Bye Bye Blogger

I know, I know.

I said I wouldn't be moving until the weekend, but the removal company had a cancellation, so it's happened a little earlier than I thought. I've more or less unpacked (the rest of the boxes are in the cupboard under the stairs!) and so my new home is ready for a party!

The champagne is on ice and there's beer in the fridge but someone else will need to bring the nibbles - I only have condiments or take away menu's!

My new address is http://www.alcoment.wordpress.com/

The party starts as soon as people get there and there's no knowing when it will end!

I hope to see you all over there!

A quick announcement

I know I said that I would be back with a blog about my Saturday night at the local meat market, but too be honest I’m too tired to post properly. I’ve been up since stupid o’clock this morning to get down to London for training for work. And I’m back there again tomorrow (yes, I know. Moan, moan, whinge, whinge!).

The sofa and TV are calling to me, so that’s where I’m heading. I’ll tell you about Saturday night soon.

I just wanted to let you know that I’m moving.

Blog host sites that is.

I’m going across to Wordpress. As much as I loved Blogger when I started, I want more things to play with and Wordpress seems to offer more of what I want.

At the moment I’m only going across to Wordpress’s free host site, but it means that I can get my blog to look how I want it to.

I’m having fun playing around and working on the layout of my new home. I’ve still got a lot to do, but will let you know before I go and then we can organise a blog warming party!

I think there is some kind of redirecting thing I can set for people that come here, but I’ll have to look into it some more.

I’ll still be blogging here until it’s time to move across completely (probably the weekend), but I just wanted to let you all know what I was up to!

And it's another one!

It really does seem to be Meme season at the moment!

This will only be my third one, but I was tagged for the last two in a very short space of time. These aren’t my favourite things, but I will join in.

This time I’ve been tagged for the ‘List of 7’ by Emmy from Inside Emmy’s Mind.

The idea is that each person lists 7 random facts about themselves and then tags 7 other unsuspecting people.

So, here goes:

I am obsessed with chewing gum. I can easily get through a box of 25 pieces in a day and get quite panicky if I run out.

I have a secret love of trashy magazines, full of nothing but celebrity gossip.

I can roll my tongue into a tube and raise one eyebrow, but would love to be able to wiggle my ears.

I have a habit of buying DVD’s and then never getting round to watching them. At the last count I have about 8 that I’ve had for months but have never watched.

I have a thing about being early for appointments and leave my house ridiculously early to make sure I get there in time.

I’ve only had a passport for about 2 years and the first place I went to was New York.

I talk in my sleep. Apparently, people have had some really interesting conversations with me when I’ve been asleep. I can never remember them and just hope that I’ve never given away any of my secrets!


That’s it!

Now, this is where I’m supposed to tag 7 other people.

No, stop trying to hide behind the screen, I can still see you!

I’m not going to tag anyone this time. Nearly every blogger I come across at the moment seems inundated with Meme’s, even if it’s not something they normally do. If you want to play then feel free to consider yourself tagged.

I’ll be back in the next couple of days with a blog about my Saturday night out and the perils of ending up at the local meat market!

Meme take two!

So, let’s give this meme thing another try. I’m not overly fond of them, but seeing as I’ve only ever done one before, I better give them a chance!

I’ve been tagged for the ‘3 things you won’t let go’ meme by Stealth over at No Middle Ground Here

I’m supposed to talk to you about three things that I won’t let go of and, I guess, tell you why they’re important to me. I think I’m also supposed to put photo’s up too, I’ve done my best, but I’ve only really been able to do it for one thing – sorry!

So, here goes!

Certain music from when I was a teenager.

I was a teenager in the 90’s. Like most people, certain songs take me straight back to that time. I lost a lot of my music collection when I moved a few years ago, but am slowly replacing those that I sorely miss.

Blur, Pulp and Oasis featured heavily. At the time, you were supposed to be either a Blur or Oasis fan; I was genuinely both, much to the dismay of certain friends of mine. Nirvana was also played all the time. Also, specific tracks are linked to certain years. Take 1996. I was 16 and hearing Born Slippy by Underworld takes me back to the best summer of my life and The Prodigy’s Firestarter to the surrealist night I’ve known (I’ll tell you about them both one day!).

Both of these and many of the others are on my Ipod or in my CD collection. Now I’ve got them back, they’re not going anywhere!

This painting.

Please excuse the quality of the photo. I had to take it with my phone as I still haven’t figured out how to use my digital camera, despite having it for a couple of years!

My aunt painted this for me when I was born. As you probably can’t read what she has written, it says

“Wishes that are sincerely meant usually come true, may you have happy days, good health, good friends, all your life through”

It used to hang in my bedroom throughout my childhood and has moved with me wherever I’ve lived. It currently hangs in my bathroom, brightening up a very small space!

My aunt was in and out of my life when I was a kid, but I’ve always kept it. Now, my aunt is one of the main people in my life and she likes the fact that I’ve always kept the painting.

My memory box

At least I think that’s what they’re called, that’s what we used to call them when I was younger. I’d take a photo, but it’s really nothing to look at, just a plain box.

I guess it’s full of things that I don’t want to let go. It’s got stuff like old letters from friends, cards that mean something, cinema stubs and so on in there. Each thing means something, or reminds me of something I did or someone I know (or knew!).

Again, this is something that has moved around with me. I’m always slightly surprised that I’ve got one of these, I’m not overly sentimental and don’t tend to keep hold of things, nor do I feel the need to take millions of photo’s. I guess I figure that they’re just ‘things’, or props or something, but every now and again, I get an urge to put something in my box to have a look at again further down the line. God, I’m a soppy cow sometimes!



So there you go, there’s my three things. Now I’m supposed to tag some other people. I choose Fish, Heather and Emmy.

Sorry guys! If you don’t want to play, then no problem. Also, if anyone else sees this and wants to have a go, then feel free to grab it and join in.

Oh, and I was also tagged for the desktop meme by Rosie over at Nobody asked me, but unfortunately my laptop won’t play ball. Sorry Rosie!

About Bl**dy Time Too!!

Hello, Good evening and Welcome.

Firstly, may I take this opportunity to apologise for my tardiness. I must confess that I have received one or two nudging emails asking me when I was going to post a bloggy thing as my audience was waiting. I suppose I could blame it on stage fright, but actually I reckon I must be one of the busiest students in England. In fact, quite possibly, the world.

The first time I went to university I opted for a 'student friendly' course - water-based leisure management. This translates as learning to windsurf and sail for two years on a part time basis and spend the rest of the time in the Student bar. Cracking. Then a year or so ago I had a bright idea and decided to relive my uni days for a second time. Bird, sorry - other half, is already a qualified nutty nurse and seeing as I wrote most of her essays I thought I'd have a crack at it as well. How hard can it possibly be? Regurgitate all the essays and fly through the practice placements and Robert's your father's brother - qualified. Then the reality of being a mature student on a course with a new curriculum. New essays, different modules, full time course, dismal bursary, mortgage to pay, loads of bills so working almost equivalent of a full time job on top of a full time course.

Now, I'm not one to whinge - honest, but this is hard work. I am now realising that there really aren't enough hours in the day. Yes - I know, women have known this for ages.

Anyway, now that I have made my excuses, I have an esay to write. However, I have noticed that a number of inaccuracies have been written about me which I believe amount to defamation of character. I shall aim to clarify and put the record straight on my next visit to this cyberbloggywebbynetty thing.

Sorry for all the hype. Bet you're all gutted now!!

Naked in the living room

I am the only one in my group of friends who lives alone. Everyone else lives with their partner and/or kids. And I have to say that I think I’ve got the better deal!

On a pretty much daily basis I am informed by my friends about the latest issue their partner or kid (in some cases they seem to be the same person!) has created. The top complaints seem to be mess, not sharing chores, preferring work or the pub to being at home and playing video games all day (this one is committed by a 40 year old bloke, not a kid!).

I’m also told on a regular basis that I am lucky that I can do what I want, when I want, without having to check in with anyone else.

And I am.

However, I also have to endure questions about when I’m going to settle down, have I found Mr Right, do I believe in soul mates and don’t I ever get lonely.

So, for the record, the answers are:

* I have no idea, it will happen when it happens.

* No. There is someone I like but it’s just not possible at the moment.

* No.

* Yes of course, but so does everybody!

For me, the benefits of being single and living alone far outweigh the disadvantages. I have no one else to answer to, can eat what I like, when I like, there’s no queue for the bathroom and no arguments about whether the toilet seat should be up or down. There are no remote control issues, moans about me being on the laptop for hours, or the fact that that’s the third time in a week I haven’t got in until 3am! I can walk around naked anytime I want (and frequently do!), I can read or watch TV in bed in the middle of the night and use all the hot water!

And no one can complain about it!

Yes, of course there are disadvantages. I can only blame mess on myself and have discovered there are no little fairies that come and clear up in the night, there’s no one else to do the washing or food shopping and I have to carry all the heavy stuff myself. But I’ve lived with friends, family and (more or less) with a partner before and also endure the daily complaints from friends; I know that these issues are there whether you live alone or not!

So, for the time being, I’m going to stand by my view that I have the better the deal. I will listen to my friend’s complaints, smile sweetly and go home to my sanctuary!

Just to reassure myself it could be worse!

Ok, so I don’t blog for a week and then make two posts in one day, there’s nothing like inconsistency!

