2014

A few pretty incredible things happened this year & I thought it only right to share the non beach holiday based highlights with you. In pictures of course. Because I'm obsessed.

We went to Cork for St Paddy's Day

Basically we got pissed during fashion week. We booked flights after four bottles of wine. It was one of the rashest and dearest things I've done in a while. We didn't have a soft drink for the entire time we were there. Katie hugged a lamppost. Rouse lost his passport. Laura basically turned into a pint of Guinness and Me. I busted out a two step in the only pub in Ireland that played Jay Z. Naturally.

I dyed my hair red....very red.

Yeah. Jessica Rabbit eat your heart out. Minus the dresses. Minus the figure. Minus the annoying rabbit. Laura says that my life took a turn for the better the minute I stepped out of the bathroom that day. I'm tempted to agree.

I turned 25 courtside

And soon realised that I'll never be happy until I marry a basketball player. Hubba. Bubba.

Siouxsie gave me a talking to & I decided not to run away.

In June I decided I was going to jack it all in and go back packing round Asia with about sixty quid of savings and no real plan. One night out with my partner in crime and a firm talking to later, I realised staying put and making me happy here was the answer. So I did. She gave me the boost that was needed and I love her for it...and then in true style we drank a load of beer and didn't get home til stupid AM. On a Wednesday. Classy til the end.

Oh yeah. I also started wearing leather leggings. A lot. Mmmm Pleather.

We went to our last festival 

Laura & I realised that 25 was the age that we could no longer not shower for two days. We camped with popper taking children and realised that actually we quite like having proper chairs to sit on. We did however see M People. Which was epic. My Heather Small impression lives on.

I got to spend some quality time with this one. 

My Nan isn't very well god love her. But we've had a blast this year. And I've finally realised where I get my lip, my ability to knit and sew, my stubbornness from and where I learnt to drink gin like a sailor. All hail Joanie Louie Brickell. An icon. x

I ran up The Gherkin 

I raised £500 for charity and nearly killed myself. Was it worth it? Not at all.

I moved into our lovely flat with my best mate

These cushions really made it! We eat a lot of biscuits. We drink even more tea. And she's finally got me to watch a Harry Potter film. Our flat is ace. I know in twenty years we will look back and laugh at how much it shakes when the tram goes past. But for now we're just learning to survive on very little sleep.

I got in shape 

After a long time of not being entirely happy with myself I took the bull by the horns and got lean. Being able to take a photo like this, of me basically in underwear, was a real turning point..so long Buddha Belly...hello Muscle Mary.

I had the most fabulous Big Gay Xmas 

In September I emailed Ben & Josh a voucher code for an Adonis Cabaret. Things escalated really bloody quickly and before I knew it, we were having the biggest, gayest weekend in Brighton. Ever such a lot of drag queens, bottles of wine, pizzas, shooting stars and near the mark jokes. I also came to the conclusion that I am basically 80% a gay man. And I'm really OK with it.

& to round a fairly brilliant year off. My best mate got engaged. 

I cried. We all cried. Not even through happiness. Just in pure dread about how horrendous the hen do's going to be and how grown up one of us now is. Oh and because we were really happy that she'll be marrying probably one of the nicest guys anyone will ever meet.

Here's to 2015.

Happy New Year everyone. Be lucky

LL x

Winter

It's freezing. Like, super bloody cold! As if having to commit the cardinal sin of going back into the office between Christmas and New Year wasn't painful enough, I had to do it this morning with icicles on my face. 

It's a fact that I dress better in the winter. I am OBSESSED with grey jumpers and these legs were born to be in a 90 denier tight. BUT, I am 100% a summer person. I love pub gardens, I like being outside without getting hyperthermic and I enjoy being by the seaside. I do have see through skin so sunburn is a daily challenge but it's the only down side. 

Granted the winter months have their plus points. Red wine, CHRISTMAS, all things relatively glittery and of course hats like this one ^^^(what a dreamboat!). However, on the whole they suck. Particularly January, which is depressingly only 2 sleeps away.

 And here's 16 reasons why.

1. You have to deal with people sniffing. Not full on snorts, just the annoying little insescent sniffs. Ever. So. Jarring. 

2. Daily, you run the risk of loosing your job because of the amount of time you spend googling holidays. IT are currently having a field day looking at your history and having a good old laugh with John from Payroll about how far you actually think you can go on your modest (small) wage.

3. As if Christmas didn't rinse you of everything you own, you then have to deal with the daily SALE SALE SALE emails that don't seem to go away until you've bought two new pairs of Air Max 90's and a coat that's blatantly too small. Sorry, but babe, did you see how much meat you ate at Christmas?  Defo in need of the 16.

4. Dry skin. Elephant like skin. That no matter how much thick cocoa butter you ply onto yourself goes nowhere. I am a scaly mess. Scaly. Pasty. Mess. 

5.  Arriving and leaving work in the dark. Excuse me whilst I just go away and do a little bit of self harm. 

6. THE COMPLETE LACK OF MONEY LEFT IN YOUR BANK.

7. People trying to rope you into doing Dry January. Sorry, but I'm actually perfectly OK with my current booze intake/ fag consumption/ calorie absorption/ lack of exercise. Just because you hate yourself mate, don't drag me down with you. 

8. Snow. Looks lovely on the tele. Causes me and my lack of central gravity to go flying every time I try and move my feet. Cheers.

9. Which moves me swiftly onto Wellington Boots. Plastic, smelly, squealchy bastards that give you blisters and make you walk like you've had an accident of the toilet variety. Even worse.... Novelty wellies. Oh yes, it's so hilarious that your wellies look like penguins. Get out of my face.

10. Broken public transport. Because it's seems completely rational that, what in essence is some frozen water, would stop an entire train network working. Get the hairdryer out and get me to work. 

11. Gloves. The entrapment clothing that stops you being able to do anything, at all, with any ease. Oh you want to answer your phone do you? Good luck! 

