Harry Potter quizzes. The secret nightmare.

I am in the midst of an identity crisis. I have spent many hours staring into the distance, feeling the wind whip across my face and getting blurry eyed all the time thinking... “Who am I?”.

This is, I hasten to add not because of any deeper spiritual or existential crisis. Although I maintain that existential crises and small talk are the only two things I’m actually any good at in life (they help each other out, you see), this has actually all been spurred on by something much more mundane. And that would be Harry Potter.

I have a tendency to spend all my time focussing on one thing at a time, it will dominate my thoughts, my dreams and my chat. This tendency is part of the reason I have to restrict myself when watching zombie related tv/films, because I will become a twitching mess who only wants to talk about the zombie apocalypse and doesn’t even care that The Great British Bake Off is on and that Paul Hollywood has trimmed his beard. Pretty frightening times. So whilst I am now at a stage where I know my limits when it comes to, say zombies, it turns out I do not know them when it comes to Harry Potter.

Part of the reason this is though is because it’s all been a rather subconscious process. I happened to watch a few of the Harry Potter films which were being shown over Christmas and then I happened to do a lot of driving where I like to pretend to be nodding and tapping along to some new band on Radio 1, just like I’m down with the kids when obviously I’m actually just listening to Harry Potter on audiobook. Which are awesome. So, it’s not like I was actively focussing on HP all the time, I’ve not felt compelled to re-read the books - life is too short to inflict that many capital letters upon oneself – and yet I still found it creeping into my thoughts.

And so I started to ask my friends. Big shout out to my friends (hey there), they put up with a lot of questions from me. I’m pretty keen on questions. I met a pregnant woman in the kitchen of the office the other day and I fired questions at her for about 15 minutes. I think she was almost on the verge of faking labour just to escape the barrage. She was new to it though. My friends however, well they know what to expect. I think I mainly targeted the lot which had gone through the first round of “what would you do in the zombie apocalypse” last time, so they were well prepped for round two.

Round two was, which Hogwarts house would you be in?

If you don’t read/watch/have any interest in Harry Potter and if Hogwarts sounds like something I really shouldn’t be talking about publically, then just stop reading now because the rest of this post is likely to either bore you or scar you. Possibly both. Take it from me, the author of this – quit whilst you’re ahead. Life is too short.

For all others (hey there, future me), lets continue.

So turns out the majority – I’d say approx. 75-85% of my friends thought they would be in Slytherin. Straight off the bat, no hesitations, most replied with variations on “um, probably Slytherin, if I’m honest”. They would then usually slack the living shit out of all of the other houses with particular emphasis on Hufflepuff.

I’d like to take this opportunity now to state that I am unequivocally, a Hufflepuff. Not by choice, mind. Not by some kind of “oh well, you know, I think I’m a good all rounder so probably Hufflepuff”, no none of that. I am firmly in the category of OTHER. Think about it, what is Hufflepuff’s defining feature? I think most people think that it'“nice”. Nice. Which is, the worst adjective there is. But really, I think it's actually just not having quite enough of the other substances/fiber to truly belong in any of the other house.

So I resigned myself to being a Hufflepuff, fine, whatever. As long as no one can take away my patronus from being a Honey Badger, I’m not that bothered. But then a small voice of protest started to nag away at me. And I thought, you know, I've called myself a Hufflepuff, but that’s not to say that it’s definitely the truth. Why have I resigned myself to a house which is made up of the words “huff” and “puff” when I haven’t even asked THE INTERNET. How can I truly call myself a Hufflepuff if I haven’t asked THE INTERNET? Ridiculous. So I did. I asked the Internet. And this is where things started to get complex.

Initially it all seemed pretty straight forward, first couple of quizzes were all “Hufflepuff, gutted” but I wasn't sure about them. I mean, some of the questions went along the lines of:

Q: You find £20 next to a stray cat in the street, do you:

a) Pocket the money

b) BURN THE MONEY

c) Give the money to the cat and call the RSPCA

d)  Use the money to set up a small cat foster home, which you invest all of your life savings into and ensure that all present and future cats can live in a safe, free, democratic society. Forever.

