Blogging – The First Year (Alias a year since I bought toilet roll)

November 19, 2015November 23, 2015 My Housemate's a Mermaid (Alice E. Bennett) Anniversary, Young Professional anniversary, toilet roll

It may/may not surprise you to hear this, but I’ve now been blogging for over a year (one year two days to be exact).

I’ll be honest, it took me a bit off guard when WordPress pinged me a little congratulations notification on Wednesday 11th November. It was like WordPress was saying to me “well done you for making it to a year. We’ll be honest, when we saw your first post we were a bit unsure whether you’d hack it. We were not sure the content was really appropriate considering most of our bloggers write about interesting, informative things and make an effort with their photographs. However you sure stuck at your own little niche writing style and lo and behold you’re still around. I’ve lost 50 Bitcoin in a bet to Tumblr and still don’t get what keeps your readers coming back, but all the same well done you.”

Of course, all I got was this:

Capture

(I studied English Literature at AS Level, I can read between the lines. Well, line.)

At first I shook off this news. I was halfway through writing my last post and too focused on Ainsley Harriot’s tomatoes to process this notification. When I was 75% of the way through writing said post I was actually annoyed with WordPress for telling me this news randomly when I was typing something else that was unrelated to blogging for a year. I felt the site had robbed me a golden chance to post on the actual anniversary that I created My Housemate’s a Mermaid and my Grimgrad identity.

“Dam you WordPress” I thought.

“Sod off, I’ve already lost 50 Bitcoin to Tumblr and now I’ve got MySpace on the phone laughing at me. MySpace!” An anthropomorphic version of WordPress responded.

Anyway, here I am, a week later than billed, writing my thirtieth anniversary post. Sometimes it feels weird to think this image marked the start of something new for me:

Shock, horror! I'm a real adult now!

I mean the image itself is not strange, I pull stupid poses all the time (regardless of whether there is a camera present or not). But four things make it particularly interesting to me:

a) I think everyone will agree this photo expertly sums up everything about this blog. The style, the importance, the sheer randomness about every word that is written. Someone once asked me if I did stand up as well as the blog, they found the writing style to be so amusing and witty. Unsure whether I should be flattered, concerned or ring up my local comedy club I simply responded with the truth; that every word I write for my blog is 100% natural me. Colleagues and friends may say I’m nothing like this in real life, family will tell you I’m worse, but what I type are literally the mental ramblings of my little brain.

b) This one photo marked the start of a new interest, hobby and creative release. It kinda makes it a big deal to me.

c) Since posting it on my blog I have never taken the time to look at or use this photo again. I could have used it for the Hat Season post but I didn’t. I remember at the time thinking it was a photo of significance and it should not be repeatedly used without a justified reason. In a bizarre twist of fate, this silly photo had adopted a degree (pun not intended) of near holy importance to me.

and 4. It looks like a mouse is hiding on the top of my mortar board. Never noticed that before.

Perhaps I should be submitting the above picture to the various examination boards of Britain. I mean clearly this is an image that school children can and should rip apart to fully understand Britain in the early 21st Century. Best to get the resources together now AQA, you’ll only be regretting it when you have to pay my grandchildren royalties for using this photo.

To bring it back to the title, why is this post also being referred to as a year since I bought loo roll? Well, it’s not uncommon for people to ask bloggers the predictable question of “what made you want to start writing?” Now, the normal answer to this would be equally as dull and expected, something along the lines of “I was inspired to write because…” or “when *blank* happened to me I felt impassioned to tell this important story to the world”. Which one was I? Come on, you know me better than that. Did you seriously think this blog had a dully beautiful creation? I’ll tell you the story of how this blog came to be:

I was in Sainsbury’s after work. It was wet and cold out and I really could not be bothered to go, however we were out of toilet roll and it was my turn to buy some. Sure, I could have left it another day, but we were down to the last roll and you are playing with some serious hand grenade if you’re sharing a bathroom with two other females and you keep putting off the loo roll shop.

I was standing there in front of all the types. I think a new Olly Murs track was playing? Yeah, I think it was him. Singing some generic tune, something to make me feel happier about a product that would see my money being literally flushed down the toilet. In front of me was the branded Andrex on offer at £3.50 for nine rolls vs. Sainsbury’s own brand at £6.50 for 16. Sheri and I had always bought in high volume on the grounds that loo roll isn’t about to go out of fashion. I remember debating it forever, analysing every single aspect of each product. Sheri had always bought branded toilet roll and I didn’t want to look like a tight wad by purchasing own brand, but did I really want to pay up any more than I needed to?

I don’t think in the history of loo roll has anyone spent so much time studying the details of something no one really cares about. “Lovely bathroom Tina, but it’s a shame your toilet roll didn’t feature a floral boarder” said no one ever. I finally selected the Andrex family pack. I paid for the goods and walked out of the store, chuffed at my purchase.

“This will see us through to the new year. I won’t have to buy any more toilet roll for ages,” I thought “not even this misty rain is going to get me down.”

