How to Speak Mum

'Iya!  Cheating a little bit this week because I sort of already have the material for this month's post.  Sue me.

Actually, don't sue me.  I am so very, very poor and I need as much cash I can get for pints at Reading Festival next week.  Don't want me to go thirsty, do you?  Or even worse....sober?

*shudder*

It was my mum's birthday yesterday!  It was a milestone one, but I'm likely to get a hiding if I tell you which milestone, so, just...happy 21st, Mum!  I made her a naff scrap book type thing of blog style entries either addressed to her or about her, and she celebrated by going on a Prosecco fueled jolly with her mates down the pub.  I would show you a picture of her, but a photo with her whole face in it is rarer than hamster that poops diamonds:

Anyone recall the Powerpuff Girls?  Where the mayor's secretary was only visible from the waist down?  My mum's a bit like that.  Her face promptly disappears behind her hands whenever she can even sniff a camera.  Which is just as well, because she has five eyes and fangs for teeth.

WHAT, MUM?? SHOW US SOME PROOF OTHERWISE, THEN!  Heehee.

She doesn't have five eyes and fangs...What she does have is a keen and sometimes inappropriate sense of humour, which she has passed on to me.  Whether this is an act of generosity or evil is for you to judge from all these posts I bestow upon you (sort of) weekly, O Ever Watchful Internet (all hail).

I've lost track of what I initially wanted to say, so I'm just going to slap my pre written blog post that I originally concocted for my mum's "book" (better word pending) down below (heh).  It's about how to translate Tina Talk; a language unto itself.  Here y'are:

How to Speak Mum

I feel that before embarking on this little project, it’s important to get the lingo down pat so that anyone reading this has other than Mum (Mum, feel free to skip this chapter.  Have a coffee, stick One Born Every Minute on and we’ll join you in a few) has a clearer idea of how to decipher Tina Taunton’s Mum-isms.  For the most part, she converses in English, but there are some key phrases she employs that on the surface appear to be English but on closer inspection have another meaning.  Being armed with a few key translations can aid you in communication with Ms Taunton and may one day save your life.  Please read carefully:

“Don’t begit your sister.  She’s only little.”

Obey Shaunna’s every whim and desire or she will create holy Hell for you, me, the neighbours and any nearby flora and fauna within tantrum range.  She might be small, but her moods are powerful and her cry is deadly.

“ Do what you want.”

If you so much as think of doing the thing that you’ve just suggested, sniffer dogs will be retrieving your body parts from trees for weeks.  Go on, do it.  I dare you.

“Go and play outside.  It’s lovely out.”

Fuck off out.  Your presence is giving me a migraine and I want to clean.

“Do you fancy _______ for dinner tonight?”

You are having ________ for dinner and you will be pleased about it.  This is not optional, but aren’t I nice for making it seem that it is?  

“We’re going to have a couple of quiet drinks, maybe some cheese and crackers with the neighbours tonight.”

...Flash forward eight hours to a scene of inebriated chaos.  Teenagers intermittently vomiting and running up and down the street outside, pets snaffling up mounds of stray cheese from under the table adults cheering the sudden appearance of that one bottle of tequila of questionable origin that always turns up at these events as if by magic like a hangover inducing genie.

“What do you think of this dress?”

LET ME SPEND MY MONEY ON YOU!! Also, you look like you got dressed in the dark whilst wearing a straight jacket.  You clearly need my help.

“Do you need a hairbrush/comb?”

You look like you were dragged here after getting your hair stuck in the spokes of someone’s bike and then dropped off in a stampeding field of cows.  Take my offer of a hairbrush or I will refuse to be seen in public with you.

“I’m just going to run the hoover round the living room.”

See you in twelve hours when I have hoovered and polished the house, the pets and the football field over the road.  

“Don’t use that tea towel.  It’s only for display.”

<<<< Error: Translation not found.  Does not compute. >>>>

Ain't Got No Time For That

Left a fortnight between posts.  Again.  You know why?

BECAUSE I DON'T HAVE TIME!!!  As I get older, what little of it I am allotted per day is being condensed down into hours that feel like seconds; seconds that swirl rapidly down the plughole into oblivion faster than I can say "Agh!"  It's fucking terrifying. 

As kids, we don't believe our parents/grand parents/that old creep at the bus stop that time goes from "God, I'm so BORED" to "OhmyfuckingGod STOP!! I WANT TO GET OFF!!" in no time at all.  Great nights out that I reminisce about experiencing "a few months ago" are coming up on my Timehop app as being at their second anniversary.  

Kebabgate was how long ago??

Big life events like leaving school, graduating and learning to drive?  I don't even want to count how far back those things are.  Oh! Oh!  And that marathon I "just" ran?  About a year and a half ago.

My sentiments exactly, year-ago me.

