Yesterday I went on an exciting trip to the Wirral region of Merseyside, to visit my good friend Anna, who is expecting a set of twins. She has moved back to her Mum's house and I was interested to examine these new environs.
After taking an exciting 'First' tunnel bus, I was met by Anna at the bus stop in Wallasey. I took a fast walk down the alleyway to her Mum's, but when I turned around, Anna was way behind, due to the fact the twins had reduced her lung capacity to a third its usual size.
I was very impressed with Anna's Ma's house upon arrival. It was decorated in my favourite colours of red and pink, with sumptuous furnishings and artistic cosmetic flourishes in the bathroom.
Anna had sourced some excellent cold beverages from the ASDA 'Extra Special' range. I indulged in a glass of dandelion and burdock and when we entered the living room, I was offered an occasional table to rest it on.
We watched the first episode of a fantastic 'teen angst' style series called 'My So- Called Life'. Anna had sourced it from some sort of pirate production premises, so it intermittently turned itself off during the viewing process. Despite this, it contained all the necessary ingredients to ensure a truly engaging and fulfilling teen drama, whcih are:
Moody teen protagonist
Moody teen protagonist who goes through image crisis and dyes hair an attractive but unacceptable to parents shade.
MTP who has bad relationship with mother.
MTP who is weird and quirky and says things like 'Anne Frank was lucky'
MTP who falls in with the wrong crowd
MTP who lusts after some guy but doesn't seem like she is ever going to get together with him.
MTP who tries hard to be cool but then falls over in mud.
It was truly fantastic. It 'spoke' to us on many levels and took us back to the times when we were both moody teen protagonists.To accompany our viewing, Anna had prepared a delicious lunch of baked potato with carrot cake for afters. Both were again sourced from the ASDA shopping emporium.
Once we had finished with lunch and televisual viewing we played a game of prodding Anna's stomach to see if we could identify bits of the twins. I had a really good poke around and I thought I could feel an arm or a leg. It was terrifically exciting.Then we discussed the birthing process and how we believed it may pan out. We shared the details of various 'horror stories' we had heard, although Anna declined my advice to look on YouTube to check out the realities, as captured by well meaning husbands and fathers.
Note: No matter how curious you are, if you are pregnant it is probably best not to do this. I checked this out in an unpregnant and unwanting to be pregnant state, yet was interested in a purely anthropological way and it raised serious issues about the design faults of the female body and the failure of the evolutionary process to correct them.
At 4.30pm I left to begin the journey back to Liverpool, where I needed to meet Alan for our usual Friday night carvery ritual.
Monday 21 July 2008
Laura and the diary from 1997
Readers, I have found yet more hilarous stuff from the past. A section of a notebook that had been ripped out and used to record an account of a trip to the Lake District. It is only fair that I share this with you and so settle back as I present to you the events of 4th March 1997
.4.3.97
Today is the day that me, Jeni, Paul and Peter are going on a fantastic day out to the Lake District. I got up incredibly early today, about ten past eight. That's a.m, not p.m! The day started out with a bang when me and Jeni decided to toast the water bill. It was for the very high amount of £283.00 and it was depressing the shit out of us. Now, thank God,we won't have to pay it.
There is a funny smell in the flat at the moment. I can't be exactly sure what it is, but at a rough guess I would say it was toasted water bill.
My thoughts about the trip are as follows:
1) I am wondering primarily if we are going to be in a 10 car pile up on the M1. Perhaps our Fiat Uno will be hit side on by a Juggernaut. Maybe we will all be crushed in the wreckage and limbs may be severed. I can envisage being trapped and having to be freed by the fire brigade who will fight against time as I scream the agonising screams of imminent death.
2) If this does not happen I am looking forward to seeing some attractive scenery and loads of mountains. Mountains are a source of energy you know, although not in the same way as complex carbohydrates. You have to sit on them to reap the full benefits. That's what Marc said. And he must know because he used to play in a band.
Now I am going to move on to discuss what Jeni and I dreamt about last night. As you can see, this has particular relevance to the Lake District. I will deal with my dream first. Well, I dreamt that I woke up and my tongue was covered with painful, throbbing,pulsating, weeping mouth ulcers. I also dreamt I was desperately searching for charity shops and I couldn't find any, so I suppose this could technically be described as a nightmare. When I woke up my tongue was not covered with painful, throbbing,pulsating, weeping mouth ulcers.
Jeni had 2 dreams, one was about the scary water bill and the other also had a watery theme. She envisaged the washing machine as having 2 rather large goldfish inside. She claims that the washing machine had been specially designed to wash the fish as well as display them attractively. A Freudian analysis of these dreams would suggest that I, Laura should eat less cheese before bed. Jeni on the other hand has a subconscious involvement with her past when she used to be a fish in a washing machine.
Jeni and I are now in our kitchen waiting for the men to come and free us from this enslavement to drudgery. We are now half an hour late on our trip, as Peter who is driving the Lake District mobile has gone A.W.O.L.
Later: I am writing this in the car, which is a Leguna and not a Fiat Uno as I previously thought. Actually, I don't know why I am mentioning that as I can't tell one type of car from another. This could be a tank and I wouldn't know the difference.
It is now 12.30 and we have just stopped off at motorway services. I bought a giant flump and ate it in the Little Chef. I realised while I was doing this that I had completely lost my bearings. I mean, I knew we were in Britain because we hadn't gone through any sea, but besides this I was lost. I quickly jumped up and asked a Little Chef assistant where we were. He was very obliging and helpful and informed me we were about 6 miles from Lancaster. I thanked him effusively.
The most alarmingly surreal...
Readers, it just stops there and I have no idea why I did not finish the sentence. Luckily for you, I have a top class memory and can recall exactly what alarmingly surreal events unfolded throughout the day. So, 11 years later, I will finish this diary entry.
The most alarmingly surreal thing happened in the service station on the way home. I had spotted a children's Postman Pat ride and became determined that I would have a go on it. I put in my 20p and tried to squash my adult body into the miniscule drivers seat as the vehicle rocked back and forth. I was thwarted in my attempts and so I knelt on all fours and inserted my head into the post van. Meanwhile, Jeni attempted to capture the whole escapade on camera.As we were engaged in this pursuit, we heard raucous laughter coming from the cafe area. I looked over and was startled to see Russell Grant, of horoscopes fame enjoying the spectacle in front of him. He got up and walked over to me.
'Thanks for making my stop at this service station so entertaining!' he said.'I didn't think it was possible to have fun here'.
'With the right mental attitude, you can have fun anywhere!' I expectorated.
Russell then asked me what star sign I was and seemed surprised when I said Taurus. He expectorated that this sign did not usually engage in mad pursuits.
'I'm Aquarius rising' I expectorated. 'That's what makes me do the mad stuff.'
He seemed impressed at my knowledge of the astrological charts and as a parting shot, I asked him to give me a mention on his next television show. Whether he did or not, I do not know.And so endeth the note about the exciting and alarmingly surreal trip to the Lake District, which on reflection, did not contain any mention of the Lake District at all.
.4.3.97
Today is the day that me, Jeni, Paul and Peter are going on a fantastic day out to the Lake District. I got up incredibly early today, about ten past eight. That's a.m, not p.m! The day started out with a bang when me and Jeni decided to toast the water bill. It was for the very high amount of £283.00 and it was depressing the shit out of us. Now, thank God,we won't have to pay it.
There is a funny smell in the flat at the moment. I can't be exactly sure what it is, but at a rough guess I would say it was toasted water bill.
My thoughts about the trip are as follows:
1) I am wondering primarily if we are going to be in a 10 car pile up on the M1. Perhaps our Fiat Uno will be hit side on by a Juggernaut. Maybe we will all be crushed in the wreckage and limbs may be severed. I can envisage being trapped and having to be freed by the fire brigade who will fight against time as I scream the agonising screams of imminent death.
2) If this does not happen I am looking forward to seeing some attractive scenery and loads of mountains. Mountains are a source of energy you know, although not in the same way as complex carbohydrates. You have to sit on them to reap the full benefits. That's what Marc said. And he must know because he used to play in a band.
Now I am going to move on to discuss what Jeni and I dreamt about last night. As you can see, this has particular relevance to the Lake District. I will deal with my dream first. Well, I dreamt that I woke up and my tongue was covered with painful, throbbing,pulsating, weeping mouth ulcers. I also dreamt I was desperately searching for charity shops and I couldn't find any, so I suppose this could technically be described as a nightmare. When I woke up my tongue was not covered with painful, throbbing,pulsating, weeping mouth ulcers.
Jeni had 2 dreams, one was about the scary water bill and the other also had a watery theme. She envisaged the washing machine as having 2 rather large goldfish inside. She claims that the washing machine had been specially designed to wash the fish as well as display them attractively. A Freudian analysis of these dreams would suggest that I, Laura should eat less cheese before bed. Jeni on the other hand has a subconscious involvement with her past when she used to be a fish in a washing machine.
Jeni and I are now in our kitchen waiting for the men to come and free us from this enslavement to drudgery. We are now half an hour late on our trip, as Peter who is driving the Lake District mobile has gone A.W.O.L.
Later: I am writing this in the car, which is a Leguna and not a Fiat Uno as I previously thought. Actually, I don't know why I am mentioning that as I can't tell one type of car from another. This could be a tank and I wouldn't know the difference.
It is now 12.30 and we have just stopped off at motorway services. I bought a giant flump and ate it in the Little Chef. I realised while I was doing this that I had completely lost my bearings. I mean, I knew we were in Britain because we hadn't gone through any sea, but besides this I was lost. I quickly jumped up and asked a Little Chef assistant where we were. He was very obliging and helpful and informed me we were about 6 miles from Lancaster. I thanked him effusively.
The most alarmingly surreal...
Readers, it just stops there and I have no idea why I did not finish the sentence. Luckily for you, I have a top class memory and can recall exactly what alarmingly surreal events unfolded throughout the day. So, 11 years later, I will finish this diary entry.
The most alarmingly surreal thing happened in the service station on the way home. I had spotted a children's Postman Pat ride and became determined that I would have a go on it. I put in my 20p and tried to squash my adult body into the miniscule drivers seat as the vehicle rocked back and forth. I was thwarted in my attempts and so I knelt on all fours and inserted my head into the post van. Meanwhile, Jeni attempted to capture the whole escapade on camera.As we were engaged in this pursuit, we heard raucous laughter coming from the cafe area. I looked over and was startled to see Russell Grant, of horoscopes fame enjoying the spectacle in front of him. He got up and walked over to me.
'Thanks for making my stop at this service station so entertaining!' he said.'I didn't think it was possible to have fun here'.
'With the right mental attitude, you can have fun anywhere!' I expectorated.
Russell then asked me what star sign I was and seemed surprised when I said Taurus. He expectorated that this sign did not usually engage in mad pursuits.
'I'm Aquarius rising' I expectorated. 'That's what makes me do the mad stuff.'
He seemed impressed at my knowledge of the astrological charts and as a parting shot, I asked him to give me a mention on his next television show. Whether he did or not, I do not know.And so endeth the note about the exciting and alarmingly surreal trip to the Lake District, which on reflection, did not contain any mention of the Lake District at all.
Laura and the discussion that beauty is a talent
Apparently, someone on the Pussycat Dolls reality show declared recently that beauty is a talent. I thought this was an interesting topic worthy of discussion.
In many ways I agree with this statement and can back this up using myself and Britney Spears as case studies.To start with Britney; it is obvious even to the untrained eye that she is a stunning specimen of womanhood. When she is all glammed up for a concert, premiere or fashion shoot she is gorgeousness personified. I cannot think of a single one of her music videos where she looks anything less that super hot and foxy ( except for maybe 'Gimme More', but then she was going through a difficult time personally and had lost custody of her sons )But take away the make up,on set stylist and hairdresser and what you end up with is nothing more than spotty, scruffy trailer trash. Left to her own devices, Britney is unable to manage her appearance and can easily pass for a cheap hooker. This shows that even if you are born beautiful, it requires some degree of talent to manage this beauty and maintain a flawless appearance to the outside world. In fact, I would argue that Britney seems to have a knack for accentuating all her worst attributes, such as her protruding ears, spotty skin and slightly chunky thighs.
Now take your average person on the street, such as myself. Without make-up,hair dye and styling I look dog rough and could not score more than 2 on the foxometer. However, over the years I have become exceptionally talented at managing the looks God gave me. With only a mere one and a half hours preparation per day and several hundred pounds worth of beauty products a year, I can boost my appearance score to about 7 on the foxometer. With this preparation and minimal costings, I have created beauty out of thin air, which I am sure you will agree is a remarkable talent.It also requires great talent to maintain this artificial beauty and create the illusion that I look like this all the time,even when rising from my pit in the morning.
For your comfort and enjoyment, I will now share my talents with you:
Avoid the sun, it ages the complexion and melts make up into an unattractive mush.
If you have guests staying over, get up one and a half hours before them, so you can get your beauty routine done and be sat looking gorgeous and foxy when they emerge from bed.
Spend a few days or weeks thinking of new outfit combinations. Add witty accessories at every turn to show your imaginative and quirky side.
Never follow fashion, this is for losers. Create your own and make sure your clothes never reveal any undesirable parts of your body.
Never show your cleavage or any leg above the knee. It is important to keep people guessing.
Always smile, laugh and appear interested in others even when you are not the slightest bit bothered with what they are saying. This makes you seem more attractive than you really are.
Have a photo of yourself as your computers desktop background. If you think you are the best thing since sliced bread, then others will too.
Always squeeze spots. The manufacturers instructions state you are not meant to, but beauty does not involve infected lumps of pus on the face.
Always eat delicately, even if you are ravenously hungry. Beautiful women do not scoff their food. Pick small chunks off sandwiches and cakes and place them in the mouth, rather than attacking ones grub. The modern woman does not put her face into food.
Finally never let anyone see or pick up your dirty washing. Beauty is mainly an illusion and so to the outside world, you never have dirty undercrackers.
Squirt yourself liberally with a beautiful and unusual fragrance. Never follow the herd and wear Clinique Aromatics Elixir or any fragrance that has a 2 bit celebrities name behind it such as Mariah Carey.
I hope this helps all of you who wish to become talented in the art of beauty. Just try my tips and watch yourself go from moose to magnificent in just a few easy steps.
In many ways I agree with this statement and can back this up using myself and Britney Spears as case studies.To start with Britney; it is obvious even to the untrained eye that she is a stunning specimen of womanhood. When she is all glammed up for a concert, premiere or fashion shoot she is gorgeousness personified. I cannot think of a single one of her music videos where she looks anything less that super hot and foxy ( except for maybe 'Gimme More', but then she was going through a difficult time personally and had lost custody of her sons )But take away the make up,on set stylist and hairdresser and what you end up with is nothing more than spotty, scruffy trailer trash. Left to her own devices, Britney is unable to manage her appearance and can easily pass for a cheap hooker. This shows that even if you are born beautiful, it requires some degree of talent to manage this beauty and maintain a flawless appearance to the outside world. In fact, I would argue that Britney seems to have a knack for accentuating all her worst attributes, such as her protruding ears, spotty skin and slightly chunky thighs.
Now take your average person on the street, such as myself. Without make-up,hair dye and styling I look dog rough and could not score more than 2 on the foxometer. However, over the years I have become exceptionally talented at managing the looks God gave me. With only a mere one and a half hours preparation per day and several hundred pounds worth of beauty products a year, I can boost my appearance score to about 7 on the foxometer. With this preparation and minimal costings, I have created beauty out of thin air, which I am sure you will agree is a remarkable talent.It also requires great talent to maintain this artificial beauty and create the illusion that I look like this all the time,even when rising from my pit in the morning.
For your comfort and enjoyment, I will now share my talents with you:
Avoid the sun, it ages the complexion and melts make up into an unattractive mush.
If you have guests staying over, get up one and a half hours before them, so you can get your beauty routine done and be sat looking gorgeous and foxy when they emerge from bed.
Spend a few days or weeks thinking of new outfit combinations. Add witty accessories at every turn to show your imaginative and quirky side.
Never follow fashion, this is for losers. Create your own and make sure your clothes never reveal any undesirable parts of your body.
Never show your cleavage or any leg above the knee. It is important to keep people guessing.
Always smile, laugh and appear interested in others even when you are not the slightest bit bothered with what they are saying. This makes you seem more attractive than you really are.
