The Census

Ten years ago I was 13. I was studying at City Of Portsmouth Girls School and thinking about what colour I wanted my bedroom.

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Fast forward ten years and I'm in my own flat, I'm out of school and in a job, I'm in a different country. My how things change when you don't pay attention.

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The first part was pretty easy. Yes I live with a partner. Yes we rent a self contained flat from a letting agency. No there's no one else staying with us on the night of the 27th March. But then it starts getting a bit personal.

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I'm ok, I'm in full time employment. It's McBride who suffers. Being a full time student, this is the order of the questions he must answer

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Last week were you:~

Working as an employee

Working self employed

A bunch of other options

None of the above.

McBride ticks none of the above.

Are you actively seeking work?

No

Are you awaiting to start a job that has already been aranged?

No

Have you EVER worked?

Well, bit rude! Not only has the poor guy lost an hour of his weekend, he's being judged but a paper questionaire. All he wanted was a nice lesurely weekend.

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Wonder Woman

OK, so this is barely long enough a story to make a proper post with but it's made my entire week so I'll add descriptive padding.

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So It's Sunday. After sipping freshly ground coffee beans ( a present from India) and munching on 6 slices of toast. McBride and I ponder on what to have for dinner. I know, discussing one meal as soon as another is complete. Utter madness.

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We decide on spaghetti bolognaise so I prepare myself to go to Iceland (the store not the country) to get vitals. Mince, mushrooms and of course red wine. This is where the story really starts.

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Picture my attire, if you will. Brown brogues, jeans, a new coat (A beautiful Fenchurch treasure reduced to £25) and a red 'Wonder Woman' t-shirt. I leave my building and head towards the main road. Iceland is only around the corner so I'm actually only outside for about  four minutes but it's four minutes I will remember forever.

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There are two men outside the bookies. One is pointing at me and dancing as I walk towards him. I'm listening to Jamie T on my iPod as this moment and can't understand why he's smiling and dancing so much. Is it so loud that he can here it? I'm at a line in 'Sticks 'n Stones' that goes

'With the boys across the platform shouting "Lightweight P***k"..'

So I'm really hoping they can't hear it. I fumble in my pocket and press pause but the guy continues to dance. This is what I hear. (Imagine the Glaswegian accents please. It makes it more funny)

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Wonder Woman's coming pal.

I can see pal

Yeah, Wonder woman... Then he breaks into the dance again and sings a theme tune. Only it's not the Wonder Woman theme. It's the A Team theme. Daa da da daa, da da daaa.

That's not Wonder Woman! you t**t, that's the song from Indiana Jones!

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The dancing and singing finally stops and I continue to Iceland, do my shopping and head back. They're still outside and like deja'vu, he begins again. Daa da da daa, da da daa. His mate is now chatting with someone else. But turns and says 'No, that's not right you t**t' (nice term of endearment there) He then turns to his mate and asks how the theme tune to Wonder Woman goes. Genuine answer from new boy?

'Wonder Woman? Is that the woman who's a cat?'

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I love it when a plan comes together.

Things I've worked out recently

1: The fewer manners you have, the more manners you demand.

 Come in, be arrogant, shout/swear/spit if you feel the need. Just don't give me a disgusted look if I get a little sarcastic/blunt. You don't automatically gain respect in any other walk of life. A shop floor is no different. Be rude to me, I'm not bothered, but don't demand respect when you haven't earned it.

2: Everyone has the same ring tone.

You hear it loud and clear. that familiar iPhone sound. It's usually either 'Strum' or 'Old Phone' (You can tell I'm an appleaddict) and without fail, half of the people in close proximity take their phone out of their pocket, myself included.

3: Language is changing.

Conversations seem to start with 'Yeah, no...' and finish with 'know what I mean?'

People say 'lol' instead of actually laughing.

Words with more than three syllables are rarely used in day to day conversations, and if by chance these words are present, they are often shortened.

Many words roll into one. I don't know become idunno.

4: The most universal lie in the world ever.

I have read and understand the terms and conditions. Tick

5: Technology isn't always a step forward.

I give you the Kindle. 'Buy once, read anywhere.' What like a book?

6: Glasgow is still in the grip of winter.

The weather men and the met office boffins has forecast more snow for us within the next week or so. My blankets are being used more than my tea cups. I miss my maxi dresses and sunglasses.

7: Time flies too quickly.

I've been here over six months. We're already a quarter of the way through 2011. I'll be 25 next year. McBride has got his braces off after 18 months. Tomorrow we'll be closer the this weekend than last weekend.

