Hairdresser

Went to the hairdresser today.

“I don’t mean to be rude, and I’m sure you know what you’re doing, but my hair has A LOT of red in it.”

“Don’t worry, luv.”

“But but but… I mean there is A LOT of red in my natural hair. And if you mix it with the wrong dye it turns ginge.”

“It’s alright, luv.”

“So you’ll make sure it looks good?”

“Certainly, luv. I work with hair all day, every day.”

“Oh… alright then. Thanks.”

Two hours later this happened….

Then this…

And finally this…

And I paid £200 for the pleasure.

The Horror of London Trains

They told me the London tube would be gross. I admit, I didn't really comprehend this until I observed the following:

- The old dude with the black fungus-infested fingernails gripping the pole just before I was about to use it for balance. A moment of shock ensued before I decided to just brave the rickety train sans-balance utensil and hope I didn't crash into the woman with the buggy.

- The high school girl who picked her nose for no joke, a minimum of five minutes, before opening a packet of Walkers and eating the entire packet. Then licking her fingers to clean out the bottom of the bag. Mmm. Salty goodness.

- The young dude who sneezed disease into my eye.

- The dog that did a crap in the middle of the carriage. The owner didn't pick it up, instead alighted at the next available station.

And that was just this week.

I mean... I just... Sigh.

Ode To Curry

Oh little curry
Your are so lovely
In my tummy
Yummy yummy

Barry Biscuit Boy

There's no sugar coating the issue - the new Cravendale ad scares the living shit outta me.



 The Biscuit kid creaks when he walks. Like Chucky.



He races through a forest, a forest that's ALIVE WITH SCARY THINGS! Look, just look at this!



If that's not the face of one of your worst nightmares, than you're obviously really cool and brave because running through this natural world documentary is my very definition of nightmare. That and spiders.

Then Biscuit Boy's head melts off, just like creepy torture Nazi in Indiana Jones.



As a side note, isn't is a bit odd that what was supposed to be a fun-filled, family-friendly action-adventure became a childhood defining test of movie-watching manhood (or womanhood as the case may be). Did you have the balls to you keep your eyes open while they opened the ark? Being four years old at the time I was an idiot and didn't really know what I was getting myself in for. I watched the scene and assumed I'd suffer the same fate as the Nazis. I endured a panic-stricken night of horrors where I imagined a bunch of slow-motion Commandment ghosts melting my face and exploding it for good measure.



But back to Barry Biscuit Boy. The scene where he walks back, headless, is wa-hay too much like Sleepy Hollow for my liking.



(Another side note: Disney's version of the Headless Horseman also scared the pants off me. That kinda stuff is not appropriate for four year olds, it's just not. Hell, I was scared in Cinderella when the cat was stalking the mice, I kept screaming "Hurry mouses, hurry or the cat will eat you, HUUUURRRRRYYYYYYYY!" Can you imagine what I was like after I watched the Headless Horseman or worse, Night on Bald Mountain from Fantasia? Not even the fucking flying hippos could emerge me from my state of catatonic terror)

But back to the Biscuit again. This ad is creepy as hell. The only good thing about it? It gave me epic biscuit-cravings, which have now been satisfied.

Ginger Dingo

So. Got woken at ridiculous o’clock by an utterly horrific sound, like someone being sodomised by a gorilla.





Turned out it was only a fox. A fox looking for friends.





























Just as I was about to run outside with a bloody chainsaw, he stopped. Watching him scuttle off, probably to go eat some trash, I saw he was limping heavily, and my heart broke. Our resident fox (who I decided to name Nigel) was not only mentally retarded (because why else would he be yelling for friends who clearly weren't coming?) but also physical disabled and friendless.

I didn't have any friends growing up either (I've always lacked the social skills to interact successfully with other girls).





So I felt like I understood Nigel. We were compatriots in our loserness. I decided I’d be more lenient in future, should he ever return.

He came back the next night.

And the following.

And the following… In the end I couldn’t take it anymore and I did something I'm not very proud of. The Aussie bogan came out,

"GET OFF IT YOU BLOODY GINGER DINGO!"

He didn't come back, and now I kinda miss him.

Flying

I have rotten luck with flights. It's always something. The guy who throws up his thirteenth tequila a splash away from my shoes (gee, thanks cabin crew for monitoring his intake... not). The kid who keeps kicking my seat (no that's fine, my spine will recover). The guy who farted in the toilet (or worse) with the smell wafting through the cabin like an epilogue from A Nightmare on Blue Cheese and Decomposing Road Cat Street.

The fat guy. Need I say more.

The guy sitting at the window with a grin on his face. You make eye contact as you sit down in the middle seat. He says, "I always find flights go faster when you're speaking with someone." You smile politely. And that's game over, GAME OVER MAN! You are just a helpless passenger in your trapped body, strapped in, being forced to listen to this guy talk about his dry wall business for four hours. God I hate that guy. Please don't ever be that guy.

The lack of legroom. I'm an average sized girl. You'd think I could fit into the seat without breaking my kneecaps. WRONG!

But the worst thing? This…

Night Shift

Had to do a few night shifts recently. It was a lot more challenging than I’d anticipated. Challenging in a lifestyle sense (“That fifth Mars Bar might get me through… and if it doesn’t, the Red Bull, coffee, Coke and crisps should do the trick”), challenging in a scary horrible emotional sense. As I found out, night shift forces one to experience the entire wrath of the negative emotions spectrum.











These translated roughly to the following at home: