Seasons Greetings From the Not So New Girl

What a friggin dodge looking Santa?!

'Tis the season to be jolly, fa lala laa la la la laaaaa!!  Seasons greetings my friends. We're nearly at the anniversary of some little dudes birth (or so they say).  Excellent, I like a bit of festive jolliness, feasting and family fun. But we're not quite there yet...maybe next week. I think we're only on the 14th window of that cheap chocolate advent calendar...a few more windows yet before opening the big one with the mini Mars in it.

So nearly 16 months later I am thinking that I can't really get away with calling myself the "New Girl" in Wellingborough any more.  I still know next to know one, the town still is a bit of a mystery to me (why on earth would you need a grand total of 6 bakeries in a town with a population this size?! That's excessive bread consumption my friend). And I am still trying to find something to do in this place that truly excites me. The past time in this town seems to be tv.  Something which I have truly embraced, don't get me wrong, but I need more. It's not enough, it's like being an alcoholic and only drinking beer, I need the hard stuff.

This poxy weather doesn't help one's "get up and go" to find something new either.  Haynesy takes delight in regularly telling me that Northamptonshire (the county that this glorious town sits in) is the driest in the country.  Then why the hell is it pissing down with rain and has been for the past month?  The "Holiday Park" (static caravans for people too cheap to buy a real house) near the Poo Farm (sewage works) in Northampton is bobbing along the road on a sea of murky brown rain/poo water it's so wet.  Granted we did have a spell of minus degree freezing air and no rain but that soon past.  To be honest this is the first day in a week that I haven't frozen my arse off sitting in my kitchen to write. For the past week I have been mostly wearing:

1 Pair of thick stiff jeans
1 Ribbed vest
1 Long sleeve top
1 Gap hoodie (with toothpaste down it, hood up)
1 Thin cotton dressing gown (in a bit of a wannabe black satin kimono stylee)
1 Thick velour dressing gown (with hood, up)
1 Blanket that I normally sit under in front of the tv watching Masterchef (worn like a shawl)
2 pairs Regular cotton socks
1 pair Hiking socks (small hole in big toe)
1 pair Fluffy bed socks
1 pair Cheap but comfy Fair Isle effect slipper boots from my favourite cheap emporium New Look

You'd think I'd be sweatin, fat chance. This house is lovely but boy it needs some serious insulating, preferably before I reach the £250 a month gas bill stage.

Cocobun however seems a bit more lively though. Like the 8 degree weather is optimum for bunny fun making and general knawing on table legs. He is currently sprawled on top of his cage like it's a roof garden and he's having a sun bathe, complete with a scattering of bunny poo's and some random leaves of kale.

Weather aside, one's get up and go seems to have been hampered also by a lack of car.  Now I like a walk don't get me wrong, I'm not one to jump in the car to go 100 meters down the road, I'll use my legs thanks but my gym attendance and generally ability to flaunt myself around Northants. has been to say the least minimal, since Haynesy started using the car everyday.  To combat this I thought i'd do some exercise in the comfort of my own living room rather than dragging my arse across town in the cold to the gym and remember some routines from aerobics and do them to some high energy "dance music" on MTV.  I did it once, realized that I could only remember 1 or 2 sequences and just did them over and over again to Flo Rider telling some poor cow to get on it and blow his whistle.  If I was ever approached by Flo Rider to "blow his Whistle" I would take his whistle, cut it off and get him to blow it himself.  The fact that little kids go around singing that song makes me feel a bit sick.  Unless of course I am interpreting the blowing of whistles the wrong way?  Some how I doubt it. Think we could have a case of the R Kelly's going on there.

Anyway I digress.  Weather and get up and go aside, I am no longer new to this town.  I know where the shops are, I know which day the bin men come for the recycling and I know where not to set foot for fear of being sucked into an episode of Shameless. Therefore I guess I am realizing I am new to a different town....Aimless.

Aimless is a weird town.  Its well enough, things are settled and unchallenging.  Everyone and everything goes about it's business day in day out.  However in this household you have a person (and possibly a second and a rabbit) that are the sort of people to want to strive for something new quite frequently.  I think I have touched on this before, that I am a bit of wagon jumper (generally a tad too late and I stumble a bit getting on and then promptly fall off again around the corner).  But isn't it good to always want something fresh?  Or is it our aim in Aimless to achieve a level that is comfortable and then just maintain it until something happens outside your control to change everything or you fall off lifes perch?  I don't think that sounds right to me, I don't like the thought of accepting the status quo.  I think Haynesy is somewhere between the two, comforted by a level of consistancy but likes some freshness (hell if he wants fresh, I am fresher than Fabreeze baby!) and I know Cocobun likes it fresh, he's always sticking his little twitchy nose into everything, looking for something new to interest him for a few minutes until he gets an ear tickle and a bunny nugget. Maybe that's why we all get along in this family.  It's not that I am aimless as such, just easily diverted and never quite reach a goal. But then I guess that firstly depends on whether you need to set a goal in the first place and you define what the goal actually is.  It's a concious decision and I tend to not like making those, they lead to accountability and staying on course.  Like Flo Rider not my "bag".  I like to swerve, duck and dive and just see where the wind takes me.

Hummm I think I need to explore this...with the help of my trusty first mate Haynesy and my cabin boy Cocobun. 2013 could be the year that we explore the sea's beyond Aimless.

Ttfn xxx

Coooo-eeeee! I'm over here

Greetings and salutations from Welly

I'm back.  Having had a couple of months of non stop "stuff" to contend with and of course enjoy too, I was starting to feel bad that I hadn't dedicated more time to post a ditty or two.  It wasn't until I thought to myself, "oh my god this would make amusing reading" the other day while gazing with amazement at an 80 year old woman dressed as Shirley Temple that I realised that I really miss getting this stuff down.  It wasn't a conscious decision to stop writing, more life getting in the way and a certain lack of get up and go after working and playing.  But the main thing is I am back and I intend fully to get back to some sort of writing routine.

Work seems to have drained me of late of any "spark".  My gym attendance has been appalling, my social life seems to have taken a turn for the worse and all I seem to want to do is sit watching cookery programmes from underneath my bright pink chenille blanket.  I blame the fact that I am getting old (I am the grand age of 33 now) and that the UK hasn't had any summer to speak of this year.  Without the sun, I feel stunted like a flower in a pot that's too small for it and a bag over it's head.  However for some reason today I am feeling a bit more perky!  A bit more back to my old self and a little bit bonkers.  I am putting this down to two things:  1)  my increased iron intake thanks to my new multivitamins with added iron and 2) that everyone around me is also seeming a little perkier too.  It certainly isn't down to a sudden heatwave or that the sun has entered the earths atmosphere and made a home at the end of my garden.  Nope, nothing like that, that would be too much like a good thing.  I reckon it's all down to the iron and the sudden increase in perky people.  Don't underestimate the effect that unperky surroundings can have on a person.  Lacking perk is all around us.  Drab wallpaper, concrete, dull and unhappy looking "neds" sitting outside Greggs eating their beef and onion slices(yep I am still banging on about the type of person that frequents a Greggs).  It all makes for a feeling of "ergggghhhhh".  That is to say the feeling that you just want to lock yourself away from it and eat instant mash.  Of course instead my reaction should have been "Thank fuck I'm not that drab" but I blame the lack of iron on me going the other way. 

