory, I would tell you that tale, but I can't be bothered.)
The house we bought is a little three bedroom terrace with a garden neither of us had any wish for but are now really glad we've got. It's the kind of house that people don't buy because it was filthy and hadn't been lived in for a long time, but we thought we could see something in it so we went for it.
(Here is where I could tell the tale about how Glenn made me promise that I would always wait 24 hours after we had both seen a house before making any offer, a kind of cooling off period if you will, and that we would always offer at least £5000 below the asking price just to try our luck, and then I went to see the house without him and offered them £4000 below the asking price about 15 seconds after opening the front door, I could tell you that tale but I don't have time.)
The house has never felt like home, this is mainly because we have been living in it as a work in progress and I have struggled to ever see the end of it. I still struggle to see the end of it, but now the obstacles on that road are much smaller and come in nice furry packages that I can open slowly, safe in the knowledge that none of them contain a new kitchen or new electrics or new living room walls. I am ignoring the toilet shaped one that keeps appearing.
I'm away now, and I am away after the weekend where we finally turned the corner, in between all the champagne drinking, wedding dress wearing and carpet people seeing we got over the top of the hill.
And suddenly I miss it, I miss the little house with the ugly hedge and living room in need of coving and carpet, I miss the bathroom with its questionable bathroom fittings and weird ivy patterned window. Most of all I miss that man who lives in it and how he always puts his arm around me until I go to sleep, how sometimes he takes his arm away a little bit too early and I'm not quite asleep but that just means that I know he kisses my shoulder as he takes his arm away.
I'd like to take a moment to send a small message to that man, a message that I hope will convey all the love I have -
STEP AWAY FROM THE ELECTRICS, I DO NOT NEED THE OVEN TO BE INSTALLED FOR WHEN I GET HOME THAT BADLY. STOP. TOUCHING. THOSE. WIRES.
I mean please! While I agree that nothing completes a house more than Southern Fried Man on the kitchen floor, I just don't have the energy to bury you under the floor boards so that your mother doesn't find out AND HUNT ME DOWN.
Love you x
(Here is where I should tell the tale of the man whose house faced a tower block, and who opened the door with a fag hanging out of his mouth, wearing a dressing gown. He told us to 'have a fucking look, if that's what we fucking wanted', and turned an Anastasia CD on EXTREMELY LOUDLY, his house looked like something out of some shitty programme about really dirty houses, the lightbulbs had burnt through all the shades and if I try to describe the bedroom I will pass out from the memory, I would tell you that tale, but I can't be bothered.)
The house we bought is a little three bedroom terrace with a garden neither of us had any wish for but are now really glad we've got. It's the kind of house that people don't buy because it was filthy and hadn't been lived in for a long time, but we thought we could see something in it so we went for it.
(Here is where I could tell the tale about how Glenn made me promise that I would always wait 24 hours after we had both seen a house before making any offer, a kind of cooling off period if you will, and that we would always offer at least £5000 below the asking price just to try our luck, and then I went to see the house without him and offered them £4000 below the asking price about 15 seconds after opening the front door, I could tell you that tale but I don't have time.)
The house has never felt like home, this is mainly because we have been living in it as a work in progress and I have struggled to ever see the end of it. I still struggle to see the end of it, but now the obstacles on that road are much smaller and come in nice furry packages that I can open slowly, safe in the knowledge that none of them contain a new kitchen or new electrics or new living room walls. I am ignoring the toilet shaped one that keeps appearing.
I'm away now, and I am away after the weekend where we finally turned the corner, in between all the champagne drinking, wedding dress wearing and carpet people seeing we got over the top of the hill.
And suddenly I miss it, I miss the little house with the ugly hedge and living room in need of coving and carpet, I miss the bathroom with its questionable bathroom fittings and weird ivy patterned window. Most of all I miss that man who lives in it and how he always puts his arm around me until I go to sleep, how sometimes he takes his arm away a little bit too early and I'm not quite asleep but that just means that I know he kisses my shoulder as he takes his arm away.
I'd like to take a moment to send a small message to that man, a message that I hope will convey all the love I have -
STEP AWAY FROM THE ELECTRICS, I DO NOT NEED THE OVEN TO BE INSTALLED FOR WHEN I GET HOME THAT BADLY. STOP. TOUCHING. THOSE. WIRES.
