Mumps Happened.

Deadlines. My last post was all about them: me tearing my hair out, eating 24-7, consumed with nerves.. yeah I think you all probably got the picture or at least could relate to the horrible image anyway. So, I cam home over a week ago, did my day of shopping, went for a great night out and had my mong sesh with the friends, I was all ready to settle down, crack my knuckles and write something revolutionary. That was the plan (it was, by the way, a stonking plan).

MUMPS HAPPENED.

Mumps? Who the hell gets mumps, toddlers, babies, chubby children who just look in someway a bit cuter with another layer of fat around their face. Not 22 year old's. Not people who have more things to do. And certainly not people who love their food, it just isn't fair!

I do not look as cute as her. 

This past week I have not once looked adorable, or a little bit weak or slightly distressed. I look like a constant fat booth victim, plodding around weighted by my giant face. I am not even wasting the make-up on it to try and look even a little bit better: it'll take to long and use up way to much make up. Chewing has been out of the question, I wailed after I bravely attempted a Pringle, it wasn't a wise move. Also, my Easter Eggs. They are sitting prettily on my windowsill just looking at me, taunting me with there layers of white and milk chocolate and sprinkles (M&S if you were curious).

But, I do now know that I never want to be unemployed: what do people do?! On Jeremy Kyle they seem fine and content with daytime TV..HOW?! What the hell do you all watch?! I can't find anything, I have been scouring Sky Anytime for the past 4 days and apart from Tangled (which is amazing), there is nout.

No. 

Yes, Yes, Yes!

Can't moan too much I guess, I have been spoiled with some beautiful cashmere from Edinburgh, it's a large scarf  by the way, to hide my new cheeks, and my new chin, and even my new swollen ears. Sexy.

Wish me luck getting well, more importantly wish me luck with the packet of Maltesers  I am spying. (Food again, thought I'd stick with tradition).

Sandra Dee. "Please Don't Come Too Close - I've Got The Mumps"
http://www.bobbydarin.com/mumps.html - This by the way, is a play for two people about a girlfriend, boyfriend and mumps. Touching. Really touching...

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Yay! Another Deadline.

Who has deadlines at the moment? And who is getting a little frustrated? And who has gone the whole hog and cried in the toilets? Me too.

End of term is here! Hurrah! I actually don't feel like I have worked hard enough so please feel free to add another deadline on top of ALL the others I have, its fine!

I am a drama student (yes, it is a real degree before anyone starts) and the end of term means that my rehearsal schedule has gone through the roof . I am not really sleeping, all I can think about are potential transitions between scenes and I am eating like an utter pig. A happy pig mind: bacon & cheese twists, mini eggs and 35p energy drinks put one heck of a sluggish smile on my grey looking face. I say grey, I whacked on a load of fake tan so my face now resembles one of those small tangerines that has been left in a fruit bowl for too long. Fit.

AS WELL AS ALL OF THAT. I have essays, I have dissertations, I have a speech to write, and I have new clothes to buy for my work experience. Sigh. It is a hard, hard, weary life.

Now I do realize that whilst I still have the safety net of my masters year at uni after that, I will have to get a real job. And I would imagine that people who work in the big wide world would argue it's actually harder than writing 3,000-4,000 words but for right now I refuse to acknowledge that, because I have well over 4,000 words due. I am living the tougher life.

Right, I'll crack on. pass me the cookies. (Everything I write seems to end with food)

Yes please! 

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Call me a hypocrite..but pass the BBQ.

March you have really buggered up my blog writing. There I was all proud of my post I did a couple of weeks back about the sun and how pathetic us Brits are in it and you go and get hotter than the Sahara. Thanks for that.

I still stand by the fact that it isn't summer yet but, I am now guilty of wearing a maxi skirt and strumming a guitar.. well not the last bit, I haven't succumbed to that yet and I hope I never do. Not like the rest of you eh? I can barely walk up the hill near my house anymore for fear of falling over groups of daisy chain making hipsters who are waling along to Oasis 'wonder-wall'. Again.

So yes, I am still as cynical and bitter as ever but this time I am wearing a jolly neck scarf that is of a dainty floral design.

...and perhaps I could have a pair of Ray-Ban resting on my head.

...and I am thinking of buying a disposable BBQ.

...maybe I could get a guitar? NO.

I could look like her?

I would probably end up like this..

Enjoy the sun. I am positive it wont hang around this time.

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"I think it's called yogging"

She is yogging hard.

The title of this post if taken from the legendary film that is course 'Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy' and I was reminded of it today at 6.00am when I embarked on my first run of the summer...apart from it isn't the summer yet. This was the first of many problems I had with this run.

