Why am I voting Remain?

So, It's been a while since I wrote, But I was prompted to write a post after being asked by a colleague, "Why are you voting Remain?!?" earlier today. Being the dyspraxic fool that I am, when I am put on the spot, my mind goes blank. I have many, many reasons for voting remain, but at that moment, I couldn't think of a single one.

However, I am lucky enough to be extremely good at communicating non-verbally, so, Dave, this is for you - my reasons (the important ones!) for voting remain - 

1) Economic stability

Everyone, on both sides of the debate, agrees that if we leave, there will be a recession. The debate is about how long there will be a recession for. A recession will affect everyone. Food prices will rise, wages will go down and jobs will become harder to get and harder to keep. The poor will become poorer and people will suffer. There is no guarantee how long it will last, and personally, I don't feel it is worth the risk.

2) Border Control

Border Control will be SRTONGER in the EU. If we leave, we will still have to have an open border police with the EU, just as Norway does, in order to maintain a trading agreement with the EU. We need the EU's trade - they are the people who trade with us most and if we lose that we will be even worse off.

3) EU Legislation

As I have previously mentioned, we will have to stick by the EU's rules in order to maintain a trading agreement - necessary for our economic wellbeing. This means that we will still have to abide by the EU's laws. the only difference is that we will no longer have a say in what rules and regulations are passed. Additionallly, in the eventuality that Turkey finally manages to pass all 35 conditions they need to enter into the EU (They've only passed ONE since 1987!) we will no longer be able to veto them. Just FYI, if we were to veto Turkey, that means that they cannot join the EU. all we would have to say is no. If we're not in the EU, we can't say no to Turkey, but we would still have to have open borders... See the problem?

4) Worker's Rights


The EU's laws protect things like holiday pay, sick pay, pensions, Maternity and Paternity pay, etc etc. While we are in the EU, our government cannot touch those things. The EU has raised our holiday allowance, raised our maternity leave allowance. The EU protects us, the workers.

5) The NHS

Currently the EU injects a huge number of workers into our NHS system. Without the EU we would not have enough Nurses, enough doctors, enough surgeons and consultants. Our own countrymen are not attracted to the profession due to poor wages and horrendous working hours. That shortage is filled by immigrants, immigrants that would leave if we were to leave the EU. This would result in a massive shortage and no one to fill the gaps.
On a side note, as EU citizens, we have the right to go to a specialist anywhere in the EU and be treated free of charge if our own country is unable to help us. Another thing that the EU provides us with.

6) Terrorism

Although we are not a weak and feeble little country with no friends, to leave a big group of strong countries while we are facing such a massive threat from so-called "Islamic State" is madness. It's like in a horror movie when the stupid blonde goes off on her own to explore the cellar.

7) Jobs

Over 3,000,000 jobs in the UK depend upon the EU. need I say more?

8) Holidays

Who the hell wants to apply for a Visa every time they go on a trip to France to grab some booze?!?

9) Immigration

No economy can survive without immigration. It fuels growth, creates jobs and feeds money into our society. Ever noticed that those people complaining that people "come over here and steal our jobs!" are those people with no education, a criminal record, and have been on benefits because of a "fall" they had 23 years ago? There's a reason they don't have a job, and it's not because of immigration.

10)  Lies

The Brexit's campaign of massive porkies make me feel that if we leave the EU and put our country into the hands of these imbeciles, we are dooming ourselves to failure. It only takes a quick google search to discredit the whole "£350,000,000 a week" lie, or "half-truth" and another to discredit the lie that Turkey are about to join the EU. In order to join the EU a country has to fulfill 35 "EU Points", as I call them. Turkey has been trying to join since 1987, the year I was born. Since 1987 they have only managed to fulfill ONE point. One point in 29 years. Sure Turkey is trying to join the EU, but at this rate, it will be 3031 before they are successful, and even then we can Veto them so they can't join anyway.

11) Morals

I strongly believe that we, as a country, are far, far better off than many others on this planet. We have the NHS, benefits, pensions, free speech, a right to marry whomever we want, votes for women, the right to choose a religion, hell, I'm even allowed to go to work without my husband's permission!
I believe we should be part of a group that protects human rights - a group WE set up. I believe we should be using our power, our strength and our influence to be helping others - freeing those who are trapped, saving those who need saving. Protecting the weak and innocent. The EU gives us the ability to do that on a far larger scale than we could do on our own. We can do more for the benefit of others. We can do so much to improve this world, but we can do more, together

So there you have it. my list of reasons for voting remain. I don't expect people to agree. I don't expect people to even understand or pay attention. I expect you to do only one thing - Vote. People died to give you that right, use it. Use the information that you have been given by both sides to choose the option that you feel most suits you. This is one of the most important decisions in this countries recent history - be a part of it, and be proud.

Ikea Should Come With A Health Warning

So, a few weekends ago I decided that I desperately needed to put up some shelves in my office. Emergency shelves. I was so desperate for some shelves that I decided that the next day the Fiance and I would make an emergency Ikea trip to purchase the emergency shelves before the world collapsed around me in a shelf-less mess.

So Sunday arrives and we find ourselves in Ikea Milton Keynes. As this was the second Sunday after New Year, everyone else also found themselves in Milton Keynes, looking for emergency shelves, emergency boxes, emergency Tupperware, every kind of emergency storage you can think of.

I had, perhaps naively, assumed that the average set of 6 shelves would set you back about 20-30 quid. after all, it's just a bit of wood and two brackets - surely £5 a piece is an average price for this in a place like Ikea, where they produce enough wood in a day to build an ark? But no. Eighty quid lighter, and after numerous debates about what KIND of shelf I'm looking for (I personally thought the clue would be in the word "emergency", as in, "I want to go in, buy a bit of wood and leave, sharpish") I eventually ended up with a rustic looking shelving unit.

