I’m Avril Lavigne on the 43 bus.

I’m so tired. It’s a combination of smacking my pitch up at
work, and going to Dublin last weekend.

My bloody flight was delayed by an hour
which had a horrible knock-on effect which resulted in me, looking and feeling like Avril Lavigne in one of
her more ‘I’m alone and it’s raining’ type music videos (the kind you watch
when you need inspiration to make yourself cry (or perhaps not if you’re not a
robot like me)) Where was I? Oh yes, Easyjet fucked it up therefore I became
Avril Lavigne, waiting at a bus stop at bloody flippin’ dickin’ Finsbury Park.
Note- the 43 DOES NOT pick up from Liverpool Street. You may only alight here. Side
note- ‘alight’ is one of my most favourite words. The lady’s voice on the
tannoy (tannoy is not a word apparently) always assumes you’re part of the
royal ballet and are about to gently, oh so lightly, step off the underground. Sure-footed,
with a bonnet on yer’ head. When in reality you burst out of the doors,
desperately trying to not fall in to the DEATH GAP. Jeese. So yeah, I’m tired.

My birthday
is on the 9^th of July. Which is kind of exciting but
also a bit like, ‘oh shit, I’ll be 24’… which if you’re reading this and you’re
older than that, you’ll be like, ‘shut the fuck up.’ BUT HEY. Didn’t you also
feel the same at 24? I was supposed to have a boyfriend and a horse by now.

Last time I
BLOGGED was THREE WEEKS AGO. That’s shoddy. Sorry. Sorry for being shoddy.
Fucking right I need a coffee.

I’ve
started eating Rivitas with cottage cheese, tomato and balsamic vinegar glaze.
This recipe is actual proof that sometimes, you CAN polish a turd.

I went to
Dublin for Strawb’s birthday. Every time I go to Dublin I have every good
intention of SEEING DUBLIN, then end up in some weird village miles from where
I should be. The same thing happened again and I went to freaking Kildare.
Although, Kildare was freaking good- I saw Tod sing a song called, ‘Mind
Yourself’, and MJ managed to hitchhike from about two hours away using a
cardboard sign with all the different stops.

I bought
tickets to Budapest in August accidentally when I was ONE PINT DRUNK- I can’t
exaggerate here, I literally had one pint then felt really giddy and booked it.
I’m glad though. Gonna try convince Mum and Dad to buy me the festival ticket
for my birthday, then I’m gonna try sell my kidney for spending money. Fun fun.

Talking of
making money, I’ve put loads of my clothes on eBay. I can’t say I’m surprised
that nothing’s sold yet- the crock of shit that I’ve put up for auction is
quite embarrassing. Do you ever buy something and think, ‘yes, this is quite
nice. It’s a bit whacky, but I’ll make it work.’ Well, I’ve included one
perfect deluded example up there ^ alongside what I was intending the dress to
make me look like. Fuck-you-very-much reality.

Sticky Fingers
cancelled their gig a few weeks back which was pants, but what can ya do? They’ve
rescheduled for November, so everyone just stay calm.

I’ve been
wanting to try to products from a shop called LUSH for ages, so on me lunch
break I bought some BLUE FACEMASK and some bloody BANANA SHAMPOO and then
ANOTHER FREAKIN FACE MASK and FOR SOME REASON SOME FACE SERUM. Probably shouldn’t have that gone gun-ho But hey, I’m a girl and the packaging was really
nice and the lady said I good skin AND I’M WEAK. Anyhoo, I’ve shoved a piccie
of my moon-face covered in the wonderful blue goo. 

I was meant
to go to yoga with JP today, but last night I joined a merry band of Aussie
Rules players to a bowling alley, therefore got completely inebriated. Instead
of yoga, I shall be doing my own form of exercise called, ‘downward facing
roast dinner.’

My cat got
stuck in the fridge this week (I live in a pub, it was one of those huge cold
rooms). She was there for hours so then spent the following night warming her
arse on my face. Cute.

23.04.15

9pm. London.

I faked tanned my guitar.

I’m having a writing relapse- if you’re a proper saddo you
might have watched my ‘vlogs’. I’m not sure what to do with them. which I’m glad about because writing is hella more bohemian and makes me sound like I have a proper hobby.

They’re not
half as satisfying as writing, and they’re a proper ball ache to do-Talking of hobbies, my guitar has commited suicide- it’s so
bored of just sitting in my room not being played with, it’s put itself out of
tune. I didn’t know guitars could do this? Apparently so. I also only sadly
know this, not because I decided to have a little jam (I literally can’t play-
‘jam’ is such an exaggeration of my talents) because I dropped my fake tan mit
on it, and it slightly brushed the strings. It wasn’t pretty. Good thing my
guitar is already brown.

