Sunday, 4 December 2011

"A Rose Moment"

 Have you ever seen that Friends’ episode where Monica’s Mum (Mom) uses the saying ‘Pulled a Monica’ to highlight the fact that she always seemed to mess things up and that it had become such a regular occurrence that she had fashioned a phrase for it? Well, if you hadn’t, you should kind of know what I am going on about now. Basically I had a similar incident the other day. There I was happily eating one of my specialities - plain Pasta - when my Mum rang. Instead of the usual happy greeting and general gossiping we normally have about our days, my Mum jumped straight in there with “I’ve just had ‘A Rose Moment’!”. Well, gee, thanks Mum.

 The worst thing is, I knew straight away what she meant. Basically she had done something either really embarrassing, stupid, awkward, strange, or if she had tried as hard as I normally do, all four. I was slightly confused as to what it might be, because most of my ‘Rose Moments’ include a Boy, or something to do with a Boy with a nice fringe. (I only generally only tend to find Boys attractive if they have nice fringes) You see, my Mum is married... to my Dad. And to be honest it really freaks me out when I can see Men flirting with her, never mind if she was to flirt back.

 There was once a time we were in a restaurant in Sheffield and this waiter was clearly checking her out. He kept looking over and at one point he caught her eye and actually winked! Now don’t get me wrong, my Mum is bloomin’ gorgeous but I got really protective and told her, in my anger, to lift her left hand up and “SHOW HIM YOU’RE WEDDED!”

 But her Rose Moment wasn’t about her own flirting. No. It was connected to my own.

 A few years ago, I was with someone I like to call Actor Boy. Yes, for obvious reasons I gave him his name, but also because he used his acting skills to his advantage in life as well. He cheated on me. At the time, I thought it was just the once, but now I have come to find out it was not only on several occasions but also with several different girls. And the way he has tried to contact me when I can see plain as day he is in a relationship on Facebook, makes me sure that there are more I don’t know about even to this day. Yes, he wouldn’t win Boyfriend of the year, but in truth there wasn’t just two of us in the relationship: Me, Actor Boy and Actor Boys Mum.

 In truth, because I was younger I didn’t know how to handle the woman. I think if I was to meet her afresh now, as her sons girlfriend, I would of been a lot more resilient and handled her better. But I was nieve, and it was totally unexpected to have a boyfriends Mum who didn’t like me. All of my previous boyfriends mums were always really lovely. One of them actually bought me a bunch of flowers. Not for any particular reason, just because she apparently saw them and thought of me. So it was always going to be a shock to the system to go from that to a woman who openly told me she didn’t want me to visit her house.

 I couldn’t think of anything I had possibly done wrong. I sat with my Mum many times crying about how awful it made me feel, and in the end she won. Even though it wasn’t the residing factor of the break up, it was certainly was a relief to not have to deal with her bitchy comments and conniving.

 My Mum is like the Mafia, as soon as someone has upset me or one of her girls (or even old men in the street) she makes life very difficult for the offender. Also being the brilliant woman that she is, she never makes it obvious. She always makes it very clever and sickly sweet, so at the time the person has no idea they are being ripped to shreds. I have said it before, and I will say it again: My Mum is a Babe.

 So now you know the LONG of it (I have just realised how long winded I have made that) you will realise my Mums horror when she saw Actor Boys’ Mum in the Zara changing rooms. Just like I would of done, she panicked. She saw the side of face and immediately rushed into the nearest cubicle without even looking if there was anyone in there. Luckily there wasn’t and as soon as she had finished trying on she snook out of the shop to ring me. Not in a thief kind of way, just the necessary amount of sneakiness.

 So just because my Mum had done something really stupid, she called it a ‘Rose Moment’. Great, just great.

 I must admit I have a lot of ‘Rose Moments’ and being at University hasn’t made these moments intellectually less common, but more so. Here is my Top Ten since being at Uni - in no particular order.

1. Accidentally coming onto the maintenance guy by walking into the office and saying ‘You want to come to my room?’ because I thought it was the one I had been talking to on the phone who was going to change my mattress.

2. Falling over my suitcase and flat onto my face on the train was a real treat. Especially when a woman had to ask me to move because I was laughing to hard to stand up and she couldn’t get past me to get off the train.

3. Ringing the maintenance guy because my key had all of sudden broken and wouldn’t fit in the lock. Then realising I wasn’t on the right floor.

4. Thinking ‘there is something missing from this address’ before posting it and my friend texting me saying ‘Have you sent me a letter that has poo written on the back of it, because there is no name on it’.

5. Walking in on my voice coach having a nap in the Radio Studio and saying ‘Oh, I am so sorry’ but then instead of hastily walking out, deciding to stand there just staring at her for a good ten seconds.

6. Getting pipped at and at first thinking it was because I had a short skirt on and after pretending to be angry feminist, realising it was because I had dropped my Shorthand notebook. It was a horrible walk of shame.

7. Dropping a £2 pound coin on the floor at the bus stop, and being so terrified my trousers would rip, just leaving it. Then after getting on the bus realising I didn’t have enough change, so having to say to the conductor ‘One second I seem to have misplaced my money’. Then casually going over to exactly where the coin was, steadily bending down and being conscious of not breathing and getting back on the bus. All of the passengers and the driver looked at me like I was a tramp.

8. Offering the fit lad sitting next to me on the train some of my chocolate and him replying “Yeah, if I can have your number” and instead of reeling off my phone number, very stupidly saying “Oh okay” and putting the chocolate back in my bag and sitting there awkwardly for the next half an hour. Maybe this is a good time to tell those of you who think I am an absolute idiot, that I started another Man Detox that day, and what would of giving him my number have proved? That I have no self control, that’s what! (All of you lot know that I don’t have any self control, so I might as well of just given the unbelievably fit guy my number shouldn’t I?)

9. Doing an article for my assessment on HIV AIDS figures in the UK and after ringing numerous AIDS charities and having no one pick up, finally realising that it was the 1st December.... World AIDS Day. Great investigative Journalist I am going to be.

10. Getting really excited that I thought Leicester football team were at the same service station as me and running up to two of them whilst they were having a wee in the bush. I realised that they weren’t who I thought they were just as I was asking them if they played for Leicester, and them replying with “No, Middlesborough”. And just to kick them whilst they were down, then saying “Oh. Well can I have a picture with you anyway?”

Never a dull moment, is there?

Live. Laugh. Love

Friday, 14 October 2011

Accepting donations in the form of Suncream

I’ve always had the same motto since I was about 15, and it was ‘Heavy shopping bags heal a heavy heart’. However, now I’m an official student, the only heavy shopping bags I get to carry are the ones containing my weeks supply of food all the way from Asda back to my flat. If anything it makes you feel even crapier especially when you get caught in the rain with no coat. Also unpacking endless tins of baked beans doesn’t quite feel the same as laying out your days purchases from Zara.

What makes it worse it that my bank thought it would be a good idea to give me a free overdraft. On the day it went through I remember working out that I had enough money to get myself to London, buy some Christian Laboutins, go to see Legally Blonde the musical and be back before anyone even noticed. It was one of those occasions where I physically had to slap myself round the face to stop myself booking the train tickets. I reminded myself that if I did well at University it would give me the ability to get a job that meant I could afford a whole wardrobe of amazing shoes. However the first thing they said to us in our course welcome talk was; ‘Well, we know you’re all not going into Journalism for the money’. Actually I was, now where’s the door?

So you would think a student shopping night with tons of discounted clothing would of been great. Well it would of been if I hadn’t already agreed to something else. Now, you’re probably thinking what is so important that you couldn’t cancel to go on an amazingly discounted shopping trip. I had to go to a meeting. Why? Well, because in one of my ‘I can do anything moments’ I decided to sign up for the T.A. Thats right... the Territorial Army.

Just as you check whether you have read that correctly I will try to explain. To be honest I am not the bravest or fittest person in the world, but even though those are the two main things you need to be in the army, I have always kind of been drawn to it. I think thats why when anyone asks what kind of Journalism I would like to do, I always say “In the war zones, and places of conflict”. So when I was looking round the Jobs fair at the Student Union, and got asked if I was interested, I jumped at the chance. Albeit after he reassured me that the Army would pay for all my sun protection cream if we were to go anywhere that the temperatures exceeded 16C. (This was after he stopped laughing at me for saying ‘I would love to join the army but I am Ginger’) It gets expensive for Gingers you know!

