White Rabbit

Hello, Goodbye

2012-02-14T09:51:00.001Z

HELLO Reader.

I have missed your face.

Listen, I'm sorry I left without saying so much as 'Cheerio' but times were/are tough and I didn't/don't want to grim the place up. This is a quick post to say the following things:

THANK YOU for reading, commenting, posting and sharing the posts from this blog over the time it was active. I'll always be eternally grateful for the positive comments I received from you. I never thought I'd have anyone to read the posts in the first place so it was somewhat of a massive bonus.

THANK YOU to those who have emailed me enquiring as to where the hell I went. You've all been very kind and it's always nice to be missed. No. I'm not dead.

I'M SORRY I just buggered off and turned off the lights unannounced. It was terribly over dramatic but in the mind set I was in at the time, it was fitting and (admittedly) rather satisfying. My personal life was too much to cope with and if I'm having trouble keeping my closest friends in the loop you can imagine what difficulty I had coming up with light hearted posts for this blog.

Just to let you know, I'm making this blog public again so those of you that requested it can read the old posts.

I'm not giving up writing altogether. In fact, I wrote yesterday thanks to the good people of Culch.ie (See 'My Secret Admirer') but what I'm trying to say is that unless I'm hit with the sudden urge, I don't imagine I'll be posting here at the moment.

You can still contact me via email and if you are bored, wander over to Laikaa where I keep various stuff and things of a debatable level of amusement.

GOODBYE

No Means No Dammit!

2011-10-11T09:14:00.000+01:00

When I used to work in retail one thing I hated the most was having to ‘hard sell’.

I worked for an American company who clearly didn’t appreciate that people in Belfast shop in a very different way from Americans. We don’t want sales assistants to smile and ask about our day and suggest we buy certain things. We want them to ignore us until we need them and when we do, we want the necessary interaction to be as quick as possible so we can go on with our lives. If someone were to tell us to “Have a nice day” we’d look upon them with suspicion. I knew this so I was terrible at ‘hard selling’. I maintained my distance, smiling to the customers as they entered just so they knew where I was if they needed me and if I happened to see someone about to buy something and I knew they could get a better deal if they took advantage of an offer, I told them about it. Of course this was no good for the bosses who would stare at me until I started ‘hard selling’ the nearest poor sap to me who only came in for a browse and I would end up guilt tripping them into buying their Christmas shopping for the next 12 years. We had a ‘hard sell’ script to follow, there was no alternative and I hated it. A little bit of me died every time I had to do it.

When I was in town the other day making another unwise but completely crucial at the time purchase, I smiled to myself as the girl behind the counter began rhyming off their store ‘hard sell’ script in order to sell me a store card. I knew what she was up to and she had my pity.

“No thanks” I said before she got too far in. “I wouldn’t trust myself with a store card in here” And then I laughed to indicate I made a little joke.

“Yes but if you do decide to get a store card today, you’ll save 15% off your purchase today!”

“Oh…” I said, pretended to be still interested to be polite. “What would that be?”

“Um… £4?”

I raised an eyebrow and politely declined again. Normally this is where people give up and continue the rest of the transaction process in awkward silence; me drowning my guilt and she, overwhelmed by the crushing failure. Not this one. Oh no.

“The way the card works is…” And off she went blabbering on about how the payment process works, how much the interest cost, what you could buy with it, available offers yadda yadda. All I heard was words like “PAYMENT” and “INTEREST RATE” and “MONTHLY FEE” and “PURCHASES” and I thought about the last store card I got which ended with me sobbing over a frighteningly large bill as I cut it up with scissors. I promised myself that I would never get another store card and I wasn’t about to bend to this girl because she doesn’t understand the word ‘No’.

My eyes were glazing over as I waited for her to take a breath so I could reconfirm that I wasn’t taking the bloody card but she didn’t stop. On and on she went and I was nodding at everything she said so much I looked imbecilic. I was tempted to let my pleasant customer face slip into an obvious frown to show that I was unhappy that she was still talking to me but then I remembered what it was like having to hard sell to the general public with a manager breathing down my neck and jabbing a finger at a statistics page and I decided to let her finish.

10 MINUTES. 10 FUCKING MINUTES LATER and she stops to await my answer.

“No thank you. I don’t think I’ll get one. Thanks though!”

“Fine” she snapped AS IF IT WAS MY FAULT that she failed to get me to hand over my bank details. I clearly told her I wasn’t interested but she ignored me and here she was thumping down on the till keys and roughly handling my new clothes as she shoved them into the plastic bag as if I had climbed onto the counter and pissed on her face. I had empathised with this girl and this was how she was treating me?

Well I never.

If there is one thing I learned from ‘hard selling’ all those years it’s that even if a customer says no, you still lick their arse and call it ice cream otherwise you’ll never sell anything, particularly if the customer behind can see the swift change in attitude.

The conclusion from this post is this: The Retail Experience, for both customer and employee, is shit.

Photo of the Day #520

2011-10-11T09:13:00.000+01:00

#520 NEVER FORGET

I Don't Know Any Gravy Puns...

2011-10-10T08:40:00.001+01:00

Electric Picnic Photos by the amazing Annie Rhiannon

The closest thing I have had to a holiday this year was a somewhat damp weekend camping in a field in Co. Laois.

First world problems eh? I can hear your hearts breaking for me. If I’m honest it wasn’t really just me and a bunch of my mates, a few bottles of whiskey and more than many moments debating if we could get a sheep home on the train without any arrests. As wonderful as that sounds. No, we were at Electric Picnic, championed as the only Irish Arts & Music festival worth forking out the GDP of a small African country for. However, this isn’t going to be a post about the festival and how brilliant it is (when it isn't pissing down) yadda yadda.

No. This post is about chips. Most importantly, gravy chips.

Now there is a few things our cousins in the South of Ireland just don’t do well (My kingdom for a decent fry in Dublin) and some things that they just don’t do at all.

Many years ago after an evening of heavy drinking, I had a craving. That craving was for a great big dirty gravy chip. For American readers, ‘gravy chips’ are basically fries swimming in homemade gravy; the kind you would have during a Christmas dinner or every Sunday roast if you are The Queen. It hits a spot deep in your soul that makes you forget the world is a terrible place. It is delicious. That night I needed one and I needed one immediately. Get your mind out of the gutter Reader.

“Gravy chips please” I asked merrily or as merrily as I could be with mascara down my face carrying a single shoe.

“You want what?”

“Some gravy chips”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I would like some chips with some gravy?...No?”

“Never heard of it”

Never. Heard. Of. It.

Reader my world was rocked and shaken to the core. This was not an anomaly. This was everywhere I went. Apparently people south of Newry just don't 'do' chips and gravy. Chips and curry? Sometimes but chips and gravy? I might as well have been asked for deep fried monkey bollocks for the looks I got. I began to pity my Southern friends who would never know the true joy of a gravy chip to soak up the booze of a great night out. Poor bastards.

It’s a universal truth that you never want something more than when you can’t have it at all.

OM NOM NOM

So there I was, standing in my rainwear, in the middle of the festival about 2 in the morning. I wanted to go to the Gramophone Disco but I couldn’t muster the energy. I was starving but unsure what to eat. I was standing outside the Ostrich Burger stall and my appetite had been somewhat affected. It was then that I saw it.

The Chip n’ Dip van. There, written neatly in chalk on the board...

GRAVY

Sweet merciful God in Heaven! I literally ran over dragging Boyfriend by the arm.

“A gravy chip please” I said trying not to salivate rudely in front of the nice men giving me tasty food.

The staff were English. Of course. No wonder there was gravy available. English people love gravy.

“Thank you! Thank you so, so much” I said to them fighting back the tears. “You don’t know how difficult it is to get gravy chips down here”

“Why do people keep saying that to us?” the lads behind the till wondered.

“All people from the North yes? Well we have suffered many years until this day”

When I was handed my cone of gravy chips (I know, a cone. I wasn’t going to question) and tasted that first chip dripping in God sauce I was transported to a better, warmer place. T’was the nectar of the Gods. I tried not to dance around in case I dropped one because Reader, I won’t lie, I would have immediately fallen to the grass and picked it up with my teeth.

“Thank you. Thank you…for this” I said solemnly. “This has truly made my weekend”

Reader, I wasn’t even lying. It really, really had.

“… That’s a bit sad you know”

Maybe so but I didn’t care.

Photo of the Day #519

2011-10-10T08:39:00.000+01:00

#519 And yet I would still give my left leg to go back to having two months of summer off. Well... maybe not my left leg. Maybe my left baby toe. I don't really need that surely?

Photo of the Day #518

2011-10-07T09:05:00.001+01:00

#518 I'm so doing this or rather I would do this if I had the time, the imagination or was capable of making effort of any kind. Oh the things I could accomplish if I could only be arsed. World, I can only apologise.

Photo of the Day #517

2011-10-06T08:27:00.002+01:00

#517 "Thank God this sign was here eh chaps? I would have dove into the rapids none-the-wiser to meet my inevitable horrible death" [/sarcasm]

And Now On WRTV

2011-10-06T08:27:00.001+01:00

If you watch any of the videos in this post, watch this one. It's bloody brilliant.

I'm going to dedicate this video to my dear friend Mr Andrew Gaffney of Culch.ie. This is exactly the kind of romantic crap he laps up.

Yes that is a dancing whale. I know, I couldn't believe it either.

Quality advert from Meteor if only for the last line which made me burst out laughing.

As we say in Belfast when we come across a bit of Schadenfreude - "AH GEE!"

This is, without doubt, one of the most disturbing and pathetic things I have ever seen.
Jesus Girl, have some bloody dignity.

Oh The Shame...

2011-10-05T10:20:00.000+01:00

[WR Note] - I was going to post an image related to the post below but when the search results for the items in particular made me question my faith in all that is good in the world; I decided against it. SO, instead please enjoy this charming photograph of five adorable St Bernard puppies that are so cute, my ovaries hurt just looking at them.

I was on the bus on my way home. This was not unusual.

I decided to listen to some music and proceeded to pull out my oversized novelty headphones so that I could listen to the greatest of my guilty pleasures without another soul judging me. Again, nothing unusual here.

As I was doing so, pulling at the final piece of headphone cord that had seemingly stuck to the bottom of my handbag, I made a final yank when to my absolute horror, five or six items that one wouldn’t normally like to unveil to strangers fell out of my bag and onto the floor.

Those items?

*heavy sigh*

Lady pads. Girly items. Aunt Scarlet’s bloomers. FECKIN FEMININE GOODS. Sanitary towels in their bright blue packaging.

Mortified, I hit the floor to scoop them into my bag hoping that the people in the seats behind me hadn’t noticed when suddenly, as the bus descended down a hill, it broke abruptly sending the pads sliding down the front of the bus in different directions like ice hockey pucks. One of them slid down and hit the heel of the man at the front of the bus who picked it up and held it aloft for someone (i.e. me) to claim it.

I froze. I felt my face burn. Those in front wouldn’t really know it was me if I just looked out the window and tried to look lost in thought. I was getting really hot in my face now. I glanced around and noticed that I was only female of the species sitting on the bus. BLAST.

Oh the very shame of it.

Photo of the Day #516

2011-10-05T10:11:00.001+01:00

#516 It's a horse. It's wearing a hat. What more do you want?!

Photo of the Day #515

2011-10-04T08:27:00.002+01:00

#515 SOON...

My Kingdom For A Library Room

2011-10-04T08:27:00.001+01:00

Recently I have been gutting out my bedroom to make room to re-decorate and I have been finding the truth in phrase ‘You don’t realise how much shit you have until you have to move it’. What? That’s not a phrase? Of course it is Reader. Don’t be so ridiculous. *cough* Where was I before you distracted me? Oh yes. In order to make the ‘gutting’ process easier; I had to ask myself a series of questions for each item.

DO I NEED THIS? Most of the time the answer was no. "No I don’t need a birdcage. No I don’t need that small novelty skateboard that I only stood on once to make a crap impression of a surfer. No I don’t need bongos. No I don’t need that large and quite frankly terrifying portrait of a baby sitting on a lily pad."

DO I USE THIS? "Who in bejesus would wear a jumper with some running wild horses on it? THIS GUY."

DO I WANT THIS? "Yes. Sort of. I’m afraid to say no in case I want it after I’ve got rid of it and spend all future evenings rocking back and forth mourning the loss of whatever that particular item was."

IF I’M GOING TO KEEP THIS WHERE CAN I PUT IT? "Uh…um… ON THE ROOF! Tis the neighbours problem now."

The biggest issue I have is my books. Four large 100 litre boxes full of them. I’d say 80% of the books I have read, I will probably never read again and as there is a circle of hell reserved for people who throw their books in the bin, I am stuck for what to do with them. My options include:

SELL THE BOOKS ON EBAY OR AMAZON
-
Pro: MONEY! SWEET DELICIOUS MONEY! I get rid of the books.

Con: Sellers fees and the sheer herculean effort involved in posting things. I have let packages sit unposted for years just because I can’t muster the effort to walk to the Post Office.

DONATE THE MONEY TO CHARITY
-
Pro: I will get into heaven and I get rid of the books.
Con: Charity yes, but which charity?! Dammit now I have to use my brain!

BOOK CROSSING
-

Pro: I get rid of the books!

Con: I don’t know what Book Crossing is if I'm honest. I presume it involves making books ever so slightly angrier than they were before.

THROW THE BOOKS AT PASSING CHILDREN FROM MY WINDOW

Pro: Stress relief. I could be credited for ‘encouraging the youth of today to read’

Con: The inevitable arrest.

RECYCLE THE BOOKS
-

Pro: I make Captain Planet proud...and I get rid of the books

Con: In order to recycle the aformentioned books; I need to get out of my chair and since I have quite a spectacular ass groove going on right now, this would make me very sad.

BURN AND/OR SHRED THE BOOKS-

Pro: I welcome any opportunity to burn and/or shred things AND I get rid of the books!

Con: Could end up in an unfortunate accident when (not if) I get carried away.

GIVE THE BOOKS TO PEOPLE (BUT NOT STRANGERS)

Pro: I get rid of the books!

Con: I live in the eternal fear of repeating history. Many years ago, I gave a friend my 1st edition copy of Harry Potter to borrow and I never got it back. I have since discovered that it is worth a small fortune. At the time I didn’t think a book about a boy wizard would be as big as it is now so I can’t risk the same thing happening to my copies of How to thwart your enemies & get away with it and What’s this rash?.

BUILD A BOOK FORT UNLIKE ANYTHING THE WORLD HAS EVER SEEN-

Pro: I will prove to humanity once and for all that I am awesome AND I get rid of the books.

