Site has been changed!

So I am very aware that this address is silly to remember and awkward to type out. I have therefore decided to rename the url for my blog which means I have moved!!

All posts on this blog have been moved over to the new site. But this one will no longer be updated.

Please check out my new site here.

HAPPY RED NOSE DAY!! Lisa's search for a red nose.

Happy Red Nose Day to the whole world!! This is by far my favourite day of my whole 'fortyearly' life!! As a way of celebrating I shall be updating the blog as the day progresses. Awesomeness in a bag is this day!!

08:55
Just got into work and LOVED the amount of people I saw walking the streets in either their pyjamas or some form of red garment. I too have donned my red top and am revelling in the marvelousness of this day. When I just stop to think for even a tiny moment about how much money is going to be raised tonight... this day is awesome and people's lives are going to change!!

Oh and I have not been able to find me a red nose so far... I'm very aware that I am running out of time and can't see a way of getting one before tonight given that I'm working all day...

Mini challenge ACCEPTED!!
I shall find a red nose before the day is out, even if it kills me.

Until later, peace out.
I love you.


10:15
Challenge not going so well so far. I have discovered there is a Sainsburys near my work place, however it is a car journey away and I have no car... This is proving to be problematic.

I will not be disheartened though! I shall find me a fellow red nose day lover who does own a car and appeal to their charitable side, after all it should be in full flow on today, our most charitable of days!

Other than that, I am pouring comic relief love onto everyone around me. People are starting to get excited about this day as well. Hazaah!!!!

Speak soon

I love you.

12:00
What are the chances?? I have just spoken to three people in a row about how I am desperate for a red nose, each and every one of them have said to me 'Oh I wish you'd come to me sooner, I've just come back from a Sainsbury's.' WHAT THE HELL?? Has there been some kind of partay down at Sainsburys that I have not been aware of?

Only have 7 more hours to go until I have run out of time. My mind is starting to run through ideas of what I could do if I do not succeed. Must find some way of doing it however that still means raising money for Comic Relief... I'm thinking possibly using red lipstick on people and getting them to pay to kiss me on the nose until my nose is fully red... not too sure how appealing that may be to people.

14:06
I feel like I'm failing Comic Relief. Alas my day has become all busy and I have had no time to do anything worth blogging about. Not quite sure what I hope to achieve by adding this entry to my post.

16:45
Some might see it as a failure on my part but I do not! I see it as a chance. A chance to be inventive and exciting. I have admitted defeat in the buying of a red nose and have opted for making my own one.

It will be a thing of beauty. Just watch this space.

19:00
It's started!!!!

My food is ready.


My duvet is on my sofa.


And I'm ready to go.

20:20
I made my own nose!! Will have to donate via my red button instead...


Watching second part of Masterchef right now! Love Miranda and Claudia together!

Speak soon
I love you.

21:18
Take That have just performed. Sounded very Robbie Williams inspired.

I wonder if Davina will kiss Dermott as well...
(oh and FYI, Doctor Who was amazing. New series is so close I can almost taste it!!)

21:24
Holy crap. I've just watched a video on a hospital having to sacrifice one child out of four due to there being a lack of equipment to save them all. How does someone make that decision? How can you even imagine such a thing? And the illness that child will die of is a completely preventable disease!!

Donate now through the Red Nose Day Website.

21:43
Just watched the music video done by Peter Kay.

I am not a fan of Peter Kay at all but that video was HILARIOUS!! I feel like I now know him so well.

10:35
Choir of chefs singing out of tune... horrible. *Shudders uncontrollably.* That blonde one blatantly given the solo for the way she looked rather than her actually being able to sing!! ... Stating the obvious? Pretty much. HIDEOUS.

10:50
Today Smithy from Gavin and Stacey has come back and just did the mother of all sketches as he debated with famous people on who should go to Africa and do a video. There were so many famous people, HUGE people there. It was the most immense video clip I have ever seen. If you don't do anything else in this life, click on youtube and search for the Smithy sketch on Red Nose Day 2011. It will change your life.

I love you.

My body's trying to kill me.

You may have heard me before talk about my body as if it is something separate to me. I do this, not because I am crazy, but because I swear the thing has a life of it's own...

...

... Okay. So I realise that is something a crazy person would say but hear me out and make your own decision.

Every so often, when things are going fine in my life, or my mind has been distracted with other things, my body decides that for no apparent reason it is going to kick up a hissy fit and become broken. On these occasions there is usually no reason for why it does this, I have done nothing to upset it, I have behaved exactly as I normally do, but it will decide that right at that moment it just wants to fall apart. And let me tell you, when it does this, it refuses to do it quietly.

For those of you who are now imagining myself with limbs falling off and bones protruding out of my skin, you can relax. This is not the way my body likes to malfunction. It usually goes for the outwardly more subtle approach whilst inwardly I might as well be dying.

An example of when this has happened was only a month ago. I work in a hospital and on this particular day I was standing in the A&E with a friend from work. Literally just standing there. No movement was being made on my part.

