Deafinitely Girly did something quite different yesterday and went on a motorbike.
Now, being a mini driver originally and now in another four-wheeled friend, I have never been overly enthusiastic with the idea of getting on the back of a bike, despite all best efforts to persuade me over the years. But what do you know…
I loved it!
It was quite the most unique experience that it’s almost hard to describe, I simultaneously found myself grinning and wanting to kick myself for leaving it so long.
And it’s got me thinking about other things that I assume I won’t like but haven’t tried – even deaf-related things. OK there are some things that I know won’t be fun – such as a Shakespeare play without subtitles or an hour long phone call with a mad jibber-jabbering person…
But I reckon there’s got to be a whole lot more fun stuff out there that I’ve got to give a go.
It even got me thinking about getting a bike of my own. Just imagine Deafinitely Girly zooming by on a pink Vespa. I got lost in the daydream for while until I was informed that apparently a Vespa isn’t a proper bike and I’m not sure I’m quite ready for something with an engine bigger than my car!
As a passenger though, on the bike with an engine bigger than my car’s, I loved that I didn’t feel isolated, because I didn’t have to hear. There was no straining to lip read that you get in the car, no trying to hear from the back seat and feeling left out – all I had to listen to was the growl of the engine – and a very nice growl it was, too.
I hope I get to do it again some time…
Tuesday, 31 March 2009
Monday, 30 March 2009
Spring forward...
Fall back!
I love that expression, and it’s the mantra that stopped me being early or late once a year for my Sunday job as a ski technician when I was at school.
I also love that when the clocks go forward and back we are offered a consolation each time. Sure, in March we lose an hour but what we get is lighter evenings, more time to sip gin and tonic by the river and warmer weather.
And in October, sure it gets darker, but that extra hour we get in bed deafinitely makes up for that. Maybe it's just me but for the week after I feel like I am having a permanent lie in!
Anyway, Deafinitely Girly is almost on the mend and not quite as Lemsip reliant as she was. I am, however, in danger of being the woman on the bus who goes cough, cough, cough and my head, to be gruesomely honest, is a quite phlegm-filled. And, as a result my hearing is totally, completely and utterly stuffed up.
Everything is muffled much more than usual! Take yesterday when I was in the car with Ex Housemate and Ex Housemate's Boyfriend – he had Radio 2 on and in order to hear anything, even though I was reassured the volume was quite loud, I had to hold my head against the speaker, which as it was by the side pocket of the door, was not conducive to travelling in comfort.
I travelled in silence instead, occasionally breaking into the BBC Radio 2 jingle as if listening to my own pretend radio.
I have to say I am looking forward to this hearing fog clearing. I miss hearing the bits I normally hear and am upset that they have joined the things I normally miss.
If my hearing is back by Friday, I guess I'll know what to be thankful for!
I love that expression, and it’s the mantra that stopped me being early or late once a year for my Sunday job as a ski technician when I was at school.
I also love that when the clocks go forward and back we are offered a consolation each time. Sure, in March we lose an hour but what we get is lighter evenings, more time to sip gin and tonic by the river and warmer weather.
And in October, sure it gets darker, but that extra hour we get in bed deafinitely makes up for that. Maybe it's just me but for the week after I feel like I am having a permanent lie in!
Anyway, Deafinitely Girly is almost on the mend and not quite as Lemsip reliant as she was. I am, however, in danger of being the woman on the bus who goes cough, cough, cough and my head, to be gruesomely honest, is a quite phlegm-filled. And, as a result my hearing is totally, completely and utterly stuffed up.
Everything is muffled much more than usual! Take yesterday when I was in the car with Ex Housemate and Ex Housemate's Boyfriend – he had Radio 2 on and in order to hear anything, even though I was reassured the volume was quite loud, I had to hold my head against the speaker, which as it was by the side pocket of the door, was not conducive to travelling in comfort.
I travelled in silence instead, occasionally breaking into the BBC Radio 2 jingle as if listening to my own pretend radio.
I have to say I am looking forward to this hearing fog clearing. I miss hearing the bits I normally hear and am upset that they have joined the things I normally miss.
If my hearing is back by Friday, I guess I'll know what to be thankful for!
Friday, 27 March 2009
in sickness and in health
Today I am most definitely the former... So it is not a Thankful Friday. I think that the woman on the bus going cough, cough, cough may have given me her germs... Either that or it was Snowboarding Boy, who has been poorly himself recently.
I hate feeling ill, mostly because I am never usually ill. Last year, I got 100% attendance at work...
This year after today, I won't.
But what I have discovered is the wonders of Lemsip! This wonderful potion can have you feeling almost human again for a four-hour window, before it's time to have another! It's a magical remedy.
However, in my sickly brain fuzz, I've compeletly forgotten what today's post was meant to be about.
Guess you'll have to wait until Monday.
DG x
I hate feeling ill, mostly because I am never usually ill. Last year, I got 100% attendance at work...
This year after today, I won't.
But what I have discovered is the wonders of Lemsip! This wonderful potion can have you feeling almost human again for a four-hour window, before it's time to have another! It's a magical remedy.
However, in my sickly brain fuzz, I've compeletly forgotten what today's post was meant to be about.
Guess you'll have to wait until Monday.
DG x
Thursday, 26 March 2009
The woman on the bus goes cough, cough, cough
Sometimes, I am just not deaf enough
*Haha, ahem, sorry, just typed dead, which actually isn't that funny either…
Anyway, where was I, ah yes, not being deaf enough...
And here's why:
Last night I picked the last seat left on the bus and sat down. Everywhere I looked there were tired workers, eager to get home for a spot of TV and a glass of wine.
Then
Cough, cough, cough
The woman behind me clearly wasn't well.
Wheeze, cough, wheeze, choke, sneeze
Seriously, I kid you not, she sounded to me like she was at death’s door. My actually hair moved in breeze caused by it all, and at that point I started to feel glad I'd had my TB jab.
And so she continued and her coughing was really all I could hear – it was a low throaty cough and low frequencies are all I really have left.
Now, I know it wasn't her fault or anything, and to the other people on the bus there was probably a whole other host of squeaks, chatter, creaks and mobile phone tones to add to her choking to death, but to me, that's all there was and it was driving me insane.
But it got me thinking about all the noise I make that I don't hear. Does it drive other people insane? I remember one time at school being told off for clicking the top of my pen repetitively. Apparently it made quite a din and my teacher was close to breaking point.
I also didn't know sweet packets made a rustling sound... cue lots of dirty looks at the theatre. And, when I was much younger and in a music lesson at school, I once spent a full 10 minutes hitting a triangle as I liked the vibration that travelled through my fingers, completely unaware of the noise I was making. I thought my music teacher might actually explode with rage.
Now I am older and wiser, I am better at judging what might make noise but I still wonder, do the keys of my mobile phone make noise as I tap away?
My flute is the weirdest thing in this category of noise I make but cannot hear. Over half of it simply disappears into thin air and yet, other people can hear it clear as a bell. In a flute lesson not long ago, I was getting frustrated as my teacher told me I wasn't getting the high notes on a certain scale – they were coming out as a lower fuzzy harmonic apparently.
But being the most amazingly switched-on guy, he then gave me a tip – to visualise the sound, to see it in my head and then it would come – along with the right diaphragm tension of course. But it worked and I started to get the notes and really feel the music in my head more – it was inside my ears already so it didn’t matter that I couldn’t hear it.
And, do you know what? You can do it with anything. So as I write this, I am imagining in my head the tap tapping of the keyboard, the din of phones ringing in my office and the higher notes of the music playing on the radio. And when I have had enough and need some peace and quiet, I will imagine it all away!
*Haha, ahem, sorry, just typed dead, which actually isn't that funny either…
Anyway, where was I, ah yes, not being deaf enough...
And here's why:
Last night I picked the last seat left on the bus and sat down. Everywhere I looked there were tired workers, eager to get home for a spot of TV and a glass of wine.
Then
Cough, cough, cough
The woman behind me clearly wasn't well.
Wheeze, cough, wheeze, choke, sneeze
Seriously, I kid you not, she sounded to me like she was at death’s door. My actually hair moved in breeze caused by it all, and at that point I started to feel glad I'd had my TB jab.
And so she continued and her coughing was really all I could hear – it was a low throaty cough and low frequencies are all I really have left.
Now, I know it wasn't her fault or anything, and to the other people on the bus there was probably a whole other host of squeaks, chatter, creaks and mobile phone tones to add to her choking to death, but to me, that's all there was and it was driving me insane.
But it got me thinking about all the noise I make that I don't hear. Does it drive other people insane? I remember one time at school being told off for clicking the top of my pen repetitively. Apparently it made quite a din and my teacher was close to breaking point.
I also didn't know sweet packets made a rustling sound... cue lots of dirty looks at the theatre. And, when I was much younger and in a music lesson at school, I once spent a full 10 minutes hitting a triangle as I liked the vibration that travelled through my fingers, completely unaware of the noise I was making. I thought my music teacher might actually explode with rage.
Now I am older and wiser, I am better at judging what might make noise but I still wonder, do the keys of my mobile phone make noise as I tap away?
My flute is the weirdest thing in this category of noise I make but cannot hear. Over half of it simply disappears into thin air and yet, other people can hear it clear as a bell. In a flute lesson not long ago, I was getting frustrated as my teacher told me I wasn't getting the high notes on a certain scale – they were coming out as a lower fuzzy harmonic apparently.
But being the most amazingly switched-on guy, he then gave me a tip – to visualise the sound, to see it in my head and then it would come – along with the right diaphragm tension of course. But it worked and I started to get the notes and really feel the music in my head more – it was inside my ears already so it didn’t matter that I couldn’t hear it.
And, do you know what? You can do it with anything. So as I write this, I am imagining in my head the tap tapping of the keyboard, the din of phones ringing in my office and the higher notes of the music playing on the radio. And when I have had enough and need some peace and quiet, I will imagine it all away!
Wednesday, 25 March 2009
Hello…
This morning I walked to work.
After a pizza with Clever Katie last night, a meal with Snowboarding Boy the night before combined with the closure of my gym, I thought I’d better do something.
It’s 4.7 miles apparently and a lovely walk through the richer parts of London. There were children skipping down the road wearing blazers and berets and all the other trappings that private schools demand. There were windows to peek in – basement kitchens filled the hubbub of morning routines, people making mad dashes for the bus and little dogs in Burberry dog coats being walked by their Burberry-clad owners!
But that wasn’t the weirdest thing…
Nope, that was the fact that people kept saying hello to me. Blokes mainly. It was most odd. I was wearing my gym gear, had my hair scraped back and was being rained on but yet these guys all said hello.
Originally, I thought I’d misheard the first one – he said morning and then turned to look back as I strode past in Rosemary Conley power-walking mode. The second time it happened I actually stopped to check my reflection in the window to see if there was something up – was my top tucked in wrong? Had I forgotten to rub in my concealer? Was my hair particularly eye catching?
But it was none of the above…
I kind of wished I had hearing so I could have heard the comments that went with the hellos and the mornings because as it was I just had to stride on pretending not to hear them – oh the irony.
It was a nice ego-boosting experience but it never happens when I make an effort to look nice. Perhaps I’ll stick to my gym kit from now on!
After a pizza with Clever Katie last night, a meal with Snowboarding Boy the night before combined with the closure of my gym, I thought I’d better do something.
It’s 4.7 miles apparently and a lovely walk through the richer parts of London. There were children skipping down the road wearing blazers and berets and all the other trappings that private schools demand. There were windows to peek in – basement kitchens filled the hubbub of morning routines, people making mad dashes for the bus and little dogs in Burberry dog coats being walked by their Burberry-clad owners!
But that wasn’t the weirdest thing…
Nope, that was the fact that people kept saying hello to me. Blokes mainly. It was most odd. I was wearing my gym gear, had my hair scraped back and was being rained on but yet these guys all said hello.
Originally, I thought I’d misheard the first one – he said morning and then turned to look back as I strode past in Rosemary Conley power-walking mode. The second time it happened I actually stopped to check my reflection in the window to see if there was something up – was my top tucked in wrong? Had I forgotten to rub in my concealer? Was my hair particularly eye catching?
But it was none of the above…
I kind of wished I had hearing so I could have heard the comments that went with the hellos and the mornings because as it was I just had to stride on pretending not to hear them – oh the irony.
It was a nice ego-boosting experience but it never happens when I make an effort to look nice. Perhaps I’ll stick to my gym kit from now on!
Tuesday, 24 March 2009
Writers Block
Help!
Deafinitely Girly has writer’s block! It’s come out of nowhere and hit my creative juices like a juggernaut on an ice rink and, in short, I am struggling.
Anyway, this got me wondering about the expression ‘writer’s block’ and where it came from.
And so, I whacked it into the every-trusty Google and this is what came up courtesy of Wikipedia:
‘Writer's block is a phenomenon involving temporary loss of ability to begin or continue writing, usually due to lack of inspiration or creativity.’
Hardly a groundbreaking definition but then I read on and discovered that writer's block can be closely related to depression and anxiety…
*DG sits for a moment thinking, but doesn’t feel either
Then, reading on some more, I found another interpretation of writer's block, mentioned in the book Silences, by Tillie Olsen. She apparently argues that historically many women and working-class writers have been unable to devote themselves to, or concentrate on, their writing because their social and economic circumstances prevent them from doing so.
*DG checks her FB friend list and internet banking and finds she’s quite satisfied with her social and economic circumstances
And here’s a third interpretation from author Justina Headley who says that for her, writer’s block comes from losing touch with the characters about whom she is writing; and that by discovering who they are again, the block disintegrates.
*DG wonders if it’s possible to lose touch with herself and pinches herself for good measure so see if her touch is lost
While I can see the merits of all these interpretations, I think today I will blame my writer’s block on the fact that I actually don’t have anything deaf-related to moan about, nor do I have a humorous tale of a child licking a bus window, or Araminta’s next bus/holiday installment to tell you about.
But what I do have is a secret or two.
I wonder if they can cause writer’s block…
Deafinitely Girly has writer’s block! It’s come out of nowhere and hit my creative juices like a juggernaut on an ice rink and, in short, I am struggling.
Anyway, this got me wondering about the expression ‘writer’s block’ and where it came from.
And so, I whacked it into the every-trusty Google and this is what came up courtesy of Wikipedia:
‘Writer's block is a phenomenon involving temporary loss of ability to begin or continue writing, usually due to lack of inspiration or creativity.’
Hardly a groundbreaking definition but then I read on and discovered that writer's block can be closely related to depression and anxiety…
*DG sits for a moment thinking, but doesn’t feel either
Then, reading on some more, I found another interpretation of writer's block, mentioned in the book Silences, by Tillie Olsen. She apparently argues that historically many women and working-class writers have been unable to devote themselves to, or concentrate on, their writing because their social and economic circumstances prevent them from doing so.
*DG checks her FB friend list and internet banking and finds she’s quite satisfied with her social and economic circumstances
And here’s a third interpretation from author Justina Headley who says that for her, writer’s block comes from losing touch with the characters about whom she is writing; and that by discovering who they are again, the block disintegrates.
*DG wonders if it’s possible to lose touch with herself and pinches herself for good measure so see if her touch is lost
While I can see the merits of all these interpretations, I think today I will blame my writer’s block on the fact that I actually don’t have anything deaf-related to moan about, nor do I have a humorous tale of a child licking a bus window, or Araminta’s next bus/holiday installment to tell you about.
But what I do have is a secret or two.
I wonder if they can cause writer’s block…
Monday, 23 March 2009
The wheels on the bus…
Today's blog is being written from a train, a Virgin train to be precise, and it is running 20 minutes late. As a result, there were a lot of passengers on the platform when I arrived who were, like me, planning on getting the train after this one, but as this one is quicker and direct, decided to surge forward and squeeze into the 5 economy carriages at the back.
The front four carriages were 1st class and all of them were completely empty. This meant that we were all squished in like sardines while half the train was peopleless – MR BRANSON, WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?
It’s clear that when a train ticket costs more than a monthly mortgage payment – which on The Rents’ line it does, people are not going to spend any more than they have to, so why doesn’t some sort of passenger research give Virgin Trains a clue that half the space on their train is wasted.
I think it’s insane,
Anyway, something usual happened this morning – I eavesdropped!
*DG pauses at the enormity of this…
It came as quite a surprise, not least because of what I heard. When I finally made it on the train, I somehow was lucky to see a seat near the door. In the aisle seat was a man and next to him, my seat. I asked politely if I could sit there and instead of getting up to let me in, he scowled and shuffled over. He then said to who I can only assume was his wife opposite him something about pikey people getting on at my station and changing the tone, or dare I say, lowering the tone of the train. Wow, what a nice man!
Anyway, my weekend was jet-settingly action packed. The Rents and I flew to Clogland on Saturday to visit Big Bro. Apparently that morning Mini Clog had announced to Big Bro, ‘Aunty is coming and she's bringing buttons!’
And being Cadbury's buttons I did. Take two as I had eaten the first lot in a fit of Lent rebelliousness!
*blush
He was very happy with his stash, which should last him a very long time as he only gets them as a special treat.
And what of Micro Clog? Well, he is quite fantastically cute and was extremely quiet and sleepy when we were there. I gave him a cuddle and he opened one eye at me as if to say, yup, you'll do for the time being, and then dozed off again.
He only stirred once or twice during the 50 renditions of The Wheels On The Bus that Mini Clog and I performed.
And now I’ve got it in my head I shall probably be humming it all day. Altogether now – The Wheels on the bus go round and round…
The front four carriages were 1st class and all of them were completely empty. This meant that we were all squished in like sardines while half the train was peopleless – MR BRANSON, WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?
It’s clear that when a train ticket costs more than a monthly mortgage payment – which on The Rents’ line it does, people are not going to spend any more than they have to, so why doesn’t some sort of passenger research give Virgin Trains a clue that half the space on their train is wasted.
I think it’s insane,
Anyway, something usual happened this morning – I eavesdropped!
*DG pauses at the enormity of this…
It came as quite a surprise, not least because of what I heard. When I finally made it on the train, I somehow was lucky to see a seat near the door. In the aisle seat was a man and next to him, my seat. I asked politely if I could sit there and instead of getting up to let me in, he scowled and shuffled over. He then said to who I can only assume was his wife opposite him something about pikey people getting on at my station and changing the tone, or dare I say, lowering the tone of the train. Wow, what a nice man!
Anyway, my weekend was jet-settingly action packed. The Rents and I flew to Clogland on Saturday to visit Big Bro. Apparently that morning Mini Clog had announced to Big Bro, ‘Aunty is coming and she's bringing buttons!’
And being Cadbury's buttons I did. Take two as I had eaten the first lot in a fit of Lent rebelliousness!
*blush
He was very happy with his stash, which should last him a very long time as he only gets them as a special treat.
And what of Micro Clog? Well, he is quite fantastically cute and was extremely quiet and sleepy when we were there. I gave him a cuddle and he opened one eye at me as if to say, yup, you'll do for the time being, and then dozed off again.
He only stirred once or twice during the 50 renditions of The Wheels On The Bus that Mini Clog and I performed.
