Tuesday, March 8, 2016

How to let people know you've just returned from travelling

Here's the kicker: you've just returned home from travelling and no-one has given you the opportunity to casually drop in that you've just been like, bettering and finding yourself, for like, a whole year? How to drop this fascinating tidbit in conversation, besides wearing an 'I HEART NZ/NY/AUS' t-shirt proclaiming to the world that you have, in fact, been there and are not yet wearing as pyjamas? Never fear, travelling pals, here are ten ways to Let People Know You're Superior. This works for long-term travelling and for holidays. Even try it with two weeks at a resort in Tenerife. 

Hobbiton, NZ

1. I like to take my watch off to show off my enviable watch strap tanline (since 'nam I, like, don't need a watch. You know?') 

2. Drop in bits of slang into everyday conversation. It's become like, so second nature to you it's natural? (Use upward inflection at the end of every sentence for bonus points) Sweet as, bro. 

3. Complain repeatedly about the weather (guys, I'm still acclimatising to the climate? Back in Aus I'd just walk around in my bare feet and a kaftan. This is the WORST).

4. In a similar vein, complain/wax lyrical about the price of everything (In Bali, you could like, buy a HOUSE for the price of a round in this pub/OH MY ACTUAL GOD. In A-dhabz, you could get a pack of nuts for TWENTY POUNDS. I feel so #blessed). 

5. Wear indigenous jewellery so hideous and eyecatching they can only invite comment. Claim they are from a wise old soothsayer you met in the desert. 

6. Punctuate mealtimes with comparisons from your beloved country (actually, in traditional Catalan cooking, you stew the sheep testicles for six hours. And we are eating way too early to be authentic). 

7. Learn some of the language and enthusiastically pepper conversation with it. When called on it, claim not to notice (sometimes I just forget which language I'm thinking in! )

8. Act like you've never seen familiar items before, think Amy Adams in Enchanted or similar Disney character encountering human life for the first time (SHUT THE FRONT DOOR. You guys have Marmite! I'd totes forgotten about this! You see, in Belize...)

9. Really play up the jet lag, for several beneficiary reasons: excuse to sleep, humblebrag about how far you've been... ('I haven't slept properly in WEEKS, travelling really takes it out of you' 'But I thought you only went to France--' 'YOU HAVEN'T BEEN TRAVELLING, YOU WOULDN'T UNDERSTAND')

10. Get a face tattoo of your chosen country. If none of those have worked, that's probably your only option. Bonne journée! 

*disclaimer: this is written with tongue firmly in cheek, but I may have done one, or several of these things. I just feel like, a different person now? 

Tuesday, November 17, 2015

New Zealand Slang

I realise that there are hundreds, nay thousands, of Dictionaries of New Zealand terms and slang. Does mine have a difference? Probably not. But hey, I'm just going to do it anyway.


First and foremost, the title of our blog.

JANDALS: the kiwi word for flip flops. Don’t know where the hell it came from. I mean, I get that it's a portmanteau of something and sandals, but the J? What the hell, man? Is it like jeggings? I have no idea. Nor do I care. Ridiculous name, they're flip flops.

YEAH NAH: well, it's not really a phrase so much as a filler, like um, or er, or NOTHING. Not something that's worthy of being on a t shirt, that's for sure.

DAIRY: Their word for a newsagent/convenience store. Doesn't sell booze. Assume was the only place that sold milk on a Sunday, or something, for its terminology. Just makes me want an ice cream every time I go in one.

KIA ORA: Not slang, it's actual Maori, but it makes me want the carton drink every I see it. Oh, and Maori people are the indigenous people of NZ. IT MEANS HELLO.

HOKEY POKEY: It means honeycomb. It's apparently a thing in NZ. Like a big thing, but I'm not sure why.

CHOCOLATE FISH: My favourite thing so far, in terms of sweet things. It's basically a fish-shaped marshmallow, covered in chocolate. Well. You know, the simple things.

KIWI DIP (or as my friend Kirby tells me, kuhee-wee dip or something: French onion soup mixed with reduced cream and served with chips (crisps, not to be confused with hot chips, which are in fact actual chips).

BRO: yes,it may have been a thing in the ‘90s’, but the kiwis have appropriated this phrase as their own as a thing.

TRAMPING: Hiking. Not being homeless, or skanky, as you may think. It's a pretty big thing here.

BUSH BASHING: Another phrase for Tramping, just ruder.

EH: Not ‘what?’, but like the Canadian, an exclamation at the end of a sentence.

FUSH’n’CHUPS: Basically, fish and chips, that's pretty much it – only in that intonation. It's a pretty big thing here – I mean, we invented it really, but don't try and tell them that (shh).


PIN, DID, TIMP: Not strictly slang, but I giggle ALL OF THE TIME at these pronunciations of pen, dead and temp. Ok, so the dead thing is from Flight of the Concords. I don't really hear the word ‘dead’ that often in daily life.

RANGA: Ginger. Obviously.

CAPSICUM: A pepper. Duh. Same goes for zucchini and eggplant. They're not exclusively Kiwi terms but they're here a lot and they still throw me, occasionally.

Well, that's all for now folks. Guide to Auckland and first impressions of Queenstown to come - we've only been here a mere four months so obviously I have had absolutely NO time to write any of these things. Here is a picture of where we have been living so you can be insanely jealous.

Saturday, June 27, 2015

I'm a commitaphobe... to a TV series

I am a commitaphobe. There. I said it. 

Not to anything real, though, like a relationship, or a burrito, or a bottle of wine (the last two are more realistic of my life).. Just to anything in the media, really. You know, things that might enrich my life. I  used to love reading books, and I used to be able to watch an entire film without using my hands/eyes for anything except eating popcorn/watching a film  and I used to love listening to full albums on my discman. Now I can't. Well, won't.

It makes me feel sad that the ‘fast food nation’ culture I see in the media all the time is something that's afflicted me so much. But instead of stuffing a burger down my oesophagus, I read tweets instead of articles, read the Wikipedia entry of a series instead of actually watching it, and watch the film instead of reading the book (and the irony is, when you're reading a book, you can't really do much else except read the book, which makes it perfect for non-distraction.

I start reading an article, and it's too long so I give up. I am literally a victim of tl;dr, which is really sad because I did an English degree. Which means that I read huge books every week (ok, some weeks).. And then I'll open up spotify to listen to a song. Can't even be arsed to listen to the whole of a Ramones track. A RAMONES track. I used to be able to listen to their entire greatest hits album. That's at least twenty minutes. Even if it's a track I've been singing to myself for an entire day, it's still too much commitment. I might skip on average ten songs in a playlist (I have spent much time crafting). 

