Saturday, 26 September 2009

*High Pitched Squealing Noise*


I am going to see Kelly Clarkson for my birthday in February!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

That is all.

Sunday, 20 September 2009

Ama[i]z[e]ing Maize Maze


We all love a maize maze.

And we all love Twilight. [Admit it, you do.]

Why not combine the two for a heady afternoon's fun?

Any fool know, the only team to be on is Team Jacob.

Edward is whiny and possessive and pathetic.

Yeah, I said it.

What better way to pledge your allegiance to Mr Black than by exploring his face hacked out of some corn in wonderful* Syracuse, Utah?





I think it is clear to anyone with eyes, that the creator of the maze is firmly Team Jacob.

RPattz's maze has been tacked on as an afterthought.

And look how scrubby the corn is around the edges of Edward's, admittedly glorious, hair.
[Jacob's maze hair looks like his brain is exposed. And RPattz looks a bit like his head is on fire.]

*Syracuse, Utah may not be wonderful. I have never been there. The fact that it is a farming community, and in Utah, means that it's probably not that wonderful. If anyone from Syracuse, Utah is reading this, gimme six!

Thursday, 17 September 2009

Age Shall Not Weary Them


So, my grandad died.

And that was sad. Especially for my favouritest CBM.

But he was 86 and he is in a better place, wherever that may be.

And I can think of a few people he would be glad to see again.
I hope that he does see them.

I have inherited his HM Armed Forces veteran's badge.

My brother has his regimental patches - one for Normandy 1944 and the other his Royal Horse Artillery regimental patch - which he is thrilled with.

He gave his medals to another family member years ago, and that family member has lost them. What a fucking wanker.

He recently got a passport, which he never had the chance to use, after always saying that he would never get one because the last time he was abroad [i.e. fighting in WW2], 'they never asked to see my passport'.

One of the last things he said to my cousin, thinking she was me, was: "Jessica, have you got a job yet?"

And that makes me cry tears of laughter. Haha.

He was born in 1923. It boggles the mind to think how much the world has changed in such a relatively short period of time. No TV, no microwaves, Al Gore hadn't even dreamt of inventing the internet ...

And it is slightly depressing to think of what hasn't changed.

My grandad comes from a generation that I think we owe a great debt to. One that fought World War 2, not through choice, but because they were told that it was the right thing to do.

Even in death, there is humour.

And it comes to us, in this time of sorrow, in the form of a list.

This list was given to us by the bloody awful hippy vicar who will be conducting the funeral service next Wednesday.

It is a list of 'suitable' songs to be played in the church.

My suggestions of 'Light My Fire' by The Doors or 'Going Underground' by the Jam = not appropriate apparently.

Some of the suggestions include Albatross by the mighty Fleetwood Mac, Always by Bon Jovi and Always Look On The Bright Side Of Life by Monty Python.

I wonder if anyone at the church has actually watched the film that the Monty Python song appears in? Life Of Brian anyone? Essentially a 2 hour piss take of religion in general?

Another option is Annie's Song by John Denver - I approve of this choice. What a lovely song that is.

'Be Still For The Prescence Of The Lord'.

If the Lord were present, he would not approve of your spelling.

Or you could have Bilitis played at your funeral. The instrumental or the pan pipe version.

Bilitis sounds more like a cause of death to me ...

You could also have the theme to Black Beauty, Bridge Over Troubled Water or Bright Eyes by Art Garfunkel, or Candle In The Wind [Diana version]. The brackets are not my own addition.

One of the more 'out there' choices is China In Your Hands by T'Pau.

I am half expecting to turn the page and see Too Shy by Kajagoogoo or Karma Chameleon by Culture Club as options.

There are 2 Aerosmith options. The church loves that Steven Tyler.

There are some slightly wrong options - Endless Love by Ross and Richie, Everything I Do [I Do It For You] by Bryan Adams.

And a lot of Celine Dion, presumably for when they are burying child killers and rapists.

Not even Jesus loves Celine Dion.

We settled on that old chestnut My Way by Mr Sinatra and the more outre choice of Country Roads by John Denver - despite my grandad not being from, or ever having been to, West Virginia.

I plan on turning it into a sing-and-clap-along extravaganza.

CBM is still cranking out the one liners, even in mourning.

Today she referred to Bob, the family cat, as a 'pimp'.

We were walking into Chateau BM when I pointed out that there was a big bird sat on next door's roof.

CBM's reaction was: 'Woah! What is it? A vulture or a turkey?'

It was a pigeon.