Whenever the Fiance and I pop to Ikea we always go for a mooch around the "Bargain Corner". and thus far we've managed to find many things to spend money on that we would not have otherwise spent money on (Damn you, Ikea!) and this visit was no exception. Before we left Ikea we managed to not only buy emergency shelves, but we also bought the LARGEST wardrobe I have EVER SEEN.

Now, the Fiance does not drive a small car. It's not an estate, but I know for a fact that two grown adults can have a nap in the boot with the seats down at 4 am in a service station. I also know that it's bloody FREEZING - but it is possible.

I can also tell you that you should never, ever buy a large set of emergency shelving and a colossal wardrobe at the same time. It didn't help that it was raining buckets and the wind kept trying to blow the giant wardrobe into someone else's boot. While it was closed.

Eventually, after more swearing than I've ever heard in my life (and I saw Peter Capaldi in "The Thick Of It"!) the Fiance finally managed to get the boxes into the car. Looking pleased with himself, he gets into the car (which we'd parked temporarily in a nearby disabled bay as the packing of the car would take "five minutes" and it was closer to the door so we'd be in and out in NO time. 45 minutes later...) while I return the trolley.

When I return I get in the car, at which point the Fiance says, "You're going to have to do the handbrake and gears, I can't reach!" I look down and sure enough, the Giant Wardrobe is blocking him from any use of the handbrake. I look up and realise that I also can't  SEE him. He's just a voice coming from no where. "Are you OK with that?" Comes his muffled voice. I quickly realise that I have to be OK with that, as if I am not OK with that one of us has to get out of the car and wait to be collected at a later date, and that "someone" is me. And it is raining. Inside the car there are heated seats. Outside the car there is a hurricane.

Mind made up, I say, "Just tell me which gear you want it in and leave the rest to me".

An hour later, I'm not entirely sure how we made it home alive. I assume the trauma has made me blank the whole thing from my memory, although I have flash backs of a muffled voice yelling "FOURTH....FIFTH!" and going around many, many roundabouts.

After arriving home, the Giant Wardrobe stayed at the bottom of the stairs, where it remained for the next week. The bookcase was assembled and full long before the wardrobe made it upstairs.

Eventually, we decided to get the wardrobe assembled. There were four large, heavy boxes that eventually made it up the stairs, and in Box One were the instructions. To my horror I realised that there were 64 steps to this monstrosity. I saw hours and hours of work ahead of me, with no end in sight. The Fiance, on the other hand, takes one look at it and proclaims, "We'll have this up in an hour!". I think the shock must have temporarily made him lose his mind.

So, how many steps do you think we made it through before The Almighty Ikea-Related Row began? I'm sure you know the one. It's the row that every couple is obliged to have. It can happen on the way into Ikea; simply because you have to go, During Ikea; when one of you leaves the other for dead in the children's section, after Ikea; when you're trying to fit the bastard wardrobe in the car or during the Ikea Comedown; when you're trying to build that beautiful TV cabinet you bought and one of you accidentally puts the hammer through one of the side panels.

This row was the Ikea Comedown Row. We lasted 13 steps before it hit. It was like a storm that had been brewing for some time, it was fast and it was ANGRY and it was about what way up the drawer runners go.

It was days before we could face going back in and finishing the wardrobe. Flinching at every mention of the words "Flat-pack" and "Screwdriver".

Eventually though, we put on our big girl knickers and got down to it. Hours later (it DEFINITELY didn't take an hour!) we re-emerged - tired, but victorious.

Ikea, you lose.

An Easy Guide to Internet Dating

So, I’ve been with TSG for almost a year and a half now, and occasionally, we get the old, “How did you guys meet?” question fired at us. When I explain that we met on Plenty Of Fish or, more generally, “the internet”, more often than not people will then exclaim at how “lucky” I am to have actually met someone on there. They explain that they went online themselves and that no one would message them or that those that did were ugly/boring/crazy and/or desperate.

Therefore I thought I might give people out there a bit of a guide to internet dating for straight people, as everyone seems to be getting it wrong, and it’s really not that hard.

1)      Your profile.

Ladies – I’ll deal with you lot first. Your profile is too long. Men are not interested in what you named all 18 of your rabbits when you were five. They like it short and to the point. What you like, how you spend your spare time, what you do for a living. They also like it funny. For added bonus points, do NOT put anything negative in there – It makes you look negative and no one likes a negative person. No, “I think I’m ok looking”, instead put, “I’m an attractive woman who….” EVEN if you’re not sure. If you’re positive about yourself it encourages others to be positive about you.

Gentlemen. Your profile is too short. Women like to know all about you. They are VERY interested in what you named all 18 of your Rabbits. They want to know everything about you from the moment you were born. A short profile with nothing of yourself in it will not attract the attention of the woman of your dreams.

In reality all you need to do is look at a selection of profiles from people of the opposite sex – your profile should resemble these.

2)      Profile Pictures.

Again, ladies first. Your main profile picture should be a photo of you, ALONE. Absolutely NO group photos. Do you really think that any bloke is going to want to spend their time trying to decipher which person in the picture is you? “NEXT!”. Make life easy for your future man and get a pic of you alone. Second, NO SELFIES. These always looks so contrived and false, they don’t show you at your most natural, or at your best. And thirdly, NEVER have a photo of you not smiling as your main profile picture. You want to give the person viewing you a positive reaction, and when someone smiles it automatically makes others want to smile back, releasing endorphins which make them feel happy. That happiness will then be associated with you, encouraging them to contact you.

Gentlemen. The most common mistake you lot make is to take photos with your top off, or your hand holding your top up. WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!?!? Why the hell do you think a woman worth your time wants to date a vain, self-absorbed idiot? Nope. Remove it. Next, again with the group pictures. When I was online dating, if a bloke had a group picture I skipped it. Most other people do the same. Thirdly, no selfies. See above. And again, a smiling picture is more likely to get a response than a non-smiling picture.

