Wednesday, 29 June 2011

Unwanted presents.


This post really probably isn't what you expect from the title.


A wonderful friend of mine recently wrote an amusing and insightful blog on political correctness; aside from bringing my attention to the background of the 'taboo' behind the term 'brainstorm', it highlighted to me, more than anything, the absolutely ridiculousness of the nursery rhyme Baa Baa Black Sheep.



Of course, being reminded of this classic, I sung it to myself...
 For those of you who are unaware of the song (well, I don't know! You might have been living in a cellar in Austria for your entire childhood! Too much? Ok.. You're right, those kids probably can't even read, let alone stumble across this blog on a bloody computer! Moving on...) it goes as follows:


Baa Baa Black Sheep,
Have you any wool?
Yes sir, Yes sir,
Three bags full;
One for the master and for the dame,
And one for the little boy who lives down the lane...



I'm sorry, what?!
The little boy who lives down the lane?!

I live with little boys (at home, I don't mean Guy, he's bigger than me); what the fuck would they want with a bag of wool?!

Now, I am a history student... I am not ignorant enough to not know that maybe the kid knitted a few things in the past; you know, it was hard back then, kids had to work for some gruel, they didn't get a PSP at the age of 5, or a remote controlled car for their Baby Born!
But seriously?! THIS is what we are singing about? 
STILL?!

Well actually, given that this nursery rhyme is actually now deemed politically incorrect, because I mean it clearly shows favoritism to the black retailers and their place in the economy over everyone else (the sarcasm intended is aimed at the fact that this politically correctness is bloody ridic and not because I am mocking black people's success in the world economy), the kids of today probably don't sing it; but regardless...


So, it got me thinking...

What about the other nursery rhymes? 


My favourite has always been Humpty Dumpty




Again (without out Fritzl jokes this time, I promise), I will remind you of the wonders of this classic:


Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall;
All the king's horses and all the king's men,
Couldn't put Humpty together again...

(This actually wasn't the version I had taught myself growing up; it went more like 'all the kings, all the kings, all the kings, all the kings', and I mean to be fair, that would have been a lot more productive than horses and would have probably got all the leaders of the world together for a bit of a bonding exercise which could have been great for political relations and would have resulted in far less war...)

Firstly, what part of this song refers to Mr. Dumpty as being an egg?!
Where has this come from? Is there an extended version which informs us of this that I haven't heard in the 20 years that is my life?

 Or  have we arrived at this conclusion due to the fact that, once cracked, eggs can't be put back together again? (I say we, I doubt I would have pictured him as an egg if I was the original illustrator of this rhyme.) But then again, I am pretty sure horses can't put much back together, so he really could be anything.

Don't get me wrong; I LOVE eggs. 
My lovely friend, Guy, and I bought 30 today, in fact. I guess this doesn't seem as impressive without knowing that we are only in our house until Sunday morning (today is Wednesday), so they all have to be gone by then (we plan to incorporate them into every meal, our sausage plait today had an egg glaze over the pastry to make it golden and crispy...)
So I don't really mind the fact that Humpty has been given this eggy persona; I am just puzzled over it...


Secondly, what makes him so special that the King's army is going to come in an attempt to save him?!
And if he was so important, what was he doing on a fucking great wall?!

That's just dangerous!


I could go on (I mean, why wonder what you are, when you clearly just stated it was a twinkle twinkle little star?! Idiot), but I think this has been sufficient enough to explain my point...



Regardless of this ranting, I loved singing these songs. In fact, I evidently still do;
I just don't really understand why the lyrics are such nonsense





Tuesday, 28 June 2011

Sugar, ah honey honey.



A dream.






I want to run a cake shop.
With my friends.


Called Sugar Mammas.

My friends are pretty marvelous at making cakes. I am not biased either. I am particularly picky with cake. So I know that they are bloody good.
Which means our cake shop will be a major success.


Jessica works in a tea shop and is an expert in all food that is good. 
Lucy is also wonderful at baking; whipping up all sorts of treats.
And some special friends will make for wonderful taste testers.

(Their blogs are linked; special and friends are different friends....)