I pressed the button at the pedestrian crossing and waited for the lights to change.

“Hey, why don’t I start writing a blog? That could be interesting, although I probably wouldn’t be able to hack it. I mean I tried it once ages ago while at Southampton, when I created the account for a party pineapple…

374301_10150427118641050_1213846788_n

…that was until I realised I’d created a persona that was more Twitter than WordPress. He rotted away and I did not have the energy or funds to invest in a new pineapple. Yeah, that was a bit of a fail. But maybe I should try again though.”

Green man appears, I walk across the road.

“But what to call it…”

There was literally zero thought process to it, I don’t know how it came into my head but two minutes later the title “My Housemate’s a Mermaid” was firmly stuck in my head and I became more determined than ever to write my first post.

Ever since that moment the only time I’ve been frustrated with blogging was the first fifteen minutes when I got back and I just wanted to write something. I had to quickly research which site to use and fill in so many boxes to create an account “Jesus Christ, just let me write already!”

And that my friends is the true story of how I came to be sat in bed a year later, still writing the same old waffle. The same old waffle you’re still reading now. I’ve come a long way since then, I now type with the duvet over me as opposed to under me. No need to thank me, thank Sainsbury’s special promotions and your natural bodily functions. I was actually in the same supermarket a couple of weeks ago to buy loo roll. Even though I had no idea my blogging anniversary was coming up I had this weird feeling which I couldn’t quite place. And then it dawned on me…

Own brand toilet roll had increased from £6.50 to £6.65.

Don’t Touch Me Tomatoes

Quote November 11, 2015December 1, 2015 My Housemate's a Mermaid (Alice E. Bennett) food, Humour Couscous, Daily, Prompt, Soup, Tomatoes

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “An Odd Trio.”

In my quest to post more stuff on this blog in the intervening time while my mind concocts amazing ideas for longer pieces (keep you eye out for a Christmas shopping themed post – Working title: “Christmas confessions of a Grimgrad shopper, well, not confessions because if they were confessions I wouldn’t be putting it on a public blog for all to read, nor would be I be casually whipping my phone out in shops to photo products while staff watch me uneasily from behind the till.” That, but a little bit shorter. Also a little bit more interesting. And grabbing. Basically everything this working title isn’t. Hmm…

Stay tuned!

Ok, where was I? Oh yeah, I’m doing this daily prompt thingy. I have three items I have to mention, but can you guess what they are? (What do you mean you clicked on the link above and know already? That’s cheating! Be honest, was it prompted by the paragraph above? Ok, noted.)

New readers – this is my style of writing. You get used to it, like a toy soldier riding a cat. It’s weird and not normal, but you can’t help but look at it anyway.

I’ll be honest, this is not a fabulously amazing evening. My knee is still not great (see http://wp.me/p5kuli-je for the background), in fact I actually believe that doing no exercise has somehow made it worse. Classic Alice. As such I’m spending the evening in the house as opposed to hitting the fitness classes. Nice cosy night in I thought. That was until I realised I have nada food in. All I have in my cupboard is Ainsley Harriot couscous and a tin of Sainsburys basics soup. Let the battle of the medicore foodstuffs begin!

Vs.

With my knee I’m not taking any more chances so I’m facing the choice of a bowl of soup or a pile of couscous. If this was live TV I’d get people to vote on what I should eat, but the BBC has yet to approach me with a broadcasting deal so I’ve had to make this decision for myself. After a long hard think (over 20 seconds), I’ve gone for the soup. Why? Because a) with my leg I’m still classing myself as ill and b) I’m still trying to get over watching Ainsley doing the salsa on Strictly Come Dancing:

Looking at the packet of couscous all I can think about is him telling me to not touch his tomatoes. Couscous also involves water which will indefinitely mean I spill at least half of it on the floor, resulting in me dragging out the floor towel to mop it up. Once upon a time it may have been a beach towel, it’s certainly big enough to have been one, but years of washing and mopping up our sorry excuse of a kitchen has just killed it. You know the Wizard of Oz? Our floor towel went through the reverse affect. Was pretty, now bleak and dead.

So soup it is!

“Waiter! One can of sad soup for one if you please! Oh and can I get some extra frozen, reduced-price, bread and a glass of orange squash to go with that?”

Don’t you just envy the lie of a Grimgrad?

(Ps, the three items were a cat, a bowl of soup and a beach towel. And you thought it was going to be Ainsley Harriot’s tomatoes.)

Pps, all of the above is true.

If I Don’t Post It, No One Else Will

Quote November 3, 2015November 3, 2015 My Housemate's a Mermaid (Alice E. Bennett) Prompt Daily, Prompt, Swindon

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Million-Dollar Question.”

(Before you ask, the question was not “if I have $999,999 and I add $1, how many dollars will I have?”, it was “why do you blog?” Well I was in Swindon’s beautiful town centre on lunch…

Truly a centre of ~~chavs~~ ~~beauty~~ paving slabs.

