Everyone loves a rugby man

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.

What if...

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!

Respite

The cold wind whips the cobwebs tangled in my brain.

A head rush from the hastly snatched cigarette.

An aching body from Sunday's exertions.

It's been a bit of a strange weekend but I think we've sorted it out. It's not something he can just get over. But we're talking about it.

And I'm grateful it's not me making him feel like this.

*no title*

It comes on suddenly. I never know where from. I don't know what triggers it. All I know is that it changes you. You become someone from a different place. I can't talk to you. You can't look at me. Your words hurt me. I cry inside. I know you don't mean it and I know you can't help it.

I want to help you but don't know where to start.

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.

The problems continue.

Latest text from my mother: Have been out fighting for food for all the staff. John the day askari [secruity guard] had his house burnt down this morning so am trying to get him and family to a safer place. No food, no fuel and all pretty awful. Things will get worse tomorrow with planned march by millions on nairobi. Police on shoot to kill. Not looking good at all.

In other news, N, a friend and I are in the planning stages of a Cape to Cairo type expedition. Exactly the same except some minor details - we won't be going by train and we won't be going to Cairo. Anyone know a good Toyota dealer?

I was just dozing off when I hear "ooo, look at that!" from N. Somewhere half way down the M40 it felt a little bit more Christmassy as excitable snow flurried its way amongst the almost-stationary cars.

As we reached London, the snow turned to rain.

Switzerland today for a couple of days. Keep yourself occupied, won't you.

My my, who would have thought.

I am here. I am writing. I am still alive.

Several months have passed, I realise. Several million things have happened in that time. I suppose I might have to update.

1. I've moved into a new house, in a new part of town, with the old boyfriend(old in the sense of time, not age - he'd not be too happy if I spread rumours about his geriatric credentials). One day I might put some pictures up of the new abode. Chez nutty is very much a des-res (mainly because it's about 2 mins walk from our local) but it has a slight problem with its heating. It doesn't have any.

2. I have a new job (hoorah!) The old job was just getting a bit too much to be honest. Lack of money, too much responsibility, no respect. Pah - there's only so long you can deal with that grinding you down every day. So in the end, I decided to go. Great decision. I now work for "Big multi-national company". Sooo different to the last place. We get free coffee here. The strange thing is, since HQ is abroad (and all the internet servers are therefore routed abroad) I'm currently trying to blog in a German blogger. Makes saving posts/adding pictures/knowing what the hell I'm supposed to be doing a little difficult.

3. Dammit. They're making me work!

I know it's tapping in horribly to the current zeitgeist but please can I just make it completely public how much I hate Valentine's day. And no, not for the normal reasons of it's too commercial and we should love each other no matter what day it is bollocks.

No, I hate Valentine's day because, if I don't get anything, I get grumpy.

Like now.

Grr.

I committed the cardinal sin. I went back to the past.

By use of the Internet Archive

I went back and looked at my history. It's a bit weird re-reading it all.

I read the day that I first met N when I was pissed off that I hadn't met anyone. I was in the midst of a dating phase bought on my a mad Australian friend of mine.

I read a couple of days later when I was a smitten kitten, skipping around in the first haze of lust.

I remembered the time when I caught him playing Jenga with my housemate and she took off all her clothes. I remember how much I hated her for it.

I remember the time we both first realised we loved each other.

I don't know if this reminiscing is a good thing? If I read further back, before I met N, I read about the hideous love life I used to have. How I was a complete idiot and let men walk all over me. I read that I used to fall heavily for men, for no particular reason. Somehow believing that if I gave them everything they asked for, they would want me, too.

Thankfully, you can never go back and change the past. And, in a deeply philosophical ending sentence, you can only learn from it.

(you have my permission to throw up now)

What's in a name?

1. I am named after a Shakespearean heroine who dressed up as a boy
2. I have 2 middle names - Frances and Rebecca
3. I live in London with my saint-like other half
4. I still don't have any brothers or sisters
5. 2 other people have lived with my family (instead of their own) for one reason or another.
6. I have an unhealthy obsession with gin and tonic, red wine, port and cheese
7. I started smoking when I was 13
8. I started drinking about the same time
9. My father is an orphan
10. He was one of the first people to be adopted in Ireland
11. My perfect threesome would be Mark Cueto and Ben Cohen
12. I have an un-natural obsession with crap cheesy pop
13. And am quite happy to admit I know most of the words to most songs
14. It annoys me when people try to sing along but don't know the words
15. If I could live at any time period I would live in the late 1800's and I would be very rich
16. I love flirting with people
17. It doesn't matter if they are good looking or not
18. I hate letting people down
19. But I sometimes do it
20. I always complain I am getting old even though I am under 30
21. I hate the fact that my parents must know I am not a virgin anymore (virgin' on the ridiculous)
22. I can translate latin given enough time
23. I have known some people from the internet longer than I have known some of my closest friends
24. I can be a complete bitch if I want and I don't care who knows it
25. I could speak Husa (Nigerian dialect) before I could speak English
26. I then moved onto Spanish when I was 2 1/2 and my English was rudimentary
27. I now have a degree in English and can't speak languages to save my life
28. I don't really have any deep dark secrets
29. I play rugby
30. That does not make me a lesbian
31. Sometimes I worry about nothing, just for the sake of worrying
32. I am not a career woman - never have been
33. I can't wait to be able to settle down in a nice house in the countryside
34. I don't understand what N sees in me
35. I'm getting old before my time - sometimes I'd rather stay at home with a good film and a glass of wine, rather than go out with my friends
36. I want to be popular
37. I'm very argumentative when I'm drunk

EDIT: UPDATED NOV 2007
EDIT: UPDATED FEB 2008

I am not dead. You may all breathe a sigh of relief.

Dead tired? Yes.

Dead on my feet? Yes.

Dead annoyed? Yes.

Dead overworked and underpaid? Yes.

But not dead. And my leg's still attached. Yay. Macca is safe.

Although nutty is not an old cow, sometimes I think I'm older in mind than I am in body. I think I plan things too much. N proposed a proposal to me the other day. Not actually, but theoretically, along the lines of "if I asked you to… what would you say?". I answered "I'd say yes, but not yet."

So why? If you think about it, that's a silly thing to say. I love him, he loves me. I can see myself saying yes. I can see myself with him. So why don't I say yes.

Because I have a plan.

26 - engaged
27 - marry
30 - child
30 - move out of London
31 - move to bigger house
33 - child 2

Where it goes from there is anyone's guess. I suppose it's tempting fate in a way. I don't know if any of these stages will ever happen but it's just the way I've always thought about it. I think that any younger that 26 is too young to be engaged. Similarly, I think that men shouldn't get married before 30.

Who knows. Anyway, N knows he has to wait. At the same time, it is really rather nice knowing that I've got someone who loves me that much.

(of course, now I've said that, it'll all go to rack and ruin and fall apart. He'll have an affair with a leggy blond and I'll turn into a toad or similar.)

P.S. Got a promotion on Friday. Of sorts.