Utterly Relieved To Be Single Again

Since Tuesday I find myself back to being a single woman again and I have to admit to being absolutely ecstatic about it. On Tuesday I gave the guy I was seeing the old heave-ho - actually I couldn't get him out of the bloody door fast enough!

On paper we seem quite suited but in reality? Man that guy had some annoying habits. I'm not the most tolerant of people at the best of times but I think he must have ADD. By Tuesday I just wanted to punch him in the face.

I can talk a lot, but he seemed to have no pause button between his brain and his mouth  and constantly whittered on about nothing - the same boring things over and over again. He also never asked me about my day and talked about himself constantly. He would be round for about half an hour before I'd think "Yeah, I'm fine actually - thank's for (not) asking". 

He also had a ton of addictions - it was everything in excess. I think I just exchanged one alcoholic for another yet he always had an excuse: "it's the end of a long day/working week/football match/whatever" it got that I would hide my wine when he came over cos he'd just gulp it down. He'd see it in the kitchen, ask if he could have a glass, and before I knew it he'd finished the bottle. 

He never savoured anything either, he'd just eat and drink everything as fast as he could then immediately draw long and hard on his 'death flute' (as he called) it. This was an e-cigarette that smelt of vanilla or coffee that he pulled on really hard constantly and I mean ALL. THE. TIME. He'd have it clutched tightly in his hand for half an hour at a time and drag on it so hard he'd be coughing and hacking away. It was incredibly unattractive. 

So I'd sit there watching him wolf his food down (massive portions) then scrape his plate, gulp down my expensive wine then start sucking on the e-cigarette like it was a dummy - and all before I was even half way through my own dinner. He just seemed to want everything in excess all the time and immediately too - the second he felt even a slight hunger pang he'd have to stuff his face straight away. He had no self control or regulation whatsoever.

He didn't like cats so would push mine away when they came near him. He said he was allergic to them which meant he'd sniff constantly then snore all damned night. As you know I paid (I paid remember, he did nothing to help me out with this one) for some nasal strips. But if they came off in the night I was the one who'd be left lying awake and then end up sleeping on my own bloody sofa. 

He was also really manic. He'd come round my flat, chuck his stuff all over the place, talk constantly about himself and his dull uneventful week, ram his face with food, drink all my wine (he never once replaced it), talk all the way through every film we ever watched (except Gladiator - he sat quietly absorbed all the way through that 3 hour film but only after I gave him 3 Valium!), then we'd go to bed where there was NEVER any foreplay, where he'd snore all night. He'd then out of my bed in the morning and not even straighten up the covers, then repeat. And every waking moment was spent dragging as hard as he could on his e-cigarette and obsessing over the battery. 

MY GOD!!! And that's just the stuff off the top of my head. I cannot tell you the utter relief I felt when I told him I didn't want to see him any more. I so do not want to be in a relationship at the moment -  least of all with that boring man. 

I was telling my best friend last night that when you've created a life for yourself that's running at such a high level of happiness it's very hard to adapt to a person coming in and lowering it. I have an absolutely amazing life and have so many things in it that make me happy that a boyfriend really does have to make my life that little bit better - not make me unhappy! Why would anyone want to be unhappier?

I don't work well in a couple and I hate compromising so I might never be in a happy relationship - but I really don't mind. I'm having a great time: both my businesses are going swimmingly, I have some absolutely wonderful friends, 2 darling little kitties, a lovely quiet and sunny flat, and I live in a town by the sea that makes me deliriously happy. I have a great relationship with the world and I seem to interact much better with it by myself. I like my own company a hell of a lot and I'm just not up for dealing with habits of that kind of level.

This gal rolls better alone!

For Sale: One Boyfriend

Living with someone really does have its downsides sometimes. I've never really liked sharing a home and living with just one man is even harder.

I write this because last night I had around 4 hours intermittent sleep because my boyfriend came home again drunk, woke me up, then proceeded to stink the room out with the smell of stale alcohol seeping out of his pores, kept whacking me in the face or ribs with his dead-weight lack of spacial awareness, then snored and snuffled until I eventually left the room to sleep on the sofa.

I'd only been asleep about an hour before he got in as I'd sat up late reading. Often he will go and sleep on the sofa (many arguments about this made it so) but when I got up his mate was already asleep there. After being unable to get back to sleep I eventually got up again, sent his mate home and tried to sleep on the sofa. 

But no, my boyfriend then comes bowling through to use the loo before I've slept a minute. Later the cat wakes me up, then he wakes me up again a bit later. I'm knackered.

