Toasties and… torture?

It has been another blazing week since I last wrote, and people have been enjoying the heat in traditional ways, with BBQ’s and beach visits. I, however, spent my day off paying to be locked in a room with my brother and boyfriend.

That’s right folks, my little brother, who is actually a teenager and isn’t very little, came to stay and I thought we’d go to Manchester for the afternoon and do an escape room.

‘But what does that have to do with the delicious sandwich at the top of this post?’ I hear you ask, even though you probably didn’t. And the answer is absolutely nothing, except that it was my brothers dinner at Northern Soul Grilled Cheese. They do delicious mac and cheese toasties for a fiver, and honestly it was so worth it. Jak’s had pulled pork added to it, whereas mine was in a pot mixed with sriracha, sausage and crispy onions. I think my taste buds had a little food orgasm, it was that good.

Anyway, that was the only photo I took through the whole day as I’m very much a ‘live in the moment’ type of person. So, let’s get back to talking about the escape room.

We booked a room called ‘Captured’ as I wanted to do a scary one. I’m a sucker for horror games and basically being scared. I actually find it interesting that humans seek enjoyment from the thing that most species avoid. You don’t see mice going up to cats for the thrill, or fish pretending to flop about on land for a few seconds. We’re so weird.

We were blindfolded and taken to the room, where a video started playing and we took the blindfolds off. We didn’t get very far after that, though I think we were about half way when the timer ran out. The room was Saw themed, and each time we got a clue the jigsaw laugh played, which got a bit annoying when I was stressed.

I won’t go through all the puzzles, because spoilers, but for one of them you had to pull a rope to lift up these little doors. This was the first thing that went disastrously wrong. I went up to the rope, and started pulling on it, and as far as I knew, it didn’t do anything.  But then, from behind me, Ian said ‘The doors are moving! I think they’re giving us a clue.’

But instead of putting two and two together, I just went over to Ian and watched the doors. They didn’t move again, so I assumed my boyfriend was a nutter and went back to pulling the rope. I heard Ian gasp and say ‘Did you see that?’ So I stopped, checked, and nothing was happening. I went back to pulling the rope, this time frowning and getting a bit frustrated. This went on for a while before Jak noticed what was happening, and informed Ian that I was the one activating the doors.

If Jak wasn’t there, I swear we wouldn’t have got past that first puzzle. Which is actually really bad, considering me and Ian live alone together and might start a family one day.  That is not a day the world will ever be prepared for.

We also broke a puzzle, and the woman had to come down into the room and fetch the key for us. We worked terribly as a team, the boys hopping from one puzzle to the other, and not listening to anything I said. I’m aware that what I say most of the time is pretty stupid, but they could have at least tried my guesses when we were stuck.

Basically, I wanted to kill them both by the end of it, and to make things 100x worse we had to run for the train.

I am not a graceful runner, and I was not in a sports bra. Instead I was in skinny jeans, docs and a low cut top. My boobs were bouncing in pain, almost hitting me in the face. I was also out of breath and sweaty, and then the guys decided that since I couldn’t talk through my panting, they would tease and insult me about the whole ordeal.

Overall, I loved having Jak over to stay, even though we do not work well as a team and I feel like I have discovered that me and Ian are as stupid as each-other. Pray for us.

A Typical Libra

Okay, so in my last post I talked about how I believe basically everything I’m told.

So it goes without saying, I’m one of those people who believes in Star signs. Every morning I wake up and check my horoscope on Snapchat before getting out of bed.

Sometimes I wonder if that’s a little too kooky or superstitious. I mean, if I had a nicer body and less of an appetite for pizza I would totally be a nudist. Alas, I will always be stumpy  and slightly chubby, and I doubt I will ever love colourful clothes, or flowers. So really, I’m quite far away from going full-on hippie.

It’s not like I believe in Horoscopes either, because apparently I will meet my soul mate every week, and have the opportunity for a promotion every other day. That’s a whole lot of men destined to be with me, and I’m 90% sure you can only be promoted three times at Maccies.

No, I believe in Star Signs. I am a Libra. At times, I think the high bloke who wrote the online zodiac descriptions knows me better than I do. I wish I knew his name, so I could send him an email with all my life problems, and he could give me some advice from beyond the stars.

A Libra’s strengths are:

‘Cooperative,diplomatic, gracious, fair-minded, social.’

Wow, we were doing so well up until the social bit. I think we’ll just ignore that, and focus purely on the fact that I annoy a lot of people by being diplomatic. If you come to me ranting about someone, prepare to also rant at me for trying to defend them.

A Libra’s weaknesses are:

‘Indecisive, avoids confrontations, will carry a grudge, self-pity.’

