Take my hand, let me guide you through the mish mash of the life of an almost twenty-teen, and show you what really runs through the head of a female with the 24/7 fever.

Thursday, 4 August 2011

Essex Fever

I am literally the laziest blogger EVER... apologies to anyone who reads this! For some odd reason I seem to be constantly busy, it's a never ending stream of stuff! Fun stuff, work stuff, uni stuff, life stuff.

Recently I have worked wayyyy too much - but I do need the dolla so no complaints on that part... but tomorrow I do receive a welcome break... I am going to the land of all things orange, fake and, well, Essex!

That's right lads and ladettes, I'm off to Essex for a boozy night of fun frolics and dancing with my friends from Uni... it's been a good 7 weeks since we last went out together, and, fact is, I'm a little worried... I know for a fact that I will probably end up piled on the floor somewhere, heels in one hand, bad under my arm and drink spilled all down my pretty little dress. Maybe some sick thrown in for good measure! JOKING... I clearly am a lady of class and morals, would never ever take it that far!

Problem is, amongst all the giggles, cocktails and cock-tales (aha, you see what I did there? Clever right? And bloody funny obviously) I know I'll end up stupidly drunk. The next day, I am gunna be stupidly hungover. I have to go to work. I have to catch a train at 9... from Waterloo... I have to get there first from Essex.

Here's my question... will my brain function? Will I be able to process the tube maps and shindigs in time for my train? I'm a dope as it is, let alone with alcoholism and last nights smelly hair mixed in! Will be interesting...

Another problem... I just fake tanned. No joke. I bought St Tropez (as I said, lady of class and morals. got to tan, got to tan properly) and I doused my entire body in its bubbly foaming mousse goodness. I look slightly odd, bit patchy-ish, and alien-like BUT I am praying to the Mayor of Essex that I roll out of bed looking like a post holiday tanned goddess with long legs and long blonde hair and amazing nails... I'm dreaming, obviously! This is me, something has to go wrong, this will more than likely be IT. Pray for me please.

However, after processing all my concerns, I am really really excited to see my friends! There is nothing better than catching up and spending time with your favourite people... and these are for sure mine! There truly is no better remedy for Uni-home-sickness ( aka, when you miss uni loads ) than meeting up with the loonies you miss!

I am too excited to sleep (and yes Laura... I am afraid of the dark... but tonight I'm not scared so much.... bubbling over!!)

Have a great weekend!!! I know I will!!

Sunday, 24 July 2011

3 Weeks

3 Weeks.

That is all I have left.

Nooooo no not that dramatic, I'm not terminally ill, I don't have a deadline.

In 3 weeks, I go on holiday. I have 3 weeks to loose 9 pounds, that's 3 pounds a week. I have 3 weeks to save £300. That's a hundred pounds a week. I have 3 weeks to learn an entire Media Law book inside out. That's 5 chapters a week, that's almost a whole chapter a day.

I never usually set myself targets. I never normally have goals or expectations of myself. But, lately, every time I look in the mirror I get really frickin mad knowing that I could have saved loads of money, but instead I spent it on shoes that I didn't need, give me blisters and end up in the bottom of my wardrobe collecting dust until my little sister finds them. I can't help but be annoyed at myself every time I look in the mirror that I put on so SO much weight at Uni, and I can't help be annoyed that I'm struggling to shift it. I can't come to terms with the fact that I don't feel good about how I look any more. I can't come  to terms with the fact that if I fail this exam, I, and I alone, am to blame, and will be deemed a failure. I'll have to sit in classes with 1st years and re-take a years worth of hard work.

I'm terrified that all these things I want to happen, never will. And that in 3 weeks time when I jet off on holiday, I won't be able to relax and unwind.

Terrified of 3 weeks time, when I should be excited? Strange...

Tuesday, 19 July 2011

New Obsession Session

So... today, I became the proud owner of my very own pink vintage guitar.

And to say I'm excited is an understatement!

