One year on


Christ, I haven’t written on here for over a year! There is a reason for this though. I’ve been travelling, seen amazing parts of the world and helped build toilets for orphans.

Yeah as if.

For the last 365 days I haven’t actually done anything life-changing like some people do…although good for them! So they should! Go you! However, despite not experiencing anything life-changing my life has changed! I’m now at university, I’m in the process of moving out of my family home and I raised two gorgeous lambs*, but that’s another story.

One of my best friends, Sam Rogers (check her out, she’s a talented musician don’t ya know) sent me a text expressing her hatred for the notorious “chewing-gum chompers”. Yes, those who unknowingly (but probably knowingly) have to make as much noise as possible when chewing gum because hey!,what’s more attractive and socially acceptable than chomping on a white piece of rubber with your mouth wide open allowing me to watch it go round and round like a lonely sock in a washing machine…mixing with all that saliva. I could sense the frustration in this text message but what really added to Sam’s hatred was the fact that she was on the tube. The tube – an already cramped and over-crowded machine where personal space is non-existent. I would presume that Sam’s experience of ‘chewing-gum-chomper-woman’ would be on a par, if not slightly more irritating, with my experience of a mother giving her child some Roast Beef Monster munch on a hot, sweaty train to Birmingham at peak-time. Normally Roast Beef reminds me of a lovely sunday lunch…but mixed with E-numbers, B.O and suited men with copious amounts of Armani cologne just puts you in quite a mood.


I hope to get back into writing on here. It’s alot of fun! Now, Oscar Pistorious (spelling?) has been cleared of his charges regarding killing his girlfriend. Sur-bloody-prise.


I Can See Why People Kill People…


This entry is not a singular rant. Recently, for reasons unknown, everything seems to have annoyed me. Instead of blogging about one particular issue this morning, here is a list of many things that really “grind my gears”. So, here we go…

(this should be playing the background,

  • People who leave all of their work until the last minute and still get a good mark. Despite not working hard throughout the year or for however long, these people manage to get incredible results but have often put in little, if any, hard-work. It’s just pure laziness and to be honest, rather big-headed. I don’t care if you’re Stephen Hawkins, put in the effort man!
  • Old people are falling over more. This was on the news yesterday. Apparently, the older generation are falling more and putting their health at risk. How ridiculous. Firstly, how do you prevent people from falling over? No matter what age you are anyone can fall over. As a generalisation, old people do have more falls but this has always been the case I think. They’re not as stable as younger people, their skeletal properties have deteriorated and most of them have lived through a world war. Even if we try to prevent the oldies from scraping their knees, most of them refuse help because they don’t want to “cause a fuss” or they insist they are “quite alright”. Fine, if you want to be independent and ignore my help go ahead but don’t complain about your broken hip when, and I hate to say it, I told you so. Also, the news lady said “as an ageing population…” WHAT? Human beings get older all of the time. Why is this specific population ageing?! It’s called the circle of life..GOD!
  • Conversation Toppers. Someone who always, no matter what the topic, has to chip in with their two cents. They obviously know everything and clearly know more than you do and feel the need to finish the conversation with their words of wisdom.
  • Sexualisation, naked people, excessive drinking and people having “fun”. The notion of people having a good time is constantly being shoved in my face. I don’t want to watch a TV program about a group of friends (usually with very irritating accents *cough* Geordie Shore, The Valleys *cough*) who think the aim of a night out is to have intimate relations with as many strangers as possible and to drink until you are sick. I do not want to see girls in inappropriately short skirts and ridiculously low-cut tops rubbing up against steroid-clad men in a pitch black nightclub. I do not want to see teenagers on holiday in Malaga lying in the middle of the road. So, I turn the channel over and go on my computer. OH WAIT, what greets me is a photo of “Shaniqua” sat on the toilet with a cocktail in her hand. I really, really don’t care. How is this fun? Yes, socialising is brilliant if you like the people you’re friends with of course. Being merry is a laugh. But exposing your skin to everyone in the whole of your town leaves not alot to the imagination. Can we not just sit down and have a cup of tea and watch repeats of Heartbeat on ITV3 (which by the way is on from 6am for you early risers like me).
  • Vocal gymnastics is not a sport. The amount of trills, frills and twiddly bits a singer can do does not prove that they can sing. Many of my friends are brilliant singers but they don’t feel the need to make contact with dolphins, bats and/or aliens via a super high-pitched noise which comes from their face. I agree, technical ability is shown through vocal improvisation and a singers’ range can be distinguished through this..but let’s be honest, some people are just showing off. MUTE.
  • People who agree with you “but…”. These guys lul you into a false sense of security by making you believe that your point oozes validity, but then disregard your view and acknowledge theirs as better, rendering your point as obsolete  What was the point in asking my opinion? The people who do this are usually also “conversation toppers”. They are just all-knowing and fantastic and a small group of them are slowly going to take over the world.
  • Ann Summers. Now this might be just me, but I always feel rather awkward when browsing in Ann Summers. Well, I say browsing, I mean looking at the floor and diverting my gaze from bizarre objects whilst trying not to shout “where on earth does that go?”. Accompanying my friend into this shop when we go shopping (no really, I mean my friend, not me, honest.) we seem to always attract the sales assistant. She offers her assistance and I always reply “oh no thank you, I’m just browsing”. I’m really not, I’m here against my will and I really do not want to stick that there thank you very much”.

