An Unwise Wisdom Tooth

October 23, 2016 My Housemate's a Mermaid (Alice E. Bennett) comedy, Humor, Humour, Medicine Dentist, Tooth

As I found myself sat in a medical waiting room all I could think of (besides the pain) was “here we go again”.

This time around however there were some minor differences. For one, the cause of my being there was not a smashed in face, but a troublesome wisdom tooth (unfortunately there are no photo ‘beauties’ of my injuries. I mean who can forget this stunner?)

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Also, due to the severity and urgency of my condition, I was in the waiting room of a private dentist instead of one belonging to a NHS dentist (the type I would normally choose). Having your regular dentistry tell you that ‘there are no dentists on site on a Friday’ and suggest you call 111 or go to A&E is a bit of an inconvenience when you have a tooth protruding into your cheek. In such a state I was happy to take mumma Bennett’s advice and go private. Thanks also to the quick thinking and research of mumma Bennett, I was able to go to one locally which had an emergency appointment slot. Unfortunately this slot was in 20 minutes and I had no idea where I was going. Never in my life did I expect to be running to the dentist.

With (somehow) a bit of time to spare I was able to take in the waiting room. The background music was a suitable soundtrack of Heart Radio (because who doesn’t love a bit of Ed Sheeran?) but I’ll leave you to spot the main difference between the private waiting room compared to an NHS one:

Well, other than the fact it’s the most stylish waiting room I’ve ever been in, there were zero people in there. Heck, even the receptionist left me alone for a while. I know it goes without saying but in the NHS waiting rooms are considerably busier. Also, the people on reception never put out free tubes of toothpaste and if they did they’d watch you like a hawk to put you off taking them. I may have taken a few…(look, if I’m going to go private I’ve got to try and offset the costs somehow.)

Went in to see the dentist and he confirmed what I knew to be the case, that it was the wisdom tooth causing the pain I was experiencing. What I didn’t quite realise was how bad it had become. Over the course of several weeks the tooth had started to stick into my cheek and, well, rub. It certainly explained why it was hurting to talk and eat and also why the mass consumption of gum aesthetic had done me no good but made my throat numb to hot drinks (when one is in pain, one much clutch at silver linings). The dentist also showed me a delightful photo image of the tooth in question on a screen in front of me. I know I’m British but I couldn’t help feel a bit awkward as I lay in a chair with the pair of us spending about five minutes looking at my infected cheek. To my knowledge in the NHS it’s “your tooth needs to come out”, “ok” and you go from there. It was when he asked to have the image saved that my mind started to wonder. I mean, what does he want to do with that photo? Does he have a album of all the wisdom teeth he’s ever pulled out, or does he just keep the favourites? When I leave, will I have the option to select the image and get it made into a key ring?

Wisdom tooth extraction is, in my squeamish mind, not something I find either interesting or fun to talk about. Number one reason why I couldn’t be a dentist? The noises. I’ll leave it there.

Surgery done and dusted I was presented with the tooth. I wasn’t really sure what I was meant to say, whether I was meant to go ‘yippee!’ or ‘good, I can verify you are a dentist now”. Not knowing what to go with, the first thing that sprang into my mind, the very thing I thought would be appropriate in this situation was simply “well, I’m certainly not going to get that put on a necklace!” The room was silent. I’ll admit the statement lacked impact on account of the aesthetic and the cotton wool shoved in my mouth. The delivery was a little off.

I tried to salvage the situation when the dentist asked me with genuine concern if someone was coming to pick me up. “Oh yes,” I said, “family are coming. I’m going to walk home from here, it isn’t far.” I pointed out the window to a patch of street paving, “I’ll just avoid walking on that stretch of pavement, I tripped and smashed my head on the pavement there a few months back!” I said it light heartedly, but instead of mild chuckles, the dentist looked at me in a very concerned way. The nurse looked at me like I was a puppy with a broken leg. I knew I wasn’t going to win over this crowd. I left the room like a true stand up comedian.

“Err, anyway, thank you very much for seeing me,” I said, “it’s been a blast!” And walked out the room.

A blast?! I’d just had a dentist rip out a tooth from my gums and I described the whole experience as a blast? All I can hope is that the awful humour can be explained on the drugs migrating from mouth to brain.

