Smellmycheese's Blog

Posts Tagged ‘money

Hi blog readers,

Apologies for the lack of action on the blogging front for some time. No reason, I’m just a bit rubbish.

I like to imagine you’ve all been sitting at home since I last blogged, constantly hitting refresh on smellmycheese as you weep brown, crumb-filled tears onto your naked chests.

Crumb-filled because you’ve taken to comfort eating Sainsbury’s own Bourbon biscuits (40p for loads) in the absence of a new blog post from me to brighten up your day, and naked because I like to imagine you’re all fit men and, well, how else will I see fit men’s naked chests on a regular basis other than in my MIND? Well, the internet for one. But that’s not the point. Moving on…

Unfortunately, I am only too aware that two of my most avid readers are in fact my mother and my sister. Neither of whom are fit men.

But hey, at least I’ve got an active imagination. And that’s got to count for something in these turbulent economic times. Right?

Speaking of which, money’s a funny old thing, isn’t it? I was involved in a lively debate just the other day regarding a bag costing over half a grand. That’s right. A bag. One of those things you put other things in. For what equates to just under half a month’s salary for most people on an average wage and a month’s rent for many others.

Now I’m not casting aspersions on anyone here; people can do what they want with their own money. Whether that’s spending it on things to put other things in, things to put feet in or things to put feet and the things they’re in as well as things to put other things in, in. If you’ve lost me (and I can’t imagine how you could have to be honest) – things to put feet, shoes and bags in = cars and houses.

So yeah, who am I to judge? (Someone who doesn’t have much money, obviously, but that’s beside the point.)

Jennifer Love Hewitt vajazzles her va-jay-jay apparently. I vaj-don't.


Sometimes these conversations make me wonder if I am a real girl after all. Perhaps I’m a bit like Pinocchio but still all wooden. And instead of a real boy I want to be a real girl (only I don’t; it sounds expensive.) 

Evidence for why I may not be a real girl is as follows:

I enjoy getting dressed up to go out as much as the next girl, but I could not imagine spending more than £50 on shoes or a single item of clothing. Not when George at ASDA exists and sells kick arse jeans for £12.50 (seriously, they are my new best discovery and I’m determined to spread the word).

As for a bag – £30 limit (and for that price it better come with a free matching vibrator, or at least a Curly Wurly). It’s going to spend much of its short lived existence, before I lose it, on the floor of a beer garden getting ash flicked on it and beer spilt on it, so there’s pretty much no point in missing out on meals for two months in order to purchase it.

As for beauty treatments, here are my credit crunch-busting alternatives:

Eyebrow threading – I can only imagine this involves shaving your eyebrows off and then threading false ones back INTO YOUR FACE. Buy some tweezers for 99p from Wilkos instead and avoid looking like a Raggy Doll.

Manicures – simply chew your nails down until they bleed a little bit and then paint them yourself with Tippex like you did in school. The white of the correction fluid will mix with the red of your blood to create a lovely baby pink hue - bringing you bang up to date with this season’s ‘back to the cradle’ trend.  

Bikini waxing - Use a razor. The rash will fade in time. And if it doesn’t, see below.

Vajazzles (Google it) - Get some Pritt Stick and glitter and get creative at home! You can use the leftovers to add a lovely, personalised touch to this year’s home made Christmas cards.

Facials – stop being vile.

So, there you go. My post turned out to be about money saving tips and distasteful innuendo (although that last bit was to be expected to be fair. I’m nothing if not consistent.). Martin Lewis move over!

If you’ve got any top money saving tips, do feel free to share them. As long as they’re funny and preferably if they’re verging on offensive too.

Ta ta campers. And remember, anti ageing cream will not stop you getting old, but excessive drinking might.


image cred

I took a trip to the cinema recently and it reminded me why I hate people.

When I say ‘people’, I don’t mean me. And I don’t mean you, if I like you. (If I don’t like you, I definitely do mean you). No, I mean the ‘general public’.

Before we get into why people are rubbish however, I’d like to address the issue of why cinemas themselves are rubbish. Beginning with the fact that there is nothing to drink for under £2.50. Nothing, that is, other than tap water from the urine stained toilets or cartons of juice, which are about £1.80 and, on this occasion, had sold out. Naturally.

The only other place to get a drink from at this time was the Starbucks across the road, which, as we all know, charges approximately eighteen pounds for some Kenco tarted up with syrup and served by alternative student types who are smiley and ‘happy’, presumably in some sort of an ironic fashion.

The handy thing was that it was around thirty five degrees Celsius in the cinema, seemingly in order to speed up the spreading of as many different types of cough and cold virus as possible. As a result, I was forced to buy an overpriced drink. But you can’t beat me that easily. I purchased a small Diet Coke, with no ice. Thus maximising liquid to cash ratio. Hell yeah, sticking it to the man.

After all that slowly sipped small Diet Coke, the inevitable happened: I instantly needed the toilet. Which were located a corridor and two flights of stairs away. How convenient. Seriously, can these places not cater for those, such as myself, who are cursed with the bladder capacity of a pensioner? And indeed, pensioners themselves! Although, you never really see old dears at the flicks do you? Why is that? Maybe it all went downhill once ‘talkies’ were introduced.

Actually, after seeing The Ugly Truth not so long ago, I’m almost inclined to agree.

The Ugly Truth is a Gerard Butler/Katherine Heigl film and literally one of the worst things I have ever done with my eyes. Buy it on DVD for someone you really hate or watch it if you’re bored of your brain and want to kill it slowly with terrible acting, shit stereotypes, crap clichés and horrendous dialogue.

The Ugly Truth about this film is that it will make you wish you had been born without eyes, ears, a brain or nose (just in case you can smell how shit it is).

Anyway, I digress. Back to why I hate some other stuff.

Oh yes: very overweight child eating various packets of noisy food ALL the way through the film. What a marvellous way to occupy your obese infant; give him several packets of junk food to ‘keep him going’ for a strenuous two hours of sitting.

I’m being terribly judgemental of course. For all I know, they could have been off to a badminton class afterwards. Or KFC.

The man three seats away from me was a particular joy too. The way his phone kept lighting up like a fun little torch when he checked it for texts every fifteen minutes really added to the plot of the film and enhanced my viewing experience no end.

His too, I would imagine. What better way to really get involved in a film that you’ve paid nine pounds, yes, that’s NINE English pounds, to see, than by texting your friends all the way through it?

All of these factors conspired to bring me to the realisation that the cinema has the potential to be a very stressful place for a person like me. If someone so much as touches my chair or whispers too loudly, that’s it.  I’m then on edge, waiting for them to do it again, totally distracted  from the film.

Quite what the answer to this is, I don’t know. I could watch DVDs from now on and never go to the cinema again. Or I could not let other people bother me…

Obviously what I’ll actually do is carry on getting very annoyed at people and life and let all the irritation build up inside like a healthy volcano of rage until I explode and suffocate someone with their own Haribo Tangfastics.


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