tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-121301822008-06-13T00:07:39.168+01:00surly girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16414631534757427023noreply@blogger.comBlogger380125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12130182.post-4931419809072141782008-05-27T19:10:00.004+01:002008-05-27T20:53:51.685+01:00

Well, that's it. Three years, three hundred and eighty five posts, thousands of comments left, friends and enemies made along the way. I'm shutting up shop. Properly. It's all got too public. I'm losing my anonymity and I'm losing my edge. Back to basics is the order of the day. I'd quite like to take you with me though, if you'd care to join me. My email address is on my Blogger profile.

surly girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16414631534757427023noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12130182.post-32171242887630820772008-04-29T15:00:00.007+01:002008-04-29T15:07:47.345+01:00

I Am Bollocks, more like. What an unmitigated, pseudo-parable pile of big dog's cock. That is all. * Will Smith. Will, Will, Will. Will I never learn? He is turning out so much shit that I am beginning to suspect him of being a stooge of the McGregor/Dorff axis of evil, purveyors of cinematic crapfests since time immemorial.

surly girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16414631534757427023noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12130182.post-39902284753441512192008-04-24T08:37:00.006+01:002008-04-24T08:57:37.236+01:00

I am alive!! Yeah yeah, I know, enough with the drama already. So I had my surgery and I came round in the recovery room and tried to scratch my nose but the oxygen mask was in the way. Um, oxygen mask? Yup. The surgery turned out to be a little more intense than anyone had anticipated, so they had to put me under a bit deeper, which meant that I needed a little more help to wake up again.

surly girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16414631534757427023noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12130182.post-50293034160490324272008-04-22T18:37:00.005+01:002008-04-22T18:57:30.195+01:00

I have my knee arthroscopy tomorrow. In order to paint a picture of my current state of mind, there follows the transcript of an email I sent to the Other Half this afternoon: From: Surly Girl Sent: 22 April 2008 14:18 To: Other Half this afternoon's irrational fear: that i won't wake up from the anaesthetic tomorrow and i haven't made a will so you don't have any custody of Small Person and

surly girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16414631534757427023noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12130182.post-26040764195732994812008-04-20T15:58:00.003+01:002008-04-20T16:03:55.548+01:00

Right. Let's sort this out, shall we? I know you're there. I can see my stats. I can see you. So why the bloody hell don't you comment any more? Is it me? Have I changed? I mean, I know most people only come here these days to look at pictures of Sarah Beeny's tits. But, give me a hand here. Am I talking to an empty room? [/narcissism] Edit: I have just read this back and realise that I come

surly girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16414631534757427023noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12130182.post-58345503490319202272008-04-14T20:12:00.003+01:002008-04-14T20:19:09.534+01:00

So anyway, we were talking (well, I was) about the cows and how at some point they’ll evolve big wide flat feet so they can breach the cattle grids and what will we all do then, and everyone said I was mental and I said well, when you’re connected to a milking machine at five in the morning and there’s a Friesian with its hoof on the switch, don’t come crying to me. Nobody believes me about the

surly girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16414631534757427023noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12130182.post-40722407115339395932008-04-01T19:05:00.007+01:002008-04-01T21:31:40.395+01:00

..with the emphasis on "desperate". One of the finest things about the Times of a weekend is the Encounters page. It's a richly-jewelled wonderland of confused, hopeful egomaniacs* and I love it. Really, proper love it. All of human life is here, and the examples below are just from Men Seeking Women. Women Seeking Men is pretty much of a muchness - full of "bubbly" (annoying), "curvy" (fat), "

surly girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16414631534757427023noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12130182.post-15598697178381896722008-03-29T16:25:00.003Z2008-03-29T16:35:06.724Z

