My Sharona

Another Day, Another Post, I'm Thinking Of Going Pro!

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Sorry, I've Been Posting Things on Ebay And I'm Now I'm In 'Type Every Word As A Proper Noun With A Capital Letter' Phase.

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Right, I think it's out of my system now. Shall we continue? 

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I've painted my kitchen. It's all pretty. One wall is a light apple colour and every now and then, within the crisp white tiles, there's a lovely pastel coloured square. It's lovely. And I did it all by myself.

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Now like you may be aware, I listen to Absolute Radio. As I pull the chair up towards the sink and the window, I sing along to 'My Sharona.' I grab the paint and the roller and prepare to ascend onto the chair then onto the side to paint above the window. 

'When you gonna give me some TIME SHARONA?'

Oops, need the paint brush for this bit, I grab paint brush and head back over to the chair.

'Close enough to look in my EYE SHARONA'

Get the chair prepared, put the paint onto the draining board

'Never gonna stop, give it up, such a dirty mind'

Put first leg onto chair

'My, My, I, I, I...'

OUCH!

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Yep, I have gone to put my foot on the chair and kneed the handle on the cupboard under the sink... And now I'm doing the 'Oh god, that blinking hurt' (Or stronger words) dance whilst holding a paintbrush covered in 'Foliage Green'.

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It's o.k, the pain is gradually dying away and I didn't swear too loudly. Back onto the chair. (Carefully) and up into the side. Then I look out and see a woman stood at the bus stop below my window. She standing in the spring sunshine. She seems happy. She's dancing to my music. How lovely. 

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Bang! my head hits the ceiling. Pain and pleasure. They're so close together.

Random Acts Of Kindness

A couple of days before Mothers Day, a guy came into my shop and walked straight up to me.

"Can you help out a guy who loves his mother but is down to his last £35?"

"What do you need?"

"That Mum locket at £37.50."

"I can't let it go for any cheaper I'm afraid, the system won't let me."

The guy rummages through his pocket and finds another £1.50. He's still a pound short

"You're still a pound short, I'm really sorry but I physically can't do it."

"Is there anything you can do?"

He has a pretty face.

I go to my OWN purse and take out a pound coin. I hand it over.

"Now this is from my own purse so think yourself lucky."

"You're a diamond. You really are, I won't forget this. When i have money again I shall return with a gift for you."

"You don't have to, it's only a pound, But I do like diamonds."

He winks at me and smiles and after the transaction, is on his way.

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My Random Act Of Kindness.

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Today I have a day off but pop into work to see the girls. Waiting for me is a chocolate egg with my name on it and a Thank You card.

I don't really know what to say about it. Apparently he seemed really sincere when he gave it in. Bless him. I gave him a pound, that was all, And now there is literally a chocolate egg on my coffee table with my name on it.

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You see, You give a little love and it all comes back to you. 

Hey World!

Yes, I'm still alive!

(I know)

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Sorry for the lack of posts, I've been somewhat busy over the last couple of months. I won't say too much, just the old cliche...

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... So there's this boy...

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I'm not going to say too much. But just so you're aware, 'Cricket' will probably be making more and more appearances in these coming posts. You have been made aware.

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Onto important news... Being domestic.

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1: Shopping.:~ I'm in the middle of what we call 'The Big Shop' and I'm standing in the non food section. I've picked up sponges and washing powder and now I need loo roll. Only now do I realise that I've been stationary for no less than four minutes staring at the wall of soft paper with a purpose.

Why is it necessary to have so many different toilet rolls? Do I want triple ply? Patterned? Peach? Pack of four for £3? 12 for £78? (OK so the last one wasn't true.) I look up and down the aisle and notice about five other women, all looking at the wall of paper with the same perplexed look. Since when was it this difficult to buy something that's going to hang on the wall an end up in the north sea?

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Whilst we're on the subject, am I the only person who has a 'way' of hanging my toilet roll (I feel we've hit and all time blog low) 

I always have it so that the 'end' hangs closest to me and not next to the wall. Is that something anyone else does? Or is it some weird OCD I have? Like folding crisp packets, or tucking my hair behind my ear?

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2: Decorating:~ I'm in the process of decorating my kitchen. Over the past week (Cricket is in Australia) I have scrapped the paint of of my tiles one by one. For some reason my whole flat has been painted beige. (Maybe there was a wholesale deal on magnolia in B and Q) and that includes my kitchen tiles. So every evening, after dinner, I turn on Absolute 80's on the radio and take on the used-to-be-white-then-blue-but-are-now-beige tiles one by one. 

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3: Sorting out clothes:~ anyone in nee of any clothes sized 8-10? I have a massive bundle. Let me know. Ta.

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4: Everything else:~ I can now cook, bake, unclog u-bends, change fuses, sew, knit, play ukulele, (that's not a domestic thing, just a blag) hang pictures, clean ovens and customise furniture, all the while sporting something polka dot and singing a song from the 80's. I am a domestic goddess.

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I'll blog again by the end of the weekend.

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I promise it will have more substance than this one. 

A new year.

They come quicker than ever don't they.

I promised in my last blog a lot of moments, Christmas, Birthdays, other moments worth treasuring. And I will, in good time.

I'm heading home tomorrow for the weekend. In a way it's nice to live so far away, because I can always get that excimtment of knowing that tomorrow I'll see my home. And my beautiful parents. I can reach the train station and feel like all my worries are gone because soon I'll be in my old room. I think no matter how old we grow, no matter what we achieve in life, there's always a small part of us that craves that innocence of home life. That security that only home gives you.
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As much as I adore my life in Glasgow, it's nice to run away every now and then. Run back to the place where I spent so many years wishing I'd run away from. As soon as you leave you suddenly see everything through Rose tinted glass. In my case, I want more than anything to pop to the local cafe with my dad. Sit in a pizza hut with my mum people watching. Sit in a circle in a lecture room and talk about plays with my friends.

