Yes, I started a new blog. Because I just don’t know where to stop, apparently. Anyway, leaving Shoewawa left a huge, shoe-blog shaped hole in my life, and what better way to fill it than with… er, a shoe blog?
Well, here it is. It’s called Shoeperwoman, and it is, unsurprisingly, a blog about shoes. The site just launched today, so we’re still busy unpacking the shoe boxes and sorting out the few remaining bugs, but I’m going to be updating it as often as I find beautiful/interesting/ugly shoes on my travels around the net. Which is a lot.
Check it out at Shoeperwoman.com. As for me, I guess I should really buy shoes to celebrate, no?
Tagged blogs, midas media, Pro-Blogging, shoeperwoman
One morning last week, Terry and I returned home from the gym to discover the light on the answerphone flashing. Amongst the usual work-related messages that had been left (for Terry, obviously, not for me. Because I don’t actually “do” phone calls.) was a message from a Mystery Woman. “Please call me back,” said the Mystery Woman, in heavily accented English, before giving her number and then hanging up. It was actually quite thrilling, to be honest, like the start of an adventure novel which sees our intrepid, titian haired heroine travel the world, battling against the clock to solve the Mystery of the Mysterious Caller. Oh no, wait… I’m confusing myself with Nancy Drew again. Sorry. Where was I?
So, the Mystery Woman left her number. And that was it. No salutation, no indication of who she was, or what she was calling about – nothing to even tell us which one of us she was trying to reach. I mean, it could have been Rubin for all we knew. He gets a lot of calls like that: some of his friends have no manners AT ALL, really.
Well, Terry and I thought about this for about two seconds (and I Twittered about it, obviously), and decided that, nah, if it was THAT important to her, she’d surely call back. And she did. And do you know who our Mystery Caller was?
She was a telemarketer.
Yes, she wanted US to call HER, so she could try and talk us into buying something we didn’t want or need. Seriously, how cheeky is that? Very cheeky, I’d say. It’s bad enough that they call us all day long (Yes, we signed up to the Telephone Preference Service, but it doesn’t apply to business numbers, which ours is, and it also doesn’t stop people calling you from foreign call centres.) but expecting us to call them back? Seriously?
I thought this was a one off. But then yesterday night, an email flooded in. The subject line said “Can you call XXXXX?” (Company name removed to protect the very guilty) The body of the email contained… well, nothing, actually, other than the email signature of the person who sent it, which included the person’s phone number.
Well, of course I COULD phone that company. But the thing is, I didn’t want to. Not with my new knowledge of the way certain telemarketers have apparently started to operate, anyway, and actually, not before then either, to be honest, because I think it’s just horribly rude for a complete stranger to demand that you call them without saying why. No?
Instead, I emailed the person back to ask why they wanted to speak to me. This one turned out NOT to be a telemarketer. He was, however, a journalist who wanted my help (in the form of some quotes) for an article he was writing, and he went about asking for this help in just about the rudest way possible – and I say this as a former journalist myself. My rule of thumb when dealing with people like this is that if they can’t be bothered to be even reasonably polite when they’re asking for my help I can’t be bothered to help them. So I stopped replying to his emails, and when I got home from the gym this morning, I discovered that he had tried to call me no less than nine times. NINE. TIMES. Because, as we all know, if someone is out when you call them, phoning back repeatedly, at three minute intervals, is the best way to make them magically re-appear. Only not really, obviously.
The lesson in all of this? It pays to be polite. Also, if we didn’t have to have a phone for business reasons, I’d throw ours out of the window. Twice.
Tagged email fun, phones
Last week Terry and I were in the car, on the way to the gym, when we saw a woman with brown hair jogging along by the side of the road.
So we rolled down the car windows and shouted, “HEY! BRUNETTE! F&^%^*$ BRUNETTE! YOU’RE UGLY!” And then we jeered a bit more and drove on. If we see her again, we’ll try and kick her, though, because that would be even more awesome.
Hee! Honestly, it was so funny, you should’ve seen the look on her face! I don’t know why she was annoyed, though. I mean, has she not got a sense of humour? And the fact is, there was absolutely nothing wrong with what Terry and I did, because brown hair IS ugly. It just is. (Especially on men. It can sometimes look OK on women, but on men it’s just butt-ugly. I’d never date a brunette man, never. I would rather eat glass.) Everyone knows it, so why shouldn’t we say it? It’s just a plain fact, isn’t it? Brunettes are ugly. It’s funny to tease them. If they don’t like it, they should either:
a) Get a sense of humour
b) Dye their hair
Actually, come to think of it, they should probably dye their hair anyway. Why wouldn’t they? If I was a brunette I would dye it. Terry’s hair is black, but sometimes I think it can look a bit brunette in certain lights. I worry about it. It’s why we don’t have children, actually: who’d want to risk the chance of having a brunette? It wouldn’t be fair to the child and I just don’t think I could love a brunette anyway. Thank goodness they’re dying out, eh?
