We arrived back on Friday afternoon and after a swift drive from the airport to our sunny house in Surrey the unpacking began- sunny in a very English and rainy sense of the word.
I then spent saturday, sunday and monday back in the role of supervisor in Reigate and all memories of sun, sea and sand rapidly disappeared along with my tan.
Today was the first time I was able to sit back and have a proper look at the photos. This probably isn't the best time to have a moan about facebook and their ever increasing 'photo uploading' time. But what I will say is six hours and several cups of tea later, my bum had left me and I had seen an awful lot of sunset photos.
It was lovely to get away and I hadn't realised how cluttered my thoughts had been recently, bordering on dangerous that's for sure.
So with some 375 photos, a few very impressive tan lines and a taste for travel, I begin settling back into retail routine and life as a graduate.
Roll on August when 14 of us take to France with four cars, two boats and what I fear may be an awful lot of onions!
Tuesday 28 June 2011
Friday 24 June 2011
Day Six: Greek participation
As is customary in all hotels the night time entertainment is not only provided but generally shunned as well. Maybe us Brits have come to expect too much on the entertainment front or maybe cabaret acts have all but had their day.
Last night we were lucky enough to witness our third Greek dancing act. Mum and I had previously seen the dancers earlier in the week, and after an embarrassing dragging on stage and horrific attempt at their national dancers we thought we were safe.
The dancers were not bad- I like to think that with my history of dancing I can distinguish between talent and the cause of Simon Cowell's next culinary heart attack.
It was probably the lead male dancer coming up to Mum and I after the show on the first night and attempting to Chat us up that was a tad unprofessional. I think it was his repetition of the words "I like rich woman" (his english wasn't the Queen's) whilst contently ogling Mums boobs that almost made me fall off the stall in a fit of giggles.
But like all females we managed to get control of the situation and our plan of escape was flawless: "We're lovers" we told him. The response we were after was a nod, him walking off, accepting defeat and understanding he had no chance.
Sadly the response we got was a colossal grin, further more ogling and a serious invasion of personal space. He also put his stool leg on my foot, but having already stood on my foot twice whilst dancing I was able to overlook this!
So when last night rolled up and the dancers took centre stage you can imagine Mum and my excitement- I knew I should have worn boots on my feet.
It was a lovely evening a BBQ by the sea, fairy lights, bunting (Another British trait. Why do we love bunting?) Ouzo and Greek dancing.
I was half way through a glass of white wine and mid conversation when I felt my hand tugged, and before I knew it I was on stage forcefully demonstrating my natural flare for all things Greek, again. I think this is called victimisation?!
The only difference was this time my participation involved dancing around fire and happy holiday goers throwing plates at the dancers. I was going to die!
Thankfully it was around this time that our camera ran out of battery, there clearly is a higher power.
After I had played with fire, literally, and retrieved my dignity (thankfully with my feet still intact) we were able to sit back and enjoy the rest of our night.
Maybe next time we should venture to a destination where they don't dance...
Last night we were lucky enough to witness our third Greek dancing act. Mum and I had previously seen the dancers earlier in the week, and after an embarrassing dragging on stage and horrific attempt at their national dancers we thought we were safe.
The dancers were not bad- I like to think that with my history of dancing I can distinguish between talent and the cause of Simon Cowell's next culinary heart attack.
It was probably the lead male dancer coming up to Mum and I after the show on the first night and attempting to Chat us up that was a tad unprofessional. I think it was his repetition of the words "I like rich woman" (his english wasn't the Queen's) whilst contently ogling Mums boobs that almost made me fall off the stall in a fit of giggles.
But like all females we managed to get control of the situation and our plan of escape was flawless: "We're lovers" we told him. The response we were after was a nod, him walking off, accepting defeat and understanding he had no chance.
Sadly the response we got was a colossal grin, further more ogling and a serious invasion of personal space. He also put his stool leg on my foot, but having already stood on my foot twice whilst dancing I was able to overlook this!
So when last night rolled up and the dancers took centre stage you can imagine Mum and my excitement- I knew I should have worn boots on my feet.
It was a lovely evening a BBQ by the sea, fairy lights, bunting (Another British trait. Why do we love bunting?) Ouzo and Greek dancing.
I was half way through a glass of white wine and mid conversation when I felt my hand tugged, and before I knew it I was on stage forcefully demonstrating my natural flare for all things Greek, again. I think this is called victimisation?!
The only difference was this time my participation involved dancing around fire and happy holiday goers throwing plates at the dancers. I was going to die!
Thankfully it was around this time that our camera ran out of battery, there clearly is a higher power.
After I had played with fire, literally, and retrieved my dignity (thankfully with my feet still intact) we were able to sit back and enjoy the rest of our night.
Maybe next time we should venture to a destination where they don't dance...
Wednesday 22 June 2011
The climb
Good morning world, thought I would add a blog in-between the daily ones, partly to prove that Mum and I have been experiencing some of Corfu's culture and partly to prove we've not just been tanning/ burning and drinking cocktails for the past five days.
Yesterday we toddled in to Corfu town, some how managing to conquer their bus system, arrive at our desired destination and leave in one piece.
However, what Mum had failed to mention to me was the gigantic lighthouse she planned to climb once we got there.
I use the word 'gigantic' purely because it wasn't until we reached the bottom that the sentence: "We probably should have got a guide book" was ushered by Mum. Therefore it was a gigantic climb and as I'm not 100% sure the actual distance in height so 'gigantic' will do for now.
If Dad had been with us he would have insisted we got a guide book and done things properly. As it was just Mum and I we played the tourist card to the maximum taking a ridiculous amount of photos and oooing and ahhing at the views as we snaked up the hill.
The views from the top of the lighthouse were fantastic and as a camera enthusiast I was furthermore kicking myself for leaving my SLR at home.
I could describe the view from peak, over the ocean, the teal reflections and general allurement of what we were looking at but I don't think I could do it justice.
After our hike we played hide and seek in the never-ending corridors of streets, munched our way through a packet of limoncello flavoured turkish delight, grabbed two tubs of ice cream and headed to the bus stop and back to Dassia.
Normally I'm a sucker for historic monuments abroad- not a lot will beat crawling on my hands and knees through the pyramids of Giza- but at least we got to see a little piece of Corfu.
The town was lovely, but it is a shame we didn't really have the opportunity to get lost and discover the country outside of its tourist attractions.
Yesterday we toddled in to Corfu town, some how managing to conquer their bus system, arrive at our desired destination and leave in one piece.
However, what Mum had failed to mention to me was the gigantic lighthouse she planned to climb once we got there.
I use the word 'gigantic' purely because it wasn't until we reached the bottom that the sentence: "We probably should have got a guide book" was ushered by Mum. Therefore it was a gigantic climb and as I'm not 100% sure the actual distance in height so 'gigantic' will do for now.
If Dad had been with us he would have insisted we got a guide book and done things properly. As it was just Mum and I we played the tourist card to the maximum taking a ridiculous amount of photos and oooing and ahhing at the views as we snaked up the hill.
The views from the top of the lighthouse were fantastic and as a camera enthusiast I was furthermore kicking myself for leaving my SLR at home.
I could describe the view from peak, over the ocean, the teal reflections and general allurement of what we were looking at but I don't think I could do it justice.
After our hike we played hide and seek in the never-ending corridors of streets, munched our way through a packet of limoncello flavoured turkish delight, grabbed two tubs of ice cream and headed to the bus stop and back to Dassia.
Normally I'm a sucker for historic monuments abroad- not a lot will beat crawling on my hands and knees through the pyramids of Giza- but at least we got to see a little piece of Corfu.
The town was lovely, but it is a shame we didn't really have the opportunity to get lost and discover the country outside of its tourist attractions.
Tuesday 21 June 2011
Day Five: Burnt
Sun tan lotion and holidays go hand in hand like cocktails and cocktail umbrellas, left shoes and right shoes and newly formed couples.
However, it will always puzzle me that no matter how much lotion you apply you are guaranteed to burn at least one part of your body.
As I type this blog I am currently nursing a burnt ear, two feet (both my own) and a pair of elbows (also belonging to me). Call me Charlie but the above body parts are not normally first on the list of anatomy to brun!
When my brother and I were kids I remember being constantly drenched in sun tan lotion and to the point where we resembled a couple of arctic creatures as opposed to children on a family holiday.
This importance of lotioning up has stuck with me throughout adulthood and my own children will become little lotion monsters too, so it remains a mystery as to why I have fallen victim to burnt skin.
On a positive note at least it's not the soles of my feet that caught the brunt of the sun- that would take some very special tanning skills!
Thankfully I've been blessed with the ability to tan very easily, this is something that the recessive ginger gene in my body is not a fan of.
So that's another reason why I'm baffled by this burntness and I'm refusing to let Corfu ruin my 22 years on non-burning.
Corfu may have distorted my speedo innocence, it may have throw numerous boobs at me (and a few male Greek dancers. Mum and I had to pretend we were lovers and than ran off- but that's another story) but I will not be beaten by a few frazzled body parts!
However, it will always puzzle me that no matter how much lotion you apply you are guaranteed to burn at least one part of your body.
As I type this blog I am currently nursing a burnt ear, two feet (both my own) and a pair of elbows (also belonging to me). Call me Charlie but the above body parts are not normally first on the list of anatomy to brun!
When my brother and I were kids I remember being constantly drenched in sun tan lotion and to the point where we resembled a couple of arctic creatures as opposed to children on a family holiday.
This importance of lotioning up has stuck with me throughout adulthood and my own children will become little lotion monsters too, so it remains a mystery as to why I have fallen victim to burnt skin.
On a positive note at least it's not the soles of my feet that caught the brunt of the sun- that would take some very special tanning skills!
Thankfully I've been blessed with the ability to tan very easily, this is something that the recessive ginger gene in my body is not a fan of.
So that's another reason why I'm baffled by this burntness and I'm refusing to let Corfu ruin my 22 years on non-burning.
Corfu may have distorted my speedo innocence, it may have throw numerous boobs at me (and a few male Greek dancers. Mum and I had to pretend we were lovers and than ran off- but that's another story) but I will not be beaten by a few frazzled body parts!
Monday 20 June 2011
Day three/ four: Books
I am the worst type of reader. I don't read continuously (not the best when you consider I have a degree in English lit) but when I do pick up a book I cannot put it down till the back cover is closed. This is normally fine unless you find yourself with four days of sunbathing to go and no more books to read!
I've just finished a beautiful novel by Victoria Connelly called 'The Perfect Hero'. Unsurprisingly it tells the story of a man and women who fall in love and their destiny is saved at the last minute when she realises he is her perfect man after all and she has fallen hook, line and sinker for him- already the book has a fantastic plot. Then throw in a million and one references to Jane Austen's 'Persuasion' and you can see why 48 hours later I am now bookless.
I bought my first Victoria Connelly novel back in January, another Austen themed read, and I couldn't put that one down either. It was called 'A weekend with Mr. Darcy' no prizes for the Austen novel this book was based upon!
Sadly she is quite a new author in the british seas so I will have to wait till July 2012 for my next instalment of Connelly's work. It's probably a good thing as too much fictional reading on heros, handsome men and old fashioned courting cannot be good for an already romantic brain.
I've just finished a beautiful novel by Victoria Connelly called 'The Perfect Hero'. Unsurprisingly it tells the story of a man and women who fall in love and their destiny is saved at the last minute when she realises he is her perfect man after all and she has fallen hook, line and sinker for him- already the book has a fantastic plot. Then throw in a million and one references to Jane Austen's 'Persuasion' and you can see why 48 hours later I am now bookless.
I bought my first Victoria Connelly novel back in January, another Austen themed read, and I couldn't put that one down either. It was called 'A weekend with Mr. Darcy' no prizes for the Austen novel this book was based upon!
Sadly she is quite a new author in the british seas so I will have to wait till July 2012 for my next instalment of Connelly's work. It's probably a good thing as too much fictional reading on heros, handsome men and old fashioned courting cannot be good for an already romantic brain.
Saturday 18 June 2011
Day two.
Maybe its my middle-class upbringing or my love for manly men but there is one item of clothing that sends shivers down my spine and puts fear in my heart: speedos.
Now I will accept that some women love men in banana hammocks- let's not forget Freddie Ljungberg's CK tighty whities- but is there a more undesirable sight?
We have been here for 30 hours now and it is total bliss. However, I have come to one conclusion: everywhere you look there are men in speedos. In short Mum and I left the UK and vacated to budgie smuggler heaven!
But you may be thinking: 'If that's the worst of your problems why are you complaining and secondly stop starring at old men!" but there's more...
Whilst averting my eyes from the above you also have watch out for the old topless women.
Now this is also a holiday norm for most women and there's nothing wrong with it- after my brief boobage escape yesterday I'm practically one of the team.
But the sight of another woman makes me realise just how shy and reserved I really am. Maybe tomorrow I shall set the beasts free and take on the world...even though knowing my luck I'd probably end up with my bikini top wrapped around my head, trip over and land head first in some unexpecting pair of dong definers.
Now I will accept that some women love men in banana hammocks- let's not forget Freddie Ljungberg's CK tighty whities- but is there a more undesirable sight?
We have been here for 30 hours now and it is total bliss. However, I have come to one conclusion: everywhere you look there are men in speedos. In short Mum and I left the UK and vacated to budgie smuggler heaven!
But you may be thinking: 'If that's the worst of your problems why are you complaining and secondly stop starring at old men!" but there's more...
Whilst averting my eyes from the above you also have watch out for the old topless women.
Now this is also a holiday norm for most women and there's nothing wrong with it- after my brief boobage escape yesterday I'm practically one of the team.
But the sight of another woman makes me realise just how shy and reserved I really am. Maybe tomorrow I shall set the beasts free and take on the world...even though knowing my luck I'd probably end up with my bikini top wrapped around my head, trip over and land head first in some unexpecting pair of dong definers.
Friday 17 June 2011
Bodily harn
It's official, my bikini hates me...just flashed half the beach including the 17 year-old male bar tender.
Miss Coussens 0: devil bikini and corrupted boobs 1.
Miss Coussens 0: devil bikini and corrupted boobs 1.
Greetings from Corfu
Hello and welcome to Corfu!
Mum and I have been here for three hours so far and all is well. The average age is 50+, I have been winked at by an old wrinkly and just walked past a false leg.
Sipping on an ice coffee, gazing out onto the ocean. So far so good!
Mum and I have been here for three hours so far and all is well. The average age is 50+, I have been winked at by an old wrinkly and just walked past a false leg.
Sipping on an ice coffee, gazing out onto the ocean. So far so good!
Thursday 16 June 2011
Creativity
I’ve been feeling a tad creative hence the design changes. The photo in the background- that has quite literally taken over-was taken by me six years ago on a very misty morning in a notorious part of Surrey. This is one of my favourite photos I have ever taken, it was not touched by photoshop and was taken with a click of the button on my 1968 Chinon CS (that’s my SLR to all you non-camera folk).
The aim is to include more photos into these blogs, spice it up a little, add some shades of black and white to these pages.
As for now I am off to pack my suitcase for a trip to Corfu with my lover...haha. If I had a lover I would have nothing to write about.
The aim is to include more photos into these blogs, spice it up a little, add some shades of black and white to these pages.
As for now I am off to pack my suitcase for a trip to Corfu with my lover...haha. If I had a lover I would have nothing to write about.
Out of the box
Some songs trigger memories and others arouse emotion. With or without you by U2 is one such song that makes my body numb. One day I will not listen to the lyrics word-by-word or think back to that crematorium that urge to run from my seat, drag back that curtain and erase that wooden coffin.
---
Sometimes in the dark your mind can wonder and as the night closes in the terrors appear. The terrors seep out from your subconscious and suffocate you in a transition from adult to child.
A simple cry is masculine and an uncontrollable emotion vociferates from within.
Selfishness dominates. Why did you leave me? Why didn’t you tell me? Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Whatever happened to you?
You were the one who brought us all together and like Pritt stick you stuck it out. You made us weep and you made us smile, and written in a blog you improved my mood for a while.
So no more tears and no more mess, apologies you never saw me out of my ...
See right now you’ve got me smiling and on a quick change of subject my nails need filing.
So without much ado I bid you goodnight, please don’t watch while I sleep it will give you a fright.
I would say “We’ll be seeing you” but we know that’s not true, we’ll all get through this together and it’s all because of you.
---
It almost seems wrong to turn such strong emotion into literature, even if writers have been doing it for centuries.
It is tipping it down with rain as I write this, how’s that for pathetic fallacy!
---
Sometimes in the dark your mind can wonder and as the night closes in the terrors appear. The terrors seep out from your subconscious and suffocate you in a transition from adult to child.
A simple cry is masculine and an uncontrollable emotion vociferates from within.
Selfishness dominates. Why did you leave me? Why didn’t you tell me? Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Whatever happened to you?
You were the one who brought us all together and like Pritt stick you stuck it out. You made us weep and you made us smile, and written in a blog you improved my mood for a while.
So no more tears and no more mess, apologies you never saw me out of my ...
See right now you’ve got me smiling and on a quick change of subject my nails need filing.
So without much ado I bid you goodnight, please don’t watch while I sleep it will give you a fright.
I would say “We’ll be seeing you” but we know that’s not true, we’ll all get through this together and it’s all because of you.
---
It almost seems wrong to turn such strong emotion into literature, even if writers have been doing it for centuries.
It is tipping it down with rain as I write this, how’s that for pathetic fallacy!
Sunday 12 June 2011
Ducking around
Hmmm what to write about? I'm in the mood to write, so the best thing to do would be to write. Right?
Today I popped to Oxford to see Becky poos (Old housemate and culinary expert.) I wish I knew my driving is so therapeutic? The girls at uni could tell you many a story in which I've been found crying in my car and the smile on my face when I get out the car and lock the door.
Anyway, I was driving down the M40 singing along to Stornoway (Becs may be able to cook but it took her three years to convince me the band were good!) just coming up to junction 6 through the chalk cliffs and I had a sudden thought...why don't you see birdwatchers traipsing the motorways? Granted the birds on the motorways are squished, mangled into a pulp and generally dead, but for all we know they could be rare species/ endangered types and so on.
It was around this time of constructive pondering that I almost hit the duck.
Now it still remains a mystery why I almost hit a duck whilst driving at 70mph on the M40, or more importantly where the duck came from? Apart from the duck clearly being suicidal and getting its poultry mixed up and playing chicken, it took a while to sink in what had just happened. So much so that I spent the next 15 minutes trying to recall if ducks could actually fly or not.
However it got worse. After surviving the killer duck incident and arriving in Poundon, Becs and I headed to MK for a bit of shopping and a spot of grub. We nominated Marks and Spencer as our lunch destination (their wraps are to die for!) and we set about scanning the selections for our belly liners. For some odd reason the wrap I normally go for didn't look to appealing, Hoisin duck.
I opted for the chicken wrap instead, but it didn't quite replace my urge for a duck wrap.
I guess in one respect I'm lucky, if Duck a la windscreen had been on the menu I may have been put of duck for life.
Sadly that didn't conquer my craving for a wrap though. Maybe that shall be lunch tomorrow...just hope I don't hit a chicken!
Today I popped to Oxford to see Becky poos (Old housemate and culinary expert.) I wish I knew my driving is so therapeutic? The girls at uni could tell you many a story in which I've been found crying in my car and the smile on my face when I get out the car and lock the door.
Anyway, I was driving down the M40 singing along to Stornoway (Becs may be able to cook but it took her three years to convince me the band were good!) just coming up to junction 6 through the chalk cliffs and I had a sudden thought...why don't you see birdwatchers traipsing the motorways? Granted the birds on the motorways are squished, mangled into a pulp and generally dead, but for all we know they could be rare species/ endangered types and so on.
It was around this time of constructive pondering that I almost hit the duck.
Now it still remains a mystery why I almost hit a duck whilst driving at 70mph on the M40, or more importantly where the duck came from? Apart from the duck clearly being suicidal and getting its poultry mixed up and playing chicken, it took a while to sink in what had just happened. So much so that I spent the next 15 minutes trying to recall if ducks could actually fly or not.
However it got worse. After surviving the killer duck incident and arriving in Poundon, Becs and I headed to MK for a bit of shopping and a spot of grub. We nominated Marks and Spencer as our lunch destination (their wraps are to die for!) and we set about scanning the selections for our belly liners. For some odd reason the wrap I normally go for didn't look to appealing, Hoisin duck.