I tell you what certainly wasn’t a blast, the bill. Yep, that would be the main difference between NHS and private. Again, I can only assume the numbing drugs helped me get over that.

Anywho, post surgery I was unable to smile but that was about it. Here is proof of me trying so hard to use my face muscles, so hard:

You can probably see a little it of swelling, but luckily that is the extent of the physical short-term impact of the extraction.

I’ve been feeling a bit up and down but I’ll be back in work and back to my normal, fully blown awkward self in no time. Maybe I’ll even start thinking up what my next calamity in about six months’ time will be…

A Complete Numpty’s Guide to Baking

October 12, 2016 My Housemate's a Mermaid (Alice E. Bennett) Baking, comedy, Humor, Humour Baking, cake

Fairy Cakes à la Alice

This is a favourite recipe of mine, inspired by the immortal words of Tumblr:

“It’s not about the destination, but the journey”

You will need:

2 eggs

3oz caster sugar

3oz butter, softened

3oz self-raising flour (plus extra)

½ teaspoon baking powder

Fudge loads of random stuff to add in the name of ‘spur of the moment experimentation’

For decoration:

Cake cases that will undoubtedly prove to be too big or too small later on

An unqualified amount of icing sugar

Too much water OR too much butter

Fudge loads of random stuff to add in the name of ‘spur of the moment experimentation’

Method

Baking

Preheat the oven to 180c (erm, gas mark…4?)
Get out your twelve, holed, cake/bun tray thingy out (you know the one). Put cake cases in the holes and congratulate yourself for doing a good job thus far
Weigh out ingredients (do people put ‘weigh out ingredients’ in the method? Or are you expected to have already done that? Oh well)
Put flour, butter, sugar and baking powder into a mixing bowl. Whisk eggs separately and slowly add to the mixture whilst beating
Once mixed you may think “this is a bit runny” in which case add extra flour. How much? The length of a piece of string
Add random ingredients into the mix. Berries, flavourings, golden syrup (personal favourite), wine…
Evenly divide mixture between the cake cases. Don’t forget to leave a suitable amount of batter behind for personal consumption.
Put in the oven and bake for around 15 minutes or until golden brown. Put the TV on.
About 20 minutes later suddenly realise the time, shout expletives and rush to the oven. Remove cakes just in time and leave to cool.

Post Dinner Decoration

Place cakes on a plate or suitable decorating surface
Lay out all items of decoration and take in a moment to visualise how amazing your cakes are going to look. No one will care about the burnt edges or iffy flavours but they will look like God’s gift when you’re done
For butter cream icing mix icing sugar and butter and keep adding either ingredient to the mix until you final get the balance right and you find yourself with far too much icing
For simple icing sugar and water combo (classic) most normal people add water to icing sugar. For the à la Alice version though, put about 100ml water into a bowl and add sugar. Realise you don’t have enough icing sugar. Rope in housemate to lend you her sugar. Discover that even this isn’t enough. Scream into a pillow.
At 10pm, put on normal clothes and power walk down to local supermarket. Buy biggest bag of icing sugar they stock and rush back home
Add icing sugar to water until it vaguely resembles icing. Add in more golden syrup (no reason). You’ll now have around a gallon of icing to cover twelve – fourteen small cakes
Apply far too much icing to each cake so that it leaks over the top of the cases. Curse the cases for being too small
Drizzle syrup on top, because one really can never have too much syrup. Mutter strong words when pretty syrup pattern melts into icing
Go into desperation mode and stick literally anything and everything on top. Sprinkles, sugar, edible decorations, just anything

Finishing Off

Stand back and admire handiwork:

Turn around and look at the carnage left behind:

Tidy up the essentials, leaving the kitchen area looking like a scene from CSI Bake Off:

The Aftermath

Eat/drink literally half a gallon of icing (i.e. pure sugar), eat one of the cakes and then have the world’s biggest sugar crash. Wake up the next morning with a sugar hangover and vowing to never go through that again in a hurry.

Take cakes into work, have them devoured by colleagues and be worshipped like a baking Goddess.

