Cake, Trains and Awkwardness

If you are reading this blog then I think a massive congratulations is in order because you have managed to stick with my boring blog for another day. As a reward, I'm going to try and make this blog a little bit more 'exciting' or at least bearable and don't worry, your very own imaginary medal is on its way to you.

I didn't think jet lag was possible with only a five-hour time difference but apparently it is. As much as I told my body that it was not cool to wake up at 7.20am, I was wide awake, with a complimentary winter cold courtesy of a passenger on my British Airways flight. See, not all complimentary services on airlines are fun. Feeling icky, I hunted for paracetamol in the black hole that is currently my luggage before finally settling back down for a few more hours kip.

Eventually woke up at half ten and grabbed a yoghurt for breakfast and a throat lozenge. I finally managed to get connected with my beloved Facebook and message my friends which made me a lot happier before speaking to my Mum and Dad on the phone. Then, we made plans to sign the contract for my flat, get a SIM card for my phone and buy new straighteners and hairdryer because my own couldn't heat a slice of bread. Stupid, unnecessary expense and voltage. Pfft.

So, wrapped up to the absolute max, with a T-Shirt, jumper, fleece and winter coat, we ventured outside and I can safely say that the volume of snow is unbelievable. There are cars just covered in the stuff so they look like little snow houses (whatever they are) and the paths are slippy too (naturally). Sadly, I found this out the hard way because to my horror, I slipped and fell not once but twice. Luckily, my cousin and his flatmate were the only ones to see but how horrifically embarrassing it was and on my first day. However, I have accepted that it was probably the first of many and I'm hoping I can develop ninja skills to avoid falling for life. Or at least get a reasonable sense of balance.

Eventually, after what seemed like a trek across the Himalayas, we made it to the office of the agency who's organising and letting my apartment, which in itself was a tiny top-level apartment, whereby the only access to it was up a very steep set of metal stairs. As I think back now when I looked at it, I'm surprised my life didn't flash before my eyes because this was the definition of lethality and it looked and felt like a ladder. Taking the plunge (or not) I made it up okay but I was conscious of the fact that I wasn't out of the woods yet because I would have to go back down them in a few moments. I managed to sign the contract for my flat and set a time of 4.00pm to move in on Tuesday, allowing enough time to hopefully recover from a boozy night from before. Then, I had to tackle the stairs again. When you're going down something precarious, you often take it slowly at first but then as you get closer to safety, you rush down the stairs and that's when the accidents happen. With this in mind, I probably went at the speed of a drunken snail down these steps but I made it down, with every bone in my body still intact. Now, got to touch wood for the rest of the exchange period now. I'm quite superstitious you see...

Then, we went across the road to 'Fido', a mobile network service and got my SIM card for my phone. Now, as I have had the pleasure to discover things about Canada, the first thing is that you get nothing for free here. And they have crazy laws, legislation and in general, ways of doing things. My first brush with this was when I found out I have to pay to RECEIVE calls, which, to be quite honest is just mental to me. I mean, could you imagine paying everytime you got a PPI call at home? I don't think so. With this in mind, I got an unlimited package, which is actually more expensive than what I was paying at home, which brings me to my next point. I thought Canada was going to be cheap like America but oh no, don't be silly, it is WAY more expensive. So, I think the dollar shops will be my favourite haunts here (Oh, they exist).

We then decided to catch a Metro at the Mont Royale station and go to Atwater. The metro stations are the main way to get around Montreal and are very similar to the Glasgow Subway except it looks more aesthetically pleasing and it didn't smell like piss. Luxurious, I know. The metro is incredibly fast. You literally get ten seconds to get on the train before the doors close on you, which might sound a bit harsh but it means they are actually incredibly punctual and efficient. The trains also have wheels on them which I found amusing, the reason being so that the ride is a bit smoother for passengers. The advertisements on the Metro are hilarious too, with Viagra and Sex Shops being splayed all over posters for the whole world and his mum to see. No shame. We got off at the main metro station, lovingly known as 'Berri' before switching lines and getting on another metro. A good thing about Montreal is how cheap their Transport System is to use, especially with it being so good. When we got off, I didn't know what was at Atwater but when we got off the train and went through some double doors, we were suddenly in a shopping mall. All was well until my cousin lovingly described it as Montreal's Savoy Centre (if you know what I mean).

However, I feel that this was an unfair analogy as it wasn't anywhere near as bad as all those dingy little stalls in the Savoy Centre. Another thing in Montreal, is that all the shops have an English equivalent and you can compare. For example, the shop that I went into to get my new hairdryer and straighteners was the equivalent of a Woolworths. I was quite impressed with the price of my new hair-styling attire and then that's when the sad thing that is the sales tax they add afterwards was added to the bill. It makes me so sad seeing what was a bargain become an expensive item, which made me wave goodbye to approximately C$100 of unbudgeted funds. Very sad.

We then went to IGA, which is like a supermarket chain similar to Tesco or Sainsbury's, except it is so much more expensive and the fruit and vegetables must be genetically modified because onions are roughly the size of babies' heads. We did a bit of grocery shopping where I discovered that Canada do have Fajitas, unlike I had been informed. Over the moon does not even describe my feelings.

Before heading back home, we went to a small Chinese patisserie, which sold cheap cakes. As you can imagine, instantly, we were sold and sat down with a cake and coffee (although I obviously didn't have any coffee because I consider it quite rank). I had this bun with a cherry on top and inside was roughly a whole jar of strawberry jam. It was very nom.

We then headed for the Metro to go home and got off at a stop called Place Des Arts where all the art galleries are situated and the art festivals are held in summer. This was by far the prettiest area I had been in so far and you could see the skyscrapers in the distance. It was lovely. We got on the 80 bus which was included in the metro ticket price (hence the value for money) and got back to the apartment.

Now, the worse thing about wrapping up to the max to brave the elements is when you are inside, you feel hotter than the sun. Sweating like a bitch doesn't even cover it, it was disgusting. And my hair... it was like Kate Bush, it was out to my shoulders and curly and frizzy. So, jumping into the shower was the best thing ever and as soon as I had straightened my hair, I felt like an Amy again. Fabulous.

We had Fajitas for dinner (which were so fucking good, I can't even tell you) and then we sat back and watched the lovely film, Black Swan, which is not exactly a sit down with the family and enjoy sort of film. All was well and good until the masturbation and lesbian sex scenes come on. No matter who you are with, it's fecking awkward. Then, we watched Sex and the City, which had vibrators in it and then the commercials had vibrators too and it was just awful, I wanted to curl up in a ball and die. Too many vibrators...

So, I think with that in mind, Canada and me are going to get along fine as we both obviously do not have any shame. Excellent!

Bonjour Montreal!

Bonjour from Montreal! Finally, I now have the opportunity to sit down and blog about my first proper day here in this wonderful, albeit snowy city before I forget all the details. Currently, I'm unable to post pictures but I will endeavour to do so on Tuesday, when I move into my OWN apartment (super mega adult mode activated).

So, where do I begin? Well, as the immortal Julie Andrews once said, the beginning is a very good place to start (and I think I just out-camped myself there, bravo).

After spending a wonderful, sordid four hours sleeping in my own bed for the last time, I was rudely awakened at 5.50am by my alarm and had my last ever Scottish shower, which I felt had to be noted. I'm not sure if other people do this when they go on holiday or what not but I actually went upstairs said 'Goodbye' to my bedroom out loud. I can't really decide if that's mental or not but it felt right. It's the little things in life...

We all left the house at 7am and drove to the airport and a strange occurrence happened on the way there, when 'Good Riddance' by Green Day came on the radio. Never have those lyrics been so apt and appropriate. It was like some weird, divine intervention sort of thing. We arrived at the airport and checked in before heading up to just outside security where the time came to bid farewell to my family. I'm not even lying when I say it was absolute horrific, everyone was crying, even the boys! Seriously, between my mother and myself, wet floor signs were probably placed and a mop needed after we had left. Somehow, I managed to leave them behind though and head through security before buying a few bottles of water and a necessary, obligatory puzzle book from WHSmith.

