Try the Patience of Angels - Half Fat Version

On getting it wrong

Thu, 13 Mar 2008 01:44:01 +0100

I'm drinking your coffee and sipping your wine
It's sluggish outside but inside it's fine
You're an arctic ice tease baby
all you give is cold cold stares
And I know you've been feeling low
Thinking no body cares.

I drowned in my sorrow and breathed in my pain
It's sun on the outside but inside it's rain.

Comments

It's not my problem it's yours

Wed, 12 Mar 2008 16:16:40 +0100

Today’s rant is about children. Now previously, gentle readers, you may have noticed that about the only children I like are my friend Jo’s children as she rules them with a rod of steel. They are well mannered polite and innocuous. However, having spent a significant portion of my life travelling on public transport and being at the mercy of other peoples’ children, I feel I am due a rant on the appalling way in which most peoples’ children behave.

I have come to a conclusion as to why I don’t like them. It's because I am not free to chastise them verbally or physically when they are in my space. Generally, I do not want these human snotters within 100 yards of my person. The vast majority of the time they irritate me so hugely I want to break things but being a British person I settle for fuming quietly to myself. Well no longer. Forthwith I shall vent spleen and vitriol on the horror of other peoples’ children.

I recently had the misfortune to pass into a bakery near a school just as the penitentiary was emptying out for the day. As the children spewed forth, I watched with barely disguised scorn, disgust and horror. Well they were dishevelled, dirty, without any conspicuous uniform and without exception wore some sort of sports shoe that had not been cleaned since purchased. They were fat, spotty, ugly, they spat on the pavement, littered and most obxiously, were there. There right in front of me. Disgraceful. They should be culled, they are not of any known use. The unkempt appearance and cheap nylon I could almost forgive but the diabolical language with which they use to communicate utterly confounded me. And I’m a speech and language therapist!!! It seemed to me to be a combination of grunts, squeaks, screeches, cackles, glottal stops and nasalised whines. Bugger me if I could discern one word that sounded even remotely English. Abandon hope all ye who must deal with these deadweights. I just don’t hate myself enough.

As I come of age where I can talk to children as a superior (i.e. an adult) in a formal situation, I come to find I despise their behaviour even more. I hate it when parents tell their children my first name and these little chits have the temerity to address me with such. I do not want such informality

Even today I dislike addressing people older than myself in a formal situation, by their first name. I had it drummed into me as a child “you never addressed a grown up until the grown up addressed you”. AT 26, I still address my fathers’ sister as Auntie. Not only that, you stayed silent till you were spoken to. If offered anything you politely refused even if you would have loved one.
The penalty was painful and lasting. As a child I would never have DREAMED of talking back to my parents. I think it was respect as they worked hard to keep food on the table.
No benefit then to fall back on. Rose tinted glasses if you like. But I hope, should the misfortune befall me and I sprog, I would like to think I would drum the same sense of respect into my children.

I also get angry when some brat behaves badly in public and the parents, instead of doling out a thrashing, seek to appease with some bribe or other. You are turning out a generation of children who believe that if they create a scene and howl in a tantrum, they will be rewarded. Why am I the only one to see this connection?

Nothing good ever came by treating children as if they were individuals that had opinions that mattered. They should be seen and not heard.

So, how to deal with the horrific little scrotes? My personal choice would be to re-introduce kids down mines and up chimneys.

But no, we couldn’t have that, they wouldn't have enough time to mug pensioners, snort coke, piss in the streets, get drunk and otherwise enjoy themselves, the poor dears.

Wishy washy talk about kids not being put firmly in their place has led to the present sorry state of affairs where the little buggers do not respect grown ups at all. The bollocks about them losing self esteem if they are told to keep quiet and only speak when they are spoken to is laughable. I have grown up with (for the most part) excellent manners and although some of you may comment I may well have self esteem issues, I do not put these down in any part to a well warranted comment by my parents imploring me to “Pack it in or woe betide you when your father gets home.” This is also funny cause we invariably new that when papa did indeed bounce cheerily through the door of his castle and into the warm and loving embrace of his family, whatever wrongdoing had been committed had well and truly been forgotten, the memory impatiently tossed aside under the relentless barrage of other “more important things” that mum had to deal with daily. However, I digress. Point is, the threat was enough to make us cower, lips a quivering in fear until father came home.

But the little buggers know that an adult can no longer box their ears without ending up on a charge of assault. They know that when their parents are informed of their mis deeds that the parents will more than likely assault the complainant.

A lack of discipline is what has brought this once proud country to the sorry state it is in today with vandals and muggers running riot. But ye gods I’m sounding like my gramps!

What also pees me off about other peoples kids is that we are expected to goo over them as their pointless parents do.

I was recently handed a friend's new baby and promptly handed it back. WTF did they expect me to do with it? It stank and was gobbing flem all over my faux cashmere jumper. I watched in horror as its fat little paw reached out for my gypsy chic dangly earrings and thought “I don’t think so pal”. NO! You had the spaz, you hold it.

"Different when you have your own" is another piece of cack from those who think we are odd in not having them and think we want them. Well let me tell you this for nothing. My overies are well and truly under chemical incarceration. Granted there are periods of “day release” where they get all jumpy and excited at the thought of being fertilised by Oooo George Clooney maybe, however the sad truth is for the vast majority of the time, the genepool is safe from dilution by my personal brand of genetic mutations! Anyway babies and manicures don’t mix.

I have little choice but to do my shopping during the part of the day where schools have emptied out and the shops are full of snotty public school kids and their marbalised accents. I hate the way people let their brats run around the place as though it's a school yard. Same goes for B&Q. I will do my best to ensure they run into my trolley/basket head on. Vermin!! Just like their parents and this is not a chav thing. It covers all from Chardonnay to Tarquin.

"Small person on board" stickers just make me want to car-nap the nearest 4x4 and plough it into them. So you got up the duff by screwing some lorry driver on the M1 services. Am I expected to respect this?

And as for pubs with a "play area"… I will avoid these like the plague unless there is a rope cleverly hand crafted in the form of a noose with a dodgy chair underneath. Do these oiks not realise some come to the pub to get away from this?

Then there are parents who complain in pub beer gardens if you light a ciggy near them and their bastard offspring. FO and take them to McDeathburgers and not to a pub you idiots.

There is nothing more boring than other people's kids. I have had massive rucks with people when I say things like "all under 25s should be banned from business class on aircraft." Why should my quality alcohol experience be ruined by yowling anklebiters? I wonder if I could raise funds for a child free, chav free airline?

And while I am at it I am really peed off by people who do not realise that their kids travelling on trains on half fare or free are not entitled to a seat (unless reserved on intercities) if there are full fare passengers standing. Take you bleeding brats on to your knees.

Oh yeah and those stupid double and triple buggies. Hate them too

Comments

On small gripes

Fri, 22 Feb 2008 18:45:31 +0100

Ok so once again I’ve not posted for an age and I’m really sorry. Things have predictably been hectic and after the mess of my exams and the nonsense with work I’m now back to fill you all in with what’s been going through my head of late. Firstly Sir Paul. Lets just not talk about that horrific barnet at the Brits, how is it possible for 65 year old man to have that amount of hair and that colour? Me thinks he’s been at Elton Johns rug maker. 800 squillion quid and he still looks shit. On the subject of his oodles of cash, why is his divorce making such high profile headlines? I don’t get it, who ACTUALLY gives even a small piece of shit, the 80 million she’s asking for is like loose chance to Macca, I’d pay it just so she can emigrate away somewhere we don’t have to listen to her whining pleas for sympathy. Although I do wish we could get a look in the court at the divorce proceedings…. I wonder how often Paul’s solicitor will drop “ You haven’t a leg to stand on” into the conversation. Perhaps she’s hoping he will eventually stump up, but if I were her I’d not peg my hopes on it. I wish she’d walk into a wall.

Secondly, the blonde bouffanted Ben Fogle has caught my eye of late. Why the hell is he so goddamn enthusiastic about everything? I would like very much to hit him with a length of 2x2.

My next gripe is why builders whistle at women. We recently had one or two nice days I was happily walking down the street minding my own business bopping gently along to the music in my head and I hears this piercing wolf whistle. I turns round and about 5 overweight grubby unshaven lumps of vaguely humanoid flesh were leering unpleasantly in my direction. I wouldn’t have minded if even ONE of them had looked like the guy from the Diet Coke Ads.. he’s a lush! But no. I seem to attract the Giant Haystacks wannabes!

Ever noticed how they seem to whistle at anything that looks remotely female?

Do they actually think the woman will turn around and say, well thank you, i have never received such a nice compliment, please take me to a quiet spot on your building site and take it in turns to roger me senseless immediately.

Not very likely to happen in my humble opinion as I was passing the building site a guy called out, "Don't like the dress love, take it off." And it will shock you to learn that despite being verbose loquacious and cuttingly witty, I had no smart retort. I just kinda looked bemused and tossed my hair for flirtatious effect. I can’t decide if I like it or loathe it.

And FINALLY; bloody walkers bloody crisps… today I was caught out YET AGAIN by the absurd packet colouring conventions. I reached for a bag of stinky but wonderful cheese and onion and munched down on bloody stinking blinking salt and vinegar. Why don't they get their bl00dy packet colours right!

Cheese and Onion should be green, not blue.

Fecking clowns!

Red for plain
Blue for Salt and Vinegar
Green for Cheese and Onion
Pink for Prawn Cocktail .
Lets have some uniformity

And bags of crisps get ever smaller. I swear one day I’ll pick up a bag and there’ll be three crisps in it and I’ll have paid 2.55 for the privilege!

And what happened to those ones with the little blue bag? Too much effort for today's crispophages? Bah the world is going to pot.

Ok going to finish up with just a few words….. Quango, Notoriety, judiciary, levitate and ring binder.

I’ll come back soon

Comments

Once is a mistake twice is a bad habit

Mon, 28 Jan 2008 14:04:07 +0100

Yes I know.... change the record. I'm going to see if I can get a caveat added to all my posts that says sorry I've not posted for ages, however, kudos to ye who came back to see what I've been upto.

We'll start with some proper randomness.. I had an exam today and I finished early so i thought I'd write some words that came into my head, on a peice of paper.

Concubine
Pestillence
Borrow
Dress
Monitor
Solilquy
Ketamine
Cranium
Adage
Masticate
Gremlin
Choleric
Demand
Corinth
Inhabit
Turquoise
Garrallous
Billious
Vicarious
Machinations
Omnipotent
Oratory
Engineer
viscitudes
FIicticious
Preamble
Non-secaqure
Quid Pro Quo
Dromedary
Loquatious
Mushroom

I wonder if any of them are relevant. I love words. Especially interesting sounding ones. I'm sure to some people they are perfectly perfunctory necessities useful only for comunnication, but the more interestig ones open up a whole exciting sounding world of creative and elegant discourse. And as my friend who#s reading over my shoulder as I type so eloquently put it "woteva".

