The not so relaxing pamper evening

You know the feeling when you have watched a YouTube video and suddenly feel inspired to do something. No? Well today I watched a video by the wonderful  Zoella on how to have the perfect pamper evening and thought to myself that I was going to do that.

I have always enjoyed indulging in all things beautifying  and love a good pamper party.  Something that those of you who have seen my toiletries cupboard will probably know so to turn  down a good pampering down would be just barbaric. 

I started the evening off by drawing a bath and throwing in a bath bomb that somebody gave to me about five years ago and I never got round to using however I couldn't just stop there no sir for next comes the bath caviar and the confetti.....and bubble bath.

I don't know if it just me but I often get bored lying in the bath with nothing but my thoughts  to occupy me, I guess that's why I have never been one who can have a nice long hot soak but today I decided that this was all going to change. People often find that reading in the bath is a nice relaxing pastime but every time I try to do that the book gets wet and it's all very stressful. Nevertheless I  grabbed the first book off the side and got into my bubbly tub yet the book in question was the second book of Storm of Swords in the A Song of Ice and Fire series (Game of Thrones book three, part two)  and let's just say that relaxing it was not. By the third fight I was just like 'why can't they all just love each other' but no sooner had I thought this then that is what they did and oh dear god I need to get out of here.

By now the majority of the bubbles in the bath had disintegrated and I felt that it was safe to switch on the jacuzzi. Alas I was wrong and the bubbles kept on growing. I was literally swimming in bubbles well not so much swimming I don't have a swimming pool sized bath like they do in the prefect's bathroom at Hogwarts.

Having now suitably scrubbed myself clean I turned my attention to my face. Yet a problem arose when I realised that I didn't have a face mask handy and even worse there weren't even any avocados in the house so I that I could make my own. But fear not my friends for I have a plan up my sleeves and it appears that you can make a face mask out of any number of kitchen ingredients.

For a egg yolk, honey and olive oil  face mask you will need:

1 egg yolk
1 tbsp honey
1 tbsp olive oil

Mix it all up and what have you got Bibbity Babbity Boo. Well it's not quite as exciting as anything the fairy godmother could cook up but 15 fifteen minutes after putting on the mask and washing it off in hot soapy water and hey presto - soft, shiny, fresh faced skin!

Bend and Snap

People have often told me and then in turn I have assured myself that I would be awesome on the Great British Bake Off or least I would be a cause for amusement on a Tuesday evening as I would be the one having a mental breakdown in front of the oven or watching on as my biscuit tower crumbled into a heap.

Therefore very much like last year, I decided to try out some of the technical challenges. If you have been following this blog you may know that I tried my hand at making teacakes last year and apart from tasting a bit like toothpaste and not looking all together that wonderful they weren’t actually too bad so I was hoping…..and this was a big ask I know that this time would go slightly better even if I was attempting…wait for it…the tuille.

The Tuille for those of you who don’t know gets its name from the French word for tile and is an incredibly thin biscuit often rolled into curved rounds or cigarette like rolls and the ends are dipped in chocolate, it was the latter that I was attempting today and let’s just say that things didn’t quite go as planned.

The recipe for tuilles is the simplest bit about them as they only require three ingredients:

2 egg whites

85g sugar

100g flour 

Indeed the recipe is very straight forward. Firstly you are instructed to preheat the oven to 180°c –smashing I can do that.

 Next combine all the ingredients in a bowl and mix into a batter. The mixture should be thicker than a batter for a pancake but not too thick so that is still liquid and can be easily spread. Trust me you will want to spread it. 

Finally bake in the oven for about five minutes or until golden brown. Remove and roll into shape.

It sounds like these biscuits should be a stroll in the park….remind yourself of that thought when you’re pulling your hair out an hour later because THEY KEEP BREAKING!

This one gave up

aww look a heart

The thickness of your tuille will often determinate whether or not it will succeed in life if it is too thin it will be too brittle and snap but if it is too thick it will be chewy and gross.  

Too thick and it's all squishy

The thickness of the biscuit is not the only deciding factor in whether or not your tuille will live as the cooking time matters a lot too. The overcooked tuille is too brittle to work with where was if the tuille is undercooked (often you can tell this if it hasn’t gone ever so slightly golden) it won’t be crisp enough to be get a satisfying snap. As my good friend Elle Woods taught me in Legally Blonde it’s all about the bend and snap.

