This week has been really really good for me. My script has been chosen to be used for an advert at work, and because I’m highly professional, I cannot give away specifics, but be sure that as soon as it’s on TV, specifics will be flooding every social media platform I have any kind of presence on so yes essentially just a really arrogant status and a witty Tweet- ‘witty’ being the questionable adjective here.

So I went to the gym today. I know, how impressive do I wanna be? Although after my half hour run, one of the gym instructors saw me leave and yelled (across the feckin gym) ‘is that all you’re doing today?!’ to which I consulted my plethora of incredibly self demeaning, yet humorous responses and tried to say, ‘oh yes- I didn’t want to show everyone else up.’ Now because i’m extremely unfit and had just ran solidly for half an hour, my body was in shock, so whilst trying not to pass out/ eat the sweat on my top lip I responded as thus, ‘yeah- i’m just showing up.’ This does not make sense whatsoever. 

Oh christ talking of my gym nightmares, I thought i’d struck gold when I bought my new jazzy trainers, leggings etc for a fraction of the normal price in, you guessed it, Sports Direct. (foreigners- Sports Direct is a huuuuge cheap sports department store, but where people buy branded stuff so they can pretend they stock up all the time in the actual Nike store.) So I get to the counter like, ‘Hey lady, I know what you’re thinking… wow look at this girl obviously just nipping out to buy exercise gear on her lunch break cos she’s so ‘get up and go’, when I spot some sports bottles behind the counter, for a very reasonable £1.99, so I casually say as though I’m rolling in money, ‘oh and i’ll have one of those bottles too.’ Turns out, the ‘Sports Direct’ neon logo, emblazoned across the damn thing, IS NOT A STICKER. I’m not a gym snob by any means, but I look like a total moron swigging my Sports Direct bottle coupled with the fact I had NO IDEA how to use any of the machines. So spot the bloody newbie. Also, I bought pink because I’m a girl and it’s what we do, so there really is no hiding the fact that I am a slightly flabby fish out of water.

The pictures in today’s blog post are a jolly selection (only ever the finest archived material for you guys). Okay, the first two are screen shots of some total legends’ IP addresses. There’s a lot of these going around in London. Props to the Game of Thrones reference, holla at cha sista. The next picture is of me, Skyping my beloved (betrothed) Noodles. I had some very edgy (contrary to popular belief) ripped jeans on, which I decided made my knees look like a sneaky bald man, so I drew him a face because, I am coooool as a cucumber. Next picture is of me doing what I do best- drilling new holes in my new (old charity shop) belt with, obviously, a broken pen and the handle of a brolly. Now that’s what I call thinking outside the box. I have scouts to thank for my ‘adapt and overcome’ motto in my life. Lastly is one of the best pictures I have taken of myself, ever, ever like ever. So I was gonna go for the full selfie, and could already imagine what I was going to write about the epic jumper my grandmother had knitted me, but as I opened good old iPhoto, the beams of light coming into my room made it look like I was being taken to another dimension, so because I’m a weirdo with no friends in London please someone help me I decided to reenact the scene in which I had been locked away for 1,000 years and the vortex had come to collect me. 

Right I can’t remember any other worthy details of my week so let’s consult the note taking device on my snazzy phone…

Hahaha… I read one, ‘Spaghetti, tinned tuna, Broccoli.’ then thought, WHAT DOES THIS MEAN? It’s a shopping list, bugger. I haven’t written any notes, that’s odd. 

This week will be exciting for sure, and to round it off on Sunday, Gina and I have a surprise day together that she has organised as one of my Christmas presents, yay.

Thoughts to end on… What the hell are capers- how are they grown? Excited to use new toothpaste, weirdly excited to be working out (LA here I come) and I wanna move Henry the hoover from my room tonight as he’s freaking me out, just slightly. Oh and I will ABSOLUTELY, my dear Rabbi poetry club leader write a poem but I really must do some preparation work for tomorrow and I think I’ve rambled on enough. 

This week has been really really good for me. My script has been chosen to be used for an advert at work, and because I’m highly professional, I cannot give away specifics, but be sure that as soon as it’s on TV, specifics will be flooding every social media platform I have any kind of presence on so yes essentially just a really arrogant status and a witty Tweet- ‘witty’ being the questionable adjective here.

