Trying to Panda Since 1978

Who knew tea could cause such self induced drama?

2009-03-03T09:57:00.000Z

About 3 months ago, I came home to find the woman upstairs radiators were leaking.. leaking all through her floor, through my ceiling, down my walls and onto my electrical sockets... so today, after months of waiting, the painters have come to fix the damage, and repaint the house.. how the insurance company goes from "damage to one corner" to "redo the whole living/lounge room and the hall way" I'll never understand..

So this time, knowing I'm having people come around, I went out and especially bought milk. Builders/painters/people who come and fix things in your house like tea and coffee. I've seen the Gilmore Girls.. I know I should have pastries and fresh coffee on the go at all times... I went and bought milk to save myself the embarrasement of having to use 2 year old out of date skim milk powder, which never mixes properly in the tea, and then just leaves floaty bits that look especially gross (which I did serve once to a piano tuner.. poor bloke was so nice, he even drank it.. ). The problem is that when I went to make them their tea and coffee, I realised with some horror that I have only have 2 types of mugs; huge bucket style ones stolen from Starbucks (from when I used to work there - hey they paid terribly, I figured 3 mugs was just fair), and nerd mugs. Like my Vi commands mug, NASA mugs, Discovery channel mugs, mugs that have the word "GEEK" written on them. And that's it. So I had a full on 5 minute dilema: what do I serve their tea in?? Stolen, illegal buckets from Starbucks, or mugs that scream "I'm a nerd!! I'm a nerd!! I can't socialise with the general population!! I love star trek!!".

Usually I'm quite proud of my geekiness.. today, not so much.

Problems getting supplies

2008-10-02T17:35:00.001+01:00

God damn it.

It’s a Thursday. The sun is out. And again I am wondering what the hell am I doing with my life. Bored should not be an adjective to describe my short dwindling days, each one bringing me one day closer to my inevitable death. Sigh.

Anyway, Magic, my partner in finding random things on the internet (does that come with some sort of anniversary and hallmark card you think?) found this book called the Hungry Scientists Handbook which I think rocks! So that got me looking around and I found:

cooking websites with a nerdy technical slant to it.

Which led me to :

Cooking for engineers (which I think The Magic thinks should be changed to “Not-really -cooking-for-engineers-cause-they-don’t-use-ISO-standards-for-their-units”)

Which led me to :

How to make edible underpants

Which led me to:

How to make malted ice-cream with liquid nitrogen.

Which led to the inevitable search on Ebay:

Sigh. Another dream of mine bites the dust. How am I supposed to instantly get my ice-cream now, without having to wait the 6 hours of churning and freezing and churning and freezing and then forgetting and ending up with crystally ice-cream? Answers on a postcard. (And do not say “go to the fucking shops” cause that’s just fucking boring.)

Loving this from etsy

2008-09-30T14:31:00.002+01:00

I love etsy. And I love this print so much that I'm very tempted to buy it.

What else would it be about?

2008-09-25T18:10:00.002+01:00

Yesterday Magic and I did a bit of a swap of abilities. I swapped:

Chili Con Carne
homemade tortillia chips
guacamole
Eaton Mess made with a massive pink meringue from a very expensive French bakery

With the Magics excellent expertise at all things nerdy and good and asked him to jailbreak my ipod touch.. I am now boundaryless from Apples oppressive hold. And I have books! Obviously, being a girl, the first book I put on my ipod was a Jane Austen novel.. But anyhoo. That’s not the point of today’s post.

Jailbreaking means you have to upgrade your ipod touch software, which wipes out all your toons and playlists.. so today I spent a bit of time re-making them, and naturally along with playlists named “Happy” (tunes to make me happy), “Dancey” (dance tracks to bop about to) and “Yee haw” (for shame, country and western type songs..), I also have the inevitable playlist called “Depressed” (which used to be called “Suicidal Rock Tunes”).

Boy oh boy, if you want to make yourself sad, use these songs (and have your boyfriend move to Europe forever).

AND whilst I was listening to this today, I realized that the sun is now definitely starting to go down faster and faster each day as we head, kicking and screaming and fighting with tooth and nail, into the darkness of winter. I hate this time of year.. Damnit.

Argh. I Be Back

2008-09-19T16:42:00.002+01:00

I'm back. I promise.

And as an added inducement I have all sorts of news including:

PARIS. I got there, I made it, and I loved it.
The wilderness years are over!
I have a sneaking suspicion that I am slowly turning into Martha Stewart.. minus the jail time for insider trading though.

And for a small joke to end your Friday, most apt for our current times, and where I work:

Definition of an optimist :

An investment banker who irons five shirts on a Sunday evening.

What a difference a couple of hours makes

2008-06-13T13:51:00.000+01:00

About half an hour after I posted my last entry, the nurse at the hospice called me and asked me to come down. About 20 mintues (maybe less) after I got to the hospice my aunt took her last breath. It was wierd. One minute I was stirring my tea, watching her like a hawk, my heart pounding every time her breath was a bit late in coming, and the next minute, the nurse told me she thought she'd gone, and she turned off her air supply. She checked her pulse, listened to see if she was breathing and then she told me she had died. I was all "are you sure? Cause i think I can still see her heart moving underneath her shirt". Unfortunately, my cousin had gone back to his office to pick up some paper work and didn't make it in time. I have to say it was pretty hard being there alone (other than the nurses) and dealing with it by myself. They took her time of death from my mobile phone. I just got my phone, and I will probably always remember that moment every time I look at it.

It's wierd cause right after it happened she didn't really look that different from before she died. The only difference was that her body was no longer struggling to breath. Thinking about it though, she didn't really have that peaceful look that they say dead people get. I really wish that she wasn't scared when she died. I really wish that she wasn't lonely. I really wish that she knew I was there with her. I really wish that fucking cancer hadn't done this to her in the first place.

God fucking damnit. Fucking fuck.

I really didn't think it would happen this soon. She was fighting so damned hard the last few days. I thought I'd have a couple more episodes of Gilmore Girls to watch on the Living channel. Now I'll never know what's gonna happen with the Lauralei.. will she get it together with the dude in the coffee shop or will his girlfriend get her claws in deeper? Admittedly, my aunt is now spared from my inane banter about cinammon flavoured porridge. Damn, I was looking forward to more of that this morning.

My cousin has decided that to appease some of my overly anxious, overly hysterical family members, that he would like his mother buried in Australia. So that's where we are heading next. Back home to Sydney for her funeral. My boss ain't too pleased that I'm going home and he let it be known to me in not very uncertain terms that he does not really think I should be away for much longer than I had originally said I was going to be. I think the fact I wasn't hysterical on the phone made him think it's no big deal or that I'm taking the piss or something. I'm not hysterical on the phone because most of my family in Australia are hysterical on the phone, and it doesn't help anyone or anything crying and wailing and not keeping your shit together. I hope they can control their sobbing enough to start organising the funeral at their end, cause I do not want to have to do it from Phoenix.

Argh. It's almost 6am here and just before we left the hospice at 4.30 I made myself a cup of tea with sugar in it. I thought I'd be up for ages, but now I need to get some sleep and I'm gonna awake for a while.. Bugger.

Ok, so that's my news. I'm off back home to Sydney now. As an amusing aside, I'm going home as a brit cause my aussie passport has expired and i didn't get it renewed. I have to now go through the foreigners line and get quizzed with the tyrancial look of the Australian border police, checking to see if I'm not going to outstay my visa like all other Brits seem to do. Bollocks.

Back in the burning sun

2008-06-13T07:38:00.003+01:00

First off, let me apologise to the people who have already seen this part of this,but it's a pretty accurate account of what's happening right now, so I've decided to blog it. Besides, it's whats happening to me right now. And it's my blog and if I want to kinda repeat stuff on it I will.

So I've been away for a few days cause I'm back in Phoenix. I was out here 6 weeks ago to be with my mum and my cousin because my Aunt, who has had cancer for the last 10 years, and is finally succumbing to it. It's been a long road, and for many of the years she's been fighting it like a hero. The last few years though the cancer has really turned aggressive, that now it's just taken her over. She's been in a non responsive state since Sunday, so I flew out on a day's notice to be here with her and my cousin. I'll be here for a few weeks, so the blogging will not be often.. it's pretty exhausting to be fair.

Everything here is going ok I suppose. Though that's a bit of misleading really. My aunt is really fighting hard, and is simply refusing to let go. Even though she's been asleep since Sunday, her oxygen levels and circulation are still good. Having said that, she's not eaten or drunk anything in days now. The nurses are just amazed at her resilience.. As is her son and I. My days are pretty much spent all day 9am-8pm at her bedside, alternating between bashing my head against the wall with work that I've brought over with me, and bashing my head against the wall to get the trash day time TV out of my head before it starts rotting my mind. It's loads of fun.

I've noticed that when the nurses either change her or turn her, her eyes kinda open. The first night I got here, they opened and I said hi and told her I was here, and she looked like she was looking at me, and she also looked like she smiled. It didn't last long but then she fell asleep again. One of my cousin's friends whose mum went through the same thing said that his mum did that, but the doctors told him it was a muscle reflex and nothing more. I'm not really sure I believe that. Sometimes her eyeballs move around, and when I ask her questions, she seems to blink in response... (well all of this is with her eyes closed so it's not properly blinking). I dunno if I'm just seeing responses or if it's really happening... but I act as if it is happening, so you know, if she blinks when i ask her if she's hot, I'll sponge her down and stuff... today she didn't really look like she was responding at all to my inane banter... maybe discussing Cinnamon flavour porridge really isn't interesting enough to blink to.... I think it's fascinating (how does something that looks so bleeerrr actually taste half decent? It's amazing what you can do with enough cinnamon and sugar isn't it?).

Last night to blow off some steam my cousin took me to this really random bar for a drink. It was a half country half hip hop bar/club thingy, with a dance floor and a queue that went round the building to get in. They were really egalitarian with their music though. 4 songs of country, with people dancing away in partners, girls with long hair trying to get it into other girls eyes whilst they are getting swung around, then 4 songs of hip hop, with people gyrating and dry humping each other on the dance floor. Then they'll do some sort of group dance song (you know, the type where the instructions are in the song ("Now turn. Now left two times. Now hop. Now hop again. Now hop 9 times, tap your head and rub your belly, Now turn again." ). I noticed that these sort of songs worked on both levels: the hip hop crowd can still dance cause it's kinda hip hopish, and the country good ol' boys can line dance to it. Then they'll go back to their 4 country songs again, and every one's happy. Really odd. We worked out it was because Wednesdays is "ladies nite" so I got in free but we missed the 25 cent beers... to be fair they are these weak arse American beers, which taste like water. Why drink lite beer? It's not cause of the alcohol content, which is the same, but it just tastes like garbage. I went out today and bought some full fat Budweiser. The lady in the beer aisle looked at me like I might as well have been sitting there drinking the oil from a deep fat fryer or something..

Also, I've watched so much shite day time television in the last 2 days it actually feels like I've been here for weeks. The freakin' Gilmore Girls is on both in the mornings and afternoons, and Living TV is like some sort of drug that won't let go. I've decided that both Oprah and Dr Phil are actually the devil. (well ok Dr Phil is the devil.. but Oprahs got some sort of witch craft thing going on cause I stayed up till late the last time I was here watching her show with Tom Cruise.. I don't even like Tom Freaking-Break-Our-Nic's-Heart Cruise.. As an Australian I think it's my patriotic duty to dislike him.. ) Argh. And there are so many game shows on in the day time. I was going to say which one amuses me the most but I honestly can't think of any. I turn into a bit of a dumb arse when I start to watch them, so if they come on I flick the channel real quick before I get sucked in.. It's like looking into Medusa's face or something.. Though I have noticed that Drew Carey must have hit rock bottom cause he's now hosting The Price Is Right with screaming, hyperactive people.. golly gosh he must have some hired goons riding his arse for boat repayments or something, because I can' think of a single reason why he's on that show. It's so fucking annoying. They must be pumping airborne cocaine into the studio: all the yelling and jumping up and down like the show has cured world hunger or something, just so they can get a shot at winning an overly priced bedroom suite that won't fit in their houses anyway.

And finally, the weather: it's 40 degrees here in the day time.. it was 34 degrees last night (at 9pm!). It's going up to 109 this Sunday (i don't know what that is in Fahrenheit.. 42 or something?). All in all, it's pleasantly warm in the Arizona sandpit that is Phoenix.

Cliff Notes

2008-06-05T00:32:00.000+01:00

I will hold my hand up high and say "yes, I'm a slacker". Slacker I am. I haven't posted, I haven't been on, I haven't done much recently.

So I can stop feeling guilty, get back on track, I am just going to give the cliff notes of what's been going on:

1) I haven't cycled much. I did my 100 miles, I felt great. Then my ribs started to kill from the car racing and my osteo said I'd bruised all in between them on my left side. Unfortunately there wasn't much I could do but wait it out. Obviously, me being me, I was very quiet about the whole thing and never a peep was heard about how I couldn't even lie on that side and every movement felt like I was being punched in the ribs. Not a word out of me. Quiet as a mouse.

Ok, maybe a squeaky, annoying, pissed off mouse who complained and wailed constantly about it. Through a megaphone...

2) Speaking of my bike, I have taken it to the shop to get a quote for fitting new gears on it... My bike has 7. Apparently bikes that aren't complete jokes have 21... When the service guy quoted me £200 to upgrade my bike up to the specs I wanted, he told me I should just go and buy a new one... So I've now started entertaining the idea of an upgrade... The thing is I kinda proud of the fact I was cycling 400 miles on the crappiest bike ever. A bike that always always gets comments from other cyclists along the lines of "you're cycling to Paris on that piece of shit? Like making life hard for yourself eh?" (To which I think "I'm keeping up with you on your £1000 road bike aren't I? So why don't you just go and piss off.").

So I went to the bike store on Monday, you know to simply peruse at the goods. All the shiny new road and hybrid bikes with their Shimano parts. Knowing diddly squat (21 gears on a bike you say? That's pretty modern isn't it?) I had to ask a shop assistant for help. And guess what? We actually had banter. Real life, honest to god, banter. Me having banter with a guy. A real life guy who works at the bike shop and who didn't talk down to me like I was some sort of cycling road hazard because I wasn't in head to toe skin tight lycra. And I'm not talking "buy a bike" banter. I'm talking genuine he-cracked-jokes-to-make-me-laugh banter. I'm not ashamed to say I actually felt a bit good about myself... Still not convinced I'm gonna spend £500 on a bike.

3) C and I went to see Cabaret on what we're dubbing "Alistair McGowan Mondays". She has a thing for him. And in Cabaret we got to see his bare arse. Oh my yes. And we got to see the bare arses of almost all of the women in the musical. Along with their legs, their stomachs, their breasts (in and out of skimpy lace bras). Can I just say that musical theatre has changed allot since I was girl... Set in 1930s Germany just before the war, it touches on how the coming of the Nazis heralded the end of the hedonistic days of pre war Berlin. And despite all the T&A, it was excellent! However, the end of the first act has got a boy from the Hitler youth singing and someone waving a swastika. Never have you heard an audience sound so confused... On the one hand you want to clap because it's the end of the first act and the musical is really good, but on the other it's still very difficult, even after all this time, to applaud when you've just seen a massive nazi flag waving on stage. A polite British clap was what they got.

4) I am very slowly discovering that I am in fact an excellent ex-girlfriend. Dr D has a new lady friend and a few days ago I helped him work out what to cook his girlfriend for dinner. I mean he can cook, but that's only cause I taught him how (A small aside cause I know I'm going to get yelled at for this: Dr D: vegetarian chilli, beans on toast and canned fish does not count as knowing how to cook before I turned up ok. I taught you. Deal with it). I took him round the supermarket, I told him how to make the sauce, what herbs to add, how to cook his spuds, how to present it on the plate so it didn't just look like meat and two veg. Essentially I helped him woo his girl (I was going to say to "helped him get laid" but that's way too crass, even for me.). I rock. I'm gonna make some other man a very good ex-girlfriend someday. Ah bless.

5) The Magic and Calv are lording it up in Florida. They went last week to see the space shuttle launch (lucky bastards). I got this text from The Magic, which made me chuckle. Only geeks would say:

"Fuck me. That was fucking awesome. Calv can't stop grinning. His cigarette almost seemed post coital".

Now I'm not sure how The Magic knows what Calv looks like "post coital"... Hookers in Florida maybe?

6) And finally, I'm back to making cakes for fundraising for my cycle ride. I pretty much think of only the London to Paris cycle these days. That's about it. So to help raise some funds I have been making cakes for the office and asking for donations... Yesterday it was a flourless clementine & almond cake (thanks Li for the recipe!), covered, no smothered, in dark chocolate. It looked just a like a big Jaffa cake!

So that's pretty much a round up, Cliff notes style, on what's been going on. Now I can come back and blog about all the ~~angst~~ action that's going on.

Possibly Unacceptable Documentation

2008-06-04T17:28:00.000+01:00

I am so sick of writing documentation specs at work that no one ever reads that I am seriously contemplating leaving this sentence in, and seeing if anyone even notices:

“Essentially, the desired functionality would be to allow the user to copy, rename and move cf files without T fuking it up.”

Tempting… very tempting…

My First Centrury

2008-06-03T00:30:00.000+01:00

So how did I do? My first century cycle ride? My first 160 kilometres? The same distance from London to Bournemouth, or Sydney to Newcastle?

Well the good news is that I did it, and I didn't die in the process! The bad(ish) news is that it took me 11 hours (including lunch and stops) to finish it...

I have to be honest and say I didn't actually cycle the whole thing, because there were some really large hills in there (one of which went on for a mile at about a 14 degree incline) and the first 40 miles were absolute killers. What seriously didn't help though was when I started the ride, I got a guy from Halfords to check my breaks. 6 miles into the race, and I'm struggling - really struggling, and I'm slightly panicking that I can't get past 9 miles an hour. I started to almost cry thinking "I can't do this, why can't I do this?" and then wondering how I was going to get out of the London to Paris cycle - what would I tell everyone? How would I get their sponsorship money back. It's about this point my mind wonders back to the Halfords guy and I remember that there was something funny about my back tire when he was fixing it. I get off, pick up the bike, spin the back wheel and stop, the guy from Halfords tightened up the break too much, and the wheel was rubbing the whole way, so I was practically cycling with my brake one the whole way.

I met some really nice people along the way (once all the hard core serious cyclists got out of the way) some of which are also going to be doing the London to Paris cycle in July. One group of guys I met were a guy, his father in law and a friend. His father in law was definitely a fan of tough love. During the day I met them on and off, and the father in law told me the following: I wouldn't be allowed to complete it since I had walked a part of it, at the top of the killer hill (with the "sting in it's tail") he was at the top and said "there's an ambulance here for you", and he also told me "You have to catch up with my son in law, you're way fitter than he is!". Tough love.

Some of the more bizare comments I came out with include "Only 46 more miles to go!" "Only 35 more miles!" "Yay! Last 20" "Oh God, why are there still 12 more miles to go??".

A busy 48 hours

2008-05-17T22:09:00.003+01:00

This is possibly one of the most busy weekends I've had in years. Not because the FA cup final was on, but because today I learned to drift drive on a Caterham 7 in Silverstone. And it was excellent. But more on that later (though just one thing: At the end of the day we had a drift assesment around the track. And not only did I get the title of "most improved" but I also kicked Calv and Magic ARSES!! Oh yeah baby.)

Tonight though I am absolutely shitting myself. Tomorrow I have to get up at 5.30 am to get to Tonbridge Castle in Kent because I stupidly signed up to cycle the Castle Bike Ride - 100 miles around Kent. 100 miles. 160 kms. 100 fucking miles.

The reason for this stupidity (see the topographical map, which basically shows the first 30 miles as being the ultimate killer of all killers) is that I am using this as a practice run for my London to Paris cycle, which incidentaly is the only thing I think about these days. I keep reading online training guides and cycling fantatic forums which usually have such helpful hints as "to be a true cyclist make sure you're cycling 70 miles a day"

I feel like I'm going to be sick because I'm tying myself into so many knots... I am absolutely shit scared right now. This is the most physically exhausting thing I've ever signed up to do. Thankfully a friend of mine who has done the John O'Groats to Lands End cycle (basically the very north of Britain to the very south of Britain) told me that cycling is a mental thing: so as longs as I keep myself fed and watered and keep a positive attitude, then I should make it... And he told me to ignore all other "purist" cyclists and just remember, I can do this, even if it takes me the 7-10 hours...

Oh god.... I feel scared.

What the fuck did you do London

2008-05-04T03:24:00.002+01:00

I go away for 9 days and London FUCKS up the political landscape?? BORIS FUCKING JOHNSON? what the fuck happened?

I swear it's not another holiday

2008-04-24T01:50:00.002+01:00

I know, I know, it sounds like a holiday, but it isn't.

