Wednesday, December 10, 2014

You my side kick for life

Shortly after Ginger Beard proposed I told him:

'Things are going to change around here.'

Alas, when he told me he was heading out with with friends yesterday I thought to myself let him have one more night with friends before he never sees them again. That's the nice thing to do, a final farewell.

Because deep down, deep, deep, deep, deep down, I'm a nice person.

I immediately regretted it, when I looked up in the shower to find that a gigantic spider was walking along the ceiling to get me. Several of its legs kept losing grip on the plaster, and at points it would just dangle mockingly in front of my face.

I obvs couldn't take a picture, but I have located a replica:

I sang out, "Oh my God, oh my dear God!" in a loud, operatic style, thus discovering where the urban myth about the erotic powers of Herbal Essences had derived from.

Ginger Beard did not come to the rescue. And why not? Because I'd let him say goodbye to his mates.

Stupid me, I thought, he would've seen them in a year or so, at the wedding. That should've been enough.

And so, I was alone, and through the sheer terror of my situation, I was finally able to utilise the skills, that three plus years working in Resourcing had armed me with.

Firstly, I pulled off the domed cap of my shaving gel, reached up, and trapped the monster within it, flush to the ceiling. With my other hand, I deftly squashed the bottom of my tube of face wash flat, scooped this under the cap, and brought the trap down. I had the little fucker.

Now, I don't usually kill spiders. Why? Because as they die, they emit a message to all spiders within the vicinity, and that message is, "When she's asleep, I want you to crawl inside her mouth, and up her nose, and choke her to death with your bodies." I''M SERIOUS.

So I flushed him down the loo.

It's not really my fault, because we all know what spiders do once they've landed on your head:

1, Spit their babies into your ears.
2. Bite your eyes
3. Go to sleep under your skin

In a way, it was also me saying farewell. Farewell to independence, and really, having to look after myself ever again. After I hand in my notice at work, and start to live off his wage, I think I'm going to feel truly fulfilled.

So far I have won approx twenty disagreements, by simply removing the ring, and handing it back.


Try it.

Thursday, December 04, 2014

Are you sitting comfortably?

As annoying as it is to be penned in by two broad shouldered men on the tube (may be your idea of a swell time - not judging), I tend to blame the narrow seats, think of a creative way to retrieve my phone from my pocket, and accept it. Super wide thighs is where I draw the line.

So I was chuffed, nay, thrilled, to discover that in NYC, this type of alarming and selfish behaviour is being challenged.

Officials might even be making train announcements:

"Shut your legs boys!"  Or something similar. I can't get hold of any exact wording at the present time.

The campaign has been titled, 'Something new, something fresh.' Totes bizarre. 

Why do so many men do this? Do they all have mega schlongs?

One man has commented on the article -  #Freethepenis. 

Free it all you like, but not to the point where I become familiar with it.

It has provoked a lot of American men to go crazy with rage and demand that fat women stop wearing tight clothes, and low tops. 

I particularly like this one from a nice, Christian lady -  "I have a pretty thorough understanding of what's between a man's legs, and, believe me, most of ya'lls knees can touch just fine."


"...spread his legs further and further apart, like he was about to bring a life into the world."

I'm not taking sides. I hate everyone on the tube, just for being there, and thus don't discriminate.

My consistent anger is such that if anyone does anything remotely nice to me during the commute, it's almost guaranteed that I will cry. Not usually at the time, but when I'm remembering it later that day.

One time I cried at a man because I was having a claustrophobic panic attack and he told me that everything would be alright. He was with his two young kids, who weren't crying, but they were probably emotionally stable.

A runner high fived me on Sunday. I don't know why. But I was super smug, because Ginger Beard had been ignored. GB said, "I definitely thought he was trying to hit you."

Two perspectives there, one from someone who is desperately trying to see the lingering good in mankind, and one who 100%, every god damn day, kill me know please, HATES London.

Tuesday, December 02, 2014

The birds and the bees

Sometimes your friends make drunken mistakes, and other people suffer.

When my friends were drunk, they decided to buy expensive tickets to a James Blunt concert.

When one of them "couldn't" make it, it was left to me, dear reader, to man up, and take the other.

What I didn't realise is that there would be no turning back.

I'm afraid to say that I:

1. Had a good time
2. Thought he was funny
3. Liked the new material

It's too late for me. But it's not too late for you. Beef up your iPod with something street, like Miley Cyrus, and try to move on with your life.

I'll just be over here, getting, well, more than a little teary at 'Goodbye My lover.'

If you don't know that song, things are looking very good for you indeed.

I asked Google, "How can I be more street?" But it is only willing to tell me how to be more street smart, or how to be a street fighter.

Tip number 10 for how to be more street smart is, "If in doubt, run and shout."

If I shouted and ran away every time I doubted myself, my throat would erode, and no one would ever catch me.

Maybe this isn't the best website. There's a quiz on here to decide if you want to lose your virginity or not:

3. You've Got a Plan If You or Your Sweetie Gets Pregnant

That's a pretty disgusting turn of phrase. I don't think I would want to have sex after reading that. 

