...Think, Think, Think...

Poles Apart

Last weekend, I went to see an awesome play called Poles Apart. I realise that approximately 1/3rd of my readership already know this because they were either watching the play with me, or they were in it.

I don't often meet other bloggers.  In fact there isn't anyone in my real life that even writes a blog themselves, although one friend is thinking about it.  He'd be a great blogger, he's the coolest person I know by a long shot.

A month or so ago Ellie from The Daily Smoke suggested that we meet up to see fellow blogger Daniel Hoffman-Gill in his play, Poles Apart.  I had what can only be described as a complete fucking whore of a month with one thing or another, but I did manage to get myself together and get a ticket booked.

On the day of the show, I texted Ellie in the morning and she said that she'd be meeting Rashbre, another blogger in the Commercial Tavern at 5:30pm with a view to getting something to eat before the show.  Rashbre is a blogger who I was aware of but I'd never really read his blog (he's in my google reader now but as I'm about a week behind I still haven't really read his blog!  But I will!). 

Its an interesting thing, meeting people off the internet.  Especially when those people blog anonymously.  You never really know what to expect.  You have an idea of their character but no idea what they look like or sound like.

I decided (in my total lack of wisdom) that I'd meet them via Oxford Street so that I could do a bit of Christmas shopping.  EPIC fail there.  You're shuffling along, stuck behind tourists who seem fascinated at the window displays and don't stop to think for a second that there are people with things to do and places to be.  I managed Debenhams, Selfridges and Ann Summers before I gave up.  Oddly enough, Ann Summers was the only shop wtih any breathing room.  I guess crotchless knickers don't feature on that many people's christmas lists.

I moved at a snail's pace back towards Bond Street Tube station and headed in the direction of Liverpool Street.  On my journey I tried to work out what everyone would look like.   Not easy.

It turned out that in the time it took me to get from Bond St to Liverpool St the heavens had opened and it was absolutely pouring down.  This meant that I had to juggle an umbrella, two bags of shopping (paper  carrier bags...which are of course, not waterproof) and Google Maps on the iPhone to try and work out where on earth the pub was.  For 20 minutes I wandered around, noting that the city looks a lot different at night than during the day. It was also slightly weird not following my boss - thats what I usually do in the city.  He knows where we're going and so I totter behind him (client meetings = silly shoes). Eventually, I gave up and got a cab.  

The pub itself seemed quite unusual.  From the outside, I wasn't really sure a - if it was open and b - how exactly to get in as none of the doors looked like a "main" door.  I worked it out and wandered through the extremely dim lighting towards my party - Ellie, Rashbre, Melanie and John.

We left the pub straight away and went to Brick Lane for some eats and Rashbre very kindly filled me in as to some of the local history as I'd never really been to East London before. After being accosted by the locals, we settled on what was pretty much the first indian restaurant we came to.  We were promised freebies that I'm sure we didn't get, but you could make an absolute killing if you were vigilant about getting what they offered!

We had a fairly quick meal as we were cutting it slightly fine to get to the theatre on time, but we still had time to chat and sort of scope eachother out.  I had no idea what Rashbre would be like but he was extremely warm and friendly.  He gave me a copy of his book which I've made a start on but I'm a notoriously slow reader so it may take me a while!  Melanie and John were very sweet but I didn't get much of a chance to get to know them (John's blog is also now in the reader to be caught up on!).  Ellie is what can only be described as effortlessly beautiful.  She was shorter than I'd imagined, but she's one of those people that glows.

Cobra..or maybe Tiger beers and a curry later, we're on our way to the theatre.  I was glad that everyone else knew where we were going because I had absolutely no idea.  Set me down in the West End and I'm fine, I can get wherever I need to go.  Anywhere else in London?  No.  I don't worry about getting lost so much, because I know that if you walk in a straight line for long enough you'll find a tube station, but when I've got to be somewhere I like to know exactly where I'm going.

