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. Continue reading
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 Continue reading
After spending a weekend at home (Southwold) and having yet another D&M with Marj (what I call my mum. I got it from Austin Powers when that Dutch bloke says, ‘farja’ (instead of ‘Father’) and I changed it to Marja and now it’s just Marj). Came away feeling tres excite but also tres full of apple pie pud pud.
Here’s something I do when I’m working super semi hard in my grown up job, and I have hangover-induced depression-giggles:
I like to screen grab things which make me laugh.
Sometimes, Continue reading
Last time we tuned into my brain (I say this like I personally don’t engage with my brain. If that were the case then I’d be like kjdhadhjdshjklvn..2/ but it isn’t the case I just mean last time I wrote INSIDE THE MIND OF JENN) We noted (use noted here like, ‘I noticed that…’ and not like noted photographer Nigel Barker) that Hazel not only dyed her hair, but she also got a job. The next time I saw Hazel was Gina’s sister Stevie’s gig. I haven’t seen her since this so she may very well be dead and someone’s hacked her Facebook account, cruelly yet tediously pretending to be exactly like Hazel.
We also NOTED that I’ve started flossing my teeth. Like properly. Like actually every day. Perhaps this is a grown up thing to do and I’ve only just cottoned (pun intended (like the floss is pretty much mint cotton)) on to the idea.
Absolutely completely obsessed with Ellie Goulding’s new song. Every time I listen to it I pretend I’m in a music video riding a horse through Las Vegas when in reality I’m eating hummus watching Youtube.
Can I just say (can I? yes, you can Crothh because you’re essentially talking to yourself, you big bumder) that I got my highlights done avec le blowdry at Gusto in Soho (can write French) LAST FRIDAY and I HAVEN’T WASHED MY HAIR SINCE. This is either 1. Impressive 2. Disgusting. Probably a bit of both, but I’m just really enjoying having straight hair. I want to tell everyone that my hair is normally REALLY CURLY but most people don’t care either way. I’ll take a selfie so you can see how straight it is and not because I want y’all to be like cuuuuutteeeee hair Crothh.
Me and G have been loads of our friend Rey. Here we are chowing down hard on some pizza at Pizza Pilgrims in Kingly Court in Soho. He’s a food critic- I think. I mean I don’t actually know what he does but every time I see him I ask him and then zone out. He’s either really boring or I’m really rude. I don’t like to poo-poo myself so let’s assume my good friend Rey is boring.
OH MY GOD. I accidentally (and I mean this sincerely. Genuinely really didn’t mean for it to happen) went to the Grump club last night. I was only meant to do a little bit o’work but then I bumped into A REALLY TALL MAN WHO LIKES SPORT and well, work turned into wine. Similar how Jesus turned water into wine. And anyway, I vaguely remember talking to a lot of people in an AMERICAN ACCENT. I literally know I’m dogshit at accents so I probably sounded a bit like Siri.
I’ve been seeing loads of RORY BLUFF recently. I like him a lot. He’s tall and has a gentle face. I used to work with him in Budapest and when he was growing his hair out he looked a bit like a librarian so I called him Wendy loads and he did not like it.
Smashed the gym this week, which is not impressive because I’ve been laying horizontally eating lard for like 3 weeks (this is an exaggeration I just mean it’s similar to the horrendous lifestyle choices I’ve been making in terms of my PERSONAL FITNESS.) Got back into running which is nice.
I borderline died last weekend. I had an accidental mid-week bender then had to carry on with plans I’d agreed to actually do on the weekend. I like saying ‘on the weekend’. Coley (pretty much if a magical woodland creature had an orgy with a daffodil and a bag of cotton wool and the daffodil got pregnant and kept the child and it grew up in a meadow of candy floss, it would be Coley) got us super chic super fun GIRLS DAY OUT tickets to Stylist Live.
Unfortunately for Gina I was in a bad way post-bender so we pretty much laid down at the Green & Blacks stand, and ate our body weight in chocolate. Look here I am being quirky with some balloons, etc.
Then we went to Christian’s birthday. He’s a guy I work with and I love him and I had crisps made from Champagne. But then I slopped home because, like I mentioned before, I was minutes away from dying.
I met up with my sister on Sunday afternoon at a café called, ‘My Village Café’ in Camden. It was really bloody quite good- kind of Kurdish vibes with a hint of vegan. I had the ginger and peppermint tea with the falafel wrap. Kirsten (sister) and I spoke about the European Union and boys then she left to go back to Manchester. I trawled a few charity shops then went back to my little Boogaloo. After this I think I tried to find my potentially dead cats. I say potentially here because I have no idea where they are- assumed dead if not just a bit AWOL.