Swindon is a landlocked place, with no sea or lakes anywhere near it. So imagine my surprise when, full of November gloom, I saw a video of fish playing on the said screen pictured above. A video that bore no relevance to Swindon, the time of year or even this country:

Not even the pigeons are interested.

In a spookily empty area I found this video both random and hilarious (as you can probably hear in the audio). Only on a blog can I upload and post random insights such as this.

If I don’t post it, no one else will.

(You’re welcome.)

Gym? What’s a Gym?

October 30, 2015November 1, 2015 My Housemate's a Mermaid (Alice E. Bennett) Fitness, Gym Fitness, Gym

Gonna get straight to it, I’ve taken up membership at a local gym. In it is loads of gym-y equipment like treadmills, weights and water fountains (the stuff you’d expect) but there are also items of equipment which to the novice gym goer are both weird and scary. Take for example the Stair Stepper, a machine that looks like something you’d buy on The Sims as a wacky item. Shock (/horror) it exists in real life:

Another fine example is the nicely titled ‘Ab Cruncher’ that aims to do exactly what it says on the tin. Now in this image you’d think it was a right jolly using one of these:

But seriously, when you see people using them in real life it’s easy to question whether the design originates from some form of medieval torture. I mean look at the girl in this video demonstrating how to use the machine:

Rebecca looks like she’s about to poop herself.

I will be the first to admit that my bi to thrice weekly gym visits has not seen me use either these two machines so far (I joined up about a month ago). Thanks to Rebecca I’m now scared of the Ab Cruncher and part of me asks why there is a demand for a Stair Stepper. Either these people are living in bungalows or have never utilised an escalator in an empty shopping centre.

Back to me then. I joined the gym after many weeks of ~~boredom~~ pondering how to spend my evenings after work. I mean sure, I have socks to wash and I guess the cheap cheese won’t buy itself, but these are hardly riveting ways to spend one’s evening. I was also getting worn down by my born-again-fitness-freak housemate who was coming home every evening in her gym gear saying, “I’ve just been at a couple of fitness classes and on the weights. You been up to much?” “I made a sandwhich and now I’m deciding which chocolate bar to eat. It’s been a hectic evening.”

The two factors combined I took the plunge and signed up to the gym. I was uneasy about the idea at first, more than anything because I’d previously signed up to the gym at university, handing over £120 annual membership in my Freshers’ Week. To 99.9% of people this would be a good deal. Guess how many times I frequented the gym in one year?

Twice.

Yes, that’s right, twice. Both times to use the pool. And one of those times was because Alice got a little tipsy one evening and convinced someone she barely knew to go swimming the next day. It was both incredibly awkward and with a headache incredibly not fun. I suppose you could count the time I went to the gym induction. Oh yeah, went to an induction on how to use the gym equipment but then walked out with this new found knowledge never to return again. Who does that? Oh wait, ME!

Simply put, I had a deep rooted fears I would bail again on this gym in Swindon. This time though I double checked the money would leave my account every month so that I was reminded of my responsibility to commit to this. Money on the table, cheeky corporate discount applied, I signed up. First thought after clicking ‘submit’, “shoot, I’m actually going to have to go to this place now”.

First day and I think both my friends will agree I was completely clueless on what to do. I was only one rung of the ladder up from Homer…

I did not know where to go or what to do and I was wearing gym clothing bought about a year ago (I have a theory that goes if you buy the equipment, your body will do the rest. If you buy the textbooks, the essay will magically write itself; if you buy the sports gear, you’ll magically lose weight overnight. It is a theory that has yet to be proven true).

Where to look was also a source of confusion. I mean in the gym the men either look like this:

Or this:

I mean not that I have anything against any of these sort of guys, but in my gym they’re never…

Or…

In the space of five minutes I felt every stereotype and expectation I had come to build up in my mind turn to sweaty ash before my eyes. I was in a very good mind to write a strongly worded open letter to the advertising industry.

That said, since joining the gym I spend less time fussing about the lack of eye candy and more time in female dominated classes, (in the words of one family member “you don’t get many guys attending Zumba classes, those that do are a bit more, you know, theatrical”). However pushing my body to its limits has, well, it’s limits. After four weeks of intense aerobics classes and prolonged periods on cardio machines something had to give (literally). On Wednesday my knees were absolutely knackered.

Despite the pain and genuine concern I had, I was also a little bit chuffed. I’d never had a sporting injury before! Sure, I’d given myself stitches stretching to get crisps and there was that time I fell face first onto the ice on a school trip, spraining my wrist and bringing half the class down with me, but this was a proper minor injury.

I Googled knee sprains and from the information I could find I made the balanced decision that I wasn’t going to die. Giddy from the excitement of a) knowing I wasn’t going to die and b) realising I wasn’t doing this for a laugh, I was a health freak with an injury, I started doing crazy stuff like buying vitamins with fancy names like glucosamine and Ebay-ing joint supports.

(I’m aware in that photo it looks like my knee has taken a liking to the model in the photo. Wouldn’t blame it, that’s one nice looking knee.)

