It's nearly show time!

Ok, so it's Friday tomorrow and I'm torn between whether to be excited or nervous. I've been very excited up till now, as it's suddenly dawned on me that after speaking to Mr Z for something like three weeks now, he may be a tad disappointed upon meeting me in person. I mean there's no reason why he should, I've only been myself so far - I haven't even curbed my swearing, and he seems to be happy with that. But you know how it is, women and their insecurities and all that. I suppose it's not going to be as bad as if it were a blind date, thanks to the modern craze of Social Networking we both know what each other looks like so it's not as if he's going to be shocked by my forked tongue and 666 scar on my forehead.

I'm so anxious for Friday to be here I actually packed my bag on Monday this week and all my stuff is at the door ready to be loaded into my car tomorrow! Although to be fair, as I'm not coming home before I fly to Dublin next Friday I'd say that was erring more on the cautious and sensible rather then the neurotic OCD. I've left a post-it note on my dashboard which reads "Don't forget your straighteners and make-up you dipshit"! as I have been in this situation before and, right now, I cannot afford to buy another collection of make-up - or a pair of hair straighteners!

I may or may not have a chance to Blog for the next few weeks, although if I ask Em nicely she might let me use her laptop. Well it's either that or I empty the contents of her cats bowl into the vegetarian dinner I plan to cook. In fact that's quite amusing so I might do it anyway.

I want all of you to think positive thoughts for me. Use this mantra - "Leigh Noble will finally find a decent guy without issues or alcohol-related problems." I will of course tell you absolutely everything on my return. Well, maybe not everything, I wouldn't want to embarrass the guy (unless it's a glowing report on his manhood, then I'm sure he won't mind). Hopefully I'll also be able to tell you I made loads of money at the car boot and be able to give you the link to our jewellery website, which should be up and running by Monday if all goes to plan. Blimey, all this excitement is enough to make me feel woozy! Oh and that's another thing - am definitely not getting hammered at the Jubilee party on Monday. No matter how great Mr Z might be, I'm pretty sure the sight of me hurling at the end of the evening will kill any glowing reports I might've planned...!

Have a fabulous Jubilee weekend! God Save the Queen an' all that shizzle!

Sing the blues

Excitement for things to come - growing. Worry for things to come - also growing. I'm so 50/50 at the moment I'm surprised I'm not growing a split personality. I think about the party, Dublin, starting a college course which won't cost me anything, and I get excited. Then I remember the reason I'm doing a course - can't get a job. I think about a member of my family who's in hospital at the moment, I think about my looming credit card bill, and so on. Even my bread is 50/50. The negativity outweighs the excitement at the moment and I'm in danger of becoming Alanis Morissette if I don't perk up soon.

For every good thing which occurs, I can't seem to shake off a little niggle on my shoulders telling me things like "It won't last" and "He's only being nice to get into your pants" and "It'll probably end up costing you double", etc, etc. Even the weather has turned shit now, it's like it's altering to suit my mood! I should cheer up if only to get rid of my white bits. 

The college course sounds good at least. If, after I've gained extra qualifications, I still can't get a job in this dead-end town, I am definitely upping sticks. I know the grass isn't always greener but as long as it doesn't turn a weird shade of brown then I think I'll be on the right track. There isn't anything in my life right now telling me I've got something to lose, so should an opportunity come up - I'll take it. So many times I've said I'll go for something and then changed my mind at the last minute, either afraid that change might not be good or me allowing something (or someone) to hold me back. This time I'm saying a big fat "bollocks" to my fears. I shall be a success, and I will be fabulous at being a success! This time next year you'll pick up a book in Waterstones, for your child, and it'll have my name on it. But not just my name - my best "Author's Pose" picture in the back of the book. You'll look at my name and say "Hey, she's the woman who also has her own successful jewellery website with her friend" (not out loud obviously, you'd look a bit mental). 

I've cheered up already!

The Waiting Game

I can't believe it's still only Monday! Why isn't it Friday yet??? Why does time always appear to stand still when you're looking forward to something?