Sigh

Other news... having trouble and strife at work on account of being given way more responsibility than I can cope with. My work study balence is totally screwed up andt's causing problems both at work and at uni. So I'm thinking of jacking it in so I can study proper. It's all so stressful. Not getting on with my boss (who could fail to love me?) and generally really not feeling the love for being there. I think since I've been there for almost six years it's really time to move on so watch this space for a new job.

Men? Ahh well.. lets move swiftyl over that suffice to say there are some wholley inappropriate but not unfulfilling endevours on the go at the moment. I'm really missing stable male company (and no that's not the Horse Groom!) however. I wonder if it's something biological that kicks in (or maybe social which is probably more accurate - ALL my friends, and I do mean ALL of them are in stable and fulfilling relationships while I lurch chaotically from one bad relationship to another. I don't know why this is. ) and reminds us via our overies that time is indeed running out. I wonder if I'm one of the lucky(unlucky) few who will never properly settle down conventionally (I think my mother will disown me if I cheat her out of a big society wedding(my idea of HELL) and stay a spinster living in sin(I MUST stop overusing parentheses marks)).

I was walking with a friend of mine out of the university building some days ago and we were mouthing off about what we could each achive, and I said something along the lines of "Yeah I could write that essay, stay up all night run a marathon AND sort out world peace in my coffee break WITH my eyes shut! And as if to prove a point, shut my eyes and promptly walked into a sign.

So I can put it off no more... another exam becons so I shall avunt and immerse myself in revision of Anantomy and Physiology 1 - cardiovascualar and respiratory functioning.

Adieu mes peties fils. Remember me fondly till the next time

Comments

On bastarding laziness

Mon, 07 Jan 2008 15:45:15 +0100

I'm really sorry I've been so lame at keeping this updated. All through chrismas paeriod I had flashes on inspiration constantly and now they all seem banal. However a few things I've found on tinterweb I'm gonna share with you. T0omorrow there will be more. I am sleepy tired now!

*What Elaine Means*

You are friendly, charming, and warm. You get along with almost everyone.
You work hard not to rock the boat. Your easy going attitude brings people together.
At times, you can be a little flaky and irresponsible. But for the important things, you pull it together.

You are relaxed, chill, and very likely to go with the flow.
You are light hearted and accepting. You don't get worked up easily.
Well adjusted and incredibly happy, many people wonder what your secret to life is.

You are usually the best at everything ... you strive for perfection.
You are confident, authoritative, and aggressive.
You have the classic "Type A" personality.

You tend to be pretty tightly wound. It's easy to get you excited... which can be a good or bad thing.
You have a lot of enthusiasm, but it fades rather quickly. You don't stick with any one thing for very long.
You have the drive to accomplish a lot in a short amount of time. Your biggest problem is making sure you finish the projects you start.

You are very intuitive and wise. You understand the world better than most people.
You also have a very active imagination. You often get carried away with your thoughts.
You are prone to a little paranoia and jealousy. You sometimes go overboard in interpreting signals.

What's Your Name's Hidden Meaning?
http://www.blogthings.com/whatsyournameshiddenmeaningquiz/

utterly me to a T

Comments

plagerism

Sat, 08 Dec 2007 16:20:08 +0100

This is a lazy post as it's plagerised from an email sent to me... but it really really made me laugh!

Proof of what can happen if a wife or girlfriend drags her husband or
boyfriend along shopping:

This letter was recently sent by Tesco's Head Office to a customer in
Oxford:

Dear Mrs. Murray,

While we thank you for your valued custom and use of the Tesco Loyalty

Card, the Manager of our store in Banbury is considering banning you
and your family from shopping with us, unless your husband stops his
antics.

Below is a list of offences over the past few months all verified by
our Surveillance cameras:

1. June 15: Took 24 boxes of condoms and randomly put them in people's

trolleys when they weren't looking.

2. July 2: Set all the alarm clocks in Housewares to go off at
5-minute intervals.

3. July 7: Made a trail of tomato juice on the floor leading to
feminine products aisle.

4. July 19: Walked up to an employee and told her in an official tone,

"Code 3" in housewares..... and watched what happened.

5. August 14: Moved a 'CAUTION - WET FLOOR' sign to a carpeted area.

6. September 15: Set up a tent in the outdoor clothing department and
told
shoppers he'd invite them in if they would bring sausages and a Calor
gas
stove.

7. September 23: When the Deputy Manager asked if she could help him,
he began to cry and asked, "Why can't you people just leave me alone?"

8. October 4: Looked right into the security camera; used it as a
mirror,
picked his nose, and ate it.

9. November 10: While appearing to be choosing kitchen knives in the
Housewares aisle asked an assistant if he knew where the
antidepressants were.

10. December 3: Darted around the store suspiciously, loudly humming
the "Mission Impossible" theme.

11. December 6: In the kitchenware aisle, practised the "Madonna look"
using different size funnels.

12. December 18: Hid in a clothing rack and when people browsed,
yelled "PICK ME!" "PICK ME!"

13. December 21: When an announcement came over the loud speaker,
assumed
the foetal position and screamed "NO! NO! It's those voices again."

And; last, but not least:

14. December 23: Went into a fitting room, shut the door, waited a
while;
then yelled, very loudly, "There is no toilet paper in here."

Yours sincerely,

Charles Brown, Store Manager

Comments

On techology and parents.

Fri, 07 Dec 2007 15:00:17 +0100

Oh please shoot me if I ever begin to sound like my mother.

A few years ago, and to save her or my dad continually getting up to answer it, i bought my mother a cordless phone. Not that it mattered, even now when it rings, she still gets up to answer the corded one.

Two years ago my dad made the mistake of buying her a mobile. Nothing fancy, talk and text, which a few months ago she finally mastered.

Convinced she had now become the queen of all things technical. my mum decided to upgrade, treating herself to a new mobile with integrated camera.

About two hours ago she rang me (from the phone table) with the following news.

Mother, I’ve just taken a lovely picture of your dad on my new phone, I’ll show it you next time you come down.

Me, why dont you just send it me through your phone and I’ll have a look?

Mother, how do I do that?

Me, just send it, like when you send me a text message.

Mother, I’m not doing that, I want to keep it on my phone so I can look at it.

Me, you won’t lose it, it isn’t like posting a letter, it just sends me a copy of the photo.

Mother, but when i send a text message that doesn’t stay on my phone.

Me, that’s because you don’t save the message.

Mother, well why don’t i send it to you, you can have a look, and then send it back to me.

Me, there’s no need, it will stay on your phone.

Mother, I’m not sending it unless you promise to send it back, I don’t want to lose it.

Eventually i agreed to send it back. 40 mins after hanging up i still hadn’t received the picture. I was just about to call her when she rang me asking me why I hadn’t sent it back. I told her I hadn’t received it, after checking her phone she realised she had sent it to my landline.

Apparently my brother is buying her a laptop for Christmas. Good god almighty!

Comments

On switched alliences

Mon, 03 Dec 2007 11:54:54 +0100

Gillian Gibbon, huh! What's all that nonsense about? I am not generally a political person snort - NuBruin Liar Scum but in protest of the stupidity of this situation I feel I have to make the following point.
This week I have mostly been naming things Muhammed, so far I have:
A cat named Blackie-Muhammad "Bloody Muhammad's shat on the door mat again"
Several tropical fish called Bob-Muhammed "Have you fed the Muhammad's? only they're all up the top"
A microwave called Muhammad "stick some beans in Muhammad, I'm Hank Marvin"
And my personal favourite:
A toilet named... you guessed it, Muhammad "Lend me that copy of Private Eye, I'm off for a session on the Muhammad."

Try and give me 40 lashes I dare you. Come near me and you'll get 40 kicks up the arse. Your religious intolerance and dogma are going to be treated with the contempt it deserves.

We won't be sending any more school teachers to educate your kids not to sit in their own shite and eat bogies.
However, on a more serious note, I have absolutely no sympathy with that horrific excuse for a woman, Gibbons. Anyone who voluntarily goes to a "hell-hole" like the Sudan should - in my opinion - have their head examined. Why anyone should want to go to such a place is beyond me. It has nothing to do with me having no altruistic sympathies, or not wanting to improve the lot of my fellow man?. It is simply pragmatics based on the perceived experiences of others. What on earth could convince anyone that being a woman in a country with a human rights record such as that possessed by Sudan, is a good idea? You may well be British citizen and there for under the consular protection, but we can't be held responsible for your stupidity while you're there. Further more, as a teacher, she ought to have had the savvy to stay well away from any behaviours which were likely to cause offence. Knowing the religious climate as we assume she did, being as how she was living and working there, I think in her position I would have been advising against naming a teddy after a religious icon. Maybe it's right maybe it's wrong but this whole silly situation could have been avoided with a little common sense. Ignorance is no excuse under British Law, I don't legitimately see why it should be a valid excuse under Islamic Law. Unfortunately what has now happened is middle class Britain has gone up in arms and appears to be displaying the exact same intolerances that we accuse the Sudanese of. Rants along the lines of "Stop all trade/send no more money/withdraw all British Citizens/ deport the Sudanese consulate" lower us to the same level they're at. Stupid stupid knee jerk reactions. It's nonsense.

Many grumpy middle class British people complain about all-in-sundry coming to the UK and trying to tell us how to run our affairs, flouting our laws and seeking to change the system to suit them. It's a bit rich for us to tell other countries how to manage theirs.

And a parting shot I read in the comments section of Beeb Website?

"If people are genuinely concerned about the plight of Ms Gibbons perhaps they should organise a "whip" round for her." Priceless.

And a second rant today (Two for the price of one)

Houses lit up like Blackpool-bloody-Illuminations five weeks before Christmas. Now gentle reader you'll spot there are two issues here and I don't know which annoys me more.

1. The fact that these houses look shite is my first issue. It embarrasses me to live in the same area, like I'll become guilty by association. They must cause inter neighbour rows, they are a health (fire) hazard and probably are a leading cause of global warming so is there anyone who doesn't hate the
I'm fortunate enough to have not come across any houses decorated up like Blackpool illuminations yet, but I don't suppose that will last for much longer. At least I've passed last years date - I spotted the first example of this over the top stupidity on 30th November last year. No doubt a ride though my nearest council estate will sure enough see at least a few examples of this any time now...

I'm not against people decorating up the exterior of their houses for Christmas, it's their choice after all, but there are ways and means to do it sensibly. Firstly, Christmas is still over three weeks away and personally it's still at very least a week too soon (if not two) for decorations for me. Also, I don't see what's wrong with just having a simple row of lights or something around the house if they feel the need to make a statement. Why do some people have to go so over the top and use all the power the National Grid has to spare? Complete attention seeking idiots.

