Incoherency, Garlic Bread and Banking.

My brother has officially lost the ability to speak. Whether the fault lies with his becoming a teenager, or with hours upon hours of computer games, he seems to have finally sunk into incoherent mumbling. This was brought to my attention today when he was trying to call me down for tea. All I could hear was “RO-EEE. GAAAABAAA REE-EE” How on Earth, as someone not entirely in touch with modern teenagers and their language, was I supposed to decipher any sort of meaning from a series of moans and mumbles?

I shouted for him to tell me again. He tried. This shows two things, the first is that I at least can put a sentence together and be heard and understood, which shows that it must be him, and not the distance from which he was shouting. The second is that he understands English, and that whether or not I had slipped into a parallel universe, English is (or was, who knows, the world is a constantly changing place) the accepted language of use. So, therefore, it should not have taken four attempts for him to relay a relatively simple message to me.

If you’re interested, what he was trying to say was “ROSIE, THE GARLIC BREAD’S READY”. How annoying. I had something else to rant about, but in my excitement at being annoyed and consequently writing about it, I’ve forgotten what that was. How annoying. At the moment I’m watching Grand Designs and looking at University Courses. Also, I got an email from my bank today, apparently some information is wrong and they can’t activate my account. Very annoying, I spent a good half an hour on the phone the other day trying to open it. There was a man who spoke infuriatingly slowly in an Irish accent on the other side of my phone who kept congratulating me on tiny details of my life. An example of this is:

“Do you have any middle names.”

“Yes, it's Alice.”

“Good for you.”

Why is that good for me? I’m honestly totally indifferent. Had I been born and not been given a middle name, I wouldn’t have spent my life thinking “I can’t help but feel that a tiny part of me is missing.” or even, had I been given a different one, would I have mused “That’s not who I am, Lord, I feel so lost.”. my point is, my middle name really has had very little impact on my life, and I haven’t a clue why I should be told it was good. It’s like praising someone on receiving the local newspaper. To be fair, I probably shouldn’t be angry at him for being courteous, at least he was making an effort, unlike the rest of most of society today.

That’s all folks.

Toy Story 3!

I watched Toy Story 3 in 3D. Toy Story was one of the great films of my childhood, and I was so excited when I found out that they were bringing out another one. It was amazing, the 3D was ace! The glasses were a rip off though, but next time I go to see another 3D film, I get a discount off my ticket for reusing the glasses, so it was sort of worth it. It’s not like the red and green cellophane surrounded by a vaguely glasses-shaped piece of cardboard anymore, gone are the days of miscoloured dimensions, now we have sunglasses. I actually think they’re pretty stylish too, but what do I know? The glasses were a thrill, I was dubious at first, “No red? No green? They must be mad! What kind of Universe do they think we're living in?”, but they were not mad. They worked, and I could watch a 3D film which contained the full range of the visible light spectrum!

So, the glasses were cool, and the film was brilliant too. It was funny and didn’t ruin the Toy Story reputation for me, unlike other sequels I could mention (Shrek 2 - dire, Shrek 3 - an abomination that actually made me angry, which is hard. (It’s not hard, but the film was excessively bad). The only thing that stopped me getting out of my seat and throwing popcorn and small children at the screen which was so offensive to me, was the fact that I was with friends and the dronkeys were cute. I’m not going to watch the fourth one for fear of setting myself on a violent rampage, plus I wouldn’t be able to relinquish the grudge fully enough to bring myself to watch it. I digress). So, yeah, it was cool.

I know what you’re thinking, “finally, a blog post that wasn’t composed of just anger” I thought I’d branch out, who knows, maybe it’ll stick! It probably won’t though, sorry, I’m an angrily natured being and it takes a lot (of bright primary colours or shiny things) to make me anything other than angry.