I'm hyperventilating here at the flash forward I've just had of me,  five years from now, reading this exact post and thinking "but I only wrote this last week! What is this black magic?"  It's just...ugh!

As I'm hurtling through my life at Delorean speed (actually, maybe more like warp speed...didn't the Delorean only go to 66mph?  And it went back in time mostly.  Not forward.  Terrible metaphor, Becky.  Sort it out.  God), you'd have though I'd be a bit of an expert in prioritizing my most precious commodity in this wink of existence that is my life.  

So, am I any good at it?  I'll let you be the judge of that one.

 I present to you a list of what I do not have time for vs what I do.  Happy judging:

What I do not have time for

1.  Ironing -I really hope I'm not alone in this.  I buy my clothes based on whether or not I can get away with not ironing them because who wants to waste an hour of their day applying hot metal to fabric?  Not me.  Handy tip: stretchy, dark clothes are the best, because even if they're more creased than your great nan's elbows (heh.  You thought I was going to say worse then elbows, didn't you? Filth), you can stretch them right out!  The clothes, not the elbows.  Don't think your Nana would appreciate you tugging her excess skin this way and that.

2.  Cooking actual food - I had a toastie for dinner tonight.  Cheese and ham.  And then I ate some celery out of a bag.  I am trying to get better at the whole eating for actual, usable nutrition thing (like wot functioning grown-ups do)...I bought Lean in 15.  I fry the meats with the vegetables a couple of times a week. But mostly, I settle for the convenient.  The cheese and onion sandwich with the side order of cheese and onion crisps.  The cheese pastie.  Cheese on toast.  Basically, I have no time for any food that isn't cheese.

3.  Cleaning - I have a cat, a dog and a grown man who sheds more hair than the animals put together, so technically, I should be cleaning my house at least three times more than someone living alone.  Nah.  Instead, I glower at the fluff of mixed origins gathering between my toes, swear venomously at the dust that's piling up on every surface and chastise my belongings for not putting themselves away.  Then, in a fit of superhuman productivity (i.e when I've got something more pressing that I need to do that isn't cleaning), I will tornado round the house with a cleaning implement attached to each limb and smugly inform my boyfriend that I am better than him and he is lazy because "look how much I bloody well do around this place while you're sat there!  I'm a saint.  A SAINT!!"

4.  Coming up with neat blogging lists that end on nice numbers like 5 and 10 (as opposed to ending abruptly on weird ones like 4).

What I do have time for 

1. Talking (*cough* blogging *cough*) about all the things I don't have time to do - I have a pile of dishes to do, food shopping to gather and a dog to walk.  But...here I am!  Taa-daa...

2.  Sleeping - Anyone who's read this blog before will know I'm an expert napper.  I sleep like a performing acrobat on hallucinogenics (surprised I've not woken up on the ceiling yet), so naturally, my body feels that it's important to prioritize replenishing zzz's wherever possible.  Even if that is mid conversation at Andy's parents' house or when I'm sitting on the bed, about to put some socks on "to go to that important thing."

3.  Listing all the things that "I'll just do tomorrow." - This magical place called "tomorrow" is somewhere where Future Me is going to conquer the cleaning, the work load, the washing and the world!  It is a place of wonder.  A place of productivity.  A place where pigs might fucking fly.

4.  My phone -  Just had a thought.  What if time isn't getting faster, but instead phone apps are getting more absorbing?  Absorbing your attention, your time, your sense of reality... I'm sure I had a whole extra hour in the day before Pokemon Go came along.  Oh my God, that's it!  Quick, burn all the phones!  They are the vacuums into which our hours and days go to die!  Let us free ourselves from this electronic, wireless monkey cage! Let us...ooh, a text! BRB.

 



 

Na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na MUD RUUUUN!

Hello!

Today was productive.  I've had an approximate total of three naps, experienced the same lasagna twice (think about it...) and started a sentence that did start with "uuugh!" or "poor meee!" maybe once... That sentence right there.  

My guts have held me hostage again. I've been sulking about the cruel irony that I want to comfort myself in the only way I know how (by shoving food in my face) and can't. Still in near total denial of the likelihood that am possibly a little lactose sensitive because who wants to admit that their favourite thing in the world makes them occasionally spend a day in the fetal position crying for their mummy?  For the record - if I am lactose sensitive/intolerant/whatever, the Five Guys salted caramel milkshake was 100% worth it.  It's like..just..I have no words.

Anyhoo, yesterday was enough fun for two days, so I won't complain (hah!).  It was my first ever Race for Life Pretty Muddy Event.  It lived up to its name.  Before and after shots:

Shit for brains

 

 Shit in hair (probably)

Not too sure what I can say that I've not said before about Race For Life. My first ever running event was a Race For Life and I couldn't have had a better boot up the butt to get into this running malarkey.  No sense of competition, no negativity.  Just a bugger ton of women clad in pink and game for a laugh, coming together for an awesome cause.