Just in case it’s not obvious, I’m being sarcastic here. And of course, Terry and I didn’t hurl abuse at anyone from our car just because they happened to have a certain hair colour – or for any other reason, obviously. Because that would be ridiculous, wouldn’t it? And cruel. And it would make us a couple of assholes. Really.
Continue reading →
Tagged Gingerism, red hair
Sometime last year, I was obsessively perusing the Topshop website when I stumbled upon a pair of shoes known as ‘Sereno’. I loved them, but I knew they would never be mine because, meh, money.
“Resist them, I will!” I cackled. “Buy them I shall not!” Because, yes, when I talk to myself out loud, I totally do it in the style of Yoda. Doesn’t everyone?
So I didn’t buy the shoes, and almost instantly they sold out, thus confirming that I had been right to conjecture that they would never be mine.
Then we went to Loch Lomond. And as Terry and I rounded the corner of the visitor centre there, we saw a girl sitting outside wearing what I instantly recognised as THE SHOES. So ridiculously high of heel and huge of platform were these shoes that even Terry commented on them. It was then I knew I’d made a mistake with the whole “not buying” thing. Until then, you see, I hadn’t actually seen the shoes in the flesh, so to speak. They were but images on my computer screen, and those images did not do them justice. In real life, the Sereno platforms were surely the most ridiculous things I’d ever seen, and let me tell you, I am ALL ABOUT the ridiculous shoes.
So I waited until the girl got up and then I ran over, wrenched them off her feet and made off with them, laughing a manic laugh as I went.
No, I’m just kidding. But this sighting of THE SHOES in their natural habitat did bring them to the forefront of my mind, so the next day I had a little look for them on eBay. Just in case. And lo! There they were!
And lo! Two days later, and thanks to a generous contribution of funds from my husband, here they are!
Which just goes to show, kids, if you just wish hard enough, nag your husband for long enough, and are willing to dedicate hours of your time to searching eBay for a pair of shoes that may or may not fit you, dreams can come true! (I didn’t even have to pay more than the original price for them, which is really unusual for me and eBay. AND they were brand new, still with the labels on and everything.)
Don’t you just love a happy ending? Ted certainly does:
He is SO having a mid-life crisis, isn’t he?
Tagged Outfits, shoes, ted
So, when I wrote about my little misadventure in the countryside this weekend, I thought all the fun was over.
But I was wrong.
Not long after I published that post, I started getting comments/tweets from people suggesting that, hey, that whole “barbed wire ripped my skin open” thing? Might want to get that looked at, you know? On account of the RISK OF TETANUS from these things?
Naturally, I reacted to this news in exactly the way you’d expect: I freaked the hell out. Then I emailed my mum.
“Wah!” I said. “Am dying! Have tetanus! Wah!”
“Not dying,” said my mum. “Just over-reacting.”
Terry agreed. But I was not placated, and after some more whining on my part, Terry finally cracked and suggested I call NHS 24, which, for the benefit of those of you who don’t live in Scotland, is a 24-hour advice line which the NHS started up a few years ago in order to stop people like me rocking up to their doctor’s surgery with a tiny scratch on their foot.
By the time NHS 24 called me back, of course, I had convinced myself that this was exactly what I was doing: making a drama out of absolutely nothing. Because, let’s face it, it wouldn’t be the first time, would it? I had also convinced myself I would probably be fined for wasting NHS time or something, so when the lovely lady whose job it was to “handle” me called, I decided to try and downplay things.
“Tiny scratch!” I said, nonchalantly. “Barely visible! Nothing to see here, folks! Will move along now, thanks!”
“Nah,” said the lovely lady. “Tetanus. Get injection. Or possibly die.”
(*Note: not what she actually said.)
That was how I came to find myself, not forty minutes later, sitting in the waiting room at the doctor’s surgery, with no makeup, hastily dried hair, and a “tween” boy next to me blasting music out of the TINNY SPEAKERS of a mobile phone.