7. You're Prepared to Have a Terrible Time

A terrible time? Probs doing it wrong.

8. You're OK With Having Your Partner in Your Life Forever

That is some heavy shit.

If you've found these questions useful prompts, please feel free to visit the site here:

It's only time for blimin' Sleep of the week!!

This weeks' is extra special. Firstly, because I'm in it. I've circled my face, because I don't want you to miss me.

Secondly, because it's dedicated to one of Ginger Beard's colleagues who said that it was inappropriate and unfair to take pictures of sleeping people on the tube. I'd like to address this by saying that people can take my photo, whether I'm asleep or awake, and ridicule me online whenever they do so wish. There, that should do it.

This is Michelle. She is dreaming that she is kissing her teen crush - Paul Jesmond. In reality, she is kissing her own bag. 

If I'm not mistaken, this is the very same girl who was going to try and seduce the guy with a bag full of chicken, with a cheeky leg rub:

Michelle's only gone and got her own chicken now, and by the looks of it, significantly more.

Good for you Michelle!

Still sponsored by Durex - 'Respect it, Protect it.'

Thursday, November 27, 2014

There's nothing to see here

By the end of today, I should have 45,009 lovely novelly words.

Unfortunately, I am currently 14,009 words behind.

Despite this crushing news, Carol's eye (Carol the BBC Weather lady) is getting better. THANK GOD.

Although I try not to be a shallow person, it's very difficult to eat your breakfast and catch up on the forecast looking at this:

Sorry Carol, but I don't make many demands for my small life, and I've found this a very difficult and stressful time.

I am so glad that she's on the mend.

So like I was saying, before you interrupted me, I'M SO BEHIND GUYS.

Also, one of my characters has turned into Gollum. Is it plagiarism if I change his name and cover him with fur? He's not obsessed with the ring either. He's obsessed with the internal destruction of my protagonist. Phew!

I'm off to that writing lock-in thingy magingey on Saturday and they've just sent me a goal setting worksheet. I don't really want to spend the whole day finishing my novel on admin and Gollum, so for the next three days I need to write 6333 words a day. Is it warm in here, or is it just me?

As if things couldn't get worse, on top of my floundering ability and Carol's eye, GingerBeard caused a double shop pile up. CAN YOU IMAGINE?

That's right, after I'd completed the shop for the week and had filled all of our space, GB turned up arms laden with bags. I nearly died of shock. Which would've been a real shame as then there would be even less people to eat the stupid amount of food. I wanted to positively reinforce this behaviour but at the same time, I was pissed about being inundated with broccoli.

So I had to go with, "I know your heart was in the right place, but this is offensive."

I don't think anyone's problems are as bad as mine. No one comments on my blogs, and I can only assume it'd due to a sense of awe and pity. Keep it coming.


I fell asleep standing up in the shower this morning. Maybe I fainted? Probably due to the weight of all the tremendously crushing things in my life. Luckily I swayed into the glass partition, and managed to cling onto it as I woke up. The last thing I remember thinking about is the plot of my novel, which really goes most of the way to explaining it.

Luckily, the drama in my story is really ramping up; I've just written:

'I can’t read his face at all. This has always been a problem and makes me nervous in every conversation. At least, for once, he’s taken off his suit and tie, in exchange for some slack pants, with white paint marks from doing up the lounge last year.'

 I know, incredible, and I've not even edited it yet.

Tuesday, November 18, 2014

Smile like you mean it

I'm only 11,000 words behind.

I could be doing a lot better than this, but for my past two lunch breaks I've grabbed a coffee with my colleague and occasional friend JB instead.

Luckily, I've got the whole day free tomorrow for catch up, and I've set the alarm for 6am.

Will I get up though?

Or course I will.

But will I?

Who knows guys, who knows.

Isn't it always the thought that counts?

Things have got very exciting in it. I've moved on from break-ups in Nandos. There's now domestic violence in Tesco, AND you think a little girl has been taken from school, BUT SHE HASN'T.

Ramping up the drama.

As always my efforts to loosen up my mind, in hope that a few original thoughts might fall out, is resulting in some rather disturbing conversations, disturbing for me and those around me.

I can only apologise. It's part of my process. For you, you're scared, uncomfortable, and close to ending the friendship. For me I'm relived, impressed, and I might just end up with a novel which surpasses the subject of admin. Here's hoping.

In other news, I've been hanging out with Arnold Schwarzenegger. Two french guys claimed to have seen him some seven rows below us at The Book of Mormon. I spent the whole second half trying to recognise the back of his head. The first half was stupendous.

I especially liked how one woman said, "There's no way he'd be with us in the shit seats." And he was. Arnie was choosing to slum it with the commoners. And I for one, appreciate that.

Well I did, until the guy in front of me said, "Ooh yay, floor smartie," and ate his finding. Then I was just embarrassed for us all.


