Party Games in the Office

Helpful tip: What they don't tell you in the "How-to"'s: if you're going to do party levitation in the office, don't scream when they lift you 2 cm off the floor.

We did this in the office this week, (why? honestly because we can) and since the only other girl in the office point blank refused to do this, I let myself be the levitatee (is that even a word?). The only thing was that the idea of having nerd boys (none of whom leave their boxers in the office) touch me under my knees and armpits made me squeemish, so we decided to just picked the chair up, with me obviously still sitting on it.

I was all up for it, until they decided that there should be a 5th person to stand behind the chair, just in case the whole thing tipped over, and I cracked my skull on the radiator behind me. Only then did I think "what the hell am I doing?". When they started to levitate me and I was literally about 2 cms off the floor, I screamed like the girl I am, they dropped me, and refused to do it again, in case one of our directors came running around the corner to see who'd been killed.

I really want to do it again, but I think I've missed my one and only non-drunk oppurtunity to try this.

Does anyone else do random things like this in their office?

Deadly Flannel

Me, walking past Calv's desk at work, spot a flannel shirt, very similar to one I loved when I was in high school (hey! I know what you're thinking, but in the early 90's flannel rocked. Just watch reruns of "Party of 5". That dude from Lost isn't so cool now is he).

Me: "Oh look, I used to own a flannel shirt just like this" (pick up "shirt")

Me: "OH MY GOD, IT'S NOT HIS SHIRT, IT'S HIS BOXERS!!! EEEEK"

Me: Run to the bathroom to wash of the boy germs of my hands, because those boxers have been under his desk for the last 4 years, and I don't want to catch cooties.

Friday Moment of Zen: Champagne Thursdays + Vomit Fridays + German Country & Western Music = Me Being Almost Human Again

I am horrendously hung over today. I love everything about Champagne Thursdays, except for the inevitable Head Pounding, Neck Throbbing, Holding Vomit Back, Hangover Fridays.

I'm not convinced that I am feeling like shit today because of the whole bottle of rose I guzzled with dinner, or the numerous bottles of champagne a bunch of us shared last night (going out with nerds who work for big investments banks is great when you're a nerd girl, for we are indeed a very rare breed, and they always buy drinks. I'm not proud.). I actually think I feel and look like shit today because of the sneaky cigarette I bummed of a guy at the bar, or possibly the 5 lamb chops I had for dinner.....

So, to nurse my "hangover" this morning, I've had:

• 1 carton orange juice
  
• 1 skim milk cappacino
  
• 1 egg, ham and hollandaise sauce muffin from Benugos (to counteract the low fatness of the skim milk)
  
• 1 paracetamol (because I'm conceeding that I am in fact getting old, and it's possible I might start needing drugs to help my alchohol abuse. Actually I must be maturing a little because I normally start my road to recovery by having a can of coke and a packet of cheese doritos at 9am. Hmm. fruit juice and paracetamol... how novel).
  

However, the thing that is really making me feel better this morning is listening to that crazy "german" band Texas Lightning (I say "german" because I think they are actually from Newscastle, NSW, however they were the german entry for Eurovision last year so go figure). Now don't get me wrong, I am not a country and western music gal (despite loving tunes like "Sweet Home Alabama") but this seriously infectious song is just the dogs bollocks when it comes to fun. Listen to it, I dare you not to smile.

So my Friday Moment of Zen this week is my cure for Champagne Thursdays: Wierd Arse German Country & Western Music. Enjoy!


Update As of 4pm, I've also had: 1 large pepperoni & chilli pizza, and a chunky peanut butter bar + I'm going out for dinner tonight, so soon I'll won't be able to leave my house because i can't fit through the door, and I'll have to wash myself with a rag on a stick.

2007: Year of the Sweet and Sour Pig

According to Chinese Astrology, 2007 is The Year of The Pig, and to celebrate, China Post have issued a new stamp with a twist to celebrate the New Year.