I opted for the chicken wrap instead, but it didn't quite replace my urge for a duck wrap.
I guess in one respect I'm lucky, if Duck a la windscreen had been on the menu I may have been put of duck for life.
Sadly that didn't conquer my craving for a wrap though. Maybe that shall be lunch tomorrow...just hope I don't hit a chicken!
Thursday 9 June 2011
A sweet little mystery
There is something very odd and almost nostalgic about turning on my laptop. I never use it these days partly because it’s so slow that it drives me doo-dah and secondly I can do everything whether it be emailing/ blog updating/ Twitter/ Facebook on my phone. Never the less it does put a smile on my face when the background of my old house mates and I dress head-to-toe in orange clothing pops up.
I have had a few crazy weeks and life seems to have merged into a life of serious work and no play. Don’t get me wrong the experiences have been phenomenal, actually phenomenal may be too big a descriptive word perhaps insightful is better, but life outside of work has all but disappeared.
It was this realisation and a few recent comments about this blog being how shall we put it, slightly themed, that got my thinking about what I really want out of life.
There are many sayings and proverbs that tell us life is too short and that we should make the most of what we have, seize opportunities and so forth but what if taking that leap is more terrifying than length of life itself?
Unfortunately none of this is helped by the fact that I am about as decisive as a very indecisive person can be- I use to be indecisive and now I’m not sure- but it is as if the leap that should be taken is getting bigger and the time to take the leap is getting smaller.
I never planned to work in the shop for this long once Uni had ended, but then I never made a plan in the first place. In a cringing way (We are talking extremely cringing here- finding your 18 year-old brother’s friends modelling your knickers kind of cringing) after Uni you got married and had children. That’s what my parents did and that’s what all the adults I grew up with did.
I am not an anti-feminist although my housemates will disagree but life has never been grey for me, you got married and have children or have a career. How can you be with your family and work around the clock at the same time? You simply can’t.
To me family has always and will continue to be a big part of my life. When you come from a family of eight as in my Parents, Brother, Aunt, Uncle, Cousin and Nan the thought of not being close by is as daunting as the prospects of not fulfilling your life.
At the age of 22 the entire world and its oceans are at my feet and yet for some reason all I want to do is paddle around a bit and then put my feet back into my favourite pair of heels.
I was determined not to write a blog about men/ relationships or love, but the truth is everything else scares me. In fact it does more than scare me, it scares the life out of me.
There is only one thing niggling at the back of my head. If I really was too scared of the unknown then why am I curious about it? What is out there that I haven’t seen, what am I missing and what is waiting for me out there?
One of my old housemates “The Oxfordshirett” suggested to me that we should go travelling for a year. At the time I laughed. Now we are looking at plane tickets.
Maybe it is time for Amie to get of this wall and go find her bed of roses… just as soon as she gets her new Mac that is.
I have had a few crazy weeks and life seems to have merged into a life of serious work and no play. Don’t get me wrong the experiences have been phenomenal, actually phenomenal may be too big a descriptive word perhaps insightful is better, but life outside of work has all but disappeared.
It was this realisation and a few recent comments about this blog being how shall we put it, slightly themed, that got my thinking about what I really want out of life.
There are many sayings and proverbs that tell us life is too short and that we should make the most of what we have, seize opportunities and so forth but what if taking that leap is more terrifying than length of life itself?
Unfortunately none of this is helped by the fact that I am about as decisive as a very indecisive person can be- I use to be indecisive and now I’m not sure- but it is as if the leap that should be taken is getting bigger and the time to take the leap is getting smaller.
I never planned to work in the shop for this long once Uni had ended, but then I never made a plan in the first place. In a cringing way (We are talking extremely cringing here- finding your 18 year-old brother’s friends modelling your knickers kind of cringing) after Uni you got married and had children. That’s what my parents did and that’s what all the adults I grew up with did.
I am not an anti-feminist although my housemates will disagree but life has never been grey for me, you got married and have children or have a career. How can you be with your family and work around the clock at the same time? You simply can’t.
