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.