Calamity; An event causing great and often sudden damage or distress; a disaster

Ever since I was young I have always been a bit of a clumsy git.

I was CONSISTENTLY falling over in the playground at Primary School, scraping my knee and lodging playground grit into the bloody crevices of my sore hands. OHHHHH THE PAIN. 

Back in the day. Before the following happened and I quickly became one huge calamity.....



When I was about 9 years old I began an 18 month stint of being in what seemed like constant pain and plaster casts.
That's right, I broke my arms not one, not two, but THREE times in the space of 18 months. I quite literally have no idea how I do it.

ARM ONE:
My brother and I were playing 'football' in our family's church hall, against two other young boys, whilst our dads helped hang Christmas Decorations. One of the boys we were playing against had taken his shoes off and kicked them to the side of the 'pitch'. As the game got slightly heated one of the boys and I went in for a tackle (i'm not exactly 'down' with the football lingo btw) and as overly fumbly as I am I OFCOURSE tripped over his shoes and landed on my arm - my wrist buckled.
My main worry was not for my arm, but the fear of missing out on the Pathfinders (Our church's pre teen youth group) trip to see Joseph on the West End. THAT was just inconceivable to me.
4 hours in A&E later....... a VERY stroppy nine year old with a fetching white plastercast on her right arm.

NOSE ONE:
Figured I may as well get this one in here......
In class 5 I had my head deep inside my brand spanking new wooden desk looking for my favourite pencil .... whilst holding the roof of my large desk up with my left hand and searching for my stationary with my right. FOR SOME STUPID REASON I let go of the desk lid to search with my left hand as well. OFCOURSE the large wooden lid came slamming down onto the ridge of my nose. Even the distant memory of it makes my eyes water in pain. 
1 hour in the nurses office later...... a rather bemused mother and a very stupid young girl refusing to go to the hospital or to wear the special skin binding strips that were recommended to her.

ARM TWO:
Literally a few months after the first accident I was sitting in my class 5 classroom longingly waiting for the playtime bell to ring. BRRRRRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNGGGGGGGGGG!!!
Twenty screaming children came running out of the classroom at full speed. I was one of them. Unfortunately, I slipped, on what I can only assume was a wet patch on the floor (although, at the time i think i pretended it was a banana for humour's sake) and fell forward straight into a HUGE thick metal pipe. My arm took the full brunt of the force.
3 hours in A&E later...... a VERY stroppy mother with a very ashamed daughter wearing a fibreglass cast on her left arm.

ARM THREE:
Another few months had passed since my previous breakage. My friends and I were playing stuck in the mud in the playground. Ahhhh those were the days. I had managed to leg it across the playground unscathed by the 'tagger' and had made camp on the home base - a picnic bench. I was sitting happy when SUDDENLY I felt a push from behind me - the tagger had sneakily and viciously decided to try and push me off of the home base. WHAT A CHEAT. Now, I rather stupidly had sat on the top of the picnic bench and had tucked my feet under the seat. Sooooooo when the horrid little girl pushed me off I fell HEAD first from the top of the bench onto a concrete floor. Rather than SMASHING my forehead into the ground and risking brain hemorrhage I decided to put out my, now rather weak, arms to break my fall.
4 and a half hours in A&E later.....a VERY unsurprised mother with a VERY humiliated daughter with a fibreglass cast on her right arm.


ANKLE ONE:
In my secondary school, we always had a huge end of year assembly with the whole school - on the last day of term. I always dreaded it. When the whole school had assembly together we always had to sit cross legged, boiling hot, piled on top of our classmates on the dusty floor of our hall. After a VERYYYYY long and drawn out assembly we were finally dismissed row by row. I stood up... and literally DROPPED to the ground. My left foot had gone to sleep.... I was so unaware of it that when I stood up my ankle had double over and cracked.
1 hour of sitting with my father (head of maths at my school) in the school hall.... on the first day of the summer..... a VERY VERY red faced, angry 13 year old, with a purple and black foot... on crutches.

ANKLE TWO:
On my placement year from Uni I was interning in Knightsbridge and was out on my lunch break. I popped into the Office shoes shop in the hope of finding a bargain in their closing down sale. I had been coveting some shoes for quite sometime but couldn't justify their price, seeing as I was working for free and thus had no ACTUAL income to speak of.
There they were. The last pair of THE shoes in the shop. Size 6. Discounted. OH EM GEE, IT'S A SIGN. I couldn't resist.
That Saturday my friend Jemma and I were having a night out in Wimbledon - I was house sitting for my brother so we got ready at his house. I wore THE shoes. We were LITERALLY out the door, when I realised I had forgotten my eyeliner (not even an essential for a night out...) I quickly 'ran' back in and grabbed the eyeliner from the coffee table in the lounge. I span round to exit when.... CRACK ... I fell to the floor. My foot lay beneath me crippling in pain. "JEMMMMMMMMMMMAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA". I literally couldn't even stand. That night was a failure to say the least.
1 and a half hours in A&E...... a completely dumbfounded father pushing a completely humiliated daughter around in a wheel chair. (Said daughter then demanded a pair of crutches, which she realised are ALOT of effort).


The devil shoes of which I speak......

Having pulled these shoes out from the back of my wardrobe (I have not worn them since that fatal night..... EXCELLENT waste of money).... I realised they still had the skid/smudge marks on them from where I fell. TWO YEARS AGO.

Just incase you can't see clearly enough........ check out that white marking.


Ok.... so since this event I have pretty much steered clear of heels, having gotten my two bridesmaid duties out of the way I have stuck to flats. Safe, reliable... and dull yes. 
Apart from a few icey falls in Berlin...... thanks to some very poor grip... i have basically managed to remain upright for the last 2 years. HURRAH. 


UNTIL.......


