I adore Paul. He is just up there with my favourite people in the whole world.
The one legged rehabilitation specialist who skateboards, motorbikes, climbs mountains, wrassles sharks…
Me: My car was valued at £35
Paul: I have skateboards worth 5 times that!
Paul: How was your Christmas?
Me: Fantastic thanks. Although I turned 27 and just felt so old, what with my neck issues, which are causing back ache. And on New Years Eve I fell over and turned my ankle so hard AND I hadn’t even had a drink yet.
Paul: Well that is because you haven’t sorted your neck out - it affects your balance.
Me: Whatevs, I just felt so old … so I went and got a tattoo.
Paul: LET ME SEE….. Nice. Do you want to see mine? *Whips trousers down*
Me: Good grief!
He has the most awesome tattoos though. Norse Gods and Godessess. I think that after getting a tattoo myself, I like them a lot more. His are amazing. Blew my little rose right out of the water.
Tuesday, 10 January 2012
Monday, 9 January 2012
o la la monsieur
Secretarial cliché -
Me: I like to give you the hard ones
Him: ….. What did you just say?
Me: …. Er, I like to give you the hard ones?
Him: OH. I thought you said you like to give me the hard ons!!
Me: …
I love the crackle effect nail varnish but note to self, gold crackle on top of red polish looks like you have had a horrific accident and smashed your nails with a hammer.
Me: I like to give you the hard ones
Him: ….. What did you just say?
Me: …. Er, I like to give you the hard ones?
Him: OH. I thought you said you like to give me the hard ons!!
Me: …
I love the crackle effect nail varnish but note to self, gold crackle on top of red polish looks like you have had a horrific accident and smashed your nails with a hammer.
Sunday, 8 January 2012
8 inch cogs
Today I went to Ruths house for her birthday. Her father-in-law, Chris, is seriously one of the funniest dudes ever.
We were sitting on the sofa and Andy, Ruths husband, was saying to his daughter: ‘there are a lot of things you don’t know about grandpa. Ask him about his time in the army.’
Dot (Andys mum): NO DO NOT ASK HIM ABOUT HIS TIME IN THE ARMY
Apparently, at the end of world war 2, Chris was the reason one of the biggest Nato air strikes was called off. Because he was missing. And was found having relations with a woman. A German woman.
Now, I am not sure how much of this is true but what is true is that when he left the army his mum had remarried and moved house. Without telling him.
Chris was telling us about his bike ride to Clapton. And his 8 inch cock.
Andy: COG. 8 inch COG.
Man I got the giggles.
I haven’t seen Ruth for ages so it was really lovely snuggling with her and catching up. She pulled me into another room for a sneaky look at my tattoo. Her mum walked in. Then her Dad walked in. And out again.
Ruth: This is not such a sneaky look.
In other news there is a spot on my chin that it would be a mockery to call a little friend. He is huge. I am 27, this shit is meant to be OVAH.
We were sitting on the sofa and Andy, Ruths husband, was saying to his daughter: ‘there are a lot of things you don’t know about grandpa. Ask him about his time in the army.’
Dot (Andys mum): NO DO NOT ASK HIM ABOUT HIS TIME IN THE ARMY
Apparently, at the end of world war 2, Chris was the reason one of the biggest Nato air strikes was called off. Because he was missing. And was found having relations with a woman. A German woman.
Now, I am not sure how much of this is true but what is true is that when he left the army his mum had remarried and moved house. Without telling him.
Chris was telling us about his bike ride to Clapton. And his 8 inch cock.
Andy: COG. 8 inch COG.
Man I got the giggles.
I haven’t seen Ruth for ages so it was really lovely snuggling with her and catching up. She pulled me into another room for a sneaky look at my tattoo. Her mum walked in. Then her Dad walked in. And out again.
Ruth: This is not such a sneaky look.
In other news there is a spot on my chin that it would be a mockery to call a little friend. He is huge. I am 27, this shit is meant to be OVAH.
would you?
No, but seriously, would you rather tattoo moist bush monkey on your hand OR get a tattoo that covers your entire back but of your choosing?
to sleep perchance to dream
12:12am.
It is legitimately bed time and yet I can’t sleep.
I can nap happily and gaily throughout the day whenever the opportunity arises. Napping is up there as one of my most favouritest favouritest activities. I even have to set myself rules - no napping after 4pm.
For the last month, sleeping at night has completely evaded me. I have been going to work exhausted and longing to curl under the desk and sleep. I crawl home. I desperately want to get into bed but falling asleep at 7pm is no good as I get disturbed ... and that way lies sleepwalking.
Sleepwalking. An activity that can lead to many hilarious stories, but I think I have enough stories now. I would like to not sleepwalk. If I fall asleep and something disturbs me I sleepwalk. And talk. This sleepwalking is generally the physical meaning of the phrase - I leave my bed / my room and wander. That sounded peaceful didn’t it? Ha. Wander. My family have many stories to tell about my wandering sleepwalking which normally involve me shouting like a mad woman and wandering the halls.
The wandering sleepwalking is rare, but mainly because I know that it is due to being disturbed massively when napping. The worst sleepwalking is when I sit up in bed and carry out whole (silent, I think) conversations with people.
I sit in bed and listen to these people rambling on, all the while thinking - jeesh, do you know how late it is?
I also imagine myself to be in other places. Like, whelp, I am at work, I hope no one notices I am naked. I will just surreptitiously cover my breasts with the bed sheet.
I work with patients so a lot of sleep-non-walking is patients coming in to my room. I am aware that something isn’t right about the situation but struggle to reason it out. Yes, self, it is perfectly normal to conduct meetings in my bed, naked. Can not see the problem so far. Make it quick, it is late and I want to go to sleep.
My mum and my sister, Sophie, randomly take the brunt of the sleepwalking. Firstly, in both cases, I think it is because they had no respect for a napping me and were in the line of fire, as it were, when I ‘woke’ up and starting screaming for graph paper. Yes. The screaming / shouting / rambling does eventually wake me up and yes. It can be embarrassing to realise you have been adamantly asking (demanding) for something, righteously, only to wake yourself up. Secondly, I lived with Sophie in a small flat. Our bedrooms were next to each other and I slept with my door open because we had a cat. Bumbling around my room ‘sorting laundry’ etc was clearly an easy to hear activity at 3am.
Of course Mum and Sophie have both been very considerate when dealing with me in this vulnerable state (hahaha are you sleepwalking? Are you asleep? Are you asleeeep? Are you asleeeeeeeeeeeeeep?) (to which the definitive answer is NO!) (SHUT UP AND GET BACK INTO BED).
I moved in with some friends a year ago. I have only a couple of times sleepwalked out of my room. Neither housemate has noticed. Once, scarily, I even shouted down the stairs in the early hours. I believe I was shouting: ‘I have got it’ although what I had is unconfirmed. I always am aware of when I have sleptwalked. The next day I embarrassedly apologised for disturbing them. They looked at me blankly. The fact that I got away with yelling down the stairs in the dead of night does not bode well for them waking up if the house is being burgled or we are on fire or the villagers come to spear the monster.
Some nights I go to bed and wake up tireder than before.
Some nights I go to bed and have whole conversations with friends and the next day I cannot look at them (so inconsiderate, do they know what time it is?).
Some nights I have a lover I tell I am a Phillips Senseo too.
Some nights I wake in a cold sweat thinking I have texted / called someone.
Coupled with the fact that I have been having trouble falling asleep and some terrible nightmares, I am just so tired. I thought this Christmas would sort it out. I was really looking forward to not feeling so tired but if anything it has just added ‘routine out of whack’ to my list of problems.
Lordy. Sleeping. I used to be so good at you.
It is legitimately bed time and yet I can’t sleep.
I can nap happily and gaily throughout the day whenever the opportunity arises. Napping is up there as one of my most favouritest favouritest activities. I even have to set myself rules - no napping after 4pm.
For the last month, sleeping at night has completely evaded me. I have been going to work exhausted and longing to curl under the desk and sleep. I crawl home. I desperately want to get into bed but falling asleep at 7pm is no good as I get disturbed ... and that way lies sleepwalking.
Sleepwalking. An activity that can lead to many hilarious stories, but I think I have enough stories now. I would like to not sleepwalk. If I fall asleep and something disturbs me I sleepwalk. And talk. This sleepwalking is generally the physical meaning of the phrase - I leave my bed / my room and wander. That sounded peaceful didn’t it? Ha. Wander. My family have many stories to tell about my wandering sleepwalking which normally involve me shouting like a mad woman and wandering the halls.
The wandering sleepwalking is rare, but mainly because I know that it is due to being disturbed massively when napping. The worst sleepwalking is when I sit up in bed and carry out whole (silent, I think) conversations with people.
I sit in bed and listen to these people rambling on, all the while thinking - jeesh, do you know how late it is?
I also imagine myself to be in other places. Like, whelp, I am at work, I hope no one notices I am naked. I will just surreptitiously cover my breasts with the bed sheet.
I work with patients so a lot of sleep-non-walking is patients coming in to my room. I am aware that something isn’t right about the situation but struggle to reason it out. Yes, self, it is perfectly normal to conduct meetings in my bed, naked. Can not see the problem so far. Make it quick, it is late and I want to go to sleep.
My mum and my sister, Sophie, randomly take the brunt of the sleepwalking. Firstly, in both cases, I think it is because they had no respect for a napping me and were in the line of fire, as it were, when I ‘woke’ up and starting screaming for graph paper. Yes. The screaming / shouting / rambling does eventually wake me up and yes. It can be embarrassing to realise you have been adamantly asking (demanding) for something, righteously, only to wake yourself up. Secondly, I lived with Sophie in a small flat. Our bedrooms were next to each other and I slept with my door open because we had a cat. Bumbling around my room ‘sorting laundry’ etc was clearly an easy to hear activity at 3am.
