Yukky-dah

So another weekend of jollies is upon me! Not a moment too soon. Emma has volunteered my quizmaster skills  for a quiz night tonight - a sure fire way of making sure our team wins, I'm full of useless facts. It's at her Dad's local social club so that should be interesting....


The last time I was at a social club was in South Wales with my then boyfriend who called himself an "entertainer". He was a singer who'd been performing the same act, right down to the very last word, for about 15 years. I would go round the social clubs, pubs and holiday camps with him, in charge of his sound (fade up, fade down, change disc, play, stop) and I was instrumental in making him learn new songs and adapt to his audience. If I'd had to listen to Hi Ho Silver Lining just one more time I think I would've Hi Ho'd off with someone else.


Those social clubs were rank. Absolutely rank. Especially the ones up in the valleys; skank central. The Welsh Valleys; where men are men and so are the women. Apart from the old dears who drink sherry or half a mild, all the women drink pints of lager and sport giant tattoos. The next time our workers go on strike they should omit the army and bring down the Welsh birds to scare them back into work with their bulldog chewing on a wasp-like faces.


The other thing that sticks in my mind (and my lungs) is how smoky those social clubs used to be. You could walk in and cut the smoke with a knife (either that or get knifed yourself, they were ever so pleasant!). Everybody smoked. The elderly, the middle aged, teens, babies. Well, probably not babies, but I wouldn't be surprised. And they hated the English! I know it's not all Welsh people who hate the English, but in the valleys they'd pass a dying Englishman without stopping to help. It's ok though, the feeling is perfectly mutual.


So there will be no more Blogs until until next week now. We're going to the Zoo on Saturday, which I imagine will provoke memories of those lovely social clubs.


Have a good one!

Let's get it on

Being single has its ups and downs doesn't it? The ups; you can eat ribs, spaghetti bolognese, pizza and everything else which makes a mess that you're too scared to eat in front of your date. You can fart and burp. You can go to the toilet in your house without worrying he might hear...something. No fretting over unfaithfulness, no worrying over the fact you can't be Gwyneth Paltrow-bendy in bed without breaking a hip, no worrying that someone else might try to steal your man. Etc etc....

The downs? No sex.

NO SEX!!!!!!!!!!!!!

*breathe*

I don't feel the confidence to pick up blokes any more, I'm pretty shit at it. I used to be very good at flirting, but now all I think when I try to flirt is "He just wants me to go away and come back slimmer and blonder". Luckily for me I have tremendous boobs, so where I fail facially and er, sizely - I make up for in cleavage. Plus, I'm not really a "let's go out and pick up blokes" kind of person. On a Saturday night out I just want to dance and have a laugh with my friends. You seldom meet decent guys in a club or bar anyway.

So what else is there? Well I hope to meet a nice guy through work. That's pretty much my only option. Maybe I should join a mechanics course or something....?

I used to prefer being in a relationship, but now I fear the heartbreak. I know that sounds a bit poofy, but it's true. Where's the sense in falling for someone if they're going to turn out to be a douchebag? I should probably try playing the field.....but I doubt I'll get past the gate.

Honestly, how many of you women have wished you could be just like Samantha Jones from Sex & the City? Imagine having a heart of (almost) steel and being able to pick a guy up, shag his brains out, then say goodbye without even a second thought? Never having to grow attached and then have your heart ripped out? Sounds good to me. Maybe I should start practising.

To hump or not to hump...? I'll give it some thought. Need to find a key for that gate.

Cool beans. Well, luke-warm.

I am hungover. I am also still trying to digest the luke-warm/cold fry-up I had in Tesco - thinking it may help me recover. It did not. I feel like my head is filled with marshmallow fluff. And just to put me in an even better mood, BT Broadland, who are always advertising how great they are, keeps crashing on me. I don’t know if this counts as slander but BT BROADBAND ARE SHIT! I’ve just come off the phone to BT in some foreign country or another, feeling happy that my problem will soon be solved. They believe an ASDL filter on the phone socket downstairs will make the signal stronger and prevent it from dying again. When I conveyed this to Mum she explained we already have an ASDL filter on the downstairs phone socket. Epic fail. I believe a switch to Virgin Media shall soon be on the cards.