(Note: one day when I rule the world I will gather up all the tinny speakers and I will DESTROY them. And don’t think I won’t. I am actually thinking of adding an additional category to this blog, which I will call “Times Teenagers With Tinny Speakers Have Really Annoyed Me”, because it’s getting to the point where I can’t go anywhere – NOT ANYWHERE – without it happening. Anyway.)
Time passed, like… a really slow thing, passing. But finally I was ushered in to see the Lovely Nurse, who, seriously, was so lovely I wanted to bring her home with me. A lengthy debate then ensued between Lovely Nurse and Disembodied Voice Woman From The Next Room on the subject of what the hell to do with me. You see, they weren’t at all sure I needed to be immunised against tetanus. I’d been immunised before, but that was in 1991. Did I need to be immunised again? Lovely Nurse thought not. Disembodied Voice Woman thought maybe yes. Eventually they decided that, what the hell, I was there, and they were there, and all of the painful needles were there, so hey, let’s have an immunisin’, y’all!
“Tetanus lives in the soil, after all,” said Disembodied Voice Woman. “Better to be safe than sorry.”
So it was on. But it was to be a triple whammy! Not only was I to be immunised against tetanus, I was also to be immunised against polio and diphtheria. “Because they all come in one injection now,” said Lovely Nurse. So, basically, it’s like Diseases ‘R’ Us in my bloodstream right now. Great!
“Before I do this,” she said, rolling up my sleeve, “I have to tell you something about how the injection could possibly react with you. If, say, your throat suddenly starts to close up, and you feel a bit…” – she raised her hands to her throat and pantomimed someone choking to death, slowly and painfully - “don’t come back here, OK? Dial 999. If, on the other hand, you just feel like a horse has kicked you in the arm, that’s normal. Just take some painkillers.”
My eyes widened in horror. “I’m a hypochondriac, by the way,” I said. “I think I can feel my throat closing up now.”
But she didn’t listen, and instead she held me down and injected me. It was a bit like being in a scene from 24, in which Jack Bauer goes all crazy-eyed and says, “Tell me where the bombs are, or I will immunise you against potentially deadly diseases!” Only not really, obviously, because, like I said, that nurse? Was lovely.
I still spent the next few hours thinking my throat was closing up, and I was choking to death, though.
EDIT: Terry has just reminded me that the child at the doctor’s was, in fact, listening to his mobile phone through tinny earbuds, not tinny speakers. But they may as well have been speakers, the music was THAT LOUD.
Tagged medical issues, tinny speakers
Yes, it’s true, folks, I have won something!
Well, OK, actually it’s my blog, The Fashion Police, which has won something, but seeing as I’ve never won anything else in my life before (Disclosure: I once won bacon and eggs in a school raffle. I was 12 at the time.) I’m feeling pretty pleased.
The Fashion Police was the winner in the fashion category of the Glam Network Awards 2009. It’s an award that’s voted for by blog readers, and, as I say, it’s the first thing the site has ever won, so I was super-excited when I checked my email yesterday and discovered we’d won. Especially given that, moments earlier, I’d received a comment from someone letting me know I’m a “jackass” because I don’t like these:
Yes, it’s true, I don’t like them. And I know it’s a controversial thing to say, but I? Totally wouldn’t wear those. If this be the test of jackassery, then I stand fairly accused. Isn’t it inspiring, though, to know that even the kind of jackass who wouldn’t drape cigarette butts from her ears (!) can go on to be successful, and, indeed, to live a normal life? I think so. Also, if you’ve ever wanted to know who IS a jackass in life, and who ISN’T one, you now have this handy test: the jackasses are the ones who DON’T have used cigarettes hanging from them. Got it? Good.
(Just to be clear, I’m being facetious above. I actually don’t give a rats jackasses ass about these kind of comments – I just think they’re funny.)
So anyway, yes, The Fashion Police! I don’t know if anyone here reads it, but if you do, and you voted for it, a huge thank you: that little button is better than bacon and eggs any day*.
(*Bacon and eggs ARE pretty tasty, though. Hmmm, I’m hungry.)
Tagged blog comments, midas media, OMG internet drama!, the fashion police
On Sunday, we decided to take the dog for a walk around Linlithgow Loch. Terry has done this walk before: it’s short, and there’s a proper footpath, so I figured I’d be OK in these:
You see the sticking plaster on the side of my foot? More about that later. For now, just know that Terry didn’t seem to see anything wrong with my footwear either, and so off we went.