Hopefully by Monday me and Em will have our jewellery and craft website set up. Em's been scouring the internet for ideas of craft items we could make and I've been scouring the car boot sales for items with which we can use to make the crafts! (I enjoy a more hands on approach. Oh yes I do). My Mums utility room is currently crammed with glassware and wicker baskets. We just need to come up with a trademark logo or design that would make us more distinctive from all the other designers out there at the moment. It's pretty exciting actually. We've both found a niche and are very much looking forward to whipping Cath Kidstons arse. Not literally.

It's a short one tonight as I begrudgingly got into a TV series called The Walking Dead (not to be confused with Big Brother spin off programme The Walking Deadbeats. Oh wait, that's not a programme is it? Hmm. Defo should be). This programme starts at 9pm and then the bombardment of excited text messages from Mr Z shall commence. I suppose I should find that weird, the fact he can get so excited over dead people eating live people, but I find it strangely endearing. Although I'll make sure I keep him well fed, just in case he gets any funny ideas.

Took the car in to be checked today and had to leave it overnight. I swear if there's anything wrong with it that would delay my trip on Friday I will go totally apeshit. Those zombies would have nothing on me - I'd be more bad-ass than they could ever dream to be! Think positive thoughts for me please Bloggers...!!!!

Pack up your troubles in your 3 big bags

Arrrgh! Excitement overload for the next few weeks!!! It's Sunday today and I'm not going away till Friday next week but I've already packed my bags. Is that a little premature? Aw hell I don't even care, I'm dang excited!!!! So excited in fact, I'm using Americanisms. I'm incredibly forgetful and shitting myself that I'll end up on the plane to Dublin and it'll suddenly hit me that I've left my hair straightners at home. Epic.....fail. I've made two separate lists, one for stuff to take to Ipswich and one for stuff to take to Dublin. Organised? Yes. Neurotic? Maybe. More stuff on list than I actually need? Definitely. When I stroll up to Emma and the Mexicans house on Friday they're gonna have a heart attack. A girl can never have enough clothes on holiday right?? I don't know what the weather will be like over the next few weeks and I don't know the dress codes of certain places we'll be going to! The one thing I can be sure of is that I have something very special packed especially for Mr Z..... *wink nudge*

I shall be going through the....jeez, at this point I have to say, a bumble bee the size of a freaking Raven just flew into the window I'm sitting in front of! Wow. Here comes summer. Sorry, just had to share that experience with you. Does it almost make you feel like you're here with me....? Anyhoo, I shall be going through a full MOT before I go away; I have waxings booked (ouch), my beautician cousin shall be spray painting me a delightful shade of Tango and also doing my nails, plus my hair is now officially black again. Times are good.

Friday night is date night. Well, not officially date night. Em, the Mexican, me and Mr Z are off to the flicks to watch a Johnny Depp film which Mr Z has assured me will be crap. Men just don't understand do they?! It's Johnny Depp. We don't care about the film. Besides, if it's shite then I'm pretty sure we could come up with our own form of "entertainment" *wink nudge* (why am I doing that??).

So I'm just tweaking the last of the party CD's, washing the last of the clothes I need to take, and bracing myself for waxing day. I just need to concerntrate on not losing my list, otherwise I'll lose my mind too!

Sun, Sex and Gussets

There are lots of little nuggets of advice I would give to people who would find them very useful; don't eat a yoghurt out in the garden if you can't tell the difference between a bit of fruit and a midge; don't trust a dog to jump up onto your lap if you can see tiny little spider legs hanging out of her mouth; don't reveal your feelings to a man until you've been married and settled down for at least five years - no matter how much he urges you to do so. But my important nugget of today (Ooo chicken nuggets, is anyone else thinking of chicken nuggets right now? No? Just me then...) is if you think SPF 40 will protect you from getting burnt - you will be wrong. Parts of my body are actually glowing. There was a time years ago when I couldn't catch the sun at all, and maybe that's either an indication of how bad the state of the ozone layer is, or maybe it's a sign from a higher power saying "Get out of the sun you fucking moron."

