Words in E –Minor proudly presents….An Interview With Me

I have a confession to make. I’ve cheated.

Being the busy social butterly I am, I haven’t actually had chance to write a full and detailed blog post like I know you have come to expect (the shame). It is a cruel and busy world out there, but worry not, I will not let you down. Like any good 90s child, I have taken the teachings of Blue Peter to heart so here’s one I prepared earlier. Oosh.

Before getting into it I have a few points of interest from the weekend that I’m going to just drop in for you – I like to keep you all abreast of my life.

– We went down to visit my mother for a few days and I am glad to report she is holding out admirably against the elements determined to rain all over her parade (rather literally). Perhaps not quite as dramatically as some parts of the world, she’s has nevertheless had to deal with a natural disaster and was woken up one night last week to find water gushing in through the back door and sweeping poor BobCat off his paws. Rather dishearteningly, she’s going to have to have entirely new flooring and is currently living with enough industrial fans to re-enact a late 80s soft core rock video, but she is maintaining a strong and (mostly) postive attiude (read – heavy sarcasm) and the cats are gradually recovering. We did spend the majority of the time there with the three of us tucked up on her bed like the grandparents in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (being as there was no power and limited furniture downstairs), but we left her with a smile on her face and the promise of further assistance whenever required, so things were looking up

– The weekend took a dramatic turn of events when TMM tried to kill me by dropping an apple the size of a watermelon on my face. We were gathering some of the bounitful harvest that Mother’s garden had provided (like the adorable little hobbits we are) when I was brutally attacked and nearly blinded when an apple catapulted from the branch TMM was fettling with. He says it was an accident but I remain dubious. Annoyingly I don’t have anything apart from a tiny red mark to show for it, but I can promise it was very dramatic.

Apples

An innocent scene, before everything took a dark and violent turn

–  You’ll all be glad to know that Operation Prepare for Christmas is well under way. It’s excellent – there’s wool everywhere. Bucky is being very well behaved considering and I’ve only had to bat him away once or twice. He does have to sit very close to me though so he can keep an eye on things and make sure I don’t need saving from a savage wool beast. My hero.

–  Speaking of the Buckmiester General, the furry little bugger has some how injured himself and I reacted, as any good parent should, with complete hysteria. It isn’t much more that a semi-deep scratch on his paw (and it can’t even be that sore because he let me prod and poke it for ages without so much as a wince), but I was VERY concerned and made TMM research pet antiseptic creams just to be on the safeside. #seriouscatparent

With those announcements out of the way, I’ll get on to the main event. I’ve got a couple of little nuggets like this saved up for such eventualities from when I researched best blogging protocol. Apparently, readers are very interested in lists, personal details and small comedic interludes, so I’ve combined all 3 into a Listicle – 10 things you might not know about me (unless you’re TMM because he basically knows more about me than I do these days). I’m unsure how well it’ll go down, but at least it gives you all something to read on an Tuesday evening (and please feel free to share your own personal facts, or judge me heavily).

10 Things You Might Not Know About Me

First Kiss

So it turns out I can’t actually remember my first kiss. How awful is that? According to TV and young adult books, the first kiss is the realisation of sexuality and the pinnacle of your youth. Your whole life blossoms from that point and  you look back fondly with misty screen and singing cherubs. Proving once again that I like to buck the social trend, when I tried to think back on this monumental and life changing event, I came up completely blank.

It’s not that I think it was particularly scarring and therefore have scrubbed it from my memory, nor is it that I actively tried to disregard anything relating to it. And it’s not as though I can’t remember other such key life events – I vividly remember my first kiss with TMM, though that might have been because he came at me with a knife.

*Side Note* it wasn’t as threatening as it sounds. It was St Patricks Day and as any good Uni student should, our not so little gang had all covered ourselves with as much green as we possibly could. I was in charge of drawing all the cheek shamrocks with my green eyeliner pencil (I say mine, it was definitely my sister’s – sorry) but being somewhat tipsy, mostly I was just smudging great green blobs on people and rather horrifically blunting the pencil. Ross proclaimed to be able to sharpen it for me, dragged me into the kitchen where he proceeded to produce the most inappropriately sized knife for the job and then promptly forgot all about sharpening it in favour of snogging my face off.)

I can equally remember the first time meeting each of my besties, graduating and my mother’s wedding. The first kiss though? Nada. I can only hope whoever it was with doesn’t remember it either….

Paddys

He might not have been my first kiss, but he’s certainly my favourite.

Joints

I apparently have weird elbows (and possibly knees). After countless years of being awful at PE and failing most physical activities, my bestest Woo pointed out to me during a yoga class that my elbows hyper extend (like a big weirdo). I can also pop out one of my thumb knuckles. Great for party tricks, useless for anything else.

Mental

I see a counsellor and have done for nearly 3 years now. To be honest, I’ll be surprised if this is actually news to anyone. I tell literally everyone. All the time. Whilst I am pretty quiet about most things, mental health is something that should never be ignored and I do my part to make sure my part in it is visible.

Thumb Sucking

I still suck my thumb when anxious or depressed. It’s something I used to do when I was little and just never really stopped. I never had a dummy, but my trusty thumb has been there through thick and thin. It has messed up my teeth up something rotten (the roof of my mouth is so arched and narrow that I can’t even fit a chubba chubba lolly between my top teeth) and the thumb in question is slightly longer than the other one but it’s something done so unconsciously I don’t even register it anymore. I kind of think that maybe I should be embarrassed by it sometimes, and that being 26 I should maybe look for different coping mechanisms, but to be honest I’ve got bigger fish to fry, and if anyone’s got a problem with it, I dare you to tell me to my adorable, thumb sucking face.

Body Art

I am tattoo free but do not always intend to remain so. People are always a little surprised that I am un-inked (I obviously give off that kind of vibe), but I have big dreams people. Low pain threshold but big dreams.

Twinkle Toes

I have sleep musical toes. I only learnt this recently, but we have the radio on in the morning and according to TMM, my toes will join in with most songs, regardless of whether I’m actually awake or not.

*Big Families*

I have lived more of my life with my parents separated than with them together. Now in today’s society it’s not actually that unusual anymore, but I think the bit that people are always surprised about is how pleasant and friendly they still are with each other. It’s been nearly 17 years now, but they buried the hatchet long ago. There have been parties where my mum and her ex husband’s girlfriend have laughed together and hugged, holidays where my dad and his girlfriend have stayed with his ex mother in law, and whilst I don’t think either of them regret the time they spent together, they have found love in other places. Divorce has not torn my family apart. It has only made it bigger.

Family

 Just a couple of the motley crew

Personal Grooming

This ones a bit risqué, but I feel it says a lot about me as a person (for good or bad…) I once dyed my “lady hair” to match my head hair – a lovely vivid pink. Shout out to Uni friends for this – (a lot of the strangest events in my life occurred at University). I can’t remember how it originally started, but it ended with a 3 hour group research quest on some of the strangest websites out there. During the second year, we spent far too much time googling strange and unusual things and learnt far more about the dark corners of the world than any decent person should. One such sojourn took us to the land of “lower region” maintenance and let me tell you, people are willing to do some weird shit to their undercarriages. Obviously this spurned much curiosity about what could be done and resulted in a bet that I wouldn’t match all my body hair. Worry not Reader, I did. It was hilarious, and excellent if only because it meant that when someone crudely shouted out (as they were wont to do) ““Oi love, do the collars and cuffs match?” I could say yes and watch them stumble over themselves in shock.

Love

I’ve kissed more girls then I have boys. I mean, to be honest it’s not like I’ve kissed huge amounts of either, but my girl count outweighs the boys by nearly 2:1. Mainly I blame University, but to be honest I just think it’s the fact that girls are just much more friendly.

Childhood Companions

I once tried to keep a mouldy cake as a pet. There really isn’t much more to this story, but it always makes me people laugh. I was DESEPRATE for a pet when I was little (as are most small children I think) and did all I could to convince my parents that our lives would be very much enriched by the presence of a small furry beastie. They did not agree and I, of course, was devastated beyond all belief. Instead, I found and secreted a carrot cake in a tin that I found in the cupboard under my bed and cultivated it until it had grown a lovely mossy green coat and proceeded to generally stink out the house. Unsurprisingly, I could not keep the cake hidden for long and my father rooted it out and summarily disposed of it in the outside bin. I still think back fondly on it sometimes.

So there we have it. You now all know a little bit more about me than you did before and hopefully I haven’t disturbed you too much, or ruined anyone’s opinions on me. It’s surprisingly cathartic to tell the internet a bunch of things about yourself, I definitely recommend it as a starter blog post for all you budding writers out there. Who knows, you might learn something new about yourself in the process…

(God, what a cheesy ending).

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Easy Like Sunday Morning…

Happy July the 4th dear readers! Thankfully this Independence Day has gone without the need for Will Smith to punch any aliens in the face (though there is still time) so I’d class it as a success. I’ve been lured in by Aldi’s Americana/Happy Canada Day range and bought more maple syrup and mac&cheese than is strictly healthy, and I’m hoping my little American pals are enjoying fireworks, fluffy pancakes and cheap watery beer with a patriotic fervour this evening.

Not to be outdone, TMM and I have allowed positive motivation to flow through us and have royally kicked some butt this weekend. Admittedly, I think the credit should mostly lie with Ross, but I was happily along for the ride. TMM has set down a new “weekend routine for us” which aims to cater to both TMM’s uncontrollable urge to be doing things all the time and get up at god awful times in the morning as well as my desperate laziness. According to the new system, we are to have Action!Saturdays and Lazy!Sundays, which really do exactly what they say on the tin and hopefully mean we get the best of both worlds.

For our very first Action!Saturday, we went in with all guns blazing. Admittedly, the early get up was a slight struggle for me – TMM had to do his best puppy impression and kidnap the duvet before trying to wrangle me into a suitable outfit – but once I was out of bed we really went for it. After a quick nip to the shop for breakfast pancakes, we did a tour of some of the TMM clan; dropping off some money and a singular shoe at the parents (both related to the new catapult business TMM Senior has started rather excellently), and visiting his sister, her fella, their baby and the doggo. After suitable family bonding, we went on to Chirk Castle (YAY for the National Trust Membership) which was rather splendid and in full bloom.

As you can see, the gardens were looking pretty spectacular – and obviously we had to try all the period costumes (once the children had gone). We have now both decided that chainmail is a must for our summer wardrobe.  