Just to clarify…

Now obviously I love old people, my grandma makes the best mince pies and chocolate roulades. My comments are purely an exaggeration of my point of view. I have great respect for the older generation; I love tea parties and Downton Abbey for goodness sake. By jove, please refrain from thinking I’m an awful person.

First rant of June…


This guy is Steve Brookstein. He won one of the early X-Factor competitions. Strangely he seems to have fallen off the face of the earth since his big win. How passionate he must’ve been. His triumphant success has obviously changed his life.

No blogs for awhile! I’ve been a busy little bee, pollinating the important flowers of my life…or something like that.

WELL. I’m currently watching “The Voice” on BBC1 and I’m finding my frustration levels grow more and more. Why I hear you ask? I’ll elaborate. Most of these contestants seem to be saying the same thing when their little “woe-st me, I’ve had such a hard life” VT plays out before their performance. The reoccurring theme of their heart-wrenching speeches, sorry I mean their load of codswollop, is that the amount passion and desire they have for singing should be enough to verify them wanting to win the competition.

Now, hold the phone. Since when does one’s amount of passion and desire mean that their dreams will come true?! Umm, never? This is so ridiculous it actually hurts my vital organs. If you say “winning this competition could change my life. I’ve always wanted this since I can remember. I want to win so badly,” how on earth does this justify you winning?! Your dreams will not necessarily come true just because you ooze copious amounts of passion for them. I wanted a pink pony but no matter how much I desired to have my pink pony, he never appeared (one day people, one day!).

I don’t care if winning this competition will change your life. I don’t care if you’ve had an amazing time and feel the luckiest person in the world. I don’t care if you want this so badly you’d kill your Nan’s budgie. YOUR PASSION DOES NOT MEAN YOU WILL (or should) WIN.

“I’m a shy person, but when I sing I feel so confident. I grew up with a troubled background blah blah blah blah blah”. I can asure you that a million people are in the same boat, if not a much worse situation than you my friend. GO AWAY you bafoon. By all means, continue having your passion and desire to live your dream but life is not a competition. It’s not about having the best life and living the dream so to speak; it’s about eventually accepting the notion of living an average life which is perfectly fine, rather than constantly striving to “live the dream”.

You’re beautiful. Say what?


Question of the day: Is it acceptable to call a stranger beautiful? 

I often ask myself this whenever I see someone who I find physically good looking for more than a materialistic reason.

