Not only am I a spinster...

... but now I am a cripple too. Cleverly, I lifted an 18.9 litre bottle of water on to the watercooler at work, seeing as I finished the last bottle.

A muscle ripped.

The pain was UNBELIEVABLE.

One night in hospital and weeks worth of painkillers likely to knock out a rhino should do the trick.

Never again.

Ha ha ha! 2

I just went downstairs for a salad. A guy walked past me. The back of his t-shirt said:

"Life is too short for crap coffee".

Made me laugh, anyway.

I have been told

that I should try online dating in an attempt to end my current dry spell. I said no. No way, no how. I do not want to tell the members of lonely hearts websites my chest size, or what I like to do when I'm alone some evenings. Hell, no. I'd rather eat my arm. All the way to my elbow.
Even if I have a choice between online dating and remaining a Singleton (later to become a Spinster - ouch) for all eternity, the answer is still no. I understand that relationships happen, blah blah blah, especially when and where you least expect them, blah blah blah, but I will NOT go looking for a relationship on willyoubemyboyfriend.com or something equally as revolting. Eugh.

I do, however, need to get me some lovin'. And not just a quick shag. I just want someone who will talk to meeee. And listen, of course. Damn, I'm just not good at this. And I can't believe I'm actively looking. It's not like my Biological Clock is ticking loudly at me or anything. Why on earth do I feel I need a boyfriend? Aaargh! Now I'm just angry at myself. Bugger.

Ha ha ha!

I thought this was fantastic.

Damn Singledom

I was sent the following quote in one of those stupid chain e-mails just now:

" One man all by himself is nothing. Two people who belong together make a world."

The name of the author is not published. Maybe they feel too ashamed for writing something so crappy. Emails like this should be banned. Now I just feel empty. Not only celibate but alone, with the fires of Lonely Hell (different to normal Hell - this one is purely for those who have no-one) licking at my toes, with the mean cackles of the Hell Lords (who, incidentally, are quite happily loved-up) ringing in my ears.

I am not one of the two people together, 'making a world'. I sit on the outside, watching all the happy people in beautiful relationships.

Singledom is getting boring now.

I'm not depressed. I just want a boyfriend. A nice one. Please?

London's burning

It took me 3 hours to get home yesterday evening after work - a journey that usually takes me all of 24 minutes. Apparently, there was a fire on the line at Bermondsey (this is not exactly close to the main stations) at 10am. Let me say that again - there was a small fire miles away at 10am. I left work at 6pm. What the hell was happening in those 8 hours? Not an awful lot, that I can tell you. Because of this little fire, the decision was made to completely close London Bridge, Charing Cross, Cannon Street and Waterloo East - the four of the main City stations that serve Kent and the South East. So, most people headed to Victoria or Blackfriars in the hope of getting home. Being one of them, I headed to Victoria where I ended up waiting for 2 and a half hours for a train, whilst being barged and pushed around by the police and other passengers. Due to 'crowd control measures', only one exit was open. WTF?? There were thusands of people trying to get off the trains, whose exit was blocked by thousands of people waiting to get on the trains, and all because some little idiot had decided he wasn't going to let people out. The police officers were angrily swearing at people who didn't know that all-bar-one exit was closed, and things got a little physical. Pretty hairy stuff really. Fortunately a nice guy saw me standing in the middle (there was nowhere else for me to go) of what was turning out to be a heated argument with raised fists between two police officers and a group of big builders, and grabbed me out. Thank you, anonymous Samaritan.

After all the pushing and shoving, my train left pretty much empty, and took less than the usual 24 minutes. Nice.

Road pricing

The thought of the half-baked road pricing scheme being pushed through parliament (after a petition against the idea gained a million and a half signatories) is so infuriating. Why can people not see it? This, is Tony Blair's legacy. Taxing citizens to the hilt, and then smacking a great big green label over the top to hide the fact that every penny will go in to party coffers. And what with the new Freedom of Information Act exemptions, the Government will not have to explain where this money is going. Nice!

To be honest, there are so many 4WDs around. I, personally, see no need for them but this is a democratic country! Those with bigger cars are already paying higher Road Tax and more Fuel Tax to run their cars. On top of this, councils are planning to up the parking charge for larger vehicles. Yes, even when your car is parked and emitting nothing, you still have to pay more. The thing is, those with 4WDs are generally wealthy people, so charging them £1.30 per mile on top of all the other charges won't make the blindest bit of difference. Instead, it's those with families who will be hit.

Dammit, I wish the British people would stand up and say they're not going to take this sort of crap. The Americans wouldn't take it.

