Sink or Swim

Rodentic getaway

2009-11-19T11:49:53+01:00

The French are mad.

Not angry (I think that's reserved for the Irish today). But really quite insane.

And if you think I'm being unfair, you've obviously never heard of the Villa Hamster.

~~Soy?~~

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The Horn of Africa

2009-10-29T13:13:51+01:00

How many years older than you is too old?

Five years?
Ten?
Twenty?
Fifty?
Nearly a century?

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Musical interlude

2009-10-02T17:37:00+02:00

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For graphic designers and cheese lovers

2009-10-02T15:10:13+02:00

Acorn is a cheese?

http://cheeseorfont.mogrify.org

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Naughty Nick

2009-09-21T15:11:20+02:00

I wish I didn't enjoy smoking.

Of course, I'm aware that it is a ridiculous habit. That to deliberately purse your lips over a slender paper-clad stick of doom and willingly inhale its wispy poisonous tendrils in one tiny tobacco-infused step after another towards an inevitable tar-choked lung-rattling death deserves no sympathy, only a self-righteous and entirely justified mocking despair. Tut. Tut. Tut. You are going to DIE and die HORRIBLY. And it's All Your Fault.

Yep. I know.

But the fact is that I do. Enjoy it.

I've read Allen Carr's Easyway to Stop Smoking For Eva and Eva Amen a couple of times now. The supposed myth-busting book about the realities of cigarette addiction that "reveals" to the reader that what they think of as a relaxing or social or mind-focusing or any other delusional-benefit habit is in fact all about one thing.

Nicotine addiction.

No shit, Sherlock.

Sorry to burst your bubble (or slash your smoke ring?), Allen, but I am in fact entirely aware that the only purpose of my smoking cigarettes is to inject a dose of nicotine into my blood stream. If I thought that simply inhaling smoke into my lungs gave me pleasure, I'd be crouched over the grill at every barbeque, or breathing deeply next to car exhaust pipes at traffic junctions, or stalking on-duty firemen for reasons other than their rather sexy uniforms.

I'm also entirely aware that it is, in fact, remarkably easy to stop smoking; that the actual physical symptoms of nicotine withdrawal are so slight as to be imperceptible; that it is indeed all in the mind.

However, I'm aware that it is also remarkable easy to start smoking again. And that, contrary to popular belief, you don't tend to take a puff and think ugh, how grim, I'm so glad I stopped this disgusting habit, but ahhhh, there it is again, my bittersweet friend, my naughtily seductive bit of rough, lovely Nick O'Teeeeeen.

It's like the bastard boyfriend you know is bad for you, but is just so goshdarnfuckingAWESOME in bed.

So, while I'm waiting for the Good Habit to come along that will finally and forever banish Naughty Nick from the blackening boudoir of my lungs and stop me from turning into a chargrilled corpse before my cancer-induced time...

...roll me another, Mr O'Teen. I'm not done with you yet.

*inhales*

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This really takes the biscuit...

2009-09-09T16:43:05+02:00

Next time you fancy a custard cream, be sure there are none of those pesky wild animals around...

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Whoda thunk it...

2009-09-03T11:32:46+02:00

Trust.
Clowning around.
Care Bear confessions.
Soft brown hair.
Well-constructed rants.
Yummy Lancashirefied chilli.
Star Wars doom.
Peep Show joy.
A rare starry night on a secret balcony.
Green eyes.
Addictive lips.
Purple Peak District heather and tiny drops of cloud moisture in my hair.
Cowboy hat in the rain.
Mr Brightside in a train station.
Terrible singing voice.
Ale, wine and too many cigs.
Teachers and Hotel Rwanda.
Confidence.
Comfortable silences.
A ridiculous giggle.
A very cheeky grin.
Honesty to the point of bluntness.
Trust.

Less than three weeks with a gorgeous geek.

And I am fucking smitten.