And now I’ve got it in my head I shall probably be humming it all day. Altogether now – The Wheels on the bus go round and round…
Friday, 20 March 2009
Clogland here I come…
Thankful Friday is upon us once again! Today I am most deafinitely thankful for the AMAZING weather… the sky is so blue that even Wise Friend should have no complaints – he’s a blue sky connoisseur you know… one cloud and it’s not nice weather!
I am also thankful for a chance meeting I had with a toddler on my bus home last night – she made me laugh so much I nearly fell off my seat – she actually did fall off hers.
So there I was, sat there, minding my own business when all of a sudden this little face popped up from the seat in front of me, bunches bobbing and the biggest grin you’ve ever seen! ‘Hello!’ she shouted at me and waved too, for good measure.
‘Hello,’ I said back. She then, for the rest of my 40-minute journey proceeded to talk to me, at me, lick the window, play peekaboo, and tell me she’d had chicken and coooouscoooous for lunch. She held court over the entire bus and told me she had only had one finger – she had 10 but don’t think she had quite got to grips with counting yet.
She also knew just how to embarrass her mum, shrieking at the top of her voice about her last toilet break and various other things that I couldn’t hear – thankfully judging by the blushes of my fellow passengers.
When she got off, several stops before me, saying goodbye to everybody individually and waving too, the bus got a little bit duller and a whole lot quieter!
It reminded me how happy I am that I am off to see The Clogs tomorrow – I will be able to meet Micro Clog for the first time and see how much Mini Clog has grown. I will wear a wafting outfit, smell of violets and make sure my cheeks are suitably covered with rouge, and then I will smother them with kisses.
I will never be a sensible aunt…
I am also thankful for a chance meeting I had with a toddler on my bus home last night – she made me laugh so much I nearly fell off my seat – she actually did fall off hers.
So there I was, sat there, minding my own business when all of a sudden this little face popped up from the seat in front of me, bunches bobbing and the biggest grin you’ve ever seen! ‘Hello!’ she shouted at me and waved too, for good measure.
‘Hello,’ I said back. She then, for the rest of my 40-minute journey proceeded to talk to me, at me, lick the window, play peekaboo, and tell me she’d had chicken and coooouscoooous for lunch. She held court over the entire bus and told me she had only had one finger – she had 10 but don’t think she had quite got to grips with counting yet.
She also knew just how to embarrass her mum, shrieking at the top of her voice about her last toilet break and various other things that I couldn’t hear – thankfully judging by the blushes of my fellow passengers.
When she got off, several stops before me, saying goodbye to everybody individually and waving too, the bus got a little bit duller and a whole lot quieter!
It reminded me how happy I am that I am off to see The Clogs tomorrow – I will be able to meet Micro Clog for the first time and see how much Mini Clog has grown. I will wear a wafting outfit, smell of violets and make sure my cheeks are suitably covered with rouge, and then I will smother them with kisses.
I will never be a sensible aunt…
Thursday, 19 March 2009
Spring in my step
Good morning! The sky is blue, the sun is shining! Three cheers for that I say. This morning on my way to work, I was struck by how alive everything is right now. At one bus stop I came face to face with the most beautiful blossom that I actually took a picture of it on my phone.
I love spring as a season. It's often warmer than the English summer and my favourite flower, the daffodil, is available in abundance.
It's also time for having a clear out – mentally, emotionally and materially – and lately, that's just what I've been doing.
I've taken a big bag of stuff to the charity shop and begun to think about what's really important in my life.
What's great about this is that it provides a new perspective on everything. I have more room in my wardrobe so can see what clothes I have and therefore am wearing things I haven't worn for ages. I've also discovered my recipe books, which were buried under my well-thumbed collection of Katie Fforde and Freya North books, which has given me a new enthusiasm for cooking. Last night Niknak and Country Boy 1 got a taster of exciting things to come! I’ve branched out into brownies – although they still want cupcakes for their wedding.
But even more significantly, I am seeing my deafness is a new light! I have a new enthusiasm for things I struggle with, and just lately I’m less fearful of things. On really dark days, when I’m tired of lipreading, or struggling with something, I often wake up and my deafness is right there, staring me in the face. This morning, I woke up, with my vibrating alarm clock, and greeted my deafness with a smile!
I love spring as a season. It's often warmer than the English summer and my favourite flower, the daffodil, is available in abundance.
It's also time for having a clear out – mentally, emotionally and materially – and lately, that's just what I've been doing.
I've taken a big bag of stuff to the charity shop and begun to think about what's really important in my life.
What's great about this is that it provides a new perspective on everything. I have more room in my wardrobe so can see what clothes I have and therefore am wearing things I haven't worn for ages. I've also discovered my recipe books, which were buried under my well-thumbed collection of Katie Fforde and Freya North books, which has given me a new enthusiasm for cooking. Last night Niknak and Country Boy 1 got a taster of exciting things to come! I’ve branched out into brownies – although they still want cupcakes for their wedding.
But even more significantly, I am seeing my deafness is a new light! I have a new enthusiasm for things I struggle with, and just lately I’m less fearful of things. On really dark days, when I’m tired of lipreading, or struggling with something, I often wake up and my deafness is right there, staring me in the face. This morning, I woke up, with my vibrating alarm clock, and greeted my deafness with a smile!
Wednesday, 18 March 2009
Colourful I love you
Last night I watched Colleen's Real Women, a TV show where Colleen Rooney searches for ordinary girls to go to castings for big brand names.
It's actually quite interesting as very occasionally the brands do veer away from the tall, leggy, and of course skinny, stereotype and plump for someone um, plumper.
Last night a Real Woman did get the job, but she was the skinniest of the lot and the most model like of the three. Now I could get on my soapbox about this but I won’t as I don’t really care about the size zero debate and also because what I really noticed last night while watching the programme was Colleen's accent and how bizarre her lip patterns are.
Now, I pride myself on being able to lipread accents. With the Irish, the lips are almost pulled back into a semi-permanent grin, which affects the vowels – I imagine them to be quite clipped and throaty. With the Scottish accent the lips go the other way, making the vowels rich yet hollow – visually they seem to bounce off the cheeks.
So what of Colleen's accent...
Well if I am honest, it was a bit like trying to lipread someone at the end of a dinner party, when everyone's relaxed and probably warmly drunk on red wine. Seriously, I kept thinking she was going to say, 'I blurry love yur!' at any moment.
I think it's because she's the first Liverpudlian I've spent a long time lipreading that it was so bizarre. The words almost seem to drag her mouth down and it looked like it was an effort to talk. At one point she said the word, ‘girls’ and it lipread to me as yeuch! Go on, try saying ‘girls’ in a Liverpool accent while looking in the mirror, and you’ll see what I mean!
Perhaps the most famous lipreading misunderstanding is ‘colourful’ and ‘I love you’ – but thankfully I have never lipread this one wrong yet. But I think, just to be safe, I’ll wear black on my next date. I mean picture this – Deafinitely Girly meets a guy for a drink wearing a bright pink T-shirt – not unusual for me. He says to me at some point during the date, ‘blah, blah, blah colourful.’
Deafinitely Girly does a runner…
*ponders for a while
Ahhh perhaps this is why I am so perpetually single!
It's actually quite interesting as very occasionally the brands do veer away from the tall, leggy, and of course skinny, stereotype and plump for someone um, plumper.
Last night a Real Woman did get the job, but she was the skinniest of the lot and the most model like of the three. Now I could get on my soapbox about this but I won’t as I don’t really care about the size zero debate and also because what I really noticed last night while watching the programme was Colleen's accent and how bizarre her lip patterns are.
Now, I pride myself on being able to lipread accents. With the Irish, the lips are almost pulled back into a semi-permanent grin, which affects the vowels – I imagine them to be quite clipped and throaty. With the Scottish accent the lips go the other way, making the vowels rich yet hollow – visually they seem to bounce off the cheeks.
So what of Colleen's accent...
Well if I am honest, it was a bit like trying to lipread someone at the end of a dinner party, when everyone's relaxed and probably warmly drunk on red wine. Seriously, I kept thinking she was going to say, 'I blurry love yur!' at any moment.
I think it's because she's the first Liverpudlian I've spent a long time lipreading that it was so bizarre. The words almost seem to drag her mouth down and it looked like it was an effort to talk. At one point she said the word, ‘girls’ and it lipread to me as yeuch! Go on, try saying ‘girls’ in a Liverpool accent while looking in the mirror, and you’ll see what I mean!
Perhaps the most famous lipreading misunderstanding is ‘colourful’ and ‘I love you’ – but thankfully I have never lipread this one wrong yet. But I think, just to be safe, I’ll wear black on my next date. I mean picture this – Deafinitely Girly meets a guy for a drink wearing a bright pink T-shirt – not unusual for me. He says to me at some point during the date, ‘blah, blah, blah colourful.’
Deafinitely Girly does a runner…
*ponders for a while
Ahhh perhaps this is why I am so perpetually single!
Tuesday, 17 March 2009
I had a dream
I am writing this post from the bus this morning as it sits in stationary traffic. It's not moving and I have no idea why, but it's bloomin' annoying!
Today is Tuesday. There are four sleeps to go until I meet Micro Clog and five sleeps until I wish my Ma a very happy Ma's Day. And only 1 sleep to go until NikNak and Country Boy come for dinner. Hurrah!
Anyway, last night I had the strangest dream. It started in Japan. I was there with Big Bro, who had his skateboard with him. There, we met Lovely Guy who I hung out with – he also had a skateboard and nice hair. Next thing I know, we're in the Dominican Republic – Big Bro has gone and Lovely Guy is still there, but to complicate matters, there's another guy in the picture – but he's not as lovely.
Anyway, at this point, Ex Boyfriend turns up and tells me to ditch Lovely Guy as he has no prospects and his job is picking up body parts of the battlefields, as there's a civil war raging just across the street from the bar we are sat in. The other guy is apparently a scientist and according to Ex Boyfriend, my perfect man.
And then I woke up!
Now, I could spend the next few minutes deliberating over what the hell that means, but that's not what's actually important.
What's important, is that last night, in my dream, I was not deaf! It was most odd! I could hear Lovely Guy whispering in my ear, the commentary on a video that Ex Boyfriend showed me to try and convince me to break up with Lovely Guy, the conversations of others in a bar I was sat in, Lovely Guy calling me from a distance, and even the civil war that was raging.
But what's even more interesting is I still felt completely lost. Having hearing didn't make me follow life any better! Therefore I can only conclude that thank goodness I have my hearing to blame my ditziness on! If I didn't, I'd have to blame it on my hair colour!
Today is Tuesday. There are four sleeps to go until I meet Micro Clog and five sleeps until I wish my Ma a very happy Ma's Day. And only 1 sleep to go until NikNak and Country Boy come for dinner. Hurrah!
Anyway, last night I had the strangest dream. It started in Japan. I was there with Big Bro, who had his skateboard with him. There, we met Lovely Guy who I hung out with – he also had a skateboard and nice hair. Next thing I know, we're in the Dominican Republic – Big Bro has gone and Lovely Guy is still there, but to complicate matters, there's another guy in the picture – but he's not as lovely.
Anyway, at this point, Ex Boyfriend turns up and tells me to ditch Lovely Guy as he has no prospects and his job is picking up body parts of the battlefields, as there's a civil war raging just across the street from the bar we are sat in. The other guy is apparently a scientist and according to Ex Boyfriend, my perfect man.
And then I woke up!
Now, I could spend the next few minutes deliberating over what the hell that means, but that's not what's actually important.
What's important, is that last night, in my dream, I was not deaf! It was most odd! I could hear Lovely Guy whispering in my ear, the commentary on a video that Ex Boyfriend showed me to try and convince me to break up with Lovely Guy, the conversations of others in a bar I was sat in, Lovely Guy calling me from a distance, and even the civil war that was raging.
But what's even more interesting is I still felt completely lost. Having hearing didn't make me follow life any better! Therefore I can only conclude that thank goodness I have my hearing to blame my ditziness on! If I didn't, I'd have to blame it on my hair colour!
Monday, 16 March 2009
Micro Clog is here!
Deafinitely Girly interrupts her usual broadcast of deaf wisdom this morning to bring you exciting news:
MICRO CLOG FINALLY ARRIVED!!!!!!!
Phew!
He made a speedy entrance into the world after just a 3-hour labour at 12.17am on Saturday 14 March 8lb 8oz. I was watching Comic Relief when I got the text and, as I read it, this film about a woman who had died in childbirth was being shown. It was then I realised how flipping privileged we were that Micro Clog and Maxi Clog were safe and well. So out came my credit card for a donation – apparently my money could save lives – and I like that thought.
Anyway, Big Bro says Micro Clog is absolutely gorgeous and I have seen photographic evidence to confirm this and totally agree. It’s great being a very proud Aunty of two now, and I have a day trip to Clogland with (GrandMa) Ma and (GrandaPa) Pa to visit the Family Clog planned for next Saturday.
Now, on to my weekend and well, I can well and truly confirm that New Neighbours paid me back for the toast-and-tea-up-the-wall and general noise episode from a few weeks ago! They had no less than two parties this weekend – one Friday, one Saturday, and both took place underneath my bedroom.
Now, Deafinitely Girly prides herself at being able to sleep through anything – but this weekend, that was not a possibility. Although I can confirm that they do have the same taste in music in me, so it wasn’t an altogether unpleasant experience.
It was just so loud – me, a deaf person found it too loud! And it wasn’t just the music – there was the endless door slamming and running up and down stairs… not to mention the smell of martini that kept wafting through the letterbox…
On the Friday, I went into the living room for some respite – there’s only so many times you can listen to Womanizer by Britney before you want to throw yourself out of the window headfirst on to the pavement below. There, was New Housemate, lying listlessly on the sofa, also looking like he was about to throw himself out of the window – I don’t think he’s a Britney fan at all!
By Saturday, I had a plan, and plugged my cordless headphones in to my TV – it kind of worked, except it is actually not possible to sleep in them as they’re quite cumbersome – so I kind of had to slump against some pillows like the Elephant man and ride it out.
At 1.30am, the music stopped… I could hardly believe my ears, quite literally – and momentarily wondered if I had gone totally deaf from the violent audio onslaught my ears had been subjected to. But I hadn’t – the party was indeed over.
As I lay in bed, contemplating my new Aunty-of-Two status with only the gentle hum of the traffic outside, I really appreciated that silence is in fact, GOLDEN!
MICRO CLOG FINALLY ARRIVED!!!!!!!
Phew!
He made a speedy entrance into the world after just a 3-hour labour at 12.17am on Saturday 14 March 8lb 8oz. I was watching Comic Relief when I got the text and, as I read it, this film about a woman who had died in childbirth was being shown. It was then I realised how flipping privileged we were that Micro Clog and Maxi Clog were safe and well. So out came my credit card for a donation – apparently my money could save lives – and I like that thought.
Anyway, Big Bro says Micro Clog is absolutely gorgeous and I have seen photographic evidence to confirm this and totally agree. It’s great being a very proud Aunty of two now, and I have a day trip to Clogland with (GrandMa) Ma and (GrandaPa) Pa to visit the Family Clog planned for next Saturday.
Now, on to my weekend and well, I can well and truly confirm that New Neighbours paid me back for the toast-and-tea-up-the-wall and general noise episode from a few weeks ago! They had no less than two parties this weekend – one Friday, one Saturday, and both took place underneath my bedroom.
Now, Deafinitely Girly prides herself at being able to sleep through anything – but this weekend, that was not a possibility. Although I can confirm that they do have the same taste in music in me, so it wasn’t an altogether unpleasant experience.
It was just so loud – me, a deaf person found it too loud! And it wasn’t just the music – there was the endless door slamming and running up and down stairs… not to mention the smell of martini that kept wafting through the letterbox…
On the Friday, I went into the living room for some respite – there’s only so many times you can listen to Womanizer by Britney before you want to throw yourself out of the window headfirst on to the pavement below. There, was New Housemate, lying listlessly on the sofa, also looking like he was about to throw himself out of the window – I don’t think he’s a Britney fan at all!
By Saturday, I had a plan, and plugged my cordless headphones in to my TV – it kind of worked, except it is actually not possible to sleep in them as they’re quite cumbersome – so I kind of had to slump against some pillows like the Elephant man and ride it out.
At 1.30am, the music stopped… I could hardly believe my ears, quite literally – and momentarily wondered if I had gone totally deaf from the violent audio onslaught my ears had been subjected to. But I hadn’t – the party was indeed over.
As I lay in bed, contemplating my new Aunty-of-Two status with only the gentle hum of the traffic outside, I really appreciated that silence is in fact, GOLDEN!
Friday, 13 March 2009
Chocolate tax
Thankful Friday is here again – how on earth did that happen?
Well, today I am thankful for the fantastic evening I had last night with Lovely Freelancer. She’s Deafinitely Girly’s unofficial editor – along with Pa of course – and she comes to the rescue when I make unbelievable stoopid speling mystakes!
Anyway, so yah, we had a fantastic dinner and catch up and chatted about her wedding – the next one on my list I do believe.
She’s worried that I am not going to be able to hear the speeches – what a caring, thoughtful Bridezilla she is! I told her off for worrying about me and told her to get back to worrying about more important things, like drunken guests and inappropriate best man jokes!
I have promised her that I will be on hand to tackle any inappropriate behaviour – although she might have to have a non-deaf person monitoring the conversations as eavesdropping is not something I am particularly skilled at. I suggested that she have a sniper on hand with a stun gun to zap anyone who got out of control. She looked at me like I was insane – once again, a very caring Bridezilla.
If I ever grow up and get married I hope I will be a caring Bridezilla, and not the type who throws a hissy fit because the napkins aren’t folded in the shape of mating swans. Although I do think I may file the sniper idea away, just in case.
This week has been marred by not being able to eat chocolate – I gave it up for Lent you know – and have only failed one, um three times after the temptation of new Toffee Crisp Clusters proved too much. But since then, my resolve has been steely. But then, imagine my horror when I read about plans to put a tax on chocolate – ARE THEY INSANE?
If this happens then there may well be a large proportion of the country who, as a result, actually do go insane. OK, so I know it’s full of calories and that I would happily eat it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner – I so should have been born an Aztec – but the point is, I don’t, so therefore my BMI is spot on and I can get out of bed without the help of the fire brigade – although the thought of a fireman helping me out of bed…
Crikey, my mind is wandering today!
But I am going to hazard a guess and say that I’m pretty sure it’s not just chocolate that is making the nation obese. Factor in all the other junk food available and I reckon chocolate would come out surprisingly well. I mean, it’s the only junk food I eat alarming quantities of, and I have had no crashing headaches since giving it up. Sure I want it – but I want cherries and blueberries with the same regularity, too – and no ones suggesting they are addictive.
(Am sure there's a valid natural and refined sugar-addiction argument that should be addressed here – but I am not going to)
But what I do know is that most humans, when they are told they can’t have something, or something becomes more exclusive, want it more. So taxing chocolate to me, will only have the opposite effect and I will end up spending more money on chocolate than ever before. And if it’s the same throughout the nation then aren’t we going to be plunged further into debt? Surely that can’t be good for Global economy.