Saturday nights are becoming fun again. As a single girl, Saturday nights should always be fun. Unfortunately, with one best mate living over an hour away, and another best mate having a son to look after most nights, there’s little alternative options for me. Yesterday was great; BBQ, games and lots of drink (oh and a very dishy blokey!). Great company, all rather like-minded + Pimms = one great Saturday night. Next weekend it’s off to see Emma and Marc in Ipswich and no doubt another fab weekend. Since becoming single things are starting to pick up. Not that I’m saying I wish to stay single, I’m always on the look out for Mr Make Do (I’ve given up on Mr Right).

Now I’m off for a cold shower to blow away the cobwebs, and a laxative to blow away that fry-up. Thanks Tesco. Thanks very much.

Farmers & Herbs - damn you all

I'm sitting here at my desk eating left-over cannelloni and feeling at one with the world (and with my expanding waistline). I wasn't feeling so chirpy this morning though; tractor on the road = traffic = very angry Ford Focus driver on way to work (me). 


Tractors, cyclists and learner drivers should not be allowed on the roads until after 9am. I don't care what you say otherwise; it may well be convenient for some people to take their lessons before 9am, but if you don't need to go to work for 9am then you should be out practising on an off-road surface. Or maybe the edge of a cliff. 


Tractors are even worse, they're slower. It can never possibly be that urgent to deliver a package of horse shit to a field that you have to be out getting in everybody's way. I feel very strongly about this. Maybe I should write to Cameron..? Then again, he can fly everywhere by private jet so I'm sure he'd find it hard to sympathise. And he has a bicycle, therefore he is a greater enemy to me then he can possibly imagine.


*quick pause to check I have no cannelloni herbs in my teeth*


...speaking of which, am I the only one who decides on what to eat on a date by what might get stuck in my teeth? I'm sure I can't be the only one. Spaghetti is a massive no no - it doesn't matter how dainty you are you always end up with that little orange splodge on your chin or cheek. Garlic bread is out, again - teeth issues, as well as the "death breath" outcome. Steak isn't too bad, but there's nothing worse than getting a bit with hidden fat or gristle and you end up chewing so hard you look like one of those guys in a western chewing tobacco. Pizza - those damn herbs again. And don't you just hate it when you take a bite of pizza and all the topping slides off so it's left just hanging from your mouth? I think chicken is always the safe option, unless of course it comes with a herby or garlic dressing. 


Bit of a random thoughts day today. In summary; tractor drivers and herbs suck.

Luck of the Irish

Well here I am. Back home to the place I never really considered home - but I'll not get too philosophical tonight, I'm way too tired. I'll write a load of shit about life and tomorrow it'll look like it's been written by a stoner. Or Morrissey. I'll stick with details about my weekend.

Essex wasn't the "massive" weekend I really made it out to be, but it was good fun all the same. Always nice to see family - I mean the ones who I am genuinely happy to see. My very talented cousin did my nails all pretty for me. She offered an eyebrow tint too but I was too scared to end up looking like Joan Rivers. It's one thing I'd never let even the most talented beautician in the world go near; one false line and I get to look permanently like I'm in a state of surprise. But my nails look good anyway. I spent £50 at the tacky North Weald market, don't even ask me how I did it because I've no idea. Everything was so dirt cheap and I don't have enough stuff in my bag to match up to £50. This is why I shouldn't shop; I go into "The Zone". When people win loads of money on the lottery and say "oh I don't know what to do with it", it stuns me into silence. Err...spend it?