Anyway enough of that.  I have emerged from the other side, I am now zesty and perky and raring to go.  I have removed the shackles of the tv (although I have still sky +'d The Great British Bake Off and lovely Lorraine Pascale with her easy and tasty recipes) and tossed aside my cosy bright pink chenille blanket.  I must say today's outfit doesn't quite match this zest.  Leggings, an over sized plaid shirt and plimsolls isn't really what you would describe as the uniform of a person that is embracing life but as soon as that pile of ironing is done, I will have the options available again to zest it up and maybe add a pastel eyeshadow into the bargain.  Ironing therefore is tonight's activity, after I have got my butt moving at aerobics.  I might iron to the sounds of "Eye of the Tiger" and "Final Countdown" just to further embed the feeling of empowerment and control over my own existence.  It's funny how ones own body and lack of an essential nutrient can totally do you in. Let this be a warning to you my dears.  Take your vitamins and eat your greens.

Yep hi ho hi ho, it's off to the gym I go....come on Dilly do your worst!  I will be exhausted and dragging my carcass around like a lame deer to the tunes of Ke$ha but by golly I will give it all I have and some.  This time next month I would have shedded the small amount of poundage I gained while under my blanket and be embarking upon a quest.  To learn how to dance!

You may mock but when I was little I used to do ballet, tap, modern, street and character dancing.  As well as brownies and play guitar.  The guitar now sits in my living room as living testament to the fact that I can't play a single thing and have the musical prowess of a deaf and slightly uncoordinated newt.  The Brownies however is still a lovely fond memory.  But the dancing bit.  That's the bit that I wish I had taken seriously and continued.  I wasn't great but I wasn't totally crap either and I reckon I could do a salsa justice.  At the weekend I had the pleasure of going to the Twinwood Festival in Bedfordshire.  It is a vintage festival, full of big band music, swing dancing and ladies with gorgeous curled hair and nipped in waists.  Not having ever "swung" before I didn't attempt to embarrass myself on the dance floors.  Which left me a little annoyed with myself.  Why hadn't I at least given it a bash or did a bit of research before hand and prepared a little routine?  Therefore my quest for the next 12 months is to learn 3 dances, Lindy Hop, Waltz and Charleston.  Both will come in handy at this festival next year, where I will be for the full 3 days and I will be sooo busting the moves that my dance card will be full for the whole duration.  Next stop....yellow pages for teachers who can teach a total tit like me to dance. 

This is moi at Twinwood....not dancing!

This could all turn slightly embarrassing.....watch this space. 

Ttfn xxx

Super Crap

Yes yes yes, I know I am proper bo shite at getting down to it and writing.  It took some shameless revelling in my own glory when a friend asked me to get back to writing, to get my arse into gear and take a stab at another installment.
So what have I been doing that has meant I haven't written for while?  Absolutely fuck all that's what.  The days seem to be disappearing into some sort of wormhole, that my parallel universe me is enjoying.  Right now Polly on the planet Zogg is so overstocked in time that they have been able to read 100's of books, ride bicycles, eat pie, fashioning darling accessories out of left over fabric and old jewellery (note these are all things that I want to do but never seem to do!), while me, Polly on the planet Earth, seems to work, eat, rest, shower, maybe watch some 24, play with Cocobun, go to the gym, clean the bog...hang on, may be I do have time, I just got my priorities all wrong! Eating and playing with Cocobun are the only ones that should be on that list.  Alas my ability to make nice things out of scraps of old fabric and buttons runs in tandem with the necessity of working to earn some hard cash.  Drats.  New plan needed!  Short of running off with a rich man (which isn't going to happen, I am in it for keeps with a normally financed Haynesy) then I am going to have to find some get rich quick scheme.  A cunning plan is needed and quick smart.  Although I do have an unchecked lottery ticket in my purse, that could be step one of my cunning plan to financial bliss.  Check ticket and hope blindly for the best that I will be a winner........ahhhhh a winner.........winner........winner..........cue dreamsequence......
......I am running through a foggy landscape, draped in black swathes of fabric like ravens wings, there is a howling in the distance...I look over my shoulder and keep running, running away from the terrible howling......as the fog clears it is plain to see that the fog is smog and steam rising from the pavement manhole covers of Manhattan, the black swathes are the best in Vivienne Westwood drapery, I am also sporting a frigging fabulous pair of Nicholas Kirkwood heels, and the howling is the mad pushing of traffic down Broadway.  In my dreams I am obviously a fashionista in New York. 
In my spare moments my day dream of choice is to think about what I would do if I won the lottery. With millions of pounds carefully ensconced in off shore bank accounts (doing a Jimmy Carr, it's all legal!), a black Amex kept in a McQueen python tote, Cocobuns in a tailormade bunny carrier on my shoulder and me and Haynesy hailing a cab (keeping it real, no private driver) to take us to some fabulously cool, downtown eaterie.   Ahhh thats the sort of dream scenario that I must limit to when I am really sitting in Northamptonshire, wearing really old sagging jeans, a wife beater vest and Havianas.
The top things I normally decide when daydreaming about being a lottery winner:
1) Where we will live or more probable where the locations of our various properties will be.  London Penthouse, New York Loft, Italian Villa, Balinese Sunseeker, Northamptonshire ..
2) What we will do for family and friends.  Paying off mortgages, going on holidays, buying my mum the cd/dvd of every musical ever and paying Michael Balls to sing The Heat is On in Saigon to her
3) The exact size and layout of my "Dressing Room" and its contents.  Yes I will have shit loads of clothes, shoes and bags....I am a girl you know!!
4) What business I will amuse myself with when I'm not on holiday.  Photographers studio/art gallery/bar for cool trendy peeps, celeb hang out and generally always featured as being "the" place to hang full of musicians, artists and their hangers on.  A bit like Andy warhols Factory with me as the fabulous hostess instead of Warhol and his bad haircut

All totally shallow and all totally never going to happen but that's what day dreams are for aren't they?  Escapism, falling into a totally unrealistic other world where I am thin and rich and I can eat pizza without worrying that it's going straight onto my arse.
Ahhh well, back to reality.  Back to being Polly on planet Earth.  Sitting in sunny Northamptonshire, in my lovely home, writing her blog with his highness Sir Cocobun sitting on her feet and waiting for Haynesy to get home so they can eat and watch some 24 before snuggling up to sleep.   Reality aint so bad either. A home, Jack Bauer, a couple of snuggle bunnies and love.  What more could I want?  Nothing I have it all. 
Ttfn xxxxxx

Wow its been a while

Greetings from me and Cocobun!!

Christ has it really been that long since I last wrote a little ditty??  Time goes so quick especially when your on time off from work.  It seems only yesterday that I was getting all excited about leaving for Italia.

I am currently standing at one of the kitchen worktops on the laptop waiting for my "Specialitie de la maison" to cook.  Man if there is one thing I can cook, that's a piece of piggy.  It's been a long slow roast today and it's about to be pulled apart with some homemade apple sauce and some roast tatties.  Yum yum pigs bum......well shoulder actually but I would eat his bum if it was juicy enough.  Not vegetarian then.  Why eat nothing but veg when you can sink your teeth into some flavoursome, juicy, tender meat I say. 

This is a real quick one today, just to say that I haven't forgotten about the fact that i have committed to writing a few words here every now and then and that I am back in the world of the living.  Not that I haven't lived for the past two weeks.  Au contraire.  I feel like I could really get used to this not working thing.  The thought of a sprog and some time off suddenly appeals to me.  My friend who I met for coffee on Friday assures me it doesn't have to be as expensive as they make out and that really, children are quite nice.  I thought all along that they were a tool for making you question your sanity and grasp on reality in those dark days but apparently its not that bleak.  Who'd have thought.

