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 

x

The Girl's Guide To The World Cup

I was born the second daughter to a football nut father. The second of two girls. The second non boy to not take to Sunday 5-a-sides and to not bore to death with the story about the time he nearly trialled at Charlton. 

The lack of male offspring caused our dear old pops to teach my sister & I to have an appreciation for the beautiful game. Alongside our Take That & Spice Girls posters sat the Man United team photo, fixture lists & pull out A3's of Gary Pallister. Yep. I was totally obsessed with Mr P. Still am truth be known.

I owned the infamous black & yellow away kit and wore the collar up like I was Cantona. My sister to this day still reads the paper back to front. We still enjoy a Jipp Japp Stam chant & hold the Sherringham years fond in our hearts. 

Over time we may not have always been interested in the match on the TV, or even United's current league position, but we've learnt the rules. The rules one must abide by in the presence of a football watching man.

With a month of late nights, tears, screams and rage ahead of us, I thought it was about time my sister & I, with the help of a couple of male mates, imparted some of our wisdom. A little list for the unassuming females of the world who have significant others to deal with during this very special time. 

So here it is....

The Girl's Guide To The World Cup.

- Don't make plans. Any plans. Don't assume that if he's booked time off work it will be to spend time with you. Wrong. Also don't think that he'll only be interested in watching the England matches so you'll only loose him for 3 nights of the tournament. Again, wrong. All matches. Everyday.

- When they don't want to partake in the plans you have already made, don't ask them what's more important 'Football or Me?'.  This month, nobody wants the real answer to that question. 

- Every match is vital. And not just the match. The lead up show is just as crucial and will require just as much silence and lack of distraction. He'll use this time to get half cut on his World Cup beers.

- Never under any circumstances speak when Ian Wright is speaking. Join in abusing Adrian Chiles. 

- Don't think it's OK to judge a team based purely on attractiveness of players. Yes, the Italian side are a pretty bunch but come Saturday night your head needs to switch from "shag" to "kill" mode almost instantly.

- Feign slight interest. And don't just ask dumb arse questions like,"Where's Beckham?". It's painful for everyone....he's not bringing up the time your family dog died is he? No. So don't mention Sir Becks. Not now, not ever.

- Sit back and relish in watching him fill in his Panini sticker book. Got, got, need. 

- Don't mock the roller coaster relationship he will have with Roy Hodgson. He will go from despising him, to worshiping the ground he walks on, to wanting to put his own dad up for adoption and take Roy on instead. Oh and before you ask, Roy Hodgson's the manager. 

- Don't you ever DARE say "It's only a game". 

- Don't pass comment on, what may seem over exaggerated, reactions to a "beautiful pass" or 'wonder goal' or a nut holding tackle. They might be sitting on a sofa in Streatham, but in their heads they are in Rio. Appease them.

- Start drinking beer. Trust me. It will help.

- Begin to understand the importance of replays. Yes this might be the 8th time he's seen this corner be taken,  but seeing it in slow motion, and from that angle will make everything So. Much. Better. 

- Take note of the fact that this is the only occasion he'll be able to multi task. He'll be able to watch the match, join in a twitter debate and have cheeky bet all in unison. Mind. Blown.

- Don't pass judgement when England are 4-0 down with 12 minutes to go and he utters the infamous man line 'Well, we never play well for 90 minutes, I fancy we'll still do them'.

- Don't think that because you got Cameroon in the sweepstake at work, they actually stand a chance. If you didn't pull Brazil, Argentina, Germany or Spain, kiss your quid goodbye. And don't constantly ask how Cameroon are doing. 

- Try & avoiding asking what the offside rule is during the match - here's a diagram I've drawn for you. Learn it. 

- At last but not least - here's this little classic. Today I asked some old mates Dean & Steven what they would most like to add to the list. This was my favourite. By far. 

'Don't attempt to engage us in sexual activity whilst a game is on, when Chile are playing Holland I am much more interested in the rampaging full backs than I am in a half hearted attempt at a blowjob'.

Classic boys. 

Thank god it's only once every four years!

LL x