The beehive bun is chavtastic

There appears to be a hair craze sweeping the nation.  I call it the beehive bun.  I have no idea as to it's official name or even if it has one but about 80% of the women I see have a back-combined, high bun planted on top of their heads.

I should clarify, the beehive bun is seemingly only popular with the same women that wear floral jumpsuits.  The kind of outfit that was hitherto only 'acceptable' in the 80s.  The 80s was also responsible for neon and mobile phones the size of house bricks, thus 80s throwback fashions are not good and should be avoided at a wide berth.

The beehive bun, at least, as it appears to me, is symbolic of Chavdom or symbiotic with Chavdom.  In other words, it is intrinsically part of Chavdom.  You have a beehive bun ergo you are a Chav. No question, no 50:50, no phone a friend or Jeremy Kyle Show debate about it.  Likewise, and perhaps rather obviously, the floral, 80s throwback jumpsuit also = Chav.  You may as well don a Shell Suit and get yourself a black, curly Kevin Keegan wig.

Chavdom is not something to strive for. Chavdom is something to stride away from, really, really quickly.

If you are reading this and have a beehive bun, dismantle it.  If you are reading this whilst wearing or indeed simply owing a floral jumpsuit - grunge it up or charity shop it.

Just saying.............

xx

Tattoo love

So I have fallen in love or maybe it's obsession.  I haven't fallen for a man or, for that matter, a woman, I've fallen in love with tattoos.  A tattoo or two had long been on my to do list.  I was always a little bit scared of the pain.  As it transpired, I had reason to be, it does hurt but not as much as you'd imagine. 

As at this very moment, I have two tattoos. I have five more planned.  It's work-in-progress.  If I had the money, I'd just get them all done as quickly as schedules allowed but pennies or rather the lack thereof prevents fast progress. 

My tattoos thus far are mistletoe and the number 57.  Mistletoe relates to kisses.  57 is both a Biffy Clyro song and my lucky number. 

Planned tattoos include: a clock, a stylised amber rose, a butterfly tree and a line drawn butterfly.  I'm a little hazy on the locations.  But the butterfly tree is definitely going on my upper back. 

Pictures:  57 has been created today so it is a little sore and somewhat darker than it will be in a week or so. 

xx

Turkish Delight and Rocky Road

I bought a piece of Rocky Road today.  On top my cakey pleasure zone, I found two pieces of Turkish Delight.  Two!  Time was that I would be horrified by such an occurrence but today I found myself delighted. Well, the name does suggest that I should be and actually, I really really was.  It might have been the most beautiful part of the cake.  I liked it soooo much that I'm ignoring the calories and getting some more.

Rocky Road with Turkish Delight - as Peter Kay might say, it's the future.   

Mmmmm. 

xx

A letter to Benedict Cumberbatch - Ice Bucket Challenge and animal testing

Dear Mr Cumberpants,

Yes that means you Benedict.  ;-). 

Firstly may I congratulate on a thoroughly fantastic Ice Bucket Challenge.  It was funny, entertaining and dare I say, rather oooer exhilarating.  We, your fanbase, enjoyed a wet t.shirt scene, a suited and booted scene, a motorbike scene and, phew, it’s getting hot in here, a shower scene.  It was almost too much for a fangirl to handle.  However, I struggled on, and watched the video a few more times (ahem). 

It was a challenge well worth waiting for.  I was particularly impressed by the pant slipping scene.  I assume it was acted but it looked very real. I do hope you didn’t twist your ankle mid-slip.

Despite the majesty of your challenge, I wonder if I can draw your attention to the animal testing activities of the ALS?  Obviously everyone absolutely wants a cure found for this disease.  Much like we want a cure for Cancer and other terrible diseases.  However, is animal testing really necessary, given the advances in Science? 

I would like it if wonderful actors such as yourself, would use your position to encourage the ALS to refrain from animal testing.  If there weren’t alternatives, perhaps, at a push, we could prioritise the avoidance of human suffering over that of the suffering of animals but there are alternative methods of researching.  So why test on animals?

