London Christmas Shoppers: The Rules

I don't know how many of you have braved the streets of Central London to find Christmas gifts for your loved ones, but if you have, you have my deepest sympathies. Christmas shopping, which used to be a rather pleasant affair to be accompanied by tea and biscuits in the afternoon, is now a bloodbath of inconsiderate shoppers who will stop at nothing to piss each other off.

Is it really worth all the risks?

I myself headed to Oxford Circus yesterday after a bit of cash came my way. I hopped on the bus from East London and the sight of Christmas decorations and the dark London streets touched a romantic nerve in my bitter and cynical body and I'll admit to you all - I was excited. After having been in Birmingham for several months straight, I craved the sight my home city and during my journey on the number 8 bus, got rather worked up as the bright lights and glamorous shops of Oxford Circus came into view. I hopped off the bus, bright eyed and bushy tailed, and was ambushed. That's the only way I can describe it. Hoards and hoards of people came at me from every direction, seeming not to notice me, swinging bags and gesticulating wildly. Being a London girl, I managed to recover quickly and made my way to the nearest shop before lighting up to take in the action. Once I found a gap in the throngs of people, I joined the crowd heading towards Bond Street and that, dear reader, is when the anger struck. I felt what can only be described as burning hatred towards every person in front of me that forced me to dodge and weave my way towards my desired destination, Selfridges.

The Selfridges Christmas decorations - untainted by hoards of shoppers.

I finally arrived flustered and seething with anger. I stalked past Chanel and Jimmy Choo and went straight downstairs for a free espresso (in case you didn't already know: Nespresso, Food and Dining section. Ask a trainee for a sample). This is very unlike me. I could spend hours lingering amongst luxurious leathers I will never be able to afford, but on this occasion, I simply had to calm down. How can Christmas shoppers cause so much distress? I thought. Then I realised. I am one of them. After pausing to think after my espresso, I thought, it would be great if someone made a list of rules for Christmas shoppers to follow, outlining simple etiquette that should be followed by every person making their way to London for the Christmas season. That someone is me.

Smokers

You're stressed. You're panicking. The shops close in three hours and you haven't got a gift for your mother-in-law's sister or your cousin twice removed. You need a smoke. I get it. But it is totally unacceptable to simply stop unexpectedly in the path of a fellow Christmas shopper to light a cigarette. The whole experience can be rather startling for those around you who will have to dodge and find a new system of walking on the street with a brand new obstacle in their way. It would be similar if a postbox sprung into existence in the middle of the street. Though a little less weird.

Buggy Pushers

It would be far easier if children were outlawed from the whole shopping experience, but alas, they are not, so we all have to deal with them.  It could be made a great deal less distressing for fellow walkers if you keep your buggy aimed in a straight line and do not use it as a weapon to slow down Christmas shoppers around you.

Little Jimmy's idea of Santa's grotto was greatly
confused by the appearance of Ginger Rogers.

Large Families

You all insist on forming groups so large that no one has a hope in hell of overtaking you. You walk slowly and you call out numbers to continually check that each member is there.  (If you've got a mean streak, say "where's number four?" very loudly and watch the family panic shouting "four?!" in an insane, parrot-like fashion. Devilishly fun.) As if that's not bad enough, you then proceed to stop every twenty yards to double check everyone's there. If you lose a kid in London, they'll just get taken to Hamley's and put in the Lost Children section of Lost Property. Or they'll make their way to a pub and have a hell of a time. Families should walk in single file and have faith that they'll stay connected. Failing that, shackles may be a good idea.

Arseholes

Arsehole: Are you talking to me?
Me: Yes I'm talking to you, I'm just trying to get past, would you mind terribly if you moved ever so slightly to the left?
Arsehole: Are you insulting me now?

It's wannabe de Niros like this guy that just make me want to punch someone. You can act like an arsehole back in New York, but when you're in London, oblige to common courtesy and recognise that when someone says "excuse me" they are not planning on stealing your wife, children or place in the queue and may, simply, be trying to get past.

General notes:

Be Polite: If everyone were polite to one another, the world really would be a better place. Be courteous and do not barge, bash or try to slither past other shoppers. It will only alert you to the sad fact that you aren't as thin as you thought you were.

To Take Photographs: In London, you will often find it is safer to stop on the road than the street during the busy Christmas season, so if you absolutely have to take a picture of a busker wearing a kilt, make your way to one of the concrete benches they have lining many roads in London. If there are no concrete benches, take a bloody mental picture and keep walking.

Speed: Londoners usually have this spot on, walk in a straight line, with purpose, do not barge or push and stop only in case of emergencies. (In case of desired shop entry see: Shop Entry Tactics) I'm no xenophobe, but foreigners have got to learn how to walk like a Londoner. There is far too much dilly dallying and ambling on the part of tourists, the likes of which should be made punishable by law in London.

Short of seeing this in a shop window, there is no excuse to stop.

Shop Entry Tactics: It's called the swerve. As previously stated, one should never ever stop on the streets of London, so upon approaching a shop you wish to enter, slow down, veer to the right and choose your moment to swerve smoothly into the shop of your choice.

Sorry: It has been proven to be the most used word by anyone British. Add it to your vocabulary book and use it whenever you are in doubt - you can't go wrong.

Happy Christmas shopping everyone!

Lonely Hearts Deserve to be Lonely

The other morning I was calmly browsing the Birmingham Mail when I came across the Lonely Hearts section. I proceeded to choke on my breakfast. Did a 67 year old man really ask for a between 20 and 30 year old for "no strings attached fun"?

"I've always wanted a woman with tits above her belly button."

I was saddened to find that the advertisements in the Birmingham Mail and any other newspaper with a Lonely Hearts section are all genuine. There really are people out there who, through the medium of local papers, feel it is acceptable to advertise themselves as "intelligent and sexy" or even "65 but flexible". After trawling through column after column of those who consider their hearts to be lonely, I felt disgusted. Yes, there were some relatively normal requests "lonely 30-something widower seeks companionship from intelligent lady" or "60 year old hiker seeks someone to go for long walks with", but these were few and far between. I have to say, the majority of the ads in the Lonely Hearts were simply vile and I had to wonder; who in the name of all that is holy has sent in a lonely ad, let alone found someone?

And then it hit me. My cousin and her husband met through a lonely hearts ad and they were married in 2008. Or 2009? Maybe it was 2007.

Hold on.

No, my mum doesn't know either. Anyway, the point is, they have been married for at least three years, and happily so. My cousin is a beautiful woman that simply decided to take action and find someone rather than wait around for Mr Right to show up on a white horse, Cadillac or similar. So I have to conclude that Lonely Hearts is not an entirely bad thing and, evidently, can lead to a happy marriage.

It takes a couple with balls to begin foreplay at the wedding dinner.
[NOT my cousin]

But still, I can't say that I wholly support it, simply because if they are not disgusting in request, they are very misleading and confusing. Of course, no one admits to being fat, instead everyone is "bubbly and busty" or "curvacious". But what if one is simply curvy? Would one have to lie and call oneself slim? Surely this can lead to moments of extreme disappointment when Lonely Hearts meet only to find that the "curvy blonde" they read about is, in fact, the fat check out girl at Asda that always reminded them of their mother. Similarly, it could lead to elation when the "bubbly, busty, brunette who comfort eats" is the spitting image of Nigella Lawson.