Today, in about 11 hours time, I am off to Phoenix Arizona for 10 days. But it's not for a holiday. I am going to Phoenix, as is my mum, so we can visit my aunt, who is very sick. I don't really fancy going into the details (which is I suppose a violation of a theory that Freud had- if you mention something then it means you want to talk about it, or else you won't have mentioned it in the first place. Dr D and I used to scream whenever someone did that "ah-ha-HAAA! You're breaking the T&D law!! SAY IT! SAY IT YOU BASTARDS!" but unfortunately I found out that we didn't invent that theory. Freud did. Or he'd pinched it from someone else).

Anyway, I'm off to Phoenix, which I believe I have already been to. Well, I say "been to" but that's only if you count stopping between El Paso and the Grand Canyon on our US road trip a few years ago to have a lovely dinner of greasy pizza in Phoenix. If this counts, then yes I've been to Phoenix.. Personally I don't think this counts as having "been to Phoenix" somehow.. surely there is more to this city than a strip of fast food joints in car park... Though I am tempted to see if I can find the place again, just for old time sake - you know, check out the old haunts, the places we knew and loved so well, all that pizza, all that coke, all that... car park space.

So what am I doing up still at 1.45am? Trying to encode my sodding dvds into a format that my sodding ipod (not encased in beef) can play. I've had no end of annoyance with this stupid procedure. Every single thing that could go wrong with this has gone wrong, and I am about to give up and go to bed. All I want is to be able to watch a couple of Studio 60s and maybe some Battlestar Galactica (or as Calv fondly calls it "Battlestar Gay-Lactica") whilst I'm away.. is that too much to sodding ask for? Apparently YES.

I'll try to post whilst I am away, but if I don't then you know why... it's because after years of becoming acclimatised to the crap English weather, I've disintegrated in 35 degree Arizonian heat... I just pray to god that my suitcase turns up....

*** UPDATE *** 2:19AM
Yes, yes YESSSSS!!! I knew my honours degree in Computing Science wasn't for nothing!! Am not hopeless sado still up at 2.20 AM swearing at her sodding pc!! Finally I have managed to get disk 3 of Studio 60 all encoded/decoded/whatever and on iTunes ready to go, but I have also decoded disk 4 and am converting it as we speak. YES!!! Am slowly joining the ranks of nerds who actually know how to use their computers for things other than blogging, web surfing, and java development. Get in!!!

WTF Wednesday? Rollin' with my Kobe

2008-04-23T16:00:00.003+01:00

This is so weird and definitely counts as a "what the fuck???"

Japan's Solid Alliance is selling Ipod Nano cases that are designed to look like raw meat! At the very least they've had the good taste to make it look like expensive bit of raw Kobe beef. And to add to the realism, it even comes in a cellophane-and-Styrofoam pack.

Now don't get me wrong. Despite the fact that I am definitely a "please kindly just wave my steak at the open grill and bring it to me bloody as hell" girl, even I can not see any reason why I would want my mp3 player to look like a piece of dead animal.. I really don't think I am their target audience somehow.... Would it sell well with vegetarians you think?

As a very, very, very short aside, for an amusing example of flame wars gone bad, check out the comments on the Raw Feed page where I found this weird piece of gadget paraphernalia... This is a perfect example of what happens when people on the Internet, drunk on their own sense of anonymity, get too stuck up their own arses... very funny..

"Get off my god damned land"

2008-04-22T15:00:00.002+01:00

Me, standing in my yard, gun in hand, pointing at the offender. I stare, eyes squinted, and say in a low voice "get off of my god damn land" and bam! Pull the trigger. SQUIRT. Warm, soapy water goes all over the branches hanging over into my yard from my neighbours massive rose bush, which is covered in black aphids. And when I say covered, I mean, the branches, the leaves, the shoots, everything is covered in little black crawling insects. And NOW they are migrating into my yard. They've gone over my walls, onto my balcony, on to my door frame, all over the pots, everywhere. And since I watched a movie about killer ants that, well, kill everything and everyone they come in contact with, as a child, I have a horrid distates for little insects. They make my skin crawl. EEK.

I've read that squirting soapy water is a pretty good way of killing aphids.. apparently it clogs up their breathing apartus and they suffocate. I've also read that ladybirds are a good way to get rid of them, but they are £25 for 25, and there is no guarantee that they'll stay on the plants... And I don't much fancy having to make 25 little leashes to chain up my ladybird slaves...

I hate gardening. I kill every plant I touch, and even when you think it'll all be ok, you get an invading army of aphids running amock in your garden. Will it never, ever end???

Cycling to dumpsville

2008-04-22T00:13:00.001+01:00

No, not that dumpsville. The Dumpsville that is the London Olympic Site.

Now that I am going to Paris on my little bike, the only thing I can pretty much think about now is how painful this 300 miles over 4 days is going to be..

Sunday two weeks ago, I officially started training for my London to Paris cycle ride by joining the London Cycling Touring Club on a Sunday 2 star ride from London Victoria to the Olympic site, via the east end, and then back through Greenwich. A 7 hour bike ride, which should have taken about 40km.. Whilst it was good to get some experience of what 7 hours on a bike would be like, unfortunately it was just a bit, well, slow. 8 miles and hour is not fast, especially when the ride was supposed to be the second hardest they do (the hardest being training for segments of the Tour de France). Whilst the leader was really very nice, he did turn it into a bit of a tour guide operation. It started with describing different interesting buildings in London (where the first cycle shop in London was, stories about St Pauls) but as the day progressed the stories became more and more random and, well, less interesting. We cycled deliberately on a detour soley to go past a gastro pub near the Magics house (personal note: The Magic - we have to go to The Gun. It looks amazing!) so he could show his wife where he met a friend once, he then showed us his old school, 3 of the houses he used to live in, the very spot where he watched Prince Phillip open the Cutty Sark to the public, and finally to the place where he got chucked into the mud by some school friends in the 50s.

On the plus side, I got to meet some nice people, and I now know to expect from a 7-8 hour cycle. A very sore arse.

Last Sunday C and I went on another cycle ride with the London CTC. Half an hour out of London, and despite it being pretty much Tory voting countryside, it was lovely out there. And today, for the first time (I'm ashamed to say) I went to the gym to start training on a bike (point - by first time, I don't mean first time ever just the first time for training for this insane ride).. Apparently, according to the literature that I got from my charity, one hour in the gym is equivalent to 2 hours in the saddle. Unfortunately, I really hate gyms. And when I say hate, I really do mean hate. There is no roads, no wind in my hair, no sun, no rain. Nada. Just oonce-oonce-oonce music blaring, and ultra fit people being uber aggressive with dumbells and what-not. Yeesh.

And finally, I've also started my fund raising, which entails me making cakes, bringing them into work and shamlessly asking for donations in return. I've so far made a Victoria Sponge, dark chocolate florentins (whose recipe I've nicked from Clotilde at chocolate and zucchini), apple tartes, and today, a coffee and walnut layered cake. All have been pretty lovely (buttercream icing is very popular), so I now have to get my still-sore-from-Sundays-cycle arse into gear and make more food.

Speaking of sponsorship (hint hint) if you would like to sponsor me, drop me a line at tryingtopanda at yahoo dot co dot uk and I'll send you my sponsorship page... Nudge nudge, wink wink, know wha' I mean, say no more.

Worst Feeling In The World

2008-04-15T00:06:00.003+01:00

After a night out in a pub, drinking 3 too many pints, and then going to a restaurant and drinking awful house red wine, getting into a cab and saying "Where's my laptop?"

Driving to said pub. No laptop. Crying eyes out all the way home. No laptop. Horrid realisation that all my photos from China and past holidays are all gone now because I have, yup you guessed it - no laptop.

Best Feeling In The World: Calling up restaurant with awful house red and hearing the words "Silver Dell? Yes, we have it".

I love my laptop. I am giving it the biggest kiss ever. Geek girl, reunited with her most loved geek toy = joy.

You're Friday Moment of Zen: Kebab-y!

2008-04-04T16:18:00.003+01:00

Damn you cruel fate!

The Red Polar Bear, owned by Kazem Ariaiwand is officially the worlds most northern kebab van! Mr Ariaiwand moved to Spitsbergen after a failed asylum attempt in Norway, and set up his business in an old military van last year in Longyearbyen. Having already been to Svalbard once, it seems we have to go again! Kebabs!! The most northern kebabs in the world!! We've already been to the worlds most northern McDonalds in Rovaniemi, it seems only fair to have a chicken kebab with extra hot sauce back in Longyearbyen.

As a small aside, having checked out "The Worlds Most Northern" and I find I can cross the following of as places I've been to:

Town > 1000 people	Longyearbyen, Svalbard, Norway DONE	78°13′N 15°33′E
City > 50,000 people	Tromsø, Norway DONE!	69°40′N
Metropolitan area > 1 million	Greater Helsinki (Helsinki, Espoo, Vantaa and Kauniainen), Finland DONE	60°10′N 24°56′E
City (proper) > 1 million people	St Petersburg, Russia DONE!	59°56′N 30°20′E

Shops and service facilities

Item	Place	Latitude/Longitude
Bank	Longyearbyen, Svalbard, Norway DONE!	78°13′N 15°33′E
Automatic Teller Machine	Longyearbyen, Svalbard, NorwayDONE!	78°13′N 15°33′E
Night club	Longyearbyen, Svalbard, Norway?? Where was this?	78°13'N 15°33'E
Pub	Longyearbyen, Svalbard, NorwayDONE!	78°13'N 15°33'E
Supermarket	Longyearbyen, Svalbard, NorwayDONE!	78°13′N 15°33′E
Tourist office	Longyearbyen, Svalbard, NorwayDONE!	78°13′N 15°33′E
University	University of Tromsø (ext link), Tromsø, NorwayDONE!	69°40′N 18°56′E
University campus	University Centre in Svalbard (UNIS), Longyearbyen, Svalbard, NorwayDONE!	78°13′N 15°33′E

Anyhoo, just a small aside.

Ahh most northerly Kebab Van.. if only you'd been there when WE were there... I would have enjoyed you infinitely more than the cured seal meat I had, which was awful.

Why Wednesdays? Would you put a bunch of carnations in there?

2008-04-03T01:11:00.006+01:00

Ok, ok, ok, I know technically it's Thursday but when I turned on my laptop it was still Wednesday so I don't care.

Why Wednesdays: note this is not a "Why is it Wednesdays?" but more "What the fuck is this? - on a Wednesday".

To kick it off, I offer up this as exhibit A: Uterus Vase by The Plug & Stéphanie Rollin

The Uterus Vase (or as I'm going to call it the WooWoo vase) is a limited edition of twenty pieces, all lacquer and varnish upon a resin core. The idea behind this vase is to "restore dignity to an over-utilized image". To me though it just looks like a big monster holding it's arms out... And honestly, I'm not sure how a bunch of gerberas would look in resin core white WooWoo.

Proud day as a cyclist

2008-04-02T00:33:00.003+01:00

I hit my first pedestrian today! Oh yes, after many almost run ins with incredibly stupid lemings who just blindly walk out onto the street without looking if, say a bus, a truck, a car or a cyclist is hurtling towards them, I finally collided with a pedestrian. This morning a middle aged woman came running out infront of a bus, and into the cycle lane just as I was traversing that exact same piece of space. Bash! Right into her - breaks screeching in the rain, me bending the handle bars in an attempt to not go over the top, as I slamed to a stop, front wheel right between her legs. I screamed out, in possibly the most East end accent since Dick Van Dyke in Mary Poppins "FAAH-KING HELL WOMAN!!". Unfortunatetly (or fortunately, I'm not sure yet) she wasn't hurt, and was still smiling despite my obsence Van Dyke impression, was very appologetic and asked if I was ok. This of course made it impossible for me to yell "why weren't you bloody well looking where you were bloody well goinig?" and I could only grumble "yes, I'm fine. Are you ok?". Grrr. I hate it when I want to be angry and yell at someone and they are nice to me. Inconsiderate feckless bastards.

Speaking of cycling, it's only 3 months 20 odd days (but whose counting?) until my London to Paris cycle. I've taken a more pro active approach to fund raising by deciding to start making cakes, bringing them into work, and hoping people will chuck some pennies in a donation tin in exchange for buttery goodness. I write up a little blurb about what it is that I'm doing, what I'm offering in return for their hard earned cash, and if possible a little bit of history about the cake (no not like "I've had these eggs in my fridge for the last month" but more "A Victoria Sponge is named after Queen Victoria because she liked them so much". I've also got my first corporate sponsor! Li kindly donated a bunch of Green and Blacks eggs which went down quite well! Unforunately they went down even quicker with people when I took the tin away and they didn't feel the need to donate any money.. Yesterday I brought in my first Victoria Sponge, and I have big probably drink induced plans of making custard tarts, bakewell tarts, coffee and walnut cakes... I figure this tactic will work 2 fold - 1 I get money for cakes, 2 I get to actually practice making cakes and sweets - something I'm not massively confident about because I get really bored eating cakes, so I never make them for myself.

As far as training is concerned - well.... that's another story. The charity I'm raising money for had an information day a few weeks back that I went to. And whilst everyone seemed nice, I met some pretty hard core cycling snobs - the kind that usually work at places like Evans where they don't talk to you unless you're covered head to toe in skin tight lycra (actually is there any other kind but skin tight?), are wearing cleats, and have the body of an adonis. If you're like me - sneakers, cycling shorts, t-shirt, and not adonis like in anyway, they have a remarkable less likely to help you and remarkably more likely to believe you're made out of thin air and thus ignore your existence completely. Much in the same way that sales assistants to do women in electrical or computing shops. Bunch of ****s.

Anyway, at the information day, I met people who are seriously hard core - one guy had already raised way in excess of the money needed for the event, was doing London to Southend cycle rides, going on rides with a cycle group every Sunday ("where we ride at about 26 miles an hour constantly"), and generally looked at me like I was never going to finish. When I'd mentioned I was learning how to ride in cleats but I had fallen over and hurt my hand, he sniffed "oh I did a similar thing a few weeks ago! Though I think I broke my rib. Did I go to hospital? Of course not, I'm seriously hard core and needed to be back on my bike the very next day or I will die. Besides, I don't need a doctor. I can push the rib back in and live through the pain cause I'm a cyclist".

Christ what in god's name have I got myself into?

Your Friday Moment of Zen: Being patronised the 1940's way

2008-03-28T17:42:00.002Z

Why oh why did I go to Le Cordon Bleu school? All I needed to do was be patronised by this 1940s film made by the Home Economics Department at the University of Kansas. "Cooking Terms and What They Mean" is intended for young, newly wed white women and attempts to teach them how to interpret recipe instructions. "While the premise seems benign, it is delivered in such a way that puts the films main character, a twenty-something newly wed woman, on so low an intellectual echelon as to say she is incapable of divining meaning from common cooking terms."

In the film, Margie and Tim are just back from their honeymoon. Tim, being a man, heads off to work in the morning, while Margie stays at home, touching all her new appliences in the kitchen trying to decide what to make Tim for dinner. Will she be able to make Tim all the food he likes just like his mother?? What they don't show you is that after she makes a disasterous cake because she doesn't know what "cream the butter" means, she'll probably realise she can't keep Tim happy with her food, only use her kitchen as a place to drink sherry by the gallon, and sit around wondering why the fuck she didn't go off to university so she could be the one out at work and leave Tim at home to fuck up the cooking. And what will happen to Tim? Why he'll go out on the piss every night with his co-workers and try to pick up girls from the typing pool at the office of course.

Ahh the 1940's. Where the little lady was expected to stay at home and baby their hubby's just like mum. Watch this and enjoy. Enjoy the fact that us women are not expected to do this anymore. Unfortunately I actually know women who are still like this. And they're around my age.

Late Night Waiter

2008-03-27T14:19:00.000Z

Heard in a late night cab home:

Me: "So if I make cakes for work and people don't want to donate money, then that's ok too. I'll just say 'well Jesus will judge you'".
Calv: "No, you should say "your god will judge you""
The Magic: "So would Einstein judge me for not paying for a cake?"
Calv: "Einstein's your god? Really? I'm a bit disapointed in that"
Dr D: "Yeah me too. Not Carl Sagan?"
Me: "Yeah Mag, Einstein? Really? I would have you thought your god would be much more impressive and unknown than that"
The Magic: "Well, to be honest guys he's not. I just thought I'd pick a name you might all know".

BAH-ZING. Magic was our waiter that night. Cause we got our arses handed to us.

I'd have posted yesterday if I hadn't passed out at 7

2008-03-20T00:24:00.005Z

School is so much fun. But it's also absolutely exhausting!

Yesterday I gutted and filleted my second fish in my life, the first being on Monday. I've worked with fish a lot but I've never actually had to gut one myself... Just watched fish mongers and my mum do it... Yesterday we cooked:

Pan fried trout with beurre sauce
Medallions of pork with a herb crust and mustard sauce
Coconut Creme Caramels
Mixed seafood thai broth

I spent all day on my feet, but when I got home I was completely wiped out. So much started to feel like I was getting the flu, so at 7pm I packed myself off to bed, like a child in kindergarten.

Today we prepared and cooked our own lobsters.. I have always maintained that as a meat eater it would be completely hipocritical of me to be squeamish about where my food comes from. Beef comes from cows, tasty bacon comes from cute pigs, KFC buckets comes from chickens - let's face it that probably are not reared in the most fabulous of conditions (and that's an understatement). But when I saw the little lobsters squirming around on the plate before they were to be cooked in a boiling broth, I felt a real twinge of guilt. Poor little bastards. Poor little tasty bastards baked in their thermador sauce with guyere cheese melted on top (oh yes, I still ate one.. vegan I will never be).

We also made squid ink cannelloni with a crab filling and sweet sauce. I found out how to extract chlorophyll out of spinach (slowly) and I rolled my own cannelloni sheets! I suck arse at making pasta and even with Chef watching over me I managed to fuck it up a little. One side was a longer than the other and when I was cooking them two of the cannelloni sheets stuck together in the pot. Idiot.

Tomorrow is my last day (sob) but I'll tell you what, making all this food all day in a boiling hot kitchen is tiring work. And bizarrely I have no appetite at all. Cause I went to bed so early the night before I hadn't eaten anything, so I had to force myself to eat some toast for breakfast. I then had to force myself to have some a couple of rings of squid in a lime, tomato, olive, caper salsa for lunch... God it sucks to be me right now!

First day at school

2008-03-17T23:59:00.005Z

Today was my first day of cooking school at Le Cordon Bleu!! And it was fucking fantastic!! Hot, quick, tiring, fantastic fun!

I learned how to cut up a whole chicken into 10 pieces, how to fillet a flat fish, how to french trim a rack of lamb, how to make veal stock with veal knuckles (16 hours of gentle simmering people, 16 hours..), how to prepare mirepoix and what ration of vegetables to meat to use, what the french term for the oyster of a chicken is - Le sot l'y laisse - "the fool leaves it behind".

The whole day was fantastic. Absolutely 100% would love to do this forever fantastic!!

All except for when the chef put some cognac in my chicken casserole.... As soon as the cognac hit the hot pan and it's heady aromas hit my nose all sorts of memories of bad casinos and free champagne cognacs in St Maarten, drinking Armagnac by the unreserved bucketful at our favorite East End pub, and horrendous hangovers where I could barely hold on to the floor in the bathroom what with it spinning out of control all around me came flooding back. My face got this contorted "EEEK I'm not feeling so good" look to it but thankfully I pulled it together and managed to control my urge to gag out loud. Being sick on the kitchen floors of the prestigious Cordon Bleu cooking school simply would not do.....

4 weeks later

2008-03-17T00:00:00.000Z

It's been almost a month since my 30th birthday, and what have I been doing?

Basically, anything I've never done before: so far, almost every week I've done something that I've not done in my previous 2 decades of life: skiing, dentist, hospital (not in that order). It's been fantastic!

My Almost Brilliant Career as a Ski Bunny
The most exciting thing I've done was go skiing in Cervinia, Italy with Li and her friends! And for all those of you who are now asking "how many bloody holidays can this girl take?" the answer is 28 sweet, sweet, non working days.

I've been skiing once before for a grand total of 2 days, about 12 years ago (god that sounds old), however that didn't work out so well for me.. I spent one day learning how to stand skis and how to fall on our skis. The next day we went up the biggest mountain I'd seen in Australia, where I was completely paralysed with fear of death, and had to be helped to snow plow down by a very unimpressed ski instructor. This time however, I refused to be gripped by fear and after 3 hours on the baby, baby, baby slopes, I was convinced that a life skiing was definitely one for me. I had decided then and there that we were all going to be going down the big blue run within 2 days - all part of my "just go for it" idiotic attitude I'm planning on taking now I'm in my 30s.