Now, one thing about flying from Glasgow to London is that you don't get much time to roam about in the Duty Free, which was quite sad although, from another perspective, it was crazy how efficient it was. All in all, the flight down to London Heathrow was superb, the only thing that happened was that the plane dipped for about two seconds and I genuinely thought that we were either going to crash, or if it happened again, I would die of a heart attack because mine's was racing. This was made worse by the fact that I was playing Temple Run and I do this bizarre, stupid thing when I play it, where I bet myself that if I don't get above a certain score, something bad will happen, which then turns up the pressure and usually gets me through. For some reason, I decided to tempt fate by saying if I didn't get above a million, the plane would crash. Why my scumbag of a brain decided to think this up, I don't know. But I will never do it again. Idiot.

I arrived at Heathrow and made it straight into Terminal 5... which was one of the coolest things I've ever seen. It was like a shopping mall. You had your WHSmith, Boots, then you sort of worked your way up, past souvenirs and Duty Free to the really high end shops, such as Gucci and Prada. Needless to say, I did not venture into these shops because I looked exactly like Oscar the Grouch from Sesame Street, minus the bin. I roamed for a bit as I had a good three hours to kill before my connecting flight to Montreal and then 12pm hit which meant lunchtime. I went upstairs I was confronted with the worst dilemma I've come across in a while. Wagamama's or Giraffe. Genuinely, I walked between them about five times, deciding which one to go to. I was surprised I wasn't accosted by security and taken for questioning because I must have looked suspicious. It was a hard call but at the end of the day, I decided on Giraffe. Now, at first, I felt a bit pathetic asking for a table for one, until you're suddenly front of the queue and shown to your table immediately. After that, I soon forget about being on my lonesome and celebrated the solitude with a diet coke (I actually typed 'cock' there, thought you all oughta know that). After some Chicken Popsticks and a weird combination of Mac n' Cheese with tortilla chips (I regretted that choice afterwards, the burger sounded so much better), I got a seat somewhere and relaxed before getting a tram to my boarding gate and boarded my flight.

The flight to Montreal was amazing and went surprisingly quick. The in-flight entertainment was impeccable, with The Big Bang Theory, How I Met Your Mother, Michael McIntyre's Comedy Roadshow, Inception and Brave all getting nommed. The meals were actually decent too. And I got a snooze, which never happens on a plane. Ever.

Finally, after seven hours, we touched down in Montreal and I have to say, seeing all the city lights from the sky got me all excited and buzzing in general. My first contact with the cold was when I noticed the access corridor from the plane to the terminal was frozen and covered with ice. I can't say that was a great sign of things to come.

I think I have bored everyone now which this overly long and unnecessary blog about airports. Sorry! Part two coming to a screen near you soon!

Au Revoir Ecosse...

Well now, it's currently 01.06 on the morning of the 28th December and I'm about to begin my biggest adventure yet. And I'm terrified. And excited. But mostly terrified...

So, in the true spirit of goodbyes, I sort of want to blog a farewell to all my family and friends that I am having to sadly leave behind in Scotland. It's going to sound slightly like an Oscar Acceptance Speech so I would get comfortable.

I hate leaving all my family and friends behind, adventures are all well and good but it's nicer to share them with someone. If I could take all of you with me to Canada, I would in a heartbeat but unfortunately TARDIS Suitcases have yet to be invented (definitely a potential niche to invest into though).

Firstly, to my Sainsbury's buddies, who have been the best work colleagues I've ever had the pleasure to work with, it's been fun moaning about customers and joking around and I have loved working with all of you. However, I can't deny that the thrill of never having to be on Self Scans again is utterly fantastic and I have to be honest and say I will not miss that part of it.

To Facebook friends who've had to put up with constantly moaning about the snow or posting something Montreal - related. I'm just going to apologise now. Sadly, I'm a drama Queen by nature so I can't promise I'll ever stop complaining but I will be sure to reduce the frequency of my posts in the future to give your eyes a rest.

To Fraser Shaw, who deserves a massive chocolate medal for putting up with my inane and constant questioning about Montreal. You Sir, are a trooper and a fabulous friend.

To everyone who has bought me a card or a gift for leaving, you're all far too generous and kind, so thank you! I'm very blessed to have such lovely, caring friends and family.

To my best friends, you know who you are. Thanks for spending the day with me today, you have no idea how much it meant and the fact I won't see you all for five whole months is a wee bit heartbreaking. I love you guys so much.

And finally, to my wonderful family, who I'm going to miss the most. Twenty years is a long time to live with the same person and the fact that I've only ever spent two weeks away from you makes it even more harder. You're the best family a girl could ask for and I love you all so very much. The airport tomorrow is going to have puddles everywhere, just saying.

Bleak.

Let me set the scene. I decided I was going to go for a nice walk today. A nice, virtual walk on Google maps from HEC (the university) to my apartment on Avenue de Kent (which is said to be about a ten-minute walk but by my standards, that's probably twenty-minutes).

I was quite enjoying my walk, there was a lot of greenery and nice houses. Eventually, after a number of clicks, I arrived at Avenue de Kent.

Looks quite green!

And then, I looked back to see how far I had 'walked'.

Not bad, not bad.

And then I turned onto my street.

Sadface.

Thanks Google Maps, thanks. I despise Winter.

'Art' and Afremov.

One of my main aims in life is to become a cultured gent (although without the moustache preferably. In fact, scratch that, I would carry one off very well). However, one of the stumbling blocks I have encountered on the road to 'snobbery' is a real aversion to Modern 'Art', mainly because I think most of it is a contrived pile of pish. I group most of the pieces of modern 'art' I have had the misfortune to encounter into two categories.

Group One: THIS IS NOT ART.

To get a true sense of what I insinuate with this group, all you need to do is look up either Tracey Emin (whose face has to win 'The Most Terrifying Face of All Time' award) or anything that has been nominated for the Turner Prize. I mean, how is a bed, art? Does it mean I could show my bed off and be awarded with an exhibition? DOES IT?!

Tracey Emin's bed.

Apparently, the bed is to symbolize Emin's intimacy with the world in regards to her private life. To me, all it shows is she's an untidy, lazy bastard. She also used worn pants in this piece. I rest my case.

Group Two: A FIVE YEAR OLD COULD PAINT THIS.

This group annoys me more than Tracey Emin. The painting below was crafted by Mark Rothko and is simply titled 'Orange and Yellow'. Now, I'm not being funny but I genuinely could recreate this. In fact, a drawing of a stick man has more artistic integrity than this. But the suckerpunch to this absurd piece of 'art' (if it can be called that)? It sold for $86 million very recently...

You just can't rid the world of stupidity it seems. And you know what, my cat could paint this, that is how much I think of it. A true waste of canvas.

However, this blog was not just a rant (Yes, you may wipe your brow in relief now). It seems that I may have overcome the stumbling block previously mentioned as I have recently discovered the work of Leonid Afremov and I am in love. His paintings are true art. They're pretty, they're colourful, they tell a story and they invoke emotions. Isn't this what art should be like? Not like the crown colour chart above?

No caption required.

Perhaps he's not as successful as these other artists because his paintings portray real life or perhaps they could be described as 'pedestrian' but alas, that is the world most of us live in and most of us are pedestrians, peddling our way through normality. Simply put, they are beautiful and if galleries were filled with this sort of thing, rather than Tracey Emin's disgustingly stained bed sheets, I'm sure they would attract a bigger audience.

The only thing that worries me about this though is that having a favourite artist might be the harbinger of impending maturity or adulthood. I sincerely hope not anyway.

