Shakira’s cool and I Need Some Hoover Advice.

I have been circling my laptop for about two hours now. Like a shark and its prey. Only I’m not bloodthirsty to write this post. It’s not that something horrific has happened, it’s just I’m a lazy bum-mother.

The Walking Dead and Fearne Cotton.

I realised I had no pictures for this post, so I did a cheeky lil’ photoshoot. If you want the Gif. file to download for personal use, please don’t hesitate to ask.

I think I have died and gone to heaven. I have discovered

Zombie Conventions and Delicatessens

Here I am enjoying my Lush coffee face mask and ridaculoosely good hair mask that I got free last week. It’s so good. I have horrible hair and everyone thinks it’s nice because I know all the good hair products that create this mega illusion.

Hello. I’m Jenn. This is my blog and it’s mine because it is. I am the only one

Beef PotNoodles aren’t what they used to be and I hiked Machu Picchu

Well what is dis? What is it? It’s my life blog, crawling back from the depths of WordPress to terrorise your social media feeds.

This is the year of the Croth (the Chinese have argued, ‘monkey’ but whatevs) and this such means hence forth that 2016 is going to be stonking. Stonking here means, ‘really good’.

I’ve decided to become a TV presenter. So, I quit my job and

Eamonn Holmes is more real than Solange Knowels

Just had a good stretch. Love a good stretch. It only dawned on me in the very second of writing that you could say, ‘stretches? I’ve had a good stretch.’ And mean like the same that you would mean if you said, ‘relationships? I’ve had a good stretch.’ What if like someone mistook you and they were like, ‘How does stretching and relationships relate?’. You’d probs be like, ‘well they don’t really.’ I reckon you’d be stuck in some kind of to-and-fro convo for a bit then move on. 

I went on a date and I’ve got Rabies.

Right here we go then. What bloody shit show has Crothers gotten herself into this week. Drum roll pls.

So as I sit here wearing Gina’s jumper (‘just be careful mate I think there’s dog shit on the front’) I am a tad hungover as I went on a date last night and apparently

24.09.15

17.55pm. The sofa at work, Soho, London. 

I Slept in Cat Poo. 

I have given myself an hour to try
recount what the hell has happened in the past two weeks of my life. Deep
breath. One biscuit. Right, let’s rock this mother.

So last time I spoke to y’all, I was at
my Dad’s in Northern Ireland. I have to specify which Ireland because it’s
important.

Some of you know or don’t know, that I’m
going to do some things with my life, but non-disclosure means I got to talk in
code, kay? Eg, I want to learn to kick box.

So, I met up with a famous kick-boxer a
few weeks back at Soho Theatre, called Ben. He gave me some advice about kick
boxing and I was like cool, can’t wait to kick box.

Since then, I’ve made some more kick
boxing contacts and I think it’s going swimmingly- kind of.

I went to the cinema with Gerry. Well, he
did meet me there with Gina, but then we had a coffee and left. Anyways, we
watched a short film by a bloke called Tom Beard. He’s kind of cool and the
movie was rather visceral and violent and had this actor guy in it that I like
from the MOVIE called ATONEMENT.

 After this, we went to the Grump club,
where we bumped in to Tom Beard and over my Negroni I yelled at him telling him
the movie was well good.

 After this, I slunk off home to the
Boogaloo, to be greeted by the Libertines because they were having a right
nightmare because Pete did a bunk. Then I slunk further off to my bed and slept
like a little caterpillar.

Hutch has a new thing. I dunno what she’s trying to achieve
but she comes into my room and pops up next to my head, normally around 3am
(the perfect time to be woken up to some bum in the face) and plonks her little
furry arse on my head. She does this weird ritual until I tickle her. It’s like
I reward my cat for giving me a lap dance.

Was meant to see Foxes at the Grump on Tues but couldn’t go
because we were PITCHING at WORK. We lost the pitch, boo hiss.

I had an eye test and turns out I’m blind. Hehe nah not
rreally, I do need glasses though (hence the gorgeous picture of me up yonder). SEVENTY QUID ARE YOU JOKING ME SPECSAVERS
apparently they don’t joke so I had to pay them. Just had a mental relapse and couldn’t spell
the word because. Kept spelling it bercause.

