Another one bites the dust.

Bye bye Brain.

Just call me a fish murderer. I have no idea how I do it.

Addictions.

There are many addictions in this world.

The most common being nicotine addictions, food addictions, kleptomania, drug addiction, alcohol addiction yadda yadda yadda.

What most people don't realise (unluckily for them) is that it's not always usual things people are addicted to. In fact, some philopsophers argue that to have "usual" addictions, you must also have "unusual" addictions.

That is the case for my mother.

My mother is addicted to tupperware.

Now please do not misunderstand my hatred for tupperware and my concern for my mother's addiction. It is not that I do not fully accept that tupperware is a fantastic creation. The thought of being able to lock up a half eaten apple inside a see through plastic prison and lock it inside a fridge for days upon end, and jeer at it through the walls until it is taken out, just as fresh as when it was locked up, and eaten is just amazing.


Mrs T Ware really outdid herself on this little creation.

What really ticks me off with regards to tupperware is the sheer amount my mother has. In fact, out of the ten particularly large cupboards, my mother has dedicated one of them to tupperware. Thats one tenth of her kitchen solely set aside for the purpose of storing her addiction.

Everything, from cheese to sundried tomatoes is stored in a tupperware box. If you stand still long enough, she will collect your body parts and store them in her little plastic boxes. I was slightly worried before I moved in that I would be sleeping in a plastic coffin. Thank fully, there is still space in my room for my bed. The tupperware hasnt gone quite that far.... yet.

It has now become perfectly normal to recieve a telephone call at work from my mummy who explains in depth her latest tupperware collection. She has a particular fondness for lids that click on either side.

Oh yes, there are even different types of lids.

Unfortunately for me, these tupperware boxes have to be neatly stacked into the cupboard. And for the life of me, no matter how much the company guarantees that all boxes are stackable, one neatly inside another, can I get the blighters into the cupboard. My mother seems to have learnt the knack, but inevitably, when I open that cupboard (Also, inconveniently located just above my head height) I am showered in plastic missiles.

The damned things also have lids. On purchasing a particularly wonderful (Or so I'm told) tupperware collection, my father and my sister's partner (Being ridiculously tall) decided to hide said lids on the tops of the cupboards. My mother, being as equally tiny as myself hunted high and low for the damn things. Feeling deeply distressed, she eventually turned to my father for help, and it was at this point, we truly realised the extent of her addiction.

Unfortunately (for us, and fortunately for all evil tupperware manufacturers world wide) there is no AA for Tupperware fanatics. There is no where to turn to when Tupperware takes over your lives. And so it has been left to myself and my family to pick up the plastic pieces (gerrit?) that have become our everyday lives. I have even started to act enthusiastically when a new brand is thrust under my nose.

If you happen to know of anyone with a similar affliction, feel free to contact me. I understand your plight and the pain that tupperware causes in a normal, everyday family. We can all work through this together.

Mums in clubs.

So I promised to let you know how my evening of fun and frivolity on Friday went.

The booze was fab, the music was fab, the clubs were fab (Fan Club was ok..) and the men were fab.

Obviously after the break up with Mr Peas (Now known as Steve.) I haven't really been able to look at men, most of them grow his gangly knees and balding head. But despite my dread of the typical "I'm so drunk, and you look hot in my paralitic, so let me drag you back to mine so I can f**k you like rabbits do before passing out and drooling all over your nose." chat up lines, I felt fairly safe.

That was until "LEE" came along.

Unfortunately for you, I cannot reproduce "LEE"'s accent via the wonderful world wide web. This story would be a helluva lot funnier if I could. I shall therefore call him "LEE" and you have to imagine that I am saying this in a deep voice, whilst thrusting my bottom jaw forward and pumping my shoulders in what I presume to be a masculine manner.

"LEE", after squishing up next to me on the mouldy seat informed me that he is a labourman from Wigston. For anyone who knows Wigston, you will be aware that once you're born in Wigston, you invariably leave. And then you marry your sister, or your father.

I'm pretty sure they're not picky.

