Character Profile 5



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…


Character Profile 4



I’m not partial to Jellybeans.

When I was younger I adored all sorts of jellied sweets. All the luminescent capsules of tightly compacted sugar and those stringy laces packed with E numbers, but, as I grew older my fondness for sweets slowly diminished. My addiction for chocolate, however, is still swelling out of control. I have no idea where my sweet tooth has gone… maybe the dentist stole it? Man I hate dentists… but, yeah, I can’t stand sweets anymore. The colours are too vibrant and the sugar coating too tangy for me to handle… I don’t trust them… they are too artificial… not like chocolate… oh my beloved chocolate… Being little you don’t think about the health risks; you just gobble them up without a second thought. However, now that I am… ‘older’ I am incapable of putting them in my mouth, even holding them is beyond me. It’s a sign that my childhood has well and truly won its game of hide and seek…


But not all Jellybeans are made of sugar, of course.

Of course?

Yes – of course… shut up!

Some are magic.

Some are mastered in the art of Karate, some need two packets of hair dye to change their hair colour and some sing along to Paramore when they are angry.

Well… only one actually.

I met a Jellybean at university. She was living in the same student accommodation as me… In fact she was right next door! I didn’t realise at the time that she was a jellybean of course, like she would’ve made it that easy… she had an excellent disguise. It wasn’t until I really got to know her that I began to see through the human facade and glimpsed the quirky secrets within.

Alcohol has a funny bonding effect. It doesn’t always work, I mean, it more than usually patches over awkward situations… but when it does it can form unbreakable bonds that stand through all sorts of arguments and fallouts. She was my night-out companion; the only one that willingly jumped straight in and chugged down spirits and wine with me without a second thought. Extraordinary how immediate our friendship was; strangers who are randomly thrown together have to adapt quickly and my, how quickly we did adapt. I’m not saying others didn’t dive in as well, no sir, I have one other that banded with us almost as soon as we had (but her story is for another time… when she is back from Asia… possibly… depends if she brings back presents… hum…) but there was an instant connection between myself and the Jellybean.

I was the one who saved her from her door being locked. On that fateful day when we all moved in, I was the one who stepped up and showed her up for not being able to unlock a door… what a lovely first impression that must have been… ahhhhh… sweet sweet nostalgia…

ANYWAY, I was her hero, and from then on, her drinking companion.

We’ve done it all. We rated boys bum’s together, we created our own language; which was just banging on our adjoining wall really, until one of us eventually gave in and went to the other’s room. One time we each drank a whole bottle of wine on a night out to the union; we were SO shit faced that only one of us actually got in (me), who then subsequently fell over (twice), puked a few times before she was finally chucked out of the union (this being in the first 10mins) and stumbled back home to find said Jellybean on some stairs sucking face with an American footballer.

Wow what a ramble…  Fun Times indeed.

I never knew you could recover from fallouts until I met her (and said other who has abandoned us for Asia…) usually the world would end and you couldn’t piece the shattered friendship back together. But with her (and also – her… lord it’s hard not to include said abandoner because we are something of a threesome…) it could always be fixed, we could always find the missing puzzle piece and jam it back together; it was easy. During the fallout however… HELL, UTTER UTTER HELL… the world would collapse briefly and all hope would appear taunt-like and abusive.

Ever had that kind of fallout before?

One that hurts so badly that it actually signifies just how much they mean to you?


Well it sucks. Literally, literally sucks balls. It’s like you’ve eaten a cracker and your throat is too dry to swallow, so much so that it’s like you are being struck when you breathe. That’s love, true love and it sucks when it’s broken.

BUT once mended, that argument is so effortlessly forgotten that it just transforms into an amusing anecdote which can be pulled out to tease, mock and reminisce whenever we like.

Much like a magnet my Jellybean attracts drama. Like wasps to a honey pot, flies to a piece of cake and ants to a picnic; it follows her and spoils her with its generosity. It lags behind, stalks her wherever she goes and only catches up with her when a semblance of normality seems, at last, in sight. I do not know how she copes. Her body’s stamina is astonishing. She soldiers on, never lets tragedy hold her back, with determination (and a little help from Pro Plus) she can withstand hours of work and any social plight. I have always admired her determination, even if at times it can be most inflexible and stubborn… humph… she never wavers from her opinions, she has the ability to trust in her own judgements; a trait I thoroughly wish I had…. but then, she studied Politics so it’s expected, in that kind of degree it’s mandatory to have strong opinions and a backbone to match.

She is the epitome of strength.