Of course Mum and Sophie have both been very considerate when dealing with me in this vulnerable state (hahaha are you sleepwalking? Are you asleep? Are you asleeeep? Are you asleeeeeeeeeeeeeep?) (to which the definitive answer is NO!) (SHUT UP AND GET BACK INTO BED).
I moved in with some friends a year ago. I have only a couple of times sleepwalked out of my room. Neither housemate has noticed. Once, scarily, I even shouted down the stairs in the early hours. I believe I was shouting: ‘I have got it’ although what I had is unconfirmed. I always am aware of when I have sleptwalked. The next day I embarrassedly apologised for disturbing them. They looked at me blankly. The fact that I got away with yelling down the stairs in the dead of night does not bode well for them waking up if the house is being burgled or we are on fire or the villagers come to spear the monster.
Some nights I go to bed and wake up tireder than before.
Some nights I go to bed and have whole conversations with friends and the next day I cannot look at them (so inconsiderate, do they know what time it is?).
Some nights I have a lover I tell I am a Phillips Senseo too.
Some nights I wake in a cold sweat thinking I have texted / called someone.
Coupled with the fact that I have been having trouble falling asleep and some terrible nightmares, I am just so tired. I thought this Christmas would sort it out. I was really looking forward to not feeling so tired but if anything it has just added ‘routine out of whack’ to my list of problems.
Lordy. Sleeping. I used to be so good at you.
Thursday, 5 January 2012
encouragement and development
Today is my last day off work for the Christmas period. Tomorrow I have to go back. Grim to the eXtreme. I spent my final day off with my family. Well, the majority of the day was spent going over my mothers childminding information before her Ofsted inspection. If I hear the words encouragement and development again I may scream. Luckily there was champagne and spaghetti bolognaise on hand to balance it out. And Leo love chunks.
Me: I am clearly the clever one of the family since all I seem to do is check and do other peoples homework.
Lulu: I think that makes you the stoooopid one of the family.
Today was actually also the first day since Christmas that my whole family were in a room together again drinking. Jamie lives in Tooting now, Toby is often out… Was nice. Dad attempted to take a family photo with the timer. OMG they were grim. Obviously the angle and the lighting was what made me look 20 stone and wearing beige tights instead of black leggings.
Jamie: In my freezer I have 2 Martini glasses, some Vermouth, some Gin and some ice. I have become addicted to martinis to the point that Jonty tried to put a chicken in the freezer the other day and I was well cross.
Me: Does he like a martini too? Is that why you have the spare glass?
Jamie: No, that one is in case I have a guest.
Mum: Sure, it is so that he can switch glasses between drinks to ice them up!
I told my dad that I had got a tattoo.
Dad: Why would you do something like that?
Me: Er.. I just fancied it. You can’t see it.
Dad: Yeh, so why get it?
Me: Er.. Dunno.
I still love my tattoo though and am ready for mah bleeve!
Me: I am clearly the clever one of the family since all I seem to do is check and do other peoples homework.
Lulu: I think that makes you the stoooopid one of the family.
Today was actually also the first day since Christmas that my whole family were in a room together again drinking. Jamie lives in Tooting now, Toby is often out… Was nice. Dad attempted to take a family photo with the timer. OMG they were grim. Obviously the angle and the lighting was what made me look 20 stone and wearing beige tights instead of black leggings.
Jamie: In my freezer I have 2 Martini glasses, some Vermouth, some Gin and some ice. I have become addicted to martinis to the point that Jonty tried to put a chicken in the freezer the other day and I was well cross.
Me: Does he like a martini too? Is that why you have the spare glass?
Jamie: No, that one is in case I have a guest.
Mum: Sure, it is so that he can switch glasses between drinks to ice them up!
I told my dad that I had got a tattoo.
Dad: Why would you do something like that?
Me: Er.. I just fancied it. You can’t see it.
Dad: Yeh, so why get it?
Me: Er.. Dunno.
I still love my tattoo though and am ready for mah bleeve!
Wednesday, 4 January 2012
tat for tit
So today, for me, I did something kinda big. Nothing like a bucket list or a life list or what not but up there with definitely out of my comfort zone. I got a tattoo. I never really thought I was a person who would get one and, when I did think that maybe I would like one, could never decide what I would get. Or where I would get it.
Do you have that thing where you can be wearing a necklace or bracelet and you can’t get it off and you begin to panic and whether it is an heirloom or not you have the urge to rip it from your being? I have that. So does my sister I believe. And so does my housemate, Mouse. I kinda thought having a tattoo would be similar. That I would one day WANT IT OFF ME.
But. I decided for my 27th birthday, I was going to get a tattoo. A rose, for I am Rosie.
I went to the tattoo shop my pal Alicia recommends on my actual birthday, having psyched myself up. The tattooist I wanted, Chris (who has tattooed Alicia, a tattoo that I like), was not available for a week. No problem. I picked OUT OF THE BOOK OMGSH the design I liked. A simple, open, rose head. And walked out. I was unaware of the absolute controversy and … and… thoughtsss people would have about this. You are most definitely doing it wrong.
I had -
Omg do not get a tattoo
DO NOT get a rose, what is the matter with you?
On your BREAST?
Leaves?? No.
Swirls? No
A RED ONE? No.
Why would a tattooist advertise he does roses? A 3 year old can tattoo that.
On. And on. And on.
Heather recommended the partner of her mate, who tattoos from home. He said he could also do it the same day the shop offered and would email me some designs. I have met this dude at a party, a few parties, and it never once entered my head that, oh, MAY be awkward that he would see my breast. But I liked the idea of him designing it and me choosing and amending it since it seemed a bit simple just to have walked into the shop and picked a standard rose out of the book (omg you picked one from a book and didn’t design it? DOING IT WRONG). Luckily, Alicia convinced me that I should stick with Chris because Chris? My kind of dude.
Anyway. Every night, in bed, I would think CANCEL. What am I doing? Every night.
I had a conversation recently with someone about his paranoia - not full blown paranoia but he will not blog/face book/link in. He does not like people knowing where he is. I said that I am an anxious person. That I do not turn my phone off just in case. He was like - that is paranoia! And I could not explain that, no. No it is not. I told him that whenever he calls me (he is a work colleague) I think it will be to tell me off. That if a police car drives past me they will pull me over. Sadly this is not an anxiety that makes you not eat. Well, not all of the time. I could not have put anything in my mouth this morning to save my life. Anyway, so. Last night. All nights leading up to this. The anxiety! Oh. The anxiety.
Heather was meeting me at mine at 10am today. I was pacing by 9.50 and in the end had to tell her I had to start walking to the shop and she could meet me there. I walked into the shop and met Chris, my tattooist, who is like a Hells Angel coupled with a Hairy Biker. Everything *I* think a tattooist should be. He was like, alright love, I am just gonna have a cigarette and will be right with you.
Chris is the owner of the parlour I went to. As he walked off, another tattooist out front asked where I was getting my rose.
Me: On my breast, here.
Him: *Sucks in his teeth and pulls a face*
Me:….. Did you really just do that moments before my tattoo?
Him: Better to be honest, right, than I hear you screaming that I am a lying bastard.
Me: … I… guess. I thought boobs are painless to tattoo though as they are mainly fat.
Him: People lie. I had my chest done and it hurt. And so did my butt.
Me: …..
Just then, Heather walked in. I showed her the design I had chosen.
H: Er… well.. It is a bit… big.
Me: Are you really saying this to me now?
H: Well, I thought you were thinking of adding to it if you liked it…
Me: Yeh, maybe, but remember my breasts are huge so on you a small flower would look nice, on me? A spot.
H: Yeh but…hmm. Also, why red? I think pink.
Me: NO. NO NO NO NO NO. We are NOT doing this now. I am DONE. I want a simple fucking flower not the freaking Mona Lisa and if you don’t shut up I am going to get … get (looking around for inspiration) a gigantic Jesus face on my back.
The other tattooist looked at me.
Him: What is wrong with Jesus?
Me: Lordy. Literally. Nothing. I just am not so keen on the religious tattoo.
Him: I have a cross on my arm
Me: That’s fine, I am just not so keen on faces
Him: I have a face on this arm (shows me a day of the dead face)
Me: Well. That is kinda cool. Ok. I am not keen on names really, either.
Him: I have a name on my butt
Me: HAHA! Ok. I am going to shut up now.
The moral of the story is, get whatever tattoo you want. You love it and have thought it through? That is ALLLLLL that matters.
Chris: Are you ready?
Me: Yep.
I follow him to the back, through another tattooists room and a dude getting tattooed.
Chris: So, you are going to have to.. strip then.
Me: Brilliant!
Chris: And the bra!
Me: At the risk of cliché… normally I have a drink at this point. Or a few.
So he applied the transfer of the rose I had picked and asked me to look in the mirror. I wasn’t sure. Thought it should be moved over a little. But seemingly I do not like inconveniencing people, even in this kind of situation. He looked at my face. ‘Should we move it over a bit?’ Me - YES PLEASE.
We had a chat about the design. I asked whether he liked it.
Chris: Yes. It is a cute simple rose.
Me: Because did you know how controversial this was to get? I mean, I thought once you made up your mind you were getting a tattoo and what YOU wanted, hard part out of the way.
I explained that people were all OMG A ROSE HOW LAME.
Chris: People are such snobs. Genuine tattooists and people who love tattoos are not really like that. They think get what you love.
Me: Yeh. I think it is like naming your baby. Don’t tell anyone what you are naming it because SOMEONE will have an opinion / know someone awful with that name / think of an awful nickname etc.
Chris: The only part of this rose I am not so keen on are the swirly bits. They are too.. meh.
Me: Eh, I can take em or leave em.
Chris: I just think if you are going to have a tattoo be a WOLF about it, not a DOG. So, have massive swirly bits, not … pointless little bits.
