Subway, ya bacon me crazy...

It hasn't exactly been a slow news week, but it seems that the story that's really captured the attention of the British public is the news that SUBWAY REMOVE HAM AND BACON FROM STORES BECAUSE THEY LOVE MUSLIM PEOPLE MORE THAN ANYONE ELSE.

Except, that's not the news. The actual news is that Subway will be switching pork products to halal turkey ham and bacon in 185 stores across the UK & Ireland. Have these 185 stores been chosen at random, by a Subway HQ game of slightly pissed darts? Or possibly just to target you and make it more difficult for you to take in a week's worth of salt in twenty minutes?
No. These 185 stores have been selected as they are in areas in which the demand for halal meat is high and the demand for pork is low. Now, anyone who works in a remotely businessy customery environment (can you tell that I do?)will know that there will have been a lot of Excel spreadsheets to back this up. A lot. So, essentially, Subway have just made a decision based on customer demands, but have made the colossal mistake of announcing it like it's a thing.

You'll still be able to get a BLT, but it will be made with turkey bacon, which means that you won't even taste the difference, as every mouthful will be full of watery tomato, damp bead and vinegary dressing- JUST LIKE EVERY SANDWICH SERVED AT SUBWAY EVER.

And in case you're not sure which Subway sandwiches are affected by The Rules, the Daily Mail have knocked up this handy cut out and keep guide so that you can check before you order and end up eating turkey bacon like a fackin' woofter.

Yes, there is the whole halal animal cruelty debate but I'm not nearly clued up enough on it to want to write about it. The Daily Mail had a good stab at it though (they stunned the issue first though, because that's the kind thing to do) and end up using the words stunned and slaughtered so much that you begin to forget what those words even mean, they're just sounds. Grim sounds.

I couldn't resist scrolling through a few pages of DM comments; I was having a pretty good day and wanted to feel simultaneously angry and bleak. Here are some of my favourites. Or least favourites. Whatever.

Rasputin, Lichfield, 4 hours ago

I used to like Subway as an occasional treat. Now I'd rather eat in a maggot infested trucker cafe from hell!

“Are you off out for lunch?”
“Yeah”
“Ooof, where you going?”
“A maggot infested trucker cafe from hell. Want anything bringing back?”

Cooper, Cambridge, 4 hours ago

So where does that leave the newest advert for the "smoked bacon sub and a drink" offer??

Fuck animal welfare, THESE are the questions that we want answering, Subway.

topper, middletown ny, United States, 5 hours ago
THIS WOULD NEVER HAPPEN IN AMERICA, WE DONT BOW DOWN TO ANY RELIGIOUS GROUP. WE WILL NEVER LET ANY RELIGIOUS GROUP TO DICTATE WHAT IS SERVED IN OUR FOOD STORES.

NO, BUT YOU DO LET A RELIGIOUS GROUP GOVERN JUST ABOUT EVERYTHING FUCKING ELSE.

Maglight, Swindon, 4 hours ago

I wish I ate the rubbish - just so I could boycott it - Religion the cause of more wars than any other reason

“And, class, who can tell me what started World War Three?”
“Er, it was a Chicken and Bacon Ranch Melt on Hearty Italian, wasn't it sir?”


D-1st-John_Doe, London, United Kingdom, 5 hours ago

Trojan horse begins... Goodbye Britain.

Muslims crept into the UK in a Meatball Marinara.

Babybird, Tweetypieland, 5 hours ago

Every day I buy a chicken salad meal deal ... Not anymore

Branch the fuck out, Babybird.

Soup Dragon, Bolton, United Kingdom, 8 hours ago

That's £50 a week less off me.

This time next year, Soup Dragon will be commenting from his brand new conservatory...

Andy, Melbourne, Australia, 5 hours ago

Ate my last meatball sub today in Australia.

Let's bow our heads.


The overriding message from the DM comments and the various Facebook protest pages that have popped up seems to be that Subway are at risk of losing a lot of money that's never been spent at Subway anyway, so I'm sure they're really shitting themselves.

Also, no one's gonna boycott Subway really, are they? Because, when it comes down to it, no one can deny themselves, and their mates, the 6-inch/foot long joke, can they?

How to be angry about something on the Internet.

The other day I read this Mashable article about men’s apparent reaction to that new film The Other Women (The title is a pun; it’s supposed to be The Other Woman, but he’s shagging around so there’s more than one woman and boy, does hilarity ensue).

This particular article made me a little cross. The tone of piece (tongue in cheek, I’m sure), was that which would have only been appropriate if the male audience members, “brave as they were few”, had dashed into a burning children’s hospital, not gone to the cinema to see Kate Upton run.

