Tag: random

Rocky Horror @The Playhouse, London

Last night, I was out at the Rocky Horror Picture Show in London. Not my first time seeing the live show by any means. As always, it was a great night out, much humour, and the audience participation was top notch. The cast were fantastic, and it was fabulous seeing Richard O’Brien as the narrator. You wouldn’t think he was in his 70s – he’s still got it!

The only disappointment was the poor showing of dressing the part. Seriously, London – I expected you to put Stoke-on-Trent (where I’ve historically seen it) to shame. I only saw one guy dressed the part as Frankenfurter! When I’ve been before, you stand out if you’re not dressed up. Not last night. Still, I feel that I rocked by corset and thigh high boots look, so not to worry! I was there with a couple of ‘virgins’, who told me later that it was one of the best shows they have ever seen.

Signs that maybe I’m getting too old for this – upon journeying home, the feeling of taking off the high heels and putting flat shoes on was the best thing ever. Getting rid of my hold up stockings was also a relief, since my thighs are apparently too thin to hold them up sensibly. Mental note – get a suspender belt for when I go to see the show again in Stoke next year.

Lessons learnt? There is no dignified way of pulling up hold up stockings without flashing fellow passengers on the tube (I was hiding under a long coat for the travelling portions of my night out). Investing in a decent feather boa is also a must, since I was leaving a trail of red feathers wherever I went. I’m still finding the bloody things attached to me even now. Feather attacks are almost as bad as glitter attacks, it seems!

Finally, London – up your game! Let loose a bit more, it’s Rocky Horror!

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It’s all about the winning.

I was away at my Aunts wedding this weekend.

It was fabulous to be at an event with my family. However, as one of the only female unmarried relatives remaining, I was coerced into joining the throng of other single ladies to catch the bouquet after the ceremony. Given that traditionally, catching the bouquet means that you are supposedly the next to get married, I wasn’t too interested in catching it.

However, I do like winning. There was a prize to be had, and I have ever been a competitive spirit.

CaughtTheBouquet

That picture would be me being a somewhat graceless winner. Turns out I have the reflexes of a jedi or something, as I reached up and the bouquet just landed in my hand.

I have yet to hear the end of if from my family.

Oops.

Congratulations again to my Aunt and new Uncle! Have an awesome honeymoon. P.S. I still have no intention of getting married. Neener neener!

LittleWicksy’s Rules of Life

Follow at your own risk. I take no responsibility for any trouble you get into as a result of you taking these as your own. I’m pretty sure I got most of these from my Dad. Or the internet. It all blurs together.

  1. If you don’t ask, you don’t get.
  2. Time enjoyed is not time wasted.
  3. The most precious thing you can give to anyone is your time.
  4. The common factor in all your problems is yourself.
  5. There is no knight in shining armour. Fix it yourself.
  6. Don’t trust drivers who wear hats. They’re unpredictable, and didn’t take the optional extra of ‘indicators’.
  7. It’s none of your business what people say about you behind your back.
  8. Don’t poke it!
  9. If you looked silly doing it, you *meant* to do that.
  10. Be more cat.
  11. Always go left.
  12. Don’t treat people how you wouldn’t want to be treated yourself.
  13. You can’t change people. You can only change how you react to people.
  14. Throwing books at stupid people is frowned upon.

The Fly

Friday night. It was a humid, muggy evening, and the windows were open.

Enter my new nemesis – the fly.

Over the course of the weekend, it tormented me. It flew around my head. It landed on any patch of bare skin. Like a lawn mower at 6am, its persistent drone proceeded to chip away at my sanity.

Everywhere I looked, the fly was there.

I attempted the pacifist approach, and left the windows wide open, hoping that it would peacefully vacate the premises. I used a notepad to try and gently waft it to a mutually beneficial egress. My flat is apparently prime estate though, and the fly remained.

My boyfriend farted in bed, and blamed the fly.

Neener neener! Flies make that noise. Really.
Neener neener! Flies make that noise. Really.

It was the final straw, and that is when I knew with crystal clear clarity.

The fly had to die.

Over the course of the next few days, I executed various plots to execute the invader.

It was too cunning to be caught up by the vacuum cleaner. Attempting to swat it midair just drew attention to my lack of gymnastic prowess. Sneaking up on it was an exercise in futility. Sadly, ninja I am not.

The fly anticipated my every move, and proceeded to mock me.

Late on Sunday night came the final battle. Armed with my trusty notepad and razor sharp wits, I waited. My boyfriend snickered, but I paid him no heed and prepared my ambush. A few hopeless flailings provided amusement. And then it happened. It landed on the ceiling. I swiftly positioned a chair to stand upon, and squashed it with an almighty – and satisfying – ‘thwack!’ as my notepad made contact. At last! Victory came with a brown smear on the ceiling.

I didn’t care about the clean up. Victory was mine, with a score of Fly: 200+, me: 1. It’s not about winning the battle. It’s about winning the war.

The lesson here? Buy some fly spray next time I go shopping.