Shit just got montREAL.

So, five weeks today, I've somehow got to leave the family that I have spent everyday of the last twenty years with at Glasgow Airport, make it to Heathrow, the busiest airport on the globe and then fly to Montreal, Canada, a country I've never been to before in my life and on top of all that somehow,  mature and learn how to become a responsible adult during a seven hour flight.

Forgive my scepticism but even I have no faith in myself.

The thing, is when people ask for my advice, I will gladly give it and generally, I'm quite good at it. I like to help people. But I have a confession to make. It's all bullshit. I make all this stuff up. I don't have a clue and now, I'm paying for it, like a metaphorical Peter who cried wolf (or something). And this is not about believing in yourself, oh no, this is about knowing your limitations. And I have many.

When I was in school and people would say, 'Oh I'd love to go on exchange, that is my thing', I was the person who was convinced she would never want to do that sort of thing because that ain't my thing. Now look where I am. Why did I choose this course?

Don't get me wrong, I'm so grateful for this amazing opportunity, I appreciate what it will do for me and I know that there's a 95% chance I'll get there and never want to leave but I'm a home bird. I like my creature comforts and I like familiarity. I'm not an adventurer or an explorer. Unfortunately, the one trait I inherited from my mother was the capacity to think of the worst case scenario of everything and stress. Lots of stress. MAHOOSIVE AMOUNTS OF STRESS. Am I allowed to worry about these things or am I just being silly? I can't tell.

However, I will digress from the anxiety attacks for a moment to share with you all, possibly the most absurd and disturbing thing I've seen in a while.

www.greatwallofvagina.co.uk

The first impressions formulating in your mind when you read that link are probably correct. This guy makes plaster casts of woman's vaginas to celebrate diversity and prove to women that all vaginas are different and you shouldn't be ashamed of your own. Personally, I think you've got too much time on your hands if you are worried about that sort of thing.

On the whole, I don't really mind the actual idea. I guess it could empower a very small minority but seriously, SELLING THE STUFF? I do not want to walk into a house that has casts of vagina just hanging on the wall, minding its own business. And I'm not a prude, I just think it's really strange. Especially, the gold cast one... 

Also, I wish to point out I don't actively seek these things out, I found it in Closer or something (Problem page FTW).

A Scottish Educational Haunting...

Not much has been happening here. In fact, I spend half of my blogs explaining my absence (this must stop).

The past month has been a... revelation of sorts. I think third year has arrived with a metaphorical kick up the arse because I have never felt so crumpled by the work pile before in my life. And then coupled with 'Canadia' stress (It was christened Canadia by Devon) and now honours entrance, I'm drowning. And I believe I'm drowning in 'Real Life'. God, does growing older ever stop getting worse?

As it is the penultimate year of my degree (what?), I have decided I'm going to take a bash at getting an internship for next summer. Now, I can't lie, I doubt very much I'll make it past the application process in most of them for two reasons.

1. Very little Proof that I will attain a 2:1 degree - Which is a pointless thing anyway. How can you employ someone on the basis that they MIGHT get a 2:1 degree? You might get someone who does and then goes into Honours year and falls flat on their face. Conversely, you might get someone who decides they are going to work their booty off in fourth year despite the fact their grades were substandard in second year (Aka, moi).

2. Maths test - I had to do a maths test on the very first one. Given enough time, I can work something out but I was given sixteen questions and eight minutes to do it. I don't like pressure. And then I ran out of time. I cannot believe, after two years at University that mathematics are still haunting me. It's like a slap in the face everytime. I hated maths and I still hate it and you wouldn't be asked to answer a complex maths question in a minute in the workplace. No. It just plain sucks.

So yeah, rant over.

You must be barking!

Today, the family and myself decided to take a trip to Sainsbury's in Kingsgate for a wee swatch at the new store. It's absolutely massive and sort of scary. Having lived in East Kilbride for seventeen years now, it's strange not to see the familiar brick-styled building...

However, I digress. The thing I want to discuss today involves an advertisement that we saw at the roundabout near Sainsbury's, on a billboard. Travelling at speeds of 30 m.p.h, it was slightly difficult to get a good quality photo but I did try my best.

Now, the photo is incredibly fuzzy, so I do apologise but luckily, I managed to decipher most of it and make it onto the website. All I can say is that what I've read so far is nothing short of ridiculous.

Maythorne Cottage is the name of a new, 'luxurious' dog kennel situated between East Kilbride and Strathaven. And when they say 'luxurious', they ain't half kidding. Here is a little excerpt which will hopefully convey my meaning.

"Every dog will have its own Dog Room which will have a half double glazed domestic upvc door. The flooring will be soft vinyl, with 65% of this being under floor heating, leaving the remainder of the area as cool spots for the dog's comfort.

Each Dog Room will have a wall mounted television (just like home) as well as speakers that will carry soft music for daytime comfort.

The rooms will be tastefully decorated - if your dog would be more settled with its own home comforts, feel free to bring along its own bedding and toys etc.

There will also be a second door leading into an Open Room where the dog can sit and look out over views of the beautiful countryside. This Open Room will have double-glazed French doors, which can be opened in good weather and closed during cold spells. The dogs will be secured within their own space at all times even when the French doors are open.

In addition to all of the above, the Open Room leads to your dog's own private garden, which is laid to lawn and chips."

I mean, THIS IS JUST INSANE. Absolutely insane and I have some points I would like to raise. Most dogs don't even have the mental capacity to follow simple instructions, let alone understand a full episode of Eastenders (although, really, who could?). And honestly, would a dog actively choose to sit and admire the 'beautiful view'? Especially considering that you have to tell them to sit half the time? I think I'll believe it if I see it. It's just all a bit bizarre really. In fact, this isn't a kennel, this is a proper dog's hotel, a holiday for dogs. I must admit, I've stayed in worst rooms than the ones described on the website.

However, as much as I am ridiculing it, the owners do sound like they genuinely want the dogs that stay there to be comfortable and happy with their arrangements and they've definitely thought about everything. I know it myself with Biffy, the woman who owns the cattery he stays in is one of nicest people you'll ever meet and a total animal lover, which makes us feel happier.

So, with all that being said, does anyone want to book a room? Sounds like a lovely place to stay!

Here's the link to read at your own leisure.

http://maythornecottage.co.uk/

What do Pete Burns and Ray Winstone have in common? Nothing...

Okay, I'm not going to lie to you, I can attribute many things to my idiocy. But I don't have the time nor the energy to list them and I know, you, my readers, don't have the time to read them either.

However, last night, I seemed to surpass all known boundaries of stupidity and I am certainly paying for it today. So, allow me to set the scene...

I am sitting in the lounge, watching 'Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World' on my laptop. Now, usually when I watch movies, I am known to be quite fidgety, whether it's clicking my toes or shaking my knees (this is beginning to sound like a bizarre dance routine, it's not). However, the source of my entertainment that night appeared to be the cap from my mini hairspray. I was having great fun, biting round the edges but this wasn't enough. No, I thought it would be a great idea to suck it to my face and see how long I could do it for. (Insert awkward elipsis here).

I can only say that it was the biggest mistake of my life. I went into the bathroom about half an hour later and I got the most enormous shock of my life when I saw Pete Burns staring back at me in the mirror. It was horrific. I panicked for a little bit before resigning to myself that when I woke up in the morning, my lips would be back to their normal, lippy-like self and all evidential nonsense from the night before would be forever erased.

I was wrong.

My lips are still a purple-ly, brown colour so I look like a Zombie. The swelling has gone down but has been replaced with a purple circle where the edge of cap had been sucked to my face. The top half resembles a paedo-y pencil moustache and the bottom line makes my bottom lip look like a black man's. I have to admit, applying a circle of concealer around my lips today has to be one of the weirdest cover-up jobs I've ever had to do...

