10 (minus 5) Things I Hate About Christmas

So my ploy of being a v big time celeb is obviously working guys, I now have some friends that sometimes want to hang out with me more than once a week and are more than willing to let me attend without washing my feet. I've realised that I'm now considered so cool darling, plus I've had more than 3000 views on my blog so that's potench 3000 people who have fallen in love with me, duuuuuh.

Right basically it's coming up to Christmas as you probably know from the tiny cardboard doors you struggle to open every day that reveal the smallest possible piece of chocolate you will have ever seen in your life. I'm not going to sit here and lie, I'm not a massive Christmas fan because it is SUCH a ballache, however this year I'm trying my hardest not to be a Scrooge. My only ish is no one's going to be interested in hearing about all the lovely things about Jesus' birthday so I thought I'd share some things that I specifically hate about Christmas.

Smug couples. You know the types I mean. The ones who insist on telling you their plans together over the festive period whilst you know you're going to be sat there on Christmas day drinking several bottles of champagne to yourself, eating three times your daily allowance in calories and probably finish the day off with your head down the toilet. The ones who will be wearing matching jumpers and decorating their tree together and then take a photo of them in front of it and put it on Instagram. I know they're just bragging about their bauble hanging skills. In the lead up to Christmas day you have the honour of hearing about what they're going to put in their "other half's" stocking and how they've bickered about whose family's house to spend the day at. GOD give me a BREAK. Christmas is just an excuse to go out every night of the week and get utterly shitfaced.

Christmas songs. They drive me absolutely fucking insane. They're the same year upon year. Why has no one composed a new one yet?! I don't give a fuck about whether Santa Claus is coming to town, because quite frankly, anyone over the age of 10 knows he isn't. Also, if you gave your heart to someone last Christmas and they gave it away, more fool you. Because if you did that you'd be dead and I think you'll find that's called the Black Market.

Food. I'm grateful that I have food, not saying that it's a bad thing. I just really don't understand everyone's need to constantly eat in the lead up, on, and after Christmas. I eat when I'm hungry. Surely you can't be hungry 24/7 for a 10 day period, you can survive without food for weeks at a time. Then once you've piled all the pounds on everyone's on a 'New Year, New You' diet. Just don't eat as much then you wouldn't have that qualm. 

One of the things I hate most about Christmas is how I constantly hemorrhage cash for presents, parties, alcohol, food, meals and what not. It's excessive. Now, I'm not a tight person at all, if anything I would say I'm overly generous but is it really necessary to buy for your best friend's brothers girlfriends cousins wife? No. Not at all. But when you say you're
"Not doing presents this year" everyone looks at you like you've just abducted a child and buried them on the yorkshire moors.

I have serious issues with tinsel. It's tacky. It irritates my skin. And I want to burn every inch of the stuff. Why people insist on putting this in their homes as a decorative feature is beyond me. It is 100% not at all chic darling.

So there you have it. 10 minus 5 things I hate about Christmas. Have a good one darls.

Questionable Questions

Right, so I can't think of any opening lines this evening I'm afraid, so a Hello is all you lot are getting. 

As the title of this blog might insinuate, I'm talking about questions people ask you that are utterly ridonk and don't need to be asked or even answered. This is something that really irritates me (Supermarkets post) and my all time HATE is when I go to Nando's - I go a lot - and they ask me if I've been before. I want to turn around to them and tell them I could recite their menu backwards, or maybe ask the whole of Nando's to raise their hands if they hadn't been before so that I could arrange for them to go to counselling. 

Sticking with the theme of food, there is nothing WORSE than when someone who you go out for a meal with asks if you want to share a side or a starter when you've got your heart set on devouring the whole thing. The other week after I had my order well thought out: Lasagne, garlic bread and a portion of skinny chips. My friend Ami was like, "Oh, I might like a few chips, do you want to share?" No. No I do not want to share my chips. I want to eat them all to myself. If you want some chips, order your own portion. 

Another great one is when someone asks if you're OK. They ask you this as you're on the floor after being mauled by a Doberman or been hit by a bus. They ask you when you're so horrifically drunk that you're throwing up all over yourself whilst being physically removed by 2 bouncers in a club. Once (probably the only time I have cried in front of people I don't know that well) I'd had a really shit week, and I was in a finance lecture which lets not beat around the bush is enough to make anyone cry. I realised that I was not in a good mental position to stay there so I got up and walked out, unbeknownst to me a few people followed me because I am obviously the love of their lives/they wanted to be my friend. I was having a small nervous breakdown outside whilst trying to make a quick exit home and one of them asked me if I was OK. I just looked at her "Do I look fucking OK to you?" Safe to say she didn't want to be my friend after that.