Have a photo of yourself as your computers desktop background. If you think you are the best thing since sliced bread, then others will too.
Always squeeze spots. The manufacturers instructions state you are not meant to, but beauty does not involve infected lumps of pus on the face.
Always eat delicately, even if you are ravenously hungry. Beautiful women do not scoff their food. Pick small chunks off sandwiches and cakes and place them in the mouth, rather than attacking ones grub. The modern woman does not put her face into food.
Finally never let anyone see or pick up your dirty washing. Beauty is mainly an illusion and so to the outside world, you never have dirty undercrackers.
Squirt yourself liberally with a beautiful and unusual fragrance. Never follow the herd and wear Clinique Aromatics Elixir or any fragrance that has a 2 bit celebrities name behind it such as Mariah Carey.
I hope this helps all of you who wish to become talented in the art of beauty. Just try my tips and watch yourself go from moose to magnificent in just a few easy steps.
Laura and the rumble in the jumble
Yesterday I met Sarah and we went to a jumble sale at St.Luke's church hall in Waterloo. It was called 'Rumble in the Jumble', which is perhaps the most witty title I have heard all year.It cost 30p to get in, which shows that even jumble sales are subject to the pressures of inflation. Luckily, I managed to phone Zurich and move some money around so I was able to afford this extortionate entrance fee.
After a quick rumble in the jumble, I happened across a pair of flowery pyjama bottoms with heavily blood stained gussets. I couldn't help but let out an involuntary snort of laughter. I drew Sarah's attention to the aforementioned soiled nightwear item and she nearly burst her spleen laughing. By now, the woman behind the counter had noticed our mirth and was looking at us and laughing, in an attempt to join in the joke. However, she had not seen the blood splattered garment and so was chuckling with a confused innocence which was almost as amusing as the pyjamas.We made a swift exit from the jumble sale shortly afterwards. I considered asking for a refund but then decided I would have actually paid 50p to experience the horror of the pyjamas, so I didn't bother
.After a delicious lunch in the Mocha Lounge, we caught a number 10 bus up to London Rd. I browsed around TJ Hughes, while Sarah nipped to Abakhan for some exciting fabric. We then headed down to Central Library as Sarah needed to renew books and I needed a sit down and drink.
While we were having sit downs and drinks, we decided to execute an old and favourite tradition of ours, which is to empty each others handbags onto the table and have a good rummage through the contents. We laughed at each others work ID badge photographs and then marvelled at the fact we both had the same lip balm. Sarah became ecstatic when she discovered a satsuma in her bag that she thought was lost for all eternity.We then made some preliminary plans for when our American penpal, Tracie comes to visit in August. We decided we would 'firm up' the plans closer to the time.
I needed the Ladies bathroom after this as I had a rumble in the jumble that would not go away. I thought I could bake it till later but I couldn't ignore the spasms in the end so I let rip in the Ladies.Unfortunately, I blocked up the latrine facility with the exuberance of my output, so we made a swift getaway. If anyone is going in there and wants to avoid the scene of the crime, it was the 3rd toilet along.
I then headed homewards as I need to prepare my abode for the arrival of my Mum and Dave. I remembered that they chain drink tea, so I stopped off at the Spar for some bags of leaf based hot beverage. They were staying for a full one night, so I figured that 160 tea bags should cover it. As luck would have it, there was a special offer on and half the bags were as free as the wind. This was grand,as I resent paying cash money for these bags of pure evil.
After a quick rumble in the jumble, I happened across a pair of flowery pyjama bottoms with heavily blood stained gussets. I couldn't help but let out an involuntary snort of laughter. I drew Sarah's attention to the aforementioned soiled nightwear item and she nearly burst her spleen laughing. By now, the woman behind the counter had noticed our mirth and was looking at us and laughing, in an attempt to join in the joke. However, she had not seen the blood splattered garment and so was chuckling with a confused innocence which was almost as amusing as the pyjamas.We made a swift exit from the jumble sale shortly afterwards. I considered asking for a refund but then decided I would have actually paid 50p to experience the horror of the pyjamas, so I didn't bother
.After a delicious lunch in the Mocha Lounge, we caught a number 10 bus up to London Rd. I browsed around TJ Hughes, while Sarah nipped to Abakhan for some exciting fabric. We then headed down to Central Library as Sarah needed to renew books and I needed a sit down and drink.
While we were having sit downs and drinks, we decided to execute an old and favourite tradition of ours, which is to empty each others handbags onto the table and have a good rummage through the contents. We laughed at each others work ID badge photographs and then marvelled at the fact we both had the same lip balm. Sarah became ecstatic when she discovered a satsuma in her bag that she thought was lost for all eternity.We then made some preliminary plans for when our American penpal, Tracie comes to visit in August. We decided we would 'firm up' the plans closer to the time.
I needed the Ladies bathroom after this as I had a rumble in the jumble that would not go away. I thought I could bake it till later but I couldn't ignore the spasms in the end so I let rip in the Ladies.Unfortunately, I blocked up the latrine facility with the exuberance of my output, so we made a swift getaway. If anyone is going in there and wants to avoid the scene of the crime, it was the 3rd toilet along.
I then headed homewards as I need to prepare my abode for the arrival of my Mum and Dave. I remembered that they chain drink tea, so I stopped off at the Spar for some bags of leaf based hot beverage. They were staying for a full one night, so I figured that 160 tea bags should cover it. As luck would have it, there was a special offer on and half the bags were as free as the wind. This was grand,as I resent paying cash money for these bags of pure evil.
Laura and the argument that tea and coffee are EVIL!!
There has been much debate in my office recently about what kind of topic I should discuss in my next blog. Somebody actually had the audacity to suggest I write one saying diet coke was bad! I know, it's unbelievable isn't it? This could never happen, but there are plenty of drinks that are horrible, so I will start with tea and coffee.
As far as I am concerned they are both as bad as each other. They are a nasty brown colour, they stink and they are hot. I hate brown,stinky hot things and I cannot understand why people would want to introduce such a substance into their mouths.
To me, they look like a cup of hot mud and the fumes induce a near vomiting reaction. I do not understand why people need to drink these beverages constantly. There is no way you could be that thirsty that you have to have one every few hours, even in summer when it is too hot for a hot drink.The worst thing about tea and coffee is the mug. People often tend to use the same mug over and over without washing it properly, just giving it a quick rinse in between liquid mud fixes. This means that unattractive brown 'rings' build up in the mug which are impossible to scrub off.Then there is the problem of going out with someone who is an avid fan of tea and coffee. No matter how much you adore someone, it is ghastly to lean towards their face for a smooch and get a whiff of vile tea breath.I have never liked tea and coffee and according to my mum, I was given tea in my bottle as a youngster and spat it out. It was heartwarming to know I was always assured of my own mind, even as a nipper.
I was asked in my office what I did when I needed a hot drink. The answer is, I never need a hot drink. Drinks should be cold, according to manufacturers instructions. It seems I am something of a living controversy with my aversion to the heated beverage, so for all you readers who are thinking along the same lines, I can tell you that I also hate bovril,hot chocolate and herbal tea. There is never any need for a hot drink.The only exception is Lemsip, which I will indulge in at times of sickness. However, I regard this as a medicine rather than a hot drink.
To quote my dear friend Stella, the teabags in work taste like 'piss'. I would argue that they all taste like piss and sometimes like shit.
If everyone gave up tea and coffee, the world economy would right itself in an instant. We could save millions in this country if we did not buy teabags,coffee,kettles,teaspoons and mugs. We could use this money on other badly needed resources such as diet coke on the NHS, free Heat magazines to people earning less than £18,000 per annum and 'Blogger of the Year' parties.Lost working hours spent making hot beverages could be reclaimed and people could go home an hour earlier.They did not have tea and coffee in caveman times, so why have we got them now? Prehistoric man survived pretty well on water,Um Bongo jungle juice and diet coke, so I propose we go back to basics and rid our society of these terrible drinks, which in my opinion are the work of the devil.
As far as I am concerned they are both as bad as each other. They are a nasty brown colour, they stink and they are hot. I hate brown,stinky hot things and I cannot understand why people would want to introduce such a substance into their mouths.
To me, they look like a cup of hot mud and the fumes induce a near vomiting reaction. I do not understand why people need to drink these beverages constantly. There is no way you could be that thirsty that you have to have one every few hours, even in summer when it is too hot for a hot drink.The worst thing about tea and coffee is the mug. People often tend to use the same mug over and over without washing it properly, just giving it a quick rinse in between liquid mud fixes. This means that unattractive brown 'rings' build up in the mug which are impossible to scrub off.Then there is the problem of going out with someone who is an avid fan of tea and coffee. No matter how much you adore someone, it is ghastly to lean towards their face for a smooch and get a whiff of vile tea breath.I have never liked tea and coffee and according to my mum, I was given tea in my bottle as a youngster and spat it out. It was heartwarming to know I was always assured of my own mind, even as a nipper.
I was asked in my office what I did when I needed a hot drink. The answer is, I never need a hot drink. Drinks should be cold, according to manufacturers instructions. It seems I am something of a living controversy with my aversion to the heated beverage, so for all you readers who are thinking along the same lines, I can tell you that I also hate bovril,hot chocolate and herbal tea. There is never any need for a hot drink.The only exception is Lemsip, which I will indulge in at times of sickness. However, I regard this as a medicine rather than a hot drink.
To quote my dear friend Stella, the teabags in work taste like 'piss'. I would argue that they all taste like piss and sometimes like shit.
If everyone gave up tea and coffee, the world economy would right itself in an instant. We could save millions in this country if we did not buy teabags,coffee,kettles,teaspoons and mugs. We could use this money on other badly needed resources such as diet coke on the NHS, free Heat magazines to people earning less than £18,000 per annum and 'Blogger of the Year' parties.Lost working hours spent making hot beverages could be reclaimed and people could go home an hour earlier.They did not have tea and coffee in caveman times, so why have we got them now? Prehistoric man survived pretty well on water,Um Bongo jungle juice and diet coke, so I propose we go back to basics and rid our society of these terrible drinks, which in my opinion are the work of the devil.
Laura and the proof that God exists
After pondering philosophical matters in my last blog, I am inspired to continue with serious themes. The question of whether God exists has always been a hotly debated topic and I have now collated enough evidence to prove without a shadow of a doubt that he is real.
God has always expectorated that he does not need to give us proof of his existence. In fact, he said to ask for it is demonstrates a lack of faith, which then nullifies his existence. But he must have had a change of heart when I was born, as I have been blessed with many undisputed examples that he is alive, well and moving amongst us. He must have taken a shine to me and who can blame him, or perhaps he has read my blogs.
At first glance it would seem illogical to believe in something you cannot see, hear,touch, smell or taste. But the same could be said for electricity, which can most definitely be experienced by all the senses when you stick a wet finger into a plug socket. It is the same with God. You only have to stick a wet finger in the prayer socket and a jolt of proof will course through your distended veins.
For instance, I prayed recently that Big Brother would not be taken off our screens, even though there were constant examples of bullying and aggressive behaviour displayed by the contestants. It was a desperate prayer, as I knew that the show had been dogged with bad publicity since the Jade Goody racism incident and was floundering under the weight of unnaceptable viewing guidelines. God heard my prayer as I turned on my google box to find Big Brother still on. I do not agree with racism and bullying but the rest of BB is addictive in the extreme and is like Pringles, in that once you start, you can't stop.
I also prayed last night that my spot would not develop any more pus in the night and my plea was answered. It had a large red scab, but the skin was definitely healing and I could apply make up to the blemish without the risk of a nasty yellow head coming back.
Once I realised that having prayers answered was as easy as ordering groceries online, I knew I must not be selfish. I prayed for others too, so that they could share in my good fortune. I asked God for a world miracle and in response he gave us Max Factor 'Miracle Touch' foundation,which has ended the misery of an uneven complexion. Indeed it is a truly miraculous product that goes on like a dream and does not require a top coat of powder.
I also said a prayer for Britney Spears. It went something like this:'Dear God, my bezzie mate. Please give Britney the strength not to commit suicide. I know she has been through a rough time and struggles to manage her commitments of singing,motherhood and looking foxy, but suicide cannot be in her plans. Help her get back on top of her game and produce more brilliant,catchy throwaway pop songs'.
This prayer worked like a charm and within a couple of months she was back on my telly box cavorting about and singing the hit tune 'Piece of me'. So all you disbelievers out there, eat your words. Just have a go at some praying tonight and provided your wishes are not too outlandish, you may well get a pleasant surprise.
God has always expectorated that he does not need to give us proof of his existence. In fact, he said to ask for it is demonstrates a lack of faith, which then nullifies his existence. But he must have had a change of heart when I was born, as I have been blessed with many undisputed examples that he is alive, well and moving amongst us. He must have taken a shine to me and who can blame him, or perhaps he has read my blogs.
At first glance it would seem illogical to believe in something you cannot see, hear,touch, smell or taste. But the same could be said for electricity, which can most definitely be experienced by all the senses when you stick a wet finger into a plug socket. It is the same with God. You only have to stick a wet finger in the prayer socket and a jolt of proof will course through your distended veins.
For instance, I prayed recently that Big Brother would not be taken off our screens, even though there were constant examples of bullying and aggressive behaviour displayed by the contestants. It was a desperate prayer, as I knew that the show had been dogged with bad publicity since the Jade Goody racism incident and was floundering under the weight of unnaceptable viewing guidelines. God heard my prayer as I turned on my google box to find Big Brother still on. I do not agree with racism and bullying but the rest of BB is addictive in the extreme and is like Pringles, in that once you start, you can't stop.
I also prayed last night that my spot would not develop any more pus in the night and my plea was answered. It had a large red scab, but the skin was definitely healing and I could apply make up to the blemish without the risk of a nasty yellow head coming back.
Once I realised that having prayers answered was as easy as ordering groceries online, I knew I must not be selfish. I prayed for others too, so that they could share in my good fortune. I asked God for a world miracle and in response he gave us Max Factor 'Miracle Touch' foundation,which has ended the misery of an uneven complexion. Indeed it is a truly miraculous product that goes on like a dream and does not require a top coat of powder.
I also said a prayer for Britney Spears. It went something like this:'Dear God, my bezzie mate. Please give Britney the strength not to commit suicide. I know she has been through a rough time and struggles to manage her commitments of singing,motherhood and looking foxy, but suicide cannot be in her plans. Help her get back on top of her game and produce more brilliant,catchy throwaway pop songs'.
This prayer worked like a charm and within a couple of months she was back on my telly box cavorting about and singing the hit tune 'Piece of me'. So all you disbelievers out there, eat your words. Just have a go at some praying tonight and provided your wishes are not too outlandish, you may well get a pleasant surprise.
Laura and the meaning of life
I have decided to get philosophical in my blogs. It is time to discuss the really important questions in life and there seems to be nothing more important than the meaning of life.
Mankind has debated this question for centuries and yet no conclusive answer has been reached.Douglas Adams argued that it was 42 or a cup of tea with an electrode or something, but I do not agree. Cups of tea are certainly not the meaning of my life, as I believe them to be a vile and disgusting beverage which should be outlawed along with hanging and the death penalty.
A quick poll around my office revealed several answers to the meaning of life question. Answers ranged from:
'To breed and pass on our genes'
'To be happy'
'To be the best version of yourself every day'
.My own personal meaning of life is this:
'Live to your full potential and if you have any talents such as writing blogs then hammer this until people are sick of the sight of you and are ready to commit suicide from being constantly pestered to read the blogs and comment on them and think of topics for new ones. Drink diet coke aplenty as it feeds the soul and infiltrates the bone marrow with juicy creative goodness which helps the blog writing process .Don't waste your life on work when it is so easy to log onto Facebook and spread blogging joy around the globe from your desk, or 'workstation' as they say here. Always question authority and never follow rules until you are about to get arrested or fired and then just before that happens, smile sweetly and tell a funny joke and promise never to do it again. Always take a moment to brighten people's day with humour, even when it is totally inappropriate, such as when bad news is announced or when getting told off. It totally diffuses the situation and before long everyone is in a better mood. Be fashionable at all costs, it costs nothing, especially if you mix and match Primark separates; the world does not want to look at your unco-ordinated and unstylish form tramping around the streets.Give cheek wherever possible and do not discriminate upon the recipient. It builds confidence and the more you do it,the more shocked people will be and the shock often means you can get away with stuff in the interim period while the shock sinks in.Indulge yourself with the finest foodstuffs and bags of pick 'n' mix, there is plenty of time to worry about being thin when you are dead. Read lots of books ,as they inspire and shape ones existence. I do not think I would be the person I am today without Adrian Mole. Keep all your shopping lists as they make a fascinating addition to a penfriends letter. Highlight any 'multisave' offers you may have made, as these can often be overlooked.'