My cousin invited her "psychic" friend over to the house on Saturday evening. Soon after dinner it was decided (or rather my cousin demanded) that tarot card readings should take place. So, Pat (the psychic) took out the cards and I went first (I'd do anything for a laugh). She was pretty spot on about a lot of things; she saw me having to travel abroad (more about that in a minute), she saw a job ending - my temporary job ends soon, she got a man's name beginning with R and told me to be cautious - I went on a date with "R" a few days previous and it turns out he was just leading me up the garden path, she saw me having to go to hospital - I just made an appointment last week, she picked out a card with jewellery on and said she saw something to do with jewellery being a success for me - I make jewellery and hope to get a website up and running soon. A few other bits she was right about; she said I'm very cautious and wary of people, especially men. She also said I can be very negative and always expect things to go wrong. I've met Pat a few times before, once when I was very small and the last time was quite a few years back, so she knew nothing of my present life. My cousin swore she told her nothing. So I was quite impressed, but I still feel like there has to be a logical explanation behind it. But I don't know what. She saw a rise in finance and a relationship coming very soon, with a man whose name begins with T. Maybe they become two of the same thing; maybe that millionaire I've been hoping for who's very close to death will finally arrive in my life.

We tried a ouija board - but not a oujia, something similar. It went a bit mad at some point and kinda freaked me out a bit. I wasn't scared, just a bit stressed that I couldn't figure out how it was being done. As I say, I like to try and find the logical, scientific, or medical reason behind "unexplained" things. I was at a loss. Pat didn't even have her fingers on the board at one point and it was just me and my cousin. Both of us looked up at the same time and went "was that you"?? It stopped moving and Pat said "Is there somebody there who wishes to talk to us"? It was dead silent. Then I got a text come through which scared the shit out of us because I have my phone up quite loud (Thanks Emma....!). We didn't get much out of that activity except for a load of scribbles which didn't mean anything. At one point though, it looked like the name Mary had been written, but it was very scrawly. My Mum, who doesn't believe in doing that sort of thing, suddenly looked up from the magazine she was reading and said "It would've been Mary's birthday today". Mary was my Nan's friend who died last year. I decided to leave the board at the that point!

Probably the highlight of the weekend, well no...definitely the highlight of the weekend, was winning a weekend in Dublin courtesy of our local radio station! I heard the competition on the car radio and already had the radio's number programmed into my phone. Being the genius that I am, I got through and got all the answers right. I'm shocked I didn't accidently swear when he said I'd won. I can assure you though; the air in the car turned blue after the call finished! My ear is still ringing from me and my cousins synchronised screaming.

I had managed to get a photo in a magazine a few weeks previous and got £25 for it, so I figured I might be on a winning streak. Needless to say I did 3 lines on the lottery Saturday night. I didn't get a single number. I think that's a way of life/karma letting me know I shouldn't be too greedy...!

I'm 'aving a break innit

I won't be blogging tomorrow or Sunday, for I am in the land of Essex Massive. An epic Essex weekend starts right here! I guess a daily(ish) Blogger like me should really think about getting an iPhone, or whatever you hip young things are using nowadays. I don't even subscribe to internet access on my hTc. I think it makes us unsociable. It's bad enough seeing people texting all the while; restaurants, at the meal table, during a film, even whilst having a conversation with someone in person. I don't want to make myself even more unsociable by allowing myself the ability to keep checking my Facebook status every 5 minutes - which I guarantee I'd be doing if I had the access, not to mention all the shit I'd be constantly buying on eBay.

So from here in sunny Essex I wish everybody an epic weekend. I'm pretty sure a large proportion of my mates will be celebrating the fact that it's St Patrick's this weekend - despite the fact none of them are actually Irish. That's what I love about the British: any excuse for a piss-up. You got married? Let's get pissed! You had a baby? Let's get pissed? You re-newed your car insurance? Let's get pissed...!

So, have fun and top'o'the marning to ya!

Love is a many splendid thing....some of the time

Relationships. The very word would almost make me want to run for the hills, if it weren't for the fact that love is all around (oh god, I just quoted Marti Pellow) and there is no escape.

Now, in no way am I saying that I'm not interested in love. My problem is that relationships have always seemed so complicated. So confusing. Perplexing, even. A lot of men seem to have this annoying ability of changing from the cool, funny, charming Dr Jekyll, into the two-timing, lying, annoying, moody Mr Hyde. One minute they're wining and dining - the next, they're just whining. I dated one guy who, after humping some middle aged policewoman (no I am deadly serious), actually used the famous Ross/Rachel line: "We were on a break"! No, Matt, we were not on a break; you went home to your house, I went home to my house, night time happened, then it became the next day. That's not a break, that's going home to sleep!

