it's about time...

it's about time for a lot of things... like me posting for starters. it's certainly been an age since, that i've probably grown a couple of inches and sprouted some grey hairs, more grey hairs shall i say- i have a 'tuft' of the shitters underneath my thankfully heavy fringe which in the wind pops out and says an uninvited embarrassing hello to the world. my hair saga continues.

what's really been a long time coming though and so far the highlight of my week... the long and overdue axing (fingers crossed it's a bloody, gruesome brutal one) of eastenders finest devil spawn, ben mitchell. now i know he is merely a fictional character but it is moreso his really irritating and annoying face, facial expressions, voice, generally him as an unfortunate being that has me raving 'ding dong the wicked brat is dead'. this is the best bit though, the character itself isn't being ditched...just the actor. how JOKES is that?! blatently the producers are thinking EXACTLY the same as me and has taken them a stupid amount of time to realise how SHIT he is at acting. not to mention they probably feel really guilty now after making ben prance around the living room in a makeshift lady gaga outfit made from tinfoil in front of his staunchly homophobic dad phil while the audience looks on fully cringing.

now i don't condone violence but i did grin from ear to ear when ben finally got a clout from his dad after being a little monster to yes, his just as irritatingly bad acting little sis. and yep it's only a soap, but you have to get your kicks from a few storylines (defs NOT the one involving pat, peggy and the creepy perve harvey who recently suggested a cheeky threesome. christ) but you know what i'm saying?


now to find a way of killing off fatboy/ fatz/ whatver. it makes my skin crawl everytime i hear him say 'braaav' 'babygirl' and 'two two's'. who does he think he is?! can you imagine him even holding a conversation with easties veteran dot cotton? i don't think she could manage raising her eyebrows any higher during her "oooh i saaaaay" look that is constantly slapped all over her mush. saying that though, she probably does need an update from the latest urban dictionary as i swear she still speaks about shillings and the plague.

regardless, prattboy needs to GO asap, preferably by getting runover by his own van, saying his last dying words in full clad rocawear and adidas shelltoes. que the douf douf.

this is what happens when you take the girl out of london

originally a north weezy londoner and now residing in lord alan sugar's part of town, the 'cor blimey guvnor it's only the bloody eastend', there isn't much i don't love about the place. i rarely seem to think about or notice the rumoured bad stuff that goes down despite yet another speeding ambulance nearly knocking me for six as i amble up mare street with a burger and can of red stripe in hand, but hey, at least it's never quiet. however, as much as i love bar hopping around shoreditch on a friday night, enjoy seeing the crowds filling out onto the streets as they neck the dregs of their beer before dashing the plastic glasses into the nearest over flowing 'in need of a change' bin, i feel the 'scene' can be become a tad repetitive. it's torturous being exposed to yet ANOTHER ear bleeding night of progressive-acid-broken beat-trance-techno chilled ibiza tripe. and quite frankly, my night can quite quickly turn shite and i wanna jump on the n55 home before i let loose my uncontrollable urge to strangle the dj with the cord of his own diamante embellished headphones.

so when my mate asked me if i wanted to partake in a night out in her neck of the woods in northampton last saturday, i said 'why aye' in my best attempt at a newcastle accent (she's a geordie) and boarded my train at euston, happy to leave behind a shit filled night of tunes that wouldn't sound out of a place during an episode of 'eurotrash'.

upon arrival, the first thing on my mind was FOOD. standard. when and where and how we were getting it were the only questions that needed answering. and being a true friend, it seemed jodi had these all prepped, informing me that we would indeed be hitting up the ever popular 'imrans balti house'. i had a fat curry to look forward to, a bring your own booze policy to strongly adhere to and would be experiencing the famous family naan. "get me there NOW" said the chicken bhuna loving beast.

now i don't joke. but this naan was HENCH. could definitely feed a family...for about a month. it was truly immense as was my ridiculously huge curry which sat happily in an authentic balti bowl the size of a dinner plate. that was sex right there. after we finished up, chanting continuously "im soooooooo full" whilst rubbing our protuding korma and carling filled bellies, we were chauffeured into the town of northampton....and so it began.

teetering down the cobbled streets keeping our eyes peeled for the nearest cocktail bar to dive into, we could count on BOTH our fingers and toes, 10 times over, the amount of looks, sniggers and guffaws we got from simply wearing supposed 'on trend', fashionable clothes. now i really don't mean that in a pretentious, dickhead fashionista way OR am i saying that i have the belief that every trend, just because vogue deems it fashionably acceptable (come on, socks and sandals? i was never on that) is automatically stylish. what i mean is we were simply wearing items of clothing (a maxi skirt and harem pants if you're interested) that unfortunately weren't either of the following:

- a mini skirt or dress that rode up our arses so as to expose both buttocks
- sky high see through stripper platforms combined with rank french manicured toenails and some form of jewel/flower design/chinese symbol in the corner of the big toe
- a ridiculously fake tanned complexion that had been caked on with a trough fit for an oompa loompa

talk about baffled.

drinks in hand, we casually made our way upstairs as to avoid the sniggering circus in cahoots behind us, found ourselves seats on the balcony deck so we could commence our long overdue chinwag/bitch, only to be be disturbed by the oncoming rowdy bunch of knobs proudly parading around in their 'i can make your bedrock' tshirts and officers club white plimsoles. the ringleader and slurring drunken slob who referred to himself as 'jimmaaay' just about managed to gurgle: "so what made you wear these trousers? what were you thinking when you decided to wear them?"

i could ask you the same thing. prick.

the comments continued throughout the night, mostly from men. the lovely ladies of northampton decided on just blatent pointing and eviling us from head to toe, like a scene straight out of mean girls; of course naturally they were all sipping cheap wine out of straws and wearing their finest jane norman ensembles. evidently, i had a clear reason to worry...


whilst waiting in a queue for the club, we let out synchronised jaw drops as we observed one boozed up bird, displaying an outright homage to jodie marsh who literally fell out of a bar and onto the floor in her ever so sexy fancy dress army outfit. we weren't to worry though because she would soon be helped up by her just as wasted mate in a backless, frontless, crotchless dress. it was like watching one of those cack living tv shows called booze britain or something...LIVE.

after sinking a few more jagermeisters and enjoying a ridiculous amount of boogying on down to a bit of timbaland and timberlake, we called it a night at around 3 and headed homeward. over a cuppa and leftover curry we discussed at length how strange the evening was in regards to our 'too out there' outfits. why had it caused such a hoopla? because we weren't donning corned beef legs in lipsy dresses and tramp stamps, we were in the firing line for some digs? it's laughable though. i'm not one to take myself too seriously and didn't take it personally.

but as i arrived back in london on sunday, it felt good to be back. and as much as i loved the change of scene, imran's and shimmying my way through the pop chart, i'm looking forward to a weekend in the sun, a couple bevs in london fields and going out in my jazzy jeff trewsers again...no doubt skanking out to the newest electro beats. JOY.

too hot to trot?

the main part of the election drama is now over. hurrah! i was getting seriously bored of the awkward conversations at work; people talking policies and prats, snobs and stats, but it also meant i was forced to kinda keep schtum the whole time because to be honest i didn't know enough about the snooze fest that is politics.

yeh yeh yeh i know it's important and all that jazz, but when you are bombarded with links to quiz websites falsely telling you which party you are most suited to because you tick the 'i prefer a chinese to a traditional english roast' box or the sites that basically tell you, according to where you live, how irrelevant and unnoticed your vote was going to be, it was hardly motivation to take the whole thing seriously was it? as cynical (and admittedly a tad ignorant) as it may sound, it just all seemed like a bit of sham in the end. what with nick clegg, or 'cleggy' said the chants of his gaggling bunch of horny OAP fans, revelling in his new found fame, signing autographs in a swarve pair of oakleys (not cool) being jumped and humped on by horny ethels, mauds and mabels who were embarrassingly dying for a toothless, gummy smooch... you couldn't help but laugh at the circus that was.

in saying all of this though, i do have a sneaky reasoning behind the unfortunate fall of gordon brown. check out the wifey's bad boys:


we just couldn't bear the thought of these monstrous trotters stomping around downing street for another 5 years could we?!

anyhoo, like i said, my political knowledge is that of a 3 year old probably so i'll leave it there and take this opportunity to salute my mates that used election night as another excuse to get on the sauce! i knew there'd be a bit of fun in it somewhere...

