A Little Strike Each Day Can Chop Down Big Trees

That Time We Discussed Current Events (Ooh, High Brow For A Change)

Hello, dear readers.  A second post in just over a week?!

It's almost like there was some kind of rough plan when this all started.

This. #relateable

In any event, the evenings are getting darker, people are trying to save up for Christmas jollies and the Christmas spirit is in the air.

Lego Boyfriend loves Christmas and huge baubles. Apparently.

I have even had my first slice of Christmas pudding.

Although it seems as though not everyone is full of festive cheer.

Life marches on regardless of the season and unfortunately that appears to have brought some rather poorly timed strikes.  Both Southern Rail and the Post Office have announced varying degrees of inconvenience over the Christmas period.

Southern Rail have organised a 48 hour walk out over the last week with further strikes to be announced in December and January.  As someone that used to commute to London, I understand how annoying this is for everyone involved.  Not just the commuters but also the poor sods that have turned up to work only to have abuse hurled at them by disgruntled and caffeine deprived commuters.  I get that it is annoying for everyone and that the Aslef union feel this is their only option at this point.

But...this all started over who was going to be responsible for opening train doors.

Or we could just...you know, do it ourselves.

...or...no? Oh ,okay then.

It was announced that no trains would run on any Southern Rail routes and left approximately 300,000 people displaced in what Talk Radio called 'the worst disruption in 20 years'.

...don't give me that! I remember the snow of 2010.

And before anyone cries 'lazy journalism' this is actually a picture from 2010.  So nyeah.

And despite my rather facetious claim above, the argument is a lot more complicated than who gets to push one button to open the door of the train.

Apparently.

The problem of course with all these trains being disrupted is not just the effect it has on the rail infrastructure but all of a sudden there is an increase in cars on the road as people try to find alternative routes to work.

As Steve so eloquently states below:

I wish the #southernrailstrike ends soon, so all their customers can use the trains again, cos they can't fuckin' drive! #normalroaduser

— Steve Harris (@steve99999) 13 December 2016

And just in case we need any further proof that Harry Potter has the perfect quote for any and every situation...

Hagrid doesn't give a fuck who closes the carriage doors on the Hogwarts Express. #southernstrike pic.twitter.com/I6ZyJrPZ6M

— The Grump Crusader ツ (@grumpcrusader) 8 August 2016

In other news, it's not just the trains that have the British public in what could be described as A Mild Flap.

Apparently the Post Office have joined in on the fun.

You should think yourself lucky that 'e-cards' didn't really take off  in 1994.

But, not to be outdone by Southern Rail, the Post Office decided to really infuriate the general populace by announcing a five day strike in the week before Christmas.

Fingers crossed you didn't do all your shopping on Amazon.

Oh...bugger.

IT'S THE THOUGHT THAT COUNTS, RIGHT?!

(Namely the thought that my house is warm and devoid of screaming toddlers which leads me to internet shopping and wine drinking.)

Although, unlike Southern Rail, Post Office have insisted that it should be business as usual for 97% of Post Office customers.

Phew.

Incorrectly misappropriating political slogans. Yay. 

But seriously..sozlol to those of you that don't get to send out your Christmas cards this year.

I bet e-cards are looking pretty good right about now.

"Hmmm, festive and depressing.  I really just wanted depressing but if this is all you have I guess I'll take it."

...Or not as the case may be.

Speaking of the Post Office, does the strike mean that lots of boys and girls won't be receiving their postcard from Father Christmas this year?!  For those not in the know, if you send a letter to Father Christmas at the North Pole with your Christmas wish list, he used to send you a postcard to confirm that he had received the list and was working hard on all the presents.

I don't know if he still does or not because, sadly, we fell out of contact and haven't spoken for a while.

I mean, it's more recent than you would think, but hey...life gets in the way I guess.

...I think I read a fanfiction about this once.

Meanwhile, the strikes are making headlines in the papers:

'Christmas strike misery as Post Office workers stage five-day walkout and rail services are hit by industrial action' - The Telegraph

'December strikes do not signify new 'winter of discontent'' - The Guardian

'No trains, no cards and now no presents! Christmas strike nightmare gets worse as Argos delivery drivers announce they will stop working next week in a dispute over pay' - The Daily Mail (punchy as ever.)