Actual Weight	Honest Description	Lonely Hearts Lie
24st	Morbidly obese with room for the entire cast of Flashdance in my pants	Full Figured
18st	Too fat to go abroad for fear of being mistaken for a beached whale	Voluptuous
15st	Fat, but with appropriate placement of duct tape, can appear curvy	Busty
12st	Voluptuous to the point of indecency	Bubbly
9st	Perfectly formed with breasts and bottom as bonus	Curvy

You see??? With the Lonely Hearts Lie, how will anyone ever know the truth?

Onto another point, what about the GSOH that every single person claims to have in their Lonely Hearts ad? Having a good sense of humour is something that everyone wants, but very few people have. You can't just throw the phrase around willy nilly when you have the sense of humour of Ed Miliband, Jo Brand or a wet fish! Actually, I did hear a good one the other day about Ed Miliband, a nose surgeon and Michael Jackson- but now is not the time. Furthermore, how can one claim to be intelligent? Someone may consider themselves intelligent for having discovered a way to get through their entire higher education simply by reading spark notes. Others may consider themselves intelligent for reading the entire Harry Potter series and finally realising that You Know Who, He Who Must Not Be Named and Voldermort are all the same person. The fact of the matter is, Lonely Hearts ads are designed for lonely people who aren't really fussed if they end up with a whale who claims to be curvy - so long as despite their white hair and liver spots they can still call themselves "a slightly older George Clooney".

"See? My Berlusconi impression is hilarious!
Someone love me."

Despite my Lonely Hears rant, no doubt in twenty years you'll see me in there:

Bubbly, busty blonde with GSOH searching for an intelligent man for conversation, fun, companionship, but mostly someone who will put up with all my shit so I don't die alone.

Michael Bublé's Christmas; My Kind of Christmas

To some people Michael Bublé is their guilty pleasure. To me, Michael Bublé is simply my pleasure. His voice, like melted chocolate, will jolt women’s ovaries into overdrive as he rumbles his way smoothly through Christmas classics on his latest Christmas album.

His wife had better know how lucky she is. And how perilous her life is.

The album includes all the best Christmas songs, harking back to the days of Crosby, Sinatra and Nat King Cole. Santa Claus is Coming to Town opens with a simple bass and high hat before the brass band introduces itself midway through the first verse. Innovations like this make Bublé’s Christmas album a must have for this Christmas. Drunk uncles everywhere will be absolutely loving Michael Bublé’s swingin’ version of Jingle Bells which could have been taken directly from a 1940s Christmas party; you can almost hear the show girls’ feathers ruffling. My personal favourite is Bublé’s version of Cynthia Basinet’s Santa Baby, in which he makes Basinet’s original Christmas list every so slightly more masculine – though I would love to see Bublé in sable.

Little Sandy sought therapy after she found this under the tree at Christmas.

The best part of Michael Bublé’s rendition of the Christmas greats, is that while they are all immediately recognisable, he makes them sound fresh and quite literally jazzes them up. Think Louis Prima – his songs were repeatedly covered by swing musicians, but no one else had that tsa tsa tzu largely created by his Italianisms and penchant for brass. Rather than Italianisms, Canadian born and bred Michael Bublé has his Michael Bubléisms that create the same kind of musical magic that can be attributed to very few swing artists.

Strings are also well represented in the Christmas Album. Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas will give your guaranteed goosebumps and an immediate craving for a warm fire and glass of mulled wine.

There is a little something for everyone, however, and Bublé does not limit himself to swing. He covers Mariah Carey’s All I Want For Christmas and includes a few more modern Christmas songs such as the Hispanic Feliz Navidad and his very own Cold December Night.

A timeless album to put on the Christmas playlist for hopelessly drunk Christmas Days everywhere.

Are we being a bit harsh to Liz Jones?

Before I begin to concentrate on writing a thought provoking yet charmingly witty article on the recent subject of controversy that is Liz Jones, I will have to admit to you all that I read the Daily Mail. Now, I don't think there's anything wrong with reading a bit of a 'righty' paper with what people see as slightly  'bigoty' opinions, but I have been publicly lambasted and ridiculed for reading the Daily Mail. In my younger years, I didn't know that such harsh judgement could be passed on you for the newspaper that you read, until I started learning politics at school. There was a stunned silence when I revealed that I read (and quite enjoyed reading) the Daily Mail broken only by a slightly obnoxious girl in my class who interjected with, "So I suppose you agree with the death penalty then, do you?" smirking as she said it.
I simply looked her deep in the eye in the manner of Hannibal Lector and said, "For some people, yes." Ha, only joking. That's one of the things I wish I had thought of doing at the time. Instead, as I remember it, I went a bit red and mumbled something like, "I find the weekly columnists funny..." 
And indeed I did. I still do, but now I'm at university I have learnt to keep those opinions to myself if I want to be invited to the next university newspaper social. No wonder I rarely speak at the weekly meetings.


I am, however, no longer a committed Daily Mail-ist as my job begs me to read all the newspapers that ever were to make sure I am writing balanced articles for Blottr. Occasionally though, I find myself reading through some of my ever so slightly controversial opinions and thinking, "Oops, I Liz Jonesed that one." 

To 'Liz Jones'
1. To publicise a controversial opinion.
[e.g. I Liz Jonesed at dinner and now my mother has removed me
from her will.]
2. To steal a man's sperm.
[e.g. I'll Liz Jones him if he doesn't propose soon.]

No matter how much I may sometimes channel Ms Jones in my writing, many of my opinions differ from hers drastically. Now, for those of you who have read my blog before, you'll be aware that I firmly disagree with Jones on her opinion on sex: "The only reason [women] have sex is to get a man, keep a man, steal his sperm and flatter ourselves that we are attractive." I, on the other hand believe that the only reason women have sex is to please ourselves (yes, Liz, some of us enjoy the act of sex), please our man, and flatter ourselves that we are attractive. You've got to admit, sex is a brilliant ego boost.


But let me move on to the controversial Liz Jonesism of the day. 

"Because he wouldn’t give me what I wanted, I decided to steal it from him ... The 'theft' itself was alarmingly easy to carry out. One night, after sex, I took the used condom and, in the privacy of the bathroom, I did what I had to do. Bingo."

Wait. Hold it. So the man she is with says outright he does not want a child and she, ignoring his views, steals his sperm and gets herself pregnant with what one can only imagine was a gruesome kind of handstand/jumping manouvre. I think I can say with absolute certainty that this act is considered universally as "not cool". Or, if you'd rather, a gross violation of a man's trust and ejaculation.


When speaking to my lover about how he would feel if I stole his sperm without permission, he said, "If women have the right to steal our sperm to impregnate themselves whenever they want, then I say men should have the right to impregnate women whenever they want. It's like legitimising rape." He finished defiantly. Suddenly a shadow passed over his face and he looked at me with suspicion and said, "You're still on the pill, aren't you?" I assured him that yes, yes I was and at the ripe old age of 20, children are the last thing on my mind. Little does he know that I spend the hours when I can't get to sleep planning my wedding. (Shut up, we all do it. Don't we?) I had to then tell him that I was not actually considering stealing his sperm and was talking about Liz Jones as the cross he was holding and garlic around his neck suggested to me he did not trust my motives.


Now don't get your pitchforks out, but I think we're all being a little bit harsh to Liz Jones. Of course you will disagree with her, of course you will think she's a crazy person, of course you will shudder with horror when trying to imagine how the blinding fuck she managed to impregnate herself (suggest turkey baster) but the woman's got spunk. Literally. No matter how many people dislike her, she always writes with humour and flare (with some exceptions- note her moaning columns about life in the countryside, yawn) even when she's wrong about everything she says. It's still an opinion isn't it? And while she may not be a feminist, or indeed a realist, really she's done all women a huge favour in publicly discussing her craziest moment because now we all look like saints in comparison.

Onto another point, was taking a man's sperm really so bad of her? It's not like he was going to use it as an adhesive. And, by ejaculating into a condom, he has chosen that his sperm is regarded by him as a waste product, so why shouldn't it be used by someone who wants it? Children are regarded by some as a beautiful gift and once you reach a certain age, this gift is harder and harder to come by. Why go through the trauma of getting impregnated by the sperm of an anonymous man who could be Toothless Dave you buy your cigarettes from? Futhermore, the likelihood is Liz Jones will not be successful in her endeavour to get herself pregnant as condoms are laced with horrible things like spermicide and whatnot to ensure women's ovens remain bun-less. Now Liz Jones is the one getting lambasted on Twitter, but does the punishment fit the crime?

When she said, "your birthday present is inside me," this
was definitely not what he expected.

She's a crazy lady that Liz Jones, no denying that, but we're all a bit crazy/criminally insane. If every woman wrote down the most messed up thing that they ever did Liz Jones would come out as a mildly nuts woman in the light of all our bat-shit crazy misdemeanors, and deep, deep down we all know it's true.

The X Factor Vs. The 'X' Factor

Another year on, another blow to the world of music as the X Factor has graced our screens yet again with another group of mostly talentless, hysterical nobodies trying to crack their way into the music industry with virtually no effort or integrity. Before you go and pigeon hole me as one of those anti-consumerism/capitalism/whatever hippies, I love the X Factor. I watch it every week without fail unless my boyfriend switches it to Futurama and hides the damned remote (bitter? Me?). But you’ve got to admit, it’s the same thing year after year; one girl that can sort of sing, one super cute guy and one joke of an act that makes you want to tear out your hair and send it to them in the post as an act of protest. But this year, there is something different.

Kitty in one of her less revealing outfits

I am of course speaking of the love-her-hate-her-but-mostly-hate-her contestant, Kitty. Everyone I have spoken to launches into a bitter diatribe of “oh, but she loves herself and she’s just so weird and what is with her eyelashes?” I have to agree that Kitty is a very strange act, but that is what makes her brilliant. She has been criticised for dressing “like a hooker on holiday” but her outfits aren’t so different to those that Britney has worn in her on going Femme Fatale tour (which is coming to Birmingham next week!) and her styling is not too far from the likes of Lady Gaga or Nikki Minaj. As for her voice, it’s actually rather good as she proved from the off with a Queen power ballad in the very first show. Moreover, she’s entertaining, she has the “whatever will she do next” factor and she’s got something different. A certain je ne sais quoi. The ‘x’ factor, one could say.

Predictably, this different quality is what got her boos on last week’s results show, and what will inevitably get her booted off the show in week five or something because she’s just not conventional enough. The show is called the X Factor, but it really is just a massive hypocrisy. Every year, the winner becomes unidentifiable from the hoards of other X Factor winners that have shot to fame before trickling back down to join the rest of us in the dregs of society. Except they’re worse because they actually thought they could escape us, for a little while at least.

Kitty’s talent could have launched her somewhere great, maybe not in the charts top ten, but perhaps in the direction of a much loved esoteric artist (that’s for you, Will) that performs at favoured haunts UK wide such as G.A.Y , Glee Club or similar. It’s stupid to think that anyone will vote for her, that’s not what the X Factor is all about, but before she gets mercilessly ridiculed and then thrown into the shit heap of the ‘marmite’ ex X Factor-ees, take a minute to appreciate her truly different style and rather good talent before pixie girl goes and wins it and we can all start going out on Saturday nights again.

What Women Don't Want

At the request of a frustrated friend...

Ever wondered if you're bad in bed? Ever wondered if she's faking it? Ever thought that she looks a little bored considering how long you've been down there? Guys, you can stop freaking out now. After speaking to several of my lady friends and brushing up on my Cosmo knowledge, I have what you need to be all that you've ever wanted to be. Women will say your name with awe and pride. And you will have me to thank for it.

No, no, this isn't another article about how to be good in bed, but rather how not to be bad. You see there are many things you can do in the bedroom to increase a woman's chances of a) sleeping with you and b) having an orgasm. And you may have heard of some of them. But if you're not doing them exactly right, you'll be doing more harm than good, you understand me? So here is a list of what all men seem to get wrong, what they don't seem to know is there, and, most importantly, what they don't know about women. Pay attention boys, this one's for the fridge.

Hickies
Firstly, despite the recent Twilight phenomenon, it must be remembered that girls do not fantasize about having the blood sucked out of their neck by anyone other than Robert Pattinson. Secondly, they're just too cute and retro to be considered sexy anymore. When was the last time you heard a mate brag about the unsightly reddish purple mark that he left on a girl's neck?

If you give a girl a hickie and you're not fifteen, you will forever be the Peter Pan of her sexual experiences. You made her fly for a little while but reality came crashing down to earth when she realised you would never grow up. Don't do it guys, it is not sexy.

The Clitoris
Now this really is the big one, because every single man claims to know where it is (apart from one man I know who thought it was a shortened version of a paleolothic creature called a Clitosaurus), but every single woman has complained that a man has been intently massaging 3 degrees S/W of it. The vagina's a complex organ, we get that, but if you need to check to see where you're going, peeking is allowed.

As Miranda from Sex and the City once said, "It's my clitoris, not the sphinx." Do not fear it, do not be vicious with it just please, please find it before you start prodding around like a blind man trying to enter his pin into an ATM. The important thing to remember with the clitoris is that is is really really sensitive. The best thing is soft, smooth actions until you hit the spot- believe me you will know it when you when you find it.

Nipples
Some are big, some are small, some are sensitive, some are not. The main point here, is that they are all different, and therefore all need different kinds of attention. One should not assume that a woman enjoys them being tugged, twisted and nibbled (though some do) and rather ease yourself into the nipple issue by being delicate. If she wants it harder, if she wants nipple clamps, if she'd rather you just moved on down, then believe me, she'll find some way to tell you.

Dirty Talk
"I want your big... thing. Here. Now." I believe that was my first attempt at dirty talk, and it went down pretty well, as I remember it. But the thing is, it was over text, which obviously gave me disproportionately sized balls and I continued to tell this boy dirty and naughty things to extatic response. A few weeks later, we saw each other, and it was clear that neither of us had the sized balls we thought we had, and we had a polite conversation about lacrosse.

In the bedroom though, dirty talk is a totally different issue. Normal conversation etiquette does not apply. If a man talks dirty, a woman is free to ignore him and he should get the hint and simply, shut the fuck up. Sometimes, however, a man will ask the dreaded question:
"Tell me how that feels..."
And you know that "fine thanks" is not the answer he wants to hear. Between thinking about what food type is appropriate to use as a euphemism for penis (by the way, parsnip is not cool) and thinking of another word for hard, it becomes apparent that what you're doing to her actually doesn't feel that great.

It's a tricky one, but if you want to talk dirty, try it out. If it fails, let it. There's nothing worse than a man who keeps repeating "do you like that?" over and over until the woman finally snaps and says, "no I fucking don't. Take your love paddle and get out."


The Orgasm
The most important tip I can give you is don't try and make her come. Seriously. The more you try, the more a woman will sense that you're relentlessly trying and the more likely she is to fake it, just to make you stop. Do what you're sure feels good for her, try new things and if you're doing something right, the chances are, she'll let you know to get her happy ending.

Equally though, don't actively try not to make your girl have an orgasm. That's just mean.

