Puppy Love...

They say a dog is a man's best friend. A trusty sidekick, a devoted doogle that will always be by your side.
But a dog can most certainly be a girl's best friend too.

Not a day goes past without me thinking about my old dog. Cookie was her name, and she was undoubtedly one of my best friends. Since her passing, back in April of this year, I have been yearning for another of her kind, yet although I know that nothing can ever replace her, I can't stop the ache I feel for a puppy of my own...

I am pretty certain that this must be how broody women feel when they see someone walking down the street with a pram containing a newborn baby. However, it is not the pram that stirs my 'want' within, but four furry feet happily plodding along the road, silky soft ears bouncing to every step, a happy owner the other end of the lead, proudly showing off the families newest addition. My longing for a puppy is an everyday battle, there have been endless requests to my boyfriend for one, to which he would happily oblige, but then the repercussions set in, 'we don't have our own place for a puppy,' 'it'll be on it's own all day,' 'we can't afford it.'

I know that eventually, my day will come. I will wake up to a warm bundle of fluffy joy, a sidekick of my own. But until then I suppose I can only wait, I'll continue to make do with petting those who belong to others, whist my heart tell's me it should be mine and my head remind's me that it isn't.

...I think they call it Puppy Love.

Puppy Love...

They say a dog is a man's best friend. A trusty sidekick, a devoted doogle that will always be by your side.
But a dog can most certainly be a girl's best friend too.

Not a day goes past without me thinking about my old dog. Cookie was her name, and she was undoubtedly one of my best friends. Since her passing, back in April of this year, I have been yearning for another of her kind, yet although I know that nothing can ever replace her, I can't stop the ache I feel for a puppy of my own...

I am pretty certain that this must be how broody women feel when they see someone walking down the street with a pram containing a newborn baby. However, it is not the pram that stirs my 'want' within, but four furry feet happily plodding along the road, silky soft ears bouncing to every step, a happy owner the other end of the lead, proudly showing off the families newest addition. My longing for a puppy is an everyday battle, there have been endless requests to my boyfriend for one, to which he would happily oblige, but then the repercussions set in, 'we don't have our own place for a puppy,' 'it'll be on it's own all day,' 'we can't afford it.'

I know that eventually, my day will come. I will wake up to a warm bundle of fluffy joy, a sidekick of my own. But until then I suppose I can only wait, I'll continue to make do with petting those who belong to others, whist my heart tell's me it should be mine and my head remind's me that it isn't.

...I think they call it Puppy Love.

Umbrella Massacre!

Today was one of those delightful British days. Howling wind and torrential rain crashed down on the streets of Britain taking a few casualties along the way...

Now, I'm not talking about the general public being drowned in puddles, or tiny tots being blown away in the wind a la Mary Poppins, no sirree, I'm talking about our faithful weather friends, brolly's.

On this particularly rainy day I could not help but notice the number of abandoned brolly's laying around my university campus. Discarded by their owners, each sport injuries of various kinds. Some have broken arms, whilst others nurse rips and tears. You cant help but feel a little sorry for them as you pass them by.

Couldn't they have been salvaged? Did it need to come to this?

While some owners will try to salvage what's left of their failing shelter from the rain, perhaps by propping up the broken arm or using it until the bitter end, others will cast it off, no regrets, no remorse.

Our loyal props have no other purpose but to protect us from the downpour, yet I cant help but feel some attachment to my protective friend...

The umbrella world would describe it as a mass murder, an umbrella massacre if you will.

Umbrella Massacre!

Today was one of those delightful British days. Howling wind and torrential rain crashed down on the streets of Britain taking a few casualties along the way...

Now, I'm not talking about the general public being drowned in puddles, or tiny tots being blown away in the wind a la Mary Poppins, no sirree, I'm talking about our faithful weather friends, brolly's.

On this particularly rainy day I could not help but notice the number of abandoned brolly's laying around my university campus. Discarded by their owners, each sport injuries of various kinds. Some have broken arms, whilst others nurse rips and tears. You cant help but feel a little sorry for them as you pass them by.

Couldn't they have been salvaged? Did it need to come to this?