Britain sucks

I am a Tory, through and through. Mainly, because as British politics stand at the moment there is no other option. I liked David Cameron at the beginning. He was a fresh-faced, young leader with the same morals - just a slightly more modern outlook; times are constantly a-changing, and so we need a leader who is willing to change with them.

However, DC is now supporting the Labour campaign for the abolition of Grammar schools. WTF?? Grammar schools were always a staple of the Tories outlook on education - an integral part of the British education system - and now he's jumped on the Labour bandwagon. The man has shot himself in the foot. And if he keeps going this way, he'll find himself up the River Turd, sitting in a canoe with a hole and no paddles. A-hole.


And then we have Gordy. Mr Toad, who pledged that politics would be more 'open' also declined to comment on the pushing through of the Member's Bill, excluding all MPs from the Freedom of Information Act - a move that is seen by all and sundry as an easy way to cover up their expenses. Nice!

Darn horse

My friend has gone away on holiday for 6 weeks, and I'm looking after her mare. I took the creature out on Saturday morning at 5am. It was great. She's skittish because she heard a plastic bag rustling, right? For the rest of the 3 hours we were out, she acts like an idiot. Jumping at any small sound. We get back just before 9am. She's still jumping around. This time I know she's doing it on purpose because there's nothing to spook her.

We go in to the paddock. The girl's a TB cross, so she has some moves, although she's never been put over a fence. We jumped a few and she was fine. She was loving it. And then on the last fence, she decided not to pay any attention to me and go the opposite way. By this time it was too late and it looked liked I'd done a not-so-stylish Superman-esque jump out of the saddle. Yesterday, I couldn't move, but I still managed to make cupcakes for my cousin's little girl's birthday party.

The whole horse fiasco? Caught on video. Of course.

Celibacy

does not suit me.

I split up with my boyfriend just after the New Year - a decision I do not regret. We hadn't had sex since early December.

I still haven't. That's 5 months. I really need to do something about it. I'm not talking some huge relationship - just someone on my wavelength, who can hold a conversation and is up for a bit of fun. It seems all the blokes I know want to settle down.

Maybe I'll just become a nun.

Today

is very slow. I have taken on a new project, so I have plenty to do. However, what with it being Ascension and pretty much the entirety of Europe being on holiday, the office is not the hive of activity it usually is.

Sainsbury's delivered 45 cans of diet coke to work today. That, friends, is the extent of my excitement today.

I want one of these

'Nuff said.

Peeing in public

I love going out with my friends. The girls catch up and chat about work, boyfriends, (or, in my case, the lack thereof) how the end of the month had better hurry the hell up because we just have to have that beautiful pair of 4-inch heels that we just know we'll never wear out because the hurt so much, or that nasty cow at work who gets up your arse by passing off your ideas as her own and seems to get away with murder just by batting her fake and obviously nylon-derived eyelashes. The guys all talk very seriously about the football scores, their new football boots that are so amazing they actually make you run sooo much faster, how their Sunday-league team has been promoted to the next division, or that the beer here is not as good as it used to be. After the first drink, when all the important things (see above) have been said, everyone mingles and, well, no doubt y'all know the rest.

I love these rendezvous. Until I need to pee. Don't get me wrong, I love the company of my friends! Just not in the loo. Here, I like to be alone. I do not take kindly to those suffering from I Must Pee In A Group Syndrome. Whether I'm out for the night, or calling Hughie the morning after (no, this does not happen often at all) I like to be alone. End of. I do not announce to the entire company that I am heading to "powder my nose" - hell, I don't even tell my closest girlfriend I'm going, so that we can giggle about something petty in the privacy of a public WC while we squeeze in to the same cubicle and take turns in using the loo. I quietly stand and make my leave. Yet, there is always someone who takes pity on me visiting the powder room by myself. Someone who just "thought they would keep me company". This gets my goat. If I need someone to hold my hand, I'll ask. I, however, like to sit, pee, stand, re-dress, wash hands and exit. Very swiftly. No chit-chatting in the mean time. Simple.

Wizzle a triumph.

How have I never found gizoogle before?

Oh. No.

Was out of coffee.

Lovely, rich, fruity coffee from Guatemala.

All gone.

Bought some on my way to work.

The world just started turning again.

Amen.

Outlook is crap.

Euro(blurred)vision

What a triumph! The UK managed to crash in seething flames in Helsinki on Saturday night. Two gays and their trolley-dolly fag hags dressed up in blue uniforms in an attempt to look like air stewards. Apparently in an attempt to "fly the flag" for us. Ha.


