Can it be true...?

Picture shamelessly stolen from Mzungu Chick but I'm sure she won't mind!

Finally, Odinga and Kibaki have signed a deal. It's a start. That has to be a good thing. The most exciting thing for me is the fact that hopefully the Kenyan people can start getting back to normal now.

My mother called me. She said that John and Daniel were "jumping round the garden". And that's what it's all about. The sense of relief felt by the Kenyan people must be immense. As I browse through my "Kenyan" blogs, I almost feel as if a huge weight has been lifted. There are questions that still remain of course but hopefully now, Kenya can start answering them.

PS the 'real' post I was going to write today can be written later.

Help save the Mara...

picture (c) The Mara Conservancy

Richard Leakey and friends over at Wildlife Direct have highlighted the problems facing the Mara due to the recent troubles in Kenya. The massive decline in tourists means that the management of the Mara are facing financial difficulties. As a result, it's looking like they won't be able to pay for the important things that keep the park what it is (such as poacher patrols, fire breaks etc).

You can find out more information about what they need money for and how you can help here.

If you do one good thing today, let it be donating $10 (£5) to this cause.

Have you had an accident at work...?

Anna over at little.red.boat (a cracking read by the way, much recommended) has recently had a rant about a large processed chicken fast food chain advert. Her justified anger made me angry just thinking about all those adverts which just make me scream at the screen. I figured the only way to purge myself of this anger and free myself to get on with some work was to rant. Uncontrollably. Forgive me.

The Advertising Hall of Shame (as voted for by a screaming nutty cow):

Picture the loan - A couple of things really annoy me about this advert. Leaving aside all the moral issues about advertising debt to people who are already in debt (Carol Vorderman, I'm talking to you here, too) consider the following. Why would you film your loved one on the phone when they were sorting out a consolidation loan? It's not something you're going to show the grandchildren, is it? "Look dear, this is when we got ourselves into more debt, just before we declared ourselves bankrupt!". Secondly, the... "how much do you want to borrow? £25,000?" - the casual way in which this couple discuss their finances leads me feel that they shouldn't have access to a piggy bank, let alone £25,000.

Frosties - "They might taste great/but they make me irate/Frosties adverts are something I really hate" the most annoying jingle in the last 20 years. Believe me, you'll have it running through your head for the rest of the day. And while I'm at it... surely it's just wrong to rhyme "great" with "pirate"?
PS. While searching for a suitable photo I found this article... tee hee.


Halifax - Somewhere in advertising land, a brainstorming session is underway. "I tell you what would be really great... an advert... with real people... singing real songs which we can amend to make them applicable to banking! What d'ya think of that?" "Great idea Bob!". Well, I'm sorry to burst your bubble, Bob, but it wasn't a great idea. It was a shit idea. Banks are supposed to be trustworthy, have an air of gravitas. Would you trust your bank manager if you knew that two weeks ago he was prancing around in spandex singing a poor rendition of "We are sailing", sorry "We are saving"? No, didn't think so. Think of the children people.

DulcoEase - The first thing I do when I go out for lunch with my friends is talk to them about the trouble I've had trying to do a poo. Really, it is. And you know what, more often than not they just happen to have a handy pack of laxatives in their handbag. Aren't girls just great?

Seriously, does this ever happen?

My handbag contents normally consist of a phone, keys, wallet, some cigarettes, possibly a lighter. On occasion I have makeup and even, more rarely, some paracetemol. I don't think I've ever got ready for a night out and thought "Hmmm, better put some of these bad boys in. You know, just in case I have a strained moment."

Hearing about the bowel movements of my closest friends is just not something I expect. Boys, I know, have an obsession with anything scatalogical. Us ladies, I think we're a tad more refined.

Glade - Continuing with the poo theme (I'm starting to sound a little bit like ScaryDuck here) small child on loo shouting "it's all gone, it's all gone" (in a really badly dubbed "English" accent). 1. The offending "touch 'n' fresh is about 4 foot away. How did he discover it was empty? He must have shuffled over there. 2. Where did he get the pen and paper from? He must have shuffled around to find some - possibly in another room. 3. How did he manage to push it under the door without getting off the loo? He didn't, he would have had to move. So, with all this movement, theoretically he could have got up, wiped arse, pulled trousers up, washed hands etc, and then changed the glade thing. But oh no, small child still couldn't be bothered to change the glade thingy. Lazy child.

What's annoying you today?