I was talking to this friend when my bag fell off my shoulder. Not wanting it to fall to the floor I did the logical thing and lifted it back up onto my shoulder again. I should have known better. I should have guessed that logic does not apply when my body has not had attention in a while. My brain was busy elsewhere with work related things and my body decided at that moment that enough was enough. So when I moved the mere centimetres it took to put my bag back on my shoulder again my body decided to send a shooting pain down my arm.

It was a feeling not unlike cramp and at the time that was what I thought it was. I stretched my arm and tried to massage the pain out with my amazing self taught massage abilities. However the pain stayed put and no amount of stretching was doing it any good. It was at this point that I began to get suspicious. I could recognise one of my body's frantic grasps for attention when I saw one. I kept a close eye on the arm, waved goodbye (with the other arm) to my work pal and started to make my way home.

I had a relatively uneventful journey home and it wasn't until I had to get off the train that I remembered my arm had been playing up at all. Of course my body knew this and wasn't going to let me off lightly. Instead when I went to put my bag on my shoulder again as I stood up to leave the train, it sent a shooting pain unlike anything I have ever felt, down my arm and froze it so that I could barely lift it higher than my waist.

I don't know if anyone reading this has ever had the experience of being wedged in between two sweaty business men on a rush hour train and finding yourself suddenly completely overwhelmed with urge to scream that you feel you might explode, but let me tell you, it's not nice. It's not nice for you, it's not nice for the woman whose face is inches from your purple one, and it's not nice for the sweaty business man's shoulder you have just sunk your teeth into to stop yourself from making a noise.

I somehow in some way managed to get out of there and make it home. However once that door was shut, I was no longer the quiet little British girl who would suppress her pain until her eyes popped out to stop herself from making a scene. No, in this house, in my beautiful little maisonette, well I'm pretty sure the neighbours assumed I was being murdered that night. Slowly. Through torture (Side note: A little upset no one came to check that this wasn't actually the case, although not surprised due to all of them being British as well).

So it turned out that my arm could not physically be moved. For no apparent reason it had just stopped working. However because I knew my body well and was used to these little temper tantrums it would have for the attention it so desperately craved, I chose to ignore it the best I could. My reasons for this are simple. If past experiences had taught me anything, my body would eventually get bored of hurting me and as quickly as the pain had come, it would go again. I would just have to wait it out.

So I did for the next two days. This was not easy, you do not realise how much you use something when suddenly it no longer works. Washing my hair was interesting, it involved a lot of bending my head down to my hand so that I could rub the shampoo in. I developed a whole new way of putting on a coat and simple moves like opening a door looked like a dance move as I would have to lift my whole body up so that I could reach the door handle. The worst moments of all though were when I had forgotten about the arm and instinctively lifted it. On the second night, one of those led to a particularly interesting screaming match with myself in the mirror where I said some very hurtful things about myself.

I bit the bullet on day 3 and decided the body had won. As I hadn't registered with a GP yet I had to sit around in my local A&E (for the second time in as many months but that's another story for another time) for hours so that they could give me something for the pain. The doctor, on seeing me, told me that I had pulled a muscle and that it would take a week of popping pills and doing exercises before it would start to feel better. She then went on to say that if after a week it hadn't eased then I would need to see a Physiotherapist and so on and so forth.

I left the A&E feeling a little bad that I had blamed my body for this as it seemed to have been a genuine injury and promised it that I would have a little bit more faith in it next time.

That sneaky freakin body knew was it was doing though. The next morning I woke up, ready to start my intensive regime of therapy and suddenly, without any reason, the pain was gone. My body had got what it had wanted, it had had a trip to the A&E and all the attention it could ever desire from the doctor. It was satisfied so it decided to take the illogical pain away.

If you said I was crazy at the beginning, you must see now that I speak the truth. It's like a needy little kid that whines to you until your within a inch of you're sanity and give in to it's demands then it runs off with a smug little smile on it's face.

Theories on how to put it in it's place would be much appreciated.

Tis a grey area...

So yesterday I had plans to leave the house and see people but somehow they all seemed to fall apart. This was in part down to my body, when I wanted to make my body move and get out of my Pyjama's, it simply didn't want to comply. Instead it sat on my sofa stubbornly, insisting that it was tired, even though when I had tried to have a lie in earlier, it kept on reminding me that it wanted to be awake and sleep wasn't in it's plans.

Now if my brain had been more active it would have kicked my body into gear and told it that it was time to move. However my brain was being distracted by the world of the internet and the geek part of the brain kept on telling the reasonable 'we must see the sun at some point' part of the brain that we would get ready after one more video. However one video would always have links to another video which would then make reference to another video and you can see my dilemma.

It's my fault really. I had let the geek side out and take over in full force the day earlier during the Doctor Who Experience and so it was still clinging on to the dominant part of my brain and refusing to let go. This was proved even more as when I did finally run out of videos I wanted to see, I was suddenly completely overcome with the urge to watch Christopher Eccleston's series of Doctor Who. All in all, my chance of seeing the sunlight and actually talking to real life people seemed pretty dim as the day progressed.

When it got to about 4pm and I had just finished a whole family sized bag of Dorito's with Salad Cream (yum) and felt the familiar sensation in my legs that can only be associated with keeping them in one crawled up position for a large amount of time, I tried to reason with my brain and coax it into letting me leave the house. I must add that by this point, my body had changed it's mind about being tired and insisted that it would move around the flat aimlessly if I didn't let it out.

