1. Brochures depicting idyllic scenes of white sand, hammocks and turquoise waters, when the reality is a scene from raiders of the lost ark. Set in Beirut.
2. Agents who insist on taking payment in full in January when you aren't due to depart until August. Next year.
3. Getting up at the crack of dawn for a charter flight which leaves from an airport somewhere in the shires. Greasy airport cooked breakfasts that you "treat" yourself to.
4. Boarding the aircraft to find you are seated next to a group of 18 30s teenagers on a stag weekend merrily tucking into a bottle of vodka despite the ungodly hour. Vomit down your back.
5. Purchasing an over priced rubber snack from someone orange posing as an undercover salesperson for a scratch card company.
6. Meeting your "rep" at the destination airport, only to find she is also the rep for all flights arriving from the UK that day, all due in several hours after your own. Realising you have no currency to buy a coffee while you wait.
7. Boarding a coach along with half of Essex, to be talked at for the duration of the journey by said rep about overpriced undersubscribed excursions you can book via the same company.
8. Taking a de tour via every hotel in the area before reaching your own, thereby adding 4 hours to the "transfer" time.
9. Reaching your own hotel to find there was a reason it was left until last. Wishing you could have been dropped at the previous hotel.
10. All inclusive holidays that only actually include cheap gin served by odorous, snaggle toothed waiters and a self service salad bar hosting hard boiled eggs posing as bullets.
11. Sunburn. Gastroenteritis. Ear infections. Insect bites.
12. Paying for your "holiday" twice when the tour company goes bust leaving you stranded in Turkey with an ever mounting hotel bill.
© 2011 Wilma Kay
Friday, 5 August 2011
Sunday, 6 February 2011
Things I hate about hangovers...
1. Waking up with an overweight rhino stomping about behind your eyes, which insists on stomping harder upon any movement of a little finger.
2. The accuracy of the taste of last night's rocket fuel in the back of your throat.
3. Teeth fur. Tongue fur. Just fur.
4. The inability to open your eyes beyond slits.
5. The immediate urge to vomit upon adopting the sitting position.
6. Bad breath on an offensive scale. Mixed with the aroma associated with sweating 40% proof.
7. The sight and smell of last night's offending half drunk glass of whiskey.
8. Wretching at the smell of bacon.
9. The burning sensation in your oesophagus upon attempting to imbibe orange juice. The burning sensation in your oesophagus when said orange juice makes a swift and messy reappearance.
10. Occupying the loo for an inordinate amount of time. And then realising it's the other end that isn't well. Out of time.
11. Feeling dry. Inside and out.
12. The pretence that you didn't drink too much at all last night. And that you feel just fine. No really.
© 2011 Wilma Kay
2. The accuracy of the taste of last night's rocket fuel in the back of your throat.
3. Teeth fur. Tongue fur. Just fur.
4. The inability to open your eyes beyond slits.
5. The immediate urge to vomit upon adopting the sitting position.
6. Bad breath on an offensive scale. Mixed with the aroma associated with sweating 40% proof.
7. The sight and smell of last night's offending half drunk glass of whiskey.
8. Wretching at the smell of bacon.
9. The burning sensation in your oesophagus upon attempting to imbibe orange juice. The burning sensation in your oesophagus when said orange juice makes a swift and messy reappearance.
10. Occupying the loo for an inordinate amount of time. And then realising it's the other end that isn't well. Out of time.
11. Feeling dry. Inside and out.
12. The pretence that you didn't drink too much at all last night. And that you feel just fine. No really.
© 2011 Wilma Kay
Saturday, 1 January 2011
Things I hate about January...
1. Realising that you have 31 days in which to submit your tax return. And not knowing where to start.
2. Finding all of your friends are operating a 31 day alcohol ban. Just when a sanity bottle of wine has never been higher on your list of priorities. After the tax return.
3. Running out of reasons not to hoover up the pine needles for that one last time. Emptying the hoover of pine needles into a bin bag that promptly splits, thereby spreading needles over the carpet once again.
