My Life: The Anthology - Crazy But 100% True
My friend broke my toilet

And I uploaded a picture of it onto facebook and it got more likes than my profile picture.

I am less liked than a broken toilet.

Fun fact for you there.

My Work Experience: Part 1

For my work experience, I was in an old people’s home, which is just tons and tons of fun, as you can imagine. To give you an idea of what it was like, while I was waiting to be interviewed for suitability I had to sit in the foyer waiting for over an hour, opposite the toilet. After being sat there for forty-five minutes there was the sound of flushing and a disorientated man tottered out. He’d been in there at least 50 minutes…

For my first day, they put me in the dementia section and one of my jobs was to do “maid duty” which consisted of going around and collecting the used towels and then dropping them off in the nearest laundry cart and do the whole lower floor. The main maid said “If a door is shut, knock before entering and make sure it’s okay to go in. And collect all the towels.”

So I went around the first dozen rooms and then dropped their towels off in a laundry cart and then came to a closed door. I knocked and there was no answer.


"Hello?" came an old man’s voice through the door.

"Can I come in?" I asked.


Maybe he was answering the question literally, I could come in, the real question was am I mentally hardy enough to handle what is behind that door.

It was his room, it was empty… with the TV playing some godawful midday programme about antiques as every single British lunchtime show (with the horrific exception of Loose Women) seems to be contractually obliged to show the same boring old crap in the middle of some field no one gives a shit about. Whoa, rant over.

But the door to his en-suite was ajar with the light on, I should have really stopped to think where he’d be if he wasn’t in the bedroom and thus what he’d be doing.

I pushed the door open and I screamed at the shock of seeing him there. Then he screamed at the shock of a person standing in his en-suite while he was towelling his balls.

Towelling his balls.


"What are you doing in here?!" he screamed in a horrified way. Oh, dementia.

"You said I could come in!"

"I thought that was the TV saying that!"

"Why would you reply to the TV?!"

There was a moment of awkward silence. I realised I was holding no towels so I had to explain what I was doing here.

"I came to collect the towels."

There was a soggy pile of towels in the corner and I picked them up.

"Do you want this one?" he offered, dangling the bollock towel way too close to my face for comfort and with his balls still on show.

I took the towel and choked back the sick building up in the back of my throat and left and because he was the first room out of a dozen I was holding the testicle towel for ages.

The next day after they put me in a different section he was sat in the foyer and I was praying he wouldn’t recognise me.

"Hey, hey," he said and I turned around, "I remember you."

Oh fuck. Denial, denial.

"You do?"

"Yes, your mother’s in there."

Considering he’d never met my mother and the likelihood of her being in a cleaning supplies closet at my work experience placement when she was meant to be at work was quite small I let out a sigh of relief and played along.

Hoorah for dementia.

"It’s not superglue, it’s supergum… which is even better!"

No, despite the title, this is the not the story that gave my blog its name, this is an all together different story.

My mum decided to totally redecorate our house and she got it into her head she wanted a glass coffee table… I have no idea why when she lives with two of the messiest people in the world a.k.a me and my dad.

She couldn’t find one in any stores so she went on eBay, but she clearly didn’t read the information down the side of the one she bought very thoroughly because she did not buy a glass table. She bought a load of sheets of glass that dreamed of becoming a table.

Needless to say she was pissed off, but if there’s one thing you should know about my mother, it’s that she doesn’t give up easily. She sent my dad out to get some superglue and he returned with supergum.

"Where’s the superglue?" my mum asked.

"It’s not superglue, it’s supergum… which is even better!"

Turns out the guy in the store had persuaded my dad to buy supergum, it starts off as a liquid and then goes into a ‘gummy’ state giving you time to stick things exactly where you want them once it gets ‘gummy’. There was one problem, it takes 12 hours to reach the gummy stage and while it’s in the liquid stage it is adhesive but things just slip when you try and connect objects with it.

Enter stupid fat hairy old cat. He’ll be important later.

My dad laid the dining table with newspaper and put all the pieces of glass down and put a strip of supergum on each of them and then stupid fat hairy old cat, Raffles, walked in.

"Make sure he doesn’t jump on the table," my dad told me, foolishly entrusting me with an important job that had a lot of responsibility. He left the room and I turned my back on Raffles to get some breakfast and eat it at the breakfast bar. I heard a soft fallump noise and I knew what I was going to see before I turned around.

Sure enough, Raffles was on the table, sat right on a strip of supergum, completely oblivious to what he’d just done. Then he tried to stand up and twigged. He wasn’t even distressed or worried, just mildly irritated by the latest addition to his bottom. He went to do his classic move of dissatisfaction, jumping off the table and marching off. Only one problem. He had an enormous sheet of glass attached to his arse.

I ran over and carefully placed him on the floor so it didn’t smash and violate him and then he started pulling himself forward by the front legs (I felt like I was watching evolution firsthand). That wasn’t the worst kind of moving he’d ever tried, for some reason completely known to himself he slid around on his stomach like a snake instead of using his legs even though there was nothing wrong with them for a few weeks once. I called my parents and they had to take him to the vet to get the glass removed and when my dad came back he had Raffles’ carrier in one hand and a gnarly, hairy looking chunk of glass still in near perfect nick in the other.

And my mum still put the table up. She’s not a quitter. 

Reasons why being a girl sucks.

I was sat in a free period today writing something down when I heard this sound like a gunshot and freaked the fuck out.