After Chirk, we went to visit Molly (who is carrying on with a strength that only old ladies and mature cheeses possess) before returning home to have a chippie, bleach my hair and finally getting the bedroom gallery wall hung.

feature wall

There’s still a big gap in the middle – waiting for the perfect piece of tropical wallpaper, but at least everything else is up now, and I’m quite proud of those homemade hanging frames.

Lazy!Sunday started a little more my kind of speed – TMM went for boyish adventures around Rudyard Lake with his camera whilst I stayed in bed until midday and finished The Prince and the Zombie, Lumberjanes and two episodes of Due South. Which, whilst is not necessarily “active” is still very much “action”.

{Side bar! (to be shouted in the same way Gru shouts FREEZE RAY in the first Despicable Me) Both of those books are excellent.

  • The Prince and The Zombie – a fable interlacing Tibetian and Buddihist teachings. Not quite the eye-opening, world shattering magical book I thought it would be, but enjoyable none-the-less. I do have to say I was very much rooting for the zombie (which I think may have defeated the point) with his golden top half, silver bottom half and mane of turquoise. Boy could he spin a good yarn.
  • Lumberjanes (Volume 1). This one was literally as great as I hoped. Girl Scouts kicking butt, taking names and being SUPER SUPPORTIVE all the way through. I desperately want to go to a camp for Hardcore Lady Types and am going to be working towards my badges ASAP.

books

Look at those front covers? How could they be anything but excellent?

The rest of the day was lazily spent dying my hair and slobbing on the couch eating chocolate pillows, so a win all round I’d say. 

Blue to Blonde to Steel Amethyst (which is clearly my new My Little Pony name)

Bucky has also been doing his best to prove how action he is, bless his little furry bum. Last weekend he vanished for 3 days (cue much wailing and wallowing and resurgence of abandonment issues all over the place) but eventually turned up – swanning in and singing Catmaninov at the top of his tiny cat lungs. Anyway, owing to his desperation for fusses (be it by sitting on your back, watching you intently whilst you wee or just singing the songs of his people loudly whenever you move from his sightline) and his skinny little belly, we think he might have been stuck somewhere, rather than actively avoiding us. Either way, I think he felt our loss as deeply as his own and has since tried to buy his way back into the good books by bringing home and depositing two dead birds and a decapitated (and de-eared) rabbit in various positions around the house. Which, whilst the thought is appreciated, is something I could really do without. (I have forgone putting the pictures on here so as not to affect those of a gentle disposition).

We also spent a good half an hour last night trapped in the bedroom with a very scared and very much alive mouse, who’d obviously been brought in and then abandoned earlier in the day. Eventually we managed to capture it using a cereal bowl, the toilet brush holder and a piece of card before TMM unceremoniously flung it out of the front door.

Overall I have to say we haven’t done too badly. The sun still shines, the birds still sing and we’re getting one step closer to the ideal of travelling the world in a renovated van like little hipster hobos. One action based step at a time.

May your May be as Marvellous as Mine

Isn’t May just the greatest? The sun is (occasionally) shining, the bank holidays are rife and my birthday is soon!!! Not that I’ve been given everyone daily updates on just how close it is (10 days)…Considering I’m 26, I think I may possibly be far too excited about birthdays. I was reading some blog inspiration posts and one of them suggested I do a wish list for my birthday. I’m not sure if I’m quite up for that this time around, but I promise I won’t let you forget it’s coming!

May Tulips

 “March winds and April showers bring forth May Flowers”

 In other news though, Hans von Manschaft has finally made it back from the doctors to drive once again after having his tubes cleaned and his looms replaced and who knows what else. There was a slight fear he may not recover, and I told TMM in no uncertain terms that if this is the case, he is not allowed to pick the next car. We will be buying either a tank, a smart car or a motorbike with a side car and he will be forbidden to put his cursed fingers over any of it. However, after much lamenting and poor Martin the Mechanic spending most of his evenings and free time on it, Hans was returned to us and we can now glide down the motorway at the recommended speed and not have to worry about any slight inclines hindering our progression.

Now that a new car is off the table (touch ALL OF THE WOOD), it appears my desperation to save has slightly taken a back seat. Last weekend I was convinced we were going to have to spend all our savings and we were going to be put even further behind our schedule of getting a house, a wedding and more pets (meaning we then went and bought a £30 Chinese because we were sad). However we were saved from having to dig deep into the gold hoard, which of course meant I then went and had a hair cut, new glasses and a new(ish) phone. Clearly I do not understand the concept of being frugal at all. However I do look fabulous so there is that.

Going along with my stylish new lady haircut, I’ve been trying to continue in the vein of being a bit more grown up. I’ve still been exercising (though somewhat more sporadically). I even researched and did my own personalised circuit routine (and laminated it!) though Jesus Christ does it make my thighs hurt like an absolute b*tch! I better end up with legs like Wonder Woman by summer. I also cleaned the kitchen to within an inch of it’s life last weekend. I mean, there were different sponges, various vacuum attachments and every spray bottle of cleaning fluid I could find. I do feel a little sorry for the neighbours who had to put up with my flinging open the windows and singing along to some early 2000s classics like Sum 41 at the top of my voice whilst scrubbing various sides down, but by the time I was finished it was almost sparkling. Admittedly, it probably took a little longer than it should have done, because I really do DESPISE cleaning and had to take regular five minute breaks to lie on the floor and wail a bit. Depressingly, the oven is already splattered with food again (seriously, wtf man? It’s a vicious cycle of never ending mess. How do people cope?!) but I’m trying to view it in a Budd-istic fashion as a metaphor for the circle of life. Or something like that anyway. It’s either that or cry.