Discuss!
Well, today I am thankful for the fantastic evening I had last night with Lovely Freelancer. She’s Deafinitely Girly’s unofficial editor – along with Pa of course – and she comes to the rescue when I make unbelievable stoopid speling mystakes!
Anyway, so yah, we had a fantastic dinner and catch up and chatted about her wedding – the next one on my list I do believe.
She’s worried that I am not going to be able to hear the speeches – what a caring, thoughtful Bridezilla she is! I told her off for worrying about me and told her to get back to worrying about more important things, like drunken guests and inappropriate best man jokes!
I have promised her that I will be on hand to tackle any inappropriate behaviour – although she might have to have a non-deaf person monitoring the conversations as eavesdropping is not something I am particularly skilled at. I suggested that she have a sniper on hand with a stun gun to zap anyone who got out of control. She looked at me like I was insane – once again, a very caring Bridezilla.
If I ever grow up and get married I hope I will be a caring Bridezilla, and not the type who throws a hissy fit because the napkins aren’t folded in the shape of mating swans. Although I do think I may file the sniper idea away, just in case.
This week has been marred by not being able to eat chocolate – I gave it up for Lent you know – and have only failed one, um three times after the temptation of new Toffee Crisp Clusters proved too much. But since then, my resolve has been steely. But then, imagine my horror when I read about plans to put a tax on chocolate – ARE THEY INSANE?
If this happens then there may well be a large proportion of the country who, as a result, actually do go insane. OK, so I know it’s full of calories and that I would happily eat it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner – I so should have been born an Aztec – but the point is, I don’t, so therefore my BMI is spot on and I can get out of bed without the help of the fire brigade – although the thought of a fireman helping me out of bed…
Crikey, my mind is wandering today!
But I am going to hazard a guess and say that I’m pretty sure it’s not just chocolate that is making the nation obese. Factor in all the other junk food available and I reckon chocolate would come out surprisingly well. I mean, it’s the only junk food I eat alarming quantities of, and I have had no crashing headaches since giving it up. Sure I want it – but I want cherries and blueberries with the same regularity, too – and no ones suggesting they are addictive.
(Am sure there's a valid natural and refined sugar-addiction argument that should be addressed here – but I am not going to)
But what I do know is that most humans, when they are told they can’t have something, or something becomes more exclusive, want it more. So taxing chocolate to me, will only have the opposite effect and I will end up spending more money on chocolate than ever before. And if it’s the same throughout the nation then aren’t we going to be plunged further into debt? Surely that can’t be good for Global economy.
Discuss!
Thursday, 12 March 2009
Pink drive
This morning, in my sleepy state I unwittingly made a discovery – soluble vitamin C tablets clean tea stains off mugs! I found this bizarre fact out when I popped one into my mug of hot water, instead of the glass of cold water sat right beside it, on arrival at work this morning. It exploded in a shower of hot fizz and threatened to overflow out the mug all over my keyboard. And, on tipping it down the sink, I discovered my mug was shiny white inside – it was like being on a Daz advert.
But enough about that.
Deafinitely Girly went out for dinner with Snowboarding Boy last night and it was lovely to catch up.
I heard all about his latest holiday and my eyes turned green. I miss the snow...
*sniff
Anyway, Snowboarding Boy knows me quite well and is privy to all my computer breakages, tea spillages on keyboard x5, blowing up of CD disc drive etc etc. He was also on hand when my computer hard drive went into meltdown and I lost everything except a Moomins picture I didn't know I had in the first place.
So anyway, as I was saying, he knows I'm a disaster with computers.
Yesterday I was telling him how earlier in the week I'd mislaid a memory card with all my writing on – about 30,000 words in total. I ripped my room apart searching for it and thankfully, two hours later, exhausted and looking at the sheer carnage of all my belongings, I found it, in the first place I should have looked.
'But you had it backed up, right?' he asked me, knowing the answer already.
‘Ummmm,’ was my sheepish reply.
And that was when he gave me my belated Christmas present.
First there was a hard zip case – a good thing for me to own – which when I opened revealed a portable hard drive! Hurrah! But you want to know the best bit? It's pink! Snowboarding Boy did good!
But that's not all! Given my track record of breaking things, this hard drive is called a Tough Drive... It's the Rambo of the hard-drive world, in pink obviously, and the instructions boast that it can fall up to 2 metres onto a flat surface and be OK.
I think that without a doubt going to become the most useful piece of technology I own – or the only piece that I own, as I will probably break everything else!
But enough about that.
Deafinitely Girly went out for dinner with Snowboarding Boy last night and it was lovely to catch up.
I heard all about his latest holiday and my eyes turned green. I miss the snow...
*sniff
Anyway, Snowboarding Boy knows me quite well and is privy to all my computer breakages, tea spillages on keyboard x5, blowing up of CD disc drive etc etc. He was also on hand when my computer hard drive went into meltdown and I lost everything except a Moomins picture I didn't know I had in the first place.
So anyway, as I was saying, he knows I'm a disaster with computers.
Yesterday I was telling him how earlier in the week I'd mislaid a memory card with all my writing on – about 30,000 words in total. I ripped my room apart searching for it and thankfully, two hours later, exhausted and looking at the sheer carnage of all my belongings, I found it, in the first place I should have looked.
'But you had it backed up, right?' he asked me, knowing the answer already.
‘Ummmm,’ was my sheepish reply.
And that was when he gave me my belated Christmas present.
First there was a hard zip case – a good thing for me to own – which when I opened revealed a portable hard drive! Hurrah! But you want to know the best bit? It's pink! Snowboarding Boy did good!
But that's not all! Given my track record of breaking things, this hard drive is called a Tough Drive... It's the Rambo of the hard-drive world, in pink obviously, and the instructions boast that it can fall up to 2 metres onto a flat surface and be OK.
I think that without a doubt going to become the most useful piece of technology I own – or the only piece that I own, as I will probably break everything else!
Wednesday, 11 March 2009
Hair today, gone tomorrow
This morning on the BBC, amongst the news about the new bout of terrorism in Northern Ireland and a multiple shooting in America, and the subtitles reading as fart instead of far…
Hahahahaha
Ahem, god I am so immature
But that's a whole other story!
…I discovered that Francis Rossi, the guitarist from Status Quo has cut his ponytail off, saying, ‘A few weeks ago it dawned on me that it I looked ridiculous. So I decided to forget clinging to my youth and it was time to grow old gracefully.’*
Not wanting to sound like Janice from Friends here, but
Oh... My... Gahd!
Since when did an ageing rocker's hairdo warrant a slot on Breakfast News?
I guess the thinking behind it was to create a discussion about long hair on men. But it actually got me thinking about long hair on women.
Cast your mind back to when you were at primary school... secondary school even. Can you think of any female teachers, except perhaps your eccentric art one, who had long hair? I can't! Not even the ones who seemed old but were probably younger than I am now.
It seems to me that long hair on adults is something of a current trend. When I look around, I see lots of 20-somethings, a fair few 30-somethings, and even quite a lot of 40-somethings who have long locks.
I have long hair, it falls a good few inches below my shoulders and it would never occur to me to cut it right now. Shakira Shakira has long hair, The Writer has long hair, Fab Friend has long hair, Gym Buddy has long hair – really, the list is endless!
But what worries me is what if I go over the acceptable time limit for long hair? What if I end my days, a batty old lady in a velour bed jacket, 50 cats scattered around my ramshackle house, but still doing a weekly hair mask and getting sun streaks added to my greying bonce?
I mean that scenario is wrong on so many levels, right?
So the endless planner in me is wondering if I should start thinking about styles now... What would suit my, to be frank, quite circular face? A bob? Um, a bit dull maybe. A short gamine crop? Um, only if I am trying to look like Jim from Rosie & Jim. A Pageboy? Hmmm do hairdressers still do them?
Nope, do you know what, I can't think of a suitable style apart from the one I have now. To convince myself this is OK, I've been people watching this morning, to try and glean some info from others. To my left, there is a woman at least a decade older than me, actually she looks a bit like Araminta from last week except she’s meant to be in Malaga.
Anyway, guess what? She's got long hair! In fact I reckon half the women on my bus, old and young have long hair.
When I grow up and become a famous writer, I wonder if I will keep my long hair... I wonder if it will thin out on top and make a ponytail thinner than a pipe cleaner I wonder then if I will make the news when I finally get it cut off!
*Quote from The Press Association
Hahahahaha
Ahem, god I am so immature
But that's a whole other story!
…I discovered that Francis Rossi, the guitarist from Status Quo has cut his ponytail off, saying, ‘A few weeks ago it dawned on me that it I looked ridiculous. So I decided to forget clinging to my youth and it was time to grow old gracefully.’*
Not wanting to sound like Janice from Friends here, but
Oh... My... Gahd!
Since when did an ageing rocker's hairdo warrant a slot on Breakfast News?
I guess the thinking behind it was to create a discussion about long hair on men. But it actually got me thinking about long hair on women.
Cast your mind back to when you were at primary school... secondary school even. Can you think of any female teachers, except perhaps your eccentric art one, who had long hair? I can't! Not even the ones who seemed old but were probably younger than I am now.
It seems to me that long hair on adults is something of a current trend. When I look around, I see lots of 20-somethings, a fair few 30-somethings, and even quite a lot of 40-somethings who have long locks.
I have long hair, it falls a good few inches below my shoulders and it would never occur to me to cut it right now. Shakira Shakira has long hair, The Writer has long hair, Fab Friend has long hair, Gym Buddy has long hair – really, the list is endless!
But what worries me is what if I go over the acceptable time limit for long hair? What if I end my days, a batty old lady in a velour bed jacket, 50 cats scattered around my ramshackle house, but still doing a weekly hair mask and getting sun streaks added to my greying bonce?
I mean that scenario is wrong on so many levels, right?
So the endless planner in me is wondering if I should start thinking about styles now... What would suit my, to be frank, quite circular face? A bob? Um, a bit dull maybe. A short gamine crop? Um, only if I am trying to look like Jim from Rosie & Jim. A Pageboy? Hmmm do hairdressers still do them?
Nope, do you know what, I can't think of a suitable style apart from the one I have now. To convince myself this is OK, I've been people watching this morning, to try and glean some info from others. To my left, there is a woman at least a decade older than me, actually she looks a bit like Araminta from last week except she’s meant to be in Malaga.
Anyway, guess what? She's got long hair! In fact I reckon half the women on my bus, old and young have long hair.
When I grow up and become a famous writer, I wonder if I will keep my long hair... I wonder if it will thin out on top and make a ponytail thinner than a pipe cleaner I wonder then if I will make the news when I finally get it cut off!
*Quote from The Press Association
Tuesday, 10 March 2009
Brain fuzz
I went to IKEA last night with London Aunt – we achieved a lot and had to sit down and have a rest in the warehouse, aisle 39, section 8. People stared...
and quite frankly, we didn't care.
There's something very weird about that place – I always get really excited about going and then as I trawl around the room views, I gradually get more and more dispirited. By the time I get to the market place my inspiration has gone and I end up putting some napkins and a bowl in my trolley that I never knew I needed. Very occasionally I will toy with the idea of buying a plant... but all my plants tend to die. So I don't.
What I don't understand though is why, at 9.30 at night, there are whole families in IKEA – is it the latest fun night out and I was the last to find out? While queueing for the checkout last night I had to clamber over no less than three squawking hyperactive toddlers while trying not to drop my bowl on their heads – would it be seen to be an accident I wonder?
I then had to contend with an entire family blocking the gangway as they excitedly added ketchup to their hot dogs and claimed their unlimited refills of fizzy pop.
London Aunt and I by this time were starting to lose the plot somewhat so she took me to McDonalds for tea. And it was there it all started to go wrong.
You see, I don't go for Maccie Ds much anymore – all I wanted was a cheeseburger, chips and diet coke. But the guy kept asking me all these questions. Through my IKEA brain fuzz I had absolutely no idea what he was saying and ended up saying pardon more times than I have done in my entire deaf life, which is quite something.
In the end London Aunt stepped in to translate and I finally got my meal...
and felt hungry 10 minutes later...
I know the nutritional answer for why McDonalds never fills you up, but it never ceases to amaze me how you can eat almost your entire calorie intake for one day and still fancy toast 10 minutes after finishing it.
IKEA and McDonalds – two things I don't understand – that look fulfilling from the outside but somehow leaving me feeling shellshocked and empty... respectively.
Hmmm think I'll have a salad for lunch and do some internet shopping.
and quite frankly, we didn't care.
There's something very weird about that place – I always get really excited about going and then as I trawl around the room views, I gradually get more and more dispirited. By the time I get to the market place my inspiration has gone and I end up putting some napkins and a bowl in my trolley that I never knew I needed. Very occasionally I will toy with the idea of buying a plant... but all my plants tend to die. So I don't.
What I don't understand though is why, at 9.30 at night, there are whole families in IKEA – is it the latest fun night out and I was the last to find out? While queueing for the checkout last night I had to clamber over no less than three squawking hyperactive toddlers while trying not to drop my bowl on their heads – would it be seen to be an accident I wonder?
I then had to contend with an entire family blocking the gangway as they excitedly added ketchup to their hot dogs and claimed their unlimited refills of fizzy pop.
London Aunt and I by this time were starting to lose the plot somewhat so she took me to McDonalds for tea. And it was there it all started to go wrong.
You see, I don't go for Maccie Ds much anymore – all I wanted was a cheeseburger, chips and diet coke. But the guy kept asking me all these questions. Through my IKEA brain fuzz I had absolutely no idea what he was saying and ended up saying pardon more times than I have done in my entire deaf life, which is quite something.
In the end London Aunt stepped in to translate and I finally got my meal...
and felt hungry 10 minutes later...
I know the nutritional answer for why McDonalds never fills you up, but it never ceases to amaze me how you can eat almost your entire calorie intake for one day and still fancy toast 10 minutes after finishing it.
IKEA and McDonalds – two things I don't understand – that look fulfilling from the outside but somehow leaving me feeling shellshocked and empty... respectively.
Hmmm think I'll have a salad for lunch and do some internet shopping.
Monday, 9 March 2009
Le wedding
Gosh, another weekend is over already and another week beginning! How on earth does time move so quickly nowadays? I remember as a kid everything took so long – days at school felt like an eternity, but equally, so did the summer holidays! So what is it about being an adult that makes the clock tick double time?
Anyway, if we pondered on that, we'd be here forever. So let's move on…
This weekend was absolutely fantastic, with perhaps the highlight being Friend-Who-Knows-Big-Words' wedding. It really was the most romantic occasion and she looked truly beautiful! There wasn't a dry eye in the house as her and French Boy promised to love, honour and cherish each other for the rest of their days, and I was thankful that I had put waterproof mascara on the both of us!!!! (I was the hair and make-up lady, you know!)
The wedding was so true to both Friend-Who-Knows-Big-Words and French Boy. There was no big production, no rambling sermons from vicars and, no speeches, which meant I could hear everything and felt like I really knew what was going on. At no stage in the day did I get the overwhelming urge to nod off due to the best man's 40-minute long PowerPoint presentation – mentioning no names here!
Then the partying began in earnest and, at 1am I could be found salsa-ing – badly – and drinking vast quantities of water out of a jug.
*cringe
However, this also meant...
No hangover on Sunday
Hurrah!
This was just as well, too as I was teaching London Cousin 2 how to make shepherds pie, in between bed moving and tea drinking with London Aunt.
Splendid, splendid!
And now the week begins in earnest... hopefully with the appearance of Micro Clog – who is now late. Tut, tut, that’s not very Dutch, is it!? He may take after Big Bro on the timekeeping front! And here we are back on the subject of time – I'm sure I'll blink at lunchtime and all of a sudden it'll be Friday again! Bring it on!
Anyway, if we pondered on that, we'd be here forever. So let's move on…
This weekend was absolutely fantastic, with perhaps the highlight being Friend-Who-Knows-Big-Words' wedding. It really was the most romantic occasion and she looked truly beautiful! There wasn't a dry eye in the house as her and French Boy promised to love, honour and cherish each other for the rest of their days, and I was thankful that I had put waterproof mascara on the both of us!!!! (I was the hair and make-up lady, you know!)
The wedding was so true to both Friend-Who-Knows-Big-Words and French Boy. There was no big production, no rambling sermons from vicars and, no speeches, which meant I could hear everything and felt like I really knew what was going on. At no stage in the day did I get the overwhelming urge to nod off due to the best man's 40-minute long PowerPoint presentation – mentioning no names here!
Then the partying began in earnest and, at 1am I could be found salsa-ing – badly – and drinking vast quantities of water out of a jug.
*cringe
However, this also meant...
No hangover on Sunday
Hurrah!
This was just as well, too as I was teaching London Cousin 2 how to make shepherds pie, in between bed moving and tea drinking with London Aunt.
Splendid, splendid!
And now the week begins in earnest... hopefully with the appearance of Micro Clog – who is now late. Tut, tut, that’s not very Dutch, is it!? He may take after Big Bro on the timekeeping front! And here we are back on the subject of time – I'm sure I'll blink at lunchtime and all of a sudden it'll be Friday again! Bring it on!
Friday, 6 March 2009
NikNak's fab party
Today is Thankful Friday. But let me get off my chest what I am not thankful for – mainly my red eye...
It seems somewhere between the last time I looked in the mirror and waking up, I burst some blood vessels and now I resemble something out of a horror movie.
OK, OK, I am probably exaggerating but how else do you explain having an empty seat beside me on the bus during rush hour!
*sniff!
And so, moving on – today I am thankful for the utterlly brilliant birthday party that we had for NikNak last night. She’s perpetually 21 you know.
Anyway, we had an entire restaurant to ourselves and it was so quiet and well lit, that Fab Friend and I could follow absolutely everything. The food was absolutely delicious and the service impeccable – right down the the free birthday cake they presented to NikNak. And the best bit – at 11pm it turned into our own private club – we had a DJ, a dance floor and not a single annoying lecherous man in sight!
As Hips Don't Lie came on, Shakira-Shakira did her stuff – most fantastically, too! I swear that the restaurant staffs' jaws almost dislocated as she shimmied her way around the room, hips flying this way and that, shoulders a-shaking. It was a formidable sight.
The Writer did a fantastic Britney tribute while I skipped around the room à la Lily Allen. Quite how the evening ended up being some sort of cabaret dance night I am unsure, but I laughed so much that I am wondering if that's how I burst a blood vessel in my eye!
And now I have the next party to look forward to – Friend-Who-Knows-Big-Words' wedding. Did I mention that she was getting married? Or that I am very excited?
And on that note, have a very nice weekend everyone.
It seems somewhere between the last time I looked in the mirror and waking up, I burst some blood vessels and now I resemble something out of a horror movie.
OK, OK, I am probably exaggerating but how else do you explain having an empty seat beside me on the bus during rush hour!
*sniff!
And so, moving on – today I am thankful for the utterlly brilliant birthday party that we had for NikNak last night. She’s perpetually 21 you know.