The Ukraine's entry - gay men and a transvestite (see below) dressed as disco balls managed to come second. The UK managed to get a whole 15 points.


We were awarded 12 by Ireland. That's the way it should be. Eurovision has always been a political competition - nothing to do with talent. And yet, we did not award a single point to our neighbours across the pond. Not only was our entry the biggest pile of kak, but we've already shot ourselves in the big, oaf-like, traitorous foot for next year.

Hawkins and Brown should have been chosen. Europe seems to like the camp, airy-fairy act - you know, men in tight trousers, or even dresses. And at least there was a little bit of vocal talent there.

I tell myself every year that I will NOT watch Eurovision, because it is so crap. And every year I subject myself to it.

Enough.

Cognitive displaysia, (n):

Knowing that you're going to forget something really important, only when it's too late to turn back and get it.

Bugger.

Last night, went to swim
at my gym. The pool was chock-full
of numpties. Not good.

No, I'm not going to post entirely in haiku. That requires multo effort. More than I am willing to give this afternoon.

I finally dragged myself to the gym last night. I managed to stay there for an entire hour before being so bored I thought I was going to chew my arm off. The pool looked pretty empty, so I showered, changed and dove in, thinking I could aim for about 30 lengths before going home. I was getting my swim on, and 8 lengths in this eedjit* entered. He proceeded to swim backstroke diagonally from one corner of the pool to the other, floundering as he tried not to drown. This dude had pretty much the entire pool to swim in, and boy was he going to use the entire pool. And get in my way. A couple of times I had to swim underneath him so I didn't have to stop. In the end I made it quite clear that I was using just the one lane, so could he please not get in my way?


*I mean, seriously - fish, the same creatures who look at a nylon string with a very sharp hook attached and think "Hmmm! Tasty!" still manage to swim straight.


Needless to say, I did not complete my 30 lengths. I don't think I will swim there again on a Wednesday night.

Swim attempt thwarted.
Stomped home, savage wind biting my
evermore reddening nose.


No! Quick, pat pocket.
Allegiant harmonica safe.
Phew, not lost. Relief.

What I meant to say

was that things have changed. Big time. The English are just so very, well, English. Whether you are one kept by Mummy and Daddy, or you graft to provide food for your children, you know what is 'proper' and what is not. The English are not traditionally PC as our leaders would have us think. We do not sit down and take all the crap that is thrown at us. Well, we didn't. Unfortunately, this seems to have been beaten out of us. As has the Englishman's right to speak his mind, to stand up for what is right, to protect what is his - and to be proud of his country. Unfortunately, the English have become a big amalgamation of louts, thugs and door-mats. 'Individuals' who prefer not to speak their mind or defend themselves for fear of offending someone. Pah.

The rottenest bits of these islands of ours
We've left in the hands of three unfriendly powers
Examine the Irishman, Welshman or Scot
You'll find he's a stinker as likely as not

The English the English the English are best
I wouldn't give tuppence for all of the rest

The Scotsman is mean as we're all well aware
He's boney and blotchy and covered with hair
He eats salty porridge, he works all the day
And hasn't got bishops to show him the way

The English the English the English are best
I wouldn't give tuppence for all of the rest

The Irishman now our contempt is beneath
He sleeps in his boots and he lies through his teeth
He blows up policemen or so I have heard
And blames it on Cromwell and William the Third

The English are moral the English are good
And clever and modest and misunderstood

The Welshman's dishonest, he cheats when he can
He's little and dark more like monkey than man
He works underground with a lamp on his hat
And sings far too loud, far too often and flat

The English the English the English are best
I wouldn't give tuppence for all of the rest

And crossing the channel one cannot say much
For the French or the Spanish, the Danish or Dutch
The Germans are German, the Russians are red
And the Greeks and Italians eat garlic in bed

The English are noble, the English are nice
And worth any other at double the price

And all the world over each nation's the same
They've simply no notion of playing the game
They argue with umpires, they cheer when they've won
And they practice before hand which spoils all the fun

The English the English the English are best
I wouldn't give tuppence for all of the rest

It's not that they're wicked or naturally bad
It's just that they're foreign that makes them so mad
The English are all that a nation should be
And the pride of the English are Chipper and me

The English the English the English are best
I wouldn't give tuppence for all of the rest

Stick up for yourselves!

English people

are not English. Not really English. I am anglo-Argentine, yet am still more English than many people I know. This is not a dig. This is a fact. I even went to a school which has been slandered by a broadsheet.

My school is very English. Founded over 500 years ago. Very old. Older than Australia.

Do not make any assumptions re. wealth. Read information.


