The Olympics. Oh how I couldn't give a flying relay baton about the Olympics. I know it's been a world-wide tradition since 700-odd BC, but it's nowhere near as exciting as it used to be - if history is correct. For a start, the Ancient Greeks would play the games completely naked. Now, this instantly improves my opinion of the Olympics by at least 50%. The comedy value of watching the naked mens hurdles, willies flapping up and down, is far greater than the supposed enjoyment of watching men jumping over stiles in boring old lycra.
The Olympics of the early centuries was brutal. Bring back chariot racing!! How many people actually sit and watch the rowing and cycling...? I find it incredibly dull. Plus, as you know, I'm not a great fan of cyclists.
I'm also annoyed by the disruptiveness the games are causing. Imagine those people working in London being held up because one of the runners decides to take a sprint down the local McDonalds. I don't understand why they should get right of way to people trying to get to work. Of course I know an athlete wouldn't want to go to McDonalds before the games, but you know what I mean. Maybe I should've said Yo! Sushi.
The opening ceremony last night lasted over three hours. Instead of watching a DVD together as planned, Mr Z decided to watch the entire ceremony instead. More disruption! "It's a once in a lifetime opportunity to watch this"! people cry. No it's not. BBC will be ramming it down our throats once the Olympics is finished between then and the end of time. Plus there's always You Tube. I watched the first ten minutes just to be sociable, as everybody else in the house were watching. I think it was a good idea to tell a bit of the history of Great Britain, I do love history; the suffragettes, the industrial revolution, the men fighting for our country in WWI & II, but I'd've rather seen it done in a slightly less pretentious way. What the hell was all that waving and swaying about?? Considering the man who put it together was the same guy who made a film about junkies and a drug addict sifting through human faeces to get to his ecstacy tablet, I was rather disappointed by the wetness of it all. It was boosted to pretentiousness of epic proportions when Kenneth "can't direct a movie without starring in it" Brannagh came strolling out into the field quoting Shakespeare. No doubt ole Ken will have a permanent erection all week following his starring performance. I'll admit the set was pretty impressive, but the cost of the performance slightly dampened my enthusiasm. £42 million is the estimated cost of the ceremony. Not to mention £400 million for "building consultants". All in all the estimated cost is between £5 and £20 billion. So Great Britain is skint is it..? I'm so glad we were able to put all those people out of work, and even more ecstatic that nurses and the like are being handed pay cuts, just so we could stage sports in London and attempt to win sports we've always been shit at. That's not impressive, that's just sickening.
The English are crap at pretty much most sports, so why are people getting excited that we now have an even bigger choice at stuff to be crap at? I do hope "Team GB" win a few golds (silver and bronze are bullshit, if you don't come first you've lost. Why take a consolation price to show you're not quite good enough??), but I might get bored hearing about it for the next forty years, as we have been since England won the World Cup in 1966. 1966!!!
The one thing I'm happy about in regards to the Olympics is that it's disrupting the schedule of Eastenders and BBC3 programmes. Even I prefer sports to terrible acting and programmes about pikeys and chavvy women in labour. Well done and thank you on that account BBC!
Saturday 28 July 2012
Thursday 26 July 2012
Rest and Retreat
I've had a few days off work this week as Em very kindly invited me to be her plus one at Clarice House Spa in Bury St Edmunds. We arrived there yesterday around midday and decided to hit the pool rightaway. After about 15 minutes of attempting to squeeze myself into my tummy-control swimming cozzie (don't believe a word of what they say, it controls absolutely nothing!) I was hot and flustered and ready to get pool-side. It felt rather strange walking around in public wearing the dressing gown and complimentary slippers. Not that it was an unusual sight, everybody else was wearing the same attire. Would've looked a bit weird popping down to Tesco Express though. Mind you, boxers walk out into large crowds wearing their dressing gowns, so maybe it wouldn't have looked so weird after all.
So we flip-flopped down to the pool and was greeted by friendly staff, dumped our stuff into the locker and enjoyed a nice little swim for a while. Well I say swim, we mostly floated. And chatted. And made fun of men in stupid speedoes. I did swim two lengths though! I felt like my lungs were packing up, but at least I did it. I know this is a terrible thing to say, but one of the good things about going to swimming pools and beaches is that you always see a few people who make you feel grateful for the size of your own body. It could be a hell of a lot worse!
After our dip in the pool and our lounge in the jacuzzi, and all of sixty seconds in the steam room (Em found it a tad hard to breathe, bless'er), we headed to our room to chill for an hour before our treatments. The room was fabulous! I highly recommend this place to anybody thinking of booking a spa break. We watched telly for a bit, got pissed off by a huge June bug and spent about ten minutes trying to kill the big fecker. A cushion eventually took him to his death, just in case you were wondering.