I told the geek side of my brain that I would feel completely wasted if I didn't at least have some small thing I had achieved on this day. My brain's answer to this was, 'Okay, put some clothes in the washing machine.' I was surprisingly satisfied with this task as it showed me being grown up and responsible on my lazy day. I did this with my head held high and a little smug smile on my face.

When I sat back down again after grabbing a Cornetto to award myself, (I snack a lot when I don't have anything else to do) I started back in on the Youtube/Facebook/Twitter/Blogspot saga that had become my reason for existing in that day.

However, at 6:45pm when I should have been dressed and leaving the house for the second time that day, I quickly realised that this wasn't going to happen either. I questioned the anti social behaviour I was displaying, forfeiting real life conversation for videos of guys called Charlie drinking a bottle of Ketchup. I wondered if this was a good road to be travelling down, especially as I lived in my house all alone, and whether this meant that I would soon be subject to a life of hermithood where I referred to my computer as my best friend and would shield my eyes from any natural light.

You'll be pleased to know that I justified my way out of this one as well through the powers of my geek brain. It reminded me that not only had I spent all day yesterday with at least four other different people (score, I'm cool), but that also I wasn't being anti-social at all, I was socialising with people, just on the internet instead of real life.

I had left some comments, I had watched my Doctor Who video climb from 8 views to 53 views in the space of one day (ten of those may just have been me watching it again). I had talked to people on Facebook, Twitter and I had text two whole people with my Mobile Phone device. I then concluded that if I had actually left the house I wouldn't have spoken to nearly as many people! Therefore I had chosen the more sociable option after all! Hazaah!

Doctor Who is talking about it? Lisa is.
The last thing that I decided on yesterday is simple. I'm a writer, it's what I do with every free time I have, (yesterday excluded) so naturally I steer towards writing my thoughts rather than speaking them out in Vlog form which is what so many other people have been doing. However I can't ignore the natural pull internet goers tend to have towards the visual rather than the reading. Due to this I have decided the following. All my blogs will stay in typed format with a photo or two to make it easier on the eye. However I will be starting a Doctor Who series via Vlog. This is predominantly designed for when the new series starts and I will then discuss it afterwards (I appreciate how geeky that sounds and I'm okay with it). This can be open for discussion afterwards through comments or videos of your own. Hopefully it will be entertaining but I'm not promising anything as me alone with a camera is not something that has worked too well in the past! If it sucks, let me know and we can revisit the idea.

Other than that... peace out.

I went to see the doctor today. Doctor who? I hear you ask? Exactly.

Lisa Harries would like to apologise for the future blog. It is entirely Doctor Who geek based. If you are not interested in such things (for reasons that I simply can't fathom) then sorry I'm so focused on something that you don't understand, but trust me, the whole thing should be part of your life. There is a video if you don't feel like reading about Doctor Who, it can be found at the bottom. Next blog will be more generally based I promise. (Oh and the first bit isn't Doctor Who just in case you want to read something.)

Today has been a pretty darn awesome day. It has been one that I have been waiting for since Christmas and I was not let down. Today myself and my younger brother Daniel went to the Doctor Who Experience in Kensington. It. Was. Awesome.

Now there is a video below highlighting the exciting times that were had on this day. But there were a few moments that were not captured on camera. I shall inform you of them now.

I woke up nice and early at 7 and did my morning 'pre-outing' photo, summing up all that I was to experience on this day.




Yes that is a Doctor Who calendar and yes I am that cool.

The non Doctor Who bit.
I quickly got myself all totted up to fight time and space and promptly left the house (I say promptly, actually I left ridiculously early as is my custom when I'm stupidly excited about something and can't wait to get there).

My journey up there was not without it's moments, I had a rather bizarre moment as I walked to the bus stop and noticed a young pregnant woman in her thirties walking in the opposite direction. It wasn't until I got closer that I realised that, not only was this woman not pregnant but that this woman was in fact a man. Yes I had confused a rather chubby looking man (with a beard on closer inspection) to be a woman. I automatically felt wracked with guilt that I could have been so wrong and made the decision to avert my eyes from his as I walked past. I think it worked, by doing so he didn't seem to suspect a thing.

The second confusing moment of my journey was whilst I was waiting for the bus to arrive. An elderly Chinese man arrived at the bus stop, he waited for about five minutes before tutting to himself and sticking his head out into the road to see if he could catch a bus on the horizon. So far, this is perfectly normal, in fact I am myself guilty of this action at least five times per bus stop visit. What happened next was the part that left me confused. After searching the horizon to find the bus and realising that there was none arriving, he promptly turned to face me and gave me the most murderous glare I think I've ever been subject too. It almost was as if he was blaming me for the whole bus situation! As is custom to me, my natural instinct was to automatically go through any possibility where this could have been my fault but I came up empty so I decided that I should probably just pretend it hadn't happened. (I did wonder if perhaps he had somehow discovered my internal mistake earlier with the pregnant woman/chubby man scenario but decided that I would have to accept he had super powers in order to go with that theory and I was far to excited about where I was going to pursue that thought any further.)

