Pammy the Plant and the Weekly Commute

(Warning: The following content contains images of cut and wilting hedge flowers. This post is not advised if you object to such imagery.)

At the moment I’m in a bit of a flux state. I’m at that age where I’m still trying to find myself, but in a way which doesn’t involve taking hallucinogenic products. I tried inhaling incense once and it messed me right up.

As avid readers will have seen, I recently had a shot of coming up with new products the world needs. All of these were just concepts at this stage of course, I need the backing before I make the prototypes. I have sent letters off to Trump, Sugar and Madonna. Fingers crossed I’ll hear back soon. After this post I thought “well, if I’m such a creative spirit perhaps I should try a bit of writing?” Children’s books seemed like a good starting point (I mean, how hard can it be to write a good quality children’s story?) The world wide web also says you should write something you can relate to. So, based on the two I have come up with a highly readable AND relatable story for children. Enjoy.

 

Pammy the Plant and the Weekly Commute

by Alice E. Bennett

 

(Story based on real-life events)

It was Friday afternoon and Pammy was starting to wrap up her work for the day. It had been a long week in her department and she had spent much of it rushed off her vase.

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Pammy’s job involves her answering the phones and working at a computer. There’s a stuff load more to it than that, but you darling angels really would not begin to comprehend what Pammy goes through every day so we’ll leave it at answering phones and emails

Pammy was looking forward to a weekend with Papa Plant and Mummy Plant. Mummy Plant always stuffs her full of water and Papa Plant always asks her how ‘The Facebook’ works. At 4pm Pammy was very perky indeed.

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When the big hand was on six and the little hand on four, it meant it was half past four and Pammy could go home. “Yippee!” exclaimed Pammy.

Off Pammy went with her stylish spotty case. The sun was shining and she was in a good mood. She picked up her tickets from the man at the station and hopped onto the platform.

“In two hours I’ll be home, with all the water and plant food I could wish for. How exciting!” Pammy thought as she sat patiently on the platform.

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The first train arrived right on time. This was a train going to London. London is the capital city of England, so sometimes the trains can be very busy. Pammy had to be very careful she didn’t bump into a grumpy man or make conversation with the merry Welsh rugby fans. Pammy remembered Mummy Plant’s advice, “talking to strangers is not sensible,” Mummy Plant would say, “they’re often weirdos.”

The journey was fairly quick and after 15 minutes Pammy got off the train at a station called Didcot Parkway. It’s an uninspiring station. An uninspiring station indeed.

The next train arrived at twenty minutes past five. It was eight minutes early! Pammy got on the empty train and decided that she’d utilise the time and lack of people there to judge her actions.

At first she wasn’t too happy with the mess the other passengers had left.

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“Silly passengers!” She tutted, “leaving their shizz around when they could have just put it in the bin!” Pammy judged the passengers for their actions but admittedly didn’t pick up the rubbish herself. She was just too busy having fun. She played peek-a-boo:

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She then ate some of her yoghurt:

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And read her book:

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Pammy didn’t get too far into her fun when the train started moving. The train left Didcot at twenty eight minutes past five and would take Pammy to Oxford. Oxford is a very old and popular English city full of culture, pigeons and a dire housing shortage. Can you say dire housing shortage children?

But before she got to the delightful Oxford, Pammy made sure she took in the pretty scenery on her shuttle train.

…And the impressive stations…

“What wonderful scenery.” Pammy said to the Train Manager who came to check her ticket. The Train Manager laughed, “good one!” he yelled as he walked past. Pammy was glad her positive spirit was making others happy.

When the big hand was on nine and the little hand was between five and six the time was 5:45. That was the time Pammy got off the shuttle train at Oxford. It was also when everything went to pot.

Pammy hopped over to the departure board to look for the train which was going to Hereford. Can you spot the Hereford train on the picture below?

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That right, it’s the third one from the bottom.

Pammy looked at the board and groaned.

“Oh no! The train is delayed! What on Earth could have caused this?”

Luckily a robotic announcer was on hand to provide an explanation. Apparently a train had broken down in a place called Slough which meant the train line was blocked. “Nothing good happens in Slough” one business man moaned. “Yeah, it’s a massive poop hole. I wouldn’t want my children near there” said another. There were some very shouty people there too. Poor Pammy, all she wanted to do was get home, but the unhappy passengers only seemed to make the delay worse. At 6:55pm Pammy was meant to be almost home, but instead she was sat at Oxford trying to avoid bud contact with other passengers who kept staring at her leaves.