I'm having to avoid bra straps, as everytime I move my arms it feels like somebody's running a cheese grater along my shoulders. Still, am I the only one who gets a bit horny in the sunshine? I don't know what it is about the sun and a gorgeous hot day, but instead of sweating and suffocating - I'm getting hot under the collar! Well, if I were to be wearing a collar. I don't understand that expression. If "getting hot under the collar" is an expression used for people getting horny then surely it should more appropriately be "getting hot under the gusset"? I suppose that just isn't a particularly attractive thought. Exercise does the same to me. I don't mean strenuous exercise or having a go at the gym treadmill - I'd be thrown out and have my memberhip revoked if I were to get horny at the gym, but stuff like stretching. I think it's because it sets the blood flowing, and I sure know where the blood flows to when I get stretching! I guess I should sit behind Mr Lycra "ballbags" Pants at my yoga class - the sight of his sack and crack is enough to kill any sexual stirrings.

Of course it could very well be because I've turned into a nun (not literally, I just meant it's been a looooooooooooooooooong time. I don't actually believe nun's don't have sex at some point, how could you abstain from sex for life???). I see sexual innuendos in everything at the moment, although I do try to refrain from saying them out loud as I don't want to be banished to the "Carry On" vault. Thankfully I'm in no danger of developing a Sid James style laugh just yet. As much as I would like to throw off my habit (the nun's habit, not my bad habit) and take advantage of the next poor unsuspecting soul to enter my dating world (although I don't think Mr Z is unsuspecting at this point!) I would still like to declare that I am an honourable woman. You will at least buy me dinner first. Then I will allow you to take advantage and release the beast. In a ladylike fashion.

I'm now off to sit in the fridge for a few hours. My last word? Ouch.

Blah blah whatever

Having a "meh" moment. God knows why, I had a good morning at Hemsby with my mate, doing a bit of bargain hunting at the car boot - always a favourite. It was nice seeing Kate as I don't get to see her often and her little baby boy was nothing short of angelic - the only noise he made all morning was laughter. That's the kind of child I like! Came back home, caught a few more rays (burns), then went to a job interview. Ah. There it is.

There's something about job interviews that make me feel like I've just been caught shoplifting and must endure interrogation. Sometimes they give you this look of pity and I know it's probably because although I'm making a great effort to answer all their questions with fantastic answers they've already chosen someone for the job and they're just humouring me. Then there are the other kind of interviewers who look at you like you're on trial for murder. The one question I think it's pretty ridiculous to ask interviewees is; "Why did you apply for this job"? If it were for a major corporation, or somewhere really exciting like Disneyworld, or Pinewood Studios, I'd understand, because people specifically apply for them because they're fun to work for! (well, maybe with the exception of Disneyland in Paris at the moment!). Plus a major corporation could mean big bucks. But an office administrator position? Receptionist for the local physiotherapy unit? Why would I want to apply for the job....? Because I need money. "Well actually I have no fucking interest in your recent sales figures/patients attended to in the last year, I just need to pay my fucking credit card bill."

The interview at my last job was great - she searched for me on Facebook and found we had a mutual friend! We spent half an hour talking about how crazy our mutual friend is and how funny she gets when she's rat-arsed. I totally pissed it. Best interview ever! But for every (rare) interview like that, you get a hundred nasty ones where they ask you trick questions or ask you for an example of "when was the last time you had to deal with an awkward customer"? Of course I can't say "Well the last time I had to deal with an awkward customer I 'accidently' deleted their customer record and called them c*unt while their back was turned". I'm very good in interviews, but I hate them. I dread them. Now I know that no matter how well I'd do in that job, all it takes is for someone else to have an extra year of experience than me, or a better accent than me, or even just being better looking. I truly believe that some employers pick their candidates on a "eeny meeny miney mo" basis.

But aside from the boring subject of work (that I've just spent two paragraphs talking about!) I am pleased to update you with the latest on Mr Z. He rang yesterday and we chatted and, although he may have been ever-so-slightly inebriated (not impressed) I was hugely impressed to hear that he didn't have a Suffolk accent. HOORAH! It's a very important factor to me, what with my family all from "dahhhn Sarf", that I don't pick a boyfriend (pick a boyfriend? Like I have a choice!) with a strong accent. I come from a long line of piss-takers, it would be excruciating. I'd also actually like to add here that I use the word "boyfriend" rather loosely, given the fact that we haven't actually met yet. What do I call him at the moment? I'm not sure there's a name. Potential love interest? Oops, shit, I retract the word "love", I know how some blokes shit themselves over that. This is the thing I always have trouble with when it's still quite casual, do we see other people in the meantime (not that I have options!) or do we treat it as if we could be going out so therefore am kinda seeing each other? But not. Not seeing each other that is. Coz we haven't met. Oh dear god it hurts. I'm off to take a headache pill....and in the meantime maybe Mr Z can decide. Or not. Whatever.