So far this week has been pretty tame because I’m a boring bitch jks I’m wild but I’m going on holiday with my work mates on the weekend and I’m pretty sure the aim of the game is to be drunk for three days straight.
Right now at work I’m feeling good but I’m also feeling like I need a coffee and maybe a brownie. Nicky ate the last chocolate buttons, and for that I am angry with her.
On my way home from work, bumbling along the Northern Line, I found myself staring at the girl opposite me and I just started thinking about how shit her necklace is.
It’s was remarkably crap- a little collection of Continue reading
17.55pm. The sofa at work, Soho, London.
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:
I’ve stopped washing my hair so much.
I want to start putting avocado under my eyes.
11.05 am. Island Magee. Ireland.
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.
6.01pm. The Boogaloo.
I’m sat here writing this post at the bar of The Boogaloo. I
just drank an almond milk coffee, and ate some peanut butter and banana on
toast. Very tempted to have a glass of wine.
It’s a bank holiday weekend! And when you’re 24, have a
pretty good social circle going on in London and you live above a pub, you know
a long weekend can only mean one thing- buying bedsheets from Argos.
I’m pretty chuffed because the checked print ones have gone
down to £10.50. I bought a florescent bottom sheet because I though it would
look kitsch it doesn’t it looks worse than my room at uni now and smells just
as bad because Hutch (my cat) has a kidney infection and has wee’d everywhere.
Oh life.
I thought my sheets smelled a bit buttery too. It’s the only
way I could explain it, just a strong hum of a butter. Then I remembered that I
ate buttery toast when I got home hammered on Friday, the toast and butter went
mainly on my bed, and there you have it.
This week has been bloody mental at work- if it wasn’t for
NON DISCLOSURE I would tell y’all about it, but I can’t so I won’t but for
you’re (I’m talking to my future self now) reference dear penny, it’s the one
about the teeth, kay?
It’s Nottinghill carnival today, but I totes CBA 2BH. I
might go tomorrow with Yogi. It’s kind of gloomy outside and I found the whole
experience a tad underwhelming last year. I know that’s a proper party pooper
thing to say, but hey they’re my feelings to feel.
I’ve just been joined by a glass of wine. Hello wine. Hello
Jenn. How are you? All the better for seeing you. Ah, you’re writing your blog,
I like your blog. I like you red wine.
Now feeling slightly on edge because a few babies have
joined me. I’m not joking there’s three small humans by my side.
Work’s still gong well- Gina and Jord are gonna paint the
upstairs floor for a bit of dollar. I had to use my cunning to convince Andrew
this was a good idea. Also, sidenote- Andrew is slowly making his way to one of
my favourite people, like ever. I used to think he was rude. I still think he’s
rude but it’s too funny to not enjoy it. He’s also my managing director, so
that’s kind of cool.
I’m off to see father Crothers next weekend. He’s not a
vicar, it’s my dad. I actually think most of my blog posts would be 99% shorter
if I just said what I mean and didn’t say things like, ‘Oh the bumble bees
aren’t on their holidays are they BY THAT I MEAN the sun’s got his hat on, oh
it’s just a nice day here in London…’ Jenn, STFU seriously.
But I shan’t so let’s carry on.
Facebook just reminded me that it was someone’s birthday so
I unfriended them.
A new girl at work just started called Kate. She’s a social
media ninja woman and we had drinks on Friday to welcome her. We got an email
from Andrew on Saturday explaining that it was absolutely not okay for a bunch
of adults to get hammered then tramp chocolate brownies all over the office.
Woops.
After we trod brownies everywhere, me and G went to see
Gerry at the Grump Club. It was also the Toast of London wrap party. I should
have enjoyed it but I was balls deep in gin by this point so I don’t remember
much.
This weekend is all about sorting FUTURE JENN out. Not like
get a bunker incase WW3 happens, I mean like making my blog a mind-bending
experience (new header photo) and buy some Business cards. Actually yes there’s
a funny story in that- I tried to buy some cards from Moo last night (business
card shop) and when it came to filling in my job title I couldn’t do it. I
can’t fucking explain what I do. I tried to say I was, ‘Creative do-er of
things’, but I just sounded like I am unemployed and a bit of a bender.