2. Health/global warming/fire hazard. I have a mate who's a spark and he visibly tremors at the thought. It's dangerous beyond belief and also horribly bad for the environment. I used to work for a well known utility company and just after Christmas we'd get the phone calls coming in asking why the electricity bill for Christmas period was £500 more than it usually is. A quick interrogation of living habits over the festive period reveals that these dipsticks have had the lights out like runway 2 at Heathrow airport since November 15th.

Morons.

On a happier note, I'm off to a ball tomorrow night. A real live proper ball, satin gown dancing shoes and opera gloves the works. I'm ever so excited! I'm not sure what it's in aid of. That's a bit bad I know. I'm sure all will be revealed. Suffice to say I am utterly enamoured by the idea of being Cinders and going to the ball. I've been working pretty hard over the last few weeks and I kind of feel like I deserve a break

Ok a few lovely sounding words,
Renaissance, holistic, dromedary, pestilence, antagonise, virulent, doldrums, bandana, sentient, examine, nescient, tyro, undulate, Lemma.

And a list
Top 3 places to have a sentimental moment
1. On top of a hill.
2. Any dark quiet street lit only by street lights
3. Any type of fairground

And finally bad joke corner?

How do you kill a circus?
Go for the juggler!

Ahhh! And all is well in LaineyLand

Comments

On skidding to a stop and whooping in pleasure.

Sat, 01 Dec 2007 15:51:18 +0100

Golly gosh… what a hectic crazy few weeks I’ve had. There’s been plenty of fun, a few tears (happy ones and sad ones), some new friends made, and some old friendships laid to rest, and of course lots and lots of ranting and soul searching liberally lubricated with more vodka and wine than ought to be strictly necessary. Where shall I start? This will be a long post, I’m guessing now it’ll take about 8 minutes to read through the whole thing. I’ve not written it all yet but we can check when I’m finished!

Lets start with a rant. No in fact let’s start with a revelation I had about the function of blogs. As part of my course work I am required to keep a blog of the progress of one of our group tasks. This ostensibly is so that when we come to write our analysis of ourselves and each other in our reflective essay, we will have a good record of how we felt at different points in the process. This alone is laughable since I fully anticipate that most people will make up how they feel in lieu of actually putting the work in now. However I digress, the point I was going to make was that we had a class all about how to fill in a blog – talk about teaching your granny to suck eggs!! But there was one useful point that came out of the exercise, and that was a point made by our tutor that our blogs ought to be reflective and not just descriptive. No-one really wants to hear in excruciating detail about what he said and what she said and what he said back and what you did after. We humans are nosey creatures. What we really want to know is how alike our thinking is to that of people we consider our peers. If you find accord between you and others, it validates you. And we all want validation. Really we do! This was something I had been thinking about – what makes a good blog. And now I have my answer. A good blog is one where you go on a journey with your writer and have some kind of learning experience. I think I do this as a matter of course anyway but it’s still good to know that someone else thinks it’s a good way to write a blog. (See – validation!). Either that or the blog has to be wildly funny with acute insight into human nature. You decide!

Ok rant – just a little one but none the less, one about something which consistently lets my sisters down. In this day and age of “How to Look Good Naked” and “What Not to Wear” we are accelerating the culture of vanity that we (including me, I am just as bad) buy into.

Why?

A quick and hopefully obvious answer is of course to attract a mate. I know that I will probably offend some bra burning bleating liberal carpet munchers, and I do concede that gay relationships throw a bit of spanner in the works of this theory but I have no intention of exploring that here. Ride with me on this for a bit.

We shouldn’t kid ourselves that “How to Look Good Naked” is anything other than a ploy to make us feel sexy and therefore mate and reproduce. I don’t see this particularly as a bad thing. I rather enjoy the jolly old thing. However, in my humble opinion, everything eventually can be traced back to an evolutionary need to reproduce. Virtually everything we do is programmed to increase our attractiveness to the opposite sex and therefore increase our chances of getting a mate and producing issue. Why is it that the faces of women that are judged the most attractive all have the same attributes? Because men are programmed to compete for the healthiest female in the group in order to increase his chances of producing many offspring, thus they have been naturally selected for over the generations to favour physical attributes which suggest health and fertility. Why are women universally attracted to powerful strong masculine men? In terms of evolution, these strong powerful men present the best option for providing for mother and growing child. Women are hardly likely to go for the chap who spreads his wild oats around, he becomes unreliable and his other children will take vital resources away from my growing child. Yes I accept that someone women habitually go for cheating men, or even married ones. I’m not going to look into that here.

I think these preferences are deeply hardwired genetic logic. Now, of course there is massive variance even within cultures and I’ve probably not explained very well the subtleties or assumed connections between these ideas (I’m rushing), nor have I made any account for why some people are attracted to members of the same sex, or indeed why unlikely relationships form which would seem to fly in the face of these ideas, but I assume anyone with an ounce of intelligence ought to follow my thinking. But this is not the subject of my rant. No gentle reader… wriggle more comfortably into your seat and listen a while.

Now, if we take these assumptions as gospel, we as women ought to be trying our best to seem competent capable, sassy savvy girlies in order to attract the best most powerful mate. Fast forward a while from our cavemen ancestors to 2007 Edinburgh and the dating rat race that goes with it. We shop in Karen Millen, Hobbes, Harvey Nicholls Jenners and bijou boutiques. We have our hair done by Stefan, and Maria-Alrorannia does our nails. We sweep though the early evening streets on our way home from work having very carefully re-applied our makeup in the office. Our well cut coat screams money, our chic handbag insinuates an indulgence afforded only by those who have a mad mad extravagant duke to bestow favours on us as a parent gives sweets to a child. We hear the clip clop of expensive shoes on concrete before we see her, and as we turn to look, our eye takes in the impressive sight of, wait a moment, what DOES she have on her feet? That elegant clip clop was not the sound of well heeled boots from Jones. In fact there is NOTHING well heeled about these shoes; that is the problem.

I get so disappointed I want to shake these women. You spend a fortune on wonderful clothes, you look fabulous and are dripping in understated glory and yet you allow the heels of your shoes to wear down to nothing, the leather ripping up from the stiletto like some cheap linoleum off a tired kitchen floor. I know for a fact it costs roughtly £8.00 to have shoes reheeled. I do it constantly as I believe that a good pair of comfortable shoes makes not only the outfit but the woman. Theres another rant in here about fashion another time perhaps. BUT NO!! These ladies spoil the carefully constructed look by the abomination that is shoes which have lost the heel; wearers that have lost the plot more like. Further more, not only does it look tacky beyond recrimination, it makes you wobble and peter perilously which could well break your ankle. Ladies it’s DANGEROUS!

You all show yourselves as frauds. In my opinion no real well-heeled women would go out unless she was well heeled. How can I aspire to be you when you let me down so crushingly? Yes, I judge you when you allow your shoes to ruin your outfit. Get it sorted.

In other news. I went to Sarah and Stephens wedding in Guernsey. It was total chaos. I had the onerous responsibility of making the wedding cake. Although they all ate it, it was pretty diabolical. We left her flowers in the house and had to run full pelt through the streets of St Peters Port, barefoot to get them. Turned up at the wrong venue and arrived to find the chaps hadn’t got there yet. Like I said chaos. But glorious wonderful honest loving chaos. I honestly felt my heart swell with pride to see my best friend so happy, looking so beautiful, with baby in tow. It was quite unlike any wedding I’ve ever been to before. Big happy champagne soaked tearful chaos. I loved it.

Some of you may be aware I spilt up with Phil. It wasn’t particularly acrimonious. We’re just going in different directions; he’s ready to settle and wants a missus to have his tea on the table when he comes in from work, quite nights in front of the TV, Saturday afternoons in Ikea and two boozy holidays a year. That just isn’t me. It was an unpleasant few days with all the associated feelings of failure and self doubt. I think I’m out the other end of it now. It really was the most sensible solution – he was never getting a chance to see me as I was always either working or studying. In my list of priorities alas he came quite low. Poor love. I really hope he’s ok, I think he was a bit cut up. Also means I can concentrate on studying and working. It is a bit of an unnatural state for me to be in; to have no male attention. I feel a bit spare, like a bottle opener the morning after the party the night before. Well used but probably wont’ get another outing for a while.

There actually was a whole lot more I wanted to write but it’s time to go to work now… I’ve been writing for an hour and 40 minutes. I doubt it’ll take 8 minutes to read… I’ll do a quick comprehension check… wait here….

…

….
Approx five minutes. Just enough time left for some lists and nice words.

My top five Disney Characters
1. Mary Poppins
2. The dancing mushrooms from fantasia
3. Thumper
4. Jiminy Cricket
5. The Queen of Hearts

Words

Archaic, waltz, goblin, plaudit, Scout, ambidextrous, Aphorism, innocuous, defenestrate, dotage, blithe, querulous, hologram, vicissitudes, masticate.

I shall get back into good habits of posting… here is a list of things I’ve been meaning to post about I will accept votes for which ones you’d like to hear.

Why everything has to be fashionable
Unreasonable arguments
Sisters in law
Sliding up the corporate ladder
Men
Angst
Essential oils.
Airports
Theatricals for next year
Facebook
Ebay addiction and online grocery shopping
Womens anti aging products

Answers through the usual channels.

Still bored? I overheard this gem in Waitrose the other day (yes how terribly middle class I am).

Well dressed chap in his late 40’s I think, was standing in front of me at the checkout. He seemed to be shopping just for one, (lots of wine, a few luxury microwave meals, balsamic vinegar, sour cream, nuts and nibbles, fresh pasta, several somethings from the deli counter, toothpaste, shampoo (blokey variety) a reasonable selection of fruit and veg, but in quantities that suggested cooking for one – actually as I think this one through I wish I’d got his number – he was cute!).

Anyway I was behind him at the checkout and witnessed the following conversation:

Checkout girl, “Would you like cashback?”
Cute Chap, “Yes please.”
Checkout girl, “How much?”
Cute Chap “All of it”

It sailed completely over her head and she looked blankly at Cute Chap while I caught his eye and sniggered like a care in the community case.

Keepin’ it real homies keepin’ it real.

Comments

On wookies

Sun, 18 Nov 2007 15:38:19 +0100

I wish I was a wookie - they make the most awesome noise. There is no noise like it. And right now I feel it perfectly encapsulates how I feel.

It's Sunday. And I'm in work. I've worked (either at University or my real job, sometimes both) for 14 days solidly now. I feel quite peculiar. Antipathy, or ambivalence. Kind of Bleurgh!
Like all the colours bleeding into one that hasn't got a name. Don't really care. Belle and Sebastian wrote this great tune called "Fuck this shit" and it's on the mouth organ and piano. It's a very very VERY cool Sunday tune.

I wonder if it'll snow.

Comments

Single...

Thu, 15 Nov 2007 00:32:38 +0100

... Feels weird.