I mean please! While I agree that nothing completes a house more than Southern Fried Man on the kitchen floor, I just don't have the energy to bury you under the floor boards so that your mother doesn't find out AND HUNT ME DOWN.
Love you x
Monday, August 15, 2005
There's a weird pattern forming today.....
Our new neighnours on the right hand side are two elderly men and one very nearly dead woman, the men are the sons of the woman and the woman has lived in the house since it was built - in 1936. They are very nice people and, coincidently, the ones who bought us the bottle of sherry to welcome us to our new home when we first got the keys.
Glenn mostly speaks to them as I have a problem meeting new people, my problem is that I don't like to do it. Consequently, he chats to them and I stand by his side with a weird smile on my face like his doped up living accessory. The men (Norman and Richard), often take their mother (Elsie) for walks in her wheel chair because she recently had a stroke and it is good therapy for her, Glenn was coming home from work and ended up walking with them part of the way, Elsie asked how his wife was.
It was at the point, when he was telling me this a couple of hours later, that the following thought crossed through my mind;
'Glenn is MARRIED? How come I never.... HOLY SHIT! THEY THINK THAT'S ME!'
Glenn replied, 'Oh no, we're not married (I think at this point Elsie probably gave us up as heathen ingrates) and for Gods sake, don't let HER hear you ask that!'
Glenn mostly speaks to them as I have a problem meeting new people, my problem is that I don't like to do it. Consequently, he chats to them and I stand by his side with a weird smile on my face like his doped up living accessory. The men (Norman and Richard), often take their mother (Elsie) for walks in her wheel chair because she recently had a stroke and it is good therapy for her, Glenn was coming home from work and ended up walking with them part of the way, Elsie asked how his wife was.
It was at the point, when he was telling me this a couple of hours later, that the following thought crossed through my mind;
'Glenn is MARRIED? How come I never.... HOLY SHIT! THEY THINK THAT'S ME!'
Glenn replied, 'Oh no, we're not married (I think at this point Elsie probably gave us up as heathen ingrates) and for Gods sake, don't let HER hear you ask that!'
Here comes the bride.....
On Saturday night, shortly after helping my Carpet People Seeing beloved to bed, I got to try on my first wedding dress. Liz has been married and we were talking it so only naturally after drinking copious amounts of champagne and smoking the odd doobie, we decided I should try it on.
I'm really terrified of marriage, I can buy a house with a man, I can think about having a baby with a man (ok, after being told to by a person of medical knowledge), but marriage? That to me seems to represent the end of anything fun and carefree and interesting, it just doesn't appeal. So imagine my surprise when I was almost moved to tears by how it felt to be wearing one, it was awesome, even the very weight of the dress hanging off me (and for 'hanging off' read straining at the seams because I am bigger than the person for whom the dress was made, I'm surprised she didn't rip it off me screaming 'stop! you're hurting it!') it had a train and it SWISHED and for those few minutes I was like a princess. It was very special.
What was less special was getting locked in the room the dress was in and having to jump, barefoot, out of the window and attempt to get the Vomiting Carpet People See-er to awaken from his comatose state and open the front door for us. As Gareth said the next morning, it's not like we had to jump 50 feet from a burning building, and the room was, in fact, on the ground floor, but still! There were rose bushes and stones and you never know, the ground could have given way beneath my wedding dress bursting form and revealed some long abandoned mine shaft or something..... my God! If people live in Liz's carpet, who knows what else is hanging around....
And what was even less special was the rudeness of the man at Wetherspoons who wouldn't let us take the last bottle of Champagne home with us, even though we had bought it, and even though it was full. We called the manager but realised we were screwed when a miserable shrew woman came over and started saying the words no, no and no. The rude man offered to teach me the difference between an ONlicense and a OFFlicense so I tried to shoot him my best 'If your balls were in my hands I would be crushing them so fuck off and take you £3.50 an hour arse with you' but as I have said, there were 3 bottles of champagne already emptied so I probably just came across as a mong-eyed drunk who was about to go home, put a wedding dress on and fall out of a window......
I'm really terrified of marriage, I can buy a house with a man, I can think about having a baby with a man (ok, after being told to by a person of medical knowledge), but marriage? That to me seems to represent the end of anything fun and carefree and interesting, it just doesn't appeal. So imagine my surprise when I was almost moved to tears by how it felt to be wearing one, it was awesome, even the very weight of the dress hanging off me (and for 'hanging off' read straining at the seams because I am bigger than the person for whom the dress was made, I'm surprised she didn't rip it off me screaming 'stop! you're hurting it!') it had a train and it SWISHED and for those few minutes I was like a princess. It was very special.
What was less special was getting locked in the room the dress was in and having to jump, barefoot, out of the window and attempt to get the Vomiting Carpet People See-er to awaken from his comatose state and open the front door for us. As Gareth said the next morning, it's not like we had to jump 50 feet from a burning building, and the room was, in fact, on the ground floor, but still! There were rose bushes and stones and you never know, the ground could have given way beneath my wedding dress bursting form and revealed some long abandoned mine shaft or something..... my God! If people live in Liz's carpet, who knows what else is hanging around....
And what was even less special was the rudeness of the man at Wetherspoons who wouldn't let us take the last bottle of Champagne home with us, even though we had bought it, and even though it was full. We called the manager but realised we were screwed when a miserable shrew woman came over and started saying the words no, no and no. The rude man offered to teach me the difference between an ONlicense and a OFFlicense so I tried to shoot him my best 'If your balls were in my hands I would be crushing them so fuck off and take you £3.50 an hour arse with you' but as I have said, there were 3 bottles of champagne already emptied so I probably just came across as a mong-eyed drunk who was about to go home, put a wedding dress on and fall out of a window......
2am Sunday morning
THE SCENE: After between them consuming 3 bottles of champagne and 20 odd pints of beer, four young(ish) people (2 girls and 2 boys) get home after a night out, the boys put match of the day on, the girls talk in the kitchen (mostly about how much they love each other while holding hands BUT NOT KISSING). Shortly, one of the boys passes out and has to be helped to bed where he commences to vomit; the other boy slowly slips into unconsciousness wheN one of the girls approaches him.....
GIRL: (stroking his face) Hey baby, do you think you should go to bed?
BOY: (eyes opening, slow grin forming) mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
GIRL: Is that a yes?
BOY: mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
GIRL: Shall we get you up and into bed then?
BOY: What about the people?
GIRL: (incredulous) What people?
BOY: (waves hand in no particular direction) those people
GIRL: Seriously, what people?
BOY: The people in THE CARPET
GIRL: What people in the carpet?
BOY: (in deeply patronising tone) THE CARPET PEOPLE... DUH!
GIRL: (finding it difficult to speak through convulsions of laughter) The Carpet people?
BOY: (smugly) Yes
GIRL: And what do the carpet people do?
BOY: (With exasperated tone) They make carpet! And you know what? (grabs girls arm to impress the importance of what he's about to say)
GIRL: What?
BOY: They're fucking good at it.
GIRL: (stroking his face) Hey baby, do you think you should go to bed?
BOY: (eyes opening, slow grin forming) mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
GIRL: Is that a yes?
BOY: mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
GIRL: Shall we get you up and into bed then?
BOY: What about the people?
GIRL: (incredulous) What people?
BOY: (waves hand in no particular direction) those people
GIRL: Seriously, what people?
BOY: The people in THE CARPET
GIRL: What people in the carpet?
BOY: (in deeply patronising tone) THE CARPET PEOPLE... DUH!
GIRL: (finding it difficult to speak through convulsions of laughter) The Carpet people?
BOY: (smugly) Yes
GIRL: And what do the carpet people do?
BOY: (With exasperated tone) They make carpet! And you know what? (grabs girls arm to impress the importance of what he's about to say)
GIRL: What?
BOY: They're fucking good at it.
Thursday, August 11, 2005
Today's just been a funny old day...
Ok ok ok, I get it, First I make a fuss because there are no comments, then I switch on comments and make a fuss because I don't like the comments, then I realise that most of the comments are from people I know wielding a power of anonymity they didn't have before in order to wind me up.