EDIT: Just had to go through that post and amend all the typos. Obviously my anger at these adverts has taken itself out on my typing.

My weekend in statistics

City travelled to: Dublin
Girls on trip: 12
Hours away: 50
Hours spent in airports: 10
Hours spent in air: 2
Rooms stayed in: 2
Hangovers: 2
Bloody Marys consumed to counteract hangovers: 7
Rugby matches watched: 3
Rugby matches remembered: 0
Scotsmen met: 10 million
Passports lost: 1 (not mine)
Phones lost: 1 (again, not mine)
Average price (in Euros) per drink: 6
Things I never thought I'd see, seen: 3

Ah yes, the weekend was grand. Expensive beyond belief but grand none the less. Despite being delayed, having a plane break on us and staying in a cardboard box room with a wooden mattress I think a good time was had by all.

It was strange though, Dublin has a reputation for being a friendly city, welcoming to all. However, all members of the girlie group commented on the fact that there were a couple of periods when we felt damn uncomfortable being there.

It surprised me that people were openly hostile towards us, because we were English. If we were, say, football fans, largered up, fists at the ready, I might be able to understand it (although I would never condone violence). As it was, 12 rugby girls on a mission of fun is hardly your likely target for animosity, is it? Members of the group were called "bitches", "whores", "bloody English sluts" and a hand was even raised on one occassion.

It didn't stop us having fun of course but I just wonder where this hatred has come from or, was it always there and I have just been oblivious?

To be sure, to be sure...

... and other Irish stereotypes.

Every year, the celtic ladies of the rugby club go on a pilgrimage to foreign lands to watch the Scotland - Ireland 6 Nations game. This year, Dublin.

I will be attending as an outside observer to ensure that we don't get arrested or similar.

Any recommendations for suitable venues for a good craic welcome.

Pah! Kids today...don't know they're born

"In my day we used to walk to school, 15 miles in the snow, barefoot and with an anvil strapped to our back."

We've been suffering from server problems at work for the last couple of days. No email. No internet. No nothing. (No email days are obviously not a new thing but I don't think I've heard of many companies that have them here in the UK? On purpose at least.)

As I'm sitting on the edge of my desk thinking about getting something done which doesn't involve technology the age-old question popped into my head "how did we manage without computers?".

I started blogging (and therefore was first really aware of the wonderful world of the world wide web) when I was...er... maybe 18 and I remember that I got my first computer (Commodore 64 if you must know) when I must have been about 6. That means that for nearly 20 years, people have have easy access to some form of computer. That scares me.

Do you think life BC (before computers) was less frantic, less stressful, more interactive? It's so easy nowadays to ping off a quick email to someone you've never met and work on a project together without even talking to each other. Blackberries and mobiles mean my boss has access to me all day, every day (that is if I didn't turn the damn thing off).

Just for one day I'd like to spend the time without a computer, without a phone, without the television and just have a bit of peace and quiet. I could actually... talk to someone... finish reading that damn book I started ages ago...

Of course, knowing my luck, the day I choose to be incommunicado will be the day that Rupert Penry-Jones dumps his exceptionally beautiful and lovely wife and puts out an all-broadcast plea for me to whisk him away into the sunset.

The attack of the killer ducks

Look, I know they don't look that vicious and it's also true that some (well most) aren't actually facing me but believe me when I say that these ducks were after me.

With their slightly rounded beaks and flappy feet they were formidable opponents indeed. I did what every sane person would do in my situation, I hid behind N.

And how to I come to be in the path of these blood-thirsty (surely bread-thirsty - ed) anatidaes? We took a road trip to Summmerrrrzet. It was N's birthday so, in a fit of "I'm a lovely girlfriend"-ness, I booked a night in a little hotel and bought some front row tickets to see his favourite band. Hell, any excuse to drink zzzider and talk with a funny accent.

In other thrilling news, I am hungover, again. When I say "hungover" what I really mean is that a very small person did, with malicious forethought, creep into my room and stuff cotton wool into my brain, through my exposed ear. There is nothing else that could account for this fuzzy and full feeling in my head. I very much doubt that it was the cocktail of port, champagne, gin and lager I had last night.

Pimp yourself out (in more ways than one)

It's not that I'm anti-Valentine's Day (and in fact N did cook me a lovely supper last night because he knew he wouldn't be around tonight) but I still love these cards

Also... Peach is putting together a book of different bloggers' writing in aid of WARCHILD. I'm not going to submit anything (unless someone can suggest a suitable topic) but you should. Yes, you... standing over there. Go and have a look.

