I was drinking water just now and I missed my mouth

I have a lot of ideas. Sort of. The problem with my brain is that it’s not really capable of having a full idea, it just comes up with tiny little idea fragments.
Many times I have had what I considered to be a brilliant idea for a blog. I started writing and realised that no, I was wrong. So ladies and gentlemen, I present to you what I like to call ‘The blog where blog ideas go to die’ featuring scrawlings from many random scraps of paper:

HALF BAKED IDEAS

There’s still so much I don’t understand. Why does every letter of the alphabet have its own Wikipedia page? What’s keeping Keith Richards alive and where can I get some?

Think of stupid things to put on a bucket list*

How your iPod will always embarrass you if you put it on shuffle in public: I don’t like B*witched ironically. I genuinely like them and people who come into my place of business don’t need to be aware of that. It hurts my image.

How hairdressers are like prostitutes – you pay them money for a service and they pretend to like you. They are hair-stitutes.

The meaning of life - something to do with donuts?

How I tried to get swine flu in 2009 because I hated my job: When I saw someone cough on the train, my first instinct wasn’t to move away. It was ‘quick, lick his face. LICK HIS FAAAAAACE!’

Money saving ideas – it works out a lot cheaper if you just kill the prostitute.

‘Baby it’s cold outside’ is a date rape anthem and really needs to stop being so damn catchy.

How pop music has become dirtier since I was a kid: The dirtiest song we had was Genie in a Bottle, except we actually thought it was about a genie in a bottle. Our innocent little minds never clicked that maybe there was something a bit suss about having to rub her the right way, honey.

SHORT BITTIES THAT I HAVE NO RECOLLECTION OF AND NOW DON’T UNDERSTAND WHAT I WAS GETTING AT

I have no respect for personal space. I’m going to sexually assault you now.

Check out my new pocket watch. I’d get more chicks if it was the 1940s.

For a small fee and the cost of transporting a drum kit, I’ll follow you around all day and make everything you say instantly become 42% funnier (mathematically proven). BA-DUM-TSH!

Pineapple

Cherry ripe: you make me sick, with your dark chocolate and your grainy content.



*I couldn’t think of any stupid things except blue bucket, red bucket, big bucket, there’s a hole in my bucket, etc.

Born with a love for the wrote & the writ

Late last year my manager came into work one morning with some new stuff on her iPod she wanted me to listen to. She reckoned I’d like this guy because I have a lady crush on Laura Marling and it was a similar style. She put a song on for me, and approximately twenty seconds in, I responded with this:
‘Nup.’

Time went on. His music remained on many of her playlists. It started to grow on me. I started to enjoy it. But of course, because of how quickly I’d shot it down, I couldn’t admit to this (and anyway, no one ever wants to admit to enjoying filthy folk-ish music except for filthy folk-ish people. Unless it’s Laura Marling. Because she’s lady crush-able). So I went home to quietly Google him, expecting to see a thirty-something, slightly bulky, hippie, beardy-faced man.

That’s not what I saw. What I saw was a man child. A beautiful, inappropriately voiced man child.

About a week later I was playing some of his stuff while in the car with my mother. ‘Who’s this?’ she asked. ‘I don’t mind it.’
I told her who it was. Then I told her the story of his unexpected pretty-boy-ness. Then I loaded a video on the YooChoob machine and showed her.
‘You’re kidding?’ she said as it started. When the vocals kicked in, it was followed by ‘Oh… no. No. Nope. That’s not right.’

If you’d like to check out the freakshow for yourself, you can do so here. But a word of warning: you might get pregnant.

And if he must insist on sounding like that, I must insist he stops looking like he’s in a boy band. It’s very distracting. And confusing. And sexy. And confusing.