Extra ranty goodness.

It has been brought to my attention that I have become less ranty of late. For this I apologise. I'll try not to let that happen again.......

Okay so that stupid woman who kept trying to shove past me to get on the tube despite the others not having got off yet......urgh! She kept bashing the back of my legs with her bag. I wouldn't mind but the tube was practically empty and in no danger of leaving without her. But some people just have this blind ambition to get a seat and they can't think of anything else. They have their sights set on a particular seat and that's it. So they ignore the poor people waiting patiently in front of them. Stupid woman.

Not sure who this scent belongs to but I'm literally suffocating. I think it's supposed to be cologne but quite frankly it smells like hospital. Ewwwwww. Why does everyone have to be subjected to your dire taste in perfume. My nostrils have been violated!

Thankfully it was only one stop. Jesus. Whoever made that stink pot must have a hospital fetish. Nasty. It's probably Gaga or something.

The old thighs are dying today. Did 12.4kms yesterday. Felt good.......at the time. But dear lord. Most of last night I could barely move and now my legs are laughing at me as I have to be active all day with my kids and they know I can't be. Bastards.

Bending down/ crouching is a tough one, but I was completely fine after my 10kms last week. Maybe that's my threshold and then after that my body breaks. It also seems to be my threshold for other things too such as sports bra chafing. Oooo that's a right nasty business.

Continued after work...........

Dig me using my Ipod (Frank) to take notes about my blog. It's mainly due to the fact that I forgot to pack a book in my morning haste. As usual for me technology is a last resort rather than a first. But still I guess it's progress into that blasted 21st Century.

This is my last working week without a uniform. So after four years and three months they are forcing me to change my habits and wear a nursery branded t-shirt. The horror! (Did you notice the bad word in this sentence? Change. Not one of my favourite words, especially when applied to me.)

From next week we'll all be the same, wearing a boring t-shirt completely losing our identity. (Melodramatic.)
I don't want to wear a freakin' shitty t-shirt. (Having a paddy now.) Besides it limits me to only two possible pairs of jeans as my other two pairs need me to wear something long over the top, preferably a dress due to the clinginess of thigh.

I'm sure they're only doing it because we've got Ofsted anytime soon. Like they give a stuff if we're wearing matching t-shirts. All they care about is  paperwork and policies and safeguarding and the bloody new EYFS. I asked if we could have dress down Fridays as we are only given two t-shirts  and whilst it may be feasible to wear each one twice, three times is not an option. Tube heat plus Helen equals one sweaty bitch. Which means I'm going to be constantly washing bloody t-shirts. Urgh! Though at least they're not making us wear the red ones. But my manager said she didn't think the boss would like it if he came round and saw us out of uniform. He comes round about three times a year and probably wouldn't notice considering our branch has never had a uniform in at least five years if not longer. Tight buggers. Anyhow I'll probably end up with paint on it within one day.

Another year older. Was my birthday at the weekend. 29 now. And really feeling that down hill slide towards 30. I also feel an insane desire to write a list. You know, the list of things I want to do before I'm 30, though the one thing I want more than anything is unlikely to happen before I'm forty, which is even more depressing than the fact I'm going to be 30 in the first place. When did time start slipping away? When did my sentences become so long? (I feel I need to clarify the thing I want more than anything, which is to become a published writer.)

So maybe I will make a list and try and keep it reasonably attainable. The last thing I want to be is 30 and a failure. I mean that can't be good. I can guarantee most of the list will consist of places to visit, which will make it easier to succeed.

For my birthday this year I took full advantage of the bank holiday weekend, though typically on my actual birthday when A had treated me to a coach trip to Stonehenge, it was pissing it down! 2 hours on a coach with a lingering hang over from my bubbly induced drunkenness of the night before.....followed by heavy rain and wind and me stupidly only wearing a thin jumper. Stonehenge is one of those places I've always wanted to visit since I was a kid. (It doesn't have to go on the list now.) But strangely enough they don't tell you it's in the arse end of no where and takes so long to get to but only a fraction of that time to actually see it.

What they also don't tell you as a kid is that no one actually knows anything about it's origins or it's reasons for existence. It's hilarious. You have to listen to a free audio guide which basically consists of two posh Brits speculating about stuff.  Using words such as 'possibly', 'somehow' and our favourite phrase 'the ceremonies that may have taken place here.' They haven't got a bloody clue. No one has. But of course this just added to our perpetual laughter. (Still some alcohol zooming through my veins.)

In all fairness. It was amazing. Beautiful and atmospheric if you discounted the multitude of colourful umbrellas and complaining kids. 'If it's man made, why would anyone want to come and see a man made piece of rock?' To which the mum replied. 'It's not the rock that's man made.' To which the kid answered. 'Well who wants to see something man made anyway.' Little shit! After twenty minutes of pelting rain and mild hypothermia (slight over-exaggeration although my jumper was very thin.) the weather did improve a little. And there became this diagonal band of grey dissecting the henge with rolling white clouds and blue sky on the other side. Very cool.

 And so with a coffee and a hot chocolate to warm ourselves up we headed back to London, with a shit load of photos and a lot of giggles. Another two hours on the couch but the saving grace was A having bought two films on his Ipad so we had a mini frightfest with a horror film on the way there and one on the way back. Love it. 99p films from Itunes store. Winner!

I'm sure there's probably more I need to rant about but I keep distracting myself with Netflix. Sorry. But I'll leave you with this one.

To top it all off. I got a second letter in the last week from my doctor inviting me to come for a cervical screening. I love it how they 'invite' you, like it's a party. Oh yeah, just whip your pants off and we'll poke around. Whoop. But you can always wear this party hat and have a lollipop. Lovely.

I know I should have been having them since I was 25 but I don't like to be rushed and I still don't want to have one now but I guess it's on the list before 30 so if I get it over and done with now then it's done until I'm 32. But it's just so........intrusive. There's only one man I trust to poke around down there and quite frankly no one else should, ever! And so I will of course be requesting a woman. Not that it makes it any better. I don't particularly have any girl on girl fantasies and certainly not using gynecological instruments. Even the word gynecology gives me the creeps and funnily enough makes me cross my legs.

Oh well, it'll still take me a little while to psyche myself up but I do realise that despite being roughly 17 in my head, I'm not. I do realise this. And even if I didn't A likes to point it out. "You think you're younger than you are, don't you?"
Yeah. So what? I hang around with four year olds all day, what do you expect?

Anyhoo. Enough with the complete over share. I hope I have satisfied the rantiness and will continue to do so over the next few blogs. Am excited to get to the 100th! Whoop!

Enjoy the remaining 3 days of the week. (How amazing are bank holidays?) And support the Paralympics!!!!

Oh, one last thing. I went on Amazon looking for some presents for my kids and I found this as a description:
Plastic Music Wind Instrument Musical Flute.

It's a fucking recorder. For god's sake, I know the musical education in this country isn't the best unless you've got a lot to pay. But still. The idea that a flute could be made of plastic, or played vertically, or be £4.00 is just preposterous. It's a recorder you dumb shit! I had a toy flute as a kid but it was still played horizontally and had the mouth piece and everything.

Please teach your kids the proper names for instruments. It really riles me up. Oh and another one is when people put a metal glockenspiel and then call it a xylophone. Whoa whoa! Xylophone's are made of wood not metal. It is a very easy distinction. Argh!

And goodnight!