Feeling Hot Hot Hot

I'm now going to hold my hand up and say: I'm an idiot. For the last few days we've been blessed with unusually hot weather, and the sun has been "Scorchio" degrees. I sat out all morning yesterday - minus sun cream - thinking "well it's hot but I probably won't catch the sun". My ruby red chest tells me otherwise. Not one to be deterred by simple things like third degree burns, I went out again today and finished off the white bits from yesterday. I actually put sun cream on today though. Now I'm half red and half pink. Lovely.

I think it's a British thing. We very rarely see the sun through all the rain clouds, so when we finally get a peep of it we deck out our garden with sun loungers and towels, we dust off the garden table out from the back of the shed, and Mum gets the parasol out for when the heat gets too much for her. Dad's are lookingly at the skies, grasping that burger flipper in their hands and standing poised ready to fly outside to the BBQ the minute the sun rises. At the end of a nice sunny day you can see bright red, sweaty British tourists flooding back to the car from the beach, hobbling along with sand in their flip flops, clattering along with buckets and spades, and little Tommy still crying over his dinghy which got swept away in that pesky tide that came out of nowhere. You know what I hate about kids on the beach...? Kids on the beach. They have signs for people with dogs saying "Please Pick Up Your Mess", why can't there be a sign for people with children saying...."Please Pick Up Your Mess". I've seen more kids dropping their lolly wrappers and pissing in the sand then I've seen dogs shitting on the beach. And please, for the love of God, when your kid has a snotty nose - please wipe it! There's nothing more off-putting when you're eating your chips then catching sight of a kid with sand stuck to their facial snot.

I think the most disturbing thing for me, in the summer, is when everybody starts stripping off in public. Now before you start thinking, heck I wouldn't mind that! Just remember this - have you ever seen anyone other than people over 20 stone and people over the age of 50 stripping off on your local beach...? If you have than I can assure you that you are the minority! There's something about the sunny weather that makes extremely unattractive people think that stripping off in front of other people is completely acceptable. On the beach - fine, if you really have to. But please use several wind-breakers that we don't have to look at you. I see young chavs walking through the town with their tops tied around their waist and dirty chavvy girls walking through town in just tracksuit bottoms and their bras. I'm no prude, but who could even think about walking into a shop in just their bra?? At least I had the dignity to sunbathe in my own garden where nobody could see my white bits!

So now I'm sitting here, feeling just a teensy weensy bit woozy and wishing I could stop being British for just a moment and be sensible enough to sit under a parasol and have a break from the sun rays eating away at my delicate English skin. I think an overnight break would be just enough time before the next sun session...? Yes that sounds reasonable to me.

Diary window: Unavailable

Got a busy few months coming up. Always the way when I have no cashflow. Very much looking forward to a Jubilee party at friends house next month - obligatory fancy dress code of course! A British theme (obvs). I figured I'd be different and go as the anti-establishment: Punk! Got a t-shirt I'll be customising and a little red kilt with ripped fishnet stockings (at the request of a certain Mr Z - who I will be blaming if my legs get cold). My next step would be to find a pair of old Doc Martin boots, preferably a lot less than the prices they're going for on eBay! Regardless of whether or not I'll complete my outfit, I'm looking forward to the party. I'll admit, half the reason I'm looking forward to it is because I get to meet this rather tasty, zombie-obsessed freak. I've been assured he's a decent guy, so I'll allow myself to become interested.