Last night I had a magnum, and a pizza, and a garlic bread
AND I watched Ant & Dec. I was just sitting there, thinking about which
sounds better- Jennifer Donnelly or Jennifer McPartlin. I decided I didn’t care
and that I love them both and that they can both have me if push comes to
shove.

I bought two pairs of trousers from Beyond Retro yesterday.
I was hungover/ still drunk and decided it was a good idea, plus the new hottie
that works there told me I looked nice. He looked like legolass, but I didn’t
tell him that. I think I might have been trying to show off a little bit by
flashing Da Cash, but I deffo had to transfer some money on my Barclays app
into my current account because I’m poor and legolass had a nice posh accent.  

I did some adland networking this week at an art exhibition
at a production company in Soho. There was a free bar. Who wants a high five,
Jenn does. Jenn would really like a high five.

I’ve been listening to heaps of Taylor Swift. I find her
quite empowering- her tunes are dope and she can’t dance for shit.

My left bottom cheek hurts. I think it’s from too much exercise
but I didn’t know there was muscle in your bottom. Unless your bottom is a
muscle. Is the bottom a muscle? Have I pulled my bottom? Can someone DM me pls.
Ta.

So I got back into my bloggy swingy by writing drunken notes
to myself. It’s hilarious; you should try it some time. I did this in a few
posts back and I more or less went viral, by viral my friend Ren messaged me on
Facebook to tell me I was funny. Ahem.

“Mint and chese is soo good drunk Jenn doesn’t think about
this Jenn likes the lovely”

The lovely what?! God I’m mysterious, me-ow.  

Ah yes, I have a new friend. He’s like well good at
advertising innit, and he wrote this little paragraph about Spring, and it’s
fecking sick, so I thought I’d share:

Oi
Spring! wake up you lazy bugger. Teenager of seasons. Ignoring the alarm of
bird and bee and general sadness. Burying that sweet face under the damn grey
brown duvet of cloud and leaf.

Get up
and stir us with your reckless energy, warmth and charm. We’re ready to mow
your wild green hair, dodge your wasps, rip off our clothes and frolic with you
once more. Wake up Spring!

It’s great isn’t it? I want to steal this style of writing
and give it a go. This is literally off the top of my head… I’ll write about
Monday.

Oi Monday, you slag, with your big saggy boobs, that are
shoved up like an old duvet, trying to pry our eyes away from Tuesday. We’re
only looking at you so much, so intently because you’re such an eyesore. Stop
throwing yourself at us, like some desperate, dirty old hag. You’ve had enough,
go home. Tuesday’s a right bit of stuff, let us have it.

Ermergerd I’m a bloody poet.

Ohhhh massive PS- buy Yeovalley yoghurt (if you’re not from
the UK, carry on with your lives, this is a British brand, get out of here!).
It’s all about supporting farms yaknow. Crowdfunding- an extra 30p to you, is a
big difference to them. And it’s nice. And is good. And I like it so you need
to like it too.

Another PS- the picture for this post is my ‘Plenty of Fish’
dating profile pic. Just kidding I have a boyfriend. I’m kidding again of
course I’m a proper loner, it’s just that I ate a bit of sea bass for dinner,
and it went off on the 1^st Feb, so if I die tonight in my sleep,
that’s what did it. Night then.

PSPSPSPSPPSPPPPSPSPSPSPFUCKKKPPSSSSS Sah many things I wanna
tell yee- I’m gonna write a cookery book. I just decided. It’s going to be
about how to cook healthy dinners, with an unhealthy twist. I think it’s the
way forward. For example:

Salad with a Gravy Dressing.

Organic Lentil Soup, with a Blue Cheese Burger to Dip.

‘Don’t have organic bananas? No sweat, lard works just as
well!’

‘Has your almond butter all but gone? Calm yourself, just
use birthday cake.’

And so on, and so forth.

Picture no.1 is a nice little montage come breakdown of me and Gee trying to take a picture but we’re naughty wine drinking ladies and couldn’t control our limbs for very long.

In picture no. 2, I look a bit like a 70s male rocker. I do this like once a month and I’m not sure why. Kinda like having a period only more head scarfs and less hormones.

We were drinking with Rey and JB, instead of sleeping before our flight to Dublin. 

In the bar we saw Rick Edwards, who for those foreign beans reading this, is a sexy TV presenter here in the UK. Hi Rick. 

After Rick, we sang with a turnstile at Tufnell park station because it sounds like Blur, ‘Song 2’.

We got back to the Boogaloo, to realise we had about 2 hrs to pack, sleep and leave again to start our mission to Dublin. When Gina woke me up at 1.30am I wanted to fully throw myself out of my bedroom window, but didn’t want to make a scene so I just got on with things and we got three night buses to Liverpool st, narrowly dodged the Archway massive, and ended up at Mc Donalds, where we bought everything then complained, as independent women do, about not being able to use the loo at this ungodly hour. We boarded the carriage of Hades (Terravision bus- public transport for the poor and desperate) and munched on our delicious treats. (Nearly wrote, ‘teats’. Re-read with the word teats.)

