A Must Dash Encounter

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I was standing in the queue at Starbucks. It was long and all the other customers were seemingly dithering on purpose.

‘What would you like sir?’

‘Umm…’

‘What would you like miss?’

‘Err…’

Had they not thought about their order while they were waiting? Had they not considered the options while they were standing in my position? I fidgeted in agitation. I glared at each customer who caused to pause and shifted impatiently at each panicked expression that flickered over the coffee menu. I sighed heavily and cast a glance at the customers who had managed to make a decision and were sitting enjoying their mugs of mermaid juice.

At least I think that lady in their logo is a mermaid.

‘What would you like?’

Finally, my turn.

‘A cinnamon latte please.’ I glared at the others who had just gone before me; clustering around the other end of the counter waiting for their indecisive drinks and hoping, probably, that they hadn’t made a mistake. My clarity felt like power.

My Christmas in a cup eventually came, I mean I was in a hurry, I had somewhere to be, but I wasn’t about to rush out without first adding three sachets of sugar. Then I saw him. I was casually pouring in the sugar. Casually looking around. When I had to suddenly suppress a chuckle.

A man had taken a slurp of his beverage and had suddenly acquired a white frothy moustache upon his cleanly shaven face. I wasn’t sure if he was playing around or just hadn’t noticed. I mean how can you not notice the warm wet feeling of billions of bubbles on your lip?

His face drifted in my direction and I was able to see the majestic symmetrical smudge of white speckled with brown chevron plastered on his face.

He noticed me staring.

I hadn’t notice him noticing me staring.

He smiled.

I watched the froth smile.

I smiled.

Then he wiped it away.

My smile disappeared and I allowed my eyes to drift up to meet his. They were creased into a bemused expression and were brimming with expectation. I suddenly felt indignant and walked over to his table.

‘Here’s a napkin, you missed a spot.’

I then walked out. The hairless wonder watched me leave. Confused and slighted. I hollered back with no real intention for him to hear.

‘I preferred you with the tache.’

For a moment I admit, I had felt vulnerable. The joker had spoiled the joke. The spectator had now become the display. I didn’t like it. He ruined our connection and seemed to think I would still play along.

Like hell, fool.

Besides I had somewhere to be.

Read on ReadWave.com

A Confession at 14:19

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I have been extremely girly this week. In fact I’ve been rather ‘anti-feminist’ for the past year… why? How? You ask? Well since I am in Devon, where not much really happens because I am severely lacking in friends and have been working part-time for a company that needs not my intellect, I have found time to dwell on frivolous thoughts. Spanning from the outrageously neurotic, where I truly believe my friends hate me, to the profound, sensible thoughts about the future and of…

MY wedding.

Yes, that’s right I think about MY wedding…

Because it’s going to be AWESOME!!!! And my Bandicoot has no idea what I have been cooking up for us… I have thought of all the things we like and have thrown them together in a cauldron of confetti and champagne. Imagine Pokemon, Cream Teas, Cougar Town, Thomas the Tank Engine, Life of Pi, 12 Angry men and John Wayne all meshed together at a National Trust property… ahhh what an idea… haha don’t worry it’s not really that crazy… or is it?

So you guys are engaged?

WHY GOOD HEAVENS… NO! Silly, I’m just a day dreamer. I sometimes imagine I am actually marrying Hugh Jackman… Captain America or the cookie monster… ahum… because well, I don’t really have the money to pay for this wedding, yet, and we’ve agreed to not get engaged until we can. That way I won’t have to be a fiancé for decades… I want to be a fiancé for as little time as possible… just seems like purgatory otherwise.

So yes that’s my dreadful little secret… I’ve even made a scrap book of all my ideas… from stationary, dresses and table decorations… but not the cake. THAT IS ALREADY SORTED!

I’d share some of my ideas with you but I have this fear that whatever I plan will be copied by my cousin. A girl who, for some reason, seems to know all the things I want and copies them without even realising… its infuriating. It’s like we have a mental connection; whatever I ooh and ahh at she will inevitably have, even if we are in different counties and I have her in my restricted section on Facebook… If she has anything the same as me I go berserk and if I find that she has copied any of my wedding ideas I will die.

I will rip her cake apart. I will claw at her dress. I will go all primeval on her guests and then I will look at my scrap book with hopeless longing.

That’s not petty is it?  

Or perhaps if I state my ideas now it’ll be proof that I thought of them first…

No that won’t matter to her… she’s not compassionate enough to understand…

OK it is super petty… but living with this mimic has led me to this irrational need to be different from her. I have done so much to escape this clone. My hair has suffered from all the times I have had to dye it a different colour when I’ve noticed she’s had the same hair cut as me. It’s like trying to run away from your own shadow, your own mirror image; its hard work. Trying to be different is hard work and at times I have never felt myself or natural all because she can’t get her own image.