One thing that irritates me is when people ask for the time they point at their wrist. I know where you wear a watch, unless you're that useless prick Joey from TOWIE. If I needed to know where the toilet was I wouldn't point at my vagina. 

The next lot aren't really questions, they're just stupid things people say. Boys probably won't be able to relate to this but how many girls have had the following conversation:

"What you wearing tonight?"
"Jeans, heels and a nice top."
"Ohhhh a nice top? Not a shit top then?"

Or...

"I'm just going to have a body shower."
"Not a leg shower then?"

Actually thinking about it someone asked me if I wanted a 'cold water' the other day. No, I'd like a luke warm one please.

If anyone else has any painfully ridic questions then please let me know, genuinely makes me laugh. ALOT.

Road Qualms

Greetings darls, hope you have all adjusted and got over your time-lag since the clocks moved back a whole hour this weekend leaving the whole country in utter chaos. For any of you who aren't up to date with daylight saving, you may want to do some light googling as it has been ongoing since 1895 so shouldn't be too much of a shock to the system.

Moving on. Tonight I wanted to discuss things along the lines of cars/traffic/road rage. I can't comment too much on other people and their shit driving after encountering 3 separate incidents involving hitting a tree, ploughing down a Nepalese girl in a car-park and sliding into a lorry then spinning into a wrought iron fence. However, I'm all for a bit of hypocrisy so whatevs trevs.

I do believe in karma. I purposely let people go at junctions so that one day when I'm in a rush someone will let me go. This has not yet happened, but I am adamant it will. Maybe if I didn't judge the people I decide to let go, karma might not be such a bitch. Old people, never. If you let someone over the age of 65 out in front of you, you may as well terminate your life then and there. You'll never get to the place you needed to go because they will drive about as fast as a paraplegic can run a marathon. The only people I will let go is people who are above a 7.5 (in summer when sunglasses are involved this can be a tricky judgement) or if they have a nicer car than me.

I'm not a patient person, I never will be. So when things slow down my day like traffic, or people driving slowly or being unnecessarily hesitant I do kick off a tad. One issue I have is when women (and yes, we are a lot shitter at driving than men) drive round in their 4 x 4's (which they obviously need for all the off-roading they're going to be doing in the Hampshire suburbs) but think they're driving a bus and can't get through a gap about 8 metres wide. If I counted all the times I shouted "YOU'RE NOT DRIVING A FUCKING BUS" I would be very good at counting. I also find it very annoying when I'm in a car park trying to find a space to do something important like go to the shop to buy some chicken dippers, that some idiotic person will spend 12 years trying to get into a space because 25 years after passing their driving test and being on the UK roads they can't reverse park. 

My favourite thing about driving is watching other people in their cars. Not because I'm a large stalker but just because people think they're in an opaque box which they can see out of. Literally one of the best days of my life was when I was driving to work and saw one of my ex boyfriends driving in the opposite direction picking his nose. Admittedly I'm a big culprit when it comes to singing along in the car. There's been plenty of times when I've been stopped in traffic and been clocked singing to various songs, including Taylor Swift and Drake. I genuinely think I'm black the majority of the time I'm driving (anyone who has been on a long car journey with me can vouch for this, I can rap along to ALOT of albums). 

Road rage is one thing that literally winds me up to the extent where I get so angry. I think this will just be much funnier if I tell the story of when road rage nearly ended up in me being nearly murdered by a man in north London. I was with my wolfpack (Hannah Justine and Ami) we were going to see The Saturdays (I was Frankie's stunt double for the evening) and we were trying to find somewhere to park. I was at a junction of a one way system when the car behind me started beeping. As I drove on to the one way system, Hannah was hanging out my window shouting 'fuck offfff you c*ntttt' and I think my middle finger made an appearance. Next thing we know this car overtakes me blocks the road forcing me to do an emergency stop. Out steps a man approximately 6ft 4 and weighing about 16 stone with a metal bar. Justine and Ami are in a panic at this point, Justine is shouting 'REVERSSSSE' me being me decided to front this one out. At this stage the only reason I can think of why this man wanted to kill me was because he thought I was a boy with my short hair. In a moment of stupidity I asked him if he was wearing a turban (I later realised it was just a usual day-wear hat) then shouted WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING. He retreated and got back into his car and drove off. So the only thing this taught me, was to front everything out until the person leaves you alone. This lesson did not work well in Cardiff (see previous post).

Anyway, this was a half arsed attempt of qualms on the road. 