For those who are interested, it would have gone something like this. I would have first scratched the skin off the article for using the phrase “the honeys makin’ money”, asking “Is it safe to even laugh?” (It’s totally safe to laugh, guys, but I wouldn’t worry about it, as I doubt you’ll raise so much as a wry smile, let alone an audible display of joy) and for saying this-

“Think over your day: Maybe it was a big mistake to compliment your attractive female co-worker’s taste in music. Maybe you stared at a scantily dressed passerby a moment too long. Maybe you drooled too much when Kate Upton emerged onscreen in her bikini.

Maybe you shouldn’t have asked for extra butter on your popcorn? Perhaps this movie is all a trap. Bad things might happen, fellas.”

You know what’s going to happen, fellas?
Your attractive female co-worker will know that you’re only complimenting her taste in music because she’s fit. This isn’t because she’s conceited, it’s because you’ve been gawping at her every time she goes over to the printer.
No one will notice that you were staring at a scantily dressed passerby a moment too long because you were in some weird dream world in which passersby are always scantily clad.
I, your date, will sit their politely with my arm resting upright on the armrest that separates us, holding my head, until the film is over, where I will make my excuses and leave, texting my friend from the car; “OMG, he fucking drools.”
Also, I won’t care that you got extra butter on your popcorn. Mainly, because UK cinemas don’t do that, but going with it, hypothetically, I will care if you touch my hair with your buttery fingers.

 
I would then explain, in an eloquent and hilarious way, that I don’t think the premise of the film is refreshing at all and for once I’d like to see a film about female friendship that isn’t born of or compromised by the desires of men.

Or something like that.

However, I have not seen the film.

I won’t see the film, because the film looks shit. So I had to resist the temptation to take to my keyboard and get all huffy.

I could get all self-reflective, or just illegally stream the film whilst I’m tidying my room or something so that I don’t have to really watch it, but that’s not the point of this piece. This piece is some advice to my past self, the one from yesterday lunchtime; some advice that would have seen me assert an unshakeable, militant, sweary opinion on something that I know next to nothing about. And if that’s not the point of this whole Internet thing, then what the fuck is?

So, how to complain about something you've never watched/read/interacted with in anyway.

1. Don’t do your research
THERE IS NO TIME.

We all know that, when it comes to opinions, the internet operates on a first come first serve basis; if you’re opinion isn’t up there first then it’s not going to get the amount of retweets and favourites that make having opinions worth it.

The more you dig around and read up on the subject that’s got you in a bother, the more chances there are of stumbling across some information that pisses on your angry, burny bonfire. It could come in the form of a cold hard fact (i.e numbers) or it could come in the form of an ‘allegedly’, or maybe it’ll come in the form of, you know, context, but either way it’s a comin’. You’re angrily written blog post or your furiously tapped tweets are redundant; it’s all over before it even began (if it’s a generic issue, like race or something, then just save it in your drafts and adapt to fit a later, equally angry issue)
They say that knowledge is power. It’s not. Ignore ‘they’.

2. Trailers and DM articles
If you really have to do research, like, it’s an absolute must for you, for example you’re looking for a specific quote or occurrence that will illustrate your point perfectly when it’s ripped away from it’s surroundings, then stick to trailers and the York Notes of news for the intolerant that is The Daily Mail.

Don’t dawdle. Get in, get what you need and get out.

3. Don’t expand on your point
Your lack of research and knowledge really puts you at an advantage now. Don’t think of this as making the opinion one-sided, narrow, 2D even, if you will, but think of this as making the opinion streamlined. People like streamlined stuff; shoes, cars, opinions.
So, you’ve now got your slinky opinion, don’t bother embellishing it or expanding on it with discussion and trying to explain what you mean; just find different ways to say the same over-riding thought that formed your initial reaction to the news story/tv show/ film/ football stuff/ haircut. The more times you say it, the more right it is.

4. Reappropriate the opinions of others
People will question your opinion. It’s annoying but it’s true.

Actually, it’s worth bearing in mind here that the best opinions are left unquestioned. This is not, as some might suggest, because you’re opinion is so fucking stupid that questioning it is futile, but it’s actually because you’re opinion is rock solid, watertight, right. Something to aim for, there.
With all the questioning, you might eventually run out of ways to make the same point. This is where you must turn to the work of others.

Look at what other people have said on the issue. It doesn’t matter if, for example, someone has said “A UKIP MP said ‘I hate Muslims’”, the take home message from that sentence is “I hate muslims”. Technically, that person did say that, those words did leave their mouth, or fingers, whatever. So, snip it out and use it to back yourself up, because it’s a dog-eat-dog virtual world out there and no one else will help you.

5. If in doubt, use exclamation marks.
I am willing to acknowledge that some people use exclamation marks to express a range of emotions but these people are wrong. The exclamation mark is used to convey volume and any other use is improper.

Combined with typing in all capitals, it’s fucking unbeatable.
Remember, the louder you are, the righter you are.