Con: I struggle to find a downside here.

KEEP THE BOOKS

Pro: In the house that I don’t own yet, guests shall look upon my book lined walls and know that I am a woman of intelligence, taste and class. "BEHOLD MY HEAVING IKEA BILLY BOOKCASES FRIENDS AND BE AMAZED!" I shall say and then I’ll offer them some cheesecake and invite them to retire to my cinema room for that is how I see my life in 10 years.

Con: I still have the books. Bah.

Photo of the Day #514

2011-09-30T08:27:00.000+01:00

#514 Now this is the kind of Christmas I could get behind. Uncomfortable silences and the omnipresent stench of disappointment and despair.

Tyra's Masterpiece

2011-09-29T08:51:00.001+01:00

-
Some people are just not meant to be writers. Tyra Banks is one of them.

Now don’t let the following post deceive you Reader. I actually love her. I think she is absolutely batshit insane in the most entertaining way. I saw this public display of madness and thought for a moment that she severed the last sanity wire in her brain until I discovered it was actually a deliberate parody of Oprah. This has led me to conclude that Tyra Banks is actually a genius. For someone who successfully made the word ‘smize’ a popular verb I almost feel guilty that I’m about to take the piss out of something she supposedly dedicated 5 human years to conceiving and writing but fuck it. It’s too laughably bad not too. By the way for any males who may be reading this who may be unfamilar with what 'smizing' is...

This is smizing. Smizing is meant to be 'smiling with your eyes' or as Tyra regularly demonstrates 'looking possessed during a bowel movement'

MODELLAND - The first and hopefully not the last fictional novel from Tyra 'Squat. Pull Forward. Pee' Banks. Have a read of the blurb.
-

No one gets in without being asked. And with her untamable hair, large forehead, and gawky body, Tookie De La Crème isn’t expecting an invitation. Modelland—the exclusive, mysterious place on top of the mountain—never dares to make an appearance in her dreams.

But someone has plans for Tookie. Before she can blink her mismatched eyes, Tookie finds herself in the very place every girl in the world obsesses about. And three unlikely girls have joined her.

Only seven extraordinary young women become Intoxibellas each year. Famous. Worshipped. Magical. What happens to those who don’t make it? Well, no one really speaks of that. Some things are better left unsaid.

Thrown into a world where she doesn’t seem to belong, Tookie glimpses a future that could be hers—if she survives the beastly Catwalk Corridor and terrifying Thigh-High Boot Camp. Or could it? Dark rumors like silken threads swirl around the question of why Tookie and her new friends were selected . . . and the shadows around Modelland hide sinister secrets.

Are you ready? Modelland is waiting for you. . . .

Firstly her protagonist is called Tookie De La Crème. Tookie. Tookie as in Stanley Williams Tookie? Secondly, the description of Tookie. I wonder who Tyra could possibly be (pardon the pun) modelling Tookie on with her 'untamable hair' and 'large forehead'?

Also Tookie has mismatched eyes? Is she some sort of hideous mutant?

As a devoted America’s Next Top Model viewer, something I freely admit without shame, I read this blurb in Tyra’s voice. “Only seven extraordinary young women” automatically makes my brain jump to “Will continue on in the hopes of becoming America’s Next Top Model”. Also seven girls become ‘magical’ Intoxibellas? Not one? Those are quite good odds given that according to the blurb there is only 3 other girls in the competition. If anything there must be something seriously wrong with Tookie if she doesn't get into Modelland; whatever Modelland is. Beastly Catwalk Corridor? Thigh-High Boot Camp? At this point I should point out that this is in fact a children’s book. Yes, every child should be able to empathise with the struggles surrounding wearing thigh high boots. Why I recall many a school Assembly dedicated to chaffing related dangers.

You can read the full first chapter (and the damning comments) here. Highlights include:

"There was no prearranged runway on which the girls could walk, so everyone created invisible ones wherever they were standing. Violence was not encouraged nor was it condemned, and some girls' parents insisted on adding martial arts training to their walking lessons in preparation for the big day. T-DOD Square was an every- man- for- himself or, more precisely, an every- girl- for- herself event."

"Two girls got into a fight at the end of their makeshift catwalk, rolling to the ground. "Kenya, use the Gyaku Zuki move!" her mother screamed. "Reverse- punch the hairy hag! But watch your hair, sweetie!" Tookie wheeled around. The hairy hag was Abigail Goode, sideburns in full glory, faint mustache above her upper lip, unshaven leg hair coating her calves, underarm hair swaying in the wind, and a DOWN WITH RAZORS! picket sign still in her hands. The girl she was fighting with tried out a karate move on her, but Abigail expertly evaded her blow."

"Actually, not only were eligible girls walking, but lots of other people were too. An elderly man on a power scooter shot a gap- toothed smile to the crowd as he steered his vehicle with his hands on his hips."

"He was seeing her, actually seeing her"

"Scouts? Where? Tookie stood on her tiptoes, her heart beating like mad. People stepped back from a nearby lamppost that had started to vibrate, staring at it with a mix of wonder and terror. The lamppost began to lengthen, like a long telescoping pole. Snap! It broke apart and reassembled as a slender, mysterious looking woman in a black metallic jumpsuit. Her head glowed as if it contained a lightbulb. More gasps and screams rose in the crowd as the huge clock in the square ticked past the six- minute mark. Suddenly, Scouts from Modelland were everywhere. An asteroid rocketed to earth, throwing up chunks of marble all around the square and causing nearby runway walkers to flee in hysterics. A stunning Scout emerged from the rubble, with skin that seemed to be made of rough stone. She wore a bathing suit ensemble that appeared to be made of rocks. She tapped a tall, long- haired girl in a plain, dingy cotton dress. The dress wasn't nearly as fancy as most of the outfits the other girls were wearing, and its front was wet with tears. When the girl looked up and saw the Scout, her jaw dropped."

"Fifteen, fourteen, thirteen . . . The tear in the fabric grew wider, until a human- sized hole appeared. And then a nearly naked woman emerged from the center of the tear and rose into the sky. She had long limbs and golden skin and wore shiny necklaces strategically placed over her chest and lower half. A gem- encrusted veil covered her face. Tookie gasped."

Then of course there are names such as 'Myrracle', 'Desperada', 'Kenya', 'Theophilus Lovelaces', 'Zarpessa Zarionneaux' and 'Mayor Rump' peppered throughout for extra ‘What the fuck?’.

This may truly be the greatest novel of our time.

Photo of the Day #513

2011-09-29T08:51:00.000+01:00

#513 See this kind of thing worries me greatly. How long were people cocking their legs and shiting on train platforms before it merited an official sign?

What I Learnt From My Last Film Job

2011-09-28T08:42:00.000+01:00

I AM A TERRIBLE SMOKER

I have never been a smoker. I didn’t grow up around smokers. I was never subjected to the peer pressure of the playground to become a smoker. Therefore, you can imagine how reluctant I was to pretend to be a smoker for a recent scene for a film. Now before you tie an angry letter to a brick and chuck it through the window of 'The Film Industry' condemning their evil practise of forcing vulnerable little extras to smoke their plump pink lungs away, I assure you they don't. They gave me some Honey Rose herbal cigarettes as a substitute for the real thing. As I was told they wouldn't do me any harm, I smoked them happily, doing my best to be convincing as I took draws of my 'fegs'.

When I think back, I must have looked like a child chewing on those candy cigarettes. I didn’t know what to do with my hands or how to hold them. I was supposed to look like I’d smoked all my life and my world would be incomplete if I didn’t have a cigarette in between my fingers but I looked as relaxed holding one as I would have holding a stick of dynamite in my teeth.

At first I thought that the herbal blend had quite a nice smell but as they tended to burn quite quickly, averaging one per scene, in the end I went through dozens of them. By the 12th draw I was ready to puke. The next morning, despite going through a pint of mouthwash, I could still taste them and smell them on my fingers. Days later I still had a feeling of general 'yuck' in my lungs akin to what I imagine having implants of lead in my chest would be like. The shit that I have coughed up would put the fear of God in you Reader I tell you.

The next time I’m asked to be a smoker for a film, I’m politely declining.

MY LEFT HAND IS JUST FOR SYMMETRY

Whilst I was puffing away on my disgusting herbal cigarette, I was also supposed to be handed a flyer during the scene. Now this doesn’t seem too bad if it weren’t for the fact that the way I was standing, I needed to get this flyer using my left hand. My left hand is absolutely rubbish. It is there to keep the right hand company. Anything I ask it to do, it fails at and I know that if I were to give it responsibility, it will simply throw disappointment back in my face. Unfortunately for me, my left hand was now on camera, having to catch a flyer that an actor was to nonchalantly throw in my direction. Happy days I thought.

So there we were, standing about during the scene, as I waited to be chucked this flyer. We were on the fourth take when the flyer came my way. When the actor handed the flyer, a small breeze caught the paper causing it to fly past my open expectant hand, hit me in the chest and fall abruptly to my ankles. I panicked and slowly bent down to pick it up, looking to the crew to see if this would matter. SHIT! I broke the cardinal rule. Don’t look at the camera. Don’t look at the camera. Don’t look at the…DAMN YOU BRAIN. STOP LOOKING AT THE CAMERA.

CUT.

“Er…can we do that again? Scrap that altogether. I know *insert actor name* you liked that take but we need to do it again. This time WR, catch the bloody flyer will you?”

Mortified I was.

I AM A SECRET MAGICIAN

My flyer slip up was not my only mistake. Sadly. There I was again, puffing away in front of the camera, when the wind blew hair into my eyes. Trying not to set myself alight, I went to move the stray hairs behind my ear when…Oh God… my large, tacky gold earring came off in my hands. Trying not to make it seem like an issue and attempting to hide the wild eyed panic on my face, I slowly pulled the earring down into my pocket. Perhaps my character fancied a more Piratey look? Erm…no.

CUT.

“Uh…WR?”

“…Yes?”

A heavy sigh from behind the megaphone. “Why did you take off your earring?”

“Um…”

“Yeah see you were wearing it one second and it disappeared the next. It’s not exactly great for continuity is it?”

“It fell off in my hand!” I yelled coming over quite sheepish.

“Riiight. You are not a magician. So let’s try that again but this time WR, try not to touch your face. Ever.”

Bollocks.

Photo of the Day #512

2011-09-28T08:41:00.000+01:00

#512 When I grow up I want to be Jack Nicholson

R.I.P That House

2011-09-27T08:54:00.000+01:00

It might seem quite odd to mourn a house that I never actually lived in but I do.

For the last few years, the old red brick house that my friends lived in was the epicentre of our communal activities – it was, at the risk of sounding like a 10 year old, our headquarters.

It was the best house you could ask for to host parties and host many a party it did including but not limited to epic Halloween celebrations. It was the location for an annual Christmas dinner. It was the place our Southern mates crashed when they came up to Belfast to stay. It was the place we went to, to see each other when we were too skint/ couldn’t decide/ couldn’t be bothered to go out and when we did go out, it was the place where we started and ended the night. It was a place where we went to rant, cry on shoulders and grow closer as friends. Please take a moment to cringe at what I just said because I just did. I believe this sentimentality may be down to hormones or an undiagnosed mental illness.

Basically what I’m trying to say is that for me it was the second home I never actually paid for (but probably should have given how often I was there and the fact I had my own set of keys). Whilst my friends are more than likely delighted to be rid of the place; I had the advantage of being exempt from the cold winter nights without heating, the damp & the smell of said damp, the radiators that would spontaneously bounce off the walls and the ever present nagging fear that my bedroom was haunted. For me the house was a space where I could find my friends in one place where I’d be offered countless cups of tea and I could play with two adorable cats without having to go near a full litter tray. It was brilliant.

Unfortunately all good things come to an end and when their lease was up (with the landlord announces plans to demolish the house to make room for flats) it was time to leave.

We never really gave it a final farewell. We talked about it but the opportunity never really came about since life got in the way like the bastard that it is. My friends moved out, shut the door and moved on to their new places leaving me alone to stand in the garden of the old house and weep into my hands. Maybe. *cough* I suppose this change can only be for the better. I think it was Ghandi who said, "You close one very-worn-and-difficult-to-open-without-a-struggle door and you open a brand new one". What? He did. Probably.

Photo of the Day #511

2011-09-27T08:52:00.000+01:00

#511 Upon first glance this seems like a rather boring property shot that is until you look closer and see...OH MY GOOD GOD WHAT IS THAT?! Kill it! Kill it with fire!

Holy Photoshop Batman!

2011-09-26T10:06:00.002+01:00

Look at the person below and tell me who it is if you don’t mind dear Reader.

Rachel Weiss maybe? Rose Byrne? If you squint with one eye and don't look out of the other could it be Keira Knightley? Nope. I should also clarify its absolutely, definitely not a man. Read more to find out.

So who is it? Well it's...

Bonnie Wright or Ginny Weasley from the Harry Potter series i.e the one that Warner Bros shit themselves about when they realised that her character would have a bigger role than intended and they would have to spend the next few years trying to coax this plank of wood to portray human emotions instead of simply widening her eyes during key dramatic moments in scenes to indicate her brain is still functioning.

No really. Yes, I don't believe it either.

Although Ms Wright never really grew out of the awkward-in-the-face phase like the other child actors, you couldn't really say that she fell from the ugly tree hitting every branch on the way down. Granted, no one who is expected to stand next to Emma Watson for the best part of a decade is going to come off very well but she's definitely not in need of CGI cosmetic surgery every time her picture in taken in case the public burst into flames at the very sight of her. Why the need to change her face beyond recognition?! The photo above isn't even the only example.

Look here:

And then look here:

Believe it or not, this is the same fucking person. Your eyes are not decieving you and you can study the two photos all you like and never be convinced. I know make up is great for hiding a multitude of sins but it's not a miracle worker.

The worst example so far of Bonnie Wright photoshopping has to be from this webpage including a range of photographs of the Harry Potter cast taken for Empire magazine. Amongst the familiar faces was the photograph below:

I recall studying it for quite some time wondering who the fuck this was supposed to be. Whilst the rest of the cast were clearly Photoshopped, at least I knew who they were. The photo above? Was it a new actress to play Harry's mum? Was she about to be resurrected in the final film? Who was this? What was this? Where those my feet?

It was only by sheer process of elimination that I concluded it had to be Bonnie Wright aka Ginny but even then I had my doubts.

Unless Bonnie Wright possesses the mutant-like ability to shapeshift; I suggest her people relax on the Photoshop because it's getting ridiculous.