On the way to our death trap bus, I took a picture of London. Ye ol’ iPhone doesn’t do it justice, but it was a nice thing to see with my eyes.

So we arrived at Stansted about 5am, checked in, then sat in total delirious silence as we waited for the gate. I bought a cuppa and a bacon sarnie from Pret. I love Pret a Manger, I really do. Their food is so good and wonderful and great and nice and good and fun. Can you tell I’m really into this blog post?…

We crashed and burnt so hard in Dublin. We slept at the McDonalds at Dublin airport for like 3 hours, after eating Mc Toasties (deffo not in England anymore). Well, when I say, ‘we’, I mean Gina slept, whilst like a loyal laborador, I watched over her, whilst a random gypsy watched the both of us. I literally felt like a dying hippo in a sandy ravine (crevice in mountain face) surrounded by hungry crows (crows? eagles? vulture, oh yeah it’s a vulture. What am I talking about? Oh yeah, I was a hippo in McDonalds and the gypsy was a vulture and Gina was my first born son baby whom I wanted to keep safe if only for a precious few more moments, before the grim reaper came to claim our lives and the gypsy…. 

Blaaaaaah de what.

We met two nice security men/ bus guard people. Dublin’s one of those places where you think everyone is so much nicer because, they’re Irish, and you’re like, “oh, Irish people are so nice, Londoners don’t talk”, that kinda vibe you know. 

So we got the bus to Dublin city centre, got lost on the way to see Dowling and his hostel of joy, then managed to find it. We had a coffee with him and chatted about life. Then my friend Strawberry rang to see if Gee and I wanted to join his band of merry Irishmen in Galway, so we did. Two and a half hours, 4 cans of cider later, one very well planned lie whereby we told Tod we got the wrong bus to Donegal and he pee’d his Irish knickers and tired beyond belief, we rocked up at Galway bus station. Then we started our 15 min voyage through the town (see pic. no.4 and witness the odd colour of my once-green-hair) to Monroe’s bar, whereupon Gee bought me a bright blue shot of somethingorother…

We then bought wine in slippery brown bags, and drank by the river with Strawbs, Golding and their fellow fellow friend, Joe. We hoppidy skippedied to Rosean Dubh (literally no idea how to pronounce this) and saw Tod play CHOICES (he didn’t play Choices, but we deffo yelled that at him, a lot. Sorry Tod.)

Fast forward, past some blurry pints of Guiness, and we find ourselves upstairs in the smoking area, where Golding was asking me if I was tired, and I was definitely asleep. We bundled in a taxi, then all ended up on Golding’s farm, I passed out in the spare room, meanwhile Gina sat through a 4 hour Irish singalong with Golding’s family, Strawbs and Joe. Marvellous!

Morning came, and oh what sunny, blue skied kind of day it was. We played with a ceramic turtle, ate sandwiches in the sunshine, sunbathed, perved on Spannish people, picked up Tod, then got in his car, to headed back to Dublin. (Pic no. 5)

I’m now writing this a few weeks in the future. By future, I mean this is now, and above the writing was from a few weeks ago. I’m writing this now. Writing right now. 

That night (not now but in the past following on from my previous writing) we all got very merry and went to see Chet Faker. After this we all went to a bar, where I tried to pay for Guiness in Hungarian Forint. Then we went back to the boys house, listened to Tod play guitar, then got in our taxi. I was totally delirious and Gina tried to take her trousers off at the security in the airport. 

Pic no.6 is something I inquired about at work in context of the new fancy printer. Follow @shitjennsayslive for a genuine live update of the utter crap that comes out of my mouth. 

I think we’ll put a metaphorical plug in the symbolic blog post. Whilst this is writing in the future of when I was wrote, and now is here and the plug isn’t real, I need to remember to write my blog so that no post can be written in the past future and present but just make sense. I must always make sense. I’m not even drunk. I’m at work listening to Red Hot Chilli Peppers, booking travel insurance for Australia. Stop it Jenn, save these goody gum drop buttons of written wholesomeness for the future blog posts that will of course be in their own time zone, unlike Australia which seems to be on the moon as there’s lots of sea, terrifying creatures and it’s always nighttime during the day. 

Picture no.1 is a nice little montage come breakdown of me and Gee trying to take a picture but we’re naughty wine drinking ladies and couldn’t control our limbs for very long.

In picture no. 2, I look a bit like a 70s male rocker. I do this like once a month and I’m not sure why. Kinda like having a period only more head scarfs and less hormones.

We were drinking with Rey and JB, instead of sleeping before our flight to Dublin. 

