Anyway, I have been off on my travels the last couple of weekends. First off I went down to Brighton to see my best mate, DJ extraordinaire, DJ Spaffy Giff do his thing. Clearly he doesn't DJ under that name but he FUCKING SHOULD so if you're reading this Spaffy...you know what you have to do. It appears that I am unable to go to Brighton without getting completely spannered and the weekend just gone was no different. The only regret I have is that I was too hungover to go and check out Spaffy's box properly.
However, I have been introduced to the most addictive game ever. Now, I'm a girl so I'm completely retarded when it comes to technology (the freeview box that I can't manage to set up in my room is testimony of my knobbiness) but I like to get in to the spirit of computer games. I couldn't sleep for two months during uni such was my addiction to Halo. That and I was so spectacularly bad at it that I had to spend all day every day trying to complete it and in the end the only way I managed was having my housemate complete it for me.
I digress. Guitar Hero III. Thats right. The greatest game known to man according to me. I started out a novice and a couple of bottles of vodka later I was a pro. I unlocked Pearl Jam Even Flow as an encore and everything. Plastic guitars with coloured buttons on the easy setting rule. However, the only downside was the fact that in my drunken haze I seemed to actually think that I was a Guitar Hero. There are now photos of me floating around standing up with one leg on the coffee table showing off tomorrow's washing, frowning with intense concentration at the TV whilst I try and beat Slash in a guitar off (It didn't happen. A more competent player had to take on the challenge....the story of my games console life).
The only sucky thing about Brighton was that one of my favourite people in the whole wide world was ill so she wasn't as rowdy as I have come to expect. Its ok though. She is coming back to see me soon and I reckon people should start locking up their sons right now. And maybe their spirits. Such was her illness that she decided to make me a cocktail of Passoa, coffee liqueur and orange juice. Yes. It was as nice as it sounds. Ahem.
I've also visited Birmingham on my travels. It was lots of fun apart from the Journey of Death in which a man with tattoos on HIS HEAD decided to take it upon himself to direct where everyone should sit on the train and started asking people to move their bags, their feet, themselves etc. I was far too scared to even argue and basically crawled under my seat with my book hoping that he couldn't see me.
As an update I'm still really enjoying my new job. Everyone is really lovely and the girl who suits opposite me is completely random and, it seems, is obsessed by poo. She can't stop talking about it. An example of a conversation we had recently
Me: Peppermint tea is nice. Someone told me it aids digestion but I just like mint tea since I went to Marrakech
Her: Ooooooh, it makes you do a big poo.
This was after I'd known her 3 days.
There is a funnier story that she told but I think it is just a bit too rank for the blog. However, I was in hysterics when she told me it. A sort of, its funny because its true, sort of story.
Its a well known fact that I bruise like a peach. I am the whitest person to walk the Earth (Irish parents, gets you every time). I wake up on a regular basis covered in bruises that I have no idea how I got. I think I have managed to acquire the most random bruise bar none. Whilst at work today I was dicking about, emailing, making tea, emailing, answering the phone, emailing etc when my friend said, "You've got a black mark under your chin". So obviously I try to get rid of the offending mark. You know, you rub your face and say, "Gone?". No. It wasn't. And I also noticed that when I was trying to get rid of it my face really hurt. So I got out my mirror (yes, I am that vain) and had a look at my chin. Thats right. I'd got a bruise. Under my chin. Its fucking massive. I look like a complete twat. There is no other word for it. I can't even begin to work out how it got there. I've decided I must have punched myself in the face in my sleep or something.
Now, I think thats quite enough, I'm off to bed. All this galevanting around like an Arabian donkey has taken it out of me.