I lay on his couch. This is where anxiety kicked in again. Anticipation. I give blood as much as I can. I HATE the finger prick test you have first. I hate giving someone my finger and waiting for the click. I start pulling my finger away. The actual giving blood part I do not mind. Lying on his couch, that is how I felt. Inching towards the wall. He got a little towel and covered my other boob and the boob he was going to tattoo’s nipple. ‘To preserve your dignity.’ Me: ‘Few years too late.’ He scrunched up some tissue and put it on top of my boob (to wipe blood as he went) (serious, who would do this to themselves?) and at THAT moment I was THIS near to being all NUUUU UHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH SEEEES YAAAAAA. Luckily I am also a coward so could not say it.
Chris: Are you ready?
Me: We will see, ay.
And he started.
….
…
…
Him: How you doing?
Me: …. Fine…..
We had a lovely chat. I made him laugh a few times (don’t make them laugh. That is an inky needle next to your person).
20 minutes later…
Him: Are you alright?
Me: … Yeh.
Him: Why did you say it like that?
Me: Because, I don’t want to be cocky or anything, or in case the real pain is just about to start when you colour it in BUT…
….
….
I feel NOTHING.
Him: Good.
Me: No. Serious. Like. Nothing. Like you are drawing with a biro maybe.
Him: I AM!
Me: ….
HIM: JOKE!
Side bar -
Me: So, do you like the colours of this rose then?
Him: Yeh, I do... Do you?
Me: Yes. Its just... so... I am slightly colour blind...
Him: OMG OMG OMG OMG ! SERIOUS? Oh! Oh! LOLZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ
Me: So, I think it is green, red and yellow but.. it is, right?
Him: HAHAHAHHHAHAHAH. Yes, dear, it is lovely.
So. It lasted about an hour. Under I would say. Was completely painless and I loved it.
Other staff did come into the room and go about their business and at one point the guy I had the chat with in the waiting room was all: ‘coffee Chris?’ and Chris was all ‘lovely thanks!’. And he walked past into the next room.
Me: Serious. Is my boob out in your kitchen?
Chris: Don’t worry. I have covered your nipple.
Me: Great. 1% covered then!
And then we both got the giggles.
Chris: Ok, so in a couple of hours wash it with a sensitive / antibacterial wash and cover it with nappy rash cream.
Me: Should I cover it with something?
Chris: No, don't keep it covered. That would be a crying shame, they are great boobs!
Me: Thanks!
Some people could say that and I would be all, inappropriate, but Chris was telling me about his partner and how he tattoos her (in those standard flowers and butterflies and ooo a unicorn! But as long as she is happy) so it was just.... nice.
We walked out to reception where Heather and the other tattooist were.
Heather: Alright? Did it hurt?
Me: Well, I feel bad saying this in front of him (other tattooist) but… yeh. Completely painless. Didn’t know he had started.
Other tattooist: Must be because I am more of an A cup and he was… like hitting bone or .. something.
So, currently, 13 hours later, I still love it. And what they say is true. It is addictive. I am already thinking of adding to it. A boob sleeve. A bleeve. TRADEMARK!
Do you have that thing where you can be wearing a necklace or bracelet and you can’t get it off and you begin to panic and whether it is an heirloom or not you have the urge to rip it from your being? I have that. So does my sister I believe. And so does my housemate, Mouse. I kinda thought having a tattoo would be similar. That I would one day WANT IT OFF ME.
But. I decided for my 27th birthday, I was going to get a tattoo. A rose, for I am Rosie.
I went to the tattoo shop my pal Alicia recommends on my actual birthday, having psyched myself up. The tattooist I wanted, Chris (who has tattooed Alicia, a tattoo that I like), was not available for a week. No problem. I picked OUT OF THE BOOK OMGSH the design I liked. A simple, open, rose head. And walked out. I was unaware of the absolute controversy and … and… thoughtsss people would have about this. You are most definitely doing it wrong.
I had -
Omg do not get a tattoo
DO NOT get a rose, what is the matter with you?
On your BREAST?
Leaves?? No.
Swirls? No
A RED ONE? No.
Why would a tattooist advertise he does roses? A 3 year old can tattoo that.
On. And on. And on.
Heather recommended the partner of her mate, who tattoos from home. He said he could also do it the same day the shop offered and would email me some designs. I have met this dude at a party, a few parties, and it never once entered my head that, oh, MAY be awkward that he would see my breast. But I liked the idea of him designing it and me choosing and amending it since it seemed a bit simple just to have walked into the shop and picked a standard rose out of the book (omg you picked one from a book and didn’t design it? DOING IT WRONG). Luckily, Alicia convinced me that I should stick with Chris because Chris? My kind of dude.
Anyway. Every night, in bed, I would think CANCEL. What am I doing? Every night.
I had a conversation recently with someone about his paranoia - not full blown paranoia but he will not blog/face book/link in. He does not like people knowing where he is. I said that I am an anxious person. That I do not turn my phone off just in case. He was like - that is paranoia! And I could not explain that, no. No it is not. I told him that whenever he calls me (he is a work colleague) I think it will be to tell me off. That if a police car drives past me they will pull me over. Sadly this is not an anxiety that makes you not eat. Well, not all of the time. I could not have put anything in my mouth this morning to save my life. Anyway, so. Last night. All nights leading up to this. The anxiety! Oh. The anxiety.
Heather was meeting me at mine at 10am today. I was pacing by 9.50 and in the end had to tell her I had to start walking to the shop and she could meet me there. I walked into the shop and met Chris, my tattooist, who is like a Hells Angel coupled with a Hairy Biker. Everything *I* think a tattooist should be. He was like, alright love, I am just gonna have a cigarette and will be right with you.
Chris is the owner of the parlour I went to. As he walked off, another tattooist out front asked where I was getting my rose.
Me: On my breast, here.
Him: *Sucks in his teeth and pulls a face*
Me:….. Did you really just do that moments before my tattoo?
Him: Better to be honest, right, than I hear you screaming that I am a lying bastard.
Me: … I… guess. I thought boobs are painless to tattoo though as they are mainly fat.
Him: People lie. I had my chest done and it hurt. And so did my butt.
Me: …..
Just then, Heather walked in. I showed her the design I had chosen.
H: Er… well.. It is a bit… big.
Me: Are you really saying this to me now?
H: Well, I thought you were thinking of adding to it if you liked it…
Me: Yeh, maybe, but remember my breasts are huge so on you a small flower would look nice, on me? A spot.
H: Yeh but…hmm. Also, why red? I think pink.
Me: NO. NO NO NO NO NO. We are NOT doing this now. I am DONE. I want a simple fucking flower not the freaking Mona Lisa and if you don’t shut up I am going to get … get (looking around for inspiration) a gigantic Jesus face on my back.
The other tattooist looked at me.
Him: What is wrong with Jesus?
Me: Lordy. Literally. Nothing. I just am not so keen on the religious tattoo.
Him: I have a cross on my arm
Me: That’s fine, I am just not so keen on faces
Him: I have a face on this arm (shows me a day of the dead face)
Me: Well. That is kinda cool. Ok. I am not keen on names really, either.
Him: I have a name on my butt
Me: HAHA! Ok. I am going to shut up now.
The moral of the story is, get whatever tattoo you want. You love it and have thought it through? That is ALLLLLL that matters.
Chris: Are you ready?
Me: Yep.
I follow him to the back, through another tattooists room and a dude getting tattooed.
Chris: So, you are going to have to.. strip then.
Me: Brilliant!
Chris: And the bra!
Me: At the risk of cliché… normally I have a drink at this point. Or a few.
So he applied the transfer of the rose I had picked and asked me to look in the mirror. I wasn’t sure. Thought it should be moved over a little. But seemingly I do not like inconveniencing people, even in this kind of situation. He looked at my face. ‘Should we move it over a bit?’ Me - YES PLEASE.
We had a chat about the design. I asked whether he liked it.
Chris: Yes. It is a cute simple rose.
Me: Because did you know how controversial this was to get? I mean, I thought once you made up your mind you were getting a tattoo and what YOU wanted, hard part out of the way.
I explained that people were all OMG A ROSE HOW LAME.
Chris: People are such snobs. Genuine tattooists and people who love tattoos are not really like that. They think get what you love.
Me: Yeh. I think it is like naming your baby. Don’t tell anyone what you are naming it because SOMEONE will have an opinion / know someone awful with that name / think of an awful nickname etc.
Chris: The only part of this rose I am not so keen on are the swirly bits. They are too.. meh.
Me: Eh, I can take em or leave em.
Chris: I just think if you are going to have a tattoo be a WOLF about it, not a DOG. So, have massive swirly bits, not … pointless little bits.
I lay on his couch. This is where anxiety kicked in again. Anticipation. I give blood as much as I can. I HATE the finger prick test you have first. I hate giving someone my finger and waiting for the click. I start pulling my finger away. The actual giving blood part I do not mind. Lying on his couch, that is how I felt. Inching towards the wall. He got a little towel and covered my other boob and the boob he was going to tattoo’s nipple. ‘To preserve your dignity.’ Me: ‘Few years too late.’ He scrunched up some tissue and put it on top of my boob (to wipe blood as he went) (serious, who would do this to themselves?) and at THAT moment I was THIS near to being all NUUUU UHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH SEEEES YAAAAAA. Luckily I am also a coward so could not say it.
Chris: Are you ready?
Me: We will see, ay.
And he started.
….
…
…
Him: How you doing?
Me: …. Fine…..
We had a lovely chat. I made him laugh a few times (don’t make them laugh. That is an inky needle next to your person).
20 minutes later…
Him: Are you alright?
Me: … Yeh.
Him: Why did you say it like that?
Me: Because, I don’t want to be cocky or anything, or in case the real pain is just about to start when you colour it in BUT…
….
