The Solution.

I've worked out what I'm going to do with my life.

It's pretty simple really; according to BBC news, there's a positive correlation between eating cocoa and winning Noble prizes. Hence I'm going to start eating lots of cocoa and win a Nobel prize. 

Sorted.

I haven't decided what I'm going to win my Nobel prize for yet, but I'm sure I'll think of something. Can't be too hard.

When I was younger I used to think I'd be sorted for life if I invented something, however, I was naiive enough to think that I'd just have a spark of inspiration and voila; mission accomplished. Not realising how much work and effort goes into these things. Maybe I should've just eaten more chocolate.

Clearly, the cocoa/Nobel prize idea isn't very realistic. Be great if it was though. If it was that simple all you had to do was eat more chocolate (probably get a bit fat) and then you'd be given this award, along with a diploma, a gold medal and some money. Would definitely defeat the point though, and make Nobel prizes slightly less prestigious. Not much recognition in eating lots of chocolate. Unless you're like Adam Richman.

So back to the drawing board; no Nobel prizes for me. Possibly need to aim a bit lower; getting a degree first - that might be useful. Then I can think about Nobel prizes....

The Cinema.

What's happened to cinema etiquette?

I was stupidly under the impression that you go the cinema to watch a film. Apparently, that's not the case. 

I thought it'd be a nice idea for me and my parents to go to the cinema. I was very, very wrong.

Cinema owners are clearly not very business-minded. More and more people are watching pirated DVDs and illegally downloading films on the internet. You'd think that the people who run/own the cinemas would come up with some clever way to entice more people to want to go to the cinema. Raising your prices and lowering the standard of service is not what I'd call enticing. Might want to work on that one guys.

Now, not only do you have to pay an extortionate amount of money to actually see a film, you then get to share the cinema with some absolute cretins. There are the following types of people who should just NOT be allowed to go to the cinema:

• The coughers/sniffers/sneezers - these are the people who are always, always sat right behind you. Not only do they sneeze with such force that you can feel your hair move, they don't even bother covering their mouths. Delightful. Or better yet, they have a phlegmy cough, or as I like to call it, 'the old man cough', where they literally sound like they're coughing their guts up. You're clearly ill. Go to bed. Don't come to a public place where the same air is circulated in the same room for a number of hours. 
• The flirters - these people think it's a really good idea to go on a date. To the cinema. The one place where it's not socially acceptable to talk. Bad move. Not only this, but they also seem to think it's alright to show massive amounts of PDA. It's not alright.
• The young'uns -  here we come to the spritely, young children who are taking a break from misbehaving 'in the streets' and doing something a bit less 'yobbo-like'. I'd rather they just stay on the streets and misbehave to their hearts content, that way they can't disturb my cinema viewing by running up and down stairs and throwing popcorn at each other.
• The talkers - in my opinion, these are the worst sort of cinema-goers. YOU DON'T GO TO THE CINEMA TO HAVE A CHAT. The thing is, they don't even try and whisper, oh no, they carry on with their conversation at normal volume. The mind boggles.
• The stinkers - I really feel for anyone who's come across a stinker. This person will sit down next to/near you and absolutely reek. Suddenly, it dawns on you; there are no other seats, you have to stay there and breathe in that smell for the WHOLE FILM. You can't get away from it. The film's ruined.
• The kickers - you get these delights on airplanes too. They should have their legs cut-off. Now I'm not a very big person, therefore, when some eejit kicks my chair, the chair and I tend to move. Why do people, I say people, it's generally children (another sweeping statement, I'm full of them today), think it's acceptable to kick the back of a complete strangers chair? Repetitively. How would they like it if I started kicking them in the back? Repetitively. 

If you recognise any of these characteristics in yourself, please, do us all a favour: don't go to the cinema. Just stay at home. Wait until it comes out on DVD. Don't ruin the experience for everyone else just because you have awful cinema-etiquette, either that, or stop being a massive tool and learn how to behave at the cinema. Simple really.

As you can probably tell, I encountered all of the above at my recent trip to the cinema. However, I did a very un-British thing. I said something. That's right; I spoke up.

The adverts were on, there was a couple behind my parents who were flirting away to their hearts content; measuring the size of their hands, snuggling up to each other and generally talking shit. Not only this, but they'd brought along their single, male friend. Poor, poor guy. My heart went out to him. How he wasn't dying inside, I don't know. 