They were pretty weird and I wasn't taking their answers as the be all and end all. So I tracked down, the ultimate quiz. This bad boy was like 120 questions long. It took me about 3 years to complete start to finish, it was intense. I thought to myself, whatever the outcome, this is thorough, I can trust it. Yep, no real surprises there when I got Hufflepuff.

Should have just left it there – one of my friends was determined to find “notable Hufflepuffs” aside from Cedric Diggory. A couple of hours later she texted me back talking about “the one which went out with Harry Potter for a bit”. That would be Cho Chang, a Ravenclaw. Brilliant.

However, all is not lost. I thought to myself, I’ll do one more. I’ll do one more reputable one. A BUZZFEED QUIZ. That’s like the one quiz to rule them all and in the darkness bind them or something. Well, imagine my surprise when I got Slytherin! Apparently I don’t give a shit about anyone else and I’m always “leader of the pack”. Well I’m really not so sure about that. I listened to Leader of the Pack when I was about 14 and vowed to myself never to put myself in such danger as to be a leader. Lurking at the back making unhelpful comments, that’s me! Which is perhaps more in line with the “Harry Potter character” quiz I subsequently did, when I got Ron Weasley!

That one was even meaner, it told me that I had the emotional range of a teaspoon. I didn't really know how to feel about that, but then I suppose that’s to be expected.

So there you have it, I’m in a daze of Hufflepuff/Slytherin/Ron Weasley confusion. I really wish I had followed in my Dad’s footsteps more. I asked him which house he would be in and he laughed and replied:

“Well, obviously Gryffindor.”

Even my response of MASSIVE CLAIM bounced off him in his happiness at his decision. Admirable, really.

Anyway, I would just like to finish that I have been on a small journey of self discovery throughout this post and I've realised that maybe it’s not actually Harry Potter that I've been focusing on…but quizzes. Shiiiit. Further proof to this - I recently did a Mean Girls character quiz and came out as Karen Smith. You know, the one who doesn't know how to spell ‘orange’? Well according to the internet again, it’s basically a small miracle that I managed to complete a quiz at all. Well done me! So for writing a blog post about Harry Potter I surely should be on track for some kind of special achievement award/recognition/ceremony. Going to stay quietly confident about that one.

Desert Island Discs - Horsley edition

In anticipation of my (inevitable) future fame and glory plus a load of other reasons which I won't bang on about, I've been thinking about my desert island discs. Now, I know that technically you're only allowed 8, but given that this is my fictional island and the chances of me ever meeting Kirsty Young are pretty slight, I've decided to up it to 10.

If I keep blogging and - given that I've been doing this malarky for 4 or so years now, the chances are I may keep it up for a while longer, then I think I'll do another list at some point. Not in a week or so, but a few years down the line. I love the evolution of music taste and choices. Ask me what my desert island disc choices were 4 years ago and it would have featured no Fleetwood Mac. Ask me 10 years ago and it would have featured a lot of shit and the Pixies (if could have 11 I reckon Hey would have been a very strong contender. Cracking track.)

So who knows what my music taste will be like in a few years, but right now it's like this:

1. I have to open with The Beatles. I absolutely love The Beatles, and whittling it down to just one track, was incredibly difficult. And yet, my decision is final. To me this is the sound of the summer. This song just encapsulates everything about lazy summers and sunshine. It just sounds like sunshine. Absolutely wonderful stuff. So here, my first choice.

Dear Prudence, The Beatles.

