2011

2011 has been a pretty big year. I've grown a bit, not in height but more in terms of being comfortable in who I am. Not that I've ever been that self conscious; my continuous reference to star wars in everyday conversations had never bothered me and probably never will. But more in the way I look or the way I dress, now I know what I like and I really don't care what everyone else says about it. That is what I’ve learnt this year. I've also learnt that it is not socially acceptable to wear Doc Martens to dressy parties.

A lot of things have happened this year that I couldn’t have anticipated. I've been to a mental amount of alcohol infused parties which has given me such amazing memories. I think one of my party highlights was waking up on a bed of chocolate cakes thinking it was a pillow the previous night. And with great pleasure these two words have made my year. PINEAPPLE BANTER. No questions asked.

This was also the year where I’ve started on the long road to a decent CV. In May I handed out a few pathetic ones to some local charity shops for some volunteering, I got a Saturday job which entails drinking gallons of tea and wearing glittery shoes. I like it, I think I love it? But now I have an actual reference I tried to get a paid jobs, it turns out experience doesn't matter. I'm still unemployed, but happy.

This year was also the year of GCSEs, 14 exams within a month and a half. As much as I thought that was the toughest time in my life, I now have experienced A levels and I would gladly take all 14 again. ALL OF THEM. A levels are horrible, but I’m glad I’m doing them. I'd be pretty lost otherwise. I've also met lots of lovely people, which has been nice seeing as I’ve be a social recluse for the majority of my time in secondary school. And if GCSEs have taught me anything it would be, when you have spare time take up a hobby and don't waste time watching pregnant 16 year olds on MTV.

This year has been a bit shocking too. My Nan passed in early June and I'm not really one to talk about it, but as a family we now know that we can go through something as harsh and aggressive as that and come out on the other side. I think she has made me appreciate my grandparents a lot more. I do miss them and I realise that now, at Christmas, more than ever.

I've also managed to meet and keep some of the greatest people in my life that have got me through the exams and have metaphorically carried me through all the shit that happens. I truly do love you and appreciate you for putting up with all my nonsense.

I've also had the privilege of seeing a few of bands that inspire me; Elbow, The View, Kings of Leon, The Arctic Monkeys and You Me At Six and although Blink 182 postponed and I was completely devastated, June 2012 I’m coming for you - that's if we aren't all dead by then.

My 2012 resolutions:
I'm really bad at keeping to these so I thought that if I write them down in cyberspace forevermore that I will hopefully stick to them.

1. I will 'get fit' - meh, this is pretty generic but it needs to happen, maybe with some form of diet and running thing? KILL ME NOW.
2. I will keep my room tidier
3. I will start something and finish it. -procrastinating is my forte.
4. I will hang up my clothes after I’ve worn them - currently floordrobe has spread all over my house like some form of disease. Who needs a walk in wardrobe?
5. I will get a job.
6. I will stop writing essays at 2am.
7. I will be more organised with my time - this is tying in with the one above.
8. I will start a YouTube channel.
9. I will go to more museums and go to fewer shopping centres.
10. I will grow my own bonsai tree and call him Trevor.

So there we have it 10 beautiful resolutions all ready to be broken and smashed in to shards of small broken hearts. But I’m optimistic, kind of, and I hope to at least manage 3 of them. Or is that pessimistic? Decide for yourself.

2011 is practically over, with 3 deaths of evil powerful men under it's belt and a mad amount of natural disasters, a marriage into royalty, it's all prepped for 2012 - the alleged end of the world, happy stuff. Good ol' Mayans.

So Merry Christmas and all that jazz and good luck with your resolutions, hopefully they won't be as bad as mine.

Cannibal Neighbours

It's a little bit worrying when you see your neighbour and the only thing your mum can say is, 'Colin looks nice, I think he's wearing trousers'. I don't have very exciting neighbours but the fact that one of them always - in all weathers - wears cycling shorts even when he's not on a bike is a little concerning. A little.


My neighbours do seem to be favourable to my brother too; casually inviting him in to talk about fishing and football and drink coke. How is this fair? Not that I really want to be talking about football and fishing but the offer would be nice.