KNEE ONE:
Last Friday.
I had been at Jemma's for dinner and a film the night before, and had mentioned that all of my boots now had holes in their soles, and thanks to the HIDEOUS weather we have been experiencing in London I consequently had permanently wet feet. Jem very kindly offered me a pair of her boots, which I have to admit I KNEW very well she would offer up. A very generous young lady. 


FYI... i have explained to Jem that she will more than likely receive her boots back with holes in the soles, coated in alcohol and vomit and with the left foot missing. THIS HAS HAPPENED BEFORE. 


Back to the point. I was wearing Jemma's boots, which have a SLIGHT heal on them. When i say slight, i mean slight. I had been keeping a close eye on the stormy weather outside and had decided to dash out once the rain had calmed to fetch my lunch. I went to the closest possible cafe and picked up a sandwich to take back to the office. I was exiting the cafe.... squeezing my way past the line of hungry customers when WHAM. I did the splits... and somehow managed to land THWACK (great word) on my right knee. Three rather gentlemanly men swiftly aided me up and asked if i was hurt, to which i responded "Just my pride" (I thought to myself "YES I have always wanted to say that!!!!"). I quickly scampered out of the cafe. Can't return there for a while.


Apparently it wasn't 'Just my pride' that was injured - My Right knee is hideously swollen and covered in 3 different types of bruises...... one of which is below:

OH I am an actual joke..... 

YOLO; You Only Live Once

Last week my old School friends and I received the following email:

Now..... I have absolutely no issue with going into Central for dinner/drinks on a work night. I also have no issue with going 'out out' on a 'School night'.... so down with the Kool Kids lingo there. 


Just had a little debate with Mother about the content of my blogs 
MUM: "Ohhhhhh you're not writing another blog post about you being drunk are you??"
Me: **avoiding eye contact** "It's not for you to read!"
MUM: "You are very witty, but it would be nice to read something that's not about you throwing, chucking or puking up because you're soooo drunk"
ME: "WELL..... the posts are about my stupidities... which happen mostly when i'm drunk"
MUM: **Disapproving groan**


And now i've lost my train of thought. Perfect.

So my chums and I met at Southbank and had a quick drink - one of those mini bottles of wine each to be precise.

A mini bottle.... THAT I DIDN'T EVEN FINISH and yet still felt it go to my head. How embarrassing.

Off we trotted to Ping Pong - for those of you even more clueless than me. Ping Pong is a restaurant. We were most definitely NOT off to play a miniature game of tennis.

So bright eyed and cheery....... watch this space

Lauren and I figured we may as well share a bottle of the house white, the name of which I had never heard of before and had great trouble pronouncing - cheapskates yes, but it was pleasant enough.
After we had ordered ours.... BAM..... the boys get their order in "Oh we'll share a bottle of the Pinot Grigio please" BASTARDS. A second bottle of this was to follow I might add.


The SECOND the drink started flowing a looming suggestion came from Jamie's mouth "Sooooo, anyone up for going out out?"
For those of you who have been living under a rock:
Out - Anywhere from Cinema to casual drinks
Out Out - Many Many drinks, dancing and falling into bed at 3/4/5am.

UH OH. The suggestion we had all been considering but were too afraid to bring up had been put out there for us to ponder. I have to admit Jamie's suggestion was pretty much shunned at first. We had all had a long day at work and were just out for some casual drinks, dimsum and chitchat with friends.


After we had consumed a table of Dimsum the general consensus was "Let the drinking continue!!"
We headed off in the direction of Soho..... the main topic of conversation on the Bakerloo line being this:

I LITERALLY spent about 10 minutes trying to explain this image to my comrades. I failed.

Once we reached Soho we wandered aimlessly until i finally pushed the group in the direction of Barrio Central. Moreeeeeeee drinking..... many toilet trips.... a strange encounter with a girl we went to school with and some TEQUILA shots - minus the lemon and salt much to my disgust.

As the time came for the last trains from Waterloo the group started dropping like flies. Just Lauren, Jamie and myself left.
"Let's go out out!!"
"But Coop, when is the last train??"
"Fuck trains Lozzo, YOU ONLY LIVE ONCE"

This was pretty much our conversation for the next 30 minutes until we finally made our way to Roxy Bar, in which we met up with Jamie's bumchum Toby, who had crashed our meal and then dropped us before Barrio.
I don't remember much about Roxy - cheap entry and cheap drinks was enough to please me.

After lots of dancing and drinks spilling the clock was fast approaching 2.30am.

Lauren and I made the decision to leave and attempt a journey home.
"Guys guys guys, just stay at Toby's with us. Toby and I can share (ohhh I bet you can.........BROMANCE)."
"I REFUSE to go into work tomorrow wearing the same outfit I wore today. I work for a fashion company for Christ's sake." - WISE. I think

So, here Lauren and I were, on Oxford Street attempting to find a bus home. Vigorously searching on TFL.com for our best option. I knew what I needed to do but I could not for the life of me figure out how to do it.
We hopped onto a bus ...... headed for Hammersmith. I do NOT live near Hammersmith. I quickly said goodbye to Lozzo, hopped off the bus and quite naively went on my way, alone.
I needed a number 6 bus. YES found one. Got on "I need to get to Trafalgar square please"
2 minutes into the journey I heard the bus driver shout down the bus to me "Sorry love, I just realised I am going the wrong way for you!!"
"FUCK...."
Jumped off the bus and back onto Oxford Street - ruddy long street.

Walked around practically in tears. Considering taking the boys up on their offer. My pride stopped me.
I flagged down a black cab, who I think only stopped because he felt sorry for me.
"I need to get to Trafalgar square to join the N87 bus route please"
HE GOT ME THERE.
Waited about 10 minutes at the bus stop, freezing my ass off, then the bus to Kingston came along. THANK GOD.