Rich Mix on Bethnal Green Road is quite a nice venue.  Poles Apart was playing up on the 4th floor and it was a lovely space.  Probably only seats for 100 and so you're right on top of the action.  As I've mentioned before, I love that.

The play was, in my opinion, brilliant.  I spend far too many evenings at home and the utter crap on TV slightly astonishes me when I'm reminded that there are intelligent, funny, talenter writers and performers out there who don't get the recognition they should.

As well as being very funny - laugh out loud funny, in fact - the story had a point.  These two men, instead of blindly going with the masses who rant "these bloody foreigners, coming over here, stealing our women and our jobs, they have it easy" decided that they would find out for themselves what it is really like to be an immigrant, not speaking the language, not knowing anyone. Off they went to Poland, with a comically translated letter, in search of employment.  Turns out, its not that easy.

I learned so many interesting things during the show - I had no idea how badly the Polish were affected during the war.  Of course I knew they were invaded at the beginning of WW2 (the fact was reinforced by the Fawlty Towers episode "The Germans") but I had no idea how hard they fought and how much they lost.  Its utterly tragic.

There were also some hilarious send ups of Nick Griffin - the man is a joke after all, so why not take advantage of that.

Reading his blog recently, DHG said that the show we saw may have been the last time that Poles Apart is performed, which hits me with both a sense of joy that I got to see it before the run ended but also with sadness that so many people will have missed out on such an entertaining, informative and downright funny show.

Thank you Ellie, Rashbre, Melanie and John for a lovely evening and great conversation, and thank you Daniel for a great performance and a wonderful, thought-provoking show.

To Do Today... / Christmas Decoration Trauma

Full list of actions to be taken to secure my status as Domestic Goddess/functioning member of society (for today at least).  In no particular order:

• Review of Poles Apart and lovely meeting with fellow bloggers
• Tidy House
• Bake - mint chocolate shortbread and homemeade mince pies
• Put up Christmas decorations
• Write Christmas cards
• Make shopping list for presents I still need to buy
• Assignment x 2 for courses I have ignored for almost 8 months
• Small amount of form filling for work, even though I'm meant to be on holiday

So far I have done none of these things.

I went out and bought a Christmas tree, lights and decorations.  The first lot of fairy lights did not work.  I find this out after I've wound all 100 of them around the tree.

I take these back for replacements.  I get home, feeling all clever in thinking I'll plug them in while I'm putting them on the tree so I know that they work. 

They do work.  For about 10 minutes.  Then... nothing.  Not even one little fairy light.  Unplug, replug, check for loose bulbs.  Darkness.

I can't put any more decorations onto the tree until I know whats happening with the lights.  Problem is I've now reached "christmas decoration apathy" and it can all just sod off. 

I realise this is probably my own fault.  These are Poundstretcher lights and you know what they say - buy cheap, buy often. But, I have another set of 50 from there that works fine, I just can't seem to make 50 go around the whole tree.

I will get to all the other stuff, but I now just can't be arsed.  Christmas is just so draining.

Too Slow

I was in a car accident on Saturday.  A minor one.  No one was hurt.

The shock hit yesterday evening.  Slow-motion replay over and over.

The car in front at the round about pulled away and then changed her mind.

Too late by then.

It was my fault we were out.   I wanted to go and look at stationery.  I don't need any stationery.  I just wanted.  Like I always do.  Curse of the only child.

I can see that she's stopped moving.  I say, "that car isn't moving" but I'm not quick enough.

Why didn't I just say "STOP"?  The verbosity present in every area of my life now spiders in to emergency situations, encouraging them rather than working to prevent them.

At work its quite amusing.  They call me Scrabble.  People have called into the office while out on the road to check they used the right word or spelling.

Yet I couldn't find one simple little "Stop".

No one was badly hurt.  Just twinges.  There are two damaged bumpers and an insurance excess to be paid, which is painful enough.

And its all my fault.  For being brattish and wordy.

