Apologies for my last, somewhat melodramatic blog post. Also, apologies for this, somewhat melodramatic blog post title. I probably shouldn’t write when I’ve got P.M.T.

God, isn’t P.M.T great? You can actually blame ALL of your flaws on it. Like, I just blamed my really bad blog post on P.M.T. I blame grumpiness, impatience, tiredness, and stupidity on it too. I actually feel sorry for boys – if THEY are ever horrible then it’s because they’re a horrible person, but for us girls, it’s just P.M.T!

There was one time when I had it really bad; when I was up and down like a yoyo on speed. My boyfriend would lovingly stroke my hair or try and hold my hand and I would go all stoney and tell him to leave me alone. THEN I’d get all tearful and emotional and I’d hug him tightly and tell him that I loved him so much. Then next thing, I’d be snapping at him for not having Humans ready to watch as SOON as our dinner was ready to eat. After hours of this mental behaviour, I apologised, saying “I’m sorry – I hope it’s just P.M.T”. to which he replied, “I hope so too…otherwise, you’re just a bitch.”

Cue extremely tense silence during which my boyfriend looked at me like a little bunny caught in the glare of a laser beamed tank, immediately regretting what he said and waiting for my reaction.

Don’t worry: no blood was shed. Instead, I laughed. I realised that without P.M.T., I would be a cow –  a horrible, horrendous beast of a human being – and my boyfriend would probably dump my ass, but with it, I was just the helpless victim of hormonal surges.


The world was my oyster.

P.s. I was going to try and write an insightful post about death, but I’m tired and grouchy and just want some chocolate, my colouring in book (it’s for adults) (even if it is a Harry Potter colouring in book), and the Gilmore Girls on television.

Too Much Time

Too Much Time


I’ve had a lot of time on my hands recently, which is probably why I’ve started blogging again. Like last week I had the flu, which meant I spent the majority of time in bed, eating ice cream and listening to Harry Potter (don’t say I don’t know how to treat myself). Then it was my birthday and I’d already booked a couple of holidays off work and then, miraculously, I somehow got three days off in row. I think it’s probably because I’m working a seven day straight after these three days so they’re bringing me up before they bring me down.

Stupid corporate world.

It’s been a little weird having this much free time. I definitely haven’t used it wisely. I’m not even sure how I’ve spent it if I’m honest. OH, I KNOW!!! I was Facebook stalking someone and saw they’d put up a picture of some custard, a spoon, and a tv series I’d never heard of before. Now, the girl that I was stalking was someone I knew from University (and by “knew” I mean we were shoved into a presentation group for one semester and so would meet once a week so I could tell her the plot of the novel she hadn’t read), and she was pretty awesome. I had a I-want-to-be-her sort of crush on her. Her eyebrows were always untidy and she smoked and she did creative writing and was Glaswegian and lived with her Mum and a cat – see? She’s really is pretty awesome, which is why I occasionally stalk her so I can find out where I’m going wrong.

ANYWAY, back to my free time. So I saw the custard, the spoon, and the tv series, and I thought, You know what? That looks like a pretty swell way to spend my evening so I started watching the tv series. It’s called Sugar Rush – ever heard of it? If you haven’t, I would THOROUGHLY recommend it. It’s about a gay teenage girl living in London who has a massive crush on her hot best friend. I’m actually so jealous that I didn’t write it. It’s quirky and funny and intelligent and everything I would hope to write one day.

Other than that, I’ve just been chilling. I’m sitting in a cafe right now. I’ve just ordered a cappuccino, even though I only ever drink coffee in summer. I’m actually so excited for summer. Well, I’m looking forward to the longer, sunnier days (I realise I live in Scotland, but I’m being optimistic), but I’m also feeling a little nervous because I’m giving myself until summer to figure out my life, career, future plans bla bla bla. I’ll probably do absolutely nothing about them in true me style, but it’s good to have goals.

Ooh, my coffee’s just arrived and it looks and smells delicious. I’ve probably totally ruined it by putting three sugars in it.


