Jan 25 2013

30 Before 30: #10 Go Sledging

Posted on January 25, 2013 by Jo and the Novelist

If you’re daft enough to follow me on Twitter (and if you don’t, you should. I’m really very good at Twittering), you’ll know that on Friday and Saturday I was sulking because even though it was snowing in the UK, it hadn’t snowed enough for me to go sledging. To be more accurate – it had snowed enough to facilitate sledging almost everywhere else, but not where I live.

Sledging is one of my 30 before 30. It’s not that I haven’t been sledging before, I have – I did lots of sledging when I was a kid and when it used to snow lots. But that’s exactly the point. Maybe, when I was younger, I assumed that it would snow every year, and every year I could go sledging. Maybe I never quite realised that sometimes, it wouldn’t snow at all. And maybe I failed to realise that as I grew up, sledging would become much less of a priority and that there would even come a time where I might be considered “too old” to go sledging. Somehow, I’d never factored any of this in.

The last time I remember going sledging was with my brother in a nearby field. We built ramps out of the snow and even though I was so cold I felt like my fingers were going to drop off (despite the gigantic mittens my mum had sent me outside with), it was the most fun ever and it’s one of my fondest childhood memories.

After that, there was a bit of a snow lull for quite a few years. I mean it would get cold, it would get icy, it might even snow but it was only ever an icing-sugar dusting and would be gone again within a day or so.

Childhood disappeared, quickly followed by my teens and as I hit my twenties I realised I was growing up and there wouldn’t be another opportunity to go sledging, y’know because, I was becoming an “adult”. Worse still, I wouldn’t be able to go sledging with my brother in the field near our house because he was already an adult. A proper one. With a job and everything. Also, my parents had moved house so we didn’t live near that field anymore. And also the sledge went to a charity shop when my parents moved house. All things considered, it didn’t look I was going to go sledging ever again.

So I just got on with being a grown up. Soon, I had a job and paid taxes and went to the supermarket for my weekly shop and did things like report the faulty boiler to the landlord. Maturity brings a certain amount of responsibility. The older you get, the more responsibilities you get. The more responsibility you get, the less childish amazing fun stuff you can do. That’s just science.

Then, when I was in my mid-twenties, we had two really snowy winters. It was so snowy in both of those years, that I landed a WHOLE DAY off work in each year.

But I did not go sledging.

Perhaps, by this point, I’d admitted defeat. I must have waited twenty years for it to snow enough to go sledging with my brother and now we were adults and it wasn’t going to happen. So I just stayed home and watched DVDs.

Then we had a couple snow-free winters, and I kept catching myself looking out of the window and hoping it would snow enough to go sledging. So when I wrote my 30 before 30 list, I decided that ‘going sledging’ should definitely go on there. If it snowed again before I was 30, I would definitely go sledging and just get it out of my system.

So, fast-forward to Sunday. The light spattering of snow we’d had here was already disolving into a grey, icy mush. It looked very much like another sledge-free winter was going to pass me by.

Then my friend (also called Jo)and I arranged to take our dogs for a walk in a small town near the pennines… Where there was substantially more snow. “Shall I bring the sledge?” she asked.

This is all very mathmatical and complicated, so please consult the equation below:

Finally, I went sledging.

And I was chased my puppy Izzy (the one wearing a high-visibility dog coat) and my friend Jo’s dog, Dillon (the dog shaped one).

Jul 19 2012

Four Bad Things About Email…

Posted on July 19, 2012 by Jo and the Novelist

I love email. Email is my absolute favourite form of communication. There’s nothing I love more than getting into a long email chat with someone. Generally I find myself more comfortable composing an email than making conversation with someone. I’m not sure why, maybe because I have more time to think about what I’m saying. But as much as I love email, it is far from perfect and sometimes emails can go wrong. Here are four reasons how that can happen:

1. Tone

It can be hard to convey the right tone in email. Sometimes you can unintentionally come off sounding overly serious and formal.

Littering emails with LOLz and exclamations marks (or both) changes the tone from serious to idiotic.

So what’s the alternative?

2. Length

Sometimes you might spend a considerable amount of time composing an email. So much so that your email is less like an email and more like a light-hearted friend essay.