I’m still vaguely obsessed with Christmas and organising the work Christmas party and remembered an email I had received from Student Nutty Nurse some time last year.

I obviously haven’t saved it, but finally tracked it down on Boreme.com. You’ve got to love the internet!

Anyway, urban myth or not, I’m so glad that I don’t have to organise a Christmas party on a large scale, else I think I’d have the same reaction as this woman!

Enjoy.

It's still that time of year!

Obviously with trying to organise the work Christmas party, Christmas has been on my mind

However, I don’t seem to be the only one.

The shops have been trying to convince us it’s Christmas since about August and now nearly every shop has its Christmas goodies out and a nice shiny catalogue by the door.

I always get slightly confused by the shop’s decisions on Christmas gifts. I don’t really understand why they seem to think that every woman wants nothing more than a box set of gaudily packaged toiletries that they wouldn’t use at any other time of the year, or every bloke wants a body spray and shower gel set or a leather wallet and keyring! I wouldn’t buy these for friends on their birthdays, so why would I buy them at Christmas.

My usual routine for Christmas shopping is to wait for the pay day before Christmas and then go round the shops with a prepared list and very strict time limit. If I do it any other way, it becomes unmanageable and rarely ends well.

I may have to try a different tact this year, as the list of people I need to buy for appears to have grown at a very unhealthy rate since last Christmas and I’m not sure I can face the shops. I’m leaning much more towards the joys of internet shopping. Me, my credit card and a very large drink certainly seems much more enticing than me, cash and scary strangers with a very disturbing determination to get the last Terry’s Chocolate Orange on the shelf!

Some people seem to be much more organised.

Scarily so.

Best Friend is one of these. I know for a fact that a lot of her shopping has been completed and there is a plan in place for the rest! Best Friend adores Christmas and all the preparation for it. She buys the most fabulous presents (even her work Secret Santa ones hit the spot each time!) and revels in the whole thing. She works to a time scale and knows when she will write and send her cards (I randomly send them when I can be bothered and then inevitably have to send out more when I receive one from people I have forgotten!). She also knows when she needs to order things from the butcher and already knows what she’s going to cook on Christmas Day. I’m more than happy about this as I will be spending the day with her and her family and she also tells me what to buy for our mutual friends – thank you, that saves me another head ache!

Don’t get me wrong, I do like Christmas, though I prefer the actual lead up to it rather than the day itself.

I can get quite sentimental and, if I’m in a good mood, even smile when I hear the brass bands playing carols. I like the decorations, the parties and how people seem willing to talk to people they usually wouldn’t. However, I do long for the ease of Christmas when I was a kid, when all you had to do was send cards to your classmates, buy something for your parents and Santa did the rest!!

It's that time of year again!

As it is October, it is obviously time to start thinking about Christmas.

At least that’s what the shops are trying to make us do.

I have an issue with the shops and the way they try to control the seasons, but that’s for another blog.

The reason why I know it is October and October equals Christmas, is that preparations have begun for the Work Christmas Party!

Unfortunately, this is my task every year and I have to begin now to try and accommodate the whole list of do’s/don’ts/needs/wants/random and strange requests into one night. And it takes a hell of a lot of research. Luckily this year I do have some help.

You really wouldn’t have thought it would be that complicated to arrange one night out (let me repeat that; ONE night out) for 10 people.

But it is.

So far, the only consensus is that it should be a meal.

However, in that, I have to try and find somewhere that can accommodate the following requests (or instructions, depending on your point of view!):

* Not a chain.
* Not too noisy or busy, but not deathly quiet either.
* Doesn’t serve a traditional Christmas Dinner, but does serve traditional English food (Bloody fussy eaters!).
* Not too expensive, but not cheap either (Damn, I was aiming for MacDonald’s, but wait, then what would the vegetarians do?!).
* Plays music but not “Stupid Christmas Carols”, “Modern stuff” or “Lift Music”.
* Has a decent range of cocktails (That’s my request – I’m definitely going to need the aid of alcohol by the time the night actually arrives!).
* Only serves food on blue plates, preferably square with a gold trim, and drinks in glasses hand etched by fairies wearing dresses made from flowers (Ok, I made that bit up, but it would probably be easier to try and find that, than satisfy everyone else!).

I am seriously considering setting everyone up with the internet and a webcam. That way, we can all sit at home, listen to what music we want and eat what we like, still say we’ve had a party and there won’t be the risk of me being convicted for GBH!

Any ideas anyone?

The musical air cooler

I think I’ve told you before that the basis of mine and Student Nutty Nurse’s friendship is arguing and playing practical jokes on each other.

Even though we have not worked together for several months now, he is still managing to play tricks on me at work.

The office where I work is in a converted garage. As you can imagine, it’s cramped and, in summer, it’s hot. We have an air cooler to help us not completely melt in summer, but obviously it’s not necessary in winter and it lives under one of the corner desks.

A couple of days ago, I was in the office with a client and a colleague, when all of a sudden we heard ‘Happy Birthday’ playing, swiftly followed by Highland music! After some investigation, we could only narrow it down to the air cooler.

By this stage, I was getting quite frustrated and decided that there was only one course of action. Watched by a very bemused client and an equally bemused colleague, I fetched a screwdriver and dismantled it. It would not shut up.

Sitting on the floor, surrounded by bits of the air cooler, I began to think I’d made a bit of a mistake. Especially when my colleague lent over, took the batteries out and silence reigned.

Ah.

I tried to figure out what had happened. Why had it been playing music? It had never happened before; I didn’t even know that it could.

There only seemed to be one possible solution.

I phoned Student Nutty Nurse.

“You know the air cooler in the office?”

“Yes!”

“Does it play music?”

“Yes!”

“Did you set some kind of timer on it to make it play?”

“Yes!”

“Why?”

“I wanted to surprise you for your Birthday”

“My Birthday’s not until March. You know that. When did you set it?”

“About ten months ago. I wondered why no-one had phoned me about it!”

So even though we no longer work together, he is still managing to get me into trouble. I managed to repair the air cooler, but I’m not sure it will ever work in the same way again.

However, I have found the instruction book and now I know how to set the timer. I can feel some Christmas music coming on!

Leave the chocolate alone!

I see that the manufacturers have been at it again. They’ve been messing about with the chocolate.

I bought some Galaxy chocolate today, feeling in the need of a reward (which was a bit unnecessary as just by being awake I feel that I deserve some chocolate!). I noticed that on the wrapper was the announcement that they had improved the recipe and it had a new shape.

Oh, shit. I hate it when they do this.

Luckily, it’s ok this time. It tastes the same and they haven’t done too much. They’ve just changed the shape to a slightly wavy one. It’s quite pretty really.

But it got me thinking about how often the manufacturers see fit to go and mess about with the things we know and love, even if it’s just the name. There never seems to be a good reason to do this, I’m sure it’s just to confuse us and make us think that they’ve released a new product.

I mean, take Snickers. They always used to be called Marathon. Now, that name made sense. What sort of name is Snickers?! Marathon always implied that the chocolately, peanutty goodness would help you keep going. But Snickers? What does that mean?

And Starburst. They were always Opal Fruits (well, they still are in my head – just because they change the name, doesn’t mean that I have to agree with it!). Everything else is the same, they just changed the name. Is there a point to it that I’m missing?

The other thing that annoys me is when they just take products out of action. Does anyone remember the Peanut Butter Lions? They were great and saw me through many hangovers in college. Now they’ve disappeared and I can’t find them anywhere!

I don’t mind them adding new things though! Just stop messing about with the ones I like.

A lost art?

I was reading the back of my conditioner bottle in the shower this morning (it’s amazing what you do to amuse yourself whilst you’re waiting for a deep conditioning treatment to work!) and noticed what was written under the ‘Contact us’ bit.

The bottle encouraged people to “Give us a ring, send us an email, or why not go mad and pick up a pen – and combat the global disappearance of handwriting”.

It got me thinking, I rarely write letters anymore and I’m not sure I know anyone else who writes them either. Sure, I write quite a few at work, but they don’t really count, plus, they’re typed. In fact, I only write two personal letters a year, both at Christmas, to two family friends. But when I was younger, letters and notes were a common thing.

When I was kid, every Birthday and Christmas I would have to write ‘Thank you’ letters to anyone who had given me a present. As much as I knew I had to do them, I hated it. I mean, when you’re a kid, what else do you say when you’ve got as far as “Dear Great Aunt Mable. Thank you for my book token. I have put it towards a book.”? I would sit there for ages, trying to turn 20 words into a letter; I would often end up drawing a little picture, just to fill up space.

When I was a teenager, it was all about passing notes in school (when I was there, I played truant a lot!). The notes were far more important than whatever class we were in, but mainly consisted of “Jamie is soooo fit”, “Are you coming for a fag at break?” and “Lucy snogged Darren on Friday!”. Exciting stuff!

It just doesn’t cross my mind to write a letter. Now, if I want to contact someone and don’t want to phone, then I will send them an email. It’s quicker than writing, but I guess it’s kind of sad that no one writes letters anymore.

Please excuse me for a moment!

I'm a bored blogger!

I'm playing around with my blog (I'm going all girly!) as I appear to have blog block. However, I seem to have lost all the little bits that are usually in my side bar! Please bear with me whilst I carry on playing and try to get everything back to where it should be.

Normal service will resume shortly, I just didn't want you thinking you'd come to the wrong place!

