Snogging a tuna with Flash Gordon watching on - Porn? You decide.

Posted 29th May

Ok so finally got round to watching Brokeback Mountain the other night (yes I blubbed like the great big girly that I am) and is it me or it incredibly hot watching 2 blokes snogging?
I mean gawd almighty I had to change the sheets! Ok so I know some of you will be saying its just cause I'm not getting any but honestly I'm happy with that.
I'll admit me and the device went through a bit of a rough patch recently, she went all stroppy on me due to being consigned to my 'lady drawer' and then I got a bit mardy with her when she short circuited and nearly burnt me pubes off, but we're working through these things.

Actually being single is pretty damn fantastic but I do miss the snogging and don't feel I'm able to enter into the bad boy debate.
You know, do girls really want bad boys....

Personally I think we want a bad boy who can masquerade as a good guy in front of our mum's. You know, the type that will spending ages putting up your wardrobe for you before banging you up against it...oh yeh and as we know tattoos and leather trousers wouldn't go amiss ;)

Anyway got chatting to someone a few weeks ago about what we reckon the sexiest film is. He offered up Flash Gordon, which despite the homoerotic undertones (he's straight) I could kind of see where he's going.

So blogarino's - what is the sexiest film out there? Suggestions please, the more bizarre the better (porn doesn't count, that's a whole different porn shed ball game).
Anybody quoting the following will of course get twatted with a tuna for being too obvious:
Last tango in Paris, 9 and a half weeks, Secretary, Sex, lies and videotape oh and a couple of other ones which are fairly obvious and of course anything French.

Go on my little munchkins give us your suggestions (with reasons if you dare), might even give a prize to the most amusing or bizarre.

Oh and welcome to new subscribers, as always please make yourself at home, partake in a hobnob or 2, but leave the place tidy...I'd have pimped me blog out ages ago if I knew I was going to get this kind of response..so thanks and err I apologise profusely to new peeps for the amount of rubbish they're about to get coming their way..the rest of you... Well you're kind of used to it by now ain't ya's :)

Squeezles

Awoooohhh Noooooooo (ack fuck it)

Posted 22nd May

As many of you know I have a couple of unhealthy obsessions that I feel the need to rant about with alarming regularity on this here blogette (like a bonkette, but unfortunately a lot less cuddling)

Number one being the toilet habits of the reserved English classes (people, not hordes of schoolchildren reciting, 'the cat sat on the mat') and number two being my downward spiral into the depths of old age.

So it is the latter of my mini obsessions (also realised recently that I have a real phobia towards book molestation, seriously don't get me started, it brings me out in a rash) that I wanted to bang on about again.

We've already spoken at length about the wiry pube like grey hairs that stick out of the top of my noggin, making me look like an old English sheepdog. But we have a new and very startling revelation......







one I can hardly bring myself to share with you guys........







fuck....deep breathe....we're all friends here (and of course all my subscribers are lovely and wouldn't dare take the piss - would YOU?)








Shit....this is actually all quite traumatic for me....I discovered my first grey pube this morning!

Bollocks this does not bode well for any future rendezvous with male personages! I mean I can just about get the demented badger look under control, with the help of Mr Clairol and co (and they fucking lie I can tell you...permanent dye my arse - well you know what I mean, I don't actually want to dye my arse, cause that would just be silly) but now I have to start worrying about me ladybits as well.
Its not enough that my body is sprouting hair like a damned chia pet, but when it does sprout all over, it's now appearing in a decidedly dodgy hue which I will be referring to as 'ash blonde' from now on in.

For pity's sake, what else is there for me on the slippery downward slope.... thermal slippers, little blue pills and hemorrhoids.....can't wait.

Enjoys your day's folks I'm off to get me some primrose oil :)

Too old for this.....

Posted 13th May

I am way too old to be wandering round Cardiff at some bizarre hour in the morning and then get semi lost and detoured on the way home, meaning I didn't get home til 4am at which point its hardly worth bothering going to bed! - so I haven't. I have poo pooed the sleep option and have gone with the tried and tested 'tea' technique.

Unfortunately there's no hob nobs in the house and the land of wellies is still asleep, so I'm functioning on too much coke (drink), not enough food, slightly worn out feet and the grateful realisation that I am not and will never be a hen night victim.