Having had (hopefully) determined what is a good tuille bake we now focus our attention to the actual cooking process. At first I tried putting a few blobs of batter onto the mixture before spreading it out and then popping it in the oven yet I quickly realised that this wasn’t going to work as the biscuits had nearly all hardened before I could even get one off the tray. A method that I found worked best was to make one tuille at a time spreading the batter very thinly on the board. I used a chopstick to roll the tuilles into cigarette rolls yet this brought with it its own perils as the biscuits snapped more than the crocodile in Peter Pan.

This 'roll' was clearly not 'rollin' with the homies'

I think that it safe to say that Tuilles are not in my top 10 list of things bake list especially when they crack and shatter to pieces and not even melted chocolate can bring them back to life.

The Perks of Being a Single Lady

•  Garlic breath: nobody cares how many slices of bruschetta or garlic bread you have eaten, you can even slug as much aioli or garlic butter as you want because nobody is going anywhere near those lips of yours. Garlic breath is also a great deterrent against vampires so stay well clear Edward Cullen this mouth ain't minty fresh.

• Only having to shave your legs five times a year. Save yourself the hassle ladies who needs a man when you can go around like a cave woman for most of the year. 

• Furthermore you can wear whatever you feel like wearing . I don't care if you don't like the way  I look, if you don't want to see then please just look away. However in the name of modesty, please do cover up your muffin top nobody wants to see what you have had for lunch for the past ten years.

• Saving a shed load of money on anniversary/Christmas/birthday/valentines presents. Instead you can spend the money on yourself, like those leather boots I just bought myself.

• Not being attached to your phone at all hours of the day because god forbid if you were not in contact with your significant other at all hours of the day. Also think of all the minutes and texts that aren't digging into your monthly allowance.  

• Going on holiday by yourself and other such adventures where you can actually do what you want and not have to think about the other person because apparently not everyone wants to go around museums all week. Who knew? 

• Table for one please? Not a perk you say but there you would be wrong, where else would be better for a spot of people watching.  

I feel like I have only brushed the tip of the iceberg of some of the perks of being a single lady  because there's undeniably a whole lot more perks. Please share if you feel that I have left anything  out

Day 7- the last day

Having had a somewhat rest from museum-ing of late, on the last day  I threw myself into it with renewed vigour.

The first one on the list was the National History Museum. The museum is spread out on three floors ; the first about birds with lots of stuffed birds glaring at you like they want to peck your eyes out, but fear not it gets scarier.

On the second floor we (and here I mean the royal we, which by the way have you heard the news about the royal baby? No? What have been living under a rock? The half blood prince, he lives! but anyway let's get off from our tangent and get back to the museum, now where were we?.....ah yes the second floor) learnt all about fishes. Big ones, small ones, endangered ones, scary ones and as you pass into the next room there's a lovely video all about sharks. Did you know for example that Sharks have a row of fifteen spare teeth for every razor sharp tooth in their mouth and some sharks go through 200 teeth in their lifetime. So fear not if a shark loses a tooth it will grow another, sometimes in under 24 hours.
Somehow this piece of information doesn't make sharks any less terrifying to me.

The top floor was about flowers, finally something that won't scare the living day lights out of me, like the plastic fish dangling suspiciously from the ceiling on the floor below. Alas the flowers were not going to be my friends in the 'golden afternoon' (although it was morning) as I was going to learn all about the poisonous properties of the deadly plants. I already knew that holly and ivy were sneaky so and soes but lily of the valley and snowdrops? Well didn't I tell you that gardens were evil.

The second sojourn of the morning took me to the archaeological museum where I was privy to learn about all the old churches in and around Dubrovnik as well as looking at the some of the old stonework that was salvaged.

Going around museums is thirsty work so I ventured to look for a spot of respite which I found in the form  of a cliff side bar. According to the TimeOut website where I had done a bit of research before coming. The cliff side bar though picturesque is popular with nudists. Uh oh.

Thankfully there was not a nudist in sight so I could sit reading my book in peace without getting an eyeful.  With a hot chocolate and cherry ice cream so ends my final day in Dubrovnik, in the morning: home time.

Day 6

Today I swapped the hustle and bustle of old town in favour of a visit to peaceful and serene Zaton bay. Breakfast and a quick jaunt around the Dominican monastery though took precedence, I mean what's a day without its fair share of culture?