2. Ok next, obvious. Has to be Fleetwood Mac. My love for the Mac is eternal and Rumours is a top 3 favourite album without a doubt. I have blogged in the past about why Rumours is such a good album so I won't repeat myself but the album has huge sentimental value for me. I wasn't into Fleetwood Mac before I moved to London, I was vaguely familiar with them of course, but really, I knew nothing about the band or their music. I bought Rumours on a whim because I had heard good things. This album therefore, is the album for my first year in London, my best year in London, the year of going out and having an absolute fucking blast. Great times. I have chosen this track especially because it is a track which has slowly established itself as my favourite after many many listens of the album. Obviously the clear stand outs are Dreams, Go your own way and The Chain and don't get me wrong, I absolutely love them, they are what make Rumours one of the best albums of all time. But something about this one...something about the intro bass and Christine McVie's voice, not to mention the back story behind it (that sleeping with her lighting director was better than her husband and band bassist...), well it all just combines to make a pretty glorious song.

You Make Loving Fun, Fleetwood Mac 

3. No 3 was always going to be in my top 10. I don't even need to offer an indepth explanation of why, you just need to listen to it. One of my favourite albums and a song which you connect with, no matter what your mood.

Wish you were here - Pink Floyd

4. Part of the reason I love wish you were here is because of the lyrics, the vocals, there is so much depth to it. But I love a good instrumental too, and track one is often the stand out track on an album. It certainly is on this album, what an intro. It's a satisfying and rhythmic sound which I find myself wishing would never stop. So here's the extended version:

Intro, the xx 

5. No 5 is one of my steadfast go-to songs. You know when you're flicking through your collection and despairing that you have nothing that you want to listen to, this usually comes to my rescue. Tap footingly good, it's great to stride around to and sing along loudly to in the car and and... and anything really. It is an absolute tune. Horsley fact.

Stuck in the middle with you - Stealers Wheel

6. Like a cup of tea. One of my favourite things.

Alexi Murdoch - All of my days

7. I''m not great at feelings. The internet told me that I had the emotional range of a teaspoon recently. Which is pretty harsh coming from something which is 90% cats and morons, but there you go. But I make up for not being great at feelings with my choice of feelings music. Whenever I'm having particularly strong ones I reflexively put on this track, again from one of my all time favourite albums (KID A), a true gem:

How to disappear completely, Radiohead.

8.  My second Mac choice of the list. Just a beautiful ballad, and again the emotional intensity behind it shines through behind such delicate music and lyrics. I never tire of listening to this, although of course it isn't, it feels personal to me, it's a song which I keep close to my heart.

Landslide, Fleetwood Mac

9. A band which I have only discovered in the past year or so. From a wonderful album this track has just slowly grown and grown on me with every listen. The sound is so warm.

Lonesome Dreams - Lord Huron 

10. And finally, last but not least. Big Al. Because, what an absolute champion. What an absolute tune.

All I really want - Alanis Morissette

Shire life (i)

"Hi. Where's Myrtle?"

Myrtle is our dog. And 99 out of 100 times, these are the first words of greeting spoken in this house. And by all family members, not just me. I'm more of a "Hi-is-there-tea-where's-myrtle". (I communicate in an incomprehensible mumble my mother never tires of telling me). So despite having flown back to the nest which I so proudly flew three years ago, I have subsequently been, firmly replaced. 

Myrtle does dominate pretty much everything in shire life. Practically every evening there is a battle of wits where Myrtle and I size each other in a fight for the one cushion there is available to sit on. Myrtle is always backed by my parents, who look down on us from their respective chair/sofa and laugh uproariously when Myrtle turned ninja jumps on the bloody thing whilst my back is turned for a SPLIT second and I have to sit on the floor. Or go to my room and sulk, obviously, with echoes of "well it is her cushion, Anna" reverberating bitterly in my ears.

Despite all evidence to the contrary, my parents are convinced that Myrtle is the most well behaved dog out of all the dogs that have ever existed, including Lassie. Sometimes I feel like I'm in some kind of parallel universe where in a different life Myrtle is actually some toddler called Caligula who rules Highgate play groups with an iron fist. Maybe this is a slight exaggeration, Myrtle may be a bit thuggish, but she's no Caligula. Agrippina Minor.. mebbe #classicistgags. Anyway she is disobedient and on almost every walk which I take her on, I inevitably end up losing my temper and shouting obscenities at her. Despite what my mother says, "Myrtle, come!" does not work, whereas "MYRTLE YOU BLOODY DOG COME BACK RIGHT NOW YOU LITTLE ******" works a charm. As one of my friends who witnessed the process once commented mildly - the sounds of the shire would be very different were it not for your walks with Myrtle. 

