Thursday, 4 September 2008

Weather Watch

Meeting new people. Whether you love it or loathe it, we’ve all got to master the art of making friends out of complete strangers at some point. Let’s face it; life’d be pretty boring without at least someone to talk to along the way. So when you meet someone new how best to get things going without them running for the hills? Ideally don’t jump up and down failing your arms wildly but if you do get as far a polite conversation then you know the drill. Don’t talk about religion, politics or the weather. The good old British weather. Now we never talk about that do we? Have we all seem to have forgotten the basic fundamentals of talking without boring the brains out of our peers? Not a day has gone past for weeks without me receiving some form of communication telling me how shocking the weather is or about the lack of sunshine we seem to be receiving in this country. Nope, I can honestly say I haven’t noticed the lashing torrents of rain pouring down upon us and the constantly greyscale sky. . . Of course persistently awful weather can get you down, but talking about it none stop will only make you sink lower. I don’t need anymore people to point out the obvious or to be woken by text messages telling me how shocking it is if open my curtains (It’s quite nice to just pretend it might be a pleasant surprise lurking through the window. . . Even though there won’t be.) As bored as I am of this weather, I’m even sicker of it being the only thing anyone ever talks about these days. Can we just learn to accept what we have and make the best of it? Life truly is what you make it and there’s an infinite list things you can do to amuse yourself on a rainy day, you just need to think of them. Have a movie day, cook something, go down to your local sports centre or if all else fails go dancing in the rain. It’s all about the people you’re with, not the weather, and life’s to short to waste a second.

Tuesday, 19 August 2008

Changing Room Capers

Appealing to all the guys out there, you know what it's like when you add girls to shops. In other words – Kiss goodbye to your Saturday morning and we might as well include the afternoon to boot. We’ll be perfectly happy wandering around a shop that looks as if it should belong in a miniature model village for the best part of three hours. Guys on the other hand, most likely to go with the first item they set eyes on that somewhat resembles what it is they actually need (and why would they want to try it on? I mean that’s why we have clothes sizes right?). The pure luxury of just being able to wander aimlessly around a store and try on a whole pile of clothes which, to be perfectly honest, you have to real intention of buying is all part of the attraction for us shopoholic girlies and in fact an integral part of the experience. Just as is an equally enthusiastic, honest shopping buddie to accompany us on our travels, one who doesn’t happen to be the shop assistant. Now don’t get be wrong store workers are great when you need to pay or to set off on an ever lasting quest to find that must have in your size. But as my new best friend? No thanks.

When I’m in the changing room trying on possible purchases is it really a good idea to harass and hound me as well as plague me with extra unwanted garments? Now I don’t know if I’m just an oddity of the planet but when I’m standing in just my underwear with nothing but a flimsy curtain between me and every Tom, Dick or Harry that’s ever walked the earth, I rather you, yes you miss shop assistant, don’t blunder aimlessly in to ask “how ya doin’ ere then?” Already reasonably perturbed by this brash and uncalled for sales tactic, I’m about to make my excuses on principles alone (regardless of whether this piece of cloth around my neck is my dream dress or a glorified dustbin liner and there’s no point beating about the bush. In this case the latter option.) However simply getting a word in edgeways seems a lost cause as she precedes to guessitmate my size (2 sizes to large, no wishful thinking involved) and presents me with dustbin dredge version 1.2. Maybe my logics’s slightly off but if a customer doesn’t look to keen then maybe leave them be to make way another waitee for whom this maybe “it”? And if what they’re trying on is too big then surely we need to downsize instead of go up? Apparently not. Or maybe lack of common sense is now part if the job criteria. Nonetheless I dutifully try on the aforementioned article of clothing, partly as this could just be first day at work over excitement and partly as I really don’t appear to have a choice in the matter. I’ve barely got the thing over my ears before the dreaded question of how I’m doing looms through the curtain. No, in answer to your question I don’t feel fab. More like an underdressed tart to be perfectly blunt. Oh dear. You look mortally wounded. Quick exit anyone?

But in all seriousness if you want our possible purchases to turn into next weeks wear then recent changes in sales strategies may need to be rethought. So to all eager shop owners out there, maybe you should introduce compulsory cold showers to all workers. Long live browsing. . If I need your help I’ll ask.

Monday, 11 August 2008


I thought I'd try posting something a little different for a change so here is a poem I wrote a few years ago. No, this is not just a way of still posting without effort. Okay maybe it is. .

The raging fire, blinding and roaring,
Unforgiving merciless, reaching out clawing,
To expand his domain, ungraciously to feed,
His hunger for power, to express the need,
His lust for control, a burning desire,
To consume all before him in his searing attire,
A blackened wasteland left in his wake,
A smouldering desert, from which he did take,
The joy and the soul, the essence of life,
Left behind a land of bitterness, strife,
A desolate expanse, nothing less nothing more,
Than a city of ashes, glowing embers on the floor.

Jemma Collins, 14

Saturday, 26 July 2008

What's Dorothy's Name?