How brilliant are these stamps! Not content with them being dead cute, what with the little piggy pulling it's mum's tail, the designers have added a really bizare twist by making them scratch and sniff stamps that smell like sweet and sour pork AND that taste like sweet and sour pork when you lick them. I'm not sure if that would beat the taste of stamp glue, but I'd be willing to give it a try.

What with 2008 being the Year of the Rat, hopefully China Post won't come out with a limited edition garbage flavoured stamps with pictures of mother rats eating their young. That wouldn't be nearly as cute.

Odds and Betting

I've just come back from watching Arsenal beat Liverpool 6 goals to 3 in the Carling Cup at Anfield. The odds on that must have been massive!

Then, on the walk home, The Flatmate and I found a tennis ball we started kicking about. Near our house is a huge Boots warehouse where late at night big semi trailers come to drop off goods. As we were walking along, we saw a semi trailer coming towards us, so I kicked the tennis ball to the curb, so to avoid it being run over by the truck. What are the odds that the semi trailer not only aims directly for the curb, running over a tiny tennis ball and squashing it flat, but also then reverses to have another 3 goes at it with all the wheels on one side?

Pretty slim of you ask me.

So with this renewed sense of strange odds in the air I'm going to jump onto the Betfair website, and find the biggest odds I can find, and blow some of my soon to be mortgaged to the hilt money on it. Not alot, just a bit. I reckon that tonight's the night kids. Mama needs a brand new washing machine. Come on lady luck. Bring home the bacon.

Update 12.04 am: I've just placed £2 on the Diamond Halo (come on! with a name like that how is that not a sign??!?) to win at £26-1 at Penn, Race 2. It's not the £1000 bet I was looking for, but a girl's gotta start somewhere. If this one doesn't win, then I will go to bed, and sleep. If it does though... oh la la. I might just keep on going until I lose.... stay tuned for my slippery downhill slope towards Gamblers Anonymous!

Update: 12.13am: Well, I'm off to bed then. Nice early night for once. Stupid fucking horse. Hope it's on it's way to make some hefty glue.

Painful Wii

All of us bought The Flatmate a Nintendo Wii for Christmas, which he loves. If you don't know, the Ninetndo Wii have take gaming to a completely different level, and instead of just having a hand held controller which you press buttons on, you play by holding a controller and doing proper movements. So you would play the bowling game as if you were actually bowling, baseball as if you were actually hitting a ball, you get my drift.

Annoyingly of course, because he plays it all the time, he is getting too good for me to even compete against. So tonight, all beered up, I feel for the first time in ages that I could actually beat him at tennis, a feat I've managed to get close to, but never of course actually doing. So watching him, all excited like a child on Christmas, waiting for him to beat who ever he is playing, I stand there, anticipating the joy of victory that only booze can self delude someone into thinking they can achieve. And then he completely smashes my elbow and arm with his hand and Wii remote whilst he's trying to do an ace, leaving me to hobble down the stairs, cluthing my painful arm.

Stupid Flatmate, stupid Wii. Grr.. I hope he goes home soon.

Farewell Sweet Ramen, And Thanks

The inventor of the instant ramen noodle, Momofuku Ando, passed away on the 5th of January 2007 from a heart attack. Faced with food shortages after WWII in Japan, Ando
developed his idea for a quick, convenient noodle product to help feed them masses. And feed them, and me, he most certainly has.

The 2 minute noodle, more commonly known as the "Pot Noodle" or the "Slag of Snacks" in Britain, has interwoven itself in my life as long as I can remember:

It was the 2 minute noodle that, as a 9 year old left at home during school holidays to fend for myself, was one of the first thing I remember trying to cook. I remember standing in the kitchen, with a bowl of noodles in cold tap water, trying to work out why they wouldn't soften. I'd prod them for ages, then give up, until my mum came home, and taught me how they were done. Then she started to cook me proper food to have for lunch, rather than "rubbish junk".

It was also the 2 minute noodle that got me through my final years in high school. Not because I couldn't afford to eat anything else, but because I was too lazy to find anything with more nutritonal value. It was directly due to eating a pack of these practially every day, that I got chunky, and developed a lovely stomach ulcer, which in turn led to the downfall of my guilty love affair for this most sinful of snacks.