There are probably more meanings to my life, but this gives you a brief flavour.In terms of summing up the collective meaning of our lives, I must step back for now and gain more research. Please come forward and let me know your own personal meaning of life and I will put together a compilation statement in a later blog.
Mankind has debated this question for centuries and yet no conclusive answer has been reached.Douglas Adams argued that it was 42 or a cup of tea with an electrode or something, but I do not agree. Cups of tea are certainly not the meaning of my life, as I believe them to be a vile and disgusting beverage which should be outlawed along with hanging and the death penalty.
A quick poll around my office revealed several answers to the meaning of life question. Answers ranged from:
'To breed and pass on our genes'
'To be happy'
'To be the best version of yourself every day'
.My own personal meaning of life is this:
'Live to your full potential and if you have any talents such as writing blogs then hammer this until people are sick of the sight of you and are ready to commit suicide from being constantly pestered to read the blogs and comment on them and think of topics for new ones. Drink diet coke aplenty as it feeds the soul and infiltrates the bone marrow with juicy creative goodness which helps the blog writing process .Don't waste your life on work when it is so easy to log onto Facebook and spread blogging joy around the globe from your desk, or 'workstation' as they say here. Always question authority and never follow rules until you are about to get arrested or fired and then just before that happens, smile sweetly and tell a funny joke and promise never to do it again. Always take a moment to brighten people's day with humour, even when it is totally inappropriate, such as when bad news is announced or when getting told off. It totally diffuses the situation and before long everyone is in a better mood. Be fashionable at all costs, it costs nothing, especially if you mix and match Primark separates; the world does not want to look at your unco-ordinated and unstylish form tramping around the streets.Give cheek wherever possible and do not discriminate upon the recipient. It builds confidence and the more you do it,the more shocked people will be and the shock often means you can get away with stuff in the interim period while the shock sinks in.Indulge yourself with the finest foodstuffs and bags of pick 'n' mix, there is plenty of time to worry about being thin when you are dead. Read lots of books ,as they inspire and shape ones existence. I do not think I would be the person I am today without Adrian Mole. Keep all your shopping lists as they make a fascinating addition to a penfriends letter. Highlight any 'multisave' offers you may have made, as these can often be overlooked.'
There are probably more meanings to my life, but this gives you a brief flavour.In terms of summing up the collective meaning of our lives, I must step back for now and gain more research. Please come forward and let me know your own personal meaning of life and I will put together a compilation statement in a later blog.
Laura and the essay that black is white
I have just had a discussion with my American penpal about whether I could argue my way out of anything and everything. Naturally, I argued that I could and so to test the theory, I am going to argue that black is white. I am enjoying my new essay style of discussion and so will adopt the medium once more for this topic.
'BLACK IS WHITE' - Discuss.
At first glance it would seem that black could never be white. They appear to be two diametrically opposed conditions, like up and down, dead and alive and salt and pepper. If one were to analyse this from a purely colour based perspective then it is obvious that black is the absence of colour, wheras white is all the colours of the spectrum.How then can black be white?
Well, I will tell you and explain how black is undisputedly white. In order to fully understand this phenomenon, one must apply one's brain to the theories of quantum mechanics. Back in 1935, Einstein discussed the idea of 'synchronised atoms' and the notion that measuring the properties of one particle could instantaneously change the properties of another. This means that if you measure black it can become white. It also means that black and white are the same thing.
This was confirmed by Professor D.Mermin of Cornell University who stated,
'This is the closest thing we have to magic'.
Another popular theory purported by quantum physics is that an object or state only exists if it is observed. So depending on who is observing black or white determines the definition of its molecular make up and whether it exists or not.
'Beauty is in the eye of the beholder' - one of the most famous quotes in the universe can also be applied to the argument that black is white. If beauty is subjective, then surely colour is too? One person's black is anothers white. Who are we to impose regulations on what people have experienced through their corneal cones?
In today's society we place a high emphasis on equal opportunites and frown against discrimination based on colour. Where I work, the message is that black and white are both the same. We can also see this by examining the case of Michael Jackson, who in his long career has been both black and white at the same time.In fact, he wrote the very famous song,'Black or White', which expressed his belief that both colours were the same and that it didn't matter which you were.
One final point I will make is that if you look at a page of black type on a white page really hard and then move the book backwards and forwards really quickly, then the black and white will merge together and become the same.
In conclusion, it can be seen that black is indeed white and vice versa in some cases. If anyone else would like me to argue a seemingly improbable point, then please make your suggestion known in the comments box.
'BLACK IS WHITE' - Discuss.
At first glance it would seem that black could never be white. They appear to be two diametrically opposed conditions, like up and down, dead and alive and salt and pepper. If one were to analyse this from a purely colour based perspective then it is obvious that black is the absence of colour, wheras white is all the colours of the spectrum.How then can black be white?
Well, I will tell you and explain how black is undisputedly white. In order to fully understand this phenomenon, one must apply one's brain to the theories of quantum mechanics. Back in 1935, Einstein discussed the idea of 'synchronised atoms' and the notion that measuring the properties of one particle could instantaneously change the properties of another. This means that if you measure black it can become white. It also means that black and white are the same thing.
This was confirmed by Professor D.Mermin of Cornell University who stated,
'This is the closest thing we have to magic'.
Another popular theory purported by quantum physics is that an object or state only exists if it is observed. So depending on who is observing black or white determines the definition of its molecular make up and whether it exists or not.
'Beauty is in the eye of the beholder' - one of the most famous quotes in the universe can also be applied to the argument that black is white. If beauty is subjective, then surely colour is too? One person's black is anothers white. Who are we to impose regulations on what people have experienced through their corneal cones?
In today's society we place a high emphasis on equal opportunites and frown against discrimination based on colour. Where I work, the message is that black and white are both the same. We can also see this by examining the case of Michael Jackson, who in his long career has been both black and white at the same time.In fact, he wrote the very famous song,'Black or White', which expressed his belief that both colours were the same and that it didn't matter which you were.
One final point I will make is that if you look at a page of black type on a white page really hard and then move the book backwards and forwards really quickly, then the black and white will merge together and become the same.
In conclusion, it can be seen that black is indeed white and vice versa in some cases. If anyone else would like me to argue a seemingly improbable point, then please make your suggestion known in the comments box.
Laura and the essay on change
No-one has set me any essays for a while, so I have decided to set myself one. This title was inspired by a heated debate with Jan regarding the change in carvery prices. Settle back as I prepare to flawlessly argue my latest point.
'Change is BAD - Discuss.'
Before I launch into the main thrust of my argument, I must point out here that the kind of change I am talking about is the kind we can control. As a species, there are many things which are way out of our control, such as evolving from monkeys,getting spots and the constant threat of alien invasion.
But it seems to me, that as soon as mankind came down from the trees and stopped relying on bananas as a primary foodstuff, the need to change began to override everything,including common sense.Human carbon based life forms cannot rest unless they are changing everything around them. And it leads to all manner of untold chaos. For example, when Smarties changed their packaging, a part of my childhood died. I do not feel a packet of Smarties is complete unless it has a plastic letter on the lid. The removal of this design means that now children will be at a loss as they try to learn the alphabet in their pre-school years. Plus the new packet lid does not shut properly
.My second point about change refers to Marks and Spencers knickers. I remember the halcyon days when a pair of size 12 briefs covered everything downstairs and the elastic sat comfortably under ones rear parts. Since they changed their production supplier, I can no longer rely on their panties. A typical size 12 undercracker now has a 'low-rise' function which may be great for the young ones, but is not so good when one needs a bit of extra material to hold in ones burgeoning 30 something stomach. Plus, the fit underneath is skimpy to say the least and one needs to be prepared to deal with extreme buttock escape. I do feel very strongly that this change in knicker design is totally responsible for 'hungry bum syndrome', where one cannot stop ones backside from ravenously devouring every inch of panty fabric between its insatiable cheeks. If more stringent elastic controls were in place then we could end this distressing and unnecessary blight on the horizon of humanity.
Another example of change which is bad refers to my beloved diet coke. The original version is honest, pure and true in its unending simplicity. Why then did diet coke manufacturers have to start tampering with it and adding cherry, lime, lemon, vitamins and antioxidants? None of these favours taste as though they have had anything to do with the fruit concerned, so why bother? An inspection of the tin would reveal that the fruit taste is a chemical compound and there is nothing worse than the taste of chemicals. As for the vitamins and antioxidants, get over it already. We all know diet coke is a naughty treat,stop trying to pretend it is healthy and get your vitamins from a tablet instead.
I could go on at length about why change is bad but it seems my point is already making itself crystal clear. To sum up I will list a load more changes which mankind deems to be good, but are actually very very bad:
Moving house - super stressful and you never know if you are going to end up living next door to someone called Geoff who steals your mail.
Getting a new job - again super stressful and you never know if you are going to have to walk around looking fascinated by things that are terminally dull
Trying a new meal at the chinese takeaway - I tried a bit of Alans sweet and sour chicken the other day and it wasn't as good as my shrimp cashew nuts. If I had bought a whole sweet and sour meal I would have regretted it!
Make up - all these mineral make up foundations are garbage. Max Factor should never have stopped producing 'Sheer Perfection' which gave putty like coverage.Getting married - stay as you are and you don't have to worry if you will be one of the 1 in 2 couples that gets divorced.
I rest my case.
'Change is BAD - Discuss.'
Before I launch into the main thrust of my argument, I must point out here that the kind of change I am talking about is the kind we can control. As a species, there are many things which are way out of our control, such as evolving from monkeys,getting spots and the constant threat of alien invasion.
But it seems to me, that as soon as mankind came down from the trees and stopped relying on bananas as a primary foodstuff, the need to change began to override everything,including common sense.Human carbon based life forms cannot rest unless they are changing everything around them. And it leads to all manner of untold chaos. For example, when Smarties changed their packaging, a part of my childhood died. I do not feel a packet of Smarties is complete unless it has a plastic letter on the lid. The removal of this design means that now children will be at a loss as they try to learn the alphabet in their pre-school years. Plus the new packet lid does not shut properly
.My second point about change refers to Marks and Spencers knickers. I remember the halcyon days when a pair of size 12 briefs covered everything downstairs and the elastic sat comfortably under ones rear parts. Since they changed their production supplier, I can no longer rely on their panties. A typical size 12 undercracker now has a 'low-rise' function which may be great for the young ones, but is not so good when one needs a bit of extra material to hold in ones burgeoning 30 something stomach. Plus, the fit underneath is skimpy to say the least and one needs to be prepared to deal with extreme buttock escape. I do feel very strongly that this change in knicker design is totally responsible for 'hungry bum syndrome', where one cannot stop ones backside from ravenously devouring every inch of panty fabric between its insatiable cheeks. If more stringent elastic controls were in place then we could end this distressing and unnecessary blight on the horizon of humanity.
Another example of change which is bad refers to my beloved diet coke. The original version is honest, pure and true in its unending simplicity. Why then did diet coke manufacturers have to start tampering with it and adding cherry, lime, lemon, vitamins and antioxidants? None of these favours taste as though they have had anything to do with the fruit concerned, so why bother? An inspection of the tin would reveal that the fruit taste is a chemical compound and there is nothing worse than the taste of chemicals. As for the vitamins and antioxidants, get over it already. We all know diet coke is a naughty treat,stop trying to pretend it is healthy and get your vitamins from a tablet instead.
I could go on at length about why change is bad but it seems my point is already making itself crystal clear. To sum up I will list a load more changes which mankind deems to be good, but are actually very very bad:
Moving house - super stressful and you never know if you are going to end up living next door to someone called Geoff who steals your mail.
Getting a new job - again super stressful and you never know if you are going to have to walk around looking fascinated by things that are terminally dull
Trying a new meal at the chinese takeaway - I tried a bit of Alans sweet and sour chicken the other day and it wasn't as good as my shrimp cashew nuts. If I had bought a whole sweet and sour meal I would have regretted it!
Make up - all these mineral make up foundations are garbage. Max Factor should never have stopped producing 'Sheer Perfection' which gave putty like coverage.Getting married - stay as you are and you don't have to worry if you will be one of the 1 in 2 couples that gets divorced.
I rest my case.
Laura and the squirrels
Yesterday, Alan and I took it upon ourselves to go and visit the squirrels at Freshfield. We bought a bag of nuts and excitedly trampled through the forest in search of the bushy tailed creatures.
To our immense disappointment however, we did not see a single squirrel. This was due to the fact that they were all suffering from squirrel pox and were unavailable for comment. We were so angry that we had paid 30p for nuts and driven all that way for nothing. Alan was so incensed that he is going to write to the National Trust and complain. I honestly don't know what those squirrels were thinking of. Surely a bit of calamine lotion, applied discreetly under a bush would have rectified the problem and enabled them to greet their visitors in their usual charming and excitable manner?Our day out was ruined by this preposterous state of affairs.
We decided to proceed to the nearest drinking establishment post haste for some ales.I had a very stiff diet coke and Alan partook of a glass of wine while we contemplated our ruined day. Over a plate of hot salmon wraps and chips, I suggested we go and see the Gormley statues on Crosby beach.This idea was met with enthusiasm and so we set off in Al's red Fiat Punto. We enjoyed a pleasant walk across the marina, but after 5 seconds of looking at the (crap) statues I became insufferably bored and needed to leave. Plus, the large volumes of sand were making me very uncomfortable. I have never enjoyed the company of sand as it is such a ridiculous and messy substance. Plus, I am still traumatised from the time my feet disappeared into it as a toddler and I feared I may never see them again.
From the Gormley exhibit, we headed off to another cultural epicentre - the Morrisons supermarket in Speke. I needed to pick up some essentials. This included the following:
24 cans of diet coke
12 cans of fizzy vimto
28 packets of crisps
2 vanilla slices
Comfort fabric conditioner in 'Temptation' flavour, with new movement release technology.
And much much more.
I was pleased to note on my bill that I had saved £8.90 on multisave offers.Alan and I arrived at my chateau early evening and then we watched 4 hours of live Big Brother. Lisa was having a full facial shave in the bath. We ate our cakes and thanked the Lord we were so perfectly matched in our Saturday night entertainment expectations.
To our immense disappointment however, we did not see a single squirrel. This was due to the fact that they were all suffering from squirrel pox and were unavailable for comment. We were so angry that we had paid 30p for nuts and driven all that way for nothing. Alan was so incensed that he is going to write to the National Trust and complain. I honestly don't know what those squirrels were thinking of. Surely a bit of calamine lotion, applied discreetly under a bush would have rectified the problem and enabled them to greet their visitors in their usual charming and excitable manner?Our day out was ruined by this preposterous state of affairs.
We decided to proceed to the nearest drinking establishment post haste for some ales.I had a very stiff diet coke and Alan partook of a glass of wine while we contemplated our ruined day. Over a plate of hot salmon wraps and chips, I suggested we go and see the Gormley statues on Crosby beach.This idea was met with enthusiasm and so we set off in Al's red Fiat Punto. We enjoyed a pleasant walk across the marina, but after 5 seconds of looking at the (crap) statues I became insufferably bored and needed to leave. Plus, the large volumes of sand were making me very uncomfortable. I have never enjoyed the company of sand as it is such a ridiculous and messy substance. Plus, I am still traumatised from the time my feet disappeared into it as a toddler and I feared I may never see them again.
From the Gormley exhibit, we headed off to another cultural epicentre - the Morrisons supermarket in Speke. I needed to pick up some essentials. This included the following:
24 cans of diet coke
12 cans of fizzy vimto
28 packets of crisps
2 vanilla slices
Comfort fabric conditioner in 'Temptation' flavour, with new movement release technology.
And much much more.
I was pleased to note on my bill that I had saved £8.90 on multisave offers.Alan and I arrived at my chateau early evening and then we watched 4 hours of live Big Brother. Lisa was having a full facial shave in the bath. We ate our cakes and thanked the Lord we were so perfectly matched in our Saturday night entertainment expectations.
