Thursday, September 29, 2005
Vikings
I'm going up to York this weekend. Sorry, try that again, I'm going oop to Yark. I can't wait. I'm going to swim down the Ouse, catch a duck and eat it along with a fat rascal at Betty's.
Friday, September 23, 2005
Meg's Rules for Tonight
1) No wine
2) No wine even if someone else buys it for me
3) No puking
4) No dancing to the Macarena when I know full well that I never bothered to learn it the first time round
5) No singing 'Wuthering Heights' by Kate Bush
6) No scenic routes home
7) No wine
2) No wine even if someone else buys it for me
3) No puking
4) No dancing to the Macarena when I know full well that I never bothered to learn it the first time round
5) No singing 'Wuthering Heights' by Kate Bush
6) No scenic routes home
7) No wine
Wednesday, September 14, 2005
Behold
I've turned a new corner in my life. I've found the very reason to be. Please all bow down and worship the one and only god that is... Ikea.
Now that we're properly stationed in our new home I thought it only fitting to make my first ever trip to Ikea to buy some furniture so that we no longer feel like squatters. The place is amazing. We bought a bed for sixty quid. And it's only collapsed twice since Sunday which I think is pretty impressive. We've got new shelves, new bedside cabinets, blinds, AND we ate lunch there and it only cost about 3p and a conker.
It's one of those places that once you've learnt the rules you can feel incredibly arrogant and laugh at people who don't know where the warehouse is. To guide you through the showroom there are arrows on the floor like in a carpark. These I followed religiously, barking "obey the arrows!" every time my boyfriend seemed to stray from the fold.
I am seriously considering moving out of my brand new place and just sleeping in one of the beds on the showroom floor.
Now that we're properly stationed in our new home I thought it only fitting to make my first ever trip to Ikea to buy some furniture so that we no longer feel like squatters. The place is amazing. We bought a bed for sixty quid. And it's only collapsed twice since Sunday which I think is pretty impressive. We've got new shelves, new bedside cabinets, blinds, AND we ate lunch there and it only cost about 3p and a conker.
It's one of those places that once you've learnt the rules you can feel incredibly arrogant and laugh at people who don't know where the warehouse is. To guide you through the showroom there are arrows on the floor like in a carpark. These I followed religiously, barking "obey the arrows!" every time my boyfriend seemed to stray from the fold.
I am seriously considering moving out of my brand new place and just sleeping in one of the beds on the showroom floor.
Sunday, September 04, 2005
Shut it, you tart
As predicted by my mooing colleague, Over the Moon, Eastenders has reached new heights over the last week.
Until this point, it's gone through an excessively boring streak (Alfie trying to chose between Kat and Little Mo is NOT a true Eastenders storyline. Trying to choose between Kat and Big Mo, now that I would watch!). But suddenly, the pace picked up as Sam "with snot running down her face looking like something the dog's puked up" went well and truly bonkers, accused Charlie of trying to grope her, gave Tracy a bloody nose (that actress must have been delighted - she's waited years for a scene like that) and then dug up Den's body with flawless timing to co-incide with Sharon and Dennis's return from their wedding.
Eastenders is rubbish when it tries to portray real life. But melodrama is when it really starts to shine. Dot, Little Mo, Den and the Mitchell Brothers are clearly all refugees from a Dickens novel. We're only one step away from Lucy Beale declaring "God bless Us! Every one" or Pauline Fowler shooing donkeys off the alotment. And there's certainly an Oscar Wilde quote in there somewhere that only someone with a heart of stone could not have laughed when Jamie Mitchell died.
I hope the melodrama continues for a while yet. If there isn't a suicide, murder or Chrissie laughing demonically at a burning Vic by Christmas, I'm switching off.
Until this point, it's gone through an excessively boring streak (Alfie trying to chose between Kat and Little Mo is NOT a true Eastenders storyline. Trying to choose between Kat and Big Mo, now that I would watch!). But suddenly, the pace picked up as Sam "with snot running down her face looking like something the dog's puked up" went well and truly bonkers, accused Charlie of trying to grope her, gave Tracy a bloody nose (that actress must have been delighted - she's waited years for a scene like that) and then dug up Den's body with flawless timing to co-incide with Sharon and Dennis's return from their wedding.
Eastenders is rubbish when it tries to portray real life. But melodrama is when it really starts to shine. Dot, Little Mo, Den and the Mitchell Brothers are clearly all refugees from a Dickens novel. We're only one step away from Lucy Beale declaring "God bless Us! Every one" or Pauline Fowler shooing donkeys off the alotment. And there's certainly an Oscar Wilde quote in there somewhere that only someone with a heart of stone could not have laughed when Jamie Mitchell died.
I hope the melodrama continues for a while yet. If there isn't a suicide, murder or Chrissie laughing demonically at a burning Vic by Christmas, I'm switching off.
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