However, I can't help but notice that teaching myself to play guitar is an extreme form of procrastination, to lure me away from the Media Law books, and towards a more fun four hours of trying to learn how to strum a few dodge chords into a dodge little tune. I am crap, but I am learning! And writing this post, yeah that's another form of procrastination too... oops naughty me. I just can't help it. Once I've started something, I can't stop. Is that addiction?

Well, if so, then I'm addicted to learning playing guitar, cooking random crap for dinner, and listening to my ipod. But, NOT to doing what I am supposed to be doing with all this free time... REVISING !!

It can't be helped. My prematurely mushing brain can't help but let my thoughts wander off to another planet, and as it seems escapism is what I seek...

Who knows where it will take me next?

Monday, 18 July 2011

Childhood Confession

Okay, something just happened.

Every night, I am the last one in my house to go to bed, the last one downstairs, the last one awake. And, every night, and I mean every night, I go upstairs, in the pitch black, to clean my teeth. After cleaning my teeth, I go to bed. This is always my routine, EVERY night.

But I just had a strange realisation. Every night, without fail, just after cleaning my teeth I get this feeling of panic wash over me, and never really understood it before. Every night I use my phone as a torch to light the (short) hallway as I walk to my room. I panic. I always, well, almost always, do a weird kinda half run, half flailing panic down the hallway into my room, my eyes madly staring in to the complete darkened abyss in front of me searching for something that was never there before.

I don't feel secure until my bedroom door is shut firmly behind me and the lights flood my room with light once more.

I'm afraid of the dark.

There, I said it, I confessed.

It's only tonight that I have actually realised, this is nothing new. I have always been afraid of the dark. Only now I can admit it. I don't even care... I know how childish it is, and how silly. But I just can't help but panic every time the room disappears in front of me.

Maybe, just maybe, (this is me going all phycological now) it's a fear from my childhood, which represents a fear of the unknown in my newly adult life? Haha, what a load of crap... though, it is probably true.

So there. So there boogie monster, I confessed, grown ups can be scared of the dark!

Red Faces In The Rain

So, since I went to Uni, I've gotten a bit chubster. It's not fun, not enjoyable...
Too many late, messy nights, followed by greasy chips or a Subway, to wake up and eat the leftover pizza in my fridge. Too many headaches to exercise. NOT cool!
But it's alright, I can sort it out.

And I have started.... I've taken up running. I'm a student, the gym is not affordable, plus there isn't one near my house, and I can't drive (apparently petrol is such a precious gem that the stupid government charge prices that could buy you diamonds instead of black goo that runs your car with). Grrrr.

Running however, is one of those things that takes time and perseverance to be good at... and I am NOT, I repeat NOT good at it. I look like a frog whizzing around the inside of a French persons blender, arms and legs flailing around all over the shop, a red face and wobbly bum. I want to cry, I can't breathe, I start to feel like I might be sick (apparently this means it's working... really? it hurts) and I look behind wishing I was tucked up in a nice comfy bed with cushions and a slice of toast in one hand, chocolate milkshake in the other, watching Geordie Shore, or some other time wasting crap. I wish I looked like a pro... like everyone I seem to pass on my 'travels'.

Then I realised... yeah I'm superbly bad at it, but at least I'm actually trying... there are people out there who wouldn't even give it a go! No-one is gunna judge me for being froggy when I run, they probably hit the same wall as me along the way, it's getting through the initial pain of it that will make it worth while.

I can't wait for that day!! Off to try on my new pink running shirt...

Monday, 11 July 2011

Kick back, relax, enjoy the summer?

I haven't written in a while... so shoot me... I am so very sorry!

Life goes a bit bonkers around April, exam dread means my life involves looking through books, and trying not to shoot myself. Revision sucks.... however, now the summer is here... examinations for the nations are over and done, and I can relax... kick back even, enjoy a beer? Me... a beer? Of course not, I am a lady... cider obviously is the way forward, hehe!

But no, how wrong I am....