'Argos strike latest: Delivery drivers announce three-day Christmas walkout' - The Independent

Wait...Argos are striking too? (Kind of thought the Daily Mail might just be making that up.  As usual.)  This saddens me because when I was younger we used to write letters to Father Christmas with our wish lists of gifts and toys etc.  This is obviously Not Unusual.

What was slightly strange was the fact that my mother and father used to sit my sister and I down with the Argos catalogue so that we could look for ideas.  Again, actually quite a good idea for despairing parents that have no idea what you mean by "that one doll in the adverts after 'Grizzly Tales for Gruesome Kids' but before 'My Parents Are Aliens".

However, it wasn't until I was much older that I realised how strange it was to write a page number and/or the 7 digit product code in my letter to Father Christmas.

Apparently, he only shops at Argos.

It's a good job I was am a naive and trusting child.

Well...if Argos drivers do go through with the strike, look on the bright side; that's a lot less vans and trucks on the road to make way for all those commuters!

I'll just leave this here and let you come to your own conclusions about my feelings on the matter.

Maybe instead of moaning about it (I know we are British but come on!) we should take the opportunity to appreciate what Christmas should really be all about.

Even the Grinch got it right by the end of the book.

So, forget the cards and the presents and enjoy spending time with your friends and family.

...unless of course you need to get a train to see them.  Then, in that case, just ignore this Blog, drink some form of mulled alcohol and cry on the inside like a winner.

Geez...no wonder these never took off.

If we learned nothing else from Christmas television adverts, it was that there's always Skype right?

And that you can rely on your family and friends to be rubbish at charades.

In any event, are we sure that the people striking didn't just fancy an extended Christmas holiday?

Which actually doesn't sound like a bad idea.

Any unions out there want to strike over the working conditions of paralegals?!

Well, might as well jump on the band wagon as trains are currently out of the question.

&&Fin.

Long Distance Is For Those Knowing A Good Thing When They See It, Even If They Don't See It Nearly Enough

That Time We Got All Mushy

What The Buzz: #ThursdayThoughts

My first Thursday Thought was, why does Twitter love alliteration so much?

#ThrowbackThursday
#FeelGoodFriday
#FollowFriday
#MancrushMonday

What's next?

#TMITuesday
#WeepyWednesday
#StayInBedSunday

In any event, the Twittersphere was coming over all positive and motivational (which is more than can be said for the #NationalPoetryDay hashtag which was bastardized into #WriteAPoemForTheresaMay which were surprisingly witty, if somewhat harsh).

So, in order to spread a bit of motivation and happy thoughts across the internet, here are some #ThursdayThoughts for you all:

Don’t forget that the sacrifices you make now are setting you up for a better life down the road. #ThursdayThoughts #Motivation #Inspiration pic.twitter.com/uo0eYKP0SO

— Murray Newlands (@MurrayNewlands) 29 September 2016

5 Ingredients for Happiness#ThursdayThoughts pic.twitter.com/x5PdUWMH1T

— Gary Hensel (@gary_hensel) 6 October 2016

#ThursdayThoughts 🍁 October back to work it's dark outside the wind blows in my hair

It's a little cold ☕🍰

💕💞💖 pic.twitter.com/fdylyV0lvl

— kent kristensen (@kentkristensen1) 6 October 2016

My #mondaymotivation is to get #blogs ready by #ThursdayThoughts. #blogging pic.twitter.com/igAUyHxPxp

— Jonny (@MerthyrRanter) 26 September 2016

All the technology in the world will never replace a positive attitude. - Harvey Mackay #quote #ThursdayThoughts pic.twitter.com/h4ffbvooPz

— Bill M Moore (@bmoore_20) 26 September 2016

I was in need of some positive thinking today, dear readers.

It finally dawned on me yesterday that the BF is heading off to sea very shortly and will be gone for 5 solid months.  This information has been made known to me since January/February time so it should not have come as a shock.

