tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-90737700942517297042024-03-13T12:24:15.146+00:00The Ramblings of a Toilet BlockerI block toilets (occasionally and unintentionally) and tend to ramble (not always in the field of faeces)Toilet Bloggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07433906420454018423noreply@blogger.comBlogger37125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9073770094251729704.post-75004927965745275782014-05-24T22:01:00.000+01:002014-05-26T22:18:58.733+01:00If You Can't Write a Post Write a PoemI haven't written on my blog since December 2012. I've written lots of drafts of things that I want to post on here eventually but I got it into my head that no one is bothered about the inner workings of my mind. However, the other day someone I never speak to commented on something I wrote on Facebook saying my 'posts are class' and that I 'should write a book or something', which meant so much more than if my mum or a close friend had said it, and it's given me the kick up the bum I needed. I had no plans this evening so I decided to come home after a long lunch with my ex roomy and write something.<br />
<br />
I wanted to polish up some notes I'd written about bananas about 9 months ago but I couldn't find the scrap of paper I'd scribbled them on or the iPad note I thought I'd typed up. I'm sure you're devastated by the loss. Fortunately on my rummage I did come across some poems I wrote so I've decided to commit them to an eternity of internet dwellage. You're truly mourning those bananas now aren't you?<br />
<br />
Here's the back story...<br />
<br />
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In April 2007, a month after starting a job at the shopping channel which I absolutely hated, I sought solace in a comedy course run by the wonderful <a href="http://loganmurray.com/stand-up-and-deliver/" target="_blank">Logan Murray</a> despite the fact that:</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
a) I hated public speaking</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
b) I wasn't funny and didn't want to be a comedian</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
c) See a) and b)</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
After being persuaded by the formidible Hils, who founded <a href="http://www.amusedmoose.com/about/" target="_blank">Amused Moose</a>, that not everyone does it to be a comedian, that I'd make some new friends and that I wouldn't have to take part in the showcase at the end, I entered the basement of a pub close to Chalk Farm and for the next few weeks a group of strangers, who soon became friends, and I were led in a series of exercises to get the creative juices flowing.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
One of the exercises was to pretend we were part of the Haringey Poets Collective and to write a poem about something in the room.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Here is mine from 8th May 2007:</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<i>The orange juice taunteth me so</i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<i>As it sits in its towering glass </i><br />
<i>Over there on the oak smoked floor.</i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<i>Exuberant and gleeful, gloating at my palid skin,</i></div>
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<i>"The tanning lotion isn't working, you're not as orange as me!!"</i><br />
<i>That's what it says.</i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<i>I sit here and think ill thoughts on the juice </i><br />
<i>That is robbing me of my Tango-ey glow,</i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<i>For it has ruined me.</i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<i>I shall never be on Footballer's Wives now.</i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<i>The orange juice that fills the glass so pintily </i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<i>Shall beat me to the role of Chardonnay.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
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I was quite pleased with that one. </div>
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<br /></div>
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I tried to write another poem on my own time the following day but it turned into an outpouring of what appears to be an unconscious fear of being eaten alive by rodents...</div>
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<br /></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Times;">Have you been hiding in my house?</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Times;">Have you been hiding, little mouse?</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Times;">Don't deny it, for I hear you nibbling on my
walnuts</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Times;">But do not feast upon my mind</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Times;">For that is more important than the
cheese</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Times;">So I ask you, if you please,</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Times;">To be so kind</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Times;"><i>As not to munch upon my mind.</i></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-style: italic;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Times;"><br /></span></div>
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Having bought Logan's <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/2719772-teach-yourself-stand-up-comedy" target="_blank">book</a> shortly after the course I used it to amuse myself when I was bored at work. In 2009 I wrote a poem to a <a href="http://ramblingsofatoiletblocker.blogspot.co.uk/2009/07/supervisor-steve-and-sanitary-bins.html" target="_blank">sanitary bin</a> whilst I was being paid to be a Tape Librarian. Exactly three years after starting Logan's course I was still writing the odd (in both senses of the word) poem whilst temping as a receptionist...<br />
<br />
On the 8th April 2010 I wrote these:</div>
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<br /></div>
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<u><i>A Love Poem to a Chair (in the Probation Service Waiting Room)</i></u></div>
<i><br /></i>
<i>Dear Chair,</i><br />
<i>I see you there</i><br />
<i>Imagining me in my underwear</i><br />
<i>But for now you'll take me as I am,</i><br />
<i>Wearing this wondrously multicoloured kaftan.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>You want me to straddle you</i><br />
<i>And ride you around</i><br />
<i>But instead you just sit there</i><br />
<i>And don't make a sound.</i><br />
<i>Say what you feel, Chair,</i><br />
<i>Do what you want to me,</i><br />
<i>If only you dare.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>You think I'm too good for you</i><br />
<i>Because you've no wheels.</i><br />
<i>You think I want swivelling</i><br />
<i>Because I wear heels.</i><br />
<i>You wish you had the depth of a bog</i><br />
<i>So you could see my bare arse</i><br />
<i>And feel the warmth of my log.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>But Chair, I love your stability</i><br />
<i>And your dirty blue cover.</i><br />
<i>I want to sit down on you,</i><br />
<i>I don't want another.</i><br />
<br />
It must have been a slow day for murderers and paedophiles because then a random photograph of a dog on the reception desk caught my eye...<br />
<br />
<u><i>Overexposed Dog</i></u><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Overexposed dog,</i><br />
<i>Looking at me from your glossy picture,</i><br />
<i>I don't know who you are</i><br />
<i>Or where you've been</i><br />
<i>Just that you stand in a concrete-slabbed garden</i><br />
<i>With only terracotta pots for company.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>You have an elegant nose</i><br />
<i>And look like you know a thing or two.</i><br />
<i>You're too sophisticated to defecate it seems</i><br />
<i>As there is no sign of poo.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Overexposed dog,</i><br />
<i>You're overexposed because there's too much light in the camera lens</i><br />
<i>Not because you have your bits on show.</i><br />
<i>You're too cultured for that</i><br />
<i>And look like you should be wearing a top hat.</i><br />
<br />
A couple of months later the receptionist I'd been covering returned from sick leave and it turned out the overexposed dog in the photograph was hers. One day I met Dylan and he was indeed as sophisticated in person (or should that be animal?).<br />
<br />
I started to write this one about one of the offenders which was more than likely inspired by having read some unsavoury things in his file...<br />
<br />
<i>Peter,</i><br />
<i>You look like such a nice man</i><br />
<i>But then so did Saddam Hussein</i><br />
<i>And look what he's done.</i><br />
<br />
That's as far as I got but I think it says it all really.<br />
<br />
If you've not had enough 'comedy' for one day here's my set from the showcase I didn't want to do...<br />
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Toilet Bloggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07433906420454018423noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9073770094251729704.post-47710404077395896012012-12-22T01:48:00.000+00:002012-12-30T22:59:23.900+00:00A Spot of BotherAs far as teenage skin goes mine was pretty clear save for the occasional lone spot making an appearance, usually right in the centre of my face. Around the time I turned 18 something changed and my skin broke out - if I was at home you could safely bet your life savings that I'd have Sudocrem smeared all over my face - always a good look when the fire alarm goes off in halls at three in the morning.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDgaQmFTwx51dTK45O3qlTJZMeFe6rypO3pteJBI-f8xl6SQHeLZ6IETWhPA8w2vw6fHX9n4BQj0RzlCcUhIbZfgn_ybrx_6Q4yYkXZIUlK9e3rcSglnWrMVxARLFEhN6JdKrQuEhpQAY/s1600/sud.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDgaQmFTwx51dTK45O3qlTJZMeFe6rypO3pteJBI-f8xl6SQHeLZ6IETWhPA8w2vw6fHX9n4BQj0RzlCcUhIbZfgn_ybrx_6Q4yYkXZIUlK9e3rcSglnWrMVxARLFEhN6JdKrQuEhpQAY/s1600/sud.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
It got gradually worse as the years went on and unsightly lumps and scars squeezed the life out of my already dwindling confidence and I became uncharacteristically shy in front of a camera, covering my face with my hands, which is why I couldn't find many pictures where you can actually see how bad my skin was. I tried everything I could to clear up my skin from changing my diet and steaming my face to using different topical products - both doctor recommended and natural - and various medications.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPoMKU8X_l_0gqm5T6H2CCj6mxdPZOvGo_M82Q2qj90Ik45v0HLq3wQLOCPqMNhDpv7LuPtZeYhDXxlqCiBJGiC7CfGbdmHF1ADvp4aE1v1sn6BBFgqqXPcGlF9sYTHng4BspYG77ec4w/s1600/2007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPoMKU8X_l_0gqm5T6H2CCj6mxdPZOvGo_M82Q2qj90Ik45v0HLq3wQLOCPqMNhDpv7LuPtZeYhDXxlqCiBJGiC7CfGbdmHF1ADvp4aE1v1sn6BBFgqqXPcGlF9sYTHng4BspYG77ec4w/s1600/2007.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">December 2007 - Makeup doesn't even cover it.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJnL6aVXB7Rn_hU7w8EHvFmBqXPEYHH9J_FGmVqSGo_Mkc2zrFmLROyL-DMzan82pKZYNIY5l4Neb1NVf5rblKQJMsapf3Jv-bpRAeS4B4GhiTOXqOdrqGmKNCYzltdy26nilBwhUOOdo/s1600/feb+2008.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJnL6aVXB7Rn_hU7w8EHvFmBqXPEYHH9J_FGmVqSGo_Mkc2zrFmLROyL-DMzan82pKZYNIY5l4Neb1NVf5rblKQJMsapf3Jv-bpRAeS4B4GhiTOXqOdrqGmKNCYzltdy26nilBwhUOOdo/s1600/feb+2008.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">February 2008 - Poster girl for 'revealer' & chocolate finger cakes.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPW_aFPIqQvWTeDa3MXKnjP25WMgqbMQa6_xXWsEiAgzlX6Pq_38ljm00Z6wqqdOJZwZsANBlMVAEnvjF8j8YahicqHwu1q6aBxa3ie05In5M9ZHm3gGX0LDb3voJinhc6Wm1fP-l6_Fo/s1600/may2009.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPW_aFPIqQvWTeDa3MXKnjP25WMgqbMQa6_xXWsEiAgzlX6Pq_38ljm00Z6wqqdOJZwZsANBlMVAEnvjF8j8YahicqHwu1q6aBxa3ie05In5M9ZHm3gGX0LDb3voJinhc6Wm1fP-l6_Fo/s1600/may2009.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">May 2009 - Black and white doesn't cover it either.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
In mid 2009, and seeing no improvement from the <a href="http://www.netdoctor.co.uk/sex-and-relationships/medicines/dianette.html" target="_blank">pill</a> which had been prescribed specifically for my skin a few months earlier, my flatmate <a href="https://soundcloud.com/laurawelsh" target="_blank">Laura</a> came home to find me sat on the bed with orange peel on my face (something she likes to remind me of at regular intervals) because I'd read that vitamin C is good for your skin. I saw no results from my fruity remedy so, orange peel discarded, I went back to the doctors in tears and was told that I'd just have to accept that that's just the way my skin is. I told him that my skin hadn't always been like this so I wasn't going to take his patronising and lazy diagnosis. I asked to be referred to a dermatologist - I'd decided to go the hardcore Roacutane route - but before an appointment came through my skin started to clear up out of what seemed like nowhere and I couldn't believe my eyes. I'd read somewhere that acne can clear up of its own accord after seven years and this would be roughly the seven year mark. Or it could have been down to the <a href="http://ramblingsofatoiletblocker.blogspot.co.uk/2010/02/project-back-rest.html" target="_blank">anti-jowl experiment</a>. Or the orange peel. Or having moved near the woods. Whatever it was I was delighted.<br />
<br />
Not long after my skin started to clear up I moved home for two and a bit years - the scars from the endless squeezing started to fade and whenever I saw my friends in London they'd comment on how great my skin looked. I saved money, and time, no longer needing to use concealer and I started to forget what it felt like to have bad skin. I needn't have worried, I'd soon be reminded.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhURiroooW_rh7z4ohd06qilF0lXB9eiXZ8AzdB-4cB1wC_5lJLvsudWqCgioBsjUyvDxMMQKd00-JFfQHjTyEwS0v9qe3LW8KrOoWhtoXl2isRBJh4-bunlTmsRcTBSYh-_x61PFCFpao/s1600/clear+skin3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhURiroooW_rh7z4ohd06qilF0lXB9eiXZ8AzdB-4cB1wC_5lJLvsudWqCgioBsjUyvDxMMQKd00-JFfQHjTyEwS0v9qe3LW8KrOoWhtoXl2isRBJh4-bunlTmsRcTBSYh-_x61PFCFpao/s1600/clear+skin3.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">March 2010 - Makeup actually doing its job.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFHmEjT0gb7nAk3toemAYCpv2leycPkcOroKlGNnhyphenhyphen4ybhsVrCHWZmf6DhFf62yZR1IhMQh-QauMsk5-TC139PjeTOufT1HnRCmBznvllGF7YPUdBOrpsCC8tku8YR_Qv3knCHW0isUO4/s1600/2010.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFHmEjT0gb7nAk3toemAYCpv2leycPkcOroKlGNnhyphenhyphen4ybhsVrCHWZmf6DhFf62yZR1IhMQh-QauMsk5-TC139PjeTOufT1HnRCmBznvllGF7YPUdBOrpsCC8tku8YR_Qv3knCHW0isUO4/s1600/2010.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">August 2010 - I have a 'tan' but no spots</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiExzc6wYZ6i1mNgBnikkzoas6Skg1LP-EIXXIMe1zP3iL6f8LxWHH8jeC84dSb2l1HuTW5M_arNxTHzXmZ2Aq7PbKdYe888B-YNPzQt6ghZiLNd1B5rni1AIZb88DoYTvN2zS0AvGfrME/s1600/2011.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiExzc6wYZ6i1mNgBnikkzoas6Skg1LP-EIXXIMe1zP3iL6f8LxWHH8jeC84dSb2l1HuTW5M_arNxTHzXmZ2Aq7PbKdYe888B-YNPzQt6ghZiLNd1B5rni1AIZb88DoYTvN2zS0AvGfrME/s1600/2011.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">September 2011 - Zero makeup, zero marks.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZUAPPsATj8-oKLZ0dF6regUIodsUuBpmp5EvHM9VR8XY7H_m-BK9kYTbeh8pFb0MVmvR10P_TDwg3ij-siaByoc502Z0U99AJlCNA8ronzYykoRRAhxf1zm9e1TWrA_qv3FbspdCiwo4/s1600/2012+2.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZUAPPsATj8-oKLZ0dF6regUIodsUuBpmp5EvHM9VR8XY7H_m-BK9kYTbeh8pFb0MVmvR10P_TDwg3ij-siaByoc502Z0U99AJlCNA8ronzYykoRRAhxf1zm9e1TWrA_qv3FbspdCiwo4/s1600/2012+2.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">June 2012 - In London but my skin is still behaving</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3vVdCwv-rC4mpZ_CMsmhPZwEkU_gzCRhHzjD7QY5HTCUJfKifq4-uIvE_dOV88TJMqLntLzOMcFTvg6G0abku9A5zwxSU55gA1zYMkLxuwfL0LUhx_nze3XbN7uZHYpUczm1Qfv1v0qE/s1600/2012.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="468" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3vVdCwv-rC4mpZ_CMsmhPZwEkU_gzCRhHzjD7QY5HTCUJfKifq4-uIvE_dOV88TJMqLntLzOMcFTvg6G0abku9A5zwxSU55gA1zYMkLxuwfL0LUhx_nze3XbN7uZHYpUczm1Qfv1v0qE/s640/2012.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">July 2012 - Me and mum just before I woke up from my good skin dream.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I moved back to London in April this year, in August my skin started to break out. I couldn't believe it. I thought my bad skin days were behind me and now they are looking back at me in the mirror. And it's not just a spot here and there - that I could handle - I'm getting them all over the lower part of my face and my jaw line on both sides keeps coming up with painful, itchy, under the skin, unsqueezable spots and just as they start to go down they come right back up again. Some days I don't want to leave the house because I feel so bad about myself and don't want people to look at me. I've fallen in love with plasters because I'd rather have people look at a plaster on my face than see their eyes constantly drawn to the mountains underneath. I've already got scarring even though I'm trying really hard not to squeeze or pick. And concealer does not do what it says on the tin - it should be called revealer.