We’ve also had a little bit more free time recently as poor Molly has had to go in to hospital. She’s had another fall (as old people do. Notice, once you’re over 60, you don’t fall over, you “have a fall”) which is her second in two months and when Ross went round last Monday, he found her mostly non-responsive and a little delirious. The ambulance was called she was pronounced severely dehydrated and suffering from an infection and she must have been feeling awful because she didn’t even flirt with the paramedics. Usually she’s all over medial professionals like a rash – she once slapped a nurse’s arse and asked us if we thought she could become a lesbian, and she’s tried to kidnap more than a couple of visiting doctors. It’s such a shame because she’d been feeling a lot better recently and was so happy – partly due to her snazzy new hair cut I think. Anyway she went straight into the hospital and since then we’ve had sporadic updates on her progress (apparently she was due to have a liver scan – though if they can even find it they’ll be lucky. I’m pretty sure it’s just a pickled little whiskey-soaked prune by now) so we’re going to go and do a drive by this evening to see if she’s back in. Hopefully she’ll have been released for terrorising the staff and be back to her arm chair and Benji dog before she knows it.

However, this does mean that we’ve had no time limit on our activities this weekend for the first time in a few years, so we decided to go for a nice long drive down to Fountains Abbey in Yorkshire. This way, TMM got to hammer the car (we actually got over 70 miles an hour. It was like being in a rocket), and we got to utilise our National Trust cards a little further afield. The Abbey itself was absolutely glorious, even if Ross was a bit miffed because we somehow managed to miss the one day of summer in Stoke and hit all of the drizzle). We’ve been binge watching Vikings recently too (an awesome program full of superbly attractive people, excellent hair styles and gratuitous use of axes), so we were already in a suitably historically mind-set – Ross had to stop me from pillaging the National Trust shop in true barbarian fashion and annoyingly said I wasn’t allowed to shave a tonsure on his head (such a spoilsport).  

We discovered that Fountains Abbey was set up by 13 monks who’d been expelled after some disputes in the early 10th century and were basically adopted by the Archbishop of York and allowed to set up a new Abbey. They seemed like a pretty rough and ready lot and were excellently self sufficient – and I mean who doesn’t love a rebellious monk? The Abbey sits alongside Fountains Hall (which we didn’t actually get chance to go and see) and it sprawls fantastically alongside the River. I’ve got a bit of a thing about old buildings – I always feel slightly overwhelmed by them and though I’m not a believer in auras and things like that, I can’t help but try to imagine the stories of the lives of the people there. I got a little bit melancholic this time too, looking at the great halls. I anthropomorphise everything, and I felt a little bit heartbroken at the prospect of such a magnificent building having lost it’s true purpose; from having once been filled to the rafters with Gregorian chants and religious fervour to being a tourist attraction. That being said, there was still a quiet splendour about it and we enjoyed poking around every nook and cranny and trying to imagine what it must have been like in its prime.

 Fountain Abbey

 Me doing my best monk impression. Demure and understated as always.

We also had a turn around the Studley Royal Water Gardens which were created by John Aislabie (a disbanded Politician who moved next door to the Abbey and thought he might as well set himself up some fancy buildings and gardens from which to view the Fountains land). It’s got ornamental lakes, mini temples, follies and a selection of hidden little lookouts and that whilst beautiful in it’s own right, I found it oddly narcissistic and almost gratuitous sitting next to the hulling ruins of the Abbey. Still, we enjoyed sauntering round and watching a rather large swan display his dominance by fluttering his HUGE wings at various screaming small children. There were also a couple of rather posh statues, one of which was a naked man apparently taunting a tortoise with a sausage. We were all a little bemused by that, but that’s seemingly what those old politicians liked. Overall though it was an excellent day and I would definitely recommend it for anyone.

Tortiose.jpg

 But what’s the message?

I think we’re becoming quite regular on the National Trust scene now, and we might have a couple of other little day trips out planned next week, because it’s my BIRTHDAY WEEK (HURRAY) in case you’d forgotten. People keep trying to tell me that having a whole week of celebration is overkill, but they’re idiots and I don’t need their negativity in my life. I think a week is the prefect amount of time and means I can do my visitations and treat the whole thing like an Indian wedding. I categorically refuse to work on the day of my birth as it is and haven’t since I was old enough to skive (I only had to do that once, thank god because I’m such a nervous rebel), and I’m not about to start now. I’m excited because this means that not only can I have some proper lie-ins (TMM and I have wildly differing opinions of what constitutes a lie-in. He thinks 10am is late enough whereas I know that it doesn’t count unless you’re still in bed by lunch time), I get to do a little camping in the homeland, see various family folk, go and see the first Harry Potter film with a live orchestra AND get a weekend trip to Hay on Wye with the team. We were hoping to go abroad because I am desperate for sun, but we’re all skint and some of us (JON) haven’t sorted our passports. Still, I sharn’t be at work so I’m definitely not complaining. I am looking forward terribly to welcoming in my 26th year with a restrained and classy bang.

