Angry Lord of the Jungle

Sure, the lion is known to many as the king of the jungle. Sadly, given that lions are somewhat famed for inhabiting the savannah and aren’t partial to the jungle climate, he is something of an absentee monarch. Of course, this doesn’t exactly have to be a bad thing. Perhaps it’s more of an empire situation. After all, I’m not sure the Queen spends that much of her time in Australia and yet I’m fairly sure the Commonwealth still extends that far.

However, it can be galling when someone insists they have dominion over the various minutiae of your life and refuses to put in a personal appearance. There are those who will happily adapt to the latitude granted by such a situation and chill out a bit. On the other hand, others will see it as a, potentially insurmountable, power vacuum. How can you possibly seize the reins of power for yourself if the driver’s never around to distract and take advantage of.

This is almost definitely why we never hear all that much about the various ins and outs of the rest of the jungle court. Toucan duchesses and python viscounts are probably perfectly content with their relative positions in life. Especially if there are plenty of frog pages and chameleon underlings to exert their will over (I totally didn’t have to do a quick google search because I couldn’t for the life of me think what lives in the jungle apart from toucans. And I’m not even a hundred per cent that this is in fact their proper dwelling place. However the image has been created now and I’m loathe to back out of it).

However, the lord of the jungle is incensed by the situation but can’t quite see a way out of it. Having a monkey butler (sure, it’s a lot more likely to be a valet under these circumstances but that just doesn’t have the same ring to it so I dare you to contradict me) is a soothing salve to most disgruntling predicaments but in this case it’s not enough. The tiger is angry to have been so overlooked and I simply don’t want to think about what he’s going to do to remedy matters.

Song choices courtesy of: Vincent Rodriguez III, Orchestral and 2Cellos


This’ll Be My Wedding

Ok, I swear I’ll have plenty of non-matrimonial things to talk about over the next year. It’s simply good to have a place to vent (wrong word, it’s all happiness and sunshine. Dump would also work but sounds similarly negative) my thoughts on the most important day of my life. First off, as I’m sure I’ll have said previously (I really do have some firm pre-formed opinions on the matter), it’s really not that. Sure, it’s a big expensive party kicked off by a solemn legal ceremony but there have to be more important moments. When I met my intended? The day we have a baby? Hell, we spent a lot more when we bought a house if that’s how you rate importance in life events.

However, there is something special about the day the marriage begins. For one, it’s all about me (I mean, technically it’s supposed to be about the couple but I’m the frigging bride. Event managers at various potential venues are already dying to meet me and are being surprisingly accommodating. It’s almost as if we’re planning to drop a shedload of cash on them in return for the privilege of hosting a wedding bash there). Jeez, my fingers are crossed very firmly indeed that I don’t turn into some variety of Bridezilla.

There’s just so much to get organised and I’m not the best with making decisions at the best of times. I have to reach out and try and talk to people, arrange times to meet and greet and see the hopefully magical places I could tie the knot with my betrothed. Once the main location is locked down there’s going to be even more to plan and decide and pick. I never really did before (because when it’s not real and it’s not your actual savings you’re contemplating on spending it’s all so much easier and more fantastical) but I’m seeing the upsides of eloping.

Song choices courtesy of: Train and Murray Gold

Get on With it

I’m really not good at announcements. In spite of being a subscriber to various social media sites, I never quite managed to get on board with the whole ‘Look at me’ thing (good thing I pour all my thoughts into a media outlet that gets little to no attention. I’m totally not bitter). Maybe it’s because people who have an unerring ability to turn conversations around to themselves irritate me no end. Or perhaps we should simply peg this one on my general social ineptitude. I’m just not overly brilliant at revealing things unless I’m asked a question that leads me into it.

Anyhow, I’m getting married (see, Martin? Might as well use that surname while I still have it. But really, how hard was it to come out and say that?). There’s a ring on my finger (I have to restrain myself from looking down at the sparkly too often. Cliché, moi? At least I haven’t descended to Gollum-isms and begun to refer to it as my precious) and I made a mad effort to call round the immediate family members before sashaying into the workplace.

However, I forgot that my colleagues are, for the most part, boys. There are other women in the company but not in the area in which I sit (there are surprisingly few conversations where I feel the need to interject and defend my gender but I do have to represent every now and again). Of course they didn’t notice the brand new bling, why would they?

So here I sit, knowing my chance for a carefree announcement has passed me by. The longer I wait the more awkward it’s going to get. I could try and nonchalantly slip it into conversation but I think we can all agree that’s hardly my forte. Or just sit around and wait until the word wedding comes up (as it does all the time in a male heavy environment). I think my favourite option is never to say a word and launch the name change on them and see what happens. I have a problem with social experimentation. I once managed nearly two dates with a guy without learning his name (the joys of online dating are, thankfully, behind me).

Song choice courtesy of (clearly I need to employ a different format when I’ve got something distinct to say): Val Emmich

Thanks for Fucking up the World for Us

Very occasionally, there are days when I have thoughts and things to write about without the need for the format stimuli I usually depend upon. Upon reading this you’ll know what title I shoehorned around my musing but at the time of writing I really have no idea. Exciting isn’t it? It’s the whole Tory-DUP alliance thing, it’s given my pause for thought (courtesy of a chat with someone who’s a bit more inquiring than I am but they don’t have an internet blog to feed so I’m ripping off our conversation).

Is a good thing done for the wrong reasons actually alright? Or ought this fall into the similar yet opposite category of an injustice done for morally compelling reasons? Almost definitely the former but I gave you pause for a second or two didn’t I? I’ll freely admit that I haven’t done the deepest of dives into the figures (they were quoted at me but I’m sorry to say that I kind of sort of tuned out a bit, I had other matters on my mind at the time) but Northern Ireland has been getting something of the shorter end of the stick when it comes to per capita spending.