Laura and the carvery price change
Something very exciting and significant has happened in the world of going to the carvery. Instead of having 2 price bands, the first being £3.50 before 5pm and the second £4.50 after 5pm, there is now one standard price of £3.75 AT ANY TIME.
As people who do not like change, Alan and myself were rather startled and shocked at this alteration to our carvery pricing experience.Once the shock had finished reverberating through our unprepared systems, we were able to assess the positive and negative repercussions of such a price change.Initially, it seemed like an excellent decision on the part of the Greenhills licensed drinking establishment. Usually the routine of getting to the carvery involved Alan arriving before 5pm, purchasing the cheap tickets and then waiting for my good self to arrive at around 4.45pm. This difference in arrival time was unavoidable due to our different finish times at work.
However, due to the fact we are both victims of the 'credit crunch',we had no choice but to continue with this routine to save ourselves two full English pounds.Now, for an extra 25p each, we have the luxury of arriving at any time, together.
However, many negative factors of the price change quickly made themselves apparent.The very early evening slot was usually sparsely populated, with mainly pensioners and the odd single mum, along with our own poorly paid selves. The persons able to afford the luxury of paying £4.50 for their meal could arrive at a more leisurely evening slot. The new price change has put an end to the segregation and now everyone arrives at once, causing major chaos in the carvery serving area. When we were there last week, there was a giant queue for food that snaked all the way back towards the entrance and did not subside. Extra serving chefs were drafted in and both looked exceedingly hot and sweaty due to their extra carving duties. This is not something that one wishes to see while waiting to dine. Also, the plates of vegetables and potatoes were slow to be replenished and someone actually had to ask for a new bowl of cauliflower cheese.
Another negative factor is that our usual 'spec' was taken and we had to resort to our second favourite spec.
A full business analysis of this situation would probably reveal that the price change has attracted many new customers who had never tried carvery dining before. The nearest competition,the 'Toby' carvery on Aigburth Rd and the 'Halfway House' in Childwall are running no such marvellous offer and so the Greenhills represents the cheapest carvery eating option in the immediate neighbourhood.
It is difficult to say what the long term consequences are of the price change. It certainly will not stop Alan and I eating there, although it will probably take us some time to adapt to the new regime. I would imagine that things will settle over the next few weeks and a core of 'regular' customers will appear in the early evening slot.People who are new to the carvery may get bored with it or choose to spread themselves through the night so they are not all arriving en masse.Perhaps a screening system could be introduced, so that customers could be allowed in not on a financial, but 'means tested' basis. For instance, families could take the earlier slots so that the children could be home and put to bed in good time. Alan and I could also be allowed into this earlier slot as I like to be in my pyjamas and watching the goggle box by 8pm on a Friday. People who like to guffaw loudly over glasses of wine could take the later slots so they do not bother Alan and I.
The carvery invites us all to let us know what we think in an online survey, so I shall be posting my comments to them at the earliest available opportunity.
As people who do not like change, Alan and myself were rather startled and shocked at this alteration to our carvery pricing experience.Once the shock had finished reverberating through our unprepared systems, we were able to assess the positive and negative repercussions of such a price change.Initially, it seemed like an excellent decision on the part of the Greenhills licensed drinking establishment. Usually the routine of getting to the carvery involved Alan arriving before 5pm, purchasing the cheap tickets and then waiting for my good self to arrive at around 4.45pm. This difference in arrival time was unavoidable due to our different finish times at work.
However, due to the fact we are both victims of the 'credit crunch',we had no choice but to continue with this routine to save ourselves two full English pounds.Now, for an extra 25p each, we have the luxury of arriving at any time, together.
However, many negative factors of the price change quickly made themselves apparent.The very early evening slot was usually sparsely populated, with mainly pensioners and the odd single mum, along with our own poorly paid selves. The persons able to afford the luxury of paying £4.50 for their meal could arrive at a more leisurely evening slot. The new price change has put an end to the segregation and now everyone arrives at once, causing major chaos in the carvery serving area. When we were there last week, there was a giant queue for food that snaked all the way back towards the entrance and did not subside. Extra serving chefs were drafted in and both looked exceedingly hot and sweaty due to their extra carving duties. This is not something that one wishes to see while waiting to dine. Also, the plates of vegetables and potatoes were slow to be replenished and someone actually had to ask for a new bowl of cauliflower cheese.
Another negative factor is that our usual 'spec' was taken and we had to resort to our second favourite spec.
A full business analysis of this situation would probably reveal that the price change has attracted many new customers who had never tried carvery dining before. The nearest competition,the 'Toby' carvery on Aigburth Rd and the 'Halfway House' in Childwall are running no such marvellous offer and so the Greenhills represents the cheapest carvery eating option in the immediate neighbourhood.
It is difficult to say what the long term consequences are of the price change. It certainly will not stop Alan and I eating there, although it will probably take us some time to adapt to the new regime. I would imagine that things will settle over the next few weeks and a core of 'regular' customers will appear in the early evening slot.People who are new to the carvery may get bored with it or choose to spread themselves through the night so they are not all arriving en masse.Perhaps a screening system could be introduced, so that customers could be allowed in not on a financial, but 'means tested' basis. For instance, families could take the earlier slots so that the children could be home and put to bed in good time. Alan and I could also be allowed into this earlier slot as I like to be in my pyjamas and watching the goggle box by 8pm on a Friday. People who like to guffaw loudly over glasses of wine could take the later slots so they do not bother Alan and I.
The carvery invites us all to let us know what we think in an online survey, so I shall be posting my comments to them at the earliest available opportunity.
Monday 16 June 2008
Laura and the holiday essay
Today I am taking on board my good friend Paul's suggestion to write an essay about what I did on holiday. I am looking forward to the challenge and for your added interest and essay viewing experience, I shall write about not one, but as many of my holidays as I can remember.
It would seem prudent to begin this assignment the way one would start a CV and the judging of a beauty pageant - in reverse order. ( By the way, a quick aside. I found out today there is a 'Miss Liverpool' contest. Do you think I should enter? )
So I will tell you about my most recent holiday, which was a trip to Cornwall last year.Cornwall is probably one of my most favourite places in the world, after the giant ASDA at Hunts Cross and the South Parkway bus station. I was introduced to Cornwall at as a youngster on family holidays and have always felt an affinity with the rugged scenic landscape, the majestic cliffs of Land's End and the huge volumes of cornish pasties,cream teas and novelty confectionary items which are so readily available. Luckily, Diet Coke is also available on demand in the region of Cornwall, so it really is a place that offers most marvellous value for money in terms of holiday experience.On this particular trip to Cornwall, I did many varied and exciting things. I ate a cornish pastie within an hour of arrival. I discovered 4 charity shops which sold a much better class of rubbish than in Liverpool. I visited the Tate Modern in St.Ives and walked out after 5 minutes because all the art was pretentious crap. I went to the Eden project and enjoyed having my photo taken next to a giant model bumble bee. I went into the tropical dome and stormed out after 10 seconds because it was too hot and my hair was threatening to go frizzy. I couldn't believe that with all the money they had spent constructing the project, they had not thought to put air con in the tropical dome. I went to Penzance and bought some pink shoes. I also sent 9 postcards in the shape of a cornish pastie.
It was a great trip. Another holiday that stands out is the trip to New York I took with Jeni in 1999. This trip was a fantastic voyage of discovery, where I learned so many things including the fact that Jeni has no sense of direction whatsoever. You wouldn't think it was possible to confuse 'uptown' and 'downtown', however she managed it on an almost daily basis. Although it could be said we are both a gigantic pair of whoppers because we spent all week looking for the Empire State Building and then found out we could see it out of our hotel window. My personal highlight of the trip was discovering a giant Sephora make up shop on Broadway. I spent over $100 dollars on items to improve my outward visage and it can only be described as the closest thing to heaven without actually dying.
Heading further back into the past I can pull out a trip to Paris,also with Jeni, as being one of my favourites. This trip was arranged through the Liverpool Echo which was a mistake as we spent 15 hours on an 'Ogden's' coach getting motorway madness before we arrived in the city of light. Then when we got off the coach, our bodies were stuck in the shape of the seats for 2 days. There are so many highlights of this trip, but I think I speak for both of us when I say the best has to be asking directions to the Eiffel Tower, in french, when we were stood underneath it!!! Mon hilarious,oui?
In 1995, I ventured to Cyprus on a family holiday and this stands out as the only time I can recall in life where I had a fully tanned body. Mostly, in our British climate I can only ever achieve a slight redness of the skin and if I really hammer it, the back of my neck goes brown. However, Cyprus gave me a deep conker colour which I beefed up as much as possible towards the end by applying factor nothing sun oil. Cyprus was a time of wild abandon as I had just been dumped by a rogue who had declared he was in love with not I, but his best friend's girlfriend. So I visited the birthplace of Aphrodite footloose and fancy free and attracted much welcome and much unwelcome attention. Once I had sorted out which attention was welcome and which wasn't, I ended up with a boyfriend who was in the Army over there. It was all very romantic at first and we exchanged many letters when I got back. That was until I realised I was too high maintenance to have a boyfriend 3000 miles away. Plus, he confessed one day that he had eaten a penguin on manouvres in the Falkland Isles. These two factors caused the ultimate demise of the relationship.
So that's the highlights of some of the holidays I have taken in my life. I do hope you have enjoyed this trip down memory lane with me and I look forward to receiving my next essay title.
It would seem prudent to begin this assignment the way one would start a CV and the judging of a beauty pageant - in reverse order. ( By the way, a quick aside. I found out today there is a 'Miss Liverpool' contest. Do you think I should enter? )
So I will tell you about my most recent holiday, which was a trip to Cornwall last year.Cornwall is probably one of my most favourite places in the world, after the giant ASDA at Hunts Cross and the South Parkway bus station. I was introduced to Cornwall at as a youngster on family holidays and have always felt an affinity with the rugged scenic landscape, the majestic cliffs of Land's End and the huge volumes of cornish pasties,cream teas and novelty confectionary items which are so readily available. Luckily, Diet Coke is also available on demand in the region of Cornwall, so it really is a place that offers most marvellous value for money in terms of holiday experience.On this particular trip to Cornwall, I did many varied and exciting things. I ate a cornish pastie within an hour of arrival. I discovered 4 charity shops which sold a much better class of rubbish than in Liverpool. I visited the Tate Modern in St.Ives and walked out after 5 minutes because all the art was pretentious crap. I went to the Eden project and enjoyed having my photo taken next to a giant model bumble bee. I went into the tropical dome and stormed out after 10 seconds because it was too hot and my hair was threatening to go frizzy. I couldn't believe that with all the money they had spent constructing the project, they had not thought to put air con in the tropical dome. I went to Penzance and bought some pink shoes. I also sent 9 postcards in the shape of a cornish pastie.
It was a great trip. Another holiday that stands out is the trip to New York I took with Jeni in 1999. This trip was a fantastic voyage of discovery, where I learned so many things including the fact that Jeni has no sense of direction whatsoever. You wouldn't think it was possible to confuse 'uptown' and 'downtown', however she managed it on an almost daily basis. Although it could be said we are both a gigantic pair of whoppers because we spent all week looking for the Empire State Building and then found out we could see it out of our hotel window. My personal highlight of the trip was discovering a giant Sephora make up shop on Broadway. I spent over $100 dollars on items to improve my outward visage and it can only be described as the closest thing to heaven without actually dying.
Heading further back into the past I can pull out a trip to Paris,also with Jeni, as being one of my favourites. This trip was arranged through the Liverpool Echo which was a mistake as we spent 15 hours on an 'Ogden's' coach getting motorway madness before we arrived in the city of light. Then when we got off the coach, our bodies were stuck in the shape of the seats for 2 days. There are so many highlights of this trip, but I think I speak for both of us when I say the best has to be asking directions to the Eiffel Tower, in french, when we were stood underneath it!!! Mon hilarious,oui?
In 1995, I ventured to Cyprus on a family holiday and this stands out as the only time I can recall in life where I had a fully tanned body. Mostly, in our British climate I can only ever achieve a slight redness of the skin and if I really hammer it, the back of my neck goes brown. However, Cyprus gave me a deep conker colour which I beefed up as much as possible towards the end by applying factor nothing sun oil. Cyprus was a time of wild abandon as I had just been dumped by a rogue who had declared he was in love with not I, but his best friend's girlfriend. So I visited the birthplace of Aphrodite footloose and fancy free and attracted much welcome and much unwelcome attention. Once I had sorted out which attention was welcome and which wasn't, I ended up with a boyfriend who was in the Army over there. It was all very romantic at first and we exchanged many letters when I got back. That was until I realised I was too high maintenance to have a boyfriend 3000 miles away. Plus, he confessed one day that he had eaten a penguin on manouvres in the Falkland Isles. These two factors caused the ultimate demise of the relationship.
So that's the highlights of some of the holidays I have taken in my life. I do hope you have enjoyed this trip down memory lane with me and I look forward to receiving my next essay title.
Laura and the Big Brother essay
My dear friend Jan from the West Midlands network has set me a delightfully provocative essay which I simply could not resist. Here for your delectation is the said literary tome:
'Big Brother - what is missing in our lives that we have to constantly watch other people's lives on the television and could that element of our lives that is lacking be better replaced by Diet Coke?' Discuss.
It is most rare and satisfying for an essay writer to come across a title which juxtaposes two of the most important things in life - Big Brother and Diet Coke. Without further delay I will begin my argument, which is founded using a sociological approach with undertones of psychological evaluation.I can tell you what is missing in our lives - everything. Why would we want to sit at home observing our own boring and meaningless existences, when we could turn on the goggle box and watch a load of freaks and wannabes electrocuting each other?
If one analyses the component parts of Big Brother - glamour,fame,excitement,incredulity,conflict,developing relationships,fit people walking around in beachwear/underwear,bitching,bizarre characters and the chance to see human life forms having rude encounters in the swimming pool, it can clearly be seen that this is far preferable to sitting in ones own living room living ones own life.
If one analyses the component parts of one's own life -work,sleep,shopping,cooking,washing,hoovering,being skint,crap weather and high property prices, it becomes even more obvious why one would turn to the google box for welcome escape.
It is an interesting suggestion that Diet Coke be used to fill the gaping spiritual hole in the human existence. Indeed, it can often be a very effective way of providing temporary medicinal relief from the trauma and pain of everyday living. But to suggest it be implemented as a tool above the watching of Big Brother is asking too much of a humble carbonated diet beverage.
The answer, it would seem is to combine the two forces of Big Brother and Diet Coke to create one immoveable and concrete support system for a life that can often seem pointless at best.If every household in the land took this on board, I believe it would revolutionise society. Instead of attempting to live faux cultured lives by reading books,listening to the radio, or horror of horros, 'talking' to people in the room, we can all be united in our vicarious appreciation of the Big Brother contestants experiences.
This would also put an end to those dreadful 'water cooler' moments when you hear a person ask:
'Did you watch Big Brother last night?' and the other person replies,
'No'.
If we all watched it, we could all talk about it at work the next day without feeling like some sort of sad loser. It would help us bond and break down barriers that keep us isolated and alone.
So, in conclusion it would seem that there are many ragged holes in our quest to achieve self actualisation, which could be filled with constant viewing of Big Brother. Diet Coke should not be used as a stand alone method of sating this void and instead, a welcome combination of the two could help our society right itself from this recession of the soul.
'Big Brother - what is missing in our lives that we have to constantly watch other people's lives on the television and could that element of our lives that is lacking be better replaced by Diet Coke?' Discuss.
It is most rare and satisfying for an essay writer to come across a title which juxtaposes two of the most important things in life - Big Brother and Diet Coke. Without further delay I will begin my argument, which is founded using a sociological approach with undertones of psychological evaluation.I can tell you what is missing in our lives - everything. Why would we want to sit at home observing our own boring and meaningless existences, when we could turn on the goggle box and watch a load of freaks and wannabes electrocuting each other?
If one analyses the component parts of Big Brother - glamour,fame,excitement,incredulity,conflict,developing relationships,fit people walking around in beachwear/underwear,bitching,bizarre characters and the chance to see human life forms having rude encounters in the swimming pool, it can clearly be seen that this is far preferable to sitting in ones own living room living ones own life.
