Monthly Archives: July 2009

Escape Booked

After near disaster involving sold-out flights and increased prices, I managed to book the hotel with the exciting red heat lamp. I am thus officially off to Berlin in a week… WOOOOOOOOOO!

Unfortunately due to flights at a reasonable time selling out I will have to be starting my journey to the airport at the godforsaken hour of 5am; check-in at the hotel is available from 3pm, so I hope I will be so excited that I don’t get tired and therefore grumpy. Getting all snarky on the very first day would not be good.

Now I have something to do for the next week or so- Plan what to do. Ah the joys of planning…and washing and packing. Fun times. It seems like Berlin’s transportation system is having a bit of a meltdown at the moment, with entire lines on the overground trains out of commission; should make for some interesting travel…
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Escape More

Yesterday was a day of much event: I got my hair cut, got the GO for holiday from MW#1 – To my favoured destination of Berlin (eeeeeeeee) – and of all things I purchased a bikini. An actual bikini I intend to wear, as opposed to a posing one (Hello American Apparel).

I am so excited about going back to Berlin- The last time I was there I had such a wonderful time. As I don’t get to do fancy very often I have spent the day browsing rather nice hotels; the one I have my eye on is particularly appealing as amongst other things it has a heat lamp in the bathroom that fills the room with intense red light when you turn it on. Oooooo red light bulbs! Sleazy! Exciting!!

The fantasy hotel I cannot afford is the Hotel Q – A rock star/design freak/dirty girl paradise. It’s got a spa with a giant sand pit to lounge around in, slate wetrooms and some rooms have a bath built into the frame of the bed- uber impractical but kind of cool. Also it has a preponderance of coloured lighting- clearly that pleases me in some idiotic way. Oooo pretty colours…

Wherever we end up booking the plan is to stay for four nights; this will provide plenty of time to wander, see the sights, eat to the point of bursting and drink many cocktails. So basically lead the good life for a while and relax. I am going to bring a big bag of earplugs just in case and am very much looking forward to spending some quality time with some manfur. Sigh.

MW#1 is not at all uncultured, however he is not into art in the way I am so I think a couple of hours in one particular gallery will be enough; maybe he can go see some tanks and bombs whilst I ponder conceptual art :D

I am overly looking forward to the breakfasts. Of course, hotel-based ones are stupidly expensive, but the idea of eating a giant breakfast filled with different cheeses, hams and sausages, breads, preserves and eggs makes me drool- I had an ohmygod amazing feast at the restaurant in the Hamburger Bahnhof. I like my food and the change from Coco Pops or porridge is going to be welcome.

It’s only in a week or so… I am really looking forward to getting away for a few days.

So other than Berlin obsessing I got my hair cut nice and short again and spent literally hours looking for a swimsuit to wear on my upcoming spa trip with Leia Ewok Village. Eventually I found one in Marks and Spencer; for “a laugh” I tried on a few bikinis at the same time, ostensibly to see just how bad I looked. My middle is not very defined and every movement jiggles my pale white stomach; nevertheless I decided to live dangerously and be brave and buy one.

The top is stripy and multicoloured and the bottoms are black and skirted with a grey and white leopard print sash. I know that’s a serious style clash but I thought they worked well together in an, “Oh look. Typical Monky-wear” sort of way. Whether or not I actually have the guts to wear said bikini I am not sure, but I figure I will be spending a lot of time in a jacuzzi so my middle will be hidden :)

I’m going to Berlin! With MW#1! In just over one week! Eeeeeeeeeeeeeee :)
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The holiday is on! Woooo!

Just got to decide where to go now, but… Woo!
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Canteen – Caversham Princess

The other night I took a ramble into Lahndahn tahn to meet with Caversham Princess for an evening of catching up, eating well and drinking lots. We went to Canteen on the South Bank a “a stylish cross between a British transport caff and a diner” and together we had a delicious meal that came accessorised with the worst service I have ever experienced in any restaurant I have patronised. Really.

After waiting well over half and hour for our order to be taken, the diminutive waitress inspired our full confidence when she asked whether or not we’d like all our drinks brought at the same time, adding that she gets confused and that we should remind her, even when we said we were happy to have them all together. This did not bode well.

Canteen We waited for perhaps another half hour before our cocktails – minus the wine or starters – were delivered. We had a Twinkle each: “Dry Champagne, vodka & elderflower.” which was apparently “Light, with a floral note” and although very tasty and served in champagne bowls rather than flutes – extra points there – it did trigger off flavours of Strepsils and Tunes. MMmmmm.

