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!

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

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....

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.

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.

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 café 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

Bambi
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