[/End Rant]

And another thing: Speaking of Ginny Weasley - I have a bone to pick with J K Rowling. Why is it that she found it perfectly acceptable to pair Harry Potter (who looks exactly like his Dad) with Ginny (who looks exactly like his mum?). Surely this is a little bit...well...weird no? No one questioned Harry about his choice of girlfriend at all or took him aside and pointed about the resemblance between them both and his parents? I find that hard to believe Rowling you sick, sick woman.

Photo of the Day #510

2011-09-26T10:06:00.000+01:00

#510 Ahh... L'amour entre les chiens.

And Now On WRTV

2011-09-23T08:25:00.001+01:00

Believe it or not, this is a genuine advertisement that was actually broadcast on television. I don't know about you but I'd love to see Crazy Bruce's Liquors THE MUSICAL

Hey kids! Let's have fun. Fun with SCIENCE!

I call this video 'The Untimely Death Of A Manly Reputation In 0:10 Seconds'

When I daydream about my wedding, this is what I see.

Ahahaha...stupid ducklings.

*shrugs* No caption required I say.

Photo of the Day #509

2011-09-23T08:25:00.000+01:00

#509 What's going on in this photo you ask? Damned if I know but it could catch on. Much like the AIDS virus.

THINGS THAT ARE NOT PISSING ME OFF #2

2011-09-22T08:24:00.003+01:00

BOOKS OF ADAM PORTRAITS

I’ve raved about Books of Adam before and here I go again. Mr Ellis is now offering the chance to get your own original portrait. More information here and examples below:

HUGH GRANT’S SURPRISING BRILLIANCE AS A REPORTER

[WR Note: I’m sure you can tell when this post was written eh?] Who would have thought it? Following Grant’s article for the New Statesman in which he secretly taped a whistleblower; I’m hoping he does this more often.

THIS PUPPY

SOAP&GLORY PRODUCTS

I’m not one to rave about products (much) but I’ll be damned if I don’t love Soap&Glory. I smell amazing right now if I do say so myself and I would bloody well expect to considering I've been swathering S&G creams all over myself and this shit costs a bundle. I should probably stop walking around, sniffing myself and smiling though. It’s starting to get weird.

---

MY NEWLY DISCOVERED GREEN FINGERS

Every Valentine’s Day, Boyfriend buys me an orchid. *pauses for ‘Aww’*. Before I actually had orchids, I was under the impressed that they only lasted a few days but in reality, they can last years. I have one particular orchid which is still going after four years. This deteremined orchid has stuck at this growing malarky longer than I have stuck at most of my childhood hobbies (Au Revoir stamp collecting, piano lessons and guitar). Occasionally it would wilt but after a few weeks the buds would reappear and it would come back like a Goddamn phoenix. One day I was pulling off a few of the dead leaves when to my absolute horror, I pulled the entire head of the orchid off in my heads, snapping it in the middle, leaving nothing but a cropped twig and devastation in my path. I was crushed. I had murdered my own plant. I probably should have chucked it in the bin but I was too attached and thought that maybe if I gave it enough love and attention it would come back. So I watered it, placed it on a sunny window sill and at times, when people weren’t looking, talked to it and what happened? It came back. It took a really, really long time but it came back. IT’S ALIIIVE! IT’S ALIIIVE! I have decided to call him Lazarus.

EMMA STONE-... Is incredible. She is my current girl crush although a little part of me died there writing ‘girl crush’. Anyway, I think Emma Stone is brilliant, funny and gorgeous and I want her to be my friend so that I can have the opportunity to hug her and bury my nose in her hair. I assume she smells like strawberries.

ALEX DAY VIDEOS

Alex Day first came to my attention through his vlog (it’s vlog yes?) post entitled ‘Alex Reads Twilight’. I wish I had seen these videos before reading Twilight myself to spare me the time, money and effort involved in getting past lines like “And so the lion fell in love with the lamb” (in what universe does that line make any ounce of sense?). He is also a member of Chameleon Circuit; a band that plays music all about Doctor Who. Be still my geeky heart.

NATALIE TRAN

... Is hilarious. Honest to God if I were to count up the amount of hours I have spent watching her YouTube videos I would have...well...a lot of hours. Her YouTube channel is endlessly entertaining as is her travel log series for Lonely Planet. I approve Reader. I approve.

Photo of the Day #508

2011-09-22T08:24:00.002+01:00

#508 Believe it or not, this is Sean Connery. Yes, that Sean Connery.

And with that, this image shall be burned into your eyeballs for eternity. You are welcome.

The Pee Word

2011-09-21T09:06:00.000+01:00

“I’d like a large Coke please”

“A large Coke? You don’t want a large Coke”

Well this was a Goddamn lie.

“Uh…I’m very thirsty so I’d like a lar…”

“No, no. I’ll bring you a small one and then you can decide if you want another one”

No! No I didn’t want this at all! Before I could say anything the waitress was off making our order and I was left feeling like a greedy blob with my thirst unquenched and my insides bubbling over with the determination to prove this woman wrong. If she was to suggest that I was not as thirsty as I claimed to be, I would have no choice but to consider this a personal challenge to drink as much as humanely possible and that I did.

So there I was, waiting to use the toilet, bouncing about on the spot as one does when they need to hold piss in. As I danced from side to side, I shared an exchange with an older woman waiting beside me that I thought said ‘Wouldn’t it be jolly good if the people inside the bogs got a move on so that we don’t have an unfortunate accident?’. I don’t know what kind of look I gave her but…

“You go first dear” she said softly. “I found that I had to run to the bathroom all the time when I was pregnant too”

What in utter fuck?

She thought I was fucking pregnant? I stopped dancing Reader and felt that I would never dance again. I looked down at my belly. It didn’t look too swollen but I told myself that the dress I was wearing was going to be burned at the first opportunity.

This keeps happening to me Reader (see here and here) and it needs to stop. That or I need to go back to the gym...and stop eating uncooked biscuit dough.

Photo of the Day #507

2011-09-21T09:03:00.000+01:00

#507 So here is Kim Jong Il looking at some 'My Little Pony' artwork. But of course.

Hello...

2011-09-20T15:31:00.001+01:00

Okay so my ‘Soon’ was a little longer than originally anticipated. Basically for a while there everything went to shit and whilst things are still shit, I’m at least now at a point where I am ticking over. Just. The way I see it, it’s nothing a good, healthy dose of self-indulgent ramblings on The Internet can’t fix so here I am again. I’m a little bit irritated that due to my absence my archive is now missing August. This shall now be referred to as THE LOST MONTH for reasons unexplained and dull.

So now that I’m back, I should probably announce the winner of the competition I hosted a while ago that most of you have probably forgotten about to win a copy of The Bumper Book of Bunny Suicides. Well I have put some names into a hat and plucked out a name.

THE WINNER IS:

CLIODHNA MARIE

Congratulations you son of a gun. If technology permitted it, I would shake your hand. Please email me with an address and I’ll post your book as soon as I can muster the strength to get out of my chair.

Let the blogging commence etc.

Public Service Announcement

2011-07-07T08:59:00.000+01:00

Reader, please forgive me but I need to take a short break due to personal reasons.

I’ve spent more time in hospitals than I should like to recently and I’m so stressed and worried about so many different things I'm quite convinced that spontaneous combustion is possible. So low am I that I am often spotted with my head against the bus window, gently weeping and listening to Radiohead.

I probably shouldn’t jest. There are actually some incredibly serious situations going on right now but if I didn’t laugh, I’d probably cry a bit more and it’s making people uncomfortable. Especially in shop queues.

My head is frazzled and I’m too exhausted to think about blogging right now.

I’ll be back as soon as this cloud of general woe has passed. If you would like to feel terribly sorry for me, that would be nice too.

WHY FESTIVALS ARE GREAT AND YOU SHOULD GO TO ONE NOW OR WHENEVER IT IS CONVENIENT

2011-07-06T11:05:00.000+01:00

My festival camping ticket sits to the left of my laptop as I type. Every so often I glance over, just to check that it is still there and I grin at it like a village idiot.

Last year was my first summer in years that I didn’t go to a festival and it left a gaping hole in my summer. Not this year – nuh uh. I’ve been researching tents since January in preparation.

Now recently I discovered that Ms Hermia of A Chick Named Hermia has never been to a festival. Shocked and appalled we were. SO as she declared that she was toying ever so lightly with popping her festival cherry, this is my list of reasons why she should go to Electric Picnic in Stradbally, Co.Laois this year with us. This is not a promotion on behalf of the organisers but if any of them are reading, I will accept tickets and merchandise happily. Ha. Moving on:

WHY FESTIVALS ARE GREAT AND YOU SHOULD GO TO ONE NOW OR WHENEVER IT IS CONVENIENT…

Festivals. Spare your ‘Ahh gee WR, you really ARE a Hipster Dickhead’ talk because I’m speaking to you right now Reader so pay attention to me.

Festivals are brilliant.

Now I’ll be honest. There is an awful lot of crap that comes with festivals.

Tents are grand if you are 5 and ‘camping’ in your back garden but as an adult, they are cramped (depending on your budget and outdoor skills), cold at night time and capable of roasting you alive in the morning. They are waterproof but that becomes redundant when the rain and muds wash you down a hill.

It can be expensive. You spend an entire weekend feeling ‘icky’. There is nowhere to sit down. The port-a-loos are as bad as you have heard and by the end of the weekend you feel like you are trapped squatting inside a circle of hell. There is no electricity meaning all electrical equipment is rendered useless and your phone runs out of battery by the second day (or the moment you get there if you have an iPhone). You are forced to camp in a field of thousands of strangers who snore, shout, sing and stumble throughout the night. You do a lot of ‘wandering’ which people pass off as ‘soaking in the atmosphere’ and there is guaranteed to be one occasion throughout the weekend when you get so lost you think you’ll never see home again. You will never be more tired in your entire lifetime by the time it’s all over.

HOWEVER, very little for me beats spending a weekend at a festival, messing around in a field with my mates. Night time chats around a camping light wrapped up in sleeping bags. Breakfast in the grass at sunrise. Group commutes to the portaloos so we catch them just after they have been cleaned and/or to give each other moral support. Yay for festivals etc *waves pirate flag*

THE CLOTHES It is an excuse to wear whatever you want however you want for an entire weekend and no one will bat an eyelid. Do you want to join the masses of the über fashionable Hunter wellie wearing beautiful people who have every outfit planned to the single stitch? Go on ahead. I salute you. It’s the only time when wellies are the height of cool. Practical cool. (I promise I’ll never say that again). Do you want to dress like a banana? Ever wanted to be a goddamn pixie princess and run around in a tree filled wood decorated with fairy lights? Do you want to fulfil the sheer, unexplainable desire you have to dress like a farmer? A festival is the only place you can do that outside Halloween and a mental institution.
-

THE ‘FACILITIES’ But WR! What about those horrible Port-A-Loos I’ve heard so much about? Yes well those are pretty grim alright, I won’t lie. HOWEVER there are special, secret sponsored toilets that flush and everything. If you don’t fancy waiting for those you can pay a Euro and use the ‘Comfy Crappers’ or time your need to pee so you can go at the crack of dawn after the bogs have just been cleaned and you’ll be grand. Just close your eyes the entire time you are in there, pull a scarf over your mouth to protect from the smell, hover over the seat and guess where you may be aiming. If you are too wimpy I reckon there is a lot to be said for peeing into a cup.
-

THE FOOD – Do you ever find yourself craving Jamaican Jerk Chicken, some sort of meat filled pie and strawberries drowning in chocolate ALL AT ONCE? Well fear not because at a festival you can get all three but I wouldn’t recommend eating them all at the same time. Trust me on that *clutches stomach* All manner of exotic foods are on offer as well as food you might not have access to all the time like crêpes or crocodile burgers.

YOU DON’T NECESSARILY HAVE TO BE A DISGUSTING MESS. Some people enjoy the weekend as an excuse to avoid personal hygiene. Everyone must experience living in a large filthy hippie commune once in their lives I suppose. Others use the showers, the onsite beauty salon, wet wipes or the best product in the entire feckin world DRY SHAMPOO. Also if you never go to a festival, you’ll never appreciate the sheer joy of relaxing in that first shower/bath after the weekend. It will be the best trip to the bathroom you ever make.

THE MUSIC Pretty far down my list admittedly but I have been to festivals with a long list of bands to see and left the festival haven’t seen any of them because I was distracted by something else amusing. Most of that 'something else amusing' involved ‘eating’ and ‘sitting’ and ‘looking’. I get into a coma like state of relaxation at festivals - the polar opposite of my Travel Nazi personality y'see so if you ever happen to run into me at a festival, I assure you I am not stoned. Being a music festival, obviously there are bands playing but I challenge you to want to go and see Pulp when you find yourself utterly transfixed by a flamethrower on the other side of the campsite. If you do want to see some bands there is something for everyone really.

THE NIGHTLIFE For me the best part of the average festival day is when it gets dark, the place lights up and you wander around in a romantic haze thinking you are on another planet…or possibly deep in the realisation that you have had too much to drink. It’s beautiful lit up especially if you invest in some lanterns.

IT’S GOOD OLD FASHIONED OUTSIDE FUN Think of all the Vitamin D! The exercise! The sheer effort involved in dancing! Think of all those rushes of serotonin – the happy hormone – as you plod your way from band to band. Think of all those endorphins pulsing through your body when you jump around in the crowd to Toots and the Maytals/Arcade Fire/that eejit with the guitar in the campsite. You sleep better at night with all that fresh air and you are always in a better mood than you would be if you were at home, which reminds me...

GETTING AWAY FROM IT ALL You are not at home. You are relaxing in a leafy part of Laois without a single fuck to give and your only decisions involve what to eat next and what nice thing you want to go and look at/do after you eat that thing. A pile of papers THIS high on your desk? Feck that, you are wearing wellies. Those papers can bugger off.

THE SILENT DISCO There are no words to describe the fun in dancing with gay abandon at the Silent Disco with glowsticks in hand and great big headphones on your skull. Granted, the most amusing part of the Silent Disco comes from actually watching the Silent Disco. Two DJs, two styles of music, many, many eejits singing along to two different songs that you, you there without headphones, can’t hear. It’s something to behold and it's hilarious after that box of wine you destroyed in one swoop in the campsite an hour before.