So go ahead, comment away, I can take it! For the record I want to state here and now that I work very long hours and I don't take fag breaks, or coffee breaks, or lunch breaks or chat to the woman opposite about her ridiculously large collection of small Tigger ornament breaks, I take Blog breaks, hence, a lot of small posts and some larger ones. Also, the purpose of this blog is not to muse about the meaning of life, or to discover who I really am or anything like that, it's turned into a way to record the little moments that make life what it is, funny, sad, confusing, depressing and exhilerating, the moments that you would otherwise forget.
Please visit Rockinmochin to see The Kitchen in it's half finished form, as I have said to Moch, what's making me laugh is that I know what the kitchen looks like on the side BEHIND the camera (the side I am loving calling the car crash kitchen). We're getting there though, slowly but surely....
Oh yeah! And if you're not watching 'Lost', then watch it immediately! Completely brilliant!
So go ahead, comment away, I can take it! For the record I want to state here and now that I work very long hours and I don't take fag breaks, or coffee breaks, or lunch breaks or chat to the woman opposite about her ridiculously large collection of small Tigger ornament breaks, I take Blog breaks, hence, a lot of small posts and some larger ones. Also, the purpose of this blog is not to muse about the meaning of life, or to discover who I really am or anything like that, it's turned into a way to record the little moments that make life what it is, funny, sad, confusing, depressing and exhilerating, the moments that you would otherwise forget.
Please visit Rockinmochin to see The Kitchen in it's half finished form, as I have said to Moch, what's making me laugh is that I know what the kitchen looks like on the side BEHIND the camera (the side I am loving calling the car crash kitchen). We're getting there though, slowly but surely....
Oh yeah! And if you're not watching 'Lost', then watch it immediately! Completely brilliant!
Wednesday, August 10, 2005
FIXED!
You can now post a comment as an anonymous person and without having to be a blogger, I know because Liz did it.
So now I can indeed stop being irrational.
Nice one.
So now I can indeed stop being irrational.
Nice one.
Irrational Reaction
Mochinbach has had an anonymous comment on her blog.
I am SO jealous.....
And is that even how you spell 'irrational'?
I don't think today has started well.
I am SO jealous.....
And is that even how you spell 'irrational'?
I don't think today has started well.
A post wherein I point at myself and laugh
Omnipotent Narrative Structure?
OMNIPOTENT Narrative Structure?
Did you go to the university of doofus? Well, Did you??
It's Omniscient Narrative Structure you IDIOT, OMNISCIENT! How long ago did you graduate? DID YOU EVEN GRADUATE? I despair, I really do, first you use the word 'twinkled' and then this..... You may as well just jump out that window you spent most of yesterday gazing at, THERE REALLY IS NO POINT ANY MORE.
Repeat after me - 'I can recognise OMNISCIENT narrative structure' and find that brain! Please, FIND THAT BRAIN!!!
OMNIPOTENT Narrative Structure?
Did you go to the university of doofus? Well, Did you??
It's Omniscient Narrative Structure you IDIOT, OMNISCIENT! How long ago did you graduate? DID YOU EVEN GRADUATE? I despair, I really do, first you use the word 'twinkled' and then this..... You may as well just jump out that window you spent most of yesterday gazing at, THERE REALLY IS NO POINT ANY MORE.
Repeat after me - 'I can recognise OMNISCIENT narrative structure' and find that brain! Please, FIND THAT BRAIN!!!
Tuesday, August 09, 2005
Gnarly
adjective
Definitions:
1. highly dangerous: extremely difficult, risky, and challenging ( slang )
gnarly surf off Santa Monica beach
2. excellent: extraordinarily good or pleasurable ( dated slang )
bought a gnarly skateboard
[< gnarl1, perhaps from the way rough water appeared to surfers]
Definitions:
1. highly dangerous: extremely difficult, risky, and challenging ( slang )
gnarly surf off Santa Monica beach
2. excellent: extraordinarily good or pleasurable ( dated slang )
bought a gnarly skateboard
[< gnarl1, perhaps from the way rough water appeared to surfers]
Saturday Night Fever
Saturday night I went down to London to see my friend who has just left her beloved home town to go and see what life is like in the big city. She lives in Brixton and you have to walk down Electric Avenue to get there which was both exhilerating (the smells, music, colours, languages) anbd frightening (we were three visibly middle class white girls with weekend luggage and a map trying not to trip over anything, you could put the scene in a film and people would say it wasn't realistic) but the end result was worth it. She lives in this awesome house with a two story living room, it's the kind of house you always thought you would live in when you dreamt of house sharing (before your dreams were crushed by criminal landlords and a toilet brush), the kind of house they filmed 'This Life' in. It wasn't until I was in the house with these girls who made my university experience so memorable and exciting that I realised how much I missed them. I see them about 3 or 4 times a year at most because we are all so busy with jobs and houses and boyfriends etc but every time I see them I wish I could see them more.