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Flight of fancy

2009-08-25T12:45:44+02:00

Fear sets in. In the most beautiful way possible.
Butterflies rustling delicate, fragile wings in a
feverish, kaleidoscopic, magical rush of blood to
the brain, the lungs,
every tingling nerve ending.
Yet, among this skittery jittery fluttering,
a moment.
As when the key first slotted
into the lock of my future home and,
through the jangling fug of a Christ-almighty hangover,
murmured the soothing strains of a melody of inevitability.
Familiarity before its time.
Which begs the question:
Could this ridiculous precarious glorious harmonious
foolish flight of fancy
be mine?

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Five-thirty-one

2009-08-18T17:08:05+02:00

Instantly, the clenched muscles in his shoulders released a notch; his poised breath broke for freedom with a gleeful hiss at his nostrils; his eyelids drooped into a brief embrace of his taut, aching pupils.

As the door’s vibrations stilled and her heels continued to click their way down the empty corridor and out of the building, the room paused in suspension before the in-breath and re-focused on the clock beating its unceasing rhythm on the wall, the chair squeaking below his shifting weight, the air squeezing in and out of his lungs.

She didn’t linger over the farewell these days, for which he was obscurely grateful; small talk, never exactly burgeoning, now shrivelled and disintegrated in his presence. Even polite enquiries surrounding Laura’s condition had somehow slipped from its status of 'safe' topic on the office etiquette scale.

Now, at 5.30pm on the dot, he knew to expect the cursory double-tap on the door, the burnished doorknob swivel counter-clockwise and a quick flick of her glossy black ponytail around the heavy wooden door, eyes glancing nervously off the top of his head and a ready-fixed smile.

"Goodnight!"
"Goodnight."

He wondered if she welcomed 5.31pm as much as he did.

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Shame I'm anonymous, eh?

2009-08-11T17:05:22+02:00

Still. Maybe some other Mancunians would fancy taking part.

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Can't get the staff...

2009-08-10T13:57:24+02:00

So our office has been broken into by the most evil thieves known to man.

For not only have they nicked off with the brand new computers belonging to my team...

...but they have left mine here.

Mine.
Just mine.
MINE.

It seems, in today's lax society, you can't even depend on thieves to get the job done properly.

In the meantime, everyone else is my team has gone home for the day, being computer-less and therefore unable to do any work, whilst I must stay here with my poor snubbed computer and get on with work.

Oh, and answering everyone's else's sodding phone.

Excuse me, must run, Sam on line 697 is calling me...

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Deck the inboxes with press releases of folly

2009-08-04T15:51:43+02:00

Barely seconds (well, okay, four days) into August and I get the first of the deluge of emails set to hit my inbox on that familiar theme...

"Book now for Christmas! The most perfect venue ever for your fabulous Christmas party of uber-fabulosity will definitely be completely booked up any second - nay, any gazillisecond now - so get on the phone right now right now right NOW before the first snow falls any moment and the phone lines are down and you're trapped at home, alone, party-less, present-less and Chrimbo-pudding-less and all those other inconceivable lesses that will mean you have utterly failed in your strict capitalist duty to become a skint, shattered, over-stuffed, ultra-sozzled, pine-needle-hoovering, satsuma-hoarding, carol-hating, Rudolph-bashing, physical and mental and emotional and everything-else-al wreck by the time Christmas does come around, any second now, in over one-third of a year's time..."

*inhales*
*exhales*
*looks out of window*

Actually, they might be right about that snowfall...

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Crushes

2009-07-28T23:55:20+02:00

I have 'em.

It seems that, despite my swearing off men for good, or at least for the foreseeable ~~few hours~~ future, blood continues to race through my veins, despite all my attempts to harden it into an icy frigidity - and I am currently subject to a variety of minor but undeniably diverting crushes. A sample of these being as follows:

1. The Curiosity Crush
One of those what-ifs that you're not in all honesty particularly convinced of, or even arsed about - but now that it's crossed your mind, you simply can't get out of your head. Can you? Nope, it's definitely still there. And oh, would you look at those details. Mmmmmm.

2. The Mental Crush
No, I have not fallen blindly in love whilst corresponding with a murderous psychopath on Death Row (although, considering my luck in such matters, watch this space...).

This is all about having things in common, having fun, having someone who is there for me - and having a complete certainty that it will never and can never go anywhere, because all it really is and actually should be is a friendship. And no, this is not something that I'm going to change my mind on, so don't try convincing me otherwise, 'cos I know I'm right. S'there.