At breakfast I was reminded about the importance of commas. I was looking forward to the prospect of eating honey bread with my morning coffee  however instead of the honey bread with jam and butter, I got honey and bread (as well the jam and butter)

It's no 'let's go eat grandma' and 'let's go eat, grandma' but I think it still proves the point that commas can make all the difference.

*Edit* when I went past the other day I noticed that there actually was a comma between honey and bread. I wasn't being decieved at all. What a numpty.

The Dominican monastery is the second of the two monasteries in the old town of Dubrovnik  situated near the west gate whilst the Franciscan monastery lies in the east or maybe it's west and the Dominican is east. I'm not too sure, I was never any good at geography, all you need to know is that one is one and the other is t'other.

Day fi-a-a-a staying alive staying alive

Not really sure why I did that. The fifth day of my jollies brought its own perils in the form of cramps, so I was forced to lay off my gung-ho attitude towards sightseeing and lay low for a while.

This would have worked as the Croatian café culture (my favourite kind) meant that they would happily while away the hours over a cup of coffee. Yet I am forgetting that I was in the most touristy populated part of Dubrovnik, if not the whole country and  the notion of 'bums on seats' is obviously more important than that of a 'happy camper.' Therefore after a few hours of sitting in the harbour café/restaurant that I shall not name I was rudely told that I was being moved because a large group were coming and they needed the table where I was sat. Obviously using the other twenty or so empty tables in the establishment was against the question. Feeling affronted I left.

My faith in humanity was restored however when I was let into the Franciscan monastery cloisters and pharmacy museum 'fo free' - so much for the no sight-seeing plan.

The evening repast was taken in the shadow of the cathedral where I was seated next to a Russian woman.  As if proving  my previous point that there is a perception that all twenty somethings' do with their time is party (see 'things start to get awkward' )  the girl was having a discussion with the waiter about the very same subject, when asked if she went out 'partying' although I think the cool kids term the phrase 'clubbing' or 'going out' the girl replied and I quote " I don't have time. I'm 24, I want to get married and have kids."

Excuse me whilst I choke on my piece of bread and olive oil.  Clearly the waiter was as shocked as I was by this statement as he lamely replied that he was 27 and had done neither of these things.  If anyone else is confused by what I over heard I would not blame you, it's like saying 'sorry I don't have time to do this mundane thing that is apparently fun because I have to go and settle down and start a family.'  Sorry what? I know your body clock is ticking and all that but you are only 24 love, what's the rush?

By  these standards it would seem that I only have a year and half left, quick find the nearest eligible bachelor we're going to get eloped

Day 4- the history lesson

Today I decided that was high time that I visited the Rector's Palace which also housed the Cultural-Historical museum. As the name suggests the Rector's Palace was home to the Rector, some would argue that, well actually everyone would argue that because I believe it is true, that the Rector, appointed monthly was the head chairman of the major council that ruled the Dubrovnik Republic. 

The Republic flourished during the 15th and 16th century and Dubrovnik's trade by sea went from to strength to strength yet by the 17th century things weren't looking so good for the poor D.R. who were losing out thanks to the Venetian Republic. 

Worse still in 1667 there was a disastrous earthquake that brought the city of Dubrovnik quite literally to its knees. The whole city was destroyed .(apart from one church- see previous post)  by the eighteenth century the city seemed to be recovering from the shock and was building itself back up but then Napoleon came along.

Dubrovnik surrendered to him afraid of a Russian invasion but at the Congress of Vienna in 1816 was passed to the hands of the Hapsburg's and has ever since been toing and froing never knowing which way it'll go next. That's probably a gross exaggeration on my part but hey ho. The independent republic of Croatia was finally formed in 1990 and by 1991 they are being bombed by Serbia. 

The downstairs galleries of the museum were dedicated to the famous faces of some of  Croatia's genii and I must admit that I had not heard of any of them, not even Stjepan Gradic who had most of the upstairs gallery all to himself. 

The special exhibition about Stjepan Gradic  'the father of the homeland'  marks four centuries since his birth. Gradic was a great scholar and highly regarded diplomat both in his homeland but also in Rome where he spent a lot of his time. It was there where he heard the news of 'the great quake' of 1667 and like any great hero Gradic dropped everything and rushed to his people's aid. He is known to have helped facilitate the cities recovery seeking out help and funds from places like the Vatican amongst others. 

Indeed it was Gradic who the rebuilding of the Cathedral can be attributed to, so quite naturally this was my next destination.