I'm guessing you're already beginning to drool over "LEE." I know I was at this stage. "Take me now" popped into my head on more than one occasion, and it was only after clamping my lips firmly shut that I held back from thrusting my magnificent breastage into his hands.

The hottest moment for me however, was when his mum (That's right folks, plus 18 club, loud bangy music, drugs, alcohol and sex-HIS MUM) brought him over a pint, smiled at me and left.

And the moral of the story guys and gals, is if you don't want to attract the "LEE"'s of this world.. don't pull this face...

...as apparently this indicates that you're into the Mum Action.

I'm not.

On other notes, my fish have white spot (yippee) so that is why they have been so miserable. I am treating them with salt in the vague hope that it will kick the parasite's ass.

I am also leaving Leicester next weekend to return to the sunny Swanage for the summer.

And I have had the beasts that were my eyebrows finally tamed this afternoon. You know it's bad when the beautician brings in all her colleagues to have a good gawp. Damn right.

Fish Aid.

After a few days at home of pampering, unpacking and peas (yuck) I feel better enough to try and get some creativity onto the tinternet. Living with my parents, whilst lovely in the sense that I always have company and delicious food :) is also a complete bummer as it means I have chores to do (I feel a decade younger) and it's a bloody long trek to get to work.

The good thing is that my father knows considerably more about my fish than I do. As of late, Brain has been decidedly daft and quiet. He tends to sit on the gravel near the pump and then gets stuck, only re-emerging (after a hillarious wiggle of his fat little tummy) for food. We've tried everything- there were some concerns that their droopy dorsal fins were down to the driftwood and supposed chemicals it was leaking into the water, (which ended in me sucking up pooey water into a tube and siphoning it into a bucket at 7:30 in the morning. Joys.) or even the large white stone giving off alkaline. After researching on the net, I came accross some peculiar, but deeply amusing advice: Feed the fish peas.

We debated as to whether they should be frozen, chopped up, pureed etc etc, but decided on defrosted, chopped up plain old peas. Hubert at first was a little bemused by the strange green globules floating in the water, but gave them a hearty go. Brain however, after wearily wafting himself out from under the greenery near the pump, gulped them down in one go. (Quite a feat for such a little fat blobby fish.) Unfortunately, despite discovering that peas are good to go in the fish's opinion, they haven't really made Brain more sparky.

Another suggestion is that the pump is too violent for my fat friend. Hubert seems fine by it, but then again, Brain, being a Black Moor, looks as though swimming is ten times the effort. Whereas Hubert is graceful and elegant, streaming through the water as if he had little teeny ice skates on and a teeny weeny tutu, Brain just waddles. Bless him to bits, he wriggles and waddles and splutters his way accross the tank, only for the pumped out water to shove him back to where he came from. We've tried pointing the tube into the side of the tank but to no avail, Brain is just, well, useless.

Does any one have any suggestions as to what I can do to make them all happy and bouncy?

Also, apologies to those of you who aren't that eager about fish. I will find something more interesting to write about in my next post. Probably about my first time clubbing this evening after about a year; there are bound to be some mishaps on such an excursion!

Some sad news.

As the title suggests, this will not be neither bouncy, nor a joyful post. As Lemony Snicket (of the Series of Unfortunate Events.. series) says, please do not continue if you want a happy ending.

My life as of late has been as unfortunate as the unfortunate tale in a Series of Unfortunate Events. The most humungous unfortunosity is that Mr Peas and I have split. Done a runner. Broken up. Seperated.

It is very true that when you are down, life likes to give you a damn good kick in your non existant balls.

This month has been horrible. (And unfortunate) In a few years time when I am over the heart wrenching pain that is my May, I will pretend this month never happened. Other monstrous occurances are that my landlady did a surpise visit to my house when she knew I was away. Of course, I had not tidied up, and the black holes in the fireplace and missing blind in the kitchen caused some concern. After recieving a few threatening calls, I decided to cut my losses and leave the property. I'm now residing at my mums where I can nurse myself back to my usual frolicking self. Unfortunately, I owe a months rent. As I have suggested, the landlady can take the deposit which she illegally kept herself and accept it as rent. She suggested that she take me to court.

