Tube Twats

I feel I now have enough experience, as a district line commuter for approximately one-hour of my daily existence, to finally write this blog highlighting the type and level of twats you encounter on the tube. This is based of real-life experience and complaints from friends. I give you this list ranging from irritating twat, ignorant prick all the way up to monumental cunt. 

Let’s ease ourselves in with the tube surfer – Have you been on a tube before love? I know you have because your Oyster card is looking a little worn. So, you should be aware that when you get on the tube, once those doors are shut the carriage will inevitably move. So please tell me this, why are you still gazing into your phone before allowing your body to go stumbling back into me, stamping on my foot in the process, and producing noises of shock such as a dramatic ‘woahwoahwoah’? You miss, are a twat! 

Amping it up slightly is the bothersome elbowers – You walk onto the carriage and huzzah, what triumph, a seat is available. You settle down and then… oh… what the… hey… *nudge* *nudge* *nudge*  ….for fucks sake… *nudge*. Now, I’m pretty British when it comes to these things, so I’m not going to say anything, I’m going to allow you to continuously nudge me whilst you search for a hair bobble at the bottom of your bag, read your newspaper or apply your make-up. But, please know that you’ve ruined my day and expect some serious tutting and sighing – You bellend. 

The district line is wonderful for probably one thing and that’s phone and 3G signal, however with this joy comes the despair at having to allow my ear drums to be subjected to to other people’s phone calls, especially ones to their significant others. What’s worse is hearing some moron baby-talk his missus whilst on a crowded tube. Have you no pride, where is your shame, why is his girlfriend allowing this performance of wetness to continue? These people make me want to vom, I don’t care that he physically cannot wait to ‘get homey-wome to tickle his princess fluff fluffs and give her a kissy-wiss and tell her that he thinks she is the pwettiest pink snuggle bunny in all of the landy wand.’ Have a word with yourself mate, straighten up and stop being such a dick.

Now, this is the type of cunt, I cannot even fathom to deal with. A special breed of pole leaner that needs to be extinct. I’ll tell you a story that happened to me recently on the usually pleasant metropolitan line. It was rush hour, so quite packed and the only pole available was being occupied by a man who was full-on leaning on it, i mean wedged between his arse cheeks type of leaning. So, as not to be a tube surfer I place my hand near the top, where I could feel his neck heat on the back on my hand (vom, but I don’t want to be a cunt) so, I endured. Then in an act of ungodly cuntish behaviour, the already-taking-the-piss guy leans his head back on the pole, thus touching my hand with his neck sweat scraping my fingers with his wirery hair. I obviously recoil and say ‘eugh’ expecting some kind of social etiquette of a ‘sorry’ from this man, but no. He looked at me, then placed his head back on the pole and smirked. I was fuming, internally obviously, did a few animated hand-wipes on my jacket so that he was aware of how much he disgusts me, then he got off. You sir, are a monumental cunt. 

 

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Paranoid in the city

So this weekend, I had an attack of the jealous and paranoid green-eyed monster. Not cool! Being the crazy, neurotic mess of a creature that I am, I obviously believe that I could never even begin to be enough for someone.  After being told for years and years that I am goofy, I am gumbellina, I look like Miss Piggy, Jade Goody and that I need to shave my teeth down… the list could continue. Shockingly, I’ve developed some issues. So, prompted by a happy-hop onto some scales this weekend to discover that I’ve gained over a stone since my move to the city (cheers McDonalds and excessive drinking), the ex-anorexic within had a melt-down. This would have been fine if I wasn’t at my new boyfriends house, who was yet to witness first-hand how insane, his new goblin could get when it comes to weight issues. Naturally, I then assumed that my new hooman was going to replace me with one of his insanely beautiful female friends that he seems to have millions of, and that I could never compete with these girls who just seem to be so naturally sexy. I for example, when trying to look sexy, tend to look like I’ve lost a chromosomes or two. I just can’t do it, I’m a goon and sexy comes as easily to me as it does Susan Boyle. Back on track – so I had a complete melt-down. I sobbed and sobbed at my hooman until I physically couldn’t sob anymore and just fell asleep, like a toddler after a massive strop.

