Merry Xmas Everybody Slade
I’m usually such a happy go lucky kind of person and don’t let things effect me but I have to say I have a real problem with the new BT advert.
The current strand of the BT ads is that 3 studenty type people live together in their impossibly unaffordable flat, having a great time with their expensive gadgets, doing stupidly handsome things. Even the geeky, awkward not good-looking one is 100 times better looking than I am.
The story goes that he’s on a dating website and is in the process of a chat with a potential date. This never happens.
What actually happens on dating websites is you pay loads of money to flick through pictures of people who you have nothing in common with, live no where near you and don’t interest you, despite you specifying in great detail your search parameters and never getting a date. The worst part is that every time you click on a womans profile and start to look you hear your panicked childhood voice shouting “run away” as if your football had just hit the really grumpy neighbours window again. You usually cancel your six month subscription after 2 weeks. Or so I’m told.
Well, in the advert the geeky, awkward not-good -looking good-looking one gets a date and I can’t wait to see what happens next. She’ll probably be really hot and right in my search criteria. I’m really happy for him. Really, really happy.
Dear Diary. I’ve decided to talk to you like a friend as I don’t talk to anyone the moment I leave work and I feel I should do something sociable and the closest I get to socialising is writing this. This diary is quickly becoming my best friend.
I think I’m suffering from jet lag, which is strange as I haven’t been on a plane for 10 months. I’m blaming farmers and their need for us all to change our clocks.
I don’t think I’ve fully recovered from the clocks going forward on Sunday. I seem to be lying in bed not falling asleep at the moment and when that happens my mind just wanders, and not to the good things I’ve done but to all the stupid things. That can’t be normal.
Things I’ve found myself thinking about when all I want to do is find the cold side of the pillow and go to sleep are:
The time I posted my dads fan belt down the drain, the expensive vase I broke playing football inside and blamed on the cat, temporarily giving my brother a bald patch when I pulled his hair out, the relationship I ended by text because I knew she was in to it more than me and I just couldn’t be bothered, winding a friend up so much during a game of charades she left and walked 4 miles home. For all those things, I’m sorry.
Hopefully now I’ve got it off my chest I ‘ll be able to sleep properly because I have to be fresh for the exciting things I fill my time with. Oh
Went to the gym, which was like a ghost town. It was either because the sun was out or it may have had something to do with their decision to put the price up.
I had my usual reaction when I found out about the price increase. Get really annoyed, kick up a bit of a fuss, threaten to leave and then when I’ve got it all out of my system and looked up all other options, then and only then will I actually think about it. I do quite like an over-reaction. Everyone does.
The price increase could be a good thing for me. I don’t like the bigger boys judging me as I lift the girls weights, and with them out of the way, I’ll rise to the top so I can be the king of the gym. I don’t have anything else in my life so they should have put the price up more. Suckers.
I did over hear a conversation though. You couldn’t help it. Two girls were walking really slowly on the treadmill and one said “If you had to choose, would you rather be intelligent or beautiful?”
This intrigued me and I kept an eye on them as I had to see who was asking such a deep question while reaching such a massive speed of 1 mile an hour on the treadmill.
I can assure you, they were VERY intelligent. Like me. Sadly.
Spent the long weekend back at my parents house which meant by Friday morning I had regressed to being a teenager.
I started to find everything annoying from the moment I was woken up by the vacuum cleaner. Why hasn’t someone invented a silent vacuum? We’ve put a man on the moon and made supersonic plane yet I think my parent’s vacuum is still louder than both of those crafts.
Even turning the TV over became an irritation to me. My mum couldn’t understand why it didn’t always do what she wanted it to do. Probably because she was pointing the control out the window or at the ceiling.
I decided the best plan of action was to divide my tasks up. I went to the supermarket to get some bits, but opted to leave getting petrol for another time, just so I could leave the house again.
My status as the second child was also confirmed as my dad continually called me Jonathan, my brother’s name. He wasn’t even there. It got worse though. My dad phoned me and called me Phoebe, which is the name of their dog.
It’s now official. I am less important than the dog. As I suspected.
Went and bought a load of Easter eggs for my family.
I don’t really get buying Easter Eggs as you seem to be spending a lot of money on not a lot. Most of an Easter Egg is the packaging. Yes, you can buy them without the packaging and that is the environmentally friendly thing to do but it isn’t the best thing to do if you’re really tight.
How can a bit of chocolate in foil be more expensive than a bit of chocolate in foil in a cardboard box?
I have some making up to do this Easter as last year I wasn’t very popular.
My Mum had made an Easter Egg hunt for me and my Brother and sister in law. I happened to spot this when I came down in the morning so decided to have my own hunt, all on my own and I collected all the eggs. I like to win.
I owned up to it after my brother had spent about 20 minutes looking. If I hadn’t said anything, they’d probably still be looking now. We are far to old to be hunting for Easter Eggs but it was nice to find something I’m good at. Ruining Easter.
I ‘ve eaten one of the eggs I’ve bought as a gift writing this, so hopefully my brother won’t turn up, as I can’t be bothered to go and buy more reasonably priced chocolate…
Got stuck in a 2 person queue in the corner shop.
Now normally I would use this time to peruse the sweets, but my last pack of Fruit Gums that contained 75% yellow ones has put me off buying them.