Down Under
Ooh this is an issue indeed. I myself have had terrible experiences with this, as one boyfriend was terrified of touching my vagina with his lips, he stuck his tongue out to it's full extent and moved up and down for approximately 30 seconds before giving up. And I know that every girl has had at least one bad experience. I will never forget what my friend said to her guy after he went down on her and said, "You're so wet," to which she replied, "No I'm not, you are." But she got off lightly. I mean, okay, he drooled all over her lady bits, but at least he tried hard.

The thing that makes oral sex terrible for girls are men that simply stick out their tongue, close their eyes, and hope for the best. These men are either scared of doing a bad job, as it were, grossed out by how it looks/tastes, or physically terrified of the vagina. And I have no sympathy for you when a girl simply says, "Erm, that's not really working for me? Let's just have sex, hmm?"

Fellas, before you even attempt to go down on a girl, you must get over your Vaginaphobia. It will not bite your tongue off. It will massively pay off if you let loose, pay attention to her reaction and simply get down to it. So, make like Nike and just do it.


Le Derriere
If there's any moment in sex where there is need to be polite, its anal sex. Never - under any circumstances - go near the bum without asking permission first. Some women are really into anal sex, some women are really into the bum as a concept, but some women are not. And I am speaking on behalf of these women that really aren't that into anything going in a place which is designed for things to come out. (Yes, yes, girls don't shit fairy dust, get over it.)

There is nothing worse than someone physically recoiling from your touch as if you have electrocuted them, but that is the direct consequence of going back there without permission with a girl who, quite frankly, doesn't like it.

So boys, be considerate, ask first and if she says no don't get in a strop and do it anyway.

Fearless Passion
There is a time when it takes all your self restraint not to jump someone in a restaurant/pub/inappropriate public place. There is a time when all you want is to be thrown down on a bed/sofa/floor and be subjected to a good rodgering. But there is a time when fearless passion is just plain embarrassing.

If you get too into it too quickly, you may mistake the biting on your shoulder for passion, but the likelihood is she's probably stifling her giggles while you pant in her ear. This is a mistake many men make, but remember slow and steady wins the race.

By the way, it's not a race
Sex is not a contest to see who can climax first. The men that treat is as such are infallibly terrible in bed and get the most bad press from the ladies, so don't do it. Sex is a reciprocal thing and believe me when I say, if you try to come before she does, blow jobs will be off the table for a while. Plus, you might be surprised at how good you feel when you're giving her enough pleasure to make her beat her foot against the wall like Thumper.

Sex may not be a race, but it can be a super fun game, and who wants a good game to end before you've got to the good bit?

Laughing
We are so sorry. But sometimes, sex is hilarious to women. Either you do something a little laughable, like a misplaced dirty word or too soft a touch (we're very sensitive there, and yes, sometimes it tickles). Or a woman's mind is just elsewhere. I myself have burst into hysterical laughter when thinking about how hilarious if would be to shout out the name of a certain Italian dictator. We had to stop for five minutes while I got my giggles out and he got a severe ego chip.

Now, the important thing, how to prevent it. Make sure that there isn't a lull, keep it interesting and keep the focus on her. At the same time, sex should be fun. If you're in bed with someone that you can have a good laugh with, then a woman will feel so much more comfortable around you which will benefit you both.

One special lady I know said one of the best sexual experiences of her life ended with her runnning around his flat naked chasing his cat. "The next time we had sex," she said, "it was a total gigglegasm."

Post Coital Pillow Talk
It is okay to say, "that was great/you were amazing/I loved it when you did that thing".
It is not okay to shout "God, I'm good!/Come oooon!/I lasted ages, didn't I?"

It is okay to cuddle for under 30 minutes.
It is not okay to leave straight after saying, "That reminds me, I've got to get my MOT sorted."

It is okay to not say "I love you".
It is not okay to not say "I love you" back. Say it even if you don't mean it, it's such a kick in the teeth to be greeted by silence.
It is also not okay to say "I love that you love me. And I love being inside you." That's about the time you'll get the teeth-graze blow job (yup, we do that on purpose sometimes).

Now, I am completely aware that women do things wrong in bed too. I'll be the first to admit that I've made some rookie errors in my average sexual experience, like the discovery that the penis just doesn't bend that way. But fellas, bear these simple things in mind the next time you have a lady in your bed and I guarantee she'll be coming back for more.

P.s. You're welcome.

How often do we think about sex?

According to really scientific and super official studies, men think about sex approximately every seven minutes. Curious about this well known uber-fact, I donned secretary type glasses and asked a wide selection of male friends how often they thought about sex. Recordings of two of the conversations that I had are written verbatim below.

Man #1
Man #1: Well I'm thinking about it right now. With Charlize Theron. Doggy style.
Me: Yes, but isn't that because I just asked you how many times you thought about it?
M#1: Right, yeah.
[Pause]
Me: So, how many times in your average day does sex enter your mind?
M#1: It's not that it enters my mind, it's like the thought of sex is always there, lying dormant, and while I can think of other things, I never actually stop thinking about it.
Me: Seriously? You are saying that you never stop thinking about sex?
M#1: Well, it sounds bad when you put it like that... But basically, yeah. [Coughs] Is any other very personal and embarrassing information you want to record on that little device?
Me: What device?
M#1: I can see it poking out your bag.
[Pause]
Me: It's an electric period pain soother.
M#1: Oh, right, err, right.
Me: [quietly] Works every time.
M#1: What?
Me: Nothing.


Man #2
Man #2: Hmm. I would say I think about it every four minutes? [Pause] Not in loads of detail. It's like it kind of swings into my mind to say hello, and then swings out again.
Me: That's an interesting choice of word.
M#2: What?
Me: Swing. Tell me, have you indulged in any sexual fantasies involving swinging with other couples at swingers clubs?
M#2: No! Stef, what the f-
Me: You recall how I asked you to call me Doctor Shecks before this session began?
M#2: What session? What in God's name-
Me: Do you?
[Pause]
M#2: Yes, Doctor Shecks. Look, doctor, I gave you my information, can we just move on and talk about something else now?
M#2: One more question. [Pause] In these - swinging thoughts- have you ever thought about having sex with me?
M#2: No, not really.
Me: Not once?
M#2: Well of course once! I think about having sex with every girl I meet once.
Me: Even your mother?
M#2: [shouting] WHAT?
Me: From our session, I have concluded that you have an unhealthy sexual appetite, suppressed Oedipal wishes and an inability to be monogamous, which can be seen from your love of attending swingers clubs and events.
M#2: [coughing and spluttering]

From my personal scientific and official study, I discovered that men think about sex a lot. It varies from person to person, but I can safely say that I do not know a single man that doesn't think about sex at least once a day (lying in bed with a wondering mind counts, boys). Shocked? Of course not. It is a widely known fact that men think about sex all the time, can't think about anything else, and that the majority of their decisions are made with their penis.

Okay, this guy probably thinks about sex a teeny bit more than average.

However, I conducted another scientific and official and really smart study on women. And the results were basically the same. Women think about sex all the time, can't think about anything else, and the majority of their decisions are made with their... what am I talking about? Women are incapable of making decisions. Still lots of similarties. Except that women were found more likely to think about sex with a specific, and more importantly, real person, and focused more on past sexual experiences.

And some women really do think with their hoo ha.