It has become a little ritual of ours. The watching of "The Wizard Of Oz" every Christmas. All sounds very nostalgistic and cosy, we'll just forget about the searching through 15 million channels part to try and find the thing on the television on some obscure channel I've never heard of. Only to find it's in Cantonese or Italian. However great something can be (yes, even me) when you watch something so many times you find you know exactly what is to happen next and how the characters will react and so on and so forth. In fact I would go as far to say I thought I knew the whole thing inside out.

Now I also happen to own a pair of bright red dolly shoes. And I'm taking traffic lights here. So therefore, completly by coincidence they have come to be known as my Dorothy shoes. So wearing them as per usual on an unremarkable Friday trip to town the thought just randomly occurred to me. What is Dorothy's last name? I for one hadn't the foggiest. Neither did any of my companions with me at the time and between us we've probably watched "The Wizard Of Oz" enough times to go on a three week skiing holiday. I've grown up with this film every year of my life yet I don't appear to know the simplest thing about it.

The more I think about this the more I translate this into everyday life. I spend the majority of my waking life with my friends but what do I have to show for it? What do I actually know about them? Not an awful lot. Names, ages, birthdays, yes but what do they enjoy? What do they feel about certain things? The longer I spend on the subject the less I find I know. Think about it. What do you know about the people you spend the most time with and trust the most? Maybe it's time we all made an effort to get more acquainted with people.

Talking of which, it's Dorothy Gale.

Tuesday, 22 July 2008

The Rise Of The Health Junk. . .

Did you know that there's now only 109 calories in a Kit Kat? Did you know nowadays Smarties contain no artificial colourings? A bag of walkers crisps contains 70% less fat than they did in 2005 and a McDonald's happy meal is just as likely to contain a portion of carrot sticks and fruit pieces as opposed to chicken nuggets or a burger.

Excuse me but when exactly did the world go stark raving bonkers? Yes sure, I can't deny the fact we are rapidly becoming one of the most overweight nations in the world but is knocking 5 calories out of a chocolate bar really going really going to solve all our problems? Excuse me for being dumb here but surely the way forward is to try and us to swap our junk eating habits for genuinely healthier options? No matter how many ways you try, a traditional fish and chips will always be worse for you than a jacket potato and salad. Is there really any point of hiding from the truth any longer?

So there you go, problem solved. Get us all to eat healthier foods and then you can stop mucking around with our junk whilst you're at it (see you knew there was an ulterior motive in there somewhere eh?). The scientific fact is everything is okay in moderation. Now obviously living on 23 mars bars a day isn't the best plan if you want to see past your 20s but neither is the odd 1 (or 3) going to kill you or, shock horror girls, cause you to pile on the pounds. So when I do decide I'm in need of some good old fashioned junk food, I actually want it to taste and look as it should not the half hearted washout it's rapidly becoming, or lets be honest what's the point in treating myself? I know full full it contains far more fat sugar and general other heart attack material, but that's what makes it taste nice. When I open a packet of smarties I expect them to look bright bold and colourful. Not as if they've been put through a washing machine first. Or sucked my a five year old and put back in the packet. All because of the absence of artificial colourings and flavours. I couldn't give a monkeys if they contain enough artificial tripe to make me bounce off the walls, maybe that's why I bought them? I don't need the severe lectures I seem to be receiving every blue moon when I feel like a battered mars bar. However even more ridiculous than the last two is the new cadburys chocolate bar with is made with all the same ingredients (thank goodness.. ) but just a smaller size. And it costs more than an average bar.

I can't believe it's not butter? I can.

Monday, 14 July 2008

Moaning Old Grump?

So I've been here just over two months now and have clocked up over 20 posts and hundreds of visitors. Pretty impressive eh? However over a convosation with a friend something dawned on me. As we sat drinking our luxurious hot chocolates with cream, marshmellows, sprinkles, flake and a square of chocolate (pure indulgence. . .with a price tag to match) my friend delightfully asks me when exactly it was I turning into a moaning old hag at 16. After my intinal burst of anguish and a period of sulking into my steaming mug (which only proceeded in steaming up my glasses) I begun to understand where she's coming from. Looking back I seem to have moaned in every single one of them, and I still have a massive store of ideas in my head ready for use, and yes you guessed it, they all involve me whinging about something.

Now I seem to be in my element talking about stupid little things and making them into a massive earth shattering problem which should be given our instant attention. It also I like to think adds a little humour to our everyday lives. If you turn the televison on to any news channnel then prepare yourself to be bombarded with doom and gloom. Now I'm not belittling these depressing tales but everyone needs a little bit of sunshine in their lives. Although I do conceed that ranting about telephones is a bit of an odd way to go about it. But if I am depressing anyone else or making me sound like an obsessive freak then feel free to let me know :)

Thursday, 10 July 2008

Etiquette of the Telephone

Phones. Wonderful things, and they've been knocking around a fair old while too. Invented by Alexander Graham Bell all the way back in the distant times of 1876, in the space of just over 100 years they've become an integral part of our society. You'll find a telephone in practically every structure with four walls in the country and one of the mobile variety on every person over the age of 12. So you'd think in all that time and regular use we'd have become pretty well acquainted with the art of the telephone. Apparently not. With the new addition of LCD displays or screens to most phones, can it really be that hard to correctly enter 11 digits? You can now even check your finger tapping is correct before you press that all important dial button, yet still find myself picking up on numerous occasions only to be confronted by an adamant caller insistent that I "am" Jill/Tom/Sandra or Billy. Oh really? Well I wasn't the last time I checked but I guess you strangers who have never set eyes on me know best. And yes, I'm sure they don't live here, unless they're living a nocturnal life under my kitchen sink, but sure if you want me to take a message "just in case" I'll be more than happy to oblige.