Voila! Fairy Cakes à la Alice = Baking success

A Spanish Sunday in September

September 25, 2016September 25, 2016 My Housemate's a Mermaid (Alice E. Bennett) Humor, Humour, Spain Spain, Spanish, Sunday

(I know right – all of the ‘S’s! Can you tell this girl works in marketing?)

With the weather being truly glorious today, many in the Bennett household are taking this opportune chance to moan about the weather, well, BBC’s Weather to be precise.

“This wasn’t forecast for today”

“It was meant to be sunny yesterday and rain today, not the other way round!”

“It’s too hot for my body warmer!”

To be fair, it is what we’re best at doing in this country. Weather moaning is a skill that has taken centuries to hone in. It’s what makes us British.

Owing perhaps to the delightful temperatures, I’ve spent a great deal of the day in a somewhat Spanishy mood. Oh, I hear you ask, have you been nibbling on some chorizo or sipping on sangria? Have you been learning the steps of the flamenco or viewing the works of Picasso? No, in answer to your theoretical questions I have not been doing any of these things. I have not even sampled any of the authentic cuisines of Spain recommended by Papa Bennett (these being pizza, paninis and baguettes. Tres authentic dishes.) Not a crumb has passed these lips. In fact the only thing which has made today particularly Spanishy in outlook, aside from the unseasonably hot weather, is this song:

This song has been stuck in my head all day. It’s by no means a bad thing, it’s very cheery in outlook, but it’s coming into my life at the worst possible time. It’s late September and as Muma Bennett has delightfully reminded me, next week it’ll be October. This is a song full of up beat vibes and Summer feelings. The lyrics, the music, the video, it is all dripping in it. I do not want to be thinking of this song when it is pouring down with rain and blowing up gale force ten winds outside. And do not get me started on how this song sits next to the High Street’s ever increasing need to shove Christmas down my throat as early as possible. All joking aside, there is a very real possibility that if I listen to this song at the wrong moment this year’s Secret Santa will be getting a mango. This song is also a nice little reminder of my non-existent lingual skills. That ‘learn Spanish’ New Year’s resolution was ditched way back on January 5th. I mean I’m here bopping away in my head to this song without any idea or context to what Paulina is signing about. Before today I’d never witnessed this music video. I’ll be honest, I found the song on a Latino Spotify playlist whilst I was having a hipster moment and I have cradled the track as my own ever since. All I’m getting from this video is that the song has something to do with obsessive stalkers and paint. (It says something about my mental age when the first thing that sprung to mind was “thing of the cleaning costs!”)

So, on what must surely be the last Sunny Sunday of the year, let’s all make the most of the upbeat vibes and let a little summer back into our lives for what remains of the day. That would be just brillo (because if you stick an ‘O’ on the end of any word, it makes it officially Spanish).

I really need to give those CDs another go.

Brace Yourself…This Blog is About to go Off the Chain

September 22, 2016September 22, 2016 My Housemate's a Mermaid (Alice E. Bennett) Humor, Humour #blog, #book

…Why I hear you ask? Two things:

a) This is the fourth post in one week (it must be all that semi-skimmed milk, the fat has gone to my head)

b) I’ve recently purchased this book:

I mean, not that my blog was lacking before (I think we all can agree it’s the funniest thing since sliced bread), but now thanks to this book I can start myself on the route to fame and blogging fortune. It’s almost enough for me to chuck in the whole career thing and make my sole living off witty commentaries.

I’ve already learnt so much, for example did you know that public blogs can be viewed by everyone on the planet? That one knocked me right for six. I’ve also learnt that a ‘proper’ blogger should blog at least three times a week, hence why I’m gloating that I’ve somehow managed to put up four new posts in one week. Don’t get too comfortable with it though, I mean these bad boy writing skills take time to compose. I’d rather upload one post in two weeks than eight one liners in the same space of time.

Now it may say something about the previous owner when there are numerous frustrated scribbles and highlighted sentences, and I suppose their decision to ‘donate’ it to an Oxfam book shop may also speak volumes, but then I suppose they just didn’t have natural talent to nourish.

I’m not pinning my hopes of world domination and success on this one £3.49 book, I mean that would be silly. I will say this though; brace yourselves to have your minds utterly blown.

(…And if your minds aren’t blown? Well that’s the fault of the book, not me.)