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Poor, poor, Pammy.

Pammy was not a happy plant at all. But then out of nowhere she heard a friendly voice.”Pammy? Is that you?” The voice said.

Pammy looked up and lit up right away. It was Paul the Palm!

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Pammy had not seen Paul since they were young saplings, so she was rather pleased to see him. Luckily they had got on well when they were young and had no ‘beef’ against each other. They chatted and chatted until the train arrived and throughout the journey. During this time Pammy wanted to look cool in front of Paul so didn’t take any pictures.

Paul got off at the station before Pammy, giving Pammy ten minutes to waddle her case down several coaches before arriving at Honeybourne Station at five to eight. She had been delayed by 50 minutes and was very tired from all the travelling.

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Papa Plant and Mummy Plant though were happy to see her, they stuffed Pammy full of food and gave her a glass of fizzy apple juice to make her feel better. It worked. Soon enough Pammy was back to her happy self. She’d had quite a commute! While Papa Plant went upstairs to snooze, Mummy Plant gave Pammy a cup of hot herbal plant juice and they sat down to talk about their week.

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Pammy is a lucky plant indeed.

FIN.

 

A Picture Paints a Thousand Commutes

As my well known saying goes “a picture paints a thousand commutes” and nothing sums this up more than this photo taken at Oxford train station on Friday 3rd June 2016 at around 18:20.

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This installation has multiple meanings depending on how one interprets it.

  • A representation of the modern commuter, striving for the finish line, yet being held back by means beyond their control. When they are released from their binding they hit the floor, little reward for the delay.
  • Western struggles.
  • The ruddy economy (I blame the immigrants/Donald Trump – delete as appropriate).
  • The perfect man/woman. You have a hankering for salt and vinegar one week, the next you are more a cheese and onion kinda person. The moment that happens you end up with two packets of salt and vinegar, the flavour you don’t want two of. (Psst I’m talking about relationships)
  • The government taking control and telling you “you ain’t eating no crisps tonight fatty”. The Big Brother state is already upon us my friends.
  • How come the vending machine contains only McCoys crisps and how come they’re only salt and vinegar flavour? This image represents the crispism and oppression on crisp brands placed on us by society.
  • It’s the work of Jesus. (The religious interpretation).
  • I’m sorry, how much is a Twix? £1.00?! Err no thanks. (The Alice Bennett interpretation).
  • For Christ’s sake, it’s just a packet of crisps stuck in a vending machine.

 

I should be working in a high end art gallery. My top-notch ability to spin and waffle are being completely underused in my current position. If you want to own this image it can be yours for only £10,000,000 (open to negotiation, also selling dodgy print copies of said image printed on cheap paper for £100 + postage).

MHAM now has a Soundtrack

I have decided tonight that this blog demands a song to represent it and all that it’s worth. The selected song to fulfil this great and significant role is Creamy’s 2000 sort-of hit, Help! I’m a Fish!

Why?

  1. Because it’s fish-themed (linking this back to my blog’s roots and my general predicament).
  2. Because it’s awfully cheesy but yet awfully addictive.
  3. Back when I first moved to the town of Swindon one could say I felt like “a little yellow fish, in a deep blue sea”.
  4. You’ll either think “oh my God, this sparks feelings I haven’t felt in years!” or “oh my God, this is garbage”.
  5. Out of context it makes absolutely no sense at all (seriously, how were they planning to market this song mainstream? The lyrics latch loosely onto the synopsis of the film and the video has no story arch at all. Let’s be honest, it’s hardly up there with Take That’s Rule The World is it?)
  6. All said and done though, you come away having learnt something interesting, even if it is useless. E.g. in the English dubbing of this noughties Danish animation, Alan Rickman does the voice of the evil fish. Who’d have thought!

Song credit: Creamy, Help! I’m a Fish! from the film: Help! I’m a Fish! (I know, what are the odds?!)

Trailer here:

(The full film is on YouTube, but you didn’t hear it from me).

Useful Useless Inventions the World Needs

My knowledge of technology and gadgetry can be summed up in the following ten second dialogue:

“Hey, Alice, what phone operating system are you on? Are you team Android or team Apple?”

