Tuesday, 29 March 2011


Oh, hello, lovely reader.

I’ve been having a look at my Blogger stats, and it seems that the most frequently read posts on my blog are the ones that caused me the most pain and suffering whilst under construction. If you are a regular reader, you might have guessed that these blogs are the ones featuring my horrific love life.

I have, so far, told you about two boys who have managed in some way to make me contemplate murder: Fringe and Idiot. I invite you to revisit those tales if, by some chance, you haven’t revelled in my relationship-based misery yet.


Idiot was definitely the worst boyfriend I have ever had, but he was by no means the first (and hopefully not the last). There were a few short-lived disasters before him and, frankly, they were all rubbish. So I thought it might be fun to tell you about another spectacular failure...

Are we sitting comfortably? No? I shall begin anyway...

When I started university, I did not have a boyfriend. By the second week of university, however, I had managed to get one. He lived in my building, so for the purposes of anonymity, we shall refer to him as Dorm.

(Everyone who goes to university as a single person will probably, at some point, go out with someone because it is convenient. TOP TIP: There are definitely better reasons to go out with someone, so try looking for those first.)

Like in the Idiot scenario, people were quite jealous of my boyfriend at first. He was quite funny, he was on the rugby team, and he seemed completely undeterred by the fact that I was essentially hideous at that point in my life. He was really attentive, overly romantic, and very in touch with his feelings. Those last three are points that most people find attractive. BUT I DON’T. And so began the problems.

During week five of university, a mere three weeks into our hideous relationship, Dorm decided that he wanted to change his facebook status to In A Relationship. I didn’t want to do that, though, because I hadn’t told my mum that I had a boyfriend yet, and didn’t want to deal with the phone call that would inevitably follow.

What did I do? Well, I deleted my facebook. Quite ingenious, I think you’ll agree.

I started avoiding him a bit more after that, because all he ever wanted to do was talk about feelings. And not even in a good way. In a creepy way.

As you may have gathered, the most unfortunate thing about Dorm - aside from the fact that he had bleached his hair during Freshers Week - was that he was MENTALLY UNSTABLE. Therefore, every time I mentioned that this relationship was perhaps unwise, he would cry and make some vague reference to suicide. WHAT A CATCH!

However, we know that I am no longer going out with him, and I can assure you that he is still very much alive, so SOMETHING SPECTACULAR must have happened to tear us asunder. Here is what that thing was:

SOMEONE spread a rumour that I had spent the night with another male person.

That someone was me.



Saturday, 12 March 2011

My Week

I haven't posted in about eight years. I'm about to tell you why. It's going to be a long post, so get a brew and settle down.

It's been a rubbish week, all things considered...

On Tuesday, as my twitter followers will know, I had an interview for my Masters degree. I wasn't particularly looking forward to it anyway, but the journey there was just a massive farce.

My interview was at half past one, and I planned to get there two and a half hours beforehand. This bit of overplanning was so that I could squeeze in a drink with some friends before my interview. I did not squeeze in a drink, and nor did I see my friends. I was, in fact, LATE.
Basically, without revisiting too many painful details, my first train was cancelled and the one after it was late. I then missed the next two connections because of the fiasco with the first one. I was sat around in Preston train station for about three days knowing that I was going to be late, and I couldn't do anything about it. It was horrendous.

I got there eventually though. And then I had my interview. We won't be speaking of that particular incident though. Ever.


On Wednesday, I was due to have a nasty tooth removed. There was an exposed nerve or something that seemed to have twisted itself around my tooth. To be honest, it was really painful. I wasn't excited about the operation, but I recognised the need for it and resolved to be grown-up about it. Good for me, I thought.
I had waited three and a half months for this appointment, and yet when I got there, I was told that NOT ONLY was I booked in for the wrong treatment but IT WAS ON THE WRONG FUCKING BIT.

That is just... well, it's a staggering example of the state of the NHS really, isn't it? Basically, the consultant thought I was having my wisdom teeth out under a local anaesthetic. When I pointed out this mistake, the consultant MAGICALLY got me an appointment in Day Surgery for the following morning for the operation that I was supposed to have. I think this was because I probably looked like the kind of person who was about to threaten legal action.
The operation that I actually had needed to be done under general anaesthetic because it could be quite traumatic. For that to happen, I had to not eat or drink from midnight on Wednesday, because my appointment was at 7.30AM on Thursday. That might seem boring, but it becomes important in a second.

