My Faltering Faith in Father Christmas.

Q: What am I all year round?
A: A good girl.

Q: What have I asked Father Christmas for, for the last 12 years?
A: A Mr Frosty Machine.

Q: What have I never received for Christmas?
A: A Mr Frosty Machine.

Q: What have I never asked for, but always get every year?
A: A Robbie Williams Calender

Q: Who have I never expressed any interest in?
A: Robbie Williams.


A Conversation.

This is a wee little snippet from a conversation I heard with a friend, today, we’ll call her Leprechaun O’Connor (£10 if you can guess her nationality). We are quite different, this is just one example.

Leprechaun: Have you ever watched porn?
Me: Honey, is your priest a paedophile? (I jest, I jest. I said “is your Pope a Catholic?” I was totally thinking the paedophile thing, though).
Leprechaun: Uh, well, I haven’t.
Me: What?
Leprechaun: Ever.
Me: …What?
Leprechaun: I’ve never made myself come.
Me: What?
Leprechaun: I’ve never masturbated.
Me: What?
Leprechaun: I don’t like my boyfriend to use his fingers.
Me: Seriously. What?
Leprechaun: Should I know what my vagina looks like?
Me: What?
Leprechaun: I don’t think girls should masturbate.

Isn’t it funny how opposites attract, even in friendships? Har de har har.

Christmas in Tesco

  • Stop ramming your trolley into my heels. If anything, that will make me go slower, you bastard.
  • Stop being so over dramatic and sighing at the long queues at the till. At 2pm and two days before Christmas, if you expected anything else, you’re a twat.
  • Is that a deodorant gift set? What? Dude, no one wants to open that.
  • Pardon? You’re buying someone biscuits for Christmas? Just wrap up some coal instead, you cheap fucker.
  • Stop playing The Pogues.
  • Stop playing The Pogues.
  • Stop playing The Pogues.
  • Stop playing The Pogues.
  • I don’t drink Bucks Fizz at any other time of the year so I’m not going to buy it now. Even if it is £1.99.
  • Can someone pass me the Christmas pretzel selection box?
  • Stop playing The Pogues.
  • Don’t judge me for the amount of Bombay Sapphire I have in my trolley. All those bottles are needed.

And, finally:

  • Stop playing The Pogues.

Hallelujah, Public Transport, I Salute Thee.

Y’know when you’re about 13 and you just can’t wait to get old enough to apply for your provisional drivers licence? All you can think about is driving and how cool it will be to go on road trips with your chums. Ah, remember?

Except, when I turned 17, all my money went on cider. And shoes. And nights out. And really, really disgusting Primark lingerie to wear for my first boyfriend.

So, at the ripe old age of 22, I’m still riding the bus. Which is fine. I live really near the stop! Also, you just meet the best yet weirdest characters. Last Christmas, I was invited to someone’s family dinner. What’s more festive/rapey than that?

People always listen to what you have to say and give their little input too, which I secretly love. This occured to me en-route back from the city centre this evening:

Me:Urgh, so my muscles are aching like crazy. I think it’s just fatigue, y’know?
My friend: Yes, you haven’t really been sleeping have you?
Me: Not like I usually do. Maybe 3-4 hours a night.
[And so it continues]
Me: So, I’m just going to rest up.
14 year-old on the seat behind: Hi, uh, I’m, uh really sorry to, uh, butt in but I, uh, was listening to your, erm, conversation about how ill you are.
Me: I’m not really ill—
14 year-old: Because I was thinking how pale you look.
Me: I’m mixed race, I never look pale.
14 year old: Anyway, my Nana felt exactly the same….
Me: Yeah?
14 year old: …just before she died.
Me: Oh.
14 year old: So be careful.

Great. Thaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaanks.