"Oh no, not Jason Bieber..."

Hello, blog. We meet again. It has been some time.

As my regular readers will have guessed I have been now living in London for nearly two months. I am employed by a well known bank... although I still haven't had my first day. Life is very dull, considering this is the capital, the big smoke, the hub of the United Kingdom. However, I have had a few interesting experiences so far, which I will tell you about whilst attempting to be as witty and charming as possible (not very).

First thing of note was a job that I was offered, at which I lasted ONE DAY. Yes, maybe I should have stuck it out, I hear you cry - unfortunately, this was impossible as I am impatient. It was at a gym (ironic, I know) where I was to be one of three receptionists. This was fine, as I have done this before. I will outline my first shift.

4.30am

That's right - A.M. I wake up and get in to the shower. Already feeling rather peeved as it is so bloody early and dark and raining. 

5.30am

Catch the tube to work. Am quietly confident that tube will be dead at this time of morning. AM HORRIBLY WRONG. Tube desperately packed and I am sweaty and tired. Anger levels rising.

5.45am

Get off tube and walk entirely wrong direction. Turn around and walk other way.

6am

Arrive at work. Other receptionist is late. Am worried but go inside and go to reception - what else am I to do?

6.30am

Members arrive. Computers are down so I am panicking. Tell them to go in anyway. They say lockers will not work unless I swipe their card. Could not care less, but tell them it will be fine.

7am

Other receptionist finally arrives. Is Polish.

7.30am - 11am

Computers are down until 9am. Am trying to help members but Polish bint is telling them to ignore me as I am new and "don't know what I am talking about". RAGE.

11 - 11.30am

Break. Walk around block with a costa, debating next move.

11.30am

"Induction". Manager tells me no time for induction, but sign sheet anyway. 

11.30am - 2.30pm

Be patronised by the Polish and am made to clean the bogs. Apparently am cleaner now.

2.30pm

Leave work and phone Dad. Cry as am tired and huffy. Get tube home and fall asleep at 9pm.

Now, I realise I may have been dramatic, but I cannot hack early starts and the other receptionist was mean. Luckily, the bank were waiting for me (Mum works there) and I was employed rather soon after (although currently still waiting for first day, meaning I am el skinto).

Ugly Ginger has had some rather eventful times. I shall give you my top ten (many consist of her opinions whilst watching the television).

1) UG went to the toilet and dropped her phone down it. Cue drying it for hours on radiator and loss of number four button. Now cannot text properly and all messages received are riddles composed by an imbecile.

2) Watching television and a man comes on and starts singing. UG, rather excitedly, "oooooh look, it's Michael Buble!" Mr Pricklepants, in reply, "no. That's Russell Watson." Idiot.

3) Watching 'Celebrity Juice' and Keith Lemon pretends to Riverdance to an Irish dancing soundtrack. All of us laughing, including Ugly Ginger. At end, she sighs, "so, were he really dancing then?"

4) Watching Brit Awards, "ooooh, no, not Jason Bieber." ...

5) Walking around trying to find somewhere cheap to eat, Mr Pricklepants gets out his mobile phone to see if he can search for any vouchers. UG: "oooh have you got any vouchers on your iPod?"

6) Ugly Ginger is seen putting a photograph of Kate Middleton above bedroom mirror. When questioned, she responds, "I would like to get dressed, look in the mirror and think, 'would Kate wear this?'"

7) UG's boyfriend is looking at her rather large breasts. She decides to be spontaneous and proclaims, "ooooh just speedboat me!"

8) Discussing the rap artist, M.I.A. Me: "I quite like that song by M.I.A." UG: "Emma who?"

9) UG: "JODIE!" Me: "What?" UG: "Nothing... I just wanted to say your name."

10) UG on Billy Elliot: "All the dancers came out in their tattoos... Oh, I mean tutus."