So off I went in my Taxi that I felt willed to book after the man on the end of the phone said “It’s not that expensive really when you compare it to getting raped”. Maybe they should put that on the advertising boards because it certainly worked on me.

Now, maybe I am wrong in saying that I thought that Taxi drivers had a relatively good idea on general landmarks of the town in which they work. Because apparently they do not. So after being driven way past where I had asked to go (because he obviously knew where I wanted to go better than I did) I stood in the centre of a town I didn’t know, in the pouring rain, on the phone to my very lovely flatmate who sounded really panicky when she told me that none of the street names I read out to her were appearing on Google Maps.

Have you ever had one of those moments where you have just said to yourself ‘I am going to die in this place’? Well this was my moment. My Mum has always done a really good job of preparing me for these situations. For instance she always drilled it into me that I should never ‘look’ lost even if I was, because that makes you a target. I don’t know about you, but I think a girl hysterically crying looking nervously up and down the street is a pretty surefire sign that she is lost.

There I was, having a full on mental breakdown, muttering to myself ‘You can’t do this. Why did you ever think you were strong enough to do this? You’re not cut out for this’. Have you also had one of those realisation moments where you mentally slap yourself round the face? Well I had one of these too. I asked the next boy that passed me (who had a very nice fringe) where the nearest bus station was, and after thanking him profusely, trudged my soggy boots to the shelter. I had given up on trying to find the T.A centre, and I was going back to my comfort of my flat and a 99p bottle of wine.

I was starting to feel a little better then, having been able to pick myself up off the ground and go into practical mode (another thing I have learnt from my Mother). I got myself to the correct Bus Stop and had worked out whereabouts I had ended up. As I was trying to wipe away my runny mascara the Bus turned up, which I am pretty sure had a Halo above it.

Having a Taxi drop me off in what I thought was the middle of nowhere and being charged £5 for the privilege, meant that I was left with only a £20 note. So, as always, I knew the Bus Driver was perhaps going to role her eyes at me and do a friendly ‘TUT’. But no, this driver looked at me like I had pulled up my dress, squatted and done a Poo on the floor. That’s not an exaggeration and because my Mum told me the other day that I apologise to much to people who don’t deserve it, I looked at her in exactly the same way and didn’t even say sorry. Suck on that.

I finally made it back to my flat in relatively one piece despite getting off at the wrong bus stop and shouting ‘OH PISS OFF’ at a Van full of men who honked at me. Wrong time and day to shout lewd comments at me I’m afraid.

I’m sure I’m not the only person who is at University and/or living away from home for the first time who doesn’t say to themselves at least once a day ‘Am I cut out for this?’. But like I realised; you are. The answer you should give yourself is ‘Yes’, every time. I have only been here 3 weeks but I have already learnt a lot. For instance; don’t ever bleach your toilet when you are wearing your favourite t-shirt, always make sure it’s your flat door you are trying to unlock before you call the maintenance guy to tell him your key has broke, and never ever reply to a boy that asks you out with “I don’t like boys with big noses”.

Live. Laugh. Love.

Thursday, 15 September 2011

The Ex-Factor

See what I did there?

As much as I am happy being a single girl, walking around this world as one isn’t always easy. You see no matter how much you try to shut them out of your mind, there are always going to be several of your exes that unfortunately are inhabiting valuable space in the same city, country and/or continent as you. They are always going to wake up in their beds and go about their days, breathing the same air as you, visiting the same Starbucks, using the same public toilets, drinking at the same pubs and walking the same streets, very selfishly not considering that they are making it very hard for you not to bump into them.

The worst thing is that it never seems to be on one of those rare days that your make up seemed to go perfectly and you’re wearing a new dress. A day where you casually turn the corner to see your ex, that just so happens to have had a really bad haircut and a stain on his jeans, because if that happened you could be all “Oh Hi, It’s been ages! How lovely to bump into you! I would love to stay and chat, but I have to be somewhere. You look... good. I’m really pleased”. Then you would be able to casually stroll away attracting all the men in a 10 metre radius to very obviously check you out, just so that he knew exactly what he had let go. But, no, that NEVER happens. And for this reason I advise you never to get together, and break up with someone who works at the gym where you are a member. There is simply no way you can look attractive doing the downward dog (pilates pose), getting your bag tangled in the turnstiles or slipping on the pool steps and banging your head on the side.

Aside from the many occasions I have unfortunately come face to face with Lifeguard boy, the last time I ran into an ex, I literally ran into him. It sounds tragic, and believe me it was. It was one of those occasions where it would have felt more comfortable to have my appendix burst again than it was trying to get actual human words out of my mouth.

I am not an attractive runner. Those women that look really athletic and cool in their skintight leggings? Yeah well, I’m not one of them. I have started avoiding mirrors when I get home from running, because I found that seeing what looks like a orange haired Troll Doll (because my hair sticks right up and I look really surprised/concerned), was putting me off running in public. For this reason my routes consist of mainly cut-throughs and large fields that only get the occasional dog walkers. The only problem is when you see someone you know it makes it very hard to make out you haven’t seen them in your sweaty mess. One day, I saw Saliva Boy as I was running and at that moment I realised there was no way I was getting out of that metre wide alleyway with my ego intact. I only had one hope, and that was that maybe someone had accidentally left the gate unlocked to the field that I could get to before I had to pass him. So I sped up, and tried the gate that is slightly hidden behind the bushes. Come on, this is my life, of course it wasn’t open. But as I stepped back out onto the path, knowing that I was going to have to face my ex, I ran smack bang into him. Not just a little bump, but a full throttle, sweaty smack.

I can’t exactly remember what I said, but I doubt anyone human would have been able to understand the noises that mostly came out of my nose. And after I realised I had been staring at his ear for longer than it is socially acceptable, I ran/hobbled off. I think the force of banging into him damaged some important ligaments. That’s a good enough excuse for never running in public again isn’t it?

Saliva Boy hasn’t been able to look at me without laughing since that terrible day.

I suppose the one good thing about deciding to be ‘friends’ with Australia Boy is that for a whole six months it’s going to be incredibly easy to not bump into him. However, I had overlooked the fact that when he comes back home he will be all cultured and what not, along with an incredible tan. Something which would never happen to me, as all I seem to eat abroad are chips and well... I’m ginger.

Hopefully, by also moving away it will mean not having to bump into any of my exes, but I know they will still find a way of making me think 'What did I ever see in him?'. At least with Actor Boy moving to London it makes it less likely that I will have to suffer those “You look well” texts after he has seen me in Boots, wearing joggers and buying tampons.

As this will be the last blog I will write in my bedroom at home, don’t be alarmed if in my next post I call a ‘Cob’ a ‘Bap’ and become all serious and proper journalist-y. Then again, the other day I couldn’t even spell ‘journalist’. This is going to be a hard three years.

Live. Laugh. Love

Tuesday, 30 August 2011

My Dad should be an inspirational speaker

My Dad may of just given me the most heart-warming bit of wisdom of my whole life: ‘‘The Dog doesn’t chase the Poo now does it? Or however the saying goes.’’ Thanks for that Dad. I’m not sure if that is even a saying, but it was inspirational to say the least.

I think my Dad had kind of guessed I was feeling a little bit heartbroken when I arrived home with a family sized box of Cereal and two huge bars of Milk Chocolate. You see thats what I do when a boy upsets me, I bake. In this case, all I was going to do was melt some Chocolate and fold in the ‘Rice Snaps’ (I am unemployed, don’t judge me because I have to buy economy) but I always find having to concentrate on my stomach rather than holding back my tears, makes me feel better almost every time. If it doesn’t it means I can lick chocolate from the bowl whilst I sit on my kitchen floor and sob. Because just sitting on my kitchen floor and sobbing on its own would be weird...

I suppose I should of been careful what I wished for and all that (I can tell this blog is going to be full of useful sayings already). Someone asked me the other day why I hadn’t written a blog in ages and I replied really honestly with ‘‘I really need a boy to treat me like crap’’. I know it was a rubbish excuse, but obviously it’s true. You see up until an hour ago, I had one of the most extreme cases of writers block I had ever suffered from. Then Australia Boy goes and pushes me that little bit to far and here I am, typing so fast and hitting the keys so hard that my fingers are starting to hurt. Like Henry Miller said “The best way to get over a woman is to turn her into literature”. Well, I wouldn’t call ‘I Would Rather Eat Chocolate’ literature, and the purpose of this little rant is not to get over him, but there is only so much hitting your head against the wall you can do before you have to find some other way of venting your frustration

Australia Boy. How do I even begin to explain Australia Boy?

