Bum Deal

Taggart was slightly peeved when she called me yesterday. Turned out that her work colleagues had been asking her if she'd 'pulled' on holiday.

'What kind of holiday do they think we were going on?!' she exclaimed. 'Don't they realise that we are mature thirty-three year olds and not teenagers now?'

It was pretty rude of them. I mean we'd told everyone that we were going to be purely relaxing and we'd chosen a hotel accordingly. One with a nice spa, rather than a nice bar. And as for men, we weren't going anywhere near the male species. We probably wouldn't even look.

Okay, Taggart did text me as she boarded her flight from Glasgow Airport to say that she was checking out whether there was any talent, but that's normal isn't it? Everyone knows that you have a nosey to see who you will be sharing a plane with. Plus even if there was some hottie it is highly unlikely that he would be sitting next to Taggart. I've flown more times than I can even remember and I've never had any good-looking strangers sitting beside me. Never. It just doesn't happen. It's a flying law. Like gravity.

There also seems to be a new rule that goes hand in hand with going on a plane trip. At least with me anyway. The fact that it is now customary for me to be on the receiving end of airport security banter. The first time was on my date with Fishy when I was told I couldn't board wearing knife and fork earrings. This time was going well initially, I didn't even beep as I went through the mental detector. As I went to collect my bag though I was stopped by one of the security guys who said he needed to search it. Fine. Just a bit inconvenient but I had nothing to hide.

'Er, what's this then?' he asked pulling out something from my bag.

Bugger.

'This looks a bit suspicious to me. What do you think guys?' he asked some of his colleagues holding up the object to show them. 'Do you think we should let her take this through?'

'Why don't you scan it through again on its own?' one of them suggested. 'I agree that it looks dodgy though.'

They discussed it for a bit longer, generating interest with the rest of the people in the queue. What on earth was this girl trying to take on the plane? Fireworks? A pet iguana? A pair of tweezers?

I wish. This was something far, far worse.

Everyone stared as the offending article was placed in a tray to go through the scanners. They looked puzzled when they saw what it was.

A book? Is that it? How could a novel cause such a fuss?

Yep. Just a paperback that I had picked up in the charity shop a few days before. It shouldn't be a big deal at all. Certainly not worthy of the laughter that erupted from everyone as it trundled past them and they got a closer look at it. Or to be more specific, after they had read the title...

'Does My Bum Look Big In This?'

I was mortified. I might have seen the humour in the situation were it not for the fact that I'm sure I saw some people staring at my ass. Which may also have been okay were it not that I'd dressed in leggings, making the answer to that question a resounding yes! I vowed never to dress for comfort again.

Was still slightly smarting as I got on the plane and made my way to my seat. I could see that the two next to mine were already taken. By two young, good-looking guys...

There is a God!!

I couldn't believe it. This had never happened before. Clearly the universe was trying to make up for the ordeal I had just had. I smiled at them as I sat down and said 'Hi'.

It just took a few minutes for the grin to be wiped off my face as I took in the clothes they were wearing, their voices and their relative disinterest in me.

Gay.

How bloody unfair.

The journey passed in silence. It was fine though. I was pretty busy with my book anyway. Then as we were about to land the guy sitting next to me started a conversation with me. We talked about all sorts - how old we are, where we are from, what jobs we do etc. At times, weirdly, it felt as though he was flirting with me but I'd obviously got that wrong. Or so I thought until we started discussing where we were staying in Gran Canaria. Turns out he'd read the reviews of his hotel after he'd booked it and had discovered that it was popular with gay clientele and that him being a straight guy he hoped that wasn't true.

Yep a flipping STRAIGHT guy. A single, straight and hot guy for that matter and I'd sat next to him for almost five hours and not made the most of the opportunity because I thought he danced on the other side of the ballroom. It's just lucky that Taggart and I weren't looking for that kind of holiday or I would really have been annoyed with myself.

Morale of the tale? - It's obvious isn't it? Never judge a book by it's cover.

Giddy Kipper

You would think I'd never been on holiday before. Excited is not the word! I can't even concentrate properly, my head is already on the beach.

It probably explains why it took me so long to work out what the dodgy smell was in my fridge earlier. It was a real puzzle because there isn't even that much in there. I picked everything up one by one to sniff them. The mayonnaise, the milk, the wine, the yoghurts, the chocolate. All fine. Nothing out of date. Weird.