I decided this when it came to choosing a real career. I have always wanted to be a teacher. I say always but I mean, that isn't strictly true.
I used to want to be an author, an illustrator, an artist, an animator,  a cafe owner, a lawyer, a glamour model, an employee of Google, a pub landlady (Peggy Mitchell is a bit of an idol of mine), an interior designer... 

But I think it is fair to say that for a lot of my life I have wanted to teach History. Probably as the practical option. The one that is least competitive. The one that requires less risk.

But now the time has come to apply for teacher training courses and really become a teacher, I started freaking out and thinking about what would be my ideal job. In an ideal world.
Sure teaching is a great profession and fits with my other dreams of moving to Australia for a couple of years in the future, but what if I regret not doing something else? 

What is life without taking risks, right?



So the image above is a little bit like how I would love my cake shop to be. A cafe; for cakes and tea and coffee and sweets and fun. A little bit of a vintage feel. Tonnes of  comfy armchairs and sofas (they are always the seats you really want in Costa, right?...). Dark wooden flooring. Loads of little mirrors on the walls (to make sure we aren't eating too much cake and getting massively fatter... it would be bad for our health  and any love lives). Old fashioned frames with pictures of people enjoying our cakes. And a garden out the back, for afternoon tea


                                        





And in this way, I get to be a cafe owner and an interior designer; I get to bake all day and most importantly, I get to spend all day with my friends eating yummy cakes... 


What more could a girl ask for?!




But perhaps in the meantime, since my friends haven't really agreed to this, I should think about applying for teacher training. 
And of course I will keep on baking.



And I will keep on enjoying my friends' wonderful creations.
Of which more would be greatly welcomed, thanks Jess...





Friday, 17 June 2011

Please use protection.




I am currently sitting on Floor 5 of the university library.


The top floor of the library.
The floor where there is silence.
The floor where only 'silent texting and bottled water' is permitted.
The floor where everyone else is working.


But even after five hours of sitting here in front of my computer with plenty of information on the history of politics and society in East Africa to be researching and remembering, I just cannot bring myself to do any work.


Then I discovered the reason why I can't revise.
It's because everyone knows that revising without a hoodie and a pair of sunglasses is not conducive to any real work.
Fact. 

So I might be carrying around a pair of sunglasses in my bag (it is summer, almost, afterall), but I think whipping them out would probably make me look a little bit odd, right?


BUT, should I have a pair of these little Chanel beauties:





to protect my eyes from this blinding artificial light, then I am pretty certain that I would be able to revise more than enough to do well in my final exam; and everyone would be so jel of me wearing them, they wouldn't think it was at all strange that I should happen to be wearing them inside.




Throw in one of these and my exam will be first class:





So please, give generously.

For just £300, a child like Becca could do well at university.




Thank you.


Thursday, 16 June 2011

Lardy da.


The never-failed attempt to remedy heartbreak: posting new pics on facebook of your gorgeous self, looking incredibly hot in a little body-con dress, a massive gleaming smile because you’re just those few pounds lighter, and an invisible (yet obvious) speech bubble around your head with the words: ‘Look at what you’re missing… idiot.

(aka 'The Lydia Bright Method': The Only Way is Essex is recommended as your personal guide to life, just as it is mine...)



The ultimate form of revenge on your ex would be your own happiness; which for some reason seems to come hand in hand with looking amazing. And in today’s society this additionally seems to be accompanied by looking slim and sexy...

So it would seem pretty useful that when it comes to being heartbroken food is the last thing on your mind...
I mean, who has time to eat when you’re busy listening to your good ol’ mate Adele singing exactly what you’re thinking* and you’re spending hours upon hours watching Bridget Jones and Jeremy Kyle with the consolation that your life isn’t quite as distressing as those witnessed scenes (even if it does come scarily close), right?

*saying that, I get that you might be reasonably irrational after being dumped, but turning up out the blue years down the line and disturbing your ex with his new missus is, even in my opinion, a little too far…


Wrong.

So very wrong.
Whilst most girls would struggle to eat a slice of toast, I made up for the loss of a boyfriend by replacing him with food.
Lots of food.
Lots of really unhealthy food.