Then I might try and watch TV. I started to watch Lost once. I got to episode two and whilst I was enjoying it, I didn't want to commit to a full episode. I actually went to watch an episode and just couldn't be arsed to sit through forty minutes of it. I instead switched to some twenty-minute comedy show that I ate and scrolled through Facebook / Twitter / Instagram/ played Bejeweled for the entirety.  I watched the entire season in one sitting. It wasn't that I didn't want to watch Lost, I just didn't want to commit to the entire episode. Despite the fact that I ended up watching TV for triple the amount of time. 

And don't get me started on films. I mean, you have to get to know the whole backstory, and that just seems like far too much effort. That's why I love going to the cinema. You're pretty much stuck in a dark room with no distractions. You get frowned upon for using your phone, you get funny looks for going to the loo too much and it's just not cool to get up every twenty minutes for another drink. You are literally FORCED to sit through something, perhaps they should enforce more things like that – although why I couldn't just have self-discipline for two and a half hours for something I actually want to watch I have no idea.

I'm not even convinced I could get through an entire menu in a restaurant once I've seen something I want to 

[I just got distracted from this article – if you can call it that – for a full ten minutes (I was trying to look up a song I heard on BGT the other week. Didn't even find it). And now I'm looking around at everyone in the bar I'm in,the only place I can actually write without getting distractions (no Netflix and no-on dis on Facebook). 

Yeah, the menu thing. That's also coming from someone who loves food. 

I'm increasingly bothered about his because I regularly break away from whatever  I'm doing to scroll through Facebook, Twitter and Instagram, not because I'm bored, just because I need a break from the HUGE thing I'm attempting to concentrate on. And I'm not even concentrating, I'm watching Family Guy. Luckily I haven't quite got to the stage where I break away from actual conversation with a person, but I'm a bit terrified of the time when that actually happens.

We all have some kind of ADHD when it comes to technology these days, and it pisses me off no end, even though I'm aware that I'm part of the problem. 

Commitment to everything rehab group, anyone?

Wednesday, November 12, 2014

How to go to a Comedy Night

I've been to a few comedy gigs over the last few months. I'm by no means a connaiseur but it's one of my favourite things to do, even if the comedians aren't very good. I pretty much know how it works by now, or at least what to do, and definitely what not to do. This is what I've learned. It is by no means the right thing to do, or the best thing to do at all, but they've worked for me so far.

1. Seating is optimum. It is a common theme that most comedians pick on people in the first two rows, because, well, it's easy. So if you don't like to be asked your name, inside leg measurement and relationship status with that guy from your office who secretly fancies you and hopes you're on a date, make sure you arrive pretty soon after doors open so you can sit in what's probably affectionaly named 'coward's corner'. By the same merit, do not wear anything which draws attention to you, because it may also get you picked on (I've seen it happen).

2. Come armed with a question. In some places it seems to be de rigeur to write a question down to go in the pint glass being passed around, some of which are then read by the MC and comedians. I had a great question, but I forgot to, crucially, put it in the pint glass. So that's another piece of advice - remember to make sure you put your question in the pint glass. It is also a good time to learn the inappropriate thing to ask.

3. Do your research. If you think going to any comedy night  will be a laugh, you may be wrong, because you might not like the styles of the comedians, or you just might not find them funny. Find at least one act on the bill who you like, otherwise it could be a really long night. Maybe even two, actually. 
4.  Do not feel any pressure to laugh. If everyone around you is laughing, it doesn't mean it's funny. A particularly GREAT night I had was spent on a boat with not only racist, homophobic, sexist, unfunny comedians, but an audience who thought they were hilarious. I couldn't leave, because of the whole boat situation, but I crossed my arms, looked disapproving, and did not laugh. Man, did I show them.

5. Don't punch that annoying person laughing three times as loud as everyone else like a braying donkey and explaining the jokes' punchline to their mate. Someone else will probably do it for you, and you don't really want to get involved in that social awkwardness.

6. It may seem obvious, but for God's sake, go to the loo before the show starts. There's no way of knowing how long you'll be in there. And drink half pints. Heard it from a friend.

SO there we have it: six steps to seeing comedy, and another 2-5 minutes of your life wasted.

Wednesday, September 17, 2014

The Trauma of Food Shopping

The innocent food shop can seem like the most normal thing you can do, and well, it is. But the truth is, it’s rife with opportunities to feel socially weird... in a completely non-social situation. I've already been over the potentially traumatic situation of what it's like to see someone you know in the supermarket here.

Entrance can sometimes be tricky, especially during daytime, because there’s a possibility of being accosted by a charity worker – no, I am not a charity hater, but I DO hate being forced into a Direct Debit 6-month commitment on the spot when I am trying to buy sausages. So it’s important to walk very quickly, suddenly receive a pretend phone call or simply pretend to be so engrossed in music that you are in a semi-trance.

Then, the vegetable aisle. What could be weird about a vegetable, you cry? Well, for starters, the competiveness of it all – one punnet of raspberries back, the speeded-up walking and grabbing, followed by a dirty look from a woman in Hunters and a gilet... Then, when you’re picking up loose fruit, how long is too long when squeezing an avocado, and how many can one pick up and put down without feeling like some weird vegetable squeezer? And if there is a way of picking up a cucumber without looking around furtively and feeling like you’re doing something wrong? No? Just me?

Don’t even get me started on trolley etiquette. Which seems to be non-existent, let’s face it. Yes, man, please do stand in front of the tiny fish display with your massive trolley for five minutes whilst a small queue of fellow shoppers too embarrassed to cough ‘excuse me’ forms. And of course, the little old ladies who leave theirs smack-bang in the middle of the aisle to get that pint of milk they forgot, but then they get talking to Doris from number 4 and everyone else trying to get past has to either do a complete U-turn or stand awkwardly, raising their eyebrows and shaking their heads faux good-naturedly until she comes back.

If it so happens I come across and make eye-contact with an attractive man, it doesn’t often go well. There are so many opportunities to knock objects off shelves, fall over trollies and generally be an idiot. And of course, the inevitable jumbo box of tampons and toilet roll in my basket. It’s just safer to pretend they don’t exist and try not to burp audibly.