AND THE OTHER STUFF Paintball. Glowsticks. Bongos. The sudden overwhelming desire to buy wind chimes. The sudden overwhelming desire to learn an instrument - how has the idea of putting a band together never occured to you before! Raves in the forest. Lectures by reclusive poets on Sunday mornings. Acrobats in the circus. The new social acceptance of 'ironic' fairy wings. Trodding along the Art Trail thinking you could do so much better if you had the time, money and could muster the effort. Starting an argument at a craft fair because you just don’t see how that sculpture looks like Barack Obama. Being shitfaced at a pyrotechnic DJ show and dancing into the wee hours of the morning. PIEMINISTER Pie stall. The Shops – ALL THOSE NOVELTY HATS! Organic cider. WELLIES! The Comedy Tent. Henna Tattoos. Becoming addicted to Jamaican Jerk Chicken. Getting rid of that Jamaican Jerk Chicken into a port-a-loo at 3am because you had to many slush puppies and made yourself gravely ill. FREE TEA. The rather unique photo opportunities. FLAGS. The bars (cocktail, hooka, Oxygen or otherwise). GLITTER! Playing hide and seek in the forest when you realise that you may never actually be found again because your hiding place is SO good. Chatting to strangers and seriously considering starting some sort of candyfloss based cult. Dancing at the disco inside the Circus tent. Face painting. ‘Comfy crappers’. The people who are lovely and not like the utter scumbags you find at other festivals. The Cinema Tent. Me! I’m going this year and I’m awesome. If you are really lucky, I might wave at you.

The MAIN reason that Ms Hermia should go to Electric Picnic in particular is this. Lots of us are going and if she doesn’t go she’ll be forced to hear hundreds, if not thousands of ‘When we were at EP’ stories and trawl through our many, many hilarious photos of different people doing various activities in and around a field and trust me, you just don’t want that. At all.

Photo of the Day #506

2011-07-06T10:28:00.000+01:00

#506 I don't really understand this photo. Am I missing something? Are the couple dead? Are they in a parallel universe? Why is no one else in the congregation showing any kind of alarm that there are two exceptionally big ghostly figures smiling down at them as though they know something horrible is about to happen?! What in Gods name is on that man's head?! Oh so many questions yet I am terrified of the answers...

And Now On WRTV

2011-07-05T09:35:00.000+01:00

Another 'I-Have-Posts-Half-Written-And-Can't-Be-Arsed-Finishing-Them-Just-Yet' post.
Enjoy or politely ignore!

This has kept me amused for days now. I haven't yet made my mind up if it's the dog or the song

I think one of these babies doesn't get the joke and is just laughing along with the others so he doesn't appear stupid.

This is one of the strangest things I have ever seen and I say that as someone who practically lives on the Internet

I know this makes me a massive hypocrite having giving off in an earlier post about people not giving over about Glastonbury but I can't stop watching the Coldplay set on YouTube. It was sue-poib.

WHEN FISH ATTACK. They called me crazy but I knew it was only a matter of time...

This is why puppies are the best thing in the entire world.

Photo of the Day #505

2011-07-05T09:10:00.002+01:00

#505 They say his hair is so big because it's full of secrets.

That is one champion ginger mullet right there. On behalf of my brethren, I suggest we make him our King.

Next Time I'm Just Drawing A Picture Crudely In Crayon

2011-07-04T08:37:00.003+01:00

“Do you have your photographs there and I can give you an envelope for them?”

“Er…yes”

I put the photographs I had pulled from the instant printer face down on the counter. Maybe she wouldn’t look at them.

She flipped them round.

Damn.

“Oh” she said with a tone of surprise in voice as thought she had stumbled upon a set of a photographs of myself, in the nip sprawled over a bearskin rug. Perhaps that would have been less embarrassing.

I let out a stupid faint giggle as she stared at the enormous cat photo in her hands. It was a snapshot of Mal, kitten sized, lying on a pillow. Being the bastard that I am, I thought that the one thing Bert & Destiny needed in their newly purchased apartment was a homemade creepy Victorian style pet portrait that they would feel the need to display any time I visited lest they hurt my feelings. I should have probably explained that at the start so you know why I was mindlessly printing cat photographs because it goes without saying that my explanation naturally makes the whole situation less strange. What? Shut up.

“Don’t worry” she said. “I take photos of my cat as well”

“Ahaha…see that’s the thing. It’s not my cat”
-

“Excuse me?”

“Um…it’s not my cat. It’s my friends cat”

“Right…so…oh. So you just go around taking photographs of other people’s cats?”

“…Yes”

We didn’t speak again.

Note to self. Next time, just smile and nod.

Photo of the Day #504

2011-07-04T08:37:00.000+01:00

#504 Soap that looks like severed baby hands.

Well this is only disturbing beyond all reason eh?

Photo of the Day #503

2011-07-01T09:07:00.000+01:00

#503 Ahh but is it more awesome than...thaaan...you know I'm struggling to top that. Well done nameless segway people...well done...

Things That Are Pissing Me Off #6

2011-07-01T09:02:00.000+01:00

PEOPLE WHO WIN AWARDS THAT I DON’T THINK THEY DESERVE

The other day, Katie Holmes was honored at the Women In Film Awards which has celebrated individuals since 1977 who “through their perseverance and the excellence of their work in film, have helped to expand the role of women within the entertainment industry”. Of course Katie Holmes springs to mind when you consider female excellence in film. Why Hollywood would have died on it’s arse years ago if it weren’t for her outstanding work in such films as ‘Mad Money’ and ‘First Daughter’. No I haven’t seen them either. I can think of no other woman in film who inspires me more than Katie Holmes.No, let's go further. I want to be her for I want nothing more in this life than to marry a midget so far in the closet he’s in Narnia so that we can make tiny high heel wearing children together, with expensive cult monitoring my every move as the wife of their Goblin King and have paparazzi document the life leaving my eyes.

In honesty, if Katie Holmes happens to be in anything decent (say Batman Begins for example), she is always the worst thing about it and I challenge you to prove otherwise.

Honorary mention for Kristen Stewart winning Best Actress at the MTV Movie Awards. Again. Jesus wept.

MY NEW DESK PHONE

I don’t know how it works and it keeps bleeping and ringing and shouting things at me and no matter how many buttons I mindlessly push, it doesn’t do what I ask it to do. One ringtone is a woman’s voice that actually says ‘Are you there?’ which I think is the phones way of asking me to stop what I’m doing. I regularly beat it against the wall. Oh my blood pressure…

THE LYRICS OF BEYONCE KNOWLES
-

I have no problem with Beyonce herself. Beyonce is grand. She dances like a champion whilst simultaneously doing vocal acrobatics. Normal people can't do that which is why she is as rich as she is. Beyonce is fine. Her lyrics though? Not so much.

One minute she’s all ‘Independent Woman’. The next she’s singing about fetching her boyfriend's slippers. The next, screeching rather ill-advisedly about Girls ruling the world despite…well…go here.

You can’t wander around preaching about catering to the needs of a man one day declaring war on feminism and the next talk about how you need no one but yourself. Make up your mind because my head is starting to hurt.

DIRECT DEBITS ADDING WITHOUT ASKING ME

I subscribe to the Linen Hall Library in Belfast. At one point I thought it would be the perfect place to avail of quiet time on Saturday afternoons to read and write. When I went to make use of my new library card, I was reminded why I stopped going to the library. The fiction section is crap and everything smells like old people. ‘Musty’ I believe is the word. Anyway, I kept paying my subscription, a £5 Direct Debit lifted each month, because even if I didn’t religiously use the library space each week, at least I could take comfort knowing I was doing my bit for the local arts establishments. That is until the bastards upped the fee.

I got a letter through the post the other day telling me that they raised my Direct Debit to £5.50 presumably because they didn’t think I would mind too much or worse, that I would disregard the letter and I wouldn’t notice. The hell I wouldn’t. You might think it’s only 50p but it’s the principle of that 50p Reader. Had they asked me, I would have happily signed off on the new subscription fee but the fact they changed it and simply informed that it was happening whether I liked it or not? Fuck. That.

So I cancelled the direct debit. I also let out a cackle when I did so.
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THE MYLEENE KLASS 'DUBAI' ADVERT

I really do loathe that Myleene Klass. She’s a smug blight on my eyes she is. This advert, which always seems to be on nowadays, pisses me off no end.

Oh Myleene what a glamorous life you have. Cruising about Dubai in a limo are we? No doubt planning your next revolutionary how-to parenting guide as though you are the only person in the history of mankind to ever give birth yes? Oh what a hilarious happenstance. Poor Myleene, that scatterbrain we all know and love, forgot her diamond fucking handbag and the entire country comes to a standstill. That was close. However would she meet the Sultan without her extravagance eh? Oh how far posing in a white bikini under a waterfall will get you. Reader, I’ll fetch my onesie and meet you outside with the hosepipe and I’ll show her how it’s done.
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PEOPLE IN THE MEDIA WHO WON’T FUCK UP ABOUT GLASTONBURY

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It is not a National event. It is an event attended by those who could afford to go and managed to get tickets and even then, that’s a small number in comparison to the rest of us who weren’t at the festival. The rest of the nation doesn’t give a shit about how it’s the most amazing place in the entire fucking world and everyone there is/was experiencing a once-in-a-lifetime utopia that will never be seen or felt again. The rest of us saw the live footage on TV and it was lovely and everything but the festival is over so shut the fuck up about it.

THE TEA AT WORK
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-I don’t know if it’s the water or just the fact that no cup of tea is as nice as the one you’ll have on your own sofa but the tea at work right now tastes what I assume drinking human ashes tastes like. Bleurgh I say. BLEURGH.

Photo of the Day #502

2011-06-30T08:36:00.000+01:00

#502 This is PedoBear's second cousin once removed; Rapey Rabbit

No relation to me, thank God

Photo of the Day #501

2011-06-29T08:58:00.000+01:00

#501 There is no fear like the fear you have when you realise you are stuck in something. I'll even admit to being in the situation above because Lord knows sometimes the Goddamn kids hog the proper swings all damn day so you have to resort to the baby ones but I would never call for adult assistance. I couldn't live with the shame of my arse being so plump, I'd literally have to be cut free by a team of people. Nope, I would find it less painful to simply accept my fate and live there forever. Ol' Lady Arse Swing they'd call me.

Corporation Sues Blogger. Blogger Sad About It.

2011-06-29T08:54:00.000+01:00

This post was written when this news story was still news. I’m going to post it anyway so for the purpose of reading it, let’s pretend you hopped into a magical time travelling spaceship piloted by a grumpy astronaut bear and imagine you are hearing this news story for the first time shall we? No? Well you’re no fun…

When the email arrived in my Inbox, my chest suddenly felt hollow.

I thought that the day I received correspondence from a major Hollywood Studio, I’d feel a lot happier. I never imagined that correspondence to have words like ‘sue’, ‘pursue with lawsuit’ and ‘breach of contract’ shouting at me in black and white. The major Hollywood Studio in question was not impressed with this blogger Reader. At all.

I had written a post or two about a part I got in a film being made by the aforementioned studio and naturally, being excited about it, I blogged about it. At first I thought that they were bothered by a rather exaggerated post I made regarding my preparation to stalk a handsome actor (a post made in jest I assure you) but instead they were peeved that I revealed, in their opinion, too much information about a scene I was going to be in. I didn’t think I revealed that much (just a snippet about what my costume was going to look like) and at the time of writing, it didn’t cross my mind that it would be an issue. I didn’t (and don’t) have that many Readers and I wasn’t revealing any major plot points because I didn’t know any. They told me I was in breach of a confidentiality contract I didn’t actually remember signing in the first place. Never the less, I was told to cease and desist or I would lose the part and be at risk of further legal action. Well fuck that I thought. I deleted the posts, sent a groveling apology, became extremely paranoid about my blog stats whilst pretending that the posts never existed in the first place.

Whilst I was equal parts pissed off and utterly terrified of the studio, I felt better in the end. The movie in question absolutely sucked.

ANYWAY, this is a roundabout way of saying that I can empathize (to an extent) with the blogger being sued by Forever 21. I know what it’s like to have expensive lawyers breathing down your neck.

You probably know the story. If you don’t you have a life so congratulations on that. Forever 21 is suing Rachel Kane, the creator of satirical site WTForever 21 because she said mean things about them OR, if you are of the legal sort, “trademark infringement, copyright infringement, unfair competition and dilution”. I took a look at the site. Personally I find it ‘unfair’ to inflict garments like this:
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...On the innocent public but there you go.

Whilst Forever 21 have demonstrated that they have no sense of humor, I can understand why they are a bit upset. WTForever 21 is a site dedicated to poking fun at the hideous effin things they sell so why wouldn’t they be considering suing her right?

Well as far as I can tell, Ms Kane isn’t making any money off her site (due to the lack of advertisements). She has clearly demonstrated that she is in no way affiliated with the Forever 21 brand. If you are of the opinion that any publicity is good publicity then she’s doing them an enormous favour in terms of website hits even if they are visiting the website just to see just how bad it is. She appears to still shop at Forever 21 and she doesn’t piss over everything Forever 21 sell. She does comment on items that she likes. Hell, every brand you favour can have some seriously WTF items on sale. Por ejemplo:

SHAME ON YOU TOPSHOP

According to Rachel Kane:

My site, WTForever21, does not infringe on any of Forever 21's rights. It contains only criticism, commentary, and news reporting, all written in an educational and humorous manner, which are protected under applicable law. To the extent any of the material used on the site is in fact subject to intellectual property protection (which, in many instances, is by no means clear), the site's incorporation of that material is a "fair use" under copyright, trademark law, and similar state law. It's incredibly unlikely that any portion of the site would ever cause confusion in the minds of the general public about whether or not Forever 21 endorses or is affiliated with it. The blog in no way dilutes Forever 21's trademark, as the company claims. If the company continues to makes threats that have no basis in law, my attorneys are prepared to vigorously defend me and seek all available legal redress against Forever 21.

Good for her etc.

The Internet has always been a place to take the piss out of things. If this crap continues, where does it end? Can I sue friends for posting photographs I deem unflattering on Facebook? If someone wanders into a shop to browse, should we expect the sales assistants to taunt them and throw sharp objects at their head if they look like they aren’t about buy something screaming ‘WHY YOU NO LIKE US?!’ Well…no. Still though – poor form Forever 21.

Photo of the Day #500

2011-06-28T13:48:00.003+01:00

#500 For my 500th POT, here is Kim Jong-Il looking at some socks.

Sure why not eh?

My First Giveaway By White Rabbit Age None Of Your Business

2011-06-28T09:00:00.001+01:00

To celebrate being back to blogging for no other reason than I’m feeling generous and desperate for your love; I’m hosting a giveaway for any Reader who enjoy looking at things.

As some of you may have noticed, my little white rabbits are borrowed from the very talented Mr Andy Riley and so for my first giveaway I’ve decided to give away copies of the amazing Bunny Suicides books. Never will you find cute things killing themselves so amusing unless you are a rather disturbed individual in which case please leave my site immediately.

