Kell's Chronicles

52 New Thing: Keeping my eyes open during scary TV shows

2010-01-15T03:36:00.000-08:00

52 New Things: Week1.2. Okay so here is my second new thing this week. This will bring me up to date with everyone else.

Last night while we sat down to eat dinner; I put my pre-recorded episode of Ghost Whisperer on. While I’m addicted to this show and I watch it religiously, I have to put my hands in front of my eyes for most of it. When a ghost is first introduced into each episode, it is always creepy and the images are always flashing around. It would be fair to say that that I listen to the TV show rather than watch it.

“Why do you attempt watch this show if it scares you?” Justin asked as he piled butter into his mouth, justifying his butter intake by the small amount of baked potato he was shovelling in with it.
“I’m not scared, it’s just that the flashing images hurt my eyes and the ghosts are always scary… I mean dead looking.” Yeah, put that justification in your pie hole and chew it… once the butter melts that is.
“Really!?!? You know how you are doing that 52 new things blog? Why don’t you watch the full episode without covering your eyes or studying our wood floor? Bet you can’t do it!” You just know he wanted to witness my reaction of watching a full episode with my eyes glued to the screen. Some people’s idea of entertainment is just sick.

Not being one to whimper under pressure and let other’s win, last night with Justin as my witness (yes he sat there to make sure I didn’t cheat) I watched Ghost Whisperer with my eyes open the whole way through! I KNOW, GO ME! HIGH FIVE!

I’ll tell you something for nothing… if I ever do that again, it will be too soon. My poor little heart was beating like I was running a marathon and my palms were sweaty enough to lube a bicycle chain. Watching a scary show all the way through was on list of things to be done. I can now say that I’ve done it and such things don’t need to be visited again.

That show is hella creepy! I like the storyline and how Melinda is a kind person who helps others. The show really is a feel good show if you just listen too it rather than watch it. It promotes love and kindness. However I don’t like evil ghosts and ghosts with scary faces. Truth be told, I don’t like ghosts full stop! I don’t do scary, I never have and I never will. Its okay, I’ve come to terms with the fact I’m jumpy and likely to cry if you tell me the room I’m standing in is haunted. I’ve come to terms with the fact that I treat the program as if I was hearing it on the radio rather than watching it on TV. I’m content with my own imagination when it comes to things of the underworld and afterlife.

Later on that night after I turned off all the lights I had strategically turned on in the past hour, I climbed into bed and put Justin’s heavy sleeping arm around me. He stirred and held me tightly, “Scared you will have a nightmare?”
“NO! I’m just cold.” (Top tip: never show weakness)
“Don’t worry honey; I have Ghost Busters on speed dial.”
Listening to Justin’s giggles and feeling him bask in the glory of his own joke and self imposed manliness, I drifted off to sleep… to only be greeted by the inevitable nightmare of underground rooms and ghastly frights.

52 New Things

2010-01-12T10:11:00.001-08:00

I cam across this idea from a blog that I follow. The author has teamed up with another blog to bring the world ’52 New Things.’ The idea is, every week you have to try something new. It doesn't matter what it is, but it must be something you’ve never done/eaten/sung/ran etc before. I think it sounds like fun! I really love the idea so I’m going to tag along for the ride.

Seeing as I’m one week behind in the game I’m going to write two ’52 New Things’ this week.
The first new thing I’ve tried this year was… mouse mat cleaning. I know, it sounds weird but there was some sort of method to my madness or at least that's the excuse I'm going to use. I figure that I touch my mouse everyday and the mat touches the mouse (obviously!) which gets covered in all sorts of germs and lovelies that are out to harm my fragile self. I've never cleaned a mouse mat before so I thought I would give it a go. I took my Medical Area Spray bottle and went to town on my mouse mat.

After spraying three squirts on my mouse mat I realised that liquids and mouse mat's don't mix very well and I should probably abort the mission at the first possible exit. Not only did the Medical Area Cleaner soak into the mouse mate and give off a hospital smell that still permeated the air 2hrs after I sprayed it, but it also dribbled out of the mat onto my desk. The cleaning liquid went into the mat clear and lightly misty… it came out brown and fast!

It’s not enough to have Medical Cleaner running down your desk threatening your note book and named stationery, (yes named stationery… it made sense to put my name of my things in primary school and it still makes sense now) the brown concoction that stank like hospital mop water started to stick to my table top and no amount of napkin scrubbing was picking it up. All the bloody napkins seemed to be doing was moving a pool of brown liquid around my desk making it even stickier! True, I was using horrible scratchy paper napkins to try and soak it up but surely even the most terrible of napkins need some sort of absorbency level? I feel a consumer review coming on…

It's to the point that I'm giving up. I'm now left with a sticky desk and wet mouse mat that I can’t rest my wrist on for fear of the itchies setting in. In a word, my mouse mat is GROSS! Far worse now than what it started out as. I would like to share with the masses the following piece of advice; when deciding to clean your mouse mat with industrial strength cleaner, I would recommend you just throw the damn thing a away and get a new one!

So my ’52 New Things,’ is off to shaky, dodgy smelling, sticky start but at least I’m giving it ago!

Book Review Jan: Murder in the Heartland

2010-01-11T04:04:00.000-08:00

My new year’s resolution was to read more books based on true events. I plan to read one a month and review them. I’m kicking the year off with Murder in The Heartland by M. William Phelps.

Image from Amazon.co.uk

The book brought to life the story of how a small town girl, Bobby Jo Stinnett, was brutally murdered when she was 8months pregnant with her first child. What makes this story even more heart churning is that the murderer, Lisa Montgomery, stole the unborn child from her dieing victim’s abdomen.

Straight off the bat; I was a tad disappointed by this book as it wasn’t what I was expecting. The book is less about the crime at hand and those directly involved but rather about Lisa Montgomery’s relatives and their opinions.

Reading the news articles around the story and hearing there was a true crime story written, I was itching to get inside the mind of someone who could commit such a heinous crime. I wanted to know what would drive a woman who has four children of her own to kill an expecting mother and kidnap her baby. It truly is the stuff of nightmares. However the author hasn’t touched on any of this and rather has delivered a story told through Lisa Montgomery’s ex-husbands eyes. The story rarely touches on the victims and the impact the crime had on them. Only the first third of the book is dedicated to the criminal act itself. I found most of the book to be filled with information about Lisa’s past. Several chapters are dedicated to retelling how she moved to several towns over the years and ripped her children from state to state. I’m guessing the author wanted to shares with us Lisa’s troubled past and give us incite into her mental state, I feel he missed the target of his objectives.

The book is written is a past/present layout. I usually don’t like this form of writing and I find it a cheap attempt at cliff hanging but the style seemed to work for this story. I feel the writer did this due to the lack of information that could be reported. At the time of writing, the case had not yet gone to trial.

I don’t feel the book adequately represented several key players. The views of the victims were void and the author admits that the family of Bobby Jo didn’t wish to speak with him. Lisa’s second husband, the one she was married too at the time of the events, didn’t wish to speak with the author either. I think the book would have come across a lot softer and sensitive to the victims if he had pursed some more lines of contact. It seems that only one Police office involved in the case came forward with information. He claims that he solved the case on his own and gave very little credit to other officers involved. I find it hard to believe that a small town sheriff had the power to rule over the FBI. I found his retelling to be very ‘Hollywood.’ At one point he goes into great detail about how he met the president.

Reading the book and knowing that the story is real and did happen, it makes you stop and think. It’s the type of book that you will put down after each chapter and really ponder about how the crime has impacted so many people. One point I would like to make about true crime stories; don’t be a nosey parker and start googling the story before you have finished the story. Let the author give his views before you do any research of your own. I made this mistake and found out the result of the trial before I finished the book, thus making the last few chapters very slow for me.

I would recommend this book to people who are interested in crime and policing. The book touches on details about how the killer was caught and the various techniques used. I don’t recommend this book to anyone expecting a child as it does play on your heart strings. With only one or two rough descriptions of the crime scene, the book is suitable for even the most weak bellied. All in all, I found the story interesting and an easy read.

The Big Bull

2010-01-07T03:03:00.000-08:00

When you’re little, you don’t appreciate the little things like home cooked food and riding bikes around the clothesline. It’s the big things that get you going. When it came to 'days out' in the small costal town where I grew up, short of going to the beach you were left with only three other half decent places to head. Two nature parks, and one huge-fuck-off-giant Bull.

Today I want to share with you my many memories of Wauchope’s ‘the Big Bull.’ It truly was as ridiculous as it sounds. Even as I research it today, it really astonishes me that the trip to ‘the Big Bull’ every school holidays was a highlight worthy of first week back at school show and tell! First off, this 14metre tall, 22metre long monstrosity wasn’t even in the same town where we lived. You had to drive 40mins west into hick-land. When I say hick-land, I’m talking nothing but farmland and weird people. The town is called Wauchope (pronounced War-Hope.) The town consists of several drunks sharing three pubs and one main street. To give you an idea, the town is home to the train station that no other local community wanted. A roaring national train tears through on the hour every hour and it makes the ground shake. The town is such a shit hole that the station and the thunder line (as I used to call it) added value to local property! The town has three second hand stores, a hardware store and a public pool that I was never allowed to visit due to it being populated by rednecks in mix-matched bathing suits (if they’re wearing bathing suit as all.) So what put this town on the map? What else… an infamous farmer who was caught with his overalls around in ankles, having it off with Betty the cow... and of course the beloved ‘Big Bull.’

As you can see from the picture there isn’t much there. It truly is nothing more than a huge field with a huge bull and cow themed gift shop stuck in the middle of it. You could see it for miles! As you would come up the highway you could see it getting bigger and bigger, with that the excitement would grow and grow.

Entry was $2 and there were three floors within the bull to explore. Each floor contained a different era of farm memorabilia. Farmer Paul, (not the one who had sex with a cow or at least he wasn’t caught) the creator of the big bull was always on hand to answer any questions you may have had. He also drove a tractor around the paddock with a trailer filled with hay attached. All the kid would pile in this trailer and he would take us for a ride around the paddock while giving us a live commentary of what ever he fancied. When I say whatever he fancied, he’d tell us stories about what he watched on TV the night before, how the government was screwing the poor, why Tasmania shouldn’t be associated with Australia etc. It was farmer Paul who taught me what a communist was and how Nam was a waste of time. It was only several years later that I realised he wasn’t refereeing to Nambucca Heads. Farmer Paul even once came to my school to drum up some business and promote his ‘kids get in free this month’ special…. he wasn’t allowed to talk to us but rather just stand next to principle and wave while the principle told us about the special offer.

There were also live milking shows at ‘the Big Bull’ where one lucky person got picked out of the crowd to go up and titillate a lactating mammal. I can also trace back my fear of barnyard animals to ‘the Big Bull.’ There was an animal nursery filled with goats and various other smelly four legged creatures. Determined to get me in the pen with my paper bag of animal feed, mum would climb over and then be chased around by goats and lambs for 10mins, yelling, “Get away… look sweet heart it’s fun. GET AWAY!” It’s rather traumatizing watching a goat try and eat your mother’s jacket as she’s trying to convince you she’s having fun. I never got in the pen with the animals. Instead I would throw my paper bag of feed in the middle of the chicken-bird like things and watch the feathers fly as the goats would come stampeding over.

But while all this sounds like a hoot and fun for all ages, there was only one reason you went to ‘the Big Bull’ if you didn’t have kids or a cow fetish. ‘The big Bull’ had huge pair of (to scale) swinging testicles that squeaked in the wind due to them being so big and the hinge that connected them being so small. My mum wouldn’t let me stand underneath them for fear of castrated bull balls killing me.

But with all good things, ‘the Big Bull’ is no more. I found this article which I think sums up why it was pulled down… and also to prove that this post is not just a load of bollocks.

I've Gone all Mushy Inside (but i kind of like it)

2009-12-23T04:10:00.001-08:00

I follow a blog by a lovely lady by the name of Ginny. You can find her here at Praying to Darwin. Give her a read, she keeps me clutching my ribs and I giggle till my little lungs can giggle no more. Put it this way, if you're a smoker, don't smoke while reading her blog. You may hurt yourself.

One of her recent posts, Maybe a Girl's Best friend. Just Not This Girl touched me. As you will read, Ginny’s post isn't about diamonds but rather, it’s about how her hero wouldn’t buy her a big flippin’ ten-ton-tessy necklace but rather give her something with some meaning. Her other half being the REAL Hero she needs.

I understand what she's hootin' on about first hand. While some of you look at your boyfriends and husbands and touch wood you will never see them hurt, I touch wood that I will never see mine hurt again. I don’t want to go into details but a couple of years back Justin took a bullet in the form of a size 10 Nike sneaker… to the head.

When you see your other half in a way that I saw Justin that night you realise that nothing really matters. You know what love really means when you’re rattling off their blood group, what their allergic too and an entire medical history rite down to his last dental check up. He can’t remember any of that night. I don’t think I would want him too, even if he could.

I would rather trade all the diamonds in the world than see him hurt like that again. I would rather us both be poor and just have each other than have the world but have no one to share it with.

So every year when he produces presents for me I always accept them with a huge smile and hug. To be honest, he could be giving me a clump of dirf decorated with dryer lint, little does he know that my big present every year is really just having him by my side and watching his eyes light up as I open my gifts. But please don’t tell him though, his ego is big enough already and I've really got my hear set on a slanket.

I still want a Slanket!

2009-12-20T11:36:00.000-08:00

A week ago I wrote this blog. On my list to santa, you will see that I noted down I wanted a Slanket. A slanket is a blanket with sleeves. Justin has been giving me grief about my slanket request. Personally, I think it's a damn good idea. Nothing worse than trying to drink a cup of tea and having a flight with the blanket in the process. And think of travelling. How much easier would it be to have a slanket on a plane instead of a static blanket that has covered many people before you.

However, while I think it's a great idea and I very much want one, it seems the world is against me and world rather make of fun of the idea.

Laugh all you want but I still want one. And when I get one, who will be the one laughing when you have cold arms?

What I Have to Deal With!

2009-12-15T13:45:00.000-08:00

As some of you know, Justin plays guitar. In fact he just doesn’t play guitar he more lives, eats, dreams and most probably shits guitar. He loves it and frankly I count myself lucky to drift off to sleep most nights listening to music he has written just for me and only me.

However, while it all sounds so romantic, lovely and all the ladies out there are jealous, it gets bloody annoying when he plays the same song over and over again. Of late his torture of choice has been ‘I’m Yours.’ Great song the first time you hear it but after three months of the flipping thing you want to hunt down Jason Mraz and bash that wooden box with six strings over his head for ever writing it.

So to give you all a taste of what it’s like to live with Justin and his 6 guitars, watch this video about 10 times before you go to bed. Heaven help me if he ever had a protege like this!

And because this kid is so flippin' cute, watch this one too!

How not to talk about sex with a teenager

2009-12-15T04:06:00.000-08:00

Now it may not surprise you when I say I don't have the best relationship with my step father. I’m going to hold back from throwing insults and show a little respect. We never shared anything while I was growing up. Complete polar opposites but, there was one night when he put on the dad pants and made my inner girl scream with embarrassment and cringe at the awkwardness. That was the night we were both taken by surprise by an ‘adult scene’ in a movie.

When you're a 13 year old girl, sex scenes are extremely awkward to watch with any member of family. If I was to witness one with my mother now I probably make obscene comments until she blushed or walked out of the room. Back in the day I was quite content to pretend I didn't know what sex was. That was of course until that fateful night.

My mum had gone to bed. It must have been a Friday because I was allowed to stay up and watch the rest of the movie with my step father. Mum was quite liberal and let me watch M15 movies, it was no different from any other movie... or so she thought. As we sat there, the plot thickened. I must admit I don't actually remember the plot or what the movie was called but that’s not important for this story. What’s important is while I was munching on popcorn and sipping herbal tea, (no normal tea after 7pm due to the caffeine. If only she could see me now!) All of a sudden the main female character was taking her clothes off. Hmm, thinking quickly I looked away,
“Wow check out how interesting this piece of popcorn is?”
Yes things got that bad and we stooped to that level to try and avoid what was going on over on the TV.

I looked from my piece of interesting popcorn back to the TV. The main male character was looking at the female character like a lion that hasn't eaten in weeks and has just spied a zebra fresh from the watering hole. AHHHH my down played sexual education was diminishing before me. I knew what they’re doing, my step father knew what they’re doing but did he know that I knew? I guess not.

I squirmed, the step dad squirmed. Not exactly a bonding moment to seal our already fragile relationship! As the female character (with boobies out) mounted the male character in a sexual position that made my Barbie look amateur, my step dad turned to me with a bright red face and said, "she's just comforting him."

Not knowing whether to laugh, cry or run from the room and wash my eyes and ears outs with soap, I was mortified! Here is my step father, on a Friday night, in front of the telly, trying to give me ‘the talk.’ I racked my brains trying to find a witty comment, an excuse to leave the room but I was rendered speechless and frozen. All I could muster was a big fat, “Oh.”

I think he though the look of horror and shock was because I had no idea what was going in the movie. I guess he made the assumption that my mother had neglected to inform about the finer points of baby making. I was more than happy to let him believe that if it meant he wouldn’t make any more comments like, “Comforting him.” Trust me when I say this; that looked far from comfortable! I think ‘Oh’ did the trick though because he didn’t say anything back and he left the room to fill up the already full pop corn bowl. Too little, too late.

Dear Santa

2009-12-10T05:10:00.000-08:00

Dear Santa,

It’s that time of year again when I write to you and try to justify my actions of the past 12months. Seeing as we’re both adults I don’t feel it’s necessary to beat around the bush. Unlike certain children, I don’t feel I need to draw you a nice picture to prove my intentions. I can’t draw. So let’s get down to business and discuss why I should be on the good list and how I should be rewarded.

I can’t lie like little kids. I’m not even going to pretend that I’ve helped out around the house and done something nice for someone everyday. Santa my man, you are all knowing and all seeing so it’s pointless to even pretend that I’ve tried. In my defence, can I just say that while I am shockingly disruptive, a professional procrastinator and all round story teller… I am actually a good person deep down. I can be caring when I fancy it and I try to do the best by others (unless I don’t like them very much.) When I laughed at the midgets wrestling on Jerry Springer a few months ago, I meant no offence to your elves in any way.

So let’s get down to business. May I please have something half decent? You know my boyfriend Justin? You must know him; he’s the one at the top of your good list with a halo around his head. As much as everyone loves him, he has no Christmas cheer. For Christmas may I please have a boyfriend who isn’t so suborn and just goes with the flow? If I want to dangle lights all out the place, I would like him to smile and say “good job! Our house looks like a cheap brothel and is completely uncoordinated but good job!” It’s just not Christmas unless we’re both wankered on Baily’s, wearing Santa hats and singing dodgy Christmas carols while dancing around the lounge. Also, I would love for him to understand the importance of wrapping everything and anything in wrapping paper… just so I can open it on Christmas morning. Could you please remind him that I left the wrapping paper, sticky tape and scissors on the kitten table? There are only 2 tags left but I’m sure he can pick some more up from the pound shop.