The rest of the journey was uneventful other than my ipod deciding to play "Teenage Dirtbag" from Wheatus on the tube which made my day as I hadn't listened to that tune since I was 13. Oh and a couple who decided to sit on each other next to me on the tube and kiss passionately for the majority of the journey which made me feel a little less than comfortable, especially when the action caused them to rub up against me at one point.

Other than that I arrived about an hour early and sat around impatiently, waiting for my excitement to begin.

The Doctor Who bit
The majority of my geekdom at being in the presence of so many Doctor Who artifacts is evident in the video below but there were a few areas where cameras weren't allowed that simply made my day and I fear I might self-combust if I don't at least share them with you in word form.

The 'experience' part of the Doctor Who magic was the section where we were not allowed to film. It consisted of watching the highlights of the last series on a wall that had (something that I noticed the moment I arrived) a large crack running through it. The highlights ended by lighting up the crack and the wall split open at that point to show the library from 'Silence in the Library' and 'Forest of the Dead'(from season 4).

Doctor Who suddenly appears through the screens after being locked into the Pandorica for a second time. Then the single most amazing moment of my life happened as, as if out of nowhere, the TARDIS appeared and the door opened. Yes that's right ladies and gents, I got to walk into the doors of the TARDIS and I can tell you now it is bigger on the inside, I've seen it with my own eyes.

Not only that, but once I was in, I got to navigate the TARDIS!! Daniel (the younger brother) did get a little rubbish at this point and kept on reminding me that I was not a child like so many of the kids who were experiencing Doctor Who with me and that apparently, according to his logic, they had first dibs on using the TARDIS navigation tools over me. I failed to see how he could come to this conclusion as everyone knows that the TARDIS is in fact a very complex and grown up piece of equipment and so if the Doctor was going to entrust anyone with it, it would be the older and wiser people in the group. He then went into how I was taking this too seriously and pointed out that the eight year olds didn't seem to be as excited about all of this as I was. Of course they wouldn't be, I mean they're eight, what are the chances that they fully understand the laws of time and space?

There was some fighting with the Daleks and Cybermen and then a walk through the forest of the stone angels (I reminded Daniel on several occasions not to blink but also not to look them in the eye, I'm pretty sure that that is why we are both still alive). We did all of this and after a particularly thrilling 3D experience we rescued the Doctor from the Pandorica and saved the world. Not bad for a single days work.

Then we got to see all the outfits of the previous doctors as well as see all of the different enemies he has had. Here is a picture of the Face of Boe telling me the secret of the universe.



The rest is in the video below. Enjoy!!

I think I have acidic armpits

I bought this amazing cream jumper from Jane Norman in November, it's beautiful and warm and yummy. I wore it a total of three times and I was as happy as a clam. After I moved, I wore it for a fourth time and suddenly my world was turned upside down as I went to yawn and discovered this.



A hole!!

I was sad. In fact I was near on depressed. I mean this jumper had been my interview jumper for the job I now work in. It had lived such a short life but it had already served me so well.

It was when I wore the darker jumper I had also bought from Jane Norman a mere week later that I started to really fret because, even without sleeves it had somehow been ripped and had suffered the same fate.



Although this saddened me deeply, I placed it with my other jumper and assumed it was a Jane Norman thing. One day, when I was truly grown up, I would be able to go back to those jumpers and sew them back up. But until then, I would have to settle for a simple memorial service most weekends where I would take them out of the drawer, hold them up in front of me, and sigh.

This week, I went from being accepting of what had happened to being downright outraged. I pulled out one of my favourite (non Jane Norman) jumpers, put it on, went to work, yawned and saw this!!



It's an epidemic!! My clothes are disintegrating and all in one place, under my armpits! It can only mean one thing. My armpits must be secreting some acid like substance which is leaking into my clothes and causing holes to appear. It's the only explanation that I can think of and I'm sure you'd agree.

This would be all well and good but as I mentioned before I am not far enough into my independent woman experience to know how to sew up holes and breakages in clothes. I don't even own a sewing kit... I have a cross stitch that I'm working on but if I use those threads then I'll never finish Tutankhamun's head.



But if my acidic armpits continue to strike then I will soon have no clothes left and that simply won't do. So I am asking people, if you happen to have either one of the following you will be helping a rather confused woman out.

A: A sewing kit that you are happy to give away (for free, I could pay you in hugs perhaps?)

B: A cure for the acidic armpit. Be it in tablet form, injection form or liquid form, I'm not fussy in fact I'm desperate.

or

C: A fashion line you are able to make instantly famous which includes holes in the armpits of garments as its main feature.

Of course the other alternative is that I simply never get tired again and so never have the need to yawn and expose my gaping armpit holes. I'll probably just go with that option, I'm already partially addicted to caffeine anyway, might as well go the whole hog.

A woman who is prone to (L)OCD's

I would like to add a disclaimer to the following blog: Due to me not actually having been diagnosed with the following issue, it is purely my own observations and kick ass thoughts that lead me to believe it is true. I will leave you to come up with your own theories. As I am not a doctor I will change OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder) to LOCD (Lisa's Obsessive Compulsive Disorder) which is what I have personally diagnosed me as having in my capacity as a real life person.