My relationships are usually doomed to fail almost right at the beginning. I put it down to the fact that I unknowingly date douchebags. I'm not gonna harp on about "all men are arseholes" because it's quite boring to read - and I may lose my male fanbase! But it would be nice to meet an honest man, for once. A man who knows what he wants and a man who isn't full to the brim of emotional issues. I guess some might think I myself could be classed as having emotional issues, but I see it in that I don't let my previous relationships hang around as my "issues", but rather as my "life lessons". On the odd occasion I might try to analyse a boyfriends text, without even realising I'm doing it. "Why hasn't he texted?? He usually texts me every day but now I haven't heard anything at all!!" I'll go back and look at previous texts to see if I've said anything that might've freaked him out. We all do it. Don't pretend you dont. Why hasn't he texted....? Because he's busy! Or maybe, just maybe, you actually aren't the most important issue in his life right at this moment. It may seem incredulous to think that anything else would be more important than you, but this may often be the case. At least until he's gotten to know you a bit better, then of course he'll realise you're the most amazing thing in the world.
But now I've reached the point where I realise it's pointless worrying about shit like that. I'll still stress a bit, it's hard not to, but not out loud. I remain ever hopeful that there is a man out there somewhere who'll want to treat me as I should be treated - like a human being, with feelings! I'd like to have fun, and eventually get serious. Who knows what lies around the corner?? But....I digress.

So the Jubilee party is cause for excitement and I look forward to friends, alcohol, food (don't tell anybody but food would actually be my first priority) and zombie freaks. Well, just the one zombie freak :-)

Also on the agenda; my free trip to Dublin! Yes I finally got the date from Heart FM and I, together with my cousin, am sailing the seas (well, flying the skies actually) to the Emerald Isle next month following the party. I'm so excited, and I can understand how people really can piss themselves with excitement. I will of course be mildly drunk every evening and fall over in hysterics every time somebody says "would you like a cup'o'tea"? Or "Arse" or "ya fecking eejit". Damn Father Ted. Oh it'll be grand! Then, literally a few days after I get back I'll be off to Alton Towers with Emma and The Mexican. Yep, I'm a right "jet setter"!

I'm pretty sure there'll be lots to talk about in my Blog following the party, but most of all I just hope that Mr Z doesn't end up being a Mr D......!

Hit the road jack

Back to career pondering again. I saw a careers advisor yesterday and we talked about the fact that I'm not interested in a normal 9-5. I said I love writing, whether it's my Blog or writing short stories for kids, I enjoy it and I think I'm quite good at it. I've got about six stories sitting under my bed that I could easily make into a few books. She emphasised that becoming a journalist or writer would be a long and hard slog, and that I'd probably have to work for free just to get a foot in the door. Work for free! I begrudge having to work at all, let alone for free! But if that's what it takes to keep me out of staff holiday rotas, filing customer complaints (in the bin) and inputting the latest sales figures - then so be it.

The only tiny little thing that worries me is the upping sticks part. Obviously I cannot possibly forge a successful career in Lowestoft, if anybody has been to Lowestoft or lived there they'll know what I mean. I'm always worried about taking big leaps - I moved to Wales to be with a boyfriend in 2002 and lasted three years of misery and lonliness (and Welsh people) before admitting defeat and moving back home. I would only do something like that again for the chance of a good future, but never again for a man! I have an Uncle in his seventies who lives in Ilford and a cousin who lives in, what I call, "Millionaires Row" near Epping. So, if they agreed to let me stay a while, my choice would be; stay with Uncle and never be able to bring a guy home, or stay with cousin and sink into debt paying the rent. I reckon the debt thing sounds more bearable than never getting laid, quite frankly.

I did wonder if it'd be worth my while lodging with strangers, but I think that's a big no no. I'm very fussy and very paranoid. If I get stuck with somebody who's dirty and untidy I'd end up beating them to death with the rubbish bin lid. Or I could end up with a thief, or a pervert who wears my knickers when I'm not at home. Or an axe murderer. Or worse....someone who eats my food! I once read about a woman who re-filled her mayonnaise bottle with copydex, a sly (and pretty dangerous!) way of catching the culprit who was stealing her mayo. Knowing how forgetful I am, I would probably do something like that then forget I'd done it and end up being the first person to eat it.