Hugs and sherbert dib dabs all over y'all
(new readers should take some time to read the blog archive BEFORE making judgements on blogger's ability to systematically entertain mucho squirrels in her noggin - which to be fair I can do with style and dexterity on a number of occasions).

*Bimbles off to see if someone really does still sell milk tray...dah dah da da da dah....... (that's the theme tune to the milk tray man, folks, sing it like you mean it!).

Random Ramblings - Update

Posted 6th May

Oops for those that missed the random rambling daily bulletins that made up most of March - you can now catch up - aren't you the lucky ones!

There's something quintessentially English about the way we go to the toilet in this country. In particular the way we go when we're hemmed in at gigs or overcrowded clubs. There's this common understanding about the order of things.

First we have to do the standing squeeze and shuffle, where you become a Ricky Martin impressionist as you lambada yourself towards the loo, always located at the furthest geographical point from your current position. Of course we all still do that polite English 'excuse me' thing as we're rubbing our groins against complete strangers as we wade through the throng.

Then there's the etiquette of passing places. You know those little stop gaps on route similar to hobbit holes
– do you plough on through totally ignoring the hobbit hole, hoping for the best
– do you make a bolt for it, letting the other person pass in the process
– or do you do the hesitation thing waiting for someone else to make a decision and doing the wavery head motion.

We follow this with the right/left shimmy where you try to do the passing thing but end up doing the 2 step with your newest friend (all without making eye contact of course, we are English after all).

Then comes the queuing – oh yes this is where the British absolutely excel.

Ladies are particularly brilliant at this but we also get particularly pissed off at this point. We're patiently lining up and all the men seem to have some sort of tardis thing going on. For every 10 men that go into the loo only 2 come back out and then when they do emerge they've got that supercilious smug look on their face which says 'I've just had 3 pisses whilst you're stood here turning blue from practising your pelvic floor exercises'.

I seriously think men must have some futuristic piss extraction machine in the middle of the urinals.

I know there are some subtle differences between male and female urination but believe me, when you're pissed up, wearing a summer skirt and no knickers, you'd give any man a run for his money.

But Christ you guys have mastered the art of speed pissing.

I've been stood a queue for the ladies and no quicker have I said to the girl standing next to me 'oh dear never mind I'm sure it'll be ok but, yes he really is a utter bastard, tell me all about it, is that the fucker over there and by the way where did you get that lovely lipstick from' than one of you fuckers has been in and out of the loo already.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Shopping in a US supermarket must go something like this: Dum de dum ooh look bourbon's on special offer that's me drinking sorted for this afternoon, ooh macaroni cheese, just need to add some chilli and reconstituted ham to it and that's me getting my 4 food groups, oh yeh and I'll just pick up this 16 gauge shotgun whilst I'm at it. Hang on though if I buy the accompanying bullets I get double points which I can spend on a gun wound dressing of my choice. I'll have me some of that.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Living on your own is truly fantastic. There's no need to wax, you can hog the remote and the Quality Street and you don't need to play 'Bathroom bolt'. When you realise you've left all your clothes in your bedroom and you've only got a hand towel in the bathroom. So you make a mad dash across the landing with a loofah hiding your unmentionables.

Living on your own also means that the fridge contents are all yours, to do with what you want, which to be fair, normally means everything goes mouldy and you end up being the sole milk sniffer in the household. But them's the breaks.

Wellied Wonder wanders of to Londinium

Posted 6th May

I know I should blog about the wellied wonder pounding the streets of Londinium, but a sense of embarrasment and bewilderment are stopping me from fully divulging all of yesterday's events, so in quick summary - some of the surrealism of yesterday:

Coaches nearly missed but caught by skin of teeth (not wonky or brace encased) = 1
Miles of area around Victoria pounded to not locate an internet cafe = 3 but feels about 3000
Numbers of friend's who got lost looking for Sainsbury's when its opposite them, straing them in the face = 1
Number of times banged head against internet cafe wall trying not to laugh out loud = countless
Amount of tea consumed = not enough
Amount of actors who walked from their play to come and introduce themselves to me = 1
Amount of mooners met, squeezed and on way to sozzling = 1 (Emma, love ya babes)
Percentage of assembled mass who got off the tube in the wrong place, not once but twice = about 70%
Glasses of rosé consumed = 1 (v large)
Amount of assembled mass who were stupidly awake at 5am and writing superhero posts whilst eating a lonely breakfast = 1 (sad ole me).