Please. So anyway. We were in the pub today, which is normal for a Saturday. We take the papers and eat pub food and drink beer and banter with the bar staff and it's all good. Except today. Today, there's a new girl behind the bar. She's funny, and a little bit odd, and we like her. On talking, we establish that she's eighteen. Eighteen. The conversation swung around to festivals. She went

surly girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16414631534757427023noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12130182.post-58323128235342613962008-03-23T16:51:00.002Z2008-03-23T17:01:08.443Z

So, getting older. Mmm. To summarise: I have a horrid eye infection. My left eyelid is red and swollen and itchy and I look like a victim of domestic abuse/Heather Mills in Paul McCartney's dreams. It is rubbish. I have to put antibiotic ointment on it every two hours and my eye is so fat that my eyelashes keep leaving smears all over the inside of the lenses of my glasses. I make Olive from On

surly girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16414631534757427023noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12130182.post-26115342796790531492008-03-16T13:55:00.002Z2008-03-16T14:02:40.304Z

Today is my birthday. Thirty-five had fucking well better be the new twenty-five or there's going to be trouble. That is all.

surly girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16414631534757427023noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12130182.post-41033997776396335542008-03-10T18:12:00.001Z2008-03-10T18:14:49.000Z

"You know that band? The ones what do the running and that, the dancing on the running machines? What they called again?" *pauses* "Oh, yeah, Marilyn Manson, innit. They stab themselves in the eye and that." Okaaayyy.....

surly girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16414631534757427023noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12130182.post-1250063439245961082008-03-07T12:44:00.001Z2008-03-07T12:48:13.068Z

I really, really shouldn’t listen to the Levellers on the way to work. We’re off to that fancy London tomorrow for Beautiful Nights – somehow I have got very old indeed and the Levellers have been together for *cough*twentyyears*cough*. So Saturday night will find me and the Other Half bouncing around Brixton Academy in the company of people who smell of patchouli and weed. Bliss. Anyway. I

surly girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16414631534757427023noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12130182.post-72258323607181008492008-03-02T17:38:00.004Z2008-03-02T18:40:42.649Z

So. Mother's Day. It's been a year since I spoke to my own mother. I still don't know how I feel about it - not really. It's a pretty mixed bag, emotion-wise. I am happier - that much is indisputably the case. I don't spend my time dreading the next phone call, the next visit, the next endless, poor-me monologue. I don't miss the pretence of it all being alright, when all I ever really wanted to

surly girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16414631534757427023noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12130182.post-62611487109391748362008-02-21T19:18:00.003Z2008-02-21T19:27:54.034Z

1) Florida is a slightly odd place, what with it still being 1986 over there and all. 2) Despite this, we had a fabulous holiday. I didn't panic on the way over (even with the six hour delay when the plane went tech with, ahem, "rudder problems"). I didn't panic in any of the parks, even when people-who-have-clearly-never-seen-a-person-with-pink-hair-and-piercings-and-tattoos-and-a-small-child

surly girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16414631534757427023noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12130182.post-14751785699739471522008-01-28T19:03:00.000Z2008-01-29T07:53:30.884Z

I had an MRI scan this morning. I have a dodgy knee, you see. I crashed a motorbike *cough*thirteenyearsago*cough* and spanged my left knee rather comprehensively. I didn’t get it checked at the time as the waiting time in Saarrfend Hostipal’s A&E department was really long and besides, I had an appointment with the body piercer. As ye sow, so shall ye reap. I am currently lumbered with a knee

surly girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16414631534757427023noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12130182.post-50703891217696129212008-01-23T18:26:00.000Z2008-01-23T18:33:25.365Z

Mostly, feminism isn’t top of my list. Occasionally, however, one of the sisterhood makes such a breathtakingly offensive remark that I feel slightly ashamed to be on the same team. A discussion was taking place this afternoon in the next-department-over (you know, the one where they’re all a little bit thick, but it’s okay as one of them is doing one of the directors*) about the then-ongoing

surly girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16414631534757427023noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12130182.post-87118380817609291292008-01-13T16:04:00.000Z2008-01-13T16:12:45.145Z