12. Having to still shave your legs even though they've been hidden under layers and layers of clothing for months, just incase someone relatively attractive sees them. Long. 

13. Planning how appropriate it is to commit identity fraud just to get yourself out of paying the impending gas bill. If only morals were easier to get beyond.

14. How busy the gym is. With part time, flaky, gym folk. I won't bother with the customary raised eyebrow smile at the water fountain love. It's ever so apparent that you won't be here much past January pay day.

15. Shops starting to stock their summer ranges already. I'm sorry but it's minus 2 outside and your trying to flog me a bikini? The current state I'm in is a phase I like to call 'The Pasty Whale' and you want to shove pictures of skinny, tanned birds in my face? Show me the baggy jumper and stretchy legging section immediately before I take my custom swiftly elsewhere.

& last but by no means least

16. NEW YEARS RESOLUTIONS. Hands down the most pointless things ever invented and the source of so many conversations. Please shut up. There is no way, sweetheart, that you are going to shift 6 stone, meet the man of your dreams and break your 'bottle of gin a night' habit in enough time to get your leg over on Valentines Day. NOT HAPPENING. You'll be at home, in jogging bottoms, on Tinder. Probably eating a KFC. Deal.

LL x

The Nine Girl

It's a hard concept to explain to people, but one that I feel deserves it. So many friends of mine have people in their lives that there's a special something with. That something isn't a relationship, but it's more than just a fling or a repeated one night thing.

I've got friends that have had these 'somethings' and now that 'something' is an engagement, a house move, a cat. I've got other mates that have had these 'somethings' and then they ran their course, they've moved on to the next and it's a part of what was. Time has past and they still don't know what to refer to it as. Were you 'seeing each other', were you 'just good friends' was she 'just that girl I knew'?

I've devised a better (I hope) way of explaining it. Because in this day and age it's a situation we all find ourselves in more often than not and we all get questioned on.So what is she to you then? Well...

Here it is.

To the blokes that have had them, from the girls that have been them.

The Nine Girl. 

The line between a Nine Girl & a Mine Girl is a fine one. It's so easily blurred and one that needs to be stepped with great precaution. You can't overstep if you're not ready for a Nine to be Mine.

For now you have your Nine Girl and there's a certain way it has to go. 

You two are in touch every nine days or so. A week suggests a pattern, ten days suggests forgetting. To the boys you play it out like it's being done to keep your options open but it's because this girl may not be at the forefront of your mind, all of the time, but she's only ever about nine steps behind.

Your text conversations are limited to no more than nine responses and they often only ever occur after nine at night. All day long catch ups aint how you two do. But when you're together nine hours will go by in a flash, of conversation & belly laughs.

The Nine Girl is the girl whose thumb your phone finds after nine or so pints. Who you've drunkenly text nine or so times. The girl who doesn't mind the missed calls at 3.09, but the girl you respect too much to want to see you when you are nine wines in and looking mighty un-fine.

She's no booty call but she's no wife.

You spend hours laughing, chatting & catching up but something will always stop you from stopping past nine am the morning after the night before. You have to step back to draw the Nine/Mine line and you head on your way.

She may be ninth, nineteenth or ninetieth on your list but for you she sits in the top ninety percent. She's a solid nine out of ten.

You're friends with more than benefits. It's friends with 'something' but not everything. You're Nines.

At least nine things always remind you of this girl, a film, a song, a smell. You smile at the thought of the Nine Girl but you can think of at least nine valid reasons why you think this may never work.

She sits about ninth on your WhatsApp conversation list but still features on a list of the nine people you'd want to share your biggest news with.

She makes you laugh with the same jokes you've heard nine times over because there's that something, whatever it is, there.

Your Nine Girls knows where shes stands and that's because love it or hate it, you're her Nine Boy.

You reach nine on the fear scale that she's going to approach the subject of being your Mine Girl when in reality she's nine times less bothered about it than you think.

You may have what you have with your Nine Girl for nine to ninety months, and as long as it suits you there's no limit on it's course. You may see each other every nine days or every nine weeks but it works for you and that's cool.

In this day and age, there's always nine hundred and ninety nine other things that occupy our time and sometimes we can't dedicate the time to make our Nines our Mines.


 Not to say that they won't. Not to say they will.

But for now they're our Nine. And, well, that's just fine.

LL

x

The 2004 Kid Dictionary

Words that you said if you were at school in 2004.

Words, I hope to good God, you no longer use. 

The 'I was a teenage fool in 2004' Dictionary. 

Blaps

The act of hitting somebody. Usually without reason or cause. 

See - 'she just got blapsed up in the face' for reference. 

Shubz

A party or gathering that nine times out of ten only ever played the first ever So Solid Crew on repeat. You probably drank your first WKD Blue at one of these. If you are from South London, the police got called to at least one of them. One of your close friends may have lost their virginity at another. 

Grinding 

The word used to describe the art of dancing, somewhat like a slag, up against a boy who went to the shit school up the road. Often happened at a shubz. Often resulted in a teenage pregnancy. 

Choong ting

Attractive female

Buff ting

Attractive male.

Butters ting 

Unattractive person. Mainly just because they had braces. 

Shotgun

A bully's way of ensuring that they sat on the back row of the coach on your ghetto trip to Hampton Court. You wouldn't mess with him because a) he had the Adidas stripes shaved into his eyebrows and b) well...he shotgunned it. 

Llow it 

Please don't allow that to happen. See 'detention? Miss. LLOW IT!' for reference.

Spud

The word used straight after punching the class geek in his BCG scab to justify your mildly harrassing behaviour. 

Rush! 

The word screamed just before 400 puberty struck humans charged towards in the corridor outside Geography. RUSH! 

Skying it

The art of drinking a beverage from a can or bottle without your lips touching the container. Almost certainly perfected by only drinking Panda Pops. 

