Many of you have been asking me where you can read the interview I did for Open magazine recently. Well here it is! Open magazine is available free in restaurants, hotels, shopping centres, coach and bus stations around Liverpool. You can also check out their website and sign up for their city-wide discount card here cos a scouse bird loves a dizzy www.openthecity.co.uk

People say you are Liverpool’s answer to Bridget Jones, what do you think about that?

It was a title I coined myself. i had the worst luck with fellas, even my best mate said "You've been out with some weirdos you!" I had a bit of a quarter life crisis when I turned 26 and wasn't settled down or married - I totally blame Bridget Jones for this, that film convinced me that if I wasn't married by the time I'm 30 then I've basically failed at life. So I resigned myself to choosing vodka, Shaka Khan (or something more up to date) and dying alone gettin eaten by alsations. I thought I'd start a blog to poke fun at the misadventures I landed myself in on my journey through spinsterhood. If you don't laugh, you'll cry.

How does ScouseBird prepare for a night out?

Preparation for a night out begins on a Wednesday if you want to achieve true blorange (black orange) nirvana. Ideally you need a layer of St Moriz dark left on overnight on Wednesday, Thursday and Friday nights - basically you need to resign yourself to the fact that at least half your life is goin to be spent smelling like biscuits and you'll never be able to buy white sheets. (We wonder why we're single??)

If you're crap at hair and make up then a visit to the hairdressers is essential on Saturday itself where they will put your hair in rollers for you and sort your smokey eyes and lashes out otherwise there's a very real danger of looking like a meff. I prefer a more DIY approach as it allows me to have a disco nap in the afternoon and I'm like Bagpuss for napping. Bath, sleeprollers, disco nap - usually woken up by a vodka and diet coke.

What does ScouseBird look for in a lad?

Scouse. End of. No excuses. None of these Justin Bieber combover tits wearing Toms and flashing their cleavage at me. I like my men to have a short back and sides, a sexy accent, a round neck t-shirt which showcases their guns and not be a bad ming. On the sly I'd prefer if he didn't have commitment issues, be a serial womaniser and could be a top gooser but on a purely superficial level he must be scouse. I suggest lads bring out a picture of their purple wheelie bin as ID.

What would be ScouseBird’s ideal night out?

 I've been going out to town for proper beards now and the price of drinks is a joke. I remember when a blue WKD used to be aba £2 and you could get pissed, a pizza and a taxi home for £30. I remember that because it was last week. I'm a huge advocate of handbag vodka, I've been spending £30 on a night out forever - in your face inflation! I mean I get some funny looks when I go the bar and ask for 2 diet cokes and 2 shots of tequila but I'll just slur something about trying to pace myself or "I'm driving!". Who drives to town like??

Has ScouseBird ever had a bad date?

Oh have I?? I've been on far too many than I care to remember. I did a whole blog in fact dedicated to some of the worst ones. For example:

Last August I split up with my ex just before the Mathew Street Festival. I was made up if I'm honest. He was a whole world of hassle.

So of course me and my best mate went the festival and had Bubba Kegs (like giant flask cups) the size of our heads filled with vodka and cranberry juice and a decent few cans of cider. We were trawling the streets hammered and causing a general nuisance of ourselves.

We got talking to a fella who was cracking the funnies left right and centre. He had a certain look of Jimmy Carr about him sure, but in my vodka buzz I could deal with that. Funny men really do it for me, well more than fitties, I quite liked him. Next thing this fat mess bounced over screeching, "JIMMMMMYYYYY, U SWORE YOU'D NEVER CHEAT ON ME JIMMY!" and proceeded to eat his head. Or maybe she was trying to neck him. I don't know. Time to make a swift exit.

The next day me and my mate decided to sign up for internet dating, yano cos we never learn. The next morning rather freakishly I woke up to a message off him. I messaged him back saying, "Did I see you at the Mathew St festival?!" This was fate. This was destiny. We HAD to go on a date. Well destiny can fuck raaaaar off!