Woman #1
Woman #1: When I think of sex, I'm not thinking about just sex. I could be thinking about sex with my ex and how lovely that was, or sex with that gross guy and how embarrassed I was to find out how amazing that was, or sex in public or-
Me: Where in public?
W#1: Is this off the record?
Me: Sure.
W#1: In the Sainsbury's c** p***.
Me: What?! Ha. Haha. [Hysterical laughter]
W#1: What? What about the location of your first sexual experience?
[Silence]
Me: That is the end of the session, thank you very much for spending your time with Doctor Shecks.


Woman #2
Me: So how often do you think about sex?
W#2: Jesus, I've only just sat down... [Pause] A lot. Too much. I'm thinking about it right now.
Me: With your boyfriend?
W#2: Err. Yes. Of course, yes.
Me: Not that guy at work with the muscular arms?
[Pause]
Me: God, you don't have to glare at me like that, I was just asking an innocent question.
W#2: With you, it's never innocent.

My discovery lead me to believe, as I have always secretly expected, that women have more intricate and complicated minds than men and that is the reason for our more specific thoughts on sex. Overall though, I think men are labelled a little unfairly as 'sex obsessed' when women are just as bad. So the next time a guy makes a vulgar joke and the women around him scoff, you can point your finger right at them and say "yeah, like you weren't thinking it!". If references are needed simply quote 'Stef's Super Specific Sexual Study 2011'.

There's nothing wrong with it ladies. If you need more proof just listen to Marilyn Monroe who said

"Sex is part of nature. I go along with nature."

The Most Effective Way to Shift the Pounds!

I am currently suffering, yes suffering from tonsillitis. I cannot eat, I can barely swallow and I randomly break out in cold sweats without warning. It is not a fun illness, but I was always a positive person so here's my attempt at making light of a terrible situation in which I cannot even comfort eat. 


P.S. (pre script) You have to imagine an American saying the following for it to have any comedic effect. Try Elle Woods from Legally Blonde, remember her?

Now do you remember her? It doesn't matter, you get the idea.

Over the last three days, I have lost 5lbs (and counting) by lying in bed all day watching rom-com after rom-com. I hear doubt over the cyberwaves, but it is true. And how did I manage it? By contracting tonsillitis of course!

What is tonsillitis?
For those who don't know tonsillitis is a yucky illness that makes your tonsils swell up to the size of golf balls and causes pus to cover your tonsils and tongue. Eww! It also causes, like, flu like symptoms making you lethargic, nauseated, shivery, then, like, hot, then shivery all day long. Along with that goes a huge pounding headache that feels a bit like Sunday mornings, but it doesn't go away. I know, sounds awful right? But in reality, it's totally awesome- you lose tons and tons of weight!

How does it work?
As your tonsils are so swollen, swallowing, like, anything hurts, so it's best to stick to, like, ice cubes which soothe the throat or hot teas. Yummy! Chicken soup is, like, mama's recommended medicine if you get hungry, but tonsillitis throws your appetite anyway so you probably won't. Yay! And despite not eating anything, your reaction to the antibiotics the doctor puts you on will have you running to the ladies room ten times a day! Amazing!

How do I get it?
For a quick way to lose weight, why not give tonsillitis a try? The great thing about tonisillitis is that it's super easy to get hold of, and totally free! The best way to contract it is to be in close contact with someone who has it and by wearing down your immune system with long walks in the rain with no clothes on. Or better yet, french kiss someone with the illness right after an ice cold bath! Super fun!

For more information go to:
www.iamastupidamericanthatwilldoanythingtoloseweight.com/exceptnoteatingcheeseburgers

Or for ways to deal with weight issues go to:
www.fuckyouimnotthatfat.com/okaybutgodthinksimpretty

Americans Can't be Brits

(no matter how hard they try)

Oh, why can't the English learn to set 

A good example to people whose English is painful to your ears?

The Scotch and the Irish leave you close to tears.

There even are places where English completely disappears. 

In America, they haven't used it for years! 

Why can't the English Lyrics, My Fair Lady


With the release of One Day, the film version of the bestselling book, a torrent of complaints, catty remarks, and just plain bitchiness has been unleashed upon Anne Hathaway. While her name sounds like that of some 19th century English Rose, her Yorkshire accent in her most recent blockbuster really gives the game away. One journalist welled up at tears by the end of this film, not at the emotional and sudden ending but at the dire attempt of Hathaway to be British. As we can all band together and agree on, being British is more than just an accent, but why is it that we get so bloody offended when a Yank can't get it right?

Similar animosity was shown towards Russel Crowe in his role as Robin Hood in the imaginatively named film, Hood. Rather than having one crappy imitation of a British accent throughout, his accent seemed to change and manifest as he moved through the Nottingham countryside. When questioned about this, Crowe replied, rather haughtily (and I paraphrase) "Robin Hood would have travelled all over England if he were real, and would have picked up all kinds of different accents, which is what I portrayed in the movie." Good point Mr Crowe, but surely the same could be said for jet-setting businessmen who travel weekly to all corners of the world, but they don't walk into every meeting speaking a different dialect of Mandarin.

The only American who we graciously accepted and applauded in the role of a Brit, was Renee Zellwegger in the role of the fantastic and brilliant creation of Helen Fielding, Bridget Jones. Her accent was spot on as a Londoner, and the fantastic casting of Gemma Jones as Bridget's mum made the whole thing rather believable. It wasn't just her accent though. Her mannerisms, choice of swearwords and incessant smoking as soon as off the tube made good ol' Bridge relatable to a large chunk of British women. However, Ms Zellwegger can't be credited for our love of Bridget Jones, and of course we should all bow down to Ms Fielding for bringing her to us to begin with, but the point remains: this is one of the only British characters played by an American that we have really appreciated. Oh scratch that, worshipped.

Personally, after a bad nights sleep and getting a very untimely shock from the window cleaners (of course I was brushing my teeth naked), I can only think of one more American in a British role that we, as a nation, have embraced like a brother. I speak, of course, of Johnny Depp in his fantastic portrayal of Captain Jack Sparrow. He is a frequent guest at fancy dress parties which gives many men an excuse to wear make up and think themselves sexy, and is even the subject matter of a Lonely Island song (but with hits like Dick in a Box and On a Boat, I don't think subject matter is high on their list of priorities). His drunken gyrations on and off a boat deck, his eyeliner, beaded dreadlocks and his insistence on being called Captain would make him a less than desirable bed guest for most women, but somehow Depp pulls it off and, even more commendable, makes it totally hot.

The moral of the story? Most Americans should stick to what they know, and play characters in which they don't have to drastically change their accents because then they won't be the subject of ridicule until they make a sex tape and we all forget about it. Unless you're Johnny Depp, because, let's face it, he could get away with anything with those lips.

Loose Men

"He's too loose." Were the wise words spoken by my friend after a particular boyfriend had failed, yet again, to make any decisive response to the question I had been uttering for weeks. And it took some damn balls too.

"Do you think we should be exclusive?"
"Well, ahem, er, thing is, umm, Stef-" lots of coughing, sighing and not looking at me directly, "we basically are anyway, aren't we? So err, it's fine the way it is. Isn't it?" Silence. He leaned closer and whispered in my ear, "isn't it?" and proceeded to kiss my neck, and lips.
"Yes, yes, I suppose s'fine, mmm..." I managed to mumble.

But the question haunted me for a further couple of weeks until I finally managed to get him to agree to exclusivity by subtly mentioning that I was meeting an ex boyfriend for drinks and dinner.
"Is he staying at yours after?" He asked, his big hazel eyes looking at me expectantly.
"Well I guess we'll see how the evening goes. But probably. You know how I get after a glass of wine." And the deal, as it were, was sealed. (In case you didn't realise, I can be quite the manipulative bitch.)

