Scene: My flat, this morning, 8am.
I walk into kitchen wrapped in towel, Ignorant Kiwi is ironing a shirt.
Me - Hi
IK - Hi
Me - Shower's f*cked
IK - What's up?
Me - Hose has gone
IK - I'll do it today
Me - Ta
As you can see, the art of conversation is flourishing in South West London.
Monday 24 November 2008
Friday 21 November 2008
34 Shopping days Left Til Christmas!!
Oh my god!! How on earth am I going to get it all done in time?!
Erm, there's 34 shopping days left, that's how. Every year some smug tonker likes to brag about how they've got everything bought and wrapped by the 1st December. Do these people not have lives??
I'm a big fan of shopping for others, and not just in the comedy supermarket sense. I get a buzz out of finding the perfect present for people, and don't even get me started on how much I love doing my christmas wrapping - for me, heaven is a branch of Paperchase.
But there's also a part of me that is intensely amused by the deeper meanings of what you give and receive... it speaks volumes about what you think of people, and in return what they think of you, and in some cases it reveals how little they really know you at all.
Last year my ex-boyfriend's wife gave me a trinket box. Shaped like a shoe. That was too small to fit any actual trinkets in. And had zebra stripes and fake diamante on it. As one very straight-talking friend commented upon seeing it, "God, she really doesn't like you does she?". And the Understatement of the Year award goes to....
One relative (a close one) buys me all sorts of crap, without fail, every year, and gets in a strop that lasts til Easter if I don't go into orgasmic paroxisms of delight at each and every one of them. Over the last five years I have faked it over an Iron Maiden video collection, Doctor Who playing cards, a DVD about fans of Lord of the Rings (yes you read that right, about the FANS of LOTR...I mean come on, every girl needs a little Viggo in her life. SHELL OUT FOR THE ACTUAL FILMS), and a collection of miniature pots of jam. I know, I know, it's incredibly ungrateful of me and yes I really should say that a) I haven't listened to Iron Maiden since I was 13 and b) I only watch Doctor Who because I fancy David Tennant but I have to weigh up the consequences of the ensuing sulk, and to be honest it's not worth it for the 5 seconds of satisfaction I'd get out of asking "Do you actually know anything about me at all??!!".
Because, as vomit inducing as it sounds, it's the season of goodwill. It's not the season of point scoring, or upsetting relatives, or arguing over who's eaten the last of the Ready Salted Pringles. And yet every year, I find myself getting stressed over stupid things and fantasising about taking out at least 2 family members with the carving knife. So this year I'll be celebrating the Baby Jee's birthday with friends in London - the only way I can ensure that I'll still be talking to my family on Boxing Day. Peace on earth and goodwill to all men.
My ex's wife is still getting a shit present though.
Erm, there's 34 shopping days left, that's how. Every year some smug tonker likes to brag about how they've got everything bought and wrapped by the 1st December. Do these people not have lives??
I'm a big fan of shopping for others, and not just in the comedy supermarket sense. I get a buzz out of finding the perfect present for people, and don't even get me started on how much I love doing my christmas wrapping - for me, heaven is a branch of Paperchase.
But there's also a part of me that is intensely amused by the deeper meanings of what you give and receive... it speaks volumes about what you think of people, and in return what they think of you, and in some cases it reveals how little they really know you at all.
Last year my ex-boyfriend's wife gave me a trinket box. Shaped like a shoe. That was too small to fit any actual trinkets in. And had zebra stripes and fake diamante on it. As one very straight-talking friend commented upon seeing it, "God, she really doesn't like you does she?". And the Understatement of the Year award goes to....
One relative (a close one) buys me all sorts of crap, without fail, every year, and gets in a strop that lasts til Easter if I don't go into orgasmic paroxisms of delight at each and every one of them. Over the last five years I have faked it over an Iron Maiden video collection, Doctor Who playing cards, a DVD about fans of Lord of the Rings (yes you read that right, about the FANS of LOTR...I mean come on, every girl needs a little Viggo in her life. SHELL OUT FOR THE ACTUAL FILMS), and a collection of miniature pots of jam. I know, I know, it's incredibly ungrateful of me and yes I really should say that a) I haven't listened to Iron Maiden since I was 13 and b) I only watch Doctor Who because I fancy David Tennant but I have to weigh up the consequences of the ensuing sulk, and to be honest it's not worth it for the 5 seconds of satisfaction I'd get out of asking "Do you actually know anything about me at all??!!".
Because, as vomit inducing as it sounds, it's the season of goodwill. It's not the season of point scoring, or upsetting relatives, or arguing over who's eaten the last of the Ready Salted Pringles. And yet every year, I find myself getting stressed over stupid things and fantasising about taking out at least 2 family members with the carving knife. So this year I'll be celebrating the Baby Jee's birthday with friends in London - the only way I can ensure that I'll still be talking to my family on Boxing Day. Peace on earth and goodwill to all men.
My ex's wife is still getting a shit present though.
Monday 10 November 2008
Vive la France.
I'm not going to bore on about it here, if you want to hear about HOW MUCH I LOVED PARIS then give me a call.
BUT
I think I may have found the right thing to cure me of my addiction to scruffy Irishmen.
French men.
BUT
I think I may have found the right thing to cure me of my addiction to scruffy Irishmen.
French men.
Thursday 6 November 2008
Je m'appelle Badger
Off to Paris in the morning with Bezzie Mate, to celebrate the fact that we're 30 and our livers haven't ejected themselves from our bodies yet ...
I've been so busy that I haven't really got myself organised (I only remembered this afternoon that I broke my suitcase in Amsterdam and really need a new one) and it's just dawned on me that in Paris, I'll be expected to speak French.
No biggie really, except for one eeny weeny fact. I am really bad at speaking French. I have embarrassed myself on more occasions than I care to remember with my complete inability to grasp this beautiful, beautiful language. I once asked for "2 glasses of shit and a coffee" in Corsica, and in Morocco asked for (in a really terrible french accent) "le menu de dessert sweets". The english policeman in Allo Allo has got nothing on me.
Merde dans la plage!!
I've been so busy that I haven't really got myself organised (I only remembered this afternoon that I broke my suitcase in Amsterdam and really need a new one) and it's just dawned on me that in Paris, I'll be expected to speak French.
No biggie really, except for one eeny weeny fact. I am really bad at speaking French. I have embarrassed myself on more occasions than I care to remember with my complete inability to grasp this beautiful, beautiful language. I once asked for "2 glasses of shit and a coffee" in Corsica, and in Morocco asked for (in a really terrible french accent) "le menu de dessert sweets". The english policeman in Allo Allo has got nothing on me.
Merde dans la plage!!
Monday 3 November 2008
Grumpiness, thy name is Badger
I hate mondays.
I especially hate mondays when you wake up in the morning and for a split second think that it's saturday.
What's that all about?
I especially hate mondays when you wake up in the morning and for a split second think that it's saturday.
What's that all about?
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