Hobbies Of Any Kind Are Boring Except To people Who Have The Same Hobby

That Time We Talked About How To Enjoy Yourself On The Cheap

We previous discussed the fact that my boyfriend abandons me on the regular (aka he goes away for work). What you might not know is that I am also currently repaying a Career and Development loan (aka the Law Society fleeced me for even more money for a pointless piece of paper and I'm still not qualified. ...not bitter).

This is a qualified lawyer.  If this was a law student that statue would have been sold for food by now. Trust.

All of this means that I now need to find ways to enjoy myself on the cheap.

And thus, I have been indulging in as many free activities as possible.  These have, invariably, been a comedy of errors and therefore a Blog post is necessary.

So away we go:

1. Yoga at home

This is Adrienne.

Don't you just feel relaxed looking at her?!

Adrienne is my saviour.

I love yoga (potentially because it is the only form of exercise that I am semi-good at due to my alien, inherent bendy-ness). Previously, I have attended a yoga class in Southampton with Heather (I STILL LOVE YOU HEATHER!) which made sense when I worked in Southampton.  But now that I do not live or work in Southampton, driving to the class made less and less sense.

My YouTube skills (see Bear Grylls: Born Shiteater) led me to Adrienne.  I like that she doesn't take the practice too seriously and encourages people to find what feels good rather than sticking to what the poses should look like.

However, the major drawback to this method of yoga practice is that the teacher isn't in the room with you so you're not entirely sure you are doing the vinyasa (check me out!) correctly.  This is compounded further when you are trying to copy a miniature version of a lady on your phone screen propped up against a wall.

Anyway, because the teacher isn't in the room with you, they aren't able to correct you and/or push your limits in the best way and you end up in positions that maybe your body doesn't really appreciate.

By day 3 of the 30 day challenge, my buttocks ached in ways they shouldn't.  Although this may have had more to do with the fact that I tried to bend myself into a pretzel after several months of no exercise.  I am sure normal humans would not encounter the achy bottom syndrome that I suffered.

Hey ho, needs must and all that.

The 30 Day Challenge is a great way to get back into the practice if you have been away for a while.  The session are between 15-40 minutes so you might even be able to squeeze in some mat time before work if you are really keen.

Obviously, I will be in bed wondering what is wrong with you but don't let my judgmental eyes stop you.

Namaste. 

2. Home Waxing

This is less of a 'hobby' and more of a cry for help to be honest.

For anyone not getting my amazing Twilight references - boyfriend goes away, girlfriend endangers life and limb because "I'm an angsty teen and my life revolves around a guy - sozlol" and afterwards there is a dramatic loss of hair.

Well, I thought it was quite apt.

#isTwilightevenathinganymore

Anyway, I have previously mentioned my love for waxing so onto the step by step guide of my ordeal experience:

Step 1: Ensure Housemate has vacated the Premises.  I do not want an audience for the inevitable howls and yelps that are likely to ensue.

Step 2: Heat the wax up.  This took f-o-r-e-v-e-r.  This may have had something to do with the fact that I was melting enough wax to mould my own Madame Tussaud's figure but the wax wasn't fully melted for several hours.  In fact, my patience ran out and I started when there was still a huge solid chunk in the middle.

FYI - just as a kind of public service announcement; don't google image search 'lots of wax'.  You will be scarred for life.

You. Are. Welcome.

Step 3: Sit on the floor, on a towel, legs akimbo in a Very Unladylike Manner.

Step 4: Deep breaths.

Step 5: Use wooden lollipop stick to apply hot wax (NOT TOO HOT) to happy places.

Step 6: Allow wax to cool and harden.

Step 7: Realise that there is no going back.

Step 8: More deep breaths.

Step 9: Rip the wax off of your happy places which are now less happy and a lot more pissed off.  Hold in expletives.

Step 10: Admire handiwork and think the pain was worth it.

Step 11: Realise you have to do this like 30 more times and maybe it won't be worth it actually.

Step 12: Repeat steps 5 - 11 until you have achieved the desired baldness.

