May i stick my finger through your hole?

This morning i boarded a tube as usual. I was still quite asleep.

The doors closed, I looked up and I could see a rather non descript woman reading a Metro

What disturbed me most was that this woman was BEHIND the man immediately in front of me.

Why could I see this woman?

I was looking through the hole in the man's ear made by one of those ridiculous ear-ring things that are as big as napkin rings /cockrings (delete as apt) and I found myself frozen to the spot.

I could not continue the journey in that carriage. If I had stayed on, I would have projectile vomited through the hoop and onto the Metro of the woman behind.

Honestly, I know I come across as a bit conservative sometimes but please....

Still, I suppose I could have hung my dry-cleaning on it rather than carry it...

Every Little Helps....

Ok, I'm not going to dare set myself up for the fall that is "why buy designer clothes"? - I'm not that stupid and without my "always right" dear friend Ashley to back me up, I know I'd get flustered and lose anyway..

BUT!!

This morning on my way to work, I saw a man with his son, walking towards the tube station. In true "Son & dad" manner, the dad being cool, had his sweater over his back with the arms draped round his neck and I could see the label.

The label was this...

Yes, next time I am in Tesco, I can pick up a Tesco Finest Soft cheese & salmon Terrine lunch selection and a sweater at the same time...

Every little helps!.........................................yeah right!

Ewww my PC must be broken

My spell checker didn't have the word "Prada" in its dictionary.

"IT SUPPORT!, i need a new pc!"


oh shit, i am IT support


bugger

Blogging at 30,000 feet

Its just gone 11:20pm. As I write this I am at 30,000 feet. Should land in about 45 mins.

What a 4 days. I think I've loaded up on brownie point with the parents, spent all my birthday money (and some) on Prada shoes, a shirt and some shorts. (oh how the comments will flow now)

Last time I was in Tenerife I was with Charlie and my ex. It felt odd but strangely calm without Michael there. No worrying when the next argument would happen.., or when he'd next sneak off for a cigarette, come back stinking of cheap Spanish fags, then lie to my face that he wasn't a smoker.... or praying that whatever came out of Charlie’s mouth next wouldn’t set him off on a sulk..... or perhaps.... hell, you get the idea

Only a matter of 7 weeks or so to go before I am back out again to surprise my grandmother for her birthday, although frankly the "get her to answer the door so I can surprise her" routine must even be wearing thin on her now…. Just coz she’s 80-ish doesn’t mean she has the memory span of a goldfish.

Oh well back to work tomorrow... Upload these Blogs... Dying to read Ashley's.. the man is a total undiscovered talent.

Hmm I think I will steal the in-flight safety card. Watch this space.. I see some re-working of it, hopefully to humours effect.

***UPDATE***

So we circled Gatwick for 40 mins, with a near switch to Stansted because of “poor visibility”. Fortunately we did land at Gatwick, then after abandoning waiting for the South-eastern train, the Gatwick Express took a little over an hour – Apparently the last one of the night gets held up with engineering works – little note for your travel planners there!

I got home at 3:30am!....

Guess how alert and smiley I am today ?

Row row row your boat.... (Gently over a large waterfall, if you don’t mind!!)

So it would seem after my prissy outburst yesterday that the gods have conspired to humble me…. (That or Tourette has been using his voodoo doll again)

Firstly, I was wrong about the ‘no bras before 7pm’ rule. Apparently its not a requirement at all, in fact the more free to swing and knock you over, the better. Honestly some of these women could have a mammogram and a pedicure at the same time!

So, back to the revenge of the gods.. We went out for a simply divine dinner to celebrate my mum’s birthday. The restaurant was perfect.. Gazpahco, chateaubriand, crepe suzette and perfect red wine. Alas from that point onward it sort of went downhill..

As it was nearing midnight was we walked into town, one of the party decided it would be really good fun to drag us all into an IRISH ELVIS bar. Now I've nothing against the Irish (apart from the ones that speak like Jim McDonald from Corrie) and I could care less about Elvis, but the two together, combined with a pub where is was the law to chain smoke, have no air con and no ice made me feel as comfortable as a b@stard at a family reunion

I felt myself turning in Karen Walker – “Honey don’t touch me!”

Midnight came, my mother was dragged onto the stage while old Elvis O’Reilly sang ‘Falling in love with you’...how touching...

Having escaped that bar, we then got a cab to another one called Bananas…. yes you can tell by the name that this one is going to be classy... Sure enough it was a chip shop, kebab shop and bar combined into one, complete with outside plastic furniture.

At this point I lost the will to live and WALKED HOME...*

Someone remind me again why I am here and not living it up in London with Alex???????