After clicking ‘send’ you might feel pretty satisfied with your work and await an email of similar length in return. Instead, you get this:

3. Kisses

A common problem which can occur when you’re emailing your beloved during work times:

4. Delayed Reply

This is especially bad if you spend nearly all of your time emailing and waiting around for replies and so commences a bout of endless paranoid mind-trickery. It’s bad news for both people involved. The original sender freaks out because they spent ages writing an email to which they never got a reply. And the recipient has unknowingly caused upset by not replying because they’re either too busy or just forgot. On rare and sad occasions the sender might completely flip out and follow up their original email with something like this:

To conclude: I love email but every now and again it can cause severe social awkwardness, send your boss the wrong message and can prompt people think you’re stupid, devoid of a sense of humour and/or hate you by accident.

That’s why, every now and again, you should see people in person to talk and give each other hugs.

Jul 17 2012

And the Winner is…

Posted on July 17, 2012 by Jo and the Novelist

So, I’ve pretty much been torturing my neighbours for the past few days by listening to nothing but power ballads.

Thanks to everyone who suggested a song. I did say that the best suggestion would win a prize, and it was pretty tricky to choose just one. And let’s not forget… YOU’RE ALL WINNERS TO ME.

So the winning entry was Rosie P who suggested ‘Run With Us’ by Lisa Lougheed.

For those of you who remember classic Saturday morning 90s kids TV, it was the song played over the closing credits for the cartoon ‘The Raccoons’. I always found that a bit random, even as a kid.

I can’t remember why Cyril Sneer had such a big problem with The Raccoons. In fact, I don’t remember what this show was even about…

So… Congratulations to Rosie P! A really crappy prize will be heading your way very soon!

May 30 2012

I Need a Slanket…

Posted on May 30, 2012 by Jo and the Novelist

If you’re unfortunate enough to follow me on Twitter or be a fan of this blog on Facebook, you’ll know that I’ve whinged (somewhat endlessly) about my new found desire for a Slanket. That’s right, a Slanket – the ingeniously named blanket… with sleeves. I don’t know who invented the Slanket (some dude called Gary, apparently) but the Slanket was a genius creation, and I’m loathed not to have one of my own.

This is what you told me:

I have a cheaper version which generates a crazy amount of static, so I can’t use it when I’m working on my laptop. Which kind of negates the point of having it. – @Radshef

I really like it, it’s all snug and warm. – @lizigree

I wear mine and pretend to be a wizard. – Emmarrrr

I have one and it’s amazing, use it all the time. Get one. – Jo

We got one for my dad. He LOVES it. – @TheSuniverse

It’s all about the slanket! I sometimes double-duvet in mine for extra cosy comfort. – @jane_bradley

I have one and I love it – keeps you so cosy even when reaching for the remote/writing etc. – @ttofee

You NEED a slanket. – @samkayk

I own a massive hoodie. That may be the closest to a slanket I can get within the constraints of manliness. – @NickMB

In the interests of cosiness and snuggliness, I need a Slanket.

There comes a point in the evening (usually on Pizza Fridays*) where the wearing of regular clothes to loaf about on the sofa digesting a meat-feast pizza and watching films, becomes restricting and generally uncomfortable. So a swift change into something with an elastic waistband – my infamous pink cake pyjamas or jogger bottoms (that to this day have never been worn for the purpose of jogging) – usually does the trick. And while the comfort issue is tackled, the cosy issue is not. Our lounge is the coldest room in the house. In fact, that’s an understatement – it is permanently cold in that room. No matter what time of year, the cosiness factor of the lounge is seriously lacking. After eating pizza, I like to be able to assume the foetal position, snuggle up while I devour vast amounts of chocolate and watch terrible sci-fi films.

*Pizza Fridays – Friday night is spent eating pizza and watching films. Sometimes Pizza Friday accidentally spills into the rest of the weekend and I have Pizza Saturday and Pizza Sunday too. This is followed by Regret Monday and Exercise Tuesday.

This is where a Slanket would complete my evening of slobbing out in true ~~style~~ comfort.

Sadly, due to ~~unemployment~~ ~~tuition fees~~ ~~inherent laziness~~ circumstances beyond my control, I am unable to afford such luxuries. So I have improvise, using a blue Ikea throw.

The Slanket boasts two features which an Ikea throw does not:

1. The Slanket is made of warm, fleecy cosiness crafted by unicorns from the clouds of comfort land.

An Ikea throw is not. Ikea throw is made from coarse fabric woven together by Satan. The Ikea throw is not warm, comfy or cosy. This is largely due to the fact that the Ikea throw’s purpose is either to be thrown over ugly furniture in an attempt to disguise its hideousness or tossed onto beds with some cushions to make a bedroom look stylish. It is not to be thrown over a person who is still digesting pizza while curled up on the sofa watching films.