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4AtSBrLeefIztOB9OwQRTfpVoOeALa2j4-SIFp_NXCWeR2CaiI7OVzQcN37YdwGprt-WbMUxclaIMNFMC7zu9DfOq8m_jBLA3C_Pbvcog2SBjMGbNnHp4-1MBUlprUnx8YymfUCxJtzI/s1600/spot.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4AtSBrLeefIztOB9OwQRTfpVoOeALa2j4-SIFp_NXCWeR2CaiI7OVzQcN37YdwGprt-WbMUxclaIMNFMC7zu9DfOq8m_jBLA3C_Pbvcog2SBjMGbNnHp4-1MBUlprUnx8YymfUCxJtzI/s640/spot.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">December 2012 - What a mess.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRYZVRE9Oy7eF1_AUH1ln-2pp5JVBi2iTDU3TY1cFB4hxZjAbvWIgeoD69zyeksCH1A1yyQ8DhID-z-OA8Bjz96MJQ0Ru6w-vJjbaz-Fx94DqYLPrutaJarEgcZVZ3JDLa9XwRDbY9SRU/s1600/spot2.jpg"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRYZVRE9Oy7eF1_AUH1ln-2pp5JVBi2iTDU3TY1cFB4hxZjAbvWIgeoD69zyeksCH1A1yyQ8DhID-z-OA8Bjz96MJQ0Ru6w-vJjbaz-Fx94DqYLPrutaJarEgcZVZ3JDLa9XwRDbY9SRU/s640/spot2.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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The week before last I was starting to feel a bit better about my skin as it looked like it was calming down. I'd had a lovely evening at a <a href="http://www.allnuttandsimpson.com/#/sketchercise.php" target="_blank">sketch comedy</a> night I'd been meaning to go to for ages and I was in a good mood. Sat on the tube on the way home my friend from the Gherkin looked at my face, eyes scanning the surface, and said, 'Have you been eating a lot of chocolate, your...' Before he could finish I cut him off and told him not to say anything and asked why he'd even go there, 'I've got eyes and a mirror, I don't need you to tell me that my skin is bad'. I nearly burst into tears and I kept willing the train to hurry the eff up so I could get away from him. The next few stops couldn't have gone slower and I just completely clammed up giving one word answers to his attempts at making conversation. When I changed tube lines I tried to read my book but I couldn't see the words through the water welling in my eyes. As I walked home I thought about the times people have mentioned my skin before and the insensitive comments have always been from men over the age of 30. My late Portuguese grandad asked a question as we dined outside one summer that my grandma had to translate for me, "Why do you have spots?" How the f**k ('scuse my language) would I know that and why are you asking me?! What would you actually be gaining by knowing the answer to that question? I stopped going to Portugal so often after that. <a href="http://ramblingsofatoiletblocker.blogspot.co.uk/2009/07/supervisor-steve-and-sanitary-bins.html" target="_blank">My old boss Steve</a> mentioned my skin once and learned that Shakespeare wasn't kidding when he said that hell hath no fury. I just don't understand how it is productive or anyone's business to point out or ask about an obviously upsetting condition. Would you ask a woman with an excessively hairy face if she's been using Regaine as moisturiser or a fat boy if he's eaten his mum? Why don't people put themselves in others' shoes and think, "Would I want someone to comment on that if I was them?"<br />
<br />
I've been racking my brain for the cause of my skin problem and am actually quite enjoying the investigations - I feel like a scientist on the verge of a breakthrough. Here are the possibilities:<br />
<ul>
<li>WORK/STRESS - When my skin started to get better towards the end of 2009 I'd been made redundant so I was a lady of leisure. When I moved back home I had a job but not full time hours. Things started getting stressful when I moved out of the flat I shared with my boyfriend and back down to London. I started a new temp job with full time hours, was looking for
somewhere new to live for four months whilst staying with friends, broke up with my boyfriend of two years, moved into a new house,
moved all my stuff down from up north, finished my temp contract and started looking for work again. It would be enough to cause an acne eruption, no?</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>POLLUTION - A lot of people have suggested it's the pollution of London that's causing my spots but I know
that my skin started getting better before I left so it must just be a
coincidence that it's been getting worse since my return.</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>LONDON TAP WATER - My friend's flatmate has been getting bad skin since moving to London and has pinpointed tap water as the culprit. She has been
experimenting by only drinking bottled water and using it when making
tea or boiling pasta. She has seen a real improvement in her skin. I
haven't seen one in mine but then I haven't been using bottled water when
boiling as I thought the high temperature would get rid of all the crap in the tap water. </li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>MILK/COFFEE/SUGAR - When I moved back down I went a bit mental and was having a Caffe Nero latte more or less every day. I read that <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/dr-mark-hyman/do-milk-and-sugar-cause-a_b_822163.html" target="_blank">milk</a> is really bad for acne because of the hormones in it. Since I was a teenager I've drunk at least one pint of milk a day - I used to go to house parties and request a pint of milk - so this would explain a lot. I have since cut milk out altogether and haven't seen any improvements. I've read that <a href="http://www.skintactix.com/acne_tips/coffee_and_acne.html" target="_blank">coffee is also not great</a> because it causes resistance to insulin so the body makes more to compensate and this has an inflammatory effect - apparently lattes and chai are twice as bad for this which is what I've been drinking. I
love sugar. I try my hardest to avoid it and whilst I do eat healthily in
general if you put a cake or a packet of biscuits in front of me that's
it, game over. Whilst working at the Gherkin there were unlimited
shortbread biscuits which I'd just eat one after the other without
thinking and there were bakery breakfasts and afternoon teas galore. One
day I ate AT LEAST (I lost count) eight lemon drizzle cakes which can't
be normal behaviour. I now know that sugar causes hormonal issues (testosterone and insulin) but
I am addicted to it, which people don't take seriously but that's a post for another day, so it's hard to
stop. Whilst I've been writing this I've
realised that it might be sugar that started this whole thing ten years
ago. I used to eat mountains of sugary treats daily which would explain
the depression, the exhaustion and eventually the bad skin. And perhaps the reason my skin doesn't seem to improve when I try not to have sugar is because the damage has been done and a longer period of time is needed for my body to adjust and my hormones to level out.</li>
</ul>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmpwuxtEZgI1OoirCjb8ZvRBuXynTrtYmTrEcv50iqhWUHDGKsY8tBHw7hM__h_xsggi2kWO2bRUONnaV7pQhAyoSsSnbtYRZDLLUEQG6gPCbxU44mj7wRyjC12J8QYdFP25mqF9BQLf0/s1600/lemon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmpwuxtEZgI1OoirCjb8ZvRBuXynTrtYmTrEcv50iqhWUHDGKsY8tBHw7hM__h_xsggi2kWO2bRUONnaV7pQhAyoSsSnbtYRZDLLUEQG6gPCbxU44mj7wRyjC12J8QYdFP25mqF9BQLf0/s640/lemon.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My heroin</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<ul>
<li>OVARY ISSUES - For most of this year I've been having lower abdomen pain which I recently went to the doctor about. She sent me for an ultrasound which I had last week to see if there's a problem with my ovaries which could explain the bad skin. </li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>HORMONE ISSUES - On looking through past posts to find links for this one I came across a
little nugget of info that has completely thrown my seven year theory
out of the window. I mention in the Project Back Rest post about going
on the pill at a certain time. It would have been roughly five months
after starting this pill that my skin improved and apparently that's about the right
amount of time it takes to start seeing results. I can't believe how
arrogant I was to assume that my skin had got better by itself. </li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>TOO FEW POOS - I'm not as regular as I used to be which could be causing a reaction in my skin. I'd go sometimes twice a day and now I'm going every couple of days. It's very disappointing and worrying to have my poos hanging about inside when they're so much better off out in the world blocking toilets. But then I had bad skin when I was regular so this can't be the cause.</li>
</ul>
<u>Plan of action:</u><br />
<br />
It would be easy to go back on the pill again but I'm wondering if I should ride this out even if it means plastering my face in... plasters. I am going to start eating two carrots a day because vitamin A is apparently good in the battle against acne but this <a href="http://www.independent.co.uk/news/uk/carrots-as-addictive-as-cigarette-smoking-1537344.html" target="_blank">article</a> tells me I must be careful to avoid <b>raw carrot abuse </b>(yes you read that correctly). My favourite quote: "the afflicted persons get hold of and consume carrots even in socially quite unacceptable situations." I can't think of a situation where eating a carrot would be socially unacceptable unless of course you're doing obscene things to it with your mouth. Once, at a friend's birthday night out, I ate a Petits Filous yoghurt without a
spoon in the smoking area outside the bar - that was probably socially
unacceptable but no one died (I don't think).<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9Ypsn9ZXN7VrqCo_s9ZdVWw7iI0WVI_qnlDlKEiulFIo4r_3OLABg5YnvaMVMOm3PYkCQoRUbIVoeEguA-D8e6rBWjgc8Eh-Fcw3B4NZmEtrhThiy175E-vb4vUptApWqR_uKPwx0gVw/s1600/filous.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9Ypsn9ZXN7VrqCo_s9ZdVWw7iI0WVI_qnlDlKEiulFIo4r_3OLABg5YnvaMVMOm3PYkCQoRUbIVoeEguA-D8e6rBWjgc8Eh-Fcw3B4NZmEtrhThiy175E-vb4vUptApWqR_uKPwx0gVw/s1600/filous.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What are you Filouking at?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I'm also going to try my absolute hardest to stop eating refined sugar - I've decided to do this by imagining all baked goods to be filled with pubic hair. And, inspired by my friend Vic's homemade party food last weekend, I'm going to pop my own corn and sprinkle it with cinnamon, cocoa powder and honey if I need a sugar fix. Hopefully this will rid me of boy hormones and my witchy toad face.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Toilet Bloggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07433906420454018423noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9073770094251729704.post-85733790719546090872012-12-12T13:34:00.002+00:002012-12-12T13:52:46.654+00:00Temporary InsanityIt has been an obscene amount of time since I last wrote but as I have quite a lot of time on my hands now that I've gone 'freelance' (free being the operative part of that word) I thought I should attempt to write something and may as well start where I left off in <a href="http://ramblingsofatoiletblocker.blogspot.co.uk/2011/08/holiday-blues.html" target="_blank">August 2011</a>...<br />
<br />
I know it was a bit of a ranty, woe-is-me post but, you know, sometimes things build up and if someone's not going to let you take a few hours off for a funeral then they deserve to be passive-aggressively talked about behind their backs.<br />
<br />
A couple of months after I wrote it I left the temp agency, and the Probation Service, for a full time job in an art gallery, which sounded like a dream job in theory as I love art and it would involve looking at and talking about it all day. However it would also involve selling which is probably my greatest weakness - I couldn't sell a badge to a badger - and in my interview, when she let me get a word in edgeways, I informed my prospective boss of this important fact, which is why I was surprised when she offered me the job. The target for each month was £10,000 (EACH) which was ridiculous given on an average day a total of three people would come in but these were the days when I'd forgotten how to use my gut instinct so of course I signed the contract. Taking it would allow me to achieve my goal of no longer reading about and meeting peodophiles and murderers at the Probation Service and getting more hours.<br />
<br />
My gut smugly gurgled "I told you so" when my boss turned out to be a megalomaniac with a penchant for put downs and picking rather than praise. In my first week she told me off for saying "Hello" when people walked in and that I should instead be saying "Good morning/afternoon"; later that day, and on several occasions after that, I heard her greet people with "Hello". In my first few days I watched with amazement at the way she spoke to her staff and knew I wouldn't be able to put up with it for long. She would jump on people the minute they entered the building, supergluing their hands to the most expensive piece of art so they had no choice but to buy. It did not go down well the day I told her I didn't believe in pouncing on people as in my own personal experience being sold to is a complete turn off. If I want something I will buy it, I don't need to be held at gunpoint by a card machine. She would complain that her staff's sales weren't high enough yet many of her sales came from poaching customers we'd been slowly but surely warming up to a modestly priced painting. At my three week review she implied that if my sales didn't improve by the six week mark I wouldn't have a job anymore despite the fact I was meant to be on a reduced target for my first couple of months. I'm a carrot kind of girl so the stick was not appreciated, nor the moving of the goal posts. At that moment I decided I'd save her the job of firing me at six weeks and hand in my notice then instead. Without lining up a replacement job I politely told her I would rather live on the streets than spend another day in her company. Obviously I said nothing of the sort but I was still caught off guard by her reaction to my resignation - she spent a few days trying to persuade me to stay. I think this had more to do with her getting a track record for high staff turnover than my skills as an art salesperson but she did compliment my greatness in all other aspects of the role so who knows what her motivation was*.<br />
<br />
So off I went at the end of November with no job and signed up to another temp agency despite my warning of August's post "<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><i>NEVER <u>EVER</u> GET WORK (if they can get you any) THROUGH AN AGENCY!" </i>and bloody hell was I proved wrong. Not only were they thoroughly understanding about the situation I found myself in at the gallery (yes I told them everything) but they got me a job within a week, and it was at a school so came with the added bonus of school holidays. Hurray!!</span><br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">I was only meant to be there for a few weeks but I ended up staying for a few months at which point I decided it was time to move back down to London. In preparation for the move I emailed a few temp agencies and wondered why none of them got back to me. A couple of weeks later I logged into my LinkedIn profile as it needed updating and then I saw it. A link to my blog. A link to my blog about poo. A link to my blog where the last post was slagging off temping agencies. Shit balls. I promptly deleted the link. What was I thinking directing people of the professional world to, yes, an example of my writing, but writing intertwined with toilet musings and the slagging off of a working organisation? If we were in a court of law I would have to claim temp-orary insanity (haha, sorry).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Thankfully not long after disposing of the link I heard from a couple of the agencies (I still haven't heard back from the others) and went with the London branch of the one I'd last used in Harrogate. A week later and I had a job on the top office floor of <a href="http://www.google.co.uk/imgres?imgurl=http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/8/8e/30_St_Mary_Axe,_%27Gherkin%27.JPG&imgrefurl=http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:30_St_Mary_Axe,_%27Gherkin%27.JPG&h=162&w=121&sz=1&tbnid=eHNIr2GPQ9QThM:&tbnh=160&tbnw=119&zoom=1&usg=__OC1Jt0NJV0Os6mUHlLUU5mq7tX8=&docid=JKgBGWU8zT2MsM&itg=1&sa=X&ei=Mhm-UMPYAvGX0QXppYHoAg&ved=0CI4BEPwdMAs" target="_blank">The </a></span><a href="http://www.google.co.uk/imgres?imgurl=http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/8/8e/30_St_Mary_Axe,_%27Gherkin%27.JPG&imgrefurl=http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:30_St_Mary_Axe,_%27Gherkin%27.JPG&h=162&w=121&sz=1&tbnid=eHNIr2GPQ9QThM:&tbnh=160&tbnw=119&zoom=1&usg=__OC1Jt0NJV0Os6mUHlLUU5mq7tX8=&docid=JKgBGWU8zT2MsM&itg=1&sa=X&ei=Mhm-UMPYAvGX0QXppYHoAg&ved=0CI4BEPwdMAs" target="_blank">Gherkin</a>!<span style="font-family: Arial;"> You can't knock a temp agency that gets you a job in one of London's top <a href="http://www.allinlondon.co.uk/landmark.php" target="_blank">landmarks</a> and so I shall withdraw my slagging off of temp agencies (I was, of course, insane at the time) and say that if you need to go with one then <a href="http://www.brookstreet.co.uk/" target="_blank">Brook Street</a> gets the job done.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">*</span><i>ridiculously high staff turnover statistics, definitely.</i><br />