So, we come to THURSDAY. I arrived at the hospital with my little bag of pyjamas and things at 7.15AM.
At 1.30PM, (THAT'S HALF PAST ONE IN THE AFTERNOON!) I was still sat in a waiting room, waiting for my turn to see the nurse and get into my special operation bed. There was one other person who was also in the same situation, but she would have been quite happy to never ever get her operation done, so she was glad of the wait. Other people, who had been allowed to eat breakfast, kept coming in and getting seen and getting into their special operation bed, BUT NOT ME. No. I had to wait until 2PM.

That wasn't even the worst bit. The worst bit was when I got into the little room where they knock you out before the operation. Apparently, I have the smallest veins that the doctor - who assured me that she had over twenty years of experience - had ever encountered. Because of my small veins, it took five attempts in five different areas to get the needle in. And it hurt. The needle ended up in the fat bit of my forearm, and has caused a bruise that is large and unattractive. There are various bruises now covering my arms and face, but that one is definitely the worst. I won't post a picture.

Now, I know that there are people wandering around with horrible illnesses and stuff that cause them a great amount of discomfort. But toothache definitely seems worse when you are the one suffering from it.
Your arm fell off, did it? Well my tooth hurts, go away.


Thursday, 3 March 2011

What Not To Do

You've probably read last night's blog, and you've probably slept soundly under the impression that the whole thing would just sort itself out. It hasn't, by the way.

Alright, so I looked at the text at 4am. It said,


So I, in a demonstration of real genius, replied:


   I thought I was safe. I had denied the whole thing, and it was 4am. By the time he woke up, there was no way he was going to want to bring it all up again. EASY. I could just go back to being my normal, non-caring self and everything would be fine.
   But that daft sod, who should have been asleep, replied IMMEDIATELY.


   He has taken to calling me 'mate' recently. Boys, eh?
   I then replied:



I don't have a date tomorrow. Or, indeed, ever. Excellent. Let's just PUSH HIM INTO THE ARMS OF OTHER WOMEN. What a brilliant plan. Well done me.


Connection Problems

Get ready to be nearly-interested.

At some point last night I made a mistake SO STUPID that I can hardly believe it happened.

I sent a text ABOUT a person TO that very person.

Then I freaked out and hid my phone under a thing.

Now, as I type, I still haven't looked at my phone. This might seem strange, to those of you who are socially-capable, but in my life it is how we deal with things.

In my current life, there is a boy. Let's call him Fringe. I will let you guess why we're calling him that, although I would hope it was quite obvious. I know him from university, but he lives quite far away. London, in fact.
The ridiculous thing about my relationship with Fringe is that, since we left university, he has made it quite clear that he likes me. This would be fine, were it not for the fact that he had two years of communal living to let me know.

Boys are like that. They won't express their feelings until it is most inconvenient.
In his defence, since he's told me that he likes me, I have been quite stubborn. I don't really want a boyfriend, especially after that last disaster (with Idiot). But at the same time, I don't want Fringe to go out with anyone else. He is allowed to have a life and stuff, but he is not allowed to go and fall in love with anyone. That seems quite reasonable to me.

Recently, however, he has been demonstrating far too much free will and has decided to start seeing people. His first date with a new person was last week. I was not happy. You cannot claim to like someone, and then run off with someone else. Would Jack from Titanic do that? NO HE WOULD NOT.

I've been a bit mean to him since then, although I doubt that he has even noticed. This is another thing that boys do. They ignore the tone of a conversation, and carry on regardless.

Today, I was discussing all of the above with a mutual friend via text message. All was going well. What happened, though, was that - at one point - I decided to go down the 'New Message' route instead of going through the usual 'Reply' procedure. This meant that I had to select the person to whom I was sending the message. BIG MISTAKE.

I wrote this message, or something similar. I can't check, you see, because I am avoiding my phone.


I then sent that message to Fringe.

Two things are making me not want to read his reply.

1. He knows that it is a lie - he has definitely asked me out, and I have definitely said no. He will probably bring this up.

2. He is going to know that I am bothered by his current love life, and assume that it is because I am into him.

Just to clarify, I don't want him to be my boyfriend. But I would like him to carry on trying because one day I might change my mind.

I hope he never reads this. It would be terrible if he knew what I was actually like.