This advice will only get you so far. Eventually, some prick is going to ask “Have you actually seen/read it, though?” and then, you’re on your own.
Just remember, an opinion doesn’t have to be informed, it just has to be said.

Preferably, often and loudly.

What rhymes with Sheezus?

                                                                   That's me as a Sheezus, by the way.

After being distracted by the clusterfuck of wrong that is Avril Lavigne's new musical offering, I finally got around to watching Lily Allen's Sheezus. You know, that Sheezus thing that she's been banging on about for the last month?

The video starts with a parental advisory notice, so you know that things are about to get pretty fucking edgy. Except it's Lily Allen, so they're about to get as edgy as prom dresses paired with trainers.

I'm not going to pick through the lyrics and attach a comment to each line, I think that would make for a tedious read (as opposed to the non-stop thrill ride that you're about to embark on) but I will pick out a couple of lines that made me LOL (HAHA rhymes with Gaga now, apparently).
Yes, you've guessed it, they were the period lines. These lines-

Periods, we all get periods
Every month, that’s what the theory is
It’s human nature, another cycle
Be nice to me, I’ll make you one of my disciples 

Thank fuck, finally someone is talking about periods.

Don't know if you've ever been around girls, Lily, but we can talk about periods. We have no problemo talking about the old periodos. Really.

There is no theory about periods, is there? I thought it was just a biological fact. There's no conspiracy, there's nothing the government isn't telling us; women have periods and if they don't then there's a reason. You're not selected by a specially trained bunch of professionals to receive periods.

I sort of feel like she's relying on the period lines to make this song more feminist, but they don't. Having periods is not a feminist issue. The way that women are depicted and represented in relation to periods is one of those, a feminist issue.
By the way, the period song crown will always belong to Leona Lewis' Bleeding Love, sorry Lils.
Apart from, given the context of the previous lyrics, sounding like you're going to be involved in some weird, gross blood ritual, the disciple thing is bugging me too. What's with the current bow down, stepson, disciple thing? Why has everyone got to be on top and own people and stuff? Can't we all just be buds?

After watching the video a few times, I'm mainly just confused about the whole thing.
Is she saying that all the girls are all sticking together and they're all Sheezuseseses? Or that they're fighting each other for the Sheezus crown? A crown that I'm assuming, if we're going with the Jesus analogy, is made of thorns, so I'll pass, FYI.
Also, I'm pretty sure that there's only supposed to be one Jesus, isn't there? I know, I know, logically there are loads of Jesuseseses (Jesi?) around (I mean, Madonna went out with one), but spiritually there's just one right? Even Yeezus says that Jesus is the most high and he, Yeezus, is a close high, so surely that means that Lily isn't saying that all ladies can be Sheezus? And if that is the case, then she's saying that she is the most high and I thought feminism was supposed to be about equality and- oh, am I ruining the message by thinking about it to much?

Maybe I'm missing the point. It's a possibility. In fact, according to her last one, not the one about air balloons or girls getting pissed, the other one, if I can't detect the sarcasm then I've misunderstood. Well I can't detect the sarcasm so maybe I have misunderstood, Lily.

I mean, things with an obvious point are rubbish, aren't they? I prefer having to really work to find a point to things, really get stuck in amongst the day-glo and clip-on fringes and search for a point.

I'm very wary of giving the impression that I think that Lily is doing feminism 'wrong', because I hate it when people say that, or super intellectual words to that effect. I'm not sure anyone can do feminism wrong (apart from when it's a calculated ploy to sell records dressed up as feminism), for me it's a win win. If someone does some feminism and everyone loves it then “Yay girls!” and if someone does some feminism and people don't like it then cue debate and valuable discussion. Hopefully.
So, she's not doing feminism 'wrong', she's just doing it 'a bit', which is fine, but she kinda made it seem like she'd be doing it 'a lot'.

And I think that's the real problem.
If she's just trying to make fun, 'cheeky' pop songs about her puppet brother or unsatisfactory lovers then that's fine, please continue. I will ignore it.
But she's not trying to do that, is she? Lily's made a whole thing out of everything, she's trying to say something. It's a bit like when someone says “Guys” enough times to sufficiently quieten a bunch of people, in order to tell a story and then when they tell the story, the story is a bit shit. “Guys...guys...guys. The other week, me and Darren were in Nandos and he went to give the girl his Nandos card, but it wasn't his Nando's card, it was his Starbucks card!”

For me, Sheezus is that story.

Overall, I feel like Lily is just standing in front of a big whiteboard, in front of her team, ticking off 'Modern Issues'. Next is trolling. No, I'm serious, she has a song called URL Badman. And as for this one, well this has ticked off...periods? No...pop stars? Hang on, I'm gonna get this...