In the bar we saw Rick Edwards, who for those foreign beans reading this, is a sexy TV presenter here in the UK. Hi Rick. 

After Rick, we sang with a turnstile at Tufnell park station because it sounds like Blur, ‘Song 2’.

We got back to the Boogaloo, to realise we had about 2 hrs to pack, sleep and leave again to start our mission to Dublin. When Gina woke me up at 1.30am I wanted to fully throw myself out of my bedroom window, but didn’t want to make a scene so I just got on with things and we got three night buses to Liverpool st, narrowly dodged the Archway massive, and ended up at Mc Donalds, where we bought everything then complained, as independent women do, about not being able to use the loo at this ungodly hour. We boarded the carriage of Hades (Terravision bus- public transport for the poor and desperate) and munched on our delicious treats. (Nearly wrote, ‘teats’. Re-read with the word teats.)

On the way to our death trap bus, I took a picture of London. Ye ol’ iPhone doesn’t do it justice, but it was a nice thing to see with my eyes.

So we arrived at Stansted about 5am, checked in, then sat in total delirious silence as we waited for the gate. I bought a cuppa and a bacon sarnie from Pret. I love Pret a Manger, I really do. Their food is so good and wonderful and great and nice and good and fun. Can you tell I’m really into this blog post?…

We crashed and burnt so hard in Dublin. We slept at the McDonalds at Dublin airport for like 3 hours, after eating Mc Toasties (deffo not in England anymore). Well, when I say, ‘we’, I mean Gina slept, whilst like a loyal laborador, I watched over her, whilst a random gypsy watched the both of us. I literally felt like a dying hippo in a sandy ravine (crevice in mountain face) surrounded by hungry crows (crows? eagles? vulture, oh yeah it’s a vulture. What am I talking about? Oh yeah, I was a hippo in McDonalds and the gypsy was a vulture and Gina was my first born son baby whom I wanted to keep safe if only for a precious few more moments, before the grim reaper came to claim our lives and the gypsy…. 

Blaaaaaah de what.

We met two nice security men/ bus guard people. Dublin’s one of those places where you think everyone is so much nicer because, they’re Irish, and you’re like, “oh, Irish people are so nice, Londoners don’t talk”, that kinda vibe you know. 

So we got the bus to Dublin city centre, got lost on the way to see Dowling and his hostel of joy, then managed to find it. We had a coffee with him and chatted about life. Then my friend Strawberry rang to see if Gee and I wanted to join his band of merry Irishmen in Galway, so we did. Two and a half hours, 4 cans of cider later, one very well planned lie whereby we told Tod we got the wrong bus to Donegal and he pee’d his Irish knickers and tired beyond belief, we rocked up at Galway bus station. Then we started our 15 min voyage through the town (see pic. no.4 and witness the odd colour of my once-green-hair) to Monroe’s bar, whereupon Gee bought me a bright blue shot of somethingorother…

We then bought wine in slippery brown bags, and drank by the river with Strawbs, Golding and their fellow fellow friend, Joe. We hoppidy skippedied to Rosean Dubh (literally no idea how to pronounce this) and saw Tod play CHOICES (he didn’t play Choices, but we deffo yelled that at him, a lot. Sorry Tod.)

Fast forward, past some blurry pints of Guiness, and we find ourselves upstairs in the smoking area, where Golding was asking me if I was tired, and I was definitely asleep. We bundled in a taxi, then all ended up on Golding’s farm, I passed out in the spare room, meanwhile Gina sat through a 4 hour Irish singalong with Golding’s family, Strawbs and Joe. Marvellous!

Morning came, and oh what sunny, blue skied kind of day it was. We played with a ceramic turtle, ate sandwiches in the sunshine, sunbathed, perved on Spannish people, picked up Tod, then got in his car, to headed back to Dublin. (Pic no. 5)

I’m now writing this a few weeks in the future. By future, I mean this is now, and above the writing was from a few weeks ago. I’m writing this now. Writing right now. 

That night (not now but in the past following on from my previous writing) we all got very merry and went to see Chet Faker. After this we all went to a bar, where I tried to pay for Guiness in Hungarian Forint. Then we went back to the boys house, listened to Tod play guitar, then got in our taxi. I was totally delirious and Gina tried to take her trousers off at the security in the airport. 

Pic no.6 is something I inquired about at work in context of the new fancy printer. Follow @shitjennsayslive for a genuine live update of the utter crap that comes out of my mouth. 

I think we’ll put a metaphorical plug in the symbolic blog post. Whilst this is writing in the future of when I was wrote, and now is here and the plug isn’t real, I need to remember to write my blog so that no post can be written in the past future and present but just make sense. I must always make sense. I’m not even drunk. I’m at work listening to Red Hot Chilli Peppers, booking travel insurance for Australia. Stop it Jenn, save these goody gum drop buttons of written wholesomeness for the future blog posts that will of course be in their own time zone, unlike Australia which seems to be on the moon as there’s lots of sea, terrifying creatures and it’s always nighttime during the day. 

