Wednesday

We went to Wells, there's a market there on Wednesday.

After staying up most of Tuesday night, reading The Girl Who Kicked The Hornets' nest, i was tired and in a bad mood for most of the morning.

It started badly. The first thing i said as i got into the car was - "you do know the way, right?". My grandad laughed. "Of COURSE i know the way, i've been there hundreds of times before." Well, he didn't know the way. We got lost out on the levels. again. I saw a cat that had been shot.

But we finally got there, and Wells is a really nice place. It was the first time i've been there and it's not been raining.

Here it is, not raining -

As it had taken a ridiculously long time to get there, the first thing to do was have coffee. There we were, minding our own business, when an man decides to come and sit with us. This isn't normal. He then starts to talk to us about his knee surgery. Also, not normal. Then, he rolls his trouser leg up and starts showing us the scars from the operation. This is just weird. He ended his speech with. "Ok then. Goodbye.", got up and left the cafe. then a woman who worked there came over to us and said "don't mind him, he does that a lot." Oh.

Then we went to the market. It mostly sold food, and terrible slippers.

Next, we went to walk around the Cathedral and the gardens are various other places.

I was puzzled. There are normally ducks here. Where did they all go? Ducks don't just disappear. Do they?

Anyway, i bought a pencil. Not very interesting.

Then things got a bit strange. I was standing outside a shop, my grandmother had gone inside and my grandad was in the bank, when all of a sudden, i very posh woman grabbed my by the elbow and shoved me in the other direction. I was half asleep and for some reason, i was standing in front of a fat old man.

"smile" said the posh woman. and about a second later, a picture was taken. "You don't mind this being in the newspaper, do you? No? Good." I blinked, shocked. The fat man shook my hand and it was then that i noticed they were all wearing blue rosettes. Ugh. Great. Thankfully, my grandad came over to rescue me.

"Hell would have to freeze over before I, or any member of my family had any sort of association with the conservatives." Then he walked away, dragging me behind him.

Ow. I don't want my picture to be in any newspaper. Especially not with some Conservative MP.

Anyway, Wells was infuriating my Grandad too much so we went to Glastonbury for lunch.

This is Glastonbury.

It's full of odd people and shops.

This is where we had lunch, it's very nice. i had vegetable pie and chips and somehow managed to get vinegar in my eye.

There's a lot of homeless people in Glastonbury. Homeless hippies. One of them was carrying a bow and arrows. Surely that's unnecessary, and illegal?

There's also this bakery. They sell very very small Cornish pasties that for some completely incomprehensible reason, my grandparents love. I think they're probably what made me become vegetarian.

I also saw this book:

No they don't. This is a blatant lie.

Blue Peter (part 2)

1) decide to make cakes. decide they will be amazing.

2) realise there is nothing to make cakes out of.

3) go to shop. get cold. run. hurt ankles. hobble.

4) do difficult calculations (58x3)

5) buy chocolate.

6) walk home. get shouted at by strange men in cars.

7)


8)


9) chop stuff up into little pieces.

10) MELT!

11) Mess.12) stir. (quite a lot of stirring required here)



13) Place in cases. Decorate!


14) eat!

The Science of The Combover

A comb over or combover is a hairstyle worn by bald or balding men in which the hair on one side of the head is grown long and then combed over the bald area to minimize the display of baldness."

-----

"Peter's combover is back."

This sentence was said to me a while ago. It is, of course, referring to my Uncle Peter. A few months ago he got rid of his combover. We had a party. He no longer looked like a paedophile.

"oh dear"

However, i am beginning to wonder HOW it "came back"?!

I don't know a lot about old men's hair, in fact, i try to avoid thinking about it at all costs, but surely you don't just wake up one morning, look in the mirror and think "goodness me, i have a combover".

This has got me think about the transitional stage from no combover to combover...

It must take a fair few months to grow hair long enough to go right over the head and cover the bald bit. How often do you see a man with a bald patch on top, very short hair one side of their head and long hair on the other side?

Or do you grow it both sides with a bald patch in the middle so you look like you have hairy spaniel ears for a while?

But then, once you've got this particularly ridiculous hairstyle, what do you do with it every morning? You brush it all down one side of your face, then... sort of... FLOP...? Do you have to straighten it first, with GHDs?

What is the problem with just being bald? Are you worried about your head getting cold, is that it? If so, why not wear a hat? You are essentially, creating your own hat out of the hair still attached to your head. That's like making a pair of trousers out of your own leg hair or shoes made from your toenails... (yes, i am also feeling a bit sick thinking about that. sorry.)

And then, what about standing in a strong wind?

How many times have you been watching the news when a presenter is standing in front of that big sign at Scotland Yard or something, telling you about a terrible murder case or something equally as serious whilst their hair is doing it's only little dance? IT'S DISTRACTING.

What about running for a bus? First thing in the morning.... you're going to have to spend the rest of the day looking like this:

That is, if you're a wizard.

And what about when it's sunny? Do you get a strange striped tan pattern on the top of your head? Do you put suncream on UNDER the hair???

The more i think about them, the most questions pop into my head!

But i must stop now, before i go a little mad.

SO, in conclusion:

The Combover - Just Don't.

La familia de Hedgehog

My old people have been round this weekend. And some other members of my family who aren't that old.

My old people live in THE WEST. This is a slightly terrifying place where i am forced to spend at least 4 weeks a year.