<br />Toilet Bloggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07433906420454018423noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9073770094251729704.post-86435789172541353942011-08-18T14:06:00.003+01:002013-01-23T14:16:08.799+00:00'Holiday' Blues<span style="color: blue;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Temp:</span> </b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Hello, </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I know this is really last minute but I only found out last thing last night... I have to go to a funeral on Tuesday - is there any way I can book it as holiday (4.5hrs)? </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Also whilst I'm here could I book the bank holiday off on 29th August (4.5hrs)? </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Sorry it's not 4 weeks in advance.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
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<b><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Agency: </span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Apologies but we will be unable to process this request as we are up to maximum hours for the next four weeks. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Should you require any holiday after this duration please let us know.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I've been temping for this agency for one and a half years and that whole time I have stayed at the first company they put me with; my hours have fluctuated due to the company's demands but I currently work about 29 hours a week (though I've made it clear to both parties that I need more full time hours which seems to fall on deaf ears). I get £6 an hour and know that for each £6 I get my agency gets at least £3. I don't get sick pay, I don't get automatic bank holiday pay and i</span><span style="font-family: Arial;">n May I was told that I now have to give four weeks notice of holiday rather than two. I sent an email today asking for just a few hours holiday on Tuesday but apparently compassionate leave, even when I'm asking to take it as holiday, isn't something they do either. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Around this day nine years ago, when I went to pick up my A Level results, the Head of Sixth Form took me aside and tried to convince me to go to Brunel University instead of Buckinghamshire Chilterns because it had better prospects. I wonder had I taken his advice would I be where I am today?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">My agency doesn't seem to think I'm capable of doing an admin job that I asked to apply for yet most of my time on reception is spent doing admin. And I do my job well - I've been told by the people I work with I'm the best receptionist they've ever had and whenever I go for interviews they tell me they hope I don't get the job because they don't want to lose me. I was 3% off a First in my degree, got good grades from school and have worked in television in extremely high pressure environments but, apart from giving me something to brag about, what does that actually mean?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Maybe I should have got that First rather than a 2:1. Maybe I should have continued to work at QVC, despite the bitchy atmosphere and the bullying I witnessed, because I actually saw what it was like to be paid more than £12k - something that's not happened since.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Oh, the Should 'a', Could 'a', Would 'a's are such easy songs to sing. I am crossing my fingers that the Operations Manager at ITV who gave me glowing feedback about my interview a few weeks ago can find a job for me (the girl who already works there got the job I'd applied for). I can tell you now that I won't let it go in a hurry.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><i><u>What Happened Next:</u></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><i><u><br /></u></i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><i>My manager had arranged for cover but I had to call her to say not to worry about it and that I'd to have to come in around the funeral just to get a couple of hours pay because the agency wouldn't give me holiday. She said OK but was shocked they wouldn't give me the time off for it. A few minutes after hanging up she called me back and said because of what the company has put me through recently (changing my hours all over the place and back to split shifts) that she would pay for me to go to the funeral. That was really nice of her but what a bloody palava. </i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><i>Lesson: NEVER <u>EVER</u> GET WORK (if they can get you any) THROUGH AN AGENCY!</i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>Toilet Bloggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07433906420454018423noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9073770094251729704.post-57324330941293096822011-04-18T16:18:00.001+01:002013-01-23T14:15:03.499+00:00The Book ManWhere I work we have two different book companies that come in every few weeks with a selection of books and novelty gifts for us to peruse and (ideally) buy - last week there were Kate and William mugs and a learn-to-play-recorder set to name just a few of the treats on offer. <br />
<br />
We refer to both of these companies collectively as 'The Book Man'. <br />
<br />
Today TBM came to pick up the books, mugs, recorder etc. and it took me some time to get to the front door to let him in. He looked at me questioningly and I explained that I was a bit stiff and finding it hard to move as I'd done yoga twice at the weekend. He responded with a supportive, 'So you've overdone it a bit' - I nodded, proud of my sporadic attempt at exercise.<br />
<br />
He went on to talk about how wonderful the weather's been and that yesterday he was in London... <br />
<br />
It transpired he'd been doing the marathon. Only his <b>121st</b> one. This guy must be in his late 50s and he was there talking to me holding a massive pile of books, not a hobble or suggestion of stiffness in sight. I felt embarrassed and ashamed to be half his age and rendered nearly incapacitated by two 40 minute yoga sessions when he was off running 26 miles on tarmac in the blistering heat. I'm really glad I hadn't told him that I'd also attempted a run this weekend, in a field and neighbouring wood, that had lasted a maximum of 20 minutes (I'm sure some of that time was spent walking/trying to alleviate a stitch) and had taken me 15 minutes to walk to because I get really painful shins if I attempt to run on concrete. <br />
<br />
Off he hopped back out into the sun, mountain of books in hand, whilst I hobbled back to my desk to hang my head in shame.Toilet Bloggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07433906420454018423noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9073770094251729704.post-66440891596118238772011-03-21T20:32:00.004+00:002013-01-23T14:14:09.637+00:00Wheely BadToday at work I was asked to stay on all day. A 12 hour shift? Yes please.<br />
<br />
I decided to go home at lunch to collect the soup Steven had so lovely-ly put out for me to take to work this morning but given I usually come home for the afternoon I decided to put it back in the fridge. So having left my lunch at home it's only natural they should ask me to stay on.<br />
<br />
When working a full day we get half an hour for lunch. It takes me 15 minutes to get to/from work by foot. SO I thought a good plan would be to walk home, get the soup, get the bike out of the garage, that I inherited from my mum and step dad when they moved to Africa in February, and cycle straight back to work. <br />
<br />
An excellent idea in theory - not so much in practice. <br />
<br />
I've not ridden a bike for <b>at least</b> ten years and I hereby declare the definition of 'it's like riding a bike' to mean that something is bloody difficult, if not impossible.<br />
<br />
I got on it and realised that the pedals have those cages on them so your feet can't come out. Do they not know me at all?! This is the girl who used to have to take her feet off her moped and place them millimeters off the ground when going round corners for fear of losing her balance. Cages on your feet is just asking for trouble. <br />
<br />
I walked the bike a few wheel rotations (sorry distances aren't my thing) down the road and had a fiddle with the brakes. The front ones weren't working. I tried to figure out if I could get to work without catapulting myself over the handlebars. I decided I couldn't. Somehow the man in me figured out how to reattach the front brake. I had a stab at riding it a few wheel rotations and wondered how long it would take me to go back home, get into the house to get the garage key I'd posted back through the door, open the fiddly garage door, step over the ladder to get the bike in, close the fiddly garage door and walk back to work. <br />
<br />
I thought it'd be quicker to try and ride/walk the bike to work.<br />
<br />
I rode it about a quarter of the way down my road - getting off to get onto the pavement. (When I was about 14 I managed to fall off my bike attempting a road to pavement mount and was not going to relive it especially with vegetable soup swinging from the handlebars.) I walked it up the main road and got back on for a downhill side road. Pot holes + downhill speed = not doing that again. Three quarters of the way down the hill I decided enough was enough and wheeled that damn bike the rest of the way. <br />
<br />
It was the start of the warm weather and I had a couple of hills to climb whilst pushing this bit of wheeled metal. You could say I was flustered when I got back to work.<br />
<br />
The girl who's down with me on reception at the moment told me that the seat shouldn't move (I didn't mention that did I?... As you sit on it it points down - if the cross bar wasn't there you'd slide right off) and that it was a boys' bike which probably didn't help me not being able to ride it.<br />
<br />
8.30pm came around and I forced myself to wheel the thing back. As I was making my way out of the building a staff member asked if I'd like the bike shed key for future use. I told her I'd have to learn to ride the bloody bike before I needed storage for it. <br />
<br />
I thought I'd see if night time bike riding was a little easier but less than ten seconds into it decided I should stop before I ran over the man coming the other way (yes I was on the pavement). I stopped and pretended to be looking for something in my bag. I didn't want him to think I was cyclically challenged. I waited until he'd passed before I dismounted and wheeled the enemy home to a life of imprisonment and dust collection.Toilet Bloggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07433906420454018423noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9073770094251729704.post-47874830984753246042011-03-21T18:44:00.004+00:002013-01-23T14:12:15.683+00:00Scouring Pads and Piss Mist<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">On Saturday night, for a friend's birthday, we went to a <a href="http://www.therestaurantbarandgrill.co.uk/harrogate.html">restaurant in town</a> where the lights are low both in brightness and length; the waiters kept hitting their heads on the lampshades whenever they placed anything on our table. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Whilst eating my £11 bite-sized pasta dish, which I'd chosen because it was one of the cheapest things on the menu, I found a piece of curly wire in my mouth which was, according to the manager, from a scouring pad. He apologised and took my food off the final bill. When it came to paying, our party split the bill equally. Parting with £27 for</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> three glasses of wine is always a pleasure. I felt like I was in <a href="http://friends.wikia.com/wiki/The_One_With_Five_Steaks_And_An_Eggplant">that episode of Friends</a> but I was too much of a coward to say anything. Had I known in advance we'd be splitting the bill I'd have ordered a starter and a steak instead of scouring pad linguine. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Towards the end of the meal</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I needed a wee so I went off to the toilet. As I was urinating </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was alarmed when up through the toilet bowl and out between my legs came</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> swi</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">rling steam. This has happened to me before in nightclubs with metal toilet bowls and for some reason it made sense then - you know, warm wee on cold metal. It wasn't half </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">as alarming as when it happened on that posh porcelain toilet in an expensive restaurant. Perhaps I expected the toilet bowl to be heated</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> given they were charging extortionate amounts for child portion main courses</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Once back at the table I </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">couldn't keep the steam situation to myself for long and explained what had happened to nine bemused people sat around the table. I implored them to go up to the loo to confirm that I was not a) mental and b) the holder of </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">mutant bodily fluids. Before we left I managed to get a couple of takers for the experiment and stood outside each of their cubicles shouting through the door, </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">'An</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">y steam yet?!' to</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> which the replies were a resounding no. You could say I was left feeling like a bit of a freak. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">I've just typed 'stea</span><span style="font-family: Arial;">m when urinating' into Google and it </span><span style="font-family: Arial;">comes up with very few corresponding results</span><span style="font-family: Arial;">. What's listed is mostly about</span><span style="font-family: Arial;"> cats or poodles pissing on carpets. Not only that but it also asks if I actually meant 'stream when urinating'. It is worrying that Google knows so little about my steaming problem that it feels the need to ask me if I'm actually searching for the correct thing.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi641-UfTYr9PbXhuc7gMlJ6sWkSEzaG0KjZvwgIfBLg7p9awcpL1fFKMHGBlFju9gWovIttHcKOEu1bPUud74KTi3SNmNaIZbedfqppTe3QXaBrR7kyvTI_oMb5iULOuS5EpVs9lTSenc/s1600/steam.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi641-UfTYr9PbXhuc7gMlJ6sWkSEzaG0KjZvwgIfBLg7p9awcpL1fFKMHGBlFju9gWovIttHcKOEu1bPUud74KTi3SNmNaIZbedfqppTe3QXaBrR7kyvTI_oMb5iULOuS5EpVs9lTSenc/s400/steam.jpg" width="395" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">On the second page of results there is this Urban Dictionary definition of 'piss mist'...</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQcH5PTBulMk8zYl3oBhlXFrNhsKEBG9w98Ph0NiZGyjwzvz6rFqRCPh1NrBg8cKjTn_Gx0nZM3qjnb4yeehvAIhkubEP6Zbi19MDXSEIEpeMSoWgOh2W3PfDC9FJ98ZFs99ND4YhhrVE/s1600/steam+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="385" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQcH5PTBulMk8zYl3oBhlXFrNhsKEBG9w98Ph0NiZGyjwzvz6rFqRCPh1NrBg8cKjTn_Gx0nZM3qjnb4yeehvAIhkubEP6Zbi19MDXSEIEpeMSoWgOh2W3PfDC9FJ98ZFs99ND4YhhrVE/s400/steam+2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Delightful. I shall remember that next time I piss on a fire.</span><br />
<br />Toilet Bloggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07433906420454018423noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9073770094251729704.post-86392967663414734422011-03-17T18:25:00.003+00:002013-01-23T14:10:38.898+00:00Just Browsing<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In a bid to get thick and lustrous eyebrows I have been indulging in a bit of <a href="http://hairremoval.about.com/od/threading/a/threading101.htm">threading</a>. This may seem like a blatant oxymoron but apparently, and this currently seems like an urban myth to me, there are ways of encouraging brow growth using this lovely hair-removal technique. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I've been a couple of times before and both times I came out with eyebrows way too thin (you could say I was left thread-bare hahaha) as I hadn't been engaged in any kind of consultation beforehand as to what I wanted from the brow grooming. If I were to describe them with punctuation I'd say I came out with brackets when all I wanted was quotation marks: a bit of size variation to spice up my face a smidge.</span> <br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD5It8spbVpSUdbcXk_76PrAymqsCUHitHazZgSr2j-sk38oaV4m426tPCEU0THR-jQ7WHnlCKuvB0yhO_cfrfnwsj0aotjOjyaHTCzPIc9Q6a5vE9ODcaJcMDz_y5mm18tWpvMOdjgu0/s1600/eyebrows.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="123" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD5It8spbVpSUdbcXk_76PrAymqsCUHitHazZgSr2j-sk38oaV4m426tPCEU0THR-jQ7WHnlCKuvB0yhO_cfrfnwsj0aotjOjyaHTCzPIc9Q6a5vE9ODcaJcMDz_y5mm18tWpvMOdjgu0/s320/eyebrows.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My eyebrows before all this threading business began. Looking at them, I think I actually preferred them. (Please excuse the eye makeup - I was going to a party dressed as a Christmas tree.)</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Today I took matters into my own hands and drew the brows of my dreams in pencil on a Post-It note to show the brow people.</span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDCzqnLcbASP_8tmrR3Vny2guPVc-LdaNx9P8l3R6vBHnxCrrCbosa-JtCX-dTo0z5kthv3Wkx-_Ozpxk69N-iwzebWxX2GR_6aGOSUqALXxznklvQDr6T8cw5gcYbHi_wgCVkSe3mp-4/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDCzqnLcbASP_8tmrR3Vny2guPVc-LdaNx9P8l3R6vBHnxCrrCbosa-JtCX-dTo0z5kthv3Wkx-_Ozpxk69N-iwzebWxX2GR_6aGOSUqALXxznklvQDr6T8cw5gcYbHi_wgCVkSe3mp-4/s400/photo.JPG" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Post-It Note of Dreams. <br />
