The Cat’s Guide to Christmas

Alright? I’m Bubble. Bubble the cat.

Bubble the Cat

You may wonder why my owners would give a name like Bubble to a male cat. Well, my sister is called Squeak (Bubble and Squeak, get it?) And all the stupid humans thought I was a girl until the vets confirmed differently. It’s not a name I’m particularly fond of and, as a result, I have spent my entire life in a constant sulk, excluding the times I shout at the humans to feed me.

Like a lot of men I like to work out, only I can’t get to the gym on account of being a cat so spend most of my free time doing the next best thing; sleeping in a gym bag.

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And trust me ladies, it shows.

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I’m sexy and I know it.

Anyway, this human thing called Christmas is coming up and while I’ve tried to hide from it…

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…it has finally caught up with me. I wasn’t even going to do presents this year (thinking about the environment, y’know?) But then I walked in one day and found my sister had already started wrapping up gifts.

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So really I didn’t have a choice. Luckily I don’t have many others to buy for (my advice if you’re looking to become a self-reliant, anti-social git? Become a cat). I just needed to get something for my annoying sister, even if she does always steal the best sleeping spots in the house.

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I took inspiration from my humans and first went for a dig around the cupboards, see if there was anything from past year’s of Christmas shopping I could give her.

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But had no joy. Then I took to the online shops but kept getting messed up suggestions like this:

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(I think one of those humans has been using my browser to search for dodgy products again.)

There was no other option, I’d have to hit the high street. I hopped on the roof of the next family cab into town and away I went.

The first thing that struck me was the weird customs humans have for celebrating what is meant to be a happy time of year. If they’re not advertising surreal…

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…Then they’re hanging and impaling little elf people in some kind of pagan ritual.

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It’s no wonder you’re all fat alcoholics. You actually decorate your homes with these!

Then again, after seeing this I have a new found respect for the miracle of the Virgin birth.

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And why is this woman’s face all over bags of crisps? Is this what you humans would call ‘the height of your career?’

Mariah

(And if you think I’m being mean just remember, I’m a cat. It’s what we do.)

When it came to shopping for Christmas presents, I didn’t know where to start. Luckily, many of the shops displayed their wares in a way that was perfect for the average bloke applying a scatter gun/panic buy approach to gifting.

Random

A little bit too generic female for my sister who happens to like her fur coat very much. Instead I went to the male default #2, a nice new perfume.

Perfume

Or maybe not.

I popped into a book shop because I know Squeak the cat likes to read a light weight novel or two. I was instantly drawn to a title that looked like it could have been written by the human in my family who writes for that blog, the one they call Alice. It just screamed her style of writing.

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And then I read the blurb and felt less convinced. I mean, the average writing quality was on par with Alice’s, but the plot development was anything but.

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I mean it’s completely unbelievable…it’s obvious that Daisy is sleeping with Greg (that’s why he keeps vanishing) and the Goose is mad because it’s Greg’s jilted lover. I’m a male cat and I can see that. Humans don’t half write some rubbish when they’re trying to pull sales or views.

In the same shop there was also this book:

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(One of the humans I was with said to Alice, “hey, Alice! They wrote a book about you trying to get a life!” And she said, “hey, India! They wrote a sequel where I hit you with that very book!”)

To be fair to the human called India, Alice does have a tendency to hang out in coffee shops by herself and woman-spread everywhere.

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She likes to think it makes her look smart, I think it’s just to cover up the fact that she’s constantly spilling good coffee.

Like a lot of humans, she’d buy just about anything that’s coffee-branded.

Candles

(If you had to look twice before spotting it, you’ve got a problem.)

On another note, I’m not sure what image you big humans are trying to suggest to little humans when you give them dolls with drugged up eyes.

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In the same way that I don’t fully get the need to take the Every Love Matters campaign to the extremes of inanimate objects.

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(I did try to tell her that her companion didn’t seem interested, but she told me to tinsel off – hah, and you thought Cats have no sense of poor humour…)

And as for this…

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…You humans are alright with making your spawn think they’re being spied upon but I just happen to walk in on you taking a shower and suddenly it’s completely unacceptable? Your species is seriously messed up.