I don't really talk to the people in my street. One of my across-the-street neighbours did give me and my brother sweets just before Christmas when I was about 9. I now know that she thought we were Jehovah's witnesses and thought we didn't celebrate Christmas. Great. She couldn't be more wrong, bless her heart.

But isn't it funny how we think of the people across the street from us, I hardly know anything about them. It's like in The 'burbs when they think the people across the street eat people. I'm really hoping that that isn't my street. But it is a good film. Within their first few days of moving in they did reverse straight into my best friend's car. Gold star for greatest first impression. Maybe they are cannibals? First impressions are everything after all.

They're probably lovely, just not very sociable. They'll probably move out within the next year and a half. Or have another baby. That's my prediction.

One of the two always happens. Always.

A* In Indie

In a bit of a response to see how indie I actually am, I found this post on urbandictionary.com from the user 'ruby_blue' from 2008. Wow that is a long time ago.
Here it goes...
My response is in regular writing and the original post is in the italics. just in case you get a bit confused.

Well this is how to spot/be an indie girl. First we will start with clothing: Denim and leather jackets, duffle coats or a faux fur coat.   TICK Skinny jeans in black or dark blue, denim mini skirts or denim hotpants.    CHECK Vintage dresses from the 50s/60s.    Yes. I can see this quiz going well. A* in indie. super. Band t-shirts and tops that have a lot of sequins.   Yes... Old jumpers with holes in.   I'm wearing one now. Waist belts.    Yes. Gold bangles, lots of rings and gold necklaces and beads.   Check. Scruffed up ballet pumps and old skool trainers and ankle boots.    Do doc martens count? I'm saying yes. Anything leopard print.    NO. That is a no go area for me. Hair: Scruffy and messy   Story of my life lots of layers   No curly    ...With curlers? backcombed  No need, my hair goes into dreadlocks within 5 minutes of bushing it. bangs that go all the way into your eyes    Famously. or maybe a straight bob    No. black, brown, blonde hair or bleached hair    So any hair colour? Very specific but yes by default. Make up will be fairy natural but often they will have smokey eyes and amy winehouse eyeliner.   Yes. Red lipstick for special occasions.   'special' hahahahahaaa! Nail varnish will be red or black    Glittery red. Indie girls: Know of a million bands that you don't.   Eh? Know a lot about most kinds of music not only indie.  I give it a go. Go to gigs in grotty venues and pubs.   I've been to a few. Drink vodka and coke.   They know me too well. Are arty; making music, painting, photography, making clothes.   Guilty Are intelligent and know about current affairs.    Government and Politics Alevel, I blame you. Have read lots of books.   I don't understand, my Alevels are indie. Thanks English. Love art house films and cult films. YES. Only go for indie boys and they are even better if they are in some band.   Debateable Always do well in school.   With a shit load of effort. Smoke marlboro reds or lights.   Nope. Some even roll their own but only Golden V or white drum.   No. Mostly are skinny so they dont look fat next to their indie boyfriends and can share skinny jeans.   Erm, no. Not at all. Go to the music festivals like Glasto or Reading.    I WISH. go to any klaxon, jamie t, kate nash gig and believe me there will be hundreds of indie girls!       So there we have it, test over and what do you know, B- in Indie. I made up my marks, you have a go!

Indie Conformist

On Monday I was called indie. I'm not one for stereotypes, I don't believe that you can corner someone into some sort of social outcast thing, cult, I don't know -  I couldn't find another word for stereotype off the top of my head. I've never understood how we, as society, have the ability to make a popular movement. We all strive to be different, in one way or another, it may not be in music or fashion, it may be in art or some astro-physics photography. Who knows, but we all what to be a bit different.
In no way am I telling everyone to conform, oh Jesus, that would be awful - unless the conformity was to always walk on you hands and eat ice cream as part of your 5 a day, then maybe I'd wear a badge to support it. But unfortunately it isn't like that in the world outside my own brain and conformity is uncool.

I'm not being funny, but what is 'indie' anyway?