I've experienced the lot; cheaters, emotional fuckwits, alcoholics, losers with no ambition, losers with no car who treated me as a taxi, losers who never took me out anywhere nice, losers who enjoyed heavily critisising me....the list goes on. In fact, I'd say I've probably dated a few with every single one of those issues!

There have been two, that I can think of, who were genuinely nice blokes. Manners, a kind heart - but not too much of a walkover, nicely protective etc etc....But there was always a little thing. No not that. I mean something silly, like; they wore very baggy trousers all the time. Or their hair made them look like a reject from the Backstreet Boys. I once ended a relationship with a very nice and very polite young bloke because he wore weird t-shirts and a dog collar around his neck - and it wasn't even for anything kinky.

I've been trying to find someone who is 100% compatible. That's where I'm going wrong. I don't care what anybody says, you will never find anybody you are 100% compatible with. They don't exist. A guy I dated a while back seemed perfect for me; same sense of humour, same taste in films and music, he wasn't religious, his views on life in general matched my own, etc. But, he still managed to get his head turned by a prettier girl. So now I have re-evaluated what I'm looking for; somebody with good values and morals, somebody with a great sense of humour - but also knows when to be serious at the right moments, somebody with a little ambition. Most of all, somebody who likes me for who I am. That's the personality traits sorted. In general, I don't want anybody with baggage - be it in the form of children, mental issues, mental ex issues, whatever, I don't want it. The only superficial thing I ask for is a guy who knows how to treat a lady. Although how he'll treat me is anybody's guess.

I met up with a really nice guy the other night. He may not have everything in common with me but you know what? Am I bovvered...?

Get off yer bike

I am about to offend any cyclists reading this. But I don't care, because you can all kiss my "pissed off with getting stuck behind you" arse...!

Whenever I'm driving along and I suddenly see a cyclist ahead of me, I instantly become stressed out. The urge to ram into their back wheel becomes almost completely over-whelming. It's not so bad if there's a wanker lane on the road especially for them to get the fuck out of my way, but especially when you're driving down a two-way narrow road and you're unable to get past them because of oncoming traffic, I am almost close to tears at the injustice of it not being legal to knock down cyclists when you're in a hurry.

Today, as I was driving home, I noticed a massive queue of oncoming traffic tailing back about 2 miles. Who was riding merrily along his way at the front....? Yes. Bike Wanker. The roads between here and where I work are long and windy, with too many bends to risk overtaking anybody without getting involved in a head-on collision. This particular B.W (as they shall now fondly be named) was cycling very slowly, almost like he knew the traffic was built up behind him and he was taunting them. Even though I wasn't the one caught behind him, I felt like giving him a ever-so-slight "nudge" off into the verge. But then he'd only cause more traffic due to the emergency services who would have to block the road off to save the petrol-shy tossbag.

My advice to B.W's...? Get a fucking car!!! You may have more money to spend out every month but it'll be a lot preferable to the money you'll lose through taking time off work because somebody, completely unidentified, who may be driving a Ford Focus but there were no witnesses to see, has knocked you off your bike and caused, hopefully, a fair bit of physical pain.....!

Feeling hot hot ouch...!

It's March. A few days ago I was battling against winds strong enough to floor James Corden. It's been so wet, even the ducks were thinking "fuck this, let's go find a dry spot". Yet, today - this day in March - I have been nursing what can only be described as "beetroot syndrome". I mean I know it was a sunny day but I distinctly remember somebody saying to me that the sun isn't strong at this time of year. When I remember who said it I'll be beating them to death. In fact no, I won't. I'll tie them to a sun lounger and leave them outside for half a day.

The thing I hate about Summer, aside from the wasps and children on their holidays (not the wasps on holiday I mean, the children. I don't know where wasps go for holidays), is that all the ugly people come out in the tiniest amount of clothing they can find. Girls with arses bigger than the lilo's they float on, blokes with beer bellies so big even Chris Moyles would stand back and say "jesus, that's just rank". Wrinkly old men with ass cheeks hanging down to their ankles, standing on the beach in their pants; hands on (artificial) hips, pretending not to be staring at the big-arsed girls on their lilo's. And B.O! Jesus fucking Christ! Here's a piece of advice to people prone to bouts of sweating; CARRY SOME FUCKING DEODRANT!

