Sink or Swim

So my dad gave me £50 for my birthday to "treat myself" with and I decided, instead of my usual £15 a pop trimming of the split ends, to go to a swanky hairdressers and get my lengthy locks all chopped.

Swanky it is, all right. Lovely latte from a coffee machine, head massage with mango-scented products, adding much-needed glossiness to my dry hair and conditioning every strand from root to tip.

And I watched as the long, untidy locks fell to the floor and felt my head growing lighter and lighter, released from its hefty, headache-inducing burden and felt myself feeling gradually happier and free.

Hurrah!

And then she blow-dried it. With fine, scented spray to make it all extra spanking shiny and new.

And I looked at myself in the mirror and saw the chic, short, glamorous, short, trendy, short new hairstyle that has replaced my long untidy mane.

And I FUCKING HATE IT!!!!!

Oh. My. God.

Where's the mess? Where's the flickiness? Where's the length? Where's me?

It's all bloody styled. Which a) I don't like and b) will never be able to replicate myself, in a million trillion gadzillyooksfeckityfeckityillion years.

Which means that the very next time I wash it, I am gong to look like this:

I am going to hide. And smash mirrors. And smoke furiously.

See you all in summer, when the fecking stuff's grown back a bit.

*weeps*

Some very well-deserved awards. Well, except for a couple... *ahem*

Thank you Landers - you are a star. Best blogger in my book

And congrats to all the winners. Well, except for a couple... *ahem*

xxx

Have YOU voted?

Ah-ha!

Ah-hahahahahahahahahahaha!

So as the earthquake wobbled shook Mancsville last night, striking mild curiosity terror into the heart of many residents...

RTB was fast asleep.

Still, I probably suffered traumatic dreams as a result, so I'm blaming the earthquake entirely for the fact that I'm finding it terribly hard to concentrate on my work this morning. Poor me!

No, that is not the sound of me opening a bottle of wine although, now you mention it...

It's the sound of a plug.

(Oh, all right, that was crap - but bear with me...)

Strange what different things we end up doing with their lives. From the various people I know from university, the jobs that they've gone on to do vary from police work to lecturing, freelance photography to IT, accountancy to wine tasting (yes, I am particularly jealous of the last one).

But perhaps the one that impresses me most is this:

www.vesl.org

So while I spent my time after university working in various crappy temporary administrative jobs, bumming around the world for a year, returning to work in various crappy writing jobs and am now finally getting it together to do my own thing, one of my friends started his own fantastically worthwhile charity, which has expanded from tiny beginnings in Sri Lanka to move into setting up further projects in south India and, most recently, northern Thailand.

Don't you just hate impressive, lovely bastards like that?

*tries to restrain self from downloading volunteers application form*

I’m not exactly known for my cluckiness *cue a mighty thud echoing across the nation as various friends of mine simultaneously collapse onto the floor, clutching their stomachs and howling with derisive laughter at the enormity of my understatement*

Don’t get me wrong, I like babies. I’ve just always been… well… More bloke-like than birdwoman-like in my reaction to them, I suppose.

Take babies in the office, for example. Why? WHY? There is simply no need for them to be there.

If there are people in the office who are friendly enough with you to want to see the baby, let them come round to your house. If there are so many people in the office who want to see the baby that this isn’t practical, why not arrange to meet them all for lunch? Why not? EH?

And, if you do bring them into the office, why, why would you make a point of taking them up to the only female office worker who is gazing fixedly at their computer screen and tapping away in a blatantly panic-induced frenzy when else would I ever look as though I'm working that hard and proffer said baby to the arms of said office worker? And then watch as said baby vomits all over the keyboard?

(Yes, that has happened before.)

(Another thing that has happened before was when I tried to make the effort to enthuse over a colleague’s baby, opened my mouth and found myself uttering the oh-so-gushing phrase: “Ah… it’s IT’S! wearing yellow…” before making a sharp retreat to my seat in shame.)

Anyway...

I also fail to understand what it is about the sight of any random baby that causes some mutation of Tourettes to manifest itself in so many women. Not in the form of swear words, but as various assorted squeaks, squawks, coos, meeps, ahhhhs, awwwws and awlookatthewiddlefingers!!!!!!’s.

Yes, it’s a baby. Yes, it has small fingers. That’s because it’s a baby. Babies have small fingers. They’d look pretty stupid if they didn’t. In fact, if they did have fingers that were the same size as an adult's, that fact would be far more worthy of a comment, don’t you think? EH?