How to look good...dressed

I have the opposite problem to the women on How To Look Good Naked.  I'd probably be Gok's worst nightmare.

I don't hate my body.  I'm not mortified at my own reflection or terrified by the sight of my own naked flesh.  The chances of me insisting that a partner turn the lights out before I strip off is practically zero.

Naked I'm fine with.  Lingerie?  Love it. Clothed though?  I'm not so good.

I went out this afternoon to have a look for some new work clothes.  I'm starting to feel that everything I have in my work wardrobe makes me look frumpy and much older than I really am.  What I'd like is to look stylish and pulled together when I'm at the office, not like I got dressed in the dark from a wardrobe belonging to a 50 year old RE Teacher.

I wandered around a few shops and found some lovely things.  None of them fit.  I found this little lovely, but they didn't have my size.  The size below was too tight and I'm sure the next size up would have just hung off me.  I may order my size off the website and see if its any better. 

I loathe shopping for clothes for this reason.  Either they don't have my size, or the sizing systems are so inconsistent that I end up hacked off by the faff of guessing if things will come up too big/too small and just give up.  I'm pleased to say that I don't usually come away from these ordeals feeling fat.  Generally I blame the shops for being incapable of picking a sizing system and everyone using the same one.  Today though, I do feel a bit rubbish.  Frumpy really.

People often ask me why my obsession lies with makeup and beauty.  Simple answer:  it ALWAYS fits.  Once you know your foundation shade, everything else is a breeze.    I don't ever try 5 different shades of lipstick to find that none of them are right and then leave 20 minutes later hot and flustered from being trapped in a cramped changing room.  Its not that kind of party. 

After putting myself through the ringer I gave up with the clothes shopping and made my way empty handed to Superdrug where I bought new shampoo, conditioner, a couple of styling products and a new mascara as a reward for not having a massive hissy fit about it all.

I was actually starting to feel a bit brighter until I went into McDonalds.  I ordered (large quarter pounder with cheese meal, with a chocolate milkshake) and the cashier went to put everything together.  While he's doing that, another guy comes over, looks at the till from which I've just been served and says, with eyebrows raised "large meal...". 

I understand its best not to be rude to people in the food service industry (for reasons best explained by the movie Waiting), so I just replied, "Yep".  In reality, I could have quite happily thrown my chocolate milkshake in his face, the twat.  I took my food and scurried home, seething more about that than about the lack of clothes-purchasing that I managed to do.

So, other than getting an extra hour in bed this morning today has not been one of my funnest days ever.  Not to worry though, I'm about to go and finish my milkshake and do my hair.  Naked probably. I think I look better that way.

Not Helping...

As you've probably seen before, I sometimes check my stats and referrers to see how people found my blog.

I was looking today as I had a comment on my previous post and I was curious how they found me.

In the list of referrers, there were two image searches.  Onewhich lead to an image of Ryan Reynolds chained to the floor, which I remember, but don't really remember putting into a post and one which lead to this picture...

 

...which was from this post.

The search term was "young person with bags under eyes".

I know I mentioned that I had bags under my eyes, but I didn't quite expect to be picture number 3 in the search results.  

Fuck you google images, you are not helping me right now.

Remember the goose flu?  Well, its back.  I had tonsillitis a few weeks back and although the swollen tonsils have gone down and their pus coating has vanished, I haven't been 100% since. 

On Friday of last week I noticed that my throat was getting worse.  It was a bit iffy over the weekend, but I tried not to whinge at my friends and even went out and did the first session of the Get Running program on my iPhone which may actually have exacerbated the whole situation.

Unfortunately today my throat is really bad and within about an hour of me getting to work, my voice returned to that oh-so-sexy goose/marge simpson combo.  By 2pm, I'm home and in bed half sulking and half crying because I seem to have been ill constantly this year and I'm just so tired of it.

Here's hoping I feel and sound better in the morning!

Fifteen out of Ten

I'm not much of a one for exercise.

By that, I mean that I don't do any.  I walk to work, but thats the sum total of it. 