So I went to the gym today. I know, how impressive do I wanna be? Although after my half hour run, one of the gym instructors saw me leave and yelled (across the feckin gym) ‘is that all you’re doing today?!’ to which I consulted my plethora of incredibly self demeaning, yet humorous responses and tried to say, ‘oh yes- I didn’t want to show everyone else up.’ Now because i’m extremely unfit and had just ran solidly for half an hour, my body was in shock, so whilst trying not to pass out/ eat the sweat on my top lip I responded as thus, ‘yeah- i’m just showing up.’ This does not make sense whatsoever. 

Oh christ talking of my gym nightmares, I thought i’d struck gold when I bought my new jazzy trainers, leggings etc for a fraction of the normal price in, you guessed it, Sports Direct. (foreigners- Sports Direct is a huuuuge cheap sports department store, but where people buy branded stuff so they can pretend they stock up all the time in the actual Nike store.) So I get to the counter like, ‘Hey lady, I know what you’re thinking… wow look at this girl obviously just nipping out to buy exercise gear on her lunch break cos she’s so ‘get up and go’, when I spot some sports bottles behind the counter, for a very reasonable £1.99, so I casually say as though I’m rolling in money, ‘oh and i’ll have one of those bottles too.’ Turns out, the ‘Sports Direct’ neon logo, emblazoned across the damn thing, IS NOT A STICKER. I’m not a gym snob by any means, but I look like a total moron swigging my Sports Direct bottle coupled with the fact I had NO IDEA how to use any of the machines. So spot the bloody newbie. Also, I bought pink because I’m a girl and it’s what we do, so there really is no hiding the fact that I am a slightly flabby fish out of water.

The pictures in today’s blog post are a jolly selection (only ever the finest archived material for you guys). Okay, the first two are screen shots of some total legends’ IP addresses. There’s a lot of these going around in London. Props to the Game of Thrones reference, holla at cha sista. The next picture is of me, Skyping my beloved (betrothed) Noodles. I had some very edgy (contrary to popular belief) ripped jeans on, which I decided made my knees look like a sneaky bald man, so I drew him a face because, I am coooool as a cucumber. Next picture is of me doing what I do best- drilling new holes in my new (old charity shop) belt with, obviously, a broken pen and the handle of a brolly. Now that’s what I call thinking outside the box. I have scouts to thank for my ‘adapt and overcome’ motto in my life. Lastly is one of the best pictures I have taken of myself, ever, ever like ever. So I was gonna go for the full selfie, and could already imagine what I was going to write about the epic jumper my grandmother had knitted me, but as I opened good old iPhoto, the beams of light coming into my room made it look like I was being taken to another dimension, so because I’m a weirdo with no friends in London please someone help me I decided to reenact the scene in which I had been locked away for 1,000 years and the vortex had come to collect me. 

Right I can’t remember any other worthy details of my week so let’s consult the note taking device on my snazzy phone…

Hahaha… I read one, ‘Spaghetti, tinned tuna, Broccoli.’ then thought, WHAT DOES THIS MEAN? It’s a shopping list, bugger. I haven’t written any notes, that’s odd. 

This week will be exciting for sure, and to round it off on Sunday, Gina and I have a surprise day together that she has organised as one of my Christmas presents, yay.

Thoughts to end on… What the hell are capers- how are they grown? Excited to use new toothpaste, weirdly excited to be working out (LA here I come) and I wanna move Henry the hoover from my room tonight as he’s freaking me out, just slightly. Oh and I will ABSOLUTELY, my dear Rabbi poetry club leader write a poem but I really must do some preparation work for tomorrow and I think I’ve rambled on enough. 

In the first photograph, I’m practisiing my, ‘yes Dad, I’d LOVE to walk along the beach with a hangover’ face.

The second is my arrival at Mundsley and thinking actually it’s quite fun.

In the third I am bonding with Charlie, post turkey sandwiches, and the last one is of me this morning, wondering whether Jordan’s country crips cereal is really this bad, or the box I found in my dad’s cupboard has just gone stale. Also please note my sexy pyjamas that I got for christmas. 