(It seems the Christmas tree eyebrows weren't far off. Why did a mirror not inform me of this?)</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> The lady looked at the sketch and set to work. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">During the experience she intermittently took a pair of scissors and had a little snip here and there. Sat with my eyes closed and head back I started daydreaming that she was taking the scissors to my nostrils to begin snipping at not my nose hair but the skin where the nostril meets the main part of the nose. Thankfully I was consciously daydreaming otherwise there's a chance I may have screamed out accusations at the unsuspecting threading technician. </span><span style="font-family: Arial;">That would have been a hair removal story to tell the grandkids. I still ended up coming out with eyebrows a bit thinner than I'd like but they're becoming a bit less bracketey and headed quotation-markward. </span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv-Ag_zS_NUun0eAo9s1PLDT9rtsKCRFqfHK28EsUrHwIsCwvYK-9xayuo5wtmSk_dpBVypzembYkj7XIx3keHSbgCnjFVLoJ3ia-48OtvZQaWOfwC8_8EP5ee3RRXNie4YnE_ZyTMS94/s1600/eybsthreaded3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="135" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv-Ag_zS_NUun0eAo9s1PLDT9rtsKCRFqfHK28EsUrHwIsCwvYK-9xayuo5wtmSk_dpBVypzembYkj7XIx3keHSbgCnjFVLoJ3ia-48OtvZQaWOfwC8_8EP5ee3RRXNie4YnE_ZyTMS94/s400/eybsthreaded3.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">To get the shape I want I have to manipulate my forehead.</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7m1JHJWxIoIe8vb9ohC_ibMaORlJrRzEwWHb4hlkj_7Uvxaa1aTEKvlcOrSVYnFLGaQIdyNlG1mP6QbExK6gfxwuRoB1WxECBGzhRoaT6VVAmyKnvOAzPe5bL5ST2LMcdLaCIhSa1s9Q/s1600/eybsthreaded4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="166" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7m1JHJWxIoIe8vb9ohC_ibMaORlJrRzEwWHb4hlkj_7Uvxaa1aTEKvlcOrSVYnFLGaQIdyNlG1mP6QbExK6gfxwuRoB1WxECBGzhRoaT6VVAmyKnvOAzPe5bL5ST2LMcdLaCIhSa1s9Q/s400/eybsthreaded4.jpg" width="400" /></a><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCdni99LNGqF-yaYvjRQXqvjl5tvgauDaFLTAhWAGPRFhrxGtE64yqOytq_0CCCBRvcTWOzl5DRzSc8x-M7daeXsNeBehJJ85t3MITcYoTRhBxvK3hco24zDietSXD80QbU2pDCdcpMP4/s1600/eybsthreaded6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="283" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCdni99LNGqF-yaYvjRQXqvjl5tvgauDaFLTAhWAGPRFhrxGtE64yqOytq_0CCCBRvcTWOzl5DRzSc8x-M7daeXsNeBehJJ85t3MITcYoTRhBxvK3hco24zDietSXD80QbU2pDCdcpMP4/s400/eybsthreaded6.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Neat.</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0A0Qx9o60GMxCbPz6Vp11td37_4sMpHAxb3-OPA8cT1_THQU6kh28JUyv2UYms3B5_O00k0T6E5cAckKk5pzSIRoptPqAvIJuymJX166-J3WMUeKZIQ2aoB5WJuJrheYPkSEE34UFQEY/s1600/eybsthreaded5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="147" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0A0Qx9o60GMxCbPz6Vp11td37_4sMpHAxb3-OPA8cT1_THQU6kh28JUyv2UYms3B5_O00k0T6E5cAckKk5pzSIRoptPqAvIJuymJX166-J3WMUeKZIQ2aoB5WJuJrheYPkSEE34UFQEY/s400/eybsthreaded5.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ5wTOKu_r1afxCjKPWCLJQ-BUB8CxJqkkx5nTRlCtKmI0njvdLFUxgVnsHoL3qjlXhacDSWt9sIr9MxmzHjbg-kTVPW2jIeVOfC7-c-vuuDxCfHHmH4_WM1u7ORWIshh1DXNQhxpEk2w/s1600/eybsthreaded2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="160" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ5wTOKu_r1afxCjKPWCLJQ-BUB8CxJqkkx5nTRlCtKmI0njvdLFUxgVnsHoL3qjlXhacDSWt9sIr9MxmzHjbg-kTVPW2jIeVOfC7-c-vuuDxCfHHmH4_WM1u7ORWIshh1DXNQhxpEk2w/s400/eybsthreaded2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">OK, OK, we get the message. You've got eyebrows.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">And at least my nose is still in tact (not that you'd know it from these photos).</span> <br />
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Toilet Bloggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07433906420454018423noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9073770094251729704.post-21372307369476713722011-03-10T19:41:00.002+00:002013-01-23T14:09:13.108+00:00Oh Crap<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">I'm on an evening shift, at a point where I've done all my work and can now peruse the internet whilst a Drink Impaired Driver's group plays out in one of the meeting rooms. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">My job now is to be here in case of an emergency. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">If that panic alarm goes off I have to go in there to assess the situation and decide whether the police/ambulance/fire brigade need calling (I'm probably not the best person to do this given my laid back approach to most things). </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">But as it happens I find myself in a bit of an emergency, in need of a plumber. I am currently on a break from flushing the toilet and waiting for the water level to go down. After nearly a year of inadequate bowel movements I have finally got my poo-jo back and have been blocking toilets here, there and everywhere. Mainly at work. The week before last I managed to do a turd so large I flushed five times to no avail. That day I was doing a split shift so I went home for a few hours and then came back. On visiting the toilet later that evening I saw my numerous flushes had made little impact on the brown torpedo and there is no doubt it had been used since my encounter with it. It took a further toilet brush attack and a few more flushes to get it down. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Tonight I have managed a similar feat. I went for a number two about </span><time hour="16" minute="0"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">4pm</span></time><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"> but did not think to check if it had gone down. I had to go again at </span><time hour="18" minute="30"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">6.30pm</span></time><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"> and on lifting the lid saw my extravagant use of toilet paper had not made it down an hour and a half before. I didn't think to flush it before attempting another evacuation so when flushing it afterwards I managed to cause an upsurge of water and the view of two poos too large for the meagre toilet bowl to take. A few flushes and toilet brushes have made no impact and after staring at the water level for a few minutes it looked like it wasn't going down. I thought perhaps it may be a case of a watched bog never unblocks so I came downstairs to give it some space to do its business. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">I thought I may as well comment on the whole fiasco while I wait. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">I shall now go and see if any progress has been made. (I also need another poo - I wonder if all the chocolate I've eaten today is causing this excessive amount of excrement)...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have been defeated. Not only by the toilet refusing to unblock but also the fact it has been discovered by someone in the building who has taken the time to fashion a 'toilet blocked!' sign and found some sellotape to stick it up. (Sadly I have no camera phone to document this turn of events) The annoying thing is I didn't realise this staff member was still in the building and there's a chance he'll have heard me speeding my way up the stairs to cause the vandalism. I am crossing my fingers this doesn't encourage an </span><a href="http://ramblingsofatoiletblocker.blogspot.com/2009/03/lovely-story-about-poo.html"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">email</span></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> to be sent out to the entire building in the morning. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">I just never learn do I? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">p.s. I used another toilet for my 3rd poo of the evening and managed not to block it. That's one less 'toilet blocked exclamation mark' sign that needs making.</span>Toilet Bloggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07433906420454018423noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9073770094251729704.post-82460544643723052722011-01-26T20:27:00.003+00:002013-01-23T14:11:01.103+00:00Nose Roses<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Yesterday I went on the hunt for a mini watering can – the kind that has a really thin spout but no shower head (I am quite certain it is not referred to as a shower head in the gardening world but let’s not nitpick). The reason for my search is that I came across a nasal cleansing technique on my travels across the internet, called </span><a href="http://www.jalanetipot.com/"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Jala Neti</span></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">, where you tip hot, salty water into one nostril and it comes out of the other one. Apparently it’s good for curing rhinitis which I’m sure I’ve got as I constantly have runny, irritated nasal passages and, forgive me but it’s getting right up my nose. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There is a special piece of equipment used in the process of Jala Neti called a neti pot but in the video tutorial I saw on Youtube they say it’s fine to use a waterbottle with a squeezy top or a mini showerheadless watering can instead. I tried the squirty water bottle version but I already have a fear of my nostrils stretching to Fern Cotton proportions due to constantly having my fingers, and thumbs, up there. (In my defence that’s because of the constant itchiness and also my nose always seems to house crusty bogeys.) I’m sure my enlarged nostrils won't be getting any smaller by sticking a water bottle up there so it was time to find the watering can option. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So I went into a hardware store around the corner from my work and asked the man if they sell them. He told me they used to but that no one really knew what to do with them so they stopped. He asked me what it was for and before I had time to answer he continued, "Watering roses or something?” Had he not suggested this I’d have definitely told him what I wanted it for but I’m not sure he could handle the truth so with my awkward, highly unskilled lying technique I looked to the side and nodded my head and said yes. Yes my dear fellow, it’s for the roses up my nose.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I went on to search a flower shop and TK MAXX but was unsuccessful in my mission. I would have gone to a garden centre but they’re all so far away! I did, however, purchase <a href="http://www.kitchencritic.co.uk/upload/2006/12/joseph-joseph-chop-2-pot.jpg">one of these amazing chopping boards</a> (inspired by my friend </span><a href="http://www.alexbergermusic.com/"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Alex Berger</span></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> who bought one for our cooking fanatic chum, Adam Detre) that fold inwards so you don’t lose any bits of onion when you tip it in the pan. Super! But still neti potless - the hunt continues…</span></div>
Toilet Bloggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07433906420454018423noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9073770094251729704.post-65415908138130779102011-01-21T15:13:00.004+00:002013-01-23T14:05:02.572+00:00Promises, Properties and Pigeons<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have some serious issues... I'm going to have to refrain from specifying how often I'm going to write on here because everytime I do that I just embarrass myself by not following through. Perhaps less embarrassing than <i>actually</i> following through but that's another topic altogether. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In my defence I have been trying to figure out where I'm going to live as my mum and step dad are moving to Zambia at the end of February to run a </span><a href="http://www.chongwe.com/"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">game reserve lodge</span></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> and I've been staying with them since I came back to Harrogate from London at the beginning of last year.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I've had offers from my friends Charlotte and Grace and there was the option to move back to London but as it turns out I'll be living with Steven who you may recall from an earlier story as the one who kept sending out mixed messages and doing runners throughout last year. But I took a leaf out of Cheryl's song book and I (passively) fought for this love. I gave him the space to get through his issues and things seemed to turn around in a massive way; I watched him change from this person I didn't recognise anymore to the person I remember him being - (we've known each other for 14 years). </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was fully under the impression that he was going to live with his friend Chris, known in some regions as Morridog. Then one evening, at the start of the new year, out of nowhere he said he wanted to live with me. I had mentioned in passing towards the end of last year if it was something he'd consider which he tried to avoid answering for a few days and then said that because he's waiting on where he'll be going for his teacher training he didn't want to say yes and then not be able to do it. Anyway out of the blue he decided that we would live together and the search began...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There are LOADS of properties on the rental market at the moment but there's always something not quite right. Early into our search we found this really </span><a href="http://www.rightmove.co.uk/property-to-rent/property-26689693.html"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">lovely place</span></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> which I don't think Steven was sure about because there was a dead pigeon outside. It looked like it had just sat down to have a little sleep at which point Jack Frost came along and did his business.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The flat would have been perfect had it not been for the lack of hallways, and the dead pigeon outside. The lounge was huge with a big bay window and led straight into the bedroom which was also really big with built in wardrobes and an ensuite. The bedroom led straight into the kitchen (weird) which had a little pantry-esque thing attached to it and then there was a private back yard which would fit a table, chairs and a car. It was right in town and the price included water. Had it not been for the fact that the bedroom went straight into the kitchen I think we'd have snapped it up.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The search continued and I started getting really pissed off that we hadn't found somewhere to live yet. It was getting to the point where I started throwing mini tantrums - never the way to keep someone wanting to live with you. Never the less we plugged on...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">At the end of last week we went to see one a few doors down from my house which I've always peered into when walking home and it suddenly appeared up for rent. It was really gorgeous inside with a really cool bathroom - the toilet had it's back to the rest of the room so you didn't feel embarrassed pooing in front of the shower. The only fault with this place was the bedroom was tiny which Steven wasn't convinced about. I tried to persuade him that a double bed would fit by encouraging him to take hand to elbow measurements which I'd record in my phone so we could compare them to our beds later. Turns out I forgot to save the measurements so made him look silly in front of the estate agent for no reason.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The next day was Saturday and we went to see one that I thought would be a bit small. The pictures did not do it justice. As soon as I went in I felt like this was the one. We both looked at each other like we were thinking the same thing. There were two bedrooms so we'd be able to put a computer desk in one of them and also have people to stay. The lady said she thought it was council tax band B or C which would have been too much for us but when I got home I checked on a council band website and it was A! Hurray!! We told her we wanted to go ahead with it so she said she'd send the paperwork.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Monday came along and we had a flat booked in from before we'd seen 'the one' so we thought we may as well go and have a look. Well that went and put the cat amongst the frozen pigeons didn't it?!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There was a really heavy old fashioned front door and then in the communal hallway it had wooden panelled walls which looked like something out of a tutor castle and there were sheilds carved into the walls. There were definitely ghosts hanging out down there - I'm not sure how I'd feel about being there on my own. Once we got up to the flat it was totally different and modern and really spacious. It was a bit cheaper than 'the one' but then it only had one bedroom so I got in a bit of a stress because what were we going to do now?...