First picture is of me and Gee. Lots of love.

We saw Declan on yesterday, he was on a shoot or something. We went for a drink, then I cried because it’s a hard knock life. So there’s a picture of firstly all our pinny pin pins, and then of Gee and Dec. We also re-enacted a David Attenborough documentary, following the life of a hipster (we videoed Dec).

So that was all good. What else? Oh yeah went home to Norwich last weekend, saw father bear, Kirsten and Donna. My train was at 7pm on Friday, I missed it, so rebooked for 9.30, missed that one too, then eventually rocked into N-town about 12.30. Dad was jolly so that’s ok.

Slept like a… a what? What sleeps deeply? I’ll tell ya what- me, in a bed. Warm and cosy, yes yes.

Saturday me and the famdem went into town, Dad bought Kirsten and I’s bits and bobs from Boots, then we went to Pret and chatted about life. Kirsten’s hand blew up (medically not like a bomb) so she went to the walk-in centre and I went to Topshop and I saw my friend Theo. I also saw Barry, but he rudely didn’t say hello. 

PIctures 4 and 5 are some Kirsten and I took on the rooftop of St. Gile’s carpark. Tres bien, tres… yes. 

We went out for dinner that evening, I had prawns, then scampi, then a trout for pudding. I’m kidding about the trout. I ate a lot of fish in hindsight.

Sunday I went to the car boot and bought Kerplunk because I think that Gina and I would enjoy it. 

Eventually I got home to the Boogaloo Sunday evening, to find Gerry and Gina eating chipsticks and watching, ‘The Kardashians’. I was so tired so went to bed about 10. 

Gina is a murderer because there was a grandad (I imagine) spider in a nook (I love the word nook) on our door. He was fucking terrifying, and she bopped him on the head with a pen, then smooshed him into nothing. When I woke up on Monday, there was a worm at our bedroom door, as if to say, ‘Hey, I’m the worm to replace the spider’. Like some kind of insect morals repossession rep.

I went for an eye test yesterday. Apparently I’m fine- although I think they may have damaged my eyesight during the test. The buggers blast intense air and light into your eyes, then ask you to tell you when you see flashing lights. I felt like i’d taken acid and stepped inside a kalediscope. 

Last night Christian, Baz, Button, Tim, Adam, Barrington and I went for an impromptu beer session at ‘DeHem’s’ bar on Dean Street. I drank lots of Frulli, which is strawberry beer. Then Baz and I made some menu alterations. Gee was around the corner, drinking with her famdem clan gang (hiya guys). She turned up this morning bags of treats from her Mummy, and now she’s singing, ‘WHO WANTS CHOCOLATE, I AM THE CHOCOLATE WOMANNNN…’ God love her.

I’m giggling about it now, but I think i stood in cat wee this morning. 

So all in all, Gina and I are having a great time. Fame is a little further away than anticipated, but amidst the wee wee, singular worm of spider’s past, and Kerplunk, we haven’t lost the dream.

Current situ? Gina is yelling about seagulls and explosives, and Christian is playing the soundtrack to some Disney film very loudly. Oh and we’re eating an easter egg. Later on we’re going to a production party on Carnaby Street. 

First picture is of me and Gee. Lots of love.

We saw Declan on yesterday, he was on a shoot or something. We went for a drink, then I cried because it’s a hard knock life. So there’s a picture of firstly all our pinny pin pins, and then of Gee and Dec. We also re-enacted a David Attenborough documentary, following the life of a hipster (we videoed Dec).

So that was all good. What else? Oh yeah went home to Norwich last weekend, saw father bear, Kirsten and Donna. My train was at 7pm on Friday, I missed it, so rebooked for 9.30, missed that one too, then eventually rocked into N-town about 12.30. Dad was jolly so that’s ok.

Slept like a… a what? What sleeps deeply? I’ll tell ya what- me, in a bed. Warm and cosy, yes yes.

Saturday me and the famdem went into town, Dad bought Kirsten and I’s bits and bobs from Boots, then we went to Pret and chatted about life. Kirsten’s hand blew up (medically not like a bomb) so she went to the walk-in centre and I went to Topshop and I saw my friend Theo. I also saw Barry, but he rudely didn’t say hello. 

PIctures 4 and 5 are some Kirsten and I took on the rooftop of St. Gile’s carpark. Tres bien, tres… yes. 

We went out for dinner that evening, I had prawns, then scampi, then a trout for pudding. I’m kidding about the trout. I ate a lot of fish in hindsight.

Sunday I went to the car boot and bought Kerplunk because I think that Gina and I would enjoy it. 