Dan Bilzerian is getting laid, a lot...

...and he wants you to know about it.

Bilzzo hadn't really popped up on my radar until today, when I read a DM (I'm trying to stop, really, I am) article about a girl, or PORNSTAR as the DM are keen for you to realise, who might be suing him for throwing her off a roof into his swimming pool. She was naked, but it was consensual throwing apparently. According to the DM, The Bilzerator is an Instagram King, which is totally a title worth having, so I decided to look him up. He's a poker player, actor and professional beard-grower and he takes pictures of guns, cars, cash, hot women and his cat. That's what you're getting.

Bilzzy somehow manages to be buffed up, yet squidgy looking, like in that episode of Friends when Joey wears loads of layers of clothing in order to protect himself from a girl that likes to punch him.
I also don't like his sheets. Purple? Satin? We all know that crisp, white sheets are what you want. Why? Because that's what you get in hotels and people always have totally hot sex in hotels.

It becomes apparent after a few pictures that Bilzzers lives in a swingin' bachelor pad. It's definitely a sex house alright. Let's put it this way, if I ever end up in his house (I feel like it's a statistical inevitability) I won't be able to butter my toast without using a thoroughly sterilised chopping board, as quickly using the work surface would definitely result in me eating a pubic hair.

Naturally, the guns, the referring to women as 'pussy' and the constant touting of his embarrassed looking cat has him crossed off my Christmas card list.

I know, his account should have sent me into a feminist rage or inspired me to write something meaningful about the culture of poker and masculinity and gender stereotypes, but it's a Saturday and I'm having a social life in a bit. Mainly, as I scrolled through the last 30 weeks of snaps, I couldn't help but imagine some of the conversations that went on (probably) before the picture was taken.
 Here's what I came up with-

They're kissing, it's hot, they're grabbing at clothes and pulling. Abruptly, Dan tears his mouth away and gives her chin skin a break from his face hairs and says “I've just thought of a great pun. Go over there and bend over...Hang on, do it again, I swiped it onto record by accident.”

“Take off your hoody and squeeze your boobs together.”
“But Dan, it's freezing on this plane, the air con” she points upwards, “you know?”
“Just do it, I've got a great line about you being barely legal.”

“Oh my god! Put these shades on the cat!”
“Ok, I'm just gonna catch this last bit of sun, but-”
“No, do it now, do it now!”
“Ok, let me just find my bikini top...”
“No, leave it. We'll say it's a catbra! Yeah, that's funny, a catbra...”
“...a catbra?”

“Ok. So. We've got the gun, the ass and the cat. Anything else you're into? Anything else that sums up you and your life to distant relatives?”
“Nope. Just those three.”

 “...cats are sometimes called “pussies” and she's a woman with a...Yep, totally works.”

Not a conversation, but anyone who's ever owned a cat knows that you only have to shift your leg slightly on the sofa for them to throw you a look of disdain and stalk off to another room in the house, so I find the chances of this cat sticking around to watch Dan bang very slim, very slim indeed.


















Do I hate the guy?

Not particularly.

He's not doing anything that at least 15 people that I know wouldn't do. It's essentially just a quicker, more wide reaching, way of walking into the office and yawning in a loud and exaggerated manner whilst telling everyone that you got NO sleep last night, that you were up SO late last night, wink.

How to be a gentleman by Country Life magazine, and me.

Guys, men, fellas- no longer do you have to wake up in the morning with a knot of anxiety in your stomach as you wonder how you’re going to be a man, a gentleman, for the next 16 hours. Country Life magazine (yeah, I thought that it was a type of butter too) have released their guide to being a modern day gentleman, so now you know.

The list of do's and don’ts is an attempt to drum up some interest in their Gentleman of the Year Award (why do we still even have these things?) and was developed with the consultation of authors, journalists and writers. Apparently. I feel like the only consulting that happened was between the editorial team, on a Friday afternoon at 5:15.

Jilly Cooper, a woman who has made a career out of writing about men who bang chicks in stables, is on the judging panel and said that “a real man drives you home after he’s been to bed with you. He wouldn’t jump on you without asking and he wouldn’t jump off buses without paying.”
Couple of things, Jilly. Whilst I’m totally with you on the not jumping on me thing, I’m confused about when you last got on a bus; no one gets off without paying any more, it’s impossible to do that. Also, I’ve read your books (a bit of one when I was 13, standing in the library) and 'been to bed with you'? Let’s not be coy.
She continued on to give her list of perfect gentlemen. They include David Attenborough, Prince William, Steven Gerrard (?!) and Ben Fogle, a man so gentlemanly that I assume he'd spend 75% of any sex session asking “Are you ok? Sure?”

