Ok I need to get two things out of the way in this post- firstly an apology to those who were waiting with baited breath, rang into work pretending to be sick and may have had panic attacks due to the tardiness of this latest blog post. But here we go…

Second of all, my phone’s been ringing off the hook about the highly confusing ‘yoghurt raisin’ reference in the last post. I may have dubbed them chocolate by accident, but they were, to officially confirm, ‘yoghurt raisins’. I use the term, ‘yoghurt’ lightly here as they did not do the dairy delicious creaminess of yoghurt justice- it was more in- fact a hardened, slightly stale, thick sugary coating. But anyway, I digress (which rarely happens in my succinct and jaunty blog posts), I’m glad I got these matters cleared up.

Actually, bugger to digressing- I digress further (I like this word digress (can’t tell))… the word sounds like dissecting and undressing and that now may have connotations of murder, woopsidaisie.)

So I write this with sore fingers I those who know me best will know that although Taylor Swift may have a point about being jolly at the age of 22, but I still bite my nails, and after an intense episode of Breaking Bad, my poor thumb looks like a bald man. Called Terry. I’m trying to counteract with this some Bjork- so far, so good. I mean really good. Y’all can keep your lady Gagas- Bjork really had it down. Very vibey. 

I rememberd Gina’s wonderful mumma, Margie brought us an electric blanket to our humble abode once upon a time, so now as I lay here in bed and bake my arse, I feel very cosy indeed, helped along by the pitter patter of rain on my window. Irish has bought me some lovely new curtains for my room, but I open them just before I go to bed. I like the noise and the dim glow of street lights outside. I won’t even try and claim, ‘the dim glow of street lights’- it’s a wonderful sentence that I think I’ve read in a thousand story books before, but even so, you get where i’m at right now. Warm butt, Bjork, and warm glows. I also feel very safe with the curtains open. If you look hard enough you can see Tottenham Court road from my window. It’s quite a reassuring feeling being at the centre of the capital of the country that I love so. I mean good thing too, you can’t bloody see any stars outside my window as the light pollution and smog ruins that. 

 My last blog post ended with me travelling to London to, ‘bring the new year in,’ as though a band of merry croth fans were waiting for me to announce the new year had started. Well, I got into Liverpool street, and I don’t mean to sound like a pretentious buffoon (I do really, I want you all to think my writing is an easy balance of profound and total crap) but the atmosphere in London really is electric on new years eve. I got the underground back to the Boogaloo, knowing there’d be a reddish glow coming from the building, faint chants of people warming up their souls on local ales and thin wafts of kebabs starting to snake along the street. Well turns out, the pub wasn’t opening until 8pm, so muggins here rocked up by herself, suitcase and armfuls of bags of presents, to a Highgate pissing it down with rain, gale force winds, and not a person in sight. Luckily, one of the lovely bar ladies just frantically turned up for work and we dashed inside. I also dashed back outside to buy a glass of wine, meal for 1 (don’t laugh) and a garlic bread. So do the math- I got wasted by myself, dressed up, and passed out about 11.50pm. So much for bringing the sodding new year in.

Since then not a whole lot has happened. Started back at work. Been working out each morning. Booked flights to see my family in Northern Ireland in February which will be fun/ interesting. My poor Dad, last time I went I got a triangle tattoo- I think he’s worried I’m joining the illuminati. 

Works going really well- although I’ve taken leave of my senses by which I mean I’ve forgotten i’m poor and have started eating at fancy organic joints in Soho. Damn it Jenn. Get back to your Tesco soup. No I shan’t I like gluten free bread on a bed of low GI rice and vegetable Thai Curry. NO YOU DON’T JENN YOU LIKE BACON SANDWICHES AND PRIMARK TIGHTS. Jeese, alright. 