Photo Credit – @r_h_pendebury 

To Hip or Not to Hip? Is that the Question?

So I’ve started this week with freshly dyed hair again. The blue was starting to fade rather dramatically and my roots were coming through at a drastically unnecessary rate. I wouldn’t mind so much if I had a decent natural colour or even a nice big white mallen streak (which I am still holding out hope for) but unfortunately it’s a no go. I’ve got that bog standard mousey brown which is pretty much identical to when you mix all the paints together in the hope of creating a rainbow and instead get a sad muddy sludge. (Apologies if anyone actually happens to a) have that hair colour or b) like it. You probably look glorious with it. I just look like a drab Victorian peasant).

I have rebelled against the status quo as always though, and this time I’ve gone for a delightful mishmash of green shades; a summery selection of daffodil yellow, spring, apple and UV blue. TMM was excellent as always, frolicking about in his pants with the bleach brush and helpfully shaving the pattern on my under cut (before napping HARD). I was hoping for a kitty cat design, but he said he’s starting small and stuck to simple chevrons, and after the last incident (when I was left as bald as the proverbial) I suppose I can’t blame his caution.

Whilst doing my hair though and staring gormlessly into my own dye splattered reflection, I was led to pondering upon a deep philosophical dilemma – a generational query that has plagued millennials for a while now…

Is it hipster to have been hipster before hipster was cool?

Now I am firmly of the belief that as much as I laugh at the hipster culture, I am unapologetically ensconced within it. I may scoff, but I like an underground subway tiled, steam punk inspired cocktail bar as much as the next person, and I already own two Edison light bulbs. It’s definitely an undeniable fact as well that there are quite a few new additions to my lifestyle that could be laid at the feet of the hipster gods – having fruit and yoghurt for breakfast every morning in branded Kilner jars (because apparently we’re jar snobs) and spending our weekend making furniture from pallets that I like to describe by using vulgar terms like “bespoke” and “neo-vintage”.

I mean, we own all of those things. Not even pretentiously.

The thing is though, I was doing a lot of these long before it was cool. Big framed Jarvis Cocker glasses and rainbow hair have been part of my life since the early 2000s, and even though my blog is a relatively new addition, my need to offer DIY self help advice through rousing motivational speeches and/or Facebook messages is a lifelong past time. Whilst there are many of aspects of this particular fad that I love, I love them because I want to, not because pinterest encouraged me to. Men with beards have been a fascination of mine ever since I was a tiny tot (seriously I had such crushes on Wolf from Gladiators and Worf from Star Trek because of the amount of fantastic hair on show) and I will happily stare lovingly at anyone in trouser braces, regardless of age, gender or how creepy it makes me look.

I think the trouble stems from the fact I’ve always been a bit of an oddball. I am unaccountably shy, but desperate to be noticed and I will wear what I like and damn the consequences. I remember having a pixie cut in high school, knowing full well it would lead to bullying (and that REALLY awkward moment when the prefect in the girl’s toilets thought I was a boy and shouted at me) but it was still worth it. (Super healthy hair, no time spent faffing about in the morning and I totally looked like an adorable fairy – just ask my mum). Dying it was something I was DESPERATE to do, and after a few years of sensible (read boring) school appropriate hair, I got my mum and sister to dye it the most vivid pink we could find. I could never go back to normal hair now, and I laugh in the face of anyone who tells me I have to. When I started this hair based vanity project, only weird punks in inner city Manchester or arty kinds on TV had rainbow locks. Now, it’s all the hipster rage to have a flash on colour or an ombred pastel do. I’m not sure how many people see it as such an integral part of who they are, but I for sure know that I do it not because of the impact it has on other people (though that is pretty awesome), but because of the impact it has on me. It does help that both my sister and dad have had bright hair in the past, and my Neens has purple hair right now (a more hip and happening septuagenarian there has never been) and I WILL tell people that the bright coloured hair runs in our family DNA just to watch the confusion blossom on their faces.

Whilst my “style” (or possibly lack thereof) lends itself to this hipster curve, I hate to say it wasn’t really that intentional. The way I look, just like my annoyingly nerdy personality, are elements of me that have been around long before hipsters were. I’ve always been a complete sci-fi/fantasy nerd and been involved in more than one argument with someone who thought that just because I was a girl I wouldn’t have any clue about Farscape or the characterisation of Jean Grey. The good thing about this social movement is that it’s much more acceptable now to be weird and I really can’t say that’s a bad thing. We might laugh at the notion of the “hipster”, but what’s wrong with making these things something to be proud of? I like that there’s pop-up organic cafes popping up all over the place, and that playing the accordion whilst wearing herringbone trousers is the “done” thing. It’s not hurting anyone and it’s definitely one of my preferred movements (surely it’s better than the tight pony tails, shell suits and choreographed dance routines of the 90s?)

Who knew though, that I would eventually fit into the “IT” crowd? I still remember looking in a mirror a few years ago and being shocked by the fact I looked just how I wanted myself to look when I was a little girl dreaming of growing up. I mean, I would have maybe liked more tattoos and less mental issues, but I always knew how I wanted to end up, and it’s quite rewarding to know that there’s a huge chunk of my generation who thought it was a pretty cool place to end up too.

