Many of you will know that this blog has been a long time coming.
I was born in 1984 (on the day that Torvill and Dean won gold at the Olympics in case you're interested), which this year meant I celebrated my 27th birthday. Apart from getting slightly more panicked about the fact that I'm nearly 30, I hoped this milestone would herald a much greater achievement; finally being able to buy alcohol without being asked for identification.
It's a wish I make every year, as I blow out the pretend candles on my pretend birthday cake, and a wish that so far... has never bloody come true.
There are many reasons I have a problem with getting asked for I.D. The first is that, although I am still youthful looking, I honest to God, REALLY don't think I look too young to buy alcohol. I mean votes on a postcard if you fancy letting me know but I'm pretty sure that in the grand scheme of things, I don't look 17.
The second reason is that usually, the people who ask me are probably no more than about 18 themselves. You know, those spotty kids who work on the till at Sainsbury's who look like they'd rather be anywhere else, but who's eyes light up when they spot your bottle of Pimms as they've only just been allowed to serve alcohol to people. (Either this or they display a look of sheer panic). This makes these people nearly TEN years younger than me! I mean really. You're asking me for I.D? I quite fancy asking them if they've got any to prove they're allowed to serve me! But that would probably be childish...
Coming in at number three on the list is the way people go about the whole I.D. thing. What seems to happen is that they take a quick glance at me, go to serve me and only then think better of it. In the past, people have actually scanned my booze before questioning me, they're that rubbish at it! It's as if they don't trust their first instincts. I silently try and communicate with them "Go on, keep going, scan the bottle, you know you want to. I'm 27!!" But to no avail.
And fourthly is this: The last time I checked, the legal age to buy alcohol was still 18. Not 21. Not 25. And definitely not 27. I am still waiting for someone to explain to me the whole point of the "Challenge 25" scheme that they now run in supermarkets. "If you look under 25, we have to ask you for I.D. to prove that you're over 18." Erm..... HUH?! Is it just me that is confused by this?? So what you're saying is, if you look at me and think I'm say, 23, you STILL have to ask me for I.D? My mind literally boggles.
Admittedly my friends don't ever seem as bothered about it as I do. They ask me incredulously "But don't you like getting asked? I love it! Doesn't it make you feel young? You'll appreciate it soon!" The answer to all this is no, no and NO. I'm a single woman now. I don't want to be out trying to find a nice man whilst my potential suitors are there thinking "Christ, what's she doing in the pub, she must be 17!" Similarly when I'm out with friends, I don't want to look like the 17 year old hanging around with proper adults!
I just want to look my age. No older, no younger. I'm not quite sure what I'm doing wrong as it stands but something about me must must scream "child". Yes I'll be thankful when I'm 50 and look 40. But for now, checkout people beware. I will still give you a withering look and sneer "I'm 27 actually" if you ask me for I.D!
Thursday, 28 April 2011
Tuesday, 19 April 2011
Driving me potty.
As I was sat on the M25 today, in nose to tail traffic, surrounded by ENORMOUS lorries (that'll teach me to go to Lakeside), a whole new blog topic suddenly came to me: The joys of driving in this day and age.
Saying "in this day and age" probably makes me sound about 65, rather than the tender age of 27 that I am. But it got me thinking about "the good old days" (there I go again), when I was merely a passenger enjoying the view from the back seat.
Is it just me, or did pot holes not exist back then? I don't ever remember sitting in the back of Mum's car, thinking "Wow, this bumpy ride is fun!" whilst hearing her mutter "Bloody road surfaces. Just think what it's doing to my car..." I don't remember Dad ever having to drive slalom down the A127 to avoid huge gaping holes as if it was some kind of 80s video game. (I do remember him pretending that the car was filled with kangaroo petrol though, as he bounced the car down our road. Bless.)
But this is what my driving experience has been reduced to. On routes I drive often, I've come to remember where these black holes are, meaning I can skillfully avoid them. (This also probably means I look like I've had one too many white wine spritzers to the person driving behind me, but I digress.)