I can't really justify my actions. I have no idea why I did it but certainly, I wouldn't have done it had I known the consequences. So I guess the moral of the story is, don't suck a cap to your face, even if it's fun.

That's some pout...

Anyway, moving swiftly on...

Today, Mark and me went to see 'The Sweeney', the remake of the classic 70's cop show starring Ray Winstone and Ben Drew (aka, Plan B). Now, before I launch into my tirade, I feel I need to point out that I do actually like Ray Winstone. He's a brilliant actor and has a really distinct voice with adds to his characters. However, if someone had asked me to write a list of 'Things I Never Want To See', directly behind 'The Human Centipede' (Sorry, bad pun was bad) would be seeing Ray Winstone kicking off his underwear and giving a remarkably younger lady a right good shagging...

It's just not right. Grunting away whilst he romantically pumps this lady in a public bathroom (fifteen minutes into the film I may add). Then, to top it all off, he does it again, after ripping off this lady's dress and jumping on her. BOAK. I did not pay to see this. I did not want to see this. It does not add to the film. Seriously, all of the film's good points were washed away in two single torrid moments. Eurgh. Seriously, if I have to witness another Ray Winstone sex scene in my life again, it will be too soon. In fact, I'd rather drill my eyeballs out...

The worst part? The actress who he was with is Hayley Atwell, the actress who played Peggy Carter, who played the love interest in 'Captain America'. Now, imagine, locking lips with Chris Evans, one of the hottest men alive and then being told your next role involves filming sexy time with Ray Winstone. I do believe that this is a major step down.

Why?

Stetsons, Flying Cars and Guy Martin

Right Now: 'Power & Control' - Marina and the Diamonds

I just want to start this blog entry off by stating how addicted I am to 'Temple Run'. I appreciate that the craze of collecting coins and sliding under trees is a ship that has long since sailed but due to the fact that I have only recently purchased an Apple product capable of running it, I am still in the thrall of my obsession. Also, I would like to point out that the 'Brave' version of it, whilst obviously marketed to younger users is about a thousand times harder than the original and I'm really struggling to get above a million. Humph.

Now that I have wrote about my latest pathetic excitement, I want to talk about 'Dallas', the continuation of the classic 80's TV programme, which has been rebooted and is now showing on Channel 5 (I sound like an advertisement...). Naturally, with it coming from such an esteemed (in my correct opinion) era, I just had to watch it and I've just completed the second episode. Not that it's a problem but everytime I watch it, I immediately get a desire to become an oil baron. The amount of money these people have is astonishing, driving in their fast cars and looking good in knee-high boots and Stetsons (which is not a look most people can pull off). Plus, the weather always seems to be sunny and the men are, to be frank, 'mighty fine'.

As you can see, the above pictures are rather self explanatory.

But, in all seriousness, I am genuinely enjoying it. I rarely watch TV programmes because I dislike having to be in front of the television at a certain time of week to watch something (AKA, Fuck the System). Additionally, I have a mortal hatred of watching things with other people. Either something embarrassing happens like a sex scene which casts the shadow of awkwardness over us all or I can't hear because someone is yapping away. So thumbs up for 5 on Demand for allowing me to watch it from the comfort and isolation of my laptop when everyone else has gone to bed. And there you have it. I'm going to admit that I'm a 'Dallas' fan even though there is a big risk that I'll get slagged for it. And yes, before you ask, I am a seventy year old woman, what of it?

Moving swiftly on, I was thinking whilst playing Temple Run that we, as a planet, are really slow on the technology front. In fact, I would go as far to describe it as painfully slow. If you go back sixty years and look at all the films that were being made at that time, most of them depicted this point in the future to have massive skyscrapers which stretched far into the clouds, flying cars driven by robots and other cool stuff. But where is all this cool stuff I hear you ask? Nowhere. That's where.

Honestly, I feel the question of "Why can't I teleport to work instead of paying £4 to get a bus?" is a valid point that must be brought to someone's attention really soon. I mean, companies like Apple, who have spent years developing the iPhone 5, just for it to have a bigger screen should concentrate less on making Siri tell bad jokes and concentrate more on developing a way of getting a pizza delivery to come out of my television. Because I sure as hell would buy that television. I think I may have to pursue this venture when I graduate so watch this space...

Finally, I have a new yet, unattainable man in my life. I watched 'TT: Closer to the Edge' last night after I had watched 'Senna' for the one millionth time (if you haven't seen it, you must, it's fantastic) and I was blown away. I used to think Formula One was a dangerous sport but compared to the TT, it's like a pillow fight. These men are going down windy, country roads at 200 miles per hour on motorbikes. I don't even know where to begin, apart from the fact that I was frightened to watch half the time.

But, whilst watching the film through my hands, I did manage to develop a love for one of the racers, Guy Martin, who I can only describe as the 'Ultimate Lad'. Clearly having absolutely no shame, he candidly admits in front of the camera his night time routine of having a wank before settling down for his kip and proclaiming his hatred for the word 'Unbelievable', which should only be used if 'a man eats his own head'. Not that I find that kind of thing attractive, I think it's more his face. And his hair. He has truly epic hair.

Hiyaz.

Now that I have finished watching these two very similar but oh so different films, I need to find something similar to keep myself satisfied. Watching these documentaries has just reinforced my dream to get a career in Formula One. And maybe, just maybe, I could marry someone as good looking as Guy Martin. If not, I could always fall back on the Oil Baron thing I suppose. I mean, drilling for oil, how hard can it be?

The Prince and the Pauper

I would like someone to nominate themselves to be my full-time accountant. Unfortunately, it would have to be on a volunteer basis (hence the predicament of trying to find an accountant) but I will be able to offer frequent payments of cookies and hugs of the undying appreciation kind.

Okay, I'm not that bad but I genuinely just can't seem to make my money last through a whole month. Last weekend, I lived like a King (or perhaps an even better image would be Silvio Berlusconi). Don't get me wrong, I believe half of my money went straight into the 'Stonehouse Pub' cash register, what with all the Rose tequila shots and the mini Guinness (although I can formally state that I don't regret a single thing). To sum it up, last weekend, I completely 'bunga bunga' partied myself out. And it was great!

 However, now summing up the courage and looking at my poor bank balance, this weekend and the next two afterwards are definitely going to stink more than a Glaswegian junkie. Luckily, a knight in shining (and 3D) armour seems to have arrived in the form of Odeon, who have decided to give me a mass of 2-for-1 vouchers throughout September and the most of October. Can you guess where I'll be spending my free time in the next few weeks? (Unless nobody comes with me, then I'll be poor and lonely, sniffles).

In the midst of all this doom and gloom, there is a slight ray of sunshine. I looked at my savings today and without going into too much financial detail, I'm well on my way to achieving my target, all thanks to Lloyds TSB's fancy pie chart software!

The Pork Chop Analogy

A few months ago, I posted a blog in which I promised to explain something I have affectionately named 'The Pork Chop Analogy'. It's been a while since that blog post now but I think you're all finally ready to hear the explanation as it is only fair.

The premise is pretty simple really. You just need to accept the fact that the pork chop is the most horrible and disgusting foodstuff in the entire world.

Never has anything graced my plate so tasteless, oily, tough, pale, fatty, grisly, chewy, bland and quite frankly, crap like a pork chop. It is the pinnacle of bad food. When I hear from mutti that tonight's dinner is Pork Chops, my heart genuinely sinks into the pit of my stomach, hoping it's digested before it has to provide the blood flow to digest the pork chop. To be honest, it just makes me sad, really sad and I can't explain why I feel so strongly about them. It's amazing to think that bacon, glorious bacon comes from the same animal as a pork chop does. The humble pig is food heaven and hell in the same entity, astonishing. I feel so strongly about pork chops that if I had the free time, I would campaign to have them banned but alas, no-one has that much time on their hands and pledging that my future children will never have to suffer it will have to do.