She is the modern day Amazon.

She is a force that even Mother Nature cannot withstand… a Jedi might though… but then Jedi’s can defeat anything, never cross a Jedi, they will own you.

She is… MY JELLYBEAN and I shall not eat her… because, like I said, I don’t like the taste of them and I much prefer them as friends anyway.

Character Profile 3

Ash Bandicoot/ Ash Ketchum/ Aladdin


Bandicoots are quirky creatures. Look them up on Google and I doubt you’ll disagree. They are small, have goofy ears and don’t look anything like that PlayStation character Crash Bandicoot fox thing. I mean they are kinda cute, they may have a pitiful smudge of stripes on their back and a tail that looks like a… a… a penis, BUT, they have this little snout that wiggles. Wiggles!

It is a modest and unassuming creature, which often goes unnoticed when stood against the might of attention thrown at the larger and more appealing animals of this varied planet.

But one such bandicoot managed to catch my attention. Not in the conventional sense of how a girl usually meets a boy for it was more of an accidental deviation.

I was actually in pursuit of a lanky lobster boy named Lauro one drunken evening when our tryst first began. That particular night had gone well up until… I lost him. Yes bloomin’ well lost him.

I stupidly made the mistake of going to the bar alone and when I came back he was gone. Great. Just perfect I thought. I marched through crowds of drunken students hoping he wouldn’t be too hard to find, he was really tall, but to no avail. That is until I rejoined his friendship group and was greeted with a devastating sight. Whether it was fate that intervened that evening or whether I went temporarily blind I’ll never know…. but I saw ‘him’ pressed up against the wall sucking face with a girl who had much bigger bosoms than me. Well, at least, that’s what I thought. Anyway like I said I was devastated, I looked at his friends like a wounded puppy… which looking back must’ve confused them a lot because Lauro was in fact stuck upstairs conversing with some bouncers while all this was happening… opps. So there I was confused and hurt when suddenly this smile appeared.

Ash Bandicoot was one of his friends and I had met him a few times before. He had noticed I was upset and decided it was his duty to cheer me up. What can I say? Rejection is a hard and massive pill to swallow, so having this cutie take my hands and dance with me like an idiot was extremely flattering and it wasn’t long before I was sucking face with him instead.

Yay me. Well yay me until the real Lauro finally found me… on Ash’s lap… think I may have run up to him and kissed him as well which must’ve confused them both… uggg I was a lip whore… no other way to put it, I was greedy and took advantage of both of them, such yummy morsels…

So… YEAH, it’s not the most romantic of beginnings, but it sure beats all the soppy stories most couples come out with and I’m glad I mistook that rampant face sucking Lauro-look-a-like for him. Four years on and I still see the goof-ball who was swinging my arms around like a crazy person, encouraging me to laugh. You know that scene in Harry Potter when he dances with Hermione in that tent? Well BINGO that’s him in a nutshell.

Ash, is MY bandicoot, a creature who doesn’t mind being overshadowed by his taller and more laddish friends. He’s a beast that doesn’t need to put on a macho bravado to compete with the other boys; he is at ease with himself. This is why he doesn’t get embarrassed or hurt when they tease him for being soppy with me; for buying me presents, thinking about our future together or giving in to our arguments – because he knows what rewards he will reap. Pretending to be one of them certainly won’t get me into bed, no sir, even if it does boost his precious man points.

He is a geek end of. A geek who still loves Pokemon as much as I do (hence the nickname; Ash Ketchum, just fits so perfectly) and still enjoys watching Thunderbirds and Thomas the Tank Engine in the same way as I still watch Sailor Moon and My Little Pony (80’s style). He buys jumpers and tops with cartoon characters on them and has only recently developed a sense of fashion that I actually approve of. He is obsessed with Nando’s, Tennis, Golf, Football… (I’ll just say Sports), writing lists, cream teas (yay… like I hadn’t made that clear already), BBC’s Merlin, his Mac and IPhone, Geography and David Attenborough… well who isn’t? Such a sexy man.

However, he does have one massive flaw; his downfall being that he has a tendency to force this obsessive trait upon others. No I do not want to play that game for the hundredth time. No I do not want to watch that show anymore. We always go to Nando’s can’t we go somewhere else?! I am fed up of cooking that. No shoo! Stop following me everywhere and writing ballads about me all the time… its creepy. Luckily, these are just phases and he does eventually lose interest, it’s just pretty intense when he’s in the thick of this enthralled period 24/7 for however long it lasts. AND as his girlfriend I MUST be supportive 24/7 for however long it lasts… uggg… so tiring I tell you.