We are also currently two housemates down. Petit Filous Bear is up north working with children doing a theatre piece and High Horse is back in Carlisle visiting her 'life partner' and having a super time. This unfortunately means that the house has been left in the dangerous hands of Ugly Ginger, Mr Pricklepants and myself. PFB and HH are the adults in the house and take care of all important matters whilst we eat chocolates and run around. I am expecting that on their return we will all be sat on the naughty step to think about how to be grown ups and look after the house, as currently we have no food in the fridge apart from a day old chicken pie and some yoghurt, with the heating on and spillages on the carpet. SEE YOU WHEN YOU GET BACK.

Now, this is really all I have to say at the moment on London life. I'm about to watch 'The Devil Wears Prada' with Mr P - his favourite film, of which he knows all of the lines - before retiring to bed. Good night.

Love you

Toodles xx

LONDON.

Bonjour!

Well we made it! The Ace Gang are officially Londoners! After so much bloody effort, arguments, tears and Ugly Ginger spearing herself on barbed wire fences, we FINALLY moved.
As we speak, Ugly Ginger, Mr Pricklepants and myself are sitting in our London kitchen, discussing who Mr P would fancy if he could pick one of us (I secretly hope he says me, if only for my ego. Not for sexual reasons.) and Ugly Ginger is cooking us lasagne, like a good little housewife.
I must say we are all feeling slightly tender today - last night was our housewarming gathering, where I consumed a bottle and a half of wine, before trekking out in search of another bottle at the off license. I shall recommend a drinking game to you all - there are no real rules as such, just get very pissed and point and laugh at the knobheads in your group of friends (Ugly Ginger). It is called the Kitchen Utensil Game. One group member must whisper to the member on his left a kitchen utensil. The second member must then BE the utensil and the rest of the group must guess what it is. All was fun and games, until Petit Filous Bear had to be a sodastream - cue her slapping her head and then her arse, before collapsing into giggles. Not so accurate, then.
So far, we are enjoying London thoroughly. We have been to such places like Covent Garden, Harrods and Oxford Street. Mr Pricklepants and I wandered round Armani and such, exclaiming that they must have a sale on due to the items being so cheap. Londoners do not like us very much.
I also tried sushi for the first time and I must say I was impressed. I will be seeking out raw fish at every angle.
Other things of note:

1) PFB and I took a zumba class. For those who are unfamiliar, is a class with lots of black ladies salsa dancing and shaking their "booties" Beyonce style. PFB and I at back of class looking like two whitest girls in universe.

2) Ugly Ginger on tube. Is a wonder in itself. Hangs on to overhead railings with both hands like an ape.

3) High Horse's incessant baking. I am on diet yet being tempted with cakes, biscuits and other goodies at every angle. Finding it hard to resist so not bothering and eating them.

4) Mr Pricklepants is still listening to musicals at full blast, but has now introduced Rihanna into the equation. Have caught him several times dancing on Ugly Ginger's pole to Rihanna music. Think he may be cross dresser/secret pole dancer in evenings.

5) Ugly Ginger cocooning self in blanket due to cold temperatures. Wrapped very tightly she attempts to sit down, but blanket knocks her down in a rugby tackle-like motion into the fireplace. Much mirth.

6) Myself being accosted at local gym by male receptionists. Told me they like a girl with an accent but then called me a foreigner. Don't know what to say to that really.

7) Have had no couches for first week due to old ones being rotten and waiting on replacements. Have been sat on floor all week like peasants.

Apologies for the most boring blog I have possibly written, but stay tuned for our London adventures.

LOVE YOU
toodles xx

The blogs, they are a'changin'

I changed my blog. I realise that, as my readers, you aren't thickos, but I thought I should address it nonetheless. Tis my way of celebrating 2k11.

LOVE YOU

Home For The Hell-idays

Hello!

First of all may I wish you all the merriest of Christmasses and a very happy new year. I have travelled back up to the far North (Fife) for the festive season, and let me tell you, it's been anything but fucking festive.

Whilst in Carlisle I was very much looking forward to coming home to see my parents. Who wouldn't after spending 6 months working at Fawlty bloody Towers and living in a house with temperatures that rival the Arctic. I packed all of my belongings up and sent them away to Manchester to live in Petit Filous Bear's house, got in my car and sped up to Scotland, looking forward to getting home and putting my feet up and eating yummy food.

And then I arrived home.

Now you must understand something. I am a woman in my twenties, who is moving to London in a matter of days, with my own car and own life. My father, bless him, isn't aware of any of this information, and if he had his way, I would be electronically tagged so he would know my whereabouts at all times.  My mother is one of these women who is always in competition with someone or other. My uncle, about who has the nicest car; My auntie, about who has the cleanest house; ME, about WHO IS THINNER. I am not built to be skinny for two reasons. 1) I like cake and sweets, and 2) I have extremely large breasts (steady) and a massive arse. My mum is the same, but I think she forgets this, and has recently gone on a major diet and exercise regime to lose weight and shape up. Obviously I think this is fantastic for her, as a few years ago I lost a couple of stone. But the second I walk through the door, she says the following:

MUM : "I've bought you some gym passes on my membership. You're looking quite overweight at the moment and obviously because I've lost all this weight I want the same for you. I burned 350 calories today on the cross trainer and I had a weight watchers soup for my lunch today."

ME: "Hi Mum, I've just left my cases in the car."

No "hello", no "how was the drive?"

Just "you're looking quite overweight".

Bitch.

So I used her fucking gym passes and toddled off to the gym, only to discover that I have put on A STONE AND A HALF! This cannot be! I don't like cakes THAT much?! ... Joke. But seriously, I was devastated - that's nearly all of the weight I worked so hard to lose! Thus I am now depressed and going to the gym and eating celery and air in a bid to be a bit skinnier. I have also realised recently that I am a 45 year old woman and purchased Davina McCall's new workout DVD. I gave my brother the fright of his life when he walked in on me doing lunges in leggings and a sports bra.

As I'm sure my most avid readers are aware, I am moving to London this month. My fabby pals (Ugly Ginger, Mr Pricklepants and PFB) are journeying down to London over the next few days to view some houses which are suitable enough for us all to live in. I am tremendously excited, although completely aware that those Southern types are going to HATE me. I am Scottish, always extremely happy and constantly cracking (shit) jokes, therefore raining on their miserable little parade (soz to all of my Southern friends - you are all fabulous).

Reasons why I should not move home

1) Mother in constant calorie competition - "fat bitch" comments are being thrown about willy nilly.
2) Father plotting to strap tracking device round my middle (I'm sure if he had his way he'd use those reigns I see toddlers wearing).
3) One of my (SIX) dogs isn't house trained very well (he's deaf and fucking stupid) and is forever pissing all over my prized possessions. He is so cute but definitely has it in for me.
4) Constantly being snowed in due to ice age-like conditions in a house with limited hot water and (most of the time) no heating. Davina-cise has therefore been an effective warming up technique.
5) Since I have returned I have had extreme toothache to the point where I am considering bashing out with a rock caveman style. Obvious sign that Scotland is BAD.
6) Canny help eating cakes. Perhaps home is not the problem as I am a fat cow really but why not blame it while we're tugging at that thread.
7) No chance of shagging at any point due to creaky bed being right next to parents room. (Note to parents: can hear your fucking creaky bed by the way)
8) Missing my chums - very funny buggers who cheer me up. Bit shit when they are in a foreign country.
9) IT'S SHIT



Much love pals.

Toodles xx

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

I'm going to bring on a natural disaster at this rate

So today's failure level has reached a whole new level (if we are going by the last 24 hours that is, and not since I woke up this morning).