Now, that has been explained, back to the analogy. If you're looking for a wonderful insult to use, you can use 'The Pork Chop Analogy'.

For example: 'You're just a big pork chop' would probably reduce me to tears.

If you're having a bad day: 'That was a pork chop of a day' conveys the same meaning as 'That was a shitter of a day.'

And so on and so forth.

So, next time someone's giving you grief, tell them that they are a pork chop. Or not...

Boak.

Change My Template, Like One Of Your French Girls...

Do you like my new template? Madiha inspired me but I decided it was time for a change as well (plus, I don't know about my readers but the orange floral pattern was giving me a severe migraine). I decided to bring some cheer to the blog so the new background is a rather prettiful photo of Montréal in the Winter season, which so happens to be the same time of year that I shall be arriving in. And though I have to admit it looks undeniably beautiful, it also looks icky, wet and downright miserable.

Probably should have mentioned I hate snow with a passion.

Obviously, I don't want to sound like I'm complaining because it will be a 'great experience... yada yada yada' but at the same time, I feel sort of sad. I live in Scotland, which is possibly the most miserable and dire place in the world when it concerns weather. You don't even get exciting weather like thunder and lighting which would be fine. You just get constant rain and snow. It's just horrible. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm excited for Montréal but for just once in my life, I would like to have lived in a country where taking a raincoat everywhere was not the norm. That would have been fantastic.

Now, I feel like an ungrateful moan.

It's quite late now. I think I shall go to bed. I'm going to see Dredd again tomorrow and I am über excited. It was just the best film I've seen in ages. Plus Karl Urban has a really sexy chin.

Mmm, Karl Urban.

Owympics.

Right now: 'Someone, Somewhere (In Summer Time)' - Simple Minds

I have no idea why I felt the need to write 'Olympics' in a style vaguely Jonathan-Ross-esque but I like it and I feel that it should be adopted hereafter as the official pronunciation of the word.

That hideous patriotic side of me is threatening to come out again so here is an advisory warning for you people who vomit (either metaphorically or literally, preferably not literally though) at the sight of flags, national pride and anthems. You have all been cautioned.

My opinion on the opening ceremony: Bloody marvellous. I'm not sure if it's because I am a patriotic bastard or because I could understand the premise but I thought it was genius. When Daniel Craig walked into the Queen's office and there was a little, elderly hobgoblin sitting at the desk, I was like 'Could it? Could it really be her?' And it was. Right in front of my eyes, I saw the Monarch of our country, the head of the commonwealth, the woman's whose face is manhandled by cashiers and is licked by letter-writers everyday acting in front of billions. It was a genuinely lovely moment. Then she parachuted out of a helicopter... (By the way, I totally kid about the Queen being a hobgoblin, I think she's lovely).

However, as I had accepted that my life would probably not get as complete as it was at that moment (which actually thinking about it, is genuinely sad), Rowan Atkinson took the Gold Medal in life-completeness. I'm not even going to discolour the moment with words, for they are not enough to describe the fantastic-ness of that skit. He is a God, 'nuff said (along with Cheese, Stephen Fry and the internet).

The torch was definitely the most impressive part though. My whole family was ooh-ing and ahh-ing. I think my father was more moved by the ingenuity of the torches than me (which is a hard feat). It was just fantastic.

Not going to lie though, I am gutted David Tennant never lit the Olympic flame. I was so sure it was going to happen, especially after I saw a whole orchestra wearing converse and the sound of the TARDIS during the musical part of the show. I feel deceived to be quite honest. There is no way I can watch that episode now and believe it's going to happen. But alas, I guess things happen for a reason (or in a parallel universe).

So, the ceremony went perfectly, nothing had gone wrong. But, as it was finishing without a hitch, motherfucking Paul McCartney showed his old mug. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate and have great respect for The Beatles, they are one of music's most finest acts, their songs are sublime and they rightly deserve their fame (and massive fortune no less). However, we all need to realise that there comes a time to retire. And I think the time is now, Paul. He buggered up the beginning of 'Hey Jude' in front of billions, a song that he has no doubt performed thousands of times in his career and it was just cringe. Pure and utter cringe. It made me feel sad. So fuck you Paul McCartney *shakes fist.

Now that I have finished shaking my fist, I can now tell you all that I went to see the Olympics Women's Football today at Hampden. It was group G who were playing featuring the countries of USA, Colombia, France and... Democratic People's Republic of Korea. Better known as North Korea. (Or according to Greg, Best Korea).

I did not find out that I was seeing North Korea until I arrived and it was a major honour, I mean, I actually got really excited. Not many people can say they've seen a North Korean football match, let alone seen one in action and it was awesome (even if they did lose five-nil to France, I'm sure Korean propaganda will follow in the same style of Kim Jong-Il's eleven holes in one and publicise their score as 41-nil). They all looked like men though, that is all I will say.

A Public Apology To The New Dear Leader...

Seven years on from winning the bid and we have finally arrived at the London 2012 Olympic Games. The time has really flown by, hasn't it? Having said that, even though I am normally quite a patriotic person, both Scottish and British,  I can't say the impending games has me all fluttered and excited for some medal action. In fact, it's quite the contrary, as I can really take it or leave it. Not that I am of the camp that it is a 'massive waste of money blah blah blah', I do genuinely think it will be good for us in the long run. I just think it's because I don't have a sporting bone in my body that is more the reason for my non-plussedness.

However, the news that some, to put it politely, idiot portrayed the South Korean flag with the North Korean woman's football team is, quite frankly, embarrassing. David Cameron has described it as an honest mistake but really? Anyone with half a brain (or who has seen Team America: World Police) will know that there is at least some political tension between the two nations, let alone a bloody war. Therefore, you should at least check that you've got the right flag. When I heard, I wanted to face plank the table so much it was unreal. Honestly, I cannot apologise to our new dear leader, Kim Jong-Un, enough. Hopefully, he'll accept our pitiful apologies and won't point a nuclear bomb in our faces...

Following on with the Olympics theme, another thing I would like to discuss is the disgusting sculpture in the middle of the Olympic park in London. For those who haven't seen it, feast your eyes on this structural obscenity.

YUCK.

It actually makes me cry, thinking about the amount of money that was poured into something that looks like it's still under construction. How anyone could compare that to such icons like the Eiffel Tower or the Statue of Liberty seriously needs a lobotomy (or has already had one). It's ugly. Actually, it's fugly. A fugly slut. It really does makes my blood boil. I mean, for all the resources we, as a nation, poured into the Olympics, could we have not made a better sculpture? It doesn't even fit in with the surroundings. I just hope that one day, some brave, intelligent soul in power will look up at it, discover how awful it is and decide to burn it to the ground, like a deformed wickerman. I will happily fill the role as deranged worshipper and dance around the flames in ecstasy as it will be an occasion to celebrate.

I wish I could find more words to describe my feelings for this thing but I feel that this meme does the job perfectly.

Self-Explanatory really!

As much as I like to complain and discuss the stupidity of some of the individuals involved in the Olympics, I would like to state that I hope Team GB do us proud. I'm sure we'll win something and I think the games will be good for us, with the benefits being reaped for many generations to come. However, if I was to point out a suggestion, I still feel David Tennant should light the flame like he did in Doctor Who. Then Doctor Who won't just be a programme but will be a factual representation of the universe (and that would be seriously cool).

I think they should have designed the torches the same way too but I'm not too fussed.

Prepare for a Mindblowing...

Anyone remember Jonathan Lipnicki, the child actor who played the brother in Stuart Little and was in The Little Vampire?

Might have chose this photo for a little bit of Hugh Laurie too...

Well, it turns out that he grew up into this...

So wrong.

The keyboard is mightier than the gun...

I've had a number of enquiries as to why I haven't blogged recently, therefore I will publish an apology.