“Team Windows”

“…”

Now, anyone who knows me will know that I was born middle aged. I watch Have I Got News For You, am partial to a bit of Paxman and Mary Beard and I get excited when the BBC air a show catered towards the intellectual market (dramatization of Shakespeare staring Hugh Bonneville? Don’t mind if I do!) Based on this it will also come as no surprise to hear that, outside of mobiles and basic computing, technology has never sat well with me. I mean why does everything need to keep changing? Why do I need an app to tell me how to sleep better? Why do I need a wristband to tell me to work out more? And why do I need an egg timer to tell me how long to oil an egg?! Ain’t nobody telling me how to cook ma eggs! To be honest if it wasn’t for bake sales I’d question what the purpose of a fan heated oven was.

That said, despite all this I feel there are a number of gadget-needing problems that the boffins of this world have yet to fully exploit. Sure, they may not sell in the millions and I agree they might not be entirely useful, but they’re plenty of ‘things’ which desperately need inventing to solve many a modern dilemma. Also, to be quite frank, there’s a literal pile of gadgets we’ve bought Papa Bennett over the years which have never been used. Christmas and Birthday presents lain to waste. No one questions their usefullness as they sit gathering dust in the crockery cupboards.

Therefore, people of the world, I give you Alice E. Bennett’s list of inventions that should exist. FYI – if any of these get made into successful gadgets I’m demanding royalties and/or equity in the business (I’ve watched Dragon’s Den, I know my stuff).

An invention that reminds you of that drawer at home already crammed full of plastic bags BEFORE you get to the till point at Tesco’s

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An app which identifies select times where a cut out of Nigel Farage is required to ensure you and the television corporations are remaining EU neutral. For example, before Eurovision the app would notify you to position Nigel near to the TV monitor and close to alcohol.

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A flag which you can attach to a camera which waves as a warning that the pose you are currently striking resembles that of an awkward British tourist

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(Points if you can spot the author in that group of friendly European tourists on holiday in Oxford)

A chip installed into every phone which automatically tasers the user if the phone thinks it is about to be used to photo friends in a club environment

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It’s hangover blackmail and therefore should be made illegal.

Something to solve this. The world needs an invention to remind people not to drink the blue liquids in the bathroom. It’s a problem faced by me and many toddlers on a daily basis.

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A series of pompous guidebooks which don’t direct you to the prettiest, most popular, paintings or monuments, but the ugliest

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(You’ll find the above in the d’Orsay Gallery in Paris)

In the same guidebooks I would expect there to be a line or two that tells you to sit down, read the information and look engaged with the waffle you’re reading

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A filter that stops you looking demonic in photos

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Oh, and finally, a calendar to notify you know of those days when you might want to make yourself scarce…

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Those are my initial thoughts on useful useless inventions the world needs right now. A lot of time was put into thinking of these revolutionary proposals, but I’m sure I may stumble on some brilliant ideas in the future. If that’s the case I may add to this post or do a completely new one. But as a starter for ten I’d say there’s some pretty good ideas to be working on there. If Papa Bennett can use a bread maker twice, stick it in a cupboard for 20 years and call it a useful gadget then I see no reason why any of the above can’t fill up a stocking and clog up space in homes nationwide as well. I’ll be a millionaire in no time. Watch me.

Bloggers: Keyboard Warriors in Masks

In response to the Daily Prompt: Mask

Whenever I think of the word ‘mask’ I think back to a classic movie that was essential viewing for any child growing up in the noughties. A magical tale all about being true to yourself and never being afraid to strike out. I’m talking about the 00’s classic A Cinderella Story, starring the adorable Hilary Duff and Chad Murray (does anyone know what Chad did before/after this film?)

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For those of you who haven’t seen the film and can’t pick up the general premise from the title “A CINDERELLA Story”, let me summarise the synopsis. Duff plays the heroine Sam, a teenage girl who, through loss of her father, is forced to live and work for her ‘evil’ stepmother and stepsisters. Unlike the fairy tale, Sam doesn’t just clean the house, oh no, she also works at her father’s diner (now run by her stepmother). The only thing keeping her spirits alive is her ongoing, text/email (this was the 00’s – email was still a thing) relationship with ‘Nomad’, later turning out to be Murray’s character Austin – the school’s quarterback AKA Prince Charming.

(We don’t know how the pair exchanged numbers given in 2004 Tinder didn’t exist, nor do we question why no one is concerned over Sam’s online relationship with a stranger. You have to assume that everything is above board because Hilary Duff is there.)