Indeed, many things about my life in the shire would be very different were it not for Myrtle. The things is, the shire is very...shire like. People wonder why I'm always banging on about the zombie apocalypse and why I have such a comprehensive plan come the inevitable outbreak (grab some crisps and a bottle opener, head to the cellar). It's because, sometimes on weekends you can find yourself wondering if maybe the zombie apocalypse has happened, and just no one in the shire has noticed. It really is, quite remote. So remote in fact, that sometimes it is quite easy to forget that you're not the only one out and about. I was out with Myrtle yesterday, and whilst walking along one of our quite country roads I was keeping myself and the dog entertained with a particularly moving performance of Ironic by Alannis Morisette. So involved was I that I completely failed to notice that a car was waiting patiently for me to get out of the way and it was only when my accomponying dance moves required a 360 degrees spin that I eventually clocked him. Mortifying? Oh yes. But if there's one thing that years of mortifying experiences have taught me, the best thing to do is brazen the bloody thing out. Yank the dog out of the way, don't stop singing, and give the chap a hearty wave. Ignore the fact that he looks like he is suppressing either tears of laughter or very bad heart burn and carry, jauntily on. Or you can just take a bow. Whatever you feel comfortable with.

I have titled this post Shire life (i) because there is more to my life here than the dog, although it probably doesn't seem like that right now. I know that all previous posts I've labelled as being Part 1 with the intention of encouraging/shaming me into writing part 2 have never been completed, but this is 2014! Things are (probably) different now. So stay tuned, etc. 

Peter fucking Frampton

I love the internet. I really do, I'm a huge fan. I love that because of the internet we have Grumpy Cat. You could literally offer George Clooney up on a plate to that cat and it would just be, "bothered?".

But I do have one small complaint against the internet. Now I'm a huge music fan - I have music playing somewhere almost all of the time, regardless of what I'm doing. Sleeping, eating, reading, writing etc. I have 100+ playlists on Spotify and a small (but growing) collection of vinyl. Music is the best, and it's very important to me. Albums remind me of periods of my life - Fleetwood Mac, Rumours will forever remind me of my first few months in London, Radiohead, KID A is my down and out album etc etc. Listening to certain albums can either bring me out in tears of smiles, and I love that I have such strong associations.

Now I know that I really only have myself to blame, but I just don't buy cds any more. My cd player is broken in my car and when I'm at home I listen to a few on my hi-fi, but mainly I use spotify or youtube. And because I have stopped buying and listening to cds as much I have largely stopped making mix cds. It is the sad demise of the mix cd which I wanted to write about.

I love mix cds, I love making them, I love receiving them, I think they are brilliant. I've been on a real journey with my mix cds. I remember the first one I ever made. It was awful. I can say that now with total confidence, really it was terrible. It was approximately 2 hours long and featured an awful combination of music ranging from Air to Rage against the Machine. And yet, I distinctly recall how damn proud of it I was when I first created it. I gave it to practically everyone I knew, like someone thrusting free condoms on you in the street, I was doing that with my creation. I called up friends and boasted about how awesome it was and how much I loved it and how much I thought they would love it too. It's hardly surprising that my first attempt at a good mix cd was terrible - I listened to a lot of terrible music when I was 17. I had loads of angst. I can't remember what about now, but there was tons of it, and I used to listen music as a form of escapism. I was an angry teenager, I listened to angry music, and then shamelessly mixed it with tracks from "Essential chill out mix 2003". A massive error, I know appreciate.