What's the story, Jackanory?

The story of the Rugby Club ladies and the Bath Boys

It was a cold Monday evening, a slight mist was rolling in and hands were firmly in pockets as the whistle blew for kick off. Four ladies from south-west London sat together in a near empty stadium surveying all that was before them. Mostly men's bottoms. Mostly this man's bottom

The game was exciting, thrilling, one sided. As the night grew colder, the ladies started to drink more for warmth (except one, she was driving). The game drew to a close. "What now?" they asked themselves.

"We have to warm down" one remarked, with incredible enthusiasm, since, in all the years she had been with the club, she had never been seen to think about anything but beer after a match.

With all lunges duly lunged, it was time to go home. Now, it just so happened that the ladies mode of transport had been parked just next to the visitor's coach. "Let's stow on board" "No, let's leave a note". The benevolent coach driver beamed down at the ladies. He'd seen it all before.

Then suddenly, before the coach driver knew what was happening, a bra was whipped off and a pen was found. One of the team was elected "writer" and a short message, followed by a phone number was scribbled on the offending underwear. It hung, jauntily from the rear view mirror. Waiting for someone to come and claim it.

I know someone what did something good

Was very pleased to see my very good friend's sticking it to the Government. Pah! Knew we couldn't trust them.

P.S. Oh and by the way, in my eyes, there are a couple of things more to life than shoes. Chocolate and red wine for starters ;)

Nowt so queer as folk

It's amazing the things you see, sitting in the bubble-like atmosphere of your car, watching the world overtake you.

Look, there's that man, carrying a woman's handbag looking all for the world like he's about to commit some cardinal sin. Furtively, he looks around, hoping no-one will notice the white leather holdall he carries, clutched underneath a fragrant armpit.

And there, the yummy mummy, with her equally beautiful progeny prancing along the road heading towards the local school for beautiful people. No ugly kids near me please, they seem to say. The not-so-yummy-mummy hangs her head and drags her overweight child past the gate, wondering what might have been had she not shacked up with Dave from the local pub.

You have a giggle at the lollipop lady, bedecked in resplendent yellow. Leaning against the wall she looks vacantly at the passing traffic. She sighs. When will the kids come to school so I have something to do?

The woman in the car behind you exercises. Hand under chin, opening and closing her mouth. "I'm sure this is how they said whatsherface did it - and just look at her... not a wrinkle to be seen."

I wonder what people think when they see me as I sit there, singing to myself, playing the drums on the steering wheel and staring out the window.

Six nations rout...

What a weekend for the rugby. A convincing victory over Wales and a real chance of retaining the title for the third year in a row.

EDIT: quick update on previous post. Ex-housemate did email me in the end and told me I had been accepted into the regional squad. This is exciting.

A grumble

You will allow me a little moan on this Friday morning.

I'm a tad hungover and I just feel like it, ok?

Now, when I pay nearly £500 for a ticket home there are a couple of things I expect...

a) a ticket
b) a drink once on board
c) something to help me while away the 8 hour flight.

Sadly when I booked a seat on "Has not known love in the Biblical sense" Airlines* I was not afforded any of these luxuries.

a) a ticket - took 2 months and 15 irate calls to customer services for them to send me through an e-ticket. Despite a confimation email saying it would take no longer than 72 hours.

b) a drink once on board - oh, don't get me wrong, you're allowed a drink. A soft drink. Order anything more and you immediately become the spawn of Satan. A lush. A drunkard. Someone that can't be trusted with a bottle of lighter fluid. They've even added their "thou shalt not drink" to the pre-flight spiel. "Welcome aboard this Goody Two Shoes* flight to Jomo Kenyatta airport, Nairobi. The emergency exits are here, here and here and by the way, if you drink alcohol on board you'll be pushed through one faster than you can say 'gin and tonic'. Have a nice flight." Bastards.

c) something to help me while away the 8 hour flight - my biggest whinge. I don't think I'm asking too much to expect a personal tv, even in economy. I think I could even demand that it showed decent films, at a time that suited me, and I wouldn't be pushing it. On Sanctimonious Airlines* however, what you actually get is a 3.5 inch screen (so, slightly bigger than a Blackberry) which shows 5 different (and rubbish) channels *at the same time*. Therefore, once your film has finished, you then have to wait another hour before all the other channels are finished before you can watch anything else. In the end I had to resort to poking the person in front of me with various implements to see if I could wake them up.

*possibly not its real name