I’m sort of dreading going back to work tomorrow. I’m working in an opticians and whenever I go away for a wee while, knowledge about contact lenses and wear schedules and cataract surgery completely falls out of my head. I’m just really hoping it’s not my lens lesson day tomorrow. That’s when I have to teach people how to wear contact lenses and my lessons are so sketchy that we should probably be sued. The patients look at me all red eyed and teary, having finally managed to put their contact lenses in (probably inside out) and ask, “Was that ok?” and I just smile and nod, while inwardly I’m completely freaking out that I’ve blinded them.

(I’ve finished my coffee so I’ve decided to order a smoothie. It’s called Purple and it’s got beetroot, raspberry, and banana in it. I’m excited and proud of myself for being healthy.)

Once I finish my novel, I’m totally going to write a tv series based in an Opticians. I can’t believe it’s never been done before. My colleagues can – they think that no one would like to watch something so unbelievably boring as a tv series based in an Opticians, but I think they’re wrong. I actually think they’re just worried about how I’m going to portray them, which I guess is a pretty reasonable worry. Whenever I write about people, I do tend to portray them in a somewhat negative light. I don’t mean to. I normally write about people I really like as well, but they just come off as monsters, idiots, or alcoholics. I keep telling everyone that the characters will just be based on them and that I’m going to exaggerate like CRAZY, but they’re still very apprehensive. OOH, my smoothie’s arrived. And it looks so pink, healthy, and delicious!

Takes sip of smoothie and almost gags.

Yep. It tastes like soil.

Not Quite the Waltons

Not Quite the Waltons


So the family dinner was quite nice. Mum didn’t actually make it for dinner, but we saved her some leftovers (minced fajitas – how ridiculously difficult is it to eat these things?!). She also brought pudding (chocolate eclairs and creamy meringues), but she’d accidentally kept them in her car all day in the sunshine, and so they were absolutely disgusting. Well, that’s what my brother and dad said anyway – I, at the time, had already eaten an eclair, and while I thought it tasted a bit funny, I powered through because I love nothing more than a nice, big cream pie.

Stop it.

The conversation around the dinner table mainly consisted of mum and dad swapping their barrister stories from when they were getting divorced. Dad said that mum’s was a right nutter, but I couldn’t really understand why. You had to be there, apparently. They also told us that they mainly fought over money, and that they didn’t really care who got the kids so that was nice. Nothing like the loving devotion of parents, eh? They then talked about their childhoods:

Dad: You know your mother was constantly high on marijuana when she was younger?

Mum: No I wasn’t!

Dad: Yes, you were.

Mum: I was not, I hardly ever smoked! I just drank a litre of cider every day.

Well, that’s much better mum.

I actually get a bit stressed about this. My parents were absolute rogues when they were younger. My dad started smoking when he was 11 (11!!!!!) and left school at fifteen, and mum’s parents went back to Ireland when she was 16 and left her in Glasgow with her two older sisters (you can imagine the shananigans they got up to – there were a lot). But they’ve done alright for themselves. It’s like dad said, one day they just cut their hair and went to work. I don’t have any hair to cut! I don’t smoke, I don’t constantly drink, and I would much prefer staying in with a cup of tea and reading a good book over going out and partying all night, and because of this, I am absolutely certain I am going to fail at life.

I’m actually going out to celebrate an 18th tonight. It’s the daughter of my mum’s best friend and we’ve sort of grown up together. The last time we saw them, her mum said that she couldn’t believe how sensible we are – because we’re their spawn – but her daughter hit the nail on the head, saying, “It’s really no wonder we’re so sensible. We grew up putting YOU to bed.”

That shut her mum up.

Ach weel, we are who we are, and as much as I wish I could be more crazy and fun, I’m not. I told my brother of my worries yesterday after a mammoth Facebook stalking of someone’s gap year photos:

Me: I worry I’m a bit boring sometimes.

Brother: Why?

Me: Well, everyone goes off travelling by themselves and sees the world, and hugs monkeys and things. They seem to do so much.

Brother: Well, why don’t you go off travelling? You could easily do that.

Me: But I don’t want to. I don’t like travelling – it scares me.

Confused glance from brother.

Brother: Riiiiiiiiight. So don’t do it then?