….
I feel NOTHING.
Him: Good.
Me: No. Serious. Like. Nothing. Like you are drawing with a biro maybe.
Him: I AM!
Me: ….
HIM: JOKE!
Side bar -
Me: So, do you like the colours of this rose then?
Him: Yeh, I do... Do you?
Me: Yes. Its just... so... I am slightly colour blind...
Him: OMG OMG OMG OMG ! SERIOUS? Oh! Oh! LOLZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ
Me: So, I think it is green, red and yellow but.. it is, right?
Him: HAHAHAHHHAHAHAH. Yes, dear, it is lovely.
So. It lasted about an hour. Under I would say. Was completely painless and I loved it.
Other staff did come into the room and go about their business and at one point the guy I had the chat with in the waiting room was all: ‘coffee Chris?’ and Chris was all ‘lovely thanks!’. And he walked past into the next room.
Me: Serious. Is my boob out in your kitchen?
Chris: Don’t worry. I have covered your nipple.
Me: Great. 1% covered then!
And then we both got the giggles.
Chris: Ok, so in a couple of hours wash it with a sensitive / antibacterial wash and cover it with nappy rash cream.
Me: Should I cover it with something?
Chris: No, don't keep it covered. That would be a crying shame, they are great boobs!
Me: Thanks!
Some people could say that and I would be all, inappropriate, but Chris was telling me about his partner and how he tattoos her (in those standard flowers and butterflies and ooo a unicorn! But as long as she is happy) so it was just.... nice.
We walked out to reception where Heather and the other tattooist were.
Heather: Alright? Did it hurt?
Me: Well, I feel bad saying this in front of him (other tattooist) but… yeh. Completely painless. Didn’t know he had started.
Other tattooist: Must be because I am more of an A cup and he was… like hitting bone or .. something.
So, currently, 13 hours later, I still love it. And what they say is true. It is addictive. I am already thinking of adding to it. A boob sleeve. A bleeve. TRADEMARK!
Tuesday, 3 January 2012
easin in gently
This year, our Christmas tree was the one my housemate, Mouse, had kept alive from last year. Yes, it had a few dead bare branches but he is a little survivor and it seemed mean leaving him out in the cold when his purpose was to also be Christmas tree 2011.
I packed away Christmas yesterday. Took down the Christmas cards, Christmas figures, threw out the holly… and repotted the tree back outside. When we bought our tree in I was told to do it in hourly stages so he could acclimatise to the inside. That seemed mental so we bought him, covered him in tinsel and hoped for the best. Putting him back outside I did think, hmm, this MAY send him into shock. Centrally heated house and whatnot. And then I thought nahhhh. And put him outside. Today was the most rainy day I have seen for a while.
A: Just pop down to the Co-op now.
Me: POP DOWN?! Have you looked outside?! I would need a frickin ark!
…. My tree may not make Christmas 2012.
On the upside, I tidied my garden. Me and Mouse, Mouse and I, spent a lot of time in the garden last Spring / Summer. Planted some lovely herbs, grew plants from seeds, seeded the lawn, grew and ate the most delicious tomatoes… unfortunately we live with Cat who is a hoarder. The full extent of what has been happening in our garden during these wintery, weathery months was only apparent when I decided it was definitely time to compost the tomato plants. I am pretty sure they were almost compost anyway…
We have a side passage to our garden. This is where our bins are kept. And, seemingly, Steptoes second yard.
Thing I found:
The massive plastic box of dog biscuits our elderly neighbour gave us as her dog did not like them. Funny that, what with them teaminggg with moths. She sprayed them with insect killer and passed them on to us…. And…. Cat kept them. Apparently she was too embarrassed to through them away in case the neighbour found out. I had no such problem. I then used the empty box to collect and store….
Many, many paint brushes, cans of paint (giving you some idea how big this box of moths biscuits was
At least 5 broken chairs
A bucket of wet sand and a pile of firewood
An old door
2 table tops; 1 marble, 1 plastic
An old picture in a frame with broken glass
I also found a MONSTROSITY. We used to have small green food / garden waste bins, until they were replaced with massive garden waste bins, which are much more useful. Cat has an allotment. When we had the little bin it was used for unwanted food. Mouldy food. Leftovers. Garden waste. Cat said she would take this bin to the allotment and empty it in the compost bin. This was a while ago. Enough time ago for the food in the bin to have liquefied and formed a whole new world. A world of the worst smell imaginable. A world of maggots. Rot. Mould. Once I had finished heaving, I took the bin down the mud track next to our house. Far enough away that I would not smell it on the breeze and fall down dead. I tipped that mother over and ran like the wind, heaving all the way home.
I could not look at Cat for a few hours. I had to go out for some wine.
I used to watch a programme called The Life of Grime. I would come in from the late shift at work, make dinner and that is what was on tv. Nigh on every time I would wonder why I put it on whilst eating. You wonder how these peoples lives, rooms, houses end up like that. I think it just builds. I think they store something in a place and fill it up. Get overwhelmed dealing with it so shut the room instead. It doesn’t help that they choose to go out with people who have similar hoarding habits. I am pretty sure her boyfriend encourages the hoarding. This is the difference between us. Mine encourage whoreing, hers encourages the collection of old pail handles from woods to make ‘tree ornaments.’
I am very aware that I have not written in this blog for ages. Which is a shame because I read some posts about my family and they still make me laugh remembering them. It has been a year and many things have happened. My nephew was born, possibly being the most awesome. But I need to ease back into this with the little things on my mind now. Like how I am going to manage to clear a scrap yard from my garden. Anyone for a game of scrapheap challenge?!
I packed away Christmas yesterday. Took down the Christmas cards, Christmas figures, threw out the holly… and repotted the tree back outside. When we bought our tree in I was told to do it in hourly stages so he could acclimatise to the inside. That seemed mental so we bought him, covered him in tinsel and hoped for the best. Putting him back outside I did think, hmm, this MAY send him into shock. Centrally heated house and whatnot. And then I thought nahhhh. And put him outside. Today was the most rainy day I have seen for a while.
A: Just pop down to the Co-op now.
Me: POP DOWN?! Have you looked outside?! I would need a frickin ark!
…. My tree may not make Christmas 2012.
On the upside, I tidied my garden. Me and Mouse, Mouse and I, spent a lot of time in the garden last Spring / Summer. Planted some lovely herbs, grew plants from seeds, seeded the lawn, grew and ate the most delicious tomatoes… unfortunately we live with Cat who is a hoarder. The full extent of what has been happening in our garden during these wintery, weathery months was only apparent when I decided it was definitely time to compost the tomato plants. I am pretty sure they were almost compost anyway…
We have a side passage to our garden. This is where our bins are kept. And, seemingly, Steptoes second yard.
Thing I found:
The massive plastic box of dog biscuits our elderly neighbour gave us as her dog did not like them. Funny that, what with them teaminggg with moths. She sprayed them with insect killer and passed them on to us…. And…. Cat kept them. Apparently she was too embarrassed to through them away in case the neighbour found out. I had no such problem. I then used the empty box to collect and store….
Many, many paint brushes, cans of paint (giving you some idea how big this box of moths biscuits was
At least 5 broken chairs
A bucket of wet sand and a pile of firewood
An old door
2 table tops; 1 marble, 1 plastic
An old picture in a frame with broken glass
I also found a MONSTROSITY. We used to have small green food / garden waste bins, until they were replaced with massive garden waste bins, which are much more useful. Cat has an allotment. When we had the little bin it was used for unwanted food. Mouldy food. Leftovers. Garden waste. Cat said she would take this bin to the allotment and empty it in the compost bin. This was a while ago. Enough time ago for the food in the bin to have liquefied and formed a whole new world. A world of the worst smell imaginable. A world of maggots. Rot. Mould. Once I had finished heaving, I took the bin down the mud track next to our house. Far enough away that I would not smell it on the breeze and fall down dead. I tipped that mother over and ran like the wind, heaving all the way home.
I could not look at Cat for a few hours. I had to go out for some wine.
I used to watch a programme called The Life of Grime. I would come in from the late shift at work, make dinner and that is what was on tv. Nigh on every time I would wonder why I put it on whilst eating. You wonder how these peoples lives, rooms, houses end up like that. I think it just builds. I think they store something in a place and fill it up. Get overwhelmed dealing with it so shut the room instead. It doesn’t help that they choose to go out with people who have similar hoarding habits. I am pretty sure her boyfriend encourages the hoarding. This is the difference between us. Mine encourage whoreing, hers encourages the collection of old pail handles from woods to make ‘tree ornaments.’
I am very aware that I have not written in this blog for ages. Which is a shame because I read some posts about my family and they still make me laugh remembering them. It has been a year and many things have happened. My nephew was born, possibly being the most awesome. But I need to ease back into this with the little things on my mind now. Like how I am going to manage to clear a scrap yard from my garden. Anyone for a game of scrapheap challenge?!
Wednesday, 29 September 2010
villerettes
Wow. A whole month. Where does the time go.
Half of this month was spent in Cyprus. My friend Heather, she of the gym tyrant fame, was married in Protaris, Cyprus, on the 16 September. It was beautiful. She looked like a princess. She was married in the grounds of a hotel overlooking the ocean. I cried a little because my friend Elizabeth, and Heathers best friend and maid of honour, never cries and you could see her holding the tears back so as not to look like a big girl. Or at least just so she didn’t ruin her makeup anyway. Heather struggled slightly with her vows, giggling slightly through the tears. It was lovely.