The thing I never seem to learn is that by doing nothing all to take care of my aging muscles, I'm actually doing myself more harm than good.

Case in point: My hamstrings and calf muscles.  They hurt.  All. The. Time.  A lack of stretching combined with daily wear of 4 inch heels around the office have equalled short, tight muscles. Its been going on for some time and I tried my best to ignore it.  I dabbled with a few stretching exercises that I'd do for a couple of days and then stop.  Big mistake.  Huge, in fact.

Recently,it got so bad that I had no choice but to seek professional help and on the recommendation of a colleague, went to see his sports masseuse.

When you hear the word "massage" you think to yourself "ahhhh, lovely, relaxing massage."

If you put the word "sports" in front of "massage" you find yourself presented with an entirely different response.  Along the lines of "FUCK!  OW!  STOP IT!"

I can't explain to you how painful it is to have tight calf muscles massaged.  It's truly one of the most horrific physical experiences I've had. The masseuse herself is lovely and by all accounts very good at what she does.  If by very good at what she does, people mean "adequately skilled to introduce you to intense muscular pain".

There are two acts of evil that are part of the treatment that I feel compelled to mention.  The first is known as the lock and key and involves the masseuse bending your leg so your foot is up in the air and then jamming her knuckles into the bottom of your hamstrings, just above the knee.  In a flexible person the foot should then drop down, indicating that the muscles and tendons are loose.  In an inflexible person (i.e. me) it hurts immensely.  The kind of pain that pushes you to hysterical laughter because you can't even cry, it hurts so much.

The second act of evil is when the masseuse rubs over your calf muscles, finds a knot and then presses on it.  She asks you how bad the pain is on a scale of one to ten and holds it there, letting the pain radiate through you until it eventually subsides.  The science behind it is that the pressure starves the knot of blood, then when the pressure is released blood rushes through and clears some of the toxins.

I've also been given a few stretches to do in conjunction with the massage.  One I like, the other two (which are painful) not so much.

So whats the point of this rambling post, you ask?  Its a bit of a public service announcement really.

People, please....stretch.  Daily.  I urge you.  You don't want to have to have a sports massage.  You really, really don't.

Friday Night Shopping

Dear Waitrose,

I thought I'd write you a little note just to let you know that I do, in fact, adore shopping with you.  Of all the supermarkets you are my favourite for many reasons, the primary of which is the fact that as you slightly overprice your products the calibre of person in store is usually much better. 

Call me a snob if you will, but if I have been at work all day and want to get something nice for my dinner, I do not want to contend with screaming toddlers and their oblivious parents.  I want to wander, quietly browsing until I find something yummy.  I then would like to pay without much of a wait and make my way home.

This evening, all was well until I got to the checkout.  Here's what I bought:

• Computer Active Magazine x 1
• Look magazine x 1
• Ciabatta Rolls x 1 pack of 4
• Deli Style Charlotte Potato Salad x1
• Coleslaw x 1
• Birds Eye Simply Salmon in Lemon/Herb butter x1
• Nestle Mint Aero x 1
• Jacques Fruit Cider x1

The young lady serving me and my father (who is well over 60, I should add) was under 18 and so had to ask a grown up if she could serve me the cider.

So we waited.  She pushed her little buzzer and waited for the lady in the barbour-style green jacket (seemingly this indicates some sort of seniority) to come over.  We waited a bit more.  And a bit more.  Probably only three or four minutes in total, but that is too long really.

Eventually, barbour-jacket comes over, types a little code into the till and looks me up and down.

Now, I will admit, I do try to take good care of my face.  The rest of my body, not so much.  I don't like the gym but do very much like alcohol/cheeseburgers/vast quantities of pasta/chocolate etc.

The policy in the majority of shops is that if you look under 21, they will ask you for ID.