Large Marge

Hey darlings, another week has passed since my last outpouring of intelligence and wit. I know you may all be wondering what I've been doing this week as I probably am your role model and/or idol. Obviously I've just been maintaining my celeb lifestyle and having the general public lap up the stories I tell like I'm Enid Blighton. Today's been particularly funny, been bumming around with my friends Cara and Will, (who is such a playaaaaa and gets all the bitches) people watching. Whilst people watching we noticed that a very large proportion of the population, is generally quite large. Now some of you won't like this, I'm not trying to be nasty, but the following things just wind me up. I'm not going to apologise for it so if you're offended easily don't read the rest of this post.

We began discussing fat people. It got brought up after a small altercation broke out last night where I told some rude, vile chav to 'enjoy weightwatchers you fat c u next tuesday' which admittedly, was wrong but I was very wound up at the time. Now I'm not by any means saying I'm perfect, I've got a forehead the size of Wales, my toes are horrific and most men have bigger boobs than I do. But I admit that. I know it. I don't sit there moaning that I've got a massive forehead but scrape my hair back to show it off, I've got a fringe for a reason. So it's the same principle when a large person sits there with a slab of cheese and a Big Mac meal moaning that they're fat. Eat a salad then. I know people come in different shapes and sizes and I'm all for embracing it, but don't expect me to feel sorry for you when you're shoving 8 mars bars down your throat. 

Also I really hate it when a guy thinks he's so stacked, wearing a tee (probably G Star, let's face it) but actually he's just fat.

Airports annoy me. When I go on holiday I pack my suitcase like everyone else, trying to get all my stuff in without exceeding the 15kg limit. Obviously as a girl, I get there, check in, and my case is overweight by 1kg. So I get to pay £60 for the privilege for some lazy, thieving fuck from baggage handling to put my bag on the plane. But for all those people who weigh 30 stone, they don't have to pay more. I don't understand. The plane can obviously still take off with all those fat northerners on the plane but my extra 1kg is causing an issue. Genuinely going to start wearing all my clothes to the airport like Joey in Friends and do lunges across the departure lounge.

'Celebrities' whose careers are dwindling so they quite clearly binge eat so that they get a bit porky and can release a fitness DVD really grinds on me. The most recent culprit of this is Maria Fowler. Now, I thought she was funny on TOWIE, don't get me wrong but if you've put on a few pounds you wouldn't walk round with  your gut (or 'gunt' as Will's mum calls it - work it out for yourself) hanging out of your CROPPED jacket just so you can get in Heat magazine. A story of 'I've lost all my confidence since gaining 2 stone' will probs pull you in a bit of paper and then you can release the DVD and then do the 'before and after story'. But babes, Lycra is not a good look for anyone.

So there you have it. I'm most likely going to get hate mail now So just to be clear, I don't have a problem with fat people, I just have a problem with those who participate in the above activities. Over and out.

Speak your mind

Hello there my little cherubs. I am currently suffering from a severe case of SND (if you don't know what this is, read my previous post about hanging out of your a-hole) and thought that I'd write a quick post to take my mind off this tragedy. 

It came about in conversation today and I thought to myself that I really need to share my feelings on wanting to say exactly what you want to say, when you want to say it. As much as I know I don't exactly beat around the bush when I'm having a conversation with someone; there are times when I know a line needs to be drawn and to hold back. But sometimes I wish that we didn't have to do that and we could just say what our brains are thinking.

Yesterday I was sat in Starbucks with my friends having a catch up on life, discussing what to wear that evening, slagging off men, the usual. We were sat on the big comfy chairs by the window in the hope that we'd spot some talent (obviously that didn't happen as Fleet's population is made up of 99.9% hideous specimens). Me and Emma had our feet up a tad on the chairs - I was sat cross legged trying to be cool and quirky, the only other thing I would have needed was the top button on my shirt done up and I would have definitely been cool. This is when we were told very rudely by a member of staff, who for the record really should look into doing her level 1 NVQ in customer service, "don't put your feet on the chairs." Alright, I wouldn't do it in my own house but it was the way she said it that pissed me off. This was when I REALLY wanted to say to her:- "well do you fancy wiping this table and sweeping the floor cos there's crumbs fucking everywhere." I'm sorry, but I had just paid £4 for the privilege of some idiot to put a sandwich in a toastie machine and put it on a plate. £4! It used to take me 1 hour of work to earn that much money when I was 14. 

Again, yesterday night my friend Andy who was born in South Africa got his ID out as we were going into a club. The doorman turned round to him and said "Oooh South Africa, that's great." Ok, he was just being polite and making conversation which is a nice thing when you go out, especially from a bouncer. But what Andy's response should have been was:- "Well, not really it's an impoverished country with a corrupt government." 