The evening was dancing and free cocktails, again overlooking the ocean, just off the beach. Amazing. Heathers dad is a very quiet man but on the night of the wedding there was karaoke, kicked started by a spectacular rendition of Heather and Barry singing ‘Especially for you.’ Brilliant in its absolute awfulness. Her dad said: I am very quiet. I want to sing something.’ ‘Smack your bitch up’ said Heather. Three times, because he didn’t hear her, until I said ‘Heather, please stop saying smack your bitch up to your father.’ Anyway. He was like, I want to sing that Beatles song that goes, duh duh duh .. duh duh .. duh. And, as we all said, WTF? Turns out it was Baby you can drive my car. And boy did he rock it. Kiss took over on stage and then her dad sat down afterwards, quietly, again. We cheesily sang reach for the stars by S Club 7. Heather danced for hours in, I swear, foot high heels. She is a legend.
rented a villa, me, Sarah and Elizabeth (the girls I am moving in with this weekend), Corinne, Alicia, Yvonne and her 4 year old son Finn. The villa was beautiful and had its own pool. The first night we got there, at 1am, we all leapt into the pool. This set the tone for the whole holiday really. Some days we spent chilling at the villa, some we spent chilling at the beach. The evenings we walked down the strip to The Square Bar.
Heather and Barry (her now husband) have been to Cyprus a few times before and have made friends with a bartender called Costas. Costas. What can I say. The face of Cyprus. Everyone knew him. A round of 6 Sambucas, 6 Jaegar Bombs and 6 normal drinks (yeah, it got messy some nights) cost 12 euros. If Costas served you.
One night we went Ayia Napa for a joint stag and hen do. Costas got us into all the clubs free. We went to The Castle, which is apparently the best club in Ayia Napa. At one point some guy pinched one of our girls arses. A few times. Costas told him to stop and he didn’t. Costas told him again. He pushed Costas. Big. Mistake. Costas is built like a rhino and this guy was an ostrich. Cue the biggest headbutt I have ever seen. One security guy restrained the ostrich. 12 restrained Costas. None could restrain him when the ostrich broke free and hit Costas again. We all had to kiss his head better the next night.
One of my favourite days was when Corinne, Yvonne and Finn went for a nap and us four headed out to explore. We found a little beach. We snorkelled amongst the fishes for ages. Then found a little bar. We returned quite pissed 4 hours later.
Unfortunately, on day 2 of the holiday, I had an accident. The pool area was quite slippery. I am Queen of the falling and gracelessness – I can lose my balance standing still. I was all BE CAREFUL BE CARFUL. And I splat. I was holding a camera so didn’t put my hands out to cushion the fall at all and my left knee took a bashing. I was on all fours and had landed with my knees slightly splayed and O. M .G. It is the one time in my life I thought I was going to have to call an ambulance. I couldn’t breathe. It was only dignity that made me roll to a sitting position. I have now had a limp for 3 weeks and work keep hassling me to get it looked at and x-rayed. Flipping doctors/osteopaths/physiotherapists/podiatrists that they are. I kinda think that if you can walk on it it is fine. Bit worried about body pumping on it though. It was one of those moments that you just want your mum. And spookily she texted me. I almost cried.
Anyway. The holiday was great. I’ll remember more moments and write about them later. Like Finn getting on stage in The Square Bar and blasting out Kings of Leons ‘your sex is on fire’ word perfectly.
Half of this month was spent in Cyprus. My friend Heather, she of the gym tyrant fame, was married in Protaris, Cyprus, on the 16 September. It was beautiful. She looked like a princess. She was married in the grounds of a hotel overlooking the ocean. I cried a little because my friend Elizabeth, and Heathers best friend and maid of honour, never cries and you could see her holding the tears back so as not to look like a big girl. Or at least just so she didn’t ruin her makeup anyway. Heather struggled slightly with her vows, giggling slightly through the tears. It was lovely.
The evening was dancing and free cocktails, again overlooking the ocean, just off the beach. Amazing. Heathers dad is a very quiet man but on the night of the wedding there was karaoke, kicked started by a spectacular rendition of Heather and Barry singing ‘Especially for you.’ Brilliant in its absolute awfulness. Her dad said: I am very quiet. I want to sing something.’ ‘Smack your bitch up’ said Heather. Three times, because he didn’t hear her, until I said ‘Heather, please stop saying smack your bitch up to your father.’ Anyway. He was like, I want to sing that Beatles song that goes, duh duh duh .. duh duh .. duh. And, as we all said, WTF? Turns out it was Baby you can drive my car. And boy did he rock it. Kiss took over on stage and then her dad sat down afterwards, quietly, again. We cheesily sang reach for the stars by S Club 7. Heather danced for hours in, I swear, foot high heels. She is a legend.
rented a villa, me, Sarah and Elizabeth (the girls I am moving in with this weekend), Corinne, Alicia, Yvonne and her 4 year old son Finn. The villa was beautiful and had its own pool. The first night we got there, at 1am, we all leapt into the pool. This set the tone for the whole holiday really. Some days we spent chilling at the villa, some we spent chilling at the beach. The evenings we walked down the strip to The Square Bar.
Heather and Barry (her now husband) have been to Cyprus a few times before and have made friends with a bartender called Costas. Costas. What can I say. The face of Cyprus. Everyone knew him. A round of 6 Sambucas, 6 Jaegar Bombs and 6 normal drinks (yeah, it got messy some nights) cost 12 euros. If Costas served you.
One night we went Ayia Napa for a joint stag and hen do. Costas got us into all the clubs free. We went to The Castle, which is apparently the best club in Ayia Napa. At one point some guy pinched one of our girls arses. A few times. Costas told him to stop and he didn’t. Costas told him again. He pushed Costas. Big. Mistake. Costas is built like a rhino and this guy was an ostrich. Cue the biggest headbutt I have ever seen. One security guy restrained the ostrich. 12 restrained Costas. None could restrain him when the ostrich broke free and hit Costas again. We all had to kiss his head better the next night.
One of my favourite days was when Corinne, Yvonne and Finn went for a nap and us four headed out to explore. We found a little beach. We snorkelled amongst the fishes for ages. Then found a little bar. We returned quite pissed 4 hours later.
Unfortunately, on day 2 of the holiday, I had an accident. The pool area was quite slippery. I am Queen of the falling and gracelessness – I can lose my balance standing still. I was all BE CAREFUL BE CARFUL. And I splat. I was holding a camera so didn’t put my hands out to cushion the fall at all and my left knee took a bashing. I was on all fours and had landed with my knees slightly splayed and O. M .G. It is the one time in my life I thought I was going to have to call an ambulance. I couldn’t breathe. It was only dignity that made me roll to a sitting position. I have now had a limp for 3 weeks and work keep hassling me to get it looked at and x-rayed. Flipping doctors/osteopaths/physiotherapists/podiatrists that they are. I kinda think that if you can walk on it it is fine. Bit worried about body pumping on it though. It was one of those moments that you just want your mum. And spookily she texted me. I almost cried.
Anyway. The holiday was great. I’ll remember more moments and write about them later. Like Finn getting on stage in The Square Bar and blasting out Kings of Leons ‘your sex is on fire’ word perfectly.
Tuesday, 31 August 2010
bank holiday weekend
I am going to Cyprus in 5 days and I can't wait. EXHAUSTED. Although the bank holiday weekend was super fun. On Friday I went to the gym with Heather. That was not the super fun part, although I do enjoy the body pumping. Because Heather broke me. And I nearly broke myself by forgetting to lower the weight amount on my bar and bicep curling more weights than the instructor. I was like, this is unusually hard today.. wait... why do I have 4 weights on mine and everyone else only 2? I could barely lift my wine glass in the pub that evening.
Heather is a mystery shopper and, randomly, she was asked to mystery shop our local pub. You get a selection of drinks you are allowed to order and each is judged accordingly. My Pimms with the brown slice of lemon and lime scored prettyyyyy low.
Then on Saturday I went to Lakeside with her. Managed to buy 2 black dresses in the Dorothy Perkins sale. £6 each. Although it is a bit ridiculous as I am going to Cyprus where it is 37 degrees with a humidity of 79%.
We bought some wine in the supermarket to sit on her balcony with. Standing next to her in the queue. Both buying the same bottle of wine. I get served, no problem. SHE gets IDed. And SHE is older than me. I was all WHOA WHOA WHOA. WHY are you not ID-ing me???? And the server as like, er, cos you look old. Me - BRILLIANT. THANK YOU. HEATHER. WE NEED MORE WINE. What a knob.
On Sunday I body pumped AGAIN and then went to Sophies house to see baby Megs who is very very cute. Sophie showed me baby Fabes new clothes, as we found out he was a boy on Thursday. THOROUGHLY exciting. His wardrobe currently consists of a flat cap, a kermit outfit and some gold converse. Kids gonna rock.
On Monday I went into London with Ma, Pa and Lol. We went to the pub. Which was lovely. It is called the Fishmongers Arms. Actually. That could be wrong. It is the one opposite St Pauls, on the other side of the Thames, at the end of Embankment. It is lovely in there and you can sit outside and look moodily across the water.
We walked to St Pauls. It is perhaps where my gmas ashes will be scattered. The gardens are beautiful. Gma loved London and we would all like somewhere we can go to remember her. Not that she will be far from our minds.
At her funeral the minister had speeches from us all; memories about gma. It was beautiful. Although I lost it when the minister said June was a proud mother to ... A proud Grandmother to... and a proud great Grandmother to baby Danny and the bump. It really hit home then that she had gone. She was a massive presence in our family and a constant source of amusement. I remember calling her to tell her... I had a job or had got my A'level results or something. And she was all, that's lovely dear but I have another call waiting. I know that doesn't sound funny but it is, to me, because that is what she was like. Like a hummingbird flitting from one thing to the next. Mainly from people we didn't know to the *whisper* lesbians to the other people we didn't know to *whisper* the doctors husband who turned out to be gay.
