Sunday, 28 February 2010


This weekend has been another weekend of hibernation. You know how much I love these, and I'd went a month without one, so it was important to me to catch up on some "me" time. So what have I been doing over this last 48 hours or so since leaving the office on Friday evening???

  • Sleep
A lot. I've had about twenty hours of sleep between Friday night and Sunday morning. It was just what I needed.

  • Drank
Not actually that much for me. A bottle of rose on Friday night. A bottle of rose AND a bottle of Kopparberg pear cider on Saturday night. Thinking about it, other people might count that as a lot. But to me, that's me cutting down.

Try not to worry too much about the state of my liver . . .

  • Read
I just finished a book called "The Dating Detox" which I loved. It was about a girl who had been dumped in her previous six relationships and decided to swear off dating for a while. Immediately she decided to do this, guys appeared out of the woodwork. Okay there was some wayyy-too-convenient coincidences but I identified so much with the heroine and there were just so many moments that made me laugh out loud that I just couldn't stop reading. Great book!

  • A HIMYM-a-thon
I've been greedily catching up with episodes of How I Met Your Mother - it's definitely the closest to a "Friends" substitute I have. I just LOVE it. Still got some episodes of season five to watch online so my day is by no means over. :)

  • Tsunami-watching
I was glued to live online feeds of Hawaii for about three hours last night watching to see if the tsunami hit. Obviously, I hoped it wouldn't but I wanted to be there if it did. Because I was drinking at the time though, I kept thinking I could see a massive wave coming out of the sea and screaming "there it is! There it is!" and pointing at my netbook screen when there was actually nothing there.

I'm glad it didn't happen though. There's been enough devastation in Chile without letting this affect too many other countries. I am really freaked out with the amount of natural disasters that have happened of late though. It's just so scary. What next?

  • Thinking about exercise . . .
. . . but doing precisely bugger all. And with it being the first day of March tomorrow (dude!!! where did the time go? How can it be March ALREADY?), I only have two months to get into bikini shape for Zante in May.

It starts tomorrow. I swear.

What fun have you got up to this weekend?

Saturday, 27 February 2010


So I met my lovely mum for lunch today. We headed to a venue down by the Clydeside near my work, since we only had an hour.

One lovely catch-up session later, one of the waitresses came to collect our plates. As we tried (several times) to ask for the bill, she neglected this and said to me:

"I can't remember your name but we used to be flatmates."

I didn't recognise her immediately as she used to have blonde hair and now she was dark but I am generally quite good with faces so it came almost immediately. "L-----?" I asked.

Phew. I got her name right. (I don't really like revealing names on here, even when it's people I haven't heard from for five years)

We exchanged smaller-than-small talk and she seemed rather surprised when I revealed that I was STILL living in that flat. The same flat she'd vacated five years previously.

After she walked away to get our bill I tried to explain to my mum what a nightmare she had been. My mum, however, remembered us seeing her in Byres Road before and me saying it was a good thing she hadn't seen us.

(I also forgot to actually remind her of what my name was. If she was me, right now that would be driving me CRAZY. I HATE not being able to put a name to a face...)

Don't get me wrong, she was a perfectly nice girl. But she was a NIGHTMARE flatmate.

Me and V used to always get wound up about the mess in the kitchen. She would agree. "Oh yeah, it's awful. I mean, I am REALLY BAD for cleaning up after myself, it takes me AGES to wash a dish. But this mess is out of control."

(Er . . . was that not really a way of her admitting it was mostly HER Mess?)

And then there was the memorable night, circa 2004/2005 that I was kept awake for the entire night by her bringing a guy home and talking to him non-stop for about seven hours. I discovered her two favourite bands were Shed 7 and S Club 7. Could those two BE any further apart in terms of genre?

Exhibit A:

Exhibit B:

Let's face it, apart from sharing a letter and number in the title of their band/group name (and all being English), they don't have much else in common.

She literally spoke for seven hours. I don't think the guy she brought home that night ever came back here again.


Oh and after she moved out? We kept getting police citations arriving in the mail for her. Surely THAT can't be a good thing???

But then, she wasn't the worst flatmate I had, when I think back. Even the ones recently that have pissed me off . . . I SHOULD be used to it by now.

When I look back, my roll call of GREAT FLATMATES is limited. V, Amy, Mich, the two Ms, B, and Anna. That's pretty much it. Out of about 20 (possibly more?) flatmates in this flat . . .

Let's look at some of the previous offenders . . .

There was the girl who used to give me a row about everything. Like when I accidentally put my washing powder in the part of the washing machine where the fabric softener should go.

Er - hello? It took me three weeks just to work out HOW TO SWITCH THE WASHING MACHINE ON!!! Really, whether or not I put the powder in the right or wrong place was irrelevant to me by that stage.

That same girl ALSO came into the living room one day and forced me to change the channel from "Hollyoaks" to a report on the news about how hard it was to buy property. Why am I complaining?

1) I didn't have a TV in my room
2) I LOVED Hollyoaks (and still do)
3) She DID have a TV in her room
5) She punctuated the whole report with smug comments such as "Thank GOODNESS I bought my flat when I did."


When she moved out? I wasn't unhappy.

Or how about Freeman?

The only male flatmate who has ever stayed here. He was in his thirties and had came over from China to study. He had only been married for a year. Apparently his wife had wanted to come too. He hadn't wanted her to, so she hadn't. He said he liked it that way.


One Saturday I came home from my boyfriend's at the time to discover that he had invited what appeared to be most of the population of Eastern Asia over for dinner. Actually, that's an exaggeration. Why?

1) There were about 30 Chinese and Japanese people in my flat. Which obviously is not the entire population.
2) He was not MAKING the dinner. THEY were. THAT'S why he had invited them over.

Personally I was raging because every surface was covered in food. WHERE WAS I SUPPOSED TO PUT MY FROZEN PIZZA????

On another occasion, he put a bowl of rice in the microwave, not realising the timer on the microwave was not working. Twenty minutes or so later, there was a bowl of coal in the microwave.

AND . . . the one that actually makes my blood boil . . .

One night I ran into him in the kitchen and he called me by V's name. I gently corrected him. After all, we'd lived together nearly six months, and talked plenty of times. V has (or HAD) darker hair than me and was considerably taller. His reponse?

"You all look the same to me."

Oh no he DIDN'T!!!

(But he DID. He went there.)

That's just TWO of the prime offenders (apart from former flatmate of today). I have others. I even have a NOTE one of them left me. I just can't FIND it right now. I hope I haven't chucked it out, I really do. Because flatmate notes are always hilarious in some way.

So you can be sure this might come up again in conversation. That's pretty much guaranteed . . .

Who's the worst person YOU'VE ever lived with? What did they do?

Friday, 26 February 2010


I've been seeing people both in real life AND online mentioning how much they're looking forward to certain music festivals going on this year. I have friends who go to T in the Park every year without fail - one of my friends had her ticket bought for THIS year's T before she'd left LAST year's, I think.

Honestly? I don't know why people get so excited about these things. Sure, it must be nice to see a lot of bands you enjoy in the one place - to pay one fee to see so much . . . but it simply sounds like TOO MUCH EFFORT to me.

So here are various reasons why I am never going to be a festival type of girl . . .