I felt pretty stupid when I realised that the aroma was that of fake-tan. From my own out-stretched arm.

I'm probably extra-excited because when Taggart and I first talked about going away, my bank account was screaming 'No!' and it wasn't looking like I could go anywhere.

I was in the middle of thinking up hair-brained schemes to get some cash when I spotted my money pot. I've been putting money in it for a few years, a pound coin here, a fiver there and was only going to break it when it was full which it wasn't quite yet. I was saving for a rainy day though and it has been pissing down recently and I really want to go on holiday, so I decided it was time to smash the pot.

After a quick google to find out the best way to do it (put a chisel in the money slot and just 'lift' the top off) I sat and counted my money...

I only flipping well had seven hundred and fifty-four pounds and twenty pence!!!!

Yep, £754.20!!!

I know - I couldn't believe it either! You wouldn't even imagine that much would fit in the pot. I felt like a lottery winner.

So after a quick call to Taggart to inform her that I'm actually rich and just hadn't realised it, we had a quick search on the internet and a few hours later had booked our respective flights (her from Glasgow, me from Manchester) to meet up in the Canaries.

We've both been giddy kippers since. Well I know I have and the fact that Taggart keeps sending me texts saying things like 'Do you fancy meeting up on Monday? What about meeting half-way? In Gran Canaria say? Woo hoo!' suggests that she is too.

It has an extra special place in our hearts as well, because both Taggart and I used to work there. We knew each other from school but it was the 'Summer of 97' while working in the sunshine, miles away from home that we became proper friends.

Of course it is irrelevant really. We were whippersnappers then, while now we are mature adults. It doesn't really matter where we are going because all we intend to do is sunbathe and relax. We aren't even going to go out. So while I will in theory have plenty of time to blog, I just won't have anything to write about. I mean I know that Taggart and I seem to attract drama to us wherever we go...but not this time. Nope, 'Rapunzel and Taggart do Gran Canaria' is going to make for a very boring read so I won't inflict it on you.

(Note to any men - you realise if you ask me out on a date now, I'll think that you only want me for my money?! And on the same theme, note to everyone - I do not want to return from my holiday to lots of begging letters. Get your own money pot!)

The One and Only

Sometimes I love being single.

Of course it can have its disadvantages. And obviously the fact that I've recently done such things as join an online dating agency and go on a date with a fellow blogger, means that I do want to meet someone and not end up as a spinster whose idea of fun is a new packet of Werther's Originals.

But like I said though, sometimes life as a single girl is great. The freedom, the independence, the not having to shave your legs regularly.

Then there are the days like today. The days that the universe sends you little messages to try and tell you that being single is a big, fat, negative situation. That you aren't an independent women, you are just in fact, all alone in the world. You are an inhabitant of Lonelyville. Population: One.

It started when I went to a body pump class this morning. Was quite impressed with myself for dragging my lazy ass to the gym on a Friday morning. Especially as I was out on the razzle dazzle last night. Got to the class and to say that that attendance was low, would be an understatement. It was just me.

The teacher asked if I wanted to go ahead. I decided I would. I mean it had taken a lot of effort to go to the class, I'd be as well doing some exercise. And in actual fact, wouldn't it be a bit like having a personal training session? Just without the big payment? See, there is a positive side to every situation.

My plan would have worked were it not for the fact that the teacher was clearly still in I've got a class full of people mode and deemed it necessary to put her microphone on and regularly shout instructions like 'Come on everyone! Put some effort in!'

I can only imagine that the muscle men pumping weights just outside the studio must have wondered who the 'everyone' was when all they could see was me. Was she doing a class for someone special? Body pump for Schizophrenics.

Was heading home from the gym feeling a bit like a loser when my phone beeped with a text from my friend Darren.

Hi darling. Just wanted to tell you I had an amazing time with you last night xxxxx

Great. Except I didn't see Darren last night. Plus he usually texts me as though I'm one of the boys. No, this text clearly wasn't for me.

Now this isn't a story about sending a text to the wrong person, of which I have many. For starters, there is the time my brother sent a text to a family friend by accident asking if they 'fancied a shag.' A male family friend.

No this is about the fact that I was having a little laugh to myself about Darren's mistake and was just sending him a cheeky reply saying that I thought it was lovely he'd started calling me darling, when there was another beep...

Obviously that last text wasn't for you.