</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgeBQDJ20xPkHhoskNnRh3C1kJ8WXYgRc9r1VjPRy-CyxY2Y1t2UBNIAXPw8YqoZ2jXosV_kiq-GWe1poUXZdu-cVW__X29BuIXvNqQPrQqIfx9BETJ0EpIkY6vN3Nv3JQArXh7v7XZQg/s1600/lounge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" s5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgeBQDJ20xPkHhoskNnRh3C1kJ8WXYgRc9r1VjPRy-CyxY2Y1t2UBNIAXPw8YqoZ2jXosV_kiq-GWe1poUXZdu-cVW__X29BuIXvNqQPrQqIfx9BETJ0EpIkY6vN3Nv3JQArXh7v7XZQg/s1600/lounge.jpg" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You walk up the stairs and this is the lounge</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We went to mine and made a list of the two properties against each other and they came out pretty much equal in their pros and cons scores. Both had no freezer, both were about the same distance from town etc. etc. Bloody hell. In my desperation I reached out to Facebook and a Magic 8 ball for help but knew deep down we would have to make the F-ing decision by ourselves ignoring my screams of "I hate having choices!!"</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnlWNHJWFqwhaRjCeg1FpcHUes-H3P2f5QOGG9KCAdZlLKq09rMDz52NlLBvugjaKi2t3lBXpAkL_JbKDQy9JBMdUqx9EGxmi5J_EK5AvW0Ljs3BlMUFr6dszSywfngFbF2p3_dTfnqxU/s1600/lounge2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" s5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnlWNHJWFqwhaRjCeg1FpcHUes-H3P2f5QOGG9KCAdZlLKq09rMDz52NlLBvugjaKi2t3lBXpAkL_JbKDQy9JBMdUqx9EGxmi5J_EK5AvW0Ljs3BlMUFr6dszSywfngFbF2p3_dTfnqxU/s1600/lounge2.jpg" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You turn around and these are the stairs you've just walked up and the rest of the lounge - in the distance you can see the master bedroom.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I rang the lady dealing with 'the one' telling her our situation and asked if we could come and see it again at night to get a feel for it so on Tuesday night we went again and it was still as lovely in the dark.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Turn right and you'll walk into the kitchen. Go through the door...</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">...and you'll be in the second bedroom (which is minus this weird wardrobe)</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As we were leaving we told Amanda we definitely wanted it. She said that she had people coming to see it the next day so was there any way of getting a cheque to her before then. I told her I'd go home and find my cheque book and we'd drop it off. I told her not to worry about it bouncing because there's enough money in my account. Amanda, Steven and my mum pissed themselves.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We got home and Steven told me they laughed because talking about cheques bouncing is a bit taboo and it was just really innocent of me to say it. Why am I unaware of these social conventions?</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Come out of the second bedroom and this is your view of the kitchen. Go through the door and turn right and walk down the hall...</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Anyway I found my cheque book and we've reserved loads of the furniture that mum and Sean are trying to find homes for and we'll be moving in on the 12th Feb!! Exciting!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now I just have the enthralling task of packing and, given I save every receipt that has ever been handed to me, even for chewing gum, it is going to be a right bastard of a job.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">...and you come to the master bedroom which has a lot more space behind where the camera is positioned.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">(All pictures from rightmove.co.uk)</span></div>
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Toilet Bloggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07433906420454018423noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9073770094251729704.post-87380733339236126442010-11-04T22:03:00.002+00:002013-01-23T11:19:21.556+00:00Decorative Hedgehogs<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Last night, amongst other things, including swimming up waterfalls with dolphins and not wanting to swim in the sea due to an overpopulation of salmon, I dreamt about this weird farm place that produced baby hedgehogs which were then killed and used as water features (there seemed to be a water theme last night). I was having a look in a glass case filled with disgruntled yet still living baby hedgehogs when I noticed there were also these gerbil/hamster/mouse hybrids and a little maze for them to run about in. One of them managed to escape and I followed it in an attempt to make friends but it wasn't very tame. Then Matt Sealby (a guy I know 'oop north') picked it up by its tail which made me feel a bit uncomfortable as I thought it might fall off like a gerbil's. He turned the GHM on its back and said, "Let me show you this strange feature." (I'm paraphrasing and managing to make it sound like he was talking about an iphone). He stroked down its stomach and then pulled its penis, and ball (it only had one), clean off and popped it in his mouth sucking the ball off and swallowing it like it was ketchup on a chip. He then slotted the penis back into the hole it had left on the underside of the GHM and told me that it didn't feel anything and would grow another ball. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Wow. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">No wonder I was having night-sweats with all that genital mutilation going on.</span>Toilet Bloggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07433906420454018423noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9073770094251729704.post-28385156732235602842010-11-03T16:14:00.006+00:002010-11-03T20:33:03.902+00:00Teething Problems<br />
<strong>Wednesday 1st September 2010</strong> <br />
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<br />
I’ve been having some seriously mental dreams lately – all vivid and peculiar and, if it’s possible, they make sleep even more enjoyable than it was before. Last night the dreams took a turn for the disturbing when for the first time ever my teeth fell out. Apparently this is a common dream and I have often wondered why it is that I’ve never experienced it. I have to say I’d happily go the rest of my life without having another one – such was the horrificness of the ordeal.<br />
<br />
At first only my canines came out, and although this meant my dreams of being a vampire were quashed, I figured I could hide the gaps by manoeuvring my lips so only my two front teeth were showing when smiling and talking. Yes, I looked like a weirdo but the openings in my opening were my little secret. Feeling smug about getting round the unfortunate tooth loss I looked in the mirror to see one of my front two teeth was hanging loose and bending backwards to expose my naked gum. Short of keeping my gob shut until the end of time there was no getting around that gaping hole in my mouth.<br />
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I have been somewhat paranoid in recent months about the welfare of my teeth; decay, due to the dangerous levels of sugar I consume has been a bit of a worry and also I have been waking up to find my jaw clenched, a tell tale sign that I have been grinding in my sleep. But I thought there had to be another reason for having this dream now given these particular worries have been going on for at least a year.<br />
<br />
So I had a little noodle about on the Internet and found some interesting theories on the meaning of dreaming that your teeth fall out. The ones that rang most true (I decided to ignore the ones about sickness, death, enemies lurking and famine) were as follows…<br />
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<span style="color: #000099;"><span style="color: #6fa8dc;"><a href="http://dreammoods.com/"><span style="color: #6fa8dc;">“In the latest research, it has been shown that women in menopause have frequent dreams about teeth. This may be related to getting older and/or feeling unattractive and less feminine.”</span></a> </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #000099;"><span style="color: #6fa8dc;"></span></span>I’ve been having horrific night sweats recently. Oh my god. Am I going through the menopause already?! And I have been worried about my rapid visual decline since turning 25 last year – the crêpey skin has well and truly made its way onto the scene and alerted me to the fact that I’m getting old and any future boyfriend is going to run off with an uncrêpey under-25-year-old. I’m starting to wish I’d got naked and spread my legs at every opportunity as I’m now over the hill and far on the way to my grave.<br />
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<span style="color: #000099;"><a href="http://dreammoods.com/"><span style="color: #9fc5e8;">“It has also been said that if you dream of your teeth falling out, then it symbolizes money.”</span></a> </span><br />
<span style="color: #000099;"><br /></span>This is good news as yesterday I decided I was going to win the lottery.*<br />
<br />
<a href="http://msnbc.msn.com/id/4961404/"><span style="color: #9fc5e8;">“In a dream, are your teeth falling out? This symbolizes rejection. Or you might be feeling powerless, unconfident, inferior, unattractive and unable to hold on to someone important to you.”</span></a><span style="color: #9fc5e8;"> (Dr. Gail Saltz)</span><br />
<br />
This would make a lot of sense. The guy I’ve been seeing since January has told me at least four times this year that he’s not after anything serious, can’t give me what I want, it’s not you it’s me blah blah blah etc., etc. On return from his recent holiday he got in touch saying he’d missed me and he’s been really lovely since then surprising me by telling me he thinks I’m amazing and has never met another girl like me. Then a couple of weeks later he gives me my own drawer but even though things seemed to have improved with us I am refraining from counting my chickens because I’ve come to expect rejection where he is concerned. The icing on the keenness cake has come with the invite to dinner at his parents’ house which will include grandma, sister and auntie. Forget teeth falling out, meeting the parents is my worst nightmare!!... which leads on to this next meaning…<br />
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<span style="color: #000099;"><a href="http://dreammoods.com/"><span style="color: #9fc5e8;">“Falling teeth dream may be rooted in your fear of being embarrassed or making a fool of yourself in some specific situation. These dreams are an over-exaggeration of your worries and anxiety.”</span></a> </span><br />
<span style="color: #000099;"></span><span style="color: #000099;"><br /></span>Last night I was telling my mum how nervous I am about going to his parents’ house for dinner. I have a fear of conversing with adults which I think might be down to having a massive inferiority complex. Because I’m quite quiet when I don’t know people very well this can be misconstrued as boringness, aloofness and general rubbishness which doesn’t really help my selfconsciousness. I get tongue tied and nervous and do stupid things like the time my friend’s dad picked us up and he asked how I was and I just giggled. Both my friend and her dad looked at me funny and have been looking at me that way ever since.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #000099;"><a href="http://www.mythsdreamssymbols.com/"><span style="color: #9fc5e8;">“Teeth in the dream world are most often an archetypal image of the dreamer's sense of confidence and competence in the waking world.”</span></a><span style="color: #9fc5e8;"> (Eric Ackroyd)</span> </span><br />
<span style="color: #000099;"><br /></span>Because the boy who’s invited me to dinner’s family are all big characters it just highlights how completely opposite I am and I worry they won’t think I’m good enough for him. I’ve met them all before when I was 16 but there seems to be an added pressure now – it’s 10 years later and what have I done with my life? I better get my thinking cap on – dinner is in 3 hours!**<br />
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*I did not win the lottery.<br />
<br />
**Things went much better than expected and I didn’t have to pretend I’m an astronaut/entrepreneur/professional toilet blocker (it's a good job really as lying doesn’t come naturally to me). Because his auntie was over from Turkey and they’d not seen her for a while the focus wasn’t on me as much as I thought it might be. When we were leaving I hugged his grandma goodbye and she said “It’s nice to have you back in the fold.” (!!!) I was, quite frankly, chuffed to bits and most probably had a red face to prove it.<br />
<br />
...And I’ve not lost my teeth again since. Hurrah!</div>Toilet Bloggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07433906420454018423noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9073770094251729704.post-56318997398632326152010-11-03T16:01:00.004+00:002010-11-03T18:58:44.522+00:00The Blog Has Come Out of the Void-of-Inspiration Induced Coma......I think.<br /><br />I am disgusted to see I've not written anything on here since March!! Where on earth have I been?! Who knows but gosh darn it I intend to get back on track whether the posts be poo or not...<br /><br />I've vaguely been writing stuff but never getting anywhere near finishing anything believing it's not worth reading. But I really think I should just write whatever, at least once a week (the writing something every day thing lasted long didn't it?! haha) until inspiration comes a knocking.<br /><br />I've seen there's new background templates to play with so that's something I'll be doing shortly as I'm annoyed everytime I see the indecipherable red text on the toilet blocker picture.<br /><br />A post from last month which I failed to finish and put up here is to follow...<br /><br />Be gentle, I'm still half asleep from the seven month coma. Raildog, thanks for your concern :)Toilet Bloggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07433906420454018423noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9073770094251729704.post-36447741558722428602010-03-29T11:49:00.003+01:002010-11-03T18:56:03.092+00:00Alliteration AplentyLast night I unexpectedly produced a pong-free poo which was doubly fantastic because it came out at a boy’s house and therefore the normal fears of causing asphyxiation, and/or repulsion, on him entering the bathroom too soon after I had vacated it were left redundant. I look forward to seeing if future faeces are fragrance free or whether this was just a once in a lifetime occurrence. If it was merely an odour oversight then I will be sad I never got to share it with anyone. Rest assured should it happen again and you are within a one mile radius you will be expected to attend a viewing/sniffing (and that includes you, boy whose house I was at).Toilet Bloggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07433906420454018423noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9073770094251729704.post-90739303415413850412010-02-05T13:06:00.005+00:002010-02-05T16:39:55.812+00:00Project Back RestIn June last year I decided to conduct an experiment. I was under the impression that my face was starting to look a bit too jowly for someone of 25 - perhaps an illusion triggered by my jaw line having a prominent dent in it on both sides (I don't know whether everyone has this but I'd really rather tell myself it's caused by a defective jaw than saggy skin) so I decided to embark on a not particularly fun experiment...<br /><br />I sleep on my front and very occasionally on my side. I cannot get to sleep when lying on my back and so naturally I decided to start sleeping on, yes you've guessed it, my back to see if it would help the jowl issue. I also thought maybe it might make my boobs bigger as surely sleeping on top of them just crushes them into nothingness(?). This theory stemmed from when I was younger and a friend of mine who had bigger boobs than me always slept on her back. I often wondered if the two went hand in hand and now I was going to find out.<br /><br />At the time I was sharing a room with one of my flatmates (she told me that I often laugh in my sleep and that once she heard me singing in it) and I asked her how she prefers to sleep. She was telling me that one of her favourite positions is where you're on your front but with one leg bent - imagine a rock-climbing position, if you will. I also think it looks a lot like a <a href="http://www.agingrebel.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/11/chalk-outline.jpg">chalk drawing of a person who's been murdered </a>which although a more aggressive comparison I feel it is in many ways a better one because death is a lot like sleeping but indefinitely. Hello, morbid. Anyway, I digress. My sleeping style was to start off face down with my legs straight but somehow the left leg would always creep up for some night time rock climbing action. I thought I was weird partaking in such a position so it was great to find someone who shared the same enjoyment.<br /><br />A few days after beginning my experiment I went up to Archway for a gathering/announcement. On the train I was warned by the Metro that I only have ten years to have a baby and thanked it for reminding me that I have a lot of ground to cover before that happens. I got to the house of news and was informed by my friends Tom (who looks like a cross between <a href="http://i.telegraph.co.uk/telegraph/multimedia/archive/01410/daneBowers_1410752c.jpg">Dane Bowers</a> and <a href="http://static.whatsontv.co.uk/images/071126_122221_HollyoaksJakeDean.jpg">Jake</a> from Hollyoaks) and Andy (an accidental extra in Slumdog Millionaire) that Holly (Andy's girlfriend and my friend from uni) was pregnant. I could not believe it; that was now two people from my drama class at university who were contributing to keeping the human race alive. I started feeling her up and bombarding her with questions, the most important one being, "How do you sleep?" She said that she'd had to start sleeping on her back. I told her about my experiment and asked her how she used to sleep. She too was a front sleeper and a big fan of the rock-climbing/dead-man-chalk-drawing position. It made me happy to think so many (well, two) people had found love with such a great (not so great for the hips) sleeping style. It also felt good to be getting some sleeping on my back practice for potential future pregnancy.