This used to be quite a regular occurrence. My boyfriend isn't an alcoholic but he loves nothing more than spending anything from 4-8 hours drinking with his friends. Having run a pub for a few years, I find this dull. I've never been a great drinker and find drunk people boring and boorish. But he loves it. we've very different in general but frankly I don't care what he does as long as he leaves me out of it.

I'm really annoyed about this. He's in there sleeping like a baby, and I'm now up having decided it was pointless trying to get back to sleep. Last time he did this he said "but I didn't mean to" to which I replied "I know you didn't - you didn't mean it last time and you won't mean it the next time you do it, and the time after that, and the time after that." And he doesn't, he just keeps effing doing it!

He doesn't do it that often I guess - anything from 1 to 4 times a week and I usually like him being out in the evening so I can have time to myself and catch up on TV on Demand! I'm a homebody and he likes to go out, but I don't know of any friend who would be happy about her boyfriend coming in anything between 2 and 5am stinking of booze so she has to sleep on the sofa.

One of the big downsides to living with someone?

I Have a New Blog And a Dirty House

Phew - I finally have a new blog where I can say what I like and where nobody in 'real life' knows me. What a relief that is. For 3 years on my old blog I could say what I liked, but over time people found out about it (my fault through accident or blabbermouthing) but the main problem was that my boyfriend did too.

I love my boyfriend but I have always had problems maintaining relationships because I'm very self-sufficient and hate compromise. I also don't like being questioned, and I need to do what I want, when I want without it being subject to debate.

Even though I staunchly stated that I could write what the hell I liked on my old blog, in reality I didn't because sometimes I wanted to talk about him and I didn't want either him or my friends to read about our problems. Now I can say what I like again so here is one of my main issues: I moved in to my boyfriends flat a year and a half ago and it still doesn't properly feel like my home.

I find living with other people hard at the best of times and I hate compromise. I hate it with a vengeance. Knowing you should and have to compromise is one thing but actually being able to do it, or liking it is another. We live very differently and because I've moved in to his house any compromise usually falls on me because I'm so tidy and it bothers only me.

We are planning on moving to the top flat of his Mum's house at some point, but you have to put a flat on the market in order to actually sell it, and so far he hasn't done this. He says he's 'considered' whereas in fact he simply procrastinates and things don't get done. We've been discussing selling the flat for months now and I've given up reminding him to put it on the market week after week.

I clean this flat every week or so and each time it is covered in dust. It's the basement flat so an hour after dusting it has all been shaken back from the ceiling and it's covered again. On top of this he collects things (like everyone in his family it turns out) There is some kind of George Formby grill thing standing in the hall that has been there since the day he bought it home months ago.  He keeps bringing things back that he never uses and that we don't need. I then need to either find a home for them or they stay lying around gathering dust.

There are musical instruments he never plays, dozens of electrical wires snaking across the floor that never get sorted despite me bringing it up repeatedly since I moved in, piles of brochures or magazines everywhere, clothes chucked where he takes them off. There's not enough room to put anything and there's too much of that stuff. I know he lives here too but the 'compromise' is killing me. I used to love cleaning and now I hate it - I'm defeated by the frequency needed to stay on top of it so I don't want to even bother. So it gets dirtier and I'm trapped in a cycle of frustration and anger.

I don't hoard things. I have to have things clean, neat and orderly or else I feel stressed and ratty. At the moment I feel like I have a scream constantly waiting beneath the surface ready to come out. There isn't enough room in the kitchen so everything is out, and because it would take so long to clean properly each week I don't do it properly. This means that I know I live in a dirty house and I hate it, hate it, hate it!!

He has lived here for 10 years and there is 10 years worth of accumulated dirt and assorted crap. I love him but for a year and a half I have tried not to see all this stuff - I try to look through it so I can live with him and because I don't want to be without him - but being in a place so cluttered makes me upset and panicky. I'm a minimalist and I feel hemmed in by it all. If I'm honest, If I had the money I wouldn't live with anyone. I'd have a clean, orderly, quiet, white, uncluttered little place all of my own where I could relax and feel calm. But I don't have the money.

I know it sounds like I am having a huge slag-off against my boyfriend. And I guess I am, but there is nothing here I haven't said to his face... time and time and time and time again, over and over and over. And it is my new blog - a place where I can finally say what I like again, and I really need to let it out because I'm getting nowhere saying it at home. I've tried just changing things but there is only so much I can do, and once I clear a space he fills it with some other piece of crap he's bought home!