You see, in my drunken state in my first year at Uni, I thought that going out, getting smashed and not revising was a fucking awesome idea.... totally wrong obviously. Don't get me wrong, I revised.... just not enough. I got a first in one exam (yayyyyy and mini woop woop dance in my pants around the house) but I dramatically failed the other, sad face. So... my summer... drum roll please ladies and gents... will be spent, working like a dog to earn back the money Natwest so kindly allowed me to spend, tax free may I add, from my student overdraft, AND revising for a horrible Media Law exam, that is too boring to even contemplate failing again. Grr, annoying much?

So .... this summer, my tan will be minimal, my room will be messy in my revision/working state, where every spare second I have I feel I should be revising, NOT reading Cosmo, but revising, NOT trying to learn how to use false eyelashes, but revising. Definatly NOT downloading Beyonces' new album, then trying to dance like her in my room, BUT revising.

Work work work work work.

To be honest with you... I am far too busy and important doing stupid summery thing to find the time, and the will power, to do it.

If I some how muster up some strength (the inner godly kind, not the manly muscly kind) then I'll be sure to let you know about it.

Now... where have I put Cosmo?

Wednesday, 13 April 2011

Apparently not...

Sometimes life likes to chuck you a curve ball.
Now, I thought my mojo was back, but a series of things have just shattered any confidence I regained, and left me feeling stuck, broken and confused again.

Tuesday, 12 April 2011


So. Right, Okay. Ehem. Excuse me. Right. Hmm. Okay, Okay.

Right, so I have been sat here for an hour now. This is getting boring.

I know. I will google my own name.... Nothing. I don't exist. Brilliant.

Ahh... I will google BBC News. Again. Check my nails, go to the toilet, have another Dr Pepper, stare into space, the list of opportunities for time wasting is endless!

The problem is though... I'm on work experience. I'm supposed to, well, work. But when your ignored, that's a little hard to do!

Today wasn't so bad... I got off my arse after the realisation that my only hope was to get up and sort it myself, find a story, find something to do. And boy did I prove them wrong... I got the lead story for one of the pages. Huraah!!!

The problem, the weeny little scandal that does come to mind however is this... if I am such a pain in the arse, and you have nothing for me to do, why why whyyyyy would you agree to have work experience people come in and snoop around and intrude? Yes, training me up for a week is time consuming, and you will get no return from it, but if you aren't going to make my giving away of a weeks worth of free labour worth it, then I would much rather you didn't bother. It makes me angry.

It actually makes me so mad. And frustrated. I have to do work experience to get any where in my career, but it is both time consuming and mind numbingly boring when it is deadline day and nobody wants to help me. I can't pluck a story from thin air believe it or not, I am not a bloody miracle worker! If I could do that, I wouldn't be sat here twiddling my thumbs and thinking of what I'd do if I a, won the lottery and b, got the opportunity to kiss David Beckham (that fantasy is a little too rude so lets keep shhhtum on that one, I would never think of such things at work!!)

So, in future Mr Bigshot employer, I would like a structured day and something helpful/useful to do. (Not that the opportunity isn't appreciated may I add!!)

Monday, 4 April 2011

War Paint Confession

Right, you MUST promise not to laugh.

I know you will, but for the sake of my sanity, pretend this isn't funny please.

Last night, I sat down to watch one of my favourite TV shows - The Only Way Is Essex. I hate it, but love it. I will never understand why fake boobs, tans, nails, eyelashes, heels during the day, skin tight dresses and more war paint than you can shake a grotty old stick at are considered normal or even attractive! But yet, I am still obsessed with the show.

Last night, Mark Wright got his top of (there is in fact, a God up there, looking down on me and smiling after completing my life with that little snippet) and I'm not being over observational, but by jove, was he orange. In Essex, it seems, male fake tan is allowed. Male fake tan is HOT - in this case.

I looked down at my own arm, pasty and white, and wondered - would life be better tangoed?

All I can say is, never take inspiration from that show. I, in my hasty state of pale whiteness, decided that it would be a smooth ass move to fake tan, twice. In one night.