Then, of course, the checkout. Sometimes I get weird/annoyed looks because I like to play Tetris with my purchases (it’s oddly satisfying) but that’s by the by. It does mean that it does look very obvious when I am trying to hide something embarrassing, or if I have odd combinations in my basket (once I bought only Marmite and toilet roll without thinking what it looked like. I definitely got a funny look from the cashier). Then when your turn finally comes around, they might not even want to say hi to you – totally crushing, by the way. It’s their JOB. Sometimes, they’ll ask you about your day, which is nice, but sometimes, it’s just an extended silence in which you have to look everywhere else but their eyes, especially during the inexplicably long time that the card machine takes to process when you have nothing to say.

So if you’re not convinced about the supermarket being a minefield for social awkwardness, you’re doing it wrong. 

Saturday, July 19, 2014

So I Went on a Date with Hundreds of Other Strangers

A few days ago, I went on adventure with my pal. She had a spare ticket to the Doing Something Big Brooklyn Bowl Date at the 02 Arena, and well, I had nothing better to do (it was in my diary for WEEKS. I love going to the zoo. And by zoo, I mean 300 single men and 300 single women in an enclosed space).

We got there pretty early – excepting the ten minutes circulating the 02 trying to find a way in. Anyway, we arrived, received a time for bowling (8.45) and a free beer ticket. There was an hour to kill. What the hell were we going to do with an hour? Oh yeah - people watch.

The bar area was predominantly female, with a smattering of men leaning nonchalantly (at least they’d like to be perceived that way, anyway) against the bar. It was kind of like walking into a school disco, because the men and women were so far not really interacting, and coupled with the empty dancefloor (it was half seven!), there was a slightly awkward vibe, at first. Also, the music choices were a little bizarre at first, coupled with the fact that it was far too loud.

It’s quite an odd environment in itself, throwing hundreds of members of the opposite sex together in the hope that something might stick. It takes quite a lot of courage to go up to someone else (or even a group) of the opposite sex and strike up a conversation, merely hoping that you won’t get shot down. This is where the bowling concept comes in (you know, because they’re called ‘Doing SOMETHING’). it's a good idea, though, because when people are left to their own devices, it generally takes a lot of alcohol to bind people together.

After a fashion, some brave souls started to interact. Every time we saw members of the opposite sex chatting, a photographer appeared, as if by magic, to document the evidence that it was WORKING. We saw some interesting people. My favourite was the guy walking around with his tie slung over his shoulder. I can only assume this peacocking was working in his favour, because he made his way around the room at an alarming rate. We pondered for a while going up to him and correcting his tie, but ultimately decided we wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

Finally, we got called up to bowl. The DJ had clearly been told to change the music, my pal observed, as what sounded like ‘Best of the 80s’ was switched in. It was a definite improvement. There were a lot more guys and girls chatting, possibly more at ease with a combination of alcohol and the prospect of activity. The camera guy was still omnipresent at the sight of guys and girls chatting.

There were three more girls and three more guys, all of whom seemed pleasant. It was a little awkward at first, standing in a huddle of people, having been immediately paired off by the enthusiastic-looking guy wearing a rosette. There was some chat, mostly fairly superficial. There was a little chemistry in the group, I think: I hope the couple sitting slightly behind everyone else went on a date, they seemed to be getting on really well! My friend’s ‘date’ was easy to chat to, and a high-fiver when anyone did well (why does that seem to be the universal congratulation in bowling?). She got slightly upset that he didn’t get her Big Lebowski White Russian reference (well, not that upset. She has a boyfriend). My ‘date’ was a nice-seeming guy, just a little ill-at-ease with the fact that he was about ten years older than the rest of the group, and spent two of his goes at the bar (in which I got a strike, somehow). We didn’t really chat that much about anything except bowling, but that was fine. I was bowling.

A choice quote from the game was "you've left me with a really hard one!" I can only hope he was talking about the singular pin in the corner of the alley.

We ended up winning, and I was supposed to stay on til 11pm to take part in the final, but we were in Greenwich, and we had to get back to North London, so declined. I think my friend’s date wanted to stay on to play with my date. We left shortly after we’d returned our shoes for a burger from Byron, which I managed to wolf down in record time (still double the amount of time my pal demolished hers). So all in all, not a bad evening. If I’d have come expecting to meet a guy, however, it might have been different - I was mainly there for the S&Gs.

Not that I tried that hard anyway, I suppose. Not like Tie Guy.

Monday, July 14, 2014

Social Minefields at the Gym

I have recently started going to the gym again. I’d forgotten how many minefields there are there are for somewhere that’s supposed to be a temple of calm. There are so many ways in which you can make a total arse out of yourself, or want to disappear into a sweaty puddle (in the steam room, of course).

For instance, when going for a swim, what is the correct etiquette? Are you supposed to say ‘hello’ if another person goes into the pool? Or nod? Or even make eye contact? What is the acceptable limit of times you can look at said person to attempt some sort of greeting (It’s 3. After that, it gets a little embarrassing)? And don’t even get me started on the Jacuzzi (or hot tub, just to cover all bases). Are you supposed to wait to go in there if there’s another person in there or do they secretly want your company so they don’t have to spend the time staring aimlessly around the walls? I spent a good fifteen minutes attempting to look ‘natural’ and trying not to stare into the security camera when I was in there the other day, but that could just be me.

I’ve always found the sauna a little awkward, because, well, you’re basically sitting in a very enclosed, hot room in your underwear with several strangers. With complete visibility. And then there’s the inevitable conversation that you have because, well, it’s the polite thing to do. Sometimes it’s great, and your fellow sauna buddy could be really nice and interesting. But sometimes, God, it’s torture. Boring, tedious torture. And exiting the room is a concept just out of reach because you’re engaged in a conversation that won’t seem to end. Still, if it gets really bad, feigning heat exhaustion is always an option. The steam room is in a way, worse. Yes, good for hiding body from pervy old men, bad for recognising pervy old men and accidentally starting yet another weird conversation about their life story. Again.

The gym itself is an endless pit of staring. Some men stare at you as if you are some kind of anomaly (Newsflash: it is very normal for women to go to the gym). I’ll admit to be a starer too: mainly at self-important body-builders flexing seven different muscles and trying out different shades of ‘Blue Steel’ in the mirror (whilst I try not to giggle). If you’ve ever used a small gym, there’s also the tricky business of getting to the front of the queue for the sole treadmill whilst trying to appear nonchalant and not like you are about to pounce as soon as the current user hits the stop button.