Hunting in packs

I’ve heard several blokes say that one of the scariest things to see on a night out is a group made up purely by women. I have to say that a group of blokes is just as off putting.

When I was in London for the day with Mr Flirt, we ended up sitting outside a pub in Camden. It was a pleasant evening, only marred when a group of lads took up residence at the next table.

They were a typical group of lads, out on the piss and on the pull. They were quite loud, having already had plenty to drink and clearly felt, that as they were obviously undisputed Sex Gods, they were in a position to comment on every poor female that happened to walk past.

We sat and listened to their conversation for a while, not that we had much choice. After enduring a few minutes of tales about “shagging some bird” and some stuff about football that I didn’t understand at all, I turned to Mr Flirt and commented that this group of fine male specimens was an example as to why some women prefer to be single.

He just smiled.

A few minutes later, a group of girls (I can really only describe them as girls) came spilling out of the pub. By this stage, the only seats left outside were on mine and Mr Flirt’s table. They asked if they could share with us and we agreed.

We were then subjected to a mixture of screams and squeals over one of the girls’ new top, the sad news that the bloke one of them had met last week hadn’t called and the problems someone’s sister was having with her new partner. After a while, Mr Flirt turned round and informed me that this was an example as to why some men prefer to stay single.

Touche!

Is there a sign on my forehead?

Is there something about me?

Do I have some kind of sign on my forehead that I can’t see?

Why do I always attract the loony?

I can be anywhere and the random mad person will find me. It doesn’t matter where; on the bus, in the supermarket, in the doctor’s waiting room, it makes no difference; they will track me down and start talking.

Even when I’m walking to work I’m not safe. In the mornings there is a lady who walks through the city centre at the same time I do. On a regular basis she comes up, tells me a joke (it’s always something about dicks, socks and the cold – I’m sorry I can’t be clearer, but it just doesn’t make sense!) and then wanders off, apparently happy with our interaction.

When I am training for work I will attract the one person on the course desperate to talk about their ‘issues’ and they will spend the entire day trailing around after me and then want to walk back to the train station too. They have also been known to ask me if I want to go for a drink afterwards as I have “been so helpful and understanding”.

No, I don’t.

If we did that, then there is a distinct possibility that my responses will change from the professional ones ingrained into me, to the ones that are actually in my head. I’m really not convinced you want to be told that either; 1) you’re clearly insane or 2) need to stop acting like a moaning idiot and get off your arse and do something about it!

I know I work in mental health and should understand, but it’s no different from a doctor getting asked to diagnose people at parties or a taxi driver being a chauffeur for his kids. You just don’t want to do it. A lot of my friends also work in mental health and say the same thing. It appears that some people do have a sign saying ‘If you are mad/desperate/love to talk about yourself then feel free to come and talk non-stop to me for as long as you want’ stuck on their forehead.

The problem is, that unless I can actually avoid being engaged in conversation from the start, I don’t have it in me to stop them. I nod, smile and make appropriate noises when I’m really inventing elaborate escape plans or writing my shopping list in my head.

I can successfully manage to avoid the charity and survey clipboard people in the street, so maybe I need to employ the same tactics with the random mad people. In the meantime, maybe I should pay attention to what they say and see if there’s any blog fodder in there!

Delete, delete, delete!

I think I’ve told you before that I love technology and all that it can do, but that I am aware of the down side to it as well. One of the main downsides is that unless you remember to delete things you don’t want people to find, there is a good chance that someone will discover it!

Best Friend has a new mobile phone. It was given to her by another friend, who had just upgraded to a shiny new one.

The friend who gave it to her is quiet and has a certain ‘good girl’ image. She’s not. And we now have proof.

It is important to remember that if you give a friend your old mobile, removing the sim card is not enough. You need to check what has been saved on the phone itself.

And delete anything before you hand it over.

Best Friend was playing with her new toy, figuring out how it worked, when I suddenly heard a gasp and then hysterical laughter.

She handed the phone to me.

There was a message from Quiet Friend’s boyfriend. It was a picture of him in a state of…um, excitement and the (completely unnecessary) information that he was horny and waiting for her.

Best Friend doesn’t feel that she’s going to be able to look at her (or him!) in the eye with a straight face for quite a while! I think she has some excellent blackmail fodder…

Blogging Against Abuse - Rape, it can happen to anyone.

Today is the day that (hopefully) hundreds of bloggers will unite to blog against abuse. This is my post for Blogcatalog’s Blogging Against Abuse campaign.

It’s taken me a long time to decide what to write about, but in the end I decided to talk about something that has affected me personally. I decided to write about rape.

Rape has nothing to do with sex but is all about power.

When many people think about rape, they think about a woman (or man) being attacked by a stranger. However, the majority of women are raped by someone they know, whether that is a family member, friend or partner.

When I was 17 I was raped by an ex-boyfriend. Though we had split up, we still occasionally slept together; we just didn’t work in a relationship. On the night in question, he decided that ‘No’ didn’t apply to him and that he had the right to do what he wanted anyway. He couldn’t believe that I meant it when I said no or that he was doing anything wrong by continuing.

I never reported it to the police and it took me several months to even tell a friend. I didn’t feel that I would be believed. The lifestyle I led at the time would have been held against me. Unfortunately, many women do not report they have been raped and, for those that have the courage to do so, there is no guarantee that it will even reach court. In fact, research has shown that women are more likely to report domestic violence than they are rape. For many women, the fear of not being believed, or the fear of being judged, stops them. We’ve all heard the comments of “She was asking for it, look at what she was wearing” or “She accepted drinks from him, what did she expect?”.

Over time, I began to tell a few friends. I was lucky; the majority were very supportive and believed me immediately. Only two people said it was my fault, one said that I had no right to call it rape as I had been sleeping with him anyway, and the other said I had no right to deny him sex as it was ‘expected’. Bullshit. I was also lucky that only one person didn’t believe me at all, saying that I was trying to get back at him for breaking up the relationship. Though her perception was not right, I can sort of understand why she needed to view it like that. My rapist was her brother’s best friend, he was in her house a lot and I think she was scared.

I’m not saying that I knew it was not my fault straight away. I spent months feeling that it was my fault; that I should never have put myself in that situation or that I should have never said no in the first place. At first, I didn’t even know that it was still classed as rape if it was done by someone you knew. It was only through talking to friends, reading and, eventually, getting into counselling, that I saw it for what it was. All I knew at the beginning was that I hadn’t wanted it to happen.

Rape is always rape. If one party has said no, then it is not consensual. That is rape. It does not matter what relationship you have with someone, if they force themselves on you that is wrong. I have a friend who was systematically raped by her husband for many years. She eventually worked up the courage to leave him, though still does not feel able to go to the police. Mainly, because he was her husband and she does not feel that people will consider it to be rape. It was.

I have not written this as a ‘poor me’ exercise. I am trying to show that anyone can be raped, by anyone. Rape is what it is and it is never right or the victim’s fault.

If you have been raped and need some support or information, there are lots of places out there that can help. Just speak to someone, if you can’t talk to a friend then try one of the help lines below.

Rape Crisis
Rapeline

What not to tell your parents

Parents and hangovers don’t mix. Especially if you already have a terrible habit of opening your mouth before engaging your brain.

I’m afraid I have traumatised my parents and I’m not entirely sure they will recover from the shock.

My parents visited me on Sunday and took me out to lunch. I’m sure you’re all thinking that sounds lovely and a nice way to spend a Sunday. And it would have been, if I hadn’t have been about to be awarded the prize for the worlds biggest hangover.

Saturday night had been spent at Best Friend’s house, celebrating another friend’s engagement. True to form, we consumed a lot of alcohol and I finally got home at stupid o’clock in the morning.

When my parents arrived, I attempted to make conversation, but was more than happy to just nod and smile whilst I was brought up to date on the village’s latest news and the developments with various people’s ailments (I don’t know these people, but apparently it is essential that I know all about their lives!).

By this stage, we were at the restaurant and I was trying to prepare my stomach for the fact that it was about to encounter solid food and convince it that it would be fine with this. My parents were asking me about what I had been up to, commenting that I seemed to be very busy. I explained that I was, but that it was ok and I had some more projects in the pipeline. As all good parents should do, they expressed an interest and asked what I was planning.

This is when it happened. I still don’t know why I said it. I can only think that my brain had gone back to sleep and had left my body to try and cope with the situation alone.

I informed my parents that I was going into business with Best Friend’s Bloke as a porn baron.

Well, more porn administrator really.

The world seemed to stop for a few moments and then reality came rushing in. All I could hear was the woosh as the entire restaurant whipped their heads round to stare at us.

Dad went an odd shade of purple, coughed slightly and then started eating as quickly as he could. I think he thought that if he carried on eating, time would reverse itself and this would never have happened.

Mum sat there with a fixed, slightly manic, smile on her face. As she reached for her drink and downed it in one, my brain made a very brief appearance, realised what was happening and fled.

The more I tried to explain, the bigger hole I dug myself. Best Friend’s Bloke works as a vision mixer on the local TV station’s porn channel. A lot of the women have asked him to develop their websites and I’ve said I’ll help him.

Of course, the more I attempted to reassure my parents, the worse I made it. Until it sounded like Best Friend’s Bloke ran a porn empire and I was his newest recruit, about to give up the day job and become Crystal Chandelier!