Sunday, 13 September 2009

[500] Days Of Summer




Everyone on the planet should go and see this movie - 'tis awesome.

I am going to incorporate a dance sequence into my everyday life from now on.

And can you ever have too much Hall & Oates? Nope.


Monday, 7 September 2009

My Name Is Jessica, And I Am A Vegetarian.


Yes. That's right.

I am That Guest. The one with the dietary requirements.

The one who needs the separate pan and the 'special' meal.

The one who messes all your timings up because I won't eat dead animal.

On a trip en famille, to my brother's new yuppie crash pad/quasi student hovel, in West Didsbury, I found myself, for the first time ever [the times in the hippy place opposite uni don't count] in a wholly vegetarian restaurant.

I have been vegetarian since I was 11 years old.

In the past 15 years, I have eaten meat once.

I inadvertently ate some bacon about a year ago and almost instantly threw up.
My vegetarianism is one life's sweetest ironies.

I loathe animals almost as much as I loathe people.

I don't loathe Bob The Cat or Poor Dead Tig though.

And one of the 'types' of people I loathe the most are those most predisposed to being a vegetarian: the hippy.

And Heather Mills-McCartney.

A period of my life still discussed [and laughed at] to this day, is the Ill Advised Vegan Month.

When I was about 15, I decided that I could be a vegan, yeah? That I would find it incredibly easy to cut all animal products from my diet. I don't have a clue as to why I ever wanted to try this. All I learnt was that soya milk is undrinkable and if you are setting an alarm to get up at 3am to eat cheese with no witnesses around, you probably like cheese a bit too much to give it up.

I used to be a way stricter vegetarian than I am now - no gelatine [a Haribo habit which would make Amy Winehouse look like a poster girl for sobriety put paid to that one], no fish [I am having my revenge on the monsters of the deep by eating them left, right and centre now] etc.

Am I even considered a vegetarian if I eat fish?

Anyway, I found myself in Greens in West Didsbury. This restaurant is run by television chef Simon Rimmer. He seems like a lovely man. He presents Something For The Weekend on a Sunday and won the first series of Great British Menu, the world's most needlessly convoluted cooking show, on BBC 2.

I was with CBM, Dickhead John and Little Bobby. My most immediate and beloved family. None of whom are vegetarian.

We all had Welsh rarebit to start. Or posh cheese on toast as my dad calls it. Then I had potato, cauliflower and green bean thai curry, Dickhead had Cheshire cheese sausages with mash and gravy, Bobby had white bean and coriander chilli and CBM had gnocchi and tomato pesto.

My mum ordered some chips. You can take the girl out of Warrington ...

We went to the restaurant as a reward to ourselves as we had just spent an hour trying to construct a chest of drawers for my brother's new cupboard/bedroom. Only we didn't have any tools. So we used a shoe as a hammer and duct taped all the drawers together. Ingenious.

The area was having a food festival, West Fest, and all the restaurants had music playing [including a string quartet, steel drum band, Thai dancers] and were giving out freebies. We had free wine at the wine merchants, fish and chips at the cafe, sangria and tapas at the Spanish place, ice cream and handmade pasta at the Italian, Singapore noodles at the Thai place etc etc. We got so much free food, it was ridiculous.

We went into a pub, The Metropolitan, for a drink. 4 pints cost £12.

Twelve fucking pounds. 13.70 Euros. 19.64 American Dollars. 1826 Japanese Yen.

This event attracted a certain type of person. The young hippy or the middle class parent [or yummy mummy], wheeling around little Tarquin Gaylord or Arabella Cheesecake, and swooning over organic hemp sandals or some other product designed for people with more money than sense.

This event all took place on a street with a pub at one end called Ye Olde Cock Inn. Snigger.


As I was walking along looking at all the free stuff with CBM, thinking about the type of middle class tosser who wilfully attended such events, I found myself saying 'Ooooooh, Mum! Look at that artisan cheese!'

Once again, cheese has been my downfall.

Am I a middle class tosser?

I was genuinely excited to see the cheese.

The man had one of those cheese corkscrews [as I like to call them], the ones you stick into a wheel of cheese and remove a slither from. Amaze.

Needless to say, I have spent the day consumed with self loathing.

My brother's housemates are quite the interesting mix. There is a journalist, 3 mechanical or chemical engineers [including baby bro], a doctor and a trainee psychologist.

My bro has a housemate whose last name is Frizell. He has the basement room.
Hence his new nickname: Fritzl.
Ouch.

Oh, and I ♥ cheese.