So if you fancy winning a copy, all you need to do is comment below (or email me) saying “Yes please”. I suppose it would be nice if you were a Follower of the blog too but I'm not too fussy. I’ll pull names out of a hat (because I’m old school and quite lazy) and I’ll announce a winner sometime in July. I’m going to allow for International Readers as well because no amount of ocean can defeat me and I find being excluded from US competitions a pain in my arse. Don’t say I don’t love you all…well…maybe not you over there because you scare me.

"Behold World. Here Is My Bottom"

2011-06-27T09:00:00.011+01:00

Some social situations really need to be written down into a handbook of some kind for people like me.

The other day I was in town ready to get something I couldn’t afford but would probably buy anyway when I noticed a couple walking in front of me. The girl was wearing a playsuit that had rolled up on the left bum cheek and she presumably hadn’t noticed. Unless this is now a thing in fashion. I can’t imagine it catching on. The bloke? Well he was just a bloke. Never mind the bloke. Ignore the bloke.

Poor girl if it wasn’t intentional. Wandering around with your arse out for the world to see? The ever judgemental eyes of people clapped on your rear end whilst you strolled along blissful in your ignorance? Perish the thought.

If I were the girl and the girl were me, I’d like the girl to tell me just as I would appreciate someone telling me that I had something in my teeth or bog paper stuck to my heel before I ran into George Clooney and he had to tell me. It is always better to be told than to think everything is happy daisies.

The girl was attracting attention from passers-by. Her bright blue underwear was hard to ignore. How is she not feeling a bloody breeze? I wondered. I walked a little quicker to catch up to her and let her know when I hesitated. I’m a random stranger. Surely this girl wouldn’t appreciate a random stranger commenting on her knickers?

Now I had three options.

#1 Tap the girl on the shoulder. I quietly whisper the situation in her ear whilst standing in front of her bum cheek preserving her dignity. Whilst absolutely mortified, she is eternally grateful for my kindness and subtly. SUDDENLY, she reveals herself to be a magical fairy Princess and as a reward for my good deed, grants me three wishes. The evening ends with me, drunk on power floating in a pool of chocolate in the Caribbean. EVERYBODY WINS

#2 Tap the girl on the shoulder. She turns round, I catch her off guard with my lack of personal space and immediately she punches me square the face before I get to say anything. I fall to the ground, she proceeds to kick me. I stumble, disorientated and in pain and wobble out in front of a bus. I am killed. NOBODY WINS.

#3 Go and tell the girl that everyone in Belfast can see her knickers with all the sensitivity I can muster. She takes offence and demands as to why I was following her around looking at her left bum cheek. I say something rude about not being able to miss it. She pokes me. I poke her back. She gives me a small push. I flick her on the forehead. It descends into madness and we both end up on the news.

#4 Ignore the situation and hope it fixes itself.

Of course whilst I mulled the possible solutions over in my head, she had crossed over to the other side of the road. Damn. If I followed her now it would be too much. If I ran after her it would no longer be an exposed bum cheek she would have to be worried about. I was disturbed at just how concerned I was about a complete strangers bum cheek. No. It was the other side of the roads problem now. I just pretended I didn’t see anything like a normal person would do and turned into another street, guilt lapping at my ankles.

Photo of the Day #499

2011-06-27T08:53:00.000+01:00

#499 He/She/It IS the shit. God I want one. Just so you are clear, I want that one in particular. It's a sitcom waiting to happen.

Hanging My Head In Shame

2011-06-24T09:00:00.002+01:00

Some things in the office are just not appropriate.

Having a conversation with me through a toilet door whilst I pee? Not appropriate.

Standing over my shoulder as I type and breathing down my neck? Not appropriate.

Taking my mug, MY mug, for any other reason than you plan to wash it and return it to me promptly? Not appropriate.

Getting it into your head that I somehow want to hear about your weird dream last night? Not appropriate. I don’t want to know and I don’t care especially if I’m in it.

I was on my way to work the other day when a text landed in from one of the powers at be. He wasn’t going to be in the office that day due to personal reasons and wanted me to pass on the message.

So I texted him back to let him know I got the message alright and to offer some condolences for whatever was wrong.

“No problem. Hope everything is ok” and before I had a chance to realise what I had done, “…X”

I don’t know about you but I don’t think putting an ‘X’ at the end of a message to a Boss is particularly appropriate either do you? Maybe you work in a close office where everyone hugs and discusses their daily bowel movements by the water cooler but I do not.

X. Fucking X like.

I started hitting the screen randomly with my stupid, stupid text-happy fingers hoping that I could somehow call back the message whirring its way to A BOSS.

"No! NoooOOoooooOOooo" I wailed. T'was too late.

I sometimes put ‘X’s at the end of text messages, particularly ones where I am expressing concern for the other person. I don't think I'm alone there. I just wish I was a little more alert that morning to remember who I was texting. *GASP* Maybe he would think I was coming onto him? Perhaps I could rectify the situation by putting an ‘X’ at the end of all my correspondence to him and to everyone else. Maybe he would think I had started ‘a thing’ and instead of thinking of me as an inappropriate work colleague I could be considered a trendsetter?

No. That’s absolutely stupid.

With any hope, he would simply skim over the message and delete it or maybe, if God decided he likes me, he wouldn’t notice at all?

Of course he would notice. He’s not fucking blind.

Bah.

I thought I was running out of situations to fix by playing the ignorant card but just when I think I’m maturing, some new situation pops up again. This is why I shouldn’t be allowed to communicate with human beings. Perhaps I should reconsider moving to that island that's only inhabited by snakes that may or may not be called Snake Island or THE UNHOLY KINGDOM OF THE REPTILES. I could be their Queen…

Photo of the Day #498

2011-06-23T09:10:00.002+01:00

#498 Oh for this to be just a few milliseconds later...

Nice & Spice

2011-06-23T09:00:00.007+01:00

“Here I had to get some plasters today and I found some made with silver”

Boyfriend was both shocked and delighted with himself. I was trying to calm my angry stomach.

We were out for dinner at a local Indian restaurant for Chimmer’s birthday. Indian food and I just don’t get on and I decided that explosive vomiting on the table wouldn’t be the most polite thing to do.

“Silver plasters?”

“Yes. Silver. Actual silver”

“Pfh” Yes, I actually made the ‘Pfh’ sound in a conversation about plasters. Don’t you just wish you were at that table for such riveting discourse eh? Like I said. I pfhed. “They have been out for aaages”. I didn’t mean to scoff but that was beyond my control as I felt the spices of my samosa bubbling in my belly.

Bert laughed turning to Boyfriend and saying “Well clearly you don’t read The Trendy Plaster Blog”

That Bert. He can be such bitch sometimes.

It was then that I realised this ‘WR is a Hipster’ business was bigger than originally suspected. I have become a walking parody it seems. I took comfort that being mocked for being a Hipster (she says on her blog) would be decidedly less embarrassing than being mocked for ‘That time WR caused a terrible mess in the bogs of an Indian restaurant’ and gulped down more water to fight the spice.

Photo of the Day #497

2011-06-22T09:10:00.000+01:00

#497 WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?!

Les Maisons De Mes Rêves

2011-06-22T09:00:00.002+01:00

Despite having made up my mind to stay in the parents house and save up my money for travelling, I still like to look at property websites just to see what I can afford and what I could afford if I happened to marry a 99 year old billionaire with a terrible heart condition.

I was on Daft.ie when I noticed you would rent and buy overseas properties so I had a little look. I set my maximum price at the highest option and picked the Parisian region and hit ‘Search’.

What did I find?

CASTLES.

Fucking CASTLES.

On Daft.ie

If you have a spare million Euro you can buy a fucking castle. Now I don’t have a spare million but it’s not much to spend to get yourself AN ACTUAL REAL AND WORKING CASTLE.

Oh Reader. Reader, Reader, Reader. I am cursed with this bank account of mine. I was born with expensive tastes and I’m being denied my dream homes.

More recent findings from property websites include:

Whilst not as exciting as a castle or indeed any property big enough to rival the size one, for a room no bigger than one you would find in a small cottage, that’s one hell of a bust of Caesar. It looks like they nicked it from a Vegas hotel lobby and carted it home to Armagh. I approve. Also ...

THE TACKIEST APARTMENT IN BELFAST – It could be yours now for only £1000 a month which only demonstrates that there clearly is a price on good taste.

That burning pain in your eyeballs is natural by the way...

Photo of the Day #496

2011-06-21T09:10:00.001+01:00

#496 'The Holiday That Must Not Be Spoken About'

This is an odd snap this. Family cars submerged in water, mismatched socks, a possible psychotic child responsible for the whole sorry mess because she was 'bored'. Many questions indeed...

She's Probably Not Even In Cambodia...

2011-06-21T09:00:00.005+01:00

Look, I’ve never made it much of a secret how much I loathe Angelina Jolie. Whilst I’d be a fool to deny the woman is exceptional looking in the face I’m trying to say that I wouldn’t mind too much if someone pushed her off a cliff.

What reignited my hatred for her recently was this photograph for the Louis Vuitton ‘Core Values’ campaign taken by Photoshop Whore Annie Leibovitz. I don’t know what ‘Core Values’ Louis Vuitton could hold so dear especially in the business of stupidly overpriced luggage possibly-but-not definitely sewn together by child slaves in an underground mine. Even the TV spot doesn't make things much clearer.

This article written about the photograph tickled my ribs though.

“She’s barefoot, wearing her own clothes, no make-up and toting her own elegantly weathered monogrammed Alto bag”

‘Elegantly weathered’. Much like myself. Heh. Also if you are trying to tell me that she’s not wearing any make up I’m the fucking Pope. She might be Angelina Jolie but she’s still posing for an advertising campaign. Secondly, even if in the unlikely event she isn’t wearing make up, surely that observation is irrelevant as she has been Photoshopped within an inch of life.

“People are not used to seeing Angelina in this situation”

What situation? An insanely rich woman continuing on her quest to adopt/buy more of the world's children? That is pretty much all she seems to do aside from resembling a smug Skeletor on the red carpet and looking serene and motherly for the press in African villages.

“I like the fact that it’s a real moment. This travel message we give through personal journeys is a fundamental one for the brand.”

A real moment you say? So Annie Leibovitz and her team just happened to be floating down a river in Cambodia when…oh look there is Angelina Jolie hanging out on a boat like some sort of Earth mother, by herself, looking into the middle distance possibly having clapped eyes on another potential youngling to pluck from their native country and parade to Starbucks.

I should probably be a bit nicer about Angelina. As irritating as she is she did supposedly donate ‘an undisclosed portion’ of her $10million fee to charity. ‘Undisclosed portion’ means she threw them a fifty and took off in her private jet cackling as she went. Probably.

“This campaign is about a very special person and a very special journey,” said Pietro Beccari, Louis Vuitton’s Executive Vice President.

That's news to me. I thought the campaign was about selling products to those consumers who favor overly pretentious advertisements that tell you nothing about what they are plugging and who will buy absolutely anything if someone famous smiles at them enough from a billboard like golden Gods looking down on the plebs.

Other ‘very special’ people who will be featured in the campaign include Bono, Sean Connery, Keith Richards and Mikhail Gorbachev who we all naturally associate with handbags.

Bah.

[/End Rant]

Photo of the Day #495

2011-06-20T08:27:00.000+01:00

#495 I can't remember if I had the same plush Pikachu or not. Maybe I dreamt it. If I did I miss it for I would hold it as tenderly as the chap above is doing right now. Oh yes, I would hug the shit out of that Pikachu... God I miss watching Pokemon on Saturday mornings. Those were simpler times...

I didn't really mean for this POTD to be quite so melancholy except I'm in the type of mood where all you want to do is crawl into bed and lick the flavor off crisps whilst staring at the ceiling hoping that you can develop enough telekinetic power to blow up the lightbulbs...or something.

Public Service Announcement

2011-06-20T08:26:00.000+01:00

HOWDY DOODY READER!

Wait, no that was shit. Let me go out and come back in again…

HELLO READER! Did you miss moi? I’m sure you did what with all those ‘I miss you’ comments and emails you sent me over the last month.

*looks to inbox*

*tumbleweed*

*heavy sigh*

So! How are you?
-

I have made some changes to the layout and design of the aul place so let me know if you experience any burning sensations in your eyes as a result of the background. I can't/won't really do anything about that but I will offer you some sympathy. Maybe.
-

ANYWAY. Stuff has been happening outside the Internet world over the last few weeks that I have been away such as:

The Queen came to Ireland for a cup of tea and then Obama followed the week after to pat the island on the back for unspecified reasons. The entire country swooned in unison.

We had lots of biblical style wind and rain. It got very cold for a while, the very hot then very cold again. I got a hail stone in my eye. I cried about it.

The Rapture came and went again without even so much as a single horseman of the Apocalypse. I burned all my possessions in a fiery ‘fuck it all’ rage for no reason then so.

Cheryl Cole was axed from The US X Factor and the media tried it’s best to make us think this was terrible news. I was delighted... that is until it was announced she was coming back. Then she left for good again. Then my brain shat itself.

Ryan Giggs’ wholesome family man image slipped into the mud as it was revealed he has shagged everyone woman in the known universe and has possibly fathered enough children to populate the small island of Surtsey. He may even be your father.

Playboy bunny Crystal Harris called off her wedding to Hugh Hefner, who announced the jilting on Twitter, just five days before the wedding. Either she just realised that she was about to marry a man two years younger than God or Hugh took too long to bring up the pre nup.

Adele had an insensitive rant about her taxes. The poor petal was recently taxed £4million of her £8million paypacket from her latest album. However will she cope with such poverty? Insenstive twat.
-

Doctor Who has gone until Autumn which makes me a Sad Panda. You know who else is gone? Oprah. Yes, the Television Jesus has gone but I’m not too fussed given the fact I never enjoyed being patronised by a stupidly rich woman who possesses the (admittedly useless) power to make entire audiences scream in unison like demented hyenas.

Some stupid idiot gave Kristen Stewart another Best Actress award. Apparently all it takes to win one of these things is to stop with that whole blinking business and bite your lip constantly like a starved Victorian urchin.

I am now working in the Basement. It has been 100 hours since I have seen the sun. Oh how I long to be bathed in natural light which for a gin…um…someone of a pale complexion, is a very fucking big thing to say.

I got into a fight with a spider THE SIZE OF A HUMAN HEAD and won thanks to my trusty vacuum cleaner.

