Happy Wednesday.

  Apologies for the distinct lack of funny/Germany-related blogs, but I have had a pretty intense weekend and am still catching up on my beauty sleep. As you can tell, I need a lot of it:


  My camara ran out of juice a couple of times on the trip, so I need to raid some people’s Facebook pages and (this is a hint, guys) get some photos from my friends. You know what my email is. Once I’ve got enough stuff together I’ll work on a slide show or something – the only problem with this blog’s layout is the lack of space for photos. Either they’re too small to see or go in columns.

  Anyway, as we got to Berlin via aeroplane, have a looksie at some complaints made to Thomas Cook about holidays last season…

  • “I think it should be explained in the brochure that the local store does not sell proper biscuits like custard creams or ginger nuts.”
  • “It’s lazy of the local shop keepers to close in the afternoons. I often need to buy things during the siesta times – this should be banned.”
  • “On my holiday to Goa, India, I was disgusted to find that almost every restaurant served curry. I don’t like spicy food at all.”
  • “We booked an excursion to a water park, but no one told us we had to bring our swimming costumes and towels,”
  • “The beach was too sandy.”
  • “We found the sand was not like the sand in the brochure. Your brochure shows the sand as yellow but it was white.”
  • “Topless sunbathing on the beach should be banned. The holiday was ruined as my husband spent all day looking at other women.”
  • “We bought Ray Ban sunglasses for five euros (£3.50) from a street trader, only to find out they were fake.”
  • “No one told us there would be fish in the sea. The children were startled.”
  • “There was no egg slicer in the apartment.”
  • “We went on holiday to Spain, and had a problem with the taxi drivers, as they were all Spanish…”
  • “The roads were uneven.”
  • “It took us nine hours to fly home from Jamaica to England, but it only took the Americans three hours to fly home.”
  • “I compared the size of our one bedroom apartment to our friends’ three-bedroom apartment, and ours was significantly smaller.”
  • “The brochure stated ‘no hairdressers at the accommodation.’ We’re trainee hairdressers, will we be okay staying there?”
  • “There are too many Spanish people. The receptionist speaks Spanish, the food is Spanish, too many foreigners.”
  • “We had to queue outside with no air conditioning.”
  • “It is your duty as a tour operator to advise us of noisy or unruly guests before we travel.”
  • “I was bitten by a mosquito. No one said they could bite.”
  • “My fiancée and I booked a twin-bedded room but we were placed in a double-bedded room. We now hold you responsible for the fact that I find myself pregnant. This would not have happened if you had put us in the room that we booked.”
  • A tourist at a top African game lodge overlooking a waterhole who spotted a visibly aroused elephant, complained that the sight of this rampant beast ruined his honeymoon by making him feel ‘inadequate’.
  • A woman threatened to call the police after claiming that she had been locked in by staff. When in fact, she had mistaken the ‘do not disturb’ sign on the back of the door as a warning to remain in the room.
  • A guest at a Novotel in Australia complained his soup was too thick and strong. He was inadvertently slurping gravy at the time.

I have a few of my own to add:

  • Zakynthos, Greece: “The portions are too big. I am on a diet.”
  • Zakynthos: “The eggs are too strong.”

10 Stupid Yet Funny Ways to Propose Marriage.

  I was going to post something about sandwiches, but Isobel’s MSN-ing me and we’ve thought up stupider topics (well Google has and she’s passed them on). So:

10 Stupid Yet Funny Ways to Propose Marriage

  • Over the telephone. What if the line was dodgy and you mis-heard? What if your credit ran out before they answered? What if the call was hacked and broadcast live on the Internet, and they said no?
  • Over text. Personally, I’d think they were joking. But then, some of the most serious conversations of my life have been over text. They would have been easier face-to-face though. When you’re in Greece and she’s in England, it’s really hard to read facial expressions.
  • By email. They might mistake it for chain mail or spam! They might never get back to you!
  • Via MSN. My connection’s always faulty, if it were me I might not even get the message. Person might not be who you think it is, it might be their little brother or wife or someone from Canada.
  • One of those aeroplane banner whatsits. Bloody difficult to read when the sun gets in your eyes. I know love is blind, but that’s stretching it a bit… Plus random members of the public might think it was for them. RIOTS could start.
  • On the big screen at a sporting event. I think they do this in America a lot. Downside is everyone can see if you say no. If you say yes when you want to say no – but can’t because all of Madison Square Garden is watching, you’ll end up with either a sham marriage or a broken-off-at-the-last-minute engagement, and you’d have to return the dress.
  • Live on TV. Hilary’s boyfriend did this on The Fresh Prince of Bel Air, I think. He proposed while on some local show she was watching, while bungee jumping from a plane. He didn’t land very well. In fact, he died.
  • In front of his/her entire family. Who have just been bitching about how you’re the rebound relationship from the guy who left her for a trapeze artist.
  • In the middle of a gunfight/the centre of a restaurant okay sorry. In the middle of a gunfight, air raid, terrorist attack, drugs bust, gas explosion, car crash or any other situation where you’re only asking because you think you’re both going to die soon. When you both live you’ll realise you’ve never even seen her before in your life, you mistook her for the girl who lives on the corner of your nan’s street.
  • Straight after she says “I’m pregnant.” Let’s face it, the kid would rather grow up in a stable single-parent household than one with two parents who resent one another and their child because the aftermath of that drinking game led to a moment of chivalry and a lifetime of affairs.