As for the gift department, you have yet to let me down. Just to ensure we are on the same page; here is a list of stuff I wouldn’t say no too:

A head massager (manual or electric. You can pick these up cheap from boots.)
A Christmas Song CD to play all day long. (must include Wham and Mariah)
A dressing grown/ slanket (it’s a blanket with sleeves)
The Sims 3 expansion pack.
A kitten.
Eurostar tickets for a weekend in Paris
Some books, of the soppy lady variety
Lily Allen, Michael Buble`, Lenka, Peter Andre or John Williamson Album (will settle for downloads as long as they are paid for and I can play them in the kitchen)
A photo album with all the pictures from our adventures in it
The lifestyle and culture channel package on Sky
Christmas flowers delivered to work
Some arcade games on the playstation (happy with downloads)
Chocolate dipped strawberries (home made with Cadbury chocolate)
Arrow Word, crossword book
A princess outfit for Kitty-Minx (I know he’s a boy cat but he has no balls!)

To be honest Santa, apart from that one year when my brother was born and my presents where rather thin on the ground, you’ve done alright by me. I think if we can maintain at this current strong level of quality we shouldn’t fall out.

Till next year, you’re faithful, naughty, little one. ;)
Kell xx

It's a Girl! (or is it a boy?)

2009-12-01T01:52:00.000-08:00

The other day I had to make a mad dash in the rain from Liverpool Street station to the taxi rank. While I stood under my umbrella waiting for a taxi, a woman joined the queue behind me. In toe, she had a small child which I would put at around 3 years old. Now this child left me with some serious questions.

I’m sorry, but if you have a little girl what on earth would possess you give her a mullet? No really, there is nothing funny or cool about a three year old girl with a shiny mullet for a haircut. In fact there is nothing cool about a 12 year old girl with a mullet but at least she has the voice to fight back. Should the 12 year old roll over and accept her mullet, then laughing at her is fair game. But a three year old, how is that remotely fare. Further more, should you have a son (with a mullet,) why would you put him a dress? It really does confuse things, even for open minded people like me!

If you haven’t figured it out yet, this child looked like a boy, had a mullet but yet was wearing a red dress thingy with trousers underneath. I don’t condone laughing at helpless children but what the heck? I mean surely this is a case for child services… or the fashion police!

I looked down and smiled at the little shim (she/him) and also gave it a little wave. The child gave me a big grin back and waved. Thinking that this could be my chance to find out what gender it was so I could either laugh at the hair cut or attire, I asked, “What’s your name?”
The little shim hid behind its mother’s leg and I heard a small voice say, “Charlie.” Well smack me over the head with a baseball bat and give the shim a biscuit, it has a unisex name to match the gender confused get-up.

If I’m confused what must that poor child think? I’m a boy but mum wanted a girl bad enough that she makes me wear dresses OR, I’m a girl… with a mullet, my life is over. The parents should be shot either way.

A taxi finally arrived and due to the rain, I offered it too the shim and its mother. Freak show or not, it’s still a small child in the rain and freak shows can catch a cold too you know!

Quote of the Day

2009-11-26T02:02:00.000-08:00

It seems London is burning… AGAIN! Last night a fire struck a housing estate in Peckham. Low and behold it's all over the London news this morning (the story that is.) So far reports are saying there are no fatalities, which is a good thing. It seems the fire is being dubbed "The Great Fire on London 2009". How a fire can be great, I'll never know!

But what I really loved about this article in particular was the quote from one of the residents. Lucy Pope whoever you are, you have won my quote of the day competition (which I just invented.)

“People are scared, they are standing in bus shelters and there are babies who have been woken up.”

Babies who have been woken up! OMG this is a real tragedy of epic proportions!!!

Also in other news that is completely unrelated to the fire in Peckham or babies being woken up by concerned parents who thought a woken baby is better than a burnt baby. (Although Lucy would beg to differ…)

I would like to send out a big HAPPY BIRTHDAY to one of the most important people in my life. Words will never be enough to express who much you mean to me. Happy Birthday Kelton! I feel the same way about you as a fat kid feels about cake. xx

Anywhere is... ie, NOT HERE!

2009-11-25T02:07:00.000-08:00

I really need to vent. I’m not going to go into details as to why I need to vent but trust me when I say this; if I don’t vent soon, someone and most probably someone who doesn’t deserve it, will become the helpless victim of an obscene amount of verbal abuse.

When my brother was born, my step father’s mother came and stayed with us while mum was in hospital. Before mum went away for the longest 4 days of my life, she bought me an Enya CD and told me to play it every time the evil cow wound me up. Not that I have a problem with controlling my temper, more that my mum knew if I got to breaking point, I was more than capable of slipping a little something in her tea and tying her to a chair for the remainder of her stay.

So today while I stomp my feet, pull my hair, have a cry and all in all, throw my toys out of the cot, I would like to share with you a song that seems to calm me down and take me to a place where nothing really matters. Please enjoy this video of Enya’s Anywhere Is.

She wrote a song... For You!

2009-11-21T11:00:00.001-08:00

Does anyone have Simon Cowell's number? I think I have just found the next Whitney Huston!

Investment Banking: It’s a bit like Lego

2009-11-10T02:53:00.000-08:00

The other night at the pub I got a very interesting lesson in the art of Investment Banking. I thought I would share it with you.

Investment Banking is like Lego. In a Lego set you have 5 or 6 different colours and lots of different size blocks made out of those colours. Each of those colours represents a product and each different sized block within that colour represents… something else. I can’t remember what he said; I think Girls Aloud came on so I stopped to have a bit of a dance.

But anyway, so you have all these different blocks made out of different colors that can be rearranged into a magnitude of different things. But the fundamentals of all structures are the same… just constructed in different ways.

On Friday night, while nursing not one but two glasses of wine I found this analogy fascinating. So on Saturday morning after my trip to KFC I figured I would try and expand on what was explained to me. This is what I came up with.

The world economy is like a Lego village, you have the town part and the houses/suburb part. The economic down turn is when you’ve run out of blocks. All construction stops and all the Lego Men loose their jobs. Mum won’t buy you more blocks and feed a false village, so you have no choice but to evict your Lego men and make them all live together in a small one bedroom flat on the wrong side of the village. You use the blocks from their now empty houses to expand the town. This is called 'Repossession' and 'Public Sector Spending'.

Now all of this could have been avoided. The Lego village was working just dandy until the neighbour came over to the play. The motto to the story is quite a simple one. Don’t let your children, who are the master craftsman of such a complex system, play with kids called Gordon.

It's Friday mum.. Get your boobs out!

2009-11-08T14:41:00.000-08:00

Mum and I e-mail each other and occasionally she’ll remind me of things that make me very home sick. The Friday Song is one of these things.

When I was growing up and living in a small dead-end coastal town, every Friday morning the local radio station would play a song called the Friday Song. It’s a good ol’ wholesome family tune to get you in the weekend spirit. Every Friday I would wake up at the crack of dawn to listen to the song. I would sing along while dancing around the kitchen table. My grandparents used to live down the road from us. Naturally they listened to the song too. Still to this day, when I go home and see my Grandparents I force myself out of bed on Friday mornings just so I can sit at the kitchen table with my porridge and sing along until my granddad yells at me for being too cheery, too early.

I had told Justin about this song and how I longed to be able to hear it over here on Friday mornings. So he suggested I e-mail the station and ask them for a copy. SO I DID!

The response I got was not quite what I was expecting. Let’s just say the song attached wasn’t the wholesome family song I remembered.

I responded with this:

Hi there

Many thanks for the song, however I think you're attached the wrong one.

As much as this song gave me and my South African boyfriend a laugh and truly made our day, it is not "The Friday" song. My boyfriend is now wondering what mothers are like in Australia. I assured him that most mothers do not drink themselves into sin and get there boobs out while weeing in the gutter. You’ve given the poor boy high expectations that my mother could never live up too.

Please may I have the Friday song? Although maybe you should start playing “Ma with her boobs out,” on a Friday morning. I know it would make my granddad smile while eating his porridge.

Let it be known that "ma with her boobs out" is now stored on my ipod for future enjoyment.

Guess you made a bit of a tits up there (excuse the pun BUT I COULDN'T resist!)

Needless to say once I had received the correct song and played it to Justin, the first thing he said was, “Play the boobs one again!

Friday Song or is this the Friday Song?

How to: Open a bottle of wine... in style!

2009-11-05T05:02:00.000-08:00

Now we all know that youtube is full of people showing us “How to do” things. Between the makeup artists, chefs, shirt folders and everything else, it’s very easy to become lost and complacent. But some people on youtube really can teach you something that could one day come in handy.

Straight from land WTF, give the man a round of applause!

City Girl

2009-11-04T07:14:00.000-08:00

‘City Girl’ is a title given to the women who work in the financial sector, us young ladies who work our butts off in an often sexist work place. ‘City Girl’ was once a badge that I wore with pride. Once upon a time, to say you were a 'City Girl' it meant that you were strong, capable and ready to fight. There is no point lying about it or tip toeing around the subject. To be a female in the financial industry, regardless of the role you play, you need to grow a pair to survive.

But it seems the term is being thrown around like a loose cannon these days and instead of being associated with head strong women, it’s being associated with airheads of the materialistic variety. It really winds me up that females are not taken seriously. Here is the city is a great example of this. This website is one of the most widely read amongst the city folk and yet it publishes articles like this. A City Girl’s Wish List. How is this article remotely related to the market or what’s going on in the world? Why is such dribble like this on a website that everyone reads? Now I’m not saying that it’s all about burning our bras and dressing like frumps. It’s more the fact that this website seems to advertise that women in the city are nothing more than materialistic sex symbols that float around the office to appease the wondering eye. If I read ‘Sexed-up-secretary’ or anything remotely like it one more time, please don’t hold me accountable for my actions.

This article really upset me. I don’t want this label or to be affiliated with it in any way. Yes I like the nice things in life but Friday afternoon treats? WHO DOES THAT? I don’t like the way this 'City Girl' brags about her shopping conquests and puts women who work in other industries down. I don’t own an emerald ring from Tiffany, I don’t know who Les Nereides is, nor do I waste my money on a purse every week. I can tell you what I do have though; I have no debt, no guilt, lovely bi-annual holidays, a trip to Selfridges once every couple of months and to top it all off I have confidence. I know that I will never drop to that level and become the materialistic airhead. I also believe that maybe (just maybe) if I stick to my guns on this one, my brains will pull me through as opposed to a low cut top and 6inch heels. It’s called self respect City Girl, you should give it a try some time.

Industrial Slip ‘n’ Slide

2009-10-26T13:24:00.000-07:00

It’s amazing how you forget things completely until something triggers it. I recently became friends with an old neighbor on Crackbook.

While most of my teenage years were spent on planing how I was going to skip the country, I spared the odd afternoon or 2 for the neighboring hood-rats. Between tearing around the streets on our bikes, tormenting each other with water booms and leaving a trail of destruction through the homes of the folk who were stupid enough to let us in, we also found time to peg a huge blue tarp to my front lawn and create an industrial sized Slip ‘n’ Slide. See the example below for actual size.

The Slip ‘n’ Slide kept us amused for most of the summer holidays one year. It started off tame. It was nothing but 3 kids taking it in turn to go down the tarp with the hose flowing behind us. Needless to say that got boring after the first hour. Phase two involved the resident four year olds, one of which was my brother. After we had convinced Kelton and little Chloe that it was completely safe and we would catch them at the bottom, they too started going down the tarp with smiles on their faces and the wind in their hair. We could convince these two to go down any which way we liked. They loved being included in our game for once so getting them to go down backwards on a body board without holding on was a piece of cake and didn't faze them in the slightest!

Now while this was fun, again it grew boring, so we entered phase 3. Soap yourself up with shampoo first for maximum speed. We three elder children tried it first and for quite some time this was the only entertainment we needed. Even our parents would come out and watch the spectacle of three kids, 2 of which were teenagers, throwing themselves down a hill at full speed covered head to toe in shampoo. Yes, it truly was as ridiculous as it sounds but boy was it fun! If you took a run up you would slide the whole the tarp, hit the grass and keep going. If you hit that tarp too fast, the only thing stopping you at the end of the grass was the gutter and then tarred road.

One afternoon we inevitably started to get tired of covering ourselves in shampoo. We needed a new game. I believe it was Harry who called, “Let’s race Kelton and Chloe!” Placing out bets on which small child would hit the now muddied grass first; we soaped them up and screamed “GO!” No words can describe what happened next. One minute there were smiles and laughter, the next the clouds came over. I don’t remember who won, all I remember is two screaming four year olds and three set of parents giving us the telling off of a life time.

Needless to say the tarp was banished to the garage and that was the end of that game. Bike ride anyone?

Save a Polar Bear... Kill a bottle!

2009-10-08T06:59:00.000-07:00

For the first time in my working days I have come across a passive-aggressive note in the office that I didn’t write. (I’m a little jealous they beat me too it.)

McDonalds Gets a B*tch-slap

2009-10-07T05:23:00.001-07:00

Sometimes when I'm having a bad I just want to eat pancakes. Should you prevent me from eating such pancakes, be prepared for something along these lines:

Dear Mr. McDonalds,

This morning I visited your store on London Wall. I ordered Pancakes with Syrup. I’m used waiting a little while for pancakes as I know these are prepared fresh. For some reason this morning, I had to wait over 10mins for my order.

When my order finally arrived, the pancakes where rock hard and stone cold. I checked inside my brownbag to find I had been given no butter and no syrup. Just pancakes with a knife and folk. When I asked for some butter and syrup, the cashier handed me butter and told me they had run out of Syrup! I was not informed of this before I paid and was made to wait 10minutes. I find it bemusing that I can be sold Pancakes with Syrup and yet somehow end up with only pancakes. The cashier then said she would get someone to go check if they had any in stock. How you can have breakfast on but have no syrup close to hand is beyond me.

If the Pancakes weren't already cold enough, they were uneatable by the time someone fetched the syrup from 'down stairs'.

The service level was appalling, the wait time was extremely unsatisfactory and the level of food I was given was nothing short of disgusting. I have not only wasted my time but also over £2 on food that I had to throw away.

I look forward to your timely response.

(5 days later, I get this responce)

Dear Miss Lawrence

Thank you for contacting us about your visit to the London Wall restaurant.

I was very sorry to learn of the series of events that you experienced on this occasion and from your comments I can fully understand your disappointment and dissatisfaction felt at the time. Please accept my sincere apologies.

As a company we aim to provide 100% customer satisfaction and high standards of quality, service and cleanliness at all times. I regret this has not been your experience.

Your comments are taken seriously by us and have been passed to the management team at London Wall. The details of your complaint will be used as part of their assessment of the restaurant's performance and procedures. These ongoing reviews help to identify any areas
needing improvement within the restaurant.

You are clearly a regular and loyal customer and we thank you for your custom.

To make amends for your spoilt visit I have sent a voucher to put towards a future meal with our compliments. I trust this is well received. (£5!!)

Again, thank you for taking the time and trouble to contact us.

Regards

Big Trouble in Little China

2009-10-02T03:36:00.000-07:00

Wow, I don’t quite know where to start with this article. Are things that bad in China that the little people need to band together and set up their own munchkin village?

You can just imagine it. A little man dressed in Town Crier gear, standing on a cereal box laboriously swinging a dinner bell and screaming, “Little people of China unite! Let us live together in our own village. We can reside in Mushrooms, dress up in Fairytale costumes and show those big people we’re no laughing matter!”

Kunming, a bit like Smurf Village or Munchkinland is completely self sufficient. Constantly on guard from giant lizards (mainly the blue tongue and gecko) and other large threats, the residents felt the need to protect and serve their community. The residents have taken advantage of state of the art equipment designed for size appropriate training.

The 120 residents have been able to train and build their own police force and fire brigade to fight off these predators. Understandably, the cost of this was large and to help compensate their efforts the state kindly donates size appropriate vehicles.

Currently the Kunming legal system is working closely with Storyland. One of Storyland’s most wanted criminals made her way over to Kunming to try and avoid capture. Little Miss Muffet, know for her break and enter attempts is now being held in the Kunming state prison and awaits extradition.

It seems that while the world mocks the compound (their words not mine) the residents are very happy with what they have achieved.

The Awkward Pick-up

2009-10-01T02:25:00.000-07:00

I’m sure most ladies out there have experienced the awkward pick up. Some random bloke does something strange or odd to get your attention and then when he thinks he has it he goes in for the kill… only to make the situation more awkward.

I’ve experienced two awkward pick-up attempts in the past couple of weeks. The first happened as Justin and I were walking up to the Wine Warehouse to bulk buy ‘the good shit.’ I was in a strop because I had run out of leave-in-conditioner and my hair was going fluffy. Justin tried to sooth my mood by telling me, “It doesn’t look that bad, fluffy is making a come back!” So now I was really angry. As we walked down the road I stormed a few paces ahead of him. I got to the corner of the T-intersection and there was a wanker in a zupped up car driving down the road with music blearing. Usually I ignore such twits but seeing as I was an angry little munchkin with bad hair. I glared my beady eyes straight into his as he got closer. I stood at the corner waiting for him to turn. He stopped and motioned for me to cross. So I did. I was now on one side of the road and Justin was on the other. The Twit turned the corner and hooted at me. I looked up and he smiled as he slowed down and pulled the car along side of the sidewalk. Needless to say that due to my mood I didn’t smile back. I had 2 words to say to him. One began with F and the other began with O. before I had a chance to say either word, Justin had caught up, put his arm over my shoulder and puffed out his chest like an over protective bird. Queue awkward moment. Me being me, I laughed my little ass off as the twit face drove off in a huff.

The second awkward pick-up moment happened yesterday on the Tube coming back to the office after lunch. I was approached by man on crutches. I felt sorry for him so I offered him my seat. He shook his head and proceeded to muster up the creepiest grin I have ever seen. While smiling this creepy-ass grin he balanced on one crutch while he fumbled around in his back pocket. His eyes lit up as he pulled out a business card. Now this isn’t the first time I’ve been given a business card. Usually you just smile and politely walk away. When you’re on the tube these situations are a bit more awkward. I smiled and politely took his card.
He nodded, “So, are you going to give me your name?”
“My mum always told me not to talk to strangers,” Unless they are incredibly good looking or handing out free-bees on the street.
“Cute. You know my name and number. What’s yours?”
When ever I’m asked my name by someone who is a freak I always respond with, “Mary.”
Thankfully the train pulled into my station. I quickly got up and politely smiled my good byes. As I made my exit, he did this strange squinty blink thing. I can only assume that was supposed to be a wink and I can only assume this was meant to lure me into calling him. It wasn’t and it didn’t.

