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.

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'.

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.

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.

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.

Laura and the plumbing emergency

I have just had one of the most stressful hours of my entire life! I came in from work dripping in beastly sweat and decided to have a nice cleansing cool foam filled bath. I put the shower on to fill the bath, as the hot tap is broken.I set about making my tea. It was just me tonight, with Alan still being away in Yorkshire. With no adult around, I could have whatever I liked without any questions asked. I plumped for 2 of these new cheese and black pepper muffins I had only that evening found in the Sainsbury's. They were very delicious and afterwards I checked on the progress of my bathwater.Imagine my alarm when I discovered that the shower dial was stuck and would not turn off! Water poured out of it like Niagara Falls and I began to panick like a loon. The dial simply would not budge, so I phoned the landlords agent in a desperate attempt to acquire an emergency plumber. There was no answer as it was out of office hours - and there was no emergency number!I put the shower head in the sink so the water had somewhere to go. I then phoned Alan in Yorkshire for advice. He gave me the number of his mate 'Macca' and said I should phone him. Before doing this I decided to call upon one of the neighbours to see if any of them could help me out of my plumbing predicament. I've never spoken to any of them in the whole 9 months I've lived here. Now not only was I speaking to them, but inviting them into my bathroom to inspect my out of control waterworks.It was all too much to take in.The neighbour didn't have a clue what to do so he left and then I called Macca. He said he would be round in 15 minutes, but during the wait, I became very stressed by the sound of the ongoing gushing water and decided to have another go at fixing the shower dial. Using brute force and mind control, I managed to get the dial to turn and stem the gushing tide of aggressive agua.I couldn't believe I had done it. I phoned Macca and thanked him for his offer to come round but told him it was no longer necessary.Finally, after an adrenaline fuelled hour, I was able to take my bath and wash away the grime of the day. I congratulated myself on my ability to stay calm in a crisis and fix problems that I previously thought only men could fix.

Laura and the organised wardrobe

It was disgustingly hot today and so I opted to face up to my chaotic wardrobe rather than brave the scorching sun. If you recall, I lost control of my wardrobe some time ago and had not found sufficient motivation to deal with it. It has been bothering me though. I don't like to complain, with all the poverty,hurricanes,animal cruelty and sexual misconduct in the world, but privately it has been eating me up inside. Everytime I glanced at the heaving piles of miscellaneous outfits it was like a slow death of the soul.It could carry on no longer. I had to formulate a plan. I decided it would be important to isolate the 'work' genre of clothing into its own area. By work attaire, I mean stuff that is not quite as bright,retro and garish as the rest of my clothes. I created a 'work' area in the lilac canvas contraption from the Argos. Impressed at my organisational efforts thus far, I took the bold step of rummaging through my jewellery in order to ascertain if any of it could be classified as 'work' in style. By work jewellery, I mean stuff that is not quite as flamboyant,huge and costume themed as the rest. I could feel my chest swelling with pride as I observed how neat and tidy my new work wardrobe looked.I then decided to tackle the chaos in the 2 main fitted wardrobes. By fitted I mean some hapless DIY enthusiast had gone jigsaw crazy and knocked up a couple of rough wooden shapes with some doors on the front. Doors I might add which do not shut properly, leading to an accumulation of dust upon one's carefully chosen garb.I realised with some concern, that the only way to achieve self actualisation in these wardrobes would be to take everything out, release it of dust and then clean all the coat hangers of dust. This arduous task took several hours and caused much coughing and irritation to my only recently healed tracheal passages. Plus, a wasp flew in one of the wardrobes and refused to come out which added a whole new level of danger to the proceedings.Imagine my alarm when fully ensconced in clothes dusting and wasp avoidance, the heavens opened and a storm broke out. The brief moment of relief I felt at the cleansing air was quickly replaced by blind panic. Great big crashing bangs of thunder bellowed across the sky as a flood of angry rain battered against my double glazing.I did what any self respecting independent post modern feminist woman would do - sent a whimpering text to my boyfriend announcing I was scared. Alan replied immediately with words of comfort, but as he was in Yorkshire, there was little else he could do. To be honest, even if he was here I am not sure there would have been much he could have done. Alan is just as scared of thunder as I am. He is more scared of thunder than he is of spiders and that is saying something. I asked him once why this was so and he said, 'Beacuse you can't hoover thunder up'.I had to take cover under the duvet until the storm passed, wherupon I commenced my wardrobe tidying operation. Eventually,all items of clothing and hangers were dust free. I arranged the 'leisure' section of my remaining clothes into rough categories such as 'skirts/dresses','jeans','funky t-shirts','mad 70's partywear' etc.I pondered the issue of how to avoid the dust coming back. I realised that if I knew the answer to that I would be a millionaire so instead I tried to fix the problem by thinking 'outside the box'. I knew I could never stop the dust, thousands had tried before me and failed at the mercy of this menace to civilisation.I decided to drape large pieces of material over my clothing as it hung. This meant the material would collect the dust, while the clothes underneath would remain sparkling and fragrant. I could then shake the material out in due course, rather than dusting and shaking individual items of clothing.I must admit I was amazed at my own ingenuity. I knew I should have stayed on in education and studied for my PHD in astrophysics.I made the final touches to my wardrobe revamp by arranging my shoes in easy to find, colour coded rows.With a flourish, I stood back and admired the fruits of my labour. I had achieved great things and felt at one with nature and the universe. The insurmountable problem had been tackled and conquered. I was a better person now with a humility and strength inside. I was closer to God. Enlightenment beckoned through the rails of orderly clothes. I now knew the true meaning of life.