Whilst on the bus, still rather drunk and short on entertainment, I actually managed to make myself LOL for a good couple of minutes.
I get this a lot - when something tickles you so much even hours/days later you can think of it and still get a quivering lip or even let out a couple of chuckles. 
My small guffaw was caused by an incident at dinner. The waiter had come over with the boys' wine and had offered to pour a glass for Toby, who had directed the waiter towards Jamie and politely said "Ladies first". Immediately, the waiter turned to pour Jamie a glass without even a lifting of the eyebrow or a questionable glance.
I found it INCREDIBLY hard to fight back the chortles on my bus home. Luckily the people surrounding me were dead to the world.

After a long and cold bus journey I got off at New Malden and got a quick taxi home. FINALLY made it into bed at 4.20am. ONE HOUR AND NINE MINUTES LATER ..... MY ALARM WENT OFF.
I was so scared to snooze it, for fear of falling back into an unwakeable slumber, I just lay there wide eyed and lifeless.


Not only was I having to get up and go to work on under 2 hours sleep I also had to go for a BLOOD TEST before work. OH GOSH I hate myself.
Went into the doctors. Sat down. Waited. "Rachel Cooper". "Hello". "Hi". "Please can you roll your sleeve up". SIGH. "Oh now, don't worry it won't hurt too much, you'll be fine"**. She took my blood. Put a plaster on my arm. "Right there you go, all finished promise". I took a curious glance at my blood. NO LIE - I swear I could see alcohol separation in there. I quietly walked out.


**I didn't have the heart to tell her my surliness was in no way down to a fear of needles. More down to the fact that I WAS HANGING LIKE HELL and did not want to vomit on her face.


Even now I have a hideous bruise on my arm from this Blood Test, I look like a crack head. Fabulous.

After a VERY dodgy train journey into work, the majority of which was spent clamping my lips together for fear of a stomach turn, I sat down at my desk - this was of course followed by a great deal of laughing and abuse from my colleagues.

The emails start rolling in......

UGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. I HATE MY LIFE. 


UNTIL.................. Jamie, who works for a very well known (and strict) company sent the following email:

Moral of the story. YOLO - YOU ONLY LIVE ONCE.
                                                              AND..... there is always someone hanging worse than you.....

Spaghetti Bolognese; Spaghetti served with a sauce of ground beef, tomato, onion, and herbs.

The past week has been pretty heavy on the ol' liver.... or kidneys??? I am not even sure what either of them ACTUALLY do. My VERY average grade C in GCSE Biology has not equipped me with such knowledge. 


The first 'heavy' night was Easter Sunday. We hardworking British were rewarded with an extra long Bank Holiday weekend. WAHEY! Consequently, my brother (right I do go out with other people just so you know..... sometimes) bought a number of Above & Beyond tickets, at Brixton Academy. 


For those of you NOT in the know - Above & Beyond are an English Trance music group formed in 2000 and consist of a the members Jono Grant, Tony McGuinness and Pavo Siljamaki.
Cheers Wikipedia - I may be a fan but I would never be able to retain or recall such specific info.


SO i figured we'd head out about 9.30/10 - grab a couple of drinks in Wimbledon and head to Brixton. NO NO NO my brother invited us round for a lovely Spaghetti Bolognese dinner (remember this...... it may or may not crop up later) and to commence drinking at 6pm.


Now, it being a Trance type night at Brixton Academy.... i knew this would not be an early 'in bed by 1.30am' finish. TECHNICALLY Above & Beyond's set was supposed to end at 4am... HOWEVER... every artist in the world over-runs. And then there is the matter of stumbling your way out of Brixton Academy amongst the cascades of minced people, THEN you have to physically get yourself home - not my forte as we all know. 


We are all eating dinner at dans, having some nice Vodka mixers - I quite 'wisely' decided not to start the night with  wine.
"RIGHT... WE'RE LEAVINGGGGGG"
7pm - glug down the rest of my Vodka & Bitter lemon, say farewell to the dogs and rush out the door. 
8pm - thanks to some hideous South West London Train engineering works over the weekend it took us an HOUR to get to Wimbledon. Hello Suburban my old friend - JUST slipped in before Happy Hour ended. YES. 
After a large chunk of drinking and shots of Cafe Patron (SERIOUSLY, try it!!!!) we move down the road to Pod Bar for more drinking.


Finally got to Brixton to watch Sander Van Doorn and Above & Beyond. 

It.got.messy. By the end I was pretty much A STATE. 


Having seen my state...... my brother STILL thinks we should go with the nightbus option home. DAMMIT he's usually such a reliable Taxi taker. 


We sit at the front of the top deck. OH FUCK A DUCK. I realise that if i open my mouth right now a little more than words will come out.
A little while in to the journey, the urge becomes too strong. I quietly advise the guy sitting next to me to move. He is a friend thank god.... a stranger may have thought I was mental.... they'd probably be right.
"DANNNNNNN you sister is about to chuck." - Blabber mouth!!!
ANDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD SPLATTER. 
BRIGHT orange bolognese came HURLING out of my mouth onto the bus floor and my hands which got unpleasantly drenched. My brothers girlfriend had to drag my long, pukey hair back out of the way whilst the vomit came up in waves of continuous humiliation. 
My brother then alerts me to the LOVELY orange streak of bile smudged across my face. I just gagged slightly.


We got off the bus at Clapham Junction.... i THINK. I just spent about 5 minutes trying to remember how we actually got home after Vomitgate.
AGAIN we sat at the front of the top deck. WHYYYYYYYYYYYY?????!!!!! The friend next to me decides to crack open a bottle of beer. Oh.HOLY.CRAP you bastard!!!!! I get the urge building in my throat once again and tell him to get out of the way .......... AGAIN.
Luckily, it seems I had nothing left in me to give. 
We arrive in Wimbledon. 
"Urgggggghhh Dan, how are we getting home from here?" 
"we are staying on the bus to Kingston Rach and then walking home" 
"I have to get off. I can't do it. Please can we get a taxi, please"


Arrive at the Taxi rank. "Next taxi will be available in half an hour"
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. I refuse to believe that!!!!!!!