3)      Contacting members of the opposite sex

One of the complaints about internet dating I hear most frequently are from women who say, “No one ever contacted me”. When I ask if they ever contacted anyone the answer is invariably, “no…”. Ladies, WHY are you waiting around for the man of your dreams to just… fall into your lap? Life doesn’t HAPPEN like that. For example, I contacted TSG first. I read his profile, I liked it, I wrote him an email. It is THAT simple. It’s not something to shout about, it’s not scary, and if they don’t reply, so what? You’re never going to meet this guy, he probably wouldn’t recognise you in a crowd, YOU’RE NEVER GOING TO SPEAK TO HIM AGAIN. So get off your backside and get emailing; it’s worth it, believe me.

Gentlemen, Women will not email first. For some reason, they leave it to you to take the initiative. I’m not sure why this is, because then they complain bitterly when they get no responses and it makes no sense whatsoever.

Secondly (and gentlemen, I know you’re a bad lot for this but as women have never emailed me I don’t know if this is something that they do too) if you send us a message containing one word – “hi”, “hey”, “yo” or any derivative thereof – it WILL get ignored. This is because we do not know what to say back. Responding with “hey” leaves us both in the same position we were originally in and therefore we may as well not bother. In addition, if this is the best you can come up with on a first message, we may as well hold out for someone better equipped when it comes to imagination. The most imaginative opening email I received was from a guy who sent me a list of multiple choice questions, along the lines of “tea or coffee?” ranging from normal things (such as the previous) to some cheeky/funny ones such as “French Knickers or Thongs” (to which I replied that I prefer my men in french knickers as I feel that thongs make them look silly). Please note that if you intend to steal this method, it will NOT work if you push it too far, especially if the woman you are messaging does not find it amusing.

The messaging part of the conversation is the time where you start to cut away the people who are crazy/boring/slutty/whom you will just NOT get on with. Don’t expect every person who contacts you/you contact to be “the one” because nine times out of ten, they won’t be. There are far more people out there who are NOT good boyfriend/girlfriend material for you than there are perfect partners. These people will find others who ARE their perfect partners, as will you if you keep looking. It’s exactly the same as in real life. Not EVERONE you meet on the street is going to be a good boyfriend or girlfriend for you, so why assume the same with internet dating? That’s ridiculous. Therefore, keep an open mind.

Lastly, don’t get offended if people don’t respond. Sometimes people find it hard to say to someone, “I’m sorry but I don’t think we’ll click.” I personally made a conscious effort to do so, as I felt it was only fair rather than leaving people hanging, and I wished them luck on their search, but more often than not I received an extremely negative response to this as people took offense to what they perceived to be a rejection. I can therefore understand why some people do not respond to people they are not interested in. However, it is NOT an insult for someone to feel that they won’t get on with you. It’s actually ok. I’m sure you’ve met people who wanted to date you but you didn’t want to date them but you liked them as a person and didn’t want to upset them, it’s the same thing, but on the internet. They’re not saying you’re a bad person, or that they think you’re ugly, or that they hate you, they just don’t think you’ve got enough in common with them.

4)      Dating.

When you’ve chatted to someone enough to decide you want to go on a date with them, you STILL can’t assume they are sane or right for you. I went on dates with quite a few people from POF (the best of them are available as blog entries here http://abstracted11.blogspot.co.uk/2013/02/so-i-totally-had-date-number-2.html, http://abstracted11.blogspot.co.uk/2013/02/never-date-chin-snogger.html, http://abstracted11.blogspot.co.uk/2013/02/my-foray-into-world-of-internet-dating.html, http://abstracted11.blogspot.co.uk/2013/03/the-possible-end-of-era.html) and although one or two of them just turned out to be with gentlemen that, at the end of the day, I felt I would not be able to date through a lack of “click” or due to the fact that they were boring as HELL when detached from their keyboard-wit, many of them turned out to be crazy people masquerading as sane people. Do not just assume that because you got on online that you will get on offline too, because a lot of the time that is just not true. It takes a really, really special person to be able to get on both on and offline, and when you find someone that you get on with, who also gets on with you, you know that you’re onto a winner.

Do NOT give up after the first date-gone-wrong. It happens. A lot. But you can learn a lot from these experiences, about what you do and do not want from your future partner, about who YOU are as a person. For example, I learnt that I will not suffer a clingy partner who insists on texting every five minutes and panics if I do not have the time to respond. I will not date someone who accuses me of cheating on them before we’ve even been on our second date. I will not date someone who rings me up drunk in the middle of the night, or arranges to meet and then cancels half an hour before. I WILL date someone who is caring, witty, relaxed, patient, kind, thoughtful, exciting, who has the cheekiest, loveliest smile I have ever seen, and gets himself into trouble in almost every shop we go in to due to his innate naughtiness.

And at the end of the day, ladies and gentleman, that’s what you are all looking for. Your very own SG. And he or she is out there, but it is a case of being persistent and making sure that you’re getting what YOU want in a person. If it helps, think of these dates as being more like interviews than dates. You don’t have to let this person into your life, you don’t even have to stay to finish your coffee.

Second most importantly, if the person you’re meeting expects to go home with you, or take you back to theirs, get rid. They’re after one thing and one thing only. Unless, of course, you are too. ;)

But most importantly, if anything feels a bit off about the date, or the person you’re with, leave. You don’t need to make excuses, you don’t need to feel bad, just leave. Always make sure someone knows where you are and who you’re with. If someone is getting pushy with you to get you to go on a date with them, do NOT go (yes, it has happened to me and no I didn’t go). People will try to make you feel guilty and manipulate you, but your safety and happiness is far more important so don’t worry about it. As long as you’re careful you’ll be fine! And yes, boys, this means you too!

So, that’s about it. Good luck, have fun, and most of all, remember that this is about YOU.

Stuff That Winds Me Up

I’m not someone who loses their temper very easily.

I’ve not always been like that. When I was younger, my little brother used to be able to wind me up easier than one of those self winding tape measures – he just pressed the button and I was ready and willing to punch, scream and pull his hair out.

