Saturday, 31 December 2011
Trott nytt ar
I can't think of a better place to be on NYE. Tucked up in bed with an Allers at 10pm. See you in the new year because at midnight I will be asleep.
Saturday, 24 December 2011
Miss B
I have a bit of an issue with marriage, I guess. I feel upset and angry when I think about where it came from and how women are treated and thought of, traditionally, in terms of weddings. Handed over from one man to another. But it's not just that, it's the modern traditions as well: white dresses, flowers, chair covers, the groom doing a speech but not the bride, not arriving together, spending twenty grand on the damn thing and the fact that men are still expected to spend thousands on a diamond but not vice versa.
Which is why our wedding had no resemblance to anything traditional whatsoever. We drove to the venue in our own car, no bridesmaids (I don't need accessories, than you very much), no flowers, no white dress, nothing fucking borrowed and nothing blue, no diamonds, no speeches and no music. And absolutely no hen night! Thank goodness. Why? Because we are two adults who want to be together forever. Nothing more. We are not a prince and a princess from a fairytale, hence why I didn't dress up as one, nor did I act like one.
It is beyond me how a grown up woman, an independent woman, choose to dress in white, be given away by her dad and sit back IN SILENCE as her DAD, HUSBAND and his MALE FRIEND talk and laugh about you. Speak up, woman! Don't sit there in silence. Break tradition. Argh, it makes me angry.
Originally, I wanted no one at my wedding. Just us two and whoever does the marrying. But witnesses are required so we invited three people. That was it and that was enough. Afterwards we had cupcakes and bubbly drinks and then, guess what, we fell asleep in front of the telly with our cups of tea. And I wouldn't have wanted it any other way.
The name is another thing that bothers me. I did consider for a little while to change my name. Well, to add his to my own. Two surnames. But for a number of reasons I decided against it. 1. The bureaucrats of Sweden only allow one surname. 2. Some people (not my friends, they know me better) started calling me Mrs T before we even got married (Mr T wasn't as good at keeping quiet as I was) and it pissed me off so much that people assumed that I would just give up my name and take a man's name. My name is mine, it's my identity, my history, my nationality, why would I give that away?
Finally, the rings. Bill didn't really want a ring. Fine by me, I'm not going to go all traditional over rings all of a sudden. I knew I wanted one, but I wanted the simplest, plainest thing available and absolutely no enagement rings (if I want an expensive diamond ring, I can buy one myself, thanks). Then my mum remembered that she had my grandparents' wedding bands sitting in a drawer at home, so we had them resized and they're just perfect. Simple, plain, vintage (1948) and look much better on our fingers than in a dusty box.
So all in all it turned out to be just perfect. Perfect for us. And that's all that matters, just wish more people had the guts to do it their own way, and not stick to stupid traditions.
Which is why our wedding had no resemblance to anything traditional whatsoever. We drove to the venue in our own car, no bridesmaids (I don't need accessories, than you very much), no flowers, no white dress, nothing fucking borrowed and nothing blue, no diamonds, no speeches and no music. And absolutely no hen night! Thank goodness. Why? Because we are two adults who want to be together forever. Nothing more. We are not a prince and a princess from a fairytale, hence why I didn't dress up as one, nor did I act like one.
It is beyond me how a grown up woman, an independent woman, choose to dress in white, be given away by her dad and sit back IN SILENCE as her DAD, HUSBAND and his MALE FRIEND talk and laugh about you. Speak up, woman! Don't sit there in silence. Break tradition. Argh, it makes me angry.
Originally, I wanted no one at my wedding. Just us two and whoever does the marrying. But witnesses are required so we invited three people. That was it and that was enough. Afterwards we had cupcakes and bubbly drinks and then, guess what, we fell asleep in front of the telly with our cups of tea. And I wouldn't have wanted it any other way.
The name is another thing that bothers me. I did consider for a little while to change my name. Well, to add his to my own. Two surnames. But for a number of reasons I decided against it. 1. The bureaucrats of Sweden only allow one surname. 2. Some people (not my friends, they know me better) started calling me Mrs T before we even got married (Mr T wasn't as good at keeping quiet as I was) and it pissed me off so much that people assumed that I would just give up my name and take a man's name. My name is mine, it's my identity, my history, my nationality, why would I give that away?