Obviously. Obviously I'm not worthy of a 'darling'. Or a 'xxxxx'. Or even a 'x'. Mind you it appears I don't even deserve a 'how are you anyway?'

Arrived at the Tower and checked to see if I'd received any post. There was just one solitary envelope in the mailbox. (Are you spotting a theme here?)

It was a circular, looking for donations to charity. I opened it up. There at the top of the page in massive letters is 'One is the saddest number' and then 'Dear Friend, this letter, as you'll have gathered, is about loneliness...'

Give me a bloody break universe! I refuse to let you piss on my single portion of chips from a great height. Sometimes it is great to be a single girl. Honestly. For a start it means that you are able to decide on a whim to go on holiday with your best mate!

Yep, me and Taggart are heading off to the sun next week. Adios!

Gobbledygook

According to newspapers, there is a school in England that has banned pupils from sending Valentine cards, as they don't think children are 'emotionally mature' enough to cope with romance.

One of my former classmates may very well have wished that particular rule was in place when we were at school.

Little Bobby Walker. The object of my affection when I was the grand old age of 11.

He wore a really nice anorak and was good at playing football so I decided I was going to ask him to be my boyfriend. Not only that, but I was going to do something quite unheard of. Instead of sending a friend on my behalf, to tell Bobby that I fancied him, I decided to cut out the middle man and speak to him myself. Face to face. Man to man.

This was my first mistake. The second was telling my friends about my plan. Word got around, so it meant that when the bell rang at the end of the day, quite a crowd had gathered at the school gate. Standing in the centre of the group was Bobby Walker.

'I hear you have something to ask me. What is it?'

My third mistake was forgetting that boys mature slower than girls. I paid no heed to the fact that Bobby was surrounded by his friends and would want to impress them. I stupidly went ahead and asked him loudly and clearly if he would be mine.

'No. Eff off.'

He actually said the proper profanity, I just can't bring myself to type it. I can still distinctly remember how I felt standing in front of everyone with my cheeks smarting while his grubby friends laughed.

What I don't remember is what I did after. That is until a few months ago when my older cousin gave me a load of letters I'd written to her as a wee lassie growing up in Scotland.

One particular letter mentioned that I'd sent a Valentine's card to Bobby Walker.

It all suddenly came back to me. Don't worry it wasn't a mushy one. Obviously he didn't deserve that. No, I remembered that what I'd done was made him a card with the inscription 'You and your mouth are fowl' and being the clever girl I was, I'd drawn a picture of a hen to accompany my words. I know, I know, witty eh?!

I'm just glad that this memory came back to me because I hadn't explained all this in my letter. In actual fact I could have been really concerned about the young me, because all I had written to my cousin, in my big childish scrawl was...

'Did you send any Valentine cards this year? I did. I sent one to Bobby Walker. I drew a cock on it.'

Ah, the innocence of youth.

The card clearly worked a treat because it was no time at all before Bobby said he'd changed his mind and wanted me to be his girlfriend. Or rather he got his twin brother Billy to tell me that. I just wish I could have seen his face when Billy went back and told him that I'd also changed my mind and now liked him instead and we'd become a couple...

Blog Off

BLOG OFF
Starring: Rapunzel and Fishy
Casting: Bamberio
Certificate: PG (some obscene language, some talk about nipples, but no actual sex scenes)


Hollywood has been rocked by the release of Blog Off. It is the film everyone is talking about. Never before has there been a movie like this.

Termed as a romantic comedy, it's actually so much more. It breaks all the rules by mixing lots of genres. Part comedy, part thriller, part adventure movie, part buddy film, part horror and part musical.

Think of Indiana Jones mixed with Mrs Doubtfire. When Harry Met Sally crossed with Airplane.

Ironically, the only genre really missing is the 'rom' to go with the 'com'.

Newcomers Fishy and Rapunzel are well cast as a couple thrown together in dramatic circumstances. Fishy is the likeable lad looking for love in Liverpool, while Rapunzel is the girl living in the Tower and waiting for her hair to grow. (Special mention must go to Rapunzel for her accurate attempt at a Scottish accent.)

From the outset, the viewers doubt this relationship will work out, but as we follow them on their journey, sharing the first phone call, the first date and witness Fishy becoming a man by losing his Skype virginity, we can't help but root for them.