Whippeeeee I say!

The most unfortunate of all is that after a stressful couple of months, I was on holiday when this all kicked off. Fan-tas-tic. Therefore my only holiday this year; a weekend in Cambridge, was pretty much ruined. I still had a jolly marvellous time and came back feeling refreshed, but things are bloody hard at the moment and I can't really see the end of the tunnel. It's there, and I'm aware that in a month or so I will be skipping around and free, but right now it feels as if I'm walking through sludge carrying Pavoroti on my back.

On a plus note; I have been spurred on to buy a new fish tank for my lovelies, tame my frizzy, god awful hair, sort out my bad boy eyebrows, and get my nose pierced. The hair do and eyebrows will be happening soon, the nose has been banned by my mother until I have exited her residence. (She is horrified at the thought of all the imaginary goop and blood and pus that occures after such a gigantic procedure.) Living with my parents is actually lovely and just what I needed. I feel very looked after and spoilt and am very grateful to them for their support.

All in all, I can't wait for the end of May. Whether you will be hearing much of me in the meantime is dubious, but I will be back as my usual self, I promise.

Of birthdays, bees and Brand.

So, I won a poetry competition the other night. What was even better, was that due to my winning, I got to dress up as a bumble bee and lead a procession of other bumble bee costume wearers, presumably all of whom were also competition winners.
Unfortunately, during our fantastic festival, an extremely pregnant Russell Brand decided to attack both the audience and precession participants. It all ended in everyone hiding in the woods, (I had somehow lost the costume which is a damn shame) shooting at him in what appeared to be World War 3. Odd really.

Last Friday was my birthday. Not just any birthday. It was my 21st. I am not officially 21. As always, I don't feel any older, but the amount of people who have been commenting on this fact, I feel I should feel responsible and old.

Sadly, my 21st was not as I had hoped. Since around Christmas, I had been planning a 99 red balloon party (copying that of the one in Scrubs, only with more balloons) with jelly, and ice cream and costumes. However, most of my friends are at Uni, or hate me. So that meant no party.

On top of which, my sister had a car crash (which thank fully ended in no injury on her part, aside from her poor car, so I can moan) it rained aaaallllll day, and ended in me having a shouting match (quite unlike me) with an extremely racist drunk man who proclaimed that all immigrants should be sterilised. After walking up to him and calling him a not very nice name (again, totally unlike me, and cowardly done, just as the bus pulled into my stop) he stood up and called me:

a fat cunt.

Boy, was my birthday good.

To my delight however, the day was saved by a rather heroic mr peas who supplied me with lots of lovely presents, including a fluffy plastic tiara and a big 21 badge. (Which, presumably the ignorant sod on the bus failed to notice.) He also bought me:

• a plaster animal making kit thing
• a plaster paint your own mask kit thing
• Coraline in a graphic novel (amazing incidentally)
• a bag of drumsticks
• a bag of vimto lollies
• a bag of egg jellies
• a bag of flying saucers
• a pretty, pink, glittery address book and note pad
  and a tiara.

To go into the Coraline book in more detail, we saw Coraline on Wednesday in 3D, and it is now in my top 5 films. I want to name my child (regardless of gender or existence), Coraline. The graphic novel is equally stupendous and looks like this:























FAB.

Also, I discovered, after years of falsely thinking that drumsticks are rhubarb and cream flavoured- they are actually raspberry and milk flavour. I kid you not.

Ode to a new fish

After the death of poor William, I decided the tank needed a sprucing, so yesterday, despite feeling a tad hungover, Mr Peas and I trekked to the nearest decent pet store.

Inevitably, I fell in love with a fish.

He is a beautiful black moor and has hillarious bulging eyes and a stunning bronze tint.

(This is not actually him. He's not photogenic enough but this one seems to be.)