So, the DUP have managed to redress the balance a bit. Or perhaps not quite as straightforward as that, they have at least managed to push some of the issues we’ve been happily sweeping under the carpet to the forefront. However, this gives the DUP a major advantage when it comes to the next election (and it had better come soon, this feeble propping up is not what anyone would term legitimate government – probably).

All they need do is wave a hand at a brand spanking new hospital or recently patched up road and smugly suggest that it’s all down to their political savvy. Now, I’m not particularly familiar with the various ins and outs of the Good Friday Agreement but this does somehow smack of Westminster getting involved with Northern Irish politics and lending one side a clear advantage. I just hope it’s worth it Mrs May. Seriously though, I don’t begrudge them the money since it’s clearly needed, it won’t be lining the pockets of politicians (hopefully), it’ll go to infrastructure and that. But not for the right reasons.

Song choice courtesy of (sorry for no mash up but it seemed to fit the best): Beans on Toast

Never Hold the Statues

What on earth have you got into your head now? You really cannot hold the statues no matter how many whispers coming from the back of your tiny drunken mind are telling you how fabulous it would be. Or perhaps the heat is getting to you and it’s the marble figures themselves who have started talking to you. That poor woman draped in the incredible almost fluttering folds (but, naturally, with her chest on full display because that’s how art works) told you herself that you’re the only one who can save her from tourists staring at her attributes day in day out.

But these are historical artefacts – the only way they’ll be around in later years for posterity’s sake is if you hold yourself back from touching them. Let alone picking them up and taking them along with you for a holiday stroll. I may or may not have brought up this compelling argument already (I got distracted during writing this – an only slightly desperate dash to the loo, followed by a cup of tea and a quick natter about my lovely holiday) but statues, even the little ones, are really pretty heavy.

Maybe the idea never entered your head in the first place. It’s only now that I’ve emphatically told you that you absolutely mustn’t hold the statues that you feel the urge to do so. You can’t help but imagine the illicit thrill that will run through you as you display your undeniable strength for all those to see. That lump of marble or stone is no match for you and you’re largely unconcerned that you might damage or break it to the point that the experiences of future sightseers will be somewhat lessened. Screw them, this is what you paid an exorbitant amount for that airplane ticket for. The pulled muscles that follow will be thoroughly worth it.

Song choices courtesy of: Murray Gold, Ramin Djiwadi and Nina Nesbitt

Forgive Me If I Worry Charmingly

We’re all incredibly flawed human beings. If there isn’t something wrong with you (seriously or otherwise) then something is very much amiss. It’s weaknesses and foibles that actually make us relatable. At least, that’s what we can tell ourselves when it’s the small hours of the morning and sleep refuses to come. So, in admitting that we’re far from perfect as individuals, all we can really hope for is to find the person who finds you cute even if you’re being downright ridiculous.

I’m definitely not drawing from my own experiences. Even if I am a world class worrier, able to fret over pretty much any potentially negative outcome at the drop of a hat. Like being late, I really don’t enjoy being behind time. I’d rather wait around for hours (it gives ample opportunity for reading and catching up on terribly important social media) than run the risk of being so much as five minutes late (that’s an over exaggeration but I’m not completely sure how much).

So, as we’re stuck in unexpected traffic (why on earth did we think that the M25 would be anything less than rammed with vehicles) or running towards an airport gate in a tearing hurry because I’m convinced we’ll be late, I’ll be worrying my little socks off. At least it doesn’t drive certain people around me as up the wall as I fear it might.

Rather than striving for perfection (which is bound to induce madness or at the very least paranoia), find the person who isn’t driven up the bleeding wall by the idiosyncrasies you can’t quite help. It was something of a relief that all the while I was buzzing with nervous energy, running through worst case scenarios, someone thought I was cute. Seek out the person who can forgive you and find the charming nature of your worrying.

Song choices courtesy of: David Gray, OneRepublic, Thomas Newman and Jay Gruska

The Ways of the Almost Breakable

How would you react if you woke up and discovered a new level of invulnerability you definitely didn’t have before? For one thing, when would you realise that you possess this fantastic new ability? Unless, of course, you’re the sort of person who regularly smashes themselves in the stomach with a baseball bat just to check if they’ve developed superpowers. The rest of us might just have to wait until we stub a toe or accidentally attempt to slice the tip of a finger off in the kitchen.

Upon discovering this what could you possibly do with the information? Some might be minded to test the limits of this new superhuman quality. Is it merely a case of you no longer being able to feel pain? Or your brand spanking new unbreakability may well have limits. You probably don’t want to go jumping off any bridges just in case you end up kind of smushed. Even if you don’t wind up entirely dead.

Almost inevitably, you’ll pick your way through life, perhaps a shade or two more courageous than you might otherwise have been. However, you won’t quite be able to give into total fearlessness. There’s only one of you and you just won’t be able to bring yourself to push the boundaries by seeing if you can saw off a limb with few to no consequences.

Maybe you’ll find the strength within yourself to lift a car off a forlorn baby or something of that order. Then you’ll be confronted with the press, they may well want to know the secret to your newfound powers. After which it will be no real surprise to find yourself handed over to the scientific authorities who will have no compunction in slicing you open to discover the unbreakable goodness inside. So maybe be a little bit more careful and don’t save the helpless.

Song choices courtesy of: John Williams, Bowling for Soup and Ingrid Michaelson