Love/Hate

Rain in May - you are evil. I know this happens every year, but I had to put emergency tights on. 60 denier! FFS. Why do you have to turn the seas upside down every time I set foot outside? I'm typing in my coat, huddled over a cup of tea, with a hot dinner in my tummy, wearing soggy boots. In summer. Raise your muthaf*cking game, weather. Go and rain on the football or something.

Dark chocolate Bounty Bar- you were worth every calorie. Who cares if you have the highest calorie count of all the chocolate confectionery? You so know how to work it.

Football Mars Bars - It is not a "Believe", it is a Mars. I refuse to purchase another until the correct name is reinstated on the wrapper. Remember what happened with the Yorkie "not for girls" campaign? Yeah, well I STILL haven't bought one, and I never will.. The only good thing to come out of this whole sorry mess is you have FORCED me back into the arms of the very naughty dark chocolate Bounty.

Madonna - you're a twat. Go away, and take your Abba-leotarded camel-toe with you. It's embarrassing.

New Look not exactly what I had in mind

My new New Look brown linen skirt is falling apart at the seams after two wears and one wash. I know it was only £18 and I'm not really very surprised, but I was going for smart/floaty/legs under wraps, not Victorian peep-hole thigh slut. Sigh.

What you get if you Google image search...

Babycakes


Cutie pie


Snuggles


Hate hate hate


Die, bitch

Told

"You know, I quite like Chantelle. She always flashes such a big grin when she sees the camera, like she still can't quite believe she's famous. It's sweet."

"She's probably just smiling because she's criminally thick."

"True. I don't like Preston though."

"Oh god no. I hate his cardigans."

"I hate his band."

"I don't like his ears."

"I think he's on make."

"His name is ridiculous."

"I hate his tattoos."

"I really hate his eyebrows."

"Pillock."

Happy

Someone at work put the TV on to watch something earlier and has not realised Neighbours has started. Sadly, it is on mute but Susan and Toady are having a heated debate at what could be an outside area of Lassiters (or whatever it is these days) - he has his suit on which means he is in lawyer mode - and I managed to lip-read her saying: "Whose side are you on?", which was pretty exciting. Is she talking about Karl, or that man with the kids?

There also appears to be a new family of broad-faced chavs, or as I believe they are known in Australia, Bogans. Or Westies, but I think that's just Sydney. I recognise the matriarch, from the "fish" clan (Toad, Stone, Tadpole etc)? It appears the whole lot of them have finally bowled in from the countryside with their jolly crim ways to rock the boat in Ramsay Street.

Spotting a gay man in the age of civil partnerships

The train's just trundled out of the city. The man sitting to my right is around 40 and lightly tanned with expensively coiffed sandy hair, his face pulled taught by a slightly superior arch to the eyebrows. His hooded eyes scan the pages of an inoffensive newspaper. His suit is well cut, his briefcase looks pricey, his shoes are curiously unbuffed.

Under normal circumstances, he would be off my amateurish gaydar - he could be a snobby, sophis power-gay (the kind I used to hate working for when I was in PR - utterly immune to and disdainful towards the eyelash-fluttering that got me out of trouble with my other clients). Or he could be a snobby, sophis straight city twat. It wouldn't usually cross my mind.

But this gentleman was sporting on the third finger of his left hand a most staggering hunk of bling. An absurd, bulging thing that anchored his arm to the seat, with strips of what appeared to be platinum wrapped around the outside and a diamond the size of a child's front tooth hammered into the centre. It was MAHUSSIVE. I may be wrong, but if he wasn't in the gays then I'm Cheryl Baker.