We empathise when a spillage makes Rapunzel look like she has nipple leakage. We cringe when Fishy starts serenading her with Lionel songs. We feel the tension as they both log on to see what the other has written in their respective blogs. We share Fishy's almost palpable joy when he discovers that Rapunzel also loves The Office. We delight in the fact that they wear nearly matching outfits on their first date and we are reminded of Britney and Justin wearing denim. We pray that Fishy and Rapunzel are the new them (prior to the break-up and break-down).

All too soon the cracks start to appear and there is a particularly dramatic scene where they argue about Rapunzel liking tuna and Fishy not. Emotions run high. Theirs and ours.

My only criticism of the film would be that it ends too quickly leaving you feeling slightly short-changed. Don't worry though, this is a pairing that is already being mentioned in the same breath as both Cagney and Lacey and Turner and Hooch so expect to see more of this twosome.

There are already mutterings of a script being written for Blog Off Part 2 where we see our protagonists as friends working together to help each other find love. It will allegedly be set in a minefield. Sounds like one sequel that will be worth watching.

Regardless, Blog Off is going to be this year's Oscar success after being nominated in almost every category.

Expect to see it take the statuettes for Best Actress and Actor as well as Best Supporting Role for Rapunzel's bra. It also looks likely to scoop the prizes in Best Original Screenplay and Best Foreign Language Film. It will fall down in the music categories as Fishy's rendition of songs by Dire Straits just don't cut it, though Rapunzel may win in Sound Editing for pressing the mute button.

Verdict: An unmissable triumph.

Skypetease

If Fishy tells you that he went to bed with me, you'll have to take it with a big pinch of salt.

It wasn't quite like that.

He did discover the benefit of me being an older women though. Yes, I showed him things he'd never dreamed of before.

I took Fishy's Skype cherry.

I was actually surprised that he hadn't used it before. I would have thought that being able to chat over the internet for free would really have appealed to his er..frugal side.

Turns out that despite being a novice, he took to it like a fish to water. Even started going on about using webcams. I wasn't so sure.

'Go on. I want Mildred to see the girl that has been taking up all my time recently.'

'I'm not putting it on just so your cat can see me.'

I was laughing at the absurdity of this suggestion when I knock a drink onto some clothes I'd just taken out of the washing machine. Seriously, why am I so clumsy when it comes to dates with Fishy? Virtual or otherwise.

I swear and explain to him that I've just spilt on my pyjamas.

'You've got your pj's on?!'

'No I'm not wearing them.'

'You aren't wearing anything?!'

'Of course I am! Just not my pyjamas!'

'I don't believe you. I think you're naked while you are talking to me!'

'I'm certainly not.'

'Prove it. Put your webcam on.'

Oh for God sake. I switch it on to humour him and am gutted when the little box springs up showing me what he can see. I look awful. I really don't give good webcam.

'Right put yours on then,' I tell him.

'I don't have one.'

Damn. I walked straight into that one. Curse myself for being so gullible.

Decide to take the opportunity to show him my view. I mean he's not likely to get any other chance. With his fear of heights I mean.

I carry my laptop up to the window so he can see the sights of Manchester. He seems really impressed.

Fishy suggests we make dinner together. What a bad idea. He may think it's a good one, especially as this is one meal he won't have to treat me to, but he doesn't know what I'm like in the kitchen.

Plus I was planning on having beans on toast and I'll have to do something fancy now. Bloody webcam.

What seems like hours later, we are ready to eat. I'd like to tell you in more detail what happened, but to be honest I've blocked it from my mind.

I was like something from Can't Cook, Won't Cook. Think Fishy was hoping for The Naked Chef.

He might not have noticed though, because he was pretty busy making every sausage innuendo possible while preparing his bangers and mash.

I suggest we have some wine. He says he's going to open a bottle of red. Merlot seemingly. He pronounces the 't'. Claims he did so on purpose but I'm not convinced.

He starts overcompensating for the fact that he doesn't have a webcam by explaining everything he is doing in great detail.

'I'm picking up my food now. I'm walking. I'm taking you to the living room. It's like carrying you over the threshold, baby.'

Actually now that I think about it I'm not sure whether he was talking to me or his meal.

We finish dinner and get on with a few things. It's the beauty of having a date on your laptop. Am able to do some facebooking, shop on Ebay, pay a few bills etc.

It's great until Fishy tells me he's had an email from some girl.

Excuse me, who is this trying to muscle in on our date? Stop trying to cut my grass.