I've never been into the regular things that a girl should. I hardly ever read magazines (aside from Q, that shit is like a music bible). I find them so mundane, every week it's exactly the same articles on 'the secret to a great body' or the true stories, 'I have a third arm growing out of my face, and my boyfriend dumped me'. The words change ever so slightly, but the underlying facts are the 'great body' that everyone seems to be after takes a lot of work and isn't a quick fix, and maybe if you have a 3rd arm sprouting out of your face you should find someone that actually likes you for who you are?

I have to admit, when I was 12 (that's 12 years old, not year 12) I scoured YouTube with my best friend to look for Justin Bieber's home videos. I reckon I lost a few hours to that. But we all go through phases of what we like, wear and listen to. My hobbies change month to month , and my ipod is almost embarrassing with the amount of Busted that is still on there, but it keep me happy and at the end of the day I have no issues with people who find that weird. Deep down the guilty pleasures that we have, make us all similar and quite frankly if you don't know all the words to at least 1 Busted song, me and you can't be friends. Me and you are not similar. Bad example.

We should be who we are, and not care what people say about it. Confidence is a virtue.

I realise I've gone a bit preachy, but I'll leave you with this fact of me:
My birthmark is between one of my toes.

Who'd have thought it right?!

Glove Issues

I love gloves, I really do. I mean they're so simple, but we'd all cry horrendously if we didn't have them. I wouldn't call them a luxury though, a woman in the shop that I work at said, 'they're quite a luxury if they've got fur inside or leather'. Well, no. They are Glove 2.0. Essentially we've just upgraded them, but they are so insignificant in our daily lives that we fail to notice the things we've 'upgraded' for longer than 10 seconds. Take itunes for example, you wait a few seconds for it to download the new glittery software and then you don't care because it all looks the same in the grand scale of Apple upgrades. I only noticed when I upgraded my old computer's itunes; it was something like 3 years old and it then took an hour to download and I was gobsmacked at how much some things change in a matter of years that we've become accustomed to. It was alien to me.

But back to gloves, the holy (hopefully not holey) hand warmers. I think that you should be able to do all the things you do without gloves on, like climb trees, ride a llama or buy your shopping or whatever fills your time, to do them with the same capability with gloves on. This is what I expect to happen. If I climb a tree, I want the same amount of grip, strength in my hands and maybe less splinters, when I wear gloves. It's only fair.

It turns out that you can't drink a litre of milkshake whilst walking and wearing gloves. I thought it was possible. I mean, it's possible with a bottle of water and gloves. Not problem at all. The *SCIENCE WORD* friction is at equilibrium for me. It's beautifully safe in my hands. But milkshake? It's staple part of my diet for strong teeth and shiny bones and stuff. Why would they deprive me of this? It kept slipping out of my hands to the point where I was walking home from my local supermarket holding it like a baby. I'm telling you now, I'm glad I didn't see anyone I knew so I didn't have to explain why I was clenching a litre of strawberry milkshake to my chest for dear life in fear it would escape the safety of my arms and spill onto the pavement.

There are some things that you'd only discover if you try some thing new, and this would be a perfect example.

Clumsy Christmas Traditions

I love Christmas and if i could be a reindeer I so would.

For me Christmas is the same every year just in a different house. Grandparents stay at my aunt's house, and then everyone comes over to over- eat and watch films on a small sofa that clearly is only suitable for elves. As much as it's a bit crowded, I love it. It's a real family affair.

But there is always things that are inevitable. You will get and ill fitting top, 9 pairs of socks with pretty pink glittery fairies on, and you will get a mug that will go at the back of the cupboard never to be seen again. Ever. Its the same in every house in the country, I guarantee it, but despite all this, in my house every Christmas my nan will never fail to spill her wine all over her roast dinner or over the place mats.

I'm starting to realize that this might be intentional...she's drowning her turkey in her wine probably to save her picking up the heavy glass (which by the way is like a 10 tonne goblet of doom) and spilling on the place mat so she can ring it out into her mouth later.

Cunning, my nan. Really cunning.

Maybe it's unintentional and she is just clumsy, or maybe she is a genius that finally cracked the life long mystery of how to avoiding wasting time drinking when eating a roast? Who knows. Maybe I'll ask her.