Every day there are times when a customer says something to me like "It was just horrendous, breaking my camera RUINED my holiday" I get so tempted to just turn around and say, God get a grip hunnayyyy it's only a bloody camera. I remember once when I was working in Greggs (I made the sandwiches and wore a hair net) I was working full time over the summer cos I was such a G and some woman told me to get off my phone whilst I was making a batch of chicken salad's on brown bread. At the age of 16 I wanted to turn round to the old goat and say:- "1) Fuck off. 2) No. 3) You're part time. 4. Get out of our manager's arse hole. And 5.) Fuck off." Really wish I had now.

One day, when I'm in charge of the country, aside from banning work and making everything under £20.00 free I will make it the law that everyone has to say EXACTLY what they think.

Ignorance is not bliss

Evening darlings hope you are all stupendous. There is one thing that has been causing many a qualm in recent weeks for myself and some close friends which is what I'm planning on venting about today. Now, before I go on this is actually going to be a very hypocritical post because I think ignoring people I don't like/don't want to talk to is perfectly acceptable. BUT when it happens to me or my friends it just isn't, ok babes?

We all do it, we pretend we didn't see someone when they wave to us from across the road. Sometimes because they're wearing a hideous top, sporting a particularly patchy tan, have a tendency to bore the life out of you, or let's face it, we don't want to be seen in public with them. I just hate it when it happens to me. That horrendous moment when you raise your hand way above your head, a grin creeps up on your face - YES! SOMEONE I KNOW! I'M POPULAR! You shout their name, arm waving excitedly from side to side and you make eye contact with the old friend from school, eagerly anticipating their warm embrace. But no, they turn their head and walk into Argos to buy a new curtain pole. You then have to recover the situation, with a severe onset of cramp in your arm. Or an itch that needs to be scratched on your head. 

This is just as irritating when you get ignored when you need help. Once I was on the train back from Uni and I had a suitcase which weighed about the same as a camel. I had lugged it from my house in Canterbury to the station. When I got to Kings Cross I had to get all the way across London on the tube at rush hour to Waterloo whilst carrying my handbag, and 2 textbooks. (Just to emphasise I'm 5ft3, have little upper body strength and that tube journey involves 2 changes). I eventually got to my train, at approximately 17:38 and somehow managed to get a seat. However, I couldn't lift the suitcase onto the luggage rack above my head - my height and upper body strength definitely impacted on this, and whilst I was stood there struggling nearly dropping the fucking thing on an old woman's head, men were just sat there ignoring me, trying to get past me in the aisle. So me being me, threw a fit and said as loud as I could "anyone, anyone at all fancy helping me or are you all going to pretend that this isn't happening?" I'm sure if I wasn't sweating like a large pig and had boobs 2 cup sizes bigger there wouldn't have been an issue.

Speaking of men, this brings me nicely onto being ignored by them. Just to clarify, I can handle being binned off. It's happened before and it will definitely happen again. My friends are the same 'you win some you lose some' is a constant saying between us. What we don't appreciate is being given the impression that someone's interested and then being pied off by not ever getting any form of a response. Not going to lie, I've done this myself and I realise this is just bad karma but I prom I'm going to be nice from now on and let old people go at junctions and buy a cake from the cake sales that raise money for the orphanages in Nepal rather than saying 'charity begins at home.' 

Basically, if we all stopped ignoring people then we would live in a much happier place. Everyone's egos would be less bruised. People would smile and say thank you. It would be a much more honest, truthful land to live on. Don't ignore me.

Creamfields

Bonjour mon amies, I know it's been a while and I would just like to take a moment to apologise to you all. It must have been difficult for you to not have any idea what I was up to, where I've been or how I've been feeling, so soz about that; I've had things to see, people to do, the usual.

Anyway, today I wanted to share with you my recent (and may I add, last) experience of camping. I didn't sleep in a tent voluntarily it was for the purpose of a festival but nevertheless I am in no hurry whatsoever to violate my human rights ever again.

Now, it wasn't my first time at this festival, I went last year. And now that I think back I did spend the majority of the time in tears after just breaking up from a long term relationship, having all my belongings soaked and covered in mud, and being in denial about the size of my feet. So I must not have been thinking straight when I agreed to go again. Don't get me wrong, when the sun's out and you're loving life with your friends it would be the best weekend of your life. Until you're pissing on the floor in front of strangers and you can't find your pink bear because your friend Mandy stole him. 

We were all in high spirits, we'd had a curry and a few bevs the night before we drove there. We all had a shower, put on our well thought out festival attire in the morning. We'd spent £70 each on a pair of wellies which let's face it, we'll never wear again. We'd even persuaded our guy mates to erect (lol) our tent for when we got there.