So, speed things up and the pair agree to meet at a high school dance. Both Sam and Austin attend the same high school and both have had passing glances and ‘hellos’ (i.e. they both have seen each other around). Not wanting her crush to know her true, low status, identity, Sam wears a mask. She maintains her normal voice and changes nothing about her appearance. What follows was, and still is, one of the biggest movie frustrations of all time.

(Skip to about 1:30 in on the video below)

Seriously Austin, you don’t recognise her? She’s literally wearing a bit of tin foil for a mask. It’s the sort of thing I’d knock up if someone told me I had to be at a masquerade ball in five minutes.

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And don’t you later bump into her at the diner where she works, have a conversation AND YET STILL NOT RECOGNISE HER!??

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I tell you what, if I was this guy I’d be round Austin’s place every day.

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Ultimately *spoilers* the pair get together and live happily ever after. However people the world over just couldn’t get their heads around Austin’s inability to see the blinking obvious. A simple mask, and yet he couldn’t see it was Sam who was wearing it. I mean it’s hardly:

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That said, I can sympathise with Austin struggling to decipher something which appears to be obvious.

On WordPress, BlogSpot, Blogger etc. you’ll find many different types of writing style and genre. There’s informative blogs, blogs on travel, blogs on baking, current affair articles, opinion pieces and even mermaid related ones. However, despite the style and theme of our writing one thing unites us all; we’re all bloggers.

Right now you’re wondering what the heck bloggers have to do with masks. Well I often think we bloggers are the ones with the tin foil masks on. We write, be it for a living or something on the side and the readers, well, they read what we write. They come away feeling inspired or informed. Perfectly understandable, that’s what we’re here to do. (In my case the readers often come away thinking “what the hell was that all about?” but that’s by the by.) What readers don’t always see though is that what we write may not always be a full representation of the bigger picture or us as individuals. An example came once when I was talking to a friend I hadn’t seen for a long time and they said “you know, you’re different in real life compared to what I was expecting. I’ve read your blog and it’s nothing like you at all!” Being not entirely sure how to react to this I just laughed and carried on. I found it a it a little bizarre that someone had formed an entire opinion and image of me based just on the wacky things I write after a day in the office. I was wearing (as I see it) a very small blog mask, but they were couldn’t see that there might be a different person behind it.

What I’m sort of trying to say is that all bloggers are, to one extent or another, wearing a mask. Some may be wearing a full-blown Spiderman costume, others a mere piece of card with eye holes, but regardless we’re all wearing a mask. At the end of the day blogs are intended to be public affairs. Would I want someone important knowing certain aspects of my life? No. Do I really have the time and sanity to be informing my readership how many times I went to the loo today? Yes No. We write to entertain, not to bore. And what we write is often what we cannot say in real life to your face.

I therefore propose a new definition for the term “Blogger”…

Blogger: creative keyboard warrior.

“¡Pardon señor, hablo muy poco Español, muy poco!”

The traditional Easter family holiday 2016 to the island of Fuerteventura in the Canaries,  region, Jandia (and for the record it’s pronounced ‘HANdia’, not ‘JANdia’ – ruddy English tourists, I’m not telling you guys again!) Anyway, the holiday could probably be best summed up in three quotes. The first being the aforementioned (roughly translated as “I’m sorry sir, I speak very little Spanish, very little!”). The second, ‘Do you think he looks in the mirror and thinks “45 years old and I’m performing with a wife who can’t even sing Shania Twain right”?’ The final, “oh for Christ’s sake India!”

Working backwards, the latter exclamation was caused when my darling sister made what can only be described a very silly mistake. My sister, who is currently studying an MSc degree in Geography at Cardiff University (a Russell Group University I add). I was taking in the view, photoing the delights of Birmingham airport…

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…When I heard “oh. Do we have any glue?”

Now, bearing in mind we hadn’t even left British soil at this point, I turned to my right and saw this:

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Cue quote number 3.

The holiday had begun.

Trying to block out my ever-so-clever sister trying to establish whether chewing gum could work as a bonding agent, I turned to my yoga music and the Thompson in flight magazine to distract me.

Despite being on holiday though, the magazine only made me think about the state of my glass surfaces back at home.

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(“Hmm, you smell lovely darling. Is that a hint of disinfectant I’m smelling?” “Yes, I accidentally sprayed the window cleaner on my neck. Sniff the mirrors though, they smell delightful!”)

