Category Archives: L Word

These dreams

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As predicted the other day, wearing a 24hr nicotine patch has resulted in four nights of sleep that have been disturbed by vivid dreams.  I’m knackered.  In addition to this, the first few hours of wearing a new patch each day bring unwanted physiological effects, mainly nausea.  Still I suppose it’ll be worth it once I can do without both fags and patches in a couple of weeks’ time.

But back to the dreams, they’ve been quite odd.  Perhaps all dreams are; I don’t usually have or remember them, but these ones have been odd.  Here’s what I can remember of a few of them:

Night 1

Hovel

Jo had forced me to move out.  She’d identified a lovely little bedsit that was a bedroom and a sink to have a stand up wash in and was showing me around, very proud of herself.  I can’t remember much else, other than complaining that there was no Coffeemate – not that there was a kitchen or a kettle or anything.

I woke up annoyed.

Ireland and the magic fag packet

The second dream that night found me in Ireland of all places.  It was Ireland, but it looked more mediterranean.  I think there was a castle, a shopping centre, a monorail, some chips, the obligatory argument with my sister that resulted me dropping the empty duty free Marlboro Lights carton (you know the big cartons that hold ten packets, but look like a big fag packet?).  I’d been carrying this huge empty fag packet around with me and dropped it at the table of a cafe after the chips (I think this is where the chips came in – no gravy, just ketchup).  I went back to pick it up from the floor and found that it had come open to reveal a solitary cigarette inside it.

I decided to save the cigarette until later, but as the dream progressed (probably about a millisecond in real time), more and more fags found their way into the once empty carton until it was nearly full by the time I woke up at 5am.

At that very moment of hazy waking, I remember being really happy that there was a full packet of cigarettes in the house, only to realise a second later that a) there wasn’t, b) I’d been dreaming and c) I was supposed to have stopped.

Bummer.

I spent the day completely shattered and slept relatively well that night, and the night after… I think, can’t quite remember.

Last night

The stroll, the sneaky fag and the curious incident with the BMW

I’d been at my parents’ and it was getting a bit too much for me, so I found myself taking a walk and having a fag.  The top road had somehow turned into a motorway, so it took a while for me to buck up the courage (and speed, and ability to assess distance and speed of oncoming vehicles) to get across.  For some reason, when I’d got to the safety of the other side, I stopped behind a stationary BMW, which then reversed over me.  I think it was a BMW, it might have been my old car that I wrote off  – it was black anyway.  While I was nursing my bruises and being told off by the driver of the offending vehicle (a fifty-something bint with blonde hair), my sister turned up and got run over too.  She complained for a bit and blamed me… and then I woke up… at 2.39am.

An argument over a washing up bowl

After recovering I was back in the kitchen at my mum and dad’s.  Dad was doing something in the sink; he was messing about, washing something in the washing up bowl – orange bits of plastic.  He got into a strop when I told him he wasn’t doing it right, so he took the bowl out and put it on the kitchen floor.

Actually, that might’ve happened in real life a few times too.

Bette from the L Word falls in love with me

This was the best one so far.  I don’t know how it happened, but I met Bette (Jennifer Beals) from the L Word and started doing really dirty things with me.  And then she told me she loved me.   And then I woke up.

So the dreams you get with nicotine patches aren’t all that bad.  I think everyone should try wearing a 21mg patch for a few days and then tell me what dreams they’ve been having.  I don’t want to know about dreams where Bette tells other people she loves them though.

Out

I’m going out tonight, round to some friends who I’ve known forever.  It should be good, but I need to go through the rigmarole of getting ready.  In terms of outfit, this never presents much of a problem because I always wear the same thing – jeans, blouse/shirt, jumper.

The thing I’m looking forward to least is plucking my face.  Eyebrows, moustache, beard, hairy moles – they all need attention.  This will bring about much pain and much sneezing.  And lots of frustration too, as the lighting in the bathroom doesn’t favour such detailed activities.

It’s not as if there’s the chance of pulling anyone while I’m out since they’re all straight.  Then again, I have this thing about flirting with straights… and that’s probably why I’m still single.  But it’s just that knowledge that most straight women are probably curious, some have tried a bit of ladylove, so it’s nice to play on that curiosity and see how far it gets you.  In my case, nowhere, but there’s always a first time.

Template

I’ve changed my template.  What do you think, does it need a bit of colour?

Hell in the Big Brother House

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I have to go away to Wales on Sunday for an “away trip” with colleagues from work. The senior team members are staying in my boss’s second home there, the plebs are being put up in a holiday home nearby. Here’s the specification:

Situated at the top of the road that winds its way down to Nefyn’s magnificent sandy beach, its close proximity to the beach will, undoubtedly, make it a popular choice. The property is well maintained, but very simply furnished. The front of the house has recently had upvc double glazed windows fitted.