But knowing it was due to happen 'at some point in the distance future and anyway it's only a Tinder guy you might not even still be dating at that point' and actually coming to the reality of it 'oh my God you are going away, I won't see you for 5 months and you will miss Christmas, New Year, our first anniversary, my law school graduation and Valentine's and everything in between' is very different and not altogether pleasant.

Now, don't get me wrong, BF is off on glorious adventures on the high seas so we are (resignedly) happy for him.  He is leaving his dredging life behind him and he is, in fact, going to be employed on a cruise ship (colour me jealous) so I'm sure he'll basically be hit on by old ladies, feasting on cream teas and pointedly ignoring the gym facilities.  (This is The Only Way To Cruise.)  But the point is that I won't see his face and get to annoy him by tugging on his chin stubble for a Very, Long Time.

And that is a hard fact to accept.

(Although I'm sure his stubble will be relieved.)

It's like a spiky safety blanket...don't look at me like that.

I know some people will be thinking 'is it even worth it?'.  (I know this because some socially inept people in my life have actually asked this question OUT LOUD.)

I am here to tell you inexplicably and most emphatically, yes; it is worth it.

As we have previously discussed the importance of having amazing people in your life that truly care about you so I won't re-hash old ground but it is still true.  The BF is one of those people and why would I want to settle for less for the simple reason that it is geographically available to me?

Plus...I've already seen the local Tinder offerings. Shudder. 

To emphasise my point about finding special people, I am going to share with you an ooey gooey story.  Stand by with your upchuck reflexes, dear readers.

NB: Some of the following circumstances and conversations may have been dramatized (slightly!) for humorous effect.

(It is (late) morning.  AJ and BF are sat in bed talking.  AJ occasionally pulls on BF's stubble and ignores the BF's manly winces.)

AJ: I have got such a weird craving for breakfast.

BF: I'm all ears.

AJ: I know this is really weird.  But I have a really strange craving for curry.  How odd is that?!

(BF refrains from commenting but is clearly recalling AJ's culinary expertise the evening before which consisted of pizza and steak.  BF wisely just smiles and nods.) 

BF: Right, I'm going to have a shower and then I'll rustle up some breakfast.

AJ: Okay, but I don't know how much food I have in the house.

(BF also refrains from stating that this is not unusual and he expected as much.  BF is actually Very Clever.  BF showers while AJ fantasizes about chicken tikka masala. BF emerges from the bathroom in a cloud of steam.)

BF: Right - all done.  You go and hop in and I'll make breakfast.

(AJ showers and thinks pilau rice wouldn't be too weird as breakfast.  AJ gets out of the shower and dresses before heading downstairs. There is the sound of something sizzling from the kitchen.) 

AJ: Oh my gosh - something smells amazing! Have you done Spanish omelette or something?

BF: Something like that...

(AJ rounds the corner into the kitchen and sees that the BF has made onion bahjis from the minimal supplies he has found in the cupboards. AJ effectively becomes the heart eyes emoji.)

Seriously guys....hold out for someone that makes you onion bahjis for breakfast.  And when you find them do not let go.

Even if you won't get breakfast bahjis again for 5 months. #ThursdayThoughts

Worth it.

&&Fin

I'm An Instant Star. Just Add Water And Stir.

That Time We Discussed The Inevitable

What The Buzz: #DavidBowie

As you are already no doubt aware, David Bowie has sadly passed away after a battle with cancer.

The Twittersphere and Facey-B alike exploded with the news with messages of sadness and heartfelt remembrances.

Personally? I can only claim to be a casual fan of the late, great Bowie.  I have an appreciation of his music, certainly, but my main source of love for the man comes, undoubtedly, from his performance as Jareth the Goblin King in 1986's Labyrinth. 

(I also particularly love Life on Mars (the song and TV show) but that is a somewhat loose connection.)

The Best Thing to happen in 1986. WITHOUT QUESTION.

David Bowie was a true icon and has given us so much to enjoy including 25 studio albums, an incredible 51 music videos and has sold over 140 million albums worldwide which is certainly a fitting tribute to the longevity of Bowie's popularity.

But for me, he will always be that strangely alluring, magical, cruel to be kind magician that captured my imagination when I was a young girl.  I remember watching this movie and, even knowing that there were puppets and muppets and all sorts of other creations involved, thinking that Jareth was the real magic of the film.