i couldn't help but wonder...

so i finally let my hair down at the weekend.

but you see for once, i'm not talking THAT type of hair release, when i say to the girls: "lets go out, i need to let my hair down" (in other words) "we are going OUT. i need to drown my sorrows with the help of whiskey and wine because shit has been hitting the fan ALL week, work has been nothing but soul destroying, my life is verging on meaningless resulting in an addiction to akinator.com and i still act suprised and clap like a demented seal EVERYTIME the genie man gets the correct answer, i've been so unbelievably bored that i have the keys F5,F6,F7 imprinted on my forehead from smashing it relentlessly on the keyboard and i seem to spend my entire life counting down the minutes till lunch at 1pm only to feign excitement over finally getting to eat my soggy homemade cheese and tomato sarnie and a pack of crushed up hula hoops" 6 packs for a quid in iceland if you're interested...

what i mean is, after 3 weeks of wearing the mop in a ballerina bun perched on top of my head from dusk till dawn because i couldn't bare the sight of it in all it's boring, mid length, averagely shite glory since it got hacked away, i decided at long last to wear it down. don't get me wrong, i still can't look in the mirror and face the reality that my boobs no longer have a homegrown brown gilet to keep them warm anymore but in all honesty, i had to give myself a break from the semi essex facelift i was making for myself.


oh and miraculously my headaches have stopped...funny that.

other than this ground breaking news, my weekend with the boy was pretty chilled. a near enough full day of being forced to watch football/sky sports tv which is essentially a really boring busy screen with a monotone speaking OAP who probably played for bromley back in 56' or something, repeating the SAME football news over and over again along with 'breaking news' (really??) rolling beneath him as he jabbers on about the dry teams...basically, the ones that aren't in the top 4.

BORE OFF.

my end of the bargain was much more satisfying. i got to sit cosily with a cuppa in my bubble of all things singing, dancing and generally nauseating for most by watching over the rainbow and glee...oh and some SATC re runs that he didn't mind seeing cos secretly he's learning a thing or two about how us women work/need lots of shoes/clothes/cocktails bought for them. however, i think it's safe to say i've worked out who his favourite character is after his ears pricked up (no pun intended) during this delightful quote from samantha:

"i will wear whatever, and blow whomever i want, as long as i can breathe and kneel"

need i say more?

payday schmayday

for most, payday is their favourite day of the month. you treat yourself to a grande (not tall) starbucks in the morning, a hench lunch because it's the day you can rejoice and not feel guilty about not having to eat your 30th homemade tuna roll, you go down town after work and pick up those shoes you've been oggling online all week and then you're off to paint it red, hitting as many happy hours as poss before you pass out and forget your own name. you wake up the next morning, dragging your sorry hanging arse to mcdonalds to gnaw on a rock hard muffin, you start to hack into the splat of congealed scrambled egg, still not getting used to the fact that the sausage resembles a pattie (because you are basically eating a burger at 10am) which is smothered in sweet sticky syrup from the american-esque pancakes. finally, it's all topped off with a piping hot cup of water that tastes remotely like tea and burns off about 4 layers from the roof of your mouth. just me?

FANTASTIC.

however, my newly imbursed bank account doesn't stay flush for long. cos those couple days after payday is a complete wipe out. i have direct debits and standing orders coming out of my ears, i check my account a week in and i've gone depressingly back to square one.

POOR. BROKE. BRASS.


and as the month flies by, all before i can even sing:

"can you pay my billlls, can you pay my telephone billlls?"

the same scenario plays out like a broken record. (a really annoying catchy one). every month. without fail.

i sit and stare in disbelief at my online banking balance: '1am, £40 cash withdrawl: shoreditch' here, '2am: card payment for a ridiculously expensive round at a pub' there, yet all the while i'm scanning the 'new in' page on asos.com, profusely clicking the 'add to basket' button on jumpsuits, shoe boots and belts. but it's the cheeky tenners that really dent the wallet. the 'fuck it' tenners that are withdrawn on a random tuesday night for a cheap bite to eat and a few bottles of heineken cos it's 2 for 1 on 'beer of the day' at juno. i'm a sucker for a bargain.

but i don't ever learn.