I'm tired. Oh so very tired. I have no energy for vitriol or rants. I have no inclination for deep and meaningful thunks. I feel being flippant and irreverant would be grossly inappropriate. So I shall just say that it's very very cold and I'm glad I have thermal sheets and a good book. Tomorrow I go to uni and I've done only half the work I wanted to. I have not returned two calls today and I have low level background guilt. Not quite falling apart I think you'll agree but very definately not my usual perky self. I lied. It doesn't look like normal service has returned quite yet. Stay with me. I'll work it out.

lulu

Comments

vice and vanity

Sun, 11 Nov 2007 12:54:06 +0100

Ugh! What a load of self obsessed drivel - I've a good mind to delete it all but I'm going to leave it there as a reminder of what happens when you get carried away with feeling sorry for yourself.

Thank goodness for my mates. I love you all and thank you for connecting my head with a wall and banging it until I saw sense again. Phew. Normal service has been resumed. Do not adjust your settings. Only next time, can we maybe moderate the intake of vodka and cointreau that goes along side such effcient therapy? Golly my head hurts.

Ok quick little post. It's Sunday morning. I'm still in bed on La Laptop. The sun is streaming in through the window and I am looking forward to going to mamas for dinner.

Some random things I like.... Smokey late night jazz, shoes, ebay, Allen keys, olives, choritzo, Sabatier knives, Dove bubblebath, candles, tweezers, flirting, PomKat ( Pomegrannet juice and vodkat vodka, yummy yummy), carboot sales, pants but not pants from car book sales, Re reading books, looking thigns up on wikipedia. The most recent look up was the difference between colons and semi colons as I'm not 100% sure when you should use a colon and when a semi colon is more appropriate. I can assure you, it is totally facinating!

And here are some nice words, slip, skin, drowsy, myriad, furtive, chortle, bucolic and sycophant.

And finally, I am going to succumb to the inevetable - and start thinking about buying some christmas presents. I have a very large family, both brothers have significant others and there are various neices and nephews who are too young to think of christmas as anything other than an excuse to legitimatly emotionally blackmail the parents into providing a smorgasboard of presents. In Chez Lulu this year however, we have agreed on a one gift rule and points will be awarded for originally and ingenuity on a budget of £10 only. As a family we have a rather nice habit of all pitching together in the kitchen on christmas day with everyone taking a course to prepare. Generally speaking, Lizzy and Richard do puddings (yes plural, you can have a choice of sloppy tiramisu, christmas cake that could rot your liver or trifle with so much booze, the fridge gets drunk just hosting it), either mama or I do "The Bird", Dad makes soup to start, Stuart is in charge of prepping veg. He rather likes making these wee fluffy potato things.

They are delicious. Everyone gets a bit merry and we fling wine bottles around with great aplomb and artistic merit. I do like Christmas when it's like that!

Tune in soon

Comments

Sense and sensitivity

Sat, 10 Nov 2007 19:09:02 +0100

I remember I promised right at the start of this blog endeavour, that I wouldn’t let my blog get blogged down in forlorn lamentations at the state of my love life (or lack thereof).

However, those of you who are regular readers will have noticed a certain level of unhinged ranting and melancholy over the last few posts. This is uncharacteristic of me and while I appreciate that reading about angst from a 26year old woman is only marginally more appealing than burning off your own body hair using nitric acid, it is unfortunately necessary. I’m not fishing for pity or anything so childish. However, it is good getting the opinion of someone else. And I like using this medium to work through things in my head. It is both cathartic and fear inducing – I don’t know anyone who, if they’re honest, wants to lay their foibles on a page for others to dissect and pass comment, but articulating these things in print, forces you (me) to think a little less superficially about them. Not that I am a superficial thinker but you get my drift. And of course you are only getting the edited version, which is safer for me emotionally – I don’t know if anyone is capable of brutal honesty given the implications it could have on self image, which means what ever comment you make it is not with the full facts of the situation and therefore … … I can’t find the word I’m looking for, but you know what I mean.

The whole experience is all tied up like a ball of string. It seems manipulative – as if, I give information out in the hope of a specific type of response (which of course I don’t do deliberately, but maybe it happens that way), And maybe I get the reply and maybe I don’t but maybe whoever is reading can see right through whatever I can’t, whatever reply I’m looking for isn’t the right one, maybe they know better than I do. And perhaps they can see this is text book case of self doubt, angst whatever, because everyone else in the world goes through it, but if everyone went through these feelings how come more people aren’t expunging at great volume looking for answers? And how come I don’t see other people behaving in the way I feel I’m behaving, but then how would I know how to behave if I hadn’t first seen someone else somewhere display the same behaviours in the face of similar adversity? Maybe they already have the answers and managed to do their learning much more efficiently than I have managed? Maybe I’m not even half that smart and no-ones’ falling for just an obvious ploy, and each thought path branches out and you go round and round and rounds following them through and letting your mind wander and wonder “what if?”

It’s all terribly confusing. I wish there was a stop button for thinking. Must be a fool moon – I’m not usually so uncertain. Lets think… what would Big Daddy Omar K say?

There was a Door to which I found no Key:
There was a Veil past which I could not see:
Some little Talk awhile of Me and Thee
There seemed – and then no more of Thee and Me

And that inverted Bowl we call The Sky
Whereunder crawling coop’t we live and die/
Lift not thy hands to IT for help, for It
Rolls impotently on as Thou or I.

And finally I think to soothe my spinning head

And strange to tell, among that Earthen Lot
Some could articulate, while others could not:
And suddenly one more impatient cried-
“Who is the Potter pray, and who the Pot?”

Comments

sly red eye

Sat, 10 Nov 2007 06:25:11 +0100

I am of the opinion, that if you are calculating enough there is nothing you can't orchestrate or buy outright. And we fools. Our sly red eye glosses over the ugly and wishes the unpleasant over the rainbow. With money to buy everything the only thing we can't afford is ... honesty? Self dicepline? Introspection? Vulnerability? Are our selves really so sadly fragile?

If you take away my things what am I left with but my own reflection? What if that reflection is aborrant? Who will help chicken little pull herself out of the mire?

Our things shield us from the excruciating crushing inadequacy we buy into. Why does everything we own have to be fashionable? Like a never ending circle in a spiral we self perpetuate a crazy cycle of defining ourselves by the things we have around us. I don't know if it's good or bad. I only know it's humiliating to realise how dependant we are on our posessions to give us a sense of self.

Comments

Nigella " I should have been a boy" Lawson

Tue, 06 Nov 2007 18:29:56 +0100

I also have to make comment on that AWFUL woman Nigella Lawson. Oh she’s beyond diabolical. The thinking mans’ totty? Bollocks! All those nonsensical sideways glances to the camera are so contrived it’s excruciating to watch. When she’s making ice-cream at 6am in the morning wearing a black silk dressing gown and a full face of make up, I can’t help thinking “What planet are you on”

She suggested at some point if one had insomnia, one should just have a fresh fig sprinkled with some rose or lavender water. Be honest, we all have those ingredients in our fridge at 3am when we realise we can’t sleep. Stupid cow.

I saw 15 minutes of her latest show a couple of weeks ago. What a pile of insufferable patronising crap. How anyone gets away with talking down to the audience whilst cooking up haemorrhoid inducing rubbish paid for with MY license fee is beyond me.

Shoot her.

Now.

She's just an old toffee-nosed dinner lady and it’s unfortunate that her boobs have a better reputation than she does.

She soon got over hubby John Diamond, after his death rapidly jumping into bed with Charles Saatchi - nothing to do with his bank balance of course.

...And anyone who calls their kids Cosima and Bruno deserve an ASBO at the very least.

Comments

"Come on down off your high horse Lu"

Tue, 06 Nov 2007 18:20:18 +0100

A very small but perfectly formed post today.

As cynical and jaded and pragmatic as I am, for as much as have walls as high as hills to protect me and despite my best cancarian intentions to retreat into my shell at the hint of danger, I had an experience recently which made me question the way in which I form relationships with people.

Unwittingly, someone managed to cut through all the bullshit and make me face myself in the mirror (metaphorically speaking) and reminded me that perhaps there isn’t always a need to be the one in control. I feel a little like a crocus poking her petals through the frost and snow to find out it’s not anywhere near as cold as she thought.

Comments

on why some days dissappear Pt ii

Sat, 03 Nov 2007 11:13:41 +0100

I've just noticed something in my last post that I hate. I would probably have ranted on this at some point and now I can't because I've just done it. Well it's two things really.

1. Sentences which aren't proper sentences.
2. I've mixed up my tenses. I've talked about doing things historically but then in the same sentence I describe things as they happen almost in real time.

These are two things about writing that really annoy me and I've done both of them. The Shame!

You see, I really love language. I love the flexibility of it. I love the fact that when one understands the rules of what makes comprehensible language one can start playing around with it, in the hope that someone witty will see the idiosyncrasies as deliberate conventions with a purpose.

Neat little word tricks I like include giving mundane everyday utterances the status of proper nouns. It’s not just any old shame, it’s THE Shame!

I like Double Entendre; I think it’s witty and devastatingly attractive when used effectively, and I’m sure if I asked you nicely you’d give me one!

Anyway I don’t want to end up with a hugely long post again. I just thought I should point out that I’ve noticed my own mistakes. Yes, readers; I am fallible. The Shock! The Horror! I recognise I’m not perfect….

… but I’m so god damn close it scares me!

Y’all be good!

Comments

On why some days just dissappear

Sat, 03 Nov 2007 09:40:15 +0100

Do you ever find you have a day where you seem to be really busy all day but never actually achieve anything? I have days like this occassionally.

Yesterday was one of them.

I got home from class reasonably early (about 4pm) and by the time I called my mum at 9pm I was shattered.

"Why're you shattered love?" asks my mum
I then proceeded to think over what I'd done that day.

I'd got up early in the morning to put on some laundry before going into work. I forgot however that the heating doesn't come on till 6am so the house was baltic. Farr too cold to shower right away I decide to do washing first. I got down stairs to realise that I didn't have a full load so decided to strip my bed to make up the volume. While I was remaking the bed I found a brand new set of single sheets and duvet in my cupboard (I was rooting about at the back for my cozy flannel sheets on account of it being so cold), so I went to the charity bag and put them in, as I knew the charity men would be coming soon. No sooner had I realised this then I remembered that I had planned to go through my wardrobe and pare down some of the frivolous overindulgence in there. I didn't have time to do it then and there but I went hunting for my list book (see earlier post) so I could write it down. I couldn't find my list book until I remembered that the last time I had it out I had done an express tidy of my bedroom (i.e. lift everything off the bed and stuff it in a drawer somewhere). I went through the drawers to find it and came across a reciept for a pair of shoes I wanted to return. Aware that unless I put this in a safe place I would loose the reciept and never return the shoes I went to put it in my purse in my satchel. On opening my bag I saw I had stuffed a credit card bill and a bank statement in there a few days earlier. I knew had to pay the Credit Card bill and file the bank statement but it's now getting dangerously close to the time I have to leave for work. I am not showerd, I have not put on the laundry, the bed is unmade and my bedroom is a tip. I make myself a coffee and decide to catch some news 24 before I leave but then remember that the batteries in the remote control are gone and I know I bought some new ones so go rummaging in my satchel to find them only to remember that I'd left them (along with some shopping) at my mums. Once I do get into the shower I remember the conditioner bottle is empty and have to hunt about in my room for a fresh one. Come across a set of false nails and put them to one side to do when I get home.