Well, first of all, the reason behind the nickname is not because he is Australian (unfortunately) but because in just over two weeks time he moves to the country for six months. Seeing as I only met him two weeks ago, I wouldn’t blame you for calling me stupid. I feel pretty stupid right now. Here’s my logic: I also move away on the same day he does, but to go to University at a place an hour away from where I live now. You see in a few weeks time we both start new stages of our lives. Truth be told though, there is also a bit of an old romantic in me, because I have convinced myself that surely the fact we both leave on the same day, is a bit of a ‘sign’. For once in my life, I don’t have something in the back of my mind telling me that I will just get bored in two months time and we will start to argue and I will finish it, like every other kind of relationship I have ever been in. We both know, despite that fact we haven’t ever mentioned it, that in eighteen days time (I am counting the days because of University, not because I am soppy like that) we won’t see each other for at least half a year. That’s a long time. In a ‘normal’ six months, things change a lot, but in the six months that lay ahead of us both, theres no doubt that we will also change as people. As the people we are right now, we are enjoying taking the piss out of each other and having drunken phone calls at four in the morning. Is there any reason that should stop just because of the situation we find ourselves in?

If I’m going to completely lay my soul bare, I feel like we are on fast forward. A little bit under pressure to enjoy the tiny amount of time we have left living on the same continent as each other. There also seems to be a unwritten rule between us that we don’t talk about leaving. Whenever we talk about Australia or University, theres only so far I can go before I find myself changing the subject before we get to how we would keep in touch or if we even would carry on. I don’t even know if he wants to, which is totally unlike me, as I normally initiate the ‘What are we?’ conversation pretty soon into anything. It’s a bad habit of mine.

I thought I was being incredibly sensible and grown up, entering into this ‘thing’ (I say thing because it’s not official and what not), but as it turns out I have been a fool. Because in truth, despite it always being the plan; I’m not sure I want to give him up.

What Australia Boy did doesn’t actually warrant me to be this pissed off, but it just so happened he did it just after I had had a full blown argument with a man in Morrison’s car park for nearly running me over after pushing in front of me at the checkouts just minutes before. Also, I was going to make Rice Krispie cakes anyway, but I had planned on making them in a less ‘imagine this is his head’ sort of way when I was smashing the chocolate against the kitchen counter.

I have a lot to thank this blog for really and it’s not just that when Australia Boy reads this he might realise why I didn’t put any kisses on the end of that message (the ultimate tell tale sign of a girl being pissed off). In the past year it has helped me discover that I want to be a Journalist, made many of the ‘Boys’ say sorry to me and the ones that haven’t, have been left unable to look me in the eye. It has given me the control back of my life I was so severely lacking. The first blog I wrote was about how I wanted to give up on my A Levels after I had been ill, but this blog proved my savior, and I want you all to know how grateful I am to every one of you for reading, because without you I wouldn’t of had the inspiration to work my arse of to get my A, 2 B’S and a C (cue round of applause and shameless self praise) that I needed to do Broadcast Journalism.

Here’s to another year. Cheers.

I’m going to stop being soppy now, it really doesn’t suit me.

Live. Laugh. Love.

Thursday, 28 July 2011

"I Can Speak For Myself, Thanks!"

Today has been a weird day. Not for any particular reason, but it just seems to have lasted about five years. The thing is, I am a self-confessed procrastinator. Give me something I am  meant to do, and I can find a million and one ways not to do it. This week instead of cleaning and tidying my own room, I have been doing my family’s ironing, cleaning the whole of the house (except my own room), making sure the windows are finger mark free, cooking proper food (not super noodles) and alphabetically ordering our DVD and cookbook collections. My Mother (bless her heart) finds it really hard not to have a go at me for having a hand made ‘floordrobe’ in the middle of my bedroom, because I have cleaned, tidied and ironed everything else for her.

Yet again, I got out of tidying my room today by taking my library books back and delivering a letter to the Radio station in order to get myself some work experience. I also went to observe court as I haven’t been in a while. For anyone who hasn’t been, observing court is one of the greatest forms of entertainment EVER. It’s even better than Judge Judy, apart from the fact you have to remain silent and straight faced.

This was the plan anyway, but for anyone who has spent even a day in my presence you will know that nothing that I ever intend goes to plan. You see already today I have had a mental breakdown, witnessed one of the sweetest moments of a married couples life, walked face first into a door, pretended to be Polish, pointed a foreign person in a random direction because I didn’t understand what he was saying, had my shoes accidentally cleaned by street cleaning vehicle and shouted at a drunk middle aged man.

My mental breakdown didn’t last long, just about the same amount of time as it took to finally find my B-Line lurking behind the Boots advantage card in my purse. I should mention that this was after I had emptied the entire contents of all of my handbags, drawers and organiser, which is now not so organised. After I finally stopped crying upon finding the sneaky B-Line, I ceremoniously cut up the Boots card in revenge that the scheme I had only signed up for for the free gift, had made me miss the bus I had woken up so early for. Another thing that contributed to my very loud sobbing and screaming was the incredibly inappropriate auto-correcting my word processor decided to do to my ‘I-will-do-anything-for-work-experience’ letter. If I hadn’t noticed the mistake in the spelling of ‘I don’t have any set times currently, but you can arrange them as you see appropriate’ the Head of regional radio really would have thought I was offering him something completely different than a trainee member of their News team. I mean come on, why would Microsoft Word think I meant to put a ‘x’ instead of a ‘t’? (There is a prize for the first person who guesses which word that got auto-corrected)

When I finally got into town I observed Court for a few hours and then whilst it was adjourned I went to return my books, drop off my catastrophic letter, and visit the Job Centre. However, what I didn’t know was that the Library is closed on Wednesdays meaning that I surreptitiously turned into that man from YouTube who shouts ‘WHY ARE YOU CLOSED?’ whilst banging on the glass door.( If you haven’t seen it - ). Also, the radio station only accepts online applications and the Job Centre's receptionist was on her lunch break. I am so desperate for a job I said to the woman on the intercom that if I had that job I wouldn’t take lunch breaks. She told me to come back later.

Feeling like a failure in spite of my good intentions I walked back towards the Courts as I thought that watching people getting cross-examined by the really sexy Lawyer I had previously been drooling over, would cheer me up. And also there’s nothing quite like watching someone being sent to prison to make you feel better about your own life.

Like every British City, Derby has its fair share of alcoholics who sit on benches, and pass comment as you walk by. Today I was not in the mood to deal with them. As I tried to avoid eye contact with the overly sweaty man, I realised I had unwillingly become his target. When he requested that I come over and talk to him I assured him that I was in a hurry, however he took this as an invitation to walk with me! Then he said the 4 words I think he will regret for the rest of his life; “Are you spoken for?”.

This would have been a great time to deploy a technique I have been trying to put into practice in recent months. It is called; ‘Oh bloody hell Rose, think before you speak!’. But unfortunately, the whole ‘thinking’ idea went out of the window and I shouted “No, I can speak for myself, thanks!”. He then assured me that he meant ‘Do you have a Boyfriend?’ to which I replied “Yes, I do!”. I don’t.

I don’t know what it was; the fact that a street cleaner had brushed my brand new shoes with his filthy truck, that I felt bad that a man who hardly spoke English was roaming the streets of Derby unaware a cruel Ginger girl had pointed him in the wrong direction, that the woman who owned the Polish supermarket didn’t believe I was Polish and therefore wouldn’t give me the job, or that my bag still weighed a ton from the three hard-backs on Serial Killing, DNA Evidence and Terrorism I hadn’t been able to return (They were for Extended Project I promise!). I just wanted the pathway to swallow me up right there and then.

Obviously it didn’t, I am sat here right now telling you about it and knocking back the Robinsons. Not the Beer, the fruit squash. I lived to tell the tale. That's the reality of it I suppose, everyone has bad days and good days and everything always gets better. Like after a long day of being an unemployed failure my Nana placed homemade chips in front of me as we watched Murder She Wrote. And like my Nana says ‘You have to take the good with the bad. Do you want some Apple Pie?’

Live. Laugh. Love

Saturday, 16 July 2011

Burn Baby Burn

I have never really considered myself as a fearful person, as I don’t particularly suffer from any of the usual things people are commonly afraid of, such as heights, the dark, public speaking and even a lot of the time I’m OK with spiders. However, I have realised more and more as the weather has got warmer and people have invited me to bonfires that I am a little bit scared of fire. OK more than a little. I had always thought that it was probably me just being cautious and aware of safety when it comes to naked flames. But as it turns out, that time a boy in my science class leant over a bunsen burner and set fire to his fringe, has left more of a lasting impression on me than I had previously thought. 