Anyway, they were flirting away, quite loudly. I could tell my parents were getting more and more worked up. But, it was only the adverts, you can't really complain; the film hadn't even started - unfortunately, they were entitled to act like love-sick puppies.

But then the film started; a couple of minutes in and I could feel the anger radiating from my parents. They're like me: we don't stand for any of this chatting/coughing/flirting nonsense - we watch the film, we may make the odd comment (whispering it, obviously) but we don't disturb anyone else, we keep ourselves to ourselves and expect everyone else to do the same. And being very British, the idea of complaining is alien to them.

So I did it. I took it upon myself to man up. I turned around. I told them to shut the hell up. Well, not quite; I very politely asked them to keep it down. After all, I am a Brit.

The effect was immense.They shrank away from each other, heads down, eyes to the floor and nodded. I felt invincible. If that's what it feels like to be a teacher, I'm there. It made my cinema experience that little bit more awesome. I could feel the gratitude, not just from my parents and their gooseberry friend, but all the other cinema-goers in the nearby vicinity. You're welcome. 

The actual film was good (Taken 2, if you're interested), obviously not as good as the first, but still enjoyable. However, I learnt, as I do every time I go to the cinema, unless it's pretty much empty - and even then you'll get someone who sits next to you, what's that about? - I will not enjoy it. I'll be too busy waiting for someone near me to reveal their awful cinema etiquette.

The Shit.

So I had quite an eventful weekend.

The boyfriend was on leave so went to visit him. Met at the station, he treated me to a Maccy's. I've got a keeper.

We were going to a neighbours 50th surprise party on the Friday night so we came back, got ready. I was all dressed and ready to go, went to the bathroom to brush my teeth. Mooched on back to the bedroom and that was when the brown stains where spotted, on the cream-coloured carpet. It's always cream-coloured when things like this happen isn't it?

Now, before I go any further, I'd like to point out that these sort of things always happen to me. You know all those embarrassing stories you have about that one friend? I am that one friend. My duty on earth is to do embarrassing things so that my friends have lots of funny stories to tell at parties. You're welcome.

So anyway, the brown stains. They were spotted by his sister - obviously brown stains can only mean two things; poo or chocolate. I was hoping for chocolate. Neither of us were willing to find out; so the boyfriend gets to kneel down and have a good whiff of them. Poo, definitely poo. 

Now, who's just come out of the bathroom? Moi. To brush my teeth. No shit had been shat while I'd been in there. Bearing in mind, it's a well know fact that girls don't defecate. And yes, I am trying to use as many synonyms as possible.

So how did it end up on the floor? We all checked our feet. Guess who had a nice brown stain on the heel of her tights? That would be me. My first thought: how the actual hell have I managed to get shit on my tights. The sister's first sentence to her brother: Have you pooed on the bathroom floor? Now that should have worried me slightly, but the fact that she wasn't pinpointing it on me made me feel slightly relieved.

But as my boyfriend hadn't pooed on the floor (thankfully), why the hell was there crap on my tights? 

Then I realised, I'd stayed at my Dad's the night before, and no he hadn't shat on my tights. No one had. His cat however, had sicked up on my tights. Apparently, she does it on occasion. Thanks for the warning father. But hey, at least it wasn't poo. Not that it makes much of a difference. I'd still trodden the equivalent of cat shit through the house. Not a great impression. Especially after the vomitting incident a few weeks back involving my vomit and his carpet.

I don't have a good relationship with this carpet.

Thankfully I have a better one with his parents; they still let me stay there, despite the fact I'm apparently on some mission to ruin their house.

Was I embarrassed? Horrendously so. Did I want to curl up into a ball and die? A little bit.

Instead, I powered on through; telling strangers the whole story at the party that evening. One story from me and they automatically felt better about their lives. It's what I'm here for. 

Good thing I have a sense of humour and very little shame, or I'd be one unhappy bunny.

There were a few more eventful happenings that weekend, involving a mis-directed firework but it didn't embarrass me, just made me fear for my life.

Either way, I think the next time I visit (if I'm allowed in the house), that I should stick to the non-carpeted areas. Like the kitchen. Or the shed. Just to be safe. 

And apologies for this being very shit - excuse the pun - has taken me two days to write this and I'm still not feeling it.