100 Things to Do Instead of Watching The Great British Bake Off

September 21, 2016September 21, 2016 My Housemate's a Mermaid (Alice E. Bennett) Baking, Humor, Humour Baking, GBBO, Great British Bake Off

Unless you’re a Mexican flamingo whose had its head stuck in a pile of sand for the past few weeks, you’ll be very much aware that The Great British Bake Off (alias GBBO, hereafter ‘Bake Off’) has triumphantly returned to television screens up and down the land.

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This delightful cookery-based competition has been gracing UK television sets for seven years now but in truth it feels like judges Mary Berry and Paul Hollywood have always been part of our lives.

Great British Bake Off

In fact a few weeks ago I came to the conclusion that Mary and Paul were born as they are now. Mary was never an infant, moody teenager or rebellious 20-something, she has always been the endearing grandmother partial to a gin and tonic (or two).

Paul has always been the uncle who you know loves you, yet at the same time you feel you have to earn that right to be loved. He’s also the uncle who is banned from Tesco’s bakery aisle due to excessive poking of goods.

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Now those of you of a nervous disposition may want to leave the room when I say this, but there are those out there who (and I say this with a deep calming breath), there are those who do not like Bake Off.

Deep breaths, deep breaths. 1..2…3…4…5. Ok, I think I’m good.

I don’t know whether to feel angry or sorry for these persons. This is a minority group who has never experienced the elevation of a Paul Hollywood handshake or the despair of watching a baker’s gingerbread house fall apart at the very last second. Bake Off can make you experience every single emotion in the space of 58 minutes and all through the medium of cake. On paper it sounds like this is impossible to achieve, like I’m over inflating this show’s abilities like a puffed up pastry. But I’m not. Until you watch this show and give it your full attention you’re never really going to get it.

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Something I am prepared to accept is that due to the Bake Off effect there is very little else on TV between 8 and 9pm on Wednesday night if you’re not tuning into the show. This is something I can help out with. Like a trusted and highly professional councillor I will leave people to discover the joys of Bake Off for themselves. In the meantime, here is a list of things you can do to pass away the hour whilst Bake Off is on. Just pick a number between 1 and 100 and hey presto! You have something to do instead of watching soggy bottoms and plump buns. (To be honest if that sentence doesn’t convince you to watch Bake Off nothing will. Moving on…)

100 Things to do Instead of Watching Bake Off:

1. Watch Bake Off

2. Ok, ok, watching Bake Off isn’t an option. Other things to do…

3. Draw a picture

4. Look up the weather for the next few days

5. Read up on the news because lets be painfully honest, the world has bigger problems then the rise on their sour bread dough

6. Watch cat videos on YouTube

7. End up in ‘that part’ of YouTube

8. Look out the window and people watch (judge them for not being as productive as oneself)

9. (Realise these people are actually being productive in taking exercise.) Go for a walk

10. Go onto a buying channel and make a reckless impulse buy (buy that rotisserie cleaner, it’s what life is missing)

11. Do an IQ test

12. Go food shopping

13. Get back and discover an essential item has been forgotten, go back to the shop again

14. Watch catch up TV

15. Call Mum

16. Buy an intellectual book. (War and Peace? Pfft, easy!)

17. Read the online synopsis and reviews of said book (e.g. War and Peace) and realise it’s actually a hard read. Buy the TV adaptation

18. Read a magazine instead

19. Binge on wine and chocolate

20. Cry that a) Bake off is leaving the BBC and b) that Mel and Sue are not going to present it

21. Text an old friend and arrange to meet up

22. Tinder

23. Convince yourself you’ll be single forever

24. Download a cool new app to replace time spent on Tinder

25. Learn a new dance, because you’re Beyoncé

26. Join a local club

27. Learn a language

28. Enrol on an evening course

29. Blog

30. (If above is not possible, start a blog)