So in memoriam of the Momofuku, whose fantastic invention has saved starving people in post war Asia, not to mention thousands of university students, I decided to lay aside the stigma that goes with having 2 minute noodles, and brazenly made one for lunch today, to the looks of disgust from my fellow co-workers. And here is my recipe for the best, most moreish, most delicious ways of 2 minute noodles. Try it once, and you'll be hooked.

• 1 pack, 2 minute beef flavoured noodles (don't get excited about any other flavour. BSE giving beef is the best, though if you must, then don't blame me if you don't like it).
  
• cheese, grated
• tabasco sauce
• 1/2 lemon (well, I like 1/2 a lemon, but that's probably a bit much)
  

1. Break noodles in half, place lovingly and delicately in a china bowl. No plastic cups here thank you very much.
2. Pour freshly boiled water over the noodles, and cover the bowl with plate, to keep as much heat in as possible.
3. Whilst waiting, grate some cheese. Extra mature cheddar is good, though if feeling guilty about having noodles in the first place, the low-fat pre-grated, feels-like-plastic, never -seen-a-cow-in-it's-life, stuff works fine too.
   
4. Fidget around until the 2 minutes is up. Don't be fooled, this is the most important step! Make sure that the noodles do not stand in the hot water too long, or else they'll turn into a soggy mush, which you might as well throw away, because then they are no good to man nor beast. You want nice, still slightly firm noodles.
5. Strain all the water from the bowl, and replace with freshly boiled water, until the noodles are just covered.
6. Stir in flavour sachet.
   
7. Liberally shake, like a British Nanny, the tabasco sauce over the noodles. When you think you've put too much, add another shake.
   
8. Squeeze liberally with lemon juice
9. Mix noodles
10. Add grated cheese to the noodles before each delicious mouthful, so that the cheese is just melting as you eat them.

Oh my god. This is soo good. It's not haute cuisine, but then again I'm not french. And everyone has to have a guilty secret snack, that they know is no good for them, but they can't resist anyway. This and pork scratchings are definitely mine. What's yours?

I'm hungry again just thinking about this, and it's almost 1am. Hmmm.. I wonder if we have any in the kitchen..

Friday Moment of Zen: I don't like cricket

Oh no. Now, thanks to our true blue Aussie boys in green and gold, I LOVE IT!

We annihilated the English cricket team! We creamed them! No, cream isn't the right colour... It's paler than that... We WHITEWASHED THEM! That's right. We won the Ashes series 5-0, a feat that hasn't occurred since the 1920-21 series.

If you think I'm being a bad winner, that's not completely true. Being an Aussie girl in London, who is proud of her nation, I've had to endure the constant ribbing and name calling from my English friends for the last 18 months. And now sweet, sweet retribution has come baby! I've come into work wearing my Aussie football shirt, and my Aussie beanie. The green and gold my friend.

Whilst a more gratious person would politely and modestly praise her team, and honour the fight of the losing side, I am many things, neither of which is gracious or polite. So I say BOO-YA to the English team, and especially Andrew Flintoff, who I've hated since the last Ashes series due to his crowing and arrogance. Who's laughing now eh Freddie? Not you.

So your Friday moment of zen: You might not find this so zen like if you're English, but as an Aussie, this is sweet.

New Years Resolutions

1. Start to try to be a morally better person
Clearly, have already begun the year with a flying start after returning the 50p that I underpaid our local Benugo for my egg/ham/hollandaise sauce muffin. The manager looked surprised and said "wow thanks, how honest of you". Am still trying to repress the feeling of annoyance that he didn't give me a free coffee for my honesty, because I'm sure that's not in the spirit of the whole "morally better person" thing.

Also, have tried to return a lovely white pashmina I found after our work Christmas party to a guy at work, which I thought might have belonged to his girlfriend.

2. Wash clothes on a more regular basis
Leaving clothes to "air clean" for a day to remove smell of cigarette smoke after finding them strewn around my room should not be something someone who is 28 still does. Must remember, I am no longer at university and with looming grown up mortgage/financial death knoll, will at the very least try to have some semblance of maturity when it comes to own laundry.