As I walked from the station, I dropped his business card in the, ‘Mailing Box’ container inside a pub door. Someone will be calling him… but it won’t be me!

Boy's Home: Saving our sanity since 1997

2009-09-28T04:25:00.000-07:00

Some friends of mine were discussing punishment techniques for their toddlers. This reminded me of my brother’s naughty years and one particular form of punishment that had him running scared.

When my brother was little, I’m talking like 2-3 years old. He had a tendency to misbehave and just plain ignore his parents. Granted he was copying his big sister but it’s not something a 3 year old should be doing.
“Kelton please finish the rest of your carrots.”
“You finish it!”
“Kelton Please pack up your toys.”
“You do it.”

We tried everything from taking away his toys to not giving him pudding to even ignoring him. Ignoring him was the least effective. Whenever we ignored him he would just break something and then clap his hands at his triumph.

One day he was doing something particularly naughty and his father came out with, “Stop that son or we’ll send you to the boy's home!” Kelton looked rather confused; he hadn’t heard this one before. Mum was quick to follow and explained that very naughty boys went to the boy’s home and often they never returned. Very quickly Kelton became a reformed child, too scared to even breathe in case he was sent to the boy's home. It got to the point that mum would only have to pick up the receiver of the phone and Kelton would her hug her leg in tears screaming “NO BOY'S HOME NO BOY'S HOME! I'LL BE GOOD! NO BOY'S HOME!”

The boy’s home threat worked marvellously and we though the problem was solved. One day mum took me and our now reformed little angle to the grocery store. Contentently munching on an unpaid apple we didn’t hear boo out of him as I pushed him in his stroller and mum pushed the trolley. We got to the checkout and Kelton was let out of his stroller to choose a MR. Men book. The boy in front of us in the queue was throwing a tantrum and a half. Kelton calmly put the books down and waddled up to him, “Be good or your mum will send you to the boy's home!” The whole queue went quite and stared at my mother who went a deep red colour as she strapped her darling angle back in his stroller.

The boy’s home threat was never used again.

Not a Happy Camper

2009-09-22T03:45:00.000-07:00

It is a well known fact that I love to have a good moan. It is also a well known fact that I’m not a morning person. Knocking on my door at 10am on a Saturday is going to land you straight on my naughty list. Here’s the letter I just fired off to Southern Electric.

To whom it may concern,

I am very disappointed to see that Southern Electric has stooped to door to door sales of products to existing customers.

On Saturday 26th September, my partner and I were rudely disturbed by the account manager of our area, knocking on our front door. He was trying to sell us a telephone package, in which we would be switched from BT to Southern Electric. For doing this we would receive £30 off our next electric bill. In general I find door to door sales extremely intrusive, not at all constructive and down rite annoying.

What upset me even further was the way I was spoken too. Seeing as I was still in my pyjamas and half way through cooking my breakfast, I asked your representative if I may take a form to peruse and fill out in my own time. He proceeded to tell me that due to the reference number at the top he had to fill it out and he had to call all the details in. So in other words, I had to take this offer now or never be offered it again. This is not exactly outstanding customer care.

I asked him what information he would require. He showed me the form and some of the questions were quite personal. To answer those questions would be leaving myself vulnerable to all sorts of security risks. I don’t feel comfortable giving someone who is off the street such information.

All in all, I am not impressed that South Electric feel it is okay to intrude on someone’s weekend like that. Further more, to try and sell a product with no information pack and give the customer no time to read it is ridiculous. I am not impressed in the slightest by your sales techniques.

In future I wish to be only contacted via, letter, e-mail, telephone or pre-arrange meeting. I take the assumption that my concerns will be raised with a member of management.

Commuter Snoozer

2009-09-11T02:32:00.000-07:00

London is one of those city’s that you can’t really describe in words. To understand London and what it’s about you need to be here and live it. The diversity is huge from 2year stay Aussies, to nutter South Africans, to over excitable Americans, to long term stayers like me, to long term stayers who are so comfortable with their surroundings and fellow Londoners they would make you cringe or laugh!

This morning on my way to work I found this guy.
Now you may look at this picture and think he is dead. I can assure you that he was not dead. Several clues lead me to believe the man had the gift of life still in him. Apart from drooling and his mouth moving in a goldfish motion, he was also snoring. When a man snores, at least you know air is getting in. Snoring is a good thing when it comes too passed out people.

When you find a snoring man on the tube you generally ignore him, this guy however was extremely hard to ignore when he started moving his tongue in and out of his mouth to the rhythm of his snore. As the journey went on, the snoring got louder and so did our giggles. When ever he did ‘the goldfish,’ I had to look away for fear of falling over from laughter. Truly it was a sight and the sounds he made were astonishing!

Judging by his attire I’m guessing he works somewhere in the city. He either had to get off at my stop or the stop after. I hope someone woke him but I highly doubt it. London is one of those cities where it doesn’t matter who you are, you’re on your own when it comes to embarrassing situations. See you at the end of line buddy.

I'm a Twit: Outsmarted by a Bank Teller

2009-09-10T03:23:00.000-07:00

I like to think that I’m a clever chicken. Not so much in the ‘Look at all my certificates’ sense but more in the, ‘You have 101 certificates and yet you still require help to boil an egg or get home in one piece.’ Some times, I have to laugh at how people go about their day to day business. I know it’s wrong to judge others and revel in my self proclaimed superior status but don’t worry, this morning I got my comeuppance. Think public, think embarrassing and think down right stupid. Yes, I made a complete tit of myself at the bank!

I had to go and pay the council tax. I’m pretty lucky and will admit that Justin takes care of most of the financial up keeping. I just give my 50% and he takes care of it all. The only thing we don’t spilt on is Council tax. We take this in turns to pay. Every second month I have to pay it in full. This month was my turn.

So off I clip clop to the bank in my black stilettos. With my unfilled out council tax book, I wait in the que for my turn. I get the front and I hand the book to the man, “I want to pay the council tax please.”
The man smiles, “You haven’t filled the slip out.”
I scratch my head, “I never fill it out. Not that I don’t know how but I don’t carry a pen with me and I don’t like using Bank pens. So many people touch those. Germs aren’t cool.”
Clearly unimpressed by my quick wit he replied, “I will fill it out this time but in future you need to do it yourself.”
Every time I have to pay something at the bank they tell me this. I’ve yet to fill anything out at the bank myself. Bank pens are horrible and I don’t see the point in carrying a pen in my bag just for banking purposes.

“Could you please put your card into the machine?” He didn’t make eye contact. Clearly he’s not a morning person and we’re never going to be friends.
I opened my purse and my card wasn’t there. Now this doesn’t surprise me. I quite often just through it in my bag and then play a game of ‘Where’s My Card’ the next time I want to use it. I start rummaging through the contents of my Mary Poppins Bag. Clearly I’m not going to find it with everything in the bag. I smile at the man in the hope he’s not going to throw my out for what I’m about to do. I pull out my make-up bag then my camera. Still can’t find my card. The que is building behind me… I need to find my card quick quick! I pull out my umbrella, tickets to Venice, tickets to a past football match, a rock (don’t ask!), pair of stockings, packet of panadol, a blue clothes peg, a bolt, a ruler, a green clothes peg and finally my ipod.

The man behind the counter huffs as I pile all my things back into the back. “How do I go about cancelling my card?”
He rolled his eyes, “Do you have your savings card on you?”
I opened my purse again and turned to the other section where I keep my other cards. SHIT!
“OH LOOK! I found my current account card! It was in my purse all along. How silly am I?”
His turn for a quick witted remark, “You carry a rock and clothes pegs in your handbag but don’t carry a pen. You emptied the entire contents of your bag onto the counter for you to find your card in your purse. Do really want me to answer that?”

“No you don’t have too. It was a rhetorical question.”

Coleslaw on my Conscience

2009-09-08T06:38:00.000-07:00

The other night we treated ourselves to KFC. We always order one large burger meal deal and one extra burger. It works out cheaper this way and we can share the chips, drink and side order. One slight problem is the size of the side order.

So we’re standing at the counter and I placed the order, “No ice in the drink please but could you fill it all the way up? May I please have the cardboard chip packet instead of the paper one and may I please have extra mayo on both burgers.” I was a KFC bitch in a previous life. I know the secrets!

He gives my order and I look at the small tub of coleslaw. “Excuse me, I asked for a large meal but you’ve given me a small coleslaw.”
The chicken boy replied, “The large coleslaws are for family meals only.”
Justin left my side and took a seat. He knew what was coming and had to hide his smile.
“By law, we are a family and this is a meal we will share but that’s not the point. I paid an extra 30p for a large meal and for that I would expect anything that could be upsized would be upsized. The last time I ordered this I was given a large coleslaw.”
“I’m sorry mam.”
“That’s okay. Clearly someone has made a mistake in the past. Is a manager on site?”
He walked out the back and returned very quickly. “My manager said you could have a large coleslaw.“
“Oh wow! Really? Thank you!”

As we walked home Justin asked, “Have you got a large coleslaw with a burger meal before?”
“Don’t ask questions you won’t like the answer too.”
“I’ll take that as a no and that you lied to get it. That’s wrong! That is now tainted coleslaw. Let it hang on your conscience!”
“All the more coleslaw for me then.”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t eat it…”

Fire Drills and High Heels

2009-09-07T09:43:00.001-07:00

Can I just openly put this out there, fire drills and new high heels don’t mix.

I bought myself a new pair of work shoes on the weekend. Being the shorty I am, I like to try and elongate myself for the office. Much like braces and how they get tighter with time, every six months I go up half an inch. Today was my first day on 4.5inch heels. Now this may not sound impressive but frankly I’m not trying to impress. When you’re up and down from your desk all day, any sized stiletto can become a mammoth task. So today has been a day of blisters. I don’t mind really, once they’re broken in, they will become my comfy work/dancing shoes.

Having new shoes is fun. Having new shoes that are giving you blisters and being forced to stand in them for 45mins outside because of a fire drill, not so fun. The alarm went and I took off my shoes to change them for my flats. As I did so I got a dirty look from a trader. One of those, “I hate women and why on earth is she changing her shoes when the building is on fire.” He’s eyes scared me, so I put my high heels back on before he opened fire around the office with his hidden hand gun, like how they do it in America, “You ate my jello, NOW YOU DIE!”

So off I tottled but not before I packed my handbag up with all my vital organs (purse and phone.) I completely forgot about the 'no lift' rule during fire drills. I was rudely reminded when I was ushered to the stairwell. May I point out I have never used the stairwell. This building is like Hogwarts, magic stairwells everywhere that lead to secret passages outside! I followed the crowd and found a seat on the corner. I sat, I chatted I was then told to move onto the meeting point. Unfortunately, “But my feet are sore,” Doesn’t wash with HR when they’re trying to do a head count… on mass.

So I stood like a herded animal while some one with a megaphone mumbled something at us. BAAA and MOOO were the general responses from the crowd. During the 30-45mins of just standing around discussing how much company time we were wasting, we had gathered and audience. Everyone in the buildings around us all came to the windows to see the annual sceptical of mass confusion aka An Evacuation.

Now you may think this is bad enough. My afternoon has been rudely disrupted, my feet hurt like hell and to top it off we’re being looked at like animals in a zoo. I truly thought it couldn’t get any worse this. The next think we know, we’re being herded back into the building. My feet were at the point of no return. You know the point, cut them off before you slit your wrists from the pain. I get back inside and I’m told, “Lifts aren’t working, use the stairs.” I really felt like asking someone to carry me but I didn’t. Although what an entrance that would have been!

So now I sit at my desk with minuets to go before knock-off time. My toes are numb and oh, I have ear plugs in because they can’t work out how to turn the alarm off.

Raggy Dolls: Helping ugly people feel good about themselves since the 1980s

2009-09-06T14:09:00.000-07:00

This was a show I used to watch when I was a little girl. Don't get me wrong, I'm not taking the piss here. I understand that the show was teaching kids not to make fun of the rejects. Just because they belong in the reject bin doesn't mean they are sitting ducks for school yard taunting... or something like that maybe I missed the point.

One part of this song had me asking questions when I knee high to grasshopper:
So if you got a bump on your nose or a lump on your toes, do not despair.

Be like the Raggy Dolls, and say I just don't care!

Yes you could say, "I just don't care." Or you could go see a doctor and get the lump on your toes checked out. It could be this. Lets be honest, what sane person wouldn't see a doctor if they had a random lump on their toes? Any person not seeing a doctor when such symptoms occur, really do belong in the reject bin.

And as for the singer going on about "Dolls like you and me," I think he should really be a little more careful about which children he's referring too. If I found my child singing along to, “don't be scared if you don't fit in. Look who's in the reject bin!” I would be mortified. I would like to think that my spawn will at least try to fit in or failing that, make like their mother and slip out of the country while the goings good!

So all together now, big it for the Raggy Dolls and their message of; it's cool to have your head on backwards, be a transvestite princess (Listen to her voice,) have a name like Sad Sack and be friends with an obnoxious French person/doll!

Memories: Sportacus Does Karate

2009-09-02T00:56:00.000-07:00

About two years ago my housemate came across this video on Youtube while looking for Karate videos. It was shocking, it was hilarious and it became a standing joke between us.

Years on, I stumbled on this cracker once again. The best part is I still think it’s the funniest thing in the world! (Apart from Chimpanzee Riding A Segway.)

A Weekend In Budapest

2009-09-01T02:39:00.000-07:00

The boyfriend and I hooked up with some good friends of ours and made the epic journey to Budapest. Flight time is only 2hrs and I know this hardly constitutes the description of 'epic' but you weren’t in the car with us on our way to Heathrow. Trust me when I say that the drive south west from our house was nothing short of 'epic'. There was enough 'epicness' in that single journey to cover both the car ride and the flight.

Once we were finally there and had our feet safely on ex-soviet ground, we made our way to the baggage collection. In the time it took for our bags to arrive we had all had a toilet break, Justin had eaten a ham and cheese roll I smuggled off the plane and Sam and I had been put in our place by an old lady who clearly preferred the ‘old ways’ over westernised tourist asking silly questions about transportation to the hotel. Did I mention the old lady worked in the Information booth? Bored already with the airport, Morven kept us amused as he too got a stern telling off from the Information Lady.

Finally our bags arrived and we were on our way to the hotel. Being the young, sober, excited folk we are, Sam asked the taxi driver if he could recommend any particular beer to try. He literally turned around in his seat and proceeded to answer with, “Beer, drink, yes, beer, good. Music?” clearly English wasn’t a second language to him, but what concerned Morv was his ability to drive at 100miles an hour while talking to us girls in the back seat.
“I think if we want to get to this hotel in one piece we should stop asking Jackie Chan questions.” We all giggled and agreed.

The hotel was clearly build in the 70s. The 70s of which century we’re not sure of. It had character and a 4star rating. We very quickly came to the conclusion this was a 4star Soviet Union rating not westernised-chocolates-on-your-pillow 4star rating. But really, so it was advertised wrong… very wrong. We didn’t complain. We were there to enjoy the culture and get away from Western Europe and experience something new. The something new was clearly in the wardrobe that was missing door handles and screwed shut. We came to the conclusion this was where they used to hide the video camera. What also surprised us about the hotel was the suspicious fire alarm that went off at 8.30am. Me being me, I laid in bed while Justin ran out into the hallway to investigate. No fire, just the hotel manager trying to drum up some clientele for breakfast down stairs.

Day one was spent wondering the streets and taking in the sights, smells and tastes of Hungary’s biggest holiday. I would compare it to America’s 4th July. It was huge! What were they celebrating? I don’t know, missed that part, I was too busy stuffing my face with food and washing it down with £1 pints. The Red Bull air race was on and in the evening we were treated with a huge fire works display. It was really beautiful. Once the fire works were over we decided to head back to the hotel. Morven and Justin were in charge of the map. (Bit like they were in charge of the map going to Heathrow… but that’s another story all on its own!) Who knew where they were leading us. Eventually after walking in the wrong direction for close on 15mins Sam took control and took the map. Within minutes we were back on track and walking the other way up the road. We gave the map back to the boys who examined it and then proclaimed that THEY now had us walking the right way. Sam and I consulted the map a few more times (while they held it) and eventually we got back to the hotel. The boys made it up to us the following day, when they treated us to a day at the spa. The hotel manager was a funny fellow who could give me a run for my money in the cunning department. He told us that he could sell us the tickets to the Spa. Only 3800HUF, the same price as it would be at the Spa. We kept this in mind but we wanted to wonder around first and not be tied down to only one location, so we made the decision to buy our tickets at the spa. Upon arrival we took a look at the price board. Same price hey Mr. Hotel Manger? You are a naughty, lying, cheating, hotel manager! The price was in fact only 3000HUF!

The Spa was amazing!! Over 20 different pools all different temperatures, saunas and steam rooms! The boys even got to see some granny boobs!! We spent over 3hrs there taking it all in and toping up on some much needed sunshine. Only in Hungary can you order a beer poolside!

After the spa we ate some mustard with a sausage. No really, not sausage with mustard, this was a paper plate filled with mustard and sausage for scooping the mustard into your mouth. It was good! With our mustard swimming in our tummies we made our way back to the city centre to find a beer consumption house. Instead we found a back alley restaurant and ordered wine. Okay, we didn’t order just wine, we ordered Absence as well! So now quite merry, we made our way to the next bar where us girls had a bottle between us and the boys drank god knows how many pints. From there we found an English pub and drank some more there. It’s usually at this point I’m close to done but seeing as we were on holiday we decided that some dancing was in order. Don’t ask how and please don’t ask why… we found ourselves in some club-thing-amu-do. Just as we thought this night couldn’t get any better, we found a karaoke room! KEN LEE!!! (Youtube it, now imagine it live, my tummy hurt from laughing!) Doubling over in fits of laughter after hearing "Rike a Wirgin", Sam and I went and chose a song for us to sing. We didn’t tell the boys until it was our turn. All four of us took centre stage and belted out the best rendition of ‘We Are the Champions,’ that you’ve ever heard. The crowd. Went. Nuts! They had their lighters out and waving them above their heads, they were all singing and dancing and wrapping their arms over each other shoulders. We truly rocked their world! The night went on and didn’t stop. Not even when Morven broke a cigar cutter – the funny part was the four of us trying to keep a straight face while watching the bar tender try and fix it! After 2 more Absence, some Unicum and a Flaming Lamborghini we were well and truly done. Pit stop by the local kebab shop (they’re called Gyros) and we were slowly but surely on our way back to the hotel but not before Morven took a wiz off the bridge.

We got back to the hotel to find Mr. Hotel Manager behind the desk. Morven proceed to tell him, “Guess what! The spa gave us special deal because I’m so good looking. (He blew a kiss) Only paid 3000HUF. COOL!”
Sam and I quickly bound the pair of them in the lift before they could blow anyone else kisses.