We passed some more time before our waitress popped up again to say – overfuckingfamilliarly – that one of our starters was off the menu – I swear because we had waited so very long for it – so me and Caversham Princess each had potted duck with toast and piccalilli. Very tasty too, but we were eating the starter at a time when we could’ve been making our way towards the end of the main course. AND the wine had still not arrived.

More bloody time passes. Our mains of roast chicken, chips and garlic mayo with seasonal greens and macaroni cheese with green beans in garlic butter arrive at last; we have to remind our waitress about the wine. The food was simply done and presented and was very good indeed; not fussy, overdone cooking, just hugely satisfying and delicious. My chicken was *perfect*.

I felt like I might pop at the end, but of course there’s always room for dessert and Eton Mess was duly ordered. We bet that our dessert would not materialise in under five minutes but alas! our hopes for wiping the tip out were destroyed when it was delivered in three minutes. Actual service? Whatever next…?

We decided to try and make a quick getaway by just paying the bloody bill & tip in total rather than having to mess about; whilst we were paying our waitress thanked “[us] guys for being so patient”. Just improve your ability to do your job, Love.

Aaanyway, the food was lovely and it was most awesome to see Caversham Princess after such a long gap; it is always pleasing to remind myself how complex and slightly insane yet inane our lives our. Good times!
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Swimsuit Fear

Ah jeebus… I’ve just realised for my upcoming trip to the spa I will need a swimsuit, and one that fits rather than the designed-for-someone-two-sizes-smaller ones I have knocking around. FEAR.

I’ve always had functional suits for the monotony of training, ones with high legs and a tight fit. Now I need medium legs and maybe some sort of support. What really perturbs me is my legs, where no support can exist- The serious curve I have on the outside of my upper leg, the hipbone that always used to jut out missing under the fat i’ve accumulated. I must get a new suit and learn that it’s okay for my hipbone to rest padded in a little podge. I must learn…
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Grumpyness – Toy Death

I am grumpy. After three years of outstanding service, my favourite sex toy has given up the ghost; for a toy to last three whole years is nothing short of miraculous, given that so many I have bought have died after only a few months. I liked my red toy as it was simple and uber powerful, getting the job done without extraneous dials or buttons. One dial, on or off, low power to high. Hard plastic so that the vibrations transmit efficiently and nice and cheap to purchase. And red.

I’ve spent this evening trying to find something similar to replace it but am fairly unenamoured with what i’ve seen; I am loathe to buy anything expensive as even as an investment purchase I have been let down so many times. Yes, my heart has been broken by under-performing sex toys. Really.

Or not.

My brother came down to visit this weekend and we passed the time by eating, talking and shopping for the perfect suit for a wedding he is going to. He takes great care with his appearance, so you would have thought that buying a suit would be an easy process. Alas not, and his lack of general wherewithal meant that I was having to practically march him through the process of trying different colours, fabrics and button combinations. Then we had the shirt to find and the tie and the cuff links. Taxing.

My bro is still unemployed and still looking for a job of some sorts; he’s been out of work since October last year and despite applying for things all around the country he’s been successful in achieving only three interviews in that time. My Mum is incredibly worried about him, his well-being and how my Dad relates to his “unfortunate” son. He’s living with my parents and has very few friends locally and no partner- He frequently complains that he’s too nice (what his last girlfriend told him when she dumped him) and that therefore he’s not going to have any success in finding either a job or someone to be with. I worry about him too, but I know that there is little that any of us can do to help, other than be there for him to talk to if he wants to. Ugh.

I’m also grumpy due to the fucking students outside laughing like high volume hyenas for hours now; I am writing this wearing my big headphones with Jones and X.Ray to drown out their over happiness. Arghh. To add to the grumpiness i’m browsing getaways and am annoyed to find that flight prices have seemingly doubled in the course of a goddamn week. Arrrrghhhhh. I’m not going anywhere more exotic than the inner workings of my brain, but still, the information pisses me off.