4. The invasion of middle aged spread in your gym, occupying your treadmill at the very time it's usually yours. And leaving sweat patches on the handrail.
5. The return of unwanted Christmas gifts, only to find they are on sale and, without a receipt, your refund is knocked down by 20%.
6. The temptation to snaffle half a box of left over Celebrations while the rest of the galaxy (that is a chocolate bar...) is on a diet.
7. Black ice. Or just ice. The sledge has been archived and we are back at work, so give us a chance to get there some time today without pranging any bumpers.
8.Filling in for middle class pr_cks who insist on taking time off to throw themselves down a mountain on a tray.
9. Filling in for middle class pr_cks who have broken a femur while throwing themselves down a mountain on a tray.
10. Adverts for diets, exercise, fruit, vegetables, anything remotely good for you.
11. Adverts for cadbury's creme eggs.
12. The thought that Christmas is only 11 months away.
© 2011 Wilma Kay
2. Finding all of your friends are operating a 31 day alcohol ban. Just when a sanity bottle of wine has never been higher on your list of priorities. After the tax return.
3. Running out of reasons not to hoover up the pine needles for that one last time. Emptying the hoover of pine needles into a bin bag that promptly splits, thereby spreading needles over the carpet once again.
4. The invasion of middle aged spread in your gym, occupying your treadmill at the very time it's usually yours. And leaving sweat patches on the handrail.
5. The return of unwanted Christmas gifts, only to find they are on sale and, without a receipt, your refund is knocked down by 20%.
6. The temptation to snaffle half a box of left over Celebrations while the rest of the galaxy (that is a chocolate bar...) is on a diet.
7. Black ice. Or just ice. The sledge has been archived and we are back at work, so give us a chance to get there some time today without pranging any bumpers.
8.Filling in for middle class pr_cks who insist on taking time off to throw themselves down a mountain on a tray.
9. Filling in for middle class pr_cks who have broken a femur while throwing themselves down a mountain on a tray.
10. Adverts for diets, exercise, fruit, vegetables, anything remotely good for you.
11. Adverts for cadbury's creme eggs.
12. The thought that Christmas is only 11 months away.
© 2011 Wilma Kay
Friday, 26 November 2010
Things I hate about take away coffee...
1. Joining the end of a very long queue and being unable to read the extensive menu written in a font reserved for bibles. Progressing slowly up said queue until I reach the front where, unable to read the menu with sufficient speed, I order the first thing I can see. Which bears little resemblance to what I actually want.
2. Use of Americanisms such as "regular" to describe a medium sized cup of coffee and "tall" to describe a large sized cup of coffee. Is it now politically incorrect to call a medium sized cup "medium"? Am I about to be arrested by the coffee cup police for prejudice?
3. Ever increasingly ridiculous names for a cup of coffee. Cappuccino, latte, mocca, moccaccino, babyccino. Whatever happened to normal coffee, black or white, with sugar or no sugar? Simple as.
4. Receiving my skinny latte with a double shot and cinamon twist in a paper cup which, absent cardboard sleeve, removes the outer dermis from my fingers, causing me to lose my grip and drop said paper cup all over the counter. And then order another.
5. Warning signs that the cup contains hot liquid. Really? I'm stunned. See 4 above.
6. Insufficient room for adding milk, which leads me to fill the cup to the brim and then attempt to put the plastic lid back on, thereby spilling scalding hot liquid (that, to be fair, I had been warned about - see 4 and 5 above - onto my hand.
7. Frappuccino. Coffee is meant to be drunk hot. End of.
8. Overpriced Italian coffee biscuits that wink at me from the counter as I pay for my, already overpriced, coffee.
9. Attempting to suck my overpriced coffee through the hole in the lid, thereby spilling the contents down my suit.
10. Listening to other people attempting to suck overpriced coffee through the hole in the lid, prior to them spilling the contents over themselves.