To me my wedding is a sacred concern, a precious delusion that I will protect with the maternal instinct of a lioness; defending her cub.

If she gets a cake made by Choccywoccydoodah I will kill her.

Review Number Four

4) Sissinghurst Castle – National Trust

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On Sunday the 17th of March my Bandicoot and I did our usual; we went to a National Trust property for a cream tea. I had worn a skirt because the weather had duped me into thinking it was going to behave and shine like a good little sun ball, but, I should’ve know better. British weather is as reliable as a drifter, as deceptive as a spy and as cruel as a child. Colloquially speaking… IT CHUCKED IT DOWN and it made my middle finger on my right hand go numb… I even put gloves on my feet when we finally found the sanctuary of the onsite restaurant just to warm up my tootsies that bit quicker.

We had a rushed viewing of Sissinghurst but from what I saw from the restricted view from my hood was rather beautiful. Though I am not really sure how it qualifies as a castle… maybe if I had been able to look around longer a notice board may have told me… but for now I am left baffled. It was quaint and homely nothing like a domineering and overbearing castle should be. Its gardens were playfully hidden by mazes and were still delightfully picturesque in spite of the rain beating down. However, it was a most hurried affair and I was more anxious to get inside the restaurant than look at the estate so we’ve agreed to go again when the weather is in a better mood.

So yes, the cream teas were a long-awaited comfort we desperately needed and I was impatiently pulling my boy towards our destination. He was infuriatingly slow because he wanted to take pictures so steps were quickly taken; I glared and then threatened to run off with the brolly which effectively got the message across. The glare should’ve been enough though… my powers seem to be waning… We were damp and severely chilled by the time we reached the counter, the lady behind it looked rather bemused as did other customers around us who had escaped the downpour and were waiting it out. The lady behind the counter was exceedingly friendly and was in agreement with us that raspberry jam is far superior to strawberry. We also got to pick which scones we wanted, two plain for me and one of each for Bandicoot. I felt absolutely positive by the time we sat down. So happy in fact that I stuck up two fingers to the view of misty fields and draping rain from our window seat. He brought over the tray and I prepared to TUCK IN!

All in all they were good. There was plenty of jam and both of my scones were glazed and plumped to perfection. However, one complaint I do have is that when they provide us with the pre packaged pots of Roddas clotted cream… there’s just not enough. Obviously it’s not National Trust’s fault, some of their tea rooms in other properties provide generous pots of self scooped local varieties but Roddas… Roddas… just because you are one of the biggest brands for clotted cream doesn’t mean you can get away with being… STINGY!!!

The cream to jam ratio therefore was severely imbalanced. Not good for me but my Ketchum wasn’t bothered; the ratio was perfect for him.

What also surprised me was how floury the scones tasted… I assume that because my scone was so lacking in cream my tongue had more chance to appreciate the bun vessel. It was floury yes, but not crumbly, it clung together nicely and was fittingly warm. It was a treat I enjoyed but knew I’d had better.

What ruined the experience completely for me was that Aladdin and I had gone there to relax and take our time because we were in no rush to return to the rain but hovering over us was a group of four elderly people waiting for us to leave. There were hundreds of tables to spare yet they insisted on creating an uncomfortable atmosphere by waiting for us to move. I hate being hurried or forced out of a seat and I couldn’t fathom why on earth they wanted our spot. Other tables were clean ours was covered in crumbs and sugar residue, other tables had four seats like ours but didn’t have us in them and other tables were FREE GODAMMIT!! So abominably rude, one tried to turn it into a joke by saying ‘yes we are waiting har har, I know it’s a bit obvious har har, slightly embarrassing har har’ YES YOU’RE RIGHT YOU ARE BEING OBVIOUS AND BEING RUDELY EMBARRASSING. THERE ARE PLENTY OF OTHER TABLES TO CHOOSE FROM.

I glared. A lot. I took my time putting my coat on, removing my gloves from my feet to put them on my hands and shook my umbrella to make sure it was dry for a good few seconds. They were like vultures as soon as we were an inch away they swooped in with our tray and mess still on the table. I felt no remorse leaving them there either. I continued to glare at them until we were out of the door, but, like I said my glares seem to be weaker than usual and they just laughed at each other as if victorious that they had driven us out. I was fuming. All the comfort and warmth I felt from my adequate cream tea was ruined. The rain continued to storm upon us and all I wanted to do then was snuggle up back in bed… with another cream tea.

The Triangluar Trends of 2010 +

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Triangles are very ‘in’ at the moment, aren’t they? Triangles seem to be the calling card for Hipsters; it unites them all under a very angular sky.