For any of you who have been to a festival before, you'll understand that the walk from the car to the entrance is probably the most horrific ordeal you will ever encounter. Especially when you're not allowed to leave the site once you enter, so you have to take EVERYTHING with you. So try to imagine four girls hauling our ridonk bags of clothes, airbeds, sleeping bags, gallons of bottles of vodka and camping chairs approximately 2 miles over wet, muddy, uphill ground. Safe to say having a shower that morning was utterly pointless as I looked like a fat girl in a disco by the time someone had strapped a wristband round my arm. Which I'm just going to say - can be removed once you leave a festival. So for all you sad, sad people that leave them on. Please get a life.

By this point our 'Bags for Life' were well and truly dead and I was dragging/throwing along 4 x 2 Litre bottles of water. Well 2 were water, 2 were vodka and I couldn't tell which ones were which, so like the trooper I am I picked them up (along with my other 76500 bags) covering my sweaty white t-shirt (stupid decision I know) in mud. My friend Emma was close to having a nervous breakdown at this point. It was very sunny and all I can say is we were all very moist.

Now, I'm not going to lie the Saturday was unreal. I laughed a lot. 

Saturday night is a different story. It started raining at about 8pm. Fine. We went in the big tents to see Benga, Skrillex, Annie Mac etc. However, the rain didn't stop until 11am the following morning. And I'm not just talking about a drizzle here. I'm talking cats and dogs, tigers and dingos, the type of rain that when you're lying there absolutely soaked because  your tents leaking and trying to cuddle your friend that you think the tent is going to be ripped in half. Rain where you don't sleep AT ALL because it sounds like you're in downtown Baghdad and you're getting shot at. Rain when you can hear a river running past your tent. When you look outside and half the people who were there the night before have left. I don't handle being cold well, and for a good 20 minutes I was screaming. I'M GOING HOME. THIS IS A JOKE. I AM BEING VIOLATED. GET ME FUCKING AIRLIFTED OUT OF THIS FUCKING FIELD. Essentially, I was being my usual bratty self. I was checking where the nearest hotels were to check in to, I text my friends to come and get me. But eventually, we realised I was on my friends insurance so could actually drive myself home. So yes, me and Emma (who was on the verge of having her 2nd breakdown in 24 hours) bailed. And never in my whole entire life was I so happy to get home.

So what I'm really looking forward to is travelling round the world and staying in hostels in South East Asia.

Hanging out your A Hole

Hey darls. I know my blogging has been slowing recently and my posts are few and far between. Now I know you will have all been distraught in my absence, but don't woz! Allow me to re-introduce myself, another magnificent outpouring of my brain is near. I'm going to have to step my game up if I intend to be a worldwide celeb in the foreseeable future.


Today I am going to talk to you about hangovers. Although the title of this post seems to be referring to piles. Anyway, we've all been there at one point in our life. I attend a hangover every Sunday without fail. It's more of all the things that come with a hangover that make me hate my life and fall into a dark bottomless pit of depression by the time 4pm comes around.


One of my main issues with hangovers is that with me they last all day. The day is almost unbearable and if you hadn't already deduced, I can get quite irritable at the best of times. So when you get in and your parents think that asking you ten thousand questions about your night is a good idea, I can honestly say I contemplate doing a Van Gogh and cutting my ear off so I don't have to listen. 


How was last night?
Who were you with?
Where did you go?
What time did you get in?
Where did you stay?
Feeling it today?


Why they feel to ask these questions is beyond me. The worst one is when you sit down to eat your roast dinner and they ask 'You want a glass of wine?' No, I do not want a fucking glass of wine.


I also become a new reality star of the programme 'secret eaters' when a hangover comes out to play. Standard Sunday mornings with me and my friends involve waking up, picking the stray one up, driving to a drive through McDonald's so we don't have to vacate the car and buying a large diet coke, large meal and a cheeseburger each. Then we go back to one of our houses and get in bed and die a slow, painful death. Later on in the day we normally hit up Waga's, Nando's or Dom's. Then pray that our (step)mothers have made a roast or a shepherd's pie. Soon I'm going to look like Gemma from TOWIE when she wore that crop top at Boot Camp.


I'm going to keep this brief. HP's (hangover poo's). Discuss if you please.


Probably the most awful part of the hangover is SND. Sunday night depression. For all  you couples out there, you won't appreciate the pain us spinsters and bachelors succumb to when the clock strikes 4pm. The realisation that work is only a matter of hours away. Your internal organs still feel like they are failing and you have to think about 5 days of slave labour that await you. All you want is a hangover cuddle with someone who understands your grief. Spooning with your mates doesn't quite cut it. This is the only time of the week that a boyfriend of some kind is required. But where Match of the Day 2 isn't involved.


