An enormously huge body splitting hug.

Sorry I have deserted you in your time of need. Assuming you were missing me, and of course, in a time of need. Your need being this. Anyhoo, to cheer you up, I thought I would tell you a little story about me the child and primary school. Oh primary school.

I remember the days of primary school.

I was quite the little revolution leader back then. In fact I do believe I was a bit of a bad ass. This one time I was talking while the teacher was talking or something equally as horrific, and she made me stand up whilst she tore my personality to shreds in front of my peers. I was so very angry, that when she left the room to make herself one of her herbal teas, I formulated a plan, of which I thought was seamless at the time.

This specific teacher, Mrs. Beasly was her name, we used to be rather outrageous and call her Mrs. Beastly behind her back – funny we were.

Anyway, Mrs Beastly used to be an avid fan of polos. As in the mints, not the sport. Anyway, I thought to myself, I wonder what would happen if I stole her packet, I bet that would really teach her not to mess with me. So I did, encouraged rather whole heartedly by my peers. So I walked up to her desk, pulled open the draw containing her treasured mints, and retrieved them. A moment of pure and utter ecstasy rushed through me; and then she walked in. She was so very startled she spilt some of her rancid tea on the floor. Needless to say I was banished from the classroom and the parentals were called in to deal with the 3 foot thug that was I.

And there you go.

P.S

Will be better blogger, and update frequently.

P.S.S

Will also brush teeth twice a day.

The worst public transport companion...

In my previous post, I do believe I mentioned unfortunate seat companions on public transport. And as a commenter also brought up the subject (wheezy to be precise), I thought I should have a little discussion/rant/moan

Is it THAT hard to shower before commencing the long haul from Penzance to London? The correct answer, is no, no it isn't. Then why, every time I endure (no, not take, endure) this journey am I stuck next to someone who seems to think BO is a pleasant odour.

Also, if, you weigh of a metric tonne, maybe, just maybe, I don't know, skip the whole public transport thing? It is deeply uncomfortable for those sat within close vicinity. I.e. under.

What else? Hmm. Dandruff. If this is a problem, tie one's hair back so it's not flicking onto passer-by’s, this, much like the above two problems is annoying, and puts people off their extortionately priced, processed sandwiches.

I know, I know I am sounding like a public transport snob. (No, there will be no denials, I know, I totally do).

Well that is all from me for now,
Take care
Beware
Of
PUBLIC TRANSPORT AND ALL THAT IT ENTAILS.

One of those days said mother hen

Oh I have just had one of those days.

The kind wear it would be far easier to jump back into bed, scuttle under the womb-like covering that is your feather down duvet and drain the day away with a cocktail of awful day time TV.
Let me pour my thoughts out too you;

I wake up to the sound of the blaring radio; Oasis - Why does it always rain on me. A sign, I should have grasped with both hands, but alas I was being optimistic. So I crawl out bed, pull on a pre-styled outfit (perhaps the only good thing about my day, at least the look was good). I scuttle down the stairs to make my morning cup of coffee. No milk. I pull out the bagels to make one. There has been a mouse in the cupboard eating them. Feel sick. Resist urge to vomit, go and brush teeth, pop in the shower, wash hair, get out, no towel. My hair, if you didn't know, is thick, very thick, very long, very curly. And so consequently stays wet for HOURS after showers, unless it is dried.

Arrive caffeine-less to the train station, with wet hair and an already bleak outlook on the day. Then, much to my amusement a little man (who looks alarmingly like a river beaver) pops out, fresh remains of doughnuts plastered to his horrid little moustache, and he says; "Train is delayed. We're trying to organise a bus or something..." and then waddles back into his little office.

One hour later after an experience in the death-taxi later (I could write a whole post on the trauma that I encounter, but I'll save you the upset), I arrive at college, hair still wet, an even bleaker outlook. But you know, hey ho, the world keeps spinning and all that jazz. Or so I thought.

Assignment was due in about…Oooo… 37 minutes ago, so I rush around typing on the prehistoric typewriters that the college generously label computers to finish it, hand it in. And then the stupidannoyingfreaking lecturer tells me that he’s extended deadline to tomorrow.
Sigh.

College finished. Woo hoo. The train. Is delayed. UNTIL 6 FREAKING 30. So I sit in the waiting room, trying to read a book that I’ve picked for one pound in the bargain bin to save myself from absolute boredom. The one pound part pretty much sums up the book. So I wait. And I wait.
The train eventually choo choo’s smugly into the station, I clamber on board, and am stuck next to every stereotype of the worst kind of passenger; clinically obese, hasn’t showered in the past 24 hours, long scraggly hair that is overlapping her section of the seat.