It's actually a lot better than it used to be believe it or not. He kindly got  rid of a lot of stuff when I moved in and he does try - but there is not enough room here for everything to look as tidy as I would like. He doesn't mind the clutter so the compromise is all mine and until we move it is always going to be. And when that will happen I have no idea, but it had better be soon because I'm suffocating here.

Driving Me Mad!

So I guess I haven't posted anything for a while - this is because I have been doing nothing but driving. Driving, thinking about driving, dreaming about driving, worrying about driving and worrying about my business.

Not only has learning to drive been harder than I thought (scary right turns across junctions and navigating roundabouts - apparently thickies learn to drive quicker than intelligent people as they don't over-think everything) but being in limbo for a month has been even harder. 

My business is hanging by a thread until I can pass my test and get a job with the client, so it's a bit of a worry that I haven't even put in for my test yet. I'm just ticking over so I can dedicate 20-odd hours a week to driving and now I don't know if I'm coming or going. Nothing is stable and I have wild moments of insecurity and fear which are totally new sensations to me.

Not being able to do something correctly every day for a month has made me doubt other things in my life which is something that I also didn't predict happening. I sometimes even second-guess myself when I walk across the road and I often make silly mistakes driving when I know what I'm supposed to do. It's disconcerting, frustrating, and brings out emotions that I don't like and didn't even know existed. It's been quite horrible in that way actually.

I have 2 driving instructors as well. One who has the better car (smooth, with power behind it) but spends 20 minutes explaining everything in frustratingly pointless analogies when he could just tell me. He also seems to want me to be the best driver on the planet before I even think about taking a test. The other one is more test-geared but has a shonky car. I've done over 50 driving hours in 4 weeks and I want to be done with it but the thought of doing a test scares me as well which is also an alien emotion... grrrrrrrr!

I cannot wait to have something certain in my life again. I need to know if I have a new job or not, if I have a business or not, if I'm leaving the country of not, if I'm leaving my friends and boyfriend or not, and where my next pay cheque is coming from. It may all sound like a pathetic first-world whinge, but my life has been in limbo for a month and it's very tiring.

I shall sincerely endeavour to write something more interesting on here soon!

Fucking DVLA

I'm so frustrated I could cry - in fact I just have.

To get my driving license I need a provisional license. I have a provisional license but my surname and address have changed so I need to send off for another one. Which could take up to 3 weeks to arrive. It's already been a week and still nothing.

However, my driving instructor can teach me as long as he has proof that I already have a clean provisional license. But because I can't remember where I was living 23 years ago, the DVLA won't help me. This means I have to wait another 2 weeks until my license changes into my new name (I changed my name by deed poll 10 years ago) I'm really pissed off.

I can appreciate that they need to know that I am who I say I am, but I'm so utterly frustrated and upset that I don't care at this moment. This client wants me to have my license as soon as I can, and he will not be impressed that he now has to wait even longer for this to happen.

I'm pretty sure that I lived with my parents when I was 17 and this would be the address on the license. However it is not. I have NO idea what address would be on there and I'm only allowed 3 guesses anyway. So I will have to call every single day to find out if they have changed my license over before I can even bloody start.

To be honest it's the final thing in an utterly shitty day. Today my heavy bike fell over and the chain fell off, the lock then failed to close and I had to abandon it at a friends. It's been nothing but hassle with that bike - it's too heavy, it was overly expensive, I've paid to have the tyres replaced and now the bloody chain is off. I'm selling it as soon as I get it back to the house.

Then a client said they no longer needed me and I already have hardly any work as it is. Then I found out that I have to wait up to another 2 weeks to even start driving lessons. It'll probably be weeks until I can even get a test date and if the client waits that long for me then it will be a miracle. 

Feeling utterly depressed, despondent, and down. Why is it that everything is always such a fucking hassle for me? Throw me an effing bone for God's sake.

Nothing it Seems

Just a quick update on the whole offered-a-dream-job thing. Last week I emailed the client a question about his BT bill (I hadn't heard back about the possible job and, as he didn't reply about the bill, I figured he was just busy)  but last night he replied. But he only answered the question about the bill and didn't mention a single thing about the job.

I emailed straight back as he'd just sent the email, asking if he'd had time to give it any more thought - and he failed to reply.

Therefore I'm going to have to assuming that he's either just a rude mentalist or that he likes messing people around. What kind of person emails to ask those sorts of questions and then fails to follow it up? So as far as I'm concerned I'm not mentioning it again and from today I'm just getting on with my business as if he's never asked. 

