Things I Have Learnt In Scotlandshire

This is a bit crap. Sorry, but here goes:

1. The Proclaimers did other songs aside from that one about walking 500 miles. They are taken seriously as musicians. I've still no idea what it means to haver though.

2. No food cannot be adapted to incorporate batter, or a fried egg, or if you're really lucky, both. Batter bits (exactly what you think) are a valid foodstuff. Chippies do deep fried pizza. Presumably for people to eat, although I've yet to build up the courage to try them.

3. The Scots cannot for the life of them produce a decent kebab. They've got the sauces all wrong, not enough salad and none of the special extras that make a kebab great.

4. To continue on the subject of food, a 'mixed salad' consists of iceberg lettuce, tomato and cucumber.

5. Bridies: like a Cornish pasty, but shit.

6. On a positive note, the Scots have mastered the pie.

7. Scots should only be referred to as such, and under no circumstances as Scotch. That's reserved for things like pies, eggs and whisky.

8. A half is a whisky. Unless it's a half pint. Either way working in a pub has taught me it will invariably be the opposite of which way you hedge your bets and you will be looked at like you're a fucking imbecile if you a) ask for clarification or b) get it wrong.

9. I'm asked at least three times a week whether I'm Australian. Someone today asked if I was from Essex. He's dead now.

10. "But," much like the Southern "innit" is a filler used at the end of a sentence. After its utterance one should not await further discourse, but.

11. Battle of Bannockburn: 1314. It's when the Scots kicked our English arses. Also in 1968 Scotland beat the English World Cup winning team. These two facts of which I'd been hitherto unaware are now firmly ingrained in my consciousness. The latter fact is a particular favourite of natives wishing to demonstrate the superiority of their national team; efforts should be made to resist pointing out that winning one football match isn't quite the same as winning the WHOLE WORLD CUP.

12. Asking a Scottisher to repeat something because you found their accent impenetrable will only result in louder repetition in an even more impenetrable fashion, and an overwhelming air of smugness in the speaker. They soon get their act together when the penny drops that if I can't understand what drink they want, I can't pour it.

13. Speaking of impenetrable, the Aberdeen accent. Seriously, what the fuck?

14. Two weeks of slightly less rain than usual and it almost being warm enough to remove one's jacket apparently means "Summer."

It's nice up here though. I like it. Sometimes it doesn't even rain.

Bad Times: The Story Of When I Found A Wrinkle Then Took To My Bed & Cried About It Then It Went Away

Click to enlarge it, innit.

The Thorn Birds Musical: A Review

I'm too lazy to write a whole new post, so here's a review of The Thorn Birds: A Musical from when I saw it in Windsor in May. If you didn't see it (and let's face it, you probably didn't) you missed out.

Thorn Birds The Musical was A-MAZING!! So amazing I have dispensed with greetings and other preamble in order to faster communicate the AMAZINGNESS and have been randomly CAPITALISING WORDS on Twitter and Facebook all morning and have done no work whatsoever (not so unusual). AMAZING. Mary Carson did all her songs in the style of Chicago mixed with Priscilla Queen of the Desert. ACTUAL QUOTE: "You've always had my heart, Ralph De Bricassart". THEY WEREN'T AFRAID TO RHYME 'HEART' WITH BRICASSART'. OH NO THEY WEREN'T. They went there. Small cast made it quite confusing when the chap playing Frank kept turning up in different scenes as someone else. Luke O'Neil should have been Father Ralph. First half so funny I had tears running down my cheeks. Genuinely have not laughed so much at the theatre in, like, EVER. There was a tree! A tree that kept popping up for Ralph and Meggie to sit under. At one point it was waiting in the wings, waving its tree-y branches as a teaser. The Cardinal sounded like Jonathan Price. They changed the way Dane died as I expect drowning is hard to communicate in theatre. NO JUSTINE AT ALL. Mum accosted two of the actors in the pub afterwards and got their autographs. T-shirts were 9 quid but they didn't take cards so Mum has to go back to get me one. Got home at 12:30 AM and woke K up to tell her all about it, totally knackered and slightly hungover today but WORTH IT. My life is now complete and I can die happy.

To summarise, full of awesomeness and win.