Sleeps 20 (+ cot) in 5 bedrooms

The ground floor comprises the main lounge, with French door opening onto the front garden, an electric fire & colour television; toilet; the ‘French Lounge’ with an assortment of games, TV and video player has French doors opening onto the drive at the side of the house, and is accessed from the dining room which has French doors onto the back patio. The kitchen, also off the dining room, is equipped with a catering size gas range, an urn and a fridge/freezer; the utility room, beyond the kitchen, has another fridge and freezer, washing machine tumble drier, 3 additional sinks and a door to the rear garden.

On the 1st floor are: 3 bedrooms (rooms 1 and 2, each sleeping 6 in purpose built bunks, room 3 with a double bed); Bathroom with shower and toilet; 2 toilets; Shower room

The 2nd floor at the top of the house contains a further 2 bedrooms (room 4 with 2 single beds and room 5 with 4 single beds), tucked under the eaves and enjoying sea views.

There is a enclosed garden at the back of the house with a patio outside the French doors from the dining room, and large & small grassed areas. Access is from the utility room, dining room or side gate opening onto the driveway.

All beds are provided with 2 pillows and a duvet. A cot may be available on request.
You must bring your own bedlinen (sheets, duvet covers, pillow cases) and towels.

Additional Information

  • Pets are welcome

  • Smoking is not permitted in the house.

  • Wheelchair access is limited to the ground floor.

  • Background heating is by night storage heaters.

  • Parking for up to 6 vehicles.

  • Gas and heating is included in the rental

  • Other electricity by £1 coin meter

I, at the tender age of 38, will be sleeping in a bunk bed, sharing a bedroom with two others, who I’ve never met. It’ll be freezing (storage heaters + Wales + cliff top = fucking freezing).Ten of us will be driving there, but there’s only parking for six cars. We’ll probably be made to eat seaweed and moss and take baths in used water in a tub in the yard.

But here’s the most dreadful aspect of it all: no internet access.  I figured I could use my mobile to connect my PC to the Orange 3G network, it usually works really well, however look at this:

Orange

Orange

What about using my 3 phone?  That could do the same thing – if it gets collected today and returned on time  (been waiting since 7am for Parceline to come and get it, it’s now 3.30pm).  What’s the 3 coverage like there?

3

3

Ok then, so they’re both non-starters? But maybe one of those mobile broadband dongles from the other networks might be useful anyway, perhaps it’d be worth investing in one of those?

Vodafone

Vodafone

T-mobile 2G

T-mobile 2G

T-mobile 3G

T-mobile 3G

O2

O2

So there you go.  Staying with a bunch of people from work, who are actually OK, in freezing cold Wales, in a single bed, in a shared bedroom, with shared bathroom facilities, eating seaweed… and no chance whatsoever of an internet connection… for over TWO FUCKING DAYS!

Still, I get to go quad biking on Monday afternoon, so if I’m lucky, I might die or at least be hospitalised and then I won’t need internet access anyway.

Wasted days

Another day of decent weather has been wasted waiting in for those tossers to come and collect my mobile for repair.  Me and Rocky could’ve been having loads of fun, instead, I’ve been doing a bit of work.  Actually  I’ve had five attempts at burning a DVD of a avi file of a film.  The film plays fine in media player, the video burns to DVD OK, but there’s no sound.   I tried a different burning packages, and that just burns with the sound hopelessly out of sync.  I’m on my sixth try now, but I don’t hold out much hope.  It’s weird because I had no trouble burning the latest episode of the fabulous L Word the other night, but it’s now gone tits up.

Pissed off.

Second coming

The installation of President Obama is certainly a historic event.  It signals wonderful progress and brings a certain degree of hope to the Western World that we might actually stop being seen as evil.  Hope is one thing, action and results are another.  It does seem that an awful lot of hope has been pinned on him and, with a whole load of work to be done, it’s questionable that anything will actually be achieved.

The road to hell is paved with good intentions and that.

Obama has almost been elevated to Messiah status – certainly by Auntie Beeb.  He’s just a bloke with a huge job to do, with a rather unfair weight of expectation placed on his shoulders.

And we in the UK have experienced something similar before with Tony Blair.  I never fell for the smooth talking back in 1997, I saw right through him and New Labour and knew damned well that they’d achieve absolutely fuck all while ruining the country – because that’s what Labour does.  It’s the lack of integrity, the lies, the erosion of values, the erosion of our civil liberties that hurt most from the past eleven… twelve years of Labour’s appalling governance.  We all knew they’d fuck up the economy (but perhaps not this badly), but the snooping on its people, the gradual introduction of a police state, and the sheer hopelessness that has been heaped on us all – not even I would have expected that from them. Then again, that’s what you get with a government that is out of control and afraid of its own people.

So long as Obama and his team demonstrate the utmost integrity and at least some degree of competence during their administration, then I will be satisfied.  There won’t be miracles.

Rocky takes time out

Rocky has a habit of kicking off and shouting his head off at the slightest noise outside.  I’ve had enough.  He goes for a time out in the kitchen as soon as he starts grumbling to himself.  It won’t stop him doing it, but it’ll keep him quiet for a bit while I’m trying to concentrate on my work blog.