After more attempting to be sick and lots of sitting around with cracked lips and a smelly puke hand we finally bag a taxi.


With a severe amount of concentration I manage to keep it together until my brother's road. The Taxi starts to slow.... I open the door and run over to the curb. After some serious convulsing I walk down to Dan's house. He throws open the door and i leg it to the bathroom. 
Looks like the Spaghetti part of the spagbol was deciding to make an appearance at this point. Yeahhhhhhhhhhhhh enjoy that nice image right there!!

Just FYI.... a couple of days later I was having dinner with my chum Jemma - deciding what to cook and she (unknowlingly) suggests "Spaghetti Bolognese". My Stomach turned. I may have ruined that meal forever. 

Disasterous; Causing great damage. Highly unsuccessful.

I should NOT be allowed to drink alcohol. EVER.

Saturday was another excellent night out in Wimbledon. I got so HIDEOUSLY messy that I actually had to send myself home. Grim, verrrrrrry grim.

My hideous addiction to social media pretty much plays out my night and morning after.....

ATTENDED.

ATTENDED. GIVEN FREE CHAMPAGNE, POINTLESS BUT 'SUPER COOL COS YOUR WASTED' RAVE GLASSES AND A FOAM MUSTACHE.

RAN BACK TO SUBURBAN TO SHOW OFF SAID GLASSES AND MUSTACHE.

ANNNNNNND BACK TO POD AGAIN FOR A DANCE AROUND.

TAKE SPECIAL PICTURE OF FEET ACCIDENTALLY AS I HANG MY SPINNING HEAD IN SHAME. FEEL THE NEED TO SPEW MY GUTS UP.
ATTEMPT ONE LAST DANCE. DISMISS MYSELF AND WALK TO THE TAXI RANK.

CLAMBER INTO BED AT GOD KNOWS WHAT TIME AND REALISE I HAVE MISPLACED MY CARDIGAN. NOOOOO I AM NOT THAT PERSON. I DO NOT LEAVE BELONGINGS ON NIGHTS OUT. TEXT A FEW PEOPLE .... FALL ASLEEP MID TEXT.

WAKE UP AFTER 4 HOURS SLEEP. WANT THE WORLD TO SWALLOW ME UP.

DEVOUR 2 CANS OF DIET COKE AND 2 IBUPROFENS. NOTHING HELPS!!!!!

DAMMIT. STILL HAVE NOT LOCATED MY CARDIGAN.

WINNER!!!! YESSSSSSSS THANK YOU MIKEY. LEDGE

I COULD NOT HAVE BEEN MORE RIGHT.
TODAY WAS HELL. PURE FIGHTING BACK THE NAUSEA HELL.

Rage; Violent, uncontrollable anger.

I am not sure why but I seem to experience an unnecessary amount of rage towards my fellow commuters.
I also have obscene road rage issues... for the record.


Today was a day of endless London Transport rage.

Firstly - I was waiting (im)patiently for my train to arrive at 8.04 this morning. As usual I was the first to arrive to my section of the platform AND YET a stupidly short blonde haired lady that kept sniffing pusssssshed her way onto the train in front of me. FOR WHAT??? THERE ARE NO SEATS LOVE. We are English. We Queue....


Secondly - A couple of stops in to my journey I managed to nab one of those silly standing up butt ledge seat type things. Mwahahahaha take that short blonde lady. But when we arrived at the next stop the WHOLE WORLD piled onto my carriage and a very tall man decided to stand DIRECTLY in front of me. In fact NO..... directly ON me. He had managed to position himself so awkwardly that he had no access to a hand rail. EVERY.RUDDY.TIME the train broke or sped up he would fall into me - smacking me on the nose. Douche.


Thirdly - I ran (slash skipped) to catch my second connection... but got stuck behind an sinfully slow gentleman who CLEARLY did not understand the meaning behind the term RUSH HOUR. I tried to dodge out of his way but I was trapped. To my left - a wall, to my right - a pregnant lady. 
Finally made it up onto the platform and heard the bells going as crowds of people bombarded their way onto the train. I hopped along trying to chose a suitable door. No time. I made the decision to get a little run in there, twisted my leg in an awkward way and buckled under the pain. The doors closed in my face. I.... not so cooly... did a quick U Turn and took my phone out and pretended to text, not a care in the world, as if I hadn't just humiliated myself and missed my train due to my absurd fumbling. Smooth.


 Fourthly (pleasantly surprised that fourthly is ACTUALLY a real word) - THE LONDON OVERGROUND TRAIN  BETWEEN RICHMOND AND STRATFORD STILL HAS ITS HEATING ON. That is all.


Fifthly - When home time came I went to the station and had to wait FIFTEEN MINUTES for a tube. A standard London Transport issue, but very annoying nonetheless. 


Sixthly - My second train home was approaching the platform. I was hurriedly trying to make my way up the platform, following behind a lady that again was moving at a glacial pace. THEN. SHE STOPPED DEAD. In the middle of the platform. She quite literally caused a 3 person pile up.

Seventhly (seriously... how is that a word??) - My Final train of the day. Hurrah! Very busy SW London train and some selfish PRICK decides to lean his whole body against the central pole. As in the one that EVERYONE needs to hold onto to stop themselves from falling like dominoes. I did some excellent eyes rolling and tutting at him - I swear to god I am a middle aged grot of a woman at times.

Numbskull; A stupid or foolish person.

I am actually still in a bit of shock at my STUPIDITY this morning.

Today was the first day the public were able to book your Radio One Hackney Weekend tickets. Having registered a couple of months ago I had set an alarm in my phone to remind myself.