Once again, this is pretty close. I am far too lazy to carry a grudge though. It takes too much energy and most of the time I forget why I’m being grumpy with someone. To me, my worst trait is definitely being indecisive. There is too much food in the world for me to pick what we have for dinner.

A Libra’s likes are:

‘Harmony, gentleness, sharing with others, the outdoors.’

I never thought I was an outdoors person until I moved away from Cumbria, it only took a few days for me to miss the silence and fields and even the sheep. I also get very stress if there’s tension in the air, so I guess the harmony part is very true.

A Libra’s dislikes  are:

‘Violence, injustice, loudmouths, conformity.’

Out of all of the points, this is the one that is spot on. I don’t understand how people can even physically be violent. I hate Spiders, but I would never kill one, so it’s beyond me how anybody could punch another person. Also I’m not a vegetarian, so maybe this point makes me a bit of a hypocrite because animals die so I can eat? But I’m pretty sure a cow would eat me too if it got the chance, I can see it in their eyes.

Those are just a few of the points I wanted to share because I’m honestly addicted to the zodiac signs, but going through the whole thing would take all day and would also be very boring for you.

In fact, I believe in them so much, I even got a tattoo of my elemental symbol: air. I would have got the Libra sign, but let’s be real, nobody wants a tattoo of some shabby scales.

Being a slave to Youtube

Guess who’s only got one year left of university before they’re plunged into proper adulthood? (Me!)

And guess who’s university just emailed them, telling them to start a ‘career plan.’ (Me..)

Guess who has no idea what they want to do with their life despite being 21.  (Cries into a bucket of ice cream. Me.) 

All I want is a job that allows me to sleep in, stay at home and have fun. I’m slowly coming to the realisation that’s not how life works, and my way of coping is watching lots of Youtube. Which is fine. I’m not drinking or doing drugs, I am just splurged over the bed watching pointless rubbish.

Turns out, this is pretty bad for me. Not because it’s killing my brain cells and leaving me as a beached whale,. covered in the remains of biscuits and broken dreams.

My Mum likes to call me ‘easily influenced.’  I like to think I’m just adaptable.

Youtube and my personality do not mix well for a few reasons. The first is that I am rapidly losing money thanks to beauty videos.

If I look up hair tutorials, I will buy the product the person recommends no matter the price. Then, even if it doesn’t work, I recommend the product to other people. It was only the other day that I was telling my Mum she needed silk pillows made with 98% Egyptian silk, woven together by the finest Sphinx in Europe.

The same applies with make up, a 12 year old could tell me to spend £75 on a foundation that covers freckles and I would be ordering it within 8 seconds. (This is also a problem whenever I pop into Lush for one bath bomb. Thanks to the helpful staff I come out with 6 bombs, 3 face creams, 2 bars of soap and some sort of scrub that smells great but I have no idea when I’ll use it.)

The second reason Youtube is bad for me is that I also pick up other people’s traits. I have a friend back home who likes to slam his finger on the table whenever he’s making a point he’s passionate about. I do it too.

Despite living as far North as you can get for most of my life, I have picked up my Mum’s southern accent (which happens to be the bane of my existence.)

I have a Yorkshire friend so somehow ‘Reet’ and ‘Aye’ have become part of my vocabulary.

It’s a never ending list really. But now, I have started to pick up the traits of Youtubers. Why am I like this? I will use two examples from the most popular Youtubers I watch.

Zoella has a tendency of saying ‘I don’t know- I just…’ an awful lot. And now so do I.

Dan Howell seems to say ‘Yass’ and ‘Yeah boiii’ a lot. Personally I hate the fact I picked this up. Get a grip, Lucie.

In conclusion, I have decided that I am Youtube’s prime target audience. I am basically a slave to every Youtuber out there, and I am still no closer to picking a career.

So, if you’re reading this, please send help.

 

My reign of terror

I thought I’d start this post wishing good luck to the lads who are kicking around an inflatable orb of air, for the honour of our country. I was going to make this post all about football, but as you can see, I know absolutely nothing about it.

So, moving onto a topic that I’m all to familiar with:

Clumsiness.

Now, I’m not talking about the cute type of clumsiness that people find attractive. I am not occasionally tripping over my feet or stubbing my toe. My clumsiness is something else.

People used to tell me that it was just my hormones, and I’d grow out of it. Alas, with age it has only got worse. It has manifested from a little flaw into something that is controlling my life and transforming me into a walking disaster that should be avoided at all costs.