I am very happy with the present. I am happy with these Hipsters. I thank them for what they have done with fashion – they’ve finally got something right. The retro-revisited-look finally focuses on the best bits the past decades had to offer; High-waist shorts (I can’t hark about them enough), moustaches, pork-pie hats, platform boots, brogues and moccasins, studded… anything, Nordic jumpers, elbow patches, leggings and crop tops. It’s weird to think that all these can work together. The hipster look is for me, 100%.

AND the music of today… I CAN STAND IT… YES!!! I’ve finally realised what I’ve been craving; Drum and Bass, Dubstep, Folk, Alternative (whatever that really means), bands that use actual instruments and, I admit, I even like the chart poppers; which I never thought I’d ever say. Maybe it’s because I associate them all with happy memories, happy drunken memories of SURHUL (look that up if you want to see where my secondary home is), University changed me for the better. I fell in love with Lady Gaga, Florence, Example, Mumford and Sons, Wiley, Dizze Rascal, Tinie Tempah, Bellowhead, Journey, The Glee Cast, Coldplay, David Guetta, Swedish House Mafia, Pendulum, Katy Perry, Ke$ha, Flo Rida, The Kings of Leon, The Killers and The Midnight Beast. Most of these I never ever thought I would like and I still feel embarrassed about liking them, shameful really, but I do and I’m ever so grateful that they came into my life. They opened doors to genres that before I would never consider touching. They were bolted shut for me for a long time.

During the past decade I was at odds with fashion and music. I was very much averse to the sounds of the late 90’s and early Noughties, something about that period was noticeable in my ears. I didn’t like it. It has a distinctive audio sound, one which I can pin point and hear in all the songs that were made during that ‘era’ – all of the American rap-rock, Hip-Hop and RnB-Pop that spewed and spewed and raped my ear drums. University cleansed me of this haunting sound and I finally enjoyed the music of the moment. The essence of geek became cool, the thick framed glasses, the pixulated world of video games was finally given the credit it deserved and the drinking games to match.

But once some things are brought back people do get carried away, some idiot will think that they can bring back something else… and maybe this too, oh and this, man we can’t forget about that either!!! AND that’s when something that should’ve been left in the past gets the second chance it didn’t deserve.

Scrunchies.

Crimped hair.

See through plastic clothes.

Jelly Shoes.

90’s shit has returned with vengeance. I mean who the fuck thinks this looks good? It doesn’t. No one wants it, why are you trying to bring them back? WHY? WHY? These small and rather irrelevant things have given way to something worse.

The ringing has returned. The present was fine until you ruined it.

The audio of crap-pop, rap-shit, American rock-dump and RnB-trash has made a comeback. Some nostalgic Britney Spears zombie has brought back the cheese I avoided in my youth and now I am uncertain. I’m worried the next song I hear will have this echo of the past and those bloody Pop Band reunions are certainly not helping.

I can list the only good things that came from the 90’s:

Games: Pokemon/ Lara Croft/ Spyro/ Mortal Kombat/ Mario/ Crash Bandicoot/ Final Fantasy/ Sonic

Films: The Lion King/ Aladdin/ Tarzan/ Toy Story 2/ Pretty Women/ The Mummy/ The BodyGuard. Titanic/ Home Alone

Television: Friends/ The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air/ Sailor Moon/ Digimon/ Pokemon/ South Park/ Family Guy/ Rugrats

Music: Michael Buble/ Bryan Adams/ Bon Jovi/ Oasis

And that’s about all I appreciate from that decade. I mean just because they were big back then and you used to like them doesn’t mean they need a comeback, some things should be left in peace. Whoever is in charge needs to realise this. More care needs to be taken when deciding what deserves our attention. The past is overshadowing what is great here and now and I for one don’t want to repeat the fashion blunders I made when I was 12 or hear the things that were cool when I was a teen.

I’m hoping it’s a just phase that will pass by next winter, because if I hear any more songs like Thrift Shop by Macklemore and Ryan Lewis, Mirrors/ Suit and Tie by Justin Timberlake and Boomerang by Nicole Scherzinger or see anymore scrunchie victims (already seen two) I may run into those triangles and never come back out again. Some vintage styles have comeback because they flatter the figure and are worth the second chance. The Hipsters, the Urban-Outfitters and the Jack Wills Yuppies will see through this foul attempt to revamp the 90’s and press onwards toward the triangles of style and of modern thinking.

We let the 80’s through because they were actually cool to begin with; it’s not a trend you can duplicate.

Character Profile 5

Swampmole

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Have you ever come across a Swampmole before? No? I bet you have. No I really do, only, you probably never noticed. It probably had a normal name. It probably looked like a normal human.