The thing is, that although you might find something petrifying, another person will of course come along, find you stupid and then ultimately tease you about it. Just like a friend of mine who always finds it funny to set fire to planks of wood and just wave them around really close to me. To which my usual reaction is “Don’t you da.... I swear to Go.... Just stop it!’’. However, a few weeks ago when I went to a party where a girl spent the whole time upstairs because she was scared of balloon's, the first thing I wanted to do was throw hundreds of balloons in the room and shut her in it. Harsh I know.

The actual name for the fear of fire in Arsonphobia (for real, however I doubt Arson is many peoples favourite pastime) and the fear of either death of being hurt by fire is Pyrophobia. For me, I think my main fear about fire is its unpredictability, the fact that in a split second change of wind direction, it can become dangerous. Along with the realisation that after you thought you had successfully put out a fire, that orange glow you think is dying out, almost always lights up again when your’e not looking. Another thing is the embers, the things that a fire spits out at you when it crackles. Little bits that burn wholes in your clothes if you don’t pat them out quick enough, or in some situations can lead to a fire getting out of hand, and quite possibly setting a building on fire. 

Wouldn’t you say that that applies to life in general as well? A small spark that appears relatively harmless at first, can ignite a fire, that you weren’t altogether expecting or prepared for. A fire, that before you know it can cause destruction to many different aspects of your life which are then sometimes hard to get under control. What if you aren’t able to extinguish that fire? What happens then?

I suppose in the same way I am afraid of fire, I am sort of scared of falling in Love. For so many times, I have felt like I have had my fire under control, yet by turning my back for just a second, all of a sudden the flames have got taller than I could handle, and in an automatic reaction I have panicked and rushed to get rid of something I am not comfortable or experienced in. There are also those fires that after ignition seem to die down and fizzle out without you being able to save them, leaving you with no idea what happened. Like a candle, that you only realise has come to its end when there is a small trickle of smoke, and that undeniable smell. (Ironically, I quite like that smell)

What about those fires that well and truly get out of hand? Fire’s that a first keep you warm, but then without you being aware, start to spread. Before you know it, it starts to cause destruction, that can be seen from miles away. Billowing black smoke that makes it aware to everyone around you that you have got yourself into difficulty. Despite your best efforts to extinguish the fire, in the end all you can do is retreat to a safe distance and watch as everything burns to the ground until there is nothing left, and nothing more to carry the fire. Only then, once everything has been burnt away can you start again, with no restrictions. It may seem daunting at first, beginning again, but after a while of missing what you had, you start to realise what can be, now that nothing is standing in your way.
Something that I learnt from one of those really terrible educational videos we used to have to watch in Primary School when it was raining at Break times (can anyone else remember that it was called ‘Wet Play’?) was that Farmers often start fires to clear forest floors, which then makes them more fertile. So girls (and boys of course) now you can use that as an excuse to finish that lad you don’t like anymore, that you need to clear the floor, to make way for other fitter lads. The lad would probably think you were going a bit funny in the head, just like when I finished a boy the other day because of our political differences. I’m actually being serious.

I also learnt today that the best protection from fire, surprisingly is sometimes fire. Apparently if there's a forest fire that is out of control, and you burn away a bit of the ground in advance, that piece of ground will be safe to stand on. Even if the fire totally surrounds you, because you've already burnt away the bits the fire can spread to. So fight that out of control fire, with fire, preferably a much much hotter boy... Sorry I mean fire.

‘...But remember Kids, don’t play with fire.’

Live. Laugh. Love

Tuesday, 14 June 2011

Oh! Hello Sailor.

Okay, so the reason I have been absent from blogging/destroying mens ego’s for a while, is because my life and eventual career kind of depend on this month. Instead of blogging about the time I smiled at a gorgeous boy at the gym, subsequently missing the bottom step, and also the time when whilst singing my heart out I pulled up at the traffic lights, looked across at another car and saw my ex looking at me like an alien had just dropped out of the sky, I have been hitting my head against a brick wall. Or as it is commonly referred: revising.

I wouldn’t call revising my favourite pass time, it’s kind of on a par with waxing. It’s not vital, but you kind of have to do it if you want to get anywhere in life. Painful, but worth it when you see the results.

So according to a revision website I have been keeping as my bible for the past 3 weeks, there are 5 key tips for successful revision.

Number One: Make a set of revision cards.

Done. Much to my Dads annoyance they are cello-taped all over my bedroom walls. I told him not to worry because leaving sticky residue on my white walls will give me a better chance of leaving home in October. I have never seen my Dad's mood change so quickly.

Number Two: Create and stick to a revision time table, giving yourself regular breaks.

Done. That is if you consider half hourly toilet visits because of the amount I am drinking, and do-a-mind-map-have-a-biscuit a schedule.

Number Three: Find a quiet place to revise and make sure you’re comfy.

As I am not really comfortable in any other clothing than my gym wear, I have been constantly looking like I’m off for a run, and as for quiet, I’m afraid there is little chance of that happening in my house. I got up on Sunday morning and straight away got dressed (a strange thing for me at the Weekend) and sat at my desk and started making my notes, when I heard a very loud mmm-ing noise. Yes, the one time I have ever wanted to revise on a Sunday morning, my Dad decided to do a spot of hoovering. Then in the afternoon, as I was just getting stuck into a bit of 'Jane Eyre', my Dad turned on the TV in the opposite room and proceeded to watch Motorbike racing. Don’t get me wrong, that isn’t a crime, but when he insists on watching it at 10 times the healthy volume whilst having the door swung completely open, I am sorry but I will not be held responsible for my actions.

Number Four: Revise with a friend, by taking it in turns to test each other.

I’m afraid when every single conversation you have with your friends in 100% sarcasm, it makes it hard to take them seriously enough to revise with them. Especially when one of them in particular is always breaking out into her own particularly special rendition of Wuthering Heights. She certainly gives Kate Bush a run for her money. Take note that my sarcasm stretches to when I talk about my friends, as well as too them.

Number Five: Create Anchors for yourself.

I had never heard of ‘Anchor’ being used in this kind of context before last week, but it’s mainly a term that refers to a memory technique for when you want to memorise something effectively. For example you link a word you need to remember with something well known to you, using the power of your imagination. The basis of a good ‘anchor’ is imagining an absurd, positive, funny or exaggerated situation that you can link with the given word. I actually owe one of my favourite ‘anchors’ to a really lovely girl in my class, who is the reason I will never ever forget Sigmund Freud’s theory on ‘Personality’. Basically because it involved weeing in public; always good for jogging my memory.

There is also another sub-heading for the term ‘Anchor’, and it refers to the things that remind us of memories and people. Like for me, whenever I see anyone wearing Abercrombie and Fitch is reminds me of when I was in New York and I thought I had walked into the mens changing rooms. As I found out there was actually a man standing there topless for the purposes of luring people into the store. All I can say is good call A&F. And, why, when I smell talcum powder, it reminds me of my next door neighbour, or whenever ‘She’s so lovely’ by Scouting for Girls comes on the radio I remember my first ever boyfriend. Not that he thought I was lovely after it ended.

‘Anchors’ are the reason getting over a relationship can be so hard. I can guarantee that anyone who has ever broken-up with someone will have experienced that phase where no matter what you do or where you go, everything seems to be a reminder of them. It feels like every shop you go in is playing that song he once sang to you really badly and that film you went to see on your first date has now come out on DVD and the adverts are plastered everywhere. (Maybe this one only applies to me, as the average length of time it takes for a film to go from cinema to disk is two months, and this is the length of nearly all of my relationships.)
Even after months and years, these anchors will still find a way of weighing you down. It only has to take being caught in the rain without an umbrella, running into Starbucks and hearing ‘Watch the Sun come up’ by Example to remind you of your summer romance. Believe me, I have had the woman behind the counter asking me if I’m okay, because, in her words I looked like ‘a lost foreigner’ that was upset because I hadn’t got an umbrella.

Whilst you’re being held down by these anchors, its hard to feel like your not drowning. All you want to do is swim away, forget all those things that make your stomach do somersaults. I’m not saying that you will be able to cut those ties easily or sometimes not at all, you may even find that after thinking you are finally free, you tangle your leg in the rope and it drags you right back down again.
But one thing you should always remember; there are plenty more fish in the Sea.

