We’re doing the Race for Life!

Us girlies at work (plus my Mum!) are running the Race for Life on the 16th June! If you are feeling generous and lovely please dig deep into your pockets!

Incase you were wondering about the photo… I was on holiday. I have not been held hostage nor have I died.

http://www.raceforlifesponsorme.org/copart?utm_source=facebook&utm_medium=shares-from-eua&utm_content=copart&utm_campaign=eua-share-facebook

I went for my first run yesterday..in…to be honest…a long time. I got chased my two dogs, got half a dozen flies in my eye and at one point I came dangerously close to vomiting up a lung.

Since I am feeling all sad, peeley and post holiday bluesy, I figured that I would share some of the more flattering holiday photos that I took. I am such a photo taker. Snap happy.

Life is about taking risks.

Risks?

Oh no – I’m not talking of tight rope walking or bare knuckle fighting.

Don’t be silly, I am not one to dice with danger!

Before we went away to Altea, I had grand schemes and notions about taking some awesome under water photos.

In my head I imagined beautiful, ethereal photographs.

Sadly, the reality did not match the dream.

The photos of me dunking my head under water are the most horrible photos of me that have ever been taken. Instead of burning them on a bonfire in the back garden, I figured I would share them on here.

Hmm…yeah. You can let me know if you think it was a good idea or not…

And the rest are normal. Ish. It wasn’t a complete waste of money on the disposable camera.

I’m suffering from post holiday blues. I think I’m going to have to book anther holiday ASAP.

I’m not adversed to the occasional unicorn.

I showed my sister my latest artistic efforts.

Her reaction?

“You used to paint nice things. Pretty things. Now everything is scary.”

Which I hadn’t really noticed until I had a second look.

To get a second opinion, I then went to show my mother.

“Oh it’s good. It’s really good.”

Jokingly, I held it up to the wall.

“NO I do not want it there!!!”

Have I sustained a recent trauma which has lead to a subsequent change in the context and style of my art? What could it mean? What could it be? Has my blackened husk of a heart finally given up the ghost like the crappy discarded remains in a the bottom of a tube of Pringles?

Not as far as I am aware. It’s what I think looks good and works at the time. What am I expressing? I’m expressing a strong love for dark blue acrylic paint.

How are you all spending the upcoming dingy, grey, drizzly week?

‘Cause I’m going on holiday!

Needless to say, I will not be posting in the next week. I’m not even taking my phone, I don’t think. So if y’all could be total babes and just keep looking at this blog. I know a void will be left in your hearts, souls, Facebook and twitter feeds as I will not be around, constantly harassing people to read this as I usually do…

But just go ahead and reread this 14 times anyway.

Ta!

Back onto the metaphorical horse.

I have felt extremely uninspired of late. I have barely picked up a pen in weeks. Except of course to black out the teeth of people on magazines, but that is standard and normal, right? Barely worth a mention.

Forget all of that though, for – when not drunk this bank holiday weekend – I have managed to draw about 200000 pictures. Mostly of myself and my mother…that’s normal….?

Each one is sort of A2 size and were drawn freehand with a black handwriting pen (Tesco jobby, amazing to draw with)

It has just occurred to me as I’ve been uploading these images that maybe I should start drawing and painting stuffs that people might actually want on their walls.

That’s another job for another day.

Happy birthday Katypie!

This is starting to feel a bit of a reg! But it is my sisters 25th birthday today so bore off those of you who are thinking ‘corr, another birthday! Does this girl do nothing but drink?!’

I mean largely, the answer is…no. What of it?

She is the larger and browner one of the two of us. Basically the one who does not look like a street urchin. The one who does not look like she would try and sell you flowers whilst stealing your diamonds on a holiday in Turkey by pretending to be an amputee.

Also here’s another embarrassing childhood photo just because.

So yeah. As of today, Katy is:

- 5 years away from 30
- 1/2 of 50
- 1/4 of 100
- 1/8 of 200
- 1/40 of 1000
- 1/400 of 10000
- 1/4000 of 100000
- 1/40000 of 1000000

Ridiculous maths, you might argue.

But to put it into more realistic terms…if she signed up for the X factor now, she would be put into Louis Walsh’s group.

Have you all had a glorious weekend?

We went to London Friday evening and did some groovy dancing at Facedown at Scala.

Chatting to a man dressed in a Jaegermeister outfit who is giving out shit loads of transfer tattoos may seem like fun and games, but it ultimately ends up…in rashes. My arms. Oh my arms. I know I paint an attractive picture of myself but its like localised chicken pox. All I know is there are loads of strange photos of me on the Internet that I am luckily never going to be able to find.

All is not entirely lost as I have a fair selection on my mobile telephonic device.

The birthday girlie.

So it was all going well. And then I lost everyone. Then there were strippers with duct tape and milk. So much milk. Is milk a thing? Did this even happen or did someone slip hallucinogenic drugs into my vodka and in the far reaches of my mind it is actually ME who has a thing for milk? And strippers? Please someone clarify if this a done ‘thing’ at Scala?

I’ve eaten enough food and drank enough beer this weekend to weigh down, and then potentially capsize a small rowing boat.

If I went on Supersize vs Superskinny they would plop the food in, smother it in tequila and Dr Christian would look at me with such shame and judgement that I would spend the rest of my life sucking on a cherry tomato like its a never ending gobstopper.

I don’t know, you might think I am exaggerating but I am listening to ‘Bloodshake’ by Peace and I found myself subconsciously tapping my belly like a drum.

I’ve got a little confession which is sure to not rock your world.