But then I saw this and I restored my faith in the tat you humans gift each other:

I’ll have ten please…for myself.

And this made me laugh:

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It’s a physical chocolate replica of Bitcoin, but Bitcoin isn’t physical, it’s a virtual currency! Sadly however no one in the store seemed to get the joke. It’s as if people shopping in Poundland for Christmas presents don’t dwell on that level of humour.

God, you humans don’t have produce some weird looking babies? At least kittens are fluffy, but you guys decide to put the strangest looking ones on jigsaw puzzles! Why?

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And what the hell is this?!

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Have people literally turned to gifting c**p to each other? No wonder people have started donating money to the Slippers for Donkeys campaign or whatever far out animal charities exist nowadays.

When did the Grinch get sold into human-creature trafficking? Asking on behalf of a friend.

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It’s a niche market, granted, but humanity really has lost its heart if it can’t cough up £1 to help.

Jesus Christ! What is this?!

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Why would you even entertain the thought of inviting this into your house? It’s flipping scary!

It was around this time that I gave up with Christmas shopping. The final straw came when, after hours of searching, the one and only thing I thought I could gift my feline sister, a nice new outfit, well it turned out to be out of stock in her size. Typical!

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I give up. I knew I should have picked something from the National Trust’s Christmas store when I had the chance.

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All this shopping for Christmas presents just takes too much time!

Sod it, this year I’ll just wrap myself up and be my sister’s Christmas pressie, because lets be honest, family is the best damn thing you can have.

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Great, so that’s Christmas settled. Now I can crack on with watching some high-quality festive films, ones which in my view were robbed of Oscar nominations…

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…And deal with more pressing matters. How do I get this human to move out of my spot?

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Meowy pawmas everyone!

 

(Special thanks to the members of my immediate family for making this post possible by constantly spamming my WhatsApp feed with cat photos.)

 

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A Whistle Stop Tour of Throwbacks

It’s my birthday this week (yay) so how better to celebrate me then a few personal favourites from the AEB playlist? Let’s waste no time, let’s get to it!

A Whistle Stop Tour of Throwbacks: A Playlist for Alice

Firstly, as with all things in life you have to make an entrance. I have always loved the bolshiness of Sledgehammer’s opening.

(Can we also take a moment to reflect on how ground-breaking the music video was at the time it was released?)

But where are my manners? I should probably introduce myself. I’m Alice, although Paul Simon keeps calling me different.

I’ve tried to stop him, but he really won’t give it up.

Most people, I hope, would think of me as a something a bit different to the norm, but still very much a product of the early 90s…

90s but not as you know it. You’ll find me catching up on Radio Four on the evenings and trying to make out I’m really listening to some hip new song by Ed Sheeran or Stormzy.

Sometimes I feel like my outlook on life is stuck decades older than my years so ‘1985’ seems apt on many levels (and only a year off one of my favourite novels, Nineteen Eighty-Four).

While I never prescribe myself to a ultimate favourite song (it changes so frequently) ‘My Girl’ by the Temptations will always sit in the premier league of faves. I’m also massive fan of international music which is why I’ve spent days of my life listening to both the English and Italian versions.

On the subject of off-beat and a little bit quirky…this striped back cover of a Britney Spears classic is just wonderful. Britney was my career icon for all of six months as a young child, nowadays if I want to unleash my inner sass I’ll mentally play this track in my head.

And in support of the many, many songs that were perfect just as they were…

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Bringing the pace back up while throwing the music right back, good luck trying to pin me down when The Kinks come on. I’ll have no embarrassment busting some abstract 60s moves to this:

When I get down to this it’s like Mr Tickle decided to release a fitness video, arms everywhere!

Similar with Mel Torme’s I’m Comin’ Home, a song which I first heard as part of the soundtrack for the movie An Education.

It’s a film set in the 60s involving slick men in suits dealing art. Hmm, I can’t think why I’m particularly drawn to the film…

And following on from that, I couldn’t possibly consider the soundtrack of An Education without giving a shout out to the 50s-set French film Popularie. ‘Golden Baby’ rightly deserves to sit as top bill on this film’s soundtrack.

And when I hear this next piece of piano music…for two minutes I transport myself somewhere completely other and fall in love with the idea of old fashioned romance.