Laura and the day out to County Road

Today was a very special day and I am excited to share the details with you. I met with Sarah in the Mocha Lounge cafe and she presented me with a marvellous selection of birthday gift items. It is not my birthday for another week but Sarah is exceptionally efficient. I will describe my gifts via the medium of list format:

One T-shirt with picture of a gurning horse on
2 chocolate bars
Lush solid perfume
Scented candle
Badges with flowers on
Soap in the shape of slices of cake - I asked what would happen if I ate it and was told I would end up with very clean insides
Selection of floral soaps in more traditional square shapes

Not bad at all I'm sure you will agree.After we had lunch we took a number 20 bus to County Rd on an anthrapological fact finding mission. We had been advised by Alan that this region of the city would interest us. We were looking forward to visiting the row of 'mad' shops he had told us about.We knew we had arrived when we spotted a gaunt, blonde streaked woman traipsing along dejectedly in her pyjamas. We alighted the bus and were immediately caught up in the heaving throngs of Saturday shoppers. We were no strangers to squalor, having grown up in Seaforth and Huyton respectively, but things here were taken to a completely new level. Miles and miles of bargain type stores as far as the eye could see. It was hot, humid and nasty. Most people were dressed as though they were on a cheap package holiday in Magaluf. The air hung heavy with a stench that was difficult to define. It had top notes of butter beans and fish, with a musky bottom note of death. We waded through the thick grey atmosphere and had an experimental look in Ethel Austin and then a brief sojourn around Dodo.Sarah declared that she would like to take me to Breck Rd which was 'much worse' so we headed off across Stanley Park, taking care in the grass to avoid dog toffee. It was nice to experience a little green in the heavy mass of derelict buildings. The litter in the lake was also a nice touch. We passed the two football stadiums and then another pyjama clad life form signalled our arrival at Breck Rd. It was difficult to do any shopping in this region as most of the store fronts were boarded up or shuttered down. The only places open were tanning shops and an amusingly titled refreshment establishment called the 'BRECKfast cafe'. It was nice to see that even in such an area of grim poverty, the traditional Liverpool sense of humour was still apparent. There were a couple of other mirthful shops too, the 'Hairs to you' hairdressing salon and a very articulately named sandwich store called 'The Butty Shop'.I was feeling in need of some liquid refreshment after this energetic hike and so suggested we partake of beverage at a greasy spoon type cafe near to the Home Bargains. It had 70's style plastic benches and tables outside and I suggested it would be very cosmopolitan to sit enjoying a drink outside like they do in Paris. Sarah would not allow this to happen and said she would 'rather die'.We went into the Home Bargains and Sarah nearly bought some bird seed but then decided not to so we left empty handed. We were starting to feel suicidal at this point so at the late hour of 3pm, we decided our day out was over and headed back to town.After she had got off the bus and put 2 fingers up to me, I picked up a few bits from the shops, namely a pack of 12 recycled bog rolls, a new foundation made of minerals that Sarah was raving about and a light bulb of 40 watt edison screw design.I arrived home,spent and sated from yet another great day out.