Of course there’s still a kind of soft cultural mockery directed towards hipsters, just like there is with every generational fad, and it’s completely understandable. It is pretty hilarious that moustache waxing and banjo playing are encouraged, and it’s a little bit weird how much of my instagram feed is filled with artfully displayed avocado based meals and hilariously depressing cat memes. Whilst I poke fun though, it would hypocritical of me to fight against the label. I’ve spent today wearing non-ironic dungarees and writing a ridiculously verbose post-modernistic hipster-ception commentary blog post. I am just as much to blame as anyone else, but I can’t say I really mind. Fads will come and go, and even though I might be cool now, I can bet you a dollar I won’t be in a few years. The real question though is, does it  matter? Will I care that in the future my colourful hair, my love of space and my inordinately large stack of country CDs will be laughed at rather than lorded?

Will I boot.

dungarees

Dedicated Follower of the Fast, the Furious and the Fashionable

 

Now I would love to be able to start this post by telling you how I plough my own furrow and am unfettered by convention. I’d smugly say that I’m remain completely unaffected by the social perspective of beauty and am not driven by being particularly fashion conscious, but let’s face it; that would be a blatant lie. I am just as obsessed with how I look as the next person and spend far too long watching videos on how to get smoky eyes or the perfect hair curl (managed the hair maybe twice, still haven’t mastered the eye. Less sultry sex goddess, more hung-over panda). This weekend though I was taken over by the need for change – possibly brought on by my cheery desk daffodils and the one day of summer we had last week. Bearing in mind I’m not really in a position to dye my hair again (having only actually been blue for two weeks) I decided I might as well just go for a new style instead. Depressingly skint and embarrassed about going back to the hair dressers (I only went last month but don’t tell anyone), I figured I might as well just do it myself. 23 YouTube tutorials later and I’m standing in the bathroom in my pants, Henry Hoover on standby and shiny new hair cutting scissors in my hand.

I do have to say though, it went surprisingly well. It’s not the first time I’ve cut my own hair (and certainly won’t be the last) but I think it’s the first time I’ve gone at it with an actual “plan” and an idea of how I wanted it to look. Now, it wasn’t like I was cutting masses off, but there’s certainly something very liberating about slicing through nice big chunks of hair and feeling the weight lessen with each snip. I’m really in love with blunt bobs at the moment, but being as I’ve got curly cornflake hair, I wasn’t too concerned about making it razor sharp – mainly I went for a simple bob. I’ve taken it to just below chin level because I’m desperate to grow my layers out. I’m one of those people who goes to the hairdressers with plans, pictures and diagrams and then ends up saying (in a rather high pitched tone) “oh just a trim and yes I would love for you to cut my layers back in” and then just stare sadly at my own reflection cursing my social awkwardness. When you’re the one in charge though, it’s a little bit easier to be honest. Whilst I’ve not quite achieved a uniform level all the way round (I swear there are layers on top that just grow to about four inches completely horizontally and then laugh at me) but it’s definitely better now. Before I was rocking the sort of weird mushroom cloud look; where the smooth bottom layers lie flat again your neck and the top frizzy layers arrange themselves in some sort of unnecessary balloon affair, but now I’ve got more of a dandelion clock going on. Hopefully I can keep on top of this and trim it myself every few weeks – keeping the layers under control and the costs down. Boo yah!

Anyhoo, seeing as I had a free Friday evening in which to cut my hair, I thought I might as well go full out and sort everything out.

shave

Look at this arty hipster Barber’s kit – I totally trust me

 After spending twenty minutes looking at my new hair in every possible angle in the mirror and snipping individual hairs like some kind of poncy horticulturalist, there was a quick whip round with the hoover (much to the cat’s disgruntlement. He sat on the top stair and glared at me a bit before presenting his butt hole and vanishing off to find Ross – *more on the adventures of Bucky boy later), and I went for a shower. I am not ashamed to admit my showers are well known for their lengthiness – I am a firm believer of spending 5 minutes just slouching under the spray, at least 10 minutes trying to soap my hair up into a Mohawk and then another good 5 practising my Adele impression before I even start actually doing anything constructive. This one was no different, and by the time I actually got round to doing anything useful, I was already slightly pruney. I went in for a full body exfoliation though this time (admittedly with only one glove because I think TMM has adopted one as his own and who knows where that’s gone), and a complete hair conditioning treatment (curtsey of Redken – I’m pretty sure this stuff is made from unicorn tears and mermaid wee, because boy does it do some delightful things to my locks). I even shaved my legs, because summer is coming and I thought it time to get rid of the winter coat. This is not to say I haven’t shaved at all over the last few months, but man – who can be bothered keeping on top of that kind of job when nobody even sees them (except Ross, who is enough of a feminist not to give a damn). I treated myself to the “real man” shaving cream block as well, which I literally cannot recommend enough. Seriously, I have no idea why anybody bother’s using shaving foam in a can anymore. This stuff is the most long lasting, smoothest, great smelling stuff ever, and you get to apply it with a badger brush which has the added bonus of making me feel like a Victorian gentleman. I mean sure, it’s not actually mine, but TMM has the beard of a twelve year old (sorry love!) and has also stolen one of my exfoliating gloves – so tit for tat I say.