So once we've finally got over the hurdle of actually calling someone we'll now have to master the technique of conversation. Now for dumb machines telephones are actually pretty smart. There's no need to holler down the phone at 2000 decibels (consequently deafening the person on the other end of the line as well as those around you) in the hope of actually making your voice cover the literal distance between you and the other end. Believe it or not that is actually the job of the phone. Nor is there any reason to whisper down the phone as if you're scared of it. And you wonder why I ask you to repeat things?

But let us not forget the role of the person being called upon. So it's a common occurrence for more than one person to reside in one house so it's therefore a pretty good bet you'll be dealing with calls or other inhabitants somewhere along the line. Now it's pretty peeving to say the lease to return home only to be told " Oh yea... Someone called...Wanted you to call back..." Oh that'll be a doddle then considering I don't have the foggiest who they are. Would it really kill you to simply get a name, number and reason? Even if you don't think you can stretch to the last two just for goodness sake tell me who called.

So If you've successfully managed to perfect all that now all we have left is how to hang up at the appropriate time...

Bambi Poppins Signing Off...

Monday, 7 July 2008

Doctors & Diets. . . Definitely Disasters

I am one of those irritating people who never get ill. The whole world could be dying a painful death from a mutating virus and I'll be just dandy. Sitting eating a large bar of galaxy no doubt. Normally.

How delightful to spend a whole 12 hours (yes I counted) throwing up the contents of your stomach. However I would like to add that I was very graceful in the act and only threw up in the least obstructive places. Considerate aren't I? I won't continue listing my symptoms and state at the time of the illness as some of you would probably turn away in disgust and run to the hills. But moving swiftly onwards from that delightful note I decided that in a last ditch attempt to stop this horror to call the local doctors surgery. Now I understand they have appointments, emergencies and patients to see but this is ridiculous. There is not one single, even half way qualified person free to speak on the phone for a few seconds. So I'll just go back to throwing up shall I? Finally an hour later (in which time I could have quite possibly in some instances died) a doctor finally rings us back for a telephone conversation. Sorry but a telephone conversation? Hardly an adequate diagnosis really when you also add in the factor that the doctor is extremely chauvinistic and as soon as he realises he talking to a teenage girl he has dismissed all possibility I could actually be ill. So after much instance and unnecessary bother, whilst I must re-stress I'm ill, I am finally allocated an appointment.

So after we've all managed to get over this massive pretence that I simply can't be ill due to the fact I'm a teenage girl and it can't be ignored any longer am I going to get told what's wrong? Am I heck! I'm told it could be one of several things so we'll have to wait for it to happen again before we come to any conclusions. So let me get this straight - I have to go through this again before you can help me? Though I am told that I could stay off dairy, just to be on the safe side. So without any guidance on what I should eat instead, I'm left floundering before I even get to breakfast. Porridge? Cereal? Toast? Yogurt? All contain dairy. By the time it gets to lunch I am majorly sick of this regime. No chocolate, cake, ice cream, milk, butter - in fact just about anything nice. By the evening I've already thrown in the towel and eaten numerous chocolate bars, cake, ice cream and had a glass of milk. And you know what I feel great. Not even the slightest bit icky. A week later on full dairy diet and I feel amazing still. What a great diagnosis then. In fact all I have constructively learnt from the whole experience is a new found respect for people who genuinely need to stay dairy free (or anything else for that matter). How do they do it?

Saturday, 28 June 2008

57 Varieties?

Now as some of you may know (and others of you may not) I work in a fish and chip shop. Now everyone who works will probably agree there is often a point at work where one finds themselves very bored. So what can one do when they find themselves bored at work? Chat to other members of staff? Do some unnecessary cleaning? Stare in great detail at minor things. Like the tomato sauce dispenser which proudly proclaims the apparent 57 varieties of Heinz sauces. It's got to be a pretty impressive spread if the number 57 is even in their phone number and P.O Box.. (or very sad.. Either way). So in my extreme boredom I find myself trying to recall all 57 varieties in my head. I get to about 3 (The three which we happen to sell in our shop; tomato sauce, mayonnaise and tartre sauce) and then run out of ideas. Now I must admit this is something which has been bugging me for a long time so I decide to do some research on the good ole' net only to discover the shocking truth... There aren't 57 varieties. There are thousands?!? (Though obviously what they are completly escapes me..) Now excuse my ignorance but is this not a shocking inaccuracy misleading customers? How many innocent bored victims have been mislead just because Heinz had an affection for a random number? Look on the Internet and there are hundreds if not thousands of posts on many separate forums and websites asking what the varieties are and each person probably driven to near insanity never having found an answer... Surely someone should call trading standards?

