Tuesday, 14 May 2013

"We Both Know About the Food Chain, We Both Know What's About to Go Down, So Get Off My Patch, You Onesie Wearing Weirdo."

Good afternoon, fanbase! I hope you all enjoyed the sunny bank holiday last weekend as much as I did, although it's highly doubtful as I had the greatest weekend camping at the seaside, consumed a grand total of 29 pints of cider between Friday and Monday, went paddling in the sea and ate ice cream. My personal highlight of the weekend though (along with the cider, the sea, and the ice cream), was my friend's mum eating what her husband assured her was mangetout (I, for one, would be suspicious of anything named that anyway), but turned out to actually be a very hot chili. I have a sneaking suspicion that if I ever have a near death experience and my life flashes before my eyes, that moment will be on constant loop until my time comes, along with two other of my favourite moments in life, one being when a woman fell down the escalator in Primark (she wasn't hurt, it's not as mean as it sounds) and the other when I saw a pretentious, snobby woman walking through town get her high heel stuck in a grate. All three are fantastic moments and I think all have played a part in the person I am today.

As drinking goes, 29 pints over one weekend is probably my greatest achievement yet (at one point, I actually drank the pub clean out of cider, which I'm quite proud of) but I don't think it's a personal best that I'll be trying to top anytime soon as I'm fairly certain that some damage has been done to my internal organs. After regaling the tale to my mum, she did not try to hide her displeased tone and wasted no time in telling me that I was probably going to contract some horrific disease and die before the end of the week. I've taken it upon myself to have a detox month - not because I think she's right, but... you know, just in case.

I feel that camping in Britain, even in the summer months, is a risk that inhabitants of warm countries just cannot understand. There is nothing worse than trying to put up a tent whilst rain is hammering down on you and the wind is blowing your ground sheet halfway across the campsite. (Well, there are probably some things that are worse. For example, I'd probably take the tent over getting aids or being eaten alive by a crocodile, but unhappiness is relative.) Fortunately for us, there was quite a lot of unprecedented sunshine over the weekend, which helped a lot with my "tan" but did not provide as much support as I would have hoped in terms of erecting my tent. There are some many things in life that I am not good at, and putting up a tent is one of them. (The list also includes putting duvet covers on, doing cartwheels, long division, cutting wrapping paper in a straight line, making good first impressions and doing things with my life.) Even with four other people helping my tent still ended up being wonky, but I found solace in walking around the campsite in a crocodile onesie and assuring myself that, despite my tent erecting skills, I was still the coolest person on the campsite, as one young child dressed a zebra discovered after I shouted, "bring it, bitch!" and gave her a knowing look that I hope translated as, "we both know about the food chain, we both know what's about to go down, get off my patch, you onesie wearing weirdo."  (For future reference, onesies are very warm for camping in but, with hindsight, they are not the best attire for getting up to go for a wee in the middle of the night).

To be honest, I don't think onesies should be worn by children anyway. Unless you have the skills to wee in a field without weeing on your crocodile tail, then you don't deserve to wear one. You know what really creeps me out about children? (Once again, my maternal side is just bursting to get out.) How nonchalant they are about the concept of pregnancy. "Oh my God, I can switch this light on and off seven times in a row - how HILARIOUS is this? I just don't understand how it can be off and then, suddenly, there's light! What the hell! Mental! What's that? There's another human living parasitically inside mummy and in nine months it will come crawling out of her vagina and come and live with us? Cool." How does that make sense? They can't figure out why putting a square block into a triangular hole doesn't fit, but they're fine with the idea that you can grow your own human? (I'm aware that I am talking about pregnancy a lot recently and I would just once again like to reiterate that this is not indicative of my maternal state, although I am starting to wonder whether my unconscious is trying to tell me something. If in six months I buy a puppy, you'll all understand why, although I feel like I will never be in a place in my life where I feel comfortable enough to be solely responsible for an animal. Every time someone leaves me alone with their cat and it has a hairball in its throat, I convince myself that it is choking to death and I will have to either a) be blamed forever for the demise of someones beloved family pet, or b) have to give mouth to mouth resuscitation to a cat. I'll be honest, neither option is particularly inviting.)

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