The following day was a quieter affair. Nursing hangovers, we walked the city and took in the sights that we had missed in our drunken shambles the nights before. Budapest is truly a remarkable city filled with both modern sights you would expect to see but it also carries an undertone of history. There is something very touching about the buildings that still have bullet holes in them and also the memorials to all those who perished. Hungary has been torn every which way. Most countries have a wanted a piece of it at some point or another. The locals are mostly friendly and happy to help and even have a chat with you over a shot of Unicum.

The morning we flew out, we were sad to say good bye. It was a weekend that we will laugh about for years to come!

*All photos taken by Sam Brocklehurst*

Commuter Rage: Why it's never a good idea

2009-08-04T03:03:00.000-07:00

Like most Londoners I catch the Tube to most destinations. This includes the commute to work. Of a morning I have worked out that there are always one or two seats on the 07.57 train. This is the train that comes from another branch. I have also worked out which carriage is the emptiest and where the doors open. Therefore, I ensure I’m on a train that has at least one seat AND I’m the first on. It’s not rocket science.

This morning was no exception, as always I let everyone cram onto the 07.55 and then waved them off as I moved into my waiting spot and waited for the emptier train behind it. It seems that another lady has clocked me and my seat finding skills. That’s fine, who am I tell her “No you can’t copy me!” However as much as she’s realised I know where the seats are, she hasn’t quite worked out how to be polite on a platform.

This woman was standing so close to me she may as well of climbed on top of me. Yes I’m standing where the doors are going to open. Standing that close to me isn’t going to make me move. I was here first so if you could back off a little please that would be super-duper! There is no one else here so there is no need to make my personal space some sort of woman on woman communal area. I don’t even know your name love so any sort of hip on hip action is best left well alone. The train pulled up and right on que the doors opened smack bang in front of me and half of her, the half that was touching me. The stupid cow then had the audacity to push me with her elbow to get on first. Let’s keep in mind it’s 8am. I’m really not the friendliest of people at the best of times. Jabbing me with your elbow this early in the morning is just going to piss me off and in turn I’m going to make the rest of your commute a living hell.

So she runs onto the train and does this spread-leg-shuffle thing in the door way, looking for a seat. I step in behind her. Clearly this is some sort of seat finding race. Again let’s point out its 8am. Seat or not, I just want to read my book and be left alone. We can race another day at a more sensible hour. She suddenly made a dash left. I myself spied a seat on the far right and made my way over. Settling in with my book and Ipod, I looked up and she was standing over me with the face of a woman scorned. Wondering what happened to her seat I look down the carriage to find that the seat she broke the land speed record to get too was in fact not empty but it rather contained a small child with his head down reading a picture book. God bless small people and picture literature!!

We travelled along and every second stop I made the effort of putting my book down, putting my Ipod back in my bag and just generally going through the motions of someone just about to disembark. Every time I did it, she did the spread-leg-shuffle, ready to pounce on my seat. The folk around me smiled at the morning entertainment I was proving and other commuters began to join in. We had her doing the spread-leg-shuffle all the way to the Euston at which point she realised she was the butt of a public joke and moved on down the carriage.

And the motto to the story? There is no motto really, just that if you stand so close to me that we could be mistaken for conjoined twins and then jab me with your elbow in an unproved act of Commuter Rage; I’ll make 20 odd commuters laugh at you for my own commuting pleasure.

Football and How to Pick 'em!

2009-07-27T05:24:00.000-07:00

On Sunday Justin and I put together a packed lunch and toddled off to the football. I was very lucky and managed to get 2 tickets in a corporate box. Best seats in the stadium and they were free. These are the types of tickets we like! We arrived and met the folks we were sitting with. By chance we were only sharing with three others who were just as pumped as we were… for the afternoon out not so much the football.

The first match was Barcelona v some Egyptian team. I don’t even know their name, that’s how interesting it was. Final score was 4-1 Barcelona. We all sat around drinking, chatting and just enjoying the moment. We cheered at the appropriate moments and laughed when the goal keeper had to go off but not before he was poked in the eye by the ref.

The second match was the big one. The game that everyone had come to watch: Tottenham Hotspurs V Celtic. Now this is where I tell you that I haven’t a clue about football. I couldn’t even tell you who/what Celtic are/is. I was calling them Keltic until I was corrected in a fit of laughter by my peers. The only reason I know who Tottenham are is because they’re from North London, around the Seven Sisters area. Chav City! Taking my sever lack of knowledge into account, the 4 guys took me under their wing and did some explaining before the match started. It’s Celtic with an ‘S’ sound and they come from Scotland not Ireland. It’s ‘Spurs’ not ‘Dirty Chavs in Yellow’ and Spurs aRE the favourite to win.

The Dirty Chavs in Yellow to win? I was planning to put a fiver down and have a flutter on the match. I never gamble so I thought I could spare a fiver to make it more interesting for myself. I was going to put it down on the favourites. Let’s face it, I haven’t a clue and the favourites are always a safe bet. CHANGE OF PLAN! No way in hell was I betting on Luminous Yellow Chavs. Celtic maybe crap but I’d rather loose my fiver before I back the Spurs. I walked up the betting booth and asked the lady to help me place my bet. I don’t know how these things work and she raised her eyebrows as I gave her the blank from and my money! “Please may I bet £5 on the green guys? Keltic or Seltic, what ever they’re call.”
She started laughing at me, “Hun. Spurs are favourites to win. They are playing their first team. Are you sure you want to go for Celtic?”
“I don’t like Luminous Yellow. The green guys have a Japanese dude on their team. I think it’s pretty cool to have a Japanese dude on a Scottish team. I’ll stick with them.”
She filled out my form and took my money. “Odds of ‘the green dudes’ winning are 9/2.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means they don’t have a chance in hell and you’re pretty much the only person betting on them.”
“But at least they’re culturally diverse and even more so, they look lovely in their white and green stripes!"

I wandered back to the box and took my seat next to Justin. As I sat down I realised that while I was planning on rooting for Celtic, the Luminous Yellow fans were just below us… and in force. Horns, whistles, flags etc it was quite scary. The looks I look for cheering for the other side. Thank god for box seats or I would have been beaten up. I was clapping and cheering for Celtic. The others in the box took my lead and together we pissed off half the stadium!

The funny part was when they started to get up and leave halfway through the second half. I thought it was a bit unsportsmanlike like but you would leave too if your team where the favourites to win but have somehow ended up on the wrong side of 2-0! The more time past, the louder our box got until finally the final whistle was blown. I picked the winners based on shirt colour and I told them all! Now who’s laughing???

I went back to the betting booth with my winning slip. Low and behold the same lady was there.
“Well I’m not sure how you picked it but it looks like the ‘culturally diverse green dudes’ won.” Grinning from ear to ear I collected my winnings a bit like the Japanese dude did when the final whistle went.

So you may laugh at how I pick my teams, whether it is based on what colour they’re wearing, what area they come from, who has the most colourful shoes, who has the longest fly away hair etc. But who is the one laughing with 9/2 odds and a final result of 2-0?

Almighty Spurs- more like, Ew gross, of all the colours in the world, why Luminous Yellow!? They don’t stand a chance!

I Like My Rut!

2009-07-23T04:01:00.000-07:00

So Justin and I have been together for quite a while. Before that, we were very close friends and house mates. Over this time we learnt just about everything about each other. Now the learning stage has past and we’ve entered into stage 2 – The Comfortable Couple.

I’m a strong believer that ‘a rut’ isn’t always a bad thing. I don’t think being a ‘Comfortable Couple’ is anything to be ashamed of. I like the fact I can come home and throw on my old rags, chew on biltong and fart while watching Hollyoaks. Personally, I’m glad the days of having to impress him are over. God knows those days were not only long and expensive but my back would ache from sitting up straight the whole time. Yep, call me Tom-Boy-Ted but I’m more than happy to let it all hang out in front of Justin these days. Anyway who is he to judge with his burping and other man-like personal habits?

The other night we had a discussion over who should cook dinner. I’m the first to admit that I was at the back on line when they were handing out the domesticated genes. Truly, I failed my mother and grandmother. They can only look on in horror, as my idea of cleaning my bedroom is shoving it all in the cupboard. I would happily get a cleaner in before donning rubber gloves and cleaning out the oven. Cooking is low on my “that-sounds-like-fun” list. Now obviously seeing as I don’t have a cleaner, I have to clean and tidy the house but it’s definitely not by choice and often done in a strop when I’m angry at the world. But with all that in mind, I do all the clothes washing every week without complaint! Without me, Justin would have no clean underwear, so credit where credit is due please.

“I cooked dinner last night. I thought you were going to cook for me tonight.”
“I’m sorry honey. I didn’t realise you wanted me to cook. I thought we were having leftovers and salad stuff. I’m sorry. I promise I’ll cook a nice big meal tomorrow night.” And once I’m done down burning that and smoking up the kitchen, I promise to go out and buy a KFC family bucket.
“Yeah, I know, it’s just we had a braai and I thought you were going to sort out the leftovers.”
“I’m sorry honey. Miscommunication.” I wrapped my arms around him and as I squeezed him into a hug, out came a fart noise! Now this is where the ‘Comfortable Couples’ come into it.
“I really am sorry honey and I promise I’ll cook tomorrow night.” I pulled him away from the sink and continued the hug while he giggled at his self made noises and smells.
“Okay… hehe”
“See this is love Justin. I’m still hugging you even though you smell like turd.”
“I know! And it’s funny because it’s true!”

Late Night Netball

2009-07-22T04:11:00.001-07:00

Last Wednesday night after a brilliant game of netball, the team and I made our way to the exit of the school where we play. Slight problem; the exit wouldn’t let us exit. We pushed, we pulled and we even kicked the bloody door but we couldn’t get free.

Us being the followers we are, we looked to our team captain for support. Becky took centre stage and gave the door a good seeing too before she turned back to us in defeat, “Yep, it’s locked.”

This is what we faced (But the door was shut and locked)

We’re the type of girls who don’t give in so easily, we’re a feisty bunch and frankly no locked gate is going to stop us from getting home. “Can we climb over?” We looked around and all contemplated how we were going to get over the door and fence. It was going to be quite the effort. Seeing as we’re netballers and not cheerleaders any sort of human pyramid is out of the question. Belle then pointed out the sign that stopped the idea of climbing over, “What the hell is anti climb paint?”

So there we were all 7 of us, in complete despair and fits of laughter at our predicament. I took to the pedestrian’s passing by, “Excuse me, excuse me!” 2 walked passed before I got someone’s attention, “We’re locked in. Could you please try the door from that side?” The nice man pulled and pushed on the door but it didn’t budge. We thanked him and he moved on.

By this point it had gone beyond a bit of a mystery and we were begging to panic.
“Is there another exit?”
“How the hell are we going to get out?”
“Maybe get the grounds man?”

Just then we heard the umpire call out, “Girls, Girls!” We looked over and saw the teams that were now playing and the umpires all doubled over in fits of laughter. The Umpire composed herself enough to finish, “Press the release button!”

Wow, release button, so that's what that big green thing is!

Kell v Beast: Attack of Trays

2009-07-20T05:34:00.000-07:00

Like wine and cheese, with age, I am maturing into a finer specimen of women. I possess quite the evil brain and the courage to bleed the weak dry… when it comes to trays anyway.

Now if you are a regular reader of my blog, you would be fully up to date on the Kell v Beast: Attack of Trays saga. If not, here’s the general story; I collect trays at work so I can get a free tea. The woman AKA The Beast, who runs the café, feels that I cheat her out of this tea. May I point out that the tea in question is only worth 40p and I am breaking no rules in collecting 50 trays for a cup of tea. Such behaviour is encouraged by the cafe staff!

So now the story continues. Just like an ancient war tactic I have put the café under siege. As the Spanish did to the Moors in the 1400s, I am bleeding them dry of their supplies until they can no longer function and beg for my mercy. At which point I will sell what’s rightfully theirs back to them for a price much higher than what was originally asked.

Yes people, I'm going in for the muffin and don’t under estimate the lengths I will go too.

No one expected the Kellie Inquisition

She's going to kill me with a tray!

2009-07-20T05:16:00.000-07:00

There’s laughable and then there’s gob smackingly laughable!

If you’ve read my past blogs, you would be well aware of my tray collecting at work. I like collecting my trays! Not only do I help clean up the area, I’m also being eco –friendly AND I get a free tea for my hard work. I truly do not see the harm in taking advantage of the free tea for 50 trays system… even if I am the only person doing it.

On Friday I went down stairs with a pile of 50. Never in my life have I cheated on the number of trays I have handed in. You want 50 for tea? I will give you 50 dead on, nothing more, nothing less. I mean really, it’s not worth the bad karma for a cup of flipping tea!
I waited in line with my trays, “Hi, I have 50 trays. May I please have a cup of tea?”
Now the lady behind the counter is a bit of a beast on a power trip. I’m used to her suspicious eyes following me. Today she replied with, “How many you got there?”
I replied very sweetly, “50. Like last week.”
The beast eyed me up like a dog about to strike a tennis ball, “Don’t put them on the big pile, just put them aside.”

After a comment like this, I’m making the assumption that she wants to count them. Firstly, not only is it sad that I collect the stupid things it’s also even sadder that I do it for a free tea worth 40p. Now the beast wants to count them? Are we really going to have a power struggle over 40p? I guess we are.

I put the pile down behind the bin. If she doesn’t trust me and wants to count them, first she has to squeeze in behind the bin to fetch them. She narrowed her eyes at me as I came back to the counter. “Tea?” One word, the beast is ANGRY.
“Yes please.” She poured me half a cup of tea.
Now hold up! Did I bring you 25 or 50 trays? Fill it up Scotty. I want my 50 trays worth of tea please.
“Could you please fill it up a little more?”
With a grunt, (yes the beast actually sounds like a beast) she filled my cup up to the brim with hot water… my money is on she did it on purpose. Not to worry, I simply poured a little out with a smile.

I left the café with my colleague and together we had to giggle at what just went down. “Do you really think she’s going to count them?”
“With out a doubt. She’s had it in for me since the cake incident.”
“What, there was a cake incident?”
“Incident is putting it lightly!”

There is NOTHING Sweet about Caroline!

2009-07-10T02:43:00.000-07:00

Neil Diamond. One of the greatest artists of all time… save it for someone who has a strong stomach.

I just went down to the café and what did they have coming over the toast Area, Sweet Caroline while everyone else nodded their heads hummed along, I made a bee line for the exit. There is only one artist I can’t stand and that’s Neil Diamond.

My step father’s mother has a fixation on him. All I ever heard when I was around her was Neil Friggin’ Diamond. Every weekend, day in, day out she always had Neil Diamond on. The sound of his voice now takes me back to tortured times. I can’t bare it. When you’re little you are immune to only so much. One Christmas I cracked!
It was just after my brother was born. Mum hosted a little Christmas Shindig at our house for that side of the family. It just so happened that one of the presents I got was a Spice Girls CD. Mum had anticipated that I was going to be pushed aside for the new baby. She made sure that I had an ample amount of Spice Girl products and accessories to keep me amused for the entire day. So while I had a Spice Girls CD to dance around too with my new Spice Dolls, I was more than happy to let everyone ignore me. (Yes, Spice Girls… But that’s another story for another therapist!)

I was grooving around Spicing up My Life with miniature Posh and Ginger when all of a sudden, “Why don’t you turn that off and put this on.” Crap, My step father's mother spoke to me! I never liked it when she talked to me. She only ever talked me when I did something wrong or she had found some type of fault with me that she wished to point out. Honestly, I get it, you don’t like me. That’s fine, I don’t like you and yes, your son is with a woman who already has a kid… deal with it lady.
“What type of music is it?” If you want me to turn the Spice Girls off, it better be bloody good!
“Neil Diamond’s Christmas Carol Compilation.”
Now if I had been a few years older I would have replied with, “Not a chance in hell, Crazy Lady!” but seeing as I was only 11 and quite scared of her, I stood on the spot and cried… and cried… and cried a little louder until mum came in.

“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t want to turn the Spice Girls off. I don’t like Neil Diamond.”
Crazy Lady butted into the mother daughter bonding session. “Don’t be silly, turn it off and put this on.”
Now, it’s no secret that mum isn’t her biggest fan either. But she had to keep the peace.
“Kell, how about you turn it off for a while.” Mum tried to sooth the sobs away.
“It wasn’t sob even sob loud.” Keep in mind I was 11.
Again Crazy Lady added her 2 cents, “Yes, go play in your room and leave the adults alone.”
Mum left the room before she threw a chair at her.

I stood there and slowly took my CD out. Crazy Lady tapped her foot impatiently. Maybe if she hadn’t tapped her foot I wouldn’t have done it. Nah, even if she had asked nicely I still would have done it. As I took the CD out I looked up to her with a smile, “There you go. Would you like me to put your music on?”
“Yes, I don’t know how this works. You do it.”
I smiled to myself as I walked up the hall. All I could hear was “It’s not working. Why isn’t it working? I can see the CD is spinning but there is no sound?”
I waited till I got to my room before I pulled out the stereo’s remote control from under my shirt. Like to see you un-mute the stereo with no control, biatch!

Work Quiz Night

2009-06-30T04:17:00.000-07:00

Just in case you missed it, I’m not always the happy go lucky kind of girl. I have moments where I resemble a smaller, less green Incredible Hulk. Such moment can arise for a variety of reasons but there is one in particular that makes me very mad… people spelling my god-damn name wrong!

Last week at work there was a quiz night. Now me being me and never settling for second, my team and I won the quiz. Okay okay… the team I was on won, I was just there to boost the female numbers and write down the answers they gave me. But tomato, potato, I was on the team that won and I took home 1 fifth of the prize money. A whopping £17! (Honey… We’re eatin’ tonight!) So winning put me in a great mood, the money put me in a great mood, seeing my name under **WINNERS** spelt incorrectly on the company intranet… foul mood, with pursed lips and a head shake that reads “Who ever did this is doomed!”

Now I could have rung the social committee but I watch The Office and frankly, I’m scared of the Party Planning Committee. I imagine that’s what the Bank’s Social Committee is like. The woman on The Office is such an angry beaver. Lets be honest, she gives me a run for my money in the angry department. So the thought of ringing my work’s Social committee and putting in a complaint is low on my priority list.

If I were to ring them I actually have a list of things I’d like to discuss before the topic of my name even comes to surface:

Firstly the lack of free alcohol at the quiz. We’re a German bank with lots of Germans. Do you honestly think we all pitched up for a quiz? Gives us beer, damn it!
The food. Or rather the Iceland Chicken Nuggets they tried to pass off as food. Since when do I eat cheese sandwiches? Since when did people start serving sandwiches at a pub?
Also the age demographic the questions were targeted at. How on earth am I going to know who stared in X film in 1954? Was my mum even born then? Do I look like I know anything about the Periodical table? Nobel element what now? Sod it, I’ll sit, smile and write down the answers my team mates give me.