Well I hope you enjoyed your history lesson. Bok Bok (which apparently means bye bye but the first time I heard this was from a grown women who sounded like she was imitating a chicken.) 

Day 3 -where the bus disagrees with me

On the third day the parentals were going to the harbour to catch a ferry so I got the bus with them and waved them off before catching the bus back. Simple right?

Wrong, as readers of this blog will probably know by now, nothing I do is ever 'simple'. I was shown where the bus stop was and knew which bus to get -so far so good- I had my Dubrovnik card at the ready which as I have previously mentioned allows me free bus travel for up to 20 trips (well I didn't mention the last part before but now you know- why aren't I a font of knowledge). So there I was poised and ready for action and then the bus drives straight past me. Fantastic. But it's ok I can get the next one…apparently not as the second bus full to capacity goes hurtling by.

Here I am, sitting at the bus stop, it's sweltering hot and by this time getting a bit fed up. Cue random irate Croatian woman shouting 'il lipo' at me, not going to lie this did slightly freak me out and I couldn't remember the phrase for 'I don't speak Croatian' but no matter because here comes the bus. It turns out that all she wanted was to borrow a pen. For future reference the phrase I was looking for is " ne govorium hrvatski."

Today was a day of churches, St. Blaise's being the most ornate as he was the patron saint of Dubrovnik. However also on the list were St. Saviour's but I was the only one in there having a gander so that wasn't awkward at all and another near the city wall but I can't remember the name of it. This church is one of the few buildings in the city and survived the 1667 earthquake and is still standing today,you can therefore imagine my horror to find that it is being used as an art gallery. An art gallery in one of the few remaining original buildings? Are you insane!!!

So there we have it ladies and gents at the end of day three I am starting to look rather brown, have heat rash and blisters on my feet. Fantabbydozy. On the plus side I found some spots where I can get wifi yay I don't feel so out of sync with the world anymore.

Day 2- when the parentals came to visit me and I wasn't all alone.

Seeing as I had gone through all this hoop jumping palaver to buy the 'Dubrovnik card' I intended to (as my father would say) get my money's worth.

Conveniently today's plans included venturing up the walls that enclosed the old town. It was on the card so guess who got in free :)
Yet whoever decided to go up the wall at the height of the midday sun is nothing short of a genius. Well done you. * looks shifty*

Halfway around the wall (or there abouts) you will find the maritime museum, conveniently located for those seeking a bit of shade and even better I can also use my card here to get in free. However the museum really should sack their curator as the exhibition was a bit higgeldy piggeldy and all over the place. Instead of running along one wall in a chronological fashion the display boards were placed in a kind of zig zag formation so to the untrained eye (like mine) you will have to jump back and forth from century to century…a bit like a time lord really but I'm pretty sure that Doctor Who wouldn't be sweating profusely in a sun hat, the Tardis is probably air conditioned.

Nevertheless the Maritime Museum proved to be very interesting and was worth the visit.

The afternoon was devoted to going swimming at the Pile Pier (this apparently was where some of the filming for Game of Thrones occurred) but I'll have you know that you shouldn't touch the the sea floor because there are urchins and they will eat you alive. Just kidding but it does hurt if you step on one although that didn't stop me from getting scratches from something when I tried (unsuccessfully) to heave myself back onto the slippery pier.

Day 1- Things start to get awkward

The Croatian/Dubrovnik adventure has officially begun as we were all herded onto a bus and then plane like sheep, well if sheep had suitcases. The journey to the Dubrovnik airport was, thankfully, uneventful. So far so good. Yet things were about to get interesting. We were supposed to be met at the airport , my parents by the weird walking/adventure trek thing they were going on and someone was supposed to come and take me to where I would be staying. However after a few minutes of failing to find our names on people's placards I started to panic.what if they forgot about me? Will I have to make my own way there? Where is it I'm going to anyway? Yet before I could have full on panic attack our guide arrived.

The otherwise nearly bald man had a rather impressive beard and was wearing what I can only describe as swimming goggles but were in fact sunglassesbut that didn't make the trip any less awkward. We dropped the parentals off in….some city I can't remember the name of and carried on with our journey (cue the awkward silence) before  I was dropped off outside the Hilton…..garage. Luckily to be met by the owner of the house who showed me where it was.

There is a perception that all that twenty-somethings do is drink and party and drink some more and party harder, at least from what I have gathered but  beardy man was clearly quite shocked  when I revealed that I had come for the museums and sightseeing and my answer killed any conversation.