PS in reference to today’s title, I am trying to have an afternoon nap and some neighbouring kid has a new toy which plays nursery tunes at the same volume as a fat-boy-slim concert. If I hear Merrily we roll along or Baa baa black sheep one more time, I'll swing for it!

* I don’t do walking. I especially don’t do walking up-hill. And I really really don’t do walking up very very steep hills in 80% humidity and 34 degrees centigrade!

TAXI !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Heifers Tits & Fags (not to be confused with the Cher song)

So its my mums birthday on 18th Sept. This part of the year is always tricky. My good friend Alex has a birthday on the same day and its that age old decision, piss off your friend or piss off your mother. Written like that, its fairly easy to decide what to do (sorry mum), but on this occasion, I decided to fly out to Tenerife to surprise her.

Those of you know me well, know I don’t fly economy on anything over 4 hours, so thank GOD Tenerife is 4 hours 20 mins (phew) and boy was I glad I stuck to my guns on this flight.

There were 280 economy seats and 10 Club Europe on this little airbus. A 25 minute delay in departure gave me time to assess the passengers.

Instantly my eye was drawn to a 5ft, pot-bellied Chav bellowing at the top of his voice in an accent that would have made any Pearly King proud. “naaaah am at the ayypoowt, goiiin on me olidaays mate”. His 30 stone, ‘make up applied by cement mixer’ wife was hiding under her cardigan as the entire departure lounge were forcibly tuned in to this bellow.

Needless to say, the gate opened and I think I left carpet burns to be first down the air gate and onto the plane. We took off, curtain closed, hot towel applied…

Ahh Sanctuary.

But what’s this ??!!! One of Chavvy's friends, Ermentrude the Heifer, decides to come through aforementioned curtain to use our loo!. 10 passengers look at each other, at her (think Pat Butcher with double the makeup & Lt Uhuru earrings), then look at the stewardess who has her back to us whilst arranging some magazines.

There is a pause... Breath is held.... Its almost slow motion as she reaches for the door... Then like a bolt of lighting, “excuse me madam, bathrooms are at the rear of the aircraft”.. 10 collective sighs and 1 look of Eva Braun later, normality returns.

In no time at all we land and I am then confronted with the wall of smoke that is 'the Spanish'.. Thankfully with only hand luggage I can race past to the taxi rank and avoid most of it… Where else in the world can you go into a pharmacy and be served an asthma pump by a clinician with a lit cigar hanging out his trap??

I’m now laying by the pool and it seems since I was last here a law has been past forbidding women to wear a bra before 7pm.. I've never seen so many breasts in my life. Its like tit soup in the pool!

How rude

Poison Ivy

It would seem, sometimes that no matter how hard I try, I just manage to fuck it up!

Take last night for example. It was one of my dear friend's birthdays and we had arranged to go to The Ivy... that culinary delight which you are normally guaranteed to see such gems as Michael Winner next to you.

I'd been looking forward to it for weeks as the last time me and said friend had arranged to go, that went tits-up (as well)

Out of the blue I get an email the day before which when surmised, said, "I didn't confirm our table in time so they have released it"... almost in the tone of "oh well, how about Starburger instead?"

Oh no!.. I wasn't having any of that!... One email and a phone call later, aforementioned reservation was re-instated!

I bring this joyous news to birthday girl via email only to get a reply that says "I'm not dressed for The Ivy now, I'm not in the mood... besides one of my friends said she'll meet for a drink and she can't afford it anyway"..

ok, now I'm mildly annoyed... deep breath, count to 10... Yes ok it is her birthday and she should be the focus, but it was also mine a few days before and this was a joint event. I've suddenly gone from birthday friend to "The happy restaurant booker"

Anyway, long story short, the email exchange escalated into a row, culminating in me being called many things, none of which included the words "kind, generous, thoughtful", or "and I'll love the birthday cake you specially arranged"... The words "fucking ungrateful bitch" formed in my head but fortunately didn't make it past my mouth....

So there I am with 1 hour to go before the gastronomic pleasure that is my favorite restaurant... with no dining guest, a HUGE amount of angst and the prospect of a miserable evening ahead..

"calm down dear, its only a restaurant"

Birthday weekend

This weekend just gone I had.... a 55 minute full body massage, a Citrus Body Glow, Rasul Mud Chamber treatment, a Clarins facial, Thalassotherapy, as well as swimming, steaming and generally lolloping about in a new fluffy cotton robe..

On top of that, I was upgraded to a suite, had premiere therapists for every treatments and generally was treated like a...................................... King!