This my friends, was one very very bad idea. I awoke this morning to the fumes of fake tan, my skin glittered in the sunlight and almost blinded me, my fake nails looked more tacky against orange peel skin and my first thought was 'SHIT'. I look in the mirror, and then realise I have made a bad bad mistake. Out comes the body scrub and lemon juice - my face is ORANGE. Oompa loompa. I am not best pleased.

So, lesson of the day. No, you do NOT need 2 layers of tan. Do not take inspiration from Essex boys with their top off. I think I was bowled over by his fit-ness and forgot myself for a minute.


Monday, 28 March 2011

Insult Slipper

"It's okay, there's no shame in eating a whole dessert to yourself. Enjoy."
- Me, tonight. At work. To a very, very fat man.

I'm sorry.

Why, why why why whyyyyy why why did I feel the need to make this poor poor man feel bad about himself? Yes, he was abnormally large, and yes, about to indulge in 2500 worth of calories, after eating two courses of junk food. Yes, his thighs probably did NOT fit on that chair, which was groaning under the weight of him. Yes, he needs help. THIS CAKE IS NOT GOOD FOR YOU, may have been less subtle. Oops. I genuinely feel bad but for some reason it kind of just slipped out.

For the rest of the night I just kept out-doing myself with insults aimed at customers - to their faces. Not subtle ones either... EG
"would you like two spoons? oh, it's just for you." and "is that pizza to share? No? Are you sure, it's pretty big? Oh, okay, you've been here before..."
Brilliant. So not only do I add weight to the obese, I then abuse them about it.

I don't understand, I am never usually rude (okay, I can be when I set my mind to it but this doesn't count, this was an accident) so why,!? Why did my brain think that those sentences would be okay uttered aloud? So that real people could actually hear me!?

I feel so guilty, and I am hoping this little confession can ease my mind so that at some point tonight I may get some shut eye.

Sunday, 27 March 2011


Alright, so recently I've become a bit of a slacker.
A bit of a lazy typical student, waking up at 4 in the afternoon and wondering where the hell I am!? I've spent days doing absolutely nothing productive, yet going to bed with a sense of unexplainable achievement. I've cooked myself chicken and chips, thinking it would work out, and managing to burn the crap out of everything! I've thrown away two saucepans in the past two days with my useless culinary efforts. I am not made for domestication. I've sat down and ripped trousers, broken my phone, dropped my mascara down the toilet, smashed my bronzer, stubbed my toes on the corner of the wall, left the salad in the fridge to grow new salad. Do feel free to laugh at my mis-fortune, luckily I am seeing the funny side!
I can't understand what's come over me recently, but it's fair to say I do NOT enjoy it. I wanna be Mrs. Motivator, I want that on my mailbox when I am old and grey!!

So, in this state of hopeless despair, I am clearly getting nowhere. Clearly, something needs to be changed. I either need a huge wack up the ass with a wellington boot... or something to happen to click things back into place!

Well, today has been my urika moment!

Not only did I wake up after a messy night with no signs of a hangover (bloody miracle after the game we played - 100 shots of punch in 100 minutes anyone!? yeah, no.) but I also woke up to a room filled with sunshine (in my drunken state I forgot to close the curtains apparently, wow) and it made me think - hello, good morning! Let's do something!

Finally little miss lazy boots has got her mojo back!!

I wanna do well, I wanna get things done instead of being a total bum, I wanna be productive!!

So, although recently I have been partying hard, now I've realised it's time to work hard too. Work hard, party hard! yeahhh babyyyy!!!!!

Saturday, 26 March 2011

Delirious Sunshine Fever

Okay, so I know most of the time I seem pretty delirious anyway - and maybe a bit mental, but I swear, as soon as those sunshine rays hit my skin it brings something new in me!

I wanna sit on the beach, wanna read magazines endlessly, wanna listen to more music than usual (and that's a lot... I'm mildly obsessed with the tunes!), eat ice pops until my tongue turns orange, wear flip flops - I don't care if it's only March, party until the early hours, dance and drink with my friends (okay that's nothing new)! I think I have a severe case of sunshine delirium.