So anyway. I went to the doctors on Friday for a review of my meds. It's been three months now since I went mental, and I needed to see him to carry on renewing my prescriptions. As I'm not doing so well currently, and should apparently be "better" by now, a couple of suggestions were made. Firstly, I was offered Effexor. Um, no thanks. Isn't that the one, I asked, that I've read loads of

surly girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16414631534757427023noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12130182.post-19462489976504159532008-01-01T13:38:00.000Z2008-01-01T13:41:12.722Z

The Other Half has gone to watch the football. Small Person is on the other sofa playing Nintendogs with her head under a blanket. The cat is catching up on some sleep having only managed 23 hours yesterday. There is nothing on the telly. I am lightly medicated. Happy New Year, all.....

surly girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16414631534757427023noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12130182.post-21617472863543799702007-09-30T16:53:00.000+01:002007-09-30T18:50:06.098+01:00

Panic attacks suck. About fifteen years ago I had a disastrous LSD experience. I won't bore you with the details - suffice to say that I was left with agoraphobia, panic attacks and a strong conviction that I had actually, properly ruined my life and could look forward to a future filled with very-small rooms and prescription medication. I got through it though. I eventually plucked up the

surly girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16414631534757427023noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12130182.post-61174678799853901372007-09-27T19:37:00.000+01:002007-09-27T19:43:58.882+01:00

You see, about a hundred years ago when I wrote things that were sometimes quite good, I got a link from a site featuring British blogs. That was a proper long time ago though, and I'd forgotten all about it until someone visiting these echoing, empty pages was referred by that very same link. Ooh! I though. I'll go and have a look! There was a comments section - I wonder if anyone's said

surly girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16414631534757427023noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12130182.post-44777715964996771142007-09-23T15:31:00.000+01:002007-09-23T15:36:05.464+01:00

I don’t understand vibrating chairs. I mean, I get that they might feel nice. I don’t get why they are suddenly appearing in motorway service stations and shopping centres. I mean, I sort of get why they might be popular in shopping centres. Sort of. If you’ve been slogging round in over-lit, echoing hell all morning, a bit of a sit-down is probably quite nice. Except, wouldn’t a bench do the

surly girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16414631534757427023noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12130182.post-63516745105897629912007-09-04T20:01:00.001+01:002007-09-04T20:07:54.372+01:00

Honest. Blogger has turned to shit, my internets are broken and the laptop has developed the temperament of a sulky thirteen year old who has just been asked to do their maths homework. I want to blog....but....is there anybody out there??

surly girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16414631534757427023noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12130182.post-32751007636584708802007-08-10T17:05:00.000+01:002007-08-10T17:07:54.756+01:00

I know, I know. But there's nothing else for a week or so now, as we're off on hollybobs. Stonehenge, Glastonbury and then here. So I will be mostly sitting in a field, wearing a pirate hat and drinking scrumpy. See you when we get back. Honest.

surly girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16414631534757427023noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12130182.post-456595682800050402007-07-21T16:00:00.000+01:002007-07-21T18:13:50.601+01:00

It just about summed it up for me. The thirty-something man, dressed in generic supermarket jeans and a grubby polo shirt, gleefully ferreting through the last few pages of the new Harry Potter in the entrance of our local Tescos, eager to find out who dies immediately so that he could feel part of some ridiculous national/global obsession. That was the moment when I realised how sick to fucking

surly girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16414631534757427023noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12130182.post-58177366940988461232007-07-09T19:21:00.000+01:002007-07-09T19:28:49.194+01:00

1) It needs to stop fucking raining. If not now, then definitely before the middle of August. I am bored of rain, and thunderstorms every ten minutes, and being neither warm nor cold nor comfortable. Could whoever is responsible sort it out, please. 2) Telly is crap. All of it. 3) I want to eat cheese on toast and chocolate biscuits but because I am fat and want to be less so before we have our

surly girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16414631534757427023noreply@blogger.com