Imagine, if you will, this sundry animal wearing an Aladdin outfit. Complete with the little hat, silk waistcoat and loose white harem pants and you might understand why I like him so much. He has a cupid bow mouth sandwiched between two dimples, eyes as dark as his fur and has one of those manly cleft chins I can’t seem to get enough of, Man I love prodding that cleft… and trying to shave the little hairs that grow out of it… weird I know, but I bet you’d do it to if you had one for your own! I could go on and on about this being, about his comical ears, his peculiar way of saying the words Museum, Music and Railway and of his annoyingly short attention span, but I won’t, because I’ve probably embarrassed him enough already.

I love him and that’s all that matters.

Character Profile 2


My hybrid hippo of a friend; is another one of my special comrades.

She, unlike her name suggests, is a most slender and provocative being. I have always envied the size of her thighs and of her energetic temperament. It was a godsend to have met her all those years ago at school (uggggg school… just thinking about it makes me shudder…) and the fact that she STILL manages to flabbergast (yes, such a splendid word… flabbergast…) me with her sexual exploits is a feat of majestic proportions. I am still unsure as to where her name originated from, my memory has always been an issue, but I am confident it was just a random glitch of invention. Hippos are usually cumbersome and stout creatures and the only way that she is even comparable to them, I guess, is when they become ferocious… and perhaps when she pulls funny faces.

Dear lord! How akin she becomes to this creature when she contorts her face into outrageous expressions; it’s a sight which belongs in a circus of some sort. I always wonder whether the muscles in her face will one day snap from the strain of being pulled hither and dither. I imagine her face all saggy and instantly think of that dog from the MGM cartoons… Droopy, Droopy the dog. I hope that flaccid end never befalls her because I doubt I’d be able to restrain myself from calling her Droopy… Who knows, maybe all this stretching is in fact strengthening these muscles and will therefore keep them taunt and wrinkle-free when she is old. If that happens, well then my envy will reach new boundaries…

Anyway, anyway let’s get back on track, shall we?

As I was saying; though portrayed in a different manner, Lottimus’s ferocity is not too dissimilar to that of the haughty hippo. Even if she’s not aggressive or vicious like one; she can still charge. Her intensity and confidence is apparent with every exhaled breath; like the flickering of cloud that escapes our lips in the cold days of winter. We can see it; only it’s golden. She doesn’t have to think twice when she rushes into a situation; her vibrancy can carry her through any venture.

She is more Happy Hippo than actual Hippo. No one can dislike a happy hippo… they taste sooo good. I only wish they made them multi-coloured… they’ve missed a trick here; definitely think I will send this suggestion to Kraft. If I could choose which colour happy hippo Lottimus would be I’d definitely make her fluorescent yellow. Her hide would glow brightest of them all and she would have a smile that looked as if it had been drawn on by Walt Disney himself… a genuine throw-back from the pink elephant brigade.

Did anyone else find those pink elephants terrifying? I remember watching Dumbo with Lottimus after a night out and we both sat their thinking ‘I do not remember it being like this when I was a kid!’… far too sinister for whatever AM it was that morning.

Lottimus is my golden girl. I can count on her to make me laugh and see sense through my insecurities. She has strong opinions on music, politics, vegetarianism, films and… men… but she doesn’t force these judgements on others. She is what you’d call the modern day eco-warrior who listens to hard-core rock AND hip hop, loves dinosaurs AND cooking, loves intergalactic sci-fi AND films with subtitles.

Back at school I had a pixie cut (a move I still regret to this day) but out of all the girls I knew who said they liked it she’s the only one who was brave and cut her hair short too. This made me certain that she wasn’t feeding me with false compliments and from then on I have never ever doubted anything she has told me. She was the one who stuck up for me even if I wasn’t brave enough to do it myself – and she still holds the grudges I wasn’t strong enough to cling to….

HEY! I guess that may be another reason as to why she is similar to a hippo… she has thick skin; an impenetrable hide which can take the sticks, the stones and the ugly words which harm most people.

She is a genuine defender of the weak…

A superhero.

My superhero.

I can imagine her outfit now…

Brown boots – Perfect for avoiding the dreaded high-heel ‘accidental’ treading and for prolonging time spent on the dance floor.

Thick trousers or jeans – for warmth and freedom to boogie like a freak.

A simple black top with a signature logo of a band she likes – so she can wave her arms about without risk of showing off giant sweat patches. Which I too suffer from, no matter what deodorant you use nothing works and it doesn’t matter what time of year it is it still attacks… why? Why?