Pain kicked in though so I dug around in my limited medicine drawer to find this. A product that I never, ever, thought I’d end up using.

It’s like the cold sore cream Mumma Bennett made me buy before University “you won’t ever need this, but it’ll be nice to know you have it.” Never used it. Actually I think I still might have it…expiry dates don’t matter on drugs right?

The next problem with the heat cream was how the heck was I meant to apply it. Unsure, I decided on two very different approaches, the hope being one of the two ways must work.

If you can’t be bothered to watch the video, right knee got the dotted treatment:

The left knee got the smiley face treatment.

(By the time I took the photo I had wiped the hat off. It didn’t suit the smiley face’s style)

This didn’t really work so I tried the new fangled method of rubbing the cream in. Seemed like a good decision at the time. I put a hot water bottle on my knees and relaxed with a tea to watch The Apprentice. 20 seconds later I felt a tingling (not the good tingling like the feeling of Christmas or a puppy licking your hand). It was then that I very quickly realised I was burning. The hot water bottle had proceeded to leak boiling water on my knees and the cream I had applied using my hands had got into a burst blister (I was so hyped on my knees I hadn’t noticed this other sporting injury). Both my knees and my hand was burning. I yelped and jerked forward, spilling very hot tea all over my torso, the additional shock causing me to fall out of bed, whacking half my body on a floor covered with chargers and pens. I stumbled out to get tissue but upon re-entering my room I was hit by a wall of menthol. In my excited attempts to self heal I must have used more of the cream than recommended, because now my eyes were burning from the fumes. In the space of five minutes I had managed to turn one injury into six. If that isn’t talent I don’t know what is.

On the plus side, my knees are now fine.

All this and I only joined the gym a month ago. This is still very early days, who knows, I may even do another post on this later on looking back on my what I have/haven’t achieved (ok future me, now you HAVE to keep going at it!) Right noe though I’m determined to stay at this and get fitter, even if it kills me.

No seriously, keep the ambulance on speed dial.

Hat Season

October 25, 2015October 25, 2015 My Housemate's a Mermaid (Alice E. Bennett) clothes hats

I’m going to start this piece with some of top notch fashion advise from Patsy Stone:

…And Stewie Griffin’s shopping habits:

Warning: this post contains images and frank talk of hats. If you are of a delicate disposition, are allergic to, or in any way do not like the topic of hats please leave now. Go into another room, sit and think hard about your issues, wear a hat constantly for a week, learn to love them and then come back to this post. No, there is no middle ground, you either really like hats or you love them. End of.

So yeah, I kinda like hats. They make me feel like this:

Those linked to me on social media will know that recently I declared the official start of hat season with this photo of me in a Costa Coffee shop:

Hat season does not have an official beginning nor end, there’s no set date for it (a lot like Easter and The X Factor). It’s really linked to weather patterns and air temperatures, which in the UK means you could almost wear a hat at any stage of the year. In 2013 I caused a stir when I inadvertently declared the start of hat season on the hottest day of the year:

However on the whole it lasts from around mid-September through to late March (if you’re still unsure ask yourself, “is it Summer?” if the answer is “no”, “not sure” or “I haven’t seen daylight in five weeks, how should I know?” then the answer is yes, yes it is hat season).

Because there is no set start and end date for this period, one set day a year people rejoice in the glory of the hat. The 5th December is this day (and what a coincidence, it also happens to be my birthday!) On this day everyone should be ~~forced~~ encouraged to wear a hat like my office colleagues:

But of course that shouldn’t limit one to only wearing a hat in the office one day a year…

I like to think myself a very open and liberal individual. I know some people get very funny about what does or doesn’t constitute as a ‘hat’ (it’s like the whole tomato fruit vs. vegetable debate) but if it covers the top of your head it counts as a hat.

There are some grey areas to this theory. E.g. this counts as a ‘hat of sorts’…

…Because a) it’s a slefie/deliberately taken that way photo and b) I was about 14/15 years old when I took it (i.e. I was trying to look cool.)

This though does not count as a ‘hat of sorts’…

…Because a) it was a cold day and a coat was needed b) it’s a laid back photo taken with friends and c) when I didn’t have my hood up this happened:

(I.e. the hood had a practical, not a fashion, purpose.)

Starting to get the hang of this?

So, based on these simple rules, here are some ways you can look glamorous in hats. I’m aware that I am a female (I know, what a shocker!) but humans of the male variety will quickly get the gist of this. There is no excuse why my fashion tips can’t be applied to any age and gender.

Animal Hats are always in

I mean, you can look so deep in thought and philosophical in a penguin hat

And so mysterious

(Who is that girl? What is she thinking? Does she have a second eye?)

“Quick! There’s a wolf over here eating someone!…

Oh wait, my mistake, it’s actually someone wearing a fabulous Wolf hat.”

Hosting a charity fundraising event? Better get a Moose/Reindeer hat on then.