Barbour-jacket's eyesight is so bad that the face below apparently looks under 21:

 

Note the lack of makeup, the bags under eyes, the smile lines (aquired mostly through years cynical/derisive laughter).  This is the face of someone who works in an office and at the moment doesn't enjoy it much.  This is not the face of an underage drinker looking to get wrecked.

I ask you, Waitrose, do you think that underage drinkers go to your stores with their dad on a friday night and buy ciabatta and salmon to go with their posh fruit cider?  Really Waitrose?  Really?  We're hardly talking fish and chips and abottle of white lightning are we?

Many people may find it flattering.  For me, it does just seem ridiculous.  I may be a little hard on myself but I am quite sure that I do not look under 21.  At the moment I'm amazed that I pass for under 41.

I do understand that you have laws and rules to follow, however I can't help but think you may be better off having the people enforcing those rules able to read without the use of brail and navigate their way around the store without the assistance of a guide dog or a white stick. 

Otherwise, thank you for a lovely shopping experience.

Best Regards

Beth

Handy Hints For Getting On My Nerves

Wait until I go into the kitchen to cook dinner and then come in and stand in front of cupboards I need to get to.  Maybe start doing some washing up when you can see I'm just about to drain pasta.  Better yet, do all that and hum off key.  Or maybe, sing the same line of a song over and over and over.  Still off key mind you.  This is especially helpful when I'm trying to prepare something complicated from scratch.

Wait until you can see I am 75% done in preparing my meal for the evening before suggesting that Dad go and get a takeaway.  I understand how stressful it must be cooking for two whole nights a week.  I mean, I do it 7 nights a week, but I'm obviously superhuman and wouldn't want to have a night off anyway.

Watch me spill something in the kitchen because the fury of your off key singing has overwhelmed me.  Then patronisingly ask me if I want you to clear it up.

Hear me get back from shopping and watch through the window as I trawl through my bag looking for my keys, once I've found them let me struggle with the shopping until I'm in the kitchen.  Then ask me if I need any help.

Bring washing upstairs and just hang things on the door of the wardrobe.  Obviously, the walk up the stairs has drained all of your energy to the point that you can't open the door and put things inside.

If there is washing that doesn't go on a hanger, don't put it in the chest of drawers where the clothes live.  Balance it precariously on the end of my bed.  

On the rare occasions I tell you somethng personal about myself, share it with your work colleagues.  I especially like it when you do this.  Its nice to have someone say "I hear you got an abnormal result on your smear test last week."  I love knowing that your co-workers know all about my reproductive health.

And if you really want to go for gold, whenever I get home ask me if it was busy.  It doesn't matter where I've been.  The shops, out with friends, blockbuster, the doctors.  Wherever.  Its important that you know if it was busy while I was there.  Particularly as you're not even using the information to make a judgement on whether you'll go yourself.

"But can't THEY hear it too?"

A few doors down from us, there is a family with two young children.

All day, every day, one of these children alternates between shrieking (you know, that kind of shrieking that goes right through you) and crying.

My dad, who is off work at the moment and is home all day, has been subject to this all week while he's been sorting out the back garden. He's a fairly patient sort of bloke, but these kids have really tested his patience.

You see, the parents don't seem to do much about this screeching.  God knows if we can hear it, they must hear it louder?  Why would you ignore it?  Why live like that? 

I'm not a massively maternal person.  I like children when they say terribly profound things, or when they inadvertently embarass their parents - for example the story my therapist told me about the little boy in the supermarket with his parents who, after being told he couldn't have chocolate, announced to his mother and all the shoppers in the vicinity; "If you don't let me have a Mars bar I'll tell Grandma that I saw you licking Daddy's willy".

Badly behaved children are a problem for me.  In restaurants, or shops - but especially when I've been at work all day and I want to chill in my back garden with a glass of wine and talk to the cat that isn't ours (more on her another time).

Yesterday, Dad was pushed to the point that he ended up yelling "Would you just SHUT THOSE KIDS UP".  Shortly thereafter he saw both children being put into their carseats and taken out for the afternoon, leaving him with a bit of peace to do what he was doing.