Just this week I have fallen flat on my bum in public twice. Luckily I was wearing sunglasses that could disguise my shame. It’s like when I put sunglasses on I feel like I’m a fabulous celebrity and nothing can damage my ego. Then when I take them off, my ego disappears altogether and I’m left in a pit of self-doubt. (Fun times.)

I also managed to spill Coke all over some poor, innocent stranger. Basically, McDonald’s has introduced table service (which has made me a very salty person.) I was in a rush to give the tray to the man, and I must have let go before he had hold of it. I watched it fall like it was in slow motion, twisting in the air, and splashing onto the seat. Next thing I know, he was covered in Coke, his food was covered in Coke, and his best friend was sat laughing like a maniac. I apologised at least ten times, but this stranger was kind enough to laugh it off. The whole ideal is still giving me nightmares.

I broke my sofa bed. Ian and I got it out to watch Jurassic World and have plenty of space for blankets, beers and snacks. Then Ian tried to tickle me, my body spasmed and the entire bed just split in half. I think Ian learnt his lesson after he spent an hour fixing it.

And to top off all of that, I broke Ian’s mug. Whilst that may not seem like the end of the world, he had grown an attachment to that mug. It was his only mug for 6 years (Kinda gross) and it had come all the way from Germany. It was one of a kind, and my arse knocked it straight off the table and it smashed on the floor. The horror in his face was hilarious  so sad. Luckily, it was just the handle that smashed so we can still keep it, watching over us from cup heaven.

I’d just like to point out, if you’re annoyed at a clumsy person for making a mess or breaking something, just think. It’s probably worse for them. They have to live with the havoc they cause, you just happen to be a bystander who got in the way.

Problems with being a curvy girl in a heatwave.

Thanks to Twitter, the whole world knows that the UK is feeling the power of the sun for the first time in forever.

With an average temperature of 25 degrees, us Brits don’t know how to cope. Water companies are struggling, hosepipes have been banned and the constant complaining will continue for the next fortnight if the BBC’s predictions are right.

Let’s face it, the only weather this country is ready for, is rain. If it’s hot, we shut down and if it snows, we shut down.

But I feel like my battle against the sun is justified for two reasons:

  1. I am ginger, which means if I leave the house without layers of sun-cream I will become Darth Mauls adopted cousin. And if I do leave the house with protection, my freckles will decide to flourish and I have way too many of them for that to be a good look.
  2. I am a ‘curvy’ lass.

I’m a size 12-14, which I think is an awesome size to be, unless it’s hot.

Being this size means I have big boobs. Which I mostly appreciate because it means when I wear a low cut top I don’t get ID’d, but it also means they sweat a lot. The underboob seems to be the ultimate sweat hot-spot. And if that’s not gross enough, it means I’m forced to wear low cut tops to try and air them out. Which automatically makes people look at my chest, and leaves me feeling self-conscious.

I also have a big bum, which I actually hate with a passion. And it’s not because it looks bad, because I know people have operations and dream of having a bum like Kim K. I think it looks decent, but it’s so impractical. At work I accidentally knock things off of shelves, when I’m in crowded spaces it feels like I’m pushing into people when I’m trying to move between them and I can not wear short shorts without half of my arse hanging out. In this weather, I have to wear shorts (I’m a Tomboy, no way would I touch a skirt) which means my arse has free reign to the wind. Now, I’ve already talked about the low cut tops I have to wear, now imagine a short girl, showing boobs, legs and bum. It looks like I’m dressing for attention, but I’m not. I JUST SWEAT TOO MUCH.

And that leaves my legs. I have large thighs, which are probably the part of my body I’m most self-conscious about. I have to admit, if it wasn’t for the heat, I wouldn’t shave simply because I’m lazy and nobody ever see’s my stumps of legs. But having large thighs also means, more sweat. So I sit somewhere, and my legs kind of inflate as they always do when I sit down. If I’m sat there more than five minutes I will leave a huge patch of leg juice on the chair, which is v embarrassing. Not only that, but I end up with a huge rash on my thighs from where they’ve been rubbing together. And yes, there may be cream to help with that, but add that to shaving and that’s another 45 minutes added to my day just so I don’t overheat.

But despite these problems, I went home to explore the lakes and enjoy the sun. Even though the lakes aren’t actually lakes and I burnt the sausages on the BBQ, I loved the weekend and I couldn’t have been able to do it without the burning ball of gas in the sky. So thank you sun, you hot orb.

PS: The photo at the top is an old one, my hair is no longer blue.

Love Island is back and I have some thoughts

Okay, so when I started this blog I set myself three rules:

  1. No political posts.
  2. No posting anything too serious.
  3. Don’t post anything that I would roll my eyes at…

…Aaand I’m already breaking two of those rules, because self-restraint is not one of my best traits.