I gradually trailed off and we sat in silence for about a year. The silence was so great, that I could hear the man on the other side of the restaurant picking bits of food out of his teeth.

The only thing I could think to say was “So, Mum, how’s Fred and his hernia”.

Apparently Fred’s fine.

Take one chef, add a dash of TV...

There are so many cookery shows on TV. Ready, Steady Cook, Saturday Kitchen, Master Chef, you can’t seem to change channels without coming across one.

As much as I don’t cook (unless you can call heating things in the microwave cooking), I have occasionally watched these shows and I’ve noticed a couple of things that irritate me.

Firstly, one of the themes that seems to come up a lot is the ‘let’s use your store cupboard basics’. I never have these things in my cupboard. In fact, I only know two people who have things such as risotto rice, garlic salt and different types of mushrooms in there. Now, if they could show me what to do with a tin of beans, some instant coffee and a bit of slightly mouldy cheddar then they may be on to something!

And the chefs never wash their hands! All they seem to do is give them a quick rinse under the tap and then carry on. So what are they saying? Is E-coli a new type of seasoning now?

Oh, and I want to know where to get one of those magic ovens. For those that like to cook, imagine how much time could be saved. These are very special ovens where you can put raw food in, open it again two minutes later and, hey presto, your food is ready and piping hot!

Then we come to the final act of tasting the delights that TV Chef has just produced. Apparently, TV Chefs never make anything that doesn’t taste divine, delicious or like little angels waltzing across your tongue (Yes I did make that last bit up, but I wouldn’t be surprised to hear it one day!). I would love to hear someone say it tasted bloody awful, rather than practically have an orgasm over a plate of pasta with a side of listeria.

Unfortunately, all that generally happens when I watch these programmes is that I sit there wishing my pizza would be delivered faster…

Avoid eye contact

I have spent a lot of this week on a train, travelling to and from London (hence the lack of blogs). As much as I like travelling by train, it never fails to amaze me the lengths people go to so they don’t have to share their seat with anyone.

Over the years, I have noticed there is an unwritten code of practise for train travel. I don’t agree with it, but it’s there. It basically boils down to the fundamental rule of; unless there is some form of emergency, you must NOT acknowledge your fellow passengers. This can be quite a complicated process and everyone seems to have their own tactics, but there appears to be common techniques used by the majority.

You sit on the seat next to the window, with your bag on the aisle seat, then, either look like you’re reading, put your i-pod on or talk into your mobile. Or all three at once. It doesn’t matter if you are actually doing any of these things, as long as it looks like you are, then you may fool the people that get on at the station after you. One of the most important parts of this process seems to be that you must not make eye contact with people trying to get a seat. If you do, then the good old British sense of duty may kick in and you will end up moving your bag and having to actually sit next to someone for the duration of your journey.

If you find yourself on a commuter train, you will have no choice but to sit next to someone. You will find yourself squashed up against a random person, whilst you all desperately try to avoid the reality that someone you don’t know is about to sit on your lap. However, the tubes are worse in rush hour. There, you are very likely to find yourself in the position of having your nose in someone’s armpit whilst someone else uses your back as a convenient place to lean.

One of the most popular ways to deal with this seems to be to go to sleep. And snore. And dribble. On your neighbour’s shoulder preferably. Then, when you reach your station, you must suddenly leap up and trip over your fellow passenger’s feet as you try and get off the train before the doors close.

Your other alternatives to try and convince yourself you are in fact the only person on the train (or at least irritate the others enough so they might move) are; chat on your mobile, telling whoever’s on the other end that you are on the train (Really? Bloody hell, my mistake, I thought we were on some kind of magic carpet!). Put your bag on the overhead rack and then stand up every five minutes to get something out of it. If you can drop something on your fellow passenger’s head whilst doing this, then that is a bonus. When you have to sit in one of the blocks of seats that face each other, ensure that you place your legs in a way so that no one else can put their legs in a natural position. This way, when you stand up, you will be the only person not to fall over due to the complete lack of blood flow to the lower limbs for the last hour.

Trains are supposed to be a convenient way to travel around the country. Sure, as long as there’s not the wrong type of leaf/snow/rain/cow on the line, then they can be great. However, it involves such a complicated set of rules, that I feel that everyone should be made to take a test before travelling to avoid mistakes!

Public dancing solution!

Some of you are aware that my sense of rhythm is sorely lacking. I have made some progress recently thanks to dancing in Best Friend’s kitchen and embarrassing small children, but there is still vast room for improvement (though I did manage a Burlesque-like shimmy type thing the other day!).

I will not dance in public, unless I am under the influence of a serious amount of alcohol, and even then it’s pushing it. But I think I may have found a solution!

I have recently heard about these things called Headphone disco's. It seems that when you enter the venue, you are immediately issued with wireless headphones. Two different DJ’s play at the same time and you can choose which one you listen to. There is no music pumped into the club, it only comes through the headphones. So if you take them off, all you will see are people dancing to…nothing.

I guess it looks a little odd at first, a bit like a Mime’s disco, but imagine the potential. No one would be able to tell if you were a bad dancer as they would just think you were dancing to different music to them. However, I guess it could also make a good dancer look bad, but I don’t really care about that!

I need to find somewhere where they are using these. Not only could I dance in public without embarrassing myself or anyone who knows me, I would willingly pay good money to see those that think they can dance look as silly as me!

Oh! Thank you!

The wonderful Fish has given this to me!

Fish, thank you so much. It’s very much appreciated. I’m getting all embarrassed now so I’ll stop there!

It's not a secret anymore!

So how many people know you blog? And what’s been their reaction when they’ve found out?

When I started blogging, I never intended telling anyone what I was doing. But it didn’t quite work out like that. It started off with just a couple of close friends knowing and spread from there.

Generally the thing I hear most is “Blogging? What’s that?” and when I try to explain, it turns into a glazed look and “Oh, you’re writing your diary”. Umm, no. But I’ve more or less given up trying to explain and am considering having a series of cards printed so I can just hand them out and save my breath!

One friend, who had a vague idea of what blogging was, informed me that she had always felt that blogs were only “ego trips for inconsistent thinkers”. She now reads my blog, but has yet to tell me whether her opinion has changed!

Another common reaction from people who have at least heard about blogs, is the question “Am I in it?” How do you answer that? If you say yes, then there is a Spanish inquisition about what you’ve written. If you say no, then you’re suddenly faced with a hurt expression and the unspoken question of “Don’t you think I’m interesting enough?”

The other reaction I’ve had was the beautiful back-handed compliment of “I was really surprised at the quality of the writing”. Thanks. I think. But we sorted that one out and I now know what he meant!

And that’s the other thing. When I’m out with friends that know I blog, I’m always being asked “You’re going to blog about this, aren’t you?” The short answer is yes. If it makes me laugh or annoys me, then it’s likely to end up here at some point. Very little is sacred.

So what started out as my own little secret is becoming common knowledge. Yes, there are people that I would still prefer not to know about it, as I don’t think their reaction would be a favourable one. But the internet is a small place and people are renowned for not being able to keep quiet. There are people that won’t be overly happy about some of the things I’ve written about, especially about the names I have given them and I know I will have to deal with that at some point. My plan when that happens is just to brazen it out and ask if they’re offended because they recognise some truth in what I’ve said!

The things they say

What did you used to believe as a kid? I’m not talking about Father Christmas, The Tooth Fairy or the Easter Bunny, but the seemingly random things that you used to believe.

I came across this website the other day. It’s a place where you can submit all those things that you used to believe; either the things your parents told you or the things that made perfect sense in your head but no one else seemed to get. You can now find out you were not alone!

My Mum and Dad were just like any other parents in that they took great pleasure in telling me things, just to be entertained by my reaction. It seems to be a perk of the job which can provide many hours (or sometimes months!) of entertainment.

There seem to be standard things that ALL parents tell their kids; crusts make your hair curly, carrots help you see in the dark, you’ll stay that way if the wind changes and if you swallow chewing gum it will take 7 years for it to digest. The ones they were probably told as a kid too.

Then there are the ones that parents make up themselves. My parents had two, both of which I believed for quite a while.

In the town where I lived as a kid, there was a huge statue of Issac Newton which stood outside the town hall. My parents used to tell me that at night he would get down of his stand and roam about the town. I was never clear about what he was doing on his nightly trips, but it all sounded very realistic to me and I used to lay awake at night, waiting for him to come down our street. Part of me would be wishing that he would come, so I could see for myself what he was doing. The other part was terrified; convinced he was some kind of relation to the more scary giants in the BFG!

I was quite a gullible kid and also believed them when they told me that the cat’s eyes in the middle of the road were actually cat’s eyes! The story was that this was how the cats made their living and if I looked very carefully at dusk, I would see all the cats walking down the road to their station, where they would then lay in bed for the night, just looking into the road, to help drivers stay on the right side of the road. I never saw the cats.

I don’t believe either of those things now. My only concern is that I can’t find anyone else on the site who believed anything even remotely similar…

Hard hats are optional

I quite like puzzles and board games, but the problem is I’m really quite competitive.

At one point I became mildly obsessed with Sudoku and did the one in my newspaper everyday. When Student Nutty Nurse and I used to work together, we would photocopy the puzzle and then race each other to see could complete it the fastest. It was pretty much 50/50, though he will still maintain that he won more.

I also have a soft spot for Scrabble. Best Friend also likes a game, but will now only play with me if she can wear protective clothing, or at least some kind of hard hat. We used to play on a fairly regular basis but things turned ugly one day.

