So.  Didn't win the Euromillions.  If you follow me on Twitter (yes all 3 of you) you might already know that.  So it's back to the blogging board.  Following on from the success of yesterday's blog....33 new views and 3 new followers, (yes, I am aware most of the views were from me refreshing the page but hey, needs must, people!) I have decided that slightly less ranty posts are the way to go at least for the downhill part of the week. 


Very exciting news this morning in Stylist magazine; Caitlin Moran, (hilarious columnist from The Times) is doing a book reading in Laandan town next Thursday of her very own book, How to Be a Woman. Now, ordinarily her columns make me chortle, snort (oh come on, you do it too) and occasionally laugh so hard a little bit of pee comes out, so imagine the mad dash for some Pampers that ensued upon hearing the news of her having her very own book.  Anyway - in typical disorganised fashion I had yet to buy it, which I remedied yesterday afternoon, as obviously I couldn't go to her very own book reading without having read it - how else would I laugh knowingly and nod sagely at the right parts next Thursday?


Naturally I pounced on it like Rebekah Brooks on an advertiser as soon as I got home.  So far it's exactly as expected; the writing is sharper than Picasso's pencil, and the humour is closer to the bone than Gregory House's scalpel but more than that it really gets you thinking about there being no guidebook on being a woman; just to clarify, by this I mean a guide for women on how to be a woman, rather than those with...ahem...aspirations.  She tackles everything from marriage to what to call our mammaries and a fair few other 'm's in between.  It's not so much a guidebook as a recollection (and a bit of rant - you can see why I like her) of the pitfalls and potholes of her own becoming a woman, but nevertheless the bumps along the way are ones that all our teeth have rattled over.

While we're on the subject, a general guide to being a grown up would be marvellous too.  Is there anyone else out there who is still waiting to become a grown up? For example, by the ripe old age of 28 I fully expected to have been a child star and be able to wolf whistle (for hailing a cab in NYC of course.)  Admittedly these are two of the more frivolous talents, but there are other life skills that, far from feeling I "missed out" on, I rather feel I ran and hid in the toilets when, for example, The Underwear Ironing Masterclass was being held.  And more disturbingly I still don't really want to learn (I still ask my Mum why on earth she irons dishcloths.) 


Mind you though, there are plenty of things I would love to be able to do - making do and mending are high on the list, rather than spending a small African country's GDP at the dry cleaners each month...alternatively I could just not hang out with people who spill things on me, or not hang out with...myself.  If I chat to my friends I am amazed at their ingenuity and their skills at this stuff - well, that's not quite true, I think if I'm fair, we all have different skills.  Whereas I admire my best friend's financial savvy; her books are always balanced and her account is always in the black, I don't envy her (admittedly infrequent) forgetfulness when it comes to adding water to pasta.  Other friends are amazingly tidy and organised, but couldn't wire a plug to save their life*. 


So that's my blog for today - no moral, no rant; if anything just a request to the publishing company John Wiley & Sons - please bring out a Being a Grown Up for Dummies Guide, it'll make a 28 year old child very happy.


*Oh yes, neither could I - do you now see why I need a guide?!

Planes, Pants and Plonkers

It happened again.  Honestly.  And this time it wasn't just a dangling bra from a misbehaving backpack.  Oh no.  This time I was wearing my underwear when I flashed it.  I think I should start at the beginning of the day – which was horrendously early (4am) as I had an early flight to catch.  Those of you who know me know I am not the keenest flier, although am a frequent one.  Super combination.

At this point I should apologise for the tone and general rantishness of this post as it has to be said that I was in absolutely poisonous form as I started writing this on the plane at stupid o’clock.  And my mood hasn't got any less noxious (or is that obnoxious) as the day has passed.  So far today I have managed to flash my underwear at an entire planeful of people whilst boarding a Skeezyjet flight, I’ve also made someone cry (an adult, before you ask – I’m not Satan), I had a phone meeting with someone at even stupider o’clock, which I managed to intelligently do by video whilst wearing not a scrap of make-up.  To top it all off there is a child in front of me with the worst verbal diarrhea I have ever heard – I think he is literally practising every word he has ever learnt and his parents are letting him.  Does anyone have a Diazepam?

The underwear incident was because I decided to wear a nice summer dress to try and fool myself into being in a good mood.  Which was actually sort of working until I paid (really bad) homage to Marilyn Monroe and it blew up over my head as I walked towards the airstairs.  Incidentally, I just Googled to find out the name of said airstairs and found some Yahoo Answers thread with the question “How do you board a plane?”  That has actually raised the first smile of the day for me.  I mean, I’m used to the twits who, when they reach security, gawp at the airport employee who asks them to effectively strip down to their underwear to pass through the metal detector, then gasp at the prospect of not bringing their ten gallon bottle of Coke and finally look well put out when asked to surrender their machine gun.  I have managed to stop sighing annoyingly loudly – I do know it’s annoying – I stopped because I was annoying myself and I am working on not asking out loud if they’ve been living in a cave for the past 10 years.  But that people would need to ask how to board a plane is a new one for me – I clicked on it to find out the answer (for research purposes obviously) and absolutely loved the answer “You walk into the inside of it, find your seat and sit down.”

To think that the anti-venom for my day was so easily and amusingly sourced – thank you Yahoo.