Time came for our treatments and we meandered down to the salon to await our calling. The therapists come out with big clipboards and call your name, you then follow them down a dark corridor and are led into an even darker room. I've never actually been to a brothel before, but I'd imagine that's probably what it'd be like. But with whale music.
I was booked in for a Swedish back and shoulder massage. Just writing that makes my back hurt thinking about it. There were certain parts that hurt - a lot! I think it may be because I was tensing up, but all the same - it hurt! Today I feel like I've been kicked repeatedly between the shoulder blades. I'm sure I'll be fine and sprightly in a few days time though. There were also certain massaging techniques that I liked. A lot. I hesitated a bit over whether or not I should admit this but sod it, I'll just say it: it made me horny. I memorised the move so that I could show Mr Z exactly what to do. *ahem*.
We had some fabulous A La Carte food, although when the starter turned up I was tempted to ask the waitress if she'd eaten some of my food on the way to the table. A La Carte food is very sparse! It was very nice though, even if there was something on my plate which looked like a giant sperm. The mains made up for the (lack of) starter, it was gorgeous, and very rich. Our break included breakfast the next day (another posh A La Carte choice!) and lunch at midday. Both rather lovely. We took a stroll around Bury St Edmunds after we checked out, to do a bit of shopping. Mr Z has a gig on Saturday and I really want to buy something new to wear. He's seen pretty much all my nice stuff already and I want him to look at me from the stage and feel glad he's taking me home instead of anyone else there that night. I have no worry about him having wandering thoughts, but the little insecurities inside of me still want to make sure I look good at all times!
The one thing I can guarantee for sure is that I shall be smiling through the back pain!
So we flip-flopped down to the pool and was greeted by friendly staff, dumped our stuff into the locker and enjoyed a nice little swim for a while. Well I say swim, we mostly floated. And chatted. And made fun of men in stupid speedoes. I did swim two lengths though! I felt like my lungs were packing up, but at least I did it. I know this is a terrible thing to say, but one of the good things about going to swimming pools and beaches is that you always see a few people who make you feel grateful for the size of your own body. It could be a hell of a lot worse!
After our dip in the pool and our lounge in the jacuzzi, and all of sixty seconds in the steam room (Em found it a tad hard to breathe, bless'er), we headed to our room to chill for an hour before our treatments. The room was fabulous! I highly recommend this place to anybody thinking of booking a spa break. We watched telly for a bit, got pissed off by a huge June bug and spent about ten minutes trying to kill the big fecker. A cushion eventually took him to his death, just in case you were wondering.
Time came for our treatments and we meandered down to the salon to await our calling. The therapists come out with big clipboards and call your name, you then follow them down a dark corridor and are led into an even darker room. I've never actually been to a brothel before, but I'd imagine that's probably what it'd be like. But with whale music.
I was booked in for a Swedish back and shoulder massage. Just writing that makes my back hurt thinking about it. There were certain parts that hurt - a lot! I think it may be because I was tensing up, but all the same - it hurt! Today I feel like I've been kicked repeatedly between the shoulder blades. I'm sure I'll be fine and sprightly in a few days time though. There were also certain massaging techniques that I liked. A lot. I hesitated a bit over whether or not I should admit this but sod it, I'll just say it: it made me horny. I memorised the move so that I could show Mr Z exactly what to do. *ahem*.
We had some fabulous A La Carte food, although when the starter turned up I was tempted to ask the waitress if she'd eaten some of my food on the way to the table. A La Carte food is very sparse! It was very nice though, even if there was something on my plate which looked like a giant sperm. The mains made up for the (lack of) starter, it was gorgeous, and very rich. Our break included breakfast the next day (another posh A La Carte choice!) and lunch at midday. Both rather lovely. We took a stroll around Bury St Edmunds after we checked out, to do a bit of shopping. Mr Z has a gig on Saturday and I really want to buy something new to wear. He's seen pretty much all my nice stuff already and I want him to look at me from the stage and feel glad he's taking me home instead of anyone else there that night. I have no worry about him having wandering thoughts, but the little insecurities inside of me still want to make sure I look good at all times!
The one thing I can guarantee for sure is that I shall be smiling through the back pain!
Tuesday 17 July 2012
The end is nigh. Bring my mascara......
After watching The Walking Dead last night it got me thinking as to what I would save if I had to flee across the country. Those essential things I couldn't possibly live without should a zombie apocolypse commence suddenly. Quite a tough decision considering the volume of essentials the modern day woman has in her ownership.