As I’ve got older I’ve got a lot calmer, more rational and far more laid back – but certain things still have the ability to really get my goat  - so I thought I’d do a list of them so you all know what not to do in no particular order; you'll probably find that the more something irritates me the more I have written about it.

1.       My laptop.

My laptop is one of my favourite possessions. I don’t know what I’d do without it. But there are there are times when I’d quite happily throw it out of a window from my first floor living room. For example, whilst writing the last sentence an AVG notification popped up telling me to renew my licence. WHY could it not have chosen a time when I was actually looking at the screen?! I wrote another whole sentence before I noticed and that is HUGELY frustrating. Other times when it is going slow I find frustrating. When I want to do something, I want to do it NOW. Not in half an hour, when it’s sorted its shit out, not in three hours, after it’s completed a scan, but NOW!!!

2.       My Mobile Phone.

When I don’t have my mobile pho ne I am barely able to function. It doesn’t have to actually work, I just have to be able to turn it on and see the reassuring glow from its screen to know that I am in the safe hands of o2. And yet, I have never yet had a mobile phone that is capable of doing everything that I require of it. For example, my Samsung Jet was incapable of making me a breakfast smoothie, my blackberry was unable to scratch my back when required and my Samsung S3 Mini does not come with a built in butler service. But once again, the main thing that irritates me is its lack of speed. I rarely close all the applications that are open on it, but I expect the phone to be able to multi-task as well as my brain does, and I get extremely frustrated when it takes 2 minutes to open Candy Crush when I am also running Instagram, Facebook, Chrome, AVG, and What’s App simultaneously.  Technology should be advanced enough to keep up with me already. If it doesn’t, why the hell doesn’t it?!

3.       Losing stuff.

I am, as you are probably aware, dyspraxic. This means that I have an appalling short term memory. I can remember stuff that happened when I was still in the crib like it was yesterday, but I cannot remember what happed two minutes ago when my boss asked me to book our contractors into Selfridges. Luckily, I have developed mechanisms to help me cope with this – I write EVERYTHING down. Sadly, this does not help me when I lose the list. The second I put something down, I forget about it. Usually, I can cope with this, as it only takes about 5 minutes of searching to locate whatever it is I have lost. Sadly, things start to go downhill when that five minute time frame is up. That’s when I start to get angry. As I approach the ten minute mark I start to lose control of my emotions. Usually, this is where I start to shout at objects that get too close, or any people who happen to be unlucky enough to be standing too close – especially if they don’t appear to be helping me look hard enough. At around 15 minutes I start to get a tad violent. Mainly towards objects, but don’t stand too close to me just in case. By 20 minutes I’m in tears, usually from rage and frustration towards myself, but I like to externalise it by blaming anything and anyone else, internalising is unhealthy, I believe. By the 30 minute mark, I’m hysterical, bordering on madness. The worst part is, that I find myself unable to STOP looking and calm down. I MUST WIN. Therefore I must keep looking.

4.       Cheaters.

I am an extremely competitive person. Most people won’t play board games with me because it is not worth the fight that occurs if I lose - and I always lose. I am a natural born loser. If someone is being competitive with me, I will not play with them because I hate people who rub it in your face; bad winners are worse than bad losers I feel, but then I wouldn’t know because I’ve never won. At least being a bad loser is understandable. A winner should win with style and grace. And competitive people are NEVER good winners. But what I hate worse than any of that, are the people who cheat. What is the point of winning if you don’t win for real? Why cheat and take away everyone else’s chances of experiencing that feeling of having won? If I find out that someone has cheated at something, I will refuse to do pretty much anything with them ever again I’m a forgiving person the majority of the time. I have, in the past, forgiven the same person for the same thing over and over until I really can’t take it anymore, but I cannot forgive a cheat. Something interesting I have also noticed is that people who are willing to cheat at board games are also more likely to cheat on their partners and in life in general – but I don’t know if that is just coincidence. Either way, the scumbags that cheat at monopoly deserve to have the death sentence brought back for them. I swear to God. (The Sexy Guitarist just randomly laughed in the background about something and said “Haha, I win!” I nearly lynched him. Now THERE’S a bad winner.)

5.       People who think they’re always right.

This works mostly for people who think their OPINION is always right. If the subject being debated is a scientific fact, then who am I to argue? But when it comes down to things like Religion, I get extremely angry with people who try to shove their beliefs down my throat. I was raised as a Christian (although I’m not very good at it), however, I find that the people who are WORST for this impingement are other Christians. The ones who hang out in the centre of town and sing/dance/preach at you as you’re doing your payday shopping spree. Yes, you are entitled to your beliefs, but WHY do you feel that it is necessary to spew those belief at all the poor Hindus, Sikhs and Muslims (of which there are an abundance in this city) who are in town simply because they want to get an eye test or some Millie’s Cookies? Why are you ramming what you believe down their throats? You may believe that you are right, and maybe you are, but that does not mean that you have the right to go around pointing your finger and being all “HA, you’re going to hell!” it’s just another way of being a bad winner. And doesn’t Matthew state, “Judge not, lest ye be judged”? Why not hang around in the centre of town with a sign saying, “You might be right, but I might be right. We’ll find out.” People will hate you less.

6.       Mornings

I am not, and never have been, a morning person. I don’t really like GOING to bed – there’s so much I want to do and I never seem to have time for it, but I like LEAVING my bed even less. When I wake up in the morning I must be treated with caution, love and care; a bit like a bomb that hasn’t gone off since WW2 that has just been discovered underneath the local nightclub.

The SG’s most recent hobby seems to be to see if he can get me to explode. This morning I was woken with “go do the washing up, and get me some breakfast; I’m hungry.” Needless to say he was astonished when he found himself washing up and frying sausages and bacon simultaneously only seconds later, whilst I sat on the sofa reading my book with a satisfied look on my face. I don’t think he could work out how that happened, and is still a bit puzzled about the whole thing.

When I wake up in the mornings I like cuddles and talking and closeness. Or I like to feel like I have a plan for the day. I like to know where I’m going and what I’m doing. If I can get a bit of both then all the better.

