Why Halloween is fucked

I turned down an invitation to a Halloween party, in favour of a quiet night at home.

Which is not to say that I have completely avoided the debauched celebration of the ancient Celtic festival of Samhain. Indeed, I got my pagan partying done early, at a function hosted by someone who had not only dressed as a One Night Stand, complete with alarm clock, but who spent the latter part of the evening cutting around with a hollowed out watermelon on his head. 

And so my brother and I decided to pop out and get some take away and watch a movie. So, as we drive along, a fucking massive example of a firm halloween favourite, le spider crawls down the windscreen and we nearly have a mad accident on the highway. 

Halloween is fucked. 

Marie Antoinette Moments

Last night the now largely defunct EECC was resurrected for the great and noble purpose of baking. And bake it did.

Three hours and 48 cupcakes later we retired our whisk (no electric mixers for us thank you very much) and drank tea.

And so today the future Mrs Medvedev and I took these little parcels of sugar and joy to the founding place of the EECC for a chance to catch up with old colleagues. Needless to say they were very well received*, perhaps none so well as the one personalised cupcake.

Looking at this iced perfection you could easily be forgiven for thinking that the Phil referred to is one of the world's greener souls, the type that mixes with Hayden Panettiere in an effort to save the whales. You would be wrong. Phil is against global warming though, because of the way it kills polar bears. As he carefully explained to us:

more global warming --> less polar bears --> less game on leisurely hunting trips

Clearly, global warming is a disaster. Cut those emissions baby.


*with the exception of two of the most charming ladies of my acquaintance, one of whom grunted at me when I said good morning and subsequently disappeared, and the other of whom also avoided such pleasantries, although thankfully did not grunt. No cupcake for you I thought loudly, and went on my merry way.

Are Tramp Stamps The Answer?

This morning I returned from the gym, and discovered, to my horror, that I had my pants on inside-out. This may not be a problem with the plain black leggings so favoured by yogis and Lindsay Lohan. Unfortunately my pants were not like these, but instead had clear seams. It would have been glaringly obvious in the unnatural light of the gym that they were inside-out.

I told all this to someone who attends the same gym as me (but who failed attend this morning, and so was unable to spare me my embarrassment), who responded to my chargrin with an amused "don't worry - no one is looking at your pants, they're too busy looking at everyone's tattoos".

This is likely true, the tattoos on those in my spin class being ever more on display as we head recklessly towards summer. Which led me to thinking - I can't be depended on to put my pants on properly, especially not on my way to the gym when my natural vagueness is compounded by a failure to be fully awake - so what is the best way to ensure that should this happen again everyone would focus not on the inside-outness of my pants? Perhaps a tramp stamp is the answer.

Don't judge a blog by it's banner

As I reflect on my youthful exploits I remember a simpler, happier time, a time when you could walk down the street wearing a scrunchie in your crimped hair, where the answer to all your questions could be found in a slightly outdated Dolly Doctor, or when a plump person could wear spray on leggings and not feel self conscious or be the target of fashion intolerant stares.

Alas this is not the case, these days ... when to my horror my perennially cardigan wearing colleague criticised my outfit....

To my horror someone bumped into me while I was negotiating the streets and I dropped my phone in a puddle....

To my horror a third of the world is starving...

To my horror the global financial crisis remains a global financial crisis...

To my horror I have no recollection of Saturday evening....

In the maelstrom that we consider life much is irritating, vexing, or dare we say it - downright horrifying.

Join us as we ponder the happenings of a life lived, rant over what really gets our goat, and muse on that which amuses us.