On our second day, Li, Mary (the girl I was sharing with) and I, who were all beginners, enlisted into ski school - which is just like primary school but for adults all acting like Bambi on ice. Within 3 hours, we were all snow plowing our ways down, and I was loving it. With my mantra of "knees bend, feel the boot with my shins, legs apart" I was plowing my way down the second level blue run. Snow plowing, which is the beginner skiers best friend and life saver works by keeping your knees bend, and your legs apart so the edge of the skis can slow you down as you go hurtling down the mountain. Unfortunately for me, I find doing this properly quite hard - my legs simply refuse to stay apart and my knees keep forcing themselves together - I guess 13 years of a catholic education with nuns really have driven home the idea that good catholic girls keep their legs firmly shut...

At the end of our second day, this is where I decided that a ski bunny life was the life for me: ski all day, party at night, get a tan whilst lying on a deck chair in t-shirts in the amazingly hot sun with snow under my feet. So on the mountain, next to the Matterhorn I called Dr D and told him to tell our boss I quit:

Dr D: Um, yeah she says she quits... yeah she says she wants to be a ski bunny... yeah I don't know what one of those is either..

So am I going to properly quit my day job and become a fully fledged snow follower? Hmm I'm not too sure... our 3rd day skiing down the insane run to the village almost killed me - if my fear of flinging myself off the cliff wasn't enough, then perhaps the constant falling over as snow boarder after sodding stupid brainless snowboarder smashing into me kinda took the edge off it... My second last day I was tempting fate and honestly was expecting to break something - unfortunately for Li, she took the bullet for me. On our way down from the top of the mountain, her skis crossed themselves and snap she micro fractured her femur, and tore the ligaments in both her knees. Clearly not a girl for doing things in half's. I personally reckon this was all a master plan for her to pick up the burly Italian paramedics who skied her down the mountain in a sledge... she might not see it that way, but she was getting an fearful amount of attention from the Italian boys when she was upstanding, so I reckon her damsel in distress should have had them flocking to her!

This brings me nicely to my next "I've not done this before" of my 30s:

Attaching my feet to my bike and peddling like a falling stone
As I'm doing the London to Paris cycle, I thought it was high time I learn how to ride in cleats - pedals that attach to your shoes. Having got a pair for my birthday, the Sunday I got back from Cervenia Calv attached them to my bike and off we trundled to the local park so I could learn how to ride - again. Cycling round the park, I was really getting the hang of it.. the whole "feet attached to moving bike, twist my feet to get them out of the cleats" thing seemed like a piece of piss. That was until I went round the gentle bend, saw a man and his massive german shephard, slammed on the brakes and in slow blurry motion went crashing into the ground, smacking my head into a metal bar fence, and seriously hurting my hand..

Thought I'd dodged the bullet of hurting myself by not breaking anything skiing eh? Yeah, well fate really hates me..

I ended up for the first time in my life in casualty not just visiting but getting my hand x-rayed cause it hurt like crazy. Calv said the worst thing that could have happened was that I broke something in my wrist. I said no the worst thing that could happen is that we go to hospital and they find nothing wrong with me and me looking like a total baby. You know what? I could have been a psychic. The nurse looked at my x-rays and say "well, it seems you've only sprained your hand.. you'll be fine in a few days". Bloody crap - Li fractures her femur. I, like a hypochondriac go to hospital with a sprained hand. And by the next morning it started to feel allot better. Definitely that's the worst thing.

Not yet paying for his kids college education
The next thing on my "not done this before" tour of my 30s: seeing if I can help the local dentist send his kids to Eton.

Strictly speaking I have been to the dentist. Twice. But both times were those "first check is free, but after you're addicted to the pain of having a sadomasochist ripping into your mouth, you'll have to pay" visits, which I don't really count because they didn't do anything other than say "if you want that chip in your front tooth fixed, we'll have to remove your back 4 teeth" (Why?). However seeing as I am now in my more, ahem, mature 30's I thought it was only wise to go and get myself checked out... So you can imagine the amount of abuse I got when I said I'd not been in 16 years. My dentist told me before I opened my mouth he was expecting to find lots of problems, and then proceeded to tell me off for not having been before (well I can't imagine why not..) Fully expecting root canal or all of my front teeth needing to be replaced and being forced to live with the nickname "gummy" forever, I was shocked to my core when the dentist said I nothing wrong with my teeth. At all. GET IN!! I'm not "big book of British smiles" yet!! WOOHOO!!

Tomorrow: Cooking, cooking, cooking
I have wanted to go to Le Cordon Bleu cooking school for about half a decade now. Finally, thanks to Calv, C, Dr D, and The Magic, I am going to a 4 day course starting tomorrow. I'm frankly shitting myself. I'm insanely nervous but looking forward to like you wouldn't believe!

So that's the cliff notes version of where I've been, what I've been doing, and were I'm going.

Friday Moment of Zen: Watching a massive brain hemmorage from the inside

2008-03-13T23:38:00.002Z

One my biggest fears in life is realising one day I am having a stroke. Why? Partly because I keep getting told if I keep eating too much salt I'll end up having one, partly because I was the person who found my grandmother lying on the kitchen floor when she had hers and I had to watch her deteriorate - lose function, lose her ability to walk, look after herself, go to the toilet unaided. But mostly because I am terrified that one day I'll end up in a "locked in" situation - where I'll still be able to think, see, feel, hear but not be able to move my body.

This brings me to my "moment of zen".

Dr Jill Bolte Taylor is a neroanatomist who in 1996 found she had a ringside seat to her very own stroke - a massive hemorrhage in the left side of her brain. She watched as her brain functions shut down one by one: motion, speech, memory, self-awareness... All the while her brain was deteriorating she was processing its breakdown as if she were a "curious explorer taking field notes".

She's given a fantastic and fascinating speech on ted.com (TED stands for Technology, Entertainment and Design.) At one point she even says "Oh my gosh, I'm having a stroke! I'm having a stroke! And the next thing my brain says to me 'WOW! This is so cool! How many brain scientists have the opportunity to study their own brain from the inside out?!'"

Admittedly some of it may offend some people who think words like "energy force" is as disgusting as rotten cheese, but you should watch to see how she describes the differences between the left and right hemispheres, brings out a human brain, recounts the events of that morning in vivid detail, from when she thought her hands looked like claws on the exercise machine, to how at one point she could only dial her office by trying to match the shapes of the squiggles on her business card to the shapes of the squiggles on the buttons on her phone, to how one the way to hospital she thought she was going to die, to her shock when she realised she was still alive, to how 2 weeks after she woke up in hospital, surgeons went in and removed a golf ball sized blood clot in the left hemisphere of her brain, to how it has taken her 8 years to fully recover.

The reason why I'm posting about this is because for the first time in about 19 years I feel like perhaps if or when I have a stroke, maybe there could be some hope for me too. Watch the video - it's long, but honestly worth it.

Back with more stories of stupidness

2008-03-12T01:08:00.005Z

Want to hear a story about us making complete tits of ourselves? Yeah course you do.

Dr D, Calv and myself were off to a housewarming party on last Saturday night. We get to the house, in the middle of a long line of terraced houses you get in London, and see loads of balloons and loud music and lots of voices next door. The thing is, none of us really knew where we are going and taking note of salient points like, I dunno, the address of the house is not our forte really. So we all think "well there's a party in there, and we are going to a party so we must have read the number wrong". We walk up to the front door, ring the door bell, and some bloke answers it who we've never seen before, but heck, it's a house warming - there are loads of people we wouldn't know. We mosey on in, start walking to the back of the house and then notice everyone looks about 17, they've all dressed in kinda slutty school outfits, and it looks like a scene for Skins or something... that's when it hits us: those balloons with "Happy Birthday" all over them outside are not because they didn't have any other type of balloons. The sign with "5 things to remember as a Christian youth member" was not an ironic little joke in light of all the booze that supposed to be inside, the totally out of character hip hop music was out of character for a reason. And the 17 year olds who all stopped their conversations and doing god knows what in the kitchen to stare at 3 30 plus year olds looking confusingly around were definitely not our friends...

There are lots of things out that are very embarrassing. Having to quickly mumble "sorry, wrong party" as you scamper out the door quick as you can, with a whole brigade of teenage brats laughing their arses off at your in definitely one of them..

Just about to turn...

2008-02-19T00:01:00.002Z

That's it. I've got 4 minutes left of my 20s. In 4 minutes time I am moving out of the 18-29 demographic and smack into the 30-39 year olds. Out of the decade where men struggling with their mid life crisis would be attracked to me, and into the tick-tock-tick-tock decade, where according to popular culture of today, I should fear dying alone, being eaten by alsacians, and no one will notice I've died until the smell starts drifting through the walls.

I'm leaving my 20s. Right. Now.

You're Friday Moment of Zen: The Magic Sandwich

2008-02-15T14:01:00.001Z

Going through some old pics today, I found this: The definitive step-by-step guide to the Ruffle-Chip-Tortillia-Sour-Cream-Sandwich that The Magic invented whilst on holiday at the Tex-Mex Capital of the World Rovaniemi. THIS is a moment of deep fried zen. Yum.

Ingredient 1: Take Tortillia Chips (preferably from plate of chicken wings).

Ingredient 2: Get Ruffle Potato Chips (preferrably with ribs but for you veges out there, omit meat)

The Steps by Step Guide

Step 1: Break Ruffle Potato Chip to size to fit neatly ontop of the tortilla

Step 2: Top Tortilla Chip With Ruffle Potato Chip

Step 3: Add final layer of Tortilla Chip

Step 4: Dip sandwich into sour cream sauce from ribs. Again if vege, use regular sour cream that doesn't come from ribs.

Step 5: Finished product. It's not the prettiest sandwich in the world, but not everything has to be pretty in the world to be good.

Stage 6: AARRGGHH!! Eat Ruffle-Chip-Tortillia Sandwich. Yum. Fattening but yum

But my heart's not really in it

2008-02-14T13:29:00.001Z

I love this site.

Happy Birthday C!

2008-02-13T12:19:00.001Z

Love,
Me, your friend who is younger by 6 days!

Who cares about their twenties anyway?! 30 is the place to be I hear, it's where all the cool kids are (or are going to be in 6 days..)

If only I'd known, I could have saved myself so much trouble

2008-02-12T22:28:00.000Z

Finally! After 6 years, all the hassle, all the guilt from my folks about not moving back to Australia, leaving everyone I know and care for back home, everything. Finally, I've got my British passport! One of the main reasons for not returning to Oz is just so I can have that little purple book so I don't visa's to travel, can join the fast immigration queue at the airports and have complete freedom to move anywhere in Europe.

So how does it feel to finally have it in my hot little hands? Bloomin marvellous. Though doing a quick google search about the different types of pictures of native birds in the passport showed me this link. God damnit! If only I had know that I could have bought a British passport from uk.shopping.com/Buy! And apparently at low prices!

You're Friday Moment of Zen: The future of deep fried chicken, the Holy Grail of Deep Fried Chicken, the Cup of Wonder: The Col-Pop.

2008-02-08T13:45:00.000Z

South Korean fast food joint BBQ Chicken (that's not Barbeque Chicken but "Best of the Best Quality Chicken") have invented the ultimate in fast time snacking that blows the Colonel's bucket o' chicken out of the water. The age old problem of "how do I walk along, eat my chicken nuggets, drink my drink AND scratch my arse at the same time when I've only got two hands??! TWO HANDS GOD DAMN YOU!" has been solved by BBQ Chicken by discovering probably the single most important invention in our life time: Ladies and Gentlemen, BBQ Chicken proudly presents the Col-Pop: The single cup that holds 32 ounces of fizzy goodness AND your deep fried chicken nuggets. IN ONE CUP! Now you can eat, drink, and scratch away!!

Those crazy South Koreans. I NEED TO TRY THIS! THIS is my holy grail.

The cup has a seperate container in the top to hold the nuggets and keep them hot, and the bottom is designed to keep your drinks cold, with the addition of two straw holes so you can hold it all in one hand. Genius!

The guys at serious eats have road tested this beauty, and I love the fact that they've also added this gratuitous graph showing the ease of snack portability through history:

BBQ Chicken is slowly and quietly working on it's world wide DOMINATION of the fast food industry, and hopefully will make an appearance in the UK. Until then, I might have to get my underscratched arse to Spain or South Korea to try one of these. If you are anywhere near a BBQ Chicken, I urge, no I beg you TRY ONE and let me know if it's the beacon of justice I know it can be.

Never a truer word spoken

2008-02-06T13:40:00.001Z

Apparently this was sold in supermarkets and was a genuine mistake made in Ireland. I don't think it was a mistake - I think they described Ainsley just right.

2 years on and 14 days left to go

2008-02-04T23:26:00.001Z

That's right. 2 years ago yesterday, I started this blog out of sheer boredom. Ah, it's great to see the quality of writing is still as rubbish, with content still as random as ever.

On a secondary random note, I currently have 14 days, (well 13 days and 20 mintues but who's being pinicky), of my 20s. I realised recently that I've been cheating myself out of my 29th year by constantly forgetting I'm not actually 30 yet.. I find myself reading lots of "now you're in your 30s" articles on the net, miscalculating people's ages, and generally, forgetting how old I am. I actually have to keep reminding myself that I'm 29. Well, I at least get to do that for the next 14 days...

So how do I feel about that hitting my 30's? I'm not sure yet... Part of me has resigned myself to the inevitablity of getting older, that it's just another year, and it probably won't make much of a difference to my day to day life..

And part of me is seriously FREAKING THE FUCK OUT.

30. In my 30's. Three. Zero. No longer 20's. No longer late, late 20's. In mah early 30's. And that's just a slipperly down hill slope to my 40s.

ARGGHH.

Seriously, double Makauley Culkin Home Alone screaming: AAAAAAHHRRGGH.

30.

The only plus side to having only 14 days left of my 20s is that we're well into Birthday Season! For the uninitiated, Birthday Season is the 19 days before my birthday, where I get to do pretty much anything I like. Why? Cause it's Birthday Season. How does it differ from every day life? Cause I get to say "but come on, it's Birthday Season!".

We (not the royal We, but The Magic, Dr D and I) started it off with a bang last Friday with pints of finest ale, 2 bottles of champagne, many mojitos and ameretto (which I haven't drunk since my mid 20s, which kinda makes sense since the guy who keeps buying ameretto is turning (in his words) the "Big 2 5" (ah shut the fuck up)). Birthday Season then proceeded with lovely hangover at orchestra on Saturday, and an afternoon watching Superman II (the Donner Version - it's freakin random) on the Magic's MASSIVE HD Wall of Cinematic Beauty, lying on his couch, eating fish and chips. Ah so good.

On a quick random aside, Christopher Reeves when he is arguing with Marlon Brando about wanting to run away with the cool Louis Lane (not the whiney annoying Kate Boswell, yuck) is seriously, seriously hot. Don't believe me? Check it out for yourself: Superman, angst, cuteness, petuently arguing with this Dad about why he can't quit his caped life and go get some. ANGST. So cool. You can keep your Batmans and your spideys. Superman rocks. (Ok, seriously: I'm writing about Superman being cool. How can I be mature enough to be in my 30s in 14 days time? Honestly? There should be some sort of test you have to pass before you leave your 20s to check if you're emotionally and mentally ready..)

Tonight C & I (who's also celebrating her own birthday season), went to a private opening of the British Science Museum, where we got a tour of the Age of Computing exhibition, (yes, I was kinda excited about it, yes cause I'm really quite sad). We got to see Charles Babagges Difference Machine 2, and a picture of Ada Lovelace to which I wanted to whisper to C "she was boffing Babbage you know. It's in all the computing science books. First time uber nerds got to shag ever, so it's all the university material, as a beacon of hope to nerds universally that some other geek will find your own brand of sadness endearing and sexy".

So there you go. Birthday Season, 20s, 30s, Superman being a total hottie. Here's to another year of total Panda randomness....

Another restaurant struck of the list

2008-01-30T23:36:00.001Z

Where have I been? No where in particular, just busy. Cook alongs, Australia Day BBQ parties/house warming parties, work... I have some posts I have to finish, but to make up for it, I offer a wee tale of embarrassment that happened to me last night, to keep you all amused...

I have a knack of getting myself remembered at restaurants (like the Yo! Sushi I go to where the waitress seems to think I work or live or huddle in a gutter nearby seeing as I eat there so often). Well, it seems I've done it again.

Our local Chinese is fab. I know that buffets are not peoples ideas of haute cuisine, and having had some amazing Chinese food in China last year, this is not exactly up there with the greatest chow in the land. But it's good. And it's 2 minutes from our front door. And a young male waiter is always really friendly with us, and when we walk in, he'll automatically bring us chop sticks, a diet coke, 3 Tsing Taos and know we'll herd ourselves to the family feedbag that is endless crispy duck with pancakes.

Well now he has another reason for remember who I am...

Last night I went out with our work Social club for our annual meal (and to be honest, free piss up). After our thai food, much debate of the events this year, the budget, gossiping about whom we don't like, and 8 bottles of wine between 5 of us, I went home a little bit, well, smashed. Unfortunately my ability to keep the crazy in doesn't work so well with that much white wine sloshing about, cause when I got off the bus, I passed our local Chinese restaurant, and saw all the waiters and chefs inside their little gated bit next drinking tea, smoking, and generally relaxing after a hard night of work. I then saw the waiter who is always really nice to us. Now remember, the crazy is spilling out everywhere, so I stop, and say in probably glass shatteringly loud levels "HELLO!! IT'S YOU!! YOU'RE FINISHED FOR THE NIGHT EH?! HELLO!!!". (oh the shame, the shame). So he gets up, cigarette in hand, opens the gate, speaks to me for a bit, asks if I want to come join them inside, to which thankfully I managed to mumble "no thanks, I'm stumbling home", then totter myself down the street.

So when Dr D suggested (and I'm sure his motivating factor was not the endless supply of spring rolls) that we go there for dinner tonight I flatly refused. I am not going back, as I will die of shame and pray that the ground opens up and swallows me whole.

Well, at least until the calling for crispy duck is too great for me to turn down... So I give it a week?

Come to me Gordon

2008-01-18T14:46:00.001Z

When C & I were on holiday in Italy (well St Moritz to be exact) recently, we shared the largest, smelliest, kirsch spiked, cheese fondue I've had in ages. In fact, the cheese fondue, much like many people's fashion taste in St Moritz, seemed like a good idea at the time but on execution was actually was pretty horrid.

I know that I say "cheese dreams" quite a bit, but I kid you not, cheese fondue causes me to have the bizarest, freakout, never-in-thousand-Sundays-will-come-true, Lucy-In-The-Sky-With-Diamonds kind of dreams more than any other substance I've come across. After my fondue extravaganza, I had the weirdest dream that Gordon Ramsey was teaching me how to cook. Being Gordon Ramsey, he started yelling and screaming at me, telling me I was rubbish and what not, which pissed me off no end, so I yelled at him to go and sod off, threw my knife down and stormed out. The strange thing that happened was this: he ran after me, swept me into his arms, like his Rhett Butler to my Scarlett O'Hara, told me he wanted me to be his girlfriend(!), and couldn't bare to be without me.

Now this was a dream. A dream. If you can't fulfill your wildest fantasies with a world famous chef in a dream, then god knows when you're supposed to. Calv has accused me of being one of the most contrary people he's ever met, and maybe he's right. Cause rather than ripping Gordon Ramsey's clothes off, and saying "yes! yes please!", I said "um.. well, you're married aren't you? And you've got some really beautiful kids right? Yeah, I'm sorry about this Gordon, but there's no way I can possibly go out with you..". Yes. In my dream, where Gordon Ramsey was begging me to be his girl, all I could do was say mutter some prudish rubbish about him being married and say "no" (and no, I'm not saying that sleeping with a Michelin star chef whilst he's married is something that I condone. But come on - it was a dream!).

Well, today Gordon Ramsey on Channel 4 is doing a live cooking show where you are supposed to you cook along at the same time with him. He's making scallops with fresh salsa, steak with wedges, and chocolate mousse for afters. Here it is people. The dream was a sign! Now all I have to do is watch his show tonight, cook along with him, get mad, tell him to sod off, then calmly wait for him to rush from his live studio mid show, straight to my front door, confess his undying love, and see if I am as "good" in real life as I was in my dream...

I'll keep you posted with what happens... It's a sign.. Yup, defo.

4 hours later

2008-01-16T21:57:00.000Z

I think the seriousness of what I've just committed myself to is starting to sink in.. London to Paris. On a bike. Sacré bleu!

Unfortunately, I think that I'm starting to turn into one of those annoying "cycling bores" because when I got to the pub tonight, rather than really talking to anyone, I started pouring over the latest Evans cycle brochure thinking about all the gadgets and bits and bobs I am going to "need". And even worse, I started to bore everyone with the various details, pros and cons of each of the bits and bobs I now want to buy.

Please god, don't turn me into a "cycling bore". I hate people who constantly wax lyrical about the sport they do and can hold no other form of conversation. Please, please, please don't let me become one of them!

