Our survey says... what the f*ck?

Now I'm a struggling freelance writer and editor (give me work here!), I'm supplementing my income by selling a bunch of stuff and also filling in every online survey thing (that pays) I can find. Mainly they ask you things about which brand of digestives you like or if you think Ed Miliband's a wet blanket, but a couple of days ago the below question came up. I think someone might be taking the proverbial.

I love the assumption that the obvious alternative to a donkey is a boat. 

Still haven't got a job

And as you can see from the picture, the ideas for a career change haven't exactly been coming thick and fast. So I have decided to be a freelance writer and editor. Got me some business cards and got me a great website (thanks to my dad). Even got me some posh biros. Now I just need some work...

Avon apostrophe wars

I’m on an apostrophe mission at the mo (reinforced by my Strictly Come Dancing success – see below). Here’s the reply I got from Avon when I pointed out their wrong use of ‘it’s’.

Good to see they’re reading their customers’ emails.

Darth Vader, innit

Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated

At least by Outlook.

This morning’s breakfast

Damn diets and colds.

I’m my father’s daughter

My dad has only made a film about my apostrophe. All hail Daddy Wilkin.

Victory is mine

Strictly Come Dancing have added an apostrophe into 'bill payer’s permission'. (See previous blog post: Someone might need to come and take me away from all this.)

I’m changing the world one apostrophe at a time. 

When bad pens happen to good people

That’s lucky (AKA Ever the optimist continued)

Continuing my one-woman campaign to clean up the world's spelling and grammar

Acting our shoe sizes continued

Spot the difference.

Acting our shoe sizes

Who knew you could have such a good time with napkin rings?

Past-it post-its

Found this on my desk. Have no idea what either of the things on it were about...

Someone might need to come and take me away from all this

I definitely need to get out more.

Best work email exchange ever?

From: Office ace

Sent: 26 October 2012 11:16
To: Writer Team
Subject: What's white and smells like death?

Yep, it’s the fridge.

If you have food in there which really should be in the bin, then please, put it in the bin.

Thanks.

  

____________________________________________________________________

From: Emma Wilkin
Sent: 26 October 2012 11:18
To: Office ace
Subject: RE: What's white and smells like death?

This is the best subject line ever.

____________________________________________________________________

From: Office ace 

Sent: 26 October 2012 11:18
To: Emma Wilkin
Subject: RE: What's white and smells like death?

I was scared someone would say Michael Jackson..

It’s official – these things really do only happen to me

Would you rather have artificial sweetener in your risotto, or risotto in your coffee? Not a question that’s probably ever been asked before, but one I had to decide on last night. Because my life is stupid.

A week or so ago I was making a bleary-eyed coffee and dropped an open pot of sweeteners into my food cupboard. And all over the kitchen floor. (There are 1,000 in a packet and it was nearly full.) Due to aforementioned bleary-eye-ness I couldn’t immediately find the pot. Assuming it had disappeared behind the fridge, I salvaged what I could and thought no more of it. (Except every time I stepped on a sweetener that I’d missed in the clean-up. Which is still happening.)

Then last night I thought I’d make a risotto. And lo and behold, I find the upturned sweetener pot in the risotto box. Being as I hate wasting food, I then spent best part of an hour picking sweeteners out of rice. Yes, separating small white round things from small white oval things. A great evening, well spent, as per.

Random things I’ve seen on the floor

The first in an occasional series. 

Ever the optimist

This, from my diary:

Living on your own – the good, the bad and the downright mental

The good

• Being able to go back to bed at three o’clock on a Saturday afternoon with no one knowing.
• Having a whole freezer to yourself (this doesn’t sound that great, but trust me, it is).
• Walking around naked as required (although it’s a bit chilly for this).
• Being able to have a life-sized cardboard cut-out of Robert Pattinson in your bedroom (also a handy burglar deterrent).

The bad

• Having to fix EVERYTHING yourself/get your dad to drive 60 miles to fix the stuff you’ve failed to fix yourself.
• Living in constant terror that you’re going to forget or lose your keys.
• Patrolling around in the middle of the night with a hammer to kill burglars/terrorists/zombies after you hear a strange noise.*

The mental

• Talking to yourself.
• Talking to your life-sized cardboard cut-out of Robert Pattinson.