I thought someone had cracked and started a school massacre and was currently wiping out all the people in the canteen, but when I looked up and no one else had reacted I was like… wait a second, and then I realised the sound had been my bra strap snapping and for the rest of the day I had wonky boobs and the strap kept flapping out.

Sad times. It wasn’t even a cheap bra.

A couple of years ago on Halloween someone set their dog on me…

It wasn’t fun. 

My neighbour… the panty stealer.

This one may sound more creepy than funny.

A while ago we went away on holiday and a family a few doors down (mother, son my age, daughter a little older, father) house-sat for us, which mainly consisted of feeding our cat.

The woman is lovely, she’s really nice, really friendly, really normal.

The son, however, is not.

Here’s a fun fact for you, I’m pretty disorganised in every area of my life EXCEPT my underwear drawer. cos that shit’s important. I have my pants folded up into little squares and my bras folded so the cups are together. Who said OCD?

But yeah anyway, I went up to my room and the drawer was slightly open and that was odd cos I was sure I’d shut it after I packed and the family housesitting had no reason to come upstairs since my cat was locked in the kitchen for the duration of our holiday.

I pulled the drawer open, all my bras were opened out and all my pants were in one  giant (should point out in some form of weird Freudian slip I typed ‘child’ instead of ‘giant’ there) pantyful mess. And then I looked and realised one pair was missing, and it was a special pair because it made up 50% of my thong collection. Then I looked across the room and my en suite was ajar with the light on and I KNEW I’d turned that light off and closed the door when we left to go on holiday.

I had a feeling I’d regret it, but I opened the bathroom door. The toilet lid was up. Another odd thing since I ALWAYS close it. And the bin was open with two tissues in it and no bin bag, so I knew I hadn’t done that. On the toilet seat was a very… manly… substance, no prizes for guessing what was all over the tissues to WHICH I HAD TO PICK UP AND FLUSH AWAY BECAUSE HE WAS TOO STUPID TO THINK TO DO THAT.

So I’m assuming he jacked off over my underwear.

About two weeks ago he facebook chatted me asking if I wanted to come round to his hot tub? Not until I fancy getting killed and raped. In that order.

Then a few days ago he facebook chatted me asking if I was ‘still the same bra size’. DA FUCKING FUCK?!

If I die, tell them to look locally.

HOT NEW STORY: “Why are you staring at me?”

Happened today.

I was waiting for my dad to pick me up in a supermarket car park and he told me he’d parked in the car park while he went into the supermarket to buy some standard supermarket produce. He told me to find the car and wait for him and I did.

And I stood by it. And all was pretty normal.

Except I looked into the back of the car and there were a bunch of folders, and I guessed my dad (who’s a teacher) must have picked them up at his school for some reason. I was trying to read what was on them when I noticed in the car window reflection about twenty feet off there was a couple staring at me really intently.

They stared. I stared back. It was intense. And then they started coming towards me really intently and quite quickly, so in a panic I pulled a nail file out of my pocket, since it was the sharpest thing.

Yes, I was thoroughly unprepared for an aggressive couple attacking me.

Suddenly, they stopped about five feet away and stared some more, I had my nail file out like some kind of three year old’s shank and the man out of the couple had his keys out. It’s a tragic case of weapon combat when a pair of car keys looks to be the more dangerous item.

Where the fuck was my dad?!

The woman cleared her throat, and I nearly pissed myself it unnerved me so much.

"Excuse me?" she said uncertainly, "Why are you staring at me?"

Um… what?


Killer retort on my part.

"Yeah," said the man, putting his keys away, I was slightly insulted he didn’t feel at all threatened by my nail file, "Why are you staring at us?"

I was very confused.

They took a few steps closer.

"I’m not staring at you," I finally managed to reply. I’m a bit of a wordsmith, don’t be jealous.

"Well even if you weren’t staring at us, can you move?" said the woman.

Rude bitch, telling me to move!


"Because you’re stood in front of our car and we want to get home."


Turns out I’d been standing by the wrong car. Awkward.

I may have drugged myself…

It was the height of summer and I was getting major hay-fever and decided to go to matron (the nurse) for an anti-histamine so my whole face would stop running/puffing up. I was also due to go to a maths revision session because I was looking suspiciously like I was going to fail maths, as were a lot of my friends.

So I went to matron and she offered me pyritol (or whatever it’s called) and asked if I’d had it before, and I didn’t know so I lied to get them and then went to the maths revision session.

Then I started to feel really sleepy and couldn’t work out why.

And then I started to feel even sleepier and suddenly I was totally unable to concentrate on anything.

Then I passed out on the desk.

Now, ask yourself, in this situation what would your friends do? Be worried? Help you? Take notes for you? Try to wake you up?

Well mine did the last one, and then when I didn’t wake up made an important group decision.

They were going to draw a penis on my back.

My friends drew a penis on me while I was barely even conscious. That’s what true friends do <3

Picture of it will be uploaded momentarily.

But yeah, I have such great friends!

When I was a child I refused to learn the time because I thought it was a conspiracy made my grown-ups to control kids.

At first it sounds ridiculous, but if you think about it time is the best control method around. It decides when we sleep, eat, work, relax and travel as well as a bunch of other stuff. If we didn’t have time we’d have an anarchy.

Of course when I was a kid I wasn’t thinking this. I just thought grown-ups were sneaky. And actually they were, because my mother took advantage of this and told me it was really late and made me go to bed really early.


Nothing better than being in a restaurant reading your tumblr dash and having a child come behind you and loudly shout “mummy why is that girl looking at naked girls?” and realising everyone is looking at you