back up blog

Nearly a week after landing back in the YUK, I'm sort of getting all reflective, and a bit soppy, and all that other stuff that one does after a big adventure. It's funny how I even ended up putting my (to be honest, rather uneventful) life on hold for a while and flying halfway across the world to abuse my accent enough to get laid. Well, enough to get a free drink at least. I had a job teaching English as a foreign language last year . It was in Italy, and smug bitch that I am I got a week on the Italian Riviera with a hundred other tutors to learn exactly how to get nine year old kids to pay attention to a rousing rendition of “Heads, Shoulders, Knees and Toes.” (Tip: often it involves candy, and even more often suggestions of violence.) Thing is, I was the only British chick there. There were two British guys- one chap who had forgotten to pack his personality, and a flamboyant gay from Nottingham who had bigger fish to fry than little old me- and everybody else was FOREIG...

I'm home. Back from the big adventure. And that means that yup. I'm staying with mum and dad for a month, until I start a job over in Italy. It's been five days in their house and already there is blog material for at least eight weeks. Lucky you, Internet. LUCKY YOU. I’ve spent the last four months living near Detroit and learning how to write and how to act. Well, on occasion, anyway. The rest of the time I have been falling for unsuitable boys far too young and far too pragmatic and far too JUST NOT RIGHT for me; taking my own advice and saying yes to life until I had to beg for mercy, a new deck of Marlboro Lights and a raspberry-vodka martini, and trying to be introduced to new people with a title other than, My Friend Laura From England . The only time my accent has gone unquestioned is within the circles of Theatre People who presume that I am either just as pretentiously attention-seeking as they are or practising for my latest role. I actually had a full ten-minute...

I walked into the liquor store and nodded at the Indian chap behind the counter. “Hullo!” I said, as I proceeded to make a beeline for the wine section. It was disappointingly ill-stocked. I walked back to the counter. “Urm, yeah. Hi. Is this the only wine you have?” I asked, to which the Indian man, whom I took to be the owner because of his authority over the kingdom, replied, “No. If you ask me where there is more wine, I will tell you.” He stared at me. “Look,” he said, “Over there.” He waved his hand impatiently in another direction. “Oh, that’s great. Thanks,” I told him and he looked at me again and said, “I told you. Ask me and I will tell you where to find things.” Okay, crazy, I thought to myself. Obviously charm school was a success for you. It took me a while to chose between one Californian bottle and another. I really just wanted a nice Macon Villages or similar but I was in a corner store in Ypsilanti, Michigan. I knew I would have to lower my expectations. I grabbed the...

So I'm at the gay bar, and yeah, I'm not going to lie to you internet, I WAS PRETTY DAMNED MERRY. I think it was all the cheap perfume and glitter that got to me. Anyway. I decided I needed a smoke. It aint big and it aint clever kids, but alas it what I needed. "Pardon me," I said to a cute little blonde piece and his hag. "If I told you it was an emergency I don't suppose I could bum a cigarette, could I?" I smiled sweetly. "Errrr, you don't even know what an emergency is," replied the blonde with a slight lisp, eyeing me and my ten dollar chiffon top with undisguised disgust. "Why don't you take your ass and fuck off back to where you came from," he spat, to which I remember wondering, back to where I belong as in England? Or back to where I belong as in back on that bench over there with my drunk-ass friends? "Gosh. Sorry. I hope your night gets a bit better, love," I said, and then I ran off to tell on the nast...

I felt pretty good as I braced the chilly Spring wind to meet my friend for coffee across the road from my apartment. I'd chosen my very fancy purple, punch-holed, Jaeger dress. You can see it in this terrifically bad photograph of me here . I don't wear it often, because it is a bit see-through, but paired with thick leggings and a vest top I think it is bloody-well cute and today I just felt like it. It goes well with my sassy-pants. I strutted into that coffee shop like nobody has strutted before. Sometimes you have to fake it to make it. I bumped into a table of friends and stood chatting to them whilst I waited for my buddy. I was the irritatingly loud one that kept saying, "Yah! Yah! Yah! FABULOUS!" over and over again because I felt so darned good. Some days girlfriend just has it going on. "Hahahahaha!" I guffawed as my friends entertained me with witty stories, and I returned the compliment of their attentions by being fascinated in them whilst eyei...

Dear Stephenie Meyer,  Look. Let’s just get this straight before we start: I love your books. No, I’m not a 14 year old girl with only a pillow to keep warm at night. No, I don’t fantasise about one day being rescued by a beautiful man who will find all of me and my (many) flaws so irresistible that he might save me from myself (monster that I am). No, I don’t wake up every morning and wonder, What can I do to make a boy like me today? And thank God. Because if I was said fourteen year old then I’d be in danger of thinking that all it takes in this life to be happy is a teenage wedding to get that which (of course) we all dream of: a husband and a baby and a cottage in the woods. Seriously Stephanie? This is the message you are going to send to the post-Spice Girl generation?   Thank goodness Edward Cullen was a great shag is all I can say- even my own mother told me not to wait until my wedding night because I’d only be disappointed. Can you imagine if he couldn’t get it up? ...

Me, to two girlfriends : So you're telling me that if a guy called to say that he had just beat one off at the thought of having you bent over his sofa you wouldn't be overwhelmingly flattered? Two girlfriends, in unison : Ewwwww! No! Me : You're fucking crazy .