Once we landed and got to the hotel after a long journey in buses where health and safety is just a ‘minor detail’…

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…we got to the hotel. And a lovely hotel it was/is:

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India made herself at home very quickly. Almost too much at home…

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(For the record, that isn’t a posed photo. I poked her a few times and she grumbled, so I assumed her to be alive).

A few days in and I was torn as to whether I should be asking the local police to remove the crazy homeless lady from my room:

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I on the other hand took to making the most out of being somewhere more exotic than Swindon. Even if that did mean posing in locations in my costume that couldn’t be much further away from water if it tried…

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(Eager eyed readers will notice that the sea is not located on the balcony or anywhere near said author.)

Near to the hotel was a beach, where papa Bennett (much to India’s annoyance) actually ended up being the centre of a nice photo.

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And we soon discovered that segway-ing was a popular activity along the promenade.

In addition to this, the hotel also had it’s own closed down zoo located a 15 minute walk away.

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A bit spooky really, but hey, every resort needs one!

Food/drinks were all inclusive, although that didn’t stop me being an annoying heath freak all week.

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My consumption of apricots and sunflower seeds went through the roof.

A day trip around the sights of the island was a definite highlight. I don’t know if it was intended or not, but I think there was a classic case of lost in translation with the tour operator:

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I tellin’ you, ain’t nobody ‘fit’ on that bus.

On this trip we covered a range of historic places around the island, including churches, a wind mill, a cave, a goat farm, mountain views and an aloe vera farm. We covered it all in one day. In one of the churches we discovered both how Jesus dealt with annoying disciples and, coincidentally, how he invented the ‘fake phone call’.

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Thus answering one of my ‘big’ questions: “How did Jesus deal with the people he really didn’t have time for? All those followers and there wasn’t one he just got fed up of?”

In the same church I learnt the Virgin Mary coined the fashionable ‘Western Catholic in mourning’ look hundreds of years before the religion was even established.

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No wonder she’s sad.

I also learnt a valuable Christian lesson that day: I’m going to hell while the Priests, Cardinals and Popes are going straight to Heaven on fast track. Think of it like Amazon Prime, but you can’t buy it, well, you sort of can, but we don’t like to talk about it.

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On the trip I discovered given despite unstable economic climate, some villages are able to really prioritise the important things:

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At the aloe vera farm we learnt about the many uses of the plant, in a way that totally wasn’t a sales pitch for us to buy their products, not at all. We all got to take a bit and try it out. Most people played about with the chunk of goo and then binned it. Not me though. I stashed it in my bag and used it to drive my little sister insane for the rest of the day.

Totally worth the slime patch in my bag.

We also went into a cave:

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…avec steps which pushed some of those health and safety guidelines.

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Near to this cave was also this sign:

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It was a sign was stoping to photo.

In Fuerteventura the people are big into goats, like seriously big. While there are reasonable grounds to this (goats almost outnumber people, or maybe it’s one goat every three people, I really can’t remember), I felt that the island should be pushing the bird/fish route. I mean, I’m not on the tourist or marketing boards, but the island does look like either one of those animals:

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They’re missing such a trick.

Although you can buy a lot of goat tat if you want. Examples include:

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…And whatever the heck this is:

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Even I found that top too wacky to handle. I mean where does one even start?

Statement number two: The entertainment was pretty good at the venue, even though the photoshop skills of some of the acts left a bit to be desired:

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That is some impressive balancing skills I must say.

There were highlights and lowlights. There were some good acts. The trio above did put on a good show and were very watchable. Justin Smith (last name is a guess) and Insignia (again, I really can’t remember the duo’s name) were, well, interesting shall we say. They did create a fun addition to the night when we played “guess that song”, and I’ll admit India and I were the only two people probably on the whole island dancing to Justin’s rendition of the Phil Collins’ hit “You Can’t Hurry Love”.

The hotel’s main source of mild entertainment were the flashy touch screens that were located everywhere:

It was through these touch screens that I learnt what noises the animals make in Spain:

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I am now one step close to becoming at one with the animals. I tried my cat impression out on the hotel cat, but with little joy. I really need to improve my Spanish.