On the Continent

You can wear a beret in Paris, France (bonus points for wearing it to be classy, not ironic or stereotypical)

Or in Cyrpus, Greece…

Rome (Italy)? Yeah, that works too

“Does wearing one as part of a Eurovision party count?”

“Is alcohol present?”

“Yes”

“Sure, I’ll take that as a foreign place”

Special Events

Where a hat is not permitted, a mask will meet the requirements of a hat, e.g. a formal night out

Graduation

Posting a Christmas wish list in the North Pole Postbox in Southampton’s Disney Store

You know, the big events in life.

In General

There is always an excuse to wear fashionable head wear during hat season. I mean, if you can’t sit on a large ball of snow with two tennis rackets and a hat when can you?

And you can dress up with them at many historical sites nowadays…

You could say it’s a HATucation! Here all week.

If you need a stronger reason to start wearing hats then all you need to do is turn to the old favourite, the high street. You can buy this card in Clintons:

I mean they’re cats! In hats! CATS IN HATS!! CATS IN FLIPPIN’ ANIMAL HATS!!!!

How do I know this? Because this is the birthday card I’m giving to my lil bub sister for her upcoming birthday (India, just so you know I’m typing this post on Thursday but will have to wait until Sunday before I can upload it because I’m including this image. That’s how much I love you. Think about it. Many siblings would kill for a sister who holds off posting something just for them. Remember this before you start analysing the physical presents I’ve given you.)

Happy birthday sis.

“Hey Alice, you look just like that weird guy from that awful Scottish comedy. The one about mountains.”

“Hmm yeah, thanks.”

“Isn’t that the hat worn by the guy on Mountain Goats Alice?”

“Well this hat has been a poor investment.”

From some of the comments I’m making in this post it may be no surprise to you that sometimes I get a little bit too excited with hats…

At times like these I have to remind myself that I didn’t always have hats. There was a dark period when I didn’t know of their existence. In those days I only had my wits and mini umbrellas to go on. They were the BH (Before Hat) years…

And this thought mellows me out a little bit.

(Because ultimately I’m still wearing a hat, that’s pretty dam good whichever way you look at it)

So, what I’m trying to say is that hats come in all shapes and sizes and there’s no excuse not to wear one, no matter what the occasion or mood is. After all, if you can buy a pink cat hat (CAT HAT!!)…

…then you can buy/wear almost anything. Where hats are concerned there is no judgement here. To be honest I’d be more insulted if you told me you weren’t wearing a hat right now.

Hat season has begun. Now go forth dear readers and do the hat industry proud.

The Very British Struggles of a 20-Something Commuter – #2

October 11, 2015October 11, 2015 My Housemate's a Mermaid (Alice E. Bennett) Commute commuter, train

Title says it all.

Struggle #1 : Seating Arrangements

Struggle #2: The Lack of Beautiful Objects

Sunday 11th October An attractive man got on the train at Moreton and sat down a few rows down in the same carriage, on an opposite facing seat (i.e. facing me). However, seconds later he got up and moved further down to the far end of the carriage in a seat positioned with its back to me.

Maybe he did not like the seat he was in, maybe he was too stunned by my beautiful looks, but either way way I’ve now lost my eye candy for the train journey. Dam you First Great Western for providing handsome passengers with too much choice over seats.

Life on the Tracks: The Very British Struggles of a 20-Something Commuter

September 18, 2015September 18, 2015 My Housemate's a Mermaid (Alice E. Bennett) Commute Commute

Most weekends I commute from place of life/work, Swindon, to place of family, Mickleton (aka the Cotswolds). On a good weekend the commute can be dull, on a bad day truly awful. No words can explain how felt when my train was delayed on New Year’s Day due to, according to the automated robot announcer, “a member of train staff failing to show for work”. For the record Network Rail no one accepts that excuse for being delayed by 45 minutes. We all know train guard Bob had a few too many gin and tonics the night before and now he’s hungover/pulling a sickie. Just tell me that rather than being so very British and making out that your way of phrasing the delay makes it a valid excuse. It’s not.

As you can see, I get very easily wound up on my weekly commute home. In order to keep myself sane I started to put my observations on digital paper and save them onto my phone. The result, random trails of thought from the mind of a irritated, baffled and bored 20-something trying to stay sane on the commute from Swindon to Honeybourne.

Sunday 7th June: Everyone in this carriage on the train from Didcot Parkway is sitting individually on the paired seats, tending to opt for the window seat. This is indeed a very British train carriage. I like it, I think Network Rail should work on the idea. it’s so quiet maybe I might even finish this chapter of Wild Swans, yay! Oh, actually, should I say yay when accomplishing anything linked to Wild Swans? I mean the main accomplishment with this book is surely “I’ve finished this book and I’m still alive. Sure, I’m a fat bourgeois capitalist, but I’m still alive.” Anyway, gotta get back to reading.

Some of these will be tiny, but I thought I start of with this one.

Ps, on a random note this song was in the pub quiz last night but I’ve had it stuck in my head all day:

MAKE IT STOP!!!