I can only wait for more uncomfortable encounters.

Friday, July 4, 2014

Why I don't write about music any more and why I think it's ok tolisten to Justin bieber

I became disenchanted with writing about music some time ago. Whilst I liked listening to music, I had lost interest in analysing on paper why or why not I liked it. But recently I have also become disenchanted by music itself. Not because it's worse than it used to be - this isn't going to be a snobby indie rant on how nicki manaj is the worst thing since the holocaust. There is a lot of music around that I don't like but there's a lot of music I do. 

When I was about 14-17, I thought I had the best music taste in the world, I think the strokes had just come out and I was just majorly getting into 'indie' as a genre so of course I believed my taste to be superior to everyone else's and used to descend into long monologues about why everything else was shit.

Now, I have a wide and varied taste in music (I'm not going to say eclectic, I'm not a wanker) and I'm not ashamed about any of it. I like what I like. If I want to listen to miley Cyrus' 'party in the USA', I will. It's a great pop song, for a start. 

What begins to bother me is when people, upon learning that I am partial to a couple of 'The Biebz's' songs, adopt a superior look and shake their heads at me. 'he's not music,' they say with authority. Well, he is, because he sings and there is a melody. No, he is not the best pop artist in the world. But I enjoy him so what of it? Why waste your time being disparaging of it instead of just listening to whatever shit you like? Well done, you can feel superior. 

It doesn't mean I have a shit taste in music. It just means it's different to someone else's. QUELLE HORREUR. I like cool, critically acclaimed bands too, but I refuse to be ashamed or even pretend to listen 'ironically'.

I was reading a group on Facebook a few years ago for u local pub and I've always remembered the following post, because it was such an absurd leap in logic:

"I asked the DJ to play [insert generic indie rock band] and [insert even more generic indie rock band] and he said I had good taste in music, so he must be alright." 

For one thing, that person must be a TERRIBLE judge of character. And another thing, how is asking for a couple of tracks a fair way to judge someone's taste in music? Some would say, he was probably just making conversation. But if you ask me, it's an irresponsible way of defining someone's taste, really.

For me, having good taste in music, objectively, is not liking a few of the same bands that someone else happens to like (after all, they are usually the judge of such things, inevitably). Having good taste in music is being open to new music and accepting that there are things that you don't like. Perhaps even a bit of genre-spanning. It's probably not a coincidence that a lot of bands appear in the lists of many people with 'good taste' because they probably are very talented musicians with great songs, but that doesn't mean that those people should be ashamed of liking a good old pop song every once in a while, even for fear of their sneery mates ripping them for it. Like what you like, in the end, it's only you who gets genuine enjoyment of what comes out of your earphones or in your bedroom.

The moral of the story is: get off your high horse. It's much more fun on the ground, not being ashamed, or superior.

Sunday, June 29, 2014

My Four Worst Dates, to Date

Top 10 worst dates 

Yeah everyone's dating, and writing blogs about it, and having tumblrs for their funny tinder responses (incidentally, I have one here). But this is a lifestyle blog (or a blog about people mostly, I suppose), and this is definitely about people. 

So I thought is stick my two pennorth in anyway. Here are my top 4 worst dates. More to come soon, I'm sure.

1. I knew it wasn't going to go THAT well when I didn't fancy him the moment I saw him. His pictures were a little different to his profile. Which is a little deceptive, but so far so average - these things can be fun even if you're not attracted to your date. Unfortunately, it wasn't.

He paused every five minutes or so to thoroughly blow his nose on a really ratty tissue, which is off putting from anyone. I think I might have even caught him inspecting the contents on a couple of occasions.

That wasn't the worst thing, though. He was just really, really dull. He spent about ten minutes (the longest ten minutes of my life) listing the chocolates that his work out out for the staff. Yes, it was as riveting as it sounds. He also spent much longer than it is needed explaining his cineworld unlimited card to me ("you go four, five times and you get your money back. Even six or seven and it's even better". I GET IT, IT'S UNLIMITED! 

I decided to be honest after I got home - I texted him shortly afterwards and said that I didn't want anything romantic, but it would be nice to be friends. You would appreciate the honesty, wouldn't you? He sent me a barrage of abusive texts explaining how hard done he is by women and why I was a bad person.

Yeah, didn't see him again.

2. The date wrong-footed me straight away. We went to the bar, he asked what I wanted and then said 'shall I get the first round, or...?' Not that I'm being anti-feminist, but... wet lettuce much? And if you're going to make it clear that you're buying in rounds, one of us has to buy the first one.

We had some ok chats, but I could tell from the off that we weren't on the same wavelength. He kept making too many references to, er, self-pleasuring, oddly. He even started talking about keigel exercises at one point. Which sounds well, actually kind of funny, NOW, but it was just, really, really awkward. 

At 9, I asked him if he wanted another drink (it wasn't my 'turn' but he'd been nursing an empty glass for the last 10 minutes so I thought he might be a bit short of money. His response, 'let's just leave it'.  An odd thing to say anyway. At 9 o'clock? Really? Actually, it turns out he wanted to go home and cook some vegetables. Yeah, I know. And we did leave it, if you're interested.

3. Don't get me wrong, I had a nice time. But that's not quite enough, is it? I didn't really fancy him and we didn't have anything in common, and most importantly, he didn't make me laugh. So at some point during the evening I had a brief conversation with another guy, in which I expressed my thoughts about how the evening was going and assumed I'd never see him again. But this guy, who I later found out was alone in the pub, came over to antagonise my date, and continued to do so until my date left. I don't know with whom I was more irritated - the other guy for being a dick, or my date, for not being man enough to tell the other guy to bugger off.

4.  I had completely forgotten about this one, until I started going through my texts and found it. I'm still not sure why we met up, since we were a complete mismatch from the start - just over text, he really hated it when I tried to gently take the piss out of him, but somehow there was a double standard for him, so we had a fair few set-tos. He was also a wannabe steroid-taker, who on answering my favourite question, 'what is your favourite sandwich?, said that he didn't keep bread in the house. WHAT KIND OF AN ANSWER IS THAT?! 

We met up for breakfast (who goes on a breakfast date?), which was the most unmemorable date that I had been on thus far. I can't even remember what we talked about (oh, except for his lengthy explanation about the many tattoos of other people's faces on his legs). After we departed (not missing a rather sweaty hug), I made a jokey comment about him not being as cocky in person (which would have at least been more interesting and attractive), which escalated into us never speaking ever again. Well, I do like a good argument.

