Thursday, 29 October 2009


Judge me for being snobby and ungrateful for this viewpoint if you will, but I believe the majority of women feel the same way.

I think it’s about time I justified my hatred of carnations. Christ I hate these flowers so much. They’re cheap and nasty, used as a cheap way to bulk out a bouquet. It's not so much the appearance of the flower as the sentiments that it has come to represent that I dislike.

When my Grandma died and I chose the flowers, I made sure any carnations in the arrangements were replaced with white roses. (If anyone puts carnations in my funeral flowers, I’m coming back to haunt you.) I would never give my grandmother anything I considered to be so awfully half-hearted.

That’s exactly what they are – the half-hearted option. If you’re going to buy someone flowers, you should buy ones that look the nicest – isn’t that the whole point? It’s the difference between giving someone a box of chocolates and giving them a giving someone a puppy and giving them a mouldy rat. One is noticeably, and widely recognised as cheaper and less thoughtful than the other.

You give someone flowers to show that you care, you give them carnations to show that you want to look like you care… but not enough to spend more than a fiver, or, to consider the preferences of the person they're for.

I’m just stating the facts, yo.

Edit: Ok, so I found some quite nice pictures of carnations whilst looking for a pictures to go with this post. I have decided that these statements apply to the cheapy carnations that you most often find. I'm sure that like everything, if done well they're OK. (But I still hate them.)

Wednesday, 28 October 2009

Monday, 26 October 2009

Happy Second Birthday, Blog!

This blog is officially 2 years old today. I'm beginning to wonder if it's a good or a bad thing that I've been posting this rhubarb for such a long time, but either way, I've enjoyed it.

Who knows what the terrible twos may bring!

Sunday, 25 October 2009

Daylight Ranting

I love the chaos that is daylight savings. Our clocks went back last night, and everyone I knew seemed to be incredibly confused, even the people that should know better – and even the old people.

I could understand the confusion if it changed all the time, but the fact is that it’s the same, bi-annually:
  • It is always either forward or backward 1 hour.
  • "Spring – forward, fall (autumn) – back."
  • It is always between the hours of 1am and 2am.
The same. Every time. Why can’t people grasp this? Why are people still showing up an hour early for work?

And no, your 5-years-old piece-of-shit phone probably won’t automatically update itself. If that’s too confusing for you, then set two alarms, you utter moron.

Saturday, 24 October 2009


I wish I lived in the 70s. I really fucking wish I lived in the 70s.

At the moment, anyway. I got through phases of wanting to live in other eras - any era but the current one, usually. The 80s is so 2 years ago. The 60s is always an option.

I'm pretty sure the 70s obsession stems from equal parts Woody Allen, Diane Keaton, Paul McCartney's beard, and Cabaret.

The 00s are utterly craptastic. People use the word craptastic. That's how shockingly craptastic it is. No one has any tact, class or mystery anymore. It was all down-hill from the 80s - legwarmers and shoulder pads suffocated the western world.

We communicate too much, and yet are unable to handle social situations. We are told what to wear, and yet will still all look like crap. We lose.

If there's some sort of taxi service that is actually secretly a time machine service, then now would be a good time to let me know.

Friday, 23 October 2009

Awesome Parrot

The Mouse's Tale

Fury said to a mouse,
That he met in the
house, 'Let us
both go to law:
I will prosecute
you.-- Come, I'll
take no denial;

We must have
a trial: For
really this
morning I've
nothing to do.'
Said the mouse
to the cur,

'Such a trial,
dear Sir, With
no jury or
judge, would
be wasting
our breath.'

'I'll be
judge, I'll
be jury,'
Said cunning
old Fury:

'I'll try
the whole
cause, and

-- Lewis Carroll

I love the underlying sense that life is utterly pointless.

Thursday, 22 October 2009

How Quaint

The word ‘quaint’ is used in modern English as an adjective meaning, "attractively or agreeably unusual… pleasingly old-fashioned", and also meaning "Cunning, ingenious; elaborate and elegant".

‘Quaint’ stems from the French word ‘cointier’ meaning ‘to know’. It is known by its aphetic form: ‘acquaint’.

The oldest recorded use of ‘quaint’, you might be perverted excited to know, uses it as a noun for a lady garden. It is still used with this meaning in the altered form of the (very naughty) 'C-word'.

Etymology is interesting.

Wednesday, 21 October 2009


Which sentimental Beatles'(ish) song is better?