Hey, to each their own, man, amiright?!

There was a strange kind of satisfaction about the whole process. Enjoyment is not the right word; don't get me wrong - it hurts! But there is a weird compulsion to just keep going. It's like that feeling you get when you press a bruise. You know, where it kind of hurts but you can't help but do it again? ...no? I mean...me neither.

Not awkward enough to NOT write a Blog Post about though, clearly.

3. My Lego Boyfriend

My most recent project is a clear sign of my descent into madness.

But hey, what is a Blog for, if not to afford my dear readers the chance to mock me when they see me in public.

Years ago, a lifetime before Perfect Tinder Dates and Breakfast Bahjis, the Boyfriend was gifted a Lego version of himself by some work colleagues.

Here he is:

So. Cute.

Lego Boyfriend has been entrusted into my care whilst Real Boyfriend is away and we have lots of adventures planned for the next few months.

For the time being, I just wanted to introduce my Lego Boyfriend (checkered shirt and all!) and you can follow our adventures via photographs on my Instagram.  But Lego Boyfriend will also be making regular appearances on the Blog so hopefully we will be seeing much more of him in the future.

NO!

I love you, dear readers, but really.

Filthy minded the lot of you.

In light of my poverty, my friends and family have the joys of home made Christmas gifts so look forward to my fail tales of my attempts at creativity in due course.

What this whole experience, and in particular, writing this Blog post, has taught me is that...I need better hobbies.

&&Fin.

If Music Is A Place -- Then Jazz Is The City, Folk Is The Wilderness, Rock Is The Road, Classical Is A Temple

That Time I Recounted Saturday At Wilderness Festival 2016

Hola, dear readers.  I know you have all been waiting with bated breath for the next installment of the Wilderness Blog Post.

Well...ta-da!  Here we are...nearly a month later.  My bad.

But, seriously - busy, busy life yada yada I know, dear readers, you have heard it all before.  So let us get right back in to the story.

Saturday

(In which I forgot to mention that we had tried to buy ear plugs for Ker-Bear from the many vendors around the festival only to be told they were all sold out.  But I did have some cotton wool pads so KB was able to stuff those in her ears to at least muffle some of the noise.)

Accurate representation of how cute the Ker-Bear is.  Even in the mornings.

On Saturday, we woke up bright and early to go and do mass morning yoga.

After a breakfast of tinned beans and sausages (actually the perfect wake up call), we toddled off to yoga with a change of clothes in our bags.

And then dynamic yoga occurred.

Which was amazing.

See? Looks amazing.

Apart from the fact that it was in the blazing sun and we hadn't drunk anything bar our now requisite cup of tea.

So by the end of it, KB felt faint and I was crying again.

(Don't know what is wrong with me so don't even bother asking #totesemosh #noimnotpregnantgrandma).

After a quick BubbleTea:

Seriously yum. 

We decided what to do for the day which included getting a Moroccan lamb wrap, wild swimming and going to a talk on the meaning of dreams.

And did not include me dashing off to the Portaloo every five minutes to try and push a demon out of me (#againnotpregnantgrandma). 

Regardless, we did all of the above. 

Which was made worse by the fact that I was wearing a crop top (I know, I am Down With The Kiddywinks) and I was hideously bloated during my 24 hour ordeal (#shitmaybeiampregnant). 

Thankfully, Wilderness is an upmarket kind of festival and there were portaloos everywhere with toilet paper in abundance and they were emptied regularly.  Which, I think I speak for everyone here, we were all grateful for. 

In any event (and moving away from the Portaloos (for a minute at least)) I went wild swimming in the lake which was awesome but freezing!  And I put my hair up because I am now in Swimming Mum Mode (#AGAINGRANDMA) whereby I do not want to get my hair all wet. 

This plan was foiled by the fact that I got all excited and cannon balled into the lake completing forgetting that water is liquid and can therefore be displaced by me and my giant, distended belly. 

So, of course, I instantly went completely under the water and dropped like a stone.  When, really, I should have been quite buoyant given all that gas....#tmi.