3. Stop bitching about sales staff in our office
Whenever I say anything like "I can't stand him, and I'm not even going to bother talking to him at his leaving drinks anyway, because I think he's a bit of a c*nt", one or both of the sales staff seem to appear, as if by magic, to walk right past our desk. Maybe in general, start being nicer to people, and remember it is not their fault if they are scummy, as it could be due to some horrible episode in their childhood.

Tricky, very tricky, as unfortunately there are so many people around who I want to grab by the shoulders, shake them hard and scream "YOU'RE A TWAT" to.

4. Learn how to walk in Stilettos
AKA: Try to start looking better. This is purely girly fantasy that this is the year I'll get my act together and start to look glamorous all the time, even if it is to only get a news paper on a Sunday morning, much like Parisian women do. Annoyingly, this is all because I managed to wander unguided into the self-help section at Borders last weekend, and have discovered an endless array of life sucking books like "Busy Girls Guide to Looking Great", "How to Walk in High Heals", "A Girls Guide to Glamour", "The Body Bible: Every Woman's Essential blah blah blah blah blah".. I have not bought any of these books, but they seem to have lots of time saving tips. Have not stooped so low to start looking at books like "Women Are From Mars" or "Feel the Fear and Do it Anyway" (sounds painful), or "Awaken the Giant Within" (eek). Will refrain from going back to self help section again, unless it's to laugh at people reading them. Obviously this goes against resolution 3. Tricky...

5. Actually See a Sunday Morning
No longer just laze in bed all weekend doing nothing but watching ABC1 and endless repeats of "8 Simple Rules" and "Scrubs".

So that's about it really. Nothing life shattering. Nothing that I shouldn't be able to do. Of course, I should mention that Resolution 1 has already had 1 small hick up because the white pashmina does not in fact belong to the gf of the guy at work. Have decided that since I've washed it now, I will just keep it, because the person who lost it mustn't have wanted it that much anyway, or they wouldn't have left it, and besides I lose things all the time, so it's like a cosmic gift for all the single gloves that have disappeared over time. Thanks cosmos.

Painfully time between Christmas and New Years

Painful not emotionally, but physically, soley due to eating too much roast pork, smoked salmon, m&m's, rolos, Christmas pudding, Christmas Mince Pie Ice cream, cream in general, roasted spuds, crackers, cheese and chorizo. Unfortunately, none of my pain was booze related, for I couldn't try as I might, muster up any desire to drink. I hope I'm not getting old.

I'm currently gripped in the horror of realising I've eaten too much over Chritmas and am now carrying a fair old chunk of holiday weight, right in time for a New Years Eve. And, as you can see from the following conversation, I'm taking it very, very seriously:

K: "So do you want me to bring over a curry or chinese take away for dinner tonight"
Me: (slightly indignantly) "Neither thank you very much. I'm trying to not eat too much before New Years, because I have to fit into a dress, so I intend to eat either very healthily, or nothing at all, for the next 3 days"
K: "Oh ok. Um.. Are you eating right now?"
Me: (Not so indignant now) "Umm.. yeah.."
K: "What are you eating?"
Me: (in a very small, embarrased voice) "Big slice of cold roast pork, wedge of stilton cheese and a couple of crackers"
K: "You sure you don't want a take away then?"
Me: (resigned) "Oh, go on, bring us a large fish and chip then"

I'm hoping to be back before NY's, but if not, I hope you had a lovely Christmas, and a fantastic New Years. I'm off to a hotel in Kensington with 15 good friends, dinner, dancing in a ball room, and the dress above that I might need to be sewn into because I've chubbed up a treat in the last week!

Christmas party update

Yes, I had a fucking good time. Yes, I didn't care that I don't look like a supermodel. After many years of careful experimentation, this is my personal recipe for a fantastic night out, direct from me to you:

1. heavy self medication on G&T's, red wine, and other fun drinks
2. a free bar that lasts the whole night
3. cheesy good time music
   
4. dancing your arse off with guys who know how to twirl a girl round a dance floor

I ended up wearing a black halter neck top, black skirt, and some heals that for once didn't rip my feet to shreds, and despite my low self esteem, I actually thought I looked pretty good for once. Don't worry, that was just a passing phase :)

The only problem I had with the whole night was that I constantly kept losing my drink! I swear I kept leaving my drinks on various tables and I didn't just skull them. There must have been some cleaning fairies that would just sweep half drunk drinks off tables.. damn them!!

