Chav Wars!

Our quiet little street is currently playing host to some territorial wrangling between my dearest Daddy and next door's chavalicious boyfriend.

He keeps parking his Chav-mobile outside our drive way when he comes to visit his 'Princess', blocking us in and giving us a rather unpleasant view out the front window. The car itself is intriguing as it has 'Unleaded' written over the fuel cap. Dad is of the impression that it might be a hire car. I think the driver, in his uniform of 3 stripe trackie pants (tucked into socks, so 1999) and striped fred Perry knock off T shirts (collar turned up like a prick), is just too stupid to remember what kind of petrol his car takes.

So at the moment, our two cars, my sis's boyfriend's car and the Chav-mobile are locked in a game of Musical Cars. Much planning goes into who is parking their car where and when. I think my Dad missed a calling in the army, planning strategic tank parking.

Hopefully next door will chuck the chav before too long. Either that or I will have to be Ninja Sessy and use the old hilarious potato-up-the-exhaust-pipe jape, am sure the rest of the street will be as amused.

Goddamn chavs!

Damn those plague monkeys!

Both my mum and I have fallen prey to them.

This morning has been spent wrapped up in wooly clothing and a large blanket and sitting shivering whilst watching the cricket.

I loves the cricket. Especially Simon Jones. Mmmmmmmm. Nice Welsh boy. Bloody good bowler too! Anyone else think he looks like Matthew Fox from 'Lost'? Just me then.

Its the fever talking. Obviously what is also making me feel strangely attracted to Rhys Ifans in that new Oasis video.

I need help people!

Some days just start off badly....

For instance when you are in a rush in the morning and during your shower you realise you've just slapped shower gel on your hair instead of shampoo.

Then to add insult to flat hair injury, you manage to spill toner (for your face not a photocopier) all down your new trousers, five minutes before you have to be out of the door.

Not all bad though, I do have a job interview with Boots. I hope the bloke who trampled on a spider during the tour of the shop doesn't get the job. Just no need. Even though they scare me, I don't believe they deserve to die for for my irrational girliness.

Zombies yes, spiders no.

Even though my family love me...

I have been told in no uncertain terms that if keep humming the opening riff to Deep Purple's 'Smoke On The Water', I will find mysef homeless. Very quickly.

Apparently it's annoying.

I'm dusting off the CV and applying for a part time job. Back in the dreaded retail sector as I need coinage for my daily trips to Manchester in September. Oasis and HMV are top of my list. Though a phrase about choosy beggers springs to mind. But there is NO WAY IN HELL that I am going back to ASDA.

I still wake up in a cold sweat thinking about my time in that hell hole.

Wish me luck!

Eek!

I hate unpacking.

And I'm running out of things to do in order to avoid it.

Oh well. Here goes.....

Last day in the Big Smoke

Tomorrow my parents and a van will arrive to take me back home to Wales. So here is what I've loved and loathed about my time in the captial;

Things I'll miss about London;

1. Not being limited on where I can go just because I don't have a car. People complain about public transport but on the whole my experiences have been positive.

2. Being able to spend an afternoon in such places as the National Gallery, British Museum, Kew Gardens or the Tower of London, if I so choose.

3. Camden. Great markets, even better for people watching.

4. The shopping. Nuff said.

5. Being able to slob about the flat (when flatmate is out) in a Darth Vader T shirt and a pair of pants. No way my mum is going to let me get away with that at home.

Things I won't miss about London;

1. Having to explain to people I meet why I don't have a Welsh accent when I'm from Wales. And being constantly asked to say the longest place name. (This will still be a problem when I start uni in Manc again)

2. Crazy flatmates. Mine makes my family look the picture of sanity.

3. Not living on a main road halfway between a fire station, police station and a hospital. I hear sirens in my sleep.

4. No tourists walking far too slowly down the middle of the pavement. Just get out of my chuffing way!

5. The price of beer. Just shocking.

A post about breasts

I have a few things I need to *ahem* get off my chest.

Yes, I have big boobs. Its not something I can hide nor do I want to, but there are a few things about having curves that wind me right up.

Women's fashion magazines. How many issues of such shite as 'Glamour' 'Elle' or god forbid 'Cosmo' have I flicked through, where some idiot journalist (using the word lightly) writes about girls being 'blessed' with ample bosoms and womanly curves. Then why for fuck's sake do you include 50 odd pages of fashion using women who look like a twiglets? The fashion pages are usually followed by several pages on the latest diet to help me lose 8 stone in a hour.

Bloody hypocrites

High Street clothes shops. I have long ago resigned myself to the fact that I won't ever be able to wear a fitted shirt that buttons up. At least not without the risk that if I take a deep breath a button could shoot off and kill someone. One thing I don't understand is why at the moment seemingly every pretty cami top I see has an empire line or similar portion into which 'my girls' are supposed to fit. And why is this bit of the top so small? So I have to go two sizes up just to fit into it, but then the rest of the top is too damn big.