That relationship came and went when I realised his commitment issues would never get resolved under my watch, particularly with my lack of patience. For example, a Facebook relationship status was a no-no, despite the fact that all our mutual friends knew what was going on. Or when summer came around and the topic of holidays came up, he never seemed to have enough money, yet came across some fiscal fortune that would pay for his Interrailing trip with friends. And another classic; though I was promised I would meet his friends, it was never the right time but apparently they were "dying" to meet me. What's that smell? Oh yes, the ever identifiable stench of bullshit.

Previous to this mostly insignificant relationship, I have never actually had a 'commitment phobe' as a boyfriend. Well, to be fair, I only had one proper relationship before that, and that guy was the ready-to-settle-down-and-have-babies type. Though I should mention the guy before that, who dumped me because he was bored, (dick) but told me it was because he was gay (bigger dick) in order to end it swiftly while sparing my feelings. Granted, at the time, it did. But when I found out the truth, I was not a happy bunny. But in a triumphant twist, the gay rumors never really stopped, and even now, when he pops up in conversation, the title remains.
"Ah, haven't seen him in ages, how is he?"
"Gay." Several people pipe up.
Cue a chorus of laughter and a smug smile from yours truly.
Hmm. I seem to have gotten sidetracked. Ah. Commitment phobes.

There is another guy I know, who I used to be really close to (and who I used to have a teeny crush on) who was scared of commitment like he was scared of spiders. Then he found a girl who managed to change him, just like that, and he was in a relationship for a pretty long time. But then he contacted me out of the blue a couple of days ago just saying this:

Hey Stef
What's up? I'm on a break at the moment... To be honest, I just can't imagine doing stuff with anyone else.

Umm. Right. A proposition for intercourse, and not so delicately put. After getting offended and flustered in that Austrian manner of mine, we talked and it turns out he's actually really upset about the relationship ending and totally besotted with this girl who ended things with him for the foreseeable future.

Even so, it doesn't exactly inspire confidence that at the first opportunity loose men that have been tightened up roll back to their loose ways. Which begs the question- are loose men forever loose? Hundreds of thousands of people have pondered this question, but most have reached the conclusion that men are simple creatures, much like dogs or sea monkeys (which I'm still not entirely convinced exist) and therefore cannot be changed. But it is my opinion that men are like springs. They can be warped to be a little tighter, but if you let go for just one second, they spring back to the looseness that is inherently part of them.

I also have a theory that men believe women find this sort of aloofness attractive. Do they know that applying the phrase "treat 'em mean keep 'em keen" to their relationships results in resentment from their girlfriends? Do they also know that "mean" does not involve pretending to be seriously busy with work stuff when they're actually playing COD? (Yes, some of us have discovered 'COD' is not a sudden worldwide interest in fish. And some of us have only discovered this recently.) Do they really believe that flirting with other girls will provoke a positive reaction for the girl they like? Do they expect a "honey, you making me feel insignificant, worthless and jealous for no reason made me realise how much I want to be with you forever"? Being loose is ultimately the most unattractive quality in a man- you heard it here first.

Equally, it can be said that men that are too 'tight' can be equally as repulsive to the average female. After a long and stressful day, the last thing you need is a man down the end of the phone getting paranoid about what you said to his best friend the other night.
"It wasn't so much what you said, it was how you said it."
Arrrrghhhhh.

The lesser of the two evils? Of course, as always with the important questions in life (and because I'm a woman), there is no right answer. So, sorry boys. You can't do anything right.

Scenes of a Sexual Nature

Good sex is tricky to measure. But here I have constructed a sexiness scale with 1 equating to the same pleasure one would feel taking out the bins and 10 equating to the same feeling you got when Ron and Hermione finally hooked up. Okay, a little better.


Secret Sex
It's the dead of night. You sneak out your house and begin the bold walk in the crisp night air to someone else's house. Someone's house no one knows you're going to. Your heartbeat quickens. You finally reach the door and naughty things ensue. Secret sex can be awesome. However, this is all cancelled out when you are prohibited from making too much noise, telling anyone and pretending to buy condoms to store your night cream. "It's more space efficient." Also, with sex, you usually end up falling for the person a little, and where's the fun in having awesome sex with an awesome person if you can't show it off a little?
Sexiness Rating: 7


One Night Stand Sex
He's a perfect stranger, he's gorgeous, he smells great and he's so into you. You get back to yours, you take of your clothes and- Oh. He has: a tiny penis/a growth/is a woman/is wearing y-fronts/has on a chastity belt... But say there are none of these problems and you go through with it? He could be bad in bed, he could be into bondage, he could enjoy speaking in tongues whilst patting you on the bottom with a hairbrush. Okay, say the sex is normal. What are you left with in the morning? You've had sex with a random person. You sort of enjoyed it. And now you'll never see them again. I've heard such experiences can be liberating, but there are so many things that can go wrong with a one night stand, is it really worth it?
Sexiness Rating: 2

Passionate Sex
It's the kind of sex where there is nothing you want more than to be passionately entangled with this person for the foreseeable future/until you get hungry. Nothing else exists and you cannot think of anything else. Hot? Piri-piri hot.
Sexiness Rating: 8

Madly in Love Sex
Everyone I've spoken to agrees with me, that you can have the hottest person who is officially certified as amazing in bed (How awesome would certificates be, by the way? You would know how good you and all your friends are in the sack. On second thought, it would provoke the collapse of our society and the world as we know it. Never mind.) but no matter how technically good sex is, sex with someone you really care about doesn't compare. There is an emotional bond, a physical bond, and a chemical bond with your body sending happy hormones off every which way. If you sleep with someone you're in love with, the positive feelings associated with sex only intensify, making this the best sex you will ever have.
Sexiness Rating: 10

Drunk Sex
You feel awesome. You feel sexy. You feel uninhibited.
"Why don't we try-?"
"No, you roll the other way and then I'll-"
"You know it hurts when you do that?"
Drunk sex allows you to try new things, tell your partner what you love, what you hate and all round boosts communication which essential to a happy sex life. But be warned: the flashbacks the next day can be stop-in-the-street-and-wail-loudly embarrassing.
Sexiness Rating (at the time): 10
Sexiness Rating (in the morning): 0

Too Drunk Sex
You feel awesome. You feel sexy. You feel unin- no wait. You feel nauseated. You feel dizzy. You feel kind of horny, or that could just be a side effect of mixing gin with tequila.
Best case scenario? You can't get it up, you pass out in a state of semi-undress or you do it for a little while, and then everything gets hazy.
Worst case scenario? You wake up next to something triangular and orange with the fuzzy memory of being anally violated by a traffic cone.
Sexiness Rating (at the time): 0
Sexiness Rating (in the morning, okay afternoon, post vomiting): -10

Okay I'll Do It Sex
Sex is the last thing on your mind, but after some persuasion, you think, "oh fuck it" and give in. You have sex to either shut your partner up or to avoid an argument in the morning. While it can turn out well, if you're not in the mood, you're not in the mood and sex for the sake of sex just isn't worth it.
Sexiness Rating: 2


Safe Sex
In the throngs of passion, the last thing on your mind is getting out a condom, but as the rise of teen pregancies are telling us, it should be the first thing. Condoms can kill the mood and are universally hated by men because they reduce sensitivity, but they're the best protection we've got. Now, the phrase, "be a doll and get me a rubber- and ensure your nails don't snag the latex" is never going to make its way into porn films, but safe sex is so important. You don't want to end up with a rash on your hoo ha, do you?
Sexiness Rating: 5