There’s Some Weird Shizz in My Cupboard

September 14, 2015September 14, 2015 My Housemate's a Mermaid (Alice E. Bennett) food food

On Friday I did my weekly food shop. To redeem a £2.25 money off voucher I ended up spending £20, forcing myself to buy enough juice, milk, bread etc. to keep me going until the next millennia. Single handedly lugging this weight back home I was winning at life but losing at the will to live it.

Once back I faced a new, equally crushing, task. I now had to find somewhere to put all this food. My attitude to unpacking shopping is usually to stuff it anywhere there is space. If I manage to put the correct food in the fridge/cupboard then it’s a bonus. However the draw back of this laid back attitude is a cupboard space full of, well, rubbish which in a house share environment with limited personal space isn’t really the most practical way to store food. After a long period of time trying to find a way around the problem I decided the only way to tackle the issue was to have a full on clear out.

Very quickly I realised I had accumulated a lot of random items over the past year. That or items severely damaged from the the random items. For example, this ‘good luck in your new house/job’ bag of fudge given to me last year…

Due to high temperatures and other items the individual pieces of fudge had become a super block of fudge, so flat my cup could sit comfortably on it:

There were the compulsory random assortment of mugs deep in my cupboard that I’d completely forgotten about:

There was also half a packet of Bachelor’s pasta, from where I’d clearly tried it but given up:

I’m not a student any more, I can afford better.

There was some random rubbish in there:

(The bin is literally two steps away, yet I made the effort to reach up and put the rubbish in the cupboard. Why would I do that?!)

Also had a container with a small amount of squash in it (I had just bought back a vat of the same flavour. Must be destiny!)

Start digging further back though and things get weird.

There’s a battery:

A piece of random string:

There was also a carton(?) of UHT milk:

I guess I’ll never experience the “tastes like fresh milk” feeling. It was the first item to be binned.

The carrots which have been in there so long they’ve attempted to grow but then died:

I’m assuming this is tea, but then it’s not in my tea tin with the regular, circular, tea bags.

Who knows what could be in it…

It made me think of this clip from the Inbetweeners:

Come on though, this is me here. It’s tea.

*Bing, bonk* “Sugar leakage in cupboard three!”

Ooooh hello, some decent coffee. I actually could do with this!

Better see how many months I’ve got left to use up…

Oh.

There was some powder mix stuff in there that I’m sure dates back from my student days:

Still, at least that was in date.

There was also some cause for concern items in there. Notably the very close proximity of my vegetable sock cubes and the descaler tablets for my coffee machine.

(They were very quickly separated).

Three broken/badly damaged lunch bags? Check.

Every cupboard has that tin of tomato soup that everyone has but never actually wants to consume. You know, the one that would sell better in supermarkets if it skipped the bull and said “consume when sick: Eat when taste and quality are your lowest priorities.”

There is a happy end to all this though. No clear out would be complete without finding that gift card someone gave you at Christmas where you don’t know if it’s value is £0 or £1,000,000,000:

Knowing me it’ll probably be the former. A girl can dream.

So clear out complete and items reorganised I was able to fit the old ~~rubbish~~ food with the new. All categorised based on usage frequency and what time of the day they get used (breakfast, baking, dinner)*. Everything fitted in perfectly for once.

*Except the pittas. They are a category by themselves for some reason.

Now as long as I don’t accumulate any large or awkward items I’ll be fine…

For Christ’s sake.

Blenheim Palace: The Unofficial Guide

September 1, 2015September 1, 2015 My Housemate's a Mermaid (Alice E. Bennett) Tourist Blenheim, Palace, Tourist

Happy September 1st!!

(What do you mean September 1st isn’t a national holiday? It needs to be, more than anything because papa Bennett hates this song and lil bub Bennett and I would get immense joy from being allowed to play it on repeat one day a year. We need to make it happen.)

Anyway, back to the point at hand, on Sunday myself and the family visited Blenheim Palace, Oxfordshire. A place reowned for its rich history and splendour.

The entrance fee for the day was a whopping £92 (for that price I was expecting to take home a memento piece of silver or maybe a priceless piece of artwork, but to my utter shock even that wasn’t included in the price). To make up for this we refused to buy the official guidebook opting instead to make our own way round without the use of a guide. While we were looking around I suddenly had one of my amazing brainwaves. Why don’t I create a simple, unofficial guide which people can use FOR FREE. After all, I’m renowned for my ability to convey serious, factual information in a captivating way which never goes off the point. Camera and budding assistant (India) in hand, I got to work on producing a new, improved guide. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Blenheim Palace: The Unofficial Guide.

The Exterior

Blenheim was built in the 17th century although over the years it has been extended. The exterior of the palace is very grand. By being grand the palace sent a powerful message: “Oi, monarchy, don’t be messing with us, we’ve got a fine pad too.”