Sunday, April 27, 2014

On so-called quirkiness

Ok, so this is in kind of a similar vein to my last blog. It's ranting about a subsection of people who annoy me. Wait, that's what most of my blogs are like.

This one is about 'quirky' people. 

This need to be a bit different is getting a little insufferable. I blame all of the propaganda in the 90s and early 2000s, encouraging people, especially girls, to be different. YOU'RE UNIQUE! YOU'RE SPECIAL! YOU'RE DIFFERENT! (Yeah, just like everyone else). 

I get it. It's great to be different. If you like classical music and none of your friends do, great. If you are a heavy metal fan amongst a sea of teeny-boppers, also great. And the thing is, it's a little hypocritical, because I like to be a bit different too.

I can't help that at the moment, though, there's this great sense of people being different for the sake of it. Some people do it because they seem to think it's cool, and some people do it because it makes people think they are having more fun, or it's just another 'random' story to tell their mates. Being quirky doesn't actually make you interesting. And being 'normal' is not a character flaw.

Do you ACTUALLY think that ironic Brownies t-shirt or My Little Pony bubble watch looks cool, or is it just another ironic accessory to make people look at you? Are they literally only cool because they're old and unexpected? 

Are you really enjoying hanging off the bars in the tube carriage like a monkey (Actually that looks quite fun but you get my point)? 

Everyone likes what they like! There is a strange fascination with being 'weird', like it's something to be celebrated over just you know, being a human being. 

Obviously it's a sweeping generalisation, and I'm not pretending to know the inner workings of a 'quirky's mind, but I can't help but feel a lot of this stuff is just to impress, and is just being different for the sake of being different. 

It's very easy to be able to change your sub culture. One day you're a goth, one day you're a hipster (not that you would call yourself that). Not that there's anything wrong with that. It's a free country. But it's this idea that you're better than someone because you dress in a certain way. 

Prime example: chav hating. Ok, there is a small portion of people who wear tracksuits on a night out and enjoy chequered caps (that I read Burberry no longer make for this reason) who are terrible people, but it doesn't actually mean that being associated with that makes you a terrible person. I'm sure middle-class 'poshos' wouldn't particularly like to be discriminated against for similar reasons, just because they're carrying mulberry handbags and drinking Pinot Grigio.

Having said that, I was taken the piss out of for being reasonably well-spoken ('WHY YA TALKIN' IN A POSH VOICE?') by a delightful girl at school. I'm not even posh!

Anyway. The point is, whereas ten years ago, people were made to feel shit because they were different, and now people seem to be made to feel shit because they haven't got some kind of 'hook', or thing that sets them apart. They're just you know, living their lives, and shouldn't 'have to play up to someone else's idea of whether they're deemed interesting in someone else's eyes'*. 

*That one is from my friend Alex). 

It's just insufferable. Going back to my last blog, it's the 'IM A GEEK!!!!11!!1!1 thing all over again. Just because youi watch Doctor Who or the Big Bang Theory, it doesn't make you a 'geek'. It is a point very well made by Stu Heritage here. Again, the need to set yourself apart from other people by inventing quirks for yourself. 

I anticipate this may piss off a few people because it seems like I'm making sweeping generalisations. Not everyone who appears to be quirky is affecting interesting personality traits. I know for a fact that some people are plain weird. Some of my family and friends are testament to that (LOVE you guys). Just you know, don't feel like you have to be weird for the sake of it.

Wednesday, March 26, 2014

Facebook vs MySpace

Facebook vs MySpace 

I was thinking about MySpace today (I was reading an article entitled 'Top 8 most annoying people on Facebook' and thought 'what a wasted opportunity, shame it wasn't about MySpace'). 

Anyway, I do miss it: I don't know if I miss being that excited about social networking, or because I was only allowed on the computer at home for 2 hours a night. But it was an experience, right? So I decided to compare the merits of MySpace with Facebook, because, well, listicles seem to get the most views and I am lazy.

1. Friends
MySpace had the whole top 8. You could get to your friends easily, and you could rank your friends (though obviously 'You're all the same position to me bbz!'). Facebook, sure, you can make lists of your favourite friends, but there is no ranking. Which to be quite honest, is better. Remember the tears of 'I was bumped off her top 8 for Bullet for my Valentine!' or because you didn't have a black and white picture like the rest of them. 
Facebook: 1

2. Profile
Facebook: blue and white. It's simple, it doesn't have any crappy music or green-on-white text and everyone's is the same. But on the other hand, let's express our creativity, man! It was way easier to quickly identify common interests and a great place to accidentally stumble upon a good song. 
MySpace: 1

3. Pictures 
The good thing about MySpace is that it was instantly gratifying because your teen friends sat in their houses like you waiting for their friends to upload pictures so you could comment on them (and get one back - PC4PC!) in their various states of ridiculous amounts of make up. And it wasn't called a selfie, it was called a MYSPACE PICTURE! But you didn't really tend to see much of what they were doing - just... pictures of them. Whilst Facebook has 'selfies' against it, and there's very much an air of 'LOOK AT HOW MUCH FUN IM HAVING!!!111!!' (or pictures of food), it feels a little more 'real' than MySpace - ie. not every single photo is photoshopped to shit.

Facebook: 1

4. Life updates
MySpace had bulletins, Facebook has statuses. Or is it stati? Anyway. Bulletins were used to play weird games with your friends or to complete self-indulgent quizzes, the answer of which even the completer of the quiz probably didn't even care about. Facebook statuses are used to rant about that guy in Tesco or to let us know when your baby's first shit was, so I don't really think there's a winner. Still, no-one cares about your life. 


5. Functionality
Facebook has always been much more of a functional site, having originated from a university. MySpace, on the other hand, always felt like more of a game. It was ok to befriend a fellow studded belt-wearer, because it was more you know, style over substance. Who can get the most comments or compose the best burn about, shudder, Bebo? But Facebook is for people you know. Not necessarily people you like, but people you know. Which is handy if the only weirdos you like talking to are your friends. So, I suppose it depends how old you are. 


So, to sum up, Facebook wins, probably because I remember it better, and also, on Facebook, there aren't as many people called xX-goth_girl-Xx.