What was different to the usual on this particular event though was pretty obvious - the oodles of Singleton Park cack smeared up and down me at the end. My camera didn't do the aftermath justice at all.  My bath tub looked like I'd been storing fertilizer in it for a week after I was done showering. This was Swansea's inaugural Pretty Muddy event and I sure as shit hope it won't be the last!

Here's some stuff what sticks out in my memory of the morning:

1.  Power walking about the equivalent of the race distance just getting to the bloody thing.

Because of my tip top organizational skills, the car journey up to the race consisted of me gripping at my steering wheel, wide eyed and barking  "BUT WHERE DO I PARK?!!" at Andy, who was trying to mind his own business in the passenger seat.  That, or he was willing said passenger seat to swallow him whole so he didn't have to witness my having a mental breakdown in the middle of a busy road.  By some miracle, we made it with about 10 minutes to spare, during which I happily watched the warm up, after which it dawned on me that I should have been doing said warm up. I so intent on getting to the thing on time, that I briefly forgot that I was participating in the thing. Oops.

 

"Look how much fun they're having! Wait...didn't I come here to do something?"

2.  SPACE HOPPERS!!

I've only ever done one obstacle race in my time, and from that experience and seeing similar events advertised, it's easy to see why people can be under the impression that such events are testosterone fueled strength tests full of fire and fear and ALMOST DEATH!!  Some are (without the whole death bit, of course.  I doubt many people would fork out fifty quid for a spot of wall climbing with a side order of their inevitable demise) like that and that's fine, but Race For Life ain't about that ish.  Fun is the aim of the game, and they dished it out in spades.  The obstacles included hopping through pink tyres, bouncing off giant inflatable hurdles and (my favorite, in case you couldn't already tell) SPACE HOPPERS!  It's very hard to take a sporting event seriously when you're straddling a massive, boingy ball and trying not to smack the floor with your face because you can't concentrate on laughing and staying upright simultaneously.

The big, blow up slide at the finish line into a pool of muddy water was pretty good too..

 

3.  WUMMIN!!

I've said it before and I'll say it again - if you want to lighten the mood anywhere,fling a bunch of women together, provide them with some tacky pink accessories and send them on their merry way (ever witnessed a hen do?  A lot can be said for a set of plastic penis head boppers).  The sense of lightheartedness and camaraderie at any Race For Life is amazing.  Everyone gees each other along, and there is sub zero competition - no one's out there to beat anyone, and nothing is taken seriously, even if the reason why we're all there is never far from our minds.  Reading the heart wrenching stories of cancer survivors and fighters on people's rear race bibs nearly has me weeping openly in public every year, but I always finish the races with a massive, cheesy grin on my face.  I just...gah!!

4.  Medals.  Obvs.

I mean, why else does anyone do anything ever?

Just a short one today.  Sorry.  Or you're welcome.  Delete as appropriate.

  Whinging about my digestive plight has taken it out of me and I want to go to bed now, because clearly it isn't enough for me to be able to count a day's naps on only one hand.  Just thought I'd check in and brag about the fun I had, because I cannot obtain a medal and not wang on about it.  It's just not possible.  Hope you had a great weekend and that you were a functioning human for the whole thing as opposed to just half of it.  If you weren't, I hope that someone patted  your head and offered you soup.

Byee!

Obligatory Pokemon Go Post (Sorrynotsorry)

There is a small chance that I may have cooked using chillis this evening and have just touched my eyeball.  Sweet Lucifer's pyjamas, it burns!!  Going to power through it though, because I'm a champ...

Hello!  This post is going to be about Pokemon Go.  Am being up front about it to save anyone with little to no interest who has been buffeted (mmm...buffet) around the face with the constant stream of social media updates about this hideously addictive game.  This is another such post.  Sorry and see you next post (please come back, I love you!).  I wish you well.

Now, the rest of you...look what's on my computer! 

 

 Why are there always bloody pidgeys?! My locale is riddled with the fuckers

I'm often out walking the mutt, so this game's turned out to be a fun little distraction while I'm plodding around the neighborhood twice daily.  Also when I'm sat down in the house.  And when I'm stood up.  And waiting in queues in shops.  And when I'm stuck in non moving traffic.

...Okay, pretty much all the time that my eyes are open.  There, I said it.  It's just a phase..the novelty will wear off soon.  Probably.  Maybe.  Hopefully (help me).

If your Facebook feed is anything like mine, it's congested with updates from two very opposing camps:

1. Ohmigod, I caught a Thingyfluffymon level bajillion etc etc here's how I did it waah this is fun fun fun my legs hurt and I'm sixty miles from my house without a bus fare!  Hahahaha!  Can someone ring my mum?

2.  Urgh.  I have no interest in Pokemon Go.  So little in fact, that I am going to write at length about how little I care about on every social media platform I have.  I mean, it's just catching pretend animals on your phone - so stupid!

