Archive for the ‘Uncategorized’ Category
I have definitely got it (Facebook fatigue, that is). Or at least fatigue at a certain kind of update.
I have found myself increasingly bored of seeing updates about what people are doing with their weekends, evenings, lunch times, bed times… I just can’t remember why I ever used to care. Did I care? I think I did, Or at least, it didn’t used to make me annoyed at a large percentage of the human race in quite the same way.
Don’t get me wrong, I used to be just as guilty as the next person of updating my Facebook with what I was eating, where I was going, where I had been and yada yada yawn. Then I realised that not only was I hugely disinterested in the minutiae of other people’s lives so why the hell would they be interested in mine, I realised that, actually, I actively do not want people to know where I’m going, what I’m doing and who I’m seeing, unless I choose to tell them personally for some reason.
It’s not just the ‘who cares’ factor either, it’s the cringe factor of people flaunting how fun! and busy! their lives are on a regular basis.
So I’ve for the most part stopped updates about my personal life. Oh and blocked people from checking me in without approval, so that other people can’t decide to share the insignificant details of my social life for me.
(Obviously if I’m going somewhere amazing and exciting or have a moment of weakness and feel like I must let people know I’m having fun! and I have friends! and I eat food! I might succumb and do an update, so don’t hold me to any of this.)
For now though, I’m getting such Facebook fatigue that I’m getting to the point of hiding updates from almost everyone, which would make being on Facebook slightly pointless.
Why don’t I leave? It’s entangled me in its web of millions of my photos that don’t exist anywhere else and a general feeling that I somehow need it to exist in the real world. It is becoming another platform for me to be annoyed at people on and I am just too scared to leave it, goddamit.
The good thing about Twitter is that people tend not to spew as much mundane personal dross as on Facebook. They tend to share funny or interesting observations, articles, pictures or thoughts and not tell the world how they’re in a bar on a Friday (amazing news!) is or how they’re having an early night (stop the press!). Or, at least, not the people I follow. But then, I don’t tend to follow people I know in real life on Twitter.
So there are a few possible conclusions here: everyone I know in real life bores me/Twitter is better than Facebook/I am just becoming grumpier than ever.
Probably the last one. Right, I’m off to have a bath and eat some pickled onions.
Ahh, Easter, the time of year when we celebrate the momentus occasion on which baby Jesus turned into a bunny and ate some chocolate.
I’m joking of course, that would be ridiculous and far-fetched and no one in their right mind could possibly think it really happened. It makes no sense. No, what really happened is that he came back to life. Obviously.
This Easter I will probably not be eating any more chocolate than usual, mainly because I’m not going to buy Easter eggs for myself like a huge loser (if anyone would like to buy me an egg, I’ll have a dark chocolate or white chocolate one thanks) but also because I have no money to spare after deciding I can live the life of an international jet setter (in a way) on the salary of a regional non jet setter. Less Paris Hilton, more Leeds Travelodge. Less Victoria Beckham, more Vicky Pollard. Less Barry Manilow, more Barry Chuckle. Less… you get the idea: I’m broke.
But it’ll all be worth it when I’m partying in Sydney on NYE. And the good news is I’ll be really thin because I can’t afford to eat until then (possibly a slight exaggeration) and I’ll be a complete lightweight because I won’t be buying alcohol until then (definitely not going to actually happen) and I’ll be extra fun-loving because I can’t afford to have any fun during the preceding months (obviously a huge lie. I’m NEVER fun).
In the meantime, I’ve come up with a foolproof plan to earn some cash, and fast (you might want to run and get a pen and paper at this point and jot the following down, because it’s a pretty special idea)…
…win the lottery!!
I know, I know . You’re welcome.
Just in case this doesn’t pan out as expected, however, (which it obviously will, although buying a lottery ticket at some stage will probably increase my chances a little bit) I’m also going to…
sell all my tat at a car boot sale!!
I expect to make at least a tenner, from stuff that collectively must have cost me easily a couple of hundred quid. Hurray for consumerism and buying crap we don’t need.
I’m sure the car boot will offer many blogging inspirations so I’ll be sure to update you all on it. Unless I can’t be arsed of course, in which case I won’t.
Bye bye for now and remember that the baby Jesus loves you. That’s why you should give your money to those lovely people at Nestlé and eat lots of high sugar junk food.
It’s what he would have wanted.