Turning into a crazy person as soon as the sun comes out doesn't seem to restrict itself to just me though - I live near the beach which has it's benefits, and one trip down there on a day of hazy rays proves my point.
Blokes with their tops off - I'm not complaining, if your fit, please do continue, but really? 18 degrees ain't exactly hot is it - so in future, save your pasty post winter skin for the sun-bed, and only get half naked when your confident in your tanning abilities thank you!
People eating fish and chips I understand, but a que half way down the beach for the ice cream stand - just because the sun is out - bit mental? Okay, that one probably isn't, I do understand the love of ice cream, I am a female after all.
Girls in shorts, strappy tops and flip flops. Right ladies, I know that we are all completely desperate to wack out the summer wardrobe - it has more colours, is far more exciting and definitely more flattering, but let's be sensible for once shall we? It is NOT hot enough to get ya legs out love, nor is it acceptable to break the boobs OR legs rule, during the day! No wonder you've got sand in your pants. I have no sympathy.

Basically, the entire country goes down with severe sunshine delirium and just gets naked on the beach, down the shops etc etc! That's my conclusion, everyone just wants to get naked!!

I am putting an end to it here and now, enough is enough, my eyes are burning and boggling at the sheer amount of flesh on show for this time of year. This must be the only explanation for such madness. Blame the sunshine.

Friday, 18 March 2011

The Cure

There is nothing like catching up with an old friend to make yourself feel better!

Recently, I've been finding things a bit of a struggle - uni has been killing me, I've been homesick, missing people and missing the stupid things we used to do.

So, this weekend I've decided to come home (oh, it's also my birthday on Tuesday so that's another good reason) in the hope that a bit of time away can cure me. I wanna see my family, catch up with everyone who used to be a part of my daily routine, listen to music in my car, do stupid stupid things with my sister that no-one else would understand (drawing on our faces in eyeliner ring any bells haha!) and just chill out away from the stress of my course!

This morning, myself and one of my best friends form home decided to pig out on a good old McDonalds breakfast - yum!! So after stuffing ourselves with egg and bacon mcmuff's ;) and hash browns, we glanced across the table at each other...
"You still hungry?"
"What's wrong with us!?"
Cue us cracking up laughing and going back for another greasy but oh-so-good round of fat filled breakkie!

That's something I've missed - being around people who know you better than you do, like the back of their hand!

Tonight, I'm going on a night out with my three closest friends, and I can safely say nothing has had me this excitable in the last three months! It's not the night out that I'm looking forward to though, it's seeing them and knowing I can completely relax! I can feel this weekend is going to be a good one, and I know it WILL cure my uni blues!

Bring on the cocktails ...

Friday, 11 March 2011


Watching the eyes flicker from girl to girl, model to model, it is clear to see the only thing on peoples minds at the glamourous shows... look how skinny they all are. 
Models to me, are like an alien species. Tall, skinny, beautiful. Noses and cheeks bone sharp enough they look as though they could cut through concrete.
Clothes hang across their skeletal frames, and somehow, society thinks this looks good. This is the look we all want to achieve. We want that same unique-ness, that cool model vibe, the sharp structured faces.

In my head, I know it is disgusting how the modelling industry demands skinny as skinny can be, near death thin-ness and skeletal, boyish bodies. They are not women's bodies. Yet, I want to be them, I would give an awful lot to be able to do what they do, look how they look, be them. And I can't get into my head why!? I can't reason with it, I can't justify it. I know it is wrong, I know it's sick, but at the same time I can't help but lust after the 'look' of the minute, wishing I could pull that off.

I am confident in saying, that I know every female has a body hang up, something they truly loathe about themselves. All of us do, there is always someone better, something else we could be. But isn't it sad that girls as young as ten are developing eating disorders, wishing they were that thin, all because of the models we see on the catwalks?