I have a little problem with LOCD. I have had since I was 14 and sat in a caravan with three friends whilst watching Tim Henman lose once more in Wimbledon. It was bizarre the way it came about but basically I was sitting there, my friend Lauren turned the volume up to 33 and suddenly I became overwhelmed in a flurry of emotions and asked (or demanded, I can't remember due to the long period of time since then) that it be changed to either 32 or 34. The moment Lauren changed it I felt a lot better and that started the period of my life that was forever governed by even numbers.



This was a rather awkward period of my life and it lasted in it's extreme for about 8 years. Literally EVERYTHING had to be done in even numbers,

Eating: I would always eat my crisps in two's and if there was one crisp left at the end then I wouldn't finish it. Burgers were eaten only in even bites. Gum if offered would have to be given to me in two's or, if I didn't know the person well enough to ask for that, then I would simply break the gum in half and eat it that way. NB Now, although I no longer eat gum in two's I still break them in half out of habit.

Volume/Temperature: Anything that was measured with a number to indicate how high it was must be put to an even number, even better if I could get all numbers even; EG: 42 instead of 32. NB Now, this is still exactly the same. It just plain creeps me out being any other way!

Drains: I couldn't walk over one or three drains, only ever two or in those rare occasions 4. NB: Out of habit I still do this without thinking however I have developed enough as a person now that if I am thinking about it then I get a little rush by walking over three drains like I'm doing something I wouldn't normally do and therefore pushing my boundaries!!

There were others but I think you get the gist. Basically even = good, odd = bad.

Out of the birth of such a silly little LOCD came a lot more interesting ones that I have picked up on. I would like to stress that these do not make me 'slightly insane' or 'bizarre' or 'not quite there' as some people have said in the past. I just simply work by the theory that if you do something a certain way and enjoyed it that way then why not do it that way all the time?

An example of this is one that I have picked up in the past couple of months in my little maisonette. The way my home is put together, the moment you come into the house you're confronted with stairs that take you up to the second floor where all my rooms are. There is a light switch at the bottom of these stairs for the downstairs light and two light switches at the top for upstairs and downstairs. My biggest rule in the house is this, upon arriving home of an evening, the two light switches at the top of the stairs must be facing the same way once I turn the light out to the corridor.

Confused? I thought so, so here's a photographic aid:

A good example of the light switches.



A bad example of the light switches.



I don't think I am asking for much for this to be done. And sure it means that I have had to sit down and work out what position they should be in in order for it to work when I leave the house. And yes it has meant that on more than one occasion I have had to feel my way down the hazardous stairs in the dark to rectify the situation if they have somehow managed to come out of sync. But look at how beautiful they look the right way up!

There are more LOCD's I am guilty for but I shall leave them for another time.

I fell over today

It wasn't a graceful stumble or even an embarrassing unbalance. No. It was the kind of falling over that you did when you were five and you spotted the last free swing on the other side of the park so made a run for it with such momentum that your body seemed to end up going faster than your legs and before you knew it, you're face down in the wooden chipped floor with grazed knees, bark in your hair and an overflow of tears brimming to the surface of your eyes. That was the kind of fall I had.

I even grazed my knees like a proper five year old.



I wasn't even doing anything fun like a child does. There were no swings involved. no climbing frame to be seen. Not even a see saw! I wasn't running or skipping. I was just walking home.

I was walking down the hill from the train station after picking up my shopping of milk, soap and deodorant. I had my ipod on and I was listening to the Burlesque soundtrack, once again imagining a world where I had a voice like Christina's. I had also begun writing today's blog in my head and was going through the finer points of how I would put my ongoing musings into words. I was defenseless, innocent and being completely responsible and grown up.

Then out of nowhere this curb just appeared and attacked me! I didn't even trip on it. No. My foot just scuffed against it and the next thing I know I'm flying through the air, leaving one of my shoes behind me. During my flight, my carrier bag of shopping spun 360 degrees into the air before landing with an almighty crash onto the floor. Fearing for the safety of my face I had let go of my bag and threw both my hands in front of me so as to break my fall...

The moment it had happened, my British fear of making a spectacle of myself immediately kicked in and I shot back up into the standing position with the speed and agility of a meerkat whilst simultaneously looking around me to see if anyone had witnessed it. No one had. Relief rushed through my veins followed by a brief moment of feeling sorry for the rest of the world for not having caught what I was sure would have been a highly funny fall first hand. My personal bits and pieces (including shoe) had scattered themselves into a large circle around me and so I rushed to grab it all again and ensure that I did not lose anything aside from my dignity.

It wasn't until I got home that I inspected my shopping. The resilience of my soap and Deodorant impressed me as they emerged from my bag unharmed. My milk however was another story.



I tried to open the lid but it wouldn't move. However I am a lady on a budget so I refuse to buy a new milk just because I can't get to the perfectly good milk I've already bought. I will find a way, even if it means using my secret weapon.

Pork... oh dear

I've just cooked pork for the first time in my little flat (FYI, it did not look at all like the above picture, my actual food was guzzled before I thought of taking a picture. I know, careless). The house I lived in prior to this one was with my parents and my dad was a very big pork cooker so I've never previously had the privilege of cooking this particular meat myself.