She disputed one of my words and I didn’t react well.

I had put down Qi and was quite pleased with myself, having managed to get it on a triple word score! (Before anyone disputes it, it is in the official Scrabble word book – I don’t want a repeat of the incident!)

Our argument became more and more heated and I’m afraid to say that it ended with me pushing the board off the table and onto the floor (yes, I am embarrassed, but I can be a stroppy cow when I want to be!).

Best Friend maintains to this day that I actually threw the board (hence the hard hat), but I’m honestly not that bad. However, it certainly wasn’t my finest hour!

I now try to stick to things like crosswords. I think it’s much safer this way.

Keyword confusion

I have to admit that I can become quite obsessed at looking at the stats for this blog. I love looking at the keywords that have led people here; it’s quite strange what some people search for!

Up to now, I’ve been able to see some sort of link as to why my blog has been thrown up in the results but today…well, I think there will be some very confused people out there, but it certainly amused me!

The first three were:

Alcohol sexuality
Not shameful porn
Bentover naked arse

They continued in a similar theme and then halfway down there was

How to reduce saggy stomach

What? How the hell does that relate to my blog? Maybe I’ve missed something but I can’t see the connection. At this point I was laughing so much that I thought I misread the final one on the list. I hadn’t. The last keywords registered were…

Does lettuce give you wind

Well. What can I say?!

An announcement and possible warning!

I thought I should let you all know now.

This way you have time to prepare yourselves.

The former Mr Playmate will be joining us on this blog. He has finally decided on his name and will be known from now on as…

Drum roll, please…

Student Nutty Nurse.

I know. But he seems happy with it anyway. His inspiration is that he is training to be a Community Psychiatric Nurse, despite his fear of needles and the fact that he faints at the sight of blood!

Student Nutty Nurse will be an occasional author and will randomly put up posts as and when he feels the urge. Please do not feel you have to be too nice to him, really, he’s not used to it and won’t know how to react. Also, I cannot impress on you enough the danger involved if his ego gets any bigger – it won’t be a pretty sight!

Having said that, he’s a funny bloke and makes me laugh a lot. He is VERY sarcastic and has a dry sense of humour. It may take some time but you’ll get used to him. Don’t be offended by him, the majority of his insults are said with a smile on his face and he likes it if people stand up to him!

Despite all of that, I’m pleased to have him around. So now all there is to do is sit back and wait for him to grace us with his presence.

The eternal argument

My parents are locked in a long running battle.

It’s been going on for years and I’m not sure if it will ever be resolved as neither are willing to compromise.

Dad wants a cardigan and Mum won’t let him have one.

My Dad is in his sixties and has been creeping comfortably into ‘old man’ clothing for several years. He has a love of corded trousers, lambs wool jumpers and loafers, though, slightly at odds with the rest of his style, he’s recently bought a very cool pair of Red or Dead glasses!

He has wanted a cardigan for years and has even tried to get Mum to knit him one. I’m not sure why, but he has a longing for a cream cable knit cardie. When he talks about it, he comes over all misty eyed and there is a definite hint of longing to his tone.

Mum point blank refuses to let him have one. When Dad asked her to knit one, she laughed hysterically for several minutes and then hid her knitting needles for several years! On the rare occasions they enter Marks and Spencer’s together, she always looks like she’s about to rugby tackle Dad if he so much as looks towards the men’s knitwear section!

I get the odd call from one or the other of them, specifically about the cardigan issue. Both ask me to talk to the other one and get them to change their mind. Over the years I have been through many options, trying to find a happy medium, but neither are interested.

I’m not sure why Mum’s so against him having one. I know it shouts out ‘old man’, but Dad really wants one. I read in one of the glossy magazines that knitwear’s really ‘in’ for blokes this season, including cardigans, so maybe I could send a copy to Mum and see what she thinks!

I'm a big scaredy cat really!

I’m not great with any type of bug or anything that slithers, crawls or buzzes. I’m not sure what it is. I don’t have a phobia but when I see an insect, I become the ultimate girl and tend to run around, flapping my arms, expecting someone to come and rescue me.

I was at my aunt’s house one night and we were sitting in the kitchen, when a spider the size of a dinner plate (well, slight exaggeration, the size of a saucer then) ran across the floor straight towards, I swear I could see its fangs and the glint in its eye when it thought it had me cornered.

As some of you know, I am not the most athletic person, but I was across the room and up on the counter in about 0.5 seconds. By this point my aunt was almost hysterical with laughter, but eventually recovered enough to help and removed the monster.

There was also the time that the cousin of the previous spider followed me to work. There I was in a meeting with a client when I saw it leering at me from under a side table. Luckily I know this client well and he is used to me acting strangely at times, so he thought nothing of me conducting the rest of the session crouched up on my chair (Tom Cruise stylee for those who saw that interview!).

But it’s not just limited to spiders. When I was 17, I went camping in Cornwall with a friend and her family. We had hit the onsite ‘club’ (I use that term very loosely) and had crawled back to our tent a while after everyone else. It was as I was getting into my sleeping bag when I noticed two glowing eyes peering at us from the nearby dunes. In my head, what was more than likely a harmless grass snake (if it was a snake at all!) turned into a monster python, escaped from a local zoo. The fear (yes, combined with a decent amount of alcohol!) meant that my friend and I spent the night facing the tent door, torches trained on the opening, prepared to defend ourselves. I’m still not entirely sure what we thought we would have done, but we were prepared to do battle anyway!

I know logically that it is incredibly unlikely that one of these beasts will hurt me in any way. The most that will happen will be that they will crawl on me, I’ll scream and make an idiot of myself, which I’m used to anyway. I just can’t seem to control this feeling that one day I will be eaten by a new species of monster insect.

Are you sure you meant it like that!

My aunt breeds and shows dogs. She has whippets and absolutely adores them.

I went to visit her the other day and she was telling me about her recent night out with the girls. She was telling me about one of her friends who is retired and seems perfectly happy doing nothing all day.

My aunt couldn’t understand this at all. She informed me that she didn’t see how people could be happy with that, as her other friend works full time and then they “go dogging it”.

I collapsed in hysterics and it took me a good five minutes to be in a fit state to explain why I was laughing.

As much as my aunt is very broad minded and I get a lot of my less responsible traits from her, I couldn’t imagine her and her friend going off to car parks for group sex and voyeurism!

This is the same woman who had part of her email address as ‘janwhips’ until I pointed out that it could be seen in a very different light from a combination of ‘Jan’ and ‘Whippets’!

Though saying that, maybe she is ready to reveal her secret life as a dominatrix dogger!

One time only

This is the first and last time I will do this.

Mr Playmate and I rarely apologise to each other, no matter what we've done. Our friendship is based on taking the piss, playing jokes and fighting about anything and everything.

However, I will make an exception in this case.

I am sorry for giving you a blog name that makes you sound like a brand of condoms.

He will no longer go by Mr Playmate. Until he tells me what he wants to be known as, I will refer to him as Name Pending.

I have to go and lie down now to recover from the shock to my system that apologising to you has caused!

PG or Cert 18?

There are times when Best Friend and I wonder how we became friends and how we sustain a friendship. In some ways we are very similar and both like to be naughty, but our lifestyles can be very different. I have no responsibility and can do what I like, when I like, whereas Best Friend obviously has The Cool Kid and Bloke to take into consideration. This sometimes means I can witness two sides of her in the space of a few hours.

Take last night for example. I ended up going over there after work. The Cool Kid had got in from school and it was teatime. As I walked in, a plate of spag bol was put in front of me, so I settled down and joined in the conversation. I learnt all about The Cool Kid’s new school, friends and teacher and listened to reminders about P.E kits and dinner money. As much as I see the ‘Mum’ side of Best Friend on a regular basis I’m always slightly amazed each and every time – it’s like seeing the PG version, rather than the Cert 18. I even get told off when she’s in mum mode, though, to be fair, I was mucking about with The Cool Kid when we should have been eating our tea!

As it was a school night, Best Friend had sandwiches to make, but had run out of what she needed so I was duly sent off to the shops, whilst The Cool Kid had her bedtime story. I had been given a list and also picked up some things for myself. This is one of the signs of how different our lifestyles and priorities are. The list I had been given instructed me to get things like bread, milk and ham. My basket consisted of alcohol and cake!

This is one of the major differences between us. Best Friend always has a well stocked kitchen and cooks very well. I have no interest in cooking and often just have things like 3 minute noodles in. Most of my friends know that if you want a cup of tea at mine, you need to bring your own milk! I can, however, always provide a decent supply of alcohol, chocolate and take away menus – which covers all bases as far as I’m concerned…

Spontaneous Combustion

Well, I don’t know what to say, this was most unexpected. The lovely Agnes sent this to me today.

I’ve come over all warm and fuzzy inside. As that is not my natural state, I am in danger from spontaneously combusting with all the goodness!

On a more serious note, thank you so much for this Agnes. It means a lot. Your blog is one of my daily stops and never fails to make me laugh out loud. Everyone, quickly, go over there and have a look!

Losing my virginity

My meme virginity that is! I was tagged for this Random meme by Agnes Mildew of Hex My Ex fame.

Now, this is my first time so please be gentle with me. I will apologise upfront for any mistakes as I’m not really sure how to do these things.