My ex-housemate & workmate lived in the room above mine in a house we shared with a fellow workmate. I used to dread it when he had a girlfriend because each time he bought her home they'd keep me awake boinking all night. The noises were unbearable. Every time they'd start I'd be praying for him to suffer at least one night of erectile dysfunction - or for her to accidently fall off his willy on an unusual angle and render him "unfit for work". I love him to bits, we still keep in contact, but I'm sure if he reads this he'll understand. Leigh Anne cherishes her sleep - minus the moans and squeeking from upstairs!

So, back to the career thing! I've got lots to work with and plenty of ideas. All I need to do is put this ingenius plan in action: I'm winging it.

One foot in the grave

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Dead Romantic

I had decided last week to stop watching "feel good" films, as they almost always feature a man and woman falling madly in love - living happily ever after. Yeah whatever. I don't know who made up the term "feel good" film, but he or she was clearly neither single nor married. From what I've seen and heard I gather the bit at the beginning of a blooming romance is the best part to be at; meet someone, be all fun and romantic, enjoy those first few dates where the guy always pays (if you're lucky enough to meet someone who isn't a tight-arse) and happy days all round. Even when you move in together it's fun and exciting. Until you find you're both working all hours under the sun, bills start dropping onto the mat and all of a sudden the romance is dead and you're starting to fantasise about your single days. That's the kinda film I like nowadays - true to life! Why do I want to watch a film about two people swooning and declaring their undying love?? Maybe when I'm in the same situation for real I'll appreciate them a bit more, instead of feeling bitter that I don't have somebody swooning over me! (well, guys don't "swoon" do they? What do guys do? Ah yes, wank).

I think my friend Emma must've felt my "I need a man" vibes, because she just so happened to text me on Sunday about a male friend of hers who had expressed an interest in a photo of myself on Facebook. Disturbingly, I was dressed as a zombie for Halloween in the photo. I'm not really too sure how to feel about it. Do I take it as a compliment that the guy finds me attractive dressed as a dead person? I've never dated a Necrofiliac before but with my past record I'm pretty sure I've dated worse.

So anyway, this guy - let's call him Mr Z - texted me after I'd given Em permission to pass my number on (clearly the zombie thing didn't disturb me that much) and we've been texting each other since. It's very difficult to get a real opinion of a bloke through just texting, but I get that he's very open and honest and that, despite his obvious boner for zombies, we could probably get on quite well. The fact that he is extremely gorgeous is completely besides the point of course. I'll be meeting him next month so I'm really keeping my fingers crossed for a non-fucktard. I reckon I've had enough dickheads by now...? He might not even like me at all when he meets me in person. I'll try not to drink too much just in case I do "crying drunk" as opposed to my "happy drunk". I absolutely will NOT mix my drinks - passing out in a pool of vomit = not sexy.

If all else fails I guess I could always cover myself in blood and try to eat him. *sigh* The things I do for love.....

Working 9 till 5....what a way to make a living

I woke up today with sunburnt arms from yesterday's garden lounging thinking "Yes! Another day to top up my burns"! Alas, it was not to be. In true English weather style, it's not stopped raining since this morning. In 24 hours we've gone from strapless-top sunbathing to double layers and stick the heating on. Bummer.

However, I shall not let it get me down. Ok so I can't carry on with my gardening (yes that's right I did say gardening: hanging baskets, flower troughs and vegetable patches, I'm turning into a right little Miss Greenfingers!), but I will use the opportunity to play on my Wii and read that new book I've been meaning to read. Or maybe I'll use the spare time to do something productive like making some jewellery, walking my brother's little rat dog, write a few more stories, etc.

Nah. Wii it is.

I signed up to a short, business admin course today. I have many years experience of brain dead admin work, but I just don't have the official Brain Dead Admin Work qualification. How could I possibly even think about entering into a mind-numbing job sitting in front of a computer all day, typing words on to the screen and filing away paperwork without a piece of paper saying I'm mentally able to do so??? (gee, I hope my sarcasm isn't showing through too much here...) Perish the thought. I can't believe the job market has become so competitive that I need a qualification saying I can type. I've been doing it quite successfully for over ten years, is that not proof enough?