If one analyses the component parts of one's own life -work,sleep,shopping,cooking,washing,hoovering,being skint,crap weather and high property prices, it becomes even more obvious why one would turn to the google box for welcome escape.
It is an interesting suggestion that Diet Coke be used to fill the gaping spiritual hole in the human existence. Indeed, it can often be a very effective way of providing temporary medicinal relief from the trauma and pain of everyday living. But to suggest it be implemented as a tool above the watching of Big Brother is asking too much of a humble carbonated diet beverage.
The answer, it would seem is to combine the two forces of Big Brother and Diet Coke to create one immoveable and concrete support system for a life that can often seem pointless at best.If every household in the land took this on board, I believe it would revolutionise society. Instead of attempting to live faux cultured lives by reading books,listening to the radio, or horror of horros, 'talking' to people in the room, we can all be united in our vicarious appreciation of the Big Brother contestants experiences.
This would also put an end to those dreadful 'water cooler' moments when you hear a person ask:
'Did you watch Big Brother last night?' and the other person replies,
'No'.
If we all watched it, we could all talk about it at work the next day without feeling like some sort of sad loser. It would help us bond and break down barriers that keep us isolated and alone.
So, in conclusion it would seem that there are many ragged holes in our quest to achieve self actualisation, which could be filled with constant viewing of Big Brother. Diet Coke should not be used as a stand alone method of sating this void and instead, a welcome combination of the two could help our society right itself from this recession of the soul.
Laura and the shopping essay
Nothing has happened in my duller than dull life, so I have written another essay. Thank goodness Jeni is always on hand to provide me with interesting and thought provoking titles. Here is my latest offering:
'There are several approaches a modern woman may take to manage shopping and the environment. Evaluate 2 approaches, highlighting the pros and cons of each'.
This is an extremely thought provoking subject which I will attempt to evaluate using a scientific model, qualitative and quantitative research and my own well founded opinion.Indeed there are many approaches a modern woman may take to manage shopping and the environment. The first and most significant in my book, is to utilise the function of the charity shop or ‘chazza’ as I like to refer to them. Shopping for second hand clothes is extremely environmentally friendly and pays homage to the great need for recycling and sustainable development I learned about doing Jeni’s last essay. No world resources are used in the production of chazza clothes, as they simply arrive at the shop in bin bags already made. They are usually much cheaper than high street bought items too, which cuts down on the energy used getting in a sweat about the price. Also, chazza shops do not take ‘chip and pin’, which cuts down on electricity used to plug in these machines.
However, there are negative aspects to this kind of shopping. Although great for the environment, certain factors about chazza clothes cannot be ignored. Depending on the shop visited, the items can sometimes whiff quite badly and sometimes they are prone to rips, tears and flaws which are not always obvious until you get home. There is also a high chance you will find a great piece, but in the wrong size and then end up in a massive dilemma about whether you can really squash your size 14 ass into a pair of size 10 kex. It is also often difficult to try on chazza clothes before purchase. There is usually only one changing room which is often in the middle of the shop and is poorly sectioned off, with an ill hung curtain which does not pull all the way across and only comes down to your knees. It is a brave soul who will strip down to their undercrackers in these kinds of trying situations. My penultimate point about the negative aspects of chazzas is that a modern woman who shops here has to put up with pensioner conversation as they choose their garments. It cannot be ignored that most people who work in chazzas are close to pushing up daisies and have a pressing need to tell the world about their recent operation or attendance at the funeral of a close friend. Sometimes the health complaints are described so graphically that one feels they are actually in the operating theatre, passing a scalpel over to the doctor as he prepares to cut out a dodgy hip joint. To finish, I must state that chazza shopping is behind the times in many ways and has not responded to market forces. By this I mean that you can now get brand new items of clothing in the Primark for the same price as chazza clobber and so to 'undercut' the competition the chazzas should really lower their prices further, to attract more custom.
My second point about how a modern woman may manage shopping and the environment is to make clothes oneself. This creates the dual function of allowing the modern woman many new items of exciting garb, without putting further strain on the 3rd World sweat shops. It also encourages creativity and deft fingers and stops the modern woman from becoming bored in the home and causing trouble. However, there are many negative aspects to this method of shopping and environment management. Making clothes at home requires some degree of skill and mastery in the area of sewing. If one is not completely proficient in these skills then chaos can break out. I once attempted to make a skirt and was completely bamboozled by the process of putting a zip in it so I didn’t bother. This led to me going around looking like a meff with my unprofessionally finished skirt. This problem can sometimes be avoided if one has creative friends who are better than you at sewing. In fact I have had a couple of really great skirts made for me by Sarah. However, once back in the mists of time, another friend and I were so desperate for new skirts, we chopped up her baby daughters quilt cover. Whether this amounts to child abuse I do not know and despite the fact we ended up with very fashionable lower body wear, I cannot recommend this as a sensible action.
In conclusion, it would seem that the methods I have listed in order for the modern woman to manage shopping and the environment, have both their pros and cons. It is difficult to ascertain if either should be recommended or prioritised in any way. Ideally, one would have enough money so that one could buy those ‘organic’ type clothes which are touted as the best way of being environmentally conscious. But until I manage to earn more either by promotion or developing the confidence to become a prostitute, I think the best thing is just to carry on shopping at Primark.
'There are several approaches a modern woman may take to manage shopping and the environment. Evaluate 2 approaches, highlighting the pros and cons of each'.
This is an extremely thought provoking subject which I will attempt to evaluate using a scientific model, qualitative and quantitative research and my own well founded opinion.Indeed there are many approaches a modern woman may take to manage shopping and the environment. The first and most significant in my book, is to utilise the function of the charity shop or ‘chazza’ as I like to refer to them. Shopping for second hand clothes is extremely environmentally friendly and pays homage to the great need for recycling and sustainable development I learned about doing Jeni’s last essay. No world resources are used in the production of chazza clothes, as they simply arrive at the shop in bin bags already made. They are usually much cheaper than high street bought items too, which cuts down on the energy used getting in a sweat about the price. Also, chazza shops do not take ‘chip and pin’, which cuts down on electricity used to plug in these machines.
However, there are negative aspects to this kind of shopping. Although great for the environment, certain factors about chazza clothes cannot be ignored. Depending on the shop visited, the items can sometimes whiff quite badly and sometimes they are prone to rips, tears and flaws which are not always obvious until you get home. There is also a high chance you will find a great piece, but in the wrong size and then end up in a massive dilemma about whether you can really squash your size 14 ass into a pair of size 10 kex. It is also often difficult to try on chazza clothes before purchase. There is usually only one changing room which is often in the middle of the shop and is poorly sectioned off, with an ill hung curtain which does not pull all the way across and only comes down to your knees. It is a brave soul who will strip down to their undercrackers in these kinds of trying situations. My penultimate point about the negative aspects of chazzas is that a modern woman who shops here has to put up with pensioner conversation as they choose their garments. It cannot be ignored that most people who work in chazzas are close to pushing up daisies and have a pressing need to tell the world about their recent operation or attendance at the funeral of a close friend. Sometimes the health complaints are described so graphically that one feels they are actually in the operating theatre, passing a scalpel over to the doctor as he prepares to cut out a dodgy hip joint. To finish, I must state that chazza shopping is behind the times in many ways and has not responded to market forces. By this I mean that you can now get brand new items of clothing in the Primark for the same price as chazza clobber and so to 'undercut' the competition the chazzas should really lower their prices further, to attract more custom.
My second point about how a modern woman may manage shopping and the environment is to make clothes oneself. This creates the dual function of allowing the modern woman many new items of exciting garb, without putting further strain on the 3rd World sweat shops. It also encourages creativity and deft fingers and stops the modern woman from becoming bored in the home and causing trouble. However, there are many negative aspects to this method of shopping and environment management. Making clothes at home requires some degree of skill and mastery in the area of sewing. If one is not completely proficient in these skills then chaos can break out. I once attempted to make a skirt and was completely bamboozled by the process of putting a zip in it so I didn’t bother. This led to me going around looking like a meff with my unprofessionally finished skirt. This problem can sometimes be avoided if one has creative friends who are better than you at sewing. In fact I have had a couple of really great skirts made for me by Sarah. However, once back in the mists of time, another friend and I were so desperate for new skirts, we chopped up her baby daughters quilt cover. Whether this amounts to child abuse I do not know and despite the fact we ended up with very fashionable lower body wear, I cannot recommend this as a sensible action.
In conclusion, it would seem that the methods I have listed in order for the modern woman to manage shopping and the environment, have both their pros and cons. It is difficult to ascertain if either should be recommended or prioritised in any way. Ideally, one would have enough money so that one could buy those ‘organic’ type clothes which are touted as the best way of being environmentally conscious. But until I manage to earn more either by promotion or developing the confidence to become a prostitute, I think the best thing is just to carry on shopping at Primark.
Wednesday 11 June 2008
Laura and the sustainable development essay
I am off sick from work and bored out of my tiny mind. To keep me out of trouble, Jeni has set me another essay. For your viewing pleasure,I present to you the said essay:
'Sustainable Development is more important than Diet Coke'. Discuss.
During this essay I will be examining the controversial statement that sustainable development is more important than diet coke. For your comfort and enjoyment, I will examine the evidence and present an unbiased and logical conclusion.
Firstly, it would seem an obvious point that diet coke is more important because it is more widely recognised. Although having some basic knowledge of sustainable development, I was not privy to a full definition of exactly what it entailed and had to ‘Google’ it to be sure of its full ramifications. And I have been to University and consider myself to be about 7 out of 10 on the intelligence scale. It can be suggested that while the world knows in full detail what diet coke is, the same can not be said for sustainable development. I bet if you went up to anyone in the street and said ‘what’s sustainable development?’ you would get more than a few quizzical looks. But if you asked ‘what’s diet coke?’, you would receive many answers, ranging from ‘a great fat free fizzy beverage that lends itself well to all of life’s ups and downs’ to ‘the elixir of life’.
So now that we have established that diet coke is more widely recognised and has a much higher profile, its importance cannot be underestimated.Sustainable development information states that we are using up the worlds resources too quickly and not providing the means for future generations to meet their own needs. Apparently we are putting stress on the environmental systems of water, land and air through actions such as chopping rainforests down and doing too much fishing. Government guidelines state there is much we can do as individuals to lessen the burden on our planet.While diet coke enjoys such a high profile, it could then be used in this global predicament and instead of competing for the ‘top spot’ of being the most important, could actually be used to support sustainable development. World Leaders could do well do enforce hourly ‘diet coke breaks’ for forest choppers and fishermen, where they had to down tools and go and ogle members of the opposite sex doing menial tasks like on the telly. The breaks could last for up to 20 minutes, thus reducing the amount of trees felled and fish removed from the ocean.
We are advised that there are many things we can do in the home to support sustainable development. Do not waste energy, we are advised. Recycle everything, the guidelines state. But if only people recognised how important diet coke is, many of these actions would happen automatically. The more cans of coke a person brings into their house, the more that person will have to sit down and drink them. People waste energy all the time rushing around doing household chores, using the washing machine and cooker when they could be having a nice sit down and a few cans. Plus, diet coke cans are perfect for recycling and so the more you drink, the more recycling you will be able to offer to the environment.
Sustainable development is all about preserving the water supply, of which we are using too much. It seems like childish folly to put the preservation of the water supply above diet coke when the answer is obvious. If more people drank diet coke, this would lessen the burden on the world’s water supply. A typical can of diet coke is only 80% water whereas a glass of water from the tap is 100% water, so you do the math. An even better solution would be to get diet coke to come out of the taps, which is something I have been campaigning for over the last year.
In conclusion, it would seem that undoubtedly, sustainable development is not more important than diet coke. If one analyses the evidence objectively, it can be seen that diet coke is the definite winner in this war and in fact could offer many solutions to the quandaries of sustainable development. In fact, I would go as far as arguing that diet coke is more important than most things in the world, but that’s another essay.
'Sustainable Development is more important than Diet Coke'. Discuss.
During this essay I will be examining the controversial statement that sustainable development is more important than diet coke. For your comfort and enjoyment, I will examine the evidence and present an unbiased and logical conclusion.
Firstly, it would seem an obvious point that diet coke is more important because it is more widely recognised. Although having some basic knowledge of sustainable development, I was not privy to a full definition of exactly what it entailed and had to ‘Google’ it to be sure of its full ramifications. And I have been to University and consider myself to be about 7 out of 10 on the intelligence scale. It can be suggested that while the world knows in full detail what diet coke is, the same can not be said for sustainable development. I bet if you went up to anyone in the street and said ‘what’s sustainable development?’ you would get more than a few quizzical looks. But if you asked ‘what’s diet coke?’, you would receive many answers, ranging from ‘a great fat free fizzy beverage that lends itself well to all of life’s ups and downs’ to ‘the elixir of life’.
So now that we have established that diet coke is more widely recognised and has a much higher profile, its importance cannot be underestimated.Sustainable development information states that we are using up the worlds resources too quickly and not providing the means for future generations to meet their own needs. Apparently we are putting stress on the environmental systems of water, land and air through actions such as chopping rainforests down and doing too much fishing. Government guidelines state there is much we can do as individuals to lessen the burden on our planet.While diet coke enjoys such a high profile, it could then be used in this global predicament and instead of competing for the ‘top spot’ of being the most important, could actually be used to support sustainable development. World Leaders could do well do enforce hourly ‘diet coke breaks’ for forest choppers and fishermen, where they had to down tools and go and ogle members of the opposite sex doing menial tasks like on the telly. The breaks could last for up to 20 minutes, thus reducing the amount of trees felled and fish removed from the ocean.
We are advised that there are many things we can do in the home to support sustainable development. Do not waste energy, we are advised. Recycle everything, the guidelines state. But if only people recognised how important diet coke is, many of these actions would happen automatically. The more cans of coke a person brings into their house, the more that person will have to sit down and drink them. People waste energy all the time rushing around doing household chores, using the washing machine and cooker when they could be having a nice sit down and a few cans. Plus, diet coke cans are perfect for recycling and so the more you drink, the more recycling you will be able to offer to the environment.
Sustainable development is all about preserving the water supply, of which we are using too much. It seems like childish folly to put the preservation of the water supply above diet coke when the answer is obvious. If more people drank diet coke, this would lessen the burden on the world’s water supply. A typical can of diet coke is only 80% water whereas a glass of water from the tap is 100% water, so you do the math. An even better solution would be to get diet coke to come out of the taps, which is something I have been campaigning for over the last year.
In conclusion, it would seem that undoubtedly, sustainable development is not more important than diet coke. If one analyses the evidence objectively, it can be seen that diet coke is the definite winner in this war and in fact could offer many solutions to the quandaries of sustainable development. In fact, I would go as far as arguing that diet coke is more important than most things in the world, but that’s another essay.
Laura and the stuff from the past part 2
I have found yet more hilarious stuff from the past. A half finished short story which in my own considered literary opinion, borders on either genuis or madness. I would like to believe it is the former, but if anyone believes it is the latter, please keep it to yourself.
'Tuesday's Child'
Tuesday Ford got up one Thursday morning and realised she was bored. She had been bored for some considerable time now in her job as a shop assistant. The shop was reputable and her co-workers pleasant enough, but she found the tasks she was assigned to do tedious to say the least. Only last week she had been told to clean the packaging on the new arrival of Papermate pens and as she wiped and polished, she began to ask herself if this was all there was to life.
Tuesday was a bright girl, having graduated from college with a BA in Turf Management. She had expected a rosy and fulfilling future for herself, developing new and exciting ranges of grass species that could withstand even the most strenous of football games. However, 18 months on the dole had left her disillusioned and on a whim she had applied for this job, thinking it would tide her over until she either won the lottery or developed the confidence to become a prostitute. Tuesday was certain that these things were more likely to happen than the job she had gone to college hoping for.
On this particular Thursday, Tuesday decided she was so bored she simply could not face another day in the abyss of monotony that was life in a department store. She decided to do something which was quite out of character, something which she had been fantasising about for some time.Tuesday decided she would live her life on the edge. She wanted excitement like she had seen in the movies, she wanted danger, thrills, glamour and fame. She did not want mundane chores and fat little bosses ordering her to nip over to the shop for bacon and egg toasties and 20 silk cut.As she allowed her imagination to roam feely to its outer hemispheres, a huge grin appeared on her normally reserved features. Tuesday was not a person to do things by halves. She had been restrained for too long and all her energy concentrated in one direction, the wrong direction.