Finally, the rings. Bill didn't really want a ring. Fine by me, I'm not going to go all traditional over rings all of a sudden. I knew I wanted one, but I wanted the simplest, plainest thing available and absolutely no enagement rings (if I want an expensive diamond ring, I can buy one myself, thanks). Then my mum remembered that she had my grandparents' wedding bands sitting in a drawer at home, so we had them resized and they're just perfect. Simple, plain, vintage (1948) and look much better on our fingers than in a dusty box.
So all in all it turned out to be just perfect. Perfect for us. And that's all that matters, just wish more people had the guts to do it their own way, and not stick to stupid traditions.
Wednesday, 21 December 2011
Tjoxig
Top tip of the day. Don't get married when you're pregnant and expect to fit into your dress. Purchased a couple days before implantation and thus fitting like a dream, at six weeks, SIX WEEKS, I am bulging out in all kinds of places and zipping up those boobs was a task. This despite me eating like a squirrel, little baby portions and nothing sweet thank you very much.
Okay fatty-land, here I come...
Okay fatty-land, here I come...
I do...
Well, I know I dropped a couple of hints so I'm impressed that my two readers (any more?) guessed correctly.
Yes, ladies and gentlemen, yesterday the bells rang in church and we were declared joined in legal matrimony. In truth, we paid our £43 and five minutes later we were married. Simples! Why drag it out with cheesy speeches and romantic songs?
Afterwards we took our three guests home, had some cake and bubbly drinks and smiled forever after.
Today we're off to Cambridge for a two-night "honeymoon" in a fancy spa hotel. I plan to sleep, watch telly and sleep some more. Just likehome.
When I'm back I shall report on how this joyful marriage came about.
God natt!
Yes, ladies and gentlemen, yesterday the bells rang in church and we were declared joined in legal matrimony. In truth, we paid our £43 and five minutes later we were married. Simples! Why drag it out with cheesy speeches and romantic songs?
Afterwards we took our three guests home, had some cake and bubbly drinks and smiled forever after.
Today we're off to Cambridge for a two-night "honeymoon" in a fancy spa hotel. I plan to sleep, watch telly and sleep some more. Just likehome.
When I'm back I shall report on how this joyful marriage came about.
God natt!
Tuesday, 20 December 2011
Twenty twelve, twenty eleven.
When this post is published I will be married.
Yep, today, just me and Prince William got married, just me and you forever. Just like that.
Best Christmas ever!
Yep, today, just me and Prince William got married, just me and you forever. Just like that.
Best Christmas ever!
Monday, 19 December 2011
The best day captured on film
My favourite photograph will probably be taken tomorrow. Twenty twelve, twenty eleven. How catchy doesn't that sound?
I've got a lot on at the moment. I'll be back tomorrow.
I've got a lot on at the moment. I'll be back tomorrow.
A year in the life...
One year ago... I was happy to have a break, to not have to think about it anymore, to not wish and hope and want. Despite the fact that a dream had been crushed, I was somewhat relieved because I could live a little, if only over Christmas.
It was the break I needed before what was to become the most difficult year of my life. I enjoyed myself, even smoked the odd cigarette. I was slim and snygg and I knew that we were only months away from it happening.
One year later. Today. All worry, despair and heartache is gone. The worst year of my life has become the best year of my life. So simple. So obvious. Tack!
It was the break I needed before what was to become the most difficult year of my life. I enjoyed myself, even smoked the odd cigarette. I was slim and snygg and I knew that we were only months away from it happening.
One year later. Today. All worry, despair and heartache is gone. The worst year of my life has become the best year of my life. So simple. So obvious. Tack!
Friday, 16 December 2011
Hello there, pizza lovers
What's the point in wishing happy christmases upon people you do not know exist? There was a card in the post addressed to "Dear Pizza-lover". That's not my name but I opened it anyway. It was a stupid Christmas card from the stupid people at Pizza Hut. I've never even ordered pizza from them?
What do people do with these cards? Do they stand them on their mantlepiece with the rest from friends and family? As if the one from PH actually means something? Is it a nice gesture I shouldn't moan about, or is it a waste of paper.
We have also received a card from our milkman. OUR milkman. As if he belongs to us? This card was indeed signed by the man's own hand, and it is indeed sitting with the rest of our cards, rather than in the recycling bin with the one from Pizza Hut. This is despite the fact that I've never met our milkman. Mark. (Although I might now that I've started waking up in the middle of the night?)is it the fact that Mark kniws we exist since we order our milk from him, whereas Pizza Hut just sends their cards to EVERYONE! Is it because Mark's card was signed and delivered by himself? Should we have given him one back?