Live. Laugh. Love

Saturday, 28 May 2011

Fancy a game of Poker?

I have always been incredibly competitive, and I blame that on my Mum. You see the thing with my Mother Goose is that she doesn’t let anyone win, at any sport, card or board game. Now, normally when you see a Mother and her 2 children sat round playing Connect 4 or Snakes and Ladders, you wouldn’t normally hear the shouts of ‘YES! I won! LOSERS’ coming from the Mum. Well in my family thats exactly what it's like. I can even remember the time when I played tennis with my Mum, Brother and Granddad. I was about 10 and even then they didn’t take it easy on me. I was fully expected to defend myself from the rapid serves coming my way, even though my Mum played at club level, my Granddad used to teach tennis to kids and my brother was already over six foot at the age of 14. At that point in my life, being absolutely shocking at Tennis, taking into account the constant taunts I received from my Brother, and being the only ginger in a family of dark haired people, I actually found myself wondering whether I was adopted.

Now I am older, my Mum still finds any opportunity possible to beat me at something. So much so that any time she see’s an air hockey table, she is drawn to it like a magnet. Even at the cinema she doesn’t see anything wrong in dumping her bags down and challenging me to a game so she can ‘‘Whip your ass’’ as she puts it.

However, in the past year I have started to beat her at things. I will always remember the first time I ever won her at mini golf; her face was such a picture. At that historical moment she turned into the toddler from that Vic’s First Defense advert. Okay, maybe not quite as bad as that, but for the rest of the day she did look as if she was about to cry. Almost as bad as the time when as a family were playing Scrabble and my Mum had a smug grin on her face because she had got a double word score for the word ‘Private’. Next up was my Brother and all he did was add an ‘S’ to the end a got himself a triple word score. I thought her head was going to explode from the amount of ‘But..Er..You can’t...Eh?’ she was doing.

Her response when we asked her why she never let us win as kids is ‘I didn’t want a pair of kids that got into the real world and became mardy when they lost at anything. I’m just preparing you. Be grateful’. Oh she is such a babe.

On occasions that my Nana and Granddad used to look after us, they would buy us Chocolate coins and we used to play card games and bet on it with them. How underweight I was as a child might be due to the fact I always used to lose all of my Chocolate.

This morning I was feeling a little melancholy and decided to look through a scrap book I made when I was younger, and there it was, one of the wrappers from a chocolate coin. Next to the attached gold foil I had written something about how I never won my Brother at card games, but that I was fine with that because it made him happy.

Reading that made me realise that I have always been the same. I have always been a person who is happy as long as others are happy. Thats another thing I get from my Mum. I go to whatever lengths, get myself hurt, just as long as that person I care about is happy, so that I can walk away knowing they don’t think badly of me. I find myself sometimes sacrificing my own happiness or enjoyment so that others aren’t getting hurt. This has become apparent to me now, more than ever, especially when it comes to Love.

Our lives are like a game of Poker. There are times when we are lucky, and seem to have all the cards to get us exactly what we want in life. But there are also times in life when no matter how much you may try, you seem to keep losing until you have nothing left to give.

When you have all the right cards in life, it is easy to get carried away. We start to feel invincible, like there is nothing in this world that could knock you from your stool at the Poker table, and no matter how many people raise you more chips, you either match or raise them even more. It now comes to the showdown. What if that hand you were once so confident about, lets you down? All that was resting on something that you thought was safe, has now been lost. You walk away feeling like you have lost everything, the adrenaline that once engulfed your body has - along with your losing cards - been put back into the pack as well as the chips into someone else’s pile.

Perhaps, the hand isn’t that great. You find yourself sitting at the Poker table wondering whether this is a good idea. Yeah, maybe you have put a small amount of chips in, but they don’t matter, you could manage without them. Here you are, having to make a decision; do you cut your losses? Maybe your head tells you to walk away, after all it is the sensible thing to do, you know the hand you have been dealt won’t get you anything that is worth the effort. Yet, you hang on that little too long, and end up losing more than you would if you had listened to your head.

I’m afraid we are all addicts. No matter how bad things go with Life and Love, we always think the next time will be better. Perhaps it will be. I don’t know, at the moment I find myself losing the will to bet.

But you know what, if all else fails, go out with your best friends, dance like no one is watching and sing ‘Summer Nights’ really badly on Karaoke with the people so great, they don’t mind when your chips are down.

As it turns out, I am terrible at Poker, as well as Love, but play me at Tekken, and your going down. Oh, the irony.

Live. Laugh. Love

Tuesday, 10 May 2011

You can ask me the question now, Noel

 Okay, I just woke up from a really weird dream where I was a contestant on the Game show, Deal or No Deal. I have had this same dream a few times over the past couple of weeks and it basically follows the same kind of gist as the Channel 4 show. I always find myself at the beginning of the show where several names are being flashed up on screen, and every time my name gets picked. Cue clapping and a frantic excited reaction from myself, I am on Deal or No Deal after all! Noel goes through all the questions and asks me to confirm that I picked this box from random, to which I agree. Everything seems very normal - when I look in front of me there is my box, number 14 and the screen with all the money totals on it, from 1p to £250,000 and 21 other contestants. Behind me there are all of my friends in the audience. The little jingle plays and then Noel asks me to pick my first box, which I decide is going to be number 12. The box belongs to a woman called Dawn and she breaks the seal, and then lifts the lid. However, that's when it starts to get a little strange. Instead of seeing a flash of a red or a blue value of money, out pops one of my ex's. The audience ruptures into applause and I get the idea that he must be a low amount (and from what I remember from the relationship he wasn’t worth very much). Even after having this dream several times, I am still shocked when he steps out of the box and tells me everything I ever did wrong in the time we were together. Dawn then kicks him in the back, so that he falls to his knees and then proceeds to drag him by his foot out of the studio. Then, as if it were completely normal I get asked to pick my second box and I go for number 3. I don’t remember the man’s name but he opens the box. However, this time I am aware that another of my ex's will spring out and give me a lecture about how I was a terrible girlfriend. This particular box holds a Policeman I went out with for about two months over Christmas, but unlike the previous box, he just starts to sob and starts to beg for me to come back. I then give the contestant the nod and he kicks him in the back and pulls him off by his eyebrows (I’m guessing the eyebrows because I always plucked his eyebrows for him).

This continues and box after box opens revealing yet more boys I have ever flirted with, had a date with or full blown relationship. Some of the boys I don’t even know, which take up most of the red boxes, thus proving I have a terrible dating history, yet hopefully it is going to improve. One boy in particular is absolutely gorgeous yet he comes out the £50 box, so if I ever come across him, I know not to get involved.

One of the things that always seems to be the same are the things that these boys say I have done wrong. Pretty high on the list is the fact that I either never, or take ages to text back. You see the problem with me is that I get pre-occupied, not just when it comes to texting back but in everyday life. I always remember the time I went upstairs to my room, with the intention of tidying it, but half an hour later my Mum opened the door to find me drawing a face on a balloon. Another thing is that I am always pretty adamant that the relationship isn’t going to last very long. If all of your relationships to date had only lasted at most a month, I don’t think you would have much faith either. Both of these things I know about, and it didn’t take this 5th repetition of the dream to figure it out. Something that every boy said was that my immediate reaction to things getting a little hard is to finish it. I’m not going to try and deny this, I do. The way I see it is that we are young, and what is the point in staying in a relationship we are unhappy in? Plenty more better tasting fish in the Sea. (The irony is, is that I am allergic to fish)

One of the boys that jumped out, jack-in-a-box style was Lifeguard boy, who unsurprisingly came out of the £1 box, quite a lot more than he is worth in my opinion, but I suppose he had an alright face. Then there was Doll Face boy at 1p, and someone who I will call Actor boy who was £250. I got a particularly huge smile on my face from seeing these three being kicked in the back, probably more happiness than I should. But there was a boy that I felt a little sad at from seeing him in the higher amounts, because I knew that I shouldn’t have let him slip away.

Consistent with the TV game show, in between the groups of boxes I had phone calls from the banker offering me things like Cats and bottles of wine but I never accepted any of them. ‘Thank you Mr Banker that is very generous of you to offer me 3 Cats, but No deal’.