The most recent part of the exterior probably dates from around 1948, when the Duke of Marlbrough took a fancy to the works of Orwell:

There is also ample space for adopting the middle aged man position:

Top Tip: There’s a lot of gravel outside the front, but us oiks aren’t allowed to walk across most of it. Stick to the central section which is disinfected every night.

For a comprehensive summary of the palace’s exterior, check out this useful video where India will tour you around the important features of the palace’s architecture.

In short, there are invisible birds, flies everywhere and there is a risk you might slip through a time hole and be transported back to the Victorian era (Blenheim accepts no responsibility should the latter occur).

Inside the Palace

Inside their are two different tours of the house. The first is titled ‘Blenheim Untold’. This is an exhibition which features holograms, information boards and scary mannequins. Be warned, you will be in a room with a naked Barbara Villiers where you won’t know where to look or how to feel:

The author can’t speak for the rest of the world, but as someone who had a morbid fear of museum mannequins for about 15 years and still doesn’t like them I would thoroughly avoid traumatising your child with such a sight.

There’s also a random cake model of Blenheim Palace here. Made in the 1970s, it was the first ever Bake Off show stopper.

(Still didn’t get star baker though)

The other part of the house open to the public is a self lead affair. There are several lovely tapestries, including this one titled “What the gentlemen did while a historic battle was being fought elsewhere alias what we did on our holidays“

“My, my, what a wonderful day for watching a battle”

“Indeed sir it is. It looks so much fun down there what with the blood and fighting and all. I was briefly tempted to follow them, but then I realised that I was an aristocrat and the feeling passed. Is it lunch served yet?”

“Hey everyone, when you get a moment I’d really appreciate it if you could check out these battle plans I drew up. If you could check them out before some civilians get killed that would be great.”

“Fudge”

There’s also some fancy silver dinner sets that only get used on Christmas day (i.e. marvel at our wealth peasants).

And there are a lot of art pieces in the rooms too. Below are a selection of personal favourites (apologises in advance for photo quality):

The first ever mother, baby selfie:

“This better get at least 10 likes”

The world record holder for sideburns:

The wife of Donkey from Shrek being crushed by a memorial:

Her death is mourned by many

There’s a massive sculpture to in the library, as you do.

You know that feeling when you’re just so fed up of having your portrait taken? There’s even a lovely art piece that summarises the feeling:

Author Recommends: The portrait of Churchill and a horse found towards the end of the Winston Churchill exhibition.

“Mum, mum! You’ll never guess what! I’m going to be in a painting with Winston Churchill! I’ve been posing for hours but it’ll be worth it. I told you I’d do our family proud.”

#Awkward

Top Tip: Check out this mini radiator in the library. Not for any reason in partiuclar, just check it out:

That’s not gonna dry anyone’s socks out or heat a room but I’ll let it slide because it’s so dam tiny. Cute!

Oh, and there are also hats:

Outside

The gardens outside are nice:

A nice garden.

Top Tip: Watch out for stating the obvious signs, e.g. one that tells you not to go beyond this point when beyond this point in a sheer drop.

The garden has some pretty flowers in it:

Pretty flowers.

It also has the first example of photo-shopping in England.

As my assistant demonstrates, posing for such sculptures was a very hard job to do:

Top Tip: There are a lot of good paths for amateur runners.

The grounds contain an attractive man-made cascade with nature-made swan…

…and a bridge nearby that leads to no where (much to the author’s bafflement).

The garden also provides many opportunities for the keen photobomber:

Author Recommends: dancing in front of one of the door ways for no reason:

Has to be done.

Pleasure Gardens

There are some funky butterflies in the pleasure garden:

Funky butterflies.

There is also a maze:

Which floods very easily:

Top Tip: Do not be put off by the puddles. Take a sip of tea, man up and enter:

(In case readers doubted my love of tea)

The maze contains many twisty sections, two bridges and a monster who jumps out at you (otherwise known as dad)

However that said, it was a fun experience (even if the author was beaten by her younger sibling).

Comments Book

Where would any tourist attraction be without its comments book? Lets take a moment to view some of the comments that will always be part of Blenheim’s rich tapestry.

When you’re so happy and excited about something that last word turns in a blur:

The very British comment:

“It was ok, not that good” Age 57

(what a unique name)

Comments from the intergalactic ambassadors:

And finally, the comment that speaks for everyone:

Great tunez they indeed were.

So, to sum up, Blenheim Palace has a lot of art, plants and a dying dragon. Shame about the lack of a free guidebook but then most normal people do actually buy them. That said, this unofficial guide should now fill that gap in the market (you’re welcome). Fun for all the family, a great day out and I’d thoroughly recommend it to all. Can think of absolutely no problems or faults with it at all, keep it the same for forever.

Overall rating: Two Stars.

A Humble Bowl

August 26, 2015August 26, 2015 My Housemate's a Mermaid (Alice E. Bennett) Art Clay

Right, so it’s 6:15pm on a Wednesday in August, that gives me precisely 1.75 hours to get this typed and posted before the holy grail of television airs aka The Great British Bake Off (praise be to Mary Berry). Lets do this.