11. Caffeine jitters after finishing a "tall" skinny latte with a double shot and cinamon twist. Is there really any need to make them quite so strong?
12. The need to visit the very same coffee shop while abroad. I know I shouldn't but...
© 2010 Wilma Kay
2. Use of Americanisms such as "regular" to describe a medium sized cup of coffee and "tall" to describe a large sized cup of coffee. Is it now politically incorrect to call a medium sized cup "medium"? Am I about to be arrested by the coffee cup police for prejudice?
3. Ever increasingly ridiculous names for a cup of coffee. Cappuccino, latte, mocca, moccaccino, babyccino. Whatever happened to normal coffee, black or white, with sugar or no sugar? Simple as.
4. Receiving my skinny latte with a double shot and cinamon twist in a paper cup which, absent cardboard sleeve, removes the outer dermis from my fingers, causing me to lose my grip and drop said paper cup all over the counter. And then order another.
5. Warning signs that the cup contains hot liquid. Really? I'm stunned. See 4 above.
6. Insufficient room for adding milk, which leads me to fill the cup to the brim and then attempt to put the plastic lid back on, thereby spilling scalding hot liquid (that, to be fair, I had been warned about - see 4 and 5 above - onto my hand.
7. Frappuccino. Coffee is meant to be drunk hot. End of.
8. Overpriced Italian coffee biscuits that wink at me from the counter as I pay for my, already overpriced, coffee.
9. Attempting to suck my overpriced coffee through the hole in the lid, thereby spilling the contents down my suit.
10. Listening to other people attempting to suck overpriced coffee through the hole in the lid, prior to them spilling the contents over themselves.
11. Caffeine jitters after finishing a "tall" skinny latte with a double shot and cinamon twist. Is there really any need to make them quite so strong?
12. The need to visit the very same coffee shop while abroad. I know I shouldn't but...
© 2010 Wilma Kay
Saturday, 18 September 2010
Things I hate about posh restaurants...
1. Having your coat taken off you and put somewhere secret. Not knowing where to get your coat from when you leave. Hovering around a door which may be a cloakroom or, alternatively, may be the gimp cupboard. Blushing after the idea of taking a much more expensive coat and flogging it on ebay flashes through your mind.
2. Being allocated a table for two hours only, no matter how many courses you are intending to order or how long you would like to spend enjoying your £45 steak. Being asked to move to "take coffee" in the bar. AKA "Your two hours is up. Shift."
3. Having the serviette carefully placed in your lap by a spotty teenage waiter who spends just slightly too long down there. And checks your cleavage out while he's at it. Get. Off. Me.
4. Being offered bread and butter, and then finding a £3 per head cover charge has been added to your bill. To cover what exactly? Excessive profit?
5. Being shown the label on the bottle of wine that you have chosen, so you can check it is the right one. Is that not the waiter's job? They don't ask you to check the water or your starter before placing it in front of you, so why the label on the wine?
6. Those who think that tasting the wine is a method of checking that you like it. Of course, if you have chosen badly, they won't mind at all if you send it back and try another one.
7. Having white wine held hostage in an ice bucket somewhere between your table and Australia. Waiting empty glassed to be served more wine or, on the other hand, having your glass filled every 30 seconds until the wine has gone and you haven't even caught a glimpse of your first course.
8. Unintelligible menus. Fennel. Shallots. Lardons. Confit. What is this muck?
9. An 18 inch white plate which arrives with all (what little there is) of the food piled up in the centre. Having to unstack before you can taste anything. This is a meal, not an exercise in building a wall.
10. Ordering the £45 steak and then having to order vegetables separately. This is not tapas. I am paying for the chef to put the meal together, not me.
11. Being asked how your meal is before you have got the first forkful to your mouth. Give me a chance to taste it and I will tell you exactly how it is. Impatient C_ck.
12. Finding a 12.5% "discretionary" service charge has been added to your bill. Here's your tip: Look up the meaning of "discretion".