Joan Collins also weighed in, saying that “a modern gentleman wouldn’t ever wear brown shoes at night.” Shut up, Joan, you have no idea what you’re talking about. I understand that at clichéd Hollywood parties, where they still serve crudité and stuff, it’s probably a faux pas to wear brown shoes, but that’s because everyone’s wearing a tux. Brown shoes can be great, providing they are not too shiny or pointy. Or slip on-y. Definitely not slip on-able.

If you want to see how you measure up to Country Life's idea of the perfect gentleman, then here, here's a few of their suggestions-
A gentleman...
-Is at ease in any situation and puts others at their ease.
Really? Any situation? Because I think that's a little broad, I can think of a few situations that no one with any moral fibre should be at ease with.
“Are you at ease? Get at ease RIGHT now. This is me putting you at ease.”
-Is always on time.
It's nice, but eh, whatcha gonna go? Maybe this is what Ja Rule was on about though...
-Dresses to suit the occasion.
Get it? Suit? Dresses to suit the occasion?
-Makes love on his elbows.
No. Sorry. No good sex ever happened on anyone's elbows. Also, this creates a high risk of 'full body weight on hair', and that's really annoying.
However, a gentleman does not...
-Wear a pre-tied bow tie
Yeah, you prick.
-Drink Malibu
Look, I like Malibu. I can drink it straight. Straight from the bottle. I can and I definitely have and I like people who will do that too.

-Buy fuchsia trousersI'm totally down with coloured trousers on a man. Find the right tone (probs go for muted, not fuchsia) and a good fit and they're great.
-Tweet
Bollocks. I fancy some people based solely on how hilarious and intelligent they appear to be on Twitter. In fact, I'm suspicious of you if you don't have Twitter; do you have nothing to say? Ever? How else will I feel like I know you before we've even met?
-Own a cat
Personally, I think everyone should own a cat. I love cats and it bothers me when people say “Oh, I hate cats.” That's right, all cats ever.
Oh, you don't like cats because one scratched you when you were five? Well maybe you were being fucking annoying like you're being right now, get over it.

Without wanting to sound like Carrie Bradshaw (because who would?), I then got to thinking about my own Dos and Don'ts for men wishing to be a gentleman in this modern age. Here's what I came up with-
Do appreciate cheese
Liking various types of cheese is an easy way to appear sophisticated, when really it's just liking stuff that tastes nice, as opposed to wine, which you kind of just have to put up with.
Don't steal other people's jokes
That “Hey Apple, no one ever means ducking” joke that's floating around Twitter? You may have typed it out carefully, but it's not your joke. You know it, I know it, we all know it. Also, don't try and be competitively funny. Sometimes I, a girl, will say something that's funnier than what you, a boy, just said. That's ok.
Do undo your top button
I know fuck all about men's fashion, really, but I think the top button done up is kind of, a bit, out? All I know, is that an open collar and a flash of collar bone is nice.
Same for ankles.
Don't push my head down
You know what I mean. Yeah. Don't.
Do be chivalrous...
...to other men. I'm not sure if that's even chivalry, I couldn't be bothered to look it up; it's probably just manners. Hold the door for another man, say “thanks mate/ cheers buddy”; it will make me like you and isn't that the point of reading this whole post? So that you know how to get with this?
Don't default automatically to Nandos
I'm just going to say it; Nandos is not that good. It's chicken and it's alright, but that's it. No one looks great eating a heavily marinated chicken, and they look even more not great eating corn on the cob.

So, there we have it. It's nice to know that men are still subject to the kind of ridiculous bullshit that girls are; we're all in this together huh?

I take selfies because I'm sad and I'm sad because I take selfies.

I took the picture above earlier today. I was going to an awkwardly early 'dinner thing' and took a picture of what I was wearing. I hadn't eaten bread since yesterday morning, so I knew that that was the best that dress was ever going to look. I snapped it, uploaded it and left the house in order to begin the most tense, careful train journey ever; honestly, I felt like I was in a fucking Vanish advert.

Also, FYI, I'm writing this on the train home after two large glasses of wine and several tiny plates of food (Hey, restaurants, fish skin is NOT a course. Neither is foam) so there will be typos, although probably no more than usual. Maybe there will be less, like how you're a super careful driver when you're drunk.

Just kidding, drink driving is obviously wrong and I am not OK with it.

If you know me, at all, you'll have probably heard me say that I hate having my photo taken. It actually makes me anxious. We had a 'picture day' at work about a month ago and I felt sick all day; it didn't help that the dress I was wearing, combined with my own physique, meant that I resembled a sofa in the final picture.
So, I will forgive you for pointing out, smugly, that there is a disparity between my camera shyness and what's going on over on my Instagram account.