Oh My Love - John Lennon

Maybe I'm Amazed - Paul McCartney

My vote's swaying more towards Paul, only because Yoko pissed me off around that time, but they're both bitchin'.

Monday, 19 October 2009

Overheard #23

Girl #1: Tell you what though, I had a really vivid dream about giving birth last night.
Girl #2: Did you wake up with a baby in your bed?

Liveblogging: Lovehearts

Ok, so I just opened a pack of Lovehearts, and the first one said 'Hard Luck'. Wtf?

I'll be updating you on this story as it develops.

2. Kiss
3. Lucky Day
4. Smile
5. Be Mine
6. My Boy
7. Beastiality

Ok, so I lied about the last one, but I was getting bored with the sentimental shite.


I recently found this letter/list a woman had written to her 20-year-old self. As a 20-year-old, I would bloody love to get a letter from myself in the past, if only to let me know that everything's OK.

Dear Danielle at 20:

  1. Algebra really is useless.
  2. Credit cards are mostly evil.
  3. Talk is cheap.
  4. If he doesn't stay until morning, he's probably married or deeply insecure.
  5. There is no soul mate. I know, this is particularly hard news to take because you are longing for The One 24-7. But, guess what, The One is The One because you say he/she is. And that's way more liberating and empowering than anything preordained or supposedly destined.
  6. And while we're 'dising cosmic romanticism - there's no such thing as destiny. Life really is what you make it.
  7. Tragedy happens. Yes, everything happens for a reason, but life can be cruel and wrenching and while it all comes out in the cosmic wash, some souls collide and mistakes do happen.
  8. Louise Hay is a magnificent woman, but there is more to the machinations of life, illness, and cosmology than the simple explanations offered by You Can Heal Your Life. Cancer is not necessarily a result of repressed guilt, and you may not necessarily choose to heal your life this time around - that's okay. Illness doesn't make you a New Age Loser.
  9. Diplomacy is overrated.
  10. If your boss tries to french kiss you, it's out of bounds.
  11. Only lend books if you don't want them back.
  12. Go to more concerts.
  13. If you don't kiss girls in your twenties, you'll probably never get around to trying it out. You should try it out.
  14. You're right - kindness is one of the most powerful natural resources there is...infinitely renewable.
  15. Your feelings are exceedingly more useful than your ability to rationalize your fears or other people's poor behaviour.
  16. Your heart...your heart...your heart is where it's at.
  17. When you turn 40, you shall be rocking like never before, grateful for absolutely everything, and you will finally, finally feel like earth is home...for the most part.
Ok, so some of it I'm not up for, but anyway, the concept's there. It made me wonder whether or not I should write a letter to my 10-year-old self, or my 40-year-old self... but then I realised I didn't have a time machine so it all seemed a bit pointless. Also, if I get a letter saying that I'm a 40-year-old hot mess, I'd be a tad disheartened.

Saturday, 17 October 2009


Ok, so I've narrowed my costume choice down to one of three options.

Scuba dog, baby lobster, or behatted guinea pig?


I was considering Halloween costumes (it’s only 2 weeks away!) and I the only conclusion I came to was that I’m a transvestite.

All the good costumes are men. Fo shiz.

If you’re a girl you’ve got a handful of choices, all of which involve 90% nudity. Don’t get me wrong, I’m no prude, but there’s a possibility that I will be working in the perviest pub in town whilst wearing this costume, so I need to be as covered as possible. In fact, I might go as a nun.

To give myself some ideas and to remind myself of what I like, I took to my facebook and itunes. I know – sad isn’t it? Most people I like I have already dressed as. The remaining idols are a bit more tricky…

Woody Allen - … is a man.
Iggy Pop – Would fundamentally involve being topless.
Lou Reed - … is a man.
Ringo Starr - … is a man.
Jim Morrisson – Would fundamentally involve being topless.
Freddie Mercury - … is a man.
Jack the Ripper – …was a vagina mangler, and do I really need the hassle?

Everyone else I could think of was just basically stupid. I don’t want to have to explain to idiots who I’m dressed up as – you should know who Siouxie Sioux is, dickhead!

If I completely run out of ideas, I'm going as Edie Sedgwick, and no one can stop me!! ... Oh wait... That would involve being topless.

Friday, 16 October 2009

Thursday, 15 October 2009

Wednesday, 14 October 2009

Kettle Surprise

Why don't you...
Put the kettle on

Because surprise tea is the best kind of tea.

Overheard #22

Bloke: I was once with a girl who wanted me to wee on her... but I said I couldn't go when people are looking.