31. Go through photos online and clear out anything that you wouldn’t want an employer to see

32. Create a LinkedIn profile

33. Update the CV

34. Write a book

35. Job hunt

36. Work on that essay/dissertation/homework/report

37. Buy a new music album

38. Paint nails

39. Watch make up tutorials online

40. Have a shower

41. Research summer holidays

42. One word: Christmas

43. Make a proper dinner for once

44. Call up the landlord to chase him over the broken freezer, again

45. Book tickets to the music gig/festival/event you’ve been forgetting about

46. Call British Gas to discuss recent energy bill

47. Be put on hold

48. Still on hold

49. Seriously?

50. Complain to British Gas about being on hold and end up forgetting what the call was about in the first place

51. Have an existential crisis

52. Scream into a pillow

53. Hit the gym

54. Do the washing

55. Iron the clothes that live in ‘the pile’

56. Start budgeting finances

57. Watch a film

58. Watch a David Attenborough documentary and convince yourself you know everything about nature

59. Look up deadly animals around the world

60. Shave and/or wax

61. Wrap and write Birthday presents and cards to those distant relatives you don’t really care that much about

62. Read up on local events/exhibitions happening in the area

63. Go onto meetup.com and join a social group

64. Watch Homes Under the Hammer

65. Look up local house prices and tell yourself you’ll be renting forever

66. Look up the cost of raising a family and kid yourself you want to be childless forever

67. Check online banking

68. Acknowledge spending money on petty items has to stop

69. Buy a samurai sword

70. Eat pie

71. Make plans for the weekend

72. Look up what films are out at the moment

73. Play FIFA/Call of Duty

74. Go for a run

75. Tidy the house

76. Clean the bathroom

77. Watch another program on a different channel

78. Play Bake Off drinking games (with/without friends, depending what sort of day it is)

79. After a few shots, find oneself uncomfortably attracted to Paul and/or Mary

80. Stalk Facebook friends

81. Do a Facebook ‘cull’ clearing out all the friends that haven’t been seen in decades

82. Send a well-crafted Tweet to a favourite celebrity

83. Log onto work emails. After all, what could possibly have come in since 5pm?

84. Spend entire evening dealing with work emails

85. Plan a big event

86. Go to the pub

87. Walk and wash the dog

88. Wash the car

89. Create an awesome music playlist

90. Sleep

91. Look up ways to volunteer locally

92. Rescan the Freeview

93. Learn ‘the offside rule’

94. Learn the difference between eyeliner (liquid and pencil), eye shadow and mascara

95. Have a cup of tea

96. Do that thing that has been ignored/put off for too long

97. Make a paper plane

98. Learn the periodic table

99. Actually bake something

100. Count down the minutes until it’s all over

And before you ask, no, of course I didn’t put this definitive list together whilst watching Bake Off. Thanks to the WordPress Gods I was able to write this days ago and get it scheduled in to be published during Bake Off. This post goes live at a time slot when I knew anti-Bake Off sentiment would be at it’s peak and therefore a good time for you to read it.

Did you think I was crazy or something?

Follow ‘Grimgrad’ on Instagram for Your Chance to Win*

September 16, 2016 My Housemate's a Mermaid (Alice E. Bennett) Humor, Humour Instagram

Can I just get something out of the way first? Whenever someone says ‘follow me’ I have to listen to this song:

(If I don’t it’ll only bug me for the rest of the day.)

As the title suggests, I have taken the plunge and joined the world of Instagram. When it came to entering the selfie-laden, filter-obsessive world of Instagram I have to admit I was a bit apprehensive. I didn’t want to become a mindless food critic, taking snaps of my amazing quinoa bean salad, and I certainly didn’t want to become Kim Kardashian (a possibility which was/is very likely to happen):

(In case you’re wondering, I’m the one on the right.)

I also knew I’d have to start to combat my difficultly in pronouncing the app’s name correctly. The ‘a’ sound in Instagram sounds so harsh, I naturally want to call it ‘InstARgrARm’ not ‘InstAHgrAm’. Classic case of Alice vs 6.9999… billion people. It’s an ongoing battle and truth be told the only way I can get over posh girl syndrome is to tell myself that if I start calling it ‘InstARgram’ then I’m going to have to start softening all A sounds, in which case I’d become ARlice. I don’t think I can bring myself to that, at least not until I own a Polo club.

These fears overcome, I’ve created my own Insta account, username grimgrad.