I came cluttering down the stairs at about 10am, armed with my Laptop, my purse, my phone and my charger(s). I rather preparedly opened up all the necessary windows onto my desktop - i.e. email confirmation, Radio One website, email with link and ticket information etc.

I grabbed a bowl of cereal and sat there waiting patiently.

11am .... GO! the race was on. Only 25,000 tickets were allocated for each day and I was on a mission.

Suddenly.... an Error message. Something to do with my I.P address. WHAT THE FRICK DOES THAT MEAN??? WHAT'S WRONG WITH MY I.P ADDRESS???? WHAT'S AN I.P ADDRESS??


After ALOT of copying and pasting and refreshing... for about an hour. I FINALLY made it through to the Holding page..... after even more refreshing I was on the 'ENTER YOUR REGISTRATION DETAILS AND SELECT DAY' page. GOD THIS WAS EXCITING, I WAS GOING TO MAKE ITTTTTTTTTTTTT!! SURELY IT WAS A HOME RUN FROM HERE.


I entered all the relevant registration details, chose my day, completely buzzing for my free tickets. And BAM. Back to the holding page. WHAT THE FUCK???? The injustice of it all.


Reluctantly, I took a look at Facebook to see if anyone else had had any luck.

DAMMIT DAMMIT DAMMIT

In frantic urgency I decided to 'double' my chances by using the phone line as well as the website.

This list goes on for about another 2 pages on my phone.....


NOTHING


Suddenly, the website page refreshed again.... I WAS THROUGH. After 2 hours I was finally going to get my tickets. I scrolled down, all my registration info was still there. Perfect. Scrolled down a bit further to select my day.

"Saturday: SOLD OUT."
"Sunday: SOLD OUT".

Somebody hates me. 


At this point I admitted defeat and resorted to wallowing in my own self pity by checking out the ecstatic statuses that were ready to greet me on Facebook.

But it wasn't until I saw this next status from Ross that something clicked in my brain, quite literally like a light switch.........

"23rd June...23rd June..... why is that date ringing a bell? What am I doing on that day??"
"Oh god what is it??"

OH shut up.....

SO there you go.


I wasted my entire morning REFRESHING websites and listening to hideous 'hold' music and for WHAT???? 


Don't get me wrong. I am hideously excited for my Canadian adventure. Just wish I had used my BRAIN before partaking such a mind numbing task all morning.

Plebeian aka PLEB; one of the common people

My brothers and I have three gorgeous younger cousins.
....... they may have inherited the prettier end of the gene pool.... possibly.

This particular post is about this cousin .... Chris


















Just to give you some background on dear old Chris. He is going to hate me for this. 
As kids we were never allowed to feed Chris ANYTHING orange for fear of him going insane and running into a wall or something. This included orange juice, carrots and orange fruit pastels.
I know what you're thinking - "Orange fruit pastels.... sooooo what? They're crap anyway, just pickem out!!". No No. We couldn't take the risk.
Every other Sunday our Granddad would give my brothers and I a packet of fruit pastels each. However, our younger cousins always received a packet of white chocolate buttons. I always assumed this was because they were not mature to handle the multifaceted fruit pastel. Probably not the right adjective, but you have to admit it sounds ruddy good. 

Chris was a fairly crazy, annoying, hyperactive child, he used to draw on walls with felt tip, eat all his Advent Calendar in one day and continuously reak havoc wherever he went.
One example of his common behaviour - My Aunt was eight months pregnant with my youngest cousin Katie. She had decorated a lovely little nursery for Katie, with a brand new carpet, Laura Ashley wall paper and she had stripped a door ready for a good old fashioned white wash.
Having put her two freshly bathed sons to bed, my Aunt went downstairs for a well deserved sit down in front of the TV.
A little while later she goes up to check on the boys - she is confronted with two sleeping little boys in their beds.............completely SMOTHERED from head to toe in white emulsion.
Nervously my Aunt approaches and opens the door to the nursery and discovers her lovely little room is DESTROYED. White paint splashed all over the new carpet, walls, furniture and door.

My poor heavily pregnant Aunt is faced with disaster, whilst my Uncle is on night duty. She frantically calls my Granddad out in the middle of the night to help bath the boys and put them back to bed.

To this day both my Aunt and Chris maintain this whole nightmare was a gesture of love. I believe differently.


To be honest...... not much has changed since this troublesome young age.

New Years day 2012 saw a very 'Chris style' incident. My Aunt and Uncle had invited the whole family round for dinner and drinks - excellent hangover cure. 
A little while into the evening we hadn't heard a peep from Chris, so I enquired as to his whereabouts with my Uncle. (Rob was also missing, but he is far more competent than Chris so I wasn't that worried).
My Uncle (affectionately named Hunky G by us kids) replied 'I dunno, we haven't seen him since yesterday morning". OH OK... great. The little bugger still owed me £20 from the other night when I had to fork out for a taxi that he never ruddy took......

PLEB

Similar conversation with Ori in regards to the same night.......

Double Pleb.


Back to New Years day......

Now, Chris does not have a phone in England... and has not had one for about 2 years now. "Rach, it's the way forward. I only have to speak to people I choose to speak to". Pretentious git. 

Whilst Chris was home from Uni (he studies in America) he had been working in Mahiki in London. He had worked there New Years eve. And had clearly gone out after the bar had closed, gotten so COMPLETELY fucked off his face that he was either lying in a gutter somewhere or spooning one of his best mates far too hungover and dribbley to move.

I was hoping for the latter. 

As the evening went on, neither Chris or Rob materialised. I sat there cursing under my breath that I had dragged myself from my hungover of death but Chris couldn't even make it home to see us.

The next day Hunky G came round to play my Dad at squash.
"Hunky G, what was Chris' excuse when he finally turned up?"
"Well..... he actually only got in at 7am this morning. As did Rob actually. One of them decided to make a bowl of pasta, leaving a path of destruction across the kitchen. I am willing to bet it was Chris. Don't know where he has been the last two days though".