Photo time (everyone’s favourite part of the blog). First one I found on my desk top by accident- I think I might have screen shotted it. I love it when people give their wifi addresses a ridiculous name. Good on ya. Second photo is a screen shot of my tabs when I got ready and drunk on new years eve by myself- it’s sad to say that I was having a really good dance and drink, see picture number three for full selfie. Picture four is of me going to work yesterday. I thought was outfit was great then got to work and thought, ‘I look weird and like I’ve literally thrown on the only clean clothes I own, when in actual fact I tried really hard. Note to self- stop trying to spice up your outfits.’ Pic number 5 is obviously of Gina and I. We decided to make her look like a man as a later afternoon activity, and looky here, she’s being abusive. Last up this is me currently, looking shiny yet happy due to the fact I’ve lost my regular moisturiser and have slapped on some body oil but it’s ok because tomorrow is a new day and I have no idea what to expect other than I will brush my teeth twice, shower once and see Gina. Unless Gina quits work, my toothbrush runs away on it’s little bristle legs and it rains… poo… meaning i’d need another shower and maybe therapy. 

It was nice to go back on a Thursday- and I would predict 99% of people at work that day said something to the effect of, ‘yeah it’s a nice way to ease yourself back into the working life’ WHAT DO YOU MEAN? YOU’VE BEEN AWAY FOR 1 WEEK MAXIMUM. Anyway, I was one of those people.

I caught up with my friend Jack at the weekend, we named a lot of pidgins and fed them mouldy bread. We went for pizza, then bought 5 boxes of fajitas and a scratch card then did some song writing. If he becomes famous before me, I hereby claim to be the inspiration for the song about yesterday’s gin. We drank a lot of gin.

Oh I got a kindle for christmas and I’m reading Game of Thrones. It’s amazing and I’ve a lot of time for Tyrion.

I keep meaning to meet up with Hazel and Lex for a coffee. They work near me and I’m very proud of them. 

I think plans for this week include going out for supper, writing A LOT more and finishing breaking bad once and for all.

Immediate plans definitely involve turning off the electric blanket. I think my feet are sweating slightly. On that note, let’s sight off on a little poem I just bliggled (bliggled is one of my new words- it means to write really fast that you don’t recognise your own writing when you look back at it, ‘it’s all bliggled’, ‘is this yours? it doesn’t look like my own writing, unless it’s bliggled.’).

We look and we listen

To one another

And it’s a given

That some of us are crazy

But I’d rather you

Joined in than try to save me

You see writing my blog

Steers my mind

Out of the grey fog.

 

 

Ok I need to get two things out of the way in this post- firstly an apology to those who were waiting with baited breath, rang into work pretending to be sick and may have had panic attacks due to the tardiness of this latest blog post. But here we go…

Second of all, my phone’s been ringing off the hook about the highly confusing ‘yoghurt raisin’ reference in the last post. I may have dubbed them chocolate by accident, but they were, to officially confirm, ‘yoghurt raisins’. I use the term, ‘yoghurt’ lightly here as they did not do the dairy delicious creaminess of yoghurt justice- it was more in- fact a hardened, slightly stale, thick sugary coating. But anyway, I digress (which rarely happens in my succinct and jaunty blog posts), I’m glad I got these matters cleared up.

Actually, bugger to digressing- I digress further (I like this word digress (can’t tell))… the word sounds like dissecting and undressing and that now may have connotations of murder, woopsidaisie.)

So I write this with sore fingers I those who know me best will know that although Taylor Swift may have a point about being jolly at the age of 22, but I still bite my nails, and after an intense episode of Breaking Bad, my poor thumb looks like a bald man. Called Terry. I’m trying to counteract with this some Bjork- so far, so good. I mean really good. Y’all can keep your lady Gagas- Bjork really had it down. Very vibey. 

I rememberd Gina’s wonderful mumma, Margie brought us an electric blanket to our humble abode once upon a time, so now as I lay here in bed and bake my arse, I feel very cosy indeed, helped along by the pitter patter of rain on my window. Irish has bought me some lovely new curtains for my room, but I open them just before I go to bed. I like the noise and the dim glow of street lights outside. I won’t even try and claim, ‘the dim glow of street lights’- it’s a wonderful sentence that I think I’ve read in a thousand story books before, but even so, you get where i’m at right now. Warm butt, Bjork, and warm glows. I also feel very safe with the curtains open. If you look hard enough you can see Tottenham Court road from my window. It’s quite a reassuring feeling being at the centre of the capital of the country that I love so. I mean good thing too, you can’t bloody see any stars outside my window as the light pollution and smog ruins that. 