Even inspiring an amateur cosplay attempt by me and the Sister. 

The wold has lost a wonderfully creative spirit and my thoughts go to his family and friends who knew him in a way that the online world tries to lay claim to but will never understand. 

And, finally, the most fitting tribute I could think of.  Take it away lads:

&&Fin.

He Immediately Arose, Purred Loudly, Rubbed Against My Hand, And Appeared Delighted With My Notice

That Time We Celebrated Cats

What The Buzz: #BlackCatDay

Firstly, I must apologise for the late posting of this What The Buzz article but I have been muchos busy over the last few weeks with London Comic Con, moving house and other personal errands.  Moving house has proven to be something of an interruption for my social media as I have not reconnected my computer as yet!  So this blog post is a little late, but as they say, better late than never.

Amongst the other more pedestrian twitter trends this week I came across a little gem that was very close to my heart. On Tuesday 27th October 2015, it was Black Cat Day in the UK. 

This is a day promoted by the Cats Protection League (http://www.cats.org.uk/black-cats) and got trending on Twitter very quickly with people more than willing to share their pictures of their adorable moggies.

There has been lots of research into black cats and, in particular, their adoption rates.  It has long been noticed that black cats tend to take up to a third longer to adopt than more colourful kittens in rescue centres.  This to me seems completely bizarre as I have always adopted cats on the basis of their personalities/characters and not on what colour fur they have but clearly it is a trend for other adopters.

Whilst researching for this blog post, I came across some interesting superstitions and myths surrounding black cats.  Most people are aware of the superstition that a black cat crossing your path is bad luck but this tends to be a Continental superstition that has grown in popularity in the UK.  Historically, in Britain, a black cat has always signified luck and in fact many ships had black cats as pets in order to have good luck on the high seas.

Modern culture seems to have developed the idea that black cats are unlucky or the familiars of witches and that could potentially explain the lower adoption rates of these moggies.  But, as Groucho Marx once said, 'A black cat crossing your path signifies that the animal is going somewhere'.  Insightful as ever.

This hashtag was very poignant for me as my family currently have two cats in our family (one of which is black and was a rescue cat - a little bit damaged but lovely) but up until two weeks ago there was a third.

Toby channelling his inner 'Toothless'

We recently had to say goodbye to our third moggy, Harry, as he had developed untreatable stomach cancer.  So it was, with heavy hearts and very damp eyes, we sent him to sleep.  Harry was only 6 and was the soppiest cat I have ever known - he would cuddle up with you whenever you sat down and wherever you were.  If you were in the house - he would find you! And there was no way you could say no to a Harry cuddle. 

Harry - such a tart

Definitely big on the cuddles

He would roll upside down and let you rub his spotty belly and just generally love being loved.  He was a very unconditional cat and loved everyone.  There was a special bond between Harry and I in particular which I attribute to me being his sole human for a few weeks when he was a kitten as the rest of the family were away on various holidays.  I don't know why but that seemed to have bonded us for life (however short that may have been).

I was serious about not saying no the a Harry cuddle.  Even if you were only sat down for 5 minutes.

So this blog post is especially important to me to say how much I appreciate my two other cats (Maggie and Toby) and also as a huge shout out to Harry who is still loved, still missed and still very dear.

#AllCatsAppreciationDay

&&Fin.

Talk Well of The Absent Whenever You Have The Opportunity

That Time I Got Way Too Attached To My Wing Mirror Spider

I am the proud owner of a classic 1999 Honda Accord.  The current market value of this car is £130 and it does not always start on the first attempt.

I have also bumped into several pillars whilst driving around implausibly small car parks so the red paintwork bears some battle scars.

Despite all this, I love my car.

And recently I had a fellow Honda enthusiast aboard. His name was Freddie. And he was my wing mirror spider.

Freddie was something of a beast and so I will admit that, initially, our friendship was born out of fear of removing his web and facing his wrath rather than enjoying his presence.  However, that was quickly rectified as I found he made my car journeys more enjoyable. 