Anyway, we had an entire restaurant to ourselves and it was so quiet and well lit, that Fab Friend and I could follow absolutely everything. The food was absolutely delicious and the service impeccable – right down the the free birthday cake they presented to NikNak. And the best bit – at 11pm it turned into our own private club – we had a DJ, a dance floor and not a single annoying lecherous man in sight!
As Hips Don't Lie came on, Shakira-Shakira did her stuff – most fantastically, too! I swear that the restaurant staffs' jaws almost dislocated as she shimmied her way around the room, hips flying this way and that, shoulders a-shaking. It was a formidable sight.
The Writer did a fantastic Britney tribute while I skipped around the room à la Lily Allen. Quite how the evening ended up being some sort of cabaret dance night I am unsure, but I laughed so much that I am wondering if that's how I burst a blood vessel in my eye!
And now I have the next party to look forward to – Friend-Who-Knows-Big-Words' wedding. Did I mention that she was getting married? Or that I am very excited?
And on that note, have a very nice weekend everyone.
Thursday, 5 March 2009
The art of people watching
This morning I am typing this on my Pinkberry, on the bus, on my way to work, while sat next to a woman who is wearing a dead animal for a coat, velour tracksuit bottoms and Ugg boots.
Then, looking out the window in my morning haze, I saw the cutest thing.
It was a bicycle made for three! There, at the front was a mum and one behind the other sat her two children, all pedalling away as though their lives depended on it, which come to think of it, they probably did, given the large red bus that was coming in their direction.
Um…
Sorry, the dead-animal-wearing woman is momentarily distracting me. She's forcing me to be nosey about the EasyJet boarding pass held in her acrylic-nailed hand. Where is she going I wonder?
*Deafinitely Girly unsubtly cranes her neck...
Ah Malaga, and her name is Araminta. What need does one have for a dead animal in Malaga? Haha, my Pinkberry just did a spell check on Malaga and came up with slags!!!!
Ahem...
Wow, Araminta has the biggest collection of diamonds ever on her left hand, and for the last 20 minutes she's been chomping on Food Doctor nuts and seeds before using her acrylic nail to scoop them out of her molars.
This would probably annoy most people, but because I can't hear the crunching and slurping, I am just thrilled at the chance to people watch her – it really is making my journey go quicker.
I love people watching. Yesterday, Gingerbread Man met me for lunch and a catch up and we sat across from a square near my office, people watching. We saw a famous actress, lots of fashionistas, and the usual array of colourful people that grace my working neighbourhood. It was the most wonderful distraction and was fun to wonder if someone was doing exactly the same to us.
Oop, Araminta has just got her Blackberry out and is busily tap tap tapping away. I wonder what she's saying about me?
Teehee!
Then, looking out the window in my morning haze, I saw the cutest thing.
It was a bicycle made for three! There, at the front was a mum and one behind the other sat her two children, all pedalling away as though their lives depended on it, which come to think of it, they probably did, given the large red bus that was coming in their direction.
Um…
Sorry, the dead-animal-wearing woman is momentarily distracting me. She's forcing me to be nosey about the EasyJet boarding pass held in her acrylic-nailed hand. Where is she going I wonder?
*Deafinitely Girly unsubtly cranes her neck...
Ah Malaga, and her name is Araminta. What need does one have for a dead animal in Malaga? Haha, my Pinkberry just did a spell check on Malaga and came up with slags!!!!
Ahem...
Wow, Araminta has the biggest collection of diamonds ever on her left hand, and for the last 20 minutes she's been chomping on Food Doctor nuts and seeds before using her acrylic nail to scoop them out of her molars.
This would probably annoy most people, but because I can't hear the crunching and slurping, I am just thrilled at the chance to people watch her – it really is making my journey go quicker.
I love people watching. Yesterday, Gingerbread Man met me for lunch and a catch up and we sat across from a square near my office, people watching. We saw a famous actress, lots of fashionistas, and the usual array of colourful people that grace my working neighbourhood. It was the most wonderful distraction and was fun to wonder if someone was doing exactly the same to us.
Oop, Araminta has just got her Blackberry out and is busily tap tap tapping away. I wonder what she's saying about me?
Teehee!
Wednesday, 4 March 2009
Looking back…
Hurrah! We are halfway through the week and I am already getting excited about the weekend.
On Saturday, Friend-Who-Knows-Big-Words is getting married.
Friend-Who-Knows-Big-Words is one of my best friends – one of my ‘Inner Circle’ – if the BBC’s recent report on friendship is to be believed.
We were at school together and part of a group of four – the other two members were Best-Friend-And-Head-Girl and BeeBop.
Anyway, she's marrying French Boy and when she does, I will be the last unmarried one left out of all of us.
But when you look back at our high-school year book, it is kind of what we always expected! Best-Friend-And-Head-Girl 's entry said she'd be a primary school teacher – tick, be involved in the community – tick, be married to a lovely man – tick, and have babies – tick. The only thing that isn't right is she chose to do it all Up Norf.
Now, BeeBop... I think we said she'd get brilliant marks in her degree and then go off and do something totally unrelated – big tick. She's married to a Mr Jones and also lives Up Norf.
Then there was Friend-Who-Knows-Big-Words. We said she'd travel the world and fall in love with a gorgeous hunk called Brad – tick and half tick as I don't really think Brad would suit French Boy as a name – not really Gallic enough!
And then there was me. Well for starters they said my ideal man was Mr Happy... a fat, round and yellow individual... Ummmm… thankfully I haven't fulfilled this prophecy.
And they predicted that I'd be writing for Cosmopolitan from a padded cell. Ummmmm... Well to be honest, and rather alarmingly, that's not too far off the mark! Although you might want to skip the insanity part.
I really love finding predictions like these, made years ago and comparing them to my current situation. Not long ago, I found a notebook at The Rents' house full of angst-ridden teenage poetry from the time I was losing my hearing. It was fascinating looking back at a younger me, at my despair with deafness and almost misery at the situation. But then I found a section at the back, written in 1998. It said that in 10 years time I would be living in west London and working on a magazine. I also predicted that I'd be single...
Tick
Tick
and…
Tick
I love the fact that even though I was in despair about going deaf (haha, ahem sorry I just typed dead), I never even contemplated letting it get in the way of my ambitions.
I also love the fact that 10 years down the line, I'd be wise to take a leaf out of my younger self's book. And so, that's just what I am going to do.
On Saturday, Friend-Who-Knows-Big-Words is getting married.
Friend-Who-Knows-Big-Words is one of my best friends – one of my ‘Inner Circle’ – if the BBC’s recent report on friendship is to be believed.
We were at school together and part of a group of four – the other two members were Best-Friend-And-Head-Girl and BeeBop.
Anyway, she's marrying French Boy and when she does, I will be the last unmarried one left out of all of us.
But when you look back at our high-school year book, it is kind of what we always expected! Best-Friend-And-Head-Girl 's entry said she'd be a primary school teacher – tick, be involved in the community – tick, be married to a lovely man – tick, and have babies – tick. The only thing that isn't right is she chose to do it all Up Norf.
Now, BeeBop... I think we said she'd get brilliant marks in her degree and then go off and do something totally unrelated – big tick. She's married to a Mr Jones and also lives Up Norf.
Then there was Friend-Who-Knows-Big-Words. We said she'd travel the world and fall in love with a gorgeous hunk called Brad – tick and half tick as I don't really think Brad would suit French Boy as a name – not really Gallic enough!
And then there was me. Well for starters they said my ideal man was Mr Happy... a fat, round and yellow individual... Ummmm… thankfully I haven't fulfilled this prophecy.
And they predicted that I'd be writing for Cosmopolitan from a padded cell. Ummmmm... Well to be honest, and rather alarmingly, that's not too far off the mark! Although you might want to skip the insanity part.
I really love finding predictions like these, made years ago and comparing them to my current situation. Not long ago, I found a notebook at The Rents' house full of angst-ridden teenage poetry from the time I was losing my hearing. It was fascinating looking back at a younger me, at my despair with deafness and almost misery at the situation. But then I found a section at the back, written in 1998. It said that in 10 years time I would be living in west London and working on a magazine. I also predicted that I'd be single...
Tick
Tick
and…
Tick
I love the fact that even though I was in despair about going deaf (haha, ahem sorry I just typed dead), I never even contemplated letting it get in the way of my ambitions.
I also love the fact that 10 years down the line, I'd be wise to take a leaf out of my younger self's book. And so, that's just what I am going to do.
Tuesday, 3 March 2009
Three cheers for um… the BBC
Do you remember as a child being told by your mum that if you couldn’t say anything nice about something, you shouldn’t say anything at all? This was one of my Ma’s mantras when I was growing up and I do still try and be good and abide by her rule.
However, regular readers will know that I don’t always say nice things about people/companies who I think are failing deaf and hard of hearing people in some way, but usually it’s not without good reason. So I have added a sub clause to this old bit of advice stating exactly that.
But, I also believe that if you moan about something that subsequently changes, then credit should be given – and that’s what I am going to do today.
A while ago I posted my excitement about QI finally having subtitles on the BBC’s iPlayer. With the manicness of work, I hadn’t been back to check the development of this, until today, when I discovered that everything I clicked on was subtitled!
HURRAH!
This really is amazing – all that moaning, emails to the BBC and now look – subtitles. Now, don’t get me wrong – I am not taking the credit for this new development. I am hoping that it’s just a natural progression in the BBC making its content more accessible for deaf and hard of hearing people – but isn’t it great that I don’t have to moan about them anymore?
It gives me hope that in the long run, the battle to get more subtitled theatre and cinema will be won and I won’t have to learn things off by heart in order to follow them.
Take Friday, when I went to see Les Miserables in the West End. I first saw this when I was 17 and must confess, I fell in love with the music more than the plot – partly because I could follow the melodies but couldn’t hear the words. So I bought the music and learnt the words. As a result, when I saw it on Friday, the story unfolded in my head as much as it did on stage. I was almost in danger of singing along!
*cringe
However, I still can’t wait for the day that all the drama unfolds on stage instead. Here’s hoping…
However, regular readers will know that I don’t always say nice things about people/companies who I think are failing deaf and hard of hearing people in some way, but usually it’s not without good reason. So I have added a sub clause to this old bit of advice stating exactly that.
But, I also believe that if you moan about something that subsequently changes, then credit should be given – and that’s what I am going to do today.
A while ago I posted my excitement about QI finally having subtitles on the BBC’s iPlayer. With the manicness of work, I hadn’t been back to check the development of this, until today, when I discovered that everything I clicked on was subtitled!
HURRAH!
This really is amazing – all that moaning, emails to the BBC and now look – subtitles. Now, don’t get me wrong – I am not taking the credit for this new development. I am hoping that it’s just a natural progression in the BBC making its content more accessible for deaf and hard of hearing people – but isn’t it great that I don’t have to moan about them anymore?
It gives me hope that in the long run, the battle to get more subtitled theatre and cinema will be won and I won’t have to learn things off by heart in order to follow them.
Take Friday, when I went to see Les Miserables in the West End. I first saw this when I was 17 and must confess, I fell in love with the music more than the plot – partly because I could follow the melodies but couldn’t hear the words. So I bought the music and learnt the words. As a result, when I saw it on Friday, the story unfolded in my head as much as it did on stage. I was almost in danger of singing along!
*cringe
However, I still can’t wait for the day that all the drama unfolds on stage instead. Here’s hoping…
Monday, 2 March 2009
Here comes the sun…
Sometimes I wonder if I am solar powered…
I woke up this morning and it was so sunny I had to shut my curtains to put on my make-up as otherwise I was squinting so much I would have had massive crease lines in my foundation…
Classy bird, me!
So, I pootled off, still half asleep, to the bus stop and sat on top deck soaking up the sunny rays that streamed in through the window.
I didn’t even read, which for me is a rarity.
And, by the time I got to work I was nicely energised and ready to go – like a Duracell bunny, the one in the advert where he’s climbing and has to hoick all the other bunnies up the cliff face.
Yup that’s me… except I am not pink, nor do I have long ears, or big goggly eyes, or batteries strapped to my back…
Umm…
Anyway, it got me thinking. If I am solar powered then maybe my hearing will work better with some more sun. Maybe I am only deaf because my batteries are low on solar charge. In which case I need to book my summer holiday immediately or failing that, stick my head out of the office window to catch the remains of today’s sun, which is quite risky given my known clumsiness and the fact I work five floors up.
Do you know, when I was little, I used to wonder if maybe I was deaf because a spider had crawled in my ear when I was sleeping and it was getting in the way. Sometimes, even though I don’t like spiders much, I used to wish and wish that one day my doctor would pull out this giant spider from my head and all of a sudden I’d hear my violin again.
Clearly now I am a grown-up, I don’t think that anymore, but I like the idea of the solar-powered hearing theory – but like all thinkers, I should try and disprove the theory to test it’s merit. It’s a hard life but someone’s got to…
So now I just need some sunny destinations (and a big, fat wad of cash). Perhaps I should send myself some ideas on a postcard…
I woke up this morning and it was so sunny I had to shut my curtains to put on my make-up as otherwise I was squinting so much I would have had massive crease lines in my foundation…
Classy bird, me!
So, I pootled off, still half asleep, to the bus stop and sat on top deck soaking up the sunny rays that streamed in through the window.
I didn’t even read, which for me is a rarity.
And, by the time I got to work I was nicely energised and ready to go – like a Duracell bunny, the one in the advert where he’s climbing and has to hoick all the other bunnies up the cliff face.
Yup that’s me… except I am not pink, nor do I have long ears, or big goggly eyes, or batteries strapped to my back…
Umm…
Anyway, it got me thinking. If I am solar powered then maybe my hearing will work better with some more sun. Maybe I am only deaf because my batteries are low on solar charge. In which case I need to book my summer holiday immediately or failing that, stick my head out of the office window to catch the remains of today’s sun, which is quite risky given my known clumsiness and the fact I work five floors up.
Do you know, when I was little, I used to wonder if maybe I was deaf because a spider had crawled in my ear when I was sleeping and it was getting in the way. Sometimes, even though I don’t like spiders much, I used to wish and wish that one day my doctor would pull out this giant spider from my head and all of a sudden I’d hear my violin again.
Clearly now I am a grown-up, I don’t think that anymore, but I like the idea of the solar-powered hearing theory – but like all thinkers, I should try and disprove the theory to test it’s merit. It’s a hard life but someone’s got to…
So now I just need some sunny destinations (and a big, fat wad of cash). Perhaps I should send myself some ideas on a postcard…
Friday, 27 February 2009
And so…
Wow, it seems I was a bit premature about looking on the bright side of life yesterday… but enough about that, because after all, it is Thankful Friday and in the grand scheme of things, I can deafinitely find things to be thankful for.
High up the list is Fab Friend. She came over for dinner last night and was, well quite simply fab. She gave me balanced, considered advice and made me feel a whole lot better about stuff – and that’s got to be a good thing. Her full name is Fab Friend Who Actually Wears Her Hearing Aids and she’s the best pep talker when I am feeling like my hearing loss is a heavy yoke around my neck. Needless to say I woke up this morning feeling less like it is…
I am also thankful for the sun. Sun helps our bodies make vitamin D – which in turn ensures healthy bone development so at least I won’t be getting rickets any time soon.
Finally I am thankful for The Rents who are paying me a visit this weekend. It’s Ma’s birthday on Sunday and we are going to London Aunt’s for lunch to celebrate – it should be great.
Family are important when you’re not sure about much else – I know mine are always there when I need them and I’m very thankful about that.
I think, that as the news gets more doomy and gloomy, more people’s lives change course in ways they had never anticipated and the future takes on a new meaning, it’s a good idea to be thankful for those little things – they’re like the blobs on top of Lego that glue everything else together and stop it all tumbling down.
It’s not about the latest this, the latest that, whether you’ve ticked the boxes you expected to tick, or got where you wanted to go – it’s about remembering what’s really important, right here, right now.
And that’s really all I’ve got to say…
High up the list is Fab Friend. She came over for dinner last night and was, well quite simply fab. She gave me balanced, considered advice and made me feel a whole lot better about stuff – and that’s got to be a good thing. Her full name is Fab Friend Who Actually Wears Her Hearing Aids and she’s the best pep talker when I am feeling like my hearing loss is a heavy yoke around my neck. Needless to say I woke up this morning feeling less like it is…
I am also thankful for the sun. Sun helps our bodies make vitamin D – which in turn ensures healthy bone development so at least I won’t be getting rickets any time soon.
Finally I am thankful for The Rents who are paying me a visit this weekend. It’s Ma’s birthday on Sunday and we are going to London Aunt’s for lunch to celebrate – it should be great.
Family are important when you’re not sure about much else – I know mine are always there when I need them and I’m very thankful about that.
I think, that as the news gets more doomy and gloomy, more people’s lives change course in ways they had never anticipated and the future takes on a new meaning, it’s a good idea to be thankful for those little things – they’re like the blobs on top of Lego that glue everything else together and stop it all tumbling down.
It’s not about the latest this, the latest that, whether you’ve ticked the boxes you expected to tick, or got where you wanted to go – it’s about remembering what’s really important, right here, right now.
And that’s really all I’ve got to say…
Thursday, 26 February 2009
Always look on the bright side of life
Deafinitely Girly is feeling strangely emotional today. Perhaps it’s because she’s had a bit of a busy week with work, or is fighting the various bugs and ailments that are floating around the Capital.
Either way, nothing prepared me for the fact that I welled up while eating my breakfast and watching Neighbours. Big fat tears rolled down my cheeks as Harold Bishop struggled to come to terms with the fact that he’s dying of cancer…
*sniff
I can still remember when my bizarre but unashamedly-open love affair with this Australian daytime soap began. I was about 8 and it was when Mike (Guy Pearce) and Charlene and Scott (Kylie and Jason) were in it. The first episode I ever saw was when Lucy Robinson got stung by a bee…
Gripping stuff!
So anyway, yah, Harold is dying…
*sniff
I was still feeling oddly morose on my bus to work and this was coupled with mild irritation for the Chelsea Girl who kept flicking her blonde extensions in my face and smacking my knee with her stoopid bag.
She had the audacity to huff when I folded the paper I was reading and it encroached on her space, so I sent her silent thoughts of anger while I was welling up about David Cameron’s son Ivan dying – a heartbreaking story.
And then, like a bolt from the blue, a crazy sign of the funny side of life was revealed to me that actually made me laugh out loud – the Chelsea Girl by this point had moved seats, not keen to sit by the snivelling, laughing lunatic she clearly thought I was.
There, in Knightsbridge, was someone vaccuming the pavement with a Henry Vacuum Cleaner! Seriously, this lady was walking up and down outside Benetton, the little red vacuum at her heels, cleaning up London grime.
How brilliant is that?
It reminded me to ‘always look on the bright side of life’ – I’d like to whistle after saying this sentence but I can’t hear myself whistle, or anyone else for that matter, so I doubt it’d be very tuneful.
How about you do it for me…
Either way, nothing prepared me for the fact that I welled up while eating my breakfast and watching Neighbours. Big fat tears rolled down my cheeks as Harold Bishop struggled to come to terms with the fact that he’s dying of cancer…
*sniff
I can still remember when my bizarre but unashamedly-open love affair with this Australian daytime soap began. I was about 8 and it was when Mike (Guy Pearce) and Charlene and Scott (Kylie and Jason) were in it. The first episode I ever saw was when Lucy Robinson got stung by a bee…
Gripping stuff!
