Ho hum.

Yes, hello, marvellous, 2009 soon, etc.

Rarely online at the mo and I don't have a phone signal here but it's quite nice being out of touch sometimes.

I shall be back in 2009.

Happy new year. Etc. Marvellous. Snore.

Happy 2nd Blogaversary to me.

(Can I go yet? )

Ok, this post is post-dated because right now I'm on a train. Well I will be when this is posted. Right now I'm in my dressing gown and a towel feeling a bit damp and cold. Though, I'm not, because I'm actually on a train.

This feels like I'm messing with time. I feel like the Doctor from Back To The Future.

So, umm...yeah. Cake for all.

Well ho ho ho, etc. I hope Adult Santa was kind?

We had a relatively uneventful day, the usual family Christmas. Dozing grandparents, an excess of swine and cow and foul, mint Matchmakers, etc.

Only one major argument. I saw an advert for a thing for a Nintendo DS with 100 classic books on or something, and got irate, declaring it to be a ridiculous idea, what with there being a fair few printed copues of Pride and Prejudice et al already. My dad - my dad, of all people! The only thing he reads is Teletext! - told me that it was in fact me being ridiculous (bad idea) because it would be really useful for someone going on holiday. I told him anyone who took a DS with a tiny electric library on it instead of an actual physical book was an idiot. A book can fall in a pool and it isn't the end of the world. Furthermore, nobody really reads on holiday, they just hold the same book for a week and look at other people over the top of it. ALSO, libraries exist for a reason, if they don't want to buy all 100 books. Dad counteracted with his usual argument of "Well, you're wrong", at which point my sister screamed "ENOUGH, YOU FREAKS!", and that was that. Speech of any kind was tentatively resumed five minutes later.

This morning we had turkey drama. We went to my grandparents' house for dinner yesterday but obviously dad still bought a massive turkey crown and joint of beef for the small Boxing Day Buff-ette. Well, mum declared the turkey to be Off. "It's OFF! It SMELLS! It's OFF!" etc. Dad couldn't smell anything bad. Neither could I. Not to be deterred, mum rang nanna, and two minutes later dad was trotting around the corner with a turkey crown in a bin liner.

Nanna had the final say, of course. She could smell it as he was walking down the street. Apparently. We're going to have to 'make do' with leftover turkey from yesterday.

I couldn't give a flying piglet. The less turkey the better. Eugh.

I think I have new year plans. They involve a train to Carlisle. I should probably investigate the feasibility of this, rather than assume all will be ok with that plan. Maybe later. I have a bacon sandwich to eat and clothes to put on first!

Merry Christmas to all, happy elves and grumpy gits alike.

I'm off to watch Midsomer Murders with another drinkypoos and a mince pie.

Mwah x

Those Jesus-magazine people were very apologetic for waking me up just now, but the simple fact remains that they did indeed wake me up, and that never signals a good start to the day for me. I opened the door very cross.

The lady proferring magazines was really rather cute though, so that sort of made up for it.

I even let her do her spiel, and took her magazines (they obviously don't bother asking for a chat anymore).

She apologised once again for waking me up. Sleepy, and mellowed by her lovely red hair, I replied: "No, no no no. It's my fault for going to bed so late!".

I'm sure I was committing any number of sins in her eyes. Sloth. Drinking. Though, I hadn't been drinking last night - I'm just a sloth that can't go to bed any earlier than 2.30am these days. And one more sin she didn't know about - unless they can read minds these days?

The bloke was trying not to look down my pyjama top.

I'm so bloody sick of the negativity, misery and glumness that seems to permeate into the general atmosphere from people at this time of year.

Scrap that.

I'm so bloody sick of the misery and glumness that seems to permeate into the general atmosphere from people at this time of year, when really, comparatively speaking, they haven't a damn thing to complain about.

It's just a couple of days, then it's over. Mayhaps you'll go to Church. Maybe the pub. After that, all you have to do is sit at a dining room table, then the sofa, and eat and drink until you start farting after each swallow.

It doesn't fucking matter. None of it fucking matters. It's a couple of days out of the year. It's what you make it, and nothing else.

I hate all the Live Aid/Charity Christmas Guilt shit (mainly because it works, and I spend at least 90 minutes of Christmas Day feeling guilty as hell before moving it to the back of my brain and getting on with things - I'd be a good Catholic in that respect) but, y'know, you're not spending it sat in a cardboard box in the doorway of a glum looking Woolies, watching other people be happy.