Anyway... *ahem*

Many years ago I realised that my lack of awwww wasn’t actually my fault. I was simply missing the baby-aw gene.

My sister got it instead, you see. And then some. The slightest glimpse of a kid in a shop, or a little hand, or even a bootie and she promptly melts into an ecstatic puddle of cooing, beaming goo.

Actually, while we’re at it, my sister got the monopoly on a shedload of other genes, too: the tidy-up gene, culinary-skills gene, organisation gene, not-a-drunken-lush gene… the list is probably endless, but it’s also guilt-inducing, so I’ll stop there.

Me, I’ve always been quite happy to observe the phenomenon and agree that yes, it is a baby, yes, it looks cute, and yes, there’s really not a lot more I can say about it. Unless it needs changing.

But...

One of my best friends has just given birth to a baby boy. (A best friend who, incidently, spent many years insisting to me that she would never get married or have kids - ah-hahahahahahahaaaar!)

And the fact that it’s not just any random baby means that I’m actually, well, really rather interested in it.

Rather a lot.

In fact, after having received this, I can’t help but wonder if it’s not that I don’t have the baby-aw gene, but actually that up until now it’s chosen to be... recessive.

Okay, I admit it. I think he’s very bloody cute. He does make me go awwwwww. And I can’t wait to meet him.

But H, if I mention his widdlefingers, do feel free to slap me with your own…

xxx

Blimey, even the pets are depressed!

I don't think I could have put this much better myself.

I love my country and appreciate everything it has given me, and continues to give me. But I do think it's sad that so many of my friends are now moving overseas, and not just because of the sun or The Sun.

Because they want to live somewhere where they can afford to buy a good-sized house in a decent location without forking out half a million.

Because they want to work somewhere that gives them the flexibility to have a decent work-life balance.

Because they want to bring up children who are safe and have room to play and breathe.

Because they're sick of sitting in traffic and trying to figure out the ridiculously over-complicated pricing system of the railways.

Because they don't want their lives to balance precariously on credit.

As for me, I'm still here and will be for a while yet.

Yet...

The Baftas are plain boring.
Academy Awards are the pits.
The BIFAs get me snoring.
I no longer watch The Brits.
I cannot be arsed with the Oscars.
I don't even have MTV.
So, ladies and gents, here's the Bloscars!
And, while you're there, please vote for me...

So picking 8am as the perfect time to go to sleep on the day that I had to drive to Bristol at midday might not have been the most sensible first decision to make as a 31-year-old.

Still. Bloody good night.

In other news, one of my best friends gave birth to a baby boy this morning and I am ridiculously excited about it. Especially considering that I am not usually famed for cluckiness. Maybe there is hope for my maturity after all.

Hm. Wonder what time it would be acceptable to wet the baby's head?

Many, many thanks for all my birthday wishes. Ain't you a loverly lot?

So, today then.

The rest of this morning I shall be spending werking. Yes, really. Really. I am not trying to convince myself.

Then I shall have a lunchtime pint of That Black Stuff with a friend, over an odorous mountain of heavenly cheese and pate.

Then I am meeting an accountant. Woo. And hoo. Hopefully the aforementioned Black Stuff will ensure that this is relatively bearable. If not, I shall breathe cheesy fumes on him until he collapses leaves.

And then the pubs day will be mine.

I plan to return home, get changed and ready to hit the pubs town at around 5pm.

During this change, I may be tempted to attach the following to my top. It would be rude to churlishly ignore my birthday present, after all...

Thanks, you cheeky sod

(That's the badge I would attach, incidently, not the card. Don't want to go overboard, after all. Bloody hell, I have made the badge appear to be a subtle option...)

I may attach the following, too. Strictly speaking not a birthday present, but I feel it may be aptly suited to the evening's entertainment...

With thanks to you two, too

So, roll on the evening, then. And the pubs pubs.

xx

But I'm afraid I may just have to forgo it for this:

Life on Mars was better, anyway. Mmmmm, John Simm...

He's a Brits winner.

But I'll forgive him. Just.

I can't help it.