So anyway, yah, Harold is dying…
*sniff
I was still feeling oddly morose on my bus to work and this was coupled with mild irritation for the Chelsea Girl who kept flicking her blonde extensions in my face and smacking my knee with her stoopid bag.
She had the audacity to huff when I folded the paper I was reading and it encroached on her space, so I sent her silent thoughts of anger while I was welling up about David Cameron’s son Ivan dying – a heartbreaking story.
And then, like a bolt from the blue, a crazy sign of the funny side of life was revealed to me that actually made me laugh out loud – the Chelsea Girl by this point had moved seats, not keen to sit by the snivelling, laughing lunatic she clearly thought I was.
There, in Knightsbridge, was someone vaccuming the pavement with a Henry Vacuum Cleaner! Seriously, this lady was walking up and down outside Benetton, the little red vacuum at her heels, cleaning up London grime.
How brilliant is that?
It reminded me to ‘always look on the bright side of life’ – I’d like to whistle after saying this sentence but I can’t hear myself whistle, or anyone else for that matter, so I doubt it’d be very tuneful.
How about you do it for me…
Wednesday, 25 February 2009
Micro Clog um...blog
Tap, tap, tap, tap
I am impatiently awaiting the arrival of my new nephew Micro Clog who is due to make an appearance very, very soon. It’s quite exciting that I will soon be an Aunty of two Clogs – I will have to make sure I wear lots of rouge, long floaty garments and pinch their cheeks a lot when I see them before smothering them in big kisses.
But it’s quite scary to think that Mini Clog will actually be a Big Bro himself as he’s still so diddy. Apparently he knows all his numbers and colours in Dutch and English and is quite a little talker. He also tells off Big Bro when he does something wrong by saying, ‘No, Daddy, no, no, no!’ It’s nice to know that there’s someone else to tell off Big Bro now we are separated by the sea.
I also hope that Mini Clog is as great a big brother to Micro Clog as my Big Bro iss to me. I mean, I was quite an annoying little sister – I knocked Big Bro’s front teeth out, nearly broke his nose and insisted on wearing exactly the same clothes as him as I thought it would make us twins – in my defence I was about 4 years old and an avid Topsy & Tim fan at the time.
Anyway, I guess it’s a waiting game – Big Bro has confirmed his impatience in waiting to become a dad for the second time, too! There were suggestions of star jumps to kick start labour but thankfully he thought better than to make Maxi Clog jump up and down at almost 9 months pregnant.
However, being knowledgeable on this sort of thing, I can recommend, eating curry, going for a walk and um,
*blush
nipple twiddling
*double blush
Want to know more? You’re going to have to Google it I’m afraid…
I am impatiently awaiting the arrival of my new nephew Micro Clog who is due to make an appearance very, very soon. It’s quite exciting that I will soon be an Aunty of two Clogs – I will have to make sure I wear lots of rouge, long floaty garments and pinch their cheeks a lot when I see them before smothering them in big kisses.
But it’s quite scary to think that Mini Clog will actually be a Big Bro himself as he’s still so diddy. Apparently he knows all his numbers and colours in Dutch and English and is quite a little talker. He also tells off Big Bro when he does something wrong by saying, ‘No, Daddy, no, no, no!’ It’s nice to know that there’s someone else to tell off Big Bro now we are separated by the sea.
I also hope that Mini Clog is as great a big brother to Micro Clog as my Big Bro iss to me. I mean, I was quite an annoying little sister – I knocked Big Bro’s front teeth out, nearly broke his nose and insisted on wearing exactly the same clothes as him as I thought it would make us twins – in my defence I was about 4 years old and an avid Topsy & Tim fan at the time.
Anyway, I guess it’s a waiting game – Big Bro has confirmed his impatience in waiting to become a dad for the second time, too! There were suggestions of star jumps to kick start labour but thankfully he thought better than to make Maxi Clog jump up and down at almost 9 months pregnant.
However, being knowledgeable on this sort of thing, I can recommend, eating curry, going for a walk and um,
*blush
nipple twiddling
*double blush
Want to know more? You’re going to have to Google it I’m afraid…
Tuesday, 24 February 2009
Perilous exercise
Ow, ow, ow, ow, and ow!
Deafinitely Girly is in pain today and I am afraid to say, it’s self-inflicted and centred around her neck.
As I have mentioned in earlier blogs, my gym has closed thanks to the trusty Crossrail scheme and so I must find an alternative form of exercise. Now, as I write this, I can hear running fans everywhere clamouring about how I should just go for a jog outside – it’s free, it’s great exercise, etc, etc….
Whatever!
I don’t like running – I have never liked running and much as I hope that if I ever took it up, I would become one of those beanpoles who proclaims how they couldn’t run for 5 minutes before but now they can quite happily run consecutive marathons – deep down I know this is about as likely as me suddenly waking up to discover my legs have grown to a reasonable length and my calves have stopped being obese.
It’s not actually that I don’t like running, it’s that I hate it with a passion usually reserved for Big Brother wannabes.
I remember once on a cross country run at school, my teacher actually gave me a piggy back as I was taking so long he was worried he wouldn’t be home in time for dinner and his wife would be angry. Doing well in the annual school cross country race was getting back before nightfall and during the athletics season I made sure I shone in rounders for both my year and the year above so I was always too busy to be called upon for the long-distance races.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not completely unfit, I don’t think…
I don’t wobble when I walk, I can do 2 pull ups on the handrail on the tube, will quite happily walk for miles, my BMI is apparently spot on, and I only just have a double figures figure. But I would like to keep it that way…
So anyway, as I was saying, while on the search for a credit-crunch, running-free exercise mode, I found an old exercise video under my bed. I’ll give this a go, I thought and rammed it in my video player before attacking the moves with gusto. What I hadn’t allowed for was the weird positions my neck would end up in, in order to keep lipreading the enthusiastic instructor while doing my crunches, lunges and goodness knows what else – I don’t think I was this deaf last time I tried it. So while my other muscles are slightly tender after my workout, it’s my neck that’s really feeling the burn and it wasn’t in need of toning up in the first place!
*sniff
But on a plus, I am actually doing quite a lot of exercise at my desk today as I cannot turn my head from left to right. So, instead I have to turn my whole body, which if you think about it uses more muscle groups… so perhaps I will benefit after all!
Deafinitely Girly is in pain today and I am afraid to say, it’s self-inflicted and centred around her neck.
As I have mentioned in earlier blogs, my gym has closed thanks to the trusty Crossrail scheme and so I must find an alternative form of exercise. Now, as I write this, I can hear running fans everywhere clamouring about how I should just go for a jog outside – it’s free, it’s great exercise, etc, etc….
Whatever!
I don’t like running – I have never liked running and much as I hope that if I ever took it up, I would become one of those beanpoles who proclaims how they couldn’t run for 5 minutes before but now they can quite happily run consecutive marathons – deep down I know this is about as likely as me suddenly waking up to discover my legs have grown to a reasonable length and my calves have stopped being obese.
It’s not actually that I don’t like running, it’s that I hate it with a passion usually reserved for Big Brother wannabes.
I remember once on a cross country run at school, my teacher actually gave me a piggy back as I was taking so long he was worried he wouldn’t be home in time for dinner and his wife would be angry. Doing well in the annual school cross country race was getting back before nightfall and during the athletics season I made sure I shone in rounders for both my year and the year above so I was always too busy to be called upon for the long-distance races.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not completely unfit, I don’t think…
I don’t wobble when I walk, I can do 2 pull ups on the handrail on the tube, will quite happily walk for miles, my BMI is apparently spot on, and I only just have a double figures figure. But I would like to keep it that way…
So anyway, as I was saying, while on the search for a credit-crunch, running-free exercise mode, I found an old exercise video under my bed. I’ll give this a go, I thought and rammed it in my video player before attacking the moves with gusto. What I hadn’t allowed for was the weird positions my neck would end up in, in order to keep lipreading the enthusiastic instructor while doing my crunches, lunges and goodness knows what else – I don’t think I was this deaf last time I tried it. So while my other muscles are slightly tender after my workout, it’s my neck that’s really feeling the burn and it wasn’t in need of toning up in the first place!
*sniff
But on a plus, I am actually doing quite a lot of exercise at my desk today as I cannot turn my head from left to right. So, instead I have to turn my whole body, which if you think about it uses more muscle groups… so perhaps I will benefit after all!
Monday, 23 February 2009
Who gives an Oscar?
Anyone being paying any attention to the Oscars’ results that are littered over every news’ website and paper this morning? I have been purposefully and perhaps a little stubbornly, ignoring it all.
I don’t care whether Slumdog cleaned up on 7 out of 8 awards that it was nominated for, or that Kate Winslet finally won an Oscar…
And here’s why…
I couldn’t see any of the films that won, even if I wanted to, because movie subtitling is still so rubbish!
A quick look at the Now Showing section of Yourlocalcinema.com and it’s easy to see how impossible it is for deaf people to add to their film resume – for instance, at the cinema nearest me I can see um… absolutely nothing at all. Last week I could have seen Revolutionary Road at 5.10pm – except realistically I couldn’t as I have a job and taking holiday to see a movie is, quite frankly, ridiculous.
In all fairness there are Sunday showings of movies – 2 weeks ago they screened The Secret Of Moonacre and 3 weeks ago they showed the Oscar winner itself, Slumdog Millionaire… once, at 2.30pm.
How great is that? One subtitled showing of a movie acclaimed by all.
Anyway, being girly and um…
*blush
…into predictable, romantic chick flicks, I’d really like to see Confessions Of A Shopaholic, and I was excited to find that it’s showing at another, slightly less local, cinema at 3.15 and 5.45 on Tuesday 24 Feb – that’s tomorrow and oop, surprise surprise, I am at work!
Gingerbread Man once commented that I moan about the same things over and over in this blog and it’s always the same story – but that’s part of the point. It is always the same story – nothing is changing or getting better when it comes to visiting the cinema and being deaf.
So, I am off to pen a polite-ish email to the Bigwigs and ask them what they’re going to do about it!
I don’t care whether Slumdog cleaned up on 7 out of 8 awards that it was nominated for, or that Kate Winslet finally won an Oscar…
And here’s why…
I couldn’t see any of the films that won, even if I wanted to, because movie subtitling is still so rubbish!
A quick look at the Now Showing section of Yourlocalcinema.com and it’s easy to see how impossible it is for deaf people to add to their film resume – for instance, at the cinema nearest me I can see um… absolutely nothing at all. Last week I could have seen Revolutionary Road at 5.10pm – except realistically I couldn’t as I have a job and taking holiday to see a movie is, quite frankly, ridiculous.
In all fairness there are Sunday showings of movies – 2 weeks ago they screened The Secret Of Moonacre and 3 weeks ago they showed the Oscar winner itself, Slumdog Millionaire… once, at 2.30pm.
How great is that? One subtitled showing of a movie acclaimed by all.
Anyway, being girly and um…
*blush
…into predictable, romantic chick flicks, I’d really like to see Confessions Of A Shopaholic, and I was excited to find that it’s showing at another, slightly less local, cinema at 3.15 and 5.45 on Tuesday 24 Feb – that’s tomorrow and oop, surprise surprise, I am at work!
Gingerbread Man once commented that I moan about the same things over and over in this blog and it’s always the same story – but that’s part of the point. It is always the same story – nothing is changing or getting better when it comes to visiting the cinema and being deaf.
So, I am off to pen a polite-ish email to the Bigwigs and ask them what they’re going to do about it!
Friday, 20 February 2009
Teach yourself…
Today is Thankful Friday and a Google search proves I am not alone in celebrating Friday in this way. Pages and pages of results came up from bloggers left, right and centre proclaiming Thankful Friday – so many in fact, that I didn't show up until page 2!
*sniff
Today I am thankful for Sample-Sale-Pal – I work with her and last night, at a company awards ceremony, she was my translator! A comedian called Michael McIntyre was our host for the evening and he spoke faster than the speed of light and moved around even faster than that. I didn't have a hope in hell of hearing what he said. So, whenever anything was really funny, Sample-Sale-Pal would fill me in.
It's a bit frustrating missing out on things like this – comedians are hard to subtitle so even if I had stuck my neck out and shouted for more formal support at last night's awards, I am not sure there was anything they could have done to make it easier for me.
Plus, I think I am actually the only deaf person in my company... and that makes shouting for help at big events seem a bit weird. It’s kind of like saying, ‘Please do this for only me, even though it might inconvenience everyone else.’ And, that’s just not something I am good at doing at the moment.
When I was much younger and not quite as well acquainted with my deafness, I used to wish that I could be one of those people who went to the theatre, stayed awake for the whole play and came out knowing what they'd seen. I didn't put two and two together and realise that the reason I fell asleep was because I couldn't hear anything and that Shakespeare made no sense to me not because I didn’t get the language but, again because I couldn't hear anything – I just thought I was doomed to be uncultured forever.
But the problem is, I sometimes feel that being deaf does make me uncultured... I'd love to go to lectures at The National Gallery on Gainsborough and why so many of his paintings are unfinished, and see the latest plays and movies when I want to – not when an accessible version is aired once a year at their convenience and my inconvenience.
Sure I can read, which is why my bookshelf is groaning under the weight of a ton of reference books – right now I am reading unknown facts about England and it’s fascinating. God I am a geek…
But I guess, since I went deaf, I’ve always had to teach myself rather than glean info from other sources – I did it during my degree and even my A-levels – might explain some of my questionable grades and why I never contemplated being a teacher!
Hopefully one day in the future, Thankful Friday will be all about how fabulous it is that all movies are always subtitled, all plays have optional subtitles and all lectures come with transcripts or voice-activated subtitles. I know the technology is there – just got to convince people to use it now.
*sniff
Today I am thankful for Sample-Sale-Pal – I work with her and last night, at a company awards ceremony, she was my translator! A comedian called Michael McIntyre was our host for the evening and he spoke faster than the speed of light and moved around even faster than that. I didn't have a hope in hell of hearing what he said. So, whenever anything was really funny, Sample-Sale-Pal would fill me in.
It's a bit frustrating missing out on things like this – comedians are hard to subtitle so even if I had stuck my neck out and shouted for more formal support at last night's awards, I am not sure there was anything they could have done to make it easier for me.
Plus, I think I am actually the only deaf person in my company... and that makes shouting for help at big events seem a bit weird. It’s kind of like saying, ‘Please do this for only me, even though it might inconvenience everyone else.’ And, that’s just not something I am good at doing at the moment.
When I was much younger and not quite as well acquainted with my deafness, I used to wish that I could be one of those people who went to the theatre, stayed awake for the whole play and came out knowing what they'd seen. I didn't put two and two together and realise that the reason I fell asleep was because I couldn't hear anything and that Shakespeare made no sense to me not because I didn’t get the language but, again because I couldn't hear anything – I just thought I was doomed to be uncultured forever.
But the problem is, I sometimes feel that being deaf does make me uncultured... I'd love to go to lectures at The National Gallery on Gainsborough and why so many of his paintings are unfinished, and see the latest plays and movies when I want to – not when an accessible version is aired once a year at their convenience and my inconvenience.
Sure I can read, which is why my bookshelf is groaning under the weight of a ton of reference books – right now I am reading unknown facts about England and it’s fascinating. God I am a geek…
But I guess, since I went deaf, I’ve always had to teach myself rather than glean info from other sources – I did it during my degree and even my A-levels – might explain some of my questionable grades and why I never contemplated being a teacher!
Hopefully one day in the future, Thankful Friday will be all about how fabulous it is that all movies are always subtitled, all plays have optional subtitles and all lectures come with transcripts or voice-activated subtitles. I know the technology is there – just got to convince people to use it now.
Thursday, 19 February 2009
Good morning, bad morning
I have news: we have New Neighbours
I have bad news: After this morning they will hate me already, and this is why…
6am: Wake up feeling a little dry-mouthed after a lovely dinner with Clever Katie last night. Wander into kitchen missing the step and landing with a bang. Kitchen is above New Neighbour 1's bedroom – blindness and deafness first thing does not an elegant girl make.
6.03am: Turn on tap in kitchen and water comes out with a lunge, bang and wheeze – am pretty sure that for hearing people there's a high-pitched wailing accompanying it.
6.30am: Fall up the stairs with mug of tea and toast while trying to balance a glass of water in crook of arm. Wall now tastefully decorated with green tea and jam, New Neighbours privy to the crashes and colourful language uttered.
6.31am: Make mental note to self to use trays more often
6.40am: Attempt to tiptoe round room and succeed in slamming cupboard, getting drawer stuck and wrestling with it while it makes a weird grinding sound and covers my floor in sawdust.
6.41am: More colourful language
7am: Shower curtain falls down in bath – thankfully not while I am in there and makes a resounding crash that even I can hear. New Neighbours will definitely hear this.
7.01am: Pray that New Neighbours are a) also deaf b) at work already c) not already on their way upstairs to shout at me.
And so my morning continued in this similar fashion. I tripped over a pair of boots, sent my hairdryer flying in quite an impressive fashion and slammed the front door with excessive force when my scarf got caught in the letterbox. Cue more colourful language as I stomped downstairs only to miss the only working bus in South West London, forcing me to get on a rubbishy slow one with no subtitles to explain to me why we pointlessly sat at every bus stop for HALF AN HOUR.
*deep breath in
*deep breath out
But what's weird is that I love mornings, I am normally a morning person – perhaps tomorrow will be better...
I have bad news: After this morning they will hate me already, and this is why…
6am: Wake up feeling a little dry-mouthed after a lovely dinner with Clever Katie last night. Wander into kitchen missing the step and landing with a bang. Kitchen is above New Neighbour 1's bedroom – blindness and deafness first thing does not an elegant girl make.
6.03am: Turn on tap in kitchen and water comes out with a lunge, bang and wheeze – am pretty sure that for hearing people there's a high-pitched wailing accompanying it.
6.30am: Fall up the stairs with mug of tea and toast while trying to balance a glass of water in crook of arm. Wall now tastefully decorated with green tea and jam, New Neighbours privy to the crashes and colourful language uttered.
6.31am: Make mental note to self to use trays more often
6.40am: Attempt to tiptoe round room and succeed in slamming cupboard, getting drawer stuck and wrestling with it while it makes a weird grinding sound and covers my floor in sawdust.
6.41am: More colourful language
7am: Shower curtain falls down in bath – thankfully not while I am in there and makes a resounding crash that even I can hear. New Neighbours will definitely hear this.
7.01am: Pray that New Neighbours are a) also deaf b) at work already c) not already on their way upstairs to shout at me.
And so my morning continued in this similar fashion. I tripped over a pair of boots, sent my hairdryer flying in quite an impressive fashion and slammed the front door with excessive force when my scarf got caught in the letterbox. Cue more colourful language as I stomped downstairs only to miss the only working bus in South West London, forcing me to get on a rubbishy slow one with no subtitles to explain to me why we pointlessly sat at every bus stop for HALF AN HOUR.
