how do you feel when there's no sound?

I haven't posted in a while. And this time I have a mild excuse in that I went to Preston"on holiday" with Ben for a few days at the beginning of last week, and then went off to live in a field at Leeds Festival.

Leeds was festival was rather bon, I have to say. It has, however, left me with the follwing urges.

1. Buy a lot of CDs. Lots and lots. (I've just ordered 4 on the internet)
2. Buy a band T Shirt. I want one of these.
3. Wear it with jeans tucked into wellies.

need a little time to wake up, wake up?

{Yes, most of this is old and second-hand. Sorry}

I work in Pret a Manger. Therefore, I serve many a person who is in search of coffee. We serve a variety of coffee types, latte, cappuccino, mocha, espresso, macchiato, filter (white and black) and americano (white and black). Any involving milk can be made using skimmed, whole or soya milk, and all except filter can be decaf and either half, double or regular strength. We don't have to put chocolate on anything. And yet, we sell a lot of cappuccinos.

Following the rise of the coffee shop, many people were left confused. They just wanted a coffee, and when confronted with a huge board covered with unpronouncable coffees, a complicated 3-tier sizing system where tall meant small and an impatient teenager "Barista" (a what?) waiting for their order, they panicked. What to do? Just pick one. Any of them. And if it's horrible, don't get it next time. In the heat of the moment, a cappuccino was chosen, and as this was not too traumatic, word was passed onto friends, and a cappuccino became a thing of vague certainty in an uncertain world. A route out of the thorny maze that is the modern coffee shop. Something they can cling to, providing stability in the midst of the changing world, flailing like a wild strom around them. Their refuge.

But why was it cappuccino, the half-froth non-drink, that emerged as the coffee-rock? Perhaps, while furiously scanning the coffee board for something at least vaguely familiar, something stood out. The letter C. It worked for Iraq Al Qaeda, and on this coincidence of spelling a tradition was formed. And now, when coffee is required, swathes of people ask for a cappuccino. "A coffee" has come to mean "a cappuccino".

So now, when people want a coffee, they get a cappuccino, even though they acually want filter (or, more probably, instant). Why? Why get something when you want something else, especially when that something else is cheaper and easier and quicker? Why get froth when you want coffee? Now you have found your feet and realised that coffee shops are, on the whole, not out to trick you, why do you fall into the trap and pay the same amount of money for a drink that has had 50 grammes of milk missing? Perhaps you like it frothy and strong, but to be honest you are going to get a spoon (from the trolley just behind you on the right) dig through the foam to the liquid part and complain to your coffee-buddy that it's only really 2 thirds full, and a bit too strong, aren't you? I know you are, because next week you're going to come back and ask for a "not-too-frothy cappuccino". It's called a latte. But then you wouldn't know that, cos you don't know what you're asking for, do you? If you like the idea of non-filter, why not branch out, try something else? Ask us, we will advise. If you like filter, why not just get filter? Perhaps because that would show you aren't trendy enough to understand the idea of proper coffee. But if you ask for cappuccino, I can tell. You don't understand, you haven't tried, your opinion isn't your own.

But now, people are learning about the wonder of the americano. It's like normal coffee. You can have with milk. And it has an italian name, so no face is lost in asking for it. This discovery is being embraced almost as warmly as that of cappuccino but still, novices display their inexperience just as try to hide it behind an italian coffee name. Filter and ameicano cost slightly more than an espresso; both are the same price so the board says "Filter / Americano - £1.35". Keen to show their knowledge and understanding, the coffee buyer does not ask for cappuccino, but instead realises what they really want and decide to take the plunge. But, inadvertantly, they plunge in completely the wrong way, leaving their naivety behind them, floating on the surface for all to see.

"Any hot drinks?"
"Yes. A filter americano." (Ah ha. See. Normal coffee, but with an air of sophistication and knowledge)
"Sorry?"
"A filter americano." (Have I got it wrong? I'm beginning to get a little flustered here.)
"Which one would you like?"
"Sorry?" (I knew I should've had a cappuccino.)
"They're different things. Which would you like?" (They should've asked for a cappuccino.)
"Ummmm....filter" (ARG I'm never doing this again)
"Would you like milk?"
"Yes" (Yes! I just want a normal coffee! Can't you see that!?)
"That's £1.35 please" (Yes I can. Ha)

In all, the moral of this story is.

1. Get want you want.

But you don't necessarily know what this is.