© 2010 Wilma Kay
2. Being allocated a table for two hours only, no matter how many courses you are intending to order or how long you would like to spend enjoying your £45 steak. Being asked to move to "take coffee" in the bar. AKA "Your two hours is up. Shift."
3. Having the serviette carefully placed in your lap by a spotty teenage waiter who spends just slightly too long down there. And checks your cleavage out while he's at it. Get. Off. Me.
4. Being offered bread and butter, and then finding a £3 per head cover charge has been added to your bill. To cover what exactly? Excessive profit?
5. Being shown the label on the bottle of wine that you have chosen, so you can check it is the right one. Is that not the waiter's job? They don't ask you to check the water or your starter before placing it in front of you, so why the label on the wine?
6. Those who think that tasting the wine is a method of checking that you like it. Of course, if you have chosen badly, they won't mind at all if you send it back and try another one.
7. Having white wine held hostage in an ice bucket somewhere between your table and Australia. Waiting empty glassed to be served more wine or, on the other hand, having your glass filled every 30 seconds until the wine has gone and you haven't even caught a glimpse of your first course.
8. Unintelligible menus. Fennel. Shallots. Lardons. Confit. What is this muck?
9. An 18 inch white plate which arrives with all (what little there is) of the food piled up in the centre. Having to unstack before you can taste anything. This is a meal, not an exercise in building a wall.
10. Ordering the £45 steak and then having to order vegetables separately. This is not tapas. I am paying for the chef to put the meal together, not me.
11. Being asked how your meal is before you have got the first forkful to your mouth. Give me a chance to taste it and I will tell you exactly how it is. Impatient C_ck.
12. Finding a 12.5% "discretionary" service charge has been added to your bill. Here's your tip: Look up the meaning of "discretion".
© 2010 Wilma Kay
Tuesday, 27 July 2010
Things I hate about flirting by text…
1. Complete lack of awareness of when a friendly text exchange morphs into e-flirting. Until it's too late and you find yourself trying to dream up a witty response to "well why don't you take your knickers off then."
2. Never knowing how many "x"s to put at the end of a text. Counting "x"s at the end of a text received. Getting upset when the flirtee puts less "x"s at the end of a text than you did.
3. Constantly checking your phone, awaiting the next missive from the e-flirtee. Getting irked when said e-flirtee does not respond within 20 minutes. What can possibly be more important than responding to you???
4. Turning the phone off and on again to ensure it's in good working order. Dialling his number from the office phone to check his phone is in good working order. And then hanging up.
5. Text winks. You don't wink in real life so don't wink by text.
6. The beeping of a received text while you are in a meeting unable to look at your phone. The subsequent build up of excitement until the meeting ends and you discover the text is from your mobile phone provider offering you a free cinema ticket for one. Even Orange appear to know the sad state of affairs that is your love life.
7. Scrabbling with the keys to peruse your sent items when you receive an provocative text at 8am apropos seemingly nothing. The subsequent feeling of doom in the pit of the stomach after discovering a text sent after too many pinot grigios. You didn't even know you knew that word.
8. One word responses to long flirtations that took several consultations with the dictionary to compile. Effort factor zero does not make you a hero.
9. Receiving the response "sorry who is this?" after swapping numbers on a Friday night. Call their bluff and send back "STD clinic. Pls call immediately".
10. Text harrassment from someone you met once and really should not have given your no to. Go away.
11. Accidentally pressing the call button mid-text and panicking as you try to end the call before he answers, kicking yourself that it will show as a missed call on his phone. Very uncool.
12. Dumping by text. Ouch.
© 2010 Wilma Kay
2. Never knowing how many "x"s to put at the end of a text. Counting "x"s at the end of a text received. Getting upset when the flirtee puts less "x"s at the end of a text than you did.
3. Constantly checking your phone, awaiting the next missive from the e-flirtee. Getting irked when said e-flirtee does not respond within 20 minutes. What can possibly be more important than responding to you???
4. Turning the phone off and on again to ensure it's in good working order. Dialling his number from the office phone to check his phone is in good working order. And then hanging up.