I’m a self proclaimed righteous cow and I demand my name be spelt rite... but I’m fighting a loosing war. People will always make the assumption that I’m like all the other Kell’s out there, that is until they meet me of course. I can stamp and cry until the cows come home but people will always spell my name wrong. It just sucks that my name has been put down incorrect on the company intranet. How are people supposed to send me e-mails of “congratulations” and “you’re awesome,” if they have the wrong name. It’s just a sad cock up in the end.

Mirco Blog 1: 3D Glasses

2009-06-24T08:21:00.001-07:00

I have a headache. Prehaps this is because I've been playing with 3D glasses today. You must admit, they're pretty snazzy!

Phileep and Flop - Lest We Forget

2009-06-22T08:23:00.000-07:00

4 years ago, my brother and I had a traumatic event unfold in front of us. Our Beloved hermit crabs, Phileep and Flop tragically passed away.

It was while my parents and little six year old brother where away, that I thought it would be a great idea to get myself a pet. Now we all know I’m not a dog person and a cat is a lot of hard work. I could have got a fish but that’s as exciting as Monday morning at work. No, if I was going to get a pet it would have to be different. After much discussion and giggles with a friend, we both went to the pet store picked a Hermit Crab each.

Phileep soon became the love of my life. Phileep had pride of place in the lounge; he was fed only the best dried fruit and only the most expensive oats on the market. His tank was cleaned twice a week and he was treated like the king that he was. 2 weeks quickly passed and the honeymoon period soon died when Tornado Little Brother came home.

After a week of being denied any access to Phileep, the brother threw a tantrum and half. Mum gave in (and totally stole my thunder and the once piece of individuality, “I’m not part of this family anymore,” teenage angst.) And he too got a Hermit Crap. Like a French man in thongs there was only one name we could her, Flop. Phileep and Flop became instant friends and shared a bond that surprised everyone. Maybe it was the brother’s constant prodding, poking and racing that made them stick together so tightly? At the end of the day those 2 crabs were inseparable.

The brother had Show and Tell upon his arrival back at school. He was very proud to tell his class of fellow six year olds, “My big sister has crabs! She got one while we were on holidays” As you can imagine, mum was called up to the school to explain that yes, my teenager daughter does have crabs… HERMIT CRABS!

As with all good things, they came to an end. It was a hot January day in 2005 and the brother accidentally left the tank out the back all afternoon. By the time I realised where the tank was, it was too late. Phileep has died of heat exhaustion. That tank was like a mini greenhouse and there was only enough room in the water plate for one crab. Phileep had taken the fall for his beloved Flop. Over the next week as the three of us mourned, Flop became withdrawn and stopped eating. We tried everything, even giving her fresh fruit but it was no good. Flop sadly passed away 8 days later from a broken heart.

I never thought I would cry over a stupid Hermit crab but there was my six year old brother with a motionless shell in his tiny hands. He was shaking and his eyes full of tears. He cried for the whole weekend and refused to burry Flop. We had to sit him down and explain that Flop belonged with Phileep in heaven. Eventually we talked him around to placing Flop in a tiny box and laying him next to Phileep. 2 weeks later I was on the plane to London. I still think back to Phileep and Flop and the impact they had on both my brother and I. for a pair of $5 crabs, they were pretty damn special.

I'll Kill you With a Tray

2009-06-17T06:13:00.000-07:00

At work we have a café on our ground floor where you can buy Breakfast/ Lunch/ snack/ teas and coffees etc. People generally buy teas and coffees in bulk for their team. It saves everyone going down and you only have to go down once a week or day depending on what you and your team do. When a 'round' is bought they carry the tea/ coffee back in a cardboard tray device. The café likes to recycle these trays so they ask that you bring them back. People never do.

This where I come in. When I first started I got stupidly sick of find cardboard trays lying around everywhere. One day I flipped and went around the trading floor and collected them all and I took them down to the café. After doing this twice, I realised I was doing other people’s dirty work for nothing so I started asking around what was in it for me.

“If you take 50 down to them they will give you a free tea or coffee. Hardly worth it so everyone throws them away.” One of the traders told me. Granted a cup of tea does only cost 40p from down stairs but that’s 40p I could potentially save! Not that I buy tea down there anyway. 40p is a rip off! I bring my own tea bags in and take my mug down and ask them to fill it with hot water. (Yes I’m that tight but I’d rather have an extra 40p in my purse than pay for a tea I could make myself!)

So since then, I’ve been collecting 50 trays and taking them down for my free cup of tea. I’ve got a bit of reputation for it and people give me a bit of stick. It’s all in good gesture so no need to ring HR over it. But still, I had to show them that it was worth it.

So yesterday, I went down with 100 trays!
“Instead of tea, may I have a muffin today? I bought down 100 trays.”
“You know the rules, I can only give you tea or coffee.”
“Please, I worked so hard to collect all of these!”
“I can’t.”“Fine, I’ll take 50 back and bring them down to tomorrow for a tea then.”
“Are you seriously going to take 50 back upstairs?”
“Are you seriously going to deny the only person in this whole building who return the trays a muffin or at very least a piece of cake?”
“Okay, I’ll give you cake but only this once!”
“Deal.”

So I went back upstairs with my cake and now all those who laughed at me for collecting cardboard trays looked on in envy.

Who ever said you can’t have your cake and eat it too clearly never collected trays!

I'm in a bad mood... don't provoke me, I might bite.

2009-06-17T04:50:00.001-07:00

17.06.09
I’m having a bad day today. I’m in a right mood and ready to slice someone’s neck. Now obviously I can’t slice anyone’s neck at work. That would become a 'work place health and safely' issue and also HR would probably get involved. Murder at work would cause extra work for a lot people and I don't want to be hated by the people who pay me. BUT ripping someone on facebook could be the solution I'm looking for.

This girl I have mentioned before in one of my first blogs. She’s not the sharpest crayon in the box and I would be telling porky pies if I said I didn’t get satisfaction in the knowledge that I can out wit her. She's easy pickings and I know I should really pick on someone my own size but it's just so fun!!

So her facebook status read: Woop Woop keep it up boys, almost ova!!

She’s been going on about the Cricket Twenty20 for a while now. She South African and claims she knows all about sport but let's face it the girl can’t even use proper English and only seems to follow the competitions South Africa does well in.

Five minuets later she commented on her status: also want to know y people r booing @ the Twenty20 Games??

I want to know why she can't write the full word?!?! I couldn’t help it, with the mood I’m in, I just had to wind her up. Being South African I knew just where to hit her.

Because it's not real cricket. Bit like 7s, it's not real rugby.

I mean really. She should learn that if I comment on her status it’s generally to provoke her into saying something stupid. like this.

what not real? of course its real!! the 7s is like a small world cup, it only happens every sooo yrs..... If u not into sport u wouldnt understand!!

Now firstly 0 out of 10 for punctuation and grammar and 0 out of 10 for factual information! Secondly, she took the bait and now I can reel her in. I may not be into sport but I’m very good researching the topic I’m debating.

Well obviously it's a real game of cricket (sort of) but the ICC don't count it in the official ranking system. Therefore most people don't give a crap. It's just a bit of a throw about. Think of it as back yard cricket on an international scale! :D

As for 7s... Since 2000 it's been a rolling tournament that happens every year all over the world. Countries GENERALLY (Not always!) have their own 7s team that don't play in normal rugby. So again some people follow but on the whole, it doesn’t mean anything special. Justin loves his rugby just as much as the next South African man, in fact he even when to the London 7s this year. However he came home and said. "It's fun to watch but it's not proper rugby."

I don't follow sport because I think it brings out the worst in people and promotes segregation. I find that there are several nations out there that ruin it for everyone else with their bad sportsman like behaviour.

She didn’t respond. She never does when I open a can of whoop ass. She just deleted it. Shame really…

18.06.09

Update!!! The silly cow really doesn't know when to shut up! she just wrote on my wall: The 7s rugby has been going for ages, since my dad was a wee one. and for the 20 cricket is a world cup, These games r the T20 World cup!! SO YEA ITS VERY VERY IMPORTANT!! I think u r up set because Aussies didnt make it throu this finals.

Wow... where do I start? Do I go with the, 'I hate sport, I'm just winding you up but I'm bored now so piss off'' approach. Or I could go with the 'final bullet to the back of the head' approach.
I choose this!

I didn’t say it was a new thing. You said it only happened ever few years and i corrected you that it is a rolling competition. It has been that way since 2000 when the organisers realised it wasn't a huge money spinner and killed the cup.

As for the cricket, I didn't even know that Australia entered. Like I said, I don't follow sport. With the current state of the world I feel there are more important things that we could be spending money on. And even if I did give a rats about a bunch of over paid men running around chasing a small hard ball, T20 is a competition out on its own. Have a look at the ICC website if you don't believe me. I'm sure the Australian team would rather concentrate their efforts into training for a competition that counts for something. Like I said, T20 is nothing more than backyard cricket on an international field.

Also, throu is spelt with a gh at the end.

Family Friendly Car

2009-06-03T05:50:00.000-07:00

The boyfriend has a thing about Audi cars. I caught him last night look at second hand ones for sale last night online.
“What are you doing?”
“Looking at cars!”
“Why? We don’t need a car and that doesn’t look very particle it has no leg room in the back.” I was appalled that my sensible boyfriend was looking at a £25,000 car. What have you done with my Justin and when can I have him back?!
“What do you need leg room for?”
“Legs. Hence why they call it leg room. But more importantly, what do we need a car for? I’m not letting you fork out £25,000 on a car that we will only use for a few years.”
“How do you know we’ll only use it for a few years?” He had that cheeky grin on him face. “I’m not going to buy a car. Please what do you take me for? Besides, like I’m letting you drive my Audi TT. No you can get a Porsche Carrera. You would look much cuter in a zippy Porsche.”
“Yeah, a really fast one with no lid!”
He laughed at my serious attempt of car talk. Bored, I walked out of the room to let him drool over cars.

Talk of Porsche, Justin decided to search porches. All of a sudden he burst into laughter and called out to me! “Kell, come check this!”
I walked back into the room to find him look at a porsche advert. I didn't understand what was so funny.
“Read the advert.”
So I read the advert. One line stood out to me. ‘A much loved car. Quick sale or wife will leave me.’
“Now look at the pictures….”

I’ll let you be the judge of this?!

The Chick Magnet?

Spider Man Does the Washing

2009-06-01T03:01:00.000-07:00

For anyone not living in the UK, you don’t understand the rarity of a sunny weekend. It hit a scorching 25degrees on Saturday and a whopping 27degrees on Sunday. Weather like this makes national news over here!
I thought I’d make the most of the sunny weather and do some washing. With the sun baking down as it was, I got up early and popped a load on. I hung it out and then repeated the process with a new load in the late afternoon.

“Shall we have a braai?” Justin asked after watching his second game of rugby
“We don’t have any worst and I’m not running down to shops again.” We’d only just come back from the shops and my feet were sore because I walked in my flip flops.
“Nah, we’ll just braai some sausages and have rolls with onions!” Justin was jumping up and down while saying this. Bless him; he’s a true South African man. Give him sun, rugby and a braai and he’s as happy as a pig in mud!
“Okay, but I’ve just hung wet clothes out on the line so before you start any fire can you please bring the clothes in and hang them inside.”
“That’s girl’s job!”
“Do you really want to have that argument… again?”
He sulked off out the back and started bringing the clothes in. I felt bad so I went out to help him/ supervise. Together we put the clothes in the spare room and started hanging them out on the inside rail.
“Go sit down, I can do it. You’ve already done one load today.” (I know, he’s so sweet and such a keeper!)
So I went and sat down and watched some telly. I could hear him singing and clunking around in the other room. After about 5mins the singing had stopped and was replaced by giggles. Now unless he finds hangout washing the most entertaining thing in the world, he was up to something.

I wondered into the room to find hanging clothes… on his head. When questioned why he was wearing my underwear like a mask, he replied, “Spider Man, Spider Man, does whatever a girl can!”

I dare you to find a man who can make you laugh like this!

I Think I'll Eat Some Worms

2009-05-29T07:38:00.000-07:00

We don’t have children but we do have a cat and I guess he is short of our baby. He’s a funny little thing with a personality to match. He doesn’t really have a name; he just knows our voices and comes when we call. He’s a bit of a Ninja cat. He can catch flies in his paws and we have witnessed him fly-kick a squirrel. Don’t get him wrong though, he’s very loving.

Last night, Justin called me to the yard, “Come check what Kitty caught for us?”
I was reluctant to go outside. The last time he caught us a gift, it was a dead mouse.
“What is it?” I called from the safety of the kitchen.
“Go and look!”
Curiosity killed the cat (yes I am fully aware that wasn’t funny but I’d though I’d throw it in anyway. The pun was intended now leave it alone!) I ventured outside to see out kitty sitting very proudly in front of his catch of the day. “I don’t think we could own a stranger cat even if we tried.” I bent down low to pat him on the head, “Good boy but earth worms aren’t really a nuisance. Why don’t you go hunt a nice big rat and we’ll throw it on the braai for you.”
Kitty replied, “Meow, puuuuurrrr.”
Justin came over and together we examined the worm trying to make a quick get away. “Clearly, kitty thinks he’s on a diet and would rather a worst than a steak!”

We went back inside and left kitty to play with his worm. Oh well, rather worms and mice over birds.

Predator Cat: Hear him Meow!

Stimulate my middle finger and sit on it Mr. Rudd

2009-05-28T07:49:00.000-07:00

Give this a read:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/asia-pacific/8071299.stm

This is so unfair! It’s all well and good giving money to those in Australia who fit the criteria. I thought it was a bit of warped idea but the people seemed to love getting cash for nothing so I haven’t complained before now. However after reading this article, I’m fairly certain I want to put a hit out on the Australian Labour Government.

How do you think me and many others feel when we find out the government has sent cash to those living overseas if they still pay income tax in Australia? What about those Australian citizens who live and pay tax in another country but then send their hard earned Pounds and Pennies back home? Talk about NOT feeding the hand that could potentially bite you by pulling out our money!

This is a kick in the balls on the grandest of scales. I work hard for my money and with the current interest rates it makes sense for me to hold my savings in Aus. I’m doing Australia a favour by doing this. I’m giving my hard earned cash to the Australian banks. It’s people like me, pumping cash back into the country through savings, investment, tourism ect that’s helping Australia ride the recession wave so well.

I don’t have an income in Australia; therefore I don’t pay income tax. And because of that you’re declaring I don’t disserve to be stimulated? Who died and put this idiot in charge? Common sense would say it’s the people like me who should get the cash as we’ve proven we pump the money straight back into the banking system.

I’m sorry Mr. Rudd but I think you’re a twatbag and I don’t like you very much. In fact I’ll openly say I never voted for you in the first place because I knew you’d go and screw everything up. On top of being a general twat you now go and screw me over for having a ‘go getters’ attitude and giving something back to Australia.

Well you can Stimulate my middle finger and sit on it Mr. Rudd. In your mind I’m just an Expatriate who doesn’t earn in Aus, therefore I’m not Aussie enough to deserve the stimulus package. Well if that’s the case I guess I’m not Aussie enough to pay tax on my savings either! You ask how I’m going to do this. Oh its easy Mr. Rudd, I simply declare myself as a UK citizen and claim it as an investment under XXX amount. That little British passport is more than just a ticket around Europe. It’s proving itself quite the meal ticket too! And the beauty all of this is, I don’t even have to forfeit my Aussie citizenship or passport. I can still come and go as I please and not give you a penny for it. Sucks to be you Mr. Rudd, sucks to be you.

You can kiss your percentage of my savings good bye and while you’re at it you can probably kiss a whole more than just my interest tax good bye. You’ve pissed a lot of Australian’s off over here and it’s only a matter of time before tax companies ect start to help the masses. Who wants to pay tax if you don’t have too?

Stimulus hand out. More like a ‘vote for me’ bribe! Stupid little man. I bet he has a small willie.

A Normal Sunday Morning

2009-05-21T09:07:00.000-07:00

Q. What’s more funny than answering the door to Jehovah witnesses hung over?

A. Watching your boyfriend answer the door to Jehovah witnesses when he’s wearing nothing but a towel.

Q. What’s more funny than you’re boyfriend’s red face when he realises who’s on the other side of the door?

A. When the cat gets out the door and he now has to try and catch it, wearing a towel, while Jehovah witnesses stand on the door step.

Q. What’s more funny that a half naked man running around on the street, chasing a cat while Jehovah witnesses stand at his door?

A. His girlfriend joining in the chase wearing summer PJs and a pair of fluffy slippers.

Q. What’s more funny than 2 half exposed people calling, “kitty, come here.” While Jehovah witnesses look on in amazement?

A. One of the Jehovah witnesses calling out to them, “Is now a good time to talk to you about something very important?”

Q. What’s more funny than 2 half naked people standing on the street looking back at the Jehovah witnesses standing by their door.

A. the half naked people, one carrying a cat, heading back inside and closing the door behind them like nothing had happened.

Bloggers Block and what I'm reduced too

2009-05-20T08:10:00.000-07:00

I have bloggers block and for once in my sweet 22years of life I have nothing of any interest to say. So please enjoy this short film about a chimp and a segway. I hope you find it as educational as I did.

Nothing but a bit of BOLLOCKS!

2009-05-19T04:58:00.000-07:00

I used the word ‘bollocks’ the other day and was told very sternly that women and children don’t use that sort of language. I was quite taken back. I've never thought, 'bollocks' to be swear word. Granted it's not the most polite word in the world but would you rather me say 'bollocks' or some other descriptive word that would make my mother blush.

Without going into a rave about equality between the sexes and women’s liberation, I would like to point out the word ‘bollocks’ is widely accepted as an alternative to other naughty words. Please see the following examples.

American Express: Death Option.

2009-05-15T04:43:00.000-07:00

Why do companies insist on making their websites so complicated? All I wanted to know was what award systems American Express have and how much it’s going to cost. Can I find that information out on their website? NO! Instead they give me 101 flipping stories about people redeeming their points for this that and the other. I didn’t ask how Julie of London managed to get a bottle champagne to her sister in San Francisco before the birthday party even started. If I wanted to know about Julie and her sister I would have googled, ‘Julie + sister + boring story about cheap champagne.’

Why can’t companies just make their websites simple? Do you think pretty drop down menus that flash and make whoop-whoop noises are going to entertain me? I’m not entertained, I’m pissed off and getting very frustrated! Don’t make me get all Hulk on your ass, turn green and write a letter. Trust me when I say this; you don’t want a letter!

