Happy Birthday to me.
Today's the big day, and I'm not sure how I'm feeling. Well, actually I am pretty sure. I feel old and a little bit worthless. I'm thirty years old today. Thirty. Three, zero. Just seeing it here in black and white is slightly distressing. I am thirty years old, and I don't really have anything to show for it. What have I achieved in my thirty years on this planet? Fuck all. Sweet fuck all.
Sigh!
Y'know, as children, we all have these visions as to what our lives would be like when we hit this age. I mean, when I was nine, thirty seemed SOOOO far away. Hell, when I was seven, twelve seemed like it would never come. But I thought I'd be at a different place by now and the painful realisation is that I am indeed in a different place. Just not the place I'd envisioned.
It all hit me a few months ago, that the sum total of my achievments is being married. I don't work, I don't have kids, I don't even own my own car. What have I got to show for my time on this earth? Some really expensive handbags, ninety-seven pairs of shoes and cool hair. Hmmmm. I did own a car once. Little green car. It was an M-reg Ford Fiesta, and it cost me £700. I loved that car. It was mine. Yeah, Mr Bunny hated it, but I didn't care. Little green car was ace. I had to sell it though, when I decided to head back to Trinidad for an extended period. And oh, it was so hard to let it go. Now I drive a nice, silver Ford Focus. It's all reliable and safe and economical, and we have a black Alfa Romeo Spider for sunny weekends. But the less said about that car at the moment, the better.
What's my point, I hear you roll your eyes? My point is, those things don't belong to me. My husband paid for them. He pays for everything. He bought both cars, he owns this flat. And the really depressing thing, is that I have allowed this to happen. I've made poor decisions and that is what angers and upsets and saddens me more than anything else. I've done this to myself.
So what am I going to do about it? Well, I've decided to go back to work. Going back to do anything (except clean loos). But I need to regain some self-respect. So maybe this mini-mid-life crisis happened for a reason. Silver lining and all that, I guess. I'm extremely grateful that I'm able to have the lifestyle that I do since I know there are those much less fortunate than we are. But trust, it isn't all it's cracked up to be. It's lonely and a trifle boring. So I'm going to look for some part-time work to tide me over, until the baby Bunnies come. And when I made that decision, I felt a bit better. It's all about taking action baby!
Shall I break out the cake and ice cream?
Monday, 12 July 2010
Tuesday, 29 June 2010
Football's coming home
I'm not crazy about football. I think I've mentioned this previously. So the World Cup and other assorted tournaments, are torture for me. Yes, I go see my friends play in their League matches, but that's different. Even when Trinidad qualified, I couldn't bring myself to watch their games, I was so nervous. But I did proudly sport my Soca Warrior t-shirt.
However, living in England, it's hard to escape football. The English have this sense of superiority when it comes to football. I mean, yes they invented the game, and yes they won the World Cup. But that was once...44 bloody years ago. And they still won't stop going on about it. They haven't won a major tournament since, or even reached the final round! Yet, to hear them talk, the only reason they haven't won is because the rest of the world is against them. It's the refs, the linesmen, the press, the fans. The ball is too light, the pitch is too poor, the altitude is too high. Our shorts were too short, the shorts were too long, the t-shirts were too tight. Blah, blah, blah! The truth is, the team just isn't good enough. They aren't good enough to beat Argentina (the fucking Hand of God gets trotted out EVERY World Cup campaign, as if THAT was the reason why they didn't win in 1986. Steups!), they aren't good enough to beat France, they aren't good enough to beat Spain. I mean, FFS, they could only muster a 2-0 win over Trinidad...and that was after a goalless first half! What the hell makes them think they can overpower Brazil, Germany or Argentina?
Anyway, they stumbled through the group stages, much to their embarassment. It was funny to watch, because I remember they were so cocky after the draw. The husband and I were in Ireland and The Sun had on it's front page the day after the draw-
England
Algeria
Slovenia
Yanks
They thought they'd piss the group stages, storm through the knockouts and quarter-finals and arrive at the semis, where the real work would begin. But sadly (or happily if you're not an England fan), twas not to be. They could only muster a 1-1 draw with said Yanks, a 0-0 draw with Algeria and a 1-0 win over Slovenia. Yes, quite the footballing powerhouse. So they limped through to the knockout stages, not even as winners of their group. Yes, the Yanks who they derided so early on, managed to beat them. So, it was on to Germany; their footballing nemesis.