3. The Nostalgia Crush
Well, I think we all recognise this one. Less to do with love forever these days, this is more to do with, been there, done that, ooh look, oh-so-easy to do again. Currently managing to steer clear, yay me.

4. The Other Nostalgia Crush
Sharing certain obvious similarities with number 3, this has the less-risk but still perhaps-best-left-in-the-past tenor that somehow reminds me of repetitive strain injury. The action itself seems harmless enough, but it's leading into a rather uncomfortable situation, so perhaps it's an itch that doesn't need to be scratched.

5. The Unknown Crush
The ultimate summertime crush. Sun's out (I'm told it is, somewhere in the world), energy levels are up, gaze is straight ahead, lips are twitching for no apparent reason and you're generally feeling good about life - and therefore feeling inclined to look that rather fit, surprised stranger directly in the face and give him a broad, open, frighteningly suggestive grin. Ah, flirtation.

So there you go. I may continue to be determinedly single, but it seems I remain annoyingly, amusingly, inescapably, lustfully human after all.

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Release

2009-07-24T00:28:57+02:00

If I'd never met
I'd never have known
Never have felt
Never have adored
That which I know
I'll remember forever
Regret never
And never ever
Experience
Or want again.

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Auntie Row

2009-07-19T20:45:31+02:00

I'm starting to conclude that I'm rather unlikely to be a parent.

Not that I'm against the idea. I've always assumed that I would be a parent, at some point, in the distant future, when I'm ready for it.

The thing is, that distant future doesn't seem any less distant in my mind today than it did when I was 16. And not just because I'm single.

After all, I'm in my 30s - shouldn't the biological clock have started its inexorable, panic-stricken ticking by now? Shouldn't I be looking at the children of relatives and close friends and feel a firm fluttering of desire in my womb, instead of a firm fluttering of fear in my stomach that I'm about to drop the precious bundle on a hard kitchen floor - or, at the very least, allow its head to flip back without support, and thereby probably snap it off at the neck, leaving me clutching its little body and watching in horror as the head bounces off and rolls under the sofa, where it will probably be swiftly discovered and buried in the garden by the dog, and my brief foray into babysitting will reach an abrupt, prison-sentenced end.

(Do note the repeated use of the word "it", by the way - a word that I'm well aware you should NEVER use with reference to children, for fear of righteous parental outrage - but which somehow slips out of my mouth on inappropriate occasions FAR too easily.)

I've always liked the idea of having a family, sure - and assumed it's what my future would hold. Then again, compared to some - many - females I've known, I've never had that really strong urge to have children.

One of my closest friends, who I've known since we were ten, has always wanted to get married and have babies. I remember school lunchtimes, when we were around 12 years old, when she would regularly nose through magazines to pick out her ideal wedding dress - plus a bridesmaid dress for me. Which I would always begrudgingly agree to (with my nose in yet another book, snaffling down yet another chocolate bar) on the understanding that she wouldn't "throw the bloody bouquet at me". A promise I was still keen to keep her to when she did eventually get married. On both occasions.

Yes, she married twice - the first marriage went wrong, but the second looks to be a huge improvement. And any day now she'll give birth to her second baby (in fact, given that she's not answering her phone at the mo, she could even be sprogging right now).

And she makes a fantastic mum. Funny, firm, loving, practical and ever-so-slightly paranoid that she's going to do something horribly wrong - which obviously means that she's going to do it all wonderfully right. She's great with kids, always has been - which I, decidedly am not.

I've always been far too self-conscious to know what to do with children. Sure, I like them and think they're cute; they say the most hilarious things and it's amazing to see their personalities develop over years, months, weeks, even.

But they also petrify me.

I don't know how to talk to them. I completely lack the ability to entertain them. And I'm always horribly aware that kids are, if nothing else, 100% honest in their opinions - so if they don't like you, you'll know allllll about it.

Babies are easier, at least; their needs are simple (even if some of them aren't particularly pleasant) and they're not yet able to form an opinion about you - or at least able to voice it - so I don't feel uncomfortable around them and am quite happy to jig them around, subject the poor wee mites to my singing and talk nonsense to them. (As long as their heads don't fall off.)

But the truth is that I am completely incapable when it comes to dealing with children. Which makes me really rather pathetic. Or perhaps, to put it another way, simply not the mothering kind.

I met a girl - well, woman - while on holiday last year. Thirty-seven years old and single, she had decided that she was unlikely to meet the man of her dreams, get engaged, get married and have babies with him all within the next three years. She didn't like the idea of having children after the age of 40, because of the added health risks; she was against IVF; and she wasn't going to have sex with a random man just so that she could get pregnant and have a child, as she thought that was selfish and irresponsible.

So, instead of deciding, as I think I would, that she probably wouldn't have kids - or doing what I would actually be far more likely to do, continue to 'wait and see' - she had signed up for adoption as a single parent. She knew that the process would likely take a couple of years, and she also knew that her chances of success might be lower once she entered her 40s, so she was prepared to put her name down and look after whatever kid would come along in the next couple of years. By herself.

That is something that I know I would be highly unlikely (never say never, I guess, but in this instance it's about as close as you can get) to do - adopt a child by myself, simply so that I could be a mother.

So perhaps my future was never meant to include the title of 'Mummy'. Perhaps instead I shall simply be 'Auntie Row'.

If that's the case, I reckon I shall be one of those aunties who always turns up with over-priced presents for you (but never a boring doll *spits*) and a bottle of over-priced wine for mum and dad; who can recommend great restaurants, instead of provide great recipes; who has tales of boring work and exciting travels, instead of children's parties and school holidays; and who, above all, never, ever uses baby talk when she talks to you.

Coochi-coochi-coooooooo!

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...and nothing but the truth

2009-07-09T10:55:54+02:00

Okay then, the answers.

When are you booking your flights to Berlin?

Soon, soon! Reserve my place in the kebab queue.

What did the teenage Row want to be?

Popular, funny, less shy, more attractive.

~~Will you~~ Where would you like to move abroad to retire?

To a rustic ~~mansion~~ cottage in the Tuscan hills, where I could gently sway in a hammock all day long in my well-tended ~~by slaves~~ ~~by Butlers in the Buff~~ garden, overlooking my extensive vineyard and olive grove, and write my memoirs about my escapades travelling around the world ~~from the age of 33 onwards~~.

If you had your choice between a hunky guy or this bottle of 1945 Chateau Mouton-Rothschild Jeroboam for one evening, which would you choose?

Well, the hunky guy might not fancy me, whereas I know I’ll get some with the wine…

What do you want to be when you grow up?

Proud of the choices I’ve made and the person that I’ve become.

What do imagine life will be like for you in ten years time?

I guess I’ll either be tearing my hair out because I’ll have kids, or tearing my hair out because I didn’t have kids. Either way, I’ll try to focus less on self-inflicted alopecia and more on enjoying what I have.

What is your favourite TV show?

Tricky one. I'll go with Peep Show.

Men or shoes?

Men. Shoes aren’t half as entertaining. Although admittedly, that’s not always the case...

Why row the boat?

A childhood song,
A nickname,
A journey sometimes calm, sometimes choppy, sometimes exciting, sometimes exhausting, sometimes beautiful, sometimes bewildering, sometimes satisfying, sometimes lonely, with limitless potential for new destinations all chosen and achieved by me.

As long as I don’t end up all washed up, it seems pretty good to me.

How old were you when you lost your virginity and did you ever make any effort to find it again?

18. And a half. By which point I was happy to bid it farewell, to be honest – two years of masturbation was wearing a little thin (no, not literally…).

If you had to give one of the two up forever and ever, would you give up chocolate or curry?

I cannot believe you would do this to me, Mon! This is without a doubt the worst question in the world.

I’d better say chocolate, otherwise I’d never be able to go anywhere near South East Asia again *weeps*

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Way to go...

2009-07-09T10:15:40+02:00

A question I wasn't asked (will get round to them shortly, sorry!), but will now answer, is: if you had to leave this world, how would you choose to die?

I'll take Vincent Smith's way, thank you. With my mouth wiiiiide open.

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The truth, the whole truth...