Tuesday, 24 June 2008

Take A Hole Punch To Rubber and What Do You Get?

It's a brilliant, glowing Saturday and the sun is beaming down. I should be lying perhaps on an uninhabited desert island somewhere basking in the tropical sunlight contemplating s short dip in dazzling crystal seas. Or at least just down the local beach for ice cream and chips. Either which way goes, especially as I happen to be doing neither; I happen to be hunting down the latest must have wardrobe item with my sister. Is it the latest Louis Vuitton handbag? The new must have from Prada? An article from Gucci's summer collection? Nope.. We're hunting down the latest "wonder shoe". They come in several wonder lurid colours ranging from neon shades of green, yellow and pink to more subdued shades of navy blue and black. Nowadays, so I'm informed, some in even come with a glitter coating. They're apparently made of the latest high tech material which eliminate odour and place comfort as a top priority. And this material is? PCCR, an apparent new wonder material with takes on the best qualities from both rubber and plastic. Sounds amazing huh? And if that's not enough to leave you screaming out for more then maybe you should hear about the high tech breath-ability system. That's right, these incredible shoes come with button sized holes all across them. But don't worry if your feet don't like all that excess air you can now purchase special pins are being sold to fit into the holes available from all "good" shoe retailers. I notice they aren't stocked in Clarks, Animal or D2... So you can have rubber flowers or mickey mouse on your foot too. Great. You may have gathered by now I'm talking about, yes you guessed it, crocs. Otherwise know as someone taking a hole punch to some rubbery plastic clogs. Personally I think an incinerator would be much more effective.. Crocs were developed we the American yachting industry in mind not walking round sampletown highstreet! They feel, smell and most importantly look awful too so why exactly have we all gone gaga for a piece of plastic? All answers on a stamped addressed postcard, and if anyone come up with just one measly genuine reason I think I'll faint..

Sunday, 15 June 2008

Money For The Poor

So it's that time of year again. Exam season. Except only this time it's my turn to sit those dreaded and feared GCSE's. Now being the qualifications traditionally crucially important for setting you in good stead for later life one would think that standards of invigilation and surroundings would be high. However as I enter the exam hall a shudder runs over me and not because I'm scared. I must tell you... Our school exam hall is... Freezing. So I sit down at my desk only to discover my chair is half broken and perilously in danger of collapsing halfway through the exam. However the thought of asking the scary Noel Edmunds lookalike who has been hired to officially supervise for the duration of the exam season. I'm sure he's a perfectly amicable person but now is not the time to confirm that. Would it cost the establishment so much more to provide the students of today with table that doesn't rock in a way which appears to replicate the movement of a journey on rowing boat every time one moves their pen? Surely it's classed as a detrimental distraction when the lighting fluctuate from a blazing glare to a murky gloom within the space of five minutes? And how about some quieter heating? Not that it works effectively anyway but it would be nice to to have to listen to a rocket relaunching as I try and calcuate the product of two simultaneous equations.

Okay maybe not the top of the governments agenda but maybe it should be. Of course I'm not just slightly be covering my back incase I fail everything.. I wonder if I could sue for distractions?

Saturday, 14 June 2008

One, Two Three, Four

"One, Two, Three, Four.....
Tell me that you love me more..."

Hands up who recognizes the pleasant tones of Fiest in text form? I'm glad. Partially because it will hopefully help you understand what in heaven's name I'm on about in this blog and partially because it means my readers have decent taste in music! So perhaps you'll be able to see where this is headed towards if I tell you this song has recently brought on a whole new meaning to me. Now as you may have noticed this blog is not starting off in my usual vein of thread. This is because I am, for once in my life, not quite sure how to write this down. Largely because I don't wish to offend anyone (through either reading this directly of word of mouth.... gossip and gabble spread a long way y'know!!) So how to phrase this then my dearest online friends?
So how about we let ourselves imagine that the numbers in this song represent people. So that makes roughly four people. Probably more - who knows? Now before you think I've gone stark raving bonkers... Ok maybe I have. In this blog I've been trying in vain to omit any aspect of my personal life for fear of boring you to death. However I have succumbed just this once. I leave you with one question to ponder upon on this fine day...

I know I am not ugly and have a fair few admirers yet how come I can never have any interest from the people I am interested in? There. Said. Done. Finito.

Set In Stone.....