*deep breath in
*deep breath out
But what's weird is that I love mornings, I am normally a morning person – perhaps tomorrow will be better...
Wednesday, 18 February 2009
I'm nearly 1
Well, my weekend in the country only served to fuel Friend Who Knows Big Words' suspicions that I am ALWAYS on holiday as she called me last night on my way home.
It was nice to have a long weekend and see The Rents and Gma. There was still snow on the ground when I got home on Friday night and it was only yesterday that it gradually began to melt away leaving everything looking quite tired.
Bring on spring I say!
It's quite nice starting work on a Wednesday though. It's such a quick little countdown to the impending weekend – of which I have a few high hopes for...
Watch this space.
A look at the calendar tells me that Deafinitely Girly's page of words is now nearly 1 year old... can you believe it? I am sometimes shocked that I am able to rabbit on day after day and that some of it is actually readable. But then I think about how much I talk and it all makes sense.
However, I often wonder where all these thoughts and feelings about deafness, life, love and general rants would have gone if I hadn't set up Deafinitely Girly. Would I have ended up, fit to burst with unpublished information, muttering away to myself as I walked along, people crossing the road to ignore me?
Anyway, I am thinking of having a birthday party for Deafinitely Girly's page of words – there will be cake of course and most probably a pub excursion – any excuse for the rebirth of Hoegarden Thursdays – so I will keep you posted.
Ta-ta for now. c",)
It was nice to have a long weekend and see The Rents and Gma. There was still snow on the ground when I got home on Friday night and it was only yesterday that it gradually began to melt away leaving everything looking quite tired.
Bring on spring I say!
It's quite nice starting work on a Wednesday though. It's such a quick little countdown to the impending weekend – of which I have a few high hopes for...
Watch this space.
A look at the calendar tells me that Deafinitely Girly's page of words is now nearly 1 year old... can you believe it? I am sometimes shocked that I am able to rabbit on day after day and that some of it is actually readable. But then I think about how much I talk and it all makes sense.
However, I often wonder where all these thoughts and feelings about deafness, life, love and general rants would have gone if I hadn't set up Deafinitely Girly. Would I have ended up, fit to burst with unpublished information, muttering away to myself as I walked along, people crossing the road to ignore me?
Anyway, I am thinking of having a birthday party for Deafinitely Girly's page of words – there will be cake of course and most probably a pub excursion – any excuse for the rebirth of Hoegarden Thursdays – so I will keep you posted.
Ta-ta for now. c",)
Friday, 13 February 2009
Going home
Today is Thankful Friday!
AGAIN!
Today I am thankful for one thing – that I am going home this weekend.
Gma is also going to my rents this weekend and apparently we’re going shopping as she wants some new clothes – hurrah to that I say. I wonder if she’s ready for the latest fashion of Harem Pants?
I haven’t been home since New Year, so it will be nice to relax, catch up with Ma and Pa, watch movies, play in the snow and entertain the moggies – who from what I’ve heard are less than impressed about the snow.
And that, today, is what I am thankful for, nothing more, nothing less.
Ooooh except that’s it’s Friday 13th – my lucky day.
Have a good one.
DG
AGAIN!
Today I am thankful for one thing – that I am going home this weekend.
Gma is also going to my rents this weekend and apparently we’re going shopping as she wants some new clothes – hurrah to that I say. I wonder if she’s ready for the latest fashion of Harem Pants?
I haven’t been home since New Year, so it will be nice to relax, catch up with Ma and Pa, watch movies, play in the snow and entertain the moggies – who from what I’ve heard are less than impressed about the snow.
And that, today, is what I am thankful for, nothing more, nothing less.
Ooooh except that’s it’s Friday 13th – my lucky day.
Have a good one.
DG
Thursday, 12 February 2009
OUCH
Guess what?
This morning my bus broke again! The doors stuffed up and as a result the driver kept coming out of his cabin and kicking them...
Delightful!
Today, I am nursing a bit of a sore ankle after an evening of Wii Fit at Gym Buddy's house! You see, since the announcement of the closure of our gym, we've been looking at other forms of exercise and last night, it was the turn of the Wii!
Now, truth be told, I was quite terrible at most of it. My virtual hulahoop kept falling to the ground, my tennis regularly saw me whacking the ball clean off the court, and my tightrope walking saw my little blonde Mii plumet to her death screaming!
*sniff
But, that is not why my ankle is sore. On arrival at Gym Buddy's house she explained that the reason why there was a Friends boxset in the middle of the hall floor was because there was a broken floorboard. I heard this information and an hour of Wii later, forgot it and, on my way to the kitchen put my foot through the floor and went flying, without my foot following.
Gym Buddy found me flailing wildly, one foot wedged between some pipe work, sock missing and dignity evaporated. It was not a pretty sight!
And so, I have skin missing on my foot and it's stinging. It's like the grazes you used to get as a kid when you were clumsy and never looked where you were going and were always in a hurry to do everything immediately.
I wonder when I will grow out of that phrase...
This morning my bus broke again! The doors stuffed up and as a result the driver kept coming out of his cabin and kicking them...
Delightful!
Today, I am nursing a bit of a sore ankle after an evening of Wii Fit at Gym Buddy's house! You see, since the announcement of the closure of our gym, we've been looking at other forms of exercise and last night, it was the turn of the Wii!
Now, truth be told, I was quite terrible at most of it. My virtual hulahoop kept falling to the ground, my tennis regularly saw me whacking the ball clean off the court, and my tightrope walking saw my little blonde Mii plumet to her death screaming!
*sniff
But, that is not why my ankle is sore. On arrival at Gym Buddy's house she explained that the reason why there was a Friends boxset in the middle of the hall floor was because there was a broken floorboard. I heard this information and an hour of Wii later, forgot it and, on my way to the kitchen put my foot through the floor and went flying, without my foot following.
Gym Buddy found me flailing wildly, one foot wedged between some pipe work, sock missing and dignity evaporated. It was not a pretty sight!
And so, I have skin missing on my foot and it's stinging. It's like the grazes you used to get as a kid when you were clumsy and never looked where you were going and were always in a hurry to do everything immediately.
I wonder when I will grow out of that phrase...
Wednesday, 11 February 2009
baaa-rmy
This morning I woke up and felt like I had never been to sleep – it was the weirdest feeling and not at all pleasant.
I lay there struggling to work out how my body had ignored the 6 hours of sleep I had given it but didn’t find an answer. So I got up.
My journey to work was marred by a broken-down bus – yesterday I was on a broken bus too, and I was also on a bus that got lost in South Kensington and ended up near Hyde Park – it made me very late. Is there a pattern forming?
This morning’s bus was chugging along just fine – I had a seat upstairs in the glare of the low morning sun but I knew that downstairs was stuffed to the gunnels with people from later stops than me.
And then, it stopped for quite a while, at a useless bus stop in Shepherds Bush. I sat there twiddling my thumbs and then, all of a sudden the bus driver announced something unintelligible down his mircrophone and there was a stampede to get off the bus.
Naturally the deaf girl in me thought the worst in the announcement (bombs, fires etc), especially as the descent of my fellow commuters down the bus stairs was far from leisurely, while the other bit of me stayed calm as I followed the baa-aaing sheep down the stairs.
My scorn of my fellow travellers doesn’t end there actually either – there we were, a heap of angry commuters waiting for the next bus. When it arrived I was quite near the door – the crowd surged behind me, an elbow clouted my head and a fist pushed the small of my back – forty people were trying to get on an already-full bus.
At first I wondered if I had missed something –was this the last ever bus of this number? Did these rude people’s lives depend on getting on this bus?
I quickly ascertained that I didn’t give a toss whether it was last ever bus or if their lives depended on it and burrowed my way out of the scrum. The bus left, so full that someone’s face was literally pressed up against the doors.
Two seconds later, a bus rounded the corner, empty – I boarded it and sat down, the warmth of the sun on my face allowing me to catch up on the sleep I felt like I didn’t have last night.
I lay there struggling to work out how my body had ignored the 6 hours of sleep I had given it but didn’t find an answer. So I got up.
My journey to work was marred by a broken-down bus – yesterday I was on a broken bus too, and I was also on a bus that got lost in South Kensington and ended up near Hyde Park – it made me very late. Is there a pattern forming?
This morning’s bus was chugging along just fine – I had a seat upstairs in the glare of the low morning sun but I knew that downstairs was stuffed to the gunnels with people from later stops than me.
And then, it stopped for quite a while, at a useless bus stop in Shepherds Bush. I sat there twiddling my thumbs and then, all of a sudden the bus driver announced something unintelligible down his mircrophone and there was a stampede to get off the bus.
Naturally the deaf girl in me thought the worst in the announcement (bombs, fires etc), especially as the descent of my fellow commuters down the bus stairs was far from leisurely, while the other bit of me stayed calm as I followed the baa-aaing sheep down the stairs.
My scorn of my fellow travellers doesn’t end there actually either – there we were, a heap of angry commuters waiting for the next bus. When it arrived I was quite near the door – the crowd surged behind me, an elbow clouted my head and a fist pushed the small of my back – forty people were trying to get on an already-full bus.
At first I wondered if I had missed something –was this the last ever bus of this number? Did these rude people’s lives depend on getting on this bus?
I quickly ascertained that I didn’t give a toss whether it was last ever bus or if their lives depended on it and burrowed my way out of the scrum. The bus left, so full that someone’s face was literally pressed up against the doors.
Two seconds later, a bus rounded the corner, empty – I boarded it and sat down, the warmth of the sun on my face allowing me to catch up on the sleep I felt like I didn’t have last night.
Tuesday, 10 February 2009
Happy Birthday Big Bro... and London Aunt
Ok, so yesterday was a no show on the blog front… but it wasn’t my fault! Honest! It was the fault of a broken-down train near Reading that slowed my arrival to London down and meant I didn’t have time before my afternoon at work started to write…
If I had have done, I would have waxed lyrical about the fab time I had with Onion Soup Mate, G, Big Top and Little Top. After travelling down first class – only the best for DG – I arrived rested and ready for a night in The Cider Bar. And what a night it was…
Cider it would seem is Deafinitely Girly’s truth drug – so if you want to know any secrets of mine, just ask Onion Soup Mate and G, they know them ALL!
*blush
Anyway, it really was the most splendid weekend – there was dinner out for Little Top’s birthday, trips to a strange shop called Trago that sold everything including the kitchen sink, and lots of tea, chats and delicious food.
I also made a startling discovery! Onion Soup Mate and G don’t have a TV but they do watch the BBC’s iPlayer quite a lot. On Sunday night they logged on, with me getting comfy with a book knowing I wouldn’t be able to hear it. But then, we discovered that the BBC have done what they promised and subtitled the iPlayer. I almost didn’t get to watch it as I passed out from the shock, but there they were clear as day on QI. It was marvellous and a great start in making things more accessible for deaf people.
Look at me, saying nice things about the BBC, whatever next?
But now, it’s back to reality – work and wotnot – but it’s OK really because today is a momentous date in the calendar. It’s Big Bro’s and London Aunt’s birthday! Big Bro is now
*whisper
THIRTY
and London Aunt is perpetually 21.
As Big Bro is far away in Clogland I had to send him his present but tonight I am having dinner with London Aunt, which I can’t wait for…
I love birthdays! Roll on mine!
If I had have done, I would have waxed lyrical about the fab time I had with Onion Soup Mate, G, Big Top and Little Top. After travelling down first class – only the best for DG – I arrived rested and ready for a night in The Cider Bar. And what a night it was…
Cider it would seem is Deafinitely Girly’s truth drug – so if you want to know any secrets of mine, just ask Onion Soup Mate and G, they know them ALL!
*blush
Anyway, it really was the most splendid weekend – there was dinner out for Little Top’s birthday, trips to a strange shop called Trago that sold everything including the kitchen sink, and lots of tea, chats and delicious food.
I also made a startling discovery! Onion Soup Mate and G don’t have a TV but they do watch the BBC’s iPlayer quite a lot. On Sunday night they logged on, with me getting comfy with a book knowing I wouldn’t be able to hear it. But then, we discovered that the BBC have done what they promised and subtitled the iPlayer. I almost didn’t get to watch it as I passed out from the shock, but there they were clear as day on QI. It was marvellous and a great start in making things more accessible for deaf people.
Look at me, saying nice things about the BBC, whatever next?
But now, it’s back to reality – work and wotnot – but it’s OK really because today is a momentous date in the calendar. It’s Big Bro’s and London Aunt’s birthday! Big Bro is now
*whisper
THIRTY
and London Aunt is perpetually 21.
As Big Bro is far away in Clogland I had to send him his present but tonight I am having dinner with London Aunt, which I can’t wait for…
I love birthdays! Roll on mine!
Friday, 6 February 2009
pinkberry update
Well today is thankful Friday and I am very thankful to be writing this blog on Pinkberry while whizzing through the snowy Wild West um Country on my way to see Onion Soup Mate and her hubby, G in Devon!
I am also thankful for First Class rail travel and the free tea and biscuits you get... Mental note to self: no more economy!
I'm very excited about the weekend...we're going to explore, drink pear cider, and I will get to see Big Top and Little Top, too!
Hurrah!
And on that note, have a good weekend too!
I am also thankful for First Class rail travel and the free tea and biscuits you get... Mental note to self: no more economy!
I'm very excited about the weekend...we're going to explore, drink pear cider, and I will get to see Big Top and Little Top, too!
Hurrah!
And on that note, have a good weekend too!
Thursday, 5 February 2009
Boats? Mountains? Eh?
When I say Gondola, do you say Venice or mountains?
Deafinitely Girly had a panic the other day when she was with Jenny M that she had had another ‘Versailllllllllles instead of Versigh’ moment.
Avid readers will remember my Christmas post about being stuck on a gondola in the middle of the French Alps as there was a fire at the lift station. Well, I was telling Jenny M (who isn’t an avid reader, tsk, tsk) about this story and she started to laugh at me… the kind of laugh where tears spurt out of the eyes and one goes the colour of beetroot.
She then informed me that gondolas were boats in Venice and not lifts in the French Alps.
OMG, I thought, matching her beetroot red colour but certainly not laughing – does this mean that I effectively told my readers I was stuck halfway up a snowy mountain in a long boat with a punt!?
*cringe
I wracked my brains desperately searching for the sense in the situation, wondering how I could have misheard, and misinterpreted and misunderstood two things that are so glaringly different and made a pact to amend my blog on Tuesday morning and remove any reference to boats in the Alps.
That was, until I saw SuperCathyFragileMystic and told her of my idiocy and she promptly informed me that gondolas are in the French Alps, too – and they are cable-car shaped!
*phew
And so I hit on Google this morning to confirm this and there it was: Gondola – a boat in Venice, Gondola lift – what I got stuck on in France! So if I am being precise here, I should really go back and add the word lift, but I won’t as perhaps a bit of ambiguity is a good thing.
It’s nice when you realise you haven’t made a massive cock-up – it’s reassuring to know that my IQ level hasn’t reached worrying low levels yet. But I should warn you, mishearing words is a frighteningly common occurrence in my life so if you hear or read me doing it, please drop me a line…
You know as a child I once shouted bugger at the top of my voice, much to the horror of my Ma, who gave me a jolly good telling off. I was really confused as I thought I had made up a new word that sounded like bother…
Then there was the time I got twit confused with something quite different that I can’t put here…
*blush
Deafinitely Girly had a panic the other day when she was with Jenny M that she had had another ‘Versailllllllllles instead of Versigh’ moment.
Avid readers will remember my Christmas post about being stuck on a gondola in the middle of the French Alps as there was a fire at the lift station. Well, I was telling Jenny M (who isn’t an avid reader, tsk, tsk) about this story and she started to laugh at me… the kind of laugh where tears spurt out of the eyes and one goes the colour of beetroot.
She then informed me that gondolas were boats in Venice and not lifts in the French Alps.
OMG, I thought, matching her beetroot red colour but certainly not laughing – does this mean that I effectively told my readers I was stuck halfway up a snowy mountain in a long boat with a punt!?
*cringe
I wracked my brains desperately searching for the sense in the situation, wondering how I could have misheard, and misinterpreted and misunderstood two things that are so glaringly different and made a pact to amend my blog on Tuesday morning and remove any reference to boats in the Alps.
That was, until I saw SuperCathyFragileMystic and told her of my idiocy and she promptly informed me that gondolas are in the French Alps, too – and they are cable-car shaped!
*phew
And so I hit on Google this morning to confirm this and there it was: Gondola – a boat in Venice, Gondola lift – what I got stuck on in France! So if I am being precise here, I should really go back and add the word lift, but I won’t as perhaps a bit of ambiguity is a good thing.
It’s nice when you realise you haven’t made a massive cock-up – it’s reassuring to know that my IQ level hasn’t reached worrying low levels yet. But I should warn you, mishearing words is a frighteningly common occurrence in my life so if you hear or read me doing it, please drop me a line…
You know as a child I once shouted bugger at the top of my voice, much to the horror of my Ma, who gave me a jolly good telling off. I was really confused as I thought I had made up a new word that sounded like bother…
Then there was the time I got twit confused with something quite different that I can’t put here…
*blush
Tuesday, 3 February 2009
These are a few of my favourite things…
If I am honest, I do quite like raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens – I mean a whiskerless kitten would be kinda weird – but they aren’t on my favourite things list.
Daffodils however, are! And I saw my first bunches for sale today when I slid out at lunchtime and found myself beaming at the sight of them. They really are the most smile-inducing flower in the world. I mean, there are carnations – which make me think of garages, gerberas – which just don’t look real, roses – which to be honest I find a bit scary, and orchids – which are just waaaay too high maintenance.
But daffodils – well there’s just something right about them. They’ve got a sunny disposition and simple attraction that other flowers just don’t have. It’s like they’re happy being the underdog of the flower world, as the bloom that costs the least in Tesco Express and would never find itself in a wedding bouquet.
Anyway, is anyone else missing the snow? I mean I know it’s still here, but it’s grey and slushy and downright nasty now. I want the white fluffy stuff back that made my car look like an iced Christmas cake and stopped London transport working! And I want a mountain in south-west London so that next time it snows I can get a bit of skiing in.
When I woke up this morning I was praying for all of the above, but instead, I got the subtitles on BBC Breakfast informing there was going to be destruction on the buses today. Quite alarmed I looked at SuperCathyFragileMystic, who’s staying with me right now, and she burst out laughing.
Turns out it was disruption on the buses – which there was – and people were so desperate to get on board, there was almost some destruction, too!
Daffodils however, are! And I saw my first bunches for sale today when I slid out at lunchtime and found myself beaming at the sight of them. They really are the most smile-inducing flower in the world. I mean, there are carnations – which make me think of garages, gerberas – which just don’t look real, roses – which to be honest I find a bit scary, and orchids – which are just waaaay too high maintenance.
But daffodils – well there’s just something right about them. They’ve got a sunny disposition and simple attraction that other flowers just don’t have. It’s like they’re happy being the underdog of the flower world, as the bloom that costs the least in Tesco Express and would never find itself in a wedding bouquet.