Yesterday, Petit Filous Bear and I took a stroll around the Carlisle Christmas Market. I pointed out to PFB that it was not really a market, more a few stalls with miserable sods giving out free stuff. She nodded and mostly agreed with me. We were quite bored until we reached a stand which was being represented by my workplace. I made a bit of idle chatter (as - as I'm sure you are well aware - I hate them all) and decided it was time to wander on. PFB however seemed to disagree with me and proceeded to buy some mulled wine, with which you got a free mince pie. She gave that to me, as she knows my fondness for baked goods, and I was quite happy.

UNTIL!! Hot man child's mother appeared. She works within the same company and literally appeared round the corner. I rushed my goodbyes, grabbed PFB by her mulled wine and we raced around the corner. She was alarmed and shell shocked, until I explained the situation to her. She was quite happy with my explanation and we meandered on.

In front of us appeared a cup cake stall. I would like to say that this was just mere chance but I would be lying. I had been to the "market" a few days before and sniffed out said stand. I pleaded with PFB for a cake. I said she had to buy me one as I was so poor and starving, and lucky for her (face) she obliged. We were quite a happy twosome, wandering around with our food and beverage purchases and feeling very content and Christmassy, if a little cold.

This is where the dream ended, my friends.

PFB had a hankering for mashed potato. I suggested that on the way home we stopped by Iceland and she could buy her potato. She said "Yes, what a marvellous idea. I will wait by the door in my car, give you my money and you can jog in, buy a potato and then we can go home where tea-eating can commence". I felt like I could not decline, given that she had just bought me an epic cupcake. So we pulled up at Iceland, she gave me a pound, and I nipped in.
It is here that I should point out that Cumbria has had a sort of freak snow storm. The floor was covered in a sheet of Christmassy goodness and people had been traipsing in and out with their slushy feet, making the floor very slippery and wet. I imagine you can only guess what happened next.

It happened very slowly. Like a scene from a film. I walked through the door. I turned. There, in front of me, was my goal. The potato. I only had to walk a few steps on this ice rink of a floor and I would be there, vegetable in hand, little pound coin hot in my sweaty, gloved fingertips ready to pay. Apparently, God had no such plan for me.

I fell. I fell fast and hard. Right on to my back side. There was a man behind me, looking at frozen chicken satay. He was in no position to judge, but JUDGE HE DID. I attempted to get up quickly to recover the situation. That damn floor - it was so slippery that nobody stood a chance. So I fell again.
Fell twice in the space of twenty seconds.
I rushed to my feet and pelted to the till. She scanned the potato and I threw my pound at her, before pelting it out the door and to the Filous Mobile. She laughed. I did not.

Also, it's so fecking cold in these parts I had to drive with socks on my hands! Please tell me if someone else has done this. PFB laughed a lot when I explained my reasoning behind it - was cold and lacked gloves at time - and she didn't understand! Surely tis better to have a socked hand than a frozen hand?!

I was convinced today that I was working from 1pm - 9pm. In I trot at 12.50pm, ready to start my shift. Manager takes me to back office. Tells me I am 2 hours early, but since I am here, go upstairs and help housekeeping service rooms. Not a happy chappy. Atired... chappy.

So here I am, sat in work, not meant to be using the computers for personal reasons, TIRED, cold, and a dog has been sick on the carpet. (Forgot I had to tell you something. Very loud dog barking in room. Told dog owners to make it be quiet. Asked if I could watch dog til they ate their tea. Obliged - love dogs. Not this one. Was grumpy and spewed. Office now smelling of hot sick and I am working ten hour shift. Directly blaming dog.) Last 24 hours have not been so good for moi! Luckily, myself and my merry men are travelling to Londontown tomorrow to look for a house, so we can finally move away from this hellhole!

Oh, I must inform you, Jizz from fringe has started blogging! She's only done a few entries but I have laughed thus far. Please follow her: http://futurespiceshopowner.blogspot.com/

Keep reading!

Love you
toodles xx