Of course it's stupid! It's a game.  It has no higher purpose than to amuse.  You can make anything sound idiotic if you phrase it a certain way:

• Ugh, cooking.  I mean, it's just heating things up until they're edible,right?  
• Ew, reading.  Just, like, looking at patterns that make pictures in your head.  Sooo dumb! 
• Breathing, amirite?  Sucking in oxygen and blowing out carbon dioxide.  Just, like...in, out, in, out...all day long. Booriiiiing!

I am in no way saying that Pokemon Go is akin to breathing, but I'm trying to make a valid (?) point about the social media put-you-downers, m'kay?  Keep breathing, dear reader.  Is good for you!  Or so I hear.  I've been sucked into this game (Pokemon Go, not breathing.  I've been into that for as long as I can remember.  Am very good at it.  At least level 70) for about a week now, so I thought I'd fling together some observations for you.  

Chances are if you've had a go at the game, you are reading this only out of desperation for something, anything to distract you from the fact that the game's servers have crashed yet again.  Word of advice - take this sudden bump back to a reality to go look after yourself.  Drink water.  Eat food.  And for God's sake, man, wash.  You're starting to smell a little funky from all the additional walking.  This post will still be waiting for you once you have taken care of your basic non Pokemon related human needs.  In fact, I will wait.

Welcome back!  You smell delicious.  So.  My experiences thus far with Pokemon Go and what you can expect from it if you have yet to try it:

If you play it and go for a run, looking mental is totally unavoidable
Also, the run will never be as short as you expect it to be.  Your route will go from a simple 3 mile loop round the block to a crazy zigzag experience that lasts 2 hours as you visit "just one more Pokestop, it's really close!"  My 2 mile, slightly hung over bimble to pick up my car up from a local pub on Sunday turned into a 7 mile, messy sprint-walk-pause-to-wait-for-servers-to-work...sprint...stop...jog...sprint...thing.  I imagine from an aerial vantage point, I must have looked like one of those flies that bump crazily into invisible walls in the air, constantly changing its course.  Why do flies do that, by the way?  Do they have tiny mobile phones that we can't see? 

You will get unnecessarily emotionally involved when you encounter a new critter
OH MY GOD, I DON'T HAVE THAT CAT THING, IS SO CUTE! I must have it!  I will throw all of the balls...I need to own this cartoon thing that only exists in my phone and will impress no one.  It is the most important thing in the..oh, nearly got it..one more...

What.  

WHERE THE FUCK HAS IT GONE!! I ALMOST HAD IT!! Why are those children backing away from me?  How did I end up in the middle of a packed park?

You will sink to new lows
You can use your new imaginary friends to do battle with other people's imaginary friends at designated stops out in the world called Pokemon gyms.  Once you have kicked their Pokemon out of the gym it is guarding by whooping its ass and knocking it out, you can install your Pokemon and take the gym over for the team you represent (blue, red or yellow).  Victory and all that.  Through doing this, I've discovered the uncomfortable truth that I'm not above concealing myself around the corner from a small child who is bravely manning his post close to the nearest gym and kicking his virtual butt into the next school term, laughing openly to myself at his misfortune.  Take that, tiny human!  That'll set your expectations for the real world!  Sucks, dunnit?  Bwahahaha!

Your boundaries between game and reality may get a bit wonky
After one morning's productive "hunting," I may have forgotten how to play fetch with my real life, flesh and blood pet animal and thrown his tennis ball at him and not for him...more than once.  Needless to say, he wasn't captured and added to my statistics, much to my disappointment. He'd make a crap Pokemon anyway.  Does this look like a ferocious beast to you?

A wild puppy appeared!

Special attack: sooper derp

 Level: Minus 12

 

 Happy hunting all, and try not to make small children cry!

Becky & Jesse's Guide to Dog Walking Etiquette

Hey hi hello!

The good folk at Rover.com got in touch with me and expressed their enthusiasm for educating people on good dog walking etiquette so naturally, I jumped at the opportunity to show off my boundless (translation: questionable) wisdom (translation #2 desire to show off).  I know I get a handful of American readers - my stats thingy tells me this, so it must be true.  Unless it's lying to me for some reason - in which case, the robots are becoming sentient, so maybe you should turn off your computer and go hide somewhere where the internet can't get you.

Anyway, yes...If you're an American reader with a stinky, licky friend of the canine variety, Rover.com provides a service where it matches you up with local dog boarding, sitting and walking services should you ever need extra assistance in the care of aforementioned stinky canine.  Link!

click here for Rover.com's dog walking page

Sentient robots and handy websites aside, Jesse (my dawg) and I have put our thinking spectacles on and come up with a list of useful (translation #3 very loosely thought out) tips for dog walking etiquette. Feel free to wear your thinking specs to read if you like.  Here are ours:

Becky & Jesse's Guide to Dog Walking Etiquette

1. On preparing for the first walkies of the day:

Becky: Morning walkies will set the tone for the whole day for both you and your dog.  It's important to greet your walking partner with enthusiasm for the adventure ahead, no matter what the weather.  That way, you will both be alert and happy to head out the door with a spring in your step.