Having finally arrived at my destination I unpacked quickly (not living out of the suitcase like I normally do. What's wrong with me?) before setting out to begin a new adventure.

First on my list was a trip to the tourist information centre to collect my '7 day Dubrovnik Card' which allows me free entry to some museums, discount in some shops and restaurants and even a free bus pass. You would think that having had purchased  the card online would make the collection quick and easy but alas this was not the case as the lady behind the desk kept shouting that I needed a voucher. Although it sounded more like 'wowcher' - like the advert.

I eventually got my card and wanted to activate it immediately.

The museum on today's itinerary was the Home of Marin Drzic, Croatia's most famous playwright. I had high hopes for this small museum but it didn't really deliver as everything was in Croatian, I later learned that I could have got an audio tour….fantastic oh well at least I got in free (with the card that is). There was an interactive board near the front of the museum which I thought might help me but I couldn't work out how to change the language so was forced to read it on the same language setting as the previous users…which was French, Je ne comprende pas.

After a rather unsatisfying trip to the museum I explored the narrow streets of the old town locating many of the shops and restaurants that I had looked up through doing research before I came here. But soon the sweltering sun got too much and I just had to get myself an ice cream, it's a hard knock life.

 My last destination for the day before going back to get changed before going out for dinner was to go to the church of St. ignatius the youngest of the Peverell brothers…..just kidding, St. Ignatius is the patron saint of something or another and he has a rather nice church.

Woah we're going to Croatia

No seriously- Woah!

I might as well change my name to 'Anxiety Girl- Able to jump to the worst conclusion in a single bound' (although I can't take any credit for writing this description myself, I found it on the Internet.)

Faced with the prospect of my imminent departure for Dubrovnik ,  I shall go for my jollies, on my own, for a week, I have spent the last week or so in a somewhat limbo.

At times I have felt very excited, ecstatic even at the prospect of going on holiday by myself, being able to do what I want when I want, being able to go wherever I like whenever the fancy may take me.

Yet at the same time there have been periods when i have simply burst into tears thinking 'OMG OMG what have I done' as I am crippled with fear and doubt. Worrying not only about whether or not I will get lost (I will, so much is obvious) but also whether or not I will psychically melt in the heat, (the maximum tempetures next week are set to hit 32 C and I do not cope well in the heat, the recent heat wave in England has been bad enough) how I will cope in a strange place where I do not know where anything is (see above) and also do not speak/understand the lingo, whether or not I have packed enough clothes and/or  if I have forgotten something and/or everything but I will most probably arrive at my destination tomorrow (OMG I'm going tomorrow PANIC!!!) and realise that I have forgotten something obvious like my toothbrush or  shoes or my passport….although I think that I have all those three things…. and finally if  I will stop worrying long enough to be able have a good time.

With all these conflicting emotions I am feeling suitably exhausted and ready for a holiday. Only time will tell how this tale will unfold. 

T.B.C.

Gardens are evil

---

I, Dinnie the Pooh have had a fleeting forage in the world of gardening recently (not by choice I hasten to add) and have come to the conclusion that, as I have always suspected, gardens are evil. Pure evil. 

Exhibit A: My poor, poor papa has cut his finger off and by this I don't just mean a cut that could use a plaster or even a few stitches, oh no this little piggy has been beheaded, severed, mangled...whatever you would like to call it...so only a stump remains.  evil

Exhibit B: I fell into a pile of nettles. No description necessary really. However getting someone who has absolutely no balance to carry a humongous load of cut grass down a steep uneven path is a recipe for disaster. MILD TRUNCAL ATTAXIA!

Exhibit C : I dropped a stone on my foot. Again this needs no description but it really hurt and I was limping around for at least half an hour afterwards. Again evil

Perchance a picnic

Nothing quite says British Summer time like a jolly good picnic, so that's precisely what we did. Laden with quiche, couscous salad, scotch eggs, sausage rolls, salad, brownies, buns and sweets we ventured into the grounds of Harewood House to a nice shady tree looking towards the house and laid out our feast. Being very civilised (with cutlery and plates what what) we enjoyed the views of the magnificent house but our tranquility was disturbed by a pesky duck who decided that he wanted some quiche too.