So there we have it, a summing up of a hangover. One day, when I'm old and grey I'm going to look back and remember the days I wasted in bed, eating. But until then I'm going to carry on the way I'm going because when I'm hungover I become slightly delirious and everything is just hilarious. For anyone who wishes to know what I'm talking about, just view my videos on Facebook.

Hating on Dating

A lot of people have been moaning at me because I haven't blogged in a little while. Soz, but it's mainly because I've got a life and have been working on my tan so that when I am catapulted into the public eye, people will be able to see how gawj I am and I can attract many a minx to be my cultured chico. Speaking of chico's that is what I would like to examine today, well more of the meetings of chico's and chica's. Or dates as normal people would say.

Now I can't really say that I am a pro when it comes to going on dates, not because I'm not a fantastic individual but because I actually haven't been on very many in my 22 years of being alive. However, between me, 7 of my best girl mates and other good friends who have shared some hideous stories with me, I thought as a united front of men and women across the globe, we could come together and appreciate the awkward-ness of dates and the situations we have found ourselves in.

Dates when they go from bad to worse in a matter of seconds can be humiliating for both parties. When all you want to do is crawl into a small hole and die if it meant never seeing the person sat in front of you ever again. When you would rather gouge your eyes out with a blunt spoon. When you text your mum to tell her how arrogant the guy your on a date with is. When you think you've done exactly that, but in fact you've sent it to him. Yes, one of my best friends did exactly this. He then proceeded to update is Facebook status to 'is arrogant' and probably got about 63 likes. Another indication of the evening taking a nose-dive is when the person who you are out with decides to tell you about their previous first dates. "Once, I got arrested for drink driving on a first date." Babe, you're really not selling yourself here whilst you're on your 3rd beer and you're meant to be taking me home. Again, another real life qualm. As much as I would take great joy out of naming and shaming the people involved here, I'll save them from the humiliation.

Pre-date arranging and/or discussions can be just as painful as the actual dates themselves. What happens if you're meeting them in the evening but you haven't heard from them all day? Maybe give them a text, ask them if they're still on for tonight? Well this is what my friend did (who is the same person who text her mum), and got a reply similar to this (and maybe slightly exaggerated on my part) 'sorry babe, I'm seeing my nan.' WHO stands up a date (a very hot date may I add) for their NAN. I wouldn't even stand someone up for my nan and she's got one leg. Blackmailing someone into a date is also something that should be avoided if it can. I have been a victim in this particular field, and I can vouch for 99.9% of the worlds population that it does not work. Just because you think I owe you something does not make me want to go for dinner with you. 

What are you allowed to do on a FD? Hand holding. Negative. My friend had an unfortunate experience where some guy tried to hold her hand and in a moment of pure disgust, she pulled away with such force that she fell over. Think it was safe to say that did not develop into a blossoming relationship. How many of us have gone to the cinema on a first date and felt a small arm creep around your shoulders? So, so awk and embarrassing, I just can't deal even thinking about it. Cinema seats are so uncomfortable as well for it, you're both sat bolt upright and the girl has to sit there with her head jutting forward so the guy can fit his arm in between her neck and the seat. Just don't do it. When the date is over and you're about to leave you have a lot of judgements and decisions to make. Did it go well? Is the person next to me also thinking what I'm thinking? Will we go out again? Are they going to go in for a kiss? Did I brush my teeth before I left earlier? Oh god I had garlic bread with my pasta. ABORT ABORT! But seriously how do you leave it? Awkward hug? Kiss? Kiss on the cheek which will only result in both of your cheeks touching with no lip-on-cheek action. It is a highly problematic circumstance to find yourself in, and I wish someone made a manual for this kind of thing.

If someone, anyone, a good natured-soul has the answers for me and anyone else who is clueless about this, then please let us know. I need to become a professional dater by the time I am living the high life as I can imagine a swarm of 8.5's and above will be waiting patiently for me to pick them, so that they can take me out and wine and dine me, and then realise I am their soul mate and one true love.

Social Networking Etiquette

For those of you who know me personally, you would have all be enlightened with my ladylike behaviour and high standards of social etiquette. This can normally be witnessed on a Saturday night when I am vomming in a gutter and spraining both of my ankles; and relived on a Monday morning when my work colleagues ask to hear my weekend stories. As a role model in this particular field, I have decided to share with you my thoughts and feelings on etiquette within the realms of social networking sites.

My old friend Wikipedia says that etiquette is a code of behaviour within a society or group. Now, it's these little codes on social networking sites that get a little bit warped by some of our delusional 'friends' who decide that sharing aspects of their lives via the internet is acceptable.