Then the morning happened. I awoke, black mascara-faced, puffy-eyed, a feeling of embarrassment burnt deeply over my entire existence and wanted to run away and hide in a bin shed until I was taken away by the rubbish men to live a life as stig-of-the-dumps soul mate.

Alas, I cannot continue to live my life this way. There comes a point when I have to let go of all the worrying and paranoia to just get on with life. I will never ever be happy with someone if I can’t just put my own insecurities to one side and just be enjoy it. I have never been given a reason to distrust my new creature, so why the hell am I being such a bellend? I’m 26 and it’s time to be grown-up (I say this as I have just been handed a set of Pokemon cards to play with). Worrying is pointless, what good is worrying about something that you have no control of? I find myself always searching for issues and problems to try and prove myself right that you cannot trust another person with your heart, because then it justifies your paranoia.

As of today, I have realised that in order to make a relationship work, I have to believe in another person and trust their word that I am good enough. No more worrying, until I am given a reason to worry rather than making-up stories in my own head. I am old enough now to know that I can be on my own and I can look after myself so even if I do get my heart broken, I’d be ok, because I’ve built-up my life to be self-sufficient without relying on a man for my happiness, money or social-life. I need to stop being so intense and just have fun, stop looking into things too much and enjoy the fact that someone loves me and has chosen me over these beautiful girls that he could have. Because, really I have never met anyone quite like him before and I don’t want to ruin it by being my usual paranoid self. Time to stop being such an idiot and start enjoying having fun with a really amazing person.

Apologies for the well gay post this week. Next weeks topic – the level of mildly-irritating  twat to monumental cunts on the tube.

 

Awkward in London

So, since I’ve moved to London, it seems I’ve forgotten how to human. I’m not sure if I’ve ever been a fully-functioning member of the human race but since moving to the big city it would seem I have becoming even more awkward and uncomfortable around other creatures. Due to the fast-paced nature of the place and lack of human-interaction, I’m frightened that I may have become feral. My immediate response to a person startling me when I have my headphones on is to growl at them. However on the flip side, my social awkwardness lends itself to not knowing what to say in a social situation thus saying something rather odd, making other humans feel uncomfortable and then slinking off silently to go home and watch One Tree Hill in the dark. I have such little verbal interaction with people, sometimes I have to say hello out loud to double-check my voice still works, again it makes the people on the tube feel very uncomfortable. My whole existence consists of communications via Skype, text, Whatsapp, Facebook  and Instagram, I don’t know how to verbal anymore.

Just to try and give a general image of the ways I like to make life uncomfortable, recently I was leaving work after enduring the torment that is the lift, when I saw two colleagues just ahead of me. They had stopped at the traffic light, so rather than waltzing up and saying hi, I decided to hide behind a wall until they had gone – longest three minutes of my life. Whats more, when they finally crossed over and I was awaiting  the next green man, a peculiar man came and asked me if I would like to see his penis. On another occasion, I was on the tube when HUZZAH a seat became available, but as to not disturb anyone in the little four-seater area , I perched on the edge. The train stopped dramatically, I fell off my seat, started manically laughing, felt embarrassed so got off the tube. Although, it wan’t my stop, so I got back on and walked to the other side of the carriage. The plethora of daily awks that plague my existence is too many to list. I think I need to go to some kind socialisation class where they teach you the proper way to interact with other humans. I may need to take my socially defunct friend Emily who recently stared at the poor soup man and simply said in a creepily dead-pan manner ‘my coins are hot’ whilst placing them into his hand, before slumping off and running away from a microwave because the ping startled her.

 

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Life Pre and Post 25!

When I was 18 the idea of being 26, seemed like the most disastrous thing in the world. I even said to my friends ‘when I turn 30, I may as well kill myself because there will be no point in living.’  I’d love to go back in time slap my younger-self around the face and say ‘please stop being a bellend.’ The truth is, I would never trade in my age now to go back to the young twenties twat I was. Don’t get me wrong some early adults seem to have their shit together, but mostly, they are deluded, know-it-all annoyances. I have a compiled a list of things I wish I knew when I was 18-23 (ish).