When I initially bought this meat on my Tesco delivery shop I was overcome with the excitement of being a proper cook who cooks meat from scratch and without the use of the microwave. The meat arrived with the rest of my shop and I cleverly realised that I should put it straight in the freezer as I would not be eating my meat for a while and did not want it to go off.

Step one of being a proper cook was complete and I was proud. I walked around the place with my head that little bit higher because I was on my way to being a true independent woman who does true independent cooking.

A week passed and I was finally ready for my big Pork Chop cook. I strutted proudly to the freezer a whole night early so as to allow the pork to thaw (I remembered to do this due to me being a supreme cook) and opened the packet of four pork chops. Knowing that I couldn't possibly eat all four chops at once I went to pick just one of the porks out of the plastic box and gaped moronically as all four followed it. Ah. They had frozen together.

Not a problem. I had recently purchased a massive butcher knife that couldn't possibly let me down in being awesome and separating the frozen meat.


EDIT: Upon looking at this photo I would like to stress that, contrary to how it may look on this picture, the knife was in fact in front of me whilst I posed and I was not trying to slice my cheek open.

The huge knife alas then proceeded to letting me down. I was heart broken for about two minutes and spent a few moments staring at the knife whilst fighting back angry tears and overcoming my feeling of betrayal. After I'd put the knife down however I realised that I had no option but to defrost all four chops and see what I could get away with doing with it without poisoning myself.

What I could do, I found out the next day, was not much at all.

I went out for a late lunch with two of my lovely ladies, Claire and Rachael, who have openly told me they will not be reading this blog due to not enjoying reading on computers... it makes me feel slightly giddy with power at their flat out refusal because I could say anything and they would never know!

....

Damn it, I can't think of anything. I wish there was a T shirt for this kind of thing. Oh wait there is.



Anywho. I mentioned my pork fiasco to them and how I now had to cook four pork chops when really I only had the stomach to eat one... maybe two. Claire and Rachael are my 'i've lived independently for years and know what I am doing' grown up friends. They are very useful in these situations as well as being very fun to play cards with and watch Kill Bill with.

Claire began shaking her head in that way that said, 'Lisa you have made a rookie mistake' and automatically I felt my cook pride dwindle within me and my head dropped a few inches from it's previous high place. This lead to the following conversation.

Claire: Oh Lisa, you don't freeze four pork chops together
Lisa: You don't?
Claire: Not unless you're hungry for a whole pig.
Lisa: What did I do wrong?
Claire: You should have separated them before hand. Then the meat could be eaten individually.
We sit in silence as I slowly deflate inside.
Lisa: Ah. That seems entirely sensible. I probably should have thought of that.

It was after this point that I then found out just how dangerous cooking pork chops is. The following rules needed to be followed completely in order to escape the possibility of death.

1. You must cook all the meat within 24 hours or you will throw up and die.

2. You must ensure that there is no pink in the meat at all once you have cooked it otherwise you will throw up and die.

3. You must not reheat the meat (even in the microwave) once it has cooled as doing so will cause you to throw up and die.

4. Do not cook meat in the same pan as any other meat otherwise eating either of these meats will cause you to throw up and die.

5. You must ensure that the meat is cooked just to white and not for any longer otherwise... well you won't throw up and die, it just won't be very nice.

I went home, took the pork out of the fridge and stared at it, a thin bead of sweat poured down my forehead as I contemplated all the rules there were in order to keep myself from dying a violent and puke filled death. It almost didn't seem worth it anymore. If only I had known when I had been internet shopping with Tescos.

However I am no quitter. I had bought the pork. I had defrosted the pork. I was darn well going to eat the sodding pork. I talked myself up, reminding myself that I was a strong independent woman who had her own flat and her own grocery list. I was capable of this, no, I was BORN to do this. Once I had worked myself up into a cooking frenzy, the heights of which would make any independent woman proud, I reached across the counter, picked up the phone and called my mum.

Mum and 'pork cooking expert' dad talked me through it step by step. They told me exactly what I had to do, the exact temperature to grill my meat and when to know to take it out. Re-iterating over and over, 'just as long as it isn't pink on the inside, you should be fine.'

I put the phone down, cooked some noodles to go with my 'mission impossible' food and once I double and triple checked that the pork wasn't pink I added them with the noodles, crossed myself, said a little prayer and ate the meal.

About halfway through I noticed my new rookie mistake of course. I'm one of those really classy ladies that eat everything with ketchup. I had smeared the ketchup over noodles and pork and as a result the juices soaked into the meat. Several times I caught pink sections in my otherwise beautifully white meat. I made a judgement call and ate the rest. I fear that may have been the wrong call. I don't feel too well...

NB: In case you're worried, I wouldn't be, my body likes to think it's a hypochondriac. I had a standard safety training session at work today, when they mentioned rashes I started to itch and examine my skin. When they talked about diarrhoea and vomiting virus, my stomach did a somersault and insisted it was going to try and throw up. When we were discussing bacteria passing through hand hygiene, my hands suddenly felt sticky and disease ridden. Luckily my brain was there to keep them all in check and tell them they were being stupid. I'm sure it will rescue the day for this situation as well and argue the logic to my body before it tries to give up on me altogether.

The day comedy caused me to impulse buy into feeling sad.