Blennie

Fat, basically. Word used to describe somebody not even that fat, but unable to fit into size 8 clothes from Clobber. 

Mashing

The act of having sex. Which, at 14, is a hot topic for all and sundry. 'Did you hear that they are mashing?! No way - she's so blennie!'

Breathalised

The hilarious act of breathing hard into a bag of crisps after offering them out to a friend. Endless hours of entertainment. 

Shook

Frightened, alarmed, generally put ill at ease. 'Bare shook bruv, bare shook'

& my all time favourite

Jinx

Oh me & my friend just said the same thing at the same time? Now, I've been peer pressured into remaining silent until someone far cooler than me says I can speak again. Sure thing. 

The Pratical Guide To Being Happy

I saw this post on Instagram this week, another in an ever growing list of misty eyed, 'far away look' quotes, set in a sepia tone, that are meant to make the person posting look like a social media philosopher.

I don't know why, but they get right on my goat.

It took me on to search the #happiness hashtag to see what other absolute classics cropped up. In delightful scripts and set over pictures of beaches, I found some real golden nuggets.

'Expect Less'

'Give More'

'Do More of What Makes You Smile'

& my all time favourite...

'Have happy thoughts. They will shine out of your face and you will always look lovely'.

Please.

As great as these quotes look tattooed on your wrist or written on your chalk board, they aren't very applicable to everyday life are they? They are kind of only suitable for those of us lucky enough to be lying in a hammock with a muscly man fanning us with banana leaves, whilst we look down at our naturally toned stomach.

This isn't to say there's no hope for us...the commuting, working, gym goers of the world. But there's a much more sensible and pragmatic way to seek contentment.

And here it is.

.The Practical Guide To Being Happy.

Accept situations for what they are, don't judge them against how you thought they were going to turn out.

Life aint a fairytale, and as it goes, you are actually more likely to find the love of your life on bloody Tinder than catching the eye of someone across a crowded room at a party 'you weren't even going to go to'. Doesn't make your story any less lovely. Be ok with it.

Make an effort with yourself.

 If you go out looking like a bag of shit, you'll feel like a bag of shit. It's science. Get to the gym, buy a hairbrush, find your inner peace.

Learn to enjoy your own company.

There is no truer state of happy than that found in a pair of jogging bottoms, on your sofa, eating Dominos straight from the box, in the view of nobody. Apart from, perhaps, the state of happy found at the bottom of a pot of hummus. But to save the cholesterol, just jam on your own one night a week. It's bliss.

Don't expect less.

That's literally the dumbest thing I've ever heard. Expect more. Why lower your expectations? Live by the analogy that you would never settle for a Happy Meal when you had every intention of going Extra Value with a side of nuggets. Life should be like this. Chase the Big Mac dream.

Delete people that make you feel bad about who you are or what you do.

 In short, avoid arseholes. Being judged for drinking on a school night, or getting sideways glances for going back out with the guy you know isn't really very good for you, isn't what you need in life. Stay close to the mates that will open the wine for you and give you a high five for getting your kicks. Everyone else can play with traffic.

Be ok with the past being the past.

Things end for a reason. Jobs, relationships, friendships, Breaking Bad. Leave them where they belong and don't dwell.

Don't over commit.

You've set amount of hours in the day and days in the week. Don't try and tear yourself in five different directions. Be practical about what you can do. Don't stress yourself out and don't piss people off by always being late. Simples.

  

 Realise your worth.

If you're a bit of a bastard, then fully expect to be kicked around. If you're the best then demand to be treated as such...or just not like an idiot. Don't get too ahead of yourself, but don't be a doormat.

Don't compromise on the big things.

Yes, back down on the inane crap like bed linen colour choices and washing up. Don't compromise on the things you've always dreamed of. Travel, kids, an x-box in the bathroom etc.

Stop trying to improve your physical self. 

Ok, be healthy and abide by the basics of personal hygiene. But on the whole, you got what you got. Deal. True story - confidence is attractive. Constantly folding your arms in front of the bust you view inadequate isn't. Enjoy the fact that your bras don't resemble circus tents.

Don't focus too heavily on work.

True, enjoy what you do, you are there A LOT. But don't blur the lines. It's the thing that should pay for us to get on planes, treat ourselves and eat in places that aren't Wimpy. It shouldn't be the thing that gets in the way.

Stop planning.

My least favourite people are those with 'five year plans'. Something will f-up in the matrix and you'll end up disappointed. Have a vague idea of what you'd like. Other than that, go with the bloody flow.

Don't be uptight.

Not only will it ultimately lead to wrinkles and early onset angina, nothing is really worth it. Save getting wound up for the day you get declared bankrupt, for the day you loose someone close, for the day United get relegated. Don't waste energy on delayed trains or arsey emails. Chill, Winston.

& lastly.

Have a vice.

Smoke, swear, juggle naked, eat Doritos in the morning, drink gin through your eye if you want. But have that little thing that's yours, that you probably shouldn't do, but that makes you feel nicely dirty.

Bliss.

LL x

Autumn

So this week someone decided it was a good idea to turn the tap on in the clouds and remind us all that a summer of festivaling and beers in the park is well and truly over. The heating went on and the commutes home are now officially done in the dark. Autumn's here, Christmas is round the corner and I've well and truly got the hump.

So here it is.

My list of the 20 things that I hate about Autumn.

1. You realise that months spent with your feet in flip flops has meant that they have spread, which means that everything closed toe that goes on them now feels like a mouse trap. Hello blisters!

2. Your skin dries out. You look like an elephant. End.

3. Conversations begin to centre solely around Christmas which does nothing but make you realise that another year is nearly over and you're STILL not a millionaire.

4. Your depressing lack of remaining annual leave dawns on you...

5....as does the realisation that you need to pay all the holidays and festivals off of your credit card in one month flat so you can actually afford Christmas.