We went shopping in Islington, at least we would have gone shopping in Islington had we not found a pub and bought several bottles of wine, three hours later we went and got some food instead in an Italian restaurant with shockingly reasonable prices. After that we headed back to Brixton and got ready to go out.
Highlight Number 1: Her house has these sash windows and her living room is on the first floor. We were getting ready in there and as I am great believer in less is more when it comes to make-up, hair etc (after coming in one night and reaslising I looked like the some Lily Savage impersonator gone wrong) I was ready first. So I climbed out of the sash window and sat on the roof of the bay window of the ground floor front room. I sat there for about 10 minutes listening to the music from the house (Beck) and looking down the street at the old terrace houses, it was a beautiful clear and warm night, the stars twinkled down from the sky like fairy lights, and I felt like that moment would live at the front of my mind forever.
And that is what comes of starting to drink at mid-day.
(Twinkled? My God woman! You have an english degree, you read Joyce, Nietzche, Marlow...... AND NOW YOU'RE TALKING TO YOURSELF, you need some sleep clearly, just keep repeating 'I can recognise Omnipotent Narrative Structure' over and over, FIND THAT BRAIN....)
Anyways.... We went to Shoreditch, which is apparently The Place To Go at the moment (I know this because James, my London Living Friend From Yore text me to ask me where we were goingand when I said he Shoreditch he said 'Ooooh, Get You!' So from that I have decided I must be Super Trendy) We ended up in a club called 303, or 333, or 313 or something that is numbers mainly made up of 3's.
Highlight Number 2: The Worst DJ In The World Ever (christened so by one of my friends who had to be physically restrained from assualting him as she screamed 'YOU ARE THE WORST DJ IN THE WORLD EVER!!!!! which goes to show that drugs are bad things) there was no pattern to what he was playing, the play list went something like - Queen, Take That, Nirvana, Cindy Lauper, Marilyn Manson, Kate Bush, every time a song finished the people one the dance floor just stood still waiting to see what was going to be next and everytime a new track started, it was a strange surprise....
After the club we were followed to the bus stop by two french men who seemed to think all they had to do to get one of us into bed was say 'I am French' and if I'm completely honest, I would have to say that if there was no Glenn I would so have been THERE, what can I say? I'm THAT easy.... And we finally rolled back into Brixton and crashed into bed (under a not so poetic, daylight sky) at 6.45am.
Good night had by all, I'm sure as the flashbacks continue this week I will post little titbits (nut not too many Gareth! Wouldn't want you to think I'm not earning my crust Mr On-Line Dictionary!) but right now I am just basking in the glow of a wonderful memory.
We went shopping in Islington, at least we would have gone shopping in Islington had we not found a pub and bought several bottles of wine, three hours later we went and got some food instead in an Italian restaurant with shockingly reasonable prices. After that we headed back to Brixton and got ready to go out.
Highlight Number 1: Her house has these sash windows and her living room is on the first floor. We were getting ready in there and as I am great believer in less is more when it comes to make-up, hair etc (after coming in one night and reaslising I looked like the some Lily Savage impersonator gone wrong) I was ready first. So I climbed out of the sash window and sat on the roof of the bay window of the ground floor front room. I sat there for about 10 minutes listening to the music from the house (Beck) and looking down the street at the old terrace houses, it was a beautiful clear and warm night, the stars twinkled down from the sky like fairy lights, and I felt like that moment would live at the front of my mind forever.
And that is what comes of starting to drink at mid-day.
(Twinkled? My God woman! You have an english degree, you read Joyce, Nietzche, Marlow...... AND NOW YOU'RE TALKING TO YOURSELF, you need some sleep clearly, just keep repeating 'I can recognise Omnipotent Narrative Structure' over and over, FIND THAT BRAIN....)