8: There's no real point to this post.

But thanks for reading.

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The Walk To Work

My house is on a corner. So obviously turn the corner onto the main road. That's step one.

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Past the bus stop crowded with people waiting for a bus that will come around the corner completely packed. Onwards towards 'The Corner Of Doom' In which you must try and cross before someone with what must be a broken indicator swings round and hits you. (It's amazing how many people around here have broken indicators) If completed with all limbs, continue along the main road.

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Walk past a building site and try to avoid eye contact with the scary builder on the top level. He will wolf whistle if you look in his direction. Keep eyes towards the ground or use this moment to change the song on your iPod/check messages/facebook/that new piece of gum on the pavement. Never look up until you reach the next bus stop.

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Continue walking past the block of flats that has as many 'to let' signs as it has broken windows. Lovely stuff. For added effect, check out the litter in the forecourts. Classy. If anyone exits from these flats, repeat previous advice about checking phone/floor. Eye contact can lead to fist/face contact. (What a beautiful picture I'm painting. It's actually not like that at all, well, it's a mess but no one ever goes in, no one ever comes out so you're OK there)

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Past the Barra's. (if travelling on a Saturday, marvel at the bargain shops in the Barra's market and watch with glee as the old guy in the beanie tries to assemble his market stand with one hand while the other holds a can of Buckfast). Alternatively you can look on the other side of the road at the 'Adult Clothing Shop' which stocks the very best in fetish wear and sexy..erm... insect costumes. (seriously, that's what's in the window). There's also a bin outside that has the graffiti 'End Israel Apartheid' Which may be a good point but I've got a bumble bee costume to buy!

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Over the road and into Trongate. This is wear it started to get a little busier and you are now in the city centre. Stroll past the Italian place that's 'Under New Management' but never open. Wander past the chip shop where the guy behind the counter has a recording contract. (Honestly he has, he was on 'The One Show' and has a fabulous voice) Walk past the scariest cherub statue you will EVER see. It's like a baby Mat Lucas with bug eyes and a crooked creepy smile. None of that cuddly cuteness you get with Mr Lucas. God it's awful. Pass the amusement arcade with the singing bingo caller, the art gallery, the Tron Theatre, a Greggs,  an old fashioned sweet shop, the odd drunk, a guy who stands outside TG Huges selling papers, one of the few McDonalds that opens at 5 (to my knowledge) and onto Argyle street.

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Buskers: guitar players, break dancers, an old lady with an accordion, a five year old on a set of drums, bag pipers, football skills, sax players, harpist, opera singers, string quartets, jazz singers, Bible preachers, Scottish dancers, human statues, balloon animal maker type people to name a few all the way through Argyle Street, up Buchanan Street and round in Sauchihall Street.

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People ask me why I moved here. Right now, the walk to work is in the top ten reasons.

How To Make Fajitas

Instructions on box

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• Coat chicken in oil and seasoning mix. (For a milder fajita use less seasoning)
• Heat a heavy based frying pan until very hot. Add the chicken and fry for about 3 minutes until well browned.
• Add onions and peppers and cook for a further 2 minutes or until meat is cooked.
• Serve with warm tortillas and salsa
• Roll up and enjoy! (there's actually an exclamation mark here, I didn't put it in)

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V and McFarley way

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• Order an Asda delivery to be delivered between 6 and 8
• Unpack delivery once I arrives at five to 8.
• Take out bins quickly to create more space.
• Assume you've been locked out of the back door due to McFarley using the wrong key. Walk around to front of house and get back in the building.
• Indulge in some rather strange host/guest role reversal as V cuts up all the food and McFarley just holds the frying pan and stirs the chicken with a fish slice.
• Wonder why it's so blinking hot in the kitchen before realising that two people, one cooker and one heater all working in a kitchen no bigger than a five foot creates a fair bit of heat. Turn on extractor fans and open the window.
• Suggest the addition of grated cheese. (V goes to cupboard to take out grater and finds the 'Worlds Sharpest Knife' flying towards her face in a desperate big to either be used or escape. McFarley helps out greatly by standing at the frying pan and yelling 'THAT'S A KNIFE!' Very useful)
• Check V has no scars and check there's no blood on floor/V/food.
• Forget until almost the last minute to put the tortillas in the oven to warm, (McFarley swears a little too loudly)
• Cook everything with no added salmonella and enjoy! (I added that one)

Shop Confusion

I had the day off work yesterday.

