Thursday, July 31, 2008

J'ai un secret pour vous

It's nearly time for Peter Pan's wedding. This is all very exciting and Bunnyboy and myself have attempted to step up to the mark and "organise the shit" out of the stag do. Thus far things seem to be going preeeeetty peachy.

Thursday, July 24, 2008

Soleil s'il vous plait

Wouldn't it be really lovely if it was actually sunny on the weekend as opposed to rainy and then I could drink in the sunshine and listen to this

Tuesday, July 22, 2008


I really don't need to read about how much of a pervert Dov Charney is anymore. I know this for myself because my new dress is so clingy I actually don't think I can wear knickers with it. On the upside - it's really fucking slutty.

Monday, July 21, 2008


Miss Bladder + Sleep Deprivation (due to sun streaming, alcohol intake, exciting etc) = More forgetful, near narcoleptic.

News in Brief:

New Girl Crush: Katy Perry (Apparently she kissed a girl and she liked it. I doubt it but I'm sure it gets Gym Class Heroes fans off)

I think we should all go out with our faces painted as jungle animals. It looks like a lot of fun.

Maybe a more coherent rambling will follow.

Monday, July 14, 2008


In a completely unprecedented happening I'm updating 3 times in as many days. Wow. I must be bored.

Watch this. Seriously. It'll probably be gone soon so if it is I'll just tell you what it is....BBC 4's Imagine: Werner
Herzog. He's basically the battiest man you'll ever come across. My personal highlights are continuing his interview with Mark Kermode after he'd been shot and his whole performance in Julien Donkey Boy (if you haven't see that film you should).

Also watched
Cashback this weekend. It's alright. Probably worth a watch because it's so beautifully shot. Last time I went to the Spread Eagle though I wasn't aware of strippers on the stage. Also, if you've ever had the misfortune to work in a supermarket you'll totally empathise. I had the pleasure of an 8 week honeymoon with the arse smacking branded supermarket. Worst 8 weeks of my life. Being home from uni and not being able to get a job sucks. It was made bearable by the fact that I was completely cained off my face the whole time I was on the premises. It also meant I didn't do any work. I mainly sat cross legged on the floor in the biscuit aisle daring myself to open a packet and stuff my face. Never did though.

Had another crazy dream last night. Basically I ended up giving birth with the intention of giving the baby away Juno style. Unfortunately I had the baby a bit premature and when the parents came they didn't want it anymore. Apparently it was too small. I did my best to convince them that he'd grow (cos that's what babies do) but they weren't having any of it. Then my parents found out that I'd given birth (clearly in Dreamland I didn't waddle around with a massive bump) and they were over the moon. They came and named him and told me I was mental to be giving him away. I responded by going down the pub as I had arranged to go down before I went in to labour (and the pub comes before labour in Dreamland too obviously). Got down there and met up with some bloke who I used to work with who told me all about his trip to Texas whilst dressed as a cowboy. Then I told him I'd just given birth. He was disgusted. So I went back to the hospital and the baby grew on me a bit and then I woke up.

And so....drum roll please.....this means.....

To see a baby in your dream, signifies innocence, warmth and new beginnings. To dream of an extremely small baby, symbolizes your helplessness and your fears of letting others become aware of your vulnerabilities and incompetence. Happiness. Rebirth. Trust.

Or - I should never have read Diablo Cody's memoir or looked at pictures of Texas before I go to sleep.

And finally. I have been such a good lady this weekend. I cleared out some of my wardrobe and sent two massive black bin liners of clothes to the charity shop. The clearing out process went something like,

No, that black and white stripy jumper does not make you look like a beatnick. You look like a dumpy cat burglar
No, that black and white stripy top does not make you look like a pirate but a squat French person
No, that skirt you bought off of Ebay in a frenzy because it had a picture of a flamingo on it that is actually a size 22 and you wear as a dress does not look good on you. Even if you put a belt round it. You look like you've been attacked by a sack with fashion aspirations.

You get the idea. Also, found ten, count them, TEN lighters in my room. I will never buy a lighter again.

Sunday, July 13, 2008


"Would you buy from a gypsy?"

