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Day Tripper

Another day, another evening before a day trip! Yessss!

I won't deny, I'm a big fan of the day trip, and we all know it. I'm hoping to get a pen, or at the very least a pencil for my troubles tomorrow, as me and Emily are heading off to Chatsworth House. I've already prepared the CD, and we have a whopping great FOUR CDs, that's right, and that's lucky because last time me and Emily went on a day trip to Hampton Court palace we got lost whereupon I proclaimed 'it's ok, we've got another CD here!' - phew thank god for that!

Unfortunately, God doesn't appear to be smiling on me because the weather forecast is a bit rainy tomorrow, but although the rain may dampen our jackets, it most certainly will not dampen my spirits, or my ability to buy pens, so there!!!! You've got to stick it God, make sure he gets the message that you don't care what he's going to do just to spite him!

I'm the queen of coincidence, and this means nothing to me. This probably means nothing to you either (apart from you), but I don't care what this means to you (only to you). Ha!

Exciting news for you folks - another day trip planned on Saturday! Yes, that's right, one week, TWO new pens!!! It just doesn't get any more exciting than this, and because of that, I won't tell you the details of that day trip just now, it'll only spoil the suspense for you, let's just say that it involves a large castle, and I do like those indeed.

In other news, although I haven't stepped out of the house today, I've managed to avoid any supermassive black holes that are meandering around the Oldbury area, and for that we can all be truly grateful, but I have been told to watch out for Spon Lane and Farm Road, I think that might just be a general life lesson for us all though! Spoon Spon, Broom Brom. Let my road to the top of the charts begin with that phrase, you heard it here first.

Anyway, before this blog lives up to its name just a little bit too much, I shall sign off now, see you on the other side of the Peak District.


Voice Control

I have typed over 55,000 words in my temp job this week, just over half of which have probably been 'erm' and 'um', which all have to be typed in minute detail.

I managed to pick up a whopping great 64 minute tape to transcribe, which didn't exactly fill me with heady anticipation, but upon listening to the tape, the very considerate man told the woman not to speak at the same time as him to 'make it easier for the typist' - I love him, he's thought of me when he's doing his job, isn't that nice, it makes mine so much easier.

I've been sitting next to a robot for two days now. The robot wasn't there on Monday and Tuesday, but she is disturbing me now. I don't know about you, but I've always found it common courtesy to smile at least at a person sitting next to you in an office environment, but not the robot, she just types, types, types staring at the computer screen with such intensity as though it's going to reveal an undiscovered Shakespearean sonnet. I wrote "you are a robot" and put it next to her, of course, I wrote it in shorthand, because I'm a coward, I suppose we don't know if she understands shorthand, I don't know if they have that in robot school, but she doesn't look away from the computer anyway.

Tomorrow may or may not be my last day of typing, although it's unbelievably dull, it's gone by quickly, but I can hardly say I'll miss it, or the robot, if I have to leave, I'll miss the money though of course. Some people have been working there for a YEAR. This week has taught me a valuable lesson if nothing else, I can't let this become what I do.

I'd have shot myself by now having to do this, day in, day out for a year - there must be something better, there's your incentive, must try hard to get a job with at least two different functions, so as one does not end shooting oneself through tedium and boredom. And I think that's a lesson we can all appreciate.

Well that's all for now, I've done enough typing for the day, I don't know why I'm volunteering to do extra ;)


It's so naughty that I haven't blogged in almost a month, what kind of behaviour is this for a journalist?

But please be inspired to know that I have at least been writing in some form or another, on the Motley Fool, so you know, from all that I'm just whacked out. Wait a minute, that's no excuse, I take that back. I'm just naughty.

I've been temping for two days and my ears hurt and I'm getting RSI in my foot. Oh well, never mind, at least there's a microwave so I can have hot soup and watch half an hour of either Loose Women or Sixty Minute Makeover - oh the excitement.

I think Hurricane Gustav hit Cardiff this afternoon, just as I was leaving work because my umbrella (I say mine, but I found it somewhere) has finally bitten the dust, the trees outside the office were bent over double and I nearly got blown into the road. Half an hour earlier there'd been glorious sunshine, God is against me today clearly.