 

Mr. Duck was alas to be disappointed as he ventured closer and closer to our picnic rug and was denied any food. He made his displeasure clear by pooing next to us before flying off. Charming

The day that we decided to visit Harewood House happened to be the same day that the BBC were going to be filming 'Death Comes To Pemberley' a sequel of sorts to Jane Austen's Pride and Predjudice. Starring Matthew Rhys, Anna Maxwell-Martin and Jenna Coleman the three part drama based on the novel by P.D James has been adapted for screen by Juliette Towhidi. (Calander Girls)

Due to the filming, the house and servants quarters shut at three so we were just able to squeeze in a quick look around the kitchen before we were sent packing. If you have ever been to a stately home (and if not, why not?) you come to expect the rooms to be laid out like they were in yesteryear, displaying the furniture and instruments used. The kitchen and pantry were in keeping with the stately home ideal but turn the corner to go into the next room and there was an exhibition of modern art. Confused much.

The adventure continued with a trip to the bird garden to see the flamingoes, pheasants, geese and have a good giggle with the laughing kookaburra. Our visit coincided with feeding time and we watched on with amusement as a gaggle of ducks followed the bird keeper everywhere he went hoping that they would get some food too. 

 Our fun day out was concluded by eating strawberries and cream and watching Wimbledon, not at all stereotypically British. Anyone for a round of the national anthem?

Tights or the time when I really wanted the ground to swallow me

You would  think that the humble pair of tights is not really the subject of much adventures but there my friends and strangers alike is where you would be wrong and I mean this in a totally PG rated sense.

I'm sure we have all had the annoying experience of putting on a new pair of tights and then five minutes before you have to leave the house they ladder, well I'm sure the ladies who are reading this have but maybe a few of the men also. There was also a time when I mistakenly put on a pair of tights that were far too small for me and ripped every time that I moved; sat down, stood up, did a little dance, it didn't matter. These bad boys would rip, right down the middle. Suffice it to say that by the end of day I 'looked like a hooker.'

Alas the embarrassing moments caused by tights does not end there as one day (it was yesterday) I forgot to put the obligatory pair of pants on on top of my tights (to stop them falling down or training to be a superhero, I haven't yet decided which ) and as you can all imaging that was the day when they would deem it necessary to answer gravity's call and there begins the adventure.

Hands up who performs the 'help my tights are falling down' dance on a regular basis. Although I have found that there are some situations in which this dance is simply not acceptable etc. in a packed supermarket or anywhere really busy really, at work or on the bus or other form of public transport. However there comes a point when your tights have fallen so far down that they are past saving and you end up having to walk home from the bus stop waddling like a penguin with a pair of tights around your knees.

Oh No Not Another Rant About Jobs.

After having gone to a few graduate/career things (two, I’ve been to two) and filling in countless job applications (literally I have lost count of how many there have been. I tried to keep track by saving the rejection emails but I have stopped getting them so there goes that system) I thought with my lengthy ‘experience’ in the area it was only fair to share some hints of what to put on applications or not.

But first a quick interlude onto the subject of finding a job application form to even fill out. Scrawling through website after website looking at the current vacancies and when you finally find something that sounds vaguely doable you take a look at the person specification and it’s like nope, nope, nope, can’t do that, can’t do that, can’t do that. And you’re back at square one.

Did you ever experience the terrifying feeling when you are  sitting down for an exam at school and the first question asked you to write your name? A feeling of pure terror courses through your veins as you panic ‘what even is my name?’  Well its good news kids because that never goes away. The first question on any application or form that you are going to have to fill out is most likely to ask for your name. 

The second thing that terrifies me about job applications is when it asks what the date is: Ok so it’s six months into the year and I still find myself typing that it’s 2012. 2012 is just an easy number to remember not even starting to mention all the things that happened in 2012 to make it memorable; it was the year of the London Olympics, Felix Baumgartner’s world record breaking free fall jump from the edge of space, it was the year of the misconstrued Mayan Apocalypse and who can forget the phenomenon that was Gangnam Style. 

Whereas 2013, what is remarkable about this year? How am I supposed to remember this year? Besides the fact that this is the first year since 1987 to be composed of 4 different numbers, this year has been full of violence; Shootings and gun attack , the Woolwich murder, Syrian crisis and to add to all the doom and gloom Prince Philip had to have abdominal surgery. So excuse me for wanting to blank this year out of my mind and we’re not even half way through yet! However on a much lighter note, today is my half birthday so Happy Half Birthday to me.