However, nonetheless. It's all part of the journey and experience. I'm no expert whatsoever and although I think my mixes have significantly improved, they may still be utter crap in the listeners opinion. But I can say I have got them down to less than 2 hours, which can be no bad thing. It's a very personal thing, making a mix cd, which is something I have learnt to appreciate over the years. Or perhaps I just watched and read High Fidelity and it changed my life. Probably just that.

Either way, I have now learnt to appreciate the finer points of a mix cd. Unlike my past self who had one generic mix which I thought was the greatest thing ever and would suit anyone regardless of their taste because it is so great, I am now much more concious of the recipient of the mix. Sure there are some mixes with which you're perhaps trying to introduce them more to some artist you really like, but more often, I just want them to enjoy it regardless of whether or not they know the tracks.

High Fidelity has certainly taught me important lessons though. Such as the important of track one. Arguably the most important track on the cd. You could argue that track one defines the entire mix. It's your introduction, your taster of what else is to come...or not. Picking track one is often my favourite part of making a mix. The other tracks which I particularly love are the ones with which you're saying something particular, through your choice of music. This can just be, I hope you like this music but it can also be something deeper. I once told someone I loved them through a mix cd - I wasn't ready to tell them face to face, but through my mix, it became my attempt at a love letter. They probably have no idea, but some letters are written never to be sent.

Peter fucking Frampton.

Knew I'd get a blog out of it...

So I have had a brief encounter with the world of retail. I worked a shift as a shop floor assistant and, perhaps not all that surprisingly, I'm getting a blog out of it.

Those of you who know me or who have walked past me in the street and paid the slightest bit of attention to what I'm wearing will know that fashion is not my forte. Though it saddens me to say it, I have to confess that I do not know the first thing about clothes, fashion, or as it turns out, folding.

I was pretty nervous about the experience actually. Being thrust into the world of retail, surrounded by members of the general public who might...ask me things brought me out in a cold sweat. However, I steeled myself and entered the fray.

Now I must just take the opportunity to say that I actually did properly enjoy myself. I talked to loads of different people, I made friends with all the other shop floor assistants, who were all seventeen, I felt old (this was a less fun part), but I was constantly busy and overall I had a good experience.

Now I really did try. I'm a hard worker and I will give anything a bash. But no matter how many attempts and practices it took, nothing I folded looked any good. My main job, was to fold things, so this was obviously, a bit of a problem. I'm not 100% sure, but I did have suspicion that at one point a member of staff was actually told to go around after me and basically refold everything I had "folded" previously.

However, one definite highlight was that despite not being on the ski slopes, I had the opportunity to pretend to be like James Bond. I managed to acquire a walkie talkie you see. To clarify, acquire makes it sounds dramatic / that I stole it from somewhere - actually someone thrust it at me and ran off. So in the brief moment that I held this walkie talkie in my hand, I felt pretty cool. When you're starting at basically the rock bottom of cool you see,  it doesn't take much to feel cool when you're suddenly in the possession of something like a walkie talkie.

It took me just one attempt to use the walkie talkie to bring any ideas I had about being cool/like James Bond crashing down. Nothing feels quite like humiliation like hearing your own voice, quavering out garbled words, desperately trying to describe identifying features on a belt echoing across a packed shop floor. That was a joy. This was only made worse when I subsequently failed to grasp the really, very basic operating system of the walkie talkie and ended up having a battle with the stock room assistant who was actually trying to talk to someone else entirely about a scarf. It took about 4 exchanges which went something along the lines of...

"The blue scarf"
"No it's a brown belt"
"The SCARF"
"IT'S A BELT"

...Before someone took the walkie talkie off me (deliberately not saying confiscated) and put me out of my misery. I went and hid behind some jumpers and refolded some of my earlier efforts.

Another stand out moment was when in, I'm going to claim, the excitement of it all but really it was just a moment of quite spectacular stupidity, I somehow forgot entirely where I was working. I'm not joking. I forgot that I was working in a womens store. So when a very handsome (had to be handsome) man came up to me and asked me my opinion on two different jackets, I gave it to him, in my full capacity as an honest and direct human being.