*Strange noise turned out to be overloaded wardrobe rail collapsing. Cue phone call to parent.

Worst advert for a flat ever?

I'm flat hunting at the moment (yuck). It's hard enough to tell what places look like from the low res pictures landlords post on Gumtree, but it's doubly unhelpful that so many of them only post a picture of the bathroom (as pointed out by my friend Lindsay). Why, landlords, why!?

This one takes the biscuit though – it was the only photo on an advert for a flat in Stratford:

Brilliant.

My new philosophy on aging

As long as I’m still of an age where if they find my body in a ditch, the newsreader says ‘she was only XX years old’, all’s right with the world.

Slightly morbid, yes, but weirdly positive as well.

Backhanded compliment

Three people have complimented me on my hair today. Which is slightly weird as I only restyled it to cover up the eye infection I have.

Well, at least they're not looking at my eye.

Just in case I hadn’t noticed

This popped up in my Outlook today:

What goes around comes around

I went to see the Olympic torch go through Walthamstow on Saturday. Despite my New Year’s resolution to not be negative about the Olympics, I was feeling a little bit can’t-really-be-bothered. But it was strangely moving. My friends and I all felt like we’d shared something a little bit special. And it felt nice to be with my fellow Stow-vians, having a lovely community moment (yes, I realise the torch isn’t actually in this picture, but I have a video of it which my blog didn’t like. So here’s some people waiting for the torch instead):

Then this morning, I was on the bus to the station, still full of love for the Stow, just up the road from where this picture was taken. And there I saw a man sitting on a small wall, trousers round his ankles, winky on full display, the sun glinting off his piss as it arced through the summer air onto the tarmac. Here’s hoping he puts it away (or someone puts him away) for the Olympics.

That sinking feeling

When you realise that the top you're wearing is basically see-through.

Paying our respects (serious blog post alert)

A month or so ago I went to Arnhem in Holland for a weekend, where we lobbed my grandfather’s ashes off a bridge. He’d specifically requested it as he was dropped (in a glider) there in the Second World War (I won’t go into the details but Wikipedia has them all here if you’re interested).


As a country that’s never been occupied (or at least not in recent memory), I think it’s hard for us to understand the impact the Allied troops had on the people of the Netherlands. I’ve never been anywhere where British people were, and still are, treated with such love and respect. Several people stopped on Arnhem Bridge to ask us about my Grandpa, even after we'd unceremoniously thrown ash in their eyes.

Big up the Dutch. And big up my Grandpa.

And now a word from our sponsor

Another truly excellent desktop reminder

Sell me down the river

As my regular readers (hello Daddy!) will know (I think – I can’t actually remember if I’ve mentioned it before), I suffer from a fairly serious fish phobia. Only of alive ones (I have no probs with cod and chips), which are over about six inches long (it’s a very specific phobia). I’m forever trying to conquer it via ill-advised trips to aquariums (I’ve shivered and sweated through various shark tunnels in the UK, USA and Europe) and by watching TV about big fish. Enter ITV’s River Monsters.
It’s presented by “extreme angler” Jeremy Wade. I can't decide whether I love him or if I want him to get eaten by a river monster. He’s like the Daily Mail of wildlife presenters – always over the top, fear-mongering and never understated. He says things like this:
- “...there's only one way to find out – by putting myself on the menu.”
– “I’m entering a primeval wilderness.”
– “Without protective clothing these eels would’ve ripped into my flesh and tried to eat me alive.”
– “This has gone beyond curiosity. It’s become a feeding frenzy. It’s time to get out, get out, get out!”
Unfortunately it’s this rubbish which makes him not very easy to take seriously. And his insistence on talking about “human flesh” all the time (he never says “skin”)*. I feel like if he’d lost a few fingers like Terry Nutkins I’d take more notice of him. And if he ever actually found a monster in a river.

The good news is that that my flatmate and I have invented a new drinking game where every time he says “flesh” you have to have a drink. It was six times last night. So keep up the good work Jeremy.