 

Right, that’s enough soppiness, let’s up the tempo. Someone get the dance mat out!

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And if you really show off your moves maybe, just maybe, I’ll let you take me out.

(As long as you accept I will be singing along to the guitar solo.)

And why wouldn’t you want to spend a night hanging off my arm? I’m anything but common.

Nah, not me. I’m a one of a kind, I’m unique, I’m a classic.

And then… *cough*

(Or, alternatively, stick on ANY song by Marvin Gaye. They all get a massive thumbs up in my book.)

And then…

At the same time, I’ve got a life to lead and if you can’t handle that then sorry, you’re just not the bloke for me.

Sorry, not sorry for being awesome.

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When I was born (first week of December) the UK chart number one was Whitney Houston’s ‘I Will Always Love You. Ironic, most of my nights out probably end with the same song.

Everyone has a song which is so truly horrific they love it and, following a seasonal line of thought, mine has to be this gem from Squeeze.

I mean, where do you even begin to start with what’s right in that video?

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In the Cotswolds it’s not Christmas in the family household until either a) Papa Bennett has attempted to play Fleetwood Mac’s Albatross and we’ve shouted him down, b) I’ve dropped the Michael Buble CD in oil/fat or c) Celtic Christmas gets played. It’s usually a close run battle between the three.

TUNNNNEEEE!

And how better to exit the day/week/year than with ‘Bat Out of Hell’ and ‘St. Elmo’s Fire back-to-back? (Rhetorical question, there is none.)

Right, I’ve gotta dash now, real life adult stuff to do. I hope you’ve enjoyed this glimpse into my mind and music taste (and understand why asking me for my favourite genre and/or song is a pointless question, I don’t have one).

If you’re ever in a position where you’re feeling a bit low and missing my blog/real life lovin’ don’t you worry, I’m always here*.

*Swimsuit not included.

Happy birthday me!

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If it is Inspiration you Seek, it is Classical you Must Find

I was in a London bar the other night, relaxing with a book and a medium sized glass of sparkling cranberry juice. There was a nice flurry of activity occurring around me, date night couples, arguing couples, groups of friends, a solo American businessman trying to engage with conversation (bless), all the standard things you’d expect to see in a alcoholic establishment of its sort and location.

I was sat in a booth to myself and taking in the lively scene of human activity mid page (the joy of a gentle anthology) when something caught my eye. At first I thought I was mistaken by what I’d seen but then the dart happened again and again, until my brain finally came to terms with what it was witnessing less than two meters away.

Mice.

The little pests were so quick and spontaneous with their movements I could barely get my phone out, let alone take a photo, before they dashed back into the shadows or across the tiles into a new crevice. I saw one dash towards the American businessman but he seemed too preoccupied with asking the bartender to hit him with yet another whiskey so I held my tongue.

I’d only just arrived at the pub and settled down, so felt very reluctant to leave. I’d been to the establishment before and saw no sense in hurrying back to the cramped little flat I call home alongside four others. Besides, I’d paid £2.70 for my sparkling cranberry juice.

I knew exactly what to do. I put on my headphones and whacked on one of my most played songs. A classic of a classic, Ralf Vaugh Williams’ The Lark Ascending is as beautiful a composition if ever there was one. And while I can never begin to review it on a note-by-note basis (this girl dropped trombone when she was sixteen) I can firmly say that as a sentient human being it is a song that always helps lighten my spirits whatever mood I am in. I’m playing it right now as I type, listen:

So delicate but forthright and strong. Each time I hear the notes I see a different version of me play out, be it the girl in an evening dress or the girl donning her stick and hanky as she strides towards the city where the streets are paved with gold. And it was listening to The Lark Ascending that night in an average pub with mice running around that I was able to find my inner composure. Don’t get me wrong, mice or any kind of vermin indoors is not particularly pleasant, nor should it be ignored, but just listening to classical music, well, it seemed to transport me somewhere completely different. I could overlook the mice dashing about, in fact I was even able to half smile at their ill fated antics to get any distance before a human made a move of their own.

And then I looked down and saw a mouse sniffing my pump shoe and the bare foot within. Then I freaked the hell out and swiftly finished my juice as a scooted towards the door of a rapidly emptying watering hole. I left the single member of bar staff in the delightful company of the American and a newly arrived drunk local.