  While writing this I realised that today is my parents’ seventeenth wedding anniversary. Oddly, I do not know how they got engaged.

***EDIT 31/01/11***

  I was reading the comments and remembered the most stupid way to propose:

  Halfway up a chairlift/ski lift/normal lift, or on a long journey. If the person says no, you are in for one awkward ride.

If This Pings Your Inbox As You Watch, It’s Way Past Your Bedtime.

  A chain email that is so excellent it should be published officially. By me, of course.


Last month a world-wide survey was conducted by the UN.

The only question asked was: “Would you please give your honest opinion about solutions to the food shortage in the rest of the world?”

The survey was a huge failure because of the following:

1. In Eastern Europe they didn’t know what “honest” meant.
2. In Western Europe they didn’t know what “shortage” meant

3. In Africa they didn’t know what “food” meant.

4. In China they didn’t know what “opinion” meant.

5. In the Middle East they didn’t know what “solution” meant.

6. In South America they didn’t know what “please” meant.

7. In the USA they didn’t know what “the rest of the world” meant.

8. In  UK they hung up as soon as they heard the Indian accent.

  I know for a fact that number eight is true. Anyone out there from any other places, please let me know how accurate this is!

“Is my skirt too short? It is? Good. Screw you.”

  I thought I’d take a moment from everything that’s been going on and point your attention to the excellent new header I uploaded thirty seconds ago. It is staying up there for approximately eight million years, as that is the amount of time it took to match the colours to the format I write in on Picnik and Paint.

  Yes, I use Paint. I would also be a big fan of a website called Crayon, if one existed. It would teach people like me how to draw straight lines and font so art exams are less painful than French ones. There would be every colour and shade known to anyone, and people who own Flash/Photoshop/graphics tablets would not be allowed in on principle.

  However, I am digressing from the track I originally wanted to write about. Ah yes. This blog is a place for me to say what I want, when I want to, in whatever way I see fit at the time. No apologies for having an opinion, though bitching over the Internet is too 2008 to consider. It is also childish. So, without further ado;

Ten Things I/We/You Hate About High School

#10 Teachers thinking they are better than you because they are the ones with the diploma and whiteboard pen. Teachers saying they know what you are going through since they were once hormone-riddled teenagers, then lecturing you on the dangers of GHB. If we want to take it, we will take it. If we don’t die or become junkies, hopefully we won’t try it again.

#9 Classmates with their heads stuck so far up their own arse they can’t see the light. The ones who only see that they’re different to you, but act as though it’s a criminal offence. It isn’t. For God’s sake, accept that not everyone enjoys listening to Cheryl Cole and get over the fact they enjoy heavy metal or classic. These people are often also the ones who think it matters what your high jump score was and whether or not you can multiply out the brackets.

#8 A-Levels/AS-Levels/GCSEs/SATs/end of year exams/end of topic tests. Enough said.

#7  This probably only applies to girls and gay boys, but I’ll stick it in anyway: the fear of saying anything meaningful or personal to anyone, in case the next day four other kids know about it. Same applies to bitching. There are two people in my school I would take into my complete confidence, possibly three. The rest I don’t know well enough and/or don’t trust not to spill at the slightest pressure. Or on MSN.

#6 The permanent emphasis on gay people, sex and gay sex. No longer being in primary school clearly shows that every other conversation has to involve innuendo, especially about fags, but it’s totally not cool to come out about being a fag, which brings me on to my next point…

#5 There is no way to tell when you are fifteen, whether or not you are gay or bisexual. So, attention seeking kiddies, stop ‘coming out’. Everyone else, stop worrying. The consensus is; have a hell load of fun, experiment  and steer clear of STDs. Chances are in later life you will want to get married to a member of the opposite sex and help populate the Earth without spreading AIDS.

#4 The rivalry between schools and the stereotypes that accompany them. The typecast for my all-girls grammar is ‘posh lesbian’. You simply have to take a look at some members of Year Ten to see that this is not true.

#3 Confusion. Over what to have for lunch, what to say to whom, where to sit, what to put in the answer space, whether you like that person or not. I seem to spend seventy percent of my time at SHSG not knowing what to do.

#2 The toilets.

#1 Pressure. From everyone. On you. To ace that paper, sleep with that dude, practice for that assessment. To be nice to friends and family (which you really want to do because they are nice) while stressing out about tomorrow’s exam and wondering if you finally blew it and said the wrong thing to her again.

  I may add to this list and make it The Definitive Yet Unlimited List of Reasons Why We Are Allergic to Senior School. Watch this space.

  Good luck in the jungle, and remember: you can’t go to hell, you’re already in it. However, you will leave when you are sixteen or eighteen and at some point in your mid-twenties you will be glad you put up with it. Probably when you recognise some prep in the high street who’s not got the movie-star life she thought she would.