Anyway I digress.  I am sure I will whitter on about children again soon.  I feel it may be a passing whim until I have grown up a bit more.  I am only 33 after all and I think my maturity levels need a good couple of years yet to develop to the level needed to sustain and develop another human being.  That said my curiosity to see what my future child looks like it killing me.  In my head it will be a girl with dark brown hair and the family heirloom massive cheeks.  Add to that Haynesy's nose and dashing charm and wit and you have yourself a little cutie.  Ah well we'll see I guess. 

With pork in mind I was once told that the closest meat to human flesh is pork.  I guess not everything tastes like chicken.  Now not knowing a bonafide cannibal I cannot verify this information.  "It puts the lotion in the basket"......hahaha the funniest part in the Silence of the Lambs, is that dude and his little dog.  I tell ya that girl he had in that hole was annoying, I don't blame him for wanting to make a jacket out of her for his spring/summer line. 

Well anyway enough random for tonight, I seem to have gone from pork, to having a baby to cannibals.  Better stop now before I really start worrying about the state of my mind.

I will write something a little more substantive and cohesive tomorrow when brain is in gear.

Ttfn xxxx

Laters Chumps!!

Well It is 17:24pm on Thursday 24th May 2012.  I am now officially off the clock and on annual leave until 9:00am on 13th June 2012.  Happy doesn't cover it.

In the next 2.5 weeks I am going to Italy, watching one of my best mates get hitched, sleep, have people visit, wave a union jack flag, eat cake, stay with my parents in Bath, most probably eat more cake, work out (a lot), walk around, eat cake and enjoy some time with Haynesy....by eating some cake. Like I say, I can't describe the feeling of joy in my heart right now.

If Apollo could grace us with his mate the sun for a bit longer, say until 14th June then I would be very much obliged.  Last year I had time off right at the end of September and it was the best week of the year....yeah a bit more of that kind of luck would be sweet. 

Cake seems to crop up in my list of things to partake of while I am dossing around and I think I may exercise my baking muscle and make them rather than buy them.  My baking skill is sporadic.  Some come out quite good, others come out a bit brick like.  I might attempt something that is supposed to be airy and dreamy and angel like.  That way if my usual cement touch interferes it will result in a reasonably normal cake.  Whatever I produce from my oven, I will post on here.  We can have a good old laugh at how crap I am. 

I fly to Italia at an hour normally best seen from behind my eyelids.  Getting up in the middle of the night is only ever acceptable for 2 things, 1) flying out on holiday 2) a bit of hanky panky.  If your lucky you get number 2 then number 1.  I LOVE this pre departure excitement.  Making the list of things to pack and getting the Lonely Planet guide and making notes in the margins appeals to my inner spod.  The list changes at least 5 times before packing and the lonely planet gets all lovely and dogeared.  Oooooh I love it!  I am sitting here scrunching my nose up in glee at the thought of revising my packing list.  In reality I have to be packed by about 9pm so that I can get enough sleep, to keep to my pre departure schedule.  The schedule that sounds practical and everything will get done but will go out the window when I stay up too late watching something crap on telly, realise I haven't ironed half the stuff to go in the suitcase that is still in the spare room waiting to be packed. But one can dream and relish the organisation of it all.  hehehe, still full of glee. 

Cocobun however looks full of dread.  He knows that his mummy is going away which means that daddy will be looking after him.  To Cocobun this also means that he won't be smothered in kisses every 5 minutes, he won't get half the attention he normally gets and he won't have a 33 year old child saying ridiculous things in a baby voice to him.  He's probably quite happy about that last point.  Cocobun is an attention whore.  He loves it and when Haynesy and I partake of a little kitchen smooching, he hops up, biting our ankles with a scowl on his face, telling us to stop it and to give him some snuggy time.  Soz Bun, mummy is outta here and into the Italian sunshine, ready for culinary nirvana and shit loads of vino rosso.

I'm hoping to take lots of gorgeous photos demonstrating the "Dolce Vita" they have going on there, I hopefully will be looking tan and nonchalant (I love that word!) while conversing effortlessly with the locals over some wine straight from the vines.  If some photos pass muster then I will post them here for you all to gaze on in wonder. 

OK OK, I have to wrap this up.  Things like painting my nails and applying my fake tan need to be actioned before I can get way laid by the television before my panic ironing/packing starts at about midnight.

Laters Chumps!!  xxxxxxx

Cerveza, drama and Grizzly Adams

Just a quick one today.  It's got to that stage before going on annual leave from work where you have to get everything done in the 1.5 days you have left.  But still I am finding time to write a few words.  See never lost for something to waffle about!

Last night apart from lovely and sunny and warm and perfect for sitting in the garden with a cold cerveza, was also drama night.  Having walked the deceptively long route from Wellingborough station to the Hind Hotel for practise, I arrived to find that I couldn't open the door.  At first I thought I was the first one there (even though I was 5 minutes late and a little sweaty I might add!), I thought that perhaps I was the keen bean newbie and that a more relaxed vibe was needed, not promptness.  Thankfully after a few forceful rattlings of the door knob, I could hear shufflings and someone coming to the door.  Yes I wasn't the only one.  There was a grand sum of 3 of us last night but it was small and perfectly formed.  We did some improv work, retelling song lyrics conveying sadness or anger, spoken word not sung.  I did Walk on By one of favourite songs and both times ended up cracking up as soon as I caught someones eye.  I don't know if I can do serious.  Comedy or should I say immaturity is more my style.  I need to develop my serious side. This is hard because I have never been serious in my life.  I think the most serious I have ever been was when I was robbed on the street last year of all my worldly goods from my removal van (that's a blog for another time), serious I definitely was.  Sad, angry, pathetically anxious and worried sick.  I was sorry to be leaving London before that happened, suddenly leaving London seemed like the best thing in the world to do and I just wanted to get out of there as soon as another van could be organised.  As it happens, I was packed up (with what was left, not much I can tell you) and on the road up the M1 within 3 hours.  I think if I had to do a really serious scene where anger is needed, I would channel how I felt that day.  But last night with the sun shining and a beer calling, I wanted to do nice light things.  So we did some singing instead. 

Now I am not known for my awe inspiring vocal talent, I can hold a note of sorts but as soon as that note has to change to a different one I am in trouble.  Suddenly I am a teenage boy who's balls are dropping.  However my drama leader Rosie was quite happy with what came out doing some scales.  She reckons I could belt out some high notes with some training.  So now I am on a mission to find a song that I would really like to be able to "belt out".  Something with some crazy vocal riffs.  When it comes to music I prefer to listen to men singing than women.  If you put me in a room with Katie Melua then I might be forced to shove that guitar up her backside.  However put me in a room with that gentle giant of a man, Guy Garvey from Elbow and I will sit like a well behaved child, cross legged on the floor and listen to his beautiful voice.  How can a man that looks so much like Grizzly Adams make such lovely noises?! 

Anyway I have to find a song that I would like to belt out.  I think seeing as I love him so much, I might have to go for an Elbow song or my other hero, David Bowie....not different much huh?!  I could do Space Oddity and put on a Bowie warble!

I think I prefer singing to acting actually, it seems to come a bit more naturally (apart from my super natural comedy moments).  Rosie suggested a musical performance, I like the idea of Miss Saigon, now that I would be happy to perform in front of Welly!!  I could be a Vietnamese hooker and do it a bit drag, you know a woman pretending to be a man pretending to be a woman.  As usual I'd probably end up looking like Kenny Everett.  Another hero of mine who I would have been if I was born a man.. 30 years earlier. 