Mean as it is, and much as I could imagine myself at the age of 19 eagerly snatching this opportunity from the desperate, frost-bitten fingers of far, far more talented writers, as they clutch their hollow stomachs in ravenous anguish and stare bleakly out of the windows of their icy, rat-infested attic hovels, wishing they, too had a well-connected parent and bewailing yet again the fateful day they turned their back on that PR job, and doubtless sounding equally as twattish pretentious - I find this really rather hilarious.

Perhaps The Guardian has a little readership research to do...

Well, at least they didn't charge for it.

Haha!

1. I am currently sampling a rather lovely bottle of New Zealand Riesling. Culley Riesling from the Marlborough region, to be precise; full of sharp, zesty lime balanced by plenty of mouthwatering acidity. And yes, the fact that I got it for free to review does make it taste even lovelier.
2. I love wine.
3. My favourite places in the world are Annapurna Base Camp in Nepal, pretty much anywhere in Thailand and inside a Hotel Chocolat store with my mouth full of the merchandise.
4. One of my best friends is currently waiting impatiently to give birth. I sympathise, and don't tell her that I'm kinda hoping it holds on until my birthday.
5. Apparently I look a bit like Myleene Klass.
6. I'm half-Malaysian. Unlike Myleene Klass.
7. In two months' time I shall be the director of my own company. Which makes me snigger with the incongruity of it all. I don't think that's very company director-like.
8. I have never been able to do the splits.
9. But I can put my hands on my hips, thumbs facing forward, and move my arms so that my elbows point straight ahead of me.
10. I bet that you are going to try to do that now. I expect to be informed of the results.
11. The only film that has ever given me a nightmare is Watership Down.
12. I lost my virginity when I was 18 years old. To someone who was already my ex-boyfriend.
13. I received a mysterious Valentine's poem via email last Thursday. I have no clue who it was from, because the email address had been registered purely to send this email. Thanks, though, it made me smile.
14. My nickname at university was Freak Magnet. More often than not, it still applies.
15. I once had a bloke try to chat me up with the opening line: "Fancy coming for a ride on my motorbike? I guarantee you'll cream your knickers." I told you I was a freak magnet.
16. I am very insecure. But I don't hate myself any more. I can't explain what a massive difference that has made to me. Or how it happened, or when.
17. I quit smoking last August.
18. I had two cigarettes last night. I may have another tonight.
19. I feel partly responsible for the death of a friend of mine. I will always be desperately sorry for that. I don't usually do regrets, but I can find nothing positive about that.
20. This is going to take ages.
21. The person I love the most in the world is my baby sis. I'd do anything for her. And I will.
22. I'm considering joining the Samaritans. I'm a good listener. Plus, I'm a nosey cow.
23. I know nothing about fashion and rarely wear make-up, because I don't know how can't be arsed don't think it's important. But I know the offside rule.
24. A friend of mine calls me bird-bloke. I wonder why.
25. I am not a ladyboy. Sorry, Juzzzy.
26. I have lots of things I want to do in my life, but I'm in no rush. I trust that things will happen when the time is right.
27. I'm incredibly lazy.
28. I never, ever iron. I don't even own an iron. Although I do own an ironing board. It has a cartoon cow on it, which makes me laugh.
29. I believe I am the luckiest person in the world to have my family. Truly.
30. I am smoking a cigarette. It's horrible. I'm going to put it out.
31. I hate Sundays. They make me feel lonely.
32. I once locked myself out of my flat and had to get a Polish builder to break in through my window and let me back in. I offered him a cup of tea, which he accepted. Then we sat there awkwardly for ten minutes while he gulped it down, probably burning his tongue in the process. He couldn't speak any English.
33. I once flashed my right breast to a passing motorist whilst I was driving.
34. A friend of mine gave me a cupboard to install in my kitchen. That was over two years ago. It's still sat in a corner of my kitchen. It's blatantly never going to go up on my wall.
35. I don't believe in one true love.
36. I once climbed up a drain pipe to steal a hanging basket from outside the offices of the Yorkshire Evening Post. It was so heavy it took two of us to carry it home. Yes, I was a student. Yes, I was pissed.
37. When I first met Juzzzy, I teased him mercilessly for being a sad geek who had a blog. Now I just tease him for being a sad geek. Joke.
38. I am terrified of cockroaches. Evil, scuttling, filthy, unkillable bastards.
39. I never want to be famous. And have never wanted to be.
40. The first word I ever read was "ambulance".
41. I hate Big Brother.
42. I don't know if I can imagine myself ever being married with kids. I honestly don't know if this bothers me or not.
43. My favourite book of all time is To Kill A Mockingbird.
44. I am going to have another glass of (free) wine.
45. I had to explain to my mother what a dildo was. She thought it was "a dead bird".
46. I wish Bill Bryson hadn't got there first. That book deal was mine, goddamnit, mine!
47. I still miss my great-aunt. More than I do my nan. I feel guilty about that.