Anyways.... We went to Shoreditch, which is apparently The Place To Go at the moment (I know this because James, my London Living Friend From Yore text me to ask me where we were goingand when I said he Shoreditch he said 'Ooooh, Get You!' So from that I have decided I must be Super Trendy) We ended up in a club called 303, or 333, or 313 or something that is numbers mainly made up of 3's.
Highlight Number 2: The Worst DJ In The World Ever (christened so by one of my friends who had to be physically restrained from assualting him as she screamed 'YOU ARE THE WORST DJ IN THE WORLD EVER!!!!! which goes to show that drugs are bad things) there was no pattern to what he was playing, the play list went something like - Queen, Take That, Nirvana, Cindy Lauper, Marilyn Manson, Kate Bush, every time a song finished the people one the dance floor just stood still waiting to see what was going to be next and everytime a new track started, it was a strange surprise....
After the club we were followed to the bus stop by two french men who seemed to think all they had to do to get one of us into bed was say 'I am French' and if I'm completely honest, I would have to say that if there was no Glenn I would so have been THERE, what can I say? I'm THAT easy.... And we finally rolled back into Brixton and crashed into bed (under a not so poetic, daylight sky) at 6.45am.
Good night had by all, I'm sure as the flashbacks continue this week I will post little titbits (nut not too many Gareth! Wouldn't want you to think I'm not earning my crust Mr On-Line Dictionary!) but right now I am just basking in the glow of a wonderful memory.
Friday, August 05, 2005
And another one...
Champagne that what now come again?? you have no choice. even if i have to steal your purse and hide it under my pillow until we're back home. did you get off with a hardcore lesbian?!
One of the best lines out of all emails received this week
Have totally took heed of your advice and now am looking forwards and not contacting selfish minipulative weirdo/ pervert big handed small brained loser man at all.
Thursday, August 04, 2005
Overheard
'Ow's yer Dad then?
E's orkeh, theh took 'im away in th'ambulance thor
in't th'ambulance? Oooh, must 'ah bin serious...
ner, not really, e'll be right. anyweh, ow yer doin' wi th'errors
Oooh, th'errors comin' along our Pat, theh comin' along
Orkeh then, fancy a brew?
Oooh, I could just 'ave a nice brew.....
anyone else f'ut brew? I SAY, I'M BREWIN' UP! ANYONE F'UT BREW?!
E's orkeh, theh took 'im away in th'ambulance thor
in't th'ambulance? Oooh, must 'ah bin serious...
ner, not really, e'll be right. anyweh, ow yer doin' wi th'errors
Oooh, th'errors comin' along our Pat, theh comin' along
Orkeh then, fancy a brew?
Oooh, I could just 'ave a nice brew.....
anyone else f'ut brew? I SAY, I'M BREWIN' UP! ANYONE F'UT BREW?!
A Tale of Two Girls.
Me and The Hardcore Lesbians (if I'm ever in a band, I am so going to call it that) on a night out in B'Ham; we went to Nightingales (this was before the refurb, when it was still dirty and that tranny played the piano in the upstairs bar) because they didn't like straight places and I couldn't care less as long as there's a bar, anyways, I was stood at aforementioned bar and there was this girl sort of looking at me and I smiled and she smiled and she carried on smiling and then I remembered where I was and that no, she wasn't just some disabled person losing control of her facial muscles. Then it was pretty much just like what happens with a guy in a bar, exchange pleasantries and then there was kissing (except that bit wasn't like what happens with a guy in a bar because the whole time I was thinking OHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGOD) and then I bought a drink and said I might see her later and never did.
There you have it, thus endeth the bi-curious phase, it may have been recurring but I met Glenn and he says kissing a girl is just a much cheating as kissing a man so it's not allowed.
There you have it, thus endeth the bi-curious phase, it may have been recurring but I met Glenn and he says kissing a girl is just a much cheating as kissing a man so it's not allowed.