Tuesday, 13 October 2009

Chanson des Escargots Qui Vont à L’Enterrement

(The song of the snails who are going to a funeral)

A l'enterrement d'une feuille morte
Deux escargots s'en vont
Ils ont la coquille noire
Du crêpe autour des cornes
Ils s'en vont dans le soir
Un très beau soir d'automne
Hélas quand ils arrivent
C'est déjà le printemps
Les feuilles qui étaient mortes
Sont toutes réssucitées
Et les deux escargots
Sont très désappointés
Mais voila le soleil
Le soleil qui leur dit
Prenez prenez la peine
La peine de vous asseoir
Prenez un verre de bière
Si le coeur vous en dit
Prenez si ça vous plaît
L'autocar pour Paris
Il partira ce soir
Vous verrez du pays
Mais ne prenez pas le deuil
C'est moi qui vous le dit
Ça noircit le blanc de l'oeil
Et puis ça enlaidit
Les histoires de cercueils
C'est triste et pas joli
Reprenez vous couleurs
Les couleurs de la vie
Alors toutes les bêtes
Les arbres et les plantes
Se mettent a chanter
A chanter a tue-tête
La vrai chanson vivante
La chanson de l'été
Et tout le monde de boire
Tout le monde de trinquer
C'est un très joli soir
Un joli soir d'été
Et les deux escargots
S'en retournent chez eux
Ils s'en vont très émus
Ils s'en vont très heureux
Comme ils ont beaucoup bu
Ils titubent un petit peu
Mais la haut dans le ciel
La lune veille sur eux.

-- Jacques Prévert

This is a lovely French poem/song, I will try and translate it but I'm not sure I can do it justice.

On their way to a leaf's funeral
Two snails go
They have black shells
And black veils on their horns
They go in the evening
A very beautiful evening in autumn
Unfortunately when they arrive
It’s spring again
The leaves which are dead
Are all resuscitated
And the two snails
And very disappointed
But here’s the sun
The sun which said
Please take the trouble
Make the effort to sit
Take a glass of beer
If your heart wishes
Take if you wish
The bus to Paris
It leaves tonight
You will see the country
But do not mourn
I am telling you
It blackens the white of the eye
And then it is ugly
The histories of the coffins
Is sad and not pretty
Take your colours
The colours of life
All the animals
The trees and the plants
Begin to sing
To sing very loudly
The true song of life
The song of summer
And all the world drinks
Everybody drinks
It’s a very pretty evening
A pretty evening in summer
And the two snails
Return home
They go very moved
They go very happy
Like they have drank a lot
They stagger a little
But high in the sky
The moon watches over them.

Monday, 12 October 2009

Sunday, 11 October 2009



Either I'm psychic, or it was really, really obvious.

"I hope he doesn’t keel over and die during his tour, but if he does, hopefully in a hundred years his music will still be around but people will have forgotten what a freaky old bastard he is."

Saturday, 10 October 2009

Eye Of The Donkey

A while ago, Fergus said that he wouldn’t love me if I had a beard. To be fair, I probably shouldn’t have directly asked the question, and also he was joking, but anyway, it made me think.

It’s easy enough to say that you love someone so much that it’s regardless of what they look like, but I don’t believe that that is ever entirely true. What if they put on 50 stone? What if they were decapitated but still alive? What if they turned into a donkey? Here’s a more likely one… what if they changed gender?

Would you change yourself because of this, for example, by buying really strong furniture, buying lots of massive hats, or pursuing bestiality or homo/heterosexuality? People think it's pessimistic to say that love is conditional: of course it's conditional, everything is. How about the condition of not being a murderous, slovenly 8-day-old caterpillar? Yeah, I thought as much.

Is there a sliding scale? Do I need to draw some sort of graph, starting at maybe ‘has a particularly bad spot’ to ‘goes bald’ and then to ‘is turned completely inside out and bright green’? If so, are women generally more willing to go higher up the scale than men? Why? What if it was only you that could see this change, and to everyone else they looked normal?

It’s the “Does my bum look big in this?” for the 21st century:
“Would you love me if I were a putrid, mouldy slug?” and the answer, if you care enough, should always be, “I’d try”.

I'm aware that none of that made sense.

Friday, 9 October 2009


This reeks of plagiarism.

Get it On - T.Rex: Released 1971

Cigarettes & Alcohol - Oasis: Released 1994

Thursday, 8 October 2009


You may be aware that I work in a pub. You may be aware that I enjoy sleeping.