You will never truly know what you want to do with your life, but it’s ok 

Obviously, when I was 18 I thought at the elderly age of 25, I would have career success, be married and have a plethora of small pets in my owned house. This is not correct. I change my mind daily on what path I want to take and am still not sure what the fuck I am doing. I live in some dudes house which doesn’t have an oven or a freezer and I wait until he’s gone to bed to eat so that I don’t have to engage in any unnecessary conversation. Also, my cat ran away… I think this speaks highly of how I am managing adult life.

Dress the way you want and create your own style

‘What are you wearing tonight? Because I’m not wearing a skirt if no-one else is’ was a frequent phone-call I would have most weekends. Life is too short not to be yourself, or too be too scared to express who you are. I have a horrific tramp stamp on my body from when I was younger and I hate it (obviously it’s a butterfly, because that was what everyone else had), now I have things I actually like that show my personality like Alice in Wonderland and dinosaurs, I dye my hair whatever colour I want, even if it’s green and I wear clothes I like, just because I can.

No-one is impressed that you went to a drum and bass rave and got ‘off your face’

I spent a large portion of my younger days at raves I hated, listening to music I didn’t like. I hate drum and bass and the mcing … oh the mcing. I just didn’t get it. I would trot off to fabric to pretend I was really into mc skibbawhoever and dj whatzthisracket. Then proudly exclaim to people that I spent my weekend off my face in London throwing some shapes. Obviously the older people would knowingly roll their eyes and pity the poor little deluded creature that I was. These days, I spend my weekends, trying to do something worthwhile with my existence, like painting, writing or visiting museums and galleries, spending time with friends, in a social environment that we will all remember the next day, absorbing the time I get to spend with my nieces and doing nice things for friends and family.

Cut out friends who add no value to your life

Now that I’m older, it’s so much easier to surround yourself with people who bring out the best in you. When I was younger I had a lot of ‘friends’ who I didn’t even like or want to be around. Now it’s so easy to cut people off who bring you down. I would rather have one amazing friend than 500 fair-weather friends.

Wine will get you though adulthood

Wine is the answer to all your problems!

Be happy and laugh

Life is short. Spend it being happy. Don’t waste too much time sulking or being in a bad mood. It’s ok to be childish, if you want to spend three solid hours playing don’t let the balloon touch the floor or making a bed fort, do it. ‘life is too short to be taken seriously’ as my good friend Oscar Wilde says. We spend far too much of our time being serious, let go of your inhibition and do something crazy. Do a Zooey Deschanel and shout ‘penis’ as loud as you can in a crowded place – it’s liberating.

Love people more

It’s easy to forget that the world doesn’t revolve around me. I’m always inside my own head so it’s easy to forget that people have their own issues, and shit going on.  When I was younger I rarely opened my heart to anyone, now it’s a free-for-all. Hop into my heart and swim in my ventricles and I’ll love you with all my veins. (Obviously I have a special spot in my thudumpadump for my special hooman)

Don’t be scared to take risks or to say no

It’s easy to get caught in a mundane existence, too scared to change career path or relationship. But, variety is the spice of life so they say.. I don’t know who, but I’m quite certain that it’s a thing. Sometimes it’s good to take your life and give it a smack against the wall, see what happens.  Don’t stay with someone who doesn’t make you happy or make you feel like you’re the most important person in the world to them, just because you’re too scared to be alone or start again. It really could be the most exciting adventure of your life.

Travel the world

Travel more! I wish I could go back in time and explain to my 18 year old self that Kavos and the like is not a holiday. Kavos is a grime bucket that I spent a year in and it was a seamen stench-pit of desperation. I wish I could have seen places like Thailand or Australia instead of living for a year in Benidorm :/ and gained more of a cultural experience that wasn’t how to neck a pint of ‘headfucker’ or how to slutdrop.

Lastly… Smile, things get better!

I would love to be able to tell my pre-25 year old self that things get better. You don’t have to be anorexic, you don’t have to be pretty, someone will love you, you will find the best friends that you’ve been searching for, let go of the past, put on your happy songs, dance in your pants, because after 25, you will be the happiest you’ve ever been.

