1. It was my birthday last week. I am now 39 years old, so I took the day off to celebrate. I lay in bed til 10am – almost unheard of for me – then met friends for brunch, went for a run, saw my physio for a painful-but-worth-it session on my shoulders and then spent the evening scoffing cake, reading and watching Time Team. Ah, such bliss.
My birthday present to myself this year was a ticket to see Queens of the Stone Age at the Enmore. And Oh. My. God. Its a relatively small venue and so we were deafened, jostled and sweated on in the best rock ‘n’ roll tradition. Although I wasn’t standing right at the front in the middle for obvious reasons (did I mention I’m now 39?) a group of ‘youths’ had decided to create their own mosh pit right beside us. They were drunk, stoned, bigger and heavier than they thought they were, and they soon became a nuisance – especially to the two smaller girls next to me. I mean, I’m 6′ in heels and not exactly feeble, so I wasn’t that bothered, I can give as good as I get – but the two girls were right at youth elbow height and it was ruining their enjoyment of the show. So, I leaned over as the worst culprit came barrelling into us yet again and grabbed his earlobe between my thumb and forefinger. Hard.
He squealed and twisted round to see what was going on, and I said “Next time you do that I’ll crush your balls into raisins, okay?”
He and his little friends slunk off and we were left to dance, yell and worship happily 🙂
I’ve borrowed both the following image and footage from others via the web as my iPhone simply wasn’t up to the job. Plus, I would have looked like a prat using an iPhone at a QOTSA gig.
2. I updated my profile on the online dating site a couple of weeks ago, and had a couple of emails a day as a result. Then I finally got around to uploading a photo of myself this morning and I’ve been bombarded all day. Which means that a) the iPhone Hipstamatic app performs some kind of ‘duck-to-swan’ magic and b) men are almost entirely visual when it comes to selecting a mate.
I’ve had to add the following disclaimer to the end of my profile to try and stem the tide: “If you’re over 45, unfit, politically right-wing, homophobic, racist or a misogynist, dislike children or believe in god then please don’t waste your time or mine by contacting me. We are not compatible.”
Of course, I felt like adding something along the lines of “If you don’t know the difference between your and you’re, don’t bother” but that would be a [goose]step of grammar fascism too far, so I refrained.