  • I wouldn't have the slightest clue what to wear.
I look at the things celebrities wear to Glastonbury and the like and half the time I just think "Um, did you dress in the DARK?" A sequined mini-dress with WELLIES, for example? The fact is, I know I could basically wear whatever the fuck I wanted. But . . . what if I ran into a really hot musician? What if he didn't like my outfit? Man, we have to think of these things, right? I don't want to lose my chance with my future husband because he doesn't like girls who wear wellies with sequined mini-dresses, after all!!!

  • Camping and me? Not a good combination . . .
I've only ever tried to camp once. In my friend's back garden aged 11. We were really looking forward to it - but then three cats decided to keep jumping on the tent and sliding down it, while making noises more appropriate to the BIGGER cats in the cat family. Have you any idea how SCARY this is at midnight??? We ended up staying in the house that night. So no camping for me!

My friend who is the massive fan of T in the Park has an awesome story about how one year she got weekend tickets at the last minute. They were non-camping tickets but by some miracle they managed to sneak onto the campsite and found an unoccupied tent where they "set up camp". The next morning, the tent collapsed on her as she slept and she only woke up and realised what had happened when someone tried to walk over her.

Funny story for sure but I would have HATED it.

Oh and waking up hungover AND IN A TENT??? That sounds like a fecking nightmare!

T in the Park in its infancy used to be held in Strathclyde Park - which is right at the bottom of my hometown. Really, if I wanted to go to a music festival, I should have gone then, when it was HANDY. When I could have had MY OWN BED for the night.

And this nicely leads onto my next point . . .

  • Portaloos.
I do not want to be queuing with other people for the loo. If I need to spend a penny, I need to do it as soon as possible - without queueing. And I don't even want to IMAGINE the state these toilets get into.

  • I'm too high maintenance
How are you supposed to keep yourself looking hot without all your usual luxuries? One of my friends went to a festival up in the Isle of Skye a few years back and didn't get to wash her hair for FOUR DAYS! While I admit that there has been the odd time I've let my hair go without washing for that long, it's been when no one else was going to SEE me. I couldn't do that in public!

  • I get lost too easily
I've spoken about this before. I'd probably get lost going from my tent to the toilet. I'd probably end up in someone else's tent by accident. (Although if the tent turned out to belong to a hot naked guy, perhaps that wouldn't be such a bad thing . . .)

You can GUARANTEE there would be at least one phone call from me to whoever I was with asking for directions back to where we were sleeping. No question about that AT ALL.

  • I hate crowds
Which is one of the reason why I don't go to gigs very often. I start to feel panicky and/or furious at all the people in my way. I would imagine at a music festival there would be A LOT of people in my way.

I might ACTUALLY commit murder.

So . . . y'know . . . best I eliminate that risk and just don't go!

Although I've just realised that the line-up for T looks pretty awesome this year - not only is my future husband there with his band, there's also Florence and the Machine, Muse, Eminem and Jay Z! Now I really wish I WAS a festival chick. Damn.

Do you like music festivals? Planning on going to any this year? Any other anti-festival people like me out there or am I the only one?

Thursday, 25 February 2010


***Alright, folks, you know the rules. Join us all in humiliating the crap out of yourself every Thursday by sharing some completely tasteless, wholly unclassy, “how many readers can I estrange THIS week??” TMI story about your life. Or hell, about someone else’s!

TMI Thursday

I wasn't present at this particular event but it DID happen. I know the girl in question and it doesn't surprise me - and someone I trust told me the story. I had it verified by a third party. It is 100% bonafide.

That's my disclaimer on this one.

I HAVE to share it, because even now, over a year after hearing this story, I still crack up every time I think of it.

I'm going to talk in hypotheticals for fun.

Imagine you're a night shift team leader in a contact centre. One night, you are working away, doing what team leaders usually do (I don't have any idea what they do, so I can't go into specifics here), when one of your employees walks up to you and hands you a note.

Weird, right?

Until you open the note. And discover what it says . . .

Are you ready for this one???

Here goes . . .

I farted and followed through.

Can I go home?

The girl has just shat herself at her desk. And told you in note form. (And yes, I DID put the note in brown text because brown is the colour of poo. Wasn't that artistic of me???)


Several questions have to arise from this.

1) What would YOU do, if you were a manager and someone handed you this note?

2) What would YOU do, if you accidentally shat yourself in work?

3) Why didn't anyone SMELL it at the time? It must have been at least A BIT potent...

4) Was it wrong that some of her colleagues, upon learning of this, left a nappy on her chair for her next shift???

(PERSONALLY, I just think it was thoughtful of them . . .)

Wednesday, 24 February 2010


Hi everyone! It's Wednesday which means it's time for Where in the World Wednesday, brainchild of Jessica of Classy in Philadelphia. Check out her blog later today for other participants.

I'm starting to run out of exotic destinations so I thought I would stick a bit closer to where I live now for the next couple of weeks. At least until I can maybe get a hold of some other photos from my past!

So this week, we are heading to the only other place I have lived apart from my current flat and the home I grew up in (I will be featuring pictures from both of these other places in the next few weeks). Between January and July 2003, I lived in a little village called Halfway - weirdly enough, it was roughly halfway between my hometown and Glasgow - in a flat with my good friend C. Much fun was had - if we weren't holding parties for our friends, we were chilling out watching numerous videos, eating chocolate fudge cake covered in squeezy cream and drinking long vodkas.

Me with our pals Kris and Ameer at our flatwarming party. C's brother, who was only 16 at the time, drank way too much vodka, spewed green puke all over our carpet and fell asleep on the floor of the bathroom. I had to go to bed earlier than planned that night because I needed the toilet so badly!

(And, no, that is NOT a bong in the background. Honest . . .)

Me, C and Kris during our first mini-party in the flat.

Posing with my long vodka on one of our "quiet" nights in . . .

Yet another party - here I am with David and Chris. Chris stole my Kylie Minogue greatest hits CD that night. Well, "stole" is a harsh term - he borrowed it without asking. Which is technically the same thing.

One of these guys was the one I tried to bribe with a caramel to sleep with me. The other made me feel his thingy. Can you guess which is which???

We liked to dance. In fact, we spent many hours perfecting the dance to "You Can Do It" from the film Save the Last Dance! Sad??? Nope, not at all!

C, Kris and Ameer.

Me posing in the kitchen. I told the photographer to take the picture at a funny angle. You know, just for fun!!!

(I'm actually JEALOUS of how utterly tiny I was back then. DESPITE the chocolate fudge cake...)

I sometimes really REALLY miss the good times we had in that flat. But I don't miss the numerous neds who seemed to be bred in those place. I ALSO don't miss the 30 minute bus journey into the city centre. (I could get the train faster from my hometown to Glasgow and it was further away!) Urgh to public transport . . .

Where in the World are you today???

Monday, 22 February 2010


When I was staying over at my friend's this weekend, I introduced her to the car-crash tv viewing delight that is "My Super Sweet 16". I have watched the US version before, but this was the UK version of it. I didn't imagine that it would be as bad as the US version. I'm not sure why I thought this. It was just as bad though.

So I've worked out there are several requirements you need if you actually want to appear on this show. Just in case you're thinking about it . . .