Packing a few essential items, such as a small colony of turf she had been cultivating on her window ledge and several pairs of clean knickers, she waltzed out of her flat and shut the door for the last time.Tuesday was on a mission to America, to the space centre at Houston, Texas. In her mind, she had it all planned. She would become an astronaut and conduct experiments into the growth of artificial grass blades in outer space. As far as she was aware, there was no grass on the moon, or any of the planets in the Milky Way. Science, it seemed, had missed this area of research and as far as Tuesday was concerned, this represented a definite gap in the job market. She was sure her CV,printed out on her Dad's 'Microsoft' computer in Times New Roman font would impress the officials at the space exploration program. As for becoming an astronaut, she felt she could cope with the lack of air. She had once won an underwater swimming competition when she was seven and had held her breath for a full eight minutes.She could easily see her name and photo in the next issue of 'New Scientist' and its accompanying headline:
'Tuesday's Child is full of grass - on the moon!'
As far as Tuesday could see, people were practically living on the moon anyway. Soon these people would require shopping malls and football pitches. Houses would be built, all requiring grass verges. Her future was certain. It would be good for her to leave a planet thay was just ending, for one that was just beginning.
The End, so far.
If anyone has any suggestions about how I could develop this story further I would be most interested to hear them. I feel it is not far from completion and I would like to get it sent off to 'Take a Break' asap. I can imagine its readers enjoying this story over a nice mid morning cuppa.
'Tuesday's Child'
Tuesday Ford got up one Thursday morning and realised she was bored. She had been bored for some considerable time now in her job as a shop assistant. The shop was reputable and her co-workers pleasant enough, but she found the tasks she was assigned to do tedious to say the least. Only last week she had been told to clean the packaging on the new arrival of Papermate pens and as she wiped and polished, she began to ask herself if this was all there was to life.
Tuesday was a bright girl, having graduated from college with a BA in Turf Management. She had expected a rosy and fulfilling future for herself, developing new and exciting ranges of grass species that could withstand even the most strenous of football games. However, 18 months on the dole had left her disillusioned and on a whim she had applied for this job, thinking it would tide her over until she either won the lottery or developed the confidence to become a prostitute. Tuesday was certain that these things were more likely to happen than the job she had gone to college hoping for.
On this particular Thursday, Tuesday decided she was so bored she simply could not face another day in the abyss of monotony that was life in a department store. She decided to do something which was quite out of character, something which she had been fantasising about for some time.Tuesday decided she would live her life on the edge. She wanted excitement like she had seen in the movies, she wanted danger, thrills, glamour and fame. She did not want mundane chores and fat little bosses ordering her to nip over to the shop for bacon and egg toasties and 20 silk cut.As she allowed her imagination to roam feely to its outer hemispheres, a huge grin appeared on her normally reserved features. Tuesday was not a person to do things by halves. She had been restrained for too long and all her energy concentrated in one direction, the wrong direction.
Packing a few essential items, such as a small colony of turf she had been cultivating on her window ledge and several pairs of clean knickers, she waltzed out of her flat and shut the door for the last time.Tuesday was on a mission to America, to the space centre at Houston, Texas. In her mind, she had it all planned. She would become an astronaut and conduct experiments into the growth of artificial grass blades in outer space. As far as she was aware, there was no grass on the moon, or any of the planets in the Milky Way. Science, it seemed, had missed this area of research and as far as Tuesday was concerned, this represented a definite gap in the job market. She was sure her CV,printed out on her Dad's 'Microsoft' computer in Times New Roman font would impress the officials at the space exploration program. As for becoming an astronaut, she felt she could cope with the lack of air. She had once won an underwater swimming competition when she was seven and had held her breath for a full eight minutes.She could easily see her name and photo in the next issue of 'New Scientist' and its accompanying headline:
'Tuesday's Child is full of grass - on the moon!'
As far as Tuesday could see, people were practically living on the moon anyway. Soon these people would require shopping malls and football pitches. Houses would be built, all requiring grass verges. Her future was certain. It would be good for her to leave a planet thay was just ending, for one that was just beginning.
The End, so far.
If anyone has any suggestions about how I could develop this story further I would be most interested to hear them. I feel it is not far from completion and I would like to get it sent off to 'Take a Break' asap. I can imagine its readers enjoying this story over a nice mid morning cuppa.
Sunday 8 June 2008
Laura and the stuff from the past
I couldn't sleep the other night so I decided to look through a box of stuff from the past. I found the most hilarious essay that I wrote in 1997, which surprisingly enough had nothing to do with any college course or other academic assignment.
It appears that my friend Jeni 'set' me this essay for some reason. Perhaps it was because we were both bored, or maybe it was to keep me out of trouble while she carried out some sort of household task. Anyway, for your comfort and enjoyment, I have decided to share the essay with you. The title is as follows:
'If everyone in the world had nice underwear,there would be no wars,plague or famine. Discuss.'
My first point about the above statement is that it is so true. I always wear decent smalls and I never have the inclination to start a war,catch a plague or go hungry.In Bosnia and poorer countries, it is a well known fact that they can't afford nice underwear and there is lots of war and famine. Plus, if Margaret Thatcher had owned decent lingerie, there would have been no need for the miners strike in 1983.
When England won the World Cup in 1966, it was obvious they had done so by wearing stylish red socks. Socks are not strictly undewear but they are usually sold in the same part of the shop as knickers, bras and boxies.Before her death, Princess Diana was an active campaigner. She favoured National Health schemes to make the ownership of sexy and provocative undewear a reality for the man/woman on the street. In fact, she combined her beliefs with those of her desire to ban landmines. She evoked great media attention and support with her campaign to fight landmines by promoting her designer underwear range. Everytime someone tried to plant a landmine, she would thrust a pair of skimpy briefs in their faces. This had the effect of distracting them and making them realise that if they wore nice undewear they would not be interested in landmines.
After her death, everyone in Bosnia wore nice undewear for a day as a mark of respect. Mother Teresa however did not,because she knew her ancient wrinkly body would not set off attractive smalls to their best advantage. Because she was pissed about this, she made it known that it was her that planted lots of landmines in Bosnia and Calcutta.
It is not only wearing nasty, grey, baggy, faded, giant, rancid briefs that causes the world problems with war,plague and famine. Wearing no undewear at all can be just as bad and 'going commando', that innocent sounding phrase actually evokes many brutal images of weaponry and battle. This then makes people want to cause aggro on a grand scale as they feel the wind tickle their nudey bits.
It is such an important issue that a national helpline has been set up to stop people instigating World War 3 because they are in possession of inadequate undergarments. The evidence to support such a claim can be found littered through the history text books. Scientists have revealed that Hitler caused so much trouble because he was forced to wear boxer shorts from Ethel Austin during his formative adolescent years.
In conclusion, it would seem that the world would be a much nicer place if only people realised that having nice undewear is as essential as stopping the penguins from eating the polar ice caps. Just look at the global destruction that is going on. It has to be the people's choice to get down to M+S for some saucy undercrackers. The future of our planet depends upon it, otherwise it will disappear up its own puckered sphincter. And this issue is so 'now', so relevant to the moment.
The End.
If only I had put this much effort into my degree.
If anyone else would like to set me an essay, feel free. List your titles and I will give it to the end of next week and pick the best one. The winners essay will then be written and posted for your collective comfort and enjoyment.
It appears that my friend Jeni 'set' me this essay for some reason. Perhaps it was because we were both bored, or maybe it was to keep me out of trouble while she carried out some sort of household task. Anyway, for your comfort and enjoyment, I have decided to share the essay with you. The title is as follows:
'If everyone in the world had nice underwear,there would be no wars,plague or famine. Discuss.'
My first point about the above statement is that it is so true. I always wear decent smalls and I never have the inclination to start a war,catch a plague or go hungry.In Bosnia and poorer countries, it is a well known fact that they can't afford nice underwear and there is lots of war and famine. Plus, if Margaret Thatcher had owned decent lingerie, there would have been no need for the miners strike in 1983.
When England won the World Cup in 1966, it was obvious they had done so by wearing stylish red socks. Socks are not strictly undewear but they are usually sold in the same part of the shop as knickers, bras and boxies.Before her death, Princess Diana was an active campaigner. She favoured National Health schemes to make the ownership of sexy and provocative undewear a reality for the man/woman on the street. In fact, she combined her beliefs with those of her desire to ban landmines. She evoked great media attention and support with her campaign to fight landmines by promoting her designer underwear range. Everytime someone tried to plant a landmine, she would thrust a pair of skimpy briefs in their faces. This had the effect of distracting them and making them realise that if they wore nice undewear they would not be interested in landmines.
After her death, everyone in Bosnia wore nice undewear for a day as a mark of respect. Mother Teresa however did not,because she knew her ancient wrinkly body would not set off attractive smalls to their best advantage. Because she was pissed about this, she made it known that it was her that planted lots of landmines in Bosnia and Calcutta.
It is not only wearing nasty, grey, baggy, faded, giant, rancid briefs that causes the world problems with war,plague and famine. Wearing no undewear at all can be just as bad and 'going commando', that innocent sounding phrase actually evokes many brutal images of weaponry and battle. This then makes people want to cause aggro on a grand scale as they feel the wind tickle their nudey bits.
It is such an important issue that a national helpline has been set up to stop people instigating World War 3 because they are in possession of inadequate undergarments. The evidence to support such a claim can be found littered through the history text books. Scientists have revealed that Hitler caused so much trouble because he was forced to wear boxer shorts from Ethel Austin during his formative adolescent years.
In conclusion, it would seem that the world would be a much nicer place if only people realised that having nice undewear is as essential as stopping the penguins from eating the polar ice caps. Just look at the global destruction that is going on. It has to be the people's choice to get down to M+S for some saucy undercrackers. The future of our planet depends upon it, otherwise it will disappear up its own puckered sphincter. And this issue is so 'now', so relevant to the moment.
The End.
If only I had put this much effort into my degree.
If anyone else would like to set me an essay, feel free. List your titles and I will give it to the end of next week and pick the best one. The winners essay will then be written and posted for your collective comfort and enjoyment.
Laura and the ants
Yesterday I noticed that the kitchen area of my home had become infested with ants. They were marauding around like they owned the place and seemed particularly taken with the doorway which connects the kitchen to the living room.I was not in the mood to deal with a colony of ants so I shouted Alan.
'I can't deal with these ants on top of everything else that life has thrown at me' I expectorated.
Alan instructed me to fetch a chair and then set about trying to establish the vantage point at which the ants were entering the premises. It was more difficult than it seemed as they were not congregated in any one area.I had no patience to deal with the issue so I fetched a roll of sellotape and then began taping up every hole and crack within a mile radius of where the first ants had been sighted.During this Jan texted and demanded a photo of the ants. She declared that as it was her birthday, I had to oblige with this request. So, I managed to squash one in order to take its picture and then I sellotaped it to the doorway as a warning to all its friends about what could happen if this behaviour continued.Jan liked the ant picture, although the resolution of the image sent down the phone was not as clear as I would have liked.This led to her questioning whether the photo was of an ant or a sultana.I do not enjoy the company of sultanas though and would certainly never entertain them in the house.
Once the vast majority of my kitchen had been taped up, Alan and I settled down for a session of uneasy goggle box viewing. Alan took it upon himself to conduct hourly 'ant patrols' in which he would assess numbers of ants and squash any new residents with kitchen towel.We had some debate when he suggested that one he had seen scurrying around was not new, but an earlier ant that had missed the first round of squashing.
'Did you recognise its face?' I asked sniggering.
By that evening the infestation seemed to have calmed somewhat. The hourly ant patrols yielded approximately 4-6 ants, which was well within a manageable range.Today, I have squashed about 6 of the creatures and I must admit I am intensely infuriated as to why I cannot find where they are coming in. I was all prepared to just ignore the problem but tonight when I was eating my tea I saw one climbing up my arm.If anyone can assist me with this difficult problem I would be most grateful.
'I can't deal with these ants on top of everything else that life has thrown at me' I expectorated.
Alan instructed me to fetch a chair and then set about trying to establish the vantage point at which the ants were entering the premises. It was more difficult than it seemed as they were not congregated in any one area.I had no patience to deal with the issue so I fetched a roll of sellotape and then began taping up every hole and crack within a mile radius of where the first ants had been sighted.During this Jan texted and demanded a photo of the ants. She declared that as it was her birthday, I had to oblige with this request. So, I managed to squash one in order to take its picture and then I sellotaped it to the doorway as a warning to all its friends about what could happen if this behaviour continued.Jan liked the ant picture, although the resolution of the image sent down the phone was not as clear as I would have liked.This led to her questioning whether the photo was of an ant or a sultana.I do not enjoy the company of sultanas though and would certainly never entertain them in the house.
Once the vast majority of my kitchen had been taped up, Alan and I settled down for a session of uneasy goggle box viewing. Alan took it upon himself to conduct hourly 'ant patrols' in which he would assess numbers of ants and squash any new residents with kitchen towel.We had some debate when he suggested that one he had seen scurrying around was not new, but an earlier ant that had missed the first round of squashing.
'Did you recognise its face?' I asked sniggering.
By that evening the infestation seemed to have calmed somewhat. The hourly ant patrols yielded approximately 4-6 ants, which was well within a manageable range.Today, I have squashed about 6 of the creatures and I must admit I am intensely infuriated as to why I cannot find where they are coming in. I was all prepared to just ignore the problem but tonight when I was eating my tea I saw one climbing up my arm.If anyone can assist me with this difficult problem I would be most grateful.
Saturday 31 May 2008
Laura and the new shoes
Yesterday I took it upon myself to purchase some new footwear. Unlike most women, I do not enjoy shopping for shoes. I find it a difficult and delicate process which does not often yield fruitful results.This is because I was born with very awkward feet. Depending on the shoe, I can be either size 5,5 and a half or 6. Plus I have very narrow feet and one is slightly bigger than the other. Plus, the skin on my trotters seems to be abnormally thin and so if the footwear does not fit EXACTLY,it can often rip holes in my upper epidermis layer. Sandals are a particular nighmare and I must have wasted hundreds of pounds over the years on bogus ill fitting pairs.So it was with great trepidation I ventured into the shoe stores of Liverpool yesterday.The weather was exceedingly clement and this had drawn the masses of the city out of the woodwork,along with their screaming offspring on half term break. Also, the new 'Liverpool 1' shopping precinct was open, which caused town to be even more chocka. I opted to give this a miss as I like to run against the herd and check out these things when all the fuss has died down. Plus, I have a feeling it might be crap and I don't trust these new developments ever since it was deemed necessary to get rid of the Bluecoat garden in the name of Capital of Culture. Calling on all the prior experience of my traumatic shoe shopping past, I gave all the cheap shops in St.Johns a miss and proceeded directly to the 'Clarks' emporium.Upon entering the store I was immediately enraptured by a pair of shoes which were evocatively titled 'Horse Way'. They were metallic brown in design with an embossed pattern. Quite a chunky sole with crossover straps on top. I'm not one to be taken in by advertising, but I could imagine myself getting up on a Saturday and putting these shoes on before heading off down the country paths on my brown horse, Black Beauty. She would gallop through the meadows as I clicked my heels and attracted many admiring glances from country bumpkins in my Clarks footwear.I tried a pair on in size 6 and they did not fit. I altered all the straps and they did not fit. I asked for a pair in size 5 and a half and they did not fit. I altered all the straps and they fitted a lot better so I bought them.My next port of call was 'Schuh'. This store had so many pairs of exciting foot garments that I nearly came over all unecessary. I selected a funky pair of shoes which were imaginatively titled 'Cake Crumble'. Again, I would like to stress how anti-advertising I am, but I can't deny that cake and crumble are two of the joys of life. Sadly the shoes did not look like a nice big chunk of cake. They were black with navy stitching and a cutaway pattern on the top. They had an ankle strap with the cutest bow you ever did see on the side. I tried on a pair of these Cake Crumble specimens in size 6 and they fitted. I walked up and down a few times waiting for some kind of agonising pain, or slippage at the ankle but there was none.Satisfied, I purchased the shoes. I could not believe I had found 2 pairs of shoes that fitted in one day.I got home and laid out my shoes for inspection on the Matalan rug. I congratulated myself upon a successful shoe shop operation. However, when I inspected the soles of the 'Cake Crumble', I saw they had given me the display model which had been tried on a million times.I am intending to exchange them for a brand new pair of Cake Crumble next week as I believe this kind of behaviour is shabby beyond belief. Even though I know as soon as I step outside, the underneaths will get messed up I think it is a violation of my human rights to be sold a shoe with a dirty sole.