Hubert loves him too, which is good news. I also bought a filter and some new shiny plants. Despite Mr Peas protests, I put them next to the tele. It means the TV is now apt to cutting out or going crazy, but they look pretty :)

The unfortunate truth is that we have no name for Mr anonymous-bulgy-eye fish. After considering Hank, Milky, Bob, or a very rude word for a person with dark skin (Mr Peas.) At the moment, Brains is looking like a particulary fab name, but then I'd like to change Hubert's name to Pinky. Ahhh, the dilemma!

Any ideas?

Ode to a fish

Today, William, my beloved fish, died.

He was fine when I came home in the afternoon, but shortly before I left he kicked his watery bucket. I've been in mourning all day.

Due to a lack of time to bury him, he now resides on my coffee table, in an Old El Paso jar with a cardboard gravestone, senstively engraved by mr peas with:

Here Lies William Bean
He was a beloved husband, pet and amazing lover. RIP. (And a picture of a dead fish.)

I think we will either bury him, or cast him into a watery grave in the canal if it's a nice day and we can be bothered to walk that far.

But here's to Will, and to a fantastic future frolicking in fish fairyland.

Of ball bags, busy-ness and bullying fish.

ARRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHH!

An apt way to start a long over due blog.
Firstly, my lack of blogging is not due to a lack of creativity. Far from it; in fact, I have found myself in desperate need of creative output and longing for the little orange B box that seems to rotate slowly in my head and taunt me.

The grounds (the large s emphasising how busy I have been, just in case you didn't pick up on that subtlty) for my absence are as follows:

• My Uni interview. (Went exceptionally well. Still felt like projectile vomiting over the interviwer, but managed to restrain my gag reflex. Loved the Uni, hated Crewe. It seemed as though everyone in Crewe also hated it. Odd really.)



• Work. (My boss has wonderfully flown to Kenya for a month for his studies, leaving me in charge. I am practically bald and now have the appearance of Gollum. Nice responsibility, but a lot of it!)



• Pond digging. (For my parents. Payment in lasagne.)



• Competition Winning. (Just for bragging purposes only.)

The competition must be mentioned in more detail, purely for reader amusement. Mr Peas is not from Leicester originally, so being the lovely lady I am, for our first few dates, it was my intention to introduce him to the loveliness that is our city. One of the must see places is the City Gallery and when we visited, they were running a fabulous bag exhibition by one Jo Cope. http://www.jocope.com/ The competition entailed of designing your own bag, as if the concept of a "bag" was new to you. Being the sensible half of our whole, I designed a bag that would be worn through one's ears. Mr Peas thought it would be amusing to design his so called "Ball Bag"; a rather freakish contraption to be worn looped around a man's genatalia. He also thought it would be funny to write my name on the design, in order to embarrass me.

Unfortunately for him, I won.

HA HA!!

I have not, of course, rubbed his face in it.

(Just bear with me whilst I make some more "HA HA" iced cup cakes.)

I'm not one hundred percent certain as to what I win, but the irony is so delicious, it almost beats these delcious decorated morsels.

Finally, Hubert and William, my fantastic fish, have been trying to commit suicide. Unfortunately for them, their magnificent leaps out of the water just end in a painful sounding splat as they hit the lid and plummet back under the surface. But understandably, I am worried. My father has suggested a pump for them, and I have tried lowering the water, but now Hubert is terrorising William. Mr Peas seems pleased by this latest development (Partly because he is sadist, but mainly because he thinks Hubert and his Rimmer like H on his side is far cooler than William.) Does anyone know what I can do, aside from cattle prodding Hubert, to stop him from bullying poor Will? All ideas welcome! (And if you are reading this before I get home, photos of my fish children will be posted later, however I do not have any on my work computer :D )

I believe that is all for now. You are currently updated on the last few days. Wierdly, the events that seemed so crazy actually seem quite small in this tiny post. I failed to mention the flood, the car accident (not mine.) and the long walk home yesterday but there's another time for that.

You have to be 18 to drink coke??!!

This weekend has been odd.