Finally I get to a section that says, ENROL. Yay I think, at least I can have a look at the cost system before I confirm anything. WRONG, it takes me to a story about Frank and his lost laptop! I DON’T CARE ABOUT FRANK AND HIS LOST LAPTOP!!! Get the picture? I don’t give two hoots that Frank is stupid enough to leave his laptop on the plane. Don’t make your problems mine Frank. I seem to have enough of them as it is at the moment. I go to cities all the time where I don’t know anybody and you don’t hear me writing about it (okay you do, but I don’t send my sob stories to American Express!) And further more Frank, are you that incompetent that you couldn’t call the airline yourself? You had to get American Express to do it for you? Well if that’s what I’m wasting my rewards on, they can stick their reward system and while they’re at it, they can stick a badge on me that says, “I’m competent.’

You have no idea how upset I’m getting here. I’ve wasted 30mins of life on this stupid piece of garbage website. That’s 30mins of my life I will never get back! I could have written about a funny story today but no, American Express as ruined it for everyone and now I’m writing about their fancy-dancy website that’s filled with rubbish stories about weekends in the Tuscan sun, sipping on Cappuccino’s and looking at hills. What the hell is this? A Flight Centre advert? I want to know how much to paid for the flipping card not what the hills in Tuscany look like.

No, I’m fed up! You’ve wasted my time and made me angry. If you were any other (smaller) company you would be hearing from me about my legal rights to information and that I’m informing my make believe solicitors! You would have 28 days to comply or my people will sue your fancy website making asses! I’ve done it before and if you didn’t have a huge legal team who you paid millions, I would SO take you on!
I'll get you American Express and your little reward system too!

Why I Don’t Like Sandwiches.

2009-05-14T03:45:00.000-07:00

A lot of you don’t know but I have a love hate relationship with sandwiches…. I love to hate them. There is just something about them that gross me out. Why would you put all those lovely things between 2 pieces of bread?

Here’s the complete low-down as to why sandwiches will NEVER make it to my lunch list.

Soggy corners; Now tell me what is so appetising about soggy bread? The bread alone is enough to put me off! Yet for some reason the ‘food juices’ seem to congregate in the corner of the bread leaving nothing more than a gag worthy mess that you’re supposed to eat… and enjoy? You’re all on planet kookoo!

Warm Ingredients that should be cold; You make a sandwich with cold ingredients that are clearly not meant to be left out of the fridge for long periods of time and then leave the thing to welt on your desk. Now before you go and say “Well why don’t you put the sandwich in the fridge,” you put that horrible thing in the fridge and the bread goes hard (yet soggy in the corners) and the food that shouldn’t be cold, goes cold and frankly hot and cold don’t mix! Throwing them all together between 2 pieces of bread isn’t going to solve the problem.

Foods touching other foods; I’m not fussy but I do believe that foods should not touch other foods. Roast beef should not touch carrots. Chicken nuggets should not touch the sauce until you dip it. The yellow of the egg should not be broken or mixed with the white. Mushrooms should not be touched PERIOD, curry should not touch rice until in your mouth ect. This is why god gave us peas, so we could make damns around our gravy and sauces and the other things that need isolation. Yet somehow people put it all on bread and go for gold… makes me ill just to think about it.

Salad; How is it, Salad seems the most inappropriate thing to stick between bread and yet it acceptable world wide. This is crime against good Salad. Avocado on soggy bread with salad dressing (just in case the bread wasn’t soggy enough all ready!) It should be punishable by death! And as for tomato. The guy who thought tomato would be the ideal filling sent that memo around. Did you miss it? He said he was joking!

They’re expensive; 4 quid for a layered warm soggy lunch with everything mixed together…. YEAH RIGHT! I’ll go for the pie thanks!
Bread; When it comes to Bread it has the triple B threat. It’s bland, boring and BLUURGG! Bread… yep, unless its toasted with butter on it (sometimes veggiemite but lets not get too excited here) I don’t touch it. And White bread should be out rite banned!

That’s about it in a nutshell. They’re horrible dirty things that you eat with your fingers. YUCK! Just the thought of them now is making me gag.

BBQ Adventure

2009-05-13T09:05:00.000-07:00

Next weekend is the boyfriend’s birthday. He has decided that he wants to have a BBQ to celebrate. Sort of like he did last year but this time he’s organising it. (I vow never to throw a surprise party again.)

So last Saturday we walked an epic 5km to Argos to buy a BBQ. I don’t know why but I always feel dirty sitting in Argos. Now please don’t get me wrong and call me a snob. I’m just as cheap as the next bastard. For us cheap folk Argos is like our Mecca. It’s that I feel like I need to shower or scratch my skin off. Without fail there is always a kid running around in the store with a snotty nose and no shoes on. AND there is always a woman hanging around out the front with a pram and 300 gold chains around her neck. It feels a bit like a job Centre (Centre link.)

So like most of our Argos trips, I was keen to get in there, do our business and then get out. But you know what’s coming next. Justin plus shopping equals 30mins of contemplation over 3 makes with a total of £10 price difference. Now I find this a little pointless as he spent 1hr on the website before we even left the house. I tried to help in the decision making process but in the end I ended up bored and loitering around the cheap jewellery display case. I had to giggle at the take a ticket and wait to be called system at the Jewellery counter. Wonder if they do that at boodles too?

Justin called me over and together we chose a BBQ worthy of our yard. Or in other words, I told him to pick one quick smart because I was bored, hungry and likely to throw a strop within the hour. (Ticking time bomb threat, works every time!)

Before we left the house, Justin had told me that we would get a cab back from Argos seeing as we would have a box… HE LIED! Instead of a cab ride, we walked, yes we walked. We walked the 5km treck home again but this time with a big fuck off box.

Now as with all Argos purchases, it’s not just enough to buy it and bring it home; you also have to have put the bloody thing together. Yes people, its DIY time! So we’re outside with our big fuck off box pulling all the bits out. I turn to Justin, “Here’s the instruction’s honey.” Justin laughs and says, “I don’t need those, I’m a man!” All I can say is, putting a BBQ together without the instructions is a bit like paint by numbers but without the numbers. You know what should go where by the power of common sense but it just doesn’t turn out quite the same as the picture on the box…

So now we a have a fully functional BBQ!! Just don’t try to move it because the wheels are on sideways, the handles are upside down and the grill is a balancing act worthy of applause …

The Picture on the Box

It's kneehigh to a Grasshopper!

My Shit Tank Day

2009-05-11T07:39:00.001-07:00

Just like everyone else, I have off days. Today seemed so off it was like rotten milk that has been left in the fridge for months. The milk is so rotten it’s solid and you don’t even bother opening the lid. Yes, that’s my day in a nutshell but now I’m going to open the lid for you all.

It started off last Friday when I was asked to book some flights for 2 candidates going from Singapore to Hong Kong. Now this would usually be an easy task but the bank wanted to save some money so it was booked via the Singapore Air website. All’s fine. The dude in the German office sent me all the details and I passed them onto travel. I make this sound a lot easier than what it was. In theory it involved signoff on several levels and many phone calls back and forth to Germany. I didn’t have to do it but I was happy to help out. Sometimes these things need a woman’s touch… and execution plan.

So today when I get in I had 25 (YES 25!) e-mails from the dude in the German office and the 2 candidates. Basically over the course of the weekend, they’ve all changed their minds and want to do something different. Keep in mind this is after I told them that once booked, the tickets were non changeable and non refundable. In simple terms, all that work Friday afternoon AND EVENING was for nothing.

Now that’s just one tiny part of Shit Tank Day!

Further more, I find out I can’t use the Bank’s ‘Special’ account direct to pay for the hotels. Now while most people would throw their hands in the air and give up, I took the screaming at my computer, slapping my stapler on my desk and swearing at my hole-punch approach. This seemed to work and I found my solution. The candidates can pay and invoice the bank back. (There was no option, I told them, not asked!) Ah yes, but now they want particular hotels and transfers. Go figure I guess…

No, No, No! Day in the Shit Tank isn’t completed yet!

There is a London Dude flying to Germany tomorrow and for some reason I can’t seem to check him in online. Bit odd considering I could check everyone else in but oh well, shit happens on Shit Tank Day. I rang Lufthansa to try and solve the mystery. Well I never! I got some little whore who thought she would give me some lip. (I say whore but by her tone and the fact she had her nose so far up her ass she could smell the inside of her bellybutton, it’s more likely she’s virgin.) She was so rude it’s inconceivable. She couldn’t help me at all and she huffed down the phone at me. Yes, the little 2 bit Telephone bitch huffed at me. No one huffs at me! No one huffs at me and get s away with it. No one huffs at me on Shit Tank Day and has a job at the end of it. (What followed doesn’t need to be shared. Lets just say German’s unemployment tally may have just gone up by one) she asked for it so I don’t feel guilty. I await their response!

Now it’s 15.30. The day still has 2hrs in it. I still need to confirm these Hong Kong flights, sort hotels, check the London guy in (some how,) sort out a conference call and waiting on other numerous things including 2 cases of water, 1 case of Coke Zero and a response of Lufthansa. And before you ask, yes I will stop to write a blog because if I didn’t I would be under my desk rocking and pleading for the men in the white coats to take me away already.

Happy Shit Tank Day Everyone!

Baby Baby. BUT NOT I!

2009-05-06T07:05:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I found out that one of my good friends is with Child. This is wonderful news that makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. She is recently married and already has one beautiful little girl; this second little bub will complete their set.

But it got me thinking. What about Justin and myself? I’m but a mere young lady of 22 and I’m really not ready to take our relationship to that level. It’s not that we don’t see a long future together. It’s more that we’re a pair of wild cats who really shouldn’t be having kittens for fear of ruining the local natural habitat. The thought of a mini me scares the hell out of me. I can barely look after myself, let-alone a child. However it’s all well and good me making a decision not to have kids now but what about my other half? He’s 31, what happens if he wants babies soon?

When I got home he was playing his guitar and I told him the good news about my friend. His reaction, “Cool.”
Okay, not quite what I was expecting but hey, he’s in the music zone so I’ll allow it. He doesn’t much respond when he’s playing guitar. He tends to just nod and smile a lot (at the music, not at me.) So I continued with my ramblings. He’s very easy to talk too when he’s only half listening.
“You don’t want one either do you? I’m not ready for that.”
He stopped playing. HE STOPPED PLAYING. He only stops playing when he has something of importance or interest to add to the one sided conversation. “HELL NO! I don’t want kids till I’m at least 40! Maybe older! I’ll have kids when I’m a rock star and can afford a full time nanny. She can wear short skirts. It’ll be great.” He then smiled his ‘music smile’ and went back playing and nodding his head.
Okay, not the reaction I was expecting from a man who is in his 30s. Sure I want to wait but I don’t want to wait that long.
“When you’re 40, I’ll be 31! I’ll be old!”
Once again he stopped playing and I realised what I had just said.
“Oh cheers, Miss. Barely-legal-22. What the hell am I then?”
(I take my shovel and I dig, dig, dig, I dig, dig, dig. I dig, dig, dig.)

”I didn’t mean it like that. I meant I want have babies around the 28 mark.”
“How old will I be then?” By this point he’d put the guitar down completely. We were in full conversation mode. Oh-O SPAGHETTI-O’S! I had to answer, 28? Quick, how old would he be?
At this point we both consulted our fingers and I beat him to the answer, “You’ll be 37ish.”
“37! That’s just around the corner!”
“No it’s not! It’s over 6 years away.”
“Yeah, 6 years! That’s only 2 Rugby World Cups Away!”
Que awkward silence (He takes his shovel and he dig, dig, digs. He dig, dig, digs. He dig, dig, digs.)
I asked him, “You measure your life in Rugby World Cups?”

He picked up his guitar and started strumming the Lullaby he wrote for me back when I was Miss. Barely-Legal-19. He smiled that ‘music smile’ and mused, “And seeing as South Africa was banned for all those years, that makes me younger than you.”
If only my life line was that simple…

Post-It-Note: More money than sense

2009-05-05T06:13:00.000-07:00

I love competitions! I love free competitions to be more precise. The thought of getting something for nothing really does tickle my insides. Even if the chances are 1 million: 1, I still enter.

Quite some time ago I entered a competition run by Post-It-Note. It was a Deal or No Deal theme competition. Basically you logged onto the website and entered the barcode number from your Post-IT-Note product. ‘The Bank’ would then give you an offer. My offer was 1p. You can imagine my disappointment. So I hit the ‘NO DEAL!’ What was in my box? What I had I passed up 1p for? A whole whopping 2p!! WOOHOO I hit the jackpot. I was bored and just exited the stupid competition. I completely forgot that I had entered my details before opening my box (that sounds sexual… it’s not. I have thought of 101 things I could follow that sentence with BUT I won’t. I have family who read this!)

Months passed and I didn’t think much of if. Until last Friday that is when I received a letter from Mr. Post-It-Note. Now you’d think that Mr. Post-It-Note would stop and question things before writing out cheques. Much to my boyfriend’s amusement and my astonishment, I had received a cheque for 2p! That’s £0.02 or in AUD for those based in distant lands AUD$0.0406 or in simple terms we can all Understand, A WHOLE HEAP OF NOTHING! I mean really… WTF! Because stuff like this only happens to me!

It’s the gods doing it. “Let’s make the weird and funny stuff happen to her so she can write about it.” Oh yeah, by the way, I had another bug go up my nose on weekend. Justin as my witness, although his testimony wouldn’t stand up in a court of law, he had flipping tears in eyes from laughing so hard. My new life motto: BECAUSE STUFF LIKE THIS ONLY HAPPENS TO ME!

I have scanned and attached my letter and cheque for 2p. What I love is the wording, “Spend it however you wish!” Why on earth would I spend it? That amount, I could bank it and live off the interest. Heck, that’s my kids college fund right there! Gees, thanks Mr. Post-It-Notes!!! I’m sorted for life! Yeah!

It then goes on to tell me, “Have you got what it takes to tell the banker where to stick it?” Not sure if I have the balls for that, but I do have the balls to bank the cheque and make you pay £15 in processing fees! Can’t wait to see the teller’s face!!

German Desk Exercises!

2009-05-01T08:24:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, just sometimes, you come across a picture that makes you go WTF! I got a brochure from work today. ‘Reducing the Risk of Occupational Injury’ it’s a reverting read about stretching and sitting properly at your desk. While flipping through the book I came to some exercises that were demonstrated by pictures.

I don’t know, maybe it’s just me but I find these pictures quite questionable and rather amusing. So for your pleasure and light afternoon giggle I give you German Desk Exercises!

I think you need a partner for this one

Take your left hand and place it on your head. Using your right hand follow the arrow motion back and forth.

Anti Family Planning Aisle

2009-04-30T05:48:00.001-07:00

Boots (UK’s leading Chemist) is possibly the best thing that ever happened to a UK high Street. We all go there for what ever reason but have you actually looked around the shop.

Yesterday I had 30mins to kill before meeting a friend so I decided the seek refuge in Boots. Instead of just wandering around aimlessly, I decided to have a good look at some of the more embarrassing products that people loiter around. (You are so not fooling anyone by pretending to look at the indigestion pills. I can see you spying that poo-powder. You’re constipated!) The aisle that caught my eye the most was the ‘family planning’ aisle.

So I walked up at down the aisle. First I spied the condoms. 2 pack for £10 on selected brands. It’s good to see that they are targeting those on a budget! But this hardly ‘Family planning,’ it’s more ‘Anti Family Planning.’ The self above the condoms caught my attention. It had all the Morning After Pills on it. Talk about, should Plan A fail, timely execute Plan B. Can you imagine it? Going to Boots to buy the morning after pill and right underneath the tiny selection are the condoms and their on sale! Why to rub it in!

Oh but it gets better. While I’m standing there looking at these products and getting weird and wonderful looks in return from the other customers, I spied the section next to the morning after pill. Pregnancy tests! HALF PRICE! Well that was enough, I was in hysterics.

A woman thinks she’s pregnant and she’s not so keen on the idea. She goes to buy herself a pregnancy test. Right next to them are the Morning After Pills. You can imagine what’s going to through her head, “If only I though of that 4 or 5 weeks go.” She picks her Pregnancy Test, actually she picks two because they’re half price and she’s a sucker for clever marketing, and then she spies the price of Condoms and is almost in tears. Yes sweetheart it’s fair to say that by now, that ship has well and truly sailed!

Bug Up My Nose... TWICE!

2009-04-29T08:29:00.001-07:00

Picture this. It’s Monday night (keep in mind I’m in the UK so 6pm still means it’s as light as it was at 12noon), it’s raining and I’m rugged up. I was walking along from the tube stop to my house. I was listening to my ipod, dawdling along and minding my own business when suddenly I was stopped in my tracks. A bloody bug went up my nose! Now if this had happened to anyone else I would have laughed at them but considering it was happening to me, it was no laughing matter. I slapped my nose in a hope to get the fucker out. It still buzzed in my nose cavity. So I put my finger to my other nostril, held it down, and blew out the other one. The bug came free. VICTORY WAS MINE!

I held my head high and continued walking. Even though several people had stopped to look at me and giggle. Yes people, point at the girl with a bug up her nose. At least she got it out!

So just a moment ago I left the office to go buy surgical masks. (Oh don’t ask!) As I’m walking to the chemist what should happen. A bug flew up my nose … AGAIN! And it was the same bloody nostril! So now I’m standing in Banker Wanker territory trying to blow out a bug. Of course the suited and booted stop and looked at the girl who was bracing herself on a traffic light pole while throwing her head around trying to get the bug out. I’ll tell you something for nothing. I must have been quite the sight because that bug was a feisty little bugger. I got him out on the third attempt.

So I’m back in the office. It’s only Wednesday and so far I’ve had 2 bugs up my nose. Hopefully my nose will remain bugless for the rest of the week… I don’t like its chances.

PigBird Flu

2009-04-27T09:32:00.000-07:00

We’re all about to catch Swine Flu and die according to the Media. My first thought was, ‘Oh goody, I love a bit a drama! I hope I get the day off work!’ But of course, I thought this with a solemn face. Just because one maybe excited by the thought of a day off work -doesn’t not mean that one should wet her pants. if you follow.

So today I’ve been following the news closely. As I’ve read further into these articles about Swine Flu or as I’ve affectionately started called PigBird Flu, I realised it’s a lot more serious than just a day off work. The time has come and thank god I started preparing early for such an event. Yes people we’re all going to be homebound for quite some time and while you all eat tinned food, drink bottled water and ponder when your time might come, Justin and I will be live like a king and queen with our stock pile of wine, beer and Aspall. (We hit the bottle shop on Saturday and took advantage of the free home delivery service!) Further to that, the boyfriend has mastered home brew Alcoholic Ginger Beer so when the booze runs out we can make our own! And what shall we eat while we drink ourselves to death before the PigBirgs find us… what else but the packets of lamb chops I’ve been stock piling since my return from Aus.