Also, I should totally be a theatre critic.

The Trouble With Country Music In The UK

Last night, me and the wife went to see Martina McBride at IndigO2, the little broom cupboard used for smaller gigs at the O2 Arena in Greenwich. Martina McBride is a country-pop singer, the sort that is fairly mainstream in the States but who is considered a niche artist in the UK. She was wearing wet-look leggings and stripper hair, look:

Needless to say, I heart her. I heart her lovely voice and her lovely music. However, I do not heart her fans.

Take, for instance, Middle Earth Troll:

This lovely lady started the gig standing behind us. By the end of it her passion for Martina had driven her past us and closer to the stage. She had her own little area which nobody entered because a) she looked a bit like she might bite anyone who got too close and b) I’ve seen more attractive creatures on the ends of leads held by weed-scented rude boys with their jeans halfway down their arses. If you look closely you can see that she is sporting a nose ring, an eyebrow bar (both gold, jewellery fans) and an undercut beneath her unwashed, pubey, ginger locks.

Which brings me to another point. The haircuts. This is Martina McBride in about 1999, ten years ago.

This is apparently the hardcore fan’s haircut of choice: in our immediate vicinity I counted at least seven imitations. In addition this lovely couple were sporting his and hers matching mullets:

It’s not a great photo but I was worried about Middle Earth Troll making a grab for the shiny camera and trying to suck all the Martina pictures out of it as I took it. Sorry about that.

Speaking of his and hers, the couple in front of us were wearing matching Martina McBride US tour t-shirts from a couple of years ago.

Ahh. It was probably nice for them not to have to travel all the way to Darien Lake, NY to see her play. Note also Mrs Country Thunder behind wifey. These are Real British Country Music Fans.

Then there was this chap:

He’d rather be at a Martina concert! Do you see? Wherever he is when he’s wearing that t-shirt, whatever he’s doing, he’d rather be at a Martina concert. Even when he’s at a Martina concert, apparently, he’d rather be at a Martina concert. Don’t ask me, I don’t understand either. It appears to be the clothing equivalent of one of those charming bumper stickers we hear so much about.

Here’s me when I realised the full weird extent of the weirdos surrounding us.

The beer helped somewhat. So did seeing a man finally losing some of that British reserve, draining his lemonade with intent before rocking out and going crazy, belting out the lyrics to My Baby Loves Me:

He thinks I’m pretty, he thinks I’m smart

He likes my nerves and he loves my heart

Don’t see no reason to change my plan

My baby loves me just the way that I am

I don't think his wife loves him just the way he is.

In conclusion, I spent two hours jumping about and having a little dance surrounded by utter, utter freaks. The trouble with country music in the UK is the fans. I’m moving to Nashville, y’all.

The Facebook Picture Comment Conundrum

My friend has just posted some pictures on Facebook and I’m flicking through, when one catches my eye. There’s John in a pub, pulling a funny face that makes him look all wrinkled and frowny, like one of those puppies with too much skin. I’ll make a comment, I think. Something to highlight his funny face and add to the hilarity of the picture. I wasn’t there that night, come to think of it I wasn’t even invited, but this comment will more than make it for it. It’ll be something pithy and amusing like: “Hey John, Botox is meant to be quite cheap these days”

But it’s not as simple as just writing the comment and continuing about my business, is it?

First there’s the conundrum as to how to punctuate this particular gem in order to communicate to John that this is a joke. Perhaps with some sort of emoticon? Putting aside they make my skin crawl with their stupid cheeriness for one moment, let’s take a look at the options:

:) This says, I’m smiling. Apes could understand that this. Even your average Labrador could understand this. Not in keeping with the sarcastic tone of my comment. No.

;) I’m smiling and winking. I don’t know if you’ve ever tried doing this after a joke in real life, but if you have you’ll know it has the unnerving affect of turning a mildly amusing one-liner into a dodgy pick-up line. It’s sexually suggestive. That’s why, when KimBigTitties1987 popped up on MSN Messenger (remember that?) asking you to check out her pics, she always followed her suggestion with a winky face. John might think I’m inferring that he should get Botox on his scrotum or something. And that I’m offering to do it. No.