7.       People who talk to me when I’m trying to read.

I like to read. A lot. But I find it incredibly frustrating when I’m trying to read and someone decides that that is the right time to have a conversation with me. The only people who do this are the people who are not readers themselves. Come on people, you don’t walk into the cinema and try to have a conversation with the person sitting next to you all the way through the movie, do you? With reading it’s ok if you’re having a proper conversation, but if you’re wanting to say a few words, stop, then say a few more so that I’m stopping and starting – consequently reading the same sentence over and over again – just don’t bother, because I will make you eat this book.

8.       Other people’s lack of spelling and punctuation

We all went to school right? And in the exception of a few cases (eg, a valid reason for being unable to go to school or dyslexia and similar problems) we were all taught to read and write. Therefore, there is no excuse for being a 14 year old that is unable to work out which “there” you are supposed to use. No excuse for not choosing the right “to”. HOW THE HELL do you think you are going to get a decent job that doesn’t involve spending the rest of your life cleaning up drunk people’s poo if you are unable to write, “There they are! With their cat”

“They’re happy?”

“Yes!”

IT’S NOT FRIGGING HARD PEOPLE!!!

What about punctuation? The number of emails I receive where the people writing them do not understand that a full stop is still used at the end of a paragraph. You don’t just hit enter and hope for the best. Commas are completely disregarded and most people wouldn’t know the difference between an apostrophe and an armadillo. But then, I am also aware that most of the people who fail to pay attention to these extremely important little things are the ones who are at the bottom of the pile in the work place. Spelling and grammar is so important because everyone takes their first impression from what they see. Dyslexics can and do use spell check – why can’t you?!? And there is absolutely NO excuse for failing to use a comma.

These are all the things that infuriate me most, although I may add to this list in due course....

I did mention that I’m much CALMER than I used to be, right?

And as a bit of revenge for saying "I Win", here is a picture of SG asleep on my sofa last night... who wins now, SG?

The Badly Chosen Boyfriend and the Pizza Incident

We all do it. We all have that boyfriend/girlfriend in our past that, when we deign to think about them, we think, "Why the hell did I ever consider them as date-worthy material? Was I temporarily brain damaged? Was I being controlled by aliens?"

My first long-term boyfriend was possibly the worst person I could have ever chosen to date.

I’m not saying he wasn’t a nice person – he was in fact the opposite. He was quite self-centred, but on the whole wouldn’t harm a fly.

The reason he was so terrible a choice for me is because we were so completely and utterly incompatible. I found him boring, irritating, selfish, immature and he had no loyalty whatsoever.

We used to have conversations and I’d find, on later trying, that I could not recall a single word he said. He was interested in History (Yawn), Politics (Kill me) and creative writing (about history and politics. Dear GOD).

I, however, at the grand old age of 18/19 was interested in design, reading (not about history or politics) and having fun.

Emotionally, I was far more mature than he was, despite his being about 3 years older than I, and I was less inclined to live by everyone else’s rules than he was. I would get frustrated with the fact that he would never do anything without saying things like, “my Dad says it should be done this way” or “My friends say I should do this”.

I was far more likely to take other people’s advice on board and then choose the method I thought best, rather than what everyone else thought best.

The Bad Choice Boyfriend was such a stickler for doing it the way you are told and not straying from the instructions that we ended up having the worst argument of my life over a pizza.

I had come home from work at Vision Express one evening, knowing that the BCB was cooking for us, and when I got home he suggested pizza. As I do have a bit of a penchant for pizza I happily agreed, and off he popped to the shop over the road to grab a Chicago Town. Upon arrival back he started reading the instructions, and I warned him to NOT put the pizza on the top oven shelf, as I know that our oven got too hot and it would burn before it cooked. I immediately stopped paying attention and went back to doing whatever it was I was doing before he returned.

BCB joined me, but within 10 minutes I could smell burning.

“You need to check the pizza, something’s burning,” I warned.

“Nah, it’ll be something on the bottom of the oven,” he replies, and remains where he is for a further 5 minutes, while I fidget and panic about my food, but decide to remain where I am and not “take control” as I was often accused of doing.

After checking on the pizza he exclaims, “The pizza is burnt!” to which I replied, “Did you put it on the top shelf, or the middle one?”

“The top one, like the instructions told me to.”

I pointed out that I had warned him not to put it on the top shelf, and explained that I had told him that due to prior experience with our oven – it was a fan oven and the instructions were for conventional ovens.

He decided to go back to the shop and purchase a new pizza.

Attempt two of cooking the pizza went down in exactly the same way – BCB was not one for learning from his mistakes, and this time, instead of calmly explaining WHY the pizza had burnt, as I had the first time, I was pissed off. “How could you possibly manage to burn ONE pizza, let alone TWO?!?” I screech at him, incensed. “It’s not fucking ROCKET SCIENCE, it’s a FUCKING PIZZA!!!”

“Well, I’m SORRY. But I was just FOLLOWING THE INSTRUCTIONS like you’re SUPPOSED TO!” he yells back.

“FINE, I’ll COOK THE BLOODY PIZZA THEN!” I continue to screech.

“NO, I’m QUITE capable of cooking a SHITTING PIZZA, thanks.” He replies, and storms out, back to the shop to purchase their last mighty meaty.

Christ knows what the shop owners thought about our pizza eating habits.

BCB returns armed with the mighty meaty and shooting daggers at me like it’s my fault that he’s a complete moron.

I have turned to my common state where I am so frustrated and enraged by his incompetence that I am incapable of actually speaking to the boy and therefore completely ignore his presence.

The pizza successfully makes it into the oven, this time he assures me that it is NOT on the top shelf, so my anger wanes a little bit. I know he’s not doing it on purpose, and he really can’t seem to help himself when it comes to following instructions, so I relax a little and begin an awkward attempt at reconciliation.

After about 10 minutes he goes into the kitchen, refusing my offer to do it for him with irritation, and returns after fiddling about a bit and deciding that all was well. He reassures me that the pizza is looking healthy and will be ready to eat soon, rather smugly.

After five minutes he goes back to the oven, and suddenly all I can hear from him is, “SHITTING BOLLOCKING BLOODY PIZZA!!!”

I turn on the sofa, almost in slow motion, and I see BCB holding what looks like a black Frisbee in front of him. Apparently he had decided that the pizza was not cooking fast enough on the middle shelf, and during the brief “checking on the pizza” interval, had once again moved it onto the top shelf, which explained his earlier smugness.

Naturally, I flipped out. I have never been so filled with rage, before or since. All I wanted was a bloody pizza. I would have settled for ANY pizza at this stage – even one with anchovies on it.

I was incapable of speech for about 60 seconds, and then when I managed to make a sound it was a high pitched shrieking noise that could only be heard by small dogs and rodents.

I think it was on that day that I realised I was dating someone who was quite possibly mentally handicapped. There is no other explanation as to how someone managed to burn a pizza -

Not once,

Not twice,

But THREE TIMES.

When People Have Ugly Babies I Never Know What To Say

I’m at that age now where all my friends are pairing off or having babies. In some ways I feel quite left out as obviously, The Sexy Guitarist and I are not quite ready for that level of terror to enter our relationship yet, and believe me, I do NOT want a proposal just yet, but at the same time the level of romance and commitment shown at that stage of a relationship is one of my main goals in life. Like every other  human being on this planet, I just want to be loved to a point where someone is willing to devote themselves to me, and I want to love someone enough to be able to devote myself to them.

Children, on the other hand, scare the living shit out of me. And it’s only recently, seeing my closest friends have a baby and watching him grow up that I’ve started to seriously consider popping out my own little gremlin - in about 10 years perhaps.

My friends have all been quite lucky, child wise. I have not met one who can officially be considered an “ugly baby”. Two of my closest friends have what I would consider to be the prettiest child I have ever seen. You know who you are!

I was with these same friends a few months ago in their home town, walking through the centre to go to an event with  The Sexy Guitarist, when they bumped into a fellow parent of an almost toddler, and in the arms of this parent was an alien. I SWEAR TO GOD. Having instantly assessed the child and its level of attractiveness and found it to be extremely lacking, I was at a complete loss as to what to do. I knew, with a certainty that could kill, that I MUST NOT SPEAK TO THAT PARENT. If I did I would end up saying something like, “oh, what an... interesting looking child!” in a fake enthusiastic voice that no one would mistake for a genuine compliment, and I would definitely be punched by an enraged, hormonal mother. Not the way I intended spending my weekend.

We are all told that every mother believes that their child is beautiful, but even this mother would not be able to overlook the abnormal dimensions of her child’s head. Its skull was huge at the top and narrowed down to a chin that was the same circumference as its neck. It had huge, unblinking eyes and the veins on the top of its head were visible through its translucent skin.

I assumed that this child MUST have some kind of disability, and I was being cruel in recoiling from it, but upon later asking, it turned out that the child was just Ugly.

I know that this is a really, really shallow and heartless thing to say, but I hope to GOD that I have a beautiful child. BEFORE you all jump down my necks, this is not because I would love my ugly child any less than I would love my beautiful child, but because that poor kid is going to have a lifetime of revolted looks shot at it, bullying, self confidence issues, and much deeper issues; I do not want my child to have to deal with that.

But then, maybe the child’s mother is living unaware of how disturbing her child’s looks are? She was not a particularly attractive young woman herself. She too had a slightly odd shaped head, although it was better concealed by her hair, and judging by her looks I dare say the child’s father has a very, very slim chance of being good looking himself (we’re only human, we’re all shallow - so jump off the bus to denial and join the path to “lets tell it how it is”.) and all this compounded to produce a child that looks like it had just crash landed at Roswell, but that doesn’t mean that the mother is aware of her childs misfortune.

I decided that I should do some research to discover how the internets thinks I should react to an ugly baby, and here are the results:

1) Before meeting the child in question, assume it will be ugly. This will prevent any unexpected shocks that may cause heart failure or outbursts of "OH MY GOD, WHAT IS THAT?!?"

2) Check Facebook photos. If it's ugly, you might be able to tell from here. If not, you can at least evaluate the parents attractiveness levels and make a estimate based on their attractiveness levels.

3) Put off the visit. This will give you time to prepare, and as the website I found suggested, allow the babies features time to "Straighten out a bit". You'll be lucky, I reckon. once an ugly baby, always an ugly baby.

4) Before you visit, prepare compliments. This does mean that you'll sound rehearsed but it also means that you won't have to hesitate and possibly get punched by enraged parents.

 - if you try and make some genuine compliments you're more likely to get away with it, e.g. saying that the baby looks happy. Everyone likes a happy baby. Unless they are startlingly ugly, of course.

5) Failing at compliments? Make yourself look like a twat instead. If you do baby talk at the child then everyone will forget that they want you to say nice things about their child and will want to make you go away instead. FAST.

6) Focus on the parents. YES, its all boring drivel and no, unless it is one of your closest friends, you are not going to give a damn about how sore the mothers nipples are or how little sleep father is getting. No, you don't care that baby had it's first hiccup last week, especially seeing as if it hiccuped right now you'd run in fear of your life - the alien may be trying to eat you! But it's better than the silence caused by a parent waiting for you to think of a compliment.

7) Don't try to over compensate, or everyone will know you're lying. stick to the compliment and do NOT over exaggerate, over analyse or keep talking. say it and get out.

OR...

8) You could do it my way. Keep your mouth shut and get the hell out of there ASAP.

Being British is Harder Than it Looks

 

I am one of those people who is as insanely patriotic as your average American (no offence, but you guys are CRAZY when it comes to patriotism). The problem with being British and being patriotic is that it is an immensely complicated thing to do, as the correct way for a Brit to be patriotic is to complain like hell about EVERYTHING. Whilst doing this you must also remember that no matter how bad we've got it, we’re incredibly lucky. We could have it so, so much worse. We could be French.