Laura and the final of the novel writing competition
On 27th May I took part in the final of the Writing on the Wall 'Pulp Idol' competition. It was with great excitement I headed off to Coffee Union on Bold St, the designated venue for this event.It was with great disgust that I inhaled a blast of intense coffee fumes as I entered the doorway. I do not enjoy the company of coffee and believe the beans to be grown in the devils own back garden. It has always annoyed me that despite today's 'equal opportunities' obsessed society there is no such thing as a 'Diet Coke Union'. I am quite sure that there would be a huge market for this and it would stop people's nasal passages being infiltrated with evil smells during their entrance to novel writing finals.Anyway, I digress. I was accompanied at this exciting event by Alan, Sallyann and Katie from my office at work. I handed the judges 3 copies of my freshly printed out novel and then we all took our seats at the back. Within minutes I had developed terrifying stage fright again which caused the following unpleasant reactions:
Feeling that I was about to have a stroke, seizure, heart attack, brain tumour or dandruff attack from the stress.
Feeling completely unable to take Sallyann up on her offer to indulge in a chunk of her cake, due to the fact my digestive system had shut down in the midst of the 'fight or flight' anxiety response.
Feeling at a loss as to why I had subjected myself to such a petrifying ordeal and then feeling compelled to ask my assembled posse for answers to this dilemma and then not being satisfied with the answers.
Feeling completely unable to take in what people were saying due to being obsessed by my own feelings.
Feeling sure that I would need to evacuate my bowels in the ONE toilet the establishment possessed, which when I checked, had no flushability credentials.
There were 12 of us who had made it this far and once again I was selected to read second. I took this to be a lucky omen and then mysteriously and miraculously, as soon I was called to the front all stage fright disappeared and my performing monkey side surfaced. This always happens and I don't know why God insists I go through hell first, only to become super confident when taking the stage. I will ask him when I die and also demand explanations for the existence of coffee.My reading was a hit and I noticed several people in the audience were unable to contain their mirth. One woman turned to her friend halfway through and muttered 'brilliant!'. She took the words right out of my mouth and I could only hope that the judges thought the same. There were 3 judges; Joe Riley from the Echo, Dan Franklin from Canongate publishers and some other bloke with curly hair whose name I can't remember. I was asked a series of questions and I answered modestly and wittily, whilst displaying my expert knowledge of the novel writing process.I returned to my seat afterwards to listen to the rest of the readings and assess my competition.It seemed there were 2 or 3 other people besides my good self who were all in the running for the winner title.As the result was announced I went temporarily back into major panic mode and then looked up in disappointment. I had not won.Some woman who had written a beach holiday 'chick lit' style novel had won and none of us had had her down as the winner of the competition. She calmly took the stage to accept her applause and then gave a quite obviously well rehearsed speech.I was glad I was sat a the back so that no-one could see my miffed expression.But then when the crowds dispersed, one of the organisers of the competition came over to me and told me not to worry about not winning. He said it had been very close and he had listened to the judges deciding and there hadn't been much in it. He hadn't gone up to anyone else so I took this to mean I almost won.Which isn't a bad result really and I always think it is much better to be a runner up than a winner. Plus, as a finalist I have got a place on a weekend residential writing course and I also get a detailed critique of my novel from the judges.I have tried to analyse why I didn't win and I came up with the following conclusions:A button on my top was undone. This made me look sloppy and trampy and sloppy tramps do not win novel writing competitions.The judges might have had faecal matter blocking up their ears.It might have been because on the evaluation form there was a section that said 'how would you describe your sexual orientation?' and I put, 'mostly heterosexual, but I can't deny I lust after Britney Spears'.When I get my detailed feedback from the judges I will ask them if any of my theories are correct.Needless to say I have been in a World War 3 level sulk since this competition and lost motivation to write blogs. Thankfully, normal services are now resumed and for your comfort and enjoyment, they will never be written in a 'chick lit' style. Despite the popularity of this genre in today's world, I stand firm with my belief that what people really want is cutting edge and sharply observed prose from a post modern girl who doesn't really do very much except go to the Spar and the carvery.
Feeling that I was about to have a stroke, seizure, heart attack, brain tumour or dandruff attack from the stress.
Feeling completely unable to take Sallyann up on her offer to indulge in a chunk of her cake, due to the fact my digestive system had shut down in the midst of the 'fight or flight' anxiety response.
Feeling at a loss as to why I had subjected myself to such a petrifying ordeal and then feeling compelled to ask my assembled posse for answers to this dilemma and then not being satisfied with the answers.
Feeling completely unable to take in what people were saying due to being obsessed by my own feelings.
Feeling sure that I would need to evacuate my bowels in the ONE toilet the establishment possessed, which when I checked, had no flushability credentials.
There were 12 of us who had made it this far and once again I was selected to read second. I took this to be a lucky omen and then mysteriously and miraculously, as soon I was called to the front all stage fright disappeared and my performing monkey side surfaced. This always happens and I don't know why God insists I go through hell first, only to become super confident when taking the stage. I will ask him when I die and also demand explanations for the existence of coffee.My reading was a hit and I noticed several people in the audience were unable to contain their mirth. One woman turned to her friend halfway through and muttered 'brilliant!'. She took the words right out of my mouth and I could only hope that the judges thought the same. There were 3 judges; Joe Riley from the Echo, Dan Franklin from Canongate publishers and some other bloke with curly hair whose name I can't remember. I was asked a series of questions and I answered modestly and wittily, whilst displaying my expert knowledge of the novel writing process.I returned to my seat afterwards to listen to the rest of the readings and assess my competition.It seemed there were 2 or 3 other people besides my good self who were all in the running for the winner title.As the result was announced I went temporarily back into major panic mode and then looked up in disappointment. I had not won.Some woman who had written a beach holiday 'chick lit' style novel had won and none of us had had her down as the winner of the competition. She calmly took the stage to accept her applause and then gave a quite obviously well rehearsed speech.I was glad I was sat a the back so that no-one could see my miffed expression.But then when the crowds dispersed, one of the organisers of the competition came over to me and told me not to worry about not winning. He said it had been very close and he had listened to the judges deciding and there hadn't been much in it. He hadn't gone up to anyone else so I took this to mean I almost won.Which isn't a bad result really and I always think it is much better to be a runner up than a winner. Plus, as a finalist I have got a place on a weekend residential writing course and I also get a detailed critique of my novel from the judges.I have tried to analyse why I didn't win and I came up with the following conclusions:A button on my top was undone. This made me look sloppy and trampy and sloppy tramps do not win novel writing competitions.The judges might have had faecal matter blocking up their ears.It might have been because on the evaluation form there was a section that said 'how would you describe your sexual orientation?' and I put, 'mostly heterosexual, but I can't deny I lust after Britney Spears'.When I get my detailed feedback from the judges I will ask them if any of my theories are correct.Needless to say I have been in a World War 3 level sulk since this competition and lost motivation to write blogs. Thankfully, normal services are now resumed and for your comfort and enjoyment, they will never be written in a 'chick lit' style. Despite the popularity of this genre in today's world, I stand firm with my belief that what people really want is cutting edge and sharply observed prose from a post modern girl who doesn't really do very much except go to the Spar and the carvery.
Laura and the humungus spot
Since I last wrote, I have become hideously disfigured by the arrival of acne vulgaris. Or in layman's terms, a massive, pulsating monstrous beast of a spot.
It all started rather innocently about a week ago, when I noticed a small red dot to the left hand side of my nasal passage, approximately a centimetre above my top lip. I was peturbed by the small blemish, but was able to render it invisible with my concrete like make up.However, over the following days, it grew at a most alarming rate and by yesterday had morphed into a nasty, throbbing angry lump. It was still coverable with make up but I had to be pretty careful about what kind of lighting I stood in.This morning, I was awoken at approximately 5.30am by a painful spasm in the region of the blemish. I immediately hotfooted it down to the bathroom for a detailed inspection of my grill area. To my utter horror, the spot had grown a dirty great big head of pus which was threatening to explode at any moment.I could not go back to bed in this condition in case Alan woke up, saw my terrible disfiguration and stopped wanting to be my boyfriend. I decided emergency DIY surgery was the only solution.I collected together my operating equipment, which in this case was a large wad of recycled toilet tissue in embossed 'off white'. Covering my forefingers on each hand, I strategically placed them either side of the gumboil and gave a firm press.A most satisfying splat of yellow gunk type spot excrement shot into the tissue. A blast of pain shot through my face and I stemmed the flow of fluid by applying pressure to the gaping hole. I crept back to bed, relieved and calmed, however my long absence had awoken Alan from his slumber.
'Were you having a number 2?' He asked sleepily.
'No' I expectorated, slightly annoyed my covert mission had been detected and wrongly interpreted. 'I had a sore face so I went to the bathroom'
This explanation seemed to suffice and he went back to sleep.I fell into a restless post operative sleep and then when I awoke around 9am I pranced down to the bathroom, sure that my visage would once again resemble Snow White.I discovered that I still had the whopper blemish and that it was now topped with a dark uneven scab. I was aghast that my cosmetic procedure had failed.I was even more aghast when I discovered that the blemish was not coverable with make up and realised that staying in the house, avoiding all contact with carbon based life forms was not an option.I had to feel my fear and do it anyway, in the words of the best selling self help manual. So I applied make up to the rest of my kite and bravely soldiered into town to pay bills and attend to other matters of mundane importance. I attracted many confused glances and crying children, but I took strength from the story of the Elephant man and also a load of people I saw on the telly who had bits of tree growing out of their bodies. I think the programme was called 'Half man, half tree'. I could now totally understand the pain and suffering they endured at the hands of their cruel disfigurement. I am now thinking of taking a photo of the spot and sending it to Channel 4 so they can make a show called, 'Half woman, half facial carbuncle'.
It all started rather innocently about a week ago, when I noticed a small red dot to the left hand side of my nasal passage, approximately a centimetre above my top lip. I was peturbed by the small blemish, but was able to render it invisible with my concrete like make up.However, over the following days, it grew at a most alarming rate and by yesterday had morphed into a nasty, throbbing angry lump. It was still coverable with make up but I had to be pretty careful about what kind of lighting I stood in.This morning, I was awoken at approximately 5.30am by a painful spasm in the region of the blemish. I immediately hotfooted it down to the bathroom for a detailed inspection of my grill area. To my utter horror, the spot had grown a dirty great big head of pus which was threatening to explode at any moment.I could not go back to bed in this condition in case Alan woke up, saw my terrible disfiguration and stopped wanting to be my boyfriend. I decided emergency DIY surgery was the only solution.I collected together my operating equipment, which in this case was a large wad of recycled toilet tissue in embossed 'off white'. Covering my forefingers on each hand, I strategically placed them either side of the gumboil and gave a firm press.A most satisfying splat of yellow gunk type spot excrement shot into the tissue. A blast of pain shot through my face and I stemmed the flow of fluid by applying pressure to the gaping hole. I crept back to bed, relieved and calmed, however my long absence had awoken Alan from his slumber.
'Were you having a number 2?' He asked sleepily.
'No' I expectorated, slightly annoyed my covert mission had been detected and wrongly interpreted. 'I had a sore face so I went to the bathroom'
This explanation seemed to suffice and he went back to sleep.I fell into a restless post operative sleep and then when I awoke around 9am I pranced down to the bathroom, sure that my visage would once again resemble Snow White.I discovered that I still had the whopper blemish and that it was now topped with a dark uneven scab. I was aghast that my cosmetic procedure had failed.I was even more aghast when I discovered that the blemish was not coverable with make up and realised that staying in the house, avoiding all contact with carbon based life forms was not an option.I had to feel my fear and do it anyway, in the words of the best selling self help manual. So I applied make up to the rest of my kite and bravely soldiered into town to pay bills and attend to other matters of mundane importance. I attracted many confused glances and crying children, but I took strength from the story of the Elephant man and also a load of people I saw on the telly who had bits of tree growing out of their bodies. I think the programme was called 'Half man, half tree'. I could now totally understand the pain and suffering they endured at the hands of their cruel disfigurement. I am now thinking of taking a photo of the spot and sending it to Channel 4 so they can make a show called, 'Half woman, half facial carbuncle'.
Laura and the extra vegetables scandal
I feel I must voice my concerns and anger over an issue that has been happening regularly in the carvery. This issue relates to persons who return to the carvery serving area for 'seconds' of vegetables.The carvery is designed for persons who are of already greedy disposition, to heap their plates as high as the heavens first time around. There is no need in my book ( and Alan's ) to then act like you aren't quite full and then re-heap your plate full of vegetable matter. It is pure gluttonous and uneccesary behaviour. If you were anywhere else, you would not enjoy a full roast dinner and then demand that the chef return to fill your plate with extra veg. Which leads me to the conclusion that people only do this because the extra veg is free.
It is a disgusting state of affairs and whenever I go online to complete a carvery survey in the hope of winning a thousand pounds, I always mention this.Besides the fact that extra veg servings are the hallmark of the pie man or woman, the act of refilling a plate that is covered in roast remains,cold gravy and spittle means the vegetable spoons become contaminated with all of the above vile types of matter.It has put Alan and I off enjoying our modestly heaped plates on many occasions.Last night we sat and ate our carvery meals and spouted incessantly about this freakish behaviour. The conversation led me to think of other things and types of behaviour which annoy me. For your comfort and enjoyment I will now detail them in list form:
1) People who stand at pedestrian crossings without pressing the button for the lights to change. What on earth goes through the mind of such a class A moron?Do they think the traffic will be able to read their mind and just stop? It beggars belief that people could behave in this way.
2) People who use 'lol' seriously in texts and instant messaging type communication. Pack it in already. The English language is a masterfully crafted work of art and manipulation of semantics is great fun as well as being useful brain excercise. Stop these mindless abbreviations.
3) Women who flap at their face with their hands when they cry. 'Oh look at me!' it says.'Look at me as I cry and pretend I don't want to and don't like the attention while really I am pure loving it!'.
I feel better now I have got all that off my chest. Please feel free to comment and let me know if you agree or disagree with my vehement ranting. Let me know your personal bugbears in life and I will do my best to get them all banned by the government.
It is a disgusting state of affairs and whenever I go online to complete a carvery survey in the hope of winning a thousand pounds, I always mention this.Besides the fact that extra veg servings are the hallmark of the pie man or woman, the act of refilling a plate that is covered in roast remains,cold gravy and spittle means the vegetable spoons become contaminated with all of the above vile types of matter.It has put Alan and I off enjoying our modestly heaped plates on many occasions.Last night we sat and ate our carvery meals and spouted incessantly about this freakish behaviour. The conversation led me to think of other things and types of behaviour which annoy me. For your comfort and enjoyment I will now detail them in list form:
1) People who stand at pedestrian crossings without pressing the button for the lights to change. What on earth goes through the mind of such a class A moron?Do they think the traffic will be able to read their mind and just stop? It beggars belief that people could behave in this way.
2) People who use 'lol' seriously in texts and instant messaging type communication. Pack it in already. The English language is a masterfully crafted work of art and manipulation of semantics is great fun as well as being useful brain excercise. Stop these mindless abbreviations.
3) Women who flap at their face with their hands when they cry. 'Oh look at me!' it says.'Look at me as I cry and pretend I don't want to and don't like the attention while really I am pure loving it!'.
I feel better now I have got all that off my chest. Please feel free to comment and let me know if you agree or disagree with my vehement ranting. Let me know your personal bugbears in life and I will do my best to get them all banned by the government.
