Sunday, 14 July 2013

Braggers, liars & blaggers - an anonymous guest blog


Whatever you want to call them, we've all rolled our eyes
at their tweet, status or - god forbid they're ya mate or relative- their text. Those people who no matter what they're doing or who they're with, life is AMAZING. (p.s if you haven't rolled ya eyes at someone, you're that annoying turd who everyone goes "oh ere we go", and forwards the offensive statement to a bezzy who's also a bitchy hater).

So, here I am, not perfect by any stretch, slagging people off, they're the reason I deleted Facebook, I just couldn't bear any more status's about someone's "propa gorjus baybee" (who resembles everyone else's potato) reaching an "amayzin" milestone (like everyone else's potato), or someone who's "gorjus fella who's me world" brought a bag of treats home from the asda, so he's "the best fing that's ever append to me". Such status's would be acceptable, if you didn't already know, her baby should have made that milestone MONTHS ago,  and her fella was a serial cheat and their entire relationship began the night she fell pregnant, with several episodes of changing her fb status to single. 

That leads me to, the question - why do people polish turds? Golden glitter on the poo & all tha!? I won't lie, I have done it once or twice myself, mainly for the benefit of a boyfriends fat greasy ex who looked like Rick Waller in drag (no offence Rick love) who slagged me off after seeing me in a dark car, where she served us at a drive thru of a certain stinking chicken shop. 

But I don't mean that kind of bragging, I mean people who make the most average activities sound out of this world, or describe their baby as the next Albert Einstein. Let me give you a few examples of a "polisher" and a "fly"
Polisher : awwwwwwwww had the most amazing night with my one & only love him loads
Fly: awwwwwww babe what yas been up to?
Polisher: just had a proper lovely walk down the beach the sunset was proper gorgeous yano
Hang on a minute "babe", you went to seaforth in ya fellas fiesta.

Or another baby related one

Polisher: can't believe my special little princess can use the potty!! Proud mummy!
Fly: awwwww babe!!! Made up for ya our Lilly Mae / Lilly Ella / Ella Mae / Ella Rose/ Rosey Lilly has just learnt to stand up! Mad how fast they grow can't believe it.

A. Why can't you believe it she's 4 it's about time she stopped shittin er pants
B. don't refer to yaself like that 
C. Sort ya kids name out
D. Why can't you believe it, she's a kid they actually grow yano? 

Now, here's a few real life examples of people who I call my friends. One poor flower was in an intense 6 week relationship with a serial cheat, every next status was about how happy she was and how lucky she had been to find someone sooooo special and perfect. I swear down these status were posted simultaneously whilst crying down the phone to me after being stood up AGAIN. I was speaking to another friend one time when she said "just enjoying breakfast then off for a nice day shopping" turned out she was in Yates bootle on her way the Asda on a Thursday it just me or does that sound more like a reply you get off someone sat on a table somewhere sunny and fun? A real favourite of mine is people who constantly refer to their  "perfect" life/partner/baby prodigy, yet every second status is about how overcome with depression they are and how much they "hateeeeee a certain someone" because they've "finally seen someones true colours!!!!" I know someones who once caught their fella of 1 year texting another girl, been devastated & rang me upset, yet the next day for the benefit of facebook, she posted a picture of the brand new phone & clothes he had bought her because "he's my perfect soulmate, my babe, my world". She skipped the minging lying grovelling pig part out of THAT status.  Another mate, in a very serious but bang average  long term relationship, was once seen referring to a night with her boyfriend as "random and amazing" first of all her night couldn't have been any less random, she's got a clingy toddler and needs to schedule a babysitter weeks in advance, not to mention her OCD for planning & the amazing she referred to was tea somewhere in L1 courtesy of a vouchercloud discount. 

Now that leads me smoothly on to the phenomenon that is "date nights" & referral to said nights via status, tweet or text. E.g "can't wait for a fab little date night with my one 💖💕💖" . Can ANYONE explain to me what this is supposed to achieve or represent? The saying proper gets on my tits! One mate text me once & said "can't see you tonight Hun me & (insert boys name)are having a little romantic date night" evidently I asked her "aww what yas up to?" Only for her to respond "just having a take away and some sweets with a nice film" I thought fuck a duck how lucky am I? Me and my fella are always having date nights! 