Me: But that’s boring!

The conversation sort of went round in circles. He’s not boring. He does all kinds of reckless things. He was once drunkenly playing with flares on a boat, and I was raging, telling him not to be so stupid and to give them to me. He laughed, asserting that I should just “live a little”, before the flares blew up in his hands, and, crying his eyes out, he had to be taken to hospital.

I bet you’re thinking that the moral of this blog post is going to be that, sometimes, it doesn’t hurt to be sensible, but my brother ended up having the most blissful sleep, gassed out of his mind while I was curled up on a chair in the hospital reception next to an old Greek man who did not stop farting.

It may be time to grow my hair.

Staring into the Abyss

Staring into the Abyss


This photo doesn’t exactly show an abyss, but it does show a big, expanse of space so it’ll have to do. I also apologise for the slightly melodramatic title at 8 o’ clock on a Monday morning, but I’m FREAKING OUT. You see, I’ve just completed my 4 year degree and have my whole life in front of me, and – while this should be cause for celebration – it’s causing me to lose sleep. The big knot of anxiety that told me I was going to fail my exams is now telling me that I’m going to fail life.


Maybe it would help if the big knot of anxiety got drunk, although then it’ll just come back louder and shriller when I’m hungover. Yeeeeah, alcohol’s probably not the best solution. Who knew? Not my Dad, anyway. Oh yeah, my Dad’s third wife has left him, and now he and my mum are flirting more than ever. Seriously, if they get back together, I’m going to have to go to therapy.

Aaaaanyway, I’m just first world whining. I need to give myself what my Dad calls a damn good talking to and look for a job, get a job, and keep the job.


No, shut up anxiety. I will not take this abuse. Deep down, I know you’re right, but I’m going to attempt to quash your opinions with books and television. Ooh, I’ve read some good books since I finished my degree – READING FOR PLEASURE DOES EXIST HURRAH. Everyone on my course has been talking about it actually, saying how they can’t help underlining things and thinking What would Derrida say? I smile and nod and exclaim, “I know, right?!”, but really, I didn’t even have that urge at University and I have absolutely NO IDEA who/what the hell “Derrida” is. After four years studying English Literature, ladies and gentleman, all I can say about a book I’ve read is “Yes, good” or “No, bad”. I’m like a caveman with the ability to read.

Anyway, I’m off to complete task one on my to do list: wash car.

It’s good to have goals.

Plan? I Don’t Even Have a “Pl-“

Plan? I Don’t Even Have a “Pl-“

Isn’t that just the best goddam episode of Friends? It’s The One with George Stephanopoulos, where they all freak out about what they’re doing with their lives, but then Rachel looks at them playing Twister and she’s like, “I’m fine, I’ve got my magic beans!” I feel like my friends are my magic beans, but if I told them that, I would definitely be excluded from the group.


Anyway, enough about where lives are going; where is this blog going? Well, you’ll be excited to hear that on Thursday I shall be returning to the bright lights of Glasgow (oh dear, think I’ve forgotten how to put on makeup), then I’m off to Ireland on Friday for a week, then London for two weeks,  and then Italy for two weeks so hopefully I should have a lot of interesting things to write about and hopefully you’ll enjoy these a bit more because I don’t think many of you have enjoyed my Spar tales. I would have thought a blog that centres around a wee village shop tremendously exciting, but WHATEVER. I’m over it. I really enjoyed writing my Spar tales, a lot more than anything I’ve written about before. I don’t know, it just seems writing about other places can be a bit boasty and Oh my god, totally just climbed up a mountain and saw such a beautiful sunset and then a camel kissed me. Although, I suppose you won’t get that from me. It’ll be more: Oh my god, totally just climbed up a mountain and I thought I was going to die – mountains are so friggin’ HIGH! Then I saw a sunset that blinded me and I started freaking out because I thought we would have to descend the mountain in darkness and then a camel kissed me and I’ve spent the rest of the evening googling “Camel Diseases”, “Camel Aids”, “Rabies from Camel?” Yes, that’s more like it.

So if you fancy reading tales from a nervous traveller who pretty much has constant diarrhea then stay tuned!