And it made me think, when did I start embracing classical music? What were the key tracks that started it? Well bizarrely my love of classical music all started with a free CD that came with a Saturday Daily Express newspaper. Remember those few years where newspapers gave out CDs every five minutes with a random assortment of music? Well in 2004 we got one and it must have been the Euros or something because it was called Football Passion (even though the last World Cup had been in 2002).

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Well much to the surprise of 11 year old me and a good deal of other Daily Express readers the CD was purely classical music. Not a sniff of Lighting Seeds in sight. And yet in a very weird way a free piece of plastic came to be the making of me. Playing it in the car for weeks afterwards I was able to formulate my own narratives around each song. The first and strongest story I devised around a song that was around the composition of William Tell Overture. Don’t listen to this and tell me you can’t picture the spectacle of the horse racing?

Picture a scene resembling the Grand National or Cheltenham Races, horses chasing up to hurdles and bounding over. Riders falling to the wayside one by one as proud owners look on to see their champions to the photo finish. So much energy and excitement.

Pavane, the song that flows straight after William Tell Overture on the CD’s playlist, created in my head the sense of disappointment of the losers.

The riders cast aside as failures, the damaged horses piled in heaps awaiting their fate as the rain starts to drop down. That or a general sense of romantic sadness, young boys packing bags and sent off to war when they barely understand what suffering is. The long days of rain and sadness.

And then, several songs later…

The slow build up, the knowing that something is about to happen, something is about to change. And then boom! The base drops and you’re filled with a sensation of happiness and warmth. The rain has stopped, war is over, there is a shining future ahead and all you can see is the goodness in humanity. O brave new world!

As crazy as it would seem, a free CD aimed at a sport I had no interest in would spark a new altogether different fascination in me. Around the same time my Mum got given a compilation CD set for Christmas called Pure Chillout.

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Still played around the house some fifteen years later, the album’s selection of modern hits with a feeling of ‘future classics’ was timed perfectly to those early teenage years of trying to make sense of the world under a mountain of coursework. The Heart Asks Pleasure First has strong banking connotations in the UK, but for me I could see only two lovers running around wild meadows, pausing only to catch their breath and the beauty of their company.

How mighty is the piano.

Mum, a now retired teacher, used Adiemus for one of her class’ dance routines.

Aged about nine, I listened to the song repeated endless times in the kitchen while she formulated the choreography for a group of twenty seven to eleven year olds. I remember watching the class rehearsing the performance an thinking it very impressive given my Mum half an hour before had been teaching Maths. However it wasn’t the story I’d created in my head.

In my head I pictured it as a battle scene. The noble and good army preparing for the battle ahead at camp, heading to the field, squaring up with their mighty and evil enemy across the board field. Then the charge with an almighty crash as the two sides interlock for the first time. The bloody battle, the slaughter and long battle, ending with the head of the enemy cut clean off and rolling away. The enemy drop their weaponry and the good Queen proclaims the victory to her humble supporters.

In hindsight I understand why my Mum couldn’t have acted out similar with her students.

Spin things back to the present day and you can find Mozart sitting comfortably as playlist bedfellows to songs such as this where English lyrics start to make an appearance, but only as long as they serve as backing vocals to the main event:

***

I now find myself frequently utilising the power of the classical genre to help me focus on big tasks or help support and make sense of the creative noise in my head. With no fake beats or confusing lyrics to contend with my mind can make its own conclusions of what it hears. And like any form of artwork, I can listen to it knowing that a distant person on the far side of the world can understand the wordless track just as easily and form their own opinions and judgements.

Were years of classical music the only reason I put up with hoards of bar mice that evening? Of course not. But could I say to you, hand on heart, that without ever listening to a classical music track I’d be sat here today writing the way I do? Now that’s a tougher question to answer. Because classical music forced me to form a story based on no steer whatsoever. It began that process of storytelling that has stuck with me ever since. Without the genre I genuinely do not know if I’d still be able to pull writing topics out of thin air or even if I’d have the confidence to share my ideas for the world to see for themselves.

If it is inspiration you seek, it is classical you must find.