Out of 150 people in our company, our little group of 12 or so were the last ones left on the night, until we got kicked out of The Clink at 2.30 in the morning. And, as is natural, we all ended up in our house for a SingStar sing off.. One of our bosses and his wife came home with us, and as people were singing and drinking, he kept looking really bewildered at us asking questions like: how often do we do this? Do we practice? How do we know the words? and saying that he couldn't believe that people would go to someonse house for kareoke. I think he thought we were all really sad, until he tried it himself. And then we couldn't keep him off the microphones. Kareoke fun? Well millions of Japanese think so, and they can't all be wrong my friends. Our house really is the party corner of South East London. Not only can our neighbours not hear us, but we have more booze than god lying around our house. At about 5.30 am people started going home, and the rest of us who were staying the night, passed out on my couch, voices raw, and eyes bleary.


Once I get some more pictures from The Flatmate and grow some balls, I'll put pictures on my flickr account of us lot, all dressed up, and dancing like it's 1999.

Your Friday Moment of Zen: Being paranoid at office Christmas parties

I've got my office Christmas party tonight, which I've been helping to organise since last February. Finally, after months of work, it's upon us. And I'm really not looking forward to it. At all.

The problem with my work is that there seems to be an abundance of very good looking girls who work in my team. You'd think that that wouldn't be the case since I work in IT, notorious as it is for being a male dominated industry, but there you go. These size 0 girls, who laugh allot in the way popular girls in high school do, and get chatted up by all the guys in my team, means that I end up just standing there like a nigel-no-friends, getting more and more pissed, trying to be funny and interesting to anyone who'll talk to me, in a desperate attempt to compensate for my lack of looks. (Why? Why do I care? Why do I often spend nights in the toilets texting the Flatmate screaming "it's not fair! Why can't I be annorexic. Then I'd be popular" Why? Because I like to eat food that's why. (I know, I know, being annorexic will not make you popular when your a walking skelaton, but from this end of the weight spectrum it sure seems to fucking help)).

Last night I spent about 2 hours in the bowels of my wardrobe trying on every single article of clothing that I own that vagully resembles something dressy to try and work out what dress/trousers/top/shoes/ear ring combination to wear. And since our house is so crap, we do not have one single mirror where you can see yourself in fully head to toe. So to check myself out from my head to my chest I have to go to my bathroom mirror, to see my chest to my lower thighs I have to go to the Flatmates room and look in the mirror on his bedside table, positioned just at the right height to be nicknamed "The Gut Mirror", from there down I'm on my own. This constant circular trek from my bedroom, to my bathroom, to the Flatmates room is exhausting and frustrating. Then I end up moaning at the Flatmate about how unattractive and wide I look , to which he at first replies "no you look fine", however a few hours later, after my millionth costume change and footstamp, he will just roll his eyes and go "I liked the first thing you had on, just wear that. Or just wear ANYTHING, I do not care any more. Please, it's 2 am. Go away".

The party is in 3 hours, and I still do not know what to wear. God damn it. I was going to leave now at 4pm to get home, shower, change and get ready, but then I realised that even though I am heffer like, even I do not need 2 hours to get ready for the ball.

Grrr. So there is no zen like moment today. Just angst and annoyance. Merry fucking Christmas

I'm on DesignSponge!

Well, technically, the building that is next door to my office is on design*Sponge! I read this blog every day, and I'm so excited! When someone famous in the blogosphere has a post that vaguely has something to do with you, you get the same buz of excitement you feel when someone famous talks to you, or looks at you, or just looks in your general direction... Check out her post here.

That's my work, right there on the right side of the photo. The tiny sliver of brown building you can see right there. That's where I am currently sitting, typing away, listening to people talk about work, and the building site next door drilling right next to my desk.