One thing's for sure, we will not be sending a Chrstmas card to Pizza Hut.
What do people do with these cards? Do they stand them on their mantlepiece with the rest from friends and family? As if the one from PH actually means something? Is it a nice gesture I shouldn't moan about, or is it a waste of paper.
We have also received a card from our milkman. OUR milkman. As if he belongs to us? This card was indeed signed by the man's own hand, and it is indeed sitting with the rest of our cards, rather than in the recycling bin with the one from Pizza Hut. This is despite the fact that I've never met our milkman. Mark. (Although I might now that I've started waking up in the middle of the night?)is it the fact that Mark kniws we exist since we order our milk from him, whereas Pizza Hut just sends their cards to EVERYONE! Is it because Mark's card was signed and delivered by himself? Should we have given him one back?
One thing's for sure, we will not be sending a Chrstmas card to Pizza Hut.
Good mooooorning!
Hello 4.30 AM.
I have developed the oddest sleeping pattern. I've always been an early riser, but this is ridiculous. I actually woke up at 3.50 with acute toilet needs, and finally got out of bed at 4.30. What does one do at this hour? Watch the crappest bit of TV ever, eat a little dry toast, drink some tea. Whatever. I still have about 2 hours before I have to go to work. Is this how it's going to be now?
I have developed the oddest sleeping pattern. I've always been an early riser, but this is ridiculous. I actually woke up at 3.50 with acute toilet needs, and finally got out of bed at 4.30. What does one do at this hour? Watch the crappest bit of TV ever, eat a little dry toast, drink some tea. Whatever. I still have about 2 hours before I have to go to work. Is this how it's going to be now?
Sunday, 11 December 2011
Have you got the X?
Am I the only one that watches X Factor (UK)? My boyfriend doesn't even watch it anymore, and he watches everything, including Strictly, Big Brother, Celebrity and X Factor USA. When I say I watch X Factor I don't know if that is strictly true. I mean, I'm watching it but I'm also reading, writing, eating breakfast etc. I actually hate X Factor this year. I hate Tulisa the most, she has no idea, why is she a judge on this programme? She only knows about contemporary music, and when it was rock week she got Eurythmics/Little Mix to sing that ridiculous party song with Kei$$a or however she thinks it's spelled. Rock? Okay? She is patronising and acts as if she's done 20 years in the business. What is she? 22? None of them actually know shit, but I am slightly (muchly) in love in Gary, so he gets away with it.
I am kind of happy that Little Mix have made it to the final, I am happy that four young women have become role models without having fake boobs and being stick thin? (But have you noticed how the "fat" one has lost loads of weight?) And why why why do they have to have a name with "little" in it? Why are we still associating girls and women with this word? It means cute, delicate, look after me, I'm only a little girl, which is exactly what they're NOT about. It's probably Tulisa's ideas, little muffins, because the Mix girls are so young and precious and inexperienced compared to big know-it-all Tulisa. Fuck off!
And Amelia Lily? As great as she is, she does not deserve to win. I'm sorry. She was axed in week 1, and all this bring people back thing is doing my head in. I also find her quite boring. It never works when the stylists on X Factor try to make someone rock, they just look like they're in fancy dress.
No, the true winner is Marcus. He is great, funny, can dance, bla bla, bla bla. If he doesn't win there's something seriously wrong with this world?!
I am kind of happy that Little Mix have made it to the final, I am happy that four young women have become role models without having fake boobs and being stick thin? (But have you noticed how the "fat" one has lost loads of weight?) And why why why do they have to have a name with "little" in it? Why are we still associating girls and women with this word? It means cute, delicate, look after me, I'm only a little girl, which is exactly what they're NOT about. It's probably Tulisa's ideas, little muffins, because the Mix girls are so young and precious and inexperienced compared to big know-it-all Tulisa. Fuck off!
And Amelia Lily? As great as she is, she does not deserve to win. I'm sorry. She was axed in week 1, and all this bring people back thing is doing my head in. I also find her quite boring. It never works when the stylists on X Factor try to make someone rock, they just look like they're in fancy dress.
No, the true winner is Marcus. He is great, funny, can dance, bla bla, bla bla. If he doesn't win there's something seriously wrong with this world?!