2. The Slanket has sleeves, enabling the wearer full use of their arms (such as reaching for the remote, eating ice-cream from the tub) whilst retaining warm feelings of super-cosiness.

My friend (also called Jo) kindly agreed to demonstrate her Slanket for the purpose of this blog post. Thanks Jo.

Ikea Throw does not have sleeves. Ikea throw restricts all arm movement, and therefore makes the spooning of large amounts of ice-cream into mouth and reaching for the remote difficult and usually results in entanglement.

Aside from these two main points, I have discovered that ‘wearing’ an Ikea throw has also thrown up a shed-load of other difficulties:

Ikea Throw does not satisfactorily keep all body parts warm and cosy.

It is impossible to successfully ascend a staircase whilst ‘wearing’ an Ikea Throw.

Wearing an Ikea Throw to the toilet is both a logistical nightmare and really unhygienic.

Ikea Throw does not aid the act of typing.

Ikea Throw does not create convincing illusion of being a wizard or evil-overlord.

Ikea Throw is not waterproof, and therefore cannot be worn outside when it is raining.*

*To be fair, neither is a Slanket – but that’s something they should definitely consider.

In conclusion, I definitely need a Slanket. The only downside being that it might cause my legs to spontaneously combust if I wear it whilst using a laptop. But that’s a risk I’m willing to take.

Incidentally, this post was in no way endorsed by the creators of the Slanket, or the Unicorns of Comfort-Land. However, if you’re reading this and you work for ~~The Slanket Company~~ ~~The Slanketeers~~ Slanket I think it’s only right that you send me a free Slanket for pimping your product.

PS. I’d like the one with Dinosaurs on it, please.

Also, I know it seems like I’ve given my Ikea throw a pretty bad review, so with that in mind it’s worth pointing out that as a throw it is fully functional and satisfactorily hides ugly furniture and makes my bedroom look stylish (when I’m not attempting to wear it).

May 16 2012

Dancing in the Moonlight…

Posted on May 16, 2012 by Jo and the Novelist

Here’s something that probably won’t surprise you. I don’t deal with stress well. I have never been able to deal with stress very well. And I’m not even talking about STRESS, stress – the type of stress important people with lots of responsibility suffer from. On a daily basis I give myself a hard time about almost everything – issuing myself with serious mental lashings for even the slightest mishap such as: waking up late or forgetting to pick up milk from the supermarket.

So when I’m presented with something that a ‘normal’ person might find actually stressful, my fragile mental state hits warp speed and I start behaving in slightly peculiar ways. These can include: constantly frowning, crashing into doors, dropping things and being generally non-responsive. My consistent reaction to stress is to start eating. Lots. And often. It’s not so much a comfort-eating thing, it’s just pure, good old fashioned self-indulgence – a non-stop gorge festival of consuming as many calorific items as possible and refusing to feel full.

Sometimes I get a double-whammy of stress, which is caused by a slightly overwhelming fear of failure. This is something that I feel so intensely that I just stop thinking logically – my brain is using so much of its resources to torture myself with feelings of failure that I can’t be practical about the task in hand. It’s like this:

The harder I try to be practical, the more failings I see in whatever it is I’m doing and the worse I feel. Next thing you know I’m in floods of tears, tearing open a third packet of Jaffa cakes.

Stress also affects my sleep patterns. I stress so much that my entire body stiffens with tension until I’m suddenly completely rigid, like a taxidermy version of myself. When I send myself off to bed, I’m still tense and can’t get comfortable, and if I can’t get comfortable, I can’t relax and if I can’t relax I can’t sleep which, I’m told, is pretty normal.

What isn’t normal, however, is the way in which my brain chooses to torment me during those achingly awful moments where I’m telling myself to hurry up and relax so I can doze off. My brain, like demonic version of iTunes, will select an annoying song, at random, to get stuck in my head and loop (continuously) until morning. Recently, these songs have included (but are not limited to):

*Best. Video. Ever.

These are not songs I listen to regularly. They are not songs I have on CD or MP3. They are not songs I have even heard for several years (with the exception of today to aid writing this blog post). They aren’t songs I used to like, they aren’t songs ~~I cheerfully sing along to every day~~ torture my friends with at karaoke.