So this Christmas, when you begin to tuck into your golden potatoes and turkey and whatever else you have, spill a bit of wine in it, and think of my nan.

Shared Birthdays and Stallions

So December has swung round quickly hasn't it? Not literally, I think the months are the same length every year, apart from February, he's a bit of a pickle, but this has been such a quick year.

So much has happened, I can't really wrap my head around it.

I looked through the past months on the calender and it was like in the cinema when they flash back to a distant memory that has some how encoded it's self into my brain. All the parties, the holidays, the weekends away, the simple days out that I'd written on there I could instantly recall, but noticing all the empty slots where I didn't write anything on, made me sad. I will never know what happened on that day, June 10th 2011. There must have been something that was significant? Anything?

The 161st day of the year and I can't remember it. I Googled it, I found this:  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Portal:Current_events/2011_June_10 , I'm not going to lie, it isn't really relevant to me. But when I hear 'on this day in ....' 1984 or whatever date, it makes me realise that the world is a whole lot bigger than the mundane urban sludge that I live in.

The whole 'on this day' thing amazes me, I googled my birthday. I HAVE THE SAME FRIGGING BIRTHDAY AS JOEY TRIBBIANI, or Matt LeBlanc - whichever you'd prefer. Personally, I think I should put that on my CV. Lets be honest, if you - my potential employer - saw this girl's application form under special skills it said she shared a birthday with Matt LeBlanc of Friends fame, you'd employ her right? who wouldn't?!

So far without this beautiful fact, I seem to be lacking in the job department. It's depressing. So I will include this in my next application to Past times or Starbucks, because if they don't accept me, I will set the Freinds fan club of  67480 (they're here, I'm not making it up, http://www.fanpop.com/spots/friends/fans) on them armed with yams and riding on stallions (that's the fans not the yams - but the do rhyme)

Swivel Pac-Man Swivel

I can almost certainly say that if there were swivel chairs in biblical times, Jesus would have included them in the bible or the 10 commandments or in some form of holy scroll.

I standby that Jesus was a God loving adrenaline dude in robes and a halo, so I'm definitely sure he's scooting around heaven with an office chair dodging old people and small babies in cloud prams. I just know it. Gut feeling, trust me.

I hope heaven's nice and that God does let's me ride around on spinny office chairs all day, because quite frankly I don't do it enough on earth.

Spinny office chairs are the main perks of computer rooms, and mainly the only reason I didn't cry every time I walked into GCSE ICT everyday for 2 years. They are life savers. And ultimate fun. That's a bonus and a half. Dude.

The government should really consider giving them out freely to all humans of all shapes and sizes, spinny chairs probably cure AIDs and Typhoid. Probably. Not definitely, but I'm pretty sure they'd give it a good go. Gold star for effort.

Today/yesterday (it's 3am I don't know - don't judge me) I pushed a small friend of mine around on a office chair in the kitchen, I'm not going to lie, it brightened my day. It was like pac-man except clearly I'm not a weird purple ghost but she looked oddly like a yellow pizza with a slice missing. Odd.

It reminded me of when I dislocated my knee and got pushed around Ikea in a wheelchair. It was fun, I'd recommended it. Do it this weekend.

Rosette Winner

There are some jobs that I can completely rule out for my future. A teacher once told me that in order to work out what you want to do you have to work out what you don't want to do. I've been wondering lately what I want to, I'm narrowing it down.

I could never be a teacher. Children? Surely looking after small, messy, smelly, snotty children does not entice anyone? 6 hours a day being called, 'Miss' continuously would kill me. I'm not a massive fan of children anyway. I don't hate them, kids are great, but not with me. I dread to think what my child is going to turn out like. Ladies and gentlemen, lock your windows and doors.
I couldn't be a policeman. I have a lot of respect for coppers, but that is not me. Not at all. I'm the least scary, authoritative person in the world. I'm not a push over but I freak out and crumble under pressure, so arresting a big scary man or woman (women can commit crimes too you know) with the potential to kill me is not appealing. But I do love policemen and women, they deserve more credit than they get.