Get some damn perspective people - man up, as my sister would say. My 20 year old sister, who is spending Christmas waiting to hear whether it is cervical cancer or not. She hasn't told our parents, but she has told me. I am, at her request, trying not to worry. I'm actually doing quite well in that respect, I'm sure she'll be fine, etc. She is carrying on as normal - she's gone out tonight, glammed up, looking lovely as usual, and not dwelling on it at all.

So, it doesn't matter what you do, where you do is, as long as you speak to at least one person you care about. What fucking else matters?

I don't know why I bother, really!

(Right.

I simply can't be bothered to write.

Here goes.)

I worked 1pm - 9pm yesterday with a stonking hangover. Stonking, I tell you. Went for a festive Pizza Express on Saturday night, followed by numerous cocktails. Preceded with a bottle of wine. Eugh. Fucked. New rule - don't drink anything luminous. Oh my goodness though, if you like hot food, have an Etna (or "a Etna", far better) at Pizza Express. Holy cow! NOM! Just don't make plans for the next day, and stock up on loo roll.

I'm at work at the moment. I finish at 2pm, and after that it's back to the Hall where I will have precisely one hour to pack, clean out the fish, and tidy my room, before dad arrives.

You all know this won't happen.

This is the fifth or sixth time dad has had to come and get me for Christmas and I've never been ready. One sole exception was 2005, where I had to get the last bus home back on Christmas eve after working a full day in Waterstone's, laden up with parcels and carrier bags of clothes. I arrived home so traumatised that mum swore she would never allow me to go through it again - hence, Dad has had to take the day off work today. I would rather possess some semblance of organisation, however, I don't wish to disappoint him. I know he loves standing in the doorway of my room, waiting for me to throw things at him and bark orders, informing him to "get over it" at least 14 times.

One fish, William, needs to come home with me too (that's going to go down well). I know I recently mentioned he was close to death, but he seems to be battling through whatever caused something to eat through his gut and out of his side, causing all food and poo to come out in a big bloody mess from a hole that shouldn't exist. He surived two nights in what I call the Death Jug - ie, where I plop guppies to die to ensure they don't consequently get eaten by Hastings and Japp - so I declared him to be a fighter, and now he lives in a clear plastic drawer with a bit of weed, with regular medication that contains formaldehyde. He has a scab on his side, is eating like a pig, and isn't so pale. Now I just need his tail to grow back too. Go William! Oh, won't the evil dwarves get a surprise when they see him back in the tank. Muhahaha.

OH. MY. GOD. I WILL SEE SUPER HANS TONIGHT AND CUDDLE HIM FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE SEPTEMBER. Oh my god!!!!!!!!! *SCREAM*! Oh yeah, and Lucy.

And lovely friends

Christmas shopping is sort of done. My sister has done most of it for mum, and I did dad's stuff (Jezza's latest, and a personal DAB radio - no more sitting and listening in the car for him!). She also got herself a present from me, which she is putting in a bag for me to wrap up, so that at least one of us will be surprised at what she gets off me. I also bought her Minger Top Trumps cards (sexy), and I'm going to get her a DVD on Tuesday after meeting a poof for lunch. Yes, a DVD she has requested. We're not really into spontaneity and surprise in our household.

I am excited about Christmas dinner at nanna and grandad's house. I have bought a black top that covers my tits. Nanna will be pleased. I am harbouring a little resentment at the thought though, so I better not get too plastered, else gawd knows what'll happen.

That'll do, pig. That'll do.

Deep breaths.

You're sure to find something suitable on this list! I personally have always wanted a knitted dissection frog. I might get myself it.

Or why not head to Argos, where for £9.97, you can purchase this festive stocking filler:

I don't think so.

The Rules:
Go to your photo archives on your computer, go into the 6th folder and count up to the 6th picture and post it on your blog along with the story that goes with it.

My sister and I 'adopted' two donkeys for my mum for Christmas last year. She bloody loves donkeys. We went to visit them last August.

I confess to have been amused by the blatant disregard for RULES and GUIDELINES displayed by so many people at Radcliffe Donkey Sanctuary in deepest darkest Lincolnshire.

I'm not tagging individuals, consider everyone and no one tagged...

It's far too late to think of one.

Suggestions welcome.

Just a giggle Clicky.

I always love Radio 1 parodies and this is no exception

Third link down - Dom and Dave.

*Sway*

...so, Subz, I'm yoinking you. Ooh, baby that feels good.

(Though I have a feeling this has been around before...)

Work is going to be slow tonight

The Rules:
1. You can only say YES or NO.
2. You are NOT ALLOWED to explain anything unless someone asks.

Taken a picture naked? : - Yes
Made out with a member of the same sex? : - Yes
Danced in front of your mirror? : - Yes
Told a lie? : - Yes
Gotten in a car with people you just met?: - Yes
Been in a fist fight? : - No
Had feelings for someone who didn't have them back? : - Yes
Been arrested? : - No
Left your house without telling your parents? : - Yes
Ditched school to do something more fun? : - Yes
Slept in a bed with a member of the same sex? : - Yes
Seen someone die? : - No
Kissed a picture? : - Yes
Slept in until 3? : - Yes
Laid on your back and watched cloud shapes go by? : - Yes
Played dress up? : - Yes
Fallen asleep at work/school? : - Yes
Felt an earthquake? : - Yes
Touched a snake? : - No
Ran a red light? : - No
Had detention? : - No
Been in a car accident? : - No
Pole danced? : - No
Been lost? : - Yes
Sang karaoke? : - No
Done something you told yourself you wouldn't? : - Yes
Laughed until something you were drinking came out your nose? : - Yes
Caught a snowflake on your tongue? : - Yes
Kissed in the rain? : - Yes
Sang in the shower? : - No
Got your tongue stuck to a pole? : - No
Ever gone to school partially naked? : No
Sat on a roof top? : - Yes
Played chicken? : - No
Been pushed into a pool with all your clothes on? : - Yes
Been told you're hot by a complete stranger? : - No
Broken a bone? : - Yes
Mooned/flashed someone? : - Yes
Forgotten someone's name? : - Yes
Slept naked? : - Yes
Blacked out from drinking? : - Yes
Played a prank on someone? : - Yes
Felt like killing someone? : - Yes
Made a parent cry? : - Yes
Cried over someone? : - Yes
Had sex more than 5 times in one day? : - Yes
Had/Have a dog? : - No
Been in a band? : - No
Drank 25 sodas in a day? : - Yes
Shot a gun? : - Yes

He just sat there, at the computer, constructing a sandwich. I was apoplectic!

...could go right. Wish I was brave enough to find out sometimes.

Etc.

Fuck it.

104 comments and counting, courtesy of the resident,

Troll.

I firmly attribute William's impending death to the work of Captain Hastings, Inspector Japp and the Seven Dwarves. Bastards.

If you don't know what I'm talking about, well, serves you right for not paying attention to every minute detail of my life.

No, I'm not still drunk, mainly because I threw it all up.

...Done.

They may have been free wine (well, free in the sense that I didn't pay for anything I drank) and their may have been pudding and their may have been fighting. Ahh, kiddies.

I am not supposed to be drinking given my antibioticised nature but I managed a bottle and half of wine. Such a trooper.

Now I am eating cold pizza in my pyjamas.

Ohhhh, my goodness me, I'm very very very drunk.

Hic.

Mwah.

I'm feeling a little better. Throat isn't quite so sore, but has been replaced by constant nose blowing and coughing up of lungs. Lots of blood in the sink, but that's...normal.

The cocktail of drugs in my system have sent my sleeping pattern into madness. Night-time is feverish. Have I ever mentioned the time I was ill and spent the whole night thinking I was in Subway, ordering lots of sandwiches? Last night was similar, except it was guppies. Guppy fever. At 4am I eventually shook myself awake from my non-sleep and had a word with myself in the bathroom mirror that squealing, wiggling and clapping my hands over imaginary fish simply was not on and not conducive to a good night's sleep. Hope it doesn't happen tonight.

I'm hungry. Missed dinner because I was watching lots of Gavin and Stacey online.

Fuck it. Takeaway and Jurassic Park.

Shake: I've got the shakes, simple as that really.

Rattle: I have some sexy antibiotics, and I have to take quite a few, thus I'm rattling, and so is my chest, seeing as it is full of - to coin a phrase used earlier by a fellow blogger (see if you can gues who) - "lung butter".

Puff: Hurrah, I'm back on inhalers. Well, it has been ten years, that's about the right time for a reunion.

Prescriptions are expensive

At one point last night I couldn't even touch my skin because it was so hot. It was freezing cold in my room, but sweat was pouring off me. Two walls of my bedroom are outside walls, so I flattened my back against one to try and cool down. Fail.

Then my eyes started going funny, with little dots around the edges. Then I started seeing things out the corner of my eye, zipping along the floor, like you might think you see a mouse.

I coughed up...something. Often.

It was time to go to bed, complete with a stomach full of paracetamol.

This morning, my temperature has gone down a little bit, although I still have both windows wide open. I assume, however, that the reason I was so hot last night is because some small fires had been lit in order for shards of metal to be forged into razor blades somewhere in my innards, which were moved to my throat during the night, ready to wake me up at 5am in agony. Lahvly.

BOTH chemists are closed today, WANKERS, so I am having to make do with the only Strepsils Sainsbury's had, VILE Honey and Lemon ones. They aren't really helping, as I keep having to swallow, which makes me cry a bit.

JOY. I am at work tonight. I shan't be answering the phone.

This is Evil Man Flu.

I still can't find a better picture than the one I used last year:

Mm. Gay cake.

Happy Birthday poppet xx

...not that long ago, was it?

It was.

Plink plink fizz.

That Halls Soothers Ad.

Jurassic Park...on VHS.

C4 Christmas Ad Break, 1993 stylee:

I remember most of these. I WAS NINE YEARS OLD.

I have man flu again, and I feel like a moose.

Here, young man. Have a picture:

I think a liking of this film is the only thing we have in common. That, and entertaining racism in Family Guy, but it's hard to find an acceptable picture on Google if you use those search terms.

So, you may be getting old, but remember, Harry is dead.

*Sob*.

x

Your results:
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Spider-Man 75% Batman 60% Catwoman 60% Robin 55% Green Lantern 55% Hulk 50% Wonder Woman 48% Superman 45% Iron Man 40% The Flash 30% Supergirl 28%

You are intelligent, witty, a bit geeky and have great power and responsibility.

Click here to take the Superhero Personality Quiz

..."Is there an Emergency first Aider on board!?"

Why yes, yes there is, because I had five hours training yesterday. The only alternative to the four day course is one afternoon session, apparently. First Aid Lite?

We covered all the basics, including how to call for an ambulance. By that, I mean actually call out, not phone for one. "Help. Get an ambulance. Quickly." etc. I am not a fucking drama student, I didn't enjoy that one little bit.

We are also to assume that every bleeding person has Hepatitis B or HIV, and not to touch them if we have a scratch anywhere. First we must bathe in wax head to toe, to prevent any of those nasty germs entering our person.

Then we covered CPR. The breaths/compressions ratio has changed from when I last did this on a Duke of Edinburgh training day, aged 14. Now it is 30 compressions at a rate of 100 per minute, and 2 breaths. The 30 compressions fit perfectly with either two verses of Nelly the Elephant, or, delightfully, the first verse of...wait for it...Staying Alive. Brilliant.

I had to be awkward.

"What if someone has a facial injury and is covered in blood all over their lips and mouth? We have to assume they have HIV or Hepititis, so, do we breathe into them?"

"Well...umm...well, if you can't wipe it up, or use a mouth shield...don't do mouth to mouth. Just do the compressions. That'll probably draw some air in anyway."

Probably.

This is Cow, the wooden cow I purchased for 50p in a daze of tiredness yesterday.

He is very small, far smaller than he appears here.

Those are nostrils, not eyes. He has a fringe like mine.

He is displayed on my new Primani pyjamas, purchased for £4.

His horns are fearsome sharp!

Amsterdam was...ok. I still haven't decided if I had a good time or not. Definitely wasn't as good as last year. I was very tired as it's hard to get any decent sleep. On Saturday night we went to bed about 2am, but it was quite choppy and the swaying kept me awake. It's also an hour ahead so when your clock hits 5.30am, the lady with the nice voice announces that it is 6.30am, and that breakfast is now being served. She tells you this in three languages. Announcements then follow at half hourly intervals until 8.30am, so sleep is out of the question.

So having had no sleep for two nights, come Sunday I was a widdle tired and grumpy.

I would've liked to be a bit more touristy and get away from the sex and drugs for a few hours. When you are driving into Amsterdam on the coach there are lovely looking parks, canals and museums, but obviously these things cost money. There were many of the usual touristy-tour things but they cost on average about 17 Euro and nobody wanted to waste precious cash on such things - not when there were dildos and dope to play with. All day.

It was lovely seeing a few people that I haven't seen for nearly a year, and in their company I had a good time, but some of their other friends came too and were a bit annoying.

