|Listen, I know that some people say that the bikini is a ridiculous garment aimed at making most women feel like a huge hatful of assholes, but as you can see from my body language, I feel on top of the world!|
Thursday, 6 June 2013
Tuesday, 16 April 2013
|"Salad, darlings? I washed it in Milton's."|
- The Sun. Burny. Carcinogenic. Bastard.
- Other people breathing over you, fucking outrageous – or worse still, other people breathing over you, whilst also being coated in a toxic layer of hormone-disrupting perfume, especially Impulse.
- Secondhand smoke. (Look, I know you think you’re being considerate, smoking in the garden n’all, but unless you’re thinking of smoking directly into an extremely powerful north-easterly headwind, in other words, away from my baby, and unless you are also prepared to dump all of your clothes in that wheelie bin over there, and then blast off your epidermis with an industrial pressure washer, you are not touching my baby (or bump). Period.
- Paint fumes. The woman at customer services at Farrow and Ball didn’t know what the hell I was talking about when I asked her whether any of their paints contained any known teratogens! Fucking hell, you’d think they know the basics.
- Mould spores. Don’t get me started.
- Exhaust fumes. To be honest, I found it fairly easy to avoid heavy concentrations of vehicle emissions, particularly whilst I was pregnant. All I’d do was run really quickly past moving cars, holding my breath in. It was no bother, honestly.
Monday, 1 April 2013
The world of food is full of strange unsettling facts, like the fact that Worcestershire sauce is made from dissolved fish guts, or that a jar of peanut butter contains a big bunch of rat hairs, or that infant formula milk (blow me down with a fucking feather ladies, you’re not gonna believe this one) is NOT, I repeat NOT, actually poisonous!!!
Tuesday, 29 January 2013
Yes, this genre-bending debut of mine will probably hit the shelves in about, oh, let me see, a gazillion fucking lightyears, largely because I am unable to write during a) PMS episodes; b) whilst looking for keys or mobile phones; or c) whilst collapsed under the weight of adrenal fatigue, which leaves me with a writing 'window' of twenty minutes a month. In the meantime, I do have a few tentative little entries up my
Once, whilst staring through the window contemplating the atrophying of my aspirations and the utter fu$k!ng pointlessness of having treated myself to a higher education, I entered Calpol and gin head-to-head in a taste contest (with myself as the lonely adjudicator). Perhaps it was because the gin was a supermarket’s own brand, perhaps it was because the tonic was beyond its best-before date, but in my opinion, Calpol definitely had the edge.
There are two main problems however with administering Calpol:
- The 5ml spoon. It doesn’t matter how many 5ml spoons you own, when you have a hot screaming infant in your arms, you WON’T be able to find a single one. Trust me. There is no point looking in the usual places, like the cutlery drawer, or the medicine cabinet, or anywhere in the kitchen or bathroom. In fact, the only places worth searching are a) the plastic play-house in the garden; b) the mythological realms of Camelot or Atlantis; or c) any one of the 26 space-time dimensions posited by string theory. Not only will you not be able to find a 5ml medicine spoon, you won't be able to find a normal teaspoon either. In the end you will have to resort to an approximation, using a shell, a tiny plastic ladle from your daughter’s play kitchen, or your bare cupped hand.
What fresh hell is this? Mwa ha ha ha ...
P.S: I was going to start at the beginning of the book, with 'A is for Assholes', which is a personal account of Perineal Lacerations Beyond Fucking Imagining, but my partner told me that I talk about assholes too much. As$ho$e.
P.P.S: My partner is not really an As$ho$e. He is very nice. And patient.
Sunday, 9 December 2012
|Cuppa anyone? Mwa ha ha ha mwa ha ha ha ha!!|
- Safety gates
- Car washes
- Petrol pumps with the long nozzles that stretch all the way over your car to your petrol hole (or whatever it's called), so that if you’d only frickin known, you could have stayed where you were, instead of reversing out of the space like a total loser, and waiting in the adjacent queue with everyone laughing at you ...
- All. Printers.Without. Exception.
- Cling film and cling film dispensers - even the Lakeland one that every one on Mumsnet thinks is the dogs bollox
Automatic car washes
Those name badges you get given in conferences. How the f*$k do they work? The only way I can attach them to my body is to literally clamp them on to my nipple, which is difficult, as most of my nipple got chewed off during breastfeeding.
- Curtain eyelets or anything to do with the act of hanging curtains. In fact I would go far as to say that any item of hardware connected with drapery is, unequivocally, a cunt.
Feel free to add to the list, of course.
Tuesday, 20 November 2012
(COURTESY OF PEN NAME JANE)
Tuesday, 11 September 2012
And if you don’t agree, in some recent research, eight houseflies were allowed to come into contact with various types of germs before being allowed to settle and walk over food. Just half an hour later, the food was contaminated with 500,000 germs.