Laura shares her style tips

I have just been watching Sarah's 'Girls Aloud Style' DVD with much interest. I have been a fan of the foxy fivesome for some time now and was eager to see what tips I could pick up from the glamorous girl group.However, all I really managed to learn was that you need a make up artist, stylist and outrageous budget to look that hot. Plus,after hearing them talk at length I began to suspect they were a gang of biffs. After they discussed the success of their various outfits, the blonde one claimed that their black and white phase made them look like they were going for a 'game' of karate. Since when is karate executed in games?This DVD has however inspired me to pull together some of my style and beauty tips for you all. For your comfort and enjoyment, check out some of my best advice:

If a part of your body is causing you distress, wear lots of layers until the part which is causing offence can no longer be seen.
Prioritise make up above breakfast. Make up is essential for the healthy functioning of the human body, wheras food is purely a psychological addiction.
Ignore comments that 'beauty is on the inside'. It very rarely is. If you watch those medical programmes where they cut people open, there is usually only blood and guts and intestines inside which all look horrific.
To create the illusion of constant perfect beauty, never answer the door or leave the house without make up on. Facial nudity is wrong.
Never attempt to undergo any medical procedure involving general anaesthetic without make up. They will peer at your face before you go to theatre and ask suspiciously if you are wearing any, but from my own experience it is possible to be operated on whilst coated in foundation and concealer. If you answer with confidence, this can often fool the medical staff into thinking you were simply born with flawless skin.
Never ruin your outfit by dropping bits of your tea down it. Always tuck in a couple of sheets of kitchen towel to your neckline before dining.I hope these tips can be of help to you all and one day when I am famous I look forward to producing my own style DVD.

Laura and the dull day

'Are you going to write a new blog today?' asked Alan as he left for work this morning.'I don't know', I replied grumpily through my sore throat.'Nothing's happened''Well that doesn't usually stop you!' retorted Alan.He is right. It doesn't usually stop me. But I must admit this is a challenge for any daily blogger, when all one has done is inspect one's infected throat and wonder what all that yellow stuff is on the back of it.I can tell you that an exciting early birthday gift arrived in the post from my maternal parent. Kerry Katona's autobiography no less, which was a welcome thrill in this very dull day. Although I do regard Kezza to be a wretched creature, I am entertained beyond belief by her antics and unfeasibly over dramatic life.I can also tell you that my posterior region is balanced precariously on the horns of a dilemma, as 'Katie and Peter' is not on for the next 3 weeks. I have been pondering what on earth Alan and I will do between the hour of 9pm and 10pm this evening because we watch it every week. I have come up with a series of suggested outcomes and I will let you know tomorrow which one Alan plumped for. During the void I will offer the following options:

Watch something else, either on mainstream or 'catch up' telly
Watch an episode of The OC, from a box set lent to me by one of the students at work
Talk
Do chores ie dishes
Discuss whether we should apply to NASA as the space program is looking for new astronauts

In my considered opinion, I do believe Alan will opt for one of the first 2 options, telly being very close to his heart and space travel being very far away from his heart.