Unsafe Sex
Did I mention the hoo ha rash? It might feel better at the time, and most of us have done it at some point, but it's so not worth it.
Sexiness Rating: 1

Ex Sex
Having sex with an ex, especially if you've been feeling lonely, has the same effect of drinking a lemsip when you're coming down with a cold. It's a familiar little pick me up that you know inside and out, no nasty surprises, with a predictable but satisfying result. Let's face it, it's always nice to sleep with someone that you don't have to pretend in front of and that you have chemistry with without added complications. And when you're relaxed and not trying hard, what happens ladies? Let's just say everyone gets a happy ending.
Sexiness Rating: 9

Sweaty Sex
It's gross but somehow sexy when you're so involved in the act of sex, that it all gets a bit dirty and steamy. Remember that scene in Titanic?
Sexiness Rating: 8

Out in Public Sex
Personally the what-if-we-get-caught factor is a little too much for me to handle and I find myself going for it, and then chickening out again. Others I have spoken to however, say the chemical effects of fear being pumped around the body makes for more intense sex, and more pleasurable results.
Sexiness Rating: 6

"But I haven't had a wax!" Sex
It is the crucial moment. And much like Miss Jones and her, "fuck me, absolutely enormous pants!" it hits you like a ton of bricks that you cannot possibly go through with the act of sex when your vagina looks more beast than human. What to do? If you stop at crucial moment, you will find that unexplained prohibition of sex will create a sense of mystery and allure about you. If you throw caution to the wind and carry on and crucial moment, a man will no longer care so much what you think of him, and it all becomes a little more comfortable in between your cries of, "don't touch it!" and "if we do it that way round you really will need to close your eyes".
Sexiness Rating: 9

Just Plain Bad Sex
There is no way to foresee it. Size does not matter. Weight has little influence. Chemistry on the dance floor does not necessarily mean chemistry in bed. To be frank, you cannot predict when bad sex will happen, it will hit you like an earthquake, but will, sadly, fail to shake your world.
Sexiness Rating: 0

Just Plain Mad Sex
Hysterical laughter, assortments of toys, wigs, a rolling pin- whatever crazy shit you do in bed, the more fun you have, the better sex will be. Bear in mind, a warning for your partner will be nice.
Sexiness Rating: 7

I-know-I-shouldn't-but-I'm-going-to-anyway Sex
The hottest of the hot. You know you are going to regret it, and you know that the consequences of your actions could affect you in all sorts of horrible ways- which makes it even more tempting. We all want something that we can't have, but if the opportunity is there to get it, take it. You won't regret it. Oh shit, scratch that, you definitely will. Oh well!
Sexiness Rating: 10

Ultimately, we all know that great sex depends on the person, not the scenario. There is something to be said for the argument that it is foolish to do something that you could regret, so, I guess, err on the side of caution when it comes to sex for the possibility that it could be a horrific experience. Then again, it could take some time to find that great person, and a poorly thought out plan could have surprising consequences...

My advice? Make mistakes, have bad sex, eat bad food, break up, make up, lose friends, get better ones, but through it all make sure you never say to yourself, "if only". As someone pretty famous that I can't recall once said, those are the saddest words anyone can utter. Also, you don't want to be a boring fucker now, do ya?

Old Flame, New Spark

It's a fat day. I went out for dinner with an ex, so obviously should have been preparing all day and not eating, but, alas, I had a Sunday roast and then fell asleep with about twenty minutes to get ready. I only changed outfits once and didn't brush my hair (luckily I was working the just got out of bed look- literally) and my make up was pointless as it melted off due to the heat on the tube. I then went on to meet my ex, ate an obscene amount of dim sum and went on to a pub where I made a big deal of choosing the cheapest thing on the wine list, only to find that a spritzer is, in fact, more expensive than a large glass of wine. I proceeded to make a fuss and proclaimed that "all cheap wines taste the same anyway" and a fiver was just an extortion of the student population, comparable, to say, slavery in 19th century America. On the tube home with him, I burped- spritzers are so damn gassy- and we went on to gossip about people we had gone to school with when I made some very unsavoury comments about his friends without attempting to sugar coat.At the end of the evening, he smiled at me and said, "Stef, the spark, it hasn't completely gone, has it?""I don't think it's supposed to." I replied and hopped out his car before it could go any further.

Meeting an ex, well not just an ex, but an ex-love, an ex-everything, is not supposed to be like this. Anyone would be able to tell you that. You are supposed to care a little more about how you look, how you behave and the things that you say. Not me. There I was, insulting his friends, making ignorant comments, eating like a ravenous dog rather than anything human and still, at the end of the evening, we agreed that we'd like to see each other again and that "this whole friendship malarkey isn't actually that bad." There we have it. My one and only friendship with an ex-boyfriend. To be honest though, most of the time I have either been to bitterly hurt to consider friendship with boys or been such a bitch that other guys want nothing to do with me. The point is though, I was totally myself... And it was fine.

Why is it that it is generally considered so difficult to be friends with an ex, or even be yourself around them once you have already terminated the relationship, for one reason or another? It seems like people forget that exes were once the biggest part of their respective lives and that these are people they have been sick in front of, been hungover and disgusting looking around, heck, discussed bowel movements with, yet have to put on a facade of having 'moved on' and of being happy and fabulous without them. Which, as a concept, is just ridiculous. Most of the time, the great loves in your life have had a massive effect on you and your life, and, in a way, have helped form the person that you have become. Pretending otherwise is both transparent and insulting because you secretly hope that you have had a profound impact on their lives as well. Most people blame the elusive ‘spark’ as a reason as to why exes cannot be friends, but what better way to found a solid friendship than with someone who knows you back to front? A friendship with an ex doesn’t always work, but if you’ve screamed at someone until your voice is hoarse, (“What do you mean she’s attractive in a different way?! Fuck off and leave me for her then you bastard!”) and blamed them for everything shit in your life and they still care about you, it’s stupid to let a person like that out your life. To quote a friend of mine, “if they can deal with the crazy, don’t let them go”.

Is it weird that I still feel some sort of je ne sais quoi for a boyfriend that I broke up with over a year ago? My friends would say yes, "remember how much shit he put you through, Stef?" and "the spritzer could have put false ideas in your head, are you sure it was really there?". But I honestly believe that if you've ever had a really committed and intense relationship with someone, especially during your defining late teenage years, then the spark will never completely dim. An ex is called an old flame for a reason, and if you add all the memories to a spark that was there to begin with, and add a couple of ill advised post break-up, for want of a better word, shags, then what are you left with? Now I'm not saying I'm still madly in love with this guy and want to run off and have his babies tomorrow, in fact, my feelings for him are totally platonic and friendly. Even so, there’s a strong connection of some kind, at least, that, for now, is unwavering. Can the remaining spark be seen as a measure of the greatness of a relationship?

I am a bit of an idiot when it comes to deciphering feelings though, and the spark itself is an ambiguous concept. I, many times, have fooled myself I’m in love with someone when, actually, it’s just that enough time has passed with the spark still there that I know I should be. I still believe I have a spark with a guy I only spent about fourteen hours with (problem is, he lives in Australia so I guess I’ll never know for sure). And for months I hung around this no sparks guy, only to very suddenly and shockingly realise that he gave me butterflies whenever he said my name.

Sometimes the spark is a lasting side-effect of a great relationship, and other times the spark can lead somewhere magical, but just because sparks fly, it doesn't mean there's going to be a fire.

Run! Revision Rodents on the Rampage!