Saturday, 10 December 2011
Cardigan Bay
I'm going crazy on ebay recently, like properly crazy. For some reason I think I need lots of new clothes and I am far too tired to go shopping and besides I am a sucker for a bargain, so ebay it is. Only, I get to a point where things are no longer bargains, but I bid away anyway. My currect craze are Boden dresses and cardigans. I'm bidding on three as we speak, and I get so annoyed when someone outbids me I want to chuck the computer across the room. It's not fair!
My last obsession was trying to get a fur coat. No, hang on. A vintage faux fur coat of course. I need one for a special occassion coming up. You'll see. And apparently the whole world has gone mad for a faux fur vintage coat, that will make me look oh so glamorous with leater gloves and oversized sunnies and perhaps a mini skirt and good tights. Yeah! I bid on approximately 10 coats, lost them all at the last minute because I forgot to go back and check. Oh my god, there are so many people out there whose main aim in life seems to bid on items in the very last few minutes, taking away hope and happiness from us "normal" people. I ended up with a Buy Now item. I was too scared to bid anymore. I hope it fits.
And the cardigans. I thought, yeah I'll pay a fiver for that, and before I know it I've bid something like 15 quid for something I would never have paid that much for in the first place...
Thursday, 8 December 2011
Why I didn't go on strike
I work in the public sector. I have a very secure job. I have just been off sick for 5 weeks with full pay (feeling much better now, thanks). I have 13 weeks' paid holiday every year. I can't complain. I also pay in to a very generous pension scheme. I pay 6% of my salary, the government pays a further 9%, and upon retirement I am guaranteed a very beneficial salary. Or so we thought. The country is in trouble, the economy is in trouble, hey the whole world is in trouble. So things have changed.
Last Wednesday the UK's public sector workers went on strike to fight for their pensions. I didn't (well, I'm off sick, but I would have "crossed the picket line" had I been well). Why? Because I strongly believe that we all have to help out. Yes, I do find it disgusting that bankers are still taking home millions of pounds in bonuses every year, and a lot of blame can be placed with them, however, the big fish are never going to change while we live in a world controlled by money and greed, and if I have to pay a bit more to ensure a young family have a roof over their heads for Christmas, then I'm happy top do my bit.
Here's the deal. I don't own a small business and I don't lay awake at night worrying if I'm going to have money for the mortgage. I teach a core subject, a job which means I could probably relocate to anywhere in the country and still be able to find a job. How many people have that. I probably have job security for life (or at least until retirement). I earn a bloody good salary because I am good at my job and as a result my salary doubled in my first four years of teaching. You will hear a lot of public sector workers saying they earn nothing and they struggle, but I am proof that there is money and wealth working in state education. I have a quarter of a million pound mortgage, I save money every month, I go on luxury holidays at least once a year. When I retire I will sell my house and live off the profits AND my bloody decent pension. I WILL BE LAUGHING!
I can't really look private sector workers in the eye and demand a better pension when I know their pension schemes have been scrapped. They're just the same as me, they're no big cats, they just chose a different career path than me, that's all.
The other reasons not to strike is that I need money now more than I need it when I'm 65 (or 68). My goal is to pay off my mortgage early, save up money, invest, so that when I am 68 I don't have to worry. I don't want to lose a day's pay. It will make more of a difference to me now than in 35 years' time.
This debate has divided the nation. Private versus public. And this is during times when we all should stick together. Before we know it we will be in Greece or Italy's situation. But this debate has also divided public sector workers: strikers and non-strikers. Strikers are giving non-strikers the evil eye in the corridors, avoiding "good mornings" and "hellos". We are the educators, we set a good example to our country's teenagers and this is how we behave. At the end of the day, my number one priority are my students and their achievement, happiness and their opportunities. Sadly, the nation has now shown that there are far too many people who went in to the job for the benefits, not the children...
Last Wednesday the UK's public sector workers went on strike to fight for their pensions. I didn't (well, I'm off sick, but I would have "crossed the picket line" had I been well). Why? Because I strongly believe that we all have to help out. Yes, I do find it disgusting that bankers are still taking home millions of pounds in bonuses every year, and a lot of blame can be placed with them, however, the big fish are never going to change while we live in a world controlled by money and greed, and if I have to pay a bit more to ensure a young family have a roof over their heads for Christmas, then I'm happy top do my bit.