This is a test post to see if the subscription thingy on my blog has changed. Please let me know if you receive it and, if so, which email address it comes from…
I stole that title from this site, which is very funny.
I’m not writing about fire engines though, or children’s drawings. Although both are subjects close to my heart. No, today we’re going to talk about coach journeys.
I say that now, but most likely I’ll digress into a series of rants and side-splittingly funny anecdotes about a variety of loosely-related topics.
My blog is a bit like a coach ride actually: unexpected twists and turns, a ‘journey’ and a driver with a moustache.
One of the things I hate most about ‘people’ is how they look at me. I mean, I really, really hate it. It makes me feel angry inside and a little bit violent. Although I never actually get violent (I’m not working class).
To clarify, people looking at me when I’m talking to them or they’re talking to me is acceptable. Polite, some might say. That kind of looking is fine.
The kind of looking that really gets my goat, however, is when I’m not talking to someone or in any way inviting them to look at me for longer than a cursory glance.
Case in point: girl sitting opposite me on the recent coach journey I took. I got something out of my bag, she looked. I adjusted my cardigan, she looked. I picked up my phone, she looked. I started taking a dump on the coach seat, she looked.
Okay, so the last one is fair enough. And I know I’m extremely fascinating but, really, there’s no need. I could have said something witty and urbane such as “take a picture, it’ll last you longer, a ha ha ha” but I refrained. And she got off halfway through my trip, thankfully. Leaving me free to move, fart and scratch myself, without all the ‘looking’.
Speaking of farts. The coach toilet situation needs addressing.
Despite my hilarious references to farting and dumping earlier, I am able to use a toilet. I’m also able to operate a simple flushing system and aim my ‘toilet parcels’ into the relatively large hole provided. I never realised what a talent this was until recently, when it dawned on me that in fact it must be, seeing as no other fucker who uses public toilets seems able to.
First toilet trip on coach journey: textbook. Clean toilet, plenty of paper, no worries. Second trip, by which time several people had used the facilities: more like a fair ride. The kind of fair ride where, if you don’t hold on whilst maintaining a hovering position, you’re going to fall into a mass of strangers’ urine. So kind of like Alton Towers on a budget. But with slightly less queuing and a lot more faeces.
And before anyone thinks the toilet mess situation must be down to the unisex nature of coach toilets. I’m sorry ladies, but it’s not.
Here’s a tip girls: stop squatting to piss on public toilets. You know why they’re minging? Because you squat to sit on them. Thereby missing the massive hole and pissing on the seat. Therefore encouraging others to squat. Get it? Wipe the toilet and deal with it. You’re not going to get AIDS.
(Well, you might, but it won’t be from a toilet seat.)
On that note, stay safe and rubber up kids.
Before you go on reading I must warn you that this blog post is going to read more like a postcard than a blog and won’t be very funny. On the upside however, it will be very short…
This morning I explored my relatives’ amazing garden and had breakfast outside, watching parrots in the trees and skinks (lizard-like creatures) by the pond. Totally chilled out and idyllic.
There’s also a venomous red-bellied black snake who likes to visit the pond and who made an appearance this morning, but he had disappeared before I ventured out for brekkie.
In the arvo (check out my Aussie slang, I’m practically a local already) we took a trip to the beautiful (and v quiet) beach and swam in the perfectly turquoise sea.
Despite the weather (mid 30′s) there were pockets of the sea that were icy cold, apparently because of a current that comes in from Antartica. But if you’ve swam in the North Sea in October you can handle anything. (Which I have, in case you didn’t get that.) Saw lots of hermit crabs wandering around. Thankfully no sharks or jellyfish.
Then went to the local pub for a schooner of beer (between a half and a pint – we should defo have them in England) and watched the Melbourne Cup.
Yes, that’s right folks, I actually watched a game of SPORT. The Cup is a huge deal over here and, as it’s only 5 mins long, it’s manageable. If they made football matches five minutes long, I could probably handle them too. I might suggest that to Mr Fifa. Or someone.
There’s a storm a-coming apparently so may be in for a rainy one tomorrow, but after that it should be glorious sunshine again.
Once I leave my rellys’ on Sat (I don’t know if ‘rellys’ is Aussie speak, but it sounds good) I won’t be able to blog as much, if at all. Not only because I don’t know when or where I’ll get the internet access or time, but also because I’ll probably be permanently drunk. Hence the flood of blogs currently.
Toodleoo ’til tomorrow people.