Unless you live in a cave on Mars, you will know that Love Island is back, and it’s all the internet can talk about. I personally have no problem with the show, I mean damn, those people are hot and I love a bit of drama.

But what I do have a problem with is the normality of it.  Random people are forced to live together on an island, sleep with each other and the entire concept is based around who’s bonking who?

And that’s normal, because in today’s society people have multiple sex partners. People sit in coffee shops saying ‘Guess who I got back with last night?’ or sit sipping cocktails, giving advice on the best angles for a nude. And to back up my point, I just read Cosmo’s story: ‘This is what your recurring sexual fantasy really says about you.’

Not that there’s anything wrong with that, people deserve to live the way they want. It’s just strange to me, and it makes me doubt myself.

Now bare with me on this, because I’ve been thinking about it a lot recently. Love Island, Big Brother, they’re all a dramatised reflection of how our society behaves. And so, everybody I meet seems to be confused by me.

This is because I am living a Disney style relationship. My boyfriend and I got together when we were 17. It was/is our first relationship and we’ve been together four years, which apparently, is a ridiculously long time for people our age. And every time I meet someone new, they always say:

‘God, that’s such a long time.’ And then, as if reading off a script, I reply with:

‘Yeah, doesn’t feel like it though.’ And they almost always reply with:

‘But doesn’t the commitment scare you? How do you know he’s any good if you haven’t been with someone else?’

My brain then goes into anxious mode, and makes me question every part of my life. It makes me question my happy, healthy relationship because people believe that love never lasts. It’s like we’ve been taught by a generation of divorced parents, a sex-obsessed media and a bunch of sad movies that there’s no such thing as a happy ending. But I’m living proof that there is.

Just because I haven’t tried Baked Alaska doesn’t mean that I don’t love Chocolate Brownie. (Yes, I am a crazy woman comparing ice cream to sex. I have reached that point in my life. Mourn me.)

And I know I’m lucky to have my first relationship last, and most people don’t get that chance. But the truth is, I got to know Ian for months before I slept with him.  And despite all these reality shows, I believe that sex shouldn’t be rushed into  and you should only have it with someone you truly love, rather than with someone you’ve only met for a few days. That’s what makes a relationship healthy.

Like I said in my first post, I really have no clue what I’m talking about, which is why I wanted to sway away from serious topics.

But let me know what you think by leaving a comment below.

Is my hometown even real?

I grew up in a tiny village in The Lake District. For those who don’t know, The Lake District is a beautiful place where people pay ridiculous prices to go and stay in a cabin, or where the rich people go to retire. Either way, people don’t stay long.

Sometimes when I go home, I laugh at how much the place is like a fantasy novel, and I love it. It’s like it’s stuck in time, always a little bit behind the rest of the world. So, without further ado, here is the list I’ve made over the last few weeks:

Reasons why The Lake District is some sort of Fantasy Land

  • Carlisle is literally nick-named ‘City of the Lakes.’  Even though there are no lakes in the city? Misleading but magical.
  • In one of the villages I lived in, there is a beck leading to a river. Kids splash and play in the beck all summer, and the road even goes into the river. How many children can say their parents drove through a river on the way to school?
  • Down the road from where I live, there is an Ice Cream Farm. That’s right folks, we get ice cream straight from the cows udder. There’s a place where you can pet the calves and there’s even fake cows for you to sit on while you enjoy your ice cream. I always thank the cows for the deliciousness they’ve provided. (The real ones, not the fake ones. You numpties.)
  • There is a man in the town centre who goes by the name ‘Tatty Tim.’ I’m not even going to explain that one.
  • There is also a man so famous that our town wanted to name the Wetherspoon’s after him. I’m not entirely sure who he is or why he’s so legendary, but where you at Rowland?
  • Buses? Pfft, who needs them? There is one bus trip a week from my village, and if you get on it, you better know when it’s due to come back. Otherwise you’ll be camping there for the week. You may also have to pick a fight with the elderly if you want a seat, and NEVER sit in ‘Margaret’s’ seat, even if she’s not there. The others will batter you.
  • The biggest event of the year by far is Appleby Horse fair, where the population of 3,000 increases to 30,000 as travellers from across come together to trade horses. They literally come to celebrate horses, wash horses in the river, and leave again. I get it’s traditional, but outside of Cumbria it does seem a little strange.
  • There is a marmalade festival. I kid you not. There is an entire festival, where people stick pictures of oranges everywhere and sell marmalade? What even?

So that’s my list so far, no doubt it’ll keep getting bigger the more I travel home. But for now, Netflix is calling my name.