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Monthly Archives: April 2012

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).

At some point, probably while I was sleeping or shopping in Reiss for the 1337th time this year, the world slipped off it’s axis and jiggled things around a bit. Nothing serious…Shannon Matthews’ mum hasn’t become head of Social Services or anything…but something’s definitely changed.

Men have become women. And not good ones. Full-blown, whiney, likely to secretly snip holes in a condom women.

There are many occasions on which this has been brought to my attention recently…all of which make me long for the days when a man would barely look up from his corned beef sandwich if his wife had dragged her bloodied stump of a body in from the kitchen after a nasty meat cleaver accident before heading back to the mines. All also make me lose any sort of interest in ever interacting with the opposite sex and make me question whether morphing into a clingy fruitbat has become the lifestyle version of the LBD.

For starters, it seems we’ve all been so focused on making sure girls stop tearing one another into shreds that we forgot to mention it to the males. Nowadays, if I hear any gossip or snidey remarks – it’s from men, it’s always completely wrong and it normally revolves around girls. Of late, women have realised there are much more interesting topics to discuss than whether Claire’s got a fanny like a packet of ham…whereas men have grabbed it with both balls and actually begun working it into their pick-up attempts. Last week on a night out with some friends, a bloke who’d first approached me to say I looked arrogant, then went on to tell me off for being abrupt and suggested I “say something nice, or gimme a compliment” to rectify the situation. When I responded by giving him my best deadpan expression he asked if my beauty spot was real while poking my face and then assured me I wasn’t to worry because he’d still bang me. Dripping at the thought.

Along with this is the sudden influx of men we shall call ‘limpets’. For years, guys have laughed about the utter cling-ons they’ve encountered. The sort of women who sleep with them after six too many Blue WKDs, leave the next morning and text within minutes to say “I never normally do that lol! but it was really fun, are you free tomorrow?” followed by “not sure if you got my last txt, fone’s playing up lol. U free tomorrow?” and then “WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU? WHAT DID I DO?” However……..the girls are learning. Sure, there are still some out there who aren’t quite on the ticket but now it’s the guys you can’t get rid of.

A friend of mine received a text yesterday with the sentence – “Just letting you know I’m alive! What are you up to?” followed up by no less than ELEVEN further texts…without her responding once. If women so much as double text, a round-robin telegram’s sent to anyone the recipient might know declaring her mentally unstable. And this isn’t the only example…it’s a very regular occurrence in the lives of my friends and I. When I split up with my partner of nearly 5 years, one of our so-called best friends sent me a baffling photo of his manhood less than a week later so I (obviously) cut contact. Last week I received a text from him and upon failing to get a response, just a mere 20 minutes later he sent a barrage of “What’s your problem?!” messages.

Lastly…men have now decided the outdoors-y thing’s just far too messy. Tell a man you want to go camping, hiking, bike-riding etc nowadays and watch them scrunch their noses up and recoil as though they’d just watched you drag yourself out of a badger den; “Why would you want to, like, get cold? You don’t have to pretend you like that you know, I’m all up for luxury”. Oh thank goodness…yes, when said I wanted to escape the city for fun in the countryside what I really meant was book me an hour with my face stuck in a hole while a woman called Mimi pummels my thighs and ruins my fake tan.

I went rock-pooling and crab-fishing while back at home this weekend. I went on an 8 mile hike. And I also had a lads night with some of the loveliest blokes I could wish to spend my time with who didn’t once rip into me or anyone else, but then again, Dover’s always a little bit behind with current trends. This blog’s obviously a huge generalisation…but recent events really have caused me to worry. Forget the Ebola virus, Boots pharmacy can sort that. THIS is a real epidemic.