This time however I was listening to the conversation taking place between the shopkeeper and his near 90 year old customer.
She was buying lottery tickets and not just the normal lottery, but the Euromillions and scratch cards. This made me mad.
Not because I was going to buy lottery tickets, I do mine online so no one knows quite how desperate I am each week to win. What irked me was that she was buying them at all.
Why isn’t there an age restriction on Lottery tickets?
There’s a younger age because when you’re 15 you have no idea how bad working is, so don’t need the thought of being able to retire early to get in the way of where you’re going to get your next snog from.
But why isn’t there an older end? The moment you hit retirement age should be when you give up the lottery. You already spend the days sitting around watching TV, eating hot cross buns and occasionally picking up the fluff from the rug. Kind of like my life now.
I bet the old lady wins the jackpot and I’ll be really happy for her. Really, really happy…
I’m prepared to be shouted down on this but with ‘Let’s Get Ready to Rhumble’ re-entering the charts it needs to be said.
Pop Music in the 90’s was rubbish. It’s so much better now.
The Big Reunion has confirmed this. I hold it responsible for removing Kerry Katona from 30 second adverts where she can be contained, to her being everywhere, attacking you when you are least suspect it. Like the flu.
Ant and Dec, in the 19 years since they released ‘Rhumble’, have gone on to massive careers. They aren’t like say Blue, who have had more pointless comebacks than a Katie Price and Peter Andre argument.
I’ve got a new found respect for Jay from 5 for not get involved in The Big Reunion. I wouldn’t want to spend more time with these people than I absolutely had to.
It’s not just the acts on the show that are to blame.
There ain’t no party like an S Club Party. No, and that’s because an S Club Party would be a nightmare. 7 drama school brats all demanding the spotlight. Jumping in the air, pointing in opposite directions, smiling. They would have too much fizzy drink and end up in bed by 8. They would probably have to have a parcel each in pass the parcel.
So let Ant and Dec have their moment, as they are the only ones that realize this nostalgia-a-thon is going to be short lived, like the Honeyz careers…
Now having never been in an actual proper relationship, the type where you are introduced to the parents or actually have to spend time with each other, I have no idea what goes in to being a couple. As I’ve said before, I’m single by choice. Theirs.
I’m imagining it’s more than just texting to see if they want to do something and getting no response. If I count the amount of time that’s happened I’ve been in 6 relationships.
However, I overheard a conversation yesterday that made me wonder if this sort of thing is the norm when you’re in a couple.
2 guys were talking about having to buy their girlfriends a present. One of them said he’s really lucky in his relationship because his birthday comes first so he can see how much she spends on him and then just spend the same.
Is that normal? If it is, I’m further disheartened by the fact I’m single. I would give good presents. I would spend time thinking about the right thing to buy and spend the right amount so it looks like I spent a bit but actually I used a voucher or bought it online. Or from a charity shop and said it was vintage. In fact charity shops should call themselves vintage boutiques. They would make loads of cash.
Thinking about it, shopping seems like a nightmare. She probably wouldn’t like it and I would go back to texting to see if she wanted to do something and get no response.
I’m probably better off single. For her sake.
Whenever I see a group of 4 women sat in a café or bar I automatically think that they absolutely believe they are the Sex and The City girls.
How fabulous. 4 friends sitting around, gossiping about men, their jobs, their relationships. That’s all women talk about. They probably argue over who’s got the Carrie shoes, why that friend is Charlotte and say things like “that is so Samantha’. They dream about finding a Mr Big and moving to Paris, whilst drinking their unnecessarily fancy coffee order or cocktails.
What they’ve forgotten is that they’re sat in the Slug and Lettuce and they all look like Miranda.
People that take TV shows too seriously annoy me. Not Just Sex and the City but also TOWIE. The amount of people on Facebook or Twitter that I see go on pilgrimages to the land of the Sugar Hut is ridiculous. Do they look at it as a posh fancy dress party as they all seem to dress like the div girls on the show, with their stupid fake eye-lashes and Tango tan? The short skirts I can live with.
Do these women really believe they are going to be on the show? Are they going so they can be the next Mrs Joey Moron or are they treating it like a low rent version of Disney World, where they can live the magic but ultimately not really remember it?
You’ll never see a man go on trips to where a TV show is filmed. It’s just not what we do. I am looking forward to going to the Harry Potter film studios in May though.
Did some food shopping. Not quite a big shop, not quite a small shop. An intermediate shop.
Pushing a trolley can be difficult and despite discarding the first one I got to because it wouldn’t go straight I still ended up with a wonky one. If this trolley did cross-country at school it would have got lost and finished last.
The trolley turned out to be the least of my worries.
In my local supermarket of all places, I found out I have a nemesis.
Why do some parents think it’s ok to let their toddlers run around the store?
Every aisle I went down, the child was there, running around screaming and shouting and seemingly parentless, causing my trolley to veer left and right.
Maybe it had been ditched there by parents tired of all the chasing around and it now lived in the supermarket or maybe it’s parents just didn’t care that he was just getting in the way and causing me to have thoughts about clipping him with my trolley as I went past. We’ll never know.
What I did do was smile politely at other shoppers who had obviously had the same thoughts as me but also did nothing.
That’s the British thing to do. Do nothing but moan like crazy if someone will listen. It’s a nice club to be in.