Six things.....

Well I’ve been tagged.  Not electronically but there’s always time for that.  Dee from Deecoded has asked me to answer six things that you should know about me.  I’ve decided to change it to six things that you need not know about me as that’s far more interesting, is it not?

So let’s get on with it:

1: The Accidental Life Coach.  I have suddenly realised, that by sheer fluke (and a touch of  severely low boredom threshold) I have become a life coach. Completely by accident. I truly believe I can advise on any given situation because I have had more jobs than there are pictures of the Royal baby. Fact.  I won’t list them all as there are not enough pages on Blogger but trust me when I say I can:  Write you an award winning business plan, tell you how to run/start up/ exit a business, advise on property and yield, tell you what chocolate to eat, make you look beautiful, advise you on what to wear, photograph you, write about you and stick you in a glossy magazine, style your house, paint your furniture, teach you how to dance and counsel you when suicidal. And THAT is just for starters.

2: I think I have ADD.  See 1.

3: When I try to be cool it never works. Example:  I once had to interview writers for a new magazine. The last interviewee turned up and was all of the following: smart, witty, a great writer, good looking and dreadfully interesting.  He had driven a long way and had to roam around the city alone until later that evening.  Being a kindly soul I suggested we go for a late lunch to discuss options further.  I decided to choose a very nice Deli where you could eat and drink wine at a swanky bar located in the middle. For some reason I opted for a platter of olives from around the world and a glass of Chablis.  Mistake.  I shared my food with ‘He that should be employed’ and during our conversation he told me to be careful of the red stuffed olive as it was insanely hot.  This rather useful piece of advice slipped my mind and I promptly put the chili stuffed, raging hot, mouth blistering little bugger in my mouth.  Within seconds I felt my throat close up and I began to bray like a donkey.  WTF?  How attractive.  I felt the heat from both embarrassment and life threatening chili reaction rage from my chest to my face.  The braying ceased and instead I completely lost my voice which wasn’t helping with my pleas for medical attention.  My eyes were streaming, snot was running from my nose and I was verging on self combustion.  My lunch colleague (along with the rest of the Deli) looked at me agog as I choked and leaked all over the bar.  

“Oh my God are you ok? Do you need water?  He asked.


It was then that I realised he wasn’t quite as bright as I first thought.   After several minutes  it eased up and though I still couldn’t talk, I knew I wasn’t going to die.  However,  the conversation and connection between myself and ‘He who was making a sharp exit’ was lost and we parted ways.

As I walked through the city back to my car I noticed people staring at me.  Maybe it was my edgy, swag attire or that my hair looked like I had just stepped out of a salon.  Yeah, that must be it.  When I reached my vehicle and looked in the rear view mirror I wondered if I’d been possessed.  Black streaks of mascara had artfully painted themselves across my snot dried, ruddy complexion and I looked like something out of a gruesome horror film.  This, my friends, is what we call “Street cred death”.

4: I am a medical diagnostic genius.  Whilst I don’t have any qualifications in the medical field I am so good at diagnosing ailments and possible life threatening diseases that I should be given the title “Doctor” by default.  I have managed to manipulate my GP into giving me tablets for months for something he didn’t even diagnose.  The only problem is that I can convince myself that I am about to die a horrible death when I’ve only got a mild headache.  At the point where I thought I was the only woman to have suffered a dropped testicle, my medical book was taken away from me and burnt.  Which was stupid because I still have Google Medic.

5: I hate ironing stripy things.  They always make me feel dizzy and on the verge of epilepsy.  I have to squint until nearly blind to get through the ordeal of pressing clothes with stripes.  They should be banned or made from crease resistant material.

6: I made my Mother a murderer.  My Mum killed Mr Big and it was all my fault.  It’s that ripple effect thing.  Anyway, when I was... ooh 17 years old, I got asked by a nightclub manager if I’d like to be a model on the back of beer mats, matchboxes etc.. (YES!  I was in a nightclub under age ‘cos that’s how it is over here! ) I said yes and turned up on a Sunday afternoon at said club with my BFF to see about 20 girls in bikinis waiting to be shot.  With a camera, not a gun.  I stripped down to my two piece and waited in line with my friend as we got plied with glass after glass of sparkling cheap plonk.  At that age you show no finesse and slug it down, smug in the fact that you’re getting free ale under age. 

I was so tipsy  by the time I got in front of the camera that I was easily led and naive enough to toss my bikini top to the floor when the camera man and Mr Big said it would probably lead to great fame and fortune.  

On the bus on the way home the thought of my Mother finding a picture of me topless on a match booklet had a very sobering effect.  She was (still is) very strict and by the time I reached my front door I didn’t know whether it was the fear of owning up to my misdemeanour or the fizzy wine that was making me want to vomit.

She went ballistic. 

She drove straight down to the nightclub and tore a strip and then some off Mr Big and his camera man.  She threatened them with court action, stole their cameras and promised them a life of abject misery if any part of her daughter was seen on their POS material.  She can be incredibly scary my Mother.  

Now Mr Big is being called as such because he was like a celebrity.  He owned lots of nightclubs throughout the land and was a big player in the entertainments industry.

The morning after my Mothers brutal attack on Mr Big saw him stone cold dead from a massive heart attack. Coincidence?

I in turn was grounded for.... Hmmm.. I think I still am.