British weather is mostly so unpredictable from one day to the next that at the slightest hint of sun rays poking through those black clouds, the British people of this country grab their trunks, sunglasses and coconut oil as fast as they can and stock up on BBQ meat. I was only talking to a guy yesterday who admitted the first BBQ he had this year was on January 9th. You gotta admire his determination.

Flies in your ice-cream. You know what I mean. Those little bastards just lurrrrrve the taste of your ice-cream. Candy floss is the worse though, and don't ever eat it along the seafront; last year I was picking floss outta my hair for days. That shit don't taste so good after a couple of hair washes.

I guess I have to admire our British strength and determination, but most of all...our hope. It's March and the sun is shining, so fuck it; get yer flesh out. But make the most of it, looks like rain tomorrow.......

Bow Wow

I'm dogsitting this weekend. Amy Childs is coming to stay. No, not really...I am actually dogsitting for an actual dog, which is strange considering I once believed all dogs belonged in a river. With a rock attached to them. Not that I absolutely despise dogs, I just find them dirty and inconvenient. Think about it; we walk around outside with our shoes on and walk over all manner of dirt, grime and germs - but we come home and take our shoes off. Dogs walk in the same crap and then walk it all over your lovely shag pile. Not to mention jumping up on your bed and spreading those dirty filthy little bugs and germs all over your sleeping area.

As well as the dirty feet issue, I absolutely detest it when dogs jump up at you. A lot of dog owners find it funny; "oh he's a little tyke isn't he?" they'll say. No, I'll say, he's a little in danger of getting my boot up his arse. Your lovely clean clothes are then marred by dirty paw prints all down the front. And dog hairs??? Don't even get me started.

Have you ever sat eating your dinner in front of the TV and suddenly found yourself staring into the eyes of a dog - watching you eat - and then look down to notice he has a bit of a lipstick going on...? A guy I used to live with had two dogs and they both used to sit directly in front of me, waiting, no...yearning, for me to drop something on the floor. I hate dogs who beg, it drives me mad. If a dog is malnourished then fine, I can understand. But just being greedy is very annoying...even more so with a doggie erection. Maybe they did it on purpose because they knew it'd put me off my food? In which case, I have to admire their craftiness.

But Alfie, my companion this weekend, is a bit of a dude. He doesn't beg, he doesn't moult, he's so fat you can't even see his lipstick, and he never jumps up (which is good because he'd probably break my leg, the fat bastard). The only thing that's a bit of a pain is when he decides to want to go out and have a piss, then I have to keep jumping up and letting him out. But then I'm a lazy cow and I should at least be grateful he does it outside and not in the kitchen. Also, I'm staying at this persons house and I'm a bit of a wimp on my own in a big house, so he makes me feel safe; if a burglar got in he could kiss goodbye to ever being able to make babies after Alfie's finished with him.

So, unless it's so unbelievably cute that I can forgive all these flaws; or ripping off someone's bollocks to protect me from harm...I am not a dog person!

Why break the habit of a lifetime...?

Old habits die hard, so they say. How very true. In the continuing saga that is my diet, I have finally found a lunchtime meal which is both healthy and enjoyable. I suppose it could be a lot more nutritional if I took the chocolate and bacon out, but it's got greens in it...


I'm just kidding. It's a mix of pasta, sun dried tomatoes, french beans, peppers, tuna and pesto. I have to give thanks to the amazing Mr Carluccio for putting the recipe into my head after I sampled it at one of his restaurants. Meals you try to recreate at home after eating out never quite work out as nice, you go down to the Horse & Cart and order a lovely Beef Stroganoff but when you cook it at home the next day it tastes like Beef Turdanoff, but full marks to me *blows trumpet*, it's pretty amazing. 