There was never a dull car ride with Freddie on board - the first such adventure involved Freddie evicting my previous wing mirror spider in no uncertain terms after a battle to the death was acted out at the traffic lights.  Freddie was not a particularly graceful or merciful winner but it is life and death in the Honda ghetto.

Freddie travelled with me from the South coast all the way to Leicester and we became firm friends after I promised not to destroy his web if he could survive the journey. (I had hoped that travelling on the motorway at 70mph might have done my dirty work for me but alas, it was not to be.)

Freddie was made of harder stuff than I initially gave him credit for.

Not only did Freddie traverse the dangers of the M1 with me, he survived through the growing Autumnal chill, his web was broken after a particularly windy evening and he managed to swing on to the car door before quickly retreating to the safety of the wing mirror.  He became a travelling companion and it is only with a little embarrassment that I confess to talking to him during our rides to and from work.  He was a source of amusement as he started the journey clinging onto the wing mirror only to bravely scuttle out onto his web, suspended between wing mirror and car door, as we began to pick up speed.

More than once I shouted over the pulsating music as he bounced around in the delicate looking strands: "FREDDIE, YOU NUTTER!!"

Until, one fateful evening, I am sad to report that Freddie took one risk too many.

Travelling up the M3 after a particularly hellish day at work, I watched as Freddie's web flailed, the whole construction waving wildly in the breeze. When, suddenly, the web, and Freddie with it, were lost forever.

I remember blinking owlishly for several moments; convinced that Freddie would reappear on the car door.  Sadly, my wing mirror remained vacant and I realised that Freddie would not be returning this day or any other.  This had been his last ride.

Freddie, wherever you are, (spider Hell probably after your vicious attack on the previous tenant of my wing mirror), you are sorely missed.

#neverforget

&& Fin.

All Human Wisdom Is Summed Up In Two Words - Wait And Hope

Day 12 - That Time I Realised That When You Are Meant To Be Busy It Is Easy To Find Distractions But When You Have Nothing To Do It Is Impossible To Fill The Day

I quite literally have nothing to do.

I could fly home tomorrow if I wasn't quite so sure that I will have to do a re-sit. All I am doing is waiting for exam results and, if they are published saying I passed, I could have gone home yesterday.

It is very frustrating.

I have taken to perusing dress and shoe websites which is only causing more frustration and depression when I realise that there is no way I can afford them.

Excuse me while I go and drown my sorrows with Earl Grey.

&&Fin.

A Thief Passes For A Gentleman When Stealing Has Made Him Rich

Day 2 - That Day I Cried My Eyes Out

Too shocked to type much.

Someone (some thieving, scumbag, waste of society) has stolen Hoj's seat cover.

This is just too depressing.

Excuse me while I eat lots of chocolate, get fat and mourn the loss of my flowery seat cover with my distraught bicycle.

&&Fin.

Here's To The Pilot That Weathered The Storm

Day ?? - That Time I Regretted Not Starving

Hello, dear readers.

I know that my absence in writing must have caused more than a few broken hearts but fear not! For I have returned with a vengeance.

The Tale of The Disconnection
Twas a cold Thursday eve
And the winter drew in
There was nought to do
But to sit and to sin.

A young girl was sat,
Her head in her hands,
For the internet was down
Along with her plans.

For she hoped she could watch
(As she was wont to do)
Some TV shows of hers
(There were more than a few).

But alas come the night
When the stars shone so gay
Her connection was gone
It had fluttered away.

Onward she battled
Through sever and gateway
But she turned to the vodka
So miserable was her day.

Then she partied all night
Danced till her feet turned blue
As she prayed that tomorrow
Her connection would be renewed.

All through Friday she suffered
Without book (face or lame),
Till she called the IT man
Such was her pain.

She knocked on his dwelling,
Filled with such dread,
For she had heard if you woke him,
He ripped off your head.

He opened the door,
She stifled a cry.
"What do you want?"
He roared with fee and with fi.

Calmly she told him
Her woes and her needs
He slammed the door in her face
And went about his dark, IT deeds.

A few minutes later,
And a few minutes more,
A muffled apology
Could be heard through the door.