Do we think I have a thing for unconvincing men in drag?!!  What with this and Pauline the Taxi Driver!

Anyway best get on, got some policy to write and a garden just begging to be sat in later..... "Camarero, una cerveza por favor"!!

Ttfn xxxxxx

Karaoke Karen and Pauline the Taxi Driver

It seems, that by some weird fluke of nature, that I have stepped into a freak show. 

I understood prior to moving to Wellingborough what I was getting myself into.  After a year of every other weekend here while Haynesy was living a bachelors existence, I got to sample the dizzy heights of the Swansgate shopping centre, ASDA and Swanwick Lakes.  Upon arrival I have come to see that life here can only be described as one slim level down from what is played out on the Chatsworth Estate in Shameless.  Frank Gallagher is played by the drunk that sits on the steps in the main square outside McDonalds.  McDonalds itself is a veritable playboy mansion of young girls who I am sure would have been lovely slim gobby characters if they hadn't let themselves slip into the world of the overweight, gobby, single motherdom cliche that you don't have to watch Jeremy Kyle to see.  Mimi and her venomous words, gold ringed fingers and Lambert and Butler hanging off her top lip can be seen sitting in BB's Coffee and Muffins in the middle of the Swansgate shopping centre, holding court with the other hard women, that have lived hard lives and sit there with their tartan shopping trolleys, smelling of fish. 

At Book Club on Saturday night I was introduced to Karaoke Karen and Pauline the taxi driver. Not in the literal sense, just anecdotal. I have yet to personally witness them but apparently they are famous in Welly. These two people should be in Shameless. One is a mad big red haired woman with red lipstick drawn up to her nose and right down onto her chin. She lugs a karaoke machine around on a trolley and is given to busting out a rendition of I Will Survive in the town centre. The other, Pauline, is a taxi driver who generally can be found at Wellingborough train station. You'll know her as soon as you see her amongst the other taxi drivers. Not because she is the only woman. No. Because she is the only male taxi driver wearing a dress, wig and full poorly applied make up. Pauline is a transsexual. She is a big burly deep voiced woman. I reckon if she picked up a group of pissed up blokes on a Saturday night they wouldn't dare give her any trouble. She may wear a dress and blue eyeshadow but don't fuck with her, she'll do yer!

So why move here then?  Yes the centre itself is pretty shit but outside the town it very quickly turns to green fields, farms and winding lanes.  Northamptonshire is really quite pretty.  The villages are small and picturesque and upon closer inspection you can find a nice pub or two.  One of my favourite past times is walking around the many country parks and reservoirs that are literally five minutes drive.  Perfect rabbit walking country, that is it would be if it wasn't for the fact that everyone owns a dog and I don't think little Cocobun would stand a chance against the dirty great big mastiff that I see being walked around Pitsford reservoir.  That dog has the biggest nuts I have ever seen, human and canine included.  Poor Coco's balls are like a couple of peanut M&Ms, this dog has bollocks the size of a couple of ripe granny smith apples. Anyway I digress.  I moved here because for all it's culture and people and many interesting things, there is no peace in London.  You can't stand outside and hear birds like I can right now.  You might see a manky pigeon with a club foot and mange but you wouldn't hear the birds.  You wouldn't get silence outside your front door at 9pm.  You certainly wouldn't get the space you get here and you most definitely don't get fields of grazing sheep.  There is a small stream that runs down the end of my road straight into the middle of town.  Along this stream on one inaccessible side you can see wild bunnies.  Little brown haired, perky eared bunnies.  This is in a town centre.  How the hell did the rabbits arrive there?!  I wish I could bring some London people up here to live with me and the bunnies and we could start a new cool scene of provincial culture.  I need to convince some cool young artists that the East Midlands is totally happening now and to set up a gallery here and get a bit of an arts scene going.  Maybe I'll make that my next venture.  Bunnies in Art.  Or I could go into more of a hospitality role and get a bar scene going that doubles as an art space.  Humm, someones already got to be thinking about this.  Might need to do some research.  I can't afford to give up on the fact that there has to be some culture in this town.

My attempts to find people via traditional routes e.g. the gym or social clubs is proving fruitless.  Even the people at my Book Club agree that unless you have children that meeting people in Wellingborough is nigh on impossible.  (They all have children and therefore can't commit to extracurricular activities as easily as me) So what's my choice?  Create something to attract those like me that may be out there, or just simply crack out a kid?  The second option isn't ringing my bell at the moment.  Some woman are made to be mothers, I'm made to please myself and swear.

Nope I am going to have to create something.  Any ideas on what that might be, let me know.  In the mean time I am going to carry on attempting to talk to people in the gym, which I do quite frequently now, I just need to develop it a bit to actual long getting to know people chats.  And I am going to continue my foray into the dramatic arts (tomorrow I continue my amateur dramatics investigations after last weeks workshop cancellation)

Right I'm off to find Pauline and see if I can't get her advice, at the very least I might get a single gals view on things. 

 Ttfn xxxxx

From Russia with Love

Get this, I was checking my blog viewing stats and I have readers in Russia, Germany and Malaysia!!  How cool is that?  Maybe I have a russian spy reading my blog in their down town between infiltrating the KGB at a black tie in Red Square.  I like that mental picture.  A trained killer in a plush hotel room, giggling over the ramblings of a 33 year old English girl about rubbing her cellulite away.   Now either someone in Luton some how has set their computer settings to Russia or I actually have readers that aren't in my friends list on FB! Not to mention Malaysia, coooooo-el!  I have backpacked in Malaysian Borneo with my beautiful home girl Bella Boo before and love it there.  So the thought of having someone reading my blog all the way over in South East Asia is awesome!

Sorry gushing a little.

Speaking of foreign lands and Bella Boo, I am getting really excited about Annabel's wedding next week in Italy.  Not only do I love Bella (of course!) but I lurve Italy too.  It's such a great place.  Not only are the people hilarious and lovely but the food is amaseballs, the architecture is beautiful, the countryside calming and peaceful and wine drunk straight from the vineyard from where it was grown is the best.  I have spent many a good drunken time in Italy.  Roma, Toscana, Firense, Venicia.....molto bella.  Amore Amore!! (That's the extent of my poor and incorrect Italian.  Apart from asking for a glass of red wine....that I've got down pat!)  This wedding will be so cool.  In Asti in Piedmont, I reckon a bit of Spumante might be in order!  Got a cool 1940's dress and some leg lengthening nude suede shoes to go with my vintage clutch bag and vintage fur cape.  Hopefully it will be too hot to wear the cape but who knows with this friggin weather at the moment!!  I'm so over the rain and cold.  It's May, it should be springlike and warm and fresh, not cloudy, grey and pissing down with rain.  It's at times like this when emigrating to Australia is a real appealing option.  I can put a few shrimps on the barbie in exchange for hot sun, relaxed outdoorsy living and saying G'Day you flamin Gallah to Alf Stewart. 

Someone please tell me that this weather is going to get better?!  In the mean time I will enjoy the Italian warmth and hospitality and do a dance for the sun god Apollo to come back with me to the UK.

Piccies of Italy to follow!