Monday, March 24, 2014

On Superiority

am not sure why I feel so strongly about this. I seem to be irritated by a lot of things that people do and say. It's something I think I inherited from my father, which is both good and bad - on one hand, I like that I am so bothered when people misuse an apostrophe, and that I get angry when people say ‘PIN number). On the other hand, is life just too short? I actually feel superior to people who use 'lol' as punctuation. But I'm not better than them. It's a big thing these days, though - everyone seems to be in a big competition to be 'better'.

But this new 'superiority' is somehow worse. It's like everyone wants to make themselves seem the worst off. It's like a really drawn out, hipster version of 'The Four Yorkshireman' sketch. 

They are simultaneously proud and self-deprecating about how uncool or old they are. 

All I seem to see at the moment is 'I'm such a geek/nerd/ [for liking Mariokart on the Wii/has seen Back to the Future]!' or 'Is the CD skipping or it supposed to be like that? I'm SO OLD' [when listening to a remix by Justice]. But they rejoice in this, whilst making the younger/less informed feel inferior somehow. It’s just a really crap, unoriginal way of being mock self-deprecating.
Another form of this comes down to individual taste. The ‘cultured people’ who think that their film or music taste is better than others’ just because they watch films with subtitles or subscribe to artrocker that their opinion matters more. No, Justin Bieber does not write his own songs and he is not to everyone’s taste but I reserve the right to like his music and not be scorned by an eighteen-year old music crusader. I actually saw on someone’s Twitter bio ‘I’m a food snob, I hate chains’. Get that organic carrot out of your arse – chains aren’t the problem – yes, some of them are genuinely bad, but we make judgement on the chain’s individual merits, just like with independent restaurants.
I’m not claiming to be exempt from this. I’m as bad as anyone. But I wish, sometimes, that there wasn’t this endless need to be the best/worst person in the room. Just be a person in the room. Which is fine.

Monday, April 22, 2013

How to Get Rid of a Creep

Originally posted on www.beatreview.com.

As a certain frog once said, it ain’t easy being green. Well, I don’t know anything about that, but sometimes, it ain’t easy being attractive to weirdos. I’ve got that unapproachable face which means most normal men steer clear of (too much of a challenge). Hence the weirdos. But they’re not fussy. They have no type.
I saw a tweet from a certain Cerys Kenneally when she was trying to get rid of a creep who kept popping up on Facebook – ‘Hey darlin’. Which in turn, inspired me to write a guide of how to get rid of total creeps. On facebook, in bars, in the supermarket. Anywhere. I mean, does it have to be so obvious? Why can’t people just come up to you and start a conversation, make you laugh, instead of ‘Alright darling, you’ve got a cracking pair.’ What kind of man thinks a girl would hear that and think ‘He sounds like a great guy, I must snog his face off/suck his toes/etc?’
(I once got ‘hit on’ in a Halloween shop. He said, “So do you uh, have like, MySpace?” [it was 2008 and he was an American hipster]. I said, “yeah.” “What’s your username?” “Erm, I can’t remember.” [Lesson 1: Don’t reveal any point of contact] “Do you have a like, uh, boyfriend?” “No. Erm, I mean, yes.” [Lesson 2: Stick to your story]. The rest of the purchase was completed in uncomfortable silence. I had a lot to learn about shunning men)
Most of these are man-specific, not because I think all men are creepy weirdos. I know you’re better than that, unspecified male reader. I’m drawing from personal experiences. And my friends’ experiences. And films.*
*Not all of these are proven to work in real life
PROBLEM: There’s that one guy who will start up a conversation EVERY time you go online on facebook, which almost certainly means he never shuts your window and sits there waiting for you to come online. You are polite but attempt to convey that you are not his ‘darling’, ‘hun’ or ‘babe’.
SOLUTION: Put him in his own ‘friend’ group (or with the other weirdos). Never go online to that group. Some may say it’s harsh, but it’s less embarrassing for everyone.
PROBLEM: You’re at a club, or a pub, or whatever, waiting for the bar, your mate…You don’t have any mate armour. You are approached by an over-enthusiastic Labrador, I mean teenage boy, and they’re not really taking your hint that you just aren’t interested.
SOLUTION:. Keep looking over their shoulder, and finally, wave and walk past them like you saw somebody you know. Just keep on walking. Don’t look back. It works best in a crowded bar (this one’s courtesy of my mate Sid).
PROBLEM. You’re trying to speak to your mates or have a fag or work out when you’re least likely to get merked for asking the DJ to play Skrillex. You’re approached by a ‘lad’, or a pack of them (what’s the collective noun for a group of ‘lads’? Answers on the back of a postcard). You can’t be arsed to listen to their ‘shanter’ (shit banter) and even worse, them actually talking about how great their ‘banter’ is.
SOLUTION: Pretend to be from another country and that you can’t understand them. If you know other languages, bonus. If you know weird languages, double bonus. Talk in a strong accent and shrug a lot. They might find it interesting for a couple of minutes, but soon they’ll get bored and find another unwitting girl to hassle.
PROBLEM: You were having a conversation with an ok-looking bloke. It was going really well, until you started to get a bit bored because he’s been talking about something you have no interest in for twenty minutes.
SOLUTION: Geek out even further than he’s done already. Get really specific. Jump on any chance you can to interrupt and spiel about your specialist subject in painstaking detail. He will either be confused or pissed off you interrupted him with your shit story. Either way, you win.
PROBLEM: A guy comes up to you and starts asking you inane questions.
SOLUTION: (My friend Alex does this, because she’s really good at debating. If you’re not, avoid). Question him on important topical issues. Ask them what they think and WHY. Tell them they’re wrong. Tell them again. They’ll eventually decide it’s not worth it and retreat.
Here are some quick solutions that can be used in most situations:
Have a hot male friend you can wheel out to pretend to be your boyfriend, or just generally look hot and intimidating to other men.
Call them the wrong name all night. Even, nay, ESPECIALLY if they correct you.
Pretend you’ve lost something and start looking at the floor. If this backfires and they try to help you, say you’re looking for something that’d make them socially uncomfortable, like pile cream or tampons.
If all else fails, hide. If you hide for long enough, they will probably go away.
It can happen anywhere. In the library, on a train, at church. Probably.

Monday, April 15, 2013

The Potential Social Minefields of Visiting your Hometown

I’m going to visit my hometown soon. It’s great to see my family and friends, all in one handy place, as that’s the only time I come home really, for a reunion or celebration of some kind. It’s a handy meeting place. What I’ve found, as time goes on, is that the bits in between lovely home-cooked meals and casual drinks are potential minefields.