I turned 36 and went to Champneys, Forest Mere.. I didn't want to leave... There wasn't enough movable furniture in the suite to barricade the door...

I think I floated home

Its worth it.

Hello

Where am I?

(sigh...)

There was an old woman who swallowed a fly.......

Whether she dies or not is immaterial, I'm much more concerned with whether I will now

Having lambasted restaurants (and my own mother) for keeping products past their sell-by date, its clear to discover that perhaps I didn't fall far from that tree afterall..

I just had a glass of sugar free Ribena that I found at the back of a cupboard

Suddenly the colour has drained from my face as I stare first at my empty glass and secondly at this label on the back of the bottle.

Dis-service with attitude

I am not happy today.

I was very happy this morning.. up at 6 like a lark (or other lark-type thing that gets up early), in the pool by 6:45am, Waitrose smoothie bar by 8:15am and on my way home to pick up my work stuff and head in. Didn't go directly to work from gym today because urgent package was due to arrive at home.

What's this??! no package?.. no post... no "you may or may not have been out but we couldn't be arsed to carry the package to your door so here is a card to force you to drive to collect what is rightfully my job to deliver" card...

I ring my supplier.... "Oh we sent via D.H.L (now formally known as D.H.ell)

I check D.H.ell website. My internal package which had to travel from Lambeth to Canada Water (approx 2 miles) went on a 5 day trip via heathrow, still hasn't arrived, the driver has gone out on his rounds today with no mobile, no van printer, in fact no means of communication whatsoever. He will now try again to deliver while I am at work and probably not leave a card again.

so today I am angry... see... no humour in my tone at all..

What would my good friend Tourette say??.. oh I know

"Cunts! the lot of em!"

Good day

Grrr

Its not every day....

....that a 70 year old woman says to me "I'm just going to insert my finger in your anus"

Its even less frequent that I reply "Oh, go on then"

Yes, after years of being told I was "full of shit", I finally decided to take all this advice i'd heard and have a colonhydrotherapy session.

There is something altogether unsettling about laying on a bed in a powder blue paper gown, trying to protect one's modesty by holding the gown from flying up, yet not 15 inches further round, a hose is attached to you like something from The Borg.

I can't say it was utterly painless but the humiliation factor far outweighed any physical pain until eventually, there I was chattering away to this amazing woman who looked like she was in her late 40s, about life the universe and the fact she could see "I chew my food well".. oh dear - right back to the top of the embarrassing scale... and so it went on..... and on..... and on....

40 minutes later, i'm still laying there thinking that by now, my whole colon must have come out the pipe (well at least i'll be a few pounds lighter!)...

Then its over, as suddenly as it began. Not 30 minutes later, I am dressed, down Bond St, in Selfirdges and sitting at Yo Sushi, watching the conveyor belt going round and reflecting on what just happened..

My my... what an experience

I'm now left with only 2 decisions

1) Do I go back again in 8 weeks and continue this therapy
2) Do I risk allowing comments to this post for fear of the ensuing comedic responses brining down the Blogger servers

We shall see.......

"Grey eggs?! - is that an Arab custom?"

..or alternatively, "Sell-by dates - part 2"

ok so for some bizarre reason, I took it into my head last night that I needed a bit of a tan. Having decided against using the old cancer-beds with the promise of skin as smooth as leather in later life, I opted to fake it. And me being me, of course had to use the supposed best - St Tropez.

Me being me, also decided all this at 11pm when it was too late to go out and get some but hurrah! what luck, I found a whole 3-step kit in a drawer in my bathroom. What I didn't realize until all my skin turned GREY, was just how long it had been in my bathroom drawer! So its been a few years since I last used said St Tropez Step3 tanning mousse. I couldn't see an expiry date on it. Perhaps when the first few pumps came out gritty, I should have been more self aware?.. and perhaps I just carried on smearing grey mousse all over my face and body.

I looked in the mirror to admire my streak-free handy work only to see the Spitting Image puppet of John Major looking back at me, well except he didn't have black hands. At this point, only mild panic set in.. I tried to scrub my hands.. no change... medium panic now... I tried with exfoliator to scrub my hands... no change.... now faced with the prospect of going to work looking like a Covent Garden mime artist posing as a statue, full-on max panic washed over me.. I leapt in a single bound into the shower with that "Noooooooooooo" noise that Oliver Hardy would made when a grand piano was hurtling downstairs heading directly for him!

I 'd guess I spent about 40-45 mins in the shower with the loofah........ then I decided to wash ;-) Another hour later, when I felt that seeing bone was perhaps an exfoliation too far, I dried off and faced the mirror again. Moderate success indeed. Now all I need is to cover my entire body in foundation for the next 10-12 days and I’ll be fine.