Because I wanted to stand out from the crowd on this photo sharing platform I’ve decided to apply my classic blogging banter style to my profile. Turns out it’s actually an easy enough thing to do. Anyone who knows me understands that, since starting a blog, I will literally photo anything of mild amusement. It will 99% of the time make no sense to anyone else, but to me it’s a potential image to use on an upcoming blog post. The only problem with doing this is that more often than not I’m left with reams of random photos on my phone. Photos which for whatever reason didn’t quite make it to the blog, however are a bit too random for me to just throw out there for my friends to see on Facebook. (I don’t think I could deal with the rejection of a ‘no like’ photo, it would be too much to handle.)

In short, there’s now a brand new outlet if you want a quick dose of grimgrad and MHAM goodness. Follow grimgrad on Instagram today and you could be viewing wonderfully witty photos like these:

untitled — No reduced white bread in shop. I guess I’ll be going without fibre this week.

Wow, just what I always needed in my life!

This corner of my bedroom is a scarily accurate portrayal of my life right now

In other news, Swindon council deny claims that budget cuts have impacted on local signage.

When bae decides he wants to watch you sleep instead of doing the respectable thing and buggering off. #daddylongleggs

I think you’ll agree it’s worth a cheeky follow.

*Competition rules – by following Alice’s Instagram feed you are entering yourself in for the chance to win one of three prizes: 1. Swindon/English air, delivered by air mail. 2. a daddy long legs. Alice will throw it out the window and yell “GO AWAY! GO AND PESTER MR J SMITH” (Alice claims no responsibility if said insect is eaten/gets lost/gets crushed by an impatient Alice whilst in transit). 3. the chance to go on a no-expense paid holiday to Kenya, courtesy of your own wallet.

All entrants will receive Alice E. Bennett’s semi-dying gratification.

Any questions can be addressed to the dead Daddy Long Legs on my wall.

Good luck.

Caves, Cannons and Geriatric Broadband: South Devon 2016

September 10, 2016September 15, 2016 My Housemate's a Mermaid (Alice E. Bennett) Holiday, Humor, Humour Devon, Family, Vacation

Some of you guys might be getting a little fed up of Alice posting “about me holidays”. Well, with the help of Simon Pegg, I’ve only got one thing to say to you people:

Haters gonna hate.

In true white, middle class style I’ve just got back from a break spent at the family’s holiday cottage (South Devon). The little village of Stoke Gabriel on the River Dart has, for many years, been a destination for the Bennett clan. It’s a location close to my heart, a little chocolate box of a village with plenty of charm and boats.

It’s pretty nice, huh? Well, as someone that’s been holidaying there for cracking on fifteen years I can certainly vouch that Stoke Gabriel is a village that keeps giving year after year.

Before we could reach our holiday cottage though we had to make a stop off in the local, equally pretty, town of Totnes. Not that Totnes isn’t a nice place to go:

In fact it prides itself on being a very welcoming place:

They even were very supportive and welcoming of national coffee shop chain Costa Coffee.

So much that Costa went “you guys are so nice that we just can’t build our coffee shop in your town, you guys use it for a charity shop instead.”)

It’s a nice enough place but it was just that, due to our desire to not spend Saturday parked up on the M5 near Bristol, we’d left the Cotswolds early enough to arrive in Totnes at 8:45am, six hours too early to get into the cottage. Morning spent doing the traditional Bennett activities of “Spotting The New Shops And Working Out If They’ll Last the Year”, losing Papa Bennett to the cheese stand in the farmers’ market, and Mumma Bennett going to Totnes Castle (owned by English Heritage). Not to visit the Norman castle, but purely to raid the English Heritage gift shop of raspberry curd.

Here is a helpful diagram to explain:

Top Paint/design skills there.

Once we’d spent a sufficient amount of time and money on cheese, jam and pies (courtesy of Morrisons’ reduced aisle and the effects on Papa Bennett), we headed back to the cottage to unpack and unwind. Well, three of us unpacked. I took to throwing India’s clothes across the room in a political statement-come-demonstration in a bid to force her to put her socks and swimsuit in a less in-you-face location.

Sunday we went to Kents Cavern, an extensive series of underground caves and tunnels. Much to my surprise, despite the poor lighting my new iPhone (I have an iPhone now, don’t you know?) took half decent pics.

However, don’t be fooled, the caves were dark at points and even had spooky faces in the walls.

Because India studies Human Geography she didn’t know what to make of it all. She felt very lost and confused in the cave systems.