6. You need to update your wardrobe but realise there are only two types of clothes available to purchase now - 1) the slutty sequined Christmas dress, 2) the rank novelty jumper. Joy.

7. Oh yeah, the fact that someone turns the sky off at 5pm everyday. Love that.

8. Girls - the drama of wearing tights in general. But especially wearing tights on office chairs. HELLO ITCH - HOW ARE YOU?

9. Having to wear clothes that are suitable for scuba diving and sunbathing everyday because the weather has an undiagnosed bipolar disorder.

10. Your Instagram feed is filled with pictures of leaves. And puddles. And people's feet in boots. Yawn. I'm only interested in rudely placed conkers. Thanks.

11. You start to gain weight at a rate of knots. You go into 'I'm a bear' mode and feel the need to eat everything in sight in preparation for the hibernation that will never occur.

12 . ADVENT CALENDARS ON SALE IN OCTOBER. NO!

13. The fact that you're expected to wake up in the dark. Not natural. Not. Natural.

14. Your skin looses any element of glow it had. You are now required to carry out some sort of foundation based plaster work to stop you commuting looking like Casper The Friendly Ghost.

15. Having to try and remember how your boiler works, and spend the evening in fear you're going to gas yourself out. Every single girls worst nightmare FYI.

16. You get all your jumpers out of the deepest darkest drawer from February to realise they kind of smell of must. Grim.

17. Drinking inside of the pub is now required. Not happy.

18. Having to put up with Louis Walsh on your TV every weekend between now and Christmas. Just disappear/ get arrested already. 

19. The revival of the onesie. The least flattering, most awful item of clothing anybody, ever invented.

and last but by no means least....

20. The Pride of Britain awards are on TV. Which means two things and two things only. 1) Two hours of Carol 'my dress is inappropriate for this occasion' Voderman 2) two hours of endless sobbing at the kids with no arms that are already such better people that you will EVER be.

LL x

The Subtext of That Text

Yes. I sat at home on Sunday afternoon, alone, and in a hoodie. I ate burritos, with my hair piled up on my head and I watched Sex and The City: The Movie. Contentment doesn't even cover it.

I watched for 90 minutes of cliches and really dramatic break ups whilst secretly praying that work will one day relocate me to New York. What can I say? Writing this blog looking out over Central Park will top Croydon Tramlink any day of the week. (I'm joking flatmate...our home is lush!)

I forgot about the one scene in the film that rings truer with me than any of the rest of them (mainly because they all involve million dollar apartments & $400 shoes). Carrie and Louise from St Louis sit in a bar, Louise receives a 'booty text', Carrie goes into real detail about understanding the 'subtext of that text' and how apparently a man wanting to meet for drinks after 11pm, obviously means he actually wants to get his leg over, and not meet the girl in question for a quiet cocktail.

Well you know, she's a writer, so she knows this shiz. Ahem. 

Watching this scene from SATC made me chuckle. The amount of conversations I've had of late with girls at work where minutes and minutes (read hours and hours) can be spent talking about the possible meanings behind, what is probably, a half arsed one liner from guys they are dating. Women are over-thinkers to the very end and dissecting text messages is one of our biggest flaws.

I decided it was time to tackle this head on and stop us all from trying too hard to get to the bottom of what the 'subtext of that text' really is. To do this, I've chosen some prime 'bloke' texts and some classics from the last few months of chatting over the photocopier to use as an example. I hope this comes in useful and helps you to chill the hell out.

**

What he text: 'Let me know when you get home x' (after a date)

What a girl reads it as: He really cares about my safety and obviously had such a good time that he couldn't wait until tomorrow to text me. Maybe we'll get married. Although, hang on. There's no question mark. Does that mean I have to reply? Will I hear from him again? AH MY HEAD HAS EXPLODED.

What he meant: Get home safe, I was brought up well so have manners enough to check. 

**

What he text: 'It would be good to catch up'

What a girl reads it as: AAAAAAAH he's asking me out on a date. What am I going to wear? Oh I wonder where we'll go. 

What he meant: I might give you a ring over the weekend.

**

What he text: 'how's it all going?' - after several months of no communication.

What a girl reads it as: Oh wow, he's still thinking about me. Bet he's regretting never calling me now.

What he meant: You just changed your profile picture on Facebook, you're looking pretty fit so I thought I'd chance my luck with this non commital attempt at getting in touch. 

**

What he text: 'what are you up to this weekend?x'

What a girl reads: AAAAAAAH he's asking me out on a date. What am I going to wear? Oh I wonder where we'll go. (you'll notice this pattern)

What he meant: I'm making polite midweek conversation. It's Tuesday. I literally have no idea what the weekend holds and refuse to make plans until I've spoken to the boys.

**

What he text: 'Was really good to see you'

What a girl reads: Well, are you going to see me again, are we doing this another time? AAAH

What he meant: It was genuinely good to see you but now I'm going to sleep/play xbox/ the gym/ can't be handling any more conversation for this evening. 

**

What he text: 'What do you fancy doing this evening?'

What a girl reads: Must instantly google Time Out's top ten places to eat in the capital and pre book a table at a good bar so he thinks I'm edgy and cool .

What he meant: Please offer up a pizza and DVD night. I went out on the lash yesterday and attempting to plan more than my journey home is painful. 

**

What he text: ' ;)' normally following a near the mark comment about your underwear

What a girl reads: Oh he is a cheeky chappy, but I'll give him a slap if he goes that far again. 

What he meant: No but seriously, what underwear do you have on?

**

What he text: 'Fancy a quick drink after work?'

What a girl reads: AAAAAAAH he's asking me out on a date. What am I going to wear? Oh I wonder where we'll go. (see where we are going with this)

What he meant: I'm on a stag do this weekend, but don't want you to go all GirlNuts on me so a cheeky mid week drink will keep things sweet.