Somethin' stupid

2008-01-16T18:14:00.000Z

I have today (before I lost my nerve) signed up to do the London to Paris cycle ride for Action Medical Research... it's a 4 day, 300 mile cycle ride from London to Paris (well duh!), via Dieppe, Lieux, Vernon and ending in Paris the day before the Tour de France. I'm not really sure why I want to do this, but I do. I'm kindof nervous and excited about the possibility of doing around 80miles a day from here and all through rural France... Actually, I'm mostly scared that at the end of the first 10 miles out of Blackheath, I'll end up in a blubbering heap on the floor, wailing "I can't go on! I can't go on! You'll have to go on! But give me a backey the whole way to Paris" .

I'll be asking everyone for sponsorship money very soon. I intend to aggressively campaign for sponsorship to the point of obnoxious, until people will want to pay me to just stay away from them!

At least this is one thing I'll get to do this year that I want to do. But more of that on another post.

Magic as a Simpsons Character

2008-01-11T16:55:00.001Z

More takers!! Here is the Magic as a Simpsons character. Remember, if you want yours posted, make yours here and send it to me!

Dr D as a Simpsons Character

2008-01-11T16:20:00.000Z

Takers already!Here is Dr D as a Simpsons Char (though personally I think he looks alot more like the Professor than this...)

Friday Moment of Zen: Me as a Simpsons Character

2008-01-11T15:52:00.001Z

In a similar vein of "Me as an M&M", here is "Me as a Simpsons Character":

And here is "Me as a Simpsons Character Half Cut After a Night Out Looking For the Beckoning Lights of KFC":

If you have one you'd like me to post, email me you're pic and I'll put it up. You can make your own right here.

Holiday Ruination - Thy name is Alitalia

2008-01-09T13:30:00.000Z

"You know, this holiday reminds me of when we went to Italy last time in '98. Hey, thank god we don't have to wash our undies in the sink with shampoo eh!"
"Yeah, thank god".

So where the have I been for the last 3 weeks? C and I went to Italy for 10 days for a Christmas holiday with my parents, who came all the way from Australia. We went to Naples, met my folks in Rome, then travelled north to the South Tirol Alps in Italy, for a bit of Christmas cheer, a visit to the Vatican to see old Popey and to try our hands at skiiing.

But fate, Alitalia and BAA it would seem would have none of it.

I knew from the very first hour of my holiday that it was not going to go quite my way when I was on the Heathrow Express on my way to my flight, I went to take my travel card out of my pocket, and heard the the gut wrenching "tinkle" - the delightful sound of the key to my suitcase padlock falling into the heating grate. Calling Dr D in a giggling panic his helpful suggestions consisted of:
1) Breaking open the grate of the heater. Which would require either a blow torch or electric drill.
2) Use a sharp implement to break open the padlock. Like a screwdriver or a hacksaw. I had to then point out that "um, I'm going to THE AIRPORT. They don't let you take that sort of thing on the plane anymore you know".

Fearing for my clothes being stuck in my case for the next 10 days, I finally managed to get my spindly fingers in the grate and painfully fish out the key and believe me, never have I been so happy to see one small piece of metal before. I then got to the airport, dropped my bags off at the check-in. And that was the last time I saw my beautiful red suitcase for the next 12 days.

Ah yes, holiday ruination thy name is Alitalia.

When C & I got to Naples, Alitalia and BAA managed to not only lose C's suitcase but mine as well. And the lack of suitcases was to last pretty much the entire holiday. Like every good girl, I'd brought everything I'd ever need with me on holiday and more: my digital cameras (yes cameraS. Two), ipod charger, camera charger, phone charger, laptop charger, hair dryer, snow gear to go skiing with - gloves, pants, jumpers, scarves, beanie, my laptop, nice going out clothes, loungy night time clothes, t-shirts, shirts, underwear, shampoo, conditioner, face wash, moisturiser, hair brush, hair products, elastics, band aids, medicine, socks, cool new jeans, big long black coat, and my lovely brown boots. Everything. Gone. Vamooshed. Disappeared. Where? No one, and I mean no one in the whole of Italy could tell us.

Alitalia. My god never has an name been more cursed than Alitalia. I blame every single mini crisis/disappointment/disaster to Alitalia:

Naples
At least we got to see Pompeii. Because of Alitalia and our lost bags did we get to see any of Naples? Well yes if you count the main shopping street and the airport. Did we see the museum housing all the interesting artifacts from Pompeii? No. Did we get to go to Vesuvius? No. Sorento? Hell no. We had to spend our time shopping. For clothes. And shampoo and conditioner and face wash. C & I became bag ladies whose entire worldly possessions were encased in plastic shopping bags.

Rome
My parents met C & I in Rome. I think they got the shock of their lives when they C met them in the baggage hall. Why? We frantically followed a tip off that the bags might have come in from London to Rome that day. Did we look at any sights in Rome? Not really. Did I spend time with my parents in Rome? No not really. What did we do the rest of the time? Shop for more clothes.

Don't get me wrong. I have the 2 perfectly functioning X chromosomes. But when it comes to shopping, especially forced shopping which comes with knowing that holiday insurance will only pay £100 and the only thing I wanted to buy in Italy where leather gloves, shopping for clothes that I know I have in my lost suitcase is not a great incentive. And at the end of it all, what did I have to show for it? 3 shirts, 2 jumpers, 2 pairs of under pants, some socks. I'll tell you what though, it dide make getting dressed in the mornings a heck of a lot easier. "I think I'll wear my jeans. Again. And which of the 3 shirts do I want to wear?"

The Vatican
My mum somehow got us tickets in to St Peter's for midnight mass with the Pope. I have no idea how she did it but she did. She was so excited about this, being quite a big catholic. However, thanks to Alitalia and our lost bags C & I spent all day shopping. Which meant we were knackered when we got back to the hotel. Which meant we left the hotel late, had dinner late, got to the Vatican late, were 4 people off from being seated for midnight mass. My mum was so upset, she went to the back of the cathedral and sat on the floor. I've never seen her so angry and disappointed in my life. It didn't help that if she had waited near where they were seating people eventually we would have got a seat. She stubbornly sat at the back, refusing to listen to me. When it came for communion she was openly questioning what sort of church requires you to have VIP tickets to be seated to hear mass, and starting to doubt her faith. I had to drag her up promising it would make her feel better. Little did I know this was would turn a bad night even worse. When as she got communion she went to walk away and the official grabbed her arm and started loudly telling her off in Italian and shaking her. Apparently, you have to take communion there and then in front of the priest as they are frightened that people, I don't know, are giving the bread to non catholics? Gasp. That's surely a worse sin than murder that will get you sent straight to firey hell and damnation don't you know. Whatever the random reason, it was the last straw for my mum, and she went to the back and started crying. Which in turn was the absolute last straw for me. No one makes my mum cry. I marched up to official and started politely but very firmly telling him off. When he indicated he didn't speak English, I just ranted at him in French. He thought I was speaking bad Italian of course so he got a security guard to come over who had to very slowly translate to the official that I was demanding he apologise to my mum for making her cry. To be fair, when the official realised what he had done, he became extremely remorseful, and he, the security guard and myself all went and found my mum, where he profusely apologised. Obviously in Italian. This made her cry even more, which then made me cry, which then had the security guard try to comfort me*. In the end, the official dragged my mum from the back of St Peters, forced everyone away from the barriers, and put mum and me in a great position to see the Pope walk past at the end of mass.

Alitalia - you ruined my mum's Christmas Midnight Mass. Bastards

* Dear God: Please don't send me to hell for thinking, whilst in the Vatican, oh angels in heaven this security guard is seriously cute and seriously nice. I won't hold it against you for not returning my clothes, if you don't hold it against me that I was thinking about flirting in your house. Thank you for your time.

The Alps
Ahh, the Southern Tirol Alps. The autonomous region of Italy, where German and Italian are both the official language. If you go from the border of Austria and Italy in South Tirol, there is a massive sign up that says "South Tirol is NOT Italian". We stayed in Eggen, a fantastic place to ski, enjoy the 2km toboggan slope, be in the -5 degree crisp weather. Not so good if all your COLD WEATHER GEAR AND SKI CLOTHES ARE IN YOUR SUITCASES ENJOYING THEIR OWN ROMAN ADVENTURE SOMEWHERE IN ITALY, NOT WITH YOU.

ALITALILA YOU BASTARDS. Everything. Snow pants, gloves, hats, thermals, everything. Somewhere, anywhere, but not with us. So Alitalia, on you I blame the fact that I still can't ski. I was going to go and learn. But no. I got to freeze my arse off in my jeans in -5 degree temperatures. No tobogganing. No skiing. No apres skiing!! Nothing.

However, we did have lots of time to go off exploring other parts near South Tirol, like Switzerland, Innsbruck, snow fields near Obbereggen. Unfortunately, since all my nice clothes were, I don't know, in Sicily basking in the 13 degree warmth, I got to visit St Moritz in my scummy jeans, whilst all the women were in their Bulgary, Prada and fur coats. The looks we got from the "bootiful people" which were withering at best. Distainful at worst.

So the holiday in general. How was it? Totally enjoyable isn't quite right. Relaxing wouldn't be quite right either. Frustrating might be a better word for it. Though, as I maintain some holidays just blend into each other, being so relaxing and enjoyable. Having to wash all your clothes in the bathroom sink with stolen hotel shampoo was a phase of travelling I had hoped I'd outgrown. Let's say: frustrating, unexpected, yet still strangely entertaining. And now I know I can at least survive with only 1/3 of the stuff I travel with. Who needs to change clothes everyday? That's just an unnecessary luxury.

7.15 am

2008-01-06T22:58:00.001Z

After 17 days of holidays (well, in fact it's been almost 20 odd days since my last week at work I was sick for 2 days) I have had to set my alarm again for 7.15. Argh, the idea of work after such a long (not necessarily restful) break is such a, well, drag. Tomorrow I have to go back to work. Workin' for da man. Puttin on my figurative suit and tie. Back to the grindstone. Ya di ya di ya da.

For the last 17 days C, my parents (from Australia!) and I have been to Naples, Rome, the Southern Italian Tirol Alps (were they don't speak Italian!), St Moritz, Innsbruck, Cortina and almost to San Peligrino. We've seen Pompeii, almost every clothes store in Naples (you know they don't have a big department store in Naples?), been accosted by a crazy old guy at a train station, had Christmas lunch of bread, parma ham and cheese in the car at a rest stop, fondue in one of the richest towns in Switzerland, seen an awful lot of rich bad taste in name of fasion, crazy cheese dreams and New Years Eve in London. All in all it's been a really, well, interesting holiday. But now it's back to work. Again. For another year. 2008.

Any resolutions? A couple:

1) I want to do a mini triathalon
2) I want to do the London to Brighton cycle
3) I want to start regularly brushing my teeth at night, not just when I remember. I've listened to too many nightmare tales of root canal, infected gums, painful wisdom tooth removal. Not for me thankyou very much.
4) I'm going to blog more. I've been slack. It annoys me.
5) I'm going to learn to actually enjoy porridge.

All my other resolutions are the usual lose weight, exercise more, save money, blah blah blah boring boring boring yawn type resolutions that I will say I want to do, but more than likely won't do.

I have a write up of the Christmas Italian Disaster holiday almost done that will bore you to tears. Just have to, you know, finish writing it up.

Otherwise, I hope that Christmas and the New Year has treated you well. I hope Santa brought you all the lovely toys you wished for. And God bless the fucking lot of us.

So Sincere

2007-12-14T15:52:00.001Z

Me: Wow, I can't believe this time next week she'll be a mother! I'm so excited for her
Dr D: Yeah. Woo hoo. Excited. Yup
Me: God you're so sincere aren't you?
Dr D: Yeah. Course I am. You look nice today. See. Sincere me.

So, where'd you get those from?

2007-12-12T00:05:00.000Z

Last Friday was our work Christmas party. You know that it's been one of those sorts of nights when 2 days later someone emails you from work saying "Ok, next time we all go out, we're gonna have that dance off. Get ready", and your thinking "Dance off? What dance off? Was there some sort of West Side Story moment at this party? Am I a Jet?"

I won't bore you with the details of how I went through the usual malaise of the "what the fuck am I going to wear? Why does everything I try on in the shops look like shite?", but suficite to say I knew it's bad when I get sent a care package of clothes thanks to Li, with all her lovely party frocks in it. Unfortunately for me, I don't have the breasts to carry off any of her tops (chicken fillets wouldn't have filled been enough for my puppies. In fact, whole chickens stuffed down my top would not have helped at all). Surprisingly, help came in the form of a dress that my mother had bought for me when I saw her earlier this year.

Now I love my mum, honestly I do. And her clothes are fantastic. On her. Unfortunately her dress sense, when extended to me, is not a winning combination that's going to get me in on the cover of Vogue anytime this century. So you can imagine my shock when she told me she had bought me a dress and the smile I had prepared myself to wear when she showed it to me was genuine and not a hard, plastered on grimace. It's a green patterned maxi empire cut dress, with a sort of plunging neck line, that I had planned to keep covered behind a pashmina, a bolero, and whatever pillars happened to be at the venue. 3 glasses of champagne later and that plan flew out the window. So after the whole chicken fillet/borrowed clothes debacle, I was shocked to find out that my breasts were in fact topics of conversation with my bosses wife. I practically chocked on one of my never ending glasses of champgane when she asked me where I got my cleavage from? (No, they were not a christmas present, I've had these my whole life).

So relatively sucessful Christmas party? So-so. No raging hangover the next day (thanks to The Ex-Flatmate and a friend of ours going off to Tesco's at 3am to buy pizzas (yum)). Bruises all over my legs from being flung around the dance floor (oh wait.. I remember this "Dance Off" thing now... The massive bruise on my knee is proof that I am, in fact a Jet, from my first cigarette to my last dying day), and a hole in the top of my foot where someone has decided to try to crucify one of my feet by smashing their stilleto heel into it. This is Christmas people, not Easter. And I'm not the massiah, I'm a very drunken girl. Now with added boobs.

Finland Photos

2007-12-10T14:09:00.000Z

I've not had time to do a proper write up yet (Christmas, Christmas Parties, Babies, Ex-Flatmates. All taking toll on time!). check out the collection of sets here:

Finland Husky & Reindeer Riding

Ice Fishing

This is one of my favorite two pics from night sky watching.
Check out the set here: Aurora Borealis Watching.

The holiday is Finnish

2007-12-03T23:51:00.001Z

I'm back.

Going on holidays is always a really weird time for me because there is always all this anticipation and excitement and brouhaha about trying to get organised and remember to book hotels and flights and pack the right number of socks, and then all of a sudden you're on holiday, and you're having a great time, it's all fun and holiday like, and then, BAM, it's over. Finished.

I have this strange sort of love/hate relationship with time. The old adage for when bad things happen of "this too shall pass" unfortunately also extends to the good times... I find the worst parts are when one minute you're on a plane, waiting to take off because it's delayed thinking "argh come one lets go, I hate these crowded seats" and then you stop and realise "in a few seconds this very moment will be over and in the past and when it's long gone and it's all just bits of electricity going on in my brain, it's this moment I'll remember" and before you know it, you're back in your bedroom, laptop on, writing about it. Fleeting, intangible moments, all in the past, all gone.... And the more you think like this, the harder and yet the easier it is to live in the moment, not wanting time to keep passing by without you at least trying to have a stab at it and wondering if you could be doing a better job of it...

Hmmm, I really know how to suck the fun out of holidays eh?

Ok enough midnight philosophising about how time seems to slip through my fingers and I can't stop it.

So how was the holiday? Bloody fantastic and bloody cold!

I will post many, many pictures soon along with highlights of:

Dr D almost getting mauled by our over eager reindeer
When a woman who drives huskies for a living puts a poncho on you, you do not say no
Believing that my last moments on this mortal coil were to be spent in the dungeon of a Finnish shack in god knows where butt fuck Finland in the middle of the night
Northern lights!!!
I LOVE TOBOGGANING AND I DON'T CARE
Webcams
Tex-Mex. Why is all of Finland bloody obsessed with tex-mex?

Right now I'm off to bedfordshire, as we got in at 2.30 am this morning, and I've had a grand total of 4 hours sleep. And when you've used to afternoon naps on holiday, a whole full day of work seems too bloody long.

The night before is always the worst.

2007-11-23T00:58:00.000Z

We've just spent the night in our favorite East End Boozer, having amazing food, good booze and great conversation.

Though honestly, you know you might have had a bit too much to drink when your facial toner smells like whisky.

Argh.

Finland, Finland, Finland, The Country Where I Want To Be

2007-11-20T16:42:00.001Z

In the next installment of random, random holiday destinations that I am going to this year, tomorrow we're (Dr D, Calv, Magic, C, (drum roll please) The Ex-Flatmate and myself) are all off to Lapland in Finland to visit Santa, watch the northern lights, get eaten by huskies, and listen to Heavy Metal Music.

Right now, to get ready for the fact that it seems the only thing they listen to in Finland is heavy metal (see Lordi) Dr D and I have spent much of the week listening to 90's band Rage Against the Machine's "Killing in the Name Of". Ahhh, the memories of my very non rebellious teenage years are coming flooding back, when we'd listen to this in the summer, not getting tattoos, not being drunk, not doing drugs or generally not doing anything else exciting. Unfortunately for RATM, their version of angry hard metal is not making me think "YEAH bring on the policical activisim and hate for the corporate man controlling our lives", but just makes me giggle... not what they were aiming for I guess.

I'm very excited about going on holiday again, and Dr D has spent much of this week looking up the aurora borealis activity in Rovaniemi (where we are spending 6 days). We're also taking over night sleeper trains to and from Lapland (which I have booked and fucked up so many times that now Finnish Rail has 900 of my euros and they are not giving them back until sometime mid December 2045. My helpful hint is to not stress out about things and then fuck up the booking. As The Magic (or his dad I suppose) always says "Measure Twice, Cut Once" (ok so it's more of a building saying)

So the itinerary for the next 9 days:

Husky Sleigh (without the superman technique fondly loved by Dr D or the boffin falling over technique fondly loved by The Magic)
Ice Fishing - to freaze our bollocks off with. Why we want to catch Ice I have no idea.
Night time Snowmobile sleding with Night Sky Watching - We're paying money to go look at the night sky. Is nothign free in Finland?
Saunas - Scandanavian countries speciality
Heavy Metal Head Banging - Finnish Speciality

This is the country where Lordi comes from after all. And in honour of the band that dressed up like Klingons and won Eurovision, there is actually a square in Rovaniemi named after the band. This is where we choose to holiday. We ROCK! (or We WILL ROCK!)

So I may or may not bring my laptop with me tomorrow, but in all likely hood I will be back until the first week of December. Unless I get mauled by Santa's reindeer...

A-voting, a-voting, a-voting we will go

2007-11-20T16:36:00.001Z

C and I are off to Australia House, the Australian High Commission in London, to vote in Australia's general election, held back home this Saturday.

As opposed to Britain, voting in Australia is compulsory, and to be honest I believe it should be. Everyone should have their say in how their country is run, even if it is misinformed, self-helping, or wrong, rather than the slack arse apathetic way that causes only 32% of Londoners to have voted in the last local elections.

So why are we going? 3 reasons:

1) I truly believe that everyone should vote. Don't get me started, I've had many a screaming, stand up, finger in face pointing argument about this point. I don't care. It's my point, so just deal with it.

2) To vote against Little Johnny Brown Nose, and get his team of cronies out of office. Voted into everlasting power in 1996, Australia has been in the grip of a coalition government for the last 11 sodding years. Holy Sweet Baby Jesus I don't think I can articulate just how much I hate him.
It's John Howards racist, lap dog following, lack of spine, knee jerk reactions and frankly childish attitude that have caused me many an embarrassing and angry moment. The most memorable no doubted being when Australia lost to England in the 2003 Rugby World Cup, and Little Johnny Brown Nose had to hand the English team the trophy. Now don't get me wrong I was pretty annoyed when England won, but honest to god if I was the Prime Minister, I would NOT have had a face like a smacked arse whilst handing the winning team their trophy. I mean he's the Prime Sodding Minister. He's supposed to be representing our nation on the world stage. How did he act? Like a spoilt 5 year old that was ready to throw his toys out of the pram, fall on his face, start screaming, kicking and punching the ground. It was his frankly embarrassing and pathetic behaviour which was the direct cause for me screaming at the tele "JOHN HOWARD YOU'RE A FUCKING C*NT" at the exact same moment The Ex-Flatmate came up the stairs whilst on the phone with his Dad, who said "umm.. yes, John Howard is quite bad isn't he".

3) I'm hoping they'll be dishing out free lamingtons in the voting queue.

In other news: The Ex-Flatmate is coming back to London tomorrow morning!! I have to get up at 5.30 am to get him from the airport. No he's not had enough of Australia, he's just here for a holiday. More to follow...