So Bittersweet it's palatable

The Flatmate wanted to show me a few pictures of his niece he got tonight from his brother in Oz. This quick 5 minute digital snapshot exhibit obviously turned into a 40 minute look at every digital picture he'd taken in the last 6 years of our lives in London. I love looking back at how we've changed, not only physically (more hair, less hair, wider, thinner, and back again), but also at all the random things we've done, and mostly how happy we've seemed doing it all. We've spent the better part of the last hour going "oh my god! Look at our old house in Swanley! We literally owned nothing back then! Remember how we were so poor, we could only buy one Christmas decoration a week!" and "yuck! What was I thinking wearing those clothes out? EEK!" and "You look much better with a beard. Definitely. Never shave it off again."

So many pictures are of our urban family - a collection of people, who, according to hundreds of pieces photographic evidence, seem to spend countless hours in pubs drinking their salaries away. None of us have family in London, so we seem to cling on to each other for support (or because we weren't drunk enough that we have to cling to the floor for dear life). Looking back 5 years worth of pictures, we've been such a great bunch of druken louts.

I guess seeing as The Flatmate is going home at the end of February, tonight has left me with a real bittersweet sense of pain. I love looking at these pictures, but I hate how it leaves me with a real deep in my guts, down to the marrow of my bones sadness. Sadness partly at getting older, but mostly because I really like my life this way, and I hate the idea of it all changing. It's almost a child like, foot stamping annoyance and anger that things have to move on, and that I can't make time stop and just keep things the way they are, because I can't see it ever being this good again.

Soon I'll be moving out of my home (finally my draft contract has come through) so I should be moving into my new place sometime in January. And I don't feel excited about this, I just feel scared. And, pathetically, I feel really lonely. This is so stupid, becuase I don't know why, since clearly looking at these pictures tonight, I am very, very, very lucky to have all these fantastic friends, and so I have no reason to feel like this at all. I know that whilst it might feel all dim and low at the moment, eventually, somehow, everything will work out, and I'll come through this fine, and not even understanding how I ever felt this upset.

OK, sad rant's over now. I just needed to vent. Tomorrow's topic: the sheer panic I'm currently feeling about my office Christmas party. I normally don't dread a good knees up mother brown. But this year, honestly, all I can think is eek: I will never look good enough to go to this stupid party, what with all the bloody model like "easy on the eye" girls I now work with, who don't look like they've ever eaten a proper meal. Fan-fucking-tastic.

Oh yes my friend, I am action packed full of issues. Action packed.

You're Friday Moment of Zen: Too much religious chocolate

Having just mentioned our Advent calenders, I thought this would be a great moment of zen. We never, ever eat these on time, or on the days they're supposed to be eaten on, so we end up having about 5 all in one day. I've literally just eaten from the 1st til the 6th of December, and I feel a bit sick now. Nothing to do with the 4 pints of bitter I've drunk tonight.

Advent chocolate. Jesus was born so we could spent chuff loads of money on gifts people don't want, chocolate we shouldn't eat, and turkey that's dry and one one likes. Zen like.

Enjoy!

Random Conversations on My "Friday"

1. Quote The Flatmate: "But surely any type of fisting can't be good?"

2. Upon opening our advent calenders today 6 DAYS LATE:
The Flatmate: "ooh my milkybar advent calender today says 'Santa's coming'"
me: "Eww.. and it's white!"

So very childish. So very funny.

Today is "Friday" for me. I've got Friday off. I'm doing sweet fuck all tomorrow. Tools down time everyone. Tools down.

My Perfect Guy

I am the sort of geek that loves a unix text editor called vi. You can keep your Word's or notepad's or whatever. Give me my text based editor that scorns mice, and uses only keystrokes to do everything. It rocks so much that I even wrote my thesis using it. But even as a sad geek, I am quite ashamed of this conversation today:

Me: "Why don't you pipe everything to a text file, and use vi to globally replace the commands, make the file executable, and run it. Loads easier"
Guy at work: "That's not a bad idea.. god you love vi don't you?"
Me: "Yeah, I do. If vi where a guy, I'd marry him. "
Guy at work: "Really?"
Me: "Yeah, and if vi were a guy, he'd be hot and everything. I'd definitely ask him for his number, go out for a date, romance him a bit, then marry and have his kids"
Guy at work (clearly losing any tiny bit of respect he might have had for me): "hmmm... ok.. that's pretty geeky"

What a catch! What a catch!