A couple of days later, my Uncle was round again.

"Hunky G, do you have the low down on Chris' disappearance at New Year yet?"
"HA HA yeah, you're not going to believe it. He had finished his shift at Mahiki, gotten so drunken he had decided to take a nap in the staff quarters and GOT LOCKED IN THE ROOM. Every member of staff had left to continue the celebrations and left Chris locked in a room, not deliberately. He had to wait there ALL night and day for the manager to turn up. Then he had another shift that evening".
STANDARD CHRIS
"OH GOOD GOD......... serves him right for not having a phone."

What a pleb.

MOT test; a compulsory annual test of older motor vehicles for safety and exhaust fumes

I had a couple of days of Annual Leave left before April so I decided to take a couple of days off last week. My chum Jem has just moved home from Edinburgh so I figured it would be a good opportunity to hang out with her.

My mum comes up to me about 2 weeks ago and says.... "By the way, your car MOT is due TODAY". OH right.... ok, thanks for the notice!!
Apparently, now that I am 'a grown up' **Shudders** it is down to me to organise this kind of thing. Luckily, it seems you get 2 weeks grace.... SO, I thought it best to discuss with my father, mother and two brothers how to approach such a thing...... in an Indian restaurant on my eldest brother's birthday.


Dad: "You have two options. 1) Book it straight into the MOT garage with the risk of it failing and YOU (note the emphasis he put on me there) pay for any repairs that have to be made. OR
 2) Book in for a service with Mick first, which would be far far cheaper "
Mick is our horribly old family mechanic that has been working on Cooper family cars quite literally since the stone age. Lovely guy, but I will forever hold a grudge against him.......

Prior to my current car I owned two BEAUTIES. At the perky young age of seventeen I was handed this monstrosity as my first car.

A black Fiat Uno with no powersteering that pretty much was a baked bean tin on wheels.
My best friend Laura ironically (of course) named him Lightning.
Sadly, this is not a picture of MY Lightning, but you get the idea.

After Lightning was (FINALLY!) declared unsafe to drive... by me...... Dad invested in a Little red Ford KA, which Laura named Ketchup. Ketchup was nippy, reliable and looked like a little bug on wheels.

Back to the point. It was time for Ketchup's MOT so my parents booked him in with Mick for a service. All looked fine and dandy, I paid for the service and then booked him in for an MOT at a garage in New Malden. 

My mother had instructed me to drop Ketchup off and go for a 'wander and a coffee in New Malden' until the garage rang. So I went to Costa (my LEAST favourite coffee shop) had a Latte and read a magazine. An hour went by.... no phone call.

LONGGGG story short.... almost TWO FUCKING HOURS later the garage called. "Hi Rachel, right I'm sorry it has taken so long, but I am afraid your car has failed its MOT". Oh ruddy hell, whyyy??? Mick told me it was fine!!

I walked back to the garage ... i had been lingering on the corner for about half an hour. The mechanic explained to me that the whole underneath was covered in rust and was slowly disintegrating... Ketchup wasn't worth saving.
I MEAN HOW THE HELL DID MICK MISS THAT???????????? - this is why i still hold a grudge. SO, I had had to pay for the service AND the MOT..... and for WHAT???? A dead car that was taken off the road.

So back to my current car and MOT predicament.
By the way - my car is an 'unamed' Corsa. Laura branded it such a sinfully dull car compared with Ketchup and Lightning that she couldn't find a suitable name.
I think we got as far as suggesting dull names such as Pam or Mary... but nothing was decided upon.

In the middle of this Indian restaurant I had caused a mass Cooper family debate. An argument had ruptured. Usually this is the doing of my 'Puppet master' brother Daniel, but this time it was most definitely me.
"Mick is still perfectly good at the smaller jobs, he always works on our cars"
"DAD he missed my entire rust infestation on Ketchup!!"
"yeah dad he can't even get under a car these days, what's the point??!! Rach just book it into the MOT garage"
"FINE...  but Rachel you have to pay for all the costs if the MOT garage finds any issues..."
"Don't come to us when they charge you £300 plus like they did Daniel"
"Dad that was a different garage, they were idiots"
"But Daaaaaaaaaad I get paid peanuts and I am paying for Vancouver to see Laura"
"Rachel... you are a grown up. Budget for these things"
"Mum.... I didn't even know the MOT was due because YOU didnt tell me"
"Mum and Dad weren't paying for our MOTs at your age"
"Shut up Andrew"
"Where is all your money anyway... you live at home!"
"I pay rent!!!!"
"Rachel! your 'rent' barely covers anything!"
"BAH! whatever... I am booking it into the garage... I cant be bothered to waste time and money on Mick!! I was just asking your opinion".
"Fine"
"Fine"
"Fine"
"Fine"

So I booked my unamed Corsa into the garage and took it over at 8.30am. No lie in for me on my day off then....
3 hours later (I had gone home this time) NOTHING. I called up the garage.

"I am very sorry Rachel, but I am afraid your car has failed"

WHY DOES THIS HAPPEN TO MEEEEEE????!!!! It is an 06 reg Corsa.... surely that is 'new' enough for it to survive an MOT. Apparently not on my watch. 


Right, I had to leave the car at the garage over night as I had plans and wasn't waiting around for my bastard Corsa to get over its hypochondria.
Before I left I specifically asked my mother whether she would be in this evening to let me into the house, as the garage had my house keys. She would be in. Fab.
I met with Jem and we had a lovely lunch and drinks in her back garden, in 20 degree heat, in the middle of March... insane!!!
I then went to meet some work friends for a girl's leaving drinks... all very nice.
As I made my journey home with 2 of the girls I thought i'd ring/ text my mum to check she was at home. NOTHING.
Shit.
Contacted my dad to see if he could pick me up from the station and therefore let me into my house. NOTHING.
double shit.
I hate being shunned.

