Playing the fool

I've just spent my lunch hour looking through old photos. I have but one conclusion. I am a fool.


Exhibit A: Smoking cigars whilst seemingly not wearing any make up and being approximately 3 stone heavier than I am now. Don't I look please with myself though.

Tribeca, Manchester - 2007

Exhibit B: The infamous 'snarl' picture. No, I don't know what I'm doing either. But how we laughed.

Lake District - 2008

Exhibit C: Posing with a bottle of Blue Nun at Glastonbury. Bought as an homage to Sir Alan of Partridge.

Glastonbury Festival, 2008

Exhibit D: Dressing up as Mikhail Gorbachev for an A-Level History revision weekend in Anglesey. We had to dress as a historical figure. Most of the girls went as Jackie O. I went as Gorby and my friend Emma went as Gandhi. We did it for the bald wigs alone.

2000?

Exhibit E: Mimicking a bust in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in NYC. Note the wrinkled chin and ridiculous expression. Again, I'm really rather pleased with myself here.

The Met - April 2009

Exhibit F: Dressing as the bearded lady for a circus themed birthday party. I am sans beard here though, it was just too darn itchy.

Manchester - April 2009

Get shaky (face)

Oh Ferris, I heart thee

As it's yet another cold and rainy day here in the North of England, I think it's time for a little list of things that are currently delighting my face and keeping me warm and chuckly despite the grey...

• The Fat Man Can Can. I wouldn't click on that if you're easily offended or at work but it made me guffaw this morning whilst browsing the b3ta newsletter.
  
• Tape Yourself. This is almost on a par with shaky face in terms of sheer puerile enjoyment for me. See evidence of me doing a shaky face at Bloom Festival last year below. I've had various comments on this picture, the most complimentary being that I look like Mangalore from the 5th Element.
  

Well fit.

• Uncomfortable plot summaries. I particularly enjoy the ones for Ferris Bueller and the Alien films.
• How to be an awesome girlfriend like Sloane Peterson. More Ferris Bueller. I'm having a mini revival. "Anyone?... Anyone?..."
  
• A time lapse video of the Milky Way. This is amazing and reminds me of of the show me and C saw at the Hayden Planetarium in New York. Happy days.
• Miscellaneous other things include curry and drinks with work ladies later (the costs sisterhood, hell yes), wedding next weekend in Bath, plans taking shape, lemon and ginger tea at my desk in the morning, Sainsbury's mini cooking chorizo - fat little bundles of sausagey wonderment, wasabi peas, the return of Strictly Come Dancing and, with it, Alesha Dizon's joyous laugh and Green & Black's cherry chocolate...

Happy Saturday, everyone!

Fall-ing

Tick tock, tick tock...


The nights are drawing in, it's getting colder, it hasn't stopped raining in what feels like forever. Gone are my flip flops (not that it was ever really warm enough to wear them, I'm just the queen of inappropriate footwear) and back are the stompy winter boots that I wear from September through to March. Dreams of ice lollies and cold sauvignon blanc are replaced by ones of a warming shiraz and Lancashire hotpot served with pickled onions and red cabbage.

Although I love summer with its seemingly endless days, its festivals and its sunshine (well the two minutes we get a year anyway), I'm always thankful when September rolls around. I love autumn. To me it feels like a season made for change. With the changing of the leaves comes a feeling that anything is possible.

I'm in a reflective mood today. It's been a tough week at work and the next lot of chemotherapy is looming large. But it's Friday night and I've got a large glass of red wine in my hand, a hot bath about to be run and a new episode of Rebus to watch.

Ahh, hello autumn.

Turning the corner

I'm posting over here today. Go, read!


"I love you through sparks and shining dragons, I do,
Now there's poetry in an empty coke can.
I love you through sparks and shining dragons, I do,
Now there's majesty in a burnt out caravan.

You got me off the paper-round,
Just sprang out of the air.
The best things come from nowhere,
I love you I don't think you care.

I love you through sparks and shining dragons, I do,
And the symmetry in your northern grin.
I love you through sparks and shining dragons, I do,
I can see myself in the refill litterbin.

You got me off the sofa,
Just sprang out of the air.
The best things come from nowhere,
I can't believe you care."


Ah, Guillemots, you get me every time...

We are (not) raving...

Time to hang them up?

I am old.


I don't mean in terms of my actual age. I'm 27. That's not really old at all. Plus, I still get asked for ID literally every time I try and buy alcohol (I got asked when I was trying to buy an 18 rated DVD recently too. Fail). I think my face is actually defying the aging process as I used to get into nightclubs without ID when I was 15. Now I can't so much as buy a bottle of wine in Spar without getting asked. Me and C were actually the peter pan and tinkerbell of all couples, 27 and 31 respectively, yet getting away with student fare on the buses and having to prove our ages in Asda.

No, I'm not old in terms of years on the planet.

I'm old in terms of how utterly incapable I am now of coping with more than one night out in a weekend. Even one night out is pushing it to be honest. I used to be a fairly stamina-tastic party goer. I've lost count of the number of times that I got in from a night out, had a quick shower and then went straight to work. No sleep required. The number of times I've been in a club till 7am and then emerged bleary-eyed and blinking into the morning sun. The many times we'd get home, crack open the wine and spend the day staving off a hangover by simply not stopping, eventually going to bed at least 36 hours after we last slept.

Not any more.

Over the last year or so I've become too old for the getting messy, out till 8am, up all night and all the next day malarkey. I'm in bed for 10pm Sunday-Thursday. If I'm not out on Friday night I'll be in bed for about 10pm too, exhausted from a week at work. And, on nights out, even if I do manage to stay out past 2am, it's just generally not as much.... fun as it used to be. I no longer have the insatiable desire to rave it up until the small hours every weekend. Occasionally I still love a big night out, the getting ready, the putting music on, the pre-going out drinks. Just not all the time. I'd rather go for a nice dinner, have a bottle or two of wine and watch a film.

A year or two ago, I was always looking for the next night out, always looking at DJ lineups, constantly looking for the next party. I just don't have the desire or inclination to do that anymore. I think I've lost my party gene.

Or maybe, just maybe, I'm actually growing up.


Terrifying.


Disclaimer: This post was brought to you by the second day of a stonking hangover, tiredness and a banging headache. Let's see how I feel on Saturday morning before I hang up my glowsticks for good.