Emily, who is quite nice, and came last year too, brought her boyfriend this time. Boyfriend's name was Bob. Bob rarely spoke, but when he did, it was usually something bizarre and unnecessary, like a joke - (Bob: "Why are tampax making tampons with tinsel instead of string? For the Christmas period." Me: "Did he really just say that?") - or shouting at one of the ship security guards "YOU'RE A FUCKING GINGER!", when he wasn't ginger, or talking to him, or anywhere near him. He also had a cold, and liked to blow his nose with gusto and shout "FUCK yeah!" after every blow. For breakfast he usually ate a raw liver, egg and tinned tuna smoothie, and lamented the lack of this each morning.

Bob and I didn't get along.

Bob also decided he wanted to get some mushrooms for him and Emily. Fair enough. James, Emily's friend, who also came last year, and who is also nice, decided he wanted some too, even though he had never tried them before. He decided to ask Bob's advice. Good plan, James. Bob made him buy the strongest in the shop, telling him they were the weakest. The strongest Dutch mushrooms are not the same as the strongest English mushrooms. It's a bit like the smallest McDonalds drink available in America being the size of our Extra Large one.

Cut to one hour later, I am grabbing James as his eyes roll back into his head and he nearly falls into a canal, almost taking me with him. He then staggers forward, collapses, and proceeds to have a fit in the middle of the road, while irate Dutch-folk on bicycles ring their bells furiously at this blatant lack of respect for their right of way. All of this took place outside of a gaudy looking building called Sex Palace, which up until that point everyone else had wanted to go in, to watch people shagging. Thankfully, this near death experience seemed to make people forget about that.

James was fine after a few minutes, apart from taking on a lovely yellow hue to his skin, and seeing worms in the pavement. Bob and Emily found it hilarious. We did not.

It also started to sleet.

Thankfully, by this point, everyone else was getting just as annoyed with the giggling, very-slow-walking trio, not just me. Sadly we ended up losing them, and found ourselves in the same coffeeshop as last year, which is ridiculously cool, if slightly odd, and seems to be staffed exclusively by hot women. Everyone else lit up, and I cosied up with a glass of fresh mint tea, and set-to devouring the small pile of baked goods I had acquired. I hoped they would wake me up. Alas, the opposite occured, and a short while later I found myself on a river cruise, intermittently napping and talking about cats. (Pictorial evidence of this napping and spaced-out cat-chat can be found on Facebook.)

Unfortunately, I don't remember much else of the afternoon. My Facebook status updates tell me I was in a gay-sex-leather shop looking at a swing, which also brought back memories of holding a butt plug the shape (and very nearly the size) of a traffic cone and telling anyone who would listen that it would make a great ornament, especially because storage would likely be a problem.

I remember us sitting very quietly somewhere and me exclaiming "God, I need a fuck. Will one of you suck my tits?" to the four gay men I was with. Didn't work, oddly enough.

Everyone else fell asleep on the coach back to Rotterdam, but I enjoyed playing "Count the Headlights on the Other Side of the Motorway Until it Gets A Bit Overwhelming and you Need A Nap". Once back at the port, I experienced Sniffer Dog Terror, as earlier in the day I had stood on one of my muffins and it was all over my shoe (it still is, actually), so I was convinced I was going to get my foot eaten by a muffin-hungry German shepherd.

But I didn't.

On board the Pride of Hull once more, we made our way to the all you can eat buffet, whereupon I ate four fillets of salmon, an awful lot of roast beef and turkey, BBQ chicken wings, lots of cold gravy, and lots of ice cream. I followed this with half a tube of pringles, and it was then very important that I went to bed. It is fair to say I was not feeling my best, gut-wise.

Monday morning, we cleared away the mini-bar we had assembled on the windowledge, and joined the cue to disembark. The whole of the Reception smelled of Bad Farts.

I got dropped off at home.

I went to bed.

I got out of bed.

I went to the chippy, and a charity shop, where I bought a small wooden cow, and to the bakery for teacakes.

I went back home, and got back into bed.

I have forgotten to mention up until this point that at about 9pm on Sunday evening, breathing suddenly became a problem, and it still is. Huff, puff, pant, cough, etc. I'm going to the doctors later this week. I have come to the conclusion that it's either others smoking that sets off my asthma, or leaving the country and spending time with homosexual men.

Raw evil score: 51.11%

...Goodbye. I'm going to bed shortly. *Zombie*.