And as a result, I gained 10 pounds.
Fatter and heartbroken? That’s not very fair, is it?


So...
Bikini Season is fast approaching, and despite the fact that I am Summer Holiday-less, I thought maybe it's now time to do something about this weight gain.
Wanting to have revenge would be good motivation in attempting to come closer to a 'bikini-bod' if I was actually still heartbroken, but perhaps the thought of sitting around in a new bikini will be motivation enough, even if that sitting around will occur in my back garden? 

It's not that I particularly want to lose the weight again (although maybe losing a few pounds would be a bonus) but I would like to tone up a little.
My trips to the gym in recent weeks have unfortunately taken a back seat whilst some big bad guy, known as Revision, has hopped in on the passenger side of the Becca-mobile; but I feel that publicly announcing my aims of feeling a lot more comfortable in next to nothing, I will be more inclined to get my flat bottom into the gym for a bit of a perking up sesh!

You can all wish me luck as I embark on the journey up this mountainous dirt track;
but I'm afraid my success will have to be imagined,
unless you want to vacate to my garden for your summer holiday with me and my little sisters:

video

And in all honesty, Lulu's 'lap dancing' really isn't something you would want to miss...





Wednesday, 15 June 2011

Leave of Absence.

This is my first blog post of negativity.


Never fear, my dear followers, this will not be characteristic of all my proceeding posts.
Despite spending some time recently with someone who beholds an overly healthy cynical attitude to many things in life, I like to think I have remained a reasonably positive person, well at least in the eyes of the blogging community.


But I do feel as though THIS is one issue which really needs to be highlighted.



The disappearance of toys in cereal boxes.

Throughout my childhood, the only thing which tempted me to eat cold cereal in the morning as opposed to a multitude of slices of cheese on toast (and/) or a good few Pop Tarts were the small, cheap, but nonetheless free, toys me and my siblings would spend forever fighting over every week.


But then your father succumbs to the demands of your inner fat child and brings you cheesy slices of goodness before school every morning; and then the time comes in which you venture alone into the big bad world of university with its pressures of shopping for food for yourself, and you notice with horror that choosing cereal can no longer be based on what toys are the most exciting...

Because there are no toys!

What was I meant to do then?!
Base my decision on the taste of these things?!
Surely not!


The best I saw was something that resembled this:




Books for schools?! Collecting tokens?!
Where were the Animal Hospital dogs with their bandaged paws?!

I'm sorry but this does not look as appealing without a promised mini Professor Weeto providing me with companionship in the mornings:





So... obviously being affected by something so devastating as realising these companies had managed to do this without my notice, I voiced my concerns to my friends who informed me that the process was more gradual than it had appeared to me:


Firstly, there was the era of the toys. 
The tiny bundles of joy which brought a great happiness unparalleled in size to every child's week.


Then came the CD-roms. 
I suppose they were acceptable to an extent. I mean, the computer was a source of amazement at that time, right?! And I guess I have to admit that my version of a Monopoly for children was a decent enough replacement for my Kellogs chicken-shaped reflector...


Then there were the books.
Fantastic Mr. Fox remains a firm favourite in my bookshelf thanks to Coco the Monkey and his little pops, but still I had more fun dipping my dog's damaged leg into ice cold water for a bandage to miraculously appear and you realise you could be, in fact, a well impressive vet. 


Then they did something even more abysmal. 
They thought it was acceptable to merely entertain the youth of today by printing word searches on the packet! 
Who do they think they are?! Word searches?! 
How insulting! 
They are making Snap, Crackle and Pop look like bloody stingy bastards


I cannot believe the audacity of this situation which has occurred. 






Being a child of the noughties must be fucking miserable. 
Not only is Justin Bieber in a relationship, the price of a Freddo is now 17p as opposed to 10p, and S Club 7 are not  just one member down but pretty much seven members down, but cereal boxes do not contain toys?! 

No wonder childhood depression is on the increase! 


Admittedly, Happy Meal toys appear to have increased their standards probably to make up for this horrendous fact; this month they even have mini music boxes with one dedicated to the beautiful sounds of The Saturdays!

But...