“India! Don’t go down there!”

At the end of the caves there was an exhibition, including a reconstruction of human settlers using the caves for protection. I didn’t really understand what the curators were trying to portray – all of my hungover mornings with friends look like this?

Bacon, mindless staring into the abyss, a random baby showing up, what’s new there?

I found this guy very relatable:

Following on from the beauty of the caves, we progressed onto another natural feature: the tourist gift shop.

(David Tennant would have been very happy.)

Outside, India found a new outfit and posed for an attractive series of photos.

Another day we went to the up and coming town of Brixham:

As long as you’re not OCD on your hygiene it has a great sweet shop:

And if you’re not OCD on quality, there’s many shops stocking a wide range of products:

On the holiday there was also a family outing to the county capital of Exeter city. During our day out we went on a delightful free tour of the city which took us from the city centre right down to the historic quayside. Whilst we learnt a great deal of many facts and history about the city, highlights for me were posing with this cannon:

And this ferry sign:

Who said I wasn’t easy to please?

Speaking of education, I also got chance to visit a delightful little zoo in the village of Shaldon and learn all about a range of small animals, notably of the primate variety.

I even learnt a new language:

“Ah! So that’s why I’m still single! I need to up m seductive face…”

“…and learn how to get other females off my man whilst keeping his attention.”

“Sorted!”

Shaldon also had some other charming features, such as the local custom of leaving labels on beverage fruits…

…A large mermaid (one which puts my housemate to shame)…

…and a very large passive-aggressive sign targeted at dog fouling:

It truly is a very wonderful place.

Of course it wouldn’t be a Devonshire holiday without a few technical issues and scraps in the cottage, the main one of this holiday being the internet. The broadband, for whatever reason, decided to be rather temperamental for most of the week. At the lowest point we had two laptops and my mobile phone all desperately trying to look up website information, with no one having any success whatsoever. Amongst the shouting “I’M TRYING TO LOG ONTO THE SITE!” and “try turning it off and on again” and even the classic “oh just give it here! You’re doing it wrong! Huh, it’s not working” I was sat in the middle just laughing. “Great family holiday this is, I come for some relaxation and get lumbered with a geriatric broadband connection! Get the leaflet drawer out, we’d have found out about the Red Coat guides half an hour ago if we’d gone there first.” Inadvertently the broadband issue turned into a family competition every time it went down. Never has Googling cinema times of Jason Bourne been so exciting!

Overall, aided hugely by good (well, half-decent) weather we all had a great time once again in Devon. Now that it’s SEPTEMBER…

(Sorry, not sorry)

…it’s all a go-go on Autumn/Halloween/Christmas. The day we got back from Devon the weather changed instantly. Seems God wants to start buying his tinsel early this year.

But if you think that’s miserable enough, just take a look at this pointlessly long sign for sale in a gift shop n Totnes:

How did that make you feel Mr. Seagull?

Home is Where the Prosecco is: A Simple Guide to the Cotswolds

July 29, 2016August 1, 2016 My Housemate's a Mermaid (Alice E. Bennett) Cotswolds, Humor, Humour Cotswolds

This week I found myself in the unusual position of having to take annual leave simply because I worked nine months solid without any time off and now its caught up on me. Having made no big plans and no partner to do anything with (#ForeverAlone), I’ve spent the last few days going about some of the local towns and villages in the area. The plan; soak up the history, cream cakes and tourist sweat the region has to offer.

To back track a little, I was born and bred in the county of Gloucestershire, near the little market town of Chipping Campden.

Although a small minority may dispute my background, I’ve always very firmly stated my origins as being North Cotswold through and through. One of the many problems with Cotswolds is that it’s not an area defined by fixed boarders and fences. One person’s Cotswold is another’s Vale of Evesham. For example, the most recent controversy in my home village is the upcoming development of an airfield in neighbouring Warwickshire. Everybody with an ounce of common sense knows Warwickshire isn’t a Cotswold county, Cala Homes can ruddy well do one on that front.