I may die a cold and sweaty death. I may die by a flu that is named after a pig but I’ll be dammed if I die without the sweet sweet taste of minted chops on my lips and no trace of Alcohol in my blood stream!

Don't Mess With A Jedi

2009-04-24T04:10:00.000-07:00

So it turns out if you put Jedi as your religion on the UK census, they count you as agnostic. What the article didn’t say was if you put your religion down as Scientologist, they count you as a mad man.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/scotland/glasgow_and_west/8003067.stm

But this article got me thinking. Why do we need to tell our heads of state our religion? And what gives anyone the power to turn around and say, “You’re not Jedi, you’re agnostic.” I mean really, if Scientology can be recognised as a religion why can’t Jedi? They both come from Sci-fi movies or something of that nature.

Each to their own and don’t lump them together as agnostic. That’s not very nice! They do believe, they believe in the force and you better watch yourself because the force is strong, just ask Darth Vader!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IuzdobT_dwg

P.S HE HAS THE COOLEST SOCKS!!

I Wrote a Song... and it was crap

2009-04-22T09:29:00.000-07:00

Many many moons ago, I'm talking at least 3 years ago, I put away my story writing hat and put on a song writer hat. I went through a stage where I actually thought I was onto something. It’s amazing how you forget these embarrassing mishaps and until you find them filed away deep in your yahoo mail.

So you can imagine my surprise when I stumbled across this beauty. I remember writing this while at work at 4.45pm on a Friday. My boss had asked me to do something and being the procrastinator I am, I wrote a song about it before I actually did it. Thanks goodness I took the song writers hat off. Something tell me that “(D funny thing further up)” wouldn’t go down well in a song book.

Friday Afternoon

Intro – A E A E D (D funny thing further up) D A

Verse 1: - Same as intro x 2
Only at 4.45 will 200 pages need to scanned,
The coffee machine is empty
And your printers now jammed.
Only on a Friday will the deadline be cut short,
The presentation’s on Monday,
Not Wednesday like you thought.

Chorus: G Em D A x2
Yes it’s 4.45 on a Friday afternoon.
Your mates at the pub and waiting for you.
Friday, Friday - 4.45 and damned!
Yet here you are like always,
Feet stuck in the office quick sand.

Verse 2: Same as verse one
Your boss sets off for a weekend by the coast,
You’re left to man the fort.
You’re left to do the post.
Only once Friday comes does the stress build up,
He’s says Next week, next week
But really, why care so much?

Chorus: G Em D A x2
Yes it’s 4.45 on a Friday afternoon.
Your mates at the pub and waiting for you.
Friday, Friday - 4.45 and damned!
Yet here you are like always,
Feet stuck in the office quick sand.
Music break

Bridge: Funny G, D, Bar chord on second with G leader, A
If you thought Monday morning was bad,
Wait for 4.45, Friday afternoon.
Those last minute demons band together
And they come full blown at you!
The attraction of a distraction just moments away
But first you must earn your pay.

Verse tune: Same as verse one
Only at 4.45 will 200 pages need to scanned,
The coffee machine is empty
And your printers now jammed.
Only once Friday comes does that stress build up,
He’s says Next week, next week
But really, PLEASE EASE THE HELL UP!

Chorus: x2
G Em D A x2 (ie x4)

Outro: ????

London Haircuts

2009-03-20T05:24:00.000-07:00

I will put my hand up and admit that I haven’t been to a hairdresser since Jan of last year. I’ve never been one of those girls who runs to the salon every week for the manicure/ pedicure. A. I have better things to do with my Saturdays, B. what a waste of money and C. They always end up ballsing it up! Hair is hair, as long I can brush it and style it myself, I’m happy. I’m an easy child to please.

So over the last 14months, Justin has been cutting my hair. At first both of us were nervous about out money saving venture. But with practise he’s got quite good and he’s done me well. However with my trip to Australia just around the corner I figured I should really get a professional to reshape it back to the former glory mum paid for (Yes, she paid for that hair cut many moons ago!) I just spend the last hour ringing hairdressers across London. I am absolutely mortified at what they want to charge me! £56.00 for an inch off the bottom, my fringe reshaping and thinning scissors! £56, are you on crack?? For that price I hope those scissors are diamond incrusted and I get a certificate at the end! £56!! Yeah, tell him he’s dreaming! £56 could buy me a house in Zimbabwe but in London all it gets me is a 15min trim. Where is the justification! Who pays those prices, why are these people still in business? This is clearly taking advantage of people in need. It’s extortion! You wouldn’t take an old granny for a ride on her plumping but you’d try and squeeze me for all I’m worth when it comes to haircut time. Hello, Consumer Watchdog anyone?

The cheapest I could find was £30. £30 is more like it but only if you throw in a blow dry, glass of wine and the latest vogue magazine. I mean really. Why do haircuts cost so much. How can they justify it? Its hair for crying out loud and all you have to do is cut it! If Justin can do it, anyone can do it!

I’m really not impressed with the level of budget hairdressers. It’s not that I can’t afford £56, it’s more that I can’t justify it. This is a girl who picks up pennies of ground and keeps them in a jar. She calls it her ‘I-Found-Your-Penny Saver account’! £56 is a lot of money to those of us who don’t throw cash around willy-nilly.

So your asking, is she going to remain Ferrell and continue to have Justin cut her hair? The answer is yes. But I am going to go to Supercuts next week Monday for a dry cut. £12.95 is more my kind of haircut! Although I’m not impressed that doesn’t include a hair wash and head rub. I do like a good head rub.

Redneck Greenhouse ALERT!

2009-03-17T10:07:00.000-07:00

Did I ever mention that the boyfriend is a bit of handyman wannabe? No? So I didn't tell you about how he refused to buy a dustpan and brush but rather made one? No? (pics to follow!)

I've just been informed that when we get from Australia he's building a greenhouse...
http://www.rankster.co.uk/instructables-com

My back yard is going to look one of those yards you see in Redneck land!! The word 'EWW' comes to mind but at least we'll have nice ruby tomatoes!

But I'm Happy With Who I Am?

2009-03-17T04:14:00.000-07:00

I and 39 other brats were in the same program at school. We did almost half of our high schooling in German. At the tender age of 16 we were then shipped off to Germany for 3months. At this point I should say that we ran an absolute muck and after our little stint the groups to follow us were only sent over for 6weeks. We really weren’t that bad… I hope?

Now back in the day I didn’t get along with most of my peers. I really just couldn’t be bothered with conforming. I had my own ideas about things and in all fairness I was bored and ached for the next step. I just wanted to break free of the box and do my own thing. In other words, while people were studying, I was mapping routes around Europe and watched FX tables. While in class, all I wanted to do was sit and write stories. I just found the whole school experience very draining and not what I wanted my life to be. Although I now work in a German Bank so I can’t say it was completely pointless.

My whole life seemed to be governed for me. Go to school and be told what to do. Come home and be told what do. Weekends, free time but within certain limitations and it just went on! I had no choices. It seemed everything was made up for me. While everyone else my age seemed to accept this situation, I craved to be on my own. I craved independence on the grandest of scales. I was done. At the beginning of grade 12 (17 years of age) I made the decision that I was going to London… FOR GOOD! I couldn’t take much more of it. I promised mum I would finish school but at the end of the year my life would be exactly that, my life. In November I was turning 18 and by law I could do what ever the hell I wanted. Those friends closest to me know first hand how I struggled with every aspect of my lif in my last of school. I felt Claustrophobic. I needed freedom and I was prepared to give up everything for it.

I remember going to the guidance councillor just before the end of grade 12. She asked me what I wanted to study at Uni and why I hadn’t handed in my forms ect. I told her straight that I wasn’t going to Uni. So she asked me what I planned to study at TAFE. I ignored her question and asked, “Have you ever backpacked your way across Europe?”I’ll never forget what she said back, “Kellie, dreaming is not a career. You need to study hard to get anywhere in life.” I smiled, picked up my school bag and simply replied with, “that all depends on what your chosen final destination is.” At the time I thought it was quite philosophical of me! Pretty sure she just shrugged after I’d closed that door and figured I was just a lost cause.

On the 21st January 2005, at the tender age of 18years, 2months and 6days, I boarded a plane to London Heathrow on a one-way ticket. All I had with me was 20kg of luggage, £300 and determination to make it. Now it’s 17th March 2009 and I sit here in London and look out the office window at this marvellous city. I can smile thinking about all the experiences I’ve had, places I’ve been and things I’ve seen. I can take a deep breath and know I have no limits or rules to live by other than my own. I have a good job, a good man, a cute little kitty and the world is at our feet/paws.

I often think back to that meeting in the tiny little, brown and one windowed room that contained nothing more than a desk, 2 chairs and pamphlet stand. “You need to study hard to get anywhere in life.” I should have replied with, “Like you miss?”

I’ll be coming around the Corner When I Come!

2009-03-16T09:18:00.000-07:00

The title is in relation to Brisbane’s International Arrivals lounge not the dirty thing you were just thinking! (PERVERT!) At Brisbane’s International Arrivals, you literally come around the corner of a big frosted glass sheet to be greeted by your friends and family. And in 7 days time I will be doing exactly that. The best part of any airport is the trolley’s, I will be perched on our trolley with suitcases while the boyfriend pushes me around the glass sheet. I often take a seat on the trolley when we’re at airports. I figure I may as well make the most of 50kg frame while I can! Heathrow T3 arrivals is the highlight of most trips because there is that long ramp down to the exit. The boyfriend lifts his legs and we both go flying down like a pair of nutters who belong on Jackass. We’ve only had our trolley confiscated once. It was worth loosing the pound though! I have a video of us flying down the ramp with 2 security guards chasing us. We out rolled them but another was waiting at the bottom for us. You can take our luggage trolley but you will never take our youth and intuitive ways of entertainment.

But back on track, we’re heading out to Brisbane for some much needed sun and relaxation. We’re out there for 3 weeks and we’re so excited we’ve taken to crossing our legs along to stop the wee coming out! I haven’t been home in over 2 years so I’m itching to see of my friends and how everything has changed.

That’s really all I have to say. My leg starts bouncing at the thought of going home in just over a week and the high light of my days leading up to our departure has been my count down calendar at work. Each day is one day less.

In other words, YAY, OH YES, COME ON, YES, OH YES, YES, YEEEEESSS! **again you’re one sick little puppy. But we all perverts deep down so I won’t judge ;)**

T-Mobile Get s A Bitch Slap!

2009-03-11T08:43:00.000-07:00

I'm too pissed off for words! Here's the letter I just sent.

Dear Sir/Madam

I write to you after a brief phone call with one your representatives. I was speaking with a gentleman called Martin. I rang 150 as I wished to question 3 calls on my bill. Martin had told me that these charges relate to calls received whilst in the Czech Republic. I find this hard to believe as the bill states that the calls in question were made from the Czech Republic. I know no one who is with a Czech provider. Further to this, I find it very hard to believe that I had, in total, 13 seconds worth of conversation spread over 3 calls. All of these calls were received when I made calls, how can this be? There maybe a simple explanation for these charges but I did not receive one from Martin. He offered me several options but no solution. I would be very grateful as to receive more information in relation to these 3 calls. Please find her within a print out. I have highlighted the calls and times in question.

While I was on the phone with Martin I asked him if T Mobile provides any sort of package for travelling to Australia. To which he said no. Texts will cost me 40p to a UK number and 50p to an Australian number. Martin said I could take out an International package but that will cost me £2.75 (there about) per month and that will only lower the cost of calls received. I find it very poor on T Mobile’s behalf to not offer any sort of package for mobile use outside of the EU. T Mobile will charge me premium rates with no alternative options and for this reason I will not be using my mobile abroad but rather source an alternative option upon arrival.

I am very disappointed with T Mobile. I changed service provider from O2 after being assured that customer care was one of your top most concerns. This is not the first time I have had issues with billing and to then find out that T Mobile offer no alternative for travel outside of the EU is very concerning. I asked Martin when my contract is up for renewal as I will be considering my options when this time comes. He asked me to hold the line. At the point the line went dead and I was disconnected. Once again I am let down by T Mobile.

I suffer poor internet connectivity to my blackberry, for which I pay an extra £10 a month for, I’ve now had 2 issues with billing and not having clear explanations for extra charges, I receive poor network coverage when I’m outside of London, I can’t add on any package that will allow me to use my phone internationally and will be charged premium rates. To top it all off, your trained representative had no answers and then dropped the call.

I make the assumption that this letter will be read by a senior member of management. I look forward to your timely response.

Regards,
Kell.

Womb Pimpin'

2009-03-10T06:46:00.000-07:00

Last night I watched a documentary that followed the trials and tribulations of women who have babies for cash. Now while this is a very selfless act, to give up your body for the happiness of complete strangers, it did get me wondering. Besides the money, £10,000 up to £20,000 a pop, what would posses someone to spend most of their adult life knocked up? One woman had gone through the process 13 times and now at the age of 45 was looking baby number 14. Great pension plan but what must her health insurance cost?

Now, I’ve never been pregnant so I don’t know how it feels but I know a lot of people who have been and they all seem to come down with this that or the other. Fat feet, sore back, rashes, diabetes, moody and god know what else. But as they say, no pain no gain. Fair enough, if it’s your own kid I’m sure the pleasure outweighs the pain. But you can’t honestly tell me you’d go through nine months of living hell for a complete stranger’s child? That’s just hormones gone ‘I-must-make-babies’ mad! These ladies are on Coo-Coo land!

On that note, having a baby for a loved one who can’t conceive/carry is a beautiful thing. I take my hat off to those ladies who do that for their sisters, cousins etc. Personally, I couldn’t. I’ve been told that being pregnant is a very empowering thing and makes you feel complete. I think this is because you’re fulfilling your animal purpose. Women are baby making machine. That’s why we’re here. To prepare, produce and then pop. Thank god society has allowed up to vote in between our nine month Triple P Processes. Otherwise we’d get so bored! Apparently during the pregnancy you feel at one with your baby. I’m sorry but if I ever go through nine months of not seeing my fat feet, craving weird things, mood swings, a sore back and on top of that, form some kind of whacked-out bond with the parasite growing inside of me; you can bet your bottom dollar I’m keeping the little monster. Like hell I’m walking away from all of that without a trophy!

No, I think if you’re going to have a baby for cash you have some deep seeded problems and insecurities. You don’t need to pimp out your womb to feel loved, special, complete and needed. But in saying that, these women have mad a lot of people happy and themselves a lot of money. If you can’t have children, maybe taking advantage of these women and their fragile state of mind isn’t such a bad thing. I know if I couldn’t conceive/carry my own child that I would probably consider jumping on the baby train and pay a fruit loop to have one for me. If anything else, at least I’d keep my figure and my boobs wouldn’t sag. I’d pay £10,000 for that get out Jail Free card any day!

The Day The Fat Kid Was Cool

2009-03-09T16:17:00.000-07:00

Coming from a skinny person who's always wanted to fly; HOLY FUCK, THIS IS AWESOME!!!

Naught Words in Public Places

2009-03-09T09:40:00.000-07:00

I’ve been told that I write very amusing stories. I’ve also been told that I have a gift. I’d say it’s more down to having too much time on my hands but hey, I’ll run with gift! Hehe

However all those complements aside, I was quite perplexed a few moments ago when I was told, that seeing as my blog is not a profession blog I should really let it all hang out and take some chances. I shouldn’t stop at the PC stop sign nor should I sensor my writing with words like, ‘heck’ and ‘flipping.’ This person went on to tell me that I should even invite those who I rip the heck out of into my magic online world as to provoke a response to my online banter.

I just think that there is no need for a public dirt fight. Further to this, why must I swear? I think I get my point across just fine and dandy without using naughty words.
However seeing as this as been brought to my attention, going forward I will try to be a little more Avant-garde and think outside the box. I don’t think that swearing is the way to do this but I’ll give it a try.

FUCK, SHIT, CUNT!
Were you offended, in an arty-farty way that left you wondering and desiring more? Like a leather-bound man in an S & M club with a feather up his ass?
No? Didn’t think so….

Gossip Girls and Parisian Café Music on Acid

2009-03-09T07:52:00.000-07:00

So last night the boyfriend and I totted along to a gig in Angel. One of my bestest buddies is back from Aus, so it was a prime time catch up filled with gossip, passion and glitter.

The music was supposed to kick off at 4 but it didn’t. Yes it was one of these; ‘We’ll play when we want to play because we’re cool and colourful’ type gigs. So after many pints and waiting around, eventually the first band took to the stage. It was a 2 piece band consisting of a man singing and playing and guitar and a guy on Tambourine. Yes Tambourine! He didn’t hum, he didn’t sing, he drank beer and banged a tambourine. GO SON GO! While his mate poured his heart out into the microphone he sat there swigging beer and smacking a tambourine on his knee.

After being mesmerised by the tambourine the next band came on. I was like Parisian Café music on acid. Again it was a 2 piece band. Adorned with berets, one girl played the Accordion and Harp while the other rocked out on a mandolin and Violin. Both girls had bells tied to their ankles. All that was missing was the Sad Mime and the hand gun. Art house at it finest/ worst? I struggle to tell the difference. The boyfriend being the music man he is, sort of tapped his foot and nodded while Andy and I looked at each other and wondered WTF! It was like nothing we’d heard before. You could tell these girls were classically trained, you could see it in their eyes. It was like they were rebelling and trying to piss their old violin and harp teachers off. They sort of sang along with their sad music in a ‘Cats-Drowning’ tone. It was odd to say the least.

Once that was done the boyfriend and I headed home and discussed the finer thing in life. Like should we watch, ‘My Name is Earl’ or ‘2Pints of Lager and a Packet of Crisps.’

I Wish I Was This Clever

2009-03-09T07:06:00.000-07:00

The current craze to sweep through the virtual world is ‘List of Things About Me.” I will put my hand up and admit to this form of lazy blogging. It is truly a waste of time and only those who stalk you will read it. So to mix it up a bit I’ve decided to list the funniest things I’ve ever heard. Some these I’ve blogged about in the past, some of them I haven’t.

Without further ado here are 25 lines that I found truly gob smacking.

1. Girl: I bought these Magical Angel cards. They really can predict the future.
Me: The box says made in Twain?
Girl: I bought them at WHSmith.

2. (Talking about football)
Me: We should support the underdogs. Everyone loves a come back!
Girl: Who are they? I’ve never heard of a team called the underdogs.

3. I didn’t realise there were dates in sticky date pudding.

4. If the world is getting so hot why don’t they just outlaw daylight savings?

5. Kell you are so stupid, I don’t fly over the equator to get to South Africa! I fly over Africa.

6. (Same girl, same destination, still geographically challenged)
We’re going from the 3rd to the 20th of March but plan to fly out on the 27th.

7. Girl: Where’s Amsterdam?
Me: Netherlands.
Girl: Isn’t that were Peter Pan come from?

8. I wouldn’t call Paris Hilton famous. She’s stupid.
(Yes Paris Hilton is a little wet behind the ears but she aint got nothing on you!)