5. Text winks. You don't wink in real life so don't wink by text.
6. The beeping of a received text while you are in a meeting unable to look at your phone. The subsequent build up of excitement until the meeting ends and you discover the text is from your mobile phone provider offering you a free cinema ticket for one. Even Orange appear to know the sad state of affairs that is your love life.
7. Scrabbling with the keys to peruse your sent items when you receive an provocative text at 8am apropos seemingly nothing. The subsequent feeling of doom in the pit of the stomach after discovering a text sent after too many pinot grigios. You didn't even know you knew that word.
8. One word responses to long flirtations that took several consultations with the dictionary to compile. Effort factor zero does not make you a hero.
9. Receiving the response "sorry who is this?" after swapping numbers on a Friday night. Call their bluff and send back "STD clinic. Pls call immediately".
10. Text harrassment from someone you met once and really should not have given your no to. Go away.
11. Accidentally pressing the call button mid-text and panicking as you try to end the call before he answers, kicking yourself that it will show as a missed call on his phone. Very uncool.
12. Dumping by text. Ouch.
© 2010 Wilma Kay
Wednesday, 14 July 2010
Things I hate about getting older...
1. Having to sit down to do up ones shoes. And then finding that they are on the wrong feet.
2. The first time you are referred to on the continent as Madame instead of Mademoiselle. Can you see a wedding ring???
3. Wrinkles that show the world how you slept last night and don't seem to want to disappear upon application of moisturiser you had to go on a waiting list and re-mortgage your house for.
4. Mortgage companies who refuse to lend you money for more than 15 years even though, according to the coalition, you will be wording for another 25.
5. Obsessive weighing and sinking heart when it is confirmed that you put on 2lb after eating one chip. The subsequent refusal of fat to shift, even after starving oneself for several hours.
6. Heartburn after eating anything remotely nice. The need to carry Gaviscon in your handbag.
7. Being unable to operate a computer without assistance from your 7 year old niece.
8. Forgetting where you put your car keys, just like your mum does. Leaving your house keys in the front door. Overnight.
9. Wicked grey hair that doubles the cost of your hairdressing bills and has a texture that increases your resemblance to Wurzel Gummidge day by day.
10. A growing preference for sensible shoes and similar evidence of your sudden and unashamed need to put comfort over style.
11. Consistently looking forward to going to bed at 10pm and the feeling of disappointment if a night out prevents you from achieving that.
12. Taking a sudden interest in bedding plants, bird feeders and other garden paraphernalia. Happily adding "weed the garden" to the weekend to do list.
© 2010 Wilma Kay
2. The first time you are referred to on the continent as Madame instead of Mademoiselle. Can you see a wedding ring???
3. Wrinkles that show the world how you slept last night and don't seem to want to disappear upon application of moisturiser you had to go on a waiting list and re-mortgage your house for.
4. Mortgage companies who refuse to lend you money for more than 15 years even though, according to the coalition, you will be wording for another 25.
5. Obsessive weighing and sinking heart when it is confirmed that you put on 2lb after eating one chip. The subsequent refusal of fat to shift, even after starving oneself for several hours.
6. Heartburn after eating anything remotely nice. The need to carry Gaviscon in your handbag.
7. Being unable to operate a computer without assistance from your 7 year old niece.
8. Forgetting where you put your car keys, just like your mum does. Leaving your house keys in the front door. Overnight.
9. Wicked grey hair that doubles the cost of your hairdressing bills and has a texture that increases your resemblance to Wurzel Gummidge day by day.
10. A growing preference for sensible shoes and similar evidence of your sudden and unashamed need to put comfort over style.
11. Consistently looking forward to going to bed at 10pm and the feeling of disappointment if a night out prevents you from achieving that.
12. Taking a sudden interest in bedding plants, bird feeders and other garden paraphernalia. Happily adding "weed the garden" to the weekend to do list.
© 2010 Wilma Kay
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