 

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Facebook me vs Real-life me

I’m the first to admit, I am a social media whore! Facebook and Instagram are my main vices. I upload more selfies than is generally required from the average human. I spend more time than necessary flicking through various filters, before uploading the same picture of my face in a shade of Mayfair and x-pro 2. I post a song a day from YouTube, I narrate my life via Facebook status updates and I post links to every single Buzzfeed that I find moderately funny. It is little wonder that people that barely know me, or haven’t spoke to me in a while think I’m an absolute attention-seeking and vain twat. You know what, they’re right, I am some of those things.

The rise of social media, has allowed insecure little creatures like myself to be placed into a world of competition. You see a beautiful girl on instagram post a picture of her face and people start pouring at her ‘oh wow, you’re beautiful.’ My actual face and my instagram face are not even remotely the same thing, but the compliments are fucking addictive! All you need to do is filter the fuck out of your face to be beautiful these days. Before I was recently taken of the singles market, your Facebook profile becomes like a bloody dating site profile picture, and with so many filtered and edited faces to compete with out there (cheers Tinder), you have to make sure yours is alright. Then just hope that when you meet someone in real-life, your face is kinda similar-looking to your social media profiles, then attempt to win them over with your glistening personality.

Tube Etiquette vs A Commute on South Eastern Rail

Travelling to work on the tube every day is a rather different experience than my commute to London on the South Eastern Rail. For example, South Eastern for all its faults, provided me with heaps of entertainment on a daily basis, unlike my drab journey of trying to get people to talk to me on a 30-minute trip down the district line. This was never an issue on the Dover to London Bridge straight, I was never without a human to share some wine with, or talk to as though they are my personal shrink. For example, I once drank so much wine with a stranger on my commute, he admitted that he was leaving his wife and job but no-one knew. That level of friendship-in-an-instance can only be emulated with class-A drugs or two-hours on a broken-down carriage of crap. To highlight some of the lol’s that I experienced on National Rail here are some memories posted via Facebook. 

‘The young chav on the train has just informed her peers that she has ‘a new black boyfriend,’ ‘wow’ retorted her buddies ‘I fucking love black men.’ ‘Well’ replied lead chav ‘he’s white but he acts black cus he’s from London.’ ‘Ah, that’s the best kind of black person’ replied girl most likely to be named Crystal or Mercedes. ‘Innit though’ settled the pose leader. I’m completely flabbergasted at this one.’

‘I’m having the most British argument on the train. So British that no words have been said. This giant man in a puffer jacket has plonked himself next to me, legs spread, arms wide so he can read him paper thus squashing me against the window. I have tutted, sighed, looked with disgust and thrown my arms up in dismay. Nothing! So I have resorted to putting my bag on his leg, he doesn’t know what to do about it and is responding the same way I did when he came and took up all my space.’

‘I am surrounded by Neanderthal men on this train. Steroid-pumped, illiterate, so-called ‘lads’ (as they aggressively state/self-proclaim that word when a fellow companion/themselves does something of laddish behaviour, ie apparently one of them is a ‘lad’ for telling a young woman to ‘get her tits out’) I have so far endured these cretins say the words ‘I won’t fuck it if the lips aren’t symmetrical’ and ‘I always make a girlfriend aware from the beginning that if she’s on the blob, she’s getting it in the shitter.’ Seriously, you are not ‘lads’ you are vile oxygen stealers!’

‘Stuck on a train with the most annoying child/creature on the planet. She is alternating crying and manically laughing. My ovaries just committed suicide!’

‘I Just got felt up by a woman on the train. She thought she was blindly trying to open her bag that was placed underneath the table, but no. She was actually caressing my leg. We laughed until she awkwardly pointed out that I didn’t stop her!’