Little shit.

Florence Nightingale at your service

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More of that in a bit…

But first this:

Well, I would be blogging if my internet connection was stable, but it seems to be having a bit of a time out, it being Sunday and all that.

There are a few things that I’ve noticed of late that have made my usually mild-mannered self turn into a foaming-mouthed maniac. I don’t know what it is with some people, but they are criminally thick and should be locked up for their own safety, or preferably executed to prevent them causing damage to people’s cars.

There’s a current trend for people to cross the road with their backs to the traffic, either talking on their mobiles, or listening to the latest toonahs on their iPods. They don’t even cross straight, following the shortest route to safety. No, instead they choose to cross along the diagonal to make their journey to the kerb as long as possible. Stupid cunts.

Do you think we’re allowed to kill them? Probably not, but in my defence I’d say it was obviously a mercy killing and that I was doing themselves and society a huge favour by extinguishing whatever lights were burning inside their thick skulls.

Another current favourite pastime is for cyclists to ride in the cycle lane, but on the wrong side of the road, at night, with no lights on, dressed in black, and being of black ethnicity. In the Hulme area of Manchester (real bandit country that is home to the dregs of many societies from around the world), these guys also probably carry guns, so you just let them get on with it, while fighting the urge to swerve into them and wipe their sorry arses from the face of the planet.

Tossers.

He’s a bear, he’s a bear! He’s made of human hair!!
Well that’s not strictly true, he’s made of wool and proper flame-retardant stuffing, but he’s got a lot of Connie Cakesniffer in him, so that makes him almost human. To whom am I referring? Why it’s none other than Bear:

Bear

Bear has been created as the arch-nemesis of his very own evil twin, known as BEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRR!! (or Bad Bear), who was also created by the fair hand of Connie. Bad Bear has been made for the much anticipated Bombino, who is due to be endearing itself to us with much screaming and uncontrolled bodily functions in March. Having seen what my elderly mother could do with some knitting needles and a bit of wool, I must admit that I got a bit jealous and, realising that I never had a bear when I was a baby, I asked Mum to make me one. I thought this was particularly fair since I won’t be having any children of my own. So Bear is the result.

Oooh, Matron!
I’m rubbish around sick people, having no patience or stomach for vomiting, groaning, moaning, sniffling, coughing, and all the other things that happen to people when they’re ill. My mother is really good with me and puts me to shame, often killing me with kindness. Last week, I had yet another one of my “heads” – I woke up in agony on Thursday morning, couldn’t move my head, then started being sick. I was laid up in bed all day and Mum was really good. I think. Actually, I think she just left me alone to get on with it, but was pleasantly fussy once I finally emerged from my pit of doom in the evening.

Of course, when I got to work the following day, I was talking to a colleague about my previous day’s brain tumour, I think I called it a migraine so as not to alarm her, and she said “Well, there’s a lot of that going around at the moment.”

What? Contagious migraines?

Apparently, hers were cured by having a hysterectomy when she was 31. I think I’ll stick to ibuprofen and bed rest in a dark room.

Weird.

And when another colleague phoned in sick today (on National Sick Day, would you believe?), she again said “Well, there’s a lot of that going around at the moment.”

Back back? “Loads of those at the moment, you wouldn’t believe it!”

And how about Semlicki Forest Virus? “Tonnes, Tina. There were four people in Tesco with it last night!”

Amazing.

But what IS going around at the moment is a bit of a cold thing that has laid dearest Trump low for the past few days. She’s not been too bad with it, but got terribly depressed when it went on her chest. Any chesty cough means Ordeal by Covonia, which I don’t mind, but it makes her sick (I think this is the idea of expectorants).

Anyway, poorly Trump was indeed pretty sick today and had to take National Sick Day off with a genuine illness. But this gave me the opportunity to go and see her, via the fucking horrible Asda in shithole Hulme, where I bought her some food, and a variety of chesty cough medicine.

Poorly Trump is off work tomorrow too, but she’s already taken the day off as leave because she’s getting cable telly. That means that, when I finally move in there in the hopefully not-too-distant future, WE’LL have cable telly. And this means Series 4 of the L Word when it comes out over here in the summer. Bring it on!!!!

Despite getting carried away with myself at the thought of the impending arrival of Living TV, I did the dutiful thing and tried to be Florence Nightingale to Trump of the Crimea. I was very attentive (once I’d calmed down about the spastic parking habits of one of the residents on her street) and even let her kiss me – germs and all. She then shoved my face in her slippers and rubbed her sock in my face.

Question of the day
Four months’ suspended sentence for killing a cat by putting it through a washing machine cycle – appropriate?

Certainly not. How about ripping the fucking bitch’s head off with something like a, oh I don’t what, something like a pride of hungry lions?

According to the RSPCA inspector, the suspended sentence sends out a strong signal that animal cruelty will not be tolerated. How exactly? I think my alternative certainly would.

TOSSERS!