**

What he text: 'Looking forward to it x'

What a girl reads: He's the one.There's a kiss. He's the one.

What he meant: Friday night will be a laugh, quite looking forward to another evening in your company, the kiss is clear progress from my side. However, we don't really need to text again before then.

**

What he text:  'I'll let you know when I'm about' 

What a girl reads: I must stare at my phone for the next fortnight and not make many plans in case of one of those impromptu mid week date offers!

What he meant: It's unlikely you'll hear from me again. 

**

What he text : 'You about?' Sent Friday 23.06. Typically from a flakey bloke.

What a girl reads: Should I stop everything I'm doing and get on the tube to wherever he is? It's 11pm. It's Friday. We could still have a nice evening together.

What he meant: I'm pissed and have needs. Get me.

**

What he text: 'Ha.' Followed on from some mediocre banter on your part.

What a girl reads: I mean, this is the seventh time I've text him in a fortnight, responses have been thin on the ground but I've obviously hit the nail on the head with that last bit of banter. Winner. Still hope yet.

What he meant: Stop texting me. Now.

**

LLx

Things I'll Never Understand

It's been a little while, so to get you & I into the swing of things again, here's a quicky.

The top 20 things I will never understand.

1. People that shout down the phone when speaking to someone abroad. It's a phone - it does the volume for you. Screaming from your office in Soho won't make the guy in Singapore understand you better.

2. Olives. Like what are they? A grape? A vegetable? Rank? Yes. So rank.

3. The Phone Watch. You are neither James Bond nor Inspector Gadget. You are an accountant from Coulsdon on 08.06 to London Victoria. Wind your neck in.

4. Blokes that pretend they actually want to be in Ikea. Grow a pair, stand your ground and go straight to the hot dogs.

5.The eggs in McDonalds. They are clearly not made from anything remotely resembling an egg but they are so god damn tasty. What is that?

6. Fruit sauces with meat. Do you see me whacking a load of strawberry jam in my ham sandwich? No. Why? Because it's sick and wrong. Keep your apple slush away from my pork.

7. Blokes that think calling females 'hunny' is appropriate. It isn't for the record. Not now. Not tomorrow. Not ever. No.

8. People that 'don't get' Nandos. What is there 'to get'? It's chicken. You eat it. You leave.

9. People under the age of 30 who have difficulty typing at speed. I'm sorry, did you not grow up relying on MSN messenger as your sole form of communication?

10. TOWIE. Like, what? And why? The scripted-but it's real life-but people can't genuinely be that thick-it's actual horse shit programme. Totally over my head.

11. People that write into the Metro's Rush Hour Crush. At the very best, you sound like a murder-ey stalker.

12. Parents that allow their kids to undergo national humiliation on the X Factor without telling them that instead of sounding like the next Mariah Carey, the noise from their mouth resembles a dying fox.

13. People that text to ask how you are....and never reply to your response.

14. Gabby Logan. Completely don't understand the point of her. Other than to be there to try and sex up football programmes. Without being remotely sexy. Or knowing much about football.

15. Fancy dress. Enforced fun will never be for me. I don't understand why you have to dress like a tit to have a nice time? I enjoy myself far more in my own jeans.

16. The use of the phrase ASAP. No, instead of completing that task in a timely manner, I was going to scratch my bum a bit and play four games of online Sudoko before doing it. Come on now.

17. Talking of puzzles. Those crosswords that have no black bits filled in. Talk about pointless mind fuck.

18. Tinder. Go to the pub. Talk to a girl. Know from the get go if she has all her own teeth and no lazy eyes.

19.Celery. Utterly pointless, negative calorie, water filled grass-ness.

And last but by no means least...

20. Horoscopes. Complete and utter crap scrawled down by a fat bloke with a telescope from Argos with a fetish for putting on a black wig and calling himself Meg. Weird.

LL x

Assumptions

I've been talking to a customer of ours at work for nearly a year. We speak twice a week and after 11 months of listening to his gruff, Hull accent telling me what for on the phone and knowing how frustratingly bad he is at sending emails, I had the perfect picture in my head. A 68 year old, rotund Father Christmas look-a-like with a pot belly and greying stubble. Your standard white, middle aged Yorkshire man, who's never really been out of the Hull, let alone the country. 

The door buzzes at work last Monday, and my back goes up. He's here and I know we are in for a 4 hour appointment of whining, moaning and finger pointing about all that's gone wrong, as this old grandad munches his way through our biscuit supply whilst wiping his lunch down his cords. 

'You must be Jo' says the familiar voice. Around I turn to be met by a 6 foot 4, 45 year old, Armani wearing, stunning bald black guy who's just got off the plane from Ibiza. I'm literally knocked off the spot, and also fancy him quite a bit. I was dumb struck for at least half an hour, and couldn't believe I'd got my assumption so wrong. My old boss used to live by the motto of 'Never Assume' and at times like this I know why. He was a delight in the showroom, and I left for the day with a new mate and a new older man crush. Who'd have thought!

It also got me thinking how many wrong assumptions we all make on a daily basis, and how quick we are to make them.

Assumptions such as;

- A guy who wears Converse or Vans with a suit must work in 'media, darling'. And probably lives in a house share with artisans. No doubt in East London. No thought is ever given to his general comfort. 

- The guy that brings a McDonalds into work must be hanging. Not just hungry. Or fancying a treat. But automatically a pisshead. In everyone's eyes. 

- All builders are straight. All dancers are not. All people that work in museums never get laid because they smell like old books.

- The really leggy blonde, with lovely eyes and a killer smile at the bar, is obviously waiting for her 7ft 9 rugby playing boyfriend with two dicks. There is absolutely no point in approaching her.

- That everyone is happier and richer than you. Truth be known, everyone else in your carriage is also working out how much money a day they have to live off between now and payday on their iPhone calculator. 