Except, when the exam season struck, am I right? Think about it – about how people coped during this stressful period, how they behaved… what they… became…

Everyone reacts to exams differently – I, for example, was the kind of person who could ‘fly off the seat of my pants’ (I think that’s how the saying goes, or at least, how my Dad says it), I winged most things; I was cockily cool about revising and studying in general. I could get away with being average with the minimal amount of effort and was content with such a status. Others couldn’t. Other people have to slog it hard. Others have to shut themselves away for months – only to emerge out of necessity; to feed and interact in the aid of study.

And that’s when they get Swampmole Syndrome.

They turn into pale and irritable creatures. They lose weight. They smear their eyes against pages and pages of case studies and reading material until they become swollen and unnaturally starry. Their fingers bleed over endless pages of notes and they go through a pen a day, maybe even an hour, they torture their pens till they run dry, they work them tirelessly till they die of dehydration.

That’s a Swampmole, a creature that will give up anything to reach the top grades; they crave them. To the detriment of their social life, bodily functions and sleeping pattern; they cannot rest till they get them. I mean they could easily acquire these grades if they wanted, in fact they could probably dig them up blindfolded, but, they have more ambition than the likes of me and my fellow slackers. They have the focus and the drive to get what they want.

That’s why I hold my Swampmole in high esteem. Her motivation, determination and complete lack of regard when it came to nutritional substances during the exam season always astonished me.

She’s a sweet bundle of fluff normally, if you’ve seen ‘Horton Hears a Who’ (I’m sorry if you have, what a waste of precious time that was…AND what was with the random musical scene at the end? Ghastly film.) Anyway, you’d recognise my friend as the yellow fuzzball called Katie; she’s the one who says ‘In my world everyone’s a pony and they all eat rainbows and poop butterflies!’ Adorable (She was the only thing I liked about that film). She has moments when she goes… spacey… and always says something outrageously amusing when you have food in your mouth. Many a time I have choked because of her nonsense, I think a frothy nose is the finale to her comedy act and she leaves it up to fate to choose her victims.

My Swampmole fuzzmonster preys on unsuspecting moments and says things that will send a contented silence into a turmoil of giggles, things like: Thomas the Tank engine was boring as hell, they can’t even get off the tracks, what a life’, ‘ME NAMES BOBBY’, ‘what drink is it that has live worms at the bottom of the bottle?’, ‘where do the Danish live, in Danishland?’ and, my personal favourite, ‘you know what? I don’t really believe this whole E-Coli business in Germany’ said the week 17 people died from it in 2008.

She is a character. She routinely paints her nails purple, is the only other person out of two who I know has green eyes and she believes, like I do, that Gandalf could easily kick Dumbledore’s ass. Suckerpunch that PotterHeads. She has an obsession for things that sparkle and her collection of Swarovski crystal has certainly grown since I met her. I had never taken a serious interest in Swarovski till I noticed her drooling outside their shop window. I think my low bank balance prevented me from forming any strong attachments but the flecks of multihued light that reflected, danced, waltzed, around the store quickly captivated me too. If she could live anywhere I bet she would choose that store to squat. Another one of her charming oddities is that she hates having her picture taken; she is a demon when it comes to regulating camera angles and avoiding group shots. She will do anything to avoid them; throw her hands up, duck behind others and, if the situation is dire, will run. Her ability to dodge cameras has left us with albums from nights out where we genuinely question whether she was actually there. It’s infuriating. It’s now gotten to a stage where it’s become a sport, a test of skill to see whether you can actually catch her in a photo. If you succeed it then goes through a ruthless auditing process; a trial. If it’s nice it stays, if she doesn’t like it, she will pester you to delete it till your ears bleed.

It’s a fun game.

I miss her so much right now.

I mentioned her before, if you can remember, about how she recently abandoned myself and my Jellybean to gallivant her way across Asia and the Pacific Ocean. It’s been 5 months since I’ve seen her golden locks, since I’ve heard her German-influenced voice and poked her bosom. We three certainly enjoy poking each other’s bosoms… not in a lusty lesbian way, no indeed, it’s always been more of a possessive and comical activity while our brains were under the influence of spiritual substances… Alcohol, not drugs… we aren’t that badass. I only hope she hasn’t changed since her ramble, she is perfectly peculiar and I’ve enjoyed watching her transform during our time at university, I only ever see her as a Swampmole now and I cherish her quirks like unique pieces of Swarovski crystal.

So enough reminiscing, now, I must be off, got a cage to prepare for her return.

I’m certainly not letting her leave again. Twas too painful an absence and I shan’t risk such torment for another time… Jellybean grab those chains… and put this kitten in the trap…