48. When I was a kid I was known as the English daughter, while my sister was the Malaysian daughter. I used to take pride in that. Now I feel slightly ashamed.
49. I used to steal chocolate eclairs from the sweets jars, eat them and hide the wrappers down the side of my bed. I then denied all knowledge when mum found the wrappers. And I really thought that I might get away with it.
50. I was forced to witness a gang rape when I was 15 years old. The hatred lives on.
51. I used to prefer the right side of my body. To the extent that I would eat savoury food on the left side of my mouth and sweet food on the right side of my mouth.
52. I have been in love twice.
53. Death doesn't scare me. I've had a good life and consider myself lucky to have had the experiences that I've had. Pain scares me, though. A lot.
54. I possess a healthy degree of snobbery. I don't really see anything wrong with that.
55. A stray white hair occasionally randomly appears out of the side of my nose. It looks like a whisker. Perhaps I was a cat in a past life.
56. I hate parsnips. They're just wrong.
57. My sister has learning difficulties. She's one of the strongest people I know and has my complete respect. She can also be infuriating as hell.
58. I prefer views of mountains to views of the ocean.
59. I would love to meet Jonathan Woss. And Richard E Grant. What does the E stand for, anyway?
60. I possess the ability to kill house plants in record time. Perhaps someone could alert the Guinness Book of Records. And tell them mine's a pint.
61. I love to write. If I couldn't write, I would rather stop living.
62. I still love you. You gorgeous, intriguing, infuriating man.
63. The honesty of children makes me nervous. I often feel inadequate in their presence.
64. I started biting my nails and fingers when I first went to school. I can't stop doing it.
65. I want a new bathroom. I miss having baths. Showers just don't cut it any more.
66. My flat has mould. I hate it. But I probably won't do anything about it for at least another year. Or maybe two.
67. I spent a whole night being incredibly shy and nervous about talking to someone I really fancied. Then I asked him to snog me. He did.
68. I wish I were in South America right now. Preferably in Buenos Aires. This is everything nothing to do with the fact that I have been told that the men are absolutely gorrrrrgeous there.
69. I think, on balance, that I am happier with myself now than I have ever been.
70. I was once asked to sum up what I thought of the novel Moby Dick in one sentence. I said that I thought it perfectly encapsulated the monotony of a sea voyage.
71. I got a distinction in my Masters degree. I still don't believe it was deserved. But hey, fuckit, who cares - I got a distinction in my Masters degree.
72. I used to be able to think in French. Now I find it hard to string a sentence together. That bugs me.
73. I would like to live in Italy one day, for a period of time. Or at least own a holiday home there.
74. I used to be the best leapfrogger in school.
75. I am still waiting for Brad and Landers to send me photos of my weekend Chez Gay. Ahem.
76. I must confess that I am really rather flattered that people actually read this blog. Not to mention amazed. Are you mad?
77. If reincarnation does happen, I would like to come back as a black panther. Please.
78. I don't like zoos. When I come back as a black panther, I'd better not end up in one.
79. The first song I ever knew the words to was Super Trouper. Look, I was three years old, okay?
80. The only pet I ever had was a Russian hamster. I called him Mr Frisk, after a horse that my dad won a load of money on in the Grand National. He didn't speak Russian.
81. I think that my dad might love me more than he loves anyone in the world. Even my mum, whom he loves very deeply.
82. I wonder if I'll get this done by midnight.
83. I have never read a Harry Potter book. Nor do I particularly want to.
84. I often ponder over things at length before deciding upon a particular course of action. And then promptly do the complete opposite.
85. I own a sock that has images of shagging lesbian cows on it. I sent the other one to a fellow blogger who I have never met. What the bloody hell did you do with it?
86. What's pink and fluffy? A piece of pink fluff. That always makes me laugh.
87. I don't think I'm going to get this done by midnight. Time for another glass of wine, then.
88. One day I shall return to Nepal.
89. I have a regular subscription to Geographical magazine. I haven't read an issue in about a year.
90. I have a regular subscription to Delicious Magazine. I read every issue and fold down the corners on pages containing recipes I like the sound of. But I have never cooked anything from it.
91. I met someone in Vietnam and I have the distinct feeling that I will meet him again at some point in my life.
92. I once punched someone on a night bus. I think I broke his nose. Good.
93. I wish I had the guts to do things that I know will make people hate me.
94. I wish I looked like Rachel Weiss.
95. I like the word "moist".
96. I don't like the word "flannel".
97. If my mother had taken up an offer to arrange a marriage for me, I could be living in India right now, married to a Bollywood actor.
98. I'm looking forward to turning 31. I think it's going to be a good year.
99. I am going to make the midnight deadline. Just.
100. "What if this is as good as it gets?" Well, it could be worse.