Wednesday, August 03, 2005
Reasons why I am going to be allowed out to play next Saturday
1.) First match of the season
2.) First match of the season
3.) First match of the season
4.) Beer
5.) Beer and the first match of the season
2.) First match of the season
3.) First match of the season
4.) Beer
5.) Beer and the first match of the season
brief telephone conversation
ME: What we doing next weekend?
HIM: Nothing, why?
ME: Liz has asked if I want to have a girly night out, get dressed up, drink champagne, she says Gareth could do with a lads night out if it would make it up to you?
HIM: Well I don't really have enough money to do anything
ME: Oh
HIM: But you can go on your lesbian champagne night if you want
ME: Thanks!
HIM: Nothing, why?
ME: Liz has asked if I want to have a girly night out, get dressed up, drink champagne, she says Gareth could do with a lads night out if it would make it up to you?
HIM: Well I don't really have enough money to do anything
ME: Oh
HIM: But you can go on your lesbian champagne night if you want
ME: Thanks!
Mutual love in
HER: i'm not chatting you up.
ME: Why would you think that I would think that you are chatting me up? Even if I thought that you thought that I was quite blatantly a living, breathing Woolworths version of Cindy Crawford (and how could you not?).
HER: you a funny doofus.
ME: Well I am a doofus.....
ME: Why would you think that I would think that you are chatting me up? Even if I thought that you thought that I was quite blatantly a living, breathing Woolworths version of Cindy Crawford (and how could you not?).
HER: you a funny doofus.
ME: Well I am a doofus.....
We are going to get a dog and we will call him Bouncer
On Monday night the man who lies next to me every night and steals the duvet and I went to Mochinbach and Lord of the Flames for some hard earned lasagna.
It was gooood lasagna.
But that's not the point, the point is what happened after the gooood lasagna, Moch and I went into their office to try and sample some obscure album that has been recommended to me (turns out it's so obscure we can't sample it) and ended up in some chatroom. Now I have never been into a chat room before, I've always thought them to be populated by aging pot bellied office workers calling themselves Brad and claiming to be 17 (kids, just say no!) either that or can't you get into trouble for being in chat rooms? Aren't the government watching them for signs of terrorist plotting or something? Well they should be, judging from Monday's chat room action, half these people write stuff in arabic... or aramaic... one of the two anyway.
But that's not the point either, the point is what happened when we started talking to someone in the chatroom. He is Australian, he owns his own business, he's 22 and his name is ShowMe_BigMan (does that strike you as a little odd? No? Must just be me then....) and he was totally hot for me... or he was hot for Moch.... One of the two anyway.
It was gooood lasagna.
But that's not the point, the point is what happened after the gooood lasagna, Moch and I went into their office to try and sample some obscure album that has been recommended to me (turns out it's so obscure we can't sample it) and ended up in some chatroom. Now I have never been into a chat room before, I've always thought them to be populated by aging pot bellied office workers calling themselves Brad and claiming to be 17 (kids, just say no!) either that or can't you get into trouble for being in chat rooms? Aren't the government watching them for signs of terrorist plotting or something? Well they should be, judging from Monday's chat room action, half these people write stuff in arabic... or aramaic... one of the two anyway.
But that's not the point either, the point is what happened when we started talking to someone in the chatroom. He is Australian, he owns his own business, he's 22 and his name is ShowMe_BigMan (does that strike you as a little odd? No? Must just be me then....) and he was totally hot for me... or he was hot for Moch.... One of the two anyway.
Monday, August 01, 2005
The pompitous of love.....
You’re the cutest thing I ever did see
Really love your peaches want to shake your tree
Lovey-dovey, lovey-dovey, lovey-dovey all the time
Come on baby and I’ll show you a good time
Really love your peaches want to shake your tree
Lovey-dovey, lovey-dovey, lovey-dovey all the time
Come on baby and I’ll show you a good time
Reagrding a previous post - the letter to a friend who has moved to London
Xxx was not code for Vin Diesel (because of that AWFUL film he was in).
I wish it was.
I wish it was.
My house.....
.... has a kitchen floor!