I'm not going to get into what I think of selfies. I don't actually think about them that much,really. I'm fairly accepting of them. They're just pictures of people's faces; sometimes they show me the faces of people I want to see (I think that sounds a bit sweet, as if I'm talking about distant relatives who I haven't seen for ages. I'm not. I'm talking about people who are HOT.) and at other times they show me the faces of people who I don't want to see. That's fine. I see the faces of people I don't want to see every day.

I understand why people think that selfie-takers, like myself, are arrogant, I really do. However, in my case, a picture like this usually means that I'm feeling particularly low. I didn't take it because I, to use a favourite phrase of the Daily Mail, 'poured' myself into that dress, looked in the mirror and got all Tweet's Oops about myself (if you don't remember that song then you should, it was great), but I get why you would think that.
After giving the aforementioned picture some careful consideration earlier, whilst pretending to listen to someone talk about their new decking, I came to the conclusion that, more often that not, I post pictures of myself when I'm feeling blue. Blue about boys.
On Thursday night I went for some drinks after work and after a glass of wine, a shot of tequila and no lunch I was ready to TALK. I remember slurring to a work bud, whilst popping a squat in the smoking area outside the bar (all of the seats were wet and I really wanted to sit down), that one of the things that I dislike most about myself is that, sometimes, my sense of self-worth and value is totally dependent on what a boy thinks of me.
Not all of the time, mind. I can love 'em and leave 'em, take what I need, get mine, all of that stuff, when I need to. That's fine, I'm down with that. But, when I'm feeling rejected, I turn to Instagram, apparently.
It's kind of like a casual hook up, but quicker. Not always though, AM-I-RIGHT LADIES? It's also empty and usually leaves you feeling worse than you did before. The person you want to like it doesn't, he doesn't text you saying “You are so hot (as well as being intelligent, funny and kind) GET ON ME” instantly; you don't get the validation that you were looking for.

And then I'm filled with guilt. Feminist guilt. And then I dislike myself more. I had every Destiny's Child album, I watched Sex and the City when I was too young and I know that I don't need no man to complete me and I learned that “it's the relationship you have with yourself that's important” (I didn't learn that. That is NOT the message that Sex and the City propels, actually). I know all of this.

However, on days like this, when I feel like no one will ever fancy me again(auto correct just changed that to 'no one will ever fanny me again'. Still works, I suppose), I fluff me hair, relax my face and completely ignore it.

The Mail on Sunday would like people to starve. No questions asked.

I should start off by saying that I don't think that this post contains any radical thought. In fact, I really hope it doesn't. I hope that by the time you reach the end your overall response is “Er, yeah, DUH”, because we all share the same view.
That view is that people should be nice to each other and help each other out.

The Mail on Sunday, however, do not agree. They suspected that some people who work at food banks were bending the rules to help out their fellow man and they were fucking livid about it. So livid, that they sent grey-skinned, Ramsay-forheaded reporter Ross Slater to investigate and find out why the fuck food banks were giving out food to those who needed it.

Personally, I find the results quite comforting, but the tone of the article is akin to that used when writing about the abuse of the elderly in care homes. Here are some of the highlights, or lowlights really, for me-

- “Scroungers flout Trussell Trust's '9 Visit' rule to stock up”
I find it hard to believe that anyone 'flouts' at a food bank. This isn't like using your phone at the cinema or going the wrong way around a car park. Desperate people, or scroungers as they are affectionately titled throughout this article, aren't visiting a food bank for a tenth time because they 'just don't give a shit' and 'fuck the police' and whatever; they're visiting because they don't have a choice.

- “Fraudsters routinely take advantage of the handouts.”
Again, not fraudsters, just desperate people. The word fraudsters is used so often in this that I'm worried BBC's fraud vigilante Dom Littlewood is going to get involved. In fact, the only person who definitely committed fraud in this, is Ross Slater. GET 'IM DOM.

- “Staff at a supermarket, where shoppers are encouraged to buy extra food and donate it to a local food bank, were alleged to be later turning up to claim the food themselves.”
The more I thought about this, the more hilarious I found the concept of it. I mean, really, does anyone believe this? Please allow a sketch to illustrate it's absurdity.
Supermarket worker- “FFS, that woman just bought some tinned potatoes in water to take to the food bank. I really wanted tinned potatoes in water for dinner.”
Steve- “Oh, sorry man. You can just buy a tin at the end of you shift though, right?”
Supermarket worker- “No, Steve, I can't. I really wanted that particular tin of potatoes in water. It's fucking irreplaceable.”
Steve- “Well, I guess there's only one thing to do then.”
Supermarket worker- “What's that?”
Steve- “We're going to the food bank and we're going to get your tin of potatoes in water back!”

And that's just the intro, folks. After predictably hateful bile about asylum seekers and JSA and stuff, we finally get to The Investigation. Ross' big moment.