To me family has always and will continue to be a big part of my life. When you come from a family of eight as in my Parents, Brother, Aunt, Uncle, Cousin and Nan the thought of not being close by is as daunting as the prospects of not fulfilling your life.
At the age of 22 the entire world and its oceans are at my feet and yet for some reason all I want to do is paddle around a bit and then put my feet back into my favourite pair of heels.
I was determined not to write a blog about men/ relationships or love, but the truth is everything else scares me. In fact it does more than scare me, it scares the life out of me.
There is only one thing niggling at the back of my head. If I really was too scared of the unknown then why am I curious about it? What is out there that I haven’t seen, what am I missing and what is waiting for me out there?
One of my old housemates “The Oxfordshirett” suggested to me that we should go travelling for a year. At the time I laughed. Now we are looking at plane tickets.
Maybe it is time for Amie to get of this wall and go find her bed of roses… just as soon as she gets her new Mac that is.
Tuesday 7 June 2011
P. s Size issues
P.s Please note that I am not sizest.
I have dated many a small male: a person of below average height, a person un-blessed with tallness, a person whom shouldn't be kissed whilst wearing heels (you not the male- you may have others issues there), a male of the miniature department, an undersized individual, a pocket sized, squatty, stunted, sawed-off man.
I've dated tall ones too. Can you top 6' 6"? Talk about a pain in the neck.
I have dated many a small male: a person of below average height, a person un-blessed with tallness, a person whom shouldn't be kissed whilst wearing heels (you not the male- you may have others issues there), a male of the miniature department, an undersized individual, a pocket sized, squatty, stunted, sawed-off man.
I've dated tall ones too. Can you top 6' 6"? Talk about a pain in the neck.
For good measure
I am a little person. Not necessarily in height (all 5' 6" of me) but when it comes to having to do BIG things it scares me a bit.
It occurred to me the other day that I have been living at home for a year now and my memory of living in a home of my own is rapidly fading.
Don't get me wrong I can't complain, but when the imprisonment of a family home leaves you sneaking out in the middles of the night, you do start to question your living arrangements.
I also promised myself I would stop writing blogs about my university experiences and men, there are a million other topics to ramble on about and my brain must try harder.
The truth is it has been a year down the line and I still don't know what I'm doing. I'm still the same girl, but slightly nicer, calmer and far more mature (Willy willy willy.)
The only downside is my expensive taste has sky rocketed and the CD collection in my car contains more Rat Pack compilations and Power Ballads than is good for it.
Maybe I am prematurely ageing? Maybe there is a higher force telling me I've been a child for too long? Thank you Grandma but I will always be your little girl (x.)
So there you have it, grabbing life by the male bits has officially worn me out but it has got me thinking- again.
As the past haunts us the future daunts us.
If only Jiminy Cricket doubled as a life coach and a conscience, there would be no unnecessary panicking then. And when the right job, the right house and the right man come along we will be ready.
(So much for not writing about men!)
So I raise a hypothetical glass in the air and say something that sums up this blog.
...Size isn't everything.
It occurred to me the other day that I have been living at home for a year now and my memory of living in a home of my own is rapidly fading.
Don't get me wrong I can't complain, but when the imprisonment of a family home leaves you sneaking out in the middles of the night, you do start to question your living arrangements.
I also promised myself I would stop writing blogs about my university experiences and men, there are a million other topics to ramble on about and my brain must try harder.
The truth is it has been a year down the line and I still don't know what I'm doing. I'm still the same girl, but slightly nicer, calmer and far more mature (Willy willy willy.)
The only downside is my expensive taste has sky rocketed and the CD collection in my car contains more Rat Pack compilations and Power Ballads than is good for it.
Maybe I am prematurely ageing? Maybe there is a higher force telling me I've been a child for too long? Thank you Grandma but I will always be your little girl (x.)
So there you have it, grabbing life by the male bits has officially worn me out but it has got me thinking- again.
As the past haunts us the future daunts us.
If only Jiminy Cricket doubled as a life coach and a conscience, there would be no unnecessary panicking then. And when the right job, the right house and the right man come along we will be ready.
(So much for not writing about men!)
So I raise a hypothetical glass in the air and say something that sums up this blog.
...Size isn't everything.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)