Saturday turned out to be not as bright and sunny as I had planned, and therefore wearing flip flops became a rather ridiculous idea. After sliding and skidding to work in my feeble foam footwear, my lesson was cancelled. I had the sum total of three students, and after waiting half an hour, the three had become two. It was still a fairly productive morning as I sped around the office (in bare feet) organising the school trip letters that had to be translated into Somali. (Not by me..)

Afterwards, I caught the bus to mums. It only takes about half an hour, but my parents live in a lovely little village well out of the smoky suburbs. It was marvellous to see all the greenery that exists outside of the hard, grey buildings of the city. We spent the afternoon making sushi (Quite successfully I may add) and relaxing. Next weekend is the planned pond party (aka, pond digging and not much partying) which looks to be rigorous work.

Sunday was a tad on the dull side, however, I did manage to make a rather sumptuous dinner of Keema motta (mince and peas-yep, peas), bombay potatoes and rice. We tried to watch X men in preperation for the third one on Film 4 this evening. Unfortunately, the damn thing didn't load quick enough, and we had to watch it in bits until the internet cut off and we couldn't watch the end. I watched The Devil Wears Prada instead, while mr peas feigned interest. I had forgotten how fabulous that flick is.

This morning followed on from the dullness, (as ever on a monday morning.) with a magnificent meeting about how to complete a funding bid form. Joys.
I spent most of the meeting dreaming of a delicious Scream Burger dripping with cheese and BBQ sauce. When I finally arrived at the bar of the Dog, after having run to catch the 22, coat, bag and boobs flying in opposite directions, the conversation went something like this:

me "Could I have a coke please?" imbecile "Can I see some ID?" me (incredulous) "Sorry, I want a coke please?" imbecile "I need to see some ID." me (baffled) "I don't have any on me.. it's a coke." imbecile "I can't let you drink here if you're not 18."

YOU WHAT??
I nearly asked him how old you had to be to work in a pub, and point out that I am 21 in three weeks, and an English teacher.

We ended up in Varsity. (Not before I had used the toilets though. Rebel.)

After a rather ravishing meal and coke in a decidedly better pub, feeling inspired by the Devil Wears Prada, I scooted down to Peacocks and bought myself a new fabulous red skirt, black sweat shirt thing and a beautiful new bag. What was even more fabulous was the mere £31.00 I shelled out for all three. I will now be able to stroll into Crewe and feel magnificent and not the slightest bit barfy. I still need to sort out my 2 minute speech which will be on modern foreign languages in the primary school. I pretty much have it pinned, but I just need to sort out statistics, and a fun and interesting way of putting my point of view forward. (The naked presentation giving suggested by one of my friends was quickly squashed.)

I am about to bob back out to work again, despite feeling that it is about the last thing I want to do now, but I am rather desperate for the dough!

The Gilmore Girls make me happy :)
clicky.. go on!

Has anyone noticed how racist nail polish remover is?

It's 7:00 0n Saturday morning my time.

You heard me.

7:00.
I've actually been awake since about 6. I should be in the land of all the other sane people living around me- aka the land of the sleeping dead. I should be dreaming about lollipops and jelly and clouds and ponies. I'm not. I'm one hundred percent alive and kicking.

This is all thanks to mr peas, who has a training day for his new job today in London. Now, when mr peas has to get up early, he feels that snoozing his alarm clock three, or four times is compulsory. At 6:00 on a Saturday morning, I tend to disagree, but due to general sleepiness and lack of intelligence at that time in the morning, it's pretty hard to vocalise my disagreement.

On the plus side, his new job has meant a need for a certain amount of market research on the products his cafe sells. So this implies a regular and tasty dosage of cakes, fruit salads, paninis and pasta tubs for our delectation. Bingo! Of course, this is not helpful towards my "diet" but it's bloody marvellous to come home after a tiring day of shouting children and find cake awaiting your return. Lets face it, everyone loves cake.

(As one of my friends suggested.. imagine a world where cakes eat humans..)

