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.

Embers

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

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.

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.

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 :)

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...
bambi.poppins.yahoo.com

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?