Londinium in a nutshell - bit cold, started to warm up, frienships renewed and formed, much giggling and knackerage. Do it all again next week guys? ;)

Love y'all - curry all over ya.

Kebabs, ear wax and MOOB's

Posted 4th May

Continuing to grow old – Once you're in your 30's it takes an inordinately long amount of time in the morning for your face to fall into place. You spend all your money on industrial size pots of oil of Olay in a vain attempt to smooth out the wrinkles, which has all the effect of trying to decrinkle a crinkle shirt.

You never have to worry about moisturiser in your 20's, the closet you get to moisturiser is when one of your well meaning but inevitably drunk mates pushes a kebab loaded with garlic mayo into your face, hopefully having removed the chilli sauce first.

The other thing that tends to happen is that your ear wax takes on a mini manufacturing role within your body. What was once produced in small amounts in a kind of lakeside, local tea shop, Auntie's homemade scone way has now been taken over by Richard Branson and is a huge factory style deal, complete with mini wax workers who are hell bent on collecting their productivity bonus at the end of each week.

Apparently my local college has cottoned onto this new cottage industry and is running 'ear candling' courses. Where you can do something with hops with your friends and families, I can only assume that this will entail holding your loved ones close to the fireplace so you can drain their ear wax and mould it into amusing shaped candles.

Mind you it could be worse as they're also offering know your soil and empower your breasts. Both courses available to both sexes, so any men currently sporting MOOBs why not exploit the power within you and discover your feminine identity with a well fitted bra. (Not sure about discovering your feminine identity but you'll certainly discover your inner transvestism and who your real friends are).

Bollocks and bum!

Posted 3rd May

Ok so something has gone seriously screwy this week. The week started on my usual high on Monday (I do love my weekends) followed by the crap that is my tutor on Tuesday. (yeh and before anyone jumps to it, not my special needs tutor! - I see her on Fridays :)) Wednesday turned to shit cause it consisted on going to Adsa (yeh I know spit, pikey blah blah capitalism) to make a certain purchase to find it sold out, then purchasing said item at a substantially higher amount to realise it doesn't do what its supposed to do, then getting into a rather laborious heated exchange with 'John' from Orange (trust me to pick the first day numpty) topped off by being a complete flid and locking my bank pin number. AArrghhhhhhh.

Today has fared little better as I upset someone (who I don't mean to) and have been having a rant since, am also in fear of losing my marbles (no hope there) and my Saturday night drinking buddies. Was also told on Saturday past that I have wonky eyes! This from someone who could pick up Radio Mongolia with the amount of metal chomping round their molars!

Welcome to new blog subscribers – er Hi J Make yourselves at home, please feel free to partake in hobnobbing but please remember to hoover up the crumbs. All welcome – well apart from sharks and ventriloquist dummy's – cause they're a bit icky.

Wine goggles and a propensity for support undies

Posted 28 Apr

Prostitutes have got it right – getting paid for sex. Us singlies are totally going about sex in the wrong way, for starters the cash layout begins way before an actual date. First you've got all that preparation crap to try and pull a bloke, like damned foundation underwear. I prefer the all over body hugger which mean the rolls of fat from your bosom to your thighs are all subtly squished together to give an illusion of oneness. The only side effect being that your bosom is now giving you a double chin and your kneecaps look like they've been the healthy recipient of left over liposuction fat.

The there's the ton of make up that would make a cabin crew member recoil in horror and that's just the male ones and of course the countless amounts of furtive phone calls in toilets to ring your coupled up mates for advice on how to pull. This is a pointless exercise as these guys have been shacked up together for years and the last thing they pulled is a lower leg ligament trying to fill Mr Tiddles' litter tray.

Then when you do get a date the process just continues from there…out goes the support underwear and in come the frillies, all wires, balconies and blatant lies…not so much enhancing cleavage as creating.

Then you have to go with his choice of film, cause everything you've ever read has told you that men like their women to be subservient and submissive. So you go and watch a horror film, where he believes you really must need your eyes tested as you seem to have spent the entire film studying your drinks container rather intently.

You have to pretend to laugh at all his jokes and pretend to want to go halves on the bills. Guys – we don't. We may be up for equal opportunities but that doesn't apply to paying for things, when it comes to this we're still complete tight wads.

Then you have to fib your way through the entire sex thing..'Oh you're so big, you're so amazing, I've never had anyone make me feel like this before'.

