Lately I have had the strangest feeling (with no vivid reason here to find... if you don't know what song I'm referencing here wait until you get to the end of this post- you're in for a  treat*) that The End Of My Blog has come to pass and it's made me sad. I've loved writing this blog for so long and it has become quite a large part of who I am.

The other day I was lamenting the fact that it all had to end, thinking how stupid it would it be if I suddenly snapped and deleted the whole thing in a moment of sadomasochistic spite and then I thought:

'Just write another blog post then ya madhead and don't accidentally-on-purpose on delete it.'

So here I am.

I know I've only just got started, but do we have time for a wild tangent? It's an ANALOGY.



I'm not hot on technicalities.

We move on...

When I was little, I had a really pretty doll with brown ringlets and a little hat and a frilly dress. I remember it being one of those 'special possessions' that I loved so much it had an aura around it (like how I feel about my kimono and my cloak today).

One night, for No Reason, I drew all over the doll's face in permanent marker pen.

As soon as I'd done it I sat back in horror. I regretted it. I couldn't believe what I had done. Using my highly-developed intellect, to stop my mum from ever finding out what I'd done, I put the doll face down on the bed and got in the bath.

Five minutes later I shrank into the corner of the bath as I heard my mum yell in surprise and anger.


I have actually just burst out laughing at the thought of my mum casually pottering about my bedroom, turning my pretty doll round and seeing her face tattooed in thick black scribbles.

The point is...

My blog is a bit like that doll. I love it, yet feel like scribbling all over it and banishing it to cyber limbo.

(I wonder what happened to that doll? I hope she wasn't stigmatised for her facial tattoos. My dad tried to clean the pen off with white spirit or whatever it's called, but it never completely faded. Oh my god. Poor Maria- just remembered that was her name- what did I do?)

To make up for my absence, I am now going to write a SUPER BLOG POST filled with all the crap I can think of.

Let's go back to last Friday, when I went to Manchester for the weekend. At lunch time, everybody in the internship went to the pub and as the Big Bosses stayed there until 3pm, it meant everyone else could do. I felt tipsy, but everybody else looked kind of tipsy too. There was a box of props left over from fashion shoots and people were trying them on, laughing hysterically and shouting across the office.

When I worked at the pub I used to marvel at the office workers that came in and drank gin and tonics at lunch- I wondered how they got any work done. Now I know that they don't get any work done. At 4pm it was time for everyone to start drinking again from the office drinks cupboard.

By the time I got on the train to Manchester- with two unnecessary cans of M&S G&T in my bag- I was too fuzzy headed to read my book and I slept for most of the journey. When I woke up I had one thing on my brain- chips and curry sauce.

Amy and Chris met me outside Affleck's Palace because I knew I'd get lost, trying to find my way to the Northern Quarter. I feel like I don't know Manchester at all.

Amy and Chris have got less than one week left before they leave for Australia, so it was kind of a leaving drinks thing. We went to Trof, where Kayt and Adam were waiting, as well as two of Amy's friends from Liverpool- Jess and Steph- and one girl Amy worked with in American Apparel.

Have I told you the story of how American Apparel were absolutely foul to Amy and she lost her job because of a horrible bitch with lego hair who hated her?

Boycott American Apparel. They're a horrible company and they try to advertise clothes by showing teenagers in their knickers. I don't get it... Do any of these images want to make you buy clothes?

 I believe it's called 'Hipster Sexism'. I don't have a problem with ladies getting their rudey bits out, but I don't like the way these ads have a menacing subtext, as if you can hear the man behind the camera saying "Now bend over, now open your legs..."


Just in case any smart arses out there are thinking smugly that perhaps I'm the sexist one for not realising that the women are pulling these compromising poses because they want to, because these women are simply UNINHIBTED and SELF-ASSURED: let me tell you that if a woman wanted to do a 'sexy pose' she wouldn't do a squat or spread her thighs out like a frog...

She'd probably do something that made her bum look nice.

Unless... unless I've been doing it very, very wrong? Is that why my Casual Sex Motorbike has stayed in the shed- under heavy dust sheets- for all this time, because I haven't been squatting and drawing explicit attention to my Lady Garden?

I have gone dangerously off-topic now. Where was I?

Trof, in Manchester. It's really nice, laid back but still 'buzzing', as the locals say (or so I am led to believe), on weekends. You should go if you ever visit Manchester. They do nice food normally, but the kitchen had closed by the time I arrived.

I couldn't wait any longer for my chips and curry sauce so I went round the corner to get some. There was one man sat in the fast food 'restaurant' when I went inside. The place was brightly-lit and the walls were peeling, it was depressing. I got my chips and curry sauce which were ok, not as nice as I was imagining, but then I suppose it is a fairly disgusting dish to order when you're anything less than Proper Fucking Smashed.

I made eye contact with the other lone diner.

How did it come to this, pal?

Back in Trof, I was feeling in a #LAD mood so I sat at the table with Chris and Adam and drank ale with them instead of sharing wine with the girls. I had some shelving ideas I wanted to discuss with my fellow #LADs but they weren't really up for it.

Jess and Steph said they read my blog and they told me I should keep it up. That doesn't really fit in with the narrative of this story but I wanted to say it anyhow.

Weirdly, it was a hip hop night. I assume everything in the Northern Quarter is going to be indie or soul music. We danced a lot and Chris bought everyone tequila. Amy's friend Steph was dancing on a table which was GREAT but I wasn't drunk enough to join her.

I don't know what time we left, but we got back to Amy and Chris's about half three. On the way home we got pizza, chicken and chips and the man who served us was wearing a mutlicoloured plastic hat. He said it was his birthday and then for Some Reason Amy got into a very deep, philosophical conversation with him about Aging and Life. Amy wouldn't let us drag her away because she said he was giving her great advice, so Chris ordered some chicken nuggets while we waited.

At the time I didn't realise how weird it was that Chris had ordered chicken nuggets from a fast food place other than McDo... Later on I bit into one and it OOZED with pinky whit gunk.


I feel like I might vomit.

Quickly moving on...

A strange man got in our taxi. I can't remember what he was saying but I do know I was cackling away at everything he said. He asked us where we were going and we said Ancoats.

"I'm going to Ancoats too!" he said.

When we all looked dubious he reached into his pocket, "I got dolla I got dolla!"

He said me and Amy reminded him of his nieces.

"Why, how old do you think we are?" Amy asked him.

"About 24," he said to Amy.

Then, squinting at me he said, "Not you, you're a bit older... 28."

I like being mistaken for someone older because me feels Incredibly Mature, but if I look 28 now and I'm only 24, I think it's time to lay off the booze for a while.

We managed to run away from him when we got out of the taxi, although we did debate bringing him up to the flat for a laugh. He really reminded me of Bez. I bet he had maracas in his coat pocket.

Amy and Chris's flat was almost empty. All the furniture had gone apart from their sofa and an air bed. We chatted for a while, drinking whisky shaken with maple syrup, before Amy and Chris went to sleep on the air bed and I slept on the couch with a dressing gown over me. It was so weird! They have packed up their life and they are moving to the other side of the world.

I hope they have the best time ever, but I also hope they come back after a year. Too many people decide to stay in Australia, for the weather and the high wages, the wandering around contentedly and the freedom.

I've just realised that if I make this blog post too long nobody will get to the end of it, so that's all for now but I might make a cup of tea and do another one. Quite into it now.

*Unless you don't like Stevie Wonder, in which case no treats for you.

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