2. In order to find what you want, try something you might.

But you may become unstuck in the process. For example, in their attempted trying of the americano miracle, many a person has misguidedly assumed that this safehouse of a coffee, as it is the plainest of the plain, must be the cheapest on the board. You've forgotten it's name, you remember it's Italian, you ask for an espresso. Woops. I can normally tell when this error is made, and can grab a teeny espresso cup to demonstrate what exactly "espresso - the little one" means. But some some unwitting consumers slip through my net. Or, I have to admit, sometimes I don't bother. A husband and wife come into the queue, she asks him for an espresso before slipping off to save a recently vacated table. He comes to the counter and asks for a cappuccino (what else?) and an espresso. When I ask if he's staying in or taking away he'll reply in a loud, slow voice "A CAPPUCCINO AND AN EXPRESSO". Yeh, thanks, I heard you the first time, and it's eSpresso actually. I quite look forward to the look on his face as I place his drinks on his tray. He asks "Is that what she asked for?" Yes, yes, it is. He returns to his table and she berates him. She told him what to ask for, he must have messed up. Gosh, how hard can it be? Eventually, she relents and comes over to the counter. And this is my favourite part.
"I'm sorry, I asked him to get me an espresso"
"That is an espresso"
*puzzled look* "Oh!" *thinks* "Why's it so small?"

So indeed, in the end, just remember this.

3. Yes. We are judging you.

And if you don't what to pay £1.79 for a coffee that's half missing, go home.

i'm not laughing, you're not leaving

Last week I finally joined the revolution.

After months of believing skinny jeans to be solely for skinny people, I now have realised that I am either a. right and skinny, or the more realistic b. wrong and still a bit fat. In other words I have my own lovely pair :)




I know this is kinda the point but they really are TIGHT round the calf and ankle. They feel like tighty tight knee high socks. They bunch up round the ankle. I may have to put them on like tights rather than trousers but they are, in fact a vision of grey loveliness.

Even though I was wrong and am still still a bit fat, I feel skinny and right in my lovely H&M friends :) :)

i'm the king of the castle

The long awaited (hmm) answers

1. g
2. e
3. c
4. a
5. h
6. b
7. d
8. f

the creaking of the walls and the banging of the bed

I just watched Hollyoaks. Is it a little bit wrong to find Foz strangely attractive? I think it's the voice.

But then, he does sound like he could lead a cult, so maybe he's just brainwashed me into the "voice cult".

Maybe he is the leader of a cult, I'm pretty sure a cult is one of the very few storylines Hollyoaks hasn't tackled. It's definitely time for a cult storyline in a British soap, there's been cults in both Summer Bay and Rasmay Street, it's time we got in on the action. I can't see it happening in Albert Square or Coronation Street, but I reckon HCC is prime recruiting ground.

I could even see a commune being set up on the wild hillsides of Emmerdale. The differing reactions of the villagers would cause great tensions, the nation would be gripped as a bride-to-be battles with her conscience over whether she should marry her fiance or join The Believers as their queen, culminating in a Christmas special (when else?) in which she, after much deliberation, turns up to her wedding to that the vicar has deserted the Church of England for a chance to serve as an altar boy for the High Priest of the commune. In the ensuing drama involving getting a registrar up from Leeds the perform the ceremony at short notice no one notices that her fiance's headless and heartless body is lying among sheep on the hillside, and it is, in fact, his evil twin in the morning suit at the front of the church. It's only when a sheep dog drags an arm into the pub at midnight on new year's eve that anyone notices that the real groom is missing.

Apparently, I like tangents.

and i hope you took your camera

I'm not even going to pretend to be any deeper than a saucer of water in this post. Below is a series of pictures of people who share their name with people we (I) know. Match the names to the pictures and leave your guess as a comment. I'll do an answers post in a weeks or so.

Have Fun!

Who's who?

1.

2.

3.

4.

5.

6.

7.

8.

a. Laura Lindsay

b. Peter Twyman

c. James Freeman

d. Luke Norman

e. Elizabeth Banks

f. Sophie Knowles

g. Betsy Powell

h. Lucy Moran

love you love you love you long time

I had a very strange dream last night. I was in the car with Ben and he was being proper flirty, and then we got out of the car and he was trying to kiss me, and I was like "Oooo I'm sorry but like, a few months ago I would've been fine, but I've got a boyfreind so yeah, sorry." And then I woke up and realised "Ben IS my boyfriend!"

This was just before Pete posed this very important question : "Do you want a. eggs for breakfast, or b. more sleep?" I chose a.

I was at Pete's cos I'd stayed there after last night's "Billie and Ruth - Welcome home from your 11 month adventure" night out. I'm not going to give a blow by blow account of what happened, but just mention these notable incidents.