I sound like a bitter arl hag with no mates, I'm actually happily settled with a genuinely nice lad and a good circle of mates, it just so happens that I've got a keen eye for those who love the b.s, and I'm a bit of a fuckin bitch. Anyway, going to have a cosy night on me lovely sofa with me gorgeous fella, while enjoying a few wines and some of our favourite goodies. 

Nah, fuck that I'm going to  reactivate Facebook and refresh me twitter feed, whilst being sat in a comfortable silence on me little couch next to my moody kite fella with nothing but a bag of Doritos and Haribo between us.  
Friday, 5 July 2013

Personal training

Have you ever met a man you absolutely cannot lie to? I have, and it's not even me fella. Lying to me fella is easy;
"No babe, the cats haven't been licking your food." 
"I've got no idea how match of the day got deleted off the Sky plus box" 
"No babe, if the fella from the diet coke advert ever responded to my twitter stalking and followed me back I wouldn't be thinking of him every time we have sex." 
See? Piece of piss. The fella I cannot lie to is Craig, my personal trainer.

It all started when my yoga place unexpectedly shut down. I was recommended to try Olympus Gym on Hatton Garden in town as they offered hot yoga classes. Craig popped up and tweeted that if I wanted results I should come and see him for PT sessions. I'd tweeted about a week earlier "there's 110 calories in a banana and only 55 in a vodka diet coke, make smart choices" which he'd replied to saying that alcohol reduces the body's ability to break down fat by 73%. I informed him that it also increases your ability not to give a shit by 74% though.

Naturally I was suspicious of him, I knew he was goin to try and tear me and vodka apart. And he did. Home wrecker.

Coming down the stairs into Olympus gym I'm always greeted by Craig standing at the bottom waiting, with an evil grin on his face. And it is evil. One of the pre-requisites to being a PT is being able to derive pleasure from other human beings suffering. I've never seen him eat, he just feeds off sweat, blood and tears. He calls everyone "flower" in a gentle, friendly tone, but don't be fooled. Tell me he's nice when you've experienced leg day. I never knew I could get emotional over split squats. 

While I'm warming up on the rower he'll pose the dreaded question, "So what did you get up to this weekend?" And I swear, it's like he knows. Out of my mouth comes tumbling the truth bit by bit, "Well I had my cheat meal like you said."
"What did you have?"
"Burger and chips and chocolate cake"
"And I had 2 glasses of prosecco. I know you said I wasn't allowed any alcohol but I had like 2 jugs of water so that probably cancelled it out"
His eyes widened.
"And a vodka."
"And they didn't have slimline tonic so I had to have full fat tonic"
"Are you kidding me??"
"And a steam boat"
"I'm gonna kill you. 20 burpees right now!"
"I had a quarter pounder meal at maccies in the day too. I know you said it was only one cheat meal I'm allowed not a cheat day so that was like me starter.!" (Muahaha didn't tell him I had chicken nuggets as well though)

Don't get me wrong, he's a hard task master but he gets results. Even with a weekend away in France which included a massive alcohol and carb binge I managed to drop 11.5 inches from my upper chest, waist, abdomen, bum and ham arms in just 2 weeks. I mean I had reservations on whether or not I'd be able to stick to it after the first session which largely included me rolling around on the floor like a slug screaming "No more!!! Please no more!!!" He even has what I call Fergie time and Fergie reps. You'll count 12 reps in your head and he'll insist you've only done 9 the cheeky scoundrel.

But credit where it's due, I'm closer to being sexy for mexi than I have been any other year. I reckon another dress size and ill be happy. This is now even more important as some skinny waif of a Scouse bird informed me the other day that her an her fella are stayin at my hotel in Mexico at the same time as me and as you know scousers are magnets for other scousers on holiday. Abs need to get on my belly right now.