#wildswimming

Later, Ker-Bear and I wandered off in search of some intellectual discussions (and more Portaloos obvs). 

What we found was the Odditorium which was indulging in a discussion on the meaning of dreams before going on to explore The Haunted Moustache by Dr Bramwell and an enlightening talk entitled 'Big Willies' which we were assured would have visual aids. 

We didn't hang around to find out. 

Instead, the foreboding, grey cubicles were calling me name once more so off we trundled towards the tent to have dinner and buy Imodium. 

My dear, dear friends.

After taking the recommended dose (combination of counter assistant in a plarmacy + lawyer = religiously reading the instructions and following them to the letter), I was feeling much better. 

Which was a very good thing because Ker-Bear had started to become quite concerned and kept suggesting I think about driving home. 

But I couldn't bear the thought of leaving on our final evening without experiencing as much of the festival as possible.  So I pulled my big girl pants on (or off rather) and let out the squeakiest, longest symphony of flatulence I have ever had the ultimate pleasure of experiencing. 

And it was pleasurable, let me tell you dear readers.  My poor bloated stomach was quite relieved. 

(Not so sure the same could be said for the poor chap next door.  Definitely heard muffled laughter and then a hurried escape from the pod beside me.)

In any event, I was feeling much better and that meant that we had to Go Full Festival. 

Which was nowhere near as Full Festival as literally everyone else but hey! We tried.

Now, you may not believe this, dear readers, given my propensity to exaggerate and the Blog’s flair for dramatics, but I am usually what is known as The Sensible One of the group.

(Terrifying, non?)

In any event, I usually make good, rational decisions.  So it is with something akin to chagrin that I must report that, despite The Unpleasantness of earlier, Ker-bear and I headed into the festival intent on finding Tequila town and sampling the goods therein.

Tequila Town

Following a quick tequila, we wandered off to try and find The Valley which was a mystical area we had heard of but never been privy to.  After finding several dead ends and being told to turn around lots, we thought it would be better to get good seats for the Carnival extravaganza which was due to start at 9pm.

9pm came and went, dear readers.

Much like the feeling in my buttocks from sitting cross legged on the floor.

After what felt like ages (but had only really been about 45 minutes - which is a long time for old birds like us to sit cross legged) the circus started.

 

No silly captions because the photos speak for themselves.

It was incredible and Ker-Bear and I pretty much sat there with our mouths open for the entire performance.

So we were somewhat pumped to go and find The Valley as this would be the perfect way to end our weekend.

We queued up to get in to The Valley (after finally locating the entrance) and stumbled into a bunch of teenagers in booty shorts who all clearly liked the same weed scented perfume.

There were loads of people, the music was pounding, the lights were strobing.

And we promptly left after about 5 minutes.

Ain't nobody over the age of 21 got time for that.

Off we went to bed.

Sunday

CLANG. CLANG. CLANG.

That is the noise our dear camp mates woke up to at about 7.30am on Sunday morning.

That noise was us dismantling our tent/camp beds and lobbing all our metal poles together being passive aggressive due to the fact that the Camp Horrors had been making noise until about half 6.  This noise consisted mainly of screaming into each others' faces and finding this hysterical (well, from what I could gather anyway.  In no way were drugs involved.  I'm like... 90% sure.)

This plan was genius because the sun was back out in full force and everyone was just lying about outside their tents to try and get out of the heat.

Apart from one girl which I was actually growing concerned for until Ker-Bear informed me that she was breathing so I shouldn't worry.

The genius plan was somewhat foiled when one of the main offenders came over and offered to help us pack up whilst asking us about our weekend.

#awkward

We made a hasty exit and stopped off for McDonalds for breakfast which consisted of 20 chicken McNuggets for me.

...which I then re-heated and ate three days later.

Lucky I still had some of that Imodium left over!


And thus ends the tale of Wilderness Festival 2016.

After three sleepless nights, bloated stomachs, extended stays in Portaloos and the best damn Moroccan lamb wrap I've ever had, I will be doing it all over again in 2017.