Emilio Estevez, a man I loved from the day and hour I saw Mighty Ducks, started following me on Twitter.
-

I was supposed to be writing when I took a break from the blog but I found that by not writing a little bit everyday, I was actually drying out that part of my brain sponge that allows me to put words in certain orders so I decided to come back early. Which I have done. I may go away again if I struggle to make posts but since this place is quite dusty, I’m sure you really noticed the last absence. *hears the faint playing of violins in the distance*

So yeah...I'm back. That was quick eh?

2011-05-23T10:34:00.001+01:00

Public Service Announcement - And In The End...

2011-05-19T14:35:00.002+01:00

So Reader, this is the end. I’m calling it quits.

*pauses for emotional outcry*

What? Nothing? Not even a single solitary tear? A frown? A melancholy sigh?

WELL FECK YOU READER

Oh so now you cry.

Well would you stop if I told you I’m not quitting forever?

I’m not quitting forever Reader.

This is me just being an attention seeking bitch. What I am doing is taking a little break. My head is in bits recently, nothing much is really happening and I don’t want to post just for the sake of it.
Another reason is that I’m procrastinating too much. I really need to start on other projects and I can’t really do that if I’m using up brain energy blogging as much as I do. It’s only going to be a temporary measure. In the mean time I will keeping writing, tumblin', reading your blogs and emails and plugging away at Twitter so you’ll know the very second something horribly interesting happens to me.

I’ll post again soon(ish)

Just remember that I LOVE YOUR FACE.

Sorry I Hurt Your Face Johnny

2011-05-19T09:10:00.003+01:00

I lay awake in bed staring at the spider on the window. I was internally debating whether or not he was comfortable where he was or if I let myself sleep, would he crawl into my mouth during the night. Whilst this was a tad bothersome, something else was holding my attention.

In the drawer of my bedside cabinet, I heard a voice. It wasn’t a loud one but it was constant.

Open me.

I slowly pulled out my drawer and there it was.

Open meee! Open me now you fool! Think about what you could have. Think about the stuff. The things! OPEN ME AND USE MY INNARDS FOR STUFF YOU WILL TEMPORARILY LOVE AND PROBABLY NEVER USE AGAIN!

The can was speaking to me.

The can you see, is one of those handy little savers tins with a slot in the top to put in coins and notes. The idea is that you can’t open the tin without a can opener, therefore it’s harder to casually dip in and out of your savings. I could of course, use a bank like a normal human being but that requires a herculean amount of time and effort on my part and it’s not nearly as satisfying as hearing the wonderful CLUNK as the latest editions hit the bottom. You don’t get that with a bank. It’s just invisible money and lots of digits on paper. You don’t see it unless you ask for it all by which point you’ve all ready blown it all on an enormous chocolate sculpture of yourself and a ludicrously expensive fez. What? Are you telling me there is a better way of spending your money? I damned well disagree.

Anyway, back to the tin. I don’t know how much is in it but I’m sure it’s a couple of hundred. I need that money for the eventual round the world trip in a few years time. If I open the can now, I’m back to square one. The money in this tin, when I put it into perspective, was a few nights accommodation in St Petersburg, a Siberian pony ride, one hearty meal in New Zealand and a tacky Hello Kitty dress I WILL find and wear EVERY SINGLE DAY like a feckin cartoon character for the rest of my silly life, that I will buy somewhere in Japan.

What did I want to risk that for? Nothing much. I just felt the need to shop as I often do.

Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me. Open me.

So OF COURSE I resisted and told myself what any reasonable, logical and sensible person would tell themselves.

Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it. Open it.

The word ‘Open’ has lost all meaning now hasn’t it? Hate when that happens so I apologise for my part in it. Wait…where was I? Goddammit Reader, you know how easily distracted I get! Put down that hula hoop and pay attention to meee.

Yes. So there I was, holding the can in my hands and debating whether or not to free the money inside. I was just about to do so when I felt an overwhelming surge of guilt. How rubbish was I? I have absolutely no willpower….or do I?

Well, I’LL SHOW ME

I threw the can across the room and it hit Johnny Depp in the face.

Here is a photograph of him in case you don't know who or what Johnny Depp is. I presume you are an alien. That makes sense I suppose. I would like to take the opportunity to welcome you to our planet. I for one welcome our Supreme Overlords. I am WR. I'm the wife of the man above and also, PRESIDENT OF EARTH. You might see evidence to the contrary, particular from the protesting screams of my dear Jonathan but I assure you, that's just how we roll down on earth.

Not the Johnny Depp of course. I wouldn’t keep that quiet from you. No, Johnny Depp, the large life-size cardboard standee. I acquired it after the first Pirates of the Caribbean came out. We had it in work so I took it home once we were finished with it. That was an interesting bus trip. Anyway, he stands in my room, often scaring me in the middle of the night but that fear never lasts long because if you want anyone to break into your bedroom in the wee hours of the morning, it’s Johnny feckin Depp.

ANYWAY – long story short, I hid the can and now I don’t know where it is. If you come across it, it will be full of my money and smell like pathetic human tears. Be in touch.

Photo of the Day #494

2011-05-19T09:00:00.004+01:00

#494 If I ever met Obama, I'm pretty sure I would be the same. Well, I say the same but this bloke doesn't seem to be attempting to squeeze the Presidential buttocks.

The Principle Of The Thing

2011-05-18T10:34:00.003+01:00

The other day Barbie and I were in the mood for pizzas. So we ordered otherwise we’d have to have 'imagination pizzas' again and those just aren’t filling Reader.

“Get me a can of Coke!” I said

“The fridge is full of Coke” said Barbie holding the receiver.

“Bottles of Coke. Not the same. I need canned Coke. Cold Coke”

Barbie sighed and ordered the can of Coke.

However when our pizzas arrived, the delivery guy looked apologetic. HE HAD FORGOTTEN THE CAN OF COKE. I tried not to look so angry but in my mind I was blasting him to the 9th circle of Hell for such insolence.

He said he’d send the can round with another driver. This pleased me but more so because my can of Coke would have its own personal chauffeur.

So after the pizzas, I waited for my can of Coke. I waited. Waited. I waited some more. Over an hour had passed and still no Coke.

“Phone them up and ask where it is” said Barbie

“I can’t do that. It’s a can of Coke like. They’ll think I’m mad. Would you do it?”

“No. It’s just a can of Coke!”

“Fine. It doesn’t matter”

“You paid for it…”

*GASP* This was true! I HAD paid for it. A whole 75 shiny Sterling pennies*. Not only did I want the can of Coke but now it was a matter of principle. I bet they thought that no one is going to phone up about a can of Coke and then they get away with my 75p, keep the can and spend the end of their shift laughing, laughing I say at my expense. They probably pull this kind of scam all the time. Well I’m not going to be duped into their wretched scheme. Oh no, not this bunny. This injustice would stop with me.

“Hello?”

“Hi…um…we made an order a while ago but you forgot the can of Coke?”

“…Right”

“Uh…” God this was more awkward than I thought it would be. It was becoming less like someone defending the principle of getting what they pay for and more about some stingy beggar being miffed about 75p. A measly 75p for a can of Coke when she had lots of bottled Coke in the fridge. They didn’t know that of course but I did. No. NO WR. It’s the principle. Definitely the principle…and maybe stubbornness. Principle and stubbornness. Stand your ground.

I then realised I had allowed there to be an awkward silence. I coughed. “Um…yes. The delivery guy said that you guys would send the can of Coke in the next available car so I was checking to see if it was on its way?”

“A can of Coke”

“Yes”

“Um…*sigh*…let me check”

She went off the line to, what I can only assume, tell everyone in the entire world that the eejit at my address was a dickhead.

“Hi again. We’ll send the can of Coke to you now so expect the delivery of your can of Coke soon”

I didn’t like the way she kept repeating ‘can of Coke’. It made it seem more trivial the more she said it.

“Thanks” I said, putting the phone down.

VICTORY WAS MINE! I did a little dance. Of course I didn’t seem like much of a victory during the uncomfortable moment when I opened the door to a weary driver, glaring at me as he handed over the solitary can of Coke, a delivery probably not worth the petrol, in its own special *insert Pizza place name here* bag.

Feck him. It was the principle of the thing like I said and Reader, the principle tasted delicious. **

* For the record I didn’t literally pay in pennies. I am not some sort of peasant.

** Also I should probably clarify that I haven't recently become sponsored by Coca Cola. They won't return any of my calls.

Photo of the Day #493

2011-05-18T10:25:00.002+01:00

#493 Sure why not eh?

Name's Not Down? Not Coming In [For Free]

2011-05-17T11:00:00.001+01:00

“Is Luke here yet?”

“Don’t know Luke”

We shrugged just to reinforce this.

“What about Matt? Is Matt here?”

“No”

“James?”

“No” I stared blankly at him for extra effect.

The determination was strong in this one but I’ll be damned if he was going to worm his way past us.

One thing to must understand about Hipsters Reader is that they love feeling special being the unique little individual snowflakes that they are. They love to chance their arm. That is a fact.

The little sod above was probably the tenth person to try and get into the gig without paying. It was the same every time.

They come up to you, look around the room, acting as if they have been there hundreds, if not thousands of times. They ask for a random name because they want you to know that they have contacts and that they are a very important person. To be even asked if they are on the Guest List instead of being casually waved past the door fee is one of the most insulting things you can ask a Hipster. How dare you ask me if I’m on the list you common pleb they tut at you. I know everyone that is worth knowing. This pathetic event is lucky I even decided to grace it with my presence. Eventually they give up and pay in but they spend the rest of the evening glaring at the back of your head.

The other trick was the ‘The Loiter’. People who kinda, sorta, maybe knew your neighbours dog assumed that if they loitered around you at the door, feigning friendship and lavishing you with compliments that you would let them go through. Not on our watch bitches. We simply waited for the people in question to run out of steam, stop smiling, drift into the awkward weather chat and then give up and pay.

It was simply by accident that Vivadim and I were ‘doing the door’. She was asked to do it as a favour for a friend, and I had no plans for the evening so I thought I would join her.

According to Vivadim, a dab hand at this ‘door duty’ lark, trying to get around door fees was a common problem amongst Hipsters. Rather than do their bit and support decent local acts, everyone wants something for free. To this I suggest Hipsters spend less money on their ironic vintage jumpers and maybe they wouldn’t find a small door charge so painful to part with.

[/end rant]

Throughout the evening, I discovered that I should never be given power. It was my job to stamp the hands of those who had paid. At first, I was delicate and nice about asking to stamp people but then I got a taste for it and rattled through the queues like some sort of stamping wizard.

“Where is your stamp?” I’d demand as the smokers came in and out. I knew rightly they had already paid but I asked anyway for badness.

“YOU NEED A STAMP” I barked at another who tried to walk past me. “Walk past me again and I’ll stamp your feckin forehead” I said. The person laughed. I was being serious.

Anywho, after our door taking duties were finished, Vivadim and I hung out in the DJ booth for a while with her lovely friends and waited for the next band to come on. I felt quite important. I had the control of a stamp for an evening. I had a little red ‘X’ on my wrist to get some free drink and I could stand behind the mixer and pretend I knew what all the buttons did. It was great.

Vivadim and I took to the crowd for the final band and swayed and dancing and bobbed to the music. I felt a tap on my shoulder.

“Do you guys know the band?” asked a checked shirt, be-bearded hipster.

Vivadmin and I laughed and, as we do, took the piss.

“We’ve only worked our way through half of them” I said. I thought I was being dead pan. I thought I had made an obvious but admittedly not terribly good joke.

The hipster scrunched up his face.

“Oh no” he said. “I have to say, that’s a really big turn off. I’m sorry”

No, I was sorry. I didn’t realised I was trying to coax him into sleeping with me.

“Uh…she was joking?” said Vivadim

“I thought that was pretty clear”

“No. No. Sorry” and with that he turned his back.

In conclusion: Hipsters are strange and automatically assume that since they are so damned awesome, everyone wants to sleep with them. Don’t let them into your bars for free.

Photo of the Day #492

2011-05-17T10:54:00.000+01:00

#492 Wait for it...Wait for it...

"I Love Eurovision / Feel It In My Mind"

2011-05-16T14:12:00.000+01:00

Note: This post would have come sooner if it wasn't for Blogger throwing a hissy fit so I apologise for the lateness Reader. I beg your forgiveness. Help yourself to anything you want. Take it all!...Although I'd quite like if you left the toilet because, well, you know...

Tell me this Reader. What would you consider to be the greatest thing that ever happened to Europe?

The end of World War I?

The end of World War II?

The European Union?

The single European currency?

Disneyland?

Nope. You are wrong, oh so very wrong.

It’s the EUROVISION SONG CONTEST. FACT.

For 56 years it has remained the jewel of the European calendar and for me personally, it is the television highlight of my year. You might think that sad Reader but again, you would be wrong. I actually feel sorry for countries who can’t get involved with Eurovision, especially America because I reckon you guys would lap that shit up.

Anywho; here are my thoughts on this year. Hopefully, if all goes to plan and the chewing gum holding Blogger together holds, if you click on the images, it should take you to the video of the song. I recommend you do, ESPECIALLY Moldova.

First off, let’s start with Ireland and the almighty Jedward. If you don’t know Jedward then it is likely that you simply won’t ‘get’ them. Don’t worry, we haven’t all collectively lost our minds. They are to be enjoyed somewhat ironically. That being said, despite not having a single note in their head, they are doing extremely well for themselves having made a few million off the back of The X Factor. Fair play to them. Sure they seem like lovely wee boys as the Granny’s say.

Personally I feel that Ireland were robbed. ROBBED I SAY.

Next up, the United Kingdom who seemed to think it was a good idea to have Blue represent them.

Stuart Heritage of The Guardian said it best:

That’s right. It’s Blue this year. Blue. Fucking BLUE. A middle-aged boyband made up of an idiot, a musical theatre star, a man who aspires to be The Lighthouse Family and Antony Costa Who Wet Himself At A Cashpoint That Time. These are the people who we’ve chosen to represent us in front of all of Europe. ALL OF EUROPE, mind you.

Europe’s already cooler than us, friendlier than us, more efficient than us and has considerably better hair than us. The last thing we should do is show them three minutes of Lee Ryan shuffling around like a shaved baboon with a live fish wedged up its rectum while he makes a noise like a broken kettle. It’s literally the last thing we should do. Literally. Literally.

We’re crap at Eurovision. Everyone knows this. We don’t need to rub their faces in it.

Ok so Belarus didn’t technically make it into the final but they deserve a mention for possibly the best lyrics of this year. *clears throat* “I LOVE BELARUS/ GIVE IT ALL MY LOVE / I LOVE BELARUS/ FEEL IT IN MY MIND”. I too love Belarus, Belarus. I FEEL IT IN MY MIND.