Is it really too much to ask for a small piece of plastic amongst my chocolatey hoops of wholegrain goodness to set me up for the day?!










So yes Tony, your sugary flakes might be greeeat, but the lack of toys really is not.


And I, for one, am not impressed with the situation.



Friday, 10 June 2011

Lasting Celebrations.

As a way to thank some of my lovely friends (and a way in which I can show off a little), I thought I would make a post of some of the birthday presents I have received since I have left those teenage years for good...


from Jess...

from Adam...

from Lucy...

from Tej...

from Lucy...
from the boys' house...
(get it?)

from Hannah...

from my parents...

from Adam...

from Kim and Jon...

And far too many of these...
(Kidding, you can't have too many)

Clearly I am not modeling the bikini or the Lipsy dress (the name of this blog isn't a lie, I am blonde afterall...), but I doubt anyone would really want to see me modeling these fine items of clothing anyway...




Evidently, I have the most generous friends. 

(I'll rent them out for a fee)






Wednesday, 8 June 2011

Superstition.




I can have some superstitious tendencies. 


I say tendencies because I don't suppose I am that bad. 

I salute every magpie I see but I wouldn't be too paranoid about opening up an umbrella indoors, and despite my initial shock of breaking a mirror, I admit I wouldn't remember for seven years that I am prone to bad luck...


I know there is no logic behind superstition, I know it isn't based on reason or knowledge. I just really must salute that lonesome magpie to ward off any bad luck it will bring.

I have actually become quite good at it; I like to think that I don't look too insane in public and have got a little 'salute/ ruffle my hair' movement thing going on.



This 'insanity' definitely derives from my father. He comes up with all sort of rubbish my family are forbidden to do in fear of bad luck, like putting new shoes on a table.

Or, and even I think this one is ridiculous, wash our clothes on New Year's Day!

Apparently, should you do something so ridiculous you will wash one of your children away (this was extended to family members when I pointed out to my father that, in fact, I had no children)!


Saying that, I have been wanting to visit a fortune teller for quite a while...

BUT then I saw this... 





Britney refuses the fortune teller because she wants to choose her own destiny

I suppose it would be like a self-fulfilling prophecy; with a subconscious awareness of what your future will allegedly behold, you might make decisions in life which conforms to the life told by the fortune teller.

What if she tells me something really terrible?!
I'm not sure I can take the risk...




And besides, Stevie Wonder did warn the world:


When you believe in things that you don't understand, 
Then you suffer;
Superstition ain't the way...








Despite this, I will continue to salute magpies... just incase.

Tuesday, 7 June 2011

Little Miss Lohan.

Following a recent post on inspirational women (that one about the Spice Girls), I thought I would continue with the theme and dedicate this post to one woman who I really cannot get enough of.


Now, I understand that sometimes my female role models could be considered a little controversial (although I assure you, Emmeline Pankhurst really is up there... alongside Britney Spears and Nicole Richie, of course); but let's be honest, who can argue with the fact that Mean Girls really is probably one of the greatest films of all time...




Yes.
 I am not ashamed to admit that, in my opinion, Lindsay Lohan is an amazing woman.




Confident, Sexy, Talented, Entertaining...

What girl does not want to aspire to these traits?!
I know, right?



I really don't understand why the media portray her as such a .... 
psycho bitch.


I mean, being accused of stealing a necklace is slightly dodgy I guess, but I think displaying pictures such as this:




is really just a bit unnecessary


But, if anything, images like this make me love her more!

She's a clearly a girl after my own heart.
If she didn't go out and get absolutely fucked I would be more concerned about her!


The bad reputation she receives is really quite unjustified. 

Should my wonderful array of talents had been recognised at an early age and I had grown up in Hollywood, I reckon I too would have probably come across to the world in a similar way...

My drunken antics in Leamington Spa Parade, collapsed outside the church, and being carried off by a multitude of dedicated and loving friends would surely be posted around the world wide web too (because I am that sure everyone would be interested in me and my life)! 


She isn't insane or a liability.
(Unless I am too and just cannot tell the difference, but regardless...)
She seems pretty much like a normal 24 year old to me!