See picture for typical conversations with Craig.

If you're into pain an suffering and that Craig is on twitter @craigm_pt and he trains at @olympusclub_spa


Scouse Bird

Wednesday, 3 July 2013

Guest post - The Cocky Horror Show

Guest post by Elissa Corrigan @misselissac

There is a pattern emerging. Men keep showing me their penises. Now, some would say that I shouldn’t complain, but what I’m talking about is a display without good reason. Penis without provocation and I have had ENOUGH. 

Let me start by opening the debate and this question is strictly for the girls. Have you ever seen schlong with out ever asking for it? Recently, I’ve had the displeasure of viewing three unsolicited ding-dongs. And surely that’s not normal? In fact so troubled by this quota of unwanted appendages, I began questioning myself, is this something I’m putting out there? Have I got something inadvertently tattooed on my forehead that says: I’ll show you mine, if you show me yours?

The first time was on a recent jaunt to Spain. Imagine the scene- I’m in a rustic restaurant quaffing a crisp glass of Chardonnay, sitting on a gorgeous mosaic terrace, surrounded by trails of Petunias and Geraniums, basking in the balmy evening sunlight.

I’m in deep in conversation when I’m rudely interrupted by a guttural drunk in a Diadora tracksuit and his dollymop wife arguing like they were on the set of Jeremy Kyle.

It was hard to hear but I managed to deduce; the chav-tastic wife ‘Irene’ was irate with her hammered hubby’s behaviour after getting them ejected from a restaurant down the road. I watched open mouthed as she roared at him, her dentures clicking like castanets and pointing her sovereign-clad finger in her pissed up partner’s face.

Except he was bladdered and oblivious to her bawling. So the rowdy hag was left with no choice but to stomp off back to the direction of her hotel leaving her hiccupping other half to fend for himself.

I accidentally caught his glazed eye. He began meandering his way toward our table, coughed a rainbow of germs in my direction, pulled down his shell suit bottoms and give the plants next to us a watering of his own like it was the most natural thing in the world. He was the foulest creature I’ve seen all year.

About a week a later, I was returning home late at night when, 10 metres from my apartment, I came upon another bloke performing this unattractive ritual: peeing in a doorway. I was stepping into the road, tutting and muttering to myself, giving him and his ever-increasing sulphurous puddle a wide berth, when he turned around, swinging his pathetic piece in the air like Saddam on Youtube, and yelled out at me to “Suck it.” Bloody diabolical if you ask me, but I wasn’t in the mood for a fracas. Not that night. 

The final straw came when I was having my nails tendered a few months ago and I was sent a picture of a penis. That really was the wrong side of enough. I decided to teach this gobsh*te a lesson.

But first some background info that later becomes very important. I’d been on two dates with this guy- let’s call him J. No sex, no fondling, no kissing even. Actually, you couldn’t even call them dates; we just used to hang out. God knows he tried his luck in the usual gentlemanly way; dinners, champagne, chocolates and flowers but I wasn’t interested and no amount of gifts was going to change that.

You’d think he would have got the message when I never returned his phone calls but I guessed he must have a lower IQ than the number of his limbs. Instead he decides to send me a snap of himself stark bollock naked in his bedroom mirror and qualified his actions by saying: “This is just in case you never get to see me naked.”

Now I am as far removed from a prude as they come, but really what is this phenomenon whereby men have to branish their bratwurst around. Am I being stupid by not marvelling at the self-exposure of these pathetic strangers? Ten years ago you would never have heard of this, let alone believe it. If it’s not being wielded in front of my face, then it’s being pinged to my mobile. I am astonished when I think about it. It’s a disgrace, disrespectful and a pollution as well. Is this acceptable behaviour? Keep it in your pants FFS!

Revenge ensues. Firstly, I text him back saying: “That thing will never be put anywhere except the palm of your hand and possibly the occasional Watermelon or Russian sex doll.”

Secondly, I called my best friend, V. I showed her the photo and after a serious bout of laughter, we decided right then and there, it was just not on and we would make an example of J.