"There's nought to be done."
He shrugged and he waved.
"Your internet's gone.
It cannot be saved."

Beaten, defeated,
The girl returned home
Where the only thing to do
Was to whine and to moan.

"Unhelpful wretch!
What on earth shall I do?
I have a project on Monday
And I'll miss Smallville too."

The weekend came
And the weekend went
She was ready to demand
A reduction of her rent.

In her hours of seclusion,
Cut off from the world
She managed to get through
An entire series of Gossip Girl.

But Monday came
And the IT man did too
"Turns out it's just your IPv6
It'll be as good as new."

The girl rejoiced
Her luck was finally in,
But her stomach lurched
When she saw IT man grin.

"Yep, reconnected
In a day or three.
That's what you get
For awakening me."

He left with a chuckle,
The girl still without power
So she sat down and counted
Every minute, every hour.

Lucky for her
(And her sanity too)
She was reconnected Tuesday
And she had much to do.

There were programs to watch
And emails to write
And secrets to keep
Of the events of Sunday night.

For nobody knew
That the girl was a whizz
That she hacked someone's wireless
What a cheeky young miss.

But regardless of this,
Her internet was back
So she wasted her time
Writing poetry and other cack.

=D

Yeah. Take that.
Also, I had my Anthropology presentation on Monday which could have gone worse. I think it was okay so I'm feeling quite good about that. It's weird to think though that I've had 6 weeks of lectures and I've already finished 2 of my modules for the year. Very bizarre. I'm a little worried about exams next week just because I feel like I haven't really learnt anything. And not because I haven't been working but just because it's been such a short time.

Anyway, onto other news.

Today I ran out of food. (Well, technically it was yesterday evening). So I knew I had to go food shopping. But the weather was horrible so I knew I had to do it on the way home because I wouldn't leave my house again if I got into the warm.

I picked up a few things in town and then went onto Albert Heijn and Lidl to get my food.

As I'm cycling home the wind picks up and it's been drizzling on and off all day so it started doing that again. Then, all of a sudden, there is a heavy hail storm. And I'm stuck in the middle of it with shopping bags, a wooly hat and skinny jeans.

Oh, that was a fun ride home.

Turns out the best buy of the day was not food (which I would have starved without) it was the preemptive waterproof mascara.

Bargain.

&&Fin.

For Many, Immaturity Is An Ideal, Not A Defect

Day ?? - That Time I Posted A Bunch Of Random Stuff To Make Up For The Fact That My Life Is So Dull

So I haven't really done much in the last couple of days. I wrote up all my lecture notes but no one wants to hear about that. I have watched nearly the entire first season of Dexter (and also run out of all my food because I haven't been shopping but I'm sure the two are not linked). I had never watched it before, all I knew was the main character was a serial killer pseudo vigilante cop hidden beneath the guise of a forensic expert.

Now, I obviously like the show enough to have watched an entire series, however, I'm not completely in love with it and I wouldn't rave about it to my friends.

For one, Dexter's sister, Debbie, really gets my hackles up. Every episode she appears to be a whiny, oblivious tool. The actress is gorgeous and she does a great job portraying the sister who hates being emotionally distant from her brother but the writers make some of her lines so desperate and clingy. Like everything everybody does is a personal affront to her. No wonder her boss doesn't like her. Also, sometimes I get a really creepy non-sister/brother vibe coming from the two siblings. It's a bit incestuous and makes me feel uncomfortable.

What really makes me feel uncomfortable though is the interaction between Dexter and his long term girlfriend, Rita. She is a victim of domestic violence who suffered at the hands of her alcoholic, drug dependent (soon-to-be) ex-husband. The ex-husband is in jail for some of the series but gets released early which is a whole 'nother shed load of worms, my friend. But the thing that makes me so uncomfortable is when she's trying to become intimate or affectionate with Dexter. Dexter is not interested in the physical of the relationship because if he sleeps with her she will realise that he's 'empty' (this word is thrown around so much in the show I don't even know what it means anymore). But she's starting to get a bit more confidence and so she keepps throwing herself at him only for him to kind of push her away. And it's actually painful to watch. Here's an emotionally damaged woman throwing herself at someone who doesn't want to get physical with her and I just feel like it must make her feel even more insecure. I don't know. It's hard to explain but it is so awful to watch the two of them together. Rita is portrayed so well by the actress and I think that's what makes it so difficult to watch.