Every so often I have the urge to let the whole world know that I am witty. Now this urge is fine for the Sarah Millicans and Flight of the Conchords of this world but for the rest of us who are sometimes not able to think of things on request when such an urge comes to us, we turn to the classic 'funny T shirt.'

The funny T shirt has done wonders for the lives of so many. If you can find just the right comic t shirt you can walk down the street proud and with your head held high, knowing that there is nothing you cannot achieve because people are looking at your chest and laughing. (NB: Funny T shirt is integral to this being a good thing, not so good if this happens whilst your wearing a t shirt that simply says Billabong (NB to NB: That was a poor example, Billabong is in fact a very funny word))

When I am finding myself overcome with this particular emotion I tend to turn to one of my favourite websites: David and Goliath. Now for those of you who are already aware of the wonders that are David and Goliath: How funny are they?? For those of you who are unaware of their existence, please check out their website and see full examples of their funnydom.

My one and only problem with going on this website is I simply do not have the money to buy all the T shirts that I like so I have developed a system. One that has proven fool proof until my most recent internet purchase. This system is as follows: I pick the two T shirts that give me the biggest initial laugh.

So when my latest urge came I went to the trusty website and scrolled through their latest comedy gold (have I mentioned that their T shirts are awesome?) The picking was tough and after much laughter and tears I managed to dwindle it down to five. After more tears than laughter as I realistically looked at my bank account, I cut those down to the two that had simply made me almost pee when I had first seen them. The two I picked and consequently bought were the following.





I was stupidly happy with my purchase and while I waited (rather impatiently) for these hilarious T shirts to arrive I had countless moments of daydreaming the happiness I would feel as I walked down the street with my chest out whilst people stared and not in a pervy way.

After two of the longest weeks of my life, the T shirts finally arrived and I have a vivid memory of running down to the post office to collect them. Once I had them, I simply could not wait until I had walked the ten minutes back to my house so I had run into the portable toilets next to Tescos and locked myself into a cubicle to observe my T shirts and make the impossible decision of which one I would choose first. I opened the 'Forbidden love' T shirt first and thought, to save myself the heartache of having to make a choice, I would just throw this one on straight away.

Happy as a clam I walked around. People looked. People laughed. People commented. People thought I was awesome. Life was good.

It wasn't until I got home and opened the second T shirt that I suddenly came face to face with my dilemma.

At first things were fine and I threw my T shirt on and beamed happily as I checked myself out in the mirror.



Though as I read it again, with me wearing it, something didn't seem right.



Then it dawned on me. I wear this, I'm calling myself a hooker.



It was heartbreaking. I really tried to weigh the choices and argue the case of the T shirt. I mean it was so funny. I had truly cried with happiness when I had first read it. If I wore this one around the town, people would have to laugh too.

I closed my eyes and tried to imagine what it would be like. Me walking down the street. A couple walking up to me and clocking the T shirt. The laughter that would undeniably follow once they were close enough to read it. My own feeling of self loathing as I hear the words "What a whore" escape their lips as they walked past.

For about an hour I sat and stared at the T shirt, seriously considering the possibility of giving up my dignity and reputation for the sake of comedy. It was at the point where I found myself wishing that I was an actual whore so I could get away with wearing it when I decided that maybe the T shirt should be removed and safely tucked away in my drawer.

So I took it off. I put it away. But every so often, when I know it's going to be too cold to ever take my jumper off for the whole day, I will put it on. On those days when I know I'm going to hang around in the house and be lazy (like today) I will wear it proudly. But even then, I will catch the comic genius in the mirror and sigh. Alas I will never be able to do it proud. I am FAR too much of a prude.

Living on my own is awesome/pitiful, depending on your outlook on life

I moved into my very own space for the very first time just four months ago. It's a tiny little second floor maisonette with a nice big living room, a bathroom that tries to kill me (a story for another time), a nice big bedroom, a cute little kitchen and loads of storage space.

At first everything was new and exciting and I found myself missing my little home when I wasn't there. Sleeping away from my new bed was physically painful for me. Eating food that I hadn't bought and stored in my own fridge or freezer just tasted wrong. Conversations that didn't involve something to do with my beautiful little flat at some point seemed empty. Yes I was a woman in love and (as has always been the way with me) it was with an inanimate object.

After a couple of weeks the flat attacked me viciously (through the bathroom, I promise one day I will explain) and we fell out temporarily. This was a little inconvenient as due to the attack I was house bound and so couldn't leave it, but you know what they say: keep your enemies closer than your friends or something.

We made up after Christmas when I had to stay away from it for four days. Absence certainly did make my heart grow fonder and all was forgotten by the new year. We went back to being sickenly in love again for another good two months.

We're now at that place in our relationship however where we are comfortable with each other. It doesn't need to hear me compliment it for being awesome all the time anymore and a couple of weeks ago when my arm decided it hated me and stopped working, my flat was lovely and looked after me well.

All of this being said, I feel we reached a new place in our relationship last night. We experienced a moment that I think was truly beautiful but others may think is grounds for me getting a room mate. I had gone into the kitchen to make a hot chocolate and decided to sit on my kitchen counter by my window to drink it. Opposite me was the sink which I soon noticed had not been turned off all the way and as a result every five seconds a drop of water escaped from the faucet.