When you need to find a new sushi place

2007-11-16T11:37:00.000Z

Whilst at the register at Yo Sushi! paying for the bill:

Waitress: "That'll be £30."
Me: "Ok"
Waitress: "Excuse me, but do you work for Shell?"
Me: "Um.. no?"
Waitress: "Oh ok. But you do live around here don't you?"
Me: "Um.. no?"
Waitress: "Oh ok. (Pause) So why have I seen you so many times in here?"
Me: "Um... I like sushi? (mumbles) I'll probably be back here next Tuesday..."

So is it time to find a new Yo Sushi!? Or is it cool that my sushi restaurant is becoming like Cheers, where they all know my name and my order of Hairy Prawns and Ikura Gunkan? I'm not sure yet...

Your Friday Moment of Zen: Where the Wings Have No Shame

2007-11-09T17:54:00.000Z

This is so random. Why? Why is there the need to have a dish that holds wings? Why? I love wings as much as the next girl (well, only if the next girl is possibly Colonel Sanders daughter, then it's possible I love wings more than the next girl) but I have no shame in putting them on a plate.

get your own SnacDaddy right here:

Drugging children. But how else are they gonna get their rocks off?

2007-11-08T14:26:00.001Z

Oh dear god. Sometimes I wonder if I will ever go back, especially when this is the level of absolute fuck up occurs back in Oz.. I shake my head in dispair.

News just in from Australia. Bindeez, 2007 Toy of the Year, has just been recalled after it was found out that beads that come with the toy, when swallowed, contain a chemical that converts into the drug GHB.

A kids toy. When INGESTED turns into Gammahydroxybutrate. Liquid Ecstasy. GBH, Fantasy. Where do we get our drug free, dirty, little mits on these??!! I want one for Christmas!!

On a more serious note, it turns out they only found out when a bunch of kids swallowed these beads and ended up in critical condition. The company is set to lose millions in refunds and recalls because as Toy of the Year, it was apparently very popular.

Here's the rub: I honestly don't know which is more incredulous: The fact that a kids toy turns out to be covered with the drug of choice on the gay clubbing scene, or the fact that THIS is seriously the Toy of the Year? TOY OF THE YEAR???! This is what it takes to be toy of the year?? A plastic mat which you stick beads onto with water? Beads? Toy of the YEAR? No bloody wonder they had to cover it in Liquid Ecstasy.

The kids on the box look so bloody happy probably because they've already popped a load of the beads and are high of their nuts. You'd have to be to enjoy this toy..

On the way to and from work

2007-11-07T13:34:00.000Z

This is why I love cycling to work.

On the way to work in the morning:

and back again at night:

Lovely

Remember, remember the fifth of November

2007-11-06T14:00:00.000Z

"Remember, remember the fifth of November,
The gunpowder, treason and plot"

I think that when Guy Fawkes and his mates from the Gunpowder Plot went to blow up the Houses of Parliament in 1605, they could have only dreamed of having a fire as big as the bonfire a mate of ours had in his backyard.

Yes, that's a house next to the fire.

And this was Sandra, our Guy Fawkes doll.. and her nike gear melting..

To see more pyromaniac pics of our bonfire night (complete with margaritas!) check it out here.

This fire was so hot, that it melted glass, it melted metal. It melted the dehumidifier that got thrown on there... ah so environmentally friendly.

How Many Spots Do You See On The Jumper? I Count 13

2007-10-31T14:44:00.001Z

Unfortunately I can't get blogger to post this picture in the right size, so you will need to open it in a new window: right click on pic, then select "Open Link in New Window", so that the pic opens in, yup you guessed it, a new window. I know, I know, it's crap but it's blogger. In it's normal size, it does make counting the dots easier though.

Happy Hallowe'en

A pack of dolphins

2007-10-29T23:48:00.000Z

I truly love the randomness that is London.

Last Friday night a few of us started the evening at the Victoria and Albert (V&A) museum for a hollowween inspired night of gouls, ghost stories and exhibitions. The big draw card was the ghost tour and the booze. Unfortunately, tickets for all the good things disapeared in like 2 minutes flat, and we never made it to the bar.. That's how we started the night.

Here is how we ended the night aka my tale of how we met some NFL football players from the Miami Dolphins. In London. In a Hard Rock Cafe. No where near the V&A:

Calv, C and I decided that we would walk to Green Park tube station about 10 minutes from Kensington.. Meandering along, yabbering to ourselves we passed the Intercontinental and a massive tour bus chuckablock full of Americans, all with Miami Dolphin tags on their necks... Calv is a massive NFL fan, and a Dolphins fan to boot. And that's when we noticed the 5 massive blokes who got off the bus and were walking the same direction we were headed. So doing what all good, law abiding, live and let live people like us do, naturally we followed them. Right into a Hard Rock Cafe..

Calv, C and I went to the bar and scoped out what the 6 foot whatever, really broad shouldered footballers were doing. Drinking down some dutch courage, Calv and I got up the nerve to go speak to them. Ok so when I say speak, what I really mean is I said nothing other than "hi how are you doing?", whilst Calv swaggered over to them like a man, and then gushed at them like a schoolgirl. We introduced ourselves. Calv told them he was seeing them on Sunday, that they were his favorite team, and he was so excited about seeing them, and did he mention they were his favorite team? And he was really excited? Did he? Uh-huh? Then one of the guys, (Michael Lehan according to the Miami website) introduced himself to me. That is a perfect oppurtunity to show how cool you can be, and let me tell you, I really did fail 100%. I couldn't do the chit chat. I couldn't do the witty banter. I couldn't even do the awe struck fan (ok that's cause I'm not one). All I could do was say "I'm great thanks, how are you?". No witty repartee. No "wow, so how are you enjoying London?" or "Are you excited about playing here?" or "what the fuck are you guys doing in a Hard Rock Cafe?" or "so.. groupies eh?".

Anyway, to prove to all and sundry that this event took place, here is the pic I took of them...

You know what impressed me the most? Professional atheletes, top of their game, have a big match in less than 48 hours. How were they preparing? By scoffing as many nachos and ribs in as they could possibly fit into their mouths. Classic.

Self Induced Strangilation

2007-10-26T17:36:00.001+01:00

Ah, late night, 1am postings after drinking rosé all night and chatting about the various pubs nearby that are infamous because East End gansters like the Krays* murdered members of other gangs. Gotta love it (obviously the drinking and chatting and posting, rather than the murder. Which is not nice and shouldn’t be loved.)

Anyhoo. The problem with late night, drunk postings is that you don’t really recollect what you wrote… When I checked my post today, I was flabbergasted as to why the hell did I feel the need at 1 am to type out most of the lyrics of a Queen song?

I woke up this morning with the inevitable hangover, sprawled on the bed, my headphones still in my ears, and the cable wrapped round and round my neck, half strangling me. That’s when I had a flashback of me listening to my ipod, in my pj’s, dancing around the room, hairbrush in hand, silently singing to “Under Pressure”…

I am such a classy bird.

* Ok this is completely unrelated BUT I just realised that Ronnie and Roxie Mitchell from “East Enders” are based on Ronnie and Reggie Kray! It makes sense now. Plus they all have Peggy Mitchell (Barbra Windsor) in common. (She's plays the girls aunt in East Enders, and she used to be a girlfriend of one of the Kray brothers.. If you go to the Blind Beggar, there are loads of pics of her and gangsters all over the walls...)

seriously. I love this song

2007-10-26T01:16:00.000+01:00

yes. I have had a few.

"it's the teror of knowing what this world is about
its watching some good friend sccream let me out
pray that tomorrow get me higher
pressure on the people
people on the streets"..

and further on..

" Turned away from it all
Like a blind man
Sat on a fence but it don't work
Keep coming up with love
But it's so slashed and torn
Why why why?

love love love love love love love love
Insantiy laughs under pressure we crack
Why give ourselves one more chance
why can't we give love that one more chance?
Why can't we give love, give love, give love,?
Give love, give love, give love, give love, give love, give love?
Cause love's such an old fashioned word
And love dares you to care for
The people on the edge of the night
And love dares you to change our way
Of caring about ourselves
This is our last dance
this is ourselves

Under Pressure
Under Pressure
Pressure"

- Queen & David Bowe

If you haven't listened to it in years, get it, get a pair of headphones, sit on a chair, have a few, and love this song again.

Want all the words? Look here

I have had a few. So yes, I am on my bed, headphones on, ipod on, pyjamas on, loving this song. Ok, it's by Keane (who I normally hate) but wow, what a great song. Listen to it. Love it. LOVE it. Yes I've had a few.

Never say "and get yourself something nice" to me

2007-10-24T14:09:00.000+01:00

Last week Dr D asked me to get him his lunch, and with his best "East End" geezer, I'm a cockney lad I am, voice, the threw me a tenner and said "er' you go luv treat yourself to something nice".

So I did. I bought myself some £99.50 per kilo, still on the bone, hand carved in front of me, Jamon. Aka ultra expensive, cured, beautiful, would eat this every day if I could afford it, ham from Brindisa.

And it was dead tasty. I love how it says on the label "Eat Within 3 days". I scoffed my 5 paper thin slices within 3 minutes. Flat.

Proof I eat things other than nutella and white bread!

32.5

2007-10-22T16:15:00.000+01:00

Dr D and I went to the Magic's house to watch movies and eat pizza on his ma-hussive hi def projector on Friday night. Magic and I went to shops so I could get some coke, and other high calorie food, like Strawberry Cheesecake hagen daaz ice cream, 3 packs of chips, and 5 cans of assorted pop. The man at the cash register gave us this look of "this is what you're eating?", so I felt the need to tell him "oh don't worry, this isn't the only thing we're having for dinner tonight. We're having a salad as well". (By salad I obviously mean thin crust pepperoni pizzas..)

After we'd scoffed our "salad", drinks and crisps, I went to the bathroom (not to throw up) and was riveted by a weird looking set of scales. Now, The Magic is a man of many gadgets, and when it comes to bathroom scales, it is no different. When I questioned the weirdness of his bathroom paraphernalia, Magic told me they calculated a persons body fat percentage. So naturally being geeks, we all bundled in the loo, socks off, to see how fat we were.

Holy sweet baby jesus, these scales are harsh. Their ratings go underweight, normal weight, over fat, and obese. That's it. You're either normal or fat. And the difference between normal and obese minuscule. So when Dr D and the Mag found out their percentage was their 20s, it came as a bit of a shock to all concernted that this translates to "obese". When I got on the scales, I thought "well, it'll be high, but hopefully, maybe...". I nearly fell off when it said 32.5%!

Naturally being the sensitive and caring creatures we are, we're all now taking the piss out of each other, with comments like:

"Is that a chocolate spread sandwich you're eating?"
"No. It's marmite"
"Really? "
"Yes"
"Marmite?"
"Yes"
"Notice how I've said marmite with my tone going up? Much like that 32.5%..."
"Shurrup"

It's nasty but I love it

2007-10-18T16:38:00.000+01:00

On Monday, a very stressful day forced me to go the local shops near work so I could get my chocolate fix. In the store, whilst meandering around, trying to take as long as I possibly could, I noticed the holy grail of sugar fixes: a jar of nutella. Oh god how I love nutella. But it's the sort of thing I try to steer well away from, because it's a dirty, bad, nasty, in motel rooms kind of love, not a wholesome, meet your parents, sing you sonnets from afar sort of affair. Unfortunately, this day was bad, and like a junkie I found myself unable to walk away. I threw my £1.98 on the counter, before scurrying quickly away back.

Now, a jar of nutella at my work would not go down so well.. Why? Because everyone at work eats responsibly like an adult. I'm the one who owns the Kellogs Crunchy Nut. Everyone else has organic muesli, shredded wheat, cardboard cut into little squares with added fiber. It's all salads and bags of fruit, wholemeal, locally sourced, organic, with added nuts, ultra low fat. Naughty things like nutella have no right to an existent in our work kitchen.

Worse still, I only like my nutella, thickly spread, to the very edges, and folded in half, on nutrionally neglibable white bread. Oh yes - no wholemeal, whole wheat, whole boring brown bread with my ultra high in sugar, low in anything else, nutella. Like a criminal I have to sneak off to the kitchen, get my jar of sugar and cocoa out from the back of the top shelf of the cabinet (where I've hidden it behind all the jars of green tea that no one drinks), sneak my white bread out of the fridge (out from behind the salads and couscous). And I'm off: quickly and silently make myself up a sandwich that only 5 years old these days are eating. Once it's all put together, I only have to try to avoid any disaproving stares, appologise for the lack of fibre in the bread, and pass it off as an ultra thickly spread, zero fat marmite. Hurah! Am practically a resistence fighter. Though resistence to responsible eating doesn't quite have the same tone as covertly fighting an invading regime from taking over your country...

And you know what: my dirty, nasty love is even tastier knowing that everyone would shun me like a scarlet woman and disapprove.

Bag Envy

2007-10-17T00:01:00.001+01:00

I have bag envy. It's not very often that it happens, and I'm not really a big "clutch" handbag girl. But I lurve this one.

It's not Dior or Chanel or Prada. It's not Louis Vitton or even Hermès.

It's The Gap. Yup. I have bag envy from that mass produced, made practically by slave trade, every 3rd person in the world can buy it, Gap. Though I feel slight shame in wanting something from The Gap so badly, I do hope it comes to London... cause I really want it. And I don't even often want girly girl things either.

What is that smell?

2007-10-16T23:45:00.000+01:00

A friend of mine in Sydney has this theory about the laws that attract men and women. She thinks it has little to do with people having having things in common, or people enjoying each others company. She's not even that convinced it's about fancying the way someone looks, and no, it has nothing to do with someones subconscious knowing that someone elses subconscious is a perfect match. Subconsciously.

No, my friends theorem is that attraction to the opposite sex is all based on their smell. She thus sees a correlation of the rate of divorce and the number of perfumes and aftershaves sold in the world: someone smells different to what they really do, you may inadvertently fall for them because they smell like CKOne (or Christine Aguilera, hey who am I to judge?), have a whirlwind romance, get married, then the inevitable day arrives when your partner gives up making an effort for you and stops wearing that scent that made you see them as the future father of your child, and you realise you have in fact nothing in common at all with this beer swilling, TV watching, Ed Bundy, belching lout.

Now don't get me wrong. I don't actually endorse this at all. In fact, I actually think her theorem is a load of bullshit. However, what I do believe in smelling nice and I do fully endorse people wearing perfume, aftershave, what have you. I also fully endorse people wearing deodorant. Especially if you are stuck on an crowded Hammersmith and City Line train, so squashed you are practically in a strangers armpit. It's at that moment that I am a card carrying member of the "Don't Stink" party. If you think you could end up on a train this full, I implore you, for the good of the nation WEAR DEODORANT. Failing that AT THE VERY LEAST WASH AND USE SOAP. Because when a girl is squashed up against you, turning blue because she's clearly NOT breathing anymore, giving you evils, holding her hand in front of her nose, it has nothing to do with you invading her personal space and has everything to do with you giving off the odor of something akin to a small rodent crawling into a your smelly, rancid armpit, dying, and rotting. How can a healthy person make that sort of smell?

Good citizens of London: This isn't the 16th century. WASH. PLEASE. Average height and shorter women all over this big town will thank you for it.

The Four Day Thrilla in Manila

2007-10-12T15:52:00.000+01:00

Cause that's how long I was there for. About 4 days. How uber decedent is that? It's not really answering Al-I-Just-Won-A-Nobel-Prize-For-Making-A-DVD-And-Putting-On-A-Rock-Concert Gores Call is it?

I did have a really good time. To not bore you or me with the tiny little details, such as realising I'd eaten pork in one form or another in every single meal (bar one) for the entire 4 days (and I was on holiday remember, so I did actually eat breakfast), here is my holiday, cliff notes style:

Fancy Dress
As I said, I was there to watch my mum get an award, so there were award ceremony dress issues going on. I ended up bringing with me about 3 different outfits for her to choose which she preferred. She said she liked what I'd worn to new years eve (that's me in it in my profile pic). Good news: When I got to Manila, I tried it on again, and I don't know how it happened, perhaps it expanded on the flight over, perhaps we'd flown through some weird time/space portal, perhaps trying dresses on right after I've just eaten a big meal is never a good idea, but it fit! Bad news: Her dress was almost identical, except in a different colour. No way in hell was I turning up in matching outfits. So I ended up going in a skirt C lent me, and a red satin lace up corset that I usually wear to Hollowween parties when I'm dressing up as a dominatrix. It's funny how the lack of a leather choker, short skirt, leather boots and a whip will turn a slutty top into nice formal evening wear.

Shopping
We went to Mall of Asia, which is apparently the largest shopping mall in, yup you guessed it, Asia. This place is massive, chockablock full of shops, restaurants, departments stores, an ice rink! Unfortunately they had all the same shops we get here in London, an in some of the stores they even had the exact same merchandise. I saw a dress in Zara I had bought only a month ago there. I saw winter trousers I had tried on just 2 weeks ago here. Winter trousers. In a country that doesn't get temperatures lower than their mid 20s. Why? Even more bizarely the prices where the same! I can't understand who could possibly afford those things?

So what did I end up buying after 2 hours in The Mall of Asia? Any exciting clothes or shoes or accessories? Nope. Asian Trinkets? Nope. Stationary even? (I have a love affair with stationary). Nope.

No, I went to the Mall of Asia and all I bought was a bag of pork scratchings. Uh-huh. That's it. I really am a crap specimen of a girl.

Pampering Time
I went to get a massage at the hotel health spa, which for a 75 minute Swedish shiatsu mix was only about £15. I love getting massages, and always make a bee line for the hotel massage service whenever I go away, but this. I've never had one like this. The dull ache I was feeling in my shoulders turned into a blinding, sharp, mind numbing pain afterwards. This woman was so painful, that I actually lay there squirming to try to get her to stop. But she didn't even notice! She just kept prodding, kneading, and pinching my skin with her nails. And just when it could get any worse, the woman shocked basic masseuse/client decency by farting. Twice. Loudly. Oh god no.

Top 3 most embarrassing holiday moments
Which brings me delightfully to my top 3 most embarrassing holiday moments. Hey, I was only away in Manila for 4 days. You couldn't have expected me to make a total dick of myself more than that? Right?

Number 3
Being asked to dance at the awards shindig. Why I was asked I have no idea, since I clearly looked much more interested in talking to my mum, her friends, and seeing how much free wine I could score. Not quite knowing how to say no, I got up and danced, only to be rejected one song later after I was asked if I was from San Francisco, and I said no. So much fun having the guy grab his boss or someone old, and say "here you guys should dance", and then watch him run away and grab some other poor girl. Annoyingly, I then got stuck dancing with this other guy for a bit, which did not go well because he tried to do partners dancing, but he did such a piss poor job of leading I had no idea what he was trying to do. He then proceeded to count in a really patronizing way "1 and 2 and 1 and 2 and.." with me grinning like an embarrassed fool, trying not to step on his feet or fall all on my arse. We were both extremely relieved as the song ended, cause we both dropped each others hands, turned and walked away, pretending we had never actually seen each other before..

Number 2
After the awards ceremony, in an effort to not have to dance with anyone else or in fact make contact with anyone else at all, mum and I went to the roof top bar for a drink. Embarrassing moment number 2 comes when the lounge singer, this big bloke with obligatory pony tail singing old time hits, sang a song that my mum requested. That's fine, no problems there. Unfortantely as Time Goes By is a ridiculously romantic song, and right after the "woman needs man, and man must have his mate" he stop, turns and asks mum, her friend and me "So, you have no mates here?". Mum and her friend make their excuses, so he then turns to me and asks (into the microphone no less) "No man eh. So why is that?". Great. Now I'm trying to desperately come up with an excuse that doesn't make me look like a loser as to why I'm single, drinking hard liquor, on my own. I mean, I hear that in your 30s everyone, even perfect strangers, feels that it's perfectly acceptable to openly ask you if you're single and why, but come on I've still got 4 months to go! As everyone in the bar turns to take a look at me, all thinking the same thing "oh poor girl. She's going to be an old maid. I wonder what wrong with her?", I just sit there, praying for the floor to open up so I can crawl inside, away from their pitying, acusational eyes.

Number 1
After the Lounge Singer has finished his song and interrogation of my love life, he then sits next to us (mic still in hand) and demands that I request a song. In my head I'm screaming "NOTHING, NOTHING, PLEASE GO AWAY! THE DAMAGE HAS BEEN DONE AND ALL I WANT TO DO IS SKULL MY MARTINI", but seeing as my mum's next to me, I decide that perhaps that little know trait of tact would be better employed. Now don't get me wrong. I love old time, Bing Crosby, Nat King Cole, Ol Blue eyes style big band songs. Heck, I even love musicals. But in a spot, with a mic pressed against my head like a gun, my mind goes completely blank. So being all witty like, I say "well, I can't think of anything right now, so maybe you could suggest a song?" to which he goes "Um, are you British or something? You sound like James Bond?". He then goes on to do his James Bond Sean Connery Mixed with Roger Moore impersonations. Oh god. He then proceeds to sing a song I can't understand because it's in Tagalog. I had to physically crush my middle finger so I could look him in the face (and he was being really quite sincere and sweet), but without the pain of my nail digging into my finger, I don't think I could have sat there without laughing my arse off, out of sheer embarrassment.