I truly believe that home is where the heart is. I woke up on my birthday in my own flat that I pay for, I made a cup of tea with the kettle I was bought as a house warming gift. I watched the tv I pay the licence for, I used the electricity I topped up the previous evening. My flat is my home. But only when it got to lunch time did it suddenly feel like home.

Why?

I looked out of my shop to find my parents stood outside waiting for me.
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Suddenly I felt like I was really home. As the surprise and happiness took hold, I understood completely why that phrase 'home is where the hear is' was penned.

I've build a home with someone before. I hope to do it again one day because it's a wonderful feeling knowing that you've contributed to someone's life enough for them to want to do that. But I know now that no matter where I am in the world, my home will always me wherever those two are. My parents are my home.
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I can be soppy at times. I blame the cold weather.
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Onto other things, my shop is getting a refit. We spent Monday packing up stuff and waiting around drinking tea whilst builders assured us they were on their way.

We got onto the subject of You Tube. We chatted about funny cats, flash mobs and ducks being blown over. Then my manager mentioned the 'Michael Jackson's ghost' clip.

I knew what one she meant. But V and Hepburn (another new name for you, but her recent antics I'm sure she'll be here more often) hadn't. So we found the clip and let them watch it on V's phone. Then we waited.

They watched with intent as this very quiet video showed them things. Then, as a terrifying face suddenly filled the screen and screamed at them, the following happened.

Both Hepburn and V screamed very loudly.
V threw the phone across the room in panic
Hepburn repeatedly punched V on the arm whilst panting and almost hyperventilating.
Both went very very pink.
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Where's a camera when you need one?

That Time of year

On the 12th day of Christmas my true love Sent to me:-
12 hour shifts
11 wild boar burgers
10 cans of red bull
9 Greggs festive bakes
8 trips to Tesco
7 soups and baguettes
6 o'clock alarm call
5 minute breaks
4 hours sleep
3 tins of sweets
2 burger boys
And a temp who went completely AWOL!

I shall speak further on this in the new year. I shall talk about Gary falling down stairs, Vikki and I doing 'the aeroplane' and the IPad I received from Santa. I shall talk about Hogmanay and a second Christmas on a train station, a birthday surprise and the boy who flips burgers. All after a well deserved sleep.

I hope 2012 bring you all happiness and I hope it's the year where your dreams come true. I hope my dream comes back...

Happy new year!
Xxx

Posting before I lose the nerve...

There's a small suitcase. It has a martini glass and a clutch purse painted onto the side of it. It sits on my bedroom floor. This evening, for the first time in months, I opened it.

• A programme from a RSAMD production that you weren’t in. You took me to see it when I came to visit you.
• A train ticket dated the day after a friends house party. The night we first shared a bed. Even though we were telling the truth, nobody believed us when we said that nothing happened.
• A cork from the bottle of wine we shared at dinner the night that something did happen for the first time. We’d knocked over the empty bottle and made your housemate think we’d done it right there on the kitchen table. Little did he know that there were candles lit in your bedroom.
• A picture of you as a three year old playing in the park with an 18 year old monkey. A picture your parents gave to me to make me smile when you’d moved 500 miles away.
• A betting slip from Tipner greyhound stadium. Our dog didn’t win, I don’t even know if it finished.
• A note you left on the pillow one morning. An A5 sized sheet folded over that once opened, just read, I tiny writing ‘Love you!’
• A doodle of a butterfly that you made at work one very boring day. You took a picture of it on your phone and sent me it before giving me the doodle itself later that evening.
• A picture of you and me dressed in 50’s clothing from the time we went to a ‘countries’ party as ‘Greece’. Forget the togas and leaves, it’s all about Danny and Sandy.
• Another picture taken beside a river in Edinburgh. You wore that hat with the silly bits over the ears. You snuggled into my cheek and held the camera high.
• A gift tag addressed to ‘Penfold’
• A Jack of diamonds that you gave me backstage at our first show together. You said it was good luck. I put it in the small satchel I carried around for the entire play. We got a fantastic review and a full house every night. I think you were right about the luck.
• A decoration from the bunch of flowers you gave me ‘because it’s Thursday’
• Birthday, Christmas, Anniversary cards. Photos, Tickets to gigs, shows, cities. Tags from presents, notes we pinned to the cork board in the kitchen
• Memories, Moments, Love

All tucked away in a little box at the end of my bed.

I miss you.

So Apparently I'm Sexy

A little blog about what happened a couple of weeks ago.

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As you are aware, Buchanan Street is awash with buskers. A new addition to this atmosphere is a very good saxophonist. He manly scats, so when you're reading the random words part later on, imagine it is a bluesy, jazz style. ta

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I have to go to the working jeweller to get a ring sized for a customer. Buchanan street is very busy. I walk towards the saxophonist who's perched outside House of Fraser. He's free styling like a trooper. bab bab badoop bow bow badoop doop be bab... you get the picture, but suddenly, he spots me walking towards him. I walk quite quickly when I'm walking alone, almost like a stomp really. This sax player seamlessly changes his free styling into...

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The Stripper!

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Bab ba doop doop bow bow, da da daaa...da da daa daa...da da daa (Now, in my head, that's how The Stripper goes.) Then once I've walked past, he effortlessly goes back to his free styling.

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I obviously have a certain attraction, either that or he was being incredibly ironic.

I'll let you decide!