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Never one to venture out of my comfort zone, I went shopping with V from work. (she's new to this blog, be nice to her and say hi. Hello V!) V needs a new dress for her boyfriends birthday party. I need...well nothing really but I'm on my own this week and fancied some company.

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We meet outside work at half 11 and wander around Buchanan Street and such before heading to McDonald's.

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All very normal and un-blog-worthy I hear you cry. Never fear. here's where it all starts.

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Hollister!

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Have you ever been in one of these shops? It's the most bizarre place I've ever visited. And I've been to Bulgaria. On entering, we are met by a greeter girl who (with a hint of fakeness in her voice) welcomes us to 'the Pier'. The pier? Suddenly I've been transported to a beach somewhere where they sell polo shirts and jogging bottoms. I used to live near the beach and I can assure you. South Parade pier didn't look like this. Wheres the two pence machines? The toy grabbing machine that makes that bloody awful 'YOU FAIL' noise when you lift an empty crane out of the teddy's? This is nothing like the pier back home. For one thing,  the pier back home had it's light on.

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Yes, the lights. Ever had an intimate evening with your partner? you turn down/off the main light and sit in near darkness with just a small lamp or the  TV providing just enough light for you to see things and not bump into them. It's romantic no? That's the lighting in this shop. Jeans are displayed in almost candlelit brightness and small 3 watt bulbs hang from the ceiling. The brightest form of light is the huge LED screen at the back of the shop that shows waves on the tropical shore. Everywhere else is covered in a half light that leaves me full of concern for the mole like workers.

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All the workers are in checked shirts and cool hip and happening bottoms. All the girls have big hair and big grins. The guys have too much styling gel and not one of them has their collar down. Every single one of them has model looks, no blemishes/braces/roots in sight (well, at least I don't think so, it was so blinking dark). They parade around in the twilight bopping along to the tunes falling out the speaker, the bass turned up way too loud. Meanwhile, the air has a humidity to it that's sticky enough for both V and I to take off our coats. Maybe it's supposed to give us a beach/holiday feel but by the time I'm near the back (by the waves) I'm confused, deafened, sweaty and concerned for my eyesight. I don't understand. there's even a sitting area near the tills. I suppose that must be for all the sunbathing you do in the middle of Glasgow on a Wednesday afternoon

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 Hi, Welcome to Hollister, It's dark in here, we're all better looking than you, nothing has a price on it and it's warm enough to cook bacon in here. Please buy something.

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Maybe I'm just getting old?

My Kitchen

My kitchen is bright red

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It has white tiles along the wall behind the cooker. A window which overlook some shrubbery and the bus stop. A pin board covered in postcards, photos and memories. And a small collection of cookery books in the corner.

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It also has the following.

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Red splotches of paint on the white ceiling.

The people before us obviously pained in haste. Around the edges of the ceiling are blobs of bright red paint. Now in the cupboard when we moved in were three pots of paint. One red (of course) one cream (the colour of the hallway and living room) and one white. Now why didn't anyone look at that pot and think 'I know, we'll cover the red splotches with this colour. it seems to be the same colour at the paint under the splotches!'

But instead, they forgot/didn't, or hoped we would think it was some kind of contemporary art. Like Tracy Emin. Maybe it's suppose to represent something. Ketchup?

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Two plug sockets next to the sink!

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Who in the world though that this would EVER be a good idea? Electricity, so I'm told is a pretty dangerous thing when mixed with water. In a kind of boom way, it'll make you're hair super backcombed and your eyes super popped-out. So I've got a psare plug socket, where shall I put it?' 'I know, we'll put them on the wall next to the sink. There's only a tiny bit of work space there but hey, its enough for a kettle or something." Clever.  Ten points for trying.

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A severe lack of drawers.

Inside the cupboards are the rungs (or whatever they're called) for drawers. But no drawers. The folks before us must have had drawers with sentimental value. Maybe they were made by a dying relative, maybe they had family heirloom drawers that their Great Great Grandmother carried over from Russia. 'When she arrived in Scotland, these drawers and the dress she was wearing were all she had.'

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Now a word about the people that lived here before us. They were lovely people. Very sweet and kindly popped back after we moved in to make sure we were OK and settled. But they were very strange in what they left/took.

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Left: One lamp, one coffee table, one Ikea catalogue, one torch, fridge magnets in shapes of letters, one iron,  one ironing board, three pots of paint, one pack of cards, three frying pans, one mirror, one broom

Took: Drawers from kitchen, Curtain pole and curtains(but they did leave another pole that was about a foot too long.) towel rail, toilet roll holder, lampshades,

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Odd.