Now most of the people sat here reading this are most likely to have been through their years at secondary school or at some point through the process. Now we all know what happens at the end of your long and treacherous journey through education.. It's those pesky GCSEs. Now as I finally find myself coming to the end of a long and lengthy period of examinations I begin to question the system (well it's a good job I didn't do it earlier than now or I may have just screwed up my life eh?). So much appears to rest on your GCSEs. Your college placements, Jobs, Uni and countless other seemingly uber important things in life. Yet as I confer with fellow pupils both before and after examinations the doubt really has set in. We really aren't giving everyone a fair crack at the game are we? Now I've always prided myself on being in the top sets for well everything and have been aspiring for those top grades for as long as I can remember. I behaved, tried my best and got lucky. There's only a limited number of places in a class and some people are inevitably going to lose out. On average more than half in the people in the second set of a subject would cope perfectly well in the top set. These people are then taking up the places of the people who would cope perfectly well in the second set.. And so the cycle goes on - Catch 22. So you'd you'd think that teachers would adjust what they teach accordingly and effectively teach some sets the same thing. If only it were that simple. You will only get taught what is needed for a specific grade.. Nice huh? So you're in set 4 and they'll only teach you what you need for a D grade when you could probably get an B if you were taught what you needed to know. God help set 6... These people are perfectly capable of achieving top grades but teachers just simply aren't teaching them what they need to know. The current setting system is limiting peoples potential - People are not being taught the skills they need. I have a friend in set 3 who needs to take higher to get to where she wants in life but the school refuse to put her in this tier because she's in set 3 and isn't taught any of the material she needs to know.

Is there anyone else out there who thinks this is amazingly unfair? Surely we should be helping people to get the best grades they possibly can but all we're doing is inhibiting them. This is something which really really angers me. Anyone else up for making a stand?

Monday, 2 June 2008

The Commandments Of Thy Public Bus..

Now anyone who knows me will know I'm a big fan of all things green, including public transport. However of late it has come to my attention that more and more members of the general public just don't know how to compose themselves in the presence of others. So dear people of the UK if you're wondering if your behavior on the buses is acceptable then read on...

1. Thou Shalt Not Play Thy Music Loudly...

Mp3 players and headphones were invented for a reason you know? The general idea comprising of most people have conflicting music tastes and to spare our poor ears from the distressing sounds of these"songs". I mean sure you may absolutely love your latest chav mix album. However to be brutally honest I think it sounds worse than dying mammal pulled along by a four by four over hot coals. I'm sure you think the same about my tastes but I don't force them down your ear drums. So how about we agree to differ, just this once and invest in a costly pair of 49p headphones....

2. Thou Shalt Not Create A Music Battlefield...

Following on from aforementioned point probably not the best idea to rise to the bait if some oblivious, self centered individual does choose the play their music about at loud as a passing jumbo jet. It's really not nice to be sat on a bus whilst three different genres blare out at you from all directions each rising in volume until the roof of the bus finally blows off... I've only got a limited supply of painkillers you know..

3. Thou Shalt Not Take Up A Double Seat During An Influx Of Passengers

Have some people simply not heard of the term "Public Bus"? Sure by all means take a double seat but if the bus suddenly becomes more packed than a Robbie Williams concert on a people to space ratio, then maybe it's time reduce your personal space a tad.. A whole bus journey to whereever and back is not best spent on ones feet. Whilst the bus shakes and lurches in all manner of directions.

4. Thou Shalt Not Sit Next To Randomees In Periods Of Sparse Numbers

Following the same rule of thumb if the bus is as crowded as an ice cream parlour in a thunder storm then as much as I don't begrudge you the other half of my seat on crowded days I don't particularly fancy sitting next to a radommee if I can avoid it. I'm sure you're lovely and all but I don't know you and after a long day and most probably looking like I've been dragged through a hedge backwards now is not the time to get to know you..

5. Thou Shalt Not Litter Thy Public Bus

Sure. You're so lazy you can't wait untill you can find a bin. It's not nice for me having to sit in you mess afterward or the poor driver who has to clean it up - that wasn't in his job description you know?

6.Thou Shalt Not Smoke On Thy Public Bus

Public Buses are for the public and non smoking areas. I do not want to be engulfed in haze of your smoke making me cough and splutter..

Thursday, 29 May 2008

Go and get yours now.. while stocks last!

Has anyone else noticed the growing trend of more and more bloggers breaking out from the seemingly perfectly comfortable confides of their web space and spreading their wing's, perhaps most noticeably the new novel published my Tom "Very Nearly Random" Collins?

I have and I must say It's one darn good idea. Get to write exclusive content you won't put on your blog and people will buy it to read it... Ka Ching!! So I thought it's time I stuck my oar in and jumped on the band wagon while it's still rolling.

However I decided that I simple could just not be bothered to spend a whole summer writing stuff which I'd never get to post. However never fear my loyal public.. I have another wonder up my sleeves...

So around two years ago it's the birthday of my little sister and we end up going to some place called a "gnome reserve". Basically the idea revolves around a almost unattended garden with a load of gnomes plonked around willy nilly. But I have to admit it was a laugh at the time. Didn't think much of it when some man comes along snapping away with his camera..

"Everyone look at the sunflowers..."

Then just today I look at the leaflet. We're in it. So everyone go grab yours now!!

The Bambi-Poppins Endorsed Leaflet!!

In two full colour glossy sides of A4 this leaflet will possibly provide you with up to a minute of high octane fun!

Read the text, marvell at attemped humour, play where's bambi (basically where's wally but with me) and stick a picture of me on your wall! Or take a photo.. Like me :D

Available now at all good Tourist Informations..

Wouldn't it be great if we could get this leaflet out of stock? Let's go for it!