Jesse:  No.  Just no.  Sleep > everything else that isn't sleep or food.

 2.  On dealing with aggro neighbour dogs who are indoors:

Becky:  If you know that you are going to be walking past any homes that have other dogs in them who enjoy a good bark at the window, consider their humans' feelings and poor, battered ears by giving that home a wide berth.  This way, the owners get an few extra minutes of peace and no dogs need to be needlessly agitated.

Jesse:  When you know that shouty enemy dogs are nearby and safely behind glass, strain with all your might at their house, because they shouldn't be allowed to shout at you like that and besides, they can't get you through the window.  Puff yourself up like the proud descendant of the wolf that you are, prepare yourself to maintain hostile eye contact and then... immediately regret your decision and whine like a kettle coming to the boil at your owner for being mean enough to parade you in front of nasty, barky bullies.  Why they got to be so mean?

3.  On encountering other dogs outdoors:

Becky:  When you encounter other dogs whilst out on a walk, unless you know them and you are comfortable that the exchange between pets is going to be a happy one, it's best to err on the side of caution and give them some space, crossing the street if necessary.  Just as it is with people, just because dogs are the same species, it doesn't guarantee that they will all like each other or even fancy interacting with every single other soul they meet.

Jesse:  FRIEND!! OMG IT'S ANOTHER ONE OF ME, HE MUST BE MY FRIEND, I MUST MEET...wait...why are we moving away from them? They could be my soul mate!  They could have a butt that smells like biscuits and bacon!  They could...God dammit, human, where are you dragging me??

4.  On poop

Becky:  In no situation does anyone appreciate unexpected poop.  Pick it up in a bag and dispose of it in designated bins.  And don't be one of those people who unfathomably think it's considerate to bag it and then just leave it on the street.  Or worse still, make the painstaking effort of tying it to a tree branch.  One, it's gross and two..just...why??
 
Jess:  Ooh, unexpected poop!  I will appreciate it with my face.  Oh, happy day!

5.  On encountering other humans:

Becky:  Similar to point #3.  If you know the person and know that they are comfortable being around dogs, by all means, go up and say hello.  If no, give them space - especially if they are out running or cycling.  I've been that runner who has nearly fallen backside over boobs over a shin height Jack Russel or two that I've been too far into my own head to see.  If you're out with your pooch, just take a step to the side and let the hobbyist pass in peace.

Jesse:  Greet all of the bipedal creatures with gusto, even the ones on wheels.  People LOVE dogs, especially me on account of my cuteness.  If you think they are ignoring you, don't worry -they simply haven't seen you.   Place yourself directly in the path of their legs or wheels and they will soon be down at ground level with you, ready to be attacked with licks.


6.  On...or off lead (Or "leash" for you folk across the big pond with the sharks in it)?

Becky: If your dog has good recall, there's no harm in letting him have a good sprint around an enclosed dog park or through some long grass in a quiet field.  If you're walking in a built up area or close to traffic, it's generally best to keep your pal safely tethered to you.  For his safety and for others'.

Jesse:  Why do you restrain me in this manner?  I am wild!  I AM WOLF!  I deserve to be FREE!  Oof, that big metal box on wheels got a bit close.  But that's besides the point!  UNHAND ME!!

We are done looking thoughtful and wise now.  There are walkies to be had!  I hope you found this useful and informative.  Jesse hopes you found some treats and will be patiently awaiting a reward for all of his hard work today.  He likes those big, chewy chicken sticks the best.

Becky:  How can I craft a post that is both sensible and informative for the good of the dog owning masses?

Jesse:  Ball...snacks...walkies...poop...

Lady of Leisure

Happy Sunday from my lot to yours!

"One, two, three....SUNDAAAAAAY!!"

It's been a decent old week for me, which may or may not have something to do with the fact that I had the whole thing off work.  Maybe.  Surprised myself by being pretty productive and only taking a grand total of about two unplanned naps.  Hurrah!  Nothing I did was Earth shatteringly exciting, but it was nice to catch up on all the boring life admin that usually hangs out in the back of my head, threatening to ignite my stress levels at any minute like an evil child with its hands on a lighter. 

Some stuff what I did:

Quality time with dog
Quality time to my dog = sitting three centimeters away from me at all times, staring unblinkingly until I drop food.  

Quality time with cat
Let cat in. Let cat out. Let cat in. Let cat out.  Repeat times infinity. Cat is an arse hole who am pretty sure does this for lolz.