2009-07-07T13:53:58+02:00

Started by la_spice, I can't resist.

What do you want to know?

As a blog friend, I'm giving each of you the opportunity to ask me one question about me.

I'll try my best to answer every one, but reserve the right not to.

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Seven

2009-07-06T16:09:27+02:00

*bleats*

SEVEN THINGS YOU WILL FIND IN YOUR ROOM:
1) Crap.
2) Many books - some half-read, some well-read, some may-never-be read.
3) Audrey Hepburn smoking in front of a deep violet sunrise. Smug bitch. *counts weeks since last cig*
4) A rolled-up print (sadly not original, having missed my opportunity for that several years ago *weeps*) by the fabulous Liam Spencer, which needs to be framed before I can hang it on the wall, and probably will be some time within the next decade. Hm. Make that possibly.
5) Files galore. How I wish I had a PA.
6) A precarious pile of WOC, aka Worn-Once Clothes. WOC are not dirty, so are not yet consigned to the washing basket, but they have been worn since they were washed, so are not pristine clean and therefore may not return to the wardrobe. What else can one do but heap copious amounts of WOC onto a never-to-be-sat-upon-again chair in the corner of the room? Eh?
7) A choice of CDs to wake up to, currently topped by Thirst for Romance, by Cherry Ghost (thanks Scooby).

SEVEN RELATIONSHIP QUESTIONS:
1) Do You Like Anyone? Aye.
2) Does Someone Like You? Zif.
3) Last Kiss? Wasn't that kind of a kiss.
4) Been Led On? Haven't we all.
5) Been Cheated On? Haven't we... oh.
6) Want A Relationship? No. I want a bloody good relationship, thank you.
7) Want to Get Married? Not sure about weddings, but count me in for a honeymoon.

SEVEN OTHER THINGS - DO YOU...
1) Believe In God? Nope. Sorry, God. *bases covered*
2) Had A Dream Come True? Do I had a dream come true? I refuse to answer this as a protest against rubbish grammar.
3) Read The Newspaper? It's a Sunday luxury I rarely have enough time to indulge fully, but do dip in and out over the week.
4) Get Enough Sleep Every Day? It never feels like it when I am cruelly forced to part from my beloved duvet in the mornings *weeps*
5) Have A Best Friend? I'm lucky enough to have a few very close friends - that's better than best in my book. ~~Balls, now it's my grammar that's rubbish.~~
6) Take A Bath Daily? No. I don't own a bath.
7) Wish On Stars? Think I've answered this before. I smile at them.

SEVEN HAVE YOU EVERS
1) Fallen In Love? Oh yes.
2) Kissed Someone Of The Same Sex? No. Any offers?
3) Hooked Up With Someone Who Had A BF/GF? Briefly.
4) Been To A Bonfire? Erm, yes. Is anyone supposed to be surprised by this?
5) Ran Away From Home? No. I tried to, but got stuck at the end of the road cos I wasn't allowed to go around the block. Trufax.
6) Played Strip Poker? No. But I have played Strip-Snap. Didn't get very far, though. Got, er, distracted...
7) Pulled An All Nighter? Once or several times.

SEVEN THINGS IN THE LAST 24 HOURS HAVE YOU:
1) Cried? Yes - with laughter.
2) Had Fun? Lots.
3) Been Kissed? Wasn't that kind of a kiss.
4) Felt Stupid? Yes, but didn't care.
5) Talked To An Ex? Yes.
6) Missed Someone? No, but some crossed my mind.
7) Listened To Music? Yes.

SEVEN THINGS ON YOUR MIND:
1) Running 5k at lunchtime was a ridiculous idea. I'll do it again on Wednesday.
2) What else can I do to make sure I get my own way?
3) Definitely a rookie mistake not raiding mum's fridge for leftover curry. Wonder if she could pop some in the post?
4) Tit-croissants.
5) Another restaurant review this week. Hurrah! And a wine fair. Double hurrah!
6) Mmmm. Chocolate. (Assume this is always on my mind.)
7) Perhaps I should seek out a new distraction to make sure I don't completely fuck this all up.