take the weekend just gone for example. i spent a 80 quid in less than 24 hours. 40 going on munch, a couple bottles of rank tesco's own rose for a girls night in and yeh erm...ahem...hmmm. another pair of shoes.... BUT LOOK!


absolute crackers aren't they?

yeeeeahh so...

the other 40 quid might aswell have gone down the bleedin' drain after a shocking haircut. the crazy bitch hacked off about 5 inches of my mane after me telling her specifically i wanted to keep the length. she was clearly deaf aswell as dumb and basically left me feeling naked. and with a face like thunder. i've been wearing up it in a bun ever since and will not be letting it down till it's back giving rapunzel a run for her money.

so payday can get stuffed. for all the joy it brings for the first 5 minutes of friday morning, it only brings sadness and inevitable unstoppable spending. oh... and don't be alarmed the next time you see me, if i'm stumbling round the joint sporting a french crop, wolfing down an egg mcmuffin bought with my last fiver and shouting obscenities at the dick that chopped off my locks...but all in my new heels of course.

my new bff. lol. ttyl.

i am currently coffee'd up to the eyeballs and have basically been asleep (just unfortunately have to have my eyes open) since being back at work on tuesday. i am in utter disbelief that i've sadly had to return to the grind, feeling like we deserve more 4 day weekends right?? not gonna happen though is it? dev.

and lets not stop there. i am also seething at having to return to what can only be described....as hell. being forced to listen to bbc radio 2 ALL DAY EVERY DAY, whose playlist include the crooning warblings of katherine jenkins, a fine mixture of terrible old school michael bolton/simply red/m people album tracks and an incredible amount of cheese infested 80's power ballads played on the hour, every hour. and don't get me started on jeremy vines daily 'takeover' at 12. lets take a look at todays glorious line up:

"Jeremy discusses National Insurance, Lionel Shriver, Darren Day and heckling".

that's entertainment right there.

who the hell is lionel shriver and why is darren day up for discussion...ever??

FML.

so whilst the sun beats down on my back, beckoning me to rinse out my full lunch hour and cruise the kentish town chazza shops then moan to all and sundry about how broke i am only 7 days after payday, let me first introduce you all to my new bff.

we're tight. like 2 peas in a pod. like punch and judy. sooty and sweep....

not that i've ever met him like.


AMAZING.

ok so he has got a slightly irritating face and the bit about the video case was a tad OTT but the rest had me saluting him all the way! if he was even a little good looking, he'd be a man after my own raging heart.

we just love to hate.

april FOOL

i am hungOVER. because i basically thought my long easter weekend started last night. in the boozer.

shucks.

in my defence, i was watching the incredible arsenal game in a pub in finsbury park with a boozy bunch of gooners. i'm a girl so don't worry, i'm not going to harp on with football chat cos quite frankly, i don't know enough about it to do so. although i'm pretty sure i could give jamie redknapp a run for his money in the commentating stakes because he is utter TURD. but anyhoo, i think it was quite obvious to see that we did get ridiculously dicked on in the first half, embarrassingly so but we jumped straight back on the comeback trail with a little help from theo:

"theooooo, theooooo, theooooo"

and a cracking pen from fab fabs. but in all the excitement, jumping up and down, having a three way hug with the boy and our mate ben, my back all of a sudden became drenched in stella as an over hyper lager lout basically dashed a whole pint onto me.

LET'S PLAY SPOT THE DICKHEAD... he's behiiiiiind you!

but i let it go and in true romantic style, the bf gave me his shirt and promised to buy me some chips after the game. SOLD! to the girl with sopping matted hair and beer stained jeans. it's the small things.

so as my hangover proceeds to get worse by the minute, i gladly nominate myself as the april fool for today. was a silly mistake to get wrecked. on a wednesday. a school night. knowing full well i have 4 days and nights of wining and dining to get through somehow. it's ok though, i started the day with a mcdonalds hash brown, a mug of sugar with a couple teaspoons of tea and have already filled my water bottle up 3 times.

"i'm gonna wash that beer right outta my hair"

literally.

have a EGGcellent easter, hope it's spEGGtacular (yes, i am LOLing to myself even if you're not) and eat your body weight in chocolate.

lots of love from me and my mate below; this being the last time you see him cos he is getting munched, annihilated, exterminated.


oopsy.