Oooh, I could crush a grape!

Well, I set my alarm for an early rise on Monday morning to start/finish the work. Alarm went off at 6am, I shrugged and felt confident that it could actually all be done in the 1.5 hours prior to my meeting. Luckily for me I work well under pressure. The downside being that it's positive reinforcement for me being a slacker.

It's only 2 more sleeps until ma girrel visits *excited wiggle.* I am SOOOO excited! I feel like we've totally earned this visit. For an instant gratificationist 2 sleeps are a struggle let alone 3 months. I started the blog on the day that Le Pew left in August. When I waved her off teary-eyed, with 1 packet of chocolate covered waffles to console me. If only I'd known they had to last me 3 months!

Sunday faff

Okey dokey, I have a wee bit of work to do tonight that I'm seriously avoiding. Not because it's too difficult or that it will take too long. I just loathe feeling like I have to do something. It's kind of like a fear of starting. Usually once I start, it isn't actually that bad. To avoid my work I've made numerous phone calls, written a few emails, started writing a blog, done some house work, chomped my way through most of a banana loaf (by the time I've written the full blog there will be no loaf left), watched a bit of tv, pestered my more studious other half with a prolific amount of texts, etc, etc. I figured I'm justified today - I've felt sick all week and woke up this morning feeling like I had a hangover. I was out last night, but I certainly wasn't drinking. You see, I was at the largest lesbot convention this side of the Atlantic, or should I say the Ouse.

*runs downstairs to get the remaining slice of the banana loaf* I felt body parts jiggle then that don't normally. Am I the only gluttonous person who buys a cake -for themselves- and consumes it within, erm, 6 hours, ALL-ON-THEIR-OWN?! The law of diminishing returns just doesn't seem to work with me. Some one please tell me that this is normal!! Now where did I put my elasticated trousers...?

Oh yes, the Lesbot convention. Well, first of all I'd like to begin by saying that as much as I knock things like this, that I deep down secretly love them as well. They have a purpose, they bring together the "community" which I think is always beneficial. I just wished that they played better music and the tickets weren't so expensive! My first experience of the Lesbot festival delights was when I first moved down to York. Two of my rather disillusioned friends travelled all the way down from Edinburgh to attend the festival. With the promise of Lesbot authors, merchandise, workshops and a wee boogy at the end, we were all looking forward to it. We were charged something like £15 to get in for the day (didn't include the boogy tickets). Imagine, if you will, a church sale of work. You know, wooden stalls with lots of random collections of books, cds, calendars and the odd dildo thrown in for good measure. I have to say that your regular church sale of work was -in my eyes- far more appealing. Why? Because they included cake stalls too. There weren't any at the lesbot festival. Oh, and the church fete is free.

Now don't get me wrong, I love Sandy Toksvig as much as the next lesbian. But what is with those random stalls that sell tie-die mohair jumpers and purple hairy hiking socks?!!!! I can't help but feel slightly perturbed and some what alienated at the same time. I think organisers of events like this attract such a broad range of women - which in itself is a huge achievement. But they really should try to broaden their appeal away from the usual stereotypes. I'm not saying that stereotypes are a bad thing, every social group has them, and needs them. But how are you meant to move things forward if you're regressing back to the same old?

Chappy

There are things that my Girrel says that make me pinch myself in disbelief at how lucky I am to have her as my girrel. She sent me an email the other day. We were both in a bit of a strop with the 9-5. To relieve the stress, she suggested that we handle it in a really mature manner by smashing some windows! Now before anyone picks up the phone to dial the police, said target would have been a disused shed in a field some where. The idea was perfect. Our plan now for next weekend is to buy lots of plates and cups from a charity shop and introduce them to gravity and a rather large brick wall. (I'll be taking my brush etc so that we don't leave a mess).

It's the kind of thing that you want to do when you're a kid. It reminded me of playing "chap-door-runaway," more affectionately known as "chappy." One instance sprung to mind that involved my little brother and I. We'd just finished dinner at our aunt's house, and for whatever reason, none of our friends would "come out to play." Rather than head back indoors, I suggested to Johnnie that we have wee game of chappy. It was winter time, the street lights were on and I can remember Johnnie was wearing Magic gloves. Don't get excited. Magic gloves is a bit of an exaggeration. They really should have been called stretchy-man-made-fibre gloves, but that doesn't have the same effect. These are the gloves that look like they're made to fit a 4 month old, but some how "magically" fit most* adult hands. Not only did Johnnie have Magic gloves, but he had day glow orange Magic gloves. Walking down the street all you could see was the glow from Johnnie's hands kinda like the guy from the Readybrek advert.