Eventually I got home to the Boogaloo Sunday evening, to find Gerry and Gina eating chipsticks and watching, ‘The Kardashians’. I was so tired so went to bed about 10. 

Gina is a murderer because there was a grandad (I imagine) spider in a nook (I love the word nook) on our door. He was fucking terrifying, and she bopped him on the head with a pen, then smooshed him into nothing. When I woke up on Monday, there was a worm at our bedroom door, as if to say, ‘Hey, I’m the worm to replace the spider’. Like some kind of insect morals repossession rep.

I went for an eye test yesterday. Apparently I’m fine- although I think they may have damaged my eyesight during the test. The buggers blast intense air and light into your eyes, then ask you to tell you when you see flashing lights. I felt like i’d taken acid and stepped inside a kalediscope. 

Last night Christian, Baz, Button, Tim, Adam, Barrington and I went for an impromptu beer session at ‘DeHem’s’ bar on Dean Street. I drank lots of Frulli, which is strawberry beer. Then Baz and I made some menu alterations. Gee was around the corner, drinking with her famdem clan gang (hiya guys). She turned up this morning bags of treats from her Mummy, and now she’s singing, ‘WHO WANTS CHOCOLATE, I AM THE CHOCOLATE WOMANNNN…’ God love her.

I’m giggling about it now, but I think i stood in cat wee this morning. 

So all in all, Gina and I are having a great time. Fame is a little further away than anticipated, but amidst the wee wee, singular worm of spider’s past, and Kerplunk, we haven’t lost the dream.

Current situ? Gina is yelling about seagulls and explosives, and Christian is playing the soundtrack to some Disney film very loudly. Oh and we’re eating an easter egg. Later on we’re going to a production party on Carnaby Street. 

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.

JUST KIDDING.

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.

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.

JUST KIDDING.

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.

I haven’t blogged in such a long time that I won’t bother trying to remember everything has happened, or or this reverse psychology so my brain goes, ‘ah this is what happened’ or can you even do that on yourself, as you know it’s coming, like tickling yourself, it’s tricky.

Claws and I are going to Ireland yay! For Paddy’s day hurrah! I’ll get to see some magical creatures that dwell in pots of gold that I miss very much.

I’ve been listening to a lot of Lorde and Lana Del Rey, women in power and all that jazz. I’ve also mixed it up with a remix of Limp Biscuit and Thomas the Tank Engine. Is that how you spell Limp Biscuit? I wonder how that convo came about. Badass #1 ‘Hey I wanna make a hardcore rock band, what shall we call it?’ Badass #2 ‘What about a soggy digestive?’ Badass #1 ‘Don’t be dumb… Stale teacake?’ Badass #2 ‘I dunno man, sounds legit, but I think we need to demonstrate our opinionated views on society. Anarchy and pillaging- you know all that stuff.’ Badass #1 ‘What about Limp Biscuit?’… Ya see guys. I do wonder. Rolling Stones is a another, I wonder if oscillating pebbles ever made the short list?

In other news I finally remembered to bring my yoghurt to work. I bought it because Tesco own brand is 79p, whereas Sainsbury’s is 50p, so I bought some in advance, like 5 days ago but kept forgetting to bring it in. So I had that for breakfast this morning with peanut butter, apples, banana, and Alpen (posh muesli). Alpen can I just tell you is total crap. It was on offer (no wonder) but it’s completely overrated. It’s like a whole box of that stupid fluff you get at the bottom of Rice Crispies (puffed rice cereal), with the odd raisin thrown in. 

Anyways, luckily due to my yoghurt forgetting, I didn’t have to have an Alpen crisis every day, and instead made porridge downstairs at work whilst terrorising Felix and James from accounts.

My advert came out last night! It’s for Sudocrem and is my first ever, so I’m very proud of myself. And of course my wife Gina, and everyone else at the agency but mainly myself.

I’ve also started writing for House of Peroni (cheeky MC Saatchi project), whereby I interview Italian designers.

Italian design is delightful,

Therefore my writing must be insightful,

Collaborations and conversations,

Are what makes working in London so playful.

I bought a fancy head scarf yesterday from beyond Retro.

I bought a headscarf for my hair

It’s green entwined with Jade.

It was made from silk in 1972

But the colours will never fade.

Gina bought me a red rose for Valentine’s! I bought her bagels, which I thought made a wonderful ‘I love you breakfast.’

Roses from The Queens garden,

Or wherever they may grow,

It’s who gives you the flower that’s the precious thing,

Gina got mine from Tesco.

I went to the premiere of Monument’s Men, which was ok. I think Hollywood needs to get its hands a little more dirty if it’s going to do a war film though. Would have liked more gore, and less Clooney looking like he’s in control of everything. I saw some guys from GMTV which was pretty damn exciting. See picture one for little George and little Matt Damon making a pre movie speech. Oh oh oh and there was free popcorn, that was nice of George, to think of me like that. 