I need a haircut and a reason to dress the fuck up and feel aesthetically pleasing. I’ve just received My First Credit Card, so the end of the month money scrounge is looking a little less daunting, or at least I can spend £35 on a haircut without having to check my balance beforehand. My new card also means that I can buy myself a replacement red toy from across the pond :)

I think I shall embark on one of my periodic celebratory/tortuous dress try-ons to see what I do and definitely do not fit into…
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As seen on a board outside my local Shakeaway:

“Ferrero Rocher & Nutella”

What is wrong with chocolate? Just a plain old chocolate milkshake, without bits or additions. Simple and delicious, as opposed to the monstrosity advertised. UGH.
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Siege – Two Phases

“Women have two phases of life: complaining about getting hit on, and complaining about no longer getting hit on.”

NSFW Constant Siege
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Summer Freedom

At last, I have escaped my many charges for the Summer break, to spend my time on such important matters as Nintendo-ing, sleeping and eating instead of unblocking sinks, restraining myself from bollocking children and tidying up other peoples mess.

Naturally as I have more time to myself I will replace this brat-related anger with rage directed towards the students who laugh uproariously, run up and down the corridor, play the motherfucking piano, socialise and bash and scrape cutlery two metres away from where I am trying to exist. Or it’s the toddler who roams about the garden and bashes against my windows.

Last night it was the students laughing their heads off whilst watching a DVD before they went to bed; at 12.45am I had enough and stuck my head out to ask them to stop making noise. I really want to give them a fucking good bollocking, swear at them, shout, but what I actually need to do is have a higher paid job and not have the cost of living be so high so that I can actually move out of my one room into something larger and quieter.

During the day it is fairly quiet, alternating between sweet silence and toddler ramblings, but it is in the evenings when I find myself getting pissed off. I know that unfortunately I live next to a communal area, but after 11pm everyone needs to shut the fuck up. Zero noise. Some evenings it’s fine, but this evening like many others I find myself consulting the clock as it creeps towards the magic hour of 11 o’clock when I can be justified in my anger. It’s in the contract, see. I don’t want to have to listen to other people’s conversations whilst I try and watch a film or type things and I don’t want to have to adjust my bedtime to when they decide to quiet down and go to sleep themselves.

Anyway, i’ve discovered that putting my fan on neutralises some of it; earplugs and pleas for quiet are the next weapons of choice.

With regards work, I have a bit of planning to do, but nothing overly taxing. I am taking a lot less lower school next year, with most of my timetable taken up with A Level classes. This is no bad thing however I am a bit worried about bearing more responsibility- more teaching of photography on my own. My colleagues are uber confident in my ability however and are happy to offer help, so I think I am probably worrying unnecessarily- quelle surprise there.

MR T passed his MOT (hooray!) without major work (I am going to do that some other month!) and hopefully I will now spend my time off in a state of low stress. Hopefully.

As far as going away for the Summer, I am going about twenty minutes down the road to a spa with Leia Ewok Village and others to celebrate her thirtieth birthday; I am looking forward to my first full-body massage and I am going to book in a facial too. What you are supposed to do the rest of the time I have no idea, but I can always bring the DS to help me out with the lazing :)

Other than that I am going to try and catch up with friends whom I have not visited in an age and try and become more at ease with my slightly more padded body, as I have been feeling rather dissatisfied with what i’ve been seeing in the mirror these past few months.

I raised the idea of going away for a week or so as a tag team with MW#1 and he reacted favourably, but whether or not we actually end up going anywhere I am fairly unsure. The more I consider the idea the more I realise how important it is to me, and therefore I can see that there is more likelihood of it ending in failure- it is rare that things that matter to me actually happen. I may end up being grumpy from snoring-induced sleep deprivation, but it would be so very awesome to wake up next to him each morning, even for just a few days.

After a particularly difficult conversation with my Dad I felt deeply upset for several hours. Trying to find some small source of reassurance I asked MW#1 whether he loved me as a friend or something more; what I should have asked him is whether or not he loves others like he loves me. It was a classic demonstration of how he is never there for me when I could really do with some support, some hugs- I don’t need to be told that everything will be all right, and I don’t need validation very often being used to getting very little. Although he replied positively, at the time I felt like something so important meant basically fuck all as I sat alone and upset in front of my computer.

Can it even be called a non-relationship? Is the association with the word relationship just too close? Would something like “not chosen by myself occasional arrangement” be more appropriate? I hope we can spend a bit of time away; aside from spending some time together I really would like to leave the country for a bit. I know exactly where i’d like to go, so even if I end up going nowhere more exotic than London, I can at least spend a few minutes during my time off journeying on our imaginary holiday together. Far-flung indeed.