Here's the deal. I don't own a small business and I don't lay awake at night worrying if I'm going to have money for the mortgage. I teach a core subject, a job which means I could probably relocate to anywhere in the country and still be able to find a job. How many people have that. I probably have job security for life (or at least until retirement). I earn a bloody good salary because I am good at my job and as a result my salary doubled in my first four years of teaching. You will hear a lot of public sector workers saying they earn nothing and they struggle, but I am proof that there is money and wealth working in state education. I have a quarter of a million pound mortgage, I save money every month, I go on luxury holidays at least once a year. When I retire I will sell my house and live off the profits AND my bloody decent pension. I WILL BE LAUGHING!
I can't really look private sector workers in the eye and demand a better pension when I know their pension schemes have been scrapped. They're just the same as me, they're no big cats, they just chose a different career path than me, that's all.
The other reasons not to strike is that I need money now more than I need it when I'm 65 (or 68). My goal is to pay off my mortgage early, save up money, invest, so that when I am 68 I don't have to worry. I don't want to lose a day's pay. It will make more of a difference to me now than in 35 years' time.
This debate has divided the nation. Private versus public. And this is during times when we all should stick together. Before we know it we will be in Greece or Italy's situation. But this debate has also divided public sector workers: strikers and non-strikers. Strikers are giving non-strikers the evil eye in the corridors, avoiding "good mornings" and "hellos". We are the educators, we set a good example to our country's teenagers and this is how we behave. At the end of the day, my number one priority are my students and their achievement, happiness and their opportunities. Sadly, the nation has now shown that there are far too many people who went in to the job for the benefits, not the children...
I wanna be adored
How does admiration work? Is admiring someone the same thing as looking up to someone? A role model?
My favourite person in the whole world is Kirstie Allsop, even though I hear she's Conservative. Why do I admire, love, adore her? Oh it's all so superficial. I don't admire her because she's invented a cure for cancer, because she's set up a business from scratch whilst living in a council flat with no heating and neither do I admire her because she's such a strong and inspiring mother. No fuck that! I loooove her because she shows me TV programmes about knitting, making sausages and painting houses in pastel colours. She also wears things like floral, vintage dresses and wellies, and finally she's not a size 8 but I still want to be her and look like her. Proof yet again that stick thin is never the choice I'd make. I love this girl, she loves junk, I love junk. She is like the best friend that I totally need.
And a healthy political debate never hurt anyone, did it?
My favourite person in the whole world is Kirstie Allsop, even though I hear she's Conservative. Why do I admire, love, adore her? Oh it's all so superficial. I don't admire her because she's invented a cure for cancer, because she's set up a business from scratch whilst living in a council flat with no heating and neither do I admire her because she's such a strong and inspiring mother. No fuck that! I loooove her because she shows me TV programmes about knitting, making sausages and painting houses in pastel colours. She also wears things like floral, vintage dresses and wellies, and finally she's not a size 8 but I still want to be her and look like her. Proof yet again that stick thin is never the choice I'd make. I love this girl, she loves junk, I love junk. She is like the best friend that I totally need.
And a healthy political debate never hurt anyone, did it?
It's like you're always stuck in second gear.
I don't have a lot of friends. And I'm not saying that because I want a sympathetic "Aaaw" but because it's the truth. The answer to the question who my best friend is couldn't be more simple. It's my darling Prince William of course. I have the most fun when I'm with him and I miss him when I'm not. Having said that, I'm not one of those people who can't do anything without their partner. Quite the opposite. We are as different as different can be. I'm neither one of those people (girls) who won't let their partners do anything without your involvement. Go out, ave fun, I shan't wait up.
But as friends go, as in people that I don't have sex with, there's not that many of them. Most of them are people I work with. We're a young, exciting workforce and I tend to have lots of fun at work. But unfortunately you don't alwas get a lot of time to socialise outside of work. But when we do it's lots of fun, eventhough I'm always happiest when I get to go home.
I had a lot more friends when I was single, or before I lived with my boyfriend. I've lost a lot of friends who have moved back to Sweden. I have lost a lot of friends to babies. I have lost friends because of boyfriends. I have lost a lot of friends by living too far away and I've also lost a lot of friends since I stopped being an alcoholic. When you go home at 9, or you insist on driving, I guess you're not as much fun anymore.
I have a few really good, very good friends whom I hardly ever see. Once a year, once every year, but when I do it's friendship love of the greatest kind.
What I would like the most is someone close by. Let's go for a walk, come over for a cup of tea, let' have lunch. To do all that without having to find a gap in someone's tight schedule, or without travelling across half of London.