On the way from work to uni I have to change buses and as I have a meeting with my study group, I think "I'll just pop into Greggs and get us all some giant chocolate cookies to eat while we're brain storming" however this causes me to miss my bus as the doddery old wifey in front of me remonstrates with the assistant on how well fired the morning rolls are. I get the coookies and get to uni only to get caught eating in the Library where the librarian volubly tells me off. We decide we can't start until we've printed off some notes but none of us can get the printers to work ( see earlier posting regarding being a total technophobe). And to be honest I'm the only one who's done the background reading. We break up after 30 mins and decide to reconvene once the girls have read the required texts. It's just a day of being thwarted at every turn.

And my day just continued like this. Starting things and not getting them finished. Started to write out notes but got caught up reading celebrity gossip. Went for a coffee and stood blethering to my tutor for half an hour. Got to class and the power point projector wouldn't work and on and on and on.

When I get home, the laundry eventually goes on and I remake my bed but in doing so find a library book under the bed that needs returned today. If I don't return it I'll get fined so I put it at the foot of the stairs next to the door so I'll remember to pick it up when I go out and I think "While I'm at it I might as well write a cheque for my Credit Card bill" Except I can't find my cheque book!! Arrgghh!

So by the time I call mum in the evening I'm knackered. And I've achieved nothing. Typical.

Comments

the vagaries of laziness.

Sat, 27 Oct 2007 09:34:59 +0200

Good Morning READERS. Yes I know it is a little early to be up at the computer on a Saturday morning, however I have been feeling guilty at my negligence in posting of late. So today I shall write a medium, sized post (I expect it will take you approximately four minutes to read. If you can understand the big words).

Quick life update – I basically don’t have a life working 37 hrs AND going to full time university classes, I feel privileged if I manage to get and stay outside longer than it takes to wait for a bus! University is going splendidly however. I have managed to find a chum who is almost as old as I am which is great. We had a lovely boozy lunch on Friday at the local hostelry and giggled our way through Anatomy and Physiology 1 on Friday afternoon. Yes I know it’s immature. Get over it. Classes at the moment are a breeze, my favourite being linguistics, specifically grammar, which leads me nicely onto the main body of this post.

Txt tlk. I was going to write my next sentence in text speak but I can’t bring myself to bastardise our beautiful language in such a horrific manner.

Text Talk drives me to distraction.

I loathe ‘newspeak' language. It spreads from both from the wider use of 'txtspk', and the frequent additional meanings that the “young” and ”trendy” give to words, (“wicked” to mean “good” (explain how that works?) that kind of thing) or new words being created because people can't be bothered to speak properly. Innit.

I understand that the natural evolution of language means that new words are constantly entering into mainstream acceptable daily usage. Shakespeare made up lots of words, yet we don't complain about him entering new words into the English language. But it seems to me that rather than adding new words, we’re taking letters away from old words to create new ones and I utterly despise it. Unfortunately it leaves me with a bit of dissonance between the fact that I totally oppose the dumbing down of communication, but I’m all for progress, and I know that if this evolution did not happen then we would still be grunting like the Neanderthals! ‘BUT IT’S JUST WRONG’ I shout at my monitor. I can’t shake off this feeling that allowing our written communication to be come so lazy is a big mistake. I just want people to speak and write properly. Communicate with a reasonable level of intelligence, and afford me the dignity of replying to you because I understand what you’ve written to me. If someone sends me an email or text message written in that inane txt tlk drivel I refuse to reply. If you can’t be arsed to write properly then I can’t be arsed to reply. Simple.

The only time that textspeak is anywhere close to acceptable is when it comes from a twelve year old schoolgirl, and is about which member of Busted (now there's a subject for another rant) they fancy the most. From anyone else it displays a level of intellect usually found in single celled organisms. To illustrate this point, here is a picture that captures everything that makes me want to slit my wrists with a blunt piece of paper.

Now on a totally unrelated note I want to share with you an erudite observation made by a dear friend of mine regarding the recent bush fires in California. I wish I had articulated this, it goes to show the idiocy and triviality of America.

While Malibu burns… ...we sit in our comfortable sofas, watching our big TVs, drinking our fancy wines, passing judgement on the state of the world and doing nothing.

Now I ask, did anyone see that guy on BBC news? "Everything's gone", he said. "The gym equipment, the security devices, everything!" You'd need a heart of brick to not be moved.

With the death toll rapidly approaching four and the news channels on the verge of turning their attention to more trivial issues, I can take no more. Tomorrow, I shall be loading up a wagon with emergency items (cross-trainers, CCTV cameras, SUVs, therapists, etc.) and driving over land and sea to the Californian coast.

Just because these people are famous, well-insured and shallow, they must not be forgotten. Let's not have the politics of envy get in the way of alleviating human suffering . The rich have feelings too.

Nonsense.

Anyway to finish up for this morning, here are some words I like.

Pejorative, mincing, coagulant, visceral, bridge, velvet, melancholy, lump, vice, discombobulate, pint, troglodyte, chelonian, myelin, Tobermory, masticate, harmony, straw, kung-fu, impecunious orchid and desultory.

Oh and the Gardener from Dundee? He bailed on me. Yeah I know. Stood up at 26. How pathetic!

Comments

kissing

Sat, 13 Oct 2007 15:25:52 +0200

Today’s little diatribe is on kissing. It’s not going to be soapy, so leave now if you’re not ready for some grippingly cringe-worthy social commentary.

I speak of course of the ubiquitous social kissing, and it’s a dilemma that is dividing Britain – one kiss or two. Once this charming way to greet was reserved simply for family and close friends, but look closely and you’ll see that this little peck on the cheek we’ve adopted from the continent is creeping into all walks of life. The agonising consequence of this is that no-one is ever really really sure when it’s suitable and how many are appropriate?

We used to have such a straight forward greeting. We’re British, you proffered a hand and someone shook it, you smiled, looked each other in the eye and said something insincere such as “ Nice to meet you.” If the person had screaming halitosis it wasn’t such a big deal as your face would never get close enough to thiers for it to matter. NOW however, you offer a hand and you get a cheek, you go in for the nervous slightly jerky peck praying that they don’t turn their head too quickly, and as you pull away you get offered a second cheek.

With the other person hovering awkwardly on their front foot, you go back in at speed to finish the job. As you pull away you’re aware that both of you are blushing and giggling in embarrassment. Thank god you think, at least a clash of heads was avoided.

Welcome to the social minefield of 21st centaury greeting rituals. I mean, how do you judge the expectations of the other person without seeming over-familiar or uptight?

It’s so awful when you are in a group and one of your number unexpectedly bump onto a friend or even worse a colleague.

They kiss, and turn to introduce you: Arrghh do you kiss too, are you expected, what if you go in for a kiss and they’re expecting a handshake, or what if they’re socially inept and just shuffle on the heels of their feet and nod begrudgingly in your direction? It’s excruciating as once two people kiss they set a precedent. Protocol dictates we should all behave similarly in this situation.

For the British it’s simply excruciating, stuffy at the best of times and never really all that good at the handshake, there now seem to be a whole array of options, Hugging, kissing, air kissing, even lip kissing; it’s a total minefield.

Someone really needs to lay down the law. Say, handshake on the first meeting with anyone, you can air kiss after three meetings, two cheeks to say hello and one to say goodbye, always right cheek first, and if you’ve ever been drunk and embarrassing together, you get a hug!!

Personally, I rather like kissing, but then I am a shockingly extravagant outrageous diva and I love reaching over to kiss someone on the cheek who doesn’t expect it. My tip is, whatever you do, do it with confidence as if you expect the other person to know what you’re doing – naturally.

“What? Doesn’t everyone say goodbye with a full face snog tongues included? C’est la vie!!”

Comments

Sense and stupidity!

Mon, 08 Oct 2007 17:53:54 +0200

Once again it’s going to be a long post as I’ve lots to fill you in on.

First studentsville…

I’ve not actually attended any classes yet but went to matriculate on Thursday last week. All a bit of a farce really. Our new campus isn’t actually ready for students yet (oh bugger) so we were heralded to the old campus in Leith to Matriculate. I arrived nice and early and managed to body-swerve the ever so helpful student guides in the foyer, you know, unhealthily happy people intent on “Making you feel welcome”

Bleurgh!

I’ve already been a student before, and I know I’ve got a long day ahead of me which will consist of standing for intolerably long periods of time in one orderly if a bit noisy queue after another (by the way did anyone know that queue is the only word in English that is still pronounced the exact same if you spell it with just the initial letter – Fascinating huh?)

Anyway I locate the correct queue and patiently stand. And stand. And stand. One of the Happy Chappies bounds up and squeeks something about starting to let people into the main hall in about ten minutes time. 30 minutes later, he arrives back: Marvellous, I’ve been allowed into the main hall to stand in yet another queue to prove who I am; clutching my passport I join the queue. I’m debating whether or not to strike up a conversation with a scared looking kid behind me. I decide against it as I seem to be a magnet for a) stupid people or b) people who need mothered. I don’t know why this is. But recently, I find when I meet people their problems become my problems. I don’t generally mind this but today I want to get in and out asap and get back to work. I don’t particularly care if you’ve not organised your student loan or have forgotten your tuition fees award letter. I’m quite an organised person I know that there are people around who rely on people like me to get them through these kinds of situations and normally I thrive on being needed, but this particular day I’m not feeling my usual nurturing caring sharing self. So I stay quiet.

I get the identity form stamped and stand in another queue, then another then another. Ye gods. I must look sufficiently sullen as no-one tries to talk to me (either that or I was looking particularly pig ugly or old or maybe all three – what a crime against humanity).

I eventually meet the rest of my class and it seems I’m the oldest student. Oh and my class consists entirely of girls! Bit of a bugger! First class is on Wednesday. I’ll let you know!

Ok a couple of quick things then a blow by blow account of my night out in Dundee with Lady Jo. (Yanno, the one to make up for the one I was complaining a few posts back about missing!)

Somethings that are on my mind this week

1. Andi Neate – she is FABULOUS. www.andineate.co.uk she sounds like Ani DiFranco, Suzanne Vega and Joni Mitchell all rolled into one folksy jazzy bluesy exquisite package. And so god damn pitch-perfect it hurts. Can you imagine what the texture and sensations of drinking velvet might be like? Now imagine that sensation was a voice! I cannot recommend her highly enough. She’s also pretty hot! Go. Listen. And fall in love.