  • You need to be about to turn sixteen. (Possibly eighteen at a pinch). I realise this eliminates most of us at the first hurdle but I'm sure you could lie about it.
  • You need to be planning to turn sixteen by throwing yourself a MASSIVE party.
  • You need to be a massively spoiled little twat who is partial to several temper tantrums per hour.
  • Your house should be as over-the-top as possible in terms of size and lack of any visible taste. (If you do not have a house such as this, don't worry. On one of the episodes we watched, the girl in question had apparently lied that the house belonged to her family. It was actually her BOYFRIENDS, but this had only been discovered after the show was taped. Just something to bear in mind.)
  • You should have at least one boyfriend/girlfriend. If not, you should be prepared to hire one - perhaps one of those topless male models you are paying to appear at your birthday bash. (Which is not inappropriate AT ALL, btw.)
  • Before you even GET to the party planning stage, you need to host ANOTHER party in order to give out the invitations to your "friends". I use inverted commas around the word "friends" since you are such a spoiled brat it is utterly INCONCEIVABLE that you have that many friends. This "pre-party" will generally involve you making a complete and utter show of yourself.
  • You need to have a bunch of kids so eager to be on TV that they will act like they are your biggest fans (sometimes you may even CALL them "fans", rather than "friends") and go on about how amazing you are (although your actions bely their words completely).
  • You will make at least ONE person look like they are about to burst out laughing at your outrageous demands during your planning sessions. You probably won't notice this though, as you'll be so busy talking about yourself.
  • When choosing an outfit, you WILL choose something ridiculous and utterly inappropriate. Whether its a fairytale gown more suited to your wedding, or a tuxedo with your name on the back in "bling". Basically something to make the TV audience piss themselves laughing at you.
  • You will make a dramatic entrance at the party. Helicopter? Why not. Horse and carriage? Nothing's impossible!
  • Your parents WILL let you away with murder and accept every single stupid thing you ask for.
  • Even if you don't have a licence, you WILL demand a car. And get it given to you in an outrageous display during the party.
  • You will need to put on some sort of "act" at your party. A dance perhaps? (You may have to get dancing lessons, and hire sexy dancers to make you look good, but if you have the money, why the hell not?) Or perhaps you want to sing? (Worried about performing in public? Oh that's fine. You can record your song in advance and then MIME to it.) Or maybe your boyfriend has written you a song that he wants to sing you at the party? (And if he DOES, maybe you shouldn't refuse to let him sing it there unless you get to hear it beforehand?)
  • You need to spend the whole show talking about how much you want some A-list celebrity to perform at your party. In the end, you will end up with a one-hit wonder that usually will have the TV audience thinking "who?" But all your fans - I mean, FRIENDS - will be sooo impressed. (Well, they won't get any screentime otherwise . . .)
  • You will need the ability to make everyone watching you HATE you.
If you meet all those requirements, maybe you should contact MTV . . .

Does anyone else ever partake in watching this show? What do you think when you watch it?

Sunday, 21 February 2010


Let's do a quick true or false quiz. I'm going to make two statements - one true, one false. Which one is which?

1) I don't smoke. The only cigarette I ever tried in my entire life did not just have tobacco in it -if you know what I mean (wink, nudge, etc). I couldn't inhale it. And I puked copiously during the night after trying it.

2) I think passive smoking is just THE COOLEST.

Do you really need to think about this?

Okay, just in case, I'll give you a few seconds more . . .

1) is true. 2) is false.

Before I launch into my diatribe, let me first start with the disclaimer that I have nothing against smokers. If I had ever started doing it, I'm sure I would be addicted too (I have THAT sort of personality) so I won't judge people for not being able to stop.

I WILL judge you, however, for blowing smoke in my face.

Luckily, Scotland has had a smoking ban in bars etc since early 2006. Until that point, I hadn't realised quite how much it bothered me waking up after a night out reeking of cigarettes when I didn't even smoke. I didn't even APPRECIATE it until I went down to Manchester for a night out later that year and, since England didn't introduce the ban until a year after, found myself once again with a smoke stench the following morning.

And not only is it great that I no longer smell of smoke the morning after, it is also FABULOUS to not have to find yourself inhaling someone else's smoke on a night out. I LOVE that.

It irritates me beyond belief when people flaunt the rules though. Like when you are sitting on a bus, and a wee ned gets on, heads up the back of the bus, and immediately lights up. They are usually only on the bus for five minutes. Seriously, can't they last that long without a hit of nicotine? Do the rest of us have to suffer in the meantime?

Wee tits.

Or yesterday, as I sat at Exhibition Centre train station, waiting for a train to my friends. The first train was cancelled and as I shivered on a bench on the freezing platform waiting for the next one, two girls came and sat beside me. Immediately one sparked up a cigarette . . . of course it was the one closest to me and NATURALLY the wind blew the smoke directly into MY lungs.

I tweeted about it because I was fairly convinced that, despite the fact the platform was an outside one, it was still not legal to smoke on it. Several people told me the girl SHOULDN'T be smoking (when I finally reached my destination, my friend ALSO said she didn't think the girl should have been smoking). By this point she had already got on the next train so I was no longer having to put up with it.

But I was still angry about the situation. Because whether or not it was legal, surely the girl should have had a bit of consideration for the fact she had sat next to a stranger and essentially blown smoke in her face? Is it not just common decency? Like making sure you don't have your mp3 player's volume too high so as not to disturb others around you? Or holding a door open for the person behind you, rather than slamming it in their face (however much you may be tempted to?) Or putting your rubbish in a bin rather than on the ground?

I try not to be one of those anti-smoking nazis who coughs and sputters in a theatrically loud manner to stop people polluting my lungs. I quietly let myself be smothered, or move so I don't have to smell it anymore. But the stubborn side of me argues that I was there first in most cases - why should I be the one who moves?

I guess the reason I feel strongly about it is also linked to the amount of wine I drink. I'm already bound to end up with a damaged liver later in life, due to my OWN addiction. I don't want to have LUNG problems too, due to someone else's addiction.

How do you feel about passive smoking? Do you smoke? Or have you ever? And do you have an addiction of your own?

Saturday, 20 February 2010


*I've not felt anyone, young OR old, in quite some time, so the title is somewhat of a moot point (or, as any "Friends" lovers might get, a "moo point" - "it's like a cow's opinion - it doesn't matter - it's MOO", hahaha) but I wanted to get your attention. Anyhoo . . .

So I've been 30 now for over four whole months.


I think it's only just starting to sink in now.

The thing is, I don't FEEL any older. I KNOW it's just a number. It's just the fact that the number occasionally panic me.

I don't think I LOOK any older either. In fact, I have been ID'd SO MUCH MORE in the past four months than I have been in five years. It's an inconvenience having to carry my passport around everywhere with me (and have idiots who can't actually seem to find the PHOTO in my passport - don't even get me STARTED on that) but it makes me happy at the same time. It's reassurance - I DON'T LOOK MY AGE.

(It could ALSO have something to do with the fact that my turning 30 apparently coincided with a law that holds the PERSON who served an underager alcohol responsible rather than the company they work for, but let's not examine that further. It's cos I look young, 'kay???)

Anyways, tonight I gave into an urge that has been plaguing me for a while . . .

. . . and bought some anti-ageing night cream.

It's something I was somewhat reluctant to do since I'm still using CLEARASIL PRODUCTS to keep the slightly dodgy skin at bay (the irony being that I only developed this crappy skin when I was about 26!). Plus any wrinkles I have have been there since I was young. My forehead has had lines on it since I was pretty much starting HIGH SCHOOL, for fuck's sake!