Experienced too many feelings in a short space of time
As many of you well know, the Netflix series Orange is the New Black made its return with excellent timing.  I binge watched the whole thing within about three or four days.  Mistake.  BIG mistake.  There should be a limit on how many episodes you're allowed to consume within a single week.   My body and mind are not equipped to handle that volume and variation of feeling in such a short space of time.  I just...ugh!  It needs to come with a health warning.  Like on a box of fags, you get those pictures of shrivelled up lungs...The thumbnail image on OINTB should be an image of someone in food stained jammies with three day old bed hair, sob-laughing into a box of pre-sliced cheese.

WARNING: MAY CAUSE EXTREME FEELINGS.

Turns out when I cry, the dog also cries. Think more out of fear than empathy - don't think he's ever seen my face contort in such an attractive way before.  Imagine it was quite alarming.

Learned to cook.  Sort of
I jumped on the bandwagon and bought Joe Wicks' (Instagram famous smiley cockney in shorts - look him up if unsure!) Lean in 15 books.  Bought more into the premise that actual meals can be made within 15 minutes as apposed to the whole "get lean" part.  Although based on the fact that I failed to get a pair of jeans that fit me last year past my knees the other day, "lean" would be a happy bonus... Or new jeans.  Whichever comes first.  So far, I've seen four recipes through to the 15(ish) minute end and not given myself or anyone else food poisoning so far.  Yippee!  Joe Wicks is evidently some kind of Becky-proof recipe creating genius.  Like Stephen Hawking with a frying pan and a low resting heart rate (I assume).

Lost and regained running mojo
Since Cardiff Half in October last year, I've only been running about once a week, averaging about 3-5 miles and going to Crossfit three days or so a week.  I assumed that I can automatically run long distances still because:

a. Am doing Crossfit regularly now and am therefore superhuman (the bar for "superhuman" for me is low. It means "person who can now do up to six push ups in a row on a good day").
b. Have done a full marathon last year.
c. Have conveniently forgotten how quickly my mindset went from "I can run FOREVER!!" to "please can I go home and lie down now?" after mile 7 of March's interesting attempt at the Llanelli Half marathon.
d.  Once you know how to run distances, it just stays with you, yeah?

No, Dick Brain.  Just no. I've taken a break from signing up to every single race that comes my way this year because that's how I managed to injure myself last year.  Also is crazy expensive and doing event after  event sucks the joy out of things.  This week, as I've signed up for the big 'un (London Marathon) next year, I decided to sign up to a couple of races for September and October just in case I get in (still undecided what I actually want the outcome to be.  Gulp). I've got myself a place for the Swansea Bay 10k, and come next payday, I'll be signing up to have my third crack at Cardiff Half. 

This sounds so stupid, but I forgot how HARD running is and how quickly easily you can lose the mental capacity for longer distances.  I've done a couple of 6+ mile runs recently and after about 5 miles, everything starts to grind.  I started overthinking my "slow, oh so very very slow, am rubbish!" pace and assuming that my injury from last year is going to come back at any second to bite me in the ankles.  It's not been v much fun.  At one point early this week, I was wondering how I could change my website address here to just be "Rebecca Writes" because the lack of running I do of late makes the title of this blog more than a little misleading.  Ridiculous.

This morning, Andy and I went to spectate at the Swansea Half Marathon.  I've never been that side of the barrier before.  It was so much fun to see people I know bossing the course! And so inspiring to watch the 8,000 or so entrants dig in and get 'er done.  From the fastest to the slowest, it was clear that every single person was putting in so much effort. Because I'm usually piddling around towards the back, I don't normally get to see how the Speedy McLightningPants types look when they run a race.  I assumed that they springily gazelled their way to the finish line, because they were "naturals."  Nope!  Turns out all of us runners look like we're chewing onions when the going gets tough because guess what?  Running is hard no matter your ability or speed, and that's exactly why we do it!  To get that feeling of elation that we've survived something.  If running suddenly became easy, I'd probably go right off it.  Where's the achievement without the effort? And the bragging rights, obvs. Achievement and bragging rights are more or less the same thing, no?

Being reminded that there are shinies, goodies and glory at the finish line didn't hurt either.  The atmosphere was brilliant.  Bring on the training, and bring on the next race!  Here's to chewing onions with the elite and the newbies alike!  Hurrah!


...Hmm.  Not too sure how a list of "things what I done this week" turned into a emotional ramble about running, but there we are.  Least my attitude seems to be steering back in the right direction.  I'm sure my next post will have more of an actual structure to it.  75% sure.

...62%

50/50?

Side note: Fully aware that this week's EU referendum vote is of slightly more importance than my ability to cook chicken without killing anyone (only slightly, mind. I mean, it is pretty impressive).  Long story short, I'm gutted by how the whole thing turned out.  I respect anyone's right to an opinion, even if it is different to mine as long as that opinion isn't blindly concocted and/or driven by fear.  I also believe that given the chance to vote again, a lot more people will participate and make the effort to educate themselves about the choice they're making as the magnitude of it dawns on everyone.  Sooo, I'm just going to leave this here...