I'm a size ten. Normal sized girl right? Yet I can't help but freak out if I put on a teeny layer of podge, or if I have to buy something in a size 12. The fear of getting big is instilled right inside me.
Point the finger down the catwalk.

Girls are screwed up body image wise. I wish there was something we could do... but the modelling industry isn't about to change anytime soon, the size zero campaign fazed out after a year and now scouts are back to their old tricks.

Models are supposed to be a role model, an inspiration.
Wrong, they are a thinspiration. And it really bugs me.

Monday, 7 March 2011

Euphoria Euphoria Euphoria

Ever loved a song so much that you play it, again, and again, and again? Until your genuinely concerned about your own mental state, afraid that the windows may shatter and that your flatmates can hear your high-pitched squealing (singing) and are laughing behind your door?

Recently, if I like a song, or an album. End of. It plays again and again and again until I know every word, every beat, every single segment of it!

I've been listening to Ed Sheeran loads, a bit of Mumford and Sons, bit of Bombay Bicycle Club, KOL (a lot of them, it's slightly embarrassing) and soooo so so much of (don't laugh) Kylie Minogue.
I can't help myself!

Every time one of my faves come on, I turn into this strange, crazed creature, wondering around my room in random items of clothing, singing into my hairbrush at the top of my lungs! Nothing beats that feeling of euphoria that sweeps across you when a song you love comes on, and I think if it is possible to be addicted to a hormone, I just found mine. The euphoria hormone. I wanna bottle it up and keep it forever.

Oh wait... there's always my ipod.

Friday, 4 March 2011

Obsess with the mess...

My head hurts. My feet hurt. Why is there a scratch on my chin? Where am I? Why do I feel so ill?
Just a few of the thoughts I have incurred this messy, messy week.

I have found out that waking up, is the hardest thing in the world. Never in my life have I struggled so hard to hook myself out of bed, wash and go to Uni. Never in my life have I woken up wondering why my head was down the toilet. Classy huh? So attractive, and yet this is what my week has consisted of - partying, getting drunk and sleeping it all off the next day.

It's so horrific. So why is this process so much GOD DAMN FUN?

I'm obsessed with going out, getting completely rat arsed and forgetting my own name! Obsessed!! Dancing is so much less of a battle when under the influence! Somehow, someway, flailing your arms around like a frog in a blender doesn't feel so embarrassing when your drunk. Nor does not being able to walk in the sky high six inch monsters us ladies call shoes. Or falling down the stairs in them ten minutes after your fifth Sambuca shot of the evening.

And it seems I'm not the only one. Recently, I have noticed more and more people around me who are drunk. Day time, night time, everywhere. It's strange.
Like tonight at work, (I say tonight, more like half 8 in the evening) the guy who stumbled in wearing what looked like a nightgown he had stolen from his Nan and clutching a small Radley handbag. He was mashed. Completely wasted. Gone. He fell asleep in his pizza, downed a glass of water, fell asleep again, tried to eat, missed his mouth and poked himself in the eye with a slice. Wow wee. He was a very poorly man. Oh did I mention, he threw up. Everywhere. Lush times. (and before you ask, I did NOT clean it up. Grotesque.)

Somehow I couldn't help but feel appalled by this idiotic mans drunken antics. But, it made me think. He doesn't care, he won't remember in the morning... what do I get up to if I so happen to 'accidentally' reach the dizzy heights of drunkenness? What must I look like to normal, sober people?!

Oh the shame. Off to bury my head in the sand, sorry toilet, again.

Monday, 28 February 2011

Let Me Entertain You

As Robbie Williams once said "let me entertain you".

We are students, and as students we have nothing to do on those looming evenings, but entertain ourselves in stupid and ridiculous ways for at least four hours, before going to bed as the bin men arrive and rolling to uni tired and looking slightly haggard, with bags big enough to catch muffins, hanging from your eyes.