Bosnia & Herzegovina – Sadly the woman in red wasn’t flying during the performance. That probably would have improved things quite a bit. This entry was, of course, absolutely mental. I still don't know why they wave to each other at the start of the song. For God sake you stupid fools, the other person is right there..

Sweden – HelloooOOOoooo Sweden. Thank you for giving me Eric Saade with his magic dancing feet. I took great amusement from this performance, particularly the part when he was literally in a glass case of emotion. That’s a metaphor for life in many ways. God bless you Eric Saade.

Finland – Bless him. Not only did his parents call him Paradise but they sent him out onstage in his big boy trousers and asked him to sing a song about some bloke called Peter on a one man mission to save the planet through undisclosed means to 125 million people. Poor little bastard.

Estonia – 1273 Rockefeller Street isn’t a particularly catchy set of lyrics but somehow, this odd little hybrid of several different kinds of songs, gets stuck in your head. I blame the hyponotic motions of the tassle on the doll-faced hyper-pixie’s dress. I don't think it was wise to give her a cane to beat her minions with. Perhaps she is the Queen of some kind of underground Troll Kingdom. That makes perfect sense.

Romania – You will get diabetes after listening to this song. Those trousers. The incessantly smiling berk at the piano, just grateful to be out of the asylum for the day. The fact that you will be almost certain you heard this in a holiday camp that year the caravan toilet got blocked. The never ending flirting with the camera that leads you to believe that Romania is coming onto you. That's just what he wants you to think Reader. He wants your votes. It is Grimothy Dalton Reader.

Hungary looks like Celine Dion’s demented half sister.

Germany – Ahh Lena. Last years winner who gave us such wonderful lyrics as “I bought new underwear – Light blue and I wore it just the other day” or “I painted my toe-naits for you”. Toe naits? TOE NAITS?! GODDAMMIT LENA WHO TAUGHT YOU ENGLISH?! Lily Allen did apparently. Anyway, this year’s effort was called ‘Taken by a Stranger’ and it’s a cool little number that seems to build but doesn’t really go anywhere. The lyrics are rather disconcerting. It seems to be about an abduction of some sort. Perhaps it was the people in spandex.

Ukraine – I feel quite sorry for the pretty blonde with Icarus wings sprouting from her shoulders. Everyone was much more interested in what was going on behind her and they would because it's amazing and makes your very best sandcastle look shit.

Russia – Believe it or not, this is actually produced by the same team behind Lady Gaga. Yes, seriously. Then again lyrics such as “Put my mind in a dirty zone” wouldn’t look out of place on her last album. Yes, I'm curious what putting your mind in a dirty zone involves too. Possibly extreme vacuuming.

Serbia – It’s still 1963 in Serbia apparently. This was one of my favourites of the evening but it’s still not as good as Jedward. Obviously. It’s quite a pretty little song that makes me want to shimmy at the hips and dress like Twiggy.

Moldova – This is, without doubt, THE GREATEST THING that has happened on television in the last 500 years. What in good Christ is going on? I don’t know but I think I’m in love with it.

Azerbaijan – The winners for God knows what reason. Now I know that Eurovision isn’t exactly a hub of genius song writing but Jesus. You forget the song in the middle of listening to it! Have a watch and behold the sheer awkwardness between the two who look less like they are about to have a passionate embrace and more likely to publically admit to having ‘a thing’ for their siblings.

So that was Eurovision. Once again voting was polluted by Eastern block countries voting for their favourite neighbours and it's still not quite the same as the ‘Nil points’ heyday but I still love it and wonder if it thinks about me when I’m not around.

However, it must be said that absolutely none of these acts compare to my all time Eurovision favourite – Mr Alexander Rybak of Norway - the 2009 winner. BASK IN HIS BRILLIANCE READER but just know that when he smiles at the camera, he is smiling at me. *shakes fists*

Photo of the Day #491

2011-05-16T11:14:00.001+01:00

#491 ...God?

Photo of the Day #490

2011-05-15T21:08:00.000+01:00

#490 Mmm...delicious

When Blogger Broke

2011-05-15T20:36:00.000+01:00

Phew! That was a tough few days there Reader.

NO BLOGGER?!

I actually let out a scream in panic. You would have thought I had been shot. Granted I’ve not been posting as much or as regularly as usual but…but I need Blogger. I can’t live life like a normal human being knowing I can’t follow updates on my Blog Reader or check my Stats to see if anyone is talking favourably about me elsewhere in the Internet or wandering around in the wilderness never knowing if my posts have been lost to eternity due to an unfortunate glitch at Google HQ.

At first, I thought:

TERRORISTS HAVE BROKEN THE INTERNET

And I’ll admit I thought that for quite some time seemingly believing that Al Qaeda only want to destroy the worlds of geeky, slightly self obsessed people who spend more time inside telling stories and perusing pictures of cats than going outside and doing something productive.

Thankfully though Blogger is back (somewhat) to normal. I'm very relieved indeed. I started to become a warped version of myself Reader. Talking to a carton of milk to tell it about something vaguely amusing that happened to me. Suffering a build up of concern that I was enjoying a Justin Beiber song a little too much for my own good. Putting post-its on family photographs and declaring "THIS SHALL BE THE PHOTO OF THE DAY!" much to the confusion of others.

That horrible time is over. Thank Jaysus.

IN OTHER NEWS

Husker has a swollen wormy belly and apparently this means that we are all at risk of catching them. The symptoms include having an itchy arse. Reader, I’ve been reacting quite poorly to this. Every time my bottom has even the whisper of a itch, I automatically think *GASP* I HAVE WORMS. OH MY GOD I’M INFECTED and look for the nearest train tracks to throw myself on rather than face having to explain the situation to a chemist and/or vet. I probably don’t though. I was very good and washed my hands every time I held him. If I do catch them, he’ll suffer an almighty sulk unlike anything this world has seen before though.

I recently sat in on someone getting laid off. This was a rather unpleasant experience. I don’t know how George Clooney could deal with that in that film he was in where he fired people. You know the one. Yes. That one. Awful stuff.

The other day I was really hungry and decided to set myself a challenge. EAT ALL OF THE THINGS IN THE VENDING MACHINE. You may have seen the announcement on Twitter. I decided to start with the crisps and work my way down. Unfortunately the first bag of crisps fell and got stuck at the bottom. I stuck my arm in to dislodge it and remembered that bone can’t bend. I ordered another packet in an attempt to push the first bag down from the inside but that one got stuck too. I shook the vending machine to oblivion but nothing happen so I sat in front of it, had a little cry and kicked it until it let my crisps go. This is my Everest Reader.

Afternoon Tea, Dah-ling

2011-05-12T09:10:00.002+01:00

“I never thought I’d say this but...I think I’ve had too much tea”

I sat back in the red velvet chair and rubbed my swollen belly. I must not fail I thought as I pushed another piece of scone in my mouth. This is my Everest.

The other day, the girls and I decided to ‘do’ Afternoon Tea at The Merchant Hotel.

Very laa di dah I assure you.

It’s a popular thing to do for the rich and posh and the want-to-be rich and posh I’ve been told. I called up the hotel to ensure I didn’t have to book and I heard a guffaw when I asked for a table that afternoon. Apparently this would prove difficult. They patched me through to the restaurant and I heard the waiter on the other end prepare to break my heart.

“But…it’s my birthday” I said.

“Oh well in that case I’ll see if we can fit you in somewhere.”

Success. I wasn’t lying either. It really was my birthday or at least it was my birthday the day before. My celebrations were simply spilling into the next morning.

The mark of a place is noted by how many people they can turn away it seems. When we got there it seemed they turned many people away since the place was barely full at all. Perhaps this lends to the reputation in that if they pretend it’s rather exclusive, more people will want to come.

Reader, we were just not prepared for how fancy the Afternoon Tea experience was to be. Waiters draping your napkin over your knee for you as though you were far too important to ask to do it yourself. Shiny silver teapots with delicate tea sieves. Cups of tea poured for you by the waiting staff and arranged in convenient angles. A pianist playing a Grand Piano in the corner underneath an enormous canopy of chandeliers. Whilst the rest of us tried not to laugh at the sheer awkwardness of it all being completely inexperience in this level of posh, Destiny resisted the urge to sing along with the piano. I'm surprised she didn't in the end but she probably felt the same as I did in that one baby finger out of line and they would discover us the plebs we were.

I went for the Darjeeling tea because the tea menu described it as the champagne of teas. I shrugged and thought I might as well go the whole nine yards with this posh experience. I kept bringing up that I was drinking the champagne of teas lest anyone else forget either. I'm a woman of great tastes I'll have you know and it was my solemn duty to TASTE ALL OF THE THINGS!

Working our way up the tiers of the silver food stand I discovered that I love tomato bread, hate honey mustard and would happily swim in clotted cream. The scones were fresh and warm and topped with blobs of raspberry preserve (Read: jam). The desserts were so delicious I wanted to cry. A rose macaroon, the nicest lemon tart I’ve ever had, a raspberry and champagne shot topped with a strawberry chocolate swirl – all amazeballs. The only thing to let me down was the chocolate Opera cake which turned out to be coffee. Sadly I only discovered this after I had shoved it in my mouth. DID NOT LIKE.

Who would have thought such tiny food would be so filling eh? I certainly didn’t and began to wonder if I would be escorted out of the building for undoing my buttons at the waist to let the belly hang out. What would the Duke at the next table say?...

Photo of the Day #489

2011-05-12T08:51:00.000+01:00

#489 Ahahahaha look at his face!...Mercy *wipes tear*

Still though...*shudder*

Advertisements I Wish Would Go Away #1

2011-05-11T10:44:00.004+01:00

I watch television therefore I am regularly subjected to advertisements. Some are good. Some are downright annoying which is why I’m going to pick out a few to mock because it’s a slow news week and I feel like complaining.
-

MATCH.COM
-

At first I thought it was cute but that was just because it appealed to my hipster ways. Why wouldn’t they? They were two vintage clad pretty people who liked to sing songs about things that aren’t consider popular but are cool in an ironic way. Apparently.

After a second viewing I realised that I hated it and everything it stood for.

The faux cockney accent that no human being could ever naturally sing in. Her croaky little voice. The stupidly twee outfits and the fact that not one of them thinks to turn round in case they are in the middle of a duet with an overweight knuckledragger who smells like cabbages. The lyrics too. What absolute psychopaths. One of them cackles in her sleep and the other seemingly slips into a coma every weekend. They are welcome to each other.

What happened to them? The Girl was last seen about to be impregnanted by a dragon in Your Highness and The Boy…one can only imagine he was brutally beaten with a ukulele and left for death in the gutter.

-
ADAM & JANE - BT

Adam & Jane. Oh…Adam & Jane. A series of adverts by BT seemingly designed to tug at the nation’s heartstrings but did nothing more than make us want to turn off the TV and actually go outside. Adam – A charmless toy boy who enjoys making himself look clever by talking about the merits of the services of BT as if we give a damn what he thinks and Jane, a personality vacuum that serves no purpose but to stand around and look impressed when Adam shows that he can do simple tasks like make telephone calls or connect the broadband.

Take the advert above for example. Isn’t their relationship so fucking perfect? “Of course” guffaws Adam, when asked if he was speaking to Jane. They speak all the time you stupid fool.

We are supposed to care about these two but in honesty, we couldn’t give a shit, or at least I don't. When Adam moved to Cornwall for work, they half expected the Nation to grind to a halt and take to the streets weeping and pulling out our body hair pluck by pluck wailing “WHY GOD WHY?! TAKE ME INSTEAD!”. Or perhaps I’m just exaggerating. They offered the chance for us to vote on the fate of Adam & Jane recently. The UK decided to have them get married AND get pregnant which shows what a sick, twisted group of people we have amongst us that they would actively encourage the reproduction of the blandest person in existence and a boggle eyed cretin. I didn’t vote out of protest because ‘Driving off a cliff and exploding in a ball of flames’ wasn’t an option.

HALIFAX

For their part in insuring that the economy is sitting arse up in a dung heap; banks have decided to beg for our forgiveness (without actually apologising) and come over all friendly all of a sudden. The worst of which is the series of Halifax radio adverts in which ‘employees’ talk mindless shit to God knows what audience and make puns about ISAs. It truly is the death of all that is good in the world.

GILLETTE VENUS

If you woke up this morning and thought that the only thing that would make your life complete would be to see Jennifer Lopez in concert and/or saving her legs – THEN YOU ARE IN LUCK.

What puzzles me is that according to Jennifer Lopez, we all have a most beautiful leg. I did not know this Reader but if pushed I'd say my left leg. It has a certain je ne sais quoi.

YEO VALLEY

This was apparently a very popular advert. Beautiful young people working on a farm, enjoying their yogurt and rapping. What’s not to love eh? Answer: Everything.

CONFUSED.COM
-

What has this song got to do with…well…I think insurance? Not much. The unedited version of this advert goes on for roughly 500 years by which time you are so beaten down, you’ll sign up for anything just to make the pain stop.

GO COMPARE
-

This advert annoys me so much, it’s akin to the sensation of chewing tinfoil. A series of adverts by which an overweight tenor with a novelty moustache catches people off guard and forces them to make terrible puns.

I understand that the true purpose of advertising is to get a brand stuck in your head which sadly means that the more annoying they are, the more memorable and ultimately more successful they tend to be. HOWEVER, being as stubborn as fuck, I will make a point of not using/purchasing that service and/or product as a matter of principal…and possibly revenge.

Just before you leave this post, take a look at some advertisement that can only merit the phrase ‘What the fuck?’. Before you ask, yes it’s Japanese.

CUP NOODLE CHEESE CURRY
-

CHEE CHEE CHEE CHEE CHEE CHEE CHEE CHEE… That Cheese Alien will haunt my dreams for eternity.

Photo of the Day #488

2011-05-11T09:00:00.000+01:00

#488 SUDDENLY...KANGAROOS!

RentaboothNI

2011-05-10T19:59:00.001+01:00

Here is some shameless advertising for you Reader.

DO YOU ENJOY NEW AGE FUN WITH A VINTAGE FEEL?

DO YOU MOURN THE LOSS OF THE TRADITIONAL FOUR PICTURE PHOTOBOOTH?

DO YOU HAVE A FACE?

You do? Well you are in luck. Two young enterprising people I know have started up Rentabooth NI (website pending) where you can hire a photobooth for functions, weddings, parties, private lonely Saturdays alone in your room etc should you require it. It’s an amazing idea so if you live in Ireland (North or South) and you know anyone who might be interested, send them a link. It will be very much appreciated.