I have commented on a stranger’s hair, make-up, perfume and clothes before, making them aware that I like that particular attribute of their style. The recipient of said comment usually smiles and replies with a “thank you”. I assume this response is positive and genuine as I’ve never been politely get lost yet. However, I am unsure as to whether saying to someone in the street “excuse me, I think you’re beautiful” is acceptable or just a bit weird. Passing comment on a material feature such as hairstyle or dress sense seems a safe option resulting in gratitude, yet I have seen girls who I find uniquely beautiful as they have peculiar facial features or perhaps a naturally obscure look. This look I’m talking about seems to be a rarity and I feel I owe it to this stunner of a human-being to point out my feelings. Isn’t this what model scouts do?!

If someone approached me and said “I love the way you’ve done your eyeliner”, I would undoubtedly smile, accept the compliment and appreciate their thoughts yet if someone said “I think you’re beautiful”, without any reasoning or justification as to why, I’m pretty certain I would be slightly bemused and taken aback; I’d be curious as to why they would think I’m beautiful as opposed to casually accepting the positive comment about my eyeliner.

When I next see someone who obtains this rare strange beauty that strikes me, I will test out my theory and see how they react. I may possibly come across as creepy, they may even think I’m a lesbian, (I would only do this experiment with my fellow female species…calling a fella beautiful would just be too weird, even for me), but if nothing else I might make that person’s day which is always a lovely thing to do! I suppose I could tell anyone I see passing me by that they’re beautiful but I wouldn’t want to lie to them really, I do have standards to be honest.

Maybe justification as to why someone thinks your beautiful is needed an obligatory in this society; one cannot just accept this somewhat abstract comment for no reason. Yet if your justification was “…because you look like a model alien with an odd but distinctive amount of space between you’re massive bug eyes” seems inappropriate?

Now, saying someone is “fit” is a completely different kettle of fish! Personally, I find this term quite insulting and derogatory. But no doubt somewhere deep down, under the blanket of my disgust at the fact someone finds me physically attractive and had made me feel a bit like a piece of meat, I would inwardly think “ohhh yeah I’m a hot mama. Thank you to you good sir.” But girls should want to be more than “fit”. The term “fit” leads to a temporary ego boost on my part which is ultimately short-lived and replaced nearly immediately by anger. I digress! 

Thank you reader, you are indeed beautiful (no justification needed here!). No, actually here’s the justifying; you’re beautiful for reading this.



Each time I see a McDonald’s restaurant, the same thought pops up in my head: no matter what time of day it is, there is always someone in McDonald’s.

Now I’m rather traditional in my eating habits. Breakfast in the morning, lunch at lunchtime (I know this can vary but let’s agree on 1pm) and dinner/tea and 6pm-ish generally speaking. But driving past McDonald’s at say 3.30pm I see people having a BigMac! This just baffles me. I can see the appeal of having food at one of these set times of eating, but not at the what I call “inbetweeny” times. These inbetweeny times are for cups of tea, a piece of cake, maybe a latte and a scone in the comforts of a coffee shop. Inbetweeny times are NOT made for ruddy great big burgers, chicken nuggets perhaps, but not a full on meal.

I don’t think I’ll ever understand this but alas, there is always someone in McDonald’s.

Don’t even get me started on going to the airport at 4am and seeing people eating Italian delights in Frankie and Benny’s.


My Face

memorabilia show 028

My superhero alter-ego. Masculine body I admit, but the face is spot on!

Morning everyone. This morning the sun was shining, the birds were singing and even the traffic jam emissions that filled the streets of Worcester smelt sweet. Considering the loveliness of this day my walk to the train station should have been enjoyable, should it not? Well I assumed, as any normal person would, that this would be the case. How naive of me. As I skipped merrily to the station (didn’t really skip, that would be weird although it would have the journey a lot more fun) a member of the public who was walking in the opposite direction said “cheer up!” followed by a dismissive snort.

My annoyance at this quite frankly rude and flippant comment would usually pass me by on such a glorious day, however I had had a conversation a few days previously regarding my “normal” facial expression being perceived as rather miserable.

This morning’s occurrence  has not been the first time that someone has passed judgement on my face when I am lacking and expression; a expression-lull if you may. I’m not sure if I’m more annoyed at the ignorance of the nosy parker, for all he knew I could’ve been having a bad day! My hamster may have suffocated in his rollerball hence my miserable expression. Or if I’m more peeved at the fact that my natural face is really unfriendly and oozes sadness, consequently forcing random citizens to feel the need to comment!