"Crash". "Defeat". "Losers".

These are all words used for the Aussie's win over those pommy bastards in the second test of the Ashes! And I don't care if I am English soon. I'll always be true blue!

Ok, enough of bragging. AUSSIE AUSSIE AUSSIE! OI! OI! OI!

Cruelty Free With Added Punches

Calvin's sister, Li, who owns and runs veganstore.co.uk, asked me to help her on her stall at the Cruelty Free Christmas Fair yesterday. I jumped at the chance, because for years I'd listened in wonder of tales of the crazies who go to these shows, and I wanted to see them for myself. Plus I secretly quite like playing shop.

Once I got over my paranoia that people would be able to tell that I enjoy barely cooked steak and wearing leather just by looking at me, I really, really enjoyed myself. And whilst I knew being vegan isn't at all easy, with so many things being on the no-no list like meat, diary, or KFC Bargain buckets, I never appreciated all the little things someone who wants to be cruelty free can't eat, like fudge, jelly babies, white chocolate or marshmellows. And it's because Li sells all these things, and especially the little tuck shop bags of sweets, that meant we were completely swamped all day. We started the day with nearly 1000 bags of mixed, gelatine free lollies like licorice all sorts, jelly beans, dolly sweets, and within 4 hours had sold out completely.

At the end of the day, Li sent me home with loads of vegan chocolate and a couple of bags of vegan soya based cajun bacon flavoured jerky. Being a fully fledged meat eater, I feel strange about eating something I know is completely cruelty free, so I in order to keep a balance in the universe in check with the amount of cruelty I inflict on animals when I normally eat something, I am forced to punch the Flatmate everytime I eat a piece of the delicious dark, milk free chocolate. And to bring balance to the force, after a day spent being at a vegan fair, when I got home the Flatmate made me a lovely dinner of net caught tuna and pasta, with added dolphin for flavour.

As for the crazies? Unfortunately I didn't meet any of them, as every one was just incredibly friendly. Though, I did have a very wierd conversation with one wide eyed woman about soya milk:

Lady: "Do you sell soya milk? I'm looking for soya milk".
Me: "Soya milk? No, but we do have this vegan whipping cream, just in time for Christmas"
Lady: "Whipping cream? Cream is made with milk."
Me: "No, no, this is vegan whipping cream. It's made with soya "
Lady: "Cream? No I want soya"
Me: "This is soya."
Lady: "You said cream? This is a vegan festival you know"
Me: "No, this is whipping cream made of soy. It's completely vegan"
Lady: "No, I want soya milk, not soya cream. Didn't you hear me? Do you sell soya milk?"
Me: "No" (me thinking: oh go bugger off.)

Your Friday Moment of Zen: Love your pearlies

Last night I finally had "The Teeth Dream". Much like the going-to-school-naked dream, or the not-studying-for-exams dream, this one is pretty horrific and disturbing. It's the one where you lose your front teeth, for no particular reason.

Last night, I dreamt I'd lost my two front ones, plus the ones on both sides. They just dropped out in one clump, and behind my two front teeth I had grown one large front tooth. It was a pretty harrowing experience, because when I looked in the mirror I had the most hideous smile, all gummy, and toothless. And because it was really disturbing and in my dream I'd started crying, it felt really real, so when I did finally wake up, the first thing I did was touch my teeth and let out a massive "YES! Get in! I'm not ready to be photographed for the Big Book of British Smiles!".

So my Friday moment of Zen is a picture of some pretty perfect teeth. Not that mine are, but I sure as hell am gonna start treating them like a million bucks, so that hopefully I'll never have to actually live through that experience.

Dental hygenie. Random Moment of Zen