Imagine if you will, a happy little giraffe who’s just discovered a butterfly and decides to chase after it. Then imagine while it’s galloping around a meadow of clover and while birds sing in the background…that a GIGANTIC DEMOLITION BALL TAKES IT’S LEGS OUT.
The giraffe gets up, but it’s really bloody annoyed because now it’s got bruised ribs, looked really stupid, lost the butterfly and more than anything, would quite like to know where the chuffing hell the demolition ball came from.
I’m the giraffe.
And the demolition ball is everything slightly rubbish that’s happened in the last week or so.
As some of you might have seen on Twitter, following a jolly evening at The Ship in Wandsworth, I was making my way to the station as a slightly worse for wear homeless gentleman approached me for change. Smiling apologetically I explained I didn’t have any…so he responded by calling me “an ugly c*nt”, grasped my arm, then my arse, and declared “no-one’s going to f*ck you anyway you ugly bitch.”
Point one: It was dark. I could have looked like Susan Boyle’s anal abscess and he wouldn’t have known. (She might not have an anal abscess, I’m sure Cowell makes sure she keeps a very tidy back entrance nowadays. This is purely for the purpose of the story).
Point two: Earlier on in the day some gimpy Dappy lookalike had shouted “f*cking flat arse” at me repeatedly as I walked down Croydon highstreet because I continued my phonecall rather than answer his question of “what’s your BBM babe?”, so this was my second dose of abuse in less than 8 hours.
Point three: Having your pockets lined with silver has no bearing on your sex life. My Grandad’s sister was minted but I’m pretty sure she passed away without once rolling like thunder under the covers (she had a squint, looked like Postman Pat and spoke at a pitch so high you wondered why she was permanently screaming at you).
Anyway, after wrenching my arm free I was rescued by two of my unbelievably tall friends and cried for what felt like 7 and a half years. I’d lost about 3 fake eyelashes and looked like a puffa fish, but got home safe and sound without needing to call Crimewatch, so ultimately ended the evening as a champion amongst women. My housemates also thought of about 3682 different hilariously cutting comebacks so was able to go to sleep safe in the knowledge I live with people who are really useful to have around once a crisis has come, gone and been discussed repeatedly.
Aside from this, last week’s blog post caused a mini uproar. I was told off for being unfeminine, men-bashing and including information that certain accquaintances in my past weren’t aware of. As someone who’s quite shy in person and socially conscious to the point of occasionally not wanting to breathe in case it’s considered impolite, Twitter and a blog is the best way I can say what I want comfortably. Luckily, I also had some genuinely lovely comments from women and men..along with a bizarre yet useful comment on how to stop the Ebola virus spreading so it wasn’t entirely terrible.
To conclude, for the moment a lot of my posts will probably revolve around abuse from strangers, dating (or lack of) and train journeys. They’ll also be blunt and rude. If any of that doesn’t work for you then that’s fine, just please don’t tweet me about it. I’m a little bit busy galloping around and preparing for the next demolition ball to give a flying f*ck (apologies…that was ever so unfeminine).