Finally got a text from Dad saying he and Mum were on a date at the Cinema. WHATTTTTT????!!!!
"Well, when does the film finish? I have no keys and Daniel is working on night duty."
"It hasnt started yet, sorry"
"DAD!!! I have no car, no keys and will be stranded out in the street for hours"
"Go to the neighbours"
"for the next THREE or so hours???? NO! I dont even know them that well"
"well then looks like you will be outside in the cold"
"Seriously..... this is a joke"

By this point I was also running on 10% iphone battery..... nightmare.

who could help me????

ANDREW!!! yes!!
I rang my brother. NOTHING.
Seriously, why do my family not pick up their phones to me??!! probably because they know I am always after a favour.


I tried my sister in law, Andrew's wife. SHE RUDDY PICKED UP!!!!! And sent Andrew out to get me, who dropped me home. Thank god, I don't do stranded.

Friends; A person whom one knows and with whom one has a bond of mutual affection

At this very moment I am quite literally wallowing in my own self pity. This is not because anything particularly tragic has happened to me. No no.... it is merely because I am suffering from that old Saturday favourite of mine...... THE HANGOVER.
I had clambered into bed at 4am..... only for my disgustingly on form Bodyclock to wake me up at 7.30am. OH and a nosebleed when I sneezed too hard. SERIOUSLY there is something wrong with me. 


Right i'm not even going to lie.... i just paused writing this for a good 3 minutes to watch a Cher Lloyd video. I am a little disgusted with myself.


I've lost my trail of thought horribly....... maybe this is a lesson. NEVER. WRITE. A. POST. WHILST. HUNGOVER.

Ok, so after work yesterday my friends and I met in London to have a nice civilised dinner and drinks.
(oh god Madonna, Nicki Minaj and MIA just came on.... this post is never going to get finished..)


I met my beautiful friend Xanthe in Waterloo to continue our journey together.

I think this photo was the start of a beautiful friendship. And YES that Apple VK went ALL over me. 

We had decided to go to Covent Garden for dinner/ drinks. 

Now, you should have realised by now that I SUCK at directions. I genuinely have NO CLUE how London interconnects, or where anything is in relation to anything else. I rely on London Underground, TFL.com and my Oyster card to get me to my required destination. So ofcourse I headed off towards the tube.

"Coop! where the hell are you going?!"

"Ermmmm Covent Garden!!... should we get the Northern Line?!" - Is Covent garden even on the Northern line? I have no idea.

"Ha ha ha what?? Do you know it's literally just over the bridge??"

"What bridge? I thought it was the other side of London?"

Finally Xanth convinced me the tube was not necessary.

So we went to Porterhouse for a drink.  Elena came to join us and we headed across the road to Fire and Stone for an insanely random Pizza. They put potatoes on pizza in there. As in potato on bread. I think I was the only one to find this odd.

Had a few more drinks in there and Lauren came to join us, having been to the Hockney exhibition.... with her mum who proclaimed at the end "I'm not sure why i came to this, I can't stand David Hockney". Nonetheless, Lozzo's mum is a legend.

Lots of mocking as we walked back over the bridge to Waterloo "So Coop, you know Big Ben isn't actually the name of the tower....." Etc, etc etc etcccccccccccc

We then got a text from Xanthe's boyfriend saying he and his mates were in Clapham. Meh... we spend most of our life there why not head in that direction and ruin their... and I quote... "Pussaaaay Patrol" night!! BA HA HA HA, so bad that I actually wept with laughter.

We hopped along a few bars.... until we found out the "Pussy patrolers" had headed to The Grand (at 10pm........ ANYONE that has experienced The Grand before will know this is a fateful error).

Still determined just to have a 'civilised night' we ended up at a bar on the Northcote, just the girls having some good old banter. This ended quite quickly.
We were in fact awaiting the entry of Elena's new flame (new flame... is that the term??). A 'Guy' we had never met before - those of you that know of him will spot my little pun. Yeahhhhh even hungover I can make awful Dad style puns. 
He arrives, we all chat, make inappropriate jokes, drink lots more and make banter. He fits in quite easily. Two of his friends from work turn up - we name them Edwin and Slaphead.
We all decide that we have missed our last trains so may aswell let the drinking continue... after some toilet trips, some drinks downing and some lemon throwing we all head to The Grand.

We went up to the cloakroom and attempt to do the old "Scarf inside the arms of the cardigan, cardigan inside the coat, coat inside another coat" trick - "Ah yes, the oldest trick in the book" I hear you think sarcastically - Well, you'd be right, the cloakroom attendants were having none of that. DAMN.


Made it down to the bar and the new flame bought us all a round of Jager and vodka - good lad, I like him already.


After a lot of drinking, photos and some passionate dancing to One Direction we found ourselves pining for bed.

But now comes the decision of how to get home......
After some fumbling around outside The Grand, tediously long discussions of Sunday Brunch  and some very loud screeches of "THAT'S WHAT MAKES YOU BEAUTIFULLLLLLLLLLLL" we decide upon a Cab. Xanth literally stands in the middle of the road and flails her arms around in the hope a taxi will stop. It works. However.....
LONG STORY SHORT - HE REFUSES TO TAKE US. WHAT A TWAT.


"Guys, guys guys, the night bus to Kingston is the way forward"
"Coop, coming from YOU!!!"

After visiting various bus stops on different sides of the road we see the N87 to Kingston.... but he isn't stopping - turns out we were at the wrong stop. Xanth yet AGAIN throws herself into the road and in front of the bus. I bang on his door in a drunken rage to let us on. - I have become my own worst nightmare. 