I couldn't be a horse trainer. I have a small issue with horses; they smell, they require exercise, they wear out your jeans, they don't generate much income unless you ride in ascot or what ever, and lastly I'm not really a fan of horses. Don't get me wrong, I think they are absolutely stunning and without a doubt beautiful but I'm certainly not in love with them. The last time I rode a horse I was 5 and I cried my eyes out because the the trainer wanted me to do a 'round the world' - it's not a euphemism it's what she told me to do - and I cried. But I did get a rosette thus showing crying is for winners. FACT.

I couldn't be a guard at Buckingham Palace, not that I want to be a disservice to the dear old queen but they stand there for hours on end without speaking to anyone, not being able to laugh and looking immaculate for hours and hours on end. It's commendable, don't get me wrong, it's commendable, but I can barely stand for 2 minutes without slouching and getting so incredibly bored I want to die. It's a start though.

The final job that i could never ever do is being a guide dog. There are some fundamental issues, such as; I don't know any blind people, I don't own a florescent jacket and I'm not a dog. I really would be a rubbish guide dog. I get distracted so easily it's embarrassing. The other day I was in the middle of a conversation with my Dad about some deep techy-political stuff that actually could  matter to me when I spotted the street lights reflecting on the rain droplets on the window and it was really beautiful and reminded me of fireworks and sparklers and glitter and pretty things. see? poster child for distraction right here.

Bribing Monkeys

Bribery. I don't know how I feel about it. In the spectrum of life's troubles I'd definitely give bribery a 6/10. Mainly for effort. For reference, i'd also give a 4/10 for what to wear to 6th form and a 1/10 for the colour I'm going to paint my nails (and by the way, it's gold). A mighty 10/10 would be appointed to deciding what call my autobiography with out sounding like a generic D-list celebrity.

I think of bribery as doing something you wouldn't usually do for some form of personal gain, like money. But bribery is fickle.

I've willing submitted to bribery, probably on a weekly basis. But I think in some situations bribery is one of the best methods to realize you're and absolute idiot.

I've been bribed for pride. That's pretty poor. Eating a whole A4 piece of paper in no way gives any form of pride. Not even bragging rights. Pathetic. But I still did it and here I am bragging about it.

I've been bribed for money that wasn't even given to me after I did it. In hindsight, licking walls for 20p spreads disease and is not worth it.

But on serious issues, such as 'if you jump off that bolder, possibly plummeting to your sorry death, I'll buy you a premium sea monkey set'. i'd advise you jump. Sea monkey's a are expensive but great. REALLY GREAT.

I'd like to point out that if your friend does ask you to this, whether your 7, 16 or 87 (or any age inbetween), buy your own Sea Monkeys. They are not worth potentially dying for, no matter how names you think up for each of them.

But going back to 'doing something you wouldn't usually do for some form of personal gain' would work be classed as bribery?

If you had the option to either file away 8683 files into a mediocre, rusting, grey filling cabinet or spend the day being massaged by tiny golden monkeys trained by monks to give you the ultimate back massage, which would you choose? Unless you have a serious issues with trained massage monkeys you are guaranteed to pick a spa day instead of filling. But it makes me sad that we only do things if money is involved and we're getting paid for it.

You are getting bribed to go to work. I don't want that. I never will hate going to work, paid or not. I hate that we are so dependent on money these days, that almost makes me sound old and wise, I can absolutely assure you that i am neither. But I wish people had more of an open mind to doing things out of the (cliché alert) goodness of their heart.

I realise I've gone a bit serious and less fun so I thought I'd tell you a fact about me:

Sometimes, just sometimes - and mainly in winter - I like to shower in the dark. Make of that what you will, judge me apon it if you must, but I'm telling you it's the best fun. Think of playing hide and seek but blind.

Forgetful Techno

I am so forgetful it's embarrassing. I went to my friends house and my phone slyly slid down the side of the sofa in a wicked attempt to escape my pocket and I left without it. This is a simple mistake I know and anyone could have done it. But I left her house at 2 o'clock in the afternoon and only after a Facebook wall post had I noticed that I was missing my dear old phone. This was at 9 in the evening. That's pretty bad.