I think we can all thank Matt for today's blog, for upon his return I just had to compete really, although his is much better than mine because mine has just been a boring disapassionate list of today's events, which were, all in all, truly unexciting. Oh hang on a minute! I forgot to tell you how they had no minced beef in co-op because they are doing it up, see it's not all dull dull dull in Amyland today.

Anyway I best get off, I have to start some research for more advice for the financial inept, if only I had some for myself.

Ciao chums. xxx


If half of what I say is meaningless, does that make the other half incredibly meaningful?
Well Prudence, I ask you this, dear, don't pass me by.
Now, because I'm so tired, and it's been a long, long, long day I think I will end this blog, otherwise a revolution occuring somewhere between a scale of 1 and 9 might happen.
You don't know how lucky you are, honey pie. You're wild.
Now you've reached the bottom of this blog, perhaps you want to go back to the top.
P.S. - If you can guess the theme of today's blog, I shall give you a piece of candy.
P.P.S - If you've got something to hide, don't speak to me and my simian friend.

I wonder how your engines feel.

A dialogue between myself and the 49 killer ducks at the lake today:

A(standing for me): Mmm, what a lovely day, I have some stale bread here, I think I shall visit the ducks in the park and feed it to them.
D:(standing for any duck, they don't have individual names because they are EVIL): QUACK, bread, bread, bread, bread, bread, bread, bread.
--- 20 minutes later, arriving at the park ---
A: My my, there an awful lot of ducks about today aren't there.
D: QUAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK. Bread!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! She's got bread, get the bread, get the bread, get the bread, get the bread. GET. THE. BREAD.
A: Here ducks, have some bread.
D: I want the bread. No I want the bread. Give ME the bread. I am going to peck you. Give me the bread. I want the bread. No, I want the bread!
A: Plenty of bread for everyone.
D: Quack quack quack, let's all descend on the bread lady.
A: Woah, where all the ducks coming from? They're everywhere. Argh. You can have the bread, take the bread, take the bread, just don't hurt me.



"If you've got a bazooka, and people know you've got it ... you're not likely to take it out".

That is a quote I found in this week's Newsweek. I like it - mostly because I like the word bazooka, and also because it could be taken in a number of ways - and you'll know if you're a regular reader about my penchant for euphemisms and innuendo.

Do you know, I've ripped out the quote and I don't even know which story it goes with - that's how reckless I am these days, but I'd like to invite you to make up your own stories, the wilder the better.

The problem I see with the quote is that, if people know you've got a bazooka, yes, it's right that you might not need to take it out, but if you never took it out - would people not forget about the said bazooka, and then one day you'd have to take it out just to remind everyone that you had one, and then all kinds of crazy stuff could go down. Do you have any problems with the quote?

In other questions today, Captain Cook - hero or villian? With that haircut how could he be anything other than a villian? Seriously, there's no excuse for that is there?

You may have read in the previous blog post that I fulfilled my life's ambition by visiting Barry Island, well I was back there again on Thursday - what is it called when you have already fulfilled your life ambition and you go back for more - is it greed or what? Still, I think I'll go back again. I like sand.

Well after today's blogging extravaganza, I believe that both you and I should be thoroughly blogged out.

And that's it for today - come back tomorrow to see if there's anything, although judging from the length of today's you might not want to.

Au revoir. x


It's not very often you can say you've fulfilled your life's ambition, but I managed it yesterday, and at the grand young age of 21 at that, I can retire now.

I am of course referring to finally getting to see Barry Island. Yes that's right folks, don't get jealous now, but I also built a sandcastle there too! Now, the only problem is, what do you do when you've fulfilled your life's ambition - it can only really go downhill from there can't it?

No! The answer is of course... to get a NEW ambition! Yes that's right, pick something else slightly unusual out of the air, and make that the next ambition. Of course the best thing about the Barry Island ambition was that it was always fairly easily achieved, so I think the next one should only be a slight step up from that - I'm thinking perhaps a visit to Weston Super Mare, or somewhere even more exotic like Great Yarmouth or Walton on the Naze. You can keep you Rio carnivals and all that jazz, I'm going to the WOW on the waterfront in Cardiff, because I'm that cool! (Or is it because I'm poor - oh well I'm sure those things go hand in hand anyway...)