I loved my school. Full of space. Reminds me of countries with lots of space and not too many people.



Random post. Have been up since 2.30am.

Please excuse me.

I have found...

...a boyfriend for my bitch. His name is Ben. Her name is Tula. Their names do not go together as well as I had hoped, but after months of searching for the right boy, I can't really complain about what he is called. Anyhow, tonight will be their first date. Maybe tomorrow they will make babies.

I am so excited!

Unproductivity

is the name of the game. Or, at east, the name of the weekend. I had booked Friday off work so that I could prepare the house so that this weekend coming we can lay the new floor. So, no, I did not skive off work because I hit my head. I do, however, still have a bruise on my forehead, although the one on my cheek is almost gone. Anyhow, I did loads of clearing, cleaning, preparing, pulling up carpet, and only just finished. I wore my crocs for the whole of Friday. My feet love them. I love them. So does my dog who likes to chew them. Fortunately, crocs are sturdy and withstand chewing. Good crocs.

Mornings

I am the first one in the office every morning. At 7.30 am I am getting the coffee machine going, switching everything on, blah blah blah. This is not in my job description. At all.


This morning I changed the bottle for the water cooler. Firstly, those 19 litre bottles are heavy. But when they're empty they're very light. And the plastic is really hard. And when they're empty and stuck on the cooler, they are dangerous.

I tugged at the bloody thing to get it off. Finally it did release its grip, and fly straight in to my forehead.

I now have a swollen cheek and a bruise on my face, and it's not even 8.30.

Last night

my dog head-butted me. On the cheekbone that I fractured 2 years ago trying to break up a fight. This may not seem like a big deal but I have to, now, be pretty careful. I generally do not make a habit of being head-butted.


Today I woke up and my cheek is swollen. Not massively, but just enough that not only can I feel it is swollen, but I can see my right cheek when I look at the tip of my nose, and I can't see my left one.

This is very annoying.

My liver is crying

I can feel it. Work people made me drink yesterday. I had no choice. And all of today I've felt crappy.


It's not even as if it were the same drink. Nooo... Chardonnay, Pinot Grigio, Chenin Sauvignon - large quantities of any of these, let alone all of them, does not bode well for the next day. All I want to do is sleep.

Today I have beed discussing

chavs. The Cheltenham Average. Oh, how I dislike them.

Hoodies over baseball caps, sovereign rings and lots of 'bling'.

Child in pushchair. Or one in the oven.

Eugh.

I heart Oz

I have been reminiscing about Australia, and thought I would post a few pictures.

Koala, Queensland

Smaller koala, Queensland

With aunt and cousin, post harbour dinner cruise, heading back to Olympic ParkLorikeets, Currumbin, Queensland

Me plus lorikeets

It just makes me think where I would rather be. There really is no comparison between Oz and the UK. However, the weather is absolutely stunning at the moment, so I really can't complain. Plus, my GHDs will be arriving at work either tomorrow or Thursday, and I'm not working on Friday. Not that the whole day off thing is a bonus, seeing as it's going to be spent cleaning and moving and laying floor and painting, but at least I may be able to spend a little bit of time in the sunshine.

For lunch

I was taken to the Cornish pub in Covent Garden by my colleague and my boss. I had a lamb and mint pasty (it was nice, don't ask) and two extra large glasses of Pinot Grigio (or Pinto Gringo, in Blogspot language). We sat out on the top balcony watching a very funny street performer, and then threw him down some money which he caught in his hat. Then we watched the May Day parade from the roof. I did, however, have to cut an interesting conversation short. For which I do apologise. So, I'm sorry.

Austen

This morning I was asked, "what is favourite austen novel and favourite austen heroine. and why why why?" I didn't really have to think about this. As boring as this answer may be, it will always be Pride and Prejudice. No, not because I like to see Colin Firth prance around in tights, (although, yes, the original BBC dramatization is inherently better than the new Hollywood version - Keira Knightley is most certainly not Elizabeth Bennet in any way, shape or form) but because I do feel akin to above mentioned Miss Bennet. Whereas with me, I was never even remotely my father's favourite, but am much closer to my mother. I also have two brothers and not four sisters. Thank God. I like to think I am spirited, and kind (in my own special way) but just not as naive as to judge people on the opinions of others. I do, however, feel that what she says here rings so very, very true with me:

"There are few people whom I really love, and still fewer of whom I think well. The more I see of the world, the more I am dissatisfied with it; and everyday confirms my belief of the inconsistency of all human characters, and of the little dependence that can be placed on the appearance of either merit or sense."

Wise words I think.