Finally you're left in the morning trying to think of excuses to get him out of your bed, house and as your wine goggles snap sharply back into place, probably your life.

So prostitute's have got it right - they've never had to fib their way through sex, remember their name or make them a cup of tea in the morning!

Jools, car, hedges and ditches

PROPER LIVE POST - AS IN THIS HAPPENED THIS MORNING!


Oh my lordy, I definitely win for the biggest DIV moment of the week.

*Yes indeedy, guess who ran her car into a verge/ditch this morning!

To be fair I did execute the movement pretty stylishly and the resulting parking (pic to follow) was actually pretty impressive. Although divviness was compounded by the fact that half of my work 'colleagues' drive the same route and were delighted at my use of 'hedge attack' tactics.

Jools - fine but whip lashed
Car (once recovered by 4 burly work colleagues - they were blokes before people get some smart arsed ideas) seems fine
Snails - 6 of the buggers relocated by high speed transportation
Hedge/ditch/verge - Oh dear!

Tea and sympathy please folks as my neck hurts to buggery.


*Yes it was totally my fault! I decided to overtake a slow arsed driver who unbeknownst to me at the time was overtaking a slow arsed cyclist; strangely enough country roads aren't really made to take 3 cars! Although to be fair I've always said the road need to be widened so I like to think I've helped out the council a little bit.

Brought to you by Jools is a Total Tit Inc, for all your mud relocation needs.

Wellies, wife swapping and kumquats

Posted 25 Apr

I love living in the country, land of tractors, wellies and wife swapping.
It's great - the local town hall puts on courses to keep us amused, including needlepoint, cow tipping for beginners and a little light BDSM.

No need to worry about the practicalities though, as Majorie from the WI will nip round to tidy up the equipment, offer half time refreshments and proceed to tell everyone in the post office queue about your special birth mark and what exactly you were trying to do with that kumquat.

The local college has decided not to be outdone and is offering the following courses: get to know your soil, pole dancing and empower your breasts – 'unleash your feminine identity with a well fitted bra'.

Do you know what? I couldn't really give a stuff about unleashing anything, as quite frankly my norks need to be bound to my chest by way of a straight jacket to ensure I don't knock people sideways. Who the bloody hell is bothered about a well fitting bra – it's always the first thing to come off! Via the armpit and employing advanced yoga techniques of course.

Seriously guys, you know when you have those 'special' lessons at school when the boys and girls are separated. We assume you're being told about the best wanking position and how to order a pimms without looking gay and you reckon we're learning all about periods and ladybits. Nope we're being taught the age old method of through the armpit bra removal followed by the 'get what you want through nagging' technique.

What am I like?????

Posted 23 Apr

I am so distracted at the moment it is seriously not true!

In the last week I've done the following:
Left conditioner on my hair
Had a bath with the sole intention of shaving my legs and promptly not shaved my legs, necessitating the need for a subsequent shower
Tried to lock my car using the office keys
Forgot to inform our MD that I'd arranged PA cover for him, resulting in a pissed of MD and a PA waiting for him outside a locked office

Seriously I don't know what's wrong with me at the moment (and no before you leap to conclusions I've not been hitting the bottle!).

I swear that the pink candy floss that inhabits my brain is involved in some sort of WWE smackdown with the sensible parts of my noggin. Currently pinning it to the floor, sitting on it's pathetically weedy chest shouting 'Yeh...you is my biatch now' as it desperately tries to escape out of one of my ear canals.

Bloody toilets again....(I'm obsessed, its official)

Posted 21 Apr

I think I smell of hamster piss and I don't own a hamster - this is not a good thing. Well unless you're a fit single bloke who likes the smell of hamster piss, which one would hope is fairly rare.

Also I got home last night to find that the loo seat was up. Some of you may be aware that I house share with a bloke, so this in itself is not an unusual (albeit bloody annoying) occurrence. However, as usual housemate had left the house before me and arrived back at the house after me. So I checked to se if he had returned home during the day, which was confirmed with a nope and accompanying quizzical (she's off her nut again) look.
So how the bloody hell did it manage to get itself into that position?

Do I now have a male ghost in my house who is determined to leave the loo seat up, piss all over the floor and jizz across my best catalogues?