I'm sorry.

Now that that is out of the way and we can all forget the sorry business, I will continue on with more important matters such as why I haven't blogged. Sadly, I regret to inform you all that I have been writing of a different kind. I'm about ten thousand words into a story. Now, normally, this would sound kind of impressive except it's really not. I have joined the army of forever alone sad sacks who write fan fiction. I won't degrade myself by telling you what pre-established universe I am embellishing (or 'destroying', whatever you think) but I'm sure you can all guess.

Luckily, I have a best friend who puts up with my inane story writing and obsessive behaviour. She reads them and tells me what she thinks, which for all I know she probably thinks is the same quality as dog shit but she'll always say it's good anyway. Once they are finished, I intend to put them up on www.fanfiction.net and perhaps even publish the link (if you're 'lucky' enough, oh dear, my sides split with that humorous quip).

For those unaware of fanfiction.net, it is a really great wee site to expand on a universe. There's thousands of stories on it and some of them are of really good quality. I would suggest checking them out at some point if you've got a few spare hours. Better yet, you could write your own. There's something good about changing a bad ending and giving yourself closure. Or maybe that's just me... I'm not sure.

Apfelsaft like a Sir...

You know what I love about internet memes and rage comics the most? They depict events that most of us have either done before or still do that are so undeniably stupid or moronic that we have never thought to mention them to our fellow humans. Take the following example (for example...). I gladly admit to having done this in the past, have you?

This will be me when I'm a hotshot executive. Too pussy for brandy...

Personally, I do not think there is a better way to consume Apple Juice. And if you're looking at me as if I've grown another toe, then I shall retort that you have simply not lived. In the same vein, I've also taken milk and put it in a sports bottle and shook it up (like a polaroid picture) until it resembles a cappuccino-style froth, before pouring it into a brandy glass and pretending it was eggnog (which when drank in the typical distinguished manner comes complete with a white, frothy moustache). I dedicate that to Geoffrey out of the Fresh Prince of Bel Air, in the episode where he drinks too much eggnog. Man, I miss the Fresh Prince of Bel Air...

Fuck Jeeves and everything you stand for!

An End, Once and For All...

Right Now: 'Rannoch' - Mass Effect 3 Soundtrack

I think this blog should come attached with some kind of warning. A warning that to those who do not know me all that well, you should probably know a few things about me. Ladies and Gentlemen, imagine this is a television series and we are at the epic finale episode, where we find out the character we all know (and you know, maybe even, love?) is not who she seems. It can be a heartbreaking and traumatising thing for an avid viewer (or reader) but don't worry, these revelations shouldn't emotionally crush anyone.

As most people on my Facebook will know (mainly because everyone can see my Spotify and the umpteen videos I have uploaded to my wall), I am a gamer. I love gaming. I would genuinely quite happily sit in a room for a week with a console and fully complete a game, losing myself in its story, its characters, its world. The first proper game I ever played came with the first console I ever had. Sadly, I wasn't cool enough to be with the retro kids, I never had a PS1 or a Sega megadrive. Please, don't cry, the very notion itself upsets me greatly, as I feel like I have missed out a large chunk of what is called childhood. The closest I ever got to vintage gaming was a Gameboy Advance when I was nine. (Yes, I didn't even have a Gameboy Color). So I missed out on Pokemon Red too and more importantly, the epicness of locking Lara Croft's butler in the freezer (The more I talk about this, the more I feel the need to admit myself into some institution due to the psychological effects of having barely any childhood). I guess talking about this is a kind of therapy and there is such a thing as emulators which will help me recapture some of the magic.


But I digress, back to my oh-so-interesting life story. The first console I ever got was the original Xbox, which I still have and touch wood as to not jinx the thing, still works. It is a glorious thing, a console that I still play today. When I first got it,it came with two games. The first was Project Gotham Racing 2 (which I contend to this day and to my dying breath, is still the best in the entire series because nothing beats driving around Sydney listening to music burned from a CD to the Xbox hard drive) and Halo: Combat Evolved. I wish I could describe how much the latter game means to me. It's simply beautiful. The plot is utterly fantastic, the combat, easy to master and the characters? There are not many video game characters as badass as Master Chief. Honestly, I could tell you every level in the order it comes in, I have played it that many times. Halo 2 was even better and my absolute favourite of the series, mainly for the part when you drive the tank over the bridge, just such an epic level of shooting and graphics.


I have played many games but my latest gaming obsession has been the Mass Effect games. I have played another game the studio who made Mass Effect, Bioware, developed and that was Dragon Age: Origins prior to Mass Effect. It wasn't the combat, or the graphics that made me love this game, it was the story, the characters, the freedom of choice. Never have I played a game that could go anyway you chose, it was simply fantastic. The best part is that you can play it again and it won't be the same game. Value for money? I think so. Bioware have definitely targeted a fantastic gaming market and I wouldn't hesitate to buy a similar game if it was in the same vein as these other two.


However, as much as I loved Dragon Age Origins (In particular, a character named Alistair who was a freakin' babe), Mass Effect is superior on so many levels. It is literally the best game I've ever played. In fact, if someone had told me to create my perfect game, without any constraints, I think Mass Effect would be it. I don't play these games to progress or get achievements. I play them for the story, to talk to the characters and even (which is a big part of these games, believe it or not), romance a character. In the Mass Effect universe, I chose to romance a character named Garrus (insert romantic sigh here). Now, most people wouldn't think that was a big deal until you realise he looks like this.

Garrus Vakarian: C-Sec Officer and hopeless romantic extrordinaire.

Yep. Garrus is a big, motherfucking alien. A turian to be exact. And yet, it doesn't matter what he looks like, I still chose to romance him. Bioware made him witty, sarcastic and funny, traits I admire. Which has got me thinking. Sometimes, these games have a purpose of mirroring what our own world is like and perhaps, teaching us a lesson. The game's background is fraught with racial tensions and prejudices, quite similar to our own world. Yet in this world, they all allied together and got rid of the thing that was threatening their entire extistence. I haven't got much thoughts on racial tensions in this world but on a smaller level, I guess what I am trying to say is that, with Garrus, I fell in love with a personality, a voice. His looks did not matter to me. Which makes me think that maybe the perception that most people are shallow when it comes to looks are not true after all and personality counts more than looks. It's a bit philosophical, I know and to be honest, it is very hard to comprehend unless you have actually played the game (or you have a decent sleeping pattern).


When I finished Mass Effect 3, all I can describe as a hole was left. That is a sad and pathetic thing to admit but it's true. I will get over it very quickly but a game that is so immersive and dense? It will be missed. Although, I guess there is always the chance to restart from scratch, which I think I will do. I have a feeling that some of the people who read this blog will want to commit me to the institution I described earlier, more for a loss of reality and in general, being a freakin' weirdo but really, there is no need. I just love gaming. I love the imagination. Maybe a little too much, I don't know but I'm happy and happiness is what we all strive for, right? For those who are interested, I would highly recommend playing these games, you will not regret it. And now I leave you with a scene that nearly brought a tear to my eye. I say nearly because I didn't cross the line of utter despair (thankfully).

'Cinephillia' (Calm Down, Let Me Explain...)

Cinephillia. Now say it out loud. It's quite a dodgy-sounding word, isn't it?

However, you needn't have worried about my 'ahem' interests as it simply means 'a passionate interest for cinema, film theory and film criticism'. You could say that the last part attracts me the most because there is nothing I enjoy more in this world than a complaint or a moan (according to my mother that is, who probably would even go as far to point out that I am the Queen of Melodrama, complete with a glittering crown). I won't lie, I didn't pick up a dictionary and learn this term. Rather the education came from a more unlikely source, namely 'The Lonely Island', spoof and comedic trio extraordinaires, so I guess behind their love of jizzing at the thought of grapes or Andy Samberg announcing he fucked the brains out of a giant fish, they can be pretty educational...