Those, my friends, were the immortal words that stopped me in my tracks whilst I was quietly trying to make my way to the train station. I made several school girl errors at this point. The first was made slightly before this point actually - not having my ipod in. The second was my complete failure to think on my feet and give some sort of reply other than, "Errrrrr". My thought process at this point was something along the lines of,

"Shit. She's obviously a gypsy. What do I say? If I say yes then she'll try and sell me some heather. Or a jeep. Or try and block pave my driveway. If I say no she might try and put a curse on my family. Or stab me. Or mug me properly as opposed to just pickpocketing me in a non violent way."

All of this jumbling up in my brain, passing through my nerve endings to my mouth culminating in the entirely quotable, "Errrrr."

I should really set the scene a bit more. Mainly how I was dressed. I think this is fairly important. Not because I think I'm a fashion icon and everyone NEEDS to know what I'm wearing at any given point but for reasons which will become apparent. Basically I got a bit excited at having my whole wardrobe at my disposal and ended up wearing an 80s black mini dress with some tartan tights (yes. Tartan.), leopard print ballet pumps and one of my many glittery/sparkly cardigans. Oh and a massive pink plastic necklace with a heart hanging off of it. And a massive bag that looks like an American school bus. So. With this in mind I'll crash on. In fact, maybe at this juncture you should do a little doodle. Your vision of my outfit if you will. Or maybe I'll get to the point.

Having asked me if I'd ever buy anything from a gypsy I followed up my stunning first liner with, "I don't have any money". Clearly a lie. She doesn't seem that bothered though. She's talking at me. Quietly and very quickly. It was a bit like being an extra in Snatch. Apart from she didn't look like Brad Pitt. And Guy Ritchie wasn't behind the camera saying, "I'm a cockney, I'm a cockney, I love ale, me Mrs has totally bitch whipped me". More importantly, what SHE said next was, "You're not a liar", looking me straight in the eye. Clearly I am. I have just lied. To her face. I'm cursed. I'm going to die a slow horrible death. She continues, "You're going to make your fortune in design. You have a head for business. You'll have your own business and you'll make a fortune". Clearly I know this isn't true. If I jacked in my career tomorrow my parents would kill me. Slowly. Horribly. Knowing the ludicrousness of this statement I start to laugh. "Don't laugh at me", she snaps. I have never stopped laughing so quickly in my life. She then goes on to tell me I'm a free spirit and I'll never be tied down. Then she makes a few guesses about relationships and commitment and rounds off her reading with I'll move to a hot country (I have the teeniest colour on me at the moment). See how I'm going to tie all these threads together now? See?

She was essentially a scary lady full of bull shit that said things based on my appearance and had the cheek to say things that were sort of true and freak me out massively. And then came what I had been waiting for the whole time....."I don't suppose you could give a sister a fiver could you?" No. I haven't got any money (lie). And with that she let me off. And then I noticed she had a little friend with her who'd been stood in very close proximity to me the whole time. Hoom.

In other news:

Found this on t'internet today. Fairly offensive isn't it? You can actually buy it though. Go on. I dare you. Wear it to your next family gathering.

Friday, July 11, 2008


Number of cigarettes brought back in to the country: 600

Amount spent on Chanel products in duty free: £35 (worship the restraint)

Number of mosquito bites: 6

New favourite pairs of shoes broken: 1 (sniff sniff, boo hoo)

Number of texts to my sister begging her to get replacement favourite pair of shoes: 3

How long it will take Sylvia's (old Granny. Bad hair) rendition of 'She bangs, she bangs' to get out of my head: centuries, possibly millennia.

Spanish learnt: Pomado - Menorcan gin and Fanta Lemon (my new favourite drink), una mas - another one. Mainly used in the following context, una mas Pomado por favor! Check this out -

Don't worry - I have totally duty free-ed that shit up.

Most listened to album: MGMT (Chars Úna)

Number of times Organ Donor listened to because it reminded me of Summercase (and the sun. And Spain) last year: 8

Number of dips in the sea: 14

Amount of seafood ingested: I'm actually shocked there is any wildlife left in the sea

Random patches of really dark brown where I burnt initially and turned the colour that Chantelle Houghton could only dream of coming out of her bottle of Fake Bake: 5

Number of freckles: Gazillions (zillions on my face)