He turned up, he looked more like Jimmy Carr than Jimmy Carr does. Damn you vodka haze. His sense of humour was weird. He proceeded to tell the barman we were here on our first wedding anniversary as I stood there, awkwardly cringing and having some real 'fight or flight' instincts. But I decided to stick with it and he ordered me a small wine. It was awful. Just awful. The date not the wine. My cheeks ached from politely fake smiling. I checked my exits, there was no way out without being seen leggin it. I went the bar for my round, because despite spending the last half an hour telling me how rich he was and me being quite clearly out of his league he let me get the round in.

As I ordered the wine the barman asked me, "Small or large?"

"Better make it a large mate."

"So it's not your first wedding anniversary then?"

"Is it shite. It's the date from hell."

I got a bit more pissed and he got a bit more bearable but it was certainly not enough to get a second date. I couldn't watch 8 out of 10 cats for weeks.

What could ScouseBird not live without?

My scousebrow pencil definitely. I've looked back on pictures of myself pre-scouse brow and I reckon I've deffo got albino genes in me somewhere. There's no need.

What is great about Liverpool right now?

Scouse is so hot right now. It's the new black. It's so "on trend". I think watching shows like Geordie Shore and TOWIE makes everyone realise how boss we are. Desperate Scousewives only never got a second series 1. Because I wasn't in it and 2. Everyone was jealous that they're not sound like us. Scousers are just boss at everything, twitter for example - we're funny and everyone wants to be like us but they're not allowed because you have to be born this way.

What is not so great about Liverpool right now?

The influx of Tom wearing, "awkward" & "random" saying students who actually think they belong here. I was in a changing room once listening to some birds NOT from Liverpool and I was actually physically cringing, put me right off my shopping.

Is ScouseBird getting away on holiday this year?

There are really only two or three acceptable holiday destinations for the discerning scouser. I'm off to Cancun - my third time. I went to Dominican last year and honest to god don't bother, it's a hole. If you go to Mexico everywhere else will just seem a little bit shit. In a few weeks time while you're all working I'll be fist pumping round The City (the largest club in Latin America) to Swedish House Mafia, with a table full of vodka and some UV clad gymnasts doing acrobatics from the ceiling. Tanned to fuck. Soz about you.

Any holiday experiences good or bad you would to share with us?

Oh god yeh, in Mexico a couple of years ago I was coming out of a club and I fell off my own foot. Not the kerb, not my heels (I was wearing flats....NOT KITTENS...flats), my actual foot. I sprained my ankle quite badly - to this day I'm not sure I may actually have broken it. Rather than go home, the copious amounts of tequila I'd consumed acted like an anesthetic and I partied on all night, dragging my leg behand me like Quasimodo. "The bells! The bells!"

I woke up the next day and actually couldn't move, like seriously couldn't get off the bed. I ended up swerving going the hospital cos after speaking to my insurance company while hungover it all sounded a bit complicated. I got the seedy lifeguard to strap it up for me while batting off indecent proposals from him and joined the legions of other people with party medals in the 'crutch club'. The bandage seriously fucked up my tan, I was fuming.

Now two years on I've still got one fat ankle which clicks....a permenant souvenier I reckon.

Neighbours

Neighbours, everybody needs good neighbours as the song goes. Unfortunately I have not been blessed. I have had a conveyor belt of the strangest, noisiest and annoying bastards ever since I moved in 6 years ago. The main culprit has been the rented house next door but it's by no means the only source.