But while you are still using MEDICATED skin products, you shouldn't want to use ANTI-AGEING products too, surely?

But even though I am pretty sure I look young, I also believe that prevention is better than cure. So I guess I will have to start this rather contradictory skin routine and hope it keeps me looking as young as I feel.

Are you paranoid about ageing? Do you use anti-ageing products?

Friday, 19 February 2010


"I'm thinking of giving up drinking alcohol for Lent. Except I don't think I can give it up for the full 40 days - I might give it up for 20 instead. I could manage 20 days . . . they might not be consecutive though."
A quote from me, a few days ago.

Sometimes I wonder if I'm ever MEANT to lose weight. I decide over and over again to get on board the diet wagon and feel like temptation is just constantly being put in my path. How am I supposed to resist? I'm WEAK, peoples.

And if someone puts pretty sugary food in front of me I WILL eat it.

(Unless it contains bananas or marzipan)

Unfortunately the main place this is a problem is in work, where people bring in cakes and biscuits if they have a special occasion. (Yes they have to bring in the cakes for their OWN special occasion - ie I have to bring in cakes on MY birthday.) Most of the time, I can resist . . . mainly because they tend to be placed over the other side of the office. And, while I am easily tempted by food, I am also pretty lazy (another problem when it comes to weight loss) and can't particularly be arsed walking from one end of the room to the other.

However, one of my teammates is married to a baker. Which means he will often generously bring us in tasty treats. Which was why on Monday, which was meant to be the first day of my diet (for the five hundredth time), I found myself eating a piece of delicious rocky road cake before 9am. Naughty naughty.

I just couldn't stop myself. My eyes were bigger than my belly. (Not literally, I must stress. I would have to have some freaky-ass bug eyes for THAT to be true . . .)

But I shrugged off the guilt I felt and reasoned it was better to eat the empty (yet sinfully delicious) calories early in the morning in order to give them more time to burn off.

But when my colleague tried to convince me to eat MORE of the cake later, I finally snapped.

Well, when I say snapped, I exaggerate slightly.

I just accused him of being a feeder.

(What? Why are you looking at me like that? Isn't that how the rest of you refer to someone who is trying to give you another slice of cake?)

He denied it, of course.

(Well, you would, wouldn't you?)

It gave us a good laugh. Another of our colleagues came up so we shared the joke. His wife thinks HE is a feeder as he always gives her the same amount of food as he eats. "But when I give her LESS, she complains and asks why I have more than her," he added in exasperation. "Women!!!"

(I tried to explain that guys aren't meant to UNDERSTAND women; they're just meant to HUMOUR us. I'm not sure he got it though.)

Anyway, I digress. OCCASIONALLY I can resist rocky road. VERY occasionally!

The real deal-breaker for me though (apart from the aforementioned alcohol, of course!), is tablet. I can't resist it. That's why I try not to MAKE it very often. Because when I DO make it - or if someone ELSE makes it and brings it in . . . it TALKS to me. I swear it does. "Oh, Pauuullllaaa," it croons across the room. "Look at me, all sugary and yummy. Full of all the naughty things you desire. You want me."

I try not to look at it. Look everywhere else BUT directly at it. But it won't give up . . .

"You KNOW you want me."

I have to eat it just to shut it up in the end. . . .

After all, what if it starts STALKING me next???

What's the one thing YOU can't resist when you're trying to be healthy?

Thursday, 18 February 2010


So it's Thursday . . . you know what that means, folk! Say it with me . . .

TMI Thursday

As LiLu says: Alright, folks, you know the rules. Join us all in humiliating the crap out of yourself every Thursday by sharing some completely tasteless, wholly unclassy, “how many readers can I estrange THIS week??” TMI story about your life. Or hell, about someone else’s!

So I don't really have a story to tell this week I'm afraid. But that doesn't mean I still can't go a little TMI on your ass. Or on my OWN ass. Sitting on the toilet . . .

I've mentioned on several occasions on here that I'm kinda pee shy. I find it really hard to make my wee wees in public toilets . . . particularly the ones in my office.

If there is someone else in the toilets at the same time as me, I find it nigh on impossible to actually pee - even when I'm desperate! Someone once told me that I pee really loudly* - it may have been a one-off but I've been a bit paranoid about that ever since. (Some are paranoid about their thighs, others their lisp . . . I'm paranoid about the volume of my pee - in more ways than one. Niiiccceee. But it's the cross i have to bear.) I also worry that I'm going to involuntarily do one of those farting noises while I pee and someone will hear. And I HATE farting, so that would just make my paralysing fear of peeing even worse!

Anyhoo . . .

So if you ever happen to be in the vicinity of my office, see me go to the toilet and want to make my peeing experience as uncomfortable as possible, here are some suggestions as to how you can do so . . .

  • choose the stall next to me . . . even though we are the only two people in the toilets at that precise moment
  • sing while you pee. (Seriously, who DOES that??? It's totally the anthithesis of good toilet etiquette. Flies in THE FACE OF IT, in fact.)
  • whistle why you pee. (Possibly even MORE irritating)
  • come into the toilet to make a phone call which is clearly of the private variety. (to be honest, I don't care if it's private or not, or in English or not; it doesn't matter whether I understand it or not - IT'S STILL PUTTING ME OFF MY GAME!)
  • similar if you come in with someone else to have a so-called private conversation. Then I have TWO witnesses to my pee volume problem (PVP). And, if it's an INTERESTING conversation (ie gossip about someone I know) then I'll probably just FORGET to pee at all!
  • come into the bathroom and have a moment or two of indecisiveness of not being able to decide what stall to choose. Go in and out of a few of them, letting the door slam behind you each time (we all know how I feel about door slamming too.)
  • decide to push on the door of the cubicle I am currently installed in. (Yes, because the engaged sign on the door apparently does not exist)
  • don't come in to actually PEE at all. Instead, spend ten minutes doing your make up in front of the mirror. Silently. (So you can hear EVERYTHING! And so I can HEAR that YOU can hear everything . . .)
  • you know how that thing some people do so that no one can hear them pee? Where they line the bowl with toilet paper? Do that. Only spend about five minutes pulling bits of toilet paper out of the dispenser, wasting half a roll of the stuff as you do so. The noise the dispenser makes sets my teeth on edge and also makes me even MORE paranoid about the volume of my pee - since obviously you are a pee-noise-nazi (PNN for short) yourself and may judge me.
  • loud nose blowing or a hacking cough will not only cause my bladder to retract, it will also make me feel mildly sick.
  • if you are one of the rare folk who unashamedly poos in work - COMPLETE WITH SOUND EFFECTS. It makes me wonder why I'M so paranoid!

Anyone else suffer from the pee-shy affliction? Or are you one of the tormentors of the pee-shy, as mentioned above? Feel free to share anything - apart from your urine sample obviously.

*You're probably wondering how that particular subject came up in conversation. It's a fairly boring story so it's probably better if you just imagine a far flung scenario that's far more interesting than the truth . . .

Wednesday, 17 February 2010


It's Wednesday and it's time for Classy In Philadelphia's feature "Where in the World" Wednesday.

This week I'm in Torrevieja, a little town in Spain near Alicante where I went for a hen week (I suppose this is the equivalent of a bachelorette holiday in North America) in May 2008. Having just broken up with someone at the end of February 2008, it was just what I needed.

Above is the last night on our roof terrace before we headed out for the BIG celebrations (the other five nights had just been leading up to this...)

One of the first night's out, where me and the girl beside me were presented with roses by random dudes. Does it sound romantic? Yes. Until I tell you that neither of the guys had any teeth and were NOT attractive...

This is the point where you thank your lucky stars that YOU are not the one getting married. Having to do a pole dance in the middle of a roundabout in daylight dressed in barely any clothes . . .? Not the best? (Thankfully she had a fab figure AND pole dancing lessons under her belt...)

Me showing off my (limited) gymnastic skills in the middle of the same roundabout several days before, but in the middle of the night. Later that night, we all ended up in the back of a random white van - the guys had just driven past and some of the girls had managed to convey to them we wanted a ride. AND amazingly, considering we HAD no Spanish, they GAVE us a lift AND didn't kill us. Wow. They also ended up having a party at our flats but I had given up and gone to bed by this time. (Did I mention the only person there older than me was pregnant and gave up and went home after two days?)

Posing in the street in Torrevieja on our last night. A random security guard snapped this pic for us.

Like most Scottish Catholics, when abroad we gravitate to Irish pubs. This was one of those times . . .

This is me and the bride to be above. I felt like a bit of a heffer next to her...

Up on our roof terrace another night.

Where in the world are YOU this Wednesday? If you participate, drop by Jessica's blog to post your link and find other participants . . .

Tuesday, 16 February 2010


After the success of my "How Not To Be A Good Flatmate" and "How Not to Pack" posts", and after the various irritations I suffered during my train journeys to and from the Manchester Tweet-up last weekend, I thought I would put together the definitive guide to being the train passenger from hell. So off we go . . .

  • When you get on the train and find your reserved seat (or, if you booked last minute, a seat which ISN'T reserved), sit in the aisle seat and check the seat beside you to see if it is reserved. Oh it is? In that case, ensure you DUMP ALL YOUR CRAP ON IT.
  • THEN have the nerve to act put out when the person who actually HAD reserved the seat wants to sit on it. Make sure you show your annoyance as obviously as possible - especially since not only do you have to move your stuff from the EXTRA SEAT YOU HADN'T PAID FOR, you also have to stand up to let your fellow passenger past.
  • You've managed to find your allotted seat just fine. A fellow passenger (she's blonde, okay? And yes, the passenger was me!) is a bit lost and asks for a hand in finding her seat number. Despite the fact that the person WITH you is seated in the seat right next to the one the passenger is looking for, you look at her like she is mental and tell her you have no clue. (Thanks.)
  • You haven't got a seat reserved so you just sit in a random seat of your choosing - the only condition of your choice is that it HAS to be reserved. Warning: be sure to take the reserved ticket off the top of the seat. Because otherwise the person who actually had the seat BOOKED may cause a fuss - you know SINCE THEY ARE ENTITLED TO THE SEAT AND ALL!!!! What nerve, eh?
  • Ensure you sit across the aisle from your travel companion on a marginally busy train, making sure you each have an empty window seat to either side of you. Then talk loudly across the aisle for the entire duration of the trip, making sure that you talk about absolutely nothing that anyone else might be interested in. Oh and then you can also do the put-out act when someone actually wants to sit in the window seat. (There's soooo many opportunities for you to do the put-out act...)
  • JUST FOR FUN . . . choose a fellow passenger at random and stare at them intensely until they actually feel their eyes burning into you. People really LIKE to feel uncomfortable. Honest.
  • Ensure you bring something that SMELLS REALLY BAD to eat. Fellow passengers LOVE that.
  • When on the busy platform waiting for the train, walk along the edge of the platform as if you have a specific destination in mind, so the other passengers step out of your way. Then just stop right in front of one of them and wait there for the train. (What? It's not like the other person OWNS the platform! It's a free country and you can stand WHEREVER YOU LIKE. Probably not on the train track though, that might be stupid. Although other people MIGHT be considering pushing you onto it. But then, isn't that where the fun lies???)
  • If you get on at a stop and manage to find a seat on the busy train, do your best to annoy the person you have just sat down beside. Easiest way to do so? Gain control of the armrest between you. It doesn't matter if she (me) has been on the train for two hours already and therefore already HAD possession of the armrest. YOU JUST TAKE IT OVER. If it means hurting the fellow passenger in the process, or just shoving her off, do so.
  • If you have a bike, make sure you are the first one onto the train . . . and make sure you take ages to clear the doorway so that everyone else is held up in the process. Because cyclists aren't annoying enough as it is . . .
Can you tell I REALLY enjoyed my train trips??? ;)

Can anyone think of any others? This surely can't be the definitive list, after all . . .

Monday, 15 February 2010


So I'm not generally one for these "Hi, I'm happy" posts - it kinda goes my whole "glass not just half empty but nearly done" policy - but I've been in a fairly good mood of late.

And here's what's helping me along . . . :)

  • The Valentines card I received from a fellow blogger. It really made me smile when I came home yesterday to find it there. Thank you so much! :)

  • My awesome friends - especially my new bloggy friends from last week's trip to Manchester. Just wish you all lived closer so we could hang out more often. *sad face*
  • Got paid on Friday. Sometimes it absolutely ROCKS getting paid mid-month!
  • On top of that, was given 150 pounds randomly by my Granda. Yay!
  • I may have felt a bit obliged to do a seven hour overtime shift on Saturday but I'll be getting 150 pounds for that too. Not until next month's paypacket though. But every little helps. :)
  • My first long lie in two weeks this morning. It was AMAZING!
  • Apart from Zante in May, I have been developing various other holiday plans for the year in the past week or so. Possibly London in April (although I'm also liking the idea of Dublin). Belfast in August hopefully. And I'm also hoping to get away for the week of my 31st in October with my lovely Mum. If I could wake up on the 4th of October in a lovely warm climate, it would probably be OFFICIALLY the best birthday ever.
  • Met up with Amy-kins, one of my former flatmates who I haven't seen for a year - she moved back to Belfast in 2007. :( Me, her and Mich hung out, along with Amy's boyf, Chris, and had a FAB night. Drink, good food and silly conversation - what else can you ask for???
  • Saw Kelly Clarkson for the second time on Thursday (first saw her back on St Paddy's Day 2008) and even though I could barely see her for most of the gig (the curse of being a short ass), she still sounded AWESOME! And, in case any of the rest of you wanted to know (since Ben emailed me to ask), I didn't in fact pee my pants, even a little.
  • Yummy dinner on Friday with one of my besties. Awesome! Plus she didn't like the wine we got in the pub we went to afterwards so I got to drink pretty much all of it. Yippee!
  • Out with my sis and another of my besties at Reflex, the 80s pub, Saturday night. We got drunk and danced like idiots. Some of my favourite silly memories are from that place. Like the comedy slap I gave my friend V's male friend when he was acting like a fud. Or the time where V congratulated a guy on his realistic 80s look - turned out he wasn't dressing up, that was just his normal clothes. Anyway, twas a GREAT night. And didn't have a hangover this morning which made it even better!
  • Spent most of today hanging out myself, drifting through the interweb and imbibing rose wine. And buying things - a pretty dress from Miss Selfridge and then an equally pretty top from Joy, a website the lovely Miss *H pointed me in the direction of. All in all, it was a successful Valentines day! :)


Sunday, 14 February 2010


So here in the UK, it was announced last week that as of next year, Channel 4, the channel that shows "Friends", is going to end its contract with Warner Brothers for the rights to broadcast the show. Which means that my daily feast of two episodes of "Friends" played several times a day on E4 is going to come to an end as of 2011.