In my defense I can’t help my face. Nor do I find it personally acceptable to walk around grinning like a Cheshire cat everywhere I go. It’d be unnerving for all concerned and just unnecessary really. Because of this, I am now irritated and thusly my face really is in a state of misery for the time being. So there, I will not cheer up pedestrian man! You, my friend, should mind your own business. If someone really was having a terrible day you might have made it a million times worse by feeling thinking it a necessity to make said person aware of how their face looks.

In conclusion, I’m not always unhappy, (ESPECIALLY NOT THIS MORNING BUT THAT’S BEEN RUINED HASN’T IT?), my expressionless-ness is perfectly acceptable to me and your silly little opinion was not needed nor was it necessary! Thank you to you!



Spetchley Park Gardens. A beautiful place.

Sunday evenings. A reflective time for eating some meat smothered in gravy in front of the TV. I look forward to each weekly edition of “Countryfile” on BBC one, indulging in my hearty roast on a lap tray thinking how typically British of me. However I found myself thinking the same thing I do every week, “what is so appealing about this program?” Well fellow Britons, I will tell you for why.

The countryside has always appealed to me. I love the idyllic fantasy of owning an old farm-house surrounded by rolling fields of green, majestic emerald woodlands and a glistening stream, trickling down from the mountains far in the distance. A small flock of sheep nibble the frost covered grass and chickens roam the mud-ridden pastures. I collect the fresh eggs my girls have laid and show my appreciation by feeding them leftovers and peelings from my homemade stew bubbling away in the slow-cooker. Back to my country kitchen I toddle to scramble some eggs on the hob of my Range and so on and so forth.

Fantasies aside, deep down I realise that this way of life would quickly become a chore. Trudging through mud and animal poo in torrential rain and 70 mph winds at 5am every morning is not depicted on Countryfile, yet my longing to be one of the presenters lives on.

It’s not all countryside frolics and jollity though! Oh no. Matt Baker and his team scour the most beautiful parts of the UK, including quaint chocolate box villages and seaside towns. “Beautiful”, I think to myself whilst scoffing a dumpling from an Iceland’s own brand freezer pack (which, by the way, cook in just 4 minutes don’t you know). Look at those wild ponies on the Moors looking windswept and statuesque whilst presenter-lady reports on the climate; the biting cold wind proving no match for her long flowing locks of golden hair, the mud adding a “worn” edge to her what I like to call “Horsey Boots”. Her bare face looking rosy and glowing makes me release a disheartening sigh.

Yeah right. Hold the phone! What’s actually stopping me from going on a Countryfile quest of my own? Nothing I tell thee! I put my broccoli-clad fork down on to my plate and research my brilliant idea online. A self-catering cottage in St Ives or a cosy little guest house in the Lake District, fabulous. I’d leave the craziness of the world behind for a few days and surround myself with natural beauty. I’ll take my wellies, my Peter Storm and an Ordnance survey map that I have no idea how to read. I’ll sample local beer brewed by nice old man called George and enjoy his wife’s beetroot jam on her homemade bread. I could explore the local harbour and watch fishermen sing their shanties as they pull in their fresh crabs.

One of my many goals for 2013 is to have a short “staycation” in beautiful England. Somewhere that I have never been before. No longer will I sit munching my Co-Op gammon joint accompanied by boiled sprouts watching the Countryfile presenters swan around feeding new born lambs. I’ll survive the wilderness and live an isolated existence in a small community where everyone knows my name. Where the biggest news I would hear is that Malcolm and June from the other side of the village have grown an unusual batch of Yellow Courgettes this season.

After I complete my mission, I may decide to stay in a Yurt or perhaps an Eco-Pod, whatever they are. I’ll create my own compost heap from banana skins and power my electricity supply from decomposing yoghurt pots. But for now I’ll return to my pre-packed dumplings and frozen peas and carrots. Hope that gravy stain comes out in the wash.