Laura and the carvery debate

I have come down with a throat infection called Tracheaitis and so am languishing at home as I write. I will accept sympathy in any form whether it be cards,flowers,chocolates or simple greeting of hope.It is a very nice day today,although I am not really a fan of such a weather formation. 'Nice days' tend to bring with them many unpleasant consequences such as:

Getting too hot
Getting sweaty
Wasps
Sunburn
People wandering around as though they are on a beach in Bermuda and not on an 82 bus that goes to Garston
People commenting all the time that it is a nice day

Anyway,it is with some luck that I have been stricken with this dreadful infection and do not have to come face to face with the nice day.To take my mind off my sore throat and the nice day, I will tell you about a heated debate that occurred the other night between myself and Alan. He was making a sandwich for his luncheon and I was straightening my frizzy hair. We discussed our love for the carvery and declared how happy we were that there were only 4 days to go before our usual Friday meal. We began to argue over who loved the carvery more. I stated that I loved it more than him and he immediately retaliated that he loved it more than me. Common logic told me we would have to find some way of measuring our love, to decide who loved the carvery more. I asked Alan,'Does the carvery fulfill you in every way?' By every way, I mean emotionally, physically, mentally, spiritually and sexually. He declared that it fulfilled him in all of the above ways and I declared it also fulfilled me in these categories.We had hit a brick wall. I put my mind to work on this vexing problem and decided we should both write a statement declaring our love for the carvery and invite you all, dear Blogger readers, to decide who loves the carvery more. For your comfort and enjoyment, here are our respective mission statements:

Alan: 'Knowing I'll be in the carvery on a Friday afternoon gives a purpose to my life that I didn't think I'd ever discover'

Laura: 'Without the carvery, I might as well be dead'

Who loves the carvery more? You decide.

Laura and the hilarious joke in the Spar

I have to tell you about the hilarious joke I made in the Spar the other night. I will 'set the scene' for you.It was Friday and Alan and I were jubilant that it was the end of the week. We had just enjoyed a delicious and nutritious carvery meal at the Greenhills. I had my usual scrumptious treacle sponge and custard for pudding and Alan had his usual chocolate fudge sensation ice cream. One week he forgot what it was called and asked for a 'chocolate fudge foundation' and then this led on to me calling it a 'BTEC fudge foundation'. I am not sure if this joke will translate onto the pages of facebook or whether you had to 'be there' but anyway, it was hilarious and now I say every week, 'Are you having a BTEC fudge foundation?'Anyway, I digress. We were on our way back to my humble chateau via the Spar. I had to pop in for some basics and I selected bread, crisps and bin bags and took them to the counter.The man on duty must have been in a comedy mood because he said to me, 'I see you are having crisp butties for your tea?'I answered as quick as a flash,'Yes and a bin bag for afters!'He didn't laugh. Clearly, I had won the joke war and he must step down and let me claim my title. He looked really annoyed as he packed my 3 items into a carrier bag and I could only conclude he was a very sore loser.I couldn't stop laughing at my own joke all the way down Garston Old Road. Alan found the joke amusing for a short while and then begged me to stop as my raucous laughter was causing me to have embarrassing convulsions in the street.'I can't help it!' I pleaded through helpless laughter.'I'm just too funny!'I think it is important to always be a big fan of your own jokes