Oh also, very nearly went on a Tinder date this weekend, but
in one of his pictures it looks like he’s chopping wood and something about the
axe put me off. I still might, but I’ll have to let you know if this happens. Or maybe I won’t be able to because he thought I was a tree and cut my head off.
Talking of MEN, a certain MAN… let’s call him Nathan… wanted
to go for a drink with me this week twice and then cancelled twice. Fuck you
Nathan (he will literally never see this so we can totally say fuck you
Nathan.)
This might be over-share but my family are convinced I’m a
lesbian, so with some luck they’ll read this (who am I kidding) and realise I’m
not gay, men just find me really annoying.
All in all, I haven’t boozed other than right this second
and on Friday, so I’m feeling chipper, I might have a whisky, spice up your
life, people of the world.
Well done Crothy, you’re really nailing life.
A whole month has passed since all of this boring shit happened, but I went to write my blog and I found this UNPOSTED post, and thought, hey let’s sling it out there, and live in the past for a bit.
I’m a bit like a timelord only 100% less exciting and I don’t have a phone box at my beck and call. Anyway, here it be:
I watched some QVC last weekend in Island Magee (This is an
Island OFF the coast of Northern Ireland. There’s not even a pub here. ) Apparently
you can get TWO (that’s right TWO) citrus trees for the bargain price of
£29.99. According to the rather tall woman on the TV, this price is amazing
because (and she checked twice) all garden centres are selling them for around
£50 each.
So there you have it, I visited Father Crothers in N.
Ireland, hence pic numero ONE where you can enjoy a rather frightful trip down memory lane. MY memory lane. If you actually remember any of this pictures being taken you’re either 1. an ex-student of Hellesdon High School, whaddaup yo? or 2. a family member. I think the first option is more likely as my family avoid this blog so they can all live in the blissful ignorance that I don’t waste time by documenting my life publicly.
When I visited my dad, I forgot my curl cream and my
overly bleached hair looks a bit like bad wool. The kind of wool you’d expect
to find on a sheep that wasn’t loved very much by the farmer. Maybe the sheep
was a bit disobedient and the farmer was like, ‘right I’ve had enough of your
shit- sheep you need to go your own way.’ But the sheep couldn’t and it’s wool
got all matted and that’s pretty much my hair.
Another thing that wasn’t as great as expected was my British Airways flight. I got BA to Northern Ireland because I left it to last minute (keep going Jenn this is a truly riveting story) AND on the way there (oh yes) I was given a meal. A hot dinner. A tummy fillah. A moorish treat for my mouth. So obvs I expected the same on the way back. Emiright? No, I was wrong. I was offered a snack. And a tube of milk. Assholes.
This week I have been NOT DRINKING other than a glass of
wine with Emma on Thursday (because she had a job interview with Harrods) and
then lots of booze on Friday because it was Rosie’s birthday (we had dinner at
Blanchette then drinks at The Grump.)
I thought it was a really smart idea to do an all-nighter
and get the night bus to Heathrow. I met this lady on my second bus who had
just been to a blues night and she was buzzing off ‘endorphins’ and I was
buzzing off ‘Martinis’ so we got chatting. She made me cry because she does
loads for the environment and to be honest with you, I do nothing. I recycle
paper at work and that’s about it. We’re all doomed and it’s kind of sad.
Another thing that is sad is that I was flying British Airways on the way over
(I’m quite fancy) and you get a free ‘meal’ and I was so tired I woke up as the
trolley lady just about passed my seat. Fuck you trolley lady.
I can’t talk about certain things that are happening at work
because of NON-DISLOSURE or something LIKE THAT but just so I remember for
future reference NO NO NO well done good work. It will make sense to me in the
future trust me.
Just ate a Starbar. Look at picture no. 3- aren’t I wild? Aren’t I the most bad ass mother lickin’ I HAD NO SOCKS AND MY CONVERSE MAKE MY FEET SWEAT.
I was meant to be having dinner with my mum this evening but
she cancelled on me. What a cow. Nah, I’m kidding she was running late so I
went home and had a reduced microwave meal and a starbar.
I woke up the other night and screamed, ‘I ATE A WHOLE BOX.’
Gina’s super confused and neither of us know what I ate a whole box off.
I haven’t written a poem in a while so here we go:
My favourite chocolate bar
Contains peanuts from afar*
It’s better than a bounty
I’m from Norfolk, which is a county.
*Not factually true.
I’m off TO PARIS on Thursday. I won’t write much about this
adventure because I can’t be bothered and also plus I wanna save all the fun
details for the next blog post.
Inside The Mind of Jenn 