This brings me nicely on to a long list of things that I find completely and utterly unforgivable. Frequent status updates. You always have that one person on Facebook who updates their status about 12 times a day informing you what time they woke up, what they had for breakfast, what their cat's sick looked like, that they had a long day at work and didn't arrive home until 7pm and still had to do a food shop and cook dinner before they could have a bath with scented candles and enjoy a glass of wine. You've also got the person who updates you on how their life is falling apart and that they're so upset and can't believe how their so-called friends would treat them this way. Then, when someone asks them what's wrong they reply 'doesn't matter' or 'I'll text you.' NO YOU WON'T, YOU WILL AIR YOUR DIRTY LAUNDRY IN PUBLIC THANK YOU VERY MUCH. That's like luring a homeless person into a soup kitchen and then telling them there's no food for them. Also, embarrassing feeling related updates (which is sort of related to my previous post about PDA) I honestly could not care how much you love your baby boy and that without him you may as well not exist. Because right now, seeing that is making me want to find a utensil to stick down my throat and bring up my pasta salad.

Another small issue I have with social networking sites is that on some occasions, particularly bank holidays, as a young, single, non-mother, I cannot check my Facebook. The reason being is that my news feed is clogged up with children. Now, I'm sure it is VERY different when you have your own child, but seriously I do not wish to see your ugly baby. (I'm going to point out here this is not directed at anyone at all, because all babies are hideous.) If I have to read about someone's child and how it's learnt to go to the toilet in a potty - so it fucking should, its a human - or how it has learnt to say 'DaDa' (which isn't an actual word, it's reduplicated babbling). Similarly, I don't want to see 14000 photos of  your baby, how much it weighs or what it had for lunch. If you want to share this information, the most reasonable solution would be to make it it's own profile.


Now, as much as I fully appreciate a good photo of someone, paying a middle aged pervert to take photos of you does not under any circumstances make you a model. So when I see an album named 'modelling' I normally have a quick flick through to see how horrif they are. There is ALWAYS one of the 'model' sat in a circle type window-esque shape wearing kitten heels and a flower-patterned dress. Just for anyone who doesn't quite understand what I'm getting at here, these are all vile things. Also, the girl is usually an absolute terror. Now, I'm going to write this part quickly in case I throw up on my laptop. 'Modelling' albums of couples it ultimate cringe. Oh em gee, it's making me feel nauseous. Standard piggy-back pose and staring longingly into each others eyes. Just no. Negative. Absolutely not. On the subject of photos, Instagram is a wonderful thing I fully appreciate it. However, getting into a bath with a full face of make-up and taking photos of your self is 100% not gawj, and will potentially make people delete you. And no one wants to get into Facebook politics now do they.


The issues that I have raised will probably have offended some of you. And to be quite honest with you I really do not care, because re-evaluating your social networking skills would be highly recommended. For any of you who are considering this as an option, I will be running workshops every Tuesday from 7pm-9pm to help prevent you poor people from ruining your lives.

The not so Super markets

After my first post, I already feel like a small-time, modern age Shakespeare. The next Perez Hilton if you will. With my super stardom on the brink of discovery I will soon be waltzing around getting papped, with the general public screaming my name from across Fleet High Street. There will come a time when I won't be able to put the roof down on my car in fear of being grabbed by a crazed stalker.


On a slightly more mundane note I wanted to express my thoughts on supermarkets. Now, I'm not sure if I have to say anything here in case I get in trubs for slander or whatevs, but basically please don't make me go to prison for anything I'm about to say. Because quite frankly, I will end up becoming some Welsh lesbian's bitch. And for those who haven't heard about 'Pigeon-gate', to cut a long story short, I chased some rats with wings and then got beaten up in Cardiff city centre by a group of dykes.


Now, it's not too much to do with the actual supermarkets that qualm me. Although, they could do with putting some heating in the frozen section because surely the freezers keep themselves cold, and it really puts me off having to buy my chicken dippers. Oh, and Morrison's could have a serious re-think about why they insist on putting crisps and TV's in the same aisle. My ish is more to do with what happens at the tills.


You'll casually saunter up to the check-out with your trolley full of turkey dinosaurs and dental floss (obviously there will be other items in the trolley too), and start organising your collection of goodies onto the little conveyor belt. In front of you will stand a woman wearing an anorak and sensible shoes. She will be carrying her handbag like the Queen does and have 4 items to pay for. She'll stand there for a while and watch you load all your things on to the conveyor, and probably clear her throat a few times whilst you do it. Then, she will reach with her boney little hand and grab one of those little divider thingys and slam it down behind her 4 items and infront of your turkey dinosaurs, just so you know that she is not paying for your weekly shop. Since when was there such a crime wave of supermarket check-out tailgater's? People have been stealing stuff in a much simpler way for years, I was a seasoned pro when it came to Woolworths and their Pick n Mix, just chill old lady.