A necklace of an AT-AT Walker from Starwars OR of a tyrannosaurus – shows she is a complete and utter geek and who doesn’t like a geek?

Hair must be down – a head-banging blonde is hard to ignore; an approved method of seduction.

Long jacket – to shield from rain and so that she can practice her flashing skills without risk of actual… flashing… hehehe I made that up… she doesn’t really flash people… only me.

She has always taken good care of me – from our experimental school days where we would strut around the playground listening to hip hop to dramatic nights out where she’d have to save me from strange lustful men by pretending to be my lesbian partner. She is a friend everyone must have and I hope you do because if I didn’t have my Lottimus I know for a fact I wouldn’t be the person I am now.

She is the girl who is the most unlikely hippopotamus ever created and it’s pretty lucky her nickname fits so so well.

Character Profile 1

Patrick Enigma

There are some friends who you can always depend on; those who you run to for advice and a snugly shoulder to cry on. There are some friends who you rely on for a laugh, for a joke, for a smile. And there are some who you may not see very often but you know will always be there for you… even if you only receive one text per month or a strange drunken voicemail at 2am in the morning. Grumpy face.

I, luckily, have such friends… but none quite as peculiar or as fascinating as my elusive friend; Patrick Enigma.

He is at times rather frustrating, never still and more than usually un-contactable. He is a philandering wizard; a man whose apparel consists of military jackets, a vast collection of knitted jumpers and jeans of a tightness that wouldn’t suit most men. He has a mane of ginger hair which when ruffled up takes on a life of its own; no one else but him may touch. Though I am sure the score of women who have traipsed through his boudoir have had the privilege of a stroke or a play… Grumpy face again.

He is a fox.

The kind from the wild; not biased fairytales.

If you ever scroll through his profile pictures I doubt you’d fail to notice how many there are of him up a tree or surrounded by dramatic landscapes; he is a true child of Gaia. He spends the majority of his time outside, whether it be kicking up autumn leaves with his sorcerer shoes or frolicking in the sea in next to nothing- even in the months of winter. Crazy right?! Not sure what flows through his veins; but it must be teeming with a lava-like substance. His heated blood must be what keeps him so energetic and mobile all the time. His arms are always animated and his expressions change with each passing second. Terribly exhausting… and maybe thats what gives him the firey colour to his hair? 

When I first met him I was stunned.

When he spoke it was a floodgate of words. I could barely understand and could but laugh in response. It amused him, my face, how the muscles within kept contorting into various baffled expressions… and I believe that is why he kept me in his periphery. He enjoyed how confused he made me and took great pleasure in hearing my illogical answers to his torrent of questions. Nowadays I find it easier to keep up with his rapid train of thought. Even though I sometimes stumble and make my face explode with bewilderment, I no longer feel a foreigner.

I still find it hard to believe he chose me to be his friend though – compared to him I think I am as ordinary as a blank piece of paper. But when we share in a giggle or delve into a spirited discussion I never feel blank. His vibrancy turns to paint and it flings towards me; soaking me in significance. Whenever I leave a conversation with him I always come away feeling as if I am drenched in colours.
I reckon that is why women find him so irresistible. He has this way of listening. All his focus is on you and that makes you feel incredibly interesting. Now… how tantalizing is that?

I also believe his inability to stay out of people’s personal space has a valuable part to play in his act of seduction… the intrusion, as far as I have seen, has never been met with revulsion…


We have shared many intriguing moments together and it was him that really got me through all the scary drama modules at Uni. When I shut my eyes the first thing I visualise about him is not his face nor clothes; it’s his bag that he had strapped to his person the whole time we were there. It was a physical expression of his personality and twas littered with random badges, a giant green button and a predominant face from The Mighty Boosh. I also hope that a pewter fox pin I bought him for christmas has joined the collection. I also believe there was a piece of Lego sewn unto it… and as we all know – anyone who is into Lego is Instantly cool. My eyes would always be distracted by this bag and it just reminds me of the ‘Sac Magique’ from Tots Tv… and Tiny Tim seems familiar too… although the contents within are never usually as exciting… Maybe you should work on that Pat?

Anyway, I guess what I am trying to say is that the Patrick Enigma’s of this world are few and precious. And if you are ever lucky enough to have one throw a Cheshire-cat-like smile your way don’t ever let him go; for they are as impressive as whirlwinds and are as hard to catch too.

And I intend never to lose mine.

Creepy smiley face…