If he brings it up again in the future then I can address it, but today I feel like an utter prat and a bit down at the same time. This is crap cos the job would have been nice, but if he hasn't brought it up again even when pressed, I would say it's probably not happening.

What a load of balls.

40 In A Week, 60 The Week After

This post may seem like a whole load of nothing if you are over 40, but I am not (for exactly another week anyhow) and I'm feeling somewhat surprised and disgruntled about the situation I find myself in.

I know this sounds like a huge cliché, but I was just 14. I was just standing in the playground with my friends with back-combed hair in the shortest navy skirts we could get away with, discussing how old we would be in the year 2000 - and now the Millennium was 11 bloody years ago! How did that happen? It is unthinkable.

Then I was around 28, suddenly I was 35 and now I find myself on the brink of 40. I've mentioned before that I'm aiming to live until at least 85, so I'm nearly half way through! Half way to the end. What the fuckety fuck?! I daren't close my eyes tonight because I feel certain I'll wake up and be 47. 

Of course we all get older but I am shocked at how quickly it seems to have happened. The view of my face in the mirror bears little resemblance to how I see myself. They're the same cheeks that my Mum wiped tears from when I was a baby, the same eyes I unwisely applied blue mascara to as a teenager, the same lips that have created thousands of screams, howls, laughs and kisses, the same face that I have cleansed, plucked, moisturised, inspected and peered at for 39 years. But I somehow can't seem to accurately visualise or project myself back to see myself as I was through those eyes. I can only see me as I am now.

A lot of people are completely comfortable with the idea of getting older, but I think they're either lying or they haven't thought it through properly. Who wants to get old and die? I don't mind getting older in theory, but I don't want to wrinkle up and drift south; I want to be young and sprightly Goddamn it! They say that youth is wasted on the young and they're right. 

I suppose it comes down to the matter of control. I do not like that I will get older and older, until one day I will cease to be. I am extremely unhappy and put out that I have no say in the matter. I don't like being made to do anything and this is the ultimate in lack of control I guess. 

I've been obsessed with dying and the reality of existence since I was very small; I've never gotten my head around the fact that one day everyone will no longer be here. I'm incredulous about this - how can this be? I can't imagine that it could be so. I know that 40 is not old, but It's certainly another milestone on my journey down the road.

My birthday is a time when I get very reflective. I have a little audit and check that I'm on the right track and where I want to be. I'm truly happy that I'm where I am, but as I get older I'm more keenly aware that I'm being shoved rudely along to an ending I'm not keen on. And I'm not happy about that at all.

Suffering Little Children

As mentioned, the only thing that marred our holiday in France was the behaviour of a couple of the kids. There were 4 children altogether - lets call them Dylan, Rosa, Jago and Amelie for 'twas their names.

Dylan and Jago weren't too bad to be fair; they were noisy as all kids are, but they behaved themselves most of the time. The 2 girls however were a bloody nightmare. I am not exaggerating when I say that not 15 minutes passed without some crying, whinging or whining, and I could even hear them over my headphones.

Rosa is 6 and seemed to be fretful about everything; nothing could make her happy and everything she said was in the highest whiniest voice she could muster. At no point did either of her parents say "just stop it. enough already", they just pandered to her and let her continue to irritate the hell out of everyone. Well I say everyone; it seems that if you have kids you somehow become immune to the sound of brat.

They thundered along the corridor outside our room early every morning, and after we were kept awake by them shrieking around in the open plan kitchen, BBF went downstairs to say something and only then did their Mums take them into the designated fully-stocked play room complete with dvd player and everything else a child might need to occupy itself in order to result in a bit of shut the fuck up.

Amelie was the worst; from the first morning the word "Mummmeeee" was repeated endlessly. The reason she constantly repeated every sentence over and over and over and over again was because both of her parents ignored her. She never stopped and her whiny voice was the soundtrack to the holiday really. We wanted to shout "for the love of God just bloody answer her!"

All of the kids except Jago were sick while we were there. Dylan started it all off by projectile vomiting all over the floor, his Mum and himself whilst we were eating dinner. By the time he had finished throwing up half the swimming pool he was ankle deep in it. He then kept going all night and, not wanting to be left out, all the other children followed suit over the next few nights. I know it wasn't their fault but let's just say they were not discreet children.