Basically and overall AWFUL day. Mother hen was right.

CONSOLE ME READERS!!

Do I predict a case of the "Grab a boyfriend before V. Day strikes"?

My track record with relationships is awful. I won't lie. One lousy 2 month excuse of a relationship which consisted of me turning into superbitch, while he tried to work out what the hell had changed to the lovely (seemingly tipsy) girl he met 2 weeks beforehand. Basically, I have an awful case of the "I want what I can't have"'s, unfortunately, in my case, this extends into "But if I can have it, I don't want it"'s. Which proves to, apparently, be a turn off for most potential boyfriends. I wonder why...

Not that I'm that bothered, mushy romantic dates don't really do it for me. I'd far rather a night snuggled up in bed reading some must-read novel with a cup of mild coffee and a few tissues, so at least I look like I could emotional over it. Or so I pretend anyways.

But lately, everyone I know has suddenly had the urge to couple together and do the couple things. Everyone, everywhere over the globe, seem to be getting in twos ready for the Noah’s ark of a journey that is the lead up valentines day.

Ergh, it's so predictable. What next? A single read rose and a card from your boyfriend saying "Love your secret admirer". Oh spare me, and pass the bucket. *Vomit*
Am I being a bitter twisted cow? I certainly hope this is not the case. It probably is. Gosh, bitter and twisted before you hit adulthood. SCORE.

So who will join me on this stand for singledom as Valentine sweeps the nation(s) in form of tacky Clintons card, predictable white teddy bears and expired chocolate body paint? I for one, will most certainly, be alone.

If only my cat were here to console me, unfortunately he is stuck on the other side of the world...For another 5 weeks. Maybe I'll just listen to coldplay and weep my lonely heart out? Or maybe I am being ridiculously melodramatic. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.

Well, hope you have seriously better plans then me! Am off now, to go and work those abs into some kind of washboard like submission (I think they call it alternative therapy!)

P.S
I would like to formally apologise to the ex for being ‘that’ girl. I promise I’m not really that awful. I hope your happy doing what your doing with whomever that is. x

P.S.S

I know, that is very big of me.

And I quote; “63 FREAKING CALORIES?”

Ok, two things to be covered in this new fresh post of mine;

1. Exercise. Why, oh why?
2. A little more about the author and such lark.


1. Ok, so New Years was creeping up. I get nervous at the very thought, so much pressure to be doing something cool and socially acceptable. Ok ok ok, I am making (awful) excuses. (The fact that I got completely drunk is not an excuse for being socially accepted by anyone’s stretch of the imagination). And on top of this, you’re supposed to change a million and one things you hate about yourself, then realise by mid February its not happening, and fall (slightly disappointed, and little more weathered) back into the sluggish state you were fine with in early December.

This year, I thought I’d be different, really go for that ‘exercise’ new years resolution, really get those (non existent) guns pumped. Now, please, do not mistake me for some 47 stone ‘lard-arse’ (as the chavyouth so articulately label the morbidly obese, in the UK), I am by no means large, just generally unfit. So I joined a gym.

Yes, I, Ms. Gym-Despiser 2007, I joined a gym. So I’ve been going 4 times a week since the beginning of January, and nothing.

None of these promised muscles, none of the longed for washboard abs. Nothing. Zilch.
The other day I was on the exercise bike (you know, that funny little machine that you sit in, and cycle just like a real bicycle, but…err…you don’t move), and I really went for it. Like, really. I swear I broke a sweat. So ten minutes later, I stop gasping like a dehydrated cat, and get it together, enough to look at the little screen. It stares back at me, mockingly, and says with sheer conceit; “calories burnt? 63” I was so very angry.

“63 FREAKING CALORIES?” That is barely 2/3 of the salt and vinegar snack a jacks I consumed before entering this…HELL.

Exercise darling, are you listening? I may very well give up.

2. So it has been suggested to me, that I chat a little more about myself. Or maybe I’m just self centred.

Ach aye in the nude who cares.
(I am well aware its ’noo’, or ’new’, or ’nuu’. But you see, I am not familiar with the linguistic skills of the Scottish).