#wilderness17

&&Fin.

Sex Without Love Is As Hollow And Ridiculous As Love Without Sex

That Time Twitter Suffered From A Bad Case Of The TMI's

What The Buzz: #NewCarryOnMovieTitles

It has been too long, dear readers.

My apologies for that but it has been my summer holibobs (read as: one week off from work in which I hope the sun will shine but, in fact, the weather stays better at home than abroad and I pout about wearing jeans instead of my horrendously short shorts).

More on the summer holibobs later.

This week I have actually been looking at two hashtags; the first being #NewCarryOnMovieTitles (pretty self explanatory following the announcement that this franchise will be returning in 2016 after a 24 year absence) and #ThingsIYellWhenICum.

Sid James knows it.

...yes.

The reason this Blog Post is not dedicated to the second hashtag is because a) surely there is only so much you can really say about the hashtag, b) my fingers feel a bit dirty even typing it and c) my Mother reads this.

However, because I care deeply about entertaining my readers, here are some of the better ones for your perusal.

#ThingsIYellWhenICum AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHMMMMMMMMM

GONNAAAA SWIIIIIIIIING

FROOOOMMMMM

THE CHANDLIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEERRRRRRRRRRR

— lee (@derNullmeridian) 17 May 2016

#ThingsIYellWhenICum
"CAN YOU FEEL IT MR.KRABS" pic.twitter.com/uC05uABgCj

— ugly boy (@4AMJAY) 16 May 2016

10 points to Gryffindor!
#thingsiyellwhenicum pic.twitter.com/WtN2mdL3R3

— David Armstrong (@tiggtag) 16 May 2016

#ThingsIYellWhenICum omg I'm gonna come
I'M COMING

OUT OF MY CAGE AND I'VE BEEN DOING JUST FINE

— Derek Nelson (@ProdigyNelson) 16 May 2016

And this one made me laugh:

#ThingsIYellWhenICum IM DIRTY DAN

— tess (@TRILLTESS) 17 May 2016

Well, don't say I never give you anything, dear readers!

Anyway, back to the actual hashtag for this week: Carry On films are making a return!

Ooh, matron!

 Very exciting stuff indeed.

And despite the first title being leaked as Carry On Doctors (back to bed pans and surprise thermometers, I'm sure), the Twittersphere were keen to provide some suggestions of their own which seemed to overwhelm Jonathan Sothcott (producer of the new films and CEO of Hereford Films which is behind the project).

Totally overwhelmed by all the messages about @carryonmovie - I promise we'll do it justice!

— Jonathan Sothcott (@sothcott) 17 May 2016

It has been confirmed that two movies will be produced (and presumably more will follow should they be a commercial success) but, sadly, Dame Babs Windsor DBE will not be making a return (which also means her nipple tassles won't be dusted off for another spin).  Cast have yet to be announced but it looks like the producers are after new, young, British comedic talent rather than impersonators of the original cast.

So stop practicing your Kenneth Williams' faces in the mirror.

No, really.

Stop it now.

Alright, Blue Eyes, calm down.

In any event, Mr Sothcott has confirmed that Carry On Doctors is not a remake or an 'attempt to reinvent the wheel' but it does seem like a safe premise to start with.

And, to think, we could have had such titles as:

Carry on items can be stored in the overhead bins #NewCarryOnMovieTitles

— Dan Jordan (@danjordan) 17 May 2016

Carry On Rehashing Long Dead Movie Franchises #newcarryonmovietitles

— James Cook (@jamesecook) 17 May 2016

(Ouch.)

#NewCarryOnMovieTitles Carrie on bleeding pic.twitter.com/NCJ1s4V52G

— neilneil orange peel (@kearns_neil) 17 May 2016

Carry On Working Until You Die Because The Tories Will Never Let You Retire #NewCarryOnMovieTitles

— Waldorf Sixpence (@WaldorfSixpence) 17 May 2016

...on second thoughts, given the public's track record with naming things, maybe we were better off leaving this one to the professionals.

...too soon?

&&Fin.