<br /><br />After a week of not being able to sleep properly in this alien position I finally had no choice but to fall asleep because I was so tired. I then came to the conclusion that the main difficulty I have in falling asleep on my back is my relentlessly lolling head, which has caused much embarrassment in the past when falling asleep on public transport or in the passenger seat of a car. I worked out that if I slept right in the centre of a really puffy feather pillow each end of it would rise up either side of my face creating a sort of anti-lolling support structure and therefore the perfect conditions for successful back rest.<br /><br />Eight months later: has it worked? In the last couple of months I've started to roll over onto my side but there's not a lot I can do about that, bar strapping myself to the bed, as I'm asleep when I do it. I'm thinking my face in general is looking a bit less wrinkly which makes sense as I'm sure spending eight hours lying on it doesn't do it any favours. I still notice the occasional bit of jowliness in photos but at least it hasn't got any worse and my boobs are feeling a bit fuller (which could be due to starting the pill shortly after the experiment began) so that in itself is worth an uncomfortable sleeping position. Now I'm just worried my bum is being flattened and there's nothing worse than a flat bum other than maybe jowls before one's time. So look out for my next experiment involving two single beds (see picture).*<br /><br /><img style="WIDTH: 255px; HEIGHT: 303px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434758086415838466" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOpeeyn6wQ92N7fgsUiEvAj-Ux2vb24Jstv1i5hhx3AnQOrPruzsHukQbdIpfL4BGs5uziVkjGEaPTOWzHQpXUKfYMdZuUnGIEwaQi9RzcJBVBnpbFoEypGaBKqnjCGAnCGA9Wd4VXAEM/s400/new+experiment.bmp" /><br /><br />*I will not be doing this.Toilet Bloggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07433906420454018423noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9073770094251729704.post-20551071282917577602010-01-25T18:00:00.002+00:002010-02-05T16:38:35.665+00:00BananasIs it just me or has the quality of bananas declined lately?<br /><br />I started to notice about six months ago, it could have even been eight to ten months ago, that bananas in supermarkets these days are either too ripe and already starting to bruise or so green they'll never turn yellow. Where's the middle ground, people?! Where have all the good bananas gone?<br /><br />I won't rest until I find out.<br /><br />5th Feb 2010: That very night I went home and tried one of the green bananas that had remained green for the whole two weeks we had them. It tasted like a yellow banana. Perhaps they're just trying to stop people from eating them by pretending to not be ripe.Toilet Bloggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07433906420454018423noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9073770094251729704.post-50036370439232078892010-01-21T18:00:00.003+00:002010-02-05T16:42:59.327+00:00Angels and AsylumsOn Tuesday - the day after <a href="http://news.softpedia.com/news/January-18-Is-Blue-Monday-Most-Depressing-Day-of-the-Year-132335.shtml">the most depressing day of the year</a> which is the 18th January apparently - I felt really, well, depressed. The sad feelings started seeping out after reading my stand-up comedy friend <a href="http://twitter.com/JonathanElston">Jonathan Elston</a>'s blog. He'd been doing a gig in Ripon, which is quite close to my home town, and said that until he went there he never realised class divides still exist and that the audience flinched when he mentioned someone being gay. It reminded me why I left Yorkshire in the first place. He told me that one bloke said, "I have to take my kids to Leeds to see coloured people." Talk about living in the past with the use of language, Riponian. That wasn't the only thing that bothered me about it...<br /><br />One of the reasons I moved to London was because of how white-middle-class Harrogate is. A couple of friends from Birmingham came to stay with me once and the first thing they said when they got off the train was, "Where are all the black people?"<br /><br />When I told some friends up here that I wanted to move to London because of how white Harrogate is they said, "That's precisely the reason we're staying." It fills me with great regret that I'm from a place of such narrow mindedness and it made me wonder if moving back here was the right decision.<br /><br />I moved back to get some distance from London because it was starting to stifle me. I'd been working in film and TV (mainly post-production) for 3 years and wasn't getting anywhere. I was made redundant on a wage that wasn't even enough to start paying back my student loan let alone anything more exciting. But probably the main reason I moved back was to be close to someone I still have feelings for and that's probably not the best reason for doing something. But I really feel you should give love a chance and coming from someone who NEVER gives love a chance that's some statement.<br /><br />On Tuesday night I told this person why I was upset by what I'd read and that I wished people were more open up here. He said he didn't think I belonged in Harrogate. Brilliant. I probably should have thought of that before I moved. But then I often feel I don't belong anywhere and it's not the greatest feeling in the world. This sounds so "woe is me" - I don't mean it to sound that way but I never feel comfortable anywhere and am seriously lacking purpose.<br /><br />The conversation moved from one topic to another and he told me he's not really happy with what he's doing but when I suggested different things he could do it seemed like he's too scared to change things (mainly for financial reasons) and I don't know for sure, because I've not asked him yet, but I get the feeling he'll never leave Harrogate and I'm not sure I can stay.<br /><br />Yesterday I went to my mum's house to pack up the rest of my stuff to take to my grandma's where I'm now staying. I went to the toilet and had a read through the latest <em>Hello!</em> magazine. That's what I love most about my mum's - there's always something to read on the loo and although I do the fastest poos in the world (I should probably get on the phone to the Guinness Book of Records about that) I will sit on the toilet for hours reading, well looking at the pictures in those mags. I got to my star sign:<br /><br /><strong>AQUARIUS:<br /><br />It's early enough in the new year to contemplate new beginnings, but some people seem determined to keep going round in circles for the rest of their lives. That is fine if it suits them. It is not so fine for you, though; you want to stay with them, yet you also want to travel down a road that is going somewhere.</strong><br /><br />Wow, were they sitting in my mind when they wrote that? This wasn't your average, generalised horoscope; this was exactly how I felt and the sadness swelled a little.<br /><br />I went to my mum and told her that my horoscope couldn't have been more relevant to the way I'm feeling right now and she enthusiastically reached for her angel cards which I refused to have anything to do with over the Christmas period (she'd been desperate to "do my reading"). At this point I thought I could use all the help I could get. She split the pack into two piles and told me to pick as many cards from either pile as I wanted. I picked up one pile and a card fell out. She told me there was a reason for that so I chose that one and another that had stayed put. I didn't feel the need for more.<br /><br />The one that had fallen out was an angel called Astara. It said, "You deserve the best! Reach for the stars with your dreams and desires, and don't compromise." It went on to say such things as "It isn't selfish to desire a better life" and "We have noticed a reluctance on your part to ask for help". The latter comment freaked me out a bit as one of my biggest flaws is not asking for help and then I'm stuck in a rut for eternity. Everything else that was said rang true to me like the fact I don't feel like I deserve good things and it made me feel hopeful that things might get better. I'm not sure how I feel about believing in angels but if they're telling me they can make things better if I just ask then I'm going to give them a chance.<br /><br />I'll be the one talking to myself/the angels in the street.<br /><br />The other angel card said I "have a burning desire to make the world a better place." I was trying not to get emotional - I often find myself in tears about how horrible the world we live in is but never really know what I can do about it apart from bopping people on the head for being narrow-minded. On Monday I'd been looking into volunteering in Haiti with no luck. When the angel card went on to say, "Right now, your life's mission is expanding so that you can reach even more people" I decided to look into it again. My friend Emma had written something on her Facebook wall saying her <a href="http://www.facebook.com/home.php?#/video/video.php?v=262436944291&ref=mf">work</a> had been one of the first on the scene so I went to their <a href="http://www.imcworldwide.org.uk/content.asp?coid=133">website</a> to see if they were looking for people to help. It directed me to their US website but they need people with medical or disaster experience. The biggest disaster I've experienced is there being no milk in the fridge on my 16th birthday. My mum suggested that maybe it means reaching people through writing. But who even reads what I write? And what do I really say of any worth?<br /><br />I am aware that it is slightly ridiculous to take to heart something written on a bit of paper that's been picked at random but when you are lost and don't know where to turn what else is there to do?<br /><br />I apologise for the moroseness of this post. I'm just feeling particularly anxious and I don't think having limited access to the internet is helping. This is completely my fault for deciding to stay at my grandma's rather than my mum's. I thought fewer distractions (i.e. Facebook and <em>Hello</em>!) would be helpful. I don't know whether you've experienced it but there is always something I forget to do when I only have a certain amount of time on the internet or there's not enough time to do things properly.<br /><br />I really have no idea what I'm going to do with my life or even what I'm doing right now. I wish I knew what I was good at; sometimes I wonder if I'm actually good at anything. I really wish someone would commit me to a mental asylum. That's somewhere I definitely belong.Toilet Bloggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07433906420454018423noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9073770094251729704.post-87537982657619671922010-01-20T18:40:00.002+00:002010-02-05T16:58:28.136+00:00ATM (A Troubling Message)Yesterday morning on my way to buy some ingredients to make leek and potato soup I decided to check my bank balance for the first time in ages. I stared at the screen and was unsure I understood what it was telling me. DR - doesn't that mean overdrawn? I was trying to work out if DR could stand for "in credit" but after about five minutes of looking in puzzlement at the screen I decided that I was probably living in denial. I should have had £500 in my account from the deposit from my house in London but somehow I had managed to spend that and then withdraw over £80 that didn't belong to me.<br /><br />I stood there with my empty trolley in the Asda car park gazing into space trying to work out what could have happened. There is no way I could have spent £500 in a week, is there? I wondered if perhaps someone might have stolen my pin number - I'm always so blasé when typing it in so I don't offend the stranger behind me by not trusting them. I'd purchased a few things online over Christmas - perhaps security had been compromised. I've never trusted internet shopping.<br /><br />And then it dawned on me. I'd only gone and forgotten to cancel my standing order and unintentionally paid the rent for a room I'm no longer living in. What planet am I living on?!<br /><br />The ironic thing is I've had trouble with landlords in the past who've done everything they can not to give my deposit back. Once it got to the point where I had to get the bailiffs involved. When that didn't work I took the law into my own hands and hunted the bastard down until he gave me the money. But I've never had any trouble with this landlady. She is so lovely and gave my deposit back with no qualms even though I'd not stayed for the contracted 6 months. And here I was effectively giving my deposit straight back. What a dim wit.<br /><br />I called her apologising and she said she'd send me a cheque. As she gave me £3 when our washing machine broke so I could use the laundry, sent me a "Merry Christmas" text on Christmas Day and gave my deposit back with no hassle the first time round I'm optimistic that she'll send the cheque.<br /><br />And if she doesn't she'll get a visit from Bailiff Branco.Toilet Bloggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07433906420454018423noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9073770094251729704.post-37559560207618155812010-01-19T18:00:00.002+00:002010-02-05T17:04:26.175+00:00Cinematters: The Sequel<a href="http://ramblingsofatoiletblocker.blogspot.com/2010/01/cinematters.html">People chatting in the cinema </a>isn't my only bugbear. Even popcorn can be a bit of a nuisance.<br /><br />Last week my friend Steven and I <a href="http://web.orange.co.uk/p/film/orange_wednesdays">Orange Wednesday</a>-ed it up and went to watch <em><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0898367/">The Road</a></em>. Let me tell you something: <em>The Road</em> is the quietest film EVER (<em><a href="http://us.imdb.com/title/tt0162222/">Castaway</a></em> is probably the only thing I've seen with less noise). I would advise you not to purchase any <a href="http://www.sweetheaven-online.co.uk/acatalog/cherryfizzwiz.JPG">loud foods</a> if you're going to see it. I could hear Steven munching his popcorn and was aware that the entire cinema could too. When holding a finger to my lips didn't have the desired effect I decided to keep the box out of his reach (much to his annoyance) until the loud bits came on, which were few and far between. I'd like to say I enjoyed the film but the chomping and the whining <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kodi_Smit-McPhee">child actor </a>were too distracting. Perhaps the boy is endearing when you're fully focused on the film but all I wanted to do was tap the little fellow on his shoulder and say “Look, you've been travelling around for ages, why are you still whinging about it? And why do you keep calling your dad 'Papa'? You're not from Little House on the Prairie though you do look a lot like the younger of the two girls in it.” I feel that would have told him. Instead I had to endure his wetness and the seething, popcorn-resenting cinema goers.<br /><br />Taking advantage of the fact my Cineworld card is valid until the end of January, and that Steven gets his petrol paid for by work, we went to see <em><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0499549/">Avatar</a></em> on Friday night at a Cineworld in Castleford. I'd heard amazing reviews but am often left disappointed by hype so only really went to see it because I felt it wasn't something that should be seen on a small screen. As we wandered past the food counter Steven said, “That mixed popcorn went down a storm the other night.” Now he's always going on at me about my terrible comebacks (he has a point – improvisation is not my forte) so what happened next was like something out of a bible story. Without pausing I replied, “Yeah, it sounded like one too.” And I know it's frowned upon to do so but I burst into laughter at my own wit. Sadly he hadn't heard what I'd said and asked me to repeat it but I couldn't because I was laughing so hard. Finally I managed to calm the laughter (and snorting) long enough that I could tell him. He didn't get it so I had to explain: “When you were eating it, it sounded like a storm because it was so loud.” Of all the times someone could decide not to hear me it had to be the time something good came out of my mouth but at least someone laughed (not sure if it counts that it was me).<br /><br />Thankfully no one was talking during the film and it was loud enough that no one was irritated by the popcorn munching. Asda Extra Special Belgian White Chocolate & Strawberry Popcorn Clusters, £1.48, if you're asking. So amazing I was at times distracted from the film. Beats the £10 per mouthful that they charge for the often burnt cinema stuff, don't you think?<br /><br />And I was pleasantly surprised by <em>Avatar</em> - it was truly moving and a visual delight. I can see why people have become depressed after seeing it. It reminded me of the animated film <em><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0104254/">FernGully</a></em> - a side effect of which, like<em> Avatar</em>, must have been depression if my melancholic moods since seeing it as a child are anything to go by.