I feel like I’m subliminally picking them up somewhere, but where? It’s not like these songs are on any adverts or TV shows I’ve been watching recently. I don’t know where they’ve come from, but they get in my head somehow and they do not leave. It’s like I’m being haunted by a poltergeist of crap music. The song starts slow and quiet somewhere in the back of my mind. At first, I barely even notice it:

Then it becomes more prominent and I can hear it in-between thoughts:

Then I hear it more fully, I’m conscious that I’ve got an annoying song stuck in my head:

I try to ignore it as best I can until…

I go to bed. And it’s all I can think of. It’s becoming painful. I might have to start going to bed wearing headphones whenever I’m stressed. Of all my weird stress-related behaviours, this is by far the weirdest.

So, how do you deal with stress? Anyone else suffer from annoying-song-itis – if so, what’s the song that plagues you?

Mar 13 2012

Me and Smoking Guy

Posted on March 13, 2012 by Jo and the Novelist

As I might have already mentioned (several billion times), these days I’m spending an awful lot of time sitting alone at my writing desk (that’s not to say that I’m writing necessarily – but that’s a whole other blog post). Present company includes the automated telesales callers, a cat who stares at me from the wall outside my window and Smoking Guy, who stands next to the wall outside my window, smoking. Occasionally, he stares at me too. Sometimes, I stare at him. It’s becoming a little awkward.

Because I’m so socially starved these days, I’ve become mildly fascinated with smoking guy. Every day, I sit at my desk in pyjamas, every day he stands outside his house in his pyjamas smoking. Usually with bedhead. And wearing flip flops. Neither of us knows what the other does. He doesn’t know that I’m an aspiring writer, I don’t know that he’s… well, I’ve no idea what he is. He rarely leaves the house, except to have a cigarette. And sometimes (as noted on Sunday) to go to the shop to buy more cigarettes.

He always wears flip flops. Whatever the weather, smoking guy consistently wears flip flops and no other footwear.

A month ago it snowed. Not only did Smoking Guy continue to wear his flip flops to smoke outside, he also wore shorts.

One day, I saw Smoking Guy returning to the house sans cigarette, fully clothed in (get this, are you sitting down?) a shirt and v-neck jumper. I was so thrown by his relatively smart getup, that I cannot confirm his footwear. Where had he gone that required such a relatively smart ensemble?

Writer Nick Bryan (who has sadly been landed with many tweets about the daily goings-on of smoking guy) assisted with my speculation on the matter.

Since this discussion, I am partially convinced that smoking guy has a part-time job as a professional smoker. If I see him returning to the house, I automatically assume that he’s coming back from “Casual Smoker” afternoon-shift.

Last week, on a particularly gloomy Friday, I decided to tackle the piles of laundry and ironing that had once again, been mounting up all over the house. With the bedroom light on, and Michael Jackson’s Greatest Hits booming out like a 90s disco, I violently ironed through item after item of ridiculously creased laundry whilst simultaneously pulling off some killer, never-before-seen, dance moves. Mid-Thriller-zombie walk to collect more hangers from the wardrobe, I glanced outside to see Smoking Guy observing my every move (both domestic and disco) from beneath his usual nicotine cloud. I hid on the staircase until he had gone back inside.

Yesterday I was washing up, and I think he might of smiled at me, but it’s hard to tell because the only thing I was looking at were his flip flops.

But one thing’s for sure – if this were a Richard Curtis film, six months from now, Smoking Guy would come to my front door, knock on it, and hold up little signs expressing his true feelings for me. Kind of like in that Richard Curtis film, where that guy goes to that girl’s door and holds up signs expressing his true feelings for her.

Except Smoking Guy’s signs wouldn’t say “To me you are perfect” they would say things like “I’ve decided to no longer wear flip flops all the time” or “Have you got a light?” or maybe “It’s time you bought some new pyjamas”.

But this isn’t a Richard Curtis film, and I don’t think Smoking Guy and I will ever communicate, via speech or little cardboard signs we’ve made. However, if me and Smoking Guy were in a sit-com, me and Smoking Guy would probably meet face to face during a mundane domestic task such as taking the rubbish out to the bins. Then we’d be forced to chat. Then we’d make friends, and then constantly be at each other’s houses doing fun stuff like playing Singstar and Wii Bowling or whatever the character’s of Friends or The Big Bang Theory do when they go to each other’s houses.

Except, since the rat incident of early 2011, I no longer take the rubbish out to the bins. Because I’m scared rats. And also, of social interaction.

To conclude, life is not like Richard Curtis films or like sit-coms. As a writer, I’m quite astonished at how long it has taken me to fully realise the differences between life and fiction.