My MOT is always due at the start of January (Happy New Year to me!), and this year, the DAY BEFORE it was due, I was driving a fairly unknown route near Rainham. What happened next was that my poor little O.A.P. car met possibly the BIGGEST pot hole it has ever had the sorry chance to encounter. There was no avoiding this one, as it spanned my entire side of the road. Disaster. I thought the steering was pulling a bit on the way home but tried to ignore it.
Whilst waiting patiently at Kwik Fit the next day, I thought the car would probably fail, but on lots of little things as had happened the year before. But no. Had it not been for that bloody poxy Rainham pot hole, my worn-out little S reg Fiesta would have PASSED its MOT!! I couldn't believe it. The impact of the hole had broken some coil shaped whatsit (that's as technical as I get) and the whole thing on both sides had to be replaced. I could have cried. Actually, I think I did.
Did you see those pictures of the roads in Japan that got torn apart in the recent earthquake? If I remember rightly, they were back to normal, good as new, within six days of the event. Six days. So why can't the road maintenance people of Britain pull their fingers out and fix a few little pot holes?! It makes me so mad.
On top of all that, my car itself has started to turn against me. Not only does the electric window or speaker not work in the passenger door, but now the whole central locking on that side has bust too. This has resulted in passengers having to climb over the driver's seat to get in. As if to taunt me, the door handle on the inside is now constantly sticking out. My car is giving me the finger! I swear I can hear it laughing at me as I switch on the engine.
There's lots more to moan about on the roads, so perhaps this topic needs a second installment... I just think it's such a shame though; before I passed my test, I couldn't wait to start driving. Now I think I'd rather walk.
Saying "in this day and age" probably makes me sound about 65, rather than the tender age of 27 that I am. But it got me thinking about "the good old days" (there I go again), when I was merely a passenger enjoying the view from the back seat.
Is it just me, or did pot holes not exist back then? I don't ever remember sitting in the back of Mum's car, thinking "Wow, this bumpy ride is fun!" whilst hearing her mutter "Bloody road surfaces. Just think what it's doing to my car..." I don't remember Dad ever having to drive slalom down the A127 to avoid huge gaping holes as if it was some kind of 80s video game. (I do remember him pretending that the car was filled with kangaroo petrol though, as he bounced the car down our road. Bless.)
But this is what my driving experience has been reduced to. On routes I drive often, I've come to remember where these black holes are, meaning I can skillfully avoid them. (This also probably means I look like I've had one too many white wine spritzers to the person driving behind me, but I digress.)
My MOT is always due at the start of January (Happy New Year to me!), and this year, the DAY BEFORE it was due, I was driving a fairly unknown route near Rainham. What happened next was that my poor little O.A.P. car met possibly the BIGGEST pot hole it has ever had the sorry chance to encounter. There was no avoiding this one, as it spanned my entire side of the road. Disaster. I thought the steering was pulling a bit on the way home but tried to ignore it.
Whilst waiting patiently at Kwik Fit the next day, I thought the car would probably fail, but on lots of little things as had happened the year before. But no. Had it not been for that bloody poxy Rainham pot hole, my worn-out little S reg Fiesta would have PASSED its MOT!! I couldn't believe it. The impact of the hole had broken some coil shaped whatsit (that's as technical as I get) and the whole thing on both sides had to be replaced. I could have cried. Actually, I think I did.
Did you see those pictures of the roads in Japan that got torn apart in the recent earthquake? If I remember rightly, they were back to normal, good as new, within six days of the event. Six days. So why can't the road maintenance people of Britain pull their fingers out and fix a few little pot holes?! It makes me so mad.
On top of all that, my car itself has started to turn against me. Not only does the electric window or speaker not work in the passenger door, but now the whole central locking on that side has bust too. This has resulted in passengers having to climb over the driver's seat to get in. As if to taunt me, the door handle on the inside is now constantly sticking out. My car is giving me the finger! I swear I can hear it laughing at me as I switch on the engine.