Anyway, is anyone else missing the snow? I mean I know it’s still here, but it’s grey and slushy and downright nasty now. I want the white fluffy stuff back that made my car look like an iced Christmas cake and stopped London transport working! And I want a mountain in south-west London so that next time it snows I can get a bit of skiing in.
When I woke up this morning I was praying for all of the above, but instead, I got the subtitles on BBC Breakfast informing there was going to be destruction on the buses today. Quite alarmed I looked at SuperCathyFragileMystic, who’s staying with me right now, and she burst out laughing.
Turns out it was disruption on the buses – which there was – and people were so desperate to get on board, there was almost some destruction, too!
Monday, 2 February 2009
Snow day and DG to the rescue
Wow!
Gee whizz
by gum...
Deafinitely Girly is overwhelmed by the weather - it's slightly mental don't you think?
Today I have been completely unable to get to work, along with most of my office... everything in London has stopped working, at least where I live it has and so, I am in the cafe across the road from me with Pink Top updating my blog.
Last night, when the snow began, Jenny M and I could hardly believe our eyes. At 10pm we were watching a DVD when suddenly I was aware of a low humming from outside my flat. But nothing prepared me for what I saw when I looked out of the window...
There, as far as the eye could see, was buses, big, red double-decker buses - bumper to bumper - it was quite incredible! Being an inquisitive sort, I went downstairs to see what was going on and found 26 forlorn bus drivers quite unable to go anywhere as the road had frozen over and a sliding bus is a dangerous thing. Worse still we discovered was that they were not allowed to leave their buses either.
And so there seemed only one thing to do - Jenny M and I made tea for everyone. Scraping together all my mugs and teabags we distributed steaming cups along the queue of teeth-chattering drivers, having a natter with them as we did so. Some of them were so cold that they hugged their mugs rather than drink the contents, while others downed their tipple in one!
And, once we had dealt with all the bus drivers, we gave some to the police officers as well, who when we asked them for their order were in the middle of a massive snowball fight with a load of drunks from the pub opposite! It was most surreal.
There was, rather wonderfully, something of a party spirit on my road, everyone chatting, laughing, pulling together. A guy from the flat down the road donated a packet of fig rolls and some more tea, while other people rallied around with other provisions.
Eventually Bus Recovery Engineers turned up and we watched in fear and wonder as they manouvered these humungous machines through the snow and ice with the bus drivers learning. As each one left, they waved, they promised Jenny M and me free bus travel for ever more and chugged off into the night.
It was sad to see them go and we were also faced with a mountain of mugs to wash up.
This morning there are no buses, there's no tube either from my snowbound part of London... it's earily quiet, earily white - I kinda like it!
Gee whizz
by gum...
Deafinitely Girly is overwhelmed by the weather - it's slightly mental don't you think?
Today I have been completely unable to get to work, along with most of my office... everything in London has stopped working, at least where I live it has and so, I am in the cafe across the road from me with Pink Top updating my blog.
Last night, when the snow began, Jenny M and I could hardly believe our eyes. At 10pm we were watching a DVD when suddenly I was aware of a low humming from outside my flat. But nothing prepared me for what I saw when I looked out of the window...
There, as far as the eye could see, was buses, big, red double-decker buses - bumper to bumper - it was quite incredible! Being an inquisitive sort, I went downstairs to see what was going on and found 26 forlorn bus drivers quite unable to go anywhere as the road had frozen over and a sliding bus is a dangerous thing. Worse still we discovered was that they were not allowed to leave their buses either.
And so there seemed only one thing to do - Jenny M and I made tea for everyone. Scraping together all my mugs and teabags we distributed steaming cups along the queue of teeth-chattering drivers, having a natter with them as we did so. Some of them were so cold that they hugged their mugs rather than drink the contents, while others downed their tipple in one!
And, once we had dealt with all the bus drivers, we gave some to the police officers as well, who when we asked them for their order were in the middle of a massive snowball fight with a load of drunks from the pub opposite! It was most surreal.
There was, rather wonderfully, something of a party spirit on my road, everyone chatting, laughing, pulling together. A guy from the flat down the road donated a packet of fig rolls and some more tea, while other people rallied around with other provisions.
Eventually Bus Recovery Engineers turned up and we watched in fear and wonder as they manouvered these humungous machines through the snow and ice with the bus drivers learning. As each one left, they waved, they promised Jenny M and me free bus travel for ever more and chugged off into the night.
It was sad to see them go and we were also faced with a mountain of mugs to wash up.
This morning there are no buses, there's no tube either from my snowbound part of London... it's earily quiet, earily white - I kinda like it!
Friday, 30 January 2009
Ladder quandary
Today is thankful Friday and mostly I am thankful for our work Christmas party, which is today!
With the hustle and bustle before Christmas we couldn't really fit it in so it was decided that we'd go for posh afternoon tea in Mayfair to cheer up grey January! Except the sun is shining, another thing to be thankful for… and it’s pay day!
My morning routine was much the same as it usually is, except I put on a dress
*gasp
And while munching on my toast and watching the news, the BBC once again came through in delighting me in the shockingly terribleness of their subtitles! It announced that one million tonnes of robbers are dumped in the capital every year...
Hmmmm, does a broken heart make a robber rob more? And does what they weigh really matter?
Anyway, I then journeyed to work on my usual bus and had a window seat. In a traffic jam I watched the most extraordinary thing... Human panic!
You see, there was a ladder blocking the pavement and a railing preventing people from walking around it, which meant that to walk along this main arterial route you had to go under it!
Now I have Googled the origin of the walking under ladders superstition, and this is what it says:
The early superstitious thought is that to walk under a ladder, and through the Holy Trinity, expresses disbelief in the trinity and that one is in league with Satan. Performing such an act, especially in early Christian times, could have gotten one labelled as a witch. Thus it could be extremely dangerous to walk under a ladder.
Well, I am pretty sure there are easier ways to be labelled a witch these days without having to walk under a ladder, but people really did seem quite spooked by the situation.
In the time that I was afforded a glimpse at the situation, several people walked under without batting an eyelid, more than most paused for a moment to consider what they were about to do, and one or two actually doubled back on themselves and took the considerable detour in order to avoid it!
As a fairly superstitious person – I never walk on three manhole covers, touch wood about most things and am never quite sure whether black cats are a blessing or a curse – I wondered what I would do in that situation...
Now I know the origins, I would probably walk under it – as long as there were no visible dangers, such as a wobbly pot of paint that could land on my head. But then, if anything bad did happen that day, I would wonder if perhaps that was to blame…
Odd isn't it! Especially as my lucky number happens to be 13!
With the hustle and bustle before Christmas we couldn't really fit it in so it was decided that we'd go for posh afternoon tea in Mayfair to cheer up grey January! Except the sun is shining, another thing to be thankful for… and it’s pay day!
My morning routine was much the same as it usually is, except I put on a dress
*gasp
And while munching on my toast and watching the news, the BBC once again came through in delighting me in the shockingly terribleness of their subtitles! It announced that one million tonnes of robbers are dumped in the capital every year...
Hmmmm, does a broken heart make a robber rob more? And does what they weigh really matter?
Anyway, I then journeyed to work on my usual bus and had a window seat. In a traffic jam I watched the most extraordinary thing... Human panic!
You see, there was a ladder blocking the pavement and a railing preventing people from walking around it, which meant that to walk along this main arterial route you had to go under it!
Now I have Googled the origin of the walking under ladders superstition, and this is what it says:
The early superstitious thought is that to walk under a ladder, and through the Holy Trinity, expresses disbelief in the trinity and that one is in league with Satan. Performing such an act, especially in early Christian times, could have gotten one labelled as a witch. Thus it could be extremely dangerous to walk under a ladder.
Well, I am pretty sure there are easier ways to be labelled a witch these days without having to walk under a ladder, but people really did seem quite spooked by the situation.
In the time that I was afforded a glimpse at the situation, several people walked under without batting an eyelid, more than most paused for a moment to consider what they were about to do, and one or two actually doubled back on themselves and took the considerable detour in order to avoid it!
As a fairly superstitious person – I never walk on three manhole covers, touch wood about most things and am never quite sure whether black cats are a blessing or a curse – I wondered what I would do in that situation...
Now I know the origins, I would probably walk under it – as long as there were no visible dangers, such as a wobbly pot of paint that could land on my head. But then, if anything bad did happen that day, I would wonder if perhaps that was to blame…
Odd isn't it! Especially as my lucky number happens to be 13!
Wednesday, 28 January 2009
Love in the time of…
Well, no, not cholera – as to my knowledge it’s not rife in London right now.
Anyway, I have never read this book and I must confess that until this morning, I didn’t even know anything about it, beyond the title that is. But it’s a title that I couldn’t get out of my head. Literally, it was buzzing around in my brain all morning like an annoying fly. I had a gut instinct that I needed to know about this book. So, I finally Googled it and read the synopsis.
And here it is:
Meet Fermina Daza, the main character of the story. Fermina easily rejects Florentino Ariza because his love seem naïve and instead weds Juvenal Urbino at the age of 21 – the age she told herself she would be married by. She chose Juvenal because he seemed to be able to offer security and love to her.
The cholera bit comes in, as Urbino is a physician, committed to the eradication of cholera. Urbino provides a stark contrast to the romantic Florentina, who let’s face it by the sound of it was Fermina’s great love.
Anyway, in the end, Fermina see a change in Ariza and their love is allowed to blossom once more in their old age. For most of the novel, their communication is limited to correspondence by letter; not until the end of the book do Fermina and Florentino converse at length.
What a waste of life! It’s not a dress rehearsal you know! And what’s with all this time limit stuff, woman!?
And, this is where I have been stuck in thought recently on this whole love scenario. You search for it – you find it – it proves to be not quite what you expected, so you give it up. Then, you settle for something in a panic you think will give you what you need because, after all, time is running out on whatever life plan you have drawn for yourself.
But this can never work – when does panic buying ever work? I have unworn clothes and shoes to illustrate this point! So then you ultimately realise you should have stuck with the love you deemed not quite right for the weirdest of reasons.
But what if love really can be thrown away for a whole lifetime? Is love really a fantasy – played out unrealistically through books and films – giving us unrealistic expectations?
Sometimes in daydreams, I imagine myself with hearing again – I imagine how it would change my life, I chase after that unattainable goal. And I think I, and a lot of other people are guilty of doing that with love, too.
Isn’t it about time we started going after the attainable? The real? I think I’ll go to Borders at lunchtime and buy that book – perhaps I can learn someone else’s lesson.
Anyway, I have never read this book and I must confess that until this morning, I didn’t even know anything about it, beyond the title that is. But it’s a title that I couldn’t get out of my head. Literally, it was buzzing around in my brain all morning like an annoying fly. I had a gut instinct that I needed to know about this book. So, I finally Googled it and read the synopsis.
And here it is:
Meet Fermina Daza, the main character of the story. Fermina easily rejects Florentino Ariza because his love seem naïve and instead weds Juvenal Urbino at the age of 21 – the age she told herself she would be married by. She chose Juvenal because he seemed to be able to offer security and love to her.
The cholera bit comes in, as Urbino is a physician, committed to the eradication of cholera. Urbino provides a stark contrast to the romantic Florentina, who let’s face it by the sound of it was Fermina’s great love.
Anyway, in the end, Fermina see a change in Ariza and their love is allowed to blossom once more in their old age. For most of the novel, their communication is limited to correspondence by letter; not until the end of the book do Fermina and Florentino converse at length.
What a waste of life! It’s not a dress rehearsal you know! And what’s with all this time limit stuff, woman!?
And, this is where I have been stuck in thought recently on this whole love scenario. You search for it – you find it – it proves to be not quite what you expected, so you give it up. Then, you settle for something in a panic you think will give you what you need because, after all, time is running out on whatever life plan you have drawn for yourself.
But this can never work – when does panic buying ever work? I have unworn clothes and shoes to illustrate this point! So then you ultimately realise you should have stuck with the love you deemed not quite right for the weirdest of reasons.
But what if love really can be thrown away for a whole lifetime? Is love really a fantasy – played out unrealistically through books and films – giving us unrealistic expectations?
Sometimes in daydreams, I imagine myself with hearing again – I imagine how it would change my life, I chase after that unattainable goal. And I think I, and a lot of other people are guilty of doing that with love, too.
Isn’t it about time we started going after the attainable? The real? I think I’ll go to Borders at lunchtime and buy that book – perhaps I can learn someone else’s lesson.
Tuesday, 27 January 2009
Food for thought…
Today, I met Gingerbread Man for lunch – he’s tanned from his holiday in Australia you know, and we had a nice catch up where he told me about his warm break and I told him about my snowy one, which thinking about it was an awful long time ago now.
*sniff
Anyway, he gave me some food for thought about how to approach things and fresh starts and what not, and I was quite impressed by his advice. It wasn’t just meeting him today though – it was a big culmination of events that made today as good a day as any for new beginnings, for moving on.
And so, I am going to put it into practise – hopefully with successful results…
Guess you’ll read all about it here!
*sniff
Anyway, he gave me some food for thought about how to approach things and fresh starts and what not, and I was quite impressed by his advice. It wasn’t just meeting him today though – it was a big culmination of events that made today as good a day as any for new beginnings, for moving on.
And so, I am going to put it into practise – hopefully with successful results…
Guess you’ll read all about it here!
Monday, 26 January 2009
Weird wellies
Happy Monday everyone.
I had the most fabulously brilliant weekend, which contained a nice balance of everything: shopping; chatting; chilling; eating; tea drinking and um, other drinking; partying; dancing, and most importantly, sleeping! No weekend is complete without all these elements and it was extremely satisfying that I was able to cram them into two little days.
On Saturday, I decided to give Westfield another chance and went there with Friend Who Knows Big Words. She’s getting married soon and needed some shoes to go with her outfit, so I volunteered to help her find them. And, I must concede that Westfield is not actually as bad as I may have first portrayed. After all, it does exactly what a shopping centre should do – has everything under one roof and the kind of surreal lighting that makes you feel like slipping into a coma after only 20 minutes of being there.
Being a shoe expert, we soon found shoes suitable to say ‘I do’ in, and even found the enthusiasm to peruse more shops.
Do you ever find that when shopping with friends, you notice the most random things and often end up buying them, when you know perfectly well that if you were alone, common sense would prevail and you’d talk yourself out of it?
Well, that’s what happened after my five-hour shopping trip, by which time I was starting to get a little delirious and in need of a good strong um: cup of tea, man, drink (*delete where applicable)
*I personally vote option two
Anyway, where was I? Ah yes, I ended up coming away from my Westfield shopping trip with some Wellington boots!
But, these aren’t just Wellington boots; these are the weirdest wellies you will ever see! They look like Converse trainers except they aren’t, and they’re rubber, and they’re boots and do you know what else?
I bloody love them! Friend Who Knows Big Words loves them, too – which is perhaps why I didn’t even ponder over whether I should buy them. Normally I would have lamented that there weren’t any pink ones – but that day, even the navy pair seemed acceptable!
The other thing I love about them is that I can pretty much guarantee that I will be the only person with a pair as I think that I am pretty much alone in my love for them…
And, originality in a city of nearly 8 million people really is priceless.
For everything else, there’s MasterCard…
*drum riff!
I had the most fabulously brilliant weekend, which contained a nice balance of everything: shopping; chatting; chilling; eating; tea drinking and um, other drinking; partying; dancing, and most importantly, sleeping! No weekend is complete without all these elements and it was extremely satisfying that I was able to cram them into two little days.
On Saturday, I decided to give Westfield another chance and went there with Friend Who Knows Big Words. She’s getting married soon and needed some shoes to go with her outfit, so I volunteered to help her find them. And, I must concede that Westfield is not actually as bad as I may have first portrayed. After all, it does exactly what a shopping centre should do – has everything under one roof and the kind of surreal lighting that makes you feel like slipping into a coma after only 20 minutes of being there.
Being a shoe expert, we soon found shoes suitable to say ‘I do’ in, and even found the enthusiasm to peruse more shops.
Do you ever find that when shopping with friends, you notice the most random things and often end up buying them, when you know perfectly well that if you were alone, common sense would prevail and you’d talk yourself out of it?
Well, that’s what happened after my five-hour shopping trip, by which time I was starting to get a little delirious and in need of a good strong um: cup of tea, man, drink (*delete where applicable)
*I personally vote option two
Anyway, where was I? Ah yes, I ended up coming away from my Westfield shopping trip with some Wellington boots!
But, these aren’t just Wellington boots; these are the weirdest wellies you will ever see! They look like Converse trainers except they aren’t, and they’re rubber, and they’re boots and do you know what else?
I bloody love them! Friend Who Knows Big Words loves them, too – which is perhaps why I didn’t even ponder over whether I should buy them. Normally I would have lamented that there weren’t any pink ones – but that day, even the navy pair seemed acceptable!
The other thing I love about them is that I can pretty much guarantee that I will be the only person with a pair as I think that I am pretty much alone in my love for them…
And, originality in a city of nearly 8 million people really is priceless.
For everything else, there’s MasterCard…
*drum riff!
Friday, 23 January 2009
Hurrah for Friday
Today, is Thankful Friday!
Hurrah, fantastic and three cheers I say!
Last night we went out to celebrate The Writer’s birthday – it was a very civilised affair naturally and Clever Katie, Shakira Shakira and Penelope Cruz-a-like came, too.
We started in a bar in Mayfair and ordered cocktails – the guys next to us kept staring and it was only when we left, two hours later that one of them asked me – are you Girls Aloud?
Hahahaha ahem…
Anyway, this led to a lengthy discussion about who looked like who, with none of us wanting to look like Sarah or Nicola!
In the next bar, The Writer and I directed a man looking for coke to the cloakroom as we misheard him. Cloak/coke – it’s easily done! He looked slightly baffled but joined the queue anyway before repeating his question and then running off when he saw the looks of horror on our faces.
I am also thankful that Gingerbread Man is back from his travels – as I want to hear all about them. I am not thankful however that he is threatening to emigrate…
It's bad enough that Earthenware Man did that without Gingerbread Man following...
*sniff
Hurrah, fantastic and three cheers I say!
Last night we went out to celebrate The Writer’s birthday – it was a very civilised affair naturally and Clever Katie, Shakira Shakira and Penelope Cruz-a-like came, too.
We started in a bar in Mayfair and ordered cocktails – the guys next to us kept staring and it was only when we left, two hours later that one of them asked me – are you Girls Aloud?
Hahahaha ahem…
Anyway, this led to a lengthy discussion about who looked like who, with none of us wanting to look like Sarah or Nicola!
In the next bar, The Writer and I directed a man looking for coke to the cloakroom as we misheard him. Cloak/coke – it’s easily done! He looked slightly baffled but joined the queue anyway before repeating his question and then running off when he saw the looks of horror on our faces.
I am also thankful that Gingerbread Man is back from his travels – as I want to hear all about them. I am not thankful however that he is threatening to emigrate…
It's bad enough that Earthenware Man did that without Gingerbread Man following...
*sniff
Thursday, 22 January 2009
Sleep? what sleep!?
