My head in the clouds, the clouds in my head.

I have to take the yellow fever vaccine. I do not do vaccinations, at least not very well. I tend to faint, but not until a couple of minutes after, so that's twice in the hallway and once in front of the secretary's desk in the doctors office.

And that was just blood samples.

This is a full on, hardcore thou-shalt-not-die-by-the-"hand"-of-a bad-piece-of-fruit needle. Sorry about that, that was really annoying to read, wasn't it? I am terrified though, but not for the reasons one might think.
I am so poor, there's probably five year olds out there who could make me jealous waving their weekly allowance in my face.

So, naturally I'm going to Africa.. Because that is not expensive at all, nooo.
Malaria pills, i have to take malaria pills, because apparently the mosquito's are really taking over Banjul right now.
And my mom told me that her doctor told her that if you take the strong, most effective ones (pills, not mosquito's) you might end up feeling severely depressed or very aggressive.
And once again all i can think about is how bloody expensive it's going to be.

And also, i hate having to make important phone calls and walk out the door to complete useful and very necessary tasks.
So here i am, blogging, when i should really focus on scheming my way into more money instead.

Santa Lucia this was a very boring entry, i do apologize and promise that the next time i blog it will be about something useful, nice and intellectually challenging.

No, really.

And also, the garden gnome heist must be completed soon, and it hasn't even begun yet! I am still trying to think of a way to walk unnoticed through the entire pub with a one foot tall, very heavy statue under my jacket.
Not very easy when the average number of customers are three men, all of them staaaring at you aaall the time.

Will have to work on that plan.

Dying to feel alive.

Today i shall write about three things, all of them hopelessly unimportant.

First of all:
Sticky sweets. I quite like them because you don't have to hold on to them, they will hold on to you, and there is no demand of sharing them either since most people will assume that you have already licked them.
I also like the fact that long after they are gone you can still savour the sweet taste of rhubarb/strawberry/pear by sucking on your fingers. It's simply delightful!

Secondly:
My armpits. They smell of cucumber, it's a new marketing scheme I've come up with. I am nervously awaiting the hoards of guinea pigs (undoubtedly already moving towards my general direction from all over the country) to come and gnaw of my arms all the way to the sockets.
Ten year old girls all over the world will worship me if this works, it will the the ultimate way of attracting a new pet. If this works, this entry might very well also be my last as i have heard that it is hard to blog when you don't have arms.

The last of my late night pondering is this:

The difference between a habit and a tradition. Lets say you like to have a shower every evening. This is a habit. It is a good thing, by all means, but i have somehow always thought of a habit as a bad thing, even when you don't put the word 'bad' in front of it.
If you have one shower every year, lets say around Christmas time, then all of a sudden it is a tradition, and no longer a habit.
When i hear the word 'tradition' it always makes me think of mistletoe and hot cocoa in the snow. Nice things, in fact lovely things (if you ignore the fact that some obscure cults have traditions that includes the brutal slaughter of bright eyed, innocent children. That is not a very nice tradition).

So, my conclusion (at 4am this morning, so bear with me) is that if our belief in words were stronger then actual physical comfort, people would rarely wash. And if people rarely washed they would stink.

Shopping centres all over the world would be deserted, the smell would be too overwhelming. So, to put it simply: I am clearly in need of some therapy, and if people ever start to take this blog literally you will sooner or later find me dead somewhere, mutilated by minging, bankrupt retailers.

Now, if you will excuse me i am going for a shower.

Oh dear, was that your treehouse?

Just a quick update to mention the floor boards. I know this might seem insignificant to you, but to other people (not me) this is in fact a great source of grief, trouble and sleepless nights.

The dog peed on the floor, and, having a scary, abnormally big and smelly, half hellhound/half beast from the early Cretaceous period with a tiny sprinkle of fluffy kitten living in the house, we shouldn't really expect any less now, should we?

But honestly, the wooden floor boards are sort of.. curling up around the edges, like they're trying to get away from something acidic. I so do not want to be the patch of dead or dying grass in our garden, as i can practically hear the silent screams every time our lovely old beast trots out to empty her bladder.

And i swear, i only give her water to drink. She's like a magical beast, something out of the Arthurian legends. Give her water and she will pee 98% pure alcohol for you. On your floor when you are not looking.



You've got to love Molson <3

Oh, and you might have noticed that my blog titles rarely has anything to do with the post itself. That is because the titles are small reminders to me and myself only, about something ongoing but unbloggable in my life.
So, go on and guess, but knowing how my brain works you'll probably never be able to see the logic behind the titles.
If you do i shall be immensely impressed and give you my firstborn as a token of respect, general insanity and a tribute to the brothers Grimm.

So there.

The smiles of young men.

I just found a half empty mug of not-exactly-hot chocolate under my bed. It stopped me in my tracks for a while, simply because i cannot remember the last time i had one of those (hot chocolates, not bed. I've always had a bed except for that one time with the post it note and the kitchen floor).
Then it hit me, the day i tried a healthy alternative to Cadbury creme eggs, nearly three weeks ago. Now you might ask, what kind of pig is this girl? Leaving half empty mugs of non preservable liquid in her room for three weeks without even noticing.
Well, first of all, thank you for asking, and secondly i would just like to say that i am a very creative pig. I'd left one of my oil paintings to dry on top of the mug, and the mug itself was standing on a discarded piece of paper describing the polite Japanese word 'desu' in excruciating detail.

So what if i sometimes have new, exciting and slightly green lifeforms hibernating, waiting for people to accept the inexorable inevitability of evolution, in my bedroom? I still change my socks every day, sometimes i actually change them several times a day, but that's more down to the incontinent dog i live with then extreme hygiene.

Anyhow, i was going to talk about yesterday. Yesterday was Thursday, party night here in the village. In other words, the pub was cramped, we were nearly fifteen people in there altogether! I didn't even know that many people existed in Bulford, lately i have suspected the British Army for building empty houses, hiring a tiny, slightly intelligence challenged theater troupe to play the inhabitants, and then just left them here to breed for a few generations. All this to keep curious, enlightened people away so that the army could continue doing all their secret experiments without being asked annoyingly relevant questions about the abnormal feeling of eerie nothingness that seems to surround this area.

Back to my big night out, i spotted through the coaster filled air (you'd have to be there to understand what i mean) a face. It belonged to a boy and was somehow different from all the other faces. So i naturally assumed that this was the one i had been waiting for all along, this was the person to come and whisk me away from dead end 'suburbia' and show me the world from a different angle.
I was only half wrong. He was different then the others, he was south African and quite well traveled. This is always a good thing, but i shouldn't have gotten my hopes up to early.

'What are you reading?' he said and pointed at the book i had lying on the table in front of me.
'Orwell, Down and out in Paris and London.' He gave me a blank stare before he got a dead proud look on his face.
'I never read, I've only ever read one book in my life.' And that's where the fairytale ended on my part (i blame Disney for my romantic nature). I must admit i am getting quite used to this sentence, an alarmingly big part of the population use it regularly around me. I put them into two categories.

1. The people who only read the one, obligatory book you had to read in school.

2. The people who add, after the dreaded statement of non literate preferences, the words: 'And that is the Holy book, the bible, the only book worth reading etc'. It makes my soul itch.

But there is little one can do about such things, people have to make their own choices.

Which brings me back to my mug of moldy not-hot-chocolate, because it wasn't moldy, not green at all! A bit rough around the edges maybe (looked a little rough, i didn't taste it, i am not THAT curious), but no green stuff.

It's strange how some things just rot and decay when you leave it alone (pets, fruit, babies) whilst other things seem to develop a independent and unique lifestyle without any help or encouragement at all (pets, parents, the occasional wet towel).

It's so random how things and people end up, i find uniqueness very fascinating and quite terrifying at times.

Oh, and i can now play Yann Tiersens 'song title i cannot remember or even find online' on my Melodica. It's nice, i like it!