So basically unless you have two bee stings, during the summer, fashion choices become limited. And don't even get me started on those little triangle bikini things. ¬_¬

At least Karl Lagerfield has the guts to be openly sizeist. (I still think he's a wanker though.)

Pervy blokes. I by no means lump all men into this category, I am not some man bashing militant feminist. I am just refering the ones who openly leer or make unnecessary and/or unwanted comments. Please tell me why it is you feel that just because a girl has big breasts it is OK to go up to her and comment on them? How often do you hear a guy go up to a flat chested girl and say

"Christ love, you look like two peas on an ironing board!"

But its OK to tell me that I'll never need a life jacket or other such shite.

Oh, and this one goes out to both men and women.

Yes. It is rude to ask if they are real. So don't. OK?

How not to be elegant #6

Yes, it never rains but it pours when it comes to my amazing ability to fall down or knock things over.

Yesterday was my last day in work, so after a lovely card, cakes and present most of the office trooped down to the pub.

Later in the evening, and not that much later if that is what you are thinking, we were saying our goodbyes. The new receptionist reached across the table to hug me so I stood up. But my overstuffed handbag slipped off my shoulder and knocked an almost full bottle of Smirnoff Ice flying.

It managed to soak not one but two of my now ex-colleagues. I felt very bad.

I am so poised.

How not to be elegant #5

It's been a while but, as expected, my klutizness has once again resurfaced.

As this is my last few days in the Job From Hell I have been quite busy. So busy that while running into the office with my arms full of papers, I managed to catch my brand new crochet shrug on the door handle.

Not noticing my forward momentum carried me on for a couple of steps before I was brought to a sudden halt, making a loud 'Ack!' noise and banging into the door. So loudly in fact that everyone saw and heard me. Yes, the lasting impression my soon-to-be-ex-workmates will have of me is that I walked into doors. Open doors.

I am so poised.

It's hereditary, honest.

Up until today I thought the hereditary compulsion to buy shoes, which has so viciously afflicted my mother and younger sister, had bypassed me.

That was until I gathered up all my shoes ready to be packed away for when I move.

The pile is so large that I have to climb over my bed to get past it.

It includes;

4 pairs of boots
3 pairs of trainers
2 pairs of black pumps
1 pair of diamante studded heels
1 pair of Birkenstocks that I fully intend to break in. One day.
1 pair of red sling backs (forgot I had them!)
1 pair satin T bars (too cute to get wet)
1 pair of utterly fantastic 4 inch wooden platform wedges

I could go on but I'm frightened the pile of shoeboxes will collapse and my flatmate will have to dig me out.

Dad's going to kill me when he sees this lot.And the two humungous suitcases of clothes are also not my fault. I maintain I have an illness, I can't help it. I need help. And a wheelbarrow to shift them.

That's my story and I'm sticking with it.

Two posts in one day is highly irregular....

...but this is an emergency.

Was in the queue at the supermarket when the old man in front of me turned around and the following conversation was had;

"I'm sorry about your nose"
"Pardon?" I pull my headphone out of my ear, thinking I had heard him wrong.
"Your nose. I'm sorry about your nose. And your mouth. Sorry about them" He kept pointing at his face and looking at me like I was disfigured or something.

At this point I put my hand over my face wondering exactly what is wrong with my appearance. Do I have a mark there or worse a huge zit I've failed to notice? I then proceeded to ignore him until he'd left the queue.

Looking in the mirror at home, there is no dirty mark and (thankfully) no zit.

So what is so wrong with my face? Am I really that hideous, that perfect strangers feel the need to tell me they are sorry about the way I look?

I'm going to hide in a dark corner now and nurse my battered self esteem. I want my Mum.

Bring it on!

The other day I conquered one of my biggest fears. With a minimum of fuss and whimpering I picked up a spider in a tissue and put it out the window.

There was no screaming.

I didn't call my Dad (in Wales) for help. (OK, so I thought about it).

I just picked it up, opened the window and threw it out.

Go me!

So now all I have to do is face my other biggest fear. Though I don't think I am quite ready yet to face hordes of the flesh eating undead.

Okay, so I'm weird, but spiders and zombies just freak me out.

Oh God, there's no such things as spider zombies are there?

I'm a VERY determined young woman

So when I decided that I wanted to relax in a nice hot bath this evening, that is what I was going to do.

I was not about to let a broken water heater stop me.

Any idea how many kettles you have to boil to have enough war water to wash in?

A hella lot!Well, balls to the electric bill. I'm moving out in 2 weeks anyway.

Admittedly I couldn't exactly relax in a mound of lavender scented bubbles and read my new book (my glasses get steamed up anyway). But that is not the point.

The point is I had a bath, I'm a delicate creature (ahem), cold showers are so not for me.

That's the main thing.