His report is essentially this- after telling workers at a Nottingham food bank that he had recently become unemployed, as had his wife, and as a result of being caught out by high winter fuel bills he was now struggling to feed his family, he was given food without having to jump through a load of hoops to prove how poor he is.
This bit reminded me of that episode of Friends where Joey goes to work for Chandler and creates an imaginary life. Click- Ross just created another starving child!

Hilariously, and totally relevantly, the report highlights the name and age of the woman who interviewed Ross. She's called Katherine and apparently, she's in her sixties, which totally explains why she believed his story; it's the cataract in both eyes, hunched over posture and stupid, liquidised old person brain. Katherine, you mug.

After “presenting” his voucher like a fucking Golden Ticket at the food bank, Ross was then given £40 worth of shopping. “This included basics, like bread and pasta, as well as less essential items such as chocolate pudding”- NO TREATS FOR POOR PEOPLE. Also, anyone who's ever eaten one of those microwaveable puddings knows that they're no treat at all, and will take the skin off your mouth for up to 8 hours after heating.
We're also treated to a photo of Ross, surrounded by his loot, with a jar of pasta cooking sauce nestled next to his dick whilst he's holding a box of bran flakes like it's a small baby. I can only imagine that the photographer gave him the following directions- “Ok, right, Ross, look poor. No, poorer...poorer... Frown, poor people are sad Ross.”
It is stated, clearly, though, that Ross did return all of the items, so that's ok.

Thankfully, they got the view of someone objective and really in touch with The Issues. Senior Tory MP Brian Binley says that “food banks are run by very kind people. They do not understand that there are some people who will take advantage.”
I feel like he uses the word 'kind' here like some people, ignorant people, use the word special. Piss off, Binners, you patronising arsehole. I think they understand very well, but maybe they don't want to spend their drive home worrying that the man they refused food to that day was having to explain to his children that there was no pie-made-to-withstand-nuclear-fallout for dinner tonight because Daddy didn't look poor enough at the food bank today.

Of course, it's easy to mock the shit out of this article, it deserves it, but the attitudes lurking within it are pretty awful.
I really hate how, now, whenever anyone recalls anything shit that's happened in their life, they're accused of peddling a “sob story”. Bad things happen to people and sometimes they want to talk about them. If you're sobbing, then maybe you're doing so because it's really fucking sad. Or, you're like me and start crying at a supermarket checkout when you see an elderly man who's buying loads of cheap ready meals for one. Or something. The people awkwardly shuffling into food banks aren't trading sob stories for tinned goods; they're explaining why they're there in the first place and I imagine it's quite painful.

Another thing that becomes clear throughout this is that the MoS really wants some criteria, guys. “Individuals experiencing severe financial hardship are able to claim food vouchers but there are no clear criteria on who should be eligible”. Er, MoS? I think the criteria is “severe financial hardship”. Maybe they want some hard figures to work with; a measure of human tears using one of those cylinders you used to measure liquids with in science at school (...measuring cylinders?) or a temperature reading of the heat coming off of their face as they have to queue for food handouts? A hunger score on a scale of one to ten?

Overall, the Mail seems to be most concerned that “increased awareness of food banks is driving a rise in their use”, as if a new supermarket that's launched and, thanks to a killer ad campaign, people are ditching Sainsburys in favour of Food Bank. I think they want to keep food banks a secret, like an underground club night, because the less people that know about them, the less people will use them and that looks better. It's less uncomfortable for everyone.
Sure, people will go hungry, but at least then we won't have to think about poor people.

I don't find the fact that 913,000 people have visited a food bank suspicious, definitely not suspicious enough to get Ross Slater on the case. I find it sad. And worrying.
However, I also see that as 913,000 people who are a bit less hungry now. Maybe they'll get a better night's sleep.
And I think that's good.


PS.
Rather than bitching about this please-god-let-this-be-a-double-bluff-and-Ross-Slater-is-actually-undercover-to-prove-how-heinous-the-Mail-really-is article, like I have, we can all just do this instead http://www.trusselltrust.org/donate

5 Reasons why I'm glad that I'm not at Coachella

Coachella has kicked off over on the west coast (of a different country), so prepare yourself for four days of relentless photos of American teen-drama actresses looking effortlessly beautiful in 110 degree heat and for music journos describing sets as “momentous”.

Of course, I want to be there. Instead, I'm in the UK celebrating the fact that I didn't have to wear a scarf every morning last week. So, I am using the ol' “didn't even wanna go anyway” approach and have managed to come up with five (there were meant to be ten) limp reasons why I'm glad I'm not there. Here they are-

1. Denim shorts
Denim shorts mar my summer every year. I know, I know, they're a 'summer staple'; they're jeans, but for summer, and they're everywhere at Coachella. I think you possibly have to produce a pair, like ID, in order to get in. If that is the case then I'd be left outside the gates saying “No, it's fine guys, I'll see you back at home!”
I'm yet to find my pair of denim shorts. They're so very easy to get wrong. Too long and you end up looking simultaneously 12 and 42, too short and you end up looking ridiculous. Too tight and you need to make a trip to Boots.