Ok, well, I was born in the UK and there I lived my lovely little life (flitting from county to county) for a about 13 years, then I skedaddled on over to the land of corkscrew hats, kangaroos and slang so lazy they melt words together. That’s right folks; Australia. There I dwelled for about 3 years, I learnt many diverse and interesting skills whilst there. For example, guess who now knows how to work a mosquito net. Me. So yeah, that was interesting. And now, good day to your sir, I am back in the land of tea, proper words and so many chavs I sometimes sigh out loud at the sheer disappointment. I realise I sound like I’m 56.

Any other questions? Nope? Yes? Just ask, I don’t bite. (I was going to say hard, but that is just so ridiculously overused, actually, that whole phrase is. Forget I ever said it.)
Must jet
xx

The coffee relapse

So I’ve been fooling me and everyone around me that I’m in love with green tea, and it’s my preferred beverage of choise (I'd read one to many elle magazine articles on the fabulous effects it has, oh the lies). Talking of lies, oh how I lie. It tastes vile. I ordered one the other day in a well known coffee shop, and I kid you not it tasted like fish oil. Yes fish oil.

So today, I’ve been home alone, and I cracked. I made myself a cup of the good stuff. One small sugar and a dash of milk. Yes please. Oh god. I’m mad for it. So since my three month anniversary of no coffee, I haven’t had one. And now, in the one day I cracked, I am on my 6th.

Six cups of coffee in one day is awful, a complete and utter disgrace, but I feel SO good.
Please do not look at me in that tut tut, oh dear, another teen addict way. At least I’m not lurking on street corners injecting myself. I am at home, drinking coffee. It does not compare.
I must kick it. It can’t be good for your health? But we all must have our little pleasures in life…e.g. Angelina Jolie and her 101 African children and of course lip fillers.

Well, kettles boiled, so I shall be off for now.
xxx

The beginning of the end? I think not.

Well well, what a new and noughties concept. Blogging. Type away every detail, worry, event and such in a humorous manner, creating a legion of fans for that girl next door, managing an outlet for all that is bothering one, but not having to spill the beans, to use a somewhat dated term, to our nosey nearest and dearest. Ingenious I must say.

For a while now, I’ve held back from the bandwagon, tiptoed away from the trend, if you will, but eventually the attraction of all that is blogging has captured me. So here I am. A virgin blogger.
I suppose a bit of an introduction is in need. Indeed. How about a few facts?

I am oh so sixteen, going on seventeen
I have fantastic eyes rimmed with fantastic lashes that have seen a lot of the world in every sense
I would probably consider myself witty, at least to myself
Typical people confuse and irritate me beyond a reasonable amount
My biggest faults are; My awfully judgemental personality (I am working on this one), lack of trust in people, my overly questioning and imaginative mind and I suppose my ankles aren’t all there cracked up to be

Now, a little rant to finish things off (because everyone whos anyone likes a little rant here and there)

People who wear uggboots. I know this is a ‘famous’ hatred. But I swear I started it. Cast your innocent minds back to the winter of 2005...

Your walking along, maybe walking your dog rover, or I don’t know, indulging in that creamy but unforgivable chocolate liquid (spawn of the devil to inner thighs, orgasm for the mouth)…hot chocolate…anyway, back to the point, so your doing whatever your doing, and then all of a sudden a young girl of perhaps 14, 15 walks (now I say walk, I think the correct term would be trundles) past, she’s dressed relatively nice, passable at worst, and then you eyes spot them. Furry feet. There is a small dead animal on each of her feet. What do you do? Run away in fear of being her latest victim? Confront her, and say its cruel? Except, on closer inspection, you realise, they aren’t small dead animals after all, but in fact, FOOT WEAR. Yes my friend (is it too early in my blogging life to label you a friend yet? Yes, probably, lets stick to acquaintance for now) these, are in fact, ugg boots.

So just as we’re getting over ugg boots and heading into the sweet sweet summer of 2006, another footwear epidemic is beginning to take over the feet and minds of not only the impressionable youths, but fathers, mothers, toddlers, GRANDPARENTS! That’s right, dear granny betty is wearing them too. Whilst knitting and moaning about vandalism and the price of aubergines. CROCS. To whomever invented these FOUL plastic cases and labelled them footwear, may I just say; “You have a lot to answer for”. Generations have clasped onto this, on the theory that there “comfortable”. Yes, well my dears, so are slippers but these are not an acceptable form of footwear in public, are they? Well, I suppose ugg boots could be catagorised as some kind of slipper like object. Sigh.

Well that’s probably enough for me
And you
Will update soon.
Xxx