What happens when I want to listen to some music on Spotify:
Open Spotify app on ipad
Find band/playlist I want to listen to.
What happens when a 5 year old wants to listen to something on Spotify
Open Spotify app on the ipad
Turn volume up to highest level
Search for Minekraft
Realise it’s spelt wrong and search for Minecraft
Select the first song, listen for 5 seconds
Select the next song, listen for 5 seconds
Select the next song, listen for 5 seconds.
Go back the first song, listen for 30 seconds before starting the song again
Listen for another 30 seconds and then start again
Get bored of that song and go to the second song on the list
Get yelled at by very unreasonable mother who for some reason is fed up of listening to the first 30 seconds of a song about mother chuffing Minecraft.
Go upstairs for a good cry and a sulk, singing said Minecraft song quietly to ones self.
Cats are twats. Moody, grumpy, miserable demanding bastards. They are basically furry toddlers that never grow up and can never be reasoned with sent to us as punishment for all the wrongs we did in our previous lives.
1. Rain. Cats hate rain. Cats also don’t like being inside. These two facts do not gel well together and cats are more than just a bit thick when it comes to meteorological issues. Yes cat, it is raining both at the front and the back door. Yes, still raining. Yup, the rain is still there. Yes, even now. No, I can’t make it stop. No, scratching at the window and meowing in a forlorn manner will not make the rain go away and NO I will not open the back door again so that you can sit and glare at the rain whilst I freeze my ass off for 10 minutes. Will you just shut the hell up?
2. Food. Cats love food. Any food, every single food item on the planet. Well, apart from the stuff you put in their dish that has been developed specifically to make sure that they get the correct balance of vitamins and nutrients that they need to stay healthy. No that stuff is shite, the good stuff is anything and everything else in your house. Especially if you left it on the counter unattended. And anything they don’t like they will just knock to the floor for the dog to eat. They are terribly magnanimous like that. Twats.
3. Cats love cat food. But only when you’ve run out of it. A normal morning will start with the cat meowing next to his bowl, me putting in overly expensive, especially developed for cats, food that he will sniff, turn to look at you in disgust and then walk away demanding to go outside instead (quite probably to visit several of the neighbours who no doubt also think he is their cat and feed him on best ham or something). A morning when you have run out of cat food however never gets past the meowing stage. Endlessly and repetitively until you get so fecked off with the noise that you drag the kids to the local shop and spend much more than anyone ever should on food for a furry twatbasket, bring it home, dish it out as he excitedly weaves his way in between your legs, jumps on the counter and gets in the way of you trying to put the stinky gunk into his bowl only to sniff it, turn up his nose and demand to go outside.
But of course its raining, so he doesn’t actually go outside but sits in the doorway for 10 minutes whilst you freeze your ass off.
4. The only place a cat is ever truly comfortable is sat on your face filling your mouth full of fur and blocking your view from whatever you were doing.
5. Unless of course you are working on the laptop and then the ONLY place worth being in the world is your keyboard. Just as you are about to hit send on that important work email you have worked hard at making sound professional. Only after it’s sent do you see the lsdjgbLSIGJBKalfffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff in the middle of your otherwise perfectly crafted sentence.
Chatting with my lovely friend over at Losing My Lemons this week, I’m getting all misty eyed about Gran Canaria again. I’ve been twice in the past 12 months and I blummin love it out there. How I’d never made it out there before last year is an utter mystery, but the flights to Gran Canaria aren’t expensive and you can get some great last-minute holiday deals.
Oh, it’s such a lovely island.
I love the sand dunes and the way you feel as though you could be stood in the middle of the desert.
And the fact that at any moment you might come across a naturist in all their glory, as much of the beach is a nudist beach.
I love that clothed people and nude people share the same space, and walking along the beach it’s completely normal for a naked person to casually stroll back to their towel from the sea. Any place that embraces nakedness is fine with me.
And the way parts of it look like some sort of lunar landscape.
I love the mountains in the centre of the island and the way the empty, barren land turns into lush, verdant vegetation.
And this donkey sanctuary up in the mountains is both amazing and unexpected.It’s a beautiful wooden structure, all made by the family that run the sanctuary and they are unbelievably friendly and welcoming.
Oh and the food of the island. The sea food, the Canarian potatoes and the meat. Plates and plates of meat fresh from the grill.
And I love the random little happy things that make you smile, you come across them all over the island.
But the thing I love most, the absolutely best thing about Gran Canaria.
My lovely, lovely friend from the hysterical blog Losing My Lemons and her gorgeous family. I think I need to book another trip very soon.
Love you Mrs Lemons.
Since leaving school my son has been hell bent on growing his hair as long as possible, refusing point blank to let anyone anywhere near him with scissors. Despite all the best efforts of my mother and his father, he has resolutely refused to have short hair.
I have to admit, I kinda loved it. I love his stubborn it’s-my-hair-and-I’ll-do-what-I-want attitude. Don’t know where he could have got that from, ahem. And I Ioved his hair. He has such thick, beautiful hair that it should be allowed to grow. It’s the sort of hair that should fall over shoulders in long shiny locks, not be kept at military length
But a couple of days ago I’d stupidly left some scissors out and he felt the tug that so many children have felt before him: the seductive siren call of ‘Why don’t you just chop a little? Go on, you know you want to.’
He only went a lopped about a third of his blummin hair off.
Great big swathes of hair missing from both sides. I could have wept. There really was only one thing left to be done. A trip to the barbers was on the cards and goodbye gorgeous, thick, silky long hair. Hello strange little boy I barely recognise
He’s happy with it, that’s the main thing. And if he ever decides to grow it again I shall be hiding those blummin scissors far from sight.
I don’t know who I’m more exasperated with: him for chopping his lovely hair, or me for leaving the stupid scissors out in the first place. Gah.
The oddest thing seems to have happened since I started internet dating. I seem to be getting less good at it as time goes on. Standard practice dictates that the more you do something the better at it you get, but I seem to be suffering some reverse polarity of logic when it comes to dating. I have somehow gone from dating a guy for 2 months and then getting dumped, to going on three dates with a guy before being given the elbow, down to only getting as far as the second date, and then the first. And now I can’t even get that far. I make plans to meet people and they cancel on me with mere hours to go. Kicked to the kerb before they’ve even met me. It’s happened three times in the last week.
I’m beginning to think I must be very much of an acquired taste. Not something palatable by most of the human population.
I’m predicting that there are only three more levels to drop down before I reach the ranks of those that are completely undateable.
- Being stood up. Not even worth the cancelation message, I will simply find myself hanging out alone at coffee shops and bars on a fairly regular basis. To the point where I will be stupendously surprised if anyone ever turns up and when some chap stops by the table and opens his mouth to speak, I will have already press ganged him into sitting down and talking to me before he can alert me to the fact that he’s actually with that girl over there and he just wanted to know if the second chair at my table was free.
- Not being worth an attempt at meeting. No dates will be set, no messages sent. I shall be sentenced to a life time of hanging around online dating sites having being black-balled by every other member. Dating sites will eventually invent a tumbleweed animation to roll across the screen every few seconds just to keep me company. A couple of them will ask me to leave because I’m bringing the tone down.
- People will suddenly start messaging me again, in droves. But only to tell me how they hope they are never unfortunate enough to happen across me accidentally in public.
As it goes I’m kind of looking forward to stage three, but mostly just so I can mock their grammar.
I can open the wine now, right?