 My last blog post ended with me travelling to London to, ‘bring the new year in,’ as though a band of merry croth fans were waiting for me to announce the new year had started. Well, I got into Liverpool street, and I don’t mean to sound like a pretentious buffoon (I do really, I want you all to think my writing is an easy balance of profound and total crap) but the atmosphere in London really is electric on new years eve. I got the underground back to the Boogaloo, knowing there’d be a reddish glow coming from the building, faint chants of people warming up their souls on local ales and thin wafts of kebabs starting to snake along the street. Well turns out, the pub wasn’t opening until 8pm, so muggins here rocked up by herself, suitcase and armfuls of bags of presents, to a Highgate pissing it down with rain, gale force winds, and not a person in sight. Luckily, one of the lovely bar ladies just frantically turned up for work and we dashed inside. I also dashed back outside to buy a glass of wine, meal for 1 (don’t laugh) and a garlic bread. So do the math- I got wasted by myself, dressed up, and passed out about 11.50pm. So much for bringing the sodding new year in.

Since then not a whole lot has happened. Started back at work. Been working out each morning. Booked flights to see my family in Northern Ireland in February which will be fun/ interesting. My poor Dad, last time I went I got a triangle tattoo- I think he’s worried I’m joining the illuminati. 

Works going really well- although I’ve taken leave of my senses by which I mean I’ve forgotten i’m poor and have started eating at fancy organic joints in Soho. Damn it Jenn. Get back to your Tesco soup. No I shan’t I like gluten free bread on a bed of low GI rice and vegetable Thai Curry. NO YOU DON’T JENN YOU LIKE BACON SANDWICHES AND PRIMARK TIGHTS. Jeese, alright. 

Photo time (everyone’s favourite part of the blog). First one I found on my desk top by accident- I think I might have screen shotted it. I love it when people give their wifi addresses a ridiculous name. Good on ya. Second photo is a screen shot of my tabs when I got ready and drunk on new years eve by myself- it’s sad to say that I was having a really good dance and drink, see picture number three for full selfie. Picture four is of me going to work yesterday. I thought was outfit was great then got to work and thought, ‘I look weird and like I’ve literally thrown on the only clean clothes I own, when in actual fact I tried really hard. Note to self- stop trying to spice up your outfits.’ Pic number 5 is obviously of Gina and I. We decided to make her look like a man as a later afternoon activity, and looky here, she’s being abusive. Last up this is me currently, looking shiny yet happy due to the fact I’ve lost my regular moisturiser and have slapped on some body oil but it’s ok because tomorrow is a new day and I have no idea what to expect other than I will brush my teeth twice, shower once and see Gina. Unless Gina quits work, my toothbrush runs away on it’s little bristle legs and it rains… poo… meaning i’d need another shower and maybe therapy. 

It was nice to go back on a Thursday- and I would predict 99% of people at work that day said something to the effect of, ‘yeah it’s a nice way to ease yourself back into the working life’ WHAT DO YOU MEAN? YOU’VE BEEN AWAY FOR 1 WEEK MAXIMUM. Anyway, I was one of those people.

I caught up with my friend Jack at the weekend, we named a lot of pidgins and fed them mouldy bread. We went for pizza, then bought 5 boxes of fajitas and a scratch card then did some song writing. If he becomes famous before me, I hereby claim to be the inspiration for the song about yesterday’s gin. We drank a lot of gin.

Oh I got a kindle for christmas and I’m reading Game of Thrones. It’s amazing and I’ve a lot of time for Tyrion.

I keep meaning to meet up with Hazel and Lex for a coffee. They work near me and I’m very proud of them. 