Aside from her extraordinary acting in some brilliant films, of course.
(Brilliant in so much that I could cite all of the words to Mean Girls. That film just never gets old.)




 Irregardless, if I ever had to have a mugshot, I would definitely want it to be as good as this:






What an absolute babe.




Sunday, 5 June 2011

My homeboy.




Jon Cassidy




Upon missing my best friend from home, and given that I never get to see him when I'm so busy working really hard for my degree, I thought I would dedicate a post solely to him. 


Jon is one of those guys you can rely on. He would treat you to Nandos. He would tell you the truth (even if the truth is harsh). He wouldn't talk about you behind your back. He would take you family weddings. He would accompany you to the cinema every Wednesday and give you his 'free' Orange Wednesday ticket and even throw in a free dinner. He would make you laugh. He would invite you over to his house for an evening just so you weren't bored. He would let you meet all of his lovely friends. He would keep you company when you have to stay at home and babysit your two little sisters. He's there for you even after you have totally screwed up. He would stay up till 2 am to play Guitar Hero with you. He would buy you (alongside your sister) a beautiful watch for your birthday. He would watch Peep Show with you on a Saturday evening with a takeaway rather than going out. He would spend his whole birthday shopping in Lakeside with you and invite you to his family BBQ (ok, so the invite was technically from his mother) because you have to leave for uni the next day. 

He would even make a deal to marry you should you both have not found love by the time you reach the ancient age of 40!


I say 'you'. But I really mean 'me'

(He might buy you a watch if you asked him, he's just that kind of guy, but I mean you probably don't have two little sisters which require babysitting.)




 Basically, my home life would never be as fun without him.


Jon has got me buzzin, cos he's



Another Very Bad Trip.


The Hangover Part II
Starring: Bradley Cooper, Ed Helms, Zach Galifianakis, Justin Bartha, Ken Jeong
Directed by: Todd Phillips



Phil: It happened again.
Tracy: Seriously, what is wrong with you three?




Now, the title of this post relates to the translation of the film The Hangover I once saw advertised in Paris. 




'Very Bad Trip'?!
So I understand that the French may not have a word for hangover, (although I am pretty sure they must experience them, right? Or that would just be so unfair) but what I don't understand is why the translation would still be in English? Wouldn't it make more sense to call the film 'un voyage très mauvaise'

(That actually probably isn't the even the correct translation for 'Very Bad Trip', but given that all I have is a GCSE in French, it was all I could muster. And finding an  'è' when writing this post was an incredibly challenging task in itself...)



Nonetheless,The Hangover Part II is, despite the majority of its reviews, hilarious

The majority of the criticisms which have thus far been put against it all relate to how similar this sequel is to its original. It's a fair comment, it must be said: this film did lose that element of surprise once it was clear that the situation was pretty much the same to that witnessed in the predecessor. But, to be fair...

it is a sequel.

There are obviously going to be similarities!

Producing a sequel which brings the same success of the first film is probably quite daunting. There are two options; either you attempt to improve on the original by creating a completely new concept (new, of course, being relative: there needs to be some sort of connection, or that would just be silly...), or at best you try to match the first film. 
Evidently it was the latter option which the producers of this film took. 

I suppose it is possible to actually draw parallels with the original (which can't be too good), but I guess despite its predictability it does bring us closer to the Wolf Pack, makes us feel as if we really know them now. We feel as though we could say 'typical Stu, pulling the prossies again' without feeling as though we are just trying to fit in with another, already closely formed, group of friends. (Always a little bit awkward.)

Although there are parallels of events in both films, there are also parallels in their hilarity.
Should the Hangover Part II have been the first film, I am certain the original would have received the same criticism.
 
Having an idea of what is inevitably going to occur from having seen the first film does deter from some amusement, but Hangover Part II is still SO funny.

So the weekend in Vegas was amazing, but it would be rather silly not to take a trip to Bangkok just because we could end up following the same sort of routine, wouldn't it? 
I mean if we took that approach to our own trips after one bloody amazing holiday, we wouldn't leave the house!



This film is definitely worth a watch. 



Besides, any film featuring Bradley Cooper is certainly worth a glimpse....