George Clooney directed a film

It was about The War and lost Art

There should have been more emotional scenes,

A climax, underdogs and a more powerful start.

Me, Jordy and Gina went for a roast dinner on Sunday evening, which was lovely. They even put mini sausages in the Yorkshire pudding, which was unreal. Look at me attempting to start in picture 8.

Sausages in my yorkshire pud

Covered with gravy and peas,

Half a chicken and five boiled potatoes,

I’d eat this three times a day if I could.

I went to a comedy night at the Bloomsbury on Saturday evening, then Christian and I decided to drain Soho’s supply of wine. Hurrah for wine! But nooooo to handing out chips to random men at the bus stop outside Burger King on Tottenham Court Road. I remember specifically explaining how impressed I was (to a total stranger) that I had bought the chips ages ago and they were still hot. You don’t get that at McDonalds! (Sorry McDonalds, I still love you, but I’m changing and my needs are different now)

Pictures 2 and 3 are Gina and I, enjoying a health pot from Crush, or was it Vital? I dunno… some health food shop in Soho. I dunno why I put the pictures in there, I think I like that we look jolly and I remember thinking that the vegetarian Dhal was a good choice.

Oh and would you just look at picture no. 4 (I mean I am looking Jen, I read your blog to look and to read.) It’s Hutch and I having our morning cuddling sesh, which always starts off well, purring, which turns into squirming, which turns into claws getting stuck, which turns into screaming on from both sides, a traumatised cat, and a sad Croth, with pulls in her favourite jumper.

I love picture no. 5. It was one of the headlines in the Metro. It just makes me chuckle every time. The article was quite serious but I decided to not take any notice and just slowly and awkwardly rip it out with one hand and my mouth and I was struggling to stand up on the cramped underground tram. All the London, ‘Suits’ could  see what I was doing, rolling their eyes at my immaturity. Bugger off suits, this is funny. Can’t you see? The pickles are being forced to apologise! 

Picture 6 is me wishing I was born in the 70’s, enjoying my new head scarf. I love the filter i’ve put on that picture- my skin looks great WHICH IS A TOTAL LIE. I love bumping along the different filter options, ‘neutral 90’s now gal ride a bike that’s broken’ ‘vintage lula bell field day beauty leg jump wow unbranded stuff’… they should be called, ‘filter out everything but my eyes’, ‘false illusion of glowing skin’.

Picture 7 is more like it. I swapped the vicious flea ridden dirt bag (my cat) for my hot water bottle. Less smelly, yet with all the wriggly warm comforts.

The last picture (there’s a lot of them folks) is an advert I saw on Oxford Circus whilst walking to work. It pains me sometimes seeing stuff like that- no doubt they’ll get loads of attention AND business, mean while I’m trying to find out consumer insights into how eggs effect people’s morning coffee. THEY DON’T EFFECT IT, THEY HAVE NOTHING TO DO WITH IT AND PROBABLY NO ONE CARES.*∆

*This is a lie, but a close representation of my despair sometimes.

∆ I really love my job honestly

I think that’s roughly all I’ve been doing. I think i’m going to see my friends band play tomorrow night, then I’m off to Northern Ireland to see my family at the weekend! That will be fun indeed.

I haven’t blogged in such a long time that I won’t bother trying to remember everything has happened, or or this reverse psychology so my brain goes, ‘ah this is what happened’ or can you even do that on yourself, as you know it’s coming, like tickling yourself, it’s tricky.

Claws and I are going to Ireland yay! For Paddy’s day hurrah! I’ll get to see some magical creatures that dwell in pots of gold that I miss very much.

I’ve been listening to a lot of Lorde and Lana Del Rey, women in power and all that jazz. I’ve also mixed it up with a remix of Limp Biscuit and Thomas the Tank Engine. Is that how you spell Limp Biscuit? I wonder how that convo came about. Badass #1 ‘Hey I wanna make a hardcore rock band, what shall we call it?’ Badass #2 ‘What about a soggy digestive?’ Badass #1 ‘Don’t be dumb… Stale teacake?’ Badass #2 ‘I dunno man, sounds legit, but I think we need to demonstrate our opinionated views on society. Anarchy and pillaging- you know all that stuff.’ Badass #1 ‘What about Limp Biscuit?’… Ya see guys. I do wonder. Rolling Stones is a another, I wonder if oscillating pebbles ever made the short list?

In other news I finally remembered to bring my yoghurt to work. I bought it because Tesco own brand is 79p, whereas Sainsbury’s is 50p, so I bought some in advance, like 5 days ago but kept forgetting to bring it in. So I had that for breakfast this morning with peanut butter, apples, banana, and Alpen (posh muesli). Alpen can I just tell you is total crap. It was on offer (no wonder) but it’s completely overrated. It’s like a whole box of that stupid fluff you get at the bottom of Rice Crispies (puffed rice cereal), with the odd raisin thrown in. 