We have a game of Scrabble. I'd imagined that it would be good playing with someone that is so good with words, but Fishy seems to be participating in a different game from me. Adults Only Scrabble.

I suggest we watch Grey's Anatomy together. After half an hour he tells me my time is up and we've to turn over and watch Question Time.

He can't be serious? Leave McDreamy and McSteamy half-way through?

I start to debate this with him but he shushes me. I continue to watch my drama and don't think he's any the wiser. This relationship could work well.

Maybe not. Because for some bizarre reason, he decides it would a good idea to serenade me by singing and playing his guitar.

Thank God for the mute button.

I turn on the volume again ten minutes later and he's still at it.

He starts yawning loudly. I tell him he should go to bed and he seems to think that is an invitation.

I'm about to protest until I remember that he isn't actually with me. I decide it might be nice. And maybe I can persuade him to read me a bedtime story?

Get all cosied up and ready to continue our chat when the Skype line starts going crazy.

All I can hear is 'uh..uh..uh..uh.'

At least I think it is a problem with the connection....decide to end our date just in case it isn't that.

He asks me to blow him a kiss. I comply. Of course as the only thing I can see is the webcam box with my face in it, it's like I'm kissing myself.

I feel like a loser.

Click here to read about Fishy's skype date >>

Family Affair

It's been all about a boy recently, so I was looking forward to my friend visiting from Holland for some girlie time. We were going to paint each other's nails, have pillow fights in our underwear and talk about shopping and periods. Just the usual.

This is where you realise I'm lying, because you all know Fishy loves a bit of menstrual cycle chat and you probably think I'm all talked out on that particular subject.

Anyway, we were having a lovely weekend and while sitting drinking cocktails one afternoon, Lego moved the conversation on to my blog. (As an aside, my friend may live in Holland, but she is actually from Denmark and for some reason wasn't keen on my suggestion to refer to her as the Great Dane. She wanted to be called Lego. Something about how people enjoy playing with it..)

'I presume you have exaggerated some of the dates you've been on?'

'Sadly, I actually haven't.'

'You must have. Some of the guys sound like arseholes. They can't really exist can they?'

Ah, spoken like a true Attached Person. Internally I rubbed my hands with glee.

You see we were going out that night and I knew that I wouldn't have to do a thing. I could just sit back and relax and the weirdos would come to us. Lego would never doubt the accuracy of my blog again. The men out in Manchester wouldn't let me down.

And they didn't. Step forward Mr Cliche...

This is the guy that approaches you and asks if you and your friend are related. Or in this case, it was more like...

'Ello booootiful laydeeezz. You are seesters yesss? Yesss you must be seesters. You ave thee same boooootiful face.'

Now this happens to me all the time. Taggart and I are forever getting it. Either I'm a shapeshifter and can transform myself to look like whatever friend I'm out with, or guys think it is a good line.

In this case I'm sure it was all about the latter, because Lego and I look nowt alike. She is all blonde and nordic, whereas I'm dark and, if I believed everything I'm told, look a bit Spanish, Thai, Chinese, Indian and like Elvis.

To be fair to the guy though, we are both female so he probably had a point.

'Yes we are sisters' we tell him.

No, I don't know why we were encouraging him either.

'I knew theess. You are tweeens yesss?'

'Yes we are.'

Taxi for Lego and Rapunzel.

Well, at this point you would have thought we had just told him he'd won the lottery. His expression suggested all his Christmasses had come at once. He clearly felt sure that he was 'in'.

I really, really, really don't understand this.

Not only because this guy looked like Danny DeVito. But shorter. He probably didn't get much opportunity to be 'in' anywhere, very often. Particularly with twins.

More because like I said, this has happened before. After replying in the affirmative when a Greek barman asked Taggart and I if we were twins, we got an invitation to his home. And he certainly didn't just want us to taste his moussaka.

Now it seemed that Mr DeVito's thoughts were heading along the same tangent.

Do twins ever actually do this?

Do they enjoy a bit of tete´-a-tete´-a-tete´?

What about sisters? Do they?

Only having a male sibling, I've no idea. It was bad enough when I borrowed an old phone of his and found texts on it from a girl saying exactly what she wanted to do to him. Eurgh, that's my brother!!! Minging.

If anyone has any thoughts on/experience in, this matter then feel free to let me know.

It certainly gives a new dimension to the term 'spending time with the family.'