These two facts tend to conflict, as when I work evenings (which is most shifts), I rarely get home before 2am, and can be home as late as 3am, or even later. I don't mind this - I'm wiling to accept that it's one of the many negative aspects of my job. I prefer to be awake at night, anyway, I'm really not a morning person.

However, this does mean that usually I am going to bed at anytime between 3am and 4.30am (I draw the line at 5am), and as a result I don't tend to get up until 12/1ish. If I'm at university, I might have work until 2am and have to be at university for 9am until 1 or 2pm. In this case I would sleep in the day when I get back from university, and then wake up around 4pm and go to work.

Now, I'm no mathematician, but I know that you're supposed to get 8-9 hours of sleep a night. I have found from experience that I actually need more like 10 hours to not feel tired, but the chances to get that much sleep are few and far between.

If I go to sleep at 3am and wake up at 12pm, I have had 9 hours sleep. This is the same as if I had gone to bed at 10pm and woken up at 7am, or if I had gone to sleep at 12am and woken up at 9am - all acceptable amounts of time to sleep, which can be altered depending on your routine.

The problem occurs when people notice that I'm getting up after midday, and assume that I'm a lazy bitch. Yes, I might be in my pajamas at 3pm, but I've still only had 6 hours sleep, you judgemental bastards. I can assure you, this lazy bitch works fucking hard. I'm not saying no one else does, but let me get the recommended amount of sleep without being judged by someone who has no idea what that kind of working pattern is like.

Monday, 5 October 2009

Family Conversation

So, I've concluded that my family is made up of several segments, as I'm sure everyone else's is. I have my mum's side, who are all relatively normal apart from being particularly short and loud. I spent most of my time with this part of the family growing up. You may have noticed.

I also have my Dad's side which is split into the 'well-to-do' and then the 'rough-as-fuck' halves. I recently spent some time with the latter. During this time there was copious amounts of drinking, swearing, and generally seeing who could offend/gross everyone out the most. I have made a graph to show the trend of conversation in my family when consuming alcohol.

There we have it. I do love my family.

I think the graph for my mum's side would have to have an axis dedicated to decibels. It's like drinking with a load of bloody dolphins after a while.

Sunday, 4 October 2009

Saturday, 3 October 2009

Overheard #21

Student: Really? Well, apparently you haven't been on!

Friday, 2 October 2009


Playboy Magazine: Mistake or not, what made you decide to go the rock-'n'-roll route?

Bob Dylan: Carelessness. I lost my one true love. I started drinking. The first thing I know, I'm in a card game. Then I'm in a crap game. I wake up in a pool hall. Then this big Mexican lady drags me off the table, takes me to Philadelphia. She leaves me alone in her house, and it burns down. I wind up in Phoenix. I get a job as a Chinaman. I start working in a dime store, and move in with a 13-year-old girl. Then this big Mexican lady from Philadelphia comes in and burns the house down. I go down to Dallas. I get a job as a "before" in a Charles Atlas "before and after" ad. I move in with a delivery boy who can cook fantastic chili and hot dogs. Then this 13-year-old girl from Phoenix comes and burns the house down. The delivery boy - he ain't so mild: He gives her the knife, and the next thing I know I'm in Omaha. It's so cold there, by this time I'm robbing my own bicycles and frying my own fish. I stumble onto some luck and get a job as a carburetor out at the hot-rod races every Thursday night. I move in with a high school teacher who also does a little plumbing on the side, who ain't much to look at, but who's built a special kind of refrigerator that can turn newspaper into lettuce. Everything's going good until that delivery boy shows up and tries to knife me. Needless to say, he burned the house down, and I hit the road. The first guy that picked me up asked me if I wanted to be a star. What could I say?

Playboy Magazine: And that's how you became a rock-'n'-roll singer?

Bob Dylan: No, that's how I got tuberculosis.

Thursday, 1 October 2009


Everything I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten
  • Share Everything.
  • Play Fair.
  • Don't hit People.
  • Put things back where you found them.
  • Clean up your own mess.
  • Don't take things that aren't yours.
  • Say you're sorry when you hurt somebody.
  • Wash your hands before you eat.
  • Flush.
  • Warm cookies and cold milk are good for you.
  • Live a balanced life - learn some and think some and draw and plant and sing and dance and play and work every day some.
  • Take a nap every afternoon.
  • When you go out into the world, watch out for traffic,
  • hold hands, and stick together.
  • Be aware of wonder.
-- Robert Fulghum, 1986