The Lichtenstein Retrospective was so beautiful! I know I might sound a little demented (I haven’t been to a gallery in a long old time) but it was so breath taking to be so close to such beautiful art. I must have looked a little strange with my face pressed up to the glass to see the paint on the canvas. I was so fascinated to study the imperfections. I was worried I would zone out after a while because my attention span is so poor but I made it round the exhibition twice!

I was in love! Even if you don’t rate art it would blow your socks off.

This is a photo of me looking super lanky in London. I know, the photo is pretty self explanatory. Never underestimate the simple mindedness of the audience and all that..

I gots no photos from the Tate Modern. Hawk eyed gallery workers were watching me wearing Kayleigh’s flash camera round my neck and were poised and ready to pounce. I got out my phone to show Kayleigh a text message only to be reminded by a polo shirt that photography was not permitted. From his reaction I was fearful he may be carrying a Taser. Jeeeeeeeez. But no, no…I get it.

Anyway. What I came here today to say…well…what I came here today to confess was…

Well…

Erm….

Well, it’s just that…

Few things fill me full of dread and disappointment as…

No, I think disappointment is the wrong word. Disappointment is:

- Pealing back the foil on a container of Philadelphia only to discover that it has grown a furry green jacket.

- Finding out a slamming hottie has a girlfriend.

- Being told in no uncertain terms that you are more likely to be able to learn the Japanese language in 12 hours than find an American Apparel bikini that will fit your boobs.

- “You have 0 minutes left on your Spotify Account. Please play £1,000,000 to continue listening to the new Yeah Yeah Yeah’s album you’ve been rinsing dry for 32 hours.”

No. So.. Sorry. I digress like a motherfucker. I don’t think anyone really likes admitting things that make them sound lame or abnormal. I mean, like, exceptionally so.

But I’m going to go for it.

Live music does absolutly nothing for me.

Less than nothing.

Live music does -4 to me.

I’ve been to see many a band in my time. And I just don’t enjoy it.

Why?

1. I don’t like waiting.

2. I don’t like being in rooms that quickly change from being too cold and then too hot.

3. I don’t like the smell of stagnant beer, piss or sweat. Atleast when you could smoke inside this would be the most prominant odour.

4. Why do all men with alarmingly hairy necks congregate at the front? I don’t like being shoved so close that this neck hair is in my mouth.

5. I don’t like drinking beer. Or spending £6 for the privelege. I don’t understand why nor enjoy when people piss in the left over plastic beakers and then throw it. I can’t speak for certain and you should never say never but I can’t see myself ever getting drunk enough that I piss in whatever I was drinking and then throw the contents over a strangers head.

Oh but Sarah, you must enjoy festivals, right?

No. All of the same applies but you are outside, sleeping on the ground. Eating nothing but cereal bars for 4 days. The sight of a toilet with a low yet passingly acceptable level of hygiene is nothing but a drug induced dillusion, whilst you squat over a cesspit shuddering through the waves of nausea trying to avoid making contact with any of the four walls, ceiling or floor. The bands of yester year (the soul reason you spent £200 on your ticket) come out and play the same over played songs like the puppets with cracked out hollow eyes that they are.

For days after you return, you cannot summon the energy to even stand in the shower. The water runs black for days. “What has happened to me…?” you wonder? You cannot remember as you blacked out for 48 hours after drinking your weight in Tesco Value Whisky and the only act you can remember seeing is Scouting For Girls.

And let’s face it, everyone hates Scouting For Girls.

I’m being obstreperous.

Good morning.

I’m worried that through writing this I’ve become a bit of an autohagiographer and a bit inaniloquent. Is this all witzelsucht? I am fearful that sometimes I sound like an ultracrepidarian. I’ve woken up this morning decubiting, and whilst pandiculating and staring at the interfenestration in my room, it has occured to me that perhaps I want to be a dompteuse, a xylopolist but mostly I’d want to quomodocunquize.

Are you ever concerned that long words will die out and be replaced with nonsense abbreviations?

I mean it is a total arse ache trying to construct a paragraph using obscurely long words with strange definitions. It might not even be gramatically correct but gosh darn it, I tried my best.

You should try and casually use these words in day to day conversation. Have you ever been struck down with a lack of inspiration when you could not think of a word to articulate an archaic phrase? Fear no more, for I shall post some handy snippets below. For example:

Hippopotomonstrosesquipedalian means pertaining to extremely long words. A paradox if I ever did hear one.

Krukolibidinous is the act of staring at someone’s crotch.

Lygerastia is the condition of one who is only amorous when the lights are out.

Mallemaroking is the carousing of seamen on the board of Greenland whaling ships.

I’m probably often guilty of oculoplania. What is oculoplania? Letting one’s eyes wander whilst assessing someone’s charms.

Vigesimation is the act of killing every twentieth person.

Capernoited means slightly intoxicated or tipsy.

Floccinaucinihilipilification is the categorising of something that is useless or trivial.

Anyway, I borrow this from this website that I googled – soz. Check the rest out here. Check out the ones above in their original format before I went and copy ‘n’ pasted them. http://users.tinyonline.co.uk/gswithenbank/unuwords.htm

It is so super shiny and lovely and sunny out side that I’m going to don a props summer dress and catch the train to London. I have plans…I was not just going to get to St.Pancras and then catch the next train back to Bedford!

I’M FINALLY GOING TO THE LICHTENSTEIN RETROSPECTIVE! I’m so badass that I prebooked my tickets. Ohhhhh yeaaahhhhh.