The rules of this tag:

Link to your tagger and post these rules.
List eight (8) random facts about yourself.
Tag eight people at the end of your post and list their names (linking to them)
Let them know they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their blogs.

Ok, so here are 8 random facts about me.

1. I once took belly dancing lessons. I failed miserably.

2. When I was younger I was in a drama group and have acted in a few plays. I wasn’t very good but, hey, I walked the board’s darrrrling.

3. I love watching all the ‘teen’ movies. You know, American Pie and so on. I refuse to be ashamed!

4. I cannot ride a bike. When I was learning, I went straight over the handle bars and point blank refused to get back on.

5. I was born without a sense of smell. Yes, I know. Feel free to insert your own joke here!

6. I can roll my tongue into a tube, but can’t roll my R’s.

7. I hate ironing and have often not bought something because I wouldn’t have been able to get away without ironing it.

8. I have a scar on my hip from where I pulled a freshly brewed pot of tea over me when I was a one year old.


So there you have it, 8 random and totally useless facts about me. I’m not really sure what I think about these meme things, I’m glad I popped my cherry, but I have to say that the earth didn’t move!

I’m now meant to tag 8 other people. I don’t really want to inflict this on anyone, unless they really like doing this kind of thing. This probably isn’t meme etiquette at all, but I guess if you see this and want to join in then feel free to take it.

Here comes the bride (with a remote control!)

Now, I know there are some crap TV programmes out there and there are some odd TV channels, but I have come across one that just seems weird. We’re all used to things such as the shopping channels, the god bothering squad and the ‘community’ channels but this is different. I have seen an advert for a station dedicated to weddings.

Amazingly, and imaginatively, it is called Weddingtv. The advert informed me that ‘what every girl needs is an excuse to grab the remote control’ and tried to sell weddingtv as the place where I will find ‘relationships, celebrities, glamour …and everything about weddings’. Sounds…umm, nice.

I’m sure that there must be a market for this kind of thing, but I can only imagine that their core group of viewers will be made up of wedding planners, Bridezilla’s and little girls feeding their dreams of their own weddings.

Disturbingly, I spent quite a while trying to think how they would fill 24 hours of TV, 365 days a year of stuff about weddings. Not being the type that has ever wanted to get married (no, not even as a kid) my knowledge of weddings is limited to the ones I have been to, which tend to be of the get pissed and fight variety, so I struggled a lot with this.

Conveniently they had a handy website to help me. There I discovered programmes such as World’s Greatest Spas, Rich Bride Poor Bride and Weird Weddings to entertain and advise the bride to be. There also appeared to be all sorts of essential information, but by this time I was slightly scared and didn’t understand what I was reading, so I left.

I can vaguely see the point of stations such as QVC (I’ve even been known to watch it when I’ve been in the depths of insomnia and BBC 24 just isn’t making sense anymore!) but a station dedicated to weddings? Maybe I’m missing something, but I just don’t get it.

I mean, their viewers must only stay for the duration until their wedding is over. I know there is a never ending supply of brides, but surely it’s only relevant to watch this before you get married. But it seems they have thought about this. On their website, there is a nifty feature called ‘My Wedding Album’. Yes, it is now possible to store your beloved wedding photos on a TV website – doesn’t that just seem slightly wrong? They obviously don’t think so. It takes pride of place in their advert, I guess that is their unique selling point and this is their proud parent moment.

It’s the blokes and friends of the bride that I feel sorry for. Up to now, there had just been the magazines to contend with and they weren’t too bad, it’s easy to hide something of that size. But, what do you do about a TV channel? I can see Sky subscriptions being cancelled all over the place…

That's (not) entertainment...

One of the things that most of us have a problem with is getting older. We all know that we’re aging and that there’s little we can do about it, but it’s something the majority of us resist. We also all have things we associate with ‘being old’. For me, its things like Bingo (though I did play once on a ‘Butlins’ type holiday and won £90!), bowling on the green, socks and sandals and anything that smacks of Saga.

It also seems worse when you don’t feel like the age you actually are and find yourself in a situation you’ve always thought of as the domain of the more mature.

One of my friends, Ms Not So Innocent, is currently going through this. As we speak, she will be cruising around the British Isles, alighting to visit some of more interesting parts and, whilst on board, being ‘entertained’.

Ms Not So Innocent is…umm…a bit older than me, though really doesn’t act like it. She is very funny, with quite a dry sense of humour, has a naughty streak and can certainly tell you some stories from her younger days. Oh, and she has a massive crush on Jarvis Cocker.

When her husband presented the idea of the cruise, Ms Not So Innocent seemed to be relatively ok with it. Sure, she had some concerns but overall liked the idea of visiting some of the places on the itinerary.

Then she read the brochure again.

Ms Not So Innocent became more and more concerned with the whole tone of the descriptions and the advice given. She recoiled at the suggestion that “Ladies often choose to wear cocktail dresses” and “Gentlemen are encouraged to wear a suit for dinner”. I think she became even more distressed when her husband actually got his suit dry cleaned!

The thought of the nightly entertainment drove her almost to distraction. Listening to someone sing covers of ‘Show Tunes’ is really not her Ms Not So Innocent’s thing. I think there was also a hint of the upcoming delights of shuffleboard and whist – though I suspect she may have blocked the full details from her mind. She did inform her husband that she may not wish to be ‘entertained’ and asked what he advised. Unfortunately the suggestion that she could stay in the cabin was not helpful. I think she may have been keener on mine to get drunk and create mischief!

I have said that next year I will take her holiday. She hasn’t said no yet…

Now I know what the Oscar's feel like!

Aw, I feel all warm and fuzzy inside. I woke up this morning to find that fishwithoutbicycle had given this to me.

Fish, thank you so much. The last award I got was during a game at an Ann Summers party, but it’s probably too early to go into that now!

I’m not going to go on, there is a definite risk that I will go all Gwyneth Paltrow on you all and start sniffling away whilst wearing a pink frock!

Go and visit Fish’s blog, she’s great!

Educational Activities

Well, the trip to the Eco Park with Mini Adult and the others was certainly educational, but not necessarily in the way I thought it was going to be. Looking back, I think the two main lessons yesterday were How To Effectively Embarrass The Kids and How Not To Get Out Of A Pedallo.

The Eco Park was fun, somewhat educational for the kids but, as is often the case, more so for the supposed grown up’s. It was in the section all about land and farming that my first lesson took place.

There was a display of animated vegetables singing a very catchy song about how cool they were. The problem was that Best Friend and I could not resist dancing, much to Mini Adult’s and The Cool Kid’s shame. Of course, the more disapproving and embarrassed they looked, the more this encouraged us. It is lucky that neither Best Friend or I have any problem with making idiots of ourselves in public: the disapproval radiating from the kids and the realization that we had in fact attracted a much wider audience of other visitors may have stopped less hardy souls, but not us. As Mini Adult and The Cool Kid scuttled away from our foot stamping and hip shaking, we heard mutterings of “You just can’t take them anywhere” and “Let’s pretend they’re not with us”. Oh, and for those of you that know of my burlesque ambitions you will be pleased that the, much needed, improvement in my sense of rhythm has been achieved through farmyard music!

After lunch, the kids agreed to acknowledge our existence again (it’s amazing the power having the ice cream money can have!) and decided that we would all go on a pedallo. It was a lot of fun, though I was worried about the fact that I had already had about 2 years worth of exercise in a couple of weeks and that pedalling one of these things around a lake may just finish me off! Best Friend and Mini Adult had beaten me and The Cool Kid in a race and it was time to get back on dry land. This is when I had my second lesson of the day.

As The Cool Kid was on the dock side of the pedallo, she jumped out first and went to wait with the others. This left me in the situation of having to get myself over two seats and the steering column, all in a rocking bit of plastic! It did not go well. After swaying about for a few minutes and wheeling my arms around in an attempt to keep my balance, I eventually gave up and crawled across and up on to the dock on my hands and knees – not my most elegant exit at all, though everyone else seemed to find it highly amusing! Let this be a lesson for all of you, if you are not the most athletic of people and find yourself on a pedallo, then when you land make sure you are on the dock side and save yourself the indignity.

Lessons in parenthood

I have the pleasure of Mini Adult’s company again today and tomorrow. She is asleep now, preparing for our big day out tomorrow!

I picked her up after work and we went to the cinema. After some debate we ended up seeing The Simpsons (she wanted to see Bratz – I refused as the dolls scare me, have you seen the size of their eyes!?) – turned out to be a good choice, though Mini Adult was not impressed with seeing a naked Bart! I was put off my pick and mix by the teenage couple in front of us trying to remove each others tonsils with their tongues (I have no problem with this, but that’s what the back row is for!), however a few subtle kicks to the backs of their seats soon resolved matters! I have to say that having the residue of a raging hangover didn’t endear me to their slurps at all.

Tomorrow, we are going to something called the Eco Park with Best Friend and The Cool Kid. I’m not entirely sure what it’s all about, but I have been told I will learn about dinosaurs and ‘the world’ (which seems like a very broad subject to me). Mini Adult and The Cool Kid are very excited, Best Friend has assured me she has all the parental type stuff under control and all I have to do is turn up with money and obey instructions!