It was actually the most stressful few months of my life, the train was always breaking down or not even showing up. But, the level of chavs and idiots to laugh at as well as the amount of amazingly awesome humans who I got to speak to more than made up for it. This is something that you just don’t get on the tube. I try to make eye contact and speak to people, you know, cheer up their day with a little, ‘yo, great face you’ve got there’ but nothing. I must have been over eye-contacting this morning as a woman moved herself a few seats down (out of my eyeline), I was admiring her make-up – it was applied exquisitely. I should have told her that, but with the amount of conversation rejection I’ve had since I’ve moved here, I don’t see the point anymore. My tube experiences are like a scene from 300 when the doors open we charge into the carriage, taking no prisoners to get a seat, only to find that only the priority seating chair is available. You wait anxiously until the burn of evil glares forces you to offer the seat to the 86-year old woman swinging from the pole, nestle into the armpit of a sweaty businessman and endure your 30-minute ride to work – reading over and over the names of the stations on the tube map and the shit ‘imagine if everyone on this carriage was single and looking for love’ from Christian dating. I’m becoming a tube wanker and I don’t like it. Tonight whoever sits next to me, is talking to me no matter what. I’ll talk at them until they speak words, I’ll kick over their briefcase, I don’t care. Tonight I’m having a conversation.

 

Also, some bitch spilled her granola yogurt on me the other day. Who the fuck takes a yogurt snack onto a crowded tube – what a cunt!   

London- Marvelously Convenient For Anyone Who’s Not All There

My mental stability is questionable at the best of times, so moving to London pretty much heightens every single aspect of that. London despite its size and possibilities – is the loneliest place I’ve ever lived. I suppose after taking myself away from the security of my family in Dover and then starting again in London, trying to make new friends and find things to do to fill your time. This isn’t easy for someone, who for no reason at all can decide no-one likes her and the outside world is scary. I get anxiety so bad sometimes that it literally takes over my ability to even talk to someone. For example, something as simple as meeting a friend in the pub can cause me to start panicking. My heart palpitations begin, then my arm goes numb and my ears start ringing, because what if they’re not there, what if they’ve moved onto a new location, what if the place is crowded and I don’t know what to do? This is generally how my brain works on a day-to-day basis. Yesterday I was freaking out at the idea of talking to the pizza delivery man, the longer the wait the more I wanted to call and cancel my order.

That aside, I’m slightly concerned that I may actually be crazy. I do weird things, I say weird things and I create unnecessary problems and dramas with people I care about. I can’t help but create conflict within my own head, which makes relationships near impossible.  This said, I have starting seeing someone, who interesting enough doesn’t seem to mind that I’m slightly unhinged. However on the flip side, it has brought all the horrible uncertainty that comes when you start to really like someone. Like, am I too fat or too ugly for him? What if I fall for him and he leaves me for someone prettier, smarter, more normal? Rather than just going with the flow and seeing how it goes, my mind keeps me up all night thinking and worrying about situations that I just make up in my own head. Thankfully, this new person is rather special and understands that I don’t think the same way other people do and for the first time ever I really trust and feel like I can actually just be me around someone, which is rather marvellous .

So, asides from just four near mental breakdowns and one ‘I think I might sample anorexia again’ (it was short lived, I lasted a week before I destroyed a KFC bucket to myself) since I moved to London, I’m kinda doing ok. I’ve started cognitive therapy, to try and change the way I see things, which if it works, would be just lovely.

So many happenings, so many feels, so many changes

    So, an update of how i’m settling in, in this wonderful London life. Before I moved here, I genuinely thought I was instantly going to become more cultured, more sociable and an all-round more interesting person. This hasn’t happened. Asides from my one visit to the Observatory to see the Astronomy photographer of the year (fucking mind-blowing by the way), I spend a vast majority of my spare time in my bed eating a KFC bucket for one watching an extreme amount of Netflix. I chose my Kensington located flat because I genuinely thought that the fact that the Natural History Museum is a mere 10-minute walk-away from me might motivate me to leave my hovel. 

   London is slightly different than my home-town. For example, I don’t recommend commenting on anything to someone on the tube, even if it’s a compliment. I noticed a woman had Lucky Charm cereal in her shopping bag, so I exclaimed ‘wow, I love that cereal’ whilst enthusiastically pointing at it. She ignored me, the rude creature ignored me, I felt silly. It was highly unnecessary. Also, I don’t wear my glasses a lot and I have no idea how to do eye contact properly. People on the tube don’t look at each other, they stare at their phone or try and memorise  the tube map above everyone’s head. I stare at people, if we catch eye contact, I will try and talk to them. This has been met with a mixture of responses, a date request, an evil glare and an old man thinking that I was flirting with him thus making him very uncomfortable, you also have the people who think you’re completely mental. 