Note to self - throw away any bottle or tube in bathroom that still has price in old money on it!

A bag is for life...

..not just for shoving in a cupboard..

Ok, so I want to know if this "Bag for Life" that Waitrose and probably many other less salubrious supermarkets provide, really is for life - or... yes OR!... is it just another marketing gimmick to make you feel good but buy even more stuff which you can cram in because these babies can take 8 tones of shopping before the handles snap.. in fact there is more chance of your fingers needing amputated from loss of blood, that these bags breaking..

... anyway I digress...

I go to Waitrose, I load my basket, get in the queue behind the old lady that takes 48 minutes to buy the 2 staple items (hairnets and dog food), load my stuff into my BFL, walk home with that richeous feeling that the 10p I spent on the bag is doing my bit for recycling......... then I shove it in a drawer with the other 411 BFL!.. well I say drawer, they have now taken up residence in a cupboard that my original built-in freezer used to occupy (RIP).

Then I go back to the shop and do it all again...?!?!?!?!!?!?

Not cutting the mustard!

In the catalogue of things that annoy me (Volume 7), I have a particular gripe with restaurants who just “top up” the sauces, mustards and other condiments by that concise catering term “slopping a bit more on the top”

There is nothing more alarming, (well there is of course but humour me for a moment), than opening a jar of, lets say wholegrain mustard, eating half your delicious fillet steak, then noticing that the sell-by date on the jar is July 2003!

Ok, granted - when I opened the jar, it was full to the neck so what I used was probably brand new, but good lord, how old is the product at the bottom of the jar? Ewww!

This disgraceful practise is not confined to your average Old Compton St, “Back door Deirdre” restaurant either!... my own mother has been known to harbour jars of olives, sauces, pastes etc all with a dates that were millennium compliant for the wrong reasons!! – I have even been known to arrive home in Scotland, drag the Brabantia (well did you think I would visit, if she didn’t have one as well?) over to the cupboard and breathe new life into those shelves!. To this day, I’m convinced she hides things just before I arrive!..

So think on, next time you’re in your local eatery!.. Don’t be too cocky when you think you’re opening that “brand new” bottle of Ketchup… check that date!

How very rude!

My brain is empty today.. I think I must have Altzh……..

……….no, I’ve forgotten

Things you don't need to see at 7am

I consider myself quite a fair person, someone with a relatively strong constitution, but even I was somewhat taken aback this morning when I walked out of a shower cubicle at the gym, headed towards my locker to be "cut up" by some middle aged man with a blamange arse, waddling towards the steam room. Now before the PC brigade fire up their "Mr Outraged of Doncaster" routine... THAT wasn't what made me gag...

It was the sight of this delightful little 5'6 man walking (thankfully) away from me with the most perfect impression of a toilet seat on his butt. SO perfect and red, it looked like he had either been sat there for 2 weeks, or someone had beaten him really hard with the loo seat.. Neither vision is something I ever want to focus on again.

Almost put me off my smoothie!... how rude!

Let me tell you about Louise..

I have inherited the name Louise... No that's not some pervy secret, nor is it how I like to be referred to at the weekend..

Indeed, the name Louise tends mostly to be used as an insult between myself and that sweet angelic lady Charlie, who was mentioned many posts ago.. but where did it come from I hear you ask?.. (oh you didn't ask?.. tough.. be quiet and pay attention)

In a prior working life there used to be a very pretty young woman called Louise. Despite the fact this is quite complimentary, I still think I should spare her the indignity of plastering her surname over the net - the idea of her walking down the street with people pointing and whispering "look, that her" may not go down well..

anyhoo.. Pretty and slim and fit and blonde and..and...and.. etc as Louise was, her diet ( and I used the word literally) was ....shall we say dull?... or shall we say it would make even the staunchest vegan sneer ?..

The truth of the matter, is that Louise actually ate quite normally. The REAL problem was that Charlie and I ate like it was prohibition, then put on weight, then needed a scapegoat so who could we pick?... who was the slimmest, prettiest, likeable girl in the office that we could bring down?..

Just at that moment Louise walked in and as I offered her something (can't remember - cake, toast, side of wildebeest) she politely declined as she was full.!

Charlie & I started at each other with that fixed look of "Did she just refuse food?".....followed by "She can't be right in the head".... followed by "I bet she gets full on a grape".... "bitch".....