Obviously my closest family would be the first people I'd check on and encourage to join me. Parents, brother, brothers girlfriend and my soon-to-be niece. I'd like to say cousins too but quite frankly, I have too many. They will have to save themselves and meet up with us a safe and convinient time (I've thought about this long and hard as you can probably tell). Mr Z is a definite essential on my "To Save" list, not just because he's my man, but also due to the fact he's probably seen every zombie movie and every zombie TV programme ever created so therefore would have more than a few survival tips up his sleeve. I'm confident that if this apocolypse should ever happen, Mr Z would probably be the last surviving human being - possibly along with Emma's fella "The Mexican", as he is equally enthused with zombies.
So after the close family and boyfriend (I would attempt the best friends but they'd probably be too busy saving their own. I'd like to think that with the Mexican guiding Em and her family, they'd survive long enough to meet up with us at a safe location at some point), my thoughts turn to beauty essentials. Obvs. Initially I thought, whoa...must save the straighteners, then I realised the worlds power supply would probably be down so it'd be fruitless trying to salvage my kinky tresses. So to compensate for the fact that I will have permanently shit hair during this apocolypse, I realised the most important thing to save would be my make-up bag. With make up in it of course. My make up essentials will become vitally essential! I know it may seem a bit silly to be worrying about something so "trivial" as looking pretty - whilst my neighbours and friends are trying to rip out my internal organs and eat my brains, but the whole world going to pot is no excuse for neglecting your beauty routine. Fact.
Whilst I'm on the subject of beauty essentials, I would have to ensure that I have cold waxing strips with me. The last thing my boyfriend wants to deal with at this traumatic time is having a girlfriend with a bikini line that resembles a baby Chewbacca.
Obviously my closest family would be the first people I'd check on and encourage to join me. Parents, brother, brothers girlfriend and my soon-to-be niece. I'd like to say cousins too but quite frankly, I have too many. They will have to save themselves and meet up with us a safe and convinient time (I've thought about this long and hard as you can probably tell). Mr Z is a definite essential on my "To Save" list, not just because he's my man, but also due to the fact he's probably seen every zombie movie and every zombie TV programme ever created so therefore would have more than a few survival tips up his sleeve. I'm confident that if this apocolypse should ever happen, Mr Z would probably be the last surviving human being - possibly along with Emma's fella "The Mexican", as he is equally enthused with zombies.
So after the close family and boyfriend (I would attempt the best friends but they'd probably be too busy saving their own. I'd like to think that with the Mexican guiding Em and her family, they'd survive long enough to meet up with us at a safe location at some point), my thoughts turn to beauty essentials. Obvs. Initially I thought, whoa...must save the straighteners, then I realised the worlds power supply would probably be down so it'd be fruitless trying to salvage my kinky tresses. So to compensate for the fact that I will have permanently shit hair during this apocolypse, I realised the most important thing to save would be my make-up bag. With make up in it of course. My make up essentials will become vitally essential! I know it may seem a bit silly to be worrying about something so "trivial" as looking pretty - whilst my neighbours and friends are trying to rip out my internal organs and eat my brains, but the whole world going to pot is no excuse for neglecting your beauty routine. Fact.
Whilst I'm on the subject of beauty essentials, I would have to ensure that I have cold waxing strips with me. The last thing my boyfriend wants to deal with at this traumatic time is having a girlfriend with a bikini line that resembles a baby Chewbacca.
Saturday 14 July 2012
Meet The Parents
This weekend is the weekend my boyfriend meets my parents. I was very tempted to wind him up and describe my Dad as being similar to Bricktop in the film Snatch, maybe throw in a few made-up stories of ex-boyfriends being beaten to within an inch of their lives just for not holding doors open for me or something. A friend of mine does actually call my Dad Bricktop and I told this to Mr Z - who looked at my face desperately searching for a hint of humour. He really has nothing to worry about this weekend, other than to make sure he's as polite as he always is. In fact, he only needs to be himself and they'll like him straight away. But maybe I'll just wind him up a little anyway.
We were due to visit them today but unfortunately illness has struck. It's true what they say about blokes when they're ill, they turn into complete and utter wimps. Being the devoted and caring girlfriend that I am, I made him get out of bed to fetch me the laptop, just to prove that he isn't in fact disabled. I did make him a toasted sandwich though and I bought it up to him. See, I can be caring too! Sadly, he felt well enough to go downstairs for a dirty fag. I shouldn't complain too much really, I was ill last night and he played the dutiful caring boyfriend very well indeed.