- That when people swear at their computer screen, they are the most stressed and overworked people in your office. In actual fact, 9 times out of 10, they've just forgotten their Amazon password.

- That everyone on the 23.53 from Victoria is as pissed as you on a Thursday night. Blind eye cast on all shift workers. 

- People that are glued to their Blackberry on public transport are very executive, extremely important and very rich. High chances are they are just having a BBM row with their Mrs. 

- People that studied Art History at University must have a serious pot habit. People that studied Physics probably only got around to having sex at the age of 27. People that studied Beauty Therapy didn't go to school. 

-People that go to festivals love getting off their titty kakkas on illegal highs. And that's the only reason they go. Nothing to do with the music. Or the atmosphere. Nothing at all. 

- A guy holding a bunch of flowers is obviously groveling. And has acted like an utter dickhead. He isn't just being Mr Nice.

- Skinny girls don't get a sweaty bum or cleavage in the gym. Or feel like they are going to cough up their lung when they run. Also, the skinniness is completely effortless. Nothing to do with the fact they stopped doing anything fun at the age of 19. 

- A man wearing a short sleeved shirt and tie combo must work in Accounts. Or IT. Obviously.

- People with double barreled surnames must be the offspring of middle class hippies. Or aristocrats.  Not just normal people from Balham that couldn't make a decision.

Oh and of course...

- Your nether regions are the only ones your doctor has ever seen, and you must therefore have a near heart attack every time they need to look down there. Truth being, cupping your balls is pretty much like signing off an invoice to them. No dramas.

& then there's of course the assumptions that are always correct, and are the reason that we do assume. 

It's fair to assume that a cup of tea will no doubt make you feel better no matter the situation, Polish people really do love drinking vodka. And yes, traffic wardens really are all arseholes.

LL x

Knackered

It's been a ridiculous four weeks. Early mornings at work, late finishes and later nights out. Bad sleeping patterns, even worse eating habits and an overwhelming sense of wanting to break down in tears because I'm so bloody tired. It's my own fault. I've had the chance to stay in a recoup from the most stressful period at work, spend time on my own with some scented candles and a good book. Low and behold I scoff at that, believe I'm superwoman and opt for the pub.

Friday night hit me like a ten tonne of bricks. Homeward bound on a packed Victoria Line train and for the first time in a long time, I nodded off on public transport. That's when I realised how absolutely buggered I really was. And it hit me how many typically 'tired person' things I've been doing for the last month.
 

There are things in life that only tired people do. Not slightly under-slept people. I'm talking the exhausted among us. And here's some of them.

- You spend at least 75% of your day just staring. Staring into space. Staring at your laptop. Staring at strangers. Shifting your gaze takes more brain power than you can possibly spare. 

- You eat more bread than the average family get through in a week. Mainly because it requires no cooking. Secondly because it's always there. Thirdly because you can dip it into anything remotely less dense in the fridge and kid yourself you are having a 'meal'. 

- You rarely eat lunch, meaning when you sit opposite someone on the way home eating fast food, you devise vicious ways to either mug or murder them. For no other reason than to lay claim on their chicken nuggets. Mmmm nuggets.

- You have internal debates about how much you actually need to shower. You know you'll feel a million times better if you do, but at the same time the walk to the bathroom, undressing and getting into the shower feels like some version of Tough Mudder in your head and you just can't face it. 

- You get hammered after two glasses of wine. Like, out of the game. 

- You grunt at almost everything. 

- You well up at everything else. 

- You get 'dry eye'. You know when your eyes feel like the bottom of your flip flop? Yeah that's the one. 

- By Thursday, you resort to setting 15 alarms. You know as well as the next man that you are snoozing at least 12 of them bad boys.

- You'd never admit to it, but you have been known to just shut your eyes for a minute when you're on the loo.

- You become so absent minded that you run the risk of near fatal accidents at least twice an hour. No kettle or bread knife is safe in your presence. You all remember the time when you nearly gave yourself third degree burns when making a cuppa because, funnily enough, you were staring into space?!

- You ache in places you didn't even know could ache. Like the bit right under your bum. What the fuck is that all about? 

- Despite your near death exhaustion you still insist on watching 3 episodes of Family Guy before you got to sleep. Even though it's 11pm. Even though you have to be up in 6 hours. Even though you have definitely seen them all before.

- You give up all hope of seeming  attractive. You have greasy hair and spotty skin and eyes that look like Pete Doherty's on a comedown. You are Tired Girl, and you want nobody to look at you. 

- Yawning is so enjoyable. It becomes like a little hourly treat. 

- Strangers on public transport become strangely cuddly looking. Except if they are eating McDonalds of course. 

- You bump into everything. All of the time. 

- You have no ability to retain any useful information. Sometimes, even the order of the alphabet doesn't come naturally. 

- You become besties with the woman in Pret. She just hands you a dirty cheese croissant and a coffee when you walk in to save you having to actually say words. 

- You don't walk. You shuffle. A bit like your Great Aunt. You know the one with the frame? 

- You devise amazing ways to conserve energy. Like changing the channel on the remote with your toes to save you bending over. You do it and then you feel like a champion. But you can't celebrate for too long. Because your wrecked. 

- You struggle to form sentences and revert to pointing at everything. If people don't understand what you mean, you start to really hate them. 

-Even your glasses don't stop the fuzzy vision. 

- Finding your oyster card or keys makes you feel like you've been chucked in the deep end of The Crystal Maze. It's really bloody stressful. 

- Oh and despite all of this, come Saturday morning when the lie you've been looking forward to since Monday comes knocking, you still wake up at work time. Because you were so bloody tired you forgot to turn off your fecking alarm! 

LLx

Overhearing

And for some light amusement, here's a few of the stupidest & most ridiculous things I have overheard this week. 

Girl 1: What are potato wedges?

Girl 2: You know....wedges

-

Train Driver: The next station is Streatham Hill.