I think plans for this week include going out for supper, writing A LOT more and finishing breaking bad once and for all.

Immediate plans definitely involve turning off the electric blanket. I think my feet are sweating slightly. On that note, let’s sight off on a little poem I just bliggled (bliggled is one of my new words- it means to write really fast that you don’t recognise your own writing when you look back at it, ‘it’s all bliggled’, ‘is this yours? it doesn’t look like my own writing, unless it’s bliggled.’).

We look and we listen

To one another

And it’s a given

That some of us are crazy

But I’d rather you

Joined in than try to save me

You see writing my blog

Steers my mind

Out of the grey fog.

 

 

It’s 8.35am exactly, I"m somewhere in-between Diss and Norwich. I say somewhere because I’m on the train. The train smells like coffee, which is a damn insult as ‘the coffee cart is not available right now.’

Pic no. 1 is what I came home to, awwwhh Poppa Croth.

I normally dislike the ticket inspectors on trains. They always seem to be men who’ve just bordered on being a 30- something and middle age and are bloody bitter about finding themselves dishing out tickets, however as I climbed onto my 6.55am service like a scene in Indiana Jones (seconds to spare), a lovely bloke helped me on and even found me a plastic spoon for my breakfast. 

Anyways, by the time I post this I shall be at Dad’s in Wroxham as I’m trying in vain to the free 1st class Wifi. Us paupers have to pay for the privelidge. 

I left a sleepy G in bed this morning as I turned the bedroom upside down for my Oyster and Bank card- two of the most important things to have with you in London, yet the two things I look for last, hence the two things that are normally the cause for me missing appointments, and going from cool London ad grad, to total bitch with a broken suitcase.

On the way to Liverpool St. I had shared my carriage with a man in a suit, drinking a can of Red Stipe, kudos to you my friend.

Work drinks were interesting on Thursday- actually felt so ill on Friday I"m considering giving it up, or just not readily accepting a shot of Sambuca with my wine. Either or. 

We had our last day on Friday, which wasn’t exactly the big send off we imagined. Thursday antics ensured that most of the workforce did not make it beyond the duvet, and I will both proudly and ashamedly admit that despite my consistent financial crisis I managed to devour not one, but 3 bacon sandwiches, a peanut butter kitkat and a pizza. 

Pic no. 2 is a sight to behold. This image was taken at the carboot sale down the road. It sums up Norfolk very well.

Pic no. 3- Gina looks different. This is confusing for me.

Pic no. 4 i’m doing that ‘oh god look how crazy I am definitely just showing off my great teeth’ pose. Also got a new lippie. You likey? Good, only cost £1, fantastic.

Dad bought me that yellow necklace from corfu, a slight change in the normal dad- holiday- gift of a t-shirt. 

Pic no. 5- I got that jumper at the carboot! Hurrah. The picture no. 6 underneath is me trying to get a sneaky selfie on the train home.

Pic no. 7 is Gina and I going to Pizza Express courtesy of Mother Martin. We’re very hungry, I look insane. Gina ate so much pizza, she turned into one, which is sad because I’ll miss her.

Jokkkingg (really Croth?) she is evidently her perky self in pictures 8 and 9 (you can see our new office in the background.)

Last piccy is of me (noway)., sporting a groovy necklace and working on an advert for the PDSA, trying to steer the campaign towards a concept that involved me rolling around in a deep well of puppies (trying to posh it up, feeling like I’ve described a scene from The Ring mixed with an Andrex advert) for hours on end.

Why is it Tuesday Crothers ya lazy cow? Because bloggies, I’m up to my eye balls with briefs (get out of here ya dirty mongrels, I’m talking propositions of a non sexually driven strategic nature) (throwing in lots of big words now that I’m second day of my new fancy job) (probs best to point out that whenever ‘job’ is mentioned, it means working for free and selling my soul to the devil lol lol lol).

Anyhoodles, Tuesday it be, time is flying fast dear friends and nosey haters. Stayed at the agency until 8.30pm, independently walked home, got lost and felt like a twit. Now at le station. 