Those muffin bags, those dear old friends of ours, are acquired through such antics:

1- Ceiling feet. Who will be the first to get both feet on the kitchen ceiling in our flat. Who will be the first? Who will go down in halls history as the ONE who managed a feat no man has ever managed, who is the bravest of the brave, the most fearless of them all, the one, the only, the great king of Cranbourne? Attempts included: handstands, upside down shoulder lifts, climbing on fridges/kitchen sides/cupboards. The winner: headstand on top of the oven with a sofa cushion to protect ones head. Genius.

2- Using the Sugar Puffs cereal box to create eyes, and taking stupid pictures of them to post on Facebook. Sounds boring, but if a baby can be entertained by a cereal box, then so can we, us champions of stupidity!

3- Another cereal box game: placing the empty box on the floor and picking it up with your teeth without falling over, kneeling or placing hands on floor. Each level sees the box being destroyed, as it gets smaller, the game gets more intense! Buy your cereal box now on www.cerealboxgame.idiot.com (smallprint: this game includes small parts and should not be attempted by anyone younger than 18, sober, not flexible or fat)

4- Catch the ball. Simple, yet very effective when new hall-way rules are instilled. Our hall is quite small, so if your lanky enough your feet can touch both sides: aim of the game, don't move your feet, but catch the ball, otherwise picking it up is gunna be a tricky move. This isn't one of our finer games, but when your a bottle of wine in and listening to cheesy pop its brilliant. Score!!

5- Bounce the coin into the glass. Contribute some of your (alcoholic) beverage before hand and nominate. Coin goes in, poor sucker has to drink. If not, the game goes on. Results in scandalously dirty pints, pre party vomiting and oh yeah, extreme drunkenness.

There are many more, but these were the few that tickled the pickle. Enjoy.

Let the henry, see the hoover!!

I'm sorry.
No honestly, I am SO sorry. 
I have a confession to make. And you are NOT gunna like it. 

I think, actually no, I know, that I am addicted to Paddy McGuinesses one liners on Take Me Out. 

I feel ashamed of myself. Yet, when on the phone to my Mumma, or anyone actually, I can't help but yell them out. We have a Paddy-off. 

Let the wibble, see the wobble. 
Let the plum, see the jam. 
Let the apple, see the pie. 
Let my red embarrassed face, see the door! Let the ceiling see my tonsils!! 

Bad times. Never in my life did I think my level of comedic value would stoop so low, but I just can't stop myself crying with laughter over it! 

What a load off! Phewww, I feel better now ;) 

Sunday, 27 February 2011

Gypsy Scandal Shocker

Standing outside in the crisp evening air, the sun slowly setting across the golden sandy beach in the distance, I stared at the huge pile of vomit on the ground.
That's right, my evening, was ruined, my sanity was ruined...here is why...

Each weekend I work ridiculous hours to make some dolla for my weekly Primark fix. Each time I work I happen to stumble across a drama or scandal. Typical situation in my life. Today, was no exception to that rule.

Ever watched Big Fat Gypsy Weddings?

Click here to sneak a peek. Essential equipment required for viewing: a sense of humour, a pillow to cringe in to and a glass of water to cure your side splitting laughter.

Ya know, with the enormous dresses, strange traditions and awful Irish sounding accents. Yeah, that one (feel free to cringe your way into the back of your armrest in sheer anguish at the awful-ness that IS that program. Confession: I do love it though, so dramatic). Ever tried serving them at the dinner table... that's right boys and girls, tonight my shift was about to get real ugly.

3 women, 5 kids, 1 very drunk teenager.
8 slices of pizza, 2 pastas, 1 Magners IRISH cider.
1 lovely evening, 1 beautiful sunset, 2 working waitresses, 1 table sitting in front of the window over looking the beauty that was this evening, 1 very drunk woman, throwing her guts up across the pavement and ruining everything.

Drunk gypsy lady threw up. Oh no. What a calamity. Never ever heard of that happening before! Hang on, and her son pissed all over it, in the street. In front of the restaurant. Where people were eating?!!

I don't mean to sound rude or anything, but *insert exclamatory swear phrase starting in what, ending in uck*?
Please, please locate a toilet, or in fact, just don't try and wangle your way into normal civilisation.