My lunches have always consisted of either a sandwich or a salad, some fruit, a yoghurt and a packet of crisps. This to me seems fairly healthy, although probably a bit of a carb-overload. But I've been reading up on all different sorts of diets, coming to the conclusion that I actually can't be arsed to do any of them. Why would you want to waste precious time in your day, every day, counting the calories of every single item you pick up in the supermarket? A single shopping trip would take all bloody morning, just through calculating the calories. I've now taken to checking the saturated fat content of food, seeing as my Mum cut all this out together with lowering her sugar intake and lost loads of weight from her stomach. It's not so much hassle, I just try to stick to under 3g of sat fat. My problem is that because I've been used to eating the same sort of lunch ever since primary school, I can't eat lunch without craving a packet of crisps. No matter how good my pasta dish is (and it is damn good) I cannot get the thought of how good a nice packet of Quavers tastes, out of my head! I'm sitting here right now struggling to see the screen in front of me because I'm seeing a vision of cheesy Wotsits, prawn cocktail Quavers, beef Monster Munch etc in front of my eyes. 


You know what the cruel thing is...? I ate an apple this morning and about 10 minutes later I felt like I'd just swallowed a herd of cows. My stomach grew to twice it's twice AND....I still really wanted a packet of crisps. I never feel that way after a packet of crisps. I feel satisfied - and definitely not bloated! So maybe I just ditch the fruit and salad-only diet and go back to what I know? In fact, that wasn't a question...it was a statement. Right, who's going to the shops.....

Open wide.....

Men have it so easy. If any men are reading this right now I suggest you make a note and remember it every time your wife/girlfriend has a pop at you and you're not quite sure why......

Today I went for my cervical smear (and now wave goodbye to all the men reading this...). As I lay there with my drawers off, legs spread-eagled and lady bits exposed - it reminded me of that one great summer I spent at the buff men's rugby camp.......just kidding. I was reminded that woman suffer a lot more indignities than men. I shall list but a few;

1) Periods. I don't think I need to elaborate much more.

2) Babies. Not only do woman have to carry around the heavy load for 9 months, they then have to push the little bugger(s) out through a hole much smaller than the size of a baby AND risk a lot of damage - mostly ending up in having their own arse stitched up.

3) Cervical smear tests. If at this point there are any men reading this, I would implore you to ask your wife/girlfriend exactly what happens during this test. I'm sure a lot of men will already know, but then I'm 100% sure there are those who believe it's simply a case of dabbing the inside of a lady's frou-frou with a cotton bud. That's certainly what I thought the first time I had it done; boy was I in for a big fucking shock.

4) The Wax. All men should have their testicles waxed to see how it feels for us women. Just the once...that's all you'll need (because you won't have the guts to do it again anyway).

5) The pressure of having to prove you can do most jobs just as good as a man. If you say to most men (I won't say all men because it wouldn't be true, I'll give you that) that you're going to be a mechanic/plumber/electrician...I guarantee all you'll get is a smirk. If they're particularly clever they'll hide their disbelief fairly well, but if you're quick, you may catch a little flicker of sympathy; "awww bless'er, she's got something to prove, good for her"!

There are many many more things I'm sure, but I don't really have the time to list them all. I'm not a man-hater as such, I just felt that after my very undignified morning appointment I wanted to remind you men how lucky you are. And don't try telling me that spontaneous erections are a real bug bear for men...you're probably secretly proud of the fact that you can get it up anywhere anytime!

Hello darkness my old friend

I'm feeling a bit of a cynic today. I sometimes have ups and downs in general, but today I woke up with a little black cloud over my head - meterphorically speaking of course; I wasn't sleeping outside in the rain. My day didn't start off too well anyway, so it kind of set the tone for the rest of the day. Shame really after I had such a nice time last night and managed to talk and laugh all night with a really good, pretty like-minded mate (plus there may have been pizza and alcohol...)

I wonder if the grass really could be greener for me..? I sometimes stop and think to myself "you shouldn't be so negative, there are lots of people in a far worse situation than you"....then I cheer up a bit. Isn't it awful how one can be cheered up just knowing other people are suffering? That was rhetorical by the way, you don't need to confess that you agree with me...I know you do.