I was alerted to the animal testing activities of the ALS by Pamela Anderson.  I was taken aback by her bravery to stand up against animal testing rather than taking the Ice Bucket Challenge.  That said, I enjoyed your challenge immensely.  And take nothing away from the effort expended in taking time out of your schedule to simultaneously appease and entertain your fans whilst raising awareness.  However, I ask that you speak out against animal testing.  Goodness knows that your fans hang off your every word.  If a man such as you speaks out against animal testing, people will actually listen and, moreover, societal change might occur. 

You can’t stand up for every cause, I know.  There are only so many hours in day.  You already do a lot for charities.  But a few words against animal testing, mentioning the ALS but also animal testing in general, could make a difference.

Your humble fangirl, random blogger and the original Renegade Glitter Fairy,

Hazel xx

Romance is

Romance is not couched in fluttery hearts or missing beats.  Romance is reliability, honesty and kindness with just a gentle sprinkling of passion.

xx

Dreamy Benedict Cumberbatch

I dreamed of BC a few nights ago. My dream was likely motivated by watching BC on Top Gear, just before I went to bed. I never watch Top Gear. But I'd watch paint dry if BC was somewhere in it. The dream went something like this: 
I was at work. The last job I had before motherhood. My in-dream manager was an old frenemy from school. Someone I always felt to be very attractive and popular. And someone who was perpetually juxtaposed by my awkwardness and inability to fit in.
BC was a celebrity visitor to my place of work. He just seemed to be there. No interviews, no photographs, no filming. Just BC hanging out. I recall that he took various important phone calls. He chatted to people. He smiled a lot. He strode around looking heart-squishingly dashing. Every time, I looked at him, which was erm often, I internally fainted a bit. I felt, in-dream, my manager to be more appealing to BC than I. She fitted in. I did not. She was important. He is important. I'm just ordinary. I recall that BC dashed off to take another important call. Our paths crossed. He smiled, he metaphorically grabbed my heart and danced on it for a time then asked 'are you ok'? I said 'yes, you're here aren't you'. A statement, not a question. He smiled. I melted. Then I woke up. Don't you just hate it when that happens. . The dream probably indicates that I need to work on my self-esteem. It also suggests that I have a rather two-dimensional idea of importance. Motherhood IS massively important. I know this. But perhaps my recent interactions with the wider world has caused me to doubt not only my parenting skills but the relevance of motherhood within itself. There is emotional work to be done upon self me thinks...

Somewhat troubling

It is somewhat troubling, when you finally summon up the energy to juggle a manic toddler and simultaneously put some make-up on, dress up a tad, wear your newly dyed hair down and floaty yet not one person notices anything different about you.  

I did glam up for me but none-the-less, it would have been quite lovely if just one person had spotted that I didn’t look hedge-backwards for once.  Unless, of course, I still looked hedge-backwards - with make-up on, hair down and wearing slightly nicer clothes than usual.  Ye gods, please say it aint so. 

I’m certainly not the first mother to single-handedly wrestle a toddler with one hand whilst applying mascara with the other and I won’t be the last.  I might be the first mother to have done so in the baby change area of my local supermarket.  I assume that some toddlers don’t try to climb in nappy change bins, insert their fingers into mucky plug holes and generally create all manner of mayhem in public rest rooms but I may be wrong. 

My daughter still managed to get tomato pasta on my leggings, despite, what I deemed to be, gallant attempts to continually bat the orange fingers away, anytime the little orange fingers neared my clothes.  Sometimes I feel like a goalkeeper –instead of watching for a ball, I’m watching for sticky fingers approaching about as fast as premiership-sped football.  As far as my toddler is concerned, I am a giant baby wipe.  The cleaner and more lovely my clothes are, the more likely she is to wipe her body parts on me.

 

Although no one noticed my small steps towards moderate glamour, I still count my attempt as a tremendous achievement.  I certainly felt less scruffy than usual today and if appearance is reflected by a mindset then fookin’ yay me. 

xx