I then did nail painting and face masking and I even decided to start fake tanning again, because it really is time to get some colour back in the old girl. I’m not a massive follower of the generational habit of caking up with as much Mahogany Magic as possible, but I was getting slightly concerned that I was becoming translucent. Just a little coat (including my feet which for some reason made my dad hysterical when I told him – but you can’t have odd feet!) and I would now say I am the colour of a bowl of milk after you’ve eaten all the cornflakes, so that’s definitely a start.

Eventually I made it downstairs before TMM sent a rescue party and I spent the rest of the night slobbing about in my PJs watching the new Ghostbusters. {Side note: this is an excellent film and I will not hear a word said against it! I enjoyed it thoroughly and would recommend it to anyone.}

I have to say though that whilst I could never actually be arsed to do all the faffing about on a regular basis (I will shower and then I will moan about having to dry my hair and that will be it), it was nice to do everything all in one go and actually end the day looking like a real lady (even if I didn’t start it looking like one).

 hair 4

Pic 2 – HAIR MONTAGE

 ~

 *As mentioned above, Bucky has been on form this weekend. Friday presented us with some kind of fluff massacre outside the bathroom door. Fur like a rabbit, shaped like a squirrel tail and lacking in any blood or gore whatsoever (though there was a little stripe of skin) we prodded and poked it for a few minutes before deciding whatever it was – it was no longer and binned the whole lot. On Saturday though, Bucky really upped his game and brought it his first live catch. Swanning in through the cat flap, he dropped a tiny little mouse in the hall, proudly made his presence known and then proceeded to be heartbroken when I grabbed him and Ross bundled up our little visitor and threw him outside through the cat flap. Sir Buckalot miaowed his way around the hall and kitchen looking for his new friend, sniffed a lot of things and then yowled sadly when he realised he had been deserted. Quarter of an hour or so later, he disappeared back out in a huff and we settled down to enjoy more Fast and Furious (WHICH I AM IN LOVE WITH. LIKE, LITERALLY. IN LOVE. I don’t feel I can clearly convey quite how much). Five minutes later however, he returned with Mr Mousey (we’re assuming the same one, but who knows)  and lay down in the hall, rubbing his face all over his little rodent friend (who was scrabbling about like the proverbial). The more we think about it, the more we’re starting to think Buck is perhaps more of a Lenny from Mice of Men rather than Hannibal Lector. All of the previous prizes he’s brought in have been dead, but not mauled or damaged in any way except the fatal puncture. We’re now pretty convinced he just wants to invite them in to sit with him and discuss the merits of wet vs. dry food and whether his tail looks fat when he wears his collar.

Anyway, Bucky continued to nuzzle his companion in a loving and slightly forceful way, completely ignoring Ross’ war cries of “finish it!” and in the confusion of trying to rescue the mouse from being hugged to death and Bucky’s plaintive cries intermingled with Vin Diesel’s gravelly undertones, we managed to lose the bloody rodent under the fridge. We did set out a “humane trap” (a wine bottle full of feta) to no avail and TMM spent most of the evening pulling out kickboards and staring into the dark depths under the cupboards. Nothing has been found yet, so we must hope the Great Mousedini has escaped to safer pastures.

Obviously Buck is refusing to be kept down though, as when we got home yesterday, it was to find a rather annoyed looking starling sitting by the sink chattering furiously. He was quickly directed to the window and released to the outside, unscathed and seemingly fine, but who know what surprises will await us tonight…

Please enjoy these photos for our deadly panther. On the left we can see him relaxing after a hard evening of lying on the bed by moving to lie on the couch, and on the right he’s wearing what we have affectionately named “the Mane of Shame”

 

From Christmas Blues to Radiant Hues

Just one week left until the main event, my little Christmas Puddings! How are we all? Surprisingly, nearly everyone I’ve spoken to as already mostly prepared (including moi!) so I want to give you all a little round of applause. For those of you who are not ready, fear not! There is still time, and remember – it’s important not to get overwhelmed. I’ve been in a pact this year that has demanded there are to be no tears this month (relating to Christmas, obviously I’ll cry at other things) and if I can manage it, I know you can too.

Sine I do have a little bit more time than I usually do at this stage of the proceedings (and am attempting to limit my consumption of Due South to only 2 episodes a night so as not to be a complete mess when I do finish it), I am going to take this opportunity to dye my hair…PROPERLY! Hurray! Woo! Yay!

cat-dye

Bucky doing his best Vidal Sassoon impression

Now I have been dying my hair all sorts of weird and unnatural colours since I was about 12, and have pretty much always taken the “suck it and see” approach. Being luck enough to have hair reminiscent of a lion’s mane and about 3 times as think, I’ve been able to attack it with pretty much anything I can find and it’s always managed to hold its own (except that one bad experience with a dodgy bleach kit that left me cutting about 4 inches of destroyed hair off with a pair of blunt nail scissors. Still, it recovered and we’re Totally Fine now). It’s been through some rough times – including taking 3 boxes of bleach on more than one occasion, (word of warning – always open a window), having 7 colours on it in one go and letting semi-drunk friends come at it with a razor. Through it all it’s still here and as thick as ever so I can’t see myself stopping in the near future.