Woman A: Excuse me, does this train go to Streatham Hill?

-

'Because, I know what a black coffee is, but what's a white coffee. Like, how would I make that?'

-

Man A: Snapchatting is only good for naked shit really.

Man B: True story. 

-

Woman: But I put a weekly travel card on this last Tuesday for crying out loud, why won't it let me through?

TFL Worker: Because it's Wednesday 

-

'Yeah, I mean, granted I asked him to sleep in my bed, but I really think like he overstepped the mark, don't you?'

-

Man Standing Outside Brixton Tube Station: Yeah, no totally running on time, just got out at Oxford Circus mate, see you in a second. 

-

'No it was a good deal really. It was like one for three quid, or two for six so I just got the two. Cheaper that way'.

-

LL x

The Gym

I've always been a member of a gym. I haven't always gone religiously but the direct debit was there as proof to anyone that cared to listen, that I did always have the good intent to go. Of late, I've been a slightly more frequent attendee. Not because I'm in search of the perfect body or I have hopes of one day being a body builder, but mainly because I have the eating habits of a growing teenage boy. Something's got to counteract it.

I joined a new 'black label' gym back in March. After a weekend of boozing and eating in Ireland for St Paddy's Day I hastily signed up for a year contract to a swanky(ish) gym I can just about afford. It was the ultimate in regret hangover decisions. As such, I've made a vow to go at least twice a week, mainly because on those two nights of the week I can't afford to go out because, well, because I'm paying for the gym.

Over the past few months, I've grown a slight irritation towards the gym, it's attendees and pretty much everything about it. People always ask me why so I decided to write a little account of my typical gym session to prove why elements of it do my absolute nut in.

Here we are. 

Greeted with a chipper 'enjoy your work out' is enough to make you want to turn on your heel and run for your life. Enjoy my work out? Alright pisstaker. You locker away your shopping bags and pride and head to the gym floor.

There you are greeted with the mirrored walls.

 Let's talk about those for a while shall we. The walls that give you no other option but to stare at the beetroot red, sweaty and fatter than you thought version of yourself. The one that, funnily enough, doesn't run like the athlete you'd imagined, but actually like Bambi after one too many vodkas. Whilst staring at this really unfortunate version of you (because you have no other option) your focus switches from your breathing and rhythm and on to the fact that your eyebrows need doing and that you really need to buy some new gym clothes. In turn, you loose said rhythm, stumble and suffer a near heart attack from the fear that you'll be the girl that face planted a treadmill. Strong look.

As if the mirrors aren't bad enough on a personal level, they are also the gateway into the eyes of one of two of the following people;

1) the woman you think you look like when you exercise. The one whose hair looks great bundled on top of her head. The one who glows, not sweats. The one who does this shit for fun.

2) the type of guy you automatically fancy. The one you'd quite like to stumble across in a make up wearing, hair straightened situation. NOT NOW.

Whilst on the subject of people in the gym, You are always met with at least one of my two least favourite gym go-ers within about ten minutes of arrival.

Rocky is my number one least favourite gym buddy. You know the guy. The one that insists on working out in a grey hoody (because visible sweat marks are a right turn on lad) and punching the air when he runs. The one who is running to the infamous soundtrack in his head, but who in reality looks like an absolute mug.

Katie Price is my second favourite. The girl who wears  more make up to the gym than I probably will on my own wedding day. The make up wearing at the gym thing is something I'll never get. It's going one of two ways sweetheart, either you'll be too scared to work up a sweat incase it messes up the work of art on your face, that the whole trip to the gym will be futile. Or you will work up such a sweat that you'll walk out of here looking like a panda on a comedown. It's face wipe time.

Once you've got over the cringe and prat filled cardio section of your work out, out comes the little evil voice in your head that chips in about 'muscle burns fat don't you know'. I hate that guy. Then you stare across at it. The Free Weights Zone. Or should I rephrase. The Man Man Muscly Man Only Zone. Five square metres of pure testosterone, grunting, clenching and cock fights. God, help me.

An area filled with so many bulging veins that it looks like an A-Z of a weird genetically modified town, an area dense with the smell of protein shakes and the overwhelming sense that everyone in said section has a  penis a lot smaller than his muscles would suggest.

You stretch, you clench and lunge away whilst worrying yourself into oblivion that your granny gym pants can be seen through your 'seen better days' gym leggings. You face away from the mirror and as such end up slipping a disc or something equally epic. 

You walk around. A LOT. Always so much pacing goes down in a gym. Why does everyone just wander about? Why don't we all just join a walking club and save ourselves from 3 hours a week of awful pumping house music? You walk past the Greek goddess who's on her 17th kilometre without a drink break and resign yourself to cramp and a bit of self pity.

You exit the gym floor convinced that the agony of your Sunday morning is over, and then you realise what's up next. The changing room.

In to the shower you go, wondering why these things are never tiled white. White tiles would show you how many pubes and bodily fluids you are actually washing around. Dark blue tiles leave you with sense of worrying mystery and a consistent mental note to buy verruca cream.

You've been brought up with a sense of modesty, so drying and changing for you is done with a certain level of discretion. If only such rules applied to everyone else in Naked Wonder Town. Personally, if I have to be subjected to one more woman bend over in front of me, minus drawers, to pick up her towel I will not be held responsible for my actions. Especially when waxing seems to have been something she's left off her to-do list since 1998. There's the natural look, then there's taking the piss. 

You dry off, not properly because the towels are made of paper, and get dressed. You never feel 100% walking out of there. You nine times out of ten forget one thing that makes your getting ready routine complete. Like your bra. That's always a classic. The hairdryers aren't as good as your own, and you spend the whole time thinking up ways you could bring the entire contents of your own bedroom and bathroom to the gym with you each day.

Granted, you walk out feeling good about yourself. The endorphins do the trick, you know it was worth the trauma and the 'enjoy your workout' guy is less irritating on the way out. 