I never knew anything could look so pretty, or feel so nice, or make me cry at the mere memory of how nice it looked when I left the house this morning. It's a sandy coloured laminate floor tile (marketing on the side of the box said 'so easy, it's child's play!' - and I absolutely agree, if said child was a grown up professional floor layer) and my father and boyfriend laid it together yesterday in a team effort that led to my father calling Glenn 'me old mate' quite a lot which warmed my heart, especially when I think of what he has called previous boyfriends (a brief selection for you include 'the devil', 'little tosser', and if I remember correctly, he once threatened to 'call the police, have him charged with statutory rape and locked up forever', ah, those were the days....) so it's all going really well, we're actually on schedule, if you forget about the carpets that haven't been bought yet.
I have to write about Mochinbach and Lord of the Flame, except I don't know what to write. I've said quite a lot about how grateful I am for all their help, and how much I love and apprciate them but nothing ever covers it, nothing ever will cover it. So I'll just say that a person could not ask for better friends and I don't deserve them.
It's amazing how happy a kitchen floor can make you.
I never knew anything could look so pretty, or feel so nice, or make me cry at the mere memory of how nice it looked when I left the house this morning. It's a sandy coloured laminate floor tile (marketing on the side of the box said 'so easy, it's child's play!' - and I absolutely agree, if said child was a grown up professional floor layer) and my father and boyfriend laid it together yesterday in a team effort that led to my father calling Glenn 'me old mate' quite a lot which warmed my heart, especially when I think of what he has called previous boyfriends (a brief selection for you include 'the devil', 'little tosser', and if I remember correctly, he once threatened to 'call the police, have him charged with statutory rape and locked up forever', ah, those were the days....) so it's all going really well, we're actually on schedule, if you forget about the carpets that haven't been bought yet.
I have to write about Mochinbach and Lord of the Flame, except I don't know what to write. I've said quite a lot about how grateful I am for all their help, and how much I love and apprciate them but nothing ever covers it, nothing ever will cover it. So I'll just say that a person could not ask for better friends and I don't deserve them.
It's amazing how happy a kitchen floor can make you.
Bolton
It's a very strange place, Many a hip young thing has sprung from its loins (Sara Cox, Vernon Kay, Peter Kay, er, some other people) and I have discovered the achilles heal of Bolton, the Sampson and Delilah like weakness which would surely render any person who made the historic journey past the M62 weak and nauseous with confusion....
Tea.
Or as they like to call it - 'a brew', if I have been asked if I would like a brew once, I have been asked 2000 times, my God they drink a lot of tea here. I'm surprised the whole town isn't sponsored by PG Tips. This is the reason all those animated characters in the adverts are voiced by people sporting attempted northern accents - It's all they drink, Wetherspoons has a 'cup of tea and a cake' offer where usually it's 'ale of the week', thay should all have it put straight into their arm by way of a drip feed, it would save time boiling the kettle.
'Brew? anyone for a brew? I'm brewin' up?! CAN YOU HEAR ME TRISH? I SAID I'M BREWIN' U- OH YOU DID HEAR ME, IS THAT A NO THEN? ARE YOU SURE? IT'S 11 O'CLOCK NOW, OK THEN, ANYONE ELSE FOR'T BREW? NO? Oh Pat you want one, ok then, where's your mug love? I SAID WHERE'S YOUR MUG? Oh here it is, right then, off we go.
Anyways, I should get back to work before the all the women in the office fall into a coma from lack of tea.
Tea.
Or as they like to call it - 'a brew', if I have been asked if I would like a brew once, I have been asked 2000 times, my God they drink a lot of tea here. I'm surprised the whole town isn't sponsored by PG Tips. This is the reason all those animated characters in the adverts are voiced by people sporting attempted northern accents - It's all they drink, Wetherspoons has a 'cup of tea and a cake' offer where usually it's 'ale of the week', thay should all have it put straight into their arm by way of a drip feed, it would save time boiling the kettle.
'Brew? anyone for a brew? I'm brewin' up?! CAN YOU HEAR ME TRISH? I SAID I'M BREWIN' U- OH YOU DID HEAR ME, IS THAT A NO THEN? ARE YOU SURE? IT'S 11 O'CLOCK NOW, OK THEN, ANYONE ELSE FOR'T BREW? NO? Oh Pat you want one, ok then, where's your mug love? I SAID WHERE'S YOUR MUG? Oh here it is, right then, off we go.
Anyways, I should get back to work before the all the women in the office fall into a coma from lack of tea.
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