Best Friend and I have done a few trips out with the kids. As much as I am perfectly capable of making sure Mini Adult is safe, fed and watered, I am not a natural parent. Best Friend is. She’s the one that has the plasters, spare drinks and tissues to hand. My role on these trips is to generally act the idiot, make them laugh and tire them out! Best Friend normally informs me before hand if anything further will be required of me, so I have time to prepare myself. I have had no such instructions for tomorrow, so I am assuming that I’m safe. However, I am going to have to pay attention to what Best Friend does; I have promised Mini Adult that I will take her to London for the day in a few weeks. Maybe I should take notes…

An open letter to all diet whores and bores

Dear Diet Whore or Bore (delete as appropriate)

I am writing to you as I feel that there are some things I need to point out. This is for your own good; it will mean that I do not have to beat you around the head with your latest ‘miracle’ and force feed you cream cakes.

The first thing I need to make you aware of is that buying the book and looking at the pretty pictures is NOT enough! If you are going to follow this diet then I’m afraid it means that you have to actually cook the suggested meals and then eat them. By that, I mean eat the recommended portion and not the whole thing plus the contents of your freezer!

I also need to make you aware that following a diet for one week will not have an effect. Have some willpower and at least give it a go if you want to. If you give up, please do not issue us with a list of excuses. Do not tell me that it didn’t fit into your lifestyle but the new one will – I don’t believe you.

Also, please realise that I do not care which one you are flirting with this week. I do not need to know that you are following the Weight Watchers plan and exactly how many points your meal has consisted of. When I wake up in the night reciting point values for everything in my fridge (salad is 0 points, but an egg has 2!) then things have gone too far! When you are on the Atkins, I do not need to know where the dreaded ‘hidden carbs’ are hiding, it does not interest me at all.

When you are following Gillian Whats-her-face I do not need to be made aware of the fact that eating fruit and seeds has done wonders for your bowels, or that you can do amazing things with tofu. I have no interest in which seeds you are going to buy wholesale, as I know that in a couple of weeks you will have moved on to something else.

I do not wish to be informed about what I should swap for what. I do not care if what I am eating contains 500 calories, whereas if I made a slight adjustment I could save…Ooo, all of about 5 calories. I have no desire to discuss whether counting calories, fat or carbs is better or how far I would have to walk to burn off the doughnut I have just eaten. I enjoyed the doughnut, why would you want to ruin it for me?

I hope you understand the intentions behind this letter. I do not mean to cause you pain (yet!) but I am worried that, in time, I will be unable to stop myself. For your own sake I am going to issue you with the following advice…

Put the diet book down and eat some bloody chocolate!

Yours

Alcoment

Where everybody knows your name...

Or at least knows what you buy!

It appears that my life is now based on Cheers.

Either that or I am much more of a creature of habit than I thought I was.

I have a terrible Starbucks addiction and go in for my vat of coffee everyday. Recently, there have been the same couple of women on shift when I go in in the morning. I walked in today, still half asleep and on automatic pilot.

I was greeted with “Good morning! Grande, skinny latte as usual, love?” I stood there for a few seconds, initially feeling slightly assaulted by such cheeriness at that time of the morning and also somewhat amazed that she knew what my order was. Having received my coffee, I trundled off to pick up some cigarettes.

I arrived at the kiosk where I end up most mornings. The bloke who normally serves me was there and asked “Do you need all of it, or just some of it today?” (I roll my own, so can have quite a list some mornings). I confirmed that I needed all of it, plus some chewing gum (one of my many other addictions) and a lighter. He commented that I seem to go through a lot of lighters and then waved me on my way.

By this stage, I was beginning to feel I was being monitored by some form of caffeine and nicotine police force.

I probably wouldn’t have thought any more about it if I hadn’t had gone up to the local shop on my lunch break to pick up a sandwich.

As I wandered in, the shopkeeper informed me that they had “those sandwiches that you like”, but had “sold out of your newspaper”.

I live in a relatively small city, but this was ridiculous. I’m all for knowing lots of people, but I’m not great with routine. I didn’t realise how many small bits of my life I repeated day after day.

It’s time to shake things up a bit.

I may go into Starbucks tomorrow and order an espresso!

Macho men

One thing that always makes me smile is when I see groups of lads trying to look ‘hard’.

I’m not talking about the ones that are serious, but the ones who look like they should be at home, having their tea cooked by Mummy Dearest and bartering to be allowed to go out to the local youth club.

You can usually spot them a mile off. They tend to be wearing the uniform of baggy jeans (nicely ironed with a crease down the front – thanks Mum!) that show off their boxers (buy a belt – I will lend you the money if you need it) and sporting a hat that’s kind of perched on the top of their head. The big giveaway is the fake ‘street speak’; they have all the right phrases but unfortunately can’t hide the fact that they were raised to ‘talk properly’ and are making a deliberate effort to drop their T’s and H’s.

I encountered such a group today. I was walking along, when I looked up to see 3 lads swaggering towards me (please stop doing this, I either assume you have a problem with your hips, or that you’ve bought those weird trainers with springs in the soles) taking up the whole path. I carried on, knowing full well that their training would mean they would stand aside to let me pass.

I had to suppress a giggle when all of a sudden I heard “Ow, that hedge got me”.

I glanced round to see one of them rubbing his arm, before giving the aforementioned hedge a very cross glare and checking that he wasn’t bleeding. It was all I could do not to offer to get him a hanky and a plaster.

Sorry boys, it kind of spoilt the effect…

My tabloid education

I have spent a lazy Sunday morning surrounded by the papers. Part of my Sunday ritual, along with watching the Hollyoaks omnibus, is to take a trip through the wonderful world of tabloid trash and update my knowledge of useless information and celebrity trivia.

I have some admiration for those who manage to wade through the broadsheets and receive their Sunday schooling in literature, culture, the Arts and where to go on holiday now that the plebs have discovered those ‘hidden gems’. However as, under health and safety legislation, I do not have the appropriate equipment to get them home safely I’m afraid I have to give them a miss. Considering that an entire rainforest has been felled to print one copy – I would fear for my poor back if I was foolish enough to try and handle them manually!

So, I thought I would share today’s lessons with you, so we can all feel the benefit.

* Viagra is now being used to help treat certain lung diseases. I can only marvel at a drug that can have two uses with complete opposite effects – one to leave you breathless and one to ease your breathing, this is modern medicine at its finest!

* Splashing vinegar on a jellyfish sting stops the pain almost immediately. I have to say that I am now slightly confused. I heard a seminar on this a few years ago courtesy of Friends – it was recommended on there that you persuade a close friend to urinate on the affected area. Now I’m not sure which I should choose, but as I rarely take a bottle of vinegar to the beach, I think I only have one option.

* The growing trend in plastic surgery is women requesting that their nipples are made permanently erect. I can’t help thinking that it would be just as effective, and a lot cheaper, if these women simply made sure they had a permanent supply of portable ice cubes with them!

* A massage parlour (read brothel) in Brighton has spent £3,000 on improving its disabled access for customers. If they are serious about trying to improve their business and attract new customers, maybe they should consider a range of special offers. They could start a loyalty scheme with a fancy card and points you could redeem for treats and maybe a Buy One, Get One Free promotion – it may do wonders. On the other hand, if they are trying to be seen as the equality brothel, maybe they should propose a tempting offer to social workers to move over to them, they could then cover a whole new clientele.

* A popular use of myspace is to test a partner’s loyalty and fidelity. Ooo, a honeytrap with a geeky side. Gone are the days when women (and men!) had to rely on their inbuilt detective skills, we now have technology to aid us. Is it just me, or is anyone else quite scared about this? A bunny to boil anyone?

* Jordan and Peter Andre’s sex life is better than ever since the birth of their daughter. I am so happy now I know this. I have to admit this has caused me some concern, but now that I have been reassured I can sleep easily again.

So there we have the main lessons for today. Please take note and try to remember them, there may be a test later.

Oh, and for anyone who’s interested, my horoscopes have assured me that both love and luck are just round the corner. I am so happy, but considering they’ve been telling me this for the last 27 years, I’m not going to hold my breath…

What did you say?

Have you ever been in the situation where someone has said something that has sounded so plausible, that you haven’t realised what they’ve actually said until it’s too late? Agnes Mildew’s post on Hex My Ex reminded me of a situation that happened with Mr Playmate.

This was when we used to work together. We had been off training for the day and were on the long journey home. It was much further way from where we usually train, so Mr Playmate had driven.

The sun was beginning to set and as we were driving along, Mr Playmate suddenly said to me “Look, it’s a full sun”.

Dutifully looking at the sun, I saw that it was and agreed with him.

Silence.

Cue me, five minutes later, suddenly sitting up straight and saying “But it’s always a full sun”.

Mr Playmate looked me in the eye (very dangerous when driving – don’t do it) and said “I know”.

And began to laugh.

A lot.

I can be a bit stupid sometimes about really basic things. It’s like my brain just doesn’t kick into gear. As he had said it in such a plausible manner, I didn’t pick up on what he had actually said. I should have known and been paying attention. Mr Playmate will happily trip me up where he can.

Normal service will resume shortly

I only have a few words to say.

Sponsored walk today.

Slightly sunburnt.

Blisters on blisters.

Very tired, but enjoyed it and, though I didn't do the 15 miles, I'm proud of myself.

Don't forget to read the small print.

There seems to be a lot of stuff around about having a disclaimer on your blog. I guess it’s just another sign of the society in which we live; all terrified of offending someone or getting sued. I think for most personal blogs it’s a bit over the top but I’ve decided I want one! It’s lengthy, as all good legal stuff should be, and please don’t forget to read the small print.

So, here follows the disclaimer for Alcohol, condiments and cigarettes:

All opinions expressed belong to the author. They do not necessarily represent those of their employer, friends, family, random strangers or God, unless otherwise stated.

This blog is not intended to cause offence to anyone apart from those the author intends to offend. It will be clear when something is meant to cause offence. (The author reserves the right to mildly annoy)

Published comments from third parties do not necessarily represent the views of the author. However, if comments are funny or show great skill, insight or general wisdom, then the author reserves the right to use those comments as they see fit. (Though they will provide a link to the original author – blogging etiquette and all that)

Despite any claims to the contrary, the author is not an expert on any subject. This includes, but is not limited to, health, love, life, fun, writing, music, TV, literature, safe consumption of alcohol, diet, exercise or any emergency situations. If you require expert advice in anything, then please leave the blog immediately and consult someone with either letters after their name, a nice certificate or a big office.

The author reserves the right to claim that any illegal activities (perceived or otherwise) committed in the past, present or future, were in fact committed by a friend of a friend of a friend’s dog’s vet’s sister’s hairdresser’s mother-in-law (Keep up!). Who has now moved to a remote part of the world. Where contact from outsiders is actually illegal in itself.

Additionally, the author will not take responsibility for any of the following (though this list is not exhaustive):
* Any blogs posted whilst under the influence (BUI).
* Any negative consequences from following the author’s example. You do this at your own risk. Please remember that the author is highly experienced in fucking up. (However, if you do follow the author’s example and something fantastic happens, then the author would appreciate full credit)
* Any offence caused by the author’s language, spelling or grammar.
* The reader not finding the contents humorous. If this is the case then please consult your doctor as soon as possible, a virus may have entered your sense of humour.
* Any illnesses, defects or physical/emotional changes caused by reading this blog. This includes, but is not limited to, eye strain, weird stuff caused by spending too much time near the odd technology rays emitting from the screen or increased arse size from reading the blog rather than doing something more useful and/or active.

Finally, the author reserves the right to claim that every word written is a lie. Especially if this disclaimer is not legally binding and the author suddenly finds themselves in court.

(Disclaimer for disclaimer: please take all of the above with a pinch of salt. It is meant to be a tongue in cheek piece and is not to be taken seriously.)

Who's meant to be the grown up?

A while ago I went to the cinema with Mini Adult, only to find we had apparently had our own Freaky Friday moment.

We had decided to go off and have a girlie day. Part of the trip was to go and see Charlottes Web. Before it started, we dutifully chose our sweets (pick n mix – always exciting!) which turned out to be quite a complicated process with lots of debate about the merits of each sweet.

I had started to eat mine whilst we were waiting for the film to start (what can I say, I had jazzies in there!) when all of a sudden I was aware of Mini Adult looking at me in disbelief. “If you eat them all now, you won’t have any left for the film” she informed me.

I couldn’t believe it, I was meant to be the adult and the one saying things like that. I really didn’t know how to respond and before I knew it, I had apologised and was sitting there feeling a five year old, just been told off my mum! I’m sure that’s the wrong way round!

It wasn’t the only incident of role reversal that day. I had been a bit worried about Mini Adult seeing Charlottes Web and had prepared myself for a crying person and having the whole life and death conversation. That also didn’t work out – I was the one sat there crying my eyes out. Mini Adult wasn’t fazed in the slightest; as she said to me afterwards, whilst patting my hand, “It’s only a story, she didn’t really die”…

I'm sorry, but size does matter.

I have tried to kid myself that size doesn’t matter for a while now. I thought I’d be satisfied with something smaller but I’m not. I thought a taste would be enough, it’s not.

Manufacturers should not be allowed to make the mini versions of their products whether its ice creams or chocolate bars. This is a terrible thing and puts me in a position where I think I will be satisfied with one portion, when I know realistically I won’t be.

I will have one of these unsatisfying things and at first I will feel all virtuous. I sit there thinking “Look at my self control. I am a living example of restraint and will power.”. Ten minutes later I am normally surrounded by more wrappers, having given in to the feeling that I have not had enough and as they are so small anyway, that one more (ok, three more) wouldn’t hurt.

I know that by then I have consumed far more than any reasonable person should, but I refuse to feel guilty. I know that I have just eaten more than a standard size portion, but I refuse to take responsibility. I blame this solely on the fool that thought this concept up. They were obviously some sadistic person who enjoys thinking of ways to attempt to torture other people as well as instil guilt. Well, I refuse to play their game any more. From now on, I will only choose the biggest version of chocolately goodness (even if it does make me feel a little bit sick!).

Supermarket hell

One thing that I really hate and only do when completely necessary is supermarket shopping. I know some people love supermarkets and treat them as places to worship the Gods of Consumerism and Gluttony but, to me, they are a circle of hell, depicted by strip lighting, crowded aisles and tinny music.

For a start they are never laid out well. Why on earth are the things such as fruit and veg at the beginning, where they will only be squashed by the heavy stuff you put in your trolley later on? This just makes no sense to me. I know all about the psychology behind supermarkets, the way they change the layout, pump in the smell of freshly baked bread and put the BOGOF offers on things you don’t really need, but oh god, I end up so confused and frustrated!

Is it also by design that each and every trolley is wonky or has a stuck wheel? Or is it that we were all supposed to go on trolley driving lessons when we were younger, but none of us got the memo? I always feel that I need L plates and the aid of mirrors and indicator lights when I’m trying to control one of these things. I often end up in the position of experiencing trolley rage, usually when yet another person had bashed me in the ankle and not apologised.

In my local supermarket they also seem to recruit highly trained, specific cashiers. They seem to have two specialities – the surly ‘what are you doing at my till? Can’t you see I’m trying to have a chat to my mate’ sort, or the over enthusiastic ‘let me tell you my life story and you can tell me yours’ type. I will chat to most people but when I’m trying to escape unharmed from the warehouse of horror, the most I want to deal with is basic, idle British chit chat about the weather.

It will be a while until I venture in again; I’m still traumatised from my last experience. The shopping part had gone well but as I was loading up the conveyor belt, I dropped a six pack of beer. I then had to deal with the fizzing bottles, spraying beer all over the floor, me and anyone who happened to be near, whilst I was watched by the entire world. Thinking it was over, I started on my escape, as I went through the front doors, the alarms went off. I stood frozen, though my instincts were screaming at me to run (even though I hadn’t taken anything – habits die hard!), as the security guards came over to inspect me. It turned out that a bottle of amaretto hadn’t been swiped properly, so it wasn’t even my fault.

So, no, it will be a while before I go back. Long live the corner shop!

Adventures in the City

I spent yesterday in London with Mr Flirt; we were both off work so went for an adventure. There was no real plan about where we wanted to go or what we wanted to do, so we spent the day following the ‘Which way looks more exciting’ trail, with the occasional ‘flip the coin, that will tell us’ when all ways looked good. I have to admit that the day was also punctuated with quite a few pub pit stops for refreshments!

We walked for miles and covered a lot of places. Neither of us felt like doing the culture thing (the extent of that was a very good classical group playing in Covent Garden and then walking past Buckingham Palace, good old Liz was there but didn’t invite us in for a cup of tea!) so we roamed around a lot, looking at the people and generally mucking about. We did go on a carousel though, you know, the old fashioned ones with the horses that go up and down. We were the only adults on there that didn’t have a kid as an excuse, but that’s never been a problem in my book.

One of the themes for the day was all things ‘Shameless’ (look here for an explanation if you have no idea what I’m talking about). Mr Flirt specialises in a fine range of accents, including a bloody good Manqunian one. We were walking through a park, deciding that we should be lager louts, when Mr Flirt realised we had neither cans of Stella or a dog. There was little we could do about the larger, but I decided that I could act like a dog and did some random barking and growling as necessary (this is always fun, I love seeing people’s faces as they try to decide whether to laugh or start worrying).

There was also the interesting moment where we realised that my bra can double up as a bungee rope. We were about to cross a road and as I stepped out, I found myself being hauled back onto the pavement with a definite bounce. I hadn’t seen a motor bike coming round the corner, Mr Flirt had grabbed the first part of me he could, which happened to be my bra. I was most impressed by the fact that he had been able to do this and make sure that it stayed done up!

Our final adventure for the day was causing a bit of mayhem on the train home. I have to admit that by this stage I was really quite drunk (Mr Flirt not so much, having sobered a bit on the long walk to the train station) and in the mood for mischief. The late trains back have always got some interesting passengers on, first we met Drunk Bloke Being Sick, his girlfriend was not amused, though we were. Luckily, Mr Flirt and I are well prepared for these situations (not based on our own experiences obviously!) and found an empty cup for him to be sick in to and then provided him with a soft drink and chewing gum. Next came Drunk Girl With The Green Mac, she was funny and provided a bit of girlie talk. As we approached home, Mr Flirt decided to treat the carriage to his special Gay Icon rendition of The Pussycat Doll’s “Don’t cha…”, complete with t-shirt knotted up to show off his midriff. I have to say, that image will stay with me for a long time to come…

Before anyone gets the wrong idea, I would just like to clarify that though some of what Mr Flirt and I got up to could be classed as non-PC, it was all completely harmless, no one was hurt or offended and no manqunians, chavs or lager louts were harmed in the course of the day.