I read my Saturday paper yesterday. I like to leave it a couple days, for when the boredom truly kicks in. It made for hilarious reading though. The Sport section had the headline "We are a better team than Germany and we will beat them". This little prediction came from the goalkeeper, David James, who is actually one of the better-looking men on the team. Oh, how we laughed. Why?
Well, on Sunday, they were thrashed 4-1 by said German side. Despite all the jingoism in the press, harking back to fecking WW2 (two twats even turned up at the game dressed as RAF officers) and England's last victory on a world stage (bloody 1966), England lost and they lost badly. So they were out, and out in a most humiliating fashion. But I'm a bit sad that they're out. I can almost see your double take, dear reader. Why the hell am I sad, that a bunch of cocky, overpaid and overrated footballers have lost?
Well, it means that life has gone back to normal here in Merrie Olde England. On Sunday, I went to the Trafford Centre to exchange our kettle. I live life on the edge. But I thought Sunday would be an ideal time, since the rest of the country would be glued to their tellies. My need to go out was further encouraged by the sight of my neighbours erecting a gazebo in their front garden, and hanging a large England flag out of a window on the top floor of their house. Apparently, the eight flags on his car weren't enough. When I saw him dragging the bbq out of his shed, I mentally planned what I was going to wear and hit the showers.
Oh, and what a magical afternoon it turned out to be. The roads were clear, I had my pick of parking spots right outside the entrance and there were no queues in the shops. The only downside, was that all the staff in John Lewis were glued to the tv screens. I was able to wander around without being touched by some sweaty man in an ugly shirt and trackie bottoms. It took me two minutes to get a green tea in Starbucks, and there were loads of seats if I'd wanted to stay. I didn't have to push my way through any crowds in Marks and Spencer's to get a decent look at the food.
In short, it was bliss.
But because of the general shittiness of the England team, I shall never have another afternoon like that again. Well, at least not for another four years...provided England even bloody qualify for Brazil!
So I shall remember Sunday 27th of June with great fondness and nostalgia. You shall always be in my heart. Football's coming home, a trifle too early and not in the way they meant when they sang that song (which is so catchy, I'm humming it as I type).
Bless the little losers.
However, living in England, it's hard to escape football. The English have this sense of superiority when it comes to football. I mean, yes they invented the game, and yes they won the World Cup. But that was once...44 bloody years ago. And they still won't stop going on about it. They haven't won a major tournament since, or even reached the final round! Yet, to hear them talk, the only reason they haven't won is because the rest of the world is against them. It's the refs, the linesmen, the press, the fans. The ball is too light, the pitch is too poor, the altitude is too high. Our shorts were too short, the shorts were too long, the t-shirts were too tight. Blah, blah, blah! The truth is, the team just isn't good enough. They aren't good enough to beat Argentina (the fucking Hand of God gets trotted out EVERY World Cup campaign, as if THAT was the reason why they didn't win in 1986. Steups!), they aren't good enough to beat France, they aren't good enough to beat Spain. I mean, FFS, they could only muster a 2-0 win over Trinidad...and that was after a goalless first half! What the hell makes them think they can overpower Brazil, Germany or Argentina?
Anyway, they stumbled through the group stages, much to their embarassment. It was funny to watch, because I remember they were so cocky after the draw. The husband and I were in Ireland and The Sun had on it's front page the day after the draw-
England
Algeria
Slovenia
Yanks
They thought they'd piss the group stages, storm through the knockouts and quarter-finals and arrive at the semis, where the real work would begin. But sadly (or happily if you're not an England fan), twas not to be. They could only muster a 1-1 draw with said Yanks, a 0-0 draw with Algeria and a 1-0 win over Slovenia. Yes, quite the footballing powerhouse. So they limped through to the knockout stages, not even as winners of their group. Yes, the Yanks who they derided so early on, managed to beat them. So, it was on to Germany; their footballing nemesis.