Then I get to my final two boxes; the one I chose at the start of the show number 14, and number 19. The amounts I have left are £250,000 and 10p, all or nothing, or in boy terms; Nicholas Hoult or Kerry Katona’s ex husband. The banker makes me a final offer and the chance to swap which I refuse. Noel reaches for the seal and tears it off. The audience is silent and it’s all intense. The box is opened... And I wake up! After all that, I wake up! This has happened every time, so I never have any chance to see what I end up with; my prince charming or a charming idiot.

What have I learnt from this dream? Ah well, that Noel Edmund’s shirts really are terrible, that I need to text people back quicker and that if a ex starts to list all the things that annoy them about you, kick them in the back.

Although this is completely unrealistic, and will only ever happen in my dreams - I hope, I don’t think I could cope seeing that many ex boyfriends within the space of forty-five minutes - it reasserted some of the things that are said in the film I was watching when I fell asleep. All of these ex boyfriends that came out of the boxes I have either got over or will have to sometime in the future. Getting over some of them wasn’t easy, and I can almost predict that there will be break ups in the future that won’t be pretty. Unfortunately it is just the way we are programmed as humans and I am also a firm believer in that you won’t know how good you have it until you have had it bad.

One of the problems with getting over someone is that it doesn't matter how many different new ‘looks’ you get or shopping sprees you go on, or the amount of bottles of Wine you drink with your best friends. The chances are you will still go to bed every night and find yourself going over every little moment in the relationship, trying to work out what you did wrong. At some point you may even convince yourself that he will come to his senses and turn up at your door or ring you up begging for forgiveness. When you are ready, you will find yourself in a new place, somewhere where the people will make you feel worthwhile and eventually your heart will start to heal, and you will wonder why you ever wasted that much time fixating on every little mistake. The pain will start to fade.

Basically, all of the 1p and 10p boys of this world, who will hurt you and may even break your heart are not what you end up with. I promise you, that you will always get your £250,000 in the end. You may not be able to see him yet, and you may lose out on those smaller amounts, but as soon as you have that final relationship, you will feel so rich, those previous amounts won’t even matter.

Live. Laugh. Love

Tuesday, 12 April 2011

Superstitions: How a sore throat prevented a sore heart

“Mars squares up to Pluto and helps you accept a change not just easily but eagerly. You will welcome new faces, lively locations and be ready to test yourself. Single? Flirty smiles in a shopping centre could be the start of something special. Luck circles a J name.”

So after an absolutely perfect birthday weekend with my friends and family I am in bed a 6pm; not because of a hangover, but because I have a really sore throat and snuffly nose. In a weird way, I prefer this kind of ill because I get a little sympathy from my Mum, rather than if it was self-inflicted drinking sickness. However her sympathy only ever comes in small amounts; my brother once shouted at my Mum saying ‘You would make me go to school even if I had broken my leg’ and she replied ‘Of course I would, you don’t write with your leg!’. Saying that though, she has got a little better with sympathy since I had Peritonitis, I think she felt really bad that even though my Dad had taken me to A&E, she had still gone to get her hair done. I’m making my Mum sound awful, aren’t I? Honestly she is the kindest woman you will ever come across. Then again, one of the first things she said to me when I turned 18, with a sinister smile from ear to ear, was that she could no longer be convicted of child abuse. That is true Mum, but there is something called assault.

So, I was feeling all sorry for myself today and robbed a paper from a poor unsuspecting boy in the Common Room and got to the ‘Mystic Meg’ section. I used to be completely obsessed with Horoscopes, I would read them every day and believe them whole-heartedly. It got to the point where, if I read something in a Horoscope, I would make sure it happened, or if it didn’t I would twist things in my head so that it loosely made sense. Also, if my horoscope turned out to be a bad prediction it would put me on a downer. Alternatively, if it was good I would be ecstatic. I realised I was being stupid, living my life on what I read in these horoscopes, because if something really is meant to be, it's meant to be (prediction or not). I know that a lot of people think that it is a load of mumbo jumbo, but who doesn’t like to read their Star sign once in a while?

Now, for anyone who was to read that prediction, they would consider it good, but for me it was nothing short of terrible. And that is because of my track record with any boy with ‘a J name’.

I’m not going to beat around the bush here, and I will say straight off that any kind of contact with any boy whose name begins with J has been disastrous. You name them; Joe, Joe (that isn’t a mistake, there have been two) James, James (again, not a mistake) Josh, Jonathan and a Jamie. Boys whose names have began with ‘J’ have included ‘Waiter Boy’, ‘Lifeguard Boy’, and ‘Doll face Boy’. You could just call it coincidence, but when I realised a few months ago, I decided to swear myself off ‘J’ boys forever, or at least a little while. So can you now understand why I smacked my head on a metaphorical wall when I read Meg’s prediction?

Because, you see, however much I say I don’t believe in these things I still find myself finding an element of truth in them, and at that point in the day I was planning of going to Westfield later that night. I now feel, that although this terrible virus I am suffering from is making me feel lethargic and gives me a mini ten second migraine every time I stand up, I owe an element of gratitude too. If it weren’t for you I would have been standing in the middle of Westfield shouting ‘Jeh’, ‘Juh’ and ‘Jah’ and seeing who looked my way (probably everyone, that would look pretty stupid. Just imagine a ginger girl shouting that in the middle of a shopping centre, actually just imagine a ginger girl) or running between shops looking at boys name tags and then smiling flirtily at them, however you do that! Instead of that, I am sitting in bed eating my body weight in Malteaser Bunny’s and watching re-runs of Never Mind The Buzzcock’s, which is always more fun than failing in Love. So thank you stupid sore throat for saving my heart if even for one more day.

Something I have learnt lately is that just because someone thinks your life should end up one way it doesn’t mean that you need to abide by that and just because someone expects you to fail, it doesn’t mean that you give up trying. Nice try Mystic Meg.

Live. Laugh. Love

Thursday, 24 March 2011


 Ever since I passed my driving test, I've got lost many times as well as cried in many car parks because I couldn't find a space that has at least five free either side so I can get in it without crashing. Thankfully, my mum has alway been on hand to get me into or out of spaces, or there has always been a friend that can get out and guide me around a bollard at a McDonald’s drive-thru, so no crashes just yet. Touch wood. I feel very lucky that my mum invested in a Sat-Nav a while ago so whenever I am on my own and unbelievably lost I can just plug the woman in and if she is feeling in a good mood she finds exactly where I am and how I can get home. However, because my mum bought a cheap one, sometimes the woman gets mardy and she coincidentally has an ‘ERROR LOADING MAPS’. Me and my Mum had this problem in Brighton and we think it was because we left her in the glove compartment whilst we went for a Chinese, and so she was getting her own back. I’m sure machines don’t quite have the ability to think things through like that, but you try explaining to the man at Curry’s why, whenever we ignore her and turn left instead of right, she seems to become a little bitchy.

But I was in the shower this morning and I started wondering if we could have a Sat-Nav for our journeys in life. Like, what if we could program in where we wanted to end up and it would take us there, so that we knew we were on the right track? You see, if we had a Life-Nav, we could program in little detours and landmarks we wanted to stop at along the way. That would be amazing, wouldn’t it?

I’m sure I won’t be alone in saying that sometimes I feel a little lost in life, like I’m kind of driving along the motorway looking for a junction that seems appealing, sounds familiar, or seems close to where I want to get to. Do you ever feel like you're driving at what you think is the appropriate pace, yet everyone else is speeding right past you? Or even the other way around; you're driving so fast you're leaving everyone behind? And you find that even when you're driving along at the right speed, someone will come along and cut you up, making your heart race or making you really angry, and then you will spend the next leg of your journey thinking about it, distracting you from the real things you should be concentrating on.

There are people and things in life that are put there as obstacles. Imagine you're driving along at full speed and you were to hit a pothole that you didn’t see coming. It would certainly shake you up, and may even cause some damage to the car that may take time and money to fix. What if that pothole was a boy? Metaphorically speaking. What if you were going so fast in a relationship that you couldn’t see what was coming? What if that pothole you hit symbolised a broken heart? Making you feel stupid for not seeing the signs and the people frantically waving their arms to tell you to slow down, because they saw what was coming before you did.

Junctions in life can sometimes be the trickiest. Do you turn left or right? If you know where you are going, it's fine, but what if you were to get to the junction and have no idea of the direction you were meant to be heading in? Also, what's worse is that there may be cars piling up behind you, pipping and revving their engines causing you to take the wrong direction - people who got so frustrated that you couldn’t make up your mind about what you what you wanted to do in life that they pressured you into something you weren’t completely happy with. What if you know where you want to be going, yet you can’t seem to be able to pull out, and no one is being kind enough to let you out? Well, as my Driving Instructor used to tell me, you sometimes need to push your way out, and be a little Meerkat... (Anyone who had Andy Nightingale, the best driving instructor ever, you will understand what I mean).

Then there are the corners in life, those ones that are so tight that they have to have a sign, saying ‘SLOW’. Picture if that was a corner you were taking in life, a corner that you couldn’t see round, yet you were driving at full pelt around it after ignoring everyone's advice to reduce your speed. How about if you were halfway round that corner and in the middle of the road there was a fallen tree and you didn’t have time to stop? What if you hadn’t been so stubborn and you had listened to everyone's warnings and taken the corner with a little more precaution. You would have been able to stop, and things would of turned out differently.

What about those people on the side of the road? People that will walk into the road unexpectedly, or pedestrian crossings and traffic lights; all things that cause you step on the brakes and stop for a little while. People may even throw things at your car that may smash the windscreen meaning you cannot see the road ahead. Coming across these inconveniences are facts of life, in the literal as well as metaphorical sense. But look on the bright side, you may end up with Gavin from Auto Glass replacing your window. Every cloud has a silver lining and all that!

Then there’s the illnesses you experience. It may only be a blown light bulb, or little scratch on the passenger side, or a dint in the bonnet caused by a trolley in Sainsbury’s. These may be relatively cheap, easy and quick to fix with a visit to the garage. Or a packet of Soothers and a magazine or a Disney princess plaster over your elbow. But what if its something more serious, something caused in a crash or by something somehow becoming unconnected? A broken leg perhaps, or a burst appendix? These take longer to fix, leaving behind visible scars, causing the car or person problems in the future. Maybe like me, even a year of after being in hospital for a month and having many complications with Peritonitis, you are still having to go back to hospital to see specialists and to have an MRI Scan. (I am fine, don’t worry. However I have no idea why I have to have an MRI, the doctor said some big words and then said I needed an MRI, so I just nodded).

However what happens when there is something wrong with the engine, the heart of the car? You see, affairs of the heart cannot always be seen from the exterior. A broken heart takes time to heal, probably more so than an engine. A lot of delicate work needs to be accomplished and sometimes no matter how many people work on fixing that engine, it can take just one person to get it working again, just like with the heart. Many boys may come along and try to fix your heart, but sometimes it takes just one. One person who has that extra skill or steady hand and patience to really understand how you work.

I have always thought that we all go too fast in life. We are so conscious of getting to where we want to be quickly that we forget to take in the view. Sometimes so fast that we manage to get lost. So lost in fact, that we have no idea where we are, and we drive round in circles trying to find a road that seems familiar, or a sign that tells us the direction in which we should be heading. The fact is that by doing this you may eventually find yourself back on the right track, but really you are just making yourself even more lost, and you are wasting time and energy. Eventually you are going to burn out.

There is no shame in pulling over for a while and finding the map out from your boot, or asking a passer by where the hell you are. Sometimes these strangers offer you the best advice, just like an old man I was talking to the other day, they often have experience and wisdom to pass onto you. And if you happen to be as lucky as I was, that old man may just have the ability the reassure your faith in Love.

Live. Laugh. Love

Thursday, 3 March 2011

Man Detox

I have decided to have a ‘No Man March’. Wait, I don’t mean I’m going to start a protest against the male existence, although that sounds really appealing right now. No, I mean that I’m going on a bit of detox. A ‘man detox’, if you will. Now, I’ve never been any good at the food kind of detoxes, so I am slightly sceptical about how a month on a man-free diet will go. I feel like I have been on a bit of a binge of bad food lately, and you would be right in thinking that ‘bad food’ loosely translates to ‘bad boys’. 

You see boys are like food. And just like food there are two types; good and bad.

We all know those bad types; the ones that always taste so good, and look really appetizing. Your mouth waters and your heart races as they pull up outside and ring the doorbell, you open the door and there you are faced with the guy who is always there when you ring him saying you want him (although he is usually late). And the best thing is that he has a 13 inch... Pizza. This pizza smells so good and whilst you are eating it, it is amazing. But then once it has finished, then comes the stomach cramps and sick feeling in your stomach. That feeling of regret, and wondering why your ever ate it. But whilst you were eating it you were so happy, even if you were paranoid that anyone else was going to nab a piece whilst your back was turned.
And when you look at the calories on the box you realise why you are left with a terrible taste in your mouth. You start to wonder why you never looked at this before you ordered the pizza and before you started to eat it. Because knowing what you know now, would you ever of picked up the phone? 

The truth is that you never learn from this. The pizza is the same every time, yet you always think it will be different and you won’t be left feeling like your going to vom when your taking the box to the bin.

I don’t no if anyone will understand my food comparisons, but basically, bad boys always seem amazing at first. Whilst you are going through all the excitement, you have no idea how you are going to feel when you realise he has messed you around. You feel like crap, and you need too have a lie down, and sleep it off. 

Then you have your ‘salads’ of this world. Those boys that will make you feel really good about yourself and, at the end of the day, it’s good for you and you feel healthy. The salad makes you feel great, it does everything a food should do for you, and it has no nasty side effects. But as with any healthy food, it’s good for a short time, but after a while you start to feel unfulfilled, and you need something else, something a little more exciting. And that something exciting involves lashings of full fat mayonnaise.

People always say that you need to eat healthy and avoid those cream cakes and chip cobs if possible. Have you realised that people say the exact things about relationships? ‘He’s a bad boy, avoid him’. I don’t no if it’s just me, but I have to experience and see things first hand to believe them, and how will you ever know whether you like a food unless you have tried it? Apart from ‘Salmon’ boys though, those boys are just trying to be something there not, I would never try them.

But then there is another type of food. The good and bad kind, the kind we really enjoy, but don’t get horrible side effects from. The ‘strawberry dipped in chocolate’s of this world are the best. Very tasty, slightly naughty, but yet you get all of the nutrients a fruit gives you. Now I’ve never had one of these before. I mean relationships, I have lost count of how many heavenly strawberries dipped in chocolate I have had, but as far a boy is concerned, zilch.

They always say that you need a balanced diet, a bit of good, and a bit of bad, 5 fruit and vegetables alongside a cheeky Dairy Milk once in a while. Maybe that’s what we need with men too. 

Gwyneth Paltrow (that woman is weird) says that when you have eaten to much bad food for a long period of time, to get it out of your system, you need a detox. So that’s what I’m going to do. You see I was having one of those healthy diets (Good boy) and then I got a bit bored and wanted a huge box of Maltesers (Bad Boy). So I had one. But now the thought of Maltesers repulse’s me (not the actual food kind though. Dear God No!).

If you hadn’t worked it out, ‘Lifeguard boy’ is a Dominoes pizza, so lovely at the time, but you know what, I wish I had never even looked at the menu. But that’s for another blog!

I want a Strawberry Dipped in chocolate, don’t you?

Live. Laugh. Love

Saturday, 19 February 2011


Do you ever get to that stage where all you want to do is hide away for a few days? Catch a train to the coast, and spend a few days in a B&B by the seaside? Sit in cosy little window seats in quite cafes, drinking hot chocolate while the rain is pouring down outside? Spend whole mornings eating toast and honey whilst listening to Laura Marling, Mumford & Sons and Jose Vanders? Do you ever feel like your head is all jumbled up simply because you haven’t had time to sort it out because you have been to busy to sit down and think?

Thats exactly how I feel right now, and to be honest that's the reason I haven’t been writing any blogs lately. I really haven’t had anything motivational to say - because I haven’t felt particularly motivated myself. The place where I live has finally got the better of me. I call the small village where I live 'God’s waiting room', because thats what it is; a place where people come to die. Its incredibly depressing to walk over the same field every day to 6th form, seeing the same parents dragging their kids to school, and having a constant feeling of deja vu. I sit staring at the same piece of coursework for days on end, with so much to say, but being unable to put my words into any kind of logical order. It’s so stupid, I can’t complete my own work to any kind of high standard, but I can quite easily go over someone else’s and improve it for them.