Click here to sign petition for a second EU referendum =)

Okay, bye!

O, Sister of Mine (Recycled Post)

Okay.  So. I'm cheating a bit on this post.  I wrote this one for an old blog account that I was terrible at keeping up to date with.

"But Becky, you are so regular and punctual with your clockwork-like, evenly spaced apart posts on here!  Surely this cannot be?"

I know, I know.  My past habits do both shock and amaze, kind reader.  Anyway, as I was deactivating said old account, I came across one solitary post from 2012 that was longer than a single paragraph, and because I didn't want the whole probably 20 minutes or so's effort to go to waste, I have chosen to recycle it and share it with you.  Because I'm generous like that and recycling helps saves the whales and shit...Not sure if that applied to blogging, but whatever.  Here it is:

O, Sister 

For the purpose of...well, there's no good purpose - I will be referring to my friends and relatives by their first initial (until I mention two people with the same initial...I'll cross that bridge when I come to it). Possibly it is because it makes me sound all science-y, and this makes me feel like a professional observer of my own life. "Behold! Exhibit A!" etc.

Today, I will be shedding a light on my love/straight-up abuse fuelled relationship with my twenty two year old sister. Exhibit R. Today, we put on a believable front of two reasonably socialised female adults who get on well. Most of the time. But it hasn't always been like this.

It all started when she was born. With two point five years of totally monopolizing my parents' attention under my belt, it would have been an understatement to say that I was unhappy with the arrival of the tiny flesh monkey that had the same surname as me.

"You coming to the hospital to meet your baby sister?"

"NO!"

"Do you not want to see what she looks like?"

"Nnnnno!!"

*dragged kicking and screaming to hospital anyway*

"Nooooooooooo!"

(Fade to hospital scene. I am sat on a too-big-for-me chair, pointedly staring at anything other than my new relative.)

"Isn't she gorgeous?"

"No."

"Do you want to hold her?"

"Urgh."

My reaction to babies is much the same to this day. I fully blame Rachel. I mean R...

Over the years, though, we have learned to live with one another. Or, rather, I have learned to back down because she can easily kick my arse. Here are some examples of a few incidences in which she may have realised that, of the pair of us, she has the upper hand:

* Hanging around a garden centre as our parents shop - R and I are inspecting a variety if exotic plants and cacti. R points out a vivid green specimen covered it what looks like friendly, white fluff. She tells me that it is a cactus, because she is a smart arse like that.  In a bid to prove R wrong - that said specimen is, in fact, not a cactus as it has no visible spikes, I wrap my fist around it. The fluff isn't friendly. It takes two days to get all the tiny spikes out of my palms. Vegetation/Rachel 1, Becky 0.

* More shopping - R and I are keeping ourselves busy in a Pound Stretcher or similar. I am inspecting some toys and sizing up which ones I should nag my parents for. I feel a tap on my shoulder.

"Bec, look what I found!" I turn around to be met with a split second view of R grinning happily, followed by a large, red boxing glove coming straight for my nose.

* A visit to the grandparents - R finds a boomerang. Pretty similar story to previous.

* Same trip to grandparents' - same story as previous two. This time it's a golf ball from above.

I'm sure my subconscious will dredge up some similar horrors from my childhood soon enough for your enjoyment and my embarrassment.

The main point of this post...I think...is that sibling rivalry doesn't dissolve through some process of maturation and improved communication, forging bonds and...etc, etc. It actually happens when one of you realises that your brother/sister could kick seven shades of shit out of you should they choose to do so. You then bow to their physical/mental superiority accordingly, never openly admitting that they are harder than you, and choosing friendship over competition, as it hurts less than being hit in the chops.

And if you don't think that this has happened to you, then congrats, you're the meanie. Go pick on someone your own age/size/stupid poo-facedness, you smelly bully!

Defier of Logic, Drinker of Coffee

So very, very tired.  I agreed..no.. wholeheartedly volunteered/flung myself at the opportunity to cover the early shifts at work for the second week running.  Not because I'm some kind of saintly, generous soul who thinks only of helping out her fellow man in the work place.  It's because it means I get to do a little "enjoy the rest of your shift, suckaaas!" dance on my way out the door at 3pm while my well rested co workers ferret away at their computers for another couple of hours.

While it is true that I do get to leave the office at 3pm (in theory, depending on how much left over faffage I have from the day's work), what I neglected to factor into my decision was the fact that I really, really like sleep.  If sleep was a person, I would marry it.  

But. In order to get to work on time and fit in a short dog walk (let's face it, a Becky walk - the dog has made his desire for "just another 5 minutes' sleep.." clear more or less every day that I've dragged him out of the house), I have to get up at 5am.  A weird hour which is neither day nor night, and when the only other people around are nurses coming home from night shifts, insomniacs and other people who have made bad decisions.  Because of this Godforsaken waking hour that no amount of coffee can remedy the effects of, I've been completely and totally bollocksed by 8pm like clockwork.  