So that's pretty much it. That best describes the sum total of my little jaunt. 2 20 hour journeys, 4 days, 1 painful massage and loads of pork products. A successful little trip then!

3 hours and waiting

2007-10-06T16:24:00.000+01:00

Am at Hong Kong airport, waiting for my return trip back to ol' Blighty, after a fantastic 4 days in Manila! I had such a good time, most of which I'm going to blog about when I get home.

I'm not really looking forward to my flight back. England was playing us Aussies at the Rugby World cup. I walked passed the packed sports bar and we were winning. I went to get myself a little snack, came back, and saw the last 5 minutes. In which time we'd managed to lose. I now have to get on a British Airways flight back to London with a bunch of smug pomps, all pleased that they beat us. By 2 points. I however will not be beaten down by these smug, beer swilling, aussie bashing, one trick ponies. I'll hold my head high on the plane, and will no reneg on my Australianism, by saying I'mBritish. I'll take the grief. Mostly by keeping my big gob shut.

This is the 3rd hour of my 4 1/2 hour wait in Hong Kong Airport. Normally I don't mind waiting that long on stop overs. It gives me a chance to look around, grab some food, check out the local oddities. Only problem is that I've already spent 5 hours in Hong Kong Aiport on my way out to Manila, so I've done everything: I've looked every single shop over. Twice. I've checked out all the restaurants and bars. I've eaten some food (some delicious, some not so good). I've flipped through all the magazines in the news agents. I've even taken a little trip on the train between terminals. Only then did I discover the joy that is free internet access!

Anyway all in all I've had such a bloody fanstastic time on my little stint away. Only problem is that since I wasn't there long enough to get my body clock in check, I've not really slept much in the last 4 days, and right now it's definitly showing. My eyes are blurry, I'm absolutely knackered, and I think I'm doing a little sleep deprivied window shopping. I've just caught myself in a jewellery shop looking at engagement rings. By myself. And believe me, I am as far away from getting married as you can possibly be. The shop assistant must have known that I was single, since the look gave me as I caught myself mesmerized by the big sparkly solitaire diamonds was so filled with distain that I might as well have been flinging myself on the counter, pulling my hair and wailing: "You're RIGHT, you're right, I know you're right!! No one is every going to marry me. I'm so loooonnneeeellllly".

Oh dear. I blame this totally on the sort of torturous sleep deprivation that drives prisoners of war insane.

Ok, only an hour left to go.. I'm off to see if I can blag my way into an executive lounge, and on this flight I am dose up on G&T's and go to sleep, so that hopefully I don't arrive in London, well frankly, pathetic.

Oh No

2007-10-02T13:32:00.000+01:00

Calv lent me his Radio One: Established 1967 cd, which I'm listening to gràce à Li. It's a cd produced by Radio 1, with number one's from every year since 1967, covered by bands like the Foo Fighters, Stereophonics, Groove Armada, etc.

So picture this: here I was at my desk listening to "A Town Called Malice" by The Jam, covered by I had no idea, my feet are going all akimbo and me literally chair dancing at my desk and then I realise I'm bopping to Mc-Bloody-FLY!!!! McFly!! The "we're a real band, even though Mummy and Daddy have probably paid to produce our album". The "we're a real band, even though we're as fake as the Spice Girls". A band which morally I despise for everything they stand for. NOOOOOOOOO!!!!!! The shame. The head in my hand, painful, ugly shame!

Damnit!!

Ok, now i am off on my hols.

Impulse

2007-10-02T13:19:00.000+01:00

We've released our software! It's all done, and this is how we celebrated:

Yup: Bollinger. 5 bottles of Bollinger. And sweet lord was it delicious. I'm a pretty big fan of champagne, but this champagne is possibly the best I've ever tasted. It could have something to do with the fact it was mixed with the sweet taste of knowing 2 years of work was finally finished. It could have something to do with the fact it cost £52 a bottle. Who knows? All I know is that between about 4 of us we had almost 5 bottles of the stuff, and I did not have a hangover the next day. Not sure if I can keep sticking to the expensive stuff but for that one night it sure was worth ti.

Saturday a bunch of us trundled off to Oxford for the weekend for the Great British Cheese Festival, where we ate lots of free cheese (yum), drank lots of cider (yum!) and sat around on the grass having a good natter. The wierdest thing there was a guy in the cider tent on stage singing in his purple one piece jump suit. I think he might have been singing to the wrong demographic since everyone just sat there trying not to make any eye contact with him whilst he wailed about how much he missed Sebastian, his perfect guy. Then he sang about how much he hated cheese. Then he wafted on about some guy on the telly and how he wanted to go out with him, but he was on the telly. It was really, really, really random..

Speaking of random, everyone here is taking a few days off post release. Dr D is at home today and tomorrow, I presume sitting on his couch, replaying Halo 3. I on the other hand, am off to Manila tonight! My mum, who is a travel agent, has won an award with Phillipine Airlines, so has got an awards ceremony on Friday night. I've managed to wangle my way along as well, so I'm having an incredibly short holiday in the Phillipines, staring from today! Hurrah!! Warm weather! Hurrah! 5 star hotel! Hurrah! Flying 13 hours to get there! CRAP DAMNIT!

Unfortunately, the ceremony dress code is "formal", so I've had to go and find my New Years Eve dress. Which naturally doesn't quite fit me anymore (that's an exageration. It really doesn't fit me anymore. WAAHHH!). So when she called me last night to ask how my packing is coming along I casually quizzed her on what I should wear on Friday night "oh you know, nothing fancy" (Phew) "just a cocktail dress or something" (Crap. Cause I have loads of those lying about. In fact, I mopped the floors in one just last weekend) "Oh I know, the one you wore to new years eve!" (Ah. Fuck). So C and I spent about an hour going through all my clothes, many of which were inappropriate, and some which didn't fit. Damn it. Stupid body getting fat. I have to learn to STOP EATING (she says tucking into her turkey bagel).

So I probably won't be around for the next week. This holiday will either be loads of fun or just painful, with me and mum trying not to annoy each other, and me feeling like a massive heffer in Manila. Hmmm.. not sure now..

I'm helping like a good un'

2007-09-28T18:30:00.000+01:00

We're trying to cut a release of our software tonight. Well, to be fair, we've been trying to cut a release all day, and we're just trying to get CVS to stop fucking about.

Whilst everyone has gone to the pub for our celebratory "we've not quite released, but we're getting pissed anyway, even though this was supposed to be a proper release party" drinks, P & Dr D are trying to sort all our problems. I'm here for moral support and my occasional unix skills. So whilst waiting to be useful I'm reading every page in my new Jamie Oliver "Jamie At Home" cookbook, and serenading my team with Maria Mckee's "Show Me Heaven" (If you know what it's like, to dream a dream. Baby hold me tight and let this beeeeee ooooooohhhhh). THIS I know is helpful, and not at all annoying!

At this point in time, we might not be making our "Not releasing today" Release drinks.

Tomorrow though, we're all off to Oxford to go to the Great British Cheese Festival. Not because we all love cheese or anything but because they are supposed to have a massive cider tent, and nothing tastes better with cider from plastic milk bottles than free, smelly cheese. Yum.

SATC and sleeplessness

2007-09-26T02:06:00.000+01:00

It's now 2.06 am. I have just spent the last 2 hours watching every single tiny non-episode video about Sex and The City on YouTube. And I entirely blame Li and Superscout. If she hadn't sent me a link to the new S&TC movie, I wouldn't have turned on my laptop in bed at midnight to quickly watch it (since I can't watch it from my work pc), to then find not only all the deleted scenes, but documentaries, people's vidoes of them filming the movie, and yes, ( and I watched it), the Oprah Winfrey Sex and the City special.

So Li, this post is for you. When I am at work yawning tomorrow, you can bet your skinny, cosmo drinking arse I'm blaming you!!

Your Friday Moment of Zen: Well it's going to be a long long time

2007-09-21T16:02:00.000+01:00

Today, Dr D and I have got an Elton John song stuck in our heads. I know, it's hard to believe but it's not the Diana version of "Candle in the Wind", but is in fact "Rocket Man". I never really appreciated it until someone did it at one of our parties on Singstar, and now I think it's really a cool 80s song, which I think is quite under appreciated (ok, mostly by me).

Looking at wikipedia today for interesting facts about this, I found out that the Stewie parody on Family Guy is based on a version that The Shat did (that's William to his friends at home). But possibly the funniest version I've seen is this one by Steven Hawkins. My god the internet is full of crap, and a video clip of Steven Hawkins "singing" Rocket Man is definitely up there.

Electronic voice singing "And you know it's gonna be a long long tiiiiiiimmmee" is hilarious. Watch out for the picture of his wife with "Mrs Hawkins" underneath it whizzing past too. Enjoy! (I hope this link still works, cause I tried it his afternoon and have been super scouted again. Grrr)

BTW: As of today, in fact, as of the last hour, I believe we have no gone into our code freeze. So that means a little bit of testing time, and it's our release party!! HOORRAH!!! Any guesses as to what our next release codename is??

Alpacas and cello strings

2007-09-17T18:00:00.000+01:00

Argh. It’s been a bit insane at the moment. So where the bloody hell have I been for the last 10 days?

Let me start with saying that for the last 2 years we’ve been writing the new version of our software, which we'd code named "Alpaca". Why? Well, unlike Java, which codenames all it's latest versions cool sounding names like "Kestral", "Tiger", "Mustang" and other fast and interesting things, we decided that, not being anywhere near that cool, should start with the letter A, and name it the stupidest looking animal we could think of. Look at this thing:

Frankly, it's fucking pathetic.

So right this very minute, we’re now on the hairy edge of releasing Alpaca, and have got a code freeze in place for this Wednesday. So we’ve been frantically trying to bug fix for the last few months, which means I've not really been around to blog. Despite having done cool things like stay at the Hotel Li, for a fun weekend of re-aquainting myself with booze (yes, at the dinner table at a very lovely restaurant, whilst Li and C were chatting, I actually turned to the bottle of wine, looked at it sitting in it's silver wine bucked, chilling in icy water, stroked it lovingly over it's white napkin and whispered "oh Alcohol, you crazy thing. I've mised you too. You know I couldn't stay mad at you for too long"), getting my arse slightly kicked at the Sex and the City board game... (which turned from a proper game to a quiz show style affair, with C being the quiz master, and Li and I having to slam the table in lieu of a buzzer everytime we knew the answer. By this stage we'd had a few cosmos, so it was all loud, blustery, and painful for my poor hands), lots of shopping, and saving babies from death.

Tonight, C and I went to the Magic's house to play beautiful music. Well, to play some music. ELLSO starts again this Saturday, and obviously I've not picked up the cello for the last 3 months. I've been the cricket that sung for the summer and has nothing to show for it in the winter, or something random like that. So tonight we decided it would be a good idea to get together, having a drink, and a good bash at our instruments. Would have been lovely if, whilst trying to tune my cello, I hadn't thought "Oh i'll just turn the peg a bit", causing the peg to slip, the string to never get back in tune, and eventually, after much fucking about with the peg, for my A string to SNAP. So much for the practise. Instead C and I alternated between playing cello and playing the piano, and Mag held the treble end up by playing violin. It definitely was a nice way to end my day, since it had all been a bit shite up to that point.

So that's really all i've been up to. An even faster, cliff notes special:

Book I'm currently reading: "The Colditz Story" by P. R. Reid. I've been up to the bit where they attempt to escape at the end for 2 days now. You'd think I'd have finished it, but I keep falling asleep. It really is a great book, but it just makes me sleepy.

Game Currently Playing: Halo 2 on my xbox. "Arbiter, you don't know who you're shooting at cause all the grunts look the same? Arbiter, stop shooting at our ship. It's supposed to have a hull you know. Arbiter, stop fucking about in general"

Last historical thing I toured: The Royal Albert Hall, where we did a private tour, going backstage and underground, for free grâce à the London Open House festival this weekend. Ok this was a bit of a brag, rather than a cliff notes special

Thing I'm most looking forward to right now: Hmm.. sleep? Pie and Mash for lunch tomorrow? Sleep right now? Tricky..

Thing I'm least looking forward to right now: Hmmm... not being able to sleep?

If you have a cliff notes special on your life, then please by all means, post it and let me know, or just leave me a comment. I'm especially interested in the last 2 categories. Whilst I clearly dodged the answers, please leave me proper ones!

So that's it really. A fair bit on, but when our software is out the door, there will hopefully be more imputus and time to blog. Busy, busy, busy.

7 Long Days

2007-09-07T17:46:00.001+01:00

If I get through the rest of tonight, I will have not have touched a drink in the last 7 days. 168 hours with no booze. Thats 10,080 minutes, sans alcohols. That will be the longest period in the last six years that I have been on the wagon. Eek.

Why? Last Friday night a big group of us went to my all time favorite East End pub ("knees up mother brown, knees up mother brown") for a night of chat, dinner and drinks. The night started with pints of Bombadier, and then went on huge amounts of Almangacs, and finished with barrels of whiskey.

I should have realised it was going to be quite messy when were were still there at midnight, and the landlord came over to our table and said "well, you might as well have the rest of this" and gave us 1/2 a bottle of Jamesons. One minute I'm pouring more whiskey into the Magic's glass, talking about god knows what, then it's scene missing, then it's 11am, the sun is streaming through my window, I'm in bed with most of my clothes still on, wondering how the hell I got home, with the start of one of the worst hangovers of my life. Children: Heed this lesson: Armagnac is evil. I should have remembered from all the other nights out, or perhaps the infamous champagne-cognac cocktails I had in St Maarten with the Ex-Flatmate. This hangover was quite similar, in that all I could do was lie on the couch, and alternate between drinking water, watching mindless, mindless, mindless Girls Aloud music videos, and clutching onto the bathroom floor, begging the room to stop spinning and throwing up. My hangover did not clear up until Sunday, and even then on and off I have been having headaches, mixed with painful joints, limbs and all over tiredness for the rest of the week, that culminated in me taking this Thursday off, because sitting at my desk with my head in my hands is not fun.

So to mark this momentus occasion, I'm going to watch a Bond flick at The Mag's (where I have to drive, so I can't drink) and tomorrow night I intend to have a glass of champagne. Just to see if I can still leap off the wagon with gusto, because whilst I'm not an alcho, the fact that I'm not missing having a drink is starting to worry me... I'd better not be becoming sensible. That simply will not do.

Which would you do?

2007-09-04T17:42:00.000+01:00

Oh lord. Ever since seeing The Bourne Ultimatum last week, I've been a tiny bit Matt Damon obsessed. And popsugar has loads of red carpet pics of him (yes and of his wife) that have been keeping me quite entertained.

However, I found this today on geeksugar and gizmodo and holy crap, I can't stop laughing:

So my question to you is: Which would you do? Answers on a postcard. (Or comment). I defy to you look at either Bill Gates or Steve Jobs, lounging 'seductively' on their desks, nerd style, and not piss yourself laughing... Ooh baby, let me turn you on with my nerd talk. Oohh la la la.

You're Friday Momen to Zen: Because it's funny

2007-08-31T12:04:00.000+01:00

Whether you believe in it or not, star signs can be very random, and in turn, very funny.

We were talking about astrology today, and this was the first site I found. I've never seen anything before that mentions what ailments a star sign suffers from or what their "beneficial foods" are, so I thought I'd share them today as my moment of random zen.

As I was born on the 19th of Feb which is on the cusp between Aquarius and Pisces, I get to double dip and cherry pick all the best bits of both star signs as I like (oooh! my ailments of choice: Alchoholism, Drug addiction, lack of sleep and insanity! cool)

Some mindless fortune telling for Friday. Enjoy:

Aries
Ailments
Arthritis, rheumatism, skin complaints, knee injuries, bone diseases, depression, eczema.

Beneficial Foods
Cabbage and kale.

Taurus
Ailments
Earache, goitres, gout, laryngitis, obesity, tonsillitis, swollen neck glands, throat inflammations, constipation.

Beneficial Foods
Beans and celery.

Gemini
Ailments
accidents (usually small, but frequent), bronchitis, pneumonia, nervous exhaustion.

Beneficial Foods
Lettuce and cauliflower.

Cancer
Ailments
Gastric disorders, heartburn, indigestion, obesity, ulcers.

Beneficial Foods
Watercress and milk.

Leo
Ailments
Backache, palpitations, fainting, blood disorders, fevers, dizziness heart problems, pill-popping.

Beneficial Foods
Oranges and peas.

Virgo
Ailments
Anorexia, bowel problems, indigestion, intestinal infections, appendicitis, malnutrition, hernia.

Beneficial Foods
Lemons and caraway seeds.

Libra
Ailments
Eczema, skin diseases, kidney and bladder infections, diabetes, abcesses, lumbago, vein disorders.

Beneficial Foods
Strawberries and plums.

Scorpio
Ailments
Bladder disorders, cystitis, genito-urinary diseases, piles, prostate trouble, PMT.

Beneficial Foods
Prunes and hops.

Sagittarius
Ailments
Injuries to hip and thigh, falls, obesity, baldness.

Beneficial Foods
Asparagus and cucumber.

Capricon
Ailments
Arthritis, rheumatism, skin complaints, knee injuries, bone diseases, depression, eczema.

Beneficial Foods
Cabbage and kale.

Aquarius
Ailments
Injuries to lower legs, ankle problems, poor circulation, varicose veins, blood disorders, nervous disorders, sheer lack of sleep.

Beneficial Foods
Pomegranates and pineapples.

Pisces
Ailments
Bunions, chilblains, alcoholism, drug addiction, lymphatic and glandular disorders, forgetfulness, insanity.

Beneficial Foods
Raisins, dates and cereals.

The point of the blog

2007-08-31T01:29:00.000+01:00

I can't sleep. It's not that I've been tossing and turning, and have just deciede I can't sleep. No, it's 1am now, and I've only just gotten into bed. I've stayed up and watched crap tv for ages, knowing full well I'm not interested in what I was seeing, but just dreading having to go to my bed. And I have no idea why. Why is it that I have this nervous, uneasy, twitch, that is making me feel, well, scared? And the wierd things is that I have no idea what I'm scared of. It's like having the Mean Reds. I know it's not the usual fear I get before I nod off, which makes me get up and check all the doors and windows are locked at night. No, this fear is just dense, heavy, and stodgy, like a wool blanket that's too thick and oppressive and holds you down and suffocates you. And the worse thing is that I know that writing things down is supposed to help you relax and make you feel like you're surrendering your problems, but it's almost as if typing these words out gives breath and life and substantiates this fear into existence.

What's wrong with me? There is nothing to be frightened of. Nothing is going on. So why is my heart racing? Why can't I relax and sleep?

This is why I own a blog. So that I can write all these things down, and later on, much later, when this fear goes away, or the feelings that I have day to day, or little events that go to make up a life, are forgotten and surrendered to the past, I know that by writing these things, these crappy, little, stupid events and thoughts, means that I will always have some record of it. Albeit, if only in the digital universe, to be made up of 1's and 0's and little bits of electricity.

Now all I have to do is be able to sleep, to start another day.

Argh it's late and I appologise for this post. I'm going to try to get some sleep.

The most productive thing I've been in years

2007-08-30T14:33:00.001+01:00

I love this site from instructables.com! It gives you instructions for how to make your own ipod or mobile phone stand out of your business cards. With clear instructions and pictures, this site is cool! (Seriously it rocks)

Honestly, I really LOVE this. I've made a few loads of them now for peoples phones, ipods and business card holders. I've even worked out how to make one for an ipod with cable attached (since we all keep ours plugged in at work) using postcards from our local Benugos. I really do think it's the most productive thing I've done in months. Seeing as I'm a bit just fed up with everything at the moment, this has certainly soothed my savage need to create and build something useful.

Finally I've found a second use for all my business cards! The first use obviously being for those "win a free lunch" draws at pubs and restaurants.

Hoorah for the long weekend

2007-08-24T15:37:00.000+01:00

It's T-Minus 2 hours until the start of the last bank holiday weekend in Britain. HOORAH!! I can't get out of here quick enough, since I've spent all week swearing at the bugs I'm trying to fix. I think if we are nice enough to give our clients NPE's then they should happily take these little gifts and live with it. Stupid software.