They say on the show they want people to accept them for what they are, to understand their culture and to respect that they are no different from us. They say that us 'normal' non-travelling people just miscompute their ways, read them wrongly and therefore judge them based on stereotypical prejudice. I'm sorry, but no. Cut the crap please gyp-famz, we ain't taking none of that. To respect your culture, first of all you need to have one. To not be judged by society, you need to adhere to the norms and values set by modern day society (within reason obviously). To not be classed as gypo's, gypsies, filth/scum of planet earth and a shrivelling kind of rat then you need to actually earn it. Prove us 'normals' wrong. Prove it, or else find yourself shrinking into the distance, keys to your 9metre caravan in tow.


Saturday, 26 February 2011

Face for a fight

As most students can appreciate, the quest for money, and a good day is one that often fails. Today has been a slight exception, with a few bumps along the way...

I work as a waitress. Simple, monotonous but never boring.

I have found since starting this job that working with the general public, something I will be doing for the rest of my life, is hilarious, completely entertaining but frustrating! Today, on my quest for as many tips as possible, I figured I pretty much have a face that seeks a fight. On a ten hour shift, I think two tables liked me and decided to chat to me, the rest, blind passionate hatred for the hand that fed them... ungrateful much?!

Not only did I get faces pulled at me behind my back, poked in the bum with a knife by a child (shocking I know, I feel violated and wish to faint to the floor!) and get shouted at by an old lady for not understanding the impossible monetary task required of me in my oh-so-complex job, but I also got wined and winged at for not letting a customer buy a piece of crockery from our store to take home their food. Great day, brilliant start to making money and being rich, famous and able to buy out Topshop.

So, in my 'relaxed' state and hightened awareness that people were laughing at me (had a herb in my teeth after munching naughties in the kitchen) I arrive home, weary and tired, to cook my simple microwavable curry. Nope, not tonight Charlotte, tonight you will eat puked up cat food, with a few lumps called 'chicken' and oh yeah, you'll be tired and stupid enough to forget to buy rice. So tonight, Michael, I am going to be, crap-curry-no-food-in-the-cupboard-herb-in-teeth-knife-in-bum-face-for-a-fight girl, with the added extra of feeling ill and having a broken shower.

Don'cha just love the student life?

Actually yeah, there are days like these that make me wanna break down and cry, and wish I was back home with my family, but I wouldn't change it for the world. The good days, the excellent ones, or even the simple moments when you can't stop laughing with your friends are enough alone to bring the bad into perspective, and make me see that although, clearly I look like the child who was bullied at school and therefore warrant abuse from random strangers, this is an experience I would seriously regret not doing. Standing on your own two feet is hard (every Friday night especially!), and is often made harder by stupid bumps along the road, but at the end of the route it will all be worth it!

Friday, 25 February 2011


Hello there, welcome to my blog. Lame and boring way to start I know, but feels totally appropriate in this situation. Only thing is... I can't see you... who am I talking to? Oh yeah, it's a chunk o' cyberspace, just waiting to be filled!

I am an 18 year old student, come alcoholic ;) who lives on a diet of stir fry and gone off cheese. I party hard, work hard. I don't like to admit that I obsess constantly, over anything and everything. I like a good confession, a bit of a gossip, as any trainee journalist does. Oh yeah, I am training to be a journo. Can't wait for the day when I can perch in my chair and think 'finally made it', but also enjoying the climb it appears to be taking to get there. I like a good scandal, a bit of the WOW factor, you know? I write as things as they come to me, it's honest, it's me, it's slightly barmy. I don't sleep, I surf (the internet that is), I write, I work, I party, I chat, most of all... I dare to dream.

So here I am, enjoy the blog. The late night confessions and early morning wonderments of what happened the night before. Enjoy the rants, gossips, links to my interests. Enjoy learning what it feels like to be in the head of a whirlwind life-liver, with the 24/7 fever - constantly doing something.