I've just got back from having my hair done and they're back at it again.

Is it wrong that I'm considering giving social services a quick call, just saying how concerned I am about all the screaming?

I mean, it may just be a phase (my friend Su's little ones went through the same thing, albeit on a lesser scale I think) but what if it isn't and I have to put up with it for the rest of the summer they're actually hurting the children?

A confession, a song and a quiz

So...I'm pleased to say that none of you immediately guessed my guilty pleasure from the list below (although one of my work colleagues looked through the DVDs when I was returning them and she got it right off the bat).  It's Danny Dyer.  I've never been one for a bit of rough, tending to prefer my men better dressed but emotionally unavailable.  Oh, hold on. The last bit wasn't a preference, just an unfortunate coincidence.  Still, I think he's pretty hot.

The song I couldn't remember but felt akin to was Every Day is Exactly The Same by Nine Inch Nails, which since its use in the film Wanted has probably become the theme song of every scorned office worker secretly wishing they could be an assassin. And even the ones that dont.  It pushes the buttons that 9 to 5 by Dolly Parton couldn't.

Roses over at Journeying posted one of those MeMe quizes and although I don't make a habit of doing these, I thought I'd do this one.  One day I may re-do the 100 things about me post that I used to have on here in another lifetime, but at the moment thats a lot of things to write down!

1. First thing you wash in the shower?
My hair, that way I can wash the conditioner residue off when I wash the rest of my body, thus reducing the risk of backne, which is not hot.

2. What color is your favorite hoodie?
I don't own a hoodie.

3. Would you kiss the last person you kissed again?
Oh hell yes.

4. Do you plan outfits?
Sometimes.  I have to look presentable for work, so I try to match things.

5. How are you feeling RIGHT now?
A bit disappointed that its Sunday already, but looking forward to going out in a little while.

6. Whats the closest thing to you that's red?
The handle on some Smashbox makeup brushes.

7. Tell me about the last dream you remember having?
I was in a restaurant with my dad.  I don't remember what we ate.

8. Did you meet anybody new today?
Its only 10:17am at this point, but I doubt I will.

9. What are you craving right now?
A substantial lottery win.  No seriously, a milkshake from ShakeAway would be good.

10. Do you floss?
Sometimes.  I'm on a bit of a tooth whitening kick at the moment, so I'll probably start again.

11. What comes to mind when I say cabbage?
Shredded, coleslaw.

12. Are you emotional?
Yeah, probably too much.

13. Have you ever counted to 1,000?
At school probably.  I usually get as far as 15, maybe 20 and then blow my stack.

14. Do you bite into your ice cream or just lick it?
I lick, sensitive teeth and all that.

15. Do you like your hair?
Love it.  I'll love it more when my roots get sorted out next weekend.

16. Do you like yourself?
Yeah.  I think in spite of spending lots of time wondering how the fuck I got where I am and pondering the futility of life, I'm pretty cool.

17. Would you go out to eat with George W. Bush?
Is he paying? Might be worth a laugh.  If nothing else it'd be a good blog post.  And for once, I'd know more about politics than the other person at the table.

18.What are you listening to right now?
Drowning (Face Down) by Saving Abel.  Awesome song, awesome band. I urge you to listen.

19. Are your parents strict?
Not overly so, but I knew my boundaries and was never so stupid to cross them.

20. Would you go sky diving?
Never say never, but I strongly doubt it. 

21. Do you like cottage cheese?
No.  Its baby sick.  But I understand its potential for those on a diet.  If its all you can have and its so disgusting you can't bring yourself to eat it, it makes it much easier to consume fewer calories.

23. Do you rent movies often?
I go through phases.  I may not rent anything for a couple of months, then rent 5 films each weekend for a month.

24. Is there anything sparkly in the room you're in?
I'm in my bedroom, so yes.  Nearest to me is the handle of an Agent Provocateur Riding Crop which was bought on a (rather expensive) whim - it has a green diamante encrusted handle.  Other than that, tons of costume jewellery.