2. Body paint

I know it's supposed to look all cool and sexy, but in reality it itches and smells a bit funny. You're bound to smudge it and will therefore spend the rest of the day looking like a bruise with legs. Also, guys shouldn't do it.

3. Jared Leto
Everyone was losing their shit over that picture of him today, with Huffington Post asserting that “Jared Leto is Coachella and Coachella is Jared Leto”, as if that means anything. However, he leaves me cold, as do the guys who've recently grabbed their sisters hair band and tied their hair into a bun in an attempt to look like him.

4. Hats
Much like the denim shorts, everyone at Coachella seems to be wearing a hat. Trilby, fedora, floppy; they all look awful on me and I'm very aware of this, hence the smirky, jokey face that I have to sport whenever a hat is on my head.

5. Hair
My hair does not handle heat well. To be honest, it doesn't really handle life well. It's big at the best of times and if you throw in heat as well as splashes of beer and water then I end up looking less beachy-waves and more...Hagrid.


Obviously, everything written above is completely invalid, as I would quite happily walk barefoot over a field of plugs in order to see Outkast, no matter how underwhelming everyone is saying the reunion was.

Dating in the dark...

A few weeks ago I wrote about *mouths the word* depression. It's been my most viewed blog post by far and I received lots of feedback, which makes a change from the radio silence that I'm used to. Almost everyone has been lovely and supportive and encouraging and they've said all sorts of nice things.
Thank you to everyone who has resisted the temptation to treat me like I'm Amanda Bynes . I'm not crazy (and neither is she). I was just ill, and now I'm better. Really, I'M FINE, and if typing “I'm fine” in capital letters doesn't make someone seem TOTALLY FINE then, honestly, I don't know what does.
So yes, almost everyone has been 'good people' about it all, but I did get one message that made me do a real-life LOL. It was this-

It was one of those messages that you have to read about 27 times before you can decide exactly how you feel about it. I wasn't angry, I wasn't upset, I wasn't painfully reminded of all the good times that we shared.

I felt amused.
I also think that I may have rolled my eyes so dramatically that I saw the front part of my own brain.

I was partly eye-rolling at myself, in disbelief that at one point in my life I actually wanted to be with this person, that I had actually cared about their bad day at work and had made mental notes of the foods that they didn't like.

Now, I can fully appreciate that, for some people, the end of a relationship drags them beneath the duvet of depression and for a long time they really struggle to pull themselves from beneath it, but that was not the case in this instance. A couple of Orange Wednesday's, a coupon-filled trip to Jamie's Italian and a few box sets does not a relationship make.
Did I have a little cry in the loo at work when I received a text saying “So sorry I haven't been in touch. I've kindof (Yep, he thought that kind of was one word) been seeing someone new, happened really fast. I'm really sorry x”?

Yes, I did.

During this period I also cried over the fact that I lost my favourite pen, that I was having a 'bad eyelash' day, that I was painfully desperate to speak to my dad, that the last two crumpets in the pack had gone a bit mouldy etc. They all seemed to feel equally painful and disastrous, so in many ways, the end of our thing warranted the same reaction as realising that I was out of shampoo after I'd already wet my hair in the shower.

Because, here's the twist, Mystery Man- I was depressed the WHOLE time that we dated.

The play-fighting, the eating on the floor with candles and a rug, the frustratingly weak and half-arsed back rubs, the kissing, the in-jokes; none of it made me feel any better in the slightest. So there.
The Big D turns you into a brilliant actor, for a while at least.

I used to get up and shower and apply make up to painfully swollen eyes and go to work and sign my emails off with 'kind regards' and get everything done and come home and crawl into bed at 6pm; not to watch a film or to read a book, but to lie there in the quiet waiting for the next day to show up, and kind of a bit hoping that it wouldn't.

No one knew about this for a long time and I sure as hell wasn't going to let on. I already felt like a freak for being in my early twenties and feeling anything other than totally pumped and buzzing for my next night out, so I resolved to carry on doing 'normal stuff' in a desperate bid to make myself normal.

Holding down a 9 to 5 job is normal, and apparently, so is dating a checked-shirt wearing guy who think that the Harlem Shake is the FUNNIEST THING TO EVER HAPPEN.

Depression is unrelenting misery and indifference. It's completely immune to the words, opinions and actions of others. Meeting someone who thought I was great didn't provide any rest bite, and so finding out that they didn't think I was great didn't really matter either.

So, in answer to your question, Mystery Man- No. No I did not get depressed because things didn't work out between us. I felt completely indifferent.

But now?

Well, now I feel fucking fantastic that they didn't work out.