Something I have always taken for granted is a good night's sleep. While some of my friends, The Writer, for example, regularly have trouble getting enough shut eye, I have always found that I sleep as soon as my head hits the pillow, often before, and I awake full of beans seven hours later.
But this week, something very odd is going on. Sunday night, the weather woke me up. It's so weird being deaf but being woken up by noise – it makes me feel like a bit of fraud – but I can promise you that the howling wind and lashing rain really was loud enough to wake this deaf girl.
Monday, I went walkabout – I don't remember this and wasn't even aware I had been sonambulating, except my TV remote was over the other side of my room and my cupboard door was wide open.
By Tuesday, I'd had enough and didn't let my head hit the pillow until it had been drenched with Champneys' Pillow Mist – a calming blend of essential oils. And so I eventually drifted off… into nightmare after nightmare – there were hideous scenarios at work, fire alarms at home and worst of all, I smashed a mirror.
Now, what I want to know is – if you smash a mirror in your dreams, is that then 7 years bad dreams?
So, last night I decided to drench my entire bed in Champney's Pillow Mist – I felt like I had fallen into a vat of essential oils and inbetween not being able to breathe from the smell of lavender and trying not to stress about the broken mirror, I tried to go to sleep.
I tried…
and tried…
and tried…
until finally…
zzzzzzzzzzzz
BUT THEN: At 1am I woke up convinced it was morning...
It wasn't.
At 5am I woke up to discover I had caught a cold overnight – had I sonambulated in the direction of someone who was infectious and snogged them in my sleep?!
and then…
I finally fell into the deepest sleep ever. I slept through my alarm clock vibrating it's way across my mattress, through New Housemate's front door slamming and as a result, this saw me breaking a new record of bed to dressed in about three minutes which, considering my head feels fuzzier than Elmo's, is pretty impressive I think.
Tonight, I am going to make myself deafer and try earplugs – The Writer, whose birthday it is today (HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!!), swears by them…
Bring on bedtime.
But this week, something very odd is going on. Sunday night, the weather woke me up. It's so weird being deaf but being woken up by noise – it makes me feel like a bit of fraud – but I can promise you that the howling wind and lashing rain really was loud enough to wake this deaf girl.
Monday, I went walkabout – I don't remember this and wasn't even aware I had been sonambulating, except my TV remote was over the other side of my room and my cupboard door was wide open.
By Tuesday, I'd had enough and didn't let my head hit the pillow until it had been drenched with Champneys' Pillow Mist – a calming blend of essential oils. And so I eventually drifted off… into nightmare after nightmare – there were hideous scenarios at work, fire alarms at home and worst of all, I smashed a mirror.
Now, what I want to know is – if you smash a mirror in your dreams, is that then 7 years bad dreams?
So, last night I decided to drench my entire bed in Champney's Pillow Mist – I felt like I had fallen into a vat of essential oils and inbetween not being able to breathe from the smell of lavender and trying not to stress about the broken mirror, I tried to go to sleep.
I tried…
and tried…
and tried…
until finally…
zzzzzzzzzzzz
BUT THEN: At 1am I woke up convinced it was morning...
It wasn't.
At 5am I woke up to discover I had caught a cold overnight – had I sonambulated in the direction of someone who was infectious and snogged them in my sleep?!
and then…
I finally fell into the deepest sleep ever. I slept through my alarm clock vibrating it's way across my mattress, through New Housemate's front door slamming and as a result, this saw me breaking a new record of bed to dressed in about three minutes which, considering my head feels fuzzier than Elmo's, is pretty impressive I think.
Tonight, I am going to make myself deafer and try earplugs – The Writer, whose birthday it is today (HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!!), swears by them…
Bring on bedtime.
Wednesday, 21 January 2009
No more chocolate for breakfast
Last week, most Londoners would have read about the Astoria, an incredibly historic music venue being closed to make way for Crossrail – the tunnelling project under London that won't be open for years and is costing billions of pounds, and will probably result in a train service that's too expensive, breaks down and is always late.
*squeak
I was sad, for a brief moment, and then I looked on the bright side – at least Crossrail wasn't affecting me (I blush to confess that I'm a bit of NIMBY at times), and at least by 2017, I would have a chauffeur-driven car, or be writing from home, the shelves of my study lined with my best-selling novels.
*ahem, back to reality...
Anyway, so on Tuesday, I got up at stupid o'clock and made my way to my gym. I actually love going there – the walls are bright purple and it closes for 4 hours at lunch for absolutely no reason.
It has the laid-back feel of a 1950s holiday camp – like the one in Dirty Dancing and the friendliness of the bar in Cheers where everybody knows your name. Do you know, it's the first gym I have ever enjoyed going to, too! no more slacking off and wasting my membership fee – I finally thought I'd cracked this exercise lark!
Rather crucially, it's also my solution to eating chocolate for breakfast and not bursting out of my clothes like a blonde, non-green Incredible Hulk.
Crikey, I am rambling this morning – perhaps the lack of post yesterday has given me every such a lot to say today.
So, as I was saying, imagine my dismay when I discovered that my gym is closing!
*mental note to self – no more chocolate for breakfast until a solution is found.
Apparently, Cross-bloody-rail are knocking the building down to make room for a swanky new station.
But how is that going to help me maintain my nearly-almost single-figure figure? Must I resort to running up and down the escalators of this swanky new station in 2017, when they finally finish it?
By then I will be the width of an escalator from lack of exercise and will probably get wedged between the moving handrail and need to be winched out by the fire brigade...
*ahem, again… back to reality.
Rather than be faced with this uncertain fate, I am joining the fight to save my gym...
I'm off now to compose a carefully-worded letter to several big wigs to say how cross I am with um... Crossrail (how apt)…
so, watch this space
*squeak
I was sad, for a brief moment, and then I looked on the bright side – at least Crossrail wasn't affecting me (I blush to confess that I'm a bit of NIMBY at times), and at least by 2017, I would have a chauffeur-driven car, or be writing from home, the shelves of my study lined with my best-selling novels.
*ahem, back to reality...
Anyway, so on Tuesday, I got up at stupid o'clock and made my way to my gym. I actually love going there – the walls are bright purple and it closes for 4 hours at lunch for absolutely no reason.
It has the laid-back feel of a 1950s holiday camp – like the one in Dirty Dancing and the friendliness of the bar in Cheers where everybody knows your name. Do you know, it's the first gym I have ever enjoyed going to, too! no more slacking off and wasting my membership fee – I finally thought I'd cracked this exercise lark!
Rather crucially, it's also my solution to eating chocolate for breakfast and not bursting out of my clothes like a blonde, non-green Incredible Hulk.
Crikey, I am rambling this morning – perhaps the lack of post yesterday has given me every such a lot to say today.
So, as I was saying, imagine my dismay when I discovered that my gym is closing!
*mental note to self – no more chocolate for breakfast until a solution is found.
Apparently, Cross-bloody-rail are knocking the building down to make room for a swanky new station.
But how is that going to help me maintain my nearly-almost single-figure figure? Must I resort to running up and down the escalators of this swanky new station in 2017, when they finally finish it?
By then I will be the width of an escalator from lack of exercise and will probably get wedged between the moving handrail and need to be winched out by the fire brigade...
*ahem, again… back to reality.
Rather than be faced with this uncertain fate, I am joining the fight to save my gym...
I'm off now to compose a carefully-worded letter to several big wigs to say how cross I am with um... Crossrail (how apt)…
so, watch this space
Tuesday, 20 January 2009
Monday, 19 January 2009
Blue Monday
So today is the gloomiest day of the year apparently if BBC Breakfast is to be believed. The weather peeps are giving out severe weather warnings like sweeties and travel chaos is abundant across the country.
I am actually writing today's blog from the bus. It's a very full bus and, if it were not for the subtitles, I would have no idea where we are as the windows are completely steamed up.
Now, I am an empathetic person, I catch yawns from animals you know, so I thought I would have a glance around at my travelling companions to see if anyone is showing any obvious signs that today is Blue Monday.
My neighbour on the bus is a 40-something woman reading the Daily Mirror and to be fair she looks happy enough to be reading the fluffy version of the news. Adjacent from me is a pensive looking chap in his 30s who definitely looks a little sad and is clutching a handbook to something but his hand is obscuring the title.
Across the aisle and several rows in front of me is a woman who is either smiling or grimacing, or was born like that... the jury's out on that one. But I can conclude that on the whole, no one looks like they wish they were hanging from their shower rod instead of being here. But then, that could be because those who wished they were, actually are.
Hmmm on to less droll things…
Um...
Ah... Hmmm… Well…
I am actually writing today's blog from the bus. It's a very full bus and, if it were not for the subtitles, I would have no idea where we are as the windows are completely steamed up.
Now, I am an empathetic person, I catch yawns from animals you know, so I thought I would have a glance around at my travelling companions to see if anyone is showing any obvious signs that today is Blue Monday.
My neighbour on the bus is a 40-something woman reading the Daily Mirror and to be fair she looks happy enough to be reading the fluffy version of the news. Adjacent from me is a pensive looking chap in his 30s who definitely looks a little sad and is clutching a handbook to something but his hand is obscuring the title.
Across the aisle and several rows in front of me is a woman who is either smiling or grimacing, or was born like that... the jury's out on that one. But I can conclude that on the whole, no one looks like they wish they were hanging from their shower rod instead of being here. But then, that could be because those who wished they were, actually are.
Hmmm on to less droll things…
Um...
Ah... Hmmm… Well…
Friday, 16 January 2009
Neighbours, everybody needs CLOTHED Neighbours
Ok, so today is Thankful Friday, and let’s keep this short and sweet shall we…
Mostly, I am thankful that it is Friday and I made it through the turbulent week unscathed.
I am also thankful that the latest hearing blip means I now sleep through the bin collections at 6am – hurrah! No more waking and thinking the end of the world is nigh!
However, there is one thing I am not thankful for…
Ugly Naked Neighbour!
I thought I had been saved, as it appears someone bought her a blind for Christmas and recently the slats have been closed, giving me respite from her voluptuous and mostly-naked bosom.
Until this morning…
There I was, full of the joys of Friday, midway through a mouthful of toast, about to open my curtains unaware of the sight on the other side.
And there she was in full (un)resplendent, naked glory wandering around her living room, bosom swinging.
The rest of my breakfast went in the bin and I have resolved to open my curtains with my eyes closed from now on.
Mental note to self:
Send a blackout blind to Ugly Naked Neighbour next Christmas.
Mostly, I am thankful that it is Friday and I made it through the turbulent week unscathed.
I am also thankful that the latest hearing blip means I now sleep through the bin collections at 6am – hurrah! No more waking and thinking the end of the world is nigh!
However, there is one thing I am not thankful for…
Ugly Naked Neighbour!
I thought I had been saved, as it appears someone bought her a blind for Christmas and recently the slats have been closed, giving me respite from her voluptuous and mostly-naked bosom.
Until this morning…
There I was, full of the joys of Friday, midway through a mouthful of toast, about to open my curtains unaware of the sight on the other side.
And there she was in full (un)resplendent, naked glory wandering around her living room, bosom swinging.
The rest of my breakfast went in the bin and I have resolved to open my curtains with my eyes closed from now on.
Mental note to self:
Send a blackout blind to Ugly Naked Neighbour next Christmas.
Thursday, 15 January 2009
Compulsory phone calls suck
Phew! Deafinitely Girly has had a bit of a stressful morning, and it involved compulsory phone calls.
Now, I don’t make these very often, but there are occasions when I must – actually there is only one occasion and that is when I need to contact my bank. You see, they won’t speak to anyone else – unless I declare someone for this job and sign a form – but this is a big ask for the other person.
Anyway, yesterday evening while I was at the gym and before meeting SuperCathyFragileMystic for dinner, I missed a call from Arminta at HSBC to inform me of fraud on my card.
ARGH, I thought, and rang them straight away.
I immediately informed the HSBC bod that I was hard of hearing and they spoke as clearly as they could and told me they had received information from the fraud team to stop my card.
Aaah, I thought. That would explain why I couldn’t book my Very Exciting Easyjet Tickets that afternoon. I told the HSBC bod about this and they said that if I rang them this morning they could unlock my card and I could make that one booking on my card…
So that was what I did…
And it didn’t work…
So I rang back and got someone who didn’t speak slowly or clearly for me and had a completely unintelligible accent.
Anyway, it turned out that although HSBC were allowing my card through, Easyjet would not – they obviously have a big black mark by my details now…
And then,
*squeak
the price went up on my tickets
Very frustrating, so frustrating in fact that I began leaking salt water from my eyes – terribly embarrassing to do this in your place of work don’t you think? This did not go unnoticed and one of my lovely colleagues stepped in and bought my tickets on her credit card.
It was one of the most amazingly nice thing anyone has ever done for me and it nearly set me off crying again!
But that’s not the only piece of news I have this morning. It would seem that the BBC are branching out into condiments.
*eh?
Yup, if the subtitles are to be believed on BBC Breakfast this morning, it’s a top-secret recipe, too. While watching a bulletin on child services, I was informed that the BBC were protecting the identity of the sauce…
This kind of consistent crapness never ceases to make me smile.
Now, I don’t make these very often, but there are occasions when I must – actually there is only one occasion and that is when I need to contact my bank. You see, they won’t speak to anyone else – unless I declare someone for this job and sign a form – but this is a big ask for the other person.
Anyway, yesterday evening while I was at the gym and before meeting SuperCathyFragileMystic for dinner, I missed a call from Arminta at HSBC to inform me of fraud on my card.
ARGH, I thought, and rang them straight away.
I immediately informed the HSBC bod that I was hard of hearing and they spoke as clearly as they could and told me they had received information from the fraud team to stop my card.
Aaah, I thought. That would explain why I couldn’t book my Very Exciting Easyjet Tickets that afternoon. I told the HSBC bod about this and they said that if I rang them this morning they could unlock my card and I could make that one booking on my card…
So that was what I did…
And it didn’t work…
So I rang back and got someone who didn’t speak slowly or clearly for me and had a completely unintelligible accent.
Anyway, it turned out that although HSBC were allowing my card through, Easyjet would not – they obviously have a big black mark by my details now…
And then,
*squeak
the price went up on my tickets
Very frustrating, so frustrating in fact that I began leaking salt water from my eyes – terribly embarrassing to do this in your place of work don’t you think? This did not go unnoticed and one of my lovely colleagues stepped in and bought my tickets on her credit card.
It was one of the most amazingly nice thing anyone has ever done for me and it nearly set me off crying again!
But that’s not the only piece of news I have this morning. It would seem that the BBC are branching out into condiments.
*eh?
Yup, if the subtitles are to be believed on BBC Breakfast this morning, it’s a top-secret recipe, too. While watching a bulletin on child services, I was informed that the BBC were protecting the identity of the sauce…
This kind of consistent crapness never ceases to make me smile.
Wednesday, 14 January 2009
Where's it gone?
Something weird has happened to my hearing…
It’s always done it actually but recently it’s been happening more frequently. Every so often it becomes muted – it’s as though the bottom has fallen out of my ears, or my hearing has fallen down the stairs and suddenly everything is much quieter. Imagine the pressure change you get in an aeroplane when it’s coming in to land – that’s what it’s like.
When this happens, I don’t normally panic as it more often than not only lasts a short while before going back to what I know as noisy.
So anyway, last Thursday my world got quieter. I was walking back from the printer to my desk when it suddenly dipped, causing me to momentarily lose my balance. But here’s the annoying thing – it doesn’t seem to have come back.
So now, my TV is on a louder volume than it used to be, my car radio is, too. And the other night, at Friend-Who-Knows-Big-Word’s house, I actually hadn’t realised that there was music was playing.
It’s very annoying.
And then, this morning, sandwiched between the misty window of the bus and a giant man, it did it again. Can you believe it? Twice in one week?
It really does feel like a pressure change, or like I got water in my ears when swimming, so my automatic reflex was to give the side of my head a jolly good whack…
All very well and good if you have the space to do this – but I didn’t – so I ended up whacking the giant man, elbowing him in the ribs and hitting my head with such force that I head-butted the misty window and everyone looked.
Ah, it really is great to be me.
It’s always done it actually but recently it’s been happening more frequently. Every so often it becomes muted – it’s as though the bottom has fallen out of my ears, or my hearing has fallen down the stairs and suddenly everything is much quieter. Imagine the pressure change you get in an aeroplane when it’s coming in to land – that’s what it’s like.
When this happens, I don’t normally panic as it more often than not only lasts a short while before going back to what I know as noisy.
So anyway, last Thursday my world got quieter. I was walking back from the printer to my desk when it suddenly dipped, causing me to momentarily lose my balance. But here’s the annoying thing – it doesn’t seem to have come back.
So now, my TV is on a louder volume than it used to be, my car radio is, too. And the other night, at Friend-Who-Knows-Big-Word’s house, I actually hadn’t realised that there was music was playing.
It’s very annoying.
And then, this morning, sandwiched between the misty window of the bus and a giant man, it did it again. Can you believe it? Twice in one week?
It really does feel like a pressure change, or like I got water in my ears when swimming, so my automatic reflex was to give the side of my head a jolly good whack…
All very well and good if you have the space to do this – but I didn’t – so I ended up whacking the giant man, elbowing him in the ribs and hitting my head with such force that I head-butted the misty window and everyone looked.
Ah, it really is great to be me.
Tuesday, 13 January 2009
deaf joke time
I needed cheering up today, so I went in search of a deaf joke…
and this is what I found:
Three people are on a train: one Russian, one Cuban, and one Deaf person. The Russian is drinking from a bottle of vodka. She drinks about half the bottle, then throws it out the window. The Deaf person looks at her surprised. ‘Why did you throw out a bottle that was half full?’ The Russian replies, ‘Oh, in my country we have plenty of vodka.’
Meanwhile, the Cuban, who is smoking a rich aromatic cigar, abruptly tosses it out the window. The Deaf person is surprised again and asks, ‘Why did you throw out a half-smoked cigar?’ The Cuban replies, ‘Oh, in my country we have plenty of cigars.’ The Deaf person nods with interest.
A little while later a hearing person walks down the aisle. The Deaf person grabs the hearing person and throws him out the window. The Russian and the Cuban look up in amazement. The Deaf person shrugs, ‘In my country we have plenty of hearing people!’
Hahhahahahhaha
*ahem
and this is what I found:
Three people are on a train: one Russian, one Cuban, and one Deaf person. The Russian is drinking from a bottle of vodka. She drinks about half the bottle, then throws it out the window. The Deaf person looks at her surprised. ‘Why did you throw out a bottle that was half full?’ The Russian replies, ‘Oh, in my country we have plenty of vodka.’
Meanwhile, the Cuban, who is smoking a rich aromatic cigar, abruptly tosses it out the window. The Deaf person is surprised again and asks, ‘Why did you throw out a half-smoked cigar?’ The Cuban replies, ‘Oh, in my country we have plenty of cigars.’ The Deaf person nods with interest.
A little while later a hearing person walks down the aisle. The Deaf person grabs the hearing person and throws him out the window. The Russian and the Cuban look up in amazement. The Deaf person shrugs, ‘In my country we have plenty of hearing people!’
Hahhahahahhaha
*ahem
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