Completely shunned and non existent to the bus driver.... we moved on.... Xanthe rolled around on the ground a bit (out of sheer exasperation i'd assume?!) ..... and another bus came that did let us on.
As we sat on perhaps THE longest bus journey of our lives we contemplated the evening and that well known end of the night sinking feeling set in - or perhaps it was the Jager working it's way up my throat?! 
We all alighted (always wanted to use that word) at Kingston and found Taxis to our plethora of home towns. I STUPIDLY chose to go to my usual taxi rank at Kingston station. This meant that I would have to walk past/through/round/under/across all the TWATS falling out of Oceana. I can't really judge, I had just spent the evening in a very similar club doing very similar twatty things.... .................I still judged. 




The End.


LET THE TOMFOOLERIES CONTINUE TONIGHT. NEXT STOP - WIMBLEDON. WATCH OUT ALL.

Fashion; A popular trend, esp. in styles of dress, ornament, or behavior

Ok so as much as I dislike your average 'Fashion Blog' that we see all too much of these days, I do in fact "work in fashion" and thus have a collected a few little fashion stories over the past couple of years.




The Intern. aka. Office Bitch
On my placement year from Uni I interned at a well known department store's Head Office, (where I now work) - in this period, I briefly stood in as a PA for our Buying Director - TERRIFYING. 
On the first day the Director had told me she was expecting a call from the then CEO of Yves Saint Laurent, Valerie Hermann. A phone call that I was instructed to answer - "right here we go then...." 
I need to note that I was seated at the PA's desk, on not my own.


The Phone rang... crap crap crap, be cool.... "Hello Buying, Rachel speaking... etc etc etc"
After some obligatory niceties i attempted to transfer the call to my Director, using the same system as ALL the other phones in the office.
But no no.... I hung up instead. I HUNG UP ON THE CEO OF YSL. I will be blacklisted by the fashion Industry for sure....shit shit shit.

A few days into being a  PA, I was growing a bit cocky - apart from the above incident it was all going very well, thank god.


The Director and had called me into her office to help her with some emailing. I noticed that one of the email addresses she was writing to was something along the lines of pdenis@......com. Suddenly, the awful 'Rachel wit' overcame me and I felt a hideous urge to make a joke. To the BUYING DIRECTOR of a top Department store I said something along the lines of....


"Wow, that dude's email is slightly dangerous, careful you don't slip up and address a Penis"


Now... yet AGAIN there was a moment I thought the fashion industry would blacklist me. But thankfully she has a sense of humour. 




The Sales advisor.
When I returned to Uni in Manchester, after my Placement year, I worked part time in one of the department stores in the same company. One of my hideously hungover Sundays in work I was fumbling around the beachwear department minding my own business when a small ginger man comes up to me.... This bloke in fact:

"Hi love, I was hoping you could help me - I have a load of Missoni bikinis on hold for my wife"


"Of course, I'll just go grab them for you".... I walked off towards the stock room. Shit. Spun back. 
"Sorry, can I take a name sir" 


He looked at me in a slightly amused way. I clearly wasn't from Manchester. - "Paul Scholes"
One step. two steps. three steps. four steps. five steps......... SHIT PAUL SCHOLES. I JUST ASKED PAUL SCHOLES HIS FUCKING NAME. WHAT A DOUCHE. 




The Buyer's Assistant
A couple of weeks ago was AW12 London Fashion Week. I went to a few different shows and exhibitions and managed to humiliate myself a few times... of course.


Christopher Raeburn show - front row of a rather personal catwalk presentation - we were all clapping once all the models had walked through and as i lifted my hands to clap my 'Christopher Raeburn AW12 brief' slipped straight off my lap and with some good speed slid across the floor. I admit this is a fairly minor mishap - but when you are sitting across from famous fashion reporters such as Suzy Menkes you feel like a right TWAT.


Markus Lupfer Exhibition - We were actually just leaving the exhibition, having grabbed our free class of champagne. Walking quite speedily to keep up with the girls I was with, whilst sipping my drink meant that I was not watching my step... consequently I ran SMACK BANG into models Cara Delevingne and Georgia Jagger. GREAT, just what I want, London socialites looking at me like I am a fumbling fool.
I then attempted to 'down' my champagne quickly before we left.... and dribbled half of it down my chin and then my dress. I don't do smooth.


Fashion East show - I was with one of my friends from work and we had arrived slightly early so decided to take advantage of the free flowing champagne.... waiters were on hand to top up instantly should your glass run low. That's what I like to see. Once the show was starting we took our still full glasses with us to our seats. 
By this point I was already feeling the affects - slight word slurring and clumbsiness. It got to the third designer in the show, James Long. I reach back behind me to set my champagne down and take a picture. 

After taking the above photo I reached my hand back behind me....without looking...and SMACKED my champagne all over the feet of the girl behind me. WHOOPS.... didn't get the kindest of looks from her quite understandably. 

Somerset House - So I was on my way to meet some colleagues inbetween shows and was walking through the quad in Somerset House (this is basically the base camp of LFW... lots of photographers, bloggers, reporters, stylists, buyers, random reality TV celebs etc everywhere) and for some UNKNOWN reason to me a photographer actually THREW his camera and stupid flashy thing into my face. I did not react well. It was SOOO unexpected and out of the blue that I literally screamed "JESUS CHRISTTTTTTTTTTTTT" in his face. I definitely noticed a good number of passers by perk up and glare at me in bemusement as my blasphemy echoed around the quad. 

Giles show - So I was sitting front row at Giles which I was pretty chuffed about, good view and free MAC products. Always a winner. 

A couple of days later I figured I'd check out the Vogue Online images of the show. In the first picture I spotted something.......

Ohhhhh this was exciting.

I quickly flicked to the next picture... and the next.... and the next... but soon discovered that clearly having not been happy with me in their front row pictures, the photographers had speedily rearranged their camera angles for ALL of the remaining catwalk looks. 

Ohhhh the disappointment.