On our arrival at Evil Eye we decided to move all the furniture (is that how you spell that) to create a large enough seating area for everyone. In doing this we moved a large sofa away from a computer, which proceded to fall over sideways and land with an almighty crash. Wooops. Appropriate response : hide it behind the offending sofa and move accross to the other side of the room.

While in Varsity it started to rain. Just as we were thinking about moving on Betsy decided that what she really needed was an umbrella, so she set about getting one. Going over to the bar, she didn't lie, she merely asked "Has anyone left an umbrella here?"

This was, obviously a genuinely innocent enquiry.

"What colour?" "Black"

She's just a very inquisitive person!

"Is this it?" "Yes"

And he just handed it to her! No deception involved at all. None. And this went meant that on our way to the Lowther, Betsy remained dry, as did Pete's right side and my left side. (Mostly)

While in the lowther we spotted a jukebox. (30p a song = bargain. I'd buy anything for 30p. Up to a point.) So myself and James selected S Club 7 - Reach. James, Pete, Billie, Luke, Soph, Betsy and I had reminising fun by singing the song and dancing the dance. And when we'd finished some guy said "I hope you feel ashamed of yourselves in the morning!" I don't feel ashamed at all. Not even a little bit. I'm quite pleased with myself actually, and with Luke's reply "I hope you feel ashamed of yourself right now!"

And I'm pleased he didn't take offence and introduce Luke to his fist.

Although, that might have been funny for a little while.

chasing the ghost of a good thing

I just watched, on and off, VH1's Most Wanted Bodies on TMF. Here's Miss Number One.

Oh my gosh. I never want to eat again.

Or alternatively I want to only eat 35 egg whites a week and drink 4 litres of silicone-rich Fuji water a day. I want to become an expert in a little-known martial arts discipline that provides a full cardiac work out while toning every muscle in my body, giving my bum and arms great shape AND definition.

My self-body-image-whatever changes a lot. I sometimes think I've got backwards body dismorphia. (Is that what it's called?) In that I look at myself in the mirror and think "Actually, that looks ok." I'm pretty sure that can't be what other people are thinking. When my sister's teasing me for being a fattie, and I get all envious cos she's uber-tanned and wearing the teaniest shorts known to man (she's such a fittie at the moment), I normally think that I'd rather keep my body than swap with her. I'm quite happy with it. Not that I could actually swap with her, but you know.

Then sometimes I'm thinking that I'm looking OK, but then accidently see myself in a mirror somewhere (like I did with my well-loved Pocahontas shoes) and think "ARG! That's ME!" That's today. My hair's a mess, I tied it up and put it under a baseball cap while it was still pretty much damp, it's now flatter than flat and looking even more than usual like the hair dye has gone a little bit wrong. My skin's really bad, in both the spotty and pasty-looking departments. My feet are big and clumpy, the red nail varnish not really detracting from the million-plus mosquito bite scars speckled around my ankles. My arms seem geneticly programmed to adopt the "clenched-fist gorilla-arm-hang" pose that is so often modelled by my mum. My thighs are not, however much I want them to be, "Beyonce thighs". They are just large. I have love handles. I have back fat. I am not a vision of loveliness.

My boyfriend thinks I'm sexy. But then, he has only seen me with my clothes on. That's part of the beauty of keeping them on til we're married; by then it'll be too late and he'll be stuck with me regardless. And if I don't look like Elisha Cuthbert, sorry, but if you don't believe in sex before marriage, I'm guessing you don't like divorce either.

won't you come on over, the other side of the sofa?

I wrote this yesterday, but it wasn't having any of it.

I've been reading this : http://allprowaiter.blogspot.com/ and feeling very very grateful that I am not a waitress. I get very annoyed at the very annoying customers in the shop with a star but they are nothing compared to what this guy has to deal with. Although, he could be lying.

Yesterday an old lady came up to the counter and told Billy-Gene (his actual real name) that she'd gone to get a straw from one of the cultery holder things and had returned to her table to find it empty. One the team must have cleared a whole orange juice and an unopened pecan pie into the bin. This is a believable story of course, because we all look like idiots with our name badges on our hats and in fact, we work in a sandwich shop so we must be thicker than thick. So, Billy quickly asked the people behind the counter if we'd cleared any tables, and obviously we had, then just gave her an orange juice and a pecan pie for free. But then he asked us properly, and no, surprisingly no one had cleared away her mid-morning snack. She never had one in the first place, did she?

She was lying. And she's a theif.

And today I heard someone pronounce "manger" as in "Pret a..." like "manger" as "Away in a...". Fantastic.

title-free

Luke and Pete are linking to me. This makes me feel under pressure to post.

Apparently I don't perform well under pressure.