SEVEN THINGS YOU CAN'T LIVE WITHOUT:
1) Daydreaming.
2) Laughter.
3) People I love.
4) Time and space to myself, preferably with a beautiful view to rest my eyes on while my mind relaxes and releases my smile.
5) Something or someone that challenges me.
6) Anticipation.
7) Words.

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If Whitbread ever fancied a re-brand...

2009-07-06T10:46:41+02:00

Conversation extract from the weekend...

RTB's Quiz-Addict Dad: "What was the name of this famous British brewery, founded in the 18th century? Two syllables: the first syllable sounds like 'Pit', the second is something you spread butter on."

RTB's Slightly Inebriated Mum: "Ooh! Ooh! Tit-Croissant?"

......

Yes. It was most definitely one of those weekends.

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Fuckit!

2009-07-02T11:36:29+02:00

Some git has written my book...

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Space, man slurp

2009-07-01T15:04:39+02:00

Reckon they'd give you a pint of the black stuff while you're there?

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Schizophrenic scribbles

2009-06-30T22:08:49+02:00

What I love about writing is its schizophrenic masks
What I hate about masks is their wind-changed immobility
What I love about immobility is duvet-softened mornings
What I hate about mornings is the lazy bitch's pain
What I love about pain is its mindless physicality
What I hate about physicality is its naked vulnerability
What I love about vulnerability is its opening to his soul
What I hate about his soul is its flight away from me
What I love about me is my foolish, fearless writing
What I hate about writing is its schizophrenic masks

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Paulo Coelho

2009-06-24T12:16:11+02:00

It is necessary to run risks. We only understand the miracle of life when we allow the unexpected to manifest itself.

Everyday, we are given a moment in which it is possible to change everything that makes us unhappy. Everyday we try to pretend that we don't notice that moment, that it doesn't exist, that today is the same as yesterday and tomorrow will be the same as today. But those who pay attention find the magic moment. It might be hidden in the minute when we lock the door in the morning. Or in the silence after dinner. In the thousands of things that we do everyday that always seem the same. This moment exists - a moment in which all the strength in the world runs through us, and allows us to make miracles happen.

We are going to suffer, we will have hard times, face many disillusions. But all of this is temporary, inevitable, and we will end up proud of the marks left by the obstacles we overcame. In the future, we can look back with pride and hope.

Poor are those who are afraid to run risks. Because they might never be disappointed, nor will they suffer like those who follow their dreams. But when they look back - because we always look back - they will listen to their heart saying: "What did you do with the miracles life gave you? And the talents that you had? You hid in a cave because you were afraid to lose them. This is your inheritance: the certainty that you wasted your life."

We need to listen to the child that we once were, and still exists within us. This child understands the magic moments. We can suffocate its cry, but we cannot silence its voice.

Happiness is sometimes a blessing - but generally, it is a conquest.

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One word meme

2009-06-23T12:16:56+02:00

Nicked from various...

Where is your mobile phone?
Desk

Your significant other?
Late

Your hair?
Messy

Your mother?
Inspirational

Your father?
Loving

Your favourite thing?
Travel

Your dream last night?
Schizophrenic

Your favourite drink?
Wine

Your dream/goal?
Book

What room are you in?
Office

Your hobby?
Yoglsa

Your fear?
Letdown

Where do you want to be in 6 years?
Happiness

Where were you last night?
Ryanfeckingairgrumblemumble

Something that you aren't?
Sufficient

Muffins?
Chocolate

Wish list item?
Love

Last thing you did?
Editing

What are you wearing?
Specs

TV?
Shite

Your pets?
Deceased

Friends?
Fantastic

Your life?
Lucky

Your mood?
Hopeful

Missing someone?
Duvet

Drinking?
Ahgwon

Smoking?
Nonono

Your car?
Girlie

Something you're not wearing?
Make-up

Your favourite store?
www.hotelchocolat.com

Your favourite colour?
Orange

When is the last time you cried?
Gone

Where do you go to over and over?
Family

Five people who email me regularly?
Friends

My favourite place to eat?
Thailand

Favourite place I'd like to be at right now?
Thailand

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Sex drive

2009-06-11T11:51:02+02:00

Too fast, too furious?

And I'm betting "for evidence" translates as 'for YouTube'...