We'll be venturing back to Lowestoft tomorrow, providing the illness has passed of course. I will have to go regardless, as Mr Z's birthday presents are sitting in my cupboard at my parents house. There aint no way I'm buying a second lot of presents!
I have to admit it is pretty nerve-wracking meeting your partners parents for the first time. I never worry too much about what people think of me, I am what I am and I can't change for anybody, but if a relationship works out to be a long term thing you really don't want to be spending the rest of your life bitching about the in-laws. Thankfully Mr Z's Mum and partner are pretty laid-back and I know where I stand with them - if I'm being a pain in the arse they will tell me so. I'm rather good at being a pain in the arse, so I think I've gotten away with it pretty well so far. His sister was my biggest worry; no matter how much siblings bicker, they always look out for each other one way or another. Mr Z's Mum told me if his sister didn't like someone she'd make it very obvious. Thanks Mrs Z, that really helps my nerves! Sisters judge their brother's partners a lot worse then Mothers do - trust me. Luckily we got on fine when we met, but that may be partly due to the fact that Mr Z's previous girlfriends were socially retarded (according to his sister). So at least I can rest easy in the fact that I'm ok - possibly only because I'm being compared to total numbskulls. Yippee.
I remember the first time I stayed over at Mr Z's, I didn't sleep a wink all night. I've been told I talk in my sleep, so what if I said something stupid, or even worse - mentioned another guys name! Or even worse...farted in my sleep! I had an epic belly ache the next morning as I spent the night tensing my gut to stop any *ahem*...excess breezage slipping out. Don't even get me started on using the toilet; what if he hears me peeing? To this day, over a month on, I still cannot perform "two-sies" in Mr Z's house. What if it didn't flush? You've seen Dumb and Dumber right..? I don't want a recreation of that bathroom scene, I'd never be able to show my face here again!
But I say all this, I don't really think Mr Z is all that nervous. If he is he's not showing it. If anyone should be nervous about him meeting my parents it's me....my Mother still has a large supply of my baby photos on display. Eek!
We were due to visit them today but unfortunately illness has struck. It's true what they say about blokes when they're ill, they turn into complete and utter wimps. Being the devoted and caring girlfriend that I am, I made him get out of bed to fetch me the laptop, just to prove that he isn't in fact disabled. I did make him a toasted sandwich though and I bought it up to him. See, I can be caring too! Sadly, he felt well enough to go downstairs for a dirty fag. I shouldn't complain too much really, I was ill last night and he played the dutiful caring boyfriend very well indeed.
We'll be venturing back to Lowestoft tomorrow, providing the illness has passed of course. I will have to go regardless, as Mr Z's birthday presents are sitting in my cupboard at my parents house. There aint no way I'm buying a second lot of presents!
I have to admit it is pretty nerve-wracking meeting your partners parents for the first time. I never worry too much about what people think of me, I am what I am and I can't change for anybody, but if a relationship works out to be a long term thing you really don't want to be spending the rest of your life bitching about the in-laws. Thankfully Mr Z's Mum and partner are pretty laid-back and I know where I stand with them - if I'm being a pain in the arse they will tell me so. I'm rather good at being a pain in the arse, so I think I've gotten away with it pretty well so far. His sister was my biggest worry; no matter how much siblings bicker, they always look out for each other one way or another. Mr Z's Mum told me if his sister didn't like someone she'd make it very obvious. Thanks Mrs Z, that really helps my nerves! Sisters judge their brother's partners a lot worse then Mothers do - trust me. Luckily we got on fine when we met, but that may be partly due to the fact that Mr Z's previous girlfriends were socially retarded (according to his sister). So at least I can rest easy in the fact that I'm ok - possibly only because I'm being compared to total numbskulls. Yippee.
I remember the first time I stayed over at Mr Z's, I didn't sleep a wink all night. I've been told I talk in my sleep, so what if I said something stupid, or even worse - mentioned another guys name! Or even worse...farted in my sleep! I had an epic belly ache the next morning as I spent the night tensing my gut to stop any *ahem*...excess breezage slipping out. Don't even get me started on using the toilet; what if he hears me peeing? To this day, over a month on, I still cannot perform "two-sies" in Mr Z's house. What if it didn't flush? You've seen Dumb and Dumber right..? I don't want a recreation of that bathroom scene, I'd never be able to show my face here again!
But I say all this, I don't really think Mr Z is all that nervous. If he is he's not showing it. If anyone should be nervous about him meeting my parents it's me....my Mother still has a large supply of my baby photos on display. Eek!
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