9. Your chances are the same in winning the lottery and developing cancer.

10. I’ll breast feed my baby until the child decides to stop. Breast milk is better than baby food.

11. (Written on a CV, Appling for administrative roles.)
I like animals.

12. They don’t speak Flemish in Belgium! They speak Bulgarian!

13. Girl: Your grandmother once had a licence to shoot Aborigines.
Me: Excuse me? Are you calling my grandmother a murderer?
Girl: My dad told me.
Me: And your dad knows this because?
Girl: His brother lived out in Australia for a year.
Me: Did he fly over the equator to get there?

14. Girl: I’m allergic to Salt.
Her boyfriend: Then why aren’t you dead? I cook with salt every night.
Girl: I’m only allergic to large amounts of salt.

15. (On a tour bus at Windsor)
Tourist to tour guide: It’s very cold out there, do you mind if I stay on the bus while you guys look around?”

16. Boyfriend: Don’t call me sweet pea. Call me something more manly like, Batman or Predator!

17. Girl: You fat bitch!
Me: Are you blind or just thick?

18. Girl: I like my Pasta Ally Dented, that’s when it’s cooked the Italian way.
Boy: Ally who? I think you mean Al dente. You put the pasta in the water and boil it. It’s pretty universal which ever way you look at it.

19. (Phone call with IT)
Me: I’m still waiting on the temporary password so *** can access her account. It’s locked.
It help desk: I e-mailed it to her.

20. Girl: What’s the capital of London?
Me: London is the capital of England.
Girl: Yeah, but what’s the capital of London
Me: Euston. (a stupid question deserves a stupid answer!)

21. Girl: Do I look nice
Me: You look like mutton dressed as lamb.
Girl: I do not look like a sheep!! I’m not ever wearing white!

22. (I’ll admit that Geography wasn’t my strongest subject in high school BUT COME ON!)
Girl: I’m going to move to Canada. It has summer at the same time as South Africa.

24. My eye-liner has dried out. (She then spat on it!)

25. (On a train to Scotland)
Boyfriend: Look at the baby horse!
Me: Where?
Boyfriend: There!!!!
Me: Honey, that’s a sheep.

South Africans and Sport

2009-03-09T04:38:00.000-07:00

Nothing against South Africans. I love them, I really do. In fact I love them so much that I’m even dating one. However they do have one flaw. They way they carry on about Sport. GIVE IT A BONE!!! It’s to the point that I don’t watch Aus v RSA games with them. They carry on like a pack of galas! Calm the heck down before you do yourself an injury.

Why is it that South Africa can win one game or championship in what ever sport and all of a sudden they think they’re world champions? I had a discussion about this the other night with a South African. He started going on about the cricket. I told him straight, “I don’t follow the Cricket so your gloating is lost on me.”
“What do you mean you don’t follow the cricket? WE WON! WE’RE THE WORLD CHAMPIONS. YOU SUCK!”
“Hmmm, how very sportsmen like of you to tell me that I personally suck. You’re wrong; Australia is currently number 1 on the international table.”
“No, we just beat you so we are.”
“Wrong, you won A game or test or what ever it’s flipping called. That doesn’t make you world champions.”
“Yes it does!”
“No, it’s doesn’t.”
“Look I know these things. We’re number 1.”
I shook my head and said, “If you say so. What ever.”

That just wound him up to beaking point so he then moved onto rugby, “We’re number 1 in the rugby too!”
“No you’re not. New Zealand is.”
“No, we won the world cup! We’re the champions.”
“I’m afraid the World Cup doesn’t mean diddly squat in international rankings. Statistically speaking, which is how the teams are ranked in the international table, New Zealand is number 1.”
“What would you know? No, we’re number 1. You’re just making this up.”
“Sure, I’m making this up. Because I would say NZ is number 1, if I making this up. Okay, South Africa number 1 if it makes you happy. But tell me, how’s that 3rd world country title doing for you?”
It was at this point the boyfriend shot me a look that meant, “Another word out of you and you’re going to bed with no supper.”
It’s hardly my fault that the fool was talking out his ass and not listening to what I was saying! Wind me up and my mouth will spit fire.

So today, I get to work and decide to have a look at the international Cricket and Rugby tables. As predicted I was rite, South Africa is not number 1 on either table. Have a look for yourself if you don’t believe me!

So put that in your pipe and smoke it! Oh and please before you preach something, check your facts. You should know me by now! I blog everything! xx

If I Had Balls, They'd be Bruised!

2009-03-05T02:34:00.001-08:00

I now know how a man feels when he gets kicked in the balls.

I just exchange £300 for $620... I feel sick.

Arrogant? Obama?

2009-03-04T07:56:00.000-08:00

It’s ballsy, it’s outlandish, it’s rude, it’s wrong and yet it’s so freakin’ funny! Kudos to Urbandictionary.com for ballsing up their advertisement placement!

I wonder whose picture would appear next to money if we looked it up?

Monday Nights - LAMB CHOPS NIGHT!

2009-03-04T02:44:00.001-08:00

The only thing that gets me through a Monday is thought of my Lamb Chops. Some people look at the size of me and automatically think I don’t eat. They make the assumption that I live off carrot stick. WRONG! I eat a healthy amount. I have what you call a high metabolism and this high Metabolism allows me to eat my own weight in Lamb Chops every Monday Night!

I love Minted Lamb Chops more than my own mother. I buy them from Iceland. They’re cheap, tasty and God’s way of telling me that he loves me. At the moment I have 3 packs at home, 2 in the freezer and 1 in the fridge marinating. I like to have a couple of spares just in case of emergencies. For example, what if there’s a break out of Zombies or aliens attack London? How am I going to get to the shops? I would like to be prepared for such occasions. Oh you laugh at me now but who will be laughing when you’re housebound without a lamb chop insight?

Marinating? But didn't she just say she buys the Minted ones? Correct. God did a bad thing and took my minted chops away from me. I went to shop and looked in all the freezers but there were none! I was reduced to the normal ones that I have to marinate myself. I went home and cried on my boyfriends shoulder. Yes real tears and real sobs. The boyfriend had to pat me on the back to help me calm down. I was distraught!

So the other day we’re in Iceland. I’m off looking at chocolate (please note the point about my high metabolism in the first paragraph… jealous yet?) and the boyfriend was off, doing boyfriend things like reaching for the high stuff and scaring children. Suddenly he came running back and asked me, “Guess what I found?” I told him that stealing children was illegal and he better put it back. He shook his head and looked serious. I went threw a list of things ranging from Chicken legs to washing up liquid. I was getting frustrated with him. “JUST TELL ME!” So he said, “What does god give to good girls?”

“LAMB CHOPS!!!” I ran around to the isle as fast as my little legs would carry me. And there they were in all their minted glory. My £3.50 lamb Chops. From the other side of the shop the boyfriend said he heard me let out a squeal with delight. If you were me you would let out a squeal too!

So now you think, the story has a happy ending. WRONG! We only had £5 on us. Only enough for one pack!! I did the only thing that anyone in my situation would do. I hid the other packets under a pile of lamb shanks! No one is getting to my lamb chops!!!!

And do you know what, no one did. (Now it’s a happy spoilt-little-monster ending.)

Hamster on a Piano

2009-03-01T09:59:00.000-08:00

The things we find on youtube...

Sleepless Friday Night

2009-02-27T15:51:00.000-08:00

Boo to early Saturday mornings and lack of sleep on Friday nights!

I just finished reading a blog by a man who has just become a father. He talks alot about lack of sleep. I feel his pain. Although, while his sleep deprivation is due to baby, mine is more due to the bottle wine that needed consuming and the babydaddies blog.

On that note, I have a 9am appointment tomorrow so I need to hit the sack. Oh how it sucks being responsible for your own actions. I'm keen to be a teenager again... WHO'S WITH ME?!?!?!

5 ways to tell I'm tired:
1. I talk alot of rubbish
2. My spelling and general Enligh skills go out the window
3. I'm yawning... alot
4. I've got drunky eyes (Half open. You think you look sexy but really you just look like a goof.)
5. I can't think of the fifth. Can I get back to you tomorrow?

Nighty night!

Rubberband Balls (Gangsta FAIL!)

2009-02-27T05:14:00.001-08:00

HAHA! I don't don't know what's more funny:

The fact that he has so much time on his hands or the fact that he thinks he's Gangsta!!!

http://s169.photobucket.com/albums/u222/recordball/?action=view&current=ballfor4.jpg

Yummy... INDUSTRIAL STRENGTH GUACAMOLE!

2009-02-27T02:33:00.000-08:00

I’m the first one to put my hand up and admit that I’m no domesticated goddess. Goddess yes but domesticated? Yeah, I think not! I figure that a clean house is a sign of a wasted life. I’m not into life wasting. You only live once so why waste several hours a month cleaning? It doesn’t make sense! Just give the house the once over before guests come around.

In saying that, I do have the odd 1950s style housewife moment every now and again. The boyfriend calls it nesting. He thinks those moments relate to my girl bits doing their girl things in the girly cycle. And when I tell him he’s wrong he then says, “Phase 2 begins, please don’t hit me!!!” ANYWAY… moving on from female functionality, (that was awkward for both of us!)

The other night I decided that I wanted to make dinner and play the ‘darling wife.’ We had some avocados that were getting pretty close to their "eat-before-it-grows-legs-and-runs-away" date. I decided I was going to make some nachos. Complete with Guacamole and all!!

Famous last words, "Go sit down… I KNOW WHAT I'M DOING!" The boyfriend, who usually does most of the cooking, reluctantly left me alone in the kitchen.

Sure- I gave him guacamole. INDUSTRIAL STRENGTH GUACAMOLE!!! I got a little carried away with the;
garlic (four cloves should do it!)…
and the onion (I had 2 to choose from. I went with the smaller one at least!)…
and the chilli powder (2 Tea-spoons should be enough!)...
and the lemon (I'll juice the hole thing, best not waste it.)…
and the pepper (It was almost finished so I just used it up!).

So we sat down and ate our Nachos. The boyfriend nibbled his way through the nachos and you know what, he even ate the Industrial Strength Guacamole! Bless his cotton socks for his good manners! Once we were done he turned to me and said, “Are you still nesting or have you entered Phase 2 yet?”
“I think I’m still nesting. I don’t know. Try pissing me off and we’ll find out.”
“Nah, best not risk it!”

Blair's Halfway up the What????

2009-02-25T07:43:00.000-08:00

EEEERRRRR, AAAAARRRRG, GRRRRRRRR. Those were the sounds I made on the tube last week when I got to page 153 in my book. You ask why I made those sounds? Well I’ll tell you why. I made the EEEEEEERRRR sound when I found out page 153 was missing! I turned the page in hope for page 154 but that wasn’t there either so I made a AAAAAARRRRG sound. I flicked the pages in anger and found that in fact all the pages up too 185 were missing!! Hence the GRRRRRRR sound and then man sitting next to me backing away slowly.

I went home livid. And fired off an e-mail to the publisher;

To Whom It May Concern,

Ref: Gossip Girl; Would I Lie to You
ISBN-10: 0-316-01183-5
ISBN-13: 978-0-316-01183-9

I was given a copy of the above book as a gift*. The book was received new**. It appears the book is in it's completion as no physical pages are missing from the spine.

However as I read the book, I turned the page to find that pages 153 -184 have not been printed. The book goes from page 152, (ending in, 'Blair was halfway up the') and then jumps to page 185 (Starting with the chapter, 'better late than never?') Please see attachment of scanned copy.

Now unless the missing pages only contain the word ‘Duff’, I would very much appreciate a replacement book for this misprinted copy. I am happy to send you the defected book if you kindly forward me a postal address.

I look forward to your response.

**Small white lie. I bought it on e-bay
** Small white lie. It cost me 50p as I was the fifth owner. It looked like it had been to hell and back. (No wonder it kept getting sold on, sneaky fuckers!)

The response:
I am sorry to learn of your defective book. The missing pages do contain more words than ‘Duff.’ Therefore, we would be more than happy to send you a free replacement copy. There is no need to send us the defective book. I will have the new book sent out right away.

Best,
Emily.

Why thank you Emily!! It’s good to know that Blair isn’t up the duff!

Lets Talk About Sex

2009-02-25T06:03:00.000-08:00

Ever since I was a little girl I have loved to write. I will write about anything from funny stories in my past to political issues and even in-depth rants about sandwiches. I have 2 characters that go on adventures and help me learn. It’s through these 2 that I’ve explored my limits.

Last night I was watching a documentary about Mills and Booms and the authors that have been published by them. The authors of these 50,000 word heart-bleeding books really aren’t as rubbish as people think. The art of writing crap like that is not something that can be taught but rather you’re born with it. You either got it or you don’t. I found out last night, that I don’t.

So as I sat there watching these women going through the motions of writing these stories, it got me thinking. Of all the things I’ve written, I’ve never written a sex scene. It had never even crossed my mind to write a sex scene so as curious as curious can get I grabbed my note book and attempted to write my first sex scene. As soon as I started scribing the words out I realised it was a lot harder than what I thought. How do you, in words, turn a normal sexual moment that is full of emotion and passion into something fluffy and romantic without sounding seedy and purvey? You really have to twist the lines of reality to get a clean and clear point across.

I called out to the boyfriend,“How would you start a sex scene?” After I belted it out at the top of my lungs, I realised I should have probably explained to him what I was doing first before yelling the question loud enough for the neighbours to hear.
“WHAT?!?! I generally get you drunk and then let the good times roll!” He laughed and came into the lounge to find out what I was up too and what I was wearing.
“Oh you’re writing, I thought you were hinting.” He said with disappointment. He sat down next to me and read what I had written. “It’s rather mushy. Not your style at all, where’s the punchy dialogue.”
I looked down at my work. He was right. That Mills and Booms documentary had got into my head and warped my style into something that sounded like a 1960s soft porn peep show scene. I tore out the page and screwed it up. No point in keeping crap! I started again, this time with more sex and less romance. Once I was done I ran into the Boyfriend's study quite proud of myself. He read my work and then started to laugh and squirm rather nervously.
“You certainly have a way with words. Maybe try less porn star and more loving couple. It’s very… umm… raw?”

I can take constructive criticism. And he was rite. Maybe describing how the sheets got twisted around the bed head in a hot and sweaty mess was a bit too graphic. Not one to give up I rewrote it again. This time instead of describing body parts and how they function in a way that Hugh Heffner would appreciate, I described the couple. Rather than going into the noisy details and the what went wear details, I went into the details of how they felt.

I must say it did feel rather uncomfortable writing about 2 characters that have been with me since my teenage years. It felt like I was prying into their life in a way a friend shouldn’t. These 2 characters had never been here before and as weird as it sounds they had no build up. They went from great friends to fuck buddies in a matter of seconds. I somehow felt like I’d tarnished them. Oh well. I suppose they had to loose their virginity at some point but I never thought it would be like this and then for them to go at it 3 times in one night!

I went to bed thinking of sex and all the ways it’s been dissected by words over the years. From innocent fumbles to rampant pornographic scenes of filth, I came to the conclusion that I’m not ready to write about sex yet. I think I might have my characters buy purity rings and have them repent in the next chapter. No one likes a whore.

Flight Time from London to South Africa - FAIL

2009-02-25T03:51:00.000-08:00

I love having a blog! I can write about people and they won't know I'm doing it. Yes, I know that sounds really immature but do you want to hear the funny story or not?

This story actually goes back quite far. It's about a South African girl who used to be my house mate. She's not the sharpest crayon in the box and gave us hours of amusement! The rubbish she says, it would blow your mind! I keep her as a friend of facebook for pure comic relief.

But back to the story so many moons ago; One day we were all sitting in our lounge talking about international flight. 'Miss Plank of Wood' turned around and said, “All international flights are night flights.” We all rolled our eyes, a statement like that is expected from her. We tried to point out that there are international day flights. I even showed her my Itinerary for my flight back to Australia the following month. She wasn’t having any of it. Instead, she told us, “The reason why Kell is flying during the day is because she flies over the equator.” We looked at her and scratched our heads. WTF on so many levels!!!!
Que, Awkward Silence.
So I asked her, “When you fly to South Africa, do you not fly over the equator?”
She laughed and shook her head, “Kell sometimes you’re so stupid. Of course I don‘t fly over the equator, I fly over Africa.” She then gave me a demonstation and moved her arm in a swoop/big-dipper motion. This action made everything she said so much clearer.
Of course! Stupid me!

A few years have passed since her Epic grade 2 Geography fail. The other day I was talking to her on facebook. Guess who is flying back to South Africa? I couldn’t help it. I had to pick the scab until I became sore from laughing...

Kell V Man United

2009-02-25T03:35:00.000-08:00

So last night we watched the football. Inter Milan V Man United. I’m not the biggest football fan. I just find the whole thing a bit chav! But anyway, The boyfriend asked who I wanted to win.
“The Blue ones. Inter Milan.” I replied without even looking up or thinking about it.
I could tell he was confused. He was expecting some smart-ass remark like I always give when watching the football. He’s used to me saying things like, “Who are the blue guys again?” and “When are the adds, I want to talk.” So when I managed to actually name a team and then know who I was referring too, he was naturally quite taken back. He patted my head, “Good Girl, you’re learning.”
“I’d hardly say being a FIFA 09 WAG is learning. More like force fed.” He wasn’t impressed with my quick wit and went back to the game.

At half time he turns to me and says, “How come you never watch the football and now all of a sudden you’re engrossed by it? You’re contradicting yourself. And why are you supporting Inter Milan exactly?”
“First off, it’s soccer. Secondly, you have a blue team and red team. The blue team look better, they also live in Milan so my money is on they don’t dress in tracksuits in their spare time. Thirdly they’re playing Man United who are more Chavtastic than a Kentish Town Council Estate. Cheap, tacky and nasty. Even Beckham left them! Win or loose the match it’s clear who the true winners are.”
The boyfriend shook his head, “That’s not how you pick a team.”
“I didn’t realise there are rules about how you pick a team.” If I’m going to support where my family come from then is should be supporting Arsenal but they were playing on the other channel and Justin was sitting on the control. In all fairness they’re just as Chav as Man United. Besides, who cares where your family comes from generations back. Do you think they would be pissed if you didn’t support the home team? It’s called jumping on the bandwagon and if you can’t tell, I’m against bandwagon jumping!

“There are no rules; it’s just that you can’t judge a team by how Chav their home city is.”
Want to make a bet?
The game kicked off again and my attention was drifting. Potato Head (Rooney) wasn’t playing so I couldn’t laugh at him (He came on at the very end). It was just, for lack other words, BORING! I sat there and practised my dirty war chants. Eventually it was over. 0 to 0. But it wasn’t a complete waste of 90mins. At least Man United didn’t win. In truth, that’s all I was hoping for.