One, I told him, would make him look a bit effeminate so....you know... perhaps -not- that one...

Unfortunately I took the subsequent stunned silence as an opportunity to direct my attention to the other.

Nice, very nice, but quite light, and as he was quite pale it could make him look a bit washed out so...y'know.
(NB: I honestly think I heard that washed out bullshit on tv once and stored it away happily in my subconscious for just such an occasion, nice one, past me).

He looked at me as if I was mad. I looked at him with what I hoped was the kind of look that said "Hey dude, I'm just here to fold clothes, not give opinions", but really probably just looked like a slightly over eager smile, waiting for confirmation that actually, I did know things about fashion and that I was a top employee.

However, once he'd (kindly) clarified for me that they weren't for him (and subtly implied that I actually wasn't such a top employee, more top deluded employee), we moved on fairly swiftly. That is to say I laughed uproariously and said THANK GOD very loudly. Every now and then it pays to have a laugh which threatens to break the sound barrier as it distracts you so much that you usually have no idea what it was you were just talking about. Usually it just makes you a slightly annoying/embarrassing person to go to the cinema/pub/theatre/shops/outside with, but this time it came to my rescue. Thankfully, he also found the funny side, we laughed and rode off into the sunset together.

It was always expected that I'd get some kind of story out of my brush with retail. I texted one of my friends when I got back saying I had a few funny stories to tell and she replied saying simply, "Knew it". Shit like this just happens to me. It's part and parcel of being fairly hopeless at life and only really having a proper grasp on what's going on about 7% of the time. Watch out world!*

That's it from me for now, until the next time I venture outdoors. Stay tuned!

*Actually world, you can probably take it easy for a while, I'd say your safe for a bit. Have a cup of tea. Mmm.

My mate Joss

Joss and I hate a lot of things and we like some things. These are combined lists of some of our top hates and few loves.

HATE

Lorries; people who stop in the middle of the path; the colour yellow; the saturdays; x factor; torys; me to you teddys; fluffy pens; jeans shopping; people walking slowly; people walking, stopping and getting in the way throughout the entire length of Oxford Street; people walking slowly hand in hand admiring stupid things like street signs; pigeons; the way electric toothbrushes make my nose itch; ringing phones; tony blair; tony benn; terry bloody wogan; the crazy frog; halloween; people dressing up and running around screeching "I'm a vampire LOL" at halloween; TWILIGHT; vampires, generally; reggie yates; boring people; onomatopaea; bad spelling; bad grammar; people who yell 'I'd fackin bang all of yerz' from car windows at my friends and I; Excel spreadsheets; flies; recycling; heat magazine; doing grown up stuff; red nose day; maps; people that maintain that there is still a distinction between the 3 main political parties; Glee; sticky notes; people who believe horoscopes; football; checked shirts; photoshop; tom cruise; cctv; msn; when you catch your fingers with bulldog clips; the england football team; john terry; channel 5; simon cowell; the evening standard; the daily star; cyclists; people who take ages at petrol stations; all you can eat chinese buffets; screaming children; hippies; people who don't shave their armpits/leg hair; babies on flights; mosquitos; smileys; the word 'lol'; the tube in rush hour; a badly made cup of tea; off milk; peppers; fish; oysters; jagged rocks; clubbing; foam parties; location location location; daytime tv; prams on the tube; the cheeky girls; Nuts magazine; grey squirrels; screaming girls; roller coasters; tall people who stand in front of you at gigs; people who don't drink and are self-righteous about it; text flirting; hangovers; small ratty dogs; Justin Bieber; annoying alarm tones; people talking on their phone on the train; people trying out different ring tones on their phone on the train; being honked at whilst driving; running out of toothpaste; getting shampoo in my eyes; worrying that I'm going to be murdered in a hitchcock psycho esque way every time I'm showering.