In other news, I have fallen in love with Giles Coren. He is officially delicious, and I would gladly put up with his rudeness and juvenile behaviour at the table if I could get my hands on his manfur and he would give me a nice dirty look. SIGH…
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Tidal Rave

Despite having very little sleep due to reports and being decidedly unenthused, Friday night I dragged myself into Lahndahn tahn to Millennium Pier to join Leia Ewok Village and Nitram on the good ship the Dutch Master on the Bang Face Tidal Rave, a
“Nautical Neo-Rave marking the worlds biggest recorded Tsunami on this day in 1958…”
The evening (from 8pm – 2am) was rather on the fabulous side and although I gave up the ghost after midnight I had an awesome time, mainly because I was dressed like a pirate. Dancing. On a boat. That was moving. Down the Thames. And sometimes it rocked. And then everyone lurched about. Like the USS Enterprise being attacked. It was fun :)

Many attendees were dressed in an oceanic manner, with pirates, sea creatures and mermaids aplenty; I squeezed into my Han Solo tights to go as an all-in-black non-sexy pirate. I say non-sexy, in that I didn’t go for the micro-mini I have worn in the past – I wasn’t sure whether i’d fit into it, and wasn’t sure my legs were still up to it – and I also didn’t want to risk getting attention from undesirables. There’s usually zero hassle from people at Bang Face in that way, as everyone is really respectful no matter what you’re wearing; they’re all very friendly and kind and the overall feeling is one of unbridled, non-aggressive fun. Hurrah.

Saying all of this, on my walk into town two teenage boys stopped their bikes to comment “Awr that arse! Look at that fucking arse!” which started the worry off in my head- You know things are bad when teens are commenting… I pulled my hoodie a bit lower after this. I know I have a rather flat backside but I know that some people seem to find it pleasing… Once I was on the boat, I was harassment-free, until some wasted motherfucker pinched my motherfucking bottom. It was a soft pinch, subtle but oh-so-obvious, and I spun round to behold the culprit: A very out of place (a whiff of chav), wasted, sweaty fuck who I proceeded to give a very pissed off lecture:

“How dare you do that?! Do you know how fucking disrespectful that is?! You don’t *ever* do that!”
Wasted Fuck unsteadily apologised, telling me that I should slap him “or something”.
“No, i’m not going to slap you, because I don’t believe in touching others without their permission. I don’t touch you, you don’t touch me- I’m not a piece of fucking meat!”

All this was watched with interest by That Fucking Hipster Ceephax who was due on later that evening. Ugh I hated on his “ironic” apparel, just as I hate on a lot of American Apparel’s stuff ( gold bikinis notwithstanding :D). Look at this man. When the official photos are up I shall hunt for a picture of his fucking jacket. I must show the horror…

See Look at this fucking hipster for further “inspiration”.

Anyway, after being post-pinch grumpy for a half hour or so the fun resumed. As time passed and my willingness to jig about faded I stood at the side of the floor and watched London drift by outside the window; we went from the London Eye all the way to the Thames Barrier, which was really great in that I got to see a lot of London I hadn’t seen before. We got to see the green Greenwich Meridian Line laser – Millennia VS Diode-Pumped, cw Visible Laser. It has a wavelength of 532 nm and an output power > 5W – which was super cool as we drifted underneath it; it was a bit too high up to jump up and touch it however. Boo.

As I stood taking in the dancing lobsters, jellyfish and pirates I struck up conversation with a nice human similarly taking a break from the madness. He was called Jack and was, I discovered from our rather long conversation, a carpenter based in London. He was tall with nice sharp features, but the most handsome part of him was his shoulders- broad, strong-looking, capable if you get me. Mmm… shoulders.

We talked at length about such things as the carpentry trade and the economic impact of moneygeddon, my respect for trades, teachers hitting kids, acid (or should I say, acieed) vs. drum ‘n’ bass and controlled substances. It was nice to talk with a man who wasn’t obviously trying to come on to me, who wasn’t groping me or generally being a prick- What a change.

Yes, he had an annoying laugh and I constantly thought of David Beckham when he talked – the accent not the beauty – and so when I ended our chat with a “Right. I need to go and get a bottle of water… Nice talking to you!” and wandered over to the bar I was sort of hoping to see him again, but also sort of not.

Leia Ewok Village encouraged me to “have a cheeky snog” but my sad loyal-but-not-getting-any self thought better of it. I’d rather be alone than lead anyone on, and no matter how handsome he was, it just didn’t feel right, or should I say, I just didn’t feel it.