Never have I been so glad not to have any kids.  You all know I'm not keep on them, but I was constantly congratulating myself for my child-free status. I was so pleased it was not me cleaning up that massive puddle of sick, and the relief I felt when Amelie shat her pants one morning was palpable. Between them they were either being ignored or life revolved around them. At the beginning of the holiday we could have stayed there forever, but by the last day we couldn't wait to leave.

Vive La France!

As you know I just got back from 5 days in France. One of BBF's friends was turning 40 and had paid to hire a big barn conversion for all of us to stay in; the property was in Lignerolles right in the middle of the country and slap bang in the middle of nowhere.

There were 14 of us altogether; Nick and Emma (it was his birthday) and their 2 kids, Emma's Sister and her husband and their 2 kids, and Emma's friend Charlotte and her husband and their 2 teenage boys. 

The teenagers were lovely; really polite and helpful and a delight to be around but the other kids were a nightmare. I'll leave them for another blog post as I have quite a bit to say about them and it would be nice to focus on the more positive aspects of the holiday today!

BBF borrowed his Mum's convertible and we took the ferry over to Calais early last Saturday; we spent the crossing going over the route  (I was navigating) as we had a 7 hour drive ahead of us. It turns out that French roads have 2 names and their road signs bear no relation to the map; but after a couple of wrong turns, getting lost in Rouen, paying 13 Euros for a burger and a routine police breathalyser check at a toll where we discovered BBF's Mum keeps her insurance docs in the house rather than the car, we arrived after nightfall at the house. 

Upon arrival we found a mental Grendel-type neighbour who had moved from Paris to get some peace and quiet only to discover next door was now a holiday home! All we did was get out of the car and walk into the house but he started shouting and screaming and then threw stones at us! aaahhh, the French... He was known to the owners and we'd been left with strict instructions to call the police if he kicked off but he didn't hassle us again after that thankfully.

The house was gorgeous; it had tiled floors, wooden beams, 4 bathrooms, a huge kitchen-diner, a massive living room with a gigantic TV, a pool, lots of sun loungers, an ivy-covered seating area and a barbecue. We had fresh baguettes and croissants every morning, lots of lovely wine, hams and cheese and we sat down for a big meal together each evening. 

Most of the holiday was spent happily lolling around the garden drinking wine, sunbathing and reading. It was very hot so I impulsively decided to turn my only pair of jeans into shorts (it's hard to sunbathe and keep your modesty in a skirt) but I still managed to get some wear out of my new ooo-la-la French Breton top which I was pleased about. We were lucky with the weather although I was slightly disappointed to hear it had been nice in Brighton as well!

For some reason there were tonnes of really aggressive wasps knocking about and I got stung on my finger and on the back of my knee. I'm not fussed about wasps but hadn't been stung since I was a teenager so was shocked to find out that it hurts like fuck! I couldn't bend my leg until the next day but after making a shandy beer trap I think I killed the bastard along with two dozen others. They got BBF as well, and Nick got stung for the first time in his life on his birthday which resulted in his hand blowing up like a balloon. He was pretty stoical about it unlike myself.

One afternoon I wandered along the lane into the fields to escape the noise that 13 other people make and spent a while quietly sitting against a hay bale listening to the cicadas and watching the crickets jump out of the crispy stubble of the hay field. I don't think you really get to have a 'personal relationship' with a place until you spend some time with it on your own and it was really peaceful there.

On Nick's birthday he was sent off to get baguettes first thing so we could decorate the garden with balloons and bunting we'd made from red and yellow paper serviettes. Later we went to a Go-Ape type of place then that evening a huge thunderstorm broke and it tipped it down. I love thunderstorms and see one every time I go abroad. Due to the heat, they're usually so much more impressive than here, and we could hear it rumbling around the house as we ate dinner He then opened his presents and we all had cake - he said it was a perfect birthday.

The Go-Ape place was pretty cool; the menfolk flew manly down zip wires in nappy-style harnesses and the womenfolk watched the kids playing on the adventure playground praising them for their ability to stay on a rope bridge without falling into a safety net one foot below. I spent most of the afternoon outside the cafe with my book and a glass of red wine which suited me perfectly. I did get some good photos of BBF grimacing in apprehension as he teetered precariously in the tree-tops though.

Overall the holiday was lovely; I got a bit of a tan and a great time was had by all. The kids put a bit of a dampener on it a bit especially as we neared our last day, but we consoled ourselves with the fact that we could go home and their parents were stuck with them for life. I wondered why we don't do more holiday'y things especially as we live in a holiday town, but I guess you get so wrapped up in your routine that you don't get to properly relax until you go away.