So I'll leave you to think about what your life ambition is, and whether you've acheived it or not. And just to note, that visiting Barry Island isn't my main, overaching life ambition, although it does help with that, because my main, overaching life ambition is simply to be happy - and you can't ask for more than that.

Ciao for now folks, I'm off to research more life fulfilling ambitions - I'll keep you posted on the details of that.... if you like...

Peace out :)

Why do i check the prices of storage units in the Sunday Times style magazine?
I don't have enough money to buy stuff to store, let alone £2000 storage units. Has my life been reduced to checking such unnecessary fiddlements?

I think the answer can be found in the following conundrum, which is:
Have i been watching this tennis match for my entire life?
During this tennis match, i managed to walk to Albany Road, look around at and photograph various graffiti art, walk around Woolworths, checking everything in minute detail, walk around Bargain Wonderland, or whatever that's called, walk back, read the entire Sunday Times, cook and eat my dinner, get changed, straighten my hair and upload about 100 photos on flickr. From that estimation, I do indeed conclude I was watching this from the moment of conception. or at least it feels that way.

But having invested so much time, I can't stop now? can I? What if it never ends, and this game will go on and on and on, with the eventual loser being the one that dies first, and the score being 157 games to 156?

New Balls Please.


Did you like what I did there? I had this much anticipation, so I made you wait as well.

Then again, I think pretty much everybody who reads this blog knows the result anyway. In case you're wondering what the result I'm referring to, I am of course talking about my degree result.

Well, I have to say it's a big anti-climax, both for you and for me. I think because I'd already pretty much figured out what I was going to get, actually seeing it on the wall didn't really do much for me. It was interesting to have a nosy at what other people got though. I'm shocked at some people's cleverness, and intrigued by other's apparent lack of it. I myself am sat squarely in the middle, and that's better than being on the wrong side of centre, so I'm content.

I'm not particularly happy with what I got for my dissertation, not sure if it was worth it all in the end. Actually yes it was. Gives you something to talk about I suppose. Never mind. Time to move on. Must try harder and all that jazz. Or not try harder and have a life - it's a tough choice, hard to make, it tends to make itself for you. I will try harder... fancy coming out... er yes OK then.

So that's that. And that's me, the graduate. Fancy that.

Until the next time I feel a ramble coming on - Au revoir.

Oh - I got a 2/1.


So tomorrow is the day that everybody (in JOMEC) has been waiting for - yes degree results day.

The kind people of JOMEC Admin are pinning the names of us all on the wall so we can all have a gawp (and possibly) guffaw at other people's grades. How nice. If I ring them up though to ask about my own degree result, I can't know because of confidentiality. Go figure.

I wasn't nervous about the results after having spent a frantic few minutes calculating the exact scores I needed to get particular grades. I thought that shouldn't be too difficult. Then Julia and Miranda asked me if I was nervous and I don't know if this set the ball rolling or I've just been watching too much Lost but last night I had some pretty disturbing visions in my sleep.

I dreamed that I only got 11% on my magazine module which meant that I got a 2:2, but I told everybody I got a first. There was then some sort of weird postgraduate meeting, although all my friends from home were there - they apparently are now wanting to do postgraduate courses at Cardiff perhaps? - and I had to reveal that I hadn't done very well at all and got shockingly low on the magazine module. To top it off, on the statement of results they had rather lovingly written in big letters: THIS IS THE WORST ANYBODY HAS EVER GOT!!!!. Even the people at JOMEC aren't usually that callous.

So here's hoping that doesn't happen.

Jen pointed out however that if this does happen, I have an incredible gift for telling the future, which is worth more than any degree. And Miranda said that it would be a good time to re-evaluate my life choices. Both good points. Damn then. I can't stop thinking about this big black letters. They will haunt me for a while.