   I awoke a couple of nights ago to two police humans at my door. They were telling me that two men were trying to break into my flat. I heard the banging but I assumed it was my housemate, alas he wasn’t even in. I’m uncertain what I would have done if they got in – probably made them a cup of tea and been so nice to them that they would feel too bad to stab me and steal my nothing-of-any-value belongings. I’ve also had my bank card cloned, they tried to pay for a bnb in Barbados, lucky sods, I’m sure the weather is lovely there, it’s definitely a place I’d consider going if I were to steal some girls pittance of a bank balance.

So, anyone who knows me is aware that when I like a human I will literally rip out my heart and smash that person in the face with it until they swear their undying love for me or tell me to fuck off and stop being so weird. Well, I am dating a real-life creature, whats more he enjoys how intense of a being I am, positively embraces it. It’s crazy-early days, so I’m very much aware that I have to hold-in the crazy for a little longer but at the moment I’m smiling and very very excited. 

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                   This is me… doing selfies before my date…. why? Because I was feeling fit and I wanted to capture that moment.

Monogamy In the City… or Anywhere

Monogamy is very difficult in our social media driven days. There is temptation everywhere and meeting new people is easier than ever. There is also that fine-line of what is considered cheating, as I know many people have very different views upon this matter. I guess my real question is, is it remotely possible to have a truly monogamous relationship in these modern times. I know people who have had a quick snog with someone who isn’t their partner, and  I would have never dreamed that they would be unfaithful ever, hell, I’ve been that girl on the receiving end of that deceitful kiss a few times (not knowingly I might add).

My first experience of cheating was the first person I ever loved when I was 16 and once we had split up after a year I discovered that he had been banging his ex as well, often leaving me in his bed whilst he went to meet her. My next boyfriend thought he may as well have two girlfriends, one at work and one at home. My last boyfriend didn’t sleep with anyone else (I don’t think) but he did kiss a couple of girls in a club and sent countless amounts of messages to girls telling them they we’re sexy ect. So, surely it can’t just be me? Why do people need to have multiple options. What the fuck happened to romance? Why can’t we meet someone and be so smitten that we don’t have to message other people to get some kind of instant gratification or assurance that we are fancied. I’m very aware that I’m living in a completely romanticized, idealist and fantastical  world, but surely, this exists somewhere?

I, am in no way shape or form a saint. But, now that I’m older and wiser, wouldn’t it just be just lovely to meet someone and just be with that person. Why do we all need so many options? Why is one person never enough?

Dating in the City

    So, I’m not an expert on how to date in the big city. This would be because I’ve been on just one date, and it didn’t exactly work out well. Being the neurotic mess of a creature that I am, I obviously told him I loved him and cried at his face when he didn’t talk to me for a week. The drama queen within soon realised that I didn’t love this human nor did I even particularly even like him. So that was my experience of a date.

   I then took to Tinder, as the majority of twenty-somethings in the city seem to be doing quite well out of it. I lasted a week! After receiving a match with a few people, I genuinely believed my dating schedule would be unmanageable. This is not the case, I ‘spoke’ to a few of my matches and after receiving several ‘would you like my dick?’ and one request for a threesome, I decided Tinder is not the place for me. Also, being the crazy and jealous type of person I am, I’m not sure I could handle the prospect of Tinder dating. It’s safe to say I am not a realist, I dream up as many as seven wonderful ways the love of my life is going to fall into my world before I’ve even got off the tube. So, the thought that I can easily be upgraded with a quick swipe to the right causes my dream bubble to burst and die. This is also the reason why I will inevitably die alone in the company of my fellow spinsters surrounding by cats (although that sounds pretty awesome right now).  

   I am now holding out for romance to just present itself to me. I’m not going to look for it, i’ll just wait for it to happen. That’s the great thing about living in London, you never know who you’re going to meet and where (obviously until they read your blog and realise you’re fucking insane… also if you work in an office where you only meet your work colleges… come to think of it my plan has many, many flaws).

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