A Selection of September Songs to Keep you Sane

Because I haven’t posted anything for a little, i.e. long, while I felt a quick post was needed. Also because I woke up one day and realised it was September (when did that happen?) and spent the week eating my weight in cheesecake and doing all things BUT sitting at home dwelling on the fact Summer is over.

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Sat, far left. The only time in my life where I remember shaking with excitement while getting my photo taken.

When you’re young you have the distraction and heavy dislike of school to keep you going. The only thing keeping me sane back then was a mix of back to school stationary and new uniforms (the cool kids drank Panda Pops, it was that kind of hard knock, middle class area)

Turns out though those in the music industry can’t get enough of the month.

 

 

A Selection of September Songs to Keep you Sane

 

Green Day – Wake me up When September Ends (complete with very 00s lyric video)

The official pop video is seven minutes long (one of the classic mini-movie types) and focuses on a young couple where the boyfriend enlists in the army and deployed to a non-descript Arabic country where things get very political and emotional.

I think it’s obvious why I opted for the lyric video…seven minutes long? Who do Green Day think they are, Michael Jackson?

 

Earth Wind and Fire – September

No introduction needed.

 

Britney Murphy – Boogie Wonderland (Happy Feet Cover)

Admittedly I thought this was a cover of Earth, Wind and Fire’s September but it’s not. Dang. Well I’ve found it so sticking it here regardless. Robin Williams sings in it so not a total loss.

 

Carole King – It Might as well Rain Until September

How bad is it that when I did a quick search entry on my own music library this song came top? Well somehow I’ve acquired this and find myself questioning anyone would wish bad weather on everyone else just because you can’t find a chap. A bit selfish, no?

 

The Bangles – September Gurls

I wish bed hair was still a thing.

 

JP Cooper – September Song

As inferred in my opening paragraph, I don’t see me being anyone’s September song, unless you’re going to string something together that rhymes ‘girl likes cake’ and ‘better bake’.

 

September – Cry for You

Maybe the reason this Swedish popstar changed her stage title back to the latter half of her real name Paula Marklund is because she realised she wasn’t getting bookings for the other 11 months.

 

Strictly Come Dancing Ensemble – September

Because I will never stop sharing this

 

Vivaldi – Four Seasons (Autumn)

Because as the name suggests it’s intended for Autumnal months including September (look, if it’s too tenuous a link write your own September song list).

 

(Plenty more September themed pop hits can be found on this website also 20 Songs About September)

What is it about September that gets musical artists writing? Maybe it’s because it’s the end of Summer and/or they didn’t have cheesecake and season two of The Crown to hand.

 

Any I’ve missed off? Let me know!

Whatever Happened to Duffy?

So, the WordPress prompt of the day is ‘Mercy’ and when I think of mercy my natural reaction is to get on a podium and dance.

And to think, if I’d decided to study Politics I may have had a different reaction to the concept of mercy. A world where Alice is unmoved by the above song. What a sad world that would be.

It did however lead me to wonder: where is Duffy now? Where is Duffy, and Dido and Celine Dion and everyone with a D under five characters?

Well it transpires I wasn’t the first one to think this big question (about Duffy that is. No one seems to have a clue about Dido and I’m quite sure Celine is making plump middle aged women cry in Las Vagas still). Duffy wise, Digital Spy has already addressed this point.

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I didn’t even have to look hard for the article, on a Bing search (don’t judge, I’m too lazy to switch) it came up as second in results under the keyword “Duffy”.

The article paints a story that is heard all too often in the music industry. Too much fame, too quickly, leading to breakdowns and even firing her own publicity team. She went quiet and then fired off a batch of new singles in early 2017 following a break from music. I know, I was completely none-the-wiser either. (If you want the full article click here.)

So there you go. Who says you don’t learn stuff from this blog.

 

Written in response to the WordPress prompt of the day: Mercy

This Could Be the Best Homemade Video Since Charlie Bit My Finger…*

(* – no promises made)

What does one get a family member who has everything? More to the point, what does one get a family member when one has no money, no time and has a terrible habit of writing in the ‘one’ tense? That’s right, she makes a truly amazing video featuring Phil Collins (obviously).