Londinium calling

Posted 19 Apr

Yup, up in the smoke I was yesterday for a worky type thingy...anyhoo highlights of the day was seeing a nun on the back of one of those porter trolley things, being given a pig, a sponge and a tree (which had a pube in it), getting disgruntled looks from fellow tubers when my friend had a total 'blonde' moment involving Barney the dinosaur and spending the resulting 5 mins in fits of laughter oh and getting 'attached' to another lady on the tube. Resulting in the best stereo exclamation of 'Oo' I've heard in a long time.

Ed Byrne reckons the best way to communicate with other tubers is to use your ipod as an ice breaker. Sorry Ed you're wrong (and a flithy slutbucket to boot, but we won't go there) the best way, is to secretly lace your rucksack straps through someone else's and they try to go in opposite directions. Fabtastic fun for all in an overcrowded, hot and stuffy carriage!

I also had an incident with my cheek and pak choi juice - but I think we'll leave that right there! (Mind you at least I can identify pak choi and don't think its cabbage or similiar).

Oh and huge thanks to the myspacer who posed a serious question to me this week - I so seriously nearly wee'd (sic) myself, its actually quite worrying and has me searching for 'feminine aids'.

Cause I love disappointing boys (lapdancing) & podcast?

Posted 17 Apr

Ok for me male readership...as promised lapdancing with only the kind of spin Jools can put on it!

I've come to the conclusion that lap dancing must've originated in comedy clubs or dinner theatre venues. Comedy clubs are not the natural habitat for the normally reserved English classes. We're quite good at the queuing, I'll give you that, but then we find ourselves doing the seat shuffle all night cause no one wants to take the 'firing line' seat at the front. There should be some sort of points or drinks system for these kind of gigs.

Firstly, the poor late bastard who does end up in the firing line should get a huge round of applause and free drinks all night for sheer bravery. The rest of us, whilst waiting for the latecomer to arrive will have to satisfy ourselves with musical chairs. Ensuring that at no point does any part of our body make contact with any strangers, even if this means someone's going to have to read the rules of twister before they can extract us from our seats.

We could attempt the newest fitness craze for the over 30'er – the bar obstacle course, as you once again struggle to the bar ensuring you make no physical contact with another human, resulting in a rather strange interpretive dance which has you alternating between the moves to YMCA, Saturday Night Fever and attempting to limbo under a barman's legs. (Hey it passes for modern dance in some arts fesitvals you know).

You get to take a drink of beer or wine if you make it to the bar and back, if you make it to the loo's and back then you get to drink a shot and if you manage to do both without landing in someone else's lap or standing on someone's foot then you have to down all your drinks.

*personally I think there should also be a high scoring round if you manage to get a comedian to give you a 'terrified' look - but maybe that's just me? ;)

**Ooh podcats? For those that missed/ignored *ahem* the bulletin, I used to do podcasts, then I didn't, the sun's been out so maybe I'll do another one again. Do you want IT? You might even get a namecheck (woo hoo infamy at last - not necesairly a good thing, people start calling you slut and all sorts).

Minty pacers to all of ya!

Sorry my music choice just said 'nothing I can say when I'm in your thighs'! Funkeeehhhh

and she's off about toilets, again....

Posted 14 Apr

Carrying on from toilet tardis I thought I better just continue with my education of the men folk and explain in a little more depth about what women actually get up to in the toilets.

First picture the scene:

You're in a trendy nightclub surrounded by gorgeous females (trust me on this, they're all gorgeous cause you've just downed 8 pints of lager), anyway you spot that all the women are making 'evil eyes' at each other as they boogle themselves into oblivion. Invariably at some point in the evening 2 or more of them will make the difficult ascent towards the loos.

Once within the safe toilety haven a complete metamorphosis occurs:

First, most of the glaring ceases as women drape themselves casually against a wall, sink or willing victim

Then we strike up a conversation with anyone who'll listen, which normally consists of:

Gawd there's always a damn queue isn't there
Ooh I like your top, where'd you get it
And ooh what's that bint over there having a rant about?

This continues until we make it into a cubicle, upon which we discover one or all of the following:

No loo roll
Broken lock
No loo seat
Floor that resembles Lake Michigan

At this point we hover over the loo seat, precariously perched with a foot on the door, as we holler out 'anyone got any loo roll?'. Dependent on the floor in question this is either passed under the loos (this is the usual etiquette) upon which we comment on our cubicle buddy's shoes, or occasionally we opt for the overhead lob.