I know that when it comes to friends it's about quality not quantity. A very very small number is all I need, but a 30-something neighbour without kids who likes long autumnal walks and good quality coffee wouldn't go a miss either...
But as friends go, as in people that I don't have sex with, there's not that many of them. Most of them are people I work with. We're a young, exciting workforce and I tend to have lots of fun at work. But unfortunately you don't alwas get a lot of time to socialise outside of work. But when we do it's lots of fun, eventhough I'm always happiest when I get to go home.
I had a lot more friends when I was single, or before I lived with my boyfriend. I've lost a lot of friends who have moved back to Sweden. I have lost a lot of friends to babies. I have lost friends because of boyfriends. I have lost a lot of friends by living too far away and I've also lost a lot of friends since I stopped being an alcoholic. When you go home at 9, or you insist on driving, I guess you're not as much fun anymore.
I have a few really good, very good friends whom I hardly ever see. Once a year, once every year, but when I do it's friendship love of the greatest kind.
What I would like the most is someone close by. Let's go for a walk, come over for a cup of tea, let' have lunch. To do all that without having to find a gap in someone's tight schedule, or without travelling across half of London.
I know that when it comes to friends it's about quality not quantity. A very very small number is all I need, but a 30-something neighbour without kids who likes long autumnal walks and good quality coffee wouldn't go a miss either...
Tuesday, 6 December 2011
The one and only!
Today I've been shopping. Bra-shopping, god damn it. I hate bra shopping for so many reasons: 1. You have to take pretty much all your clothes off, which always ends with me getting extremely hot and bothered (well, not the taking OFF clothes, but the constant on and off) and storming out of the shop without said purchase (only you can't just storm out because you're in the deepest depth of some Christmas-jingly department store. 2. I can ONLY buy bras in M&S (is that what they're called these days, not Marks & Spencer's?), this is the only store that kind of understand my nunga nungas. I said KIND OF. 3. I always bring the wrong size to the changing room, hence the constant onoffonoff of clothes. Sweat galore. And I don't like asking someone to get one for me, that might come across as lazy or "I'm better than you, go and get me a bra". 4. The reason for number 3 is that my size is never available in M&S. Never! But I always think, hey this bra looks humungous, surely I'll fit in there. I never do.
There is one bra shop where all sizes are always available. La Senza. Oh hallelujah, I hear you say, but you are wrong. I can't fit my head inside any of those cups and I know that if I can't fit my whole head into one cup, I will never fit a nunga. I have tried so many times. The problem is not the frontage, but the width, so to speak. And at La Senza, all bras try to pierce nice little fleshy holes in my armpits, even when I go proper up in size. As if boobs only grow forwards...? Have you tried laying down, Ms Bra-Maker.
Today I had the added difficulty of needing something specific, normally I have to just be happy with what I can get. Beggars can't be choosers, eh? I need: a black, strapless or multi-way, plus size bra, thanks. Guess how many there were to choose from (I played this game with Prince W when I got in, he guessed 15, haha). There was ONE! And we're talking the big BIG M&S at Bluewater. They do ONE fucking bra fitting that category. It was weird, it was wrong, and I still had to take my clothes off and back on TWICE.
Thought I'd try House of Fraser. How many did I have to choose from? Yeah, you guessed right, one! It was another armpit stabber, at the cost of £29, I felt uncomfortable, stabbed and hot, so I left, once again, empty handed with my boobs held high.
There is one bra shop where all sizes are always available. La Senza. Oh hallelujah, I hear you say, but you are wrong. I can't fit my head inside any of those cups and I know that if I can't fit my whole head into one cup, I will never fit a nunga. I have tried so many times. The problem is not the frontage, but the width, so to speak. And at La Senza, all bras try to pierce nice little fleshy holes in my armpits, even when I go proper up in size. As if boobs only grow forwards...? Have you tried laying down, Ms Bra-Maker.
Today I had the added difficulty of needing something specific, normally I have to just be happy with what I can get. Beggars can't be choosers, eh? I need: a black, strapless or multi-way, plus size bra, thanks. Guess how many there were to choose from (I played this game with Prince W when I got in, he guessed 15, haha). There was ONE! And we're talking the big BIG M&S at Bluewater. They do ONE fucking bra fitting that category. It was weird, it was wrong, and I still had to take my clothes off and back on TWICE.