This running your own busyness thing is proving rather busi.

Or something.

So, while I try to fit in some quality blogging time, I shall leave you all with something that affected me deeply when I received it via email from a dear friend of mine earlier today.

http://www.w4rc0rpz.net/dLiCi0US.php

Don't tell me it's still in there?

Puuuuuuuuushhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

xx

Is what us Bristol Rovers fans are called.

Which is fine.

Except that I can't help but detest appreciate the irony of the fact that, thanks to a very long story that I am too pissed off can't be arsed to go into right now, I am currently sans gas.

No gas.
Which means no central heating.
No central heating.
Minus 4 degrees centigrade tonight.
Much freezingness.
No heating.

And none for the foreseeable. Or at least until my neighbour reappears from whatever sub-universe of doubtless warm and toastiness he has disappeared into. Because our gas supplies are apparently adjoined, and his problem is my problem.

How lovely. I feel sooooo neighbourly towards him right now.

Oh, and one more thing.

Why, why, why can't they do fucking gas maintenance works in the fucking summer??

*hunts for extra duvet*
*swigs warming wine*

THE MIGHTY ROOOOOOOOVERRRRRRRRRRRRRRS!!!!!

Southampton, who are ya??!!

Woke up to find I am the Michelin woman.

Hands pink and swollen. And hot.

Ditto feet. Hurts a little to walk on them.

Lower lip feels swollen too.

Blotches at various points on my skin, especially on my legs - hard to see at first, but there. And, weirdest of all, they appear to be moving around my body, there one minute and elsewhere the next.

Yes, I'm going to the chemists. As soon as it opens.

Arse.

An email arrives...

I am a Producer/Director at Endemol UK, a large independent TV company in the UK that produces a variety of shows from Animal Park (BBC) to Ready, Steady Cook (BBC) and Restoration (BBC).

I'm currently in the initial stages of developing a dating series for Channel 4, which is going to be an upbeat, intelligent, and entertaining series without the cheesiness of previous match-making formats.

At the moment I am filming a pilot for the series (which will not be on
TV), and looking for 5 fabulous women to film for the day. They'll have the 'onerous' task of choosing a theoretical date from a broad selection of
single men who'll try to win over their attention.

I'd like to hear from lovely looking, single females with interesting jobs (like PR), who might want to take part in something a little different on Saturday 1st March. If you think you might be interested, please give me a call to find out more.

Thank you!
 
Karen Rona
Producer/Director

 
I know you'll probably all leave comments saying I should do it - but really, Endemol. Producers of Big Brother - my all-time most hated programme!

And "lovely-looking" - bleurggh...

I've got to go and meet a client in a few minutes. Sit down with him in the pub - look, they have free wireless, okay?, go online, see some of the work he does, show him some of the work we do, be professional, be impressive and try to secure some work.

No sweat.

Except that five minutes ago, as I put my socks on, both feet were seized by a raging itch like no other itch has ever itched anyone before. Ever.

Yank off socks, and stare in bewilderment as angry big red patches suddenly start appearing on feet.

Washing powder allergy?

But then, seconds later, the same thing happens to my hands. And my legs. And now my eyelids are swelling up.

The only thing I can compare it to is when I was a teenager and tried magic mushrooms for the first and only time, and watched my skin swell up as I turned into the Michelin woman.

Except that was a hallucination.

And now I have to go out and be professional and impressive, with sunken eyes, lurgyfied legs, hands and arms and feeling my shoulders start to tingle.

So I've been tagged a few times to do this 'seven quirky facts about you' meme. But the last time I did that I became responsible for corrupting young in