Another thing that really bugged me was one of the police men, Doakes, seemed to be in love with another man's wife then she died so now he seems to be chasing after Debbie. I know she's hot, but seriously? You move on that fast? And now he's all jealous about her psycho, prothetic junkie boyfriend.

One thing I do have to praise is the title sequence. My goodness, Digital Kitchen need to do every title sequence ever. The only reason I looked them up was because the opening scenes looked fairly similar to the titles in True Blood and, lo and behold, it's the same company. I think I would recommend the show just for them, honestly.

Despite all that, I still like the show because I like murder mysteries. It still doesn't topple the Mentalist or Sherlock Holmes but yeah, it's watchable.

As long as you don't mind a little fake blood every now and then. (/every other scene)

Now, onto more amusing things. I have a backless dress (yes, yes, it is sex on legs tyvm) so I need a backless bra otherwise the whole effect is ruined. Now, I, in a moment of haste and recklessness, forgot to pack the one I already owned when I moved to the Netherlands. So I had to buy a new one. For some unknown reason underwear and lingerie seems to be very expensive here or perhaps I am not shopping in the right places. Anyway, I found a substitute that would suffice until Mother could post my one to me.

In all fairness I think I bought it just so I could show you the pictures because it really doesn't do anything. At all. But I thought this might be vaguely amusing.

AHAHAA.

&&Fin.

Tut Tut, Looks Like Rain

Day ?? - That Time I Regretted My Tight-Fisted-Ness

Woke up today and was greeted by the heavens opening before my very eyes. Still, this is the Netherlands so I was prepared with my ex-police water proof trousers (tres chic) and my mac in a pack for the onslaught of rain. My friend wanted to go to the shops before we headed into Uni (so didn't manage to have a cup of tea before we left) so we cycled over earlier than usual.

Just as we're locking up our bikes something occurs to me; it's Monday morning.

And, say it with me dear readers, Groningen dies for Sunday and Monday morning!

Of course it does.

So nothing is open. And now my friend is annoyed and wet. So we cycle to Uni as quickly as we can. When I describe the journey to you (full of perils, be warned) I am not exagerrating (much).

In Groningen the wind seems to not only be blowing the rain straight in your face but it also appears to be slashing at your bike sideways. The force is so immense that it either makes you drift towards the cars that drive along beside you or dangerously close to the pavement curb which, with the anorexic wheels I have on Hoj, would send me head over arse rather effectively. If you manage to hold on during this battering, the rain is the next foe to face.

It doesn't fall downwards.

It whips at you from (seemingly) all directions. But it particularly likes smacking you around the face for a bit. Now, as an avid glasses wearer, this was especially menacing for me. Anyone with an optical affliction will sympathise, I'm sure. Not only am I blinking owlishly every few seconds but my glasses are slowly becoming useless because of the amount of rain they seem to be attracting. Then, as if blurred vision isn't bad enough, the glass starts fogging up.

It's like being stuck in quick sand; it's slow, painfully obvious what's going to happen and there's nothing you can do about it. The more you swipe and struggle the quicker your situation deteriorates.

Eventually I had to take them off completely and just follow the weave and wobble of my friend's bicycle wheel in front of me.

To make matters worse, when I arrive I realise I have not applied waterproof mascara and now resemble Alice Cooper; The Transvestite Years.

Wonderful.

I also discovered that, whilst I had assumed my mac in a pack would be waterproof (name kind of hinted that it might be) it is, in fact, not. Not at all. My arms, chest, stomach and all the areas in between were completely soaked. But, thanks to my ex-police trousers my bottom half remained perfectly dry. Huzzah!

Sat through my four hours of lectures and then went to buy a REAL raincoat. One that might man up to the fearsome weather of the Netherlands.

Of course, by the time I exited the shop and cycled home it was no longer raining.

But, then again, we all knew that's what would happen anyway, didn't we? Who wants to take bets that tomorrow it's bright sunshine?



&&Fin