When me and Sophie wrote our families memories about Gma we really laughed at all the things she used to say, all her stories. We told our aunt we had to curb what we said as we couldn't let a minister say gay and lesbian and whatnot in church. Her stories were pretty scandalous. My aunt said yes, she wanted to say that she admired her mothers ability to walk into a room and within minutes identify who was gay, who was straight and who was having an affair with whom. "Hello dear, hello dear, WELL HELLO DUCKY, hello dear..."
I got a litte emotional at St Pauls. There was a tiny moment where I wished I was the kind of person who prayed at church. My friend G told me he prays sometimes in the chapel of the hospital he works in. Then mum broke the moment by laughing when I said, look at that squirrel burying his nuts. Me - seriously. Did you just laugh? Mum - I will ALWAYS think it is funny when someone says look at that squirrel burying his nuts.
We then walked to St Brides church. It was the church of the Fleet Street printers. It was locked though so we could only walk round the outside. Then mum wanted to see the Pudding Lane memorial. It was quite impressive. I have photos. I wish I could be bothered to upload them. You could walk up it but mum has put her foot down with a firm hand and decided that indeed it IS only retarded farmers who walk up hundreds of steps (quote from the film, In Bruges). The memorial is a tall statue with a gold acorn type thing on top. I said it should be a burning cupcake. Something a bit more relevant.
We parked in the station carpark. When we got back to my car I realised the passanger door was unlocked. That car is ALWAYS unlocked. Once I left it in a pub car park with the keys in the ignition. No one joy rid it. Says a lot about my car.
Work again today and my boss had done all his work. Which meant I came in to a MOUNTAIN of notes and letters and paper on my desk. Literally, a stack of about 40 notes...
Cyprus. 35 degrees. 4 days.
Heather is a mystery shopper and, randomly, she was asked to mystery shop our local pub. You get a selection of drinks you are allowed to order and each is judged accordingly. My Pimms with the brown slice of lemon and lime scored prettyyyyy low.
Then on Saturday I went to Lakeside with her. Managed to buy 2 black dresses in the Dorothy Perkins sale. £6 each. Although it is a bit ridiculous as I am going to Cyprus where it is 37 degrees with a humidity of 79%.
We bought some wine in the supermarket to sit on her balcony with. Standing next to her in the queue. Both buying the same bottle of wine. I get served, no problem. SHE gets IDed. And SHE is older than me. I was all WHOA WHOA WHOA. WHY are you not ID-ing me???? And the server as like, er, cos you look old. Me - BRILLIANT. THANK YOU. HEATHER. WE NEED MORE WINE. What a knob.
On Sunday I body pumped AGAIN and then went to Sophies house to see baby Megs who is very very cute. Sophie showed me baby Fabes new clothes, as we found out he was a boy on Thursday. THOROUGHLY exciting. His wardrobe currently consists of a flat cap, a kermit outfit and some gold converse. Kids gonna rock.
On Monday I went into London with Ma, Pa and Lol. We went to the pub. Which was lovely. It is called the Fishmongers Arms. Actually. That could be wrong. It is the one opposite St Pauls, on the other side of the Thames, at the end of Embankment. It is lovely in there and you can sit outside and look moodily across the water.
We walked to St Pauls. It is perhaps where my gmas ashes will be scattered. The gardens are beautiful. Gma loved London and we would all like somewhere we can go to remember her. Not that she will be far from our minds.
At her funeral the minister had speeches from us all; memories about gma. It was beautiful. Although I lost it when the minister said June was a proud mother to ... A proud Grandmother to... and a proud great Grandmother to baby Danny and the bump. It really hit home then that she had gone. She was a massive presence in our family and a constant source of amusement. I remember calling her to tell her... I had a job or had got my A'level results or something. And she was all, that's lovely dear but I have another call waiting. I know that doesn't sound funny but it is, to me, because that is what she was like. Like a hummingbird flitting from one thing to the next. Mainly from people we didn't know to the *whisper* lesbians to the other people we didn't know to *whisper* the doctors husband who turned out to be gay.
When me and Sophie wrote our families memories about Gma we really laughed at all the things she used to say, all her stories. We told our aunt we had to curb what we said as we couldn't let a minister say gay and lesbian and whatnot in church. Her stories were pretty scandalous. My aunt said yes, she wanted to say that she admired her mothers ability to walk into a room and within minutes identify who was gay, who was straight and who was having an affair with whom. "Hello dear, hello dear, WELL HELLO DUCKY, hello dear..."
I got a litte emotional at St Pauls. There was a tiny moment where I wished I was the kind of person who prayed at church. My friend G told me he prays sometimes in the chapel of the hospital he works in. Then mum broke the moment by laughing when I said, look at that squirrel burying his nuts. Me - seriously. Did you just laugh? Mum - I will ALWAYS think it is funny when someone says look at that squirrel burying his nuts.
We then walked to St Brides church. It was the church of the Fleet Street printers. It was locked though so we could only walk round the outside. Then mum wanted to see the Pudding Lane memorial. It was quite impressive. I have photos. I wish I could be bothered to upload them. You could walk up it but mum has put her foot down with a firm hand and decided that indeed it IS only retarded farmers who walk up hundreds of steps (quote from the film, In Bruges). The memorial is a tall statue with a gold acorn type thing on top. I said it should be a burning cupcake. Something a bit more relevant.
We parked in the station carpark. When we got back to my car I realised the passanger door was unlocked. That car is ALWAYS unlocked. Once I left it in a pub car park with the keys in the ignition. No one joy rid it. Says a lot about my car.
Work again today and my boss had done all his work. Which meant I came in to a MOUNTAIN of notes and letters and paper on my desk. Literally, a stack of about 40 notes...
Cyprus. 35 degrees. 4 days.
Monday, 23 August 2010
June Hudson 15/08/32 - 15/08/10
Despite being only 4”11, June was one of the biggest characters in our family. At family gatherings her stories, and the way that she delivered them, commanded the attention of the entire room. One of the more recent gems involved a blind man passing his driving test. Preparing this speech, we went through a number of June’s different tales and laughed our heads off. We tried to write them down to retell but they were all either too scandalous or politically incorrect to repeat to a room full of people.
June had a wicked sense of humour. She always told Mark that he was her favourite son-in-law. It took a while (a long while) for him to realise he was her only son-in-law.
When asked to give Ken a break from bossing him about she promptly picked up her cane and said she would give him a break, “right over the top of his head”. However, often when he left the room on an errand she would lean in close, lower her voice (not something she did too often) and say how lovely he was, and that he took great care of her and how well he does. As soon as he walked back in the room she would pass judgement on his task mastering. Flower arrangement? Or, as she put it, “WHAT flower arrangement?”
Everything about June was immaculate: her house, garden and appearance. She did not tolerate disorder or mess. In spite of this, she absolutely adored her dog Taffy. Indeed, it was not family photos displayed at her hospital bedside, but a lovely big portrait of Taffy, the most chaotic and energetic thing allowed to enter her house in a long time. When Ken dared to suggest that maybe Taffy might be too hard to handle she told him she would rather get rid of him than the dog.
June was extremely artistic and creative and this shone through in her beautiful garden and all of her artwork. In her last few weeks she made duvet covers, cushions, a skirt and baked a cake. This is more than most of us could ever really manage to achieve.
Except for her known hatred of thunderstorms, she always seemed fearless. We will never forget her standing in front of our 2 large dogs, both of which individually outweighed her by a good 3 stone waving a bag of sausage treats and commenting on how lovely they were as they were revving up ready to charge.
June was always interested in and proud of our achievements and what we had been up to. If we ever broke any news to her a thoughtful card in the post would follow saying how happy she was for us. It’s very strange to think of how different our family is now going to be, or to imagine family events without the powerhouse that was June holding court and making us all laugh.
Wednesday, 11 August 2010
team 'wtf get out the bathroom' appaz
Just home from watching Twilight: Eclipse. It was good. Team Wolf or Team Cullen? Me and Lulu discussed on the way home. I say Team Cullen because when they change you into a vampire you become fabulous. Otherwise it is really just a battle as to who is hotter, Jacob or Edward. And both have their points. Although I am more drawn to hot wolf than cold vamp.
Considering me and Lulu were out all evening, I really do not see why both my brothers chose the minute we walked in the door to hog the bathroom. Espesh when I needed to pee. I don't remember, from living at home previously, either brother having an extensive face care regime. I don't even really remember them washing their faces, let alone both heading into the bathroom with hands full of products. Jeez.
Amusing moment of the night, for me, was getting my bag checked at the door of the cinema. My gym bag. After a class of legs bums and tums. There was a moment when he looked at the sports bra and couldn't decide whether to search further or stop. I think he chose the right option for all of us and waved me on in 2.5 seconds.
My stomach muscles were aching from crunching. As I said to Sophie, What did this woman think I was ? The Crunch master? But as Sophie said, I've never done a crunch in my life so after 2 I was gonna start being pissed.
I had my first complaint letter from a patient today. It was pretty annoying since it wasn't my fault that another secretary didn't get back to him. My boss wrote a letter that was basically to that effect. As I typed it from his dictaphone I wanted to go hug him. I am finally working for someone that sticks up for me. Its pretty great to know that you never have to explain yourself; that he knew that I had done my best. That's pretty major.
Also, busting a gut (poss literally, jury out until morning) means being allowed a tub of popcorn for dinner, right? Yeah. That's what I thought.
Good night.
Considering me and Lulu were out all evening, I really do not see why both my brothers chose the minute we walked in the door to hog the bathroom. Espesh when I needed to pee. I don't remember, from living at home previously, either brother having an extensive face care regime. I don't even really remember them washing their faces, let alone both heading into the bathroom with hands full of products. Jeez.
Amusing moment of the night, for me, was getting my bag checked at the door of the cinema. My gym bag. After a class of legs bums and tums. There was a moment when he looked at the sports bra and couldn't decide whether to search further or stop. I think he chose the right option for all of us and waved me on in 2.5 seconds.