I set myself a challenge this summer, a mean, lean machine of a challenge. Last summer I slept, watched television and lazed about. Personally, I was of the opinion that it was a great summer, time very well spent but my parentals, unfortunately but not surprisingly, felt very much the opposite. Therefore, I decided that this summer I was going to become a 'more cultured' being and a part of this was to become a Cinephile (although I do not think 'Cinephile' is a term I'll use in general, passing conversation for fear of being caught up in a high-speed police chase through the mean streets of Glasgow. It still sounds incredibly dodgy...).

So do I consider myself to have surpassed all expectations and be a Cinephile like Michael Bolton? Alas, no. However, to attain such a position would be quite something, even though I feel that there is a certain criteria I must meet before I can use this term (or point out as a posh way of 'I like going to the cinema' on my CV). Before you ask, No, this criteria does not involve any dressing up as Jack Sparrow, Forrest Gump, Erin Brockovich or Scarface whatsoever but instead, I believe to become a Cinephile, you must have seen AFI's Top Ten films of all time.

Okay, I'm reloading!

Currently, as of 2012, the rankings stand at:

1. Citizen Kane
2. The Godfather
3. Casablanca
4. Raging Bull
5. Singin' In The Rain
6. Gone With The Wind
7. Lawrence of Arabia
8. Schindler's List
9. Vertigo
10. Wizard of Oz

Out of that ten, I have seen seven of them, five of them I have seen recently on the road to cinephillia. Whilst I appreciate all of them as cinematic innovation and prestige, I can also state that some of them were absolute, convoluted crap. Absolute nonsense. If I have to see Lawrence of Arabia again in this life, it will have been too soon. Honestly, give me Family Guy: Blue Harvest any day over that film. (The worst part was the day after I saw it, I went to see Prometheus, which had a gazillion references to the wretched movie. In fact, that was probably the most horrific part of the movie for me).

However, it is not just the top ten I am concerning myself with. There's so many more films out there that have to be seen. The good and the bad. I have recently been acquainted with a film called 'The Room' which looks so gloriously bad, it must be watched. New mission for the summer to find and watch that movie? Yes, yes I think so.

Sherif Ali: 'You intend to put future viewers through hell watching this movie by fooling critics that it is the best film of all time?' Lawrence: 'Yes, yes I do...'

Well, like a bad penny, you've turned up again...

Right now: Florence and the Machine - 'Never Let Me Go'

Yet again, as the title suggests, I am back (although I'm not the real slim shady, hence why I have not stood up). And this time, I truly am a bad penny. The reason why?

I broke a mirror hence I am inflicted with a bad luck curse common to all mirror breakages.

Normally, I am not usually that superstitious. Back in my hey day, I was known to juggle three black cats whilst standing in new shoes on a motorised table that drove under numerous ladders... but enough of my automated and frankly, strange and imaginary shenanigans, this is another story for another time...

However, ever since I broke this mirror, bad things have happened. And I don't mean bad things such as 'zohmygawd, I broke a nail' or 'Fuckmylife, I can't go out tonight because I'm so skint'. I mean, the pinnacle of ill luck, the pork chop of bad things. (The pork chop is a long and complicated reference that again will be explained another time and another day. Jeez, I need to keep some suspense in my writing, you understand that right?).

Dramatic Reconstruction of event

Firstly, the day after the mirror broke, right in the middle of my online French lesson, my laptop inexplicably and unexpectedly shorted out and wouldn't work. I discovered the fault as a hard drive failure and have literally only just gotten it back. Worst part? The machine is less than three months old and is already going wrong. This has not filled me with a lot of confidence in Dell, especially if it goes wrong in Canada, where I will be monumentally and irrevocably screwed!

Secondly, last Wednesday, after much drinking and hilarity at Jane's Spring Break Party, I inexplicably twist my ankle. I barely remember doing it, except vomiting and blacking out due to pain. (And I mean pain, I do not do either things when under the influence of vodka. All I remember is frozen falafel being applied to the affected area and asking to go home. So to add to my boredom, being sofa-ridden with a buggered ankle has meant a more avid viewership of Wimbledon that previous years.

Thirdly, finally and possibly most heart-wrenching of all, I couldn't make it to T in the Park this year. I'm sort of numb about it, not sure it's numb because of the gutterment of the situation or the thought of the many hundreds of pounds that I may as well have shredded, grinded and thrown into the wind as the ashes of a possibly better financial outcome but I know it does suck. A lot. (Insert sad, lonely and moping sentiment here).

So, as I'm sure you are acutely aware, I have been crippled (literally) by bad luck in the last three weeks. However, whilst not superstitious, I do believe in the power of three (Charmed Reference for the win) and I believe luck comes in threes. So hopefully, fingers, toes, limbs and ear lobes crossed, this will be the end of my bad luck. And it wasn't as if it was a big mirror. I believe the degree of bad luck should be based on the size of the mirror, it's the only fair way.

However, one silver lining has come over this. I have four days off work to enjoy myself and do absolutely fuck all.

Actual events: Which are always considerably less exciting...

'The Gluteus Maximus Act 2012' - A Manifesto

The Gluteus Maximus Act 2012

'Under Section One of The Gluteus Maximus Act 2012, it is hereby illegal to touch, grab or carress another human being's derriere in the public domain. Failure to comply can invoke a £30 fine, an hour in the stocks or having to beg for forgiveness in front of an entire crowd'.

Proclaimed by the Honourable and Eternal Leader, the President of the Free World (Or, me!)

Introduction

We live in a free society, a society which carries within its lifeblood, a care-free attitude and acceptance. To ridicule or lament a society like this would be fundamentally wrong. However, unfortunately, there are those who abuse their positions in society and commit unspeakable acts towards other members of the public domain. These people must be stopped at all costs. And these people are: Arse Grabbers.

The Crime

The act of arse grabbing is a complicated and vile problem. For the perpetrator, it is a moment of madness or an act of intent. But for the victim, it can be highly traumatic, embarrassing... even mentally scarring! Naturally, there may be some people who are in a relationship who wish to grab each other's arses. This is perfectly acceptable as long as their license to bum grab is shown to a presiding officer of the regime. Otherwise, if caught grabbing an innocent, they must face sever consequences.

Penalty

According to National Statistics, 80% of Bum Grabbing incidences are committed when both parties are under the influence of alcohol. Alcohol reduces inhibitions and although the Free World is strict, we are not unreasonable. If someone is caught bum grabbing, they will be given a warning and a stamp on their forehead, branding them a dirty bum grabber. If they pursue more bum grabbing, they will face a £30 fine, an hour in stocks with bum-shaped rotten tomatoes being launched at them and then perform a humiliating public apology to the affected party. In this way, we hope to rehabilitate offenders to show them the light, and remove all bum grabbing urges from them.

Conclusion

Bum grabbing is a senseless act and needs to be stopped.

With your help, this crime could become a thing of the past.

Chocolate VS. Fruit

So, yesterday, which was Saturday, I decided to get into a 'dieting' frame of mind. I was so close to achieving this goal, purchasing fruit and a yoghurt for lunch and other such slimming habits before I realised it was Easter weekend and that can only mean one thing...

Annual Chocolate Sunday Celebration

Already, any dreams of being a desirable weight by October have flown away with the promise of chocolate and creme eggs on this very sacred day for 'fatsos' like me (although I am not at the stage where I pray to a statue of a high deity made of chocolate. I wouldn't even consider myself a chocoholic, I just eat anything that tastes good. Hence, I think it's about high time I forced a love of celery on myself (even though celery has to be the most tasteless thing ever, apart from cucumber).