:D I’m laughing? It wasn’t that funny. No.

:o Gasp. My comment is just outrageous, man, I’m crazy. Madcap. Hold on to your arse if you want to hang out with me because anything, literally ANYTHING could happen. Wooooo! Er, no.

Which leaves me with punctuation marks:

. Is that it? I don’t think I can just end the sentence there without further clarification.

! Too excitable. No.

... Ellipses are my preferred punctuative finale on my Facebook comments. But they are ever so slightly arch and condescending. If John takes it the wrong way, he might think I’m having a go at him. They also invite a reply. They naturally point towards the empty space that follows them and invite John to think of his own witty comeback to fill the void. This leads me to my second problem.

John’s response. Let’s look at some possible responses.

“LOL YEH WELL YOUR THE EXPERT YOU GET IT ALL THE TIME HAHAHA!!!1!”

Putting aside the fact that John doesn’t understand that writing all in caps isn’t really the done thing in written text for one moment, as you can see John has tried, oh fuck it, who am I kidding. I can’t put that aside. John is a moron. He shouldn’t be allowed near a keyboard. Anyway, to continue, as you can see John has tried to out-do my comment with a witty comeback. He has clearly failed because my comment was understated and well thought out and brilliant. His is rubbish.

“I know I’ve got some wrinkles and I would have Botox but I can’t afford it after the burglary and paying the vet’s bills after Pebbles got hit by that van and I don’t really have time anyway since Mum’s in hospital so when I’m not working in the factory I visit her. She’s not awake yet but the doctors say she can hear me so I should just tell her how I feel. Anyway hope you’re good mate take care.”

Christ. Now I feel bad. Or I would feel bad if I didn’t feel cheated. I made a funny joke and you’ve just catalogued everything crap thing about your crap life and made me look like a massive cunt. Not an appropriate response, John, too much information. And for Christ’s sake chuck a comma in there occasionally, would ya?

Nothing.

Fuck, John hasn’t replied. Why not? He’s been online, I can see he’s commented on another picture. What’s wrong with my comment? Doesn’t he get the joke? Is he upset? Is he cutting holes in his cheeks with a Bic razor blade and trying to poke his ears through them to get rid of the wrinkles? He’s not that wrinkly, it was a joke, come on. I should have put a smiley face. Hey maybe if I delete it and write it again with a smiley face he’ll get it. Or it’ll just remind him and upset him again. Maybe I should write another comment just to make it clear it was a joke, but what to say? Anything I do say will just make it worse. And if he still doesn’t reply then what? I’ll have to send him a text or private message or something saying I was joking and he’ll reply saying of course I was, LOL, he knew that, and then I’ll look like I don’t know him or think he’s got a sense of humour. Shit. Why hasn’t he replied??

He deletes the comment.

What the FUCK, John? What is your fucking problem? It was a joke, yeh, get over yourself. Fucking deleting my comments, how dare you. What, you didn’t like it but you don’t have the balls to tell me? Don’t edit me, if you don’t like my jokes maybe we shouldn’t be Facebook friends. What do you think of that? Huh? You’re a dick, John.

So I’m sitting there looking at John’s funny crinkly face and I know if he were here in person I could have just said my comment out loud and he would have laughed, or chuckled, or said something back, and that would have been the end of it. But if I write it on Facebook underneath this picture it’ll be here forever (unless he deletes it, the knob) saying more about me than it does about the picture and if I get it wrong then for years to come people will look at it and think I’m a dick and what the hell has it got to do with me what John’s face looks like, because after all I haven’t seen it or him since school and all his real friends were with him that night at the pub anyway and probably saw his wrinkly face first hand and made their own witty comments about it.

Oh just fucking forget it, John.

Hello, Here Are 25 Things That Annoy Me

This seems like as good a way as any to introduce myself. Hello, I'm Sarah, and this is a carefully compiled list of 25 things that get on my bloody nerves.

1. Coloured toilet roll. I just can't stand it. Stick to white or, if you really must, cream. The toilet is no place to reflect your quirky personality by purchasing blue, or peach or (shudder) green toilet roll. Especially not if it matches your bathroom 'suite'.