From that moment on, poor Louise was doomed... as far as we were concerned she was boring... didn't eat, didn't drink, got full on a lettuce leaf... etc

But don't get me wrong, we didn't dislike her or anything.. we were just fiercely jealous of her willpower and healthy lifestyle... Or as it computed to us, "that t-total bitch who gets full on a grape"...

So hence forth, anyone on a diet, a detox, a purge, a health kick, even a "No I'm not in the mood for a drink today", is branded..... " A Louise"

I discovered this yesterday when I called Charlie to tell her how well I was doing on my new regime... I could tell she was overjoyed for me when she said "Shut up Louise, you're boring me, goodbye!"... HOW RUDE!

I feel pretty and witty and ...

...hey!

This last week has been odd. This dammed book has had mega changes rippling through the way I operate. It seem very weird but aside from the bad headaches of my body trying to cling on to any last trace of caffeine and alcohol in me, the rest is definitely a plus...

I find myself looking at people differently too... On the tube, a tall skinny mother was appeasing her gobshite brat with a bag of skittles. The child was barely 8 years old yet had a pot belly and a double chin. It certainly didn't add to the appearance of the already chubby face which looked like she'd been chasing parked cars. Then there was the toddler, and I mean push-chair age child with his little McDonalds Happy Meal balloon on the escalator..

Its really weird. Whereas before I would scan the thousands of people who walk past me in an almost automatic "nice face, tits too big, ooh nasty blouse, mmm nice goatee, wow he's blessed" sort of thing.. now I seem to focus on how they carry themselves, what they are eating, wondering "if they are they happy?" type thoughts.

So it would seem all along that the obvious culprits of fat, salt, sugar and the whole calorie debate, is not to blame for our ever expanding addictions, not to mention our waistlines.. the real culprit is Carbs. An no I'm not going to go all Atkins on your ass.... It's just an observation...

Hmm more on this later me thinks...

Now where did I put that Bounty..

Its the times... and they're a changin

Ok, barely halfway through this new book (what do you mean "what book"? - read the whole blog you lazy bitch)... anyway... So something in my head has clicked and I am now a man on a mission. Which is a surprising thing to say because in the past, any life altering change to my diet or wellbeing was usually prefaced by some but usually all of the following...

1 - move large Brabantia in front of Fridge (if you don't know what a Brabantia is then please leave now, you sad pedal-bin person)

2) - get behind fridge

3) - tip fridge forward so that entire contents fall into Brabantia

4) - repeat with all free standing food cupboards

5) - repeat with all wall mounted cabinets (somewhat trickier I can tell you)

6) - Join a new* gym

7) - Make a huge song & dance about new regime to anyone who will listen

8) - When it fails after 3 days and you are caught by a work-mate tipping a whole bag of Toffee Crisp Clusters into your mouth at once, pretend everyone you know is speaking a foreign language when they ask you how your new diet is going


* joining a new gym is not enough, it must be a bigger and better gym with more facilities. I am now paying over £148 a month for the premiere suite in the largest gym Europe. You see I could possibly make it a full time job, just joining new health clubs. I could even lose weight just from all the applications and checking them out

.. in THIS instance, I’ve done none of that. I am almost on autopilot, buying healthy food, actually spending time preparing it and most horrifically, eating it without a side order of mini battenbergs (god bless ya Mr Kipling).

Time will tell. I can always delete this blog and pretend you speak a foreign language if it all goes tits up and you mention it. - How rude!

Life's not always a bowl of cherries

...or a Big Mac or a cheesecake, for that matter. But my life seems to consist of not much else..

Yeah, you may wanna skip this one. Its not my usually witty paragraph, or my scathing insight into the latest facet in my life that's bugged me, amused me, enraged me etc.. This is an unhappy BLOG for a change..

Tonight when I left work at 6:25pm, I got to Angel, descended the escalator to the northern line and my eye caught the picture of what can only be described as "a little bit of heaven". Ok so to the common eye it was a tube ad advertising a book, and there was a doughnut on the front cover of the book... ah but to the trained eye, that was not just a doughnut.. oh no-sir-ee, that was a Krispy Kreme... the king of them all.

The book was titled "The hungry years" by William Leith and being my ever spontaneous self I got to the bottom of the down escalator, went back up the next one and walked to Borders to buy it (along with Dr Gillian's "You are what you eat" - yes ok, gimme a break)...

It wasn't till I sat on the tube and started reading, that I realized just HOW unhappy I am. I wasn't even halfway down page 2, when a drop of water hit the page. It almost startled me I was so engrossed in the book already. Every word written between that page and a half rang a bell so loud in my ear that I'd not notice the droplets were my own tears.

I closed the book and continued the journey in expressionless silence.

I feel there will be more on this topic...