Halfway to Linlithgow, though, Terry pulled over to the side of the road. “Hey,” he said. “Let’s not go to Linlithgow Loch. Let’s just climb that instead!”
“That” was Binny Craig. Why yes, it WAS kind of steep! And what’s that? Stinging nettles, you say? All over the ground? Meaning that by the time I reached the top (crawling on my hands and knees, natch), my feet were a red, swollen mess? Yes, that too. Also, there were teenagers up there. They were playing music through those FREAKING tinny speakers kids always have with them now, so even way the hell out in the peaceful, quiet countryside, you’re forced to listen to someone else’s music. This made me want to throw them all over the side of the hill, but unfortunately for me I’m terrified of teenagers, so I didn’t. Also, Rubin had apparently set aside that special time to be an ass, and while I was crawling on my hands and knees up the slope, he was trying to crawl under my belly. WHY?
Continue reading →
Tagged bangour village hospital, binny craig, scotland, Walks & Days Out
I don’t watch much TV. Well, other than Neighbours, obviously. So when I started reading a lot of hype about a singer called Susan Boyle, who’d appeared on Britain’s Got Talent and apparently blown everyone away, I didn’t pay a whole lot of attention to it. By now I’m pretty used to the fact that when I go out in public I don’t follow about 80% of the conversations that go on around me, because they’re all about The Apprentice, or some other show I don’t watch, so I just assumed this was another example of Stuff That Goes Right Over My Head.
But then I read that Susan comes from Blackburn, which is just a few miles from here. This was more interesting, so I clicked on a link and saw a picture of her. “Wait a minute,” I thought. “I’m sure I recognise this woman.” And I did.
Way back in the mists of time, when I was a reporter for The West Lothian Herald & Post, the paper (along with one of the local community councils) put together a CD called Music for a Millenium Celebration: The Sounds of West Lothian, which featured music from people around the area – everything from pipe bands to girl groups. I didn’t have much to do with this, but I did, at the time, have a weekly column called… wait for it… “Amber’s Reviews”, so it fell to me to review the finished CD. Our editor, Eddie Anderson, had organised the whole thing, and as it all progressed, he kept talking about this one woman who really stood out. And when he gave me the CD for my review, I totally understood why he’d been so impressed. I just went and dug out the CD, and Terry put the Susan Boyle track from it onto You Tube, so if you want to hear it for yourself, here’s the link. (Not sure if You Tube will allow this to stay up, so if it dissapears, sorry.)
(For those all of you who can’t be bothered reading the whole thing I wrote:
“…the true show-stopper for me is Susan Boyle’s heartbreaking rendition of ‘Cry Me a River’, which has been on repeat in my CD player ever since I got this CD…”)
I met Susan a few weeks later at the launch for the CD, and was really struck by her humility: she thanked me profusely for the review, and seemed genuinely amazed that people loved her voice so much. I can only imagine what she must be feeling now that she’s all over the news, but as you can see from the video of her on the show, which I finally got round to watching today, the attention is well deserved. It’s also a pretty cool thing for this part of the country, because Leon Jackson, who won the X-Factor a couple of years ago, also comes from around here (from my home town, in fact). So it may be Bandit Country, but damn, we got us some good singers…
(Listen to Susan singing ‘Cry Me a River’ here)
Tagged susan boyle; britain's got talent
Remember last month, when I left Shoewawa and promised to mark the occasion in the most appropriate way I could think of: by buying shoes? And then I didn’t mention that again, and you probably thought I’d forgotten all about it?
AS IF.
Yes, if there’s one thing you can depend on me to do, it’s to follow through on any promises to buy shoes.
And if there’s another thing you can depend on me to do, it’s to take pictures of said shoes, with my dog:
Yes, I know they’re possibly the most kitsch things in the whole world ever. But sometimes you just need a bit of that in your life, no?
Tagged Outfits, shoes, Things I Bought
 Now, I know I said recently that pointing out other people’s errors is pretty mean, but let’s face it: it’s sometimes just plain funny, too.
Take unnecessary quotation marks. Why do people “do” it? Who knows. But the results can be be downright hilarious, so when Fi drew my attention to an entire blog dedicated to recording these bloopers, I knew I was about to lose a large part of my afternoon to sitting chuckling over the images.
It’s called The “Blog” of “Unnecessary” Quotation Marks, and I totally recommend it if you’re ever in need of a bit of light relief. My favourite so far is the poster shown above. You just know those people are going to be keeping your small change all to themselves, don’t you?*
*Note: Not really.
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