She's just a little bit too tasty.

I always remember reading this article on Digg a while back about the most annoying topics of conversation you can have with someone. The one that always sticks is dreams, and it's true. I hate hearing about other people's dreams. I guess you can never see them the way that person saw them, and ultimately, it's a completely pointless topic of conversation. IT'S NOT REAL. Sean (my housemate) is the worst. Every dream he ever haves involves three things:

- Sarah,
- Outer Space or Zombies,
- Blowing shit up.

Sean, if you are somehow secretly reading this blog (which you're not because I know not even you would be able to find it) please please please stop telling me about your dreams. I. just. don't. care.

Anyhow, I promise I'm going somewhere with this. So despite nobody apparently giving a flying fuck about other people's dreams, I am going to tell you all about mine. Last night I had the best dream since, like, forever. Sure, there was the one where I had the Gameboy Colour that was also a time-machine. That was pretty banging. But this one was seriously messed-up. Here's what I wrote down:


Met a girl at an immigration facility up on the Great Lines (fields near the house). 
She worked there.
I tried haggling with her over the cost of my new passport. 
Got it for £3.25 instead of £3.30.
The banter was unparalleled. 


We went to lunch. Just walked along the fields, laughing. She was from Gillingham. 
Why hadn't I ever seen her?


She was quite short, maybe 5ft 5. Size 12. Longish curly blonde hair, cute little scrunched up face.
Big cheesy grin. 
Almost like a friendlier, slightly chubbier Taylor Momsen. 


We were wearing the same t-shirt. Both burgundy. 
Both had wristbands.
I gave her one of mine, she gave me a beige hairband in return. It was adorable.


And that's what I've got. I met the most amazing girl and spent the most amazing lunch break with her. She was my subconscious version of my perfect girl, and words cannot describe how absolutely gutted I was when I woke up. How sad is that, right? We've all had dreams of winning the lottery and then waking up and feeling glum, but how many people have fallen in love with the most beautiful, perfect person in the world? It was a first for me.

Odd start to the day. So anyway, work was a drag. The highlight of my day? Emily coming over for the second day running. She's just a little bit too tasty. I just need to resist temptation and remember that all girls are blood-sucking, vindicative, moody and soulless bitches.

So this girl in my dream was perfect. What's my idea of a perfect girl? Let's brainstorm:

1. She has to be shorter than me. Tall girls are intimidating. 
2. She should have some sort of interesting hobby, such as painting, photography or playing the violin. Drinking Jagerbombs doesn't count as a hobby. 
3. She should come out with occassional hilarious ditzy comments, but not so ditzy that you start to wonder if she is an actual moron. She should be intelligent, but not too intelligent.  
4. She must have a friendly face and great hair. 
5. She should be popular, but not too popular. I don't want us to be the metaphorical prom King and Queen. 
6. She should have absolutely no problem stuffing her face with a Big Mac from time to time. 
7. She must like one of the following: The OC, Jack's Mannequin, Liverpool FC or Man vs Food.
8. She has to understand that Sunday afternoons are reserved for football unless a roast dinner event is scheduled. In that case, I am perfectly entitled to check the scores on my mobile. 
9. She should have absolutely no problem singing Karaoke. 
10. She must wear white french knickers. Always. 

Send your applications in a stamped, addressed envelope to...

Some say I'm burning the candle at both ends.

So this is 2012? As I sit here in the office on a Bank Holiday Monday morning, once again up at stupid o’clock, with just one other person insane/desperate enough to work overtime today, I must say 2012 feels an awful lot like 2011.

Except this year is going to be my year. Not because I think it will be, or because I’m due a good year. No. This is going to be my year because I’m going to bloody well make it my year. I have 9 months until I leave for my travels and in those 9 months I am going to be working like a little bitch to get as much saved as possible. I'm also going to go out, party hard, dance to dubstep (despite harboring an irrational hatred towards it), get smashed, sleep with random women and wake up with some of the most disgusting hangovers known to man. Some say I'm burning the candle at both ends. To those people I say: "Fuck you". Politely, of course.

So as expected, I have a plethora of crazy, exciting ideas for my travels, and trying to fit them into one solid itinerary isn’t easy. Over the next few weeks or so, Martin and I need to decide where we want to go and in what route. I’ve ordered a giant World Map poster for my bedroom wall, and I have this great vision in my head of this poster being covered with post-its and pins and looking proper beastly, although in reality I tend to fail dismally with anything arts and crafts-related. The infamous flowerpot painting of ’08 springs to mind.

New Year’s Eve was… different. What a great time for a club to have a powercut. The music in the main room cut out at 1am and didn't come back on until around 3am, but by that time the only people left in the club were the stupidly drunk and the embarrassingly desperate. I was still there.

It was good to see Peppa though. She looked absolutely gorgeous, better than she’s ever looked. For a moment, I wondered whether I made the right choice by not dating her, but I guess you need some sort of spark and we never had that. But it did lead me to realise that every girl I date gets substantially better looking when we stop seeing each other? That's not fair. I'm looking at you Sarah. What the fuck. Where did those breasts come from? 


So I’ve had some time to mull over my resolutions for 2012 and I think I’ve got a pretty good list coming along.

Stop smoking

I hate this because it is purely for financial reasons. I bloody love smoking and I shall miss my lovely little white cancer-sticks.

Pass my driving test

Because guys who drive are hotter than guys who walk.

Complete my Cert CII and TEFL courses

Get as qualified as possible before I pack up and leave town... just in case.

Learn the art of sealing the deal

The ongoing joke that I am unable to ‘seal the deal’; In short I get a girl home and get her into bed and for one reason or another do not have sex with them, be it overly-drunk, refusal to depart with virginity or wrong time of the month. This affectionately led me to inherit the nickname ‘Captain Cuddles’. So 2012 is the year I get the job done. 

Find a new haircut

Which will more than likely mean ‘Shave head in the hope I look more badass’.

Get out of the UK

Because everyone knows this country is going down the shitter and who doesn't love a chick with an accent.



That should do nicely for now. I may add more as the week goes on, but right now, I just can't take my mind off that god-awful smell in the kitchen. Filth. I hope you all had lovely New Years celebrations and the 50 or so photos you were tagged in the following morning were considerably better than mine. 'Photogenic' is not a word I would use to describe myself.


Much love, 
Luke