The picture above is Gina and I on Thursday night when we got home to Hutch’s poo all over my hot water bottle. Basically, I went to the Grump because I needed a drink after smacking my pitch up on Wednesday and befriended Bacon and Hix. Hix is now my new bestie and we went to dinner at Hix on Thurs, with some blokes from the Independent. Gina rocked up for some fish and chips, then we drank our body weight in cocktails then headed back to the Grump to grab Bacon. We lost bacon and I decided to go home so my body could get rest. We got locked out because I’m dumb, had to wake up Gerry (sorry Gerry) and that was Thursday I guess.

This is a picture of Hazel in what was one of the weirdest nights of my life.

So, Hix and I decided further dinnering would be a good idea, and this is when Hazel happened. After a few conversations with SOMEONE we all went to dinner again. And that is when the Serbians happened. We educated Hix about Tinder and then decided it would be nice if all of us when back to the Grump for some Negronis. We lost Hix but the Serbians stayed. Guinness decided Hazel was his new BFF, Hazel doesn’t remember though. NG turned up and thought we were BFFs, but realising his mistake, ran away. Luckily, Santana with dreads was there and she got in our cab. Are you following? To cut a long story short, Hazel and I stole The Wife then had brunch in Islington the next day. 

Quitting the gym because of the grump and kick boxing.

This week both parents are coming to London, but on
different days thank the lord.

24.09.15

I walked behind this bloke the whole way to  work. It made me laugh because it was raining cats and dogs and he was just like nah, fuck theeh rulez. 

Fish chowder from M&S is sublime, I wrote a poem about
it:

Marks and Spencer fish chowder soup
So glad am I, to be in the loop
What a wonder, what a find
I’ll have a thousand bowls, if you don’t mind
And cheap! Oh so cheap my god
You could feed it to your cat or your dog

 I’ve stopped washing my hair so much.

 I want to start putting avocado under my eyes.

So as you may or may not know, I live above a pub with my BFF, Gina. Sometimes, we get ourselves into the weirdest situations and SOMETIMES the stories sound a little bit ridiculous. 

Here is but one of those stories…

It was dark outside, which meant it was very late. The Summer months had long warm evenings, perfect for drinking and enjoying oneself into the small hours of the morning.

Gina and Jenn had been enjoying one of these long evenings, and that is how they found themselves feeling giddy on gin, laughing gayly together in their 3am taxi.

As they hopped out of the cab, Gina muttering in northern slang, Jenny responding with garbled drunk gibberish they were amazed to see a fox- innocent as the day is long- staring at them.

Gina was enthralled, ‘Jenn- Shh a minute! Look!’. Jenny, who was equally taken in by the beautiful creature, joined in with the coaxing, ‘Come here little one, we won’t hurt you.’

Every so gently they both laid down on the grass. ‘Are you sure this is safe, Gina?’ Jenny said, thinking only of rabies. 

‘Of course, let him come to you.’ Gina’s past bringing up foxes in Manchester coming to her as though it were yesterday, ‘Oh look- he’s circling us! That’s very natural Jenny. It’s their way of sussing us out.’

Minutes went by, and as the fox became more brave with these gorgeous strangers, he jumped in for the kill, bit Jenny’s hand, which was, in her personal opinion, fucking painful. Gina, being the heartless bitch that she is, commanded Jenny to stay laying there. 

The fox saw his window of opportunity to really screw with poor Jenny, and lunged again, ruthlessly grabbing her purse (containing work keys, £50, Oyster, makeup) and ran off, into the warm Summer evening. 

Jenny, dumbfounded and really quite hammered, couldn’t put into words what had just happened, and the merciless Gina fell to the floor in fits of laughter.

The shitting end.  

06.09.15

11.05 am. Island Magee. Ireland.

My name’s
Jenn, and I like to Nicoise.

This week
has been very normal. A bit clichéd. Clichéd rain, clichéd grey sky… although something
happened in London on Monday that was very un- cliché. 

Cliché drumroll plz…
When I got on the Victoria line at Euston (my nearest stop is Oxford Circus. If
you’re planning on stalking me you could 100% piece together this blog and have
me killed off before tea time) this Irish business man, who we later found out
lives in Finchley, started chatting to this young guy who we sooner found out
has just moved here this very day from Manhattan and is looking for a job. Any
job. It was the perfect start to a clichéd chick-flick. They may make it some
day and I reckon the extra who plays me will be a right babe. All fake tanned
whilst dramatically squinting at her e-book reader pretending not to eavesdrop
(great word) on the NOT-CLICHED conversation on the tube.