I read my Saturday paper yesterday. I like to leave it a couple days, for when the boredom truly kicks in. It made for hilarious reading though. The Sport section had the headline "We are a better team than Germany and we will beat them". This little prediction came from the goalkeeper, David James, who is actually one of the better-looking men on the team. Oh, how we laughed. Why?
Well, on Sunday, they were thrashed 4-1 by said German side. Despite all the jingoism in the press, harking back to fecking WW2 (two twats even turned up at the game dressed as RAF officers) and England's last victory on a world stage (bloody 1966), England lost and they lost badly. So they were out, and out in a most humiliating fashion. But I'm a bit sad that they're out. I can almost see your double take, dear reader. Why the hell am I sad, that a bunch of cocky, overpaid and overrated footballers have lost?
Well, it means that life has gone back to normal here in Merrie Olde England. On Sunday, I went to the Trafford Centre to exchange our kettle. I live life on the edge. But I thought Sunday would be an ideal time, since the rest of the country would be glued to their tellies. My need to go out was further encouraged by the sight of my neighbours erecting a gazebo in their front garden, and hanging a large England flag out of a window on the top floor of their house. Apparently, the eight flags on his car weren't enough. When I saw him dragging the bbq out of his shed, I mentally planned what I was going to wear and hit the showers.
Oh, and what a magical afternoon it turned out to be. The roads were clear, I had my pick of parking spots right outside the entrance and there were no queues in the shops. The only downside, was that all the staff in John Lewis were glued to the tv screens. I was able to wander around without being touched by some sweaty man in an ugly shirt and trackie bottoms. It took me two minutes to get a green tea in Starbucks, and there were loads of seats if I'd wanted to stay. I didn't have to push my way through any crowds in Marks and Spencer's to get a decent look at the food.
In short, it was bliss.
But because of the general shittiness of the England team, I shall never have another afternoon like that again. Well, at least not for another four years...provided England even bloody qualify for Brazil!
So I shall remember Sunday 27th of June with great fondness and nostalgia. You shall always be in my heart. Football's coming home, a trifle too early and not in the way they meant when they sang that song (which is so catchy, I'm humming it as I type).
Bless the little losers.
Tuesday, 22 June 2010
...and I would've gotten away with it too, if it wasn't for those pesky kids!
I'm old.
I'm not even thirty yet, but I'm old. How have I come to this conclusion? Well, Friday night, "Ferris Beuller's Day Off" was on. I remember when I first saw that movie and how much I loved it. I loved it so much, I even watched the mega-lame series (that actually starred a pre-friends Jennifer Aniston). I mean, this guy managed to trick all the adults in his life, and his annoying sister always lost out. But she ended up hooking up with Charlie Sheen, when he was still hot and before he, um, lost his way.
So I left it on Film4 and decided to watch it. I shouldn't have done that.
I HATED it this time around. I hated it so much, I switched over about half-an hour into it, to watch an episode of "Mock the Week" I must have seen about fifty bajillion times (thanks Dave). But why did I hate it so much? Well, in the ten years or so since I last properly watched the movie, Ferris turned into a bit of a little shit! Why do his parents believe him, and not Jeannie? Jeannie is a bit mean, yes. But she seems to be fairly honest with the people around her. Why is Ferris so mean to Cameron? He's a bit of a bully and a narcissist. The Dean of Students is a bit of a penis, I'll admit. But he's just trying to do his job, which is ten times harder, because of twats like Ferris, who think it's their right to skip school and steal classic cars. And what irked me more than anything, was that he never got his comeuppance. He just got away with it! Life isn't like that.
So that got me thinking, have I skipped my thirties, forties, fifties, sixties and seventies and jumped straight to my eighties and my curmodgeonly years? Why am I so crotchety? I mean, Ferris is just a fictional character. Then it hit me. I'm no longer that movie's target audience. I've outgrown it, as I've outgrown a lot of other things. But even more worrying, was the realisation that I'm turning into my mother! This is the kind of show my mother would roll her eyes and steups at, refusing to believe the antics on screen. And now I find myself doing the same.
Sigh! Who knew growing up would mean you lose part of your sense of humour? Luckily for me, I still find fart and poo jokes funny, so I won't lose all hope just yet!
I'm not even thirty yet, but I'm old. How have I come to this conclusion? Well, Friday night, "Ferris Beuller's Day Off" was on. I remember when I first saw that movie and how much I loved it. I loved it so much, I even watched the mega-lame series (that actually starred a pre-friends Jennifer Aniston). I mean, this guy managed to trick all the adults in his life, and his annoying sister always lost out. But she ended up hooking up with Charlie Sheen, when he was still hot and before he, um, lost his way.
So I left it on Film4 and decided to watch it. I shouldn't have done that.
I HATED it this time around. I hated it so much, I switched over about half-an hour into it, to watch an episode of "Mock the Week" I must have seen about fifty bajillion times (thanks Dave). But why did I hate it so much? Well, in the ten years or so since I last properly watched the movie, Ferris turned into a bit of a little shit! Why do his parents believe him, and not Jeannie? Jeannie is a bit mean, yes. But she seems to be fairly honest with the people around her. Why is Ferris so mean to Cameron? He's a bit of a bully and a narcissist. The Dean of Students is a bit of a penis, I'll admit. But he's just trying to do his job, which is ten times harder, because of twats like Ferris, who think it's their right to skip school and steal classic cars. And what irked me more than anything, was that he never got his comeuppance. He just got away with it! Life isn't like that.
So that got me thinking, have I skipped my thirties, forties, fifties, sixties and seventies and jumped straight to my eighties and my curmodgeonly years? Why am I so crotchety? I mean, Ferris is just a fictional character. Then it hit me. I'm no longer that movie's target audience. I've outgrown it, as I've outgrown a lot of other things. But even more worrying, was the realisation that I'm turning into my mother! This is the kind of show my mother would roll her eyes and steups at, refusing to believe the antics on screen. And now I find myself doing the same.
Sigh! Who knew growing up would mean you lose part of your sense of humour? Luckily for me, I still find fart and poo jokes funny, so I won't lose all hope just yet!
Sunday, 23 May 2010
Make me somewhere...
Today is Sunday and the weather is absofuckinglutely fabulous! Yet I am indoors, listening to music and reading the paper. But I've got all the windows open so it's not all bad.
Unlike most Brits, I don't jizz myself at the sight of sunshine. I mean, I grew up in the bloody Caribbean. So I actually dodge the sun as much as the Brits embrace it. It doesn't help that I'm married to a complete sun whore, who, once we're in Trinidad, would happily spend eight hours on the beach...every single day! My response when people see the sun and get all excited is "No, it's ok thanks. I saw the sun once."
Anyway, I'm here today, iPod in the docking station/ speaker, soca blasting, sipping on various alcholic tipples and feeling particularly homesick. Mr Bunny is still in Libya, all my friends had previous commitments with other halves and what not this weekend, so I'm on my own, and it feels a bit rubbish. I've put on on my favourite playlist, which is of course packed with soca. And with the sunshine and me wearing not very much (but still enough to be seen in public in and not make anyone sick), I'm still feeling a bit down.
I get this way from time to time, not knowing where I belong, not having any 'roots' anywhere. I mean, I'm West Indian (which is what I tell people where they ask where I'm from. I sense disappointment when the answer isn't Nigeria or Ghana) and of course narrowed down to Trinidadian. But I've lived here for so long now and all but two of my friends are British. One of those friends has lived here since she was 11, so I don't always consider her West Indian (she's Jamaican), but she'd scratch my eyes out if she knew I'd said that.
A while ago, I had a slight panic attack when I realised that my future child/ children would not be fully Trini. It actually freaked me out. I mean, I knew they'd be mixed race, but it hadn't properly occurred to me that they wouldn't actually be 100% Trinidadian. My husband is half-Irish and half-Polish, and unless I have them in Ireland (the thought has crossed my mind), they'll be British. So it's fair to say that my kids will have a very diverse heritage. It worried me a bit. Are they going to feel at home anywhere? I mean, I know where I'm from, but will they feel the same way? I mean, what if they don't love soca or Carnival or pelau and macaroni pie and callalloo? What if they don't get how hilarious a meggie is and salivate at the mere mention of the word 'doubles'? And here comes the panic attack again!
One of my favourite songs is by a duo called Zero 7. It's called Home, and it is one of the most melodically pure and sweet songs I have ever heard in my life. And the chorus goes "Take me somewhere we can be alone. Make me somewhere I can call a home." And I guess in my semi-pissed, mega-maudlin state, it's resonating more than ever.
What's the solution? Well, right now, it would be to crack open that bottle of Cosmopolitan mix and get glugging. I mean, it's not as if I have to work tomorrow... ;)
Unlike most Brits, I don't jizz myself at the sight of sunshine. I mean, I grew up in the bloody Caribbean. So I actually dodge the sun as much as the Brits embrace it. It doesn't help that I'm married to a complete sun whore, who, once we're in Trinidad, would happily spend eight hours on the beach...every single day! My response when people see the sun and get all excited is "No, it's ok thanks. I saw the sun once."
Anyway, I'm here today, iPod in the docking station/ speaker, soca blasting, sipping on various alcholic tipples and feeling particularly homesick. Mr Bunny is still in Libya, all my friends had previous commitments with other halves and what not this weekend, so I'm on my own, and it feels a bit rubbish. I've put on on my favourite playlist, which is of course packed with soca. And with the sunshine and me wearing not very much (but still enough to be seen in public in and not make anyone sick), I'm still feeling a bit down.
I get this way from time to time, not knowing where I belong, not having any 'roots' anywhere. I mean, I'm West Indian (which is what I tell people where they ask where I'm from. I sense disappointment when the answer isn't Nigeria or Ghana) and of course narrowed down to Trinidadian. But I've lived here for so long now and all but two of my friends are British. One of those friends has lived here since she was 11, so I don't always consider her West Indian (she's Jamaican), but she'd scratch my eyes out if she knew I'd said that.
A while ago, I had a slight panic attack when I realised that my future child/ children would not be fully Trini. It actually freaked me out. I mean, I knew they'd be mixed race, but it hadn't properly occurred to me that they wouldn't actually be 100% Trinidadian. My husband is half-Irish and half-Polish, and unless I have them in Ireland (the thought has crossed my mind), they'll be British. So it's fair to say that my kids will have a very diverse heritage. It worried me a bit. Are they going to feel at home anywhere? I mean, I know where I'm from, but will they feel the same way? I mean, what if they don't love soca or Carnival or pelau and macaroni pie and callalloo? What if they don't get how hilarious a meggie is and salivate at the mere mention of the word 'doubles'? And here comes the panic attack again!
One of my favourite songs is by a duo called Zero 7. It's called Home, and it is one of the most melodically pure and sweet songs I have ever heard in my life. And the chorus goes "Take me somewhere we can be alone. Make me somewhere I can call a home." And I guess in my semi-pissed, mega-maudlin state, it's resonating more than ever.
What's the solution? Well, right now, it would be to crack open that bottle of Cosmopolitan mix and get glugging. I mean, it's not as if I have to work tomorrow... ;)
Tuesday, 18 May 2010
Well sober me up!
I was watching 'Grand Designs' last night. It's this show where people build their dream homes while a smug presenter makes snide remarks and hopes it all goes tits up. So, this couple in London were gutting their Victorian terrace and completely remodeling it. They were doing the inside, but couldn't touch the exterior because of planning permission laws that say the exterior of these properties have to maintain their traditional look. They'd put in this metallic guttering so Mr Smug was like "Are there going to be problems with this, seeing as this is a conservation area? Is it going to have to be painted black?" and the equally smug homeowner replied "Well I don't think so. Our previous guttering was painted black only because our door was."
I then realised that if I lived on that street, and these tits were putting in silver guttering, I'd be straight on the phone to the local council to complain. And I guess that makes me a bit of a tit as well. Who knew I was so cantankerous? Am I acting out my old-age before I even hit thirty?
Twas a sobering thought indeed!
I then realised that if I lived on that street, and these tits were putting in silver guttering, I'd be straight on the phone to the local council to complain. And I guess that makes me a bit of a tit as well. Who knew I was so cantankerous? Am I acting out my old-age before I even hit thirty?
Twas a sobering thought indeed!
Thursday, 15 April 2010
Today
I'm sitting here, in the midst of the most awesome green tea high and pondering certain things. I am mostly in a pensive mood because I have a lot of work to do, and according to the law, I must become distracted as soon as possible for as long as possible, until I lose the will to live.
I know I've been gone for a very long time. Well, first off, I spent five weeks in Trinidad, chilling out. I was meant to stay for only three weeks, but realised that I had nothing waiting for me here so I stayed. Good thing I did, because my evil granny popped her clogs. I know I shouldn't speak ill of the dead, but she was very difficult, to put it kindly. The odd thing is, I had a dream about her last night and I actually had a very good conversation with her. But she's at peace now, and my dad has one less thing to worry about, so it's all good.
So I came back, the husband came back, we spent two weeks together then he left. We went to view a house that we were both quite excited about. It turned out to be a massive disappointment. It was a gorgeous four-bedroom detached and it looked so good on the internet- ensuite, conservatory, garden, double garage. But the bedrooms were surprisingly small and the lounge was just awful! So it looks like it's a pass. Ah well...
What else has there been? Well my laptop seems to have retired from its earthly toil. Ok, it isn't really mine. It belongs to Mr Mjsbunny, but I had commandeered it. And it took its last breath yesterday. So I'm bashing this out on his other shitty laptop, which crashes all the time and is insanely slow. Much patience required, but little at my disposal.
I did have the misfortune to have to go into town on Tuesday though. I had to go to the Post Office to post off a package. I'd ordered some tights from Topshop, and they bloody laddered on the first day I wore them, so I was returning them. Let me just say that there cannot be many more depressing places on this earth, than Crewe town centre. I believe the bus station and the post office are the places where chavs are born and return to die. There are enough muffin tops, Croydon facelifts and tracksuits to last a lifetime. I actually feel a little part of me die whenever I have to go to the Post Office or pass through the bus station. Sigh! And to top it all off, the weather has been unseasonably warm, so there is now an abundance of flabby, white arms, legs shoulders and backs at every turn. These people haven't seen proper sun since their last trip to Tenerife in June of 2008 and the fake tan is always poorly applied and shit. So in between all the orange dimples, are stretches of pure whiteness. It scares me a little bit.
Then I had to go out to Hanley to pick up the dying laptop. I like the drive out to Hanley. And with the weather being nice, I was able to have the windows down and enjoy some 3Suns, Machel and Blaxx. But then that SWV song came on- the one remixed with Human Nature, and I actually burst into tears. It was so bad, I had to change the song. Sigh! Oh Mike!
I haven't left the tiny flat since Tuesday. It feels safe and secure. Plus I've been distracted by my new phone. Yes, I caved. I've jumped on the Blackberry bandwagon. I know I'm late to the party but it was there, so I took it. I mean, I'm paying Orange £30 a month, even more over the past couple months because I was roaming. My contract was due for renewal and I was eligible for a Blackberry, so of course I went for the newest one. It's been a bumpy ride thus far. I don't like change. I mean, I had a Samsung Tocco, which is a touch screen. I also have an iPod touch which I can get wi-fi on. So I've grown used to my touch screens. My fingers now feel uber-fat and it's taking me ages to tap out a simple text. It also takes great strength of will to ignore that little flashing red light. I don't want to turn into one of those people who sees the light flashing, and the rest of the world ceases to exist. They are the Pavolv's dogs of the 21st Century! But it is excellent being able to chat to my mates, especially my two best friends. I've known them since primary school and they live in the States and Canada. So chatting to them for free does kind of makeup for my terror.
So that's where I am today. Judge Judy is on, and I'm drinking my seventh or eighth mug of tea. I'm currently doing a taste test on different brands of green tea with Lemon. These are things that I do to fill my time. I am also excited because Waitrose will begin to restock my favourite apples in one week. So I have that to look forward to. Tis a simple life I lead.
