About Me
Saturday 4 December 2010
Bored
I've changed my blog a bit - fannied about with the formatting or html or whatever it is. What do you think? Answers on a postcard.
The Apocolypse
Good evening. My blog is somewhat of a sombre one this time it seems.
Myself and my chums ventured to London town this week for a spot of house hunting. This trip was to be one of epic proportions. We had planned it for weeks. Months, even. We were to travel down, have a few days house hunting, job hunting and catching up with fabulous pals.
Little did we know what God had in store for us, my friends.
Monday 29 November
Mr Pricklepants collects me from my work. We are filled with excitement at the prospect of a) going to London, and b) having spaghetti bolognaise cooked by Petit Filous Bear's mother.
On the road we get a phonecall from Ugly Ginger (who is travelling down with PFB and our other friend, whom I shall call High Horse - she tends to take a leadership role within the group, thus I think this nickname suits). She informs us that PFB has been STRUCK DOWNwith a urine infection and is crying. They have pulled in at a service station while PFB cries, whinges (as is normal for PFB) and attempts to have a weewee. I give her my advice - have some cranberry juice and man up, as I want some spag bol before sun down.
Hours later, after popping in for a brew with family Pricklepants and being collected at said household by PFB, Ugly Ginger and High Horse, we eventually sit down to our spaghetti bolognaise. Ugly Ginger and I are bunking up in spare room together - dangerous as I am aware of her lesbionic tendancies toward me, and given my current status with men, I am severely tempted - and we drift off into sweet dreams filled with Canary Wharf townhouses and boat trips on the Thames.
Tuesday 30 November
We awake at 7.30am to be ready to leave for 8.15. I turn lamp on. Ugly Ginger screams "TURN LAMP OFF, LIGHT IS SHINING IN ME FACE!" I adjust lamp head and jump in the shower - it is here I should mention that PFB has a shower that is fit for a king. Powerful, roasting hot and enough room to fit 3 grown men. Please pause here to realise how happy this scenario would make me - before getting ready for the day. Obviously, Mr Pricklepants gets up at approximately 8.14 and is ready before everyone.
A great snowfall as occured leaving us almost snowed in at PFB's house. This simply will not do. We decide to conduct journey at 9am whilst PFB's father defrosts driveway.
We all allow High Horse to hoist our luggage into car - she is a lesbian with brute strength - and we all pile in to the vehicle with our refreshments (haribo and gone off grapes). We are in high spirits.
10.15 rolls around and we are on the M6 heading south. We hear a click sound. PFB informs us that her car is not accelerating and pulls into hard shoulder. Ugly Ginger asks if we are in London.
We get out of car and climb over a fence covered in barbed wire into a field. Ugly Ginger slips on fence and nearly pierces her fairy with a rogue wire. Cue much laughter from myself.
By this point snow is falling fast and hard - snowflakes are size of jaffa cakes. Sadly not jaffa cakes, however. PFB rings RAC and informs them of our woe. Man tells us we are "high priority" and he will send out a man to fix car "as soon as possible".
We wait in field for over hour. In times like this I feel we should get religious and ask God to help us through these dark times. It is here I conduct the gang in a spot of hymn singing - "I was cold, I was naked were you there, were you there?" and other smash hits. High Horse, who has a bladder the size of a pea, needs a wee. I do too. There is nowhere private, so we cover each other with scarf while we wee. As I am distracted I do not hide very well, and everyone on motor way sees High Horse's faff. Snow is now yellow.
Ugly Ginger gets into God worshipping malarky rather a lot, and starts holding her hands up to the heavens. This proves very difficult in a duffle coat and bobble hat as she falls in a ditch. High Horse faints due to minus temperatures.
Luckily RAC man finally arrives. Tells us some kind of belt has gone, and car is unfixable. UNFIXABLE. Says he will send a truck out to tow car and take us back to Rochdale where we began our journey. Drives off. We are left in cold again for another hour or so.
Truck arrives. PFB has discovered that our nearest train station is Stoke on Trent. Man drops us off at next motorway junction where we get a taxi to train station. Have to fork out for slow train to London.
Arrive at 5pm. Get tube to North Greenwich where we go for tea at the 02 arena with our pal at drama school (I will call him Unez) and our little Essex dancer pal. Chris from Fringe works at said restaurant. I am filled with happiness to see him as we are peas from the same pod. A naughty little brother if you like who shares my passion for confectionary.