Laura and the training day
Today I was required to attend a training day for work entitled,'How to motivate and engage young people to realise their full potential'.Before I could do this however, I needed to motivate myself and this proved difficult when I awoke this fine morn and realised some sort of winged insect had bitten my face in the night. As soon as I saw the flaming red angry carbuncle burgeoning out of my left cheek epidermis, I wanted to kill myself.This feeling was enhanced when Alan laughed uproariously at my bulging boil and jokingly asked if I would like him to lick it. I replied that I did not require this service and reminded him that he proffers this remedy to every medical complaint I suffer from. I do think that at 37, he should have a bigger bag of tricks up his sleeve to deal with my health calamities.So I arrived at the training tired and drained from the struggle to cover the bite with concealer.It was one of those training sessions where all the chairs are in a horseshoe shape and there is nowhere to hide. It was also one of those sessions where they have 'fun' team building and ice breaker activities and so within an hour I had done juggling and been told to hold hands with colleagues while we all got ourselves into a knot and then got out of it again. The latter excercise was most vexing as I am simply too old and curmudgeonly to be weaving in and out of people's bodies and pretending the best way to untangle ourselves is not to cheat.We watched a presentation that was designed to encourage youngsters to stay in education. It was frightfully dull and when the facilitator asked for honest feedback, I presented him with a genuis idea.I suggested that instead of having lists and lists of statements blasted into their brains, the kids should be shown a video based on the hit blockbuster film, 'Sliding Doors'. One youth could be filmed making a series of bad choices in life and we are invited to watch as these lead to an inevetably disagreeable conclusion. The same youngster is then shown making a different series of more positive choices ,which lead to happiness and self actualisation.I could hardly believe it when my idea was universally panned by critics. 'Where would the budget come from for such a film?' I was asked. 'It would cost too much to make'. 'You could film it in Kirkby', I retorted. It would not cost too much to make at all and I sat sulking for a good half hour after my winning idea got the thumbs down. In fact, even now as I write this I can feel a fresh burst of demoralisation course through my veins. Although this may be because as Jan says, my ego is spun from the finest filagree of spiders webs and fairy wings. Still, I did not bother to generate any more ideas in my brain factory for the rest of the session.I was gagging for the buffet lunch when it finally arrived, although I got a shock when I bit into what looked like a sausage roll and weird red stuff seeped out of the middle. No-one seemed to be able to identify the matter within, so I discarded it in disgust.I was sickened to discover that there were no cakes or sweetmeats on offer for afters. Myself Ruth and Hayley solved the problem by thinking 'outside the box' and went to the shop to purchase essential chocolate supplies.After I had consumed my red bounty I felt more mentally stable and then Ronnie gave me a sweet he had procured in a toilet in London.We did some quite fun activities in the afternoon and watched some video clips from various films. We had to share our proudest achievements in the group and I held court with my tales of wowing the world of stand up comedy. Although my second proudest achievement is not scratching the head off my bite.We had to write down a time when we were 'on top of the world'. I wrote down 'when I discovered GHD ceramic iron technology'. I was most disappointed that I was not asked to read this out.At four of the clock the session ended and I made my way into town and homeward. Mel has just pushed a baby out of her front bottom so I went shopping for a gift first.
Laura and the tea in kimos
Tonight I took my evening meal in my favourite eating establishment, Kimos. It serves a wide variety of Middle Eastern style foods, however I opted for jacket potato with cheese and coleslaw, with a simple bottle of water to wash it down. There is nothing like traditional English scran, especially when surrounded by exotic, mysterious and downright odd dishes.I was accompanied by Anna, who is pregnant with twins. We had to shout as the lively music always seems to be aimed at deaf members of society. Anna is concerned that the African father of her twins may not be able to get a Visa in time to witness the birth of her young.Before I could stop myself I had offered to be Anna's back up birth partner. I've seen a lot of heavy stuff in my time. Angel dust, switchblades, sexually perverse photography exhibits involving tennis rackets. I am sure I will be able to handle a couple of kids popping out of somebody's downstairs department.Plus, I have seen every episode of 'Casualty'since time began and as such am practically a doctor myself.Plus, I cannot think of anyone better to be on hand to cover Anna's make up and beauty routine during labour.Plus, Anna and I go back a long way with attending each others hospital appointments and it would be a shame to break tradition now. There is nothing we don't know about each others blood and innards. We have had some great laughs in various clinics over the years. Perhaps the best laugh was when we were left waiting in a consultants office and spotted a box of 'leg bags'. To this day, we have never found out the fuction of such an item. Our second best laugh was probably when we went to see my consultant, Dr.Chu and I sat munching on a lump of cheddar in the waiting room. I responded to Anna's startled face with the words, 'I always enjoy a bit of cheese in clinic'.So I am looking forward to my new exciting role as possible primary birth partner. But don't worry, I will be firmly stationed at the 'head' end and not the 'goal' end.
Laura and Wild China
Alan and I watched an interesting documentary called 'Wild China' last night. It featured the stunning and remote landscape of Yunnan.However, the pronunciation of Yunnan caused us to smirk, as it sounded like, 'Your Nan'.Not very funny so far you might think, but imagine trying to keep a straight face as the presenter invited us to feast our gaze upon Your Nan's tropical south. The camera panned around the dense forest of Your Nan and the wildlife which inhabited it. We were invited to examine the sticky sap of Your Nan's bush and view the elephants, which can only be found in Your Nan.By the end of this programme we had almost collapsed with seizures from laughing and Alan's whole head had gone red.We went to bed after Wild China but couldn't get to sleep because we were still convulsing about Your Nan's tropical south. As soon as one of us tried to go to sleep, the other mischieviously recreated the presenters serious tone and deadpan delivery of Your Nan's bush shouts.When we awoke this morning it started again and Alan commented that he couldn't believe it was all still funny 12 hours later.I posed the question, 'Is it still funny because it was really funny, or is it still funny because we are a pair of biffs?'We could not agree upon an answer.
Laura and the 37th birthday
I am a year older since I last wrote this. I can think of no good things associated with being 37, so I will gloss over this and move swiftly on to describing my special day.I awoke at 5am on the day of my birth. This was not because I was excited about the postman coming, or the bumper haul of gifts I was expecting. No, I was stricken with hideous side effects from my injections. For those of you who do not know, I was struck down with a ghastly rare blood disorder in 1998. for which there is no cure. Doctors have never discovered the reason why I was chosen to receive this terrible affliction, it simply seems I am destined to suffer in life. To stop myself venturing into deadly infectious terrain, I must inject myself with GCSF 48 million units 3 times every 2 weeks.So I lay in my bed at 5am, sleep eluding me, wondering what my next course of action should be. I opted to ingest a couple of Anadin Extra for my aching muscles and then decided to have a few snacks. I went online and discovered to my disappointment that none of my friends were on Facebook at 5am. I checked my emails and replied to one sent by my Mum and one by my American pen pal Tracie.My Mum had sent some details of a magazine that was looking for contributions about Liverpool. At 6am, I plucked up the courage to send them my Belle Vale and County Rd blogs. I hope they like them and if not, then that is their hard cheese.At 8am I heard the postman battering on my front door, so I raced down and answered in my fleece leopard skin print dressing gown. I had to sign for a recorded delivery and I was astonished to discover it was an exceptionally large cash gift from my little brother and his girlfriend. It was a dream come true, as only the day before I had been fondling footwear in Schuh and wondering when I would ever have any disposable income to dispose of on shoes. I was going to phone my bro straight away but then I remembered he does not surface easily before noon at weekends.I spent the rest of the morning receiving birthday texts and Facebook greetings. I went back to sleep at 10am and then got up at lunchtime and watched the Apprentice on catch up TV. Alan came round in the afternoon. He had brought me a surprise present of a yellow beaded curtain and made me wait upstairs while he installed it in the kitchen doorway. It was a most delighful gift that was not any less delightful for the fact that Mum 2 had also bought me the exact same beaded curtain in orange for the kitchen doorway. You may be wondering what I was intending to do about the problem of 2 beaded curtains and only one doorway requiring such an item. I was luckily able to call upon my presence of mind to look around the house for other areas which may benefit from a beaded curtain. With Alan's help, we deduced that the doorway dividing the front and living rooms could be enhanced, but would require the purchase of yet another beaded curtain to fully cover the space.As well as my beaded curtain, he bought a Dirty Dancing workout DVD, which I had requested as I cannot bear my muffin top a moment longer.Of course, everything has to be undertaken in its correct and logical order. Before commencing the DVD, I had to engage in the eating of a chinese meal and large slab of birthday cake. Then I was too tired to even unwrap the DVD, so we watched an episode of the OC and then Alan watched 'Locks and Quays'. I could hardly keep my eyes open through such a tedious example of televisual viewing. I am a big fan of the countryside and canal boats, but the last thing I want is to watch a bunch of whoppers chugging along the country's waterways and stopping off for a spot of fishing.I opted to have an early night and was in bed by 10pm.I decided to continue having my birthday today as I did not feel that with my injections I had achieved full value for money. However I am still suffering fron side effects today, so it looks like it will have to continue on into next week, or until some point where I am sated with the birthday experience.
Laura and the sexy banana fritter
I was taken for an exotic Thai meal for my birthday by Mum 2. For your comfort and enjoyment I will explain that I have a Mum 1 ( biological ) and Mum 2 ( step mother, non-biological ). Both Mums get my whites equally clean, ha ha!
Regular readers of this blog will know that I am not usually prone to displays of extravagant eating. I am a simple carvery girl at heart and every Wednesday, I religiously have shrimp cashew nuts from the takeaway Chinese, whether I need it or not. The only time I am really daring and push the boat out is when I order curry, rice and chips soaked in salt and vinegar from my local chip emporium. Although the curry round these parts can be notoriously fierce, so I haven't done this for some time. Plus, I am sick of the funny looks about the salt and vinegar on the curry. Get over it already, it is like an Indian angel crying on your tongue!
So you can imagine my surprise when I was treated to this very new and flambouyant style of Thai scran.We visited the Chilli Banana Thai eating establishment on Lark Lane. We opted for set menu 'A', which comprised initially of a starter platter of various titbits from the far east. There were chicken things in peanut stuff on skewers, round ball things and flat orange things with green things in. Forgive my lack of articulate and eloquent description but it is difficult to say what they were and as nothing like that has ever crossed my palate before I can only hazard a guess as to what I imbibed. To accompany the starters, there was a dip thing with couscous stuff in and an oily dip thing with peppers in.For main course, Mum 2 had green curry ( although it looked white to me, a breach of the Thai trade description act methinks ) and I had some prawns in garlic and black pepper. I was relieved to recognise a simple bowl of rice and noodles for accompaniament. The food was grand, but there were no knives provided and I ended up in a tussle with my prawns as they refused to be cut with a fork and spoon.For dessert, I opted for banana fritters which I have never had before. Without wanting to be lewd, they got to the parts other beers cannot reach. They were like a Thai angel crying on my tongue. The closest thing in pudding terms to making the beast with two backs.I was very taken with my Thai meal experience and it has made me think about branching out more in the cuisine department. Although, not enough to actually go out and cook something myself. But, I will definitely seek out the company of the sexy banana fritter again.
Regular readers of this blog will know that I am not usually prone to displays of extravagant eating. I am a simple carvery girl at heart and every Wednesday, I religiously have shrimp cashew nuts from the takeaway Chinese, whether I need it or not. The only time I am really daring and push the boat out is when I order curry, rice and chips soaked in salt and vinegar from my local chip emporium. Although the curry round these parts can be notoriously fierce, so I haven't done this for some time. Plus, I am sick of the funny looks about the salt and vinegar on the curry. Get over it already, it is like an Indian angel crying on your tongue!
So you can imagine my surprise when I was treated to this very new and flambouyant style of Thai scran.We visited the Chilli Banana Thai eating establishment on Lark Lane. We opted for set menu 'A', which comprised initially of a starter platter of various titbits from the far east. There were chicken things in peanut stuff on skewers, round ball things and flat orange things with green things in. Forgive my lack of articulate and eloquent description but it is difficult to say what they were and as nothing like that has ever crossed my palate before I can only hazard a guess as to what I imbibed. To accompany the starters, there was a dip thing with couscous stuff in and an oily dip thing with peppers in.For main course, Mum 2 had green curry ( although it looked white to me, a breach of the Thai trade description act methinks ) and I had some prawns in garlic and black pepper. I was relieved to recognise a simple bowl of rice and noodles for accompaniament. The food was grand, but there were no knives provided and I ended up in a tussle with my prawns as they refused to be cut with a fork and spoon.For dessert, I opted for banana fritters which I have never had before. Without wanting to be lewd, they got to the parts other beers cannot reach. They were like a Thai angel crying on my tongue. The closest thing in pudding terms to making the beast with two backs.I was very taken with my Thai meal experience and it has made me think about branching out more in the cuisine department. Although, not enough to actually go out and cook something myself. But, I will definitely seek out the company of the sexy banana fritter again.
Laura and the mineral make up
Last Saturday I bought a new mineral foundation by L'Oreal ( because I'm worth it.) It was with great excitement I tried this new product on Sunday, however, I was bitterly disappointed. It claimed to do all manner of amazing things to my complexion and I was looking forward to staring in the mirror and seeing Eva Longoria looking back.My first point is that the brush with which it is applied is very itchy upon one's outer epidermis layer. My second point is that the colour, the lightest in the range, was too dark for my porcelain English rose visage.My third point is that the texture and consistency of the powder was like glue. It clung like a whimpering toddler to my dry bits and uneven areas.My fourth point is that is did not maintain a matte finish. By 10am Iwas sporting a shiny kipper, this is never a good look, even in the privacy of one's home on a Sunday when one is completely alone.I am hysterical and distraught. I paid 10 English pounds of my hard earned wages to suffer this crushing disappointment.On Monday, I attempted a different application method and patted it on with a sponge, thus bypassing the itchy brush. I still ended up with a glistening and fake tanned look and so I have rendered my new mineral foundation a big waste of space.It seems as though I am destined to suffer heavily in life and this incident is yet another example of the cruelty and irony that God has bestowed upon me.
Laura and the writing competition
Since I last wrote my status has changed from 'genius as yet undiscovered', to 'genius almost discovered'. This is because I am now a finalist in a novel writing competition.I have been beavering away for years on a piece of work which I was sure would stun audiences worldwide, but due to several factors such as laziness, overflowing wash baskets and a great Virgin Media package it has proved impossible to release this work into the wild.Fate dealt me a helping hand recently when a bunch of brochures advertising the 'Writing on the Wall' festival appeared on my desk at work. Iwas most interested to read about a 'Pulp Idol' competition they were running and decided now was the time to unleash my creative talent upon the world. Although I was several days late to apply, I applied anyway and sent off 3 copies of my finely honed literary masterpiece.It seemed I was only fashionably late and last night I had to partake in a 'heat', where myself and 9 other contestants read 3 minutes of their work in front of a panel of judges and then answered a series ofquestions. For one so sure of one's bestselling novelist potential, it was alarming to discover I still had the capacity for crippling stage fright. Throughout the introductory sections of the evening I feared I would suffer several debilitating or fatal medical conditions such as heart attack, stroke, or seizure. I opted to read second, to minimise the fluctuation of my adrenaline and noradrenaline levels. The room was populated with an odd and varied assortment of carbon based life forms. There was one woman who had on a very tight t-shirt with no bra on underneath. Her nipples protruded through the thin fabric like footy studs. She complemented her revealing upper body wear with a long flowing skirt, frizzy hair and ethnic style earrings. I think sometimes you can take the writer thing 'too far' and this was mostdefinitely an occasion where this was apparent. As I took to the stage to read my marvellous missive, I called upon all my inner resources to ensure I would give the perfect lively yet deadpan reading, which would take the audience on a carefully crafted emotional arc and perhaps cause slight urinary incontinence at the funny bits.I could hear sniggers after only one line and so I proceeded with gusto and by page two I could see that people were crossing their legs and hunching over to control their burgeoning bladders. Caught up in the frenzied atmosphere, I felt a small chuckle escape from my own lips and had to issue an apology to the audience for being caught laughing at one's own jokes.The judges thanked me profusely for what they deemed to be a most enjoyable reading and then I was asked a series of questions about my writing process and background to the novel.I then sat back down to listen to the other contestants work. My anxiety reverted into low level manageable format, but then peaked again in the 'fight or flight' response as the judges collected at the end to announce the winners.Yes, my name was called and now I have to attend a final on 27th May which I believe it is my destiny to win.I can hardly concentrate at work now it has been proven that I am on a glittering pathway to success. I am devoting much mental energy to envisaging my new future as a bestselling author. I've decided to have a book signing like the one Jordan had. I will dress as wonderwoman and have clouds of glitter released upon my entrance to the WH Smiths on Church St.If anybody would like my autograph, I would advise you to get it now while it's still cheap.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