<br /><br />Oh, to live in a magical world where the shrubs light up and people keep their gobs shut when a film is on.Toilet Bloggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07433906420454018423noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9073770094251729704.post-68783123974284357292010-01-18T19:37:00.003+00:002010-11-03T19:06:12.199+00:00CinemattersI LOVE going to the cinema. So much so that I cried when writing a Facebook status the other day about having to cancel my Cineworld Unlimited card because of leaving London and there not being one close enough to where I live to warrant the monthly fee...<br /><br /><span style="color:#000099;"><span style="color:#33ccff;">"Cineworld Unlimited card cancelled. […] It is a bit like breaking up with someone. We've been together 3 years, had good times, bad times, he's cheered me up, he's made me cry, he's kept me warm when it's cold outside, I've walked out on him but I've always come back for more. What will I do without him?"</span><br /></span><br />Quite poetic isn’t it?<br /><br /><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428554337346209570" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjygt1HWIz0R0ufjsnxunavlDl8OKQR91GMSgeT7FlfygEYaK7RkjBSu1L-d12xwVdlH8UWXoz6p_9eH5OK7Gzc72D0N3s6kVF9PvagTOoGtxALv89jkbsDaORZ1RdxqBSLgjNb26oogQk/s400/cinema1.jpg" border="0" /><br />There is one thing I don't love about the cinema, aside from the smell of burnt popcorn, and that's the people who come to see a film and start talking as soon as it begins. Rude and a bit stupid. Why pay for something you can do for free somewhere less inconvenient for those who are up for keeping their gobs shut.<br /><br /><a href="http://ramblingsofatoiletblocker.blogspot.com/2010/01/unbalanced-and-broody-babysitter.html">The guy whose sperm I requested</a> was guilty of this behaviour to the point where, quite frankly, running the risk of having a child who shared the same antisocial habit was unthinkable. It was so bad that half way through <em><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1016075/">Fame</a></em> his phone rang. He stopped talking at me to answer it and started talking to whoever had called. This was a 32 year old man. I avoided seeing him again after that.<br /><br />In December I went to see <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1179904/"><em>Paranormal Activity</em> </a>and there were a couple of kids playing music on their phones throughout. I would agree that music is good for calming the nerves but if you're scared of horror choose a different genre, children! My friend Chris was getting annoyed and I was crossing my fingers he wouldn't say anything. He'd already shouted at a man in the film we went to see beforehand, <em><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0362478/">The Box</a></em>, who decided to stand up before it had finished and just stand there blocking everyone's view. When we came out of <em>Paranormal Activity</em>, relieved he'd not made a scene, I told Chris about an <a href="http://www.yorkshirepost.co.uk/news/Named-and-shamed-Leeds-cinema.5971674.jp">incident</a> that happened from telling people off in the cinema...</p><p><br />It happened last July in Leeds. A woman who was out with her family watching <em><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0417741/">Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince</a></em> told some unruly ruffians to be quiet. After the film the youngsters followed the family shouting abuse at them. One of the kids, a 16 year old boy, bought some <a href="http://www.astralhygiene.co.uk/ekmps/shops/astralhygiene/images/domestos-thick-bleach-258-p.jpg">Domestos</a>, walked into the restaurant where the family were now dining and squirted it all over the woman. Some of it went in her eyes. This little toe rag only has to serve half of his 12 month sentence. The judge was lenient given the boy had to suffer an abusive father. Surely he should be taught that abusiveness will not be tolerated and get the full sentence rather than being let off so lightly. I wonder how the woman with bleach in her eyes, who's now too scared to go out alone with her kids, feels about that? I bet that boy wishes he'd been making noise throughout a cooler film when the drama kicked off. Oh well, serves him right.<br /><br />People shouldn't have to feel scared about telling someone to shut up; they have every right to watch a film they've paid to see, and hear, in peace. If you want to talk go to a cafe, use a phone box or join a debating society. I'd love to see the look on the 'yoofs' faces when you suggest joining a debating society. Forget the bleach, I reckon that'd be a stabbing offence.<br /><br /><em>In loving memory of my <a href="http://www.cineworld.co.uk/unlimited">Cineworld Unlimited</a> card. November 2006 – January 2010</em> </p><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428554340293370866" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgEIf8N9BXo6HRwB57FMJZpWBzHCHE778clH-k4JEEUGtwBQnFNtHNMZMqvHJu9VBccGDMdFpQByhjDDrzgF1DxBvhvELt7v_cHQzU8dKgRE2zuiCh0AE9OryNYomyrEe815D5Zocq15o/s400/cinema2.jpg" border="0" />Toilet Bloggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07433906420454018423noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9073770094251729704.post-38515927376571476862010-01-15T18:00:00.001+00:002010-11-03T19:47:58.079+00:00The Unbalanced and Broody Babysitter<a href="http://ramblingsofatoiletblocker.blogspot.com/2009/04/my-offering-to-london-paper.html">For some time now I have been quite broody</a> and it seems babies are more frequently popping out of people I know, which is taking the broodiness to new heights.<br /><br />In August last year the opportunity arose to look after one such child, the fruit of <a href="http://twitter.com/VicThompson">Victoria Thompson’s</a> <a href="http://twitter.com/gabefleming">boss’s</a> loins.<br /><br />I was delighted, and a bit shocked, when I heard the news that he was including me in the babysitting duties because although he knows me quite well 'digitally' (his choice of word not mine) he’d only met me twice in real life – once when I brought him an ice-lolly because he was working late at the weekend (good impression) and the other time when I was having a mental breakdown on the grass outside his work (not so good) – but as the date came closer the fear set in…<br /><br />I have a theory that babies, like cats and dogs, can sense evil. I am not saying that I am evil but just that I might be and don’t know it yet. This particular concern has been highlighted by the film <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0870984/"><em>Antichrist</em></a> (I have a habit of taking films personally). Any logical person would have the same thoughts, no? Just me? Well anyway I was worried about meeting Luca because he had the potential to alert everyone in the vicinity that I am the devil.<br /><br />When I explained this to Vic on the way there, doing my best to hold back the tears, she told me not to worry. She told me that I’m one of the nicest people she knows and I felt guilty so I told her I’d done some pretty mean things when I was little. (I didn't give her any examples but I'll give you one now... When I was seven I went to an all girls' boarding school and they started to introduce boys. The first one to move into our building came to the room I shared with my best friend to give her <a href="http://uk.imdb.com/title/tt0097757/"><em>The Little Mermaid</em></a> on video as a gift. I think I was threatened by him making the moves on her so I grabbed it and threw it on the floor exclaiming, "She already has this one!" I still feel bad about this especially as I don't think she did have the film.) Vic looked at me funnily and said that anything under the age of ten doesn’t count and that it was probably not a good idea to tell her boss and his girlfriend of my concerns given this was the first time they’d be leaving their three month old first born.<br /><br />Despite her reassurance I kept my distance from the wee one until the parents had departed for their date, when I felt it was safer to test the water. Also I get embarrassed chatting to babies or young kids when grown-ups are around because I tend to talk to them like they’re adults, and occasionally in this weird voice that my high school boyfriend used to do when talking to his dog, and sometimes me.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiypNH18wpHF0PpkHh3540TQfKWly5Pp94SeaoIh487S2ziJtYFkBUbet4CZ-UnKMSsCTRiG0fWzPm2PDErRpEl19WClJy1_7JZGIRml7ZeFKzmNwQRkdJ_yjrjL5kZvErskK6WwYOHIOU/s1600-h/luca.bmp"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428131803367748514" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiypNH18wpHF0PpkHh3540TQfKWly5Pp94SeaoIh487S2ziJtYFkBUbet4CZ-UnKMSsCTRiG0fWzPm2PDErRpEl19WClJy1_7JZGIRml7ZeFKzmNwQRkdJ_yjrjL5kZvErskK6WwYOHIOU/s400/luca.bmp" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Before they left they informed us that Luca only poos once a week. You can imagine I was quite upset by this - I wish they'd told me to sit down before delivering such bad news. However after his bottle he did do some tremendous farting that led us to believe a poo had been deposited. A special treat given the disappointment on hearing of his infrequent bowel movements. Nappy open, we saw it had been a trick played by a particularly stinky fart. It took about half an hour to work out how to get the sticky bits on the nappy to work and also to get the nappy to sit like he wasn’t a gangster with his crotch by his knees. I say we - most of the nappy work was being done by Vic - I was just hanging over the side of the bed dangling my magical necklace in his face to distract him from the indignity of it all.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_KS3dO-DwNnjiX46OzRQa60NlG6q4rFRUl56pgVj4vlrjJs2etbc1rc9A35PGYqvIRbNIUnyDOxLyUYiHSXxuBn_Dw3f1AK1r9L_WqJg0WRvVD2qRzmeeigjdbYNN-EyXSO8jHMPtQXI/s1600-h/luca2.bmp"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428131801419127522" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_KS3dO-DwNnjiX46OzRQa60NlG6q4rFRUl56pgVj4vlrjJs2etbc1rc9A35PGYqvIRbNIUnyDOxLyUYiHSXxuBn_Dw3f1AK1r9L_WqJg0WRvVD2qRzmeeigjdbYNN-EyXSO8jHMPtQXI/s400/luca2.bmp" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Perhaps the chiming necklace I was wearing had distracted Luca from outing me because if he sensed any evil he didn't say anything about it. He did, however, mistake my body for a bed and my finger for a nipple. But as I've been mistaken for a prostitute on more than one occasion I'll take being mistaken for a bed and a nipple as a compliment.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr5Cq7X1b3XZA5fkH5UEpUs8rgv8Z3Ozt3yPBGLanTCSMEhlMsIN67Gj-aA1GrnlbhJoHXvzialEDaLMuNd_pKfk0cbUwUoeb15lk5Pn90l2b4us-H9rClbmjKQRlu5t_CzD8vrSGfq9I/s1600-h/luca3.bmp"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428131805969628530" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr5Cq7X1b3XZA5fkH5UEpUs8rgv8Z3Ozt3yPBGLanTCSMEhlMsIN67Gj-aA1GrnlbhJoHXvzialEDaLMuNd_pKfk0cbUwUoeb15lk5Pn90l2b4us-H9rClbmjKQRlu5t_CzD8vrSGfq9I/s400/luca3.bmp" border="0" /></a><br /><br />After his nap and some food (milk for Luca, meatballs for us), and once we'd worked out which way round to put him in the pram, we took him for a walk in the park and felt how a proud lesbian couple must feel with Luca chatting away to himself in the way only babies that can't talk do. He soon fell asleep and I envied him. If I had someone to push me around in a pram maybe I'd get some decent sleep.<br /><br />When the <a href="http://singwhenyouresleeping.blogspot.com/2009/08/leaving-luca.html">frantic parents</a> returned we left them to do some serious catching up. As we walked to the station I text a guy I been on a few dates with telling him I'd been babysitting and "Please can you lend me some sperm so I can have one?" I am aware this is not the sort of thing you say to a guy if you want him to stick around but wait...<br /><br />He replied straight back saying, "What you doing tonight?"<br /><br />I have never know someone so keen to lend their seeds for an artificial insemination extravaganza. Maybe he just thought it was the modern way of asking for sex. If that was the case he didn't get what he wanted and neither did I.<br /><br />I am still accepting donations so do get in touch.Toilet Bloggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07433906420454018423noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9073770094251729704.post-86755047928382522222010-01-14T23:50:00.004+00:002010-01-15T04:18:07.810+00:00Poo in Looe and Other AdventuresI tagged along to Cornwall with my mum and step dad Sean at the beginning of December and there were a few moments worth a mention...
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<br />On our way down we stopped off in Littlehampton to see Sean's son <a href="http://www.danbridgerjewellery.com/">Dan</a>, Dan's wife Karen and their two kids Mia and Zoe. We went for some food at a pub where I had sausage and mash. When the plate was put in front of me I wondered if they'd mistaken me for a small child. I cannot and will never understand small portions especially where mashed potato is concerned. Anyway the food is not the point of this story...
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<br />Mia is 6 years old and a cheeky little posing monkey. She is truly hilarious. I hope I have a kid like her one day. After we'd eaten we decided to play I spy. We had a couple of goes and then it was my turn. "I spy with my little eye, something beginning with 'S'." That threw her. I don't care how old you are, I taken no prisoners. She finally gave in and I told her it was a sausage. We continued back and forth for a while. Her turn, "I spy with my little eye something beginning with 'P'." Plate? No. Picture? No. Um, phone? No. I give up. "Possage," she said. "What is a possage?" I asked her. "It's a sausage with a 'P'." PAUSAGE! Haha! I tell you what, I could not stop laughing to the point where I started doing this thing where it sounds like I might be choking. What a way to win the round. Just pick a word that's already been done and change the first letter. I'll be using that in future games so watch out.
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<br />After that little delight (you could say as a reward) I taught her how to make a beard out of her own hair. I feel this is a thing all children should learn.
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<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgampxOGOdbNMzFL8Ar1mRvgslcb3ftbaai1vebtEi0RyqZmbv-lSwDqr0Cx3iqeYj53yUsFMX93_7oTPyEzoYHj0WvwAPPa6HiofsSWyoSC8Bnjf1maTKRIDrk3Wf09i-MLHqujnTUAHg/s1600-h/DSCN3938.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426797803277441602" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgampxOGOdbNMzFL8Ar1mRvgslcb3ftbaai1vebtEi0RyqZmbv-lSwDqr0Cx3iqeYj53yUsFMX93_7oTPyEzoYHj0WvwAPPa6HiofsSWyoSC8Bnjf1maTKRIDrk3Wf09i-MLHqujnTUAHg/s320/DSCN3938.JPG" /></a>
<br /><em><span style="font-size:85%;">I told her it would be more authentic if she cupped her chin... </span></em>
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<br /></span></em><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWLgiZXdFyISAHY0Gi6HZ0KGehpCOIptvYThTkrFvqnwHTFACoIEfNcy7VasXNExXweTskslcO2aGCQWmYPsWRXvRxNjdLpMQJ4FhEReFl8Izb4l1PobhRUIZ6HwSqeXqoUa8ZM9AXDyQ/s1600-h/DSCN3939.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426797812268662610" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWLgiZXdFyISAHY0Gi6HZ0KGehpCOIptvYThTkrFvqnwHTFACoIEfNcy7VasXNExXweTskslcO2aGCQWmYPsWRXvRxNjdLpMQJ4FhEReFl8Izb4l1PobhRUIZ6HwSqeXqoUa8ZM9AXDyQ/s320/DSCN3939.JPG" /></a>
<br /></span></em><em><span style="font-size:85%;">6 or 46? It's hard to tell with this little trick.</span></em>
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<br />The next morning, after eating Dan and Karen out of house and home, we made our way to <a href="http://www.looe.org/">Looe</a> (that's pronounced 'Loo' - how appropriate) where mum and Sean had rented a cottage for the week. I was aware that I'd be gooseberry but didn't realise how large a one until we got there and saw that the toilet was an en-suite. I was staying in the living room. Uh oh. I tend to go to bed late. And I always have to wee directly before I go to bed (this stems back to the days when bed wetting was rife. The fear remains. I'm aware this makes me sound like a mental patient.) My mum said she'd leave the door ajar but I really didn't want to impose on any bedroom action that may be taking place. The first night I managed to get in there before they went to bed. But the next night disaster struck. I needed to go after they'd gone to bed and the door had been shut tight. Desperate times call for desperate measuring jugs or failing that just a normal jug will do. Yes, I'm ashamed to say that I weed in a jug. Not my finest hour. After leaving it to soak I was sure to wash it thoroughly with scorching hot water and washing up liquid (P.S. <a href="http://www.independent.co.uk/life-style/health-and-families/health-news/urine-the-bodys-own-health-drink-467303.html">You can drink urine </a>so don't judge me). In the morning my mum asked what I'd used the jug for. I avoided a lie and said I was just cleaning it. I felt this wouldn't rouse suspicion as it's natural not to want to drink the contents of a dusty jug, or a urine laced one for that matter.
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<br />The next night in a similar situation I turned to a fruit bowl (I didn't feel two days of washing an 'unused' jug would go unnoticed). You'll be pleased to learn there was no fruit in it at the time. Because I thought I might need to use it again another night I put it outside in the garden to save washing it every time but in the end it was not needed.