My new year’s resolutions

1. The usual get fit, don't eat a 500g Dairy Milk bar in one sitting, etc., etc.
2. Stop being whiny.
3. Don’t fall out of taxis.
4. Stop having inappropriate crushes on inappropriate boys.
5. Be more positive about the Olympics (repeat after me “it won't be a Terminal 5 type disaster”).

Arts and crafts

I'm going to a novelty Christmas jumper party this weekend. I didn't have time to order one so I've made this. Revel in my creativity.

Editor high jinks

You can tell I live in a house full of editors (all two of us). Last night was spent rewinding Gok Wan's something-about-shopping programme in disbelief at the terrible typos in some of the graphics. He used some “spray piants” to customise a T-shirt and also bought a skirt from “Pimark”.

Just goes to show that everybody needs a proofreader.

From my web browser

Not done on purpose. But sums up my life quite well.

Mother Nature’s striking back

Three headlines from Sky News today:

Snake Breeder Killed By His King Cobra's Bite
Mating Turtles Block Runway At JFK
Nuclear Reactors Shut Down By Jellyfish

Scary stuff.

Racketeering

Inspired by Wimbledon, I decided to play a bit of tennis on my Wii yesterday. I dutifully cleared the floor so I had enough room to jump around. A tense doubles match ensued. Picture the scene. It's match point. The crowd is waiting with baited virtual breath. Letting out a Sharapova-esque grunt, Wilkin goes for a particularly tricky overhead. And smashes into the paper lampshade, punching a large hole in it and causing a rain of dust (onto the clean sheets), such as the world has never seen.

Which is why, Gentle Reader, exercise is not to be encouraged. It causes damage, may well make you lose your deposit and makes a horrible mess. Plus today I can’t lift my arms above my shoulders.

I've been cheating on my blog

With this blog here. I'll shortly be buying my blog flowers and grovelling for forgiveness.

Money laundering, Walthamstow style

It went through the washing machine.
Ha, ha, ha.

I love my Mummy

She went out wearing two watches the other day. By accident. But it was lucky because one of them had stopped.

Close encounters

I think I just saw a UFO. Four in fact. They looked a bit like chinese lanterns and were accelerating at quite a lick over Walthamstow. Maybe that's the coming apocalypse!

It probably was four chinese lanterns but let's not rain on my apocalyptic parade.

Slightly sobering

This is an email from my dad's friend in Japan following the horrible events there in the last few days:

From: Kiyoshi 青柳
To: RJW
Sent: Friday, 11 March, 2011 10:09:47
Subject: Re: Hello!

I was playing golf with my wife and wife's sister and her husband and it happened at the 16th hole.. (We are all safe and all my family are ok..). But I have just seen earthquake crack in the
ground (the first time in my life).. It was 20 meter long and 50 cm width and growing.. Nevertheless.. we played until the end...

Good to see that life (and golf) goes on!

Apocalypse maybe

I always seem to be rambling on about apocalypses. There's at least two posts here already about impending doom. As I wrote them in 2007 they probably didn't come to anything (unless it's a really slow burning apocalypse). But, now look what's happened: “Millions of dead sardines have been found floating in a harbour near LA in the States. This comes a couple of weeks after two million fish were found dead in Maryland and 500 birds fell out of the sky in Louisiana. And just before that, 5,000 blackbirds did the same thing in Arkansas.” I'm off to start stockpiling tinned goods. PS I have some lovely pictures of dead fish and birds but Blogger won't let me add them. Dammit!

Desk stuff continued

I don't have any drawers at my new desk.

Where am I going to keep my croutons!?!?

Everything but the kitchen sink

I'm leaving my current job tomorrow and have spent the last few days clearing out my desk. Five and a half years’ worth of accumulated junk has so far filled four carrier bags and a rucksack. Here are some of the more random finds:

• A packet of croutons (with garlic)
• A Shaun of the Dead graphic novel
• A badminton racquet
• The Lord of the Rings Trilogy (book)
• Kingdom of Fire (Wii game)
• One plimsoll
• Another packet of croutons (cheese)
• Four cardigans
• A Go Ape badge
• A Robert Pattinson mask.

