A blog about not having anything to blog about.

Isn't it annoying when people say you have an accent, when actually THEY are the ones with an accent?

Sometimes I sit down at the end of a day and think to myself, "I am going to write a blog now" and I settle down, turn my laptop on and sign in.
And nothing.
Blank. Zip. Nil. Nada. Zilch.
I suddenly have nothing to say.
Logic says I should always have something to blog about for the plain and simple fact that when your talking to me face to face, its fairly difficult to shut me up.
However, as my friend H pointed out last night, I'm very aware of when I'm being dull. My friend Joe is particularly aware of this and often finishes our phone conversations with "Ok, I'm going now, you're boring me". The fact that I am used to this concerns me.

I will attempt to be inspired.

I'm watching X-Men Origins - Wolverine. It's an easy watch. Got to love the X-Men films really. If you don't, you're probably very boring and the only thing we may have in common is QI... which I will watch to laugh at the irony and enjoy the banter (whilst learning)... and you will watch for the satisfaction of answering the questions before the contestants and ruining it for the rest of us.

Speaking of QI, it's my Father's birthday today.
You know that bit right at the end of an episode of QI when the scores have been given out and Stephen says his final anecdote... an anecdote that promises to be witty, ironic and quite interesting? That is my favourite part of the whole programme. And that is the time of day that my Father wants to start a conversation.

Thank God for Sky+ or I would have disowned him a while a go.

On another note, I heard a gentleman in a cap and jeans that started around his thighs call his friend "a idiot" today, to which his friend replied - this is brilliant - "mate, you don't even know how to speak man, who's AN idiot now". There is hope in the world.

Oh look, I had something to talk about.

Carry on Camping. Or Not.

I'm not the girliest of girls, or the primmest of the prim and proper, or the neatest of the neat and tidy, but I don't suit camping for one very simple and highly reasonable reason.

I like to be clean.

Showers at the Reading Festival are about 89,456.9 miles from where we camped. It was very distressing.

So I showered under the water tap in our field. It was freezing cold and I got some weird looks when I shampooed, especially when I thought I would brush my teeth at the same time. I am one classy bird.

Other than that Reading Festival was freaking AWESOME. I danced on someones shoulders, screamed along with Jarvis Cocker, got given a pink hat (a straw one from Tie Rack - POSH), drank too much cider, laughed too much (if there is such a thing), caught the sun on my shoulders and nose specifically, annoyed my camping buddy, got annoyed at my camping buddy, woke up every morning at 8am and considered it a lie in, walked miles and miles, appreciated civilization, lived in my wellies, navigated home/tent drunk using my twat-nav, saw some comedians, saw some people wave their willies at comedians (boy-type-people), fell in love with performances, flash backed to my teens, realized I was no longer a teen, lost some sunglasses, got lost, peed whilst holding my breath and ate barbecued burgers, buns, sausages and wagon wheels. 

I can't wait to see the pictures on Facebook. And probably un-tag most of them. (People don't need to see that.)

Sorry for the lack of Blogs. The reason? I did the math, and....

I work Monday to Friday 10 - 6 (40hours)

Friday and Saturday night 9 - 4 (14hours)

And one or two night a week 7 - 12 (10hours)

I work 60+ hours a week.

I'm a trooper.

Wish I was a trooper with more moneys.

But hey ho.

Going to fall asleep now. Possibly face down in my bar of Galaxy. Enjoy that image. NIGHT xx

Spectacular Scumbags.

There are a select group of kids in London who are going to have childhood and teenage memories incredibly different from my own. 

I remember exploring a forest and building a den, lighting a fire the size of a tin can and thinking I was: A. a freaking genius and 2. a complete rebel. I was wrong.

Those kids are going to remember exploring a high street and trashing a livelihood, starting a fire that erupts to the size of a tin can factory and thinking they were 1. a freaking genius and B. a complete rebel. They are also wrong.

I remember watching my friend pocket a whirl of bubble gum in Woolworths and experiencing a sense of fear and excitement that I can now only compare to waiting for the comeback from a job interview.

Those kids are going to remember watching their friend lug a huge 40 inch TV through a broken shop window and experiencing a sense of fear and excitement they will never be able to compare anything to because their only reference will be a prison guard.

I remember climbing a tree to avoid a dog.

They will remember climbing rubble to escape an armed response unit.

My Tuesday the 9th of August 2011 in London began with hardly any sleep because I was watching the Live News feed on both the BBC and Sky websites while frantically checking up on my London friends and reassuring my friends and family. I can look after myself and I hate people worrying but this is slightly different from worrying if I am eating well. My music of the day was sirens. I lost count of how many policemen I saw though I know I counted three police vans crammed with riot police speeding past my Trafalgar Square lunch spot. There was an eerieness to my morning tube journey, the accompanying closure announcements didn't help any. Normal people with normal jobs reflecting and suspecting. I spent the day at work backing up files "just in case", listening to my boss's commentary on the radio news and looking out the window when sirens sounded too close. 

I always like to think about and consider both sides of an argument and it is so rare that there is only one. 

Need I say more.

"Watching the upcoming Planet of the Apes on the news 'cos it's cheaper"

Rambling free

I love Leicester Square. 

I work there.

:-D

It's a place where you see lots of people you recognize, but you have to train yourself to ignore the initial response that your brain kicks in with. You know. The one where you want to smile and say hi. This training is essential as 99 percent of the time they are either on the TV or they are featured in posters or are in one of the many shows in London or some combination of those things and you do NOT know them personally.

IF you are untrained and you smile and say hi, they are going to think only one thing.

"Knob"

Saying that. Guess what happened. 

I was casually chilling outside the Ambassadors Theatre on the West End, waiting for a courier to deliver a keyboard needed for some auditions my company were using the venue for. (My life is different from before) Out the corner of my eye I saw a man and the initial response kicked in, I knew his face for sure. But I resisted. For reasons I have detailed previously. I have been trained well. I played it cool. Init. 

Like this chilled....

Then the man said "Long way from Grantham aren't you?" The initial response for my brain this time was, "Oh, probably know him then." Turns out it was none other than G who used to work behind the bar, at my  local back in my hometown, and has now moved to run a pub in Wimbledon. He just happened to be walking past on the way to a free haircut by the students at Saks hairdressers nearby.

How freaking extraordinarily bloody amazingly crazily coincidental was that. 

Small world indeed.

Spent way too much time on YouTube today. Found this though, which is genius and I must see it or I will have lived less than I would like. Check it - The Boy With Tape On His Face

There is a mosquito in this room and it is so gonna get deaded. 

Success At Last

In a spectacularly good mood since I got a lovely phone call yesterday asking if I would like the role as the new Intern at a charming Theatre Production Company, based in Leicester Square. A phone call that once hung up from, I over loudly exclaimed BOO YAH and proceeded to do a little dance around my room whilst squealing in the style of a chipmunk who has been gagged. Both noises frightened different birds outside my window and I accidentally kicked my desk quite harshly with my little toe during my squeaky jig. OUCH. But it was all good because it turns out I'm not inexplicably undesirable to employers. SWEET.

To celebrate, I immediately gorged on a massive Burger King until my stomach was rounded in a very un-sexy way... even when laying down. Did I care? No, because it turns out I'm not repulsively un-hire-able. EXCELLENT.

I will celebrate properly at the Ben and Jerrys Festival in Clapham Common tomorrow. Which will probably involve a similarly sexy belly and cider from a can. It's all rock'n'roll baby...