The other good thing was the post yesterday. Firstly, I received my CRB form (Criminal Record Bureau- you need it for working with children, and people who are more vulnerable than most.) I'm not a criminal, so that's good news.
Secondly, as a potential student at Sheffield Hallam University, I received my pre course booklet for the Primary Education course. :) It's a heck of a lot of work. It's not that I don't mind all the work, because I honestly don't. It's just that over the summer, I will be working 6 days a week, and over 50 hours in those 6 days. I'm not sure when I'm going to have time. Luckily, in the Science section, most of what is needed are practical tests (putting salt and water in a dish and leaving it to evaporate etc etc.) which I think will be rather fun. So I'm off to mums later today after work to conduct the blindfolded herb and spices test, as she has a splendid array of the aforementioned testing equipment.

I have an hour before I have to surface from my marvellous mountain of mattress, so facebook, fruit salad and a failed attempt at slumber are on the menu until 8:30. Yay.

Brassed off with Buses.

So, six days into blogging (does no one else think that that's a frankly odd term that sounds somewhat like a bowel movement?) and I've begun to realise just how addictive this actually is.

After finding myself subconsciously narrating my day ("Today I saw a perky young fellow enjoying a picnic in a cemetary- at 9:00 in the morning no less") I came to the conclusion that I am turning into a slightly more masculine version of Doctor John Dorian.

But despite the side effect of vacant expressions and vivid day dreams, I have discovered that instead of gloomily analysing the day ahead of me, I take much more notice of the things around me. One such example was this:


Now I do feel personally targeted by this recent event. Quite possibly because of my blog the other day. What annoys me the most is the fact that the Government are "hell bent" on reducing our carbon footprint and the amount of crap we exhale every day. One obvious step forward for anyone whose head isn't wedged firmly up their tumescent buttocks, is public transport. And give them their due, Park and Rides are being introduced here, there and everywhere. But increasing prices, is by far their best idea to date. Hell, why not charge us all an arm and a leg to travel on public transport and reduce our weight; therefore solving the obesity problem and the pollution problem all in one simple act?

How bloody ridiculous.


Incidentally- I have recently started noticing these adverts popping up. What is with these?

Confuzzled

There are many things in this life that I frankly cannot comprehend. It’s not that I am unintelligent, (not to blow my own trumpet) but rather that they are just so baffling that the mere process of trying to logically work out their existence leaves my brain throbbing and impedes any other thoughts for the rest of the day. One such complexity is the idea of plastic sunglasses with horizontal lines across the lenses, so called "Shutter Shades". These fashion accessories just stump me. Why on earth would you want to look like Kanye West? And does it not look like you are trapped in a pink plastic prison?

• · Baldness- the skinhead look doesn’t suit many of those who choose to sport it. The line between looking like a genius (Lex Luther), or a thug is extremely thin and therefore most skin heads, whilst assuming they now look like Nietzsche, actually look like a Nazi.

• · Peas. Small, round, and green, they are like weirder versions of those hairy, odd pollen balls that stick to your clothes on a sunny afternoon stroll through a meadow. Mr peas is as perplexed by my dislike of peas as I am by the existence of them. “But they don’t taste of anything!” Exactly my point. Small, green, round, and tasteless.

• · Imagine two gentlemen sat in a beautiful, English lounge, pipes in mouth, tea in hand. All of a sudden, one of them sits up and vocalises an idea he has been pondering on for the last few seconds; that of a vast holey lawn, a small, heavy, pitted ball and a stick with a blob at the end. Well blow me down with a feather. What an amazing idea! Hit the ball into the hole, pick it out, and hit it into another hole! Riveting.

Mr peas is my lobster.

Curiouser and curiouser.. is that how you spell it??

There was a young girl from Rabat,

who had triplets, Nat, Pat and Tat;

It was fun in the breeding,

But hell in the feeding,

When she found she had no tit for Tat.



I just found this on my bed. I have a feeling it's courtesy of mr peas.

Of Public Transport

Whenever people ask me why I don’t drive, I usually give them a monetary rationale along the lines of; driving lessons are too expensive, petrol is too expensive and maintaining a car is too expensive. But actually, I rather enjoy travelling by public transport. Life seems to slow down for those few minutes and you see things that you wouldn’t see whilst concentrating on driving.