Additionally, while WE are allowed to complain about everything, if someone who is not British DARES to comment, even if they have lived here for the past 15 years, they are out of order. They are practically trying to start a war.

As we Brits are well aware, our Government is crap. We have an idiot who got into power by riding a bike to work in control, a man who looks like he is wearing a ridiculous blond wig and does nothing but mess everything up as mayor of our capital, and a monarch (God bless her, I love the woman) who does nothing but sit around looking pretty on the backs of our world famous pound coins.

We spend our hard earned money buying second homes for members of parliament - paying tax on what we earn, tax on what we spend it on, and tax on it when it sits in the bank. We pay tax on transporting what we have bought (and just paid tax for) home (both for fuel AND the vehicle itself). We pay tax on storing it in our fridges and then we pay tax on throwing it away.

Yet we still somehow feel that we have got it better than every other country in the world. We still believe that we own Australia, Canada, America, India, and every other scrap of land in between (except Russia. For two reasons, a) you’d have to be nuts to take on those guys and b) who would want to live there anyway? It’s bloody cold!).

I think that the fact that we no longer own these countries is part of the reason for Britain’s lack of faith in our Government. We had it all – wealth, power, land – we were the best of the best. And then for some weird reason, we decided to be nice and give it all back.

Who DOES that?!?! America wouldn't do that. China wouldn't do that. All the other super powers would just use the international rule of “Finders Keepers!” But for some extremely weird reason, us Brits find that we need to be liked by everyone. We have some kind of mass personality flaw that requires counselling.

That’s one of the reasons we were so peeved with that big-eared idiot, Tony Blair, when he decided it would be a good idea to go to war just because the Americans told us to. He was so busy trying to get them to like us that he forgot about making sure the others liked us too. And we know that no one else likes us - hardly anyone votes for us on the Eurovision Song Contest (talent show my arse. I've seen more talented dog leavings than some of the acts on that show).

The only people who MIGHT like us are the Aussies, and let’s face it, a) they’re all bloody mental and b) they’re such a long way away it’s OK for them to like us because they don’t have to deal with us. Kind of like a distant cousin locked up in an institution. They can’t get at you, and you can’t get at them. Also, they don’t help us at all with the Eurovision, what with them not being in Europe.

The French still haven’t forgiven us for that 100 years where we argued a bit. The Germans think we’re idiots and they can’t stand stupidity (which I think is a bit rich considering certain events). The Irish haven’t gotten over the potato incident. Or the Protestant thing. The Spanish think we’re all easy, the Italians think we’re rude, the Russians think we’re trying to steal their oil (they’d be right about that) and the millions of little eastern European countries see us as a meal ticket.

Even the Americans laugh behind their hands at us, their “sidekick”, because if they said “go jump under a bus” we’d ask if they wanted us to use Stagecoach or First, or maybe they’re prefer to use one of their Greyhounds?

We’d be OK if we were a bit more like the Irish – lovable, friendly, chatty, drunk and a bit dim; but everyone’s favourite, slightly backward, drunk cousin. But we Brits, we don’t have that charm. We’ll beat you to death with politeness, we’re kind but we won’t show it, we’re clever but we don’t boast, we always try to do our best but have a habit of getting it horrendously wrong and most of all, we’re good, but never good enough.

So it is hard to be British. It is hard to know that we’re a country led by idiots, who are in turn led by even bigger idiots. It is hard to know that none of the “intelligent countries”, as I like to call them, like you. It is hard to know that every year, for the next 100 years we are going to lose the Eurovision. Every year we are going to have to deal with the shame. It is hard to know that we ARE good at some stuff, but because we’re British we aren't able to TELL anyone about it - that would be rude. And it’s hard to know that our best doesn't quite cut the mustard.

But the HARDEST thing about being British is dealing with the weather.

On the plus side though, we've got the Queen. 

Adrenaline Can Make Me Do Superhuman Things. Ish.

Last week was probably the most stressful week of my working career so far. It was so stressful that my hair has actually started falling out.

Therefore the last thing I needed on a Wednesday evening was to get home and find that there had been some kind of Noah’s ark type explosion in my flat.

Please note that the explosion was almost 100% my fault. I suffer from/enjoy the comedy value of dyspraxia, which I may have mentioned in a previous post. When I get stressed the short term memory loss symptoms of this particular disability increase tenfold, and with the stress at work, I’ve been getting extremely forgetful.

So, when I fed zee derbils (the gerbils to all you sane people out there) Muse and Florence, that morning before work, I left the cage door open. Normally, this wouldn’t be a big deal – Zee Derbs are a bit too fat and lazy to bother making a break for it when they both know they can get their food from INSIDE the cage with far less effort. I know this because this is NOT the first time I have made this mistake. Not even the first time I have made this mistake THIS WEEK. I always come home, swear a bit, and then close the cage.

This time it was a little different. It was different because as I opened my front door (which happens to be located down a gated alleyway) I heard my neighbour call out from the garden, so I left my front door open to go and have a chat.

Despite my safe, locked, gated alleyway I should have KNOWN that my flat was not safe. I am well aware of a small furry thief – a regular criminal in my neighbourhood – who will take any opportunity to get into my flat, steal my food, and terrorise Zee Derbs (although they are really not fussed by his presence). It would have been ok if I hadn’t left the cage door open.

I finished my quick chat with my neighbour, walked back down my alleyway and as I turned to go into my flat spotted Monty sneaking out of the door, very quickly, very quietly, and with what was definitely a tail in his mouth.

I reacted with a speed I did not know I possessed. My neighbour was already unlocking the gate and I shot out, after the cat with a snack, in time to spot him heading into the fenced off construction site two doors down from me.

I shot after him, discovering that the gap between the fences was indeed too small for an alarmed ginger bird with big boobs. Nevertheless, in the battle between me and the fence, I won.