2. It’s cool being a little older sometimes. I like recognising that I don’t need to compete. It’s liberating.

3. It’s weird when you recognise your parents are fallible people. Mama bear was in hospital this week for a wee operation and last year papa bear had a triple heart bypass and it is quite sobering and scary to realise your parents are not as invincible as you’ve grown up thinking they are! Many big love and hugs to Mama – hope you’re feeling better x

4. False nails – I’m a bit addicted to them

5. Should I paint my house, or just accessorise. It’s looking a bit bare at the moment.

6. Must get out of the habit of B/shitting when I’m out. I’ve done it again. Let me explain.

I went out with Lady Jo in Dundee. We had a SPLENDID time. In order to keep it brief (as I know this post is a bit wittery and long winded) I shall summarise in bullet point form.

1. Arrived in Dundee approx 1640. Purchased bottle of Champagne from Marks and Sparks (celebratory) Met Jo at Gallery. Arsed the Champagne as we got ready. Brief flirtation with cute chap works downstairs. Nice to know we still got pulling power!
2. Out for Dinner in pub next door – false nails applied, three Southern Comforts and Lemonade (have decided it’s rancid) consumed and one brief bout of hiccoughs. Quick flirtation with suited and booted chaps as we tried to discern a suitably upmarket bar to continue flirtations in. None was forthcoming – there do not appear to be any in Dundee.
3. Taxi to Broughty Ferry. Gin and tonic (purely medicinal) as we waited for back up.
4. Into upmarket cocktail bar next door, Very lovely. Many beautiful people and a little flirtatious eyeing up the bar staff. Raspberry Moscow mule, and two cosmopolitans, Lemonchello champagne highball and a white chocolate martini, consumed. Unanimously agreed that Vodka Martinis are vile. Decided we three all want new jobs.
5. Pile back into first bar and try to look smart in front of some chaps by discussing football. Backfired pitifully. I’m more a rugby girl! Two more cosmopolitans dispatched! Motion in favour of dancing unanimously passed.
6. This is where it gets a little messy. Decided I’d had enough of the sweet stuff, I went on to bottles of miller which always make me behave a little bit UN lady-like. Had a charming flirtation with Gordon the Gardener which was quite delicious. He’s officially a honey. Watch this space for future developments. The only problem is, for some reason best known to myself, I behaved like a perfect moron and told the poor chap I was a reporter. This is not strictly untrue as I suppose this blog is a form of reporting. It’s the next bit that I can’t explain.

I told him I was a public policy reporter for a law firm. I reported on politics. This job my friend Mairhi does. Not me.

Ops!

It is a million miles away from my real job. Quite why I thought a policy reporter was cooler than performance and process analyst that I am, I’m not sure. But anyway it’s out now. Oh and by the way, the Mini with go faster stripes? Yep, that’s a figment of my over active imagination too.

So cutie if you’re reading… Um… Surprise!?!?

It wouldn't be quite so awful if he wasn't texting me on a regular basis. There's rather an exciting fission of anticipation which I'm quite happily stoking! So figured I better come clean!

Ack well, such is the ken of man. I shall end with a quote from Ohmar Khayyam.

The moving finger writes,
and having writ moves on.
Not all thy piety nor wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a line,
Nor all thy tears wash out a word of it.

Clever chap Ohmar Khayyam. Make of it what you will.

So tune in soon. I’ll keep you all updated on the ludicrous trauma of my life! How do I manage it?

Comments

on... why you shouldn't holiday with your parents

Thu, 04 Oct 2007 19:22:32 +0200

Phew… what a busy few days I’ve had… I’m sorry my postings have been somewhat absent, how terribly remiss of me, I hope you are all sitting comfortably, as we have a lot to get through. Lets not tarry.

Just how much bad luck can one girl have?

I was away on hollybags with mama and papa bear at the weekend. We went to our gorgeous spankingly lovely cottage on the west coast. All Midges and Damp Leaves. Well, I had planned to go to my marvellous friend Jo’s art exhibition in Dumpdee on the Sunday night. My older brother was going to come over Sunday morning drop me off at Dunoon for the Ferry and I was going to make the gargantuan epic journey by boat, train and automobile to Dundee where resplendent in our corsetry, we would glide like the social butterflies we are, among Dundee’s finest high society (The drummer from the View was going to play a DJ set: big stylee kudos!). I was positively apoplectic with excitement and had fantastical fantasies of being this wonderfully captivating creature, It was my intention to be devastatingly charming and witty and melt the heart of some wealthy art collector, we’d cosy up with a bottle of champagne and he’d declare me his muse!

But twas not to be, at the 11th hour this delightful bagatelle was cut short when my older bother locked himself out of my parents house and had to wait for a locksmith to change the locks. So, no Roamin’ in the Gloamin’ for him. It meant I spent a thoroughly contentious evening with my parents in the cottage as they refused to drive me themselves. Cue much slamming of doors and sulky sighing.

I should point out Lady Jo did splendidly well without Loopy there to help. Sniff sniff.

Now, to add insult to already grievous injury, Dad’s car blew a gasket (I’ve always wanted to say that and ACTUALLY mean it in a mechanical-lets-get-engine-oil-on-our-hands kind of way!). I DEMANDED in an impressive display of Prima Donna theatrics that I would quite possibly DIE unless they took me to somewhere with civilisation (read: SHOPS) so I could spend. (Those of you who are reasonably intimately acquainted with me will know this is the behaviour I regress into when seeing reassurance, think of it as a flight or fight response to tension!)

On the way back over the hill to the cottage, the engine light came on to say “over heat – I’m about to explode” Or something like that. Yes it probably was a little less dramatic. So out comes the bottled water dad keeps in the car for just such an emergency. I’d like to point out my dad has a 3 litre engine. Quite what help he thought a poxy 1 litre bottle of water was going to be, is between him and his god!

Ok so we’re about 16 miles from cottage… we’ve passed two houses and about 147 sheep in the last 30 minutes.

The tank is duly filled from the poxy water bottle and we sit playing boggle for 20 minutes until the engine cools down sufficiently for us to continue. Some 20 minutes later the light comes on again and it is noted now that the water reservoir is comprehensively empty. Mama and I are retreating into folded arm, tutting and huffing territory. There is slight low level tension as we know we are now 10 miles from civilisation on a single track road with more ups and downs than Jim Royals’ duvet on Kurry Nite! Dad is murderously muttering something about suing the garage who last serviced his car and I am wondering how far I can walk in knee high stilettos. As luck would have it around the next bend is a hotel that let us stock up on water for the remaining 10 mile journey. By some miracle or as I suspect, sheer force of will, we make it back to the cottage and the AA is as expected, engaged to attend. The chappie turns up next morning (he’s about 104) and takes one look at us and begins to smirk. I hate this bit because I know full well he’s thinking “Bloody Townies, ain’t got a clue” he takes in Dad in his Andy Capp Cloth hat, and me in my ever-so-trendy knee high boots pulled up over my jeans, and mum in pearls and leather gloves, and he declares that there’s a probably a hole in the cooling tank (which would account for the water dripping out of the underside of the car and forming a pool at my feet) and most likely the head gasket blown. No point trying to fix it at the roadside (or Loch side in this case) and radios back for a recovery vehicle. I am clock watching at this point as I’m due into work in the afternoon. Recovery vehicle does indeed turn up and the chap assures us that with 375,000 miles on the clock, there’s plenty of life in the old gel yet”

I believe the correct phrase is “Ohfuckohfuckohfuck I’mgonnadie”

Perhaps you don’t understand what Scottish Single track roads down the shore of a loch look like,

Allow me!

For 26 miles. In a recovery vehicle. With a Ford Scorpio attached to the back.

Needless to say we did get home in one piece not before meeting a logging lorry on the road and being treated to a biography of our chauffeur for the entire journey between Loch Fyne and Edinburgh.

Next year we’re flying to Nice!

Anyway. In other news today I became a student. But I’m much to exhausted to tell you more about that just now. Tune in soon for more details

Comments

Mortification to indignation in two easy steps

Thu, 27 Sep 2007 13:46:51 +0200

Mortification of the worst kind.

The efficient functioning of my digestion system has been a little repressed of late. I’ve been eyeing up dried figs with hitherto never before seen interest, and paying attention when adverts for Sennacot come on the google-box. However, this morning….. no. I actually can’t bring myself to explain in my usual levels of frippery and exquisite detail. Suffice will have to be a conversation I overheard in the bathroom not ten minutes ago between the cleaners.

“Och aye Viv, theiere’s aiyeweiys ~(pr: eye-wise) sum’hin wrong wi’ this place”

“Niver mind hen, the mannie will be here in a wee bitty to fix the plummin’ – well jist hae tae tell [the boss] that nae’s one can use the toilets on the groond flair.”

Guess which toilets I was in.

Ok today’s rant (well it was bound to happen) is political correctness. I know it’s old hat and everyone has a go on this bandwagon, but really. It quite simply beggars belief. The more I think about it the more irritated I become.

Our coffee machine in the office used to say “White Coffee” and “Black Coffee” it now has a daft wee sticker on each programme selection saying Coffee with milR” (I’m sure it’s not R but the scrawl is so illegible it’s criminal. That also is another rant!) and “Coffee without milR”

It’s NONSENSE!

A movement that started out as a sort of adoption of moral common sense has gone utterly up the creek. It seemed like such a nicer thing to say “Black Person” instead of “God damn cotton-pickin’ hotten-hot wigwog”. However, the whole thing seems to have got utterly out of hand, to the extent that people think its offensive to refer to Black board, or Black coffee. And it’s a shame. Really. It clearly seems to have come from a place with good intentions. “Lets try and stop oppressing people by referring to them in derogatory terms and embrace them with terminology that suggests we accept them as valuable contributing members of our society” incidentally, does anyone else see the glaringly obvious issue with this statement? Again that’s another rant), this has now become a laughing stock due to the utterly preposterous extremes certain neurotic uber liberals have taken it. “Vertically challenged” rather than just plain ol’ short, or stupid becomes “cerebrally challenged”. It’s all NONSENSE. And for people who take it seriously, the joke really is on them as what they fail to realise is that the social traffic wardens peddling this utter bollocks are having a massive joke at your expense as YOU’RE TAKING IT SERIOUSLY!! Believe me, the vast majority of the sensible pragmatic population pay about as much attention to political correctness as they do to whether Victoria Beckham has round tip or square tip false nails. If it stems from a desire to accept all peoples as equal, that standpoint is a place that you create in your head, not a lexicon of nonsense phrases that do nothing but prove how much you want to be seen to be PC rather than just having some common sense, decency and respect.

Let me explain – At the same time as straight white able bodied men are going out of their way to talk about “Ethnic people” (I mean who isn’t “ethnic”?) and those of “different sexual orientation”, there are black people calling themselves “niggas” (which has been going on for years) gays calling themselves and each other poof queen and queer and so on. What the PC Police fail to realise, is that the only real way to neutralise a term used as an insult, is for those to whom it was applied, to adopt it and use it on themselves in a bold and triumphant act of ..... something - I forget the word I want to use here. Happens all the time - Senior moments at 26 ye gods.