However this time, I’m going to be good (shock!horror) and actually do some of the things they recommend on the boxes. Having a spare weekend, I’m going to allow the dying process to carry over a few days, rather than cramming it all into an evening like usual. I would like to point out at this juncture that I have gone from dark purple to bright orange, forest green to shocking pink and a selection of other combinations in about 3 hours max, but in my mature old age I now see the benefit of taking my sweet time over things like this. To that aim, I present to you…The Complete Start to End Process of a Full Over-Haul Hair Dying Experience! Ta da!

For this, we’re going to need:

  • 2x boxes of bleach (whatever you can find in the shop)
  • 4plusx pots of fun colours (Manic Panic / Directions with a little splodge of StarGazer for good measure)
  • 1x plastic gloves
  • 4x old towels (spread over the floor to protect that carpet as best as possible)
  • 1x helpful boyfriend to take photos and tell you when you’ve missed a spot

ross-montage

Ross doing his best Robert Capa impression in the dying danger zone. Bucky was very interested in the whole affair.

Day 1 (Step 1) – The Bleaching

So, as I am naturally quite dark and going from a navy blue to a selection of much brighter shades, it’s important to strip off as much of the previous colour as possible. I’ve been washing with Head & Shoulders, which is excellent for this task (even though it’s not technically my shampoo – sorry Ross!). This has lifted a good amount of the colour off the ends, but there’s still quite a lot of dye left on the top. However this shouldn’t be too much concern as I’ll be layering the darker colours towards the roots (save time when there’s regrowth – all about that efficiency). Anyway, two boxes of bleach should hopefully be enough to cover most of the remaining colour and give me a blank (if somewhat gingery) base to work from. Now – prepare for that stinging!

Like a beautiful blonde butterfly emerging from a hair dye cocoon! Unfortunately, you can’t quite tell on this picture, but there were some excellent ginger chunks and one or two streak of blue that lingered despite persistent attention.

Day 2 (Step 5) – The Colouring

After muchos bleaching and wincing and washing and conditioning, we are now ready for step two. Most of the blue has been covered up (any left over patches can just add “shadow” to the new style, or some B*S like that) and I’m ready to go full out with my new colours. Today we’re mainly going for a look I have heard called “Neon Sunshine” but I am going to rename “Fruit Salad Delight” because that seems much more fitting. Seeing as it’s a bit bleak outside and there are some sad things going on at the moment, I thought it was about time to bring some aggressive cheer back to the proceedings.

tap-dye

This is definitely the most enjoyable part of the process in my opinion. There’s something that speaks to the secretly rebellious nature deep in my soul about splattering a new, bright and wonderfully unnatural colour on top of the blonde. Even though it’s a regular thing that I do now, and becoming more acceptable to have unusual hair in society/work place (woo hoo for #hairfreedom), I still get a sneaky little rush in being able to stand out from the crowd. That being said, it can be a little bit challenging trying to keep the dye specifically on my hair and not the carpet, wall, ceiling, sink, forehead, arms and boyfriend. There are some rather incriminating stains on the bathroom floor that will have to be dealt with if I ever want my deposit back. Still, it’s very therapeutic to slap a bit of colour on there and dance around to some dodgy youtube playlists. With this style, because I’m aiming for an ombre effect (some technical terminology for you there) I’ve had to rope the Man Muffin in to offer moral support and take over any back bits that I can’t reach. My shaved undercut does save a little bit of time these days, but there’s still a patch on my crown that always manages to evade my brush.

dye-on

Anyway, now we must wait, wrapped in cling film and being very careful not to rest hair on any unprotected surface. It typically takes 30 minutes for the hair to absorb the colour, but I usuall wait up to an hour to make sure it really gets in there. The good thing about these dyes is they’re closer to poster paint than peroxide and don’t burn the hair at all. After this, there will be much showering (where I can pretend I’m some kind of super-heroine that can shoot coloured water out of my fingers – don’t judge me I have fun) and 4 millions conditions to make sure my hair is beautifully soft and pampered after it’s ordeal.

Day 2 (Step 37 or thereabouts) – The Styling

Now I am all showered and scrubbed and fresh from the shower, the fancy styling can commence. I never used to hair dry my hair because I passionately hated the frizz I always seem to end up with. Over the last year or so though, I’ve come to realise with the right brush, rollers and about half an hour of serious upper arm exercises, I can get a lovely silky shiny curl which stays for up to 4 days and is definitely worth the effort. It’s always nice to do a good style the first time you’v dyed your hair, just so you can get the full effect of how awesome it looks (though obviously it’s important to use the cool heat setting and heat protection – see I can treat it nicely!). Anyway, all steps aside, we’re now on the home stretch and the new Christmas do is ready to rock and indeed roll!

Annoyingly, you can’t tell the delightfully subtle gradation of magenta through mandarin and ending apricot, but I promise you it’s there. Next time, we’re going to slap a bit more orange on and see how it goes.

I hope this hasn’t been too boring – I know from experience that blogs about hair/make up always seem like a good idea at the time, but the proceed to be as boring as sin and nowhere near as exciting as promised, and I hope this inspires you all to go out and embrace your inner my little pony hair (though don’t do styles any better than mine or I will feel outraged and betrayed).

Farewell for now poppets!