Being big sister, I flipped the first couple of letter boxes. Once we'd gotten our breath back from running away from the 4th door I decided it was Johnnie's turn. I pointed to a door that had a wall next to their path so that it would be difficult for them to catch us. Johnnie plucked up his courage and went to rattle the door. I poised on my tip toes getting ready to bolt. Unlucky for Johnnie, the letter box was a pushy-inny rather than a flippy. Ooops! I'm standing there, staring at my brother shouting "come on! Run!" And this wee voice screams back at me "I can't! My glove's caught!" He'd pushed the letter box too far in and it had sprung back on his finger! I had to go round the wall and free his finger and Magic glove from the letter box. I'd never laughed so hard - Johnnie never played chappy again!

15 days and counting

Life's funny some times the way it works out. Le Pew was meant to be en route to York ce soir, but as fate would have it, LP aint well. She is PLP: poor-le-pew. Which means that I am WOLP: without-le-pew. Which in turn means that I'll be OTPALTLP: on-the-phone-a-lot-to-le-pew this weekend. Yes, we're both a wee bit miffed that we wont be having romantic walks in York or breakkie at Auntie Betty's this weekend. But good things come to those who wait. And besides, OLP: organised-le-pew ordered the weekly Tesco shop from Belgium so I'm just patiently waiting for it for it to arrive tonight. I hope there's a tub of BnJ's cookie dough to see me through the weekend. If that doesn't do, the 4 bottles of Duvel and 1 bottle of vino certainly will! Only 15 days to go until the next conjugal ;-), she's more than worth waiting for!

I went to my alternative health person tonight. I'm going to keep their exact type of practice under wraps cos I'm not particularly happy with them (will refer to them as AHP). I've been out of the country for the last week so haven't had my usually weekly appointment. AHP: "So, we haven't seen you in a couple of weeks. I did recommend that you visit once a week." It wasn't so much what she said, but how she said it. I thought she was going to start twitching and then lash out at me with my file. It was like she was giving me into trouble for not coming. I'm thinking, hold on a second, I'm paying you an astronomical 15 minute rate! I'll decide when I want to visit! AND, I'm nearly 30! No-one's going to tell me what to do. Then it all started to make sense. AHP had just given me some treatment that I'd never had before. I'm thinking it's the type of treatment that may slightly hinder my "progress" and thus force me to come back every week. As I made my way home, I swear I couldn't walk properly and we'll see how long the pain in my neck lasts...When I was hobbling my way home some chav-gal walked past me and called me a hedgehog lol!

That's my evening so far.

Belisha beacon

I´m in Spain, it´s warm, my Spanish is zilcho. I have my factor 30 and a nice bike, the only thing that´s missing is my girrel. Well, that and the fact that I´m not on holiday. And I´m just hoping that I remember which buttons to click on to publish this post.

Milk drought

I'm now regretting my choice to leave Tescos yesterday without finishing off my shop. I've just realised that I don't have enough milk left to make some Green N Blacks hot chocolate - gutted! Let's look at what we're faced with here. Why, oh why, would I want to go to Tescos when it's rammed with screaming kids piling lots of shite into their trollies? And what's the point of being open 24 hours if your fresh fruit and veg is only available between 8am-6pm?! Surely that defeats the whole purpose of a 24 hour "convenience" store?!

Rambling

I'm on my own tonight, my girrel has gone to bed early. She's a saviour you know. She listens to all of my rambles and raahs all the while still seeming interested. She protects the general public from being subjected to my rants. In my eyes she's a super hero.

For the first time in donkeys, I've actually been responsible and finished my work before I began my faffing. I'm trying to be more organised. But there's nothing more enjoyable than doing something else when you're not doing the thing you should be doing. I've often found myself really, really, really putting off going to the petrol station. I detest feeling like I HAVE to do something, even if my car is at red. I'm getting deja-vu so apologies if I've already talked about this.


I stopped at Tescos on the way home tonight. *drops to the floor like a stroppy kid* OH-HOW-I-HATE SUPERMARKET SHOPPING! Tonight, I needed to do a really big shop and came back with: 1 x Radox shower gel, 1 x some Tesco finest bread with nuts that's double the price and you only get 4 slices, 2 x lottery tickets. I just couldn't bear the thought of having to spend any more of my time in there. I'll never get it back. Besides, I'm away next week so I'm sure I can get by on the selection of fridge and cupboard food that I have left. Thank goodness for the red onion chutney that my girrel bought for me on her last visit.