It was cold. It was windy. I looked horrendous. Oh. And the most obvious, did I mention I am an awful runner or 'yogger'?

I am attempting to get back into running after a long, cold winter off but my god does it hurt. It hurt like hell. I am damn proud of myself for sticking with the ruddy though, as I was desperate to crawl back into my bed and schnuggle down, dreaming of muffins.

But, because I try and conform to the "flat washboard stomach and toned thighs" look in a bikini (pretty tough going when you're a bakers daughter let me tell you) I will grit my teeth and struggle through it. It's my own fault you would think as somebody with severe shortsightedness would just think "hell I cant see anyone so I'm fine pigging out and slumming with my pot belly". But no, I am your typical beach flapper:

" ok breathe in...breathe...is she looking at me...why is she looking...breathe...she is looking as well...SHIT! you bent down and now its all ruined...stay composed though...and again...breathe in".

Pretty pathetic seeing it in words up there. Maybe this year I should just get on and relax with a big ol' bucket of fried chicken on my belly whilst catching some rays with my perscription sunglasses and  get on with it.

How happy do they look?!

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Bread Winner or Bread Maker?

Right let’s just get this over and done with before I start: yes I have nice baps, no I won’t touch your baguette and yes I am a master-baker. Finished. 

At the moment as you are most probably aware I am a university student, I like to think I try hard and I’m working pretty well so hopefully I’ll come out with a decent grade. Because, I want to finish university get myself a tidy little job with a bulging cheque so I can tell the (excuse the language) bastards at student finance to leave me alone. 

My friend the other day was asking me how I would feel if I finished uni and yes got myself a nice job but wasn’t the breadwinner in my relationship, a role which I am now calling the bread maker, which aptly fits in with my bakery background and heritage (how neat). And honestly, I don't think I would mind, which I don't know is a good or bad thing. I am not for one minute saying that I will not work hard and will ride of the backs of others but if someone (namely my economics buff of a boyfriend) brings home the ‘dollar’, would I resent them?

Also, this debate has been prompted by my recent love of making cakes (how cute are all these?!):

                                                 (actual cupcakes. how?!)

Should you strive to be the bread winner or be content as the bread maker?

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Coming Home.

Nawww how cute does that sound?
It's going to be short and sweet today(biscuits are calling)..
I have come home for the weekend and am having the nicest of times (nicest being the key word). Home is so comforting and yeah, nice: it is nice having heating, it is nice having food all the time, and good food at that, it is nice having puppies here, it is so nice that I can't say nice enough. As words go 'nice' sounds a little dull or drab in comparison to 'awesome' or 'spectaculer' but for right now, right this moment, nice is the perfect description.

As great as every other place may be it is not my home.
It's nice to be back.

I have just this moment been given this adorable litle trinket- I LOVE home!

Home Sweet Home was never more apt.
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Sun, sun, sun must equal fun. Surely?

England is getting hotter. Right now, you can forget the likes of Australia, Thailand even Spain, because we here in England we have all sun. Right now the sun is ours. It’s currently so hot I must dig out my shorts, my ballet pumps that don't have a sole but are an adorable summery colour and a complimentary summery shade of a cardigan. Maybe even a floral scarf? Am I overdoing it? Am I?

Yes. Yes I am just like every other Brit who sees the sun and goes nuts for it.

Today I have seen so many admittedly gorgeous pictures of summery shots with shorts, flip flops and ray-ban glasses (never all at once though, because that is overdoing it, obviously). My friend is sat here beside me with the sun glowing through the window with a book, all very picturesque, I shouldn't be such a cynic but I am sure this book is just an excuse for him to pose in the sun.. (pretty weak comment there but he wanted a mention). I'm very nearly convinced that it is summer out there. That is, until I stepped outside and was not so warmly greeted by the chilly wind that refuses to lift and leave use in peace.  Yes there is a warm, hazy glow that wasn’t there before but summer? We are being deceived. Unfortunately.

This got me thinking, even if it were the glorious summer that I am expecting in June and no earlier, how much fun will I actually have in it? I normally just get a little clammy in it and am the unfortunate owner of a irregular natural tan, that is to say when I am fortunate enough to lay and soak up the sun my body goes a blissfully colour while my face lags behind and stays a ghostly shade of pale, so I never really benefit from the darned thing anyway. Then again this is an incredibly grim thought I am having, I DO like the sun, I do. I cant think right now why I am having to convince myself that I do but I am sure that I must love it. 

I love it abroad anyway: give me a bikini and a cocktail umbrella any day. 

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