Friday, September 29, 2006

Knowing when to sit down with your head between your legs.

So I gave blood today. Despite the incessant photography (err, I did it for work), the difficulty finding a vein (mine are rubbish) and the fact that I almost threw up when I saw the size of the needle, it went really well, I gave the requisite amount of blood in 4 minutes and 4 seconds. I didn't feel faint or throw up or anything.

Buoyed by juice and biscuits, I went home and started preparing a delicious meal.

About an hour later, while chopping onions, I felt a bit funny and collapsed on the floor in a rather embarrassing fashion.

The moral of the story? Never give blood when you have to go home alone and cook dinner.

I did finish chopping the onions, by the way.

More on that story later.

Party pix!

As promised...
I've decided to offer no explanations for any of these charming little pictures, just thought it might be nice to get a flavour of the evening. If you click on Flickr at the side and go to the Masked Ball set, you can see the rest of them.

So can you spot which one's me?

More on that story later...

Tuesday, September 26, 2006

Coming down

Please don't interpret this as me being depressed. I'm just recovering from my very mad party.

It was bloody brilliant.
There was pass the parcel.
There was a large quantity of fabulous presents.
There was an even larger quantity of amazing and bizarre masks (and some less so).
There was a still larger quantity of alcohol consumed.
There was a brief but quite bizarre moment when all the men took their tops off at my random request (I didn't think they would actually do it but I thought it was worth a go).
There was lasagne which I was reliably informed was quite delicious but didn't feel like eating until it was all eaten.
There was lots and lots of cheese. And cake. Mmmm.
There was dancing and some games which did not seem particularly popular - apart from pass the parcel, which was a major highlight of the evening.

Oh, and there was a rather memorable recreation of the video for Queen's I Want to Break Free.

I took numerous pictures but they are with Boots at the moment. I am afraid that one of my highly mature friends may have taken a photograph of their arse. Oh well, all my friends have brilliant arses any more.

Speaking of arses, I was wearing my black trousers the other day which I hadn't worm in ages 'cos it's been the wrong sort of weather and there were huge baggy areas where my bum and thighs used to be. Seriously, how big was my arse?! Alternatively, I suppose HF could have been kindly taking my clothes and stretching them in the night to make me feel a bit better. You never know.

One of my friends got me a giant teapot (well, not really giant, but far too big for just one cuppa) in the shape of a fairy cake. I think I shall go and fill it with tea. Then find something naughty like yummy birthday chocolates to go with it. Mmmmm.

More on that story later.

Thursday, September 21, 2006

Just when everything was going so well...

So Thailand has had a peaceful, democratic government for the past 15 years.

Naturally, three weeks before I decide to go there for the first time, having spent the best part of 500 smackeroonies on the flight, there is a military coup.


My flights are, by the way, non-returnable. And no travel insurance will cover you for terrorism or acts of a warlike nature.


However, according to my friend and yours at the Foreign Office, there is no immediate threat - the coup happened without a single shot being fired and it all seems relatively calm. I am bloody well going to Thailand unless there are foreigners being shot in the street. And I'm going to enjoy myself, smile and flirt a little with any passing military rather than weeing my knickers at the sight of a tank (hey, I sat on a bus full of armed 18 year olds in Israel for six hours with no odds, I can do this).

Straight afterwards, we discover that Thailand is in the process of moving all its flights to its new airport - all of my travel info relates to the old airport. Ace.

And to make it worse, some toerags broke into HFs car when it was parked outside his work in an industrial estate and attempted to set light to it. For the record, they did a pretty shit job, leaving no trace of a blaze except a slightly melted pen, some singe marks on the seat and a burnt piece of paper. Well, and the smashed windows I suppose.

So what next? My left boob falls off unexpectedly in the shower, just when I'd bought a new bra? I turn up to my house for my 25th birthday party only to discover I've left the keys behind and no-one can get in?

Oh yeah, I'm 25 on Saturday and am planning to celebrate the occasion by getting horrendously drunk and dancing naked on my parents lawn while chanting loudly and tunelessly to the new Scissorsisters album (if no-one has got me this, I will be sad). Oh, okay, so I probably won't do all of the above. Probably.

More on that story later.

Monday, September 18, 2006

First impressions

So I called Mum up on Thursday night while I was packing my bags.

"What are you wearing on Sunday? You know, to meet Thursday," I asked.

"Oh goodness me, Frangelita, I can't possibly decide that now," she answered impatiently.

Solemnly, I replied: "But I'm packing my bag for the weekend now and I have to decide. I can't bring my entire wardrobe, it would be too hevay."

A few moments of silence.

"Well, you can't really wear one of your floaty nonsense dresses."

More consideration.


More silence.

"How about a skirt and a top?"

I silently consider the fact that my legs are desperately in need of shaving. And opt for a selection of three different outfits. One of which is a floor-length skirt.

I have been basking in the very complimentary (and indeed complementary) reviews of Sunday's blogmeet on my mother's and Thursday's blogs. Before being struck by a sudden fear and paranoia. Well, duh, she knows I read the blog. So if she was secretly thinking "goodness, if this is what Frangelita looks like after she's lost 2 stones what on earth did she look like before" and "how vulgar, she said wanker", she's hardly going to say so.

(For the record, I only said wanker once, and I wasn't referring to any particular individual.)

Anyway, I've decided not to review said blogmeet in quite the same way.

So instead, here are some lists.

Things I did do:

  • Pace up and down the room while obsessively checking the clock and my mobile phone (before she arrived).
  • Stare enviously at Thursday's beads.
  • Make inane conversation and nod sagely when I didn't understand when they starte discussing Joe Brown again.
  • Try to decide how Thursday compared to pictures (much prettier, super-glamorous, and without an ounce of discernible unnecessary fat) while trying not to look like I was staring.
  • Suggest we eat cheesecake and then proceed to be the only one piggie enough to consume any.
  • Spill a small amount of houmous on my leg and surreptitiously wipe it up and eat it.
  • Banished HF for the duration of the visit.
  • Gratefully accept and drink the yummy wine brought as a gift.
Things I did not do:

  • Get round to washing my hair before Thursday arrived.
  • Warn her about the horrendous traffic related to the county show likely to make her journey almost unbearable.
  • Contribute in any way to the cleaning of the house or cooking of the food. Apart from putting the ciabatta in the oven for eight minutes. Woo.
  • Spill on my boobs (result! That almost never happens).

Anyway, she was very nice and very glamorous. Did I say that already? Oh, and quite tall. She said we weren't as small as she imagined.

In other news, I've decided to give blood for the first time in a couple of weeks to write a feature about it. I'm already getting the cold sweats about it.

More on that story later.

Tuesday, September 12, 2006

Lame half-assed excuse for a post

I know no-one ever does these unless they have nothing better to blog about, but I was checking my search terms and these are some of the most amusing I've had.

If anyone can answer point four, I would be keen to know.

  • gymnast
  • james cracknell bodyfat
  • pictures of stallion shagging a mare
  • why is it bad to put deep heat on straight after a strain
  • what fuse plug smeg
  • jujitsu throwing dummy
  • inside my head
  • tesco pepperonata
  • your images are being uploaded to blogger.
  • women and martial arts and accidentally kicked
  • cooking substatutions
  • juggle scarves seniors
  • naughty air stewardess
  • facilities inside the ice cream vans pictures
  • pot kiln public house berkshire
In other news, I have a spot at the base of my hairline which is driving me mad. And is quite sore. Oh, and I'm having my first blogmeet on Sunday. Wish me luck.

More on that story later

Saturday, September 09, 2006

Brothers and pictures

A lot of people don't know I have a brother and when I happen to bring him up in conversation they say oh, I didn't know you had a brother.

He's not a secret or anything. I just don't mention him very often. They're funny things, siblings. My brother's been part of my life since I was born and has seen me through various stages of my life. In some ways he knows me better than most people. In others, not at all.

In books and films, big brothers are ace. They look out for you, they help you out, they have fit friends. Not my brother. Well, I did have a crush on a couple of his mates (what was I thinking), but aside from that, most of my childhood memories are less than pleasant.

Once, when I was quite small and innocent, he made me shout "CONDOMS" at the top of my voice in our back garden. I sort of knew it was a naughty word, but I didn't have a clue what it meant. On my first day of secondary school, he gave me some helpful brotherly advice. I was quite nervous, having read lots of school books of the type where you risk getting your head flushed down the toilet if you don't do the right thing. He told me that while all the boys wear their blazers undone, girls always did them up - it just wasn't cool the other way. After some careful observation on the school bus, I realised this was clearly a lie. More dangerously, he told me that you could wave your hand through the blue part of bunsen burners, it wasn't hot at all, but the red flame would scorch you. Sheer evilness if you ask me. We used to physically fight quite a lot too - we were quite matched, as while he was physically weaker in many ways back then, he had very bony arms and packed a mean punch.

My favourite memory of my big bro, who had quite a temper on him, was the time, shortly before we were due to go on holiday, that I refused to watch him play Mario on his NES. He was so angry, he punched through a window. My parents were not best pleased. Neither was I - it was my bedroom window.

He still knows how to get on my nerves like no-one else, talks for a maximum of ten seconds on the telephone, and constantly tries to turn me to his point of view. But actually, he's rather good company. I rarely see him upwards of two or three times a year, and it's usually a kind of fly-by night visit and on some of these occasions he deliberately winds me up. He's very funny, witty and his opinions, while sometimes rather forcefully stated are always...interesting.

Anyway, we had a wicked cool time together when I visited him a couple of weeks ago. We even had our picture taken together. I can't remember when that last happened.

And here's a lovely pic of me and HF at the top of St Paul's Cathedral being tourists in London (terribly good fun, I highly recommend it). It was very pretty, bit chilly mind.

More on that story later.

Tuesday, September 05, 2006

I don't like mushrooms

This is surprisingly difficult for some people to comprehend or accept.

I'm not about to change my mind about this. I've never liked them, and throughout my life I have tried them in various forms to see if my opinions have changed. They haven't.

So why do some people keep trying to force me to eat them? Not in a tying me down stuffing down my face kind of way (socially unacceptable in almost all communities, except perhaps college frat parties), but in a much more subversive, difficult to avoid way.

My sister is on a mission to convince me that I actually like them. So she chops them up into the sauce of things, really small, and when I ask her suspiciously if there are any mushrooms in there, she outright lies about it. I don't understand her logic. Why would she be so eager to make me eat something which I clearly don't want to? I don't think it's punishment, although it's hard to be sure with siblings.

I think this dogmaticness runs in my family somewhat - my dad is equally convinced that if I just gave them a try, I would miraculously discover that I don't find them slimey, unpleasantly mushy and just generally unpalatable. Both my dad and my sister will argue their point to the death and seem to find it hard to accept that there is any other viewpoint. I mean, my sister doesn't like pancakes and my dad doesn't really like pasta, but I'm not going to try to convert them to the way of the egg or the spaghetti. What's the point?

There is no particular reason for this post, by the way, no-one has made me eat mushrooms recently (as far as I'm aware, I'm not discounting night-time forcefeeding while I'm asleep), but I did mention to my brother on our round the country road-trip how much I hated the dreaded funghi and he seemed to find that pretty hard to accept.

As for the round the country trip, it was pretty cool, lots of good views and good food. Mmmm. I won't bore you with it. I might put some pix up on flickr as soon as I can get round to it.

In other news, I'm watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer DVDs somewhat incessantly at the moment and have developed a huge crush on both Spike (despite the dodgy accent) and Seth Green. Mmmm. Not Angel though, except when he's evil.

More on that story later.