I found the first picture on a memory card I haven’t used in ages. It’s quite beautiful. It looks all marble-ly and dream like. It’s the view from our window in our little bedroom grotto at the pub.
Ah yes, The Life of Croth.
Since I last posted, a lot has changed.
I’ve gone back to using regular toothpaste as opposed to my extravagant, ‘Pearl Drops.’ I swear to god the stuff doesn’t work.
Me: ‘I literally can’t remember anything that’s happened in the past two weeks…’
Gina: ‘Um, you went to Ireland. I mean, not much has happened, we’ve had a lot of routine.’
So that’s all for now, bye.
My current situ is that i’m feeling queasy. I was so hungry when I got to work this morning that I devoured two pastries and two coffees. Last Tuesday we went to see Stevie’s comedy gig with our band of bros, JB and Rey. Nice to see you kiddos. JB you still look oddly like Uma Therman. One of these days i’m going to buy you a leather yellow catsuit and a sword and make you chase me.
Last Thursday we went to The Creative Circle awards, whereby we were poached from our table by some friendly fellow at Ogilvy. We then ate macaroons and I conducted a Motown protest with Bill Bungay. Trev, you played an integral part as the backup support system of what, after several glasses of wine, seemed like a totally worthy cause.
Work’s been going well, so has our ‘Out of Hours’ project. Lots of meetings, lots of coffee, lots of late nights. But hey, all worth it when we become millionaires.
Note to self (like I ever use my blog in this fashion) REMEMBER to get some kind of legal document in order to get to Australia in May.
My granny knitted me a hot water bottle cover and had it sent to work. It’s totally fantastic and in extreme circumstances could be fashioned into a hat. That’s what I call nifty. She also knitted me a jumper and now I want a kind-of crotched wait coat.
I’ve accidentally become really good at making coffee. I say things like, ‘ohhhh, you heat it up in the microwave. I mean sure, if you like burned coffee…’ I literally don’t know if this is true or not, but it makes me sound fancy and like I have ‘layers’. You know like, ‘Jesus Jenn’s weird, but by Joe! does she know her stuff when it comes to coffee…’ (This conversation has never ever happened, it’s what I like to call ‘Croth and effect’, whereby I perplex people with my weirdness until they develop their own personal filter against my tirade of ramblings, thus meaning I do not have to develop my own personal filter. Croth and effect guys.
Mooooooving on. I’m taking Gina to Norwich in a few weeks. I just spelled it Norwitch. Help.
Also today I had the realisation that I do not infact look like Meg Ryan in her hay-day, but more Kurt Cobain, minus the rock ‘n’ roll attitude.
I went to Ireland (hi i’m drinking camomile tea and it’s pretty darn good. Mixed emotions of surprised, smug (it’s healthy) and sad about not having my normal 13.23pm coffee) which was fun. We danced to heavy metal and drank a shit load of Bushmills. Hoorah. I saw all my Irish favourite people and took some photos to document the event as you can see yonder up there ^ There’s me and Clawdie drinking oreo milkshakes that Dowling made and Clawdie with Gaffy looking delighted with herself, then not-so delighted at finding herself in a little bed pickle.
Tonight we have our super duper secret project out of hours type thing meeting. We’re briefing the photographer- so yay for photos and boo to a thousand emails per second. Bring on the trumpets.
Noodles has been playing with my emotions. He is deffo going to be in cookooburrough (Australia) when i’m there. Good on ya mate (that was Australian for ‘well done’.)
Laassssst weekend I woke up in a van in Shaftsbury avenue (family put down your phones. Do not call me asking me to explain myself. Read on!) because I have some Hungarian friends who are kinda like new age bohemian gypsies and we went to their gig so we have a sleepover. (I wrote ‘we’ but I went by myself, which is sad.) I died my hair green because I was feeling all, ‘who cares?! It’s hair and i’ll rock it *wink face* but now i’m like, ‘ok I care a bit, it looks nice straight, but curly makes me look like i’m wearing a wig/ 14 year old emo from 1998. Anyways, I got a lot of likes on Instagram for it so happy days. See picture ^ for a full on grinning green go- go goblin. Self vanity pumped, ego satisfied. A round of applause for Croth.
I went to the Groucho and saw Adam Ant.
Me: ‘OMG GINA IT’S JOHNNY DEPP!’
Adam Ant: *leaves*
Safe to say, he’s not gonna be the one to make us rich and famous.
My Mother, because she is 100% a total power house of cool, has just got a degree. So i’m seeing ye ol’ family on Friday. Which means Krizzle (gangster ex- inmate older sister, Kirsten, turned dietician) will be coming to London on Friday. A bit like when ‘Santa Clause is cammin to town…’ Only she’s blonde, it’s not Christmas (could be. Note to self- check what time of year it is. Just kidding- humour! You like?) Ohhhh what? Yes it’s deffo not Crimbo, but Kirsten is coming to town. God help London. JUST KIDDING KIRSTEN PLEASE DON’T SHUT ME IN YOUR CUPBOARD LIKE YOU DID WHEN WE WERE ROUGHLY 6 AND 8 AND WE WERE PLAYING HOTELS AND I WANTED TO WORK AT THE HOTEL AND YOU SAID NO.
So my hair is green. End of sentence. Or is it? *sips camomile tea and looks out window for zany and witty continuation with what we all know will be a heavily exaggerated and long winded way of saying my hair is green* I wonder what Granny will think? She’s pretty groovy, but she is my Granny. It’s a 50/50.
*Nibbles at hummus, fully aware it’s gone off*
Cashoo (this is not how you spell his name but I have no intention of learning. Unless we get married and I have to write him letters and stuff like, ‘Oh Cashoo, you are a man…’ Marry me Cashoo?) likes what I’ve been eating for lunch. Cous cous, peas, tomatoes, beans (green, not baked) onion and feta. Nommmms for days.
Last picture!! Is of me, sporting one of my favourite tops. There are only about 20 people in the world with these. You can’t buy them- literally. Scotty (best/ worst depending how you wanna look at it) manager of Balaton beach house in Hungary gave them away last Summer. I miss Balaton. I miss midnight bowling, flunky ball, bbqs on the balcony and all those other things.
I have lots to say (can you tell lol) but I’m gonna finish it there, brain storm the next one and maybe give y’all some discussion points for the next time you converse with another human.
The fusty hummus is a great way to get all the cous cous balls to stick to my fork.