It seemed such a good idea to make a video for lil bub Bennett’s birthday, but then in truth I think I may have really just wanted to pay tribute to Phil Collins and feed my middle age condition (the one where people are born liking The Archers and consider staying up to watch the BBC News at 10 to be a ‘crazy’ one. Yeah, that one.) Anyway, I thought the video would be a nice thing to do for her.

20 hours later…

Brain dead, caffeine overdosed and fed up of seeing my sister’s face more than my own, I finally created a masterpiece. “She better love this” I thought, before dashing into Lush the next day to buy a back up present. Safe thing too, when I first presented her with the gift she seemed less than amused at the offering.

“Right. Ok, well that’s a very nice memory stick Ali, thank you.”

“No you donut, it’s what’s on the stick.”

“Oh right!”

“Did you seriously think I’d give you a cheap USB stick for your birthday?”

*Silence*

“Just play the video.”

Luckily, she loved it. And now, for your viewing pleasure, I have added that same video here. Enjoy! (Well as much as you can given you know nothing of my family and it’s in-jokes…if nothing else watch it for Phil.)

 

 

Written in response to the WordPress prompt Dancing

I’m The Classiest Thing to Happen to Swindon Since Billie Piper

With a title like that you’re probably thinking one of three things, “too right Alice is”, “this girl has got right up herself since she set up a Facebook page. Who is she, Donald Trump?” or “huh, I did not know Billie Piper came from Swindon”. Either way, I’m going to say it loud and proud* (*not in real life you understand? Just online).

Two weeks ago was carrying an unzipped suitcase down the stairs when all my belongings tumbled out. At that very moment I thought to myself “you really are a piece of something” and now I know what that something is. It’s pretty obvious that I am the embodiment of class and comedy gold (I’m also the embodiment of a minor caffeine addition and sleep deprivation, but I’ll leave that to the obituarists).

Backtracking a little, with a name that translates as “Pig Hill” not a lot of celebrities have graced the streets and houses of Swindon. Case in point: when was the last time you saw Jude Law in the Canal Walk McDonald’s? Exactly. And don’t get me started about the fact Canal Walk is no where near water. I’m going off on a ranty tangent here, but Swindon needs to have a serious rebrand. Why not change the name to, say, “Swingdon” and make the place full of jazz or “Richdon” (subliminal messaging for the dumb rich people)? I pay you enough ruddy money in taxes, sort it out council.

Until a new name is implemented or Jude Law decides to unleash his offspring into the concrete jungle that is Swindon’s Tented Market (really, it is made of that – WHO WORKS IN BRANDING?!), then I’m going to claim the title of classiest female to grace Swindon. Sure, I spill tea quite literally everywhere and yes, I can be reduced down to a child-like mentality when presented with new pillows, but given my competition is Billie Piper then I think I have good grounds for asserting my case. For anyone not in the know, Piper made her name in the late 90s/early 00s as a pop star and then as an actress (more commonly known for playing Rose Tyler in the reboot of Doctor Who). She’s good, don’t get me wrong, but Swindonians don’t half like to harp on about her like she’s a big claim to fame. You know who my local town of Stratford-Upon-Avon had? Shakespeare, that’s who. Trust me, there’s no beating that, however competing against this I think I could take Piper on:

(Seeing bins melt into men, billboard cartoons come alive and rhino bouncers? Yep, it’s called a standard Saturday night out in Swindon.)

I write stuff, good stuff, and despite my frequent Calamity Jane moments I like to think I represent a good role model. I walk to work, go to the gym, I even do the occasional bit of baking. I tell you what, get Anthea Turner (star of How to Be a Perfect Housewife) on the phone, she’ll support me (and in doing so knock back Feminism to 1969 but hey, we’re talking about me here.)

In short, I’m a ruddy aspirational professional.

And you know what? I think my presence is having an effect on this town. For instance back in 2014 you would never see this type of thing out and about:

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You might have come across a cider can or an empty beer bottle, but never a wine flute carefully placed on a window ledge. It’s a sign!

Not wanting to brag, but I’m the classiest thing to happen to Swindon since Billie Piper.

(Disclaimer: before writing this post I had consumed a large, strong, coffee. This may explain pretty much all the comments made in the above. Do I regret them? Not at all.)