The broken door dilemma is just one of the reasons we take our mates with us. Similar to meerkats we operate a 'look out' system, where a mate is placed outside the door to act as a door stop and also to protect us from any would be predators *see previous comment about ranting bints.

Of course posher toilets never have all of these problems, but I've yet to find one that doesn't suffer from one of them. The problem with posher loos is that they put the toilet further away from the door, which is a logistical nightmare if you are sans friend. Imagine if you will a woman try to invoke a < shape whilst directing her pee backwards. Near on impossible to emerge without looking like a tie dyed hippy.

Total Tit - Dramatic encore

Posted 14 Apr

Advice for not making a total tit of yourself – part 3 (or whatever – I've lost count there's so many).

Tis not advisable to go on a German school exchange as an impressionable 15 year old and embarrass yourself in ways that you will still recall when you're in your 30's.

Such as dumping your boyfriend and letting your greedy German pen pal get her mitts into him, thus spending the entire trip scowling at people (which indeed helps with the goth look you've recently adopted, but helps with little else). Wailing at anyone who will listen and drinking way too much beer (which you don't like anyway) and spectacularly fall out of a tree house in a drunken stupor.

It's also not advisable to wake up in a German household with a monster of a hangover, especially when your pen pal's, 3 older and cuter brothers have all dropped by to say Hi and are proffering plates of cheese and ham.

Finally it really isn't a good idea to agree to go swimming whilst still nursing a hangover and not knowing the German for either 'paracetamol' or 'kill me now' and subsequently throwing your guts up into the nearest bin in the pool reception.

This is not a good way to improve British/German relations – for pity's sake they lost the war, they don't really need some British bint barfing into a bin.

*Unfortunately by no means the last in the Jools is a Total tit series

Enhanced drunken jim jams it is then

Posted 13 Apr

OK, so just for my lovely subscribers, I bring you drunken jim jams (you are all going to be SOOO disappointed now as I rather feel we pimped it up a bit too much)

Is it ALWAYS wrong to be in your 30's and still drink an entire bottle of lemon schnapps and throw up down your jim jams?
Cause we never wear anything but jim jams now. They suddenly become the uniform of choice for the semi alcoholic 30 year old. Gone are they days of throwing up in the gutter, on someone else, or down your best batwing fluorescent jumper, nope hit your 30's and you just don't go outside any more. Quite frankly, what's the point you're only going to be harassed by hoodied youffs shouting obscenities about your zimmer frame and all the drinks are bloody expensive. Why go to the expense of going out and buying a jack daniels and coke when you can buy a bottle of Liebfraumilch for a fiver and stay in watching Top Gear.

And what about the serving suggestions they put on bottles of wine. I don't mean the serving suggestions ' this goes nice with chicken or fish' those sorts of one, cause lets face it all we really want is one that says goes very well with kebabs, but I think the lager industry has cornered the market on that one.

No I mean the size servings they suggest. On a standard bottle of wine they reckon you can get 6 glasses out of it. 6! 6! – What sort of Lilliputian fantasy world are these guys living in? I don't know about you but I'm lucky if I get 3 glasses out of a bottle and to be fair I'm lucky if the wine even makes it into a glass.

Now they've also come up with wine stoppers, you know to 'store' your wine so it doesn't go off! Christ that's never going to happen, my white wine is lucky if it even sees the fridge before its consumed. I don't have a cellar, why the fuck would I need a device to store wine.



Of course the problem with living on your own is you have no guage of how drunk you actually are. Yes you've got a ready meal for 1 and the cats for company but that's about it.

Stairs do help with establishing the level of drunkenness but if you live in a studio flat or a bungalow you're totally bollocked. You tend to be ok until you attempt to go for a piss and then suddenly the sofa seems to be a very long way from the floor. Of course its not at this point that your body goes into puke spasms..oh no its at 3 am, you've been asleep for a couple of hours when your body suddenly jerks you awake and you realise that
a) you've drunk an entire bottle of walnut liquer and you have a intolerance to nuts,
b) you're spreadeagled like a beslippered starfish across your rather cold and hard laminate flooring and
c) you're really not going to make it to the loo or even sink in time to chuck up last night's kebab.

And really puke is bloody difficult to get out of flannelette. Maybe that's what we need for the next series of the 'You've got a crap idea' or Dragon's Den or whatever it's called – the first set of puke resistant pyjamas.