Anyway, I digress. What people fail to grasp in their blinkered and impressionable fervour, is that it is not so much about the term used as the intention behind it.

I have a wealth of gay friends whom I love dearly. And I use as a term of affection, the foulest most derogatory insults. We both know that I would no more dream of insulting them based on their sexual preference than I would think of wearing hobnail boots and kicking a baby in the teeth. Plus I tend to think the best insults for people pick up on perceived personal inadequacies, such a the fact they’re not too familiar with soap and water, or clothe themselves as if they got dressed in the dark, or couldn’t add two and two if it meant giving them four pints. I can be cruel without referring to someone’s gender, sexual or racial orientation.

It seems to me that at its worst, Political Correctness is not too much different from George Orwell’s “Newspeak”. For those of you literary challenged or scholarly deprived (do you like what I did there? Tee he hee) Newspeak was an attempt by the political party of the day to change the way people thing by forcibly chancing the way they speak. And I’m fairly sure it’s a waste of time. That’s not to say I know the best way to go about changing the way people think, but Political correctness isn’t the right way forward.

So lets have a backlash against the nannying interfering cotton wool Stalinism that Political Correctness has become. Not to placate the bigots, but to speak the truth in the hope that peoples attitudes will change when we start being just generally a bit nicer to each other. And remember the next time someone says to you that they don’t like Harry Potter because Hermione Granger is a stereotypically sensitive smart mouthed girl, The relevant word to call them is a wanker.

Just as a final note, the PC phrase that REALLY gets my wick is “Visually Impaired” for Blind. I don’t mind visually impaired for someone who wears glasses, as this implies that their vision is basically ok, just needs a bit of encouragement by way of glasses. But people who are blind, are in fact visionless by the very dictionary definition and cannot use their eyes as one of the primary receptors for acknowledgement of the physical world around them. This person is not challenged visually, they are ACTUALLY incapable of doing anything visually on account of the fact they can’t see anything!?! They are blind. By a strange coincidence, so are the morons responsible for such absurd terminology.

That’s annoyed me now. I’m going to go have to go and look up blind to see if the OED had adopted this lunacy.

Ye gods. Not one mention of it. Time for a cup of WHITE coffee and a piece of BLACK bun!

Comments

idiocy

Sun, 23 Sep 2007 14:03:35 +0200

I am now on Face Book. Lord only knows why I believe this social networking site to be any better than the millions of social networking sites I've joined in the 10 or so years I've been online. I find I can while away hours just adding little vignettes and bagatelles, like, "hot potatoes" where you're meant to throw potatoes to other users and see how far they travel. Fascinating. Or "super poke" functions where one can virtually poke other users. Or bite them. Or bitch slaps them. No we don't condone violence. I've seen on other profiles Jedi knights versus Sith in some inter-cyber metaphoric battle between of the geeks. My favourite function which I confess to being somewhat addicted to is the never ending movie quiz. Every time you answer a question and hit send, another one pops. It's rather addictive, you find yourself like some demented chocoholic let loose on a tin of quality street, feverishly reasoning with yourself, you'll only have three more questions then stop, Ah damn, got that one wrong, right if I can get three in a row then I'll stop. And just when you realise you've eaten your own body weight in chocolate, it's five am and you can hear the milkman! D'oh!

Anyway Face Book appears to be the next big thing and as I was filling in my profile (with text cut and pasted from various other internet profiles I have) I sat to thinking, I wonder how many profiles I have in various places. So here is today’s list:

Lulu's different profiles.
1.facebook
2.faceparty
3.bebo
4.WAYN
5.yahoo
6.msn
7.bondage.com (don't ask it was a LONG time ago and I can't work out how to delete it)
8.livejournal
9.blog.co.uk
10.gaydar girls
11.you go further(ucas university networking site)
12.friendfinder
13.friends reunited
14.urban social
15.myspace

That's the ones I came up with in a quick 30 second think. On realising that a lot of nonsense was posted variously about me around the internet I resolved to delete as many of these profiles as I could. Not even remotely easy as you'd think. For one, I can't remember half the login id's nor passwords. Sigh It's a bit sad actually.

Anyway the main point of today’s post was a comment on a comment I overheard on the fellytision last night. I was channel hopping as I am wont, and I came across an episode of Grumpy Old Men which is a programme I love. Apart from the fact I am clearly the wrong gender, I could be a grumpy old man because almost without exception I agree wholeheartedly with every single one of the inane facile and totally cantankerous and unreasonable grumbles they have. This particular gripe is in many ways spectacular. It describes perfectly the idiocy we buy into as consumers with too much money and not enough sense.

I speak of course of bottled water. The one that does my wick is Volvic. This stuff has been filtered for thousands of years through volcanic rocks. It's pure, is fresh and refreshing, and if the advertisements are to be believed it is full of volcanicty (tm). The water's been around for eons, drip drip drip so the refreshment experience we foolishly buy into, is that of taking a little bit of goodness from nature. So farley so goodly. Now. Turn over your daft plastic bottle and you will see "Best before July 2008"

Just as well the mercenary mass producers at Volvic got there in the nick of time before the water supply past its use by date.

Morons.

Comments

Three AM query

Mon, 17 Sep 2007 08:16:20 +0200

I woke up this morning wondering why pants come in pairs but a bra is a single item. It doesn’t make any sense now does it? If pants didn’t come in pairs, what would a single pant be like? I think I may be closer to insanity than I realise!

Comments

Pavarotti

Sat, 08 Sep 2007 13:15:28 +0200

ok this is unpleasant but at least it's quick.

Conversation yesterday with a friend regarding Pavarotti and the media lovie types who carp on about his effortless top c notes. She asked me what this meant and I directed her toward watching how when he sings he just soars over some notes but has to screetch and strain a bit for others. Her reply was as follows

"..Yeah I see what you mean, it looks like the difference between pushing out a poo when you're constipated and having a normal everyday functional bowel movement."

Not much could I reply.

Comments

Big-bag theory

Tue, 04 Sep 2007 07:14:28 +0200

It must have crossed your mind as it crosses mine every day, generally when I’m running for a bus, standing in sluggish queue for a coffee or waiting like a lemon for the lift to arrive, why am I lugging such an enormous handbag around? My current bag – Tan Zippy, Squashy – is vast. VAST. I was reminded of this fact recently when I remembered a trip I took down south for work. At the airport, I was having trouble shoe horning my behemoth of a reticule into the mouth of the x-ray machine, cue rolling eyes from security. Eventually as I was exiting the security area (after being patted down and asked to remove belt shoes etc) with an exploding bag of pistachio nuts and my Clive Anderson Memoirs but without my handbag, huge as it was, a fact I only noticed when I gazed back at the security desk, I giggled to my colleague that someone had a bag almost as big as mine.

“That IS yours you dopy mare” she remarked back to me. As I legged it back to pick up the offending black hole of a handbag I wondered why it was that I NEED to carry such a huge bag.

Currently in my bag you will find four pens and two pencils (one retractable and one good old fashioned lead HB with a chewed rubber tip) 20 or so Everton mints ~(bag broke) Last years diary, this years diary, a common book for flashes of inspiration, a list book for lists, a huge number of empty sweetie wrappers and used bus tickets, empty packet of tissues, two packets of tissues with one tissue a piece, chewing gum, hand cream, witch hazel gel, steroid ointment for skin condition, deodorant, broken watch, paracetamol, two different bottles of perfume, compact mirror, small makeup bag, eye shadow pallet too big for make up bag, sunglasses, two plasters for emergencies, a pair of tweezers, lighter, Terry Pratchett book, text book for uni course, my house keys, Significant other’s house keys, a dead battery… Hello? Are you still there?

The sheer weight of guff my bag can accommodate is testament to quite how vital I am in a crisis. There’s nothing I can’t handle with my witch Hazel, list book or sunglasses. I think this must explain the enduring fashion for huge bags. Women love them not only because they allow plenty of space for logos and leather and all he other lovelies that go into making the perfect bag. We love them because they are our anchor in a storm, a place to stow important weighty things such as humbugs and sonnets. Take them away and we’d blow away on the breeze, un tethered by the glories that make us who we are. I read in a magazine (so it’s GOT to be true), some nutty female journalist arguing that huge handbags are the external representation of the womb – arguing that stuffing them full of pointless modern fripperies is a response to the unfulfilled maternal longings, and a blatent attempt in this career obsessed society, to slake her true biological desires. Hmm.

Who knows.

I have a huge bag for simple vain reason it might just manage to make me look a little more tiny than I am (which for those of you know me intimately will know is akin to asking a hippo and a rhino to stand next to each other to try and make the rhino look smaller! Big bag accessories downscale us, much like big boyfriends do.

Incidentally, however manly and big your boyfriend is, he is likely to be useless in a crisis relying on whatever he can stuff into his pockets; some loose change, which invariably gets lost during the day like Hansel and Gretel’s crumbs. Anyone read in the papers recently about the £5 million of loose change that gets lost every year, now if men carried big bags too there’d be none of this nonsense.

Tune in next week.

Comments

Bank holiday monday blues.

Mon, 27 Aug 2007 18:13:50 +0200

Differences.

Wars have been fought over differences. Books written, marriages dissolved, and whole countries sliced up the middle because of differences. People have nobly given their lives and ingloriously had their lives taken from them because of differences. There are lots of different types of differences (a difference between the differences, if you like!)

But I’m not going to get bogged down with all that heady wistful insightful philosophy. Not for me a blog entry with startling clarity of discourse regarding the stark truth about why differences might be good or bad things. No, gentle readers, today’s blog is another rant on the differences between men and women. Or rather, Some Things I Don’t Like But Nevertheless Accept About Being A Woman. Stay with me folks.

If boys are all football fighting and Dangerous Books, where does that leave women? I’m not sure how much I like slugs and snails and puppy dogs tails for boys and sugar and spice and all things nice for girls. Maybe I’ll make up my mind by the end of this rant.

Another erudite conversation with my mother yesterday over melon and gin cocktails, we found our selves talking about what it takes to be a 21st centaury woman. I hope you’re sitting comfortably, I shall begin this diatribe with a little bit of preschool insight.

I seem to recall learning very quickly even at playschool that the world was divided into two kinds of child. Those who sat quietly playing with ancient dolls, but never really becoming distressed by the fact Barbie was a quadriplegic and had a buzzcut Demi Moore would have been proud of. Nor did it seem to bother them (now that I come to think about it) that both Cindy AND Ken were condemned by the pen of that poisonous little cow in 1b with the goldilocks hair and red shoes, (you know the one; best at ballet and bitching), to forever sport neon orange lipstick and eye shadow. I digress however. These children were generally without exception, girls.