If I had been able to think rather than panic I would probably have entered the half finished building via the front door. Sadly, I was panicking, and decided that the only way to get into the building was via the 5 foot high window. On the plus side, it turns out that when I am full of adrenaline I am quite capable of leaping 5 foot into the air, and clearing the windowsill. On the other side of the window I spotted the cat leaping out of the window opposite. Having realised how stupid I had been to not use the front door, I decided to exit using the back door. There wasn’t one. And this windowsill was higher. I took a running leap, and thanks to adrenaline managed to clear this one too, in time to spot Monty and his snack disappearing into the jungle outside. At this point, Muse seems to have managed to manoeuvre into a position where she was able to plunge her teeth into Monty.

I don’t know if you’ve ever been on the receiving end of a gerbil bite. I have been bitten once by this pair of gerbils, when they had gotten into a fight with each other and Muse had an infected eye as a result. When cleaning the infected eye she had given me a ferocious nip due to the fact that she was in pain, and it HURT.

Monty dropped the Muse, giving me enough time to close the distance, and as I got to him he tried to pounce again. I reacted instinctively, and my foot shot out and connected with poor Monty, who immediately backed off and I scooped up the prize – one slightly alarmed gerbil. Monty realised that his snack had been confiscated and immediately started following me around, yowling pitifully at my heels. I realised that although I am able to clear the windowsill when full of adrenaline and with free hands, I had no method of getting back over the wall with a gerbil in my hands.

My only hope was to stand by the gap between the perimeter wall and the wall that was just big enough to fit my hand through and yell for my neighbour, hoping that she was waiting to see what the outcome was. Luckily for me she was. Unluckily for her, she’s scared of mice and other rodents of that size. She ended up using her dress to hold muse while I ran around the building, and with another spurt of adrenaline in case she let go of the poor furry mite and Monty got her again (he could fit through the gap) leapt over and cleared both windows - I’d forgotten about the front door again. Having retrieved muse (and consequently one hungry cat) from my neighbour, I hurried home, realising as I did that the cage was still open, and I did not know what had become of Florence.

I got in, dashed upstairs (my flat is upside down the living room is upstairs!) and found Florence sat in the cage, wondering idly where her sister was. I popped Muse back in with her, administered a few treats for shock and escorted the now pitiful looking Monty from the premises. After arriving back upstairs, I found both Gerbils curled up together, fast asleep as if nothing had happened. Not a scratch on either of them. I however, had lost a large portion of the skin on my hands.

Monty in the alley, outside my front door

Muse and Florence, Muse is on top

Earn Yourself Some Good Karma

I am one of those people who happens to be blessed with some of the best friends anyone could ever hope for – and those are just my “standard” friends. Additional to those amazing people are my “upper circle” as I like to think of them. If I were Queen Elizabeth I, they would be my Robert Dudleys and William Cecils. If I were Hitler, they would be my Goebbels and Himmlers. If I were Homer Simpson they would be my Marges and my Lisas.

They pick me up when I fall down, they make me laugh till I cry and wipe away my real tears, they give me a hefty kick in the right direction when I lose the path and return my marbles when I can’t find them - although often after having thieved them in the first place.

These people are:

Benjamin Hutchinson – one of the most loyal people I have ever met, who has a tonne of patience and is willing to let me repeat myself over and over when I am obsessing over something small and trivial, and will only occasionally say “you really need to stop worrying about this”, and manages to do so without sounding AT ALL frustrated (a feat which has beaten many).

Sarah Helen Harris – I email this girl almost every single day. She is one of my longest standing friends. She never fails to make me wee myself laughing and yet she completely understands when to be serious, she is full of fantastic advice, most of which I fail to take and later regret not doing so. She is also a walking genius. Of epic proportions. And inspired me to start writing a blog, because her writing is soooo good.

Lynnette Jane Davies – One of the few people who stood by me at a time when I needed friends more than anything. Lynnie will defend those she feels need and deserve her support, and when she decides you deserve it then there is NOTHING that will prevent her from giving it. She is a strong, fantastic person, mother of one gorgeous child (inhumanly gorgeous, actually. Even my mum thought so and she’s a MASSIVE baby critic.) and soon to be Wed to the lovely Alex Davies (who is an absolute diamond).

I am an extremely Loyal person – a lot of the time this trait has been to my own detriment as I refuse to see the disloyalty going on in front of my own face. But in the case of these three they have more than proved themselves to be deserving of my loyalty.

So this morning, when I received a text from Ben demanding that I get on the phone to Lynnie and make sure she’s ok I was a) a little confused as Ben and Lynnie have never met and b) extremely worried. Especially as the wedding is only 5 days away.

It was with utter horror that I heard Lynnie explain to me that last night, at about 3am they were woken up by noises downstairs, and when Alex went to investigate he discovered their front door wide open and their house burgled. Their Playstation, Nexus tablet and various other expensive gadgets had gone, as had their baby son’s piggy bank and – worst of all – their honeymoon money.

The thieves had got in through the kitchen window, picked up a bag and shoved everything into it before leaving. The noise that had woken the sleeping couple was one of their cats in the kitchen - the door is normally kept shut to prevent the cats from getting in there and making a noise/mess. The police searched high and low for the the culprits but only managed to find two wallets empty of cash (but still with cards - although they have to be replaced) and one small child's piggy bank (hurrah!). Oh, and one empty bag used to transport items from the property.

So, as repayment for all of the good deeds that Lynnie and her husband-to-be have ever done for me, I have set up a website to raise funds to replace the honeymoon money, and some of what was stolen. BUT, I ONLY HAVE FIVE DAYS.

I am therefore calling out to all of my followers out there to please, PLEASE help.

If you’ve ever been married, are going to be married or want to be married, imagine that someone steals all your stuff while you are sleeping meters away from them, with less than a week before the big day. These guys don’t just need your help financially though – they really need to know that there are people out there who are as nice as they are, and that this planet is not just full of arseholes.

Do something nice for a complete stranger and click the link below, you’ll feel awesome afterwards.

https://fundrazr.com/campaigns/3Vgw2