Anyway, the course isn't costing me anything and it'll put a little something extra on my CV. When careers advisors ask me what it is I'd like to do in life and I reply with "find and marry a rich, dying old man and wait for him to snuff it so I'll never have to work again" they chuckle pleasantly, as if they think I'm joking. Compare that to sitting at a desk crunching numbers from 9am till 5pm along with all the other sheep, I believe it's preferable. So what if I have to - on the odd occassion when the Rohypnol I've slipped into his Horlicks wears off - play a game of "hide the wrinkly sausage"? It's still bearable compared to doing a dull, repetative desk job every day and wishing I could be somewhere else. Maybe I'll slip myself some of that Rohypnol so I can sleep through the whole event. See, there's a silver lining to every cloud.

No Pain No Gain

Women who've given birth say that it's the most painful thing they've ever experienced. They've clearly never tried Power Yoga. My stomach muscles ache, my legs ache, my arms ache....even my fingertips ache! My butt hurts most of all, due to those stupid squatting positions! I'm walking like a male prostitute after an all-night, 13 man gang-bang because of the "Crouching Tiger" position. Just in case any of you are thinking it sounds like the making of a good sex position, let me assure you there is nothing sexual whatsoever about a woman in lycra with a red, sweating face, crouching in position looking as if she's taking a very painful dump.

The teacher, Suzi, assured me it'd only take 4 sessions before I stop feeling any pain in the days following a class. I think it'll take up to 4 sessions just for this pain from the initial session to subside! For all my sins, I will go back next week - just because I don't like to be beaten (well, that and the wake-up call from my bathroom scales this morning). Some of the women in that class could bend into positions I never dreamed were humanly possible. In fact, I'm pretty sure those women are sub-human. A couple of them needn't even have much use for a man in their lives....if you know what I mean.

Suzi had bought a strange little miniature dog with her to class, whose actions were a welcome source of light entertainment for me in the face of burning agony. As I bent myself into the "Flying Warrior" position, trying not to fall flat on my face, I watched her potter around on her little mat. She watched us intently for a minute or two, head cocked on one side as if trying to work out why all those people were putting themselves through it, then looked at the floor - almost sympathetically - and turned around to crawl into Suzi's handbag, promptly falling asleep. I don't blame you, I thought. Aren't we silly sadist humans!


On a slightly different note; I would like to mention my friend Kristen who, together with her hubby, is emmigrating back to her home town in the US next week.

I used to work for a local radio station, which is part of a big group of radio stations called Tindle Radio. Kristen worked for Tindle at HQ and it's her last day today. Kristen has spent a large majority of her time tidying up other peoples shit (metaphorically speaking), not to mention taking lots of shit from people (again, just a metaphor...she's American, not German). I would like to take this opportunity, because god forbid I would admit to her face how fabulous she is, to say "Thank You Kristen", for all the times you helped me (ok, all the times you bailed me out). Your patience is something I can only marvel at and I aspire to have some of that said patience one day. I know leaving your job is going to be scary, but I'm positive you'll find a job in no time at all. Remember, you have the ability to be anything you want....and if it doesn't work out - you've always got Hooters. Good Luck and Honk Honk.

Now piss off back to where you came from you ole brass.

Let's Get Physical

Here's a really good joke for all you people reading this who know me; I've signed up to "Power Yoga Plus" and "Zumba" classes. Hilarious! I'm kind of dreading it, but a little bit looking forward to it too. More so the Power Yoga than the Zumba - the Zumba class will undoubtedly end in me being thrown out for landing most of the class attendees in A & E through my terrible lack of coordination. A word of warning for my fellow "keep fitters": stay away from my flailing arms! They have the power to take you out!

My excuse for not using the cross trainer that's been in the garage for nearly two years has changed from - "I'll catch a cold in that garage because the weather's so freezing" to - "Spider webs have formed over it and I have a phobia of spiders". Mum has now cleared the spider webs and I've run out of excuses. I suppose I could still use the cold weather excuse. I was bought a Wii Fit at Christmas, from my then boyfriend who had a lounge big enough for me to use it in. Unfortunately I cannot use the Wii Fit now as we broke up in January and my parents refuse to have it set up in the lounge in case I lob a controller through the telly whilst overly exerting myself kicking ass on Pirates of the Carribean (she has witnessed me in previous years throwing computer controllers at the wall in anger after losing a game. There's nothing more annoying then getting to the last level on Crash Bandicoot 2, dying, then getting the Game Over message as it dawns on you that you forgot to save it previously). So I really do have a genuine excuse for not using the Wii Fit. I've set it up in our spare room and can just about have enough room to play some of the sports games (although I've stopped playing them since they concurred my "Fitness Age" was that of a 71 year old).