I can assure you that once you get over your inevitable, initial paralysing fear of the camera; it is very, very good fun.

For more information please go to http://www.facebook.com/rentaboothni

Hüsker Dü...Or Some Other Husker Related Title

2011-05-10T10:48:00.000+01:00

I promise he's nearly not as menacing in real life...

This is Husker or Rear Admiral William "Husker" Adama; Commanding Officer of the Battlestar Galactica. He’s the final kitten of the litter that was saved from almost certain death.

Husker, bless him, is the runt of the litter. He’s missing a front canine tooth and he has a cleft lip which makes me look like he’s trying to do an impression of Elvis. Whilst he was a little stand offish with everyone having had little or no contact with humans, he’s coming around and is turning out to be a sweet, playful & feisty little kitten. Loves to climb his scratching post like a tiny King Kong, enjoys making exceptionally smelly bowel movements, hates leaving his den under the bookcase.

Mal HATES him. This tiny little attention whore has invaded her territory and she is none too impressed, demonstrating her upset by being visibly peeved with everyone, stomping around the house in a sulk. They guys caught her glaring in at him through the window and I'm sure if they listened closely enough, they would have heard her meow "Soon...". She’ll come around eventually we hope.

[WR Note]: I know I’ve been a tad, well, absent of late but I’ll hopefully have some posts for you soon. It has been a bit quiet around here too so I assumed you all didn’t mind too much anyway being the relaxed sort you tend to be. Bless your cotton socks.

Photo of the Day #487

2011-05-10T10:10:00.000+01:00

#487 No your peepers are not decieving you.

That really is Harrison Ford in a pair of Speedos acting like a caveman.

I'm not going to judge him especially since he seems to have been caught off guard. Whatever Harrison Ford gets up to is his business because he's HAN feckin SOLO & INDIANA bloody JONES.

Photo of the Day #486

2011-05-09T13:52:00.000+01:00

#486 You may or may not remember The Tall Men

Well I think I've found one...

*pees self*

Photo of the Day #485

2011-05-07T09:00:00.004+01:00

#485 A love that can never be...

Also, whilst I'm here Reader:

That it is Reader.

I’m old now. Take comfort that at least you knew me before my bones turned to dust. Or something. If you need me, I’ll be in the pub.

The Itteh Bitteh Kitteh Committee

2011-05-06T10:42:00.000+01:00

Look at these little faces. Look at them and then look at them some more.

If by chance St Frances of Assisi (aka Destiny) hadn’t heard about their birth, then this would be a much angrier post Reader. If Destiny had changed the subject or had only been half listening or wasn’t really the animal lover that she is, then these little kittens would have met, without mincing my words, a ‘watery end’.

How is this for a happy Friday post eh Reader? YOU ARE WELCOME.

Take a moment to curse if you like Reader. Lord knows I did.

Sparing you a rant about irresponsible pet care, the need to neuter and the burning desire within me to castrate anyone who thinks it’s perfectly acceptable to dispose of unwanted newborn animals in such a cruel manner rather than take the time to drop them off at an animal shelter; I’m glad to say this post has a happy ending.

We weren’t about to let the kittens be destroyed Reader. That’s just not how we roll. Whilst Destiny made the trip to their home to pick up the unwanted kittens, I set about getting them a home.

Thankfully, my phone calls and texts paid off and A Chick Named Hermia, rode in on her white horse to offer a home to two of them.

Reader. Oh Reader, Reader, Reader. You may not be a cat person but trust me when I say, you would need to be dead inside not to let out a girlish squeal at the sight of them. Making a temporary home in the downstairs bathroom of Chimmer & Laff’s house, they padded about the floor like two hyped up insane balls of fluff.

Photos stolen from Hermia's Tumblr

We took such a shine to them, we were tempted just to tell Hermia we lost them and keep them for ourselves. Perhaps it was a product of their youth (in that they haven’t yet matured in to full on CatBastards) but they were incredibly affectionate little things; purring contently into our chests and when the feeling took them, adventurously clawing around our necks and chests like tiny mountaineers. Granted, I could have done without a kittens arse in my face as I tried to pull it off my clothes (to no avail) but I was just glad something in the animal kingdom liked me for once.

Fast becoming a Crazy Cat Lady, Destiny was determined that the kittens would learn to use their kitty litter as soon as possible. To date, they had been living outside with their mother and because of the circumstances and being prematurely removed from her care, we weren’t too sure how they would cope on their own. The little grey kitten, which we would eventually discover was a girl, was very dignified with her bowel movements. She had no problem cleaning up after herself, even taking to cleaning herself politely after eating. The little black and white kitten, the boy, had no such decorum. Rather than use the kitty litter, he would have stealth bowel movements in the corner of the room and rather than eat and drink, he found it much more fun to run through his food. Having not made a bowel movement for quite some time, Destiny was concerned he was going to spontaneously explode from the pressure so she resorted to helping matters along by dabbing his tiny bum with a wet wipe as all the books instruct. Brushing off her new ‘Kitty Fiddler’ nickname, Destiny fretted like she always does. The boy kitten got a new nickname too. We called him ‘Butts’.

When Hermia came to pick the kittens up the next day, Destiny was reluctant to let her in having become Mother Hen to them over the 12 hours. It was not the Belfast welcome we would normally have given Hermia sadly what with us all sitting around refraining from weeping like someone shat in our cornflakes but you must understand that we were heartbroken to see them go. Of course, deep down we were thrilled they were going to a good home and very grateful to Hermia for taking them but come on Reader. You tell me that you wouldn’t be sad to see those wee faces go?

We were comforted when we heard another litter of kittens was on the way. It seems that the Kitten Rescue Society would have more work on the way. TO THE KITTEH-MOBILE…or something else to end this post.

Actually hold on: Go here.

Photo of the Day #484

2011-05-06T09:00:00.001+01:00

#484 Wait for it...Wait for it...

COOS

2011-05-05T15:10:00.000+01:00

COOOO COOOO Cluck

I lay awake and stared at the ceiling. The cooing. The incessant, never ending cooing. I was so tired, my eyeballs ached. It had been several days since the cooing started.

Woodpigeons have lived in the trees around my house for as long as I can remember but I never remembered them being so fucking loud before. Hell, even the bat wasn’t this noisy and it exists purely to torment me.

COOOO COOOO Cluck

It sounded like it was coming from the roof. I hung out the skylight and hushed and sssshed and shooed and shook my fists and pleaded and tried to dislodge some moss to throw at the sound but it was dark and it was cold and I’m still quite convinced that the bat is going to get me. So I closed the window, got back into bed and put the pillow over my head and prayed for the sweet release of death.

COOOO COOOO Cluck

“Those fucking woodpigeons!” I wailed in the morning, stomping around the house in a frustrated sulk.

After a few days I thought that maybe they were all in my head. Yes. All in my head. The cooing was simply the sound of my subconscious having a small meltdown. Perhaps this was the sound exhaustion makes as it rings in my ears or my blood dragging itself limply around my body. OR maybe this was the noise God makes when he tries to communicate through an incomprehensive deity language but that would make no sense because if God fancied a chat with anyone, he wouldn’t pick me because I would interrupt him constantly and try to tell him stupid jokes. OR perhaps it was just woodpigeons and I should stop talking nonsense.

It was the woodpigeons. A few days later we found the beginnings of a nest in my neighbours satellite dish which unfortunately for me, sits just underneath my window. On the one hand I was grateful I wasn’t just imagining it but I was also a tad disappointed because I had started to think that I was developing super hearing. Granted, that’s not the best of the superpowers. In fact, I would struggle to call it a superpower at all but it would be nice to be special even if all it meant was that I was able to listen to the coos of woodpigeons no matter where they may be.

I stood under the satellite dish plotting my next move. Those noisy little fucks would pay for this, I told myself. I shook my fists again at them angrily. It made me feel better alright Reader.

I debated taking a hose to the nest but I’m pretty sure there is a circle of hell reserved for people who kill birds nest that may or may not have eggs in them.

The only option is to start to like it. I’m sure it will become normal to hear cooing in my ears at night and eventually it will become impossible to sleep without it.

I hope.

Photo of the Day #483

2011-05-05T10:03:00.000+01:00

#483 "I'm goin' get this bitch a shark. BITCHES LOVE SHARKS"...

...Is the only caption that seems to suit this picture.

And Now On WRTV

2011-05-04T09:55:00.001+01:00

Hello Reader. How be’s your face? Good? Excellent. Here are some videos for you to peruse at your leisure. If you aren’t in the mood to look at videos, please enjoy this photograph of a baby otter.

What a spoilt little Madam. I’ll take the car if red offends her eyes so much

Laughing at nerds is like shooting fish in a barrell. *cranks shotgun*

Obama burning Donald Trump thus proving why the rest of the world has a little bit of a crush on him.

Oh Mr President, you charming minx you.

What your brain looks like on drugs

*Token Laughing Baby Video*

As it is May, that means it's now EUROVISION MONTH - The happiest & campest month of the year. To get me in the mood I was watching some old songs on YouTube when I came across my old favourite, Alexander Rybak's latest effort 'Oah'. It is priceless. Granted, it seems to be a song about someone stalking an underage girl but Goddammit Reader, he just wants her to be his LAYDAY

Whilst I'm here, Happy Star Wars Day Reader! May the fourth be with you etc

Photo of the Day #482

2011-05-04T09:14:00.000+01:00

#482 Well this is scary beyond all reason. Enjoy

Pic N' Miff

2011-05-03T12:14:00.001+01:00

I swore to myself that I could hear Boyfriend’s back teeth grinding over the sound of the film. He had let out a few exaggerated sighs and I knew he was moments away from having another outburst. His patience was wearing thin. We were in dangerous territory.

There was a bloke beside us eating a pic n’ mix. Every time he stuck his hand in the bag, he rustled the paper so much, it was like a concrete mixer. I was growing impatient myself. I was missing bits of dialogue and I’m sure given my luck they were probably the most important pieces of dialogue ever uttered in cinematic history and I was missing it because some gobshite fancied a flump. Granted, this was unlikely. We were at Thor. Whilst it was, to borrow a hashtag from Twitter #Thorblimey!, I’m sure I’ll live without…or failing that rent the DVD.

“Seriously how big are his fucking hands?” snapped Boyfriend in my ear.

I glanced at the bloke next to Boyfriend and noticed his left hand was broken and strapped up. If he was using this hand to squeeze into the pic n’ mix bag, that would explain the noise he was making but he wasn’t. He was just a stupidly annoying big handed arse.

“It would make more sense to rip the fucking bag” I said. That it would Reader. At least it would spare him the possibility of Boyfriend and I pushing him down some stairs.

My chest tightened every time he went for a sweet. I glared at him and his mates which admittedly they probably didn’t get the full effect of since I was wearing 3D glasses but I assure you the venom was there.

After the movie, Boyfriend and I concluded it was great except for the noisy bugger beside us. It didn’t ruin our evening but it was getting one hell of a complaint on Facebook. When the crowds came out of the darkness into the light of the lobby, then we saw who it was.

Andrew Trimble. Andrew Trimble the Ulster rugby player. Andrew Trimble the IRELAND rugby player. Andrew ‘I may have quietly stalked him one morning in the Students Union when we were at Uni together’ Trimble. Andrew ‘Wouldn’t kick him out of bed for making crumbs’ Trimble. THAT Andrew Trimble.

Bloody hell.

“It all makes sense now. No wonder his hands were big. He’s a rugby player after all. God love him. He probably couldn’t help making so much noise”

“That explains why his hand was broken too. Andrew Trimble’s hand is broken at the minute”

“Aww poor him”

“You know I heard him fill in his friend on the background to Thor?”

“Really? Wow. Andrew Trimble likes comic books. That’s cool. It makes me like him more actually”

“I’m texting Dexter to tell him who I was sitting beside. Can’t believe I was sitting next to Andrew Trimble the whole time. His arm touched my arm”

“Er…ok. I love how for a whole film we were ready to murder him but now he’s grand”

“Yeah he’s ok because he plays for Ireland”

We both took a moment to sigh contently.
-

“...We’re so fickle”

And with that we updated our Facebook statuses.

White Rabbit

Hello, Goodbye

No Means No Dammit!

Photo of the Day #520

I Don't Know Any Gravy Puns...

Photo of the Day #519

Photo of the Day #518

Photo of the Day #517

And Now On WRTV

Oh The Shame...

Photo of the Day #516

Photo of the Day #515

My Kingdom For A Library Room

Photo of the Day #514

Tyra's Masterpiece

Photo of the Day #513

What I Learnt From My Last Film Job

Photo of the Day #512

R.I.P That House

Photo of the Day #511

Holy Photoshop Batman!

Photo of the Day #510

And Now On WRTV

Photo of the Day #509

THINGS THAT ARE NOT PISSING ME OFF #2

Photo of the Day #508

The Pee Word

Photo of the Day #507

Hello...

Public Service Announcement

WHY FESTIVALS ARE GREAT AND YOU SHOULD GO TO ONE NOW OR WHENEVER IT IS CONVENIENT

Photo of the Day #506

And Now On WRTV

Photo of the Day #505

Next Time I'm Just Drawing A Picture Crudely In Crayon

Photo of the Day #504

Photo of the Day #503

Things That Are Pissing Me Off #6

Photo of the Day #502

Photo of the Day #501

Corporation Sues Blogger. Blogger Sad About It.

Photo of the Day #500

My First Giveaway By White Rabbit Age None Of Your Business

"Behold World. Here Is My Bottom"

Photo of the Day #499

Hanging My Head In Shame

Photo of the Day #498

Nice & Spice

Photo of the Day #497

Les Maisons De Mes Rêves

Photo of the Day #496

She's Probably Not Even In Cambodia...

Photo of the Day #495

Public Service Announcement

Public Service Announcement - And In The End...

Sorry I Hurt Your Face Johnny

Photo of the Day #494

The Principle Of The Thing

Photo of the Day #493

Name's Not Down? Not Coming In [For Free]

Photo of the Day #492

"I Love Eurovision / Feel It In My Mind"

Photo of the Day #491

Photo of the Day #490

When Blogger Broke

Afternoon Tea, Dah-ling

Photo of the Day #489

Advertisements I Wish Would Go Away #1

Photo of the Day #488

RentaboothNI

Hüsker Dü...Or Some Other Husker Related Title

Photo of the Day #487

Photo of the Day #486

Photo of the Day #485

The Itteh Bitteh Kitteh Committee

Photo of the Day #484

*COOS*

Photo of the Day #483

And Now On WRTV

Photo of the Day #482

COOS