Ttfn xxxxxxxx

Mr President, it's been an honour

I realise that I may enjoy the act of writing down my waffle but like most things in life it takes a back seat to other things that I enjoy, like eating, sleeping and watching old episodes of 24.  Jack Bauer is my hero.  He is macho, tough, wouldn't think twice about killing someone who threatens the lives of the innocent inhabitants of the major cities of the US of A.  I bought Monsieur Haynes (the boyf) a keyring that when you press each button says a classic Bauer line, like "Dammit"!!, "Mr President, it's been an honor" and "Let's get something straight kid, the only reason your still conscious, is I don't want to carry you" after kidnapping the teenage son of his girlfriend while on the trail of terrorists about to expose LAX to nerve gas.  It's thrilling stuff, I get embarrassingly excited when he's close to capturing the baddie but at the last minute (normally) some annoying woman gets in the way.  Hence, why I have been off the blogging radar for the past week, after ingesting a whole 24 hours worth of season 5!!  I loved it!

Last week I partook of my first session at the Wellingborough Theatre Group.  Rosie, Charlie, George and Alistair, all took me into the fold and within less than 10 minutes I was improvising chugging jaegermeister from a traffic cone at a zoo adoption conference.  Random, pointless, not very well acted I must say but it was hilarious.  If nothing else, I may not be the best amateur actress in Northants.  but I will have a good time.  For 2 hours, I literally went from one scenario to another pretending to be a war memorial statue, arm raised aloft to the sky in victory, holding a bright pink feather duster, looking glorious.  Or as a spy walking her dog being given orders from someone in a bush, to direct an attack on Father Christmas at the North Pole.  For someone who generally thinks of a load of rubbish in her head all the time (the other day I started thinking about getting a shoe rack for the cupboard under the stairs while talking to Haynes about dinner), this is perfect.  I get to act out the weirdness in my head.  To be honest as it was the first time meeting these people and because I didn't know what to expect from a workshop session at an amateur dramatics meeting, I held back a little.  I think at one time I shouted out "our elephant has a bigger willy than yours", this was a slip up but I think exposed what level I generally think on.  Puerile and childish.  It was a great session though and I look forward to going back next Tuesday, if they will have me.  The group is compact and bijoux but I am assured there are more members that weren't there and that the group was only set up in December and really is in early stages.  I'm quite glad to be part of a new group, I may be able to help develop it into the best theatrical group in the region, nay the country one day.  I have already been offered a part in a gala performance of a short play.  I think it's of a woman who thinks that life is a musical, which is perfect for me.  I can bust out my inner musical theatre luvvie and warble my way through it.  I can do a mean "The Heat is on in Saigon" from Miss Saigon.  I have been told I sound exactly like a cross between Maurice Gibb and James Blunt.  Dare I say that this may be my avenue to meeting some people in Wellingborough?!  They are young (younger than me I guess) but they are funny and I reckon will be up for a bevvie or two every now and then.  Essentially my criteria is basic.  1) Funny 2) Enjoys a drink.  I will keep you posted of the next sesh with the group, I think there's some photos going around from it. Which I may or may not share based on how good my fringe looks in them.

Talking of puerile and childish.  While I was left with the children at the petrol station the other day I took my chance to talk toilet humour with the kids.  "The other day I did a pop that smelt exactly like chili con carne kids!!!!"  this was met with fits of giggles, they then shared poo stories, you know, turds in the shape of a teddy bear, ones that disappear before they get a look of them.  A bond that will never be broken was made because of our 5 minutes of stupid potty talk.  See how puerile and childish I am?!  Do parents ever do things like that?  Revert back to being a child with their children every now and then and really go to town on the silly poo stories?!!  Or do you always remain the parent and the childishness only really extends to bragging when you win at Pictionary?  Not being a parent I have no idea.  I know that Haynes wouldn't dream of talking about a comedy turd with the kids, where as I can't help myself.  I don't think I will ever grow up.  Polly Pan, I hope I never grow up.

Anyway, better get on.  Got a deadline on some riveting work around risk assessments for shops. My job is sooooooo thrilling, unlike Jack Bauer who can thrill me any time the security of the United States is threatened.

Ttfn xxxx

P.s. I spoke to a girl in my aerobics class last Thursday.  She was making a "Rolly" before leaving (I suppose that's why she goes aerobics, to compensate for the life she's just lost by sucking on one of those).  She said that she had noticed me in class before (I do exist!!! and did she notice me because she likes the ladies and I blow her hair back in my tight black Lycra and back sweats?) and I'm really good (yep she's been checking my arse out!) and that I should come and do step class before aerobics on a Thursday like she does, so that I get a really good work out...now if that's not someone who wants to see my bobbing up and down on a step for an hour before watching me bob up and down doing jumping jacks I don't know what is! Reckon I've pulled there.  The fact that she looks like someone from Prisoner Cell Block H/Bad Girls, doesn't deter me.  I can rock that look.  And I am not shallow enough to base friendships on appearance, hell I have gone through life looking like a chubby child for the past 33 years.  However as soon as she starts calling me "slag" and the aerobics teacher a "screw" I may have to revise my statement. Ta ta x

Look at my arse don't you think its smooth?..

I am a bit of a faddist.  If there is a fad going round I will generally partake..normally about 6 months after everyone else has done it.  Today while using my Oral B vibrating toothycleaner I realised that if I put my energy into one fad and stayed with it I would probably save myself some money and some time.  I can't help jumping merrily on band wagons.  It's not because I am worried about not being "down with the kids" but I always think there must be some genius reason why the world is going nuts over things. There must be some nirvana experience while playing angry birds but not that I have experienced.  Maybe my standards are too high and my nirvana will only be reached once I have mastered some mystical art or had my wicked way with Colin Farrell. 

I think the only fad that has lasted in my world is Weight Watchers.  They do say that it is a lifestyle choice and not a fad, which I suppose I am confirming by still being on it 16 months after joining.  I've seen it through the good and bad and the ugly (the Christmas cheese and chocolate binge was not pretty).  But I have changed my body and my health a lot over the past 2 years.  I gave up smoking, I started WW and I joined a gym and started exercising regularly.  Weirdly the smoking was the easiest one, I just stopped.  Eating on the other hand is my favourite past time.  I love eating, drinking, watching food porn, talking about it, looking at it, food, food, food, food, food!!  Therefore mastering my diet and exercise has been the hardest thing.  I'm still not perfect and I still vear off the path of virtue regularly.  The secret is to realise that you are human and that left over tub of Ben and Jerry's will be eaten on the sly behind a closed kitchen door, sitting on the counter with a spoon and the rabbit looking at you with a look of quiet disdain on his face.  Not that I'm speaking personally of course.  If your going to change your eating habits for life then you have to accept that really tasty fattening foods will have to be consumed occasionally and as long as it is occasionally and you get back on the wagon then it doesn't matter in the slightest.  Fuck it, go on, enjoy that dirty bag of Doritos and salsa dip in front of X Factor!!! Just balance it out with a salad for dinner. 

Along with fads I get obsessive about weird random things every now and then (which are fads too I suppose!), these are the current ones that in a couple of weeks will be relegated to the refuse bin of my world:

My sisal body mitt - Every shower now exists of at least 5 minutes of rubbing away at my skin like I am doing a brass rubbing.  At this rate I won't have any skin left by next Tuesday.  Honestly I go at it like I am polishing ivory or something.  But the bright redness and tingling sensation are quite addictive.  I like to think my skin is so much softer and brighter for doing it and that by rubbing away at my arse like a woman possessed that I am also going to be cellulite free for summer.  This of course is bollocks.  I am a woman and that by itself means that those lumpy fat deposits aren't going anywhere.  Even losing nearly 2.5 stone hasn't changed that all that much.  My thighs still resemble custard in tights. 