Also, I need to get out more.

Feb 5 2012

Six Steps to the Starbucks Reward Scheme…

Posted on February 5, 2012 by Jo and the Novelist

I spend a lot of time writing in coffee shops which, apart from being the best way to waste money I don’t have, means that I have a selection of loyalty cards to choose from.

There are so many loyalty schemes that it’s actually hard to be loyal to any one retailer. My most favoured loyalty schemes are the most simple; using a flimsy piece of card and a stamp. Every time you buy a coffee, you get a stamp. 9 coffees = 9 stamps = 10th coffee free.

I’ll stretch to the slightly more complex points system, in which you earn a certain amount of points every time you buy coffee. These points are converted into a cash value. When you have lots of points, you can use them to buy coffee.

I rarely go to Starbucks, because I don’t want to be one of those pretentious people who goes to Starbucks to write (so I just go to other coffee shops instead). I wasn’t aware that they had a loyalty/reward scheme, until a recent meet with my SIL, who kindly gave me a Starbucks card (which I thought was a gift card until the first time I used it). When I presented the card at Starbucks, I was a tad thrown when the guy was all “Oh, let’s just see how many points you have on here” and I realised it wasn’t gift card and assumed it was a points reward card instead. I paid, using the card, thinking it had deducted a certain amount of points.

For my second visit to Starbucks, I decided to pay with cash and collect some more points. Sadly, this caused a surge of confusion.

Starbucks woman: So which are you paying with?

Me: Er, cash. I just want the points on my card.

Starbucks woman: [stare].

Pause.

Starbucks woman: have you got cash on your card?

Me: I’m not sure, a friend gave it to me.

Starbucks woman: [Frowns] In what context did your ‘friend’ give you this card?

Me: She just gave it to me, she doesn’t drink coffee that much.

Starbucks woman: So how much is on the card?

Me: Er, I have no idea. I just want the points.

Starbucks woman: I’ll check it for you. [swipes it]. You have £2.50 left on your card.

Me: Okay. But I just want to pay with cash, I’ll save the points.

Starbucks woman: [sighs] We don’t do points. They’re stars, and you have to pay with your card to get a star. When you get 15 stars, you get a free drink.

Me: [Gives look of utter confusion]

Starbucks woman: Here’s a leaflet explaining how it works.

Then she sent me away, because I was causing a backlog in the queue of people who did understand how the reward scheme worked.

But, it turns out that the new reward scheme outraged thousands of Starbucks customers up and down the country. That’s right, even people who understand how the scheme works are pissed off.

I’ve spent some time going through the leaflet, to save myself further embarrassment. If you wish to avoid a Starbucks reward scheme faux pas, then please consult my handy six step guide:

Step 1: Go to Starbucks, pick up a Starbucks card at the till, put money on it, then use the card to buy coffee. For every coffee you buy with the card, you get a star.

Step 2: You then register the card online.

Step 3: On your next visit to Starbucks, buy more coffee using your Starbucks card. This puts you at Green Level. Green Level doesn’t really mean anything. At Green Level you get a free coffee for every 15 bought on your card. If you buy coffee with cash, you don’t get a star.

Step 4: Of course, if you use your 15 stars to get a free coffee, then you’ll forever stay at Green Level. Although, that doesn’t mean you lose out or anything, because the next level is GOLD LEVEL, which equates to the exact same thing as Green Level, except you need to buy coffee another 35 times (after the original 15).

When you reach GOLD LEVEL you get free shots of espresso (which almost no one wants) and free soy milk (which almost no one wants and only costs an extra 50p anyway).

Oh, and you still only get a free drink for every 15 you’ve already bought.

Step 5: You could keep saving until you reach 100 stars. This is PLATINUM LEVEL which still means you only get a free coffee after buying 15, but you also get half a free muffin for every 10 coffees*

Step 6: Keep saving until you reach 200 and you’ll reach DIAMOND STUDDED SIREN LEVEL to get… well… free coffee for every 15 coffees purchased, plus free napkins!

Okay, so I made up Steps 5 & 6, but I wouldn’t be at all surprised if this is where the reward scheme was headed. If you’re only ever going to get a free coffee for every 15 you buy, then what’s the point of having levels in the first place? Also, to reach Gold Level (i.e. free espresso and soy milk) you’d have to spend about £250 at Starbucks.

*sigh* I miss those days where you could just buy coffee with your iPhone…

Jo and the Novelist

Neurotic/writer/mentalist…

Category Archives: Talking Rubbish