So anyway, I'll let all my fans know the outcome tomorrow, I know you'll be dying to know.

I'm off to have more terrifying dreams about letters.....


To make up for the fact that I haven’t blogged in a couple of weeks, today’s blog is extra long for your reading pleasure. And I’ll try to get back to normal as soon as possible. Meanwhile, I take your suggestions for topics to cover. If you want to hear my unique take on anything (and I mean anything) just let me know!

A review of the nice times I’ve had since the last blog post:

Friday 6th June – Saturday 7th June
Possibly one of the longest and best just a little bit longer than 24-hour periods of the year so far. Making the drive from Birmingham and after declaring what only seemed like fifteen minutes in to the journey ‘The Welcome to Wales’ sign is just around the corner, around almost every corner, the jubilance that was felt when the sign really was just around the corner was insurmountable. I’ll try to get it right next time.

Anyway – to get back to the point, me, Emma and Clare packed a lovely picnic and headed off to the equally lovely Roath Park. I did my usual trick of attracting a couple of freaks. We all realised that taking a loaf of bread into the middle of the lake on a pedalo to feed the swans only results in the entire seagull population of Cardiff descending on said vehicle.

Next it was time to test out our newly refurbished garden with a barbeque. We got on the wine pretty early and got my soundtrack CD blasting out. Lovely sausages. Then it was off to Barfly, taking the scenic route (because I forgot my head), where the DJ tormented me by refusing to play Day Tripper until gone 2.30. The cad.
Made it into bed circa 4.15am – and shockingly managed to emerge from the pit before noon, whereupon the remaining sausages had to be finished off. In the midst of all this came the stunning news that even during the ever forceful credit crunch, the food for the entire weekend (including picnic and bbq), pedalo hire, and a night out to Barfly came to the grand total of £14. Get in.

RATING: Splendid.

Monday 9th June

It was time to visit Fun Factory – the Monday night club night at the Union, for my very first (and most probably last) time ever. Apparently it was exceptionally busy and half of JOMEC where there for one last hurrah. It’s nice to know my fans are still following me as I have this effect on lots of places I visit.

RATING: Super.

Friday 13th June

Certainly wasn’t unlucky for me. Another first – The Summer Ball. I found myself prone to several of my moments upon seeing everybody suited and booted. I was overwhelmed by how fantastically organised the event was.... a bar queue rather than the usual scrumhuddle. Well I never. Deluxe Portaloos which included a sink and a framed picture – what that added to the experience I’m not sure. The free dodgems provided a notable incident – tainted by the naughty pushers in (I JUST DON’T GET THE FACE! – P.S. I still don’t). Hannah applauded my driving skills; I have to say I was particularly impressed with the driving while simultaneously bending down to pick up a bracelet manoeuvre. My bag went flying off and I didn’t even notice. What can I say other than I was in the zone...

It was a tad scary in the dancing area, had some scary moments, but Zane Lowe played some classic tunes to make up for it so it was all worth it in the end.
Hannah and Miranda rescued a poor drunkard called Graham outside the Castle Gates. I was proud of my friends.

RATING: Splendiferous.

Saturday 14th June

Feeling like a truly wild child, I took up Hannah’s offer to go to Swansea for a night out. I was tired at first, but ended up having, as Luke might say a ‘quality’ night. More moments ensured, as well as utter disbelief at having a proper sit down curry at 3.30am. I’m still in disbelief over that. There was much dancing to be had, although I won’t pretend to be able to contend with Luke’s Duracell stamina.

RATING: Spectacular.

And lastly...

Yesterday (Tuesday 17th June)

Me and Jen spent the day re-enacting our childhood by crafting and baking fairy cakes. I made an elephant named Amé (naturally) – which didn’t match up to the box but was fun none-the-less. Hours of entertainment provided by the wonders of the £1 bargain from Hypervalue! Here’s a handy tip – Banana Icing isn’t worth the experiment.

Jen gave me her soundtrack CD, which I listened to while writing this blog on my bed, and it is, quite simply, fantastic.

RATING: Spiffing.
The ends of eras are upon us. It’s the end of Uni, the last ever Baitshop on Thursday, and Harold Bishop left neighbours today. Everything’s changing.