Probably the worst thing about being at the check-out is the fucking ridiculous questions they ask you. You've just loaded your shopping onto the till. To get all these things there you have used a large metal basket on wheels to escort them around this shop. At some points, manoeuvring was difficult and you struggled to avoid slamming into the fish counter. A pre-pubescent child getting paid £4.70 an hour then asks you, "Would you like any bags?" No, what I thought I would do is carry all of this shopping in my two arms out of the shop and then manage to open the boot of my car and put everything in it without any problem whatsoever. Or occasionally "Do you need help packing?" Well to be quite honest with you, I've managed to find these items all by myself but I don't think I have the mental capacity to put them in plastic bags so I will need the help of a full time fleece-wearer to do this for me. Actually, whilst on the subject of ridic questions my all time fave is "Have you been to Nando's before?" and every time they ask me I want to stand up and shout WHO THE FUCK HASN'T BEEN TO NANDOS?


I'd also like to bring your attention to self check outs. The machines that are supposedly meant to save us time so we can go about our day without having to queue for long, so you can participate in more activities and enjoy your life. Well, that is until you get stuck behind an old person who can't figure out how to scan everything and after 10 agonising minutes of watching them and wanting to do it for them, they manage to press 'cancel transaction' and the whole painful experience starts all over again. When you finally get to buy your belongings, you have a woman telling you to place your items in the bagging area when you already have and asking you to wait for assistance when you don't need any. 


Basically, if you're a CEO of Tesco, Sainsbury's, ASDA, Morrison's or any other supermarket and you're reading this I think firstly, you should get off the internet and do some work, and secondly you should re think your check-out strategies and mix it up a bit and get rid of all these tez questions we get asked. Ok thanks bye.

PDA

So I previously gave this blogging malarky a go and tried to write about things I like etc but I just found that the general consensus was that it was erring slightly on the boring side and no one actually read it. So in my efforts to become a small local celeb I have decided (with some encouragement from friends) to blog about my views and opinions on the world.


Just to warn you if you don't know me, I hate a lot of things and most people think I'm being agg but I'm actually not, I just don't continually walk around pretending that my life is amaze thinking I'm so fucking big time. 


Anyway, I would like to introduce to you, a small selection of opinions of PDA. That is; public displays of affection. This was brought to my attention today in a conversation with my friend, who for the purpose of this exercise I will not name because we were discussing how most of the male species are C U Next Tuesday's (soz, but you are).


First of all, I would like to clarify that I am more than happy being single because it actually means I can go out at the weekends and not have to worry about my morals if I meet an absolute minx. But is escalator kissing reallllllly necessary? Ok we get it, you're stationary for approximately 30 seconds on a moving metal staircase with hand rails that have probably been touched by about 4000 E-Coli ridden children, and you can't keep your hands off each other for that half a minute, but it just cringes me out more than my life. And it's always so convenient that the girl is of slightly lower height than the guy and is on the step in front and they look longingly into each others eyes, discussing whether or not they should head to DFS to get a sofa that will still be on sale in 3 months time in between this nasty display of public affection.


Also, swimming pool kissing. I don't really need to expand on it other than it's really inappropriate. Just looking at them I run the risk of getting AIDs or worse, pregnant. And there's always the questionable leg wrapping which genuinely makes me want to vom. Thinking about it is making me pull a face of disgust, bleurgh can just vision two wet faces in a pool, so tez.


I will also briefly discuss general hand-holding and other kissing scenarios. Holding hands is fine, a casual stroll down the street, a brisk walk along a grassy knoll, a romantic roam along a beach. But when an obstacle approaches, just let go for a second. You can rejoin your grasp after, it's not an ish. Just please do not go out of your way to avoid said obstacle and go round it the same side as your partner. Also, holding hands across a table is a big no-no in my books, it surely can't be that difficult to eat a meal on your own... do you actually need moral support to put food on a fork and put the fork in your mouth and then chew that food? Please refrain. Queue kissing qualms me quite immensely. I don't understand why when you're waiting to buy a dress or at the cash point or any other small queue for that matter, that couples need to kiss each other. Negative, stop.


If anyone else has any other large PDA's that they would like to share, please let me know. I will add this on to my growing list of things that annoy me. Or even better, if you see someone participating in the above activities, point them in the direction of this blog so they can see for themselves what hideous creatures they are.