2. People who say they have quirky personalities. Just fuck off.

3. If I offer you a drink, take the fucking drink. Don't sit there all meek and quiet and dehydrated, it's annoying.

4. Please only come round by prior appointment. If you show up uninvited I will most likely be slobbing on the sofa with no bra on, watching Sexcetera and drinking Stella out of the can. I don't need you turning up wanting to chat and judging me.

5. When I tell you I have a girlfriend, don't ask how long we've been together. Seven years, ok? So it's not just a phase. Also, by inviting my girlfriend to things where couples are invited you're not doing me a favour, so don't expect me to get all fucking excited and grateful. Chances are I don't want to come anyway.

6. Oh God don't tell me you thought I was straight like it's something I should be pleased about. Have you any idea how insulting that is? I'm not flattered, put it that way.

7. People who think it's cute that they can't master the basics of a computer. It's really not that difficult, retard.

8. If you knit, or play the mandolin, or listen to Peruvian jazz-funk, or go wine tasting, or have some other contrived little hobby to make you seem more interesting, I don't want to hear about it. See point 2 above.

9. People who do that weird little half-run quickstep in order to gain VITAL SECONDS by overtaking me at the ticket barriers for the tube. Look, cuntchops, I was queueing, ok? I don't like having to wait my turn but it's polite and if everyone does it it makes life a little more pleasant for us all. Your journey is not so much massively more important than mine, so don't just fucking skip on by like you didn't know there was a queue. Furthermore if I catch up with you coming out of the station, I WILL tread on your heels then tut at you. Get over it.

10. However, if you tut at me I will have to kill you. No exceptions.

11. I don't care to hear about anyone's dreams. It's worse than those stories where "you had to be there" because no-one was there. It was just that one person, in their head, experiencing stuff that makes no sense and didn't actually happen. The exception to this rule is if they dreamt about me. Then I want to hear all about it because, well, it's about me isn't it? Even if it didn't really happen.

12. People who invite me to join groups like "Justice 4 Baby P" and "Petition To Get Ian Huntley off Facebook" will be automatically deleted from my friends list. Hey you know what? Joining a group on Facebook does fuck all. Do something useful with your time. And no, writing a poorly-spelled comment on that wall in capital letters does not count as "something useful".

13. People who update their status every 20 minutes with nonsensical bollocks in capital letters and exclamation marks. I can't cope with all the excitement.

14. It's an eSpresso, not an eXpresso.

15. I hate drama. Life is complicated, sometimes more so than other times. Let's just get on with it, shall we? No need to go batshit over every little thing.

16. If I had my way I'd sack every single London bus driver and only re-employ the ones who were competent. With unemployment levels so high, I'm sure we can find a workforce of people willing to stop at bus stops late at night to pick up a single passenger, not ignore questions the first three times they are asked, to not shout at and be rude to and generally harangue their passengers. I know they put up with shit from some passengers, but that's not my fault. Every driver should have an ID number clearly on display so they can be held accountable for being a twat. I'm sick of being expected to feel grateful that a bus I'm paying to use has deigned to pick me up and transport me to my destination.

17. People who play music off their phones out loud on public transport. STFU, dickhead.

18. Words cannot explain how much June Sarpong and Dennis Norden annoy me. And don't even get me started on the fact that the little twonk has somehow been given an MBE.

19. If someone's name is unfamiliar to you, take a couple of seconds to learn how to pronounce it. Don't begin every encounter with them by stumbling over their name and mispronouncing it and laughing. It's not funny, it's ignorant.

20. On a similar note, the BNP do NOT "have some good points." They are dangerous, ugly, neo-facist scum and if you think otherwise just cock off.

21. I swear a lot. If you're older than me or a family member I'll probably tone it down, but if it offends you we should probably just not speak, ok?

22. You are not a "writer" or a "musician" unless that is how you earn your primary source of income. I occasionally sew stuff but it does not make me a seamtress any more than having a couple of pets makes me a vet.

23. Employers: if you'd like me to do something, don't say "we" are going to do it. Because we're not, are we?

24. I hate all that crapdust from crisps and the like that gets all on my fingers.

25. There are loads of things that annoy me but I can't remember any of the good ones, so this list has been a bit shite. Well annoying.