I had those usual idealistic thoughts of trying to incorporate parts of the holiday into my life and so far I'm not doing too badly. I've made more of an effort to get on with work instead of faffing around so I can have a proper lunch outside on the step with a book, and I'm currently drinking a glass of red wine as I type. I think I'll definitely be able to keep that one up if nothing else!

What To Do?

I'm not sure what to do about this blog. I've had it for a few years now and some of you have been with me on this journey (of bitterness, angst, despair and scorn) right from the start. However over time, other people I know have started to read this including a couple of close friends and BBF, and I'm not sure I want them to any more.

The whole thing just spread over time and, although It's not like I want to bitch about these people, I'm finding that I don't feel I can say exactly what I want for fear of worrying or being judged by either friends, my boyfriend or other people I know through freelancing.

When I have a big rant or am feeling really shit about something and want to pour my heart out, I want to be able to say what I like without my friends thinking there's something wrong and that I'm turning into a basket case, when really I'm just having a bad day, and I want to be able to talk about work concerns without worrying that people I know through freelancing will judge me. 

Basically, I only want strangers to be able to read about what I really think. I know I could make it so that nobody can read the blog except me, but I like the support and advice that you all give me and that anyone can stumble upon my blog and follow it if they like - I just don't want people I know to be able to read everything that goes on in my head any more.

So what to do? I could either make the blog private so you need to be invited - then invite my virtual Blogger friends to read it; but his would mean that no new readers would ever come across it. Or I could move the blog over to a new platform and call it something else, but all the years of posts on here would be lost.

I know I can import old posts into Wordpress but I tried that once with my business blog and it looked like a car crash. Also, most of you are on Blogger anyway so it's easier for you to read my updates in your summary thing. Maybe I should start another new Blogger blog and then invite you to view it...?

*long sigh*... any suggestions?

Sort Your Shit Out Blogger

What THE FUCK is going on with Blogger publishing today? When I write the post it looks fine, when I preview it, it's all joined up and when I publish it there's double line breaks....GRRRRR!!!!!  Bloggery piece of shite.

Ice Pick up The La-La Anyone?

The other day I was in the doctors office and I thought I'd also ask about a few little unimportant saved items whilst I was there. I mentioned that I had some unwanted melasma marks on my forehead and that, when I Googled them, they seemed to be related to the hormones in my pill.

She confirmed this and we discussed some other forms of contraception that I could consider - if I stopped taking the pill you see, the marks might go away but certainly wouldn't get any worse. I hide them with make-up but frankly I'd prefer them not to be there! We ran through a couple of options, and she gave me a booklet of my choices.

Because I don't want kids we discussed sterilisation; she told me that unofficially, this had been hit by health cuts and she didn't know of anyone on the waiting list who has had one - they're basically not doing them any more but not announcing it. So this option was out unless I wanted to pay £500 and go private.

Another option was an implant (injections won't have the desired effect) this is a 4cm rod that they insert in your upper inner arm, it lasts 3 years and they have to cut it out of you afterwards. I did some online research and found countless forums with hideous stories of women saying they put on masses of weight, got really spotty and cried all the time. None of which was in the promotional booklet!

I didn't even bother to look up the IUD as the leaflet says it can make your periods heavier, longer and more painful... No thanks.

So the last option was the IUS, (brand name Mirena) this looks like a pickaxe that you have inserted into you during a 'procedure'. I again researched this online only to find entire forums devoted to stories of horrendous side-effects, which included crushing depression, swollen hands, nausea, dizziness, lethargy, intense stomach pain, 3-month periods, incontinence, weight gain and massive hair loss. Yeah, sign me up to one of those please!

What was worrying is that the medical profession were not advising any of these symptoms and even refusing to believe it was these contraceptives that were causing the problems reported by these women; many of which were desperate for help. 

So I guess I've run out of options. I've been on the pill for over half my life and sometimes wonder if my personality is even my own as I've had fake hormones in my body for 21 years. I'd stuck with the same pill as I'd seen friends prescribed brand after brand because the side effects made their life hell until they found one which 'suited' them. I even know 3 women who suffered abortions after becoming pregnant on the mini-pill in their early 20's. This is a pretty poor show don't you think?

Basically then, apart from 98% effective condoms, or 92% effective diaphragms, birth control for women either consists of having drugs pumped into you for most of your adult life, an implant under your skin that has to be cut out every 3 years, or getting a hook in the uterus - which all come with a risk of pregnancy and side-effects we wouldn't wish on our worst enemy. And we accept all this without much question because there just aren't any other options.