Slightly off the subject, but here is a fact for you about THE WEST, i once phoned into BCR (bridgwater community radio) to answer a question for a competition and the host laughed at me because of my "posh London accent". Grrr.

Anyhoo, i thought i'd share with you some of the best things my family have said this weekend.

My Grandmother:

on Geoff Lloyd talking about sniffing celebrities: "ooh, what an odd man, is he a little backward?... should he be allowed on the radio?"

on an ancient clothes shop in West Wickham called Marianne: "i bought a cardigan in there in 1942. It smelt of pickle."

on driving past a house in West Wickham: "that was where old Pam used to live, her daughter Helen had triplets. 3 little boys, ugly little bastards they were. She wasn't the best person to have triplets, right strange thing, i once saw her in the bakers wearing blue tights and black shoes... still, she must have been quite fertile..."

on a man walking along on the pavement: "that man thinks he's a bicycle". she didn't elaborate.

My uncle Steve, pointing at the plum tart we had for pudding: "i'll have a slice of the aubergine quiche, oh yes i shall." pointing at the custard, "and i'll have some of that cottage cheese with it too, yes i shall. smashing!" (i think he was doing his impression of Prince Philip)

My Aunt, talking about the new person at work "i don't think she likes me much, i didn't mean to give her a dirty look, she just wasn't what i expected, i'd only seen her sitting down before - she was shorter when she was standing up and her face doesn't look anything like the back of her head."

I also learnt that my great uncle Peter (who i don't think has left THE WEST in the last 20 years" honestly believes that "those fucking Polish job-stealers" go to ASDA after 5:30 on a Thursday evening and get EVERYTHING for free. I don't know why he thinks this, but sometimes he sits in ASDA car park of a Thursday evening looking for "foreign looking people" and shouting at them.

Another thing i learnt was that my very very posh great aunt and uncle, have 6 freezers in their garage where they keep the meat they've bought, because they like to go to the farm and buy a whole cow, a whole sheep and 6 chickens every 2 months and freeze them. WEEIIRD.

My Grandad is the best for saying odd things, my favourite thing that he ever said was last Christmas, my grandparents had bought everyone pyjamas for Christmas, except for my aunt (their daughter-in-law) who they bought knickers for. She opened them, looked at them and said "oh thank you, their just the type that i wear." to which my grandad replied "yes, i know, that's why i chose them". My aunt still insists that was one of the most disturbing moments of her life.

Just before i end this, here's Stephanie fact for you:

There are about 4 members of my family who call me Eel Pie. I'll bake some Dalek biscuits for the first person who can work out why :-)

The Buddhapadipa Temple

This is about buddhism.

Sort of.

Recently, i've been writing about buddhist monks for an RS project. But, before this, we went on a school trip to the Buddhapadipa Temple in Wimbledon.

As a general rule, i like school trips. Whatever they are, they have to be better than actual school.

This trip was... interesting.

To be honest, it was ages ago... i can't remember that much about it, except that i fell over and a buddhist monk saw my knickers, then laughed.

But as i was looking for pictures to stick in my project, i found these. I thought you might like to see them.

This is the temple. It's pretty.



This is a pond. It's also pretty.




Like very small children, we were fascinated by the fact we could see our reflections in the pond.



This is a parrot.

This is Jesus. I'm not sure what he was doing there.



These are my friends, racing up some steps



Here they are again, once they reached the top of the steps.

So there you go. Another pointless blog.

What A Lovely Strange Man!

When i was very very young, i was taught never to speak to strange men. I think most people were, in fact i remember when i was 10, we had "The Life Bus" come to our school.

It was basically a smelly little caravan with a very miserable woman in. We were made to sit in this caravan and were talked at about perverts and people who would try to give us drugs and men with beards. Well, she tried to talk at us about them but as i went to a school full of horrible little girls who seriously believed they were better than everyone else because their parents were rich, i think she only spoke for about 10 minutes, then ran away crying.

Anyway, i had never spoken to strange men and had been suspicious of everyone with a beard, until about February. Now, on Twitter, i speak to strange men on a daily basis, i would even say that i am friends with some strange men. And from twitter, i have learnt that it's actually a very small percentage of the world that want to kill you/give you drugs/whatever else.

Since then, i have spoken to lots of strange people in real-life too and am no longer terrified and suspicious of everyone i see walking down the street.

Even so, i couldn't help but be a little worried when a strange man, wearing a hooded top (and he had a beard) started talking to me, as i was standing in an alley-way, waiting for my aunt on Wednesday.

Especially as he had crept up behind me (which made me jump) and the first thing he said to me was:

"Your hair looks very pretty".

CREEEEEPY!

To be fair, it was a very warm afternoon (that's why i was standing in the alley-way - to get away from the sun), i had just run from Greenwich DLR station to my aunt's office and my hair had escaped from the plait i had attempted to put it in and was sticking up at every angle possible, so i was looking in a mirror, trying to flatten it down.

I was seriously considering running away, or screaming but he then handed me a leaflet and told me his name was Reg and we continued to have a lovely conversation.

My Aunt works for a record company, turns out this man was handing out leaflets for some man that was doing some recording there. So, as i waited for my aunt, i went and peered through the window of a recording studio and watched this man do some recording:

www.myspace.com/termzymusic

To be honest, the music is rather shit. But i thought I'd write about it anyway...

(if anyone wants to talk to truly lovely strange man - and i think he has a beard... - could i please recommend Damien/damohopo)