Anyway, I'm obsessed today with 2 things:

1. Thinking with my belly first
I stumbled across this from 101cookbooks (fabulous site) and I am seriously in love with these madelines. I love madelines in general, with their softness and their delicous buttery fattening goodness. The idea of a plate full of these delicious little cakes straight out of the oven is definitely making me want to rush home right now and make them. Unfortunately I first have to buy myself a proper madeline tin first, which is something I intend to do this weekend. YUM. For the recipe check it out here

2) Not getting fired at work
They've taken away our YouTube privaleges!!! It's a freaking disaster! How am I going to listen to "If I Could Turn Back Time" by Cher now? Where will I get my Roxette fix? WHERE?? This, my friends, is why god created the internet (well, not himself personally but you know what I mean), so when we get cravings for crap 80's music, we can go to one site, one search and 2 seconds later, be teleported back to days of bangs and scrunchies and bad, bad, rock ballads with guitars!! So now my account has been "super scouted" which means that management have been flagged to the fact I've looked at a website that I should be looking at. Unfortunately, I was super scouted the second time today when Calv sent us all a link to blacks.co.uk for hiking and outdoor gear for our next trip to the Artic circle. Unfortunately, he thought he sent us there, but instead sent us to another blacks site, which is not a camping store at all, but a site with explicit material, of a sexual nature. Super scout smacks me again. For inadvertedly looking up porn at work. Damn it.

Have a good long weekend if you're in Britain. Otherwise, see you on the otherside!

So how did it go?

2007-08-23T14:06:00.000+01:00

How did our summer party go?

I was well nervous on Friday afternoon. On the tube to the venue we were talking about how we thought it would end up in a big fight between our group and the group from downstairs (where the women are from). Not being a violent bunch though, instead of knives and guns, the whole fight would be played out in interpretative dance and song, like some sort of grand West Side Story production, with high kicks, singing and some chorus line work.... Obviously after laughing, joking and talking about people from our company for 30 mins, we only noticed another group of people from work on the same carraige as us as we were getting off the train....

If you're in London I'd definitely head up to the Roof Gardens for a night out! The gardens are on the top floor of the a large building in Kensington, and looked amazing. Our dining tables where under a big marquee with little lights dotted everywhere, and there was a classical guitarist playing for our pleasure. The food was really, really good too.. BBQ's sea bass, prawns, squid, chicken, lamb and ribs.. Grilled veges and proper, nice, salads. And some really yummy puds for afters (the boys apparently where trying to decide which desert was more manly: the cheesecake or tiramisu... I don't think there's a clear winner in any of those options). But I'll spare you the details of how cool the venue was and skip right on to the bitchy bits.

We were all standing in one of the gardens before dinner, drinking our extremely expensive beers and wine, and I nervously waited for the group in question to turn up. 1 1/2 hours later, and we were seated for dinner (because I told the Maitr'd that I wasn't their mother and if they couldn't turn up on time, that was just too bad, but the rest of us where eating now!). When they finally did turn up the two women made their grand entrance through the middle of everyone. Having never really seen them before but only hearing lots about them, I was not in the least bit surprised that they looked like Samantha wannabes from Sex and the City. Our entire table watched them walk in and sit down, and their entire table watched us walk past them to get food. Evil stares from the two blondes I was used to by the time desert came round!

Though other than that, nothing really happened. No fisty cuffs, not arguments, nothing. The only real incident with them happened when one of the women were in the toilets and apparently asked her friend for some lipstick. One of the girls I knew was in the toilets as well, and she told me she said to her "yeah, you look like you need it"..

After dinner our group just sat around the table chatting. We then went and danced to the live band in the gardens, and finally made it to the dance floor where at one stage I found myself half moshing to Jump Around by House Of Pain. In high heels. My feet were well and truly fucked by the end of the night (I'm a flats girl myself).

The only other incident occured when we were all leaving, and one of the girls we were with was calling for a cab home. Not realising this, we hailed her a black cab and told her we had a cab for her. Only after hanging up on the cab firm did she notice it was a black cab, and she then yelled at me "YOU KNOW I CAN'T AFFORD ONE OF THOSE, NOW YOU'VE MADE ME HANG UP ON THE CAB FIRM. THANKS A LOT". To which I got really pissed off at (come on by this stage I was well quite soused) so on the way home I got myself more and more angry about it, so when I got home I called her to give her a piece of my mind... when she didn't answer I thought "oh well that's mature", so I called again... No answer. So I thought "I'll text her what I think", but thought better of it.. then called again... and again.. and again.. no answer, no answer, no answer. So I left her this text "can you call me or I'm calling the cops". No reply. No call.

I woke up on Saturday morning with a horrendous hangover. Still no call back. So I called her again. No answer. (You're getting the general gist of this at this stage right?). Eventually I get through a recorded message: "This number is not connected". So then my over active imagination starts to work quick smart, double time: What if we put her in the wrong car? What if it wasn't a mini cab at all? What if the mini cab was one of those dodgy ones with a serial killer or rapist driving it? What if she's in hospital, or worse: lying dead, naked in a ditch? What would I say to her cousins? What would I wear at her funeral? Do people still hats for a funeral these days? Hmm.. where would I get one of those from? I imagined her family crying and accusing me "why didn't she just get in the black cab? Why didn't you make sure she was ok?", and me sitting there saying "If only we'd given her money so she wouldn't have had to get into that cab of death."

In the end, like a pyscho bitch stalker, I'm ashamed to say I called her 21 times in the space of 16 hours.
When someone suggested we call another friend of ours who might know, again, I still got no answer. After he didn't return my call for 2 hours I thought "oh my god. He's at the morgue identifying the body isn't he??". When he did eventually call me back, he said all casually, whilst I was on the other end of the line all frantic on the inside, trying not to let people see the crazy come out: "Oh her? Oh yeah, she lost her phone in that cab we put her in last night". Oh.

In the end, like a pyscho bitch stalker, I'm ashamed to say I called her 21 times in the space of 16 hours. And let me tell you something: when people hear you've called somone 21 times like that, no matter, how good your intentions are, people just sees you as a crazy freak. A stupid, stalkering, overly paranoid, dotty, crazy freak.

To draw to a close this saga of woe that has been our company's Summer Party from hell, the only thing that is left to retell is this: what happened to the two wicked witches? Did they get their comupance?

Our head of HR dragged one of them into this office on Monday and gave her a bit of a 'talk'. He called me up to tell me what had happened, and what he'd said and he told me "she was extremely contrite about the whole situation". I would have given him the sort of response he was looking for, but I was desperately trying to find out the meaning of the word 'contrite' on the internet (I did do 2 unit related English at school... it is my first language,... you'd think my vocabulary would be a bit better wouldn't you?). When I found out it was "remorseful" I became all benevolant. However, when she called me to appologise, and say how she didn't mean to make me feel so bad, instead of feeling victorious, I just felt, well, embarrased. I couldn't wait for the phone call to be over quick enough. When she asked me if there was anything I'd like to say to her, so I could make myself feel better, my mouth dried up and I just said I wanted the whole thing to be done now, and just start again. I'm not sure if that's what she was hoping for, but I guess it was what I was hoping for. And the second woman? The one who called me up all those times, and yelled and bitched? I've not heard from her at all. Not that I'm going to hold my breath on that either.

So there you are. Hopefully another drama finished and done. I'll probably keep organising events for our company. But I'll be damned if I organise a nice one any time soon. All parties from now on will be upstairs in the crappy pub down the road, with beer nuts, sausage rolls and deep fried everything. No glam parties, no celebrities, no dressing up, nada. Lager and crisps only. You know, I'm not half sure if that isn't what people really want anyway...

What NOT to say at a vegan festival

2007-08-22T00:10:00.000+01:00

When working at a vegan festival (remember, no animal products of any kind. No meat, no dairy, no eggs, no leather, no honey) here are some things you shouldn't say to customers. Definitely don't say any of these, then fall over yourselves laughing about it. (Oh I'll never be asked to work the stall again!)

1) Hmmm hammy
"This lady wants to know what are these shoes called?"
"Parma"
"Oh, you mean like the ham?"
"Um... more like the city...."

2) More baby seal skin
"So can you tell what the differences are between these two pairs of boots?"
"Well they are very similar, both water proof, both very sturdy, great for walking, so they're almost exactly the same. Well, except this pair is fur lined.... "
(me thinking: "oh shit!")
"Um, not mink though!"
(Me getting stern look)
"Um.. not fur of any kind... You're absolutely right sir, that wasn't funny at all..."

3) Beeatch
"So being a vegan means they don't believe in cruelty towards animals right? But cruelty towards humans is totally fine? So like that old bat being a bitch just now? That's completely within her ethos huh?"

4) The Colonel
"So what are you protesting about today?"
"The terrible things that KFC have done. It's an outrage and an abomination"
"You know you're right! It is an outrage they stopped doing hot and spicy chicken. I love that stuff, it was the best. All crunchy on the outside and spicy inside... And it's never quite been the same since. But still, an abominations a bit heavy going don't you think??"

10 mins and countdown

2007-08-17T17:36:00.000+01:00

10 mins before we leave for our summer party. I have a dress on (which I'm not sure I like), as well as 2 pairs of shoes (1 pair of high heals, 1 pair of sparkly flats in case I can't walk anymore in high heals) plus a pair of black trousers to go under the dress (it looks alot better than it sounds...)

C said I should go and meet a celebrity and make the women who have been bitchy to me jealous. I said he would have to be a blind one for me to have any chance.... Is Stevie Wonder in London tonight??

I hope tonight goes well. I hope I don't end up fighting with anyone.. I hope my minders remember they are my minders....... I hope it doesn't rain...

God I'm nervous.

Another day, another party, another rant.

2007-08-16T00:40:00.000+01:00

Here are my top 5 reasons why I am sick to the gut with this fucking summer party. If you're a bit sensitive to swearing you might want to look away. Oh fuck! I've already said 'fuck' haven't I? Sweet damnation.

1) Ticket Stress:
Having gone through trying to make sure that everyone who says they are coming is in fact coming, I had, over the last 4 days, 4 cancellations. You'd think that with a guest list of 20 odd people that wouldn't be a problem right? Wrong. I've spent the last 2 days emailing and emailing and emailing people. I give them deadlines for when they have to tell me if they want to come. They ignore me. Like some sort of self flagillating, 'just abuse me' idiot I extend those deadlines. I even call them up to find out if they want to come.. I get lots of "yes I'm coming" then "oh, um, sorry, no can't make it". You'd think after all the "why can't I get a ticket" bullshit I had, I wouldn't have had any problem shifting those ticket eh? 30 emails, tons of phone calls and 3 days of the run around and only at 5pm today did I finally manage to do it. Yes

2) Inevitable "I have nothing to wear" Stress:
Girl from work: "so what are you wearing Friday night?"
Me: "I'm not sure why? What are you wearing?"
Girl From Work: "Well... i bought a black pencil skirt, and I'm wearing a satin black top. E is wearing a black skirt with a fish tail, and sequined satin top too. We'll both probably wear stilletos I guess"
Me: "Oh. Bugger".

Now I have 36 hours to find something to wear. And because recently it's been raining heaps (hey, we've had floods here, full on "God want's to smite thee" floods), I've not been cycling to work as much cause I am truly a baby when it comes to skidding on slippery areterial roads in London and dying horribly by having my brains smashed in by a lorry. So I've obviously chubbed up a bit. And now I think nothing I own looks good enough to me. Fuck Fuck Fuck. I complained to Li, who, like some sort of fashionista fairy god mother sent me what seemed like hundreds of links to different clothes and shops I could go to. Fabulous. Problem solved? Well.... haven't managed to make it to any shops yet... Hey I've got 1 shopping night left.... How hard can it be to come up with the perfect "I look cool, but I'm not trying to hard" outfit?

Yeah I know. I'm screwed.

3) Body Stress:
Number 2 obviously leads me straight to number 3. So in the next 36 hours I have to make sure I've exfoliated, body brushed, plucked, pruned, conditioned, moisturised and done whatever sort of agricultural cultivation I need to do. Obviously I had big plans to do some serious exercise this week. Ok Ok, ok so that didn't quite materialise. Still, it's great eyebrows that you get remembered for. Not being a size 0 model lookalike with perfect hair, makeup, and skin, who looks amazing in the skin tight, Posh Spice type clothes, who can attract every man they see. At least that's what all those fashion magazines with their size 0 models splashed across them keep telling us. Of course I know it's not what you look like, it's who you are. But who I am would be greatly enhanced with gravity defying breasts, toned abs, killer legs, and the latest Dior whathaveyou outfit. Personlity. That's what I'm going to keep telling myself I have. And hopefully great eyebrows.... Who the fuck am I kidding?

4) Guest List Stress
Grrrr. I have said over and over and over again that this venue works on a guest list system. I give out tickets, but their nothing more than a piece of cardboard with the address and time on them. Guest list: simple concept: you're not on it, you don't go in. Do people listen to me? Fuck no! I've heard in round about ways loads of people who have swapped their tickets with other people. Have they told me? Hell no. If they can't follow simple, easy, a CHILD would get it, instructions, then to hell with them.

5) Bitch Stress
The killer. The reasons why it is all so bleak.

I had yet another phone call from the woman from downstairs saying she heard people on the waiting list are getting tickets, and where did they come from? When I pointed out that these were the ones that had been returned (see point 1), she came back with "why was I not asked if I wanted a ticket?" - well, that's because she'd already bought one from the venue (that I had to fucking organise it for her myself), and did I mention that organising her social life isn't actually my job, with java developer as a neat side line? When I said this she told me "well you know I wanted to go, and I would have cancelled my own ticket". When I said I was working through the waiting list, and she wasn't on it and I had specifically asked her friend if they wanted to go on, she said "well you still should have asked us first. I demand that I should have been asked first" WOAAAH there woman. You're not on the list. You already had a ticket. YOU WEREN'T ON THE LIST. I went through the people who patiently waited for a ticket. Was I supposed to jump all those people and ask her? Is she supposed to be the Messiah or something? After a 5 minute conversation where I told her I was flabergasted at what else I could possibly have done for her, and besides she couldn't have cancelled because she wouldn't have got her money back, she screamed at me like a child, and she hung up on me like an adult. Oh yes, this is what I have to contend with.

She might think I'm some sort of push over that she can try to bully, who will just roll over and do what she wants because she seems to try to do this with everyone else, but that's going to hell change come Monday, when I put in a complaint about her behaviour. Oh yes my friends. Complaint. I am going to tattle on her to teacher like a kid in primary school whose being bullied by kids for lunch money. And I'm going to do this because I know on Friday night she's going to say something bitchy to me and you know what I say? "BRING IT ON". Come and fucking get me girl. Just. Do. It. I know it sounds childish, but one word, one wrong look, so much as a huff or sigh in my direction from these middle aged, high maitenance women and I am SO up for the fight come Monday.

Now my only problem is that I may need to get me some minders. Not to protect me from them, but to protect me from myself. A few drinks, and I am angry and upset enough (I was physically shaking this afternoon after that phone call), that I sincerly hope I do not say something stupid.

God I am sick of this fucking party. I do not want to go anymore. Staying at home, curled up on the couch with East Enders and a bucket of KFC sounds intensely more appealing right now. Fucking volunteering. Stupid people. Calv says he hates "people who blame everyone else for things that are their own fault" and with these people from work, I utterly agree.

Friday Moment of Zen: One for the boys, one for the girls

2007-08-10T13:47:00.000+01:00

Upon my happy adventures on the interweb today, I have watched the following two things on YouTube, which though being so vastly different, both I watched with disbelief, and I submit them to you as the Friday Moment of Zen:

Battle of Kruger: A deadly battle b'twixt lions, crocodiles and water buffalos (oh my!) over the life over a water buffalo calf.

I watched in amazment how these lions dragged this baby buffalo to the ground! I watched in amazement as the lions where forced into a tug of war with a crocodile! I watched in amazement as the lions were finally beaten off by a herd of water buffalo. I also watched in amazement that this wasn't filmed by a nature program like Planet Earth, but simply by a dude with his video recorder, who says he barely knows how to use it. There is hope for me yet as an enthusiastic but lazy photographer, that maybe, by sheer dumb luck, I too might be ahble to take a photo of something remarkable one day.
The GHD guide to curling your hair with your hair straighteners.

I watched in amazment that you have to use 5 different hair products to make your hair curly. I watched in amazement that this video even exists. I watched in amazment that I think I've watched this before......

I will not submit which I think is the more interesting, nor which one I've categorised is for 'boys' or 'girls' as I think they hold equal value for both sexes. Especially for Mr Vigo Mortensen from 'A Perfect Murder' era, which I stayed up until 1am to watch last night.....

Possibly the lack of sleep is an explanation for why I am capable of watching utter garbage on the Tinterweb.

Leave me a comment which you find more a) intersting b) useful in life. Enjoy!

They just don't make them like this anymore

2007-08-08T14:21:00.000+01:00

Currently my playlist contains lots of French, German and Spanish dance/rap music. So that means lots of MC Solaar, Kate Ryan, Run Lola Run, and some crap Jennifer Lopez spanish stuff she made before she got herself almost arrested for being with someone who carried guns to nightclubs, and called herself JLo... Basically at the moment, if it's in a language I can just understand, it's made the playlist.

Having listened to Désenchantée by Kate Ryan for about 20 times now, to work out all the words (and secretly to see if I can sing along correctly so if I ever end up in a Francophone kareoke bar again I can wow the crowds with out singing songs from Grease, or Africa by Toto), I decided to google the song, and found the original version of this, sung in the 90's by the French singer Mylene Farmer. A grace à (thanks to) YouTube, i found the video clip, and you know, they just don't make them like this anymore, though I'm trying to recall any english (I mean english speaking, not english british) video clips that are like this - set in a concentration camp, it features kids smoking, women eating bugs, people beating up the lead singer, a riot, death, fire, soldiers beating up an old man and a kid who can't be much past 10 killing some soldiers with a semi automatic rifle. Kinda puts all the video clips with the singer wrything around in skimpies, all lathered, trying to whore themselves for single sales to shame.

It's a brilliant song, but the video is a bit like watching Schindlers List crossed with Saving Private Ryan crossed with French pop.... Check it out...

If you're interested in the Kate Ryan version, that I am currently listening to on repeat check her out here. Filmed all around Brussels, it's kinda nice watching my spiritual home with eurotrash pop (sorry Kate, you're not eurotrash. You're not any kind of garbage. You rock you old thing! Even if you didn't make it to the last 12 at eurovision this year).

Si tu est intéresté, les paroles pour la chanson suive. Tellement, je l'adore, et je pense, finalement, que je peux le chanter sauf les petites erreurs:

Désenchantée:
Nager dans les eaux troubles
Des lendemains
Attendre ici la fin
Flotter dans l'air trop lourd
Du presque rien
A qui tendre la main

Si je dois tomber de haut
Que ma chute soit lente
Je n'ai trouvé de repos
Que dans l'indifférence
Pourtant, je voudrais retrouver l'innocence
Mais rien n'a de sens, et rien ne va

Tout est chaos
A côté
Tous mes idéaux : des mots Abimés...
Je cherche une âme, qui
Pourra m'aider
Je suis
D'une géneration désenchantée, désenchantée

Qui pourrait m'empêcher
De tout entendre
Quand la raison s'effondre
A quel sein se vouer
Qui peut prétendre
Nous bercer dans son ventre

Si la mort est un mystère
La vie n'a rien de tendre
Si le ciel a un enfer
Le ciel peut bien m'attendre
Dis moi,
Dans ces vents contraires comment s'y prendre
Plus rien n'a de sens, plus rien ne va.

Late Night Noises

2007-08-07T01:09:00.000+01:00

I really don't know anything about the neighbours upstairs, except that I think they might be a bit deaf. A fact I've gleaned thanks to their telly being up so fucking loud from about 9am until sometime around 9pm every evening. Not that I mind that honestly... it's kinda nice to have some connection to people who live next to you, even if that connection is only their love of crappy day time reality TV shows about people trying to sell their old household rubbish or talk shows where people beat up their relatives for running off with their cousins.

However, sometimes, late a night, like now, I lie in bed, and I can hear them moving about upstairs and I honestly, fervently, and sincerely hope that what I am hearing is them getting fidgety at 1am, and not them getting it on at 1am... cause somethings moving around up there, and I'm praying I'm not lying underneath old, deaf people doing the nasty.

Eek.

My 4 Point Plan to Becoming the most despised woman in your company

2007-08-03T13:35:00.000+01:00

Sick of being liked at work? Want completely bitchy people to bitch about you and abuse you on the phone for something that is entirely their own fault? Want to feel like shite about yourself? If you too want to feel like this, then follow my 4 point, guaranteed or your money back, plan. Trust me, unlike fad diet pills, this plan will get you results in 4 weeks or less!

Volunteer to help run social committee or club. A social club at work which takes every employees contribution of a WHOPPING £4 per month. For this £4 per month, the social club will organise events like theatre trips, quiz nights, nights at the races with dinner, a huge open bar and dinner Christmas party AND a summer party. Yup, for only £4 a month, they can go to ALL of these events if they say they want to go to them in time, because for only £4 a month, the budget is pretty tight, and if you're one of the organisers, you have to try to get the best deal possible for the tiny amount of cash you get to organise these events. Remember though: to make this plan work properly you have to VOLUNTEER to do this, so this isn't part of your job, you don't get paid extra and you do all the work, like finding venues, making tickets, creating posters on your own time.

Organise the summer party. Don't just organise it at a crappy bar. Try to do something really cool, like go to the Roof Gardens in west London. Know that, because this is an expensive venue, there is a limit to the number of people who can go. Also realise that you've broken the 3 cardinal rules of social events: having it on a Friday, having it far from the office, asking people to pay £10 to come. Realise that the number of people that can go to this year's party is only 6 less than last year's summer party. To make it fair, ask people months in advance if they prefer an expensive venue, with limited number of people, or a cheaper venue where everyone can go. When everyone says "EXPENSIVE VENUE EXPENSIVE VENUE!", go on ahead an organise it. Make everyone aware they have to get tickets early because not everyone can go. Everyone will say that's fine.
Find out after you've started organising, that the venue is owned by Richard Branson, and is the haunt to many celebrates on Friday nights. Find out after you've organised it for some reason it's in loads of London papers and is getting brilliant reviews for it's multi million pound refurbishment.
Careful: You'll be stressed because a) you hope people will come and you've not just spunked the limited resources on an event no one will go to because of the 3 broken cardinal rules. Allow guests to come because guests can always go to the summer party, and what if you don't sell enough tickets? Careful: You may also start to feel kinda good you're organising a really cool do for your company... hope fervently people will like it.

Run out of tickets. Oh yes. It's a popular event now. People request tickets thick and fast. Run out of tickets within 3 weeks. Reneg on your flatmate after she offers to give up her ticket and you say "no don't worry about it, guests can come, so you can be my guest", and ask her if she can give up her ticket for someone else. Feel bad you have to do that. Tell people who ask now they have to go on a waiting list. Scrimp and save and try to find money for extra tickets. Find only enough money for 3 more places.
Have people call you on the phone to yell at you. You're almost there! Answer calls from women on other floors who are livid there aren't any tickets for them. Have them scream that you should not have allowed guests. Have them yell and say "why are we subsidising other people?". Point out that even if all 10 guests don't come, they still couldn't go because they did ask for a ticket early enough, and all the people on the waiting list would have got those tickets first. Remember: they're now going to be irrational and say things like "well, I work on site 3 days a week so didn't see my email". Point out they've had 3 weeks to ask for tickets. Don't point out you yourself worked on site for 4 bloody years, one of which was overseas so you never went to social events that year, and that not being in the office doesn't mean you can't read your fucking emails, because you managed to do it. Don't point out they must be completely unprofessional if they don't check their emails on site. Don't point out they must be completely lazy for not getting in early enough. Don't point out the world doesn't revolve around their arses, so just because they want a ticket doesn't mean they can get one. Don't call them back when they slam the phone down on you mid conversation to ask them "I'm sorry, are you 6 years old? Grow up".

Have same people bitch to everyone in company. Now you'll get other people coming and asking you the same questions. You'll get managing directors asking you "so, what's happening with the summer party? I hear things aren't going well?". Have people talk about you behind your back to other people on the social committee, who of course tell you what's being said. Have them get into heated arguments in pubs about how poorly organised it was, because they can't get a ticket. Have people call you up every single fucking day to talk about it. Start to feel worse and worse about yourself. Very quietly cry at desk.

Congratulations! You've achieved your goal! That's it! 4 simple steps. Guaranteed or your money back. Do these things, and you'll experience low self esteem and be the object of hate by pig dogs, who are too self important to think they need to follow rules, always bitch how they know how to do somethings better, and are too fucking lazy to get off their fat arses to join the social committee themselves and organise something. Well done you.

You'll wish you'd never said that

2007-08-02T09:33:00.001+01:00

Retraction: Following a little hissy fit by the eminent Dr D, I've retracted this post (well the offensive word he called me).

Conversation between me and Dr D:

Me: "Did you run in to work in that shirt?"
Dr D: "Yup"
Me: "Hold on, didn't you wear that shirt yesterday?"
Dr D: "Yup"
Me: "What did you sleep in that shirt too?"
Dr D: "Um...." looking sheepishly "yeah, I think I did!"
Me: "You know, when someone asks you something you don't always have to tell the truth!"
Dr D: "But I find that honesty is the best policy though, wouldn't you say so Ch(ed: deleted to keep the peace)*?"
Me: "Oh you're going to pay for that"

And so it starts for yet another week.

* - due to overwhelming screeching, the actual phrase used by Dr D had to be removed.

You're Friday Moment of Zen: Not More Than Meets The Eye

2007-07-27T16:25:00.000+01:00

We're off to see the new Transformer's film tonight at Leicester Square. Why? Well, we have a bit of an affinity with Transformers thanks to our jobs (if only our jobs were in robotic programming or something cool like that rather than just dull, run of the mill programming of software used by organisations that can best be described as Satan's underlings - albeit lowly ones that fetch Satan's smokes from the corner shop or maybe drive him around in his Volvo to score girls, rather than do any thing really bad like arms trading or mass genocide. Hey - we're not completely evil.). Plus (thankfully!) we are all old enough to actually remember watching the show on tv and own the original toys (though I never owned any myself, but I was more of you playmobil girl... )

If you're seeing the film sometime, drop me a line and let me know what you think... I've decided to sneak in some snack food from China town, rather than pay exorbitant prices for some peanut M&M's (which I am currently using to perfect a magic tricks on Calv's desk. Along the line of "Here's the promise: a blue M&M and nothing else in my hand. Here's the turn: " (and it vanishes into my mouth). "And the prestige? Well, I'm still working on bringing it back... " if I was bulimic that'd be a whole lot easier I suspect...

Anyway, in preparations for tonight's big film, here are a couple of quite funny auditions for the new film. I particularly like Sgt Power. Enjoy!

20 20 Vision

2007-07-26T14:03:00.000+01:00

Song to be sung to the tune of the "Lets all do the conga!, Let's all do the conga!"

"I have perfect vision!
I have perfect vision!
20 20 vision!
Don't need silly glasses!"

Once, about a decade ago, I went to an optomotrist who told me that whilst I almost had 20 20 vision, why not get glasses anyway? Getting talked into them, I got some really hidious tutle shell, round glasses (hey, it was the mid 90s. Turtle shell was hot back then). I tried them for about 2 weeks, during which my eyes started to hurt like crazy and them more I wore them and I worse my eyesite got. That was when I decided that it wasn't just vanity that would force me to stop using them, but a desire to not have headaches from those two pieces of glass.

Over the last few years I've been kindof worrying if I needed to go back to an optomotrist. Not because my vision was bad, but I was worried it wasn't staying good. Tuesday things on my screen seemed to be slightly blurry so off I took myself to the optomotortist for the dreaded test. (Btw, to all the optomotrists out there: before I ever go to another eye test again which involves you getting right up close to my face, I promise to use mints if you do too). Blurry vision due to worsening eyesight? Nope, nada, pas de tout. Apparently the fact that I'm a freak who doesn't blink enought is why I can't see. That's it. Dry eyes. Nearly kissed the slightly smelly optomotrist when he said I had perfect vision, bought myself some eye drops and danced the conga all the way to back to the office where I sung my little song to ol' four eyes Dr D (who is getting a fierceful pounding on my site these days!).

Hurrah! Ol two eyes is back, and I'm stayin' baby!

Off To France

2007-07-19T17:43:00.000+01:00

We're off to Montepellier tomorrow for 4 days of lazing in the sun, drinking, eating, Tour de France watching in the Pyrenees and 1 night of camping!

See you on Tuesday!

What not to do when someone is really hungry and tired

2007-07-19T10:37:00.001+01:00

Me: “When you get to Benugo’s can you buy me and eggs florentine?”

Dr D: “If they don’t have that?”
Me: “If they don’t have that, then an eggs benugo, or the other one with the salmon. In fact, buy me anything to eat, I’m really exhausted and really hungry.”
Dr D: “So basically, we could just get you some roadkill, wrap it up, add some sauce, and you’d eat that you’re so not fussy today.”
Me: “Don’t be mean. I’m very tired”
Dr D: “ You know, I have half a mind to not buy you anything at all, even if they do have what you want, just to see you sit there and cry.”
Me: “hmm.”

Don’t be mean to the girl with the blog, and the finickiness to blog you being mean.

Tower Depresssing

2007-07-17T17:55:00.000+01:00

After coming home tonight from another shopping trip of house stuff (how much more stuff we can get in here?), C & I found a documentary called "The Tower, a Tale of Two Cities" on BBC1. This is based on an ex-council high rise tower, situated right on the river overlooking Canary Wharf, bought off Lewisham Council and has been refurbished and is now being flogged off as luxury apartments to wealthy city types. The whole idea of selling these apartements off is part of Lewisham Council's hope to regenerate the area, by brining in wealty people, which I guess means to just force poor people out. The documentary shows the juxtaposition of this brand "new" tower to it's sister tower, still a council estate, and still full of poor tenants, and the juxtaposition of these people's lives. Where one group argue about where to put their high def TVs, the other group battle with losing their businesses, dead beat fathers of their children, poverty and drug abuse. Showing these two completely different worlds, one ultra rich, and one ultra poor, living right next to each other, in identical towers, albeit for a splash of paint, is amazing, but also incredibly harrowing and depressing. It is especially interesting to me because the ex-flatmate and I used to live about 1 mile from these two apartments, and we watched them rip the guts out of the old council block, and refurbish it. So whilst there is an element of watching all these poor people's lives as they are being forced out of the area, and watching all the rich people as they come in, total naive of the area they are about to become a part of, I have to confess there is also an element of "oh look that's the pub across the road from the Asian supermarket" and "I wonder if you can see us speeding past in our car, doors locked, windows up so we don't get robbed?".

Tenants from the sister tower

The 'new' tower.

If you want to watch it, check it out on BBC1 at 11pm. I can't stress how good this documentary is. Well, by good I mean 'interesting, saddening, non life reaffirming'...

Afterwards though, I was so fucking depressed, that I honestly couldn't sleep, so to perk myself up, I had to watch some light, no brain content fluff, with lots of pretty people being upset about stupid things, rather than anything really life threatening like say, making sure that their daughters don't get raped on their way to school. Naturally that meant digging out an episode of "Sex and The City". Of course, being me, that completely back fired because in my attempt to make myself feel better, I ended up watching the episode where Samantha gets breast cancer. Just fucking great.

Friday Moment of Zen: Tell them this

2007-07-06T14:33:00.000+01:00

There are WAY too many things happening in London this weekend:

1) Le Tour de France is starting it's Grand Depart in London for the first time in it's century history, making it the 3rd time ever that this cycle race has crossed the English Channel (ou la manche si vous préfèrez). On the Sunday the race starts, and they are cycling right past our house (well, techinally, about 2 mins walk from our front door, but when it is travelling all around France, I categorise 'down the end of the street' as past my front door), so we'll go out and cheer those crazy cyclists on. I do find it really amusant that Le Tour de France is starting from Trafalgar Square, the very square dedicated to the battle where the British kicked those frenchies butts in 1805. I wonder who thought that was a good idea. The British really never let things die! The time trial is on Saturday to work out who will start the race wearing the yellow jersey, and is going all London, taking in some of it's best sights, and should be a fantastic thing to watch! I, however will not be there on Saturday because Dr D and myself will be going:

2) To LiveEarth at Wembley! I've had a look at the line ups at the other Live Earth concerts, and I reckon the London one is the best! American girl turned Fox Hunting, Pint-Swilling, Fake Accent totting Madonna is playing, but so is Snow Patrol, Beastie Boys, Red Hot Chilli Peppers (and Genisis??). But I am really, really, really excited because I am finally going to get to see the FOO FIGHTERS LIVE!! AAHH!!! You'll see me right there, up in the nose bleeder seats, so far away from Dave Grohl I'd be able to see him better if I was in space, singing my guts out, and using my telephoto lens to try and get a good look at him! (God, I can heard Dr D from here moan already). Ahh. Everlong live. That's going to be FANTASTIC. And I reckon when all the acts we don't want to see are playing, like Keanne, we can just go to one of the many bars and help pay for Wembleys debts by paying for beer.

So, if you are in London, or in Britain at all this week and going to any thing good, let me know. And in exchange I will give you the power to be able to tell people silently what you think of them. In British Sign Language. This cracks me up because it's not every day you get to hear in a perfectly inanciated, posh, upper class english accent the words "fat cow".

Enjoy!

VideoJug: How To Insult Someone Using British Sign Language

British Summer = Cricket + Rain

2007-07-06T14:03:00.001+01:00

We went to Lords on Tuesday to watch a 20 20 match with Middlesex vs Surrey. As a non-cricket watcher, I really only go for 3 things:

Lounging in the hot summer sun, drinking beer/wine/champagne
Picnic food
The party atmosphere

However, thanks to the stupid, crappy, flood enducing, cold, wet, horrid english 'summer' (and I use 'summer' in the loosest possible terms), we've spent the last month with barely any summer sun, and NO chance of floaty dresses, strappy tops, sandals/thongs (aka FLIP FLOPS if you're giggling to yourself).

Instead of hot summer cricket at Lords we were subjected to this:

with somtimes TEASING sun like:

I WANT THE CANCER INDUCING SUN BACK! I am CRAVING the possiblity of getting sunburnt. I am vitamin D deficient!!! On top of that, I keep listening to the soundtrack to the Ex-Flatmate's and my holiday to St Maarten last year, all the songs from Radio Calypso that they kept playing whilst we were hooning around going from sundrenched beach to sundrenched beach, and this has made me even more desperate for some hot weather, so much so that I am seriously thinking of going on a holiday, even if no one wants to come with me! So this is a shout out, an open invitation, a plea to the universe: if YOU are thinking of going somewhere where we can take our pasty bodies out on a beach, in swimsuits that no one wants to see us in, drink cocktails with little umbrellas in them, and eat bbq's every day, let me know, because I am sick of this crappy weather:

Some Good News At Last

2007-07-04T12:40:00.001+01:00

I have finally worked out why I am so happy that Alan Johnston was released by his kidnappers in the Gaza Strip. After all the crap news we're getting at the moment like:

cars in London being filled with nails, gas canisters and the such, and left to explode in the middle of the west end.
2 guys setting fire to their car, and driving it into Glasgow airport
all those doctors in the NHS being arrested for possibly trying to kill people
that kid Madeleine still being missing after 60 days now, probably by some pedophile ring

it is so good to actually hear some fucking good news for a change!

To be perfectly honest, after 114 days, I really did give up hope that he'd be released. If you don't know who he is, Alan Johnston is a BBC reporter who was kidnapped whilst out on assignment at the Gaza Strip on the 12th of March. I was surprised when he wasn't killed after his first month of capture, but when they released a video of him strapped to the eyeballs with explosives recently, I figured that was it, game over. So good work to everyone who worked so hard to get him freed, because we get so little good news these days, it's just nice to know that someone who looked like a dead cert, pardon the pun, for things going pear shaped for him, maybe not everything always turn out badly, and perhaps there is still hope that despite all the death threats, bombings, and red-alert-we're-all-going-to-die security levels we're living through at the moment, maybe it'll be alright for us too.

Calv's Friday Moment of Zen: George and Alan

2007-06-29T16:48:00.001+01:00

As it's Calv's birthday this Sunday, he's ~~harrassed~~ asked me to put this post up with the Volvic adverts featuring tyranasourus Alan and George the Volcano. I like these ads, but not like Calv and Li, who litterally piss themselves laughing whenever they talk about them. Which in Calv's case is quite often.

So Happy Birthday Calv. Just for you: the Volvic ad. Pity the water tastes like crap

Overheard in a music store

2007-06-28T14:24:00.000+01:00

Why is it that people who play random instruments seem more often than not a insanely posh? I was standing in this tiny music store to return a cello case, and a woman was being served, who must have played the harp, based on how she was going on about this harp tuner and that piece of music, but I realised how unposh I am (especially in my jeans and trainers) when the shop keeper and the woman had this conversation: (now remember: You have to read this with the west london, sloaney fake Gwyneth "I'm English" accent:)

Shop keeper: "Oh I promised myself I wouldn't eat anything today but I'm getting frightfully peckish now"
Harpy Woman: "I do know what you mean! I have to go to a gastly nibbles party tonight, so I'll have to pop out and get myself a bite to eat soon. Did you know that my 9 year old son was told off in his IT class for listening to Elgar. So I thought I'd buy him some music so he can have a bash about at it!"
Shop Keeper: "That is lovely isn't it! And of course he'll be able to play some of it naturally"

Gastly? Bash About? ELGAR? Playing ELGAR at 9? I mean I like Elgar but I'm 29 and the Elgar pieces I like I can't even play it! What sort of freak at 9 is this kid? Enough to make me feel inadequate! If you'd like to see what I mean, check this out from youtube:

I can not play like this and I do not do any of these uber serious facial expressions, unless she starts to manically giggle whilst playing which I'll admit, I do do sometimes. Usually when I've just fucked something up...

Friday Moment of Zen: Tasty Tasty Tasty

2007-06-22T16:25:00.001+01:00

We’re off to the Taste of London festival tonight for hopefully a bang up night of Michelin star food, drinks, good times and celebrity heckling. Unfortunately my old mate, that twat, Jean Christoff Novelli or his equally annoying coutnerpart Anthony I've-Kissed-A-Goat Warol Thompson will not be there (who will I try to insult to their faces now?!), but Angela Hartnett from the Connaught will be, as well as Stuart Gillies from the Boxwood Café and people from Fino (who make the yummiest Crispy Pork Belly!). The weather report has said it's going to be pissing down all day, so I'm wearing massive hiking boots, which really goes a long way to making me feel all feminine.

If you're in London this weekend, I'd say you'd best get your arse to Regents Park because this is a fantastic 4 days of foodie treats! If you're not, then this is my Friday moment of Zen: A Chocolate Bunny getting the brunt of my annoyance and anger. I hope you enjoy it more than the bunny did!

I'm a pretty vegan bunny

What's that? Can't hear you?

I can't see!

AAAHHH! YOU HEARTLESS BITCH!

Mother Plucking

2007-06-22T00:33:00.000+01:00

I have just come home from a night out at the theatre (christ how posh do I sound??!). Despite having spent the last 1/2 hour bitterly complaining to C about how tired I was and how I wanted to go to sleep, it still has taken 30 minutes between getting in the door and collapsing under my duvet. Why? Because recently I have been reading and watching and listening to too many bloody guides that have the opposite effect of making me feel motivated for how to look good, act good, be good, eat right, drink well, blah blah blah, and instead have made me paranoid and anxious. There is this constantly and annoyingly stream of information, with advice and helpful hints for making us all be more feminine and 'beautiful', like How to Look Good Naked, Trinny and Susanna's What Not to Wear, Trinny and Susanna's What to Wear, How to Walk In High Heels, How to Look Fabulous Without Making it Look Like You're Trying to Look Fabulous Even Though It's CLEARLY Taken You 2 Hours to Get Ready To Go Out To Ensure You're Looking Fabulous. Plus hanging out with my girlfriends who are all annoyingly pretty, with their annoying ability to walk in stiletto heels, have the right hair cuts, have the perfect cool clothes and be exceptionaly well put together, that recently are making me feel downright inadequate. On top of that, if I wasn't getting enough advice on my physical appearance, I am also recently being barraged with their advice for how to "be a single girl in London": I've been put aside and told I need to 'act single and start flirting' with bartenders/waiters/any man with a pulse. The entire world seems to be conspiring against me right now, that instead of making me feel motivated, upbeat and attractive, I just feel unattractive, depressed, unhappy and all other adjectives describing 'ugly'.

So tonight, rather than just falling straight into bed and sleeping, I've stayed up extra late to pluck my mother fucking eyebrows. This, only a few weeks after having unleashed a plucking on them that skinned the poor little buggers within a inch of their lives. I have learned the ultra hard way that the difference between looking tidy and looking constantly surprised, or even worse, bald just above your eyes, really is a total of about 5 hairs.

Why is it that woman feel that if they aren't making a consistent effort they are some how failing in society, destined to be alone in the world, possibly looking after hoards of cats? I have realised that being a size zero isn't the way forward (depressingly, as a size 12, I am far and away the largest girl in my team, and there are a few of us. They range from a size zero to a size 8. Then there's me. If that isn't enough of a kick to your self esteem, I don't know what is). Why do we feel the need to always be pruning, exfoliating, cleansing, toning, weazing through exercise classes, or exercise in general, epilating legs, filing nails, massaging cellulite, tinting eyelashes, dying hair, pumicing feet, watching what we eat, checking what we're wearing, and all the rest of the bloody crap that seems to be thrown at us? Why can men get away with doing frankly chuff all other than showering and possibly wearing deoderant if they remember, but if we haven't attacked ourselves with every possible beautifying device, potion, lotion, miracle cure for wrinkles, spots, and lines, known to man, we're not taking care of ourselves because "we're worth it"?

Why can't sitting on a couch, eating bags of pork scratchings and watching EastEnders be a perfectly acceptable way of life? Or is it it's not necessarily society that's to blame for women being ultra high maintenance, but ourselves? Are we our own worst enemy? Ugh.