LOVE

Wine; eating; sleeping; animals dressed in little person outfits; gin; David Mitchell; Peep show; awkward situations; sarcasm; twitter; dinosaurs; the word 'fnar'; spotify; cake; Britney; Fleetwood Mac; asparagus; broccoli; saying something stupid and pretending its ironic so that i can get away with it; tea.

Future me V Past me

Don't get me wrong, this isn't going to be rambling, snotty and largely incoherent post about how I hate myself and no one has ever understood me. None of that. I went to boarding school remember, any hint of an emotion and my brain goes into code red: EMOTION. OPERATION SHUT DOWN.

I've learnt about feelings the hard way. Not so long ago I posted a tweet about them on Twitter to my largely (spam based) collection of followers. If you think I'm exaggerating re: my spam followers I closed my eyes and picked one at random. Apparently she loves her job because she gets to fuck on film. Case and point. Anyway, so I am largely followed by robots/porn on Twitter and yet when I tweeted about feelings, they actually engaged with me! That is, they engaged enough to unfollow me. Gutted. It wasn't even that full of sodding feelings, to be accurate, all I said was: "Feelings, what are they all about?" and I got unfollowed by like 3 of my dedicated spam accounts. Bastards. Where is the loyalty?!

So lesson learnt: Never tweet about feelings. Even the spambots don't like it.

The point which I am - laboriously - attempting to get to, is that despite the title of this blog post, I am not going to bang on about I hate myself and I have so many feelings about all the hating. I'm not like this chick:

Nah mate. None of that. But regardless of this, sometimes I do hate me. To be specific, I hate past me. Past me is a pain in future me's arse. Present me is always being screwed over by past me and similarly usually about to reap brutal vengeance again on future me. As I type this, I am feeling sorry already for future me who will have to proof this bullshit, convince myself it's vaguely amusing and then face the crashing reality that actually it's a bit shit and rambly. Present me doesn't care, I'm just enjoying the sound of typing right now, I've gone rogue! I've got nothing to lose! Do you know why? Ah, because future me can deal with that. Ha ha ha! Gutted. 

The inspiration behind this blog post came after my first wedding. If you know me you'll know that I have had a number of weddings this summer. All of which have been awesome. Sadly I haven't met or married Hugh Grant which is frankly, disappointing, as it was high on my agenda; but I have got to see some awesome people get married and bust some serious dance moves on various dance floors up and down the country. As far as I'm concerned, this summer I have achieved. 

My first wedding was possibly the most drunken out of all of them so far. This is largely down to the fact that I droned on at a waitress for so long that she literally handed me a bottle of wine so that I would go away. I then bravely, heroically, you might even say, took it upon myself to drink this entire bottle myself. I made a pretty good dent and was therefore in a state appropriate for someone who has drunk most of a bottle of a wine after what had already been a pretty heavy evening. 

I can remember very little about getting home, but I do remember finding a bed which wasn't mine and as I lay down in all my wedding finery (earrings, makeup etc), on top of the covers at the wrong end of this bed I distinctly remember thinking...

"shit I probably should go to my own bed and get changed"

AND THEN WHAT DID I THINK? Exactly this: "Fuck it, future me can deal with it"

And then I passed out, dribbled and generally looked hawt. 

So Future me wakes up, with literally no idea where I am, wondering if I was in contention for breaking some kind of record for "longest time spent wearing the world's most uncomfortable strapless bra ever", feeling like I'd drunk enough red wine to fill a small ocean and feeling the effects.  

Eventually, after I'd found my bearings and established that I was at least in my own house (thank GOD), I believe I spent the rest of the day, hiding my hangover from my parents (I failed) and, with the fiery passion of Mount Doom, hating past me.

And yet. Despite all of this hatred, I owe past me a lot for having an awesome time at all these weddings. And frankly, who has the time for hating? Not me. So despite everything, past me, you can be up there with Glen Coco. Four for you!

Heads up: my next post will probably be me drivelling on about how Mean Girls is just the best film ever.