I held a rather successful (if I do say so myself)  wine night at a posh bar. We did have 'All about the bass' on a speaker phone on repeat, let the female Gingers play fight in a corner, and stop a poor girl from leaving the bathroom until she answered questions about how her date was going. But the main thing guys, is that I didn't fall over, not once, didn't even totter. Or vomit. There was no vomit in sight. Well done me.

I've been to many, many events recently. It's not because I hate London and am desperately trying to stop myself from being one of those Monday morning commuters who looks across the rain splattered train tracks and decides to jump. IT'S REALLY NOT.

It's just because I love spending all my money. Yeah, that's the reason.

Luckily I don't even have to bother to smile anymore, because I've bought one of these signs from ebay. You should get one; they are very reasonably priced. Also, as if you need another reason, arguably a good work out for one of your arms.

Thursday, November 13, 2014

The puppet show

Oh bejesus guys - by midnight I'll be 7,640 words behind.

The only saving grace is that my last chapter is bloody stupendous - my protagonist gets dumped in Nandos.

GingerBeard says that I involve food in every chapter without fail like some obsessive fatty. But as he's only a fake Doctor, and not a writer, I don't take him very seriously.

To his credit, he is entertaining me. I took him on a surprise visit to Bath for his birthday. Well it was going to be a surprise, until the night before when I bellowed out, "So, when we get to Bath...Nooooooooo!!!"

I'd bought him a laptop and a bag for it to live in, but only taken the bag to Bath. He opened it and thanked me profusely saying, "That's so great, I'll go out and get a laptop for it."

And I was like, "What?"

GB: "To go with the bag."

Me: You think I've bought you a laptop bag without a  laptop?

GB: Yes, and I really like it.

Me: I've got you a laptop too!

GB: No you haven't.

Me: I really have.

GB: It's cool, I like the bag.

This is the kind of thing they were thinking of when they stated that relationships were hard work.

And anyway, who appreciates a bag for something they don't have?

I would've gone fucking nuts.

I wonder what else he's lying about, now that I know he's a really good actor. Probably loads of stuff. I'm pretty sure that the trust we've developed as a couple is disintegrating.

Could you tell him for me?



Nia Edwards took me to see a Russian play last night. They promised English subtitles, but there was a good stretch in the middle where they couldn't be bothered. My interpretation of that bit, is that a giant girl was bitten in the vagina by a lion. They put a bowl under her bum, for her to bleed into, and then a real dog came over and drank some. Then she died. Then her boyfriend killed himself with a sword to the ribs. Then she came back to life and had a sleep over his body. And finally, her head fell off.

Nia's thoughts were close to mine, but she's certain that the girl was bitten everywhere, then peed herself in terror, and the dog drank her pee.

Either way, the main actor for the whole thing was a dog, and he gave the best dog performance I have ever seen.

At one point, they undid the male puppet's crotch and his penis fell out. They pumped it up with a  bicycle pump.

I think I liked it.

But I'll get back to your formally in a few weeks on that.

Tuesday, November 11, 2014

Park life

Yesterday, I was hit by a falling suitcase as I walked down a spiral staircase. No, it wasn't a magical, Alice In Wonderland staircase, or an especially dull dream.

This shit actually happens to me.

In my shock, and as the woman ran down to reclaim it, I turned and said, "Woah, easy there!"

As if she was responsible for a reckless horse.

Maybe I am secretly a suitcase tamer? Not such a secret one anymore!

I think I really need to try and be the person that doesn't experience things like this. I think it's known as being normal.

Any tips?

An old English teacher of mine often said that I was eccentric.

So maybe I only have myself to blame for the suitcase incident. Maybe I was walking in such a peculiar fashion, that the woman was trying to put me down for the greater good - end the horror.

It's possible.


I'm starting to get over how awful my novel is. I don't mean that the writing's getting any better, it's not. Previously, I would've compared generating it to undergoing something painful without help, like getting a filling. Whereas now, I have taken the anaesthetic. Because I cannot complete this thing kicking and screaming my way through, and I have to complete it in order to uphold my thinning, pathetic wisp of a dream.

Otherwise, as discussed in an earlier blog, I will have to be an astronaut.

And the more I think about it, the more I worry about me as an astronaut. I think I've managed to become a bit spesh despite being in the company of  well turned out others, imagine what isolation would do to that. I bet the only thing that keeps me in check is public shame and embarrassment.

Guys, it's not looking awesome for me right now. I am precisely 4,663 words behind.

My main problem is that I'm trying to write something of value, which is also at least mildly entertaining/interesting. I'm also reading 'The shock of the fall' by Nathan Filer which is super, super good. Nathan is a mental health nurse and has used this knowledge to produce a novel. If I did that, I would have a novel about admin. I just don't think it's fair that some people have quite exciting lives, which they are able to use to inspire successful art.

Whereas I, am writing a novel which in the main, is about admin, and get hit by falling suitcases.

Yes, that's correct, the best fiction I have been able to generate follows a protagonist through which can be specifically described, as my work history.

I think if a lot of you comment on this post saying, 'Sounds like something I'd read.' and 'You've really landed on a gap in the market with that one,' then everything will be okay.

I don't want to pressure you, but I will blame you if I fail.