An hour or so later he found me in the same spot at the edge of the floor – I should have moved. How things had changed- Gone was the seemingly compus, polite and engaging man, replaced by Wasted Fuck who proceeded to spill his drink down my leg. Bad move. Luckily I was wearing my pirate boots so I was wipe clean, but he didn’t offer an apology, just an “Oooh, are you damaged” with a Carry On smirk.

I was seriously unimpressed, especially with no apology and no apparent concern about the fact that he had spilled the drink onto Leia’s bag. I think the stony reply “No, I am *not* damaged, however *you’ve* just spilled drink *onto my friend’s bag*” gave him the message he needed as mercifully the cleared off fairly promptly. I spent the rest of the evening hoping that he would not come back, and thank fuck he didn’t.


Me and Leia paid an uber-late night visit to McDonalds (woo!) before getting a train home, arriving back in rather depressing drizzle at around 4.30am. I was tired, but happy at having such a lovely evening – my eye makeup stayed resolute to the end! – but most of all I enjoyed the novelty of it and the time spent with such good friends.
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The Shits

Boy involved It is somewhat wrong that upon hearing of this case:

Teacher arrested on suspicion of attempted murder

the picture of the pupil involved prompted the following reaction from me:

“Oh, he looks like a right little shit.”

This is the *fourteen-year old boy* who is in a *critical* condition after being allegedly beaten by a *forty-nine year old man*. I’ve only been teaching for three years yet I seem to be a total jaded motherfucker when it comes to some things. So very wrong.

So, why does this picture scream “shit” at me? It’s the hair and the “cheeky” off-kilter smile. Although the picture is cropped at his collar I *know* that his tie is going to be short and fat, just as I know from unfortunate experience that he will throw things, refuse to sit in his seat, perhaps be abusive, destroy school property, procrastinate and generally make life hell.

I know how hard I find it sometimes to control what I say to my charges when they’re behaving reprehensibly or annoying the fuck out of me, however so far I have managed not to end my career prematurely. Still, perhaps if behaviour was better and teachers were given better conditions then people being pushed beyond the edge would be avoided. Still, there really is no excuse and I have a feeling that the poor gentleman involved may be spending some time in a secure institution of a psychiatric nature.

In other news, I have FINALLY finished all my reports. THANK FUCK.
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Creative Mapping

Map Map
Roland Record

via Creativity Explored

If I had the spare cash, this is the sort of art I would like to have on my wall.

It’s so very satisfying.

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One & Other

Panda Man

Panda Man

Panda Man

Strangely compelling art in Anthony Gormley’s project with the Fourth Plinth – One & Other
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Text Atrocities

I found myself missing the admittedly dubious joys (if they can be called so) of the slightly drunken text last night as I orientated myself and Patrick under the breeze from my fan. They are usually along the lines of “Hello, i’ve had a few! This is funny! Come hug me.” or “Hello, I miss your [insert body part], let’s meet up.” or the succinct “Your skin makes me happy.”

I miss the casual fun; I see the drunken text not as a “Hey i’m horny, come jump me” invite, but more of a “Hey, i’m horny but i’m sort of bewildered and your skin comforts me” plea. It’s funny and cute, as long as it’s not sent by a party who is so wasted that they will proceed to be a total prick for the half hour they manage to stay upright. Though when you wake up with them you can proceed to laugh very loudly as they clutch at their sore hungover heads. HA HA.

Receiving drunken texts would make me feel better about my own texting whilst inebriated; in my odes I scorch the radiowaves with “Hey- Want to meet for a drink this evening?” instead of “Hey, I want to [verb] your [noun] RIGHT NOW.” They’re not exactly on the same level but I still feel bad after i’ve sent my invite. Lame-o.

Running my over-analysis brainware over this I realise that what I really miss is the being missed, wanted, desired. That’s what i’m pining over. If I did express what I wanted in either a sober or drunken way what I would be really after is not just the fulfilment of my sexual needs, but my need for intimacy- I want the sex but also the waking up together the next morning. I seem to be wired to be less happy if I have one without the other.

So, I want you to [verb] my [noun] long time, RIGHT NOW and HOLD ME.
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Something about this image and the story behind it makes me simultaneously well up and feel all gooey inside:


Des Moines Register – Just in time, a lifeline: ‘I dipped down, grabbed’

Maybe it’s the burly construction worker…
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