I get the feeling sometimes that I'm unwittingly holding myself back. I often curse myself for not having complete confidence in my actions. Or complete confidence in myself, period. Is there anybody who feels 100% confident with everything about them? If so, does this make them lucky.....or just damn weird? I'm going to have a "reflection" day today. I'm currently in a temporary job at the moment which will end after 4 weeks; before that time is up I'm going to make a pact with myself that I will decide what I want to do, where I want to be, who I really am; and whether or not I can make myself believe the grass really is greener.

By George she's got it!

Well it's done. The plunge has been taken and I can stop needlessly buying stuff from Lidl!

Wouldn't asking someone out be easier if we were all programmed perfectly naturally to just approach someone and ask them out and they say yes? I'm very grateful to M.B, who actually texted Mr Lidl and informed him that I was interested. Thankfully Mr L decided to be brave enough to pass his number on and we've had a good conversation tonight...although I'm slightly worried he may be concerned I'm a bit stalkerish. If I didn't find it so hard to ask someone out I wouldn't have needed to keep going in there! But how the hell do you ask someone out when you don't know them?? It's different in a nightclub, people approach each other all the time, but that usually only ends up with a shag behind the kebab shop, and I'm a bit more classier than that. I prefer McDonalds.

I'm quite surprised how nervous I felt when speaking to him. I have no problems talking to people in general, whether I know them or not, but it's different when it comes to relationships. You feel more self-conscious about yourself. I probably gabbled a bit, as I do when I'm on edge, but it looks like we're going out on Sunday so hopefully tomorrow will give me a chance to collect myself!

I'm aware he may be a tad put off by finding out I've been talking about him in a blog which everybody in the world can read, and he has indeed found out. But he didn't seem to be bothered. He may ask if he could read it, or he may have a look before he meets me on Sunday to make sure he's not meeting a total psycho! Thing is, I like to write. One day, who knows, I may get my books commissioned. A writer has to be prepared to put their hearts on their sleeves and their life on the internet. That's showbusiness! But I'm sorry to say I will be toning it down just a little.

.....Then when he's forgotten about it I'll fill you all in ;-)

The customer is always...moody.

NB: I've had a hair dye disaster tonight and I'm in a shitty mood! A word of warning; don't always trust the picture on the box...!

I went to Tesco after work today and came face to face with my biggest nightmare after a long day: The happy cashier. Now don't get wrong here, I like it when I receive good customer service because, after all, this country is not very well-known for its happy-go-lucky workers. In a lot of shops you're lucky to get an acknowledgment from the member of staff at all. I remember in one particular shop a while ago the young girl behind the till chatted to her friend on the other till the whole time she served me. She never once looked at me and just held out her hand for my money at the end. I looked at her hand and back up at her and said nothing. Just waited for her to say something. She looked at me after a few seconds and grunted the amount due. I don't usually complain to a higher power about crap service, I don't feel it's always taken seriously anyway so it's not worth the effort, but in this case the little shit had pissed me off so much with her blatant ignorance I sent an email of complaint to the manager. She never lasted long anyway, she'd gone within a fortnight. Huge surprise there.

I'm funny with my moods. Funny strange, not funny-haha. Well, most of the time I'm funny ha-ha to be honest...but not today. My new work colleagues all smoke and it started to drift into reception today. It affected me pretty bad and by the end of the day I was feeling like shite; my head felt like it weighed a tonne and I felt pretty drowsy. I picked the most emptiest looking till in Tesco and dumped my stuff down. This particular cashier was chatting merrily away to the guy in front of me - whose polite smile looked pretty strained to say the least. I did that London underground thing; avoid eye contact and stare down at shoes. Look grumpy. Surely people should notice a grumpy person and think "hmm, ok, they don't look like they want to talk today", but no, Tesco lady was totally oblivious. Bless her for being friendly, but she picked the wrong day. On a good day I would've chatted happily with her about how nice the weather was today, and that -yes- I can get excited about the new Tesco price-drop. But alas, all I could think as she talked at me was; "bitch.... just shut the fuck up, give me my chat magazine and my Philadelphia cheese, and let me go HOOOOOME"!