There's lots more to moan about on the roads, so perhaps this topic needs a second installment... I just think it's such a shame though; before I passed my test, I couldn't wait to start driving. Now I think I'd rather walk.
Friday, 15 April 2011
My family and friends will thank me for this Blog...
...mainly because it means I can vent my moanings here instead of at them!
Perhaps I'm old before my time (or perhaps, God forbid, I'm turning into my Granddad) but I do enjoy a good moan. I'd like to say "Don't we all?", but I do seem to rant more than others. In my defence, at least I know I'm doing it. I'm fully aware that I have a bit of a reputation as a grumpy young woman amongst those who know me and it's probably a bit of a private joke amongst my nearest and dearest. "Ah, she's off again. What is she raving about this time? I'll just smile and nod and perhaps she'll go away..."
So why is it that I get wound up more easily than others?! Some things drive me crazy, but the more annoying thing is that they don't seem to drive other people crazy! Am I abnormal? I'd like to think I'm generally a happy person, caring, fun to be around and good to know. So why do things bug me so much? Perhaps I care too much? Give it a few years and I'll be writing letters to the local paper complaining about Brook Street roundabout (don't get me started on THAT) and asking to speak to the manager in ASDA because the woman on the checkout is chatting to her mate rather than serving me. (OK, I sort of already did that a few weeks ago...)
There are a few main topics that crop up fairly often on my Moaning Radar. Apart from the aforementioned roundabout, these mainly include:
Now you may be thinking that if I moan so much about other people, I must think that I'm perfect myself. Well I AM perfect!!
Of course I jest.
I know I'm not. I have many annoying habits (my moaning probably being one of them) but I can't moan about myself can I?! Perhaps some of you could start blogging about that so I know your thoughts. Let me know...
Perhaps I'm old before my time (or perhaps, God forbid, I'm turning into my Granddad) but I do enjoy a good moan. I'd like to say "Don't we all?", but I do seem to rant more than others. In my defence, at least I know I'm doing it. I'm fully aware that I have a bit of a reputation as a grumpy young woman amongst those who know me and it's probably a bit of a private joke amongst my nearest and dearest. "Ah, she's off again. What is she raving about this time? I'll just smile and nod and perhaps she'll go away..."
So why is it that I get wound up more easily than others?! Some things drive me crazy, but the more annoying thing is that they don't seem to drive other people crazy! Am I abnormal? I'd like to think I'm generally a happy person, caring, fun to be around and good to know. So why do things bug me so much? Perhaps I care too much? Give it a few years and I'll be writing letters to the local paper complaining about Brook Street roundabout (don't get me started on THAT) and asking to speak to the manager in ASDA because the woman on the checkout is chatting to her mate rather than serving me. (OK, I sort of already did that a few weeks ago...)
There are a few main topics that crop up fairly often on my Moaning Radar. Apart from the aforementioned roundabout, these mainly include:
- People who drive at between 25-29mph in a 30 zone.
- People who stop dead in front of you on the high street or in a shopping centre. Applause for you clever people!
- Trains and buses never being on time or, more likely if I'm planning to travel, being cancelled completely. I swear I've been cursed by the Public Transport Fairy.
- Our cleaner rearranging our bathroom every week. (This is obviously a more personal complaint.)
- People leaving plugs switched on (sorry Mum!).
- People ignoring text messages when I've asked a question that I need to know the answer to. Rude.
- Spelling and punctuation mistakes in NATIONAL newspapers, magazines or online. I could do your job better than you could Mr Editor!!
Now you may be thinking that if I moan so much about other people, I must think that I'm perfect myself. Well I AM perfect!!
Of course I jest.
I know I'm not. I have many annoying habits (my moaning probably being one of them) but I can't moan about myself can I?! Perhaps some of you could start blogging about that so I know your thoughts. Let me know...
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