I know there has been mixed opinions on this - some think it wasn't that funny anyway, others think it has went on for long enough considering it ended six years ago, others are gutted.

I can see all sides but my tent is on the edge of the "gutted" camp. Because I STILL love "Friends".

I have watched pretty much every episode AT LEAST 100 times and still find it funny - even now that I know the punchlines before they come.

I basically grew up with the characters, albeit ten years behind them (It was weird that as I turned 25/26, the age they has been at the start of the show, they were mid-thirties and about to end the show).

I can pretty much remember the last time I found an episode I had somehow never saw before (it was mid 2007, and it was the episode where Ross and Emily first met. I'd been puzzled about that for years because as far as I was concerned, she'd just appeared in the show one day as Ross's girlfriend and I didn't understand where she'd came from!)

I have mentioned before that I think you can apply a "Friends" reference, storyline or one-liner to nearly everything that happens in day-to-day life. Well, I can anyway . . .

I can have endless discussions about my favourite character (Monica, although towards the end of the show Ross became utterly PRICELESS!), or my favourite episodes.

The thing is though that I DO own about eight out of ten of the seasons on DVD, so really it shouldn't be such a big deal to me if "Friends" stops broadcasting on TV. But me and one of my friends, who is just as big of a fan as me, were discussing this the other night. She also owns most of the show on dvd - but sometimes WE JUST DON'T FEEL LIKE PUTTING THE DVDS ON! In my case, if I have to watch a dvd, I have to get up and switch my SCART button so it flips from Freeview to DVD. If I am just watching TV and fancy a "Friends" fix right now, all I have to do is flip to one of the E4 channels and I can get a hit either right then, or in an hours time. Okay, so I'm lazy . . . but I can't help it. "Friends" is the show I can ALWAYS turn to when I'm bored, or just need a cheer-up.

I can console myself with the fact I'm unlikely to ever get stuck in a date's bathroom with a pair of leather trousers stuck halfway up my legs and a paste made of lotion and talcum powder adhered to the upper half of my legs.

I'm probably NOT going to kiss someone who has just interviewed me for a job (I'll wait until after I GET the job, obviously . . .)

I'm DEFINITELY NOT ever going to get stuck with my head between my new cleaner's legs.

And I don't think I'll ever go for a spray tan after witnessing Ross's attempt at it.

As for my favourite episodes - ooh, it's a close one. I have three.

"The One Where The Stripper Cries" - Season Ten

Not only is Danny DeVito in it as an unlikely stripper, Joey's hilarious appearance on "Pyramid" AND Chandler and Ross going to their old school reunion make it even funnier. I also love the shows where they have flashbacks (and NOT flashbacks from previous episodes) so the flashback to their college parties never fails to crack me up.

"The One With The Routine" - Season Six

Pretty much PURELY for the hilarious dance routine Ross and Monica do. Although it's also funny to watch Phoebe, Rachel and Chandler searching for their Christmas presents so they know what to buy Monica in return.

"The One With The Rumor" - Season Eight (Every part of the spelling/grammatical nazi in me is longing to add a "u" into the world "Rumour" but I'm seriously resisting since it IS an American show and should therefore be allowed the American spelling...)

Brad Pitt is in it (when he was still HOT. And still married to Jen). And Rachel finds out that in high school everyone thought she was half man, half woman.
Oh and Ross kissed an old woman. Hahaha.

ANYHOO, I will miss "Friends" even if everyone else won't, and I'm going to make the most of the rest of the year I have left of it. Then I'll go buy the rest of the DVDs I need to make up my collection and just turn to that I guess.

So I'm keen to know:

How do YOU feel about "Friends"? Favourite characters, episodes, quotes?

Share with me, people!

Friday, 12 February 2010


So I have been given a couple of blogger awards (it always sounds a bit more glam than it is but I will always fully embrace any recognition as deep down I AM an attention whore!) over the past few weeks so I thought now would be a perfect time to acknowledge them! I DO Love it when I get these awards, especially when it is from bloggers I love, which is completely true in the case of these three awards!

But beforehand, I'm just gonna do some random stuff, since I'm not sure how to combine all the rules etc. I'm gonna go with the Beautiful Blogger Award and do seven random facts. AND I have decided to make them guy-related facts, since my love life is SUCH a disaster!

You may have heard some of these before but now they are all compiled in one place and therefore all the more valuable. Or something...

1. My first sort-of boyfriend was in 1993, when I was 13. His name was Gareth and he was from Manchester. I was on holiday in Devon and had been coveting him all week, in the way I would probably covet a bag these days. (Isn't it weird how tastes change?) We only went out for a night and didn't even KISS. In fact, we didn't even spend much of the evening together at all. The following year we ended up in the same place and I ran up to him and begged him to "PLEASE PLEASE GO OUT WITH ME." Oops. THAT was embarrassing. Even 16 years later I STILL cringe at that memory.

2. My first kiss was age 16. The guy wanted to go out with me afterwards. I could never look him in the eye again. Even when I ran into him at uni four or five years later I still avoided him. I befriended him on a social networking site a few years ago and I think he MIGHT have tried to ask me to meet up for a drink, but I avoided it. Nowadays I can thankfully kiss a guy and still EVENTUALLY face him without turning bright red. Which is a relief.

3. My first PROPER boyfriend wasn't until I was 22. And to this day I'm not entirely convinced I didn't just go out with him because he liked me and was convenient and I was, frankly, getting a bit desperate. Because he was about as attractive to me as . . . a lump of coal? Drastic? Mean? Yup. But true. We lasted three months and I dumped him a week after Valentine's Day. And therein lies the start of my bad karma with guys...

4. I still laugh about this random guy I used to work with who I'd never spoken to or been introduced to, but he asked me out once via text. I ignored it, then he came up to me in work and asked if I'd got his text. It was MORTIFYING!

5. I once got pretty much forcibly removed from a gay club for snogging a guy too fervently. Huh. If it had been a GIRL I'd been snogging, I'm sure there wouldn't have been a problem. Reverse homophobia??? (Is that a thing?)

6. I once klssed a guy I worked with purely because he was really angry and complex and therefore fascinated me in a slightly perverse way. The minute I kissed him, he turned into this sappy, smiley thing that actually took me home to my flat at the time in a taxi even though it was out of his way. He then asked me out, I said yes, then saw him when I was sober, realised I wasn't REMOTELY attracted to him and cancelled on him at the last minute. More future bad relationship karma? Quite possibly...

7. I don't believe it's a good idea to fall for your best male friend. I did that once upon a time and ultimately I lost both the relationship AND the friendship. So while it's a romantic idea, and I LOVE "When Harry Met Sally" . . . I really wouldn't recommend it.


Firstly, there is the award above, which I received from Melanie of Melanie's Randomness.

The Beautiful Blogger award, which all of the Manchester Tweet-Up chicks were given by The Pink Jellybaby. Thanks! :)

I'm going to award both of the above awards to a few of the blogs I've started reading recently in the past month or two. I can't remember the rules, so I am going to give five of you both the above awards. What can I say, I'm a rule breaker...