Thought for the day revisited

Bubble bath from the 99p shop = minor rash.

Thought for the day

Bubble bath from the 99p shop = no bubbles.

Second best reminder ever

Ridiculous song lyrics #1

A new series perhaps? This is from the Eminem/Rihanna duet Love the way you lie:

"Now you get to watch her leaving out the window
Guess that's why they call it window pane."

Erm, no, I don't think it is.

Comment of the Christmas holiday

From my mum: "I don't drink very much. I only ever have one drink at a time."

Through a glass darkly

I can't help thinking that Glasses Direct might have missed a huge email advertising opportunity here.

Product placement

I'm currently helping to write retrospectives of all the James Bond films for Filmwerk. So far I've done Dr No and Goldfinger. Next up is A View to a Kill which, in my opinion, is the most rubbish Bond film ever. I wonder if I can write a review without actually watching it...

No thanks

Just got an email with the subject line "Qantas 4-day seat sale starts today". I'll bet it does. Think I'll skip that one.

A cut above the rest

Last time I went to the hairdressers, the man (I’m on very friendly terms with my hairdresser) said (imagine this in a camp Brazilian accent): “Oh, your hair is in very bad condition; you must immediately buy some very expensive leave-in conditioner, otherwise it will all fall out and you will die alone to be eaten by your cat” (I may be paraphrasing). I did however, take his advice and spend an extortionate amount of money on a teeny-tiny can of miracle spray which promised to change my life forever.
When I went back to said hairdressers last night, feeling quite smug about the fact that I had taken his advice and must surely now have beautifully conditioned hair, he said “Oh, you use too much product on your hair, it is too heavy and I must dig my fingernails into your head and shake you around loads whilst washing it to get all of the nastiness out.”
I hate you, Brazilian hairdressing man!

Starstruck

I went to a preview screening of "Paranormal Activity 2" the other day (see www.filmwerk.co.uk for the review). I got very over-excited as Kim Newman (writes for Empire magazine) was there as well as James King (Radio 1 film critic). Then, behold, like a big-quiffed angel, appears Mark Kermode. He's my film-reviewing hero. So, obviously, I can't stop turning around, staring and then giggling when he caught my eye (I think my sister was very embarrassed). Despite the fact that I caught his eye again when we were leaving (I think I just did a massive blush that time) I didn't manage to pluck up enough courage to actually speak to him. Then my mate tells me that apparently he downloaded Mark Kermode's podcast of the review of PA2 (as we in the bizz call it) and he specifically mentioned a "female reviewer who obviously wanted to come and talk to me but was too nervous".

I'm flattered and ashamed all at the same time!

More shameless self promotion

Further evidence of me poncing about pretending to be Barry Norman:

http://www.glasswerk.co.uk/reviews/national/9330

Eli Roth plus the two leads and the director were at the screening for a Q&A session afterwards. I dared my sister to ask him why he’s going out with Peaches Geldof but she wouldn’t.

Are they looking for a new presenter for Film 2010?

I am now a published film critic. Kinda. I got to go to a press screening of Scott Pilgrim vs the World (you get free popcorn at press screenings!) and you can bask in my reflected glory here:

http://www.glasswerk.co.uk/reviews/national/9304

PS. I think Claudia Winkleman got the Film 2010 gig.

Best reminder ever

I was very pleased when this popped up at 3.45 on a Friday afternoon...

Proof that GCSEs really are getting easier

"Dappy" from "NDubz" has an A* in English.

Do not proceed if you are "Disgusted of Tunbridge Wells"

My dad bought a timer from Homebase yesterday and was reading the instructions when he noticed this:

Property on my road is getting very hard to come by

Cult classic

Last night, after visiting some friends and their new baby, I was sitting at the bus stop, waiting for a bus (obviously), feeling very slightly depressed about my biological clock, and therefore somewhat slumped in the chair. A young man approached me and engaged me in conversation (something of a rarity in itself)—inevitably, this being the one day I'd left my iPod at work, I was missing my usual defence against people wanting to talk to me (I'd had a few glasses of wine as well so I didn't have the forethought to pretend to be foreign which is my second defence against people wanting to talk to me). My excitement at being chatted up waned however, when he prodded the young lady sitting next to me and asked her to remove her headphones and listen as well. Turned out he was from a “youth church” in Edmonton and wanted to invite us to come along next Wednesday to talk to “other young people" about life, work and anything else we'd like to discuss with our “peers”. Plus there would be “lots of boys there”.