Then there were those who bulldozed (as only a hyperactive small child can) around the hall making ack-ack noises and beating each other over the head with plastic tractors and rubber hoops. These children appeared to be the human equivalent of static white trousers in a septic tank attracting any passing bit of muck dirt grime or jam sandwich. These children considered it a wasted day if no one was hospitalised and had perfected the knack of bruising other children merely by being in the general vicinity. These children were almost without exception, boys.

Boys and girls, girls and boys.
Pretty basic differences? Yesno? Maybe. Allow me to continue.

I actually do believe that some “things” are just “boy” things and some things are just “girl” things. You’ll never catch a boy displaying some of the behaviours I’ve outlined here (yes readers, a massive amount of forthought and planning/editing goes into these blogs!), and similarly I’m sure there is boy things girls will never do (can’t think of many at the moment, that’s another blog). Anyway…

…there are a number of characteristics to be found only in those who have the xx chromosome. We girls can, for instance, make a towel turban for hair. No one teaches us this skill; one day we just decide wet hair dripping down our back is no longer an inconvenience to endure just because mama is too busy applying her own slap to do it for us, and so in one elegant and fluid motion, we wrap the towel and hey presto, towel turban. I have yet to see a boy learn this trick. Is this perhaps god’s way of making up for the fact that they can wee standing up? Maybe that’s the secret why most chaps keep their hair short. Another tangent to be explored there another day. But for now here are some more important differences. In no particular order.

We give birth.
Not only do we MAKE the baby we carry it for nine months then push it out. Kudos! Yet to see a bloke achieve that!

We will eventually turn into our mothers.
Maybe it’s the hand gestures, or pained expressions, perhaps the sudden desire to enforce illogical rules that she once held so dear for example, denying children drinks with soup, or the emergence of phrases you thought long dormant. “Am I talking to myself? Do you think I’m doing this for the good of my health?”
I try to think of it as continuing an ancient tradition: without these tell tale signs I’d never be able to work out exactly who in a group of women, was supposed to be the adult, and when I can class my self as one!

Men however, rarely turn into their fathers (with the exception I suppose of my brother who was practically my taciturn fathers’ (younger) twin from about the age of 2 apparently.

We will do almost anything to lose weight except actually eat less and exercise more.
If you are over weight, it is for one simple reason. You eat too much. I know this because I am overweight. When I am full, I don’t say “I am full up: I shall stop now!” I say I am full up. But I still want those 8 cherry Bakewells.”
You end up hating the extra weight you carry because you dislike broadcasting that you are greedy and undisciplined.
I have three options when it comes to dieting.
1. Ignore the fact that all fad diets are fancy ways of tricking you into cutting out entire food groups, and follow each one in turn, in the process emptying out your bank account on food you dislike and know will just go mouldy in your fridge, but never letting that glimmer of hope die.
2. Rise above body fascism. Eat Drink and Be Merry. It will be an infinitely more joyful life than any which is heavily strewed with quinoa.
3. Stop pushing things down your fat throat.
On men, a little extra padding is a sign of a stable relationship with a good cook! How is this fair?

We cry if we are criticised at work.
Now I understand not EVERY woman cries, but if we’re honest there have been moments where the prickly hot tears begin to muster force behind our itching eyeballs and trying to avoid blinking and releasing the waterfall becomes your reaison d’etre. The rational mind knows that constructive criticism is helpful, and not to be taken personally. The rational mind however has sod all to do with whatever is turning you into a quivering teary lump. Between ourselves ladies, this simply will not do, as to let a peer or colleague see you blubbing into a soggy bit of loo roll in the ladies loos shows lack of gumption. My mother was very strong on the subject of gumption. But that's another blog.
If you find yourself in this category I suggest you read something by Joan Rivers and stock up on caustic but intelligent putdowns. As a side note, practice these only in the mirror after 40 gins at home, as giving your (male) boss an earful might well get you the sack!)

I’m going to finish off with a list of my top girlie icons. Women I adore and revere for thier contribution to my development of woman-ness. I want to be like all these women.

1.Wonder woman. Boys got Batman, Superman and Spiderman. We get Wonderwoman with her Lasso of Truth (essentially a bit of rope, but you gotta hand it to her for inventiveness). And also in my humble opinion, a spectacular Bustier and pants I covet.
2. Charlie’s Angels. The angels teach us a valuable lesson. Where three are gathered one will be labelled the secy one another the pretty one and the brownest haired one, the ugly one.
3. Alexis (Dynasty) Colby. Excellent role model. Ruthless, entrepreneurial, and with a nice line in mocking condescension. Note you can only get away with this if your shoulders are wider than you are tall.
4. Buffy the Vampire Slayer. A heroine blessed withy magical strength or an underachieving popsy? Buffy copes better than most with the responsibilities that dog a lady’s life, and for this we must salute her. And her hair is just lovely.
5. Dana Scully (X-files babe). No one pulls of cool intelligence, fearlessness or refusal to use feminine wiles or change your facial expression under any circumstances, as well as Dr Dana Scully. We salute you even more than we do Buffy.
6. Marilyn Monroe. So gorgeous it made your eyes hurt to look at her. As manipulative as Machiavelli and as vulnerable as a skinned rabbit. Had she been less unhinged she might have conquered the world.
7. Madonna. She has been in complete control of her life since she left the womb. Which is cool. Might want to leave out the Kabbalah though. Works better in sunny California.
8. Mary Poppins. Practically Perfect in every way. Nuff said.
9. Dolly Parton. Knew enough from day one to keep the rights to every song she ever wrote. This has made her a millionaire. Further more, her commitment to breast augmentation and six inch heels means she now stays upright through force of will alone. The fact that she revels in her honkytonk hooker chic splendour makes me love her more. Magnificent in all her peroxide botox'd nipp'd tucked glory. I salute you.

Please ye faithful, read muse and leave nice comments!

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The worst role model.

Thu, 23 Aug 2007 08:23:27 +0200

Hear ye hear ye,

It’s a boy!!

It’s got a cute nose, and big round eyes.
It’s caused excitement that can’t be disguised!
It’s a wonderful baby from the perfect pair
That’s reason enough for a big fanfare!!

Not mine. Don’t worry; I’m just a little rotund round the middle. My best buddy in the whole widest world (after my mama obviously) gave birth yesterday. Congratulations Sarah and Steven. And welcome to little Joshua James.

And like all major life events (hatches matches and dispatches) it made me think.

It’s weird how only three or four years ago, our main topic of conversation in the pub was who’s shagging who, how drunk we got at the weekend and dissecting in mind bogglingly minuscule detail the conversations intentions and sexual preferences of our mates. Sleeping was for the dead and unless the pubs had a cocktail list that read like the chemical table of elements we weren’t interested.

However, I find myself these days sitting in Ye Olde Manne Pubbe, drinking a respectable glass of wine or G&T and talking about laminate flooring, gardening, mortgages, and 10% off days at B&Q. Before, I’d ask at the bar what was on special offer because I resented paying more than £2.50 for my booze. Now, I’m happy to sit in Tiger Lilly nursing two cocktails in two hours. The fact that this privilege costs me roughly the same as my house insurance for the month is by the by. In the last 12 months, there have been two babies born, three engagements and a wedding invite. (I’m sure in the general scheme of things there have been many more births and weddings etc. These are the ones that are relevant to me). I get all uptight and worried I might be getting Old, so have to reassure myself by going out getting leathered falling off the pavement and telling the post box I love them! I’m not quite ready to be a grown up yet I think.

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When yoiu contact us please leave your will to live at the door

Tue, 21 Aug 2007 15:32:00 +0200

LAST FILM YOU SAW IN A CINEMA?
Die Hard 4.0 ? wasn?t massively impressed. Bit too contrived for me although the wee chap who pays the computer hacker (I believe he goes by the name of Timothy Long - swoon) is quite delicious.

2. WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING NOW?
Language: The basics by RL Track. It?s a text book.

4. FINISH THE SENTENCE ?THIS TIME LAST WEEK I WAS??
Bricking it thinking about making y big stage debut!

5. COMFORT FOOD?
Lentil Soup. Fish Finger Sandwiches with tomato ketchup.

6. FAVOURITE SOUNDS?
My cat purring. The pop from a wine bottle as the cork comes out.

7. WORST FEELING IN THE WORLD?
Knowing you?ve messed up with someone but not knowing how to fix it.

8. WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU THINK OF WHEN YOU WAKE UP IN THE MORNING?
?Five more minutes??

9. FINISH THIS STATEMENT, "IF I HAD A LOT OF MONEY, I WOULD...?
Give up work and devote all my time and energy into learning and writing. Set up my own recording studio in my house. Have a spectacular garden. Visit every major art gallery in every major city in the world. Generally be a philanthropic sybarite. I?d also be very materialistic and buy lots of beautiful things. Learn how to make clothes properly. Hire a small dwarf to follow me around and jump up and down stamp and scream flailing his fists occasionally. I?d learn piano too.

10. DO YOU DRIVE FAST?
Like Nigel Mansell on speed baby!!!

11. DO YOU SLEEP WITH A STUFFED ANIMAL?
If I do I would never call him it to his face.

12. STORMS - COOL OR SCARY?
Unimaginably cool.

13. FAVOURITE DRINK?
GIN!! Or wine. Or Amaretto. Argh! I can?t make up my mind!

14. FINISH THIS STATEMENT, "IF I HAD THE TIME, I WOULD LOVE TO:
Take more photographs. Re-read some favourite books. Travel more.

15. DO YOU EAT THE STEMS OF BROCCOLI?
Absolutely.

16. HOW MANY DIFFERENT CITIES/TOWNS HAVE YOU LIVED IN?
Three

17. GLASS - HALF EMPTY OR FULL?
Never full enough!!

18. FAVOURITE SPORT TO WATCH?
Rugby, Darts, Curling, Gymnastics, ned baiting.

19. SAY ONE NICE THING ABOUT THE PERSON WHO SENT THIS
Just one?
Enigmatic. Like a white chocolate and cranberry cookie? it?s the one you look twice at on the shelf and guiltily sneek into your basket.

20. WHAT IS UNDER YOUR BED?
I couldn?t possibly admit to anything incriminating at such an early juncture!

21. CATS OR DOGS?
Contrary cats.

22. SUNRISE OR SUNSET?
Sunrise

23. WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE SEASON?
Autumn.

24. FAVOURITE BOOK?
The Secret History Donna Tartt

25. FAVOURITE PLAY?
Caucasian Chalk Circle, Brecht

26. WHAT WAS THE LAST THING YOU BOUGHT TO PUT INTO YOUR FRIDGE?
Chorizo and Pancetta and Lurpak

27. WHAT IS CURRENTLY IN YOUR CD PLAYER?
Dan Bern ? A new American Language

28. ACTIVE ACTIVITIES?
Walking. Salsa, in fact any dancing.

29. NOT-SO-ACTIVE ACTIVITIES?
Spending all day in bed? reading, web browsing,

30. THINGS TO DO:
Take up hems on new trousers. Chase laptop repair. File paperwork.

ho hum just another busy day at the office

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