With the fascination of someone stoned (I wasn't actually mum/dad, don't worry) I sat, my eyes glued to the tap and watched as each drop formed and fell into the sink. It was at this point that I came up with my little game. Could I time my voice to say the word 'drip' at the exact time the water hit the bottom of the sink? The answer is yes, yes I could.

In fact this game was remarkably easier than I had initially thought and once I had got the timing right I was getting it spot on every time. It wasn't until I looked at the clock and realised that I had been playing this game for five minutes solid that I realised for the sake of my sanity I should probably stop and do something society would deem as normal (I went and straightened my hair Society, you can be proud).

I think me and my flat reached a new level of comfortable that night. It didn't laugh at me for playing my little game. In fact I like to think that it was happy with me for noticing the little things it does (like warning me my tap is still slightly on by making a large dripping sound) as well as the big things (like keeping me warm and dry and giving me somewhere to sleep).

I do appreciate that I am already at this level and I am only four months into the solo living experience. At this rate I'll be on the verge of being committed within a couple of years. But think of the fun we'll have as we get there.

I'm a super hero and I never even knew it

For those of you who are friends with me on Facebook you may have noticed a certain status update recently announcing my new and exciting power. I shall now explain the accounts of how I discovered this amazing super power and allow you all to soak in my marvellousness.

The day of discovery
It was a Tuesday, I had just had an incredibly intense day at work. It had been good, but exhausting. I had taken off the 7 inch stiletto's I use at work to give people the illusion that I'm the same height as some of the 'small to average' people that walk around me and had slipped into my 'very old but very comfortable' trainers for the hour and a half journey home.

The first stretch of my journey home is a ten minute walk to get to the bus stop. This I tend to do in a sleepy haze with very little attention made on where I am going. On this particular Tuesday however my sleepy haze lasted only five minutes into the walk as everything changed after that.

Near the bottom of the road I walk down there is a speed limit sign. It's one of those flashing ones that tells the driver as they go by to slow down if they are going too fast. This one is set at 20 miles per hour.

So I'm walking, head down, earphones in and singing 'Papa, can you hear me' Glee version in my head whilst imagining myself on stage with a candle singing it to millions of people. (This is something that would terrify me if it ever happened but in my head, where it's safe, it's pretty cool) Suddenly a flash of yellow and red catches my attention and I look up to see what all the commotion is about. There, about twenty feet away from me is the speed limit sign, announcing that something is going over 20 miles per hour and needs to slow down. It seems a little weird to me so I look in both directions on the road to try and find the speeding vehicle only to discover that the whole street is deserted. This could only mean one thing... That speed sign was for me.

I had a super power. And it's fast.

The reason why you have to believe me, even though it sounds as if there could be another perfectly rational explanation.
Now for all you skeptics out there who are reading this and thinking... oh sweetie, your deluding yourself, the sign was clearly broken. I thought so too at first!! I understand how you could have jumped to that conclusion, it makes a lot of sense. But then a thought came to me, one that I couldn't shake, one that made me realise that having a super power could be the only feasible explanation.

I don't run. I don't even brisk walk. I'm lazy and I'm constantly daydreaming so when I do walk, it will always be at a very leisurely pace. The sign is located outside a hospital in a well built up area. There was no way that Boris Johnson, our wonderful mayor, would even dream of letting a sign stay in operation that is so clearly broken it would pick up me walking. I mean I have a lot more faith in Boris than that. I believe that he's not just a reason for me to have a little giggle at his expense during the local news. I believe that he's not just there to say things that are wildly inappropriate and then spend the next week apologising for them. I believe that he cares. I believe that he would not stand for letting a sign so grossly close to causing an accident stay unfixed. And I know you all do too. I mean after all, it's why we voted for him right? (Vote Boris: I'm not political but I love his face and floppy hair)

So the only other explanation there is is that I was in fact speeding faster than 20 miles per hour. Woah... amazing.

Now how fast I was going I'm not sure. You see I didn't even realise I was doing it at the time so my mind must be just as fast as my legs to take in everything around me at just the same speed as a dawdle. I'm guessing though that it's not that much faster than 20 miles per hour due to the fact that not much time is shaved off my journey. I would predict at this stage that I'm probably averaging at 21-22 mph.

Okay, okay. I know it doesn't seem that impressive next to Clark Kent or that little boy from 'The Incredibles' but I bet I could win a few gold medals at the Olympics with it... (FYI: No need to worry, I would never do that, I appreciate that due to my super abilities I would be at an unfair advantage and it wouldn't be fair for the other runners)

Obviously I haven't got it all worked out yet. I mean, no one else seems to notice that I'm going fast at all which I don't understand. My current theory that I'm working on is that with my semi-super speed I can also alter peoples minds so that it appears as if I am just walking. (I think it's very clever of my subconscious for doing that as a way of protecting my identity. Hoorah to you subconscious.) It would explain why I've never been aware of my super ability until now, my secret identity is so secret not even I knew who it was. Interesting.

I think I've proved my case.

I'm gonna go by the supername of 'Almost-quite-fast-girl-woman.' I think it has a ring to it.