For example, just yesterday, I saw an exceptionally nimble horse scratching it’s ear with it’s back right hoof, a sign post plastered onto the side of a demolished building made entirely of bin bags and cellotape and a woman with an amazingly bouffant hair style about the length of her arm reaching vertcially upright from the base of her head, all wrapped up in a grey scarf.

And it’s not just outside of the bus; who would pass on being serenaded in dulcet tones by the man sat behind you? Or listening to an elderly man’s vast mobile phone music library consisting of two songs; flying without wings and an Alicia Keys number?

Screaming babies, 13 year olds smoking weed and the odd nutter aside, public transport is often a highly entertaining method of getting to work, and saves a heck of a lot on parking fees. :)

Scream.

Things I learnt today:

1. Don't eat one of these:


whilst wearing tight belted jeans.

2. Check you're doing the right task at work before you do it 100 times.

3. Don't wear your old sandals on the first day of summer all day. (mainly because it only ends in you having to hobble.)

4. Drinking Fruli makes mr peas kisses taste of strawberries. :)

So aside from sore feet and a very stretched belt, today so far has been lovely. met mr peas for lunch at our favourite pub- The Loaded Dog. http://www.myspace.com/loadeddog

This pub is our favourite for several reasons. The deers head (Buck) suspended over the fireplace, the fantastic little bits and pieces that adorn the walls, the beer glass light shades, the cushions attached by velcro, (pillow fights anyone?) two meals for £5, the legendary scream burger (onion rings, cheese, lettuce, bacon, tomatoes, bbq sauce and a big, fat, generous burger on two sesame buns) and the spiderman pin ball machine.



So all in all, it's a rather spiffing place.

Also, many thanks to BagLady for heading me in the direction of the unmentionable dress on Gok Wan last week. You life saver.

Came home to find an innumerable amount of take away menus. But no cheque. Rent is already a week late and looks to remain that way. Shall shortly be writing to you from my rather comfy, if somewhat leaky, cardboard box.




I think I should learn Sign Language.

First blog of many I hope.

Things to note before I duly start:

my m key is well and truly knackered. That means that little "m"s, "v's" or wierd squiggles are not errors in my part, but typos in my haste to get the blasted "m" on the page.

I am addicted to scotch eggs. And I DO hate peas. These are not claimed to make me sound more interesting than I actually am. I am actually that interesting.



So.. I feel a little guilty today, mainly towards myself. It's a beautiful sunny day, the sky is a brilliant blue and the trees are so green they shine.

And yet, I'm stuck indoors watching (admittedly a rather fantastically old version of) Oliver Twist. I should technically be frollicking outdoors, but I've put off tramping to the nearby library and dropping off my extremely over due library books and hiking over to my friend's house to drop off the dvd's she leant me that I've lost.

From now on, I will have to warn people before they lend me things that they will never get them back.

mr peas will be rather happy when he returns from work as I have done all the washing up. Those who don't know me won't realise how much of a miracle this deceptively small action was. I do not do washing up. Cooking, hoovering (sometimes) and dusting are all fine by me. Washing up is not. I hate the feeling off soggy food bouncing off my fingers. And I always worry I won't do it properly and poison us. (Well, that's my excuse anyway.)

"It's not madness, it's meat!" Fantastic.

Back to work properly tomorrow. As a teacher, most of my classes are cancelled over the Easter break. That means two weeks of luxurious luxury, lazing about and laughing (?) Unfortunately, my idle mind gets bored after about three days. So aside from the lie ins and wodas (a day off work backwards) are exceptionally dull. mr peas has a new job which means that although he has a purpose, for 14 days I don't. And I have no playmate either. Decidedly dull.

I shall tie this up with the prospect of my University Interview dawning in two weeks. Considering in my last one I couldn't open my mouth for fear of vomiting on the table, I'm understandably apprehensive about next Wednesday. At least I have a place under my belt so if it does all go tits up I have something to fall back on.

In the meantime, I shall stick to my opinion that all hot weather deserves an ice cream and bob off down to the shops.

Ta ta for now.