Thought I'd try House of Fraser. How many did I have to choose from? Yeah, you guessed right, one! It was another armpit stabber, at the cost of £29, I felt uncomfortable, stabbed and hot, so I left, once again, empty handed with my boobs held high.
Monday, 5 December 2011
All I want for Christmas is yooooouuuuuu, baby...
Christmas... Aaahhh! Glittering snow, rosy cheeks, the excitement on children's faces. Friends and families coming together. Driving home for Christmas, I can't wait to see those faces.
Naha! For me, Christmas does not carry with it any emotions of joy, peace, harmony to all of the world. I look at Christmas cards and decorations and I feel... Nothing! I want to skip the whole crimbo this year, I don't know when this happened or if it was supposed to, but it has. Don't get me wrong, I love food (we'll get to that), and Christmas comes with many delicious moments of over indulgence. That I can do. But I can't, and won't, do all the other bits.
The worst bit of all is the constant need for shopping and wanting. What do you WANT for Christmas? Nothing, I don't want anything that I can't buy myself, and what I really want, you can't get for love nor money, it seems.
Don't get me wrong, I like buying things for people, to treat others, but I hate the thought of having to buy some last minute crap just because I have to.
Having said all that, this year I am jetting off to the old country, but not so much to celebrate the birth of Jesus, but something completely different.
This year, my Christmas will come early, and I won't want anything else.
Naha! For me, Christmas does not carry with it any emotions of joy, peace, harmony to all of the world. I look at Christmas cards and decorations and I feel... Nothing! I want to skip the whole crimbo this year, I don't know when this happened or if it was supposed to, but it has. Don't get me wrong, I love food (we'll get to that), and Christmas comes with many delicious moments of over indulgence. That I can do. But I can't, and won't, do all the other bits.
The worst bit of all is the constant need for shopping and wanting. What do you WANT for Christmas? Nothing, I don't want anything that I can't buy myself, and what I really want, you can't get for love nor money, it seems.
Don't get me wrong, I like buying things for people, to treat others, but I hate the thought of having to buy some last minute crap just because I have to.
Having said all that, this year I am jetting off to the old country, but not so much to celebrate the birth of Jesus, but something completely different.
This year, my Christmas will come early, and I won't want anything else.
Like coming home...
I have resided in many an area since I first came off the boat anno 1997. A hundred years ago. Back then I was a black haired 19-year-olds with oooh such blue eyes. I can not believe it myself sometimes. I lived in Balham then. I was "a Swedish au-pair" (suggestively: "Oh yeeeaaah?"), with not a care in the world for childcare, but it was okay, they let me smoke in the kitchen and I learnt to recieve my pronunciation.
Residence tow was on the Old Kent Road. I dreamt about this place the other night, how weirds is that. Number 662. We lived next to a squat and we were wedged right between Millwall and Peckham. Location location location. We had five bedrooms, each decorated in a different psychadelic shade. Mine was turquoise. Still a favourite. Then I moved 14 doors down the road, to THAT FLAT. I had the shower cubicle in my bedroom. My bed was in the bathroom. You might as well say. This was an excellent scenario when I was a lazy student and my flatmates had to be behind the tills at Starbucks by 6am.
What happened next? Lewisham. Again, two different flats. The first one was suffering from subsidance or something and the whole flat was leaning over tha road. Charming. The second one was in a basement. Not only are English student flats famous for dampness and a refreshing chill, you can also reside in a basement, making the whole thing even worse.
In 2004 I finally got my green card and was allowed to move north of the river and ended up in Camden. Stupid years. I was doing my teacher training and learning how to be an alcoholic at the same time, whilst having a stupid boyfriend and living in a stupid flat. It wasn't until I moved back south that things started to look up. Greenwich. My beloved, gorgeous, lovely Greenwich, oh how I love thee. At first I lived in a "period property" but that didn't quite work out, so resided with a good friend in a charming bachelorette pad, complete with our own beer garden round the corner. I think I spent all my good earnings on wine when I lived there. Greenwich is amazing. I miss you so.
In 2008 I moved to Essex. Stop 1 - Romford. I had a luxury "apartment" (not a flat), and it really was luxury. The bathroom was like a hotel bathroom, and there was no bedroom in it either.
Stops 2 and 3 have been with Prince William and I've never been happier. I'm here to stay now, me thinks.