LA Ink - Kat Von D is a bit of a twat but I still love that programme.  I realise that I am late to the party, it was cancelled in 2010 but I love watching the repeats on DMAX channel.  Tattoos, tattooists, artists, looking at images that would make cool tats and researching who I want to do mine is my favourite pastime.  I have decided on a full back piece in this cool geometric black/grey design with a few of my own ideas thrown in by a tattooist called Thomas Thomas at Into you Tattoo London.  It's going to cost about £500 but I reckon it will look the mutts nuts. Just have to save up now and start prepping for the pain.  Here is an example of what I would like carved into my skin for life (hopefully not a fad or I'll be fucked!):

New Look - My wardrobe consists of a lot of New Look.  It's got the stage where people at work and friends have stopped asking where I get my clothes from because they get the same answer every time.  In Wellingborough you have what can be described technically as a shopping centre but in reality is a collection of pound shops and mobile phone kiosks.  It's shit.  The one shining beacon in this turd of a shopping experience is New Look.  The relatively exotic shopping experience of Milton Keynes is only 40 mins in the car away but still who can be arsed when you have New Look in town?!!

Kinder Happy Hippos - I love this little wafer encased nutty delights.  Not only frigging tasty but minimal WW points. Trust me you will love them, only 99p for a box of 6.

On that note I am going now to stuff my face and rub away at my behind some more. 
I'll be back tomorrow with something a bit more meaningful.
Ttfn xxx

I know, I know, I am slack..

Crikey I have literally been harassed into writing another instalment!  Who would have guessed that my misdemeanours in the world of social intercourse would have you so riveted?! I doubt my ventures into the world of sexual intercourse would have you quite so eager.  Not to say that it's boring or infrequent, on the contrary, it's just that I think that, that sort of information is best left for a different type of social media altogether.  One that I won't be advertising under my real name, without a monthly subscription or indeed promote it's existence on Facebook.

Yes I apologise, work, social commitments and the gym have prevented me the time to sit down and write.  I literally haven't had 2 minutes to scratch my bum these last few days.

In order to cover off my activities since last week, I think I might have to employ a tactic that I use at work.  A good ol bullet point list!  Here is the run down of (not very exciting) activities:

Weds - Body Combat - Dilly and her Down.  My Body Combat teacher is called Dilly.  She's scary and she has zero body hair.  The woman is a lesbian of the butch, fit, almost Germanic variety and I think she is the nuts.  Literally she is the mutts nuts, probably cos she's growing a pair in her cycle shorts.  Whats her proper name if her nickname is Dilly?!!  Dyllis?  Dilbert?  Ding Dong Dangler?
Thurs - Aerobics - Let's get physical in legwarmers.  No conversations to be had with other humans....again
Fri - Dinner with friend in London - Over Byron burgers and red wine we discussed the fact that a) people are delusional.  Yes you are kidding yourself about that bloke b) some people are total snobs and can't accept those of us who purchase our food from Tesco and wear New Look c) that we can no longer take our drink like we used to and realise that we some times lose whole chunks of time when we may or may not have been sick on the night bus back to Highbury
Sat - Pilates and cinema with Haynesy - Pilates in the morning, followed by some Tesco action to undo the good feelings gained by my pilates.  Battleship at Vue Northampton with my boy, to watch America save the world again from aliens.  Rhianna does float the boat though, that girl is number 3 on my girl crush list, only out done by Eva Mendes and Selma Hayek (Latinos obviously my thang)
Sun - Lunch with Haynesy' friends - Sunday lunch of steak and home made red wine.  The home made wine was actually highly alcoholic and drinkable and if it wasn't for the fact that they only brought out the one bottle (hellooooo stingy!) I would have got pissed
Mon - Scrotum cream discussion at hairdressers - Yes you read that right.  To follow..

So you can see that I have been busy.  Wednesdays Body Combat was a good laugh and some laughing and high fiving was done with other people at the end of each excruciating combination, followed by some people with a "herrrrrrrr" when they did this bodyslam type move.  I didn't vocalise my energy with each move like some, I prefer to do my best under the radar i.e. not get my leg up very high at all but still feel pleased that I did it time with the music and didn't fall over.  If you haven't done Body Combat before, let me explain.  It's high impact, quick combinations of combat moves like jabs, upper cuts, side kicks and roundhouses, all strung together with jumping side to side on the spot as if your Ricky Hatton.  Each combination lasts a song and at the end of each song you have literally 20 seconds to down as much water as you can squeeze out your bottle.  At the end of the last combination, my body was the Gobi Desert on the inside, because on the outside I was Niagra Falls, sweat was dripping from me in a most unattractive yet satisfying way.  My lungs were screaming for air and my throat felt like it had been cut.  I have never wanted liquid refreshment so much, I trotted over to the side to have a drink only to realise my bottle was dry and not a drop could be mustered from it.  Drats.  Well my throat would have to wait until I got the water fountain in the changing room.  I lined up to put my mat back.  There was a nice lady behind me and I was smiling at her, about to launch into a nice "how hard was that?" type conversation when I realised that my throat was so dry that not only could I not speak, but my lips had stuck themselves above my teeth like a grinning chimp.  I tried to lick my lips but there was nothing moist going on in my mouth at all.  I literally had to peel my top lip away from my front teeth and put it back where it should be.  The nice lady although visibly repulsed by my lip peeling exercise, smiled and said "wow that was a tough one"..."erch, erchhhhh, erch"  This was my response.  Trying to respond but only coughing attempting to bring moisture back....."erch yesss"  I had to whisper it.  What a knob.  It seems that every time I go to the bloody gym, I either say the wrong thing, say something too boring or I actually repulse people.

I'm drawing a line under meeting people in the gym.  I've had this discussion with other women lately and we have come to the conclusion that generally you want to be left alone to suffer in peace when in the gym.  Also agreed is that woman of a younger generation aren't very forthcoming and can be quite insular.  Older ladies will start talking to anyone but younger woman aren't there yet.  They need years of not being listened to at home by their husband to develop that skill of talking to anyone that will listen.  My mother can do it really well.  My older sister is getting there.  Nope I'm not going to court attention in the gym anymore but should someone talkative and lively and inclusive come along to aerobics I will then seize my chance.  

I have made a new acquaintance.  Granted so far it has only been googlemail and telephone based chat but I have none the less made a contact in Wellingborough, my age and we are meeting next week.  Sounds like I have resorted to chat room friend forums doesn't it?  Well I haven't yet (I may have to if this doesn't work out).  My new acquaintance is called Rosie and she is the chairwoman of the Wellingborough Theatre Group.  Yes dear friends I am joining an amateur dramatics society.  Next Tuesday I will be attending their weekly workshop at the Hind Hotel for "Improv Night".  I wanted to attend one before committing to this group completely, as lets face it, it could be painful if I have to duck out in my first week because I have been made to perform some interpretive dance piece symbolising the growth of a seedling to a room of people I have never met before in my life.  Next Tuesday I will be meeting my new acquaintance at the hotel and she will introduce me to the group.  Then on Thursday they meet in the pub.  More pub less improv I say.  I reckon I could be natural.  Or I could be made to improvise and then completely draw a blank, say something totally unrelated to what I am supposed to be improvising and look a complete knob.  We'll see.