Everything changes but you.

Until next time - The End. x.

Going back

I have always been fond of looking at old photos and thinking about the past. I'm not sure why, I think I find it hard to believe that at one point in time I didn't exist. I know that the world was probably a worse off place without me, but judging from old photos, they all look to be having a wail of a time, so maybe I'm wrong on this one.

After looking through all these old photos, I have already earmarked the names Ada, Dinah and Minnie for any future children I may have. I'm not sure what I'll do if I have a boy. It may end up a bit like the Johnny Cash song, with a boy called Minnie. Either way it's gotta be better than naming your kid blanket.

It's fabulous that the fifty+ year old photo albums have been kept so immaculately. I really appreciate the captions. You can almost hear a voice in those words. Then again, the fact that I like words shouldn't really come as a shock to anyone.

Also another revelation from today. I've been telling people I've got Welsh credentials. Turns out I was wrong. I'm more English than anything. Whoops. Don't tell anyone or I might get stoned in the street. Only kidding - I'm hoping after all these years spent there to become naturalised.

I think there's something special about black and white. I might start getting my photos printed in black and white. That, coupled with the pictures of me dressed in Sixties clothing is sure to confuse my kids in 40 years time, and that's all that anyone can hope for.

And lastly a sad note to those people in the photographs who remain unidentified. Who are these people? Why are they unidentified? The older ones are especially intriguing, long forgotten names and faces, left to lie in a box. I should stop all this, depressing thoughts. It's been a happy day.

So here's to Minnie, Ada and Dinah, my ancestors, and my children.

Peace out kids. xxx

The nice part about being a pessimist is that you are constantly being either proven right or pleasantly surprised. - George F. Will

I haven’t got the greatest of hopes for today’s blog, but we’ll see how it goes.

This entry was inspired by iGoogle’s quote of the day (above), and as per usual, a rather a lot (too much) thinking has been involved ever since. To aid my thinking I picked up my philosophical dictionary (it’s a dictionary of philosophical terms, not literally a dictionary which is philosophical – we could get in to a whole heap of mess and metaphors carrying on at this pace...)

Under ‘pessimism’ in the dictionary there were three different entries. Well that’s an optimistic start to help with this blog at least. Under one of the entries for pessimism were several associated words; sorrow, pity, gloom, despondency, hopelessness, absurdity, pain, death; however the most interesting point of this entry was the idea that these things are not just possible, but inescapable. Before I slit my wrists right there at the kitchen table, I looked up the entry for optimism. Much to my chagrin, the opposites of these words could not be found. Which I thought was a great shame.

Flipping back to pessimism, I noticed that there were metaphysical entries. (Once again, not in the literal since, but entries about metaphysics). Schopenhauer says that this world is the worst of all possible worlds, because if it was any worse than it was, it couldn’t exist. This is interesting, but I’m wondering if Schoppy considered that this is the only world? What does that mean then? I bet he did slit his wrists at the kitchen table having thoughts like that all day long. Cheer up love, so long as there are fruity cakes and peach melba in the world, it can’t be all bad can it?

The most famous pessimistical (is that a word? I hope so...) metaphor we’ve all encountered is the glass half full/empty metaphor. I’ve always believed that the state of fullness or emptiness is entirely dependent on the state with which it started. If someone brought me a glass full of water and I drank half of it, I would then say it was half empty. If, on the other hand, they bought me an empty glass and poured some water in, I would then say it was half full.

I’m guessing however, that in the analogy, we don’t know what the glass started off as. This is why I think I will say that the glass is half full because we can presume that at some point it has indeed been empty. Maybe this just proves my optimism. One thing’s for sure, it proves my pedanticism.

So how to conclude today’s blog. I think I’ve decided throughout all this thinking that I am indeed an optimist. But I do worry that I should be a pessimist, because then, much like George F. Will, I’d never be disappointed. So if I’m an optimist who worries, what does that make me? I think I must be a post-modern optimist. ;)

Ciao chums, I’m off to fill glasses half full with water. xxx

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