What do you get when two ditsy blondes walk home together?

Hello all,

                     Hope everyone is getting excited about Christmas. I have only been subjected to Cliff Richard once so far; that's pretty good going for less than a week til xmas I'd say.

This incident involves a good friend of mine, who is the only other individual I have found to be on equal footing with me in terms of my general ditsy, clueless, adorable (I hope) nature. Now, the two of us were walking back from the train station after a night out (I don't know why our other friends left us unsupervised, very bad move on their part) and we were nattering away, as girls like to do. So, we'd been walking for a good half an hour, and I'll admit, I didn't recognise where we were. We weren't going the way I would normally walk back from the station, but I just assumed my friend would know where she was going. In general, I have a tendency to rely on other people's sense of direction what with my own malfunctioning so frequently, so I just assumed we were taking some sort of short cut I didn't know about. Trouble was, my friend had assumed the exact same thing. So we walked a good distance, before I stopped and questioned;
"Is this the right way?"
To which my friend, wide eyed as realisation dawned, replied; "I don't know, I was following you."
"Oh. I was following you."
"Oh."

It was hilarious. We had no idea where we were, we might not even have been in York still for all I knew. We ended up having to get a taxi home we had wandered so far. And it is difficult getting a taxi to come to a place when you yourself don't know the place. Eventually a taxi found us, shivering in some random street near a pub. And as we got in, the taxi man asked if we had come to visit York and got lost. I was perfectly happy to go along with this story and save any dignity I had left, but my friend happily replied;

"Oh no, we live here. We just went the wrong way out of the station."

Nope, the truth was out, we were that silly.

So, to answer the question, what do you get when two ditsy blondes walk home together? The answer is lost, a taxi and a good deal of giggling. Perhaps I should put that in a Christmas cracker. Or perhaps I should keep stories that reveal me to be a foolish individual to myself....

But where's the fun in that?

Making a boob of things - Part One

Hello everyone. Hope you are all well and not too chilly with winter coming in, freezing over our cars/pathways/faces. Here is a heart warming blog to warm your hearts.

So, a few weeks ago, I was at my friend's house, and she was babysitting her little nephew, only a few months old. Now I have to admit, if they aren't crying, pooing or vomiting, I am a fan of babies and can be as slushy as the best of them. So I asked if I could hold said baby. And he really was very cute, very calm, big blue eyes, no poos or tears. And he was super warm like a hot water bottle, which I found surprisingly pleasant. It seemed to be going well. Then his face started to crease. His little eyes looked distraught. His fists clenched. Oh no, I thought, it's coming. He's going to cry. I'm not a baby person. Luckily he didn't have a very loud or distressing cry like some babies do, but still, it's not nice to see the little things upset, is it?

My friend suspected he might have been hungry and went off to prepare some milk for him. In her absence, the baby started trying to suckle my boob, which was quite amusing and did not get him anywhere. So my friend returned with some food and took the baby from me.

Now, some time later, I look down at my top and realise there is a hole slap bang in the boob region. Now this might not have been so bad, had I not been wearing a bright pink bra underneath, which was now gaping through proudly for all the world to see. And it might not have been so bad if the hole hadn't been there for a good few hours before I had noticed it.

Now I can't be sure, but I'd like to believe that it was this baby's sheer determination that put a hole in my top. So a bit of advice, by all means hold a baby if it smells alright and looks like it will be vaguely content for the next five ten minutes. But makes sure you have their bottle close to hand. And if you don't, wear a sturdy top. Or a really nice bra. One of the two.

A whole new concept to the term; "Toe-ring"

Hello all. Hope you are all having a good December the 1st, and have eaten today's chocolate from your calendar (why does it taste so much better than regular chocolate??) and have fished out the old woolly hats and gloves and socks and are generally feeling festive. I expect you think I'm about to tell you a cute little embarrassing festive story involving fighting with a Christmas tree or mistaking an oddly dressed person for an elf. Well I'm not.

A few years back when I was only a wee young squidlet, I was running round the playground with my best friend at break time. Suddenly, I noticed that the back of my earring had gone missing, and I was very concerned about losing the earring, as it was a pair I was particularly fond of. I had no pockets to speak of or suitable small cases, it was quite a conundrum. My friend suggested that I put the earring in my shoe, claiming that she did it all the time. Thinking nothing of it, I popped it in my shoe and carried on with my game. Now, I will admit, I did feel a small amount of pain, but I just assumed it was just the earring bashing about in my shoe.

That wasn't all it was. By the time I got inside and was getting changed for P.E, I realised my tights weren't coming off one of my feet and felt a sharp, tugging pain. Inspecting the foot, I realised that my earring had gone directly into my big toe. Concerned, I hobbled over to my teacher and presented her my foot. Worriedly, she went and informed another teacher, and the two of them lifted me and placed my on the sofas in the reception area, foot elevated and bandaged up to the ankle (perhaps a little melodramatic, but hey, there's no taking chances when it comes to a small person's toe). They called my mum, who came straight away. After spending a good five, ten minutes unravelling the pointless bandage, mum inspected my foot. She looked at me. I, no doubt, looked pretty agitated by this stage. She thought about the long wait at A and E. She thought about me crying and wailing in fear. She made a decision. She yanked it out.

My toe is now fine (well, except for the fact in more recent years I dropped a brick on it, but that's another story for another day) and healed well, in case you were worried. I expect the story spread round the school pretty quickly, and mum still takes delight in telling it. I, however, was not best pleased, as I lost my favourite pair of tights and earrings in one go. It's not easy being a kid. Especially a ditsy one. And those who tell you that you get wiser with age clearly haven't met anyone like me.