Oh well. Once again I am wrong.

I lost my phone.

Someone found it.

My bill is now £313.

Seriously, who does that? I’d call numbers in it to find the owner… but apparantly the person who isn’t me opted to call europe non-stop for 3 days.

I’m off people.

This kind of article is exactly the kind of ignorance that leads to supposedly “normal” people (and more than likely Daily Mail readers) beating the crap out of people in the street because they are wearing skinny jeans and have a lip ring.

I found a slightly more intelligent article on the BBC website >right here if you please< although I do have one little bone to pick, AND I quote -
“I think anyone over 25 will find it hard to understand what it’s all about. Even I’m a bit past it for an emo, to be honest.” – Matthew Hirons, a 22-year-old web developer from Stourport-on-Severn

“I shall think of you Matthew Hirons, 22 from Stourport-on-Severn, when I am out tomorrow night in my skinny jeans (and studded belt), converse all stars and red n black stripe hoody thing. I may even straighten my side fringe and wear my glasses, oh yes indeedy. I shall think of your comment and laugh.” – Nas Cullen, 30 from NW London.

In my humble opinion, pregnancy related sick days are the same as alcohol related sick days. I offer no sympathy, it’s self-induced.

Who ever says pregnancy is a beautiful thing is a big fat liar. You get huge to the point that walking is actually more waddling, moody(er) and you vomit a lot.

But then there are those damn sick days.

They just won’t go away.

Roll on menapause.

It was lovely, best chillaxing holiday I’ve had EVER. Should you wish to find out more about it you may visit here or even here. It was great, I loved it, enjoy the photos.

Now I’m back at work and Island times feel a million light years away. It would seem that the troubles we were having at work before I went away, continued into the week I was away (good to know they don’t just occur on my “manager on duty to deal with all your shit” days; but apparantly gossip proving true, said issues are only going to get worse. Yay work. I’m so excited about all my future 13 hour days and the tension headaches all the whinging nonsense bull static will give me. I’ve pretty much decided just to keep my mouth shut through the impending doom because I’m at the point that anything I do say will almost certainly be considered inappropriate, unprofesional and discriminatory. AND as with any work place environment, there will be I am sure, a hideous amount of piss taking from absolutely everybody else.

Dear. God. I see red just thinking about it.

It’s all good, there are at least 3 suckers at work that will struggle through to continue making money for “the man”. Yes, I would be one of them.

Luckily I get paid fortnightly, so I’m not left screaming “why oh why oh why????” for too long before I remember “why oh why oh why????”.. of course my 2.25% payrise (wicked) may have only added to the ever growing headache.

I’m thinking I’ll give it a month, and just before everyone goes off on holiday, I’ll go cry about how awful I feel about everything and everyone to the point where I can’t eat or sleep or do anything. Maybe my doctor will give me a nice big sicknote and a whole bunch of funky pills.

Or do exactly what I want to do every time someone tells me they are sick, slap ”em hard round the back of the head yelling “suck it up and get your arse to work”.

This week saw me return to work after a few days milling around Amsterdam and staying in a swanky 4* hotel. It was nice, I didn’t drink anywhere near as much as I had wanted to and feel I’m still due a complete alcoholic blow out (hurrah for my geek weekend next week), but I did get the pleasure of wacky floor movements and freaky hand gestures. It must have been something I ate. *cough* I admit nothing. After 3 long days back at work, I found myself sat on a bus on my way home with a rotten work induced headache. It’s okay, I tell myself, 20 minutes and I’ll be home. Tea, biscuits and miracle painkillers at the ready. It’s all okay.

Except it wasn’t. Two minutes into the journey a child starts screeching. Not sobbing because they are a bit tired, but actually screeching. I was pretty certain you wouldn’t normally get sounds like that anywhere out of the rainforest, but there I was on the 46 just off Hampstead High Street with a runt of a child screeching like the boogeyman was scratching its eyes out.

I can never have kids. Do you know why? Because if my child made that noise I’d make sure I gave it something to screech about. I may write my own versions of bedtime stories just so I’m prepared if my clock eventually does start to tick.

Anyway, it occurred to me while this noise was carrying on, that I could hear it waaaaaaaaaaaay above the music I had playing through my headphones. My headphones that I keep at a reasonable volume so as not to disrupt any of my fellow passengers. That annoyed me. There has been a new poster campaign on London transport “A little thought from each of us, a big difference for everyone”… with a few quirky characters to make it visually pleasing (hah).

I have a new one they can add on.

“Keep your little bastard quiet”

Mmmhmmmm.

Of course instead of glaring at the mother as I exited the bus, I smiled sweetly. I’m such a fucking coward.

should you wish to view a reasonably patronising video on travel etiquette, you can do so here. Enjoy, and make sure you talk loud on your phones and blast your music out on full volume!

The past 3.5 years of my life have been spent working for kiddie related retailers and as the years have gone on, I’ve found myself more approving of the little monsters. Now, you might say thats inevitable, my clock is a tick tick ticking etc.. and maybe it is. However I’m still not up for the weight gain and hormone swings. That and the minimum of 18 years responsibility.  I can’t afford myself as it is.

Wouldn’t it be nice if we could have kids like we have pets? Pick out a chubby cheeked little pre-toddler, big enough to prop themselves up but not enough that they are talking yet (younger babies are boring, older toddlers have too much to say) . Keep them all cute and when you tire of them sell them off.  Or have them with programmable life spans, kinda like nintendogs or tamagotchi..

I’d totally get me one of those.