Sunday, 25 May 2008

The Eurovision Skirt Contest...

So once again my fellow country country men and women we once again appear to have come in, shock horror, last place in the annual European "singing" competition. I've never paid that much attention to eurovision before, for several good reasons. One of which being we always seem to do absolutely appallingly. However after a good old girlie night in with eurovision for company I've finally grasped the concept of the competition and our reasons for failure spontaneously appear to have become blindingly obvious. Can nobody else see the fundamental flaws in our entries?

First impressions seem to count for a lot here so obviously if we want to get these phone lines buzzing in favour of the United Kingdom then all we need do is dress to impress. Why did we send poor old Andy Abraham into the thick of it all looking reasonably dressed and quite presentable? To get anywhere in eurovision you either need to dress like a utter lunatic or a complete tart. Either which way goes. The general idea for the female gender would probably be something along the lines of the shorter the skirt the better, even up to the point where you expose your underwear in the process. But don't worry about that, all you need to do is flash off those pearly whites and rub your leg provocatively and voila, the entire male population of Europe will be drooling over you and scrambling for that phone. Apparently. Guys needn't worry about their levels of sexual attraction either - just ditch the shirt, as well as the shoes and you're all set to go! Don't worry in the slightest about your backing dancer on ice skates. If he does slice off your feet at least you looked handsome first eh?

If you're not quite up to the sluttish look then maybe we could try the opposite extreme, which appears to work equally well the highly educated European public. The mental look. Try sticking apples to your barbie doll style dress, wear a nappy underneath, whilst dancing around a washing line and watch strange men jump out off your washing basket (thanks for the tip Bosnia and Herzegovina! I'll bear that in mind..) or if that doesn't tickle your fancy you could always work the whole children's miniature toy guitar look with robot style backing dancers or my personal favorite, the Latvian pirates.

So now you've caught everyones attention it's time to open your mouth and go for it... Remember we're going for the cat's wailing/blackboard and nails combination here. Sorry, did you just say Andy can actually sing?!?! He looking for a serious career in music?!?! Get him out of here quick before we lose all credibility for goodness sake!

However it simply seems that once again, this year we've gone and blown it and chosen a talented, normal person for our entry. No wonder we came last again. Maybe next year I should enter....

Oh and did I mention the other reason I don't watch eurovision? Even if we entered Robbie Williams we'd lose. It's all about politics baby (why the heck would a singing competition be about music?!?). Oh and I almost forgot. Everyone else hates us :D

Sunday, 18 May 2008

Piece Of Cake...

Just imagine the scenario: a warm hot sunny day and a next-door neighbour fleetingly gives reference to their upcoming holiday to some exotic far flung destination and how the plants are going to need watering. I don't mind. Wave the hosepipe around in the general direction of the shrubbery and the ecosystem will sort things out for it's self. Pretty simple one would think. I actually felt quite bad in accepting the 10 pound note forced upon me despite my continual protesting that payment was completely unnecessary, let alone ridiculous to pay me for dowsing a few stationary lifeforms with H2O.

But not even one week in to my garden tending venture and I'm pondering between two possible options to explain the recent turn of events (against my favor in case you hadn't realised where this one was headed) :

a) I must have been transformed into a complete and utter disaster area as of last Monday and become infected with the worst luck ever to have been bestowed onto one person in such a limited time scale

or b) there's more to this gardening lark than meets the eye.

Now for those of you who know me fairly well it wouldn't be overly big headed of me to say that it's most likely not to be option a, as I have, thankfully, been blessed with a fair share of common sense and academic talent. But as the tomato plants continue to wither regardless of the torrents of water lavished upon them daily I begin to doubt my talents slightly. As the handle breaks of the watering can, which I wasn't aware was physically detachable in the first place without extreme force, I start to wonder if maybe I'm turning into a bit of a klutz. When the hosepipe springs about 8 leaks simultaneously, thus drenching my new shoes on their first excursion from outside my four walls (admittedly only four good old British pounds from primark but still not a nice feeling to be tipping them upside down and watching the new Niagara Falls emerge which mostly ends up over most of me to precise) the thought does cross my mind that something's out to get me. When trying to mend said hosepipe with waterproof taping and the reel of tape snaps in my hands.. what did I do to deserve this? When I go in the house to pick up the post from inside the front door I find the house has been invaded by an army of ants. Quite literally taking the place over - practically non negotiable in fact. 24 hours and some ant powder later I'm now staring at an ant graveyard. Admittedly better than an ant hostel but still not a sight you wish to return home too.

So as I cautiously make my way over to the house today I wonder what delights it has in store for me today. And without exaggeration or any form of imagination i find the garden gate has blown off it's hinges. Maybe I should post that 10 pound note back through the door....

Sunday, 11 May 2008

The sun has got his hat on.... but where's mine?

Please, everyone refrain from falling off your chairs in shock - I'm about to drop a bombshell...
It looks like it could be summertime??

Well in reality, I'm more than certain actually since as I sit here now my legs look about as red as a phone box and are burning like fire despite the twenty tonnes of after sun which had been lavished upon my poor walking friends. However I digress, this was not the dawning of my summer realization.