I guess I'm not too hot on technology, I want to be. It's not like I have an old Nokia which plays snake. I have one better; It slides to use the camera. It's got the Internet. It's got the blog. It's got fishing games. It's a brick - not a literal clay brick, but you know what i mean. I love it. My dad calls it vintage, probably because I've had it for 5 years. That's right, all you 'upgrade after one year'-ers, 5, almost 6 years of the same phone. I've never lost it. It's never let me down.

Ok, once in October when it wiped ALL my contacts. Thanks phone. I thought we were friends.

But otherwise, I can't imagine myself without it. We have memories. I lost it's original back at a Basement Jaxx concert where I accidentally flung it into the crowd.  I've had conversations on that phone that I can never get back. I've taken countless photographs of Mexicans that I won't be able to transfer. The list goes on.

Don't get me wrong, maybe I should upgrade, see what the fuss is all about. But at the end of the day I know that that shiny flash phone with the 545164651684654894645 mega pixel camera will fail on me.

It probably doesn't help that I'm the clumsiest person ever.

I put a spoon in the microwave once and it sparked like bonfire night. I stuck a knife in the toaster and the electricity went down in the whole house. The last time I cooked pasta I set fire to a tea towel.


Who in their right mind would willingly give me a phone knowing that?!

The Fear of Garlic

I scare myself sometimes, not in a massive way but enough for me to question everything. Today I crossed the road without realising it. I crossed a road and had no recollection of how or when I did it. I think I must have been distracted. I'm often distracted, sometimes by clouds, sometimes by questions like 'what are Mini Cheddars?'. That is a valid question right? Are they crisps? Biscuits? Crackers? I just don't know.

In other news, I think phobias are really funny. not in a horrendous sadistic way but I find them so interesting. There are people out there that have a fear of garlic. I can understand not liking it, but a fear? Hardcore garlic hatred. My favourite phobias are (I kid you not, these are all real phobias); the fear of peanut butter sticking to the roof of the mouth, the fear of ugliness, the fear of chopsticks, hippopotomonstrosesquipedaliophobia - the fear of long words, the fear of bald people. I mean, I'd love all of those. Although It would kill my quality of life to go without peanut butter and chop sticks, but i can deal with it.

There is one thing I am seriously petrified of though, no it's not spiders, or the dark or the ghost of Michael Jackson. I have a fear of wrists. How ridiculous. Of all things in the whole entire world of doom, gloom and horror the thing that tears me apart are wrists. I can't do pull ups because it makes my wrists look funny, the same goes with arm wrestles. I can walk through the woods in the dead of night, spend a night in a haunted house, and shake the lavender bush to see if any bees chase me and yet someone showing me their wrist almost kills me.

Well, at least I don't have a fear of trees, beards or poetry. That last sentence does not in any way represent my life or hobbies, it was taken randomly from a list. I promise.

The Nigel Awards

There are many things in life I want to achieve, such as: own a few alpacas, dress as a wookie for a whole week, ride around Mexico with a mule whilst eating a burrito and wearing a sombrero. You know the drill. But there is something else I have added to this list of many great tasks.
I will give awards out for silly and simple things. I was thinking, if you have a great name like Nigel then you'd get a gold star or a small chocolate coin. There's a small budget, don't judge me. But if you, Nigel, also did something extraordinary such as grow a sea monkey aquarium and name all 56 of your teeny tiny sea monkeys, you would also receive a vegetable shaped like an averagely know celebrity like a turnip shaped like Jackie Chan. Good deal right?

I'd also give out veg celebs to people who had perfected their Swedish accent and were by far the best swede. Ironically I'd give you, the swede impersonator, a swede (the root vegetable not a randomer that I've kidnapped from Stockholm) shaped like all 4 members of ABBA. It will be magical.

I'd give some form of knighthood to the man, woman or beast who plays knock down ginger on Buckingham Palace or 10 Downing Street. Or failing a knighthood, a packet of haribbos and bragging rights for all eternity. ETERNITY. That is a long time, probably longer than you and I will ever live. But then again, you never know the technology these days.