Scally Karen

I don’t know that her name was ever Karen but she reminded me of a character Alan Carr described in one of his sketches. Now she bowled up one day after the house next door had been vacant for a few months (a family who thought buying their kids a drum kit was a great idea had just moved out) looking like she'd come straight from the Jeremy Kyle studio. She had greasy ginger hair, a shellsuit circa 1989, heavily pregnant with a fag hangin out her mouth and a sprog already in tow. Made up. At first it was just her and the sprogs, that was bad enough seein as she let her (no more than) 5 year old run round at 3 in the morning screeching, but give her a few months and it was like an episode of the Waltons. These are 2 up 2 down tiny little houses in Walton and she had herself, 2 sprogs, her sister, her mum and dad, 2 fellas (she had more than one) and a dog living there. They were always drunk and always fighting. The dog would be left out in the back (a tiny space) day and night with no food or shelter just barking constantly. I called the RSPCA twice and they didn't even bother turning up, you ain’t gettin my £2 a month no more that’s for sure. I was at my wits end. I ended up goin on the benefit fraud website an shopping her for benefit fraud. I didn't know she was like I just thought I'd take a stab in the dark at it, she’s gotta be frauding something somewhere. Anyway a week later the police turned up and she was gone. Victory was mine. In your face you greasy ginger.

It’s Britney Bitch

A few months later and the memory of Scally Karen faded away into no more than a bad dream. One Friday night, in those dark days when I used to work on a Saturday, I was woken in the wee small hours by music booming through the wall. It started at 2am and it finished at 5.30am. Get to bed you! It was so loud that I could sing alone to it. My new neighbour had no shame, this was no Jay-Z or Swedish House Mafia they had on, no, it was Britney’s greatest hits. On repeat. For 3 and a half hours. I mean when you get in from town at 2am on a Friday, quite possibly to stay up getting twisted, is Britney anyone’s first choice? This happened every Friday for 6 weeks and I was fuming.

One Saturday night I rolled in at 4am and my friend and I decided to hammer, yes actually raided my toolbox, on the wall and sing ‘hit me baby one more time’ at the top of our voices. Revenge is a dish best served pissed. The weekly late night pop concerts stopped for a while but unfortunately not permanently.

I went round knocking one Saturday morning to plead with them to shut the fuck up as a 90’s music assault has gone on since 2.30am and it was now 7am. A woman, easily well into her thirties opened the door and she was having a party! Just her and about 20 lads. No mess. What the hell was even going on? Britney at a party where the birds are outnumbered 20 to 1? What sort of party is this?? In the end the council issued her with a noise warning letter and Britney was never heard again. I just had to deal with her sex noises instead which sounded not unlike a tiny yappy dog. “Yis! Yis! Yis! Oh yis! Yip Yip Yip”

18 months that went on for.

The Drug Dealer

I have no proof whatsoever that my new neighbour opposite is a drug dealer. I just call him that. He has a vast array of people coming in and out his house at various times of day and night who go in, stay for 10 minutes and leave, never to be seen again. What throws me is that this fella seems to be unable to have a conversation that isn’t held in the middle of the street and isn’t at 100 decibels. Mate – SHUT THE FUCK UP! I just thought a drug dealer would be more discreet in general really. I often hear him and his girlfriend arguing until the early hours, usually over some girl called Danielle. The jist is that he’s been texting her and his bird is NOT happy about it. They then have noisy make up sex. It’s like a real life soap opera. I always intend to stir things up by posting some sort of note like “Hi I stopped by but you weren’t in, thanks for last night. Love Danielle xxx” but I normally plan this on the way out to town and I’m normally pissed with chicken and mayo all over me by the time I get in and Danielle’s been forgotten about. One day though, one day!

The 50 year old virgin

Another one of my neighbours is actually really nice. He’s about 50-60 and lives with his mum. The only problem is that the houses in my street don’t have gardens so when it’s sunny people sit out on their front steps. Proper scouse. My neighbour takes things too far though. On any day there’s even so much as a hint of sun he’s straight out in the middle of the street on his sun lounger, stripped down to his budgie smugglers and oiled up. I dread sunny days as much as I look forward to them because I know full well that if I leave the house or indeed want to soak up some rays myself I’m going to be visually assaulted by aging nipple. Sly on me that.

So you see, I have a veritable smorgasbord of walking bad habits living in my street. It is about 30 seconds walk from the Bargain Booze though so it’s really not all that bad. I like it here for the most part!

Enjoy your weekends and if you have the type of neighbours you can borrow a cup of sugar off (does that even happen these days?) then I’m jelly.

Inabit

@boobleyboo AKA @scousebirdprobs

xxx