The weather is nice, I have some nice soca on my iPod and school will be re-opening soon so I can go to the shops during the day without having to deal with shrieking teens. Plus Mr Bunny is back in four weeks and hopefully we'll be in a new place by July. So life could be better, but it could also be a lot worse. Here's to optimisim and contentment. Today.
I know I've been gone for a very long time. Well, first off, I spent five weeks in Trinidad, chilling out. I was meant to stay for only three weeks, but realised that I had nothing waiting for me here so I stayed. Good thing I did, because my evil granny popped her clogs. I know I shouldn't speak ill of the dead, but she was very difficult, to put it kindly. The odd thing is, I had a dream about her last night and I actually had a very good conversation with her. But she's at peace now, and my dad has one less thing to worry about, so it's all good.
So I came back, the husband came back, we spent two weeks together then he left. We went to view a house that we were both quite excited about. It turned out to be a massive disappointment. It was a gorgeous four-bedroom detached and it looked so good on the internet- ensuite, conservatory, garden, double garage. But the bedrooms were surprisingly small and the lounge was just awful! So it looks like it's a pass. Ah well...
What else has there been? Well my laptop seems to have retired from its earthly toil. Ok, it isn't really mine. It belongs to Mr Mjsbunny, but I had commandeered it. And it took its last breath yesterday. So I'm bashing this out on his other shitty laptop, which crashes all the time and is insanely slow. Much patience required, but little at my disposal.
I did have the misfortune to have to go into town on Tuesday though. I had to go to the Post Office to post off a package. I'd ordered some tights from Topshop, and they bloody laddered on the first day I wore them, so I was returning them. Let me just say that there cannot be many more depressing places on this earth, than Crewe town centre. I believe the bus station and the post office are the places where chavs are born and return to die. There are enough muffin tops, Croydon facelifts and tracksuits to last a lifetime. I actually feel a little part of me die whenever I have to go to the Post Office or pass through the bus station. Sigh! And to top it all off, the weather has been unseasonably warm, so there is now an abundance of flabby, white arms, legs shoulders and backs at every turn. These people haven't seen proper sun since their last trip to Tenerife in June of 2008 and the fake tan is always poorly applied and shit. So in between all the orange dimples, are stretches of pure whiteness. It scares me a little bit.
Then I had to go out to Hanley to pick up the dying laptop. I like the drive out to Hanley. And with the weather being nice, I was able to have the windows down and enjoy some 3Suns, Machel and Blaxx. But then that SWV song came on- the one remixed with Human Nature, and I actually burst into tears. It was so bad, I had to change the song. Sigh! Oh Mike!
I haven't left the tiny flat since Tuesday. It feels safe and secure. Plus I've been distracted by my new phone. Yes, I caved. I've jumped on the Blackberry bandwagon. I know I'm late to the party but it was there, so I took it. I mean, I'm paying Orange £30 a month, even more over the past couple months because I was roaming. My contract was due for renewal and I was eligible for a Blackberry, so of course I went for the newest one. It's been a bumpy ride thus far. I don't like change. I mean, I had a Samsung Tocco, which is a touch screen. I also have an iPod touch which I can get wi-fi on. So I've grown used to my touch screens. My fingers now feel uber-fat and it's taking me ages to tap out a simple text. It also takes great strength of will to ignore that little flashing red light. I don't want to turn into one of those people who sees the light flashing, and the rest of the world ceases to exist. They are the Pavolv's dogs of the 21st Century! But it is excellent being able to chat to my mates, especially my two best friends. I've known them since primary school and they live in the States and Canada. So chatting to them for free does kind of makeup for my terror.
So that's where I am today. Judge Judy is on, and I'm drinking my seventh or eighth mug of tea. I'm currently doing a taste test on different brands of green tea with Lemon. These are things that I do to fill my time. I am also excited because Waitrose will begin to restock my favourite apples in one week. So I have that to look forward to. Tis a simple life I lead.
The weather is nice, I have some nice soca on my iPod and school will be re-opening soon so I can go to the shops during the day without having to deal with shrieking teens. Plus Mr Bunny is back in four weeks and hopefully we'll be in a new place by July. So life could be better, but it could also be a lot worse. Here's to optimisim and contentment. Today.
Monday, 1 February 2010
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