Flying hair attacks my face!

The other day I was walking up the street in the fake-sun. That’s when the sun shines but the wind chills you to the bitter bone!  I was minding my own business, passing all the shitty cornershops that at first I hated upon coming to London but now have a novel affection for.  I was happy I had been to the gym and that my clothes were fitting again.  I looked up and smelt the air,  there was a wind, if I had been  born in London, I would think it was fresh air.  Though I know better and I know how the air in wales makes every alveoli in your lung stretch out in  receptive pleasure.  Anywhoo, I saw this thing flying in the wind… a blonde, single strand of hair.  It was quite far away and I watched it come closer and BOOM IT HIT MY FACE AND I WENT AHHH!!! AND SLAPPED AT MY FACE TRYING TO GET RID OF IT AND THEN IT WENT AWAY BUT I HAD A TERRIBLE FEAR IT WOULD GO IN MY MOUTH.

*gags*

Hair in my mouth, WORST THING EVER.  Maybe not as bad as getting HIV or slipping and falling face first into dog turd, but pretty bad!

I didnt super freak out like Tom Cruise does in Jerry Maguire when he’s sacked, it was an internal freak out, no one suspected a thing…

And that was that. Sleep well dear abyss!

 

Jessica Rabbit, tigers that burn and the men down under

I  had another dream with the tiger in the forest.  The tiger, tiger burning bright in the forest of the night!  I have had this dream before and I know it stems from my love of and constant singing of the song “Tiger in the Night” by Katie Melua.

My favourite line being “I live like a wild and lonely soul”, ahh it’s very beautiful, trust me.  I also love tigers, not physically, stop dialing the RSPCA!

The tiger in the dream is stunning, he has ember eyes and he sleeps. In the clearing of the forest, which has a stream nearby. I can’t see the stream, I only hear it but I know it’s pure and if I drank the water I would be immortal. The tiger drinks the water, I never see this, but he must. His fur is the richest colour of fire you could imagine with  velvet jets of black . He’s very regal, I would liken him to Aslan though not to Jesus, which is what CS Lewis aka “creepy religious dude” was getting at.

I want to speak to him but I’m not there, it’s just my spirit watching the tiger and his breathing, up and down, so soothing. Just like the soothing sound of the heart beat.

Much better than the size 0 boy-girls (that surely only a catholic preist could love?)

I was having my lovely tiger dream when my phone rang and who should it be but none other than Jessica Rabbit (so called because she has huge boobies, that’s it really). Rabbit is one of my bestest friends.  Rabbit is a cockney lass and her parents are originally from the Caribbean but I like to piss her off and say she is from Nigeria. Rabbit is the one that taught me the most offensive thing you can tell a black woman is that they wear a weave, ha ha.

Anyway, Rabbit has been gone for a long time,  and before that I was gone for a long time.  So now we  are back in each other’s lives and it is a wonderful thing, like the dust that might fall off a shooting star as it travelled to earth!

I will see her tomorrow but from what I gathered, she had a great time away. Rabbit usually only dates black men but she said and I qu0te, “I didnt want to go to Australia because I thought they might be a bit racist, but oh my god, the white boys there, they’re so fit!”.  I have to agree with her.  We reeled off a quick list why australian men are possibly the hottest white men:

1)  Tall (on the whole most are tall)

2) Tanned

3) Good at sports like surfing! Sexy sports. Over here it’s mainly rugby and the men that think they are good at rugby but are not professionals, well… they are fat and gross.

4) FUN – the most important thing, they really are super laid back and enjoy mucking around.  These british boys are very anal, let me tell you.

5) Confident but not cocky – if a guy over here in the UK is confident he tends to be arrogant and a bit of wanker.  Over in Aussie, they’re confident but down to earth. They actively come up to you and ask you out. When I was in australia,  I can say, with modesty, I got a loooot of attention. A lot more than you get in London because everyone is terrified of everyone and english men are too “stiff upper lipped” to approach you.

So yeah, it seems the men down under have tempted old Jessica Rabbit. I told her the kiwis are nice too.  The Kiwi guys are really sweet, maybe even a bit shy.  They are the nicest though. Of all the men in the world that I have met and like to racistly stereotype.

Rabbit asked if anything was going on  with me, I told her I’d fill her in on all my scandalous-yet-still-virginal escapades when I was away when we met up for an official marathon exchange of travel stories.  I told her that I think I am finally ready to have a boyfriend. I told her how I was a bit jealous the other day when my friend was watching a DVD with her “non boyfriend”, the Puppy.   I said I like DVDs! I want a boyfriend to watch one with.  To which Rabbit replied, in her usual way of spoiling my PG fantasies “yeah watching DVDs naked with a guy is nice”.

 

London stalling

TODAY IT RAINED. THIS IS NOT A HOAX. GRAB YOUR FAMILY AND RUN! HEAD FOR THE HILLS BUT BE CAREFUL BECAUSE THEY HAVE EYES AND THAT GUY FROM THE SAW MOVIES IS STILL MANAGING TO KILL PEOPLE EVEN THOUGH HE’S DEAD. DID YOU NOT HEAR ME? RAIN! SAW! EYES!

Ahem.

Okay, that was just a test, a little internet experiment. I was trying to recreate the mass pandamonium that a bit of rain and wind caused in our nations capital, London, today. You’d think we were actually in Barbados because the rain brought a complete stand still to the traffic and everyone was running around like headless chickens. People were looking up in fear as if grenades were falling from the sky (see photograph below, taken at 12.21pm in Westminster, for devestation caused even before the first drop fell). A more than mild gust of wind caused peoples umbrellas to fly from their grasp and screams of “nooooooooooo” in slow motion could be heard echoing through the subway. One man fell behind his battallion when his foot became immersed in a puddle. He put on a brave face, urging his fellow men to go on and forget about him, to lead good lives with dry socks and be thankful for each day…

I mean cmon, we’re complete shitty weather veterans. Pull yourselves together, people! There was a feeling of hysteria in the air… like this lady next to me on the bus. She ruffled her feathers as she sat – her mannerisms were the spit of a hen on ecstacy. She then proceeded to ring everyone in her phone book squawking floridly “ooh it’s raining! so badly! my umbrella, it’s soaked through” (no shit), “ooh i will be late for work, oh dear! Such traffic, taking ages! Raining! Have you rang Albert? He’s on his own today! Check the fridge for butter! I don’t think we have enough! Get into the bunker and wait for me! It’s too risky out here. I can’t see a damn thing. Johnny just went blind! I’m coming home Ma! MA I’M COMING HOME!” (okay so maybe I embellished this a little but she did eventually lay an egg).

In truth, the great british public love any excuse to sack off work. I could see through her feigned dismay at being late for work. If she had been dressed to reflect her mood she would have been wearing a bra made out of coconuts, nothing but a fig leaf to cover her bajingo and doing the hula to celebrate her freedom. Any interruption to the monotonous Londoner’s commute and day is always welcomed. Hmm, maybe not when all the bombs went off though. I think a line might be drawn when it comes to the “things-that-give-us the-day-off-because-they-exploded-in-our-face” scenarios.