Then there's the fruit dilemma. I love fruit. Apples, pears, oranges, pineyapples, grapes (motherfucking grapes) and melon. They all taste great and I'm pretty sure I could live on it. But there's of course the age old problem that it is too damn expensive. For example, a bunch of grapes is £2.50. I could buy a shitload of scran for that amount of money and be eternally happy for all of an afternoon. If the government was really behind getting people healthier, they'd swap the prices around. It might not make chocoholics happy BUT it would save a lot of lives. And saving lives is a very noble thing (or so I have heard).

Oh look, a meme...

For now though, it seems I am destined to remain a fat bastard until such a time exists that I can either control my midnight munching, blow up the kitchen, sew my mouth or go to the gym on  Monday, the gym on Monday being the most unlikely scenario.

Also, I have a new laptop! It only took me six months to replace the one I broke but it is like reuniting with a very old, valuable friend. It took me only five minutes to blog this post as opposed to the normal half an hour it takes to type the same blog on the old PC. Loving life!

Save Up All The Days...

Right now: Kimbra - 'Two weeks/Head Over Heels'

Since yesterday, I've been mucking around on 'Picnik', a photo-editing site. When I first used it, you used to have to pay to use the premium features. However, the site is now closing down and moving to Google (surprise, surprise) and for a limited time, they have made their premium features free to use by all! The site is only available to be used till the 19th April before it closes though. Here are two of the results of my mucking around!

Blood in the Boardroom

Right now: Gotye - 'Learnalilgivinanlovin'

'The Apprentice' is now back for its eighth series and therefore, I have decided that I am going to become a dedicated and avid follower of the show. I must confess bloggers, that I have never watched a full series of 'The Apprentice', a felony I am most ashamed of, especially due to the fact that I am a business student. I watch this programme and often ask myself why the heck I am doing this degree when I don't think I would last five minutes sitting in front of Lord Sugar. I'd probably just implode and begin spraying blood out of every orifice in fear (and with that lovely little image in my head, I shall move on...)

Get those bloodstains off the back wall of my office, NOW!

Please note the following blog contains spoilers if you have not yet managed to watch the episode yet.

So, firstly, the all important 'Who is going to be the project manager on the first task?' scenario. I'm going to be honest and I say that I would not be volunteering. Therefore, I think that if you do volunteer for the dreaded task, you should be immediately exempt from a sacking for sheer courage and bravery. As for my opinion on the project managers, I really like Gabrielle. She seems like a motivator and someone you could easily approach, a quality I quite admire. She didn't seem ruthless or embittered either. However, she was quite confident to put herself forward for the task and therefore, she should have been more aware of the fact that her leadership was being scrutinised.

As for the bloke, I can't even remember his name. That's bad. But he didn't impress me, he just seems like your average, run of the mill, young entrepreneur with a lot to prove. However, he did seem well-liked and respected by MOST of his team, the exception being Stephen, a salesman who had a lot to preach and criticise about, yet he didn't exactly volunteer for the role.

In the end, the boys won, which I was surprised and saddened about. I'm not being sexist or biased here but the girl's design at the end of the day was fresh and quirky, I probably would have bought the tote bag myself, I liked the design that much. The boy's design was SHIT. Absolutely SHIT. Yet, their target market was tourists, which in London, is a pretty good market. They also had quite solid figures as well, which is key to everything, from knowing how much raw materials to buy to coming up with a realistic selling price (although £15 for a small teddy bear? If anyone bought it at that price they deserve nothing less than to be culled for stupidity). The girl's simply focuses too much on design and if they had had more time, they could have worried about margins later but it was the first task and they didn't spend enough time getting their figures straight.

So Gabrielle, the project manager decides to take Katie, who is playing the 'if I don't talk, he won't notice me' game and Bilyana, a bolshy bulgarian whose egomaniac confidence is a sight truly to be beheld. My thoughts throughout the whole ten minutes in the Boardroom was that Gabrielle was probably going to go, even though I liked her the most, if not, Katie would get it and that Alan Sugar would keep Bilyana in, even if for pure entertainment value. However, as it seemed more and more likely that Katie was getting the proverbial 'chop', Bilyana opened her mouth and did not stop talking, panicking and using the fact she was a head girl to try and tug at the heartstrings of Alan Sugar. Then she was fired. Pure and simple.

At first I was ecstatic, Gabrielle was still in and Katie's game had paid off. But although I had found Bilyana irritating as hell, when she appeared on the spin off show, 'You're fired' with Dara O Brain, she came across really well and I kind of felt bad for her. But hey ho, onto the next episode.

One more thing...

I served a woman on the checkouts and her face reminded me of this character from Family Guy. Don't judge me.

The closest to Heaven I'll ever be...

When I first began my degree path in 2010 (which seems so long ago now), the thought of going to study abroad for a semester was a distant place in the future. But it's funny how things creep up on you so quickly and the time has now arrived.

So, without further ado, I am pleased to announce the first milestone of my twenties: I'm off to study in Montreal, Canada for four months in January, next year (providing that the world survives the impending apocalypse on the 21st December 2012, naturally). The very fact that I am going to Canada is almost too exciting to bear but to actually live there, properly, is incredible. Fair enough, it is not the most exotic place in the world but it is a very interesting country. 

It's like a mini New York!

If I'm completely honest with myself, I am so surprised I got allocated Canada. After the hoo-hah in January, when my exams had went so badly, I had resigned myself to the fact that I was going to have to drop down to Business BA. Normally, I am of the frame of mind that things will turn out alright in the end but not this time. I actually began celebrating the fact that short-term, my finances would be brilliant but in the long-term, my career prospects would have taken a serious dent. 

Then BOOM! I find out I have passed all my exams (maybe Marketing was a marginal pass but who cares?) and International Business is back on the cards. I can honestly say that those exams frightened the bejesus out of me and I intend to study hard for the next lot. At this point, I think that if I had been allocated Ireland, I would have been quite happy. The opportunity to go anywhere would have been fantastic.

However, in hindsight, Canada is a far better allocation that Ireland. For those who do not understand where all this negativity about Ireland is coming from, in my course, it is a well-known fact that being allocated Ireland is a bit of embarrassment. With the chance of going to study in places like Australia, USA and other cool countries, getting an allocation to a place where the ferry is like half an hour would be a genuinely gutting thing. I mean imagine asking where your pal is going for exchange and they say Brisbane, Australia and you reply with Cork, Ireland. Somehow, it just doesn't inspire the same grandeur.

Anyway, I digress. Canada will be amazing and I was literally leaping for joy. However, as I spoke to other people in my course and they knew who they were going with, somewhere, deep inside of me, I knew something wasn't quite right. So I emailed the co-ordinator, Shelia (who is proving to be as useful as bottomless teacup) and she stated that currently, it was just me going to Montreal. Yeah, I'm not going to lie. That burst the proverbial bubble quite significantly. I had a wee mental breakdown but I won't go into that.

The more I think about it, the less worried I become about the potential of going by myself. Although, in saying that, I'll probably be shitting it when it's a week to go. However, I have two saving graces. The first saving grace is my cousin Michael who lives in Montreal. Although whenever I saw him at my auntie's conversation proved to be slightly difficult, I think I could make it work if I had to. My second saving grace is Fraser, who is over there right now doing his exchange, doing everything I will be doing. It will be nice to have a friend who's been there and done it and he's offered his help (which will be getting heavily utilised).

So all in all, future-wise, I am relatively positive. If only I could get some darn money saved up.

Also, I forgot to mention the one negative of Canada. In January and March, the temperatures do not tend to rise above freezing. For a girl who detests snow with a passion, the hope of escaping a winter without snow is sadly not going to be realised for a few years to come. I'll just have to dress up as an eskimo, which isn't necessarily a bad thing.

Clearly, it is that cold, her teeth have fallen out...

I think I'm all Canada'd out now. I feel like I'm annoying people by talking about incessantly so at least here, I have somewhere to stand on my soapbox and rant and rave!