Anyways, luckily due to my yoghurt forgetting, I didn’t have to have an Alpen crisis every day, and instead made porridge downstairs at work whilst terrorising Felix and James from accounts.

My advert came out last night! It’s for Sudocrem and is my first ever, so I’m very proud of myself. And of course my wife Gina, and everyone else at the agency but mainly myself.

I’ve also started writing for House of Peroni (cheeky MC Saatchi project), whereby I interview Italian designers.

Italian design is delightful,

Therefore my writing must be insightful,

Collaborations and conversations,

Are what makes working in London so playful.

I bought a fancy head scarf yesterday from beyond Retro.

I bought a headscarf for my hair

It’s green entwined with Jade.

It was made from silk in 1972

But the colours will never fade.

Gina bought me a red rose for Valentine’s! I bought her bagels, which I thought made a wonderful ‘I love you breakfast.’

Roses from The Queens garden,

Or wherever they may grow,

It’s who gives you the flower that’s the precious thing,

Gina got mine from Tesco.

I went to the premiere of Monument’s Men, which was ok. I think Hollywood needs to get its hands a little more dirty if it’s going to do a war film though. Would have liked more gore, and less Clooney looking like he’s in control of everything. I saw some guys from GMTV which was pretty damn exciting. See picture one for little George and little Matt Damon making a pre movie speech. Oh oh oh and there was free popcorn, that was nice of George, to think of me like that. 

George Clooney directed a film

It was about The War and lost Art

There should have been more emotional scenes,

A climax, underdogs and a more powerful start.

Me, Jordy and Gina went for a roast dinner on Sunday evening, which was lovely. They even put mini sausages in the Yorkshire pudding, which was unreal. Look at me attempting to start in picture 8.

Sausages in my yorkshire pud

Covered with gravy and peas,

Half a chicken and five boiled potatoes,

I’d eat this three times a day if I could.

I went to a comedy night at the Bloomsbury on Saturday evening, then Christian and I decided to drain Soho’s supply of wine. Hurrah for wine! But nooooo to handing out chips to random men at the bus stop outside Burger King on Tottenham Court Road. I remember specifically explaining how impressed I was (to a total stranger) that I had bought the chips ages ago and they were still hot. You don’t get that at McDonalds! (Sorry McDonalds, I still love you, but I’m changing and my needs are different now)

Pictures 2 and 3 are Gina and I, enjoying a health pot from Crush, or was it Vital? I dunno… some health food shop in Soho. I dunno why I put the pictures in there, I think I like that we look jolly and I remember thinking that the vegetarian Dhal was a good choice.

Oh and would you just look at picture no. 4 (I mean I am looking Jen, I read your blog to look and to read.) It’s Hutch and I having our morning cuddling sesh, which always starts off well, purring, which turns into squirming, which turns into claws getting stuck, which turns into screaming on from both sides, a traumatised cat, and a sad Croth, with pulls in her favourite jumper.

I love picture no. 5. It was one of the headlines in the Metro. It just makes me chuckle every time. The article was quite serious but I decided to not take any notice and just slowly and awkwardly rip it out with one hand and my mouth and I was struggling to stand up on the cramped underground tram. All the London, ‘Suits’ could  see what I was doing, rolling their eyes at my immaturity. Bugger off suits, this is funny. Can’t you see? The pickles are being forced to apologise! 

Picture 6 is me wishing I was born in the 70’s, enjoying my new head scarf. I love the filter i’ve put on that picture- my skin looks great WHICH IS A TOTAL LIE. I love bumping along the different filter options, ‘neutral 90’s now gal ride a bike that’s broken’ ‘vintage lula bell field day beauty leg jump wow unbranded stuff’… they should be called, ‘filter out everything but my eyes’, ‘false illusion of glowing skin’.

Picture 7 is more like it. I swapped the vicious flea ridden dirt bag (my cat) for my hot water bottle. Less smelly, yet with all the wriggly warm comforts.

The last picture (there’s a lot of them folks) is an advert I saw on Oxford Circus whilst walking to work. It pains me sometimes seeing stuff like that- no doubt they’ll get loads of attention AND business, mean while I’m trying to find out consumer insights into how eggs effect people’s morning coffee. THEY DON’T EFFECT IT, THEY HAVE NOTHING TO DO WITH IT AND PROBABLY NO ONE CARES.*∆

*This is a lie, but a close representation of my despair sometimes.

∆ I really love my job honestly

I think that’s roughly all I’ve been doing. I think i’m going to see my friends band play tomorrow night, then I’m off to Northern Ireland to see my family at the weekend! That will be fun indeed.