Now cast your minds back to those first few summer day a few weeks ago. No one could have predicted. So, I'm sat at school sweltering away in my black flares and by the time I return home I'm surprised I haven't fainted from the sheer heat of which I've endured. First things first - change of clothes I think. So as I fling open my wardrobe what do I find? Piles of thick, warm snugly hoodies. Rows of dark skinny jeans. And a fair few rock tees. It hits me like a tidal wave - what happened to me last winter? Do I not own one single summer garment suitable for hot weather wear? Apparently not.

After turning my wardrobe quite literally upside down all I've managed to obtain is three poultry pairs of shorts, which on inspection are probably only now fit for a barbie doll to wear and a few primark t-shirts which are a tad past their prime.. Now this is OK considering I only need to be wearing this stuff behind the barricade of my own four walls and possibly my garden if there's no prowling neighbours about, however what am I expected to do at weekends?

Now don't get me wrong I like my style and the way it's progressed over the winter. The skinny jeans. The converse. The rock tees. Black eyeliner. Yes okay, I admit I am a little bit of a wannabe emo but I like the way I look. But none of this attire is exactly practical in the scorching summer heat which leaves me practically dreaming and lusting over a nice pair of denim shorts, a gorgeous summer skirt, a waistcoat and shirt combo and that perfect summer hat.

Yet when I happen to mention any of these items to my loving mother she appears to almost recoil in shock. Yes I do no these are a bit extreme in my taste however it's HOT.

Way to hot for that wannabe emo look..... Time to remake this girl once again.

Wednesday, 7 May 2008

I see you!!!

Now as far as I was aware seeing was a matter concerned with the eyes, light reflects off a said object, is focused by a lens in my eye onto the retina of my and eye and low and behold:- I see the toothpaste! However the word has now apparently taken on a whole new meaning (or perhaps more aptly a confusion) completely unbeknown to me. So as I stumble into school, bleary eyed and zombified of a Monday morning at first I don't think I'm hearing things right as I collapse into my chair.

"Oh I was seeing Johnathan* for three months before we went out"
"But we're still only seeing each other and we've been seeing each for what seems an age"

Or words to that effect. Now am I the only one who seems to fins the concept of seeing someone bizarre? From what I gathered from the conversation seeing someone is kind of like a halfway house between "just friends" and "going out". I see lots of things with my eyes on a daily basis yet that doesn't mean I'm up for intimate relationships with my bookshelf. So excuse my idiocity but what kind of compromise can there be with regards to going out?

As with most things I don't understand in this world I decided to do some research on the topic. What I unearthed was what I found somewhat disturbing. According to the majority of sites on the net "seeing someone" is basically just going out without the commitment part. Apparently it's also socially acceptable to "see" more than one person at once too.. Does it not appear to anyone else that seeing someone is just an extension of a one night stand? One night stand. Pulling. Whatever. You know what you're in for - it's a one off. Both participants are aware of the fact and dare I say it harmless fun? Seeing however, appears to be a whole new kettle of fish entirely.. Anyone ever heard of the term "friends with benefits"? Where's the fulfillment and love in that I ask?

In my struggle in finding a clear definition for the term I noticed various variations of understanding ranging from what can only be put as "friend with benefits" to a full blown, commitment filled relationship. So when you and a person both have the "understanding" that you're seeing each other it's more than likely you don't understand what's going on at all.
Now call me simplistic here but how's this for a game of chess -
You're going out exclusively with one person. Or your not. Your single.

Tuesday, 6 May 2008

Au Centre Ville

It’s the school holidays, the weekend, a bank holiday, a (insert similar occasion here) and the likelihood is that most school or college aged people are likely to be looking for some form of entertainment to keep them and their various mates amused for most, if not the entirety of the day. Now there’s nowt wrong with that. Quite the contrary, infact it’s what I’m most likely to do when one finds herself with a scarce free day. However young people today seem to have lost the capability to explore any new options with regards to entertainment or “Good Ole Fashioned Fun”. In fact their vocabulary appears to have contacted to one mere eventuality, “town”. God forbid we try and do anything different. As once again I find myself sat at that same table, in that same cafĂ© tediously counting out my copper and silver and trying to work out if I can afford the cheapest thing on the menu I do begin to wonder if it’s all worth it. The hoards of “featherweight” shoppers, dawdling mindlessly down the high street in a snail- like fashion before grinding to an infuriating halt - right in the middle of the road… Is it so wrong to want to walk at a reasonable pace without being propelled into the posterior of these blissfully oblivious individuals? You finally arrive at the destination of your choice (if you haven’t given up already) only to wonder if the shop is exceeding the limit of human bodies allowed in such a confined space. You stagger blindly in the sweltering heat in the general direction of the exit, probably demolishing a fair few displays along the way. All surveyed by the oh-so-delightful shop assistant*. Now shop assistants generally seem to come in two types; the cynical, scrutinising “It’s a teenager watch out they’ll nick something” mindset form who doggedly follow your every move or the irritatingly ultra peppy aide determined to be your new best friend as they “helpfully” point out practically every item in the store, detailing its good points/how much it would suit you/how they could do a special deal on it “just for you”. Despite the fact you plainly stated you’re just browsing… At least fifty times. Need I continue on to depict images of “splendid” cuisine, trying to hoodwink the bus driver into believing you are entitled to a child ticket and lashings of gale force winds and rain? As I finally slump exhausted in the comfort of my own home I feel somewhat anaesthetized after the whole traumatic experience which I seem to be putting myself through on a regular basis. Is there no one else who feels remotely similar? Or perhaps I am simply a freak of society?