1. Classy in Philadelphia - I LOVE her blog, she seems to have similar taste in books as me, AND loves the Greek Islands, and Where in The World Wednesday is one of my favourite features. I just worry I'm going to run out of places to display on my blog. :(
2. The Seventh Circle of Elle - Elle may just win the record for number of blog changes in the time since I started reading her two years ago - she was one of the first blogs I found via the 20sb site - but I have been loyal to her all the time! AND . . . she is getting a book published! Congrats chick! :)
3. Martinis Or Diaper Genies - She is friggin' hilarious. That's all. (Oh and she likes to take pictures of herself wearing awesome shoes while standing on the loo. Like we ALL do...)
4. Confessions of a Secret Keeper - another blog I only discovered in the past few months but I love Jen's blog. She's awesome. Hope next time we have a meet-up she will be coming along too? :)
5. Miss America - we used to work together way back (2004?)- just discovered she had a blog recently and love it! :)

Then there was the award above, passed to me by the lovely Brittany of Simplicity in Baltimore - she said some very flattering things about how funny I was that make me kinda want to quote her on my blog.

Hehe. I think I need to award this to my new In Real Life blogger friends . . .

1. Miss *H
2. The Pink Jellybaby
3. Miss Smidge
4. Elle
5. Helen
6. LizSara

Happy Weekends everyone! :)

EDIT: Just realised I managed to leave off the other award I received recently which was from Kirsty of The Road Less Travelled, so I'll put that one up in the next few days!


I dislike Valentine's Day.

In fact, to say I dislike it would be a vast understatement. It would be doing the way I feel about Valentine's Day a gross disservice to say I merely dislike it. I DETESTit. LOATHE it. DESPISE it.

What is the frigging point of it, I ask?

To show your loved one you care? As far as I'm concerned, if you're only showing that one day a year, then your relationship needs serious work.

(Not that you should listen to me. I'm not exactly the professional relationship person. My romantic track record speaks for itself.)

Back when I was a teenager, I LOVED the celebration. It was the one day a year you got to make a move on your secret crush . . . and people encouraged you to do so. I would spend MONTHS trying to decide what one of the five million guys I fancied that particular year would be the lucky recipient of the card, spend HOURS deciding what card to buy (usually the cheapest given I was in my early teens and without a job to fund anything more expensive), and then spend ages swapping Valentines rhymes with my friends. We would load it up with as many silly poems as we could. (I use "Poems" in the loosest possible sense. They were quite clearly the ARMPIT of poems.)

Poems like:

"Remember remember the night in the hall
You missed my head and kissed the wall"


"Knickers are red, knickers are blue
If you don't love me, then knickers to you."

(Hence the post title)

Then you had to find the guy's address. If you were lucky, he had an unusual surname and WAS in the telephone book. If not, further investigation was required.

Or, in my case, you decided to go for one of the guys you liked who DID have an address in the phone book.

(Yes, I always HAVE been lazy).

You'd finish off the card by leaving a little guessing game - marking dashes for each letter of your name.


In my case, this wasn't the brightest of ideas. There weren't that many girls with 11 letters in their surname. I tended to get found out fairly quickly.

Anyway, I would send all these cards . . . but I never got one of my own.

(1-2-3 . . . AW!!!!!)

I would console myself with the fact that no one knew my address. But then the school Valentines post would come around and I STILL wouldn't receive anything. What was the excuse now?

And you'd have these other girls walking about gloating about how they had received FIVE that year and it just seemed so damn unfair!

Even now, I feel the same. I have never received an anonymous card. I have only been in a relationship for three Valentine's days in my life . . . yet have STILL Only received two cards. I still have them both, tucked away. I look at them every so often to remind myself that OCCASIONALLY someone has cared enough to give me a card.

It is a fact though that Valentine's day puts pressure on us all. Those of us who are single and have no one, like myself. And those who ARE In relationships. Who ARE obliged to go to a restaurant and spend over-the-odds on a meal that is more substandard and limited in scope than usual purely because the restaurant is trying to cash in and adhere to a "Valentine menu".

Last year, I spent most of Valentine's day watching chick-flicks by myself and feeling a tad sorry for myself, but overall happy I didn't have to think about Valentine's gifts. But there was still a tiny part of me which felt bad. This is a part of me which doesn't feel bad to be single most of the time. But February 14th brings out another side of me. It used to be a sad side. Now it's more venomous.

So perhaps this Valentine's Day I will spend the day trawling the streets looking for happy couples and doing my best to make their life a misery. KIDDING!

I will more than likely spend it hungover.

Suddenly a hangover sounds OVERWHELMINGLY appealing . . .

Thursday, 11 February 2010


TMI Thursday

So it's TMI Thursday time, hosted by the indescribable LiLu . . .

***Alright, folks, you know the rules. Join us all in humiliating the crap out of yourself every Thursday by sharing some completely tasteless, wholly unclassy, “how many readers can I estrange THIS week??” TMI story about your life. Or hell, about someone else’s!

And today, in the absence of a more personal post, I'm going to talk about something else . . .

Here's a clue . . .

A moment of silence please.
see more funny facebook stuff!

Can you guess???

That strange "hobby" which goes by the name of bestiality.

I just don't get it.

(I'm SURE I'm not the only one.)

Once upon a time I missed a documentary about this subject and to this day I'm very disappointed about it. My flatmate at the time told me all about it though. About the woman who lost her virginity to a dog. Or the one who apparently said "I love to suck my stallion" - and by that she DIDN'T mean "Italian stallion" or another euphemism for a well hung gentleman. . . she meant her HORSE!!!

Why would anyone do this?

When I was on the train home from Manchester there was a couple who had a tiny little puppy - they got on at Oxenholme and me and my friend spent most of the rest of the journey staring at it, talking about how gorgeous it was.

And NOT because we wanted to have a threesome with it!

(It was so tiny we'd probably have crushed it, for a start...)

But that poses an interesting question - where is the line between thinking a dog is cute and wanting to be on it, Ron Burgundy style? Or when does "I'd like to go for a horse ride" turn into "I want to ride that horse HARD?"

If you do rude things to a sheep, it's hardly going to whisper sweet nothings in your ear afterwards.

It's probably going to say "BAAAA" and wander off to be sheared. (Maybe that's the equivalent of showering the filth off you after a dodgy one night stand?)

You think a GUY doesn't care whether it satisfies you? I'm pretty sure an ANIMAL won't . . .

Just a thought.

Anyway, I repeat . . . I just don't GET it.

I think maybe the culprits, if caught, should be forced to marry the animal. It worked in Sudan after all - I talked about it back in August 2008 when one of my colleagues showed me an old news story about the subject - Charles Tombe married "Rose" the goat after being caught having sex with it. (Apparently shortly after the marriage, the goat gave birth to a kid - NOT a human kid, an article stressed.) Not long after, sadly Rose died. She choked on a plastic bag.I don't know how Charles felt about this.

(Just read the FUNNIEST comment on it ever though on an internet article about the whole affair -
"Man meets goat, eyes meet across a field and love ensues. They marry - and then some old bag comes along and ruins everything!" MWAH-HAHAHAHA!)