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Pie hopes

2009-06-04T14:06:12+02:00

It's lunchtime. And I am ravenous.

I go to a nearby cafe with the intention of purchasing the sandwich to rival all sandwiches, when my lacklustre attention is suddenly captured by a glorious sight.

The Pie looks divine. Its buttery, golden crust beams at me; its healthy yet pleasingly carnivorous filling of chicken, roasted tomato, spinach and goats cheese draws me in; its rustic cardboard packaging and daisy motif yelling 'organic!' in shock-pink lettering convinces me that this pie can do no wrong.

This is no cheese and onion fat-slathered greaseball from Greggs. Nor a raggedy-chicken(really?)-ends-stuffed flaky pastry. I am not being a greedy, unwholesome heifer by eating this pie for lunch. I am being kind to my organic-nutrients-starved~~-and-starving~~ body.

This is, in short, a Good Pie. And it must be mine.

I return to my desk and unpack my Purchase of Pie Joy. I take a big bite. I swallow ~~like a heifer~~. Mmmm, spinach and goats cheese. I take another big bite of pie. Mmm, soft crust and...

Soft?

With a sinking feeling ~~of dough~~ in my stomach I turn the pie box over and read:

Pre-heat oven to 180 degrees, Gas Mark 4. Place pie on a baking tray on the middle shelf of the oven and cook for approximately 20 minutes. Check pie is piping hot before serving. Not suitable for microwave cooking.

*vomits*

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Le weekend

2009-06-02T18:05:54+02:00

I love it when you're reminded of simple pleasures that you'd forgotten you enjoy so much.

Like exhaling cold air harshly, a gasp in reverse, as you flick a shrinking ice cube quickly around your mouth with your tongue, all that's left of an iced latte, while your skin calmly continues to bask in blazing sun as you lounge on the steps of one of the world's most beautiful buildings.

Like waiting for a chattering mother to notice the new vibrant orange swirls on her crisp white jacket, courtesy of her gleaming-eyed toddler's preference for creativity over consumption when given an ice lolly.

Like catching up with an old friend over sparkling Prosecco and very many platters of grilled meat.

Like witnessing the fastest-ever FA Cup goal.

Like turning acquaintances into friendships over Guinness and chips.

Like witnessing the realisation of hope as life continues to go on and enforces happiness on us, despite our best and most understandable efforts to resist - and feeling so very pleased and privileged to see it.

Like waiting around for-fecking-ever in the company of compulsive bell-ringers and Hare Krishna over-enthusiasts while the least punctual man in the world wends his sarcastic way around possibly the entire London transport system.

Like prancing around in the comfiest high-heeled shoes in the world that outlast even the most sensible flat ~~lesbian~~ shoes.

And like laughing so hard and so long that your limbs fold in helplessly on themselves like a collapsing puppet on strings, and you can no longer speak, only helplessly squeak, and you consequently look and sound like a total lunatic, and you don't care one bit because you're having so much bloody fun.

Comments

A beautiful tree

2009-05-22T00:11:25+02:00

I love this ~~man~~.

Comments

What a boob

2009-05-14T17:46:27+02:00

I have, for some reason, been sent an email by the Harley Medical Group containing the following offer:

"To help you shape up for summer, we are offering you £250 off Breast Augmentation, Liposuction and Tummy Tuck during the month of June."

Why, exactly, have I been sent this?

Don't they know who I am?

I mean, haven't they ever Googled "superbreasts"?

Comments

Sink or Swim

Rodentic getaway

The Horn of Africa

Musical interlude

For graphic designers and cheese lovers

Naughty Nick

This really takes the biscuit...

Whoda thunk it...

Flight of fancy

Five-thirty-one

Shame I'm anonymous, eh?

Can't get the staff...

Deck the inboxes with press releases of folly

Crushes

Release

Auntie Row

...and nothing but the truth

Way to go...

The truth, the whole truth...

Seven

If Whitbread ever fancied a re-brand...

Fuckit!

Space, man *slurp*

Schizophrenic scribbles

Paulo Coelho

One word meme

Sex drive

Pie hopes

Le weekend

A beautiful tree

What a boob

Space, man slurp