I've been told that Zumba is fairly similar to Salsa. Now I used to go to Salsa lessons every week and if there's one thing I've learnt it's that there are lot's of very desperate middle-aged men who think Salsa classes are a great way to pull birds. I remember at least three guys trying it on with me, I think I was about 21 or 22 at the time, and I can safely say I did not find my Prince Charming! One of them must've been in his mid-forties, he had a mullet haircut with blonde highlights, wore tight leather trousers (I swear I'm not lying!) and a punk rock t-shirt with a long black leather jacket which had....wait for it......leopard print lining! Oh yeah I know how to pull the tasty blokes! I think the guy was trying to eminate Rod Stewart during his "Dya Think I'm Sexy" phase, but instead actually eminated what Sid Vicious might've looked like had he lived to middle age after a failed carer in porn.

The lady who runs the Power Yoga Plus classes assured me over the phone that I would not be the unfittest person at the class. I don't think she quite realises to what degree my level of unfitness actually is. I get palpitations just looking at a flight of stairs. When somebody suggests going together to the local gym, I'm wondering of the sports centre cafe would be open for chips afterwards. I swear I've forgotten how to run. I'm concerned I may get to this class and be forced into a position I will be unable to move out of. The lady said a few of the people in her class have "jokingly" called her Mrs Hitler, because of how tough she is. Great, you're really selling this class to me! If the Yoga really is that tough I'll probably be begging Mrs Hitler to send me to the gas chamber rather than having to remain balancing on one leg with my back arched and my arms above my head.....! Wish me luck!

All bets are off....

I went to Great Yarmouth Dog Stadium yesterday with some friends. No I'm not talking about the local shopping mall, I mean the actual stadium. I'm not a gambler, except for the odd lottery ticket, but I've never been before so I thought "why not"?

There is a very good reason why I don't gamble; I am a very sore loser. The thrill of winning is exciting - exhilerating even. But if I don't win: keep your distance from me and don't say a word until I've made it clear it's safe to talk to me. It's not just hard core gambling that winds me up - it's board games, fruit machines, even the 2p slot machines at the arcades. I will keep pumping those coins until a huge wad of coppers has fallen into that little stainless steel tray. Not that I want to take a mound of 2p's home with me of course....I'll just swap them in for a mound of 10p's and spend them on the toy grabber instead.

I don't have an addictive personality - after losing on 9 out of 10 races I decided to call it a night. I don't feel the need to go to the bookies every day and check up on the betting odds. However, if I win anything up to a fiver on the scratchcards I just go back and buy more with the money. I think it's fairly reasonable tactics. Anything extra on top of the £1.00 I've spent on the card is an unexpected bonus so spending it would mean nothing to me. I'd rather gamble with £2.00 and possibly end up winning £2,000 then go away with £2.00 which I'd spend on shit anyway. I could buy much better quality shit with two grand.

Betting odds and tactics were discussed last night, which I think is bollocks anyway. On one race two of the dogs I'd bet on were tipped to win. They came 4th and 5th out of 6. Again, I looked at the odds for the other races and most of the favourites came nowhere near. This could of course be a total con to get people losing their money, but if it was genuine then that just goes to show that gambling is a mugs game. I've yet to meet a rich gambler, but then maybe I haven't travelled far and wide enough. Have you ever met a rich gambler...?

One other thing I have to get off my chest, which some of you may not agree with, but......parents will you please leave your f**king children at home when you go out of an evening???!!! I don't think taking young children to a place where grown-ups are gambling away their wages/pension/mortgage is particularly appropriate. In fact I'd say it was setting a pretty bad example. Or maybe not?? Maybe it's useful for children to watch their college fund dwindle away on "Wednesday Wacker" on track 3. It might help them see that gambling is bad. But it is also a good point to prove that grown men do actually cry.....!