So back to the topic of job applications and forms, I have noticed that the first section often needs to be filled out in block capitals. It's like I'm shouting my personal details at people!  
So have we all now completed the ‘personal details section’? Well done, although apparently you have  completed the ‘easy’ part. Wait what? 

As a woman I find it as hard as the next person to sell myself, although I guess hookers may be quite be good at this. I’ve heard it said that men will often excel in the parts of the job application where they have to talk about how amazing they are whereas the females who have spent most of their lives scrutinising and have other people point out their flaws (yeah thanks for that) find this task slightly harder. Am I the only person who absolutely dreads the question ‘why I should I hire you rather than someone else?’ Anything that you could possibly reply to that suggests that you think you are better than the other person and therefore makes you sound big headed and arrogant.

So feeling suitably sick and terrified of the application that you still haven’t completed four hours later we will move onto the equal opportunities sections. These bits actually quite amuse me because I spend a good five to ten minutes trying out different ethnicities. Although having still not mastered an Irish or Afro-Caribbean accent I think that I wouldn’t able to get away with it at an interview nevertheless if I even got the job. Also the slight problem of having pasty white skin restricts my choices somewhat. I would highly advise you not to pick a ethnicity to be at random because, like me, you may be white-British and for a laugh decide to say that you are Irish and then get invited for an interview and start talking in a broad Yorkshire accent. (I haven’t actually done this but how hilarious would it be if this happened.)

At the beginning of this post we talked about feelings of blind panic at being asked your name if you can cast your mind back.(I know it’s hard, it was a long time ago) You can therefore  imagine what I was thinking when I was asked on page seven what role I was applying for. Is this a trick question?

The most annoying thing about job applications is that you can’t just send in your CV and hope for the best, no you have to write out a specific cover letter for each position you want….ain’t nobody got time for dat. What is the point of even having a CV when nobody wants to see it? Even when you send in a stellar application that took you the majority of a day a lot of people never reply back to you. Well cheers then. 

Expectations vs. Reality aka the Tale of the Ice Cream Shoes

If there’s one thing I have learnt in my 22 and half years of being on this earth (good god I’m old)  it is that life NEVER turns out like you expect. 

Expectation: Have a high flying career, quite possibly as an actress in a hit TV show and star in films on the fly. Be really successful, rich and famous and live in a gorgeous home with a corner sofa a wood burning stove and an aga.

Reality: Outside sweaty lugging great big chunks of wood.

When I was 6 or maybe it was 8 or 9 I don’t remember I apparently wanted to be a fashion designer. I have a folder floating around the house somewhere filled with my ‘designs’ and I use the terms ‘designs’ loosely here. Amongst my portfolio there’s a design for ice cream shoes which I recently learnt has been pioneered by a collaboration between Melissa and Karl Lagerfeld- I knew that I should have got a patent on that idea.

Here’s a picture of their shoes but I can’t for the life of me find my version. If I ever stumble across it I can send it you. 

The fashion designer idea didn’t last very long because according to my Ford House (junior school) yearbook my allegiance had turned to becoming a beautician. However I don’t think this career plan would pan out very well because I can’t even do my own make-up/nails properly never mind anyone else’s.

Next on the line of career goals was an actresses and to this day this dream is still going strong but in reality when faced with any rejection or criticism I just burst into tears. Seriously I would be useless on any reality TV programme. 

But back to the present and I am moving chunks of tree trunk, well I was about fifteen minutes ago right now I’m typing. If you asked if I ever expected in a million years that I would be carting wood to and fro in a wheel barrow I would have just laughed in your face. Neither would I have expected that a whole year after graduating university to still be living at home, unemployed and well on the way to becoming the forty year old virgin. Scratch that, I kind of thought that last one might have become a reality.

Yet enough about me, I’m sure that the poor child in Africa never expected that it’s parents would die of Aids and leave them to look after it’s younger siblings and the house or should I say mud hut at the ripe old age of six. The nearest source of water is 10 miles away and the water has to be carried the whole way in a bucket balanced on their head. Even though the water is filthy the children have no choice but to drink the infection and disease infested concoction. Meanwhile while the oldest is carrying the water back from the well his younger sister gets bitten by a mosquito and contracts malaria and dies before she can be transported to the hospital. Yes I’m sure that’s how the child expected that their life would turn out.

Hopes, dreams and expectations often go hand in hand and whilst you may want your life to pan out one way, in reality it rarely ever does. So what can we conclude from this post? 

LIFE SUCKS