The rest of the blog will now feature ‘notes’ where I have to insert translations for my non- British readers.

I accidentally went out Friday night. When I say accidentally, I mean on purpose but last minute, and took it upon myself to keep up with boys club (Reevo et al). 

I didn’t get home until 4.30am… which is ok by me, but not by my Dad, who thinks i’m a raving drug taking alcoholic. So anyway, remember in the last post when I said about loving dogs? Well I decided I very much hated Charlie, as I crept along the gravel driveway, drunk, and fumbled for my keys. The bloody dog started barking a soon as he heard my taxi car door slam shut. So everyone in the house knew exactly what time I rocked up. I still ploughed on with my drunk snack concoction which, if my memory serves me right, was a coleslaw sandwich. (Note- coleslaw is sliced onions and cabbage in mayonnaise. Eugh gross- never thought of it like that before.)

I was in Vodka Revolutions (note- a bar in Norwich), and a bloke caught my eye (he was the one catching the eyes, I was not looking for a suitor) and he goes, ‘I saw you in Primark (note- a big cheap clothes store) today, fancy some vodka?’. Of course I accepted his creepy offer. Not sure whether it’s flattering he remembers me or weird that he was watching me so intently as I man handled people out of my way in the aisle. I remember feeling distinctly relieved to not have been spiked, so thankyou Primark man, you’re not as creepy as you first appear. 

I also got to see my long lost scouting buddy Joe Malpas. It was nice to begin with, but every time I tried to talk to someone, he yelled, ‘Hainford and Frettenham’ at me. (Note- Hainford and Frettenham are where dreams are made/ nothing happens ever but I went to scouts with him in Hainford. They are tiny little villages in Norfolk. Think Las Vegas, then think the total opposite, and it’s probably still more exciting than Hainford.)

Saturday we went to Cromer to look around some charity shops, which ended up with Kirsten and I standing outside RSPCA and Cancer research stores with Charlie, talking to all the weirdos as they petted him. We also ate turkey sandwiches (with salad cream)(note- salad cream was invented in Britain in the war as rations were low and they needed a condiment to make things taste more exciting, hence the birth of Salad Cream, and it’s stuck around since then. It’s v. British therefore the need for this explanation, whilst totally mundane and confusing, is necessary for my foreign (anyone outside of Norfolk) readers.) 

I went out with Kirsten in Norwich last night. I saw my chum John Powley, or as I like to call him (not sure if he’s aware of this) Jon Bon Pow. He introduced me to the cupboard, which was nice. Then Faye and I got punched by some ‘pro’  boxers. Not punched in a bad way- punched in a good way. They were professionals and they bought us some gin.

Here’s a poem about Norfolk and being at home:

Norfolk is flat so you can see,

A patchwork of fields, sewn with stitches of trees.

Thrown down on a bed of soil far back,

Frayed with the well loved beaten track,

My home of sandwiches and copious tea. 

It really does look like a mossy blanket outside my window in Wroxham. Right now the news is coming on TV. I can smell lamb roasting and I’ve just realised my outfit is a little erratic. Purple velvet trousers, floral top, and festive cardigan. I wasn’t even trying to make a, ‘i’m in artiste don’t ya know’ point, I just wasn’t concentrating when I got dressed. I was too distracted by the thought of  Lindt Reindeer (Note- Lindt Reindeers are chocolate reindeers, which may or may not have been moulded in heaven by the angels). 

I also saw my long lost brother/ one that got away husband (this is Norfolk after all) Joe Robinson last night. I like to jump on him in various bars in a slightly terrifying way. My parents are still very sad that Joe and I never got hitched.

I’m still undecided whether to go to London for new year or stay in ye ol’ Norwich. This fact is both uninteresting and affects nobody. 

Current thoughts for today include, where are my trainers? Stop talking about Baudrillard over dinner, nobody cares (quite understandably so) Shallet girl is a terrible movie and dipping gravy is a definite business venture.

In the first photograph, I’m practisiing my, ‘yes Dad, I’d LOVE to walk along the beach with a hangover’ face.

The second is my arrival at Mundsley and thinking actually it’s quite fun.

In the third I am bonding with Charlie, post turkey sandwiches, and the last one is of me this morning, wondering whether Jordan’s country crips cereal is really this bad, or the box I found in my dad’s cupboard has just gone stale. Also please note my sexy pyjamas that I got for christmas. 

The rest of the blog will now feature ‘notes’ where I have to insert translations for my non- British readers.

I accidentally went out Friday night. When I say accidentally, I mean on purpose but last minute, and took it upon myself to keep up with boys club (Reevo et al). 

I didn’t get home until 4.30am… which is ok by me, but not by my Dad, who thinks i’m a raving drug taking alcoholic. So anyway, remember in the last post when I said about loving dogs? Well I decided I very much hated Charlie, as I crept along the gravel driveway, drunk, and fumbled for my keys. The bloody dog started barking a soon as he heard my taxi car door slam shut. So everyone in the house knew exactly what time I rocked up. I still ploughed on with my drunk snack concoction which, if my memory serves me right, was a coleslaw sandwich. (Note- coleslaw is sliced onions and cabbage in mayonnaise. Eugh gross- never thought of it like that before.)

I was in Vodka Revolutions (note- a bar in Norwich), and a bloke caught my eye (he was the one catching the eyes, I was not looking for a suitor) and he goes, ‘I saw you in Primark (note- a big cheap clothes store) today, fancy some vodka?’. Of course I accepted his creepy offer. Not sure whether it’s flattering he remembers me or weird that he was watching me so intently as I man handled people out of my way in the aisle. I remember feeling distinctly relieved to not have been spiked, so thankyou Primark man, you’re not as creepy as you first appear. 

I also got to see my long lost scouting buddy Joe Malpas. It was nice to begin with, but every time I tried to talk to someone, he yelled, ‘Hainford and Frettenham’ at me. (Note- Hainford and Frettenham are where dreams are made/ nothing happens ever but I went to scouts with him in Hainford. They are tiny little villages in Norfolk. Think Las Vegas, then think the total opposite, and it’s probably still more exciting than Hainford.)

Saturday we went to Cromer to look around some charity shops, which ended up with Kirsten and I standing outside RSPCA and Cancer research stores with Charlie, talking to all the weirdos as they petted him. We also ate turkey sandwiches (with salad cream)(note- salad cream was invented in Britain in the war as rations were low and they needed a condiment to make things taste more exciting, hence the birth of Salad Cream, and it’s stuck around since then. It’s v. British therefore the need for this explanation, whilst totally mundane and confusing, is necessary for my foreign (anyone outside of Norfolk) readers.) 

I went out with Kirsten in Norwich last night. I saw my chum John Powley, or as I like to call him (not sure if he’s aware of this) Jon Bon Pow. He introduced me to the cupboard, which was nice. Then Faye and I got punched by some ‘pro’  boxers. Not punched in a bad way- punched in a good way. They were professionals and they bought us some gin.

Here’s a poem about Norfolk and being at home:

Norfolk is flat so you can see,

A patchwork of fields, sewn with stitches of trees.

Thrown down on a bed of soil far back,

Frayed with the well loved beaten track,

My home of sandwiches and copious tea. 

It really does look like a mossy blanket outside my window in Wroxham. Right now the news is coming on TV. I can smell lamb roasting and I’ve just realised my outfit is a little erratic. Purple velvet trousers, floral top, and festive cardigan. I wasn’t even trying to make a, ‘i’m in artiste don’t ya know’ point, I just wasn’t concentrating when I got dressed. I was too distracted by the thought of  Lindt Reindeer (Note- Lindt Reindeers are chocolate reindeers, which may or may not have been moulded in heaven by the angels). 

I also saw my long lost brother/ one that got away husband (this is Norfolk after all) Joe Robinson last night. I like to jump on him in various bars in a slightly terrifying way. My parents are still very sad that Joe and I never got hitched.

I’m still undecided whether to go to London for new year or stay in ye ol’ Norwich. This fact is both uninteresting and affects nobody. 

Current thoughts for today include, where are my trainers? Stop talking about Baudrillard over dinner, nobody cares (quite understandably so) Shallet girl is a terrible movie and dipping gravy is a definite business venture.