IT’S BLOODY WEDNESDAY. JKDHASKJDHAKJSHDKJAHDJKAD. 

It’s 8.35am exactly, I"m somewhere in-between Diss and Norwich. I say somewhere because I’m on the train. The train smells like coffee, which is a damn insult as ‘the coffee cart is not available right now.’

Pic no. 1 is what I came home to, awwwhh Poppa Croth.

I normally dislike the ticket inspectors on trains. They always seem to be men who’ve just bordered on being a 30- something and middle age and are bloody bitter about finding themselves dishing out tickets, however as I climbed onto my 6.55am service like a scene in Indiana Jones (seconds to spare), a lovely bloke helped me on and even found me a plastic spoon for my breakfast. 

Anyways, by the time I post this I shall be at Dad’s in Wroxham as I’m trying in vain to the free 1st class Wifi. Us paupers have to pay for the privelidge. 

I left a sleepy G in bed this morning as I turned the bedroom upside down for my Oyster and Bank card- two of the most important things to have with you in London, yet the two things I look for last, hence the two things that are normally the cause for me missing appointments, and going from cool London ad grad, to total bitch with a broken suitcase.

On the way to Liverpool St. I had shared my carriage with a man in a suit, drinking a can of Red Stipe, kudos to you my friend.

Work drinks were interesting on Thursday- actually felt so ill on Friday I"m considering giving it up, or just not readily accepting a shot of Sambuca with my wine. Either or. 

We had our last day on Friday, which wasn’t exactly the big send off we imagined. Thursday antics ensured that most of the workforce did not make it beyond the duvet, and I will both proudly and ashamedly admit that despite my consistent financial crisis I managed to devour not one, but 3 bacon sandwiches, a peanut butter kitkat and a pizza. 

Pic no. 2 is a sight to behold. This image was taken at the carboot sale down the road. It sums up Norfolk very well.

Pic no. 3- Gina looks different. This is confusing for me.

Pic no. 4 i’m doing that ‘oh god look how crazy I am definitely just showing off my great teeth’ pose. Also got a new lippie. You likey? Good, only cost £1, fantastic.

Dad bought me that yellow necklace from corfu, a slight change in the normal dad- holiday- gift of a t-shirt. 

Pic no. 5- I got that jumper at the carboot! Hurrah. The picture no. 6 underneath is me trying to get a sneaky selfie on the train home.

Pic no. 7 is Gina and I going to Pizza Express courtesy of Mother Martin. We’re very hungry, I look insane. Gina ate so much pizza, she turned into one, which is sad because I’ll miss her.

Jokkkingg (really Croth?) she is evidently her perky self in pictures 8 and 9 (you can see our new office in the background.)

Last piccy is of me (noway)., sporting a groovy necklace and working on an advert for the PDSA, trying to steer the campaign towards a concept that involved me rolling around in a deep well of puppies (trying to posh it up, feeling like I’ve described a scene from The Ring mixed with an Andrex advert) for hours on end.

Why is it Tuesday Crothers ya lazy cow? Because bloggies, I’m up to my eye balls with briefs (get out of here ya dirty mongrels, I’m talking propositions of a non sexually driven strategic nature) (throwing in lots of big words now that I’m second day of my new fancy job) (probs best to point out that whenever ‘job’ is mentioned, it means working for free and selling my soul to the devil lol lol lol).

Anyhoodles, Tuesday it be, time is flying fast dear friends and nosey haters. Stayed at the agency until 8.30pm, independently walked home, got lost and felt like a twit. Now at le station. 

IT’S BLOODY WEDNESDAY. JKDHASKJDHAKJSHDKJAHDJKAD. 

Blogging… hmmm yes. A public diary where I tell everyone about what i’m doing. So what are you doing in the first picture Jenn? Well Mum, working for free isn’t exactly as lucrative as one initially thought, therefore one must dress like a Bavarian waitress in Liverpool St. in aid of London Oktober festival. Hey, it’s sexy culture, what can I say. 