While some owners will try to salvage what's left of their failing shelter from the rain, perhaps by propping up the broken arm or using it until the bitter end, others will cast it off, no regrets, no remorse.

Our loyal props have no other purpose but to protect us from the downpour, yet I cant help but feel some attachment to my protective friend...

The umbrella world would describe it as a mass murder, an umbrella massacre if you will.

Boy Racers...

When I say the words 'Boy Racer' I would put money on it that every single one of you reading this blog feels a little bit of hatred bubble up inside.

Boy racers are nothing more than suped up chavs behind a wheel. These boys feel the need to customise their vehicles with 18in alloy wheels, spoilers, noisy exhausts, and in some extreme cases, graphics. Why do they do this? Because they think it looks 'sick'. The reason they are called boy racers? They are just that; boys. After all, its not man racers is it?

Just yesterday I was happily walking down the road minding my own business when a red fiesta pulled up beside me. Being dark and all, I didn't want to acknowledge this presence and stole a quick glance from the corner of my eye. I saw 3 figures emerge from the car and make their way down towards a housing estate.
The red car waited for a moment, presumably waving off it's abandoned passengers and then, to my surprise, revved to the max and wheel spun past me, clocking up about 50mph by the time it reached the end of the road.

Now was I amazed or impressed by this maneuver? The answer to that is No. The only thought that went through my head was quite simply, 'prick'.
Rather than be astonished by the speedy getaway of a red ford fiesta, I was instead perplexed at this behaviour. Did this guy seriously think that passers by would find this style of driving attractive? And more importantly, what was the rush? Perhaps he was late for a dental appointment, or rushing to pick his Mum up from work. Either way, pushing the pedal to the metal down a quiet residential road was hardly necessary. Doesn't the boy realise there are cats living in the area?!

As much as it saddens me to say, this is not my first encounter with a boy racer. They seem to be breeding, infecting our roads and motorways, pumping out their R&B crap whilst competing whose exhaust is biggest. Personally, I don't understand the hype, why spend all that extra cash trying to make a crap car look special? Surely it makes more sense to save that money and buy a decent car to start with?

But perhaps that's why these boys feel the need to do it. Comparing size and performance is in a guys nature, after all, they do say that guys with a sizing complex hide behind fancy motors...

Boy Racers...

When I say the words 'Boy Racer' I would put money on it that every single one of you reading this blog feels a little bit of hatred bubble up inside.

Boy racers are nothing more than suped up chavs behind a wheel. These boys feel the need to customise their vehicles with 18in alloy wheels, spoilers, noisy exhausts, and in some extreme cases, graphics. Why do they do this? Because they think it looks 'sick'. The reason they are called boy racers? They are just that; boys. After all, its not man racers is it?

Just yesterday I was happily walking down the road minding my own business when a red fiesta pulled up beside me. Being dark and all, I didn't want to acknowledge this presence and stole a quick glance from the corner of my eye. I saw 3 figures emerge from the car and make their way down towards a housing estate.
The red car waited for a moment, presumably waving off it's abandoned passengers and then, to my surprise, revved to the max and wheel spun past me, clocking up about 50mph by the time it reached the end of the road.

Now was I amazed or impressed by this maneuver? The answer to that is No. The only thought that went through my head was quite simply, 'prick'.
Rather than be astonished by the speedy getaway of a red ford fiesta, I was instead perplexed at this behaviour. Did this guy seriously think that passers by would find this style of driving attractive? And more importantly, what was the rush? Perhaps he was late for a dental appointment, or rushing to pick his Mum up from work. Either way, pushing the pedal to the metal down a quiet residential road was hardly necessary. Doesn't the boy realise there are cats living in the area?!

As much as it saddens me to say, this is not my first encounter with a boy racer. They seem to be breeding, infecting our roads and motorways, pumping out their R&B crap whilst competing whose exhaust is biggest. Personally, I don't understand the hype, why spend all that extra cash trying to make a crap car look special? Surely it makes more sense to save that money and buy a decent car to start with?

But perhaps that's why these boys feel the need to do it. Comparing size and performance is in a guys nature, after all, they do say that guys with a sizing complex hide behind fancy motors...