If you come from somewhere like Manchester or London, it’s probably a lot more difficult to encounter these problems, unless you’re Pete Doherty. And even then, I mean, they would be the least of his problems. But I come from lovely rural Shropshire. Where the towns are small and the locals are referred to as ‘monners’, often speak a bit like farmers and spend their leisure time outside the local chicken shop opposite the local Wetherspoons, because their fake ID didn’t work on the bouncers. If I were to go into Wetherspoons, I would encounter at least five people I know, whatever time of day.

On a Saturday night, say, this would be multiplied by several times. Christmas Eve is the height of its social calendar; with sexy Santas from five years below me in school (I thought they were 11! They’re not allowed to be here) and ten-person deep queues at said Wetherspoons. It’s inevitable that I bump into old friends, nay, acquaintances, from school or ‘people I met in town’. This usually ensues in five minutes of uncomfortable chat over the not-too-distant rumble of hundreds of people getting ‘para’ as it’s commonly known there. We don’t really have anything in common in school so the chat is quickly brought to an end. ‘Right, I’d better get back to my mates. You going to [local nightclub]? Cool. We’ll have a big catch up there, yeah?’

I avoid them like the plague for the rest of the night.

Another excruciating moment is seeing people I haven’t interacted with since 2004, when I left secondary school. There’s the eye-contact and then the hastily looking away. SO WHY THE FUCK DID YOU ADD ME ON FACEBOOK AND SOMETIMES LIKE MY STATUS? Total mixed signals from that tosser who used to throw paper aeroplanes at unwitting girls in biology.

Even worse is the supermarket. I’m going around the supermarket to ‘supervise’ what brand of gin my mother will buy and I bump into someone I recognise but can’t remember quite how I know. We have to do the whole, ‘GREAT TO SEE YOU! How are things?’ thing whilst going through our mental rolodexes and coming up with shit all idea as to how we know this person. We have to go through the facade of being interested in what the other person is up to and finally, one of us makes a feeble excuse about defrosting chicken and we go our separate ways. Five minutes later, in the cheese aisle, shock horror, it’s whats-is-name again. Luckily at this point, we can get away with a ‘fancy seeing you here again’ nod, and be on our way. It happens again a third time. SHIT. I have to pretend to be engrossed in the different brands of Roquefort and wait for a safe amount of time and wait til they’ve passed. If, God forbid, it happens a fourth time, for Christ’s sake, cut your losses and run to the checkout. It’s just not worth it.

Finally, seeing people around in non-specific places. At the bus stop (I PRAY we’re not getting the same bus). I can hold a conversation for a couple of minutes whilst we wait for the bus, but if we both get on the same one, what the hell is the correct etiquette? Are you supposed to sit next to them and have yet another uncomfortable exchange, or appear a little rude and sit at least six seats away from them, and both secretly breathe a sigh of relief? And what about a perfectly nice conversation you have with someone that you actually quite like, but you say goodbye to them and then end up walking the same way? One minute, you were laughing and joking like the old days, but after you say goodbye, it’s suddenly completely different. God, all that easy chat has been replaced with the memory of the strained attempts at normality.

When I go back to unfriendly, anonymous London, I’m often grateful for the fact that I don’t know anyone in nightclubs, supermarkets and that there are more than five buses a day and several different routes for getting home. Because if you want to avoid anyone, it’s way easier.

Technology Junkie

Originally posted on Beatreview.com.


Do you ever wish you could be like those idiots on films who just throw their phone into the sea? I do. Then I’ll come out in a cold sweat and hold my phone close for the next few minutes, just to make sure it doesn’t drown.

I am dependent on technology. Not only that, there perpetual stream of information that I am fed. The massive increase in people owning smartphones, iPads and laptops means that if you’re not careful, you can pretty much never switch off. If you’re not getting information, you’re probably thinking about it. Here’s a walk-through of my typical day:

Alarm on phone goes off. I don’t have an alarm clock or digital watch so if my phone breaks I’m pretty much screwed. I check my emails. There are about 6 from discount deal websites every day. I don’t unsubscribe just in case something interesting comes up. Even if it did, I’d probably never buy the deal. There are currently 105 unread emails in my inbox which are of no importance which I can’t be bothered to delete.

I get on the tube, with earphones firmly jammed in my ear. God forbid I have to hear people or anything. If I’ve forgotten to get a paper, I’ll probably text a few people or check Twitter  feeds or read some emails. Anything to avoid looking at anyone else.

I get to work. I’ll scroll through hundreds of tweets and a load of news links on Twitter/Facebook and see if there’s anything interesting I can talk about on the work Twitter. I’ll get pissed off with the Times paywall because I can’t see how much of a tool Giles Coren is being, forgetting that people used to actually buy newspapers if they wanted to read a story.

I’ll arrange to meet a mate and probably have a conversation with them over BBM or text or whatsapp or email or carrier pigeon debating the finer points of which one has the best happy hour. If I’ve not been there before, I’ll navigate my way there with my phone, even if it’s just round the corner. I might write a pithy tweet about where I am, or if something funny’s just happened. Or if  I’ve just seen a celebrity, because yes, it might make a funnier anecdote in more than 140 characters if I actually tell the story to a colleague or friend a few days later, but I want the world to know NOW because I can’t wait that long.

I might get a bit tipsy and text a few people, probably something I might not text when I’m sober, and possibly something embarrassing, but that’s ok, because the excuse ‘drunk texting’ is pretty much like a sicknote excusing you from games because you’ve got ‘women’s troubles.’ No questions asked.

I’ll go home, and watch something I’m not really watching on my laptop because apparently I can’t go to sleep without filling my mind with more stuff (probably something mindless that will not really enrich my mind or life at all, but it filled the silence whilst I was eating that kebab [which I probably Instagrammed]). I’ll check Facebook one last time (because all the important stuff happens at 2 in the morning) and set my alarm. Then I’ll put my head on the pillow and think about the next piece of new technology, that will probably download emails into my dreams and everything that I am subscribed to will finally be able to haunt me as I sleep.

Monday, April 8, 2013


Originally posted on BeatReview.

In my 24 years I have had little experience of babies until recently (my cousin had a baby last year and I’ve seen him a record number of times since he’s been born). Most of the interaction with family babies happened when I was too young to remember, or care, about small squidgy things that wailed and shat (that was it as far as I could discern. Of course, I didn’t consciously form the word ‘shat’. It was ‘poo’ then. Tee hee).