We then visit Unez's house where we have a cup of tea, before PFB retire back to Chris' house to sleep. We are keen to put today to bed as it has been most distressing.
Wednesday 1 December
House viewing day. Day of madness.
House One
Dream house. Meet Jennifer, estate agent. Within 30 seconds we gage that she is a push over. House has 5 double bedrooms, a garden, safe location and close to tube, and our pals. Haggle price down so it is under our budget, and say we can give deposits and sign contracts HERE AND NOW. Jennifer thrilled (probs cos of all the commission she will earn) and asks us to meet her back at estate agents to tie up the deal. Due to icy conditions we slip and slide all the way to estate agents (passing a granny who is getting around by dragging herself along park fence, poor sod) happy that now we have a house, we have lots of free time to go to Harrods and such other fun activities. Jennifer has bad news. "Landlord says no", she says, Little Britain style. "Yous aren't professional enough." PROFESSIONAL WHAT, HOUSE RENTERS?!?! I am confused. We are dismayed and upset. Twas dream house, we say. Nothing she can do, says she. Whips out a brochure. "Come see this house, has nice kitchen". We agree.
House Two
Get train out to arse end of Zone 3 to see next house. Looks like Baghdad. Nothing wrong with Baghdad, by the way, but I am Scottish and uncultured. I don't even eat prawn cocktail crisps. 15 minute walk to house which is occupied by "council tenants" (skaffs). At first, don't let us in. Jennifer demands. They oblige. Enter house. Woman is changing a baby OF A DIFFERENT RACE on the couch. No mat is down. House is in disarray, smelling of both chocolate and shit. Am confused, as very fond of chocolate but not so much of shit. Couches have patchwork covers. High Horse, who has a love for all things hideous, is delighted. Rest of us, not so much. House is a mess, with turd left in toilet. Decided to decline, based on occupant's love of faeces and being far away from transport. Never mind, next viewing in Canary Wharf.
House Three
Round corner from house. Estate agent rings to say it has been let. Bugger.
LUNCH
Get a starbucks and a tesco sarnie. Ugly Ginger causes mini apocolypse and knocks drinks all over herself and nearby lunchers. We eat our miserable little lunches and separate. High Horse and Mr Pricklepants off for job interview, PFB, Ugly Ginger and myself to estate agents. All tell us they have NO HOUSES. We retire back to Chris', where we hop on a laptop and find two houses to view. Things looking up.
House Four
Perfect house. Warm, five double bedrooms, close to tube, safe location. We are thrilled and are already deciding who gets what bedroom. Slightly over our budget. Can haggle to five pounds over weekly budget. Have to decline dream house. Feel like my stomach has been ripped out. We turn to heroin to ease the pain. Only kidding. But I wouldn't have turned some down at that point.
House Five
Final house. Located in Mudchute near Canary Wharf. Lovely area. House is currently being redecorated so is part rubble. Know it will be gorgeous. However, same prob. A little too much over budget. Go home feeling tired and miserable. And HOMELESS.
Thursday 2 December
Meet at station at 8.30am to view another house at 9am. Drag suitcases through snow with mega colds. Decide not to view house due to "extreme weather conditions" and house is 20 min walk from train station (I don't walk that far unless it's to the newsagents for a wispa, and even then it's an effort). Decide to go to Euston 2 hours early so we can have a fry up and look round shops. Bought some nice postcards from Paperchase, a new mascara and had the best sausage I've had in some time.
Now, I'm not the kind of girl who suits a hat, but I found on at Euston which was perfect, and didn't make me look like I was wearing a condom on my head. Nearly bought it, but discovered it was £16.00. Reality check. Can't afford extra fiver a week for dream house, certainly can't spend £16.00 on headwear. Even if it is -6 outside.
Get our seven million trains back from London to Carlisle. Have never been so glad to get home in all my life.
Highlights of Trip From Hell
- Ugly Ginger spearing vadge on barbed wire fence
- Singing hymns in field whilst High Horse peed freely... then fainted
- Seeing old chums whilst eating the finest burger ever eaten, followed by a dessert including cookies and ice cream (didn't really pay attention as I ate it so fast)
- Meeting very charismatic estate agent with gigantic bulge. Ugly Ginger and I got major giggles and PFB told us off for being children.
- Nearly falling on my arse repeatedly due to ice, and having to be dragged from house to house by Mr Pricklepants
- Getting major giggles on train as PFB gave me shittest hand massage ever (including her doing something very weird to two of my fingers)
I'm sure some happy times did occur during trip, but LET IT BE SAID, I hate the effing snow.