ANYWAYS, I just find it all decidedly odd. But I decided to turn it humorous and combine TMI Thursday with a belated Cheer-Me-Up Tuesday and include one of my favourite jokes . . . which IS related. Here goes . . .

There was a guy riding through the desert on his camel. He had been travelling so long that he felt the need to have sex. Obviously there were no women in the desert so the man turned to his camel.

He tried to position himself to his camel but the camel ran away. The man ran to catch up to the camel and got back on and started to ride again. Soon he was feeling the urge to have it again so once again he turned to his camel. The camel refused by running away. So he caught up to it again and go on it again.

Finally after riding the camel through the whole desert the man came to a road. There was a broken down car with three busty beautiful blondes sitting in it.

He went up to them and asked the women if they needed any help.

The hottest girl said ,”If you fix our car we will do anything you want.”

The man luckily knew a thing or two about cars and fixed it in a flash.

When he finished are three girls asked, “How could we ever repay you Mr.”

After thinking for a short while he replied,”Could you hold my camel?”


For further TMI stories visit LiLu's blog later on today. And try NOT to think about how damn sexy your pet is . . . ;)

(I wonder if this post will help increase the amount of strange search engine terms I receive. I kinda hope so . . .)

Wednesday, 10 February 2010


You know what it's time for - Jessica's weekly feature, "Where in the World" Wednesday! Yay! I always look forward to this. Although I tend to end up sharing pics I've posted before, most of them were from a while ago, including today's, which are from October 2008.

I said a few weeks ago I would be returning to the Canaries for WITWW shortly (unfortunately I'm not sure when I will next be there in PERSON!) so I'm on the island of Fuerteventura today, my second favourite after Lanzarote!

Fuerteventura has gorgeous sand dunes, which I unfortunately don't have a picture of, and one of the most beautiful beaches I have ever seen in the little village of El Cotillo.

Here is the view, first of all, from the clocktower we walked up. Below us is the town of Corralejo and the land you can see across the water? That's Lanzarote. Yay!

Me sitting at the edge of the pier with the island of Lobos (I talked about Lobos in my WITWW three weeks ago) behind me. This was a year after we'd visited Lobos. Sadly, we decided not to go there this time. I can't remember why...

And below is the beach at El Cotillo. Isn't it STUNNING? Unfortunately there were a lot of fat naked people on it, which ruined the prettiness ever so slightly...

And here's me, playing crazy golf and looking very moody (I think the sun had disappeared behind a cloud...)

And the pool at the hotel we stayed at. I ALWAYS got a lounger and this picture was actually taken FROM my lounger. I sent it to people back home to make them jealous.

Yes, I'm a total bitch like that . . .

And so completes our whirlwind tour of Fuerteventura. Check out Classy in Philadelphia for more participants later on today if you so desire . . . :)

Monday, 8 February 2010


The view from our penthouse apartment balcony - Manchester viewed from the 19th floor...

I was always jealous of those bloggers over the pond who meet up regularly and so when I first got the email suggesting the Manchester Tweet-Up, I was all for it. I joined in the plans, booked my train tickets, eagerly awaited the 6th February . . .

And as I sat on the train, finally sure I was on the RIGHT one and Manchester-bound I suddenly started to panic. WHAT WAS I THINKING??? I COULDN'T DO THIS!

There was so much for me to worry about, aside from the fact that they were maybe all men pretending to be girls to lure me to Manchester (which they weren't, thank God!). What if I couldn't think of anything to say? What if they didn't like me? What if I didn't like THEM? What if I embarrassed myself by doing something stupid like falling over? (er...) There was this really surreal thought that it was like meeting characters from a book - I'd read about their lives but they'd never quite seemed REAL to me, despite me being friends with them on Facebook and chatting to them via email and twitter for months now to plan this thing.

I was suddenly TERRIFIED!

And then I got to the station and met Miss Smidge, The Pink Jellybaby and Helen, I realised my nerves were unfounded, because they were lovely. We decided to grab a drink while waiting for Elle. And then, after Elle arrived and we couldn't check into our (absolutely INCREDIBLE!) apartment, we went for ANOTHER drink.

Probably a bit of a rookie error. By the time we'd checked in and Miss H had arrived, I had imbibed two large glasses of wine (one of which had came in a BEEYOOTIFUL plastic glass, which always makes me feel REALLY classy.)

After that everything turned into a bit of a blur.

I remember drinking red wine (which is unusual for me) which Liz Sara had brought along, followed by more rose. A LOT of rose . . .

I VAGUELY recall eating some stuff (which was probably a good thing since all I'd eaten before that was a packet of Weightwatchers Hula Hoops on the way down on the train and a couple of Elle's chips in the second pub), including delicious cupcakes made by LiloLou.

I remember (after a comment on another blog jogged my memory, that is!) that we had a lime thief in our midst (tut tut, Helen!)

I remember the local girls, Victoria, Rachel and Julia turning up. And me getting even drunker.

I don't really remember leaving the apartment. Which makes me wonder how I possibly managed to get into a drinking establishment because I must have ALREADY been wasted.

Apparently I also got involved in a rant about Jordan/Katie Price and how she was just a star-fucker. Well, THAT'S true.

And I fell. OF COURSE I fell. I was drunk and wearing heels. Heels do NOT agree with me. Apparently I was fairly close to getting chucked out by the bouncer. Oops. I don't remember much about the fall (thank God, cos it must have been embarrassing!) but I have a mental image (which may or may not be based on reality, or simply my paranoia) of flailing around on the floor like a four-legged starfish. I hope that's not actually a drunken flashback...

The aforementioned heels were KILLING my feet by the end of the night. I have a vague memory of whimpering with every step on the (very short) walk home.

We were back at the apartments before midnight. I would say it's because we're lightweights but - HELLO? DRINKING SINCE HALF PAST ONE IN THE AFTERNOON??? I'm amazed I lasted as long as I did!

Apparently I then spent some time lying on the floor. And also getting yelled at by one of my flatmates on the phone cos I'd worried her and one of my other friends by not answering my phone. It took me a while to convince her I HADN'T been kidnapped. She then called me a "bawbag" - my new friends defended me though.

I then proceeded to pass out in one of the beds and was in such a heavy sleep I didn't even notice when Miss Smidge got into bed with me. It was only when I woke up the next morning with no clue where I was, and hearing someone else breathing, that I realised I wasn't alone. Another momentary panic as I wondered if I'd taken a random back with me, then I realised it was her - thank God!

I spent most of Sunday hanging about Piccadilly waiting for the train home - unfortunately the other girls were either on earlier trains or had other plans - and even braved one of the bars myself (very unlike me!) Smidge and her dad joined me just at the point where I was going insane with my own company and my boring book, and then it turned out one of my friends was actually in Manchester too and on the same train back as me.

Which was a good thing as 1) the train was full of knobs* and 2) the train was going to be splitting in two at Preston and if she hadn't been with me, I would probably have ended up in the depths of the Lake District instead of Glasgow.

In the end, it was nearly ten last night before I got home and I was exhausted, but still managed to enjoy another bottle of wine. Today everything hurts and I'm sooo tired. I have random bruises everywhere but a bunch of fabulous memories (albeit blurry) of these amazing girls I met this past weekend.

I miss you all already girls! Roll on the next meet-up in (hopefully!) Scotland . . . :) xxx

* A post about trains being full of knobs is more than likely in the offing...