Speaking of Spanish, that takes me to my last statement and also the title of this post. I am truly embarrassed to say that despite repeated attempts to get back into Spanish and despite my hard grafted B grade at GCSE, my grasp on the language is terrible. I can understand 1000 times more than I can speak, but that was of little use to me when I needed it most. Time and time again I am deeply embarrassed by how everyone in the world is expected to speak English and/or German. To combat this I tried on serval occasions to ask questions in my broken Spanish. Ecstatic that a young English girl in a nice dress could speak Spanish, what followed was either multiple questions about my education or long flowing sentences that, for better or worse, I could not understand. On one occasion I literally said “vino blanco y Irish Cream por favour” and got the happiest waitress all night because of it. “Hablo muy poco” became my signature phrase. I know I keep saying it but I truly need to improve my Spanish!

As always, it was a good holiday and a nice excuse to put my feet up.

Favourite bit: help yourself prosecco

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Not so favourite bit: Having to tear myself away from a) Pajaja’s village donkey:

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b) the adorable baby goats (i.e. kids) on the farm.

They’re little devils but they’re so cute!

Hilarious moment: when the hotel cat wanted to come in and hang out in our room but we had nothing to offer it (drawbacks of all-inclusive hotel rooms). What made it so hilarious was India struggling to deal with the cries of a cat when she knew she couldn’t offer him/her anything. The girl was in absolute torture (which, as a result, was hilarious for me).

I tell you what, when you look at photos like this you’d almost think we were a normal family…

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Almost.

22 Starfish Road (Where the Mermaid & Her Housemates Live)

I’ve been doing this blog a solid amount of time now and yet it has only just come to my mind that you guys know nada about where I live. I was munching away on a tuna baguette I’d just rustled up (you’ll be impressed to know I managed to combine the two components without setting the smoke alarm off – a first for me) when the thought struck my mind. So here we are, a summary of everything you need to know about the house Alice, the mermaid and the other ‘professionals’ live in.

Now, for the sake of not wanting to come home one day and find myself hassled by one fan, I am going to give a fake name for the house. It’s on a housing estate with street names that all link to one theme, a theme that bears no resemblance to the area. So, in landlocked Swindon I’m going to say I live on 22 Starfish Road.

Summary:

Date of construction: Early 2000’s

No. proper bedrooms: 4

No. of actual bedrooms: 5

Floors/Storeys: 3

Bathrooms: 3

Parking: Off road and garage

Oh that’s good, do you actually use the garage for a second car?: No, it houses Mermaid Becki’s wheelchair and DIY trolley, so she can be carted around for her performances. There’s also a desk and loads of rubbish.

Garden: Urm, there’s a weird patch of slabs off the back of someone’s bedroom. But we do have a communal garden, where you can sit and feel uncomfortable because it looks like you’re out there watching children when you just want them to go away so you can read your book. So really, no.

Things you need to know:

  1. We have random pictures/hangings in the house that have probably been there since construction. Images that have nothing to do with each other or the house.
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2) Tenants of this house have an abject fear of letting go of the Christmas spirit. I kid you not, we had a Christmas cake sat on the microwave that only got thrown out this week. This wreath:

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…This wreath has been outside my bedroom since late December. A fellow housemate is so used to seeing it she’s forgotten that Christmas wreaths should not normally hang off third floor radiators. But then to put it in the garage takes time and it’s cold and scary down there, so we leave it. Not as bad as last year when the tree stayed in the living room until about April/May:

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3) There’s always a blown out lightbulb – that or one just vanishes one day.

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We all marvel as the non-existence of it, we all get a bit grumpy because it increases the risk of falling down the stairs and dying at night, but yet we all get on with it.

4) Things that could easily be resolved tend to get left unless they’re life threatening. Mine and Sophie’s bath for example has the tendency to do this whenever we use the shower:

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(I think we’re too British to talk about bath water – I really should bring it up in conversation…)

5) speaking of bathrooms and water, 22 Starfish Road has previously flooded – on the third floor. This expertly filmed video shows how bizarre a situation it was. Not what I was expecting when I got home from work. (Also, because I haven’t used Windows Movie Maker since I was 12, I also added a cool stock library soundtrack to make it sound more dramatic and cool. It also helps hide my awkward British film narration).