My stomach muscles were aching from crunching. As I said to Sophie, What did this woman think I was ? The Crunch master? But as Sophie said, I've never done a crunch in my life so after 2 I was gonna start being pissed.
I had my first complaint letter from a patient today. It was pretty annoying since it wasn't my fault that another secretary didn't get back to him. My boss wrote a letter that was basically to that effect. As I typed it from his dictaphone I wanted to go hug him. I am finally working for someone that sticks up for me. Its pretty great to know that you never have to explain yourself; that he knew that I had done my best. That's pretty major.
Also, busting a gut (poss literally, jury out until morning) means being allowed a tub of popcorn for dinner, right? Yeah. That's what I thought.
Good night.
Tuesday, 10 August 2010
downward dog
Yoga class tonight. You cannot even believe how much it makes you sweat. At one point we all had to get into a position that required you lean both hands on the mirrors. Oh yes, my sweaty hands on a slippery surface.It did throw my calm breathing off somewhat.
I actually find yoga harder than body pump. Although today some woman on the train was super rude to me because I shut the window because I was getting rained on. I was all prepared to be rude back and all DONT MESS WITH ME BITCH I BODY PUMP!! But luckily it didnt come to that as she looked at my pumped arms (glaring face) and totally apologised. Oh yeaa I gotta get me some of thattttttt (The sit up song from body pump. Not the Evita song which is for arm pumping).
Today there was A MOUSE in our reception. In our Harley Street reception. Luckily the only patient who noticed it did not speak English so the other patients were moved to consulting rooms and it was removed. Awesome.
I actually find yoga harder than body pump. Although today some woman on the train was super rude to me because I shut the window because I was getting rained on. I was all prepared to be rude back and all DONT MESS WITH ME BITCH I BODY PUMP!! But luckily it didnt come to that as she looked at my pumped arms (glaring face) and totally apologised. Oh yeaa I gotta get me some of thattttttt (The sit up song from body pump. Not the Evita song which is for arm pumping).
Today there was A MOUSE in our reception. In our Harley Street reception. Luckily the only patient who noticed it did not speak English so the other patients were moved to consulting rooms and it was removed. Awesome.
Monday, 9 August 2010
fists up
Sophie has a Flickr account. She put some photos up recently of us lot. Some guy called Diego 'favourited' a picture of my brother. It is great fun to tease Jamie about this, although HE says Diego is not after his butt and more is a very good photographer with an eye for a good photo.
Me: I think Diego has printed that photo and laminated it
Jamie: *Half not listening* What's wrong with laminating? I love laminating things. I laminate everything at the church (where he works).
Explaining why we were all laughing was super fun.
It was Sophuses birthday. By her next birthday she will be a mumma. How odd is that. Can't wait.
I have managed to keep up body pump classes. Even though they are on Friday nights.
Mum: So, tonight... are you going to go body pump and then body hump!??!!!11!
Me: Jesus Christ mother... huh. That sounds good actually.
So I went to G's where he told me he is thinking about becoming Muslim. It made me laugh A LOT when he sat bolt upright in the morning at 10 with FUCK!
Me: O god what?!!
G: I forgot to go pray.
HAHAH. This was possibly a lot more funny at the time.
Baby Megs had her vaccinations.
Ruth: She screamed and screamed.
Me: I am glad that she screams when some stranger stabs her with a needle. Bet she was proper good at it too.
Ruth: Yeah she put her fists up too.
Me: Her mighty aunt is proper proud.
I snuggled her on Sunday and she smiled at me. First smile! Absolutely amazing.
Me: I think Diego has printed that photo and laminated it
Jamie: *Half not listening* What's wrong with laminating? I love laminating things. I laminate everything at the church (where he works).
Explaining why we were all laughing was super fun.
It was Sophuses birthday. By her next birthday she will be a mumma. How odd is that. Can't wait.
I have managed to keep up body pump classes. Even though they are on Friday nights.
Mum: So, tonight... are you going to go body pump and then body hump!??!!!11!
Me: Jesus Christ mother... huh. That sounds good actually.
So I went to G's where he told me he is thinking about becoming Muslim. It made me laugh A LOT when he sat bolt upright in the morning at 10 with FUCK!
Me: O god what?!!
G: I forgot to go pray.
HAHAH. This was possibly a lot more funny at the time.
Baby Megs had her vaccinations.
Ruth: She screamed and screamed.
Me: I am glad that she screams when some stranger stabs her with a needle. Bet she was proper good at it too.
Ruth: Yeah she put her fists up too.
Me: Her mighty aunt is proper proud.
I snuggled her on Sunday and she smiled at me. First smile! Absolutely amazing.
Wednesday, 28 July 2010
16
So anyways. I survived legs bums and tums. I ENJOYED the ache from it. Body pump on Sunday, however, almost killed me.
Legs bums and tums was quite hard because the instructor was crazy fast and I am crazy uncoordinated. Body Pump was relatively easy compared. Basically you have weights and a weight bar thing – no idea what the technical name for the bar with weights on either end is called – and you pump to the music. Haha. Sounds rude. Anyways. I quite liked this class. Until afterwards. We went for a nice swim and I couldn’t lower myself into the pool. And the next day I couldn’t do stairs. Or walk. I almost had to ride the train to the end of the line because I couldn’t get off it. I am still feeling uber thigh ache now. And I am going back on Friday. Madness.
Today I even bought some proper gym leggings. My previous gym clothes were mens joggers because they have pockets, and womens don’t, for my iPod. Now I just talk to Heather. Or, you know, listen to her yelling INCREASE THE INCLINE!!
The leggings are from M&S. I went to try them on and the queue was massive. Luckily I was wearing my patented shopping outfit – skirt, leggings, vest, slip on shoes. This outfit means that you can try pretty much any item of clothing on without queueing for a changing room. Although I admit, taking my leggings off on the shop floor today was the most audacious I have ever been.
There was quite a large lady also looking at the M&S gym range. I was buying from there because I know they have big sizes and they are ok priced. Not from any particular know how or whatnot. So she starts asking my advice. And I’m all.. uh.. dude.. I dunno. Basically I am getting a cropped pair because I did yoga the other day and tripped over the long bottoms on my joggers whilst doing downward dog. And in black because it matches my trainers. She was all, oh. Um. But what do you think of these? And she held up a grey pair. Now, Heather told me not to get grey because of the sweating issue and it showing through. So this lady was all, putting these back then! And what about these? And I was all, srsly, dude. WTF. Look at my butt. It clearly does not know much about gyms. NOT YET ANYWAY.
One of the additional benefits of the gym is that it stops you eating ‘bad’ food. My office is junk food central. Cookies here, brownies there. Now I am all DO YOU KNOW HOW LONG I HAVE TO MARCH ON AN INCLINE TO WEAR THAT OFF?? MY THIGHS DID NOT SUFFER FOR A COOKIE. You bet your ass when I break this diet it will be for something worthwhile.
This evening I made a delicious spaghetti bolognaise. Mum was all, this is delicious. I did not know you could cook. But I am pretty sure everyone knew that I can cook the shit out of a packet of mince. This spag bol had tomatoes, courgettes, aubergines, onions, mushrooms and peppers and kidney beans. It was too too healthy and yum.
I ate it whilst watching a Gok Wan programme in mum and dads room. Lulu came in and wedged herself on the bed between them. Then she said: “Gok would just dress me naked since every part of me is hot.” Haha. Then she did a big sneeze and Dad said: “Gosh. That was so big I almost fell off of the bed."
Legs bums and tums was quite hard because the instructor was crazy fast and I am crazy uncoordinated. Body Pump was relatively easy compared. Basically you have weights and a weight bar thing – no idea what the technical name for the bar with weights on either end is called – and you pump to the music. Haha. Sounds rude. Anyways. I quite liked this class. Until afterwards. We went for a nice swim and I couldn’t lower myself into the pool. And the next day I couldn’t do stairs. Or walk. I almost had to ride the train to the end of the line because I couldn’t get off it. I am still feeling uber thigh ache now. And I am going back on Friday. Madness.
Today I even bought some proper gym leggings. My previous gym clothes were mens joggers because they have pockets, and womens don’t, for my iPod. Now I just talk to Heather. Or, you know, listen to her yelling INCREASE THE INCLINE!!
The leggings are from M&S. I went to try them on and the queue was massive. Luckily I was wearing my patented shopping outfit – skirt, leggings, vest, slip on shoes. This outfit means that you can try pretty much any item of clothing on without queueing for a changing room. Although I admit, taking my leggings off on the shop floor today was the most audacious I have ever been.
There was quite a large lady also looking at the M&S gym range. I was buying from there because I know they have big sizes and they are ok priced. Not from any particular know how or whatnot. So she starts asking my advice. And I’m all.. uh.. dude.. I dunno. Basically I am getting a cropped pair because I did yoga the other day and tripped over the long bottoms on my joggers whilst doing downward dog. And in black because it matches my trainers. She was all, oh. Um. But what do you think of these? And she held up a grey pair. Now, Heather told me not to get grey because of the sweating issue and it showing through. So this lady was all, putting these back then! And what about these? And I was all, srsly, dude. WTF. Look at my butt. It clearly does not know much about gyms. NOT YET ANYWAY.
One of the additional benefits of the gym is that it stops you eating ‘bad’ food. My office is junk food central. Cookies here, brownies there. Now I am all DO YOU KNOW HOW LONG I HAVE TO MARCH ON AN INCLINE TO WEAR THAT OFF?? MY THIGHS DID NOT SUFFER FOR A COOKIE. You bet your ass when I break this diet it will be for something worthwhile.
This evening I made a delicious spaghetti bolognaise. Mum was all, this is delicious. I did not know you could cook. But I am pretty sure everyone knew that I can cook the shit out of a packet of mince. This spag bol had tomatoes, courgettes, aubergines, onions, mushrooms and peppers and kidney beans. It was too too healthy and yum.