The Proper Use of Bicycles and their Affiliated Handlebars

I was walking home from school the other day, annoyed and fed up, which is usually the result of school and the unutterably dull journey home, when I saw a bike. The bike was being ridden by a girl who, I’m sorry to say, I must describe as an oaf. She was rolling along at about 0.5 miles an hour, neglecting her handlebars. There is a reason that handlebars were invented. The man who invented handlebars would be literally turning (hah) in his grave. Why, when you have perfectly functioning handlebars, would you decide to use your own body as a counterbalance in lieu of the aforementioned handlebars?

As you can imagine, I was irked by this (sorry for the harsh language I am about to use) twit. I scowled hatefully at her, screaming “FALL”, in my head of course. She did. Now, there are two scenarios which could be drawn from this, the first is that she is a fool of the highest order, the second is that I have the much sought after power of telepathy. The two events are not mutually exclusive. I have since concluded that I have not got supernatural abilities, through rigorous testing, but I am fairly certain that she is a fool, because after she fell off her bike due to the misuse of the handlebars, she proceeded to get up and not use her handlebars. It doesn’t take a genius. Natural selection, you have been foiled again.

Football is bad for my soul.

As you may well have realised, yesterday was the long-awaited England match. I went to watch it with my family at my grandparents house.

I should not be allowed to watch football. I turned into a monster. By the second half I was wishing all manner of death upon the American team, who may be perfectly agreeable and charming people in the flesh. But I doubt it, because they're American, and they scored. In fact, I was so angry at the point of the American handball that I suggested, rather loudly, that he had his arm amputated rather than getting a yellow card, as then it wouldn't get in the way again. I think I may have scared my family, especially my nan. Sorry nan.

This could possibly be seen as perfectly normal, if I was accustomed to watching football. I am not. I never watch it, I didn't even realise it was the World Cup until about three days ago, when I was told by an exasperated friend. I'm not a football person. It's not in my blood, at least not on my fathers side. He hates it, and I can see why. I don't like being tense, it makes me... well, tense. I have resolved to stay away from any further matches. It's not even a good game! Now badminton, that's a sport. *ducks to avoid sharp objects thrown by football fans*

So, for this reason, I have come to the conclusion that football is bad for my soul, and so I shouldn't be allowed to watch it. EVER.

Of Tooth and Toothbrush

First post!

Recently I have begun the process of getting braces, which would be simple if I weren't getting them from Stafford Hospital, but I am, so it's not. Before I'm deemed worthy of having the braces, I have to go to lessons on cleaning my teeth and not eating hard things. I've been to one, and there is a further one to go, but the first was traumatic enough.

I had to clean my teeth while she held a mirror up for me. Honestly, I've never used a mirror to clean my teeth before, after all these years, I think I know where most of them are. What was more unnerving than watching my own contorted face gawping back at me, was the woman staring at me while I brushed. I kept thinking to myself "What if I've been doing it wrong all these years?"

After this ordeal was over, and I'd successfully dribbled down my front (how embarrassing), she told me that I had a good technique. I replied saying "I've been doing it a while", to which she laughed politely, but was clearly irked. Maybe she's heard that one before? A little later, she revealed to me that her toothbrush was often flat by the time she used it, because her children and husband usually got here before her. Nice. So, here I was, recieving a lecture on dental hygiene from a woman who shares her toothbrush with at least three other people, when she began to insult my toothbrush, the poor thing.

I mention this, because it brings me to my tale of buying a new toothbrush. I went to my local tesco direct, which is essentially a petrol station with a fruit isle, and purchased what has to be the best manual toothbrush I have come across. It was mint scented, yes scented. And just in case, in your excitement, you forgot what mint smelt like (easily done when confronted with such an item), there was a mint leaf scratch n sniff on the front. Unfortunately, however, when I scratched, I sniffed no mint. I think the man in the shop scratched away all the sniff in his lust for mint-scented-packaging. Darn you, tesco man, darn you to heck. (Madagascar reference)

So, now you know of my toothbrush, which has damn fine bristles, if I do say so myself. Thank you for reading.