6) We accumulate random items. As a result of living in a house share where tenants come and go, we pick up the random items that get left behind. Because the housemate leaving doesn’t tend to say “hey, I’m leaving this food behind” or “help yourself to my juicer” we tend to leave it. Like a loyal dog we assume the owner will one day come back for it, or it is owned by a current housemate. Both are false. Therefore in our house you’ll find objects only young professionals would own. Items like soda streams and blenders…

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…or endless piles of crockery:

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Fancy a George Foreman? We have two! Although we’ve haven’t read the instructions, you get healthy from stacking them in a corner and letting them gather dust right?

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As there’s now five girls in the house we know this isn’t ours, but we’re all a bit scared by it:

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…And we have a VCR video player. Just because.

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7) This is not a good place to live if you have cleaning OCD. If you read the blog post on my cupboard contents – There’s Some Weird Shizz in My Cupboard – with horror then you really don’t want to start poking around in the communal spaces too much. This cupboard I had to force shut:

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And as for the utility. Well, I’d advise you look away now:

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If you look very carefully you’ll see that there should be a sink in the right hand corner of the above image. Not anymore.

(None of the above stuff is mine I’d like to add. Lets make that very clear.)

8) Despite earning a respectable salary, I still remain stuck in my Grimgrad ways. From looking at my fridge self you’d honestly think I was sponsored by Sainsbury’s Basics.

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(I’ll be honest, you caught me on an off day. There’s usually a tub of Basics hummus in there as well, with Basics pita bread to go with it.)

What can I say – I’m a creature of habit and a creature that is, for her age, unhealthily obsessed with the current housing market and need to save up a deposit for a fictional house.

Can’t say my bedroom is much better. For the sake of my privacy, I’m only taking a photo of my bed, however I think it sums up my life pretty well.

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Laptop, headphones, plate (which usually always has food on it), book (Far From the Madding Crowd by Hardy is the present choice), oh, and a giant Stitch toy (a character from Disney’s Lilo and Stitch). Long story but my sister and I have a soft spot for this scene:

(More because Stitch has a stupid voice than the sentimental value).

To show me how much she loves me, she gives me the world’s biggest Stitch toy. One which takes up my room and therefore my life. I now know how Miss Bates felt in Emma when Jane Fairfax buys her a stupidly sized piano for the tiny house.

Love you sis!

I was going to write more on this, but I’ll save my room for another post. A sequel to “There’s Some Weird Shizz in my Cupboard” if you like.

So that’s the house. A nice summary of what it’s like to live in the four walls of 22 Starfish Road, Swindon. A pretty decent house as house shares go, certainly one of a kind. As long as I don’t think about the contents of the utility room and the monster that I’m convinced lives in the garage then I’m just fine living here.

Aren’t we lucky professionals?

Ps – After I filmed the state of the house post third-floor water pipe flooding, I felt compelled to dance about in the flooded patch. Not only did I dance about in it, but I also filmed myself doing it. It must have been a long day in the office, or the pipes were leaking more than water. I’ve added more Windows music so it sounds like Alice is having the time of her life, bless her. Enjoy.

An Amazing Story With a Strong Moral Message

This is the sort of story my future children have to look forward to.

A Powerfully Deep and Meaningful Story

by Alice E. Bennett

In the dark, dark Universe,

There’s a dark, dark galaxy,

In the dark, dark galaxy,

There’s a dark, dark solar system,

In the dark, dark solar system,

There’s a dark, dark planet,

On the dark, dark planet,

There’s a dark, dark continent,

In the dark, dark continent,

There’s a dark, dark country,

In the dark, dark country,

There’s a dark, dark region,

In the dark, dark region,

There’s a dark, dark county,

In the dark, dark country,

There’s a dark, dark city,

In the dark, dark city,

There’s a dark, dark area,

In the dark, dark area,

There’s a dark, dark street,

In the dark, dark street,

There’s a dark, dark house,

In the dark, dark house,

There’s some dark, dark stairs,

Up the dark, dark stairs,

There’s a dark, dark hallway,

Off the dark, dark hallway,

There’s a dark, dark bedroom,

In the dark, dark, bedroom,

There’s a dark, dark bed,

On the dark, dark bed,

There’s dark, dark sheets,

On the dark, dark sheets,

There’s a dark, dark rock,

And on this dark, dark rock,

Is a dark, dark substance,

And what is this dark, dark matter?

Well, be prepared to be amazed,

For this dark, dark substance,

In the dark, dark Universe,

Is spec of dark, dark…

…mud

Moral of this story: Some things are not worth waiting for

 

I’m going to be an awesome parent.