Writing this I have realised this melancholy I am feeling is because I am angry with the world. No, don’t worry, I’m not about to have a go at everyone in the world, I’m just fed up with the way this world works. I’m tired with the way people judge others when they don’t know them and criticise someones' decisions when they don’t know how they are feeling, or their whole story. I’m fed up with how people think its acceptable to treat someone like something on the bottom of their shoe because they are from a different friendship group, race, class or they happen to have done something to make themselves happy instead of someone else for a change. I’ve had enough of people who complain about everyone and everything. Yes, I get it, you have an opinion, but it’s not a nice one, so keep it to yourself please. Oh and one other thing, I cannot cope with any more people not saying 'thank you' when I hold the door open for them. I’m not saying that everyone is like this, but there’s just those few isn’t there? The people who have faces like slapped arses all the time, and make it there sole purpose in life to make everyone else around them as bitchy and as miserable as they are.

I sound incredibly unhappy with my life, don’t I? I’m not, I honestly love everything about it; my amazing friends (who have put up with a lot, and not just recently), incredibly supportive family and a little situation I have going on with someone I like to call ‘Life Guard boy’. I don’t think its anything to be ashamed of to say that you have sometimes have down days, weeks, months or (in extreme cases), years. I am incredibly grateful to say that I only ever have the occasional bad week, because I know and have heard of so many people my age with bad times that stretch over months and years. I honestly believe that if depression wasn’t considered such a taboo, there would be many more people that would seek help, to stop this terrible mental state spiraling out of control.

So tomorrow, I am going to throw some clothes in a bag and I am going to Brighton with my Mother and I’m going to go running down the promenade at sunrise, eat amazing food, go to Salsa Clubs, get a facial, sleep in all morning, drink bottles of wine and visit all of the lovely little book shops and boutiques for a total of five days. You see people in Brighton have a different kind of outlook on life that I’ve never come across anywhere else in this country. Maybe it was just the people I came across, but being there gave me a better perception on people in general. Last time I was there I was walking through the street at about 6pm and a woman walked past me and she was on the phone, but I heard her say ‘one second’ and she said to me ‘I love your dress, you look beautiful’ and she just carried on walking and I was a little bit shocked so I just shouted ‘Thanks!’. Its not only that though, one night when me and my Mother were a little bit drunk and we were walking down the promenade. There was a group of lads about 20 years old and they were playing frisbee. When my mum gets drunk, she gets like a 5 year old. The frisbee got thrown our way, and my mum grabbed the it and said she would only throw it back if she could play. It’s safe to say I was mortified. Whats worse though is that because she couldn’t see straight, she was throwing the frisbee in completely the wrong direction and then shouting ‘Where were you?! Your crap at this game’ and the lads just took it. I felt so sorry for them! But what I’m saying is, why can’t everyone be nice and get on with everyone just like that?

I suppose the world doesn’t work like that, which is a real shame to be honest. But for five whole days, I get to pretend it does.

If we get enough people to pretend that this world is like this, do you think it could be?

Why don’t we try?

Live. Laugh. Love.

Sunday, 30 January 2011

I am your Guru

Long time, No BLOG.

A while ago, I had a really horrific break up. You know, one of those ones where you eat tubs of Ben and Jerry's to yourself whilst sobbing and nodding along to 'He's just not that into you' . The ones where you replay everything in your head to try and work out the first signs of trouble, want to spit at any couple that look happy and download loads of cheesy 90's pop songs because you 'relate' to them. It's safe to say I've had a few. I think that there are two types of breakups: the ones where there's a possibility of getting back together and the ones where you know that's the end. Well, this was the later. So, therefore, I had to 'get over' him. I've never understood the term 'get over', I just think 'Well, when was I ever under him?' Oo-er.

How do you get over someone? And like whenever you want the answer to one of life's unanswerable questions, you google it. I looked at 'how to get over someone' and '10 quick tips on how to make him want you back' both equally stupid and both counted on every girl but me, in a 100 mile radius being stuck down with a terrible skin condition which meant they couldn't leave their house, use Facebook, or ring nor text anyone.

One thing I did sign up to though was a self-acclaimed 'Guru' called 'Christian Carter', who at first I thought was the greatest man in the world. He promised me that he would email me twice a week and give me detailed instructions on how to get any man I wanted. Like all relationships, the honeymoon period is the best. He always emailed when he said he would, listened to my problems (you can send in your dating dilemmas, and he picks the most common ones and writes an article about how to solve them) and always gave me the best advice. Then, like so many relationships, the honeymoon ended, and our communication started breaking down. He was always late and apologised profusely, and I am pretty sure he had the same relationship with me that he had with many other women. So I started ignoring his emails, and i found someone else called Dairy Milk, who has never once let me down. Alright, I'm going to stop now. I had had enough of him telling me everything I had ever done wrong in my relationships, that I added his email address to the spam bin and have never looked back, until the other day when a nervous sweat came over me that some of my UCAS emails may have been sitting in there unnoticed.

Christian carter calls himself a 'relationship coach' whatever one of those is. The last experience of a coach that I had was when I used to swim competitively, and her death stare when you got cramp still gives me nightmares to this day. Whenever I think about Christian being my 'relationship coach' I just get mental images of him making me drop and give him 30 sit-ups if I were to confess my toilet activities in the first 5 minutes of meeting a boy (which I seem to do a lot lately).

According to Christian Carter, these are the things that, if you remember, you are guaranteed a long and happy relationship:

1.Successful dating involves setting realistic match criteria
2.Successful dating involves establishing dating boundaries
3.Successful dating means being prepared and upbeat
4.Successful dating means keeping things simple and fun
5.Successful dating means dating the right people for you
6.Successful dating means being realistic about your expectations
7.Successful dating means being patient

Okay... So I automatically fail, seeing as the person I have my eye on at the moment is Andy Murray, and it would also help if I had a clue what dating boundaries are. Then there's number 3, I won't go into it now but I can remember I once went on a date with someone who I called 'Waiter boy' because I couldn't remember his name, and another where I started crying half way through because it was going so badly. I suggest you don't talk to me about simple - nothing in my dating life has ever been simple, especially when you realise your past 3 boyfriends have been with the same girl who once threw a fruit pastille at you for being ginger. The same again for 'the right person'; please take my advice when I say, don't carry on seeing someone who says his phone only rings and text's at certain times, because it's funny that a few past 'dates' have been on the same network that does this. Also, can we get it clear whether realistic expectation's are for a boy to send group text message to all the girls he has been seeing say 'Night, Beautiful' because if so, I've got that one covered. Oh please don't get me started on being patient, most of the toast I eat is still bread because I can't wait for our new toaster to work.

It's safe to say that these things sound really simple in theory, but in practice are a little more difficult (for me anyway). So I was looking on the internet as to how to become a 'Relationship Coach' and quite unbelievably you don't have take any exams or have any kind of real relationship experience to be one, so I figured I was more than qualified. (The exams being the English A-level I am taking at the moment, all about love and marriage, and blooming' 'eke does it make me want to commit sui). So from now on you can call me Rose - blog extraordinaire and relationship coach, and here are your Top Ten Dating Tips, that may not get you your Prince Charming but will definitely secure yourself a life alone, only to be found dead at 40 with you face half eaten by your cat.

1. '1471' is your best friend. It means that whenever you ring your 'waste of air' he will have to pick up to know its you, as opposed to breaking out into a sweat when he sees your name pop up on his phone. Also you can pretend those 23 missed calls he received in the middle of the night, must have been from someone abroad.

2. Talk about all of your past relationships on the first date, just so they are aware that you already know everything a boy will try to do break it off with you. He needs to have CSI planning to get out of this one.

3.Make sure wherever you go on a date has a toilet close to the door. Therefore, if it goes badly, you can pretend that you accidentally walked through the wrong door, got lost and had to go all the way home to the toilet.

4. Wear comfortable shoes, so that you can run, if you ever have to use tip 3.

5. Blind dates require you to be just that, as well as deaf. An attractive person will never go on a date set up by another person, they usually turn out to be incredibly desperate, there's a reason you have never set that date up yourself.

6. Don't tell someone you want to be friends when you split up with them. You split up with them because you don't want relationship with them, because what boyfriends' are are boys you are friends with who you can kiss. When you take away those benefits, you realise how fickle they are.

7. Always try to meet your date somewhere busy, and turn up late. Therefore if you don't like the look of them you can pull your hood over your head and walk on.

8. Don't be ashamed of the fact you were sick in your mouth when he said he 'has never felt this way about anyone before', you will probably do the same thing when you find out how many other girls he has said it too.

9. If you know he cheated on his last girlfriend, get one of those tablet sized tracker devices and put it in his food, therefore you will always know where he is, so that you can pop up at anytime. However, depending on how fast his digestive system is, it may lead you to a sewage works.

10. And finally, make sure that he definatly knows you are ginger before agreeing for a date with them