After the prancing about in a lady like manner, we had a few drinks with a lovely lady called Lisa (I was an underground princess fairy apparently, see picture no. 2) I think I’m getting old- a few glasses of wine and I was more than ready for bed. When home, G and I practically inhaled a king prawn linguini, then fell asleep, fully clothed (G pushed the boat out and kept her shoes on too). I was rudely awakened by a furry bottom several times as the cat decided that cuddles weren’t enough and she needed to plonk her arse on my face.

This morning I woke up in Azkaban as you can evidently see the Dementors were in full swing outside (picture no. 3)

Picture no. 4 is of fruit. Gina took it. How boring.

JOKING… nah we buy our fruit every morning from this lovely* bloke whose stall is outside Goodge St. station. We managed to reconcile the friendship after Gina decided to do Dick Van Dyke impressions of him whilst selecting grapefruits. ‘Owhhh yea, lavly raaaand fruits ya got here mister!’.

*I’m actually on the fence with this one. He looks good natured but I imagine he wouldn’t share his packet of biscuits with you, know what I mean (nope, not at all you absolute loser Crothers.)

Oh here’s something useful you might wanna learn… fruit that you buy from places like Tesco etc have travelled around, and have therefore lost some of their nutrients! Some fruits that travel across seas have lost even more of their goodness, so it’s always better to buy local. I’m smart aren’t i? Of course not, you should know this by now. I got this info from my smart sister, she’s a dietician don’t ya know. (Oh right, so what is it you do exactly Jenn? I DON’T KNOW DON’T ASK ME… I’m a writer. What a cliché, fml.)

Last picture is of me right now, as I write this blog. I am one tired lady.

Gina is behind me sorting out an infographic we’re sending off to some other writers for some other project which sounds really great now I read that back but I’m just too tired and don’t want to play anymore. 

Blogging… hmmm yes. A public diary where I tell everyone about what i’m doing. So what are you doing in the first picture Jenn? Well Mum, working for free isn’t exactly as lucrative as one initially thought, therefore one must dress like a Bavarian waitress in Liverpool St. in aid of London Oktober festival. Hey, it’s sexy culture, what can I say. 

After the prancing about in a lady like manner, we had a few drinks with a lovely lady called Lisa (I was an underground princess fairy apparently, see picture no. 2) I think I’m getting old- a few glasses of wine and I was more than ready for bed. When home, G and I practically inhaled a king prawn linguini, then fell asleep, fully clothed (G pushed the boat out and kept her shoes on too). I was rudely awakened by a furry bottom several times as the cat decided that cuddles weren’t enough and she needed to plonk her arse on my face.

This morning I woke up in Azkaban as you can evidently see the Dementors were in full swing outside (picture no. 3)

Picture no. 4 is of fruit. Gina took it. How boring.

JOKING… nah we buy our fruit every morning from this lovely* bloke whose stall is outside Goodge St. station. We managed to reconcile the friendship after Gina decided to do Dick Van Dyke impressions of him whilst selecting grapefruits. ‘Owhhh yea, lavly raaaand fruits ya got here mister!’.

*I’m actually on the fence with this one. He looks good natured but I imagine he wouldn’t share his packet of biscuits with you, know what I mean (nope, not at all you absolute loser Crothers.)

Oh here’s something useful you might wanna learn… fruit that you buy from places like Tesco etc have travelled around, and have therefore lost some of their nutrients! Some fruits that travel across seas have lost even more of their goodness, so it’s always better to buy local. I’m smart aren’t i? Of course not, you should know this by now. I got this info from my smart sister, she’s a dietician don’t ya know. (Oh right, so what is it you do exactly Jenn? I DON’T KNOW DON’T ASK ME… I’m a writer. What a cliché, fml.)

Last picture is of me right now, as I write this blog. I am one tired lady.

Gina is behind me sorting out an infographic we’re sending off to some other writers for some other project which sounds really great now I read that back but I’m just too tired and don’t want to play anymore.