Being a student, and it being about that time of year, there is no shortage of weirdos with utterly odd and, at times, frightening revision habits. I began to note that a couple were comparable to woodland critters, but there are some kinds of people that even the wild spits back out. Being also a freakishly observant student, I noted them down.

Revision Rodent

Have you ever been in your university library at the dead of night? No, not for a sneaky deserted book aisle tryst, but to actually try and get some work done? Well, then you will have undoubtedly met the Revision Rodent. They are so called because they are nocturnal, eat rodent like food, most often nuts or seeds, they all tend to all have the same sort of mousy (or ratty) appearance, and are shockingly quick in movement. You see that- whoooah, you'll never catch that suspicious screen saver on their phone- in and out the pocket like a flash!

Advice: Do not sit next to one. Not only will they make you feel frantic and panicked, they will also most likely steal your shit in so flash a movement you'll have no idea until they're gone.


Is that another tube of fruit pastilles in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?

Otherwise known as constant never waning snackers, these people just don't give their mouths a rest. The funny thing is, they never ever speak. Their jaws just gyrate constantly with the next vending machine snack (see V for Vendetta... Against the Vending Machine) while they stare incessantly at the screen. Chomp chomp chew type swallow type type type chomp chew swallow. Quite the symphony, if you haven't had the pleasure of hearing one of these bad boys all to yourself. The iPod, I think, is essential here, otherwise it's a hop, skip and a jump to murder in the first degree and regular loving sessions with your cell mate Babo.

Advice: If you are lacking an iPod, choose your moment and take a seat next to one of these right after they have opened the next confectionery delight. Also take the opportunity to do something chivalrous, for example, clean the computer screen, spray the surrounding area with pungent perfume or even pull out their chair- even if they're already sitting on it. They will realise you mean well and will without doubt let you enjoy a variety of yummy snacks residing in the pockets of their cargo pants.

V for Vendetta... Against the Vending Machine

We all know the drill. You're working hard, then bam! Out of nowhere you can't stop thinking about something completely unrelated to what you're supposed to be learning about; the Nauri Decree, how many calories were in your dinner, or Henry VIII's 6 wives. You know there are three Catherines. It is at this time you hit the vending machines for a coke or a little su'n su'n to nibble. Now me, I'm a vending machine queen, ain't no packet of crisps got stuck under my watch, but sometimes those damn machines can be hard to extract anything from and despite putting in extra money and shaking the machine, there are people that fail like a liquored up lover trying to get wood.
There was this one girl, and you'll excuse me for saying she was not on the small side (just trying to give you a mental picture) and she put in the money, as you do, typed in the code, as you do, and suddenly, her face contorted in pain. I expected her to let out an anguished squeal, but she composed herself and tried again. Checking the buttons carefully, she put in another load of change.
"Angghhhrrrraaah." She hissed, like a rabid dog/cat/monkey.
She proceeded to hit the vending machine, first at the front, then on the side- I tell you, it was like watching Mike Tyson trying to fight a sturdy oak- next it was an upper cut, slotting her hand inside the flap and trying to grab something, anything, to satiate her hunger, lack of concentration, and now rage. Noticing me staring, she straightened up and smoothed down her hair. But not before kicking the bottom corner and turning back to do some more work did she concede, saying to me, "s'not working," before whipping a chocolate bar out her bag. Huh? My sentiments exactly.

Advice: If you are confronted with problems with the vending machine, accept defeat in the hands of a machine and call it a truce. If you are confronted with an enraged vending machine-ee, turn in the opposite direction. Then, like a granny with a visor and cup of nickels in Las Vegas, grab your change and see if you can steal their chocolate bar. It really is the small victories in life, isn't it?


Eager Beaver

Cigarette break? Slow amble to the god forsaken vending machines? Not for these people. You will recognise them by the fort they make around their work stations. There are piles of paper, folders and notebooks complete with cans of energy drinks and packets of crisps surrounding them in a rigid formation. They are the ones frantically typing, even whilst swigging from a can of Red Bull- an impressive life skill crucial in any future work situation.

Advice: Start playing jenga with their work fort and then feign ignorance when they breathlessly tell you that this is not a game and you have now ruined their lives.
"But why else would you pile a can of Coke, a can of Red Bull and a not very clearly labelled folder of loose notes if it were not some kind of challenge?"


Squirrels

No, not one, but two. There are always two. They natter away at each other like, err, squirrels, loudly and incessantly.

Advice: Avoid at all costs. If you are unlucky to be in a position where you are near a couple of squirrels, begin to cough, not in an impertinent manner, but rather in a hacking fashion. Then, repeat after me;
"Should have sorted out this contagious illness, really," cough louder, sputter a little, "but it's not the cough that bothers me that much," shift on your chair and grimace in pain, clenching your buttocks, "it's the damn rash."
Silence, a quick rustle of a papers and they'll be gone.

Ain't Got no Gorm

They'll sit, staring into space, chewing on the end of their pen for eight to ten minutes at a time, before glancing at the computer screen, noting down a few words and then use their pen as a scratching device for their back. This is not work. This is not even procrastination. This is not cool. Because while other revision types already mentioned can be annoying, sure, they at least give you work guilt when you're staring and getting quietly agitated enough to snap your pen in half. But these people- these people- don't even make you feel like you should be getting on with work, they make you feel confused, they make you feel lazy and they make you fabricate unlikely and often insane reasons as to why they bothered to come in in the first place.

1. Well obviously he came in because he just cheated on his girlfriend with a man and is now confused about his sexuality and just had to come to the archaeology section of the library to mull it all over.
2. Maybe her mind is like a sponge and while it looks like she's just sitting there sleeping with her eyes open, she's absorbing everything and is actually a genius. Wait- did she put a 'gh' in 'beaughty'?
3. Of course, he's got photographic memory. (I don't care how many people tell me this is a real thing- it's bullshit. And totally unfair.)

The worst thing is, it is these people that sit there distracting you with their nothingness that end up passing everything and saying, "well, I was in the library, like, every day." GAAAAAAAAAH!

Advice: Poke one aggressively in the ribs and see what happens. I've never tried it but I have a feeling it's a great way to unleash your frustration and possibly even make a new friend.

Skunks

So, you wake up in the morning, have a shower, brush your teeth, maybe moisturise, maybe put on make up and then put on deodorant. Yes. You put on deodorant because you are a considerate person who wants to keep your friends until you lost interest in them. You are not, kind reader, the person who 'forgets to change the top they've slept in for three nights' or 'didn't notice there was vomit on their shoes' or, quite simply, has no respect for others, which is the second most important factor when it comes to personal hygiene. The first, obviously, is to keep clean for the reason that Johnny Depp might randomly sit on the train next to you and ask you to a flashy dinner followed by passionate love making. Also a reason to wear matching/intact underwear, by the way.

I don't know whether mental work makes some people sweaty, but this is clearly the case for some of you and I urge you please to take some precautions and perhaps bring with you some nice smelling spray, or perhaps dangle a car freshener from each ear. People will think you're so hipster.

Advice: Have a sneezing fit. The smelly person will ask if you are okay and you will respond with, "yeah, sorry, I just have allergies to some kinds of deodorant."
"But I'm not wearing deodorant."
"You disgust me." Then, move away. Some people may consider that rude, but I consider it a total symbol of disrespect to humanity if you do not ensure you smell acceptable in the small confined spaces of the library.

But then I realised. I'm the weirdo that's not paying attention to her work, and turning around and staring at other people before laughing to herself and taking another swig of her energy drink.