Dare I suggest we go to the beach?

*This article bears no ill will to shop assistants as people………… Just the people they become as soon as they get that uniform on.

Beware: The Wrath Of The Disposable Razor

Once again (for around the third time this week) I find myself in a rather awkward situation. With my leg delicately balanced over the edge of the snow white bathroom sink, which I mustn't fail to mention is rapidly turning a contrasting shade of crimson, I reach blindly for the bathroom towel which could, quite frankly be anywhere. As soon as I have located the item in question, I've got to to wrap it around myself in a way which makes me look at least half decent (disregarding the torrents of blood rushing from my leg of course) and then unlock the bathroom door. All without moving my leg from it's precarious position upon the bathroom sink. It's then time for the mad dash from the bathroom to the bedroom whilst trying to preserve ones dignity and hold the towel in place as well as shut the door behind me in case of suspect brigades of steam out to suffocate the walls with mould (according to the parents). All preformed hopping and stumbling along on one leg to prevent, heaven help us, any blood flowing onto the carpet....As I finally reach my haven and grope blindly for the Vaseline (wonder cure) and the plasters I'm exhausted.

All this because I refuse to spend over an hours wages on a three pack of razor blade refills?
Now I understand that a five for a pound supermarket disposable razor deal won't have quite the same quality levels as my *insert top brand name here* refills but surely they shouldn't be dangerous? Now I'm not incapable or stupid in anyway shape or form however every single time I use one of these budget blades a minimum of at least two gushing cuts appear. Not only is it costing me a small fortune in plasters and Vaseline but I'm now embarrassed for the first time ever to show off my legs only to have my friends ask "Oooo how'd you do that?!?!?". Oh yes excuse me I'm just incapable of using a disposable razor blade ok? As I sit down and look I discover no less than 10 scars between my two legs ranging from between three and six centimetres in size. Not nice.

Never had I been so relieved to part with so much cash as the shop assistant hands over such a minuscule product. Cheap razors look great on your bank balance, yea sure. But I'm warning you. You legs (and bathroom sink) won't.

The Kissing Game

Are you also one of those people who also aimlessly wonders through profiles when you find yourself extremely bored? I am also one of those people. I'll browse your quizzes, polls, blogs, photos... Ah yes... Photos?? So I'm mindlessly bumbling along looking at photos, laughing at stupid poses and smiling at cute pictures then WHAM - a close up shot of the happy couple kissing each other. Now don't get me wrong I'm not immune to the cuteness/sweetness factor of these images. I have (believe it or not) myself smiled and thought "aww.." and even *shock horror* been inclined to leave a comment.

But when I find myself confronted with a whole album of the pair eating each others faces I start to become slightly disturbed (as well as hastily reaching for the sick bucket). Now one or two I understand (sort of), but the sheer volume presented to me by some people makes me feel somewhat perplexed. Now I'm no expert in either the field of kissing or photography but even my simple mind can grasp the concept of both and I'm not quite sure how the two could possibly mix together? Is there some third wheel constantly snapping away whilst shouting directions?

"Lean in a bit... ah yes much better..nope more to the left.. okay hang on.."
*Third wheel gets up and physically moves the couples facial position*

Now I'm not exactly an old fashioned codger with 19th century views on life, in fact I consider myself very open minded but this vision is one which leaves me feeling a tad nauseated. Yes I admit I maybe take the whole idea a slight overboard, but the general notion still remains. I mean is it just me that feels a tad uncomfortable when you're surrounded by a group of people snogging each other? I mean most people can just about handle a quiet couple in the corner but close up photography?

And no, before some bright spark pipes up and says "maybe the couple take it themselves" I struggle with that to. Not that I'd know for sure considering I've never taken a picture of myself locking lips with someone (frankly I'd be fairly flabbergasted if a guy went and said "Let's take a photo of us kissing for my bebo". Sorry but it's just appears like a newage, legal pornography to me..)but surely having one of the pair sticking their arm about and trying to take a photo takes all the passion/romance/excitement/"what-ever-else-goes" out of the kiss. And how exactly do you propose to take a decent photo with your eyes closed??

Moving Home....

Formally housed In Bebo authors street, Bambi Poppins has finally made the jump to Blogger! (Though under much pressure from certain other blog owners... Cough Cough *Tony Faye*)
So I welcome you to the new and improved Bambi Poppins' blog which I hope will be of a suitable standard to yourself. I will be transferring all of the old blogs over from Bebo so that explains in advance the influx of blogs about to come your way :D