Anyway, back to the point, because I have been on annual leave I’ve had the unique chance to go around some of the places I don’t normally see. Don’t get me wrong, Swindon, a town located in the heart of the Cotswolds, does have some unique shopping delights…

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…But it’s never quite been embraced as fully ‘Cotswoldian’. To counter balance, this week I have been visiting the towns of Chipping Campden (obviously), Cirencester, Painswick, Stroud and Bourton-on-the-Water. A mixture of the famous and under the radar. So here it is, a (very) simplistic guide to the sights of my home region.

A (Very) Simple Guide to the Cotswolds by Alice E. Bennett

The first, most important thing you need to know about the Cotwolds is that it’s habitants operate like a well oiled machine. Not necessarily a technological machine, we’re still a bit behind in that department.

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No, it’s more a traditional machine. A machine oiled with prosecco, gallons and gallons of prosecco.

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To be honest, before prosecco was a thing our family unit was in deep crisis.

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That said, the average Cotswold resident isn’t too picky, just know that any alcohol of reputable quality is embraced. So long as it’s not Gordon’s and located on the top shelf.

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If you do decide to rub us up the wrong way (e.g. playing your music at 9:15pm, voicing your love of the Labour party at a Church fete, ignoring our carefully placed signs…)

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…we will tend to express our frustration in one of three ways. The first, adopted by the minority youth culture, is to be witty by trying to make it a joke or pun-tastic:

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The second approach adopts some of the attributes of an open letter, however because we do things old school we treat an open letter in the most literal of senses. It’s quite common to have locals tack up posters in the middle of village squares:

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The final method we’ll voice anger is by taking our complaints to the local press. God have mercy on your soul if that happens. To prompt such an action, you really have to do something utterly criminal.

What the Cotswold towns and villages lack for in subtly they most certainly make up for in shopping. As we will tell you, our shops outclass yours 10-1, including our charity shops.

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People actually get excited about the mere thought of browsing through our used crockery and underwear, that’s how superior our stuff is.

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Bask in the used glow.

Our shops also boast some of the best opening times in the country and are run by the fittest and most able of patrons.

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With window fittings so majestic you’d think they were lifted from Oxford Street itself.

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Our shop names may make no sense, but the way we say and present them will ensure you walk away feeling like the stupid one in this relationship. That and an overpriced t-shirt.

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(The same rule can also be applied to house signs. Sign material comes at a price around here.)

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Speaking of clothing, we are the fashion trail blazers of the world. Move over Pairs, get out of here London, if you want to know what is going to be ‘in’ this season you need look no further than Stroud’s High Street. Two words: ‘Butterfly Boob’.

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Two more: ‘Gym Cats’ (alias ‘Crotch Cats’), perfect for Rio 2016.

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Urm…’Sombrero Dad’?

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‘And This’:

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If clothing isn’t your bag (or hat or scarf), then our shops do stock the most delightful alternatives including piles of biscuits which are, frustratingly, not piles of biscuits and witty sayings which aren’t witty. Because as any Cotswold home owner knows, any coffee morning or house visit isn’t complete until you’ve made you guests feel suitably inferior to yourself.

And what kind of animal are you if you leave without buying something for your cat?

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If you find yourself in a sticky situation or engaged in conversation, use these buzz phrases to steer yourself into safe waters:

“Where is the nearest Waitrose?”
“Too many immigrants in this country if you ask me”
“I was just talking to my wife Florentina about that”
“Isn’t the weather ghastly today?”
“In my opinion if it’s not Tory, it’s not for-me”
“It’s mainstream shops like Pry-mark that are driving the price of good quality chinos into the ground. It’s an utter disgrace”

And there you have it. Follow all of the tips and advice above you’ll be right on your way to being just about tolerated by the Cotswold community. When you come to depart our happy region we only ask you to remember one thing:

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We wouldn’t want you taking our middle class mannerisms with you now, would we?

Quote of the Week (22/06/16)

June 22, 2016 My Housemate's a Mermaid (Alice E. Bennett) Humor, Humour Referendum

“Well whatever happens tomorrow, nothing bad can come of the EU referendum.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because if something bad were to happen someone from the future would have come back to warn us already.”

The logic of India Bennett, expect political commentator (22/06/16).

Pammy the Plant and the Weekly Commute

June 17, 2016June 22, 2016 My Housemate's a Mermaid (Alice E. Bennett) Humor, Humour 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.

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!

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.