Manic Monday

Went out for a ride on my bike when I got home tonight. It made me feel much better. Tonight the temperature was quite a bit cooler, it was around 12 degrees. So out came the baselayer, bandanna, buff (yes i mean buff), full finger gloves. I love layering up when it gets colder. I sometimes think that I have a bit of a fetish for cycle clothing, but that's for another blog ;-)

Riding in the dark is a totally different experience. You feel like you're going faster than what you probably are, the fact that you can't make out the speed on your computer also aids this illusion. Cars are more visible because you see their headlights well in advance. There were a few people out walking, I had to stop myself from shouting "boo" as I passed them. I also had the urge to clothesline some chavs on some noisy mopeds. And some random bloke in a white van leaned out his window as i beat his clapped up vehicle to the next set of lights with the following advice"You need to practice those track stands love!" *giggles* why is it people feel compelled to shout at a chick on a bike?

Some shorts come with reflective material stitched into *ahem* the crack of your bum. I was minding my own business track standing at a set of lights and some local neds shouted at me "HA-ha! You've got a hole in your shorts!!!" I'm thinking, since when did alabaster skin, with a slightly reddish glow (let's assume that my posterior has the same healthy glow as my face), look like fricken silver reflective material?!

Anyways, I'm rambling. The ride took me out of grump and that's what counts. Here's some random pics for your perusal:

1. I spotted this whilst having a wee drinky-droo in Birmingham a couple of weeks ago. I've seen it all now. Voila - pay as you go hair straighteners:

Now, in case anyone has OCD and is slightly concerned about "sharing" the above straighteners with the general public, please see the note below:

I mean, am I just being a practical Lesbot here, but has anyone thought this through? Girrels, for those of you who apply make up when you're pissed, how difficult is it to get the lippy on straight? Even worse, how many of you have nearly lost an eye when you were reapplying eye liner when you were drunk? I know it's a major effort for me when I'm sober. But scolding temperatures and drunk women - I wonder how many girrels have frazzled their hair, singed an eyebrow, or burnt an ear or 2...I'm sure there was a funny smell in that toilet...


2. Glasgow - the city of culture.

Dammit! I can't turn it around!!! *hmph* I'm rebelling and refuse to rotate it!

3. Monday nights invariably end up being my comfort food nights. I was pushed for time when I got back for my ride so I chose to have baked beans on toast avec cheese. I switched on the tv when I sat down to have my dinner and the kitchen goddess Nigella Lawson was on. She makes it look so simple! No matter how hard i focused, when I looked at my plate, I still saw baked beans, cheese and toast. Word of advice, whatever you do, don't go for the "reduced sugar and salt with no artificial sweeteners!" If I had had sugar in my cupboard, I would've topped up my baked beans with it. They are dire people, screw the healthy option!

Of a similar tone, here's an image from the Warhol exhibition in Edinburgh

Meet the Fockers

Well, my g/f has accused me of being a one-hit wonder due to my lack of postings of late. In my defence, I've had lots on. Meh, same old, same old. Anyways, my folks -aka the Fockers- came down at the weekend. It was fab seeing them. I have to say that I'm struck by my Dad's clairvoyant ability. He always seems to book weekends to visit me, just when I really need to see them. We went out for dinner with some "continental" friends fae Germany *nod to Steffi* . My Dad cracked me up! After a few wee drinky-droos, there was absolutely no way my friends could understand his accent. I lost count of the times that I had to tell him to slow down lol. After fulfilling one Scottish stereotype, we tried to break down another - that Scottish folk are tight. We'd managed to prove our point successfully until the bill arrived.


Me - What's that charge?
Dad - Don't know, I don't have my specs on. Could you have a look at it?
Me - Service charge! Dad, don't tip, I'm not that impressed.
Dad - Does that say optional?
Me - Aye. That's shocking, they've just snuck that in there.
Dad - Fine, I'll give them half of that then if we don't have to pay it.


The following day we managed to talk the old yin into taking us to Auntie Betty's for breakfast. I insisted that we get a table in the main cafe. No point in splashing out at Bettys if people can't see you! Dad was funny - he knows his place and declared that he would sit with his back to the window so that we could people watch. He's well trained.

This pic is for my girrel - spotted it when I was raising my pinky with my Earl Grey in a china cup