<br /><p></p><p>Two days into my time in Looe (haha) I managed to do three poos in one day (these were done in a toilet not on a plate). My favourite kind of day because I really feel like I've achieved something. I can't take all the credit though as I had a little help from my friends who appeared to have been taking steroids.</p>
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<br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426802602792208882" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgnPsu0L2UXBgn4kpT9m5umrAwL_Sg0VTqVXy0dcbS5hagst0sNIpqSTLBDfEM-tm3V4cjLrAtfuXi8p_lXbXCW7flQMsxOJOJc4Dygwo3ho9941kzjJtka6sngt9VQ4GHiSKFFVVb3iA/s400/DSCN3949.JPG" /><span style="font-size:85%;"> <em>The Oatabix Flakes failed their drugs test & were disqualified from the Cereal Olympics.
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<br />I told my mum that I always need a poo when I'm playing hide and seek (I'm not sure how this came up as we weren't playing it at the time - it may have been that she was bunged up. I really hope she doesn't read this). She told me she always needs one when she's in a video or bookshop. I'd love to find out what induces other people's bowel movements. Please share if you feel comfortable doing so - coffee and cigarettes will not be accepted.
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<br />Towards the end of my stay my mum was choosing which walk we were going to do. She placed her finger on the map and this is the exchange that followed:
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<br /><strong>Mum:</strong> There's a Shag Rock here. Wasn't there one of those in <em>The Muppets</em>?
<br /><p><strong>Me:</strong> Do you mean <em>Fraggle Rock</em>?</p><p><strong>Mum:</strong> Oh yes.
<br /></p><p>I'm glad we cleared that up and she'd not been watching Muppet based porn.</p>
<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIESWLVwXv2kldxrJG95s82d5bbgyHFDZ9qvyklj7cvyc5kNAkrfKbM23I9NZtloLkCyWt0UfSSB6SB5Zg1N97wXL_x1CgQFK7xqU8bGvYnarCiYz5JY8MZzobhcV0fswkSBV-50krsYw/s1600-h/DSCN3946.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426799483283810050" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIESWLVwXv2kldxrJG95s82d5bbgyHFDZ9qvyklj7cvyc5kNAkrfKbM23I9NZtloLkCyWt0UfSSB6SB5Zg1N97wXL_x1CgQFK7xqU8bGvYnarCiYz5JY8MZzobhcV0fswkSBV-50krsYw/s320/DSCN3946.JPG" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh4ZFe266dKCwjSZMtHmSMhnZ82GR5fyCpLAcxHyfYxbhipd92_iPuI1-F1Z1DdV3rRRlliIvYhWBq_x_XJ1-cGy3Ef3E_lIj0Gk1GX1guDsXViULhtQxTMd0WV_0LcPOONC9qLXuvKL4/s1600-h/DSCN3947.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 240px; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426799488089744706" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh4ZFe266dKCwjSZMtHmSMhnZ82GR5fyCpLAcxHyfYxbhipd92_iPuI1-F1Z1DdV3rRRlliIvYhWBq_x_XJ1-cGy3Ef3E_lIj0Gk1GX1guDsXViULhtQxTMd0WV_0LcPOONC9qLXuvKL4/s320/DSCN3947.JPG" /></a>
<br /><em><span style="font-size:85%;">The view out of the living room window.</span></em>
<br />
<br />I left Cornwall a few days before mum and Sean as I really wanted to give them some space. My mum called me a couple of days after I'd gone and asked if I'd put the fruit bowl in the garden. Lying doesn't come naturally to me. I said no, like I always do when I'm lying, in a drawn out questioning sort of way to show that I actually mean the opposite. It's sort of an honest version of lying. But my mum, not one to just take the information she's been given, continued to ask questions, "Why did you put it out there?" She wasn't going to take my "I don't know" lying down. Eventually she managed to put two and two together and not only did she work out that I'd used it as a toilet but she realised that that's what the jug washing was all about. And I thought I'd got away with it. Not content with finding out this information she carried on with the questioning, "Where did you do it?" Does it matter mother?!! I felt like I was being investigated for murder. After much hilarity I managed to avoid giving any further details.
<br />
<br /><div>Lesson: don't leave the evidence in the garden. Or maybe just don't wee in crockery.</div>
<br />Toilet Bloggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07433906420454018423noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9073770094251729704.post-42778087180158427052010-01-13T23:50:00.001+00:002010-11-03T19:37:03.535+00:00You Give Them Somewhere to Live and This is How They Repay You...<span style="font-size:85%;"><p>Shortly after<a href="http://ramblingsofatoiletblocker.blogspot.com/2010/01/man-i-feel-like-woman.html"> my masculinity was thrown into question</a> by a mere ladybird my room was invaded by even more of them. Because I now knew their identity I let them go about their business because everyone knows ladybirds are a friendly bunch. The very same day I was on the way to my local Tescos in <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Highgate">Highgate</a> when I came across a massive swarm of them on a street corner. I have never in my life seen such a sight. And it was highly inconvenient - I had to walk on the road to avoid them. I was later informed that there'd been an <a href="http://www.dailymail.co.uk/sciencetech/article-1203866/Ladybird-invasion-Population-explosion-sees-millions-bugs-descend-UK.html">invasion of Asian ladybirds in Britain</a>. I took this information and did nothing with it. A couple of days later I woke up to find at least 13 ladybirds having a snooze at the top of my curtains. I shrugged and left them to it.<br /></p><p>This was in September.<br /></p><p>Come November they were still wandering about and it was getting to the point where I was growing quite fond of them and able to tell some of them apart. I distinctly remember wondering if perhaps there was something wrong with the way my brain was wired.<br /></p><p>Towards the end of November I went to <a href="http://trustedplaces.com/review/uk/london/bar-pub/1723t80/the-wrestlers">The Wrestlers</a> pub with my friend Al who lives down the road. One of the ladybirds decided he wanted to come along and I noticed him wandering about on my scarf and stupidly drew Al's attention to it. I felt a bit embarrassed - I was like the pigeon lady in Mary Poppins but with ladybirds instead of filthy ones. </p><p>Back in my bedroom I accidentally broke one's wings by not seeing it and squashing it with my Johnny Vegas monkey (an excellent boyfriend substitute as his arms are really heavy so you get great hugs without the hassle that would come if he were real). I was in tears because I knew I'd have to put it out of its misery. I was sat there eyes brimming saying out loud, "I'm really sorry, please forgive me" as, after waiting for ten minutes hoping it would recover, I squished it in a tissue. I felt shaken for some time afterwards.</p><p>In December things turned nasty. I started waking up covered in bites and in the most inconvenient places (wrists, ankles etc.). At first I thought it was because I'd had the window open and that mosquitoes had got in. But then I decided it was a bit cold for that. My next thought was that it was bedbugs which quite frankly is my worst nightmare. There's something really grim about the thought of something coming out of your bed and having a feast on your feet whilst you're getting a bit of shut eye. I couldn't work out why they would suddenly start biting though and my sheets were clean so there was something not quite adding up. And as a ladybird wandered past I came to the conclusion that I'd rather it was them biting me than bedbugs.<br /></p><p>Perhaps they were getting me back for the tissue-squishing incident.<br /></p><p>I was told that ladybirds don't bite people but when, two nights after receiving a particular bite, it swelled up ridiculously and I came down with a migraine, dizziness and nausea I thought I should look up ladybird bites on the internet. It turns out that the ladybirds in my room were indeed the Asian ladybirds who've invaded Britain. They're called <a href="http://www.harlequin-survey.org/factfile/concern.htm">Harlequin ladybirds</a> and are known for getting all up in our ladybirds' faces and invading our houses. Word on internet street is that when food runs out they will start to bite humans. This made me happy and sad at the same time: happy that it wasn't bedbugs but sad that the LBs had turned on me. On a whim I put an over-ripe banana out for them and wasn't bitten again. I wonder whether I should be offended that they'd rather eat a bruised piece of fruit than me.<br /></p><p>On Saturday just gone I was taking down my curtains getting ready for my move home and found out that not only do they use the top of the curtains as their bedroom but as their toilet as well. It was COVERED in tiny little poos. They were like minuscule versions of human poos. I felt like I'd found really disgusting treasure. I was quite surprised that over the whole period of their stay with me I never saw any of that yellow stuff they do. Do you remember being little and picking them up and thinking that they'd weed on you? Well I don't know if you know this but apparently that's actually blood - it's their way of playing dead so they don't get eaten.</p><p>I don't know about you but I feel like I've learnt a lot.</p></span>Toilet Bloggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07433906420454018423noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9073770094251729704.post-26317004469338978782010-01-12T23:55:00.001+00:002010-11-03T19:29:10.812+00:00Man, I Feel Like a WomanOn the afternoon of Saturday 19th September 2009 I decided that I am a real man. If my giant turds, excellent DIY and bill paying skills weren't enough my masculinity was soon confirmed after having my ear chewed clean off by at least four hours worth of mindless babble. I sat there thinking to myself this must be how a man feels when a woman just talks at him about things he knows nothing about (i.e. <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Hills">The Hills</a>) and/or has no interest in (i.e. The Hills)*.<br /><br />I didn't know it yet but things were going to turn decidedly feminine.<br /><br />Later that night I was taking a zinc tablet in my bedroom and instead of shaking it out on my hand I instead opted to throw my neck back and chuck it straight in. As my eyes went up to the ceiling I spotted a round, black thing. I wondered what it was, thinking perhaps it was a very large bit of dirt. But then it started moving. At first I thought it was a ladybird but it just seemed too big, especially given how high my ceilings are. And then it appeared to be changing shape - this thing was black and morphing and was definitely no ladybird - and that's when I decided there was undeniably a mutant bug in my room. Suddenly without warning it spread its before hidden wings and took flight landing on the door. It was such an unexpected movement that I squealed and threw my arms up in the air. This would have been much less dramatic had I not been holding a pint mug full of water at the time. I spent the next five or so minutes monitoring its location. Then, shape shifting, it moved to the top of the door and disappeared into the crack between the top and the frame. And then its wings kept appearing - huge and menacing. I was horrified. It was nearly bed time and I couldn't bear to turn off the light with this monster cavorting about the place with potentially enormous teeth and a penchant for human blood. I text <a href="http://twitter.com/VicThompson">Vic</a> asking that if she was awake and not busy could I talk to her because I was having issues. She called straight away concerned that something awful had happened. Not yet Victoria, not yet! I informed her in a screechy, high pitched, decidedly girly manner that there was a peculiar creature in my room. She suggested killing it and although I was tempted I knew I couldn't. I live by the moral code that you shouldn't kill insects (unless they're in pain) even if the one in question is a mini killing machine. I got off the phone and mentally devised a plan of action: I'd wait for it to move away from the door and then run out and get a glass (the mug would not do - keeping an eye on this thing once captured would be vital) to trap it in. I eventually got out of the room and when I returned the unidentified insect was on the picture rail and then I couldn't see it anymore. If there's one thing worse than seeing a UI in your room it's knowing it's there but not being able to see it. I went towards the Sainsbury's bag that was doubling as a bin and noticed the bug was hanging out on it. With the speed of a girl on the verge of heart failure I put the glass over it feeding a Fred Astaire CD inlay underneath to stop any attempts of escape and then I took a closer look. It was only a bloody ladybird wasn't it?! In my defence it was on the yellow side of red and had more spots than is usual. I took it out to the kitchen window and tried to let it out. It wasn't having any of it and decided to stay. At least it was now in the kitchen rather than my bed.<br /><br /><br /><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426018865944759106" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 278px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 188px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdVdjT4Fx6k9Rez4mP0gM1gV5Gf1fFaX1djJMCVLEGJ2yE2hIEVUzlqPCmvlIQzAQhi7DErCFc2VrKkqL4RQSF7lniyAUm3Lhns1T3fT-PuiH3rEX-WBctBpw0Obje53Z9DObc5_saPTI/s320/DSCN3846.JPG" border="0" /><br /><br />I'm not sure what got into me. Perhaps I was brainwashed by all the Hills chat. </p><p><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426018865702170226" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDFq2P9T6t-8xDkOIRz2ndrVQ28OibyDnfa4JnRfHuCUPUdKnrWzjE1c1GLkBar6SIJquBDxBmE3BSg10kXRYv-PdPtd4rx5kbawDKisEQpw-WrCnfTDA15PPwakYKucMf7nKtApHGkXU/s320/DSCN3845.JPG" border="0" /><br /></p>There have been various times when I've been called upon to remove creepy crawlies from the vicinity of real girls. There was the time in halls when I had a frantic call from my friend Nikki to come over to her block to get rid of an insect. I patronisingly rolled my eyes and shook my head feeling a sense of purpose as I wandered over. I saw it and I have to admit I was worried. We had no idea what it was - it looked like something out of Jurassic Park. Although I was pretty scared given its size and dinosaur-esqueness I covered it with Tupperware. Imprisonment, I feel, is as as good as getting something out of a building. At least you know where it is and it can't come crawling back to pounce on you when you least expect it. We went back to look at it a bit later and it had turned into two of the same prehistoric bug!! After that freakish behaviour there was absolutely no way I was going near it. We found out quite some time later that one of the boys had found another one and put it in with the other one. We were sure it was an alien that had multiplied all by itself and was planning to take over the world. We also found out later that it was actually a <a href="http://www.stjohntalk.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2008/04/740px-maybug.jpg">may bug</a>** and not the end of the world as we knew it.<br /><br />So that wasn't the best example of my manliness but what about these?...<br /><br />Once when living in a student house I refused to wash a massive house spider down the plug hole and he lived in our bath for a bit. I named him Archibald and I was quite upset when he left. (I'm under the impression he was actually murdered by one of my housemates.)<br /><br /><br />When I finished university I did a week's dance course in a London studio and found what I thought was a dung beetle on the toilet floor. I couldn't have found it in a more appropriate place. I wanted to take it to the zoo in case it had escaped but it had been crushed a little bit by the door so I decided to take it with me to nurse it back to health. I did this by sitting it on a bit of cucumber. It didn't work so I laid him to rest in a friend's garden. This same friend stamped on my dreams by informing me it was not a dung beetle but a stag beetle so probably not a zoo fugitive.<br /><br />I feel I have now restored your faith in my masculinity. If I haven't then I happily challenge you to a duel. Yes I am indeed a medieval man.<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426018874602165442" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6LN3Smubi6z7tN-bNMwKAlpbhbhHyiAU1YnUwdbQkE78MjfGxSQWPRptkExTls_7Vvh72k_wV_578aM5TRwt6jzTAm99U7CpAlAD_yNAKTsQA2jX4_AIKEitkNvOj0UxY6WcQGOspp8w/s320/DSCN3850.JPG" border="0" /><br />* Since I wrote this (N.B. I wrote it a while ago but have only just got round to posting it) I have met two men (straight) who love The Hills. It appears I am more of a man than a man.<br /><br />**Writing this I learnt that a may bug's official name is a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cockchafer">cockchafer</a>. I wonder why this is - a masturbation experiment gone wrong perhaps?Toilet Bloggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07433906420454018423noreply@blogger.com2