Although I'd much prefer to be in charge of my own birth control, it's quite disgraceful that the options available to us are so damaging to our health. It's also sad that we should remind ourselves that we're lucky to even have these limited options at all...

Ask a Stupid Question...

Talking of dumbing down; I cannot believe some of the stupid questions and reporting that gets offered up as 'news' by our TV stations.

A few examples: a couple of weeks ago there was a little kid who was kidnapped in India; they got him back and the reporter was standing outside the grandparents house and was asked by the studio whether they thought the family may be privy to some information that we didn't know about. The answer unsurprisingly, was that yes, they probably knew stuff that we didn't.

Like most of Northern Europe, we have a no-fly zone over the UK at the moment due to the Icelandic volcano eruption, and yesterday they paid for reporters to travel to each airport to tell us that no planes were flying out. and look - there's nobody here! After the first empty airport story, each subsequent reporter basically started their story with the line "well, it's as similar story here..." no, not similar - it's THE SAME story. What a waste of time - the poor bastards are still camped there so that they can show us a plane leaving at some point.

They were quizzing an airline representative this morning as to whether it was really necessary to cease all flights because passengers were being disrupted and were getting unhappy. The poor fella patiently explained again (they've told us a 100 times why already) without pointing out to this idiot woman that this was preferable to the plane dropping out of the sky like a stone.

It usually seems to be women from the BBC that ask these stupid questions, but I suppose having a woman on the news who isn't just eye-candy in a tight top is a good start...

Language Nazi Makes a Stand

Right. That's it. I can't bear it any more. I need to rant.

If one more grown adult sends me a text, email or tweet with a fucking emoticon, the words LMAO, PMSL, LOL or any of these wanky symbol faces :-0 ;-) I am going to punch their stupid faces in.

My skin crawls when I see these symbols and I start to think less of the person sending it. I know it's extreme but I can't help it. I also think that people who think they're 'down with the kids' and write in text speak are lazy, illiterate retards who can't be bothered to learn the English language - I see this kind of shit on Facebook all the time and I've had enough.

I absolutely despise Facebook; I joined it a few years ago out of interest when I had 10 days off work with a bad back, and I use it to keep in contact with people I know who live out of Brighton. But all I see are adults posting vapid, badly-spelt unpunctuated comments, tending pretend crops and sending pointless imaginary drinks. Yesterday, a relative of mine posted "Dinner on an it smells lush yumyum so hungry now x" and I just wanted to kick her face off. She had NINE comments! The banality of it both really angers and depresses me.

The dumbing-down of everything (thanks Simon Cowell you greedy, soul-sucking, parasitic twat) is making the World a poorer place in my opinion; I sometimes read a bit of celebrity gossip and have a shallow side like everyone, but you have to have limits Goddamit! I'll even use a waving emoticon sometimes on Skype when I'm going because they're relatively inoffensive and I use them sparingly; but when they're in every bloody text, my blood starts to boil and I'm clouded by hatred.

When I mention that I hate these faces and abbreviations, I always get a spate of them sent to me because it's clearly the funniest thing since organised religion. People seem to think that you can't tell how a message was meant if there isn't some stupid face in it - so just use an exclamation mark or the words 'haha' and hope that your friend is smart enough to work it out for themselves! It may be irrational to some, but I've reached breaking point and something has to be done before I actually smash someone's face in shouting "you're not LYFAO now are you, you knob!!!!"

Rant over.

What, So Now I Work Here?

I fucking despise self-serve checkouts. Not satisfied with taking our money, charging over inflated prices and laying out the shop in a such a way that you can't find anything; we now have to work there for free as well!

They seem to have sprung up in most of the main supermarkets so I'm finding it increasingly hard to avoid using them. I say to myself "it'll be fine; you're a sensible, intelligent girl, you'll breeze through that in a jiffy; it surely can't be as stressful as last time" - but no, it always takes twice as long, they suddenly can't recognise a bloody bar code or a reward card; you're pissing around with your purse, trying to pack the bag correctly and work out where the receipt or change is going to spring from - and all under the watchful gaze of a bored shop assistant who is paid to watch you struggle!

This afternoon I reached a new low and demeaned myself by actually shouting at one - I had only just rocked up to it and the voice of a harpie started repeating that there was an "unexpected item in the baggage area". The only thing hanging in the baggage area was a carrier bag - you know, that item they put there that they expect you to use for bagging up your shopping. I ruffled the bag a couple of times but she still couldn't work out what was going on and continued to repeat that there was an 'unexpected item' so I then loudly shouted "WHAT, LIKE A BAG?!?!"