I'd hate to live forever, always getting older. I have nothing against aging, in fact I can't wait to be old. Not that i'd be a particulary great and amazing old lady, but I would be able to go to Bingo Wednesdays without being questioned. The old have got it good; subsidised travel, kidnappers aren't interested in them, and no one expects them to run a marathon. Surely we should all be buying pro-ageing creams? L'Oreal have got it all wrong.

Brain Hoover

I should stop thinking out loud. It's got to the point where I have considered wiring up my brain to a machine which tells me whether the thing that I am thinking about is what I actually want to say and not sound too special. And not the glittery kind either.

Today I got asked what I think about Twitter, my natural response was, 'if twitter was a person I'd hug it,  and we'd probably be friends but I'd make the effort in the relationship because my friend twitter would always be occupied with Justin Beiber and One Direction'.

I need help. I can't keep comparing things in my life to 'if it was a person...' I do this with my Government and Politics folder and right now we are not even on talking terms. I think that that relationship is beyond repair. I trusted that folder to get me though the year hand in hand. But no, it let me down. again. I can't take it any more. So long Gov and Pol, you will not be getting a Christmas card.

I don't think I'm friends with the hoover. It tends to try and eat my scarves but it does clean up after itself, I'm debating the friendship. It could turn on me. The hoover can be fickle, it has mood swings. Sometimes it flips over in the middle of the living room floor for a tantrum. On some days it will unplug itself from the wall. Not cool hoover. Not cool.

My motto is, if your hoover isn't called Henry then it's not worth being friends with.

I have got a new love though, I think they'll be staying with me for a while too. Glittery shoes. Now, they are special in a great way.

Horse Moustashe

A quote straight from the horses mouth (by horse I mean brother, I do not in any way shape or form have a horse in my house - RSPCA I'm telling you), we were eating dinner, the usual small talk came about. My Dad asked my Brother, 'what have you been doing whilst we've been out?' he replied so casually, 'running around in circles in the garden' - with leg weights.

I think he has the better genes, but even I'm doubting myself here. I mean honestly, who actually runs around in circles with leg weights?!

My Dad's doing Movember, his face amazes me. Not in an odd way, but in the space of about 10 days he now looks like a wolf man. A gingery blonde wolf man. I didn't think this was physically possible of my always clean-shaven Dad, but there we go.

In the beginning (that sounded like a new bible entry) he proclaimed that he'd go for a Hitler-esque 'tash, I had to stop him there. No. I've gone my whole life without being bullied and it wasn't about to start now. Not now. Not ever. He's opted to a mexican/el guapo/drug dealer moustache. I quite like it.

If I were a man I'd definitely grow a moustache. Not just for November either, I'd go all year round. And it wouldn't be any of this pre-teen top lip shit. Oh no. I'd do the full shebang: moustache brush, styling scissors, I'd have all the books for ease of reference so i can change it for special occasions. You name it. The lot.

Why aren't moustaches cool? I will never understand. They should be and always will be in my heart - I'd like to point out that I don't have actual moustaches in my heart, other wise I should probably get that checked out.

Feral Oranges

Lets face it, 2 free lessons in my school day are not going to be filled with hard core revision. It's gospel truth that I have faced more many years and I've come to terms with. I'm lazy, there's no way around it.

But in times of pure laziness and a fruit bowl at your disposal, greatness can be concieved.


Unintentionally inspired by 'Miranda' and her fruit friends, I managed to create a colony of feral oranges. I know, feral oranges. They had faces and everything. I count that as feral.

It's a fact of life that if something has a face then it will go on a rampage at some point in it life, like wasps. They're deceptive. You can't see their face, but their heartless reign of terror is inevitable when you least expect it. For example in a pub garden, I'll set the scene: It was a sunny day in mid summer, the birds are twittering away and we meet up with the grandparents, so a pub lunch is guaranteed. We sit down on a picnic table in the field and order the drinks. A wasp (i want to say 'bee-lined' but i can't bring myself to do it) dived like a bomber into my nan's neck. HEARTLESS BASTARD. An elderly woman?! I mean seriously, these wasps have no morals what so ever. Someone should really sort that shit out.