I've been getting into bed at about 9 each night, praying for a solid 8 hours' sweet, sweet unconsciousness and instead waking intermittently for the first hour or so (after a decent to improper amount of Facebook scrolling of course) because I'm convinced that it's morning as the sun hasn't even gone down yet.  I'm later woken again when the residents of the house (Andy and my small zoo) come up to bed at a normal, functioning-human hour and then again several more times in the night because I'm having mini panic-wakes because "Agh! It's only a couple of hours before I have to get up!"

My life choices often defy logic in this kind of way.  Of course 2 weeks of waking at arse crack o' clock = sleepy and barely functioning.  And yet I would still lunge at the chance to go to work at 4am if it meant I could leave at midday.  Or even offer to do the same shift indefinitely ("You mean I get to leave at 3 EVERY day? Wow!  Sign me up!") if the chance came my way. Common sense eludes me.  Here are some other ways that I laugh in the face of logic:

I eat until I'm immobile

Anyone who has read more than one of these blog posts (thank you, you lovely person if you have!) will know that to say I am a fan of food is like saying that erroneously trusting a fart in white trousers would be a little bit embarrassing.  It's a massive understatement. 

Clarification: I have never sharted in public, but I couldn't think of anything more unpleasant that could hypothetically happen as an example.  Let's be honest, if I had that kind of experience, I would have blogged about it already.  I have little to no shame.  Also my thoughts go out to anyone who has lived through the trauma of public sharting.  Your bravery in soldiering on is commendable.  Everything in this paragraph is indicative of how tired I am.  Help me.

Moving on from shart based digression: I start every meal telling myself that I am going to eat only enough for me to be able gain an adequate amount of nourishment.  Like you're supposed to.  Once I have done that, I reward myself with further mouthfuls.  Sometimes I reward myself so much that I spend whole evenings clutching my stomach and asking the ceiling "why, God, why?"  God has never spoken back to me, because s/he knows I already know the answer.  It's because I am a greedy so-and-so who will eventually be the proud owner of four chins.   It's good to achieve things in life.

I broadcast my failings

Okay, maybe not failings.  Mishaps.  I'm cack-handed by nature and so am frequently betrayed by my own body's inability to perform simple tasks.  I've unintentionally thrown things I'm holding at the floor whilst standing still.  I'm skilled in tripping over nothing at all.  I've been known to choke on air...you know, that stuff that keeps you alive?  Lots of these things are done without witnesses, so if I wanted to, I could maybe portray myself as a semi capable hominoid if I really wanted to.  Instead, every time I've done something inexplicably stupid like temporarily forget what the number 9 looks like or trying to hang up my work phone by lightly smacking the receiver against the table instead of the holder, I immediately look for people I can tell about it.  I think it's because my body is constantly finding new and fun ways to fuck my day up a little bit and I want to share my awe of its stubborn independence and creativity with others.

I always find ways to piss Future Me off

This goes hand in hand with the whole eating-until-I'm-in-pain thing.  I know that doing the thing is going to have consequences I'm not going to want to deal with later, so in the long run, it's actually easier to not do the thing.  

However,  Present Me doesn't care.  Future Me is a whiny bitch who'll just have to suck it up and get on with it when the times comes.  Which is all well and good until Future Me becomes Present Me, who is gobsmacked and infuriated by Past Me's audacity at leaving Present Me all of those dishes to do/ making her have to get up from bed twenty bajillion times to go to the loo to relieve herself of the twenty gazillion pints of water she had before sleeping/ leaving her staring forlornly at her bereft bank account because Past Me decided that money is just a concept and therefore not real.  Past Me is a dick.

I assume that THIS will be the time that I drink and don't get a hang over. Every. Single. Time.

Self explanatory.  I blame Past Me.

Note: Am not currently drinking.  I might defy logic, the but having to get up at 5am after a Thursday night booze up in my jammies makes me want to cry.  I'm illogical, not insane.

I drink coffee as a remedy for stress

Yup.  That rocket fuel made ground-up of jitters and fear is the perfect, soothing remedy for a tough day at the office when you need your wits about you at all times.  It's so much easier to type when your fingers are engaged in involuntary jazz hands.  Genius.

I could go on.  Maybe I'll do a part 2 some time.  I'd better round this up now, because it's 5 minutes to 8pm and if experience has taught me anything, I'm about to fall asleep sat bolt upright with my mouth hanging open.  

I'll leave you with this -  A photographic depiction of logic slapping me in the face while I remain blissfully unaware of it:

 

Actually, it's me drinking a mojito at Christmas time, leaning on my own hand.  Also, I don't know if logic would wear a fitbit.

...Goodnight!