At the moment I thinking of breaking up my "Project - Welly Mate" into smaller goals.  1st goal - to hold a conversation with a Welly Dweller that I haven't met before.  2nd - to make a friend at this Am Dram group and go for a coffee.  3rd - To hold a soiree at my house for friends and invite my new Welly mate.  4th - Go for a proper night out in Welly (is there such a thing?!) with my new mate, get pissed, talk to more Welly people and makes loads of mates and eat kebab together.  I think small achievable goals may be less disheartening if they don't work out. 

Let it be said across the land that Polly Hibbins doesn't give up! Come hell or high water, I will succeed in my mission.  Amen.

Ttfn xx

P.s. Scrotum Cream at Hairdressers.  I was sitting in the chair at the hairdressers this lunchtime, waiting for my stylist to get a freshly sanitised comb when the old lady next to me leaned over and said "you know what that doctor gave me don't you?"...."err no, what did he give you?  (A prescription perchance old hag)"..."he gave me cream for down there" (she nods towards her lap)....this obviously repulses me "oh, that's unfortunate"..."down there for men's bits, it was.  The doctor gave me cream for scrotum's.  It made my face come out all read and flaky"...."Why on earth were you putting cream for scrotum's on your face?"....."Well exactly that's what I want to know dear.  I don't trust that doctor.  The cream says on the tube that it's for topical treatment including skin problems of the scrotum"  "Maybe he thinks your face looks like a pair of hanging glands?"...."Maybe dear"

Double Grapevine, five six seven eight!

This was me in aerobics last night, (yes it is true):

Yes I look that slim, I wear a leotard and legwarmers and my hair is luscious and blond.  Actually it's a complete lie.  I wear black leggings, black vest and the toughest sports bra ever constructed, I actually look flat chested which is impressive considering the above average size of my Bristol's.  I have discovered that while I do perspire that I don't as much as a the yak that I was double grape vining next to last night, that woman could sweat.  You could stand her in a hot room and she'd turn to solid salt.  I won't hold that against her though, as I trod on her foot after starting off on the wrong leg during a complicated combination.  My teacher is a sadist, she has gone and made it not only longer and quicker but the combinations are like human Tetris on level 12.  I like a challenge though and I keep jogging between combinations which apparently she likes as I am keeping my heart going, (I'd be worried if I stopped moving my legs and my heart stopped at the same time, I must say).  Wait for it... *gasp* I actually spoke to someone in class!  Some post workout water drinking and heavy breathing was shared at the side of the class before I launched into conversation with the Yak (I won't let prolific body fluids stop me).  "Sorry I trod on your foot, I don't have much co-ordination"  "That's OK, it was a hard one tonight".  Thus endeth my conversation with the Yak, as she walked off to speak to someone else across the room.  I sniffed my pits, I looked in the mirror for a bogey hanging out of my nostril, I didn't make an inappropriate comment like I did in Pilates on Saturday, nothing, not a thing that could offend.  I could not find anything to tell me why she didn't want to continue talking with me.  Now common sense tells me that she wanted to speak to that other lady for some important reason and it didn't have anything to do with me and my boring comment.  I was keeping it safe and inoffensive but maybe I came off as bland and uninteresting.  I must practise my small talk.  I need to master the art of saying something interesting in one sentence to capture my audience straight off the bat.  "Did you see that the lockers now take £1 coins rather than 20p's" isn't going to cut it with this Wellingborough lot.  Not to generalise but I don't think that I can launch into a critique of the Damien Hirst retrospective either.  No I need to keep it medium brow with a local aspect.  "I see that Wellingborough library has got copies of The Girl with a Dragon Tattoo in stock" or "Costa has a new Frappachino, do you want to grab one after aerobics and talk about interesting local things and get to know each other as I don't know anyone apart from my boyfriend,my rabbit and the miserable woman on reception".  Maybe not.  Smells of desperation methinks. 

Therefore my tactic is thus.  Tomorrow I am doing Body Combat, I will get there early so that I am one of the first there waiting outside the studio.  The next person to arrive will get it both barrels with my charisma and witty banter.  To start I will keep it safe with "I don't normally do this class, is it tough?  I need a hard one to keep me interested" (do we think that challenging would be a better word inserted into that sentence?! But I do love a double entendre!)  from there we will launch into a getting to know you chat and hopefully, stand next to them in class and carry on the banter.  Or, more likely, their mates will turn up and I can either a) slump back into obscurity while they share "in" jokes or b) I can ask the mates about the class too and introduce myself and make more friends.  I will play it by ear.  I might have to be brazen and go for it.  Being meek isn't my style and isn't getting me anywhere.  What's the worst that can happen?  Yes I could look like a Billy No Mates or I could look like an exotic Londonite, come to inject some urban jazz (?!?) into things.  Lets think the latter but be prepared for the former.

Ooh I've gone on a bit today.  I will need to get on with some work.  Today I am working from home with Cocobun, he's reading the paper right now actually, he likes to keep abreast of current affairs.

Til the next one....Ttfn xxxx

A Sunday Quickie...my dinner is burning

I'm making a stew today, beef and red wine, a few shallots, parsnips and Cocobuns favourite, Carrots.  Cocobun is the other man in my life.  He is handsome, dark haired, agile, likes his food and for a hand full of kale he will lay on your face....he is of course a rabbit. Say hello...

It has to be said there is nothing crazier than a woman who keeps cats.  Even worse is a woman who keeps cats and whose house is full of cat hair (obviously) but also cat nic nacs.  I'm not a nic nac person but a cat shaped one is going to get you a name "Mad Cat Woman".  The sort of person who features on How Clean is Your House or Come Dine with Me.  Now I thought there was nothing crazier until I met the person who bred my rabbit. What a loony.  Nice enough chap but he literally lives like Cat Weasel in a terrace in Bedford.  The house was full of animals, hair, litter trays and a smell that only a person so obsessed with animals that they would marry their dog, could stand.  I had to dodge the dog poo minefield of a back garden to get to the shed where the rabbits were kept.  I looked like I was river dancing down the pathway (please note that pugs can shit like billy-o).  The door was opened and thrust upon me was the pungent smell of what I now recognise as rabbit wee.  It made the eyes water.  But within that pissy wooden cave was a rabbit lovers heaven.  Lined up in hutches stacked one on top of the other were the cutest little bunnies I have ever seen.  Grey ones, white ones, ones with lop ears, ones with long fur and there in the corner gnawing at the bars like a prisoner on death row with a whiff of freedom in his nose was this little chap.  At first I thought it was a little doggie because his colouring was that of a dachshund.  Cocobun was the one, I saw that naughty glint in his eye immediately.  I asked to be shown the little doggie bun in the corner and Cat Weasel said "What Paul McCartney?"  That sealed it.  Cocobun is my little dude.  When I work he sits next to me, snoozing on his side until he wakes up at the sound of the fridge opening which in his world means "kale time".    Cocobun is such a dude that I even bought him a harness and lead so that I can walk him around like a doggie.  I tried it the other day, I still have the scratch marks up my arms, it looks like I've been self harming.  I will persevere and when its on him, I will parade around with my rabbit on a lead like a mad rabbit woman, in bag lady clothes talking to herself loudly, down Wellingborough High Street.  I will video this ridiculous sight and get £250 from You've Been Framed.  Which might then fund a new class I have been thinking about......African Drumming!

Until next time...sorry I'm off to eat stew with my man and my bun xxxx

Social Leper does Downward Dog

A noise was heard by the whole class this morning, as I struggled to lift one leg to the ceiling while in the downward dog pose at Pilates....."errrrrrrrrpppp".  No it didn't come from me thank god, I have complete control of my own buttocks thank you, even when straining to lift my leg while I suffocate in my own breasts.  No, this sound came from the woman in front of me, the one who always keeps her handbag with her next to her mat.  What does she think is going to happen to it if it's left on the side like everyone elses?  Your soon going to notice if someone starts rummaging through your old till receipts, fluff covered tampons and the lone Extra chewing gum at the bottom.  This Handbag Woman didn't bat an eyelid when the sound erupted over the pan pipe mood.  I giggled into my breasts and carried on fudging my way through the various core exercises until the end of the class.  Rather unwisely I saw this as an opportunity to strike up some conversation with other ladies.  Handbag Woman had gone so I sidled up to the girl who I feel is my equal in the class (early 30'sish, cool, stylish, can't balance on one foot like me) and said "What do you reckon she keeps in that handbag of hers then eh?.....ass plugs?!!"  Her face fell, a nervous laugh escaped and she collected her yoga mat and quickly made her way through the double doors.  Sod it.  You obviously can't say things like that to someone who you have never even said hello to before.  That therefore concludes my attempts to strike up an acquaintance at Pilates.  Next gym based attempt at conversing with human beings =  Aerobics on Monday.  In the mean time I will have to research some avenues. 

Got a hot lead.  Wellingborough has an amateur dramatics society.  Is this like putting a bottle of vodka in front of an alcoholic or what?  It has to be said that I am not backwards in coming forwards.  I wouldn't say I am a show off and I most certainly don't court peoples attention every second but when an opportunity arises to make a smart comment or stoop to sarcasm I will take it.  I am the sort of person that dances in a bar when no one else is drunk enough (Birthday drinks in Camino Kings Cross as an example, doing Zorba the Greek from my bar stool at 6pm after not even consuming one alcoholic drink).  I have a history on the stage.  Dance classes of various sorts from the age of 6 - 11 meant that I was forced to don a homemade costume once a year to perform to entertain parents that had paid for the pleasure to watch their darlings dance badly to old show tunes.  I was also the Inn Keeper that said "Yes we do have room...you can have the shitty stable round the back with the ox and the ass".  So I'm thinking that Am Dram may be that creative release with added people meeting potential that I was looking for.  I have a telephone number and a name of the "Creative Director", I have looked at their website and was encouraged to see that they meet each Tuesday night at a pub for their meetings.  Now if that doesn't sound like an excuse by the committee to get a few bevvies in mid week, I don't know what is....they sound like my kind of people!  So I shall be phoning Rosie the CD tomorrow and see if I can't crow bar my way into some theatrical production of The Pirate of Penzance.  Arrrrrrrrr me hearties!

Ttfn, I'll let you know what this alchie attention seeker says tomorrow.

xxx

Testing testing...one two three

So my initial market research has brought back positive vibes, I shall continue with the story.

Why move to a place that doesn't hold the same sparkle that you loved about the town from which you came from?  Love for sure but there is something about the lure of normality and doing things like shopping in Tesco using a car rather than getting overpriced shopping delivered by Ocado that has it's bonuses.  Money is saved, you can browse all the different types of condiments, something that I have honed into quite a skill, I really didn't know there was such a thing as salad cream with piri piri spice??  You just don't get such low rent items on Ocado. 

Love yes, a man brought me to live in the East Midlands.  Having met the man of my dreams, as unlikely as our match has seemed to others, it was decided that cheap rent, more space and a Tesco Extra on your doorstep is enough of a lure to get you to pack up your stuff (then get it nicked, but that's another story) and head off up the M1, turn off at Northampton and take the A45. 

It has to be said that our house is amaseballs.  In London I lived in a one bedroom new build/no soul box in London Bridge all for the princely sum of £850 per calendar month, add to that the council tax, bills and average cost of a pint of milk in London and you have a whole heap of cash, merrily walking out of your bank account on the 1st of every month.  It was in a cool part of town, with Borough Market round the corner and I had a view of Tower Bridge from my balcony, I guess this semi justifies my landlord raping my bare arse each month.  No here, it is much more realistic.  A three bed detached house with garden, conservatory, utility room and study will set you back less than that and you still have change to get that milk.  Yes I am smug, yes I like telling my friends in London this sort of information and yes I like looking at their faces drop when I tell them that work also agreed to me working from home 3 days a week so that I could move 2 hours away.  Some people are just assholes aren't they?!

Cheap rent, my soul mate and some space away from the London Crazies made me move here.  I've been here since last August.  That's what, 8 months ago now?  Since then I can literally count the number of people I have personally met from the area on one hand.  The aforementioned window cleaner Joe (who looks like Eddie the Eagle), the eternally grumpy woman on reception at the Waendal Leisure Centre (who looks like she could do with being in the gym herself or perhaps would look better looking like Eddie the Eagle), I have also met on many an occasion the lovely girl that works in New Look in the Swansgate Shopping Centre, who tells me all the time that what I am buying she has had her eye on and she's going to get it for her uniform pay day.  Apart from that my world is made up of the various faces in Tesco, Waendal Gym and the people that get the train into London twice a week.  It's not what you call buzzing round here.  In London I was used to walking out the door, taking a wander along the Thames to look in the Tate Modern (talking to the person looking at the freaky Austrian actionist movement art) on the days when I didn't have much to do, taking in a coffee at Monmouth and then popping into the Design Museum round the back of the flat to buy postcards of cool, designy things. 

It it is with this stark comparison of lifestyles that I have decided after 8 months of not meeting anyone that looks remotely like they might be interesting, creative, funny, mate material (after joining a gym, attending classes, striking up conversations randomly with girls in the street that look like they are on my wave length and vaguely in my age group).... I am going to take action!!  Now I'm not sure how this will manifest.  I have some ideas around joining some sociable/interest clubs of some sort but I guess I need to develop an interest in something first.  Shopping in New Look and Tesco doesn't constitute as an interest in normal peoples eyes. While looking for this "club" I will continue to hijack people in the street to see if they are normal or if they browse condiments too but I need a creative outlet I think.  Somewhere where I can explore my creative inner being while eyeing up potential friends who have clubbed together at the back where you can't penetrate their circle.

Yes that is what I will do.

Ciao ciao xxx

Arrival, set down luggage...

So it starts here, or at least getting it down into words.  I have moved to Wellingborough in Northamptonshire from the Big ol Smoke, London, and finding my feet in what is a large market town in the East Midlands.  It's not glamorous, it's not sexy, there aren't nice little cafes or bars to go to to just "hang".  In fact would I really want to hang in Wellingborough?  I probably would if I could find someone to friggin to hang with!  That's a little untruth actually, I moved here with my boyfriend who has lived here for 15 years, but apart from him, I know only the window cleaner and the person in the gym who swipes in your card.

This is a little release for me, I can put down in words and pictures how I am navigating being the New Girl In Town.  The places I go, the lengths swam to integrate into a new town where people aren't coming towards me, waiting to embrace me with open arms and say "Welcome, you are our sister and we want to make you feel like London was just a piss in the ocean compared to the delights that Northamptonshire can offer you.  Let me take your suitcase and your pet rabbit from you while you chill out with a skinny latte and I tell you all about what exciting things you can do in our magnificent county". 

So it starts here.  The start of a blog that no one may read or if they do read, once and once only and move on but at least I can say that I am putting it out there.  To be followed.....