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See you on the other side children :)
I make no apologies, this post is just an excuse to get some pretty arses up on my blog. You ready? Good.
Milla (her again!) has questioned why women think rugby men are good looking. I feel it is my duty (and, I cannot lie, my pleasure) to use words and photos to explain the attraction.
Compelling argument one: variety is the spice of life
No matter how you like 'em... tall, small, chubby, thin, there's a rugby man for you out there somewhere. The diversity of the positions means that there are a huge range of different body shapes and sizes playing. Compelling argument two: Real men
Unlike other sportsmen, rugby men rarely feel pain. They can carry on playing with head injuries, broken fingers, toes, ribs. This makes them manly. Fact.
Compelling argument three: they're not footballers
They don't fall over and pretend they're hurt. They don't argue with the ref. They don't get paid far too much for doing bugger all. They don't play football.
And surely that's reason enough?
There are obviously lots of other reasons:
They're generally all aminable chaps
They tend not to get involved in orgies
The game stays on the pitch
All problems in life can be solved by a beer
I'm slightly biased, I must admit, since N is very much a rugby man. However, having once dabbled with the football playing fraternity I can honestly say that a rugby man makes a much better boyfriend. For me. I'm not saying that all footballers are bad. I'm not saying that they don't make good boyfriends. I am saying that I can't imagine spending that much time with someone who obsesses over the wrong shaped ball.
This article made me laugh.
Not just because I think it's quite a good April Fool's joke but mostly because of the comments.
Bless Cari:
"This is a priceless photo! Love the look and the man's face behind him! You couldn't make it up!- Cari, Lincolnshire"
Erm... I hate to break it to you Cari but...
Nuttycow can't come to the blog right now. She's too busy feeling sorry for herself.
Normal service will be resumed soon.
... is drunken blog.
Yes, in a looooooooong conversation with Ollie I promised I would never blog when drunk.
Well. I gave in. It's 1:19 in the morning, I've had a couple of cheeky vimtos (port and WKD blue in case you didn't know) and hey, I've decided to blog.
The lovely Edward, other half of the fabulous Milla, sent me something off my wishlist - the Scouting for Girls album. I do like it but...
1. The first song sounds likes the words and the backing track are from completely different songs.
2. All the rest of the songs are from the "repeat the words over and over again and maybe someone will like it" school. Great for people like N who can't remember any words but not so good for me who knows all the words to EVERY SONG EVER MADE.
It's alright - not a patch on Jonny Cash though.
Thank you Edward - appreciated.
I tend to use the time I'm in the car to think. It's a good a place as any. It's warm, it's comfortable and more often than not, I'm on my own. Just recently, I've noticed that the things I think about aren't exactly... normal.
I think about the best things that could happen, I think about the worst things that could happen. I think about myself and about other people. I have scenarios planned out. I have dialogue. Am I going mad?!
What would happen if I got sacked?
Where would I live?
Would N stay with me?
What would I do if we broke up?
How would it feel if my parents died?
Would I know who to turn to?
Would they know what to do?
Am I doing the right thing with my life?
Should I jack it all in, move and do something else?
Do my friends really like me?
Am I good at my job or do I just think I am?
When I look at someone on the street and think to myself, oh my god, I'm glad I'm not as fat as her... am I actually as fat as her and I just don't realise it?
How do other people see me?
Will I age gracefully?
Will I ever have the life I want?
What would my ideal house be like?
Can you imagine living with N for the rest of your life?
What would you do if you suddenly came into money?
What are you doing with your life?
I think I need to stop thinking and start doing!
My childhood was full of funny little traditions:
It makes me a little bit sad that N doesn't seem to have had all these types of traditions. If we get married and have children it'll be up to me to make sure that, 20 years on, they're sitting remembering their childhood with fondness and having a little giggle.
A bout of chuntering with Milla has led me to realise how unforgiving I am of those who incur my grammatical, stylistical and vocabularical wrath (and yes, vocabularical is a word. A word I made up. Shush, I'm ranting)
There are a couple of things which really really really annoy me.
Toilet:
It's not a toilet. It's a loo. The origins of "loo" are unknown but there are a number of wonderful theories... all which are much better than toilet (which seems to be an Americanism). Lavatory (from the Latin lavātōrium) is of course, even better.
Lounge:
Unless you live in an airport, you do not have a lounge in your house. You have a sitting room (which is normally slightly more informal) or possibly a drawing room. Not used for drawing, but rather withdrawing.
Couch:
Sofa. Sofa. Sofa. Couch? Brings up visions of Land of Leather. Ditto settee
Serviette:
It may sound French. It may be French. It's still horrible. You probably get serviettes in a McDonalds. If you're at my house, you get napkins.
Tux/Tuxedo:
Another Americanism (and hey, this isn't a beat-the-Americans-over-the-head-with-a-stick post it's just I don't like certain ways they do things... politics amongst others). It's a dinner jacket. You wear it when having dinner. Which neatly leads me onto...
Tea/Dinner:
I've never understood this one. In my house it was always... Breakfast, Lunch, Tea, Supper. Breakfast is pretty self-explanatory. Lunch, meal in the middle of the day. Tea, either a cup of tea or a small snack when home from school (at around 4/5 ish). Supper, meal at the end of the day, around 8/9 o'clock. Some people have Breakfast, Dinner and then Tea. How does that work?
Hello, pleased/nice to meet you/how's it going:
Even I have to admit, I'm a bit slack with this one... it depends to whom I am talking. Interviewers, friends of parents, N's parents/friends, certain people I went to uni/school with? "Hello. How d'you do?". Random person I'm being introduced to in the pub? "Hi, how's it going?"
Setting the table:
Fork on the left. Knife on the right (blade facing in please). Finished eating? Knife and fork together in the middle of the plate (blade again, facing in).
Eating:
Fork in left hand, knife in right. Elbows off table (unless you've finished). Finishing your mouthful before talking. Wait until everyone's got food before starting. Napkins on lap, not tucked in anywhere else. If you're a child, ask to leave the table, don't just assume you can. If you're an adult and you need to go somewhere, excuse yourself. If you're a guest, always offer to help clear away. Don't stack the plates. Certainly don't scape the plates at the table. Take them out to the kitchen 2 (or 3 if you can manage it) at a time.
Snobbish? Maybe. Sue me.
EDIT 200308: Thank you peach - a typo meant I'd completely undone all my ranting previously. Knife is now firmly placed in the right hand. Phew.