This brings
me smoothly onto my Nicoise (it doesn’t but if I say it does then you’ll think
it does.) On Tuesday I trekked (walked approx. 0.1km) through the rain in Soho
to grab some Tuna for my NEWLY APPOINTED LUNCHTIME CEO NICOISE SALAD.

Now, you
normally get faced with either [insert shitty supermarket name here]’s own
brand, or JOHN WEST, who apparently really digs being a tuna farmer (farmer?
Excavator? Do you excavate fish from the sea? Or do you harvest it?) because
it’s the only other TUNA brand I’ve ever seen.

I’m worried
it’s over farmed so I always want to buy the fair-trade– banana equivalent- you
know the type where the fish was happy to die, the farmer asked it’s family if
it was okay to take granddad and they were like yeah go for it.

The only
thing that confuses me somewhat is the dolphin friendly bit. What, did the
dolphin also give consent for the murder of granddad tuna fish? Or are the
dolphins just happy knowing that it’s the tuna for the chop and not them? Of
course it’s dolphin friendly, the dolphins couldn’t give a shit as long as it’s
not them mashed up in a can. I bet the dolphins are fucking ecstatic. It should
be ‘Dolphin’s Throwing a House Party’ tuna.

If I was a
dolphin on the board of British food labeling, I’d be like ‘yeah, the
crabs and the cod are pretty stoked too. Take all the fucking tuna you
want and TELL THE PEOPLE of Britain how delighted the rest of the gang are.’

So this is
totally gross but I had a weird mark on my back chopped off a few weeks back,
then on Friday I had the stitches removed. I know it’s minging, but I initially
started writing this damn blog so I could remember what I did day to day. But you
guys, it’s kind of cool because I’ve been having lots of anxiety problems
lately (or ‘Wizard Angst’ as Sarah likes to call it) and I felt like a fucking
Storm Trooper as I left the Doc’s, just having a big ol’ needle of anesthetic
shoved in my back, without any Wizard Angst at all. I genuinely had a mini
panic attack in a magazine shop the other day. Whilst my brain was preparing
itself for the imminent death-by-Cosmo, I was like ‘wtf brain, you’ve had minor
surgery, yet it’s the magazines that make you freak out.’ Humans are weird.

I wrote a
new article for The Debrief about my favourite lipstick in the whole world. You
should READ IT HERE then message me telling me how witty I am and how my turn of
phrase is hilarious.

I flew to
Dad’s this weekend from Stansted airport. I had a coffee from Harris and Hoole.
It was ridiculously good. I’ve never seen that brand before so it might just be
in Stansted airport.

Oh also,
let’s cut back to last week’s post. Remember I mentioned a certain Nathan that
cancelled on me? Well HAHA because he did it again on Friday night. But ‘he’s
super busy and ever so sorry’, so we shan’t be annoyed, because we’re grown up.
Isn’t that right Jennifer?

And maybe
it’s for the best- I had to get a taxi at 4am on Saturday morning. The taxi
driver kept talking to me the whole way there. And I fell asleep sideways, so
cut off all the circulation to my legs which resulted in exiting the taxi like
Bambi on crack.

Had a
fan-girl moment this week, Emma Gannon who writes the blog called, ‘Girl Lost in the City’,
tweeted about my blog. Hehehehahahahohooo.

Future
life- going to the Grump club with Gerry and CA soon to talk about life things.

Gina and I
had a rather impromptu night on the tiles/ Soho cocktails on Thursday with
Royce. Hey Royce. We got Subways and then I made Ovaltine (obvious drunk snack)
but because I was wasted, I tripped on the stairs and sloshed it all over
myself and woke up smelling like yeasty milk.

Cool man.

Oh and today’s picture is one I just took as I post this
out. My Dad wants to go to TK Maxx, and I’m like, Daaaaad whyyyyyyyythat’s FINE
I’m 24 let’s gooooooo.

Hanging about at #portobelloroad 🇬🇧🇬🇧🇬🇧🇬🇧🇬🇧🇬🇧🇬🇧🇬🇧🇬🇧 channelling @adapperchick #london #londonlife #ootd #dandystyle #dapperstyle #dapper #suitup #jimihendrix #fashion #blondhair #photoshoot