25. How many countries have you visited?
Six.  Which is pitiful.

26. Have you made a prank phone call?
No, been on the receiving end of one though.

27. Ever been on a train?
Of course.

28. Brown or white eggs?
Whatever is in the box.

29. Do you have a cellphone?
I have a Sony Ericsson C902, which I love.  But I want, want, want an iPhone.

30. Do you use chap stick?
Amongst many other lip balms, yes.

32. Can you use chop sticks?
I can, but I usually don't.

33. Who are you going to be with tonight?
Either my friends or my thoughts.  Depends what time I get home.

34. Are you too forgiving?
I probably am.  There are a lot of people, particularly in my past, that I should tell to fuck right off.  I don't, because I don't really want to cause too much bad feeling.

35. Ever been in love?
I've been in love a few times.  The rub was that the objects of my affection didn't reciprocate.

36. What is your best friend(s) doing tomorrow?
Looking for a job.

37. Ever have cream puffs?
Yes.  Not my favourite, but I've had them.

38. Last time you cried?
About a week ago.  In the car on the way to a meeting with a colleague and out of sheer frustration at something that happened the day before.  Poor sod, didn't know where to look.  He just said "Pretty blondes in nice cars aren't meant to be crying.  They'll think its my fault".  He's hilarious sometimes.

39. What was the last question you were asked?
"Is 11:30am okay?"  And it is.

40. Favorite time of the year?
Winter - because of Christmas and the associated fairy lights.

41. Do you have any tattoos?
Just the one.

42. Are you sarcastic?
Yes.

43. Have you ever seen The Butterfly Effect?
No.  Didn't fancy it.

44. Ever walked into a wall?
Only metaphorically.  I did literally walk into a tree one day last year, cue mild concussion.
 
45. Favorite color?
Teal.

46. Have you ever slapped someone?
Yes and he deserved it.  It probably wasn't hard enough either.

47. Is your hair curly?
Not without some help.  Its poker straight.

48. What was the last CD you bought?
Scars and Souvenirs by Theory of a Deadman.  If you like Nickelback, you'll like these guys.  Awesome, good old fashioned Rock n Roll.

49. Do looks matter?
Yes.  I think pride in your appearance is a big thing.

50. Could you ever forgive a cheater?
I think its all a context thing, but yeah, I could.

51. Is your phone bill sky high?
No, I get lots of inclusive minutes.

52. Do you like your life right now?
Its okay.  Some areas could be better but I can't change them right now.

53. Do you sleep with the TV on?
Most nights I do.  I sometimes remember to set the sleep timer but more often than not I forget.

54. Can you handle the truth?
Yep.

55. Do you have good vision?
Its not perfect, but its okay.

56. Do you hate or dislike more than 3 people?
I can think of two people that pushed me to that point when they were around me.  They aren't anymore so I'm just indifferent.

57. How often do you talk on the phone?
In my personal life, at least once but all day long for work.

58. The last person you held hands with?
What about them?

59. What are you wearing?
A t-shirt and shorts.  I'm not dressed yet. Which is a bit of an issue given that its 10:40am.  I'm going out at 11:30am.

60.What is your favorite animal?
I know that Alexandr the meerkat isn't real, but I love him.
 
61. Where was your default picture taken at?
My bathroom!

62. Can you hula hoop?
I could when I was a kid.

63. Do you have a job?
Yes.

64. What was the most recent thing you bought?
I bought all sorts yesterday.  Dry Shampoo, Shower Gel, various foodstuffs.

65. Have you ever crawled through a window?
Yeah, I think so.

66. When was the last time you've been to church?
A funeral last May.  I wish it had been in different circumstances.

67. What's your least favorite meal?
I really don't like Cottage Pie.

68. Did you ever steal anything by mistake?
No.

69. Have you ever won anything?
£85 on the lottery a couple of weeks back, which was a nice surprise.