Amazingly this seemed to solve the problem; she then decided that it was indeed one of their own carrier bags and let me proceed with my transaction ending with "please take your shopping" ...thanks for the tip lady, I was just about to walk off and leave my shopping because I only come here for relaxation and a laugh. Go on, tell me again to take my change because I thought I'd just leave that too.

I have to admit that I was still so full of rage when I lef the store that I had to put Classic FM on as soon as I got home... I feel angry just reliving the experience again actually.

All Gone

God this is so disappointing - I've decided to stick with Blogger as it would mean that even if I imported my blog, all the photos have gone anyway. Plus you guys are all here as well...

So I've just spent hours trying to replace the photos that accompany the posts; I often spent AGES finding the perfect photo as well and I've not been able to find them all again - I could go with new ones, but I chose the last ones because they were perfect.

Nearly every SkyWatch photo was taken on my camera phone then deleted once uploaded so they've gone forever, I have no way of finding a lot of the ugly shoes (one doesn't just stumble upon such hideousness) so I've had to delete some of those posts altogether as well. (Although LInked Within obviously doesn't understand that a post has gone, because that would just be too easy and might indicate that technology was my side)

It's been a little upsetting to see how often I mentioned Dexter as well - especially to read how many times I said I feared he would be killed by a car after I moved; or all the mornings we spent chilling in bed or the happy afternoons on the sofa hanging out.

The 300 Clutter-Thunk photos can be put up again I guess, even though some of them will be the second time around for you. But the Cynic ones were personal and are hard to replicate. This is going to be a long job; some of the posts had 3 pictures and only Link Within is giving me any hint as to what the photo was - Imagine if you had to recreate a whole year's worth of 2 blogs. What a fucking hassle.

Bastard Blogger

Right I'm absolutely furious about this. ALL the photos pre 9th October on my Clutter-Thunk Blog have also disappeared. All 300 posts.

I didn't know that you had to keep the photos on Picasa as Blogger is owned by Google. So I now have to decide whether to put all the photos back up again, or whether to export my blog to another provider. 

Apparently, once Picassa is full, you have to delete photos anyway which will then also disappear off your Blogger blog - and they don't even tell you this! I don't want to be held to ransom by Google either. I don't like Wordpress much so I'm off to check out typepad.

I can't believe this - I'm steaming right now.

We're Gunna Need a Bigger Purse

Right, this is getting ridiculous now.... in my purse I now have:

• A debit card
• A library card
• A cinema pass
• A Boots reward card (drugstore)
• A Sainsburys nectar card
• A Tesco Clubcard
• A Debenhams reward card (departments store)
• A Waterstones reward card(bookstore)
• A HMV reward card
• A Game reward card (computer game shop)
• A Game gift voucher card
• A Bagelman reward card (they stamp it)
• A Moksha coffee reward card (they stamp it)
• A donor card
• A Hairdressers reward card (they stamp it)
• A T-Mobile top-up card
• A few of my business cards

That's 17 cards in all - this is madness. If I had credit cards or store cards then that would be even more!

I like to have them as I can get money off etc; but trying to find the right bloody one each time is becoming a nightmare - I fumble my way through each transaction: "hold on; I know it's here somewhere..." whilst the queue builds up and I start to drop things - then I have to get my money out OR the debit card as well. Is it just me or do you guys have a billion cards as well?

Something has to be done - I'm writing to my MP!

Celebricide

Righty-o; I've been having a think about it and have decided I'm not done with the annoyance - the 21st Century is so consumed with shallowness and superficiality that I just don't think I can let it lie!

My personal belief is that people should be able to live their lives exactly as they please. As long as they're not hurting others then everyone is entitled to go about their merry way. I firmly believe this, yet I also believe that everyone is allowed an opinion and, if you live your life in the public eye, parade yourself on reality TV or push your shameless, self-promoting ways into the faces of others then everyone else should be equally free to comment on it.

There are some show-offs so irritating that they deserve a mention; they're not murderers or fascists, but their pointless banal presence alone is crime enough to make them a target for my disdain. S this week I'm going to have a go at a few of them.

Britains Finest

Annoyance No 7 - On Celebrity Big Brother Coolio said that English girls were "loose and go with someone they don't even know" The response? Not a bat of a single eyelid - the country nodded it's head in silent agreement.