Laura and the mystery visitor

I was really busy watching the telly box this weekend when somebody actually knocked on my front door! I couldn't believe it. Most people I know have learned not to do this so I was at a loss as to who it could be. At the precise moment of the knocking, I was clad in red Asda pyjama bottoms, a scruffy top and tatty slippers, which used to be cream until an altercation with the washing machine turned them pink. I was wearing only basic make up rations and it had not been touched up for several hours.I did what any normal person would do in this situation. I turned off the telly box and snuck along the couch to the corner, where I would be hidden from view if the mystery visitor decided to look through the window. I curled up as tightly as I could manage and tried not to breathe. I waited a good 5 minutes in this uncomfortable position and luckily there was no repeat knocking.I decided it was safe to come out and carefully manouvred myself back into my original position on the couch. There were sounds of car doors opening and I nervously glanced over towards the window, but it seems I had survived the knocking.Honestly, people knocking on the door, whatever next! I spent the rest of the evening wondering who the hell it had been. I could hardly text people saying 'did you knock on my door today?', without revealing my highly unsociable and rude tendencies. I decided it must have been someone from the 'casual friend/acquaintance' category, so I sent out an exploratory 'hi, how are you, haven't heard from you for ages' text to who I thought was the most likely culprit.It did not seem that I had been right and don't suppose I will ever find out who it was that knocked on my door.

Laura thinks business

I was watching The Apprentice the other night with Alan, when they all had to pitch ideas for greetings cards. It occured to me during my viewing that I had more business acumen than all of the contestants,Sir Alan Sugar and his 2 assistants put together! Everyone in that boardroom had overlooked some crucial gaps in the market, cardwise. Thus, I present to you the following ingenious pitches...

'With Deepest Sympathy that your primary bath mat came out of the wash all creased''

'Congratulations on your painting full of visual stimuli that does not just depict sea, but boats, lighthouses and sharks''

So sorry you had to go to Vauxhall Rd for work on Thursday'

I am sending my ideas to Clinton Cards in due course. With regard to the latter card suggestion, I am still deeply traumatised from having to visit the aforementioned Vauxhall Rd region. I am no stranger to the ghetto, having grown up in Huyton,but this place sinks to new levels of guttural prehistoric depravity. If you have never been, it is like the Bronx, but not as glamorous. Everyone calls everyone else 'lad', even if they are girls, although admittedly the fairer sex is few and far between in this testosterone filled landscape.The swaggering youths who inhibit the environs are decked out in a uniform of either boiler suit or lacoste trackie. I stood out in my bright yellow Primark top and 3 tiered shot silk blue Topshop skirt,both set off to perfection by a pair of navy tights.The only saving grace about this trip was that I could pay a visit to my beloved Alan, who in order to pay his rent is forced to incarcerate himself in the library there. I exchanged pleasant conversation with Louise also and they both told me of their exciting day ahead sensitising books and 'reading'shelves. This is library techno speak for simply tidying the books up. Fascinating stuff. I didn't actually see anyone borrow a book while I was there but I am sure it must go on. To finish today's business themed entry, I can tell you that when I arrived at my desk at work on Friday, I was astonished to find 2 packs of business cards had been left for me! Finally I have arrived in the world and can be classed as an important human being. I immediately gave one out to everyone in the office. Nobody accepted my offer of a signed card. Such fools, it is their loss as they will be worth a fortune one day.