Love you
Toodles xx
Myself and my chums ventured to London town this week for a spot of house hunting. This trip was to be one of epic proportions. We had planned it for weeks. Months, even. We were to travel down, have a few days house hunting, job hunting and catching up with fabulous pals.
Little did we know what God had in store for us, my friends.
Monday 29 November
Mr Pricklepants collects me from my work. We are filled with excitement at the prospect of a) going to London, and b) having spaghetti bolognaise cooked by Petit Filous Bear's mother.
On the road we get a phonecall from Ugly Ginger (who is travelling down with PFB and our other friend, whom I shall call High Horse - she tends to take a leadership role within the group, thus I think this nickname suits). She informs us that PFB has been STRUCK DOWNwith a urine infection and is crying. They have pulled in at a service station while PFB cries, whinges (as is normal for PFB) and attempts to have a weewee. I give her my advice - have some cranberry juice and man up, as I want some spag bol before sun down.
Hours later, after popping in for a brew with family Pricklepants and being collected at said household by PFB, Ugly Ginger and High Horse, we eventually sit down to our spaghetti bolognaise. Ugly Ginger and I are bunking up in spare room together - dangerous as I am aware of her lesbionic tendancies toward me, and given my current status with men, I am severely tempted - and we drift off into sweet dreams filled with Canary Wharf townhouses and boat trips on the Thames.
Tuesday 30 November
We awake at 7.30am to be ready to leave for 8.15. I turn lamp on. Ugly Ginger screams "TURN LAMP OFF, LIGHT IS SHINING IN ME FACE!" I adjust lamp head and jump in the shower - it is here I should mention that PFB has a shower that is fit for a king. Powerful, roasting hot and enough room to fit 3 grown men. Please pause here to realise how happy this scenario would make me - before getting ready for the day. Obviously, Mr Pricklepants gets up at approximately 8.14 and is ready before everyone.
A great snowfall as occured leaving us almost snowed in at PFB's house. This simply will not do. We decide to conduct journey at 9am whilst PFB's father defrosts driveway.
We all allow High Horse to hoist our luggage into car - she is a lesbian with brute strength - and we all pile in to the vehicle with our refreshments (haribo and gone off grapes). We are in high spirits.
10.15 rolls around and we are on the M6 heading south. We hear a click sound. PFB informs us that her car is not accelerating and pulls into hard shoulder. Ugly Ginger asks if we are in London.
We get out of car and climb over a fence covered in barbed wire into a field. Ugly Ginger slips on fence and nearly pierces her fairy with a rogue wire. Cue much laughter from myself.
By this point snow is falling fast and hard - snowflakes are size of jaffa cakes. Sadly not jaffa cakes, however. PFB rings RAC and informs them of our woe. Man tells us we are "high priority" and he will send out a man to fix car "as soon as possible".
We wait in field for over hour. In times like this I feel we should get religious and ask God to help us through these dark times. It is here I conduct the gang in a spot of hymn singing - "I was cold, I was naked were you there, were you there?" and other smash hits. High Horse, who has a bladder the size of a pea, needs a wee. I do too. There is nowhere private, so we cover each other with scarf while we wee. As I am distracted I do not hide very well, and everyone on motor way sees High Horse's faff. Snow is now yellow.
Ugly Ginger gets into God worshipping malarky rather a lot, and starts holding her hands up to the heavens. This proves very difficult in a duffle coat and bobble hat as she falls in a ditch. High Horse faints due to minus temperatures.
Luckily RAC man finally arrives. Tells us some kind of belt has gone, and car is unfixable. UNFIXABLE. Says he will send a truck out to tow car and take us back to Rochdale where we began our journey. Drives off. We are left in cold again for another hour or so.
Truck arrives. PFB has discovered that our nearest train station is Stoke on Trent. Man drops us off at next motorway junction where we get a taxi to train station. Have to fork out for slow train to London.
Arrive at 5pm. Get tube to North Greenwich where we go for tea at the 02 arena with our pal at drama school (I will call him Unez) and our little Essex dancer pal. Chris from Fringe works at said restaurant. I am filled with happiness to see him as we are peas from the same pod. A naughty little brother if you like who shares my passion for confectionary.
We then visit Unez's house where we have a cup of tea, before PFB retire back to Chris' house to sleep. We are keen to put today to bed as it has been most distressing.
Wednesday 1 December
House viewing day. Day of madness.
House One
Dream house. Meet Jennifer, estate agent. Within 30 seconds we gage that she is a push over. House has 5 double bedrooms, a garden, safe location and close to tube, and our pals. Haggle price down so it is under our budget, and say we can give deposits and sign contracts HERE AND NOW. Jennifer thrilled (probs cos of all the commission she will earn) and asks us to meet her back at estate agents to tie up the deal. Due to icy conditions we slip and slide all the way to estate agents (passing a granny who is getting around by dragging herself along park fence, poor sod) happy that now we have a house, we have lots of free time to go to Harrods and such other fun activities. Jennifer has bad news. "Landlord says no", she says, Little Britain style. "Yous aren't professional enough." PROFESSIONAL WHAT, HOUSE RENTERS?!?! I am confused. We are dismayed and upset. Twas dream house, we say. Nothing she can do, says she. Whips out a brochure. "Come see this house, has nice kitchen". We agree.
House Two
Get train out to arse end of Zone 3 to see next house. Looks like Baghdad. Nothing wrong with Baghdad, by the way, but I am Scottish and uncultured. I don't even eat prawn cocktail crisps. 15 minute walk to house which is occupied by "council tenants" (skaffs). At first, don't let us in. Jennifer demands. They oblige. Enter house. Woman is changing a baby OF A DIFFERENT RACE on the couch. No mat is down. House is in disarray, smelling of both chocolate and shit. Am confused, as very fond of chocolate but not so much of shit. Couches have patchwork covers. High Horse, who has a love for all things hideous, is delighted. Rest of us, not so much. House is a mess, with turd left in toilet. Decided to decline, based on occupant's love of faeces and being far away from transport. Never mind, next viewing in Canary Wharf.
House Three
Round corner from house. Estate agent rings to say it has been let. Bugger.
LUNCH
Get a starbucks and a tesco sarnie. Ugly Ginger causes mini apocolypse and knocks drinks all over herself and nearby lunchers. We eat our miserable little lunches and separate. High Horse and Mr Pricklepants off for job interview, PFB, Ugly Ginger and myself to estate agents. All tell us they have NO HOUSES. We retire back to Chris', where we hop on a laptop and find two houses to view. Things looking up.
House Four
Perfect house. Warm, five double bedrooms, close to tube, safe location. We are thrilled and are already deciding who gets what bedroom. Slightly over our budget. Can haggle to five pounds over weekly budget. Have to decline dream house. Feel like my stomach has been ripped out. We turn to heroin to ease the pain. Only kidding. But I wouldn't have turned some down at that point.
House Five
Final house. Located in Mudchute near Canary Wharf. Lovely area. House is currently being redecorated so is part rubble. Know it will be gorgeous. However, same prob. A little too much over budget. Go home feeling tired and miserable. And HOMELESS.
Thursday 2 December
Meet at station at 8.30am to view another house at 9am. Drag suitcases through snow with mega colds. Decide not to view house due to "extreme weather conditions" and house is 20 min walk from train station (I don't walk that far unless it's to the newsagents for a wispa, and even then it's an effort). Decide to go to Euston 2 hours early so we can have a fry up and look round shops. Bought some nice postcards from Paperchase, a new mascara and had the best sausage I've had in some time.
Now, I'm not the kind of girl who suits a hat, but I found on at Euston which was perfect, and didn't make me look like I was wearing a condom on my head. Nearly bought it, but discovered it was £16.00. Reality check. Can't afford extra fiver a week for dream house, certainly can't spend £16.00 on headwear. Even if it is -6 outside.
Get our seven million trains back from London to Carlisle. Have never been so glad to get home in all my life.
Highlights of Trip From Hell
- Ugly Ginger spearing vadge on barbed wire fence
- Singing hymns in field whilst High Horse peed freely... then fainted
- Seeing old chums whilst eating the finest burger ever eaten, followed by a dessert including cookies and ice cream (didn't really pay attention as I ate it so fast)
- Meeting very charismatic estate agent with gigantic bulge. Ugly Ginger and I got major giggles and PFB told us off for being children.
- Nearly falling on my arse repeatedly due to ice, and having to be dragged from house to house by Mr Pricklepants
- Getting major giggles on train as PFB gave me shittest hand massage ever (including her doing something very weird to two of my fingers)
I'm sure some happy times did occur during trip, but LET IT BE SAID, I hate the effing snow.
Love you
Toodles xx
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