You know when you have to fill out important forms and provide three years worth of addresses? Well I have never lived in one place for more than three years since 1997. Bloody hell. I won't move now, not ever, not unless we get divorced and that's not exactly on the cards.
You know when you have to fill out important forms and provide three years worth of addresses? Well I have never lived in one place for more than three years since 1997. Bloody hell. I won't move now, not ever, not unless we get divorced and that's not exactly on the cards.
The only way is Essex
I introduce to you: my latest category "The only way is Essex". I still feel that Essex is "really fresh" and "bang on trend" so I might as well "jump on the bandwagon". (When I use "quotation marks" it means I am quoting no one in particular, just using "popular phrases" from "the media". I like it!)
My Essex is nothing like the TOWIE we know and love (?) though so I guess that's where that likeness ends. But I do reside in Essex. On the outskirts of London, on the outskirts of Essex, call it what you want. The best of both worlds. I mean, "the best of both worlds". Many Londoners would consider my ends as being located at the world's end (not the pub in Camden, but literally), bit I think it's GREAT! I have a tube, I'll have you know. It's three stops from the end on the green line (the bloody longest line, I should think), and I also have an overground train station, so "excellent for commuters". Not that I'm a commuter, but I've reached a point where it's really about the house, rather than the location. Having said that, we have just relocated from Iceland city (not the country - the supermarket chain) to an area that has a Waitrose. My dream come true! We're oh so middle class these days. We own an amazing 4 bedroom "property" (also known as a house). We're oh so happy, and you can even see Canary Wharf from the top floor, as well as the nature reserve and horse fields that's behind our house. I told you - best of both worlds.
It ain't Brentwood, I'll give you that, but personally Brentwood ain't all that anyway. The houses might be all nouveau riche and fancy, but other than The Sugar Hut, there's nothing there (not that I would ever go to Sugar Hut - or that they would ever let me in...). Not even a Waitrose. I could never live without a Waitrose. No, my Essex is much better. 7 mins to Westfield on the fast train, 7 minutes to horse shit and farms in the other direction. "I wouldn't want it any other way."
Tell me about yourself.
I thought I'd do what everyone else is doing and go through one of these lists. Number 1 - talk about yourself. Two - where do you live? Etc etc. I won't publish the list because I know already I won't complete it. I'll pick and choose, thank you very much.
So why don't you tell us a little bit about yourself (do you sometimes pretend you're being interviewed? I do - all the time, or I pretend I'm on a TV programme, which I guess is kind of the same thing).
I am what my acupuncturist would refer to as a spiritual atheist. I have become quite spritual in my old age, and often do things that make me feel gay things like "connected to the earth and the universe". I'm into all things natural health and yoga and holistic therapies. This is a very recent thing, my god I used to be an alcoholic, and while I'm nowhere near a teetotal I have become much nicer to my body and to my soul. I am so gay.
I have, since the year 1997, resided in the London town. I'm in my third decade of London life, god damn it, and this is home. I feel kind of English, I guess, I speak English and will write in English. It's better that way.
I say what I want to say, thank you very much, and I will use whatever words I like. I am a feminist in every sense of the word. I'm also quite rich, which I know you're not supposed to say, but I am. (Do we need a definition? Right, I don't live in Chelsea, I don't fly business class and I don't drink Champagne, but I'm really rather satisfied with my economic situation - best thing, it's all mine, not my daddy's or my boyfriend's, but we'll get to that.) But my money doesn't buy over priced fashion items, so don't expect any of that. I reckon I spend all my money on food, and these purchases shall probably remain undocumented in the photographic sense. Who cares.
What do you think? Shall I carry on...?
I'm back!
Titta! I'm back. I guess it was only a matter of time before I returned with a vengeance (or not?). I should probably warn you now that I'm not a very exciting person and I don't live a very exciting life. I currently sit on my sofa, cup of green tea in hand, watching Location Location Location, which is pretty much the highlight of my day, although I guess if it came to choice I would choose Homes under the hammer.
I did, secretly kind of, start another blog about my alternative life, but when my alternative life was beginning to eat away at my normal life I decided I needed to get me back. So here I am.
This is my third Svenny-blog. The first one was black. I wear black on the outside cause black is how I feel on the inside. I deleted that blog when I met Prince William and decided that (black) life was best left in the past. The second Svenny was nice and happy and funny, but again, when my alternative life started, I couldn't write about anything anymore and that got deleted. Third time lucky? Who knows.
You're welcome!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)