Well. That's all fine, until you have to get a slight jog on for the bus home & you pull a bloody  muscle.

Love that.

LLx

Hot Weather Advice

It's been a scorcher this week, that's fair to say. And for those of us living & working in the big smoke, we all know how bloody unbearable anything a degree above chilly can be. Tackling the tube makes you want to faint and being stuck in a windowless box for 8 hours of the day does bring on thoughts of self harm.

It also brings out the absolute worst in people. People are so agro when they are hot. And sadly quite a lot of the time forget to abide by standards that are so commonplace when it's snowing.

Now, after a week of being stuck in many a smelly armpit on my commute, I thought it was time I provided some advice for those of you who forget how to behave appropriately when the sun comes out.

 Please abide by these ten rules if you wish to make it to September without feeling my wrath!

Rule 1: Girls, file your feet! No man, woman or dog wants to see a crusty big toe or heel hanging out of your gladiator sandals. MOISTURISE. If you have bunions, wear trainers - or cut your foot off. Nobody wants to see it.

Rule 2: Guys. White shirts get stained from your sweat FYI. If it's going yellow under the arms - bin it. Nobody will ever sleep with you if you've got hardened yellow marks on show when you reach up to grab a file off the top shelf. Yack.

Rule 3: Drink plenty of water. Everyone will hate you if you faint and you are the reason 4,000 people are late for work because you did it just as the tube was about to pull out of Oxford Circus. Don't be selfish.

Rule 4: Girls, the backs of your legs grow hairs too. Shave them. Just because you can't see it doesn't mean to say the rest of us can't. Pay attention.

Rule 5: Guys, short sleeved shirts and ties is not a strong look. Just don't do it. Ever. 

Rule 6:  Don't stop bang outside the tube to take a 'summertime selfie'. I will walk up your back and be really cross about it.

Rule 7: Remove all sunglasses before getting on the tube. You look like a chump. YOU ARE IN A DARK TUNNEL.

Rule 8: Take some deodorant in your bag to work. Re-apply at regular intervals. If you are unsure about the state of play under your arms, don't be a maverick and chance an arm up on the bus or a reach over the desk at work. Check before you stretch.

Rule 9: Girls, non-leather ballet pumps will end up smelling in this weather. Smelling real bad. Don't slip a foot out under the desk or on the bus to give them bad boys some air. If I get a downwind of Eau De Wotsit, shit's going down.

Rule 10: At least once a week (this week it was Tuesday), I will wear a skirt to work. High chances are, the breeze down the tube will cause it to blow up on occasion. My ninja like reflexes normally prevent any knicker exposure, but if I'm slightly off my game do not be the guy that shouts 'Alright Marylin, Wahey!' from the top of the escalator at Green Park.

You know who you are.

You are not a comedian.

LL x

The South London Dictionary

Last night I paid an impromptu visit to our local school pub. The one that was a stone's throw up the hill from where we spent many a glorious year in an itchy green jumper and where most of us have spent at least one drunken night with a member of the IT staff?! The place we all meet every Christmas Eve without prior arrangement, and the place you are guaranteed to run into someone you know/would rather forget. 

One particular reprobate (who shall remain nameless) that we were educated alongside has taken the plunge and is going to 'find himself' in Thailand for a year or so and as such decided World Cup based beers in our local was a great way to send him on his way. Low and behold, out came some of the oldest faces from tutor groups of yesteryear. I'm so pleased I popped my head in.

In one corner, of one pub, in one part of South London, sat a group of grown up kids that hadn't all been together for nearly ten years. Not a lot had changed. Well, there's a few kids in the mix, a couple of serious jobs and a flat or two but on the whole we haven't changed one bit. 

In particular, the way we speak to each other is exactly the same it was in Mr 'Sweaty' Hart's Geography classes. The old catchphrases and pisstaking comments were as free flowing as the tequila. 

It got me thinking. If we were in a pub anywhere else in the country, or anywhere else in London for that matter, nobody would have a bloody clue what we were talking about. I decided it was time to educate all those unfortunate enough to not grow up in glorious South London to some of the key words and terms that make up our beautiful way of speaking.

Here it is.

The South London Dictionary 

Bants

An abbreviation for the word banter. A term used to justify any harsh, offensive or mildly sexist comment. 

Long

A word used to describe something you don't particularly want to do. 

'don't make me go to the bar, that's long'

Proper vexed.

A term used to describe being somewhat put out by a situation. 

Butterz

Adjective. Used to describe someone really unattractive.

'good to see she's still completely butterz'

You mug

A term used to highlight that someone has entirely embarrassed themselves.

Init.

General filler.

Fucking 'ell

General filler.

We're the red & blue army

A term used to highlight that the person supports Crystal Palace Football Club, and if you don't, your opinion is no longer valid to him/her. 

Don't air me

A term used to highlight the fact you'd rather not be ignored. 

See him off

Ask that young man to leave/hurt him. 

Deep 

Double meaning.

1. Something that's quite harsh and hard to deal with 'she aired you bruv, that's deep'

2. Something's pretty good. 'you won the lottery? Deep'.

Munch 

Food. Preferably fried chicken. Preferably a two piece and chips. 

'I need munch'

Licked

Highly intoxicated.
Chunder
To be violently sick. Usually after being licked.

Lad

A humorous gentleman. A fellow who courts many a female. 

Bare

Plenty, many, lots of.

'bare people in this pub'

More often used in a sarcastic context. For example the above sentence would be used upon arrival in a completely empty pub. 

Dash

To pass something to someone. 

Beef

A somewhat hostile disagreement.
Safe
Thanks/Kind Regards

Sick 

Something's that's pretty bloody good. 

& last but not least. Everyone's favourite. 

Chief 

An absolute idiot. 

"look at that chief, going to Thailand to 'find himself'"

LL 

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