Laura and the cultural behaviour

For your collective comfort and enjoyment and in the interests of health and safety, I have decided to continue on with my online journal. I have been very cultural the last few days and feel I would like to share the details of this. It is not often I engage in cultural pursuits. More often than not, I can be found with my head in a 'Heat' magazine, or drooling over some wretched American models doing fierce walks down the runway. But believe it or not,in the space of one day, I visited an art gallery,and the Fact cinema TWICE.Admittedly, the art exhibition was a work trip. But I was in there nonetheless and was immediately taken by an interesting sculptural piece, triangular in design, yellow in colour and bearing the words 'caution - wet floor'. It was accompanied by a bowl of murky looking water and if one looked heavenwards, there were some fascinating circular psychedelic stains on the ceiling. I marvelled at the post modern humour of the exhibit, which to me was much more resonant than purely contemporary art. Moving on, I noticed my colleague studying a picture of some sea. She invited me to share in the beauty and simplicity of the piece, however I became bored by it on contact. I don't know about you, but I demand more visual stimuli from my art than just a plain expanse of sea. I suggested that it needed something else in it to 'beef it up', such as a boat, lighthouse or shark. Luckily, I spotted a comments book and was able to voice my concerns on paper. Hopefully, these will be passed onto the artist and they can then incorporate some of my suggestions next time. It is important to respond to market research I feel.I saw a short film and a long film at the fact. The short one was called 'Eternal Youth' and whilst it depicted stunning cinematograhpy, it was far too scary and I had to keep looking away. It was also full of loud bangs and so it is difficult to make a full evaluation of its creative merit when you have had your hands over your eyes and ears for most of it.The long film was 'happy go lucky', wasn't bad at all really. Special commendation has to go to the wardrobe department for their dedication and commitment in ensuring the protaganist wore a full range of exciting lacy tights throughout the film.Note to self: check out lacy tights in John Lewis.So that's all the cultural stuff for now, and probably the rest of the year. My primary bath mat is out of the wash and dry. But horror of horrors - it is full of creases!I cannot imagine in my wildest dreams putting it on the floor like that, yet I feel that ironing it would be unspeakably sad. I have folded it and put it on top of some tins of paint in the cupboard until I can figure out a solution to this vexing problem.Through discussion of my bath mat in this journal, it has come to light that my dear friend Jeni does not even own one! I could hardly believe it was true, although this does now solve the problem of what I should buy for her birthday.

Laura and the online blog

I have decided to keep an online journal in the hope that it will make my life seem more interesting. It is not interesting at all to actually live my life, in fact it is tedious beyond belief.Perhaps that is not strictly true. For instance, this weekend I indulged in some very exciting pursuits. On Saturday, Sarah and I visited the thriving and heaving metropolis of Belle Vale. We took a 79 bus to the shopping centre and stood outside marvelling at the grotesque architecture and crudely fashioned graffiti adorning the walls. Sarah took a picture to send to Mike and then we entered via the medium of a steep ramp to come face to face with a teeming mass of cut price bargain type shops. Our first port of call was the hospice shop,however the dense, coagulated aroma of BO drove us out after only a quick rummage through the rails.We decided to traverse the length of the establishment before committing ourselves to any more stores. I could feel a deep suicidal depression coming over me as we passed pound shop after pound shop and a stall that sold Egyptian style miniature mummified bodies. We came to a shop called 'Just Beds', but it also sold wardrobes and chests of drawers so the title was clearly a blatant lie as well as being very confusing and misleading.We decided to leave after 20 minutes, only stopping off briefly in 'Pound World', so that I could purchase a giant bar of mint aero and bag of sweets in an attempt to balance my brain chemistry into a somewhat normal range.We studied the bus timetable and decided to go to the Allerton Rd region except we got on the wrong bus and ended up at South Parkway bus station. Neither of us had ever been here before and were quite taken with how quiet and well lit it was. It was stocked with a range of full colour exciting leaflets advertising exciting and fabulous things to do in the North West region. We selected several each and sat reading them and watching buses arrive and depart. After we had had our fill of this activity we decided to go home as it was 3pm and we had experienced such a full day of high octane action.We got the Southport train and I got off at Cressy and Sarah carried on to her homeward bound station of Birkdale.My Sunday was even more exciting. I did some ironing and cut my nails and then cleaned the bathroom ( including washing bathmat ). You may be wondering what I was going to use for a bathmat if mine was in the wash, well I'll tell you. I had cleverly had the presence of mind to purchase a second bathmat from the Matalan sale, so that when my primary bathmat was in the wash I could call upon the services of the secondary one. I do feel it is important in life to always have a fully functioning bathmat at my disposal. I could never imagine anything as crude as throwing a towel down on the floor, or stepping onto wet lino.I also began the arduous task of organising my wardrobe. I am ashamed to say it but I have completely lost control in this area. I got bored of this task very quickly though and have put it on a back burner for the bank holiday weekend.Then Alan came round and we watched Kerry Katona give birth on the telly box and then I went to bed.