I ate it whilst watching a Gok Wan programme in mum and dads room. Lulu came in and wedged herself on the bed between them. Then she said: “Gok would just dress me naked since every part of me is hot.” Haha. Then she did a big sneeze and Dad said: “Gosh. That was so big I almost fell off of the bed."
Wednesday, 21 July 2010
possibly last post
Tonight. Legs, Bums and Tums.
Or, as Heather says TONED LEGS BUMS AND TUMS YAY!
Help. me.
Or, as Heather says TONED LEGS BUMS AND TUMS YAY!
Help. me.
Tuesday, 20 July 2010
splish splash i was takin a bath
On Sunday I met my pal Liz for a dog walk. She said the magic words (bacon sadwich) and I was there. I was slightly worried because my parents dogs are raving lunatics and the size of ponies. Which is a bad combination. But all was well and Lilly the lab charmed the pants off of them and they were all very well behaved.
Monty is a water dog. Unfortunately he is now an elderly water dog and streams and rivers and lakes that he would joyfully bound in he struggles to get out of. This happened in the muddiest ditchiest deepest under a bridge swamp land. I had to go and rescue him. I was wearing a nice Monsoon summer dress. Filthy. And my face. And my arms. And legs. I was like a spa victim. It is just sheer luck that I did not fall in.
We went for a lovely ramble through the woods and to a gorgeous lake. Liz was like, we just have to wait for the ducklings to swim away and then we can... SPLASH. My heffalump hounds were in. The biggest belly flops you ever did see. Ducklings scattered in all directions on a tidal wave of dirty water. Lilly gracefully slipped in. Those dogs fetched sticks and swam for ages and the whole surrounding area was absolutely ruined. Chewed sticks everywhere, mud and half the lake. That is when we decided to go home. It was rough dirty fun.
When I got home, I had just enough time to shower before Ruth and baby Megs came round. Ruth said Megs was crying because the house smelt like shit and she was right. Boris likes to perfume himself with the stench of death and decay. I locked him in the garden for a bit. I can’t believe Megs is now 7 weeks old. She is too cute and tiny and snuggable. Can’t wait to meet Baby Fabe.
Then Lulu, Ma and Pa came home and we drank champagne.Because Lulu birthdays are 4 day affairs.
Then I went to work today and shared a bottle of champagne from a patient with my boss. He has been waiting for a whole week to drink it and tonight I finally allowed it to be opened. Too exciting. This morning he was raving about someone who wrote something annoying to him. He was like, why are you not annoyed about this? Why does this not totally work you up? And I was all, a lot of caring is used up on myself, innit. And that is true. I am really not bothered about people outside my sphere of family and friends. I mean seriously, have you seen the spots on my chin?
Monty is a water dog. Unfortunately he is now an elderly water dog and streams and rivers and lakes that he would joyfully bound in he struggles to get out of. This happened in the muddiest ditchiest deepest under a bridge swamp land. I had to go and rescue him. I was wearing a nice Monsoon summer dress. Filthy. And my face. And my arms. And legs. I was like a spa victim. It is just sheer luck that I did not fall in.
We went for a lovely ramble through the woods and to a gorgeous lake. Liz was like, we just have to wait for the ducklings to swim away and then we can... SPLASH. My heffalump hounds were in. The biggest belly flops you ever did see. Ducklings scattered in all directions on a tidal wave of dirty water. Lilly gracefully slipped in. Those dogs fetched sticks and swam for ages and the whole surrounding area was absolutely ruined. Chewed sticks everywhere, mud and half the lake. That is when we decided to go home. It was rough dirty fun.
When I got home, I had just enough time to shower before Ruth and baby Megs came round. Ruth said Megs was crying because the house smelt like shit and she was right. Boris likes to perfume himself with the stench of death and decay. I locked him in the garden for a bit. I can’t believe Megs is now 7 weeks old. She is too cute and tiny and snuggable. Can’t wait to meet Baby Fabe.
Then Lulu, Ma and Pa came home and we drank champagne.Because Lulu birthdays are 4 day affairs.
Then I went to work today and shared a bottle of champagne from a patient with my boss. He has been waiting for a whole week to drink it and tonight I finally allowed it to be opened. Too exciting. This morning he was raving about someone who wrote something annoying to him. He was like, why are you not annoyed about this? Why does this not totally work you up? And I was all, a lot of caring is used up on myself, innit. And that is true. I am really not bothered about people outside my sphere of family and friends. I mean seriously, have you seen the spots on my chin?
Monday, 19 July 2010
the land of the scots and heather
Well. It has been a very busy few days.
On Thursday night it was birthday drinks for Lulu who was almost 18. As dad says, old enough to buy us all a pint. Which is the most important thing. There was family, pizza and beer. Although the pizza didnt stick around for long because Boris is a ninja.
On Friday Lulu was taken to Scotland. Our aunts were born in Scotland and apparently Lulu bombarded them with messages such as: I need a wee. How do you say toilet in Scottish? (To which my aunt was replying, I am going to mash you). I decided to leave work early and walk the dogs. Obviously it was the day that I forgot my door key so I had to trek to my brothers work and home again and by that point I may as well have just finished work at the regular time. I walked the dogs with G because he was all, I would love to walk a dog, and I was all...dude. That is easily arranged. He loved holding Monty.
On Saturday my friend Heather took me to the gym. I have told her that I need to lose weight for her wedding in Cyprus in September and she has made it her mission to gym buddy me. She is one scary mother though and I thought she was going to kill me. I had my induction (when I joined a previous gym I asked for an ugly woman to show me round. Obv Hevs picks the hottest man. Him – So why are you joining the gym. Me – Oh. For entirely glamorous reasons..).
After the induction Heather was like, so, what shall we do now? And I was all, sit by the pool and have a chat? So. That was the wrong answer. Ok. 10 minutes on the cross trainer. Just whilst we are here. And I prefer it if you didn’t hold on. Puff puff. Ok. Just 10 minutes on the treadmill. Oh. Piece of piss! I can walk for England. Appaz not on an incline of MOUNTAIN going at a slow jog. Just 10 minutes was the longest 10 minutes of my life. Then we went on the power plate. I was all, yay, this one is the celebrity one that you just stand on and it does the work for you. Not in Heather land. In Heather land you hold a sit up on it, and a squat, and you feel the burn like nothing before. Although I was kept amused by some guy who was just lying on it. I tell you something though. Make sure you have gone to the toilet in all departments before you get on because everything gets shaken loose. As it were. *Ahem*
Luckily my treat was then going for a swim. Which I totally heart. I love swimming. Especially in a beautiful clean empty outdoor heated pool. And then in the jacuzzi. Then the steam room. And then a guilty squeeze of all spots that were steamed loose.
After the gym, we went to the gym cafe. I joked I was going to order a bottle of red and some cheesecake – which was randomly on the menu – but after a stern look from Heather I ordered the jacket potato.
Then my pallios came over for a drink and some pasta in the evening. Living at home makes it easy to host last minute glamorous alfresco dinner parties as my mother has hundreds of cute bowels and plates and outdoor furniture and lamps and candles.
Slept like the dead. Muscles woke me up in the morning. Every single one of them.
On Thursday night it was birthday drinks for Lulu who was almost 18. As dad says, old enough to buy us all a pint. Which is the most important thing. There was family, pizza and beer. Although the pizza didnt stick around for long because Boris is a ninja.
On Friday Lulu was taken to Scotland. Our aunts were born in Scotland and apparently Lulu bombarded them with messages such as: I need a wee. How do you say toilet in Scottish? (To which my aunt was replying, I am going to mash you). I decided to leave work early and walk the dogs. Obviously it was the day that I forgot my door key so I had to trek to my brothers work and home again and by that point I may as well have just finished work at the regular time. I walked the dogs with G because he was all, I would love to walk a dog, and I was all...dude. That is easily arranged. He loved holding Monty.
On Saturday my friend Heather took me to the gym. I have told her that I need to lose weight for her wedding in Cyprus in September and she has made it her mission to gym buddy me. She is one scary mother though and I thought she was going to kill me. I had my induction (when I joined a previous gym I asked for an ugly woman to show me round. Obv Hevs picks the hottest man. Him – So why are you joining the gym. Me – Oh. For entirely glamorous reasons..).
After the induction Heather was like, so, what shall we do now? And I was all, sit by the pool and have a chat? So. That was the wrong answer. Ok. 10 minutes on the cross trainer. Just whilst we are here. And I prefer it if you didn’t hold on. Puff puff. Ok. Just 10 minutes on the treadmill. Oh. Piece of piss! I can walk for England. Appaz not on an incline of MOUNTAIN going at a slow jog. Just 10 minutes was the longest 10 minutes of my life. Then we went on the power plate. I was all, yay, this one is the celebrity one that you just stand on and it does the work for you. Not in Heather land. In Heather land you hold a sit up on it, and a squat, and you feel the burn like nothing before. Although I was kept amused by some guy who was just lying on it. I tell you something though. Make sure you have gone to the toilet in all departments before you get on because everything gets shaken loose. As it were. *Ahem*
Luckily my treat was then going for a swim. Which I totally heart. I love swimming. Especially in a beautiful clean empty outdoor heated pool. And then in the jacuzzi. Then the steam room. And then a guilty squeeze of all spots that were steamed loose.
After the gym, we went to the gym cafe. I joked I was going to order a bottle of red and some cheesecake – which was randomly on the menu – but after a stern look from Heather I ordered the jacket potato.
Then my pallios came over for a drink and some pasta in the evening. Living at home makes it easy to host last minute glamorous alfresco dinner parties as my mother has hundreds of cute bowels and plates and outdoor furniture and lamps and candles.
Slept like the dead. Muscles woke me up in the morning. Every single one of them.
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