Unfortunately, rather than focus on the positives of the situation i.e. that I look young enough to attend a “youth church”, all I could think about was the fact that I apparently look like I have several problems which need discussing.

Eventually he went away (without my phone number) and proceeded to pester a bunch of other “yoofs”. I turned to the girl next to me, smiled and said “I only wanted to get on a bus, not join a cult,” to which she smiled sweetly and replied “Innit.”

Witty title not available at time of going to press

I've just had one of my wisdom teeth out. I have to have them all done but at £250 quid a pop, I have to spread the pain out. And boy, did it hurt. Check out my bin:

I've probably spent another £250 on painkillers.

News story of the week

“A teenager has escaped an ASBO and a ban on wearing his trousers so low that his underpants are visible because of the Human Rights Act.”

So it's not the best news story because he's escaped it – it was this comment from the director of the civil liberties group Big Brother Watch that made it: “As in this case, the term 'human rights' is frequently abused, rightly leading to ridicule. There is no human right to show people your pants. On the other hand, this Asbo is completely unenforceable. The proper punishment for the comically low-riding trousers favoured by some people is that we all think they look like idiots.”

Revenge of the Id

Last night I had a dream that Jeremy Clarkson was my boyfriend. A few months before that I dreamt that I was going out with Phil Mitchell, and just before that it was Len Goodman. Seriously, who's next? Gordon Brown? Eamonn Holmes? Shudder.

Why does my subconcious hate me?!?

A bird in the hand

I just spent four days in the countryside and didn't see much wildlife of note (apart from a lot of pheasants), then came back to London, walked to the shop (to buy some wine, obviously - softening the blow of going back to work after the long weekend) and saw a kestrel snatch a chaffinch in mid-flight and proceed to rip its head off and eat it. Lovely.

Am I a pervert?

I have one of those DVD mail rental list things and these were my most recent recommendations:

So, it would appear that I aspire to be a Henry James heroine being wooed intelligently by good-looking Victorian men by day and a roller-skating spandex-wearing psychic pornstar superhero by night. No wonder I don't know what I'm doing with my life.

And I've already seen all those films.

I fought the law and the law won

I was looking something up in my legal dictionary the other day and came across the following which made me smile:

I looked up the Vagrancy Act 1824 and apparently courts have the power to “to detain and keep to hard labour and punish by whipping rogues and vagabonds and incorrigible rogues”.

I think most of my ex-boyfriends fall into the incorrigible rogue category.

Random receipts

RIP Corey Haim*

Another 80s celebrity shuffles off...

When I was about 14 I had a life-sized poster of Corey Haim above my bed. Once it fell on me in the middle of the night. I almost had a teenage heart attack, but, once I'd recovered, I knew that we were meant to be together and one day we'd be married with Corey Feldman as best man and Kiefer Sutherland officiating.

I think I may have to give up on that dream now.

*Please note the lack of a “death by stereo” joke.

If the shoe fits...

So, I'm walking to the escalator at the tube station on the way home when my foot goes a bit funny and I do the now familiar stagger, arms pinwheeling, cannoning off my fellow commuters, etc., etc. I look down and realise that the heel has come off my boot and is hanging at a precarious angle. Then I look closer, and notice that I've actually trodden on the heel of someone else's shoe, which obviously fell apart earlier in the day. This has become glued to my foot, causing the aforementioned stagger (obviously this was rush hour—these things never happen when it's quiet and there's no one around). After some particularly interesting moves whilst going up the escalator I finally manage to dislodge it. So, I would like to say a special thank you to the person whose shoe disintegrated at Walthamstow Central. Especial thanks to you for not bothering to pick it up (obviously I didn’t pick it up either, but that’s not the point). I hope you fell over too.