We reasoned, he was obviously so pleased with his nether rod, and so willing to show it off then why keep it hidden? What harm could it do if we shared it with a few hundred relative strangers. We would let it his phallus flourish.

Not only did we post the picture on Facebook and tag this awful cretin - making it instantly appear on his profile - but we also tagged 50 of our mutual friends, so they could join us in our mocking, no scratch that, our sharing.

As you can imagine, as soon as J got wind of our scheme he was utterly distraught. Such was his mortification that he deleted his account all together. But really what do you expect when you send a pic of pecker to a manipulative witch like me?

I can tell you it caused quite a stir and some of the jibes left on the picture were hilarious. Try these on for size. “It looks like Jeremy Beadles withered hand”, “I’ve seen more meat on a butcher’s pencil” “Has that guy got an inny?” – Everyone was in unison, it was a grow-er not a show-er. Actually it was just a SHEOWER.

The desired effect, you may conclude. You may be right.

This was a life lesson he would never forget. Harsh, but necessary.  But on a wider scale our actions should serve as a warning to anyfella who’s toying with the idea of forwarding a picture of his precious piece. THINK AGAIN.


Monday, 1 July 2013

Identity theft

I'm a shit blogger. No posts on here since April! Although still loads of beauty/lifestyle ones under reviews on like. I do solemnly vow to blog a bit more on here, even if they're short and sweet.

One of the strings to my bow is that I'm a landlord. Well landlady. I was sat in the hairdressers yesterday gettin drenched by the work experience girl washin me  hair (arr if you're readin this girl, bless your cotton socks, soakin people is a rite of passage and you did a fab blow dry) when I got a call off a number I didn't know. I pay all my bills on time and I don't have any mad exes that I'm tryin to swerve therefore unknown numbers don't really fill me with fear an dread, so I answered. It was the next door neighbour for the property I rent out.

"Hi Scouse Bird (he used my real name like, I don't call round to collect the rent in a Coleen mask or anything), I've got a bit of a problem with your tenant."

Shit. "Riiiight?" I had visions of slanging matches on the street, domestic abuse, music blasting til all hours & them turning my old gaff into a brass house.

"Yeh they've committed identity fraud on me, opened all sorts of credit agreements an now they've done a bunk"

FUUUUCCKK "What??! No that doesn't make sense, she's spent loads doin the house up, she's completely redecorated, why bother doin that if they're just planning on gettin off?"

"They've bought loads of phones and computers an I don't know where they got the money. I mean, they could've just gone out for the day though."

"Hmm ok. Well there's not a lot I can do about it, alls I can suggest is calling the police an let them investigate."

"Right ok see ya"

I'm not sure what he wanted me to do, make a citizens arrest? Either way, I carried on gettin my hair done (I was goin out for a cheat meal that night to Byrons) and sat there dreading the thought of havin to find another tenant. Be assed. About an hour later he called again.

"Hi Scouse Bird, I've just seen them come home. They haven't done a bunk."

Thank fuck for that "Right, that's good. So what actually makes you think it was them anyway? Is it just that they bought a computer?"

"Well yes. What it was, someone phoned pretending to be from BT an i gave them access to my computer, I fell for it hook line and sinker. Now they have all my details. Only next door would know I have a computer."

"Yeh John* that's a pretty common scam that, I think they just assume every house has a computer and try their luck."


"Yeh. I've had someone blaggin they're from Microsoft ringin me. An I've heard of one hoax where someone rings pretending to be from BT sayin they'll cut your phone line if you don't pay there and then and ill prove it. Then when you hang up they stay on the line and mute it so when you pick up the phone again the line sounds dead. Then they ring you back 10 mins later and say 'see, we cut your phone off'. So they're dead clever John* - I don't think it's them next door like"

"But...what do I do?" 

I actually felt dead sorry for him. I don't think there's any quick fix to sort out having your identity stolen. I just told him to contact the credit reference agencies and the police and be vigilant in future.

So yeah, be careful everyone - identity theft is proper arly.

*name has been changed to protect identity. the irony.

Scouse Bird