For this post I’m going to have to ask you to cast your minds back a month. I know it’s asking a lot of you, given you’ve actually made the effort to read this, but I’m lazy and a month ago I was too distracted by typing posts on my family. In short just pretend everything you’re about to read is in the present…

Annnnddd we’re there! Ok, so as part of my attempts to learn a skill/meet real life humans out of the office I enrolled on a pottery evening course at the local college. I thought “finally a way to release my creativity on the world!”, my family “bless, this will be a good outlet for her love of all things muddy”.

The first stages of any new skill are always rocky. Throughout the first term there were misshapen bowls a plenty and, like all potters, I had to undergo my share of heart break. The bottomless pot was my first experience of death by kiln. Before:

After:

But with a little patience and a lot of clay and paints, my first creation was released into the world. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you a humble bowl:

And this was BEFORE it was glazed.

(Shall I just give you a moment to take in this artistic wonder? Sure.)

Now this may shock you but some people weren’t so quick to recognise this humble masterpiece. In the words of mumma Bennett, “Is that is? No seriously” (c. 2015), lil bub Bennett “Is it meant to be quite so unsymmetrical?” (c. 2 seconds after mumma Bennett) and Papa Bennett, “well at least you got something for you’re £90 tuition” (c. a long time of deep thought after mumma and lil bub Bennett). Well in response to the harsh words of the critics I decided to prove my humble bowl did have an artistic and physical purpose. As the artistic purpose will be something for the Historians to decide I thought I’d prove some of the physical uses for my bowl. Did someone say photo gallery…?

A Humble Bowl – C. 2015

A Modernistic Creation of the Incredible Artist Dame (I’m starting the campaign now) Alice Bennett

(Please note: This is a modest creation and this gallery is no way a reflection of how much time the artist has on her hands. Nor is it a reflection of her mental state of mind or at least not at present, we’re still waiting on the test results.)

For this gallery I will be using a soundtrack to set the upmarket scene. A lovely little classic titled: The Sims: Build Mode

The humble bowl can be used for a variety of purposes. It can be used for storing tea:

Or maybe even a tasty snack:

(“Where are you pita bread? Oh there you are! You were in the humble bowl!)

It can even help your commute by storing those pesky train tickets. Heck, if arranged nicely you may even forget the extortionate price you paid for them:

You can place it on a window sill:

Or by your front door:

Look how welcoming a sight that is.

Fed up with Avon catalogues? No worries, the humble bowl can store those too!

The humble bowl (thb, I’m getting repetitive strain injury from typing the humble bowl). Can sit on your sofa. It makes a perfect companion to watch Pointless with

In fact you can leave it to sit on the sofa all day. While you’re away it’ll ponder the meaning of life:

Which is deep…

…Real deep:

So deep that thb creates it’s own life. He reads the paper:

Checks out what cars he can afford:

Maybe he’ll then try and chat up the living room lamp:

And then later on he’ll have a soiree with the other misshapen bowls created:

But then thb can also be used for more mundane, predictable uses such as wearing it as a hat:

Heck, it’s so amazing you could even give it to someone as a March Christmas present:

I kid you not, that Christmas tree was in our living room until May.

Overall though, you’ll just be so dam happy to have this piece of practical art in your life. Look how happy this crazy person is:

In short it is a humble bowl. I’m very modest about my work as you can tell, I can only ask the public try to contain themselves also. I am potentially open to creating merchandise linked to my bowl, specifically t-shirts, posters and pens, but ultimately it’s all about the art.

Joking aside I was a little bit pleased when I finally got to take this lump of clay home. It was the first thing that had survived my clumsy hands/the kiln and proved to me that if I put my mind to something I could do anything. I went on to do another term of pottery at the same college which finished in June (that reminds me, I really need to pick up my completed tea pot at some point) but I do not intend to do another. It was a great experience but I felt I had learnt all I could for now. I knew how to make pinch, coil and mould bowls and, most importantly, I had mastered the art of the potters’ wheel (or at least the basics) ready for when Patrick shows up:

What pottery didn’t give me though was the young social vibe and the new friends I was hoping to get from the experience. Everyone there was lovely, all very chatty and helpful, but they weren’t my age and they were all at stages in their life I couldn’t begin to relate to. Retired, divorced with children, grandparents with grandchildren my age, I was never going to be able to fully bond with these people. My hunt to meet new people in Swindon continued…

This seems like as good a place as any to end this evening. Also gives me 33 minutes to review and get this post uploaded before Bake Off. Tonight, bakers will do amazing things in the kitchen and create Show Stoppers that’ll make my mouth drop (quick shout out to Paul’s Lion from last week):

While that is going on I will be mastering to eat this, a piece of cheesecake I squashed last night when I lay down on it.

Notice there I said last night.

My Housemate's a Mermaid

Fiction, book reviews, observational comedy. Author: Alice E. Bennett (and yes, the mermaid is real)

Author: My Housemate's a Mermaid (Alice E. Bennett)