It’s a weird thing, other people’s babies. What I have managed to discern is that something weird must have happened to me in the last year because I quite like them now. The only logical conclusion is that I’m growing up. Not enough to want one of my own yet – I haven’t quite reached that level of maturity. But other people’s are ok, for a while. There are all sorts of rules, though, aren’t there?

You have to coo a certain amount to gain the trust of the parents (and because it’s like a freaking LAW that you must coo over someone else’s baby. However much it looks like a screwed-up prawn (except yours. Yours is beautiful). Then you have to exercise ALL restraint from saying ‘Can I have a go?’ before said parent is ready to relinquish said baby. They have to offer, unless you know them really well. Even then it’s a struggle sometimes. Then there’s the queue you have to join. Family events are a nightmare. There’s at least twenty people who got there before you and they’ve put the legwork in – asking about the birth, and whether little Petunia has the latest Baby Gap babygro in pink or yellow (‘you got the matching bib too? She soo pulls it off’).

So the moment finally comes and you have the baby. But there are so many dilemmas. Are you allowed to stand up? Is it acceptable to ask if you’re allowed to stand up at twenty four? Should you sit down just in case you drop it? Are you supporting its head enough? HOW THE FUCK DO YOU HOLD THIS THING?!

Then you’re holding this small, red, living human and it’s great. You’ve got the hang of holding it and you even managed to subside its wails. But it could do a multitude of things. And these are things that will guarantee baby going back to doting mummy or daddy. 1) It might start crying (even when you, feeling foolish, jiggle it around and sling it over your shoulder). 2) It might be sick on me. CHRIST It’s a bit of spit with some extra bits but it’s still sick GET IT OFF ME NOW. 3) It starts wriggling. Ok, I get it, you hate me already. Go back to someone better. I’m going to sulk in the corner. 4) Or worse, a pungent smell fills your nostrils and the nappy swells. That’s a definite red card.

But there’s nothing quite like holding a baby. Some weird hormone in us just makes us talk in weird voices, smell their heads and want to squeeze them.

That’s until the next person decides you’ve finishes your turn and hovers round you like a bad smell with their arms outstretched.


Monday, January 7, 2013

We don't ALL have to be funny, ALL of the time

Why does everything have to be 'funny' these days? The thing is, I know I'm a victim of this. It's not enough to watch, read or think of something that's clever, or interesting, or something else. It's easy to watch something funny. But why does everyone want to be funny?

There are lots of people who are funny. There are tons of writers - Stephen Merchant, Tina Fey, Jenny Colgan, My cousin Daisy Buchanan, and other people who aren't writers but are just funny, like my weird but astute sister who picks up on the minutiae of people, amongst others. But they're funny, objectively. I can be funny. I'm a bit funny. Not all of the time, but I can recognise when I'm not (usually through my toughest critic, my cruel-but-fair aforementioned sister). But I appreciate funny. 

I understand that there are different types of funny, and levels. But I guess that there is kind of a canon of what is clever funny, and silly funny, and obviously funny. But I guess anything could be funny to someone. Being funny on purpose is a completely different kettle of fish. I blame Caitlin Moran. She's funny. I have her book. It's funny. She's funny on Twitter (the volume of her tweets is too much, but hey, she's a writer. She's got a lot of deadlines to avoid). But she's got a very imitable style (the exclamations. The ALL CAPS BECAUSE IT'S FUNNIER IN CAPS. The quirkiness). But it's not that imitable, because you can't copy funny word for word, can you? It just ends up being a half-arsed homage to someone else, which isn't quite enough. It's got all the components of something funny... except that it's er... not that funny.

Another tricky one to get right is observational humour. Just because you notice something that happens, it doesn't actually mean it's funny. Like those 'inspirational' quotes on Facebook. 'Men are like [inanimate object] because [derogatory comment about men]'. Or 'The awkward moment when [something most likely not awkward happens. Do you know what awkward is? I think it's lost all meaning]. Or going for the standup approach, 'Have you ever noticed [something that happens, phrased in a politely amusing way]? And don't even get me started on Miranda (yes, she has her place, and she's nice, and gentle, but I still want to give her a very hard stare when she falls off a chair on purpose). 

It's not that I want to be mean for the sake of it - people shouldn't hide their light under a bushel - but my point is, we all have different talents. Everyone doesn't have to be funny, all the time. Sometimes, it's nice to be interesting, or... anything. And why are we all (and I include myself in this) still hate-watching comedies that we hate, just so we can be mean about them on Twitter and get a cheap laugh? 

Thursday, October 25, 2012

What People Really Mean

People are horrible. They rarely say what they mean and everything they say is a thinly veiled insult.

Well, not everyone and not all the time, but sometimes, you just KNOW other people are not being entirely honest. Like, they can't help it. It's a very English thing to do - you couldn't possibly say what you really mean. It would disrupt the entire stiff upper lip thing that's going on.

What people really mean when they say:

"You're glowing." 
"You look like a lobster." 

"Honestly I don't mind." 
"I do a bit. But I've said I'll do it now so I can't really back out." 

"You look fine." 
"That outfit's not really that great but I want to go out and get pissed." 

"I'm sorry." 
"I'm only apologising so you'll apologise too." 

"Are you sure?" 
"This is a completely meaningless statement."

"It was great to see you." 
"I can't remember if I've met you before. This is suitably non-committal." 

"Come if you want to." 
"I don't want you to come but I'm too passive aggressive to say that." 

"You look interesting/different." 
"What the hell have you done to yourself?!" 

"I was too busy." 
"I forgot but want to sound important and have an excuse so I don't sound flaky." 

"Sorry, but..." 
"I'm not sorry at all. I want to say something insulting." (the same goes f0r: 'I'm not being funny, but...' and 'no offence, but...') 

"Would you like to [insert shit task that no-one would ever LIKE to do]?" 
"You haven't really got a choice. I'm TELLING you." 

"I'm too tired." 
"I can't be arsed." 

"Am I the only person who thinks that..." 
"I'm definitely not but want to seem original. And I want to be a stand-up comic so I'm working on observational humour. HAHAHAHAHA." 

"I don't really use Facebook." 
"I don't want you to add me, you creep/pervert." 

"As I said before..." 
"As you've clearly ignored what I said before I'll say it again..."

And finally, a classic:

"You look well."
"You've put on weight." 


Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...